#look at that hair look at those strikes of silver! look at that sweater!

[paulsbettanys]

Paul Bettany at the Fan Expo Dallas on October 21, 2023 in Dallas, TX

📸 fanexpodallas

📸 fanexpodallas 📸 memoriehere

#Paul Bettany #paulbettanyedit #pbettanyedit #marvelcastedit #swcastedit #look at that hair look at those strikes of silver! look at that sweater! #🥰🥰🥰 #🥹🥹🥹 #i love one (1) sassy brit and one sassy brit only #my edits #Comic Cons

[lumenflowered]

[A video file is attached. The video seems to be of a higher quality than those normally posted by this account, perhaps because it is not being taken by Maria's Pokégear. Maria, after all, can be seen standing alone in the Champion's room, holding her device and staring rather intently at it, as if staring at it hard enough will somehow make this situation less complicated.

The door into the room is visible. As such, viewers see it open at precisely the same time that Maria does, her head snapping up to look at the figure who has walked in.

And that figure... well...

It's none other than Dee, uncertain but determined as she walks forward. She truly does bear a striking resemblance to Maria. Their hair is the same grayish-silver color, the same length—though while Maria wears her tied back in a ponytail and tucked under her hat, Dee's is worn almost entirely loose.

Hypothetically, if a given individual were familiar with only one of the two, and happened to encounter the other, it would be very easy to mistake one for the other. Their faces, the glasses Dee wears aside, are identical.

But there are differences. Maria's eyes are blood-red, as they have been since she chose to fight alongside Ho-oh—but before that, they were a very pale blue. Dee's are nearly colorless, but if they were to be described at all, the best word would perhaps—ironically enough—be silver.

And, of course, there is the matter of their attire. Maria still wears the same garb she has since Falling to this world, the garb of a former Hunter, with the notable exception of the Rainbow Wing in her hat. Dee, instead, wears a light brown sweater over green gloves. A dark brown skirt. Boots. And, of course, the glasses.

It seems, for a time, like neither of the two will speak first. Like neither knows quite what to say.

At last, Maria does. "...Hello, Dee."

"Hello, Maria," says the living doll made in her image. "...You look well."

Their voices sound exactly the same.

"As do you," Maria replies automatically. It seems, nevertheless, like she means it.

Both women fall silent again. It is an uncomfortable silence, yet—once again—neither seems to know what to say. Really, who would?

This time, Dee opens her mouth first. "I—"

"I am sorry," Maria interrupts.

Dee blinks at her, head tilting slightly to one side as if the words coming out of Maria's mouth will make slightly more sense at a 45 degree angle. "Whatever for?"

"You are not to blame for the circumstances of your existence, no more than any other person would be," Maria says. "My quarrel is with Gehrman. Not with you. I apologize if my demeanor has made you believe otherwise."

"...Ah," Dee says. "Well. I was going to apologize for making you uncomfortable, but that point seems... moot... now."

"Ah." Maria pauses. "Yes. Perhaps."

"Quite," Dee agrees. She clears her throat. "I am under no illusions that I will even come particularly close to defeating you in battle—in a Pokémon battle—but I would like the opportunity to try. Before we discuss anything further."

Maria nods quickly. Almost too quickly. "I would be amenable to that. Shall we?"

Dee wordlessly withdraws a single Pokéball, in response, and the video ends there.]

#passing stranger #rotomblr #pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #pokemon irl

[metalbvcky]

Fashion of his Love

When a plot bunny strikes, you write until it's gone! I've had so much fun with the first part, and yes you heard that right, first part lol. I thought about it and determined posting as I go really is the way I tackle most multi-chapters now (that and I wanted another last-minute fill). This was SUPPOSED to be a oneshot, but you know how that goes with me. 3k? Nah, more like 40k with an overarching plot and the slowest of a slow burn xD

I plan to continue this sometime after the next round of the Bucky Barnes Bingo starts! (which is like... in the spring, I know, but I tried to end the first chapter without much heartache)

tag list: @cable-knit-sweater @sparkagrace @musette22 @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes @jaemariee @caps-boo-bear @raven-writes-fanfic @montyc

Y2: Without Fear | @buckybarnesbingo

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rating: Mature (for now, may turn explicit) Word/Chapter Count: 3,039 (1/?) Tags: Fashion AU, Meet Cute, Age Difference, Fashion Designer Bucky, Silver Fox Bucky, Model Steve, Post-Serum Steve (see full list of tags on AO3)

✨ Summary ✨

Bucky leans an elbow against the armrest and taps his fingers against his cheek. Months of hard work have finally led him here, in a large studio with plenty of open space.

He had cultivated a new fashion collection for his brand, White Wolf Exotics, and he and his team were currently in the casting process. A runway event would take place in a few weeks, which required highly-experienced models to present each look for both media and buyer interest.

The only problem is, they needed the best of the best. Not just the first few people who show up.

But then, right at the end of the day, the last candidate steps out from behind the curtain.

Bucky can't help but linger his gaze. His eyes drift from the younger man's blonde hair to those vibrant blue eyes, over his broad shoulders and large abs. Bucky wonders what kind of skin care products he used, as his face looks so, so smooth.

This was the one.

Read on AO3

#stucky fanfic #stucky au #stucky fanfiction #stevebucky fanfic #stucky #stevebucky #bucky barnes x steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve x bucky #fashion au #writing tag

[starsfic]

Can we please have more of your humanoid splinter au?

Draxum being surprised that Lou still has those same abs from all those years ago.

One of the most beautiful sights in the world was Lou beating someone up.

Even if said someone was one of Draxum’s most loyal soldiers. 

Tigerclaw was one of the fiercest members of Draxum’s personal guard, handpicked by Lou himself. Draxum had been unable to say no to sparing the criminal, especially after seeing his battle prowess. Tigerclaw, however, had been unable to defeat Lou whenever they sparred together.

Tigerclaw went flying. Seems that remained even now.

Out of sight as the backup, in case the turtles came out running this way, Draxum watched. Lou waited in a fighting stance, clearly expecting Tigerclaw to come racing back.

A minute passed. Two. Three.

Lou finally relaxed and looked down. Draxum barely heard him grumble at something. The guard had gotten a strike in, it seemed. Lou pulled his sweater over his head, revealing a white crop-top. “...liked this sweater...” Draxum barely heard it. His eyes were wandering the bared skin.

Unlike Saki, who looked barely older than thirty despite being years older than his younger brother and having a daughter, Lou showed his age. His hair was running with silver streaks and he had developed an angular beard. Fat hid his muscles, making him look less like a gust of wind could knock him over.

Well, except for his chest.

The abs had remained. It was one of Lou Jitsu’s trademarks besides the whole hot soup and hideous jumpsuits. It was something Draxum had traced as Lou slept beside him, both in bed and in long nights at the lab. It was pleasant to see even now, showing that things hadn’t changed entirely.

(He ignored the circular scars.)

#TMNT #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Splinter Hamato #Baron Draxum #my writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt fill #prompt fic

[chryzuree]

Sphynx, white cat, and Persian for chrysi jacks?

Sphynx: Who prefers wearing sweaters the most? Neither, both? Do either of you knit? Would you ever wear matching sweaters?

answered here!!

White Cat: Are your f/o’s eyes particularly striking to you? In what way? Do they find themselves captivated by yours, in turn?

irl, w his character cards, YEAH THEY’RE STRIKING. BITCH CAN’T STOP STARING INTO MY SOUL W HIS NEON BLUE EYES. PUT THOSE THINGS AWAY, IT IS EARLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! chrysi thinks they’re striking in a way where they kinda shimmer a bit.. (inserting my hc here :3). they’re almost iridescent, in the way silver can be!!!! and jacks always looks at her like he’ll faint if he can’t see her at all times. and YESSSS, jacks loves chrysi’s eyes. they’re sooo pretty to him.. rose red w her golden pupils?? he feels like he’s looking into another world when he looks into them.

Persian: Are you a high or low maintenance couple? Who has the most rigorous grooming routine? Do you help each other?

HIGH MAINTENANCE!!!!!! i bet you that jacks takes jst as long getting dressed and deliberately making himself look all disheveled as chrysi does w her hair routine and everything. put two vain bitches in a bathroom and you won’t see them for the next two hours… and yessss, i bet jacks and chrysi have spa nights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! they like making the other look so pretty and beautiful and perfect <33

#.asks #m.dapper🌸 #s.chrysijacks #jacks finds god in chrysi’s eyes and chrysi jst thinks jacks has excellent puppy dog eyes. keep pleading with them honey it’s very cute..

[meandmaia]

How to Style Diamond Jewelry for Women: An Ultimate Guide

Diamonds are already incredibly striking with all their glimmer and brilliance, so it doesn't take much to make them stand out more. Nevertheless, you shouldn't let this stop you from experimenting with a few styling tips to accentuate your diamond's inherent brilliance. Check out a few of the advice and suggestions below to learn how to style your diamond jewelry and improve its appeal.

Your outfit's focal point is your jewelry. It not only adds a little shine to your everyday look, but it also serves as the final piece of your ensemble. See below for many ideas on how to wear your collection of diamonds:

Styling - Diamond Necklaces

Diamond pendants and diamond jewelry for women stand out independently due to their delicate chain and striking centerpiece. This is why an uncomplicated blouse in a solid color goes best with them. Wear a chic v-neck blouse in warmer months with your pendant or necklace delicately draped over your décolletage.

In the colder months, rock your pendant necklace with a timeless turtleneck to shimmer forever. If you prefer a little more glitz, pair your pendant with a straightforward diamond bracelet.

Styling - Diamond Earrings

Whatever type of diamond earrings you wear, how your hair is styled will significantly influence how well they are displayed. Diamond drop earrings are classy and timeless, making them ideal for formal occasions. Wear them with a sophisticated up do and a few hair tendrils falling to highlight the drop feature.

You can elevate your evening look by wearing drop earrings with an essential diamond necklace or 14k 10k gold jewelry. On the other hand, diamond hoop earrings will appear exceedingly stylish when paired with loose waves or a pulled-back ponytail. Pairing your hooped earrings with stud earrings can give you a slightly edgy look if you have a second ear piercing.

Styling - Diamond Rings

Diamond ring bands have the rare ability to sparkle while being subtle. You can unleash your inner glamazon by stacking your silver or gold rings with your diamond ring band. Wear them stacked on top of one another or distribute one on each finger. Your everyday wardrobe will benefit from the opulent addition of this ensemble. If you enjoy lots of glitz, wear your diamond ring with a traditional pair of diamond stud earrings.

Styling - Diamond Bracelets

Diamond bracelets are essential for bringing some glimmer to any ensemble, from jeans and a lovely blouse to a sophisticated evening gown. Your diamond tennis bracelet will stand out even more when worn with a classy set of white gold earrings in a hoop or stud shape.

Instead, you can bolster your ensemble by stacking your diamond bracelet with a number of subtle white gold bangles. You may also achieve an ultra-luxe look by wearing your bracelet with an all-black outfit.

Styling - Diamond Chains

Diamond chains are a statement accessory that can be worn to upgrade almost any ensemble, much like diamond pendants. Wearing your diamond chain with a simple crew neck t-shirt or a fine-knit turtleneck sweater can add shine to your everyday look. Style your chain with a trendy v-neck top or dress for formal events. You could overlay your diamond chain with one or two sterling silver links to give your outfit extra shine.

How to Style Multiple Diamond Rings Concurrently

There are no guidelines when it comes to diamonds. Therefore, "less is better" is a myth. The worry of seeming too garish prevents many individuals from wearing numerous diamond rings at once, but the trick is to nail the design.

Learn some advice on how to wear numerous diamond rings simultaneously below:

Wear various sizes

Different Ring Colors

Prevent Clutter

Stick to One Stone with increasing width

However, you must visit MeandMaia if you're looking for clearance jewelry deals for both men and women. We believe you would appreciate & cherish these treasures for all time. Our creative design selects those designs close to your heart or products we wear ourselves.

#bestdeal #diamonds #bracelets #necklaces #rings

[evanthenerd83]

“Feeling Blank”

1

She appears in a flash of lightning.

Her skin is pale. Not translucent. But pale enough to not be normal, somewhat grayish in tone.

I stay calm. I study the young woman.

Thunder rolls.

Ain’t easy. Fran Fries has notoriously terrible lighting conditions, even for a New York City diner. The fluorescent bulbs seem to flicker every couple of microseconds.

I can still see enough.

She looks like a college student.

Her sweater clings. Strands of lengthy hair stick. But the colors are missing, everything about her is gray.

Grayish.

She stares at my—our table.

She doesn’t blink.

Neither do I.

I speak first. “Hello.”

A pause.

“Please,” she mumbles.

Her voice is thin.

I bite my tongue to keep myself from apologizing. It is not my fault. Nor is it hers.

Bad luck strikes indiscriminately. Doesn’t matter if you are innocent or guilty.

Everyone deserves common decency.

Bedside manners.

I keep my mouth shut. Out of respect for this poor young woman, responsibilities be damned.

She looks up. Her gaze meets mine.

Christ.

This makes it even worse. Lightning flashes again, overexposing my favorite diner, and reveals her expression.

I can see—

I can see her face clearly.

She is crying. Lips tremble. Tears paint a path down both her cheeks.

Those tears are black. Black as ink. Ink leaking from paper. Paper too thin, too weak.

Just then… I remember.

Images come flooding back.

Emotions raid what fabricated heart is inside my chest.

Things I shouldn’t be able to remember.

I was created after such feelings had settled, coagulated, formed fears.

And yet—

I wipe.

The young woman doesn’t seem to care.

“Please,” she whimpers.

I take a deep breath.

“What’s your name?”

“I-I-Isabelle.”

I lean forward. I keep my expression neutral.

I don’t think I’m successful.

“Isabelle, where are you?”

Isabelle gnashes her jaws together. Her teeth have already vanished.

She begins looking around, twists and turns. She doesn’t try to stand up. This mystery will stay unsolved.

A new kind of emotion slowly dawns. Confusion.

By this point, I no longer make eye contact with her. I’ll probably break before the interview is over.

She stares at me.

“I-I don’t… I don’t—“

Lightning. Thunder. Fear momentarily overtakes confusion.

Fran suddenly appears.

Her waitress uniform is crisp, unbothered by constant movement. The pen pokes out of her breast pocket. A lollipop stick dangles.

She opens her mouth. Probably to ask if we need anything.

But then, she registers Isabelle. And her full lips clamp shut. Concern lights up those pretty blue eyes of hers.

Fran is a good person. Despite the apathetic cut of her jib, she has a heart of silver.

She is also smart. Pays attention to public safety announcements and weather advisories.

Give the people of New York City some credit: they take things seriously.

Especially when META is involved.

So despite her concern, Fran stays back. Doesn’t try to touch Isabelle. She knows that whatever is wrong with her, it could be contagious. Spread through physical contact.

She glances at me.

I read the question in her eyes.

I shake my head.

Fran backs away from our booth, and goes back into the kitchen to make more coffee.

2

“What day is it?”

“Jan… January seventeenth.”

I nod.

“And what year is it?”

“Two… two-thousand-and-twenty-three.”

I nod again.

This interview is arbitrary. A protocol put into place during the early days of META. Back when we had no idea what we were dealing with, or how to combat it.

No need for questions. Doing so only extends her suffering. Suffering happens to be one of my least favorite things in the world, right behind Ellen getting herself into trouble.

Existential Disintegration Syndrome takes approximately seven hours. From what Isabelle has just told me, this is her eighth.

Her eighth hour of being erased.

I think long and hard. Voices rear up. One wants to free her, put the poor girl down.

The other reminds me about Karen’s Law. Without proper identification, and permission from next of kin, I’d be killing her.

Damn it.

“Do you remember where you were? Before this?”

“A-at home. My… my apartment,” Isabelle sobs. “Wh-where am I?”

She blinks. And when she does, her eyelids close, but I can still see her pupils. A vague outline.

Circles slip down her cheeks.

“A diner. Fran Fries. Where…” I cough. “Where is your apartment?”

Lightning cackles.

“I… I don’t remember. I can’t… Oh god, it hurts! It hurts! I can… I can feel it, my skin is… Please… Please just… I-I know who you are, what you are, who you work for… F-for M-M-META… right?”

Her voice grinds against teeth. Pain bleeds off.

The kind of pain you simply couldn’t imagine. Agony reserved for people trapped in Hell, naked souls being licked by hyper-real flames.

Everything inside of me twists and turns. I don’t want to see her cry, hear her beg. The human part—that piece, my heart, my soul, whatever—tries grabbing the pistol I’ve kept hidden.

I just barely manage to hold off. The second voice repeats itself.

Positive identification of victims.

Last names.

Dates of birth.

Addresses.

Next of kin who can be brought down, given binoculars, told to peer safely from behind barricades. Parents who can back up possibly false information.

Who will scream, shriek, watch as their child—

“Please. Please. Just… Marvin, please…”

Their child is trapped inside a store, or a subway car, or a hotel room, or a diner.

Will beg as their child is asked questions by a man wearing Hazmat gear, or a automated drone, or an assassin in a trench—

“… I give you permission… You don’t… You don’t need to call anyone, Marvin… Not Ellen…”

An assassin in a trench coat, a glorified hitman, pest exterminator doing the government’s bidding.

An imaginary friend grown up, hands gripping the handle of a black, sleek, child-killing—

Isabelle leans forward. Her hands come up short.

“… Not my parents. Please… No-not my parents. My mom will…”

I can feel it.

I can see it.

“Marvin… Marvin, please, just end it. End me. Please. Oh god. I don’t want to… I don’t want… it hurts, Marvin. Marvin. Please…”

I can already hear them.

Those five words kept on the tip of Ellen’s tongue. Just in case. Always just in case.

In case I mess up.

“… Please just…”

In case I act out of line.

“… Just…”

A child-killing pistol, full of special bullets.

As they watch their child is killed

murdered

shot

euthanized

“… Just end this…”

put out of her

In case I

“… plea—“

3

I pay.

Fran doesn’t say anything as I leave the wad of dollars, just stares at me. Her eyes are wide.

She probably has an expression on her face. People always do. I purposefully avoid learning what it is.

I open the door. A shaking hand slips Ol’ Pipsqueak back into my pocket.

They always shake after cases like this. Killing monsters is easy. Hostiles don’t cry, beg for release.

But people? The afflicted?

Those are different.

Fran won’t call 911.

She won’t tell anyone what happened. I know that. I can hope.

Of course, Ellen will no doubt be summoning me. She has probably sensed what I’ve just done. All thanks to our cord.

But she can keep a secret.

Can bury yet another memory.

I shudder, step outside, and the rain washes off what remains of Isabelle.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #marvin missions #meta fantasy #urban fantasy #tragedy #neo noir fiction #short story #creative writing #original writing #july 2022

[junowritings]

Hello! I just saw your Kalim x reader and my heart went boom!

Is there any chance that I can request a Neige Leblanche x Fem NRC student Reader?

*Where Neige falls for her quite literally and romanticly when she is setting up for VDC. But turns out his love is somewhat forbidden in a sense.*

please and thank you! Also, question! Have you seen Yuuekn for the twst manga? He's really cute in my opinion! Have a good day!

I’m so happy to hear that you liked that hun I had a lot of hun with it~! Also I feel like writing Neige on Vil’s birthday’s gonna get me cursed but it’s fiiiine~

Also HELL YEAH I’VE SEEN YUUKEN. That man threatened Crowley with a kendo stick what a legend I can’t wait for the next volume! --------

You were only supposed to oversee the others working as VDC was being set up, to go around checking on others progress and non-too-subtly marvel at all of the booths as they were being built and arranged in the appropriate locations. 

Admittedly, you were probably only allowed free reign so you didn’t get in the way of the performers as they got in some practice for the final show. If the sharp look Vil had given you when as he’d practically herded you out was anything to go by, making yourself scarce till things cooled down was your best course of action, so you’d taken to keeping track of the backstage team, if only to see all the work that went into making this long awaited event happen. 

It was just pure chance that one of the second years had caught you wandering between equipment and mistook you as part of the team. Before you knew it, he was handing you an imposingly large set of speakers and asking you to get them moved back to the stage, and perhaps if you’d been more firmer about refusing, then you wouldn’t have been scrambling towards the main area, weighty equipment in tow as you hauled them alongside you. 

Fortunately, the work you’d been dragged into suited you just fine; you’d worked a few backstage gigs during previous school events, thanks to the headmaster’s brilliant idea to leave professional work to a bunch of minimally trained students (seriously, what does Crowley even spend the event budget on?). Thankfully, you were well prepared, and it looked like the other ‘volunteers’ were grateful for the extra set of hands too, as before long you were being approached by some of the first year workers, asking for your advice or help because they weren’t sure what to do.

You’re overseeing one such first year as he sets up the wires for the overhead lights, peering over his shoulder from where he’s crouched and guiding him when needed. When he plugs in the last of the cords he turns to glance up at you, wordlessly seeking your approval.  

You grin and flash him a thumbs up. “Hey, great job. Told ya you could do it.”

At your response the student visibly relaxes, standing up and rolling off the stiffness from being stuck in such an awkward position for so long. He gives the lights a quick once over before shuffling back, releasing a sigh as he muses aloud. “Looks like that was the last of the tech setup; do you think we’ll be needed anywhere else?”

You give a noncommittal shrug. “Probably not; unless we’re needed down by the clubs I think they’re all set.” 

Honestly, the work’s pretty much done by this point, and you’re sure that sooner or later you’ll be getting a call from Rook letting you know it’s time to rejoin the group. You’ve got to admit, you’re looking forward to seeing all of the boys’ hard work pay off - you know they’ve been busting their butts to polish their routine and you’re sure their nerves are kicking in right about now.

Maybe you could bring them something back from the stalls? A good luck charm or something to snack on to ease their nerves a bit - you’re sure Ace and Kalim would appreciate some of those ‘pick-me-up’ treats from those food stands they’d been eyeing near the entrance...

Something catches your attention from the corner of your eye mid-musing, and you find yourself pausing as you cast your gaze towards the stage. There’s several people on stage, and you know at a glance that they’re not part of the crew - the pristine white and blue uniforms were a dead giveaway as is, but as you watch the small group move along the structure you freeze, eyes narrowing.

Are those...kids?

You can’t be certain, given that you’re pretty sure this is a students only event, however you’re transfixed on watching them chatter happily to one another as they point at the different decorations strung up all over the venue. There’s one boy among them that you notice, namely because he’s the tallest of the small, merry group; his smile is bright and gentle as he laughs along with his friends, guiding two of them by the hands so that the group doesn’t get separated. 

The sight is cute, no one can deny, and it's enough to tug a smile at the corner of your lips. The student beside you notices your silence and follows your gaze, gasping when he spots who you’re looking at.

“Wha-Neige is here already?!”

“Neige?” You look between the student and the boy, confused. 

Now where have you heard that name before…

Your eyes widen when you remember. Of course, Neige Leblanche! That guy you’d seen from those interviews! You remember how miffed Vil had gotten when at the sight of the soft spoken boy when they’d worked a shoot together, just about dragging you and Rook out with him before Neige had even finished his segment. Apparently they were rivals or something, but you’d never gotten the chance to ask before Vil had shut that conversation down the moment it started.

Remembering the tempered scowl on Vil’s otherwise pristine face brought a frown to your own. What was it about this guy that he’d hated so much? The more you watched Neige the more he seemed about as nice as you’d expect, regarding his friends with a soft smile that radiated nothing but warmth and kindness as they swarmed around him, all smiles and laughter. 

One of the boys tottered away from the group, wandering over to the edge of the stage to look down at the people still milling about. His fingers were wound into the scarf around his neck, pulling it up close to his face as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking around with curious eyes. Eventually, he spotted you off to the side and you found yourself smiling as you offered a small wave.

The boy’s face brightened and he didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, waving back and letting go of his scarf long enough for you to see him smiling back at you. You chuckled a little at the sight, but the little moment doesn’t last long before his face suddenly scrunches up, discomfort crossing his face.

“A-Achoo!”

He sneezes violently enough that it completely knocks him off balance, and your face pales when you watch him start to topple off of the stage. People have wrecked their ankles just trying to jump from that height, so the moment you see him start to fall you’re running to catch him, arms stretching out before you’ve even reached him.

“Ah! Snick!”

Neige notices his friend beginning to tumble and crosses the stage before you get there, calling out the boy's name as a hand reaches out to grab the back of that peach scarf and uses the garment to pull him upright. You’d have been relieved if the momentum of yanking him back hadn’t sent Neige falling right off in his place, and now you’re running to catch a different boy as you watch him go over the edge.

Fortunately, the split second difference between him and Snick gives you enough time to reach him, and Neige lands in your open arms not a moment after you get there with a gasp at the force. Mentally congratulating yourself for the good catch, you look down at the boy nestled in your arms, who looks back up at you with a surprised expression.

His hair’s skewed, hat having landed somewhere in the fall as soft black strands fall over his face and brush against his lashes. He’s close enough that you’re pretty sure that you can hear his heart hammering in his chest, and his eyes are wide - you guess he’s still shaken from the tumble - but up close you can see just how striking they are, a deep brown easing into a honey color.

‘No wonder this guy’s an actor,’ you find yourself thinking. ‘He looks like he’s straight from a painting.’

You shake the thought away and focus on the moment, lips parting to ask. “Are you okay?”

For a beat, Neige blinks up at you, speechless before breaking from his apparent reverie with a start.

“O-Oh! Y-yes, thank you.” you watch a pink hue rise to his face, dusting across his cheeks as he brings  a hand to fix his collar, gaze never straying from your own.

Your expression softens at the response. How cute.

“Niege! Neige, are you okay?!”

A voice calls out, and you look up just in time to spot Neige’s gaggle of friends as they race down the stage stairs, moving to converge around you and the boy in your arms. The one who yelled - with silver hair and glasses - seems relieved when he sees Niege is unharmed, and Snick looks on the verge of tears as he shuffles to his friend’s side, bumbling apologies between sniffles.

Neige smiles and reaches out a hand to affectionately ruffle Snick’s hair. “It’s alright; I’m fine, everyone.”

The spectacled boy turns to you and bows. “Thank you so much for your help!”

You shuffle anxiously at the praise. “Ah, well, it’s no sweat, really - I’m glad I caught him in time! Heh…”

Both you and Neige sneak a look at one another, and as your eyes meet you become acutely aware of the fact that you’re still holding him to your chest. Masking your embarrassment with a cough, you loosen your grip enough for him to ease back onto his feet. He smooths out his sweater and you lean down to grab his hat, shaking it back into shape before moving to place it back onto his head. 

You don’t think twice about tucking some stray strands of hair behind his ear until he lets out a soft “Oh!” and you fluster, bringing your hands to your chest as he mirrors the motion.

“Thank you for catching me!” he hums, words sincere as he gives a little bow of his own.

“It’s no problem!” you give an idle wave, rubbing the back of your neck as you add. “Besides, the headmaster would have my head if another school’s student got hurt on our school grounds!”

Neige raises a brow at your words, but laughs along with you when you chuckle.

“So, you guys are entering VDC, right?” you venture a guess, changing the subject, and you watch the group nod in various degrees of agreement.

“Yes! I’m looking forward to seeing everyone perform!” Neige beams at the mention of the event. “Are you a member of the NRC team…?”

He trails off, realizing he doesn’t know your name; when you tell him, he repeats the name back to himself softly, as though making sure to remember it.

“As for me? I’m not on their team, well, technically.” you find yourself hesitating for a moment. “I’m more of a manager, cheering on the team and helping out with set-up. Though, Vil’s been handling most of the work, heh.”

“Vil?” he parrots back to you, looking visibly delighted at the name Happy to ramble about your friend, you’re quick to continue.

“Yeah! He’s been working really hard with everyone to polish their performance - I swear, you’re gonna love it! He’s actually-”

“(Y/N)-!”

You freeze, head whipping in the direction of the voice, spotting Vil striding in your direction as the crowd parts seamlessly to move out of his way. You grin as you watch him approach, but your smile falters a bit when you see his expression. Though his face remains carefully neutral, you’ve known him long enough to recognize that he’s positively seething, and you have no idea what’s got him so angry.

Still surprised to see him, you shift to face him. “Oh, hey Vil! What are you doing-?”

“We need to go.” Vil’s voice is stern, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder guiding you away from Niege and back towards the way he’d come from.

“Wha-why?” you sputter, confused.

“The event’s nearly starting, and we’re up first - you’re going to be late.”

He punctuates each word carefully, though gives you a surprisingly soft smile and brings his free hand to rest against your back when he notices the confusion visible on your face. “The others are waiting for you.” he adds, as though working to ease your concern as he continues to walk with you.

“O-oh, okay.” you fumble for a moment before craning your neck to look back at Neige, giving him the brightest smile you can muster as you wave.

“See you later, Neige! Good luck with the performance~!”

Neige returns the wave, soft smile betrayed by furrowed brows as he watches your retreating form disappear back into the bustle of people. For a few moments he tries to spot you in the crowd before reluctantly giving up, bringing a hand up to his chest and lightly grasping his sweater between his fingers.

“(Y/N)...” he mumbles aloud, hoping to himself that this isn’t the last time he sees you today.

#Anonymous #twst #twisted wonderland #imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst neige #neige leblanche #neige x reader #neige leblanche x reader #request #ask

[joaquinwhorres]

Blank Out (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names–amends he needs to make. When he gets to yours, he finds the amends process a bit more…difficult than it should be.

WORD COUNT ››››› 1,700-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› Oh hey, look at me jumping on that Falcon and the Winter Soldier trend. This is the Y/N version of my OC fic. Exactly the same but for people who prefer Y/N. Lemme know if you want to join the tag list!

Bucky stood outside of the door, staring at the wreath of brightly colored fabric leaves, a small wooden sign hanging in the center with the words Give Thanks looping across it. 

He doubted there was going to be much thankfulness for him on the other side of the door. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

This was supposed to be getting easier. Dr. Raynor told him it would get easier. 

But for someone who hated bullshit so much, she really spent far too much time talking out of her ass. Because this wasn't easy. 

Easy would be surreptitiously wiring a million dollars into each of their bank accounts from the HYDRA accounts he still had access to.

Easy would be taking out anyone who had been involved in the decision to give him the order. 

Easy would be breaking the damn rules. 

The rules aren't meant to make your life easy, James. They're meant to disconnect you from the Winter Soldier. That's the whole point of making amends, isn't it? 

He'd give anything to get her damn voice out of his head. 

Bucky propelled himself up the front porch steps before he could change his mind. Like he had last yesterday. 

He rapped on the front door, accidentally knocking the wreath sideways as he went to pull his hand away. Instinctively, he reached out to right it, centering the sign and taking his hands away slowly to avoid a repeat of the situation. Bucky checked over his shoulder, half expecting Sam's stupid little robot to Zoom into view with Sam cackling and making some dumb quip about metal butterfingers. But Redwing wasn't there. The only other person outside was an old man mowing his lawn in a dingy white undershirt and grey sweatshorts. Bucky's lip curled in disgust before turning back to the door--the sound of locks clicking out of place putting him on alert. 

"Hello?" 

Bucky blinked, his eyes meeting those of the woman before him. Her eyes were striking, pinning him to the spot and pushing all semblance of thought out of his head. 

"Can I help you?"

Bucky blinked, nodding at her. Right. He was here for a reason. Not to stand like some teenage boy who'd just seen the girl next door for the first time. 

"I'm looking for Y/N Y/L/N."

"You found her." 

He blanched. "You're Y/N Y/L/N?" 

The look of vague curiosity that had been gracing features markedly shifted into a look of annoyance. "Believe it or not, Y/N’s come in all shapes, sizes, and colors." 

Fuck this. He needed to get out of here. There was no way he could have this conversation now. 

"Still want to talk to me?" She asked, eyebrows arched and arms folded across her chest. 

No. 

Sam's laughter echoed in his head, as if he'd been here to witness the exchange. And that's why he stayed. Out of spite. 

He nodded. "My name is James "Bucky" Barnes and--"

"Wait a second," she held out a hand and raised an eyebrow on him. He did as she asked, stopping mid-sentence with a sinking feeling in his gut. "You're the Bucky Barnes?"

He nodded, resigned to the fact that this was going to be his worst attempt at amends yet. "Yeah." 

"Well," she breathed, dropping her arms. "If I'd known I was meeting an Avenger at my door, I might have put on some pants." 

His eyes ran down from her face, noticing for the first time that she wore a dressing robe that barely swept the tops of her knees. Her bare knees.

His mouth opened as if he had even the faintest clue how to respond to this and then his jaw moved up and down for a new second as if the motion of talking would bring words. While it didn't muster an apology or some other decent thing to say, he did manage to utter a single word: "Shit."

She snorted at the reaction before smiling for the first time and shaking her head. "If you want to come in and wait, I'll go get changed."

He shook his head. "I can wait out here."

She was still smiling. Probably because she realized he was far more pathetic up close. "Suit yourself, but there's eggs inside."

"I'm good," he said, forcing himself to give a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. She nodded, leaving the door open behind her as she disappeared inside the house--as if he'd change his mind.

He should leave right now. Turn around and come back a different day when he could at least function like a mostly human being. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his head. 

The quick, sharp sound of pattering bare feet broke his stream of thought, as another girl came to the door, standing before him with her hands on her hips. "We were having breakfast, you know," the girl announced, her voice dripping with sass. "Now we have to wait until she's done talking to you. And I'm starving." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be….not talking to strangers?"

"Shouldn't you be eating breakfast?" she countered.

"It's ten in the morning; I ate already."

"We were supposed to have breakfast an hour ago. But Ravi--"

"Rocio, leave Bucky Barnes alone," Y/N's voice called from elsewhere. 

Before he could fully process how odd it was for him to use his name, the little girl's hands dropped from her hips and she stared up at him, mouth agape and eyes comically wide. 

"You're Bucky Barnes?" she asked, her small voice awed. 

He nodded with a deep sigh and another forced smile. 

"What happened to your hair?"

"Got a haircut," he shrugged.

She furrowed her brow at him, her little eyes peering intently at his face. He wasn't sure the last time someone had looked him in the eyes this long. Nobody except Steve had looked him in the eyes since he made it out. The corner of his mouth twitched up. She nodded at him, having composed herself so her little face was serious once more. "I like this better."

"Thanks." He couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. He didn't even really try. 

A thought seemed to hit her, lighting up her whole face with excitement. "Wait right here. Don't move. Promise."  He nodded again and she raised her eyebrows at him, giving him a stern look. 

"I promise," he said, clearly stating each word.

She nodded at him. "Ok. Good." And then she turned and ran into the house, her feet making far more sound than they should for someone of her size.

Y/N reappeared shortly thereafter with a faint smile on her lips, dressed in a copper colored sweater and jeans. "Sorry. You're her favorite."

"She's cute." 

What an idiotic thing to say. 

"Wish I could take credit," Y/N said, shaking her head. "She's my sister's. I'm just the babysitter on duty."

There were some more sounds of scampering and Rocio was back at the door wearing a long black satin glove, reaching about halfway up her bicep. There were lines streaked across it in gold marker to make it look like it was made of metal plates. 

"I made an arm like yours!" she announced, almost whacking Y/N in the stomach as she extended her arm out for him to see. 

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He'd seen Halloween costumes for sale and shirts with one of the sleeves modeled after his arm, and pictures of guys with an arm wrapped in tinfoil. All of them had been with his old arm--his silver one with the red star. The arm that belonged to Him. An arm made to invoke fear. 

This was the arm of a protector. 

She deserved more of a reaction than a small, breathy, "Wow." 

"Will you sign it?" Her eyes got even bigger if possible, and Y/N started to shake her head, bending over to talk to the little girl,  but Bucky stopped her. 

"You got a marker?"

"I'll go find one!" Rocio disappeared again, leaving him and Y/N alone on the doorstep. She was closer this time, and he could hear her talking to herself and rustling through different drawers. 

Y/N turned her attention from her niece back onto Bucky. "So, why is Bucky Barnes on my doorstep?"

"I uh--when does your sister get home?" he asked, eyes focused in the direction of Rocio's sounds. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away and back up to hers. "I should probably tell both of you...together."

The playful amusement that had been on her face disappeared as she stared at him, as if trying to see inside his head. Like she would want to see what was inside of his head. 

"She'll be here around three." 

He nodded, saved from a response by Rocio's re-appearance, waving a silver sharpie in the air. She offered it to him, and he plucked it out of her hand, taking hold of her toothpick of an arm in one hand and signing his name on the inside of her bicep. Where she could hide the signature if she wanted to.

Bucky handed the marker back to her as Rocio held her arm out, trying to catch sight of his name. 

"Rocio," Y/N prodded, gently. 

"Thank you!"  she chirped, before turning and literally skipping back inside. "Ravi--look!"

He liked her.

"That was really kind of you," Y/N said, warmly. "I think you just made her year." 

He shrugged. 

"Although, I have a feeling that this is all she's going to talk about for the next week," Y/N sighed, shaking her head. "Anyway, Lilly will be back around three if you want to come back then and share whatever secret serious news is it that you need to tell us together." Her voice was teasing, and Bucky's mouth lifted into a smirk.

"I'll be back then." 

"Great," she smiled politely. "See you then." 

He nodded, wishing her goodbye before turning down the stairs.

So much for getting easier.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #tfatws #fatws #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #falcon and winter soldier #bucky barnes reader insert #post-end game #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #marvel #avengers #marvel fic #avengers fic

[paulsbettanys]

Paul Bettany at MegaCon Orlando on February 3, 2024 in Orlando, FL

📸 megaconorlando 📸 themaggielovitt 📸 Collider 📸 kaelaxrose917

#Paul Bettany #paulbettanyedit #pbettanyedit #marvelcastedit #swcastedit #look at those whiskers #look at that hair look at those strikes of silver! look at that sweater! #🥰🥰🥰 #🥹🥹🥹 #my edits #Comic Cons

[doexoeyes]

Of Finches & Firsts

Ok so here’s a fic I actually have on Wattpad and AOO3 but I decided to bring over here. On those sites I wrote a character for this story, but on here it’s gonna be Draco x Reader ♡ Only thing to note is that your last name in this story would be Finch (so to make sense of the title and some other little parts of the story) as well as you’re a Hufflepuff. Sorry to the other houses,I adore you all but Draco and a Hufflepuff is just to juicy to pass up (in the first book he literally say’s they’re the worst) so just trust me when I tell you that it’s all for the story. Anyways I hope you enjoy and if you’re interested in reading the original, here are the links:

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: "A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok." You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

         Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Firsts Of Many

The first time you ever saw Draco Malfoy was at the sorting hat ceremony your first year at Hogwarts. You thought he was striking upon first sight, with his silver grey eyes contrasting with his nearly white hair. You knew he would leave a lasting impression upon whoever looked at him, and you very much envied him for it. You felt like you were as plain a Jane as they came, especially when compared to him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him for the rest of the night, drawn to, not just his features, but the mysterious aura that surrounded him.

When your name had gotten called for the sorting, you were incredibly nervous for many reasons:

1. For the house you were going to be sorted into that would shape your life for the next 7 years.

2. For the several hundreds of eyes watching you go up the steps.

3. For the white haired boy who you seemed to have developed the tiniest little crush on.

Thankfully, you made it up without tripping and making a complete fool of yourself and were pleasantly surprised to find out that the house you'd be sorted into was:

"Hufflepuff," the storing hat declared, and a thunderous applause followed suit.You smiled, looking towards the table with the yellow cladded students as they cheered and waved you over. You couldn't wait to tell your father, who was a proud Hufflepuff himself, that you were now one, too.

When it's Draco's turn to be sorted, you made sure to pay very close attention. A small silly part of you wanted to cross your fingers and hope that he'd somehow be sorted into Hufflepuff just like you.

Of course, that was a very optimistic wish.

"Slytherin," the hat announced, and all those hopes quickly came tumbling down because if there was one house you knew you weren’t going to be able to fit in with, it was Slytherin.

There went your chances of being potentially noticed by Draco Malfoy.

Letting out a sigh, you were able to manage a small smile as you clapped for the boy along with the rest of your fellow schoolmates.

You spent the entire year making new friends, learning spells, studying up for exams, and never having the opportunity to talk to Draco, your only regret of the year.

For Draco, his first year at Hogwarts consisted of him developing the reputation of being the school's bully. Most of his antics we concentrated heavily on Harry Potter and his friends, but he truly didn't spare anyone that wasn't a part of his Slytherin crew.

Still, this didn't lessen the small crush you had on him since the day of the sorting. Despite his actions, you really felt that the boy was much more than what he projected to the world.

The first time you ever got to talk to Draco Malfoy was during your second year, when you had accidentally run into him as you rushed to your potions class.

You were too busy worrying about making it in time to class, really not wanting a reason to make Snape chastise you, that you had forgotten to pay attention to your surroundings. A disastrous recipe for running into someone, which was exactly what ended up happening.

"Hey!" he said with a grunt as his books fell from his hands.

You, mortified, hardly even noticed it was Draco at first, as you immediately leaned down to pick up his books.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I'm a complete klutz. I should've been paying more attention, I just-" as you got back up from the floor, books recovered & in your arms, you froze as your eyes made contact with his striking silver ones.

"Yeah, you definitely should have! Next time, try not to run into your superiors, first year," he said in distaste, brushing off the sleeves of his robe.

You stood there, shocked into silence, feeling your cheeks warm and mentally trying to coach yourself through the moment.

Take a breath, don't sound so nervous.

"A-actually, we're in the same year. I...umm...I first saw you at the sorting, but we had History of Magic together. I sat a row ahead of you," you corrected, biting your lip.

He tore his gaze away from his sleeves and locked eyes with you again, a chill going down your spine.

"Really? Strange. I don't remember you. Then again, you Hufflepuffs are so forgettable," he stated with a roll of his eyes. 

"I'll take those," he said as he grabbed the books from your hands and walked off.

Just like that.

 No 'thank you', no apology. Not even an offer to walk you to class which you happened to share this year as well.

You watched him walk away, cheeks definitely as red as Gryffindor's robes at this point, feeling dejected and absolutely embarrassed. You always imagined what your first conversation with Draco would be, as pitiful as that sounded, but in your head it definitely never went like this.

You ended up late to potions class and got lectured by Snape in front of the whole class, including Draco himself and wondered if he remembered who you were, or if he once again erased you from his head and permanently labeled you as a 'forgettable Hufflepuff'.

The rest of the year went on as normal after that, nothing too special.

The first time you really understood what your feelings for Draco Malfoy were was in your third year, on the train ride to Hogwarts.

You watched from the window as the train passed through the lush scenery of grand trees & clear blue skies, hands fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. Your best friend, Mauve Ambrose, was seated beside you, gossiping about potential romances ("I think Ginny is head over heels for that Harry Potter kid and everyone knows it. Except, you know, that Harry Potter kid.") and who was to have the 'biggest glow up' of their entire year group ("My money is on Longbottom. Remember that I called it, ok. I want a witness to prove that I said it first.").

Hearing the candy trolley pass by, you perked up and politely excused yourself from your friend, walking out of the compartment. Your eyes searched for the trolley, determined to make it to it before the last of the chocolate frogs were taken, and caught it making its way towards the back of the train.

When you approached the trolley, you waited for the attendant to continue on along with one of the students as they picked out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Once the attendant turned towards you, you smiled wide, ready to request a chocolate frog, when you felt someone approach from behind you.

"A chocolate frog for me, yeah? And make sure it doesn't have Dumbledore's card. I have like 10 of that old bat," said a familiar, snarky voice.

You turned and your breath immediately caught in your throat; it was Draco Malfoy.

"You're in luck, there was only one left. Although, I can't really confirm if this one has a Dumbledore or not..." the attendant said, handing him the box.

You frowned a rather sad frown, disappointed. Perhaps one would blame the Malfoy boy for taking your turn (you did get there first after all) but in truth, he wanted what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to get it.

In your mind, all was fair in candy and war.

"Hey, aren't you the girl who ran into me last year? The Hufflepuff?" he asked, eyes looking you up and down.

You felt so small in his presence. Although you were both about the same height your first year together, he towered over you at this point in time.

"I...y-yeah. That's me. Umm...my name's Y/N, actually. And congrats on the frog. I came to get one but you managed to get the last one," you said, trying to keep it cool on the outside when on the inside you were a mess of nerves.

You really wanted Draco to like you. Not in a big, important way, no. Just enough to remember your name, at least.

He continued on staring at you silently, even when you finished talking. His gaze felt like a microscope on you and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

"You have weirdly shaped eyes," he says bluntly after a moment and you really wished you knew a spell that would have the floor swallow you whole.

"Umm...." you were unable to come up with a response.

You wish you were witty or funny or charismatic, but socializing did at times become quite difficult for you, and you weren't gifted with a quick mind or a sharp tongue.

"Anyways, I'm gonna go enjoy my frog now," he said as he walked away.

You were not surprised to feel the slight sting of tears forming in your eyes. You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down. You hated the fact that you were actually so sensitive. Your parents tried to make you feel better about it, stating that it just meant that you had a big heart.

“Well,” you thought, “if having a big heart meant it was easy for me to cry, then it didn't seem like a very good thing to have”.

Keeping your tears at bay (at least until you could sit down and put your sweater over your head so no one could see), you walked over to your compartment.

It was when you were nearly there that Draco's head popped out from his compartment's sliding door, startling you. You let out a small yelp, putting your hand over your mouth almost immediately after.

"Here, have this," he stated simply, as he reached his hand out towards you.

To your surprise, it was the chocolate frog box Your eyes widened, staring at it before cautiously retrieving it from his hand, switching your gaze back to him.

"I only wanted it for the card, and it's another stupid Dumbledore one" he claims, and before you could say anything, he slides the door shut, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the walkway, chocolate frog in hand.

It was then that you noticed that the box had its wrapping still in tact, meaning it was never opened in the first place.

Once you made it to your compartment and sat back down in your seat ("Nice! You got Celestina Warbeck," Mauve stated excitedly as she opened the box for you), You realized that your little crush on Draco Malfoy had turned into an actual one.

The first time you ever got to experience what it was like to fall in love with Draco Malfoy was in your fourth year at Hogwarts, a few weeks before the Yule Ball.

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco imagine #Harry Potter #draco lucius malfoy #imagine #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter imagine #draco x hufflepuff!reader #hufflepuff #slytherin #draco x huff

[slothgiirl]

the trash pile: alex turner x reader

The cybernetic augmentation juts out from her temple, leading down to her chin, the metal a dull grey. Nothing says belter more than slap job augmentations, Alex thinks as she smiles at him, reaching out with her hand to him.

He takes it.

She's pretty from what he can see from the dim yellow lights in the club. The augmentation somehow complementing her already well formed cheekbones. A mess of bleached blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

And she's already offered, dragging him out onto the floor shamelessly. He'd rather dance with a beautiful woman than stand around drinking and having to listen to all his friends talk about people, things, he's unfamiliar with.

They've moved on.

The floor flashes bright blue to the beat of the music. Too loud to carry a conversation. Too loud to think. Alex can finally stop overthinking, what he's done since he landed on Tranquility base six hours ago.

Her touch is solid and confident, hands on his shoulders as she laughs, one hundred percent in the moment. He doesn't think he's ever been like that. Her ease is as natural as Alexa's charm.

His gaze flickers back to the table they'd been sharing, but they've dispersed into the club. He can't see a trace of any of his friends. Matt had long since left, having a ceremony to wake up for. "Tomorrow," he'd grinned, promising a night of debauchery.

"Hey," Taylor calls into his ear, bringing his attention back to her, blue eyes like the sky back on earth. None of the gaudy recreations of sky broadcasted through the colonies. Mars was said to not even bother, letting it's people grow up with an orange sky.

She smiles, tilting her head, before leaning in.

And wow, Alex really has been alone for too long, as her lips on his send his heart beat into a frenzy. Blood rushing in his ears like a teenage boy all over again. It isn't real, but he thinks in that second he loves her.

Alex always has been a romantic.

They leave the club together. The corridors are still red for the night. The one thing he hadn't missed. Even Ceres had better artificial lighting mods.

"I've got to go to work," Taylor tells him bluntly, "but you should give me your number. I think we could have a lot of fun together." She looks at him with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip. He wants to kiss her again.

But, he'll be gone the day after tomorrow. The entire base holds too many ghosts for him to feel entirely comfortable. It makes him keep looking over his shoulder, expecting Josh or Julian. Two people he's long since lost touch with.

"I'm actually not staying that long," he admits as she leads them through the corridors. Alex can still recognize the alcoves he and Matt would take smoke breaks in. Which turn would lead them back to the lifts. Another life.

"That's a shame."

He chuckles. Before his mind catches up with his tongue, "wait, did you say you're going to work now?"

"Yeah. Its so fucking boring," Taylor says, stopping besides the lifts. "Coms graveyard shift." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't blame ya," he admits. Alexa had worked the coms. She'd always complained about having to go thirty seven floors below, bundled up in jackets. Since it was less populated, the government enacted more energy saving features.

"Maybe we'll see each other again in the drift," she grins suggestively, right as she steps into the lift.

Alex watches the doors closed, before he turns around, deciding to go find an open store. He could go for some more coffee while he's here. Maybe even stock up on it. It shouldn't be hard. The Base wasn't a residential area. Tourists were coming and going as well as SFN members.

There was the launchpad.

He lets himself wander. Too buzzed to be as tired despite the early call time he has in the morning. It would be just his luck to miss Matt's big promotion because he'd overslept after having traveled a month to be here.

It's not hard to find an open bodega. The open sign flashing green in the dim of the night.

Maybe he should've gotten the night vision implants after all. Miles never shut up about it. How easy it was to make his way about different colonies even during night cycles. And you could only tell if you were looking for the little silver ring around the iris.

Alex slips inside, making a bee line for the food. It's been hours since he last ate. At this point a cup of noodles and instant coffee sound like a dream. He gets the little powdered donuts as well. Then goes for the liquid milk creamer.

Who knows when he'll next have that option. No one had yet to figure out how to increase cows milk production in space. And powdered never tasted the same.

He looks at the fruit. Incredibly overpriced since it's a bodega. But apples and oranges. . .Alex could still remember the taste of fresh squeezed orange juice his mother would make. She'd cut them all open, let him squeeze the juice out before sucking on the pulp.

Alex grabs the smallest oranges.

There's no reason not to splurge. He has the money for it. And work is never hard to come by with his skill set. There's a large market for the skills SFN ensigns have, but most of those ensigns just stay with the navy.

He turns to go pay for his small haul, but the sight of a woman staring out of a faux porthole stops him in his tracks.

Her profile could not hide how beautiful she was, her gaze caught by the live feed of the earth on the other side of the moon. Romantic dark eyes gazing into the side of the bodega, her questionable egg salad sandwich forgotten in her hand. The bump in her prominent nose only served to make her profile more striking.

"That's not actually the earth," Alex starts gently, catching her attention. "Ya know." She turns to him, trying to hide the fact that she'd jumped, startled by his presence. And doing a damn good job at brushing off the surprise.

He was right. She's beautiful. Well formed full lips. Her dark hair tucked a braid, looking better in trousers and patched up hoodie than most people could dressed to the nines. Her shoes stick out from the casual ensemble, patent red leather with a split toe. There's the hint of dark circles under her eyes, probably from a missed nights sleep.

And a scattering of light scars like stars by her left cheekbone.

"I know," she responds, "I just never thought I'd ever be this close to the earth."

"You could take a trip to the other side and see the real thing," he muses, unable to hide the longing in his voice. Alex knew in his bones he'd never step foot on earth again. Never walk the streets in Sheffield or London again. But he couldn't help but wish for a miracle.

She shakes her head, the warmth in her eyes receding as she closes herself off. "Can't. Have to meet with a friend and then go back."

"Must be a good friend if you've come all this way."

She shrugs noncommittally, "He's more of an acquaintance of a friend. I've never actually met the man. But things being as they are," she explains, "it's best done in person."

Alex is now intrigued, a red flag raised in the back of his mind that still flies away information happening in the corner of his eye just in case. It makes him a damn good private investigator. "Mysterious."

"Forgive me for not spilling all my secrets to a stranger," she notes, arching a brow.

He can't help but chuckle. "Ya got me there love. Let's try something else."

"Like what," she asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"How are you finding our moon?" The moon might not think it was the earth's, and the government sure wasn't, but the moon still spun around the earth the way it had for millions of years.

"Disappointing," she admits, frowning, "Ceres is livelier. And would it kill them to use brighter lighting?"

"Austerity measures," Alex shrugs. It had been the answer for as long as he'd been alive.

"From what," she asks, tilting her head, a smirk forming on her lips, "there's no war or reason for shortages."

"Just repeating the party line," he admits.

"Well," she raises her sandwich like a sad little white flag, "I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I get your number?"

Surprising him, she shakes her head, "No. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I don't plan to stay on the moon for long."

"Lucky for you," he counters, following her to the sales woman, built like a rugby player, "I'm not from the moon. So there's hope yet for our paths to cross."

She snorts, digging around her pockets for money, slowly building up a pile of change to pay with. "Let me guess," she says knowingly, as her eyes look him over, taking in his hair now curling past his ears, the navy blue sweater and white shirt combo that had felt smart earlier but had wrinkled in the course of the night. "you're from earth."

Alex answers bashfully, "born there." He always felt like apologizing for having been born on Earth. For having spent his childhood breathing in air without a care. For not knowing how precious an atmosphere was.

"Well I don't plan to go to earth," she trails off, waving her receipt away.

"Neither do I." He hands the lady a bill too large for what he's bought and follows her out the door, not bothering for his change. "But I take it there's no way I can convince you to give me a number?"

"None."

"How about a name," he offers. Alex had not seen one person that he'd bothered to chase in years. And here she was, indulging him as though he was a stray puppy she had fed once and now followed her around in hopes of more scraps.

"Yours first," she snipes back, not missing a beat.

"Alex." He doesn't ever bring up his last name. Too much weight. A famous family. And an infamous past. Being just Alex was a luxury.

"Tisiphone."

A name fitting for someone born in the jovian system. Maybe even Dione. But Dione, while a newer colony, wasn't bloody awful for someone to want to leave. It had to be-"Titian," he guesses. The wild west of space. SFN cadets hated getting assigned there. Johanna had said the worst part was the perpetual twilight.

Too many crevices to hide in.

"Yes," she responds, "and hopefully never again."

"If we ever meet again," the romantic in him already imagining them crossing paths in a Callisto settlement, planting trees for the rest of their lives and learning to work wood, "can I take you out for a cuppa?"

Tisiphone laughs, smiling tight lipped, "If it happens then I'll say yes earth boy."

** ** ch 2

The ceremony drags on.

They all sit, gathered around the Kennedy Hab, the first large permanent building on the dark side of the moon. The benches are as uncomfortable as ever, as Alex gazes down at a sea of navy uniforms all with various ranks on their right shoulders. He's seated right next to Alexa. The boys down there somewhere with Matt.

It's an SFN event so Alex's paranoia is right for once. The second glances the captains and commanders threw his way were knowing. They recognized him.

It sets his teeth on edge.

Alexa pats his knee, comfortable around him despite their shared history. Johanna besides him with her fiancé. They both keep glancing at each other, infinite in their whispering. He wants that.

"I'll throw hands at anyone who says anything," Alexa reassured him. Looking especially nice in a long red dress. She's not single. But it clearly isn't serious enough if she didn't bring him along to celebrate her friends.

"That would make it worse," Alex responds, keeping his gaze forward, careful to keep his face neutral. It usually wasn't a problem. That being his default expression. But this was bringing up events from his past he's long since buried.

"Derek was supposed to be here," Alexa says to try to distract him, "you would've liked him. Life of the party. Miles and him had a one night stand and now we're all friends."

"Well that's not saying much considering Miles will sleep with anything."

She laughs, "True. But even Nick gets jazzed to hang out with him and you know how hard it is to get close to Nick."

"He's just careful about who his friends are," Alex acknowledges. Unlike Nick, Alex was just terribly bad at opening up.

Nick was just picky. "That says something good about little old me." Alexa twirls her hands over her head. Sticking her nose in the air. "Not such a mess after all."

"You've never been a mess," he tells her, watching as they begin to call up all the newly minted commanders. Matt shouldn't take long. H being closer to the front of the alphabet.

"Yeah but I've never been particularly good at anything but charming my way into things," she shrugs shamelessly. Alexa wasn't the type to lose sleep over her insecurities.

The Admiral present at the ceremony, Marcus Kapoor, speaks clearly over the microphone, "Commander Matthew Helders."

Alexa and Johanna both stand up, yelling, "congrats!" Alex claps as loud as he can for a beat longer than the rest of the room as Matt shakes hands with the Admiral.

Alex remembers his own ceremony seven years ago now. It had been a smaller affair. His entire career accelerated by his talent.

He swallows back the bitter lump that forms in his throat. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk, his father had often told him back on earth.

Try telling that to anyone who doesn't live on earth: most milk is powdered in space.

He finally lets his eyes search through the crowd, trying to spy the man who'd once been his great mentor and friend. But if Julian is present, Alex doesn't see him among the uniforms. He's sure that he'd know Julian anywhere. His hair perpetually sticking out wildly like he'd just woken from a nap, streaks of color running through.

It was a welcome sight from the mandated navy and neutral colors the SFN preferred. Everything was done to keep the SFN neutral, trying to avoid any conflicts between the colonies. And especially between Mars and Earth.

Unable to wait, Alex asks Alexa, "did Julian come?" Julian and Matt had never been as close as Alex had been to the older man, one of the rare people to turn down a promotion. But Alex thinks Julian still would've come and cheered Matt on.

Drinking at bars until morning talking about life and chatting about their mutual obsession with vintage terran music cemented friendship like nothing else.

She frowns, lines forming between her brows. "Captain Casablancas?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, a nervousness creeping into the lining of his stomach. Julian had also been the only person present during the incident that had chosen not to testify. If he had, Alex had agonized long hours over that large IF, he'd probably have been given a far harsher sentence.

And it looked like the man had finally accepted the rank of Captain.

Alexa places her hand on his arm, doe eyes settling on his, before gently attempting to break the news, which given what she was saying, was impossible to break gently. "You haven't heard?"

"No."

"Julian's dead Alex," Alexa explains, her hand anchoring him to reality, even as his world lurches, "some accident with a faulty seal."

Fuck.

What the bloody hell!

Alex clenches his jaw. Julian deserved more than dying in a preventable accident. He was, and remained the only person to have jumped tracks at the SFN, going from maintenance to exploration.

"I'm sorry," she tries, patting his arm with her hand. "I know you two were close. This is sort of the worst way to hear the news isn't it?"

"How long ago," Alex asks in lieu of responding to her. Julian. Alex could hardly call him a friend anymore.

By the time he'd worked up the courage to message the man, Julian hadn't bothered responding at all. A cold message that Alex could understand.

He hadn't tried to contact him again.

"Three weeks."

Alex nods, fixing his gaze on the stage. The names being spoken, called up on stage, meaningless now that Matt had gone.

He'd been traveling to the Base.

No one had bothered to tell him.

They make their way down to Matt, navigating the crowd who are also here to celebrate their relatives and friends. Alexa led the way, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter.

Jo and her fiancé hold hands. His eyes never leave her form as she leads on.

Alex frowns.

He'd thought. . .he'd thought, when Matt had first met him upon arrival at the base's landing pad, that he could slide back into his old life. Pick up where he'd left off. Maybe get a job here permanently.

Alex hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until he'd sat around and watched all his friends eat and drink. Easily communicating with each other they way only tightly knit groups of friends could. Finishing each other's sentences.

They had once been like that with Alex. But years in between meetings left him out of the loop. It didn't help that he had chosen to self isolate. Choosing to take jobs that left him without a permanent home, spending his free time tucked into various hotel rooms.

"Alexander Turner," a voice calls out.

He turns, faced with a black woman in a sleek khaki green suit, a moon police officer uniform. Her hair is as sleek as the press of her suit. Dark curls dusted with grey hairs.

"Yes," he asks, halting with great hesitation. The last time he'd dealt with the moon police, they were ensuring he was under house arrest during his trial. For his safety they'd told him over and over.

"I'm Major Gabriela Moss," she tells him, sticking her hand out with great formality. "If you'd please come with me," she continues, as he shakes her hand. "There's a job I'd like to discuss with you."

Swallowing any nervousness he has, he nods. How bad could it be? Probably some white collar crime that the police don't want to deal with. Alex could stock up on lots of coffee with the money. "Lead the way."

She takes him to the precinct, located next to the base. Tranquility Base fell under SFN jurisdiction. But the residential areas ringing the building were left to the MP 505 precinct.

Her office is just like every other police office. Bright disorienting lights. Cream walls, with no decor. A desk bolted down to the floor, in case the artificial gravity malfunctions. And a photo of her wife and kids tilted just out of his view.

"What's the job?" Alex wonders if some idiot tried to rob the casino that was right within the base’s building. Trying to steal from SFN was asking for it.

"A man was found murdered in residential bloc 571 this morning," she explains, lighting up her monitor. A photo of an older man with a walrus mustache came up on the screen.

"Isn't homicide your department," Alex asks, twisting his ring around his finger.

"Usually," Major Moss admits, back straight, hands on the desk. "But this man had a false identification bracelet. According to our records he was born on the Moon. But when my officers requested his file from the Bloc listed, nothing appeared."

"You think he was hiding?" Only criminals bothered to falsify ID bands. But why the moon? He could see why a fugitive from the law or a crime boss would come to the moon, but to stay here this long?

Even earth was easier to get lost in, among billions.

"Yes," she surmises, "and for quite a few months. How he's gone undetected this long is a mystery."

"So you'd like to save your skin and sweep this all under the cover." Alex can see a coverup as it happens. The MPs would be humiliated at having let a fugitive run wild for this long.

But, he probably wasn't a criminal if he spent this long without so much as a word. Probably fleeing loan sharks back on some asteroid. Maybe from Titan.

The murder must have landed yesterday. Within the week at most.

"Will you take the job on," Major Moss asks, "there's more information I have if you agree to take on the case."

Alex sighs. He's intrigued. But taking on this case would mean spending more time on the moon which is both a good and bad thing. He hasn't had a proper chat with any of the lads since he last saw Matt on Vesta nearly two years ago now.

But he isn't exactly at ease this close to SFN. At least in the belt, there's lots of stations with little to no navy presence. Callisto's base was generally isolated from the rest of the population due to the way in which the colony on Callisto had developed.

A man's dead.

And from what he can tell, Major Moss would be more than happy for the case to go cold and never have to explain to her superiors how a man went undetected for so long.

But why bother?

Alex can't understand why the man needed to falsify his identity only to sit around. Unless he wasn't a criminal but innocently caught up with the wrong crowd.

It happened easily enough.

"Why me," Alex asked, still considering how suspicious it looked that the MP were giving away a case just because of the implications the man's murder had. The IDB read Sidney Trojan which made Alex laugh a little inside. Whoever had made the ID had a certain sense of humor. "I'm sure you've read my record by now."

Major Moss nods, leaning back in her metal chair, "Mutiny and treason are certainly high charges. But Mr. Turner, If I am being frank, I am more concerned right now with keeping the peace in my precinct. The last thing I want is any belter extremist to start making baseless accusations about how someone who is more than likely one of their own was treated."

"I'm not a belter." Alex had spent enough time among belters to know, no matter how much time he spent on Vesta or Pallas, he'd never be one of them. Being born and raised there was what made you a belter for the rest of your life. Johanna never bothered to hide the augments along her spine, jutting out like filled out ports. Held her chin up proudly despite the harassment she got, and proceeded to destroy them all in combat training.

"But you have spent time among them," the woman argues, revealing how little she knows and understands about belters. Major Moss had probably never left the moon. Never spent time amongst people in the belt, in the places the SFN never went. "My men are mostly from here or earth. You're my best option."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't seem like a trap to lock him up after all these years. Just a very ignorant MP major trying to do her job. "Alright," Alex nods. "Show me the surveillance tapes."

The older woman smiles, but no warmth reaches her eyes, a picture of cold professionalism, as she ignites the screen. The tapes start playing almost immediately. The night vision casting everything into grayscale in the corridors. The older residential buildings hadn't anticipated the amount of people that would live on the moon, the walkways connected the blocs only fitting three people at a time, a nightmare in an emergency. They were colorless concrete slabs, the metal having long gone dull.

Time stamped to 05:46 am.

A single figure appears, walking into bloc 571, looking like any person would after a long shift. In jeans and a loose hoodie, holding a very sad convenience store sandwich. A profile he wouldn't soon forget, complete with split toe boots.

Tisiphone.

Alex tries to justify her appearance. The death hadn't happened until 7 am. She must've been meeting her friend in one of the habs in the bloc. But he'd never been one to discount a coincidence.

It seemed that they would be having a chat sooner than anticipated under less than favorable circumstances. He just had to track her down.

His eyes watch the screen as the time ticks by, creeping closer to the time of death.

She claimed to be here to visit a friend which could very easily have been a lie to cover up meeting her potential victim. Tisiphone hadn't been here for very long, no one would willingly choose to eat convenience store sandwiches if they'd spent time here to get other food. Alex wasn't discounting the possibility of her commitment to looking inconspicuous at 5 in the morning, but then, if Sidney Trojan had feared for his life there would've been a struggle.

Someone would have heard in those older habs.

The time stamp reads 6:24am.

Tisiphone leaves the bloc, taking the passageway leading back to Tranquility. Mr Trojan would still be alive. Did she have an accomplice? Or is Alex making the wrong connection.

The time stamp reads 7:46 am. Mr Trojan would've been dead by now.

7 am was hardly the time for a murder to be committed. People going to work. So many witnesses. They must have been desperate. But the tapes proved useless to narrow down any suspects. Too many people, a perfect crowd to hide in. So there was that advantage. As well as, "I need all the records of the passenger manifests arriving for the last three days on the dark side of the moon and today's departures."

"Alright," she replies, holding out her hand.

Alex hands over his com. Letting her synch it up to her system and sending the files over.

"Good luck Mr. Turner."

This time, Alex does roll his eyes as he leaves her office.

Tisiphone had claimed to be from Titan, so that's the first thing he checks. Three days sound about right. He also highlights any belter arrivals. But apart from one family two days before, no one has come from the belt.

He finds the name he's looking for. Tisiphone Velazques, arriving from Hygiea the same night he had. Born on Titian twenty two years ago according to her IDB. It said a lot about how pathetic Alex was that he was currently finding a potential date on a suspect list.

She might still be innocent. But she was the only lead.

If she's a criminal, she'll be staying off grid, not wanting to leave her IDB just anywhere. But, being through, Alex checks Tranquility Hotel anyways, sending a message.

Want to surprise my girlfriend T. Velazques. It's our anniversary and I got back from a trip into Tethys four sols early. Has she checked in yet?

People were really stupid and easily fooled. Alex had learned that in the last few years.

Then he checks his messages. Twenty seven texts from his friends. Two missed calls from Matt. Shit. He'd forgotten all about Matt.

** *** ch 3

Matt clasps an arm over his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about Julian. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

Alex considers coming clean, but decides letting Matt think this is about Julian is easier. "No one tells me anything anymore."

The taller man sighs, "you must think I'm a wanker for not even telling you. Julian always asked me how you were doing you know."

Alex shakes his head. "I tried-It doesn't matter anymore. I just think it's bloody awful to have died so young in an accident of all things."

"The idiot engineers better have been court martialed," Matt comments, as they follow behind their friends to a bar in the casino. They've all been casting looks towards Alex when they think he's not looking, like he's a bomb about to go off.

Things can never go back to the way they were.

They get a few pitchers of beer. Singing Matts praises at every sip, taking the piss about how he's going to be the worst commander ever. Alexa's boyfriend, looking tall, dark and handsome, slips into the conversation with ease while Alex, drinks and checks his phone for a response.

"Alexa's boy toy," Johanna mutters under her breath to Alex. "Does the books for one of the gambling halls."

Alex nods. But finds he doesn't care. All that earlier anxiety about his leftover feelings for Alexa, his first love, gone when he realizes there's no sting as she turns to kiss her boyfriend.

He looks down at his com, refusing a refill of beer when he realizes the hotel's written him back. With a digital key and their congratulations. There goes the supposed privacy and protections hotels were supposed to offer their clients.

But this meant he was now leaning to Tisiphone being innocent. But he could tell she was connected to Mr. Trojan somehow. A gut feeling that t9ld him he was barking up the right tree. She might be able to tell him who would want the old man dead and why.

Alex excuses himself from the celebration, pointedly ignoring Nick's suspicious gaze as he leaves.

He stops and picks up a bottle of wine and a quart of strawberries, each the size of his smallest nail with a hint of red at the tip, just in case anyone in the hotel decides to verify any of his information. He can play the part.

Alex presses the elevator up to floor 10, brings up the key on his com, when the machine asks for verification.

The doors slide shut and Alex tries to formulate a plan.

He can't frighten his only suspect-link to the crime. A man was murdered and if he doesn't solve it, justice will never be served. It's his good conscience that's going to get him in trouble all over again.

The hallway is empty.

A tacky red coat of paint that's made worse by the orange lighting. The crimson hue edging towards black. Hardly a happy atmosphere.

Alex runs his hand over the rail, a vestige from the days before antigravity, as he makes his way to room 1004.

Unlike the lobby, the floor is still metal plates welded together. Shiny compared to the rest of the place.

The casino had seen better days.

And more occupied days.

Hesitating outside the door, he places an ear near the seal, hoping that Tisiphone isn't there. It would give her the advantage if she turns out to be the murder.

Better for her to be out. Gives him a chance to look around.

He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key. It slides open smoothly, revealing mustard walls and a plush navy carpet flecked with gold. There's a small bed on one side of the wall, a black backpack laying carelessly on it.

The small cabinet looks untouched, but Alex still goes through every drawer, making sure he misses nothing, peaking into the bathroom and combing the medicine cupboard.

There's a needle and dental floss. A complimentary bottle of toothbrush tabs laying in its side.

Needle and floss.

For an injury, Alex surmises. Perhaps a fresh one that Mr Trojan had managed to inflict while defending himself? It wasn't the easiest way to treat an injury, but it was the way to go if you didn't want to draw any attention.

He slips back into the small main room, and begins to go through the backpack. It looks standard issue, the fabric a vegetable leather nylon mixture that wouldn't be out of place in an SFN pack. But he doesn't recognize it from any planetary police force.

Inside there's a plasma gun with two full charges. Shrapnel in a jar. An extra shirt along with a lined jacket, also black. And a small copper data box.

He checks the jackets pockets, finding two extra IDBs. Both blank.

It's all very incriminating.

And he didn't think to bring a gun along himself.

Alex removes the charge from the plasma gun, using the pillowcase to ensure he doesn't wipe away any fingerprints, tossing both of the charges into the bottom drawer of the cabinet. And leaves the gun on top of the blanket.

Then he takes a seat and waits.

No one would leave a gun with no plans to come back and get it. Plasma guns were hard to come by. Especially for civilians on the right side of the law.

It was just his luck that the first woman he feels any connection with, ends up tied up in criminal activity.

The whoosh of a door sliding open jolts him out of his thoughts.

Alex sits up straight, deciding he looks less confrontational if he's sitting down. Besides, years of training haven't left. His body still remembers combat maneuvers. He still wakes up at 0600 and goes through basic training like clockwork.

Even when he goes back to sleep right after.

A red boot steps inside.

Tisiphone holds a brand new pair of ear pods, still in their case. The moment she spots him sitting casually in her bed, her almond eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her grip tightens on the case, before she schools her features carefully blank.

In better lighting, the scars marring her cheekbones are more prominent. Flecks of silver against honeyed skin.

"'ello again," Alex says, giving a small wave, strands of his hair falling into his eyes with the movement.

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. "Why are you here? Who even let you in?"

"I asked nicely," he explains, "terrible hotel service if you ask me. But as for why I'm here, you wouldn't happen to know who Sidney Trojan is?"

Tisphones lips form a tight line, her stance edging dangerously close to someone expecting a fight. Weight distributed well between her legs. "He's dead isn't he. Someone killed him."

" 'fraid so," Alex nods.

"Who do you work for?" Her eyes scrutinize him, as if waiting for him to strike.

Alex raises both his hands up in the air. "No one. The MP of the precinct where Mr. Trojan lived asked me to take the case on."

She doesn't move. "Earth then? Or some secret division of the SFN?"

It was a popular belief that the SFN held a secret military division. Especially among belters and martians.

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's been murdered," Alex observes, not missing a thing, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Lots of people wanted him dead."

Tisiphone must have decided he wasn't a threat. She takes a step closer, waking into the bathroom and grabbing the meager supplies, tossing them into her bag, unbothered by Alex's presence right next to her. He's incredibly aware of the small distance between them as her hands make quick work of packing, ignoring the wine and fruit he'd brought: the small distance between her hands and his thigh.

But he doubts that there's a chance in hell she'll go out with him after today. She has the same determined look on her face Johanna had right as she'd punched him day 1 of hand to hand combat. A woman who doesn't take anyone's shit.

Alex snorts, "mind telling me who wanted him dead?"

"SFN. Earth. Mars. The Children of Prometheus. Park Vader's cronies back on Titan. Maybe even Park himself. Take your pick."

"Why," Alex can't help but ask, standing up as she slings her bag over her shoulder. If he lets her walk out now, he'll likely never set eyes on her again. And she has become his only connection to this man's murder.

He can't just let her go.

"He knew too much," Tisiphone shrugs.

"I can't just let you disappear," Alex tells her, sliding between her and the door. It was a dangerous position to be in. He keeps his hands up, trying to reassure her.

"Whoever killed Ivan is going to be after me too," she states, weighing her options.

"Let me help you."

She laughs humorlessly, "I'm long past help. I’ll only drag you down. And you seem like a nice enough man despite everything."

"Despite being born on earth," Alex guesses. War hadn't touched the system in a hundred years, yet there was a lot of bitterness from the colonies over earth. Over the imagined bountiful resources. The air, breathable unlike in so many other places.

He'd lived in enough places in the system to know that it was hard living in every corner of the solarium federation.

"Good bye Alex." Her dark eyes hold his gaze, waiting for Alex to step aside. He isn't sure how long her patience will last.

"If you leave the moon now," Alex threatens, "I'll have no choice but to find you suspect under the circumstances."

Tisiphone glares at him, "are you an officer? Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then you have no jurisdiction," she counters.

"But I was able to find you. I'm the only person who could've made that connection." Her shoes had given her away. Too distinctive for anyone trying to hide out, Alex notes. "Everyone else would've written you off. You played the part of a tired commuter perfectly. Your face isn't visible enough for facial recognition. And the timing is wrong."

"So you have to know I didn't kill him," Tisiphone observes.

"I do." Alex nods. "And I also know that you came here for a reason. I'm willing to bet it's why Ivan is dead now. Help me catch his killer and get some people off your back."

“Why do you care so much about him? He’s just another nameless belter to you people.”

He shakes his head, “because a man’s dead. He deserves justice.”

"How do I know I can trust you," Tisiphone asks, her knuckles relaxing their grip on her bag.

"I could've arrived here with the MP," Alex states, "but I'm here all on my own. Because I believe you're innocent."

She sighs. "Alright. I'll stay. But only for another twenty four hours. That's all I can give you."

He can work with that.

"Okay now let's get out of here. If I can waltz right in so can whoever killed Trojan."

"Ivan," Tisiphone corrects. "His name was Ivan Schlossberg."

"And is Tisiphone your real name," Alex asks.

She doesn't meet his eyes.

** ** ch 4

His hotel room is on the top floor. A half circle window looks out into the expanse. The grey panorama, flattened by robots, is broken up by the tops of other bloc, jutting out of the landscape like hills. The sun is the only recognizable feature in the sky. All the other stars and planets are too distant to be visible.

But Alex has the map of the system imprinted into the backs of his eyes. He could tell where earth and mars fall, navigating by stars like explorers of old, even with the slight changes that arise depending on where you were in the system.

Tisiphone looks out into space, eyes full of stars, as Alex interrogates her.

"Why would the UN or Mars be after Ivan?"

"I already told you," she responds evenly, her gaze still fixed on outer space, a melancholic quality that held none of the wonder people usually had when staring into the stars, "he knew too much."

"About what," Alex presses. Earlier she had named all the major players in politics. That which all SFN members despised because it made doing their job a nightmare of red tape.

Tisiphone looks over at him, turning her whole head towards him. "He was involved with the children of prometheus. Selling information. And Park doesn't like when his people decide to leave him."

It didn't take a genius to know what kind of information would be of value to the children of prometheus. "And your mutual friend."

She swallows thickly before answering. "Told me to find Ivan. That he could help me. I don't know anything more than that. Ivan was going to leave the moon with me and explain this later."

Alex doesn't believe that for a second. Tisiphone wouldn't have left so easily that morning if Ivan hadn't given her something. But he also knows when to let things go. "And why would they also be after you?" The usual targets for the children of prometheus were high ranking UN members or members of the Martian Presidium: the operating companies on the belt that treated their workers as expendable.

Tisiphone was none of those.

She takes a seat on Alex's current bed, her knuckles white as she grips the covers, studying the much more pleasant purple carpet. Not as matted or stained as the one in her room.

Her now shoeless feet revealing mismatched socks.

"I saw something I shouldn't have seen." She bites her lip as her eyes water. Alex forces himself not to look away, wanting to give her privacy. "Someone killed my friend and covered it up. And now they want to kill me."

He takes a step towards her, kneeling down in front of her seated figure, "I'm going to help you."

"You can't help me." Tisiphone shakes her head, looking straight at him, "you can only buy me time."

She flips through the stations as Alex combs through the flight records once more. He's isn't looking for random thugs. If this is a high profiled cover up the way she is alleging, then he needs to find a slicker cover.

He checks for any terrans that've landed here in the last few days. Any native mooners with no permanent address on record: the types of people that would easily fly under the recons. The least likely to be scrutinized.

Alex finds three profiles that fit the description. Two had arrived together under the IDBs Gemma and Nick Ryan. Siblings on vacation from earth.

They were passingly related, the same brown coloring. But Alex's searching gaze found no similar features. The bone structure was all wrong. Gemma's strong, squared. While Nick had a delicateness to his features that was absent in Gemma's.

They had the look of UN division operatives. A learned blankness that helped them slip from memory.

The third was on a flight from Ceres. An older asian man: Hugh Shen. There was no way he was born on the moon and had no records of living here. Alex knew most people born on the moon didn't chance leaving.

Opening for new immigrants were few and far between.

Then there was an oily quality that reminded him of many UN cogs that surrounded his mother like gnats.

In order to be sure that they are division members, Alex'll have to go to the scene of the crime. He knows the UN’s playbook. The methods that division uses. Growing up around his mother, he couldn't not have learned something.

Though Penelope Turner was an idealist, she was willing to do what was necessary to get the job done. It's why she was such an effective politician.

He coms Major Moss, letting her know he'll need access to Ivan's hab.

"Stay here," he tells Tisiphone. "Help yourself to anything I've got."

"Anything," she asks archly, "because I could run a bath. Never had one of those."

"Then by all means," he shrugs. The water bill was bound to burn a hole in his pocket, but going through life without knowing the laziness that baths inspired was no life at all.

She rolls her eyes, shamelessly combing through Alex's meager possessions As meager as hers really. Though he didn't have the excuse of being in hiding.

Alex takes the plasma charges with him.

Major Moss, along with another woman of medium build and asian descent, meets him at the entrance to bloc 571, the white paint having long since peeled off the metal walls. The orange lights flickered, needing replacement, as he walks beside her into bloc 571. He can hear the pressure seals around the door, as it slides open, letting them inside.

While the oldest blocs on this side of the moon, their shortcomings in cramped corridors were nothing compared to the space of the older habs.

Unlike Tranquility base, and the rest of the blocs on the moon, the lights inside bloc 571 were LED and white, the costliest to maintain. A knot of tension eased up in Alex's shoulders. His mind, despite the years in space, always unconsciously yearned for earth's natural light.

"This is officer Cong Xi," Major Moss says blandly, "she'll be taking you through all our available evidence. We're receiving pressure to wrap things up as quickly as possible. There are lots of people who want to move into a hub as spacious as this."

Alex snorts. That's what they cared about.

Cong nods, smiling warmly at him as she drinks coffee from her hot pink tumbler. "Nice to meet you Alex Turner."

Which meant she'd been briefed and knew all about him. There was probably a non-SFN version of his file on her com as they spoke.

Alex had never gotten the chance to read his file after the trail. His dishonorable discharge had left him without any credentials to ask for his file without heavy redaction if he got any response at all. He'd have asked his parents if he hadn't been a coward and taken the first ship to Vesta, hell bent on drinking himself to death.

"Likewise," he responds, realizing he's waited a beat too long to respond.

With that said, the Major turns on her heel, and leaves.

"Shall we," Cong asks him, waiting for him to follow. How did such a pleasant person end up working for the MP? Had to be an idealist. Or hadn't been working for long.

He nods.

Alex takes in the bloc.

The floors dull from nearly four centuries of feet walking over it. Not a scrap of white paint left. But the walls are covered with green plexiglass, an attempt to make up for the lack of actual greenery that hadn't been planned for in old models. Even Pallas had some weeds growing among the tangle of wires.

Each door is painted a different color, giving the neighborhood character. Ivan's hab is red, with a pattern of florals overlaid.

Officer Cong hands him shoe covers and a pair of gloves, "standard procedure," she tells him with a tinge of apologies interwoven in her voice, before she unlocks the door, letting them both inside.

Like most crime scenes, the place is covered with tape and plastic to preserve the integrity. But Alex can see the coziness that Ivan Schlossberg had built inside his hab. A glass top table with mismatched but colorful plastic chairs. Books covering a side table ranging from subjects like "Bloom: a guide to space plant maintenance," to "Catching Fire."

His desk is covered with bits of computer parts. Motherboards and processor chips. Different size screens, some with cracks.

This was the picture of a man who believed himself to be safe. He wasn't planning on running at the drop of a dime. So how had they found him?

Tisiphone had entered first.

Why not kill them both at once?

Or had they believed them both to be inside and cursed themselves when they realized the girl had gotten away?

As Alex looks about the room, noting no signs of struggle, Officer Cong studies him. Her gaze curious.

The mess of computer equipment makes Alex guess that Ivan tinkered with it to communicate with whatever group he was working with, likely using it to hack information from earth and mars. The rudimentary nature of his devices would have confused the much more advanced systems Earth relied on, massive data banks in the tundra chugging along. Ivan would've also had the flexibility of pulling the system apart and rebuilding it with different bits of code each time.

A waste of time, unless you were an old man with lots of time on your hands.

His collection of parts would've been written off as eccentricity.

"You can ask," Alex finally says, when he gets tired of the awkward silence.

"Are you really the mutineer?"

It was much better than being asked if he was that traitor. Particularly bitter belters had taken the liberty of making his days hell in the beginning, knowing he wasn't about to go get help from the SFN.

He nods, looking back at the door. Division wasn't above using chemical weapons. The seals on older habs built with the care of spaceships, no one outside this hab would've noticed. "The one and only," he finally says.

While there were lots of people who had problems with the SFN, it generally wasn't seen among rank and file members.

Cong hums, slurping her coffee.

Alex peels back the plastic over a particularly large pile of electronics, his eyes searching for something small, like a computer chip or drive that would be overlooked to the untrained eye. Toxic gases needn't be in large doses to pack a punch.

"I remember the trial on the net," she comments, "it was all my parents could talk about. My whole family really . . ."

A glint of copper catches his eye. Alex keeps his face neutral, letting Cong ramble on as he plays at looking at the body outline on the couch, as if he could magically find a guilty dust bunny, slipping the casing into his hand for later.

"-guess I was too young to care about that. Too caught up with boys and the latest hairstyles."

Alex nods, trying to pay attention. But with that casing, he's sure it was division. Certain mixtures created the same symptoms in the body as a heart attack. Given his age, it created the perfect cover.

But why come in and stab him after?

Who were they trying to frame-

They were after Tisiphone.

She had led them to Ivan, Alex's thoughts come together, each piece falling into place. They had watched her since she arrived. Which meant they knew she was headed to the moon, hence the two early dispatched division agents, purposely waiting for her to leave before killing Ivan, making sure she'd be the only suspect.

But their plan had gone to the pits.

They hadn't planned on Major Moss trying to burry the case. Or that Alex would be called on.

Instead of an easy frame job, it was a cold case waiting to happen. An MP officer would've just taken Tisiphone in. Assumed that the time of death was off due to some lab error and closed the case. But their plan had gone sideways.

"Find anything," Cong asks him suddenly, having given up trying to chat when it became obvious he wasn't listening. Though why he would make small talk about the event that had sliced his life into two distinct parts, he didn't have the foggiest idea.

Alex shakes his head, "thought the scene might hold a clue." He stands up straight, faking the appearance of disappointment channeling his mother's face when he'd come home with an F. "Whatever crime boss hired the hit must've hired a couple of top notch lads."

"Oh well them," Cong continues, holding up her com for him to read, "Major Moss needs us to come in. Apparently there's been a new development in the homicide."

Alex's chest tightens. God he hopes they haven't found Tisiphone dead. Or arrested her.

No. There's no way. He'd already be under arrest for harboring a criminal. No amount of goodwill would keep him out of prison this time.

Alex had to continue under the impression that she was fine. Because no one else had linked her to this case. No one had any reason to suspect her of anything at all. "Led the way then love."

Cong, like most girls (and some boys) since Alex had turned sixteen, blushes pink, before stepping around him and leading him back to the precinct--and to Major Moss's office.

The division agents who had landed on Tranquility base as siblings named Gemma and Nick, introduce themselves as, "Agents Barnes and Khan." They're already seated in front of Major Moss, only confirming Alex's conclusion.

The capsule in his pocket feels like a block of lead, weighing him down.

There's no way they know he knows.

Except they've been tailing Tisiphone since she landed. They might already know she's sitting in his room.

He needs to get off the moon. Alex had promised Tisiphone he'd keep her safe. And this case had just gotten much bigger than a homicide.

It was the type of cover up that required a neutral party to uncover. A High ranking SFN member that would do the right thing. Unfortunately Alex had learned the hard way that organizations were never as impartial and righteous as they claimed to be.

Bloody hell.

In between two impossible choices, giving Tisiphone up or calling his old mentor Vice Admiral Homme, he wasn't sure which was worse. Would Josh Homme even care?

Or was the UN's influence great enough to buy Homme's cooperation?

"I understand that Major Moss has made the mistake of handing a homicide to a private investigator," Agent Barnes says, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just flung shit at Major Moss, who to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm the private investigator," Alex responds evenly.

"They've just finished informing me," Major Moss interrupts, smoothing down the lapels of her pants suit, "that they've identified the culprit."

Agent Barnes nods, then proceeds to do the very Earth thing of pulling out an actual paper file from a jacket and displaying it on the desk. "A career criminal from Titan named Tisiphone Velasquez. We believe her employer to be some drug lord that Mr Trojan was a long time customer of. When he got clean and moved to the moon, well. . ." Barnes trails off leaving a dramatic pause before clearing his throat, "Titian didn't forget his debts."

Ivan's hab was not the home of a drug user. Or a recovering drug user. He'd never been to Titan, to the city under the ocean, but he knew enough about drug lords to know that they had more to deal with than a customer with lots of debts on a colony as secure as the moon.

But Alex can see Major Moss eat up the story, her eyes gazing over as there's one less problem for her to deal with.

"Well Mr. Turner," Major Moss turns to him, "It looks like your services are no longer needed. I'll wire you the payment promptly. Meanwhile I'll circulate the perpetrators photo and have my officers be on the lookout."

"We will be taking custody of Miss Velasquez," Agent Barnes interrupts, "she has insider knowledge of a crime ring we have been monitoring for years."

"Of course," Major Moss responds, already typing out the paperwork.

He has to get off the base. He has to take Tisiphone far from here.

Alex turns to leave, reaching the door before he hears Agent Barnes mutter pointedly under her breath, "It's a wonder Ambassador Turner hasn't resigned out of shame. No clue how he can show his face in public."

Agent Khan coughs to hide a snigger.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. It's bait. And an obvious one at that. He has more than a few scars to prove how stupid responding to it would be, but they did just insult his mother.

"What did you just say," Alex asks through clenched teeth, not turning back to look at them, robbing them of the satisfaction. Mentally, he counts to ten.

He's not going to give them an excuse to place him under arrest.

Tisiphone is counting on him.

The fact that they're baiting him instead of just following him back to the hotel room is a good sign they don't know he's hiding Tisiphone. He tries to concentrate on the and not the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Tisiphone.

Her petite figure sitting on his bed, scrutinizing everything with an arched brow. The look in her eyes as she'd stared with a refugee's longing for their ancestral home at the image of earth, the green returning to the land after hundreds of long reclamation projects initiated by the UN.

"Nothing to trouble yourself with Alexander Turner," Agent Barnes replies patronizingly, "There is no further use for your services here."

Alex clenches his jaw, and walks out the door.

He lights a cigarette as he makes his way through the dim corridors, the orange fading into scarlet, stopping only to pick up supplies he imagines needing as they travel to space together. Not all at the same store.

Alex will have to get everything out of her, if he's going to throw in his lot with her and hope they get to the bottom of the conspiracy before they're arrested and killed. Or just killed.

What could be bad enough that the UN felt it necessary to send division agents after a woman?

The problem is the IDB has been made.

He's going to have to hope she can get another one quickly. Tisiphone, whose name is more than likely not Tisiphone as all, wouldn't have survived this long is she was stupid.

Fuck.

He really should just turn her in. Or give her a heads up and be on his way. Alex could be on Pallas in four weeks, having the most questionable weed in the system, laced with the hell knows what. Take a case every now and then. Finally make his way out to Titan.

Logan had been his favorite western growing up. Right after The magnificent Seven. He'd made Matt have stand offs against him for days after seeing it, pretending he could manipulate metal. And Titan was the new wild west of space. And still people flocked out to carve their little piece of real estate.

Humanity is ever expanding.

Alex has to press the lift button twice, cursing and lighting another cigarette when the lift's lighting system dies as he ascends up, connecting with Tranquility's passageways.

More than once, he has to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, sure he'll see an Agent following him. Hugh Shen had been absent from their little meeting. But that didn't mean he wasn't still skulking about.

Even the air changes from the corridors to the base. It's drastic compared to Ceres where the air quality is shit everywhere you go. The base has crisp clean air that didn't leave you all cotton mouthed for the wrong reasons.

From there it's easy enough to head to his room. Alex is already flicking through the net, looking for tickets to the belt. Or maybe they should go to Callisto. It was famous for being a no extradition zone: refusing to acknowledge any authority other than theirs and SFN's by extension. The relative safety was tempting, but he couldn't plan until Tisiphone told him everything she knew.

Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she wasn't holding something back. Her earlier explanation had been as vague as she could manage given the circumstances. He had no clue who her friend was. What she had seen other than a wrongful death.

There had to be a reason behind the coverup after all.

No government went around coverup murder for no reason. It just wasn't economical.

"You have to tell me everything you know," Alex tells Tisiphone in what he hopes is a commanding voice, as he tosses his bags on the bed, plopping down. His only shortcoming as a commander had been the complete and utter lack of confidence he had when giving orders. "Division has just shown up and thrown you under the bus."

Tisiphone's hair hangs down, damp as she listlessly scrolls through the catalogue of music offered by the hotel. She flinches at his words. "I should've left when I had the chance," she tells him harshly, uncurling from the settee and moving to grab her things. She jams her feet into her boots in one swift motion, clearly having been ready to make a run for it at a moment's notice.

"You're right," Alex tries, taking out the gas casing, ensuring the glint of metal catches her eyes. "It's a coverup."

"Obviously," Tisiphone scowls.

"I'm sure they've circulated your IDB by now," he continues, "they wanted to frame you for Ivan's death. I want to know what you saw so I can help you."

"Why so they can kill you as well," Tisiphone shakes her head, "No. . .no."

"What's so important that Division would risk breaking the treaty of Schiaparelli for," Alex asks, rubbing his temples. He wasn't a politician. The inner workings of government fell to the wayside of his thoughts.

There had been no major battles fought in a hundred years but relations between colonies were always fraught with tension over resources. Those skirmishes were usually fought in the Solarium Federations regulatory body, but Alex wasn't naive enough to discount the darker talk of division--their tendency to enhanced interrogation.

"Why do you want to help me so badly," Tisiphone counters, hands on her hip, glaring down at him as if he was the reason that Division had found her at all.

"Someone should," Alex shrugs, peering up at her. The line of her body fell naturally into a defensive stance, something that could only be so natural if she'd started training when she was very young. Tisiphone wasn't an innocent civilian, but she still didn't deserve to be disposed of. "And if I don't, they'll probably kill you and throw your body in some incinerator."

"Or they'll kill us both," Tisiphone replies archly.

"I'm offering you my help if you want it."

She peers down her nose at him, her lips pressed into a flat line, the slim line of her jaw fitting in perfectly with her feline features: a cat deciding if batting the toy was worth it. Turning on her heel, stepping into the bathroom, Tisiphone orders him to, "strip."

Smart girl.

It doesn't keep the burn from making its way up his neck as she turns the refresher, the low static drowning out any background noise as she takes a seat inside the fogged glass.

Alex kicks off his boots, gratefully that he'd actually kept up with his fitness all these years as he pulls his shirt off. There's still bruising in the crook of his elbow. He doubts she misses it as she stares up at him. It's a rush of relief when he notices the scarlet on her cheeks. This is embarrassing for both of them then, as he unbuttons his trousers, before taking a seat in front of her.

"Division blew up my crew." She starts with, staring at a spot behind him, her eyes welling up with tears. "They launched a missile and it tore their ship apart." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm sorry I just. . .let me start over."

"It's okay."

"Shut up Alex and let me tell this in a way that makes sense." She swallows thickly. Taking a deep breathe during which she closes her eyes before continuing. "My name is Vera Albaicin. I'm an agent of the Guoanbu. Sixty eight sols ago my crew was handpicked to participate in an interplanetary task force with the UN. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission. We met up with the other crew. Everything was normal."

T-Vera closes her eyes, her hands closed tightly by her sides, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. Alex wants to offer comfort, but he isn't sure there is anything he can do to make things better in this situation.

"I took an EMU suit to-it was a strange ship. More like a capsule or probe. I had just made contact when my ship was hit." She shakes her head, a desperation in her eyes at the helplessness she must keep on feeling. Not having been able to do anything to save her crew. "Space. They died in seconds. The thing is. . .the only people who would've known about the mission were the UN and MPC. Earth and mars."

Alex nods, trying to probe her as gently as possible because there is still one unanswered question, "how did you know to find Ivan."

The UN and MPC must have decided that the knowledge was better off lost after having sent a retrieval team. Something they didn't want anyone to know about it. That fact that mars and earth had cooperated at all was throwing Alex off. Weapons would make sense if it was just mars or earth. But together?

Vera shakes her head slowly, her gaze meeting his, an intense anger to their depth he had not seen before. She was digging because she was fucking mad. This was a woman seeking justice. "I can't."

"Vera," Alex utters, unable to look away, trying her real name out on his tongue. "My name is Alexander Turner. I'm kind of famous for breaking the law," he finished with a self deprecating smile.

Usually, the last thing he wanted a potential date to know was his past.

Her eyes widen, her whole body freezing up as she takes in the new information, pursing her lips in an attempt to suppress a telling gasp. But instead of recoiling in disgust as he expects her to, Vera reaches for her neck, revealing a necklace obscured by her hoodie. It's a cheap metal thing that must be of sentimental value.

She doesn't stop there, thumbing the ring at the end of the chain before meeting his gaze once more. This time there's no hard glint to her cognac eyes, but a woman at last having caught on to a life preserver. "Julian-Captain Casablancas told me to find Ivan. Trust no one-trust no one but Alex Turner," Vera admits, unable to hold his gaze. "He must have known what was coming."

It's a ring he recognizes well, a twin to his own commander ring. The classic exploration insignia: the atom. Every detail identical for Julian and Alex had received their rank at the same ceremony, only Julian had been eight years older. Already the man Alex wanted to be: wanted to be with. The man had inspired camaraderie the way a good leader should, and clearly he had managed it in a martian girl as well if she had come all this way on his word alone.

"Can I," he motions, aware of the closing distance between them. Between him and Vera. Vera. He had to get his head around that one. Same woman, different name.

No. Not the same woman.

This woman was a martian secret intelligence agent. Not some naive little girl.

She nods, closing her fist around the ring before yanking the chain in a quick motion. It snaps off. The sound like the hull of a ship nearing the end of its lifetime, creaking. Then drops the ring into his outstretched palm.

Without Alex having to prompt this time, still caught up in seeing Julian's ring, still warm from Vera's body heat, in his hand. Julian hadn't responded to Alex's messages. He'd assumed it was because of Alex's past, but now he was left to wonder if Julian had wanted to protect him by keeping away from him. Keeping whatever he'd gotten caught up in that had killed him away from Alex. Vera adds, "I was confused why he'd told me that, given me his ring as I got into the EMU suit but. . .Ivan told me that he was just the messenger. He'd worked for so many sides not asking questions. Earth, Solarium, Mars. They were all the same to him. So he decided that the children of prometheus had a point and got in contact with them. Relaid information. Ivan-he was going to tell me more."

But he'd died.

Vera looks at him meaningfully, "but he did manage to give me the coordinates that he was given by his CoP contact. In case he ever needed a safe house or extraction."

"He never-," Alex begins to ask, not taking his eyes off the ring. In his hand was proof that Julian had been killed.

"He never met his contact," Vera confirms. "But they're on Callisto. Some hippie hub." She rolls her eyes and what a martian thing to do. Look down on every colony not hell bent on terraforming.

Alex turns his gaze on her once more, seeing her in a different light for the first time. Trying to spot what made her a martian. As if he could spot in vitro augmentation just by looking her over.

But all he saw was a petite woman with a hollowness under her eyes. Her full lips pressed into a grim line. Hair slowly drying into waves, catching the light like oil on water. Despite Alex's new information about Vera, he was no less drawn to her.

There was no sadistic edge that spoke of oprichnik operatives who the Martian People's council refused to acknowledge existed despite all the mounting evidence about their methods.

His gut was telling him that Vera was telling the truth.

"One thing though," Alex points out, taking off his own ring for the first time since he'd first received command rank, a command long since stripped from him, and sliding Julian's ring on his finger in its place as he stands up. His mind was made up. He was going to help Vera uncover this conspiracy. Clear Julian and Vera's name. And maybe, just maybe, reclaim some respect on his name.

"What?"

"You said earth and mars sent you," he says gently, having encountered enough martians to know how loyal to their colony they were otherwise known as having bought into the propaganda, "but Division killed your crew.. ."

"Yes," Vera nods, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Then wouldn't both earth and mars have sent the missile that killed your crew? Or wouldn't have mars already used this as an excuse to advance their agenda?"

"No," she supplies, refusing to even contemplate the idea that Mars would've been complicit in such an act. "The Guoanbu wouldn't have killed their own. We're-they're not like that."

“Vera," he sighs, "there's nastiness under every corner, no matter how nice everything is on top you know."

She shakes her head again, averting her gaze, There wasn't much to look at on the walls, but she was making due.

"Let's just find ya another IDB and get to Callisto-"

There's a knock at the door.

Alex and Vera trade wide eyed looks, having taken the plunge off the same cliff with nothing but a string of brand new fucking trust between them. A dead man's word to go on.

Fucking hell.

Matt and Nick flank each side of the room's door. Nick's stone face offsets the mixture of parental concern Matt's features contain, sighing at Alex's appearance, sticking his head out the door. Vera hiding next to the door, alert to every word.

He has to wonder how good her hearing is. Martian's always messed with embryos biology, designing the next generation to be fitter. Could she hear down the hall? What the people in the next room were saying?

Matt steps forward, "jesus fuck mate," he shakes his head. "Can't respond to a bloody com now Alex."

"I told you I got a job," he protests, trying to remember if that was true. His friends had fallen to the bottom of his priorities quickly. Alex had a habit of self absorption with whatever obsession came his way. It had made him a terrific ensign, practicing the same maneuver for hours until he could do it with his eyes closed.

"No," Nick corrects, not bothering to move the curls out of his face, watching him carefully, "you didn't."

Alex sighs, but doesn't budge. They mustn't see Vera. Soon her face will be plastered all over the net as a manhunt begins. Her IDB must already be flagged for travel.

He had to make his rightfully concerned friends go away and quickly.

"Al," Matt levels with him, "I asked you to be here because you might as well be my brother. I knew when I did that it would mean coming back to the moon. That it would bring up a load of shit for you."

"We're worried about you mate," Nick explains. "You're still here. You won't talk to any of us."

" 'm fine," Alex mumbles, unable to hold eye contact with either of his friends. He looks at his shoes as he realizes how unfair he's been to them both in the last two days.

This trip was supposed to be about Matt.

He shouldn't be here worried that Alex finally went off the rails.

"Alex," Matt utters, placing his hand on the door frame, leaning in close to Alex. "You know you can talk to me. I don't care what you did or why."

"Really," Alex tries, because as much as he'd like to have this long overdue discussion, finally get to explain why--no one had ever asked him why, they'd just condemned his actions as w r o n g--he has to get Vera off the moon. "I'm fine. Just been in me head."

"That's what I'm worried about," Matt responds, eyes locked onto his, as if Alex could disappear at any moment. "You've always been in your head too much Al. And it didn't matter when I knew you were looking after yourself. Had me and the lads with you but-Alex you looked like utter shit back in Vesta last time I saw you, hopped up on who knows what."

Alex swears internally. They really knew when to pick the worst moments. He was actually doing good. "I know. . .," he tries to find the words that don't require him to have an emotional breakdown in Tranquility Hotel, aware Vera's listening in, "it's been rough. Some days worse than others but Matthew," he whines, "I really am good."

"For how long though," Nick counters, crossing his arms against his chest. It was a good point but Alex really hadn't been in the dark lonely place in months. Maybe closer to a year now. Progress.

Something about waking up missing shoes and jammed into the seediest by corners of an asteroid had lit a fire under his arse about moving on.

He hadn't even hit the agents earlier. They would've deserved it but who gives a shit. Alex will always be a mutineer but at least his hands were clean. His conscience is a white pearl like a meditating bodhisattva.

"Can we just go inside and talk man," Matt pleads, his shoulder resting against the door, clearly seconds away from shoving his way in.

Guilt wells up in his mouth. Despite having every reason to say no, Alex wants to say yes, the word making its way to the tip of his tongue at Matt's insistence.

It was Matt and he was Alex and he couldn't just deny him like this after everything.

Terrans were only allowed one child.

The law didn't keep Matt from being his brother any less.

"I can't," Alex sighs. "I just-you've given me a lot to think about."

Matt rolls his eyes, hurt flashing through his features as he takes a step back, "bullshit."

"Just open up the damn door Alexander," Nick tries, clearly having had it with trying to do things the nice way, realizing Alex wasn't going to budge on his own. "We're ya friends."

"It's been six years Alex," Matt added. "I thought you'd want to talk by now."

Alex shakes his head, "it's not always a straight line."

"Let's have this conversation inside," Nick insists, "who knows when you'll be around next Al. And now Matt has a command. . ."

Matt shoves his way in.

Alex had forgotten how hot headed he could be. The foil to his cool and calm temperament: translating Alex's lit to others. Not that Alex had much trouble verbalizing, necessity being the mother invention. He no longer took hours to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Matt!"

"Don't Matt me Al," Matt retorts spying Vera in seconds, who's already fallen into a defensive stance.

Matt brings a hand to his face, pinching his nose bridge, before heavily sighing, "You've got to be kidding me Al. You're hiding a murderer now."

"She's no-"

"I didn't kill anyone," she tries, folding into herself, trying to appear smaller and innocent than she actually is. Vera tries to play at being Tisiphone once more. "It's all a misunderstanding!"

"Then turn yourself in," Nick challenges, closing the door behind him.

"Al," Matt says, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, "what the hell are you thinking mate! They're going to lock you up for this and not even-"

"Matt," he interrupts, "trust me. I'd love to have a nice long chat but things have gotten. . .complicated and-it's safer if ya don't know. Just. . .trust me."

Matt stares back at him, mouth drawn. An entire childhood together on earth, their toes digging into the soil, tracking mud all over the floors. Later a shared adolescence, their accents charming the girls and boys at school, Matt doing all the talking and never leaving a painfully shy Alex behind.

He nods. "You better come back because we're having this talk even if I have to go visit you in prison."

"There are things far worse than prison," Vera unhelpfully points out, tugging on her jacket over her hoodie, the collar lined with actual animal fur. Given the martian rationing system, it was an untold luxury for Vera to own a leather jacket with fur at all. "I'd even take death over enhanced interrogation."

She pretends to tremble with fear, "anything but gravity."

Alex snorts in spite of the dark subject matter. "Not helping."

Ignoring the other two men in the room, Vera hands Alex one of the spare IDB's he'd seen in her bag earlier. Had it really been only hours ago? "Here's your IDB now. Alexander Collins. Born on Pallas. Married to Morgana Collins," she points at herself, already dispatching the old IDB off her wrist and throwing it in her bag. "Came to the moon to get married. Off to Callisto to make a living," she explains calmly.

"Short and sweet," Alex notes, looking down at his own wrist, the IDB a second skin. He hadn't taken it off since he'd left earth. Many colonies like Callisto chose to implant the ID chip.

It was the key to getting on any ship. His passport and last link to earth. His last hope at ever stepping foot on the big blue planet again, however slim.

Visas for foreigners pretty much nonexistent.

Nick hands him a swiss army laser, "I implanted mine." It's news to Alex who hadn't even noticed, Nick having always been a bit chilly, wearing long sleeves year round. " 's nice actually."

Matt dramatically covers his eyes.

Alex slices through the metal, leaving a band of unblemished creamy skin.

It doesn't last long, as Vera easily replaces it.

"You should keep it," she tells him, patting his arm like a parent half heartedly consoling their child after a pet fish dies. "We are planning on fixing things."

"Yeah," Alex answers, running his fingers over the band. He already felt less confident without it.

#trash pile #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #space opera fic i wont finish

[lils-writes-stuff]

A Family Affair

spencer reid x reader

Best Years Part 5 | part 4 | part 3 | part 2 | part 1

Summary: as a case from atlanta dwells, the readers past make more advances. 

Warnings: normal criminal minds things

A/N: based on season seven episode 16 

 “You can’t hide forever Y/N,” the voice spoke. 

 Y/N’s eyes darted around the room she was in. She sat in a chair but she wasn’t able to get up from it. The smell of the damp room overwhelmed her as tears began to roll down her cheeks, 

“No,” she spoke with a trembling voice. 

“Nothing lasts forever Y/N, you know that,” The voice said before revealing itself. Caroline walked out from the shadows of the room, gun in her hand and a evil look on her face. “All the things you love will be gone soon and you know it.” 

 As the words left her mouth, lights flickered on beside her and she saw her team sitting there tied up to chairs.

 She made eye contact with Spencer, who than mouthed that it was okay. 

 “No, no- do not touch them, hurt me- take me, do whatever you want to me!” Y/N tried to plead to her tormentor, but Caroline just shook her head.  

 “Too late.” 

Y/N sat up in a cold sweat, clutching her chest as she hyperventilated. She reached and wiped the small tears that were on her cheeks. 

 “It was just a dream,” she tried to reassure herself. “Just a dream.” 

Y/N pulled herself out of her bed, pulling Spencer’s sweater that sat on the edge of the bed over her bare arms and pulling the ends of it over her torso that adorned a grey tank. Her feet shuffled as she walked to the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth then through her small living room into the kitchen where a fully dressed Spencer stood, ready to start the day. 

 “Good morning,” he said looking up from the book he had in his hand. 

 “Hi,” Y/N responded, voice full of sleep still. She brought herself over to the coffee machine, completely avoiding Spencer who was awaiting attention.

 “No love?” he asked with a small pout on his lips.

 “Coffee,” she said softly as she poured herself a cup.  

  “Uh-huh,” Spencer said as he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Usually, when they shared their mornings together and he did this, she would always lean back and lay in his arms. “What’s wrong?” 

 “Nothing just had a bad dream, spooked me a bit that’s all,” she said reassuring him. That wasn’t a lie, it was just a dream, she thought trying to reassure herself also.

 “Are you sure?” He asked. 

 “Yes, bub, I am sure,” she said, using his nickname she gave him a little after they started dating. She placed her mug on the counter and turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

 Spencer pulled her closer to him and connected their lips. Y/N loved when he was in a needy mood, it meant cuddles and kisses and all the attention she could give to him or vice versa. 

 The slow morning kiss tasted like coffee and toothpaste. Spencer held her closely as he pecked her lips multiple times diligently, making Y/N’s heart soar. 

 The moment was short-lived as both of their phones rang meaning Hotch needed them there in the office sooner than planned.

 “No,” Y/N said, dragging out the ‘o’ in sadness. 

 “Go get dressed I’ll make you a coffee to go,” Spencer told Y/N. 

 She sighed in defeat. She grabbed Spencer’s arm as she walked away, her sliding down to his and then finally letting go and walking to her room to get ready.  

--------

 Emily, Y/n, and Penelope laughed at the story Penelope was telling as they entered the round table room. As they walked in they saw JJ take a shot of Five-hour energy.

 “Whoa you’re not messing around,” Y/N said with a chuckle as she sat down in a chair at the table. 

 “Mm, Will’s away all week, so I am pulling double duty with Henry,” JJ said as she finished the shot. 

 “Please tell me we are still on for Saturday night because I have had it circled in my calendar for the last 23 and a half days, which apparently, from the look of you you did not,” Penelope said rushed while she looked at JJ. She set her mug down and took a seat in her chair.

 “Ooh, Garcia paid good money for those salsa lessons,” Emily said, tucking a piece of hair behind her hair. Y/N nodded her head in agreement.

 Spencer and Morgan walked into the room and took their seats hearing the tail end of the conversation. 

 “I’ll get a sitter,” JJ said, feeling guilty for not remembering the plans that they had made.

  “Let’s get started,” Hotch said walking into the room with Rossi, the two taking their seats at the table. 

  “Okay, Atlanta Field office has a serial on their hands,” Penelope said as she opened her tablet. “Two prostitutes stabbed and staged in the last two weeks.”

 “Atlanta’s crime rate has skyrocketed over the last few years, especially the proliferation of solicited sex and drug use in the downtown district,” Spencer said. 

 “Maybe this guy thinks he’s cleaning up the city,” Emily said looking up from her tablet. 

 “It’s rare for an unsub who targets prostitutes to pose the bodies,” Y/N said, eyes trained on the pictures of the bodies. 

 “The means of disposal usually reflects how the person feels towards them,” JJ said.

 “It looks like he didn’t think poorly of his victims, even kept them dressed,” Rossi said eyes going towards the screen. 

 “He could be filled with remorse. The arms are folded, the bodies laid to rest in a quiet park outside the city,” Derek said while he pointed at the pictures with a pen. 

  “Maybe he knew them?” Y/N asked as she looked up from her tablet. 

 “It could be personal, there’s a lot of rage in these kills, multiple stab wounds,” Emily said.

 “What about sexual violations?” Rossi asked looking at Hotch.

 “No, the M.E.’s report says there’s no evidence of sexual activity before death,” Hotch says in response. 

 “So what’s he doing with them?” Penelope asked.

 “That’s what we need to find out, wheels up in 20,” Hotch said.

---------

   “Yes, Mom-- I know I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the last time I was coming down,” Y/N said to her mother on the phone. “Well, to be honest, it wasn’t the first thing on my mind to stop by and say hi since I was trying to catch a serial killer not too far from my home.” 

 The team listened as she paused and a look of horror filled her face. 

 “No ma’am I didn’t mean that in a smart ass way you know that, I’m sorry, I’ll come by if I can-- I will love you bye,” She hung up the phone grabbing her coffee from the bar before heading back to her seat next to Spencer. 

 The team looked at her with amusement after hearing the conversation between her and her mom. 

 “What? Don’t act like your Mom still doesn’t strike fear in you when she has that tone,” she said, mostly looking at Derek who she knew was about to say something to her. He opted to just raise his hands, knowing she was right. 

 “Okay, so both of the victims had 250 dollars on them when they were found, why wouldn’t the unsub take that?” Emily asked, changing the topic back to the case. 

 “It’s a lot to pass up, money must not be on his mind,” Rossi said. 

 “Dumping the bodies certainly is,” JJ said while opening the file that laid on the table. “He chose two different parks outside of Atlanta.” 

 “The parks are 15 miles apart and 40 minutes from the city, speaks to his comfort zone,” Spencer said. 

 “Or he didn’t want to return to the same location and risk getting recognized,” Derek countered. 

  “Hey guys, I hate to be the messenger of sad things,” Penelope said through the speaker of the laptop. “But yet another body has been discovered by some joggers at yet another park. Her name’s Rebecca Moore and, get this, a missing person report was filed on her.” 

 “How long was she missing?” Y/N asked. 

 “36 hours.” 

 “Who filed it?” Emily asked.

 “Her friend, Allyson Parker,” Penelope answered. 

 “Prentiss, you, Y/N, and JJ find out from Allyson if she has any insight on why Rebecca was targeted. Morgan and Reid, go to the disposal site, Dave and I will set up at the field office,” Hotch said telling everyone where to go. 

---------

  JJ, Emily, and Y/N pulled off the street as they arrived at the spot where Allyson told them to meet her. 

 “Allyson Moore?” Y/N asked as the approached a Brunette who stood on the corner. 

 “Yeah that’s me,” she responded. 

 “Hi, I’m Agent Y/L/N, this is Agent Prentiss-” she pointed to Emily on her left and then pointed to her right- “and this is Agent Jareau.”

 “Nice to meet you,” Allyson responded. 

 “We’re very sorry for your loss,” JJ said. 

 “How long were you and Rebecca friends?” Emily asked.

 “3 years,” Allyson responded getting choked up. 

 “You two had each other’s backs, that’s why you filed the report, right?” Y/N said looking at the girl.

 “It was almost two days, I thought she was at the police station. Getting locked up is better than disappearing with one of them,” Allyson explained. 

 “So what made you think something was wrong?” JJ asked. 

 “She always came back,” Allyson said. “Bad as it was, this place was home, you know?”

 “Did she have any regular customers?” JJ continued with her questions. 

 “We all do.” 

 “Rebecca had over 250 dollars on her,” Y/N said,

 “She did?” Allyson said, less a question more of a statement of disbelief.  

 “What would that kind of money get a customer?” Emily asked.

 “A lot,” responded Allyson. 

“Like, all night or….,” JJ trailed off wanting Allyson to finish her thought. 

 “Nowadays? Yeah,” Allyson responded. 

 “We need to take you back to the last time you saw Rebecca,” Emily explained, setting Allyson up for what they were about to do. 

 “Where were you standing?” Y/N asked watching as Allyson transported herself to that night. 

 “Facing which way?” Emily asked. 

 “Street-” she nodded towards the road- “A truck pulled up. He was one of my regulars. I was talking to him through the window when Rebecca pulled up in a silver beamer.”

 “Did you recognize the car?” Y/N asked Allyson.

 “No, it must have been a new customer,” Allyson explained. 

 “What did she do after that?” Emily asked. 

 “She looked back at me and then started walking down the block, that was the last time I saw her,” Allyson said, but then she stopped. “Wait a second, there was an older gray van. I’ve seen it around here before, it was parked there a long time.” 

 “A van? Where?” JJ asked as Allyson came back to where she was. 

  “It parks right there,” Allyson said pointing to a spot by a couple of trash cans. 

 The three women turned their heads to look at the spot. 

 “Could you make out the license plate?” Emily asked. 

 “No it was dark,” Allyson responded to their dismay. 

 “How long was it there?” Y/N asked turning her head to look at Allyson. 

 “A few hours probably, why?” Allyson asked.

 “It’s a loading zone, permit parking only,” Y/N explained.  

 The three women thanked her before they headed back to the SUV.  

---------------

 “Allyson remembered seeing a van parked on the street the night that Rebecca disappeared,” Emily said as her, Y/N, and JJ walked into the conference room. 

  “And she’s seen it before, but get this, it was parked in a loading zone for hours,” Y/N added.

 “Well, why don’t we check any recent tickets?” The Atlanta field office agent, Agent Brooks, said. 

 “Our analyst already did that, nothing,” Emily said.

 “It’s not a residential area, so a vendor maybe, Garcia pulling permits now,” JJ said. 

 “He’s done this three times before,” Rossi began. “Each victim is left with 250. That’s a 750 dollar investment, he didn’t have to make.” 

 “He has every chance to take that money back, but he buries it with them instead,” Derek said while he looked at the crime scene photos in his hands. 

 “It could be an expression or a manifestation of his guilt,” Emily said. 

 “Everything that happened postmortem- keeping them dressed, crossing their arms, laying them to rest- it’s all very nurturing,” JJ said.

 “But the kills are the exact opposite, incredibly violent and angry.” Y/N said countering JJ’s argument. 

  “Multiple personalities?” Emily asked.

 “Or multiple unsubs,” Hotch answered. “The violent one submits there dominance and the submissive one if left to clean up the mess.” 

 The team sat in silence as they thought and looked over the case file. Everyone’s attention soon turned to Agent Brooks as her phone rang. 

 “Brooks,” she said answering the phone. “Okay, we’ll be right there. There’s been another body.” 

 “Damn,” Y/N said. “These guys are moving fast.”

 “They are, Morgan and Y/N go to the latest crime scene with Agent Brooks, the rest of us will stay here,” Hotch said looking between Y/N and Derek. 

 The two Agents nodded and followed Brooks out of the office.

 It was a ten-minute drive to the crime scene, the three hoping out of the vehicle, and following an Atlanta Police Officer to the body. Brooks walked away from the scene as she answered her phone than talked to one of the responding officers and came back a minute later. Y/N and Derek looking over the body as she approached. 

 “Her name was Julie Harmon, lives in a loft downtown,” Brooks spoke looking at the body. “Envelope of cash was in her bag, wrapped in plastic.” 

 “That’s new,” Y/N said as she inspected the outfit Julie was wearing. “It looks like she’s prepped for burial.” 

 “This woman doesn’t fit his victimology,” Derek said while he crouched down next to the body to look closer.

 “Yeah, look at her nails,” Y/N said pointing to the fresh manicure that Julie had. 

 “The ways she’s dressed, her shoes haven’t hit the pavement,” Derek said in agreement to Y/N’s observations. 

 “Maybe she’s a high-class call girl,” Brooks said.

 “Who fought back and got punished for it,” Derek said. 

 Y/N inspected the body some more before she spoke. “Blunt-force trauma and the same bruising on the thighs, this one is the most violent yet,” she said. 

 “And the shortest time between kills,” Derek added to which Y/N hummed in agreement. 

  “Feel’s like he’s trying to break some kind of record,” Brooks said. 

 “This team has a complicated dynamic. Ultimately, they trust one another,” Derek said looking between Y/N and Brooks. 

 “They’re still codependent too, enabling each other,” Y/N added. She thought of all the different kinds of relationships that could have this dynamic. 

 “It sounds like any dysfunctional relationship, how do we narrow that down?” Brooks asked. 

 “Through her-” Derek pointed at Julie- “The more we can learn about Julie, the better we can understand why they’re doing this.”

------------

   After the Derek and Y/N returned to the office, the team began to piece together a profile on who they believed their unsubs were. Y/N stared at the pictures of the bruising on the leg’s of the victim’s, not sure what it was but it felt monachopsis.

 “What are you thinking?” Spencer asked Y/N, noticing her staring at the board. 

 “The bruising, it doesn’t look like any form of torture we’ve seen, it almost doesn’t seem like it is torture,” Y/N explained turning to Spencer. 

 “Maybe it isn’t, but what else could it be?” He questioned looking at her. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N responded with a shrug. 

“Guys, we’re ready,” JJ told the two in the room prompting them to follow her to the rest of the team. 

  “We’re looking for a pair of white males in their late 20s to early 30s, who’ve developed a pattern of overkill followed by remorse,” Hotch explained to the Agents that were scattered throughout the office. 

 “This usually points to a dominant/submissive partnership,” Y/N said. 

 “The submissive follows the rules, knows the dominants type. Obtains the victims, and disposes of the body once the dominant has completed his killing ritual,” Spencer explained. 

 “What is the ritual?” Brooks asked. 

 “It most likely involves some form of bondage,” Emily began her explanation. “All the victims have identical bruises on their thighs, but we’re not sure if it’s done during capture or kills.”

 “There’s no sexual assault, which tells us the dominant is likely impotent or is experimenting with other forms of sexual release,” Rossi said. 

 “We often refer to this as a ‘thrill kill’,” Derek explained. “The dominant is inducing pain and creating terror without a sexual element.” 

 “This often provides him some stimulation and excitement, kind of like an adrenaline rush. The thrill of the murder is only a temporary fix,” Y/N said. 

 “Like any narcotic, the violence satisfies his senses for a time, but then it fades. This is why his cooling-off period is nonexistent,” Derek added. 

 “Despite a public investigation, the unsubs have continued killing. The risk of getting caught does not trump their need to kill,” JJ said as she looked around at the Agents. 

 “Thank you,” Hotch said dismissing everyone back to what they were doing. 

-----------------

   “Julie Harmon was a sexual surrogate,” Derek said walking into the room after talking to Penelope. 

 “Whoa, sounds like somebody felt like a little progressive prescription might fix everything,” Emily said twirling her pen in the left hand. 

 “Well, they were wrong,” JJ added. 

 “That’s not just going from high- to low-risk victims. A sexual surrogate’s a very specific type,” Hotch said. 

 “It seems like they were trying to fix something, I mean why else would you call a therapist?” Y/N asked. 

 “They do treat patients with all types of disabilities, whether it’s developmental, physical, or emotional,” Emily explained looking at Y/N.

 “My guess is this guy had all three,” Derek began. “I mean, let’s look at physical: he’s got the upper body strength to kill, but the victims bruising tells us that he was using restraints.” 

 “Only they’re not on the wrists or ankles where restraints usually are, they’re tramline bruises around the thighs,” Rossi said pointing to the bruises on the photo. 

 “It’s as if the victims are straddling a chair,” Spencer said. 

 At this Y/N had a click, “What if it’s a wheelchair?”

 Spencer turned his head to look at Y/N as they had the same click. “Physical infirmities, with strong arms. That does make sense.”

 “That would also explain the van parked in the loading zone, handicap permits grant access all over the city,” JJ said agreeing with the two. 

 “I’ll call Penelope,” Y/N said stepping out of the room with her phone. She walked down the three steps that led up the room they were in and pressed Penelope’s contact name for her work phone. 

 “Hiya sugar what can I do for you?” Penelope asked answering the phone. 

 “Hey Penelope, I need you to look for handicap permits of those in the comfort zone for me, please,” Y/N requested to the woman over the phone. 

 “Sure thing, also I have to tell you something that’s a little suspicious,” Penelope said making Y/N’s heart beat faster. 

 “What is it?” She asked with nervousness. 

 “Caroline Roberts, I put a flag on her in case something suspicious or odd happened to alert me, anyways she hasn’t shown up for work in two weeks,” Penelope explained.

 “Oh maybe she just went on vacation or something,” Y/N said trying to reassure herself it was probably nothing. 

 “Sugar, it wouldn’t have alerted me if that was the case, but don’t you freight because right before she left she bought a ticket to head over to London, now I don’t know what that means, but it does tell me she’s out of reach from here for a while.” 

 “Okay thanks, Penelope, hit us back with that list?” Y/N asked. 

 “Faster than you can say my name, I bid you a-do.” 

 Y/N hung up her phone and entered back into the room with the rest of the team. 

----------

  Y/N sat with Spencer, JJ, Derek, and Emily in the small conference room. Her eyes were trained on the board looking at all the victims, all different ideas running through her head while the team talked. She wasn’t really listening though, only hearing parts of what they were saying. 

 “Maybe the caretaker is a woman, by nature, women prefer cleaner disposal methods,” JJ said peaking Y/N to listen to what was being said. 

 “I don’t know. I mean, that terrain was something serious,” Derek said referring to the dumpsite he went to with Spencer. “No offense, ladies, but Reid and I hiked up that ridge, and there’s no way a woman physically fit or not, could carry dead-weight all that way.” 

 “And we profiled that the partners in a wheelchair, so that would make it impossible for him to help with disposal,” Emily added in agreement. 

 Y/N stood up from her seat and walked over to the board to look at the pictures closer. Words scattered between the pictures of the crime scene from them trying to form the profile more. 

 “So there’s a third person involved, that rarely works there’s usually two against one, ” Derek said. 

 Y/N trailed back into her thoughts as her eyes darted between the pictures.

 “They’d have to trust each other completely, so what kind of relationship involves that dynamic?” Spencer asked. 

 Y/N’s mind then thought back to something her mother always used to tell her: No matter what we will always protect you Y/N, through hell or high water, because we are your parents. 

 “What if it’s parents protecting their child?” Y/N asked, turning around quickly from the board to the four sittings. “My parents always told me growing up that they would protect and help me no matter what. So what if this is like that.”

 “They raise them, they root for them,” JJ said with realization. 

 “They would share the same genes,” Emily added. 

 “Apples don’t fall from the tree,” Y/N agreed. 

 “A parent would hold themselves accountable for the child being injured, that explains the guilt,” Spencer said. 

 “Yeah, but what kind of sick family pulls this off?” Derek asked. 

 “One that’s done it before,” Y/N answered. 

 “I’ll get Hotch and Rossi,” JJ said standing up to exit the room. The rest of the nodded and waited for her to come back with the.

 The five than explained why it was probably a family to Hotch and Rossi. The family probably only had one child because a sibling would be less than likely to participate. If the child was hurt in an accident and the parents felt responsible they would do anything to make them happy.

 “Murder probably wasn’t something they planned though, it came as an extreme side effect of the son’s condition,” Y/N explained to Hotch.

 “If there was orbital cortex damage from the accident, it would help to explain why killing is his release,” Emily added.

 “If the mother has psychopathic tendencies, she could have passed it down through her X chromosome,” Spencer explained.

 “Garcia’s looking up accidents now that have the parents at fault,” JJ said. 

 “That list has to be long,” Rossi spoke as he raised an eyebrow. 

 “Uh- it is, So she is also looking for unsolved cases in the state,” JJ added. 

 “There’s a good chance this isn’t the first time the son has acted out,” Y/N explained. 

 As Y/N finished her statement, JJ’s phone rang. 

 “Hey, Garcia, you’re on speaker,” she said to her over the phone. 

 “Okay, the only thing I can find that’s remotely similar to this is from five years ago. A coed at Georgia state was stabbed and left in a park,” Penelope said.

 “Did she have bruises on her inner thighs?” Rossi asked.

 “Uh, M.E. says…” Penelope paused as she looked for the answer. “Yes, she did.”

 “All right, Garcia, check student enrollment for that year for students with campus handicap permits,” Hotch said to the woman on the phone.

 “I got a bushel of matches, let’s narrow this down.” 

 “Look for in-state residents. If the unsub was injured there’s a good chance he stayed close to home,” JJ said. 

 “Oh, they’re all locals,” Penelope responded. 

 “The parents would have covered it up, and they would have pulled their son out of school after the murder,” Emily explained. 

  “Eureka, Jeffery Collins,” Penelope said as she found a match. “He dropped out of school weeks after the murder and have since lived with his parents.”

 “What’s his story?” Y/N asked. 

 “Sending it to you right now, he’s an only child of Linda and Donald Collins. He was a local athlete who became paralyzed in a car accident when he was fifteen.”

 “It says here the mother was driving, but the injuries weren’t consistent with being behind the wheel,” Derek said while he looked up from he tablet. 

 “But the fathers were look-” Spencer pointed to a part of the report on the tablet that Y/N held in her hand- “Broken ribs, ruptured spleen, minor concussion.” 

 “He’s obviously the one who hit the steering wheel,” Y/N said in agreement.

 “Let me guess, the father was drunk,” Rossi said looking over to Y/N.

 “Yeah, twice the legal limit,” Penelope answered over the phone. 

 “Sounds like they switched places and she covered for him,” Y/N said. 

 “But helping your husband avoid a DUI is far different than helping your son dispose of bodies,” Spencer said as he looked between those around. 

 “Not necessarily,” Hotch countered. “The mother fixes things, she could have manipulated the husband into making up for his failure.” 

  “Garcia, you got an address?” Derek asked Penelope over the phone.

 “Sending it to you now,” she quickly responded. 

------------

 “Hotchner,” Hotch said answering his phone. “Okay, we’ll be right there,” he hung up and turned the car around. 

 “What is it?” Y/N asked as she leaned forward in her seat to adjust her vest. 

 “Agent Brooks, they just found Donald Collins car wrapped around a telephone pole,” Hotch responded as they headed towards the accident, a mere two minutes from where they already were. The SUV came to a halt as they reached the accident and Hotch, Spencer, Emily, and Y/N piled out of the car. 

 “Hey guys thanks for getting here so quick,” Brooks said as she approached the four. 

 “We were on our way to the Collins home when we received the call,” Spencer said as they continued over to the car. 

 “Donald Collins was behind the wheel, died on impact. We found this in his coat pocket,” Brooks explained handing Emily the letter that was sealed in an evidence bag.

 “Let me guess, it’s his confession to all the murders,” Y/N said before she looked at the letter in Emily’s hand. 

 Agent Brooks nodded her head in response. 

 “Even in death, he’s still covering for his son,” Emily said showing Hotch and Spencer the letter. 

 “No one else in the car?” Hotch asked. 

 “No,” Brooks answered. 

 “No skid marks, he probably hit the pole going about 65 miles-per-hour,” Spencer said inspecting the asphalt behind the car. 

 “He committed suicide,” Y/N said while she shook her head in disbelief. 

 “It looks like he was trying to replicate the accident that made Jeff a paraplegic, this was his ultimate penance,” Emily said. 

 “Is this their endgame?” Hotch asked. 

  “If he was trying to replicate the accident, Jeff and Linda would have both been in the car,” Spencer answered, turning to the three on his right. 

 “So where are they?” Y/N asked. 

 “Probably still at the house, maybe even with their next victim,” Spencer said. 

-----------

  “Mom, Mom listen, I promise you the next time I am home I will try to come to visit you I swear-, Y/N said as she brought her mug and Spencer’s over to their seats on the jet.

 Spencer mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Y/N as she handed him the mug, which she responded back with a nod as she sat down in her seat.  

“No it’s not that I don’t think visiting you isn’t important. You know you’re starting to sound like grandma,” Y/N laughed as she looked at Spencer next to her and then Emily across. “All right will do, love you too, bye.” 

  It was the next day, the team had arrested Jeffery Collins and were now on their way back home. 

 “That sounded fun,” Emily said as she looked at Y/N. 

 “You have no idea,” Y/N laughed. “She told me if she doesn’t get to meet Spencer, or any of the rest of you guys really, sometime soon, she’s going to through a fit.” 

 The three laughed but they halted as they saw JJ walk up and sit down next to Emily, a look of defeat on her face.

 “Still no sitter?” Emily asked the blonde. 

 “My sitter is not available,” JJ explained. “Apparently I have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting a sitter for a Saturday night.”

 “What’s going on tonight?” Spencer asked. 

 “Ladies Night,” Y/N said as she looked over at Spencer next to her. His eyes trained on a book in his lap. 

 “It was but, I forgot to book a sitter,” JJ said.

 “I’ll do it,” Spencer said. 

 The three women turned their heads to look at him. All having the same questioning and unsure look on their faces.

 “Spence,” JJ said trying to protest. 

 “What? I’ve seen an episode of ‘Mr. Belvedere’,” Spencer said trying to prove he could do it.

 “I don’t know if that would help, bub,” Y/N said patting his arm sweetly. The nickname just slipping out but no one questioned it. 

  “And you’ve never babysat by yourself before,” JJ added.

  “You know- uh-  he could do a couple of hours,” Emily said looking between Y/N and JJ. 

 “What could possibly go wrong?” Spencer asked. 

 “Well now that you said that, something definitely will,” Y/N said, her superstitious side showing. 

 “Alright fine,” JJ caved.  

-  

 “Whooo!” Spencer cheered obnoxiously loud as they stood gate side of Hotch’s triathlon. “Couple hours, Couple hours! You guys didn’t even come home till sunrise,” he said looking at the four very hungover women. 

 Their eyes were covered with their sunglasses as they leaned against the gate, heads pounding from the cheers and alcohol. 

 “Why are yelling,” JJ said as she looked up then away from Spencer. 

 “Make him stop,” Emily said looking down to Y/N who stood beside Spencer. 

 “With pleasure,” Y/N said, getting up from her position of leaning against the gate to than grabbing Spencer’s face. “Spencer, I really don’t want to slap that pretty little face of yours I adore so much-” Spencer blushed at Y/N’s words- “but if you do not stop yelling I will.” 

 He nodded his head as she let go of his face and laid her head on his arm.  

 “Okay, hey Jack earmuffs for a minute, earmuffs,” Derek said tapping Hotch’s son that sat on his shoulders. “What did you guys drink last night?”

 “The green fairy, you’re in the FBI, can you make the crowd stop cheering?” Penelope pleaded to Derek next to her. 

 “By my estimates, Hotch will be finishing any minute now,” Spencer said looking at his watch, making Y/N lift her head as his arm moved. 

 “Do you see him, Uncle Dave?” Jack asked as he looked down at Rossi from Derek’s shoulders. 

 “I think I do kiddo, right there!” Rossi said as he pointed to Hotch running down the course. 

  Y/N clapped along with JJ and Emily and winced at Spencer’s loud cheering but let it slide since it was for Hotch. Hotch smiled as he saw the team cheering for him as he crossed the finish line. When he crossed, the team walked over to the table he was getting his water and medal from, Jack beating them all there as he was so excited to congratulate his dad. 

  “Did you see my sign?” Jack asked, jumping excitedly. 

 “I did, that’s for you, buddy,” Hotch said placing a medal around Jack’s next he was given.

 “Look at you, how do you feel?” Rossi asked. 

 “I think I’m gonna live,” responded Hotch as he took another sip of his water.

 “Pretty impressive, I had money on the swim killing you,” Emily laughed. 

 “My bet was the bike ride,” Y/N added, grabbing Spencer’s hand and then laying her head on his arm again. 

 “I practiced,” Hotch said still trying to regain his breath. 

 “And it paid off, good job,” Derek said congratulating Hotch.

 “Thank you.” 

 “Hey, you guys want to go get something to eat?” Spencer asked the team. 

 “Yeah, something greasy,” JJ said pushing her sunglasses up her nose.

 “Oh yeah,” Emily agreed. 

 “Please,” Y/N added. 

 “Hotchner!” A voice of a woman was heard making the team turn their heads. 

 “Beth! Jack, there’s somebody I want you to meet,” Hotch said guiding his son over to, the now identified, Beth. 

 “Awe,” Y/N said at the cute moment they were watching. 

 The team laughed at Y/N’s audible feelings and began to walk as they saw Hotch lead Beth and Jack towards their group. 

--------------

 Y/N and Spencer walked into Y/N’s apartment together after eating lunch with the rest of the team. Spencer came with her to grab some of the things he left from the other night staying there. 

 “I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick,” Y/N told Spencer who nodded back with a tight-lipped smile.

 After Spencer grabbed his things he placed them on the round table that was to the left of Y/N’s kitchen. His eyes became drawn to the white envelope with a wax seal with a bird imprint on it. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked it up inspecting it. Before he could open it though, Y/N walked back into the room. 

 “What’cha lookin’ at?” She asked as she approached Spencer. 

 He turned around to face her, showing her the letter in his hand. Her face grew white with horror, she hadn’t received a letter in 3 weeks. 

 “Where- where was that?” She asked, walking over and grabbing it out of Spencer’s hand, beginning to open it frantically. 

 “On the table,” he responded pointing to where it laid on the table previously. 

 “Oh god,” Y/N said, knowing that meant she had gotten into her apartment somehow this time. 

 “Y/N, what’s wrong, what is it?” Spencer asked trying to get answers from her. 

 “Agh,” Y/N said softly as she cut herself on the paper from the envelope.  

 “Hey, hey, slow down,” Spencer told her, grabbing the envelope from her hand.

 “Will you please just open it and read to me what it says,” she said sitting in the chair she pulled out from the table, placing her head in her hands. 

 “Yeah-yeah, sure,” he responded opening the letter. “ ‘Nothing lasts forever Y/N’ from C.R., what is this, who’s C.R.?” 

 Y/N thought back to the dream she had a couple of nights ago before they left. 

 “Nothing lasts forever Y/N, you know that.” 

 The voice echoed in her head. She lifted her head up from her hands looking at Spencer who had kneeled himself in front of her. 

 “Caroline Roberts,” she told him. “Spencer I need to tell you something.” 

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome​ @word-scribbless​ @nintendumbfuck​ @confused-and-really-hungry​ @justine-en​ @andiebeaword​ @itsarayofsunshine​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @abitofeverythinggg​

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #criminal minds meme

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

The Rose Prince (Pt.1)

-------------------------

There were two things Roman trusted in the twisted puppet show that was his life, two things he knew werent a fabricated stage of wired and strings. His brother Remus, and his own gut.

Remus was trustworthy because he was unpredictable, everything else in the castle was a code that could be cracked, a machine that could be exploited and forced into malfunction if dealt with properly.

Remus, however, was human. You could ask him for something and maybe he would give it to you, or spit in your face, the possibilities were endless. And that's what Roman liked about it all, about the uncertainty, the changes and shifts, it meant that things wouldnt stay dull and stale and boring.

Whereas if Remus hadnt been there, all Roman would be left with was the painfully obvious whirring of cogs and gears, the blinking red lights of cameras that broadcasted the prince's every move for all the world to see, stale conversations with machines who, despite Remus' best efforts, still seemed to slip up when referring to him correctly.

This was life for the Kingdom of Roses and Ice, princes and princesses were not to be raised around other people, for fear it might corrupt them. They were to be sent to a separate castle of strings and wires, and taught there how to be the perfect stone-faced statues, the picture of grace and nobility. The perfect bride and wife, or groom and husband, and the perfect king and ruler. The process lasted until they were eighteen, where upon its end they would be married off to the husband or wife of their parents choosing, or, should they fail in the task of perfection, risk being trapped under lock and gear forever.

Roman often wondered just how many of the castle's enchanted servants were once like him, regal, special, important. He wondered what they might have done to warrant such a curse, and if he'd already done the same thing.

But he worried no more for himself than he did for Remus, Remus was uncontrollable, a wild card if there ever had been and wild cards were not tolerated in the seat of the throne room.

He wondered if there had ever been royalty who tried to keep their children in the main castle, were they sent to die here to? Perhaps forced to bare another curse? This was Roman's least favorite topic to ponder, because then he started wondering if his parents had ever tried to rebel, whether they had tried to keep their children within the true castle, safe from the curse that would befall them should they fail in the task of perfection.

"Romaaaannnnnnn," Remus' voice drawled from nearby, but Roman couldn't quite focus on it.

"Hey snot-face I'm talking to you," and then he felt a sharp tap on the back of the head.

"Ow! Remus!" Roman whirled around in his seat, holding the spot which Remus had hit.

"You're thinking again, I was getting worried," Remus said with a laugh.

"Well what did you have to go and snap me out of it for!" Roman replied angrily.

"Because when you start thinking you usually reach the topic of mom and mom and then you start crying and I really dont think crying is a good way to spend our last day in this hellhole," Remus replied, Roman gave a start and rushed to the calendar.

And sure enough, there it was, June Fourth.

Remus could have gotten out two years earlier, but, in his words 'like hell I'm going to let Roman stay here by himself, you'll have to kill me first,'. Which did in fact not make Roman feel any better, but rather much worse, who knew what an open act of rebellion might mean.

"Well I guess I better get dressed then hm?" Roman said, almost whispering, as though he dared not believe it was truly time to leave, as though he thought they might stay in the false castle forever.

But soon enough they were standing on the steps of the true palace, a grandiose structure that looked as if it were made of snow and glass and ice. Roman smoothed down the hem of his skirt and straightened his back up as best he could, his binder felt tight around his chest, he wondered whether it was nerves or something else.

"You may enter the Palace of Frozen Rose," a voice said as the doors opened, Roman felt his stomach twisting like a worm on a hook. He looked up at Remus, who merely nodded as they walked inside.

If the outside was anything to marvel at, the inside was almost twice that. Statues of all sorts lined the walls, like larger than life music box dancers. The floors glistened with light reflected from the outside, creating a variety of colors across the floor.

But Roman couldnt focus on that now, he had to keep his head forward, poised on what was in front of him, gaze never lingering elsewhere, that was what made an obedient ruler.

"Good morning, Prince Roman, and Crown Prince Remus," Roman had to hold back a sigh of relief as his mother uttered the words. They'd passed, Remus was to be a a Crown Prince, the future king, and Roman was safe, all he had to do now was marry, and he'd be happy again.

"Good morning Queen Elizabeth and Queen Belladonna," Roman and Remus said in unison, Roman's voice carrying much louder than his brother's. Roman couldve sworn he saw the hint of a smile on his mothers' faces.

Almost as soon as the introductions began, the twins were shepherded to separate parts of the castle, no doubt to prepare themselves for the men selected by their mothers'.

Moments later Roman was dressed in a white sweater that hung off his shoulders, a red hoodie wrapped around his waist, skinny jeans, and white boots. Upon his face was glittering white eyeshadow and lipstick red as blood, and just like that he felt as though he'd never left the false castle, as though he was a puppet like those that had taken care of him for eighteen years. Of course,he didnt voice this, that wouldve been a foolish decision. So he did as told, walking down the hall, smiling and waving and watching as the ballroom inched closer and closer.

Roman felt the spotlight on himself as soon as he entered the room, like a bright sun meant just to reveal himself to the world.

"The Rose Prince has arrived to the court," Roman heard someone announce, the room went quiet, Roman tried desperately to find his brother, but could see nothing. He felt himself being pulled down the stairs, all eyes were on him, burning into his skin. He heard whispers, he knew they were about him.

Roman wasnt allowed on the dance floor for more than a minute or two, immediately being taken to the throne instead. Roman watched enviously as the other guests danced and partied as he was forced to sit and stare from a gilded silver throne.

"The Crown Prince of Thorns has arrived to the court," Roman looked up, and there was his brother, dressed in robes of jade and black, looking as though he'd very much like to bite the guards escorting him to his throne.

The party carried on as though no one seemed to realize the princes weren't joining in the festivities.

And one by one the guests began to leave, until there were exactly four men standing in front of the throne. Remus was beckoned to stand, and he did so, bowing slightly when he reached his full height.

The first man stepped forward, he was short, with light brown curls of hair that had shades of blue and pink flecked throughout. He had round-framed white glasses perched on his face, and his eyes were a contrast of white that faded to a shade of pink.

"Emile Picani, Prince of Orchards," said the voice that had announced Roman and Remus' arrival. Emile gave a slight bow and looked up at Remus as if expecting him to say something scornful. Remus merely smiled, Emile waited a few seconds before rushing to stand on one side of him.

The second boy was a slight bit taller than Emile, but nowhere near the height of Remus, with light brown skin and brown hair, his eyes were a deep shade of blue that made them seem almost black in color.

"Patton Boleyn, Prince of Gems and Jewels," the voice said, Patton rushed up to stand on the other side of Remus' throne. Roman was beginning to peice together what was going on.

He watched as the third man stepped forward, taller than almost everyone else in the room, with striking yellow eyes that stood out against his dark complexion and a black hat perched on his head, his face was covered in burns, yet it didnt not take away from his features, Roman could hardly keep his eyes off him.

"Janus Ryder, Crown Prince of Serpents," Janus approached Roman's throne, removed his hat, bowed, and placed a kiss on Roman's hand before going to stand next to his throne. Roman had to struggle not to blush furiously at the gesture.

The fourth and final man was dressed in vibrant midnight blue, with specks of white scattered throughout his dress like stars, and upon his face were round black glasses.

"Logan Sanders, Prince of Stars," the voice said, Logan gave a bow, crossing his legs as he did so, and took his place next to Roman's throne.

"After tomorrow, the Prince of Roses will be escorted to the kingdom of the Crown Prince of Serpents and Prince of Stars, the Prince of Orchards and Prince of Gems and Jewels will remain within the castle alongside the Crown Prince of Thorns," Roman felt faint, he'd only been there for a day and he was expected to leave soon after? And what of Remus? Were they never to see each other again?

But he kept a blank expression on his face as he and Remus repeating their instructions, the four other princes giving various reactions, the most common of which seemed to be worry.

Soon enough their suitors were taken from the room, and Roman and Remus were alone, until finally, they were allowed to their rooms.

And Roman screamed. Never before had he felt like this, confused, upset, trapped, in all the years he'd spent in that palace-shaped prison, he'd never felt as stuck as he was now. The only solace he could find was the walls of his room, where no creature except himself could hear. So he screamed, he screamed and cried and thrashed until he felt numb and limp and sick.

One day before he was to be married off to two men he'd never so much as looked at before.

One day before he would be separated from his brother, potentially forever.

One day before he became something worse than a puppet.

One day before he became a pawn in a game he was fully aware was being played.

Prince Roman did not dream that night, not even a nightmare. He simply slept, with fear and dread sinking into his stomach.

----------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@thefivecalls

@willowaudreykeyes

@pricklyfish777

@the-sad-strawberry

@itsnithbabey

@private-snippers

@extercs-experiences

@rich-flower-17

@theonetruebeepboop

@mycatshuman

@teamplutoforlife

@melodiread

@meowthefluffy

@frawkeye

@cemmy

@nerosdayinhell

@thecolorfulolive

@frog-candy-bee

#cori writes #rose prince au #ts patton #ts remus #ts roman #ts logan #ts janus #ts emile #ts dragon witch #ts fairy godmother #tw crying #tw screaming #tw panic attack #tw arranged marriage #tw abuse #tw control #tw manipulation #tw fear #roceit #romantic roceit #romantic logince #logince #roloceit #romantic roloceit #moduke #romantic moduke #intrumile #romantic intrumile #modukemile #romantic modukemile

[yikesharringrove]

There's a Jersey Mike's ad that says "your favorite sub, delivered right to your door" and it made me think of Steve.. Maybe Steve is some sort of sub for hire and Billy comes across his ad?

This made me LAUGH.

Sub for hire meet cute.

Smut

Holy SHIT this got really long omg

Ao3

-

Billy was scrolling aimlessly, holding his dick in one hand, stroking lazily.

He was looking for something good, some pretty boy twink getting fucking destroyed.

He scrolled to the end of the page, and accidentally clicked on the add at the bottom of his screen.

“Oh fuck.” He tried to stop it loading, but then a dark webpage had loaded.

Subs 4 U - submissives for hire Your favorite subs delivered right to your door

He snorted, screenshotting the site, knew Heather would get a kick outta this.

He scrolled through, just curious about this site, the kind of work they did.

It was all laid out in steps.

Step 1: Pick your Sub

There were about twenty pictures, different people of different genders, all with bios and kink lists. He stopped on one.

The guy was hogtied on a bed, a ball gag in his mouth. He was looking at the camera with his big dark eyes, was basically saying fuck me, please through the photo. Billy read through his bio.

Steve, 24, he/they. Steve is a bratty sub that likes being bound, gagged, and fucked. He likes being tied up, chained down, suspended, slapped, and spanked. He likes a big cock and an even bigger toy. Into painplay, full domination, humiliation, and sissifiaction. Looking for a Sir/Ma’am, a Mommy/Daddy, or a Master/Mistress.

Billy stared at his bio.

Would it, would it be fucking stupid to do this? To hire a sub to come to his door?

Billy had never really done the BDSM thing. Sure, he was naturally dominant in the bedroom, and liked a bratty little bottom, but, for how much hardcore porn he watches, he’s never, tied someone up, or flogged them, or whatever.

He clicked on Steve’s name.

It pulled up a schedule, with the title Step 2: Book your time. Steve was booked three weeks out. Billy can see why. This page has even more pictures, pictures of him fingering his ass, or in pretty lingerie, even one where he’s cuffed to a bed, and fucking crying. Billy booked a time.

Step 3: Pick your scene.

There were a few levels.

Level 1: Light domination. Perfect for beginner dominates. Subs will bring a collection of toys and gear and discuss scene options before hand.

Level 2: Mild domination. For more experienced dominates that just like an easier ride.

Level 3: Full domination. For experienced dominates. Full control (within reason) of the submissive.

Level 4: Extreme domination. For regular dominates looking for more. Please discuss boundaries with submissive.

Billy clicked on level one.

He entered his phone number and address, and put in his credit card information. It was expensive, getting a mail order sub for three hours, but he looked back and Steve’s pictures and thought fuck it.

-

Billy was making himself breakfast when his phone went off.

Unknown number: Hi Billy, it’s Steve, your sub for hire! I wanted to confirm our scene appointment and begin discussing expectations.

Billy stared at the text. He bit his lip.

Hi, Steve. Yes, you can confirm our appointment.

Steve (Sub): Great! You selected level one, meaning I’ll bring a selection of toys and gear I like to play with. Do you know much about BDSM?

I mean, I watch a lot of porn.

Steve (Sub): lol 😊 I mean like, for reals.

I’ve done some research, but very little.

Steve (Sub): Do some more before we get together. We’ll just stick with cuffs and stuff so you don’t have to worry about rope. Please get tested if you haven’t after your most recent partner, think about a safeword so you can have that ready, and what you want me to call you. Let me know if there’s anything special you want me to bring or wear. Can’t wait! 🌷

Billy stared at the little pink flower.

So he was really doin’ this. Huh.

-

Billy got a few books on BDSM to peruse during the next three weeks.

He did everything Steve asked, watched videos on some of the things Steve had listed in his bio, tutorials on how to do them safely. He got tested, came back clean as a damn whistle, and thought a lot about what he wanted for their scene.

So by the time there was a knock on his door, he was ready.

He smiled at Steve, who grinned brightly at him.

“Hi! You’re Billy, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Come on in.”

“Thank God. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve gone to the wrong apartment.” Billy laughed. Steve was easy to be around. He was light and happy and made some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “So, you wanna get right to it?”

“’Course.”

“You’ve got three hours. That includes set up and aftercare. Did you do some more research?” Steve had placed his big duffel bag on Billy’s coffee table, was pulling out cuffs and dildos and gags and impact toys.

“Yes, I did. Real research.”

“Cool! You got any ideas?” Billy looked at the spread Steve had brought.

He doesn’t really feel comfortable with impact yet, has been known to lose himself in things like that, and he really didn’t want to hurt Steve. He eyed a big dildo while picking up the set of nice leather padded cuffs.

“I want to start fairly easy. Cuff you up, stretch you open, fuck you.” Steve had a serious look on his face.

“Yeah, that’s cool. What would you like from me?”

“I love a good brat, so if you wanna play that up.” Steve smirked at him. “And, uh, any of the names you listed in your bio are cool.”

“Sir, is kinda my go to. And my safeword is licorice. Did you think of one?”

“I was thinkin’ Radagast.” It was the first thing that had come to mind. Steve grinned at him.

“You’re a nerd. That’s so cute.” Billy tried not to flush. “Okay, cool. So like, do you have any hard boundaries? I don’t fuck with piss and shit, and I don’t like being left alone, especially while bound or in subspace.”

“That all sounds good. I uh, I don’t want to be hit at all, and I don’t want to hit you.”

“Okay, cool. And what are you looking for in terms of aftercare?”

“Isn’t that, like the dom’s job?”

“Nah, doms need after lovin’ too. I like cuddling afterwards, but if that makes you uncomfortable, I’m good with that. I got a cat at home that’ll snuggle with me.” Billy pictured Steve curled up in a thick sweater, a cat curled into his chest.

It was cute.

“I like cuddling.” Steve smiled at him, nodding once.

“Alright, let’s walk through our scene step by step. What are you looking for?”

“Uh, I think I wanted to strip you, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah! Just don’t rip my clothes.” Billy huffed a laugh. “I’m not kidding, some asshole cut off a dress I was wearing, and I was so mad.”

“Alright, I’ll be careful.” Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, so after that, I want to cuff you. Like, arms behind your back?”

“That works.”

“And then, uh, make you suck me off, then get you stretched open, make you take this,” he held up the big dildo. “And then fuck you.”

“Great! Feel free to play into the scene, if you want to do some orgasm denial, prostate milking, whatever strikes you along those lines, is good with me.”

“Okay. I think all of that sounds good.” Steve smiled brightly at him, standing up. “And I got tested. I’m clean and I have the test results if you’d like to see them.”

“No need. I believe you.” Billy nodded once. “We can begin when you’re ready then!”

“You’re all good?”

“Yep.”

“Alright then, let’s begin.”

“Go ahead.” Billy grabbed his face, made Steve’s breath hitch in his chest.

“What was that?”

“Go ahead, Sir.”

The switch was immediate. Steve’s eyes were hazy, his body deflating just a little bit, submitting to Billy.

“Say it again.”

“Yes, Sir.” Billy let go of his face. He reached for the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head. Steve made a disgruntled noise. “Oh, what, Baby? Don’t like it when I get rough?”

Steve shook his head.

“Words.”

“No, Sir. I don’t like it when you get rough.”

“That’s too bad, Princess. ‘Cause this isn’t about you.” He undid Steve’s jeans, pulling them down, slapping Steve’s legs to indicate which one he should step out of.

He brushed his hands along Steve’s body as he stood up.

Steve was watching him with dark eyes.

“Turn around.” Billy leaned to pick up the leather padded cuffs. Steve pouted. Billy cock stirred.

“Don’t wanna.” Billy grabbed his face again.

“Wasn’t a fucking question.” He was fully hard now, his dick flushed a pretty pink color. “Turn. Around.”

Steve did as he was told, hands behind his back for Billy to cuff.

They were each secured with a shiny silver buckle, and Billy silently thanked Steve for bringing them, not making Billy figure out rope.

He finished cuffing Steve, plastering himself to the back of his body, grinding his hard dick into Steve’s ass.

Steve sighed out a moan.

“Feel how hard you’re makin’ me, Sugar?” He leaned forward to nose along Steve’s neck. He titled his head, baring his neck for Billy. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Anything you want, Sir. Let you do anything.”

“Of course you will. ‘Cause you don’t have any choice.” Steve whined, pressing his ass back against the front of Billy’s hips.

Billy pushed off him, sitting heavily in his armchair.

Steve looked over his shoulder, eyes all big and pouty.

“C’mere, Baby.” Steve was on his in a flash, nestling in his lap, looking through his lashes at Billy. Billy sighed. “Did I say you could sit on my lap?”

“Just, just wanna be close to you.” Billy grabbed his face again.

“What did I say?” He spoke slowly.

“This isn’t about me.” He let go of his face, petting softly over his hair for a second. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Good boy.” Steve melted. Billy leaned forward, his breath ghosting over Steve’s neck. “Now get on your knees.”

Steve slid off him, settling between Billy’s thighs. He leaned forward right away, nuzzling his face into the hard line of Billy’s cock.

Billy grabbed his hair, yanking him back.

Steve whimpered.

“You’re not listening to me, Brat. I didn’t give you permission to touch me.” Steve’s bottom lip trembled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll be good, I’ll listen. Wanna be good for you, Sir.” His eyes were all gooey with tears. Billy was fucking delighted, wanted to make him cry.

He leaned back, opening his belt slowly.

Steve watched with bated breath as he undid his jeans, pulling his cock out.

Billy stroked over himself, made a real show of it, swiping his thumb over the head. Steve was watching him intently.

“Go get me the lube, Sugar.” Steve flicked his eyes up to look at him.

“But my hands-”

“Figure it out. Go on. Be a good boy.” Steve’s breath caught in his chest.

He turned around on his knees, shuffling awkwardly to the coffee table. He was totally gonna have rug burn on his knees.

He bent over the table to pick up the lube with his mouth. Billy admired his ass, his skin pale and smooth.

Steve came back to him, bottle of lube in his mouth.

Billy took it, petting over Steve’s hair some more.

“Go fetch your toy.” Steve rolled his eyes. Billy leaned over, grabbing his face again.

He spat right on Steve’s face. His lashes fluttered.

“Did you roll your eyes?”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Steve’s eyes had gone bright and watery. Billy resolved to make Steve cry at least once before their time was up.

“Go get your toy, and I’ll decided if you deserve to play with it.”

Steve shuffled to the coffee table, picking up the dildo, his mouth wrapped around the side of the toy like a dog with a bone. He brought it back to Billy.

He sat ramrod straight, looking up at Billy through his lashes. Billy set the dildo with the lube on the little side table.

Billy began stroking himself again.

“Open your mouth.” Steve’s doe eyes were wide as he opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out.

Billy grabbed the back of his hair, and slammed his face down onto his cock.

Steve choked when Billy hit the back of his throat. Billy pulled him off.

“You want me to fuck your face like that, Baby?” Didn’t want to get too rough, wanted to give him an out.

“Yes, Sir. Use my face. Use me.” Billy grinned, pushing Steve back onto his cock.

He guided him up and down, shoving Steve’s head down as far as he could. He could feel Steve relaxing around him, breathing deeply through his nose, keeping his throat open.

He moved his tongue expertly against the underside of him.

“How many cocks you had in this little whore mouth a’ yours? I bet lots. Such a slut.”

Steve whimpered against him. Billy tugged his hair to pull him off.

“Your ass feel as good as your mouth?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He took one moment admiring how red and swollen his lips were, shiny and slick with spit, a thread of saliva still connecting him to the head of Billy’s dick.

“Ask me to touch you. Beg for it.”

“Please, Sir. I want-I need you to touch me. I’ll do anything you want, Sir. I’ll make you feel so good, just please touch me, please.”

And they were the tears.

Billy’s gut roared as a few dripped down his cheeks, as his bottom lip trembled.

“Shh, Princess. So pretty when you beg.” He leaned back in the armchair, patting his lap.

Steve scrambled to sit on his lap, looking at Billy through his lashes. Billy wiped at his tears, sliding his hands down his body, digging his fingers into his soft hips.

“Ask me again.”

“Please touch me. I’ll make you feel so good. Let you do whatever you want.”

“‘Course you will.” He made a big show of slicking up a few of his fingers.  Steve’s breaths were short as he reached around him.

One finger went it easy, Steve’s body giving in to him.

“Such a perfect little cockslut. Sucking me in, so greedy.”

Steve melted against him, tucking his head in Billy’s neck.

“Feels so good, Sir.”

He curled his finger, gently brushing against Steve’s prostate, just teasing.

Steve pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

Billy pushed in another finger, pulling them apart, spreading Steve open.

He pressed them in deep, curling them, drilling the tips of his fingers into Steve’s prostate.

Steve keened and whined, his back arching, fucking himself back on Billy’s fingers.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Being so good for me, Sugar.”

Billy crammed another finger inside him, Steve’s body fluttering around his digits.

“You want another one? Or do you want your toy?”

“Whatever you think I deserve, Sir.”

“Good answer, Slut.” Billy pulled out his fingers, slicking up the big pink dildo.

Billy lined up the dildo, using one hand to spread his cheeks open.

Steve’s back went stiff as he began to push the toy inside.

“Relax, Princess. Be good for me.” Steve was taking deep breaths, relaxing his body as the toy pushed inside, stretched him open.

He pushed the toy in as far as it would go, the flat base of it sitting flush against Steve ass.

Steve’s breaths were shaky.

“Did so good for me. Took your toy so nice. Does it feel good?”

“Feels so good, Sir. Thank you.” Billy pet over his ass, just left the toy shoved inside Steve.

And then he tugged on the base, began slowly fucking Steve with it.

Steve just took it, a pliant little mess in Billy’s lap His cock was hard and hot against Billy’s, smearing pre over both their stomachs.

“You wanna cum on your toy? Or do you want my cock?”

“Want, want your cock, Sir.”

“Do you deserve my cock?” He pushed the toy in a little harder, a little faster, making Steve gasp sharply.

“No, Sir. I don’t deserve anything.”

“No, you don’t, you little brat. You don’t deserve anything I give you.”

“I know I don’t, Sir. Thank you for giving it to me anyway!” Steve was writhing in his lap, Billy could tell he was close.

“Such a spoiled little Princess.”

“Yes! I’m so spoiled.” Billy was moving the dildo fast in and out of him, slick sounds and Steve’s moans filling the apartment.

“You gonna cum?”

“Yes!”

“Beg for it!”

“Please, Sir, I need to cum. I’m so close, please.”

Billy kept fucking him with the toy, leaning forward to speak right into his ear.

“Cum.”

Steve just about screamed when he came.

He covered the front of Billy’s shirt with his spunk, his hips stuttering and grinding, his back arching.

It was beautiful to watch, he fell apart so completely, his eyes squeezing closed.

Billy slowed his hand as Steve’s body relaxed, his chest heaving.

“Thank you.” His words were slurred together.

Billy pulled the toy out, made Steve gasp and whine.

“Gonna use you like the little toy you are.”

“Yes, Sir.” Steve was limp against him as Billy rolled on a condom, shifting Steve to seat him on his cock.

Billy leaned back against the armchair.

“Move.”

Steve blinked up at him.

“But,” his voice trailed off.

“Said I was gonna use you like a little toy. Means you’re gonna get me off.” Steve poked his bottom lip out a little. “Go ahead.”

His thighs were shaking as he lifted up, dropping back down onto Billy’s cock.

Billy was close, watching Steve fall apart had made him painfully hard.

Steve just kept fucking himself, his eyes hazy.

“Tighten up.” His muscles contracted around Billy. He kept going, taking sharp gasps every time Billy hit his prostate.

Billy reached down to play with his over sensitive cock.

“Sir, please-”

“I take what I want, Stevie.” Steve clamped his jaw shut, his bottom lip wobbling.

Billy so wanted him to cry.

“Faster.” He let out a little sob as he moved faster. “Faster.”

And Steve starting crying for real, his cock an angry red, hard again in Billy’s tight grip, his thighs shaking, his inner walls fluttering.

“You gonna cum for me again?”

“Don’t, don’t think I can.” Billy tightened his hold on his cock, jerking him fast.

“Cum, Princess. Wanna see it.”

He sobbed out, his sore cock giving a valiant kick some cum spurting onto Billy’s hand.

Billy bucked his hips, spilling out into the condom, breathing heavy.

He lifted Steve to pull out of him, uncuffing his hands.

“How you doin’?” Steve took a few deep breaths, wrapping his arms around Billy’s shoulders.

“Real good.”

“Everything okay?”

“Everything was fucking great.” Billy laughed, rubbing up and down Steve’s back. He checked his watch.

“We still have an hour, if you wanna cuddle. We could go to bed.” Steve nuzzled into his shoulder.

“I’d like that.” Billy took off the condom, tucking his cock back in his jeans.

He shuffled Steve about, lifting him up as he stood.

He dumped the condom in the trash on his way to the bedroom, putting Steve softly on his bed.

He took off his clothes, sliding under the covers to tangle around Steve.

“That was a good scene.”

“Yeah? I do okay?”

“Yeah, first timer. Did real okay.” Billy huffed a laugh. Steve took a shaky breath. “We could do it again sometime. If you wanted. I’d give you a uh, discounted price.”

“How good of a discount we talkin’?”

“Buy me dinner, get a free session.”

“I think that sounds like a good deal.” Steve smiled up at him. Snuggled a little closer.

#i wrote this and then accidentally deleted like half of it bc I'm Dumb and I don't htink it's as good as it was rip #yikes writes #lemons #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

[joaquinwhorres]

Give Thanks (Bucky Barnes x OC)

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names--amends he needs to make. When he gets to M. & L. Kaminski, he finds the amends process a bit more...difficult than it should be. 

WORD COUNT ››››› 1,700-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› Oh hey, look at me jumping on that Falcon and the Winter Soldier trend. 

Bucky stood outside of the door, staring at the wreath of brightly colored fabric leaves, a small wooden sign hanging in the center with the words Give Thanks looping across it. 

He doubted there was going to be much thankfulness for him on the other side of the door. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

This was supposed to be getting easier. Dr. Raynor told him it would get easier. 

But for someone who hated bullshit so much, she really spent far too much time talking out of her ass. Because this wasn't easy. 

Easy would be surreptitiously wiring a million dollars into each of their bank accounts from the HYDRA accounts he still had access to.

Easy would be taking out anyone who had been involved in the decision to give him the order. 

Easy would be breaking the damn rules. 

The rules aren't meant to make your life easy, James. They're meant to disconnect you from the Winter Soldier. That's the whole point of making amends, isn't it? 

He'd give anything to get her damn voice out of his head. 

Bucky propelled himself up the front porch steps before he could change his mind. Like he had last yesterday. 

He rapped on the front door, accidentally knocking the wreath sideways as he went to pull his hand away. Instinctively, he reached out to right it, centering the sign and taking his hands away slowly to avoid a repeat of the situation. Bucky checked over his shoulder, half expecting Sam's stupid little robot to Zoom into view with Sam cackling and making some dumb quip about metal butterfingers. But Redwing wasn't there. The only other person outside was an old man mowing his lawn in a dingy white undershirt and grey sweatshorts. Bucky's lip curled in disgust before turning back to the door--the sound of locks clicking out of place putting him on alert. 

"Hello?" 

Bucky blinked, his eyes meeting those of the woman before him. Her eyes were striking, pinning him to the spot and pushing all semblance of thought out of his head. They were a light brown--taupe almost, standing out brightly in contrast to her long, full eyelashes. 

"Can I help you?"

Bucky blinked, nodding at her. Right. He was here for a reason. Not to stand like some teenage boy who'd just seen the girl next door for the first time. 

"I'm looking for Mina Kaminski."

"You found her." 

He blanched. "You're Mina Kaminski?" 

The look of vague curiosity that had been gracing features markedly shifted into a look of annoyance. "Believe it or not, people who look like me aren't all named Singh or Patel" 

Fuck this. He needed to get out of here. There was no way he could have this conversation now. 

"Still want to talk to me?" She asked, eyebrows arched and arms folded across her chest. 

No. 

Sam's laughter echoed in his head, as if he'd been here to witness the exchange. And that's why he stayed. Out of spite. 

He nodded. "My name is James "Bucky" Barnes and--"

"Wait a second," she held out a hand and raised an eyebrow on him. He did as she asked, stopping mid-sentence with a sinking feeling in his gut. "Bucky Barnes as in Captain America and Bucky Barnes?"

He nodded, resigned to the fact that this was going to be his worst attempt at amends yet. "Yeah." 

"Well," she breathed, dropping her arms. "If I'd known I was meeting an Avenger at my door, I might have put on some pants." 

His eyes ran down from her face, noticing for the first time that she wore a dressing robe that barely swept the tops of her knees. Her bare knees.

His mouth opened as if he had even the faintest clue how to respond to this and then his jaw moved up and down for a new second as if the motion of talking would bring words. While it didn't muster an apology or some other decent thing to say, he did manage to utter a single word: "Shit."

She snorted at the reaction before smiling for the first time and shaking out her long dark hair, waves tousled together from having probably just woken up. "If you want to come in and wait, I'll go get changed."

He shook his head. "I can wait out here."

She was still smiling. Probably because she realized he was far more pathetic up close. "Suit yourself, but there's eggs inside."

"I'm good," he said, forcing himself to give a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. She nodded, leaving the door open behind her as she disappeared inside the house--as if he'd change his mind.

He should leave right now. Turn around and come back a different day when he could at least function like a mostly human being. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his head. 

The quick, sharp sound of pattering bare feet broke his stream of thought, as another girl came to the door, standing before him with her hands on her hips. "We were having breakfast, you know," the girl announced, her voice dripping with sass. "Now we have to wait until she's done talking to you. And I'm starving." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be….not talking to strangers?"

"Shouldn't you be eating breakfast?" she countered.

"It's ten in the morning; I ate already."

"We were supposed to have breakfast an hour ago. But Ravi--"

"Rocio, leave Bucky Barnes alone," Mina's voice called from elsewhere. 

Before he could fully process how odd it was for him to use his name, the little girl's hands dropped from her hips and she stared up at him, mouth agape and eyes comically wide. 

"You're Bucky Barnes?" she asked, her small voice awed. 

He nodded with a deep sigh and another forced smile. 

"What happened to your hair?"

"Got a haircut," he shrugged.

She furrowed her brow at him, her little eyes peering intently at his face. He wasn't sure the last time someone had looked him in the eyes this long. Nobody except Steve had looked him in the eyes since he made it out. The corner of his mouth twitched up. She nodded at him, having composed herself so her little face was serious once more. "I like this better."

"Thanks." He couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. He didn't even really try. 

A thought seemed to hit her, lighting up her whole face with excitement. "Wait right here. Don't move. Promise."  He nodded again and she raised her eyebrows at him, giving him a stern look. 

"I promise," he said, clearly stating each word.

She nodded at him. "Ok. Good." And then she turned and ran into the house, her feet making far more sound than they should for someone of her size.

Mina reappeared shortly thereafter with a faint smile on her lips, dressed in a copper colored sweater and jeans. "Sorry. You're her favorite."

"She's cute." 

What an idiotic thing to say. 

"Wish I could take credit," Mina said, shaking her head. "She's my sister's. I'm just the babysitter on duty."

There were some more sounds of scampering and Rocio was back at the door wearing a long black satin glove, reaching about halfway up her bicep. There were lines streaked across it in gold marker to make it look like it was made of metal plates. 

"I made an arm like yours!" she announced, almost whacking Mina in the stomach as she extended her arm out for him to see. 

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He'd seen Halloween costumes for sale and shirts with one of the sleeves modeled after his arm, and pictures of guys with an arm wrapped in tinfoil. All of them had been with his old arm--his silver one with the red star. The arm that belonged to Him. An arm made to invoke fear. 

This was the arm of a protector. 

She deserved more of a reaction than a small, breathy, "Wow." 

"Will you sign it?" Her eyes got even bigger if possible, and Mina started to shake her head, bending over to talk to the little girl,  but Bucky stopped her. 

"You got a marker?"

"I'll go find one!" Rocio disappeared again, leaving him and Mina alone on the doorstep. She was closer this time, and he could hear her talking to herself and rustling through different drawers. 

Mina turned her attention from her niece back onto Bucky. "So, why is Bucky Barnes on my doorstep?"

"I uh--when does your sister get home?" he asked, eyes focused in the direction of Rocio's sounds. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away and back up to hers. "I should probably tell both of you...together."

The playful amusement that had been on her face disappeared as she stared at him, as if trying to see inside his head. Like she would want to see what was inside of his head. 

"She'll be here around three." 

He nodded, saved from a response by Rocio's re-appearance, waving a silver sharpie in the air. She offered it to him, and he plucked it out of her hand, taking hold of her toothpick of an arm in one hand and signing his name on the inside of her bicep. Where she could hide the signature if she wanted to.

Bucky handed the marker back to her as Rocio held her arm out, trying to catch sight of his name. 

"Rocio," Mina prodded, gently. 

"Thank you!"  she chirped, before turning and literally skipping back inside. "Ravi--look!"

He liked her.

"That was really kind of you," Mina said, warmly. "I think you just made her year." 

He shrugged. 

"Although, I have a feeling that this is all she's going to talk about for the next week," Mina sighed, shaking her head. "Anyway, Leela will be back around three if you want to come back then and share whatever secret serious news is it that you need to tell us together." Her voice was teasing, and Bucky's mouth lifted into a smirk.

"I'll be back then." 

"Great," she smiled politely. "See you then." 

He nodded, wishing her goodbye before turning down the stairs.

So much for getting easier.

#bucky barnes #fatws #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x f!oc #bucky barnes x desi!oc #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes drabble #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #fatws fic #marvel #marvel fic #avengers #avengers fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #(<< eventually) #winter soldier #tfatws