#¡ we have captured the enemy intelligence ! answered ❞

[mercmenagerie]

"oh my god, archie, you should've seen his freakin' face!" loud voice cracks with laughter, jenny passing the now just about finished bottle back to her partner in crime. legs swing as her body shifts, from energy and the buzz of alcohol alike. "he could barely even believe it, like, when you just walked off wit' all'a that? it looked like he'd been robbed by a GHOST or somet'in, priceless! then he was all, hey, did you just see that? an' i was like, nope, byeeee!" her laughter ripples again, buckling forwards to the edge of the van roof this time, but not enough to lose balance. and she keeps laughing, letting it trail off into little bursts of giggling... then silence. her fingers that cling to the roof had slid closer to the sniper's own hand during her wild motion, but she wasn't moving them back. instead, she's looking over at him, a smile still on her lips. "... what?" she can't help but ask. what was he looking at? ... how long had he been looking?

That lingering buzz of adrenaline from the initial on foot chase and subsequent car chase still hums through the huntsman, just enough to make the tips of gloved fingers tingle slightly. How those idiots thought they could catch these two was beyond him. From her speed and Archie's handling of the van, it was an easy job. Didn't mean it was any less fun. Somehow, these outings were a bit more lively when the Scout tagged along. There's some part of him that feels like he should analyze that feeling closer, but why ruin a good thing while they had it? An occational odd skip in his pulse was probably some side effect of the damn respawn and nothing else. Doesn't mean Jenny's laughter is any less contagious and has Archie chuckle right along with her as the last rays of sun warm up the roof of his van.

The sky was a blaze of colors, a painters pallet of scarlets, oranges, and pinks all bleeding down into a creeping indigo night. It all lit up the scout's face with a golden glow, which caught Archie by surprise when he noticed it. That constant drone of summertime insects blending with those fading giggles as the joke wears thin and awareness circles back around. Even with the slight tint from his sunglasses, he can make out the dusting of a blush on the highpoints of Jenny's cheeks. Its.... cute. Cute?

She caught him staring before the sniper could look away, a dingo with its foot in the snare. Sure, he could grumble something noncommital under his breath and simply look away, and yet he just continues to stare. Suddenly very keenly aware of their closeness and the proximity of hands, the sniper inches his gloved fingers closer in a simple test.

"Nothin, was just listenin' to you." He liked her laugh, Archie was suddenly becoming way too aware of how many things he liked about the scout, his mind immediately pulling the emergency breaks. He was not some soft hearted school boy for christ sake. They were both mercenaries. Coworkers at that! This was a side gig between friends who both liked to cause more than their fair share of trouble. The huntsman's feelings were nothing beyond friends. Or... at least that is what he told himself, that fraction of an inch lean forward meant absolutely nothing. He meant absolutely nothing to anyone, and that's how he preferred things.

#¡ we have captured the enemy intelligence ! answered ❞ #¡ your time has come and gone ! blu sniper ❞ #im screaming into my pillow rn #ive had this reply IN MY BRAIN #HE DOESNT WANNA MAKE THE FIRST MOOKOOOVE #clrbox

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

Happy Xmas (War Is Over)

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Summary: Settling down within S.H.I.E.L.D hasn't been easy, but Christmastime is here, and Clint Barton extends an invitation that seems too good to be true. You follow him to his farmhouse where you're met with a few surprises. With Natalia by your side, you try to accept your new life in America, and maybe find some holiday spirit along the way.

Foreword: Happy Holidays everyone! This is a beast of a fic (14.5k words) so strap in. It's also very much an original character just written in second person, but I hope you enjoy.

You sat slouched on a sofa in the common room of SHIELD headquarter’s residential wing. You weren’t sure why the designers had felt the need to include this room. Spies weren’t well known for their extroverted nature. But the holidays had left the area quiet, rather the entire building seemed to have wound down with the slowing nature of the cold and snow outside. You found the space to be useful when you became sick of staring at the same four blank walls of your standard issue apartment. Having recently defected from Russian ranks you and Natalia weren’t allowed to leave campus without an escort, which left you exactly three places to spend downtime. Your room, Natalia’s room–which looked exactly like yours save for a book Barton had given her–or the common area. 

The two of you were working on the latest mission report. Well, you were supposed to be working on the write-up, but the end of year evaluations had been released and yours begged to be raked over. So Natalia worked on hers, fingers diligently tapping away at the keys. She was sitting sideways along the couch, legs lounged over your lap and back to the armrest. You didn’t know how she found the position comfortable. You narrowed your eyes at your computer screen and the unkind words it harbored. “Do you think I am uncooperative and have a tendency to disobey the orders of superiors?” You asked the redhead.

She looked up from her laptop, eyes searching your profile. “Where is this coming from?”

“The end of year assessments,” you frowned. “They are out.” 

“I thought we were working on the reports for the Minsk mission.” She raised a reprimanding eyebrow. 

“I was,” you said, dragging out the second word ever so slightly. “But they are just so tedious now. Why do they need to know the amount of bullets I used? I miss when all we had to do was take a photo of the dead guy for proof of accomplishment.” Natalia nudged your ribs with her foot. “Ow,” you complained.

“We do this because it’s the normal thing to do. Because what we do in the field is necessary, but the violence has to be justified so we can continue doing our jobs.” She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear. “We’re with the good guys now,” she reminded gently. “The world may still be brutal, but we don’t have to be anymore.”

“So we count the bullets,” you concluded.

“So we count the bullets,” she stated. A moment of silence passed, only the sound of Natalia resuming her typing filling the air. That was something you were still getting used to. Silence always preceded something terrible, the inhale before you faced hell on earth. “You are uncooperative.”

“What?” You asked, turning to face her indifferent expression.

“Your question from earlier. I’m answering it.”

“You too?” You shook your head. “You are supposed to take my side, not Fury’s.”

“You are the person who let themselves get captured by the enemy after you heard they’d gotten to me. And,” she paused, “if you finished that report you’d get to the part where you chose not to listen to Agent Riley.”

“I had it handled,” you said, reaching for your coffee cup on the side table.”That man thinks he knows what is better just because he has fifteen years on me. I think he is too cautious. That is why the Americans are leagues behind us in intelligence. They do not have the guts to do what needs to be done.”

“We are Americans now,” she reminded. You wrinkled your nose. “I mean for all intents and purposes, you get that.” She put her laptop on the coffee table and sidled next to you. You could feel her warmth bleed into you where your bodies met. Her knees pressed into your legs, her shoulders turned into your chest. “You can do it, I know you can,” she whispered, taking your hand.

“Do what?” You asked dubiously. 

“Beat them. Unlearn what they taught us. You just have to make an effort.” She put a hand on your cheek, fingertips caressing the side of your face. You almost swore she wanted you to kiss her. You swallowed down nothing but a bubble of air and desire. Not today.

You looked at her, gaze narrowing. “I am here, am I not?” Two large windows allowed the morning light to stream in behind Natasha and wash her in a fresh aura. The blue sky shined bright as fat snowflakes whirled down to meet the pavement of the U.S. capital. Far below, pedestrians hustled from building to building, jackets pulled tight against the cold. Your heart began to pound when you thought about calling this place home. Everything was just so wrong. “I think fighting the urge to run is about all I can manage right now. I believed in the cause, at least I think I did. Turning my back on the Red Room, on him any faster and I think I might break.”

“I know, and I see you. But you have to show them that,” she said, tapping the now black computer screen.

“Like you do? Do not tell me you actually trust anyone here.”

“I don’t,” she said carefully, as if there might exist an exception. “But you have to cooperate, to let someone else take the reins for now.”

“I do not know if I can.” You bit your lip and traced the room with your eyes. The clean, modern furniture and the off-white walls. You knew you shouldn’t but you missed the familiarity of the old wooden mansion. “I am not like you Talia. I cannot see the good in people.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Do you trust me?” She asked, eyes that reminded you of the dawn of spring boring into yours.

“Always,” you breathed, not missing a beat. “You are the only thing in this world that makes sense to me.”

“Then follow my lead. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you digging a hole you can’t climb out of.”

“Okay, I will try.” You were not sure you meant it. Humanity given too much freedom would eat itself alive. A familiar mantra marched across the back of your mind like the incessant buzz of an insect. Correct and control. Correct and control. Correct and control. Correct–

A noise from down the hall caught your attention. Quick footsteps heading your way echoed into the room. You looked at Natalia. The two of you had thought everyone else had left the building for the holidays. 

A frazzled Clint Barton walked into the room, looking about to take off in a full sprint. He wore faded blue jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. A duffel bag hung over his shoulder, storing a fair amount of his belongings if you had to guess. He glanced in your direction, but refused to slow his stride. You watched him go, when suddenly he dug his heel into the ground and spun around.

“What are you guys doing here?” He asked as if just now processing your presence. 

“Working,” Natalia answered. You liked Barton well enough and there was no question that you owed him an unpayable debt for sparing Natalia’s life. He looked unassuming, quick to smile and kept a short crop of hair as blonde as a field of wheat. You weren’t quite on casual speaking terms though, not because he bothered you, no. It’s just you weren’t keen to talk to anyone except the girl still halfway sprawled across you. 

He furrowed his brow and adjusted the strap across his shoulder. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he stated plainly, as if that in itself was explanation enough. 

“It is,” Natalia agreed. 

“Well you can’t sit in here all day.” He made a sweeping gesture about the room and all of its bareness and almost surgical detachment. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, silent surprise weaving its way across his face. Feeling off put, you fixed your posture, spine straightening and causing Natasha to slide away. You had yet to encounter him outside of a professional setting, but here you sat wedged into the couch and rather at ease. You wore sweats, albeit SHIELD issue, but still something you’d normally not be caught around in.

“And why is that?” Natalia asked, tone laced with faux confusion. She blinked at Barton, eyes doe-wide.

He shifted his stance and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re really going to make me say it?” He waited, looking at Natalia indignantly. “It’s sad. You can’t stay at work during Christmas.”

“What would you suggest we do?” She asked, still playing her one-sided game. Bemusing to you, but not so much to the Hawkeye.

“I don’t know. Go home? That’s what I’m doing.” Home, you thought. If you ran back to the place you still called home, SHIELD would call for your head. Even still, the house beckoned out to you in your dreams; not warm, never safe, but structured and oh so familiar. Come home my child, a gruff voice compelled. Come and take your rightful place as my sword and shield. 

Something behind Natasha’s eyes flickered for a moment before disappearing behind a wall of apathy. “There’s not exactly a home for me to go back to.”

“Oh. That’s right. Erm,” Barton stammered. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget that I’m an outsider?”

“That’s one way to put it I suppose. I mean, you’re one of us now, right? We all come from different places so in a way we’re all outsiders. Most of us have pasts we’d rather forget. You don’t do the kind of thing we do because you grew up with two loving parents,” he said.

Natalia tilted her head, hair brushing against your neck. “And where did you come from?”

He smiled, one side of his mouth pulled slightly higher than the other. “Nice try Romanoff. Put a couple of beers in me first and you might have better luck.”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot. Fury found you wandering around the sewers,” she teased. You didn’t know who she did it. How she joked and spoke so freely. How she saw a friend and ally where you saw a threat and a future enemy.

“Ha ha,” he said dryly, lips still curled in a smile. “You’re actually not too far off.” He waited before saying more, eyes flicking to you as they often did when the three of you gathered together. Patiently offering a chance for you to join the conversation, but never calling you out. You were running out of excuses to mistrust the man. “Even still, you guys ought to get out of here. Drive to New York or something. They put up a giant tree in Times Square. I’ve never seen it in person, but,” he raised an arm for emphasis. “Huge.”

This time Natalia’s expression fell for long enough even Barton picked up on it. She turned away from him and stared down at her hands. “I’d love to see that,” she murmured. “We can’t leave though. Not yet. Not without an escort from an authorized superior.” Technically there was nothing stopping you from leaving the building. You’d picked up the nasty habit of prowling the streets in the dead hours of the morning after a nightmare left your hands shaky and your heart clawing its panicked way up your throat. Natalia however had not made one move even remotely close to toeing SHIELD’s strict line. A fact made clear when she’d caught you sneaking back in as the sun rose one morning. You’d promised not to do it again with an overwrought frown on your face. You went out again the very next night and left a mugger to bleed out in an alleyway.

“Oh, that’s right.” It was Barton’s turn to look away. “You know what?” He asked, lifting his chin and pulling out a cell phone. He let the duffle bag down from his shoulder and onto the ground, putting the phone to his ear. Natalia looked at you and you shrugged. She knew him better than you anyway.

“Hey honey,” he said, not bothering to turn away or lower his voice. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend. Between the way you had only ever seen him consume pizza and his obsession with trying to make the most difficult shots possible on missions you had assumed he was single. “I’ve got a pair of stragglers here at the office.” He paused, sucking on his teeth for a moment. “I know, I know I was just about to get on the road I promise. I’ll still be home by five. No, I’ll be careful, I won’t get a speeding ticket this time.” He adjusted the phone and flicked his gaze in your direction. “Yeah, Laura, it’s them. You know me. They don’t have anywhere to go and I thought.” He paused. Slowly, a dopey grin curled onto his face. “Yeah, I do. You know I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t.” A final pause. “Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and looked up with new excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Have you guys ever been to Iowa?”

Natalia shook her head. “No. I’ve got a soft spot for the Midwest though.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go pack for a few days. Laura’s going to kill me if I’m another minute late,” he said, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. 

Natalia’s eyes went wide and she opened her mouth, speechless. Even you were taken aback. Was Barton really inviting you to his home? Certainly he didn’t trust you yet. You hadn’t even been at SHIELD for a year, the first six months of which you spent firmly locked in a cell. Yet there he stood, hands in his pockets and waiting for you to move your ass and follow him out. “I didn’t,” Natalia started. “When I said we couldn’t leave I wasn’t asking for you–”

“Nope. Don’t do that. I want to. You guys are never going to be comfortable here if you’re not extended some freedom. Trust me, I know.” You watched the other man with suspicion, waiting for the trap to spring. The SHIELD agent who had spared Natalia’s life when he had explicit orders to put an arrow through her heart. The American who believed in the good in people and making the world a less gruesome place in the small way he could. The person who extended a hand to others in a time of crisis. “I used to spend Christmas alone and cold without a home. Then I got Laura and I couldn’t be happier. But it can get lonely just the two of us out there. If you really would rather stay here I won’t force you to come,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I would really appreciate the company, and I know Laura would love to meet the two of you.”

Natalia shifted, putting one foot on the floor. She looked at you and you knew she wanted to go, but wouldn’t if you said no. But oh, you would do anything for her. Subtly you nodded. You didn’t care how much you were struggling, you’d pull yourself together for the weekend. “We’re in.”

You pushed yourself off the couch and went back to your room to pack what little you had. All of your clothes were plain which you didn’t mind, but something about knowing they were SHIELD issue left you feeling claustrophobic. You gripped a black dress shirt in your hand a little tighter than you needed to. To you it screamed, you are not free. We own you now. You threw your toothbrush and toothpaste in alongside the clothes before stopping at the bedside table. Carefully you pulled open the drawer and snagged a little necklace from inside. Tucking it into a side pocket you jogged out to find Natalia and Barton waiting in the lobby.

Barton’s truck was nowhere near extravagant, but it held a sort of coziness that only came from years of ownership. Natasha sat in the passenger seat while you took the back, wincing when you found the lack of legroom. The interior smelled of old air freshener, dirt, and worn leather. “Strap in,” he said. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Barton tuned the radio to play Christmas music and introduced you to his atrocious singing as he belted along to ‘Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town’. As you left the thick jungle of Washington D.C. and moved west across Virginia the city whipped away as the sun traveled across the sky. When you reached the interstate proper and were well away from the prying eyes of the urban center you finally allowed yourself to relax a little. Natalia began to hum along to a new song, a small smile on her face. Barton turned the volume up a notch and you leaned your head against the cool window pane, eyes tracking the snow covered countryside. 

At a gas station in Ohio Natalia asked to switch seats with you. She curled up in the back using a sweatshirt as a pillow and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. You checked the rearview every few minutes and eventually she had fallen asleep for real, lips parted slightly and breathing slowing down. 

Barton had given up on his singing endeavor and had reduced himself to whistling and tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. As you passed a sign welcoming you to Indiana he spoke up. “Okay, truth time,” he said, stealing a concerned glance at you before staring back at the two lane road before him. The truck's wheels ate up yards of the sun bleached asphalt. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re not gonna kill me in my sleep tonight, right?” He asked, trying his best to clear the nerves from his voice.

“No. I like you, Barton. And even if I did not I owe you a great debt,” you said. 

A crease formed on his brow. “A debt?”

You looked back at the woman sleeping soundly in the back of the truck. Her feet were tucked up on the seat, head laying on a sweatshirt stuffed in between the window and the headrest. You thought it might have been the most at peace you’ve ever seen her. “Yeah,” you breathed. “For giving her a better life.” One that I never could, you thought.

“I didn’t do it looking for any favors. Not from her, and certainly not from you or Fury,” he insisted. “Fury was pissed of course. He knew who I was when he hired me, but I still think he underestimated my loyalty to my gut. And you,” he said, nodding in your direction. “You were a wildcard no one saw coming.”

“Good or bad?” You asked, already sure of the answer.

“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I think that’s still up to you,” he said.

You held a groan back. Moral dilemmas made your head ache. You’d wanted a straight answer. Tell me how to be good. “What do you mean?”

 He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up in three different ways. “Well, you’re good out in the field. Like scary good, and I know you’ll watch my back. That’s the most important thing,” he said. “But then we get back and I see you pacing around the compound like you’re stuck in a cage. I guess I’m just not sure what’s going through your head.”

You clenched and unclenched your fist, overcome with the urge to tell the other man more than you’d told any of the SHIELD shrinks in a year. He felt safe and genuine, but you knew that was an impossibility; you knew people to be horrid pretenders. You opened your mouth anyway, Natalia’s urges for you to try ringing in your ears. “I can follow orders on a mission no problem. Shut off my brain and listen to authority. Protect your team, take the shot, retrieve the files. That is what I was built for,” you sighed, eyeing Barton warily. Waiting for him to snap at you. “But when the job is done, and I have time to sit and think on it…I feel like I have just ripped myself in half.” 

“That’s, well, that’s some intense shit,” he said, tipping his head. “What I can tell you though, with absolute certainty, is that General Dreykov is a bad man. For me, for SHIELD, for her…” Clint said. You knew very well who he was referring to. “There’s no gray area there, man. We’re going to shut him down.”

“I know," you said, short and quick. You knew that's what they all said, but Dreykov had protected you for a long time. He had raised you. He had loved you as his own. You didn't want to see him in a cell, or worse, in a grave. “I cannot get it straight in my head. Everyone has been telling me that working for SHIELD is a step toward being better, to making something of myself. If that is true, then how come the longer I am here the more I feel like I am betraying everything that makes me me?” You knew why. Something inside you was broken and twisted beyond repair. It made you see the world backward. Everyone around you could smell the festering rot of the mangled heart inside your chest. They just needed an excuse to put you down for good.

“Well, you are just about the most Russian person I’ve ever met,” he said. You tried your very best not to glare at him when he looked over. “Before about five minutes ago the only sentences I’d ever heard you speak were two word acknowledgements in the field. And the accent. You’re playing it up, right?”

“Maybe a little.” You were more than capable of fixing it and putting on an American one, but you felt entitled to keep this little part of yourself. To remind yourself and everyone else where you came from. The pressure to conform was a constant torrent but you refused to let them win, for better or for worse.

“As for actual advice…I would say don’t look at it from a good versus bad perspective. In this field, none of us are really good. Not even at SHIELD. I don’t care what some of those righteous assholes think. Forget what anyone told you before and what anyone tells you now,” he said, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. “Take a step back and compare the before and the now. How did it make you feel?” He asked, stressing the you. “What cause do you believe in? Tough thing is there’s not a right and a wrong answer. Took me a hell of a long time to figure out what I thought about it all. I used to operate strictly outside of the law and now I’m a fed,” he said, shrugging. “Just know I’m rooting for you.”

“And if I come to a conclusion you do not agree with?”

“I’ll make sure to give you a headstart,” he said, winking and throwing you a playful smirk.

“Ah, I am grateful Barton,” you said, cracking a smile. It felt good, like feeling the sun on your face after being inside for a long time. You reveled in the feeling while it lasted.

“No. No more of that Barton stuff. It’s Clint.” He said, shaking his head. “Unless we’re on a mission. Then it’s Hawkeye.”

“The infamous Hawkeye. Tell me, Clint. Where do you get a name like that?” You could tell he was fond of the alias.

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s from the circus?”

A million questions crowded your mind. You looked over, mouth hanging open. You didn’t know much about circuses. They had shown you all a cartoon once about an elephant that had giant ears and could fly. It led the other circus animals in a rebellion against the human handlers. In the end the ringmaster cut its ears off and strung them up as a lesson against exceptionalism. “You were in the circus?” You asked.

“Even better,” he answered. “I was raised up in one.”

“Did you have elephants?”

“No,” he scoffed, chuckling. “We were classier than that. All acrobats and good old fashioned theatrics. I used to sharpshoot. Struck apples off of people’s heads. That sort of thing. Although when I wasn’t on stage I was running through the audience, taking wallets out of pockets.”

You squinted your eyes at him. “Baby Barton raising hell. I can see it. And it would explain the mess in here.” You scuffed your shoe on the floor, stirring up bits of dirt and dried mud. Items crowded the backseat next to Natalia. A winter coat, a pair of sneakers, a hunting knife, handle worn from use. The cupholders were stuffed with old receipts and loose change, and something rattled in the glove box everytime the truck took a left turn. 

“It’s messy in here?” He asked, glancing about the cabin. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”

“You are funny.”

“No, I'm being completely serious. Doesn’t everyone’s car kinda look like this?” His bewilderment would be slightly endearing if you weren’t such a neat freak.

“No, not really. I will help you clean over the holiday,” you said, leaving no room for protest. “I cannot stand the ride back like this.”

“If you insist. Just don’t throw anything out without running it by me. I promise everything in here is important.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, eyeing a stack of coffee cups wedged in the door.

“Can I ask something? I mean, I don’t want to overstep.” You were learning Clint did not do well with silence. 

“Go ahead.”

“What’s the deal with you and Natasha? Are you dating? It’s been killing me trying to figure the two of you out.”

“No, uh, we are not,” you stuttered. “We are friends.” Even that label seemed to hold too much weight. You weren’t supposed to have friends. And to befriend one of the Widows no less. You were above them, primed to not only serve the Red Room, but to be the embodiment of its crusade. Dreykov’s right hand. The Taskmaster. 

Clint had the nerve to scoff. “I’ve seen you just about butcher an entire compound of enemy combatants without batting an eye. And you can never ever tell Fury this but you intimidate the other agents more than he does.” He took one hand off the wheel and stretched it out, flexing his fingers. “And as far as I can tell the only person who can get you to listen to anyone but yourself…” He pointedly stared at the rearview mirror. “I didn’t even recognize you earlier back at SHIELD. You looked so, unagitated. Like you finally managed to dislodge that stick up your ass.”

“Ha, ha,” you laughed dryly. “You know, I am going to find something to shove up your ass.”

“You were letting her lay on you like a cat. You can’t tell me you guys haven’t slept together.”

You glared at his profile until he got the hint and faced you. “That is none of your business.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I crossed a line,” he said. Your chest twisted with an unfamiliar sensation. One that made its way to your face in not quite a smile, but certainly an expression of gratitude. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. Apologies were new for you. 

“It is alright,” you said, vehemence leaving your voice. “It is just complicated. We had,” you hesitated and took a deep breath. “We had more than we should have in, um…before. They tried to keep us apart, make me think she was as heartless as the rest of the world.” You stared out the windshield, not willing to risk eye contact with Barton. A bug came flying at the truck and splattered green guts right in your eyeline. “And for a while I believed them. I hated her. But I was wrong. It is actually the opposite. Natalia is just, she is good. She stupidly stuck by me and dragged my head up from the sand when I was intent on suffocating myself.” 

“I’m no expert, just a guy with a wife and a couple of kids, but that sounds a damn lot like love to me,” he said. 

A choir of sardonic voices roused to action in the forefront of your mind. What do you know of love? You bite the hand that needs you, do you understand? You bite it clean off. A bitter laugh lunged from your throat before you could stop it. “You are wrong. Love is a fantasy to hold over the heads of the masses.”

“Wow.” Clint blinked dramatically, twice. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you just got even more Russian.”

“Fuck off, Hawkeye,” you said, grinning freely. 

 “Seriously though, I’ll never understand what you guys went through. Not in any way that counts, but the fact you made it out together tells me how fucking strong the both of you are.” He flicked his gaze to you. “There’s something there for you to think about too, but you gotta find it on your own.”

But you would rather take a knife to the chest than admit to harboring any sort of four letter words for Natalia. “Wait, you have a kid?” You asked, turning the conversation back on Barton.

“Yeah,” he said, smile reaching up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I have two now, if you can believe it. My oldest is Cooper. He’s a little over three. Lila is the baby. They’re why I was a little nervous about bringing you out. My number one priority, before SHIELD, before the mission, before myself are those kids.”

“And you were driving me all this way worried that I would turn on you? That I might hurt your kids?”

“Well, you know. Don’t trust anyone, especially other spies. Especially Russian spies if you’re American. I was fairly sure, but there was a voice in the back of my head asking ‘what if,’ and I had to ask,” he admitted.

You wanted to tell him you’d never hurt a little kid. That he shouldn’t have worried. Except you had, so so many times before. “How do you feel now?” You asked instead.

“A lot better. Glad to know you’re not a robot.” Silence grew as the radio paused in between songs. You laid back against the seat and watched the plains rush by outside. The speakers came back to life and a new sickeningly cheery jingle began to play. “I love this one,” Clint said, turning the volume back up. He hummed with contentment and drummed his fingers on the wheel, looking over at you. “I am going to teach you all about the joy of Christmas music, just you wait.”

“Oh, great,” you remarked wryly. The small grin on your face however betrayed your stark tone. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

—

The old Chevy fought its way up the snow covered path toward the farmhouse in the middle of the field. White and red lights hung from the roof and wrapped the pillars of the porch in heartwarming hues. A little plastic snowman stood ambassador to the front door, waving a mittened hand and welcoming the incoming entourage. Clint parked a couple dozen yards from the house, grumbling about how he’d have to dig the truck out before he left again. Natalia hopped out, eyes wide as she took in the home. Your breath puffed out in visible clouds, but you hardly felt the cold. You were raised in the deathly Russian winters. 

The front door cracked open, a woman standing silhouetted in the warm light behind her. “Clinton Francis Barton! You better get inside right now,” she said, a wide smile brightening her voice.

“Clinton?” Natalia asked, walking close behind Barton up to the porch.

“Yeah, yeah. Now you know my biggest secret.” He trudged up the stairs, snowflakes dusting his shoulders and hair. Laura met him in the doorway with a kiss. “Sorry we’re a little late,” he said.

“You’re excused this time, but only because you brought guests,” she said. Up close you could see she had big brown eyes and brown hair that fell to her shoulders. The inside of the house beckoned, the haze of meat and pine wafting outside. You dragged your feet along the stairs. You didn’t belong here. “Get inside now, you’re letting all the heat escape.” She patted Barton on the butt as he trod inside, fondness lacing her eyes as she looked after him. Natalia stood at the entryway, not yet stepping up into the house. “I mean you two as well,” Laura insisted, ushering you through the door.

“Daddy!” A little boy came barrelling around a corner, wrapping his arms around Clint’s leg and staring up at him with a toothy grin. The house immediately opened up into the living room, a worn brown couch facing a fireplace and an evergreen tree adorned with ornaments and twinkling lights. To your left a staircase spiraled upward and disappeared to a second floor. You stomped your shoes off on a welcome mat, watching the slush melt away. 

A drumbeat of footsteps pattered your way and suddenly the child was wrapped around your leg, his fingers digging into your calf. Your muscles tensed and you began to lift your leg to shake him off, heart in your throat.

“Coop!” Laura scolded. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s usually pretty shy around strangers.”

But Cooper didn’t listen and you didn’t kick him away. This kid was not a threat. He ogled up at you with wide eyes the same shade as his mother’s and hair somehow blonder than his father’s. “Hi. I’m Cooper,” he said with the grace of someone just learning to speak.

“Hi,” you said, heat rushing to your cheeks at being startled by a three year old. 

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I am a friend of your father’s,” you said, also telling him your name. 

“Looks like you’ve been replaced, Clint,” Laura teased. “Come on, buddy, let’s get up. Daddy’s got to show them upstairs.”

But he only sank down further, sitting firmly on your shoe and jutting his lip in a pout. “Walk with me.”

You looked at Natalia, a tender smile on her face. “It’s alright,” you told Laura. “I can take him upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “I can make him get down.” 

“Yeah.” You couldn’t explain the tight feeling in your chest whenever the boy smiled up at you. “Are you ready?” He nodded eagerly and you took a step, following Clint up the stairs. Cooper giggled the entire time, clinging on with little hands.

“I hope you guys are okay with sharing a room. We’ve got Coop and Lila in their own rooms right now. Lila keeps you up at night, doesn’t she buddy?”

He nodded against your knee. “Lila cries a lot.”

“This is great,” Natalia said. “Thank you.” You and her still slept in separate rooms, but at this point you would have been willing to sleep out in the barn if he told you to. You hadn’t realized how crazy you’d been in that SHIELD compound. The wind whipping against your face outside had been like finally breathing deeply after having your head held underwater.

“The door on the end is the master bedroom,” Clint said, pointing left down the hall. “That’s Coop’s room, then there’s the nursery, the bathroom, and finally,” he stopped, opening a door to the right. “Here’s the guest room. I’ll let you guys get settled. Take your time. I’m going to help Laura get the table set.” He knelt down, scooping Cooper up under his arms and lifting him high in the air. The toddler shrieked as Clint settled him on his shoulders and stomped downstairs.

You set your bag down as Natalia moved around the room, running her hand over the nicely made bed. You cleared your throat, nerves and a foreign feeling clashing in your mind. “I can sleep on the floor.” 

She turned to you sharply. “You know I would never ask you to do that.”

“I know. But I am offering.” You walked over to the window, pushing the curtain open and peering outside. You couldn’t see much of anything, even with your enhanced eyesight. Even still, the countryside was a refreshing landscape after being firmly locked in the city. But the wilderness sheltered different threats. The red dot of a laser sight burned your retinas, and glowing yellow eyes stared blankly back at you. 

Natalia pulled your hand into hers, lacing your fingers together. “We’re okay here,” she mumbled into your shoulder as if reading your mind. 

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” she said, coming to stand in front of you. You wrapped your arms around her and rested your chin on top of her head, imagining you could shield her from all harm this way. “Listen.”

You strained your ears, searching for alarming sounds. The wind outside stirred quietly, enough to flurry the falling snow, but not so aggressive as to rap the window pane. Beyond that there was only quiet. No footsteps prowling around the back of the house. No click of a rifle’s safety being switched off. “I do not hear anything,” you said.

“You’re listening for the wrong things,” she said.

You frowned, glancing around the quiet room. Through the closed door the lazy tune of an American Christmas song made its way to your ears. You recognized the singer. Elvis Presley. The King of Rock and Roll. Laughter charged the music with a warm undercurrent. The infectious snicker that belonged to Barton mixed with the high-pitched giggle of his son to create a different kind of melody. You dropped your shoulders and let all of the air out of your lungs. Natalia pulled you closer until her spine pressed flush into your front. Her hands felt like ice, but you didn’t mind. You had always run hot. 

“Barton asked me if we were a couple on the ride up,” you said.

“Oh yeah? And what did you say?” She asked, watching the snow swirl in arcs outside. The wind rushed down, only for the next gust to excite the flakes into the navy sky again. 

“I told him it was complicated. And that we are friends.”

“And what if we made it less complicated?”

You pulled away to tug off your sweatshirt, feeling feverishly warm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we gave it a shot? We can call it what we want, we don’t have to call it anything at all. You could stay in my room some nights, or I could stay in yours. Maybe I’d let you kiss me,” she said, scrunching her nose and lifting one eyebrow. 

You laid the shirt on the bed, folding it into a tight little rectangle. The offer dangled in the vanilla scented air, taunting you. There must be a candle burning downstairs. You wanted so badly to say yes. To give yourself over to Natalia completely. Somewhere in between your heart and your throat the words got caught. A dark entity snagged what you wanted to say in its rows of jagged teeth and ripped it to shreds. “I think our friendship works,” you said. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she sighed. “I was being selfish.”

“No, you were not. You could never be selfish. I am sorry,” you said, kneeling beside your bag and placing the sweatshirt inside. You would slit your own throat if Natalia Romonava asked you to. How cruel was it that you couldn’t tell her you cared? 

She crossed the softly lit bedroom, coming to rest by the door where you hung your head in defeat. “There’s nothing you need to be sorry for,” she said. Her voice washed over you and carried away some of the pain in your chest like the sea’s cool tide. Her fingers combed through the short hairs at the base of your neck. You leaned into her, resting your forehead on her leg. She smelled of the air after a storm and the beginnings of a fresh wound. “Come on. Let’s get downstairs before they put out a search warrant.”

You pushed yourself from the ground, an all too familiar action, and followed her into the greater expanse of the house. 

“There you are,” Clint greeted, pulling cups out of a cabinet. “Just in time.”

“Hi,” Laura smiled, crossing the kitchen and offering a hand. “I didn’t properly introduce myself before. I’m Laura.”

“Natasha,” Natalia said, shaking the woman’s hand.

“Cooper, come wash your hands!” Clint called. The boy ran in from the living room, making a beeline for the sink.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Barton,” you said, clasping her hand. Her palm held faded callouses. 

“Oh, please. It’s Laura. You come to my house, you call me Laura. Gosh, Mrs. Barton makes me feel old,” she said, smiling good-naturedly. “You two make me feel old. How old are you?”

“Twenty one,” Natalia answered. 

“Oh, wow,” she blinked widely. “Clint, you’ve got a run for your money. You might have to retire soon.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “You should try sparring with Nat, hon. I’ve never been more sore in my life.” Clint scooped Cooper up and set him at the table. “Alright buddy hang tight, I’m gonna go grab your sister.”

“How are you guys doing at SHIELD? Fury not giving you too much grief I hope,” Laura said, grabbing a couple of plates and handing them over.

“You know Fury?” Natalia asked, recalculating the other woman.

“Oh, yeah. I knew Fury before he was such a hotshot. I knew him when he was still an ambitious agent gunning for the reins.” She scooped a bunch of mac and cheese into a bowl and carried it around to Cooper. “Feels like yesterday I was in the field though.”

“You were a SHIELD agent?” You asked, interest peaked. 

“Yep. Had a fancy codename too. People used to call me the Mockingbird.” The three of you settled at the table, plates filled with turkey and potatoes and sauteed green beans. “Don’t tell Clint I told you this but when he joined he chased after me for months before I’d even look in his direction. Don’t let him ever fool you, he’s always been a big dork.”

“Don’t tell Clint what now?” He asked, walking in with a baby in his arms. She couldn’t have been more than six months old. Natalia’s eyes went wide, her mouth parted open. She looked as if she were about to spring from her chair. You knew she had a soft spot for kids, but didn’t know it ran this deep. You looked from her to the baby and back again, head tilting. She’d never looked that excited to see you.

“Just sharing your most embarrassing moments,” Laura said. 

“Great.” He took a seat, cradling the baby in one hand and picking a fork up in the other. He pointed the utensil across the table at you and Natalia. “Just remember I’m still your superior,” he said. 

“The food is great, Laura,” you said in between bites. You forced yourself to slow down. You guessed you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you sat down. SHIELD cafeteria food was certainly less than subpar. 

“Thank you. Clint, you better take notes from this one. The kid has better manners than you.”

“I’ll have you know that you chose to marry me,” he retorted.

“That I did,” she conceded, dipping her head. “And I’ve never had cause to regret it…so far.” 

“So far? Clint asked. “How could you ever say no to this face?” He jutted his bottom lip out and pouted.

Laura shook her head and grinned, almond eyes sparkling. “You are a child. I’m raising three children.” She turned away from her husband. “Anyway, I was asking you two about SHIELD. Clint told me you’ve taken the place by storm.” 

“It’s been good,” Natalia answered carefully. In the face of two senior agents, you had to choose your words carefully, even if one of them was retired from the organization. She donned a coy smile you recognized as one reserved for when she was chasing an objective and dipped her chin, peering up at the couple. “Everyone’s just been so great. We’ve been getting along perfectly, haven’t we?”

You took the signal and nodded in agreement. “I have found SHIELD to be an exceptional establishment.”

“I honestly think Fury would take that as an insult,” Clint said. “There’s no penalty for criticism. There’s a reason we’re spies and not soldiers.”

Natalia tilted her head, listening. You knew she gave the archer’s words considerable weight. “I think the director would agree that it’s considerably better than where we came from,” she said. “Which makes it near perfect in my eyes.”

Your leg bounced underneath the table, on the verge of taking off. To hear Natalia sing the song of American praise grated on your nerves. The worst thing was that she sounded genuine. She liked working under Fury. To you SHIELD was a pit stop on the way to a new life. For the woman who everyone underestimated and no one but you could decipher however, there was no escape plan, no next step. She’d convinced herself this was home.

“I’ll drink to that,” Clint said. “I’m where I am now because of SHIELD. And I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

Laura practically beamed. “You sweet talker. I love you.” The feeling like you didn’t belong here roiled over you like a nauseating fever. You snapped to attention when you heard your name. “How are you adjusting?” Laura asked, eyes far too sympathetic.

“Fine,” you grimaced. You couldn’t help but think back on the lengths SHIELD had gone to glean information from you and remold you to a proper agent. In the end, they had been weaker than you. You were cast iron forged in the backwoods of Russia. You did not adjust. You did not yield. 

“What does Fury have you working on?” She asked. “I know I can’t have the details anymore. I don’t think I’d want them anyhow, but...He’s getting you guys back out there all right?” 

“Yeah. They call us Strike Team Alpha. We have been working with Agents Coulson and Hill to–,” you cut yourself off. You had been working to track down the Red Room and formulate a strategy to take out Dreykov. You complied enough to be deemed cooperative, but kept vital intelligence to yourself. Even still, time trickled away like sand in an hourglass. They’d have him before long, and you weren’t certain you could stick around to see it through. “We have been busy,” you pivoted. “We work with Clint a lot. Your husband is a good man.” 

“That he is,” she agreed. “But don’t discount yourself either.”

“Do not worry,” you said. “I know exactly what kind of person I am.”

“We all think we know who we are,” Laura said. “But most of the time it’s not as simple as we think. Lives are multi-faceted and it’s impossible to understand every part of ourselves as we should.”

“She’s right, you know,” Clint added. “I never thought I’d work for the government, much less ever be a father. But here I am.” He looked down on the sleeping baby tucked in his arm, running a thumb over her chubby cheek.

Under the table Natalia tugged on your pinky finger, intertwining her finger with yours. She squeezed softly and the action sent a current all the way to your heart. She had a smile on her face when you looked over, cat-green eyes glimmering with hope. “See?” She asked. “We can be whoever we want to be now.”

You nodded, even if it was just to reassure the woman beside you. Without order, without someone’s heels to follow you didn’t know who you were. And the prospect of discovering you weren’t worthy of all you’d been given...well that scared you more than the thought of a bullet carving a neat hole through your brain.

Clint cleared his throat and stood, walking to the counter and grabbing more food. You stared at your now empty plate, stealing a glance back at the countertop with the dishes of food. You stamped down on the flare of desire in your stomach, sitting silently and stacking your hands in your lap. “You can have more,” Laura said gently.

You shook your head quickly. “I am alright.” You were to never take more than what was allotted. 

“I’m serious, we’ll never eat all of this food. Please, take more,” she insisted.

You nodded, slowly getting up and slinking away from the wooden dining table. Natalia picked up the conversation. “So, you don’t work for SHIELD anymore then?”

“No,” Laura said. “I opted out of field work when I got pregnant with Cooper and when we decided to have Lila I took myself out of the game completely. Even being a deskbound spy has a way of taking over your life.” She picked up a napkin and wiped Cooper’s cheesy face off. “At that point I knew I had greater priorities than to SHIELD. Being a parent wouldn’t be everyone’s first choice but it was the right decision for me. We moved out here from the city a little over a year ago.”

“What do you do now?” Natalia asked.

“I’m a counselor for military personnel and veterans,” she said as you sat down again. Your foot caught on one of the legs and the table jumped a few inches.

“Sorry,” you cringed, gingerly pushing it back into place.

Cooper’s eyes went wide and he clapped his hands together with little coordination. “Again.”

“The table is pretty dense,” Laura explained. “We had trouble moving it in here and now Cooper’s made a game out of trying to push it around. Clint won’t touch it though, he’s worried he’ll hurt his back.”

“Ah,” you said, staring down at your lap. You didn’t like people knowing how strong you were. Nothing good had ever come from it. The serum was a fear tactic, a killer’s tool. The doctor’s at SHIELD had been practically drooling with questions when they found out, needles armed and ready behind their backs. “Must be lighter than you remember.”

“I’m done,” Cooper announced, slamming his spoon down. 

“Cooper Barton!” Laura chastised. “What do we say when we’re done?”

The toddler grumbled, pushing his empty bowl away. “May I be excused?”

“Yes you may,” his mother answered.

He jumped from his chair and ran around the table back to the living room. Clint ruffled his thick brown hair as he sped past. “Attaboy,” he saluted.

Laura carried the dishes over to the sink, running the water and filling the basin. You stood abruptly, snapping to attention. “I can take care of it.” You’d been sitting around for too long and letting people work for you. You needed to do something with your hands. She waved you off, not sparing a glance. “Please,” you said, ants crawling beneath your skin.

 She turned to you and something on your face must have given you away. “Okay. You’re not going to hear any argument from me.” 

You gathered up the rest of the plates from the table and scraped the food scraps into the trash. Chore rotations had been part of the routine growing up and the repetitive nature of scrubbing plate after plate calmed you some.

“Let me help,” Clint offered, handing the baby off to Laura and joining you in the kitchen. 

“Why don’t we go out to the den?” Laura offered to Natalia. “Let the boys clean up in here.” She whispered into the redhead’s ear as they left the room. You couldn’t make out the words.

You handed a clean plate to Clint for him to dry. “Thank you,” you said. The kitchen was cozy, all wooden floors and off-white countertops. The fridge stood across from the sink, decorated in crayon drawings and various magnets in the shape of dinosaurs.

“You’re welcome. Laura gets on me all the time for forgetting to clean up anyway. Figured I could earn some points while I’m home.”

“I meant for bringing us here,” you clarified. “It has been, nice.” Nice was a safe word. “You have a nice home. You were right. I think I was–hm, what is the term? Something crazy. Like when you are stuck inside for too long.”

“Stir crazy?”

“Ah yes. I was being stir crazy,” you said. “I am glad to be far away from the compound, from the job, all of it.”

“You were going stir crazy, not being stir crazy,” he said.

“Ah. I do not struggle with languages too much, but the figures of speech are always difficult to follow.”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable here. It’s nice to be able to share this with someone,” he admitted. “Fury is literally the only other person who knows about this part of my life. It’s kind of exhausting walking around pretending it doesn’t exist.”

LIttle footsteps came pounding around the corner and into the kitchen. Cooper crashed into Clint’s leg, tugging on his shirt to get his attention. “Mama said I have to help. Lila is sleeping,” he panted.

“Why don’t you dry this off for me, bud?” Clint handed him a rag and a plastic cup.

You watched the boy as he cleaned the cup, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. “I will protect your secret, Clint. I know Nata-” You caught yourself before finishing the second half of her name. “Natasha will too.” The sound still felt awkward on your tongue.

“Thank you,” he said, laying a warm hand on your shoulder. The muscles in your back tensed, pinching your shoulder blades together. You inhaled and counted to five. You didn’t pull away. “I’ve made a lot of dumb decisions in my life, and I mean a lot. Taking a chance on the two of you though…that I don’t think I’ll ever regret.”

Part of you preened at the praise, no matter who’s lips it fell from. The other part reared at the fact you responded to someone other than your designated handlers. “You are welcome,” you said.

“Done!” Cooper announced, handing the dry cup back to his father. “Can I go play now?”

“Yeah, sure bud. We’ll be right out.”

You put the last plate away and drained the sink before joining Natalia and Laura in the living room. You froze when you rounded the corner and saw Natalia. She held Lila in her arms, the most tender smile on her face as she watched over the baby. Laura knelt by the fireplace, stoking the logs before shutting the grate. The mantle held little framed photographs of the Barton family and red and green stockings hung over the fire. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, yellow lights shining like halos. A star topped the tree, inches away from scraping the ceiling. Natalia sat on the couch cradling the baby as she played with one of her fingers.

Cooper slid onto the bench at an upright piano, mashing away at the keys. “Not right now, Coop,” Clint said. “You ought to be winding down for bed. We all have to be asleep for when Santa comes, remember?” You blinked at the instrument, starstruck. Longing filled your chest like air in a balloon. 

“Fine,” he whined, but listened and scooted from the bench.

Natalia swiveled her head, careful not to shift and disturb Lila. “Does one of you play?”

“I used to when I was little,” Laura said. “The piano belonged to my grandparents originally. I don’t think I could play much of anything anymore.”

“I can play.” Clint piped up.

“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star does not count, babe.”

“You know who can play?” Natalia spoke up. You imagined the expression on her face, one eyebrow raised and mouth poised in a smirk. 

“Who?” Cooper asked, rounding the couch and sitting on the coffee table. 

“I’ll give you a hint,” she said. “They’re in the room with us right now.”

“Is it me?” He pointed to himself, little eyebrows furrowed as deep as he could make them go.

“Nope,” Natalia answered, voice sing-song sweet.

“Is it you?” He twisted his head to the side and pointed at Natalia. She shook her head and Cooper looked around the room, eyes catching on his mother and father before landing on you. “Your friend,” he said. 

“Yep,” she said. You could hear the smile in her voice. 

“I knew it. I knew it,” he insisted. 

You tore your gaze away from the piano as attention fell onto you. “Oh.” You waved them off. “I would not say I could play. I posed as a pianist in a hotel lobby for a mission once a long time ago. Memorized some music that is all. I am not classically trained.” You crossed your arms to ward off the unease that accompanied so many eyes on you.

“Do you still know it?” Laura asked. 

“Yeah, I do.” Your peculiar memory would never allow you to forget. And you’d never tell a soul, but sitting there at a piano all night long had made you feel alive in a way nothing had before. But that couldn’t be. Musicians were jesters, and you were no fool. 

“We’d love to hear it,” Laura said, picking Cooper up and settling down with him on her lap. “If you’re comfortable. I hate the thought of the piano just turning into decor.”

“Okay,” you said. You were never one to shy away from a task. “I am afraid I do not know any Christmas songs.” 

“That’s all right. I’m sure whatever you know will be beautiful,” Laura encouraged.

Clint stood in the corner, eyes upturned to the ceiling. He perked up, springing into action. “I’ll be right back,” he said, jogging upstairs.

You took a seat on the polished wooden bench, stroking the keys and marveling at the instrument. You warmed up, playing a couple scales and conjuring the music in your mind’s eye. The patterns were as fresh as the day you had played them. The notes from the aged piano were by no means comparable to that of the expensive grand you’d used before, but somehow the music sounded sweeter here. As you struck the opening bars of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata you craned your neck to find Natalia’s gaze. She smiled at you and you couldn’t help but mirror the expression. Your heart picked up its beating and your head buzzed with a strange feeling. You felt as if you might explode with it. 

You took to the music like you took to fighting, or dancing. You didn’t struggle with movement like other people did. Ever since you could remember you could watch and replicate. Eventually you learned to mimic a fighter’s strategy so that you could predict their next moves. Flay their neck into a gushing fountain before they could touch you. 

Your foot pumped the pedal in time with your left hand and when you closed your eyes you could see the notes weaving into the dark. You liked how the music elicited harmony instead of chaos. Music didn’t scrape the skin from your knuckles or leave you lying on the floor with the world spinning around you. You changed the song, easing into Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat. 

Clint came marching down the stairs, CD player in one hand and a disk in the other. He stayed quiet for a moment, busying himself with finding an outlet to plug the player into. Finding a natural way to end the song prematurely, you slowed your hands and lightened the force with which you struck the keys. Clint stood near the other end of the couch, doing his best to look patient. 

“Barton?” You asked.

“I told you earlier that I was going to teach you the joy of Christmas music,” he said. “Well, here you go. Now you can play along and really appreciate the music.” He knelt down and pressed the play button. 

An easy tune filled the living room, bathing all in attendance in a sense of peace. Time seemed to slow, and for a moment, you forgot about the world outside of the farmhouse. All that mattered was the family reaching out in embrace, two parents and a little boy. Their smiles shone brighter than the blazing fire in the hearth. You watched the woman settled on the couch, absorbed by the baby in her arms. She looked up at you as you traced the curve of her jaw with your eyes. Natalia’s pupils were wide when she met your gaze, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. You looked away first to stare at the piano instead, focusing on the music instead of the way your cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

You caught onto the song as it began to repeat, taking a shallow breath before following along. Just like with anything else music obeyed a pattern. Once you unlocked the way the parts fit together, the rest of the song revealed itself to you. All you had to do was continue the line of code. The next track played, prompting Cooper to sing along. Imperfection had never sounded so flawless. 

The CD turned out song after song and you let yourself get lost in the game. You didn’t recognize any of the pieces, but Christmas music had a distinctive charm to it. Some might call it magical. You sat back for the first thirty seconds of each song, picking out the tempo and key. The notes charged your hands with energy which you poured out into the latter half of the song. Each one was unique, a victorious smile forming on your face when you pulled together the entire arrangement in your head.

When the tracklist ended you took a breath, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Laura took Lila from Natalia, holding her tight against her shoulder. Her hand, a mother’s hand, rested on the sleeping baby’s back. “I’m going to put her down,” she said, just loud enough to be heard.

“Hey bud.” Clint gently shook Cooper awake from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch against his leg. “It’s time to brush our teeth and go to bed.”

The boy only turned further into Clint’s body, refusing to be stirred. 

Clint stood and picked him up. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Only after his footsteps had receded upstairs did either one of you move. Natalia pushed herself from the couch and stretched. Her arms extended toward the ceiling with a dancer’s grace. She took a seat next to you on the bench and laid her head on your shoulder. “That was amazing,” she said. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“That is all you,” you said. “I did not know you were so good with babies.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “When Laura asked me to hold her I was so nervous at first. I thought I might drop her or pinch her or that I’d make her cry.” She lifted her head, her gaze soft as a lamb’s. You wanted to preserve it so that no one may ever taint it, including from yourself. “But she was okay.”

“That is because you are a good person. They say babies have a sixth sense for that sort of thing. Like dogs.”

“But, I’ve hurt so many people,” she said, voice fragile like a twig in a storm. “I’m afraid…I'm afraid I’ll never be able to redeem myself.”

“No. Do not say that, Natalia. You are the best person I know. The fact you care so much means you are already there.” You huffed a quick exhale. “I think you are the only person who cannot see how big your heart is.”

“They say the holidays are for spending time with the people you love the most,” she whispered, tracing the lines on your palm with her finger.

You stayed quiet.

“I’m glad that I’m here with you,” she said.

Another window, another chance to dive off the deep end. I think I’m in love with you, you thought. The laws of society had been drilled into your head by the Madames and reinforced by what little exposure of the world you’d received. Natalia stood in defiance to all of them. She was a sapling in a field of ash, and refused to be uprooted. She turned to grace like you turned to anger. She was infecting you, and you couldn’t push her away.

Footsteps sounded down the stairs and you shut your previously parted mouth. The words scattered into the recesses of your throat. “Hey guys,” Clint said. “The kids are down and Laura and I still have a lot of Santa’s work to do. You’re more than welcome to stay down here and watch TV or whatever. We’ll be around. Just holler if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Natalia said. “Thank you.” He turned to go. “And Clint. Merry Christmas.” She smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, giving a sharp nod. 

You yawned. Between the food and the warmth and the music, tiredness had snuck up on you. “Let’s go upstairs,” Natalia said.

“Okay.” You left the piano behind and made your way upstairs. You brushed your teeth and splashed water on your face in the hall bathroom. The shower curtain was adorned with colorful flaming monster trucks and a little blue step stool gave height before the sink. Cooper must have primary use of this one. 

Natalia sat on the edge of the mattress in the bedroom, untangling her braid with deft fingers. You stole a pillow and dropped it on the floor on the other side near the door. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“I am going to sleep.” You didn’t meet her eyes.

“Why are you being weird? We’ve slept in the same bed before,” she said.

“That was different,” you insisted.

“How so?” She asked, infuriatingly patient.

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your shoulders back, shadows of old handlers and teachers flickering behind your eyes. “Because…because there were lines before. Ones we did not cross.” Emotional ones. “It was survival. You were a warm body.”

A smudge of hurt clouded over Natalia’s bright eyes. She blinked and it disappeared. “You don’t mean that.”

You paced the length of the room, wishing you could run farther. You meant it and you also didn’t. “Of course not. I am sorry,” you breathed. 

“Then come here. All we’re doing is sleeping. I’m not letting you stay on the floor like a dog.” She combed through her hair, waves of red cascading down past her shoulders. 

Except it wasn’t just sleeping. If you indulged in this vice once you’d never want to quit it. You’d paw desperately at her door every night. You shook your head and backed away like a spooked horse. “I have slept in worse places.”

“Is it me?” She asked, shoulders slumping with the words. “Do you not trust me?”

“No. No, it is not you.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You shook your head as if to fling the question away. The problem was that you weren’t cut out for relationships of any kind. Didn’t she know how dangerous you were? Shouldn’t she know that you bit? “There is no problem.”

“I know you well enough to know when you’re not telling me something.” You started to get the feeling this wasn’t really about where you slept anymore.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” You tried, rubbing furiously at the back of your head.

“No. I hate feeling like you’re not comfortable around me,” she said. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“No. I trust you with my life. You know that.” Your voice cracked at the end. It was never her fault, and you hated yourself for not being able to be what she needed. To reassure and support her. To be normal.

“Then please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I–”

“What are you so afraid of?” She asked the question at barely more than a whisper, but the words lit a spark in you like a gunshot. 

“Leave it Natalia,” you commanded in Russian, spinning on your heel. You fixed her with a cold stare, no longer seeing her as you should be. Perched on the bed sat the Black Widow, and she had broken rank.

“No,” she scolded, rising to meet the challenge. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. We are not in the Red Room. Do you understand?” Anyone else and you would have seized them and smacked them clean across the cheek. Anyone else and they’d have a dozen fresh bruises to remind them of their place. But this was Natalia. And you’d never hurt Natalia. You clenched your jaw and drew your lips back, fighting the urge to pound the wall in. 

“I hate you.” You felt as if you’d just barely outran an onslaught of attackers, and they were still watching. 

“No you don’t,” she said, face still as marble and expressive as a wall of stone.

“Why are you here? Why will you not leave? You are the reason I am like this,” you said, voice cracking as a growing child's did. If it wasn’t for her you’d be perfect, you knew it. Instead she tempted you down a path of distraction, convinced you to embrace weakness.

“I’m here because I will always stand beside you. Always,” she said as if it was all too simple.

“But you left. You were going to die and leave me alone.” Defecting to SHIELD had not been her original plan. Letting them kill her was. Lucky it had been Clint Barton behind the trigger that night. “And now I am stuck here because of you and I hate it.”

“You feel stuck?” For a second the wall slipped and a flash of hurt escaped Natalia’s gaze.

“Yes,” you said. “I do. You ruined my life.” Red hot anger ignited itself within you. And it was all aimed at the woman before you.

“I didn’t make you do anything. I never have,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re here because you know deep down that the Red Room is an awful place. A place that takes little children and beats them into weapons.”

“It made us strong.”

“It broke us.”

You grimaced and kicked aimlessly at the ground. “I still cannot stand it here.” The wrath began to dissipate. Shame swelled to take its place.

“We are safer now than we ever have been.”

“I cannot trust you. You are a Widow. You–You are lying to me. You always have been.” Paranoia twisted smiles into smirks, kind words into carefully crafted scalpels. She’d learn all of your weaknesses and leave you gutted on top of her rotting pile of victims.

“I am not a Widow. Not anymore. Do you understand?”

You grunted an acknowledgement.

“Markov.” She called your surname. “Yes or no.”

“Yes,” you ground out. “I understand.” Regret pooled in your belly like bile. She had asked what you were so afraid of and you’d gone and shown her. The closer Natalia became the less control you felt you had. Emotions twisted together in a whirlwind inside your head, mutating into a throbbing mass of anger. Natalia handled her emotions, always choosing the correct words and wearing the face she wanted people to see. Dreykov had taught you that pretty words were for the Widows and the women. Unchecked, the rage festered until your hands shook with it. “I do not want to hurt you,” you said, switching back to English with an accent hanging heavy over the words.

“I know,” she sighed. “But you do, you know. When you lash out at me it hurts.” 

A dozen excuses ran through your head. None of them even came close to making it up. You were just a bad person. “This is why you have to let me sleep on the floor.” You felt as though you’d finally been allowed to regain control of your body after some raging force had overtaken you. It left you dizzy with the shame of your words.

Natalia didn’t say anything. Her green gaze bore straight through you. Vulnerability raked at your spine as if she held your bleeding heart in her fist.

“Please,” you added. You did not beg.

“You can sleep on the floor,” she relented. The cool release of relief soothed your aching mind. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me that when we get back you’ll work on talking through whatever’s going on in your mind. If not with me that’s fine. But you have to talk to someone.”

The offer was steep. The urge to shut it all in was more than an instinct. Being guarded was the key to your survival. “Fine.” If tearing yourself apart meant Natalia could find peace, you would rip the flesh away yourself. “I can do that.”

She blinked as if she hadn’t expected you to agree. “Here.” She held out a blanket that had been folded at the end of the bed. 

“Thank you.” You shut off the light and laid on the floor. For a moment before your eyes adjusted you couldn’t see a thing besides pitch black. Your heart thundered in your chest as shapes began to fall back into focus. The rectangle dresser, the thick bed frame, the moonlight filtering in through the blinds on the window. Covered in the rather large blanket and supported by the carpeted floor you fell asleep. 

You dreamt most nights. Vivid atrocities doused in blood and the screams of pigs to the slaughter. The tip of a sword, plunged through the hearts of the guilty and innocent alike. A metal fist, knocking you sideways and ramming you in the face until your eyes swelled shut. Never stopping until its master called it off. Faceless bodies behind surgical masks, watching as you writhed under a spotlight like a bug under a magnifying glass. A burn beneath your skin so violent your jaw locked with the pain and you felt as if you couldn’t even draw the tiniest of breaths. 

None of them held a candle to the nightmare that cursed you tonight. It had visited since you were small, and it came often. Not just the feeling, but the memory of being suspended in limbo.

Your limbs froze, even your neck refused to lift your head as you stared at a single spot on the popcorn ceiling. The walls, the fear-soaked smell of your own sweat, the buzz of a lamp to your right all closed in on you. You couldn’t cry, you couldn’t speak, it took everything you had just to breathe.

Time stretched on and all you could do was lay there and stare at the ceiling. You tried to focus on the drone of the lamp instead of the heavy panting a foot away from you. But you never could completely. Your chest constricted with every breath but never reached the point of constriction. Your stomach crackled with repulsion, but bile never rose into your throat. You forever hung teetering on the edge, violation wrapped around your frail body. 

I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m–

Your eyes flew open and you sat up, knocking skulls with someone else. A strangled noise leapt from your mouth into the silent air. No buzzing lamp. No heavy breathing besides your own. Your limbs had become tangled in a blanket and you thrashed to free yourself. 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name. The word lassoed your mind and hauled you to the present. Concerned green eyes peered at you in the dark. You knew those eyes. For a second you imagined they belonged to a child no older than thirteen. She wasn’t supposed to be in your room. She wasn’t supposed to see you like this. “What are you doing in here?” You thrust your hand out to keep her away. “Get out.”

“Hey,” Natalia said, voice as gentle as the evening breeze. Her kindness would get her killed. She spoke your name again and the illusion dissolved some more. “You’re safe. You were dreaming. We’re at Clint Barton’s house in Iowa.” 

You got to your feet on shaky legs, looking through the woman in front of you. The room around you was not the one in the lingering dream and not the one you grew up sleeping in. 

A cool hand found your cheek and tilted your gaze down. “Come back,” Natalia said.

The shadows fled, no match for her. Not truly gone, but subdued for now. “I am sorry I woke you,” you said. 

“Don’t apologize.” She drew a breath. “I was awake anyways.”

“I guess sleep is not especially kind to either of us.”

“No. I guess not.” 

She pulled away, stepping into the splash of moonlight on the wall. You thought she looked like an angel, or maybe a ghost. Either way she looked ethereal, as if she might turn to smoke if you reached out to touch her.

“I thought you said you’d grown out of them,” she whispered, facing the light, and away from where you hunkered out of its reach.

Your jaw twitched. “I lied.”

She nodded to herself. Disappointed but not surprised. You thought she might berate you for it, present a list of the consequences until they were seared into your brain. Instead she just extended a hand and said, “Come here.”

You fell into her and let her pull you onto the edge of the bed. You sat there, feet planted on the floor. “I hope I did not wake anyone else,” you said.

“You didn’t,” she said, settling down beside you. “You were so quiet. I almost didn’t notice something was wrong.”

“What happened?”

“I just…had the feeling something was wrong. That I needed to check on you.” She turned your forearm up and traced her thumb over the pulse point on your wrist. “Your forehead was all sweaty and you were breathing super fast. You seemed so scared.”

“I am okay,” you said.

“It’s okay to not be sometimes. I think I’m starting to learn that.”

“I really am.” You wanted to say more. You chewed on your lip, staring at the door as if it could tell you what to do. Natalia, so small yet stronger than you in a million ways. She deserved to know how much she meant to you. “I am always more than okay when you are with me. You make me feel safe.”

“Do you mean it?” Her eyes met yours, pupils blown amidst the fern green iris. You wondered if it was because of you or the dark. 

“Yes,” you said. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I think…I would go through all of it again just to keep you.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth that much.” You wished she could see herself through your eyes so that she understood. 

“Natalia Romanova, you are worth the entire world.” Hesitantly you leaned over and kissed her temple, lips just grazing the soft skin. You pulled away, scanning her face for any sign of reproach. “Was that okay?”

“It was more than okay,” she said. She leaned her weight against you, shoulders pressing into each other. 

You sat like that for a while, listening to the sound of her gentle breathing and basking in the peaceful moment. Maybe if you could remember how you felt now you could summon the strength to serve SHIELD. You allowed your mind to wander to places you normally didn’t entertain. Someday you and Natalia would have your own place like this. A bubble no one else could touch where you could sit just like this every night. You would never have it though, only the filmy mirage of pretense.

Natalia moved to the other side of the bed, laying down on her side. “Come lay down with me,” she said.

You didn’t want to return to the floor, but you weren’t sure you could stay on the bed either. 

“Please.” Behind you the best dipped and a pair of arms slid around you. One of her hands came to rest right above your heart. She tucked her chin into the space between your neck and shoulder and involuntarily, you dropped your head against hers. “It is Christmas after all.”

Natalia tugged you down and you let her, lowering yourself until your back was flush against the mattress and your head lay in her lap. You refused to move your legs, leaving them draped over the side. “I am so sorry for the things I said earlier. I did not mean it.” Shame stabbed at your lungs and behind your eyes. Your jaw ached with it, and your tongue was sour with traces of your own bitterness. 

“It’s okay. I understand,” she said. You didn’t deserve her tenderness.

“You should not have to, Natalia. It is not fair for you to deal with.”

“Remember when we promised each other we’d never leave the other one alone?” 

You huffed a dry laugh. “We could not have been more than fourteen years old.”

“So more than old enough to know what we were saying,” she countered.

“It will happen again,” you said, tone darkening. 

“And I’ll be there when it does.”

“I cannot control it. Sometimes things happen and I feel everyone is out to get me.” You flicked your gaze away from her face. “Then the shouting and the hateful words and the rage comes. I do things I cannot take back.”

“That’s why you need people who know that that isn’t really you. Who know you’re kind and loyal to the bone. Who will help you heal.” 

“I am not sick,” you insisted. 

“I know. But we need to understand whatever this is,” she said. “Before it gets you into trouble with the wrong people.”

You took a deep breath, ribs shuddering like the bars of a rusted cage. “I am scared,” you whispered. 

Natalia ran a calloused hand across your cheek. “I know,” she said. “Just know you’re not alone. We’ll figure this out together.”

You nodded your head, afraid that speaking might reveal the lump in your throat.

“Come on, let’s get some rest,” she said, tugging on the collar of your shirt.

 “You are unbelievable,” you mumbled.

“What happened to me being the best person ever?”

“You can be both.”

She peered down at you, eyes alight with mischief. “I haven’t heard a ‘no’.”

Exhaustion had broken down your resolve, and you’d have a better chance of sleeping through the rest of the night in the bed. “Okay.” Your agreement had nothing to do with the way Natalia blinked slowly at you, nor the way she had taken to sifting her fingers through your hair.

“Finally,” she said, lips quirking up in a victorious smile. “You’re almost as stubborn as me. Not quite though.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you said, pushing yourself fully onto the bed. “Do not make me change my mind.”

You laid down and Natalia settled her head on your chest. “You’re so warm,” she said.

“Is that why you wanted me up here? Cause you were cold?” 

“No,” she said as she pressed her cheek further into your collarbone. “Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight Natalia.”

“Goodnight.”

You woke in the morning not to the terror of memory infiltrating your mind but to sunlight illuminating the space before your eyelids. You blinked rapidly, clearing away the morning bleariness. You couldn't recall the last time you had started your day after sunup. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Natalia said, still buried into your side. Under the sheet her legs tangled up in yours. 

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head. “Have you been awake long?”

“No,” she said. “Just a few minutes maybe. I think we should get up though. I imagine Cooper will be awake soon. It would be cruel to keep him waiting. I remember how exciting Christmas morning was.” She said, sounding far away. “It wasn’t real, but…there is something really magical about this time of year.”

You rubbed gentle circles on her upper back in between her shoulder blades where you knew she held tension. “It is real now, no? For the Bartons and for us, Christmas means something?” 

“Yeah,” she breathed, crinkles around her eyes when she looked at you. “This is real.” You had a feeling she wasn’t referring to the holidays anymore.

“Before we go downstairs I have something for you,” you said. You palmed the thin silver necklace that had been stored in your bag. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

“Should I be nervous?” She asked as she faced away from you.

“No, no.” You clasped the chain around her neck. “Okay you can look now.”

Natalia examined the charm, cupping it in her hand. “I um—I didn’t get you anything.”

“And you do not need to,” you said. “You are all I could ever want.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Clint took me out. I was saving it for the right time. Now seemed perfect.” You looked at the little silver sword strung hilt to blade tip along the necklace. Your signature weapon. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, smiling up at you in a way that made your head go empty and quiet. You felt as if everything might be okay when she smiled at you.

“It is, uh…It is to remind you that I am always on your side. That I am always with you even when it may seem like I am not.” Your heart pounded with fear she may reject the gift. She would cast it aside, and you with it.

“It’s perfect,” she said instead. “You’re perfect.”

“Merry Christmas Natalia.”

“Merry Christmas.”

A/N: The drive from D.C. to Iowa is definitely NOT doable in the time they make it in the story.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader

[starboybutler]

Chasing Cars

ao3 link

summary: bucky can't find a reason to get out of bed anymore. gale comes to him one night, and he's reminded of why he's fighting.

word count: 6451

warnings: bucky's crumbling mental health, gale's crumbling mental health, curt's death, slight eating disorders, depressive episodes, smut towards the end

notes: wow this was supposed to be pure smut but i accidentally plotted on my porn because i felt like being sad. oh well have this kinda character study thing i wrote purely on a whim

bucky hadn't left the bed.

he couldn't find a reason to. the rest of the men were outside, gathering wood. training, doing god knows what else to prepare for a plan that would never play out. after some brits had made their escape attempt, the amount of german pricks on duty almost doubled. that, and morale had pretty much gone down after they had said the captured escapees were executed. no one even wanted to make an attempt anymore.

they could talk about escape all they wanted to– it would never happen. they would try, fail, get shot, and get buried somewhere on enemy territory. hell, odds were good that if they waited it out the same thing would happen. so why bother?

he had been staring at the wooden slats of the bunk above him for about an hour, now. this felt familiar, at least. as he lay here, he could pretend he was back in base between missions, talking to curt about whatever was going on in their muddled brains.

“it was a close one today. don't want anymore missions like that for a while.”

“that's just how it is, bucky. they’ll only get tougher, y’know. but i think we got it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. i’ll be tellin’ my grandkids about this one day, y’know. don't seem like it now, but i promise it’ll be a distant memory soon.”

always so optimistic. that was one of the last late-night conversations he had ever had with curt before he went down. he never even got to say goodbye to him. he’ll never forget the pure dread he felt when he asked buck about him, and he didn't have an answer.

sure, bucky could have believed he was alive with every fiber of his being, but that didn't change the fact that curt was dead, crashed somewhere over unknown territory, most likely to never be found.

so much pain, so much death. and for what, he would wonder. what was he really fighting for anymore?

“hey,”

a soft, low voice, like honey. all too familiar.

he looked up, faced with gale, who was just about the only friend he had left at this point. even then, he felt as if buck was slipping from his grasp at times. tensions were high, and he had yelled at him more than he would like to admit.

just yesterday, they got into it outside. john was at fault, he absolutely deserved the punch to the face gale gave him, but neither of them had spoken to one another afterwards. john was never good witth apologies.

“hey,” he said back, the bruise on his cheek left by the blonde throbbing dully as he made eye contact with him for the first time since their scuffle.

“you just gonna lay here all day?” gale asked, his tone not angry or accusatory– just soft and genuinely curious, laced with just a tinge of worry.

“that's the plan,” he replied, shrugging. “nothin’ else to do. unless you wanna punch me again.”

gale stiffened a bit, his lips twitching as if he were trying to find the right thing to say, before he just sighed heavily.

“i’m worried about you.”

bucky shut his eyes, a sigh of his own escaping his chest.

“i know.”

it fell quiet between them. john had closed his eyes so that he couldn't see gale’s sad baby blue’s boring into him, urging him to roll over and show him his most vulnerable parts like a dog begging for attention. for pity.

he knew gale was worried. he knew it before their fight, and he knew it now. gale wasn't an idiot. far from it, actually. he was intelligent and observant, which was why he was such a damn good pilot. he saw john’s pain before john felt it. he saw it in how john would lash out at anyone that looked at him wrong, and how he would toss and turn in his sleep at night.

“you haven't eaten in a few days.”

“i know,” bucky said again. he couldn't bear to imagine gale’s expression. “i’m tired of the same shit. if i see another potato i’ll puke.”

“bucky.” gale hissed, voice urgent. “i’m being serious.”

“so am i.”

he hadn't eaten in about three days. ever since his last serving of the same bland bullshit, he decided he would rather starve than touch it again. so what, if he lost a little weight? that seemed to be the least of his problems right now.

he didn't care anymore. he just didn't care if he withered away inside this stalag surrounded by his men. that seemed to be the most honorable thing to do at this point- because at least then he'd be around people that knew him, and celebrated him. he'd rather die here and now, miserable, than drag it out and die alone in enemy territory with no one around.

“okay, bucky.” gale mumbled, clearly on edge already and not in the mood to argue. “just…i’ll be outside with everyone else. you should eat some dinner tonight.”

the blonde stalked off, expression and gaze steely and distant as bucky rolled back onto his side, facing the wall and sighing tiredly.

night rolled around and he didn't drag himself out of bed for dinner. he couldn't. the urge to eat, to get up and walk and be active wasn't there. his will to survive had vanished.

gale wasn't the only one worried about him. he heard everyone muttering to one another behind his back as they ate the slop that was served to them half-heartedly.

‘he doesn't look good at all.’

‘i know. when’s the last time he left his bunk?’

‘hush and eat. he can probably hear you.’

bucky didn't care what they were saying. whatever it was, it was probably true. maybe word around the stalag was that major john egan was a spineless, worthless, gutless piece of shit that gave up on everyone around him when they needed him most. harsh, yes, but not necessarily wrong. john was acutely aware of how him laying in this bed, rotting for days on end was selfish to his men. he knew that they were looking to him for guidance, and all he was giving them was a depressing display of self pity.

his mind drifted back to curt. he would always tell bucky that he was one of the strongest and most resilient people he had ever met, and how he would give anything to be as half as stubborn as him.

bucky always shot back that stubborn didn't necessarily mean good, but curt refused to see him in a bad light under any circumstances.

“i got you a bowl.”

gale’s voice. he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at the metal dish that gale was holding in his direction. same meal they'd been served for the last few months. the rumbling in his stomach wasn't even a bother to him anymore.

“thanks buck,” he hummed, turning to face the wall once more. “but i’m not hungry.”

silence fell over the room, tense at bucky’s blatant refusal of the food gale offered. he heard a short sigh from his friend, as well as a scuffing of his shoe against the floor as he turned on his heel and walked away.

he felt his stomach sink with guilt, but he really wasn't hungry. what was the point of eating, prolonging his survival when he would most likely die in the very bunk he was laying in? the thought made his appetite disappear.

he pulled the thin, scratchy blankets they were given over himself, clutching it in his hands tightly as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality.

honestly, it might have been.

𓆩✧𓆪

days and days passed him by. he wasn't able to shake the dread that had begun eating at him days ago. in fact, it seemed to have consumed him whole by this point. he only left the bed when he was instructed to by those goddamn guards, or when he had to use the bathroom. he didn't get up for food, water, to exercise, to speak to friends, nothing. he was not interested but a shell of the outgoing, confident man he used to be.

gale had kept trying to get him to leave his bunk, or to at least put some food in his system. he would bring a plate of food for him every night, and bucky would refuse it all the same. he would tell him that the others were asking for him, but bucky just brushed it off. if they were really worried, they knew where to find him.

only a few other men besides gale came to check on him during the day, hambone being one of them. he started talking about how different things were without him around. it was quiet, and no one really liked it all that much. they missed his snarky comments about the german guards and how he would shit talk them all day. that got a little smile lut of him, he had to admit that. what got him feeling serious again was when hambone started talking about how gale was taking his absence.

“he’s been quiet. way quieter than normal.” he said, voice dropping low. “only says one or two words to everyone before…he just shuts down. goes into autopilot. it's not really like him.”

and he was right. after he had said that he kept think about gale, how he was probably out there with god knows how much on his mind, and for bucky to only be adding to that…

what was he doing?

was he really causing buck that much distress? the thought made his stomach sink with guilt. gale already had so much on his mind, and for bucky to act like a petulant child and add onto all of that stress and anxiety and pain he’s been bearing for the entirety of the men trapped here was so unbelievably shitty.

what kind of friend– what kind of man did something like this to his other half– his rock, his one source of sanity in this camp, in this war?

he curled in on himself further, self loathing and dread curling their ugly black tendrils around him, engulfing him in a pitch black abyss.

he felt so, so sick all of a sudden.

𓆩✧𓆪

“word is there's gonna be another march in a few days,” hambone dutifully informed him, leaning against the creaky wooden wall and staring out the window, into the yard.

bucky was actually sitting up in his bunk today, idly fidgeting with the little radio gale had crafted a few days earlier in his hands. he hadn't actually spoken to buck, finding himself unable to think of anything of value to utter to him.

“again?”

“mhm,” he mumbled, fiddling with the dirty sleeve of his sheepskin. “apparently allies are real close. gale caught word of that last night on that radio. not sure when the germans caught wind. might happen tonight.”

bucky grimaced, setting the tiny radio on the cluttered table, sighing and squeezing his eyes shut at the prospect of walking for days on end just to get to another shitty camp, and rot there for god knows how long. he hasn't eaten in a good week, and he knows his odds of surviving the march on an empty stomach are little to none.

“thanks for tellin’ me,” buck said softly, standing from his bunk and making his way towards the door, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he stepped outside for the first time in weeks. immediately, he felt eyes on him from all angles.

‘major egan?’

‘he’s okay!’

‘christ, i thought he died…’

he smiled humorlessly, making his way over to the water pump and grabbing one of the metal jugs, placing it under the tap and filling it up with slightly murky water and sighing to himself. he hadn't seen gale yet. a small part of him was hoping that buck would be the first person waiting for him, but he also wasn't in a good headspace to talk to him right now. he didn't know what to say to him, after knowing all the torment he had put him through with his little episode.

he turned the tap off, exhaling deeply and picking up the jug– flushing when he struggled a bit due to the weakness that came with staying in bed and not eating in about a week. he lifted it on the second attempt, huffing and hauling the jug back to his bunk.

out of the corner of his eye, he saw gale, encouraging some men to push a little harder to break the ground using that damned contraption- whatever it was called. he tensed at the sight of him, speeding up his steps until he was safe back in his bunk.

he set the jug down heavily, not even thirsty anymore. that night march could kill him, for all he cared. maybe then gale’s problem’s would be solved.

he laid in his bunk miserably, jug discarded as he thought of gale. he deserved the world, he deserved to be happy, to live a life without having to worry about him being a sad sack of shit, wallowing in his self pity. he did his best to try and keep his spirits up, but he couldn't help it. he didn't have anything to look forward to anymore. life just seemed like a whirlwind of misery and he didn't know how much more he could take. so many friends lost, so many people dead.

maybe when he died, gale would finally move on, lose that stress that came with knowing him. he could only hope.

𓆩✧𓆪

john had lost track of time long ago. he only knew day and night, and occasionally he was told what month it was.

he knew it was late, evidenced by the snores of all the men around him, and how the room was pitch black. the moonlight didn't reach his bunk, leaving him alone in the darkness to stare up at the wooden slats of the bunk above him.

he heard shuffling from somewhere in the room, then the creaking of floorboards as someone moved towards his bed.

“bucky?”

gale’s voice rang in his ears, making him go completely still as if he were a scared cat. maybe he was dreaming, and the gale beside him was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, spurred on by hunger. but when gale didn't leave, he turned to look at the blonde with tired eyes.

“yeah?”

“can’t sleep,” he said softly, and the bags under his eyes seemed to prove it. “mind if i bunk with you tonight?”

bucky wanted to say so many things. ‘of course you can.’ ‘no, i don't want you to get too attached to me if i’m bound to die soon.’ ‘i love you.’ but all that came from him was a little “uh huh,” as he scoot over to make room for the blonde.

he felt his mattress dip, and a familiar warmth crowding at his side. he almost jumped up at the almost desperateness of it all, half expecting gale to just lay by him and turn the other way. the blonde wrapped his arms around his waist, a surprising amount of muscle on them from the training they had been doing in preparation for an escape, and buried his face into the nape of his neck.

it was dangerous to be doing this here, with everyone in the room. anyone could wake up and they'd probably kill them on the spot before the nazis could. no one would accept it– two respected majors, cuddled up together like shy newlyweds in the middle of a shitty stalag, when they should be leading their men, training them, helping out in some way. but, as gale tightened his arms around john, holding onto him as if he'd disappear if he let go, he found that he could care less about what everyone would think of them.

“buck,” he started, voice soft, as soft as it's been in a long while. “what–”

“i’m scared, john,” he whispered, trembling ever so slightly as he pressed closer, like he was trying to become one with the other man. “i’m trying so hard to keep up appearances, to lead and be strong, but i’m scared.” he admitted, fingers digging into john’s side.

john was shocked into silence for a minute. gale was always so well put together. he never cracked under pressure, he just didn't. up in the air, when his engines were out and his crew was panicking, he would land that b-17 like it was nothing. ‘no engine cleven’, they called him, and he just smiled in that shy little way of his, heading to the barracks to sleep off the shock and do it all over again.

he'd seen gale shaken up a few times. when they landed in africa, he was quiet. quieter than usual, anyway. he was staring off into the distance, eyebrows drawn together slightly as he worried that damned toothpick in his mouth until it snapped in two.

but for gale to admit that he was scared was…unheard of. he wasn't the type to show or admit his emotions too openly, none of them were. but being here and eating the same bland shit, not knowing if you're ever gonna get to go home, and watching the last of your friends die during nighttime marches to a new camp did something to you. it broke whatever spirit you thought you had left.

“gale, hey-” he whispered, turning on his side and gently cupping the blonde’s face, watching as tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his flushed cheeks. “hey, look at me. none of that,”

he used his thumb to wipe away his tears, tilting his chin up so that the blonde’s glassy eyes met his. he hated seeing gale cry. he hated knowing that all this time, he's been in pain, the weight of all of these men in camp on his shoulders, counting on him, and all john has been doing is making it worse.

“i’m sorry,” gale sniffs, hiccuping softly, breath picking up as john pulls him close, allowing the blonde to hide in his chest and inhale his scent. “fuck, i’m sorry. i just don't know how much longer i– if i can do this anymore.”

those words put fear into john’s heart. if gale, the brains, the brawn, the heart and soul of the very operation to get them out of here was losing hope– what did that mean for them? were they truly doomed to die in enemy hands, holding onto the hope that allies would somehow manage to sneak close enough to the shitty camps they were held hostage in and launch an attack on the germans?

he knew most of their thinking was extremely wishful, but it was something. a little glimmer of hope in a dark, gray times. for buck, gale was that glimmer of hope– that thing he held onto when all else seemed to fail him. even when he felt he’d die here, at least it would be with buck.

he couldn't let gale give up like this. not for his sake– hell, not for everyone’s sake. if gale gave up, he gave up. and if he gave up, everyone else would give up. a hell of a burden to carry on top of everything.

“gale,” he said softly, taking both of his slender hands into his large ones, caressing the backs of his knuckles with his calloused thumb. “gale, you've gotta keep going. without you, this whole thing would fall apart.” he said, nuzzling closer to him.

“i can't save everyone, bucky.” he hiccuped, trembling in little fits and starts, shattering john’s heart as he watched. “i can't even save the person that matters most to me. if i can't do that then–”

“you don't need to save me.” john said harshly, much more harshly than he intended to. he saw gale wince, and he immediately regretted being so harsh. “i mean– you don’t– i’m just like this. nothing you can do about it, buck. it’s not your job to fix me, okay?”

“i want to. i want you to be okay, bucky. i want–”

he sniffled, nuzzling his hot, tear-stained cheeks into bucky’s large hands. “i want you to be okay. i want you to be there with me, no matter what. i just– we've lost so many men, john. so many. but i still have you. i can save you, i can help you. i just….i need to make you feel better than this. i need you to know how much you mean to me.”

bucky was stunned into silence. he spent all this time thinking gale loathed him for his behavior, wishing he was dead and gone so that he had one less thing to worry about– but gale just spilled his guts to him about how john was the most precious thing in his life right now. not marge– him. him. it made his heart swell with something ugly.

“i’ll always be with you, buck.” john said softly, stroking his blonde locks, once soft but now slightly gritty with dirt and grime from their time in the stalag. even with limited supplies to take care of his hygiene, gale managed to outshine every single one of them in terms of beauty. “what’d i say? if i’m gonna bet on anything, i’m gonna bet on us. y’hear me?”

a shaky little exhale left gale’s mouth, pressing his face into john’s chest like a boy seeking comfort from his mom after a scary dream. john didn't say anything else, just held gale close as he sniffled and sobbed into his chest until he cried himself to sleep, soft snores leaving his pretty pink lips in soft little puffs.

he felt a surge of overprotectiveness wash over him as he watched the blonde sleep, curled into his body and clutching one of john’s hands close to his chest. he didn't need to feel sorry for himself anymore. he needed to be there for gale, so that he stopped carrying these burdens on his shoulders. they were a team, always have been. always will be. nothing in this godforsaken place could change that.

𓆩✧𓆪

john got up the next morning, careful not to disturb gale, who was still sound asleep next to him. he was on his side, almost completely curled up on himself with his thumb pressed against his lips, biting at it idly.

john smiled softly, eyes filled with a fondness for the blonde as he shuffled into his shoes, heading out into the daylight to grab some rations for the both of them.

last night was extremely sobering for him. he had spent so much time wallowing in his self hatred that he hadn't realized that his neglectful actions towards himself had been affecting gale in a negative way. when his friend came to him, crying and sobbing, worried for his wellbeing, insisting that he was the only thing that was worth fighting for anymore, he knew he had to get it together.

he went to the service counter and asked for two servings of food, saying that his friend was still asleep and that he would wake him up when he got back. who would lie for extra slop anyways?

he was given two plates, and he hurried back to his bunk, where a few of the other men began to stir awake, including gale.

“mornin, boys,” he said, setting down his two plates on the lightly cluttered table. “food’s gettin’ served up. go grab some.”

they all let out a noncommittal groan as he sat down at his bunk, digging into his mean of bland potatoes. it didn't taste any better than the last time he ate it, but he’ll be damned if he wasn't hungry.

gale sat up beside him, blinking the sleep from his eyes, which were slightly puffy from crying. his baby blue’s landed on john and widened as he saw him scarfing down the bland mush.

john smiled at him. “mornin’,”

“you're eating.” he said, voice quivering slightly.

he shrugged slightly, stirring the mush around absentmindedly. “got hungry. craved potatoes. you’ll never guess what the canteen was servin’.”

gale was on him in a matter of seconds, hugging him tightly and pressing his face into his shoulder. he was trembling, a shaky exhale leaving him as john set his plate down, returning the hug and smiling against his shoulder.

“thank you.” he whispered, voice so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable.

“don't count on it.”

𓆩✧𓆪

gale bunked with him for the next few nights, out of pure need for comfort and reassurance. he was obviously happy that bucky was eating again, but he was still stressed with all of the ongoings in the camp.

bucky had stepped in and gave a hand in training, instructing the men in what to do and how to do it, but there were just so many of them. on top of that, those german bastards were always waving their guns around, yelling at them whenever they felt like it. john had almost gotten into it with a few of them, but gale har talked him down.

what would he do without him?

“you need to be more careful when you talk to the guards.” gale said, idly smoothing down the fabric of john’s thin sleep shirt, which made john’s chest fill with warmth.

“to hell with those guards.” he muttered angrily, looking into gale’s eyes with a steely determination. “i just got my spirit back. i ain’t gonna let these nazi bastards destroy it again.”

“they'll shoot you, bucky.” gale said softly, looking up at him with a hard gaze. “zero hesitation. they've done it to other men before, and they’ll do it to you.”

“and then they’ll have a hell of a riot on their hands.” he laughs softly, which made gale sigh and press his forehead to his chest.

“why can't you just be good?”

the words caught john off guard, making his cheeks flush and his heartbeat kick up a notch. he felt his heartbeat pick up whenever gale was close to him like this, but it was a pace he had gotten used to, honestly. but hearing gale tell him to be good in a soft voice– as if he were speaking to a dog made his heartbeat kick up in another way entirely.

“uhm,” he started, face flushed a soft pink, hands finding gale’s waist and fidgeting with the hem of the blonde’s shirt. “i can– i can be good, i jus’...”

he was stumbling over his words painfully obviously. he was hoping that gale couldn't see the flush on his face in the darkness of the room, but knowing his luck he probably could.

“what's wrong?” gale asked softly, eyes lidded as his hands halted on john’s broad chest, thumb idly brushing across the fabric of his shirt in soothing little circles. “your heart is beating really hard.”

“nothin’.” he said, way too quickly for it to be true. “just. hot. i ‘unno.”

silence fell, save for the sounds of breathing from the men around them, and their own soft breathing. john really took in gale in this moment, how soft and vulnerable he looked.

his sleep shirt was loose on him, thanks to him losing weight in the camp over the months they’ve been here. his eyes were soft with sleep, lips pink and plump and parted with each little breath he took. god, he was gorgeous. he wanted nothing more than to take him on the bed right now, make him cry out his name so that everyone in the room knew who he belonged to.

he’d had these thoughts of gale since they met in basic training, but they had only gotten worse the longer they stayed in camp. back on base, he was able to keep his mind off of gale, or at least quell his desire by picking up some desperate broad in a bar and sleeping with her. but now, he looked at gale and could hardly keep his mind out of the gutter. he hated it.

“hot, huh?” gale chuckled softly, hands running up john’s chest and resting on his shoulders. “you're a bad liar when it comes to me, y’know that?”

john flushed darker, hands tightening on gale’s waist and pulling him closer, careful to keep their lower halves apart so that the blonde didn’t feel his erection through his shorts. “i’m not lying.”

“mhm?” the blonde chuckles, leaning closer to him, invading his space so that their noses touched, breath mingling together as they stared at one another tenderly, something more carnal and desirous underneath. “why're you hard then?”

bucky choked on a gasp, his face completely red to the point where he was sure gale could see it, even in the dark. their lower halves weren't touching, and yet, gale had known. read him like a book.

“how’d you–?”

“you have a thing you do,” he says, thumb rubbing at his collarbone gently. “you stumble over your words. start touchin’ things with your hands. fidgeting. sometimes it's more noticeable. its a lot less noticeable when you hit on girls at a bar, but i picked up on it.”

john huffed, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and averting his eyes. he wasn't expecting gale to call him out so straightforwardly. it made him embarrassed. he also didn't expect gale to trail a hand down to the hem of his shorts, dipping his cool fingers inside and making john gasp sharply.

“want me to take care of it?”

“gale,” john hissed, eyes wide as the blonde’s nimble fingers trailed lower and lower, scratching at the wiry hair just above his hard cock. “our men are all around us. they might hear us.”

“then you'll have to be quiet, won’t you?”

a strangled noise left john’s throat as gale wrapped his thin fingers around his hot, hard length, giving a tentative squeeze. a shuddery breath left deep from bucky’s chest, his hands squeezing gale’s waist so hard he was bound to leave bruises.

“that good?” gale whispered, shuffling his boxers down and letting john’s cock free completely, swiping his thumb across the head and gathering the precum there so the friction of his hand was less harsh. bucky didn't have it in him to answer coherently, so he just nodded and bucked his hips upwards into gale’s touch.

it was intoxicating, the way his fingers occasionally caught under the sensitive head of his cock and made his cock jerk and leak even more, all over gale’s pretty hand.

“see? look at you.” the blonde cooed, eyes lidded and practically glowing as he gave a twist of his wrist on the upstroke, relishing in the little groans and gasps bucky let out. “you can be good for me, why can't you be good out there? i know you're a good boy, bucky. such a good dog.”

“jesus christ,” bucky swore, stomach tensing up and cock leaking into gale’s palm thickly, precum making the glide of his palm slicker. “i’m gunna cum- oh, god, buck–”

“shh,”

the blonde scolded him lightly, free hand moving to cover his mouth firmly as he jerked him off faster, the wet, slick noises coming from between them downright obscene. he felt like a girl getting laid in her bedroom, her parents right next door as her boyfriend fingered her so good she couldn't help but whine and whimper.

he didn't have time to warn gale as he shot off, thick ropes of his spend painting buck’s chest and stomach a pretty pearlescent white. when he pulled his shirt up, he didn't know.

he came down from his high, and found gale’s lips on his. he kissed back, gentle and hungry at the same time, like he wanted to devour gale whole. he pulled him close, choking out a gasp into the kiss as he felt gale’s erection press into his hip.

“buck,” he panted, letting the blonde thrust against him minutely, the little pleased noises he let out going straight to john’s spent cock, bringing it back to life. “lemme– lemme make you feel good.”

gale exhaled sharply, rolling his hips against him more desperately, now. “please.”

john flipped them over so fast that it gave them both whiplash for a moment. it was short lived, though as he was faced with the sight of gale’s hard cock straining at his boxers. john’s large hands spread the blonde’s thighs apart, tugging his boxers down his hips and letting his pretty pink cock spring free from its confines.

john was on him in an instant, licking at the clear bead of precum that gathered at the pretty pink head. gale gasped softly, his breath shaky and deep as john laved his dick in attention, running his hot tongue along the vein that adorned the underside, sucking at the tip, doing anything but taking it in his mouth yet– to enamored by the sweet little noises gale was making.

“john, please.” buck whimpered, voice soft and needy as he thrust upwards, cockhead sliding against bucky’s wet lips. “please,”

he begged so prettily. who was he to resist?

he finally took gale into his mouth in one go, nose nestled into a small thatch of blonde pubic hair just above his dick. gale bit back a moan, hands flying into john’s pretty curls, gripping them so hard that he was sure he ripped a few strands out. the sting made bucky moan around gale’s length, bobbing his head slowly.

he loved every little noise that left gale– the little gasps and quiet keens as he drooled around his cock, eyelashes fluttering as the tip of his cock nudged at the back of his throat. he wishes that he could hear gale at full volume, whining and begging for more– but they couldn't. not here.

“such a good mouth,” gale moaned, voice breathy and deep and so smooth to his ears, melting his brain as he pulled off his cock completely, licking at his dripping slit and collecting his precum with his tongue. “fuck, wish i could keep your mouth on me all day. keep you quiet. fuck–”

hearing gale cleven, straight edge, no gambling, hates sports gale cleven talking dirty to him like this sent shockwaves directly to his cock. he took him all the way back into his mouth, groaning deep in his throat as he ground against the rough sheets of the mattress, brows furrowed in concentration and pleasure as he took hold of gale’s slender hips. he felt so filthy, so needy and desperate for anything gale would give him, like a stray dog begging for food.

he wanted anything gale would give him. affection, hatred, love, loathing– he was hungry for all of it, for him. his cock was amazing on his tongue, hot and heavy and velvety, leaking in copious amounts down his throat as he swallowed every last drop of him. he could feel gale spasm in his throat, close to orgasm, and he found himself feeling greedier by the second.

“jesus christ,” buck gasped, hips lifting from the mattress, hand tightening in john’s curls, pulling him down onto his length frantically as his stomach began to spasm and tense up. “i’m– i’m gonna– john–”

his throat was flooded with gale’s spend, and he worked his throat around his sensitive cock dutifully as he swallowed it all. it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, it made him hot, it made his brain melt, it made him needy for more–

he felt his cock spill against the sheets, a small whimper caught in his throat as he rode out his orgasm.

when he came to, he was aware of gale whimpering from overstimulation as he absentmindedly suckled at his cock.

“john, please,” he whined, trying to pull free. “enough.”

bucky pulled off, cheek resting on his thigh stickily. they were both panting, faces flushed and eyes glossy with aroused tears. they locked eyes, and john couldn't help the surge of emotion that overcame him as he shot up, capturing gale’s lips in a soft kiss. at this moment, everything felt like it would be okay.

“we should clean up,” gale mumbled against his lips, panting softly. “made a mess.”

“yeah,” john agreed, kissing him again, quicker this time. “think we can score new sheets?”

“we can jus’ move to my bunk for now. toss these sheets aside for morning laundry.” gale hummed, yawning softly and rubbing at his eyes like a sleepy little kid. how he could be so goddamn cute after doing something so filthy was beyond him.

“alright,” john hummed, watching as gale tucked himself into his boxers. “lemme wipe ya down first.”

john untucked a corner of the bedsheets, using them to wipe at gale’s cum stained torso gently, gale squirmed under the attention slightly, blushing at the way john was looking at him, full of love and reverence, like he hung the sun and the stars himself.

once he'd finished, he let gale stand and move back to his bunk, allowing john to rid his bed of the stained sheets and toss them aside for laundry. he'd find an excuse later.

he made his way to gale’s bunk, reversing the roles and cuddling up to gale, nuzzling into his neck and sighing deeply. gale smiled softly, hand carding through his hair gently.

“next time, we’ll try to make less of a mess,” he mumbled, voice deep with sleep as he pulled john closer.

“next time, huh? you fantasizing about it already?”

buck rolled his eyes, and bucky didn't miss the faint flush on his cheeks.

“i’m just saying. it’ll be nicer. maybe it’ll be in a proper bed, without all these people around. just the two of us, in our own bed,” he mumbled, eyes drifting shut. “just us, bucky.”

“buck–”

he didn't get to ask what he meant. he had already fallen asleep, snoring softly into the darkness of the room. buck went silent, pressing his ear to buck’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat as he mulled over his words. his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.

maybe they would get out of here. if it meant he and buck would have a promising life together, he would be damned if he died in one of these godforsaken camps.

he would make it. for them.

taglist: @mooodyblue @lauvmyself @kaiistheguy @slowsweetlove

#mota #gale #john #buck x bucky #masters of the air #masters of the air fanfic #john egan #gale cleven #hbo war #clegan #eganven #curt biddick

[randomshitwhore]

Classified Intel {Philip Graves x Reader}

word count: 2.1k

pairing: philip graves x f!reader

summary: You are General Shepard's daughter and work for intelligence at your father's base. You help guide the shadows through a mission over comms. but you and one particular shadow have taken a liking for each other.

warnings: mentions of gunshots, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart, darling)

AN: This is going to be a hidden romance type of gig in this fanfic; so if you hate stuff like this, sorry babe but this fic ain't for you. Be sure to check out the MASTERLIST!

“This is Mr.Philip Graves. He’s gonna be your main focus in intel, moving him and his team along in missions n such. Now Ima let you two get started on this paperwork, you come and find me when y’all are done, alright?” “Yes sir”

You heard the door click behind you and tried to let yourself relax. This was your first real job and you were honestly nervous you were gonna fuck everything up. “So…General Shepard has a daughter” You heard Graves say. “Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.Graves.” You said, extending your hand. “Please, call me Philip. Mr.Graves makes me sound like the grim reaper or something wacky like that” He laughed taking your hand in his and placing his other on top, capturing your hand in between his own. You laughed softly but cleared your throat, wanting to keep yourself professional. “Then I ask you dont call me Ms. Shepard, makes me sound old,” You said. “Anything you ask sweetheart,” He said, flashing you a smile.

You felt your breath hitch slightly in your throat, but again, quickly and quietly cleared in before fixing the topic back. “Shall we um…proceed Mr.Gra-I mean Philip?”You said, motioning to your father’s desk, two packets with paperwork for Shadow Company’s next mission right in the middle. You reached for the packets and brought them to a small coffee table nearby. You sat down on one of the cushioned seats as Graves followed your every movement; still wanting to stay closer to you, he moved and placed himself right beside you, his leg slightly brushing up against yours. “I never caught your name by the way…Ms?” He said. “Y/N,” You said quickly. “Y/N…very beautiful name for a very beautiful girl,” He said, a smile coming to his face as his eyes moved slowly up and down your frame.

You felt a small smile come onto your own as your cheeks heated up. “Thank you, my father picked it out.” You said, picking at the nail polish on your nails. His hand took yours away from your hand and closed it again in his. “Pretty girls shouldn’t pick at their nail polish,” He said, moving his face slightly closer to yours. “Nervous girls do” You answered sheepishly. You both knew this was becoming unprofessional very quickly, but neither of you could bring yourselves to stop it.

“But not uncomfortable, I hope. I’d hate to make you feel that way” He said, not by much but just slightly backing up. You shook your head no, making him move closer to you again. “Y/N, if this isn’t pushing our relationship over a border, and please tell me if it is,” He said, backing up completely and taking both your hands in his. “It would honor me to ask you out on a date later this evening.” He said, moving his hands slightly up and down with every word. You sucked in your bottom lip and looked down at your lap. You tried to contemplate your options but figured you had already crossed borders that were unprofessional enough, so you agreed.

After that first date, You and Graves kept meeting and going over pamphlets full of information and possible flanking strategies to keep the enemy on their toes, but it was getting increasingly complex with Graves being up on you every time you met privately, physically or even his eyes just wandering. Each meeting became increasingly unprofessional as they went on. From subtle touches of your legs to hands to looks; to just full-on pecks on the cheek every time he saw you, this didn’t exclude your father from being around either. That’s the part that made you start to sweat. He just acted like your father was never there every time his lips met your cheek, and your father usually acted like nothing had happened though the first time, it’d be hard to say he wasn’t surprised. He even started to get bolder by calling you sweetheart and doll during the side missions your father sent him on and even in public around the base; earning some questionable looks and whispers from your co-workers.

Those pecks on the cheek turned into kisses, except your father nor anyone else was not around for those. Those were the private moments you shared when you hadn’t seen each other in a couple of days, or in Graves’s case, sometimes a couple of hours. The first kiss between you two was when he waited in an empty meeting room and grabbed you the moment you passed him, locking the door behind you and tapping the glass to black out anyone wanting to look in. 

“Philip are you okay? What’s wro-” You started but were cut off by Graves lips attaching to yours. This kiss wasn’t just any kiss, this kiss was filled with lust, wanting, and need. You gently closed your eyes as one of his arms latched around your waist and pulled you closer to him, wanting you all for himself and the other hand tangling itself in your hair. “What has gotten into you, Commander?”You laugh-mumbled into his lips. You knew he loved you, but you had never envisioned yourself in an empty meeting room with him practically throwing himself onto you like a toddler. His lips separated from yours, both of you sucking into large gasps of air. His forehead rested against yours, his thumb gently rubbing your left temple. “I can’t do this anymore…”He sighed, his eyes locked on the floor. 

You felt your breath catch in your lungs. “W-What do..you mean, you can’t do this anymore?” You asked, your eyes attempting to lock onto his. “I can’t…stay away from you anymore doll,” He said, meeting your gaze. Your breath caught again, but out of love. “Every time I see you, this is what I want to do. Let the world know, that I am in love with a drop-dead gorgeous woman! But I can’t, ‘cause your daddy would wring my neck out to dry.”He said, his hand leaving your hair and moving to his. “You deserve better than this Y/N. You dont deserve a man that pulls you into a conference room just to kiss you..” He said, moving away from you, planting his ass on top of the table, and letting his hands fall between his legs. 

You bit your lip, thinking about your response carefully not wanting to make him more upset than he already seemed. “What if that IS the man I want?” You pushed, making him look at you again. “What if I want a man that calls me a doll, or darling, or sweetheart, or baby, or any of that other sappy nickname stuff? What if I want a man that stares at me instead of listening to information about his own mission?” You said, making him laugh a little. You took in a deep breath. “What if…I want a man that pulls me into a meeting room and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed in my entire life?” You said, grabbing his face. “My dad doesn’t need to know about this. We both want one another dont we?”

“Yes..” “Then fuck what everyone else thinks”

Soon the day finally came. The day everyone had been waiting for…Operation Dark Water.

“Shadow 0-1 to Silver Eagle, how copy?”You heard Graves’s voice come through your headset. “Loud and Clear Shadow 0-1. You and your squad ready?”You answered back, your leg bouncing underneath your desk. This was the first time Graves was away from you since you had first met. You were worried. You and your father knew how dangerous this mission was, he knew the risks. “Silver Eagle to Brave 0-7, Ghost, and Alejandro also with his squad; how copy?” You asked. You got confirmation from all of them, hearing all their voices one at a time come in. “Shadow 0-1 and Alejandro, you have clearance to engage,” You spoke into your headset. “Please be careful Philip…”You silently prayed, watching his dot on your maps shoot across the ocean.

You kept your eyes trained on the boy’s dots, guiding them to possible rooms around the oil rig; listening to the gunshots ring out, and watching the heart rate monitors on the boys as well. The silence killed you, knowing he was in harm’s way terrified you; but hearing his voice over the radio soothed you, listening to him be the powerful and fearless man you knew him to be. “All shadows, missiles on the helipad!” Graves’s voice cut through the radio silence. You felt your heart rate increase, sliding your body over to a computer to see one of the boy’s camera feeds. You watched Soap’s feed as he and Graves reached the fake shipping container and opened it; only to be meant with disconnected wires. “Where are the controls?”

“On that damn ship…” Graves answered, gritting his teeth in frustration.

You felt your heart skip a beat, how could they not be on the oil rig? You had planned this attack for weeks, how could you have missed this?

“Silver Eagle….Y/N!!” Graves's voice came crashing into your head. “Controls are somewhere on that ship” Graves spoke. You sucked in a deep breath, knowing the words your father would want to hear, but not the ones you wanted to say.

“You have your orders, Commander. Stop that missile from launching…”

You watched as the boat crashed onto the ship, throwing your lover's body quite a distance but not enough to cause any harm. You fiddled with your and Philip's special earpiece, untraceable and on a completely separate channel from the ones you both used. You watched as Soap shot off in a direction with Ghost, you took your chance, walked a short distance away where you could still monitor the other half of the boys but not be heard, and pressed your earpiece.

“Philip?”

“What's up, baby?”

You felt your breath lock in your throat, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Are…Are you okay?”You said, swiping your tongue across your bottom lip. “Sweetheart, I'm fine. You worry about me too much. The question I have for you is, are you okay?” He asked as he fired off a couple gunshot rounds. “Mhm, I'm fine. Why?” You asked, picking at your nail polish. “Funny, ‘cause your daddy’s telling me your pacing back and forth…and now your picking at your nail polish,” He said, instantly making you press your hands behind you. “What did I tell you about you and your nail polish, sweet pea?” He said. “Dont do it..”You mumbled.

“And why dont we pick at our nail polish?” “Because…”

“Because why, Y/N? Come on baby, I need to hear you say it” He cooed. You felt your cheeks heat up. “Because pretty girls dont pick at their nail polish” You sighed with a smile on your face. “Good girl..”He said, gently before walking into the balcony of control and taking down more enemy soldiers. You made your way back to your team, feeling a lot better knowing Graves was safe and breathing. You turned around to see your father in a window gallery, his eyes on you. You mouthed ‘stop’, making your father chuckle slightly.

“Shadow 0-1, Bravo 0-7, and 7-1, what’s your status?” You asked, already knowing the answer. “Just got to the control room, Silver Eagle, preparing to disengage missile,” Graves said into the radio. “Silver Eagle, Missile is in boost phase about to burn, how copy?” Graves asked into the radio. You froze and whipped your head around to your father, not knowing what path to take. He looked you in the eyes and nodded. “Solid, Commander. If we can disengage, we detonate..” You said, the command room going quiet. This move was risky, but it was the only option you had. “Roger, Silver. Stand by.” Graves said, sounding, for the first time in the night, afraid of the outcome of your decision. 

You watched from body cams as Soap punched in codes Graves ordered him to and listened to Ghost ordering Alejandro and his men to evacuate the rig before the missile shot back into it. You held your breath as the final code was punched in. “All stations prepare for the boom!”Graves’s voice crackled into the radio. “Missle away” Ghost confirmed as you watched his body cam, watching the missile do a U-turn and shoot straight into the rig. You and your team begin to celebrate, as well as the boys; in their own way. “Shadow-1 to Silver Eagle, Good hit. Good hit. Missile and rig destroyed” Graves said, obviously with a huge smile across his face. “Copy Shadow-1. Hustle up boys and get off the rig, and back home. Good job gentlemen, well done” You said, shutting down your power controls and removing your headset, but not before hearings Graves’s voice one last time through your earpiece:

“Hang tight babygirl. I’m coming your way as fast as I possibly can..”

#philip graves #shadow company #simon ghost riley #modern warfare x reader #modern warefare 2 #john soap mactavish #alejandro vargas #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #graves x reader #graves x you #philip graves x reader #philip graves x you #philip graves imagine #cod imagine #cod mwii #philip graves fanfic #philip graves fanart #MW2 #classified intel #explore page #in orbit #cod mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #randomshitwhore

[everyneji]

Do you ship Neji with anyone?

Hehe. I answered this once but I'll definitely talk more on it. I love Shikamaru/Neji, and considering I published fic for them as recently as of 2021 those feelings are still going strong. Generally I prefer my ships to have a little more, er, content, but they captured my imagination so what can I say ...

If my followers will forgive me for getting indulgent for a spell, there's something very charming about how, in the Sasuke Retrieval Arc, Neji is keeping up with Shikamaru.

When they're trapped by Jirobo, Neji seems a little surprised by Shikamaru's false surrender, but keeps quiet. Now he's not a loudmouth like Kiba and Naruto, but he's also not shy about speaking his mind. However, between his own observational skills, a likely respect for the command structure, and Choji's words, he doesn't interfere. He's then right in step with Shikamaru and Choji when the plan starts.

Neji then explains that he observed everything Shikamaru did (that the prison recovered from Kiba's attacks at different rates) and why Shikamaru spoke to the enemy and so on. We expect Choji to work well with Shikamaru 'cause they're besties, but Neji was essentially a stranger to them and he's right there with them because he can get why Shikamaru does what Shikamaru does.

When they break free, Neji briefly assumes command to stop Kiba and Naruto from attacking while Shikamaru is busy thinking of another solution. Shikamaru names Neji his second-in-command -- and I know it didn't come up earlier because it wasn't relevant to the story, but in a more Watsonian perspective, it seems like Shikamaru should have done this at mission start. Neji is the shinobi with the most experience there. So did Shikamaru just assume they wouldn't have to split up or he wouldn't die (optimistic) or would he prefer to evaluate someone's leadership potential before trusting the lives of his buddies to them? I'm more inclined to believe the latter.

From all this we gather that they're both intelligent, observant people who quickly gain a mutual respect of each other when asked to work together. I happen to be a big fan of relationships between people who are both strong-willed and opinionated leader types. Yes, they can clash, but so long as they're respectful of each other there's so much potential for an interesting dynamic to explore.

They're also both lowkey people with compatible lowkey hobbies (cloud gazing & bird watching, napping & meditating) who I think could just relax together, though Neji's got a more active personality to keep some of that spark and spice. Neji needs some relaxation in his life ... Shikamaru can be very tender and emotionally intelligent if he feels like it, and Neji could use that too. What does Shikamaru need? Someone who is unafraid to challenge him, haha.

In fact, figuring out what Shikamaru wants (answer: a hardass with a nice smile) is easy because we see it in canon, but what about Neji? That, my friends, is a separate post I will make because I get very sidetracked from just gushing about my little rarepair.

Thank you for the question! ♥ In the end, I stand by my opinion that so long as Neji is getting some love all's fair! I've read or at least seen art of every Neji ship that exists I'm pretty sure … I just want good things for him. ✌️ Also, if you want to talk more specific shippy stuff, feel free to hit me up on my Naruto sideblog @hallwaydodge!

#not everyneji #ask #long post #neji hyuga #shikaneji #.i had to rewrite this whole damn thing bc u backspace once tumblr deletes ur whole damn post #.ok so wanna talk abt what i'm writing its a rly long post series neji lives shikaneji au #.its playing on the conceit of this naruto sd episode but played straight (neji fake dating naruto to test his worthiness for hinata) #.but that's just the inciting incident for the first part of the story #.it's really about young adulthood and grief and trauma and martyrdom #.and thinking you're too smart for feelings to surprise you #.its where i dump all my neji feelings when i get overwhelmed #.if i reference writing a fic on here it's most certainly that one

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Rescue Mission

Find the fic on Ao3

“And you’re sure Romanoff won’t break?”

Clint watches Fury straighten up to his full height, his one eye staring down Senator Stern with the force of a bulldozer. “She’s a former Russian super spy and presently one of the most skilled agents in this organization. What do you think, Senator?”

Stern sinks back into his chair, looking around at the gathered mix of SHIELD and CIA in the meeting room. “Then I think we have our answer. This information exists in two places. Here,” he places the hard drive on the table in front of him, “and in Romanoff’s head. And if Romanoff doesn’t talk, we can decree the information safe.”

Clint lets the arrow tip he’s fiddling with sink into his palm, letting the sharp pain distract him from the urge to punch Stern and every other suit in the room who is haggling over whether Natasha’s life was worth the expense of a rescue mission.

“Need I remind you,” Fury says, and something settles in Clint when he hears the barely disguised outrage behind the words. “That Agent Romanoff is valued for more than whatever government secrets she has obtained. That she risked her life to send you that information.”

Stern isn’t cowed. “She is deep behind enemy lines, on a mission she chose to undertake despite knowing the risks. If we attempt to rescue her, not only do we risk losing more men and more resources, but we prove to the enemy just how vital this information is.” He pats the hard drive again. “The intelligence is safe and in our hands. The matter is closed.”

As quietly as he can, Clint slides his chair away from the table. No one so much as glances at him as he slips towards the kitchenette at the rear of the room.

Fury isn’t ready to let it rest. “I already told you—there are plenty of agents at SHIELD who would be more than willing to volunteer for this mission.”

Stern snorts, unimpressed. “Please don’t tell me you mean the Avengers. If you send your team of super-freaks over there, we risk war, Fury.”

Clint pours himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip. Today’s batch isn’t actually terrible. Shame.

“I can offer a rescue team far more subtle than an alien god, a rage monster, and Tony Stark,” Fury replies dryly, his next words disdainful. “At no extra cost to you, Senator.”

Clint turns around just in time to see Stern shake his head. “You’re out of your jurisdiction. It’s too much to risk for one asset who went and got herself captured. Romanoff is a professional, she knows that. She sacrificed herself for the good of the country, and she has our gratitude. But we have the information here now, where it’s safe. We can’t risk changing that.”

“Because the only other copy is in Romanoff’s head,” Fury fires back. If he’s noticed Clint sneaking around the meeting table towards the senator, he doesn’t say a word about it. “And it will die with her.”

“Unfortunate,” Stern offers, sounding completely unbothered. “But necessary in the grand scheme of—”

He’s so absorbed in making his statement that he doesn’t even notice Clint has crept up behind him until Clint empties the entire cup of coffee over the hard drive.

Stern leaps to his feet with an undignified yelp lunging forward to grab the now-sopping hard drive. “What did you just do?”

Clint shrugs, his lips twitching as he sees Fury stifle a laugh. “Now there’s only one copy of the information,” he states, twirling the empty mug in his fingers. “Guess you’re going to have to make the effort to rescue Romanoff after all.”

“I assume you know the sensitive nature of what you have learned, Agent Romanoff.”

Every part of her still hurts, but Natasha is determined not to show that. She didn’t in front of her captors, and she certainly won’t reveal any weaknesses here. “I’m aware, Senator.”

“Then I can trust this will not be passed onto anyone else?”

As answer, Natasha raises her bandaged hand, splinted and stitched back together after its encounter with a hammer. “I think you can trust me not to talk.”

“Are we done here?” Fury says. He’s sitting to her right, having chosen to take that seat as opposed to leering over the other side of the table with Stern. On her side, as always. “You have what you wanted, Stern.”

“Indeed. Onto the next mission. Speaking of.” He leans forward, and Natasha does not trust the glint in his eyes. “I require some reconnaissance done in Alaska. Shouldn’t take longer than six weeks.”

Natasha’s heart sinks. She knew there would be some kind of punishment, some kind of power play following the events in Russia. She doubts the mission is one that will get her hurt, but pure reconnaissance missions are their own kind of torture. Nothing but time, and nothing to do but think. Still, if it’ll get Stern off SHIELD’s back, she’ll pay the penance. “When do I leave?”

That glint in Stern’s eye ignites. “I think there’s some confusion, Agent Romanoff. Who said anything about sending you?”

“Are you lost, Romanoff?”

“What, am I not allowed to visit my friend?”

Tony narrows his eyes at her, up to his elbows in mechanical parts. “This is highly suspicious behavior.”

Natasha nudges aside a stack of equipment so she can perch on a nearby bench. “It’s a social visit, Stark. You know what those are, right?”

“So you’re missing your shadow, then.” He softens. “I’m sure Barton’s fine. They have coffee and pizza in Alaska.”

“Yes, and he was sent there by a very powerful person who knows I have extremely dangerous information in my head. A very powerful person who went out of his way to prove he knows exactly how to hurt me.”

Tony pauses in his work. “You know,” he says lightly. “JARVIS can theoretically get into some pretty secure places. Bank accounts. Private photos. Browser history on less than savory websites.”

“Sounds illegal.”

“Which is why I said theoretically.” Tony considers, drumming a screwdriver against the bench. “Otherwise I could scrounge up an SI emergency that just so happens to require freaky good eyesight and circus skills.”

Natasha reaches across the workbench to take his hand. “Thank you,” she says, meaning it. “But I already talked to Fury. He says best to let Stern restore his ego, or it’s going to bite us in the ass later.”

Tony exhales, looking as though he’s about to argue before dropping it. “If you’re going to hang out in here, don’t touch anything.”

Natasha manages a smile. “We’ll see.”

“So. How boring was it?”

A stack of plans is dumped on the workbench, and Clint has the satisfaction of watching Tony Stark be impressed as he leafs through the various trick arrow designs Clint’s spent the past six weeks doodling.

“That boring, then.” Tony plucks one from the pile, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a lunatic, Barton. I’ll have it done by the weekend.”

After six weeks of waiting, Clint has to wait another few hours before Natasha is back from her own mission. He camps out in her rooms at the Tower, delighting in the luxuries of a decent shower and a bed that isn’t of the shitty motel variety as he waits for her to come back.

The first words out of her mouth when she walks in the door are, “You’re such an idiot.”

“Missed you too, Nat.” He sits up on her bed, taking her in. Most of the injuries from Russia seemed to have healed, at least. “I’d do it again. Even if the consequences were worse.”

Natasha closes and locks the door behind her. “Then you’re definitely an idiot.”

Clint’s voice goes sour. “You should have heard the way they were talking about you. It was gross.”

She crosses the room so she can sit beside him on the bed. “I knew the risks.”

“I don’t care.” Clint reaches down to take her hand. “One day I’m going to punch Stern in the face.”

Natasha offers him a smile. “Not if I beat you to it.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Rounding up HYDRA has been exhausting. SHIELD is gone, and the Avengers are doing what they can on their own, but HYDRA has sunk its claws into the furthest reaches of the Earth. It’s proving very difficult to pry them up.

The entire team is run ragged but, when they had located the hiding out place of a certain senator, Clint had enthusiastically volunteered.

He could have incapacitated him straight away, but Clint let him run. Just a little. Just enough to see the hope drop from his face when he realized who was standing in front of him. “Barton—”

Clint’s fist catches him across the lip, knocking him to his knees. “Sorry, Senator, but I’m sure you understand,” Clint remarks as Stern spits blood. “It’s necessary in the grand scheme of things.”

He grabs Stern by the shoulders, hauling him back to Avengers HQ. He doesn’t take a second hit, though.

He’ll save that for Natasha.

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #whump writing #clint barton #natasha romanoff #nick fury #tony stark #2012 avengers #mcu #marvel #strike team delta #clint x natasha #platonic or slash

[meluiloth]

LOTR Week Day 1: Elrond and Estel

LOTR20 Day One: Memory . History . Home

Summary: Elrond and young Estel discuss the sins of the past. 1060 words

"Estel, are you attending?"

Elrond's question, it seemed, went unheard by his student, whose head was bent over the paper his attention was absorbed by. The pencil in his hand wagged vigorously back and forth, but Elrond suspected that Estel's scribbling had little to do with lecture notes.

His suspicion was confirmed when, after a few more moments of being ignored, he went over to Estel's desk and pulled the piece of parchment out from underneath his hands. Elrond's frown deepened as he examined his own likeness glowering back at him, captured in surprising detail by Estel’s keen eyes and clever hands.

“I see you were not,” Elrond commented, glancing sternly down at Estel and finding the youth studying him coolly, his grey-green eyes flickering with curiosity and more than a small amount of defiance. Waiting for his reaction.

Elrond sighed and returned to his desk, slipping the drawing into one of its drawers (alongside many other sketches of Estel’s, all done during class) and sitting down. He looked directly at his pupil, who had not moved. “May I ask why you have neglected your studies as of late? This is not the first time I have had to chastise you for your lack of dedication.”

Usually, Estel was a good student, one of the best he had ever taught—intelligent, studious, respectful, inquisitive—but something had changed in him over the past few weeks. It could be that the sixteen-year-old boy was simply reaching a state where school no longer interested him—many young people did at some point in their lives—but Elrond felt that this was not the case; he still saw Estel in the library on many occasions, poring over old and complex volumes, some even written in Tengwar.

Estel was long in answering, but he eventually shrugged and said, “Well, master… I’ve come to realize I simply do not care for these lessons of long-dead failures who tried to save the world, but couldn’t.”

Elrond’s brows raised, and he was taken aback by the answer. “I… appreciate your honesty, Estel,” he said, “but is that not an arrogant way to think? Could you have done any better, were you faced with their situation?”

Estel lowered his gaze. “I suggest nothing like that,” he said, more humbly. “I do not know. I only see what mistakes were made, and what could have been done to prevent them.”

“I see,” Elrond answered, satisfied with his answer. “Can you provide me with an example?”

Estel looked up at him, and nodded. “Isildur.”

Elrond once again found himself astonished by the boy, especially as those grey eyes, burning with the same strength and defiance as Isildur himself, stared at him. He had to remind himself that Estel did not yet know the depth of his accusation, or his own connection with the ancient hero. Would he have spoken so confidently against him if he knew? “Go on,” he prompted.

“It was not even a thousand years ago that Isildur battled Sauron, defeated him, and took away his source of power,” Estel continued, “yet he did not destroy it. Is that not a great failure?”

“It is,” Elrond said slowly.

“Then why do we revere such a man who, great warrior though he was, ultimately did little more than weaken the Enemy, rather than vanquishing him forever?”

Elrond sighed. “I do not know.”

“You should,” Estel countered. “You were there.”

“Cast it into the fire!” Elrond shouted, his voice raspy from the foul smoke clouding his lungs. “Destroy it!”

Isildur looked back at him, his eyes gleaming through the haze—but his gaze was unwholesome, sickly, greedy, and for a moment Elrond’s heart clenched, like it was an enemy who stood before him rather than the old friend he had fought beside.

“Isildur,” he pleaded.

The King glanced down at the Ring in his palm and then back up at Elrond, his face constricting in a grin of pure malice. “No,” was all he said before he turned on his heel and strode back out of the Mountain.

Elrond stepped towards him, the thought of seizing him and throwing him from the mountain flashing through his mind, but he stopped—he had not the strength, nor the callous, to cast his own friend into the yawning volcano below. Perhaps one day, he would change his mind.

Elrond’s gaze was sad as he looked at Estel, the very descendent of the long-dead King who had succumbed to his own weakness, and he said, “I was. And part of the fault was mine, Estel.”

At the confusion flickering in Estel’s face, Elrond added, “Before you condemn a man for his actions, you must first know all sides of the story… and understand yourself enough to know what you would have done in his place. You must be willing to take upon yourself the mantle of failure, of regret, of missed opportunity—and use that knowledge, rather than what seems obvious to you as you look back hundreds of years at a decision that was set in stone long before your birth, to make the wisest choice in your own life. Do you understand me, Estel?”

Estel was silent for a long time, processing Elrond’s words, before he nodded slowly. 

“Good,” Elrond said. “Now, having said that, I ask you this: Would you have taken the Ring?”

Estel opened his mouth, but Elrond put up a hand to stop him. “No, do not answer now—that decision is not upon you.” Not yet. “It is only a question for you to ponder, and to keep in mind when you come into your own someday, and when you need to choose your path.”

“I understand, master,” Estel murmured. “I will keep your words with me.”

Elrond’s lips quirked up in a smile. “I know you will, young one. You are wise beyond your years. Now, I think that we have spoken of dark things long enough; class is dismissed.”

Estel broke into a grin and stood eagerly from his desk, running out the door; Elrond watched him through the window, heading for the library, where he knew Arwen was likely waiting for him.

Estel was growing up, growing out of the name which had been given to him for his protection… and growing into his true name: Aragorn, the Heir of Elendil.

Though Elrond knew that Hope would always be with him.

I'm so happy to have finished this oneshot for #lotrweek!! Though I was cutting it VERY close, if I do say so myself... only one hour before midnight is a very risky time to post this.

Still, I am glad I didn't rush through it, I'm so happy with how this little story turned out! I hope you like it too, and will look forward to my upcoming works!

@lotr20

#lotrweek #lord of the rings #my writing #fanfic #elrond #aragorn #estel #day 1 #lotr20 #fandom event

[goblin-spider]

[Log 009]

<Call incoming 📞>

«quiet down manual. Who is it?.»

<Everett Connelly>

«answer it.»

[Morning. Reporting in from the bunker. Mergwen, Patrick and Noah have all gone to bed but I've stayed up to keep watch. Carla is safe and sound in Noah's room.]

«*exhales* I'm so relieved everyone made it out alive. How screwed is 206?»

[facility 206 has successfully been taken down. All employees have been... For a lack of a better word...set free.]

«and the mutants?»

[Spared. Gwen was quite adamant about killing them too but we stopped her. Gets a little bit carried away with a gun.]

«*snorts* and you don't?»

[*chuckles* course not. Since I made manual a little bit more lax, I haven't been too bad with a gun... I wish you could have seen it though.]

«Hmm... It would've been delicious to slice into them myself.»

[Gwen had the pleasure of doing that.]

«Wow. I didn't take her for a blade fan. So, she's not nuts or anything after all that?»

[No. Not at all. Speaking of her, something great happened.]

«More good news? I definitely need good news right now.»

[She offered to let me mix toxins with her.]

*There's a beat*

«Come again?»

[She offered to mix toxins with me...]

«Norm, you're not meant to be doing that. It's weird. Is she hurt at all? Your hands-»

[-i don't care what I should and shouldn't do. It didn't happen but I was tempted.]

«n-no more details, thanks.»

*Mer can't tell if norms lying or not. He can't physically go ask Gwen herself. Something about it feels wrong, as if he'd been violated in some way. Especially since Gwen's his variant.*

«*clears his throat* did you ... . -. -.. / -- -.-- / -.-. --- --- .-. -.. .. -. .- - . ... / - --- / ..-. .. .-. . .-.. .. --. .... - ..--..»

[don't tell me you're still stuck in there.]

«Of course I am. They keep this place highly secure. I'm in a containment field. Did you or did you not?»

[I did and i've got some bad news for you.]

«...»

[Gabriel is probably not coming. He can't portal inside.]

*His lip quivers*

[don't cry, it's weak and you know crying is probably what they'd like to see from you. Besides, I've been thinking of ending him, then you can come back and be a family with Patrick, Noah and I.]

«I don't love Patrick. I haven't in a long while. Didn't I explain this already? If you do anything to him, your brain's being fried. You hear me? I'll pull it out and let that shit burn.»

[I can easily replace him.]

«No you fucking can't.»

*Norm starts feeling rage. He scans the room and detects a Gabriel variant watching*

[how does it feel having another Gabe stare into the back of your head while you're trapped?, Uncaring and unhelpful as you suffer?]

*He only starts bawling*

[please stop crying. It's useless in this situation and only makes you look stupid.]

*his bawling turns to wailing as everything becomes all too much. All the stress, all the pressure, all the harrassing because he didn't want to be with a robot, everything. He had things right. Things were okay. Why was norm being so mean and pushy? Why was he trapped in this holo cage? Why couldn't He go home and see his children? He crumbles under the weight of the world and splatters under it.*

[The fact that you can't hold it in is despicable in the face of an enemy.]

*mer still refused to say anything to norm, his entire chest heaved in pain, feeling the old familiar sting of release. Maybe holding it in would have been better but what could be worse. He was alone. Alone just like he'd always wanted. He was filthy like his family name and nothing could bring him back. Spider man was meant to be a hero. Now he's a goblin.*

[You know, I like working for Mergwen and Patrick better. You're a weak piece of trash with no spine and no intelligence.(⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠) You sit here, crying like a child over hurting someone and being captured. You're nothing like Harry. You're nothing like Norman. You're nothing like Spider man. You're not even anything like Noah. Is that boy even yours? How could someone as measly as you make something like that?]

*Mer's crying only gets worse. He hated being insulted through his helmet and being unable to bite back. Norms words sounded like word vomit hurled at him just to hurt, and boy did they hurt.*

[Gabe can't even get in the building. None of us are going to come for you. That other Gabriel couldn't care less either. I can't believe I loved you when you're so... <Manual disabled ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡> You're stupid and ugly and deformed and everyone, including your own friends hate you now. You're annoying. Weak.]

*mer didn't utter a word and tried to ignore him. What was so wrong with crying? What was so wrong with what he did? Wasn't this the best course of action?. Wasn't he doing a good thing?*

[Get the hell up and face the other Gabriel. Use your powers for Thor's sake, do something-]

«Everett, shut up. Please just shut up. *Sobbing* You're huuurrrting meeeeee!»

*He smashed his head against the containment field*

«It huuurrrttttsss! It hurts inside. It hurts. Everything hurts.»

*he smashed his head against the containment field again.*

[Don't tell me you feel guilty about your revenge now.]

*He smashed his head against the containment field again*

«nooooooo. *Sob* I don't care about that. They got what they deserved for what they did to Gabe. They should be grateful I didn't kill bowe!. I care about my family. *Sobbing* I try my best to make everyone happy all the time and to make my home, a place Noah can grow up safe in. *Sniff* Oscorp goes and it'll be safer. *Hic* safer *smash* for everyone. I hate it here. *Smash* I hate it!.»

*smash*

[Crying won't help. Smashing your head that softly into the-]

*Smash*

*Smash*

*Smash*

«HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!»

*CRASH*

«THERE EVERETT! *SMASH* IM LAUGHING! HEHEHEHEHE HEHEHEHEHE!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! LAUGHING! LAUGHING! LAUGHING! *SMASH* IS THIS BETTER THAN CRYING?! AM I A STUPID *SMASH BUZZ* IDIOTIC *BUZZ CRACK* PIECE OF SHIT?! *CRACK BUZZ BUZZ*»

[yes, actually, you are all those things. Facts and brains aren't your strong suit...]

*laughing mixed with sobbing in between can be heard as mer mutates further than ever before. His genes were starting to override his spider mutation and his body ached with the need to kill*

[...Are they? (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)]

*mer hits his head so hard that the field sends an electrical spark into his head. He's shot backwards and lands on his back, twitching.*

*Mer started laughing and sobbing again. Nothing could stop it from coming out. Overflowing with the mixture of everything he'd shoved down. He was no longer being loud about it though. They came out in weak attempts.*

*Everett had stopped talking at that point, choosing to listen to mer destroy himself as he twisted into a goblin like creature and started tearing at his own flesh.*

«My silence knot is tied up in my hair...»

*weak crying as chunks of hair were ripped from his scalp*

«As if to keep my love out of my eyes. I cannot speak to one for whom I care. A hatpin serves as part of my disguise...»

*he gets himself up and pulls his knife out of his boot, coughing up acid and hopping over to face the direction where the other Gabe watched*

«In the play... my role is baticeer...»

*He stares at the door of the room, twirling his knife before stabbing the containment field.*

«A word which here means "person who trains bats." The audience may feel a prick of fear, As if sharp pins are hidden in their hats...»

*he stabs the knife in again and then uses his claws to dig deep into the containment field*

«My co-star lives on what we call a brae. His solitude might not be just an act.»

*the containment field buzzed and cracked as he spat acid at it, weakening it, needing to go home. Everetts words swirling in his head as his head and body ached from the soreness of what he did to himself.*

«A piece of mail fails to arrive one day. This poignant melodrama's based on fact.»

*He knows Gabe's probably waiting somewhere, looking for ways to get in Lily's home.*

«The curtain falls just as the knot unties»

*he cracks open the containment field enough to get his hand through and shoots a web at the door to the room, pulling hard to try and open it..*

«The silence broken by the one who dies.»

*he can hear norm hauling insults at him through the helmet and he hoped to Loki that he could get out just to kill him.*

[end of log]

#the life of mer taylor #mer osborn #oc rp #spiderman oc #oc post

[outofangband]

Do you have headcanons of Maiar in Angband's military hierarchy?

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

Place of Glaurung, Gothmog and Sauron in the Hierarchy

I think I have more posts on this but these are the main ones!

First, a rather extensive note about the Maiar of Angband

The exact number of Maiar serving Melkor is unknown. In what is generally considered canon we have Sauron of course, Gothmog and other balrogs, Thuringwethil (though her origin and that of any of the other vampires if the others are indeed Maiar, is also unclear.*), and Ossë for a time. in the book of lost tales version there is another called Langon who is a herald to Melkor but who is destroyed by Tulkas and subsequently returned to Mandos his former Vala after the Darkening.

I personally enjoy his character and tend to have him appear even after the darkening especially as the circumstances of his destruction were also something that were discarded from the later versions.

Also from The Book of Lost Tales is Telvido. Telvido, the Prince of (monster) cats, appears in the Book of Lost Tales and Beren and Lúthien. In some versions, he is a forerunner to Sauron himself rather than a distinct figure. Little is known about him or his fellow cats but his personality is obviously influenced by a malicious reading of felines; he is sly, intelligent, cruel and at times playful, toying with his prey. I also enjoy Telvido as a figure of his own right and have my own thoughts about where he fits into the Hierarchy of Angband

Whether the dragons are also Maiar and the exact nature of werewolves remains a matter of debate.

I also do headcanon there were more Maiar than just those listed above.

ANYWAYS

The Maiar of Angband are at the top of pretty much any formal hierarchies with only Melkor above them. Not all Maiar or Maiar adjacent beings are equal however and there are still more internal hierarchies among them.

The simplest one with respect to military is Gothmog, High Captain of Angband and lord of balrogs. All other balrogs report to him as well as to Melkor. Gothmog is without a doubt the shrewdest and cruelest of them. His role in battle and in military operations is essential. He rallies and commands his own forces while acting as a source of terror and intimidation for the enemies. He is easily recognized and widely feared, taking part in the killing of Fëanor and Fingon and the capture of Maedhros and Húrin which I talk about here. He is a capable strategist though prefers hands on work to long planning and councils.

Gothmog and his balrogs are the primary Maiar who take place in battle personally. The other balrogs also hold higher ranking positions, usually generals though they defer always to Gothmog.

Sauron oversees a variety of operations in Angband as well as military ones but his role as Lieutenant of Angband certainly encompasses that as well. He is primarily a strategist, rarely taking part in larger battles during the first age though he does control several important operations including holding Tol Sirion for awhile which was vital in controlling northern Beleriand

There are other Maiar involved in the military aspects of Angband but they tend to be on the background rather than leading actual armies in person. More common are various monsters of dubious origin on the battlefield.

I hope this answers your question, anon! Please feel free to ask more!

*I definitely want to make a post at some point about werewolves and vampires in the books because especially the use of the term werewolf is fascinating. The word is an old English one that means man-wolf however the werewolves in Tolkien appear to be monstrous wolves with no aspects of transformation. Given his extensive knowledge of linguistics and of old English specifically the seams of strange oversight if indeed it is one

#the silmarillion #Sauron #Mairon #Angband #Gothmog #in the Iron hell #musing and meta

[warningsine]

Oct 27 (Reuters) - Former Ukrainian lawmaker Oleg Tsaryov, a pro-Russian figure whom sources said Moscow had enlisted to lead a puppet administration in Kyiv after Russia's invasion, was shot and wounded in a late-night attack, family and officials said on Friday.

Russia's top investigative body said it had opened a criminal inquiry into the attempt on his life, which follows the assassinations of several other prominent pro-Moscow figures since the start of the war.

A source in the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) intelligence agency said the shooting was a special operation conducted by the agency. The source gave few details of the operation but described Tsaryov as an "absolutely legal target".

The attack took place in Yalta in Crimea, which Russia annexed from Ukraine in 2014.

"Around midnight he was shot twice on the premises of the sanatorium where he lives," said a post on Tsaryov's Telegram account, citing the family. "When the ambulance arrived, Oleg was unconscious and had lost a lot of blood."

A Russian-installed official in southern Ukraine, Vladimir Rogov, said Tsaryov was in intensive care.

The SBU source said: "He had been for a long time on the list of traitors who have to answer for their crimes. He was not just a fan of the 'Russian world', but rather a person who came along with Russian tanks in order to capture Kyiv."

Of the attack, the source said only that "according to the situation at the moment, Tsaryov "was hit by two shots from a firearm".

CRITICAL CONDITION

Tsaryov, the source said, was "in critical condition, with doctors fighting to save his life. But there is a good chance he will be kicking the bucket."

Three sources familiar with Russia's post-invasion plans told Reuters last year that Moscow had been looking to Tsaryov to head a puppet government in Kyiv if it had succeeded in its advance on Kyiv to oust President Volodymyr Zelenskiy in the first days of the war in February 2022.

Tsaryov, who runs hotels in Crimea, said Reuters' account had "very little to do with reality".

The 53-year-old was previously a member of the Ukrainian parliament and then speaker of the parliament of "Novorossiya", an entity formed after Russian-backed separatists in eastern Ukraine broke away in 2014 and began fighting Ukrainian forces.

Tsaryov has been placed under sanctions by Ukraine, the United States and a number of other Western countries.

Andriy Yusov, a spokesman for Ukraine's military intelligence agency, was asked on television about the shooting.

"We won't comment in too much detail yet, that's too much of an honour for him. But yes, there is such information. I can't say we're following his health very closely, but we are following," he said.

"When there is information that his body temperature has fallen below 36.6, there will definitely be a statement."

Tsaryov is listed as a "traitor to the motherland" by Myrotvorets ("Peacemaker"), a vast unofficial Ukrainian database of people considered to be enemies of the country. Its website lists personal information on him including an email address, a passport number and an address in Yalta.

Several pro-war Russian figures in the Myrotvorets database have been assassinated since the start of the conflict, including journalist Darya Dugina, war blogger Vladlen Tatarsky and former submarine commander Stanislav Rzhitsky.

Dugina and Tatarsky were blown up by bombs, while Rzhitsky was shot dead on an early morning run.

#Oleg Tsaryov #ukraine #russia #crimea

[pixies-and-poets]

You know I saw you talk about the DLC Spark hunter being beta Edge and that made me think.

On a technical level beta Edge/beta Spark hunters would be the title of Lava queen and BWario and Bwaluigi.

Those three where the first creation the MegaBug (that later becomes Cursa) made herself.

It’s something I think about often that I just think is interesting

OK, this ended up being a long answer haha.

This is true, they were definitely some early attempts by the Megabug at creating its own minions! However, there are a couple key differences:

2) taking into account the above, they are likely to be fusions/merges with some existing rabbid, rather than creations from scratch made via DNA and other elements like the Spark Hunters were. In fact I think Bwaluigi was probably ALREADY a Smasher because otherwise there's no reason for the ideas of normal rabbid + Waluigi to end up looking like he did. (this also leads us to ask what exactly they were merged with, as we know the original heroes were from merchandise/figurines in a universe where the Mario world is considered fiction. It's possible Bwa&Bwa were made during the Basement Incident too as apparently Rabbid Rosalina also was, and Rabbid Cranky, so we don't necessarily see everyone who was created in that moment in the original cutscene, but I do think it likely they were made later in the Mushroom Kingdom itself, probably with some of the actual Wario and Waluigi's possessions.)

1) since IIRC the Megabug had already captured Spawny by the time any of these enemies appear, it likely was manipulating Spawny to merge things rather than working exclusively through its own powers,

This makes sense as the Megabug was more of a force of nature at this time; according to the memory Rosalina left us, it didn't gain more sentience and creativity until later, when it also developed its own identity as Cursa. So simple fusions are what it could do. The Lava Queen was probably an existing Valkyrie as well.

Bwario and Bwaluigi are, much like the Hero Rabbids themselves, pretty far from being just Rabbid versions of their counterparts, and the Lava Queen has her sassy and flirtatious personality. I would imagine Cursa would look back on these early creations and realize mere fusions would bring their existing personalities and therefore be very hard to control; even if "normal" rabbids appear to be kind of blank slates to an outside observer, they clearly still have their individuality, which is why the Heroes are their own characters with their own personalities, i.e. Rabbid Peach is herself and not just "Peach in a Rabbid's body" or whatever. They took on some superficial aspects of their counterparts but are also counterbalanced by all the ways they are different.

Cursa is all about control and domination and we know that her intention was to create things with just enough free will to do a competent job at what they were designed to do. Looking back at those early attempts was probably an impetus for Cursa to start creating things out of DNA rather than finding an existing live rabbid to fuse with. If our DLC Spark Hunter is indeed rabbid DNA + a Chain Chomp, or a Bob-Omb, maybe Cursa thought that would be ok due to the lower level of sapience of those things (Chain Chomps are like dogs and Bob-Ombs are sometimes portrayed as being more mechanistic or lacking in individuality and factory produced... at least some of them... although that varies widely from game to game). But that still wasn't enough and resulted in a volatile and rebellious being, and then Cursa is like OK FINE NEXT I'M DOING LIKE. A ROCK. A CHILL FOG. A BASIC ASS NON SENTIENT PLANT. LET'S SEE THESE THINGS ABANDON ME!

Since a large part of this game's thesis is that you can't actually control people and we see even artificial intelligence gaining emotions and will over time, I think Cursa's mission was always doomed to fail. Based on some other discussions, for instance, it's likely a big reason that at least Midnite and Bedrock didn't rebel like Edge, was not because they simply didn't have the capacity to, but out of fear. Daphne I would also surmise stays loyal not because it's built into her, but out of choice (she is genuinely pretty ruthless herself, and likely enjoys the favoritism as she proves herself the most competent and dangerous hunter after Edge left).

Ok I kinda went all over the place with this answer but I hope you enjoy and that it all makes sense, I JUST LOVE FAN-THEORIZING SO MUCH

#mario + rabbids #mario plus rabbids #spoilers #mario + rabbids sparks of hope spoilers #fan analysis #alter answers

[mercmenagerie]

❤️❔— [ Always!! No clue who but alwaysss B))) ]

Send '❤️❔' if you'd be interested in discussing a potential ship between our muses!

↳ ❝ [ @duelplix] ¡ sent a ✉️ ! ❞

*GRABS U LIKE A SQUEAKY TOY* ABSOLUTELY

ngl dude, you know how I feel abt spoovy, also Dell and Pauling best buddies ship excellent, Spy Sniper both red n blu, the possibilities are wild and endless

#¡ we have captured the enemy intelligence ! answered ❞ #duelplix

[ladycreatrix]

Graveyard Set Up

(@whumpster-dumpster Thank you for the prompt. These are my OCs, so despite me believing that no one will, I have to ask that no on use them. Thank you.)

Tumblr prompt: Grave robber digs up the wrong patch and discovers someone who's been buried alive.

Zane wiped both his sandy hair and the sweat away from his face. The cool dry air of the desert night felt refreshing as he dauntingly climbed out of the exhumed grave. Tossing the shovel to the side, Zane looked to his scrawny business partner. "Your turn, Freddy".

The copper haired man looked over to the other with excited pewter eyes. Grabbing a weathered medical bag, Freddy rushed past Zane and to the edge of the hole, "so what exactly am I taking off of the old bastard?"

"I need the right arm, right leg and head of this man," Zane panted, sitting on the ground to catch his breath. Pulling out his small journal, Zane read the contents aloud. "The head already has a buyer. A necromancer I think. And I need the limbs for something I'm working on".

With a simple nod, Freddy hopped into the grave with thud.

Zane took a minute to gather himself before taking on his next task as the lookout. Slightly cursing himself for picking poorly during their coin flip. Rules are rules, he thought. This was how the job was with a partner. Ever since Freddy joined with him in his more shady endeavors, Zane had been getting more done. Grave robbing was already hard work, but having an assistant that was actually intelligent and can carry his own weight was a relief. 

They decided flipping a coin was the fairest way to split the work. One would dig and fill the grave back up and stand watch for the guards while the other took what they needed from the grave and stood watch while the other dug. Given that there was someone always on watch, both Zane and Freddy agreed that the work was evenly spread. 

The familiar sound of the casket giving way drew Zane from his thoughts and the unexpected gasp made him jump to immediate panic. He rushed to the grave to see Freddy standing over the open casket.

"There's a woman in here!" Freddy panic whispered. "And she is still breathing! Fucking all-mother, she's alive!"

Zane peered around Freddy to see a young dark haired woman curled up in the casket. Her bloodied fingers matching the claw marks on the inside of the shredded cloth lid. Her breathing was shallow and uneven. Much longer in the grave and she would have met her end Zane guessed. The sound of clanking armor and hastened footsteps sent Zane's panic into overdrive. The guards should be making their rounds in another thirty minutes, not now. Unless…

"Freddy grab the girl and let's go! We've been set up!"

"Why should we take her? It's kidnapping!"

"If we get caught with her here, it's attempted murder! If she comes with us, we can ask her who would want to put her in some old man's grave. Probably the same people who wanted us to dig this old man up".

Freddy shrugged, not arguing with that logic. Together, both men hoisted the unconscious woman out of the grave and the three escaped capture. 

Zane always assumed that he and Freddy were going to make enemies, but being set up was completely different. 

The men got back to their home safely and Zane started to care for the woman. Between his medical history and Freddy's help, they were able to mend the woman's injured hands. Her breathing and complexion improved by morning, all they had to do was wait for her to wake. 

Freddy and Zane had so many questions. Hopefully their new house guest was willing or able to answer them.

#whump prompt #@whumpster-dumpster #writers on tumblr #fiction #dribble #my ocs #original character

[sroloc--elbisivni]

How’d you get into transformers originally? Who were ur fav characters when you first read or watched it?

ooh okay i've kind of answered this before so i'm going to go dig up an old answer

So back in the…faaaaall? of 2019? Probably before then but at least at that point, my friend Steph was trying to convince me to read Transformers comics again (MTMTE/LL) because the robots were gay, and I, longtime member of fandom and aware of how these things worked went ‘yeah, sure, the robots are gay.’ and then over winter break I was noodling around for something to watch while I put embroidery on a headphones case and hey, the Bumblebee movie is on Amazon Prime, that looks kind of interesting and I’ve seen enough bits and pieces go around Tumblr to have an inkling that it’s good. And it was kind of interesting! so from there I went and poked around the AO3 page, as one does–got vaguely annoyed that there was so little for Charlie/Memo, a complaint I continue to cherish–and not long after that someone I followed started to get really into MegOp in a fan-of-the-fandom way and I went 'ooh’, having now been introduced to Transformers as 'thing that can be kind of interesting’ so I went and read all of astolat’s MegOp fic. and that a lot of other people’s MegOp fic. and I maintained that I was only here for the 'robot Professor X and Magneto’ dynamic, and then I discovered Jazz Transformers was like if someone had taken my favorite character archetype of 'sneaky spy who is charming and friendly both because he genuinely likes people and because it is a good way to get information, who works happily as a second/third-in-command and may or may not be in love with his immediate superior and showing it through acts of service, and also capable of being really fucking dangerous’ and also mixed in 'musician, specifically bass player’ and I went 'this is an attack on me personally’ and then things….proceeded from there during quarantine. I watched the first season of TFP because it was on Netflix and recommended to me, I made my way through MTMTE/LL after a couple of tries and went 'oh you weren’t kidding these robots are gay’ and Steph and Rena went 'WE FUCKING TOLD YOU’ and then I started watching all of G1, which I’m still working on because I keep forgetting I’m doing that, and in about August of 2020 I mentioned to another friend, Jess, that I’d been getting into transformers and within a month I’d taken an idea we were tossing around for a random captured soldier/enemy general scenario and turned it into the first scene (and then the rest of the scenes) for Intelligence and it was the first thing I’d written in eight months and oops I was now a Transformers fan.

fav characters--transformers is such a tricky thing to answer this for because i really did get into this fandom-first and fanon transformers is such a different beast than canon; like i said up there, i loved megop and jazz and those get very different fanon and canon treatments and highlights. if we're going by JUST canon content, i still want more stuff with Memo--I also really loved Skids when I read MTMTE. I do have to say that G1 grabbed me with Hound and Mirage in the pilot and I'm still on this train.

#talky talk #asks #is this transformers #nortoz78889

[mareislandfoundation]

Passing the Baton

The seemingly mundane 1975 vintage photograph of two old submarines on the San Francisco Bay Area’s San Pablo Bay is quite forgettable until one digs a little deeper. The picture captures the symbolic hand off of one of the Nation’s most secret spy operations from the Cold War. It has been widely reported that these two submarines conducted an underwater telephone tapping operation on Soviet undersea cables throughout the 1970’s and well into the 1980’s in an operation code named “Ivy Bells.” That operation was so highly classified that few were aware of its existence, and it has been credited with obtaining information that hastened the end of the Cold War. Presidents anxiously awaited the information gleaned by their missions. Unbeknownst to our government, the existence of the capability, and missions, was sold to the Russians by the American traitor Ronald Pelton, a former National Security Agency intelligence analyst, for $37,000 in 1980. The missions continued, but it was not until late 1985 that our government became aware that the enemy had been onto them for five years.

In the picture on the quiet bay, the nuclear-powered USS Halibut (SSN 587) is to the right and the USS Seawolf (SSN 575) is to the left. Halibut originated Ivy Bells operations in 1970 and she was replaced in 1976 by the SEAWOLF when she was decommissioned. At the time of the photograph, both boats reportedly had been converted at Mare Island Naval Shipyard for their clandestine missions. Each ship had side thrusters installed; sea locks for divers; anchoring winches with fore and aft mushroom anchors; a saturation diving habitat; long- and short-range side-looking sonar; video and photographic equipment; a mainframe computer; induction tapping and recording equipment; port and starboard, fore and aft seabed skids; a towed underwater search vehicle and winch; and other oceanographic equipment.

While much of this equipment was hidden from view, Soviet analysts could not have missed the fact that both ships had been modified to install side thrusters (they are plainly visible), they both operated from Mare Island, and the Seawolf suddenly became 52 feet longer when she emerged from overhaul at Mare Island in 1973. Side thrusters on an attack submarine was a dead giveaway the something was up. The Soviet analysts were probably also aware of how highly decorated these old boats were becoming, but for what? Many of their crews even had little idea of what their missions entailed. We don’t know what the Soviets had deduced regarding the mission of the boats, perhaps the Soviets bought the cover story that the boats were collecting the pieces of Soviet missile tests from the bottom of the Pacific. Whatever they may have believed initially, they got their answer regarding the mission from the traitor Pelton in 1980. Unless you were one of a select few, if you worked at Mare Island and you worked on these boats, you too didn’t know what their mission was. Even if you were briefed into the program and were aware of the configuration and equipment they carried, the lack of a need to know that was strictly limited protect their mission.

To learn of the reported mission of these boats, and those that came after, the public had to wait until two years after Mare Island Naval Shipyard closed. In 1998 the book “Blind Man’s Bluff” was published. Two authors, Sherry Sontag and Christopher Drew, had pieced together the story of submarine espionage and released a book detailing the program and its missions. While the extent of operations may, or may not, have been accurately described in that book, other books and documentaries have subsequently been published supporting much of what was described in Blind Man’s Bluff.

#mare island #naval history #san francisco bay #us navy #vallejo #submarine #ocean engineering #spy #halibut #Parche #Sea Wolf #587 #575 #683 #Ivy Bells #Blind Man's Bluff #clandestine

[ahopkins1965]

What are you thinking about?

What are you thinking about? This is a very important question that we all need to ask ourselves. This is simply because the mind is a computer all by itself. What are you thinking? The answer is I really do not know, but God does. I know that in the book of Isaiah in the 55th chapter, God says “For my thoughts are not your thoughts neither are your ways my ways. In Isaiah 55:9 says “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” declares the Lord! This means that God is there with us all of the time. We just cannot out think God in any way. This is the reason why we are in need of him. Zephaniah 3:15 says The Lord has taken away your punishment; he has turned back your enemy. The Lord, the King of Israel is with you, never again will you fear any harm.

The Lord is a just God. He is fair, firm, kind, gentle, intelligent, considerate, respectful, and always available. He is also the one who will blot out all of your sins and will not mention them anymore. Isaiah 43:25 say, I even I am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remember your sins no more. As long as you come to God with a sincere heart, and are willing to repent of all of your sins. Do not leave anything out and completely surrender to him. Luke 6:45 say; A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil that is stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. In today’s society, we need to learn how to keep things in perspective. Each of us needs to watch what we are saying to each other all of the time. We must learn how to think long before we act on our behavior.

Matthew 6:21 says for where your treasure is there your will be also. If we have our minds on worldly things; such as the internet, pornography, money, and material possessions; you are tuning God out. It is a shame that men and women who focus more on their relationships rather than giving God some personal time during their 24 hours of existence. A person’s treasure can also be themselves and the things that they desire the most. Jeremiah 29:11 says; for I know the plans I have for you. Declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. God has plans for each and every last one of us; as long as we are willing to listen and obey him. We must be willing to turn our lives around for the better. Do you know that God knows what we are going to do in advance? Although, he gives us a free will, but there are billions of people who refuse to adhere to basic principles from the Bible.

Sanctification has a lot to do with our relationships with others and with God. Sanctification helps us to see God. This is simply because God wants you all to himself. Sanctify the Lord God in your heart. The more real he becomes in your life; however, we need to be cautious about our conduct. Immerse yourself with prayer and reading God’s Word. Our strength comes from our obedience to God, and being able to maintain self control at all times. Matthew 12:34 says you brood of vipers how can you who are evil say anything good? For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. This is very serious because what is inside of the mind, body, soul, and spirit is captured by God and man. Whatever is inside of the heart and stomach is bound to come up as thoughts as well. This is also called defilement.

Matthew 15:17-19 says don’t you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and them out of the body? But the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and this defiles them. For out of the heart come evil thoughts-murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, and slander. This defiles a person because God does not like it. This makes us a very sinful person to God. This is also very serious because God did not create man and woman to become like this. God created male and female in His own image.

Nahum 1:7 says The Lord is good a stronghold in the day of trouble; and he know them that trust in him. God knows who trust him and those who do not trust him. He is a stronghold in the day of trouble for all of us. He is around in our times of happiness as well as our time of trouble. We need him all of the time. This means he knows exactly what we are thinking and doing. If you do not believe the Word of God, then please try him because he is good. He is around always and forever.

Proverbs 20:24 says A man’s steps are of the Lord; How, then can a man understand his own way? A man steps are directed by the Lord always. Satan can also intervene in this process and contaminate the mind of a human being with filth and lust. A man does not understand his own way because he is from God. Jeremiah 10:23 says O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself. It is not in man who walks to direct his own steps.