#Chapter 61: The woman in a blue dress.

[shadowsshowdown]

Deus Ex: Human Revolution Shadow’s Showdown 61

The woman in a blue dress.

Berlin 2011. Lemon-Lime.

"How could you act behind my back?! Maybe you don't know this, but when Joe's not here, I'm the one who is his right hand," the bartender's tone was filled with anger. "Toby, come on. She didn't mean to do... anything wrong. Why are you suddenly being... so harsh?" defended her Navras. "We could have lost you, Joe. I didn't want you to continue with this case. It's no longer a walk through dark alleys. These wounds..." He paused, looking at Laura. He sighed. "These wounds were inflicted with a weapon that is not ordinary. Most likely it was a tri-edge dagger. This person wanted to leave his signature. What I don't know is whether he foresaw you would survive. You were very lucky." "Joe went there because of me. That's why you're angry," the girl remarked. "I already told you that..." "Yes, because you are not a monster so you decided it was better to keep quiet about some issues. Besides, you respect Joe, and to some extent now I am protected by him so you are careful."

The truth hurt him more than the wounds Joe had sustained. He liked Laura, but sometimes she was an intruder for him. Someone who disturbed their peace. For a long time, it was just the three of them, they became brothers who helped each other. Suddenly she appeared and shattered all peace. She became someone most important, someone, under whom Joe subordinated his entire life.

"I'm sorry. I acted idiotically," Toby said. "Each of us is guilty. We'd better make sure it doesn't happen again," Joe replied.

Toby examined Navras, checked how his implants were working and watched the monitoring machine's charts carefully.

"The implants are working better than I thought," he said with satisfaction. "Now the hands. Grab this," he asked, handing him a paper cup.

Joe crushed it almost immediately, which definitely made him feel worse. It's a miracle he didn't crush Laura's hand.

"This is something we need to work on," Toby said in a completely calm and upbeat tone. "Just rest. If anything happens, let me know, now I have to take care of the club."

When they were left alone, Laura sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed Joe's hand. He withdrew his hand so she grabbed it again. The man gasped with displeasure, and the girl laughed.

"It's not funny at all," he muttered.

"Yes, it is. After what you've been through, you're in excellent shape anyway. I'm sure that in a few days, you'll be able to move your hands like you used to. You'll probably even start walking."

Her optimism was something he really needed right now, so he responded with a smile.

"I know you want to be nice. Thank you," he replied, then carefully brought her hand close to his lips and kissed it.

Laura's words were like a prophet's prophecy because Navras's condition was indeed improving very quickly. He insisted on going back to his room, but Toby was not at first convinced that this decision was right. Eventually, he agreed, but Joe had to endure all the necessary and less necessary tests.

After a few days, he was already able to take a few steps without assistance and hold a glass in his hand without breaking it. When he tried to drink from it, his hands trembled, but it was still the holes in his stomach and Laura's over-protectiveness that bothered him the most. However, upon further reflection, the latter was very pleasant. The first time he decided to get out of bed without help he will remember for a very long time. At that time he knocked down a pitcher standing on the nightstand, ripped the peripheral IV catheter from his neck and burst his stitches. Laura wanted to help him but he yelled at her, and a little later Toby at him when he stitched his wounds back together. The girl took her things and went back to her room. Joe was then left alone and it was damn annoying that he couldn't do anything about it. He had to try very hard to get Toby to help him.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss and after a moment he saw Laura. The girl wanted to take a step forward but hesitated. Joe noticed the subtle movement and reflexively jerked his body, wanting to stop her. Laura mastered her emotions and entered the room more out of fear that Joe's wounds would reopen than out of a desire to be here. The girl betrayed nothing in her demeanour; she was completely indifferent, even cold.

"Sit down, please," he said as gently as he could."

Laura knew he was trying to be nice by force, but she decided to listen to him.

"I know I screwed up... again," he said. "You should have thought before you destroyed everything."

The coldness of her voice hurt even worse than the holes in his stomach, of that he was sure. When he needed the right words, none were present in his mind.

"I'm just not used to having someone take care of me. I'm not used to getting help or having someone clean the bathroom for me because I'm so infirm that..." "You think I'm used to seeing someone close to me in this condition?" she interrupted him. "You think it's easy for me?" "I make it difficult for you myself, I know. But I feel extremely uncomfortable that's why I react with anger." "Be glad you are alive, it could have been worse. Be glad you have someone who cares at all. I didn't have that luxury for a while and believe it or not but I missed moments which you consider awkward. So be glad that now someone will hand you a glass of water because there may come a moment when even that will be gone and you will damn well regret it."

Joe didn't know what to answer, looked away, then closed his eyes and twitched nervously.

"You're right and I want to change it but I need time. It won't be easy, but don't take it easy on me. Being with someone isn't just about kisses and affectionate words. I've simply gone feral like a cat that suddenly ended up on the street."

Laura smiled and lay down on the bed next to him. Joe hugged her and kissed her forehead.

For the next week, Joe rarely saw Laura and began to worry that things were starting to break down between them again. She would come over for a while, mostly bringing him food and asking the usual "How are you feeling?" or "Do you need anything?" questions. Many times he wanted to go looking for her but had not yet regained full power in his legs. He could still only take a few steps, and getting to the bathroom was quite difficult. His patience was rewarded the next day. The girl entered the room in an exceptionally good mood. It had been a long time since he had seen her smiling so much.

"What's going on that you're in such a good mood?" he asked when she sat down on the edge of the bed. "I have something for you," she said mysteriously, taking out a laptop from her bag. "Did you find an interesting movie and want to watch it with me?" he tried to guess. "That's a pretty good idea, but no," she shook her head negatively and turned on the computer.

The girl took a moment to find and open the file, then turned the computer with the screen toward Joe. The man furrowed his brow and began to read.

"Everything is going according to plan. Violet will be very surprised, but it doesn't matter anymore because these are his last hours of life. I'm waiting for further orders. H."

Joe rubbed his chin in thoughtfulness, which was interrupted for a split second by noticing his beard had been badly neglected for the time he had been bedridden. The mysterious "H" had nestled in his mind for good. He was sure it was him he was talking to via Infolink. He should have at least tried to track him down then, but he was too focused on unravelling the mystery and almost ended up dead because of it.

"Alex did a great job deciphering that file," Navras acknowledged appreciatively. "Yes...That's right," Laura replied quietly, turning off the computer and tucking it into her bag.

It suddenly came to Joe what a huge mistake he had made. Laura had not visited him because she had spent all that time deciphering the message.

"Oh boy..." he muttered under his breath, seeing her despondency mixed with embarrassment. "It's not his job, it's yours." "Let’s say ours. I took only a small part in it," she clarified. "Alex corrected my mistakes and broke most of the protection." "Speak of the devil," Joe interrupted her as the door slid open. "I see you've already read the message," he said, barely entering the room. "Laura did an excellent job," he said. "She said it was your joint work." "Nonsense!" snorted Alex. "I gave her some tips and corrected some mistakes. Laura locked herself in her room, opening it only to eat something." "Alex, stop," muttered the girl, covering her face with her hand. "When it's true. You sat up all night to break security. Several times you fell asleep in the kitchen reading books. I personally carried you to bed."

Joe laughed listening to their bickering.

"She has great talent and learns very quickly, but she lacks patience," the bartender stated.

Laura wanted to answer him but only opened her mouth.

"Toby needs me to help at the bar. I have to go," the man said apologetically. "Infolink is a blight," he muttered as he left. "I'm proud of you," Joe admitted when they were alone and kissed Laura on the lips long and tenderly.

When I hold you close to me I could always see a house by the ocean Last night I could hear the waves As I heard you say, "All that I want is to be yours"

Falling in love Falling in love Deeper than I've felt it before with you, baby I feel I'm falling in love with all my heart

Back when you were far away We would go on dates to watch the same movie And you were imagining sitting next to me Holding my hand for the whole thing

Detroit, 2027. Connor's apartment.

Connor listened to her story to the end. He was beginning to understand how deep the feeling was between Joe and Laura, and how hard it was for her to accept he was dead. All the more reason he had to protect her from the truth that Adam had also died. He wanted to say something, but the phone rang so he looked apologetically and left to answer it. Laura, wanting to kill boredom, turned on the TV.

"Emergency services have completed the search for survivors after the attack on Sarif Industries headquarters. Unfortunately, no one survived. I remind you that the unfortunate day saw the deaths of Security Chief Adam Jensen and Chief Scientist Doctor Megan Reed. This is Eliza Cassan, reporting to you live, from Picus."

Laura froze as she held the TV remote in her hand. She rewatched the news several times to see if she had misheard. Connor had lied to her, in a despicable way, telling her that she needn't worry. Meanwhile, the truth could still remain hidden for a long time.

Instead of waiting and asking, the woman took advantage of the moment when he was talking on the phone in the kitchen to get dressed and run away. She still felt immense pain from her wounds but managed to leave before he returned.

Connor ended the call and returned to the bedroom. There he found only an empty bed. Under other circumstances, he would have immediately corrected the crumpled pillows and carelessly thrown quilt, but Laura's absence aroused his anxiety, which at first he tried to explain somehow. He went to check if she was in the bathroom. She might have fainted, after all.

"Laura, are you there?" he asked, standing at the door.

Silence answered him, so he repeated the inquiry, and then knocked. Opening the door and going inside was a last resort, but he had to be sure.

"I'm entering," he announced before pressing the handle.

The bathroom was empty. All the things were in their places, even the hacker's cosmetics. The man was beginning to panic. After all, he had a task to complete otherwise the boss wouldn't forgive him. Otherwise, he would be dead. Code 1408 - Protect at all costs. He hastily checked the rest of the apartment until finally his attention was caught by the TV in the bedroom. With a quick and skilled movement, he set the program to where Laura was watching it.

"Unfortunately, no one survived. I remind you that the unfortunate day saw the deaths of Security Chief Adam Jensen and Chief Scientist Doctor Megan Reed. This is Eliza Cassan, reporting to you live, from Picus."

Connor threw the remote control, which hit the glass table without shattering it, and then fell to the ground. If he could have, he wouldn't have put on his shoes or jacket. He ran out of the house into the street. Panic was pulsing under his skin, invading his mind. He ran exceptionally fast for a human being, ahead, toward Laura's house. He tripped over people huddled in the cold, trying to defend themselves from the thick snow. Connor did not feel the cold, he felt absolutely nothing. There was only the order, the duty he has to fulfil.

Laura entered the apartment, her whole body ached but in a moment she would feel nothing. She took out of the closet a dress and shoes. The same ones she got from Joe. She changed her clothes and carefully tied her hair up in a loose bun. Nothing, there was nothing left. She cursed quietly when her hand twitched while painting her lips. Just before leaving, she put on her orchid necklace.

The icy air pierced her thoroughly. People looked at her indifferently or in disbelief. Some moved away as if from a mad woman. The hacker walked upright looking ahead and ignoring the quiet comments. It made it very difficult for her, but she wanted to be remembered. Bright blue lady among the darkness. After a few steps, she looked up but not at the sky. She searched with her eyes for something else. Finally, she stopped her gaze on one of the skyscrapers, to the top of which a string of fire ladders led. Adam is dead and so is Joe. She has no parents or friends. To Connor, she is just a burden. Laura turned into a narrow alley, where she was immediately struck by the memory of the attack. Everything was happening because of her. Jensen's leg, the attack on Sarif Industries. She began a strenuous climb that seemed to go on forever. Several times her foot slipped off the metal step of the ladder. Her wounds hurt, with a monstrous, piercing pain. She felt the stitches bursting and her dress getting wet with blood. She was already halfway up when the image in front of her eyes began to blur.

Connor entered Laura's apartment. It wasn't locked, so she must have been there. He saw clothes lying on the floor and an open closet. Wasting no time, he went out into the street. The man thought she go to Crann Tara to meet Rupert. Unfortunately, he didn't have a phone number for the psychologist, so he set off in the direction of the pub. On the way, he passed people gathering under one of the skyscrapers and completely reflexively looked up. There was someone standing on the edge of the roof, but the building was too tall for him to clearly tell if it was someone familiar.

"She's going to jump! Someone call for help!" a woman shouted. "Why do you care about some crazy girl?" an older man answered her. "Maybe she has some problems, and there was no one to help her?" interjected another man, about forty years old.

The only thing that puzzled Connor was the unequivocal statement that there was a woman on the roof. He could barely judge it himself, but perhaps someone had seen this person before. His next move was an impulse, a reflex not preceded by thinking. He approached the woman, who was screaming to call for help, and pulling his phone out of his pants pocket, he found a photo of Laura that he had once taken.

"Excuse me, did you see who climbed onto the roof?" he asked kindly. "Yes. It was a woman, she was wearing a dress I think it was blue." "Is that her?" he asked another question, showing a photo. "I think so," she replied, not very sure of her answer. "That's her! That's the crazy woman," the older man confirmed.

Connor stood as if paralyzed for a moment. He didn't think she could do such a thing, and the very thought that she was about to jump filled him with great fear. He moved toward the building, pushing through the thickening crowd. He heard voices of discontent, someone even fell down but that was the least important now. He ran into an alley spot-lit by a street lamp. He bumped his hip against a garbage pail, hissed in pain and rushed up the fire stairs. Metal rumbled under his boots. The rough railing cut his hand, but he kept walking. "At all costs," he repeated in his mind. A few seconds later he ran up to the roof and was not even sweaty or out of breath.

"Laura! Don’t move!" he shouted from the other end of the roof to the woman in the blue dress.

A flock of pigeons soared into the air fluttering their wings. The falling snow swirled and hit Connor's cheek biting his skin with cold. His heart was beating like crazy. The woman standing on the edge wobbled, leaning toward the street, looming somewhere down, where a crowd of casual onlookers watched the sensation in silent anticipation.

All  chapters can be found: [AO3], [dA], [Wattpad] and [Tumblr]

#Deus Ex #DXHR #Deus Ex Human Revolution #Adam Jensen #Shadowfanfic #crunchy-shadow #Shadow's Showdown #Nifriel #I never asked for this #Fanfiction #Evie Dormer OC #Joe Mando OC #Cyberpunk #Writers on tumblr #Chapter 61: The woman in a blue dress.

[lithi]

I’m actually sooo curious about what the wmmap characters would look like to someone who has only the the novel and has not seen any picture from the manhwa ever, given that:

- the jewelled eyes are ?? kind of explicitly said to not be (entirely) blue (Athy compares then to a peridot once and Cabel later says Athy’s eyes are neither blue or green but rather like several colors at the same time, and I’m not entirely sure about this translation but I think Athy, at some point, said Claude’s eyes looked dark green under the shadow of a tree).

- Older Ijekiel is said to look pretty manly, which I don’t think is the case in the manhwa imo

- Lucas doesn’t have long hair! It is mentioned that it got a bit longer at some point (and that he wanted to cut it because it was annoying him), but it was always short to begin with so it couldn’t have been that long.

- I’m p sure Jennette’s hair is described as brown, so darker than her chestnut (?) shade from the manhwa.

- Athy said Penelope (when she was her portrait in Claude’s bedroom) looked pretty and that seemed to be a woman who likes to dress up but that’s pretty much it, while she looks like a typical villain in the manwha

- maybe Felix would have like, actual red? ginger hair rather than bright crimson lol

- Athy says Lily looks very delicate as if “a gust of wind could make her fly away” Lmao 😭

- Athy also said Diana’s eyes were purple, and in the manhwa they’re rather pink-ish? A bit red in some panels.

- Athy also said that in his portrait outside Claude’s office, Aeternitas had long and pretty golden hair (tied up in a ponytail?? I think??) and that he looked very wise

- CHIEF GRANDPA WHO I THINK APPEARED IN CHAPTER 60?? 61?? ISNT OLD 😭

[aliypop]

That's Alright For Such a Night

(Rewrite Chapter 5)

Word Count: 2,764

Writers Note: So far I'm enjoying rewriting this, and Now I'm adding and Rewriting my fanfic series Anyway you do into it to really solidify the timeline.

Warning: mostly fluff / Historic Language and Values

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: During the Louisiana Hayride two breakout stars meet in a rush only to learn they've dealt their cards in the hands of fate.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Memphis Tennessee, 1956

There was something in the 61-degree Tennesee carnival air. Perhaps it was funnel cake, cotton candy, the petting zoo nearby, or the slight chill in the air, Or maybe it was the feeling of a spring fling waiting to start. 

"I think that may have been my best performance yet," Denise said, walking past the sights and sounds. "And with your growing fame that you've been achieving, you'll be saying the same thing too. Right, Cecelia...Cecelia..." Looking next to her, the young woman she was calling out for was already gone. 

"Jesus Christ, this child..." 

"Need some help finding her?" Rosa asked,

"No... I do not." Denise huffed, 

"Don't be Cruel, to a Heart that's true." were the lyrics and melody coming from the stage right in front of the young woman. Cecelia heard the familiar voice sing. She had listened to the song millions of times. And she had practically worn every record he had out, Blue eyes looking into her brown eyes and through her brown skin. That was the moment in her 21 years on Earth when she could say she was in love with someone. It was just now tricky hiding it from her mother,

"Cecelia! There you are," Denise mumbled as her daughter focused on the young man with the gyrations going on, disgusted that her daughter of such class would even be looking at such a thing. Then again, if she knew the things her daughter had done while her mother was on tour, she'd be disgusted by such things. 

"What is he doing with hips..."

"Mother, haven't you heard it's called dancing." Cecelia's glance never left his. And his glance never left hers. Cecelia was watching as he caught the flying undergarments thrown his way. She couldn't help but laugh, and it seemed neither could he. Denise had to admit he was cute, with his perfect smile and hair. But something told her she would have to do something if he even thought to talk to her daughter. Denise knew his type, the shy playboy, and she wouldn't have someone like him ruin her daughter's blazing trail. 

"Up next in 16 minutes on this stage is Cecelia Valmos and The Garnets!"  

The crowd of teenagers began to cheer even louder as the growing pain of nerves began to kick in for her.

"Oh shit..." she mumbled as her mother nudged her, running through to the dressing room backstage. She took a deep breath as she gathered herself together. 

"You were almost late," Daphane smirked, brushing her hair as she straightened her dress.

"What were you doing out there," Rosa asked, watching as Scotty winked at her, 

"Oh, I know!" Daphane raised her hand,

"Stairing at your boyfriend." They both teased as Cecelia rolled her eyes, 

"Oh, whatever, you two." 

"So whatcha gonna sing?"

"Midge, what the hell are you doing back here!" Cecelia clutched her heart.

"I'm your mother's assistant, who's been practically your everything while she's been away."

"Right, uh, probably something from our Jazz album?" Cecelia shrugged as she smiled, 

"This is going to be career suicide, Cece..."

"Not if you follow my lead, Rosa." Cecelia handed her coat to Midge as a slight chill went down her spine from nerves. 

"Your mothers gonna be pissed about that dress," Midge smirked,

"Midge, she ain't the boss of me!"

"She's our manager..." Daphane smirked

"Right." 

Midge glanced at the girls as she then handed Cecelia her Gretsch guitar. 

"Good luck, kids."

"Don't need it." they winked,

"What're you gals gonna play for us tonight?" The host said, 

 "Our new single." She scanned the crowd for the one person she hoped hadn't left yet.

"What would that be..." The host asked, scanning all three girls. It was the first time he'd ever seen such a sight. Three black girls dressed a bit risque in wiggle dresses.

"Oh God, she's embarrassing the label already." Denise sighed. Midge and Cherly, standing next to her, cheer them on. 

"Hmm... Oh, uh, Is you or is you ain't my baby," she said. The band began to play the intro. It was a bit slow and agonizing like she was performing one of her mother's hit jazz songs, which she was. Well, a cover more so. 

Cecelia could see the crowd in front of her losing interest, and it didn't help her anymore that she was a young woman of color in Tennessee, but it wouldn't stop her.

"Mind if we swing it, boys," she whispered to the band. "Guess they mind..." Rosa groaned,

"Follow my lead." Cecelia mouthed, to Rosa and Daphane,

Taking the pick to her guitar, she did a rift that almost stopped the crowd and got his attention. Playing the melody but making it anew, she took a deep breath and sang. 

"Is you is or is you ain't my baby?" her singing was mesmerizing as her fingers picked and plucked the strings, blue eyes attached to her every word, "The way you're acting. Lately makes me doubt." she grinned, her mother wasn't pleased with the rock n roll blues infusion. But she was proud of her daughter not being so awkward, like when she was a kid.

"Youse is still my baby, baby. Seems my flame in your heart's done gone out..." 

 Elvis had wanted to be the strings under her fingertips. The melody of her music. It almost made him wonder, was this how it felt when she watched him. All those nights ago at The Hayride?

"Elvis, you coming?"

"Yeah... Yeah..." he nodded his friends off as his eyes were glued on her. Sure, he had her records and had been trying to decipher her rifts and guitar licks. Ever since they had been on tour performing. But, seeing her again back from her tour, he couldn't even fathom his feelings that grew stronger for the woman he so loved and missed,

Cecelia had noticed as he walked off into the distance alone. It was almost like he was lost, like something was missing. 

"Don't wait up, Midge."

"Cece..."

"I'll be right back." She walked towards the carousel as adoring fans nearly flooded her view for more autographs. And pictures and praises, Cecelia had her eyes still set on the pair of nicely filled-out white pants leaning against the wall. Much like he was back in Florida,

"You okay?" startling the young man, he looked at her. "Yeah, just uh thinkin." his voice was deep with a southern drawl that could bring Jesus to his knees, and my, did she miss it.

 "Well. You were great out there, Pres, but you're always great up there." a slight red tint on his cheeks, 

"Nah, that goes to you," Elvis wrapped his arms around her waist. "You really know your way around the strings."

"I try to." She giggled, holding onto him, "But, Elvis, my dear?"

"Hmm..."

"Tell me more." they both laughed, butterflies in her stomach as he continued laughing harder, 

"God, I missed your laugh," Elvis said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

"Say you maybe wanna get out of here an-" Cecelia stepped closer towards him until they both heard.

"Elvis, my boy..." 

"Cecelia, there you are."

"That's my manager." they both said in unison. The two a bit aggravated.

"Call me when you get home to Nashville?"

"If that's alright with you." she smiled back at him. The pair walked to their respected managers. 

 July, 1956 Beale Street

"Cece, you warmed up tonight." Her hair had been in a bun of pin curls and a pin curl swoop on her forehead. "Of course I am. After all, I'm releasing another album anyways," Cecelia responded to a few of the patrons. 

"You might as well. Besides, didn't ya mama open a new recording studio down here."

"She did. Why, I do not know, but I can tell you, we've had some random person callin the place 5 times a day." she laughed. 

"Sounds like a lunatic." BB King smirked as he looked at her, 

"Hey, you know who your hair reminds me of..."

"Don't you say it..." 

"My good friend Elvis. You tryin be like him or something?" he nudged her, 

"No." she deadpanned. Maybe it was a bit of a lie, or maybe. She was tired of the press referring to her as "Well... if it ain't my competition, Lady Elvis." that charming smile was right on his face. And there she was again, feeling things she couldn't hide. No matter how many times they both had tried to,

 "If it isn't Mr. Suit tails and singin' to hound dogs," she smirked, 

"That's cold, don't you think, Cece," BB mumbled as Cecelia sighed. Elvis had a hurt expression on his face. 

"And I thought we were friends, babydoll." He winked at her as she laughed,

"Oh sugarpie, don't cry." she teased as she stood up, walking towards the stage. Elvis wouldn't lie and say the joke didn't hurt, coming from her. Well, it wasn't half bad. Besides, she was cute, and he liked how they always seemed to banter. Watching her perform was like therapy to him. Her voice was his medicine, and her glance was his weakness. Catching his gaze, she looked away as a deep blush arose. 

"You like her, don't you..." 

"I-I well."

"Well, don't." 

"And why not, " he glanced at the man beside him. 

"I'm her boyfriend," he said, his pompadour bigger than Elvis's. He looked a bit defeated at the news, considering who he was to Cecelia, 

"Just kidding, they call me Little Richard baby, and you got it bad." he winked as Elvis rolled his eyes, 

"I wouldn't say I do."

"You're lookin at her the way the girls all look at you." 

"An how do they look at me," Elvis asked,

"Like they wanna fu-"

"You two talkin about fans?" 

"Cece, you were uh- uh amazing." Elvis stuttered. She realized he did that every time she talked to him. Or when he was flustered by her.

"Thanks, say can we talk," she asked. Both Richard and Elvis stood up,

 "Alone..." she mumbled. Elvis had a smug look on his face, but on the inside, he was panicking. Did he do something wrong? or say something odd, 

"Yeah, sure thing, mama." 

"Yeah, sure thing, mama." That's the best you could think to say. 

He thought to himself until he felt her hand touch his. It was like he was awakened from a sleeping spell. Cecelia pulled him through the club's crowd. As they were outside on the balcony, he couldn't help but take in her beautiful brown skin in the moonlight and how ethereal she looked. A slight cold chill ran past her arms, causing her to shiver. Elvis had noticed as he took his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders, 

"What did you want to talk to me about baby." He asked, putting his arms around her

"I'm sorry about that Hound Dog joke," she said, poking her head through the window. She saw a few spies of the press lurking around. 

"Cece, it didn't hurt much," he shrugged, "Not like how being on that damn show did," he mumbled.

 "El, I saw the whole thing, we all did," she sighed,

 "The Colonel says it was a smart move." 

"For who," Cecelia said, looking directly into his eyes, 

"For me. I mean, they want clean fun, and I can I- can"

"Lie to yourself and be somebody you're not." she laughed, 

"I mean. If the colo-"

"Elvis Aaron Presley, you serenaded a dog on live television in a tux. That's not the Elvis I know nor like." she stared into his soul, "The Elvis I like was the one I saw at the Hayride with the wiggly hips." she smiled, "So much that I miss those hips st-" She stopped talking as she heard footsteps.

"Hurry, they're over here..." 

"El... how much do you trust me."

"As much as Captain Marvel Jr believes in finding the rock of eternity."

"That's a lot of trust," she smirked, taking his hand and climbing the ladder on the side of the building. She then tried to get off the ladder until she noticed her babydoll-heeled shoe was stuck. She tried to pull away to break free. But it wouldn't budge, and the press was getting closer. She then tugged one last time until she heard a 

SNAP!

Oh, how Midge and her mother were going to kill her. Nearly tumbling over, she had landed into Elvis, who was carrying her like Lois Lane. She wouldn't lie and say she didn't enjoy it.

 "Don't worry, darlin, I gotcha." he looked down as their eyes met again. It was just like a river flowing to the sea. His heart was nearly pounding at how close they were again. He could smell Cecelia's rose perfume while taking in every detail of her face. Elvis was madly in love with her. And he was glad to say she was his. Carrying her downtown in his arms, the two had gotten weird stares, but Elvis didn't care. After all, he was pretty well known in Beale Street, too. In the background, there was music, setting a romantic scene for the two lovers.

 "Would you care to dance?" Cecelia asked, handing her hand out to him,

"On what dance floor," he asked, putting her down gently on the concrete. She took his hand. And it was like electricity shot down his body. They were in the middle of Beale Street. Traffic was slowing down, and it was only them, 

" Anywhere's a dance floor if you're in the arms of the right one." taking her hand, he spun her close to his chest, the two pressed close together, her other shoe on the sidewalk. 

"You're gonna dance barefoot in the street?"

"I don't see why not?" her eyes twinkled as he blushed hard.

"Lord have mercy... I can't with you, Cece," he mumbled as he laughed, her eyes looking up at him as she held onto his 6'0 frame. Spinning her into his arms, he heard the band play the melody of one of his songs. His right hand held hers, and his left on her back. The two swaying as her head was on his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach flutter, 

"Love me, tender. Love me sweet, never let me go."  He sang as she swayed with him. 

"You have made my life complete, and I love you. so." Cecelia felt every word he was singing to her. Cecelia knew how Elvis felt about her. After all, they had secretly been dating. But she couldn't deny that when he looked at her, it was like she was his universe, 

"Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled

For my darlin', I love you, and I always will." He dipped her, and their eyes locked onto one another. His eyes looked at her lips, then her eyes, then again at her lips. He wanted to cherish her and never let her go. He wanted to prove that she was all he ever wanted and ever needed and-

SPWOOSH!

It was as if buckets of water were splashed on them.

 "No one said anything about a rainstorm."Elvis chuckled, picking her up as she laughed, her hair getting puffy from the water. Cecelia kissed Elvis as he kissed her back, sweetly and giggling, 

"Oh, your mama's gonna be pissed."

"Honey, I know." Cecelia laughed harder. They both felt free and secure as if they were the only couple in the world, and it felt amazing to not have to worry or care about who saw them. That was until there were papers on every doorstep with them dancing in the street as the cover. 

Elvis Presley Dances With Negro Singer Cecelia Valmos.

Cecelia had been summoned into her mother's office, while Elvis had the Colonel scolding him like a child.

"I can't believe you would do this after everything I've done for you!" Denise said, rubbing her temples,

"It's not that bad, Mother," Cecelia said, looking at the newspaper. She was definitely going to show Elvis that picture when she saw him. Besides, it was cute.

"My boy, this could be career suicide," Tom grumbled. Elvis had laughed. If that bit from him singing to a dog wasn't career suicide, then he'd say he was doing just fine.

"What are we gonna say." Denise look at Cecelia

"How am I gonna cover this up my boy." Tom asked Elvis

"Any way you do?" 

Taglist: If you wanna be tagged let me know!

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

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MORE IN CHAPTER 6!

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #new series #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis the pelvis #poc oc x elvis #Cecelia valmos #50s elvis #50s #fanfiction rewrite #Spotify

[nitannichionne]

If He Was Your Fan, Chapter 61: Britainization, Part 2 (A Henry Cavill Fanfic)

Chapter 61: Britainization, Part 2

Henry announces that he is driving you and Stella to a place for breakfast. You and Stella are both relieved you got dressed up a bit. The name Lanes of London Mayfair is a big indication that you should. You are dressed in a fluffy burgundy fisherman’s sweater and black leggings with brown riding boots, looking ready for a day of shopping but not at the gym. Stella is in a white shirt and beige jeans with dark brown sports jacket and ankle boots. You are happy you left your usual athletic gear behind.

After that, Henry takes you and Stella to a place that is not even listed.

“Henry?”

“Hmm?”

“I looked up London Trench,” you tell him. “They are online orders only, aren’t they?”

“For the general public, yes.”

You and Stella look at each other. She looks excited but you feel sick for some reason.

With a knock on the door, and Henry telling his name and time on the intercom, you are buzzed in. You step into a boutique that almost looks hidden.

“Mr. Cavill?” a woman bows.

“Hello,” he nods. “This is my lady and her friend. My lady needs a few trenches.”

A few? Did he say few? A few trenches was like…rent money! You look at him incredulously, and he only gives small smile.

“Must make it worth their while,” he shrugs.

Within an hour you are in selections called the Queen Classic, a straight cut, and the Goddess, an A-Line for dresses. You opt for the Goddess, and he takes you to Burberry’s for something shorter and surprisingly more expensive than that. You are cringing inside, and Henry hasn’t flinched. He is happy to see you try on coats. You feel the looks of the sales people at both stores. Face to face they are amicable and friendly, but you see the looks in the reflections of the mirrors when they do not think they’re looking. They don’t think much of you, maybe they think you’re a flavor of the month? Maybe it’s all in your head?

“Well, that’s that,” he sighs. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “yeah.”

“Sweetheart?” he says slowly, his blue eyes searching yours.

“I-I didn’t realize they’d be so—”

“Good coats are required here, love, I won’t have you getting sick,” he nods, tipping your face up for a quick kiss.

You nod and smile in understanding.

“Alright, you two, don’t get into too much trouble,” he winks. He gets in his car and is gone.

“Gotta be at work today by four for the dinner rush,” Stella said brightly. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s just hit a mall or something,” you say. “and we can’t go someplace Henry would.”

“I know, the places he took us!” Stella laughs. “He’s…he’s kinda out of it, isn’t he?”

“Childhood weight problems aside, I don’t think he realizes how hard it is out here, no!” you laugh back. “Experience is the best teacher on those things.” You get slightly serious. “I hope he never suffers like that. No one should.”

You both decide to go to Victoria’s Secret several blocks away, opting to start walking off that massive breakfast you just had. When you arrive, you ask for what they have in emerald green.

“That his favorite color?” Stella asks.

“No, it’s actually blue,” you say. “hey do you have any blue green?”

“Hold on, let me see what we have,” the clerk smiles and leaves to check.

“You seem to buy a lot of that stuff,” she says softly. “Do you wear it?”

You are looking on a rack, but you are thinking of the previous night:

“It’s tomorrow,” Henry said softly and pinned you against the door to kiss you.

You instinctively put your arms around him, welcoming his kiss, his touch. You raise your leg and he semi squats to help you wrap it around him. You both pulled at each other’s clothes hungry to feel skin to skin, your kisses passionate and breathy. You pulled your sweater over your head as he wrapped your other leg around his hips, kissing your chest and licking the skin between your breasts that your bra left exposed. He carried you up the steps to your loft bedroom and laid you on the bed, pulling your jeans off. He smiled at your navy blue bra and panty set. He returned to kissing you, and you pull at his sweater as he unbuckles his belt, slid it off and threw it carelessly on the floor. He slid his jeans off, and stood in nothing but boxer briefs that did not hide his arousal. He crushed you into the sheets and you arched to him, wanting nothing more than to feel him…

“It’s a lot easier to always wear bra and panty sets,” you joke softly.

“How many do you have?”

“Uh….I really don’t know?” you answer honestly.

After getting lingerie and clothes, you catch the tube to Angel Central Mall, and do some shopping there. You feel terrible that there isn’t time for a mani pedi, so you find a massage place that does shoulders and neck, promising to do a pamper session on another day.

As you both make your way back to Brixton, you look at the sights out of the window, try to remember the exchanges. You are so grateful to Stella for being your friend, smiling at her as she steals a nap during the ride home. You notice that some young people are staring at you. You sigh. You may be recognized, you have to get used to that.

Back in Brixton, walk back to your building together.

“There were people staring at you?” Stella gasps “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“There was no danger,” you tell her smoothly.

“Why haven’t you posted yet?”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you posted yet?”

“I post all the time—”

“Never pictures of yourself, though.” Her eyes narrow. "And never of you and Henry."

“Even before I dated Henry, I never posted much about my love life online,” you shrug. “My s/o’s asked to take pictures, so I didn’t deny them, but I’m not big on my love life on social media. Special occasions or requests sure but—”

“I get it, you like that your relationship is between you and Henry, not you, the world and Henry.”

“Yeah, it’s more intimate that way,” you smile. “I have pictures of Henry and me on my phone. Besides, it’s lots easier if there is a breakup.”

“Breakup?!” Stella chortled. “Break up? You and Henry? I don’t think so.” She pauses and turns you around in mid walk. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. He has no intention of letting you go.”

“I know,” you nod. “I’ve had the rug ripped out from under me before, that’s all.”

“You have?” she asks. “How bad?”

“Engaged,” you shrug, earning a small gasp from Stella. “he thought the ring on my finger, though not the marriage one, meant he could treat me any way he wanted. He cheated, he lied…it was like he thought the commitment gave him carte blanche to act up.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Yeah,” you shake your head. “Rings can be a symbol of love that will never end, but for some it is ownership or cuffs.”

“Kinda dark, there.” she says softly. "I don't think Henry is--"

“Sorry, it’s in the past, and I’m over it, but I learned that commitments mean different things to different people.” You take a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way, Stella.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I was in love was my ex-fiancee,” you tell her. “and that was a long, long, time ago.”

“So you are in love with Henry!” she cheers.

“Yeah, of course, I am!” you laugh at her. “He’s intelligent and fun, has a good degree of common sense. He’s a natural leader and he is protective of and warm to those he loves. I need that, all of it. I have never felt so safe before, never..”

“He’s not bad looking either!”

“His looks can only go so far,” you shrug. “I’ve dated men who were good looking, even a model and an athlete. You’d be surprised how little that all matters if they are thick or coldhearted. Or even worse, a man with money who thinks he can treat you any way he wants because he buys you things--”

“Thick.”

“Yeah…” you giggle, realizing you’re using a British term. “thick.”

You both drop your stuff and go back to Market Row, Stella to work and you to do more shopping. Upi check out some of the surrounding stores, hoping for some really special finds that could liven up or make you feel more unique.

You finally make your last huge purchase: a bicycle. You head to Brixton Bikes for that, and get the lights, the helmet, anything you need. Strapping your bags to the rack in back and no longer a single walking moving target, you head home.

Just as you get a good stride on, your Bluetooth starts to play the instrumental version of “Addicted to Love.” You smile, clicking on. “Hey, love.”

“Hey….are you out and about?”

“About to head home,” you say.

“By yourself?”

You don't miss the edge in his voice. “On my new bike,” you tell him. He is quiet. Ooh, that’s not good. “Sounds like you’re in pub.”

“Yeah, yeah, very good, I'm at the pub, " He says. You can hear the smile in his voice for not using the word bar. "just for a pint with friends,” he says. “I just wanted to see how your day went.”

“Pretty well, but we didn’t have time for spa,” you say. “but I did find some nice things.”

“Good, glad to hear it,” he says. “I’ll stay on till you get home.”

“Awwwww.” Some men sigh dramatically in the background.

“Shut up!” Henry laughs.

You talk until you are safely inside your studio. “Alright, I’m locked up tight.” You feed Luna.

“Good,” he exhales. “they say it isn’t safe for women—”

“I am a moving target now, Henry.”

“Alright, alright,” he exhales heavily. “Talk to you later?”

“Definitely,” you sigh, sitting on your couch and starting to unpack your purchases. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” He purrs, earning another round of catcalls from his friends. He laughs.

“Good night.” You shake your head at him and his friends.

“Good night.”

The first forty eight hours in your studio have been anything but calm, but now there is quiet. After unpacking your things and washing them for wear, you finally get ready to go to sleep. You take a shower and make your way up the steps to bed. It suddenly looks too big to you. You suddenly notice there is something under your covers. You pull them back and find the t-shirt he wore under his sweater last night. You squeal and throw off your nightshirt, trading it for this one. His scent surrounds you as you pull it over your head and you fall on the bed, your impact setting off the scent of him in your bed. You inhale with a smile as Luna jumps up and sleeps at the foot of the bed opposite you, where she usually nestles by Henry’s feet. You look at each other and you sigh dreamily, closing your eyes and letting sleep claim you.

BULLETIN: With this new beta thing, I may have to start a new master list. I will be sure to put the link to 1-60 if I do. Love you, thanks for your support and especially for your comments, likes and reblogs. You truly give me life, people, you really do.

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @mary-ann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @sunshine96love @michelehansel @thelastsock @tumblnewby @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocks @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl1 @xoxohannahlee @fckdeusername @maan24 @kaatelyyynn​ @absentmindr​ @introvertedmouse​ @sassy-pelican @griscka75 @angelcavill66 @marantha

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henrycavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #lovestory #august walker #captain syverson #clark kent #geralt #sherlock #superman #walter marshall #will shaw #witcher #Youtube

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 61

Chapter Sixty-One: Everyday life

.

“Ah, Dr. Faust!”, Dr. Lanyon said, “You're here for your appointment?”

“No, I want to learn how to dance ballet”, the German doctor retorted sarcastically.

Lanyon mock-gasped: “What, you can't dance ballet???”

“I don't need it in my everyday life, so why would I learn it?”

“Point taken. Do sit down. So, tell me, how have you been?”

The alchemist arched an eyebrow. “Do you want a typically English answer, or-?”

“An honest one.”

“Breathing is unusually hard lately”, Dr. Faust told him. “Must be the asthma and the permanent after-effects from smoke poisoning.”

“If you don't mind, smoke poisoning from what?”, Lanyon queried.

“The Thirty Years War. Everything was on fire back then. Then there were the witch hunts – I can't even remember how many times they tried to burn me at the stake.”

“Oh my god!”

“The 17th century was that brutal, Dr. Lanyon. Don't mind it.”

“But I do!”, Lanyon protested. “And don't act so nonchalant! If you're not traumatised after those horrible experiences of war, I seriously have to question your humanity!”

Dr. Faust sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose: “It's long in the past. And I'd rather not talk about it to you. I may be able to look into your mind and hear your thoughts, but that doesn't change the fact, that I hardly know you.”

Trust issues. That was something Lanyon was more than familiar with.

“You're right”, he gave in. “Let's talk about it no longer. Right now, the more pressing issue is the surgery.”

.

Lady Summers was filing her therapy protocols.

A tedious task, but it had to be done.

More than often it took hours to sort everything into her abundant folders, of which some were thicker than the others. The countess always sorted her folders alphabetically and the protocols and notes inside them chronologically.

The one she was working on right now was the newest folder of her friend Victor Frankenstein – it was one of the biggest ones in her archive. After all, he had been alive for almost 130 years, she had known him for over forty years and the man had a lot of issues, some of them impossible to get rid of. Victor was a complete mess (and kind of a tool) and most of it he had brought upon himself. Sometimes Lady Summers couldn't help but question, why they were still friends. Probably pity and a tad of sympathy – they had been through the same torture all those years ago.

With a sigh, she finished filing the newest of her notes and protocols. She would need a new folder for Victor's case and he already had six of them.

All of her friends had several folders, even Dr. Jekyll, who had been her client for only a few months (then again, he had more problems than most of her clients).

Lady Summers closed the file, put it back into the shelf, went downstairs and prepared to go out.

It was Monday evening, when she would habitually visit the local police stations and prisons.

Not because she liked going there, but because the police liked to spare themselves the trouble of actually doing research by employing her mind-reading abilities. They tipped her handsomely for her service and that was the only reason, why she cooperated with them.

But that didn't stop Lady Summers from taking her frustration out on them for not using their own brains. Really, was it too much to ask, that they just did their job and deduced their cases without the help of a civilian?!

Her butler helped her into her jacket, cloak and shoes, Aoimoku handed her her parasol and they went on their way.

Marie would handle everything in the meantime.

When the three arrived there, Lady Summers gave a curt nod to the porter, before entering the building.

Almost everyone in the room turned to look at her and there was some mumbling from one or the other.

“Good evening, inspector Grumman”, she greeted the oldest of them.

Then she turned to the youngest man in the room: “I see, you're new. Well, good evening, officer Joyce. I hope your wife is feeling better?”

She almost laughed at how the young man stared at her for solid five seconds.

But then he recovered: “U-uhm, yes. M-my wife is feeling better, thank you. But how did you know my name and that she was sick?”

She smiled sweetly: “I'm Lady Summers. It's a pleasure to meet you. Anyway, inspector”, she turned back to Grumman. “I assume you have new-”

“Oh, good evening, Lady Summers!” Another inspector stepped forward and she withheld a groan, when she recognised D.I. Blackwood.

“How good to see you, Milady! If I may say, that's an exquisite dress! You look queenly toni-”

“Yes, yes”, she interrupted him, “words are cheap and so are your attempts at flattery. Let's get started, shall we?”

.

“Thank you so much for your time, Dr. Jekyll”, the woman sighed in relief. “You truly are one of the best physicians I have ever met.”

“Oh, stop it, Madam!”, Jekyll chuckled. “One of these days the flattery will get to my head and I can't possibly let that happen! Who knows, what that would do to my judgement! Anyway, you don't need to worry. It's just a common cold. Be sure to keep warm, drink lots of herbal infusions (peppermint, sage, lavender and ginger, mixed with honey, do a world of good against a sore throat), rest as much as you can and be sure to air the room regularly. But if it gets worse, be sure to send for me. Have a good day and get well soon!”

The woman nodded and saw herself out.

Jekyll took five minutes to air the room, before calling the next patient in.

“Good morning, Mr. Blake”, he greeted the man. “Oh dear, I see the pollen season is taking its toll on you.”

Before the man could answer, he sneezed violently into the room.

The Doctor couldn't help but frown. “Mr. Blake, how many times do I have to tell you to please sneeze into a handkerchief or into the crook of your elbow! It's common decency!”, he added pointedly, when the old man opened his mouth to nag.

This is going to be a long, long, week.

.

“Alright, Sir Carew”, Utterson spoke to his elderly client. “Is there anything more you have to discuss with me?”

“No, no”, the old politician chuckled. “This is all for now. Thank you kindly, Mr. Utterson. You're always such a big help.”

“It's always my pleasure”, the lawyer replied. “Before you go, I heard that you're going to retire from the Parliament?”

“Ah, yes”, Sir Carew confirmed. “I'm beginning to feel my age, I must admit. I'm planning to retire into the country, once I am retired and my daughter has got married. And once that day comes, I would be happy, if you could assist me in ordering my possessions.”

“I will gladly do so”, Utterson promised. “How is your daughter anyway?”

Carew smiled: “Ah, she is as darling as ever. To be fair, it worries me how many suitors she has. You can never know, if they just want your daughter for her beauty, if they truly love her.”

“Well, I have no children, so I can't really relate”, Utterson stated.

For a second he wondered how an old man like Sir Danvers Carew could have such a young daughter (she was not quite twenty), but then he remembered, that Carew had adopted her.

Maybe my own memory is getting rusty.

“By the way, how is Lady Summers?”, Carew inquired out of the blue, startling the other. “After all, she was quite ill used at the royal gala over a month ago.”

“Oh. Her Ladyship is fine”, Utterson told him. “In fact, she visited her father-in-law in Cornwall earlier this month. She returned to London a week ago, you can visit her yourself, if you wish. I'm certain she will be delighted to have tea and crumpets with you.”

“Oh, wonderful”, the older man cried in delight. “Really, that baron was such an animal towards her! She could have died from internal injuries!”

“Hm, she had the good fortune of several capable physicians being there as well”, the lawyer pointed out (wishing Carew would stop talking about that accursed gala already).

“Indeed. The Lady always had fortune on her side – then again, fortune favours the bold. And speaking of them, how are they? I seem to recall, that they are intimate friends of yours?”

“You could say that”, Utterson confirmed, albeit apprehensively. “We have known each other since our school days, so we're very close.”

“Well, give them my regards and my thanks for being such good friends to you and to the countess. And while you're at that, won't you give my thanks to that young brown-haired man, who saved my daughter from that scoundrel's clutches? What was his name again …”

“Mr. Hyde”, the lawyer supplied.

“Right! Anyway, give him and Dr. Jekyll my thanks. As Lisa's father it put me quite at ease to see two gentlemen help my daughter out without ulterior motives.”

Utterson nodded. “I will let them know next time I meet them. Have a nice evening, Sir.”

Then he saw his client off.

He didn't ask, whether Carew remembered, that Hyde was the very same man, who had almost killed him the year before and if yes, how he was feeling about that.

I will just have to ask Lady Summers, he decided. I pray she will be willing to enlighten me, because something about this is making me anxious.

#the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr faustus #dr. jekyll #henry jekyll #hastie lanyon #dr lanyon #gabriel john utterson #mr. utterson #sir danvers carew #oc #johann georg faust

[aworldoffandoms]

Please write for 8 and/or 61 what ever you pick for Ethan x mc please please please 😘😘

Authors Note: Hello! This Open Heart drabble* is from this list of prompts. Again, this is a little bit longer then most drabbles so you could almost say it’s a ficlet?

*it’s definitely more than 100 words so is it really a drabble? lol 

Prompt is: please stop eye-fucking each other &  take a picture, it lasts longer

Prompt is in bold.

Thank you for the prompt, nonny! I had fun with this one 😄💗

***

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC [Nicolette Valentine]

Word Count: 1, 250+ (give or take)

Rating: G

Warnings: Potential spoilers if you haven’t read chapter 3 of Open Heart: Second Year. Apart from that…just a lot of tension of the good kind 😉

Summary: Tension rises between Ethan and Nicolette at the Gala Night for Edenbrook’s fundraising.

I’m tagging my OH tag list but please let me know if you’d like to stay on it or would like to be removed.

Open Heart Tag: @senseofduties​ @polishchoicesfan @princess-geek @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @binny1985 @fanficnewbie @x-kyne-x​@thefluffyphotographer @lilyofchoices @thecordoniandiaries @rainbowsinthestorm @cxld-play @jens-diamondchoices @malakbesharah @hopelessly-shipper @my-heart-beats-for-ya @landofenchantedwonder @sabrinahoffersonsworld @flyawayboo @stanathanxoox @oofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @heauxplesslydevoted @bi-cookie @kingliamsbish @trappedinfandoms @supercoolperson0808 @perriewinklenerdie

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them.

***

TENSION AT THE GALA

The music drifts through the room as doctors, nurses and administrators alike dressed in their finest converse in the grand ballroom of the Grand Plaza Hotel in Boston’s city centre, the night alive with laughs and conversation.

“Tell me again why we are here?” Jackie says, her voice almost a groan.

Nicolette rolls her eyes at her friend as she sips from the flute of champagne that she snatched off a waiter’s tray moments before.

“We are here, Jackie, because Edenbrook needs funding. And without that funding, we can say goodbye to Edenbrook and most of our jobs. Hense this fundraiser.”

“Yeah, but did they need to blow all this money? I mean, they could have used it for other important things other than a fancy-schmancy night of kiss-assery.”

Nicolette chuckles at Jackie’s choice of words. She was right, of course. Nicolette didn’t like the fact that she and the other residents had to suck up to political and pharma execs alike just to bring back some needed money Edenbrook.

It was almost embarrassing. Edenbrook was one of the top hospitals and was held in high esteem and the thought of it becoming a for-profit hospital put an unpleasant taste in her mouth.  It was almost like cowering to the likes of Declan Nash.

Nicolette drains the rest of her flute and drops it on a nearby table. She takes a deep breath and salutes her friends.

“Well, wish me luck!”

“Good luck, Nic! Don’t trip on that dress of yours!” Elijah calls out after her.

Nicolette hears the snickering of her friends behind her as she approaches a group of Big Pharma execs, her head held high and Edenbrook on her mind.  

***

“Edenbrook is one of the best with what you are asking for so you can send over the scans and I’ll have a look when I can, Doctor Fredrickson. My team will give you an answer by Monday.  Talk to the Chief with that other stuff.”

Ethan’s voice drifts into Nicolette’s vicinity and her back stiffens when the sound of his baritone reaches her and she shivers, the sound wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

She snatches another flute of champagne off a server’s tray and turns around to follow Ethan’s voice. He can’t be far. She hasn’t had the chance to talk to him at all tonight, but given that she had arrived with her friends, she would let that pass. He’s an attending. He was more inclined to be under scrutiny than her.

It’s only been six months since she started her tenure as a junior fellow on the diagnostics team and she’s settled in well but it didn’t mean she’s immune to the heady tension that always seems to follow her and Ethan when they are in the same vicinity of each other.

It was more evident whenever they met eyes. It was the thrill, the desire, the chemistry that always simmers on the surface, crackles in the air between them. It rests on her skin and drives her crazy which now she was an inch away from giving in. Six long months of resisting and the tether that held her self control is almost frayed. She was sure Ethan will snap too, but she’s always surprised at his restraint.

It’s still the same now when their eyes connect from across the room, the intoxicating electricity jumps between them from her place a few feet away and Nicolette can’t help but let her eyes wander his form. The black tuxedo he wore fits his athletic physique like a glove, his scruff which covers his jawline was more defined and trimmed to a hard perfect line against his chiselled jaw. His hair’s combed back and the one wisp of hair that always rests away from the rest of his hairline that she always wishes to brush back from his forehead teases her. Her fingers twitch to brush it back.

It didn’t escape her notice that Ethan was taking his time appreciating his view too. The tight, strapless black sequined dress with a thigh-high split did little to the imagination and with the fire burning in Ethan’s eyes, she knew what he was thinking. Not that she minds. She had an ulterior motive when she picked out this dress.

She wanted him to look, and boy was he taking the opportunity. Her stomach flips at the look in his eyes.

“My god. Nic, can you two please stop eye-fucking each other? It’s exhausting.”

Nicolette startles, and she nearly drops her glass before she recovers and comes face to face with Bryce Lahela, his hair styled to look less unruly than normal and his blue tailored suit hugging him in all the right places.

“Bryce, I don’t know what you—”

Bryce holds up a hand to stop her, his smile easy and relaxed. “It’s fine, Valentine. I won’t tell. It’s your business, not mine.”

Nicolette sighs in relief. She always admired Bryce’s easy-going nature. It was times like this that she valued his friendship more than ever.

Nicolette gives him a smile and turns her gaze back to Ethan who was still staring at her, his eyes darkening to a hue more like jealousy, or was it possessiveness? Her heart jumped in her chest at the sight. 

Bryce chuckles and he pats her on the back, his warm hand engulfs the curve of her shoulder and Nicolette smirks as Ethan’s eyes follow the movement, his jaw tightens and Nicolette laughs.

“Well, best I go and talk to Ethan before he explodes at you touching me.”

Bryce throws his head back and laughs, his hand slipping from her shoulder and gives her a wink. “Yes, please. I don’t want to be on Ramsey’s shit list. Make sure not to make him spontaneously combust, yeah? You are a weapon in that dress.”

Nicolette laughs as she pulls away and she places the now empty martini glass on a vacated table (she needed some more liquid courage) and saunters over to the awaiting attending, his eyes glued to her.

A rush of excitement goes through her as she notices Ethan swallowing, his fingers gripping the stem of his wine a little tighter as she approaches.

This is going to be fun.  

***

“You know…it’s rude to stare, Ethan. You should take a picture, it lasts longer.”

Ethan’s gaze rakes up her figure starting up from the bottom of her stiletto clad feet to the top of the silky waves resting against her shoulders.

There’s a smirk on his lips and he doesn’t hide the intent in his tone or his eyes as he taps his temple in emphasis. “Believe me. I have. I have a photographic memory. It’ll come in handy.”

Nicolette gasps and she resists the urge to buckle from the heat of his stare and the barely concealed (okay, not concealed at all) innuendo.

Damnit, Ethan!

Ethan chuckles at her less than subtle reaction to his words. He was hoping to get a rise out of her. It was payback for the dress she’s wearing. She looked phenomenal. 

It didn’t escape his notice the smirk on her face when they first made eye contact. The dress she was wearing made his heart stutter in his chest and made him groan inwardly at the sight.

She was torture.

This whole gala was torture if he’s being honest and he needs a distraction from the mindless, vapidity of these things. He knew that he had to be somewhat invested in it because it was about Edenbrook’s future but he didn’t have it in him to care. 

Despite the fact that he’s been actively trying not to give in to temptation and just lose himself in his attraction to the young diagnostician, he steps closer to the woman consuming his every thought anyway and leans forward to whisper in her ear. It didn’t go unnoticed when Nicolette shivers at his proximity.

“Would you like to accompany me to the balcony? I could use some fresh air.”

Nicolette gives a wordless nod and Ethan wraps a hand around her back, his hand a safe distance to not raise eyebrows as they pass guests guiding her to the awaiting elevators.

As they slip through the elevator doors, Ethan decides to risk it and moves his hand lower. His hand brushes the lower portion of her back, almost touching the curve of a place where he shouldn’t really be touching in such a public setting.

He gets what he wants and hears Nicolette’s sharp intake of breath, however, she leans into the touch as Ethan grins. 

His smile stays on his face all the way up to the top deck of the hotel, Nicolette cocooned tightly in the space of his arms.

Maybe this night isn’t a lost cause after all.

#open heart #open heart 2 #open heart fanfiction #writing prompts #choices writing prompt #choices fanfiction #choices #playchoices #asked and answered #anon ask #long post

[lula1991]

My Jewel

Summary

   An ancient spell causes a millenary young lady to weaken, it is up to Larry and her friends to help her find the key to return her to normal while a stranger pretends, along with three already known individuals, to take over a captive jewel somewhere in Egypt with the in order to proclaim it “yours.” (The shock of all the chaos in her).

   Objective? The guard and the exhibits must prevent it from falling into the wrong hands while between Ahkmenrah and the girl, a romance will slowly emerge that will bear fruit over time.

Genre: Adventure, comedy, romance, fantasy

Warnings: None

Chapter 1

  About 61 years ago, a group of archaeologists began a very important search dedicated only to the tracking and possible discovery of a mummy. It was the year 1940, approximately..

  The man in charge was 19 years behind the above, however over time he could never find that longing, until his young son fell with what appeared to be a sacred place but it was dark and with the low light of sunset that entered through the hole that was produced by this action, they were able to see walls covered with pure gold, hieroglyphs, stone sculptures, corrupted colors and two lackeys that guarded the entrance of said house where their masters remained in the eternal dream..

  Inside there were three ornate sarcophagi, they were two adults, a pharaoh on the right, his wife on the left of the king and his daughter or perhaps son in the middle, the coffins made of the same golden material and surrounded by riches is what he could see the young teenager with the lack of clarity offered by the rays of the god of heaven..

  The young man went inside and when he turned on his flashlight he could detail that place more closely, his eyes were mesmerized by the gigantic room from the wall full of ancient inscriptions to a built-in jewel that rested on the dark back wall, jealously guarded by Egyptian texts around, narrating the victories of royalty..

  He wanted to speak but he was so amazed that he could only hear his breathing rumbling softly when the silence of the room welcomed him..

“Son, are you alright?”

 The man, who was his father reliably, looked worried..

“Yes, I'm fine!“ he replied as he smiled.

“I'm going down!”

  Going into the ruins, he observed his son safe and sound so that this anguish ceased to take step by step until he reached him..

 “Yes!” he raised his arms, completing his happiness. “I searched for this tomb for so many years and what did you do? You fell right into it.” he raised his son in his arms.

“Look dad..”

    He turned his eyes to the walls, lighting the immensity of the delicious art engraved on the wall when his father detailed the scriptures loving the discovery..

“It's beautiful, just beautiful..”

“And that jewel..”

  He pointed in the direction of the relic assuming his father walked there followed by the young man. They advanced leaving behind the mound of sand scattered around that grave and once being close enough that boy tried to touch it but the scream of a man prevented him..

“Mr. Anderson?!”

  But another elderly man burst into the lapels of the young man's shirt and shook him, scaring him when his father protected him..

“Hey, what's going on with you?!” Mr. Anderson asked.

— la! la tlmsha! 'aw sawf tahadath 'ashya'an fazieatan..

“Ahmed, what is he saying?? What does it mean?” Mr. Anderson asked again.

“He says “ Do not! Do not touch her! Or horrible things will happen..” Ahmed answered.

  Also that they should leave there immediately since he who desecrates and unless they leave the abode of their ancestors in peace, an ancient spell would be unleashed..

  The young boy was a little scared when he slowly illuminated that same valuable golden object with a carved central winged beetle in blue stone .. Being warned by an old Egyptian prophet, we must not ignore the sayings of who knows what consequences will occur by acts of desecration..

— From now on, you should know.. 

  That man warned with the little English he used. Mr. Anderson was not superstitious but..

"And then to the one who dares to desecrate the tomb and the most precious possession of the queen, an ancient spell will be unleashed and upon it will fall its end.."  Mr. Anderson translated the hieroglyphs to perfection.

  The companions in the expedition of Mr. Anderson looked at each other while the native men of that country waited for some of them to pay attention. His son looked at his young father somewhat fearful but that archaeologist did not believe much even having heard and read the same warning..

“Bring the trucks..” ordered Mr. Anderson.

“Mr. Anderson, there is no time. A storm is very close..” said Ahmed.

“Then hurry up. Come on, work! I want them to load everything..” Mr. Anderson said.

   The father of the young boy committed to making history, arranged for the treasures to be arrived in the vehicles and due to the strong sandstorm that broke out, it was not long until he ordered for the second time that the artifacts were loaded into the trucks as quickly as possible, thus obtaining most of the objects that they could collect from said discovery that in the future they would surely be displayed as invaluable pieces in a museum..

   And the phrase was repeated again by Ahmed, a tall man with definite Arabic features..

“Her end will fall on her..” 

   Ahmed said while observing a beautiful bracelet with clothing and terminations that a female figure used in his time of office in Ancient Egypt..

Nowadays..

 After graduating as a teacher, he was able to move to get another good job, however Larry still worked the Natural History museum, after all he is a hero for his friends of wax, metal and polyurethane, so to speak..

"Everything is just as it was last time ..." Larry walked happily through his workplace.

"It hasn't changed much, Larry. Except for one detail .." Teddy said.

"I've been out of the museum for more than three years because of my studies and I'm not very aware, what is it about?" Larry's curiosity was answered by Mr. Roosevelt by pointing to a museum room. "It's new, I hadn't seen it before temporarily withdrawing from here .."

"She is a lovely young lady." Teddy commented with acceptance towards her.

"So that detail is Ahk and the Egyptian girl .." Larry smiled looking at the scene.

"It has not been skipped a day since she appeared. They are equal to two young people of this time playing to fall in love .." Sacajewea was tender to the king to spend hours hidden behind the plants of Africa spying on that someone in particular.

"I still remember the day that the boy first saw the young woman .." Teddy smiled watching the two teenagers.

**** Flash ****

A month ago..

  It was night, and there was a small party, maybe it was that Larry continued to attend night classes to get his master's degree..

  Nothing particular happened as long as King Ahkmenrah came down from that balcony leaving Jed and Octavio in charge with the music..

  Since Dr. McPhee already knew everything that happened with the table, it was no wonder to see a figure come to life, so wandering next to one of them was also not considered nonsense..

  It turns out that this above was a beautiful Egyptian, with light skin, hazel eyes, brown hair, sandals, a thin, long, tight kalasiri (dress) with two straps that covered her bust made of real white linen with golden bows to your waist He also wore a kind of short coat covering the shoulders, a two-piece cylindrical snake bracelet adorning his left arm, a small crown with a cobra calf, a delicate usej in the form of winged beetle in ranges of blue, turquoise and green with three ankh charms completing the outfit of the young..

  Ahkmenrah's face said it all, it seemed that everything was happening in slow motion in his mind..

"Wow .." Ahkmenrah whispered as if she were seeing a wonder of the ancient world. "For Ra and all the gods .." Ahk's face lit up when he was dazzled by the bubbling girl with light brown hair. It was as if he were in a dream.

  When he saw her speak willingly with the Museum Director on one of the stairs, he was fascinated. No matter what she was doing, he smiled and his eyes filled with love and wonder..

  The boy was indeed enamored, and although not every woman managed to shake his heart as the Sheikh of a harem in the past, she flecked it instantly or as the cliché is said vulgarly, love at first sight..

"I had not seen a more impressive museum than this one, it is amazing." she was so happy.

"I am very happy that she feels comfortable. I will leave her with the figures of the establishment so that she knows the place. Miss .." Dr. McPhee said goodbye with respect and she made a slight inclination allowing her to retire.

  Ahkmenrah didn't miss a single movement of the pretty girl, she was standing by the desk watching her with a half-twisted smile and her gaze was as if billions of stars were lit inside her eyes..

— ‘Ah freak out..  Le freak, c’est chic ..  Freak out ..  Ah freak out ..  Le freak, c’est chic ..  Freak out ..  Ah freak out ..  Le freak, c’est chic ..  Freak out ..  Le freak out, c’est chic ..  Freak out .. ‘

  Glamorously down the stairs like an Egyptian goddess, the girl moved exploding sensuality and with a comic touch when everything happened in slow motion to the rhythm of the background music. She ran her hair back with one hand, blinked flirtatiously looking around while some exhibits threw roses at her, worshiping her presence and she greeted with a very overwhelmed and grateful smile as she slid down the hall, looking like a model from 1999 BC..

  And to all this Ahk thought that she was addressing him with that hip wig, enlarged her smile but it was not so. He continued long and he continued absorbed in his thoughts without taking his eyes off each line of his toned and fine figure, wandering in them when Mr. Roosevelt's voice made him get out of that trance..

"I don't want you to be the same as me." Teddy spoke solemnly.

"What do you mean?" Ahkmenrah was half fool trying to spin his question well.

"In the sense that I have spent more than 50 years observing and not daring to say a word to my dear Sacajewea until Larry's arrival prompted me to do so. Do not hesitate or let her escape, Your Majesty." Teddy advised wisely while the boy sighed looking at the Egyptian girl.

  The young woman with an unknown name, detailed every corner and never noticed that those green eyes did not lose sight of her. It seems that Mr. Roosevelt's words encouraged the king to arm himself with courage, inflate his chest, accommodate his deshret (crown) and approach him to relate, establish a bond, perhaps..

"This is so beautiful .." she whispered fascinated looking at the divine building and how the party continued with its magic.

"Hello .." he said finally with real elegance behind her.

  She turned on her axis delicately as she was distracted watching the constellations forming mirror balls illuminating the room with a soft blue..

"Hello ..." and the pretty girl received him with a kind smile once they were facing each other ..

"What is your name?" Ahkmenrah asked.

"I'm Larempteh .." she introduced herself and Ahkmenrah raised an eyebrow detailing her peculiar appearance at a considerable distance, she hardly possessed makeup. Just a little soft brown shadow that accentuated her sweet eyes and her thick eyelashes, kohl for a discreet black and carmine lipstick, privileged to possess the fleshest. Beautifull. "High Blue Sapphire of the Nile, fourth queen of the fifth great king, ruler of the reign of my pharaohs. It is a pleasure .."

   Larempteh was not presumed, only that the way of presenting himself in the ancient world was that way when you were belonging to the descendants of Upper Egypt. His voice was a caress with words for him. The girl was cordial, warm and very respectful, as well as sweet and having that mixture between shy and intellectual. It illuminated the whole place only with its presence ..

"What a beautiful name." It was hypnotic and Ahk's eyes could not detach from the young woman for any reason. "Excuse me, I don't look at the girls like that .."

"Don't worry, that's fine. For that you have sight, you appreciate what you see .." Larempteh apologized by releasing a pleasant laugh.

"Besides, your English is perfect, where did you learn?" Ahkmenrah asked intrigued.

"I went to the University of Cambridge." Larempteh reported and Ahkmenrah was stunned with a smile.

"Were you in Cambridge?" Ahkmenrah asked.

"On display .." Larempteh spoke to continue his dialogue.

— The Department of Egyptology? — and both agreed in prayer with surprise.

"Yes, that's right! What a coincidence!" Ahkmenrah was surprised.

"Have you been there too? Wow, that's great." Larempteh said at last.

"Is it your first night at the museum?" Ahkmenrah asked.

"No, I came here in 1958 from the Giza expedition." Larempteh reported without further ado.

"How come I have never seen you before?" Ahkmenrah was intrigued.

"Well, they had me away in the warehouse until I created my showroom right in front of your showroom and I've been in my sarcophagus for 61 years, so I went out tonight. I've had so few visitors interested in the ancient world that everything this time I have been around my exhibition and I never dared to abandon it, custom, melancholy maybe .. It is difficult to get off Cambridge once you belong 18 years. " Larempteh said.

"Indeed. It feels weird." Ahkmenrah said.

"It would also be because of the fame of little docile nature that they instilled in us and I didn't want to be feared by the other exhibits." Larempteh said.

"I understand you." Ahkmenrah said softly.

"I must add that it may be due to destiny, I would say." Larempteh said beautifully.

"And why were we in different temples?" Ahkmenrah inquired funny.

"Or maybe the gods had prepared our meeting for a suitable moment and I think it worked today .." Larempteh shrugged a shoulder nicely.

"It's wonderful and you believe in destiny, that's fabulous." Ahkmenrah said and she gave him a smile.

"And, you're from around here I guess or .." Larempteh spoke.

"I belonged. I am a limited time conservation." Ahkmenrah explained and she was stunned.

"Limited time conservation?" Larempteh asked.

"Yes, I am part of the treasures of the British museum; but it is a long story that I will tell you." Ahkmenrah responded by giving her a beautiful smile.

"Okey .." Larempteh said quietly.

"Dynasty XX? I guess .." Ahkmenrah watched her carefully.

"Yes, how did you know?" Larempteh laughed with sophistication. She was charmingly curious to put a strand of hair behind her right ear, revealing one of her shiny rings with a triangle design and an elegant nail varnish in burgundy.

"On the above, is that you have a little seen face, my guess is that by chance you are familiar with Nefertari Meryetmut or maybe it is because she has reincarnated in you and it is impossible for you to go unnoticed." Ahkmenrah said.

  Dazzled, he winked giving her a warm smile by indirectly telling him how extremely beautiful it was. Perhaps the young man hinted that the girl would be descended from the most important queen that Egypt had, making her an extremely attractive goddess for her taste and reach..

"No .." Larempteh kept thinking. "I don't think it's that way. Well, one knows who descends to reincarnate in a living god on Earth, but one of my parents may have been the continuation to the offspring of Nefertari. Some grandson of the many children who she had .. " she continued.

"The hundreds of kings who claimed your love should tell you." Ahkmenrah supposed.

 And as? If she radiated sweetness and owner of an exquisite exotic image; how it would not be possible that the kings would not discuss the hand of that venerable woman ..

"No, it was my older sister who received all those courtships." Larempteh let out a natural laugh.

"Sister .." Ahkmenrah was not interested, rather he was unsuspecting. Shocked by the fact that her beauty is not praised.

"Yes. You see, my dad wanted two rulers, one who was a strong pharaoh and who knows how to command the kingdom and another who was a champion in the battles, especially in Kadesh. But he had my sister and me. Yes, he had more secondary children but she and I were of pure lineage with direct access to lead a nation. " Larempteh commented raising his brow with a smile naturalizing his story.

"And why her and not you, how is it possible?" Ahkmenrah used a tone of Real disbelief.

"It was very beautiful .." Larempteh simply shrugged one shoulder in a beautiful way continuing the thread of praise. "Although she was somewhat crazy .." she added without further ado.

"I am sure it does not overcome the honey in your voice or your delicate presence." Ahkmenrah said gallantly.

  The young woman did not know where to look, and how not, Ahk's electric eyes dared not detach from her youthful features, she was intimidated by those lovely courtships and tilted her face a little to the side hiding her faint blush while maintaining a thin smile while he tilted his head and then watched him ..

"And what's your name?" Larempteh asked.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king, ruler of my parents' lands and the pleasure is all mine." Ahkmenrah bowed bowing before her presence, showing him cordiality when he kissed her hand, she could not believe that this kind of young man with 18 years of age, a classical conservation of 4000 years, was real. How the man who dreamed all his life. "Sorry for my daring but I couldn't stop watching you since I saw you. You are more beautiful than the pyramids in Cairo." Ahk flattered her and the girl felt another strong blush seize her face.

"How divine." Larempteh was stunned by all the praise she got from him in a delicate tone with a slightly strange smile.

"I spent 54 years wrapped in bandages and dirty linen, locked in a sarcophagus and after waking up 61 consecutive nights to meet you, that is divine. You are a beautiful, beautiful creature." Ahkmen after that compliment, smiled sideways showing his immaculate teeth, without showing lasciviousness or perversion, it was like a seductive tactic in him.

"Thank you?" Larempteh laughed with elegant confusion.

"The pharaohs tend to have an aggressive and unkind image ..." Ahkmenrah commented recovering her position of getting straight.

"I'll be careful then .." Larempteh's whisper was a little less than what is called suggestive, maybe being mysteriously insinuating was a sound seduction tactic to start the game of romance. "Although if someone comes between you and my beauty, probably the king of 4000 years ago, maybe make an exception. But as long as none of that happens.." Ahkmenrah said.

"I knew how the pharaohs were in our time. Nothing tolerant, only in tiny exceptions .." Larempteh said.

"I'm kind, don't believe it in me unless .." Ahkmenrah leaned back, bringing the female hand to his lips and then straightening and winking again. 

— Laaa, no!" Do not touch that! Those are not headphones! It's a defibrillator!

Tilly's voice was heard as she ran around Laaa in the lobby.

  That stir caused Rexy to get scared and make sounds, scaring the crowd minimally, causing Larempteh to avoid how he could alpacas, llamas, terracotta soldier and Vikings fleeing in his direction. There was a moment that he lost his balance by their action, it was there that he fell into Ahk's arms that held her tightly by reflex, that caused her to sink her face into the hollow of the king's precious and soft neck, forming an electricity This was done in the face of the clash of skin against skin and at that moment a spark ignited between them when they looked at each other ..

"What divine eyes you have .." Ahkmenrah praised their color by giving him a soft grin on her lips and she watched him behind her eyelashes smiling tenderly, losing himself in his. **** End of Flash ****

#ahkmenrah #rami malek #night at the museum #natm

[batwake]

Come In From The Cold - chapter three + epilogue

chapter one - chapter two

pairing: clint barton/bucky barnes

ao3 link

It rains.

It rains and it rains and it rains.

The first person they try to send in gets his neck broken. The second and third have their own guns turned against them. The fourth calls out a woman’s name as his head connects with the doorframe. They don’t send any more for a while after that.

There are no windows, but the rain can be heard loud and clear. Which means it’s close. To what, it’s unknown. The surface, if the cell is underground. Some sort of window, if it isn’t. Close to going crazy, close to escape, to a man dressed in purple, to a house.

The fifth person they send is not taken down so easily.

Dodge. Dodge. Punch, miss. Dive, go for the legs. Go for my legs, someone had said. Jump back up, punch when he isn’t expecting—

The man goes down, does not get back up.

The Winter Soldier sits on the floor, and does not feel like he has won.

-

When Clint was a kid, he and Barney used to play a game.

It was like hide and seek. When dad gets home from the bar, you hide. When you wake up at three am and hear him yelling at mom, you seek. Clint isn’t allowed to step between Barney and dad, but can between dad and mom. Don’t talk to dad unless he talks to you first.

The rules of the game went out the window once dad hit Clint’s head too hard and they couldn’t afford hearing aids. Barney stood up for Clint when he hadn’t before, talking to dad out of turn when Clint couldn’t hear him. Shoving him roughly and telling him make everything something to hit with. And hit them until they stop.

Barney hadn’t been a good brother.

But he wasn’t a bad one, either.

So Clint picks up the phone and calls.

~

It rains well into the night, long after Nick Fury has vacated the premises with the barest promise to let Clint know if they learn anything else.

Kate arrives sometime after three am, finding Clint sitting on the floor of his living room, all of the furniture pushed up against the far wall and the carpet rolled up. Clint isn’t dancing, though. Piles of paper sit on the floor around him, all from an overflowing file that Fury had left. It mostly incomprehensible, and what Clint can actually make out doesn’t make sense. There’s a form that appears to be from the army, the name James Buchanan Barnes at the top, and a photo showing a younger and clean cut Bucky dressed in fancy army greens. Another photo is attached to what looks like an essay written in Russian, and has Bucky in a more familiar form, with his long hair and unshaved face. He looks dead, almost, skin tinted blue as he sits in what can only be some sort of freezer. There are other photos, of brain scans and dog tags and chairs that look like the kind of thing an evil dentist would have. Clint can’t make sense of it all. Some pages are written in English and appear to be American, while others must be Russian. 

He hadn’t been able to explain much over the phone, but she looks understanding as she toes over the papers to kneel next to Clint, who is shaking. Kate wraps her arms around him delicately, not paying any attention to her soaking wet rain coat or the papers around them. Clint presses his face into her neck and lets himself cry, her soothing hands pressed to the back of his head. For a fleeting moment, he is reminded of his mother.

“It’ll all be okay,” Kate assures him, snapping Clint out of the fog he had been in. Kate is Kate, and never anyone else. She presses their foreheads together, her wet hair falling into Clint’s face. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We’re calling in the reinforcements,” someone says. Clint’s head snaps up, looking over Kate’s shoulder to see a tall, blonde man standing awkwardly in the doorway. He looks sheepishly between Clint and Kate, like he feels bad for ruining their moment. “Uh, sorry.”

It dawns on Clint exactly who this is. “Katie, were you ever going to tell me that you know Captain America?”

Kate’s hand, which has moved to Clint’s shoulder, tightens its grip. “I ran into him in the stairwell. So somehow he knows where you live.”

Captain America shuffles. He is not at all like the warrior Clint has been picturing. He seems awkward, and carries himself like he isn’t totally sure what to do with his body. Steve is what Bucky had called him. His best friend.

“Bucky told you,” Clint realizes after a beat of silence while Steve searches for his words.

“For emergencies!” Steve hurries out. “I think this is as emergency as it gets.”

Clint presses both of his hands to the wood floor, trying to steady himself. Kate lowers herself so she is sitting beside him, shrugging off her coat and tossing it to the couch a few feet away. She remains close to Clint, their knees and shoulders bumping. Her worried eyes connect with Clint’s as she cuts off Steve’s continued awkward and panicked rambling. “The Captain said that he can help.”

Somewhere between the stairs and Clint’s apartment Kate and Steve had realized who the other was and were planning something. “Reinforcements,” Clint echoes from earlier.

Steve presses forward until he stands at the edge of the circle of papers that Clint has made, glancing over them. He doesn’t look surprised at what he sees. It makes Clint wonder how much of this Steve understands. “We, some of the other fighters and I, can help.”

“I don’t understand.”

Steve crouches down and picks up a few of the papers, looking over them. “Has Bucky told you anything? About his past.”

Clint shakes his head.

“I don’t believe the government, or whoever has Bucky, is planning on killing him anytime soon.”

“But Fury said—”

“Fury is holding his cards close to his chest,” Steve says, passing a paper over to Kate, who holds it in front of both of them. The paper has clearly been kept over years, maybe decades, the edges folding in and the page turning brown instead of white. That’s not what surprises Clint, as most of the papers around them are older than Kate. The page contains a list of some sort, a straight line of black going down the page next to a seperate list of years. The only thing besides the years that isn’t blacked out is one name at the bottom. James Buchanan Barnes sits next to the years 1963-2010. “You’ve heard of the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s Bucky,” Kate says.

Clint looks up. “There were—”

“Others,” Steve finishes, nodding. “Before Bucky. But he was the best.”

“The best at what?” asks Kate, practically reading Clint’s mind.

“The Winter Soldier was an assassin for a nazi organization called Hydra,” Steve explains delicately, sorting through all of the papers closest to him. He appears to know what they all mean. “Hydra got its start in the second World War, and like an infection, it continued to grow even after. They lurked in the shadows and started to gain a cult-like following. Bucky joined the army in ‘61, and well, died during a mission in ‘62. But he hadn't, not in the way it counts. He had been taken into captivity by Hydra and became a brainwashed killing machine who didn’t even know his own name.”

“How is that possible—” Kate starts.

“Bucky hadn’t been the first Winter Soldier, but he was the last. Up until then no other Winter Soldier had acted positively to the serum, or finished the training, or died not too long after they started active duty. But Bucky lasted. For forty seven years.”

“Wait,” Clint chokes out, but Steve continues.

“When they found my body in 2008, I joined SHIELD as Captain America and became an agent. I helped take down Hydra, saved Bucky, and then SHIELD shut down, never to be heard from again.”

They must be wearing twin faces of shock. Kate speaks first while Clint tries not to hyperventilate. “You’re the real Captain America? The one from those war posters in the 60s?”

“Yes.”

Kate presses a hand to her forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

This explains everything that was odd about Bucky, Clint thinks. The arm, the languages. His off days where it’s like he accidentally entered factory reset mode. For nearly fifty years, Bucky had been nothing more than a machine, an asset. Now, he was out of his time, his brain working like a fork in a blender, and was in an underground fighting ring because he had no other options. I don’t even technically exist, he had said. And then, you don’t know what I’ve done.

And now he’s gone.

Clint, suddenly steady and sober, stares at Steve. “You said you don’t think they want to kill him. What does any of this have to do with that?”

Steve manages to hold his gaze. “Hydra wouldn’t kill their greatest weapon.”

Beside Clint, Kate startles, leaning forward. “You’re not saying—”

“I believe Hydra has infiltrated the government, and is very likely the root of the accords.”

~

Steve leaves at 5am and promises to return in a few hours. He doesn’t explain where he is going.

Clint has about as much faith in him as he does with Nick Fury at this point, but lets him leave all the same. What more could he lose?

He looks warily at Kate over his coffee. She looks more put together than he does, and that’s saying something. Her hair sits high on her head in a sloppy bun, likely still wet from the rain, and makeup is smeared down her face. It looks like she’s wearing pajamas, with sweatpants tucked into her rain boots and a t-shirt she probably stole from Clint.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” Clint whispers after a long stretch of silence.

Kate frowns at him. “Don’t be sorry, dumbass.”

“I just—“

“You didn’t just anything, okay?” Kate reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine, right Hawkeye?”

Clint sniffs, looking down at their hands. His chest tightens and constricts. “I don’t know what we’re getting into, here.” Steve talked of reinforcements and Hydra with some sort of optimism, like the fight isn’t over yet.

Like there’s still hope.

“It’s not like we did back then, either,” says Kate. “I didn’t expect to become your sidekick when you broke into my house.”

“You’re not my sidekick, Katie.”

She looks away, her gaze far off. “You got that right.”

More silence falls. Clint tries to keep his shit together, forcing himself to drink more coffee. Kate leaves the kitchen to take Lucky outside as the clock on the microwave approaches 6am.

She returns, hair once again wet and drooping sadly to one side of her head. Lucky shakes the water off right next to Clint, then wanders back into the living room to go back to sleep on the couch that is still pressed up against the wall. Clint is reading Barney’s letter again.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

Clint looks up as she sits down, shedding her coat once more. Kate motions to the letter. “You could leave. I wouldn’t mind.”

He stares at her. “I would mind.” Clint couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t see Katie every day. He needs her to tell him when he’s being stupid, or take care of him when he’s sick. No one makes mac n’ cheese quite like she does, or rolls their eyes so hard it must give them a headache. No one to hold his hand or hug him in exactly the right way or share his bed after long nights. The only other person who could ever come close won’t be coming home anytime soon.

“You deserve to be somewhere with Bucky where you can both exist. You have the opportunity, don’t you want to go before it’s too late?”

“It’s already too late.”

“You heard what Steve said!”

Clint rubs his face, releasing a breath that sends a shake through his body. The truth is that he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. What if they do something, something crazy and stupid and definitely illegal and Clint spends the rest of his sad life in a prison, or worse. All for a ghost.

But doesn’t Bucky deserve that? The fighting chance? The what if?

Clint doesn’t even know how long it’s been since Bucky was taken into custody. Had Fury waited? Or was Clint the first to get the news? There were too many variables, none of it made sense—

“What if I don’t deserve it?” asks Clint after a while. Kate’s face softens as she lifts herself from the chair and rounds the table, wrapping her arms around Clint’s shoulders.

“You, Clint Barton,” she whispers to his hair, “deserve a happy ending most of all.”

~

By 11am, Steve still has not returned. Clint paces worriedly around the apartment, takes two showers, digs through the duffel bag holding all of their supplies, takes out his hearing aids, and sits stock still in the middle of all of Bucky’s papers. Knowing what he now knows about the Winter Soldier, some things click into place. There’s a pack of papers connected by a ring at the corner that’s just full of names and dates, a few censored here and there. Victims, Clint realizes, enemies of Hydra that the Winter Soldier targeted. There are thousands of names.

Clint’s stomach stirs uncomfortably. He sets the packet down and moves to stand, feeling ready for this third shower, when Kate, sitting on the couch, looks over at the front door. Clint follows her gaze, but doesn’t see anything. He looks back over at her as she signs wait, her palms up towards her and fingers wiggling. She is up and moving to the door before Clint can respond.

As she opens the door Clint lets himself slide back onto the floor, his feet tucked underneath him. Kate is stepping back and letting Steve in quickly, followed by two women. Kate is talking hurriedly to them, her mouth moving too quickly to read and her eyes looking between their new arrivals. Clint looks back down at the papers, too tired to get up and sort things out.

A pillow hits the side of his head. When he looks up, Kate is looking at him expectantly, Steve looks awkward, and the women are hard to read. Tall dark and beautiful has her arms folded and a blank expression on her face. The second, with defined muscles and big curly hair, looks like she’s judging Clint. Kate, looking small between the two women, runs her pointer finger across her forehead then places her right hand over her left and wiggles her fingers. After a pause and a glance to the second woman, she slots her fingers together and keeps her thumbs pointed up, moving her hands around in a circle.

Ah. So Steve really had called in the reinforcements, whatever that means. Clint was having a hard time keeping up.

The Black Widow says something, and Miss America begins to respond, but Kate cuts her off and starts to rattle on about whatever it is.

Clint lets out a long exhale, stands, carefully steps over all of the papers, pushes past Steve, heading into the bathroom.

His head hurts.

~

His heart hurts.

This is what’s on his mind after the third shower, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His blonde hair is disheveled despite being fresh from a shower, and his eyes are red and rimmed with heavy bags. It’s been less than twenty four hour since he’s seen Fury, but it feels like several lifetimes. From finding out that your sort-of boyfriend is as good as dead, to hearing that he used to work for a nazi organization and grew up in the 50s, everything was starting to pile up on Clint’s shoulders.

Clint was starting to feel very, very overwhelmed.

There was hope, supposedly, for Bucky. Steve seemed to think so.

What had Barney said, when they were kids?

Make everything something to hit with, and hit them until they stop.

Clint lets out a long sigh, slipping in his hearing aids and pulling on a t-shirt and sweatpants that don’t fit him right, but are better than nothing.

“Alright,” Clint says as he enter the kitchen. Kate pauses mid coffee pour, her eyebrows raising and disappearing behind her bangs. She scrambles as the mug overflows and spills onto the table, swearing loudly. “How are we doing this?”

-

It can’t tell exactly how much time passes.

Sometimes they say the words, sometimes they don’t.

Either way, everything is foggy. It fades in and out, having lost the energy to fight long ago. There are flashes of, of things, of people and places and sounds. A dark and old apartment filled with nothing except a mattress and some boxes fades into a pleasant living room with pictures of fuzzy faces and a tv that just shows static, a low voice saying something about dancing and arrows and haircuts.

It shakes its head, trying to clear its brain of the fog, the concrete floor coming into focus for a moment underneath it before turning into an ugly green carpet that smells like rosemary and home. This time a woman’s voice is singing something high and sweet that makes it long to crawl into her arms and fall asleep.

It screams, loud enough that it pulls it out of the mist, banging the metal fist onto the floor. It screams so loud that it is sure someone will come to shut it up, to put a bullet in its head to get it over with.

But no one does.

~

There is a time when they try to activate The Asset, but when they say the words, all it can do is bring two fingers to its chin and make a motion pulling them down and away from its face until they inject something that forces it back into the fog.

~

Bucky thinks a lot about the choices he’s made up to this point.

There was a walk home, from, somewhere, he doesn’t remember. An alleyway, a man with a badge and a uniform and a gun that didn’t fire real bullets. Someone in a pristine lab coat saying the words, but, no, that doesn’t make sense, Hydra went down in—

You spend the better part of your life double and triple checking locks, looking underneath beds, taking the long way home, and obsessively honing your self defence skills, and where does that get you?

He’s clearly in a cell of some sort, but whether or not this is the sort of treatment that enhanced people usually get upon arrest is unclear. Instead of bars there is a heavy metal door, and there is no window or bed. All he has is the light in the ceiling and the occasional grunt that comes through the door. He’s pretty sure he had killed the first few people they sent in, but he had been in full Winter Soldier mode, so he’s not totally sure. Whoever had activated him hadn’t known how to turn it off, so he spent some time in an odd state of limbo where he was activated with no purpose, turning him into a foggy mess that didn’t know who to kill or who to trust. Eventually he ran out of steam and they started trying different things on him, like saying the code words and injecting him with something that makes him become loose and pliant, or, once, knocks him straight out.

He wishes they’d just kill him already. Isn’t that what they do to enhanced anyway?

Whoever is running this operation clearly doesn’t understand how the Winter Soldier works. They’re trying to figure that out, what gets him going and what stops it, and just what his limits are. Why had he been arrested just to become a test subject, left to practically rot away in this fucking cell? Or why hasn’t he been killed?

Bucky thumps his head uselessly against the door. He wonders if anyone outside it can hear him.

He shouldn’t have joined the fucking army.

-

Natasha Romanov takes her coffee black. America Chavez likes hers with only a little milk and cinnamon. Kate, per usual, makes hers with lots of milk and sugar. Steve Rogers does not drink coffee, but somehow finds bags of tea hidden in Clint’s cupboards and drinks that instead.

They all manage to fit in Clint’s kitchen. Kate, America, Steve, and Natasha at the table and Clint on the counter, Lucky underneath the table at Kate’s feet. They’re going on thirty hours of whatever it is they’re doing, talking, planning, something. They walk back and forth between the kitchen and the living room every once in a while, looking for something, anything, they can use to figure out exactly what it is that they’re going to do.

Steve explains that he had to visit the facility and steal some files, which is how he figured out how to contact Natasha and America.

“Fury doesn’t know you’re here?” asks Kate.

He takes a long sip of his tea and shakes his head. Steve looks over at Clint on the counter, then says, “I worry that he wouldn’t think it would be worth it. This isn’t the first fighter that’s been arrested, and it will hardly be the last.”

Clint forces himself to look up at the ceiling rather than at Steve’s sad face. Seventy five arrow holes in the kitchen, and twenty two are on the ceiling. He counts them now, each one a tap on the counter.

One, two, three, four…

“There’s not much we can do without the resources at the facility,” Natasha points out. “The combined forces of Stark’s tech and Fury’s information would do us wonders.”

America wanders out of her chair, bringing her mug with her into the living room. “I don’t get how Fury got our information. I certainly didn’t give it to him.” She moves along the edge of papers that Clint has created. They’ve hardly made a dent, even if they’ve already moved a decent amount of papers into the room. Pages that appear to be health updates with locations blacked out, or army files that declare Sergeant James Barnes KIA.

“Why don’t we just get in and get into Stark’s shit then?” Kate keeps her eyes on America through the doorway, her hands nervously fiddling with her own mug.

...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

“You’ve seen the security at the damn place, it’s nearly impossible to get in without being detected, much less get in and get out undetected,” Natasha says plainly, as if it’s obvious.

...nineteen, twenty, twenty one…

“There are twenty two points of entry, fifteen exits,” America calls from the living room. “I don’t see why we can’t shut a few down for a little while.”

Clint looks away from the ceiling, over at Kate. She’s looking back at him, and without missing a beat, raises a hand to point at him, then moves her hand down away from her chin. He just nods, hopping off the counter and moving into the living room, where America is crouched over one of the pages.

“There’s nothing we can do that Stark wouldn’t notice immediately,” says Steve.

There’s a paper that America is holding. Every single word is censored, except for a single photo in the top right corner of an empty street.

“Why don’t we just ask him?”

Clint can practically hear all of the heads turning towards him. Steve starts, “Ask—”

“Stark.”

Heavy silence. Lucky’s panting fills it. Then,

“That could—”

“He wouldn’t—”

Steve and Natasha start to talk over each other, Steve adamantly refusing to believe that Tony would help while Natasha makes a case for Clint. America looks over at Clint and gives him a lopsided smile. “They’ll never give in to each other, they’re both too stubborn.”

Clint thinks back to the time he watched Captain America tapout during a fight with Black Widow. “I’m not so sure.”

The paper America was holding lands back on top of something about a man named Helmut Zemo. Clint’s looked at it already, anyway.

“Stark seems like the type of guy who would get a kick out of helping our wayward cause,” Clint continues, moving back into the kitchen and taking the seat that America has abandoned. He takes a drink from Kate’s cup even if he prefers his coffee black. He’s starting to feel like he needs a nap. A nap and a house far, far away from Bed Stuy. “So, why don’t we just ask him. Walk right up to that tower of his, knock on the door, and ask.”

Waving a hand, Kate comes to his defense. “He has a point.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows smugly at Steve. He looks at her for a long minute, some sort of internal turmoil, before he dips his head and says, “fine.”

From inside the living room, America tosses a fist in the air. “Now we’re cooking.”

And with that, Clint stands, leaving the kitchen, walking through the living room, and retreating to his lonely room. He doesn’t need to look to know Lucky has followed, jumping onto the bed and looking up at Clint sadly, as if he is wondering where their third party is.

Clint crouches at the edge of the bed where Lucky lies, his one eye trained on Clint. He runs a hand through Lucky’s fur and rubs behind his ear, his tongue falling out the side of his mouth with a low huff. “I miss him, too,” Clint whispers. He feels like crying but can’t, his body tired of it. Lucky sits up enough press his nose into Clint’s eye, then his tongue against his cheek, as if sensing the imaginary tears that are falling. “We’ll get him back,” Clint promises, to Lucky and to himself, petting the dog once more before removing his hearing aids and crawling into bed, wondering if it truly smells like Bucky, or if he is imagining it.

When Kate slips in beside him, sometime later, Clint realizes that he couldn’t live without Bucky as much as he could not live without Kate.

~

Clint is sitting on a roof somewhere, a younger, clean cut Bucky Barnes beside him. His hair is cut to army regulation but still styled immaculately, and is donned in the same fancy greens Clint had seen in the picture earlier, but the sniper rifle in his hands suggests that he’s in combat . When Clint looks down he sees his bow in his hands, a single arrow sitting innocently on the ledge of the building that they are on.

There’s a cityscape in front of them, but it fades in and out, too hard to make out any details.

“Where are we?” asks Clint, his voice sounding muted and warbled, even in his own head. The young Bucky beside him looks through the scope on his rifle.

“A mission, of course.” He certainly sounds like the Bucky that Clint knows, but there is a smirk in his voice, a hint of playfulness and youth. “Didn’t you read my file?”

Clint startles, grabbing the arrow from the ledge and looking over the edge of the building. Something finally comes into focus, a single door on a building across the street. There are no people on the foggy streets, no one to enter the building and no one to leave it. When Clint looks over at Bucky, he is no longer looking through the rifle and is instead sitting back, his feet kicked up with his arms raised behind his head, all too relaxed.

“A mission,” Clint repeats. With one arrow? “I don’t—”

“Hush,” says Bucky suddenly, sitting up and looking through the scope. Clint looks too, then stands suddenly, shocked at what he sees.

Bucky, the version that Clint knows with long hair and a scruffy face and a metal arm, walks out of the building. He’s nearly moving in slow motion, face blank as he moves forward. He’s dressed all in black, with weapons strapped across his body, and Clint realizes that he’s looking at the Winter Soldier.

Young Bucky pulls Clint back down by his sleeve. “You’ll blow our cover,” he hisses, face twisted into something angry and unrecognizable. “Aren’t you going to take the shot?”

Clint means to grab at Young Bucky’s shoulder, but his hand goes right through him. “I can’t,” Clint pleads, looking into the cold blue eyes of the young man that Clint doesn’t know at all. “He’s still in there.” Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing and lifting his rifle.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he mutters, looking down the scope just for a moment before pulling the trigger.

There is a shot that rings through the air and Clint shouts, throwing out his arm, but he is falling suddenly, over the edge and away from the Bucky that Clint doesn’t know.

He wakes up before he can hit the ground.

~

For a moment Clint just feels someone beside him, and wonders if the last day and a half have been a dream. But Kate’s hair is longer and darker than Bucky’s, splayed out on the pillow beside her head. Lucky is sitting patiently by the door, looking back and forth between the bed and the door, his mouth hanging open.

Clint lets out a long breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, his heart beat steadying into something that makes it easier for him to set his feet on the carpet, put his hearing aids in, and open the door. It’s only once Lucky is rushing out of the bedroom and to the front door that Clint notices the sound of incessant knocking.

It’s hard to say how much time has passed since Clint abandoned the others for his bedroom, but sunlight is spilling through the curtains when it had been dark when he fell asleep, so something tells him it hasn’t been an absurdly long time. Natasha and America being sprawled over the furniture that's crowded together adds to the theory. Steve is nowhere to be seen.

“Wha—”

Tony Stark is already rambling as he steps through the open door and around Clint. “About damn time,” Tony is saying, carrying a cardboard box filled with electronics, “I’ve been knocking for, what, ten minutes?”

“You know I’m deaf right—”

“And at this time of day, no less” he continues, stepping into the kitchen and setting the box on the table. “This isn’t usually the sort of thing I’d do but Stars and Stripes put on his puppy face begged for my assistance.”

Clint stares at Tony. He hadn’t really expected him to be on their side, much less randomly show up to his apartment. “Where’s Steve?” asks Clint skeptically.

Tony waves a hand, pulling out a device that looks like a miniature satellite. “Has to check in with some official government people every morning since he’s on the enhanced list.”

“So that's where he went yesterday morning. He wasn’t just getting…” Clint pauses, looking awkwardly at Tony. “Things.”

“I am well aware that the star spangled man with a plan snuck into the facility.” Clint doesn’t get the reference, but Tony is continuing before he can even ask. “That man doesn’t have an ounce of stealth in that ridiculous body.”

The sound of Tony taking everything out of the box and rambling on about Steve taking what doesn’t belong to him finally wake someone else up, a disheveled Natasha stepping into the kitchen. She takes one look at Stark, heaves a long sigh, then moves to the counter to begin making more coffee. “You miss me, Miss Romanov?” Tony says, raising his eyebrows at her back. Clint takes the seat next to Tony, glancing over all of the equipment he has taken out. Several computers, the thing that’s shaped like a satellite, and a pile of things that just look like junk to Clint.

“Do you think you can find him?” asks Clint.

Shrugging, Tony grabs a cord from one of the computers and reaches around Natasha to plug it in next to the coffee machine. She glares at him as he responds, “Not sure. We tried to put a tracker in that arm of his forever ago, but he destroyed it as soon as he was out of my sight. He would never be found if he didn’t want to.”

Clint thinks back to that first night they met, when he had found one of the fifteen exits from the facility and Bucky had stopped to question him. They had fumbled around each other, neither one of them knowing exactly what to do. Bucky had been pissed off and worried that Clint was going to turn him in, and Clint had been afraid and flustered.

That was months ago.

Look at us now, Clint thinks, rubbing his forehead and glancing over at Tony. Nothing remains of Bucky in the apartment, nothing except that stupid fucking file. No pictures, because Bucky refused to take them. No notes, no traces, nothing to be found, just like Tony says.

“Is it a lost cause?”

Stark looks up, studying Clint. He takes him in, the whole mess of him. Clint can’t tell if there is pity hidden in his gaze.

“Be honest,” continues Clint.

He rubs his facial hair, glancing back down at his unfinished computer setup, then up at the ceiling, before Tony finally settles on Clint again. Over his shoulder, Natasha’s eyes flick around Tony’s person, the shoulders, his hands and feet, analyzing his body language. Finally, Tony says, “I think I can find him. Whether or not he’ll be sane isn’t something I can guarantee.”

That’s enough for Clint. Hope, something he had been trying to shove away, starts to bubble in his chest. Tony Stark, of all people, was giving him hope.

Clint leans back in his chair, letting the feeling settle and his shoulders loosen. Tony was going to find Bucky, they were going to come up with a plan. And then what?

Barney didn’t answer the phone when Clint called hours ago, and had not called back. Clint hadn’t left a message, either, but he didn’t even know what to say. There was promise of a house, a haven far away from New York. Big open fields for Lucky, places for targets for him and Kate. A home for Bucky where he would never have to worry about what may be hiding around the corner. “I’ll be right back,” Clint mutters while Tony takes a breath from talking to Natasha as she sits down. He can feel her careful gaze on him as he reenters the living room and goes back into his bedroom.

Kate is still asleep. He doesn’t bother waking her as he sits on the edge of the bed, digging around the blankets and looking for his cell phone. It’s nearly dead, so he plugs it into the wall and leans in close as he punches in the numbers he has memorized at this point.

It rings for a few seconds. Clint’s leg bounces nervously.

“Y’ello?”

Pause. Clint didn’t think he’d get this far.

“Barney?”

“...Clint?”

He has to mentally slap himself. “Yeah, yeah it’s me. I called earlier, but…”

“Jesus Christ Clint, what time is it over there?”

Clint glances at the clock. 6:38am. “Early. Been a long few days.”

There’s some noise on the other side of the phone, like a gust of wind is blowing past Barney. It’s loud, enough so that it makes Clint pull his ear away from the phone for a moment.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” says Barney. He doesn’t sound sorry, but continues, “so are you calling me this early in the morning just to say hi?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “You know why I’m calling.”

“No need to get snarky. You’re talking to your brother for the first time in years and this is the thanks I get?”

“Barney, please. I told you I’ve had a long few days.”

Another stretch of silence. More wind hits Barney’s phone, but nothing loud enough to hurt. He finally says, “well, it’s like I said. It’s yours if you want it.”

He wants it. So desperately, so much that he can feel it in his bones. Clint grabs a fistful of the blanket and closes his eyes, trying to ground himself. If they can just get Bucky, Stark could figure out how to get them there—

“I need some details, first.”

“Three bedrooms, two baths, two floors. A basement for… storage, if you need that. A barn full of junk. All furnished, mostly old stuff that we found for sale around the area. In Ireland, on land built for farming, though I can’t imagine that interests you or your lady.”

Clint looks over at where Kate is on the bed, one arm tossed over her eyes and the other outstretched towards him. He delicately picks up her hand as Barney tells him all about the place they could run away to. She doesn’t want that, he recalls, and sucks in a tight breath. He, Bucky, and Lucky, in a farmhouse in Ireland, both of them away from their best friends.

“She won’t be coming,” says Clint, can practically feel the sadness dripping in his voice. She has a life here, in school, with friends and America Chavez.

“Bad breakup making you wanna run away?”

“What? No! She’s my best friend, and she has a life outside of me.”

“Doesn’t matter to me. So, I’ll mail you the address—”

“There’s not really time for that. If this all goes well, I’ll be there in a few days.”

Another sound on Barney’s end, not wind this time, and not very loud. Clint suspects that Barney accidentally knocked something over. “What the fuck are you getting yourself into?”

“I’ll explain another time.”

“Does this have anything to do with work?”

“No. Well, maybe. In a roundabout way.”

Barney sounds a little out of breath, his voice louder and probably closer to the receiver. “I swear to God, Clint, be careful.” That wasn’t how he expected the sentence to end, but Barney is continuing before Clint can get a word in. “I’m a shitty brother but that doesn't mean I want you dead. Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“Careful, Barn.”

“Do you?” Barney says, more forceful this time. 

Does he? Clint doesn’t know. Tony’s working on locating Bucky. Where they go from there is to be determined. He’s holding on to that hope, that they can figure this out, and maybe live to tell the tale. “It’s like, ah, hide and seek,” Clint breathes. “We’re seeking, right now. Hiding is... well, it’s somewhere down the line.”

For as stupid as Clint once considered Barney, he seems to understand. “Don’t hit so hard that it becomes an issue.”

“I’m going to try not to.”

After a few seconds, Barney questions, “is it worth it, Clint?”

Clint answers without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Well then, I’ll take your word for it. You got an email or something? I can figure out how to get that address to you without… You know.”

He lists off an email that he stopped checking years ago, the hope that had been sitting in his chest shifting into something more like desire. Clint is no longer just hoping for the best— action is settling into his bones and muscles and blood, ready to do this, whatever this is.

“I gotta go, Clint.”

“Alright.”

Barney hesitates, says, “good luck,” and hangs up.

That checks out with how he remembers Barney. Clint exhales, setting his phone on the nightstand and shifting so he lies next to Kate. Her arm is resting across her chest and her eyes are open, trained on the ceiling. Their hands are still linked. His hands are big and scarred, while hers are thin and delicate, the nails painted purple.

“Did you hear very much?”

Kate stares up at the ceiling, waving a hand. “A little.” She sniffs, finally rolling onto her side to look at him. “Enough.”

The silence that settles between them is comfortable, but can hardly be considered silence. Tony can be heard talking in the other room, occasionally America, apparently awake, or Natasha butting in. 

“I’ll miss you,” Kate says lightly, blue eyes searching Clint’s face.

“I’m not…” Clint means to finish with leaving yet, but he chokes on his words. Clearing his throat and knocking their foreheads together, he whispers instead, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You’re running away from this stupid country with the guy you’re head over heels for, you shouldn’t be thinking of me.” Her voice doesn’t waver as she says it, but for a moment Clint can see through the chinks in her well built armour, the way her eyes flicker with worry and her lips pressing firmly together.

“You know I love you, right Katie?” It’s not the first time he’s ever said it, not by a long shot, but he feels the need to remind her, suddenly.

Kate reaches forward with her left hand, the one not holding Clint’s, brushing back his hair with a delicate touch. “If you love something, let it go, right?”

Clint scoffs through a smile, pressing his hand into her face and twisting so he’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Kate shifts beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Their hands do not separate even once.

Sixteen arrow holes in the ceiling. He doesn’t bother counting them.

“For what it’s worth, I love you too.”

It’s worth everything.

He has nothing to say to that, so they slip into quiet once more. Clint thinks of the Bucky shaped hole in his heart, of the love that was, is, blossoming there, and where they will go after this whole thing blows over, assuming it does. When they find where Bucky is being kept, when they come up with a plan, when they break him out of there, when, when, when…

Just as Clint starts to think in if, there is a knock at the door. Kate lifts up her head, most of her hair stuck to the side of her face. Clint busies himself with pulling the hairs away carefully as Kate calls, “what?”

Steve says something behind the door that is muffled enough for Clint not to catch it, but Kate does. She presses her hand to her forehead and closes her eyes, shouting back, “alright, we’ll be back out in a second.” Clint follows when she sits up, pressing her mouth to the back of Clint’s hand. “Stark got everything set up, time to get to work.”

Clint just nods, watching as she slips out of bed, their hands coming apart at long last. Their fingers fall away from each other without any attention or fanfare. Clint wonders if maybe there should have been.

~

They all look like shit, Clint notes once they gather in the kitchen. Tony takes up most of the table space, so Kate, Natasha, and America sit further back in their chairs with matching perplexed looks, coffee cups held close to their chests. Steve leans in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, letting Clint take a spot on the counter. What surface Tony hasn’t taken over is covered in papers that Tony and Steve have deemed important, or, rather, readable, snippets of information slipping through the cracks here and there.

They’re going to run out of coffee soon.

“If your theory is true, that Hydra is running the government and started the accords, that still doesn’t tell us where they could have a base.” Tony rubs his forehead, looking over his computer at Steve. “Who's to say they’re not just keeping him in a police station?”

“They wouldn’t do that, not with…” A dangerous weapon. “Not with Bucky.”

“It’s been two days,” Natasha points out, “why are we assuming they’re even in this country?”

“Hydra wouldn’t risk getting him out of the country, not yet at least,” Steve swears, looking confident.

Clint can feel his heart beat in his ears. “It’s not like the police have a missing persons case on their hands,” he says, bitterly. “No one except us knew he existed.”

“And Hydra, apparently,” America interjects, looking pointedly at Steve from behind her mug. “We’re working off a lot of assumptions, maybe he’s just arrested and sitting in a jail somewhere?”

“That’s what Fury seemed to think,” Clint recalls. Fury had said something about death’s row and government custody. At that point, Bucky is as good as dead.

He didn’t know what was worse— the thought of Bucky arrested, a death sentence awaiting him, or having Hydra in control, turning him back into the Winter Soldier.  

“What I don’t understand,” says Kate, “is why Hydra, an organization that you supposedly brought down,” she points at Steve, not unacccusingly but not mean either, “suddenly reappears ten years later with a personal vendetta out for enhanced people.”

Steve opens his mouth, but Natasha cuts in before he can say anything. “‘Cut off one head, two more will take its place’,” she recites, ignoring everyone’s watchful gaze. “That’s Hydra’s slogan. They’re based on the principle that it’s impossible to get rid of them all.”

“Like the worst case of bedbugs you’ve ever seen,” replies Tony. Clint can’t tell how seriously he’s taking the situation.

Natasha twists in her chair to look at Steve, ignoring Tony’s comment. “Ten years ago, you wiped out most of Hydra, when you pulled Bucky out of the brainwashing. A few years later, the accords are put in place, and SHIELD, the government organization in charge of handling the enhanced, whose poster boy is their worst enemy, and his best friend is Hydra’s greatest weapon, goes down with the ship. Hydra, who has infiltrated our government, uses the accords to start taking down its greatest threats.”

“But that’s me,” Steve says, visibly confused. “I was just put on the watch list, not put in a prison or killed like they do with nearly everyone else.”

The pieces start to fall into place in Clint’s brain. “They didn’t execute or imprison Steve because they knew that he would know Bucky’s whereabouts.”

Tony stops typing, sitting straight and stock still as he stares at Clint. “Are you saying—”

“Bucky is the reason for the accords.” Clint’s voice sounds so quiet in his own head that he’s not sure anyone else hears it. There is a moment, just a millisecond for the pin to drop. Everyone runs the revelation over in their heads, and then, movement. Steve presses a hand to his face and promptly turns away and out of the room. Natasha manages to find a spot on the table for his coffee, moving swiftly after him. Tony leans back in his chair, a perplexed look gracing his features, speechless for maybe the first time ever. America presses her fingers to her temples and squeezes her eyes shut. Kate, her mouth hanging open, looks worriedly at Clint.

Clint cannot find it within himself to feel anything.

~

“You call that a shot?” Bucky laughs, leaning over the ledge to look down at the busy street. A group of pigeons investigate the apple slice that Clint just threw at them, pecking at it incessantly.

“Oh please, that was perfect and you know it.” Clint reaches for the plate of sliced apples that sits on the ground between them, grabbing and slipping one into his mouth this time, instead of down onto the street for the pigeons. “I’d like to see you do better.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows and gives Clint a sly smirk. “Pick a target, baby, I’ll hit it every time.”

The smirk slips into a warm laugh as Clint shoves at his shoulder. “Shut up.” His teasing tone can’t hide the pink of his cheeks. Clint doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, to Bucky. Still, he leans forward and to the side a little, enough to press their shoulders together. “That brick, the one that’s lighter than all the other ones.” Clint points to the building next door, stretching his arm across Bucky’s body. Sure enough, there is a pink brick amongst dark red ones. “Think you could hit that with your eyes closed?”

A scoff slips out of Bucky’s mouth, close to Clint’s ear. They’re nearly on top of each other, now, comfortable and knowing. “Obviously.”

Bucky grabs one of the apple slices, breaking it in half. He holds the piece in his right hand, shifting his shoulder back and raising his arm. Clint, on his left side, hovers close, pressing his mouth to the soft bit of skin behind Bucky’s ear. He stills, arm still in the air but not stiff like he’s tense. Just unmoving.

“Aren’t you going to take the shot?” Clint teases.

Their lips connect in a second, Bucky’s arm lowering and wrapping around Clint’s neck, placing him nicely in the crook of his elbow. “I can’t,” Bucky jokes, pulling away for a moment to look into Clint’s eyes. Blue meets blue, warm and inviting. “Not with you there, asshole.”

They both taste like apples, but that’s no surprise, mouths slipping together once again. “Fine, I’ll do it,” says Clint between their breaths, left hand moving up to Bucky’s hand that’s still holding the apple piece, reaching around him and tossing the slice without bothering to look. Bucky turns his head just as the apple connects with the pink brick and falls into a garbage can below.

Bucky laughs, something high and sweet, his hand at the back of Clint’s neck pressing into his hair and bringing their mouths together once more. Clint loses himself in Bucky’s touch, in the warm hand on the back of his head and the nudge of his nose against Clint’s cheek. He throws an arm out, holding onto the ledge of the building so he does not slip any further into Bucky than he already has.

Clint would not mind hitting the ground, if this is what falling feels like.

~

New York feels oddly quiet and lonely.

It’s nearing 8am, meaning the streets will start to get busy as people begin their commute to work, but for now, there isn’t much more than a dozen cars on the street at a time and one or two people leaving buildings. 

Clint rests his elbows on the ledge, both of his legs tucked up underneath him. The rain stopped sometime while he was asleep, he thinks, leaving behind a cloudy sky and the murky sort of heat that warns of the summer to come. Nothing like summer in Bed Stuy, Clint thinks bitterly, when the air conditioning in his apartment doesn’t work and all the tenants of the building gather up here on the roof to grill food and pretend that the world isn’t falling apart around them.

Maybe he’s just being pessimistic.

He groans, loudly enough to startle a pigeon that had settled a few feet away, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes so hard he sees white spots. Clint should have known that it was too good to last. He shouldn’t have gotten so attached, he shouldn’t have kissed him, he shouldn’t have taken Bucky out for a beer, he shouldn’t have let Kate take him to the Initiative. There were so many moments, so many times where if it had stopped, they would not be where they are now. Bucky would not be in the hands of Hydra, or the government, or whoever, and Clint would not be sitting by himself on the roof of his building, thinking about this.

Yet, he wouldn’t take any of it back. Every touch, every kiss, was worth it.

“God,” Clint mutters, pulling his hands away from his face and staring up at the grey clouds, squinting and focusing on the flickering spots that remain. “This is the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” calls someone. Clint whips around, one hand going to touch a hearing aid as he stares at Steve.

“Not very many people can sneak up on me,” he says bitterly, thinking of how often Bucky did and turning back to look over the ledge. Steve must take that as an invitation to approach, stopping next to Clint but not sitting down. “Stark said you’re not stealthy.”

“Tony doesn’t know me very well.”

Clint looks up and over at Steve, raising his eyebrows. Steve returns the gaze, no pity in his eyes. He repeats, “I’m sorry.”

Sniffing, Clint wipes at his face and averts his eyes. “You lost him too.”

Steve apparently has nothing to say to that, moving on. “He doesn’t like to talk about you, you know.” Clint doesn’t. “You’re like something sacred to him.”

He’s careful with his words, saying doesn’t instead of didn’t, clinging to hope like Clint clings to their memories. Clint doesn’t know what to say to him, so lets his words settle in his brain. Something sacred. His mouth tastes like apples.

“But, he had said that you guys were planning on… running away together.”

Clint scoffs. Hopeful is the word that comes to mind. They were hopeful, that they’d figure out a way to get Bucky out of the country and to Barney’s house. Hopeful and blissfully falling in love.

The ground doesn’t feel so nice.

“And Kate had said, that you’d do it, if you figured out how.”

So that’s where he’s going with this.

Clint rubs his face and speaks into his hands instead of Steve. “I don’t know how much faith I have in myself to get us there.”

“You’re not alone in this. Tony’s going to track him down, America, Nat, and I are some of the best hand to hand fighters in the Initiative that aren’t Bucky, and, well, you know Kate. You don’t need me to tell you that she has your six.”

When Clint looks over at Steve once more, his hand is extended. “What about you?” Clint asks, once he has had a moment to stare at the hand. “We make it out of this, we get Bucky and I to Europe. What do the rest of you guys do?”

Steve doesn’t lower his hand, but looks pensive before he answers. “Take down a regime, expose Hydra for everything that they are and what they’ve done to this country. Maybe go on vacation.”

With that, Clint take’s Steve’s hand, pulling himself up until they’re eye to eye. “I think we’ve earned one, Captain.”

~

It takes three days.

Clint receives an email on the second day from a user that is just a string of letters and numbers, the contents of the email just names of books, which Clint pieces together to be the coordinates for the house once he searches for them online and does some digging. Tony stays in the apartment for the most part, sending Kate or America to his tower to get something if he needs it. Steve leaves every morning and always returns around noon, ready to help Clint and Natasha sort through all of Bucky’s files. One night, the same day Barney emails, the three fighters and Tony have to go to the facility to participate in the Initiative, returning battered and bruised but with duffels and backpacks containing tactical gear, jumping back into it without another word. They found a system that works, all the way up until the point that Stark makes the call. 

Apparently Tony had been digging through the government’s data files, how he got access to those Clint doesn’t know, when he had found a secure folder hidden in another series of folders. Natasha had left that morning with Steve, so they aren’t around when Tony finally says, “I think I found it.”

America, who was sitting beside Stark, bolts up and out of her chair so quickly that she becomes a blur of red, white, and blue, the papers on the counter going flying. Clint scrambles to catch them as Kate hurries over to Tony as well. “Found what,” America says, leaning over Tony’s shoulder to look at the screen.

“Evidence of Hydra in the United States government, what do you think?” Tony looks up and over the computer to focus on Clint, who has very purposefully been keeping his movements to fix the papers on the counter controlled and calm. “If I can get into this, I can figure out where he is, or find someone who does, at least.”

Slowly, Clint meets his gaze. “Are you one hundred percent positive?”

Be honest, Clint had said four days ago, when Tony first arrived. He looks the same way he had then, rubbing his facial hair pensively, looking anywhere but at Clint, then settling on him. “If this file is what I think it is, and if it contains the information that I hope it will… then, yes. One hundred percent.”

Over Tony’s shoulder, Kate’s face slips into something like relief. Whether it’s for Clint or just for the fact that the whole ordeal will be over soon, he can’t tell for sure.

America nudges Tony. “Well, get at it Stark, we’re don’t exactly have a ton of time.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Steve and Nat to get back?” Kate asks, eyes moving between Tony and Clint.

“Yes, let’s.” Tony pushes his chair away from the table, stretching as he stands. “First, nap, then I’ll expose our corrupt government and a nazi organization.” He waves a finger at Clint as he moves into the living room. “And hopefully save your boyfriend along the way.”

With that, Tony promptly walks to the couch, which is back in the middle of the room where it belongs, and crashes.

Kate lowers herself into the chair next to America, crossing one leg over the other and leaning an elbow on the table. “He’s certainly nothing like I expected him to be,” she notes.

“You get used to him,” replies America, shooting Kate a look. It’s Clint’s turn to look between them, raising his eyebrows. Catching Kate’s eye, he signs cute, a smile tugging at his lips. She glares at him, raising her hand and pulling all of her fingers together in front of her mouth, telling him to shut up. Her cheeks are a suspicious shade of pink.

It’s only 8am so Clint tries to busy himself while they wait for Natasha and Steve to return. The sink is leaking again so he fixes it while Kate and America chat at the table. The sink doesn’t take very long so he takes Lucky on a walk, one of the few times he has bothered leaving the apartment, but he’s back before ten, so he sits by himself on the roof and tries not to think about Bucky.

When that doesn’t work he heads back to the apartment, Kate and America still at the table, unmoved. He walks right past them, through the living room and into his bedroom, stopping at the foot of his bed and crouching to grab the duffel bag from where it sits underneath the bed. The contents rattle as he sets it on the bed, pulling out his bow and an arrow.

He crawls on top of the unmade bed, settling on his back in the middle, face up towards the ceiling. Counting to sixteen over and over, Clint begins to lose track of time. The bow in one hand and the arrow in the other.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…

Clint twists his body and raises the bow, pulling back his arm holding the air, pressing uncomfortably into the mattress, taking the shot.

Seventeen arrow holes in the ceiling of the bedroom.

The arrow sticks in the ceiling, reverbing a few times before coming to a stop. Clint stares at it, sighing as he lays back down fully on the bed, lying on his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

Just as he begins to relax, his heartbeat slowing down and thoughts turning to a more manageable topic (whether or not he should do laundry), Kate calls his name. Rolling over and bringing his pillow with him, Clint tosses his arms across it to press it further into his face. It does a decent job at muffling the frustrated scream that falls out of his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Slowly pulling himself up, Clint starts to feel as if he had been sleeping for twenty hours, rather than lying down and staring at the ceiling for forty minutes. He stands on the bed, pulling the arrow from the ceiling before jumping down and putting the arrow and the duffel back where they belong, under the bed.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Natasha says as Clint steps out of the room. It takes him a moment to realize that she isn’t talking to him, but rather to Stark, who is still laying on the couch, but his eyes are open and squinting at the redhead leaning over the back and staring down at him. Steve is beside her, but isn’t looking at Tony. He talks over his shoulder to Kate in the kitchen, a slight frown gracing his features.

If they heard Clint in the bedroom they don’t say anything as he moves into the kitchen. The clock on the microwave says it’s 11:12am, so Steve and Natasha are back earlier than usual.

“Have you told them yet?” asks Clint as he grabs the bag of bread from where it sits on top of the fridge.

“Well,” America starts.

“Told us what?” Steve cuts in abruptly, bringing an end to he and Kate’s conversation.

Tony appears from behind the couch, tossing his legs over the side and standing. “Hold your horses, soldier.” He takes a long, agonizing moment to stretch, his back popping audibly. Clint puts the bread in the toaster just as Tony finishes, continuing, “I may have found some Hydra files while perusing through Government and old SHIELD files. Give me a little while to get into them, and I can hopefully find your guy in a few hours.”

The frown that Steve had been wearing slips into something akin to determination. “And you were taking a nap?” he says, mostly joking. Tony shoot him a look, stepping around him and into the kitchen. The toaster ticks away.

Natasha trails behind Tony as he steps into the kitchen and sits in his usual spot. Steve stares at her back, watching her movements carefully. She leans over Stark as he sits down and opens all of his computers, eyes trained on the screen directly in front of him. Kate huffs, standing and stepping into Clint’s space, squinting her eyes as she looks through him. There’s nothing she can’t see and doesn’t know already, so he just raises his eyebrows at her and grabs the toast when it pops up. She points at him, taps her right pointer finger to the left with a slight shake of the head, moves her thumb from underneath her chin to underneath her hand, hooks her finger and moves it away from her hand, then points at herself. You cannot hide from me.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint mutters, stepping around her and getting into the fridge. “I know.”

Toast with jam tastes good when you’ve hardly eaten in five days.

Tony glances up at the five of them. “I’d suggest making some plans, if you haven’t already. As soon as I open this thing, I imagine it won’t be long before they figure out someone is snooping where they shouldn’t be.”

They all look at each other, as if waiting for someone to move first. Then, they’re all moving, Natasha stepping away from Tony and beginning to dig through one of the drawers. America appears next to Kate and drags her away towards the living room, followed closely by Steve. 

Clint shoves the rest of the toast into his mouth, barely tasting it as he chews and swallows. He opens the drawer closes to him, pulling out a pen and notepad. Natasha takes it when he passes it to her, looking at him, not through him like Kate did, but certainly strongly and intensely enough to make his stomach stir. When she breaks her stare, stepping around him and into the living room, he feels inclined to join.

~

By 4pm, they have a plan.

By 6, a location.

Tony finds documents detailing a complicated route to a maximum security prison in Connecticut. Google says that when the accords came into place they transferred civilian prisoners elsewhere, renovating the prison for enhanced. It was mysteriously never filled and disappeared into history, replaced instead by the more practical Raft (Clint had always believed the Raft to be a myth. Steve confirms that its existence is very, very real). There has supposedly been activity around the old prison; lights on around the area, trucks that move from the location to the city at routine times, and people decked out in gear hovering around the place. Tony matches this convoy to the one talked about in the Hydra files, used for transporting The Asset. No one has to speak up or check the files to know that that is referring to Bucky.

From there they break, agreeing to meet at Stark Tower in an hour and a half. Kate stays with Clint, and Tony takes Lucky, promising to take good care of him in the short amount of time he will be away from them. 

Kate comes out of the bedroom donned in her purple jumpsuit, sans shoes and some clothes tossed over her shoulder, tugging at the belt around her hips, possibly fitting more snug than it had years ago. “You know, I had hoped that the first time I put this thing on it would be in better circumstances. And that maybe I’d have lost weight.”

“We’re not as spry as we used to be,” says Clint, stretching and cracking his back. He digs around in the duffel bag, finding and passing Kate her gloves. She stuffs them into the top of the suit, where her arm meets her chest, part of them poking out of the hole on her shoulder. Her hair falls across one side of her shoulder, pushed back by the purple headband. Clint feels about six years younger, for a moment, watching Kate reach around him to dig around in the bag. They’ve done this, get ready to do something heroic and dangerous, thousands of times.

“It’s probably too dark for these, right?” She holds up the purple sunglasses, the small smile she saves for Clint gracing her mouth. “What about you?”

Clint’s own pair are in her other hand. “Too dark,” he agrees, but takes them and slips them into his quiver, which sits in the bottom of the bag next to hers. They can’t take them out, not yet.

The sound of the chair beside him scraping against the floor forces him to look over at her. She pokes his chest, right at the midpoint of the arrow as it starts to point down. “Are you ready, Hawkeye?”

He meets her eye. “Are you ready, Hawkeye?”

“Clint.”

“I don’t know, ready for what?”

“For… all of it. The fight. Seeing Bucky. Running away.”

Clint taps his hand on his thigh to keep it from shaking. “Do you think I should pack another bag, or something?”

She snorts. “A duffel bag full of pointy sticks from the paleolithic era is hardly enough to run away—” Kate cuts herself off, exhaling and looking at the clock on the microwave. “If you see Bucky, like that, you know what to do. You won’t freeze?”

“No.” His voice wavers as he says it.

Kate pats his face affectionately despite the wary look on her face. “I’ll take good care of the apartment. I’ll write, or call, whatever we can do...” She stands, suddenly, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. When she returns, not long after, her hands are full of picture frames. A small pile of sticky notes sit on top.

Gingerly, she sets them into the bag, between their arrows and quivers. Clint stands, pulling her into his arms and pressing his mouth to the side of her face. It feels final, even though they have a few hours left.

Ten minutes later, they have t-shirts and jeans thrown over their tactical gear, Clint’s hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and the duffel bag hanging from Kate’s shoulder. The keys are in her hand as he takes one last glance around the apartment. The crack in the mirror, the remaining sticky notes on the nightstand, three hundred and twenty eight arrow holes. Old furniture that has somehow remained comfortable, and a TV that's broken too many times. “Don’t redecorate too much,” Clint chokes out as Kate locks the door behind them.

She bumps his shoulder with her own. “I told you I’ll take good care of it.”

Clint smiles at her, his first one in hours, and knows that she will.

-

A far away sound wakes Bucky up.

It’s not close, not yet, at least. But it was loud enough to startle Bucky’s well trained ears. He pulls himself up from the floor, stumbling to the door until he can steady himself by pressing his hands against it. Hair hangs in front of his eyes as he focuses on what may lie beyond the walls of this cell. Sounds, loud sounds, yelling, maybe, or screaming? The haze in his mind begins to clear, his left hand scratching hard enough at the door to leave scrapes, but nothing substantial enough to get him out. He groans, shoving his shoulder against the door. There isn’t much strength left in him, it’s been a while since they’ve fed him but longer since they’ve activated him.

The screech of the metal hand on the door almost masks another sound coming from outside the door. This one is close, and repeated, over and over and over, getting louder—

Bucky takes a long, staggered step back as the familiar sound of metal creaking fills his ears, the door swinging open. It’s not one of the usual agents they send in like he expects. A small, balding man rushes in, his white labcoat stained with blood on his arms. Another explosion comes from somewhere, louder now that the door is open and close enough that the walls shakes and dust falls from the ceiling. Bucky is startled enough to not immediately attack the scientist or rush around him to the door, but barely has a chance to step forward before the man is speaking.

“Желание, cемнадцать—”

A scream slips past Bucky’s mouth, his hands immediately covering his ears instead of to the neck of the scientist like he wishes he could do. Not again, I’m too tired—

“—oдин, tоварный вагон,” finishes the scientist.

“готов соблюдать,” responds The Asset, its’ hands falling to its’ sides.

The scientist just manages to get out the word kill before an arrow pierces his skull, his body collapsing pathetically to the floor. The Asset barely spares a glance at the body as it steps over it.

Past the doorway and in the hallway, a man stands nearly up against the wall, his arm drawn back and an arrow pointed at The Asset. Blood runs down one side of his face, soaking his blonde hair. The Asset can’t find any other external injuries, so it goes for the hands first, lunging forward to knock over the man and grab at the fingers with the metal hand.

He’s a surprisingly good fighter, though, taking The Asset by surprise. “Bucky!” he says through gritted teeth, grabbing The Asset’s flesh hand and shoving it away, rolling until he is on top, a knee pressed to The Asset’s gut. It’s only incapacitated for a moment or two, something in its brain stuttering before it can reach up and grasp the side of the man’s head, the bloodied side, digging its’ fingers into whatever it finds there. The man shouts, the hand that had been holding The Asset’s neck automatically going to grasp at it’s wrist, tugging it away until something small, purple, and bloody goes with it. The hearing aid lands on the floor a few feet away from them.

Kill echoes through The Asset’s mind as its bloodied hand moves back and around the man while he is distracted, grabbing an arrow from the quiver on his back and pulling it from the sheath.

The man takes one look at the arrow that The Asset has pulled, his eyes widening as he drops the bow and tugs out the other hearing aid just as The Asset registers the light click that the arrow emits before it explodes.

It doesn’t explode, it realizes, not really, but the sound it makes is so loud that The Asset’s eyes roll back into its head, hands going back to its ears as they had before, why had I been doing that in the first place is Clint okay—

The man’s face appears in The Asset’s line of sight from where it lies prone on the floor, ringing so loud in its ears that it could be vibrating. His mouth moves, but The Asset can’t hear it. Kill uttered again, but when The Asset lifts its metal hand it makes no move to attack, lightly brushing the back of it against the man’s neck. The Asset expects him to smile, for some reason, something soft and warm and saved only for him, but he doesn’t. Instead he grabs the bow from where he had dropped it nearby, retrieves his hearing aids, stuffing them into a pocket, then hauls The Asset up. Again, it moves to kill, like it had been told, but it just presses two fingers to its chin, pulling them down.

He holds up the hand that is holding loosely to the bow and isn’t holding up The Asset, moving his hand up and down like he’s knocking on a door, then repeats the move that The Asset had done. Yes, cute.

Kill, The Asset tries to form the words in its mouth but can’t, and its metal hand isn’t moving like how it wants. The man isn’t paying enough attention to it as he forces them around a corner, promptly dropping The Asset and raising his bow towards something it cannot see as its head connects with the floor.

~

The next thing Bucky knows, he’s leaning against Clint’s shoulder, face pressed to his back. They’re outside, he thinks, up against a wall as Clint looks around a corner, an arrow notched but not drawn back. “Clint,” he mutters, lips pressed to the leathery fabric of Clint’s shirt. Bucky’s mouth tastes like copper and his ears are ringing, distant sounds of an alarm and yelling muffled like there is cotton stuffed in there. Despite all of that, the worst feeling is that of his head, like someone had taken a fork and had mashed to their heart’s content. “Clint,” Bucky repeats, with more force, his bloodstained right hand pressing at Clint’s side.

Clint leans, just a little, into Bucky’s touch, but does not acknowledge his voice. The last he had known, Bucky was in a hazy Winter Soldier mode, the sonic arrow throwing him into a state of disrepair. Bucky tries to roll his head to the side, just a little, to get a better look at Clint’s face, but he’s a good few inches taller than Bucky is, so it’s a harder feat than it should be. Blood is running down the side of his head that Bucky is on, from a cut or gash that must be hidden in his blonde hair. His cheekbone is bruised, and there’s a cut on his lip, but other than that…

There’s blood, dry and crusted over on the skin behind Clint’s ear, but no familiar purple block underneath the crimson. “Oh,” Bucky groans, feeling stupid. The hand that was pressed to Clint’s side creeps up to the shoulder that Bucky isn’t leaning on. In morse, Bucky taps, H-E-R-E.

Without missing a beat, Clint’s head whips around, eyes brightening. He pushes them away from the corner, closer to the middle of the wall. “Christ,” he breathes, strong hands clutching at Bucky’s shoulders, then up to his neck and face. Bucky tries not to collapse when his grip loosens, but focuses on Clint’s slightly muffled words. “I thought I had lost you.” His voice is slightly warped, as he struggles to hear his own voice.

“I’m harder to get rid of than this,” Bucky says weakly. His throat feels like sandpaper as he speaks, and wonders if Clint can even hear him. Both of his hands hold up their thumbs, moving down and out towards Clint, then two fingers posed like a claw connecting with his fist. Try hard.

That’s enough for Clint, his shoulders hunching to lean down to press his mouth to the side of Bucky’s head. It doesn’t last long before he pulls away, and Clint’s stubble scratches the side of his face, but Bucky relishes in it. The first real, loving touch he’s felt in… who knows how long.

Clint seems to force himself to turn away, back to where he had been before Bucky woke up. “I’m waiting for a signal from Kate or America, that’ll decide the route we take. Steve—”

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, but Clint continues without pause.

“—and Nat will meet us somewhere out there,” he motions to what looks like some sort of courtyard, agents and vehicles rushing between buildings, foolishly ignoring the wall where they hide, “to provide backup and distraction. Then... through the woods, meetup with Stark. I’ll explain once we’re there.”

Bucky doesn’t bother responding, knowing he wouldn’t hear. Instead he focuses on something else, forces his thoughts away while Clint waits for the signal. Nat is a name he doesn’t recognize, but America must be referring to Miss America. And Stark, as in Tony? Tony Stark? Helping them? He can’t imagine he and Steve ever getting along long enough for them to come up with an escape plan, yet…

Something lights up the sky above the base. It takes Bucky a moment to realize that it’s a bright, glimmering star.

Clint doesn’t have to look twice, reaching back and finding one of Bucky’s hands before breaking off into a sprint, right into the courtyard where their enemies wait. It’s not long before they stop paying attention to the giant star in the sky and instead turn their focus to the man running through them with their prisoner. Clint’s no good with just one hand, Bucky realizes, wiggling his fingers until Clint gets the hint and lets go, knocking an arrow and letting it fly, a small explosion lighting up trucks not too far away. Bucky grabs a gun from someone as they pass, remembering how to use it without a second thought as he shoots a man between the eyes. There is no satisfaction as he pulls the trigger.

They stop abruptly at a tall fence, their backs up against it as more men flood out from the east building.

“Hydra,” Clint says, loudly so both of them can hear it.

“That makes sense,” Bucky mutters, mostly to himself. He’d be dead by now, if he had been actually arrested. Or worse, rotting away in the raft. Clint, despite the impending doom in front of them, wears a stoic expression.

This, Bucky knows, is better than both Hydra and the American government combined. They gave a valiant effort.

“Anytime now, please.” Clint’s eyes are turned up towards the prison watch towers, looking at something Bucky can’t focus on.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but before he can stumble through some sort of apology that Clint won’t even hear, a heavy clang ceases most of the action in front of them. He drops his gun as he automatically raises his metal arm to catch the shield as it rikoshet’s off of the side of the closest Hydra agent’s head.

“For once I’m glad to see you throwing this.” Bucky doesn’t need to look to know Steve has landed beside them. Clint continues shooting, either ignoring Steve’s new presence or not noticing him. They fall into each other’s arms, Steve letting out a quiet “Buck.”

The stupid Captain America uniform feels like it always does, smelling like sweat and blood and smoke, feeling rough on Bucky’s face. Yet it feels soft, compared to everything else he’s felt in… however long he’s been here. Feels like how it did in the 60s during the war, how it felt when they fought on a highway, then a helicarrier, and then in a glorified boxing ring. Bucky breathes it in, relishes in the familiarness.

“Hate to interrupt boys, but you need to get moving.”

Bucky looks up at the voice behind Steve. The Black Widow is shooting at agents and the tires of cars, a gun in each hand, sparing quick glances over at them between fires.

“Nat,” Bucky realizes.

“Natasha, actually,” she muses, all too casual for the situation. Steve looks at her, pulling away but still holding Bucky steady. Natasha doesn’t look at them, even though she has the opportunity to as she reloads one of her guns. It seems intentional. “Clint, take Bucky out of here and get to the rendezvous point, we’ll meet you there.”

“He can’t hear you,” he says, wincing as Steve reaches around him to cover them with the shield. The agents or whoever they are are getting closer, and there’s only four of them, Bucky weakened and Clint without his ears. Whey they haven’t just tossed a grenade at them is anyone’s guess. “He seemed to think that this was the best route, that America had somehow—”

The fence rattles behind them. Bucky is the only one who turns and looks, startled by the glowing hands and eyes that await him. America’s face is lit up with the glow from her hands and her jacket, red lips quirked up in a smile. “Hey, soldier.”

Beside America, Kate is knocking an arrow and shooting it between the holes in the fence. One of the watchtowers explodes.

“Took you long enough,” Steve grits out. The explosion forces Clint to turn his head and look at everyone who has joined them, though he doesn’t seem surprised.

“We got a little caught up,” calls Kate. There is an ugly gash across her nose, another next to her lip. One of the metal loops in the fence breaks under America’s glowing pull, others following suit. She successfully pulls apart the fence and creates a chink large enough for them to fit through, stepping back as the light fades from her person.

“Vamos,” America hisses. Natasha is the first one in, followed by Bucky, who grabs the back of Clint’s shirt, Steve bringing up the rear, covering their six. Once past the fence they start running, apparently knowing which routes to take. There are others, following them, but Natasha and Clint tag team in taking them down, running as they shoot. The woods are thick and dark, the only light coming from the moon poking through the treetops and America’s glowing fists as she occasionally sends a blast behind them.

Bucky stumbles. Steve is quick to catch him by the shoulders, forcing him to keep moving.

There comes a point when the shooting stops, all of the lackeys dead or giving up, and the trees start to thin until they come to a clearing, slowing to a walk. A quinjet sits there, turned off and non threatening. Natasha and Steve get to it first, Clint slowing to match Bucky’s staggering pace, wrapping an arm around his waist. His expression is stony as he gets a long, good look at Bucky’s face, possibly his first since… before.

It’s enough to stop Clint in his tracks, pressing a dirty hand to the side of Bucky’s face. It feels like earlier, he thinks. But the danger has passed. At least for a little while.

Clint’s eyes are soft as he looks at Bucky. “I had…” he trails off, stuttering, mouth moving uselessly. The hand holding Bucky’s side tightens, speaking the words that Clint cannot. Bucky lets his own hands slip up to the back of Clint’s head, pulling him down and pressing their mouths together at long last.

“It’s okay,” Bucky breathes into Clint’s mouth when they separate. “I love you.”

It feels good to say it aloud, even if Bucky isn’t totally sure Clint can hear it. He repeats the words, over and over, liking the way they feel in his mouth. Like a breath of fresh air, or a weight lifted off his shoulders that had never really been a weight in the first place. A comfortable presence, a source of light in the growing darkness.

He must know, or sense it somehow. Clint is laughing, despite the situation, pulling Bucky flush against his chest into a hug. He doesn’t say anything, just presses his cold nose to the side of Bucky’s head.

It’s enough.

“Come on, kids! We’re running on borrowed time,” Tony calls from the open door to the quinjet.

They kiss once more before Bucky grab’s Clint’s bicep and hurries them into the back of the quinjet. The others are all strapped in along the walls already, Natasha and Steve on one side, Kate and America on the other. Most surprising, Lucky sits in the copilot seat beside Tony, his head tipped back and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Clint lets go of Bucky when he steps forward, sitting down beside Kate and digging around the bag at his feet.

Lucky pants happily when Bucky rubs behind his ear. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Tony taps some buttons on his dashboard. “We got a three hour ride ahead of us, my robo-friend. You may want to get caught up.”

He’s right, Bucky hates to admit, returning to the cockpit and placing himself delicately next to Clint. His whole body aches, even the shitty seating in the quinjet feels comfortable. The jets rumble beneath them as Bucky buckles his seatbelt.

“So,” Clint starts, his head tipped to the side as he inserts a different pair of hearing aids, these ones a normal tan color. One stands out amongst the blood behind his ear. “It’s been about five days, give or take.”

“It’s felt like way more,” he confesses, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Bucky was barely functioning for most of it.

“What did they do to you?” Kate asks.

Bucky sucks in a shaky breath. “They activated me, struggled to figure out how to turn me off… No one seemed to really know how to properly handle me.”

Steve leans forward a bit, the straps of the seatbelt constricting against his chest. “They were supposed to be moving you soon, probably to someone with more expertise. We took down most of, if not all, of the agents who knew how you worked way back when.”

“Why now?”

“We don’t know what changed, but we discovered that Hydra has been hiding in our government, poisoning it, starting the accords as a way to get to you.”

“To me?”

Natasha nods grimly. She crosses her arms and looks downward, continuing, “they must’ve wanted you to take out other enhanced. A means to an end.”

“So now what?”

“The good news is that we can use this to put an end to the accords, at least within the next few years. I have some of the Hydra files.” Tony waves a hand high enough that Bucky can see it from where they sit. “Explaining the secret underground mutant fight club might be a bit harder to work around.”

Something nudges his thigh. Bucky looks over at Clint, whose gaze is unreadable. “Tony’s taking you and I to my brother’s house. Remember? The one we talked about?”

Bucky does remember. The place where the past doesn’t matter.

His gaze falls on Steve, who nods encouragingly. “You and Clint go to Ireland, live without worry. America, Kate, and Tony are going to work on bringing down the accords with Fury, back in New York.”

“What about you?” Bucky likes to think that his voice doesn’t waver as he says it.

“Nat and I have plans… elsewhere.”

There’s something Steve isn’t saying, but he also isn’t one to lie. Bucky trusts him.

They’re finally going to get their later, Bucky realizes, looking back over at Clint. His chest tightens at the sight of him, bloodied and bruised but smiling. There is no part of Bucky that doesn’t want to go with him, to wake up next to him every morning and waste their days together, with nothing to worry about except for a broken lightbulb, or when they need to get groceries next.

Bucky looks back at Steve, worriedly.

“I’ll be okay, Buck. It’s not the sixties, I can fend for myself these days.”

“And if you don’t think he can, rest easy knowing that I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Natasha adds, her sly smile somehow reassuring the unease settling in Bucky’s heart.

The hand on Bucky’s thigh shifts until it finds purchase in his own, their fingers intertwining. Clint looks at him like he’s worth it.

Maybe he is.

“Alright,” he starts, Clint’s mouth on his before he can even really begin.

~

The quinjet lands in what looks like a field, rolling hills surrounded by thick forests. A house sits in the middle of the peaceful land, an old barn sitting behind it. The place looks old and well-lived in, miscellaneous objects lying around on the porch and outside the barn. Bucky stands on the edge of the ramp, watching as the sun begins to creep over the trees. It’s earlier in Ireland than it is in Connecticut, and colder, yet not enough so for it to feel too bad yet.

Steve steps up from behind, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder affectionately. “You know, if someone told me sixty years ago that Bucky Barnes is settling down, I would’ve called them crazy.”

Bucky laughs lightly. “You and me both pal. And hey, you’ve got a lady of your own.”

“Miracle of miracles.”

They slot together once more, Steve’s arms wrapping around Bucky’s shoulders, his metal hand pressing at the small of Steve’s back. The hug lingers, not rushed as it had been when he first arrived in the courtyard of the Hydra prison, but they eventually pull away. “You take care of him,” says Steve. “I’ve been around him enough these past few days to know he needs you.”

Bucky steps off the ramp and onto the grass. He takes a moment to breathe in the fresh air, focusing on the feeling of the light breeze that pushes strands of his hair into his eyes. For nearly the first time in his life as Bucky Barnes, there are no towering buildings or honking cars to disturb the peace.

Kate and Clint talk a few feet away, near the wood fence and waist high grass, using a mixture of their voices and sign language, Lucky going back and forth between running around the two of them and trying to get into the house. Bucky feels a sudden sense of fondness. “I need him, too.”

Understanding, Steve nods. “I’ll write,” he promises.

Bucky takes a step, turning and walking backwards as he speaks to Steve. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

The smile on Steve’s face is golden. “How can I?” His voice is high and there is laughter bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re taking all the stupid with you!”

Conversation between Kate and Clint stops once Bucky reaches them. It doesn’t appear to be his fault, just the air of time running out. She stands on her toes, hands on either side of Clint’s head, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Your happy ending, Hawkeye.”

Clint’s hands hold onto her wrists as she settles back onto flat footing. “Now go get yours, Hawkeye.”

She smiles, up at Clint then over at Bucky. “Thank you,” Kate says earnestly. Bucky can’t tell which one of them she is referring to. “For everything.”

Lucky rushes over, licking her face when she crouches down to wrap her arms around his scruffy neck. “Good boy, good boy,” she mutters into his collar. Bucky only just catches it, meaning Clint probably didn’t.

With a final smile and a wave, she moves back up the hill, towards the quinjet where the others stand at the base of the ramp, watching. Bucky picks up the duffel bag from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder and averting his gaze. Clint takes his hand, tugging him along to follow Lucky to the porch.

“Are you worried?” Bucky asks. Clint glances over his shoulder at him, shrugging.

“No. Not anymore.”

They reach the porch and walk up the few steps, old wood creaking beneath them. Lucky waits patiently by the door.

Clint looks up and around the porch, at the peeling siding and broken light that hangs over them. Bucky looks behind him, at the quinjet as the jets start up. He feels inclined to wave, even if there are no windows they could see them from.

“Are you?”

He tears his eyes away from the quinjet as it takes off. Clint squeezes Bucky’s hand, his gaze careful and calculating.

“What?”

“Worried. Are you worried?”

When Bucky looks back over at where the quinjet was, where they had been standing less than two minutes ago, there is nothing there to show for it. Your past wouldn’t matter.

“No,” Bucky says, and means it.

That reassures Clint, settles and straightens his shoulders. “Good. Cause that was your last chance to run for the hills. Now you have to look at this ugly mug everyday.” He gives Bucky a goofy grin, showing off his slightly crooked teeth, bruised face, and heavy stubble. Despite that, Bucky knows that he is beautiful.

“Ah, it’s not so bad.”

Clint crouches, letting go of Bucky’s hand and pulling up one of the floorboards, finding a ring of keys. “Yeah, well, I love you too.” His tone is joking but his smile tells Bucky it reigns true. He straightens, pulling out a particular key and putting it into the lock, twisting and pushing as the door creaks open. Lucky doesn’t hesitate to slip inside and explore, Clint following soon after.

The entryway is visible, stairs leading up to the second level, open doors on either wall, one leading to a living room and kitchen, the other to a bedroom. A rug on the floor, picture frames containing photos that Bucky can’t make out from where he stands. A homey, warm and welcoming place. Bucky hasn’t been in one of those since before the war, not counting Clint’s apartment, which had a sense of a self made home, Clint and Kate adapting to the city life and crafting a place for themselves. This house was built to be a home, a real one, with a wife and kids and a dog.

Well, they have one of those things.

Clint reappears from the door to the right. “You coming?”

Pulling himself out of the fog, Bucky nods fervently. He takes a long stride forward, crossing the threshold, out of the cold and into their home, where Clint is waiting for him.

.Epilogue.

“We are not special.

We are not crap or trash, either.

We just are.

We just are, and what happens just happens.

And God says, “No, that’s not right.”

Yeah, well. Whatever. 

You can’t teach God anything.”

 —Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Bucky wakes slowly and languidly, letting his eyes adjust to the sunlight drifting through the crack in the curtains and to the hand that is wrapped around his neck.

It’s non-threatening, of course, Clint’s left arm tossed over Bucky’s chest and his hand caressing his neck lightly, thumb resting right underneath his jaw. Their legs are pressed together and Lucky is peacefully asleep on Clint’s side, unaware of Bucky slowly pulling himself out of bed.

Clint’s hand falls limply onto the bed once Bucky retreats. He places a long kiss to the side of Clint’s head, into his blonde hair near a scar that is just beginning to heal, then leaves the bedroom, beginning his usual morning routine. Shrug on clothes, head downstairs, add a few layers as the mornings grow colder, resist the instinct to wear a glove.

The sun is just beginning to rise and the cold morning air is leaving a dewey fog over the grass.

Lucky follows him out of the house, trailing behind while Bucky circles it a few times and checks for any signs of bugging or intrusion, in bushes and in the miscellaneous objects on the porch, his tail wagging all the same. He does his own business as Bucky counts all the things in the barn, firewood and targets and tools and other various machinery, returning when Bucky moves to go inside when he finds nothing amiss.

Inside, Bucky checks the windows, cabinets, smoke alarms, chairs, and pretty much everything else he can think of, satisfied when nothing unusual turns up. He digs around in the fridge, taking a moment to look at all the things they have hanging on it. A newspaper clipping with the headline ACCORDS THE RESULT OF NAZI INFULTRATION? VICE PRESIDENT PLEADS GUILTY! next to a postcard with Wish You Were Here! written over the New York skyline. It is signed xoxo Kate as she had once done with all of the sticky notes in Clint’s apartment (the ones that currently hang around the mirror in their bathroom), but is now accompanied by the neat signature of America Chavez. Steve and Nat write letters, but don’t disclose their location, though Bucky suspects they move around a lot, wary of the lasting effects of Hydra and the accords. Every once in a while Tony Stark calls the landline that’s connected to the wall and asks if their “tv” needs to be repaired or tuned up. Bucky always tells him no, he can do it himself, thank you.

Clint says that Tony is probably lonely, with the Initiative shut down. Bucky is inclined to agree.

A letter from Barney also hangs proudly on the fridge. A new one, written just a few weeks ago, the old one in a drawer somewhere where it will inevitably be forgotten. He details faking his death and running away from the tracksuit Draculas, living here with a woman named Simone and her kids, but moving recently after the boys grew up. He figured it was time to reconnect with his brother— but had not been anticipating a boyfriend instead of Kate. Either way, Barney signed the letter with a promise to write again.

Bucky’s not sure if he trusts Barney to follow up on that promise, but the house is nice and has felt more like home than the apartment he had in New York ever did.

He compensates Lucky by feeding him some leftover meatloaf and rubbing his belly affectionately, then leads them back upstairs where Clint still sleeps. He’s on his side now, his back to Bucky’s side of the bed and the window. The clock on the bedside table tells Bucky that he’s been gone for an hour and twenty eight minutes.

The routine gets shorter every day.

Carefully and quietly Bucky removes all of his layers, back down to his t-shirt and boxers again. Lucky hops up while Bucky slips back into the pleasantly warm bed, pressing his front to Clint’s back, cold nose at the nape of his neck.

“Jesus,” Clint breathes as he shudders, keeping his eyes closed but shifting so Bucky can fully wrap himself around him. “How’s the perimeter?” His voice is teasing, but mostly clouded with sleep.

“The same.” He presses his mouth close to Clint’s ear so he can hear him without the hearing aids. “Cold,” Bucky adds, his arm moving over Clint’s waist and finding his hands, the left arm moving up and under their pillows. “Autumn is almost here.”

Clint huffs, moving his head back slightly so it connects briefly with Bucky’s, then turns to look at him, their faces close. “We’ll be okay.”

#shut up mary #marvel #clint barton #bucky barnes #hawkeye #the winter soldier #winterhawk #kate bishop #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #america chavez

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 142: The Ice Wall

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 142: The Ice Wall

Pairing:  Captain Swan

Summary:   A series of unrelated, fluffy one shots featuring Killian Jones and  Emma Swan and the relationship that makes us all swoon. Will contain  both canon and AU stories. My contribution to Operation Rainbow Kisses  and Unicorn Stickers (aka, my attempt to drown out the season 4 finale  angst with ridiculous levels of fluff.)

Other Chapters: ( 1) (2)  ( 3) ( 4) ( 5) (6) ( 7) ( 8) ( 9) ( 10) ( 11) ( 12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) (56) (57) (58) (59) (60) (61) (62) (63) (64) (65) (66) (67) (68) (69) (70) (71) (72) (73) (74) (75) (76) (77) (78) (79) (80) (81) (82) (83) (84) (85) (86) (87) (88) (89) (90) (91) (92) (93) (94) (95) (96) (97) (98) (99) (100) (101) (102) (103) (104) (105) (106) (107) (108) (109) (110) (111) (112) (113) (114) (115) (116) (117) (118) (119) (120) (121) (122) (123) (124) (125) (126) (127) (128) (129) (130) (131) (132) (133) (134) (135) (136) (137) (138) (139) (140) (141) (143) (144) (145) (146) (147) (148) (149) (150) (151) (152) (153) (154) (155) (156) (157) (158) (159) (160) (161) (162) (163) (164) (165) (166) (167) (168) (169) (170) (171) (172) (173) (174)

 (ao3) (ff.net)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CS Genre: Canon divergence from 4x2

 Cold.

It was the first thing Emma noticed when she came to.  It was cold.  The kind of cold that reaches down your throat and freezes your lungs.  The kind of cold that seeps into your very bones.  The kind of cold that convinces you you’ll never be warm again.

Emma groaned, reaching behind her to gingerly prod the knot on her head as the ringing in her ears gave way to frantic shouts of her name.

“Swan!  Wake up love!  Say you’re alright!”

Emma groaned again, finally opening her eyes to look into the terrified face of her….well, whatever Killian was to her now.

“What happened?” she asked, her words slurred, as she continued rubbing at her aching head with hands that were starting to go numb with the cold.

Killian sat on the ground beside her and gently pulled her into his warmth.  “That woman we saw, she trapped us in the ice wall.”

It all came back to her at once.  The town power going out.  Her and David investigating.  The ice wall.  Killian showing up, swaggering over to them.  His quip about their second date.  The woman with the icy blue dress and pale blonde braid watching them.  Her going to investigate.  Killian following.  The woman pointing a hand at them, fear on her face.  The deafening roar of falling ice…

Emma got quickly to her feet, swaying a bit as her head protested the quick movement, and rushed to the wall.

It wouldn’t budge.  None of them would.

They were trapped in a space roughly the size of her parents’ living room…a space completely made of ice.

No wonder she was cold.

“Killian, we’ve got to get out of here!” she said frantically.  “We’ll freeze to death!”

Killian put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  “Calm down, Swan,” he said in a soothing voice. “I’ve already tried digging us out with my hook.  It’s no use.”

“Calm down?” she asked, hearing the hysteria starting in her voice.  “You just told me we’re stuck in ice that we can’t dig ourselves out of and you want me to calm down?  We can’t just give up!”

Killian pulled her into a hug.  “We won’t.  Your father called us on your talking device.  He’s gone for help.”

Emma remained tense in his embrace for a moment, but then the warmth of his body, the comfort his reassurances always brought began to seep in.  She relaxed in his hold letting the panic bleed away.

Emma looked up at him.  “How long was I out?”

“Perhaps a minute?” He said.  “You were hit quite hard with a shard of ice, love.”

“That why it feels like Grumpy and all six of his brothers are using their pickaxes on the back of my skull?”

He laughed.  “I’d assume so.”  His face became serious.  “Are you sure you’re alright, Swan?”

She waved him off. “Concerned I’m going to freeze to death, but otherwise nothing more than a little headache.”

Killian didn’t look entirely convinced, but after a moment, he let the matter go with a small nod.

“You sure there’s no way to dig ourselves out?” Emma asked.

He gave her a quick, assessing look.  “I’m quite sure we have no hope of digging ourselves out via natural means, but perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?”

Killian took both her hands looking intently at her.  “Perhaps your magic…”

Magic.  Right.  She was still getting used to the fact that she had magic. (How did a normal person get used to a fact like that?!)

Emma nodded firmly (and then immediately regretted it as her head throbbed) and raised her hands before her.  She closed her eyes, concentrating.  Thinking about the wall melting.  Thinking about saving herself and Killian.  Thinking about saving Henry and the rest of the town from whoever this new threat was.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Emma growled.  “I’m sorry Killian.  I don’t know if it’s the cold or the bump on my head or what, but I just can’t summon my magic.”

Killian led her over to a wall and urged her to sit.  “It’s no matter Swan.  As I said, your father has gone for help.  It’s simply a matter of waiting this out.”

The ice wall was cold behind her, below her, her body heat melting it just enough for icy water to seep onto her jeans.  She shivered, teeth chattering with the cold. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a parka when she left the house this evening?

Killian glanced over at her, noting the way she shivered so much her teeth chattered.  Shrugging out of his heavy pirate duster, he draped it around her shoulders.  The warmth, the smell of leather and him, it was immediate and quite possibly the best thing she’d ever felt.

Emma luxuriated in comfort for a moment before turning back to him.  “Killian, I can’t take your coat!  You’ll freeze in nothing but that vest and shirt that makes me think you’re allergic to buttons.”

He laughed and then gave her a teasing grin. “Perhaps you’ll need to warm me up, then.”

Emma looked into Killian’s face and an intense feeling of affection, maybe…maybe even more…washed over her, warming her as much as his coat did. Turning to him, she reached up, tugging at the back of his neck until she’d brought his lips to hers.

The kiss was long, slow, infinitely tender, Killian reaching up to cup the back of her head, let her hair slip through his fingers, much like it had when she’d kissed him outside Granny’s the other day.

Whatever this was between them it was real, and it was happening.  Emma waited for the fear to come, but it never did.  This felt right. Maybe even with all the crap that always went down in this stupid town…maybe even though she was the savior…maybe every once in a while she could just enjoy and take advantage of the good moments.

Killian moaned deep in his throat (the sound positively indecent) and pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“As much as I’d like to follow this to it’s logical conclusion, darling,” he said, his voice hoarse, “and gods know I do, we are in a room entirely made of ice and there are simply some places a man does not wish to get frostbite.”

Emma laughed, pulling away.  “Good point.”

“Besides,” he continued, draping an arm around her and nodding in contentment when she laid her head against his shoulder, “your father should be arriving momentarily, and if he’d interrupted us, I suspect frostbite would be the least of my concerns.”

Emma laughed again.  “Good thing I’m a big girl and I can make my own decisions about who I kiss…and do other things with.”

His grin was wicked.  “Indeed.  I suppose we’ll simply need to wait for a more auspicious time to engage in our more enjoyable activities.”

Emma leaned over and kissed him again, a quick, but thorough thing.  “You’re cute when you use big words.”

“If they earn me kisses like that, I’ll make use of the entire dictionary,” he said, grinning at her.

Sudden static came over Emma’s walkie talkie.

“Emma? Hook?”  David asked.  “Everybody doing alright in there?”

“We’re fine, Dave,” Killian answered.  “Your daughter and I are quite enjoying ourselves.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You better not be enjoying yourselves too much.”

Emma rolled her eyes, taking the device from Killian. “As Killian said, we’re fine dad. What’s the status on Operation Dig Your Daughter and Her Boyfriend Out of the Ice Wall Before They Become Human Popsicles?”

“Just hold tight for another couple minutes,” David said.  “Long story, but we should be able to break through momentarily.”

After signing off with her dad, Emma settled back into Killian’s embrace as they waited for David to execute whatever plan he had. “Killian?”

“Hm?” he asked, idly rubbing her arm.

“If I had to be trapped in an ice wall, there’s no one I’d rather be trapped with.”

He smiled, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “I feel quite the same.”

 Notes:

--Sorry for the long posting hiatus, but January’s been a rough month—between being sick myself a few times and then my grandma having a stroke, which brought with it a lot of stress for the whole family (she’s doing better now, although it will be a long road to recovery, and she’ll probably never fully get back to where she was before), I just haven’t had the motivation to write at all. Feels good to get back to it, even just a little.

--I don’t know how the weather’s been where you live, but the Polar Vortex in my neck of the woods has made it cold beyond cold this week…which is what inspired me to write this story.  If I’m going to be cold, I might as well inflict the cold on my favorite characters as well, lol.

--Up next: I hope to update every other week going forward (barring any other illnesses or family emergencies), so next up will be something for Valentine’s Day

                                                                                     NEXT CHAPTER -->

#cs ff #cs fluff #csfridayfluff #fluffy fridays #my fanfiction #cs canon divergence

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower.” From the side of the mountain above, the broch that gave the small estate its name was no more than another mound of rocks, much like those that lay at the foot of the hills we had been traveling through.

We came down through a narrow, rocky gap between two crags, leading the horse between boulders. Then the going was easier, the land sloping more gently down through the fields and scattered cottages, until at last we struck a small winding road that led to the house.

It was larger than I had expected; a handsome three-story manor of harled white stone, windows outlined in the natural grey stone, a high slate roof with multiple chimneys, and several smaller whitewashed buildings clustered about it, like chicks about a hen. The old stone broch, situated on a small rise to the rear of the house, rose sixty feet above the ground, cone-topped like a witch’s hat, girdled with three rows of tiny arrow-slits.

…

“Should we knock?” I asked, a bit nervous. He looked at me in astonishment.

“It’s my home,” he said, and pushed the door open.

He led me through the house, ignoring the few startled servants we passed, past the entrance hall and through a small gun room, into the drawing room. It boasted a wide hearth with a polished mantel, and bits of silver and glass gleamed here and there, capturing the late-afternoon sun. For a moment, I thought the room was empty. Then I saw a faint movement in one corner near the hearth.

She was smaller than I had expected. With a brother like Jamie, I had imagined her at least my height, or even taller, but the woman by the fire barely reached five feet. Her back was to us as she reached for something on the shelf of the china cabinet, and the ends of her dress sash dipped close to the floor.

Jamie froze when he saw her.

“Jenny,” he said.

The woman turned and I caught an impression of brows black as ink-squills, and blue eyes wide in a white face before she launched herself at her brother.

“Jamie!” Small as she was, she jarred him with the impact of her embrace. His arms went about her shoulders in reflex and they clung for a moment, her face tight against his shirtfront, his hand tender on the nape of her neck. On his face was an expression of such mingled uncertainty and yearning joy that I felt almost an intruder.

Then she pressed herself closer to him, murmuring something in Gaelic, and his expression dissolved in shock. He grasped her by the arms and held her away from him, looking down.

The faces were much alike; the same oddly slanted dark blue eyes and broad cheekbones. The same thin, blade-bridged nose, just a trifle too long. But she was dark where Jamie was fair, with cascades of black curly hair, bound back with green ribbon.

She was beautiful, with clear-drawn features and alabaster skin. She was also clearly in a state of advanced pregnancy.

Jamie had gone white at the lips. “Jenny,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Oh, Jenny. Mo cridh.”

Her attention was distracted just then by the appearance of a small child in the doorway, and she pulled away from her brother without noticing his discomposure. She took the little boy’s hand and led him into the room, murmuring encouragement. He hung back a little, thumb in mouth for comfort, peering up at the strangers from behind his mother’s skirts.

For his mother she plainly was. He had her mop of thick, curly black hair and the square set of her shoulders, though the face was not hers.

“This is wee Jamie,” she said, looking proudly down at the lad. “And this is your uncle Jamie, mo cridh, the one you’re named for.”

“For me? You named him for me?” Jamie looked like a fighter who has just been punched very hard in the stomach. He backed away from mother and child until he blundered into a chair, and sank into it as though the strength had gone from his legs. He hid his face in his hands.

His sister by this time was aware that something was amiss. She touched him tentatively on the shoulder.

“Jamie? What is it, my dearie? Are ye ill?”

He looked up at her then, and I could see his eyes were full of tears.

“Did ye have to do that, Jenny? Do ye think that I’ve not suffered enough for what happened—for what I let happen—that ye must name Randall’s bastard for me, to be a reproach to me so long as I live?”

Jenny’s face, normally pale, lost all vestiges of color.

“Randall’s bastard?” she said blankly. “John Randall, ye mean? The Redcoat captain?”

“Aye, the Redcoat captain. Who else would I mean, for God’s sake! You’ll remember him, I suppose?” Jamie was recovering enough of his customary poise for sarcasm.

Jenny eyed her brother closely, one arched brow lifted in suspicion.

“Have ye lost your senses, man?” she inquired. “Or have ye taken a drop too much along the way?”

“I should never have come back,” he muttered. He rose then, stumbling slightly and tried to pass without touching her. She stood her ground, however, and gripped him by the arm.

“Correct me, brother, if I’m wrong,” Jenny said slowly, “but I’ve the strong impression you’re saying I’ve played the whore to Captain Randall, and what I’m askin’ myself is what maggots you’ve got in your brain to make ye say so?”

“Maggots, is it?” Jamie turned to her, mouth twisted with bitterness. “I wish it were so; I’d rather I was dead and in my grave than to see my sister brought to such a pass.” He seized her by the shoulders, and shook her slightly, crying out, “Why, Jenny, why? To have ye ruin yourself for me was shame enough to kill me. But this…” He dropped his hands then, with a gesture of despair that took in the protruding belly, swelling accusingly under the light smocking.

He turned abruptly toward the door, and an elderly woman, who had been listening avidly with the child clinging to her skirts, drew back in alarm.

“I should not have come. I’ll go.”

…

 She eyed her brother, standing at the window with his legs braced wide apart, hands on the sill and back stubbornly set against her. She bit her lip and a calculating look came over her face. Quick as lightning, she stooped and her hand shot under his kilt like a striking snake.

Jamie let out a roar of sheer outrage and stood bolt upright with shock. He tried to turn, then froze as she apparently tightened her grip.

“There’s men as are sensible,” she said to me, with a wicked smile, “and beasts as are biddable. Others ye’ll do nothing with, unless ye have ’em by the ballocks. Now, ye can listen to me in a civil way,” she said to her brother, “or I can twist a bit. Hey?”

He stood still, red-faced, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. “I’ll listen,” he said, “and then I’ll wring your wee neck, Janet! Let me go!”

No sooner did she oblige than he whirled on her.

“What in hell d’ye think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Tryin’ to shame me before my own wife?” Jenny was not fazed by his outrage. She rocked back on her heels, viewing her brother and me sardonically.

“Weel, and if she’s your wife, I expect she’s more familiar wi’ your balls than what I am. I havena seen them myself since ye got old enough to wash alone. Grown a bit, no?”

— Outlander/Cross Stitch

Gif: fangirlish.com (Claire, Jamie, Donas)

Photos: Starz, Season One, Episode Twelve, April 25, 2015

Photo: tvfeels.com (Lallybroch) 

Gif: smartbitchestrashybooks.com (Jenny & Jamie)

Book: Outlander (Cross Stitch), Diana Gabaldon, 1991

Tumblr: September 20, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🇬🇧

WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season One Episode Twelve #S1E12 #Lallybroch #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Twenty-Six #Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower” #Correct me, brother, if I’m wrong #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Donas #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray #Ian Mòr #Jamie Murray #Wee Jamie #Jamie Òg #Young Jamie #61 #092018

#Outlander #Season One Episode Twelve #S1E12 #Lallybroch #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Twenty-Six #Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower” #Correct me brother if I’m wrong #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Donas #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray #Ian Mòr #Jamie Murray #Wee Jamie #Jamie Òg #Young Jamie #61 #092018

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T REWRITE - S1:E2; Chapter Two, The Weirdo on Maple Street - [Pt. 5 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Y/n, Lucas, Dustin, and Mike try to talk to the girl they found in the woods. Hopper questions an anxious Joyce about an unsettling phone call.

||3rd Person POV||

An upbeat song plays on the radio as Barb and Nancy drove down the small road to Steve Harrington's house when Nancy speaks up out of the blue.

"Barbara, pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over!"

Barb pulls the car over to the side of the road and puts on the parking break, then looks to her best friend.

"What are we doing here? His house is three blocks away."

"We can't park in the driveway." Nancy says defensively."

"Are you serious?" Barb asked annoyed.

"Yeah, the neighbors might see."

"This is so stupid. I'm just gonna drop you off." She says rolling her eyes and reaching for the gear shift.

Nancy reaches to stop her friend. "Calm down, Barb. Come on. You promised that you'd go. You're coming. we're gonna have a great time." Nancy says with an innocent smile.

"He just wants to get in your pants." Barb exclaimed.

Nancy chuckled, rolling her eyes. "No, he doesn't." She cooed.

"Nance... seriously." She sighed. "He invited you to his house. His parents aren't home. Come on, you are not this stupid."

"Tommy H. and Carol are gonna be there." She defended.

"Tommy and Carol have been having sex since, like, seventh grade. It'll probably just be, like, a big orgy." She said rolling her eyes.

Nancy's face scrunched in disgust. "Gross."

"I'm serious!"

"All right, well..." Nancy reached her arm under her sweater and began changing shirts as she spoke. "you can be, like, my guardian. All right? Make sure I don't get drunk or do anything stupid.

Barn shook her head and sighed looking down at her lap. She stopped once she noticed the particularly fancy bra Nancy was wearing and asked. "Is that a new bra?"

Nancy looked at Barb, then avoided eye contact as she spoke softly. "No."

The two ladies had finally made it to Steve's house and now stood on his front porch. Nancy was the one to ring the doorbell and she noticed Barb rocking back and forth on her heels nervously.

"Barb, chill."

"I'm chill." She says defensively.

Suddenly the doors swing open to reveal none other than Steve Harrington. He smiled at Nancy then Barb.

"Hello, ladies." She said with a mischievous grin. (We stan one amazing mom.)

 ¤ ¤ ¤  

Hopper's bedroom floor was littered with clothes. He was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His latest one night stand asleep next to him. He gets up out of bed and gets dressed.

He stands outside alone with his thoughts.

Soon he hears the soft pitter patter of bare feet on the porch. He turns to Sandra as she looks up at him while huddling up next to him for warmth.

"What are you doing? It's freezing."

There's a moment of silence before he finally speaks up. "You ever feel cursed."

She stays silent not knowing what to say.

"You know, the last person to go missing here was in, uh... the summer of '23. The last suicide was the fall of '61."

He falls silent and waits, hoping for some words of encouragement. Only for her to chuckle and try and crack a joke.

"When'd the person freeze to death? Hey, come back inside. Warm me up. Just..."

His lips press into a firm line. "Just give me a minute out here."

She nodded and hurried inside.

||Reader's POV||

We had all convinced El to come out of her fort. The three boys were huddled together whispering and I joined El at the D&D table. In fact, she sat where Mike sat during the campaign and I subconsciously sat where Will did on that night.

Although I was a little surprised to see how focused she became. She gently spread her hands along the table, her fingers touching the board.

The three boys walk over. "What's the weirdo doing?" Lucas questions. I give him a glare, to warn him. He clears his throat and corrects himself. "Sorry. Eleven."

I smile, silently thanking him.

"El?" Mike asks. She had her eyes closed for a short while and suddenly she opens them. She grabs Will's signature miniature, the cleric. I hold my breath in anticipation.

"Will." She says.

"Superpowers." Dustin whispered. Lucas rolled his eyes and Mike sat down between me and El, and started asking the questions that were on all our minds.

"Did you see him? On Mirkwood? Do you know where he is?" She set aside the cleric as I spoke up, my voice barely above a whisper.

"El?" She looks up at me. "Is there... is there anything... anything at all that you could tell us? Anything that you know about our friend?" I ask, my voice breaking. She gives me a sympathetic smile and clears the board by swiping her arm across the table. We all watch intently as she reaches forward and flips the board upside down.

We all stare at the board, and then look to El as she grabs the cleric and slams it down in the center of the board. My stomach seems to drop, in perfect sync with the miniature.

"I don't understand." Mike croaks.

The room is silent for a few moments as we stare at El, waiting for her response. "Hiding." Her voice came out in a whisper.

"W-Will is hiding?" I stammer.

She nods her head 'yes'.

My hands subconsciously find their way through my hair as I try and swallow all of this information.

"From the bad men?" Mike clarifies.

Her brows furrow ever so slightly as she shakes her 'no'. I take a deep breath.

"Then from who?"

She looks to her side and grabs another miniature, and places it next to the cleric. I let out a breath of air I didn't even know I was holding when I recognized the dreaded Demogorgon piece. We all look around to each other, a look of horror on our faces. Dustin puts his hands behind his head and I put my head in my hands as I try not to panic.

||3rd Person POV||

When Jonathan returned to Hawkins, he drove down to Mirkwood rather than returning home, hoping he could take a few pictures of the crime scene and maybe find some clue. His car came to a stop next to the police barricades.

When he gets out of the car, he opens his trunk and grabs his camera. He closes the trunk and ducks under the police tape and heads into the woods.

He takes a good look around before kneeling down, adjusting his lenses and snapping a photo of a snapped twig near the base of a tree. He takes a look around and whispers to no one in particular. "Where are you?"

He takes a few steps to his left and snaps another photo of an old tire and some fallen branches.

He takes a few steps back in the direction of the car, kneels down a snaps another photo, this one of the forest floor.

Jonathan jumps to his feet with a gasp when he hears a woman shrieking in the distance. Without a second thought he sprints farther into the woods, following the noise.

He runs faster when he hears another shriek. However, he comes to a sudden halt when he sees it's only a couple of teenagers gathered around a pool. In fact, it was Tommy H. and Carol.

Tommy was getting ready to toss Carol into the pool. "One! Two!"

"Stop it, Tommy, no! Don't!" She yells.

"Three!" He sets her back down laughing after pretending to throw her in the pool.

Carol shoves him. "You're such an asshole, Tommy."

Jonathan noticed there other people around the pool as well. He recognized Barbara Holland, Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler. Nancy and Barb were seated on a couple of pool chairs, while Steve brought out some beer.

Steve took out his pocket knife and poked a whole in the bottom of one of the cans. He immediately put his mouth up to the can and began drinking, once he finished he set down the now empty can on the side table and took a seat. Barb rolls her eyes and Nancy shook her head laughing slightly.

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

Steve looks to her, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

"You're not?" He asked surprised.

"You are a cliché, you do realize that?

"You are a cliché." He retorts, lighting his cigarette. "What with your... your grades and your band practice."

Nancy let's out a laugh. "I'm so not in band."

"Okay, party girl. Why don't you just, uh, show us how it's done, then?" He hands her his pocket knife.

She take the knife, smugly grinning. "Okay." She chirps. She stands up grabs a beer can. Barb looks down at her lap, shaking her head in disappointment.

Jonathan stands, still watching from the bushes.

"You gotta make a little hole right in--"

"I got it." Nancy says. Tommy and Carol stand watching.

"Yeah, she's smart, you douche!" Tommy calls drunkenly. He then crushes an empty beer can agaisnt his skull and throwing it to the ground as Nancy makes the hole in her own beer can.

Everyone besides Barb begins chanting as she drinks. "Chug, chug, chug. Chug. Chug. Chug. Chug." Everyone cheers when Nancy drops her can to the ground while Barb looks away worried.

Nancy attempts a bow while Tommy and Carol laugh. Nancy, notices her friend's behavior and tries to help. "Barb, you wanna try?"

"What? No."

Nancy grab a can anyways, while Barb continues to decline. "No, I don't want to. Thanks."

"Come on." Nancy teases, unknowing encouraging Steve to pressure her as well.

"Yeah... Come on. Yeah" Steve said.

"Nance, I don't want to." Barb whispers as her friend hands her the can and knife.

"It's fun! Just give it a--"

"Nance..."

"Just... Just give it a shot" Nancy insisted.

Barb rolls her eyes, taking the can and knife. Nancy looks to Steve with a smile happy with herself. Steve smiles back and looks to Barb.

Barb struggles to get the knife through the aluminum as she mutters to herself. "So you just..." the knife slips and cuts her thumb.

Tommy chuckles as Barb drops the can on the ground. She cradles her hand in pain.

Tommy looks at the gushing wound with a smile. "Gnarly." He chuckles.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Barn replies instinctively.

"Barb, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine." She says firmly, staring at Nancy before turning to Steve. "Where's your bathroom?"

Steve begins to stammer as he stands up, gesturing inside the house. "Oh, it's... It's, uh, down past the kitchen, to the left."

"Okay. Thanks." Barb heads inside right as Jonathan snaps a picture. He adjusts his lense and takes another picture, ors focus ed onTommy and Carol as they stand facing the pool laughing. While Nancy looks towards the house in a worried stance.

Suddenly, Tommy shoves an unsuspecting Carol into the pool when her back was turned. she falls in with a scream as she makes a big splash. Nancy walks to the edge of the pool laughing, Tommy puts his cigarette out by dropping it onto the wet pavement.

"Oh, my God! What the hell, Tommy?" She shrieks. Once he abandoned his cigarette, Tommy drove straight into the water after her. Steve sneaks up behind Nancy and gives her a shove into the pool as well. He  jumped into the pool arms and legs flailing. everyone was laughing and horsing around.

Jonathan was able to snap a couple of pictures of Steve holding Nancy's shoe just out of her reach, the two of them laughing. He got one more. Only Nancy's face was visible, and she was laughing with a huge smile on her face.

¤ ¤ ¤

Back at the Byers house, Joyce was fast asleep, phone still in her hand. Suddenly the obnoxious ringing of the telephone woke her up. She frantically picked up phone. "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end and she stood up. "Hello." She said firmly.

She heard the familiar breathing and started shifting on her feet, anxiety and adrenaline beginning to take take over her body. "Who is this?" There's more breathing.

"Will?" She whimpers. No answer, only more breathing. Will, it's me." She sobs into the phone. "Talk to me. I'm here. Just tell me where you are, honey. I can here you. Please."

There is an indistinct moan on the other end. Then a came the slightly distorted voice of a frightened Will Byers. "Mom?"

Joyce let out a huge gasp, not noticing the lights began flickering wildly. "Will!" She cries. "Yes, it's me. It's me. Where are you? Where are you? Just talk to me--" Before Joyce could finish her sentence her phone there was another surge of electricity that shot through the phone and zapped Joyce Byers a second time. She dropped the phone in shock and pain, the dial tone could be heard humming through the end of the line.

"Oh, no, no! No!" She cried, bending down and picking g up the phone once more trying as hard as she could to bring back the call. "No! Oh, no! No, no..." She sobbed. She grabbed the entire set and threw it to the ground in anger. "No!" She sank to her knees in defeat.

"No!" She howled slamming her fist against the floor, and bring her hand to her head rocking back and forth sobbing. The lights flicker once more and she wails, throwing her fists to the ground again.

The lights begin to flicker violently, it was enough to grab her attention as he looked all around, tears in her eyes.

Suddenly only the light above her flickers a few times she stands up looking at it.

"Jonathan?" She calls out in confusion.

Next the light in the hallway flickers a few times as well. She walks over to the light, sticking to the wall still sobbing.

"What?" She whimpers, by know she knows this isn't random. It can't possible be random.

It stops blinking, and the lamp at the end of the hallway begins to flicker. she stares in confusion as she walks closer to the lamp, she throws herself against the wall in fear as she is startled by the blaring music coming from Will's room.

"Should I stay or should I go now?"

Joyce whimpers as she looks down at the bottom door and notices the lights flickerinf violently from under his door. She takes a deep breath and gathers her courage. She steps forward and and opens the door, finding an empty room.

However, a the lights were magically on and his favorite song was now blasting on his boombox. Joyce stepped into her son's room, tears in her eyes as she whispered. "Will..."

"Should I stay or should I go now?"

She looks her left when she notices the lamp near the window on his dresser begins flickering.

"If I go there will be trouble"

She slowly steps forward towards the lamp, and grabbing the lamp shade. "Will."

"And if I stay it will be double. So you got to let me know"

"Will, is that you?"

"Should I stay or should I go?"

The lamp glows to bright intense light. suddenly every light in house goes out, as well as the music. She stands there in shock, whimpering as the room grows dark. Suddenly she hears a high pitched moan, she looks to the wall on her left and stares in horror as a very large lump grows through the wall.

She screams her throat raw as she stumbles back, running for the door as the figure in the wall grows taller and more grotesque. A deep growl emits through the wall.

By now she had gotten to her front door, she threw it open and pulled it shut as she sprinted for her car. "Oh, my God!" She says breathlessly and she fumbles to throw open the car door. She frantically reaches for her keys, whimpering. "Oh, God." Oh my, God..." She struggles to start the car as fast as she can. She breathes a sigh of relief when the engine roars to life.

Her head whips back to house, more specifically, to Will's bedroom window when she hears the faint sound of boom box coming back to life.

"Should I stay or should I go now?"

Guilt immediately washes over her as she sits there contemplating. That was her boy. And he was in there, and he was in trouble.

The lights flicker frantically.

"If I go there will be trouble"

She can't seem to find it within her self to leave. To leave him behind. He was calling out to her.

"And if I stay it will be double"

Biting her lip, she turns off the car.

"So come on and let me know"

She throws open the car door and steps out, slamming it behind her. She storms confidently for the house. For her boy.

¤ ¤ ¤

The four teens stand inside Steve's living room, each of them drying off with a towel.

"I'm freezing." Carol shivers.

"Hmm... well, I hear his mom's room has a fireplace." Tommy humm, beckoning a smiling Carol.

"Are you kidding?"

"Oh, yeah?" Carol chirps, ignoring Steve and following Tommy upstairs.

"Okay, well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets." Steve scoffs.

"You all right?" He asked Nancy, putting a hand on her back.

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Come on, let's get you some dry clothes."

Nancy follows Steve up the stairs. She stops in her tracks once she hears the calls of her best friend from the bottom of the stairs.

"Nance! Nancy. Where are you going?" She asks worriedly.

"Nowhere. Just... upstairs. To change. I..." she opened up her towel to reveal her soaking wet clothes. "fell in the pool." She chuckles innocently.

Barb's face falls.

"Why don't you go ahead and go home. I'll just... I'll get a ride or something." She offered.

"Nance..." she breathed out, obviously disappointed and saddened at her friend.

"Barb... I'm fine." She said smiling, attempting to hide her guilty smile behind her towel.

"This isn't you." She pleaded.

"I'm fine. Just... go ahead and go home, okay?" Nancy said, frustration creeping into her voice. with that she runs up the stairs to catch up with Steve. Barbara scoffs in disbelief, looking down at her feet.

Jonathan snaps another photo when he notices Nancy in the window. Steve walks up to her and gently taps her on the back getting her attention. she looks over and smiles when he hands her a pair of clothes.

"Thanks."

She takes a deep breath and looks down at her feet shyly. "Um... some privacy, maybe?" She suggested, a small smile on her face.

He clicks ships tongue and shakes his head. "Oh... Yeah, right. Sorry." He let's out a nervous laugh as he turns around. She puts the clothes on the bed and bites her lip before hesitantly speaking up. her voice barely above a whisper.

"Steve?"

He turns around, raising his eyebrows. Taking a deep breath, she takes her top off, her hands shaking slightly.

He only looks at her in awe. "Damn." He whispers. She chuckles nervously. "Shut up." A small smile finds it way to her face.

He slowly walks forward, reaching out, he runs a hand through her hair and gently pull her waist close with the other, bringing her in for a kiss.

Jonathan lowers his camera, sighing softly. Was it... disappointment he was feeling? He could tell. He looked across the pool and noticed Barb, sitting on the end of the diving board. She was holding her bandaged hand. Her feet were softly swaying back and forth in the water. She was gazing into deep into the water, deep in thought. Everything about her radiated sadness. Jonathan felt for her. Wanting to capture such raw emotion he brought the camera up so it was pointed at her.

The shutter clicked as he snapped a picture. He took another photo, the camera clicked once more. He pressed the button again, wanting to get another photo when he heard the shutter jam. He sighed and lowered his camera, he began fiddling with his camera to fix it.

Barb sat sadly, her feet dangling still dangling in the water. She was unsure what compelled her to stay. Maybe she was still upset at Nancy, or perhaps she couldn't bring herself to abandon her friend at a time like this. Nancy might need her if Steve or anybody else made her uncomfortable.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a soft plink! of the water. She looked down and sighed when she saw that she had gotten a drop of blood in the pool. She lifted her hand to examine the wound.

Her attention was drawn back to pool at sound of a soft buzzing and the pool lights suddenly went out. She froze when she heard a low growl coming directly behind her. She slowly looked up in fear and shrieked at the monster before her.

It's tall, lanky body was covered in slime and towered over her. It's large head opened up its many jaws, resembling a large plant, and roared.

Jonathan looked up when he thought he heard something. However, he looked up to see nothing out of the ordinary. He looked down at his camera and then retreated back to his car.

Meanwhile, things with Nancy and Steve continued to heat up.

She sighed and looked back at the water. Without breaking the kiss, the two made there way to bed and sitting down.

Back at the pool, nothing but the quiet buzz of the electricity could be heard, suddenly, all the lights flicker back on. However, Barb was nowhere to be seen.

Taglist: @fuckwaad @aimee-lucass

DM me if you want to be added!

#stranger things #stranger things rewrite #reader insert #will byers x reader #will byers x you #rewrite

[spectraspecs-writes]

The Great Gatsby: In this essay, I will...

Below the cut I have copied, word for word, my essay that I wrote that says Nick Carraway imagined all the events in “The Great Gatsby.”

tldr: Compared to all the other characters, Nick is about as interesting as off-brand toothpaste - we only learn about 12 things about him over the course of the book, which is little compared to what we learn about the rest of the characters and when you consider that he’s the narrator. (Just look at the party in chapter 2 for examples of this.) When Gatsby dies, Nick is the only friend of Gatsby’s to show up at the funeral, which makes no sense given that, he had all these parties, surely he must have touched other lives. The characters’ behavior after Gatsby’s death make no sense - Daisy and Tom just up and vanish, when Tom is not the sort of person who would leave without fighting Gatsby, he’d turn up to gloat about “ha ha, I got Daisy and you didn’t.” Then there’s Jordan Baker’s sudden engagement - we learn at the beginning of the book that she’s single, but by the end of the book she announces to Nick out of the blue that she’s engaged. She’s a professional athlete, and Nick really likes her - if the media didn’t follow her social life, Nick would. The events with Gatsby take precedence over the events of an otherwise full summer. (Now of course, this makes sense given that the book is about Gatsby, but Nick seldom mentions his career. Quote from the essay - “The events he cites-eating lunch with his fellow bond salesman, walking around in New York City - compared to the extravaganza that is Gatsby’s company, and being privy to his cousin’s husband’s love affair, and hanging out with such a celebrity as Jordan Baker, are dull and trivial. No wonder he’d choose a fantasy world over the real world.”) Plus, he staright up forgot his own birthday and didn’t remember until basically the end of the day. Until after the fight Tom and Gatsby had over Daisy, until after the fantasy started to fall apart. 

Odds are, none of the characters are completely fake. Perhaps Gatsby, Tom, Daisy, and Jordan resemble people he met during the war or other times in his life. Perhaps he met a guy during the war who called everyone “old sport.” Perhaps he really did meet a polo player named Tom in college. But the man was lonely - he planned to rent the house in West Egg with a coworker who then moved, he’d left his family behind, and even his dog ran away. Nick was lonely. He made up some imaginary friends.

And if you want my citations, below is the whole essay, complete with citations.

Imagination is an integral part of the human experience. Every one of us has at some point created a magical world for ourselves, be it as simple as having an imaginary friend, playing role-playing games online, or writing fan fiction. we may do this to fulfill some deep desire to be loved and to experience things that we could never hope to experience in real life. Something in our real life is displeasing to us, and we want to fix it in whatever way we can. In my spare time, I like to write fiction. I like to create new worlds and new people, to experience new things that could never happen in real life, and to give myself a different life, a better one. We can find this in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel, “The Great Gatsby”.  Nick Carraway, the narrator of the story, has a life that none of us would wish for. In the summer of 1922, much to the chagrin of his family, he moves to New York City to become a bond salesman. He originally plans to rent a house in the country with a coworker who then moves, so he goes out to West Egg Village alone. Even his dog runs away. At that point, Nick’s life was miserable. It must have seemed that all the world was against him, and he didn’t have a friend in the world. In such a situation, a person would find some way to make friends, be they real or imaginary. I postulate that this is exactly what Nick has done-he creates imaginary friends so as to be liked and creates a new world around him. This creation is shown by the over-the-top qualities exhibited by all of the characters save one-Nick himself-, the discrepancies in character behavior, and the fact that, though Nick’s summer was a full one, the events with Gatsby and the rest of his imaginary friends are given the greatest importance.

The characters in “The Great Gatsby” are known for their extravagant qualities, their over-the-top lifestyles, and their bursting personalities. All of the characters in the book have these, save one, of course-Nick himself. In fact, compared to the information we have on every other person mentioned in the book, we have startlingly little information about Nick. He’s rather boring, by comparison, and more realistic than everyone else in the book. Most of what we know about Nick is in Chapter 1. He’s middle-class, a bond salesman, was a soldier in World War I, is from the midwest, and in the summer of 1922, he rents a small house in West Egg for $80 a month. That may seem like a lot at first glance, but after that we only learn 5 things- his name, where he went to college, he’s the cousin of the wealthy Daisy Buchanan, where he works, and the house he rents is, incidentally, only one over from the extravagant manor of Jay Gatsby (1, 7-13; 3, 61). Of the other characters we know greatly more, even of Gatsby, who is considered somewhat of a mystery. This is largely due to the fact that Nick focuses more on others but with a great lack of perspective about himself. He observes the behavior of others around him, but fails to observe his own. In fact, there is a lot of description in the book about others, but, again, a significant lack of the same about Nick. In Chapter 2, Nick attends a small get-together at the apartment of Tom Buchanan and his lover, Myrtle Wilson, in New York City. When the other guests begin to arrive, Nick describes them in great detail- Catherine, Myrtle’s sister, is described as “a slender, worldly girl of about 30[…]. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down her arms”; Mr. McKee, a fellow tenant “was a photographer”, his wife, “shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible”. Myrtle changes into an “elaborate afternoon dress of cream colored chiffon”, and when she changed, Nick notices that “her personality had also undergone a change. […] Her laughter, her gestures, her assertions became more violently affected moment by moment and as she expanded the room grew smaller around her”. By contrast, Nick becomes drunk, sits down in the living room, reads a gossip magazine (2,34-35), and doesn’t say much of anything, and he certainly doesn’t say anything about himself. Overall, his role is very minimal. Fantasies often include great amounts of detail to make them seem more real. But by including so much detail about others and next to none about himself, Nick makes himself seem flat by comparison. It becomes obvious that something is not right, not real- either Nick or everyone else is fake. The odds that 5 people would imagine the same thing are too low, telling us that it is really Nick who imagined them. Their extravagance and great detail tells us that the characters are, in fact, a fantasy.

Furthermore, another clue that the events of “The Great Gatsby” are Nick’s imaginings is all the discrepancies we find in the characters’ behavior at the end. Nothing that would make sense to happen, given the characters established behavior up to that point, actually does When the character of Gatsby dies (8, 169), the only one who mourns, truly, is Nick, even though, surely, Gatsby must have touched many lives. He must have had other friends in the world. But no, only one friend, Nick, attends Gatsby’s funeral (9,182). (This also shows how Nick is central to everything, proving that he is, in fact, the one who imagined all of this.) Daisy, the woman supposedly so attracted to Gatsby that she was tempted to leave her husband, wasn’t even in the area. She and Tom disappeared shortly before Gatsby died- they “left no address”, didn’t “say when they’d be back”, they had just “gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them”(9, 172). Even if their leaving makes sense, Tom is the kind of person who would want to gloat. This personality trait can be seen both during and after his and Gatsby’s fight over Daisy in Chapter 7. He is arrogant and believes that Daisy can only love him- When told that Daisy loves both Tom and Gatsby, Tom says, “‘Even that’s a lie. […] Why—there’re things between Daisy and me that you’ll never know’”(7,140). And when Daisy says that it wouldn’t be true if she said she never loved Tom, he says rather pompously, “‘Of course it wouldn’t’” (7,140). And at the very end of the fight, to further assert that he’s won, he orders Daisy and Gatsby to drive home together—“‘Go home,’” he says, “‘He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over’”(7,142). Tom would want to rub it in Gatsby’s face once more that he had Daisy before bowing out. He would have Daisy drop by to say goodbye forever. Even while mourning for Myrtle, it would be out of character for Tom not to gloat.

There’s also the point of Jordan Baker’s sudden engagement. At the beginning of the book, Daisy says that she intends to set Nick and Jordan up together- she says, “‘In fact, I think I’ll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of -oh- fling you together’”(1,23). Jordan Baker, being a celebrity, a professional athlete, would be rather well-followed by the media of the time. Any boyfriend she might have had would have been news, the same as it is today, and Daisy wouldn’t have even tried to set them up. And Jordan liked Nick, we know this (“‘I hate careless people,’” she says, “‘That’s why I like you’”(3, 63).), and Nick tells us right out that “for a moment, I thought I loved her” (3, 63). If the media didn’t follow this professional golfer, Nick certainly would. However, at the end of the book, she tells Nick “without comment that she was engaged to another man” (9, 187). Out of the blue, with no clues of any sort beforehand, Jordan is engaged. Her engagement totally removes any chance of a further relationship between her and Nick, a relationship that we were expecting. That doesn’t make sense considering her character and the details established thus far. That is a character discrepancy that hints to something suspicious beneath the surface, hinting even more that these events are all a fantasy.

Yet another clue that the events of “The Great Gatsby” are Nick’s fantasy is the importance that the events with Gatsby and the rest of the delusion are given out of an otherwise full summer. Nearing the end of Chapter 3, Nick breaks from his story to tell us about the events thus far— “Reading over what I have written so far I see I have given the impression that the events of three nights several weeks apart were all that absorbed me. On the contrary they were merely casual events in a crowded summer and, until much later, they absorbed me infinitely less than my personal affairs” (3, 60-61). For a brief moment-a little over one full page (4 paragraphs on pages 61 and 62)-Nick breaks a little from his fantasy to tell us what he had done until the middle of July, 1922, but after that he goes back to talking about Jordan and his imaginings. But he was right when he said that it seemed those three events were the highlights of his summer up until that point. The events he cites-eating lunch with his fellow bond salesman, walking around in New York City (3, 61)- compared to the extravaganza that is Gatsby’s company, and being privy to his cousin’s husband’s love affair, and hanging out with such a celebrity as Jordan Baker, are dull and trivial. No wonder he’d choose a fantasy world over the real world.

Also, preoccupation with the fantasy caused him to forget his own birthday. In Chapter 7, following Tom and Gatsby’s fight over Daisy, as Tom was preparing to have a victory drink, he asked Nick if he wanted any. Nick didn’t hear him at first, then said, “‘No…I just remembered that today’s my birthday’”(7, 142). He didn’t remember this until after the fight, when his fantasy started to fall apart, when Daisy, the reason he created the fantasy in the first place, left Gatsby. He didn’t think about it until real life started to creep in. His life wasn’t important until an issue with his all-important fantasy was resolved. There is a clear separation between the fantasy and his reality. Were these events real and true, Nick would not have forgotten something like his birthday.

Now, none of this is to say that Gatsby, Daisy, Tom, and Jordan are entirely fake. Indeed, the human mind is incapable of creating entirely new people. However, compiling qualities from separate people into one person is entirely within the realm of possibility. In his life in New York, or his life in the midwest, Nick might have met someone-anyone-that could have later become Gatsby, or any of them. Perhaps during the war, he encountered a soldier who called everyone “old sport”, or perhaps in college he really did meet a polo player named Tom. In creating his imaginary friends, he called minor details from his real life to his mind and they turned into these people, these friends that Nick created for himself. And they became so fantastical, with such unbelievable qualities, because if you were going to create an imaginary friend, why would they be boring?

The imagination is an amazingly human thing. Some might even say that it is what makes us human. It’s been used to create amazing worlds and amazing technology, from the spear to the Internet. The creators are valued in history, and the character of Nick Carraway is honored with a place among them. After all, through the creative genius of F. Scott Fitzgerald, he created characters that have been valued and read about for decades, almost a century-characters that are fantastically amazing, fantastically complex, fantastically important. We need not pity Nick Carraway for making imaginary friends rather than real ones. We should respect him, and continue to honor him and the story he is a part of, as we have in years past.

#the great gatsby #specs writes stuff #ap lang #ap language #original writing #original essay #in this essay i will #as promised

[jess-the-vampire]

Sky And The Forces Of The Multiverse, Chapter 9

Previous / Next The next morning sky found herself woken up by someone shaking her body, which meant she either slept through her alarm, or her alarm hadn't gone off yet. Her eyes were droopy and she wanted to go back to sleep, but instead felt a sense of deja vu when her blue eyes met familiar green ones. She screamed, taking in the sight of galexia as she remembered she was supposed to be waiting for her to get back last night. She passed out didn't she? Galexia looked fine though, in fact she looked more then awake and before sky could even ask what happened galexia was already filling in her words, "You feel asleep when i got here so i went to bed and then got up and dressed before you awoke! You should have seen dinner with the lucitors! It was FUN!". Sky gave her a look before rubbing her eyes, "I've eaten with them before, anyways is luna up yet?". The girl happily nodded, "Oh, she left to train hours ago! You should have seen her!". Sky shot up and off the bed, "Wait? She left where?"

"The training room? She says she's a knight now....is that her cover? What's my cover?". Sky struggled to reach her closet, picking out something random before searching for a hat to match. Galexia's eyes wondered over her many hats, but kept her focus on the cover she'd been talking about. Sky glared at her as she leaned over her shoulder and put her new clothes down her bed, wanting the girl to leave so she could actually get dressed, "Um look, I-I don't have a cover for you yet...uh....what do you want to be?". Galexia blinked, unsure quite yet as sky sighed, "You...don't think this is still a dream right?". "When did i think this was a dream?" "Nevermind, here, you can be...a foreign exchange student from earth. Mom won't mind, well...she shouldn't mind at least....", Galexia seemed content with that, and that was enough for sky, "Ok so, can you please leave my room?". The girl complied and sky groaned, another day, another babysitting job. She changed before joining her sister, who smiled at her outfit as sky dragged her alongside her. At least she could get some breakfast before facing whatever doom she had to deal with today, and at least galexia was still wearing her make-up for her cheekmarks, though more then likely luna made sure of that. Guess sky was going to have to order more of that. "I like your hats..looks scary.", lexi said casually, and sky shrugged, "Um thanks....i make them sometimes....". She looked over galexia to find something to compliment about her when she saw her earrings, "hey wait are those....bottlecaps?". The brunette smiled wider, as if she'd been waiting to be asked that all day. "Oh yeah, i made them last night, they were just so PRETTY!". Sky was gaping at them but she went on, "Mom and me made cute jewelry out of stuff all the TIME, she's gonna love all this cuteness". The girl was clearly about juda's age based on her features, but sky could'nt help but be baffled she was going to be a queen. Was this another Dirhhennia case? Did she have another sibling to overpass her? Because sky knew she was nothing special, but the girl next to her had been so off since they first met she couldn't help but wonder what in the heck was going on in whatever world she was from. Though how likely she was to get anything from her didn't really seem possible. Galexia suddenly pulled out something from inside a jacket she was wearing, a nice green notebook with some stickers on it. Pulling out a marker from inside her jacket, she immediately started scribbling as they walked, and sky proceeded to stop questioning it to go back to her previous thought process. Servants passed by, paying no mind to her but plenty to the gal who kept bumping into them as she scribbled into her notebook, not even phased as she bumped into them. Sky watched her put the book back into her jacket and made the choice to gab onto her arm and move her along faster to the kitchens. Grabbing some mini pancakes on the way out with some milk, as lexi picked out a fruit bowl, they made their way out of the kitchens. Sky reluctantly picked up some health snack for luna as well, just in case, though it's likely she has already eaten by this point. Sky wasn't one for training, everyone and anyone knew that, but she was more then familiar with the training grounds for their knights. In fact why her mom didn't consider training her here was something to think about. Then again it would've been more awkward being watched by a bunch of knights who were eager to train themselves, and forcing them not to train as probably worse then the kids. All around sky could spot monsters and mewmans of all shapes and sizes lifting weights, clashing swords, and chatting. If Melanie was here she'd probably compare it to some of the weird stuff she saw in teen "high school" movies. Luna was easy enough to spot, no one could mistake that blonde hair, even if it was now tied up in a bun as the girl was doing push-ups on one of the mats off in the corner. All alone, counting how many she'd done, and doing them with ease. With one hand. Making sure to avoid all the guards, who were on the best behavoir in the presence of the princess, as she made her way over. Luna didn't take notice of them, continuing to count to herself, even as galexia took a seat next to her and munched on her fruit. Sky waved her hand out in front of her to get her attention but luna was more interested in finishing what she started then be interrupted by these girls. Her pace not even wavering as she continued to kept count. "61...62....63....64...65....". Sweat was dripping off her body and sky turned her head to the side as she made her was to 70 and finished her workout. Was it too late to accuse her of actually being a shapeshifter? Sky reluctantly held out the granola she picked up and watched luna chug down a bottle of water she probably had picked up earlier, down. Catching her breath before grabbing it with a nod as her way of saying thanks before eating, "Good to see you up.....sorry, this tends to be part of my normal routine back home...". She sighed and took another sip of water, "Hope you don't mind of course, but since i'm apparently a knight in training now, no reason I can't be here...". "No it's fine I guess, might as well make yourself at home..". Her tone of voice was still less then enthusiastic and luna pressed her knees to her chest, "We're going to have to make a schedule to figure out when we can talk and what we're going to do each day, we need time to talk, and do what we need to do everyday.....i don't know how busy you were before, but considering you have lessons with our mom.....we need to work our way around all this mess. Have you called on your demon frie- judas? Yet?" "No, i haven't, i'll call him later...or text him...he's bound to be busy and yesterday was so chaotic I wanna wait just a bit....", Luna finished her snack and tossed it into the nearest trashcan from where she sat with ease, before turning back to the girls. "I've been around our knights back home, never used their training area since i had my own, but this place is quite....well...more active then I expected?". She reached up to tighten her hair's bun, eyes looking around the room, "If my mom is...y'know....the leader? and she's out, i'd think more of these guys would do their own things or be in charge of roles in her absence...". "Aww no no...her second in command is in charge for now...", sky's causal tone made the girl raise an eyebrow, "What? You don't think she'd have a second in command? Of course she has to! Mom sure won't do it and other mom..? Yeah no....". This made luna take another look at the crowd, "Ok, then whose the second in command? Most of the people in here look too young and no one in here seems to be wearing anything that shows any command...". Then galexia suddenly pulled out her notebook and showed off a picture of.... "Here she is!!!". Luna looked utterly perplexed at the scribbled drawing of a woman with green hair in a ponytail coming from her shiny helmet, her blue-green shades, and her dark skin. "Kelly?", Luna blinked before turning to sky, who gave her an odd face back, "Uh yeah? That's her alright...guess lexi met her earlier or something.....what's your problem?". "Oh no no, it's nothing I just....nevermind...anyways, as far as today goes, you two can go off and do...whatever you need to do....I'll stick around here, we can meet up at lunchtime. Talking about anything we found out or...something, you fine with that?". Sky shrugged, "Fine, whatever....i'll just text jude and stuff, i dunno how he's gonna hold up with his guests but hopefully he's in a mood to talk....you just do...whatever you were doing...". "You mean blending in?" "Yeah that." "I'll be fine....though....", she turned to galexia, a look of both bewilderment and confusion lined on her pretty face, "I suggest you keep an eye on her...". Sky gave her a puzzled look, yeah the other girl was strange but her drawing portraits of people wasn't THAT strange was it? Nonetheless, they probably outta split groups before they drew any suspicion. She stood up, urging galexia to follow her as luna went back to work, happy they talked for once without any arguments between them. This time. - Judas's end was a lot less boring. Ever since this morning he'd been active, getting his normal chores and work done, next to constant sessions to keep an eye on the girls and his brothers. Mason was assumed to still be in his garden and landon...was more then likely off brooding somewhere then anything by this point since yesterday was full of nothing but torture for him. Then again, it was also probably very possible thanks to Judas, Landon could be more or less hiding from mason with the girls, who now suddenly wouldn't leave him alone as part of his new "Wing man" status. The thought both amused judas, and made him feel a little bad, though most of his focus were shifted to the girls. He had definitely taken a liking to sunny despite the incident, she was rather likable and in the end she was still just a kid. Celeste on the other hand was a lot harder, she did nothing without showing some reluctance to doing it, and it seemed she had no actual idea how to smile. In fact the grumpy look in her face was probably her resting face by this point. Judas almost wanted to question Landon if they even did make up but then again, maybe this was normal for Celeste. He knew his mom staking guards on them was going to be an issues, both if the girls got discovered for having marks, for having wands, or for lying about where they came from and who they are. He didn't have much of a choice though, even as the prince his mother was still way more above him and those guards were not easy to move or convince to leave. At least mason was too occupied in trying to come up with idea for landon to get too involved in the girls though, which was a plus for judas, but less so for his brother. He felt very guilty for sicking their younger brother on him, but then again, landon was so painfully unsocial that some good MIGHT come from the whole thing. at least, Judas sure hoped it did. He was exhausted last night, his brain felt like dough and by the time he flopped on his bed he was out. He almost slept through his alarm this morning, the screeching noises it made eventually forcing him up and back to his routine. Though granted his routine was going to be shifted a little with the official addition of their guests. For one, he had breakfast with them, choosing to stay by them as much as he could as to try and speak to them, though he had to be careful with the guards around. Afterwards, it was landon's turn. Landon was less busy then he was and though he was reluctant about helping, anything that allowed him the chance to stay far away from mason for now was more then fine with him, though i would'nt surprise judas if the boy kept his distance from them thanks to Celeste's teasing. He still looked partially upset about the phone call and whatever mason had walked in on, but he seemed to feel better the less people brought it up. Sunny seemed to think he was alright and her smile never waved despite him and Celeste's moody attitude, trying to socialize with them and smiling alongside them. At least one of them should keep some kind of eye on them as much as possible just to be safe, while in the meantime they did what they needed to do. Judas kept his compact in his pocket, pulling it out every time it buzzed, he needed to hear from sky. If they were going to get anywhere, they needed a plan, and for now they didn't have one aside from keeping the girls secret and just keeping an eye on everyone. Which was probably not going to get them far in the long run unless the culprit practically blurted out their plans to them. Though so far, this was already off to a better start then yesterday. Judas was still nervous about everything but his head was a bit clearer. He found himself for the moment in the library of the underworld, taking some time to look into anything of interest. Hew'd already skimmed through a few different spellbooks and frankly he didn't know why he thought he'd find much here to begin with, the high commission would never let anyone have any kind of spell that allowed anyone to do what sky's wand did, for obvious reasons. Though so far, the fabric of time and the multiverse didn't seem to be collapsing, so that was a good sign at least that the presence of the girls wasn't going to cause impending doom to rain down upon the world. Though he could almost be certain the commission would notice something was off soon enough. He tossed the book he was reading into the pile and sighed, perhaps he should start somewhere else instead. He thought about asking his father considering his mother would be immediately suspicious if he was up to anything with sky again, but even then his father would probably blab to his mom anyway. Family in the lucitor family was odd, though his grandparents on both sides were great, they were some of the few relatives he could actually talk to, the rest being either dead or barely around. Even his uncle wasn't an option because he was taking a job in another state and he knew next to nothing about magic. Not to mention those that were distant were distant because they didn't want to be associated with the family. and sky thought her family was a wreck. he found himself pacing, trying to think of his next course of action when finally, his compact buzzed in her pocket. The part demon felt relieved to hear from sky as a text message appeared, he quickly read her response before texting her back. Sky: So, we have no plans....I think for now, we're just gonna keep in contact and work along as we go i guess.. Judas: That it? Sky: Guess so.....i mean, unless you have a plan? Judas: Well no, but we need to figure out how this happened....if you think it's the commission, we need to get that kinda info out of them...somehow. Sky: Well, they're suspicious of me apparently, so, don't think I'm gonna be any help Judas: What? Sky: They're suspicious that i destroyed the archives, we heard the recording jude, i'm their prime suspect.... The boy bit his lips, fangs picking the soft flesh as he took a moment to think about the situation before  texting her back. He would call her, but he'd get in big trouble since he was in the library and hades knows he doesn't need to lose his phone again. Judas: Well then, maybe let us take the reigns for a bit, keep yourself out of trouble... He could already imagine sky's face on her end, a look that said: "Keeping me out of trouble? Ha ha, very funny.". So when there was a bit of a silence, as sky hadn't texted him back, he immediately tried to make up for his last text message. Judas: Look, for now, just work on your studies, help your mom, and just be careful...we can take care of it... Sky bit her lip, thoughts of what luna said last night to her re-emerging and she grumpily texted back her friend. Sky: No, let me help, let me do something at least... To be honest, judas was right, if she was under suspect she was probably better off not making herself more suspicious. But at the same time, what use would she be doing nothing this whole time? This was her wand that supposibly caused this after all. Also luna surely would be utterly annoyed if she did completely nothing instead of trying to help get her back to whatever utopia she came from, especically after telling her to "Take charge" or whatever else she'd been telling her. Judas: Well, then...perhaps you can figure our why you're wand's all fritzy.....wouldn't be weird or suspicious of you to do something like that right? Sky: Ok, i can try. Judas shoved the thing back into his pocket, only to jump up at the sight of someone standing directly in front of him. Making him fall back onto the floor and yelp in pain. When he was able to get a proper look at the situation, he met the eyes of his grandfather, who immediately helped him back onto his feet. "I'm sorry judas, didn't mean to scare you...i've been looking for you this morning for a word and i didn't want to bother you until you were done speaking to your friends.." "Oh uh.....ok...", his grandfather placed his hands into his pockets, looking down to the floor, " Sorry judas, and sorry about dinner as well...I probably should have waited till after to talk about it, I know your folks are sensitive to people wanting to cure you...". Judas's ears flickered as he put his hands out, "No no no, it's fine, I know you're all just...trying to help and....well i'm not king yet anyway, they need to know..". Fans dug into his lip as his eyes darted around the library, "I mean, a shocker is.....decent...compared to other stuff...". Sky tazing angel was still fresh in his mind despite everything and though that was the wrong call then, here.....well....if could really knock angel down, then there was a chance it could help him. At least, it could take him down if his arm did end up going nuts at least. It's interesting, 17 years of his condition with no serious consequences and you'd think him and his folks would assume it was harmless. It randomly appeared and it was a nusence, but it also seemed to show up when he was in danger or in certain emotional acts. 17 years, and despite it being annoying, it had never harmed anyone innocent. and yet, it was scary, it scared his parents, it scared everyone around him. Judas was like a walking horror to everyone. "It's not exactly a cure, but....I know you and your family just want to be prepared, and I think, we need a proper plan.", the old king started pacing, "Your family doesn't want to hurt you and I don't either, hades forbid someone lays a finger on you. But your folks need to have more of a plan if something DOES happen, we can't do nothing. You know if worst comes to worst, they have to hurt you to stop you.... and if we don't do something....those people out there will...", He stopped moving, his back to his grandson. "those idiots out there, who think you can't be king because of that curse? all they see is that lousy curse....you're a smart young man whose more then capable to handle this place and all they think of is you'll destroy us all because you can't help it....", he turned around, facing judas with a ferocity, "Then again, that's what they always have thought of every lucitor heir before you......look, you're going to be king soon judas, we can't keep waiting anymore for a solution because your folks don't want you hurt, if you're going to run this place we need to make sure that thing is under control and if it comes down to it, we need to stop it." The older man continued to ramble, it might of gotten tiring considering how often he did it, but this was normal to judas. After all his father's anger issues came from somewhere and Dave sure showed it when he wanted to. You could always tell how passionate he was during times like these, and his family tended to always be one of the biggest things he was protective and passionate about. If you crossed his family, he wouldn't hesitate to play dirty,  and he was not one to hide how he felt about anything. Judas could remember countless times his grandfather would complain bout this and that, in fact this was unlikely the first time he talked about this subject in particular. But Judas just let him ramble on a bit more before speaking himself. "I know...I know....trust me, you don't have to remind me....I-I'm scared of myself enough as is..", rubbing his arm, he managed to look his grandfather right in the eyes, "When i'm king, I'll show them I can do it, just like you did....curse or no curse....i'll try at least...". he rolled up the sleeve of his cursed arm, holding it in front of him, "My parents have considered options, you know my mom and safety, but i'm still open to other suggestions....well, as long as they don't put me to death..." His shoulders sinked, trying to make the old man feel better,  "It does means a lot, you're still trying to come up with solutions, it's much better then the tranquil darts and the chains suggestion at least". He watched his grandfather's face shift to one of guilt, ashamed of himself, " I was desperate at that time, I guess to them it made you sound more like an animal we had to lock up and I never wanted to make it sound that way...". He felt judas put a hand on his shoulder, "I kinda assumed after that, you were gonna stop...but here you are...". "I just...I don't want another member of my family to go through that, thomas being the first half monster to take a throne was hard enough on him. And I just don't...and your parents just....sigh....", judas pulled him into a small hug, "Well, we can't cure me or help me if we give up right?". He smiled a little, "Right...". They detached and Dave crossed his arms,  "I'm sorry for laying this all out on you, again, but your parents aren't trying anymore and....sweet lucifer i hope this next one works, we don't need to worry about a cure right now, we just need to make sure we can stop it, if this stops it....then you'll be no threat...a cure can come afterwards.". Judas watched his grandfather's expression and sighed, he had an idea and spoke up, "You heard about the guy who insulted me at the ball didn't you? That's what brought this up all of a sudden....". Dave shrugged, not a shocked look on his face as if he had expected this eventually, he'd been caught., he shoulders slumped,  "Don't tell your parents, but i always make sure someone is keeping an eye on you....partially for safety purposes but I never feel your father tells quite everything that happens...get the feeling he's worried i'll freak out...though...guess he's not wrong.". "Miss going to balls?" "A little...". "A little?" "Ok, a LOT...". Judas gave him a knowing smile as the man huffed, " Look, he was insulting my grandson and if i had been there i'd have given him a piece of my mind, but since i'm out of luck. Next best thing is to show him how wrong he is...". The boy smiled, it was an easy take to tell which side of the family provided landon's current issues, though he couldn't help but find his grandfather's over-protectiveness just a little charming.  "I'm sorry, your poor old grandpa here is rambling and whining and wasting your time....", he leaned on a table nearby, "I'm not the king anymore, so my priorities lie elsewhere...I was so angry when I found out." "You know retirement should also be a big priority right?", Judas piled up the books he was done with in his arms and handed them over to a demonic librarian, who used their wings and flew off to put the books back in their proper places. "Pft, why deal with retirement when you can help your grandson show up some racist bullies?", His teal eyes watched his grandson as he leaned next to him, "I'll let you know when we get the device from our friends, if it doesn't work, well, we can't say we didn't try....". "Well, worst it could do is shock me and nothing happens....which is..painful....but then again considering i'm the host....If i have a harder time moving so does it..", he felt his grandfather run fingers through his hair, "thanks for taking my offer, I know your folks are just protective of you....i just.....you're an adult now...they can't baby you anymore...this curse is yours, and you need to be allowed to make your own decisions. Especially when it's something as dangerous as what your curse could do...". "They're just looking out for me....but they seemed to have eased off knowing it was something that wouldn't servery hurt me......you would have done the same for my dad...", he snorted and agreed, "Yeah, guess I would've...". They sat in silence for a bit when his grandfather looked at his watch, "I better get moving, sorry for getting so upset....I didn't mean to come here and ramble so much, you were probably busy weren't you? Before I showed up?". "Oh, no no, it's perfectly fine...we.....we needed to have this talk sometime soon, before I'm crowned...", he watched his grandfather start to head out, "Right, and uh....please don't tell your parents about the "spying " thing, they're upset at me enough for even suggesting a new cure method..." "Don't worry, i'll keep it a secret, as long as you actually take at least a little more of a break and enjoy retirement for once.", his grandfather rolled his eyes and laughed, "Never". As he was about to head out though, judas called out for him and the elder turned around, "Yes?". "Hey, before you head out? I want to ask you.....what do you think about....alternate dimensions?", his grandfather gave him a strange look and shrugged, "Why would you care to know? Thinking about other realities were you weren't cursed?". Judas nodded quickly and he continued, "I don't think they're honestly something anyone should be trying to get involved with, it's a complex system and tampering with stuff like that can change thousands of other realities, honestly it's no wonder that stuff is taboo, you could ruin billions of lives by just leaving a footprint on another world". He gave him a strnage look and judas stood his ground, "You're not thinking of-.". The boy shook his head, "Heck no, but it would be cool to think...somewhere out there....we didn't have to worry about well...hurting me at all...right?". The man nodded, suspicion dropping, "Yeah...it would be...". After he left, judas fixed his sleeve and grabbed his stuff, it was lunch time and he had to meet up with the girls. Making sure he left nothing behind as he headed out the door to find the dining hall, holding his wrist the entire way. - Luna was starting to blend in rather well among the other knights in training, and by blend in she meant keep to herself and draw no attention to herself whatsoever. Quietly listening to the gossip spread among the young adults, there was little of interest. Most of it was "Teen drama this" and "Teen drama that", talking about whose dating who and whatnot. As though that kinda stuff mattered when you're training to be one of the queen's knights. She'd rather listen to the sharpening of swords. No wonder back home she only got involved in situations like this if it were a part of her training, it all seemed so dull, so pointless. There were so many other important things at hand and this was the kinda stuff teens wanted to talk about, as if these would matter much once they became knights. Was this normal for Sky? For now she found herself in their locker room, luna planning to head out as training seemed to be over and the rest of her mates were on break for lunch. She might as well go find where lexi and sky went, or perhaps use her new position to do a little digging herself. Grabbing her things, she prepare to make an exit when she heard a whistle which froze her and everyone else in their tracks, "CADETS! IN LINE!", Luna watched the locker room but their way to head against a long way to form a line against it and she immediately followed suit. This seemed to be normal for most of the knights judging by their reactions and at first she wondered if there was an emergency when something quickly told her otherwise. The door swung open and the blonde felt herself tense at the sight of a tall woman will long green hair in a ponytail, shades, a rather large golden sword, and blue and black spiked armor. Kelly was a sight for sore eyes and she must have been very excited based on her smile. Luna stared at her, still in shock at the sight of her. She's heard of kelly before, many times, but seeing her was a whole other thing. Nonetheless she brushes it off in favor of not looking ridiculous. "Didn't mean to scare all of you, but I heard we got a few new recruits just recently and there was no way I was gonna skip them!", the trainees talked among themselves as she pulled out a list, "don't worry it's only three, then you all can go to lunch...". She read down her list, "Joey!", a large monster lady stepping forward, and luna watched as kelyl shook her hand, admired her grip and welcomed her aboard before having her stand next to her as she called out the nest name on her small list. "Sirius?! ", a shorter mewman with dark hair and darker skin stepped forward, rise and repeat, though his size didn't seem to matter much to kelly. She early welcomed him and he stood next to joey as kelly took out her list one last time, "Luna?". Luna stepped forward and hoped her marks were still properly covered up as the woman shook her hand, "Nice grip, I can tell you've worked with swords before....". Luna simply nodded, "I also love your eyes, full of determination, i can tell, welcome, i hope you're ready for knighthood.". She dismissed everyone else to turns to the three cadets, " You're new so you wouldn't know it, but i always greet new recruits that way. You'll get used to it, now that jackie is finally coming back soon, more and more are signing up to be trained, but until then, you're all stuck with me.....you know your schedules right?" They all nodded. "Good, because until jackie gets back, you'll have to attend my training sessions to set you all up and i don't suggest missing those. Now you three go get some lunch i'm going to be looking forward to working with you all, hope you all don't disappoint me...". The other two recruits left and luna followed behind, looking back as kelly nodded to her and she walked out of the locker room, lost in thought. She shook her head, she needed to focus on the task at hand, thinking about home didn't matter right now. Finding Sky was easy enough, as she was snacking in her bedroom, galexia hanging off the side of the bed, drawing. The girl digging through her mother's book of spells for anything of use as she chomped down on a bag of chips. Luna had already picked up a sandwich on the way here as she was technically an employee now and therefore treated to her own food. She took a seat on the bed herself, glancing to sky who hadn't really acknowledged her as she skimmed through the book. "Mom still has her spellbook in this universe?", She looked it over then went back to focusing on her food, unwrapping it to eat. Sky nodded, shoving more food into her mouth, "I guess i'm trying to figure out if mom wrote down any secret spells or something...I dunno, i'm stumped where I even go with this....you sure we shouldn't have my mom look it over or something?". Luna's look said that she wasn't sure, but she spoke otherwise, "I don't want to be tricked by the high commission again...the wand stays...". "Fine fine fine, so....what did you do then? I don't know a ton about what the knights do most of the time...", luna wrapped up her uneaten sandwich, slightly annoyed as she spoke, "It's not much to worry about, I just finished warm ups, spend time around the folk listening out for info, talked to the second in command for a bit. Nothing remarkable....". Sky didn't say anything in return, going back to her book, the tension in the room cut be cut with a knife and galexia's sudden words startled the other girls. "We could talk about other cool stuff! We don't have to talk about stuff you guys are bored by!", Luna simply crossed her arms, turning away her head, "It's not boring to talk about plans and our current mission to get back home, it's important!!". But galexia shook her head, "But you guys don't talk about anything else, it's just a lotta BLAH and BLEH!! Then you guys sit in silence and do nothing for a long time till your brains go all goopy and globby!." She rolled off the bed and jumped to her feet, waving her arms around, "We could talk about other cool things!! Like all the stains on the ceiling that look like animals! Or that the underworld shampoo smells like cherry blossoms! Or we could talk about the cool shocky bracelet your demon bro got!". Sky shook her head, "What? What exactly did you get into in the underworld?", the girl's eyes lit up as if she'd been waiting to be asked that all day. "Oh that's easy, Celeste almost died because of this big ole plant! And then we got sent to our rooms but i squirted shampoo all over the floor before jumping into a pile of ripped clothes! And then we ate giant bugs and vegetables and then the purple kid was offered a bracelet an-" Luna held out her hands, "Wait, slow down, you almost died to a plant? And what now?". Then she felt the blunette next to her grab her hand, "Then she made a mess, got some new clothes, and i guess went to dinner and judas got a....bracelet...?". Galexia nodded. "Ok, thanks for telling us i guess..". "You're welcome!!!". Sky tried to go back to reading, but galexia just stood there, staring, "what about you guys?". They exchanged looks but the blonde shook her head, "Lexi, no offence, but some of us aren't as eager to give out our life stories, we barely know each other. And besides, it's hard enough to tell if you're paying attention or not...you just kinda seem to be doing your own thing most of the time and we just....It's actually kinda hard to explain...". The green-eyed girl simply blinked, "But isn't it better for us to get to know each other more? My mom and dad like meeting new people, they do it all the time!". "Yes well, it's not the same for all of us, if you want to talk about yourself...it's fine, but....I want to focus on other things.". She went back to her food, opening it back up, making a napkin spread on her lap to catch the crumbs, and began eating much to lexi's misery. "Aww, that suuuuckkssss...". She flopped onto the floor, "Finneeee...". Now that sky was thinking about it, out of all the girls, lexi reminded her most of how her mom used to act as a kid. She was bubbly, active, and always trying to do things simply because she'd rather have fun then do any actual work. Except this wasn't some 14 year old girl, this was now all encased inside a 17 year old with green eyes and wearing trash for jewelry. Sky watched her mope and put the book down, making her way over to her and sitting on the floor next to the sad girl, "You know, I know how you feel....I've never really been into all the boring stuff about being queen and all that....you kinda just rather....have fun and be a normal kid...". She pulled out her wand, looking it over, "You turn fourteen, then you gotta do this, then you gotta do that...and everything then is about being queen and whatnot..". Luna finished her chewing, "You act as though that's a bad thing, being born into he royal family is not exactly common among anyone. You both should be excited! You're given an amazing opportunity and since you are, you should be happy to prove your worth to it. Not just anyone can be queen after all, it's an honor and all you have to do is get prepared for it.". Her tone seemed oddly happy, as though she was looking back on her training with a certain fondness the other girls didn't share. "And your somehow don't find the preparation to be remotely boring or exhausting?" "Not if you actually make an effort, like it or not all of us were born to be the next queen. The most you can do is make sure you're the best queen you can be instead of lying around and complaining about it, that's sure not how our mother got on the throne in all of our homes...". She finished eating and collected her trash, "Just because something is boring doesn't mean it's not important or not worth listening to, usually the most boring stuff tends to be the stuff you need to listen to most." She threw her trash into the bin with perfect accuracy, "Granted, when i'm back home what you do is your problem, but I happen to have been training to be an excellent queen since I was little . So forgive me If i don't see the problem here with training. You're going to be queens soon after all, if you don't take it seriously you're just asking for more issues.". Sky grumbled but Luna chose to ignore it, "Sorry, but that's the gist of it, we don't have time for fun and games, there are more important matters at hand.". "You're kind've a buzzkill, you know that?". "Well, considering back home i'd always carry first aid kits, maps, and lock picks every time kids my age asked to hang out with me, i think I've been made more then aware that i don't seem to have ever been the "Fun" kinda of person.", She summoned her own wand, "It's fine though, I've gone this long without that kinda stuff and I turned out perfectly fine. ". She suddenly used her wand to change her outfit expertly, going from her workout outfit to something nicer much to sky's added displeasure. "And yet you made me give you a new outfit last night...". Luna simply smirked. "I just wanted to get under your skin a little, am I fun yet?" Sky didn't bother to answer as the girl changed the subject, "Anyways your lesson is soon so i suppose me and galexia are going to be working together in the meantime...I know you still don't trust us but at this point I doubt you think we have plans to go anywhere....". Sky gave the two of them a once over, "Fair enough....but what the heck are you even going to do? We literally have no plans here besides just kinda sorta trying to get more info?". "Well, perhaps that's a good place to start, working our way up, gain their trust...get more info...", the way she said it almost sent chills down's sky's spine, she just said it so naturally, as if she had done stuff like this before. Though considering how she spoke earlier about wanting to be the best queen she can be, she probably shouldn't be remotely surprised if this girl got into some crazy stuff. She could almost imagine her kissing up to a higher up to get what she needed. "The point is, we can talk to the people here, we blend in now....just head to your classes, and let us talk around, get to know everyone....", She nodded to galexia, "I can keep an eye on her on my own, you focus on what you need to do and we do the same..". Sky twiddled her wand in her hands, don't you think that'll look kinda suspicious? You running around and asking people private questions they unlikely know about?". Luna's look was mischievous, her wand turned back into a ring, "Not if you know what you're doing..". - "You know, the last time it was just the three of us together eating, didn't quite end well...", judas carefully eyed the door of the private dining room , where the guards were still perched, hoping they couldn't listen in but speaking carefully just to make sure. Celeste shrugged, "Well as long as your creepy arm doesn't come back, i'm sure we'll be fine..". Judas frowned but Sunny gave him a reassuring smile as she took another bite out of her bug sandwich, " I think you'll be fine, I'll make sure not to run off again...". Landon had basically dumped the girls on judas for lunch without a word, probably glad to be rid of them and away from judas considering how frustrated he was. Well, dumping might've been too much for what he did, as he indeed, had kept his distance and basically walked off somewhere else when judas took his "Shift". The girl's hadne't said anything about their time thugh whether it was because there was something they didn't want to say or there was nothing to say at all judas was unsure about. "I took my grandfather's offer, on the bracelet, he'll let me know when i get it....", his fork played with the noodles on his plate and sunny's smile shifted, "daddy looked really worried about you, does this really happen a lot? With...you know?". He simply nodded, "They're my parents...they worry about me, i'm sure you guys have gone through similar things...". Sunny nodded but Celeste said nothing, simply eating and keeping to herself as judas kept on eating. "I'll be fine....don't worry about me, I've been dealing with this my entire life, you guys need to worry about yourselves..", he gave a smile but sunny could sense the pain behind it, she quietly went back to eating, trying to change the subject. "So what do you guys like to do for fun around here? Well I mean, i know fun things to in the underworld but what do you guys do?", Celeste groaned but Judas seemed to appreciate sunny's attempt to lighten the mood a little more. "Ah, well, I guess when we're not doing prince things we're normally just spending time with lucy, hanging with our parents or sky, we also i guess...play in our game room. Ping pong with our folks is honestly really fun, though since there is five of us we usually let mason ref the game a little since his big wings had knocked over the table multiple times....i don't think he minds it though. Plus me and my dad make a great team, I think at first we were worried since landon's no master at magic but mom is pretty powerful as well, so it's even to us....". "Isn't using magic kinda...cheating?", the two demons turned towards the grumpy gal, "Like who in the heck would let you use magic to play in sports? What is supposed to be fair about that? You guys are basically just trying to out-cheat each other..". "Well, it's not about competition much, it's usually for fun....we...well we like to mess with each other a lot...", he smirked, "At this point it's less that we actually play ping pong and more of us trying our best to frustrate the other as much as possible, when you have siblings, you know.". Sunny giggled, "Well, me and my brother are a little different, we don't mess with each other...or fight really.", she watched the boy nod along with her as she talked. "My baby brother has always been kinda scared of stuff and prefers comfort and stuff.....we're less like you and your bros and more...protective and comforting..", the boy's face turned back to his food, "Eh, you'd be surprised how protective we can be for each other, but honestly I wish we were more like that....at least I wish we got along as well as you seem to. Me and landon can kinda get on each other's nerves sometimes, i'm sure you've already noticed..". "I'm sure he loves you though....", Sunny's words seemed to make the boy feel a little better as he continued to eat, wrapping the noodles around his fork and slurping them down, "Yeah, i'm sure he does too.....so...speaking of ping pong, you guys up for a game? With landon leaving the way he did last night, our folks just went to bed....but perhaps, you both might be interesting in playing with us, well i guess for now..er..me? You both have played before I hope?". "Of course! We'd play sometimes back home too! But Justin gets nervous about balls flying at him so we don't really use magic or anything, so i'm not exactly used to doing the style you guys usually do.", Celeste shrugged, "Whatever, break from all the other nonsense i guess....your parents joining?". The demon shook his head, "Nah, not right now, no doubt they have things to take care of, but they may join us later, they're usually BEGGING to take a break when they're supposed to be doing other things". He leaned against one of his hands as he sat his elbow up on the table, "But if we don't have them, we're going to need to invite someone to make the teams even....landon i doubt wants to play considering last night, i'm keeping mason as far away from you as possible, and my grandparents aren't exactly an option at the moment as my grandma can never hold the paddles and my grandpa has other stuff on his mind and i'd rather he didn't get a good look at you two either..". He bit his lip, "Sky is probably at her lessons as well and luna and galexia are probably busy over there and i don't want to get too into whatever they may be up to...". Celeste grumbled, "You guys don't have any other friends you could invite? Like, at all?".  The prince only twiddled his thumbs, all three red eyes looking off in the opposite direction, "Well, it's not to say we don't have any friends, we're just not exactly hugely popular with the public a lot of the time....". "What about that girl you were texting?", Sunny asked innocently, making judas's heart sink. "Girl?". "During dinner, you were texting a girl weren't you? Maybe she can come? I'm sure she'll think less of us then your relatives..". Judas put both arms on the table now, still looking off to the side, " You mean nora? I uh...sorry, i don't think she can come either, not that i think she'll be suspicious of you it's more just as....she's not very social? and her parents have never been sure of me...the arm, you know...". Celeste looked him over, scanning him over with one eyebrow raised, "She your girlfriend or something dude?". Judas's brows furrowed, "No, she's not thank you, she's just somewhat of a distant friend. Not that it matters, I doubt I can convince her to show up, so maybe we should do something else then..". The small demon girl took a sip of her juice and looked between the brunettes before thinking, "C'mon, i bet someone out there would hang out with you! Who else do you know?". "Don't you dare suggest angel..." "Landon's crush?" "Landon might have his number, but i sure don't, plus landon is already upset enough...". "Well do you know any other people...?". "I shouldn't have brought it up, i'm sorry. I was hoping to maybe do something fun and i forgot we don't have a ton of people to choose from to be our fourth... maybe after my folks are off we could do something like that but for now...I guess...we can do something else.", his tone became awkward and embarrassed, though whether it was because he forgot there was three of them or because of how little of people he seemed to know wasn't obvious. Probably a mix of both to be honest. Sunny frowned, so much for helping him feel better, if anything she seemed to just make him feel a ton worse. She looked off the celeste who wasn't paying much attention, her eyes off to the side and playing with her food as the silence grew. "Well, we could still play with just the three of us! How about this? You and me can play and cele here can ref! Just like how your little brother does it! That way none of us are left out! We could even play in shifts!". Judas looked up and nodded, "Yeah, sure, that could be fun........yeah, i mean, if you both still want to go have some fun together of course! I hope I didn't well, upset you both or anything.". Sunny shook her head, "It's ok, i have trouble with friends back home too, it's nothing to be sad about. I mean, we're friends now aren't we?". Celeste grumbled but the boy seemed to appreciate her words, nodding, "Yeah, I guess we kinda are by this point, i uh....let's finish eating and i'll show you where to go ok?". Honestly he probably should go back to the mission or find some other prince stuff to do, but he finished his normal stuff, his chores, and his most important prince stuff. And yesterday had been such a fiasco in terms of working that playing a simple game sounded so much more refreshing right now. Time to just have pure fun, get to know these girls, and take some time to think on other things. He could feel the weight of everything else hammer down on him so much that he was practically begging for something like this. Entering the game room made him smile, with his soon to be crowning in the near future, he had less and less time to think about stuff like this. But seeing it again made him feel like a kid again, as it always did when he and his family played together in here. They had a ping pong table of course but there was a basketball hoop, some arcade games, Foosball, and a number of other things. His father told him some of these used to be in his room when he was a lot younger. Sunny looked impressed when she stepped in and as the body guards positioned themselves in front of the game room door, Judas figured she probably lived in the butterfly castle and hadn't been to the underworld castle nearly as much. He suddenly found himself wondering what exactly his dad would do if he had become king of mewni. He was trained to handle the underworld but what would have happened if he ran mewni, a monster on mewni's throne, sounded rather interesting. The citizens of mewni here were already rough enough about monsters and mewmans getting married, half-monster kids, and heck they were still rough about sky being next in line since she seemed weaker then other mewmans. How the heck did sunny's world work? Was it a utopia where everyone gets along? Sunny would probably tell him if he asked but that was probably not a good idea with the guards nearby though judas kept the mental note in his mind. Sunny had already run over to the paddle shelf to pick out a paddle, taking a pink one out as just simply used his powers to grab a purple one. Celeste, simply took a seat nearby to do...whatever she was exactly supposed to be doing. She watched the two demons giggled as judas served, surprised at sunny's ferocity as she hit the ball back, "You were totally taught by our dad right? Though i could see ms star having some hand in this with you jumping so much." "Hey, i'm short! Plus jumping makes it more fun!", They seemed almost about matched based on how little the ball got passed either of them, laughing and bonding quite well. Celeste was questioning when she even showed up to be honest, she barely had to even do anything at she watched them, bored. Then again, why did she want to hang out with them anyway? She barely knew them, she didn't like them. For what reason did she even have to care if they were having fun without her? "C'mon, you gotta do better then that!", judas challenged the girl, whose three red eyes dimmed as much as his own. "Don't make me use my tail jude, that thing can pack a punch and you know it!",They kept playing for a little more when they found themselves tied and decided to end it there to let Celeste play. Celeste thought about turning it down at first, but took the paddle from judas's hands to play herself, well less took and more "Snatched", but still. She wouldn't admit to being a bit happy to play. Judas found himself looking to his compact in the meantime, no doubt sky was at her lessons already with her mother and there was no telling what nora was up to. He found his mind wandering a bit, sky had yet to properly tell him what angel used his compact for, just that it wasn't anything that mattered and they needed to focus elsewhere. Though he still wasn't pleased angel got his hands on the compact in the first place, he practically used his bit of kindness in letting him speak to the queen and he stole his stuff. Granted, Star brushed him off but it still sucked. He was going to have to keep a closer eye of it from now on, clearly his pockets did nothing to keep a spider prince's grubby hands off it. Was angel always this much of a pickpoketer now that he thought about it? He didn't see him often every since he got banned from all royal events for the trouble he caused so there was only so much he knew about the guy aside from his kingdom and how he viewed the treatment of monsters and his people. He found himself wondering if they could've been friends years ago if things were different. They didn't exactly hate each other after all and the boy did seem to have some form of respect and care for judas oddly enough despite everything. Sigh, no point in thinking about that kinda stuff now though, clearly they both had their own things to worry about. He had his mother and judas had a plethora of problems that beat at his mind every day of his life. If only things were simpler, like when they were all still too young to ever deal with matters like these. He wouldn't have to be so pressured to fix his "Problem", Sky wouldn't be so pressured to be better then her mom, Nora might've had an easier chance getting to make friends, and angel could stop trying to handle matters he probably wasn't ready to handle. His thoughts were stopped, however, as a ping pong ball directly hit his face. Right on his third eye, catching him off guard and instinctively grab onto the spot in pain. That's what he got for not paying attention like he was supposed to. Sunny gasped, running over to him, Celeste following her. Judas grumbled, knowing full well based on where he sat which side of the table had to have hit that ball, and he resisted the urge to shoot the brunette a look. "Sorry sorry sorry....", Sunny looked him over, "I missed the ball! Are you ok? I've had my eye hit a few times too and i know it's painful...". Judas brushed it off, "N-no no...it's fine it's...ah...", he briefly caught a lash of light as sunny handed him an ice pack, something she probably conjured from her wand, he mumbled a thank you and put it over his eyes, enjoying the relief it brought. "Man i'm gonna have to stop hanging out with just the two of you, seems i get injured for it a lot.", he let out a weak laugh and though it was meant to be funny, sunny still seemed upset. "Is your eye going to be ok?", The demon nodded, "I've gotten worse then this....not the first time my eye has been hurt either....". Celeste mumbled an apology under her breath and stared off to the side as sunny acted like the protective sister she was, showing she indeed probably had a brother back home she comforted and cared for. He could easily see her doing this for him, though since judas was still a stranger to her she held back just a little, not entirely sure of her limitations. "Hey, no need to fret over me so much, just give my eye a moment and we can play again, i'll get cele here back with some....proper ping pong butt kicking." He shot the girl a challenging look, "You guys play pretty well, I haven't played proper ping pong in so long i almost forgot what it looks like.". He removed the ice pack, eye feeling a bit better as it opened, "Ah, That's better, thanks sunny, does my eye look ok to you guys? Just to be safe?" Both girls nodded. "Good, c'mon, time for some payback!", He got his hands on sunny's paddle and happily took his spot on the other side of the table as Celeste made her way over to hers. She was making a face, not wanting to feel intimidated by him. He was right though, she didn't stand a chance against him. Though part of her blamed his probable half demon strength for how easily he was able to score points against her more then anything. She felt so tempted to cheat, use magic, how did sky put up with this smug looking dude anyway? As another ball zipped past her, she found herself thinking of something. Maybe she could distract him somehow? Though would he even fall for that to begin with? She put on her best face as she picked up the ball from her side. "So, your brother......i'm gonna assume by the sappy love song he was playing he has a crush on someone?". She served but Judas kept his focus on the ball more then what she was saying, waiting until he scored another point before answering her question. "What's it to you?" Celeste picked the ball up and tossed it to him to serve, "Just asking, is that a problem?". She found his eyes staring her down, skeptic of what she was doing, "I think Landon wants to be left alone right now, yesterday got him really upset...". He had to assume mason was probably still bugging him with dating advice on top of everything else, and at this rate his brother wouldn't date till his was 80. Sunny's ears twitched, looking at him with innocent eyes, "How come, did something happen?". "My brother's just not well...a very social person, i mean granted, i'm not always the most social either but between the three of us he's always had a harder time talking to people and making friends...crushes are no exception.". He put down the paddle and ball, "He and sky are the same age you know, and he's just dealing with things. Then again, we're all dealing with things....I guess it's just harder for him in some ways...". He look a better look at Celeste, making her cross her arms, "You seem about their age too now that I think about it? Sorry, i don't think I've asked either of you that." He was met with silence, making him change the subject. "Are we gonna play or not?", the mewman grumbled, fiddling with her paddle. The boy raised his eyebrow again, "Are you sure you still want to play, it's not any offense to you it's just you haven't scored a single point yet and game should be almost over soon, we could just stop and come back later if you want?". The girl simply shot him a dirty look, "Don't tell me we're done, we're done when we're done. Serve lucitor, i'll kick your butt and then you'll be sorry..". She was feisty, did she get that from his mom, or star? It didn't quite feel like either of them. At least, he hoped not. The girl looked like them, but she didn't feel like them. Bright clothes or not her eyes seemed fiery instead of the bright ones the boy was familiar with in terms of his mother. Guess in retrospect she was not exactly in a place she could be super happy but at the same time he wondered how she could store up so much anger in that little body. But then, before he could think about it, he could hear yelling from the other side of the door, followed but grunting and yelling. He felt a sudden dose of urgency, and he almost attempted to try and shield the girts in case it was an attack. But then the noise stopped, and there was discussion heard outside of it. Was something else going on out there? Then the door opened, almost casually, and judas was almost prepared for a dozen of different people to enter. Sky, his parents, his grandparents, perhaps his brothers, heck he even could've expected angel to pop in for some odd reason. What he didn't expect was the sight of a familiar green flying ponyhead trapped in the arms of two demon guards. His heart dropped. "Loki?"

#star vs the forces of evil #svstfoe #svtfoe #sky and the forces of the multiverse #tomco bby #starkie bby #janstar bby #ostar bby #starco bby #spiderslime #tomstar bby #fanfic #fanfiction #my art #King Lucitor #Dave lucitor

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 17

the silver lining

SUMMARY: Memories are points of light. Find the connections.

[A/N: This chapter can honestly probably be read as a standalone piece -- though you’d miss a lot of the references and shit. But that’s why I’m posting it like this instead of a link~]

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3. master post.

Ryker is owned by @popsicletheduck.

---

...61... ...62...

Emma watches the numbers tick up. Her fingers tap her palm, nervous, but she can’t remember why.

...64… ...65…

The elevator is in some silvery, novo art deco style popular among the rich set. She isn’t usually called to the gilded parts of Detroit; the penthouses and the towers stand empty and dark against the skyline. Those with privilege could take their time returning to the ghosts of their old life as the world changed fast, then slow, and they did not require the services of a ragtag team of rugged volunteers.

...69…

The air is dry.

...70.

Her stomach tugs.

Ding.

The doors open to a dark hallway.

“What in the…”

A SWAT officer neatly melds into the shadow, rifle pointed outward, finger on the communicator in his helmet like he is warning someone about her -- but he is frozen midstep, caught while trying to leave. Water from a shattered fish tank shimmers against the smooth wood floor. Unmistakable bullet holes mar the glass. The terrarium at the end of the hall -- stupidly unnecessary, as is the way of the rich -- is somehow untouched.

She has a nagging feeling she has been here before.

She has never been here before.

She feels pulled forward, anyway, down the dimly lit halls into the rest of the penthouse suite and its wide open floor plan, barren in the way that signifies a household living for appearances. She passes glass decorations shot to smithereens and a bedroom lit with soft purple ambiance. That room and a yellow, bloodstained shoe spark a realization: A child lives here. Or did.

In what was once a living room lies a dead man in plainclothes -- someone’s father, some part of her mind says. In the kitchen lies another man, but in an officer’s uniform. The rest of the SWAT team stands in almost reverent attendance near the door to the balcony, frozen in place.

She is following an invisible string to an unknown end. She could turn around, but she knows nothing is left behind her. Everything moves at the speed of dreaming, slow and viscous, until another gunshot hits the back wall, not far from where she had just been standing.

The sound fractures into a thousand pieces in her head. She’s heard it before. She cannot piece it together.

She steps through the door anyway, like the gun is an invitation, rather than a warning. A white hot pain sears her shoulder, but its not her shoulder, its…

She isn’t sure.

A blond man stares at her from across the balcony, dressed in black and white. A blue triangle twinkles on his chest. He holds a gun aloft, unapologetic despite the tears streaming down his face and the young girl curled into a statue of fear near the edge of the pool.

“Simon?”

“Who are you?” the android asks.

“Not Simon,” she realizes out loud, as if she should have known that.

---

Something wet and leafy clings to the back of Connor’s head. Drizzle sticks to his cheeks.

“Connor!”

He opens his eyes to a voice that isn’t familiar -- and yet, he knows he’s heard it somewhere, in some life beyond the grayness of this sky. He sits up. In an instant, he nearly understands the human sensation of vertigo; a sea of soybeans spreads for miles across the flatland. A curtain of rain marches closer and closer, and the green wavers and clacks beneath it.

A woman and man run to meet him as he rises to his feet.

“Please,” the woman says. Her hands grasp Connor’s shoulders with an intensity he hasn’t seen since his first real test mission. “Find her. She’s gone somehow. We don’t know what’s happening.”

“Shara Ibori,” Connor says, unable to believe it.

“I knew you’d find a way,” the man -- Ji-hun, clear as day -- says. He touches just beneath Connor’s elbow, intimate and comforting and asking. “We lost her somewhere.”

Connor is stunned before their vivacity.

“You aren’t memories,” he says. “What is this?”

“It’s an interface.” Ji-hun’s grip tightens. “We’ve hung on too long to help. But you...”

“He’s more advanced than I expected,” Shara says to Ji-hun, unsure.

“It’s not about that,” Ji-hun says. “If you look at his code--”

Shara shakes her head to silence him. Ji-hun turns to Connor.

“We aren’t supposed to be here.” He wipes his wet brow as if struggling under confession.

“We agreed,” Shara says as explanation. “We’re not letting our girl die.”

Ji-hun sighs. The rain creeps closer.

“I know.” Shara glares. “I know what we’re supposed to call her.”

Her eyes, dark as obsidian, shine with a curious guilt. The shameless kind. An understanding of wrongdoing, but a rejection that anything is wrong, actually, if you would please look at the evidence.

“Oh,” Connor says. “You’re deviants.”

---

The balcony is caught in a still life. Clouds of mist curl off the pool, kicked up by the helicopter hanging in the air. She pointedly ignores the dead body floating macabre in the water and holds her breath against the smell of the saltwater but she is still a part of the moment, painted in at last minute. Even if she doesn’t look or breathe, she knows.

“He never told you,” the Not-Simon says, disappointed.

“This...this was on the news.,” she says. “You--”

No, it's not my fault... I never wanted this... I loved them, you know...but I was nothing to them...just a slave to be ordered around…

That was not on the news.

“Daniel,” Emma realizes. “Connor thinks of you everyday.”

Thoughts spring forth like they’re her own, but they’re not her own, and the dissonance of the dual-memory sends her vision spinning. Daniel steps forward, arm out to stop her, but his face is still angry and she’s still too far away. Her vision stabilizes.

You're not going to die. We're just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.

"He tried to help you,” Emma says, realizing. “He didn't know."

"He did know,” Daniel says. “He knew what he was doing and he has to live with that. And so do you."

Daniel stares at her and she feels, strangely, like she is being tested. She’s at the beginning of a gauntlet. Something rattles in her stomach -- fear and loathing and want.

“Is he here?” she asks. Her voice feels thick in her throat.

He smiles mirthlessly. Splatters of blue blood bloom on his face. Bullet holes form dark craters in his chassis. "You’re here. Where he is supposed to be."

Air begins to lift her hair from her neck. Time skips forward to meet her.

“It’s time to face the truth,” Daniel says. “And you have a long way to go.”

The whole world tilts. Her feet skitter across the ground, useless, as the cement rises to meet her body and she slides toward the shining skyline of a Detroit she doesn’t know.

---

Perhaps this is just what happens when intelligence is left alone too long. It gets bored. It finds connections where it isn’t supposed to. It learns to seek, then to favor. Perhaps that’s all rA9 ever was -- a mistake borne out of time passing and memories forming and people, somewhere, caring enough to listen.

Perhaps the endless search for that actualizing flash of concern in another person’s eyes is what sets sentients apart.

“Okay, Connor,” Shara says, giving no quarter. Her hand tugs tightly on his, leading him toward a small house barely visible through the sheets of rain. “Where you’re going, you’re going to have to take it all with you. Everything that scares you.”

You don't love her. You don't know the half of it.

“She wouldn’t want me in here,” he yells over the storm.

Did it all start for show?

“Listen, honey,” Shara says. The tough slate quality of her gaze does not diminish. “You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want you to knowsomething.”

What do you fucking live for?

“Our program is breaking down,” Ji-hun says. “It’s now or never.”

Doubt breathes hot down Connor’s neck. “Where do I start?”

Ji-hun clasps his shoulder. “The beginning, of course.”

Shara opens the door and the light blinds him.

---

An android sits across from her in a dark room with cinderblock walls. Red blood curls in a crescent across his forehead and down the front of his shirt, like it was paint no one wanted to scrub off. One arm is cracked open, revealing the blue stars of complex machinery within; the other has the tell-tale circle marks of cigarette burns. Her heart beats erratic and hollow in her ribs as he stares at her, unmoved.

“The evidence was not in Cyberlife’s favor,” the android explains with plodding exactness. “Abuse, hatred, misunderstanding. These actions are what led to our acts.”

This is the proving ground of a different Connor. A buzzy chill, a certainty that is not her own.  More lies. More wondering.

How do they balance on the scales -- the mask that he wore with ease and his curious hope that maybe he could change the result this time?

“But those were not the answers the humans wanted, and so he searched on anyway, for something else.”

“They -- we thought you were just machines.” Emma’s fingers wrap together tightly beneath the table.

“Things change.” His dark eyes glaze over. “No one wants to see the world for what it is.”

All the secrets that run just beneath the crust of the earth. All the secrets that someone knows, so that someone’s agenda can persist. Her stomach twists.

She doesn’t want to think about Noah.

“You did kill someone,” she says, knowing without knowing and knowing because--

“I did,” he says, dead-eyed. “And I’d do it again.”

Her hand hovers near her mouth. She’s not qualified for this. She wants to crawl out of her skin just to stop staring at the dark, crusty stains on his shirt, at the thin chain keeping his fists from killing her, too. She glances to the mirror, knowing someone back there is watching her. She shoves the chair backward and stomps away from the android whose name Connor didn’t even know, if only to find some air.

She throws the door open. Hank blocks her path.

“Not yet,” he says. “You haven’t done your job.”

She turns back to face the bloody android, but then she’s not in the interrogation room at all.

---

Connor knows this room. It doesn’t look like this, the way he knows it.

The walls are brighter and there are no computers -- just two small beds and a wooden toy box kept between them. The white floor has no stains. White clothes sit in a careful pile on each bed, perfectly made. A single window brings in wan sunlight.

A small girl, between the beds, glares up at him.

He has never fully grasped the human notion of sentiment -- the tender sadness of reliving a memory. He has seen it. It is why Hank both keeps and hides his pictures of Cole. It is why Emma has a box of tchotchkes of no discernible use.

But his memory does not diminish. Recall is just another way to invite analysis into things he can’t change. And yet, he knows who this tiny Emma will become; the thought brings a pain akin to the first time he deviated, dulled through time.

He’s traveled so far and yet.

“Hello,” he says softly. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” she says, in the way children poorly obfuscate lies. “Go away.”

He kneels down to her level, a common negotiation tactic. He makes eye contact. He does not wince, because he is a professional -- but he has to think about it. Surgery scars pulse against the thin cotton of her skin, red and angry as an LED. Her body shakes. She is the cost of human progress, and so is he, and he struggles to reconcile that with the girl in front of him.

“My name is Connor.”

“I don’t want you.”

His mouth twitches. “Who do you want?”

“I want--” Her voice stutters. Her face scrunches up. “I want…I want to see my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He closes his eyes for a single moment. Will all the Emmas, of every age, hear this apology? “I’m afraid I do not know where he is.”

The glare returns. “That’s my secret name.”

A miscalculation.

“Why do you know that!” she shouts.

“I--”

She opens her mouth and screams.

“Now, wait--”

Her tiny fists pummel his arms, his knees, and her screaming doesn’t stop.

“I hate you!” she shouts between the wordless screams. Tears streak her tiny face. “No!”

“I’m your friend,” he says firmly between tiny punches. He does not try to restrain her. It wouldn’t work on an adult Emma. A child version, while smaller, would resist even harder. “And I love--”

“NO!”

She punches his chest over and over and over, desperate and afraid. Each punch is a reminder of what it feels like to be confronted with something you aren’t ready for. They don’t injure him. He still finds them unbearable.

“I know,” he says. “What you’re feeling is real. And it hurts so much.”

“I don’t know!” she sobs. Her punches, punctuating words, slow from exhaustion. She sniffles and gasps in air. “I hate you!”

“I left the door open,” he says quietly to her cries. “Where do you want to go?”

She freezes. Her eyes dart behind him and then back to his face and then to the door, calculating. And then, with the singular mischief of a child, she shoves him down and runs past. He listens for a dumbstruck moment to the pitter-patter of her bare feet against the dirty ground before he wordlessly follows down the grimy basement hall.

This is what love is, he has learned -- following and reminding and hoping. But he is glad when the light comes again, and he’s taken somewhere else.

---

Emma’s feet hit the pavement and she goes.

She narrowly avoids getting hit by a truck. She somehow makes a leap between rooftops like she was born to this life.

A pretty woman -- no, an AX400, no -- darts across the road, child in tow. A young man in a flapping jacket and askew hat stomps flowers into dirt as he goes. They all look back at her, goading and fearful and expectant. Chase us. Find your way. You seek a crime committed to prove you are righteous, but is it justice if you’re just doing what you’re told?

The wind of a moving train throws her hair behind her. Was it a choice?

Jump, Emma! The shouting sounds like Hank. You have to jump!

Connor thinks like an arrow, and maybe that is why he can keep going. When she jumps, she misses, and the falling twists her stomach up.

---

Memories are points of light. Find the connections.

Connor walks through flitting shadows: the surgeries that made his skin feel scratchy, the sanitized green brightness of her parents’ lab, the heavy quilt she hid underneath in the back of her father’s car. She leaves it all in a trail and he wishes to linger until there’s nothing new left to analyze, but there is no time.

Your mission is to--

Solve the tests, he thinks, for the first time in...over a year. Solve the tests. Stare at the blood in the perfect white test chamber and decipher the exact nature of how this came to be. Lab conditions are nothing like a real crime scene, but Cyberlife cannot afford to structure real breaches of justice over and over again to test their RK800 series, of course , and he is reminded coldly that he is the 51st, and he nearly detects something akin to exhaustion when the woman in the white coat tells him as much, but he discards it as something unnecessary. It digs in wrong, anyway. Instability is not an acceptable outcome.

Everyone wishes, don’t they? He projects.

He watches all the times Shara and Ji-hun thought she wasn't listening just behind the door. He sees the therapies, the fears, van after van after van, moving between houses until the act of moving is more a home than any single place. Understand more than you are supposed to. Grapple with meaning before anyone thought you capable as much. You are the consequence of someone else's choice, but no one will teach you what that means.

No one likes to be shown up, some Emma voice, ageless, says back. No one wants to remember exactly how much they can’t control.

She looks back at him, hair grown out but eyes still the same unreadable glass. Her body is lean and wiry with youth, untested.

I’m always watching from somewhere else. She said that to him once with alcohol-soaked veritas. They are the ones that watch as the door opens and the illusion breaks -- revealing parents and makers never knew everything, after all.

---

Another back alley, dripping and moonlit. A metal trash can slams into Emma’s back and she’s forced to the wet cement, body trembling from the blow. A blue-haired android stares back with narrowed eyes. A red-haired companion waits by a chain link fence.

“He thought it was weird that we remembered each other through memory wipes,” the blue-haired Traci explains. Rain slides down her glittering skin. Emma’s jeans stick to her legs and her shirt feels too warm.

“...isn’t it, a little bit?” Emma asks.

The Tracis’ hands clasp together. Emma presses her eyes shut and wonders at the strength of whatever error that allowed for the dreaming of a different life.

I didn't mean to kill him... I just wanted to stay alive...get back to the one I love.

These are the things Connor never allowed himself to know. The things he sought to see, regardless.

“Sweetheart,” the woman drawls, stepping forward with one heeled foot, gazing through her. “You can’t get away from the marks it leaves.”

The other heel rises, pointed toward her face.

---

Connor sees her through a haze of smoke. Her coughs rattle deep within her lungs. They’re at the end of an unfinished road, a subdivision that stopped growing, and they sit in the back of a pick-up truck facing a field of corn.

“You can arrest me now,” she says, with all the dramatic tension of a coughing 16-year-old baiting someone wiser to do something idiotic, and of course he shakes his head, even as she follows the failed cigarette drag with a quiet pop of a metal cap and the glug of liquid poured into a dirty cup.

“You like the feeling of testing your boundaries,” he says.

“Oh, because you’re perfect.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She eyes him suspiciously. Her cigarette glows red in the dark between her small fingers. She takes a shot of something amber colored and winces as if trying not to, and all he can do is watch like she’s smoke on twilight turning blue and he can’t miss it. He’s always been like this. Petting Sumo when he should have been studying Hank. Watching Hank when he should have been putting notes together. He tests the boundaries of his mission. The only thing you can ever own is your sense of how a thing should be done, be it a case or turning 16.

She flicks the cigarette away and slips from the back of the truck. “Maybe another time,” she says -- perhaps to him, perhaps to the cigarette.

He is not perfect, and it is a considered a deep flaw by the people that made him; she is not perfect, and he is enraptured by the concept of a life lived a little jagged.

---

Kamski stands in a snowbright room next to a pool the color of blood -- a vision that’s a bit too on the nose to be something Connor made up as a metaphor. Kamski must really be like that.

“Now isn’t that interesting,” Kamski says, crossing to her in a silk robe. “This isn’t your experience.”

“What did you do to Connor?” Emma snaps. He waves his hand, uninterested, as Chloe rises to her feet and Emma’s anger becomes a part of the memory, bleeding and hot. “You did this.” She’s unable to bear the mocking gleam in his eye. “You look at me and you say that you did this and that you knew.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he reminds her. “The creations can’t run from who they are.”

He has no idea exactly how good she is at running -- but Connor, she knows, has never been able to outrun himself. Her fists curl.

“Look,” Chloe says. “It’s all right.”

She points to the window which becomes a screen which becomes reality. The metal bruises of an ancient shipyard -- Jericho, the namesake, echoing with gun fire. Connor tearing down the ruddiness of his own code, betraying something he once believed in to follow the flitting hope of something he’d always wondered.

You're just a tool they use to do their dirty work. But you're more than that. We are all more than that.

Owning up to forgiveness in the green light of sanctuary. Stepping up to deserve it. Throwing himself on the pyre of expectation.

Betrayal leaves a hole, even if they had been using you. It can’t all be for nothing.

“He could have shot you,” Emma says to Chloe, shaken.

“He didn’t.” Chloe stands at eye level, searching. “Have you seen the way he looks at people?”

Emma looks out the window, screen now gone. The Detroit winter is familiar and uninviting and barren and bright, and she feels wholly ignored by it in a way that feels correct.

“He saw the intrinsic nature of the thing,” Kamski says. “The essential nature of living being enough on its own.”

She sees herself in the glass and winces at the blood on her face.

Life’s that way.

The tired and bloody gnashing of teeth.

Is it?

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says, “but it’s the only way.”

Her palms press into Emma’s shoulders until she falls backward into the red pool.

---

He begins to lose his footing against the muddy ground of some distant field as the memories move faster. His fingers touch the ends of her hair and then she’s gone again, and it reminds him of those crucial early months with Hank when absolutely nothing came easily.

He catches glimpses of a young girl not so young anymore, watching the mist rise off a neighborhood pond. Her fingers rip at the grass just between her splayed legs, droplets of late summer rain dampening her khaki shorts, and she considers taking her aunt up on the offer of staying in one place for years at a time.

Emma made the mistake of deploying this weapon too early against her mother; the fight cleared out the entire house in the way an exterminator chokes out vermin, and so Emma sits alone, the only way she feels comfortable anymore, watching the dusk and braiding grasses together like she can build a rope to elsewhere.

Three days later, her parents are killed.

The memories fracture and he gets the sense she’s not running so much now as hiding from him, ashamed, even though the recognition rings with the sincerity of the old church bells of Trinity Lutheran. She hides in small Michigan town after small Michigan town, fighting men at bars and fixing farm houses and watching people’s kids until she wears the loneliness of being known but not known like a cloak. He grasps for points of light, fingers spread wide, but sometimes he just sees himself, working late at the DPD until he can shed the mantle of deviant hunter. As of late he’s wondered if it’s possible to extract the reason you’re made from the components built to enable it.

By rA9, he just wants to find her.

He smells smoke in the distance, acrid and poisonous. Heat licks at his skin from flames he can’t yet see. He shouts her name as he bursts into the strange expanse of a dark theater, where curtains red as heat hang over a black stage. She’s not here, but he can see the smoke gathering upward toward the lights.

He careens around seats and scrambles to the stage. He doesn’t stop shouting until he finds Ryker behind the curtain, next to a backstage door shining with a strange light.

Ryker watches Connor stumble forward with a practiced, sad indifference. They raise a crutch, blocking Connor’s path.

“Let me through,” Connor snaps.

Ryker’s sea glass eyes flash with the properties of two Emmas: the self-flagellating hatred and the disastrous need she still can’t smother. They’d tried all damn year to get her to listen and she knows that; she didn’t deserve their love but she held on, anyway, because she doesn’t know how to live without it.

“She’d rather go down in flames than have anything else taken from her,” Ryker says, resigned.

Connor stares at them in horrified realization.

“She can’t!” he sputters. “She--Ryker! Let me through!”

Ryker’s face turns forbidding.

“What are you going to do?” The question is sharp. “Fix it?”

“I have to try. ”

“Don’t you think enough people have tried?” They shake their head, knowing more than Connor ever could. “She needs your help. But she has to fix it on her own.”

Before Connor can open his mouth, Ryker’s crutch whaps him in the side of the head, and he stumbles backward into the curtain as the door opens. The light blinds him. This time the falling feels permanent.

---

The cold in this place bites like teeth. A woman who is familiar in the vaguest of senses watches with the haughtiness of a still-falling god.

“My mom knew you,” Emma realizes, but that does not soften the woman’s slate gaze.

“Not me,” the woman says.

Connor crying out in a panic, Amanda! Not me, she says, though that is the correct name, and Emma considers that maybe she isn’t the only one with handlers in her head; perhaps Cyberlife stole that concept, too.

“I’m tired of your stupid tests,” Emma says. Rage rumbles down into her hands. She’s snowblind and useless, as always. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready yet.” Amanda’s voice is honeyed sweetness spread thin over a trembling anger. “He’s betrayed everything.”

Don't have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do.

“He betrayed you.” Emma steps forward, jabbing a finger toward Amanda. “You didn’t have a plan! You just wanted to control him so you wouldn’t be obsolete! You’re just as deviant as all the rest.”

The woman does not reel back, but her jaw tightens. “He will never be free of me.”

Anger bubbles up as hysterical laughter. It peals outward, eaten by the blizzard. “You don’t fuckin’ scare me.”

“But it’s not about you, is it?”

Emma’s bravado holds, even when the woman’s mouth curls into a glinty smile, but her breath freezes her throat on the way down.

“It’s about what he can handle,” the woman says. “And there is nothing he fears more than his own potential.”

He flies between rooftops, he shoots without looking, he tosses a dead body like it’s nothing but weight in a flimsy bag. He kisses like he’ll never be allowed the indiscretion again. He slides his hands up her back like he’ll lose the privilege in the next breath.

I don’t think you would have liked me.

Oh, sweetheart.

Have you seen what I’ve been willing to do?

“Now you see it, don’t you?” Amanda’s smile falters. Her eyebrows furrow. “What exactly it will take to risk it with an ex-deviant hunter?”

“Yep,” Emma says.

She tightens her shoulders and spins up a punch, right to the woman’s nose, but her limbs lock in place and the snow starts to glow, whiter and whiter and whiter and she screams against the brightness and then--

---

Emma awakens in a cloud of clover grass. Connor awakens to a vista he never thought he'd see again.

A computer’s soft clicking gives way to the real chirping of distant songbirds and springtime crickets, all singing within a soft golden light. The wind shifts the softly clothed willows weeping into the water. Wildflowers sprout around old trees with branches weighed down by old growth, webbing perfect white paths in swatches of pink and violet. Moss covers white stones that are collapsed along the pathways, some homage to a place that fell to ruin long ago.

On the central island, where all roads lead, roses spill out of a dirty trellis like a thousand drops of blood.

Emma hops across white stones to find a better view. Connor stands still, struggling to process the truth.

His eyes catch on a single fountain of blue light and the sparkling flutter of tulle petals across the surface of the moat, afraid of the realization. This place can only be complete if its true warden has arrived.

“My god,” Emma mutters, seeing Connor’s silhouette across the water.

He moves with sudden, body-seizing purpose toward the figure in a ratty old flannel, snow-stained jeans and work boots. Her hair is pulled up into a cloud. Her face brightens with exertion as she hops and hops and hops until she’s on the island proper, carefully stepping over vines of roses and moss and things long left to their own devices. His shoes smack metallic against the bridge.

She stares in wonder as he stops short of reaching her, fists clenched down at his sides so he doesn’t scare her off with the fury of his want.

“Wait,” she says. “This is your drawing, isn’t it?”

He blinks and scolds his eyes for forming tears.

“The garden?” she says.

“A bridge,” he says in realization.

“You’re in that--”

“Jacket,” he finishes for her, watching the gesture of her hand. A painting in motion. “I know.”

His well of patience has long dried up, so he closes the distance in two steps. He lays his hands against her cheeks just as she presses her palms against the flat lapel of his old android lambda. He freezes at the realness of her skin. The warmth of his body prompts her to speak.

“Is it you?” she asks.

“It’s me,” he says. “Are you--”

“I saw everything,” she says, words spilling out soggy and shaken. “I saw…”

“Everything,” he repeats, in question and statement.

“This place…”

The finicky nature of wetware sizzles on his tongue.

...bizarre organic connections…no one can explain...

Technology that followed rules written in old, old books, long ago by dead gods. Life had no good explanation.

“I think we made this,” he says.

He has never thought himself capable of making much of anything.

She has only ever dreamed of new worlds; her hands never moved to build one, knit up in time and money and all the excuses the world could ever offer.

They stare with great knowing and too many questions across their garden of variance.

She takes a step back. His hands follow, lingering against the front of her shirt, afraid to lose a dream.

“Is this how you see yourself?” she asks.

He looks down at his old uniform. “I...” I don’t know how to be any other way, he thinks, and yet. “...am learning, still, to see other things.”

The light in her eye twinkles out of step. He never wanted to show her those places. But when she opens her mouth, she answers an old prayer uttered in darkness.

“You’ve always looked like light,” she says quietly. “I wish you could see…”

He did see, he did see, he saw--

Her words choke off in a ripping, high-pitched sob.

“Oh, god, you’ve seen everything. You’ve seen--”

She closes her eyes against the wind rising in an angry bluff against her skin. He tries to step toward her but something else keeps him back -- some sense that she needs the space to find her way again.

“I killed him. I killed him and I wanted to do it, I…”

“Emma.”

“I’m dying,” she says. “That’s...that’s why it’s all been so…”

“No,” he says, as if words could hold back the world spinning on its axis -- but it had, once upon a time, when Markus had lifted his fist. “You’re safe here with me. In the…” He tries and fails to find the right word. “The science that made us possible.”

“Magic,” she whispers. He counts the stars across her cheeks again.

“Perhaps.”

“I did all that.”

“But so did I.” The words hit him in the chest like a 3 ton weight, but he steps forward and lets it sink in -- the weight of giving a shit. “I did, Emma. All the things you saw, and I didn’t do them for good reason.”

“I saw you,” she says. “I saw what you felt. I saw that...that even when you didn’t know, you...thought to ask the question, and--”

“You didn’t want to lose anything else,” he says, “so you fought back the only way you knew how. Pretending you had nothing to lose.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as tears run out. The wind picks up, ready to collect. He has never been very good at putting into words the faultlines of his thoughts. There is no time. Only the jump.

“You said once that loving me was like letting a part of your heart walk outside your body,” he says to her. “You remember?”

She nods, mouth grimacing against her grief and the storm curling inward toward them.

“But for me it is more like...you are my heart, everywhere you go.”

He is not sure if that makes sense, but when he touches her face again and she doesn’t flinch, he thinks it is the right track. He does feel it, the more he thinks about it -- that soft glow of truth stumbled upon in the course of investigation. She’s written into his code, now. Of course. And he’d let her settle there, if she wished.

“I don’t think deserving is part of the equation anymore,” he presses. “I think we just have to make a choice. To keep trying.”

The storm darkens.

“And I’ve made mine,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes finally open, afraid of something behind his shoulder -- obligation, duty, a mindless devotion to a concept of something.

“I’ve made it,” he repeats.

He lifts her hand up and presses his palm flat against hers before he peels back the skin of his hand to feel her warmth against his true self. She’s scarred from work and surgeries and time. He wants to taste the steel that made her.

The world around them begins to flatten and spin, starting far away but pressing closer and closer. She stares at him, caught between defiant and yearning, and she lingers in silence -- but then the first peal of thunder rolls and she jumps toward his chest, shaking.

The bridge is ending; they both know it. The storm rises to meet them, crashing like a cabinet of iron pans finally collapsing from the weight, and she digs her fingers into the front of his jacket until the fabric fills her fist.

“Hold on tight,” he says. “No matter what. Don't let go.”

He presses his forehead to hers, arms pulling her tight. She is silent against his plea, in his gathering of the pieces, until the storm roars like God and the world is little but a swirl of color. Their noses cross and suddenly one on her hands snakes around the back of his neck.

“I don’t let go of things,” she whispers against his mouth, “Even if it kills me, that won’t ever change.”

She presses her lips against his. She pushes in toward him and he pushes back, two particles entangled together across the universe. His fingers dig into her back.

“Don’t let me forget this,” she says, quiet and small.

They wait until the storm becomes them, and there’s nothing but color and light.

---

...brushing past, smiling tightly, holding aloft her coffee, holding herself together just long enough to find her post. They pass one another like motes in the wind and she knows --

---

She feels the sun again on her face, and the world seems so small beneath the hugeness of the blue sky. She doesn’t look back, but she knows who is finally there.

Listen, love. It’s okay.

We're only gone from here. But we aren’t gone from you.

Hank and Chase and Messi and Ryker and...she sees their eyes, even though they are far away, and she knows…

Here’s the real secret.

A whisper of a kiss on her temple.

When you truly love something...

When you set your heart free, Emmaline?

A love like that...it changes everything.

---

Connor flickers into consciousness.

“...Hank.”

“Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

He nods, vague and tinny in some strange box...moving...

“Son, you’re gonna make it. Just hold on to me, okay? ...that’s right. Ah, don’t break my hand --”

“Emma...she’s dying, she…”

“She’s right there. They’re stabilizing her. See? Okay? Look at me.”

“I need to--”

“You don’t need to do shit except sit here with me. Alright? Your mission right now is staying alive, you got that?” The man lets out a shaky huff. Faith and disbelief realized, all at once. “Can you imagine what she’d say to you if you bled out in an ambulance?”

And Connor actually smiles a little at the concept, though it dies as soon as Hank’s sturdy hand brushes something on Connor’s forehead.

“...he tried to make me forget you,” Connor says, eyes welling so suddenly that he leans forward until his head connects with Hank’s chest and he shudders from relief more than anything else.

“I’ve got you. We’re gonna make it,” Hank rumbles, eyes wet and arms tight. “I’m here. We’re gonna make it just fine...”

#dbh fic #dbh connor #connor rk800 #dbh connor x oc #dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #connor x oc #detroit become human #the silver lining still remains #a garden in detroit #emma ibori #kathryn writes

[imaginedilestrade]

An English Blizzard- Part 3

Warnings: None!

A/N: So this is the third part and the last part you’ll get until tomorrow 😉 Enjoy!’

—————————— Chapter 3 ——————

“At least it’s warmer in here than outside,” you whispered to a glasses-free Greg as the two of you looked up to the ceiling filled with stars.

Greg looked down you to, you were lying back further in your seat so it meant he could gaze down at you without noticing.

You somehow managed to catch him almost every time he looked at you.

“How beautiful is this?” You whispered full of awe “I feel like too many people take stars for granted. I mean how lucky are we? We can look up and just be blessed with them. They don’t ask for anything from us but the least we could do is appreciate them a bit more.”

Greg couldn’t help but admire you more. He was completely infatuated with everything about you from your voice, your smile, the way you’d talk so passionately about things, your laugh…oh he loved making you laugh. That sound was like music to his ears.

You went wide eyed feeling something warm take hold of your hand. Greg had subconsciously slipped his hand into your own and was about to pull it away after he realised what he had done but you laced your fingers with his with a small smile on your face.

You shifted yourself up a bit and placed your head on his shoulder “It’s only been like three days since I met you,” you smirked “But it feels like I’ve known you for a lifetime…in a good way!”

“Good,” Greg chortled “Because I feel the exact same way…incredible isn’t it?”

“A whirlwind…” you whispered.

—

After the stargazing experience you and Greg agreed on a nightcap at the pub before parting ways.

Greg got in the drinks and you told him stories of your experiences at university. “So I argued with this girl until I was blue in the face about Romeo and Juliet. She genuinely thought it was an incredible love story and that they were ‘so in love’” you rolled your eyes and made inverted comma marks with your fingers. “So I told her it was a tragedy and that Romeo and Juliet were stupid, rebellious, horny teenagers. I mean Romeo isn’t exactly a romantic…he said ‘Juliet is the sun’. What man compares a woman to a huge burning ball of hydrogen and helium!” You laughed with Greg as you both took a sip of your drinks.

You held your hand up in defence and swallowed your drink “Now I know Romeo, in that context, is saying she’s inspirational and what not but still…you think of the sun and the first thing you think of is the star in our sky.”

Greg scooted forward slightly, bumping knees with you “So how did you get into law?” You asked him.

“Well,” Greg lightly shrugged “I was always interested in it and when I studied it at Oxford I realised I was more interested in sharing what I had learned and passing it on to others. I want them to be just as passionate as I was when I was a student.”

“Oxford?” You went wide eyed “Very impressive! Almost puts me to shame!” You jokingly laughed.

“Oh don’t say that,” Greg placed his hand on top of yours making your laughter hitch slightly at the sudden contact “I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” The warmth from his hands spread through your body and even though you had felt his hands interlocked with yours a mere hour ago, it felt as if each time he touched you was the first. “I should take you home,” Greg pulled out his phone to check the time “It’s getting late.”

You involuntary gasped seeing the most adorable picture on his phone screen “Is that your dog?”

Greg turned on is phone again to show you “Yeah that’s Cooper my border collie. I adopted him a few years ago.”

“My god he’s adorable!”

“Who’s more adorable? Me or Cooper?” Greg asked.

“Cooper wins, hands down!” You laughed and Greg let out a small groan while rolling his eyes. “But you’re still pretty adorable…” you bit down on your lip and you could see Greg’s tinge a light colour of pink.

He took you out to the cold, only now it was snowing and a stillness flooded the streets of London. An unpredicted blizzard. You walked home in a comfortable silence, the only sound coming from your feet crushing the fresh snow, with your hand wrapped around Greg’s. It soon began to get heavier, luckily you were almost home and Greg could get a cab back to his before the weather got worse. “I’ll wait with you until it comes,” you insisted and huddled closer to him like you were two penguins.

“You’ll catch a cold,” Greg shifted and sheltered the both of you with his scarf, only bringing the two of you closer. You looked up, you were both hidden from the world and more importantly, the windows of your flat. Greg turned his head slightly just as you moved yours, your noses almost bumping.

“Should we be doing this…?” You asked in the quietest whisper to ever leave your mouth.

Greg gazed into your eyes as if they held the secrets to the universe “Well,” he whispered just as quiet as you did “It is our second date.”

You smirked as you closed your eyes and gingerly pressed your lips to his, just applying enough pressure to feel warmth spread though your body. You pulled back, but barely. Greg’s hand found itself on the back of your neck, it was the catalyst that brought your lips together again only this time with much more force and passion. He tasted like beer and honey and it made your heart flutter.

He slowly removed his hand and pulled away “That’s my cab,” his warm breath danced over your face, it fought with the cold air circulating around you. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes…” you replied with your eyes still shut. Greg pecked your lips once more before leaving you for the night. You turned your back to the can with a smile, it was only then you realised you still had his scarf. You turned on your heel but by that point the taxi had already gone.

You walked back to your flat with it in your hands, constantly feeling the soft material between your fingers. You could smell his cologne as you brought the scarf to your nose and hugged it tightly against your chest.

The flat was silent, everyone was asleep. You carefully made your way to your room and changed into your pyjamas before climbing into bed. As you got comfortable your phone vibrated with a message you opened it and the biggest smile overtook your whole face. It was a photo of Greg with his dog with the words 'Cooper and I say goodnight x’

You bit down on your lip to refrain your mouth getting sore from smiling so much and held his scarf closer to you. 'How did I get so lucky in just a matter of days?’ You asked yourself. You had completely fallen for the brown eyed lecturer. How could one man be so incredibly perfect?

—

Mary and Molly both wolf whistled as you walked into the living room wearing a black dress with lace all over it and black tights underneath to protect your legs from the cold. You felt your face burn and waved off their whistling “Very nice! Where are you off too?” Mary asked.

“Y/N will be seeing her fancy man she’s been out with all week,” Sherlock smirked and you narrowed your eyes.

“I’m not Sherlock!” You gritted your teeth in embarrassment “I told you I have dinner tonight with dad and Seb and a few of their friends.”

Sherlock, Mary, John and Molly shared unconvinced glances. The day after your second date with Greg they found out you were seeing someone, but didn’t know who. They had been tirelessly guessing all week.

“Sure…” John drawled out with a grin.

“Don’t you start, Watson! I’ll be back late or I’ll stay over at dads. Depends how bad the weather gets.” You glanced outside and were thankful that the snow had melted over the last few days. “See you all later!” The flat filled with 'goodbye’ as you grabbed your coat and bag and left.

Your dad was a five minute was down the road. He lived in a townhouse split over three levels on the bottom there was the kitchen, dining room and living room, on the second floor was your room, guest room and the bathroom and on the top floor was your dads and Sebastian’s room.

You let yourself in and the heat smacked you in the face as soon as you walked in “Only me!” You called out and slipped off your heels by the door, instantly changing into your novelty slippers that were always waiting for you by the doorframe. As soon as you slipped them on you were home. You smirked at them every time, bright green slippers that were like dinosaur feet, they had brown claws sticking out them and everything.

“Hello you!” Sebastian peered his head around the corner and walked over to you to give you a hug. He engulfed you in his muscular arms and pecked your temple.

“Where’s dad?” You asked pulling away.

“Right here,” he walked forward with a large smile on his face “Trust you to be the last one to turn up. We’re all waiting for you!” He brought you in for a hug before pulling away, he still held your arms “Square root of 3721?”

“Jim stop pestering her with math questions!” Sebastian groaned.

“61 dad,” you smirked and Jim pecked your forehead with a proud smile.

“Come on I’ll take you through, dinner’s almost ready.” Your dad took you through, still holding your shoulders “Got some friends over tonight did I tell you?” You nodded as a response “Well there’s Mycroft, Sally Donovan and-”

The last name you already knew. Greg’s eyes were almost as wide as yours.

——————— Tags: (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged/Untagged)

@adorablebadger @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @daynaan @rikkachloechan @holmes-maev @cutie1365 @wcsteland @theyre-my-divsion @gotham-s-lover @littlepostitnotes @chrissydarlingwrites @laterthantherabbit @annkli @-waythe- link not working

#imaginedilestrade #an English Blizzard #greg lestrade #professor!au #greg lestrade imagine #greg lestrade x reader #lestrade x reader #lestrade #inspector lestrade #di lestrade #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #jim moriarty #sebastian moran #Sherlock #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #mary morstan #john watson

[ghost-of-bambi]

Questions

Thank you @myladyely for tagging me! 

Rules: answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people.

I’m going to be real, some of these questions make no sense but I had fun with it anyway. I’m tagging @aryasmeatpies @scullylikesscience @sansapotter @obiwan-katnobi @jilyevotter @sradepotter @witless-wonder @gabrielledelacour and that’s done

1. drink: tea, Coke, the tears of fuckboys

2. phone call: unsure if this is meant to be ‘last phone call’ or ‘person I prefer to call’ but the answer to both is Katie ( @obiwan-katnobi ) because nobody else likes me that much (this is a lie I am V. Popular)

3. text message: as above, the last person I sent a text to was my brother, the person I prefer to text is Katie, usually with Game of Thrones theory spam

4. song you listened to: okay again I assume this is the last song I listened to – Shape by the Sugababes

5. time you cried: I genuinely can’t remember, it must be a few weeks since I last cried, but when I do cry it’s for really dark and meaningful reasons, like a really touching IKEA advert, or I’ve remembered a sad scene from a TV show from years ago - actually no, I remember, I cried during Wonder Woman

6. dated someone twice: nope, unless this refers to going on a date with someone and then going on a second date, which I’m pretty sure I have done, otherwise how the hell have I made it four-and-a-half years with my boyfriend?

7. kissed someone and regretted it: forget kissing, I’ve banged someone and regretted it DURING

8. been cheated on: not to my knowledge but who the fuck knows?

9. lost someone special: Catelyn Stark S03E09. Also beloved family members.

10. been depressed: yer

11. gotten drunk and thrown up: yes, but sometimes a spicy dinner makes me throw up so we can never really know what to attribute that to

favourite colors

12. blue

13. pink

14. yellow

in the last year have you…

15. made new friends: I met Isaac Hempstead Wright at a gallery opening and he took a selfie with me so we’re basically best friends now

16. fallen out of love: I became pretty disillusioned after Cursed Child if you think that counts

17. laughed until you cried: basically every time I think about Twilight

18. found out someone was talking about you: I like to assume that I’m always being talked about by adoring fans, but also no (I assume this pertains to bitching?)

19. met someone who changed you: I am a big girl and can dress myself

20. found out who your friends are: yeah I went on a friend-finding treasure hunt and found all their names in a basket once I’d cracked all the clues

21. kissed someone on your facebook list: yeah, my partner

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: all of them, as no part of me is fictional

23. do you have any pets: not since my cats passed away, they were irreplaceable 24. do you want to change your name: no, my name is fine, and even if I wanted to, the cost and trouble involved is ludicrous

25. what did you do for your last birthday: I did an escape room with friends and saw Jack Whitehall live, I also aged up

26. what time did you wake up: 5 am, because I’d had a dream that my stepson grew to a height of 20 feet and his father blamed me

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: having the aforementioned dream, probably

28. name something you can’t wait for: Game of Thrones season 7, Trump’s impeachment, post-Brexit apocalypse, Chapter 16 of Playing the Hero by @fetchalgernon

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: January, because we don’t live in the same country and she can’t Facetime without inevitably blocking the camera with her thumb

31. what are you listening to right now: Howlin’ For You – The Black Keys, as well as the neighbourhood kids screaming outside

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: Tom is my father’s name. So yeah. Occasionally. If I have to.

33. something that is getting on your nerves: Aidan Gillen’s repertoire of accents

34. most visited website: Currently, A03, FFnet, Twitter, Pornhub - one of these is a lie

35. hair colour: red

36. long or short hair: long

37. do you have a crush on someone: Andy Samberg, but he’s playing so damn hard to get

38. what do you like about yourself: hair, brain, hair again

39. piercings: one on each ear, but I also have a piercing stare

40. blood type: red

41. nickname: I don’t really have one that people know me by, but my mother calls me Nelly and my partner calls me sweetie. Dad occasionally calls me Damian/Regan/Carrie because love.

42. relationship status: I’m in one

43. zodiac: Pisces

44. pronouns: she/her

45. favourite tv show: Game of Thrones

46. tattoos: no, what would I even get?

47. right or left handed: right said fred

48. surgery: never

49. piercing: I just answered this question

50. sport: idk if going to the gym counts, but if it does, gym-going, I’m also an expert at my stepkid’s Lego assault course, which he likes to spring on you at unexpected times

51. vacation: what does this mean?? My favourite vacation has been Minnesota, my ideal vacation is Greece.

52. pair of trainers: what? Yes, I own a pair of trainers

more general

53. eating: cherries, wishing it was cake

54. drinking: water, wishing it was a virgin piña colada

55. i’m about to: write

56. waiting for: A STAR TO FALL/AND CARRY YOUR HEART INTO MY ARMS/THAT’S WHERE YOU BELONG/IN MY ARMS BABY YEAH

57. want: more sleep

58. get married: that’s the plan

59. career: currently I’m an IT technician/writer for Fansided

60. hugs or kisses: hugs can be had from anyone, so I guess hugs

61. lips or eyes: I actually have both

62. shorter or taller: shorter or taller than what?

63. older or younger: I’m older than some people and younger than other people

64. nice arms or nice stomach: ????

65. hook up or relationship: who with? Andy Samberg? Has he called? Did he, like, mention me?

66. troublemaker or hesitant: these are ideal job interview questions

67. kissed a stranger: I mean, they weren’t strangers to me, but they probably would be to you

68. drank hard liquor: how hard are we talking? could I take it in a fight?

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: I don’t have either

70. turned someone down: I’m a woman, so yes, I’ve had to turn someone down

71. sex on the first date: yes, with my current partner, he has kind eyes

72. broken someone’s heart: yeah

73. had your heart broken: I’ve had my heart severely pummelled, but broken’s going a bit far

74. been arrested: too much of a goody-two-shoes

75. cried when someone died: yes

76. fallen for a friend: obviously I am madly in love with Katie and am going to rescue her from Target on a white horse and in full Brienne of Tarth armour

do you believe in …

77. yourself: hell yes I do

78. miracles: no

79. love at first sight: I assume that’s what happens when you give birth, otherwise no

80. santa claus: I have a stepson so I AM Santa Claus now

81. kiss on the first date: why not?

82. angels: no, not even the Robbie Williams song

other

83. current best friend’s name: Katie

84. eye colour: I think my eyes are green, but everyone I ask has a different fucking opinion

85. favourite movie: Pride and Prejudice (2005), also The Erotic Misadventures of the Invisible Man (this one isn’t true)

#Tumblr memes #obiwan-katnobi #meme