#the second looks like hes hitting from the ba... *gunshot*

[blackvoidspace]

I LOVE when a Star Wars villain with long hair, dirty looking and pretty face, appears on my screen.

[angelsanarchy]

Tangerine Skies: Possum x Y/N Series CH 1

Tagging: @svgarcaine @icarus-star @romanroyapoligist @tempt-ress @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp

Y/n had spent almost 8 months in this shitty ass town. She really thought something less chaotic would help her brain relax after she set out on this road trip but nothing in California is slow paced. Moving further North meant getting used to random gunshots from the weed farmers and the overwhelming smell of delicious Cali Kush that seemed to float in the air like a burn in your nostrils.

Living in the RV had provided her everything she needed. Working at the diner gave her plenty of free food to mooch and money in her pocket for gas. She didn't need anything else in this world.

She also realized there were a lot more travelers doing exactly what she was doing, especially in California. She had offers all the time from the people who blew through this town, young fairly rich kids who wanted to go to the desert or hit all the national parks. She just wanted to go to work, eat some food and smoke a joint before bed. This was the place for that.

She saw the same long hair vagabond every day walking up and down the road in front of the diner. He would get rides every now and then but for some reason, he used the diner or the convenience store parking lot next door as some sort of home base. Whenever he caught her eyes, he would either stare with wide eyes and wave or offer her a goofy smile. He was cute. A little worse for wear living on the road but still very cute.

Today was different however. Today he actually came into the diner to be seated. The host sat him in a booth since his large travel pack took up too much space at the counter. She approached the table as he was using some of the wet wipes on his hands.

"You finally decided to come in and have a meal?" Y/n smiled earning a glazed over look at first.

"My stomach has been talking to me for two days. It's only fair that I give in to the demands." He explained as she handed him a menu.

"Well you're in luck. It's pretty dead today so you will have my undivided attention. My name is Y/n and the only specials we have are for soups today." He gave her a sweet smile.

"Hi Y/n, I'm Possum and I like soup." Y/n chuckled.

"Perfect! Go ahead and look at our list of soups and let me know which you would like to try. You get one for free to take with you when you go." Y/n touched his shoulder briefly and he lazily looked at her hand before back up to her face. She left for a few moments before returning with some water and silverware and Possum was talking to his backpack.

"Did you decide?" She startled him making him shut the lid of his backpack quickly and slamming his knee on the underside of the table.

"Oh God! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?" She rush towards the table and he nodded.

"C-can I get the chicken noodle soup with some of those little bitty cracker things?" Possum held his fingers up trying to pantomime the crackers.

"The chicken noodle comes with regular sized crackers but I can bring you some extra oyster crackers if you want." Y/n said kindly.

"Can I also have a potato soup as the second one? I think Opossum would like that one more." Y/n had no idea if he was referring to himself in the third person or if he was traveling with someone else that shared his bizarre name. She gave him a smile and jotted down his extra soup order before leaving the table.

She watched him carefully eat his chicken noodle soup, breaking off pieces of his crackers and placing them inside of his backpack. She made sure to package his to go order and threw in twice the order of crackers to take with him as well as some bacon pieces for the potato soup.

"I see you enjoyed your soup!" Y/n said making sure he saw her approaching this time. He shook his head and pushed the empty bowl towards the center of the table.

"It was very noodly. Just like how my mom makes it. Thank you." He smiled sweetly. Y/n placed a brown bag on the table in front of him and he looked confused, like he had forgotten his second soup entirely.

"I put some extra crackers and bacon bits in the bag to go with your potato soup. The potato soup tastes so much better with some bacon in it." Y/n explained seeing his eyes soften almost like he was about to fall asleep.

"You're an angel. A real ethereal angel. Thank you." Possum started pulling crumpled bills from his pockets and Y/n put her hand up.

"This one is on me. You're my favorite customer today." She explained seeing him look around the diner.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the only customer today." Possum remarked.

"Well it's my custom to give someone really cute a free meal so please, I insist." Possum slid out of the booth and extended his hand as if he wanted to shake her hand. Y/n allowed him to take her hand and he took it into both of his own, giving it a squeeze.

"You've been the best part of Emerald Triangle, Diner Angel." Possum held her hand for just a moment longer before letting go to grab his bags. He walked out of the diner doors clutching his brown bag in his hands and not bothering to look back.

Y/n started clearing the plates and noticed a small piece of paper that he had drawn on with the crayons from the host station. It was a doodle of her with angel wings and alien eyes with a giant red heart in the center of who she assumed was supposed to be him in stickman form.

She made sure to take the drawing with her and keep an eye out for Possum traveling the roads whenever she left.

[itwoodbeprefect]

911 season 7 episode 2:

we know this man waving a gun around and shooting people is eeeeevil because he says lady captain.

mr. cruise director has the dongle! because he's eeeeevil too. or at least stupid

fjdk i was expecting them to pull a "i'm not a medical doctor" with how this guy was acting, but no, he IS a gp, it's just that for the drama we need bobby to have to tackle this alone

asshole driver: "are you important? do you matter?" fjkdfd. cool it with the existential questions, my guy

"you come at me again, i'll have your badge." "i'm not a police officer." "a- and you won't be anymore either!" smooth save! well done! also love that when chimney says he's not police we see him just turning away from giving hen a confused Look. besties!

ah, of course we need to give hen a guilt complex over a choice she makes as captain.

having a firefighter be in charge of taking care of your gunshot wound is really...... gambling with your life! ba-dum tss!

bobby answering to "are you happy?" with "yeah. yeah, i am." somewhat bafflingly had me close to tearing up. god, i love that for him.

said "nooo" out loud when machine room man followed the cable and opened the door. the poor guy did not deserve that :(

anyway, a bomb! if only starsky and hutch had been on this boat doing tense homoerotic bomb collection in weirdly long sweaty scenes, this could all have been prevented

not at ALL the point here (everything is sad and awkward in understandable ways, i'm not getting into it), but this is such a gorgeous jacket

guy who desperately wants his chips cashed out: "did we hit an iceberg or something?" fjdkfd. do you think they ever play titanic in cruise ship movie theaters, or is that a subtly banned sort of movie? also, second titanic reference in two episodes, together with the comment athena's therapist made! can we get three?

i know the wife guy trope has fallen out of favor, but. bobby is doing it very well.

SO annoying that athena doesn't pick up her phone while she's on a sinking cruise ship taking on duties that the injured captain can't perform. >:(

fdjkf i love that karen is absolutely right when she tells hen that athena and bobby's cruise is going to be totally fine and there's nothing to worry about, except this is the world of People Who Are Involved In Big Giant Emergencies Every Two Weeks, so hen, in worrying way too much, is the one who's actually right. these two episodes are just married couples with one partner WAY overreacting in a way that turns out to be Correct. if things keep going this way in a few more seasons they might start to figure out they're main characters.

now bobby is WET and still looking for his wife. the universe just doesn't want to give this man the normal sweet honeymoon he was trying to have.

"where is she?" "saving the ship." "of course she is." tired wet middle aged golden retriever man considers wishing his wife were a little less heroic: part [insert number here].

fjdkfd. hen on her hunch going straight to the 911 call center, my god.

"you wanted an activity we could do together." taking a wild guess, i'd say this wasn't on bobby's list, but at least you've got some nice mood lighting

they ARE getting me with the bobby/athena scene here. they absolutely are.

also. i can't not think about due south mountie on the bounty at least a little bit. truly impossible not to do that

fjdkfd. always nice if you're a fictional character who does terrible things and then gets a very dramatic chance to prove you're maybe also an okay person

the chief going "YOU can't find their cruise ship?" seems like a deeply correct sort of response to me

fjdjfkdjk. hen looking shocked and upset when the chief tells her that the los angeles fire department isn't responsible for actively looking for ships that haven't sent out any sign of distress and are in an area they're not responsible for in the middle of the ocean, which is also not the fire department's usual sort of thing... that's very funny, very 911.

"i really don't feel like being second-guessed right now" says hen, while following a slightly insane hunch that could cost her her job and probably deserves a little second-guessing. or one-and-a-half-guessing, at least. love you so much, hen, but the only reason this will work out is because you've got writers behind you.

fdjkfdjkfdfd. of COURSE a man had to drop onto the (very pretty!) skylight after the boat turns upside down. we can't be told about a goofy thing athena fears because it happened in a tv movie and then NOT have that pay off at the end of the next episode! wonderful, i love it, this is huge dramatic 911 nonsense at its best. <3

[theladyofdeath]

I’ll Be Seeing You {1}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @snelbz​

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away. 

Trigger Warnings: war

A/N: FINALLY. Shelby and I have been writing away (both at this one, and the one she will begin posting later this week). We’ve been so excited to share, and hope you all like it.

Chapters will be posted every Monday. 

Word Count: 3745

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist 

Tara’s Masterlist  

September 1940, The Winter Court

It was cold.

It was cold and Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. He was bleary eyed in the midday sun, which did little to warm the frigid air as he walked, one hand braced on the gun hanging from his shoulder.

He idly wondered where Rhys and Az had been deployed to, if they’d ended up in one of the milder courts, or if they were as unlucky as he was, patrolling the borders of Winter.

If they were in one of the warmer courts, he hated them.

Loved them, missed them, hoped they were safe.

But he hated them, nonetheless.

Alongside his fellow soldiers, Cassian continued on, marching through the snow from the night before. It had been a wicked storm, one Cassian wasn’t certain they wouldn’t make it through. But they did, through some miracle their fires remained burning all night long, snow and all.

“Perk up, Nazari,” the soldier beside him grinned. “At least it’s above freezing today.”

“It’s at least ten below freezing,” Cassian said, snorting. 

The soldier's grin just widened and he kept marching on. At least someone was happy to be there.

He’d stopped learning anything aside from his fellow soldiers' names after the first couple of months. After losing someone he’d grown close to for what felt like the hundredth time, it was easier that way.

Andras, the golden haired man, continued on. “We’ve only got another ten miles before we meet up with the seventeenth battalion. Rumor has it they got a resupply in rations last month.”

There was too much to unpack in that statement for Cassian to waste his energy and warmth responding.

Only another ten miles made him want to wring Andras’s neck. They’d been moving since dawn and had only covered seven miles. At the rate they were moving now, they’d likely have to make camp again in volatile unclaimed territory.

He also knew a resupply of rations was unlikely. He hadn’t heard of any of the courts sending out any aid, because none had any to spare. So it was likely that rumors were all Andras had heard, and rumors they would stay. And if they somehow were true, Cassian was sure that the seventeenth battalion had probably gone through them themselves, not concerned with any forces coming to meet up with them.

He knew his legion wouldn’t have cared.

But this was war. Every man for himself, even if f they were fighting for a common goal.

Peace.

Peace seemed far away as the sound of rapid gunshots went off in the distance.

Someone screamed, and then an explosion went off up ahead, sending smoke and bodies flying into the air.

At first, Cassian’s body locked up but then his training kicked in. He fell into formation.

As he hurried behind Andras, Cassian took pity on one of the younger guys. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and this was most likely his first attack. He looked terrified, completely frozen.

“Move!” Cassian yelled, and the kid’s eyes connected with his, then he was finally moving, fumbling for his gun.

Cassian wished him the best but didn’t think about it long. He couldn’t. This was war. He had to remain focused.

The sound of the canon roared and before they had time to think, the cannonball landed just up ahead. Close enough for Cassian’s ears to ring.

He looked around, trying to locate the enemy.

He raised his gun.

His ears we’re still ringing and he couldn’t place where the shots were coming from, just saw man after man in his battalion go down. But Andras surged ahead and Cassian followed behind, trusting the instincts of his fellow soldier.

“Into the trees,” he called, knowing they wouldn’t offer much cover, but they wouldn’t be as exposed as they were on the open road.

Andras’s quick nod was his only reply and they pushed, but not before white hot pain shot down Cassian’s arm.

He cried out, still barely able to hear himself over the high-pitched ringing in his head, but he didn’t go down. He knew the only thing that awaited him if he did was death.

They’d been split up, separated and disoriented, just like the enemy had wanted them.

Cassian pressed a hand to his arm, hoping he’d just been grazed, but when he looked down, he knew that wasn’t the case. He was lucky he was still able to use his arm, with how much blood was pouring from the wound. He leaned against a tree as they made it deep into the cover.

“Fuck, man, you’re hit,” Andras muttered, not even pausing to consider before tearing into his own small med kit and tying a tourniquet above the wound on Cassian’s arm.

It took every ounce of willpower in him not to snap something like “No shit,” back at the man, but knew it would be a waste of energy.

“This should hold you over,” Andras yelled, above the screaming, the gunshots, the sound of the cannon. “You good?”

“I’m good,” Cassian promised, even though he wasn’t sure it was the truth. He was certain that he was running off adrenaline. There was a bullet in him, after all.

Bullet and all, he raised his gun and looked toward the hillside.

He could see the enemy, dressed in black. They looked like ants, being so far away, but Cassian took his aim, nonetheless. 

He aimed.

He fired.

He repeated the process.

The others near him did the same.

The battle was in full force.

Gunshots echoed and the men around Cassian went down. It was no use, really. The enemy was stronger, and far more confident. 

“Fuck,” Cassian muttered when he ran out of bullets. As he was reloading, a scream echoed from beside him, and Cassian looked down. “Andras? Andras!” He fell to his knees and took the soldier’s face into his hands. “Hey. Hey! Stay with me.” A crimson stain appeared on his uniform, just over his chest. 

The man coughed, blood spraying his chin and Cassian knew death lingered around them.

Granted, it was a constant shadow over all of Prythian.

He watched the light leave the man’s usually bright, laughing eyes, watched as they dimmed and stared unseeing to the canopy of trees above.

He didn’t have time for sadness, didn’t have time for grief. He picked up Andras’s gun, slinging it over his shoulder and grabbed his ammunition.

“We’ve got to move,” Cassian called back to the soldiers around him. “Deeper into the trees and head south. Try to get to the Autumn border.”

He held rank above the men, but not by much. Enough that they listened to his orders and did as they were told.

If they could just get to Autumn, they’d be back in friendly territory. He dared a look back as they retreated.

The number of bodies left bleeding in the snow made him sick to his stomach. How many men were still breathing and how many had passed on into the darkness?

A blanket of white, splattered with red. 

Cassian tried not to panic, but they were outnumbered. “Move!” he yelled, but with every second that passed, another body fell. He pushed down that panic, and moved forward.

He had only taken a few steps before a searing pain hit his back, just below his shoulder. Cassian landed facedown in the snow, and this time, he was unable to move. 

A burning sensation began to spread, and that panic that he had pushed down began to resurface. 

He heard someone yell for him, heard someone call his name, but it sounded far away, too far away. Someone was holding him, but Cassian felt nothing, nothing but that burning in his back. Darkness clouded his vision, and as much as he told his feet to keep moving, as much as he told himself to get back up and keep going, he couldn’t move. 

Time moved slowly. 

Cassian felt like this is what it was like to die.

And, surprisingly, once that panic began to fade, he was no longer afraid.

An explosion sounded nearby, and Cassian’s body was thrown.

In the snow, in the heart of the Winter Court, the darkness took over, and Cassian was gone.

*

There had been an ambush.

That was all that they were told as bloodied and battered men were hauled into the med camp just over the Autumn border.

Nesta Archeron’s eyes were wide as she took in some of the injuries.

Blood. There was so much blood.

She’d had to tend to a few of the men as they passed through, but most of the fighting had been deeper into the territory. She hadn’t seen the violence of all out bloodshed.

The screaming of a man whose arm was hanging in tattered ribbons broke her from the haze she’d settled in. She looked around the tent at the dozens of men and wondered if the other nurses tents were filling as quickly as hers.

“Madja,” she breathed, surprised to find her voice gravely. “Who should I—?”

“Anyone,” the head nurse snapped, pressing a wad of bandages to a wound in a man’s chest. “Just pick one.”

She nodded and tied her hair back, hurrying across the tent.

The bloody man was unconscious, covered in burns and mud, but the young soldier who brought him in still stood beside him. She asked, “What are his injuries?”

The young man was a stammering mess. “He— He took at least two shots to the ba-back, one to the arm.” She was about to reach for him, to turn him over and inspect his back but he added, “And then we tripped a land mine on the trek over.” Nesta went still. “He wasn’t in the direct path of the explosion but he was in the radius. I think— I think he was thrown, but I’m not sure. I helped carry him in after that.”

Nesta only hesitated for a moment before nodding, tight lipped. “Thank you. Help me turn him over.”

The young soldier nodded, helping Nesta flip him onto his stomach. She could see where he had been shot. Crimson stains coated his uniform. Without another word, Nesta began to cut the fabric.

First things first: remove the bullets.

Nesta cleansed his wounds, then went to work. They had very limited surgical equipment, but Nesta had gotten used to using what they had since she arrived in the recent weeks. The young soldier remained as Nesta removed the bullets from her patient’s back and arm, and once that was complete, she checked his vitals.

His pulse was steady enough, although it was slower than it should have been. He had a fever, most likely due to infection of the bullet wounds. Considering he was out, there was no way to check for any sort of head injury, but if he had been thrown due to an explosion, Nesta had no doubt that he did.

She could only hope that he would wake up soon so that she could examine him further.

“What’s his name?” Nesta asked the young soldier that continued to stand by his bedside.

“Corporal Cassian Nazari, ma’am,” he answered. 

Nesta nodded. “Thank you.” She wrote his name on the sheet of paper on the clipboard hanging from his bed. 

“Should I— What should I do?” He asked, swallowing hard. “Do I help or—?”

She looked at him, nearly shaking in the medical tent. “What’s your name?”

“Isaac, ma’am. Private Isaac Hale,” he replied, and it was the first thing he’d said that he sounded confident in.

“Do you have any medical training, Private Hale?” She asked, firmly, but not unkindly.

“No, ma’am,” he admitted.

She nodded. “Then go be with your men. Your presence is appreciated, but we need the space to work.”

He accepted the dismissal, nodding, and hurried out of the tent.

Nesta looked back down at her patient and reached for one of the damp rags. She needed to get him cleaned up so she could fully assess his injuries. He was still out cold, so she whispered, “Sorry, Corporal Nazari, but this is probably going to hurt.”

After re-drenching the rag in alcohol, Nesta was cleaning the gunshot wounds, carefully but quickly. At one point, Corporal Nazari stirred, which she assumed was due to the horrid stinging of the alcohol against an open wound, but Nesta took it as a good sign.

He was responsive.

He was alive. 

Once his wounds were cleaned, she flipped him back onto his back and checked his pulse, once again.

Slow, but steady. 

She had stitched and bandaged him up, so the blood loss had been minimized. Nesta made a note to check on him in half an hour and wiped her hands on her apron, continuing on.

Cassian Nazari was not the only soldier that had gotten caught in an explosion. In fact, there were men far worse off than him. Madja was assisting a man who had his leg nearly blown off, and although Nesta had a tolerance for such things, she looked away.

War on the frontlines was not easy.

But being a nurse, seeing what the frontlines did to soldiers, was not easy, either.

It was nearly two hours later, the sun beginning to set and lamps being lit inside the med tent, before Nesta made her way back to check on the corporal. One of her fellow nurses had cleaned him off as much as they could and underneath all the mud and gore, she found that his face, despite being battered and burnt and bruised, was…handsome. Ignoring that handsome face, she gave him a full once over, finding burns on his entire left side, four cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a broken bone in his forearm. He was also probably concussed, but until he woke up, that couldn’t be confirmed.

Not the worst injuries he could have gotten by far, but the number of them would keep him down for a while. He was lucky he hadn’t been closer to the blast when the mine had gone off.

Quickly, but efficiently, she set the bones in his arm, and popped his shoulder back into place, before wrapping his arm and slinging it around his neck.

The injury to his back worried her. One of those bullets had been very close and she wasn’t sure if any damage had been done to his spine. Again, they’d have to wait until he was awake to see just how bad it was, but until then, she elected to check for response in one of the few ways she knew how.

Carefully tugging off one of his boots, she ran a finger along the inside of his foot, tickling gently. His knee jerked slightly and she breathed a sigh of relief at the quick response and movement.

A raspy voice whispered, “That’s the strangest version of foreplay I’ve ever seen, but I’m open to trying anything once.”

Nesta’s eyes were immediately on his face and one of his was barely cracked open and trained on her. The other was swollen shut.

She hurried to the head of the small bed he laid in. “Corporal Nazari, how are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asked, and even though his voice was quiet, it sounded like the man had been gargling gravel.

“Nesta Archeron, sir,” she breathed. “You’re in the med camp of the twenty-sixth legion.”

His eye fell shut again and he rasped, “Autumn?”

She nodded, but then voiced her words. “Yes. There was an ambush—.” She paused, realizing she didn’t have much information for him. He had been there. He probably knew better than she did. 

He sighed, grimly. “How many of us were brought in?”

Nesta looked around. Nearly all of the beds were full. “About twenty of you so far. Your men are still scoping the valley now that the ambush has cleared.” 

He stayed quiet for a moment. “Casualties?”

Nesta cleared her throat. “I’ve yet to hear an update.”

His eyes remained shut as he said, “Okay. Thank you.” 

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“How long until I’m on my feet again?” he asked, in answer.

Nesta looked over his body, wondering if he’d make another snide, inappropriate remark. “Now that you’re awake, I’d like to examine you further.”

Cassian nodded, and tried to sit himself up, but hissed the moment his palms hit the cot, and he put pressure on them. 

“Your ulna is broken, don’t put pressure on it,” she explained. He probably hadn’t even noticed that it was wrapped, considering his eyes could hardly open and he hadn’t really taken a moment to take in his surroundings. She assumed that the entirety of his body hurt. “You also have four cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and some severe third degree burns. The bullet wounds have been cleansed, but…” 

Cassian looked at her. “But?” 

“A bullet just missed your spine.”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “And that means?”

“That means that I need to see how your body has reacted,” she said, simply, and helped him into a sitting position. At this point, she had learned to ignore the horrid smells that came from soldiers. She wondered when the last time he’d been given the luxury to shower. She made a mental note to offer to help clean him up when she was finished with her examination. “First, we’ll check for a concussion.” 

He nodded, slowly.

“Do you have a headache?” she asked.

Cassian looked at her, and blinked. “Seriously? Look at me. Every inch of my body aches.” 

Her lips thinned but she gave him a curt nod. “What about nausea? Dizziness?” She lit a candle and held it up. “Sensitive to light?”

His eyes, already barely open to slits, closed further as he tried to turn away. “Let’s say yes to all of the above.”

She nodded, leaving the candle burning, but setting it down atop the small table beside the infirmary bed. “You’re going to to rest for the remainder of the day, after we get you cleaned up. Tomorrow, we’ll further look at your back, make a plan based on that, and go from there.”

She could tell he wanted to argue, to say they needed to begin treatment now, but his eyes were so weary. They were still glazed.

“I can get you something for the pain,” she offered.

He didn’t answer her, just asked a question of his own. “What’s your name?”

Nesta pursed her lips to suppress her laughter. “You’ve already asked me that, corporal.” 

Cassian looked up at her. “No, I didn’t.”

Nesta didn’t bother to correct him as she subtly shook her head. Concussion, indeed. “My name is Nesta Archeron. I’m a nurse.”

“I’d hope so,” he grumbled. “If you’re not a nurse, I’m afraid for my health.”

“Rest assured, I’m a nurse,” she promised. “I’ve got the certificate to prove it.”

“Were you a nurse before the war?” Cassian asked.

A lot of nurses were volunteers, with very limited training. They were tossed into battle with as little experience as the soldiers.

“I was in school for it,” she answered, simply. “Only in my second year.”

“And you stopped going to school?” He pushed. “To come here?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Corporal.”

She was ringing out the rag in a warm-ish bowl of water on the table when he spoke.

“Just trying to figure out why someone as beautiful as an angel would be willing to be dropped into pure hell with people like us.”

Nesta froze from where she’d been about to wipe down his neck and shoulder. She didn’t look at his face as she began to carefully clean the bits of burned skin. “I’m just trying to do my duty. To protect my village, and to keep my sisters from getting it into their heads that they need to join the war.”

“You must be the oldest,” he replied, hissing as she cleaned out a wound.

“I am. One of my sisters is twenty-one and the other just turned eighteen.”

“My brothers are somewhere on a battlefield.” His words were quiet, eyes distant, even as they didn’t look at her. “But I have no clue where.”

She needed to stop talking, needed to stop telling this soldier about herself and her family. He was just as likely to heal under her care and go back out and get blown up as he was to die from infection in these festering camps. “I’ll be right back, corporal.”

She tossed the rag back into the bowl, the blood staining the water pink and hurried to the large cabinet where the medications were stored. She poured water into a mug from one of the clean pitchers and mixed in a healthy dose of the powder indicated for pain relief. Carrying it back to his bed, she helped him prop up slightly. “Drink this, please.”

He did as he was told and she watched as the powder took hold.

“Trying to knock me out so I stop asking questions?” He asked, as he drank from the glass.

“Just trying to ease the pain,” she answered, simply, and helped him lay back down.

Putting that wet cloth back in the bowl, she dabbed it on Cassian’s brow, cleaning off the dried blood.

“It will do you well to get some sleep,” Nesta said. “When you wake up, I’ll get you something to eat. A new shipment should arrive soon from our neighboring camp.” 

In response, Cassian’s stomach rumbled and he was grateful for the news. “Can I ask you just one more question?”

Nesta hesitated, but nodded as she continued to wipe off the blood.

“Will you always be the one tending to me?” He asked, with a yawn.

Nesta took the emptied glass from him and said, “We are a team here, but you are in my section. We typically divide to stay organized, unless there is an emergency we will work together to save the life, to do what we can. As for rotational check ups, I will most likely be your primary caregiver, yes.”

She looked down at him and his eyes were closed, his breathing even. She shook her head, already being able to tell this corporal was a handful. 

After dropping the rag in the bowl, she began to walk away, but before she could go she heard him say, “Good.” 

[darlingor]

Absence

Russell Adler

Tw: major character death, mentions of blood and knives

Each man struggled to gain the upper hand. Adler landed a blow to Stitch’s temple, but Stitch kicked him in the shin and he fell to the floor.

“You foolish Americans. So soft.” He pulled his knife out of its case and started to walk towards him. Adler scrounged for his own, and quickly stood. The two men began to circle around each other.

“You seem a little scared Stitch. Why don’t you make the first move?” He tried to taunt him, get under his skin.

Just then Adler launched forward and sliced the knife. Stitch put his arm up to block but it was no use. The knife cut through the skin on his forearm and blood started to leak.

“Pathetic. Nothing but a mere flesh wound” he spat.

A battle raged around him. CIA and Perseus agents locked in a firefight. Gunshots and smoke filled the air, and every now and then, a stray bullet would fly by and graze of them.

The two had been at it for quite some time. Both were covered in bruises and blood, though not all belonged to them.

“Tough crowd” he said, as he sliced the knife once more.

Stitch dodged the attacks and landed a blow of his own. Adler sucked in a breath as the knife made contact with his side.

“Enough!” He yelled and ran into Stitch at full speed. He knocked the man to the ground and straddled him, his knife thrown to the side.

He threw punch after punch until Stitch kicked his legs and threw him off. Stitch got up slowly, and was panting erratically. The two began to circle one again, and this time, Stitch made the first move.

He swung the knife and caught Adler’s side. He took a step back and covered the cut with his hand.

“Nice hit.” He stepped back up and tried to throw quick punches, all of them Stitch avoided.

“How pathetic.” He spat, but Adler had caught him off guard. He swung his leg up and kicked the knife out of his hand. It went flying across the room, far out of Stitch’s reach.

He looked over towards the knife, and when he turned back, Adler was charging at him. He made contact and pinned him to the wall. He delivered devastating blows to his head and face, and Stitch was beginning to falter.

Adler finally stopped his assault, and held the long knife against his throat.

“It’s about time I ended this. You were never going to win.”

Adler hadn’t noticed the second knife strapped to the Russian’s side, and he definitely didn’t notice him slowly pull it out of its sheath.

“Do what you will American.” Adler’s jaw clenched, and he sliced the knife across his exposed throat. However, right as it made contact, Stitch drove his own knife deep into Adler’s abdomen.

Stitch fell to his knees with a grunt as his hands shot to his neck. He fell over onto his side as the blood gushed from his neck. His breathing slowed and his movements soon ceased. Stitch was finally dead.

Adler took a shocked step backwards and he looked down to see the knife protruding from his body.

“Oh- oh shit. Wha-“ He fell to the floor as blood began to seep from the wound.

His breathing turned shallow and his pupils dilated. His bloodied hands hovered around the weapon before finally grasping it with a tight grip. He pulled at the knife with as much force as he could muster.

The knife slid out with a sickening sound, and Adler yelled as it pulled through the many layers of tissue. He examined the weapon that ultimately led to his demise. He threw it away from him, and it clattered to the ground.

He grunted as he pulled himself to lean against the nearest wall. He could feel his breathing begin to restrict.

Must be blood in my lungs.

He noticed the gunfire around him come to a halt, and the radio in his ear sprung to life. Woods’ voice filled the silent air.

“Everyone check in.”

He managed to hear the names of Mason and Hudson through his cloudy mind. He could barely register Hudson’s words.

“Where’s Adler? Adler check in.”

His arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as he lifted it to his radio.

“Here.” He barely choked out. He threw his head back against the wall and waited for the others to find him.

Soon, he heard fast footsteps approaching, and he slowly opened his eyes to see Woods running over to him and crouching down.

By now, he was soaked in his own blood.

“Adler? Hey?”

Adler locked eyes with the man, and mustered up a small smile.

“Good to see you Woods. Feels like it’s been forever.”

“You don’t look too good my friend. We need to get you out of here.”

“Look,” he threw his head in the direction of Stitch’s body “finally killed the stubborn bastard. But it looks like he’s getting the last laugh, right?” A cough suddenly racked his body, and blood spluttered out of his mouth.

“I don’t have long Woods. No use in trying to save me.”

Woods’ stoic look changed to one of sadness. He lifted his hand and laid it on the man’s shoulder.

“It’s been a hell of a journey brother. I’m glad I got to share it with you. You’re a good man.”

He slowly stood up, and Mason filled the empty space in front of him.

“Hey Mason. You look like shit.” He laughed and coughed.

“Speak for yourself.” A sad smile filled his face.

“It’s been an honor. You’re the best agent I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” He shook the man’s somewhat limp hand, and backed away.

“Russell.” Hudson was now crouched in front of his dying friend.

“Jason.” They had known each other the longest. And even though they had their differences every now and then, they truly were friends. Brothers.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For everything I’ve said and done to you. I’ve let my anger get the best of me too many times.”

“It’s alright Jason. I know you didn’t mean it.” He breathed out and coughed once again. More blood seeped out of his mouth.

“I think my time’s coming soon.”

“I know Russ. Look, I know you carry that guilt around with you. For everything that happened in Vietnam, for all the people you’ve killed, even if they deserved it. And for Bell.” He had to blink back tears.

“You’re tormented. Don’t think I didn’t see when it was all getting a little too much. i noticed. I knew when you had nightmares, when the memories came back a little too quickly. You’ve carried it all for too long, my friend. It’s time to let it go. Let go, Russ.”

A stray tear rolled down Russell’s bloodied face.

“Thank you, Jason. Don’t mourn me for too long, okay? Promise me you’ll all move past this?

“I promise, Russ.”

He watched as the man’s blue eyes went dull, and his erratic breathing came to a halt. His hand that was gripping onto Hudson’s arm fell to his side, limp.

America’s Monster had been defeated.

—————————————

Forgot to add a note on this lol. Wrote this at like 12 am and I actually sobbed. This is obviously not cannon, and really, it takes place in a different timeline(? Don’t really know what I’m trying to say). I really like writing these little stories so if there’s anything you want me to write, let me know! Also shoutout to @animelover1145 for teaching me how to do the read more line. I’m not well versed in Tumbler mechanics.

[ladydimitrescuspet]

În Viață Și În Moarte - In Life And In Death

ao3 link! you have every right to yell at me over on @homoo-wan-kenobi! I'm sorry for the sad fic, inspired by this ask by @schnuffel-puschel. tell me what you all thought, and please enjoy. mild violence and reader dies, I'm sorry. if it's any consolation, I cried writing this.

tu esti totul pentru mine - you're everything to me

***

Alcina had instructed you to stay in one of the rooms in the east wing of the castle, telling you not to open the door for anybody that was her, her daughters, or your handmaiden.

“I don’t care what commotion you hear outside this room, do not open this door for any reason. I need you to stay right here, draga mea, and I need you to take care of yourself and the baby.” Alcina said before she kissed your forehead.

“Come back to us, please.” You said softly as you squeezed her hand tightly, a move that she reciprocated.

That was four days ago. There wasn’t much commotion to be heard outside the door, just the wind howling outside your window. Your handmaiden brought you your meals whenever she could, often leaving you something to snack on just in case one of your meals was late. You’d often try to open the door, but soon realised that it was locked from the outside so despite Alcina’s words, you couldn’t let anybody in any way.

Pacing back and forth didn’t help with your anxiety over what was happening. What exactly was happening? Alcina didn’t tell you as she rushed you slightly to the other side of the castle. You jumped when the door to your room opened, hiding under the covers.

“Hello?” A voice called out. It definitely wasn’t Alcina. No, the voice was unfamiliar, but it sounded like a man’s voice. “Is anybody here?” The voice asked.

You slowly came up from under the covers, revealing your presence in the room. “Who are you?” You asked.

“My name’s Ethan Winters. What’s yours?” Ethan replied as he walked over to where you were on the bed.

"My name's Y/N. May I ask what you're doing here in the castle, Mr. Winters?" You asked.

"I'm looking for my daughter, Rose, they're keeping her here. Have you seen her?" Ethan asked. You shook your head. "I see you're having a baby too, right?" Ethan gestured to your protruding belly.

You smiled. "I am, she'll be born quite soon, actually." You replied.

Ethan nodded. "Well, we best get you out of this place. I'm sure the news of those monsters in this castle having my child worry you about them taking yours." Ethan replied as he grabbed your hand to pull you out of the bed, you resisted. "Y/N, what's wrong?" Ethan asked.

"The Lady of the castle has instructed me to stay here for my own safety." You replied. "She's taken very good care of me for well over a year, Mr. Winters."

Ethan scratched his head. "And you trust her?" You nodded your head. "Are you under a spell of some sort? Don't you see that she's just keeping you safe until she can get her hands on your child?" Ethan asked.

You slowly got out of the bed. "Alcina would never do anything to harm me or our child, Mr. Winters." You replied. "I'd really like it if you left the room or better yet, left the castle. Your daughter is not here, I'm afraid you've been misinformed." You explained.

"Maybe I have, but I can't just leave you here." Ethan said before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room.

You struggled against him. "Mr. Winters, please, I'm perfectly safe. I appreciate your concern." You tried tugging your arm free but his grip was too tight. "Mr. Winters, you're hurting me." You whimpered slightly.

He stopped and let go of your wrist. "Sorry." Ethan said before he started walking again. You followed after him. "How do you get out of this place?" He muttered to himself.

"I can help you find the way out." You replied. "The front door should actually be open and then you're good from there." The two of you walked down the stairs. A maniacal laugh rang out. "Just keep going. That's probably Daniela."

You'd been right. "Y/N?" Daniela asked.

"Hi, Dani. I was just showing Mr. Winters the way out. He won't be bothering us anymore." You replied. You tried to open the front door but it wouldn't budge. You frowned. "Dani, why does Alcina have the front door locked?" You asked, turning back around to face her.

"To keep him from going out. Why aren't you in the room, Y/N? Mother's going to be very crossed with you." Daniela replied. "Cass! Bela! Mr. Winters is by the front door, if you're around." Daniela called out before she went to grab your hand.

"Don't touch her." Ethan said as he pulled out his gun.

You gasped. "Mr. Winters, what are you doing? Put the gun down." You said. "Please."

"Y/N, you really shouldn't witness what I'm about to do." Ethan replied. "Take this key, it'll lead you to the Courtyard. Whatever you do, don't turn around for any noises that you hear." Ethan handed you the key.

You shook your head and dropped the key to the floor. "No, I won't leave you alone with her." You replied. "Everything's going to be fine, Dani, I'm just going to help him leave the castle grounds and then I'll be back." You said.

"No, Y/N, you're not allowed to leave the castle, not with the baby on the way. Just go back to the room before Mother finds it empty." You nodded your head and turned to leave, but then you heard Ethan fire his gun, the bullet missing Daniela. "You son of a bitch." Daniela gritted through her teeth as she lunged forward towards him. You heard another two shots fire and then you heard a ringing in your ear and the faint sound of someone saying your name "Y/N? Y/N? Hey, stay with me." Daniela held you in her lap.

"What hap-" You couldn't get the whole question out.

"Cass! Bela! Mother! Please, come quickly!" You heard Daniela yell as loudly as she could. "You monster. Why the fuck would you shoot her?!" Daniela screamed at Ethan.

"I'm sorry, she got in the way. It was for you, only or you." Ethan was paralysed with shock, realising what he'd done. He dropped his gun.

You could hear the faint sound of buzzing and then faint clicking and clacking of heels. "Da- Dani, the b-ba-baby," You croaked out.

Daniela spoke to you through tears. "Shh, Y/N, Mother's almost here. She'll help you. You'll be fine. And the baby will be fine." Daniela rambled as she held onto your body tightly.

"Daniela? What happened?" Alcina asked. Daniela looked up at her. Alcina's eyes came upon your body and she turned to Ethan. "You fucking rat! What have you done?!" Alcina was furious. She wanted that man dead. You could hear the sound of blood squelching as she impaled Ethan with her claws, not stopping until her dress was covered in his blood or one of her daughters pulled her off.

"Mother, Y/N's losing blood fast, and the baby..." Daniela trailed off.

"Call Mother Miranda. Have her and Heisenberg get here as quickly as they can. Take Y/N to the sitting room and put her in a comfortable position." Alcina instructed her daughters. Alcina picked up Ethan's bloody body. "By the time I'm done disposing of his body, they should be here." Alcina left the room without another word.

You always thought a gunshot would kill someone instantly. You'd gotten hit in the shoulder and the chest. The shot to your chest should've been fatal, but here you were being carried by Daniela to the sitting room and being put into a comfortable position as her Mother had instructed. True to her word Mother Miranda and Heisenberg had gotten to the castle a few short seconds before Alcina came back.

"Mother Miranda, Heisenberg, she's in the sitting room." Alcina said as she guided them to where you were. Your breathing was quite shallow and it hurt to breathe. "Relax, my dear, Mother Miranda will do what she can to help you." Alcina ran her over your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Alcina, my dear, I don't think this'll work." Mother Miranda replied.

Alcina's face hardened. "Alci, think about Y/N and the baby." Heisenberg said. "We might not be able to save both of them."

Alcina eyes filled with tears at the thought of only one of you living. "No. No, we must help them both." Alcina said. "We can, we can deliver the baby and then tend to Y/N's wounds. Yes, yes, we'll give her the virus if we must." Heisenberg let out a deep sigh, Alcina scowled at him.

"Oh, Alcina, I'm afraid Y/N's lost more blood than I can work with. The virus won't take with the lack of blood." Mother Miranda replied. Alcina opened her mouth to protest, but Mother Miranda raised her hand. "However, I can deliver the baby if we can keep Y/N awake long enough. It's too risky to have her push with the blood loss so I'll have to cut into her."

Alcina nodded her head, taking your hand in hers. "Do what you must." Alcina replied. "I'm so sorry, iubirea mea. I've failed to keep you and our child safe, I failed at the one thing I promised you when you first came here. I failed at protecting you." Alcina pressed a kiss to the hand that she was holding.

You let out a small groan. "Al?" You asked.

"Yes, draga mea?" Alcina replied.

"The baby. Take care of her." It took you a while to get the sentence out but you managed to say it.

Alcina nodded her head. "Of course, my darling. I will protect her with everything I have in me. I won't break my promise to you twice, I wouldn't dare." Alcina could feel the tears falling down her face as Heisenberg's hand came upon her shoulder.

"You'll have to say goodbye now, Alci. It's likely that she won't wake up after the procedure." Heisenberg's word left a bitter taste in his mouth. The thought of you dying hurt him. You were like family to all of them even Mother Miranda. Heisenberg gave the hand Alcina wasn't holding a light squeeze before he walked over to the other side of the room. He couldn't find it in himself to say goodbye to you.

You could see the blurry outlines of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela as they kneeled down beside you. You tried to give them a small smile but you just ended up grunting in pain at the attempt, coughing a bit.

"We'll miss you." Bela said. She placed a kiss to your cheek before standing up, the wetness of her tears lingering on your cheek.

Cassandra sniffled. "Terribly so. But we'll look after the little one, promise." Cassandra stroked your arm before standing next to Bela.

Daniela picked up your hand and looked up at her Mother. "It should be me lying here. His shots were meant for me, not you, you stupid little human. Why would you do that? It's not fair, you were supposed to be with us forever." Daniela wiped at her tears. "You said forever and now you're leaving us. Like two peas in a pod, you and Mother broke your promises. You stupid, stupid human, it should've been me." Daniela muttered those last few words to herself.

You gave her hand the tightest squeeze you could muster. "S-s-sor-sorry." Daniela brought your hand up to her mouth, her tears hitting the back of your hand. "Sorry."

Daniela pressed a kiss to your hand and then your forehead. "You better come back to us. I don't care how, just come back." Daniela whispered in your ear before she pushed herself up and went to stand with Bela and Cassandra.

Now it was Alcina's turn to say goodbye. You were fading faster, as your body was succumbing to your wounds.

"Y/N, my dear, tu esti totul pentru mine. Your spirit will live on in our child, I'm sure. She'll have your humour, your wisdom, and she'll have all of the love I can give her as I gave to you." Alcina placed one more kiss upon your forehead. "Goodbye, my love, may we meet again someday." Alcina went to rise but you moved your hand around to find hers. You could see her eyebrow raise through your fuzzy eyesight.

"Anastasia." You said softly. Alcina frowned. "Baby." You wheezed out.

Alcina smiled. "Anastasia. She who will rise again." Alcina said. "Sleep well, my darling. Our Anastasia will be taken care of." Alcina caressed your cheek before moving out of Mother Miranda's way.

You felt your eyes flutter close and you felt your breathing start to hurt less and less. Feeling the faint coldness of something against you as your breathing started to slow down. You heard soft cries as your hearing started to diminish. You felt at peace knowing that you were surrounded by the ones you called your family, knowing that they'd take great care of Anastasia. You felt at peace as you took your last breathe, your world now dark and quiet. As Mother Miranda had said while she sat beside you, "In each loss there is a gain, as in every gain there is a loss. and with each new ending comes a new beginning."

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Memory

Summary: Somethings wrong, you just aren’t sure what until it’s too late. 

Genre: Angst

Warning: Implied Torture 

Word Count: 2,278

* * * * * *

Your feet slide across the hardwood floors of the compounds common room. You reach out and use the wall to spin yourself around the corner. A broad smile on your lips at the sight of the Quinjet landing through the windows.

The rest of your team watches your excitement with amused smiles. 

They’d been expecting you to react this way. It’s not often that you and Natasha are apart for months at a time like this. 

The second you see her red hair flowing down her shoulders as she rounds the corner, you’re running over.

“Natty!” 

Green eyes widen when your body collides with hers. Your arms wound around her neck as you hug her close and it takes her a moment to hug back. One arm wrapping around your back.

Pulling away, you expect your face to be littered with kisses but she simply smiles and steps away.

“Hi.” She says, hand on your upper arm and sliding away as she moves over to everyone. 

Hi? That’s it?

You frown and grab her hand, tugging a little until she turns to face you,“ is everything alright? Did something happen on your mission?” 

Her head tilts in that adorable way you love and she smiles again,“ everything’s fine.” And then she’s walking away again.

You watch closely as she interacts with the team just as she always does. For the most part she does in fact seem fine. She doesn’t miss a beat in her playful and witty banter with everyone else.

Which just leads you to believe that her problem lies with you. 

Since when does she not kiss you after a mission? And one that lasted four months? Natasha would’ve ignored the entire team just to drag you back to your room and make up for lost time. 

Your thought is further supported throughout the following weeks. 

Natasha doesn’t sleep in your room with you like usual, she doesn’t kiss you when she sees you in the kitchen in the morning, she doesn’t fall into your lap during movie night, and you rarely see her in the compound during the day.

But Tony tells you he sees her all the time in the communications hub, in the med bay, and even once or twice in his lab. Steve and Bucky spend their usual mornings in the gym with her and she even has tea with Wanda at noon. 

She’s handling whatever issues the two of you have passively. When she sees you she smiles and speaks but makes a point to not touch you, and the few times she does it’s just a hand on your shoulder or your arm.

You’d finally had enough one day and went to find her. It was night and you expected her to be in her room, instead you find her in the commons, eyes watching outside the window intently.

“Natasha,” you speak softly, grabbing her attention as you sit beside her on the couch, making sure there’s a bit of distance between you two just in case she didn’t want to touch you.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” She smiles.

“Um, I was actually hoping we could talk,” her brows furrow,“ I’m not sure wh-”

“Sup ladies, you joining us tonight?” Sam suddenly walks in, bowl of popcorn in one hand and drink in the other. 

You frown immediately.

“Joining you for what?” Natasha asks, and you figure it’s her way of avoiding talking to you. 

Your frown deepens when Bucky, Steve, and Tony enter as well.

“Me and Stark have been introducing Game of Thrones to the fossils here.” Sam nods his head to the super soldiers.

Right, it’s Wednesday. The only day the two soldiers set aside to catch up with the rest of the world. You’d forgotten.

“Actually we’re gonna skip this time. Me and Nat were-” 

Suddenly the room is plunged into darkness. An instant wave of confusion washes over every member of the team. 

Instinctively your hand reaches beside you, only to come up empty. She wasn’t that far away.

“Tasha?” You frown, squinting to find her.

Steve’s authoritative voice rings out, seemingly louder in the dark,“ Stark, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” his face is barely lit up by the phone he pulls out. Blue tinting the frown on his eyebrows,“ the back up generator is down.”

“Well get it ba-”

Steve’s command is cut short by the sound of shattering glass.

The moonlight just barely shines into the room and gives way to the small canisters on the floor by the broken window. But it’s still too dark for anyone to see the gas pouring from them, the only sign being quiet hiss.

Still there’s no time to stop it and no way to know how with your lack of sight.

As the foreign substance fills your lungs with each breath, your head gets foggy, your limbs growing heavier, and you find it hard to speak. 

Thuds sound around you and you pick up on the panicked, drowsy voices of Steve and Bucky. Their enhanced abilities no doubt fighting this off better than everyone else.

Bright lights flicker through the room and you barely recognize them as flashlights. 

Just before everything fades to black, a light flashes above you, and you see Natasha standing over you. 

“I want this one.” She speaks, green eyes full of malice.

* * * * * *

When you come to again, it’s because of the volts of electricity coursing over and through your body. You shake in your seated position until it wears off. 

Exhaustively, you look around, eyes adjusting to the light and taking in your surroundings. 

The place is unfamiliar. But the person in front of you is.

“Natasha?” A stint of joy passes through you, until you remember what you’d seen before passing out.

You start to put two and two together. 

The HYDRA symbol on the walls. Natasha’s odd behavior lately. Her last mission being in Siberia to take down the last H.Y.D.R.A base. She’d come back okay for the most part and you assumed it was a success.

It was but for them. They got to her. What they’d done, you aren’t sure. But it’s clear she isn’t all there. 

Before you can say anything though an instant searing pain shoots through you. Through jerks of your body, you see Natasha’s hand raised, another widow’s bit missing from her wrist. 

“Please,” you breathe, feeling the effects of the electricity,“ Natasha, don’t.” 

She trades the widow’s bites for a knife. Pulling it from her utility belt.

Taking deliberately dangerous steps towards you until she’s at your side. 

The heart inside you that completely belongs to her, breaks as she holds the knife to your cheek. 

Maliciousness still sits in her eyes and it hurts you more than whatever she has planned for you physically. It’s so far off from the love that had been there. She use to look at you like you were her entire universe, now she stares through you like you’re- a mission.

As she wreaks havoc on your body, you try to dissociate. Natasha would never. This isn’t your Natasha. This is H.Y.D.R.A’s sick joke manifested through the woman you love. 

It drags on for hours until you’re only held up by the restraints of the chair. 

A proud smirk plays on Natasha’s face as she takes in the damage she’s done to you. And she’s ready to continue but becomes frozen in place as her eyes catch the shimmer that comes from your neck. Light bounces off the jewelry on your neck, the slightest red tinted glimmer flashing her eyes.

H.Y.R.D.A made a mistake. 

In their brainwashing they’d wiped away the memories of recent months. The last ten months to be exact. Which just so happens to encompass the entirety of your romantic relationship with her. 

You’d been friends for years so those memories lasted and when they told her to “act natural” she knew to continue being close to you. But she just couldn’t remember that your relationship was more intimate than that.

The mistake lies in remembering. 

Remembering that she loves you beyond friendship serves as a trigger. 

Seeing the black diamond and ruby ring hanging around your neck pulls those memories to the surface.

Images flicker through that part of her mind that felt foggy. Moments spent alone with you. Your hands on her. Your admissions of love. Her admissions of love. Spoken and unspoken promises.

Your eyes barely open, head hanging low, but you notice the break. You look up exhaustedly to see her staring at you, a deep frown on her brows.

“T-” it’s a struggle to find the energy to speak,“ Tash pl- please.” 

Hearing your broken voice tugs at feelings she forgot were there and the fog lifts. 

When her reality sets in she feels her heart shatter. Her recovering mind starts to understand what she’s done and the weight of her actions forces her to her knees.

You see this and the hope that had slipped away hours ago returns.“ Tasha,” her broken green eyes meet yours and despite the pain you’re feeling, you have to assure her,“ it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the strength in your words even though your weak, or the confidence you seem to have in her even though she’s done this to you. Whatever hits her first drives her to action.

She quickly unties you from the chair and catches you before your body can slump to the floor. 

Mentally, she’s cursing herself. A self-hatred stronger than ever blossoms within her. 

She hurt you. She broke you physically, emotionally, and there is for sure to be mental damage. The one person in this world that had loved her and proved to her that she was worth loving, she’d hurt. 

The fact that you still haven’t given up on her despite it all makes the hate grow. 

You’re too in and out to pay attention to how you get out. Natasha had fought a handful of people, there were flashing lights, did you hear gunshots? 

Either way you get out. And the second you’re eased into a chair, you’re out. 

Just like before, you’re dazed and confused when you come to. Except this time the lights are brighter. There are no HYDRA symbols around and you do in fact recognize where you are.

The med bay at the compound. 

Your heart beats in time with the beeps of the machine beside you. Despite the chill on majority of your body, your hand is encompassed with warmth. Once you realize who it’s coming from, that warmth spreads over you. 

Despite how tired you feel and how it seems to take more energy than you have to move, you lift the red head’s hand up to your mouth, and press a kiss to the back of it. 

This stirs her awake and when she looks at you, her green eyes tell the story of how exhausted this had all made her as well. But she pulls a small smile and you swear that heals the internal wounds you suffered from.

“I’m sorry.” She chokes out, seconds after her eyes have scanned your body.

You’re quick to wipe away the tears that pour from her eyes,“ it’s okay.”

Natasha sits up, pulling her hand from yours.“ You should hate me, you should be telling me you never want to see me again.”

“I love you. I’m in love with Natalia Romanova. I know who you are and that wasn’t you. We both know that wasn’t you. HYDRA-”

“It doesn’t matter what HYDRA did because I’m the one who hurt you. I electrocuted you Y/n! I cut and beat you.” 

She’s telling you as if you’d forgotten. As if you can’t still feel the pain like it’s still happening. 

You look down,“ what made you stop?” 

Her anger slips away just a little,“ the ring.”

A smile instantly hits your lips and you gently pick up said ring. 

You remember when she gave it to you. She was scared you would think she was moving too fast and she was scared that what you had would indeed last forever. She asked you to wear it around your neck until you both were ready for you to wear it on your finger. It was a promise that the day would come.

“You stopped because you remembered that you love me.” You clarify.“ I knew something was off when you came back from your mission. You just smiled at me instead of kissing me like usual. HYDRA did more than brainwash you, didn’t they?”��

She twiddles her fingers in her lap and nods,“ they took the memories I had of dating you. I remembered everything but that. I knew we were friends, I knew the team was more than my team. Just not that you were my girlfriend.” 

“But it’s all back now?” 

“Mostly. I can still feel like I’m missing things, like there are holes in the past, but it’s coming back. I’m assuming since I wasn’t. . .gone too long, it’s coming back faster.”

Silence falls over you both for a moment. No doubt time used to process all that’s went down. It’ll take longer to do so completely, and more than just silence, but it’s what you have for now. And you have each other, which you believe is going to be the key to repairing what’s been broken in you both but mainly Natasha.

“Hey,” you nod to her and grab her hand,“ it’s clear you don’t think everything will be okay but it will. I’m not leaving you Natasha, I’m right here until you don’t need me to be.”

Green eyes snap up to yours at your words. Mainly that last statement.“ I’ll always need you Y/n.”

* * * * * *

[homerjacksons]

Sonny Carisi Week Day 1: heartbeat Word Count: 2118 Pairing: Starisi Summary: Sonny is shot and Peter’s afraid of losing his constant AO3

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Everything seems to slow down, all sound fading away until all Peter can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears, loud, fast, urgent. He swears it stops for a second, a whole moment that drags on for ages as something wet hits his face, splatters his coat, and Sonny goes down in front of him.

—

Peter’s hesitant as he rests his hand against Sonny’s chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart. He doesn’t do this, he doesn’t kiss colleagues, friends, men he’s not dating, but God, he wants to kiss Sonny in this moment.

Sonny laughs, shy and sweet, ducking his head. “Can you feel that?”

“What?”

“How crazy my heart is going.”

Peter laughs and nods, relishing in the feel of it beneath his palm, full of life, full of passion, full of what he hopes is want and affection, too.

He meets Sonny's eyes, wide and dark and shining, and he knows he’ll never get tired of the feel of that heartbeat for as long as he lives.

“I’d like to kiss you now, if that’s alright with you,” Peter says, voice pitched low. He’s grateful for how steady it sounds when he feels anything but.

Sonny swallows, nodding as he’s already closing the distance. His lips press against Peter’s, tentative and hungry at once, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask for everything he wants.

Like he’s not sure Peter would give him absolutely anything he asked for.

As he cups Sonny’s jaw, deepening the kiss, he keeps one hand on his chest, tethered to his lifeline; Sonny’s heartbeat.

—

For a brief moment, he wonders if the heartbeat he can hear is Sonny’s and not his own, blinked out before Peter could even react to the vague memory of a gunshot.

But then it roars back to life, pounding painfully against his own ribs, and the rest of the world roars to life with it, too much noise and confusion as people scream and run and cry and armed officers unholster guns, spinning on the spot to see where the shot came from.

Peter’s knees hit the pavement hard as his fingers fly to Sonny’s neck, pressing down amongst the mess of blood. 

Too much blood. Peter could see it draining from his face as he reached feebly for Peter’s hands.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Peter said, voice surprisingly firm and authoritative.

Sonny squeezed Peter’s wrist, and squeezed his eyes shut at the same time as he brought one of Peter’s hands down to his chest. For one painful moment, he couldn’t feel a heartbeat at all, but eventually he found it, weak against his palm, and he felt his own heart stutter in his chest.

“Look at me,” Peter ordered, but Sonny’s grip on his wrist went as limp as the rest of him, and Peter choked back a sob. “Look at me, dammit. Sonny. Look at me.”

—

It’s a while after Peter’s breathing has evened out and his heart rate has gone back down and he’s right on the edge of sleep, willing himself to find the strength to get up, to not fall asleep with Sonny’s hand in his hair, to not lean into the calm, the comfort that Sonny radiates and ruin their agreement, that he notices Sonny’s heart is still pounding hard and fast and loud against his ear.

He lifts his head to look at Sonny, suddenly wide awake and concerned. Sonny’s wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling, but he lowers his gaze and manages a soft smile, hand falling comfortably around Peter.

“You okay?” He asks cautiously, studying Sonny’s features.

“Course,” he replies easily, stretching out lazily, feigning nonchalance, but Peter knows him better than that.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He flops down beside Sonny and turns towards him, resting a hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling the erratic thump of its beat continue against his palm.

For a while, Sonny doesn’t speak, but eventually he closes a hand over Peters, screwing his eyes shut like he can’t bear to look at Peter, can’t bear to be seen.

“I want more,” he whispers into the dark. When Peter doesn’t respond, he adds, “Of you. Of this. I want more than casual.”

Peter can feel Sonny’s heart attempting to break free from his chest beneath his hand, and he can’t help but laugh, relief and affection flooding him in waves as he presses his face into the crook of Sonny’s neck.

Sonny sighs, pulling his hand back, but Peter just grabs for it again, pressing himself further into Sonny’s side, hooking a leg over him so he can’t escape the moment.

“I want that too.”

—

“Hey.”

Peter startles at the sound of Liv's voice cutting through the silence like a knife, harsh and unnecessary and borderline painful.

Instead of taking the seat beside him, she crouches down in front of him, taking his hands in hers as she forces eye contact.

He can see Sonny’s blood still caked into the beds of his fingernails and he feels bile rise to the back of his throat and he lets his eyes fall shut, swallowing the feeling back down.

“Why don’t you get some rest,” Liv suggests gently, running her thumb over his blood-stained hands.

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut tighter before looking at her through bleary, unfocused eyes. “I need to be here.”

She nods, like she already knew that would be his answer, and offers him a small, sad smile.

He realises he ought to say something, to comfort her back. She cares about Sonny too, has known him longer than Peter has. But the words get lodged in the back of his throat and he can’t seem to push past it, so he gives up, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

He’s come apart in front of her once before. He doesn't much fancy doing it again.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she says in a voice made of steel, and he bites back the anger it ignites in him. It’s not her he’s angry at.

“Yeah,” he manages, voice strangled and hoarse, and he cringes at the sound of it.

She doesn’t try to speak again after that. She just takes a seat beside him, placing a coffee, a bottle of water and a granola bar on the empty seat on his other side, and settles in for the wait.

—

Peter startles awake, confused at first, before he realises Sonny’s sitting upright beside him, breathing ragged. He eases himself up, placing a gentle hand on Sonny’s arm, which Sonny flinches away from instinctively, brain still in danger mode from whatever he’d dreamed about, before relaxing into Peter’s touch with a shaky sigh.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks gently, and Sonny shakes his head.

After a beat, a moment of hesitation, Peter sits behind Sonny, wrapping his arms around him, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as Sonny rests back against his chest, body trembling.

“You’re okay,” Peter whispers, taking Sonny’s hand in one of his own, his other hand spreading across Sonny’s heart.

He can feel the erratic, panicked heartbeat beneath his hand as shivers run through Sonny’s body, and he sighs, resting his chin on Sonny’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

He repeats it in a whisper, like a mantra, holding Sonny close, feeling as his heart gradually slows to what he’s used to listening to in the mornings, in those pockets of time where it’s just them and neither of them have to be anywhere or do anything.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers again fiercely, long after Sonny’s fallen back asleep. “Always.”

—

Amanda and Fin join at some point, then Kat, then Phoebe and Celine, and eventually the waiting room is full of their makeshift family and beyond, officers he’s never even seen before standing by in solidarity for a man who they still consider family despite him trading a gun and badge for fancy shoes and a briefcase.

It catches him off guard and makes him feel out of place in a way he hasn’t for a long time, and he excuses himself, beelining for the bathroom, desperate for fresh air but not willing to go as far as the doors.

He takes a few, deep, steady breaths, splashing water on his face before gripping the sink in a vice grip.

“Peter?” He hears from outside, and his heart plummets to his stomach. “Olivia said you’d come this way. Are you okay?”

Peter bites back a laugh, bitterness rising in his throat again, this time tainted with guilt. Mrs Carisi was coming to check if he was okay while her son was having God knows what done to him in an attempt to save his life. He feels like an ass.

“I’m fine, Mrs—Sofia,” he opens the bathroom door, not bothering to force a smile.

She smiles sadly at him and pulls him to her, and it takes everything he has not to cry as he hugs her back fiercely.

—

With the way Peter’s heart’s slamming against his ribs and his breath is coming in short, sharp gasps, anyone would think he’d run the whole way from the courthouse.

“Sonny—“ he manages as he catches sight of Liv.

“He’s okay,” she cuts him off before he can let loose every terrible thought he’s concocted on his way over here.

She leads him to an ambulance, and it isn’t until he sets eyes on Sonny sitting in the back, not a visible mark on him, that he finally feels as though he can breathe.

Sonny’s eyes meet Peter’s from across the road and he smiles, warm and inviting, if a little tired, and Peter feels his eyes blur with tears.

“What are you doing here?” Sonny asks, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder—they’ve disclosed and everyone knows, but they don’t do this when they’re at work, they’re just colleagues, saving everything else for home—and catches Peter's eye, looking concerned.

“Making sure you’re okay.” He doesn’t mean to sound angry, but it comes out harsh as relief floods him at seeing Sonny whole and untouched in front of him. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Sonny ducks his head, looking guilty but also battling a smile. “S’kinda the job,” he mutters, cupping Peter’s cheek.

“I thought—“

“I’m okay,” Sonny cuts him off, grabbing his hand to press it to his chest, his favourite spot. Sonny’s heart beats strong and steady beneath his hand, and he hands his head, a dry sob escaping his lips.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, more for his own benefit than Sonny’s.

“Always,” Sonny whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

—

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Peter drifts in and out of sleep to the sound of Sonny’s heartbeat beneath his ear, safely enclosed in his chest, still pumping, still breathing, still alive.

Alive, but he nearly wasn’t. The bullet had nicked his artery and they’d almost lost him multiple times.

But he was alive. Alive and safe and here where Peter could touch him, even if he wasn’t awake yet.

He starts as a gentle hand threads its way into his hair, and the sleep-hazed part of his brain wants to relax into it, let it lull him to sleep, but he snaps his head up, desperate to see those bright blue eyes.

They’re not as bright as usual, dulled by sleep and pain meds and a close call with death, but they’re still warm as they crinkle at the edges, lips quirking up in a tired smile.

“Hey, you,” Sonny croaks out, and Peter can’t help himself. Finally, the dam breaks, and Peter’s face is wet with tears.

Even through his tear-blurred vision, he doesn’t miss the way Sonny’s smile slips from his face, concern taking over his features.

“I’m okay,” Sonny says quietly as Peter’s hands find his, gripping tight. “We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out, pushing it past the tightness in his chest as laughter bubbles up inside of him from nowhere. Relief, he thinks, but god, he knows he must look a mess. “Yeah, we’re okay. You’re okay.”

Sonny smiles again and gives his hands a squeeze.

“I love you.”

“God,” Peter chokes out, pressing his face into Sonny’s chest for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I love you, too. So much.”

He lays a hand on Sonny’s chest, fingers splayed wide, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath his palm, and presses a kiss to Sonny’s knuckles still gripped tightly in his own hand.

Sonny was alive. He was okay. His heart was beating.

He was safe.

[chancelloramidala]

Staring at the Sun ➤ Evan Buckley

Chapter One: You’re Fucking Joking.

Warnings: shooting, gunshot, blood, hospitals

Masterlist

Injuries on the job, especially as a firefighter, was nothing new. You had to be ready to endure whatever came at you, it was apart of the job description to be frank. But nothing could prepare Marceline Pierce for getting fucking shot, not once, but twice. The first bullet hit her in the thigh, luckily barely missing her femoral artery and stayed lodged in there, while the second on swiped clean through her left abdomen.

The call was to an cocaine overdose at a suburban mansion, and whilst everyone else was helping the victim, Marceline and Buck searched the rest of the house for the person who dialed 9-1-1. They made the stupid decision to split up so they could more ground because when I tell you the mansion was huge, it was. That’s when Marceline found who they were looking for in the bathroom.

It was a white male, early thirties and completely coked up by the smudged white lines on the marbled counter along with the white power covering his nose. He looked severely disheveled and was waving a gun around, muttering to himself and pacing back and forth. Marceline tried to talk the guy down, keeping her hands up to show that no she wasn’t a threat but didn’t keep her guard down. If worse came to worse, she was going to try and take the gun.

After that, everything was kind of... hard for her to remember if you could believe it. There were certain things she could remember, like how she was carefully walking towards the guy, Johnny that was his name, when Buck suddenly entered the room in search for Marceline. Johnny then pointed to gun at Buck, the last person, she wanted to be near a fucking gun.

So she acted on instinct, her mind yelling at her to make sure Buck was safe. Marceline charged towards Johnny, and when her hands were wrapped around his wrists, it went off and her left thigh was on fire. But it didn’t matter, Buck was still in danger. She groaned, biting through the pain as she staggering towards Johnny when he shot at her again but this time aiming for her side.

That’s when she finally fell, sort of slow-mo like as she bled onto the tiled floors.

Bobby was suddenly hovering over her, so was Chimney. Talking was hard at the time, so she just stared blankly at her Captain as one of the paramedics tried to stabilize her for transport. Buck was suddenly there too, he looked angry and seemed to be shouting but to be honest, Marceline couldn’t hear what he was saying.

But... where was Johnny?

Was the gun away?

Was Buck safe now?

Her mind was spinning.

She was then inside of the ambulance, Bobby beside her and holding her hand as he and Chimeny told her to stay awake. And Marceline tried, she really did. 

But, fuck, her eyes were heavy, almost as if someone put bricks on them.

So against her Captain’s orders, she slept.

Later, much later, Marceline woke up in a hospital room to the beeping of machines she was hooked up on and a cartoon playing incessantly on the shitty TV. Sitting beside her was her best friend, roommate, and ex-girlfriend Nicolette Bishop.

Apparently, she’s been out for four days from a medically induced coma after the shooting incident. Her team has been visiting since then, leaving small gifts and reading to her until she woke up. Even Nic’s daughter, Gemma came to visit a few times and proof of that was her poorly painted toenails and drawings left by her bedside.

Even though she was glad to be alive, Marceline couldn’t help but wonder if Buck was okay. Her chest was tight with anxiety at that thought.

Were her efforts in vain?

Did she really get fucking shot for nothing?

“No, Buck’s fine.” Nic told her as she fluffed Marceline’s pillow for the hundredth time that hour. “He visited you while you were out, just talking about random things, I didn’t really hear him.”

She relaxed at that, inwardly smiling at the fact that he was here when she was asleep.

The doctor said she’d be out of commission for at least a month and a half to heal properly and then another for physical therapy and check-ups.

Marceline fucking hated that. She verbalized that to her doctor, who wasn’t surprised and just shrugged before leaving.

What was she supposed to do till then? Sit her ass on the couch in front of the television and watch shitty reality TV? Plus, she knew Nic was going to baby the hell out of her till she could walk by herself.

But Nic wasn’t the only person ready to help Marceline.

By the time Marceline was released from the hospital, the 118 had already prepared a schedule where they’d take turns to spend the afternoon with her when they had the days off.

The last thing she wanted as her team to step into her home, one of the few places where she could separate her work life with her home life. But it’s not like she was able to have a say in any of this.

Nic was absolutely thrilled for the extra help, knowing that she’d be a little preoccupied from her job as a caretaker to take anymore personal days off, when only the month before Gemma was sick with a stomach bug.

For the next two months and a half, Marceline was bombarded by Bobby’s cooking, Chimney’s horrible jokes, and Hen’s warm hugs. As for Buck? Well he visited a little less than the rest of them, continuously thanking her for basically saving his life. The poor woman didn’t know how to respond to this, only lamely shrugging and picking at her nails while saying, “I just did what anyone else would do...” for the one’s they love...

In between those heartfelt visits, Athena Grant came by to give her a stern talking to about charging at someone with a loaded weapon. For as long as Marceline could remember, Athena was the mother-figure she never had growing up in the foster system and always fretted when she did something a little too reckless on the job.

“What the hell were you thinking? That druggie had a gun pointing at you, Marceline! You’re obviously not bulletproof!” Athena would go on a tangent, wagging her finger at the younger woman. 

“But he pointed the gun at Buck too, Athena!” Marceline shot back with a type of ferocity that the cop never saw before. “I...I didn’t think at the time, I know that but... I didn’t care what happened to me.” she chewed at her lower lip as she stared at the older woman. “Buck was in danger, I just- I had to- I would never forgive myself if something-” happened to him.

Marceline broke down, her hands now shaking as tears spilled out of her eyes. She broke eye contact with Athena, covering her face with her shaky hands to hid how embarrassed and vulnerable she felt in this moment.

Athena watched the young woman that she considered one of her own as she was struck with a realization. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Marceline whimpered, curling herself in a ball that wouldn’t break her stitches.

“Oh, baby,” Athena sat down next to her and wrapped her arms around the weeping woman before pulling her into a side hug. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, I was just worried about you.” she placed a kiss to Marceline’s hair. “But I understand. We do crazy things for the people we love.”

Marceline was finally cleared to go back to work in the next two weeks. Her confession was only known to Athena and Nic (the latter only learning this piece of information months beforehand with a drunk Marceline going on and on about why she loves Buck), and was never spoken about again.

But after her sort of near death situation, Marceline decided that she should tell Buck how she feels. Even if he was a self-diagnosed sex addict. It didn’t matter. Life was too short to have any regrets, right?

Marceline came to her first day back with anxiety settling in her bloodstream, her blue duffel bag hung over her shoulder. She was glad that there was no one greeting her or anything, it was as if she never got shot. All she wanted was to get back to work and have everything go by smoothly. Then she walked over to her locker, “PIERCE” written in neat, bold handwriting and stuffed her things inside.

“Mars, come up, breakfast is getting cold!” Bobby shouted over the railing.

She grinned. God, she missed Bobby’s cooking. Not that she didn’t have constant access to it because there were literally tons of leftovers currently sitting in her fridge, but it was different when Bobby cooked at the fire station. Now, it was actually a home cooked meal.

“Alright, Bobby, hold on,” she yelled back at him before ascending up the stairs, holding the railing because wow did these steps get bigger somehow?

And as she finally reached the top steps, she almost immediately wanted to turn around run away.

“Welcome back, Marceline!” everyone cheered and smiled excitedly underneath a large, brightly colored banner hung up above.

Fuck, this is not what she wanted. “Oh gosh,” she started, her hand finding it’s way into her hair. “You guys really didn’t have to-”

“Ba-ba-ba,” Chimney shook his head and stepped forward before slinging his arm around her shoulder. “Yes we did, we’ve missed your brooding presence inside the truck and had to celebrate your return.”

"Look, we know you didn’t want a big welcome back kind of party, so it’s just us, some cake, and pure vibes.” Hen looked at Marceline thoughtfully with a small smile.

It really was just Bobby, Hen, Chimney, and Athena. The presence of Buck was missing, but that wasn’t too surprising, he tended to be late to almost everything.

Bobby then held up a cake with a bright smile. “It’s ice cream cake, your favorite.”

Yes, ice cream cake is indeed Marceline’s favorite. And, yes, she really did not want to make a big deal about her return... but the hopeful and expecting looks on her teams faces made her throw away her previous reservations.

“Alright, fine.” she sighed before playfully shoving Chimney’s arm off of her shoulder. “I guess, I’ll enjoy myself until we have a call.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit!” Athena smiled and clapped her hands together. “Okay, here are the plates and the utensils-”

“Hey guys, sorry for being late,” Buck’s voice filled the air and Marceline almost instantly whipped around with a dumbest smile on her face. “But I wanted to bring Abby,”

Abby? Who the fuck was Abby?

Marceline’s smile wavered at the sight of a redheaded woman who was at least double her own age standing behind Buck. With closer inspection, they were holding hands.

Oh...

“That’s alright Buck, c’mon and get some cake before Marceline eats the whole thing,” Bobby smiled at the other man and waved the couple over.

"Well, I felt a little silly coming here without anything so I brought brownies,” Abby smiled lightly, holding up store-bought brownies as she walked over.

“All food is welcomed,” Athena replied in kind to her before sneaking at glance at Marceline who stood scarily still and was obviously biting back a few emotions.

Abby nodded and placed the brownies on the table as she took a plate that Buck handed her before turning her attention to Marceline. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Abby, I’ve heard great things about you”

Marceline hated how almost on sight she hated Abby’s guts. And it was over a stupid fucking reason, a boy. God, way to be less of a fucking feminist, Marceline.

So she put on one of her best “this is fine, I’m perfectly okay” which meant a tight smile plastered on her face and shoved every dark and ugly emotion she had into the deepest parts of her soul.

You could do this, you can fake being nice and perfectly okay, you’ve done this your whole life.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Abby, I’m Marceline,”

@skyslowalking​ & @beelarson 4 u darlings <3​

[crystalstar8]

Eye of the Sky

ch. 4

Pairing: Jimmy K x oc

Genre: heist au, action

word count: 2,174

warnings: action, violence, gun violence, car chases, car crashes, swearing, blood probably

notes: heist au, action, adventure, crime, ooc namjoon, because he has his license lol

Summary: Ten years ago, Namjoon's father was killed by his best friend and partner in crime, A man who now goes by the name Hawthorne. Now, Namjoon wants to get into the family business in order to avenge his father's death. After finding the man who killed his father, Namjoon builds a team and creates an elaborate plan to finally take the man down.

But will they be able to get through Hawthorne's state-of-the-art security system? And will they succeed with a mysterious assassin chasing them? Let's just say, it's a good thing Namjoon's team members keep surprising him with useful skills.

@mozy-j  @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @daechwitad-2

The cafe was bustling around Namjoon as he sat in the corner, flicking his eyes to the door. Almost every table was taken by someone on their laptop, friends meeting each other, or just someone who needed to get out to have a coffee and read the paper.

               The bell above the door jingled and Namjoon looked up. A woman in a purple blazer stepped into the café and looked around. Once she spotted Namjoon’s book he was reading, she headed over and sat across from him. Namjoon bookmarked his book and set it down.

               “Are you Namjoon?” she asked, her wide eyes darting around the café.

               “Yes,” he said. “You must be Ishani.”

               She nodded and brought all her attention onto Namjoon. She looked to be about his age, maybe a bit older, with dark skin and wavy hair pulled back away from her face.

               “This is dangerous, what you’re doing,” she said in a low voice. Namjoon had to lean in and strain to hear her. “Hawthorne is a dangerous man. The only reason I’m even still alive is because I went back to India after I was fired. My family wouldn’t let him find me there.”

               “But you came back?” Namjoon asked.

               “To get my tech back,” Ishani said. “He stole my work. I at least want to be paid and credited for it.”

               “That’s fair,” said Namjoon. “But, you know what we’re doing, right?”

               “Yes. Yoongi told me,” she said with a smirk. “I’m looking forward to seeing that bastard fall.”

               Namjoon grinned. Two lattes were set down in front of them. Namjoon looked up at the waiter. It was Jimin.

               “Can I get you two anything else?” Jimin asked.

               “No thank you,” said Namjoon.

               “She’s so pretty,” Jungkook spoke up through the earpiece in Namjoon’s ear. “Tell her that her Korean is really good.”

               Namjoon ignored him. He wasn’t going to flirt for a man a block away on a roof with binoculars.

               “Didn’t she study here?” Jimin said from behind the counter where he was making drinks for customers. “Of course her Korean is good, you fool.”

               “This is an inappropriate use of these earpieces, guys,” Yoongi said from Namjoon’s apartment where he was watching through the cameras in the street and in the building.

               “I have a floor plan of the lab,” Ishani said, sliding a folded newspaper across the table. Namjoon opened it to find a flash drive tucked inside. “I marked where my office was. The code to the door is 5239. If everything is untouched, the drive should be in the bottom left drawer in my desk. It’s locked. You’ll have to break in.”

               “Thank you,” said Namjoon. “How is security at the lab?”

               “It’s nothing elaborate,” she said. “You’ll have to get ahold of a key card, or replicate one. There’s one other problem though.”

               Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

               “Hawthorne’s system uses facial recognition, along with a thumb print,” said Ishani. “The only face it will open for is Laurel Hawthorne. His son. You’ll need a pretty damn good look-a-like.”

               “Namjoon, don’t look now but check out the woman in the corner on a laptop,” said Jimin.

               “Wait, I thought this was an inappropriate use of the earpieces,” said Jungkook.

As subtly as he could, Namjoon glanced at the woman Jimin was talking about. With her back facing their table, she wore a light pink t-shirt and her blonde hair was up in a ponytail. She was working on her laptop, and Namjoon didn’t see anything unusual about her at first. Then he took a look at her computer screen. She was typing a random string of letters into her word document, eyes on the tiny camera window in the corner of her screen. The camera was aimed right at Namjoon and Ishani’s table. There was a purse on the table beside the woman, which she was reaching for.

               “Jimin-“ Namjoon started, but it was too late. The woman pulled a handgun from her bag and spun around, aiming right at Ishani. Namjoon leapt from his seat and pulled Ishani down, the bullet hitting the wall right where her head was.

               “Oh shit!” Jungkook yelled. “I’m on my way! I’m on my way!”

                               At the sound of the gunshot, the café erupted into chaos. People started screaming and running to the exit. Namjoon used the chaos to his advantage, passing Ishani off to Jimin, who snuck her out with the crowd. As soon as the café was cleared out, Namjoon kicked a table at the mysterious woman, who dropped the gun as she doubled over.

               In an attempt to grab the gun on the ground, they both circled each other, pushing tables and chairs in each other’s way. Namjoon eyed the gun under one of the tables and lunged for it. The woman tackled him, making him knock the gun further away. They struggled for a few seconds, Namjoon in a hold on the ground. He underestimated the woman’s strength. Finally, he flipped them over and threw her to the side. A car pulled up outside the café. Before he could make his escape, the woman threw herself at him, forcing them both to crash through the window and land on the sidewalk.

               Jimin was yelling at Namjoon from the passenger seat of the car. Namjoon kicked the woman away and hopped into the backseat of the car that had pulled up. The tires squealed as they drove off.

               “Who the hell was that?” Jungkook asked from the driver’s seat.

               Namjoon, who was still slumped in the back seat catching his breath said, “I have no idea.”

               “I didn’t recognize her,” Ishani said from the seat next to Namjoon’s. “Do you think Hawthorne sent her to stop us? How would he know what we’re doing?”

               “Get back to the apartment, ASAP,” Yoongi said through their earpieces.

               “You got it, chief,” said Jungkook, speeding down the streets of the city.

               “Wait, Jungkook, behind us,” Namjoon said, peeking over the backseat. A black SUV was fast approaching them. Before Jungkook could even react, the SUV slammed into them from behind, making their car swerve and fishtail. With wide eyes, Jungkook righted the car and sped away.

               “Namjoon, Ishani, get down,” said Jimin. He pulled a gun from his waistband and rolled the window down. Pulling his torso out of the window to sit on the ledge, Jimin aimed the gun at the SUV and fired several rounds. The bullets hit the bumper and one even hit the windshield, but the glass didn’t crack.

               “Does she have an armored car?” Jungkook asked. “Who the hell is she?”

               Jimin ignored him and continued firing at the SUV. He seemed to hit a tire because her car swerved and turned down a side street.

               “Fucking finally,” Jimin mumbled as he pulled himself back into the car. They sped away down the highway beside the Han River. As they stopped at an intersection, Namjoon listened to Yoongi talking into their earpieces.

               “I got a picture of her from the café cameras,” he was saying. “I’m trying to ID her but she’s not a Korean citizen. I’ll try to reach out but-“

               “Guys!” Ishani screamed, seconds before the SUV slammed into them from the side.

               The car tumbled over the guard rail and hit the water.

               There was a moment of panic within the car as it began sinking and filling with water.

               “Everyone, calm down!” Namjoon shouted. “We need to be able to hold our breath once the car fills all the way. Then we can open the doors and swim out. Make sure you’re all unbuckled right now.”

               “Jungkook isn’t awake,” Jimin said in a panicked voice. With shaking hands, he was unbuckling an unconscious Jungkook.

               “Get him to the surface,” said Namjoon. “Ishani?”

               She looked at him with dazed eyes and blood running down her face. At least her seatbelt was off. Before Namjoon could do anything else, the water rose all the way, and he and Jimin pushed their doors open, pulling Ishani and Jungkook out with them.

               Once they broke the surface, they began swimming to the shore, the current pulling them further down the river. They made it to the shore, climbing onto the cement. Namjoon rushed over to help Jimin pull Jungkook out of the water.

               He didn’t look good. There was a wound on his head and glass in his arm. At least nothing looked broken.

               “Come on, we need to get to a hospital or something,” said Namjoon.

               “No, you can’t go to a… -pital…I’m se-ing…car,” Yoongi’s garbled voice said through Namjoon’s earpiece.

               “He’s sending a car?” Jimin asked. “Is that what he said?”

               “I think so…” Namjoon trailed off and watched as the beat-up SUV pulled up near them. The blonde woman hopped out of the driver’s seat and aimed a handgun right at Namjoon. She didn’t hesitate to shoot.

               One bullet grazed his arm, the other hit his square in the chest. It knocked him on his back, punching the breath out of his lungs. As Namjoon laid there trying to catch his breath, the woman grabbed Ishani by the arm and pulled her towards the SUV.

               “Who are you?!” Jimin shouted. Ishani was struggling to get up from where she was laying beside the SUV.

               The woman didn’t respond. She only smirked, then dove straight into river.

               Jimin threw himself over Jungkook. Namjoon only had a split second to turn his back before the SUV exploded.

                 Once the ringing in his ears faded, Namjoon looked up. Jimin was peeling himself off of Jungkook. He looked behind him and his breath caught. Ishani was gone. Her body was one with the flaming wreckage of the SUV.

               “Fuck… FUCK!” Yoongi shouted. He sighed a crackling sigh then said, “Your -ide… almost there. Just -et ba-…”

               Another black SUV pulled up. Namjoon peeled himself off the ground and helped Jimin carry Jungkook to the car. They got him into the backseat with Jimin and Namjoon took the front seat. The man driving didn’t say a word to him. He wore a face mask over the bottom half of his face and sunglasses over his eyes.

               A soon as Namjoon was in his seat, he opened his jacket to see the bullet lodged in the center of his Kevlar vest. He hissed as he pulled it out, knowing there would be a nasty bruise under there later.

               “Who are you?” Namjoon asked.

               “A friend,” the driver said.

               Namjoon eyed the inside of the car, trying to gain some kind of insight to who this man is. The car was clean, everything looked brand new. The screen in the center counsel offered the time, outside temperature, and a compass telling them that they were headed south-east. The little insignia in the corner of the screen caught Namjoon’s attention though.

               “Pull over,” said Namjoon. “We’ll walk from here.”

               “What?” Jimin asked from the backseat. “We can’t carry him like this!”

               “We’re almost there-“ the man  began.

               “No, it’s okay. We can get there ourselves,” said Namjoon. “Stop the car.”

               “Hyung, what are you-“ Jimin said before being interrupted by Yoongi.

               “Namjoon. Trust me,” he said. “He said he’s a friend. Trust that he is.”

               Namjoon’s stomach twisted in knots the whole drive back to the apartment. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, but he know there would be no way to escape the car with an unconscious team member. When they pulled up to the front of Namjoon’s apartment building, he leapt out of the car and pulled Jungkook out of the backseat himself, carrying him bridal style through the doors of the building, Jimin stumbling to keep up.

               Once they were in the apartment, Namjoon laid Jungkook on the couch and went to Yoongi, who was at the desk. Namjoon tore his earpiece out and said, “What the hell? You said to trust you, and I really want to, but you know what this looks like right?”

               Jin, Taehyung, and Jimin, who was knelt next to Jungkook, stared at the exchange with wide eyes.

               “I can explain,” said Yoongi.

               “Yeah, you’d better fucking explain why our ride was NIS,” said Namjoon. Jin, Taehyung and Jimin gasped.

               “He’s a friend,” said Yoongi. “Just trust me. He’s with us.”

               “How can we be sure?” Namjoon asked.

               Yoongi sighed and looked away. “I don’t know.”

               “Then I can find another hacker,” said Namjoon.

               “Wait! Let him prove himself to you,” said Yoongi. “Next time you’re in trouble, let him get you out of it.”

               “Do you realize how risky that is?” Jin asked, coming around the couch to meet them at the desk. “We’d be putting everything on the line, just on sheer faith. We don’t even know you that well.”

               “I promise you, he wants this to happen as much as you all do,” said Yoongi. “He’ll do everything he can to take Hawthorne down.”

               “Then let him prove it,” said Namjoon. “And if he sabotages us, you both better run.”

[theentiregdtime]

maybe different is okay.

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday night movie night.

The selection screen of the Predator DVD is playing on a loop, Mac is in the kitchen popping popcorn, the lights are down low, and Dennis is twisting the cap off of his first beer of the evening. Everything in the apartment is as it should be.

Yep, perfectly normal movie night.

Except that it’s their first once since…

Dennis runs his thumb along the edge of the bottle, gazing into it like it’s a magic 8-ball about to reveal the secret to dating your lifetime best friend. It’s got nothing to share, though, aside from the sound of the liquid sloshing inside.

He made Mac promise, though. He made him promise it would be the same as always and he wouldn’t make it all weird. 

Nonetheless, Dennis is certain he’s going to Mac it up somehow. He’s going to lean over onto him or run his fingers through his hair or-

Well, they always do that shit. But he’s definitely doomed to do something strange and couple-y, and Dennis might not know what it’ll be yet, but it’s already too much. The overwhelming pre-embarrassment of it is twisting his stomach into half-hitch knots.

Sure, no one’s around to see it or make fun of them, but… Dennis still feels so visible and so self-conscious and so out.

He doesn’t want to feel that way tonight, doesn’t want to spoil Al Dillon getting impaled on an invisible blade just because he feels like the exact same fucking thing is happening to him, but with less blood.

“Here we go,” Mac hums like a dutiful wife as he sets the bowl down in the middle of the coffee table.

Dennis presses play on the DVD remote and Mac plops down in his seat so gracelessly, the sofa wobbles like an old waterbed.

He doesn’t know why he always waits for Mac to sit down before starting the movie- they’ve seen it quite literally thousands of times, to the point that they’ve memorized every line, every scene, every detail- to the point that nothing about it is new anymore.

But it’s their movie night, it’s something they do together, so Dennis always waits. He waits because Mac would do the same for him. He waits because, if he waited twenty years for Mac, he can wait another five minutes for him.

Dennis relaxes as well as he can manage as the 20th Century Fox logo makes a big fucking deal out of nothing for about a minute and a half. If Mac actually follows the rules, he’ll stay on his side and keep his hands to himself, and for once, just for one fucking night, he’ll focus his attention on the damn TV. They’ve never done this before, but he’s sure they can manage not to drape their legs together under the same blanket this one time, out of respect for Dennis’ lingering unease.

He scoops up a handful of popcorn and holds it in his cupped palm, tucked between his knees, picking pieces out and tossing them into his mouth as the opening credits fade into the stars and cut to a poorly animated, but still totally awesome spaceship hurtling towards Earth.

Mac makes the best popcorn. He always does. Every time Dennis tries, despite following the directions religiously, he cocks it up and burns it. Mac insists the package is bullshit and instructions are a liar sometimes, tells him he has to sense when it’s done with his heart- and that makes no goddamn sense, but Mac comes through like a hero every time. And he always melts butter in the microwave and sprinkles the perfect amount of salt on it, and suddenly, it seems ridiculous that Dennis ever tried to be with anybody else, because no one could make popcorn half as good as Mac does. And he’s so fucking relieved Mac isn’t making it for someone else and that he never will.

“What’s up?”

Dennis realizes he’s been staring.

He swallows hard and the warm, homey feeling in his stomach freezes over like he’s choked down a block of ice.

“I’m just, uh…” -he wants to curl into Mac like he usually does, doesn’t want it to have to mean anything, wants it to be simple and familiar and safe- “checking. Making sure you’re not gonna be weird.”

Mac whips his hands through the air in a cut-it-out slicing motion.

“No way, ba- bro,” he vows. “You won’t catch me slipping, I swear.”

He just slipped!

Dennis’ breath stutters nervously, falling into what he passes off as an annoyed sigh. He reaches for his beer and takes a much-needed swig. Desperately, he tries to focus on Dutch strolling up with a cigar between his teeth, strong arms threatening to burst out of his t-shirt, backdropped by a swarm of attack helicopters- which is normally such a cool entrance.

Dennis can’t appreciate it properly, though, or even pay attention to it, because Mac swipes the bottle off the table and takes a long, slow sip from it like its his own- Adam’s apple bobbing, lips slick against the rim, fingers clasped around the neck. When he sets it back down, he leaves it right in front of Dennis, as if encouraging him to take another drink and pass it back, as if they’re sharing the damned thing. Why Mac cannot simply go fetch his own lager from the fridge is beyond comprehension.

“It’s been a long time, General,” Dutch remarks.

Yeah, it’s been a long time, Dennis thinks as he watches his beer instead of the screen. It’s been decades of nights much closer than this, of nestling together on the sofa and sharing a handful of popcorn and drinking from the same bottle. It’s nothing new, it’s the same storm every week, so why does it feel like the clouds have parted and everything’s too clear? Why does it feel like the curtains are blown wide open and everyone can see in through the window? Like the veneer is gone? Like everything has changed? Like the whole world has shifted, and everyone on Earth felt it, and everyone is suddenly watching them?

That’s probably not what Dutch Schaefer is talking about, though. It’s just been a long time since he’s seen the General.

Dennis makes more than a few frustrated attempts to cozy into the couch, but no matter what he does, he can’t seem to find a position he can stand for more than five seconds- and he doesn’t know why, but he does know it’s really fucking irritating. He shuts his eyes and rolls his neck, and he can’t even focus on the movie, because it feels like he’s using all the strength left in him to hold his head up.

Usually, by now, they’re fully engaged and reciting the dialogue over the film word-for-word. Usually, they’re cheering and laughing and shouting at the characters as if they can hear them. Usually, at this point in the night, Mac’s arm is along the back of the couch and Dennis is leaning his head against it and they fit so well together. There are smoothly-carved puzzle pieces, there are chips stacked into a can, there are heaps of folded shirts fresh out of the dryer- and then there’s Mac and Dennis on a Tuesday night, curved against and wrapped around one another like they’re two halves of the same body.

But they’re out of sync tonight, because in all his genius, Dennis demanded that Mac mind his business- so he’s going to have to hold his own head up. It feels so fucking heavy.

When he makes a move for the bowl, he realizes Mac’s hand is already there and recoils from the wrist like a startled snake. Mac takes notice, out of the corner of his eye, and nonchalantly drops his fistful of popcorn into Dennis’ open hand. Then he grabs more for himself and goes right back to sitting miles and miles away like nothing ever happened.

Dennis doesn’t know how to react, so he doesn’t- just keeps his unblinking eyes aimed at the TV. They’re both looking on in eerie, unsettling quietude, like this is all part of some twisted experiment and they’re chained to their seats with their eyelids clothespinned open. They’re a couple of mannequins from a nuclear family posed in the living room right before the atom bomb drops.

The tension in the air hangs thick like jungle vines and the three feet of space between them feels like the thousands of light years Predator traveled to reach his hunting grounds on Earth. Awkward and uncomfortable are insufficient words to describe what this is, but if there’s one thing it isn’t- it’s definitely not fun.

It plays out like that for a while. The atom bomb never does drop on them, but the dread only grows with each passing minute, until it feels like Dennis’ insides are shifting and collapsing to make room for his anxiety to grow.

He’s always liked Predator, no matter how many times they make it their feature presentation, but it seems to have lost its magic. The blood splatters are grey and the gunshots are silent and the one-liners fall flat.

Everything is normal, so it should feel normal. The same components are there, but they aren’t in the right place. It’s like an earthquake has hit and everything’s toppled over and clattered and rolled away, and Dennis doesn’t know how to put it back exactly the way it was.

They’re hardly halfway through the movie when Mac’s hand lands on his thigh. Strong fingers curl around his bare skin, nails grazing against his leg hair, a warm palm burrowing into his flesh.

Dennis’ eyes drop to stare at it with cautious horror, like it’s an alien creature and it’s going to attack him if he makes even the slightest movement. He licks over his lips and gulps, mouth chapped and throat dry.

“Mac…”

No response. Mac is transfixed by the TV, watching intently through Predator’s thermal vision as if wrapped up in the mystery of what he looks like, as if it’s the first time he’s seen the damn movie. Maybe it is the first time he’s really, truly watched it instead of throwing kernels at Dennis or scratching his head as he rests it in his lap or pausing to make stupid jokes and earn a laugh from him.

Dennis clears his throat, but his voice still comes out small.

“Mac,” he repeats.

Mac’s wide eyes dart over to Dennis like he’s noticing him for the first time.

“What?” he asks, the stench of alcohol wafting off of his hot breath in waves.

“Arms and legs inside of the vehicle, man.”

Suddenly, Mac realizes what he’s doing and draws his hand back with all the sharpness of a rat narrowly escaping a spring trap.

“Dennis,” he whines, and oh hell, he’s going to complain, because Mac can’t possibly do one goddamn favor for his best friend without bitching and moaning about it all night, “this sucks, dude.”

God, it sucks so much.

“No, it doesn’t, Mac! It’s the same as it’s always been. Nothing is different.”

There’s a long silence in the room, no sound aside from the swelling Silvestrian music filling the empty space. Dennis doesn’t need a reply, because he already knows what Mac is going to say: it is different, man, they’re official now, Mac is his boyfriend or whatever, so he wants to be treated like it- or something along those lines. Not that any of it is a lie, but either way, he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

When Mac responds, that’s not what comes out.

“Maybe different is okay sometimes,” he says; gentle, kind, pleading, patient, more than Dennis ever could have asked for.

For some reason, the unpredictable hair-trigger that is Dennis Reynolds decides to shoot it right back in his face.

“Oh yeah? Is it? ‘Cause if different is so great,” he snaps, pointing violently around the room as he speaks, “then why are we watching the same goddamn movie we watch every week, eating the same thing, sitting on the same couch, and doing the same shit we’ve been doing for twenty years, Mac?!”

He pretends not to see the way Mac’s face crumbles, because if he did see it, it would be burned into his brain until the day he died.

“I thought you liked it,” he mumbles sheepishly.

I do like it, Mac, a better boyfriend would say, I’m just scared of how much. It just feels like I’m not supposed to.

“Just- Watch the movie, all right?” the boyfriend Mac is stuck with, unfortunately, says.

So they do. They fall right back into their rhythm, or lack thereof, sitting out-of-place on opposite ends of the sofa and only coming into contact with each other through the spit on the rim of the lager bottle. Mac’s pulled himself so far back, he’s going to flip right over the arm of the couch if he scoots away any more. 

Eventually, he starts ignoring the beer and popcorn entirely, and doesn’t say a single word. He only sits there, looking all pouty- and not the playful, puppy-eyes, stuck-lips kind of pouty. He seems genuinely fucking crushed.

Dennis doesn’t need the weight of that in his stomach, too, there’s no more space left for it. He doesn’t have the emotional vacancy for guilt when he’s already housing so much fear and confusion and self-loathing.

He feels so much like Dutch in these moments.

He swears that he’s alone, that they’re alone, but he can’t shake the terror in the hollows of his chest like someone is watching him- not from the top of a tree, not shrouded by a cloaking device, but perched somewhere in the back of his mind to remind him that he should be embarrassed, he should be disgusted, he should be ashamed of himself; that these things should be behind closed doors, and they are behind closed doors, but they still don’t feel alone. They’re never fucking alone, because somebody is always kicking down their door or crawling in through the window or texting or calling or appearing out of nowhere. Nothing can ever stay just between them.

The absence of Mac’s warmth, of his arm around him and his hand on his leg, is like a phantom limb.

This isn’t normal. It isn’t fucking normal, it’s the weirdest it’s ever been. They don’t feel like themselves and Predator doesn’t feel like Predator, and by the time Blain Cooper is declaring “I ain’t got time to bleed”, Dennis is thinking about how many nights they’ve spent watching movies, tangled up but not together, sharing a blanket but not their feelings, wearing each other’s clothes like roommates don’t, falling asleep in each other’s arms like best friends don’t- and then suddenly it comes to him:

He doesn’t have time to bleed.

They have waited so fucking long for this. They’re approaching the back half of their lives, about to tumble down the other side of the hill, and the clock is ticking louder than it ever has.

Every day of their lives, something didn’t happen. It didn’t happen for more than two decades. They came so close, over and over and over again, time after time, and it still never happened.

And then, one day, it did.

One day Dennis Reynolds and Mac McDonald looked at each other and realized, Oh, shit. There you are.

One day they stopped waiting.

And it should be so, so damn perfect- but they’re choosing to spend it like this, tense and distressed and scared, so fucking scared to look it dead in the eyes.

It comes to Dennis all at once, how stupid it is.

It’s stupid to be afraid to live in a home you’ve spent twenty-five years building.

It’s stupid to spend all your life painting a portrait and never step back to see the whole picture, it’s stupid to write a novel and stop right before the ending, it’s stupid to put all the pieces of a puzzle together but the last one, and it’s fucking stupid to watch the same movie they’ve watched nearly every week for as long as they’ve lived together without their favorite part- without them.

He looks over at Mac, at fucking Ronald McDonald, at his best friend, at his blood brother, at his boyfriend- and he’s looking at everything. The last puzzle piece snaps into place and finally, he can see the image clear as day.

They haven’t been together for twenty-five years, but they’ve been together for twenty-five years. There is no different, because they’ve always been the same.

And there’s no invisible alien in the room with them. No one is spying on them through infrared vision. No one is hunting them for sport. Dennis has nobody to be afraid of.

He makes the mortifying decision to ignore the anxiety in his chest and say something, because if he doesn’t start talking now, it’s going to spill out of him all wrong, and goddamn it, he’s so tired of saying the wrong things.

“Mac…” he whispers, and Mac’s porter-brown eyes are on him in an instant. “Make it weird.”

Mac stares at him soft and vulnerable and red-faced, like he’s asked him to kiss the air out of his lungs, push him down into the couch, grind against him until he breaks like sugar glass.

“What?” he asks, gently, not like he didn’t hear it, but like he doesn’t believe what he heard.

“Make it weird, make it normal, just-” Dennis catches himself shouting and lowers his voice, dropping his shoulders from where they’ve gone up on the defense. Vicious animals lash out because they’re afraid, and Dennis doesn’t want to be afraid anymore- he is, but he doesn’t want to be, damn it. “Fix this, man. It sucks.”

The makings of a smile form at the edges of Mac’s mouth, and his eyes go soft as melted butter. He’s missing the climax of the movie, Predator dropping his mask to the floor of the jungle so Dutch can see him face-to-face, so they can fight with honor, before Dutch calls him one ugly motherfucker. He’s missing his favorite part because he won’t look away from him, and somewhere deep down, Dennis finds room for a new feeling. He hopes that maybe this is Mac’s new favorite part.

“Lay down,” he directs him.

Dennis leans back slowly, inch by inch, and he can’t think straight. He knows he must be eyeing Mac like he’s a predator, though- not the cool alien kind, but the wild animal kind- because his smile grows into something full and genuine and reckless.

“I got this, babe,” he laughs under his breath, and oh boy, it’s not like Dennis needed another reason to feel like he’s burning to death.

Something about Mac’s half-lidded eyes and his daredevil smile and beer-bathed breath comes together to make Dennis comply without putting up a fight, and he falls all the way down onto the cushions.

When Mac instructs him to scooch, he complies, too- and rolls over onto his side to make space behind him. Mac barely fits against his back, but it isn’t awkward. It feels like it always does, like it’s supposed to, like something that was broken snapping back into place. And when Mac’s arm curls around the shape of his waist, fingers touching him soft like he might break, Dennis wants to play the rest of the movie in slo-mo to make the last six minutes take up the whole night.

There’s a satisfaction in watching Predator die like never before, in seeing him choke on his own neon green blood. Dennis lets the invisible eyes he feels watching him die, too, and he and Mac are finally alone. It’s finally just between them.

“You okay?” Mac murmurs in his ear, and it’s the dumbest question Dennis has ever heard.

The “fine” he says back is the understatement of the fucking century.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t get through Mac’s thick skull.

“You sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, Den.”

Dennis is more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life, he thinks, knows, as he reaches up to thread his fingers into his best friend’s and pull their hands down over his stomach, right where he can still feel the ghost of what he’s tried to bury there. Mac’s knuckles brush against him and the knot unwinds, if only a little.

He’s still scared, but maybe that’s all right, because a home is never really built. You repaint. You take down the walls. You move the furniture around. You fix the cracks and patch the leaks and heal it time after time after time.

But it keeps on standing if the framework is good, and he and Mac are building on some pretty damn decent foundations.

“I’m okay,” he answers, instead of telling him he thinks they’d still be standing at the end of any raging storm in the world. “Different’s okay.”

It’s less like Dennis is reassuring Mac and more like he’s reminding himself. Different is okay, because this whole relationship thing, it’s like the stuff on the shelves at the grocery store. It’s the same shit with different labels.

And yeah, maybe Dennis doesn’t know how to put everything back exactly the way it was, but he knows how to pick up the pieces and make something new, and that’s even better.

The credits start to roll and he catches the shape of them in the reflective blackness between the words, and on the outside, they don’t look like people who should feel guilty or angry or humiliated- they look like a pretty goddamn normal couple.

“Mac?”

“Yeah?”

Dennis doesn’t know how to say it. How do you tell someone that this feels like the beginning of something that’s been happening nearly your entire life? How do you tell someone that, it might be shitty right now, it might be shitty over and over again, but the first steps are always the hardest and everything gets easier from there? How do you tell someone you’re going to have your bad days, you’re going to snap at them and shut them out and treat them so bad they almost leave you? But you’re going to keep moving uphill, you’re not going to fall back down- and the view from the top, the view at the end, it’s going to be so fucking worth the climb.

He’s going to feel sick right now. He’s going to feel nervous and terrified and nauseated and weird. He might never stop feeling that way. But even if he doesn’t, there’s going to be something good there, too. The roof might tear and the paint might chip away, the shudders might bend and the windows might break- but the foundations will still be good. And they’ll keep building on that, no matter how many times they’re forced to start over, no matter how many times they fuck it up, no matter how many times they have to try again.

Because that’s how you build a home. You build it every day, knowing it’s never going to be perfect and it’s never going to be done and, sometimes, it might be so destroyed and so different you hardly recognize it. But you build it every single day.

How do you tell someone you’d never be able to do this alone? How do you tell them you’d never be able to do this with anybody else? How do you let them know that, no matter how much of this is their fault, no matter how many of these ideas they put in your head when you were young, no matter how many times you caught their guilt like the common cold, they still make you brave? How do you tell someone that you’re scared right now, but you know it’s going to be fine, because they’re going to be there to catch you if you falter?

A lot of people would say I love you. Dennis doesn’t.

“You want to watch Predator 2?”

Mac laughs like it’s the best idea he’s ever heard in his life.

“You know I do, man.”

And just like that, it’s a perfectly normal Tuesday night movie night.

[anika-ann]

Traditions Kept Pt.4

Kiss With a Fist

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: swearing, violence

Summary:  In which you’re annoyed at the early present from Hydra agents, hence giving the song title a whole new meaning.

Story Masterlist

More than once you had heard that Christmas time was about being closer to people, about love, about giving.

That said and underlined three times, you were sure that the remains of Hydra fucking loved you all, because you received an early present on 22nd – in a form of a newfound active base. Which meant a mission. You hated the no-name Hydra goons from the bottom of your heart.

It didn’t help their case that your powers were still not working at all.

“You should sit this one out,” Steve advised you gently at the start of the debriefing and you just stared at him over the conference table, stunned.

It was only the soft tone he had spoken with that stopped you from snapping at him ‘I beg your fucking pardon’ style. Because if there was an idea you hated more than going on a mission on 22nd December evening, it was the idea of the rest of the team going while you would be sitting on your ass at the Tower, scared to death for them.

“I fail to see why,” you said instead, taking a calming breath, Steve instantly doing the same, closing his eyes.

“You know why. You’re not— as far as I know, your powers are still not restored.”

“I am more than my powers!” you protested, wounded despite the fact you had known it was coming and that he wasn’t exactly wrong. But you had tried! Natasha took her time with you and all the things you had learned were coming back to you – you had just needed to brush it up.

You leaned forward, forcing yourself not to jump to your feet in exasperation. No one dared to enter the dispute.

Steve raised his hand, attempting to calm you down. “I know that. I know you’re a good fighter too, but you haven’t been to a mission without the advantage of your powers before.”

You drew in a breath to make a case – without a leg to stand on, needless to say, because this time he was hundred percent right –, but he continued before you could speak, his intense eyes meeting yours. It made you gulp.

“It’s very simple, Nightingale. I just don’t want y— I just don’t want anyone on the team injured or worse-… dead. Not if I can help it.”

He held your gaze adamantly, his words going straight to your heart.

You weren’t stupid, you noticed the falter in his speech. Both of them – when he wanted to say ‘you’, which was something that made your heart clench, not uncomfortably; and when he couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘dead’. You could only wonder what thoughts, what memories, ran through his head. Was he thinking about Bucky? He had told you about it, losing his friend for the first time.  

Any exasperation you had felt disappeared as if someone snapped their fingers. You felt your own features soften, mollified by his care which bordered with overprotectiveness.

“Okay. I do see your point,” you offered gently, but his frown didn’t resolve. He knew you. He knew there was a ‘but’ coming. “Let me hold the fort at least then. That way you won’t be person down. Let me come with you and handle the quinjet. Be your eyes and ears.”

It hadn’t been before the words left your lips that you realized it sounded as if you were making suggestion for him only. As if you were offering to be his eyes and ears. You mentally scolded yourself, hoping you only imagined the blush creeping up your neck.

Steve must have noticed, because the tips of his ears definitely did turn red. Sam coughed, clearly trying to cover his amusement, but the rest of the team remained politely silent, probably amused only in their heads.

Steve took a deep breath and leaning his hands onto the table, he finally relaxed for a bit.

“Alright. That does sound reasonable.” You almost beamed, lighting up like the freaking Christmas tree. Steve definitely acknowledged that as well and he didn’t seem very happy about it. “As for the rest of us…”

You sat back into your chair comfortably, listening as intently as if you were going to the field with them.

---

Having one simple task – to be the eyes and ears –, you were taking it very seriously, hoping to contribute to the mission.

The team was either humouring you or they did appreciate your occasional remarks about each member having an incoming. To your great amusement, you got to shout the one sentence you had wished to say for a long time, ever since Steve had told you how he had met Sam Wilson.

“Sam, incoming. On your left,” you hummed to the comms and heard Natasha snicker before her punching resumed.

“You’ll pay for that one, Blackbird.”

“Sure thing, Birdboy. Now fight or I’ll have to go help you.”

The cock of the gun behind you told you otherwise.

‘Or not,’ you almost announced to Sam.

You swallowed dryly as you heard the scary sound right at your head and your gaze flickered up from the screen, hoping to get a glimpse of reflexion in the window. You had no such luck.

“Turn it off,” the assailant whispered in your ear and you slowly did as he asked since the barrel of his gun was offering you a pretty solid argument.

Of course, you only turned it of partly, cutting off the voices of the team, the communication now working one-way; from you to them. And since you had no clue how many agents were with you on the jet, you would leave the line open in case you needed back-up. Your ego could take a hit as long as it meant you would stay alive.

“Good girl. Now get off that seat. Slowly, keep your hands away from your body,” the raspy voice of the man ordered and once again, you obliged.

After all, you would fight better if you could stand up first.

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart ones, you Avengers. Leaving such a little defenceless girl, all alone to protect the jet, that’s just stupid, don’t you think, pretty girl? Now show me where you stocked the weapons.”

You grinded you teeth at the insults and sexist comment, but led him through the jet. Being close to a gun – which would not be at your head – sounded like a good idea. Your eyes were roaming the whole space, looking for an escape route, your mind racing.

You approached the panel guarding the weaponry, stopping in your tracks. If this guy wanted to see defenceless and stupid, he could have it.

“There’s a fingerprint scanner. I don’t have the authorisation. I’m just the pilot,” you lied easily, rewarded by his irritated huff.

“And a combination?”

Yeah, that was the other option, clearly. You could see the keyboard as well, only a blind person would miss it. You mentally crossed your fingers.

“Yeah, I know it-“

“Then fucking enter it or I’ll blow your brains out!” he growled beside you, the barrel of the gun meaningfully nudging the nape of your neck.

“I ca-can’t, I can’t let you-“

“Listen, doll face, I’ve been nice so far, but I will kill you. Enter. The. Combination!”  

“Okay, okay-“ you sobbed, surprised by your acting skills.

Of course, you tapped the wrong buttons. Twice. It was a pure accident.

“Yeah, I’m blowing it to hell,” he noted, pushing you away, firing the gun twice. The screen flickered and died.

It was all the distraction you needed. You kicked the gun from the goon’s hand, sending it flying through the air. It went off for the third time with that action and you swiftly jumped after it, only to be caught by the man.

“Little bitch-“

You jerked from his grip, kicking the gun farer, out of your reach – but also his. You spun to him, your fists raised, ready to strike. You were taken aback by the knife in his hand. But hey, you handled much worse than a knife.

It almost made you cocky.

"Look, there's no need to fight, right? It's Christmas time, love and peace and all that?" you suggested, opening your fists just a slit, hinting a surrender’s gesture.

“Trust me, slitting your throat will feel like Christmas to me.”

Your gaze flickered around, searching for any possible weapon. It was not what you found though as you noticed something above the man’s head.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

"Not very nice of you, kinda killing the Christmas spirit. I mean… there's even a mistletoe above your head, so…"

The disbelief must have been written all over your face, because for a second, he actually looked up. You immediately took an advantage of that, springing his direction, twisting the knife from his hand. He hissed, trying to punch you, but you were faster. You dodged and with the king of all punches, you hit him straight to his face. Disoriented, he had no chance to see the next blow coming and when you jumped, placing a round kick to his baffled expression, he was done.

He fell to the ground with a loud thud, unconscious.

"Well, that's what I call kiss with a fist...” you muttered under your breath and went to cuff him.

Taking the abandoned gun, you checked if there were any of his friends coming. There was no one. Stupid, leaving him all alone… I thought they were supposed to be the smart ones, Hydra…

You went back to the screens, turning the communicators back on, only to have your ears assaulted by several voices.

“Jesus shit, Nightingale! Report! I swear to God-“ Sam’s voice was the loudest at the moment and you couldn’t help but blink in surprise.

Who would think Sam was concerned? Sam, of all people? Then again, he had lost a friend before…

“Sorry guys, I'm ba-"

"Are you okay?!" Steve cried out, making you wince at the volume. Yet, you couldn’t miss the fear dripping from his voice, the way he sounded out of breath. You noticed that his dot on the screen was heading back to quinjet. Oh.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine-“

“We heard gunshots. Are you hurt?” Clint asked.

Capital ‘OH’. That makes sense.

“Uhm… yeah, about that-“ You heard several breaths being drown in sharply, Steve’s dot speeding up if possible, and honestly you were a bit insulted at the lack of faith. Did they really think you had got yourself shot? “We need new locks for weaponry-“

“But you are okay?”

“I’m okay, Steve. Stop worrying, all of you. I’m a bit wounded, to be honest. Have a little faith in me.”

They went radio silent at that remark and you could see that Steve stopped in his tracks. You sighed, still deciding whether you should be touched or hurt. You went with both.

“Anyway. Whose idea it was to put mistletoe in the quinjet? It kinda helped."

"You're welcome," Tony’s voice hummed over the comms and you were actually surprised it wasn’t Sam’s doing for once. "You'll thank me later, Mariah."

You rolled your eyes. Of course. Tony’s favourite nickname for you featuring the famous singer, hinting the power of your voice. You didn’t call him out on it for once. He might have just saved your life after all.

You eyed the screens.

“Alright, looks like you got them all, now secure the intel, blow the base to hell and let’s go home and have some Christmas.”

“Whatever you say, Blackbird.”

“Shut up, Samuel.”

-.-

Part 5

A/N: (That’s it. That’s how it started. The idea of the mistletoe in the quinjet and a kiss with a fist. The rest just… came later.)

[dabbledrabbleprose]

Whumptober Day 23 - Bleeding Out

When McCree left his cheap motel to get pancakes, a gunfight was the last thing he expected. Still, he always did have the worst goddamn luck, so he wasn’t too terribly surprised when he ended up taking cover behind the bar in the hole-in-the-wall diner. Three men in the bar had turned hostile at the sight of him, though damned if he knew which of the many reasons someone would want him dead had them pissed off. He’d managed to draw the fire away from the civilians, and the door swung shut as the last of the customers and diner staff fled.

“Come on out, McCree! You can’t hide forever!” Sneered a familiar voice.

“Shit, Eddie, is that you?” McCree crouched behind the bar, Peacekeeper in one hand. 

“My name ain’t Eddie, McCree!” Eddie snarled back. “It’s Edward!”

“Fancy meeting you here, Eddie. When’d you start hunting bounties?” McCree inched toward the kitchen door. The counter was only plywood, and if Eddie’s brain caught up to his mouth, he’d realize he could shoot right through it. However, the kitchen had counters and appliances made of steel, which gave him plenty of solid cover until he could slip out the back door and run for it.

“Ain’t no bounty hunter. I’m a bonafide member of Talon!”

McCree groaned. 

“Really, Eddie? You went from Blackwatch right to Talon? You’re dumber than I thought!” He reached the edge of the counter and slid a flashbang off his belt. 

“Naw, I just know when to move to the winning team!”

“Your team ain’t won yet,” McCree said. 

“Looks that way to me. Overwatch’s been dead four years, now.”

“Justice’ll still be served even without Overwatch, Eddie. And Talon sure as hell ain’t gonna save your dumb ass from me.”

“I told you, my name–”

Eddie fired a shot through the plywood, where McCree had been crouching twenty seconds ago.

“Ain’t!”

Another shot, one foot away.

“Eddie!”

The last shot put a new hole in his serape. Time to go.

“Sorry you feel that way, Eddie!” He hurled the flashbang over the counter behind him. “But I gotta go!”

The grenade went off, flooding the diner with a brilliant flash of light and the smell of gunpowder, and McCree rolled out of cover and into the kitchen. He ducked behind the island counter just in time for Eddie to start swearing up a storm.

“You son of a bitch!”

He started shooting wildly, the three men scrambling over each other to get to the kitchen. McCree wasn’t going to wait around for them to figure themselves out and bolted for the back door. 

BANG BANG BA-TWING!

A shot ricocheted off the steel freezer door and buried itself deep into McCree’s thigh. McCree spat out a curse and clambered through the back exit, slamming the door behind him. Goddamn piece of shit bad luck. He looked around, but there wasn’t anything in the alley behind the diner apart from a dumpster. Damn. Nothing to block the door with. Well, he wasn’t going to be running anywhere with this gunshot, so if he took position behind the dumpster, he’d be able to– McCree’s injured leg gave out and he fell to the ground, eating shit on the grimy asphalt. Goddamn, it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been shot. What was–Oh.

Oh.

That was a lot of blood.

Bright red blood pulsed from his thigh in spurts that matched his heart rate. The motherfucker hit his femoral artery. Shit. That changed things. 

McCree kicked his leg up against the wall, laying on his back with his leg elevated above him. Gotta slow the bleeding, gotta put pressure on the wound. Shit, was it severed or just nicked? The sounds of a commotion came from behind the door.

And none of this meant a damn thing if those dumbasses burst through the door and filled him full of lead. His pant leg was soaked through with blood and his skin felt warm and wet as blood continued to pump out of him.

Fuck. After everything he’d survived, after Deadlock, Blackwatch, losing his fucking arm, he was going to die from a goddamn ricochet in the alley behind “Last Stop Burgers and Breakfast.”

Ironic.

A wave of dizziness washed over McCree, and his hands slipped. This wasn’t helping. He couldn’t get enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Did he have a tourniquet? Of course not, his first aid kit was back in the hotel. Could he make a tourniquet? He fumbled with the serape around his neck, but the world started spinning violently.

Goddamn. He really was going to die here. He just wanted some fucking pancakes and bacon. Well, if this was how he was gonna go…at least he made a difference. At least he saved those people in the diner, or the passengers on the hypertrain, or countless others over the years. Maybe it was even enough to atone for his past sins.

God, he wasn’t even upset about dying. What really burned him was that goddamn weasel Eddie was who got him in the end. What a joke.

Where was Eddie, anyway? He should have come through the back door to put McCree out of his misery by now. McCree’s strength was rapidly fading, and he couldn’t even try to put pressure on his wound anymore. Hell, he couldn’t even lift his arms. For a moment, he thought he heard shotgun rounds from the diner, but he could have sworn that the Talon goons were carrying handguns.

The back door finally opened. The last thing McCree saw was a black and silver boot, surrounded by wisps of black smoke.

As he sank into unconsciousness, a voice followed him down, an impossible voice, a ghost from the past, and surely a hallucination brought on by his eminent death.

“Guess I have to save your ass once again, ingrate.”

Then there was only darkness.

[alitteraltrashcan7352]

My incompetent-ness immortalized in chapter form

Okay so y’all know I’m writing a fanfic for Sabre’s old Fallout series. I haven’t fully plotted it out yet, but awhile back I started writing the first chapter for the hell of it because this specific part isn’t really tied to the overall plot and my gosh. I was rewatching the last episode of Fallout MC yesterday and I got SO MANY things wrong. Like the situation and environment is so off. My goodness. I’m so dumb. So since this doesn’t match up with the end of Fallout MC whatsoever I thought I would just post it. It’ll probably be 4 years before you see the actual first chapter but have this anyways.

Edit: I just realized I should probably put some trigger warnings on this oof. So yeah, uh, warning: Blood, guns, death and violence. And also characters in this are mentioned as being a part of a gang and refered to as so many times.

—————————————————————————————————-

(Word Count: 1433)

Sometime in the future, nearly 200 years after a massive nuclear war that nearly destroyed the earth, 3 raiders, gang members, were sorting through loot they had just obtained. 

As the thugs discussed their quarry, three other figures appeared at the top of the drop-off of the old, dried up waterway that the three khan members were sitting in. One of them, who was wearing a blue jacket pulled out an impressive looking sniper rifle and looked at the person  adjacent  to him who nodded back at him.

The two other figures cautiously climbed down the manmade cliff and the third kneeled and shakily aimed at the leader of the small ragtag group who was wearing a white mask with red markings.

BANG

A bush behind the self-acclaimed demon was uprooted and he and his associates leaped up to locate whoever it was who fired at them.

The thirty year old swore under his breath and ducked for cover as the thugs started firing at him. The brown haired man braced himself, hearing the muffled gunshots and even feeling one of the bullets hit the rock he was hiding behind as he waited for a chance to split.

The gunfire died down for a few tense minutes before he heard some bushes rattle to the left of him and one of the thugs fire off a shot. He took this as a chance to bolt and ran off to his right heading for the nearest building. 

He slid into the weary skyscraper as he heard several bullets trail him, pulled himself up and leaned against a wall but flinched and immediately walked into the center of the room when he felt the wall shift slightly under his weight.

“Oh jeez..” He breathed. “I sure hope Shark and Sabre are okay..”

Meanwhile down in the waterway, The leader of the sub-group glared at the building the man was hiding in. “Guess we’re gonna have to push, boys.” Looking at his henchmen. “What about that bush?” Asked one, wearing neon orange goggles. “Oh please, Encline, it was probably just a bird.” Said the other. “Even so Burns, keep an eye out. When there’s one rat there’s often another.” Their leader replied.

He loaded his gun and began to make his way to the slope before he heard the most unconvincing and shrill fake bird call. 

“What the-”

Suddenly a spear came from the left of them, almost hitting Encline. Their leader shot off about 4 rounds into the direction of where the spear came from, 3 of which barely missed the thrower.

Another man wielding an axe ran from behind them and almost hit the masked man before he used his shotgun to block it. Another spear came down at the sniper who dodged it and fired off another shot into the bushes which once again missed.

Burns lifted his gun to help his leader but before he could pull the trigger an extremely loud gunshot was heard and the rugged man stopped in his footsteps before he totally collapsed. Encline’s attention totally shifted from the 19 year old in the bushes to his fallen comrade. “BURNS!!!” He rushed over to him and impulsively tried to feel his heartbeat but he was already dead. The sniper clenched his fist, taking in the loss before he looked into the direction of where the shot came from and realizing that the quote on quote "rat" that had been firing at them earlier had returned.

His despair quickly turned to rage as he pulled out his gun and started firing at the man who was scrambling for cover. 

Encline heard a thud from behind him and looked to see that the fight between his leader and the 16 year old had escalated to the sub-group leader being on the ground and the boy about to smash his chest in with the axe. Encline swiftly took a shot at the boy, hitting his far side.

The sniper tried to reload his gun to finish the job but not before another young man wearing a black T-shirt hit him over the head with a stick. As the two struggled for the stick, the leader climbed to his feet and glanced over to his second in command who was fighting over a piece of wood and the man who killed his third who had re-appeared on the top of the cliff and was re-loading his gun. 

The blonde quivered, snapped his already wrecked shotgun in half, threw it at the 16 year old and bolted.

"CTHULHU!!!" 

Encline kicked the dark brown haired man in the gut and tried to go after his leader but another, third gunshot and Cthulhu stumbled to the ground, blood pouring out of his leg. "CTHULHU!!!!" Encline screamed again, pulling out his gun and firing in the air 5 times which made his three opponents scramble. He rushed over to his leader, helped him up and sent off more false shots.

"We'll be ba-" "SHUT UP CTHULHU!" Encline yelled between clenched teeth. The three men hid(well, two of them hid. The other was laying on the ground hoping he wouldn't get shot again) for about 7 minutes before one, the young man wearing the T-shirt called out "Shark!? Is it clear??" 

The only reply he received was a loud moan. “Shark?!??” The young man in turn peaked his head out from behind the fallen piece of building he was hiding behind and saw that the two gang members were no where to be seen. He walked out, cautiously examining the environment to make sure there really wasn’t anyone still there. 

“I think they’re gone.. Shark are you OK?” He said before rushing over to his friend. “Ugh... probably...” Shark replied, struggling to push himself up onto his knees. “Are you guys hurt?” Called out the man at the top of the drop-off before sliding down. “I’m fine, Maus, but they got Shark pretty good.”

 Maus climbed back onto his feet and walked over to the two other men, granted with a slight limp. “I don’t think they hit any of his organs, but he’s still bleeding pretty steadily.” “Do.. you have anything we could use to patch him up?” “No, those raiders took everything we had on us, you know that.” “You’re right... but do you think they left anything behind?” “Yea.. How bout’ you check those chests and I’ll go see if he had anything.”

 The two nodded at eachother and Maus went over to the chests and began to rumage through them while the other kneeled down to the body, took a deep breath and and began to strip it down and search through its inventory. “Find anything?” He asked, pulling out some pistol rounds from the corpse. “Nope, it’s really only guns, infact most of them are ours.” Maus replied. “Is my pistol there?” Shark asked through clenched teeth. “Well actually-“ The 19 year old said before spying a reel of cloth.

 “Wait, I think I found something!” “What is it?” Maus asked. “It’s a roll of bandages.” He said before pulling it out of what was Burns’ jacket. “Oh thank God...” said Shark who was starting to feel pretty light headed.

“Well, What are you waiting for, man?” Maus said. Sabre nodded and knelt down to his friend and began wrapping it around the boys body. “Hey Maus, do you have anything I could use to clip this together? I think it clings to itself but I want to make sure.” “Nope.” “Oh well, I guess we’ll just have to hope it doesn’t unravel.” The dark brown haired man pulled the bandages tight and pinched the two ends together.

“I think that’s it.. Shark how do you feel?” Sabre said as he pushed himself up. “Not good....” “Do you think you’ll be able to walk?” “..Probably.” Shark said straining to pull himself up before almost falling down. “Hey, be careful!” Maus said catching his friend before he fell. “Ugh, thanks Maus.” “No problem, just be careful with yourself.” Shark nodded in reply.

“..Maus did you grab the guns in the chests?” Sabre asked. “Yeah, I did.” “Okay, we should probably go and check in with Ryan. But Shark, do you need to sit down and take a breather?” “Nah I’ma.. I think I can make it.” “You sure?” “Yeah.. I’m.. I’m sure.” “Well, if that’s the case, we should probably get going.” the thirty year old said. “Yeah.. probably.” “Alright, let’s go.” The green eyed man replied, starting to make his way up the incline.

[crimsonxrogue]

( Zoe Kravitz, 29, cisfemale, she/her ) Have you seen VIVIAN SINCLAIR around ? I hear they’re an ANTIQUES DEALER who can sometimes be MERCURIAL & DECEITFUL. But I also heard they can be COURAGEOUS & CLEVER if you catch them on a good day. They’re usually hanging around HISTORIA & EDEN in their spare time. I sure hope they’re alright !

Hey hey people! I’m bringing you this very smol wildcard girl who deals in art and antiques (owner of Historia) and works at Eden as a dancer/singer and also is never up to any good. But she’s pretty nice otherwise, I promise - feel free to drop a like and I’ll pop into your DMs or you just pop straight into mine!

BASIC STATS

➤  NAME: Vivian Anais Sinclair ➤  AGE: 29 ➤  DOB: November 2nd ➤  BORN: Paris, France ➤  HEIGHT: 5′2′’ ➤  SIBLINGS: sister ➤  MBTI: ENTP-A ➤  ORIENTATION: bisexual ➤  OCCUPATION: owner of Historia, art and antiques dealer/thief and con-artist, singer/dancer at Eden ➤  EDUCATION: BA in Art History and English Lit ➤  TATTOOS: a sword and a flower entwined near her hipbone, small tattoos of DOBs of her mother and Astor, a faded tattoo of the gang that had taken her, covered with scars and bracelets  ➤  SCARS: amorphous scars that cover the tattoo given to her by the gang, a few marks from a cattle prod that was used on her when she was young (on her back and stomach), an old, silvery gunshot wound on her left shoulder  ➤  AESTHETICS: expensive dresses and black lace, agent provocateur and dior, the scent of chanel lingering in the air when she passes by, black leather gloves and deft fingers, small diamonds glinting on her neck, a fiery red ferrari, the glow of marble statues in distant lamplight, scent of old books and reflections in ornate, old mirrors, soft pearls and eyes hidden behind sunglasses, black nat shermans and nails painted red, knuckles wrapped in cloth the sound of them hitting a punching bag, a small figure riding wildly on the back of a towering horse, something quaint and scholarly about Historia, and her house, and her, hands messy with paint and whatever material she’s working with, skintight black clothes, a dark figure slinking through the expensive houses looking for her prize, something elegantly haphazard about her movement just like there’s something haphazard about her, careful eyes and red lips stretched into a delighted smile, laughter and eyes looking up beneath her lashes, hands pulling you after her, something careless and lively when she dances for herself, something dark and enticing when she dances for others, a soft french accent when she lets it through and when she’s tired, poems and books quoted ➤  VICES: tobacco, alcohol, sex, pretending to be someone else for fun  ➤  PETS: yes, a borzoi named Achilles - Vivi had rescued him after Achilles’ career in racing had ended and they discarded him, and a dobermann named Artemis that looks way meaner than she actually is (spoiler, she’s an even bigger puppy than Achilles) whom she’d gotten from Nate, also there’s a throughbred named Ares who was a gift from her parents, but obviously he doesn’t live at her house but rather she visits him almost every day to take care of him where he’s stationed a bit outside of the city (in order to be able to roam free)

QUICK RUNDOWN

Listen, this shit got long so here’s a quick rundown of Vivi so you don’t have to waste time unless you want to hahaha

Born in Paris, France to affluent parents - her mother was a politician and her father a real estate magnate. 

She was raised to be the picture-perfect daughter, mild and timid and set to follow in her parents’ footsteps. Let’s just say she was not thrilled with that. 

She was kidnapped at the age of 7 and held for ransom, it messed her up and she still has nightmares from that shit. 3 weeks later her parents got her back, but then put her under a bell jar and threw away the key.

She rebelled, ran away from home, hid away at the Louvre, generally did not obey especially when they forced her hand. 

They moved away to the US when she was 14 and she coped with it by creating her own game of play pretend - she figured out she had a penchant for pretending to be someone else, changing both her mien and looks, and it was her way of taking control over herself. 

At 18 she met Astor, a con-artist, at a banquet her parents attended and figured out what he was when they’d both tried to play each other by pretending to be something they weren’t. He wanted something from her parents’ house and she just gave it to him bc girl was SMITTEN. 

She ran off with him and the two bounced around the world for about two years, growing into their infamy as someone who could get their hands on anything you possibly wanted. 

They were on a mission in New York when shit went down, Astor disappeared (she still doesn’t know if he betrayed her or he got killed and it’s TORTURING her) and Vivi was kidnapped by a gang, branded as their property and had to live through hell on earth for almost a year. 

There was a raid and she escaped during that raid (she guesses it was someone from Chicago who was involved, and is still looking into who tf it was bc she owes them her life), took Astors Ferrari and got back to her parents. 

Studied Art History and English Lit while living with them, and then a few years later (after dealing with her trauma) she eventually moved to Chicago to open Historia. 

She nurtured her reputation as someone who could get shit for you that wasn’t even on the black market, as well as her connections to both the O’Sheas and the Fausts while remaining starchy neutral.

Started working at Eden a year in, as a dancer/singer - it was a way for her to take control of her body back and deal with her trauma from New York. 

HISTORY 

Born in Paris, France to parents who were affluent in their respective fields - her mother, working in politics, and her father, a real-estate magnate. She was coddled from early on, raised to be this picture-perfect daughter, with her destiny set in stone. Even though she was born the younger daughter, it didn’t mean anything less was expected from her. 

She showed an affinity for art and literature and music early on - and her parents let her focus on it, for now anyway. But she’d always been a wild child, interested in anything and everything, from running through museums to ballet to horseback riding.

When she was 7, she was kidnapped and held for ransom by a group that didn’t like her mother’s ideas, but liked her father’s money. Her parents would get her back after almost 3 weeks of a tug of war that was heavily publicized, but not without permanent scars that would mark Vivian for life, both mentally and physically. 

From then on her home life took a grim turn - her parents, terrified after what had happened to her little girl, decided to put her under a bell jar and keep her inside. Though terrified herself, Vivi was a social, lively kid that whithered away once cut off from the rest of the world, home-schooled and monitored at all times. 

She would perform rebellions of her own, little at first - unsatisfied with being locked up and told what she was supposed to do with her life. She would not be shoved into politics, or forced to take on her father’s business, or even worse - marry a wealthy, affluent man who would then take on her father’s business. She would be wild, and no one could take that away from her.

These rebellions escalated with age - from running out and hiding in the gardens, to running out and hiding in the Louvre. The one rebellion she couldn’t perform at 14 was staying in Paris when her parents packed up and decided to move to the US, taking away what little agency she still had in a city that held so many familiar hiding spots. 

There she learned she had a penchant for pretence - she could morph herself into whatever she wanted to be. All she had to do was tweak her make up, what she wore, the way her eyes would burn with indignance or be downcast in delightful bashfulness, the lines of her smile, lips painted a seductive red or charming pink. It was an art form in itself, this game of make-believe. 

By the time she was 18, it had become almost second-nature to her - she was all of it, both the lonely girl trapped beneath the bell jar and the characters she would come up with. It would not be until she met Astor that she’d realise she was not alone in this game - he too knew how to play this game, and played it well. But neither of them played well enough to not call each other out by the time the banquet was over. 

And while she did it for the freedom of being someone else, he did it because it was a way to attain connections, find his way into houses that held something he wanted, a precious jewel, an antique, information. Vivi would become enthralled by him - and how could she not? He was a wildcard, a creature of freedom, everything she ever wanted. 

It was not long before she was running away with him, leaving behind in her room only a promise that this time she was disappearing of her own volition. It would not be easy at first, with her parents organizing a manhunt - for her daughter, and the man who had ‘taken her away’ from them. But Astor had a way with avoiding notice, even if he was the type of person to attract all eyes towards him, and the two would bounce around the world, drunk on their exhilaration, young and in love and at the top of the world. 

Vivi, raised with this romantic ideal of love and destiny, thought it would never end. They would always be this, infamous for their ability to attain what no one else could, legends in making, young and beautiful and brilliant. But it did. It was a mission gone wrong, out there in New York - and the two of them would get separated, Vivi left behind to be dragged away once again, and Astor to never be seen again. 

Her abilities were only useful when she was free, but now - kidnapped and abused into submission, she was once again stripped of her agency, her beloved freedom snatched away, her spirits shattered into a million tiny pieces. She was marked, her wrist tattooed, made into nothing but property. And she’d almost believed them, she’d almost let them take her soul away. 

There was a raid eventually, and in the midst of the commotion, she did what she did best - slipped away, unnoticed. She’d steal Astor’s car from their garage (they’d taken that too), a fiery-red 250 GT California that made her soul ache, and fled. Through diplomatic channels, she’d manage to reach her parents, and return home after being gone for almost three years. 

Back home she refused to be put under control once again - the bargain was struck, her return for her freedom. But freedom, after everything that had happened to her, was a dainty, broken thing. She was terrified of her own shadow, her soul bruised, wondering what had happened with Astor - unsure whether to mourn his betrayal or his death. She would live with her parents for the next few years, learning to be whole again, studying Art History and Literature, immersing herself in that experience. 

She’d find eventually that not all of her was taken away in those months she’d spent trapped in New York - and eventually, she would move to Chicago, to open Historia, her antiques shop, to find out who was behind that raid in New York that had let her escape, to find herself again. 

She’s been in Chicago for a few years now - building up a name for herself, as someone who’s able to attain anything your heart might desire, building up connections with both the O’Sheas and the Fausts. Illicit antiques or antique weapons - you name it and she will find it, even if it’s not readily available on the black market. 

It was almost a year into her stay that she’d joined the Eden crew as a dancer and a singer both. That was a rash decision, made because something broken still ached in her chest - a way to take control of her body back. She would be seen and admired under her own conditions, and no one could take that away from her ever again. A strange way to deal with her trauma, some would say, but she’d always liked doing things the way she felt was right.

HEADCANONS

Drives a fiery red Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder that was originally Astor’s. She loves that car like it’s a piece of her soul and in a way - it is. It was stolen from them when their operation was busted in NYC but she literally risked her life during he raid just to get it back. She knows it’s a wild cliché, but she would protect that piece of metal with her life. Sure, it’s a pretty thing, and she likes the way she feels behind the wheel – but there is a certain amount of sentimentality involved. When she’s not in that car she’s got a motorcycle to get around and loves dressing up for it. 

Even though Historia looks innocent enough at first glance, and it mostly is (you can just walk in and buy stuff from the shelves), if you’re aware of Vivi’s capabilities you can ask her to get anything for the right price. She works to get stuff that’s not even on the black market for both the O’Sheas and the Fausts (artefacts or antique guns, depending on the request). She will straight up walk into someone’s house and steal that shit if necessary hahaha

Despite her reputation as being very reliable and getting the original stuff for her usual customers, she will sometimes con rich assholes she doesn’t’ like into buying something that’s actually a forgery. She has a talent for making those and does an impeccable job at making them look legit - from forging them to look worn and aged to making the documents look legit. But if she likes you or if you’re a familiar customer she’ll straight up tell you don’t buy this, it’s fake af. Like she won’t do this unless she has a secret bone to pick with someone.

She will rather stand on precarious stacks of various items or chairs, than admit she can’t reach something – which happens often, given her height, and has been the culprit behind a few bruised elbows. 

 Absolutely loves horseback riding, and has since she was a child and took her first lessons. She actually owns an Arabian thoroughbred named Ares whom she’d gotten from her parents as a gift, and has brought him along with her to Chicago. Whenever she is feeling stressed or lonely it’s where she can be found, either just tending to Ares, or taking him for a ride.

She has in the past, and still does - give out a fake name and a persona when she’s feeling like doing it. She’ll tweak her accent and her personality and dress appropriately and just play along - it’s not done out of malice, just an old habit she’s had since she was a teenager. If she likes you she’ll probably admit to it eventually and say who she really is. 

Does have a faint French accent that slips through when she’s irritated, tired or distressed - or when she feels like being extra. Words like mon cher and merde are used often enough though. 

Dances and sings at Eden as a way of taking control of her body again - it’s a way of coping with trauma, even if most people don’t know it is.

When she was kidnapped and imprisoned by a gang in New York, they tattooed her wrist to mark her as their property. She doesn’t like to speak of everything she’d endured there, from being forced to work in one of their clubs to being abused, and the scars she’d made over the tattoo are usually hidden beneath bracelets or long sleeves or gloves.   

She’s still a lively persona that refuses to be chained down by her trauma - she’s that person that’ll grab your hand and drag you on stage with her to sing karaoke, or refuse to leave when you’re dealing with something tough. She just loves people, and is willing to give herself away for them - it’s why she suffered so much and rebelled when her parents tried to lock her away to keep her from harm.

Loves painting/photographing people and animals, nature is fine - but she prefers to paint the living things, mid-movement and gilded with life. 

You can count on her to randomly quote shit, from poetry to literature. Her love for it has always been about escapism, but even now she can’t let go of it - she’s always caught up in some story unfurling in her mind. 

Her favourite things in Historia are old books and first editions - she’s hesitant to sell them sometimes, especially when she’s doubtful they’ll end up in good hands.  

Can’t fight properly - I mean she’s better than the average person, but there’s no way she could hold her own against someone who actually knows how to fight. Which is probably why she’s always on the lookout for someone who could train her, both to fight and to handle a gun. There’s a certain desperate need in her to learn how to protect herself - she doesn’t like feeling powerless.

Has killed someone when trying to escape from New York - she still hasn’t entirely gotten over it. It’s a struggle because she liked doing it - taking control back and avenging what they’d done to her. 

Will hide her scars the best she can - she doesn’t think they take anything away from her beauty but she also doesn’t like to be reminded of what was done to her, and tries to avoid curious glances and questions.

Loves playing the piano, and has one right in the middle of her living room - it’s all a very pretentious affair at first glance, but she actually does it because it’s familiar and soothing.

PERSONALITY

+     courageous, loyal, charming, caring, clever  -      stubborn, mercurial, guarded, deceitful, rebellious 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

The Sister - I’ve intentionally left her sister kinda unspecified because I want to leave room for the player to shape her and her story the way they want! But I would love to see this connection happen and I think Vivi absolutely adores her older sister, and while she hasn’t had problems rebelling against their parents, I think she’s always feared disappointing her sis. ksdfmlsdk I just need this in my life ngl 

Astor - The name isn’t set in stone btw, I can just change his name in the intro so you’re free to do with him what you like! (like the name, age, where he’s from, why he is who he is etc.) But basically, I would love to see this connection happen because the idea was that he didn’t die (even though Vivi isn’t sure if he’s alive or dead) and instead managed to get away. Why he did it can definitely be discussed and the connection has a looot of potential for being angsty. They haven’t seen each other in years but Vivi was once absolutely smitten with him - I think it would be interesting to see what their dynamic would be after all those years have passed and the trauma they both suffered. She will not give him back their Ferrari though. Might agree to shared custody and that’s only if he can bribe her hahah Anyway this doesn’t have to be a romantic connection - I mean that entirely depends on how they deal with what happened and if Vivi can even forgive the betrayal, but it can still be angsty either way. 

The one that set her free - Okay so there was a raid in New York, and someone didn’t bat an eyelid while she escaped, or actually helped her escape when they figured she was held against her will (we can tweak this, again it’s not set in stone) She’s figured out they are somewhere in Chicago, but it can be anyone really - from gang members to unaffiliated charries to police. She just wants to figure out who it is and thank them for saving her life tbh This can be legit anything - the charrie could recognize her but not say anything and she’d have to figure it out on her own, or she could actively seek them out, or they could tell her, anything works! 

Fake persona/name victims - Honestly this bitch be out there pretending to be a British art curator or a French duchess or a member of a rock band or some shit like that. It’s open to more than one charrie and she’s been all around the world so this could work for anyone, any age or location. There could have been an affair, but tbh it could have also been a business deal or a friendship or anything really. I would love to have these connections and have her have to explain who tf she really is. 

Someone who recognises her from New York - pretty self-explanatory. I would love to explore that part of her history and tbh this could force her to explain what had happened to her. She could’ve admitted to them that she needed help but they couldn’t do anything to help her, or she could’ve just played her part there (not to get punished) and they could think that was the real her, she could’ve probably danced for them or smth and maybe resents them for it? Honestly, this could be as positive or as negative as we want it to be (whatever fits your bby i’m down for it)  

Historia customers - Tbh your bby could be just a casual visitor or someone who’s privy to her connection with the black market. She could’ve gotten something from them that they couldn’t get otherwise. This can be anyone since she’s on neutral territory but it can also be a member of O’Sheas or Fausts bc she does work with them and tbh prefers them to the Vasiles - she’d like her market to stay free and open and not for someone to have a monopoly over it. 

Historia employees - She def needs help with Historia, so your charrie could be working there! Esp if they’re a fan of art and old things and old books - we can figure out the position! They could be aware of her more... illicit dealings or they could be completely clueless and there could be some drama when they find out! Also, they can nerd out over this stuff together...

Partner in crime - This could be set at any point in time - perhaps they worked together on a mission to get something, they might be an art trader or a con-artist themselves, or she asked (maybe even paid) for their help when there was a particularly tough mission and she needed backup and protection. skdfjosodl I would love this so much, like we can even do a present thread for it - she’s still in the business after all. 

Someone she duped/stolen from - again, pretty self-explanatory, but this could be anyone that might have had something she wanted - I’d love to see her get called out on it. It could but doesn’t have to be a dark and resentful connection, it can always be amiable and she can be like ok I’m sorry I was just doing my job - do you want me to get smth for you pro bono?? Or they could call out her thieving ass in a darker way hahaha

Friends - past and present both! Someone she knows from her travels, someone she’s been friends since she was kid, and especially someone she’s friends with now. She’s amiable and loves people so it’s not that far fetched and it could work for anyone, she’s not picky or judgy haha 

Her squad - please?? We stan that stuff in this household. Doesn’t matter who they are and what their gender is, but Vivi would straight up die for these people, and she really likes being alive so that says something. They could even be neighbours or something! Ooh they could also work at Eden, I’d love to see that! She’s very protective of them probs. 

Eden customers - people who know her from Eden (they can know her from Historia too), they might be friendly with her, or she might have even danced/flirted with them or slept with them. She’s not above it if she particularly likes someone and would do it anyway, even though she’s not an escort. 

ALL OF IT - exes, friends from the past, enemies, people she flirts with or has had a one night stand with (still does maybe?), frenemies esp, someone who works in the same field as her and she doesn’t like them getting in the way, or people who work a legit job in the industry (antiques, art, etc.) and she asks for their opinions and loves discussing things with them...... Take your pick! Or if you have some other idea, don’t be shy and reach out to me, we can work it out! 

[nightpcrker]

for his own good. [part one]

Hey. So this is my first time writing in a long time and I just wanted to give it another shot. I don’t know what came over me, but here it is. And also, this will probably have several medical inaccuracies so. But let’s try to enjoy this, shall we?? Let’s go!

———————

“Mister Stark? Can you hear me? I-It's Peter!” His voice sounded so young, so weak, so terrified. His mentor figure, no scratch that, his father figure was dying right in front of his eyes.

It’s not like the feeling wasn’t new to him, by any means. This is a boy who watched his parent’s plane go down on the news at age six as his young sobs were muffled by his aunts hip, as she tried to offer any comfort to the newly orphaned child, who was far too young to understand what was going on.

This was a boy who heard the sound of a gunshot fill his ears at only 14, as his uncle bleed out right under his hands, forever staining them in the crimson colour that will forever haunt his nightmares.

Tony was just one name on the list of many parental figures 16 year old (21 year old?) Peter Parker had lost. It seemed as if he was cursed. Cursed to lose any parental figure he got close with.

And now, here he was again, letting the feeling of fear, denial, and loss come over him like a tsunami for the third time in his short life.

The left side of Tony’s face was charred due to the energy surge the infinity stones sent through his veins as he heroically snapped his fingers to eliminate the mad Titan who had apparently killed the teen along with half of all life five years ago. Not that he could see it, with his eyes being filled to the brim with unshed tears blocking his vision, but he could smell it. He smelled something burning.

He hated it. He hated it with a passion.

He wanted to fix it. That’s all he wanted to do in that moment was to fix it. Fix everything. But he couldn’t. Nobody could.

Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, father, was dying.

And all Peter could do was do his best to say goodbye.

“Hey. We won… Mister Stark. We won Mister Stark. You did it, sir, you did it.” He hated how his voice shook like a child’s. He hated how someone else he loved was dying. He hated how he couldn’t get the gauntlet off Thanos all those years ago. He hated how he couldn’t get the gauntlet across the battlefield to the makeshift quantum tunnel. He hated how he didn’t do enough.

He hated how it was his fault.

“I’m sorry… Tony…” Peter had never called him Tony before. But in this moment, knowing it would be the last time he ever had the chance to, it felt right.

He felt an armoured hand grab his shoulder and gently pull him up. Truth be told, he completely zoned out after that. He was too lost in his own thoughts to hear Pepper’s last words to her husband, which as another thing he hated. But it’s not like he could help it. He found the sound of Tony’s heartbeat with his super heating and he intended to listen to it until it wasn’t there anymore. It kept his sobbing to a bare minimum, knowing that he was still alive, despite knowing it wouldn’t be for long.

So he listened.

Ba dum.

And listened.

Ba dum.

And listened…

Ba dum.

Until…

Nothing.

The sound of his mentor’s, his father’s heart had stopped.

The light of the arc reactor faded out.

Tony was gone.

Peter let out a scream.

—————

Tony woke up to a bright white light in his face.

Honestly? That’s what he expected. It’s all he could hope for. He was dead after all. Heaven was the best case scenario.

It wasn’t what he preferred. He would’ve much preferred to stay on Earth for at least 30 more years. See Morgan grow up, see Peter graduate, see Harley become the best darn mechanic Tennessee has to offer, see Nebula finally learn what it’s like to feel loved, fully repair his relationship with Steve, grow old with Pepper...

But the minute he snapped his fingers, he knew he was never going to get that.

He just hoped he would get to see Natasha again. And his darling mother, Maria. Maybe even Yinsen, tell him how he didn’t waste his life.

But then, he felt something.

Pain.

Intense pain coursing through his left arm.

That couldn’t be… this was heaven for crying out loud. You weren’t supposed to feel any pain here. You were supposed to be at peace.

Unless…

“Tony!” He heard a familiar voice scream. “Tony, oh my god…”

He groglily turned his head to see Pepper, his beautiful Pepper, run up to his side.

He was so confused. He was dead. Pepper was alive. And if she wasn’t, there would be hell to pay.

He felt her soft hands on his face, as he looked into her emerald eyes. She looked just as confused as he was, but happiness and relief hid that beautifully. The raw emotion on her face was the exact same as what he saw when he first landed on Earth after being left for dead in space all those years ago.

She gently pulled him into an embrace, the same way she did then, careful not to hurt him. He breathed in her vanilla scented hair and planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

“You’re alive…” She whispered so softly you could breathe and miss it.

Wait.. what?

He was… alive?

How could that be? No human could ever survive that much power!

“I’m… wha—“

“Mister Stark! Glad to see you awake.” He heard the click of heels enter the room. His gaze shifted from one woman to another, as he saw a professionally dressed Asian woman come onto the scene.

Helen Cho.

Doctor Cho.

That’s when it hit him. He was truly, honestly, alive.

He was in rough shape, he had finally taken the time to take in his surroundings and realize that his arm was missing (he then proceeded to make the connection that the pain he felt earlier was phantom pain), and he was hooked up to several machines, all of which keeping him going no doubt.

But he was alive.

But…

“How?” He asked Cho, with as much strength as he could muster.

“Let’s just say we’re Banner was able to carry you here in time. Your heart stopped, you know. And even though we were able to get it started again, we still thought you were a lost cause.” She said as kindly as possible, Pepper’s sniffles still filling the room. “In fact, we were planning on pulling the plug tomorrow.”

Pulling the plug? That meant…

“You were in a coma for over a month.” The doctor answered his thought for him.

He swallowed bile at that. He couldn’t stand the thought of his family being in limbo for that long, how long they must have spent lying awake, wondering and worrying.

He almost felt like death would’ve been easier on them.

“But, you pulled through last second! Doesn’t surprise me. You always were a survivor, Mister Stark.” Cho said in a voice that was somehow professional and cheery at the same time.

Survivor.

He survived this.

“Unfortunately, your arm was a lost cause and we had to amputate it.” She said as her tone shifted to one more appropriate for the news she was sharing. “But using the technology they used for Mister Barnes’ arm, Wakanda’s royal medical team was able to fabricate you a fully functioning new one. It’s metal, but it’s something.”

Thank god. He doesn’t know what he would do without his arms. He certainly wouldn’t be able to tinker anymore. Or hug his daughter properly.

His beautiful, beautiful daughter.

Morgan.

He couldn’t wait to see her again.

He couldn’t wait to see all of this wonderful, darling children again.

“Thank you, Doc.” He said weakly, Pepper still kneeling next to him and holding his hand, brushing her fingers over his softly.

Helen just sighed. It was a sad sigh.

He knew that didn’t mean good news.

“Don’t thank me yet.” She spoke softly, as if she was about to say something devastating. “The rest of the world, still thinks your dead.”

He couldn’t help but let out a weak chuckle at that, though it sounded like a strained breath. “Yeah, so did I up until about three minutes ago, jeez no need to be so dramatic about it.” He retorted with his usual snark

“No, Stark. We let the world mourn for you. For privacy’s sake, and in case you didn’t make it to begin with. The only people who were made aware of your comatose state were Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, & Happy. Everyone else thinks you’re six feet under. There was even a funeral held.”

Oh.

“Wait, why only those four? What about Harley, or Peter?” He pressed, letting anger come over him.

He couldn’t stand the thought of his sons mourning him, when his heart was still beating. Especially not Peter, who had lost too much already.

“We decided that the less people that know the better, Mister Stark. We didn’t want this getting out to the public.”

“Oh god…” He sighed, briefly letting go of Pepper’s hand to run his only one through his hair in frustration.

“Well, maybe this is a good thing, right?” His wife softly suggested. “I mean, living the quiet life. No cameras, no responsibilities, just a nice life by the lake…”

“Are you suggesting I fake my death?” He asked, almost offended at the idea.

“I mean, that’s the only way you’re gonna ever be able to truly retire.” She retorted, still sounding soft and airy and in awe that he was here, breathing.

Deep down he knew she was right. She always was.

“I’ll give you some time to think on it. Rest up, sweetheart.” She softly whispered, getting up and placing a kiss on his forehead before leaving the room with Helen, being truly left alone with his thoughts.

And boy, did he have a lot of him.

He was still processing the fact that he was alive, and now he had that decision to make.

Tell the whole world your still alive & be bombarded with even more press and paparazzi than ever before as you’re probably now viewed as the world’s saviour or live the quiet life by the lake with your loved ones with no responsibility other than making sure Morgan is happy and healthy.

Despite it being a clear no brainer, he still decided to think on it.

And his mind wandered to Peter Parker.

The genius kid who just so happens to be a superhero on top of it.

The kid who he loved with all his heart, the kid who he invented time travel for, because he couldn’t live in a world that didn’t know his bright smile and contagious laugh.

The kid who wormed his way into his heart and broke down his walls, revealing a heart behind the sarcastic yet ever stoic exterior.

The kid who made him want to have one of his own.

He thought about how much he loved Peter Parker…

Before he realized how bad he was for him.

He was the one who dragged him into this life, introduced him to experiences that no doubt have him PTSD for life.

Despite how hard he tried to shield him from it, how hard he tried to bench the kid, nothing ever worked.

He was determined to help out, to make a difference.

And look where that got him.

Dying on an alien planet, light years away from home as he begged Tony to save him, before crumbling to dust in his arms.

Tony swore never to let that happen again.

In that moment, Tony swore to protect him.

Even if that protection meant never seeing him again.

Because damn it, he couldn’t let anything happen to that boy ever again.

And it’s not like this was the first time Peter lost a father figure.

Tony knows he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve the pain again…

But odds are he already felt it. And he couldn’t take that unrelenting pain back, even if Peter knew he was still alive.

And Peter? He was strong.

So, fucking, strong.

Tony knew that eventually, Peter would get through it. He had to.

He’s done it before, hasn’t he?

So, as much as it broke him, Tony decided he would do it.

He would fake his own death.

And keep it from Peter.

It broke his heart. But he knew he had to.

For his own good. He told himself.

For his own good.

@agib-2002