#why does it matter are you a cop. come back with a warrant

[broken-clover]

A bizarre amount of customers ask me what my name is short for and it's gotten really annoying so I've started just giving out random names to fuck with them and watch the gamut of weird expressions it gets.

[emphasisonthehomo]

It’s Not You, It’s My Enemies + Bar/Restaurant AU

If anyone else would like to throw a trope mash up into my askbox!

OHHOHOHOOHOHOOHOH

Let's say Danny is the head chef at some snazzy restaurant in the touristy area. He spends a lot of time unfortunately cooking expensive steaks to a state of well-doneness, because Mike and Jenna from Utah have terrible taste.

And unbeknownst to him, the restaurant in question is maybe involved with some light money laundering for the yakuza. Even if he did know, that's the owner's problem, not his. He just runs in the kitchen okay? He worked at a pizza place that was definitely a mob front when he was in his early twenties, whatever. Fuck off. He's here to make ends meet so he can afford to stay in Honolulu and do fun dad stuff with his Gracie.

So one day before opening, he's in the pantry doing restaurant things? Idk checking inventory to see if they have enough onions or whatever, when a man comes running in and slams the door shut.

"What the fuck are you - " Danny stops short, because oh shit. That's a gun and a badge.

The guy makes a violent shushing motion and jesus shitting christ pulls his gun, standing stock still by the door.

Danny clutches at his inventory list and wonders what the fuck he's gotten himself into. Usually when he's in a small room with a hot man, there's no guns involved. At least the guy has a badge? Danny hopes that's a good thing, but he's met too many bastard cops to rely on that.

There's a rush of commotion outside, the sound of people running, and another door slamming. After a good minute or two of silence, that Danny spends with his heartbeat loud in his ears, the guy relaxes a little bit, and holsters his gun.

"You didn't see anything," He tells Danny seriously.

"Uh. Bullshit," Danny says, because yeah. Bullshit.

The guy scowls.

"You're the one who decided to hide in an occupied room," Danny points out.

"What, was I supposed to go for the walk in freezer?" He demands.

"Why the fuck are you in my kitchen?" Danny asks then, because that's actually a much more pressing issue. The restaurant isn't open yet, his line cooks aren't even here. Danny's the only one who should be back here right now.

The guy points at his badge with a raised eyebrows.

"That means jack shit and you know it," Danny snaps, "Do you have a warrant? Why are you being chased around my kitchen?"

He rolls his eyes and ignores Danny completely, turning to open the door and UH NO. UNACCEPTABLE.

"Listen here Chief Wiggum," Danny grabs the guy by the arm and stops him from walking out the door, anger making him stupid, "You didn't answer any of my fucking questions."

Grabbing the man was very obviously a mistake, because he's jacked holy hell, and he goes very still and glowers and shit shit shit. But Danny's talked his way out of worse situations, he can figure this out.

Danny lets go immediately and holds his hands up.

"Lemme see your badge, at the very least," Danny offers, because yeah oops he is in a room with a man with a gun. He should pump the breaks.

The badge is shoved into his face almost immediately, and that's how Danny meets Steven McGarrett, Commander of the Five-0 Special Task Force.

~

And then blah blah blah plot. Steve is in the middle of investigating some more organized crime bullshit, and it would be deeply stupid for him to get too close to the chef, no matter how attractive he is. That's just asking for the poor guy to get in trouble, considering what the restaurant owners are involved with.

At some point Danny does cook Steve a very late dinner, in the kitchen long after they've closed. The two of them standing too close while Danny holds a spoon for Steve to taste the sauce.

Steve also uses one of Danny's good knives in some impromptu combat, and he not prepared for how furious Danny is after the fact. Once Danny's ascertained that Steve is in one piece, Danny goes off because WHAT THE FUCK that is NOT FOR STABBING that is for FINELY CHOPPING.

Also Danny's trans, but that almost goes without saying, with my stuff.

[westwingwolf]

In this post, I go into a long, defensive character/ship study for reflection after New Blood so for the sake of not clogging the tag and anyone who doesn’t want to see it or doesn’t want to be spoiled, it’s under the cut.

I think if you are looking for Tim to apologize for some of those early days, you are going to be disappointed. At least for a while. Because Tim sees a lot of what he did as practical training methods he’d use on any other rookie. Whether that’s right or wrong in your opinion, doesn’t matter. It’s how Tim sees it and therefore how the writers intend for him to see it. For all else, any time Tim crossed a line: he was called out, acknowledged it himself, apologized and/or thanked Lucy for her help.

A lot of those things were what Tim was going to do to any rookie if he thought that was the type of training the rookie needed. Tim says he is a show type of guy. He isn’t just going to tell a rookie the wrong or right method. He is going to create a scenario in which they learn it the hard way but in a safe, controlled environment. He was going to kick Jackson out of the car if he got the answer wrong, but Jackson got it right. And when he realized Jackson needed a different type of training to help him get over his fear of gunfire or quit or else Angela would get fired, he changed his tactics. And both times literally end up saving his own life. Lucy knew exactly where she was when she radioed that Tim had been shot. Jackson ran down the armed guy shooting at Tim because Tim said if he couldn’t get into the fight to stay in the car, so Jackson found a way around that.

The way Lucy words it, it doesn’t sound like she believes that Tim tormented her all through the job. Just that first day (well, and the second but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt that those first 2 shifts can be treated like a first day) and some time after. Because the next thing she mentioned as a month later is the bathroom incident. That happened the day Tim came back to work after being shot. In between time which she spent an entire shift with Officer Wrigley(?) who was nice and treated her like a rockstar, and was boring because he wouldn’t take interesting calls. She is stuck with that until Tim questions if she is just going to let a criminal get away when she can do something about it. She called him a pain in her ass which he responded was the job. In that moment you can see that Lucy is not going to back down, and that Tim sees this as how to best train her. Their reactions of each other shows a mutual understanding of the other and the start of an acceptance. And maybe Tim does torment Lucy a little all through the job just to keep her on her toes.

As to the bathroom incident: in Amber, Harper made a point of saying how important it is to find a proper bathroom so that’s obviously something they teach at the academy or veterans learn through experience. And Lucy knew to secure the bathroom which she did. Just not enough. And Tim knew that would probably happen so he took advantage of that. Just as he would if any other rookie who needed that type of training had done that. This happened before he got the call about Isabel. The things he did after, intentionally starting a fight with the biker gang, that was out of line because he was upset about Isabel. And Lucy called him out on that. Just as she has done every time since Tim has stepped over the line.

I don’t believe Lucy actually gets triggered when she walks into a shoe store. Exaggeration to prove a point through humor. I laughed anyways. Especially since I’m sure the things that actually trigger Lucy are more like complete darkness and locked in confined, tight places. Does he say boot more than anyone else? Yes. Does that change depending on the outward image Tim is trying to convey? Also yes. The hardass Tim was those first few days/weeks/months (depending on which timeline we are going with) is not who he truly is. And Lucy knows that. She sticks up for him more than anyone. She calls him out on his shit, but also reminds him he is a good person. That side of him only comes back out when he truly fears not being tough will cause a setback. Such as when he yelled at her for having something in her gun hand other than her gun after Chris was shot and his TO pointed out that he told him how to proceed and his rookie didn’t listen. And Lucy wasn’t even mad at Tim about that because by then she knows him and what he is like. All her anger was at Emmett for stepping in where he shouldn’t. Because Lucy can handle herself, and she can handle Tim. Which Tim knows perfectly well and has said so. If Lucy was truly so upset by all that Tim has done, she wouldn’t insist that they are friends. Yes, she was eager to get out of training, but she also took the time to ensure that they had proper acknowledgment as to the closure of her training. And an acceptance that they would be friends from this point on was admitted by both of them in that “see you tomorrow.”

I’ll grant you the lessons can go overboard, but they actually work. When Lucy was in that bomber’s house after he set a bomb, she told Harper to get clear of the house and radio for help. Why? Because she learned that radio frequencies can sometimes set off bombs. She never forgot that lesson. And used it as payback for Tim later so double bonus.

So here is where Lucy can differ from any other rookie trained the same way by Tim. She learned those lessons and remembers them later when she is more or less by herself. It’s not just something that can be told and hope you remember when the necessary time comes. It is something lived through experience, again in a safer and more controlled environment, that she remembers. Maybe not all rookies would, but she did. And where she differs is how she gets Tim back anytime she feels he needs payback: stealing his money clip, giving him her bar tab as an evaluation, giving him his own powder bomb, etc. Things no other rookie would dare try, and he lets her get away with it. Because I think he actually likes that he found someone who can match his diabolical ways. Honestly, if these two weren’t such good people at heart, they’d pair up to be the world’s greatest supervillains.

Jackson called Lucy out on why would she want Tim to torment someone else if she hated how he treated her. So either she didn’t have that big of a problem with it or she doesn’t like the implication that it was something wrong about her that Tim felt warranted that kind of treatment. Yes, Lucy needs praise. She has always needed praise. Especially from authority figures. (Yes, I know the implications of that from a shipping POV, but if you are already shipping Chenford, you’re either ignoring it or waiting until it’s no longer an issue or both.) It’s clear from her relationship with her parents that she at first tried to get it from them. That’s why she studied psychology. To please them. And once she found what she wanted and stuck with it, she thought they’d be happy for her and she’d get that praise but she didn’t. She is still looking for it in her life. So she looks at this situation as there must have been something wrong with her and somehow the new rookie is better. Which Tim disproves. It wasn’t about her being less than; it’s about her being different and needing different training tactics. And her differences are actually things Lucy values, and Tim values too (clearly as he is tried to get Barnes to see policing as helping people and not as engaging enemy combatants. Plus take a look at how Tim treats people in the community even ones he previously arrested. He still tries to help them.) But Tim recognizes Lucy also needed a different perspective even if her perspective still ultimately wins out. Which Lucy acknowledges in Resolutions. She still chooses to be a cop in her own way. She still values empathy and compassion first and foremost. Seeing the world as the scary place it can be just rounds out her perspective, but it doesn’t overwhelm it. And Tim stopped pushing that perspective after Lucy found out just how scary the world can be. Because Lucy has been though all of that, gained perspective but still stayed true to herself, she is a good cop. Again, something Tim acknowledged. He disavowed her of the idea that she was somehow less, explained his position, and complimented her with probably the highest compliment he could give someone: the respect of being a good cop.

That difference in how Tim & Lucy approach things is what made them such a great partnership. Tim sees things with suspicion first, compassion second. While Lucy is compassion first, suspicion second. They both quickly adapt to either, but also help the other with finding the necessary POV. So they hardly ever miss anything because if one doesn’t see it, the other will. They are complimentary but not so stubborn in their own initial POVs that they force the issue making things worse. If one is passionate in their belief, the other will follow their decision.

So here is my point: whatever they went through before, good and bad, does not have a drastic effect on discouraging their friendship (and possibly romantic relationship). All of that is more or less fond (okay not so fond) memories. They understand each other, have forgiven each other (Lucy more than Tim because Tim crossed more lines), accepted their faults, encouraged each other, acknowledged each other, and basically formed a lasting bond that is more than TO/rookie and even more than most friendships can be lucky to have. Perhaps even more than most romantic relationships get. And frankly, holding any past mistakes over each other’s head to the point of disgruntlement would not lead to a healthy relationship. Which is why I don’t think Lucy truly holds what Tim did against him. I think it was as it appeared: wondering why the new rookie was treated differently and if that is a reflection on her. Which it wasn’t in any negative way. But to make her point about the differences, Lucy had to list the ways Tim handled everything in their early days. And to make his point, Tim clearly explains the differences and what necessitates that difference. An apology for any of that would negate the point he was making. If Lucy was truly upset in any lasting way, she wouldn’t have immediately worried about Barnes, and she wouldn’t have been so happy at Tim’s compliment.

Will Tim ever apologize for the early days? Maybe. Maybe not. Does he need to? I don’t think so. Not for me anyways. Because Tim is a show me type of guy, and he has shown Lucy in so many ways how much he values her. And Lucy has shown that that means more to her than anything.

[thebadchoicemachine]

Petting Party (pt 1)

Rundown of dimensions AU: Quackity’s from 1920s dimension called Prowa, Schlatt and Charlie are his business partners *cough found family cough* and they run a casino/speakeasy. Sapnap is a knight from a fantasy dimension called Quarry. Karl is like Dr.Who. 

tw - Mentions of guns and alcohol (1920s mobster dimension)

 This is really just the fluffiest full I have ever written. 

•••

@thecatchat

•••

•••

Quackity walked through his rooms, digging around drawers for his keys. He squawked a little in frustration as he rummaged. He felt so paranoid, like he was already short on time even though he was about half an hour early and it’s not like Sapnap or Karl would mind waiting. He just wanted this to go perfectly. They’d had dates in his world before, they’d even had proper ones where they weren’t running from cops or mobsters or some other guns/knife/bat-wielding foes. Heh, foes. He was starting to think like Sapnap… and he was starting to feel like Karl— where was his damn key? Karl had literal worlds full of stuff to keep track of, it only made sense he got turned around and mixed up, what was Quackity’s excuse? 

Finally, a glint caught his eye and he snatched up the silver piece of metal, stuffing it into his sleeve and practically skipping to the front. Their home was really just the back half of the casino so he just walked through into the back room. Schlatt and Charlie were sitting at a table, various game pieces scattered across the top, counting cards, chips, and cash. Charlie seemed to be in the middle of a failed game of solitaire and was stacking up a house of cards while Schlatt was just old-fashioned sorting, looking rather bored. It was a quiet night for them. Probably a few drinks and catching up till bed after they double-check the games for cheating. Quackity would usually join them but it wasn’t strange for him not to show. He gave them a wave as he walked past, motion enough for them to look up and acknowledge him. 

Schlatt only glanced up before returning to his work. “What’s with the getup?” 

“I told youse, I’m going out tonight.” 

“Doesn’t answer my question.” 

“I’m going out to meet my partners.” Quackity struck a joking pose. “No harm in good impressions.” 

“Hey,” Charlie frowned childishly, “aren’t we your partners?” 

Quackity chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Of course. My new partners, then. Actually, lemme see a cut of that doe, I wanna butter ‘em up tonight.” He snatched a few bills from the table and turned to make his exit. 

“Wait,” Schlatt commanded, still barely looking up from his work. “Partners like you’re out for coffee to discuss getting new tables?” He took a sharp bite of his apple, eyes lazily growing dark. “Or do youse mean partners like I outta trail behind... y’know, keep you from gettin’ lead poisoning.” 

“Uh...” Quackity blinked. “Partners like I’m off to a petting party.”  

Schlatt choked. Charlie laughed while he coughed, moving to pat his back and smiled at Quackity. “Well, good luck.” 

Quackity narrowed his eyes as he was almost certain he caught a ‘all knows you need it’ under Charlie’s breath. He played it cool and simply snapped, “Hey, I don’t need no luck. Certainly not from you.” 

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” Charlie held his hands up, grin still plastering his face. “Was just wishing you the best.” 

“Yeah... yeah,” Schlatt nodded, coming out of his state but still red-faced. Whether it was from embarrassment or lack of air Quackity couldn’t tell. He rolled his eyes again, smiling but waving goodbye without giving them a chance to drag him onto another conversation.

He stepped into the front, waiting patiently by the front of the door. Karl had said they’d meet him at the Vidrio, but should he wait inside or out? He paced, routinely adjusting his feathered headband and combing the actual feathers on his wings. He still worried he was overdressing a little but when he tried to lessen his look he panicked about underdressing. He wanted to look good for his boyfriends, a bit of makeup wouldn’t hurt that... would it? In the end, he’d settled on a simple pale blue dress, eyeliner, and a small headband. Nothing too gaudy but he still looked good. He looked good in everything, of course, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. So why was he all jittery? What, was he suddenly a dud? It didn’t matter. It was probably just because of the surprise factor. 

He’d assumed they would come and get outfits at his place (no offense to them, they just really couldn’t go the way they usually dressed) but Karl had insisted they pick him up like a “proper date.” He didn’t know what Karl knew about proper dates or when he’d started to care about them, most of their dates involved some form of running for their lives. Quackity wasn’t complaining but he’d be lying if he said the idea of just being a snuggle pup for a change wasn’t wildly appealing, especially if it meant getting to have Sapnap and Karl got to hang out in his world and not just flee and sneak. There were some nice things here he felt he never got to show them. 

He sunk into himself, suddenly feeling ashamed. It was bad manners, it was. Combining his work and love life to the point he may as well have made chumps out of his own boyfriends. He knew they didn’t mind, it was all new and fun for them and he was pretty sure Sapnap did the same thing. (He wasn’t entirely sure what his job was, like a knight sure but where was the line between work and just regular old Quarrian life?) Still. He should take them dancing more or something. Technically, that’s what he was doing here but he’d like to make a better habit of it, it really sounded like the bees- 

A bright, impossible, but familiar, swirl interrupted his thoughts. He straightened himself, quickly fixing his headband one last time. His heart was pounding out of his chest— but not because he was nervous, because he was excited. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a giddy sap as out from the portal stepped Karl and Sapnap. His breath was caught in his throat as he got a good look at them. He wasn’t sure what he expected, nothing bad, but he mentally made a note to give them an apology for being SO wrong. Whatever he’d imagined, they looked a million times better. 

Sapnap was in a white dress shirt. He had on a maroon vest and black tie he clearly didn’t know how to wear but wore well nonetheless. He had his hair slicked back, completely showing his pretty silvery, misty, eyes. Quackity noted the headband he usually wore in his hair was tied in a ribbon around his neck. Sapnap just couldn’t be without it, he warmly mused. 

Karl had on something with colors in patterns like Quackity had never seen before, not in his world at least, which— of course, it was Karl. Beautiful, strange, mysterious, adorable Karl. The top of the pantsuit was made of several pale shades of green. They washed over it like waves of seafoam, a strip of pale purple lace swirled around it, almost mimicking a deconstructed form of his usual crazy attire. A herringbone cap was pulled over his head, shaping brown curls. 

Quackity stared, absolutely gobsmacked, until his brain caught up to his eyes. Sapnap was saying something and waving his hand a little. Quackity blinked, shaking himself out of it. Egad, he was goofy for them. Luckily, Karl and Sapnap didn’t seem to mind his zoning out. In fact, Karl seemed to find it tickling, he clearly held in a giggle as Quackity snapped to. Quackity guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself stunned. It certainly wouldn’t be the last either. 

“Hey, jackpot,” Sapnap gently flicked his forehead. “I asked how you think we look.”  

“You... good. You look good. Mmhmm,” he managed to squeak out, finally remembering to close his mouth. Slick. He was slick. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Karl chuckled. “I know you don’t really trust me to dress myself for nice places in Prowa.” 

“Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you!”

“You never said it, no.”

Quackity gave Karl a small punch in the shoulder. He flinched way more than was warranted, stumbling dramatically, but a broad smile settled on both their faces. 

“Aw, sugar! Did I hurt you?” 

“Yes!” 

“Hey, hey! Sir,” Sapnap stepped between them, also joking. “What is wrong with you, daring to assault my beloved in front of me?”  He threateningly toward over Quackity, grabbing his shoulders and backing him up against the wall. His eyes flickered with playful malice. He leaned in close, expression caught between a smirk and a snarl, completely aware of the growing blush on Quackity’s face. “I’ve half a mind to challenge you, and another half to crush you right here for your audacity.” 

“Aw, my knight in shining armor,” Karl sarcastically patted Sapnap’s shoulder, thoroughly less impressed by the display than Quackity. “Whatever would I do without you here to defend me from this sweet, cuddly, small, duckling?”

“Hey!” Quackity snapped defensively. “I could fuck you up if I-“ 

“Ey, Q! Have you seen-“ Schlatt stopped upon seeing the scene, turning on his heel and walking right back into the back. “Nevermind. Not my business. None of my business. Absolutely not my business…” 

“I-“ Sapnap dropped his boyfriend (who crumpled onto the floor in laughter), instantly turning a shade twelve times redder than Quackity had been. “I am so sorry.” 

“Ah- Schlatt?” Karl called over Quackity’s wheezing. “Schlatt, it’s fine-“

“NONE OF MY BUSINESS!” A shout came from the backroom. 

Quackity dropped his face into his hands, his chortling turned to full hysterics as he sat curled up against the wall. His dress, which he had been so unreasonable nervous about moments before, creased and probably picked up some grime from the floor. He didn’t care at all. Now that his boyfriends were actually beside him he could care less if he was painted green and orange. He had no one to impress, at least no one who would let anything bad happen over a stupid look. “Oh,” he snickered, the burst dying down. “Oh wow.” He wiped his eyes as jubilant tears stung, apathetic as he’d become he hoped his makeup didn’t run. It wasn’t necessary but he’d still like to look nice for the occasion. He pulled himself to his feet, brushing off his outfit and sighing. “Ah. He’s got a point though, really should be saving that for the party.”

“Speaking of which—“ Karl snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. “Are we ready to go?” 

“Yes, let’s!” Sapnap turned with Karl as all three of them began to speed out the door.

Quackity made sure to bump in front of them before they made it out, he was not letting Karl anywhere near the wheel.  

The car ride was bright and lively although quiet. Quackity couldn’t help but grin just being next to these goons, one could practically feel Karl vibrating with excitement in the back, even Sapnap seemed to be enjoying the drive (he’d never quite gotten over the time Karl had offered to drive... Quackity could barely blame him for remaining he cautious and paranoid around automobiles). The blanched twilight hummed overhead as they made their way through the streets. It was relatively empty this time of night, too late for errands but just before everything started to swing. They pulled into the end of the road and all stepped out.

“It’s a bit of a walk the rest of the way,” Quackity explained. “Especially cause ‘s considered… ‘impolite’ to pull attention.” 

“Hmm…” Sapnap nodded, glancing behind them.

“What’s up?” Karl put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Nothing.” 

“You sure?” 

“It’s fine, I just-“ 

“Just what?” 

“Uh, maybewecouldgoseeSchlattandCharlie?”

“Huh?” Karl blinked. 

“Is… Schlatt and Charlie coming? Could we go get them?”

“N-no?” Quackity stammered, surprised to say the least. “This— uh- ain’t exactly the kind of party you bring your family to. Not ‘less they got dates of their own... and you know Charlie ain’t keen on that stuff.”

“Okay, well, maybe we could spend some time with them for a while at the casino? Before we commit here. The night is young!”

“I means, I’m pumped for your sudden urge to hang out with them and all, but I kind of wanted to spend time with the two of you.”

“Ah-“ Sapnap shrunk into himself. “Of course, I- me as well, I’m so sorry to imply otherwise. I was just thinking Charlie may like to hear about the slimes...” He trailed off, fiddling with the headband around his neck, just the slightest hint of panic on his face. He was very good at hiding it but Quackity and Karl knew him better than that. They shared a glance, this had nothing to do with Charlie. 

“Spice, are youse nervous?” 

“N-no!” 

“You sure? We don’t gots to do nothing you don’t wanna.” 

“Yeah, it’s just-“ 

“Chivalry and all that?” Karl chimed in, sympathetic. “I know our courting isn’t exactly conventional.” 

“No. Well, not exactly. Ah... think I’m merely... flustered?” 

“Flustered?” They spoke at once. 

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… romance in my world is so different. Much more complicated. It involves a lot of the other’s family and specific sets or roles for meetings, it changes depending on how long you’ve been together and what kingdoms you hail from, so such and so forth. I’ve never been a martinet for the rules but, the way you describe these kinds of parties, I- I- find myself… lost.” 

Karl blinked. “So, you’re used to having a bunch of guidelines and, while you don’t miss them, are floundering without the stencil?” Sapnap nodded at the ground. He took a breath and shook his head, clearing his mind before bowing slightly. He held his left arm over his chest, middle knuckle up with his pinky and thumb slightly out, keeping the rest of his hand balled in a fist. Quackity recognized the symbol by now as something like a salute of the Nether kingdom. It was used to show respect while speaking. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, remembering the formality was only habit. 

“I apologize for my trepidation,” Sapnap held a bashful tone. “I am just not used to courti-“ he paused, searching for the word, “dates being so… open. I don’t mean that as an insult to your world! I only-.” 

“Okay, buddy,” Quackity pushed Sapnap upright by his shoulders. He seemed confused but obliged. “I get it’s polite and nice for you but, if you really love me, please never do this again.” 

“Do... what?” 

“You have a habit of getting all formal when you’re worried you’re messing up with us.” Karl shrugged. 

“I do?” 

“I don’t know.” Quackity tapped his chin. “Let’s see.” Without warning, he grabbed Sapnap by the shoulders and takes him downward, planting a firm kiss right on his lips. He tensed a little as he felt a sudden wave of hotness wash over him (that was to be expected from surprising a demon) but stayed in the moment. As he pulled away, Sapnap blinked a few times, stunned although the faintest hint of a smile shone through. His gelled hair fell just a little messy.

“What the fuck, Quackity?” 

“There we go! Back to normal! You see the difference?”

“I- I guess so!” He nodded, a look of mild surprise mixing his comprehension as if he’d just realized what color his own eyes were. 

“Now, did youse like that?”

“Yes?”

“You want more?” 

“Yes...”

“You wanna go inside?” 

“Yeah.” Sapnap energetically nodded, slamming the car door shut, slicking back his hair again, and holding out his arms. “Yes, I do.”

Karl jumped between them, linking arms on his side before Quackity had the chance, and holding out his own instead. Quackity shot him a look but took it, joined by Sapnap in confusion at the sudden demand to be in the middle. Karl only smiled as they made their way down the street, nearly skipping at the attention until he lowly murmured, “So… do I get a kiss?” Quackity opened his mouth, smiling, but was cut off by Sapnap swiftly swooping in and planting one on Karl’s cheek.

“Oh- you-!” Quackity squawked, envy and agitation peaking his tone. “I was gonna-!” 

“Well, I did.” 

“Boys, boys, I do have two hands… and two cheeks,” Karl half-sang, leaning over to Quackity awaiting his kiss. 

“Oh, no. Fuck you. You’re gonna have to wait for it now,” Quackity pouted. Sapnap let out a taunting laugh as Karl gasped in mock offense. Well, probably mock. Regardless, Quackity only smirked and turned to face a door in the wall next to them. “Besides, we’re here!” He unlinked his arm, rattling out a little pattern into the door. It opened slowly, revealing a dapperly dressed serpentine blocking the view inside. He smiled wildly as the warm smells and colors hit him regardless, it had been a while since he’d been to one of these, long before he ever met them and certainly not while they were dating, but he missed them. 

He couldn’t wait to share this.

[alirhi]

This is oddly fun lol

Let's see how many of these I can churn out before I get distracted or need a break! (pff. like I need an excuse to watch the show again. Despite its flaws, I really, really love TFATWS, guys)

Without further ado, let's get down to it!

Episode 2: The Star-Spangled Man

I'm pretty sure I'm on record when it comes to my undying hate for John Walker, yes? So obviously, Bucky's grumpiness 100% stays 😂

I'm not really a fan of how much emphasis they put on the shield. I can see it as a catalyst for Bucky to go confront Sam, yes, but he wouldn't keep going "shield shield shield" like a broken record. Bucky has consistently been shown to be an empathetic man. I can't believe for a second that he'd be barking at Sam about having no right to give up the shield; he'd ask why. Sam's got shit to do, so he'd get impatient and not answer.

"Why'd you give up so easily? If you were overwhelmed, I could've helped you-" "You've been ignoring me. Like now, how you're ignoring me walking away from you." "Well, you weren't texting me about this." "You think I needed your permission?!" "No, but I was right there with Steve while he was learning what it meant to be Cap. I wouldn't mind helping you get used to-" "Then go teach him." A vague gesture toward the "Cap is back" posters. Bucky makes a face. "Steve passed the mantle to you. You fought with him. You earned it. That little shit didn't." "What do you want me to do about it?" "Just tell me why, Sam. I mean it. I just wanna understand." "Not now, Buck. I've got shit to do. You see me heading for a plane right now, right?" "This is important!" "So is this." Sam tells him about the Flag Smashers, we get our silly Big Three/Gandalf conversation.

I'm sorry, but that whole jumping from the plane scene is funny as hell, and I love all the nods they added in to jokes from the press tours that brought us this show in the first place (like ripping the sleeve off his jacket lol). I don't think I'd change a single thing from the Big Three convo to Bucky joining Sam in the warehouse.

"You're doing the staring thing again." "You're staring at your watch," Bucky points out. He knows it's linked to Redwing, he's just pointing out how dumb that line is in that situation. They're there for recon lol. They're meant to be looking around.

I don't...particularly care about the other common gripe here? Meaning, "Bucky's a civilian, so why is he allowed to randomly jump in on a military mission?" Bucky's also known in this universe as an Avenger, just like Sam, so I don't think anyone would really bat an eye at him joining. Also, I have my own agenda related to Bucky's apparent freedom to walk in and out of military/government things.

What does bug me (as funny as it is) is Bucky's animosity toward Redwing. Again... Bucky is a certified nerd. Always has been. If anything, he'd be fascinated by Redwing and Sam would constantly have to slap him away because he's leaning in too close trying to see the tiny watch monitor. "I don't trust Redwing" is just old man griping "I don't trust your newfangled technology" and that... that's not Bucky.

And that "we're not assassins" dig, and then laughing when Bucky gets upset? That's not Sam. Both of these men have shown a remarkable amount of empathy, and Sam has a background in helping traumatized vets. If he cared enough about Bucky to be texting him after Steve left, he'd care enough not to make callous jokes about his time as The Winter Soldier, whether he knows the full story or not.

The fight on top of moving trucks looks cool, but makes no logical sense. I keep trying to think of a way to explain this from a story perspective, rather than a lazy "it looks cool!" filmmaking one, and I'm coming up blank. Anyone with half a brain would have pulled over, had the fight, and then taken off. It was a fun sequence, though... Eh. I'll leave it.

When Karli breaks Redwing, Bucky doesn't say "I always wanted to do that." Again, it's funny - I love the jabs about that stupid robo bird XD - but not Bucky. In my version, he smirks and says "You're so gonna regret that."

"You were kinda getting your asses kicked before we got there." Is immediately followed by Bucky staring him down and asking, "And... how did that fight end for you?" Sam adds, "I don't see them in custody. Are-are they following in a van?" He looks around, sarcastically searching for another vehicle. Walker and Hoskins grimace at each other, grudgingly conceding that point.

credit to @dailycelebs

Seeing Walker, and having to listen to his stupid pro-government rhetoric, makes Bucky think about Steve. When we cut from the Flag Smashers back to Bucky and Sam and the closeup of Bucky's pensive face, we hear 1940s Steve angrily telling 1940s Bucky about how the higher ups in the army had already written off the POWs and were going to leave them to die. "I love our country, Buck," he laments, "but what do I do when I'm not too sure anymore about the people who run it?"

"What you always do," is young Bucky's answer, "stand for what's right, not who's in power."

Perfect lead-in to the conversation about handling things themselves.

When Sam meets Isaiah, and hears his story, not only is he horrified and heartsick for him, but he also begins to see Bucky in a new light. He's seeing Bucky's face, the way he tries to hide his emotions and not make this conversation about him, and he's putting things together. He's still upset at being out of the loop, but he's seeing more of the situation than just "omg black super soldier". When Bucky says "he'd already been through enough," Sam asks quietly, "like you?"

The racist cop comes back before Bucky can answer, to arrest him for missing his appointment with Raynor.

ngl guys, I was so moved by the difference in how that cop treated Sam (before knowing he's Important) vs how he treated Bucky (knowing that the government views him as a violent, if pardoned, criminal). He approaches Sam with his hand on his gun, eager to defend Bucky; "is this guy bothering you?" Just because they're having a heated conversation. Then, when he sees that there's a warrant for Bucky, he approaches timidly, apologizes, treats him gently and politely. By "moved," btw, I don't mean "it was so sweet." I mean "this is fucking sick, and very, very realistic." White cops see a white guy and treat him with respect regardless of his actual criminal record, while being openly hostile towards an innocent black man without even knowing who he is, just because he's black. Moments like this made me applaud Spellman.

"You, too, Sam - That wasn't a request" is Sam's first sign that there's something off about Raynor.

Look, again... The couples therapy banter is funny because Sebastian and Anthony are funny, but that scene, from a storytelling and a mental health standpoint, is atrocious. Without some underlying reason behind her actions, Raynor is just a pointlessly terrible therapist.

Rather than insulting Bucky from the outset, Sam is angry with Raynor for violating Bucky's privacy by not only introducing herself as his therapist, but forcing a "couples" session without her patient's consent. With his background pre-Avenging, he knows this shit shouldn't fly. He immediately points out how unprofessional she's being.

Raynor doesn't bother listening - the fuck does she care, really? She shrugs and casually admits it's "slightly unprofessional" but proceeds anyway.

"Whatever's eating at him?" Sam scoffs. "Did you really just say that to a WWII veteran and the world's longest-serving POW with complex PTSD? Did I hear that right? I've had, maybe, like five conversations with this man since we met, and even I know he's been through some shit and-" "Sam," Bucky tries to interrupt, looking uncomfortable. With his crushing guilt, he has an easier time dealing with insults than someone coming to his defense. "No," Sam snaps. "If the HIPAA Slayer over here wants to drag me into this, she's damn well gonna hear what I have to say!" He turns back to Raynor and demands, "Is this how you've been treating him this whole time? Downplaying what he's been through and making a grown-ass man sound like a sulking teenager?" Raynor keeps her cool, but barely. Visibly frustrated and annoyed, she ignores Sam's tirade and tries to force the conversation back onto the track she wants it on. Bucky's embarrassed and doesn't know how to react to any of this, so he still makes that little "he would talk less" jab. Sam, seeing that he's not going to get anywhere with him until they're away from this bitch, glowers and plays along. We get our silly/angry banter.

After their argument with Walker, Sam finally confronts Bucky about what really happened to him.

"He meant HYDRA; HYDRA used to be my people." "Were they?" Sam asks, stopping him and looking him in the eye, not letting him look away or deflect. "Steve was under the impression that they were your captors. I was under the impression that the Wakandans spent two years deprogramming you so no one could use you the way HYDRA did ever again." "I-" Startled, not expecting that, Bucky stutters a little and admits, "Yeah, I... That's true, I guess." "You guess?" "Does it matter? Sam rolls his eyes. "I dunno, does it matter that you were a slave for most of the 20th century?" "I doubt it matters much to my victims." "HYDRA's victims," Sam corrects firmly. "Just like you." Bucky fidgets; he doesn't know what to do or say. No one since Steve has even so much as insinuated that Bucky wasn't 100% culpable for what he did while under HYDRA control. "Look," Sam sighs, "I don't particularly like you. I don't hate you, but I'm not your biggest fan." "...Thanks?" "I just need you to know where I stand-" "Yeah, got it-" "-So you know I'm not biased like Steve when I say you had no choice. I don't know your story, but I know no one flips on a dime from docile and plagued with guilt to an unstoppable killing machine and back without some serious psychological damage behind that. I'm not saying you're an innocent little bunny, but I don't think you're a monster." "Thanks," Bucky croaks, more sincerely this time, and a bit choked up. He clears his throat and looks distinctly uncomfortable as he grumbles, "but to catch these guys, we may need to talk to a monster." Sam cringes. "I was afraid you'd say that."

[anistarrose]

Summary: Winters running the Mystery Shack are difficult, but two unexpected guests improve Stan’s day.

Characters: Stan Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Ford Pines

Relationships: Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Happy Holidays, @halogalopaghost! I'm your Secret Santa, here to mash together a couple different prompts through the power of time travel (and Mabel)!

***

It doesn’t take Stan many years to learn that winter’s no good for the rural Oregon tourist business.

Granted, he can hardly blame the tourists — he has to drive on Gravity Falls roads himself, much to his disgust. Between the paved, plowed streets that always turn slick with ice where you least expect them, and the winding gravel roads that you might as well ignore when road and wilderness alike are under identical four-inch blankets of snow, he knows no gallery of fake haunted paintings or taxidermied coyote’s ass is worth the trip in these conditions.

He’s on his third winter in town, now — not counting the first, worst one he arrived at the tail end of — and if there’s a right way to run a business this time of year, he hasn’t found it yet. He always scrapes together just enough to pay his bills, thanks the occasional local who wanders over to purchase a seasonally appropriate if overpriced snow globe — but he’s lucky if he breaks even in December, and knows January through March are a lost cause before they begin. He’ll make it back within the next year, sometimes even before summer ends, but it stings to know he’s about to fail at his one goal for the next three to four months straight, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

It might sting less if he had another way to spend these winters — if he had a good reason to formally close the Shack for a few months, like an experienced business owner making a grounded and responsible decision. But he can’t even search for Ford’s journals in this weather — he’s learned from his mistakes, his countless brushes with frostbite, throughout those cold, desperate months in the wake of the portal shutting down.

He’s useless right now, and worse, this season’s shaping up to be the bleakest yet. His usually-scammable neighbors have already lined their shelves with winter knicknacks from Mystery Shack visits past, and the bulk of Stan’s meager sales have come from shivering out-of-towners who’ve never tried to take a Pacific Northwest road trip in December before, and probably won’t be keen to try again.

What seasonal merchandise hasn’t he sold yet? Bumper stickers for miscellaneous holidays, maybe — but neither timely bumper stickers nor the usual selection of tchotchkes will convince people to visit the Shack in the first place, under these road conditions. He can’t even walk around selling merch door to door, for the same reason he can’t look for the other journals — he’d freeze to death, presuming he could make it through the snowdrifts to somewhere worth visiting in the first place. Even with snow chains on the Stanmobile’s tires and a bucket of salt in her trunk, grocery runs alone are perilous enough.

Damn it, Ford, he thinks, why couldn’t you have gone missing in Florida?

He could always do what he does best and lie, maybe — send out word that there’s free hot chocolate or something with every purchase at the Mystery Shack, and hope that people hand over their hard-earned cash before they pick up on the false advertising. He might draw in some local customers that way, and even if he loses their trust for the next few months, they always seem to forget about his cons eventually — as if he never scammed them, and they’ve never so much as heard the words caveat emptor.

He’s just about to dial the local paper’s number on the phone, hoping to flatter Toby into letting him run another ad for free, when he hears a telltale knock at the gift shop door. The bell atop that door doesn’t ring, which means that despite the hostile winds and snow they braved to get here, his visitors are still out loitering on the porch — or so Stan thinks for a moment, before it dawns on him that he doesn’t even remember unlocking the door this morning. He’d just been that pessimistic about even seeing a customer.

“Hello?” someone calls — a fairly young voice, probably approaching the tail end of puberty. “Are you there, uh…Mr. Mystery?”

“On my way!” Stan shouts, throwing on his fez and bolting for the door. His neighbors in Gravity Falls might forget and forgive a lot, but he doesn’t want to risk the wrath of a parent whose teenage kid froze to death on the local grifter’s doorstep, so he unlocks and flings open the door as fast as he can. “Welcome, travelers! Prepare to be baffled and bemused by our mind-boggling boreal mysteries, here at this last refuge at the edge of the Arctic we like to call the Cryptid Cabin!”

His visitor — no, his two visitors — both blink slowly, proving to at least be baffled, if nothing else. Both are bundled up in what Stan assumes to be several sheep worth of wool garments, lovingly knitted into sweaters, hats, and scarves.

“But you call this place the Mystery Shack,” the girl speaks up, and the boy nods.

“Yeah, and we’re nowhere near the Arctic! This is Oregon, not Alaska!”

Stan groans — the only customers he might see all week, and of course they’re teenagers. “Look, punks, business is slow these days! I’ve had a lot of time to think about a seasonal rebranding, and not a lot of chances to workshop it, alright?”

The teens’ expressions instantly soften, and the girl exclaims: “Well, you can workshop it with us!” She grabs the other kid — her brother? — by the hand, and pulls him into the gift shop.

Maybe Stan’s judged them too quickly — he’s still not thrilled to have strangers pitying him, of course, but he’ll take it over strangers mocking him any day of the week.

“Dang, you’re right,” the boy comments once inside, and face-to-face with shelves of untouched merchandise. “It really is empty in here in the winter.”

With little light coming in from the windows, and a flickering bulb overhead that will soon need replacing, the often-bustling room is now dim and eerie — aside from the junk food wrappers on the floor, which Stan hastily kicks under his desk.

“Look at all the lonely snowglobes in need of homes!” the girl pipes up, swiping a glass-encased antelabbit off the shelf and giving it a hearty shake. “Good thing I’m here to adopt this lucky little guy — how much is he?”

Stan takes a second to run the numbers — the maximum amount of money a teen would have on hand, versus what Stan needs to charge to make a profit — and replies: “Twenty-nine ninety-nine and nothing more. We don’t do sales tax here, ‘less you’re a cop.”

“Bet there’s a lot of other taxes you don’t do, either,” the boy snorts, rummaging through a shelf of hats until he unearths one with the old Murder Hut logo on it. “Aha! Now here’s a collector’s item!”

“Oh, did you come here before the rebrand and forget to grab a souvenir?” Stan asks. He doesn’t remember these two, but it’s been a couple years since he painted over the last Murder Hut sign — and they do seem pretty familiar with the building, not to mention Stan’s whole… business model.

“Oh, uh, that’s a funny story, actually! Real funny!” the boy stammers with a whole lot more trepidation than the topic should’ve warranted, and looks to his sister for help.

Sure enough, she steps in. “We lived here for a while — in Gravity Falls, I mean! Not here in the Shack, obviously — wouldn’t that be ridiculous, if we lived in your house for months without you knowing? Could you imagine —”

“That is to say, we still visit sometimes!” the boy supplies. His eyes are a whole lot more fixated on the snowglobes than with anything in Stan’s general direction. “You probably don’t remember us — we weren’t in town for very long, or anything…”

Stan sighs. They’re lying, obviously — but hey, there’s no cops in the Mystery Shack, and he doesn’t have a dog in whatever fight compelled the duo to spew this bullshit. He’ll keep an eye on the cash register, of course, but these kids are tolerable company when they’re not being suspicious as hell — so if they want to invent a bad cover story for a low-stakes tourist trap visit, more power to them.

“Well, the hat’s vintage, so that’ll be double price. Twenty bucks,” he announces matter-of-factly, and the boy groans — but there’s a smile behind it, like he’d expected this and now he’s just playing along. If there’s one thing Stan’s willing to believe, it’s that these kids have been to the Mystery Shack before.

“You’re a highway robber, old man, and I’m the coward who’s gonna let you get away with it,” the boy declares, and Stan can’t help but laugh. The kid reaches under several layers of sweaters to pull out a wallet, with a blue pine tree embroidered on, and miscellaneous charms of fantasy characters hanging off a chain on the side. Stan doesn’t recognize any of them, but they still tug at his heartstrings, because he can tell they’re the exact kind of nerdy references Ford would love.

He does take note of the pine tree design, though — it’s generic enough that slapping it on some shirts and hats wouldn’t quite be plagiarism, and in Stan’s eyes, those are always the best souvenir designs.

The kids put their money forward, hovering awkwardly as Stan rings up their items — the girl busies herself attacking a loose string on her brother’s scarf, nimble fingers tying it back in its approximate place, while the boy twiddles his thumbs and stares at the snowy, gray scene out the window. At the moment, only light flurries fill the air, but tomorrow night promises a blizzard… and Stan, grump with a soft side that he is, can’t help but hope that if these kids are really on vacation, then they aren’t planning to drive anywhere tonight.

With it being winter, and him running the business that he does, he doesn’t have much charity to give — but, if he’s going to play along with his customers’ little lie, then he should probably at least bring up the topic.

“You’re not hittin’ the road any time soon, are you?” He makes eye contact only with the green illustrated presidents in his hands, so not to come across as overly invested. “Weather forecast says tonight’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Aww, you’re worried about us?” the girl coos, because apparently both parties here are damn good at picking up on each other’s lies. “That’s so sweet — but you don’t have to be! Our great uncle’s waiting for us in town, and he’ll… well, let’s just say he’s planning to bring us back home before the blizzard hits.”

“He’s, uh — he lived here back in the seventies, so he knows what he’s doing,” the boy adds. “On the roads, that is. Mostly.”

“Well, you two take care,” Stan tells them, hastily adding on: “So you can come back when the weather isn’t terrible and buy more keychains, that is.”

“Oh, we will.” The boy grins, sharing a conspiratorial glance with his sister. “Maybe don’t count on it being next year — or the year after that, even — but you can count on it.”

“Well, uh…” Stan stops himself, resisting the impulse to divulge things he really shouldn’t. “You just shouldn’t count on me running this place forever. Be sure to get your novelty cryptid pins while they’re hot, y’know.”

He’s never really wondered what he’ll do with the Shack when he gets Ford back — and yes, he has to believe that statement deserves a when, not an if — but he figures the Shack’s fate will depend more on Ford’s own whims. If reality lands somewhere between the nightmares of Ford wanting him gone and the fantasies of finally sailing around the world, if Ford doesn’t hate him but still wants to spend more time with Important Science Experiments than with his brother, then Stan could see himself returning to a mediocre life in his moderately successful tourist trap… but with the search for the journals still coming up empty, Stan can only try not to think about the future, and accept that he’ll just cross — or burn — that bridge when he comes to it.

“Okay, Mr. Mystery,” the girl suddenly declares with a tone that frankly reminds Stan of his mother, “you look like you could use a pick-me-up!”

“What?” It’s starting to freak Stan out how well she can read him, and there’s no telling whether it’s just a sharp intuition, or something significantly more Gravity Falls-y. “If I look tired, kid, it’s because it’s December in Oregon, I haven’t seen the sun in a week, and I am tired. Only pick-me-up I need is for you to get out of my hair, and let me go back into hibernation like nature intended.”

“Okay, but counterpoint: you hear us out,” the boy insists. “We’ve got a little something up our sleeve to really light up your winter —” He winks at his sister. “Don’t we?”

“You bet we do!” She pulls a bag of marshmallows out of not her sleeve, but her backpack, and grins. “Prepare to be amazed and astounded by the natural wonders of this town, and also the miracle that is processed sugar and gelatin!”

“Are you imitating my sales pitches?” Stan asks, dumbfounded. “And do you carry those on you at all times?”

“In winter in Gravity Falls, I do!” the girl replies, already heading for the exit with her brother. “C’mon! If this doesn’t put a smile on your face, nothing will!”

“We all know you’ve got time to spare, Stan,” the boy adds, cracking open the door. “Get a move on!”

“Spare time doesn’t mean I’ve got spare limbs to lose to frostbite,” Stan grumbles, but follows them anyway. There’s something captivating about these little punks — not so much this mysterious phenomenon they’re trying to sell him on, as if they could really out-charlatan Mr. Mystery himself, but rather the way they’re not put off by his frigid facade. They see right through him, showering him in alternating kindness and acerbic wit.

Stan can’t help but wonder if their uncle’s kind of like him — tired, bitter, and pretending to be indifferent, but secretly soft on the inside, like a marshmallow that’s burnt on the surface but melted within. It would explain why they’re so good at calling him on his shit — but then again, Stan and this mystery guy can’t be too alike, because if Stan had a niece and nephew like these two, he’s sure he’d be living his life a whole lot differently.

He exits the Shack, and all his questions are immediately replaced with new ones when he sees the teens just hurling marshmallows towards the edge of the woods. The wind’s in their favor, so some of those sugary little fuckers fly far.

“Okay, so I’ve already got a couple concerns,” Stan tells them, shivering. “First off, what the hell?”

“It might take a couple minutes before one shows up,” the girl admits, as if it’s a totally reasonable stand-alone explanation for whatever the hell’s going on here. With about a third of the marshmallows now blending into the snow on Stan’s lawn, she and her brother stop with the throwing, though they still hold onto the bag. “Our grunkle theorized that they move slower in winter, to save energy — oh wait, never mind! Here comes one now!”

“Sorry, what? And where?” Stan squints out into the woods, terrified to lay his eyes upon a woodland monster these kids just lured to his doorstep — but all he sees, at first, are a few wisps of smoke dispersing in the wind above the trees. He’s not even convinced it’s smoke, really, because these aren’t the right conditions for a fire — but to his surprise, he glimpses an orange light within the woods, glowing steadily brighter until the trees and bushes around it are all casting faint shadows.

When it steps into the clearing, Stan realizes he has seen something like it before, albeit only from the overcautious distance he tries to keep from all anomalies. It’s an otherwise normal campfire perched on wooden, spiderlike legs, and it melts a path in the snow as it trots forwards, then lowers itself to the ground to absorb the first of a dozen marshmallows.

It lets out a satisfied little sound — a low, steady crackle that sounds almost like a purr — then scampers up to the next morsel of food to repeat the process.

“It’s called a Scampfire!” the girl explains, beaming. “There’s a bunch of them out in the woods, and they’ll always wander over if you leave out enough campfire food — especially sugary stuff! Isn’t that cute?”

“Our great uncle figured out this amazing trick when he used to live here, and he passed it down to us!” the boy adds, practically bouncing up and down in place. “If you leave them a trail of food, they’ll follow you around until you run out — which means they can clear your driveway, warm your hands, even save your car if you drive into a snowbank! Or help you make s’mores, of course.”

“Our grunkle says he even skipped paying his heating bill a couple winters,” the girl adds with a grin, “but I dunno if we can recommend that in good conscience.”

As the scampfire draws a closer, continuing to purr as it consumes more of the sugary trail, the boy slaps a handful of marshmallows into Stan’s palm. “Give it a try!”

Stan’s not thrilled about bringing a fire onto the wooden porch attached to his wooden house, even as cute as said fire is, so instead he tosses his ammunition at something much more disposable — the golf cart, since if this one croaks, he can always just steal another from the insufferable rich family up on the hill. His aim isn’t great — he blames his cold fingers — but exactly one marshmallow lands right in the cart’s driver seat.

The scampfire breaks course from its path towards the Shack, clearing a path through the snow before it crawls into the cart, absorbing the final morsel and curling up atop crossed legs. Nothing explodes, and in fact, a few of the icicles on the awning start to melt, dripping water into the patch of bare muddy ground surrounding the cart.

“Huh,” Stan mutters. Dozens of harebrained schemes flash before his eyes — if he could find a slingshot, or even better, some kind of cannon to mount on the cart’s front hood, then he’s sure that with practice, he could entice some scampfires to clear a path through any snowdrift…

But no matter his exact solution, it’s a way to get into town consistently. He can finally go door-to-door selling knickknacks, instead of sitting in the gift shop every day and hoping some poor soul would get bored enough to brave the roads and visit. He can actually work out a way to line his pockets even in the winter, instead of constantly waking up from nightmares about getting foreclosed on —

“See? They get food, and we don’t freeze — classic mutualistic symbiotic relationship!” the boy declares, and his sister gently socks him in the arm.

“Nerd!”

“Hey, you knew that too! We’re in the same biology class!”

It’s familiar, but the kind of familiarity that Stan doesn’t treasure anymore. It’s more like the kind that he hides in the basement or in boarded-up rooms whenever he can, and grins and bears with a heavy heart when he can’t, like every time he looks in the mirror or hears someone call him Stanford. He comes so close to asking these teens if they’re twins, because he figures the answer can’t be worse than wondering — but the question dies in his throat, and he tells himself it’s for the best.

“Is your uncle who invented this trick the same one who’s waiting in town for you?” he asks instead.

“Yep!” replies the girl. “He probably won’t get worried about us for like, ten or fifteen more minutes, though — I’m sure he’s got his nose buried deep in a book right now.”

“Do me a favor and let him know he’s a lifesaver,” Stan says. “Also tell him I’m glad he moved out, because he sounds a little too smart to fall for the fake monster wares that I peddle.”

The kids exchange a look that Stan can’t even hope to comprehend, though he’s damn sure it’s worth a thousand words to the two of them. Twins or not, he’s getting an “inseparable” kind of vibe from these two, that’s for sure.

“I’m not sure he’d like the Shack at first,” the brother muses, “but I’ve got a hunch it would grow on him.”

“He does like cryptids — sometimes even fake ones!” the sister chimes in. “Oh, shoot — we still need to grab a souvenir for him! I knew we were forgetting something!”

“Huh.” Stan throws a few more marshmallows in the direction of the woods, and the scampfire stumbles off the cart before trotting along on its merry way back to the forest. “I can get you something, no problem — I don’t call this place a gift shop for nothing, y’know. But for the love of Paul Bunyan, let’s talk about it inside.”

He’s not great at mental math, but he doesn’t have to be to know he owes a lot to these teens and the mysterious uncle he might never meet. Hell, even forgetting the business perspective — he can actually look for the journals in winter without risking frostbite, if he gets one of his fiery neighbors to tag along. Even if he finds nothing, even if he only winds up with more failures to contend with, he’d rather rule out locations than be useless to Ford for months at a time.

None of this weird family that he might never see again, these three benevolent strangers that he can only put two faces to, could possibly know how much they’ve just changed for him — and he can’t tell them, as much as his oversized heart promises he can trust these snarky kids who remind him so much of himself. But he does owe them, so when he reenters the gift shop, he goes straight for a seldom-opened and never-advertised box of knickknacks that he has no intention of charging them for. It’s got the dimensions of only about two side-by-side shoeboxes, so he lifts it onto the counter with hardly a grunt, and opens it up.

“Got lots of goodies in here — mostly stuff that I made or, ahem, acquired in bulk, so they never quite sold out by the time everyone and their mother in town had already bought their own. Take a gander.”

He knows that gander will reveal some Murder Hut-branded shirts with the words written on in marker, plastic six-sided dice with a different cryptids pictured on each side, cheap whistles purported to attract Bigfoot, cheap flashlights once advertised for attracting Mothman, exactly three cool rocks that Stan found in the woods… and the pièce de résistance, a little wooden Mystery Shack-shaped music box, which chirps out a pleasant tune when Stan flips up the roof. That last one’s a rare knickknack that Stan really put effort into personally crafting, back at the height of last winter’s monotony, through cannibalizing parts of premade music boxes and sticking them into brand-new shapes — but he couldn’t sell them for enough to be worth the cost of making more, and could never sell this last one at all.

“Oh, wow!” the girl gasps, clearly delighted. “How can I even choose between —”

“No, take it all. It’s on the house — but don’t you dare tell anyone about this, you hear me? I’ll know if you blab, ‘cause people will start asking me if they can get free crap, too, and I don’t wanna hear a word of that nonsense.”

“Free stuff at the Mystery Shack?” The boy narrows his eyes. “Are you feeling okay, old man?”

“Kid, stuff only goes in the Free Bullshit Box when I can’t sell it anyway.” Stan crosses his arms with a huff, even though he’s technically telling the truth. “The only catch is take it before I change my mind.”

A sudden spark of recognition in the brother’s eyes morphs into a grin on his face, and he nods. “Oh, we will. Don’t worry.”

“I think our grunkle will love this! Especially the dice,” the sister adds. “Hey, maybe we could give all this to him piece by piece for Hanukkah! There’s enough here for a new surprise every night!”

“Whoa, there is! Man, the look on his face the first time we bring out a Bigfoot whistle is gonna be great —” The boys eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and he coughs into his hand. “But we should probably get a move on, huh? Don’t want to get caught in, y’know, the blizzard tonight.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Stan returns the lid and hands the box over. “You, uh, need a ride back to town? ‘Cause being a man of mystery and all, I know this neat trick to clear a whole road with just a bag full of marshmallows —”

The kids both start cackling, so hard that the box almost escapes the girl’s hands, and Stan laughs with them — not because he thought his joke was that funny, but because the kids’ laughter is absolutely priceless. The isolation’s definitely getting to his head and his heart, but he’ll take whatever reprieve he can get.

“I think we’ll manage on our own,” the boy finally wheezes out, “but thanks for the offer, Mr. Mystery. Thanks for everything, really.”

“See you later!” his sister adds as they leave. “Don’t let the feral gnomes bite!”

“You take care, too,” Stan replies, not nearly as loud — but he figures that the kids can read his lips. They can read so much about him, and know so much about the town, that he’s honestly a hair’s breadth away from assuming they’re two more anomalies from the woods themselves, just in more recognizable shapes than most…

Though if Stan’s honestly considering that theory, then more of Ford must’ve rubbed off on him than he likes to think about — which is to say, it’s a good a reason as any to stop thinking about it. What or whoever they were, the duo were actually pretty tolerable for teenagers, and Stan’s pretty sure they didn’t put a curse or whatever magic mumbo jumbo on him — because if they could manage that, they could definitely tell some less conspicuous lies, right?

He kinda likes the idea of one goddamn supernatural force in this town that’s actually benevolent, actually watching his back when his mood’s at its bleakest, and coming to his rescue with — no, he’s dropping that train of thought. No baseless hoping, just letting himself down easy before he gets up.

It does occur to him, several minutes after the gift shop door swings closed, that Hanukkah has already come and gone this year. Which probably just means the kids are prepared to hide that box for another twelve months… but maybe, when Stan finds the other journals, he’ll double-check for entries on helpful teenage cryptids who can’t lie. Just to be sure.

***

Mabel, Dipper, and Ford barrel into the living room so suddenly that Stan almost drops his mug of hot chocolate. They’re all covered in a ridiculous amount of snow, considering how briefly they were just outside, and Ford looks awfully delighted for someone whose glasses are someone whose glasses have just turned opaque with fog.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shouts. The cardboard box in her arms has seen better days, but she’s cradling it like an infant. “You’ll never guess when we just were!”

Dipper points a gloved finger in the air. “You mean, when we just — oh wait, did you already —”

“Yeah, I beat you to it this time!” Mabel pumps her fist. “Anyways, Grunkle Stan — you’ll never guess who we just visited!”

[squishneedsahero]

Self Discovery

It’s Who I Am

Part 2

Description: How would The Falcon and The Winter Soldier have played out if you, the younger daughter of Howard Stark got involved? You had been kidnapped by HYDRA at a young age, your mind taken from you as they forced you to work towards creating new weapons for them and when HYDRA had fallen you had gotten free with your scattered memories for you to slowly piece together.

Word Count: 2715

It's a little over an hour later when the three of you reach the airport and board the military plane which had dropped Sam and Bucky at the warehouse. Joaquin is more than a little surprised that you of all people had just happened to be there and had joined their group. You take a seat and lean back with your eyes closed. At this point your cracked rib isn't hurting any more, which you should probably look into as theres a good chance you could also be enhanced thanks to your time with HYDRA, but theres also a good chance you have a really high pain tolerance thanks to HYDRA.

You take off your shirt, leaving you sitting in your leggings and sports bra as you decide to work on the technology in your shirt. You had used Tony's nano technology to create the shirt, and leggings, so they were smart and it was just a matter of programming them to do exactly what you wanted. Right now you wanted to make it so they would absorb most of the shock from any time you got hit, because dealing with super soldiers who you didn't want to kill was just a bit different from aliens you could use brute force on.

Sam and Bucky's talking pulls you out of your thoughts and you look up at them. They begin to argue about something so you go back to your thoughts, preferring those to the sound of their voices. You had found that you were quite good at getting lost in your thoughts, hiding from the world and it's problems in the relative safety of your own mind. You knew very well it was a trauma response, disassociating and blocking everything around you out. It might not be the healthiest thing but considering everything you had been through and the many ways you could respond to that trauma you'd take this response.

You had been working on all of this stuff with yourself since you had basically refused to see a therapist. You knew you should talk to someone but the settings you had seen that they offered therapy made you want to just shut down worse than you simply keeping to yourself with all of this. Before you know it you have already fixed the problems with your suit, gotten the nano bots set to better protect you in a fight.

Once the suit is finished you look up and come back to reality, and realize that the plane is landing. As you zone back in Sam notices and asks, "you good, y/n?"

You blink before focusing on him, "yeah, I'm good," its a lie but for some reason you don't want Sam to worry about you.

He laughs gently and shakes his head, "thats a lie, but we don't have to talk about it. It's not my business anyways, I was just checking."

This causes you to pause for a moment, normally people would continue pushing you for answers, "alright," it comes out almost as a question but the conversation ends there since the plane touches down at that moment.

Baltimore, you recognize the city as Baltimore. You follow Sam who is following Bucky, who is leading the way somewhere in the streets of Baltimore. Sam pauses for a moment to talk to some kid and you gently wave a hello before you all continue on your way. The three of you walk up to a house where Bucky knocks on the door and a kid answers only to say the person Bucky is looking for doesn't live there.

"Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here." That gets the kid to listen and he closes the door as he goes to tell Isaiah who is wanting to see him. It's a moment later when the door opens again and the kid lets you all in.

You barely make it into the room, and see Isaiah when you begin feeling sick to your stomach. You know him. You had done something to him during your time with HYDRA and whatever that something was it was bad enough that the sight of the man in front of you made you feel sick. From the look on his face he recognizes you as well.

Isaiah gives you a sour look and you point towards the door, tears beginning to form in your eyes, "I'm- I'm gonna go," you look down and your hands are shaking. You look back and forth between Isaiah and the door a few times in the space of five seconds, "I'm sorry-" you say quickly to Isaiah before running out the door.

You make it to a tree in the yard where you catch yourself and take a pause to regain your bearings. You're about to hurl, but you're able to hold it back as you let yourself collapse to the ground, leaning against the tree as the tears flow down your cheeks. You grab your head and begin taking deep breaths. You didn't know what you had done to Isaiah but you knew you regretted all of it, that you had been forced to do it, just like every other horrible thing which you had done.

You get a hold of yourself after a few minutes and then sam and Bucky come rushing out the door, they walk past you Sam loudly asking why Bucky hadn't mentioned the fact that there has been a black super soldier for decades. You stand up and once again you're suddenly shaken back to reality as a police siren goes off nearby. It's as though the sound resets you, something that felt familiar as all of your physical reactions to seeing Isaiah disappeared. You stood up straight and made your way over to Sam and Bucky where a cop was asking if Sam was bothering Bucky.

"No. Do you know who this is?" Bucky asks sounding a bit angry with the cops for deciding to pull this shit. You can see the realization come to the cop's eyes as the other whispers in his ear, the regret and embarrassment clear on his face.

"Mr.Wilson, I'm sorry- I didn't recognize you without the goggles." With that he rushes back to the car where they end up finding out that Bucky has a warrant out for his arrest since he'd ditched a state mandated therapy session.

The police take Bucky away, leaving you and Sam in the street. It's once things calm down that Sam turns to you and asks once again, "are you alright? You ran out of there pretty fast."

You pause for a moment, looking at him before answering, "I'm... as alright as I can be." There is another pause as you try to shove back the vague memories that were now remerging due to the immediate threat of the cops is gone. You swallow deeply then shake your head a little before beginning to walk down the street, figuring you might as well get walking if he's going to bug you about this. "It's easier to not talk about it."

Sam is quiet for a bit, simply walking beside you for a while before saying, "look y/n, that might work for now but eventually it isn't going to work anymore. I know you don't know me and I don't know you but, I'm willing to help you. It's just a matter of if you want it, but for now let's just go get Bucky out of prison."

Something about that causes you to pause, and you look at him as the both of you walk. It's a few moments before you decide to speak, "thanks." You walk in silence from there, considering what he had said, of all the people offering to help he seemed the most genuine, your gut told you that you could trust the man next to you. Your thoughts on this topic cause you to frequently glance over at him even if you didn't notice this fact.

Sam on the other hand does notice your frequent looks, but decides to stay quiet, feeling he had already pushed you enough for the short time you'd known each other. Having a quiet moment though as the both of you make your way to the police station he does find himself stealing his own glances at you, not in a crude way. Sam had practically never been around you up to this point and he'd been distracted all day, this was the first quiet moment there had been between just the two of you all day. He had noticed that your eyes are the color they are, or the curve of your nose and how it complimented the rest of your face so well. It was a known stereotype that you were attractive, you were a Stark you had to be attractive, but Sam hadn't taken the time to actually notice this before this and now that he had noticed he wasn't sure if he could forget it.

The pair of you make it to the police station and take some seats it the lobby area, after talking with the officers at the front desk to ask about conditions for Bucky's release. They don't give either of you any answers, leaving you to wait instead. Eventually a woman walks in and up to the both of you, introducing herself as Bucky's therapist.

As she does this Bucky is walked out the double doors, "thanks for getting him out."

"It wasn't me," the woman responds as none other than John Walker comes in, flaunting himself as he does so.

You can't stop the groan of annoyance that leaves your body as you see him and the woman says she has worked with him before.

Once Bucky is out the therapist walks over to him, "condition of your release session now, you too Sam- y/n you're fine to wait."

This tells Sam that it isn't an option for him to say no so he follows, leaving you with John who had said he wants to talk with all of you as soon as they're done. You grab your phone, and walk out to wait in the parking lot for Sam and Bucky rather than having to stand by John and Lemar while you wait and just for good measure you decide to take a moment and call Pepper to give her an update on what it is you're doing.

"Hello, y/n," Pepper answers the phone, "you alright?"

"Hey Pepper, I'm good, thanks. I'm going to be gone for a while, not sure how long but I found something to do and it seems like it might help me find some sort of purpose. I just didn't want you to worry."

"Thanks for letting me know, and good luck y/n," Pepper responds. Pepper had been trying to help you since Tony had died, Morgan was the only real family you had left even if you didn't remember any of them anyways. But making sure you at least had a chance at a life you'd want was the least she could do for you since your brother had sacrificed himself to give everyone that chance.

You had officially been declared dead when you were only 13 years old, it was because of this that you hadn't been included in your father's will. Then with your sudden coming back with the blip and Tony's unexpected death you hadn't been included in his either. This left you with nothing to your name, and to be frank you were okay with that, you didn't see the need for material items. There were so many other things you needed to do with your life that worrying about an inheritance was no where on your list. It was all too important to you to not let anyone down, you needed to re-learn how to be yourself. Be who you had been before HYDRA and all of that had happened. Thats what everyone wanted from you they kept telling you stories about yourself and how you had been when you were younger, how you had dressed, walked talked and acted. You just couldn't bring yourself to want to let anyone down by not being that person any more.

This was why Pepper took care of you almost like another child, you had nothing to your name and no memories of your life before HYDRA. You were relying solely on other people's word that you were who they say you are.

"Thanks Pepper, I'll be home soon, bye."

"Goodbye y/n," then theres a click as Pepper hangs up.

When Pepper hangs up you don't remove the phone from your ear, instead turning to see if John and Lemar had followed you out of the police station. They hadn't so you put your phone in your pocket, and move to lean up against the building while continuing to wait for Sam and Bucky. It's as you take a deep breath to relax for a moment that the door opens and you hear a voice that is already annoyingly familiar, "hey, y/n," John greets you.

You bite off a sarcastic remark and decide to instead say, "hey Josh."

You can hear him struggle to not correct you and then say, "look, we got off on the wrong foot, let's start over, I'm John Walker, Captain America," and he holds his hand out to shake your hand.

You raise an eyebrow slightly as you look at his hand, "yeah," you pause for a moment, "it's not happening John. You introducing yourself isn't going to change my gut feeling about you and honestly I'm sorry because as far as I can tell you haven't given me a reason to not like you, I just don't and you're going to have to deal with that fact." Once again you were blunt with him, you really didn't see a reason to dislike the guy but you did and until he gave you a reason to like him you were going to stick with your gut to be safe.

Relief. That is what you feel only moments after you finish talking to John as you see Sam and Bucky exit the building. John notices too and decides to get their attention by setting off the siren of the cop car you were standing next too.

Once again the sound causes your mind to feel as though it has reset. A sudden calm sets over you, but it's not a peaceful calm, it's a terrifying calm. A calm before the storm though what the storm was you had not a clue.

By the time you come back, and zone back in to reality, Sam and Bucky are standing next to you and talking with John. John is trying to convince Sam and Bucky once again that all of you should work together. Bucky flat out rejects this. Sam on the other hand offers a reason as to why it is easier for you to not work together, and it is actually logical.

John on the other hand does not appreciate Sam's calm and logical reasoning. "Well, if you won't work with me then stay the hell out of my way."

You give him a double take, like are you serious John? Didn't he just say that he wanted to try and start over so that you liked him? Welp, now your gut feeling at least makes sense and you don't have to feel bad for disliking him for no reason.

You follow Sam and Bucky as they walk away, "we don't have any leads, so I say we bet on someone who has a better hand than we do."

There is a moment of silence before Sam says, "no, we aren't going to see Zemo."

Of course Bucky brings up good points and in the end convinces Sam that going to visit Zemo is a good idea. You of course only have a vague idea of who Zemo is and know he is nothing but trouble so you're just going to trust them on this, and your gut was telling you that you could trust them on this. You instinct hadn't lead you wrong yet so you were going to continue following it until it proved otherwise.

[feelingfredly]

The Hunting of the Snark...  I Mean Spark

Part 1 of What I Tell You Three Times Is True

Peter listened as the water stopped and various cabinets in his bathroom were opened and closed and waited for his guest to reappear. Stiles, scrubbed red from the shower, walked into the room rubbing viciously at his hair with a towel. The fragrance of borrowed shampoo clung to him even more tightly than the damp fabric of Peter’s bathrobe and seeing the young man like that, covered head to toe in Peter’s things, in Peter’s scent, caused his wolf to lift its head and rumble in satisfaction, even if the reason the boy was in his den was less than optimal.

“Three times, Peter.” Frustration sharpened Stiles’s voice, pulling the man’s attention back from his wolf’s wanderings. “You know what that means.”

Peter knew. One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three's a pattern, and four is enough for a warrant. Not that they could get a warrant, even if they did end up with a fourth victim. It didn’t matter to Stiles, though. He, like his father, was a cop at heart—protect and serve was etched in their bones. Usually, Stiles also had a streak of ruthless practicality that balanced that idealism out, but this time was different. Peter hoped it didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“Proving the pattern to the rest of the pack is going to be… difficult.”

Amber eyes rolled and Peter smothered a smile.  It still surprised him how much pleasure Stiles’s snark generated in him.  Like calling to like.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Stiles flung his towel at the hamper and missed. From four feet away. Peter shook his head. How the boy had survived this long in a world full of predators was truly a mystery. “Lydia will believe me. Probably.  And Danny.  But…”

“But they’re not wolves.” Peter nodded and leaned back in his chair. “They aren’t the ones who’re going to want to believe it’s possible in the first place.”

Stiles walked to the corner of the desk that dominated the office and propped one hip on it, everything about his posture telegraphing his irritation with the situation.

“Scott’s going to think I’m crazy—literally—and he’ll suspect anything coming from you because you’re clearly still trying to manipulate him.” His lip curled a fraction and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the beginning of a smile or a snarl. “That means we’re going to have to go at the problem sideways, again, because as much as I’d like to say he wouldn’t go there again, I’m sure you’re with me on the Never Going Back to Eichen bandwagon.”

Peter gave his own eyeroll at that. “Our True Alpha does have a limited repertoire of responses, and you’re right, Eichen House is not on my list of spa retreat destinations. My question for you is simply: since we know he won’t listen to reason, why bother trying to convince him? It isn’t as if the people Hengstrom is using aren’t willing. If Scott wants to throw in with the crazy mage, why not let him?”

Stiles shifted his weight, swinging a lean leg absently. “I guess it’s the lying that gets me, because I don’t believe he doesn’t know exactly what his miracle cure does. You can’t wield that kind of magic if you don’t understand it intimately. That leaves two options,” he held up one long finger. “One, he’s leaving details out because he doesn’t think they’re important—which would be stupidly shortsighted—or two,” he held up a second finger, “he knows the details are important and he’s not telling people on purpose, which leads to another whole line of questions about why he’s keeping them secret and what he’s getting out of the de-wolfing process that’s so important that he doesn’t want to risk scaring his victims away.”

Peter nodded. When the mage arrived, he’d introduced himself to the local Alpha and had bemoaned the fact that Deaton wasn’t currently in residence because he wanted to share his new skill with the druid. Invoking the emissary’s name worked like magic—all puns intended—and the True Alpha had warmly welcomed the man to the territory and had immediately begun questioning him about this new and wonderful spellwork he’d invented.  Hengstrom had been hesitant to speak of it, saying he didn’t want to step on Deaton’s toes—but Scott reacted the way he always did when there was something new and shiny that he wanted: he poked and prodded and wheedled and insisted until the mage caved and laid out the framework of what he called his “life’s achievement.”

It was delicate work and Peter had been impressed with Hengstrom’s ability to play the young Alpha right up until he uttered the phrase “werewolf curse.” McCall’s spine had stiffened and red crawled up his neck as he ducked his head and looked away, shame and self-loathing oozing from every pore.  Every wolf in the room stiffened, feeling the negativity of their leader through the pack bonds, and Peter was no different.  His gums itched and his fingers ached, claws and fangs closer to the surface than they should be, and he knew his wolf was feeling threatened in a way that born wolves weren’t supposed to feel.

The mage promised Scott, and any other bitten wolves that were interested, the chance to be human again, and he knew immediately what the True Alpha’s reaction was going to be. Hell, anyone with a braincell that had known the boy for more than two seconds knew what he was going to do.  He never even paused to think how giving up his wolf would affect the rest of the pack.  No, McCall was consistent—he wanted what he wanted and screw anyone that might get in the way of him getting it.

He did, at least, ask a few questions and the mage passed his minimalist lie detector test—Yes, he’d performed the rite dozens of times. The rite had 100% efficacy. All the people he helped went back to their human lives with nary a trace of wolf left in them. Here’s an oddly convenient list; call them if you want to.—And then the idiot didn’t think, didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate for a minute, he simply reached out and swept the mage into the biggest hug Beacon Hills had ever seen, and then had run off to tell Kira the good news.

Stiles and Peter watched the interview silently, doubt clear on both of their faces, but once their Alpha had made his approval clear, Stiles shook the man’s hand briefly, took the list of “cured” that was proffered, and directed the mage to the hotel in town that the pack had an arrangement with.

Then Stiles went to work.

It took the Spark six hours to contact most of the people on the list, but there were a few he hadn’t been able to get through to.  Finally, one number that had been calling incessantly—his magic nagging at him that it was important—picked up and the tearful woman on the other end informed him that yes, her husband, Oscar, had undergone Hengstrom’s procedure and had been thrilled with the results.  Unfortunately, he’d died a few months later. They hadn’t been able to determine a cause of death—he simply didn’t wake up one morning. It was possible that the procedure had been hard on his heart or something, but no one could really say. She was sorry she couldn’t be more help.

After another six hours he’d found two more people who’d had their wolves removed who had mysteriously fallen ill afterwards.  One was currently in a coma, and the other had been committed to a mental institution after having attempted to kill his family, the whole time screaming for them to kill him, please kill him. That he couldn’t stop it.  It wouldn’t let him.

That report reminded Stiles too much of his possession by the Nogitsune; he and Peter were on a plane the next morning.  Three hours and several Jedi mind tricks after landing, they’d gotten to visit the last victim… and the minor demon that was squatting in his soul. Peter had struggled with seeing the man strapped to his bed, flashbacks of his own time imprisoned in a similar bed with nothing free to move but his head setting his teeth on edge, and Stiles… well, the Spark had his own fight to fight. His spark hovered just beneath his skin, setting the boy almost aglow, and while his wolf was used to the temptation, the demon was immediately overwhelmed with hunger.

The body on the bed strained and lurched against its bindings as they listened to it rave about how Stiles was perfect, how the fire under his skin was nice but the darkness around his heart was beautiful and infinite and vicious, how he had a demon-shaped hole in his soul that just cried out to be filled.  Stiles waited as every word left a wound behind, and Peter could smell the blood on him as he bit his lips to remain silent. Finally, the demon released its host deciding that it was worth giving up the body it had for the chance of controlling the power of a Spark. Peter sucked in a breath, terrified that they wouldn’t make it out of the hospital without a demonic stowaway, but then his impossible, incredible boy burned the creature out of existence in the flash of an eye before it could jump bodies. He listened as Stiles’s breath caught on a silent sob in his throat, and Peter ached to gather the bowstring-taut Spark into his arms and tell him that yes he was perfect, that the demon had no idea how beautiful his darkness truly was because he used it to defend the ones he loved, that if there was a hole in his soul Peter would crawl into it and fill it and wrap him up in protective arms, keeping him close, and safe, and his… but he knew that all it would take would be one uninvited touch and Stiles would shatter, so he kept his hands to himself, and bided his time.

A moment later the victim woke from his possession in grateful tears, but when Stiles explained that he couldn’t repair the holes in the man’s spirit that had allowed the demon to take up residence in the first place, he insisted they leave him in the hospital, that it was where he wanted to stay, where he needed to stay. He’d do anything to protect his family from going through that nightmare again.

Stiles told him that evening that he suspected the man wouldn’t be around long enough to regret that decision; his life force was already leaking out through the holes in his aura. Listening to the Spark whimper in his sleep as he thrashed on the hotel bed that night, Peter knew Stiles would regret the decision enough for the both of them.

One good thing came out of the whole nightmare. After explaining what had happened to her husband, the last victim’s wife was more than willing to answer their questions, and she was much more expansive than the mage. She told them that Hengstrom only pursued weres that had been changed within the past five years, claiming that anyone that had been a werewolf longer than that wouldn’t ever be able to truly erase the behaviors they’d learned. He’d asked other questions—where her husband fit in the pack hierarchy, how he’d been turned, whether his wife was a wolf—before agreeing to remove her husband’s wolf, but that the one thing that seemed most important to him was whether they were going leave the territory after the procedure.  He implied that continuing contact with the members of the pack would hinder her husband’s healing process.  He said that her husband’s scent would change, and the other wolves wouldn’t be able to trust him anymore and that it would be safer for everyone if they cut ties completely, but he’d also said that any exposure to the supernatural would make it harder for her husband to transition back to his human life. She hadn’t questioned it at the time, but it had made the whole situation more difficult when he’d started showing signs of deterioration because she didn’t have the pack as a support system and since they didn’t have their emissary available to ask for advice.

Oh, and their emissary hadn’t been around when Hengstrom had arrived, either.

Stiles had looked at Peter at that point and quirked an eyebrow, an entire conversation in the tiny movement.  Who knew they would ever actually be sorry that Alan Deaton wasn’t around?

Stiles stopped swinging his leg suddenly. “Did Scott ever mention that Kira was a kitsune?”

Peter thought back over the conversation he’d witnessed and shook his head. “No. Hengstrom asked if he was mated to another wolf and Scott said no, but that was as far as it went.  Why?”

He paused and raised his eyes to the Spark’s as the penny dropped. Oh. Ohhh.

Scott was going to have a problem. Kira wasn’t a wolf, but she was a kitsune but more importantly—she was pack. The only thing McCall valued more than his own vaunted humanity was his mate, and after the youngest Argent died, he’d become even more protective of the little fox.

Stiles grinned, sharp and vulpine, clearly ready to hunt. “I think we need to have a little chat with our Alpha’s mate.”

Peter grinned back letting his own fangs drop a fraction and resting a heavy hand on Stiles’s knee. “You know, sweetheart, I think you’re right.”

***

 Kira wasn’t alone when they got there, but it could have been worse.  Ms. Yukimura wasn’t a fan of Stiles’s—she still saw too much of Void in him to ever be comfortable—but she would listen more than Scott would, so Peter considered it a win.

“And you destroyed the demon?  You’re positive?” She lifted a delicate hand and poured another cup of tea.  If Peter hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have missed the fractional tightening of muscles in her fingers.

“As positive as I can be,” Stiles replied. “I know it isn’t in Peter, and I know it wasn’t in Mr. Anderson when we left him.  If you’d be so kind as to make sure I haven’t brought him along with me, I would be… grateful.”

It cost the boy something to make the request, but when the older woman’s eyes settled on him and she nodded once, the silent stress that had been hiding in his spine melted away and Peter could almost feel a sigh of relief pass over him.

“There is nothing… new in your aura, Spark,” she said with a dip of her head, and Peter had to fight back a growl at the cautionary phrasing and silent implication that there was something extra in his aura already, but that was a fight for another day. “The demon must, then, have truly been vanquished. Your skill has grown. I congratulate you.”

Stiles forced himself to dip his head in acceptance.  His skills had grown through necessity, and so much of that necessity could be laid at this woman’s feet.  It was amazing that he was even able to stay in the same room. Peter wasn’t sure he could have.

“I am simply sorry that I wasn’t able to do more for Mr. Anderson.  As I said, the procedure that Hengstrom subjected him to has left his spirit shredded.  He will die; it’s just a matter of how long it will take.”

Kira twisted her hands in her lap. “You’re sure?  There isn’t anything else that could’ve caused the damage?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kira, but you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure.  I know how much this means to Scotty, and yeah, him giving up his wolf would throw the pack into chaos, but we’ve dealt with chaos before and survived.  I wouldn’t take this chance away from him on a hunch.  The problem is that because of the chaos we’ve been through,” he threw a hard glance at the elder kitsune, “Scott doesn’t trust my judgment. He thinks I’m paranoid.” He let out a bark of laughter. “He isn’t wrong.  But neither am I about this.”

Kira pushed her hair behind her ear and sighed. “I believe you.  I was talking to mom before you came about how something about this just felt off.  Hearing you explain what you’ve found just makes that feeling stronger.”

Peter sat back and crossed his legs. “So, how do we make your husband listen to the truth?”

Kira quirked a lip and tilted her chin to one side, her inner fox clear and sharp. “The way I see it, the only way he’s going to believe it is if it comes from Hengstrom himself.”

Stiles’s whole body stilled, his normal state of constant movement frozen. “I like where you’re going with this, but it’s going to be tricky.”

Kira looked at her mother and they both smiled their trickster-kitsune smiles. “Leave that to us.”

***

In the end, it was surprisingly simple.  Painful, but simple.

“You should let him try this on Peter, first.” Stiles said, innocence personified.

Scott perked up. “On Peter? But he wouldn’t want to…” he swallowed what he’d been intending to say and turned to look at the mage. “Could you actually do that? Take the wolf from a born wolf?”

Hagen Hengstrom looked as Swedish as his name sounded.  Tall, blond, buff—he didn’t look like any of the mages Peter had ever met, but then Stiles himself didn’t look like them, either.  His blue eyes were pale and clear and there was something old and cold in them that Peter didn’t want to be close to, but he was bait, so, he stepped forward.

Hengstrom shook his head, one fist tightening minutely. “No.  Definitely not. There is nothing in him that isn’t infiltrated with wolf.  He’d go mad without it.”

Stiles snorted. “Like we’d be able to tell the difference.”

Scott looked surprised that he would say such a thing, but then laughed. “I suppose you’re right.  Not much to compare it to as far as sanity goes.”

Peter forced himself not to snarl at the boy and let Stiles go on.

“I mean, if the procedure is 100% effective…” he left the sentence hanging, and the mage stepped right into it.

“It is 100% effective,” he insisted, “it’s just that his wolf is so embedded in him that it would rip his soul to pull it out.”

Stiles tilted his head and raised an innocent eyebrow. “Rip his soul?  That doesn’t sound good.”

Kira shifted closer to Scott and put an arm around his waist. “No. No it doesn’t.”

Scott looked down at his wife and frowned. “You said before that it didn’t hurt.”

Hengstrom froze and then shook his head. “That isn’t what…”

Scott frowned harder. “You said you’d performed this rite dozens of times.”

Hengstrom nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!  I’ve done this dozens—hundreds—of times.  It does exactly what I’ve promised.”

Stiles made a non-committal sound. “But actually, all you said was that it removed the wolf and the people went back to being human after.  You didn’t say anything about whether they were healthy and happy, did you?”

Kira tugged on Scott’s shirt. “Did he?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t actually remember.  I was so excited by what he was telling me that I don’t think I asked.” He turned back to the mage who looked decidedly paler under his golden tan. “What happens to the people after you take their wolves? Are they healthy?  Can they… have families? Does it mess with any of that?”

The mage frowned and took his time before answering.  “I don’t stay in touch with all of the people I’ve helped, so I don’t know exactly how they all are. But I can assure you the rite did exactly what it was supposed to do, and they were all completely human afterwards.”

Stiles made another noise. “I’m sure it’s fine, Kira,” he waved his hand between Hengstrom and Scott, “I mean, if there was a problem I’m sure Deaton could fix it, and the pack would be here to…”

Hengstrom lurched forward, hand up. “Um, that’s not…” he swallowed, “I mean, I’m certain that Druid Deaton is very skilled, but this magic is specialized, and he wouldn’t be familiar with the process.  It’s best if the blessed can accept the return of their human status completely, make a clean break with their previous packs and limit their exposure to the supernatural.  As humans they’re so much more susceptible to injury and you wouldn’t want to endanger your family that way unnecessarily, would you?  You and your wife would be able to move on, have children, start your own veterinary practice without all of this hanging over your head.”

Scott’s frown had deepened to the point that Peter thought he could get a playing card to stick in the crease between his eyebrows.

“My wife is supernatural.” He hugged Kira tighter to him and Hengstrom frowned.

“But you said you weren’t mated to another werewolf!”

Kira looked at him, adorable confusion on her face. “He’s not.  I’m a kitsune.  I’m surprised you couldn’t feel my magic.  Dr. Deaton says it’s unmistakable. Plus… I’m pack.”

Hengstrom looked bewildered, wondering how things had gotten so out of hand.

At that point Liam stepped forward, his back stiff and eyes slitted. “It seems to me that there’s more to this rite than you initially let on. So, tell me just one thing: If Scott lets you take his wolf, what will happen to his Alpha spark?”

Peter forced his face to stillness.  Finally, someone was asking the right questions.

The mage frowned. “I’m not sure.  I’ve never removed the wolf from an Alpha before.”

The whole pack took a step towards Scott, suddenly sensing the threat to their Alpha.

“You don’t know?” Liam sounded strangled and he turned to look at Scott. “You mean you didn’t ask? You were just going to let him take your wolf and leave us all omegas?”

Scott deflated a little. “I just figured it would go to the next person in line in the pack.  Maybe you. Maybe,” he frowned, “maybe Peter. I mean, he’s been an Alpha before.  Not a good one, but still.”

Liam was livid. “You were just joking about him being crazy, Scott!  Plus, you’re a fucking True Alpha!  It isn’t like it’s got a line to revert to.  Maybe it just disappears into the ether it came from, and then what would happen?”

The mage was slowly stepping away from the angry young wolf, trying not to draw attention to himself, but Peter’s Spark was having none of it.

“All politics aside, the thing I worry most about is what would happen to Scott’s soul if you ripped the True Alpha spark out of it.  I mean, think about it Scotty.  The only reason you’re an Alpha at all is because of your soul---it’s got to be tangled up tightly in there.  If there is, what did you call it?  Tearing? When you remove the wolf?  What? Does it leave holes in his soul or something?  Mess with his aura? Is that why he shouldn’t be around supernatural stuff afterwards, because something could get in through those holes?”

Kira took her cue like a professional, one dainty hand flying to her mouth as she gasped in fear for her beloved. “Oh my God, that can’t be, right?  Nothing could get into his soul, could it?”

Hengstrom knew he was trapped.  A room full of wolves would hear if he lied. “It’s…  possible.  But, in a world of magic anything is possible.”

Kira moved to stand in front of her husband. “I’d think you’d have led with that fact.  As a matter of fact, the fact that you didn’t makes me wonder what else you don’t tell people about your precious rite.”

Mason gave a side-long look to the man. “Makes me wonder what he gets out of it.”

Peter allowed himself a smirk.  Mason certainly had potential.  He would have to spend a little more time with the boy. The True Alpha needed someone who could see through false altruism that didn’t have a history with him.  It would be much easier to get him to listen, then.

A rumble from the back of the room drew his attention.  Ah.  Reinforcements.

Alan Deaton swept into the room with all the gravitas of an opening night diva, every eye upon him, and he glided to a stop beside his  wide-eyed protégé.

“Remind me never to accept an invitation to a conclave I am unfamiliar with, Scott. It always seems to lead to trouble,” he said, dark eyes resting on the now surrounded mage.

Peter wondered if that meant that the druid had been lured away somehow, but that could be sussed out later.  Right now, he wanted to know what the man intended to do with the interloper.

Deaton was a terrible emissary, but he wasn’t a bad magic user and when Peter saw his eyes widen and a rim of green flash in them, he couldn’t help but wish he, too, could see things with druid’s sight.

Whatever it was, it didn’t make the man happy.

“Scott?” The druid didn’t look away from Hengstrom. “Have you allowed your guest access to you or any others in the pack?”

Scott shook his head, a little sheepishly. “No. We were about to get to that.  Lucky for me, Kira was here.  She seemed to know right away that something was weird.” He hugged his wife tightly, and the little fox met Peter’s eyes and smiled. Leave it to her, indeed. It was a good reminder never to get on the woman’s bad side.  He looked at Stiles and they shared an incredulous look that quickly devolved into twin smiles of satisfaction.  Working together like this behind the scenes was often frustrating, but the connection it built between the two of them wasn’t something Peter was ever going to willingly give up.

“I believe Mage Hengstrom and I have some things to discuss.  I’d appreciate it if a few of your pack members would escort him over to my offices.  Then, I think you all could do with a quick check up.  Just to make sure that there isn’t anything…  missing.” His voice softened. “Or extra.”

A noisy exodus followed, leaving Stiles and Peter alone. Together. Again.

“She’s impressive,” Peter nodded his head in the direction of Kira’s disappearing back. “I don’t know what she sees in him.”

Stiles laughed then, only a little bitterly. “She sees what I once saw in him. A bottomless well of faith and singlemindedness that sometimes,” he sighed as he watched everyone leave, “sometimes feels like devotion.  I hope she never loses it.”

Peter looked at the Spark and wished with all his heart that he could erase the heartache that Scott McCall’s fickleness had caused. Since he can’t, though, he will make do with replacing fake devotion with constancy, and human fickleness with a loyalty that the wolf-kings of old would bow down to.

“Since Alan has the mage under control, what do you say to a milkshake?  My treat.”

Stiles smiled then, weak but sincere. “And curly fries?”

Peter wrapped his arm around the Spark and guided him towards the door. “Of course, sweetheart.  What kind of man do you take me for?”

Stiles’s smile got a little more mischievous and Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer that.”

The smile brightened even more. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Zombiewolf.”

And well, if the boy’s heart stuttered on the lie Peter wasn’t going to call him out for it.

***

Peter listened to the water falling in his shower and the one monopolizing it. Again.

“Three times, Peter!” Stiles was ranting. “I told him.  I told him after the first time.  I told him again after the second time, but this is three times.” The water stopped and the glass door opened with a tiny squeak. Peter imagined what Stiles looked like, skin red from the heat of the shower and his own frustration, and wished that just once the boy was flushed and rosy in his shower for a better reason than Scott fucking McCall’s incompetence.

Peter lounged on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and waited with calculated patience. It didn’t take long.

Stiles stomped in wrapped in Peter’s robe, a wave of scented steam swirling around him and a prickle of agitated magic washed through the room causing the fine hair on Peter’s arms to stand. The Spark was actually angry this time.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Stiles stomped into Peter’s closet, opening and shutting drawers more violently than necessary, looking for something to wear.  Peter didn’t mind. His wolf loved seeing the boy in his clothes, and if he’d bought a few things that ran a little smaller just for the Spark to “steal” well, his tailor didn’t need to know.

“Can’t do what anymore, dear heart,” he asked, aiming for calm. He watched the shadows move on the floor as the boy stripped just around the corner from him. It was a good thing the Spark couldn’t hear his heart. He’d probably run out of the apartment faster than he ran from the troll earlier.

Peter was always the scariest monster when it came down to it.

“I can’t keep trying to save his ass and having him ignore me.  I can’t keep manipulating things from stage left hoping that it works out and that nobody fucking dies.” He stomped out of the closet, a pair of Peter’s jeans slung low on his hips and a V-neck that was a size too large falling off one shoulder. He tossed his towel at the hamper. He missed.  Again. At least some things never changed.

“Mason almost died tonight, Peter,” Stiles flopped, all long legs and arms like a puppet with its strings cut, on the end of the bed. “If Liam hadn’t doubled back for him, he wouldn’t have had a chance.  And it could have all been avoided if Scott had just listened to me.”

Peter rumbled sympathetically. Stiles needed comfort, not fuel for the Scott McCall Is A Terrible Friend fire.

The Spark sighed and dropped back onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He’d gotten better in the years since Peter bit Scott.  He was stronger. Had more stamina. Had magic to reinforce his bat when he swung it, and potions to help him heal faster when he didn’t manage to get through a fight unscathed… but he was still human, and he was tired.

“You did what you could, sweetheart,” Peter tried to console, but it was hard. He’d love to point out every flaw, every shortcoming, every insult and betrayal, but his boy was smart. He already knew all those things; pointing them out would just hurt. “It’s Scott.  It isn’t like he’s finally going to learn a lesson from all of this.  Deaton will support him no matter what, and until either he or Kira force him to change, he won’t.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a long time.  If his breathing hadn’t stayed the same Peter would have thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Scott won’t change, so it’s up to me.” The words were soft, but very final sounding.

“What’s up to you? Do you have a plan for forcing him to change?”

Short curls shook in a negative. “I can’t change him, but I can change me.”

Peter’s wolf growled in the back of his mind at the thought of Stiles changing. He was perfect. He shouldn’t have to change because his packmate—his so called Alpha—wasn’t worth his teeth.

“And how do you intend to change? More Spark studies?”

Stiles rolled onto his side and gave Peter an assessing look. “I got a call from a pack outside of Las Vegas last week.”

Peter stiffened and curled his fingers so that Stiles wouldn’t see his popped claws. NO. He couldn’t leave. Peter wouldn’t have it. He’d…

“Calm down, Zombiewolf,” Stiles said, sitting the rest of the way up and smirking a little. “It wasn’t like that. They aren’t looking for a new packmate, they just need a little help.”

Peter felt the panic drain away, and a new kind of caution take its place. Trust his boy to read him so well. He’d have to be more careful.

“What kind of help?”

“Seems they have themselves an aqrabuamelu.” Stiles watched him for recognition, and Peter couldn’t help feeling satisfaction when the Spark looked proud that he nodded.

“Scorpion man. Not native to the area…  how’d it get to Nevada?”

Stiles shrugged carelessly, the V-neck hanging even lower to expose the shadow of a collarbone. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think the Spark was teasing him. “What happens in Vegas rarely stays in Vegas, dude.  I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet someone brought the fucker in for some sort of supernatural freak show and it got away from them.” He grinned, looking all of ten years old and full of mischief. “Like the alligators in the sewers where someone flushes an overgrown pet.”

Peter shook his head. The boy was a menace. “I’m assuming they don’t know how to handle the creature?”

“Got it in one.  They’ve heard about our successes in driving off weird monsters and were wondering if we could help.  I thought about telling Scott and seeing if he wanted to curry some favor with a relatively close pack, but…”

Peter watched and waited.  Then he prompted. “But…?”

“But… I was thinking maybe I’d go out there and take care of it for them. Maybe negotiate a non-treaty kind of fee for assistance.  Like a contract hit without the Mob, I mean, Pack involvement.”

It wasn’t a bad idea.  As long as McCall didn’t get his knickers in a knot over Stiles killing things again. That problem didn’t seem to be that much of a factor in Stiles’s calculations, though.

“McCall won’t like it.  He’s made it clear how he feels about this kind of extermination.” There was no judgment in his tone, but Peter couldn’t let him commit to something like this without being sure he knew what he was getting into.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem.  Not after yesterday.” Stiles’s scent soured under the cucumber-citrus bodywash.

“Yesterday?”

The Spark flopped back onto the bed again, this time more hopeless than boneless. “Yeah. When I was trying to convince Scott about my plan for the trolls, he said it again.”

Fuck.  That idiot.

“You know he doesn’t mean it.” Peter tried to soothe, but he was just a little too angry on Stiles’s behalf for it to be truly soothing.

“Oh, he meant it.  And I know he meant it because of this.” A long arm shot up from the bed and the Spark shook the thin black leather band dangling from it. “I made it last new moon. A charm bracelet to beat all charm bracelets.  Take that, Pandora!” There was an almost hysterical edge to his tone. “The emissary of the Parker pack taught me how to make it.  She uses one to allow her to stand on equal footing with her wolves—she can scent them and listen to their hearts with it, even though she’s human.”

Peter couldn’t stop the rising of his eyebrows as he stared at the innocent looking thing. Stiles had been able to hear his heart. To read his scent. His brain spun in denial. For a month.

Stiles hadn’t said anything, though, so he would do the same.  Maybe he could salvage things.

“So, you listened to his heart when the two of you were planning?” He tried to steer the conversation back onto slightly less terrifying ground.

“You mean when he told me, again, that I shouldn’t worry about planning because I wasn’t pack?” Pain was threaded through Stiles’s words, but under it there was a clear note of just being done with it all. “Yep. And Scott’s heart was clear as day---not a flutter to be heard. He truly believes I’m not pack, and if the Alpha says I’m not pack, then I’m not pack.  That means, among other things, that that self-same Alpha can’t tell me what to do.  As a best friend Scott could still do that, but he hasn’t been a friend, not to mention a best friend, in a long time I think.”

Peter didn’t argue.  The brat had been many things over the past few years, but a good friend was rarely on that list, and even more rarely as far as it applied to Stiles.

“I don’t believe McCall will see it that way,” Peter poked at the argument gingerly, trying to see where Stiles was going with this. “Is that why you’re telling me? Do you want me to cover for you while you’re away?”

He couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by the idea that Stiles would be moving on without him, but he knows that getting out of Beacon Hills even for a little while would only do the boy good.  As long as he intended to come back.

“No,” Stiles shook his head and levered himself up and off the bed, whiskey brown eyes fixed on his in the lamplight. “I want you to come with me. I mean… how often are you going to get a chance to face off with an aqrabuamelu? Plus, Vegas. Who wouldn’t want to go to Vegas?”

Peter’s wolf sneered. Who wouldn’t want to surround themselves with perfumed, alcohol soaked, despair ridden people in buildings full of too-bright lights, and bells and whistles shrieking twenty-four hours a day?

“Sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” He found himself saying, even knowing that the Spark would hear the lie. “When do we leave?”

Stiles grinned—a wide, true thing that made Peter’s chest tighten. “Well, first we need to swing by Home Depot.  I need to buy a fuckton of diatomaceous earth.”

***

They stood in the Vegas packhouse, a wolf and a Spark, covered in diatomaceous earth and blood.

“I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Spark Stilinski,” the Alpha would have bowed if there had been an ounce less steel in her spine, Peter was sure. As it was, she dipped her head in thanks and held out a leather satchel full of goods. “I know you hadn’t expected to walk into a hostage situation, and because of that I’ve added a few,” she made a vague gesture to the bag, “items to our payment agreement.  My niece’s life is priceless to me; I only hope that this is satisfactory recompense.”

Stiles took the bag and shrugged it over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that, Alpha Garcia, but your generosity is appreciated. I’m just glad that Peter and I were able to help.”

The Alpha looked at Peter and he forced himself to stillness.  A Beta this far from his Alpha, without his Alpha’s approval… well let’s just say he didn’t want to get into the matter if he didn’t have to.  I appeared that today was going to be a good day, though, as Alpha Garcia just nodded to him as well.

“The two of you fight well together,” she said, “I can see how it works.” She looked between the two guests, filthy and tired, and bowed deeply. “Your sister would be happy to see you so settled, Beta Hale.  May your moons be ever bright.”

Peter felt his breath catch and chanced a glance at Stiles, but the Spark’s expression didn’t change except for a tiny arch of an eyebrow, almost challenging him to respond to the Alpha’s blessing. His wolf, though…  his wolf wanted to howl and preen that the Alpha thought Stiles was his mate and would bless such a union so publicly. It made the blood in his veins rush and his heart pound, and then, then, Stiles smiled, soft and fond, and he knew the little monster had let the Alpha believe they were mates from the beginning. Had wanted her to see them that way.  Had wanted all of them to see them that way.

Had wanted him that way.

Peter was many things, but a fool was not on the list.  He gave Stiles one piercing look before turning back and bowing to the Alpha, grasping this last best chance at happiness with both his clawed hands. “May your days be ever joyful. My sister spoke highly of you and your pack. Your blessing means more than I can say.  Thank you.”

He let the truth of his words ring clear and watched, fascinated, as Stiles’s skin pinked in pleasure.  Oh, how he looked forward to exploring how far down that blush went.

“Yes, Alpha Garcia,” the Spark said, not meeting Peter’s gaze. “Thank you.  But, if you don’t mind, my…” he stumbled over his words and the blush deepened when he accidentally made eye-contact, “Peter and I need to get all of this stuff off before it begins eating through our skin the way it did the aqrabuamelu’s. Spells can be made to be specific, but potions can’t really differentiate between types of skin.”

He sounded sheepish and young and it must have appealed to the Alpha’s protective instincts because she immediately acquiesced and sent them back to their hotel to rest and lick their wounds with a smile and an open invitation to visit whenever they were in the area.  It was, in Peter’s not so humble estimation, the best possible outcome.  

***

Stiles wandered out of the bathroom wrapped in an acre of terrycloth and a haze of Peter’s shower gel. Again. The boy had made a break for the bathroom claiming dibs on the first shower as soon as they’d arrived, and Peter had been impatiently waiting his turn alternately trying not to think too hard about the stuff on his skin or the naked young man in the shower. One was decidedly easier to ignore than the other.

While sitting there it occurred to him that Stiles taking over his shower and appropriating his bath products was becoming a habit he didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, he thought he could be happy smelling that particular combination of scents for the rest of his life. That was a thought for later, though. For now, he had another priority, and he pushed his way into the shower stall, determined to scrub himself raw if necessary, to get the noxious paste of blood and potion off his skin. Once he was behind the shower curtain, though, he was practically overwhelmed by Stiles’s scent. Clearly, he had been enjoying more than just getting clean, and it made Peter’s wolf whine with want. His mate was teasing him, but he’d get even soon.

It took longer than he wanted to get the hardened goo off, but he managed without causing too much secondary damage. Finally, he wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes and sauntered back into their room.

Stiles was stretched out on the bed he’d slept in the night before, eyes slitted, almost closed, and Peter could smell exhaustion on him. “Tired sweetheart?” he asked, and the boy made a grumble of acknowledgment.

“Killing giant scorpion monsters in the desert takes it out of you.  Who knew?” Stiles yawned, jaw cracking. “The desert always does this to me, though. I remember being bedridden for two days after mom dragged me and dad to White Sands National Park. It made no sense—nothing but gypsum sand for miles. Not a milkshake or a curly fry in sight.  I was miserable. At that point I was like, screw this dry heat/wet heat argument. How about a nice place where it never gets hot enough to melt your balls or cold enough to hurt your face? That sounds good to me.”

Peter perched on the edge of the bed and reached out to lightly touch Stiles’s knee. The skin was still slightly tacky with damp but soft under his fingers, and he didn’t think he imagined the delicate shudder than ran through the young man’s body. “I’m not particular,” he said. “I find that good company makes up for a multitude of environmental sins.”

Stiles looked at him, gaze steady. “So, you don’t have a dream destination? Chalet in the Alps? Cottage in the south of France?” He paused and licked his lips. “Red-tile roofed villa in Argentina?”

Peter stopped his exploration of Stiles’s skin. “Argentina? What ever made you think of Argentina?”

Stiles shifted, the robe slipping and baring yet more long leg. “Well, you said good company was important.  I thought maybe that included, I don’t know…  extended family?”

Peter’s heart stuttered at the thought. Derek and Cora. They’d been gone long enough that he’d begun to accept that he wouldn’t see them again. “I’ll admit, the idea of family has its pull, but family of choice, pack and mate, is more important.” He cupped the back of Stiles’s knee and squeezed. “I wouldn’t run off chasing rainbows when what I really want is already closer to home.”

Stiles rolled over on his side. “And what do you want, Peter?” The fact that he used Peter’s name instead of a silly nickname brought home how serious the Spark was feeling. “If you could have anything, what would you ask for?”

Peter stared down into amber eyes and gathered his courage in his claws again; facing Alpha Garcia was nothing compared to baring his soul to Stiles. “If I could have anything, I would have everything, sweetheart.” He shrugged a carefully careless shoulder, trying not to show just how vulnerable he felt. “I’d take you as my mate. I’d be an Alpha again. I’d bring Derek and Cora back and have them become pack again. We’d find our own territory—it wouldn’t have to be Beacon Hills; Hale territory stretched much farther afield than that. We’d rebuild the Hale Pack.” He dropped his gaze to his curled fingers. “Maybe adopt a couple of pups to raise. Sell our services to smaller packs to refill the coffers and regain the respect that the Hale name used to command.” He reached out and grabbed Stiles’s hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a fang-laced kiss to the knuckles there, emotions riding him too hard for him to hide them anymore. “But if all I could have was you, forever? I’d be the happiest wolf in the world.  Never doubt that.”

Stiles sat up and pulled Peter into a hug. “I’m glad you weren’t upset that I let Alpha Garcia think we were together. I thought… well, I won’t go into what I thought. I’m just glad I wasn’t wrong.  I mean, I could have been. You haven’t even tried to kiss me.”

Peter rumbled deep in his chest, arms snaking around Stiles’s waist. “An oversight I intend to rectify immediately, if not sooner.” He dragged his cheek along the Spark’s neck, scenting him heavily before pressing their lips together, reveling in his boy’s trembling breath and grasping fingers. “Kiss you. Touch you. Cover every inch of your skin in my scent so that any were that comes in contact with you can smell that you’re mine.”

Stiles’s groaned and leaned into him. “Want that,” he pressed hot lips along the edge of Peter’s jaw, and they both shivered, “want that so much. Want everything with you.”

Peter grinned into his skin. “Everything, hmmm? I like the sound of that.”

Stiles made a noise of frustration. “Yes, everything, but it’s going to have to wait at least a little bit longer.”

Peter made a moue of distaste, dropping another kiss on Stiles parted lips. Stopping was the last thing he wanted, but he refused to rush his mate in this. “I do not like the sound of that. But you’re probably starving. You’ve only eaten four times today.” He pulled Stiles tightly against his side, letting his hands trail under the edge of his robe one last time to tide his wolf over. He wasn’t a saint, after all. “Let’s put our clothes on—dear God I can’t believe I’m saying that. You are a terrible influence on me.—and I’ll take you out to dinner and to see a show. It is Las Vegas, after all.  It would be a shame to leave without seeing a tiger or Celine Dion or something.  Something that isn’t likely to attack us, anyway.”

Stiles rubbed his face into Peter’s neck, mouthing gently along the skin and nipping at it for his teasing, but there was breathless laughter in his voice when he spoke. “Yes, being attacked by Celine Dion would be terrifying. Regardless,” he said, sitting up and moving so there was a little space between them. “We at least need to go to Caesar’s Palace.”

Peter laughed, heart lighter than it had been in years. Caesar’s Palace? Why not? “Is Caesar’s Palace on your bucket list, dear heart? Or is it just the pinnacle of tourist trap kitsch and you feel the need to commune with it somehow?”

Stiles shook his head and gave him a mischievous smile. “No. It’s just that Caesar’s is where Derek and Cora are going to be staying.  They should be getting into town in about, oh,” he peeked around Peter’s shoulder and glanced at the bedside clock, “two hours.  Just long enough for us to make out a little before we have to go meet them. Or get some dinner.  Whichever you want.”

Peter was stunned. Derek and Cora were coming to Las Vegas? And Stiles had already arranged it? What else did his Spark have planned? He looked down at the force of nature in his arms and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to find such a perfect mate. He forced his words through a dry mouth. “And what if I want everything, Stiles?”

Golden eyes glowed and the mischief faded into determination. “Then you’ll have everything, Peter. I knew when I made this move what I wanted; luckily, my wish list and yours are almost identical.  I know that you were waiting until I was ready before you made any sort of move, but you were never going to believe that I was unless I did something drastic, so… I did something drastic. The Alpha’s blessing was an unexpected bonus. Derek and Cora were the easy part. They know you’re not perfect, and it’s going to take a lot of work to build your relationship back to anywhere near where it needs to be, but they’re willing to give it a chance if you are.”

“And the rest?” Peter asked, almost afraid of the answer. “There’s no pack without an Alpha, and I lost my red eyes a long time ago, sweetheart.”

Long fingers combed through the scruff of his beard. “About that,” Stiles tilted his head to one side and smiled. “I got a call from an Alpha in Saskatchewan. Seems they have a rogue Alpha running around biting people without asking first, and you know what they say.”

“No, sweetheart,” Peter said, closing the space between them, thoughts flashing through his mind and hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “What do they say?”

Stiles pressed even closer. “Well, it’s like it was the garage.” He held his wrist up and shook the little black bracelet that covered his pulse point just a breath away from Peter’s fangs. “Consent is sexy.”

Peter stared at the limb, longing to bury his teeth in the tendons, and thought, not for the first time, that this boy would either be the life or death of him.

***

“Canada?” Scott sounded confused.  It was sad that Peter could identify the flavor of confusion.  This one was Someone is offering me something that’s too good to be true, and I want to believe them, but the last time I did I ended up with no motorbike, a pocket full of magic beans, and sleeping on the couch.

There was a reason Kira was Peter’s favorite packmate.  Or… soon to be ex-packmate if all went well.

“Yes, Canada, Scott. There’s a pack in Saskatchewan that Talia had a treaty with, and they’ve reached out and asked if I could come up and help them with a training program for some of their younger wolves.  They don’t have much interaction with other packs because they’re so isolated, and their Left Hand is getting old enough that he isn’t able to keep up with the young ones’, ah, enthusiasm.”

Scott grinned. “You mean you’re volunteering to move to the Great White North and let a bunch of teenagers beat up on you?”

Peter sneered a little. “It isn’t like I don’t have experience with it.” He gave the teenagers that surrounded them a significant look. “And they don’t have anyone else to turn to.  I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a little… time away. In the name of pack inter-relations.”

Scott waved a hand. “No. No, of course not. Take all the time you need.” He looked at Liam and grinned. “In Canada. I’ll let Deaton know that you’ll pass our good wishes on to the Alpha there.  Hey, maybe we can even get some sort of treaty out of it.”

Peter simply stared. “Perfect.  I’ll have their emissary contact Alan after I arrive. In the meantime, since I’m not going to be in residence, but since I intend to keep the property in my portfolio the pack should continue to use the loft as a base. I know it is hard on Kira to try to host everyone at your apartment.” He gave the kitsune a half-smile and she nodded back, grateful of his consideration.  He almost felt guilty for all the listening devices he’d hidden around the loft over the past week.

Almost.

With Scott McCall and Alan Deaton in charge, it paid to keep a close eye on things.

“Alpha McKittrick is expecting me by the beginning of next week.  Will that be a problem?”

McCall looked like Christmas, New Year’s and his birthday had all come at once. “Not at all. Not at all. Next week sounds great, doesn’t it, gang?”

The gaggle of teenagers made approving noises, even if Mason and Kira shared a look that held more understanding than Peter was comfortable with.  It didn’t matter. As long as they kept their thoughts to themselves for a couple of weeks, everything should go as planned.

He’d braced himself for questions when he returned from Nevada, but no one had even missed him. He didn’t know whether it was better or worse that McCall hadn’t realized that Stiles had been gone as well, but he’d take the oversight it if it meant that his mate had less confrontation to deal with, even if it meant having to face the unpleasant fact that his former best friend had completely left him behind.

Peter couldn’t wait until the truth came out and McCall realized what he’d thrown away. He’d be a laughingstock amongst the packs, no matter what his pet druid told him, and he’d known men like this True Alpha before.  Looking the fool was the one thing they couldn’t abide. It would eat him alive, and Peter looked forward to watching the feast.

He cast a look around and realized that the next time he saw these faces it would be with an Alpha Mate Spark and red eyes. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t come fast enough.

***

Alpha power scoured through him, blasting away at his control and consciousness, and he howled in pain and confusion as his soul was re-written.

“Hell of a power-up, huh, Zombiewolf?” Stiles was there by him, hands warm against his wrists, magic washing over him like warm ocean waves, voice soothing and comforting the terrified animal in his mind, and Peter nodded to show he was there and aware even if speech was impossible around the mouthful of fangs he was sporting.

“You’ve got this,” his mate sounded so confident, so calm, “you’re stronger than you were last time. Better.  You’re going to be an amazing Alpha.  My Alpha, Peter. My mate. Just hang on a little longer for me, okay?”

Peter could feel Derek and Cora running over the snow-covered ground.  They’d stayed out of the fight on his order; he wouldn’t have been able to focus if he’d been worried about their safety, too.  Stiles had also stayed back, but his skills worked from a distance, and his added magic made the fight much less painful than it would have otherwise been.

He remembered what the Las Vegas Alpha had said, that they fought well together.  It was true.  They did everything well together. As Alpha mates they would be amazing together.

A rumble started low in his belly at the thought, hungry and wanting, and he breathed in Stiles’s scent—ozone and petrichor, the camphor of ancient forests, the sweet notes of apple and woodsmoke, and over it all Peter’s own god-damned shower gel—and he managed to put hid fangs away, his desire to keep his mate safe stronger than the wolf’s yearning to rip and tear and wallow in the meat of battle.

“You with me, Peter?” Long fingers stroked up his arms, and Peter nodded. Stiles let out a satisfied hum. “Told you. Told you you’d be perfect like this. Powerful. Beautiful. Perfect Alpha. Just perfect.”

And it felt perfect—like he always it imagined it would after he watched Talia become Alpha. Like it should have felt when he took the spark from Laura.—red tingeing the edges of golden pack bonds between him and Derek and Cora. He could sense their emotions now, their hunger for a strong pack, their hope that he’ll become the Alpha they need as well as the family they want. And Stiles? Even without the bond in place yet, his wolf knows his mate. He could pick that heartbeat out of a thousand.  Could scent him from a mile away. Already his in so many ways.

“Think you can stand up now?” Stiles asks and Peter realizes they were still crouched in the snow where he’d fallen after killing the rogue, legs knocked out from under him by the strength of the Alpha spark.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, pushing to his feet and pulling the younger man up with him. “If I needed to, I think I could almost fly.”

Stiles snorted and gave his chest a thump. “Riding that high, are we?” Derek and Cora were standing just beyond arms reach sharing a smile and for once Peter didn’t feel like he was being laughed at. No. His pack was laughing with him, joyous in the moment, and he shook his head and let them laugh.

“It feels,” Peter tried to find the perfect words and couldn’t, but he needed to explain somehow. “Good. Right. Last time it didn’t feel like this, but now it’s like a shoe that was too tight finally stretched and now fits.”

Derek nodded. “That’s what happened when I was Alpha. It was like the Alpha power didn’t fit. I thought at the time it was just because I hadn’t been trained for it, but I think it’s more than that. I think the person has to fit the Alpha-power instead of the other way around. Whether that’s from birth or growth or whatever:  you can’t fake it and have it work right.  This,” he waved a hand at Peter and looked at Cora for confirmation. “This feels right.”

Cora leaned into her big brother and Peter could see relief in every line of her body, as if she’d finally been allowed to stand down from a perpetual state of alertness. “It does.  It hasn’t felt like this in a long time.  Not since…” her voice faded, and Derek hugged her hard. “Not since mom.”

Stiles had been silent during this exchange, allowing the remaining Hales their moment of healing, but he wasn’t one to be quiet for long. “Awesome. Glad to hear it. Couldn’t be happier about it, and am looking forward to talking about it more, but as the token human I need to say something.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be, dear one? Have you some hidden wisdom concerning the nature of the Alpha spark?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, but I do have some wisdom concerning the care and keeping of pack humans. The instruction manual says that humans aren’t meant to be kept out in the snow this long, and that means that if you three wolfy space-heaters don’t get me inside soon, I’m going to be a Spark-cicle.”

Peter barked out a laugh and swung his mate-to-be up in a bridal carry, pulling him against his chest  and letting him bury his face in the heat of his neck. “Well, there are too many things that I’d miss if they froze and fell off, so I suppose we should head back to the cars. I, at least,” he wrinkles his nose and then rubs it into Stiles’s hair, “need to change. I don’t think the hotel will let me in looking like a serial killer.”

Stiles smirked into his skin. “I’m sure hunting is a thing around here. You could always say that Bambi fought back---if your wolfy pride could stand it.”

His wolf chuffed at the insult. A deer got the better of an Alpha werewolf? Never. Peter sniffed dismissively. “I’d rather walk up to the reception desk naked.”

He didn’t tell the Spark that his murmured I wouldn’t mind wasn’t quiet enough to not be heard, but the peal of laughter from his niece and nephew made it clear.  At least Stiles’s ears were warm after that.

***

Later that evening they lay together bundled up in blankets in front of an unlit fireplace.  Stiles had lined every shelf in the cabin with battery powered candles and had brought out a pair of enchanted logs that he placed on the andirons.  They radiated heat without flame, and Peter had to fight back tears in the face of his Spark’s sensitivity. Maybe it was the new Alpha power making him overly emotional.  Maybe it was just Stiles.

It was probably just Stiles.

“Feeling okay, Z?” Stiles rolled in his arms and looked at him with concern. Apparently, he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. “Not having Alpha blowback or anything, are you?”

Peter tightened his hold and shook his head, trying to find his voice. “No.  I was just thinking about how I never thought I’d get this.”

His boy nodded and settled back down. “You’d probably written the whole Alpha thing off.  I’m glad it worked out, though.  Thanks for going through with it.  I know it’s hard.”

Peter shook his head again. “That’s not it.  Honestly, the Alpha spark has been the easiest part of all of this.  I’d always believed that I’d manage to get my Alphahood back someday.  It’s…”

A cold nose pressed against the side of his neck and Peter could feel him nod more than see it. “Having Derek and Cora back. Family. Pack. I get it.”

That just made the wolf growl and grumble in the back of his mind, because clearly he didn’t get it.  He didn’t get it at all. “No, Stiles, that isn’t what I meant either.  Don’t you understand yet?  All these other things?” He tried to calm his voice, but his wolf was riding him to make his mate understand. “The pack, my niece and nephew, the Alpha spark---all of these are wonderful, and I wouldn’t give them up for anything now that I have them, but they would never have happened without you.  You are the everything.  You are my everything. I never thought I would find a mate, find my soul’s match. Hell, for more than half my life I was convinced I didn’t have a soul, and then you came along. Brighter than any flame. Stronger than any force of Nature. You crashed into my life and nothing has been the same and I am so fucking grateful.”

He pulled Stiles up so he could look into the whiskey depths he dreamed of every night. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” Stiles opened his mouth to argue, because his boy always argued, and Peter shushed him. “No. I mean it.  If I hadn’t scented you in the woods.  Hadn’t had you so close to me in the garage. If you hadn’t killed me and then taken me back in when I was too stubborn to stay dead. If you hadn’t found something in me to value, something you could care about…” he pressed their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t be here.”

Peter resettled them, pressed his lips against Stiles’s temple, and listened to his heart race in his chest. “I am a selfish bastard. I’ve been called a narcissist more times than I can count and until the past few years I’d have agreed with that assessment and embraced it proudly.  Now, though, I know it isn’t true because I know, just as surely as I know your scent and the sound of your heart, that there is no me without you.”

Stiles laid in his arms unnaturally still. “Oh.”

That one syllable conveyed a whole conversation full of self-doubt and fear and isolation and yearning, and Peter’s wolf finally settled when a sweet cherry-blossom note of hope threaded through the Spark’s scent. “You really mean it. It isn’t just that I’m useful.”

Peter frowned and a frustrated rumble rolled through him. “You’re everything. You could sit on the couch and read comic books and demand foot rubs and curly fries every day for the rest of my life and I would thank the Moon that I had you to love and cherish and care for. You’re my mate, Stiles.”

“I just thought that since you hadn’t…” Stiles’s voice faded into an insecure mumble and Peter recognized the damage he’d done by not explaining himself earlier.

“Sweetheart, if the only thing on the table had been our relationship, I would have asked you to mate me as soon as you were legal.  First, though, there was the problem of McCall, because as much as I loathe the brat, he was important to you and I wasn’t going to ask you to choose between us. If I’m honest, I was afraid if I pushed, you’d choose him, and I wasn’t willing to give up the parts of you I had for a slim chance at more.  After Las Vegas, everything was different.  I knew you wanted me, and I wanted you more than anything—there were full moons I had to leave Beacon Hills so I wouldn’t find you and drag you off to my bedroom to mark you, to mate you, to make you mine in ways that no were could mistake.  You had a plan, though, and if that worked out, we could have everything together, and I wanted to give you that, to give you everything. I couldn’t mate you before I fought the Alpha, though.”  He squeezed tighter. “If… if it hadn’t worked…  If I failed to defeat the rogue, you would have suffered terribly if you had a mate bond already in place. You’re not a wolf, but as a Spark, you’d have felt all of it—all my pain—and if I’d died? Well, let’s just say I wasn’t willing to run the risk of putting you through that.”

Stiles was shaking in his arms by that point, and Peter ran a comforting hand down his spine. “The worst didn’t happen, though, and now that the threat has passed, I want you in every way I can have you.” He grasped the boy’s chin in his hand and turned his face so he could see him in the flickering candlelight. His eyes were wide and wet, his lips pink and bitten, and Peter had never seen anything more beautiful. “Can I have you, sweetheart?” He was so close they were sharing breath. “Will you be my mate? Be my everything?”

He should have been expecting it, but the Spark still managed to catch him by surprise, lunging up and flipping them in their blankets until Peter’s back was against the couch and he had a lap of warm, clinging boy. He waited for the Alpha wolf to rebel, to push back and demand submission, but all it did was rumble pleasure at his strong mate.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Stiles dropped a kiss on Peter’s open lips, chaste and sweet, and then another, this one hot and hungry, while threading his fingers through the short hair at Peter’s nape. He tugged gently and the wolf tipped his head back so his mate could lick into his jugular notch. The Spark made a low satisfied noise before pulling away and smiling, trust and happiness glowing in his eyes and magic flaring and rippling around them.

Peter remembered something his Grandfather had told him, long ago under a forgotten full moon: “Faint heart never won fair maiden.” His life had proven that to be true. If he hadn’t finally bitten the bullet, finally put himself on the line, he’d have missed this.  Missed everything.

He pulled Stiles back down into another kiss and then flipped them back over, pinning his boy under him. Stiles squawked in surprise and Peter grinned. His mate was going to hate finding out he was the fair maiden in their story, but Peter had definitely come out on top this time.  

Maybe next time he’d let Stiles come out on top.  He was flexible.

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 51-56

This is the “Seras Coming of Age” part of Hellsing, but the chapters are all one-off titles: “Last Mission”, “Get Away”, “Yaksa”, “The Man I Love”, “Ogre Battle”, and “Angelous,”

Last time, Zorin Blitz’s company invaded the Hellsing HQ, and Seras managed to kill them all except for Zorin herself, and then she used her psychic whammy, forcing Seras to relive some traumatic moment.   We saw one of the Wild Geese get this same treatment, and he briefly saw his dead daughter before Zorin killed him.  As for Seras, she relives the deaths of her parents.   Years ago, two guys barged into their home and shot them.   The circumstances aren’t entirely clear, but they must have had some forewarning, since Seras’ mom hid her in a closet and told her not to come out no matter what.   But when she saw what they did to them, Seras became so enraged that she attackedthe men and stabbed one in the eye with a fork.  

The other guy shot Seras, and while she must have survived, she remembers laying on the floor as the guy she stabbed decides to rape her mother.   I’m not even sure “rape” is the right word, since she was already dead, but the guy doesn’t care because the body is “still warm.”   You’d think he’d be too upset about losing an eye, but maybe he’s high on cocaine or something.

I don’t think you need me to tell you this, gentle reader, but hol-ee shit this dark.   We knew Seras’ parents died when she was young, and it wouldn’t be hard to speculate that they died in some violent crime, but Seras watched it happen, and she stabbed a dude in the face, only to get shot herself, and she watched her mother’s body getting molested before she passed out.  

And this gives us some insight into what Alucard saw in her that night in Cheddar.  There, Seras was surrounded by ghouls, many of them her comrades in the police department, and a vampire who promised to rape her before drinking her blood.   Alucard found it remarkable how she persevered in this horror, but now we see that may not even be the worst thing that ever happened to her.  It’s not even the first time she got shot!  

And from the earlier flashback we saw, Seras was hellbound to become a police officer like her father.  After a trauma like this, it’s amazing that she’d want anything to do with the police, since those men killed her father for digging “too deep” into whatever they were involved in.  But Seras quietly, defiantly chose to follow in her father’s footsteps, only to suffer a similar fate. 

Because, let’s not forget, Seras is dead.   She died in Cheddar, because Alucard had to shoot through her to kill the vampire who had taken her hostage.   Then she agreed to become a vampire like him, and join the Hellsing Organization.   Once more, she has quietly, defiantly, chosen to carry on in this life of public service.  

But none of that matters to Zorin Blitz.   She just wanted to dredge up all this trauma to keep Seras preoccupied long enough for Zorin to do this...

Oh, also she lopped off Seras’ left arm, but I liked this impalement panel better. 

On top of that, Zorin slashes Seras’ eyes, which was pretty gruesome and shocking.   When I started watching the Hellsing Ultimate OVA, I couldn’t wait to see what happened next, so I trawled YouTube for clips of Seras, so I had a pretty good idea where the character was headed, and noticed that late-story Seras was missing a left arm.   So Zorin cutting it off didn’t surprise me much, but everything else she did to her was a surprise.

Then, just as Zorin seems to be ready to finish Seras off, Pip Bernadotte gets the drop on her and whacks her with the butt of his rifle.    Machine gun?   Semiautomatic?   I don’t know from guns.    He hits her with it, is my point.   Then he shoots her with a different gun to put the exclamation point on it.

There’s two other guys left in the Wild Geese, and they toss smoke grenades to cover Pip as he tries to carry Seras to safety, but he’s wounded, and then a Millennium soldier wakes up and shoots him in the thighs.   Was that guy playing possum?  The Geese take him out, and Pip even makes it back to them, but I’m not sure what good that does anybody.   Then Zorin gets back up and cuts him down with her scythe.    I don’t think she chops him in half or anything, but he’s not getting back up again, that’s for sure. 

Seras calls out to him, and he steals another kiss.   I guess he forgot about the last time, because he acts like he “finally” managed to do this.   Then he asks Seras to drink his blood, which will allow her to win.   I guess someone must have explained enough vampire lore to Pip for him to have figured this out.    Maybe Seras herself told him how it worked, which makes it doubly-meaningful for him to say this to her now.  

And Seras starts wailing with grief, before Zorin finally mocks her for it, calling Pip an insect.   I’ve seen a few people poke fun at this scene, because it’s kind of weird for Zorin to just stand by while Pip and Seras have this final moment together, but Zorin’s a sadist.   Much of what she’s done in these past several chapters has been about reveling in her enemies’ suffering.    She took her sweet time with Seras earlier, which was the only reason Pip managed to help her, and now she’s taking her sweet time again, like she’s enjoying this drama. 

So Zorin uses her psychic whammy again, but this time it doesn’t work on Seras.   Maybe because Seras is already in the middle of a terrible trauma in the here and now.   She couldn’t do anything to avenge her parents back then, and she was powerless against the Cheddar Priest, but this time?   This time she knows exactly what to do.

VENIT AEVUS ILLE, O MESSIAH, O MESSIAH

YUDULIYA-VELE YUDULIYA-VELE

EN ESE MOMENTO ZORIN BLITZ SINTIO EL VERDADERO TERROR.

So yeah, this rocks.    The anime version does this cool thing where all the blood soaks up into her clothes and stains them red.   Maybe the manga was going for the same thing, but it’s harder to tell in black and white.   I find it kind of strange how Seras’ eyes grow back, but her left arm does not.    I’m pretty sure she could reform her arm, but chooses not to.   Instead, she’s got this black ectoplasm-y thing, like the same black stuff that Alucard uses when he’s not holding back as much.

Then Seras starts slaughtering Zorin’s men.   Didn’t she already kill them all?  Yeah, but there’s more.   The anime tries to cover for this by having Zorin explain that some “late arrivals” showed up.  Well, they did have to enter the building single file to get past the mines, so it makes sense that Zorin would keep some in reserve in case there were more traps inside. 

Seras is my favorite character in this whole thing, and since these pages of her kickin’ ass speak for themselves, I guess I’ll talk about why I like her so much.    I’m pretty sure I saw a cosplay photo of her on tumblr, and I found the design intriguing.   She’s a vampire, but dressed in something like a military uniform, kind of like the “Bridge Bunnies” in Macross. I looked up Seras to find out what she was from, and I was like “Oh, Hellsing was the show Team Four Star has been abridging, I guess I need to watch that anyway so I can watch the Abridged version and get the jokes.”

Mostly, I just like the idea of a vampire with a very professional mentality, as opposed to the whole Lost Boys/What We Do in the Shadows/Buffy kind of aesthetic.    Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but we see that sort of thing all the time.   I’ve also seen a lot of “reluctant” vampires in my time.    Vampires who try to avoid doing any vampire stuff, or going about their business like the vampirism is just this inconvenient obstacle.   Hellsing presents this other option, where vampires like Alucard are used for the purpose of anti-vampire countermeasures.   He’s been turned into a weapon, but he’s basically just Dracula with a fresh coat of paint.   Seras is more firmly rooted in the concept.  Alucard was a vampire who became a sort of cop, and Seras is a cop who became a vampire. 

And while I liked the idea of Seras being like “Oh, well I didn’t want to be a vampire but I’ll try to make the best of it”, I quickly found out that she wasn’t just a cop with pointy teeth.   There’s moments where she can be scary and creepy too.   “Sir, yes sir, my Master.”  It sums her up very neatly.   This is a vampire who can be polite and respectful and professional, but she can also get very deep into the more horrific aspects of this thing.   She’s got layers.  Zorin Blitz tried to peel them back, and look how that’s working out for her.

Once the rank and file goons are dealt with, Seras goes after Blitz, and just wrecks her shit.   Blitz tries to punch Seras in the face and it does nothing.   Seras just bites all her fingers off and spits ‘em out.   Then she announces that she refuses to drink Zorin’s blood, not a single drop. This is important, because Seras was always reluctant to drink blood.  She said she feared that drinking blood would mean the end of something inside of her, but now she’s crossed that Rubicon.   One might suspect that she’d suddenly want to drink more blood, but no.  She drank Pip’s as a means to an end.   Zorin’s blood would serve no higher purpose, and I think there’s an implication that she doesn’t want to dishonor Pip’s sacrifice.  Desperate, Zorin tries to use her power on Seras a third time, and then this happens:

  Okay, so at first Zorin sees Seras’ memories, like before, but now there’s all this stuff from Pip’s memories, and then Warrant Officer Shrodinger, of all people, shows up.   Zorin is confused by this, but he explains that he’s “everywhere and nowhere,” which means he can appear in this psychic vision just as easily as he can teleport between Brazil and England.

Schrodinger is here to pass along a message from the Major.  See, Zorin disobeyed his orders, and he would normally punish her for this, but he and the Doctor are busy with a “most interesting toy”, so they’ll just leave it to Seras to take care of punishing Zorin.  

Yesterday, I think I figured out what Zorin’s disobedience was.    Before I was confused because she didn’t start attacking until Seras opened fire on her blimp, and that only happened because Seras was shooting at the rockets fired by the Major.   Everything that Zorin did afterwards could be considered a matter of self-defense, but therein lies the problem.    Namely, what was Zorin’s blimp doing in the line of fire to begin with?  

Because once Seras shot her down, everything Zorin did next was sort of her only option.   She pretty much had to attack the mansion, and brave its defenses, whatever those happened to be.   And the Major knew that this was a big unknown.   He warned Zorin about Seras Victoria and while he didn’t seem to know exactly what her abilities were, he regarded her as an “arch-enemy” on the same level as Alucard.  That’s why he wanted Zorin to hold off and wait for the rocket attack.   It was intended to probe the mansion’s defenses, and once it became clear that they had anti-aircraft guns, and that Seras was eagle-eyed enough to shoot down their rockets, then the Major could have ordered Zorin to find a different way.   

But instead she was too close and gave Seras a target, which precipitated everything else, up to and including this:

Yeah, Seras just drags Zorin across the walls until her whole head smears apart.   Cool!

With Zorin dead, Seras delcares her intention to take the fight to the enemy, and the last three Wild Geese salute her before she leaves.   One way or another, they realize that Pip has become a part of Seras now, and they pay their last respects to him through her. 

Then Seras flies toward London, using her left arm-thing to make cool bat wings.    And this is a good illustration of what Seras is all about.  Once, she might have been horrified at the thought of doing something like this, but now she sees it as a way to carry on with her duty.    This was what Alucard had been trying to get her to understand, but sometimes you just have to work these things out in your own way.   Seras is about utility, and now that she has a use for these vampiric powers, she’s finally prepared to embrace them as her own.

In London, Schrodinger reports back to the Major and informs him of Zorin Blitz’s death.  He’s not surprised, and even declares “our ruin has begun”.   Schrodinger points out that he’s leading everyone, friend and foe alike, into destruction, and the Major simply observes that this is war.   Millennium didn’t come to London to win, they came to London to fight.

Then the Ninth Crusade shows up.  Recall that, earlier, Enrico Maxwell organized a military response to deal with the Millennium invasion of London, but he hasn’t come here to save the civilian population.   Instead, he’s treating them as enemies, just like the Nazi vampires.    Somehow, there’s still living people in the city, and as dawn approaches, they see Maxwell’s helicopters putting off some sort of light show.  I don’t know what you call this, but the people on the ground think it’s angels, and then Maxwell orders his men to open fire.

I want to point out that the newly promoted Archbishop Maxwell is riding into this battle in a special truck with a glass box for him to sit in.   He’s surrounded by microphones so he can address his troops and the people below.   Also the truck is hanging from a helicopter.   It’s stupid and pointless and over-the-top, so naturally the Major is highly impressed with Maxwell’s style. 

[tonio-dawson]

A crossroad

Antonio x Halstead!Reader

Word count: 1,783

Summary: AU where Antonio stays in the unit until season 7 (because I don’t like how he got written out :)). He found himself at a crossroad where he thinks he isn’t the right fit for the team anymore. Reader is Jay’s sister working as a Detective at another precinct.

Antonio walked up to your place, you could hear his footsteps even before his keys reached your apartment door. “It’s not lock-” you screamed from your kitchen but he already made his way inside. He took off his boots and his jacket, and made his way to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

You looked at him, he hadn’t said a word but he glanced at you finally recognizing your presence. “Sorry babe, thought you’re still at work,” he said while taking a swig leaning back to the fridge. His jaw clenched, his eyes were filled with fire, as if he’s ready for a fight.

“Woah, I’d say welcome home, but what happened? Rough day?” You turned to him, spatula on your hand. “Something like that,” he sighed.

“Wanna talk about it over this Arroz con Pollo once it’s ready?” You asked softly.

“I guess,” he gulped his beer this time.

“And maybe give your girlfriend a kiss before you go shower and change?” you walked toward him this time, pursing a smile.

His gazed softened as he reached his arms out to you and pulled you into a hug, “I’m sorry. It’s been really tough at the office today. And we’ve promised each other not to let work gets in between us.” he mumbled on your shoulder. You can feel that something is weighing on him.

“And you did not. Not yet anyway.” you pulled away and kissed his cheek, “Now go shower and we can have dinner,” he nodded and made his way to the bathroom.

Antonio was much calmer after his shower, much more after he filled his stomach with food, “This is soooo good, almost as good as mine.” he smiled. Usually you’d throw a napkin or anything within proximity at him but knowing he had a rough day you just chuckled, “If that’s your way to say ‘thank you my beautiful girlfriend, food is delicious’ I say you’re welcome,” you smiled.

“Of course I meant thank you, ‘almost as good’ is the highest of compliment,” said Antonio while finishing his plate. His expression changed to a tired face as he let out a sigh, “You don’t know how much I need this after today,”

“What happened? Ruzek picked a fight with you again?” You asked.

“Hmm.. yeah, he was on my list of problems today. But…” He trailed off and left his word hanging.

“But what? I’m sorry, it must have been a very hard day.” you looked deeply into him.

“Yeah, I don’t know if this is right… but I’m thinking to quit Intelligence.” he was hesitant at the beginning however his raspy voice was loud and clear when he mentioned about quitting.

You’re at loss for words, trying to control your expression. You didn’t even know whether to stop him from doing it or to support his thinking.

“I…are you, are you sure?” You stuttered.

Antonio sighed even longer this time, “That’s the thing, I’m not sure.” He grabbed another beer from the fridge and took a seat on the couch after clearing up the table.

You’re still sitting at the dining table, frozen, running different words to say to him.

“Babe?” He glanced at you.

You snapped back to reality and made your way to the couch, sitting next to him. “I’m sorry. I’m at loss for words. Don’t know what to say.” you said honestly, “I thought you love working at Intelligence,” you gazed softly at him.

“Yeah, I do. I like working the case. Our cases are always the toughest one, we put away the evil of evil and make the city safer. That’s what I love about being part of the team.” Antonio explained, you sensed a but coming.

“But…you know how Voight and the unit works. It’s not always conventional,” he continued.

“Yes, but you already know that.” you replied and he nodded at your sentence, “Most of the time it worked to our benefit. But lately, every one is trying to be like Voight, you know? Using any means necessary to solve a case. Maybe, except your brother. But Jay’s also has his way of letting things happen. And I can’t. I can’t do it. Not anymore.” he shook his head.

Antonio went on explaining how the last few years went down for him and the team. How they dealt with Al’s murderer - how Ruzek blamed him over not standing up for Voight though it wasn’t the case, how Voight handled Lopez, how Burgess let Q brought a gun to a sting and ended up killing the target, how Upton took care of Vanessa’s mess by planting evidence, the list goes on. And Antonio always got caught in the middle not wanting to condone their actions though not condemning either. But because of that, he was seen as the enemy of the team.

Beyond from short stories that Jay and Antonio shared with you, you didn’t actually know about how the Intelligence team works. As Jay’s sister and Antonio’s girlfriend you have good relationships with the team outside of work. You’ve known them to be good people and solid cops. But getting all of this new information, you can only feel for your boyfriend. You know that Antonio is the boy scout cop who does everything by the book. So these questionable methods that the team uses really challenge his ethics.

“I don’t care how Voight runs his shop. He brought me in to the team knowing already how I handle cases, and we always know how to work with each other despite our differences. But the rest of the team? I’m not sure anymore. These young folks think that Voight’s way is the only way forward. That doesn’t sit right by me.” he complained.

After Jules death, Lindsay’s departure, and Al’s gone, you suspected that Antonio’s feelings towards the team has changed. Team dynamic and roles have shifted and you’re not sure where Antonio sees himself within the team, and how the team positions Antonio. 

Your suspicion only grew stronger after he told you what happened today.

A patrol officer got killed under Intelligence assignment to do a search at a suspected drug dealer’s home. But it was the wrong house, the officer came in hot and drew his gun already when coming inside. Much to everyone’s surprise, they only found a couple who are eating their lunch. Things got real bad, real quick when the husband - an ex-marine - panicked seeing a gun pointed at his direction and pulled his gun from under the table. In a matter of seconds, multiple shots were fired. The first officer died at the scene, the ex-marine is clinging to life at Med, the wife and the officer’s partner got several GSWs albeit not lethal.

The problem? They didn’t have a search warrant. It was an intel from a CI, a real bad one. Ruzek rushed it because a suspected drug dealer has been threatening Michele Sovana, Al’s only remaining daughter. With Ruzek now being questioned by Internal Affairs, the team turned to Antonio to pull in favor from ASA Peter Stone to issue a back dated search warrant to get Ruzek out of trouble.

“I think Jay’s against this. A fellow soldier got shot over a bad police misconduct? But he didn’t say a word.” Antonio’s eyes were filled with concerns, “The thing is, not only the warrant didn’t come through, but an officer shouldn’t draw their gun to a civilian unless necessary.” he sighed and remembered his almost altercation with Ruzek earlier today.

“They thought they’re walking to a lion’s den for fuck’s sake!” Ruzek yelled at him, “Well they weren’t, were they? Now you got two civilians injured; one of them served to protect the country!” Antonio yelled back.

“You always do this, man. A brother is killed and you’re worried about some political correctness? He worked patrol for 10 years, sacrificed HIS LIFE and one simple mistake you wanted to strip from his honor?”

“YES! Because that’s what we do! We sacrifice our lives as cops! Not only him. And because we’re the police we should be held to a standard. All the fucking time. You think you can knock on someone’s door and starts shooting?!” Antonio was boiling, in fact he was so close to hit Ruzek, but Voight broke them off and told people to go home and pick it up tomorrow.

“So, what are you going to do?” you asked.

“I figured I’d do what they say one last time and maybe…hand in my transfer letter the next day.” He replied.

“Wanna transfer to my unit?” you asked cheekily.

He laughed, “Only if I got to boss you around,” as he snuggled to you.

“Not gonna happen!” you threw a light punch.

“I honestly don’t know, you think transferring out is a bad move?” he asked.

“Well, I think working for Voight in the first place was a bad move. Same thing I said to Jay,” you scoffed, “But who knew you guys could go this far and rose to be a unit with the highest solving rate in the department. Whether or not you enjoy it, that’s for you to say.” you smiled this time.

“Hmm…” he hugged you closer and placed his head on top of yours.

“But whatever you decide, I’m behind you. One thing I know is that you’re a damn good cop don’t matter in which unit you work at,” you continued with a proud girlfriend tone.

“Thanks for always having my back. I love you,” He cupped your face and kissed you long and deep, “I love you too,” you replied as you pulled away. He leaned in closer for another kiss, more heated this time. His touch was more intense and you let out a soft moan. His hands traveled inside your shirt as he nipped at your neck. You both were all cozy until his phone rang. You both stopped and looked at the caller ID, “Your brother’s timing is impeccable. You sure he didn’t put a nanny cam around here?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Ugh. You have to answer him?” you asked.

“Actually I do. So tomorrow I don’t have to explain myself why I missed his calls. I’ll be quick,” Antonio replied and got up to answer the phone. He stepped outside to your balcony while you turn on the TV.

After three minutes or so, he stepped back in with a much brighter face. “Why are you so happy?” you asked. Whatever it was that Jay said on the phone has put Antonio at ease.

“I know I’m sure about one thing. That I always can count on a Halstead.” he smiled, pulled you in and continued where he left off.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Riven x Musa

Ok, so I keep seeing posts everywhere that basically badmouth S8 and after seeing ten seconds of the trailer (YIKES to the animation, what’s wrong with the industry that they are making everything anime? Powerpuff Gen Z, I’m looking at you – obs: I didn’t watch it fully yet) I can see where some of the criticism is coming from but anyways…

My favorite Winx!couple EVER has always been Musa x Riven since I was kid and first watched the show (Netflix is not helping ‘cause I ship them even there).

I remember yawning at Bloom/Sky, rolling my eyes at Stella/Brandom and making a completely incredulous expression that I could literally feel forming on my face at Helia/Flora (can anyone say ‘unrealistic’?). Timmy/Tecna are a second favorite.

And why my Winx OTP are Riven x Musa followed after Timmy x Tecna? Because it reflects real life. In real life you’re not gonna stumble into people whose real and deep relationship problems are solved in twenty four minutes (not even that considering that some episodes present the “problem” half-way through said 24 minute-episode).

The breakup between Riven and Musa in S6 (spoilers everywhere after all) was one of the most mature breakups in the history of breakups with the hope for the future (yes, I’m completely ignoring S7, sue me, the whole thing was one huge filler anyways). And, after reading a lot of opinions on both ends (defending Musa/attacking Riven and defending Riven/attacking Musa) and watching the episodes in question (reuniting through reconciling) I think I can give my own analysis.

Since Musa AND Riven (individually and as couple) are my favorite characters in Winx, I think I CAN give a fairly unbiased view (hopefully).

*clears throat*

Ok, keep in mind that I’m defending BOTH of them, because I ship them too hard not to.

Musa Being OC (sometimes being called ‘brat’): C'mon, people! Musa and Tecna are OC since S4 anyways, where are the tomboy and the nerd? With the sneakers, T-shirt and comfortable-looking clothes? Noooo, now they all need neat skirts and hot pink high heels and long, glamorous hair. Do they look good? Of course, but and I would totally be less pissed if there was ANY indication on the reason for the change. Are they just maturing? Expressing themselves differently? Crowd mentality? Tune and Stella finally broke Musa down and Tecna followed soon after? Was it just to please Riven and Timmy? ANYTHING (even the 'pleasing a boy’ would at least be A reason - a ridiculous one that would piss me off, but A reason none the less), was just a sudden impulse that took?

Sure, we can talk about “character growth” until we are blue in the face, but the matter of the fact is that there was none.

The changes we see in Musa and Tecna are basically the creators making them more like the rest of the Winx (I’m including Aisha in this too, where is the sporty girl that matched the boy’s interest in extreme sports? C'mon! Even Bloom and her Girl Next Door looks are replaced with Bratz and Clueless-level of outfits).

Is anyone really going to look me in the eye and say Stella wasn’t a shallow (if friendly and good-natured) Mean Girl? She got better, but as I re-watch the show (currently in S3, meaning almost half-way through the content), Stella still worries more about her hair than anything else even while under literal fire.

More and more, Musa, Tecna and Aisha are losing their identities and what made them, IMO, the more badass Winx.

How did the two on the left went from this…

… to this:

Yeah, yeah, Musa still sings, Tecna still technobabble and Aisha is still a Warrior Princess but Aisha was the first one to go Bloom and Stella on us with Musa and then Tecna following soon after. It’s not just their clothing style, it’s the way they carried themselves too.

Right now? The only thing keeping them apart is their BF blues (different kind of blues) and some personal interests (singing, shopping, tech, the whole drama with Domino/Sparks, etc). But that’s IT, their personalities are going down the drain!

Sorry for the long-winded text, but the reason I’m expressing my disappointment at their change is because Musa’s reaction fits it. S6 we have such an AMAZING breakup (didn’t even think that was possible, WTH, right? Amazing breakup?) only for her to be mad as hell at Riven at S8? Bad writing, that has been dragging her (and the rest of the Winx) down to becoming just one unilateral, shallow character (the Specialists are also falling into that pit, what in the world did they do Helia in S8? He sounds like Thor telling about his “brave exploits” there, yikes). And continuity what? What continuity? Do they even remember how the breakup was written?

But ok, let’s put the Audience View aside for a moment and focus only on the In-Universe terms.

S6: You’ll always be my hero.

S8: What on EARTH are you doing here. 

I laughed a bit, the contrast just got to me but instead of getting mad at one or the other like most of the fandom, I laughed.

Musa followed that by saying that Riven has not maintained contact and just in that I would be beyond pissed as well and giving my support to Musa. WTH, Riven? I think that each season is more less six months to a year? Sort of? Still, zero contact for so long even after ending on amicable terms and wanting to stay friends? And he went off on his own! A text now going, “I’m not dead” would be the bare basics for Musa not to worry herself bald!

BUT then I also read comments about how this was a two-way street, why didn’t Musa call either? That’s unfortunately something that I very much doubt will ever be explained. One of those: did it or didn’t it? Musa could have called and went straight to voicemail with no signs of life from Riven or she might not have called and just expected him to call as if feminism were dead and all initiative must come from the guy (which doesn’t even fit because they parted as friends).

Since we have no info on the above, I put it on both of them. It’s not fair to say, “HE should have called!” or “Why didn’t SHE call?” because we don’t have fricking context. So the only thing we can take is: no contact.

BECAUSE I put the lack of contact on both of them, Musa’s reaction was a little too much, however, Riven shows up all smirks and leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and I would have flashbacks to S1 if it wasn’t for the animation style that made all the guys look like girls. Dude! Not the time for that kind of posture. Not saying that he should be all sheepish and rubbing his arm as if he had done something horrible (again: we don’t have context on the no contact) but a more neutral approach was warranted here. Nobody does themselves any favors with that kind of attitude no matter what how high of a horse they may be (rightly or not) riding on, if anything I would react like Musa solely on that one.

Next episode we have that Riven convinced the guys to follow the girls in some mission and Musa was angry. Again: I would be too. WTH? Yes, yes, they helped and if it wasn’t for them, the Winx would gotten seriously injured but Musa did have a point saying that this demonstrated that they had no trust in them and need their hand held, it was no sanctioned mission like on Earth after all. BUT, Riven does something that I would never expect from in S1-4: he explains, he reasons it, he puts it in all the words that he does trust Musa and co and that he only wanted to show that he’d be there for her (you know? One of the main issues in S6 that made them breakup in the first place? His inability to conciliate Specialist work with supporting his girlfriend and ultimately failing or feeling like failing in both?) and Musa still pouts, crosses her arms, and turns around. Geez. I expected that one from Stella, not Musa. I think the closest Musa has ever come to THIS was back in S2 when Jared explains that Riven was the one to recommend that he interview Musa and yada yada yada and she got mad and stomped off on the poor guy that didn’t even understand what was going on (only to immediately apologize to Jared and recognizing that it wasn’t him that she was mad at… like I said: what character growth?).

Riven then goes to show that he indeed grew when he asked for advice from Sky and Brandon (WTH, right? Can we picture that happening back in S1-3? He very grudgingly would LISTEN to UNSOLICITED advice from Nabu and Helia in S4-6). And does a very, very goofy and embarrassing show of affection. Yeah… again… I can picture Stella loving the light show with her face for IDK how many people to see but not Musa (although can we really blame the guy after the series went out of its way to make Musa all Stella-like? Clothes, attitude, the only thing missing is making Riven carry her shopping bags around and call him “Shnookums” (although the mental image is already enough for me to fall over laughing, just for the face Riven would make). Still, I have to count that one against Riven if only because (as much as the show gives only lip service to it) Musa isn’t Stella.

Riven being mind controlled (again) aside, those two are back together. And on the overall? Riven showed more growth than any other character in the show COMBINED (he is the Zuko of the show), that doesn’t go to say that he didn’t make mistakes since coming back in S8 (but that was more a guy trying to win back a girl than… betraying his friends for a pair of nice legs or… IDEK like in S1 – where, mind control or not the show itself made sure to make it clear that he had free will) or that he is now the one out of Musa’s league. I think that NOW it can actually work… if the show allows him to keep the progress, Musa is the next to see her flaws and work on them (which she showed to be able to do since S2) and put effort in the relationship. The difference between them is that Musa can actually work on herself and the relationship at the same time. That’s not me saying she is better than Riven in any way, everybody has their own pace and their own way to cope, to improve and to self-reflect.

I still root for them.

~*~

PS-IDK why, but I read posts about how Riven changed so much and posts about how all his progress disappeared and he is now back to his S1 attitude and I’m just cofused. Yeah, different of opinions and so on, but such opposite opinions on the subject of a guy whose relationship was focused on three episodes? 

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Love In Sin

Chapter 8

Summary - Special Agent Winchester is forced to go undercover with his frenemy Special Agent L/N when they try to track down a notorious drug dealer. How will Y/N and Dean complete their task? Will their relationship worsen or will new feelings emerge between them?

Pairing - AU Detective!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count - 1.5k

Series Warnings - Angst, Slow burn, Fluff, Implied Smut, Mentions of crime and drug, Swearing.

Chapter Warnings - Swearing, mentions of drug and prison

A/N - Sorry for the delay, guys. Thanks for being patient with me and thanks for all the feedback on the previous chapters!

Thanks to @deanwanddamons for beta'ing this (she is an absolute sweetheart)

Divider by @talesmaniac89 (do check her blog out, she is an excellent writer and does amazing edits)

Series Masterlist

You stared at the group of police officers standing outside your house, shock evident on your face.

“That can't be-what..there has to be a mistake,” you finally managed to croak.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Campbell, I don't think there has been any mistake.” The officer smirked and waved at one of his colleagues.

“There has to be a proof as to why you are arresting us,” Dean said firmly.

“I am very sure that we will have proof,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, “we have a warrant to search this place.”

“You can't just-”

“Mrs. Campbell.Did you organise a party yesterday at your house? We got information that suspicious activities were noticed during that party,” the cop said.

“Yeah we had a party, but we invited only our neighbours. That's not-”

“Mr. Campbell, I am asking you for the last time to let us do our job. If we find everything is normal, we will leave and apologise for the inconvenience caused, but we have a search warrant,” the cop said, once again waving the piece of paper, “ and there nothing unlawful about searching your house. Now, I would advise you to stand outside the house so as to not interfere with our operation.”

You nodded when you saw there was no other way to stop the cops. Two other officers guided you both outside the house and stood in close proximity, guarding you since you had acted in a not so friendly manner.

Dean stood beside you, his jaw set and his eyes cast downwards.

“What're ya thinking?” You whispered.

He looked up at you, his eyebrows knitted together, a deep frown etched on his face.

“Thinking about the case,” he replied shortly.

“I need to know more than that, Dean,” you huffed.

“What can I say? We are screwed!” he said, “even if Officer “I-have-a-search-warrant” doesn't find any drugs, our cover is blown, Y/N.”

“You two have a lot of answering to do,” the cop stepped out of your house with a plastic bag in his hands. Your jaw hit the ground. You noticed Dean was mirroring your actions. How did those drugs get into your house?

“We don't-”

“Save your answers for the court. Arrest them,” the officer ordered.

Immediately two cops came forward and started to put handcuffs on you both. Your mind was still reeling over what just happened. You barely acknowledged it when the cops shoved you into their car. You were still trying to process everything, trying to remember every tiny thing that happened in that party.

“Hey officer, can I ask you a question?” Dean asked.

“No.” The deep baritone of the officer resounded throughout the car.

“Okay.” Dean remarked and puckered his lips, thinking a little.

“Who was it that called you?” Dean asked again.

“I can't, or rather won't tell you,” the cop warned, “now shut your damn mouth.”

“No need to be rude, I thought we were vibing,” Dean said.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“Just being friendly,” he shrugged at you. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. You were already under so much pressure, and Dean wasn't making it any easier for you.

The police car came to a stop and the door on your side opened abruptly.

“Come out you two,” the cop barked out orders and you stepped out of the car, your hands still in cuffs but Dean was taking his sweet time to get out of the car. You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. The cop tapped his foot impatiently. Huffing, he reached out and grabbed Dean's arms, pulling him out of the car.

“Hey, hey no need to manhandle. This is a precious cargo, baby,” Dean smirked. You wanted to reach over and smack him on the head.

The cops shoved you into a cell. At least they put you together in one prison and told you that you get one phone call.

“So we don't exactly have a lawyer. I think we should call Mr. Singer,” you said, Dean nodding his head in agreement.

“You both are kidding me right? You want to make a call to one of the top tiers in the Bureau?” The cop laughed after you told him to whom you wanted to make a call.

“Yes.” You firmly stated

“Huh,” he had a mocking smile on his face, “shouldn't you call your lawyer? You really think that this federal agent can save you?”

“Yes because we are feds too. We were undercover on a mission and it was going really well until you arrested us and walked all over it,” Dean said in a hard tone.

“You expect me to believe you?” The cop had a smug smile on his face, “I have heard a lot of alibis but this one stands out - really original. Anyways, phone's yours. You get one phone call so I can't really refuse.”

You hurriedly dialed Bobby Singer's number and waited for it to ring.

“I hate him,” Dean exclaimed, “he is one cocky son of a bitch.”

“So kinda like you,” you said as a matter of fact. “Mr. Singer, it's Special Agent Y/L/N speaking,” you said into the phone when Bobby answered. Dean kept staring at you with a frown on his face, trying to read through the conversation you were having with Singer.

“Our phones have been confiscated….we got arrested..no! They found class A drugs with us….in the house….we don't know exactly, it can be possible….okay….both of us….sure, Sir,” you hung up the phone call after telling him the address of the police station you both were being kept.

“I see your phone call is done,” the cop said and guided you both towards your cell, “let's see if your federal agent shows up.”

“This is the worst thing to ever happen.” You exclaimed and started pacing around the small space inside the jail.

“You gotta stop pacing, sweetheart. We will figure it out,” Dean said.

“Really Dean? What is your plan?” You asked but he didn't say anything, “Exactly, we don't have a plan.”

“I am working on it,” he argued back.

“Hey you two, this is not a place for a couple’s fight. Save it for when you get out of here,” the cop guarding your prison cell warned.

“Yeah right. We’ll save it for when we get out of this shithole,” Dean turned towards you, “I promise we will get out of this mess.”

The next few hours were spent trying to figure out any possible way to prove yourselves innocent, but you both came up with zero ideas.

“So I guess we are back to square one, Y/L/N,” Dean said and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I am telling you Winchester, there is no way we are getting out of this. They caught us red handed for God's sake!” you exclaimed.

“No one's perfect. Neither is this person. There has to be a loose end and we have to find that,” he said, stretching his hands.

“What did you two idjits do?” Bobby Singer grumbled as he walked towards the prison cell accompanied by a cop. The latter started opening up the gate of the prison and went to get rid of your handcuffs.

“Ah it feels so good to finally be able to use your hands,” Dean said, “and no we didn't do anything. We were set up. This is all a set up.”

“I bailed you out,” you let out a sigh of relief at the words of your boss, “for now. We need to prove you both not guilty within one week. The court date is next week.” You both stepped out of the cell and started walking towards the main door.

“Well we only need to gather evidence and I am sure the bureau will-”

“No they won't. You are both suspended.” Bobby said and guided you towards the car.

“What?” You and Dean exclaimed together.

“The police caught you red handed. The bureau, no matter how good you are as a detective, they are not willing to keep you as agents anymore,” Bobby said, opening the door of the car.

“So what do we do now? We have no evidence, no resources,” you said.

“I know, but I will help you two to get out of this shit. I put you both in this situation, but first we are going back to the house. You will collect your belongings and we are getting out of Kansas,” Bobby said and started to drive the car back towards your house.

Let me know if you all want to tagged in this!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[mummybear]

Sleeping With The Enemy

This Is Day 3 Of RolePlay May

Words: 3700

Warnings: Smut, Semi Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Rough Bathroom Sex.

Characters: Damon Salvatore, Reader, Mentions of Stefan Salvatore, Bonnie Bennett and Caroline Forbes

Pairings: Damon Salvatore x Reader

Summery: The reader is new hunter in Mystic Falls, tasked with catching what she believes is the big bad in town. The one and only Damon Salvatore. However what happens when you realise you’re mistaken and it’s in fact someone else? And things between you and Damon become very heated in the Mystic Grill.

Being a hunter was often difficult, especially when you’d been stationed in Mystic Falls, where almost everyone and everything was a second away from murdering you. You weren’t the kind of hunter that would go after anything supernatural, only the ones that warranted being put down. The cops were practically useless, some of them even helped some of the worst vampires, witches and werewolves stay hidden, even helping to cover up their murders. Of which there were many.

You’d been hunting this son of a bitch for what felt like forever at this point, the lack of information that people were willing to give you wasn’t exactly helpful either. The Salvatore's were very well known in your circle of hunters, you had been chosen for this hunt since your boss had thought you were the perfect bait. You were just Damon’s type, at least according to the others it was definitely an edge that you could use. 

You’d seen pictures of both brothers in order to stay extra careful, especially when it came to bringing him in, since Stefan would more than definitely be close by.

Sitting in the Mystic grill nursing your drink, you watch the locals going about their days and nights, without a care in the world, sometimes you wished that could be you. But this was your life, you didn’t get to choose. 

However when you glance over to the table hidden in the corner, you spot Bonnie Bennett and Caroline Forbes. Two people who were known supernaturals, who had been close to the Salvatore family. You hadn’t spoken to those that were too close to the vampire brothers yet, since you hadn’t wanted to tip them off that someone was looking for them.

A sudden tap on your shoulder causes you to freeze, doing your best to control the rapid beating of your heart like you’d been trained to. Whoever it is smells really good, placing your drink on the bar, you turn to face the newcomer with a smile.

“You’re new around here” he states matter of factly, that smirking smile and those stunning blue eyes leave no doubt as to who you’re speaking to.

He takes the seat beside you signalling the bartender for a drink, clearly a regular, since he doesn’t have to say a word and the drink is just placed on the bar.

“I am. But I’m just passing through” you explain, giving him your sweetest smile in return, looking up at him from under your lashes.

That seductive smirk grows as he extends his hand to you. 

“Damon Salvatore. And what’s your name beautiful?”

Taking his hand you shake it gently, you're very quickly surprised and a little distracted, when he brings your hand to his soft lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“Well, my name is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Damon” you smile as he leans in closer. “So, are you here with anyone?” you inquire suggestively, your eyes still fixed on his as the tip of your finger circles the rim of your glass.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss Y/N?” Damon asks, sounding a little smug as he runs his fingers up your bare arm, creating goosebumps across your skin. 

You hum low in the back of your throat, gripping his wrist before that hand can travel any further up your arm, moving it back onto the bar. He pouts at you, which you find kind of adorable, but you can also see the smile that lurks beneath that pout. 

“Well Damon, that’s all gonna depend on how your answer” 

You lean back against the bar on your elbows when Damon stands from his stall, coming to stand in front of you, drink in his hand. “All by my lonesome tonight” he assures you, eyeing you carefully, like he’s looking for something. 

“That is, unless you wanna keep me company? Come on, you know you want to, how about a dance?” he asks, wiggling those eyebrows and holding his hand out for you.

The smile that slips onto your lips isn’t something you’d planned, but there really is something about this vamp, something you can’t put your finger on. Sure he’s hot, but there was something else. Maybe something that he wasn’t showing, you knew all about their past, everything the brothers had gone through, but you had your orders. You had to bring him in, you couldn’t let yourself fall for his charms. 

However, you had to play along for now, just until you had him where you wanted him.

Biting your lip, you fix your eyes on his as you take his hand.

“Well how can I say no to such an invitation” throwing back your drink, you place the empty glass back onto the bar.

Taking Damon’s drink from his hand and throwing that back too, you watch his plump lips part as you swallow the amber liquid with a single gulp, feeling the burn as it warms your throat. You drop the glass beside yours on the bar, running your tongue across your lips, collecting any wayward drops.

“You’re a right little firecracker, princess. Real spunky, I like it” he grins, pulling you over to where some of the bar have gathered for the dancing. You can’t help but laugh as he tugs you through the crowd of grinding bodies, over to one of the darkened sides of the room. 

Damon walks around you slowly, finally settling behind you. Your instincts are on high alert, even more so when he wraps his arms around you. Keeping his hands on your hips as his thumbs dip just inside your jeans, pressing against your skin. You know that this is all a part of your plan, but then you feel his surprisingly warm breath fanning against the side of your neck and you’re quickly reminded who you’re up against. It’s taking you every ounce of your willpower to keep your heartbeat under control, at the same time though you're stuck, part of you wants to stake him of course. 

Unfortunately, there was also that part of you that wants him to stay right where he is, he feels so fucking good. So solid and yet so soft, his front is pressed tight against your back, guiding your hips to rock with his big hands.

So when Damon’s lips brush across your neck the small moan that slips past your lips isn’t an act, not even close, but you really wish that it was. You can see why so many people fall for his charms, he oozes confidence and just pure sex, that was without using any of his vampire abilities. You can feel him smirking against your skin, his hands tightening somehow on your hips.

“So what brings a woman like you to this dingy little town then? His question takes you by surprise, you don’t have time to control the way that your heartbeat speeds up at his question.

“I told you Damon, I’m just passing through” you respond quickly, trying to keep your voice light, annoyed with the way that it shakes. You don’t miss the tiny growl of what you assume is annoyance that slips past his lips, which are now pressed against your ear.

“Oh, see now that’s just not smart. Don’t lie to me pretty girl, you’re not that stupid,” the tone of his voice has completely changed, god help you but you like it, you have to fight your body to repress the shiver.

“Why would I lie to you Damon, I’ve only just met you” you state firmly, starting to let your own voice take on a little annoyance of its own. 

Then his fingers tighten on your hips and his blunt teeth scrape against your neck, “True. We have just met, then again you know exactly who I am. Don’t you Y/N?” Damon asks you, making you swallow hard, he’s keeping his voice even, but it isn’t really a question.

Clearly he knows that you know what he is, who he is. But how much does he know about you, and why you’re here? You need to try and lie your way out of this one, you know Damon Salvatore isn’t exactly known for his mercy, he’s going to kill you the first opportunity that he gets. But before you can reply his hands have moved from your hips, and he’s pressing you into the wall behind you, forearm across your throat.

“Don’t you dare tell me whatever lies forming in your pretty little head of yours,” he growled menacingly, as he leans in closer, it’s very apparent to you that nobody is even looking at the two of you, had they even noticed?

“Fine, I-I know you,” you choke out, feeling the pressure from his arm ease off a little when your voice breaks.

God you hate yourself right now, although he might kill you any second and it’s going against your every instinct, all you can think about is kissing him and letting him fuck you in front of everyone. His arm presses against the underside of your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. The cool blue of his eyes almost chills you to the bone as he stares down at you, with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

“Good girl, now we’re getting somewhere. So, how do you know me?I want a straight answer this time, what are you doing here?” his pupils widen and shrink quickly, you’re sure that he’s trying to compel you into telling him the truth. You could go along with it, act like it’s working and maybe get away. But if you do that then he gets away too, and that wasn’t something you could allow to happen.

Damon’s grip relaxes more when you smile and lick your lips. “Oh Mr. Salvatore, did you really think compelling me would work? I’m protected so don’t even try killing me. I know exactly what you’ve been doing lately, all those bodies. Very sloppy Damon” you tut in disappointment, but your smirk doesn’t seem to faze him as he leans in closer, his lips almost brushing yours.

“Oh princess, you have no idea how wrong you are. First of all, I haven’t technically killed anyone, not any humans at least and not lately. Secondly, I don't do, sloppy” he shrugs with a wink when he catches you watching his mouth.

“Stop with the princess and stop lying” you demand angrily, trying to shove him backwards, which of course is like trying to nudge a house over with your pinky.

“Why would I lie? If and when I kill people, I definitely admit it. Surely the other hunters must have told you that. I’m very proud” he smirks when your mouth drops open in surprise.

“How did you know?” you ask quickly, forgetting the rest of the conversation completely.

He grins all teeth as he leans in even closer, his lips brush over yours as he speaks.

“You think you’re the first sexy little minx they’ve sent after me? You are however my favourite, so far” Damon reveals, groaning when your nails sink into the arm that’s still braced against your neck, nudging one of his thick thighs between your legs.

You suck in a breath when Damon’s lips finally press against yours, his free hand moves to roughly grip your ass, helping you rock back and forth against his thigh. His arm drops from your throat when your lips start to respond to his, moving to grip your other ass cheek, fingers digging in and squeezing hard. You moan into his mouth, fisting your hands in his thick black hair when your clothed clit starts to repeatedly rub back and forth against the muscle in his thigh.

The kiss ends far too soon and you throw your head back against the wall, giving Damon’s mouth more room to explore your skin, his teeth and tongue eagerly exploring the new skin. His teeth drag over your ear lobe, “You’d let me fuck you right here wouldn’t you? Right against this wall, with everyone watching us” his voice is nothing more than a husky growl, which shoots straight to your core. 

You can’t even tell him that he’s wrong.

“Restroom now!” you bite back breathlessly, a squeak of surprise leaving your lips when Damon chuckles and uses his vamp speed, hurrying you both into the ladies restroom. He kicks the door shut behind him, when he lets you go you stumble back on shaking legs, bumping into the door behind you.

“Someone’s bossy” Damon grins that panty dropping grin, pulling his belt loose from the buckle, the leather slap echoing in the room. “I like it” he winks with a glint in his blue eyes.

You ignore everything instinct that’s telling you to turn and run, you want this, you need this. Besides, if he hadn’t killed anyone then what was the problem. Other than the fact he was supposed to be everything that you hated and hunted. Right now that didn’t seem to matter. Every movement he makes is so slow and teasing, he’s so close yet so far away.

You want to say something smart, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. The echo of cowboy Casanova playing out in the bar makes you smile, kind of reminding you of the man in front of you.

He's a good time cowboy Casanova

Leaning up against the record machine

He looks like a cool drink of water

But he's candy-coated misery

He's the devil in disguise

A snake with blue eyes

And he only comes out at night

Gives you feelings that you don't wanna fight

You better run for your life

Popping the button of his jeans he slowly slides the zip down. You lick your lips as he tugs his jeans over his firm ass. 

Damon wraps his fingers around his thick cock as it springs free from the confines of his jeans.

“Commando huh? Somehow that doesn’t surprise me” your remark pulls a chuckle from the vampire. 

“Your turn princess” Damon winks, resting a hand on the back of your neck, and he pulls you in for a demanding kiss. A kiss which quickly becomes heated, all teeth, tongues and breathy moans. But before you can even attempt to get your jeans off, Damon’s free hand pushes between the two of you, and he starts undoing them for you. 

You push back against his firm chest when you feel your jeans loosen. Damon steps back, but it doesn’t stop the possessive growl that slips past those plump lips of his. You notice his sharp white teeth drag over his bottom lip, as he watches you closely, finally pulling off your jeans and panties and tossing them to the side.

“Just fuck me you cocky bastard”

There’s a swish of air and he’s pressed back against you, a hand roughly parts your legs, you practically double over when Damon pushes two thick fingers inside your throbbing pussy. They’re so much thicker than your own and your whimpering pleas for more seem to fall on deaf ears.

“I would make you beg normally, like the little hunter slut you are. But you’re so fucking tight. I need to feel this wet little pussy wrapped around my cock” he grits out, causing your pussy to clamp down around his fingers, your orgasm teetering right on the edge.

Removing his fingers from inside you, you both moan as he pushes his fingers wet with your juices between his lips. Lips parted so you can watch his tongue swirl around the thick digits. 

“Damon, please” you whine loudly, as he pulls his fingers from his mouth with a lewd pop.

“Oh well, would you look at that. Begging already baby girl. You just wait until next time” he chuckles darkly as he picks you up, roughly slamming your back against the door. 

You can’t help but groan at the force behind it, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close. With one hand on your ass steadying you, his other hand wraps back around his cock lining himself up with your entrance.

Suddenly Damon’s eyes fill with red, black veins bubbling under the skin below his eyes. 

The way that you react next, surprises both of you. You drop your head back against the door, exposing your throat to him.

“Don’t ask me why, but I trust you,” your breathing gets heavier as his nose brushes along the side of your neck, where that thick vein pulses. 

You can hear him inhaling along your neck, when his hand covers your mouth, your breathing becomes laboured, your eyes hooded and you’re inhaling through your nose the best you can. 

A muffled scream of surprise rips past your throat, when Damon’s thick length is pushed into you in one swift thrust. Your pussy immediately flutters and clamps down around his cock painfully, you grip onto his shoulders tight, eyes rolling into the back of your head, very aware of how hard you're holding onto him.

Damon’s forehead drops against yours, cool against your clammy skin. Looking into your eyes as he pulls his hips back, you can see the lust and the hunger there staring back at you. Then he thrusts roughly back inside you, pulling a large gasp of air from your lungs. 

You cling to him, nails clawing down his back, causing Damon to groan and push himself against you harder.

“Oh fuck” you gasp as your stomach clenches, heartbeat beating harshly in your ears, blood rushing through your veins. 

“Good little hunter slut, you gonna come all over me? Are you sure you don’t wanna kill the big bad vampire” he grunts, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth as he gives another hard thrust. Pushing you over the edge, your orgasm rips through you, the heels of your feet digging into his ass.

You practically vibrate in his arms, but he doesn’t stop to let your orgasm pass. Instead his pace changed rapidly, the speed and strength behind every thrust was completely inhuman, and you had no idea how bad you’d needed this. You were making noises that you’d never made before, you could feel the sharp point of Damon’s vampire teeth against dragging along your neck, but you didn’t care, you never wanted him to stop.

His hips slow slightly, fingers roughly gripping your thighs in a bruising grip as he pushes them back against his chest, ankles almost over his shoulders. “O-Oh fuck! Damon, you’re so fucking d-deep” you whine loudly, fingers gripping his hair roughly as you hold on like your life depends on it.

“You’re gonna be feeling me for days princess, so fucking close” he grunts against your lips, dragging his human teeth over your bottom lip and sucking roughly. You can hardly breathe, everything is on fire and feels beyond amazing. Your ass bounces off his hips, the sounds filling the room, the door is even creaking behind you.

The wet sounds of his cock fucking into your dripping pussy only spur you on, he’s practically hammering against your g-spot, your legs are shaking and an unfamilair feeling builds within you. Your body is buzzing, like electricity is coursing through your veins.

“D-Damon! Fuck so-” your mouth drops open stopping what you were talking about and your lungs are burning.

“Oh there's a good girl, you’re so close. Fuck, squirt all over my cock” Damon moans loudly, his voice sounding completely wrecked as his hips begin to stutter. White completely clouds your vision as you come, harder than you ever remember, or than you’d ever thought possible. Squirting all over Damon’s cock and his thighs, dripping down at his feet.

You’re not sure if you’d passed out, but when you blink your eyes open your legs are touching the floor but Damon’s still holding you up. 

“Well good morning sleeping beauty” he chuckles as you tip your head back to meet his intense blue eyes.

“What the hell happened? Did I pass out?” you laugh at the idea of it, looking between you and seeing Damon fully dressed, you blush and meet his eyes again.

“Yeah, pretty much. Made you squirt and fucked you unconscious” he laughed when you slapped his chest, blushing fiercely.

He steps back when you gently push against his chest, picking your jeans and panties up for you, he hands them over. You thank him with a small smile, quickly slipping your clothes back on.

Your eyes go wide when a thought hits you suddenly, “Wait, what’s the time?” you ask quickly searching for your phone. Saved by Damon who hands you his.

“Shit, it’s eleven. Damon you need to go, if they find you, you’re dead. They’re gonna be looking for me, I didn’t check in” you worry trying to shove him in front of you and out of the door but he stops you, gentle hands on your shoulders.

“First off, it’s adorable that you’re this worried about me, when you were supposed to be killing me. Second, just breathe. If you come back with me, I can tell you who’s doing the killings, then they won’t have any reason to come after me” he explains calmly, a small smile on his lips when you finally stop shoving him.

“I still might kill you” you grumble as he surprises you and takes your hand.

“Nah, you won't. You might fuck me to death though, you keep doing that” he nods at the puddle behind you and you blush all over again. “Don’t be embarrassed, it was hot” Damon grins wiggling his eyebrows at you and you can’t help but laugh as you leave the restroom together.

Tags: @chewie-redbird @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @stiles-o-dylan24 @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien @holyhellpit @desireepow-1986 @emichelle @lilulo-12 @22sarah08 @deanwanddamons​ @simsadventures​  @charmed-asylum​ @nicole-lynne​ @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog​ @defenderrosetyler​ @emilyshurley​ @emoryhemsworth​ @foxyjwls007​ @captain-shannon-becker​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @fandomfic-galore​

[brookecuzyes]

The Captain’s Kid —

E.2: The Star-Spangled Man (Part 2)

The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Fanfic

Main Masterlist — TCK Masterlist

Summary: We think of the after-life as a peaceful place. A place where there are no worries. When a girl comes back from the dead, so to speak, she has to find a new place in society— which ends up with her becoming a superhero. She’s been trained for the worst, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the things she was going to endure.

Word Count: ≈3.5k

Warnings: a little cursing, racial bias

———————————————————————-

Three knocks could’ve been a delivery. A whistle indicated a rebellious group. The door opened with a small creak. The person behind the door unlocked the lock which held chains together so no one could get in. The girl who knocked on the door, Karli, stepped back while the person opened it all of the way. She and her group walked into the building without a word, while the person looked around and closed the door, locking it immediately.

“You must be famished.”

“Very hungry,” one replied, everyone unanimously agreeing.

“Okay. My wife and I cooked. It’s an old family recipe made with the finest chicken livers. Please serve yourselves. Anything you want. Anything. You ask me.” The group walked over to a table that held containers of the dinner the couple had cooked. “There is some coffee here and some crackers. Uh, anything we can do for the cause. Please follow me.” He started walking and talking.

“You’re becoming a bit of a legend. I hear more and more people talk about the freedom fighters who are pushing back.” He turned to Karli. “They call you Robin Hood. Every day, more people love you. You’ll find refuge wherever you go.” He opened a door which led to a small room, letting everyone in.

“My wife and I made this just for you. Everything is completely clean. She made it nice and cozy.” The group was starting to settle in, saying their thank you’s to the man, when Karli’s phone went off.

You took what was mine.

I’m going to find you and kill you.

One guy walked over to the computers to see the news on them. “Shit,” he said. “They’re already looking for us. I’m wiping out aliases off any public traffic sites now.”

“Karli, we can’t stay here for long,” said Lennox, another one of the soldiers. “Six years ago, would you have imagined people supporting a cause like this?”

“We’re not playing no more,” she responded. “We can’t let the same assholes who were put back in power after The Blip win. The GRC cares more about the people who came back than the ones who never left. We got a glimpse of how things could be. I need to know that you’re all committed, because after tomorrow, there’s no going back.”

“Yeah,” said Matias, after a few seconds. “One world.”

“One people,” replied everyone else.

“One world.”

“One people.”

“One world!”

“One people!”

——

Back on the plane, Sam was laying across the seats, Alyxandria was leaned back in a chair with her head thrown back, and James was sitting on a small cargo box (the same box Alyx and Torres was using earlier) and was just staring off into space in deep thought.

Sam looked at James and noticed his face. “You all right?” he asked softly. After a moment, he responded quietly.

“Let’s take the shield. Let’s take the shield and do this ourselves.”

“We can’t just run up on the man, beat him up and take it,” Sam replied, sitting up. “You remember what happened the last time we stole it?”

“Maybe.”

“You stole the shield?” Alyx asked.

“Yeah. Seems like James forgot, though. Let me help you out: Sharon was branded enemy of the state, and Steve and I were on the run for two years.”

“Oh, shit,” she muttered.

“I don’t know about you,” Sam continued, “but I don’t wanna live the rest of my life la vida loca. We just had our asses handed to us by Super Soldiers, and we got nothing.”

“Not entirely true,” Bucky responded. He hopped off of the box and walked over to sit a few seats away from Sam. “There is someone that you should meet.”

In a few hours, they landed in Baltimore, Maryland. The trio was walking down the street— in the middle of the street— to get to this person's house. There were two kids sitting on the sidewalk and they were excited when they saw Sam

“Hey, it’s Black Falcon!” The kid exclaimed.

“It’s just Falcon, kid,” he replied.

“No, no. My daddy told me it’s Black Falcon.” Sam stopped walking to converse with this kid but James continued walking.

“Is it because I’m Black and I’m the Falcon?”

“Well, technically, I mean, yes.”

“So are you, like, Black kid?” The kid threw a look and his friend started laughing.

Sam chuckled. “I got him, right,” he said to the kid laughing. The other kid blew him off saying, “Whatever, man.” Sam couldn’t stop laughing.

He caught up with James and Alyxandria who were on the steps of the patio. James knocked on the metal door, and it made a loud rattling noise. A teenage boy opened the door and inspected the three.

“We’re here to see Isiah,” James said.

“Nobody named Isiah live here,” the kid replied. James sighed.

“Look, we just want to talk to him.”

“You must not hear what I just said. You ain’t getting in this house. Y’all can leave now.”

“Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here. He’s gonna know what that means.”

The kid took a minute before responding back. “Alright, wait here.”

“Nice kid. How do you know this guy?” Sam asked after the teen closed the door.

“I used to. We had a skirmish during the Korean War.”

“I feel like this is more than some skirmish,” Alyxandria added. James looked at her as the door opened again. He just gave her his stare and started walking in. The three walked in together.

“Today’s your lucky day,” the boy said. “He said he wanna see for himself.” They didn’t say anything, until James started talking.

“Isiah?”

“Look at you,” Isiah said.

“This is, uh, Sam and Alyxandria. Sam and Alyx, this is Isiah. He was a hero,” James explained. “One of the ones that HYDRA feared the most. Like Steve. We met in ‘51.”

“If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah. We heard whispers he was on the peninsula, but everyone they sent after him never came back. So, the U.S. military dropped me behind the line to go deal with him. I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, but I see he’s managed to grow it back. I just wanted to see if he got the arm back. Or if he’d come to kill me.”

“I’m not a killer anymore,” James replied. Isiah looked at him like he was crazy.

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?” he asked. “It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.”

“Isiah, the reason we’re here is because there’s more of you and me out there.” Said James.

“You and me,” Isiah repeated.

“And we need to know how.”

“I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” Isiah said harshly. He picked up a small metal container and threw it. It got stuck in the wall and made a loud noise while doing so. The boy looked upset. Sam and Alyxandria were looking at the container in the wall, while James was looking at the ground. Isiah started walking up to him and started talking.

“You know what they did to me for being a hero?” He asked. “They put my ass in jail for 30 years. People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren’t done with me.”

Sam looked upset, in a way. “Isiah,” he said, but was cut off by him.

“Get out of my house!” He yelled. James turned around to start leaving and Sam was still looking at Isiah. The boy came up to him and said, “Let’s go, man, let’s go.” Alyxandria followed behind James, not sure what to think about all of this.

Sam was walking quickly down the stairs.

“Sam,” James said, but Sam cut him off.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isiah? How could nobody bring him up?” He was mad. Alyxandria hadn’t seen this side of him before. They all walked back to the street and were walking side-by-side. James didn’t respond.

“I asked you a question, Bucky,”

“I know.”

“Steve didn’t know about him?”

“He didn’t. I didn’t tell him.” They stopped walking. Sam and James were standing across from each other and Alyxandria was standing on either side— in the middle, almost.

“So you’re telling me that there was a Black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?” James didn’t respond and just stared at him. A police car approached them and let their siren go off for a second. Everyone turned their attention to the car.

“Hey,” an officer said, getting out of his car.

“What’s up, man?” Sam asked. He still sounded pissed, and this wasn’t helping matters.

“Is there a problem here,” a second officer asked.

“No, we’re just talking.” Sam replied.

“There’s no problem,” Alyxandria said.

“We’re fine,” James added. The officers walked closer to the three.

“Can I see your ID?”

“I don’t have ID. Why?” Sam asked.

“Okay, sir, just calm down.”

“I am calm. What do you want? We’re just talking.”

“Just give him your ID so we can leave,” James said.

“James, no. What have we done?” She told him, siding with Sam.

“Thank you, Alyx. I’m not giving them shit. We’re just talking!”

“Hey, hey. Is he bothering you two?” The officer asked.

“What- no!” Alyxandria exclaimed.

“No, he’s not bothering me. Do you know who this is?” James said, harshly. The other officer went up to his partner and whispered, ‘Hey, these guys are Avengers.’ The officer looked at him and went wide-eyed.

“Oh, God, I am so sorry, Mr. Wilson,” he apologized. I didn’t recognize you without the goggles.” Sam looked disappointed. “I’m really, really sorry about this.” James gave the same disappointed look when another cop car pulled up. “Guys,” the officer sighed, “just wait here, okay?” He walked away back to his car, his partner following along.

“I didn’t… I didn’t tell anybody because he had already been through enough,” James said to Sam, finally answering his question. Sam and Alyxandria just looked at him. Sam was pissed, Alyx was silently observing the situation. Sam shook his head when the officer came back.

“Mr. Barnes,” he said. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Look, the president pardoned him for all that,” Sam explained.

“Not for that. You missed your court-mandated therapy. It’s like missing a check-in with your PO.” James just sighed. He knew. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, you’re under arrest.” James complied with the officers, letting them take him. Sam and Alyx watched as they put him in cuffs. Sam continued to stare at him and didn’t say a word as the car started driving off. Sam looked back at Isiah’s house before walking off. Alyxandria followed him.

“Hey, Sam,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He responded, keeping his eyes in front of him. Alyx turned her head away from him, catching the mood.

“Sorry, I’m just… pissed. That’s all,” he said after a moment. He stopped walking and put his hand on Alyx’s arm. “Don’t let me take it out on you.” She nodded and gave him a sad smile.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Getting Bucky. I don’t want to, but it’s the right thing to do.” Alyx chuckled at the statement, Sam too. They started walking again and Sam put his arm over Alyx. She rested her head on his shoulder, thinking about everything.

“Let’s not make this a regular thing,” Alyxandria suggested. Sam smiled and chuckled.

——

They arrived at the police department and sat down, waiting for James to be released, when someone came up to them.

“Sam and Alyxandria. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Dr. Raynor. I’m James’ therapist,” Raynor introduced herself. The two sat up and Sam was the first to get up and shake her hand.

“So nice to meet you. Thank you for getting him out,” he said.

“That was not me,” she replied.

“Christina!” Someone called out. Sam and Alyxandria turned their heads to be met with John Walker. “It’s great to see you again.” Alyxandria groaned, putting her forehead on Sam’s shoulder— she didn’t want to look at the man.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Sam said. “You know him?”

“Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day,” she responded.

“I hear you were working with Bucky, so I thought I’d step in,” Walker explained. “Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.” Alyxandria, by that point, had lifted up her head.

“We haven’t finished our work. Who authorized this?” Dr. Raynor asked.

“Um…” Walker said, then pointed at himself. A buzzer went off and a door opened. Alyxandria looked over and saw James walking out of the doorway. “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up. Just do whatever you got to do with him, then send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I. You guys, too.” He walked away saying, “I’ll be outside.” Sam stared at him, and Alyxandria scoffed.

Unfinished business…

“James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam,” Raynor announced. She started walking to the corridor James walked out of.

“That’s okay, I’ll be out here with-“ he started, but was interrupted by Raynor.

“That wasn’t a request!”

“What about Alyx,” James asked.

“Rogers, you don’t have to come,” Dr. Raynor said.

“This isn’t fair,” Sam complained.

“It’s not my fault I’m the only functional one here,” she teased, turning around and walking out of the building. Sam glared at her before walking towards the corridor Raynor and James went through.

When Alyxandria walked outside, the first thought that crossed her mind was that she was going to sit out there for thirty or so minutes, waiting for the guys to finish their little therapy session. However, she was met with a different fate.

“Miss Rogers!” someone called out. She looked around and recognized two faces that she didn’t want to: John Walker and Lemar Hoskins. She reluctantly walked over to them, giving them a small smile.

“It’s Lieutenant Rogers, Captain,” she corrected, putting emphasis on ‘Captain’.

“My bad, didn’t know you were keeping the rank,” Walker responded, leaning up against the police car they were standing next to.

“Tell me a bit of what you got on these guys,” Alyxandria asked, stopping in front of the two.

——

“You guys are leaving me with no choice. It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise.”

“I like this better,” James said.

“Oh, God. He’s gonna love this,” Sam added. Their voices soon started overlapping each other, while the guys moved their chairs to face each other.

“You should really do this,” Sam said.

“I'm going to,” James responded matter-of-factly.

“Get close,” Raynor directed.

“This is a good exercise. Thanks, Doc,” James thanked.

“Alright, get close,” she said again. The guys scooted their chairs up, where their knees were touching. “Come on, a little closer.” They started to scoot up but stopped half-way.

“Which way you want to go?” James asked, moving his hand from left to right.

“Why’re your legs open?”

“Right or left?”

“You know what?” Sam said, moving his knee in between James’ legs. “Fine. Here. You happy now?” He pulled James’ chair closer to him. “We’re locked in.”

“That’s a little close,” James exclaimed.

“Very. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Now, look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes.” Both guys started looking at each other. “There, you see? That wasn’t so hard.” The guys weren’t breaking eye contact. They weren’t blinking. Dr. Raynor caught on

“Wait, what’re you doing? Are you having a staring contest?” Sam’s eyes twitched a little bit. “Just blink,” she said, snapping her fingers together in between their faces, making them blink. “Sweet Jesus. Alright, James, why does Sam aggravate you?” James turned and smiled. “And don’t say something childish.” He hung his head and thought for a second.

“Why did you give up that shield?”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of something that has nothing to do with you?”

“Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. Alyx can tell you, she’d know. Steve was her dad. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing.”

“Shut up,” Sam replied.

“So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.” James’ voice trembled at the end. Sam just stared at him.

“You finished,” Sam asked. James replied with a quiet, ‘yeah.’ “All right, good. Maybe this is something you, Alyx, or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right? You know what, Doc? I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So, how about this; I will squash it right now. We go deal with that, and, when we’re done, we both can go on separate, long vacations, and never see each other again.”

“I like that,” James responded.

“Great. Well, let’s get to work. Thanks, Doc, for making it weird. I feel much better. I’ll see you two outside.” He finished, standing up and giving James a harsh pat on his shoulder.

“Thank you!” Dr. Raynor said. “That was… really great.” After Sam walked out the door, James got up from his chair and started towards the door before Raynor continued speaking.

“I know that look, what’s wrong?”

“What was rule number two, again?” He asked.

“Don’t hurt anyone.”

“Goodbye, Doc,” he replied, waking out of the room.

Sam and James walked out of the police department together in what started out in silence before Sam made a comment.

“Well, I feel better,” he said.

“I feel awful,” James replied when a siren and its lights went off. Sam and James looked over to see what was happening, and saw John Walker messing with the cop car. They saw Hoskins next to him, and Alyxandria leaning on the car next to John.

“Gentlemen!” Walker cakes out to the guys. They started walking over. “Good to see you again.” No words eeee said to him.

“Look,” he continued, “if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance— you guys know that.”

“So, what do you got?” Sam asked. He stood in front of Walker, and James went over to the end of the hood to lean his arm against.

“Well, the leader’s name is Karli Morgenthau,” Alyxandria started.

“We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place,” John said.

“They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal,” Lemar explained. “But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.”

“We think that she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps,” Walker finished off.

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip. So, I guess you’ll have to look real hard,” James taunted— at least, that’s how it came off.

“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?” Walker shot back.

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” James asked, raising his voice.

“No, we don’t know, Bucky,” Walker responded, also raising his voice. Alyx looked at him funnily. “But, it’s only a matter of time before we find out.”

“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?” Alyxandria got off of the car and moved so she could face everyone.

“Take it easy,” Sam told him. “Look, Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement, and all kinds of authorizations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.” Sam and James started walking off and Alyxandria took one last look at John and Lemar before following.

“A word of advice, then,” Walker said, stopping the trip for a second. “Stay the hell out of my way.” The two walked off dramatically. Sam, James, and Alyx were watching them leave, but turned back to go do their own thing.

“Asshole,” James mumbled under his breath.

“So, what are you thinking?” Sam asked James after walking for awhile.

“Well, I know what we gotta do,” he responded. “When Isiah said, “my people”…”

“Oh, don’t take that to heart. That’s not what he meant.”

“No, he meant HYDRA. HYDRA used to be my people,” James explained. Sam scoffed.

“Not a chance,” he said.

“Walker doesn’t have any leads.”

“I know where you’re going with this, no.”

“He knows all of HYDRA’s secrets. Don’t you remember Siberia?”

“So, you’re just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” James replied, hesitantly.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Alyxandria asked.

“We’re gonna pay a visit to someone,” Sam said, stopping on the sidewalk.

“Who?”

“We’re gonna go see Zemo.”

———————————————————————-6/25/21

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (part 2)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, violence, angst, the usual shit.

-----------

"This is good. Really good," Detective Brett Mahoney said with a nod. He was holding the paper in his hands that Daphne had printed that morning. It was the picture she'd taken the night before. She never really trusted cops before since she knew they were corrupt. But since Fisk was now locked away along with the cops who worked for him, it was better. She wasn't stupid enough to think there were no corrupt cops left but she knew Brett was legit.

She’d taken an interest in the Italians after accidentally stumbling onto some things with her work. Working a case like this felt different to her average cases, it felt like it mattered. But she was a PI, not a fed or a cop. She could gather information until her heart's content but she wouldn't be able to do anything with it. To shut down the Italian's operation she needed to do it legit. Certain things wouldn't hold up in court if they weren't obtained legally. So when Brett asked her to work with them, she agreed. Off the books of course. That's why she hadn't taken anything with her. It wouldn't be legal evidence. But this was the tiniest sliver of proof he needed to get a warrant for them to go in guns blazing and search the place.

"Honestly, after Daredevil went in kicking ass, don't be surprised if they've moved things. But this at least gets a foot in the door," she mused softly. Brett nodded, flashing her a smile. 

"It does. This is great, Daphne, really. I'll keep you updated," he said with a nod. They both stood as he felt like he needed to walk her out. He always did this and she wasn't sure why. As they neared the desk, she saw two men talking to the cop there. One had long shaggy hair and the other was blind if his cane and glasses were anything to go by. Oddly enough the blind one's head tilted in her direction and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"There's my favourite detective!" The shaggy haired one grinned. He was so friendly, she almost heaved. He wandered over and shook Brett's hand enthusiastically. 

"Foggy," Brett said politely. Daphne's eyes were glued on the blind man though as he used his cane to come over. Something was itching at the back of her brain as she examined his face. She wasn't sure what.

"And who's this lovely lady?" The one who was apparently Foggy asked. He gave her a bright grin and she wondered what he must have snorted that morning to be so cheerful.

"This is Daphne. Daphne, this is Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock. They're lawyers," Brett said amicably. She gave them a brief smile noting how tight lipped this Matt guy was. How tightly he seemed to grip his cane. 

"Nice to meet you guys," she couldn't even help sounding bored. It wasn't even intentional. It didn't seem to phase Foggy though as he continued smiling, glancing over to his friend. 

"Nice to meet you too, right Matt?" She carefully observed the way Foggy looked at Matt like he was confused by his behaviour. 

"Pleasure to meet you, Daphne," Matt replied with a tense smile. That voice. That itch got worse and she narrowed her eyes a little as she looked at him. They flit around what she could see of his face behind the glasses before it clicked. Oh how it clicked. There was a reason why figuring shit out was what she did for a living but she hadn't expected to just find this out so easy. She hadn't even intended to look into it because she didn't even care that much. 

Matt seemed to tense more, his back straightening as he seemed focused on her, even with unseeing eyes. She remembered how perceptive he was. Did he know that she knew? There was no way. 

"Well I need to go. Let me know how it goes?" She asked, finally tearing her eyes away from Matt as she looked at Brett. He gave her a smile and friendly pat to the back.

"I will," he replied. Her eyes went to Foggy then as he gave her a nod and she gave one in return. After last night's attitude she didn't even bother acknowledging Matt. She made her way out of the precinct and down the steps.

Her mind was swirling with questions from her new revelation. It hadn't even been that hard to put two and two together. How had he not been caught yet? She wondered if Foggy knew or not. So lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice someone was behind her until it was too late. Then she was yanked into the alleyway. Once more pinned to the wall by her throat and she couldn't hold back the snort as her eyes landed on the blind man doing it.

"Are you following me?" He practically snarled. She rolled her eyes, much like the night before she didn't struggle in her position. She wasn't scared.

"My life doesn't revolve around you. I was there passing on my evidence," she said sounding annoyed. He didn't let up though.

"Seems awfully familiar…" she trailed off with a sly smirk. His eyebrows rose before he let her go. Even though he didn't have the gift of sight he seemed to watch her warily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he huffed defensively. She chuckled, cocking her head. He looked spooked somewhat and it was nice after his cockiness from the night before. He clearly hadn't thought coming after her through because if she hadn't figured it out, she would have by now.

"Are you even blind?" She wondered out loud. His head snapped to her then with an offended scoff.

"Of course I'm blind," he genuinely sounded offended and she came to the conclusion he wasn't lying.

"How do you do it then?" She pressed. He looked tense, like he was ready to crawl out of his skin and she was enjoying making him sweat.

"I don't know what you're talking about,” he snapped.

"Yeah you do. You know, beating bad guys up, fighting crime. Honestly it's quite impressive since you can't see," she smirked. 

He stopped his pacing and she noticed his hands clenching and unclenching. 

"You're crazy, you know that? Have you heard yourself?" His deflections were useless when she could hear that undertone of pure panic. She knew she was right.

"Don't try and gaslight me. It wasn't that hard to figure out  I wasn't even looking. I have no idea how you've not been caught yet, Devilboy," she snorted. He looked away quickly, chest heaving a little. She could see he was starting to realise she wasn't letting this go. He was silent and she observed him. He honestly looked ready to have a heart attack and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not gonna rat if that's what you're worried about," she stated with a sigh. His head snapped back to her then as a mirthless chuckle left his lips.

"Right. I'll just take that on faith shall I?" He sneered at her.

"You don't really have a choice. I was serious when I said I wasn't looking. I could give a rat’s ass who you really were. I found out by chance. Believe me or don't, I really don't give a shit," she said seriously. He did the weird head tilt thing for a moment before swallowing thickly.

"And how do I know you won't go right to the cops, or to the papers?" He couldn't hide the faint tremor in his voice. She wondered if this was the first time someone had found out on their own. How that loss of control felt.

"Why would I do that? What would it serve me? I do that, you get locked up. Despite your bad attitude, I actually think you do good things for Hell's Kitchen," she replied honestly. A little begrudgingly if she was completely honest. He made it hard to want to say anything nice about him. He looked confused, his eyebrows furrowing under his glasses. She was bored now honestly. His panic wasn't anything she needed to stick around for.

"Is that all or you wanna pin me to the wall some more?" She snarked. He shook his head, looking rattled and she stepped past him. His hand darted out with impressive precision for a blind man, gripping her wrist tightly.

"If you tell anyone, I will find you," his vague threat only served to ramp up her anger.

"It's not wise to threaten someone who can ruin your life. I have no need to tell anyone, but run your mouth like that and we'll see how fast your life burns down. I wouldn't piss me off if I were you," she growled ferociously. He seemed stunned at first by her words, letting go of her wrist like it burned him. He really needed to wise up and realise just who had the upper hand in this situation.

"Have a good day, Mr Murdock," she gave him a sickly sweet smile even though he couldn't see if. If all her observations were correct he didn't have to see it to know it was there. He seemed to be able to sense everything anyway. She turned on her heel and marched away, the whole thing similar to the night before. She idly wondered if anything did happen to her through her snooping if he'd just let her die. That's what she would do after all. Why would he save her when she had the potential to ruin his life? Oh well. She didn't need him before and she didn't need him now. Even if it came to it, she wasn't one to beg and plead for her life. 

[fandom-necromancer]

The Storm on the horizon Part3

Whoop whoop, now to the last (?) part!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 [Part1]   [Part2]

‘The man hates me, Connor.’ The older RK had a hard time standing in front of Nines and trying to persuade him to accompany them. ‘He hated me too’, he tried again. ‘And I have basically your face, so he will manage.’ ‘Connor, I’m literally the unit that tried to kill him!’ ‘You are not! You have been, now you are deviant, and I highly doubt you are trying to kill anyone right now.’ Nines sighed and stared at the wall, keeping his thoughts to that inside. ‘Listen, Connor, all that matters to me is that he is save again. So, don’t waste time here and go already.’ ‘Okay, idiot, then I’m going to defeat you with your own weapons!’, the RK800 announced. ‘You found out who the car belongs to, when it had been stolen. You discovered who stole it. You managed to find that person and their location. You found out they recently relocated to a different one. You got us the blueprints, the access to surveillance cams and reason enough so we can enter the perimeter without the need for a warrant. You calculated where they most likely keep Gavin and how they would disperse their guards. You know everything about this having spent night and day at this desk. Now, don’t you think with all this information you would be far better suited to get him out of there? Safe?’

Nines glared at Connor. ‘Yes, brilliant idea. I will go rescue him, so he screams the moment he sees me and tries to get away from me at all costs in a building full of Cyberlife agents. I couldn’t think of a better plan.’ ‘Then at least come with us to guide us. You can keep an eye on my location and account for any changes to your calculations.’ Nines sighed. Unfortunately, he had no arguments against that. ‘Fine.’

-

‘A guard in your area is taking a smoke break right now’, Nines told Connor through their connection. He was sitting in a van next to multiple screens that were connected to CCTV. ‘You should have it easier traversing the corridor now, what do you see?’ ‘Two persons standing at the entrance. I can’t use it’, was Connor’s answer. Nines nodded. ‘Is there a door on your right?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Take that one, down the stairs. There should be a logistics tunnel from the receiving department that takes you to the main hall.’ ‘Alright. Do you see what I see?’ Nines switched to their internal connection and let the surveillance cameras be for a moment. ‘Yes. What is it?’ ‘I would say some sort of alarm. They prepared for someone using the tunnels.’ Nines took control of Connor’s visuals and zoomed in. ‘It doesn’t look that new. If they recently relocated here, there shouldn’t be that much dust. I’ll check if the building still has access to the network.’ ‘Be quick with it’, Connor complained, nervously waiting next to the door. The two guards in the corridor seemed to remain there, but the one on smoke break could actually turn out to be a problem if he came back.

He waited for quite some time, until he heard a door slam. ‘Nines, people are coming.’ ‘I know, we are connected.’ ‘I know, you have to hurry!’ ‘I know! Open the door, it’s safe.’ ‘You sure?’ ‘They are coming, open the goddamn door!’ Connor followed the order and was quickly closing the door behind him, as Nines urged him to freeze: ‘Wait! They are talking.’ Connor stopped and listened.

‘What a heartless bastard. Isn’t he his brother or something?’ ‘Think so, else the boss wouldn’t keep him alive.’ ‘And he still doesn’t agree? I’d think the life of my brother was more important than keeping dirty company secrets safe. Isn’t that what all these rich assholes do anyways?’ ‘Hey, don’t ask me. Only thing I know is we have to beat up that cop some more soon.’

‘They are talking about Reed!’, Nines triumphed. ‘That means he’s still alive.’ ‘Yeah, let’s hurry so it stays that way’, Connor mumbled. ‘Down the stairs and then?’ Nines continued to lead Connor through the building. Connor traversed the tunnels and came up the other end of the building undetected. From there Nines directed him further up some stairs until they reached a series of old labs. The building had been one of the earliest Cyberlife development buildings, back when the company hadn’t been able to build glamourous towers and shiny stores at every corner. The equipment looked accordingly. The assembly platforms didn’t look as sleek and more archaic. Nines shouldn’t have felt anything looking at them, but through his connection with the other RK, he realised they both were on about the same level of creeped out. Still Connor looked in every lab, until detecting activity in the next room. He quickly hid in the adjacent lab and listened for any word ebbing in.

‘You will convince Kamski to delete all evidence of my involvement!’ It was not difficult at all to listen in on the screamed sentence. ‘Phck off.’ The sound of something wet hitting the ground became audible. Then a muffled hiss: ‘You can beat me up all you want, you can only loose.’ ‘I could kill you.’ ‘You weren’t successful when you had your robot-marionette doing the dirty work for you. If you kill me now you only get more years added to your sentence. Do you really want that?’ ‘Do you think anyone cares about you dying?’ ‘Yeah. You would have the most powerful man of Detroit against you. And the police will be pissed. Not because of me, but you killed a cop, that’s really not the way to go.’

By now Nines had analysed the voice that was talking to Gavin and the file coming up in his HUD made him freeze in anger momentarily. ‘Connor?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘I am sorry to have been that difficult to convince accompanying you. Please, go in there and give this man the beating he deserves, or I will come myself.’ ‘What?’ ‘He is alone and the one that hired these mercenaries, some are old Cyberlife security. They won’t do a thing when you got their leader.’ ‘And why should I beat him up? That’s out of question.’ ‘Then just get him and Reed out of there.’

Connor nodded and exited the lab, drawing his gun and jumping into the next. ‘DPD, freeze, hands up and three steps back from the man!’ He took in the shocked man standing there in neat clothing, a bit dusty from where he had knelt next to Gavin, who was lying on his stomach on the ground. He seemed to momentarily think about running for it, but Connor blocked the only entrance and they were on the second floor, so jumping out of the window wasn’t the best idea. Defeated, the man lifted his hands and let himself be handcuffed. Then, Connor turned to Gavin, who was trying to stand up on his own. His face was swollen and bloody, but there was a crooked grin, too. ‘See? Told you, police would be pissed.’ ‘Can you walk?’, Connor asked carefully helping him up. ‘Yeah, think so. How did you find me?’ ‘I’ll explain later’, Connor grimaced and took the handcuffed man by the arm, pulling him with him.

Nines continued to direct them through the wings, while SWAT stormed the building now that the hostage was secure and soon after, Connor arrived at their base, leading Gavin to a waiting ambulance first, planning on taking care of the man responsible for all this later. Little did he know, Nines had changed his mind on staying the hidden person behind the operation and suddenly appeared next to them, pushing the man against the side of the ambulance. Gavin flinched seeing Nines and stayed tense seeing the android press his arm against the man’s throat. The paramedic looked at Connor in shock, but he held up a hand to keep them from intervening. He would have a far better chance at that should it be necessary.

From what Gavin could see of the man’s face, he looked equally terrified seeing the android as he himself had been faced with his nearly-murderer in Fowler’s office. ‘No! Please! Help!’ Nines narrowed his eyes and immediately the man went dead silent. ‘I would shut up if I were you.’ ‘Nines, what-‘ But the RK900 lifted his index finger up at Connor to keep him from talking. ‘You know who I am?’ The man nodded terrified. ‘Then you know what you did to me, don’t you?’ Gavin saw how his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, staring at Nines wide-eyed. ‘If I had known it was you in this building, oh trust me, I would have personally come to get you, regardless of this human’s feelings. And I might have forgotten I am a cop when seeing you…’ ‘Nines!’, Connor interrupted. ‘That’s enough. If he pisses himself, I won’t be the one to drive him to the precinct! Now step back or I have to tell Fowler about what you just did.’

Nines bared his teeth, but nodded and stepped back, glaring at the man until Connor took him away. Then the android sighed, rubbed his face and sat down next to the ambulance. That was when Gavin’s curiosity won over his fear and he dared to ask: ‘What was that about?’ Nines looked up, seemingly having forgotten the human. ‘Oh. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.’ ‘No! No, I mean… Tell me why you intimidated the phck out of him first.’ ‘He is the one responsible for my… reprogramming. I was supposed to be a soldier unit or maybe a specialised line for FBI or SWAT. He decided I would become a killer instead. A hunter to take out deviants and kill… Well, those like you that knew too much.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Yeah. It does things to you being deviated and begin your life with blood on your hands you can never wash off.’ Gavin swallowed hard, hastily handing the paramedic that had decided to get back to her job his arm. ‘I… How did the police find me?’ ‘I found you. I got the license plate.’ ‘The car was stolen’, Gavin commented. ‘And? I retraced it until I found this place.’ ‘That must have taken… days. Minimum.’ ‘I did not leave the precinct until today. I owed you.’

‘You- wait. You didn’t leave… The phck?’ ‘I don’t need sleep, Detective.’ ‘Yeah, okay, but I’m just some-‘ ‘-random human?’, Nines finished his sentence. ‘Maybe. But I swore myself when I deviated and realised what crimes I committed as a machine to never allow the death of a human ever again if I can help it. Especially in your case.’ Gavin watched the paramedic bandaging a cut along his left arm for a while not sure what to respond to that.

‘I’m sorry.’ ‘For what?’ ‘For my reaction when we met in the Captain’s office.’ Nines sighed. ‘You were afraid. It was your trauma speaking.’ ‘Maybe, but it wasn’t fair. You suffered too. And you are not that machine anymore, if I understood you correctly.’ ‘I don’t blame you. Fear is perhaps the most intense emotion.’ ‘Yeah, but I do. Hell, I was afraid of Connor too, because he looks similar to you. I learned to accept him. Least I can do is try with you.’ ‘Really?’ Nines looked up to where he sat on a stretcher. ‘You really don’t have to push yourself like that, I already asked for a transfer.’ Gavin looked up to the sky and stretched his neck muscles. With a deep sigh he hopped from the stretcher, much to the protest of the paramedic. He ignored her and stepped towards Nines, who remained seated on the ground. ‘Hell, who knows when that might be… All I see is they still don’t trust androids. Could be a while until you got a new position somewhere else. Until then…’ He stretched out his bruised hand to Nines, who tentatively took it. ‘Partners?’