#to take responsibility for his actions of course. barton is just... he kind of feels like he is both a fire and a person watching a fire-

[mad-hunts]

richard silken, editor's pages: black telephone | molly brown, places i've taken my body: essays | hael, who made you a monster? | j.h., to be discovered via @fairytellings | heiner müller, anatomy titus fall of rome | albert camus, caligula

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part seven

pairing: bucky x reader

warnings: violence? (not much though), knives, bad crying

word count: 3545

a/n: this is part seven!! i have no idea where this is going, so we’re all being shocked by the events occurring :) i’m proud of this one

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

watch your six series m.list

ray’s m.list

“Okay, just lay back, this might be a bit jarring for you, so sorry in advance.” This woman couldn’t have been much older than you. You were still a bit fuzzy on what exactly was going to be happening, despite her already explaining everything.

Your eyes passed over the group around you. Tony Stark was behind a clear topped table with tools scattered over it, tinkering with his suit helmet. He was muttering about how he hated HYDRA blasters while the eye slits of his faceplate flickered between blue and a lifeless gray. Natasha Romanoff was sitting next to Clint Barton. Natasha was speaking to Clint, her gaze not leaving your form. Clint was oblivious to what was going on around him as he began reloading his quiver.

Steve Rogers was in the corner with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Steve was standing facing away from you, arms crossed over his chest as he spoke with Sam. Bucky was leaned against a table, sharpening a knife that he held with his metal hand. Honestly, the action made your jaw clench every scrape. You locked eyes with his steely blue pair, he didn’t blink, attempting to assert dominance or whatever an alpha male would do.

Fingers snapped in front of your face which brought your attention back to Wanda. “I need you to lay back.” A deep breath passed through your lungs, exhaling heavily through your mouth. Swinging your legs onto the table, you straightened your body, settling your arms at your sides. “I’m going to place my hands at your temples and then we’ll begin, okay?” You were thankful that she was making sure you knew what was going on. Nodding in response, you closed your eyes at her instruction and she began counting backwards from three.

Streaks of red danced behind your lids and you could feel your eyes trying to follow them. You swallowed harshly as a memory jolted to the forefront of your mind. You were thrown head first into the recollection.

Gemini stared at you, snapping her fingers in front of your face like Wanda did. “Hello? Are you with us or not?” Her black hair swayed against her shoulders. “Libs, I’m going to need you to quit drifting. If you do that on a mission, it could be life or death.” She berated you, walking to her half of your quarters. Your head shook back and forth, mouth moving with the memory.

“Yes ma’am.” You snickered at her, sticking your tongue out at her shocked expression. “When do you think they’re going to assign me a mission?” You were practically bouncing off the walls at the thought alone. Unbeknownst to you, this wasn’t all in your head. Wanda could see the memory in real time, but the others could hear your end of the memory as well. You couldn’t stop your mouth from voicing your half of the conversation.

“You know, I don’t know the answer to that, Libby.” Gemini pulled her desk chair out, straddling it backwards, resting her forearms on it. “You just need to have some patience. It’ll come, just give it time.” You groaned and raised your body into a sitting position, leaning forward with your palms on the edge of your bed.

“I don’t like waiting, Gem. Part of the reason why I fast tracked through the training program.”

“You fast tracked through the training program because you were naturally good at everything we threw at you, Libra. No other reason than that.” She laughed at your facial expression. The Avengers around you were confused as to why your face morphed into one of annoyance.

“That may be the case, but I still got into the Virago. And on top of that, I’m the youngest of the Zodiac.” A proud smile stretched across your face. “Plus, I got teamed up with you and let’s be honest, that’s the real accomplishment here.” She shot you a look and you both giggled. A ping sounded from the sound system in the ceiling.

Zodiac meeting in ten minutes. Be in the conference room and ready by the time I get there or there will be consequences.

“Oh, looks like you might be getting a mission sooner rather than later, Lib.” Your eyes widened at the possibility, excitement rushing through your veins.

“Or they could be just calling us in to yell at us again for sucking it up in training.” Your body shuddered as you thought about a few weeks ago. Your CO had hired help from some elite company to assist with the Zodiac training. It didn’t end well when you didn’t meet their standards. “Let’s hope it’s a mission, that would be way better.”

Your body jolted and you fell off the table, quickly catching yourself before you completely face planted into the concrete floor beneath you. Pushing yourself to sit your ass on the cold floor, you looked around the group. Confused faces were spreading, Natasha and Bucky seemed resigned, as if they had more knowledge. Wanda helped lift you onto your feet, checking to make sure you were okay.

“I’ve had dreams about that place before, about those people.”

“You didn’t think that was important to tell us?” Tony sassed from behind his table. “If you had memories resurfacing, then that means you went through something to suppress them. Like Tin Man over there.” He jerked his head to Bucky, who had a solemn look on his face. He had stopped sharpening at some point, and now he was talking to Steve about something.

“You have something you want to share with the class, Barnes?” You were so done with secrets being kept from you. Everyone around you seemed to know what was going on with your life more than you did. Steve stared at you from beside Bucky, hands on his hips, accentuating his Dorito shaped torso.

“I remembered something about the Virago.” Was all he replied with. You were waiting on him to elaborate on what he meant.

“Wonderful. What did you remember about it? I’d really like to know what the hell is happening.” You started towards the man across the room. He had information that he wasn’t giving the room at large to work out. “And if you’re the thing that’s preventing me from going back to my normal life, we might have a problem, Barnes. So, if you would oh-so-kindly, provide all of us with your newly discovered knowledge, that would be greatly appreciated.”

You had made it about the halfway spot of the room when Bucky silently unsheathed his recently sharpened knife and aimed it at you. Time slowed as you watched the blade spin through the air. You moved your upper half to the right, dodging the slice and catching it with your left hand. Your body continued without your guidance as you rushed Bucky, pushing the blade to his throat. Blinking brought you out of your dazed state as you recognized that you were now pressing the sharp object hard enough against his neck to draw blood.

Retreating quickly you dropped the knife to the ground. A resounding ring reverberated through the now silent room. Your hands shook and tears gathered at your waterline. What the fuck was that?

“The Soldier was tasked with training the Zodiac, current and future.” Bucky’s rasp was the only noise beside your exaggerated breaths. “I knew you were going to catch it, by the way. It’s instinct for you.” He leaned his weight back against the table, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Wanda was the next to speak.

“You realize you just scared the shit out of all of us, right?” You weren’t quite sure if she was referring to you or Bucky, but you guessed it didn’t really matter. You swallowed harshly, biting back the need to cry. Who the fuck am I?

“I’ve heard of the Zodiac.” Natasha was next, still sitting comfortably atop the table next to Clint, legs crossed underneath her. “They were like the Americanized version of the Red Room’s elite. It started out as a SHIELD organization but that didn’t last long. As soon as HYDRA found out, they figured out how to take it over. I think their first plant was a woman named Bianca?”

“What else do you remember?” Steve was commanding the room as you thought he would. It wasn’t until he placed a hand on your shoulder that you realized he was talking to you. “We need you to walk us through your dreams, Y/N. Just so we can get a clearer picture, it’ll probably help spark Bucky and Nat’s memories too.” He shifted his hand to hover over your lower back, guiding you back to the hard table. Climbing up, you closed your eyes and recalled the other two dreams.

“Um, I remember getting my first mission assignment? Actually, it might have been my only mission assignment.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it didn’t end well?” You said in a duh tone, gaining your confidence again. You had no reason to lose it before, you just found out that you were kind of a bad ass. “The whole group was tasked with getting some data from this Louis Richardson guy? He was a part of the Svengali, that was what Suits kept asking about. Supposedly Richardson was a high up guy because they put all of us on that one.” You shook your head, trying to clear up the memories. “It was my first assignment, so clearly I was excited to prove myself a useful addition to the Zodiac.”

“What was the mission exactly?” Tony questioned from his spot.

“Half of us were monitoring the party, making sure if there was a fight that the public didn’t cause a riot. The other half was Plan B. We sat outside the safe house Richardson was allegedly using if his drop went south.” Your breaths shuddered again, recalling what happened next. “Of course, it did. We were only supposed to monitor it, but Gem decided that the info was too valuable to let it slip by us. So, we went in and everything went to shit.”

“My instructors talked about that. They said that they killed everyone though. How did you manage to slip by?” Natasha asked, shooting you an inquiring glance.

“Obviously, she didn’t because they had to wipe her memory, like Manchurian Candidate.”

“Gemini and I were the last ones left and then she sacrificed herself so I could escape, get back to headquarters, those were her orders. Stop drifting, watch my six and run like hell to HQ.”

“Well, that’s how they were able to wipe her.” Bucky added quietly, his mind elsewhere.

“If HYDRA had already taken over the Virago, then they would’ve been able to take her without question.” Natasha finished Bucky’s thought as she watched you on the table. Steve stood next to you, squeezing your shoulder as a comfort. You glanced at him and saw a motherly expression had taken over his features.

“Why would they wipe everything though? They still could’ve used her?” Wanda questioned from her position next to Tony. “I mean, if you were a natural like Gemini said that you were, then I’m sure HYDRA would’ve found something to do with you.” Bucky walked out of the room quickly, leaving the rest of the occupants stunned as to his sudden departure. Steve jutted his head at Sam who followed Bucky. Tony was working through all the facts tumbling around in his head. He began talking to Friday about gathering any information she could find on Louis Richardson and several other things. You sat in silence, continuing to sort through half broken memories and dreams.

**********************************************

Bucky had to get out of that room and away from that woman. Sensory overload was overwhelming him, increasing his need to evacuate. He stepped outside, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass. He dropped his head into his hands, sinking to his knees on the ground. Bucky despised being vulnerable in front of people. During his time as the Soldier, vulnerability was punished harshly. He was used to swallowing his emotions, shoving them into the dark corners of his mind. Now being free of HYDRA's grip on his mind, he still struggled with displaying his emotions. All he wanted to do was shout until his throat was raw and his voice scratchy.

“You okay, man?” Bucky had figured it would be Sam. An almost neutral third party with experience in counseling veterans, plus Steve was busy dealing with Y/N. Bucky continued to inhale deeply from his crouched position, not responding to the man behind him. Sam took his increasingly calming breaths as a sign that he wasn’t about to keel over. He came up next to the man, stretching his hand out to Bucky for him to grab. “Come on, old man. Talk to me, what’s going on in that cyborg brain of yours?” Bucky shot the man a weak glare, while pulling himself to his feet, resting his hands on his hips. He brought his right hand up to rake through his dark hair.

“I remembered something else, Sam, and I just couldn’t be in there with her anymore.”  Sam hesitated to ask, almost afraid of the answer that he was going to receive, but he knew he needed to.

“What did you remember, Bucky?” There was a heavy pause hanging in the air between the two. They both knew what Bucky had remembered, but it needed to be said out loud to be real.

“Her screams.” There were tears gathering on Bucky’s bottom lashes, threatening to spill over. Sam outstretched his hand to Bucky, not offering pity to the man on his knees. Sam knew what it felt like to be pitied, not a feeling that he wanted to bestow Bucky with.

“You’re going to be okay, man. It’s going to take time, but it’ll happen.” He faltered before continuing, “You know you’re going to have to talk to her about it, right? If you remember, she will too eventually. Especially if she keeps working with Wanda, they’re going to get to that point. It’ll be better to hear it from you than for her to waltz in there unprepared.” Bucky nodded solemnly, bringing his right hand up to scratch his stubble.

“I know.” His voice shook slightly. “But how do you tell someone that you didn’t do anything while they got tortured and experimented on?” Sam’s eyes searched Bucky’s for any sign that he was forgiving himself. What Bucky did when he was under HYDRA’s thumb wasn’t his fault, but this was going to set Bucky back.

“Look, you know that was the Soldier who just stood to the side because you, Bucky Barnes, would’ve done something.” Sam reassured the man with silent tears tracking down his face. He placed his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder before giving it a squeeze. “Damn it, I can never remember which one it is.” They laughed at his comment, Bucky knew it was for his benefit but he was thankful for it.

The pair entered the compound again, hoping to avoid anyone for a few minutes so Bucky could recollect himself. They weren’t that lucky though seeing as how when they walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, the whole team plus one was gathered around the granite countertops. If any of them noticed Bucky’s red-rimmed eyes, they chose not to say anything, thank fuck for that one.

“We’ve decided that Y/N will be staying here for the foreseeable future.” Tony piped up, breaking the silence that hung over the group. “She’s going to continue to work with Wanda for her memories.”

“I still don’t like this Tony.” It wasn’t often that Steve openly disagreed with Tony, so when he did, it turned heads. “She shouldn’t have to go through with this for us.” Tony opened his mouth to reply when Y/N spoke first.

“Excuse you, Captain. She’s right here and she can make her own decisions.” Her arms crossed over her chest defensively. “You seem to be forgetting that there is a whole part of my life that has been stolen from me. I want it back. If I have to do this to get it back, then that’s what I’m going to do. Helping you is secondary, I just want to make that clear.” A smirk formed on Bucky’s lips, no one stands up to Steve, mostly because he’s usually right.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Tony turned to leave, probably going to his lab to tinker his anxiety away. He pointed a finger at Y/N on his way out. “I like you.” A satisfied grin spread over her features, she’s proud of herself. The first thought that popped into Bucky’s head was that she was being adorable, but he quickly squashed that idea. Not happening, you let her get hurt there’s no way that she’s going to want you. Bucky didn’t sense Steve approach him, too lost in his head.

“You good, Buck?” The man wanted to say no. He wanted to have his Stevie back with the couch cushions on the floor and the newspapers in his shoes. He wanted to go back to 1941, before he got drafted. He wanted to go back to his Ma’s cooking and playing with Rebecca. Hell, he wanted to go back to pulling stick-man Steve out of back alley fights. However, Bucky knew that wasn’t how it worked.

“Yeah, I’ll get there.” Bucky knew that he had it good now. The Internet, less boiled things, no Polio, this unfortunately was a good time period to be stuck in. He just hated that he missed everything else. He missed Rebecca graduating high school and walking her down the aisle, it hurt his heart to think about all the things he wasn’t involved in.

“Where am I staying, room-wise?” Y/N’s voice cut through Bucky’s thoughts, allowing him to refocus on the matters at hand. He needed to figure out how to tell Y/N what he remembered, and that he was sorry, but that will come later.

“There’s an empty room next to Wanda and Vision, I think?”

“Yeah, that’s not a good idea, they’re loud.” Clint cut in, then leaned towards Y/N. “Pillow fights.”

“Okay, well then there’s one next to Sam’s.” Natasha replied, making a face at Clint’s comment. Bucky stiffened as he pictured their room’s hall. The first door on the left was Steve and Bucky’s was next to his. Across the hall was Sam’s room in front of Steve’s and the empty room was opposite Bucky’s. He wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, but he also wasn’t going to argue with Natasha, not after what happened the last time he did.

“Sick, will someone show me where it’s at?” Steve volunteered, needing to get something from his own room anyway. Bucky sighed heavily at Sam who was wearing an encouraging expression.

*********************************************

“Okay, so this is my room and Sam’s is here.” Steve held his arm up to pick out each room. “This is Bucky’s next to mine and then this is you.” It did make you feel a bit better knowing that you were surrounded by some of the most skilled fighters ever. “Bucky has an apartment in the city, so he’s not usually here. He uses this room when he’s here for missions or check-ups, but Sam and I are always here. We’re either training recruits or out on a mission.” You bobbed your head in acknowledgement.

“I’m going to have to get some of my stuff from my apartment, clothes and shit like that. Those bastards took my laptop so I’ll need to go get another one of those, too.” Steve faltered.

“Why do you need a laptop?”

“I do still have a job, Steven. Not all of us are superheroes or world class assassins. I’ve got to make a living somehow, and that somehow is actually-- oh my god.”

“What? Is everything okay?” Steve became concerned so easily.

“Yes, I just realized that I need to call my boss.”

“Look, Y/N. You’re going to have to take a leave of absence or something. Just while we figure all this stuff out. If you’re posting things online or you’re talking to people over the phone, then you can be easily tracked back to the compound.” Steve placed his hands on his hips. “It’s just easier for everyone, if you just lay low for a while. No work, no outside communication.” Your jaw clenched.

“That’s fucking ridiculous. How am I supposed to make a living, Steve? I can’t just live in constant fear because of this. I want to be able to carry on with my life.”

“If HYDRA gets ahold of you, you won’t have a life to carry on with.” Steve had taken steps closer to you. You gulped causing him to back up. “You’re going to work with Wanda and follow our rules. This is for your own good, Y/N, I swear it is.” Nodding numbly, you opened your room door and flopped onto the bed as soon as you saw it. How the hell did I get myself involved in this?

**********************************

@indigo123789 @austynparksandpizza @zozebo

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 11

CLICK HERE IF YOU ARE A FIRST TIME READER

TW for this chapter: more mild smut. more memes. more hijinks and shenanigans. coffee make the brain go skrrrt. bruce fluff & thor being a good bro™. some1 is catching ✨feelings✨. Previous chapters in the link above the cover pic.

Beta reader is @miscmarvelwritings so don't be shy, give her a read. She's the PB to my jelly.

"I don't know about you..." Taylor Swift softly sang from the speakers.

"Bitch, I hope the fuck you do!" I shouted, tumbling into the kitchen with the grace of a giraffe on acid. The smell of coffee and fresh omelettes was mouthwatering. 

"You look… Good," Peter stared at me, his coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth. The tone of his voice bore very little understanding of the situation he found himself in.

I didn't sleep that night, instead pursuing a scientific quest right after being finger-fucked by Tony Stark. I blame the suits - he had one partially disassembled not ten feet from the puddle my juices had made on the floor - and well, I never said I had a great attention span. One terrible, inappropriate joke had led us to smirking to each other from both sides of the suit as we brainstormed how to best modify it for impromptu bondage sessions. If Peter could have heard us go at it, he'd never set foot in Tony's lab ever again.

On my mighty quest to quench the thirst for knowledge, I completely neglected basic hygiene, so the me that rolled into the kitchen that morning still had yesterday's outfit consisting of fishnets and Tony's hoodie, possibly stained with cum and pussy juice. As a bonus feature, infamous raccoon eyes had made an appearance, courtesy of me rubbing my face multiple times throughout the night.

"I'm feeling my oats," I declared proudly, sitting down next to Peter, making grabby hands at the coffee machine.

"I'm tempted to ask..." Clint handed me the steaming hot dish full of holy bean juice. "But I think I'd rather not." Pointedly, he moved away from me, just enough to make it known he was wary.

"What just happened?" Stephen Strange blinked owlishly.

Boy was he a sight for sore eyes. The wizard wasn't Tony, of course, but his plain white tee left very little to imagination, pulled tight across his toned chest and lean arms. The grey sweats? Illegal. That's a bonk and a ticket to the horny jail for me.

"You didn't get to sleep? Again?" Peter asked, exasperated.

"Sleep who?" I chirped, feeling way too energetic for someone running on some illegal drugs and a single orgasm. It was easy to shrug off the concerned stares I kept getting from the adults and Pete since my already wacky attention span decided to quit it's job without notice.

"Guys, have you seen… oh, there she is!" Tony scrambled into the kitchen, holding his head. That manic look did nothing for his complexion, but then again, I'd take him even filthy and crippled. "Don't just disappear like that!" He snatched the half-empty coffee cup, downing it's remnants in one go and immediately going for a refill. "We didn't finish programming in the shibari function..." He mumbled, absentmindedly running a hand through his messy, greasy hair.

"I..." Peter was still frozen. "I'm not sure I, uh, follow."

"So, me and Tones had this absolutely BRILLIANT idea ..." I started, leaning back in my chair. "But the execution, as usual, needs more work."

"Yes, I can see you've been having ideas," Pete's sass was ignored by both me and Tony. The man was kind enough to clumsily plop a coffee cup in front of me as he was beelining for the fridge. "What are you trying to install? Shib-what?"

"You don't want to know, Pete, trust me," Clint made big eyes at me from across the room. "I'm scared of you," He added, pointing an accusative finger in my direction.

I gave him my best manic stare, probably overdid it by a wide margin. Barton shrunk back, slinking subtly behind Stephen who cleared his throat.

"So I've heard you had an incident yesterday," The doctor was looking at me with concern and pity. "Do you need to visit the medbay?"

About a dozen unsaid and very inappropriate responses later, I simply shook my head negative. My mouth was not to be trusted whilst I was so distracted. Plus, he was hot. I kind of tended to think with my vagina instead of my brain around hot people.

"Good morning," Wanda entered the room, stopping briefly at my side to give me a hug. "Ugh, finally," She muttered the words, looking first at me, then at Tony. 

I raised my eyebrow in a silent question and she just smiled, reaching for her own coffee cup.

Tony mercilessly towed me back to his lab once I polished off two omelettes and another cup of coffee - what would've been my fourth was snatched out by an amused Stephen, all stern and firm and magical, meaning he simply whooshed it out of existence as I was raising it to my mouth. He didn't appreciate my choice of expletives, either, none too fondly rolling his eyes and beginning a lecture on heart attacks. Whatever, Tony was my knight in shining armour and we left the kitchen quietly plotting our mechanical plots right over the annoying doctor's mumbling. 

There was quite a lot of delicate soldering involved in the gauntlets of the new suit. Having to construct and fix everything on the go proved to be harder than building a robot; even for Tony, the genius engineer himself. We had burned ourselves and nearly dislocated our wrists too many times to count. Thankfully Friday ran the calculations in the background, so we just did the manual labor part.

And coding. The pounding in my skull, the acid in my loins. My God, I hated coding during a hangover. Tony didn't fare any better and that was the best consolation, really. Despite the consumed caffeine, he passed out somewhere during the initial stage. I held out not much longer, barely catching myself as I was reclining against him on the very floor we were building on, scattered cups and tools and glowing holo-screens keeping us company. 

My sleep was deep but not deep enough to miss a pair of deep male voices contemplating how to best move mine and Tony's sleeping bodies somewhere more comfortable. The engineer was a cuddler, it turns out, and refused to unwind himself from my prone body, going as far as to kick one of the men - I later learned it was Thor who got a swift punt in the shins from Tony when the Asgardian and Banner attempted to untangle our combined limbs. In the end, they settled awkwardly piling me on top of Tony and Thor single-handedly carried us all the way to Tony's penthouse, depositing us in the absolutely magnificent fluffy, enormous bed.

The bed? I wanted one as soon as I landed on it.

The fishnets? They were beginning to cut into the soft parts of my body, causing an uncomfortable stinging and itching sensation whenever I moved.

"Bwucie," I slurred with my eyes shut, feeling the man rustling around with a blanket, tucking us in. He was just the sweetest scientist.

"Sorry, we tried not to wake you up. Go back to sleep, Princess," He whispered, leaning closer to my face. His breath tickled my hair.

"M'kay, jus' wanna get these off," I weakly pulled at the offending piece of clothing.

The man chuckled. "That looks uncomfortable," Before softly sliding his hands up my legs, hooking his fingers under the stretchy waistband and pulling them down. His hands were hot and soft; my moan was softer but he heard it nonetheless, hand briefly stilling on my thigh.

I snuggled deeper into Tony, rolling onto my side and unashamedly throwing a leg over his hips, happy to find his jeans were off, too.

It appeared that Tony's teammates had already developed some sort of care protocol for their resident mad scientists. Bruce's and Thor's actions had been executed with a practiced care and gentleness. The warm fuzzy feeling in my chest blossomed fully as Bruce once more tucked the blanket around me, tenderly patting me on the back and Tony on the shoulder.

"You'nThor, y'the best," I managed to wiggle out the words out of my muddled, uncooperative brain before returning back to the dreamland.

It felt like another ten minute nap when I woke up again. The lights in the room were off, the NYC skyline providing the illumination instead. Tony was still in bed with me, his breathing even and the quiet hum of the arc reactor steady under my ear. It was the first time I'd been close enough to him to hear the sound of it. 

Sleep slowly seeped out of my body, lead disappearing from my limbs. It seemed like I hadn't moved at all. Once my head cleared up, the confusion seeped in. I'd gone to second base with Tony and we did science and never spoke of it again. He didn't kiss me, didn't touch me more than usual - but didn't resist a good ole sleepy cuddle.

What now? I never thought I'd actually get this far. Some part of me - probably the same part that sent me on a romantic novel reading spree a couple of years ago - thought he'd wake up, confess his secret love and attraction for me and we'd seal it with a kiss. Yeah, no, that sounded disgustingly unrealistic even to my own ears. There was no way I would be kissing someone with this swamp I had going on in my mouth.

I wasn't actually that naïve. Why would a man like him pursue something serious with a girl like me? I was a child in his eyes. In fact, all of the Avengers minus Wanda and Bucky treated me like a child. I knew why and I still hated it. I've been taking care of myself in all the ways but financial for years, surely, they had to have noticed that. Teachers in school certainly did. Bruce did, to some extent, I had to admit begrudgingly. Even if his behaviour was really peculiar sometimes.

"Do I make a comfortable pillow, Princess?" A chuckle startled me out of my musings. Tony sounded relaxed and warm and cosy.

"Yeah," I answered honestly, tilting to see his face. He was giving me that lopsided smirk, the one he previously saved for science and Peter and Clint's baking ventures. Something within me stirred, painfully tightening my chest, and I fought against it to preserve this memory like this - happy, carefree.

His thumb found it's way around me, tracing the line of my jaw with surprising tenderness. He was looking at me like I was made of glass. Like I was the most beautiful sculpture he'd ever seen.

I scrunched my nose when his finger found my lips. "I need a shower and a toothbrush," I declared, not knowing what else to do. All of this - the atmosphere, the shared comfort, the looks - it felt too intimate somehow. Having to be on full display of his intelligent, deep brown eyes was terrifying: I felt like crying one moment and laughing the next.

"I was having a moment here," Tony snorted indignantly but relented nonetheless, slowly pushing himself up in a sitting position. 

I admired his broad shoulders and the dips and valleys of his arms as he stretched; he caught me staring and winked, of course. I retaliated with skimming my fingertips under the hem of his tee, lightly scratching my nails over his defined abs, delighted with his shiver. 

"Behave," He sternly mouthed, following with a smile.

"Never," I smiled back, slipping into banter with comfortable familiarity.

He then led me to the huge walk-in shower, unashamedly stripping off his shirt and socks on the way. Boxers were the last, flying somewhere over my head. My hormones were a raging inferno, or, at least that's what I would have said if someone asked me why the 'loading' icon was hanging over my head as I stared at Tony's round, firm ass. I had to touch it. I absolutely had to touch it, at least once in my life. 

My dignity was saved by my own yawn. Tony's hands used the opportunity to slide his hoodie (RIP) over my head, exposing me to the cold air. I shivered in my lacy bra and panties until they were gone, too. My flaws stared back at me from the wall-length mirror and with the way Tony's hands gently settled over my stomach, another hand copping a feel of my breast, I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Beautiful, Princess," He simply said, having noticed the frown on my face.

"No, you," I automatically replied, smirking.

"Me? Nah," He shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing to his arc reactor. "Sexy, however... I'm definitely fucking hot," He leered, pressing his hips into mine with a knowing smirk.

I wiggled my butt, taking my time to turn around and face him. I saw right through the defenses he'd put up. The team didn't start calling me "girl version of Tony" without a reason - I knew we were quite similar in the less desirable character trait category. Impulsive, selfish. Defensive.

Angry red lines spanned across his chest, some faded, some raised. In the middle of it all, the arc reactor shone like a blue little sun in its metal framing. I traced around it, feeling the uneven skin, bumps and dips of it. "It keeps you alive. That's more than enough. For me," I placed a chaste kiss right in the middle of it. 

I wished he didn't have to have the thing. I wished he'd never had to go through what he went though in Afghanistan - for me, the press release I'd read was enough to get a grasp on the fact he was tortured and hurt and fucked up in there.

Stepping into the shower, I retreated from him, retreated from my feelings getting in the way and ruining the fun. The least I wanted to do was humiliate myself by crying out of... Out of what, pity? Lovesickness?

"I'm starting to see why everybody else thinks we might be related," Tony's chuckle sounded tired and slightly forced.

"I hope not," A moment to figure out what knob to turn and hot water rained down my body. Almost instantly, the tension in me melted away. "I'm not really into incest and shit."

"Ew," He walked under the stream, sighing agreeably. "But you're into bondage, so you've got that going on for you."

"Yep. Bondage and hot old dudes," I shrugged, reaching for the shampoo.

"I definitely qualify for all three," Tony promptly snatched the bottle out of my hands, standing behind me to do the tedious task of washing me. I allowed, guiltlessly enjoying the treatment. His dexterous fingers massaged my scalp, caressed my body. 

A moan slipped out of me at the glide of his hand across my nether regions.

"Tut-tut, Birdbrain is going to pitch a fit if we're late for dinner!"

"Fuck the Chicken," I announced petulantly, attempting to follow the motion of his hand with my hips. He held me firmly by my stomach, only succeeding in adding fuel to the fire within me. "Tony-y-y..."

"Nu-uh," He replied, but the smile hidden in my shoulder and the boner poking me in the hip gave him away.

"Sir?" I tried, getting a low groan in response. "Master? Owner? Daddy?" 

His breath stuttered at the last syllable, teeth closing none-too-gently around a patch of my skin. I felt a bruise bloom under his mouth, the delicious pull of it making me realize I'd be marked by Tony for days. A full-body shudder erupted from me at the thought. 

"You're trouble," He growled, grinding his own arousal into my ass. "Filthy, spoiled brat," Tony punctuated his words with another claiming bite on my shoulder blade. 

"I'm your trouble now," I smirked, relishing in all the attention my body was getting. The fingers that granted me sweet ecstasy at night a fresh memory in my mind, I relented my own urgent need in favour of repaying the man of my dreams for his troubles. 

One smirk and my knees rested comfortably on the strangely soft floor of the shower. I came face to face with Tony's hard cock. It stood proudly, the flushed tip of it dripping - with water or pre-come, I didn't know, but was eager to find out. 

"Fuck," Tony gasped, gazing down at me in astonishment as I tongued the slit of his cockhead. "You dirty little thing," He seemed to gather his wits quickly enough, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. 

He was just about to find out how dirty, I decided. There was something satisfying on a purely primal level, seeing a powerful man absolutely losing it with his dick in my mouth. Rapidly, I swallowed as much of him as I could. His girth throbbed. 

"Ruin me?" I popped off, resting my cheek against the hardness of it, tugging on his free hand to place it in my hair. My own arousal flared in response to his bewildered hunger.

Tony wasted no time in fisting a hand in my hair, carefully but firmly putting my mouth onto his cock. Inch after inch disappeared within my mouth; I was breathing through my nose as he slowly began fucking my mouth.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ, Princess, fuck," The mantra fell from his lips, echoing in the large room, mixing in with the water still pouring onto our bodies from above. The heat of it had nothing on the smouldering fire in my belly where it coiled tight and low. Tony's musk on my tongue, the firm hold on my hair. He truly held me, in body and in mind. There was nowhere else I'd rather be than on my knees for him.

I moaned around him causing a stutter in the moderate tempo. Our eyes met: his, wide and gleaming captured my own and I couldn't look away. With a wanton moan, Tony increased the pace, it quickly became brutal and punishing. I held onto his thighs for dear life, wordlessly pleading him to use my mouth for his own pleasure. 

And he took it, shamelessly, emptying himself into my mouth with a groan that nearly made me come untouched. It was beautiful and I swallowed every drop of him, refusing to let the evidence of his bliss go to waste. 

"Fuck," His voice was ragged. 

I rested my cheek against his thick thigh, catching my breath. "Good?" Just to quickly be pulled to my feet, trapped between his hot, wet body and the chilly tiles of the nearest wall. The shiver that ran through me was only partially caused by the sudden change in temperature.

"You did so good, you're my good girl," He mumbled against my lips, sliding his tongue into my mouth without any restraint. His other hand slid between my legs, immediately toying with my clit. That and the hastily spoken praise coupled with the feverish way he was licking himself out of my mouth sent me over the edge, until I was falling, stumbling head-first into an ecstatic abyss.

"Mmm... Tony," Dreamily, I savoured the moment.

"Oh, we're back to first name basis?" He snarked, finally turning off the water.

Pliant as ever, I followed him out of the shower and into his walk-in closet where he pointed at a row of t-shirts and hoodies. I grinned mischievously as I took my pick. "Daddy?"

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @softie-socks @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn

[thatfanficstuff]

Nightingale’s Song - 12

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Warnings: um...mentions of blood and angst

***

Anna sighed as her and Steve entered the lab. He refused to take her word for it that everything was fine. He wanted an x-ray so he’d dragged her off to Banner. It appeared the scientists were just finishing up the batch of sedatives they needed for the mission.

“Bruce, we need an x-ray,” Steve announced, sounding every bit the disgruntled super soldier he was. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest still annoyed with her for how she’d gone about repairing the damage.

He rushed over. “What happened?”

Tony snorted. “I would guess she failed the test.”

“Guess again, Iron Man,” she said over her shoulder as she followed Banner out the door to head to the infirmary.

“Raven broke Anna’s arm,” Steve said as they moved down the hall in answer to Bruce’s earlier question.

Anna hopped up on the table she’d already spent too much time on. “Arm’s fine. Steve lacks faith in my remarkable healing abilities.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement. “Let’s see it.”

Anna held out her arm and Bruce manipulated the limb while watching her for any signs of distress. “Feels fine, Doc.”

“Well, let’s take a look at it.” He ran a scanner over the arm until an image appeared on the large screen beside them. Bruce studied it for a second before looking at Steve. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would say you were lying about the break. There’s no sign of it here. Not even a shadow.”

Anna hopped off the table and patted Steve’s chest. “See Steve. All good. Now, I need clothes I can fight in.”

Steve’s sigh was one of utter defeat and Anna couldn’t stop the small smile that came to her face.

***

In the end, Loki conjured up an outfit for her to wear. It was incredibly comfortable. Natasha then fitted her with a pair of holsters and two pistols along with a couple of knives. Once she was outfitted, Anna found Steve and turned in a circle. “Well, what do you think, boss?”

His lips twitched as he fought a smile. He tapped his chin as if deep in thought. “There’s something missing.”

Anna glanced down in surprise. She thought they’d covered everything. When she looked up to say as much, Steve was undoing the clasp of the chain he was wearing. As he pulled it from his shirt, light caught the stones on the ring that hung from it. Anna gasped before covering her mouth with a trembling hand. It couldn’t be.

“Is that…” she trailed off, not daring to hope he still had it after all this time.

He tilted his head and offered her a crooked smile. “Haven’t taken it off in seventy years. I never thought I’d be able to keep my promise to bring it back to you.”

Anna held up the chain and let the ring fall into her open palm. Tears blurred her vision as she looked at it for the first time in so long. She wanted nothing more than to slip back onto her finger where it belonged, but now wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to risk losing it in some dark corner of a Hydra base. Instead, she put it back onto the chain and clasped it around her own neck before tucking the ring into the collar of her shirt.

She lunged forward, causing Steve to grunt in surprise as she wrapped her arms around him. He was quick to return the gesture. “Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome, Anna. Now, let me keep my other promise to bring Bucky back to you. It’s overdue.”

***

The Quinjet set down a mile away from the facility. It would impede a quick getaway but made it less likely they’d be spotted going in.

Everyone gathered around Steve just outside the jet. “All right, Nat will set the charges. Tony, take point and clear the hallway. Then we split up. Stay in pairs or threes. Lethal actions against the three targets only if necessary. Isolde will take point on the girl. Clint and Raven focus on the boy. Anna and I have Bucky. Call for backup when needed. Stay on comms. Any questions?”

“If any of you happen to find a blond doctor that wears glasses and an obnoxious smirk, let me know. We need to have a little talk,” Anna added. Her tormenter should be long dead, but just like her, he never seemed to age. Bastard.

They all just looked at her for a moment before Steve spoke up. “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”

As they neared the facility, it became apparent that they had somehow managed to go undetected. They quietly took out guards while doing their best to avoid the cameras. Anna licked her lips as she watched the assassin blow the door. There was a moment of stillness, of anticipation, after the explosion and then they charged forward in a flood of light and noise.

Anna and Steve were the last to enter and she wasn’t sure if he wanted to take up the rear or if he was still trying to protect her. Perhaps a combination of both. Though he did step back and let her take the lead as she steered them through the warren of hallways. They paused only to take out the occasional Hydra agent or place an explosive on the wall so they could blow it when they evacuated.

Anna steered them true and they quickly found the cryo chamber where they kept Bucky. It was empty. Of course, it was. Nothing could be that simple. Tension coiled in her belly. What if he wasn’t here at all? What if he was on assignment somewhere?

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. “We’ll find him.”

She simply nodded her head, not knowing what else to say.

“We’ve got eyes on Winter,” Natasha’s voice suddenly came over the comms. “Hallway 3B. He dodged the tranq shots. Could use a little help here.”

Anna and Steve hurried through the halls, doubling back twice when they realized they’d taken a wrong turn. Finally, they rounded a corner and found Natasha, Clint and Raven fighting Bucky. It was always harder to take someone down when you were trying not to kill them.

Steve sucked in a breath as he saw his best friend. “Buck,” he whispered, Anna barely hearing the word he said so softly. He rushed forward to join the fray but Anna hesitated. Images flashed through her brain of the last time she’d seen him. The cool blade biting into her flesh. The pool of blood she’d awakened in. And the pain. God, the pain.

“Nightingale!”

Steve’s yell brought her back to the present and she realized it probably wasn’t the first time he’d called for her. He grappled with Bucky. Natasha was on the floor struggling to catch her breath with Raven knelt beside her. Clint was trying to get a good shot from his bow without hitting Steve who kept putting himself between his best friend and the archer.

“Hey, Soldier,” Anna called as she moved forward. She placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder and pulled him back. “I got this,” she told him. He stepped back but maintained his stance. She didn’t blame him. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Breathed through her anxiety. “Asset.” She hated herself even as she called him that. That name that made him a faceless thing. A tool to be used.

Bucky’s gaze shot to her before focusing back on Steve. He wasn’t going to take orders from her. He probably didn’t even remember her healing him.

She sucked in a breath. She only needed his attention long enough to sedate him. So, she sang. “Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper I love you. Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Natasha mumbled.

But then they all noticed Bucky shake his head as he tried to stay focused. To keep fighting.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but keep doing it,” Clint said.

“Say nightie-night and kiss me. Hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me. While I’m alone and blue as can be. Dream a little dream of me,” she continued. Tears trailed down her face.

Bucky turned to face her, his fight forgotten. His face was contorted in confusion. Anna smiled. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

God, that hurt. But before she could even think of a response, his eyes rolled back in his head. Steve caught him before he hit the ground and draped him across his shoulders. “Let’s go. Everyone else is already at the jet.”

Natasha took the lead and the Bartons brought up the rear. They hurried toward the exit. “So, was that a music tames savage beast kind of thing or what?” Clint asked as he fell into step with her. He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t distract the others.

Anna glanced at him. “Something like that. It was our song. It was how I got his memory back the first time. I figured it was worth a shot.”

Clint smiled and looked at his wife before turning his attention back to Anna. “He must really love you if that cuts through all the shit they filled his head with.”

Anna could only hope that love would be enough to bring him back to her.  

[oswildin]

Betrayal Never Tasted So Good ~ Dhawan!Master x F!Reader

Request: I would love any kind of f!reader x dhawan master, where she’s used to be part of the fam but decided to side with the Master when he revealed himself - he doesn’t understand why, thinks that she’s spying for the Doctor and ends up making her kneel and demands her to proof her loyalty to him bonus points if they end up kissing haha ( @pansexualwho )

Summary: (Y/N) couldn’t explain what came over her... She just knew she had to make a difference... By helping the Master.

Warnings: Bit of snogging.

~

(Y/N) always felt somewhat of an outsider. In school, in work, even with her family she couldn’t help but feel like the odd one out. Even with the Doctor and the fam she still felt it. She noticed she would tend to be the one in the back, she would be the quietest, the one where if she went missing it would take them a while to notice.

She understood the fact the Doctor had responsibility to look after 4 humans with every adventure. It was probably hard enough looking after one, but she felt it would be nice to be acknowledged more, to be noticed.

She knew she probably sounded like whiney and childish, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. It was something she’d had to deal with the majority of her life, and when she accepted to travel with the Doctor, she thought it would change. She knew it was her own insecurities, but she couldn’t help but harbour some blame towards the gang. But she was always too afraid to stand up for herself, in case they decided to leave her behind on Earth.

Currently, they were on an adventure investigating a man called Daniel Barton and an alien species that seemed to work with the human. They were taking down spies around the world, and only the Doctor could stop it. However, the situation quickly changed and escalated when O, one of the agents for MI6 (well... supposedly), revealed it was all a coverup. He was in fact an old enemy of the Doctors.

The Doctor looked confused, surprised, angry. The rest of the gang looked mostly confused. O, or the Master, was madly grinning at them all, his whole persona changing once he’d revealed himself.

He intended to kill them all. There was a bomb where Barton was once sat in the cockpit, as the Doctor tried to shield the explosion from her friends, but it was impossible to stop the plane was crashing at that moment. (Y/N) tightly held onto one of the seats as the plane began to plummet to the ground. She felt panic rise in her, a panic she hadn’t felt for a while. She should be used to these situations with the Doctor, but nothing could prepare her for facing possible death.

The Master was surrounded by a bright light, as the aliens stood behind him. She had to take her chance. She didn’t want to leave her friends, but at the same time, she knew the Doctor would save them. She always had a plan.

“Take me with you!” (Y/N) shouted, making eye contact with the man as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“And why would I do that?” He questioned, yelling over the wind that flew through the plane.

“Because I can help you.” She told him truthfully, as he couldn’t help but smirk at the girl. He had noticed her when the others didn’t as O. He could see the distance between her and the others. He grabbed her wrist as he teleported away, leaving the others as they looked shocked and betrayed by their friend.

The pair ended up in O’s house, or the Master’s TARDIS. (Y/N) saw Barton stood beside the console as he sent a questioning look towards the Master. The Master moved his head in a way of saying ‘leave’ as Barton disappeared. (Y/N) felt the panic and guilt arrive within as she felt her mind spiral. What had she done? Why had she done that? The Master saw her anguish as he approached her.

“The Doctor’s faithful companion...” He began, making eye contact with her as she stared up at him. “Betrayed her friends.” He raised a brow. “Why?” (Y/N) paused, shaking her head slightly.

“I don’t know.” She said sincerely, her voice quiet.

“Oh come on!” He exclaimed, grinning. “Of course you know. Everyone knows why they do something.” He told her, as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She thought for a moment, trying to think clearly.

“Anger.” She replied simply, as he furrowed his brows, before it sank in. He laughed for a second, clapping his hands together.

“Oh this is wonderful.” He shook his head, smiling. “You feel like the outsider. The disposable one.” His words made her flinch slightly, and that’s when it confirmed it for him. “So you thought, the way to get their attention, is to join with the opposing side. How calculated.” (Y/N) looked away from him as she processed his words, beginning to understand her own actions. “It’s not as easy as that though.” He shook his head. “Why should I let you jump ship to me? I need to know you won’t just jump back to them, tell them everything you know.” His eyes turned dark as he spoke causing a shiver to run down (Y/N)‘s spine. He paused, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Kneel.”

He ordered, as she looked back up at him confused.

“What?” She asked, her voice still quiet.

“Kneel. Prove to me, that you want this.”

(Y/N) bit her lip. She knew she couldn’t turn around and walk away. She was too deep in. She glanced at him, before slowly sinking down, one knee, then the other as the Master watched intensely, judging her every move. He smirked as he looked down at her.

“I understand.” He nodded. “I do. I know how it feels to be you.” He said softly. “But look at me now.” He grinned. “I don’t need... anyone.” He gestured around him at the empty TARDIS. “I can make you like me.” He offered. He knelt down before her, making them equal. “I can teach you how to be strong, ruthless... In control.” His eyes were dark, as she could see the rage that was hidden within. “All you need to do, is prove to me. Prove to me you want it.”

(Y/N) breathed heavily, blinking as she suddenly felt herself grow weak at his words. She quickly leant forwards, grabbing the back of his head with her hands as she pulled him towards her. She smashed her lips against his, closing the gap between them as the Master was taken back, but quickly regained composure, moving his hands to her waist.

(Y/N) pulled away, her lips swollen slightly as she stared into his eyes. He smirked at her, grabbing her by her throat for a moment.

“If you betray me.” He told her lowly. “I will kill you.”

~

Taglist: @blamerogertaylor @the-sweet-space-bi @yourlocalspacebisexual @dannighost @drapetxmaniia @a--1--1--3 @asupersonicwoman @imagine-whatever

[ceealaina]

Title: Why Can't I Be You (Or: Aww, Paperwork) Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - Kate Bishop/Hawkeye Ship: Gen (Minor Background Stony) Rating: Teen Major Tags: Humor, Misunderstandings Summary: When Clint has to go away on a deep cover mission, he doesn’t hesitate to name Kate as his replacement on the Avengers roster. But when he forgets to, you know, actually submit the paperwork, misunderstandings and confusion ensue. (Not quite 616 and not quite MCU, but some fun hybrid of the two.) Word Count: 2257

When Clint found out about his three-month deep-cover mandatory assignment with SHIELD, he didn’t hesitate to designate Kate as his official temporary replacement on the Avengers roster. He’d been mentoring her for just over two years now, and while he’d never say it to her face, she’d probably stopped needing the mentoring just under two years ago. Kate was phenomenal, confident and competent and with his same penchant for disgustingly sugary breakfast cereal. Really, the only problem he could see was somebody (Tony) getting funny ideas about making his temporary replacement a little more permanent. It was an absolutely flawless plan. 

Except, of course, that while Clint had many talents, paperwork was not one of them. And as such, he forgot to actually designate Kate as his replacement. 

Clint had only been gone a few days before the next call to assemble had come in, and since it was a frequent occurrence for Clint to disappear off to BedStuy and/or the vents during their downtime, nobody had really questioned not seeing him around the tower. 

Tony was flying over Chelsea Market (there was a reason that the Avengers were based in New York, and it wasn’t just the late-night dining options), trying to figure out their best bet for dealing with the giant starfish… things they were fighting back into the ocean when something caught his eye and he stopped dead, hovering a few feet away from a rooftop. Everyone knew that Clint’s favourite colour was purple, and he certainly couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing a purple jumpsuit with hip cutouts -- especially not while wielding a bow and arrow -- but that was as far  as the resemblance went. The figure on the rooftop was decidedly more feminine than Tony remembered Barton being, moving with easy, lithe movements that were a far cry from Clint’s normal blend of competent dumbassery. 

He was so focused on this strange newcomer that he nearly missed the giant sea urchin headed his way until all of a sudden there were spines on his arm and a huge sucking hole almost right in his face. Tony made a disgusted noise because that mouth thing was disturbing on a level he couldn’t even examine. But before he could form any kind of attack response, an arrow was flying past him, missing his shoulder by millimeters to embed itself right in the centre of the sea urchins mouth hole thing, sending it rolling off in the other direction. Tony turned in time to see the woman on the roof throw him a saucy salute that was all Clint. 

“Okay,” Tony said to no one in particular. “Sure.”

Throwing himself back into the fray, Tony searched out Steve on the battlefield below and then switched over to a private line. 

“Uh, hey honey,” he said, shooting a repulsor blast at the same time. “Can I hum in your ear a second?” 

Steve’s sigh was weary. “Tony, I’ve told you before. No sexting on the battlefield.” 

“Technically it’s not sexting if we’re speaking to each other,” Tony couldn’t help pointing out. “Also, I want you to know that somewhere there’s an alternate universe where I’m married to Rhodey, and he lets me talk dirty in his ear anytime.”

“Tony.”

 “Right. No, not it’s not that. Uh, your three o’clock. You seeing what I’m seeing?” 

He watched as Steve turned in the direction he had pointed out, and then winced as the shield went flying into the giant L of the Google sign, shattering the lower part of it. 

“Shit,” Steve cursed, shifting position to retrieve it. “Is that…?”

“Clint?” Tony supplied. “Lady Clint? I’ve got no idea, but I’ve got a really bad feeling that the answer to that is a resounding yes.” 

Steve cursed under his breath again, launching himself at another one of the sea monsters. “Okay,” he said, and Tony was only a little resentful that he didn’t even sound winded. “Let’s just… Deal with this, and then we’ll deal with that.” 

***

Kate swung down from the fire escape, sticking the landing perfectly. Her heart was still pounding with adrenaline in the best way. This wasn’t her first fight, obviously, but there was a big difference between helping Clint take out the tracksuit mafia and a full-scale Avengers mission against… Well, she still wasn’t sure what those things had been but it didn't matter. That had been incredible.

Abruptly she stopped as she realized that Captain America and Iron Man were standing at the entrance to the alley, watching. She took a moment to steady herself, because holy shit, these were the Avengers waiting for her to join them (and yes, okay, technically Clint was an Avenger too, but that was different) and drew in a deep breath before striding forward with as much confidence as she could muster. 

“Hi,” she said, thrusting her hand forward. Her dad had been an asshole, but he’d still impressed on her the importance of a strong handshake. “I’m the new and improved Hawkeye.”

There was a sound from Iron Man that may have been a snort, and then his faceplate was rolling back to reveal sparkling eyes and wow. Older dudes weren’t really her thing, but the tabloids did not do him justice. 

“Sure,” he said, taking her hand in his own metal grip. “Nice to meet you.” 

Beside him, Captain America rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he said dryly. 

Kate hesitated a moment, a little hurt that he wouldn’t even shake her hand, but tried to tell herself that maybe he was still in post-mission mode, and all business business. Or maybe he was just a dick, but she felt like Clint would have mentioned that at some point. Steve seemed to confirm her first thought when, a beat later, he was pressing a hand against Iron Man’s back, steering him back toward the street. 

“Come on, let’s just get back to the Tower, so we can sort this all out.” He glanced over at Tony, a little more fondness in his voice. “You gonna make me fill out your action report too?” 

“Obviously,” Tony told him.

Steve glanced back at Kate, and this time she could see he was smiling a little. “I hope you don’t think this means you’re getting out of doing your paperwork.” 

“I… Wasn’t,” she told him, still a little confused. Captain America might not have been the dick that he’d first appeared to be, but she had the feeling that she was missing something very important here. 

Tony and Steve talked the whole way to the Quinjet, some hybrid of tactical discussion and friendly bickering that left Kate to follow a step behind them. Occasionally there’d be a moment of silence as they’d wait for her input, but truthfully Kate was only humming in agreement to words she hadn’t heard, still a little in awe that she was working with the actual Avengers. When they reached the jet Tony had clapped Steve on the shoulder and told him he’d meet him back home, apparently flying back to the tower under his own power. He’d taken a step back, faceplate coming down, and then he stilled. 

“Hey, great work today, by the way. You handled that insanely well.” 

“Uh.” Kate looked around, sure that he must be talking to Steve again, but Steve was already several feet away, talking to the Falcon, and the faceplate was pointed in her direction. “Thank you!” she told him, feeling her heart skip a beat at the idea that Iron Man was complimenting her. “You know, I was a little worried when I saw they were giant sea urchins, cause like. What? But it wasn’t so bad!” 

“Well yeah, but that’s just Avenger life. With your whole… Situation though.”

“Uhhh.” 

The faceplate came back up, and Tony stepped in closer, lowering his voice to presumably keep any of the SHIELD agents milling about from listening in. “Seriously. I know Steve said we’d figure this out back at the tower, but you’ve gotta be freaking out a little. How are you holding up?” 

Kate blinked at him. “With what?” 

Tony gestured vaguely at her body, and while Kate was getting over the weirdness of Tony Stark pointing out her boobs, he arched an eyebrow at her. “Seriously, Clint. Are you okay?” 

“Oh!” Kate’s eyes went wide as she suddenly realized what was going on. She didn’t know how, or why, but for some reason they didn’t think she was Clint’s replacement. They thought she was Clint. Somehow. It didn’t make sense to her, but she supposed for the Avengers, stranger things had happened. 

Then panic caught up with her as she realized what they meant. If they thought she was Clint, they couldn’t have been expecting her at all. What would happen if they found out she was holding Clint’s spot on her team? Would they decide she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t experienced enough? Would they make her leave? That panic was the only excuse for the words that came out of her mouth next. 

“Yes,” she said, with a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yes. I, Clint Barton, have turned into a woman.” 

She regretted it immediately, because wow Bishop, way to dig yourself into a whole, but she couldn’t stop giggling. This whole situation was just too ridiculous. 

“Right.” Tony was looking a little concerned, and like maybe he regretted bringing this up here. He settled a hand on her shoulder. “Well, try not to panic,” he told her. “This isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened, right? We’ll figure it out.” 

“Right,” Kate said, clearing her throat and fighting to get herself under control. “Sorry, I just… Had a moment, but I’m fine. Really, it’s not even that bad. Being a woman is pretty awesome.” 

Tony grinned back at her, looking relieved. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so much more competent since you turned into a girl?” 

Kate started laughing again, digging around for her cell phone. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, trying to thumb open the camera app. “Can you say that again?” 

***

A few days later, and Kate was living a life of many regrets. At first, it had been hilarious as it had been ridiculous. She just assumed that wouldn’t be long before someone had a moment of “wait a minute, that’s clearly not Clint,” but that moment hadn’t arrived. 

Thor hadn’t even blinked at the announcement that Clint was a woman now, shrugging and asking in his big booming voice (because holy shit, he was the actual god of thunder and wow, did he look like it) if ‘humans didn’t just change physical genders sometimes, you know?’ And the round of blank stares he’d just shrugged again and informed them that Loki did it all the time, like that somehow made it normal. 

And, to be fair, Kate probably hadn’t helped things when they’d ordered pizza, and she started interacting with the deaf delivery driver in sign language, but really. Was she supposed to just ignore her?

But now she was stuck. She was in too deep, and didn’t know how she was even going to begin to explain that Surprise! She wasn’t Clint at all, she had just been letting them think that for three days now, because she was a lunatic, apparently. 

(She was also trying very hard not to be offended that nobody had figured it out. She loved Clint like a brother, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be him.)

Luckily, as it turned out, Kate didn’t have to explain herself at all. She was sitting in the enormous common kitchen area (the novelty of living in Avengers Tower not having worn off at all) trying to soothe her growing panic with an enormous bowl of Lucky Charms that she’d pulled from the cupboard, ignoring the warning of ‘CLINT’S ONLY. DO NOT TOUCH’ written in big, bold, Sharpie letters across the front. Then the door swung open, sharp footsteps entering the room. 

“Alright, Barton. What’s this I hear about you managing to turn yourself into a woman?”

Kate looked up with wide eyes, watching as Natasha walked into the room, flanked on either side by Tony and Steve. “Uh. Hi, Nat!”

Nat took one look at Kate and her guilty smile and rolled. “I am surrounded by idiots,” she announced. 

And that was the end of Kate’s career as Clint-Hawkeye. (But not, thankfully, the end of her career as an Avengers.)

Epilogue

It was another two weeks before Clint was able to come back on comms long to call and check in to see how she was doing. When Kate told him everything that had happened (because if she didn’t, someone would, and it would probably Deadpool, and it would just be much, much better if it came from her) Clint had laughed for five minutes straight. 

“I feel like I should be insulted that they didn’t even blink over the idea that I got myself turned into a woman,” he told her, still chuckling every few words. “But it’s so funny that I really can’t be.” 

“You’re insulted?” Kate retorted. “I spent three days with everybody just assuming I was you.”

“Yes,” Clint agreed, not even slightly offended. “That is definitely worse.” 

“Hey,” Kate said after a moment of comfortable silence. “How come you never gave me a heads up that Captain America and Iron Man are dating?” 

From the other end of the phone, there was a spluttering, choking, coughing sound. 

“I’m sorry, Captain America and Iron Man are what now?”

@tonystarkbingo

[elisaphoenix13]

Just Another Day

It was calm in the tower. Well, as calm as it could get when Peter was home. The teen was currently sitting on the ceiling, flicking cat treats down to the floor, and confusing the hell out of Tibbs. The cat ate them as fast as they appeared, but he would always look around trying to figure out where they were coming from. He came up short when he pawwed at both Tony and Stephen in the kitchen, Cassie (who was watching tv in the living room) was a dead end too. He just wasn't used to humans being on the ceiling so he never looked up.

While all of this was taking place, amusing Peter's parents to no end, Carol had entered the penthouse, and Tony had never moved so fast in his life when he saw what she brought. He practically jumped across the island to use Stephen as a body shield when he saw Goose tucked under one of her arms, and Carol laughed as she set the Flerken down.

"Danvers! What is that thing doing here?!" Tony says as he points around Stephen at Goose.

"He wanted to come with me." Carol says simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

It was not.

Peter, in his precious ignorance, flicked a cat treat at Goose and literally scurried away when he opens his mouth and tentacles come out to snatch up the treats. "OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THAT THING?!" The teen shouts as he unconsciously flips down to the floor to step in front of Cassie.

Goose scared the crap out of him (and interested him at the same time) but he wasn't about to leave the other teen vulnerable. He vaguely catches an unreadable look on Tony's face when he glances toward his father but thinks nothing of it as he turns his attention back to the alien cat. The alien cat that Tibbs seemed to suddenly be completely fascinated with. Peter shouldn't really be surprised. Tibbs was the chillest cat he had ever met, so him not being bothered by some very uncatlike behavior from Goose was pretty normal for him.

Carol just grins as Cassie looks around Peter to look at Goose with some interest if her own. "He's a Flerken."

"A rather tame one at that." Stephen says as he approaches Goose and crouches down to scratch behind the cat's ears.

"Carol, if that thing eats my wife or my kid, I'm holding you responsible!" Tony says.

"Relax Stark. Just treat him like you treat your cat." The woman says as she waves a flippant hand in his direction.

Peter laughs half-heartedly. "Probably not a good idea. Tibbs is kind of special in his own way." As if to prove his point, Tibbs walks right up to Goose and sniffs his mouth curiously.

"Anyway, I was told this is where to go when I want a place to hang out for a bit." Carol says. "Clint was very specific about the 'family floor'."

Tony puffs out an affronted, but defeated sigh. "Stephanie, remind me to put Barton at the top of the cleaning list."

"Noted." Stephen replies dryly as he stands and takes a seat on one of the couches.

To everyone's relief, Goose seemed content to keep Tibbs company, and Tony joined Stephen on his couch after giving the two cats a wide berth. Although he wouldn't admit it out loud, Goose was one thing Tony was afraid of, but his earlier actions probably gave that away. Peter was taking it all in stride after his initial shock and relaxed out of his defensive position to take the empty spot next to Cassie, and Carol walks over to sit on his other side.

She asked to be caught up on what had happened while she was gone, and also what she had missed,  and they all delivered. Tony told her most of the Avenger history such as Thanos's first invasion of Earth, SHIELD's fall, or anything related to the Avengers. Stephen caught her up on the more magical side of things, and the teens? Movies. Cassie recommended a few chick flicks and offered to have a movie night with Carol, who accepted whole-heartedly, but everyone groaned when Peter opened his mouth and starting making Star Wars references.

Of course it all went over Carol's head, so when she asked what he was talking about, Peter stopped nerding out and gave the woman a surprised look.

"What?"

"You keep talking about Star Wars. What is that?" Carol asks, not knowing about the nuke that was currently exploding in Peter's mind.

Cue the most offended gasp the teen had ever made. Even more offended when Bruce had asked all that time ago if Peter ever got tired of watching Disney movies and Star Wars. As if.

"You haven't seen Star Wars?!"

Tony sighs as he stands. "You've done it now Danvers. Don't expect to leave that couch anytime soon."

"Cassie, would you help me make dinner?" Stephen asks as he follows Tony's example.

"Sure." She replies and follows the couple into the kitchen, leaving behind Peter asking FRIDAY to start the first Star Wars movie. To her credit, Carol didn't look like she was regretting anything. That would probably change soon.

"To think you like him." Tony teases Cassie and she blushes bright red. "Okay, I had some doubts, but that right there?" He motions toward her face. "That just confirms my theory."

Stephen stops grabbing things out of the fridge and stares at Cassie. "Wait. You like--"

Cassie shushes them loudly and grabs the food from Stephen. "Shut up! He has enhanced hearing!"

Tony snorts. "Not when he's nerding out over Star Wars."

He reaches around Stephen and grabs the container of blueberries, ignoring the sorcerer's quip of 'You're going to turn into one of those one of these days', as he pops a handful into his mouth. The engineer was close to teasing her some more by asking Cassie when her crush started, but decided to leave it alone when Stephen distracted her with a few cooking tasks.

Her mom and step-father decided to travel after the events of the Snap, and Cassie moved into the tower permanently with Scott. She was usually only up in the penthouse with them whenever her father was at work or just because (meaning to ogle Peter, even if the boy was completely oblivious to it), or if everyone got together for some thing or another like movie night. This was definitely not a movie night though. If any of the Avengers stepped off the elevator from now on, they would immediately turn around and leave once they saw that Peter took over the living room with Star Wars movies. Again.

Of course there had been times when Cassie had been sick and didn't want to be alone when Scott had to go to work, so she would come up for Mama Bear cuddles. Stephen spoiled all of the kids and they all adored him because of his attentiveness as a parent figure and as a doctor. Clint once had to bring Lila up so Stephen could tell her that, yes, you do need to sleep when you're sick so you can get better faster, because she thought her father was trying to scam her into sleeping. Once Stephen had confirmed Clint's words, Lila went back to Barton's floor without a fuss and slept like she was supposed to.

Peter would always be the favorite though.

Tony pours himself a glass of water and looks toward Goose and Tibbs, and finds the cat's lying next to each other, purring contentedly. The engineer didn't even bat an eye at the scene. In fact, he expected Tibbs to befriend the alien cat. It was just a feline version of Peter and the Hulk, and that had been interesting. Of course, it gave both Tony and Stephen temporary heart attacks when Peter approached the Hulk after a battle, but then the teen just fist bumped the big guy and told him he did a good job. The Hulk gave Bruce control willingly after Peter did that, and after a couple more tests, they discovered that Hulk liked Peter because the boy treated him like a friend. He was even able to ask the big guy if they could have Bruce back so he could help Sam when he had gotten hurt, and again, the Hulk gave Banner control.

"Just when I think that this group can't get any weirder, someone has to go and prove me wrong." Tony says and looks over at the sorcerer as the man hands some vegetables over to Cassie to chop. 

Stephen smirks. "Someone has to."

"Why do you think I married you?"

Cassie raises an eyebrow. "I swear your reasons for marrying each other changes all the time."

"It doesn't change. It's just a growing list. You'll understand when you and Underoos tie the knot." Tony moves away with a laugh when the teen points her knife at him, and then throws another handful of blueberries into his mouth with a wink. "Then again that will never happen at this rate because our kid is incredibly stupid when it comes to picking up signals from girls."

Cassie sighs heavily as she throws her chopped vegetables into the boiling water on the stove. "I noticed."

"When is your father supposed to get back?" Stephen asks her.

"Late."

"You might as well stay for dinner." Tony says and looks toward the living room when Peter and Carol start arguing about something that happened in the movie.

Today was just full of surprises. Carol actually looked to be enjoying the movie with Peter and the billionaire half-expected them to binge watch the entire collection. That meant Cassie would either have to endure the torture or they could direct her to the guest room where there was another tv. Peter's room was available but that was a can if worms he didn't want to open if Scott saw her in there. Knowing Peter, if he actually went to sleep tonight, he would change in his bathroom and just get into bed and go to sleep if Cassie was in there watching movies. He was used to friends taking over his tv and one half of his bed. Cassie was a whole new situation for obvious reasons though. Scott didn't seem to know about her crush on Peter but it wouldn't matter, she was a teenager now. It also didn't matter that Peter would never take advantage of her whether he knew about her feelings or not, and Tony couldn't fault Scott for worrying. If he and Stephen had a daughter, he would worry too.

"Can I make something for dessert?" Cassie asks, interrupting the engineer's thoughts.

"Depends on what you're thinking." Tony replies, ignoring Stephen's eye roll.

"Cheesecake?"

Tony blinks and motions at the counter in front of him with exaggeration. "Explain why it isn't in front of me at this very moment."

Cassie laughs and both Tony and Stephen share a look when it briefly pulls Peter's attention from the movie.This mutual pining thing was starting to amuse Tony. Especially the fact that Peter wasn't even aware he was pining.

[salty-donut-collecter]

Why Stay?

Act II, Part One

Twenty-Seven   {Masterlist}   Part Two

Chapter Word Count: 1,652

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety mentioned, yelling, talk about bones breaking, insults

Please tell me if I need to tag anything else :)

*Also, I’m planning on having this story as a slow burn, so please be prepared :)

Prompts: “Do I look like I give a fuck?”, “I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I’m feeling a lot of  it.”, and “Not to dictate your life, but drop your shitty friends.”

A/N: It’s been a bit, but I’m glad I have a system for this stuff now! Lmao this story is gonna have you guys dying, but I hope you like it nonetheless. 

Happy reading! (Also, feel free to comment your thoughts! I love reading comments :))

Also, if you’d like to be added to the tags list, please let me know! :D

_____________________________________________________

You woke up on Saturday morning, a headache forming as you tried to remember what you’d dreamed.

“Whatever,” you mumbled, getting up and stumbling around in the dark until you got into the dark hallway.

Jesus, what time is it? You wondered, looking around at how dark it was. You looked at your smartwatch (something Katie had left in your room for Christmas), sighing as it read 1:22 am because you knew there was no chance you would be able to go back to sleep now.

Okay… you took a deep breath, I guess today is just going to be a lot longer than planned.

And indeed it would.

Now, you didn’t really think the day was long…. Until Micheal called a “family meeting”, which really just meant y’all had to sit in a room and listen to him before discussing a topic he’d introduced. (The last topic you’d witnessed was furries and kinks because he wanted to see Steven die a little on the inside. (You all know he’s a kinky bastard at heart))

You sighed, wondering how long this one would take because you’d been getting ready to try and sleep again. However, you were intrigued to find he was holding a meeting in one of the kitchen rooms, which was just a room with a huge ass table that could fit the whole family. (So this would be the equivalent to a normal family’s kitchen table.)

You sighed and made your way up there, making sure to be the last person in the room so you could sit next to Micheal, letting Maverick take the right side, while you sat on his left.

“Okay, so I know it hasn’t been that long since Y/n’s been back,” Micheal gave a little eye roll, “Buut, I also don’t care.” he shrugged, holding a hand around his torso in a way you found particularly interesting.

“So, due to my inability to give a shit, and my abundant need to call family meetings, I decided to quell my raging curiosity,” Micheal smirked a little, clearing his throat and demolishing all visible joy as quickly as it came. He then proceeded to open his jacket, extract a familiar folder from under his shirt, and toss it far onto the table, where it flew open and spread its’ contents out for everyone to see.

“So,” Micheal looked at you, his contact lenses red because he was into that, “Care to tell me what this is?”

You had no doubt in your mind that he had already read it, and been furious about it. This told you he already knows everything in that folder by heart, and he was ready to both defend you, and rip the team a new one, which was something you actually found refreshing.

“It’s a file of the information I gathered to quell my own curiosity, actually.” You mused, sitting back and letting your feet sit up on the table. Your chair tipped a bit, but you didn’t mind it much.

Clint was doing the same things, actually. You had a small leaning competition as the conversation continued.

“What were you curious about?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

You smirked, taking a break from you small competition as you sat upright again, “I thought you had powers, actually, and no one gave me the answers I needed to make a proper conclusion.” You shrugged, “So I looked into it myself and got kicked out of the Teen Titans.”

Steve glared at you, “Nobody kicked you out, Y/n. You left because you didn’t want to face the consequences of your actions.”

You chuckled, “Sorry, I didn’t know getting my jaw broken by your shield in a world I made just for you was an invitation to stay and continue to be an Avenger…” You looked up quizzically, “Come to think of it, accusing me of killing people behind your back because I’m an apparent rage monster also didn’t seem like a part of the welcome wagon-- wow, Steve, if you’re so good with etiquette and I’m so bad with it, you should probably teach me-- oh wait, you did, didn’t you? After I’d just gotten here? I’m sorry I failed as a student. It’s just so--”

“Y/n, that’s enough.” Rhodey deadpanned, glaring at you from next to an already peeved Tony. Guess they didn’t get much sleep either. “We’re all happy to have you back, trust me.”

Clint laughed, “Wow, Rhodey, that’s rich!” he sat up, arms softly landing at the table as he looked at the Iron Patriot, “You really wanna go down that route? The whole: yeah, we’re happy to see you again, even though we literally accused you of being a psycho killer last time we talked, but hey! It’s all good now, right? Cause Jesus Christ dude!” Clint laughed, “She literally ran around the fucking w o r l d so she could get a break from our fugly mugs. So I say we give her one. There’s no need to drag this on, Steve.  Little girls wouldn’t be leaving Christmas presents in her room if she was a horrible person.” Clint rolled his eyes, already done with the conversation that’d just started.

“Barton, we’re trying to--” Vision started

“Don’t give me that logical bullshit cause that’s not happening right now. You, Vision, can logic your way into and out of this, but them? Yeah, no. They don’t have the goals you do, and it’s fucking time you realize how biased they are.”

“Okay, but my husband was literally the Winter Soldier.” Steve deadpanned.

Clint gave him the weirdest smile, “And he had a type of microsurgery done on him that was very painful and unsafe to get HYDRA out of his head.” his smile dropped, “We fucking been knowing about your husband, Steve. The thing is, no one cares anymore because he took care of that problem as a consenting adult.”

“I don't need a surgery.” You gave the people at the table a weird look, wondering if the kids should’ve been invited to this conversation. You felt a small finger tap your lower shoulder. You flinched, but calmed down when you saw Katie.

She motioned for you to come closer, so you leaned down to her level.

“Can I sit in your lap?” She whispered, lifting her arms up so you could lift her.

You chuckled, “Of course, my smol bean.” you replied, gently grabbing her under her armpits and lifting her into your lap, where you’d crossed your legs so she’d be comfortable. You looked over to see Chloe itching at her arms. She’s getting anxious.

“Okay but guys,” Micheal’s voice somehow transpiring over everyone else’s with great intensity. “You’re failing to answer my question.” He looked down at you, as if knowing something you should know too. (Really you thought of it as only half of “sharing a knowing look”)

You just shake your head, nothing coming to mind for now. He also shook his head, disappointed in you for some reason.

Micheal turned to the rest of the adults, looking peeved as per usual.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?” He asked, changing the question to better their ability to answer.

Everyone was quiet. The less everyone spoke, the more upset you got with their inability to take responsibility for their forgivable mistakes. You understood the fact that it was a hard thing to do sometimes, but this was getting fucking ridiculous.

“Okay, I get that this is hard for you but honestly grow the fuck up.” you snapped, your eyes rolling as you moved Katie over a little bit. It’s not like you needed to be screaming in her ear-- she didn’t do anything wrong and was too cute for that anyway.

“Y/n there’s more to this than--” Stephen started, but the excuses were honestly too annoying to listen to again.

“That I obviously know about cause I’m a stupid teenager.” You angrily sighed, “So I’ve heard. However, I’ll also say that we can’t do shit about the other things at hand if you’ve never bothered to-- I dunno-- talk about them?” You huffed, your knee bouncing as you try to maintain your composure. Katie is looking more anxious by the minute.

“Y/n, will you be okay?” Katie asked.

You gave her a sorrowful look. You were almost mad at Micheal for bringing her and Chloe into this.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay sweet pea,” you assure her, sounding sweeter than honey on top of Turkish delight.

Your gaze returned to the conversation at hand, which had actually gotten really heated within the couple of seconds you’d left for. Okay then.

“I don’t have to explain myself to an overgrown lab rat.” Stephen snapped, pointing at Pietro from his place at the table.

You stood up, Katie in your arms for only a moment before you quickly set her down. “Stephen, we don’t need to turn this into a fight.” You cautioned, your eyes starring the Master of The Mystic Arts with a flash of anger.

“She’s right, Stephen.” Tony was also standing, looking at Strange with quite the opposite look. You hadn’t seen Tony look that concerned for someone in a while.

The air was tense. Having so many emotions in one room was bound to create trouble, but the type of trouble was a mystery to everyone, causing a subtle fear that only stirred the pot more.

“Stephen, what kind of trouble are you talking about?” Steve jumped in, also standing.

You were surprised by his random aid to your side of the argument, but you decided that it was the least of your worries right now. Your hand gently squeezed Katie’s, momentarily reassuring her after hearing her softly whimper.

Stephen glared at Steve, as if wondering if he should answer him honestly, or tell him to shut the fuck up because he’s been nothing but unhelpful this entire time.

Well, you were screwed.  

_____

Taglist: @introvertedsin @galacticalstarcat @acidrain707

[pass-the-bechdel]

Marvel Cinematic Universe: Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, once.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Seven (30.43% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Sixteen.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

Significantly flawed, and well-known in fandom for it. Unpopular opinion? I still think it’s better than the first Avengers film.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Natasha and Laura pass in a single-line trade. It’s sooo close to not counting.

Female characters:

Natasha Romanoff.

Wanda Maximoff.

Maria Hill.

Helen Cho.

Peggy Carter.

Laura Barton.

FRIDAY.

Male characters:

Tony Stark.

Steve Rogers.

JARVIS.

Thor.

Clint Barton.

Strucker.

Pietro Maximoff.

Bruce Banner.

Ultron.

Sam Wilson.

James Rhodes.

Ulysses Klaue.

Heimdall.

Nick Fury.

Erik Selvig.

Vision.

OTHER NOTES:

Everyone talking about Strucker like we already know who he is...

The “Shit!”/”Language!” gag was funnier before they hung a lantern on it. Not least because it takes almost a full minute before Tony harks back to it (fifty seconds, actually. I checked). If you’re gonna make a Thing out of it, you gotta follow up immediately, not after fifty seconds of cutting around to different character intros and action shots and a whole lot of other dialogue. 

Urrgghh, ok, I’m going to break my standing rule about not discussing source material, because we gotta acknowledge the colossal wrongness of re-writing the Maximoff twins - canonically Jewish Romani - as willing volunteers in a Nazi science experiment. It gets worse the more you think about it. There are a few things about this movie which generated significant negative outcry, and this incredibly offensive decision is one of them.

Tony and Thor fighting over who has a better girlfriend does have a certain charm to it. If you’re gonna have a testosterone-off, it might as well be about how great your partner is.

I got a zero out of ten on this out-of-nowhere forced romance crap with Natasha and Bruce. We’ll come back to this later.

“I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta,” Tony declares, as he prepares to lift Thor’s hammer and thereby theoretically take charge of the Nine Realms. Primae noctis (believed to in fact be a myth) refers to a supposed Dark-Ages law that granted lords the ‘right’ to take the virginity of any newlywed peasant woman who lived on their land. So, this is a wonderful little rape joke from Tony (or, y’know, not so little, since primae noctis in reality would make Tony a serial rapist). Ha ha ha ha. Hilarious. Good one.

I’m really mad about the parts here that are total garbage, because mostly, the revels sequence has a nice low-key quality to it, good solid team dynamics. 

I can’t fucking believe that they played the ‘and then Bruce falls with his face in Natasha’s cleavage!’ gag. I cannot believe it. Is this a disgusting frat-boy comedy from the nineties?

Honestly, Tony, just shut up and admit that you KNEW from the get-go that it was wrong to try and make Ultron happen (that is why you kept it secret from everyone else to begin with); don’t try to defend the decision now that you’ve got a ‘murderbot’ on your hands. Take responsibility for a bad choice instead of talking shit about how you had to and everyone else is just too short-sighted, damn it! 

Andy Serkis is delightful.

The Iron Man/Hulk fight absolutely KILLS the momentum of this film. It goes for way the fuck too long (eight minutes) and has no narrative significance at all. Pro tip for action scenes: they should always be driving the story somewhere. You can pull off eighty minutes of action so long as your plot is advancing alongside/within it.

Also, Iron Man causes a huge amount of additional damage during this fight, in the service of the aforementioned pointless action. His efforts to minimise Hulk’s effects are extremely poor, and calling in his relief organisation to clean up after the fact does not negate that. 

Gotta love that throwing a wife and kids at Hawkeye at the same time as we suddenly start pushing this Natasha/Bruce thing. That’s not transparent at all. I also understand this to be a major deviation from Clint’s identity in the comics, and very unpopular with fans for that reason, but regardless; reinventing him as a family man to reset the romantic blather after baiting fans with the possibility of Clint/Natasha in the first Avengers movie is such a shitty move. I was not invested in the ship myself and would have loved to have them reinforce the just-friends relationship between Hawkeye and Black Widow, because there are not enough platonic friendships between compatible men and women in fiction, but 'they’re not interested in each other because they’re busy with someone else!’ is a weak reinforcement indeed. Less forced romances, and definitely less token wifey who exists for no other Goddamn reason at all. This comes out of nowhere, and not in a clever-surprise kind of way.

“You still think you’re the only monster on the team?” Natasha says, after telling Bruce about her sterilisation. This earned a HUGE backlash, and for good reason - despite all arguments about how what Natasha meant was that her being raised to be an assassin makes her a monster, the direct implication of her words as they are phrased and as the discussion is structured is that her inability to have children makes her monstrous, and that’s deeply offensive. It’s also completely in keeping with a narrative which is often played out against women, in which their value as people is attributed directly to their ability to produce offspring, so it’s not even like this outrageous implication of monstrosity - the corruption of what it means to be female! - is that unusual. It’s awful, but not unusual. Add on the fact that 1) Natasha’s nightmare-flashes specifically foregrounded her sterilisation over all other details of her training, supporting the idea that she believes that it’s what makes her irredeemable (instead of, y’know, all the murdering and stuff), and 2) this is Joss Whedon’s work and he is OBSESSED with highlighting the womanhood of his female characters and treating it like their defining trait while also variously punishing them for it, and you’ve got every reason to interpret this terrible fucking line as exactly the heinous thing it (presumably, unwittingly) seems to be. 

Steve ripping a log in half with his bare hands is the funniest thing in this whole movie.

Thor’s brief side-adventure with Erik Selvig is pretty out-of-place. He just...goes for a swim in a convenient magic pond that Selvig chances to know about. Seems normal.

Ultron is full of such boring, empty rhetoric. Reminds me of Loki in The Avengers, with all that sound-and-fury. 

I love Paul Bettany.

Man, they sure do find Natasha instantly. It’s almost like making a damsel-in-distress of her who needs to be rescued by the team was completely meaningless...

Breaking my no-BTS rule (since I already have done for this movie at this point) because it’s well-known how Joss Whedon ordered Elizabeth Olsen not to show exertion or ‘ugly emotion’ on her face in this film, because God forbid she compromise her attractiveness by being human. Joss Whedon is not human; he’s fucking trash. 

The final fight sure does just, y’know, get to a point where it ends. They really did not ratchet up the tension over the course of the Sokovia conflict, it just goes along until it stops (also, they say Sokovia is a country, but then they never call the city anything else, it’s just Sokovia. Is the city conveniently named after the country (very confusing), or is it a city-country, like The Vatican? I kinda assume it’s option three, which is that no one bothered to care because it’s just some fake European placeholder anyway and we’re not supposed to notice such a dumb oversight).

“I was born yesterday.” This is the best quip in this whole thinks-it-is-way-wittier-than-it-is movie.

Helen Cho deserved better than to be a prop rapidly dismissed and then just trotted past at the end for an ‘oh, she survived, btw’. 

Back when I reviewed the first Avengers movie, I said that I considered that film to be heavily overrated, so maybe it’s not such a surprise that I actually like this one better. The two primary problems I had with that first film were the overly simplistic plot, and the fact that most of the characters were OOC compared to previous films, and this movie does do better on both scores, so I feel more engaged by it, and less annoyed. That said...this movie has still got a lot of problems, and those include iffy characterisation and a plot with various holes, nonsensical complications, and conveniently ignored or smoothed-down dynamics. When I say I like this movie better than the first one, I mean just that: I like this better. That does not mean I am here to sing its praises. 

The tacked-on romance is part of the problem - for Clint as well as Natasha (but especially for Natasha). After Hawkeye was so heavily under-used in the first film (and his slightly-ambiguous relationship with Black Widow was the only human element that made him a character instead of a prop), Age of Ultron attempts to compensate by giving Clint a personal life, in the form of a magically-appearing heavily-pregnant wife and a pair of nameless children. The function of this family appears to be 1) to give Clint a reason to not be interested in Natasha, and 2) to ‘humanise’ him by giving him something to fight for and get home to, because we all know nothing legitimises a character quite like some otherwise-irrelevant dependents. Want a man to seem lovable and important? Give him a pregnant wife. That’s what women are for, anyway, right? To enhance a man’s story? In this case, to provide a man whose purpose in the story has been contested with insta-personality, because ‘he’s secretly a family man, ooh, twist!’ is way better than having to spend time on giving him something to do in the plot that is actually meaningful in some way. Great logic. Makes Hawkeye super dynamic, right? 

Natasha, unsurprisingly, is hit much, much harder. As the only female avenger and one of only two prominent female characters in a cast which has seven-to-nine male characters of equal or greater importance/screen time (YMMV on whether or not you think Fury and Vision count for that list), the pressure is already on for Natasha to be served up a quality narrative, because if she doesn’t get one, well...she doesn’t have six-to-eight alternative characters to pull the weight for her gender. The best solve for this problem would be to avoid the ‘Token Woman’ cliche in the first place, but since we missed that boat...not having the personal story of your only primary female character revolve completely around her womanhood and her catering to heteronormative expectations of a love interest would have been a good choice. This weird, forced, chemistry-free thing with Bruce Banner? Was the worst thing they could have used to define Natasha’s presence in the film. It sticks out like a sore thumb every time they have an awkward interaction, and it leads in to that atrocious ‘monstrous infertility’ element (though that particular egregious mistake could have been included with or without a romantic blunder, it...probably wouldn’t be, and we’d all be the better off). Even the Hulk-whisperer part of the relationship - while not awful on its own with all the unnecessary romance and Unresolved Sexual Not-Tension removed - serves to highlight Natasha’s female-ness by making her the soft maternal figure for the team, because God forbid one of the other male members of the team be asked to ASMR-speak to the Hulk while delicately caressing his hand. If Natasha’s presence in the first Avengers film leaned too heavily on her gender identity as a defining trait (and it did), this movie doesn’t fix that problem at all: it doubles down on it. 

The good news for most of the excess of male characters is, they by-and-large don’t feel as OOC as they did in the first film. The boorish romantic entanglement aside, Bruce Banner is still a naturalistic character highlight (all credit to Mark Ruffalo, who probably doesn’t know how to turn in a bad performance in the first place), and Thor’s dialogue is way less ridiculous this time ‘round, so he lands a lot closer to his personality from previous films simply by virtue of sounding like the same guy (unfortunately, the plot does not have the faintest idea what it wants to do with him as a character). Steve Rogers is still being written as if being Captain America is his character, which is a fundamental misunderstanding of his identity, albeit one which conveniently allows him to behave in a stereotypical self-righteously bland manner, thus avoiding the need for any nuance in his perspective or actions. This borderline fanfic-flamer ‘Captain America is my least favourite character so I’m going to write him as a boring stick-in-the-mud and then hopefully no one else will like him either!’ approach doesn’t grate quite as badly as it did in the first Avengers, and it can’t cancel out the innate level-headed charm of Chris Evans, so as disappointing as the bias is, it’s still a better balance here than it was last time. The one character who is not so flatteringly handled, however? Also happens to be the one who was arguably handled best last time, and unfortunately, he’s the one who is essentially treated as the ‘lead’. 

The big problem for Tony Stark is that this movie is not interested in digging in to the pathos of any character, it’s all-flash-no-substance on that front, and Tony really, really needed a less heavy-handed slathering of ‘afraid of what might come (feat. messiah complex)’ to motivate his actions and reactions in this film, because without any exploration he’s basically just a billionaire kid playing with matches. If this were an Iron Man film (either the first or third one, anyway), we’d get into some tasty deconstruction of Tony’s mental state and confront his hubris, etc, and - crucially, most crucial of all, it’s a mainstay of all his past stories in the MCU - Tony would own up to his mistakes, listen to the advice of those around him, and take contrite steps toward fixing the problem not just in the direct sense of ‘beating the bad guy’, but also in the personal and emotional sense of working on his own flaws and making amends with the people he hurt along the way. This movie offers none of that. To begin with, Tony’s ‘I know best and I will not be taking any questions’ approach to creating Ultron feels like a significant step backwards in his character development so far (Iron Man 3 was specifically about addressing his PTSD and associated tumultuous emotions surrounding the fear of imminent alien invasion, so his reactionary and secretive behaviour in this film feels particularly out-of-touch with a mental reality Tony has been explicitly working on for the past couple of years); Tony is actively aware that it’s a bad call and thus hides it from the other Avengers until it’s too late, and then he’s bizarrely unrepentant about his mistake. Worst of all, he actually attempts to repeat that mistake, only worse, late in the film (the fact that his idiotic ‘mad scientist’ pep talk actually convinces Bruce to help him again is the weakest character moment for Bruce outside of the aforementioned romance crap). The plot rewards Tony’s second, far worse mistake, in the creation of Vision, who turns out to be ‘worthy of wielding Thor’s Hammer’ and whatnot and conveniently provides every necessary skill to defeat Ultron in a deus ex machina so overt you could use it as a textbook example, so even though Tony had absolutely no way of knowing that he’d get a good result this time and almost every reason to believe he’d just compound the existing problem, his reckless disregard for the literal safety of the planet is treated like a good thing because it happens to work out this time, and they just kinda sweep under the rug the fact that Tony is playing God (and being uncharacteristically stupid and selfish about it - in other films, Tony is normally only reckless with his own safety, and it’s when his actions spill out into unintended consequences for others that he realises the error of his ways and cues up a positive learning curve; it’s what makes him palatable). At the end of the film, once Ultron is gone and Tony has thrown some dispassionate wads of cash into ‘relief efforts’, he strolls and quips and eventually drives off into the sunset in his expensive car, with nary a mention of, I dunno, maybe a little guilty conscience? Maybe a hint of having learned a valuable lesson? The closest he gets is just suggesting that it might be time he retires from Avenging, but neither he nor anyone else lets on that there’s a need for serious self-reflection. The Tony Stark in this movie is the nightmarish male-fantasy version of the character, the playboy with the cool tech and no limits who does whatever he wants and then...literally rides off into the sunset in the end, no muss, no fuss. He’s kinda like a complete reversion to his original self, pre-Iron Man, frittering money around and designing weapons of mass destruction while convincing himself he’s bringing peace to the world one explosion at a time, but that Tony has no business here, seven years of character development down the track.

While we’re talking iffy characterisation, we should also segue into plot, and that’s something we can do easily enough by looking at our villain, Ultron. Calling Ultron an actual character feels...ambitious. He’s a CGI robot full of empty rhetoric and, you guessed it, more of those quips that this movie has in place of any meaningful dialogue. I’d call him self-fellating, but he ain’t got nothing to fellate, so instead he just blathers a lot in a manner that sounds vaguely poetically intelligent but is, upon a moment’s consideration, just vapid nonsense (much like Loki in the first Avengers, as noted above, but at least Loki had the benefit of a flesh-and-blood actor delivering his lines with conviction; James Spader does solid work as the voice of Ultron, but trying to make a CGI robot who spouts a school-kid’s attempt at edgy philosophy sound like a genuine menace is an uphill battle). Speaking of genuine menace, I assume the reason the film is called Age of Ultron is because A Couple of Days of Ultron Causing Disturbances in a Handful of Specific Locations was too much. For all the big talk (and there is..so much), Ultron doesn’t get up to all that much trouble, most notably in the sense that he apparently has his code all over the internet and yet he doesn’t bother stirring up a single ounce of chaos with that ungodly power. Why bother including this as an element of the character if it achieves zero story? Is it purely to make Ultron seem ~unstoppable~ because he keeps downloading into new robots? Because it didn’t really land, y’all. They try to play it like a big victory for the good guys when Vision burns Ultron out of the ‘net, but in context it’s meaningless because he didn’t do anything while he was there. Pretty much everything about Ultron was all talk, little to no action - even a whole bunch of the trouble he did cause happened off-screen, with Maria Hill just popping in to let us know that ‘there are reports of metal men stealing shit’. Cheers, cool. And you know, Ultron makes a song and dance about how he’s going to save the world by ‘ending the Avengers’, but then he...does not pursue that at all. He tries to make himself a pretty body, the Avengers thwart him, and then he enacts a doomsday machine to destroy all life on Earth. Like every other aspect of the character, the whole ‘end the Avengers’ schtick is just white noise, there’s no meaning in it. Ultron is just a same-old-same ‘What if Artificial Intelligence wants to WIPE US OUT?!’ cliche, and maybe that’s what he was in the comics too, I don’t know, but it’s the job of the film to tell that story in a dynamic way, and they had two and a half hours to do it. And yet.

There should be more to this than a nondescript placeholder villain concept and a series of action set pieces that just kinda happen until they stop. At least the first Avengers had some variety in each of its action sequences, using the location and the different skills and weapons of its antagonists, whereas this one is just ‘there are robots and the good guys punched and shot them until they were all broken, the end’. Even making the city fly in the end doesn’t actually make it interesting, not least because the characters spend most of their time running around the (weirdly, perfectly stable) streets not having to deal with any consequences of being up in the air anyway, and the doomsday device is too nebulous to ratchet up any real tension about figuring out how to deal with it. The conflicts with the Maximoff twins have at least some spark of life in them, but the characters themselves are treated to an over-simplified and very contrived narrative arc that uses what they do and what they know more as plot devices than as details of actual people’s lives, leading to a cheap death for Pietro so that Wanda will be distracted enough to abandon the big ol’ doomsday button, and it’s just all so convenient. There’s no heart in any of it, and it makes the moments that try to have heart all the more embarrassing and out-of-place (don’t even get me started on what a prescribed attempt at tugging the heart-strings it is to have Hawkeye name his magnificently well-timed newborn after Pietro, because DAMN). When I said I liked this movie better than the first Avengers, I meant just that: I like this better. That’s not to suggest that it is significantly better in any sense, because it isn’t, and I can’t even argue that this one has a better story, because honestly, it doesn’t. The first film made more sense, it was just less interesting to watch, and the things about it that were contrived were contrived in different ways. The first film was weaker and more irritating on character, and character is always the most important part of a story for me, so as annoyed as I am by the major character blunders in Age of Ultron, I’m still not as annoyed as I was after The Avengers. That is damning with the faintest of praise; this is just not a particularly good movie, it makes a poor use of its cast at the best of times, delivers a sub-par action extravaganza, and the script is not half as witty as it gleefully convinces itself that it is. It comes as no surprise, I’m sure, that I am very glad a certain writer/director departed the franchise after disappointing everyone with this outing. I say I like this better than the first Avengers, but gee, it’s a close call.

[moonlitgleek]

joannalannister

replied to your post

“Now that F&B is out, it's officially canon that Aerys I was more open...”

@moonlitgleek I still haven’t read this book but I don’t understand what grrm sees in all of jaehaerys's misogyny? What, in your opinion, does this add to Westeros?

It does not add anything. It’s just another instance where the main take can only be “Westeros is a very bad place for women”, which we full well know, tyvm GRRM. What makes me really angry with the writing of this book is that those instances of misogynistic overdoing are very much purposeless. There is no point to them. We get snapshots of misogyny and abuse that are just there for no reason and no narrative gain. It’s not like we needed to see Jaehaerys disregard Alysanne’s wishes and cite the mother who died because her own husband didn’t care about her wellbeing - what does this accomplish, other than show us that Jaehaerys is an asshole? This is a book that is invested in telling us what a great king Jaehaerys was and how much he loved Alysanne and listened to her.... which is then belied by his inexplicable actions in callously dismissing her desires. Jaehaerys’ love for Alysanne does not align with his blatant disregard for her physical and emotional health, neither does it have an explanation other than clear selfishness.

I’ve briefly considered if this might be taken as one of GRRM’s attempts to interrogate popular perceptions of someone by deconstructing their public image in the same way he did with characters like Stannis Baratheon or Tywin Lannister. But I don’t think that reasoning holds up because F&B clearly wants us to see Jaehaerys as sympathetic and likeable. With a few notable exceptions, Jaehaerys’ behavior is generally painted as either logical and political, or understandable in context. Saera’s story stands out to me because we get a lot of detailing about the cruel and terrible things she did to prime us to dislike her before we discover her sexual affairs that are presented as some sort of extension to Saera’s bad behavior. For the wise and highly respected Septon Barth (who the story went to great lengths to present as a credible and reasonable source of information) to then express horror at Saera’s behavior when confronted about her affairs and call her a mummer giving a performance only adds to the negativity the story attaches to Saera, to the point where people in fandom have adopted the narrative attitude that treats Jaehaerys as completely justified in punishing Saera, ignoring the fact that Jaehaerys was specifically punishing her for having sex and not for the myriad of bad things she had done. Septon Barton repeatedly asserts that Jaehaerys’ punishment was always meant to be temporary, or that he was totally going to listen to Alysanne when she advocated leniency and forgiveness, and it was only Saera’s subsequent behavior (she tried to steal a dragon soon after Alysanne pleaded with Jaehaerys to forgive her, and she escaped the motherhouse she was consigned to as a “temporary punishment” pushing an old sister down the stairs in the process) that curtailed that. Of course, Septon Barth’s assertion seems to ignore Jaehaerys’ disowning of Saera before her dragon-stealing stunt or that said temporary punishment (that we have no evidence to suggest was temporary beyond Barth’s words) included “silent prayer” and “harsh discipline” for Saera, or that Jaehaerys singled out Saera in his overt punishment from the very start compared to her companions. Having multiple trusted sources sell a version of the story that attempts to exonerate Jaehaerys while the in-universe narrator goes to great lengths to tell us what an awesome guy he was and heap praise on even his questionable decisions doesn’t lend itself to any sort of successful deconstruction of Jaehaerys’ image.

Now, I make no claims to knowing GRRM’s mind but to me, it feels like his depiction of Jaehaerys’ entire reign might have been a hamfisted attempt to introduce conflict to drive the narrative and falling back on his usual tropes of using misogyny and sexual violence as the go-to plot device of choice. Jaehaerys’ reign was largely peaceful and politically-focused, which makes for a relatively rigid read. To balance the famed peacefulness of his reign and the need for conflict, Martin turned to the personal lives of his characters which, unfortunately, meant a healthy helping of unpleasantness in the name of “historical accuracy”, I guess. But the misogyny in the entire book is largely senseless. Fire and Blood is awful in how it treats women and it’s mostly used as a set dressing that not only doubles down on extant problems but affirms them. I fail to see the narrative gain in many of GRRM’s authorial choices in F&B or the point of any of it. The best take I can find to Jaehaerys’ story is that it’s an attempt to show how being one of the best kings Westeros has seen doesn’t mean that Jaehaerys was not flawed, though I don’t think this remotely justifies the excessive misogyny because like, Ned Stark is flawed. He is a product of his society with patriarchal views and attitudes that can be found in his relationship with his wife, daughters and sister. But Jaehaerys is not flawed; he is just an asshole. And I don’t understand the distinct trend of acting like being a good political/king and being a good parent are mutually exclusive that pops up every now and then in Martin’s writing.

I'm getting dangerously close to rambling territory but the truth is that I don’t really know what to do with Jaehaerys’ story, or Fire and Blood in its entirety if I’m being honest. It feels like more of the same but without the kind of critique that can be found in the main novels. I know this might raise a debate about the subject of a misogynistic society vs a misogynistic narrative, but at this point justifying every unchallenged and unnecessary piece of problematic writing by chucking it up to a claim of “this is what this society is like” is not enough. It sounds so hollow when GRRM is perfectly capable of writing rousing challenges to Westerosi misogyny. I’d have been fine if the narrative treated Jaehaerys’ behavior as something to condemn. I might have been disappointed that my image of him was not accurate but I’d have lived with it. But it’s not really a problem of having him be misogynistic; it’s that the narrative doesn’t particularly care to admit it. The few instances where we get something akin to a challenge to his behavior (e.g, Alysanne calling out his responsibility for Daella’s death) gets immediately brushed aside by Gyldayn and then undermined by the narrative itself. Is that a sign of Gyldayn’s own misogyny and how men excuse and sympathize with other men as they victimize women? Sure. But Gyldayn is like that because Martin chose to write him that way. And Gyldayn does not account for all of the narrative’s recurring sins, like the incessant normalization of child brides or the blatant dismissal of known medical facts, both of which are very present in Jaehaerys’ narrative.

[mad-hunts]

the thing about barton and his own 'foil' as she should technically be considered, as she is technically the complete opposite of him in every way that matters, is that sumire [ whom i have talked about a few times on here, albeit briefly, so i will give you a brief refresher on her and that is that... her character eventually commits these killings based on the twelve main tarot cards in a deck based on them not fitting her idea of what 'perfect' looks like (kind of like barton BUT much different at the same time) ] and barton used to know each other as they were best friends as kids — even if it was only for a few years.

and as strange as this may sound, a broken promise between them was partially the catalyst behind what started her descent into feeling this need to 'judge' people, which is quite the coincidence as it may seem. because where do most of her victims end up dying? in these settings where she has set up these 'mock trials' for people. so, i know that i said i would talk about how barton had inadvertently created a monster a longgg time ago, but i now am sharing it with you all. because although one cannot blame barton fully for her actions as sumire, of course, has to take responsibility for them herself; but this did play a part in being a catalyst for her feeling all of this resentment and hatred for the world / people around her that led up to her first murder.

which, as you might have it, was the chariot: a tarot card that symbolizes revenge, willpower, and essentially tries to subconsciously put off this message that you are moving in the 'right direction.' i don't think it's so much just the promise itself though that makes this important — it's also that barton himself essentially forgot about the promise he made to sumire, as terrible as that may sound. it actually kind of gives you more insight as to what was going on in barton's mind as a kid because he basically made sumire promise him this: that, if he ever got on the 'wrong path,' that sumire would be there to show him a better one. and that she would attempt to reconnect with him if they ever got separated somehow / give him a sign of some kind that she was still there, so he could meet her.

and i say that this provides more insight because i haven't really gone into depth about this, but barton has expressed this idea in one roleplay on here. + that is that he didn't want to end up like this. however, regardless of that statement, there is no washing away of all of the heinous things he's done and he chose to do them anyway. i'm just thinking about how messed up it is that sumire, up until the point where she started her murders, had casually been searching for barton because the way in which his victims were found was vaguely remiscent of the way that wesley used to kill his victims. + this meant that he was definitely on the wrong path and she would eventually end up on the wrong one too.

[robronsecretsanta]

Fic: “There must always be a Dingle in Wishing Well.”

@scrapyardboyfriends, to merge it with Robron, I played fast and loose (or maybe not that fast, but definitely loose) with the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones. Since George R.R. Martin did the same with the definition of ‘a trilogy’, I believe I’m ok. This is not a full blown AU because of the deadline, just a taste of one that I thought you might enjoy. Merry Christmas from your secret santa!

Rating: G Word count: 4588

“There must always be a Dingle in Wishing Well.”

Those were the last words Ser Zak had stressed to him before heading for the south, and they continue to reverberate in Aaron’s mind as he’s making his way between the weirwoods in complete darkness. His uncle had turned southward accompanied by his son, Cain, to face the challenge of the Whites. That family’s wealth and machinations had bought them first the king’s ear and later, as the whispered accusations claimed, his death as well. Ser Zak and Cain did not return. Before they left, his uncle repeated that final reminder. For eons, the Dingles were the Wardens of the North, overseeing it from the castle of Wishing Well. They were pledged not only to defend the North’s territories, but also the collective memories its people swore by. It now fell to Aaron to lead and protect its men. An odd position to suddenly hold, since unlike other rulers in the kingdoms, the Dingles did not raise their children separate from the population they would come to govern. As strange as it was to take this role on, it was the one that Aaron Dingle was born and trained for his whole life. It was the circumstances of how he would step into it that none of them had anticipated.

The weirwoods whisper all around Aaron in the dark of night. He has felt more than once like he was on the brink of understanding what their leaves were rustling about. Even though this gut feeling has never materialised, it gave him a sense of profoundness whenever he walked through the ancient weirwood grove that lay at the heart of the castle grounds. As alert as he must be right now, that sense is still present in him. He continues to make his way among the trees on his own, though he knows the Barton lad, the one that Ser Zak took in as a boy to be his companion, is close on his heels and keeps within earshot. It’s fine, the agreement allowed both sides to bring along up to one servant, as long as those men were kept back. He could afford agreeing to this when he was on his own turf. Aaron is reaching the dark pool next to which the meeting is to take place.

He’s meant to come face to face here with the heir to the House of Sugden, claimant to the throne of the kingdoms. The young man who, so the stories insist, has hatched fire-breathing dragons that can take over the world. If even half of what Aaron’s heard is true, the Sugdens can help him defeat his enemies from the south, as well as the free folk to the north, lurking beyond the great wall. Aaron’s not that sure he does believe the fantastic tales that he’s heard. The meeting place itself is meant to be somewhat of a test. The Sugden heir would have to find his way to the castle in the middle of the night with only one servant as aid, then he’d have to scale the high and impenetrable walls of Wishing Well and next, he would have to navigate without moonlight between the trees that have been growing thick and wild here since the dawn of time. A dragon would be one of the very few ways that this could be done by a complete stranger to these parts.

Aaron didn’t bring a torch with him, to light the path. He knew one won’t be needed for him to find his way around the weirwoods. Besides, he feels comfortable in this darkness. It’s more of an advantage to him than a problem. Now all he needs to do is wait. He hopes it won’t be for long.

A stirring of the leaves nearby is his first indication that he was wrong to assume he’s alone.

“You’ve finally arrived,” he hears the voice before it’s followed by an odd sound and as if out of nowhere, there’s a lit torch held up between him and a young man.

Or rather, Aaron thinks he’s young. In the small circle of light cast by the torch, he finds it hard to decipher whether the deep lines etched in the man’s face are due to age or too many concerns that he’s carried. Not too tall, dark hair, eyes that appear dark as well, but it’s almost impossible to tell if they really are, a mole. There’s no reason to be disappointed by appearances, but for whatever reason, Aaron expected someone more impressive. Maester Kirk had suggested an arranged marriage with the heir of this grand house if all else should fail. Aaron’s first reaction was an angry complete and total rejection of the idea that he’d wed a Sugden, political necessity or not. A few ravens later, carrying bad news from the south beneath their wings, and he acknowledged that he may have to resort to that. If there is no other choice left, then he will, but he would certainly explore every alternative option. Actually facing the heir of that great, and hated, house, the man’s look strikes Aaron as the wrong one to bind himself forever to. It’s proving to be yet one more reason why he hopes to resolve this by other means.

“I see you’ve arrived ahead of time. Not wanting to waste any?” he responds. He wants to be careful, appraise the man standing opposite him.

“Precisely. Shall we discuss our terms for collaboration?”

Blunt. Aaron can appreciate that, but he thinks he picks up on the heir’s voice being a little scared. His gut reaction to that is to dislike that note of fear. If the man is honest about what brought him here, why should he be fearful?

“You’re not going to ask me to bend the knee first?”

The Sugden heir’s face falls, like it strikes him that this is what he was meant to lead with, but then he immediately recovers. “I’m not going to ask, because you will.”

That’s one way to cover your tracks, Aaron supposes. It’s not a very good one, it leaves little room for negotiation. If this is the political prowess the Sugdens can now offer, it may not be that wise for the Dingle House to tie itself to them.

“Will I? Why should I do that? You need me, my Lord,” not Your Highness, “or you wouldn’t be here. Should I ask you to bend the knee, then?”

Anger flashes across the heir’s face.

“It is true what they say about you, then? That you are in open rebellion and have declared yourself King in the North?”

“No, my Lord,” an expression of surprise chases the anger away at that, “my people are the ones who declared it. Should their will not concern me more than yours?”

“Maybe, if you want to live,” the anger’s back, the kind driven by a helplessness at the face of a challenge to one’s authority or status. Not a desirable trait in an ally. Even less so in a husband.

The corners of Aaron’s lips are drawn down of their own accord, unimpressed. “And maybe you want to do something about that hair,” he spits out before he really considers it.

“You dare…!” the man cries out and his hand is suddenly up in the air, mid way to striking Aaron. It’s clad by a gauntlet, it will hurt. It’s meant to, a physical injury in return for an insult. The motion is registered quickly in the mind of a Dingle who was brought up to be a warrior, giving Aaron time to consider his next move. The most natural instinct he has is to reach for the sword in his belt, but he knows that is the wrong response. He can’t afford to pull it out of its sheath, not at this instance. His goal is to reach an alliance, but even if that fails, the last heir of the Sugden dynasty has too many means and his attention should be left to focus on other enemies.

This split second of hesitation, while Aaron is deliberating his preferred course of action, is enough to prevent him from needing to decide. There’s a growl that pierces the night and within that fracture of a second, it’s by his side. He can also hear the sound of running coming from behind him. He doesn’t have to look back to know that the man rushing in is Adam, or to glance to his right to take in the image of his direwolf beside him, Cloud. Big and grey, teeth bared, back arched, he’s a formidable sight and a clear threat. Sugden’s raised hand freezes in its track with terror. From behind the heir, there’s the blurry silhouette of his companion running to them just as swiftly as Adam was. But that is not what Aaron is focused on. The man he was supposed to negotiate with dropped the torch he was holding in his one hand almost as soon as the other one froze for fear of the direwolf. The flame made contact for a moment with his skin before the torch fell to the ground and the dry grass started catching fire. This time, Aaron does draw his sword out and he points it at the man before him.

The man who flinched when his flesh was momentarily burnt.

“Who are you really?” He makes a small gesture at the torch. “Spare me the lies.”

“Stop!” Sugden’s companion shouts out his command as he steps forward. “He’s not the man you want,” he says, his voice calmer once Aaron’s eyes are resting on him, before he takes a few more strides forward. He steps right into the small fire, standing in it with no sign of pain or panic, letting the thigh high flames lap at him. “I am.”

* * *

The fire surrounding his legs and creeping up them is slowly, but surely, beginning to spread. That prompts him to turn to his brother, whose eyes are still fixated on the Wolf Who Rose, as some have already nicknamed the new leader of Dingle family, and the actual direwolf accompanying him. “Andrew, don’t just stand there,” he says, “help me get some water from the pond.”

They have nothing suitable for the task other than the partly empty wineskins they were carrying. They drain those of whatever liquor was there and fill them with pond water. They’re joined by Aaron Dingle and his companion, who have with them waterskins - how sensible and northerner of them - that they pour out over the fire and then refill from the pond, too. It doesn’t take long before their joint efforts put out the flames, much as those fought to outlast them. As he watches the last of the ambers flicker with one final blaze of red before going out, Robert can’t help but feel a tinge of sorrow. Fire cannot kill a dragon like him. If only it didn’t harm others and didn’t have to be extinguished. If only he didn’t have to spend more than half his childhood hiding a part of who he was whenever he had noticed something about him was different to how the other kids were.

“You’re the real son of the king, I take it,” his train of thought is cut off by the man he came here to see. Andrew’s pretense was not just a precaution, in case the Dingles tried anything, but also an opportunity for their new leader to be observed.

Robert grimaces at what too many people thought of the brothers. “We both are. I’m the son who happens to be his by blood,” He looks in the direction of the other two men listening silently. He’s more irritated than he’d like to admit by the whole turn of events straying too far from his plans. His annoyance comes across when he doesn’t mean for it to because next he spits out, “and I don’t negotiate with commoners.” “Oh? That’s alright then,” the retort comes right away, “negotiate with me.” There’s a push back in there that Robert likes and it makes something inside him settle down and regain some of his composure. “Then we should find a spot where we can talk on our own.”

He gets a small nod in response and Aaron Dingle, first of his line in centuries to try and reclaim the mantle of King in the North, turns around at once and leads him away from the one man he brought along with him to help with his task. The Dingles are close to nothing when compared with the glory of House Sugden, but there’s something noble, almost royal, in the way this man carries himself that’s hard not to follow and Robert does. He’s not the only one. The direwolf is walking right next to his human, whose hand naturally finds itself buried in the thick fur. It practically drowns in it, a reminder of just how big the direwolf really is. It’s hard to look away from the shape the two of them make together.

“I hope you appreciate that I’m following you alone when you have that beast by your side,” he says after they’re outside the hearing range of anyone else.

“Cloud won’t let me out of his sight now that he’s decided your brother tried to threaten me. If you want us to speak alone, you’ll have to do with his presence. I wouldn’t complain if I were you, not after you were the one who tried to pass for your own servant. Out of the two of us, you’re the one proving to be hard to trust so far.”

“Ouch. Not totally unfair, but still. Ouch.”

“Besides,” Aaron Dingle abruptly halts and turns around to Robert sharply, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks, “you’re not alone and unprotected. You’ve got one of your dragons here, don’t you? Where did you think we were headed? I’d like to see your beast.”

Robert can feel his cheeks burning under what can only be perceived as a piercing gaze. What a strange new sensation. As far back as he can recall, no physical fire has made him feel this way and for some reason, he doesn’t think any ever will. “If this is where you’re headed, don’t. We can discuss our matters anywhere and you…” he can’t explain the sudden worry that takes over him when nothing major happened other than witnessing a complete stranger take a risk, “you shouldn’t trust me to guarantee your safety.”

“And yet,” Aaron breaks their stance and resumes his strides, “you will.”

Where is that confidence coming from? Robert is left wondering even as he’s forced to quickly step in line. He’s aware that most people pale at the thought of being in the presence of a dragon even if their safety is guaranteed, let alone if it isn’t. Especially when they think that they have a reason to doubt his motivations.

“How would you know where I left my dragon?” he tries to distract himself from everything about this that’s been unsettling.

A small, but deliberate pat to Cloud’s back is the only answer he gets.

Robert can pick up on that, even though he isn’t able to see much beyond the play of shadows and silhouettes. The man he’s following started leading the way in pitch dark without allowing either one of them the time to grab a torch and enjoy its guidance after Andrew’s went out. Robert doesn’t doubt that they are in the right direction, though. Soon enough he can hear Victorion’s breathing. If Cloud’s slowly rising growl is anything to go by, he’s not the only one. In fact, the direwolf seems more and more displeased, though he never so much as slows down.

“Stop!” Robert calls out. He may not be able to see much, but he can tell they’re near enough to Victorion. “We’re here.” He steps forward and bypasses the duo of man and direwolf. His step is unsure when he can’t see the ground he’s walking on, but the hand he reaches out to make contact with is steady. “Trust me?” he throws the question to the man behind him and without waiting to get a reply, he commands the smallest of his three dragons at the exact same time as he turns his back to her, “Dracarys!”

A flame splits up the night. Robert’s hand on Victorion’s neck is guiding the fire to be breathed in a direction safe for everyone and for the act to be longer than usual, allowing him to watch the spot where he knew he’ll see Aaron’s face. The dragon’s flame highlights each one of the man’s features. He is quite handsome, which isn’t really what the Sugden heir came to expect based on stories he’s heard from his family about the Dingle lineage. The expression on Aaron’s face changes from one of tension into that of pure wonder and awe. No fear. No repulsion. He’s beautiful in a way Robert isn’t sure he was ready for.

“You can come closer if you want to. You can touch her.” He didn’t plan on inviting the man to do so, but it feels right.

Aaron takes a hesitant step forward and pauses. He’s waiting for Victorion’s reaction. When there is none, he continues until he touches the scaly skin of the dragon. A little laughter comes out of him like a bubble of air rising, seemingly out of nowhere, to break the surface of water. Robert would wage good money that it’s not a sound people hear often. He starts patting Victorion for how good and quiet she’s being and Aaron mimics him almost immediately. Even though hers is not the most pleasant skin for the touch, not even when compared with other dragons, Robert thinks there’s something thrilling about doing this. The tingle of power that runs right underneath one’s fingers when she moves slightly in reaction. As they continue doing this, their hands accidentally brush against each other, warm in contrast with her cold scales.

Aaron steps back. “I think it’s time you told me,” he says slowly, as if he’s not certain himself that he’s ready for what will come, “what it is that you want from me.”

* * *

Aaron looks down at the crowd of soldiers gathered next to the feet of the mountain. From up here on the cliff, they appear more like foam upon the sea than men, giving the impression of rippling waves as they move.

“Do you have to stand so close to the edge? If one of those numbskulls down there spots you, they can and will try to shoot you with an arrow.”

“They can try, they won’t succeed,” he pulls back to a degree all the same.

“They might succeed,” the voice comes closer and he turns to face Robert, who probably climbed up after him to the edge of the cliff in order to pull Aaron back himself if he had to, “and your Dingle audacity doesn’t actually make you immune to arrows.”

This up close, it’s impossible to ignore Robert’s clear eyes and how radiant he seems to be, even a second before the outbreak of a battle. It makes Aaron feel like he has something stuck in his throat, forcing him to attempt swallowing it down. The discomfort throws his mind back to their talk among the weirwoods, when they made their pact to be allies. What Robert wanted from him, as it turned out, was the fulfillment of a prophecy. “A prophecy?” Aaron was incredulous. It wasn’t like belief in prophecies throughout the kingdoms was unheard of, but to approach a northman because of one was odd. The northerners were more likely than anyone else in the realm to assume that any rhyme offered up as a prophetic text was either nonsense or an attempt at manipulation. After all, they are already aware of the one indisputable truth regarding the future: the inevitability of winter.  They don’t need more than that. To try and woe a northman into an alliance through the idea of prophecy is, at best, as naive as expecting one to aid in such lunacy being fulfilled. Robert nodded, like he was reading his mind. “I know how your folk think of this, but…” his eyes dropped, lost in memories, “you have to understand. There was a great fire that could have destroyed my family. It would have, if it weren’t for a prophetic dream. And it did consume the majority of my people. I have no choice other than to believe.” “And you need me to help you make this prophecy come true?” Robert looked back up at him. “When the darkest shadow of the night is cast, the savior’s arrival will be sure and fast, as long as love can be forged with desire… in a song of ice and fire.” Aaron shrugged. “I have no idea what those nursery rhymes mean.” “The night’s shadow… you must have heard some of the same reports I have. From beyond the wall.” He figured out instantly what was referred to since he had indeed heard a few crazy rumors about a nightmarish threat rising in that vast wasteland. To be on the safe side, he preferred to claim ignorance. “What reports?” Robert frowned. “The Others. They’re walking this earth again.” Quiet, and he takes a breath before continuing. “Even if you don’t believe in that, I do. My people, we’ve been waiting, knowing that the night will cast its darkest shadow again. Not that we’re sure what the rest of the prophecy means. My maester thinks the heir to my family is the savior and that I’m meant to rescue the kingdoms in one grand, final battle. He thinks this clash will be the song of their ice against our fire.” “But you don’t agree.” Aaron was surprised to see a smile at that. “Maester Potts is ignoring the whole part about love and desire, isn’t he? Typical of a maester, I guess. He pushes that aside by saying it’s the abstract love and mutual want between me and the people of the realm that I’m meant to save and rule. Sounds a bit too easy to me.” It suddenly clicked. “You don’t agree with him and instead, you think I’m the ice and you’re the fire, and that we…?” Robert shrugged and answered only the first part. “Who better than a Dingle in all of the kingdoms to be the embodiment of ice?” Aaron snorted. “If you’re right, then we are all done for, aren’t we? There’s no love lost between the two of us or our houses.” This didn’t faze Robert as he chuckled in response. “You mean you haven’t fallen madly in love with me in the ten minutes we’ve been talking? I’m shocked.” “Yeah, you’re trying to play it off like you didn’t expect a scenario of that sort, but we haveheard of you here.” Even in a realm where royalties were known for their sexual proclivities, Robert was notorious. “What, my reputation precedes me?” There was too much satisfaction in his voice for Aaron’s liking. “And now you don’t even want to give me a chance as a suitor. That’s alright, I didn’t expect you would. But at the very least you can trust that I am offering you my full faith in this prophecy as a guarantee that I won’t betray you. You may not think it’s true, but I do and that means that I will never be a danger to you or yours. It means, I’ll protect you. I’ll give you my dragons and men to command for whatever purpose you have in mind in the south, for as long as it takes you to trust my words and accept our marriage.” Aaron shook his head in disbelief and dismay. The Sugden heir was offering him all that he was set on getting from their alliance without a nuptial contract being promised, not just yet. That was too good to be true. But he may try to enforce that marriage later down the line. “Even if I accept that you really believe in this, what will happen if I never agree to wed you?” “Well,” there was the ghost of warm breath that fleeted across Aaron’s face when Robert leaned in closer, his wide grin evident even in the dark, “I won’t force you to agree, not now and not ever. Because that’s my challenge, isn’t it? To make you love me and want to marry me… in addition to how much you already wish to bed me.” “I… what?” Aaron was far too astonished to phrase his question better. “No need to pretend, I can read the signs. I have to be very good at that, because… Well, you did hear about my reputation, right?” Aaron still wants to punch Robert whenever he thinks of the smirk with which he said that. Even the enemy soldiers gathering below them, their service paid for by the Whites and their greed for power, can’t distract him from that urge. It’s a desire only partly motivated by those words holding some truth to them. There is an undercurrent of want he feels whenever he looks at the true Sugden heir. Unlike Andrew, there is beauty and charm to Robert that are hard to ignore. Even the notion of going through with the marriage doesn’t seem as wrong when it comes to him. But not like this, not when Aaron is in a way still being forced to make this choice. After all, he is the very essence of the people he grew up with and was meant to rule, proud and unwilling to easily give up any freedoms. And Robert played his hand wrong, having given up all of his cards without demanding any commitments in exchange. He saved the North from an impossible situation while still intending to force his vision of their future on Aaron. The mere thought is enough to cool down any romantic feelings that might have otherwise evolved. No, whatever the song of ice and fire is, it will have to be played without the Dingle line thrown into it. The plan for the battle against the soldiers hired by the Whites is simple and the first stage of it will now be implemented. Most of the northerners and the Sugden soldiers are gathered at the foot of the mountain as well. The two armies are about to clash with Andrew serving as their side’s highest ranking fighter on the battlefield and Adam present as Aaron’s right hand man. He has Cloud by his side, growling and ready to pounce at the enemy’s throats. The sun hits its spot in the sky that they agreed on and the order is given. The men from both sides charge at each other. “Ready?” Robert asks, his one leg already leaning against scaly skin, his hand stretched out to offer help in mounting the dragon. Aaron looks up at the pair of eyes shining back at him and takes in the lack of any doubts or reservations, despite how much this may end up costing. “Hells, yes,” he replies, without being sure which question he’s really answering. They climb Victorion together, about to unleash the second stage and descend on the White soldiers from the sky.

[dictionarywrites]

Brought To Justice: Chapter 1

Odin gives Loki a choice when he is brought back to Asgard: imprisonment, or execution. When Loki chooses the latter, Odin increases his punishment twofold, and Loki is sent back to Midgard in order to repay his debt. Bound by his own magic and forced to obey whatever order Steve Rogers lays out for him, Loki is forced to attempt a redemption he neither wants nor deserves.

Not a wooby!Loki fic, not an "everybody loves Loki now" fic.

Ao3 link. Rated M. 6k. Complex relationships. Fusion of canons.

Tony watches from the balcony, his arms pressed against the balcony’s side, at the ritual being conducted in the atrium of Stark Tower – and it is a ritual, that much is for certain. Loki, still sporting his injuries from facing up with the Hulk, is kneeling on the hard tile, his hands behind his back, his head bowed, and Odin Allfather is speaking in a high, lofty language Tony couldn’t hope to understand. Magic is visible on the air itself, smelling like the air after a thunderstorm, and he sees blue strings of energy curling between Loki and Cap, who stands uncomfortably in front of him.

Rogers is standing in a military pose, his shoulders squared, his arms at his side, but Tony can see his eyes reflect a discomfort at precisely what is happening – Odin had made it all too clear. “It is your choice entirely,” he had said airily to the group of them gathered, his voice full of faux-sympathy: Thor had stood behind him, his jaw set, his fists clenched at his side. “We shall either execute Loki… Or I will make him harmless to you, and he can help you save lives, instead of taking them.”

“You want to put the onus on us, huh?” Clint had spoken up, still visibly exhausted, his eyes puffy and red, his lips chapped. “You want it to be our choice,” he had used his fingers to quote in the air, “if you kill your son.”

“He isn’t my son,” Odin had said, damningly, and Tony had seen the way Loki flinched in his bonds. Rogers had seen too: maybe that’s why he’d agreed to it.

Odin finishes with a flourish of magic that bursts upon the air, and Loki remains in his spot, silent, unmoving. Tony could believe he was a statue if it weren’t for the way his hair hung down around his face, if it weren’t for the way he could see his shoulders marginally rising and falling as Loki took deep breaths. What, is he scared? What the Hell does he have to be afraid of?

“Now what?” Rogers asks, his voice professional – just like his posture, it has that military edge to it, and Odin seems to respect that.

“He’s yours, now,” Odin says mildly. “He cannot harm you. If you order something, his very own magic will have him obey.” A shadow passes over Roger’s face, a plain discomfort, and he looks down at Loki.

“Stand up,” he says, and slowly, Loki rises. Tony hadn’t really seen it before, when he’d been half-crazed with the Chitauri and burning with the power of the Tesseract, but Loki has a quiet grace to his movements even Thor doesn’t really have. There’s something liquid about it, something extra – he’s only really seen that kind of smooth stand in cats, not in people. Rogers doesn’t look happy to be obeyed. “You have to tell the truth if I ask you?”

“If you order me to tell only the truth now,” Loki says, quietly. Something passes between him and Rogers, a flickering light that passes between their eyes, and Loki adds, “You might, of course, renege that order, if you found it wasn’t to your liking. I doubt that it would be.” Loki’s voice carries up to the balconies, and Tony glances at the others. Bruce is stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his glasses low on his nose; Clint and Nat are stood together, both of them visibly disgusted, and Thor… Thor is down there, behind his father. Tony can’t see his face.

“We’ve been honoured to receive you, sir,” Rogers says, and he barks out the last word as he looks to Odin: Tony half-expects him to salute, but he doesn’t. “With me,” Rogers orders, and as he marches into the main part of Stark Tower, Loki follows him, his hands still behind his back. If Odin was expecting a “thank you”, he doesn’t show it: instead, he gestures for Thor to follow him, and the both of them leave through the wide, double doors.

“Come on,” Nat says, and the rest of them make their way off the balcony, so they can see precisely what is gonna happen now.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ  -✪-✪-✪-----

“So, what do we do with him?” Nat asks. They’re down in the training hall, where the walls are insulated and the least amount of noise will carry to the rest of the building. Tony guesses it’s so Cap can weigh up what kind of skills Loki has, but Loki doesn’t seem worried at all: he’s sitting on the air itself, gently buffing his nails with a smooth, unfamiliar instrument.

“Whatever you please,” Loki says, and she looks at him, impassively.

“Shut up,” she says.

“My apologies, Ms Romanov, it seems you’ve misunderstood the terms of this arrangement. I’m certain Captain Rogers will allow you to give me orders, once he’s certain you won’t use the privilege to murder me.” Rogers turns, looking at Loki. All of them are looking at Loki now, and his pale face shows the barest amount of surprise. He looks between each of them, and then his eyes meet Tony’s, his blue eyes staring.

“Surely you knew?” he asks. “Anything you order of me, I am bound to do. You think that stops at harming myself? Killing myself, even? So long as your orders come within the realm of Midgard, I must do as I am bid.”

“What if I tell you that you that don’t have to obey what I tell you?” Rogers asks, and Loki barks out a laugh. It’s an angry, savage thing, showing all of his teeth, and his eyes look impenetrably deep for the barest second, a thrum of power radiating away from him like a pulse, and Tony feels himself, unconsciously, take a step back – and sees the others do the same, except Cap himself.

“Are you certain you want to risk that, Captain Rogers?” Loki asks, arching a fine eyebrow. His tone is slippery, steaming with venom, as he adds, “After all I’ve just done?”

“I didn’t think it was going to be slavery!” Rogers snaps, and Loki chuckles, shaking his head slowly.

“A moral question for any young student of philosophy,” Loki says archly, and he stands up from his invisible seat, vanishing his nail buff into the ether around them. He speaks with his shoulders back, his chin high, and he gestures widely with his hands. His every movement is quietly theatrical, as if he is used to lecturing on this subject, as if he has practised this before. “The question as is as follows: the man in your possession is a slave. He shall obey your orders, gladly, and promptly. You yourself, of course, cannot abide by taking away the liberty of another fellow – but if you set him free, he shall surely die, or worse, be taken up by someone who might treat him cruelly. Do you keep him, or do you set him free?”

“Shut your mouth,” Rogers orders, crisply, and Loki’s mouth shuts with an audible click. There’s a bitter taste in the back of Tony’s throat, and he watches the way Rogers’ brow furrows, watches the way his lips twist. “I didn’t mean that. Talk as much as you want.”

“In accepting the Allfather’s terms, you have made yourself responsible for me. The very reason he has bound my magic in this way is so that I cannot be held accountable for any actions I perform: I am your charge, Captain Rogers, and subsequently he has removed any connection from me to him, or myself to the throne of Asgard. Cunning, isn’t it?” He sets his hands behind his back, his lips pressing together for a moment, and then he says, “If I might make a recommendation, I would suggest the true meaning of this arrangement be held back from the general public. It will sour the name of Captain America, or indeed, of any of you, to think you have entered into an agreement the people of Earth at large will find to be archaic. Tell the peoples of Earth that I was somehow under the psychological control of the Chitauri: pretend I have entered this arrangement to pay back the debt I feel I owe to this society.”

“Why should we believe you?” Bruce asks, his hands in his pockets, but he seems neither scared nor angry, really – just quietly curious, scientific mind working underneath that thick hair of his. Loki sighs.

“One makes the best of an ill situation, Doctor Banner.” Why the Hell is he talking like that? Tony can’t quite get the hang of it – he and Loki had almost been on a level when the two of them had been talking upstairs just a day or so ago, and now everything Loki says is stiff and starched at the edges, as if he’s speaking as an ambassador to some foreign court. Is it part of the magic?

“What?” Clint asks, taking a few steps forward, until he is directly in Loki’s face, until he is looking up into Loki’s eyes. Loki can see that he’s shaking, sees that his face is red, but Clint doesn’t seem to give a shit how scared he is. “What, you think this is the best that could have happened, huh?”

“By no means, Mr Barton,” Loki whispers, and he leans in closer: his lips move, but no sound comes out. Barton’s eyes widen as he reads whatever Loki had said on his lips, and then takes a step back.

“What did he say?” Cap asks, but Barton is already leaving the room, heading toward the stairs and rushing up them: Nat follows him, but not without shooting a venomous stare in Loki’s direction. “What did you say to him? Tell me.”

“I said the best of this situation would have been if the Allfather had me executed, as per my request,” Loki says. The room is utterly silent now, the four of them standing in the quiet, unmoving. After a few long seconds pass, Loki says, “Of course, Captain Rogers, you might pass me onto SHIELD as an asset, if you would prefer. You cannot shift the connection the Allfather has fostered between us, but you could order me to obey the commands of the SHIELD officers, scientists. Do you trust your organisation, I wonder, with me?”

“Stop trying to turn this into a philosophy class,” Rogers says quietly. “I’m not gonna feel guilty for saving your life.”

“You’re more like Thor than I expected,” Loki replies in a soft voice. “Foolish, and sentimental.” Rogers lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head: if Loki meant for that to hurt, he doesn’t seem to have landed the blow.

“If you think you can bait me into hurting you, your highness, you’re damn wrong,” Rogers says. Looking between Bruce and Tony, Rogers gives a wave of his hand, and says, “You guys head upstairs. Work on the rebuild. Me and Loki are gonna stay right here.” Bruce seems glad for the excuse to leave, and he heads toward the stairs, but Tony reaches out, touching Steve’s arm.

“You sure you wanna be down here alone with him?”

“Get Pepper to call Nick Fury,” Steve says quietly. “I didn’t exactly get SHIELD approval for this one, and that’s probably for the best. He’s right. I don’t trust him in SHIELD’s hands – I wish I could. Can we put him in a room here in Stark Tower?”

“Sure,” Tony says. “If that’s what you want. You trust him?”

“Hell no,” Rogers says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need to. Thanks, Stark.”

“No problem, Cap,” Tony replies, and he heads out. It’s… Weird. The whole thing is weird. But what else are they meant to do?

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ  -✪-✪-✪-----

Loki stands with his hands behind his back, his back straight, his soles flat against the soft matting that makes up this training hall’s floor. From a very young age, Loki has been used to many different training grounds, most of them using some sort of mix of sand and saw dust to soften the ground, but these mats seem soft enough to allow for an easy landing, and the Midgardians seem so intent on covering everything in plastic.

Captain Rogers is watching him. It doesn’t matter that he’s a hundred years older than his fellows – he has spent those extra years unconscious, and they add nothing to him. Even if they did, what is a hundred years? Loki is nearing his third millennium, now, and not a single person on Midgard could compare to him.

“The magic tricks,” Rogers begins. “Sitting on the air, pulling stuff out of nowhere. You weren’t doing that when you had the sceptre in your hands.” Loki frowns.

“I didn’t need to,” he begins, but Rogers holds up a flat palm for him to stop, and Loki does.

“You couldn’t. Tell me why.”

“The sceptre drained all manner of energy in its vicinity,” Loki murmurs. He dislikes to be forced into honesty like this, but he feels his magic bubbling in his veins, feel it force him to speak with honesty. “Mine included. It would have come back to me after a time.”

“Uh huh,” Rogers says, as if he doesn’t believe Loki, as if Loki doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but there is a pit in Loki’s stomach, and he chooses not to engage with it. “You really wish you were dead?”

“Not exactly,” Loki answers. “The Allfather offered me a choice between imprisonment beneath the city of Asgard, alone, or death. I chose the latter.” Rogers’s frown draws at his lips, turning them downward.

“Then Thor stepped in?” Loki inclines his head.

“He didn’t want to see me die. Suggested that if they imprisoned me under Asgard, it’d only be a matter of time before I broke out again – he was trying to appear to the Allfather’s sense of logic, and cunning, but rather quickly, and with little forethought. It was hardly his fault: he was upset at the thought of seeing me lose my head. Scrambling for an idea, he suggested the Allfather bind me, using my own magic, to Thor’s hand.”

“And Odin said he didn’t want you roaming around Asgard?” Rogers asks, and Loki nods his head once more. The young captain is, Loki is uncomfortable to realise, much more perceptive than Loki had initially realised – even with the clean, methodical lines of Clint Barton’s thoughts beneath his own, he had underestimated each of the Avengers. Is it not fitting that this should be his downfall? “What I need to do know is if you’re gonna try to kill yourself at the first opportunity. ‘Cause that puts other people at risk – other people I have to care about.”

“Why not just order me not to?” Loki asks, and Rogers sighs.

“Can’t order you not to risk yourself. What if I need you to, later on? I just need to know that you’re not gonna jump into self-sacrifice when there are other options available. Suicidal soldiers are no good to anybody.”

“Is that what your Avengers are to you? Soldiers under your command?” Loki asks, and Rogers’ lips twitch into a wan, unfeeling smile. What must it be like for him, Loki wonders? Such a bright-eyed young man so intent on saving others, and here Loki is, a spanner in those particular works: Rogers ought despise him, by all rights, and yet he seems to be doing his best to be near civil to Loki.

“Let’s talk about what you can do,” Rogers says. “Illusions?”

“Yes,” Loki nods. Rogers looks at him expectantly, but Loki doesn’t say anything more, and Rogers sighs, shaking his head, before continuing.

“And your magic… What’s the limit of that? What kind of stuff can you do? Tell me.” He’s learning quickly, Loki thinks, and he cannot help the way his lip curls.

“Shifting the shape of my own form requires time and energy, but I can become much smaller and much larger than myself with relative ease. I can form various shapes, including seemingly inanimate objects and non-sentient beasts. For conjuration, I can quite easily conjure inanimate objects as large as, say, a dining table. I can also summon objects, either from pocket dimensions or another location, so long as I know where that location is precisely, ideally having been there. I can speed the growth of living thing, and I can heal most bodily wounds, so long as I have a deeper understanding of the thing’s anatomy. I can do minor divination, use magic to interbreed strange plants. I can Skywalk, which is rather like a more dignified form of flight – I can walk or run upon the air, and travel freely with seiðr as the source of fuel, I—”

“Stop.” Rogers is looking at Loki with his eyes slightly wide, his lips pursed, and then he says, “Ground rules. You never lie to me – and I mean never, Loki. You don’t lie by omission, you don’t try to squirrel out from a question I’m asking you, and if anything important happens, if you notice anything weird or anything that creeps you out, you tell me.”

“Creeps me out?” Loki repeats, mockingly, and Rogers grabs him by the front of his jerkin, setting his jaw as he meets Loki’s stare, his eyes intent.

“Anything makes you uncomfortable, anyone treats you badly, anyone orders you to do something that you think I’ll think is wrong, you fucking tell me.”

“You use profanity,” Loki murmurs, his lip twitching. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m a soldier, Loki. You ever meet a soldier that didn’t curse?”

“Soldiers don’t usually get the chance to say a word to me,” Loki replies, his smile showing his teeth, but Rogers is unshakable. He releases his grip on Loki’s armour, and then he puts his hands on his hips, looking Loki up and down.

“For now, take orders just from me. You don’t have to do anything anyone else says, but as a rule, don’t manipulate people, don’t try to set them up to fight each other, and stop saying stuff just to make people uncomfortable. Do not hurt anybody. Do not engender a situation in which you technically are not the person hurting them, but they become hurt as a result of the situation you made. Do not tell anybody who doesn’t already know the ins and outs of this situation, and do not tell anybody who doesn’t know that the magic your father used binds you to me. Next, be healthy. Don’t try to starve yourself, or stop yourself from sleeping, or anything like that. You’re not meant to be hanging off my word, so unless I’ve told you to do something, just live your life.”

“Very comprehensive,” Loki murmurs. Every order seeps into his skin like poison into groundwater, and he clenches his hands into fists at his sides, turning his head away from Rogers so that he doesn’t have to look at the soldier’s face. To think: he has come from the binds of the Chitauri to this. “What will you have of me?” The bitterness of the question sounds through, but Rogers doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “We obviously don’t want you in the field if we can help it – people will try to attack you, will think you’re there to hurt them. Probably keep you on hand as a healer. You know much about technology?”

“Asgard is much more advanced than Midgard,” Loki points out, but Rogers raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I can drive a Buick, but it doesn’t mean I can take the engine apart and put it back together.” A Buick is some sort of automobile, Loki imagines, and he doesn’t appreciate the hardness of the other man’s stare.

“I take your meaning.” Loki hesitates, then says, “In short, yes. Magic requires a lot of mechanical comprehension – without understanding something, I cannot repair it if I need to. I understand the facets of electronic and engineering invention, and I would consider myself a passable engineer.”

“How old are you?” Rogers asks.

“Exactly?” Loki asks. “I don’t know.”

“I told you not to avoid questions,” Rogers says lowly, his eyes dark, and Loki feels his magic pull hard at his heart, and he sighs, frustrated, and angry, and trapped, as an animal in a corner.

“I’m some years past my third millennia.” Rogers’ eyes become marginally wider, but he schools his expression carefully, ensuring his surprise doesn’t show too obviously.

“So when you say you’ve got skills, you’ve had time to accumulate them.” Rogers presses his lips together, looking Loki up and down, as if searching out clues to other skills Loki might have under his belt, as if searching for the evidence on Loki’s very form. There is none. Loki is not used to wearing his abilities on his sleeve. “Jesus,” he mutters, and Loki frowns.

“What?”

“You and Thor, you just look… You look young.”

“We are,” Loki says. “By the standards of our own species, we’re very young indeed. Well—” The magic drags at him, makes him choke with its heat, and he spits out, “Thor is.” Rogers’s blond brow furrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, it—” Loki lets out a sound of pain as he feels his magic bubble like so much venom in his throat, forcing its way out into his mouth and strong-arming his tongue into speech. “Thor and I are not the same species. I’m not an Æsir, as he is. I’m a Jötunn.”

“He mentioned you were adopted.”

“Adopted?” Loki repeats, surprised by the harshness of his own voice, and he clenches his fists at his sides, feeling magic bubble in his veins, but not, this time, against his own volition – adopted! What a word to use! “Of course he would call it that.” Rogers opens his mouth, evidently planning to ask another question, but there are footsteps in the stairwell, and Loki looks to see the one-eyed Nick Fury striding into the room, flanked by two young soldiers.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ  -✪-✪-✪-----

“You’re not taking him,” Steve says, lazily, for the fifth time. Fury is pacing before him, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders high – you can tell he used to be a soldier of sorts himself, before he was a commander. There’s something in the attitude that never goes away. Steve leans upon the island in the centre of the corner kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. This kitchen is an anteroom off the main training hall, like the changing rooms and the showers, but this room is mercifully clean, and isn’t heavy with the scent of sweat.

“You’re telling me this guy has just killed a few hundred people, and you’re adopting him?” Fury demands, his voice harsh: he’s a skilled manipulator, Steve will give him that, but Steve doesn’t need to remember the Cold War to know that isn’t the way he plays. As soon as Fury had entered the room, he’d ordered Loki to go and find Tony, and reluctantly the god had gone up the stairs, pursued by Fury’s two lieutenants.

“He’s been entrusted to the Avengers. Last I checked, Nick, you aren’t an Avenger.”

“Entrusted?”

“He’s bound by his own magic. He’s one of us now.”

“He just killed half a thousand people!” Fury snaps, his voice raising and bouncing off the thin walls, but Steve just stares at him.

“He’s gonna pay it back,” Steve replies, his tone calculatedly even. “Better than he would, what? Spread out on a lab table so SHIELD can take him apart and see how he works?” Fury’s single eye narrows slightly, and he can see the twitch of muscles underneath Fury’s skin as he shifts the set of his jaw. “He’s not an asset, Nick. He’s a person, and he’s gonna do some community service and pay back his debt. I don’t trust him any more than you do, but he literally can’t lie his way out of this one.”

“He ain’t a person, Steve. You not thinking of Coulson? What about—”

“We’re going in circles, Nick. I’ve told you what’s happening: this is how it’s happening.” Fury’s lip curls slightly, but he seems to realise he can’t use Steve as a tool, can’t push him around. Steve thinks of the weapons they’d seen up on the ship…

Yeah. Fury isn’t at the top of his to-be-trusted list right about now.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Steve suggests, sipping at his coffee and setting the mug in the sink. “I’ll walk you to the door.” But Fury is already walking away from him, his squared shoulders showing his irritation, and Steve smiles, sourly.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ  -✪-✪-✪-----

Loki lies on his back on the cot to the side of the room. It is a small bedroom, holding only this single bed, a small desk and chair in the corner, and a bathroom that takes up a corner of the bedroom’s box space, holding a toilet and shower. These rooms are intended for the short term, Stark had told him, for those that just need somewhere to stay overnight if they need to be on hand.

This tiny space is the box they’ll put him in, when his services are not required.

Loki stares up at the bare, white-painted ceiling, his lips pressed loosely together, his hands loosely clasped over his belly. He feels like a corpse on a ritual slab – and isn’t that right? Isn’t that fair? Isn’t this what Odin wanted, when he saw that Loki would choose death over imprisonment, and wanted something worse than both?

And what better punishment for betrayal than to turn Loki’s most loyal friend against him – his very magic?

A knock sounds at the door. Loki’s eyes flit toward it, staring at the dark wood and waiting for someone to step through. There is a long pause, and then there is another knock upon the wood, polite, and short. Frowning, Loki stands from the bed, comes to the door, and opens it.

Here stands Tony Stark, forced to look up a little to meet Loki’s gaze, and he peers past Loki into the bare room. “You’ve been in here for an hour,” he says. “When I said make yourself at home, I kinda meant… Do whatever you want with it. What, you can magic stuff up, but not paint and different bed sheets?” Loki says nothing, and merely stares down at the other man, his gaze impassive. “Uh huh… Anyway, come with me. We’re gonna have something to eat.”

Loki steps out of the room, closing the door behind him, and he sees that the door is not the same as it was when he first stepped inside: somebody, likely Stark, has pained Loki on the wood in curling, painted letters. Loki feels a nausea deep in his belly, and he follows Stark down the corridor, toward the primary dining hall.

There is an unfamiliar man, tall and handsome (another soldier, Loki knows at a glance), dominating the large kitchen in the corner of the dining room, and he is working with ease at the stove, searing the meat of some of those… Ugh. What the Midgardians call burgers, made of the heavily processed meat America seem so fond of. The very scent of the stuff is heavy in Loki’s sensitive nose, and when Tony says, “You want a glass of water?”, Loki nods his head a little more fervently than he had wanted. He takes a sip, and he looks to the dining table, watching the Avengers. Rogers is already sat down, talking seriously to a red-headed woman that Loki doesn’t recognize, and Romanov and Barton work swiftly, setting out plates at every place setting as Banner sets out knives and forks and napkins. The entire situation is unnervingly domestic, and yet no one glares in Loki’s direction or snaps at him. They act as if they’ve done this a thousand times before, and yet Loki knows they’ve only just been thrown together, that they are all as yet strangers.

“Sit down next to Steve,” Stark murmurs, and Loki, seeing no other real option, takes a seat beside Steve. He and the red-headed woman are discussing a renovation of Stark Tower, making it into a space for the Avengers instead, and Loki stares at his empty plate. Soon enough, everybody is sitting down: Stark sits beside Loki, the handsome cook beside the red-headed woman, and then the others take the remaining seats. They pass plates around the table, allowing everybody to serve themselves, and Loki takes a modest amount of a salad Banner had thrown together, passing the plate of burgers immediately onto Stark when Rogers hands the plate to him.

Conversation occurs around him, and Loki eats in silence. He is hyperaware of what he must look like, still in his leathers, his straight back, his poise princely, but no one comments, and everybody ignores him, mercifully. Loki has never been so glad not to be noticed before. The salad is palatable enough, the vinaigrette strong and settling acid-heavy on his tongue, and it is plain that Stark orders in high-end stock – what the Midgardians call organic, ridiculous phrasing – because Loki cannot taste the tang of pesticides in the crisp, green leaves or in the softness of the tomato.

“So, Loki,” the handsome man says, and Loki looks across the table to him, doing his best to keep his expression entirely neutral. “You don’t eat meat?” Loki looks from the handsome man’s dark, brown eyes to the platter of burgers in the centre of the table, dressed with relish, a few of them topped with American cheese or slices of bacon cured in some sort of syrup.

“Uh—” Loki isn’t entirely certain how to respond: he cannot lie, his magic reminds him, and he dislikes the idea of telling the entire truth. “I… Do.”

“Just my cooking you don’t like?”

“He won’t eat processed food,” comes Barton’s voice from down the table, and Loki both rejoices at the interruption and reviles it: everyone is silent now, and Loki feels embarrassment blossom in his chest – of course, Barton knows things about him that those gathered here do not, and all of them are staring at him, now, with various expressions of repulsed curiosity. “Won’t eat American meat, won’t eat American cheese. Won’t eat candy or fast food.”

“But apparently mass murder is just fine,” Romanov says dryly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Interesting.” Loki wonders why Rogers had refused Fury, wonders why he hadn’t just allowed Fury to take him – none of these people want Loki here, and Loki should prefer plain torture and pain over this sort of social awkwardness.

Banner takes the bowl of salad in front of him, and passes it to Tony, who passes it to Loki: taking the silent instruction, Loki serves himself a little more of it, and murmurs, “My thanks.” The handsome man is watching him, his chin on his hand.

“You haven’t got food like this where you come from, huh?” he asks.

“No. The city of Asgard is served by wide orchards, possessing a great many fruits and fast-growing vegetables and roots, each of them imbued by their own magics. Meat is farmed on a very small scale, and the majority of our domesticated animals are goats and hardy cows, a few egg-laying fowl. Most of the meat we consume is that which we have hunted ourselves.” Loki looks away from the man’s staring eyes to his plate, taking small bites.

“Thor likes Earth food just fine,” Stark points out, mildly. “You always been a fussy eater?”

“No: Thor is merely an indiscriminate one.” Stark laughs, patting Loki’s shoulder, but the rest of the table is entirely silent, and Loki wishes he had held his tongue. “You have cooked a most admirable meal for a large table,” Loki says quietly, meeting the handsome man’s searching eyes once again. “Please, do not take my… Fussiness for ingratitude.”

“I won’t,” he says. “It’s just that in the army, you learn to eat what you’re given.” Loki chuckles, quietly, and he wipes his lip on a napkin.

“A lesson that was never imparted to me, I fear, and likely never will be. My own children once complained of my palate.” Banner leans forward, looking around Stark, and his dark eyes land on Loki, his eyebrows raised, his wide eyes.

“You’ve got kids?” Loki frowns, looking around the table at large: once again, silence reigns, and everyone looks at him with a sort of dawning horror. A lie comes to his tongue, but immediately evaporates into the ether, and so Loki gives the smallest shake of his head.

“Not anymore,” he murmurs.

“You’ve been married, then?” Rogers asks, and Loki gives a nod of his head.

“Twice,” he says. Rogers’ gaze flits downward, looking for a ring on Loki’s fingers, but Loki has never worn rings, and likely never will. Rogers keeps looking at him, silently urging him to continue, and Loki says, “My first wife died some time ago. My second wife and I are—” How best to phrase it, that these puny aliens might understand, might comprehend? “Estranged.”

“Big surprise there,” Romanov says, and Loki gives a light shrug of his shoulders, his palms to the ceiling.

“Few marriages survive the deaths of one’s children,” Loki says simply. “Even in cultures far across the stars, this fact remains the same.” Romanov’s expression changes, and Loki knows that this isn’t the act he experienced from within the confines of his cell: that slight change in the marble features of her pretty face is entirely real, and Loki feels a bitter triumph at having engendered it.

“What were they called? Your children?” asks the red-headed woman, her voice quiet. Surely, she cannot be giving into sympathy? Foolish, these mortals are – their hearts are so easily swayed.

“Narfi and Valí,” Loki answers. “Borne of the lady Sigyn.”

“What about your first wife?” Stark asks, and the curiosity on his face shows with another, more complex cocktail of emotions: it unnerves Loki, to be at a dinner table with so little ability to lie, to shake off questions. Never has he felt so very exposed, so forced into this horrific veracity.

Truth is not in his nature, but then, nor is servitude.

“Angrboða,” Loki says. “She was a Jötunn, like myself. We had three children together: Hel, Jormungandr, and Fenrisúlfr. We lived together on an island I had built on the edge of the great Jut sea, apart from the political quagmire of Jötunheimr, and a world away from the courtly graces of Asgard. Our children were wild things, half child and half monster, roaming in the waves, laughing on the sands. There was the great wolf, Fenrisúlfr, with white teeth and strong jaws, running with his four great paws pounding the earth beneath him, and in the shadows he would go unseen, for he sported fur of blackest night. Then Jormungandr, the snake, a great curve of sliding scales and coiling muscle, with eyes of agate, and Hel… She was the image of myself and her mother alike: her hair fell about her head in shining black tresses, her skin was a blue-tinged white that seemed to have been made of moonlight itself, and she walked on two feet, like the princess she was.”

“What happened to them?” asks the red-headed woman, and from her downturned lips, her sad eyes, he sees that she has already grasped some of the truth to come, simply from the reminiscence in Loki’s tone. She asks the question, knowing the answer will be sad, and for that, he finds a sort of respect for her.

“The soothsayers said that the children of Loki would bring about Ragnarök – that is to say, the end of the realm of Asgard. The twilight of the gods. I was away at the time, walking the lands of Jötunheimr as I hunted a great deer – when I returned home with its weight upon my shoulders, my children were gone, cast to the ends of the universe, and my wife lay dead in the water, her blood tainting the sea. Fenrisúlfr was locked in a crypt and bound in great chains; Jormungandr was made mad, forced to consume his own tail, and sent to the depths of the ocean, and Hel… Hel was cast into the underworld, to rule over the realm of the dead. She had yet to reach the cusp of womanhood, and yet there she was, made queen over corpses and rotted things.” Loki sips at his water, feeling its coolness running over his tongue. He can taste what the Midgardians use to keep their pipes clean, hints of chemicals that prevent strange things coming out of their taps. “At least her mother was among her subjects.”

Loki sets down his knife and fork, and says, “My apologies: I find myself without appetite. If I might be excused, Captain Rogers?”

“Go ahead,” the Captain says, his tone unwaveringly casual, and Loki stands from the table, making his way swiftly down the corridor and hiding himself in the bathroom of his small quarters, his back against the cold tile, his head in his hands. His very heart feels as if it has been cleaved open, pumping forth its blood like the words he had spoken – the magic hadn’t forced him, and yet spoken he had, spoken and spoken!

How shall he be here, now, amongst these Midgardians? How shall he be a servant, indentured forever more? How shall he be?

This is the bed he has made for himself. How best to die in it?

Ao3 link. Thanks for reading - please feel free to reach out to me and talk about this ‘verse, I’m super excited about it. :) This is my tip jar, if you feel like leaving a tip. 

[the-girl-without-a-face]

Flirting Takes You Somewhere

BUCKY BARNES X READER

Prompt: You’re Clint’s little sister and are hired by Tony to cook for the Avengers. Bucky has a crush. 

Request: Can you do a Clint Barton x little sister one where Tony hires her to be the teams personal chef cause he loves her cooking? Clint gets overprotective cause the guys on the team are flirty and she's just a kid in his eyes since she's fresh out of college. She loves her big brother but she loves to torment him too so she flirts with Bucky and teases Clint. Bucky ends up asking her out.

Words: 2000.

A/N: I’m so sorry it took so long, but my life is hectic right now. Thank you so much for requesting, dear! Requests are open. If you want to be tagged, tell me and I will arrenge it!

MASTERLIST

“Cut those in small pieces,” you said as you placed a bowl of potatoes in front of your older brother, Clint. He looked at the bowl, then at you, then back at the bowl and finally back at you.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

You shot him a glare and he was smart enough to just grab the knife and start cutting.

While that was being solved, you focused on getting the rest of dinner ready.

You were a guest at the Avenger Compound. Being close to your brother meant a lot of hanging out with the Avengers, but you had never cooked for them.

You had no idea how you had gotten into the kitchen – with Clint­ of all people. Actually, you did. Sam Wilson and his need to bet on everything and, as a proud person, you couldn’t refuse. So you bet that you could make Natasha Romanoff moan while tasting your food.

Everything had to be perfect.

***

“Ready to lose?” Sam whispered in your ear, from behind you.

You smirked and glanced at him from over your shoulder. “Only in your dreams, birdy.”

The entire team sat around the gigantic table, everyone filling their plates with the plenty of food you made Clint place around.

The bet said you had to let Clint help and everyone knew how awful he was at the kitchen, so you made him do simple things: cut the potatoes and set the table. Knowing your plan, he took an extra-long time in cutting the potatoes.

You sat with Clint on your right and Bucky on your left, Steve by Bucky’s other side and Natasha right in front of you.

The team tried to conceal the glances they threw at Natasha as she prepared her first spoonful. Is a whimper a moan? She had to close her eyes? She had to whimper a word or just a wordless moan would suffice? You should have settles rules with Sam first.

Natasha rose the fork to her mouth and froze when the food touched her tongue.

Oh my. You had tasted it, it was delicious. How embarrassing would it be if Natasha hated it?

For three agonizing seconds, the room was dead silent, which was impressive on its own.

“I think my tongue just met with God.”

And then she began chewing and her eyes closed and she… moaned.

“YES!” Clint screamed beside you, standing up with his hands reaching for the ceiling.

“No way!” Sam shrieked before placing his fork in mouth. Sam whimpered.

Not a single word was said during dinner. Well at least not to each other. Some mumbling words escaped from here and there, but they were all quiet and, most importantly, all praises.

When everyone finished, Tony turned to face you.

“How on Earth do you do that?”

“Four years of cooking and experimenting new flavors in college does have its perks,” you explained and then smirked at Sam.

“So you just graduated?” Steve asked. Clint had told him that already, but he wanted to talk to you.

“Yep,” you confirmed, “I’m looking for a job now, but no one wants someone fresh out of college,” you sighed.

Few of them knew what the struggle was for those who had just finished college and were looking for a good job.

“What if you worked here?” Tony blurted out suddenly.

“What?”

“I’d pay you, of course. I’d probably get fat too, because I wouldn’t stop eating, but you’d have a job and be near your brother,” Tony eyes light up as the idea formed in his mind.

“Plus a bunch of lunatics as friends,” Sam chimed in, grinning, “Or more,” he winked at you, making you chuckle.

“And no need to wash or clean anything,” Tony quipped his eyebrows, “I’m a genius so no one actually has to do it.”

“I’d cook for all of you?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll gladly take it.”

“Yes!” Came the response from everyone surrounding you.

Everyone was beaming, but Bucky’s small smile was the most beautiful.

***

“Need any help?”

You turned to see Steve leaning against the doorway.

“If you’re not busy and trust me with a knife near you, sure,” you threw a smile over your shoulder.

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

You asked him to mix the sauce while you cut the meat.

“You sure you don’t want me do that?” Steve asked. He flexed his arms to show off the bulging muscles from under the shirt he wore.

Poor seams.

Steve wanted to flirt? Two could play at this game.

“Believe it or not, Steve, I’m very talented with my hands,” you winked at him.

Red peppers should feel jealous of his blush.

***

You were walking around the Compound, a book and a snack in hands when he suddenly appeared next to you.

“Hello, Princeza,” Pietro fell into a walk beside you, a grin on his lips, his hair all tousled from the run.

“Hello, Pietro,” you smiled back.

He turned and started walking backwards, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Just wanted to say that you look lovely today.”

You chuckled and thanked him before he took off running.

***

“Hey, [Y/n],” Wanda called you happily, “Wanna watch a movie with me?”

“Sure!”

You settle on the gigantic couch and picked a movie that pleased your tastes and hers.

Through the movie, Wanda laid her head on your shoulder, snuggling close. By the end of it, she was peacefully sleeping and you didn’t want to disturb her, so you simply got more comfortable on the couch and decided on a nap.

***

You slept on the afternoon, so at night, you couldn’t sleep. Maybe, a little walk around the Compound would be helpful.

As you went past the lab, you saw a light. Bright and, as you got closer, more than one.

“Bruce?” you called, softly.

He looked at you from his notepad, a bit frightened.

“Yes, [Y/n]?”

You smiled softly at him, “Can’t sleep?”

He chuckled. “Not tonight. I’m almost done with this and my mind won’t settle until I finish it.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“You can’t sleep either?” he called before you made it out the door, his voice a bit shaky.

You turned to him again. “Nope.”

He scratched the back of his neck, his eyes not meeting yours. “Maybe some snack would help you settle? I could accompany you?”

***

You had just served your newest chocolate cake recipe. The first cake was enough to serve a piece for each person in the room. Thank God – or Thor really, since he was the one that suggested you baked more, “with his help, of course,” since he loved cooking – that you baked four.

“Lady [Y/n], this is divine,” Thor gushed, his eyes closed in delight.

“Why, thank you, Thor,” you smiled at him.

Steve, Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Wanda and Pietro all looked at you dreamily. Clint cleared his throat, annoyed that they wouldn’t stop flirting with you. They all recomposed themselves.

In Clint’s mind, you were only a child, a freshly-graduate woman. With a bunch of people he called family hoovering over you.

Bucky was the only one that escaped Clint’s radar, being subtle while looking at you.

“Maybe you should come to Asgard with me and become my Queen. We make a tremendous pair, don’t you think?” the God smiled brightly at you.

“I might agree with you, Thor.”

If there was one thing you loved, was teasing your older brother.

***

You turned your head to your right and then forward, trying to stretch it out. When you repeated the process to the other side, a cracking sound echoed throughout the kitchen.

“Wow, you’re tense,” Natasha exclaimed as she walked over you. You had a recipe book opened on the marble counter in the kitchen, your favorite place in the huge Compound. Nat served herself a glass with water and offered you one, which you refused.

“Am I?”

She looked at you. “Yes. Want me to help you with that?”

And that’s how you ended up in one of the stools, book forgotten as Natasha worked her gentile hands on your neck and shoulders, getting rid of all the knots.

***

Your crush on Bucky had developed to not being so small anymore, but how could you make him see? He was the only person that didn’t flirt you, the only one that you wanted to. Maybe you didn’t have to wait for him to do it.

And maybe you could be a perfect sibling and tease your older brother some more. You knew Clint didn’t like when the Team flirted with you, but would you truly pass out on a bunch of opportunities to annoy him? No way.

So, this happened:

Bucky had just came from the market with Steve and Sam, each of them with two bags in each hand full of food.

“Need any help?” you came to the kitchen, where the pair had just came in and where conveniently Clint was talking to Natasha.

“No, it’s okay, we got it,” Bucky responded, his features calm upon setting the groceries on the counter. Steve and Sam followed suit.

“Doesn’t surprise me, with all those muscles of yours,” you dismissively said.

Clint promptly sent you a side-glance, quirking his eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Steve, noticing the not-so-subtle actions, bumped his arm on Bucky and looks pointedly at [Y/n].

Natasha spoke, “Hey, I need someone to test the new Widow Bites.” No one answered, all looked at her in fear. “Sam’s wings and Steve’s shield. Now.” She left the room and the two quickly followed quickly.

In fact, they went to the Security Room and watched it all from the cameras.

***

You always cooked with music, no exceptions. What changed, if someone was observing, was if you’d dance or not.

No one was in the kitchen as you finished dinner, so what was the harm in swaying your hips and bumping your head to the rhythm? None, except-

“I can show you how to dance to this kind of songs, if you want.”

You quickly turned to see Bucky leaning against the counter.

“Would you, really?”

You were listening to some old 40s classics, obviously Bucky knew how to dance to them.

“Yeah. If you want, that is.”

“I’d love that,” you smiled at him. Before he realized, he was smiling back.

“Now?”

“Sure.”

So you turned the oven off and stood in front of him.

“How do we do this, Sergeant?”

“Like this,” he guided one of your hands to his shoulder and the other to his own hand, while he placed his free hand on your waist. As he instructed you on your feet, two steps front, one step back. Only increasing in speed to actually match the song’s.

By the end of the lesson, you were both laughing and breathing heavily. As a final move, right when the song was about to end, Bucky dipped you while holding onto your lower back gently but firmly.

“Very good,” he praised, bringing you to an upright position again, his steel eyes focused on yours. You couldn’t help but return his gaze, your hands still on his shoulders and his resting lightly on your waist. “I’m impressed.”

“I had a great teacher.”

At that, he laughed.

“[Y/n],” he said, focusing entirely on you again, “Would you go on a date with me?”

Bucky thought your smile could light up the world.

“I’d love to.”

The other were all bundled up on the doorway of the kitchen, hiding their lower parts behind the wall but their upper bodies visible as they leaned to the side to watch you and Bucky, trying – as in, completely failing – in being subtle.

“Why do you get mad at us for flirting with her, but not with Bucky who has his hands all over her?” Tony whispered-yelled, grumpily crossing his arms over his chest. A typical two-year-old tantrum.

Clint grinned, “Because he truly knows her value.”

TAG LIST

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[dxringred]

I don't know what parts exactly you & the anons are talking about, I'm not asking to agree or disagree I just like reading different POVs over writing and execution. That being said what parts of Ed's writing/execution (recent examples or not) you find weak, repetitive, unimaginative (that's your main complains I guess)? & that Maxine writer, I'm not qualified & informed enough to judge her as an overall writer, so what's her weakness as a writer iyo? In general I enjoy reading critiques.

Under the cut because asking me about this kind of thing almost always guarantees an essay. Also, big spoiler warning! 

My main complaint actually tends to be the writing overall as opposed to a lack of creativity - you can use the same idea multiple times, but you need to make sure that it’s different in its own way as well. Emmerdale thinks that this can be achieved simply by swapping out characters (usually for ones that are similar) which obviously couldn’t be further from the truth.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I find their only strength when it comes to writing is drama, and it’s a) not much of a strength considering how they execute things, and b) what you’d already expect of a soap opera in the first place. So it’s no surprise that whenever they try to write for another sub-genre, it always goes terribly wrong. Just take a look at the “Whodunnit” we’ve been forced to endure for the past three months.

There’s not exactly much to pinpoint, because I think virtually everything they do is weak, repetitive, poorly executed or all three. Their overall strength tends to lay with characterization and character interactions, but even that can go pear-shaped sometimes. (See: Chrissie’s personality transplant.) And usually that’s when Emmerdale are unable to think of another way to get from Point A to Point B. I, personally, thought this was the case last Thursday during the bridge scenes when they needed to go from Moira trying to convince Emma  not to jump (Point A) to Emma being pushed (Point B).

When it comes to execution, I can obviously only judge from the standpoint of a viewer. I haven’t taken a media course in my life, so I suppose you could argue that I don’t understand the difficulty of executing/producing a soap - especially with a budget. But I feel that Emmerdale’s biggest issue with execution, is that they don’t take the time to properly visualize beforehand what they’re trying to achieve. 

Visualizing goes a long way - I do it all the time for my writing, even though there will never be a visual representation of it - and it can help with planning angles, character positions, actions, zoom and panning etc. Of course, that’s only me talking about execution from a visual perspective. I take much more issue with execution in terms of writing/storyline - where a storyline’s going to go, what’s going to come of it, what the consequences will be etc.

Anyone who’s ever looked at my blog knows how much I’ve hated this Emma storyline, in spite of it having lots of potential and Emma being my favorite character. And the main reason was because it was poorly executed, especially for what it was advertised as - a mystery. Of course, I know a “Whodunnit” is never intended to be quite like a mystery. But that’s the way Emmerdale were playing it, and they failed to deliver. Massively. 

Mysteries are all about clues, and suspects, and going through the mystery at the same pace as the detectives - that’s what makes it immersive. You can feel like you’re solving the mystery alongside everyone else. The issue Emmerdale had was that they gave you everything right away. You knew who all of the suspects were, you knew their motives, and you knew roughly where they all were at the time of Emma’s murder. (Excluding Gabby, because not even the writers knew where she was apparently.)

That’s not a mystery. That’s not really even a “Whodunnit” because you’ve already got the answer - it was one of those 7. And if you wanted to take the time to go over the possibilities, it was easy to knock that number down to 3. (You remove Pete, Ross and Cain from the equation, as the likely suspects, and you remove Adam who was blatantly going to be the scapegoat.) I went a step further and removed Laurel, because I knew she was going to be alibied by Bob long before it happened, which was how I knew it would be Moira so many weeks before it was revealed.

This year’s SSW had a similar problem when it came to execution. The visual execution was stunning for once. The pacing and everything else? Sadly not  so much. Everything happened too quickly, which left far too much room for fallout and nowhere near enough for suspense. It was akin to a rollercoaster with a single drop at the beginning, and then just a flat track for the rest of the ride. The other problem it had, was lack of reason. Or, rather, one scene of lack of reason that was a set-up for a major plot point and thus left a bad taste in my mouth for the rest of the week.

I ranted about it at the time, but I had massive issues with Adam’s reaction to Emma saving Moira from the barn fire. Massive issues. Why? Because it was an unfounded reaction, and so painfully clearly the reaction he had to have in order for the episode to progress the way it did. 

Finn got shot because Emma had a shotgun. Emma had a shotgun because she was being chased through the woods by Adam, who she wrestled it off of. (Which is… something in and of itself.) Adam was chasing her through the woods with a shotgun because somehow he just knew she’d started the fire (which she didn’t so… there’s that, too) and tried to kill his mom.

Problem is… he had no reason, whatsoever, to make such a hostile assumption right off the bat. The scenario looked exactly how Emma described it to him upon being questioned - she’d just pulled them both from the burning barn and helped to deliver the baby. Like, that’s exactly how it looked and anyone else would’ve believed that story for that reason alone. Adam, as far as I’m aware, had no reason at the time to believe she would do something like that. And so you get an entire death, set of events and reaction based on lack of reason alone. 

But… that’s off-topic. Mostly.

When it comes down to repetitiveness and lack of creativity, it’s just staring right back at you from the second you sit down to watch an episode. You’ve got the contrived love-triangles playing on a loop, crawling out of the woodwork one right after the other even when they’re not needed or are completely out of the blue. Right now we’re preparing for a near-identical reiteration of what we just had wrapped up.

The Bartons get wiped out one-by-one, leaving two survivors - the sons, Ross and Pete. Up next, we have the Whites getting wiped out one-by-one, leaving two survivors - the sons, Sebastian and Lachlan. (Only difference is they’re not brothers.) There’s even a car-crash in both! Who’d have thunk it? 

Of course there’s a chance that Rebecca might pull through and survive the White Massacre of ‘18, but it’s not looking likely if this storyline goes in the direction it’s so obviously pointing towards. (Unless she does a Chrissie and gets a new personality; guess we’ll have to wait on more spoilers to find out.)

There’s a good difference to the stories overall - one involved murder, the other will (likely) be a tragic accident - but the core layout is the same, and I personally don’t think they should air this storyline so soon after the Emma one due to that. Also, let’s not get me started on how they’ve really been overusing the death element lately. Depending on how soon they air the White storyline, we’ve literally just watched Finn and Emma die - twice in the latter’s case. 

I’ve mentioned in the past how they tier their characters, which definitely adds to the repetitiveness as you get the same core faces showing up. Bob is finally getting something to do, but it’s long overdue - then you’ve got characters like Sam, Lydia, Megan, the Sharmas (where’s Priya been lately?) etc. who just fade into the background and then you’re like “oh!” when they suddenly show up again. 

Mostly it’s the constant love-triangles and romance storylines going on at once that make the show seem too contrived, repetitive and unoriginal. Right now, all at once, you’ve got:

Chas/Paddy/Rhona

Alex/Aaron/Robert

Vanessa/Charity

Leyla/David/Tracy

Debbie/Tom

Harriet/Cain/Moira

That’s six romance plots at once, and four of them are love triangles. (Not to mention that I’m sure I’ve missed at least one.) I’m not saying they’re all bad on their own - Aaron/Alex is good once you kick Robert out of the picture, and Charity/Vanessa has been a thrill to watch after such a lack of wlw material on the show - but you don’t need that many central romance storylines going on at once. You certainly don’t need four love triangles happening in unison, like… holy shit?

But that’s enough about me and my burning hatred for love triangles/contrived romances, so we’ll move onto Maxine. Now… I won’t claim to know all of her episodes, but the ones I have seen of hers definitely point to her being a weak link. I know, for starters, that she’s responsible for a lot of Rbrn episodes, which is enough said really. But she also wrote last Thursday’s flashback episodes which were… god awful. I doubt the storyline overall was solely her doing, but she did a terrible job of executing it.

She also wrote two of SSW’s episodes (the 5th and the 6th I believe?) at the end of that week. The writing was incredibly flat in spite of the opportunities, and that right there is what I believe to be her weakness. Now I’m not saying I’m a good writer or anything - because trust me, I’m not - but I could definitely do better than she did with the opportunities/material she had. She’s also the one, going by those four episodes alone, who seems to struggle with keeping certain characters in line with their personalities. (Seemed pretty prominent in all of the Bartons imo.)

At any rate… I know I complain a lot, but not everything about Emmerdale is necessarily bad. They write some decent stuff occasionally, such as Rhona’s rape storyline, I love a lot of the actresses, and character relationships. There is some great visual execution sometimes, and a lot of opportunity/potential even if they do fail to utilize it 95% of the time. 

It’s just that the bad outweighs the good, and it’s particularly noticeable on this show of all shows. It annoys me, quite a lot, that these people are professional writers and yet a lot of the stuff they produce is still, well... a mess to put it slightly nicer than I originally did. But hopefully that answers your question, most likely in more detail than you’d have liked asdfghjk.

[avengerofyourheart]

In the Arms of Justice Pt 22 (Cop!Bucky x reader)

Characters: reader x Detective Barnes, Steve, Tony, Pepper, Sharon, Clint, Natasha, OC Sarah and Maggie Rogers. (Most only mentioned)

Summary: Reader is a witness to a crime, tying her to the investigation as well as the police involved. She never would have guessed how that one night would continue to change her life years later.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst. Some anxiety, also blood, murder, weapon and death mentions (none of it graphic), violence against women, gritty police drama tv show kind of feel.

Word Count: 1263

Tags at the bottom. TAG LIST IS CLOSED, I’M SO SORRY.

A/N: Welp. We’re nearing the end! I’ve got one more part planned and then we’ll have to say goodbye to Detective Barnes. At least for a while. I’m so grateful to all of you for your passion and support for this series. As always, your comments and feedback mean the world to me. Thank you!!! 

<<<Part 21   Part 22   Epilogue>>> 

In the Arms of Justice Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

_________________________________________________________

Previously: 

You laughed as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you to his side. Getting lost in his gaze for a moment, you pecked a kiss to his lips and then flicked your eyes to the side to see someone approaching.

“You ready for this?” you asked Bucky, seeing the tight line of his lips.

Taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand and nodded. “Time to face the music.”

_______________

Stepping forward a few feet with you beside him, Bucky stopped in front of the goateed, dark-haired Captain. He looked vastly different than how you had seen him previously in his office and in court, which was always in a finely tailored suit. Instead, he was currently dressed in jeans and a black band t-shirt with an unzipped hooded sweatshirt over it. It was a jarring sight, like seeing your teacher outside of school or something. Bizarre.

“Captain Stark,” Bucky greeted him, extending his hand.

“Barnes,” the Captain replied, shaking the man’s hand roughly before releasing it and turning toward you. “Ms. (Y/L/N), it’s good to see you in one piece. Mostly,” he taunted, nodding slightly to the wound on your side.

“Nice to see you again, Captain. It could have been a lot worse, but Detective Barnes does have a knack for saving my life,” you smiled tightly, sparing a glance to Bucky who had his gaze trained on the grass at his feet.

“Uh huh,” Stark made a noise indicating doubt. “So, uh…is this fairly recent?” he asked, point a finger between Bucky and yourself with his eyes flickering down to your joined hands.

“Very,” you spoke up quickly. “We’re still getting to know each other.”

“Really? You seemed to know each other pretty well up on the deck,” he smiled knowingly, sticking a hand in his pocket.

You just smiled. “Yes, well. Life is short. We need to cherish happiness whenever it’s offered.”

Stark seemed to pause at that. “You make a good point. On another subject, I meant to tell you, Brock Rumlow’s mother passed away yesterday.”

“She did?” Bucky finally spoke up, which was good since you had frozen at the mention of Rumlow.

“Yes, and there are instances where inmates are allowed out under special circumstances for funerals and such…”

There was a rushing noise in your ears, the thought of him somehow escaping during transport flashing through your mind. You were brought back to the present by a squeeze of Bucky’s hand in time to hear Stark finish his statement.

“….but apparently his extended family didn’t want him there. Can’t imagine why,” he spoke sarcastically and you finally released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He wasn’t getting out for the funeral, thank heavens. “That woman really did a number on him, though. It’s no wonder why he turned out the way he did.”

At Stark’s last comment, your frozen limbs were suddenly filled with fire, a fury blazing in your chest. You had to speak up then.

“He was free to make his own choices, though,” you addressed Stark, straightening your spine. “A child isn’t solely a product of their parents. It can be a factor, of course, but many people with less than honorable parents grow up to be great contributors to society. Rumlow could have made something of himself, but instead chose to take that upbringing and become a killer. His mother can’t be blamed for that. On the other hand, the child can’t be held responsible for the ‘sins of the father’. Or mother in this case. It is our actions that define who we become, don’t you agree, Captain?”

Stark seemed stunned by your sudden righteous indignation, then finally responding. “Um…yes. I do agree. Well, it was good to see you again. I’m going to go get some food,” he said, offering a nod to you and Bucky before leaving.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said to you quietly, although Stark was now safely out of earshot.

“I know,” you admitted, stepping around to face him. “But I wanted to at least subtly make him think about how wrong his treatment of you is. He doesn’t have to know why I said it, especially since I’m assuming some of what you told me is classified.”

Bucky gave a half-smile, embarrassed. “Maybe.”

You chuckled lightly. “Your secret’s safe with me. I just know you deserve to be treated as the kind, hard-working, law-abiding, honorable man you are. I love you,” you pressing your lips to his as your fingers wound into his chestnut strands.

“I love you, too,” Bucky echoed after breaking apart, touching his forehead to yours. “God, it feels so good to say that.”

“Well, it’s good to hear it,” you said with a smile, then taking his hand. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat while we can. I’ve heard police officers have quite the appetite.”

He laughed at that. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

You walked up the steps, hand in hand, to join the crowd of hungry people. Bucky introduce you to everyone and they were all welcoming and happy for the both of you. Officer Barton had arrived by then and he came to give you a hug. After your hospital stay, he felt so terrible about leaving you with Rumlow but once again, you held no ill feelings. Rumlow would have done whatever it took to get you alone and you never regretted letting Barton take that armed robbery call. It had been the right thing to do. He was one of your closest friends now.

You had heard that Barton and your boss, Natasha, had remained in contact and were possibly dating but you preferred not to know the details. Witnessing the weird chemistry they had upon first meeting was more than enough information for you. If they were happy together, though, you wished them all the best. Besides, a happy Natasha was better for everyone at the office.

After everyone had eaten, the sun began to set and the majority of the crowd had departed leaving behind only a handful of people, including you and Bucky. Captain Stark had left just after dinner with a beautiful woman with long, strawberry-blonde hair and an air of sophistication. You heard from Sharon that she was Stark’s fiancee, Pepper, a highly successful CEO in the city and the more sensible partner in the relationship. Part of you wondered if she knew anything about Stark’s grudge against Bucky and if not, how she would react if told. You decided to leave it alone, though. Meddling would only open up your relationship to scrutiny.

As the remaining friends and co-workers all settled into chairs on the lawn around the fire, stories flowed and laughter rang throughout the yard. Little Sarah and Maggie were given marshmallows and sticks to roast them on under careful supervision from Steve. You watched as the girls ate the messy, gooey S’mores their dad had assembled for them, then thanking him with sticky kisses that made you chuckle to witness.

Bucky pulled his chair closer to yours to put an arm around you and placed his other hand on your thigh. You watched him for a minute as he listened to one of Barton’s stories, the flickering flames casting shadows upon his handsome face. For a short moment, you were transported to another place and time where you sat on the side of the road beside a young police officer, flashing blue and red lights coloring his features.

Bucky caught you staring, squeezing your shoulder with a smile. “Everything alright?”

You nodded. “Everything’s perfect.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, leaving a smile upon both your faces. You felt the glow of happiness fill you, grateful to have these new friends and the handsome man you love beside you. Difficult as the past few months, or even years, had been, they lead you right to this moment where you felt safe, happy, and loved in the arms of Detective Barnes.  

________

Epilogue>>> 

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Awwwww! The fluff!! I probably could have left it there, but I have way too many thoughts of what their life is like a little ways down the road so I thought I’d do an epilogue. One more part, you guys! Ah! I can’t believe it. Any thoughts or feedback is appreciated! I love you all!!

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