#the murders stop for a total of eight hours and then someone else kicks it flamboyantly in a very kira-esque way

[fryologyy]

having fun with a death note au

#myart #fanart #death note #l lawliet #light yagami #death note au #au #so basically. light yagami doesn't get the notebook and instead L does #L being L decides to use it for 'good' and thusly starts merking criminals once he has probable cause and is confident in his theories #and then kira comes into the picture and light yagami is extremely sus about it #very very sus #so L is like 'well its obviously this kid' and gets him good and ded #the murders stop for a total of eight hours and then someone else kicks it flamboyantly in a very kira-esque way #so L is like oh my god. i was wrong. how was i wrong. i was right #and ryuk starts looking like the winged ghost of light yagami bc L is guilty asd #& then everything starts unraveling until it's revealed that he's really got about a 75% accy rate in his judgement #and most are innocent #kira is misa by the way #and misa gets to be with rem and also fistfight L at the end

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Underground Tomb edition!)

Hello friends and degenerate sinners, this is basically a mini headcanon set for Luci’s kid!MC about how the incident with Luke and the Grimoire would go down in this AU to tide you all over until Part 3 comes out! Enjoy!

It was a normal night in the good ol’ HOL... Lucifer was doing paperwork at an ungodly hour of the night, Beel was in the kitchen, and Mammon was screaming and running for dear life. Ah... sweet normalcy.

The custard incident remained the same, MC got force-fed custard and Beel threw a truly fantastic hunger tantrum that culminated in the wall connecting to MC’s room collapsing.

Cue lecture from Luci-father.

“I am very disappointed in you three.” Lucifer rubbed his temples as MC, Beel, and Mammon awkwardly stood in his room. Mammon of course, was trying to avoid the death glares MC was giving him. Poor bastard.

“Especially you two, MC and Beel.”

“Whuh?!” Mammon sputtered. “What about me?!”

“I expect this from you. These two on the other hand,” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at MC who was awkwardly trying to suppress a laugh at Mammon’s aghast expression. “Should know not to act like this.”

“We’re *snrk* sorry, father,” MC paused to try and muscle through a giggle. “It won’t happen again.”

“He ate my custard...” Beel pouted.

“So, MC won’t be able to use their room anymore due to the wall... collapsing.” Lucifer gave Beel a pointed glare.

Mammon smirked, and if he were sitting on a couch, we would have leaned back and kicked his feet up. “Well, obviously since I’m a kind and generous soul I’ll open up my room for poor MC to stay in. My babysittin’ rates are quite high though-”

“BABYSITTING?!” MC snarled, giving Mammon a death glare that could probably kill lesser demons.

Lucifer felt a twinge of pride upon seeing his child give someone his signature bone-chilling glare, if he weren’t supposed to be disappointed he would have given MC a pat on the head and let them hang Mammon from the ceiling.

“Uh- heh- MC, I’m your favourite uncle! Me babysittin’ ya should be an honour!” Mammon was sweating bullets and desperately looking to Beel for help.

“Levi is rapidly approaching favourite uncle status.” MC crossed their arms and huffed.

“Levi?! Wait- does that mean I was your favourite-”

Lucifer was almost tempted to stick MC in Mammon’s room just to have MC punish Mammon so he could get some sleep, tragically, his common sense won out. “MC will be staying with Beel. He has an extra bed in his room after all.”

MC looked over at Beel and smiled. “Could be worse, right? I’ll replace the custard.”

Beel’s smile upon hearing the last part could have lit up the entire Devildom. What a sweetie.

MC still chilled in Beel’s room. They finally got to ask more questions about Belphie, and Beel is more inclined to share what’s up because MC is his big bro’s kid after all!

Because of MC’s half demon-ness, they hadn’t met Belphie at that point in the story unlike in canon. They were just curious about their missing uncle. They ALSO already knew what Belphie looks like because Lucifer gave them an in depth tour of everything and he pointed out all the portraits.

MC, being the sadistic sweetheart they are, went out and bought themselves and Beel replacement custard. MC made sure to eat it right in front of Mammon.

But my oh my, who was texting them? *gasp!* Luke!

MC obviously let their little angel buddy into the house (Luke did not know about MC’s parental situation at that point, keep that in mind). Luke was fun to tease a little after all! And it was nice to have another kid around, but MC would never admit it.

Since MC had literally no reason to be afraid of their dear old dad, they went right up to him and asked him if Luke could stay over. No fear.

“Father?” MC leaned on the doorway to the backyard, Lucifer was playing fetch with Cerberus. MC had never seen someone play fetch so robotically.

“Yes, MC?” Cerberus’ middle head dropped a slobber covered squeaky toy into Lucifer’s gloved hand, the other two heads snapped at the middle one.

“Can I have a friend over?” MC asked, trotting over to give Cerberus some pets. On the first day the dog had tried to eat them, but after giving him some much tastier bacon treats, Cerberus was sweet as pie. Murderous and dangerous pie, that is.

“Do I know this friend?”

“Yes, it’s Luke. Can he stay over?”

Lucifer wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes. “Cerberus is right here, you have access to a dog. Why on earth would you bring the chihuahua over?”

MC snorted and gave Cerberus’ right head some scratches behind the ears. “He’s not a chihuahua all the time, come on, it’s for the good of the exchange program!”

The two had a stare down for a little while, and to his absolute horror, Lucifer felt his resolve cracking. This child of his was too adorable for their own good. “Fine, MC.”

“Yes!” MC fist pumped as Cerberus’ middle and left heads tried to join in on the ear scritches.

“But note,” Lucifer continued. “I expect a full report to give to Lord Diavolo on this whole experience.”

MC frowned and debated sticking their tongue out at their father, they decided against it. “A paper? On a sleepover? Really?”

“Yes. Really.” Lucifer gave MC a flick on the nose. “Like you said, it has to do with the exchange program. Now go make sure the chihuahua doesn’t die and leave you with a mess to clean up.”

The look of complete terror Luke gave MC when they told him that Lucifer said he could stay over was completely worth the paper they were going to have to write.

“What?! You weren’t supposed to tell him I’m here!”

“He said you could stay.”

“Why?! Oh no... did he demand your soul as payment or something?! MC! You shouldn’t have put yourself in that nasty demon’s debt! Don’t worry, I’ll get your soul back somehow.”

MC should have been offended... but they weren’t. I mean, could you stay mad at Luke when he just offered to fight arguably the second most powerful demon in the Devildom to get your soul back?

Now that Luke’s presence in the house was known to everyone, the challenge was no longer keeping Luke hidden, it was making sure Luke didn’t say anything that would get him killed and making sure none of the demon bros made Luke cry.

Mammon was the main culprit of the teasing because Lucifer actually had better things to do. And he had a (totally not a) date with Diavolo so he’d be back late and wouldn’t be home to tease the chihuahua.

Mammon’s status as favourite uncle was hanging by a thread by the end of the first day.

Asmo thought Luke was positively adorable and also very annoying. He offered to paint MC and Luke’s nails. Luke declined, but MC was all for it. (Their cuticles were a MESS by the way, they needed the manicure.)

Luke’s nails were painted gold to match the gold on his outfit! Asmo was quite proud of his work, and was very offended when he was not allowed to try and braid Luke’s hair.

“It looks so soft!”

“You’re not allowed to touch my hair, demon!”

Satan still disliked MC on the basis that they were just a mini-Lucifer and hung out in his room or the library to avoid them and Luke.

It was incredibly annoying when Luke and MC burst into the library to look for cookbooks and treat recipes after Luke told MC about his baking endeavours. Satan debated ordering a pair of ear plugs on Akuzon...

Or perhaps a laser gun...

Both would make him stop hearing the children’s grating voices.

“You two, be quiet.”

“We haven’t spoken since we got in here...”

“You’re breathing too loud.”

Beel remained the only brother who was actually decent to Luke, they all played Go Fish in Beel’s room.

Levi was in his room playing his new video game just like in canon, but he could hear Luke and MC running around outside his room.

He was fully prepared to do that introvert thing where you stay in your room until you hear someone say goodbye to the guest.

Levi’s eyes were glued to his computer screen, just eight more skeleton monsters to kill and he’d get the achievement! His attention crumbled the moment he heard the dreaded sound of...

Guests...

“Hey MC! Whose room is this?”

The sound of a door opening and closing down the hall caused Levi to jump in his seat. Oh no... his worst fears were realized! There was another person in the house!

“That’s Asmodeus’ room. Luke you shouldn’t go around opening everyone’s doors-”

The sound of another door opening and shutting made Levi pause his game and look at Henry 2.0 for help. Maybe if he jumped into the tank and wrapped himself in his tail he’d camouflage into his surroundings...

BAM!

AAAAA! Not enough time! The guest was drawing nearer... he was going to have to... *barf*... SOCIALIZE!

“How about this room?”

Levi braced himself for the incoming social contact... Fs in the chat everyone...

“We shouldn’t bother Levi, let’s do something else.”

HAJEKDJSJSJSJD- BEEL! BEEL JUST SAVED LEVI’S LIFE!

The poor third born slumped back in his seat, the awfulness of socialization avoided. He uh... hadn’t actually left his room in maybe three days... maybe he should actually go outside... enjoy the nonexistent sunlight, y’know?

...nah. Levi went back to his game.

Since the kitchen was broken, Beel, MC, and Luke went out and get AkuDonald’s. They were all out of the toy that Luke and MC wanted so that trip was a disaster! A disaster I say!

Just the image of Beel happily chomping on his eighth burger while Luke and MC angrily pick at their fries makes me want to laugh.

Now the question you’re all waiting for, did Lucifer try and kill Luke and Beel and then MC for trying to take the Grimoire?

N O

“Whose room is behind that door?” Luke pointed to the door to the attic staircase.

MC shrugged and hit their knuckles against the door a few times. “It’s just the door to the attic. My uh- Lucifer said not to go up there because it’s just full of old junk.”

Normally MC would scoff at the idea of being told what not to do and do it out of spite, but MC was a child, and like most children, they hated scary attics. They hadn’t even attempted to open the door in the month they had lived in the house.

“Hm, maybe he’s hiding something...” Luke puffed out his cheeks and knocked on the door. When met with no answer, Luke turned the doorknob. The door creaked open, and the two peeked inside.

A tall spiral staircase greeted them as they tentatively stepped inside. Not so-good Lord, the room was freezing, but it didn’t seem to bother Luke as he walked further into the room.

“What do you think’s up there?” Luke asked, craning his neck to try and get a look at what could be at the top of the stairs.

MC shuddered and crossed their arms. “Like Lucifer said, junk. Nothing important.”

There was a tingling feeling at the base of MC’s neck, their hand flew to the spot only to find nothing, but the uneasiness didn’t cease. Something was very... very off. A shudder creeped up their spine as Luke stepped closer to the staircase.

“Come on,” Luke tutted, placing a hand on the railing. “Demons are known liars!”

Luke was quite difficult to be friends with sometimes, MC had to admit.

With every step Luke took up the stairs, the sense of dread brewing in MC’s gut grew, but they remained rooted to the spot, it was almost like something was physically stopping them from getting closer to those stairs.

Luke stopped on the sixth step and craned his neck to look up again. “Hello?” He called out.

His little voice echoed up the staircase, he was met with no reply for a moment, until a massive shudder wracked both his and MC’s spines.

“Hello.” A voice replied.

Quick as lightning MC dove forward, taking three steps up the stairs despite what felt like electric shocks stabbing into their skin, and yanked Luke back down the stairs and out the door, closing it behind them. MC heard a lazy, carefree chuckle reverberate through their head, and a message that only MC could hear.

“Leaving so soon, Lucifer?”

...

Spooky right?

Anyway- back to Luke and MC being idiots together.

They headed back to Beel’s room to watch some Devildom kid shows, I assume Tom and Jerry just played on repeat.

Luke explained the reason he ran away from Purgatory Hall, and MC legitimately debated whether or not they should throw Luke out of the nearest window for all the jabs he was taking at demons.

“Simeon was going to go out for tea with Diavolo! He even said that I could ask Barbatos to instruct me on the finer points of baking!”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“They’re demons, MC! Simeon and I are angels from the Celestial Realm! We shouldn’t be consorting with demons.”

Once again, bless Beel and his lack of murderous rage when it came to anything other than food.

“MC, Lucifer would be upset if you broke a window.”

“What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing Luke, nothing you need to worry about.”

Don’t worry, no angels were harmed during the visit.

On day two of the extended sleepover, Luke and MC decided to go running around the house again.

“And this is the basement.” MC put their hands on their hips and kissed their teeth as they looked around the Underground tomb. “Perfectly creepy.”

Luke shuddered. “Is this house nothing but one creepy room after another..?”

MC smiled and stuck out their tongue. Their fear of the attic did not extend to the underground tomb. Not that they were actually afraid of the attic or anything...

“Why? You scared some big monster is gonna getcha?” MC teased.

“No!” Luke gasped. “I’m not scared!”

MC began to walk backwards into the darker depths of the tomb, their teasing tone echoing off of the walls. “Then come on! Don’t be chicken!”

Luke looked back and forth from the door out of there, to the rapidly disappearing figure of MC, he rushed after MC.

“I’m not scared of some dark basement.” Luke huffed.

“Why not~?” MC snickered. “There could be ghosts down here... tortured souls of those who were damned to Hell for all eternity~!”

MC swiped Luke’s hat and placed it on their head, Luke jumped at the sudden contact and began to try and get the hat back from MC.

“Stop trying to scare me!” Luke yapped, MC laughed and began to jog deeper into the tomb.

“Maybe there’s a monster that eats chihuahuas down here too! Who knows!” MC twirled the hat with their fingers and ran a little faster when Luke ran after them.

“I AM NOT A CHIHUAHUA!”

Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best course of action to tease and scare one’s friend instead of telling them what they said earlier was mean, but MC wasn’t the best at decision making.

When MC reached a dead end, they stopped and looked around, Luke crashed right into them. He managed to swipe his hat back from a now disinterested MC.

MC’s gaze landed on a book being held up by a statue, they padded over and looked up at it.

“Luke, do you know what that is?” MC asked, turning to look at their now very miffed friend.

“The... book? I don’t know.”

Truthfully, MC didn’t know either. During their first tour of the house, Mammon had interrupted the Underground tomb segment and Lucifer had to cut the tour short.

“It’s uh...” MC pursed their lips and tried to think of a convincing lie. “A spell book. Lucifer told me that it makes your magic really really strong, so he stuck it down here to hide it from Solomon.”

“Did I now?”

MC and Luke screamed and whirled around, there stood Lucifer himself, not looking terribly pleased with the two of them.

“MC, care to explain why you and the angel are so close to the Grimoire?” Lucifer’s words were icily calm, and MC knew that meant if they didn’t come up with a good explanation they’d be in big trouble.

“W-we were just playing down here...” MC trailed off, looking to Luke for some kind of backup before realizing what a stupid idea that was.

“Y-yeah! We were just-”

Lucifer stuck his thumb over his shoulder and glowered at the two. “Out.”

“Yes sir.” Luke and MC mumbled as they stepped away from the Grimoire, Lucifer relaxed slightly as the two walked past him and down the hall.

When the two got back up to Beel’s room, Luke suddenly gasped and turned to MC.

“You said it was a spell book!”

After that, MC got the feeling that Luke was no longer welcome in the house. What was the big deal about almost touching the Grimoire anyway? It could only override pacts and control demons-

Oh.

Balls.

Simeon got called to pick up Luke and before the two of them left MC assured Luke that he could come over and hang out anytime as long as he texted first.

Beel said Luke could come over and bake when the kitchen was fixed, poor Beel would have to do without Luke’s baked goods for a little while longer.

MC rested their chin on the coffee table they were kneeling in front of, stewing in annoyance. Their unfinished homework was practically mocking them, but the Demonology textbook was not what had them in their funk.

“MC, do your homework.” Lucifer said from the living room couch, he was comparing his phone to notes in a binder that was placed on his lap.

A grunt from MC caused him to raise an eyebrow. Their grasp on demonic language had improved, but Lucifer did not approve of them using their new skill to sass him.

“MC.” Lucifer chided, MC turned to look at him with a deadpan expression. “If there’s something wrong, either tell me, or do your work without complaining.”

MC turned back to their homework and tapped their pencil against the textbook, before puffing out their cheek and turning back to Lucifer.

“What’s in the attic?”

For the briefest of moments, Lucifer froze, he forcibly relaxed and went back to his work.

“Junk.” Lucifer replied. “Did you try and go up there?”

MC shook their head. “No, I went into the staircase room, but not up the stairs.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed, he then took a deep breath and looked at MC. “Good, there’s nothing of interest up there anyway. If you did go up there you might break something or hurt yourself.”

“Okay.” MC sighed, trying to push the voice from the attic out of their mind. “What about the Grimoire? Why is it down in the tomb?”

Lucifer could feel his patience growing thinner and thinner with every question. “So it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“Why not just destroy it?” MC asked, their question wasn’t meant to be taken as an insult or be malicious, it was just legitimate curiosity. “Wouldn’t that be safer?”

The first born hesitated before he answered. He looked over MC, before shaking his head. “...I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

MC’s eyes narrowed, but they went back to their work all the same. It would be about ten minutes of quiet before MC spoke up again.

“When Belphegor gets back from the human world, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do, huh?”

Lucifer’s eyes snapped up to look at MC, who still had their back turned to him as they scribbled notes from the textbook. His grip on his DDD tightened as he replied.

“Why do you say that, MC?”

MC didn’t seem to register their father’s clipped tone, and shrugged. “Beel said that he isn’t answering his texts or calls, and when he sent up a letter Belphegor didn’t respond to that either.”

“The life of an exchange student is a busy one, as you can see.” Lucifer forcibly injected his last bit of remaining calmness into his words as he gestured at MC’s homework. MC laughed at that.

“Yeah well, I still make time to call my friends and ren back up in the human world.” MC giggled. “And I’m sure those text notifications about his older brother discovering that he has a child would make him pick up the phone.”

“Belphegor might have a much larger workload.” Lucifer retorted, trying to keep himself from snapping at MC.

“But still, you’d think he’d call his-”

“MC-” Lucifer snarled, MC whirled around, the fear and shock in their eyes caused anything Lucifer was going to say to die in his throat.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, before Lucifer took another deep breath and turned back to his work.

“Not right now, MC,” Lucifer whispered. “I’m working.”

...

To be continued...

#Obey me #Obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date? #obey me headcanons #obey me! headcanons #Obey me MC #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Satan #Lucifer’s Kid #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Mammon #Obey me Belphegor #Obey me Leviathan #Obey me Luke #when I say to be continued- I mean more diverging from canon #I have a feeling the lovely London family trip went smoothly... totally

[megalony]

Challenge

This is a murderer! Ben Hardy imagine that was requested by @azulawayne I hope you will all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) and the kids decide to record Ben’s reaction when they test out the shut up tiktok challenge, all knowing that it won’t be pretty.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mum, can we do this to dad?"

"Do what, baby?"

A look of intrigue came across (Y/n)'s face as she moved to lean against the kitchen counter, resting her arm around Theo who was looking up at her with a sparkle in his eyes. The second eldest boy resembled his mother more than hia father in most aspects, he had (Y/n)'s tenderness and love, her eyes and nose and he had darker hair meaning he didn't resemble Ben as much.

The way that Theo asked to do something to Ben rather than for him made (Y/n) suspicious if Theo was wanting to play some sort of prank on Ben. All the boys liked to try and wind Ben up from time to time because it was a test, it was dangerous and daring.

Ben wasn't the kind of man or father that liked to be pranked or annoyed. He was a rather intimidating father to the boys despite how much they all loved him. Winding him up was a way for the boys to test his anger and see how he would react and how far they could push him before he snapped.

(Y/n) didn't like it when the boys got these ideas into their heads because she knew her husband. She knew how he would react and when he found out it was a prank he got very annoyed. Ben was a serious person, jokes weren't his kind of thing.

"It's a tiktok challenge, look."

Theo held his phone up so (Y/n) could see what he was referring to but when her eyes darted over the subtitles on the video and she watched the short clip, her teeth bit down on her lip.

(Y/n) very rarely played pranks on Ben, only when she was feeling very daring and playful or when she wanted to get back at him for something. Whenever the boys did pranks on Ben they didn't tell (Y/n) because they knew she wouldn't allow them to do it. But this specific challenge needed (Y/n) to be in on the prank.

The challenge Theo was referring to was the 'shut up challenge'. It was where someone would tell one of their parents to shut up and see how the other parent reacted. Of course, Theo needed (Y/n) to do this with him because both (Y/n) and Ben would react if they thought Theo was being serious in telling (Y/n) to shut up. He would never dream of being like that with his mum, he was too respectful and fearful of what would happen if he said something rude to her like his brother did.

This was the perfect kind of challenge to do on Ben and Theo knew it.

Ben was intoxicated by (Y/n) and that was clear to anyone who saw them together. He loved his wife more than anything so if any of the boys were disresectful to her then Ben would come down on them hard. He brought up the boys to be good and respectful and sort of the opposite of him and none of them liked going against their dad.

"Baby, I- I don't know about this, you know what your dad's like."

"Please? It'll be funny, you just have to tell him it's a joke." The pleading look in Theo's eyes and the smile on his lips made (Y/n) cave.

He was eight, he just wanted to mess around and (Y/n) didn't want to stop him from being a kid when things were hard for all of them. All the boys had to deal with constant moving houses, Ben coming home in the dead of night or early morning, seeing him cut up and with broken bones from fights and they all knew Ben's job wasn't a good one. It wasn't the most ideal situation for the boys but they were loved tremendously and they had everything they needed.

"Alright, he'll be home soon. But don't tell Charlie, this is just between you and me okay?"

"Yes! Thanks mum."

(Y/n) was okay with Theo doing this challenge but not Charlie.

The eldest child had a turbulent relationship with Ben at the best of times and this challenge would not go down well with Ben if it was Charlie doing it.

Charlie was eleven and he had anger issues he inherited from Ben, he was constantly battling with Ben about everything from doing his homework to going to school and simply going to bed. It didn't help that Charlie often took out his anger on (Y/n) because she was the parent that was around more. And when Ben found out he and Charlie clashed badly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright buddy, let's go see your mum."

Ben kicked off his shoes in the hallway before making his way through the house to get to the kitchen where he could hear (Y/n) and the boys talking. He bounced Briar on his hip who was almost asleep already. Ben had just picked the three year old up from nursery on the way home from the club as (Y/n) had picked up their other three boys from school abut an hour earlier.

Ben took to rubbing his hand up and down Briar's back, soothing his youngest son since he seemed about ready for a nap. He could feel Briar very slowly tracing his finger over the tattoo at the back of Ben's neck.

The youngest boy had a fascination with Ben's tattoos and he hated it when Ben wore a shirt because it meant he couldn't see the tattoos. It made Ben laugh when Briar would run up to him when he came home, point at his shirt and demand he take it off. He was so used to Ben walking round the house in his jeans or boxers without a shirt and he loved drawing his fingers over Ben's designs.

When Ben headed into the kitchen he glanced his eyes around, seeing (Y/n) stood near the oven clearly starting to make something to eat. Charlie and Billy were sitting at the kitchen table near the back door playing a game and Theo was sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen on his phone.

"Hey baby, did you have a good day? You okay honey?" (Y/n) smiled at Briar who was almost asleep in Ben's arms but had a lopsided grin on his features when he saw her. When her head tilted up towards Ben, (Y/n) felt her smile widening when his arm secured around her hips and he leaned down to kiss her. She could feel adrenaline starting to run riot in her stomach because she knew what was about to come and she didn't want to imagine Ben's reaction.

"Wasn't too bad, think this one's tired out though. You and the troop okay?" Ben rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s back as he glanced his eyes back over at the boys.

They had four boys in total, Ben's little army and he loved that (Y/n) was the only girl in the house, surrounded by all of her boys.

"Yeah we're all good."

Ben leaned down to peck (Y/n)'s lips again before he bounced Briar on his hip and moved to the fridge. Whilst his back was turned to the rest of his family, (Y/n) locked her eyes with Theo who was nodding his head, trying not to figit in his seat from excitement. He knew all too well that Ben's reaction wouldn't be an amused or even a kind one but he was still anxious to see his father's reaction.

"Theo, you gonna come and help me do the veg for tea, please?" (Y/n) glanced her eyes over at Theo before she turned her attention to the casserole bubbling away on the stove. It was normal for one of the boys to help with cooking, they all took it in turns, except for Briar since he was only three.

"But I'm busy."

"No, baby it's your turn to help with tea so come on."

(Y/n) knew she had to put on her stern voice or else Ben wouldn't believe it, he would know something was up. The boys were brought up to be respectful and none of them dared go against the rules and chores was one of the rules. (Y/n) only worked part-time and Ben was at work most of the time so the boys had to help around the house. One of the things Ben always said to the boys was that (Y/n) was their mother not their maid and that always made the boys shiver and give in quickly. They didn't like to think of (Y/n) as a maid doing everything for them and always picking up after them and they all wanted to be like Ben.

They wanted to be charming and do everything they could for themselves.

"Mum I'm playing a game, I need to finish this level!" Theo tilted his head to the side as he whined his response, trying to make it believable because neither of his brothers knew he and (Y/n) were doing this challenge. He had his phone propped up against his glass and aimed at Ben so they could record his reaction.

Ben bit his lip and turned his head to look at his son over his shoulder whilst he handed a beaker to Briar who was almost asleep in his arms. Out of all the boys, it was usually Charlie who would complain and argue with either Ben or (Y/n), it was never Theo and Ben didn't like how he was being right now.

"You can finish it later buddy, go help your mum." Ben ticked his head to the side to motion for Theo to get up and go over to (Y/n) but Theo shook his head. Watching briefly as Ben moved to lean against the counter near to both (Y/n) and Theo.

"Theo you know the rules now come on-"

"Ughh no just shut up!"

Silence fell over the kitchen and all eyes immediately set on Ben as if he was the one who had had the outburst rather than Theo.

Both Charlie and Billy stopped their game to look over at Ben because they knew disrespecting (Y/n) was bad but telling her to shut up would almost definitely get their brother smacked and bollocked for that. Theo stared with a glimmer of fear in his eyes and a blank expression on his face as if he had just realised what he said. His eyes locked with Ben whose brows dropped near to his eyes and his teeth ground together with how tight his jaw was locked.

"What the Hell did you just say to your mother?!"

The words echoed round the kitchen but everyone jerked in their seats when Ben seemed to move faster than lightning. One moment he was stood near to (Y/n) and the next he was in front of Theo, pulling him from his seat by the scruff of his neck whilst still holding Briar against his hip.

"Ben-"

"You have some fucking nerve thinking you can talk to her like that and get away with it. I didn't bring any of you up to talk to your mother like shit." Ben's words were spoken in a seething tone through gritted teeth but it was his eyes that were unnerving Theo. His eyes were darker than their usual emerald green, they were almost black voids and his expression was stoic and blank which was even more worrisome.

Just as Ben went to pull Theo by his neck, presumably to drag him from the kitchen, Theo pushed against Ben's chest and (Y/n) reached over and wrapped herself around Ben's arm to stop him.

"Dad i-it's a joke."

"Ben leave him it's okay." (Y/n) tried to smile but she couldn't, all she could do was let the panic seep into her features whilst she managed to prize Ben's hand off their son. Her eyes briefly flitted to look at Briar and even though the three-year-old was clearly confused from the sudden raised voices, he wasn't panicked or unsettled.

"It's not okay the little bastard-"

"It was a joke! Baby, it was a challenge he wanted to see and record your reaction. He didn't mean it I swear, I knew what he was doing." (Y/n) pressed her lips to Ben's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his upper bicep to try and calm him down. She watched the way his eyes narrowed and switched between her and Theo as Charlie and Billy watched in confusion and slight fear. They all knew Ben didn't like jokes, especially when they were on him because it meant he wasn't in control of the situation.

"What?" Ben's chest heaved as he kept his eyes focused on (Y/n), knowing if he looked at his son his temper would start to flare again if this was indeed a joke.

"A tiktok challenge, to see how parents react when you tell the other one to shut up. I- I knew you'd go mad since you love mum so much." Theo darted his eyes around the kitchen as he tried to stay calm. He'd gotten the exact reaction he was expecting and he was definitely going to upload it but he knew explaining it to Ben was going to be the hard part.

"I don't care if it was a challenge and your mum knew about it, you don't ever tell her to shut up not even for a joke. No more fucking jokes like that."

Ben swiped his hand against the back of Theo's head, not enough to actually hurt him but enough to shock him and get the message through that he couldn't do that. Ben didn't care if it was for a joke and that (Y/n) knew he was going to do it, he didn't want any of the boys telling her to shut up or being rude to her even for a joke. He wanted them all to respect (Y/n) as much as he did and telling her to shut up was something Ben wouldn't have any of them do.

Theo nodded before he disappeared over to where his brothers were playing at the table, taking his phone with him so he could edit the video he recorded.

"Sorry baby, he was desperate and it was meant as a joke."

(Y/n) tilted her head back to look up at Ben when his free arm circled around her waist and pulled her tight against his chest. She knew he wasn't angry or mardy with her but his expression showed she was going to pay for this later and it sent a spark of adrenaline running through her stomach.

"I don't do jokes."

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #dad! ben #murderer! ben #imagine

[one-boring-person]

A Game Of Numbers. (Part Five)

Marion "Cobra" Cobretti x reader

Warnings: swearing (in German and English), mention of death, mention of injury, mention of homophobia, gun use

Context: When a string of seemingly connected murders and kidnappings break out in LA, Cobretti is called in to figure out what is going on. He is, however, not alone in his investigation. Lieutenant "Hawk" (Y/l/n) is deployed to help him, though it quickly becomes clear that the crimes taking place are not as random as they first thought, but rather a little more personal than either of them would hope.

A/n: somehow, I'm starting to think this is gonna fail massively

Masterlist

Once again, Hawk jerks awake, body covered in a thin layer of sweat, each breath rattling painfully out of her chest, her eyes wide as they instinctively scan the interior of her bedroom, looking for the danger her body is expecting. Upon finding nothing out of place, she sighs, slumping over from her upright position, cupping her face in her hand to steady herself, trying to regain control of her racing thoughts. A dull light filters in through the thin blinds, casting the room in a cold light that throws harsh shadows against the walls.

Trembling a little, Hawk glances over at her bedside clock, glad to see the time is near enough her usual get-up. Rubbing her eyes briefly, she pulls back the tangled sheets as swings her legs out of the bed, placing her hands on her knees to gain some form of stability as her head reels, flashes of her plaguing past coming unbidden to her head, each memory vivid thanks to the disturbing nightmares hounding her sleep. Shaking them away, she climbs to her feet, stretching out her back until it cracks, before she shuffles into the hallway, to the bathroom, where she quickly gets changed. 

Having splashed cold water on her face, she feels a little better, the brisk temperature helping to clear any remaining haze from her mind, allowing her to think more clearly. Staring at herself in the mirror, she steels herself against her memories, knowing that what has happened is in the past, and shouldn't be dwelt on for too long. 

Leaving the bathroom, Hawk gets dressed, donning her usual long coat as she grabs an apple, taking it for her breakfast before she drops an orange into her pocket for later. Taking her keys, the lieutenant goes to exit the apartment, having made sure everything she needs for the day is present, until her eyes land on a dresser, a little way away. She swallows as she catches sight of the photograph pinned to the stained wood, the case file tucked in between the books behind it instilling a sense of dread in her she's come to recognise in the past few days. Everything she does seems to come back to the battered grey folder, though she has not touched it since she was given it, a year or so ago.

Sighing, she leaves the apartment, locking it firmly behind her. 

Moving swiftly down the corridor, she turns the corner, only to feel an odd chill go up her spine, making her stop in her tracks. Slowly, she looks round, back the way she came, eyes narrowed in unease. There is nothing there, and nothing ahead of her as she turns back, though the sensation doesn't leave her, her skin prickling uncomfortably as she hurriedly goes to leave, her survival instinct screaming at her to do so as quickly as possible.

The feeling doesn't leave even as she steps out onto the street, her eyes flicking around the deserted space nervously, her hand staying to her waist, ready to creep round and take hold of her handgun, should the need for it arise. Tucked into her belt, the weapon's familiar weight is almost comforting, though it does little to soothe her nerves as she edges along the street, body tense. Around this time of the day, there is little traffic, both road or sidewalk, meaning the stretch is left feeling eerie and strangely empty - usually, it doesn't feel so odd, but this morning it instills a cool sensation into her chest. In the distance, she can hear some cars driving past, the lieutenant hoping that one of them is her partner come to pick her up, the presence of the rough cop somehow having proved itself a measure of safety for her, after some time of feeling outcast and at risk. 

Over the last week since the last body had been found, Cobretti and Hawk had grown a little closer, settling into a routine as they worked to solve the murders and locate the next two victims, utilising each other's different interrogation tactics and contacts efficiently. Very little progress has been made, with the killer's movements totally unpredictable and painstakingly difficult to track,  and with none of the information gathered from interviews actually helping at all. There had been one lead, which they intend to follow up on in the coming days, hoping it will actually take them somewhere, given its promising nature; an apparent witness had come forward, requesting to speak with Cobra and Hawk in person, seemingly willing to give up any knowledge they have.  Despite all this, however, Hawk still feels unsettled by the last murder, that one sprig of heather not sitting right with her, stirring up memories she'd rather forget.

Startled from her thoughts by the sudden sound of a door slamming, Hawk instinctively spins on her heel, hand grabbing for the grip of the handgun, though she doesn't pull it out yet, eyes wide. A brief shot of adrenaline goes through her, her gaze instantly landing on a figure at the end of the street, the silhouette average in height but somehow incredibly intimidating in build, despite the slender set to them. 

They appear to be staring at her, face obscured by the distance, hands resting loosely in their pockets, head tilted to the side curiously. Frowning, Hawk faces them properly, waiting for a reaction, glancing around her in case there's someone else there, noticing no one at all. Tense, she gazes at the man, I'm moving but alert, until he suddenly looks round to the end of the road closest to him, where a familiar car has pulled in. 

As usual, Cobra does not take the road at a slower pace, going relatively quickly towards Hawk as the figure at the end of the street ducks out of sight, leaving her tense and uncomfortable. She stays stock still, waiting for Cobretti to reach her; hand still on her pistol, eyes fixed on the spot where the figure was.

He pulls the car up alongside her, turning to look at her out the window as she waits a few more seconds, before slowly moving to the vehicle. Quietly, she climbs in, closing the door softly behind her. They are silent for a moment, Cobra watching Hawk closely as she composes herself again.

"Morgen." She says, good-naturedly, reverting back to her own language momentarily, a habit Cobretti has noticed she does quite often.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He replies jokingly, knowing full well what she means.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she gives him a look as he pulls out from the kerb, heading towards the station, where the witness is set to meet them. He chuckles, but can't help noticing the tense set to her face, her unease still evident in her body.

"What happened back there? You had your hand on your gun." He probes, turning onto a busier road.

Hawk glances at him for a second, before turning back to the window.

"I think someone was following me." She says evenly, sounding sure of herself, "I got a bad feeling when I left my apartment, and then I saw the guy at the end of the road just now." 

"Guy? What guy?" 

"There was a guy standing at the end of the road. You must've seen him, you drove right past him!" Hawk clarifies, lifting an eyebrow.

Cobra only shrugs, rolling the matchstick between his lips.

Hawk remains quiet, rubbing her eyes tiredly, stifling a yawn as she leans back in the seat, hoping she won't fall asleep right there.

"Tired?" Cobretti asks, trying to fill the silence.

Startled, Hawk sits straighter, trying to sort herself out, only to realise he's already noticed and won't let it go no matter what she does.

"A bit, yeah." She admits, embarrassment flushing her face as she looks down, drawing a hand through her hair.

"Why?"

She shrugs, hesitant to answer, though she feels he should know, given that he's her partner for now.

"Haven't been sleeping well." She responds eventually, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I noticed." Cobretti confesses, shooting her an apologetic look, "You don't look so good."

"That bad? Scheiße." She curses, kicking herself for not realising that her lack of sleep has become apparent.

"What the hell does that mean?" He asks, changing the subject, clearly noticing how it's making her a little uncomfortable.

"Scheiße? Means shit." Hawk states, watching out the window as Cobra pulls up outside the police station.

"Ah. Good to know." He tries to fight back a smirk - her little words and phrases had grown on him, their meanings generally lost on him but still amusing.

Laughing, Hawk waits for him to pull into a parking space before she climbs out, standing to the side as he follows suit.

"So when are we talking to this witness?" She asks him, pulling her apple from her pocket, as well as the pocket knife she always has on her. Deftly, she uses the knife to slice pieces of the fruit off, eating them off the blade as she walks.

"At eight." Cobra replies after shooting her his usual exasperated glance.

"That's an hour off, which gives us some time to reconvene, I guess." 

"Yeah. Might go to the firing range." 

"The firing range? Wirklich? It's seven in the morning, isn't that too early for you?" Hawk questions, lifting an eyebrow.

"Nah. Got nothing better to do." He shrugs, leading the way into the building, heading for their shared office for the moment.

"Apart from solving the case?" His partner grins, following him in.

"Oh, yeah, of course. I'll be thinking about it whilst I shoot." He explains, dropping off his coat as he heads over the corridor to the shooting range, leaving Hawk alone in the office.

Shaking her head, she settles down at the large table, taking the case files in front of her and opening them, laying out all the necessary sheets of paper, before she finds her eyes wandering upwards. They swiftly find the lean figure of Cobra standing at the end of a range, his arms outstretched, Colt held in hand, face set in concentration. With each shot, his muscles tense and contract, the movements fluid and holding her attention, sweat beading on his bare arms from the heat in the building. Even from this distance, however, with or without the distraction of his well-built physique, it's obvious that his thoughts are elsewhere, his brow furrowed slightly as he thinks over the case notes in his head.

Keeping that in mind, Hawk starts to toil over the words in front of her, frowning at the information she's read over and over again, still unable to find a connection between the two victims, apart from their relationship with each other. They'd been through all the possible explanations: homophobia (the newest victims aren't openly homosexual, so the theory doesn't hold up), preference over women (one of the newest victims is male), ease of abduction (none of the victim's have been seen together with the suspect that's been described), with many other reasons appearing. None of them fit.

The hour goes by slowly, by which time Cobra has rejoined Hawk, sitting back in his seat as he thinks through possible motives, patterns and killers. Once it is time to go to the interview room, the two are relieved to leave the office, having made no progress at all.

Walking on to the interview room, neither of them say much, not expecting too much from this lead except a hopeful civilian looking to get involved in something "interesting". Upon reaching the door, they stop, waiting for their interviewee to be brought to them. It doesn't take long, a younger officer leading a confident woman along the corridor towards them, his face saying it all as she struts along behind him. Hawk has to suppress a sigh, knowing this won't be easy.

"Lieutenants, this is Hailey Lloyd. Ms Lloyd, this is lieutenant Cobretti and Lieutenant (Y/l/n). They will be taking the interview." The officer informs the witness, sounding tired.

"Nice to meet you." Hawk forces a smile, putting out a hand to shake, though Ms Lloyd already has her eyes fixed on Cobra.

"And you, and you." She replies, tone sharp as she ignores the outstretched hand in favour of shaking Cobretti's.

"Shall we go in?" He says, keeping his voice flat as he gestures to the room.

"Yes, yes, let's do that." Ms Lloyd nods, moving to go into the room as Cobra opens the door for her.

Over her shoulder, the two lieutenants exchange a glance.

Part Six

#cobra #cobra 1986 #marion cobretti #Marion cobretti x reader #sylvester stallone #sly stallone

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

Every time you lose someone you truly love, you lose a primary feather... And Stiles realizing how few feathers he actually has left in relation to his friends, the pack, etc

oh it’s make Twothumbs cry hours huh? That’s what we’re doing tonight?? We’re making me cry??? I’m taking you all down with me. 

Scott’s feather was the first feather Stiles actually remembered growing. 

The fierce love he had for his brother-by-choice had spiked a pinfeather a year after his mother’s feather had fallen out. Once the new one reached full size, Stiles had been able to fly again. Still clumsy, still a struggle- but he’d been able to fly on his own for the first time in a year.

Sometime after that he grew a feather for Lydia too, giving him his third. He knew Lydia didn’t have one for him, but that was okay. The extra feather had given him more stability, made staying in the air a little easier, and that was enough for him to love her even more.

His father’s feather was the on the furthest tip of his right wing. The feathers he grew for his favorite deputies at the station lived on his right wing too. Melissa’s feather was on the left, in between Scott’s and Lydia’s. 

He had a total of eight primaries at the beginning of his sophomore year. Classmates laughed at his notorious clumsiness, sniggering as he banked wildly in the air, their young minds unable to make the connection of exactly why he lacked the fine control most others had naturally with ten or more primary feathers.

Stiles didn’t really care. He’d come a long way from a single feather. 

Perhaps that was why he went with Peter, though: the single primary feather hanging loosely from his wings. It was such a foreign and familiar sight; familiar from a year of seeing it on himself, and foreign for having never seen it on anyone else. 

He could have fought more. Could have argued, could have screamed, could have done any number of things on that field. Instead, he looked at that dangling feather, and went with him. 

Later that evening, he looked at it again as it drifted to the ground moments before Derek ripped out Peter’s throat. 

__________

God, he ached. 

Stiles gingerly taped gauze over the cut that Argent left in his thigh before reaching for the arnica cream. He decided to only put it on the biggest bruises, and yet ended up covering most of his body anyway.

After that, he carefully stepped into sweats, forgoing a shirt. He could put one on after he checked over his wings. 

Stiles sat down on his bed, turning on his lamp and directing it toward himself like a spotlight. Then he stopped. He needed to check them- he knew that bastard had at least ripped out a handful of coverts. 

But he didn’t look. He just sat there. Exhausted, unwilling, and alone. 

Scott was at Allison’s house. 

Just like he’d been when the kanima had trapped Stiles at the pool. 

Just like the day after Matt brought the kanima to the station, when Stiles lost three primary feathers.

Just like every other time Stiles had needed him in the last few months. 

“Well, one of us was recently dead, but by the looks of things here I’m not sure it was actually me.” 

Stiles, lacking the energy to startle, just slowly looked up at his window to see Peter smoothly duck in. 

“You’re actually back,” he said with a blink. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“You saw me at the warehouse, didn’t you?” he asked. Stiles waved a hand. 

“I got the shit kicked out of me and then crashed my car into a lizard boy,” he said listlessly. “What I did and didn’t see is up for some serious debate.” 

“Hm,” Peter said, eyes sharply taking in the bruises and cuts on Stiles’ upper body. “I can see that.” 

Stiles suddenly remembered that he’d helped kill Peter, and that he currently had all of his injured vulnerable points on display. He thought he should probably be more concerned about it than he was. 

Instead, he finally reached back and carefully pulled out his left wing, looking away from Peter and checking it over. Sure enough, he had a bloody bald patch where Argent had torn out several feathers. 

Something tapped him on the shoulder, and Stiles glanced over to see Peter holding out a tube of antibacterial. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled distractedly, twisting it open and wincing slightly as he smoothed it over the sensitive skin. Growing those back was going to itch like hell. 

After that, he carefully worked down the rest of the wing, feeling his way along the afterfeathers to check for more injuries. He found a few bent, one broken, and then just as he reached the end of the wing-

Peter sucked in a tiny breath. 

Stiles held a primary in his hand. 

He stared at it, loose in his open palm. 

There was a long moment of silence, eventually broken by Peter quietly saying, “That’s going to make flying more difficult.” 

Stiles continued to stare at the feather for another moment before forcing himself to look away.

“I still have four. I’ve flown with less.”

He carefully set Scott’s feather down on his nightstand, and deliberately turned to examine his right wing. Silence once again reigned between them, broken only by the brush of Peter handing him more antibacterial for a few more broken feathers. 

By the time he was done, Stiles was utterly exhausted. 

“Did you actually want something?” he asked. He just wanted to sleep, and he couldn’t even begin to interpret the look on Peter’s face. It smoothed out a moment later anyway. 

“Yes, but it can wait. Go to sleep. I’ll see you later, Stiles.” 

And with that, he ducked out the window again. 

Stiles watched as Peter swept his wings out behind himself to slow his fall-

Wings with absolutely no primary feathers.

__________

Stiles had so much shit to take care of. The Alpha pack was still out there fucking up everyone’s shit, and someone else was doing ritual sacrifices, and his dad had asked if he was on drugs, and he had Spanish vocab to finish-

Just, so much shit. 

And yet. And yet, here he was, opening a box from Ebay with a used pair of flight aids in it. 

They didn’t look great. And from what Stiles could remember of his childhood experience, they weren’t terribly comfortable either. But they did work, taking the place of missing primary feathers and allowing greater freedom of movement. 

Something Stiles thought was likely very desirable to a werewolf with a history of being murdered. 

Before he could think too hard about it, he threw the fight aids back in the box and drove over to Peter’s apartment. 

As he walked up to the door, hands full, he hesitated again. What was he doing here? Maybe he should just leave the box on the welcome mat- but the choice was taken out of his hands when Peter’s door opened upon approach. 

“Stiles. How… surprising,” Peter drawled. “I don’t remember telling you where I live.”

Stiles raised his eyebrow 

“I didn’t tell you where I live either, but you still showed up at three a.m.; directly into my room, I might add.” He shook his head, dismissing the question and pushing forward now that the opportunity for misgivings was gone. “Here, take the box.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow, gingerly accepting it as he scented the air. He scrunched his nose slightly in distaste. 

“This doesn’t smell like you. Whose is this?”

“Okay first,” Stiles ticked off a finger, “it’s weird for you to just casually mention that something does or does not smell like me, and two,” he ticked off a second finger, “it’s yours. I mean, now. Now it’s yours. It was someone else’s.” 

“Mm, yes, nothing says ‘heartfelt gift’ like pre-used goods,” Peter said dryly, finally stepping back into his apartment, allowing Stiles in. “What is it?” 

Stiles followed, looking away uncomfortably before answering. 

“I, uh. When I was a kid, I tried a couple of different flight aids. Just for getting to school and back, you know? This type was the best. Not great or anything, but they let you move fast.”

Peter stilled completely, frozen for a beat with his hands on the box. 

“It’s just,” Stiles hurried on, “if you get eaten by the Alpha Pack or whatever because you’re trapped on the ground, then we’ll be left with just Derek again, and he doesn’t know shit about anything, except maybe like the top ten ways to lose shirts, so you have to have something. I know they’re ugly, but like. You have to have something, and those were the ones that worked best for me, but the company doesn’t exist anymore so… Ebay.” 

He finished awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets. 

Peter looked at him for a moment, a strange expression on his face, before saying, “Thank you.”

Stiles shrugged. 

“No problem.” He cleared his throat a little. “Anyway. Uh. Bye.” 

Stiles moved to leave, but hesitated when Peter started chuckling. He looked back over his shoulder, suspicious that he was being mocked, but Peter just smiled. 

“I’m not kicking you out, Stiles. Stay for a minute and help me try these out.” And with that, he finally opened the box and pulled out one of the flight aids, examining it. “They clip onto my primary coverts?”

Stiles watched him for a moment. 

He still had so much shit to take care of… but he could stay for a bit.

Or maybe a bit longer. 

__________

Stiles checked his primaries. Again. There were three. Still three, after the bomb at the station. After the nogitsune. One for his dad, one for Melissa, one for Lydia.

There were still three.

They just weren’t the same three-

“Any fresh word on our local hit list?” Peter drawled, entering the apartment with two cups of coffee.

Stiles hurriedly dropped his wings, tucking them behind himself and out of sight.

“Nope. It’s pretty hard to find out what’s going on when our only lead got murdered,” Stiles said pointedly, turning back to his laptop.

“As if we were going to get a word out of someone with no mouth anyway,” Peter scoffed, setting down one of the cups next to him as he looked over Stiles’ shoulder at the screen. “You haven’t been able to find any more contractors?”

“Oh no, I’ve found plenty of contractors. All with equally stupid names. ‘The Chemist,’ and ‘The Butchers,’ and ‘Bullet 80.’ It feels like a list of early 2000’s band names.” Stiles sat back, picking up his coffee for a sip. “It’s just that there’s no way to know how they’re getting job offers.” Peter reached over his shoulder to scroll down a page, leaning his other hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles tried not to shiver, and as always lately, failed.

Peter was the only one who touched him so casually anymore.

Peter squeezed a bit, beginning to knead the muscle there seemingly without thought, and Stiles leaned into it.

“This is a lot of assassins,” Peter murmured as he continued to scroll.

“I mean, if the prices here are any indication, it’s a pretty lucrative career I guess,” Stiles said gesturing lightly at the screen with his cup. Peter hummed in agreement.

“Lucrative, but perhaps an over-saturated market,” Peter mused, contemplative. “However, if we were to clear out some of the competition…”

Stiles reached up and lightly flicked Peter in the ear with his free hand.

“We’re not going to start murdering for money.”

Peter scowled, pulling his hand away from Stiles’ shoulder to protectively cover his ear.

“As opposed to doing it for free like we are now? Like chumps?” he challenged.

“Like chumps,” Stiles said firmly. “Besides, you know you would hate the cleanup.”

Peter reluctantly smiled.

“Yes, I suppose that at least is right.”

With one last light stroke to Stiles’ upper coverts, Peter took his own coffee and moved to the other side of the table where his own laptop sat.

They continued searching for information long past the time the coffee was gone, occasionally speaking but more often silent. Stiles began to get more worried the longer they went without finding answers.

His fingers found their way back into his feathers again, winding around his primaries as they did so often.

And just like every other time lately, a slow sense of unease crept over him as he felt them.

“It doesn’t seem to help,” Peter said quietly from across the table.

Stiles startled, hand tightening. Peter was looking at him, and gestured at the place Stiles was gripping.

“You hold on to your primaries often lately, but it never seems to comfort you. Not anymore.”

Stiles let out a slow breath, ready to blow him off, to say it was nothing-

But.

“They’re not the same,” he murmured. “When the Nogitsune- I don’t know, made a new body for me or whatever, he didn’t quite-“ Stiles blew out a frustrated breath, knowing how ridiculous this was going to sound. “They look exactly the same, but they don’t feel right. I can’t tell you exactly what’s wrong, but every time I touch them… I start to wonder if they’re actually mine. And if they’re not mine, whose are they?”

His hands clenched around his feathers again, torn between the instinct to preserve his feathers and his ability to fly, and to tear out the invaders that grew out of whatever twisted facsimile of love the nogitsune was capable of. 

He startled yet again when hands covered his own, carefully prying them away.

“They’re yours, Stiles,” Peter said, voice calm, locking Stiles’ hands in his own. “Even if somehow they weren’t grown for the same people as your first feathers, they’re still sustained by that. They’re maintained for the people you love.”

Stiles looked back at Peter, wanting to believe.

“They’re yours, Stiles,” he repeated. 

Stiles took a deep breath. 

“They’re mine.” 

With one last grateful squeeze to Peter’s hand, he turned back to his laptop. 

__________

“I’m borrowing this book.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah I am.” 

Peter rolled his eyes at the kitchen table where he continued typing. Stiles could see it from where he lay sprawled in the living room, and grinned. 

“No you’re not. Borrowing implies you’ll be taking it somewhere else, and you spend all of your time here,” Peter said distractedly. 

“I do not!” Stiles protested. Peter briefly looked up at him with a dry expression. 

“In the last week, the only reason you’ve left my apartment was to go home to make dinner for your father. Last night you didn’t even leave to do that, you just made it in my kitchen and then took it to him at the station.”

“You offered-!”

“I didn’t say I don’t want you here,” Peter said, eyes never leaving his laptop, “just that it hardly makes sense to say you’re borrowing something when the thing you’re borrowing is unlikely to leave my apartment anyway.”

Stiles’ mouth hung open for a moment before snapping shut. Peter’s feathers shuffled a bit as he rearranged his wings, apparently intent on the email he was typing. Stiles thought it was probably a “fuck you” business letter. Peter always really got into those. His feathers fluttered a bit again, and something odd caught Stiles’ eye. 

A small new feather. 

A primary feather. 

His mouth dropped open again. 

He almost said something. He very, very nearly said many things. 

But Peter’s wings readjusted again, and the tiny feather disappeared. 

Stiles snapped his jaw shut. 

Because Peter had a point- Stiles was here most of the time. Almost all the time, in fact. 

So he would know if Peter had repaired his relationship with Derek, or if he’d found a new relationship outside the pack. 

Mind occupied, he absently scratched at the tip of his right wing, smoothing along the new quill there. 

Maybe he would get to keep this one for a while. 

#olor-et-luna #steter #someone stop me from using this idea to write a post-breakup fic #where they bump into each other five years later and they still have each other's feather #2.6k words #tumblr fic and kinda fic #this blog needs a tag for my bullshit #wingfic #featheruary #also don't @ me about flying with just two primary feathers It's Fiction #I should maybe start putting these up on ao3 #it's been like twelve years since I moved anything from here to there 😬😬😬

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter One (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4.9k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

This might be it. This might just be the first time you’re feeling emotion that doesn’t belong to yourself. And all you can say about it is: it’s completely awful. It’s nothing close to what your mother had told you about. Right now, it feels like you’re a prisoner in your own body, and you’re not being allowed to feel for yourself.

Whoever your soulmate is, they’re obviously empathetic to the point that it’s crippling. Imagine being this grief-ridden on reaping day. You can’t fathom the idea that any regular person would feel this bad for people. So there’s really a couple of things that might be going on. 

One, your soulmate is a friend of a victor, and they’re worried that their favorite person is going to get pulled to go back inside. Two, they’re family of a victor and it’s the same thing. Three, it’s an empathetic person--which you can’t stand. Or four, it’s a victor themself.

No matter the way it goes, their emotion is cancelling out yours. You don’t want to be full of sorrow, you know for a fact that somewhere deep in your body, you’re absolutely bubbling with excitement. You’ve been looking forward to today ever since the games were announced in the winter.

Today is the day.

And yet, you can’t pull yourself out of bed. You’ve been staring at the white ceiling for at least an hour now, setting yourself back. It’s like all the enthusiasm has been drained from your body, and you’re actually regretting your decision.

A slight shiver runs through your body at that thought. You draw the line there, you’re not going to regret anything. 

Pushing yourself up, you slide out of the silk bed sheets before you can change your mind and go back to laziness. You don’t bother fixing the blankets, not really caring for the fact that they’re in disarray. You never make the bed, and you won’t start on it today either. It’s a tactic of stalling, and there’s no reason for you to.

Before the shower, you decide on picking out the dress. Something gold and glittery, which is just about the entire wardrobe. You didn’t actually buy any of these dresses, they were all given as a gift from your stylists or Capitol citizens when you spent your summer after the games, inside of the Capitol.

You pick out a floor-length dress that’s a mix between black and gold. Two set colors that you can match easily. You kick out the heels that are also black and somewhat glittery. They don’t have the actual heel part to them, but they are engineered to look like it, and they’re pretty easy to walk in. They’re always your go-to when it comes to special things like this. 

The dress is only a little bit poofy, and it’s on the lower half. Either way, it goes down to the floor, and there should be no chance of anyone seeing your feet to know that you’re reusing another pair of shoes. There’s a v-neck plunge, but it doesn’t show much skin, you still look pretty modest. In the back, it’s open.

It’s definitely a dress you could find yourself wearing during the interviews with Caesar. Or a dress you would have worn after your first tribute had won the hunger games. You’ve only mentored twice, and both of them came out alive. After that, the job was handed onto them since they were the more recent victors.

All your jewelry resides on the white vanity, but you don’t bother picking those out. You toss the dress over the back of the chair, and move the shoes nearby so it won’t be a hunt. After that, you go ahead and get into the bathroom to take your shower.

You scrub your entire body clean, even though you know that you’ll be washed again inside of the Capitol about a dozen times. You do the basics to your hair, and when you get out, you’re putting product after product in so it’s ready when you do finally come around to it.

You pull on your undergarments, skipping your dress as you head downstairs for breakfast. There’s no shame in going downstairs half-naked. There’s no one else here to call you out on it.

You hit the bottom of the stairs, and while you’re navigating through the living room to get to the kitchen, you pause in the open doorway, a little surprised to see who’s sitting on the white loveseat.

Tanith is flipping through one of those books that are on the bookshelf for pure decoration. From here, you recognize the pink cover like you received the book yesterday, when it’s been years. A gift from your then-district representative, the cover reads in nice script writing, ‘how to get used to your new wealth’. Written by some asshole inside of the Capitol.

“Riveting.” Tanith looks up from the book, eyes landing on you. But she freezes, “God--I’m sorry--”

She covers her eyes, and you can’t help to laugh, “Really?”

You walk past her, heading into the kitchen. You dig through the fridge, pulling out some fresh fruits that you’d bought yesterday from the store. On top of that, you pull out a few eggs too, pop bread into the toaster, spray some cooking butter onto the pan so the eggs won’t stick, and work away.

“I should have knocked instead of walking inside.” She says, “That’s my fault.”

You shrug, “I have no shame, not after my time in the Capitol.”

“I expect not.” you can hear the light scraping of the stool against the tile floor, “You really want to go back inside?”

After the games had been announced, all the victors in the district had gathered together to have their own little meeting. Cipher the people who didn’t want to go back in, and make the ones who did, known. The old were automatically ruled out either way, whether they wanted to go inside or not, they’re too delusional. Old age has rotten their brains, some can’t think straight anymore.

There had been a good handful of people that wanted to go back inside. The only problem was that everyone wanted to do it based on capabilities again. To keep you guys on top of the pyramid as usual. You can’t send in someone who would die off immediately. Thus, a competition started.

As time went on, people were slowly weaned out. Based off of strength, fighting capabilities, who still knew the edible plants, the medical knowledge. If you were able to still present well, with the cute dresses, the white smiles, the charming personalities.

It brought it down to only a couple of you. Sorcha, an older woman in her forties who’s fit even after all these years. She’s arrogant--even more than you--and mean. She’s self-driven, disregards most of the people that come across her. She started off as a Capitol favorite, but now they see her as a total bitch.

Daleka, in her thirties and a very skilled fighter. She won her games by being completely ruthless. Her personality is likable, the Capitol complained when she stopped visiting and mentoring all together. Has a wife and a kid she adopted from the foster care place.

You, of course. Only twenty-five, still seen as somewhat fresh off of the arena. Nine years may seem like a long time to others, but not to you. Along that time, other districts have won too. Like Annie from four and Johanna from seven, and your most recently hated, Katniss and Peeta from twelve. 

But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re one of the top three for the most recent out of the arena. First would be Zavian, next would be Tanith, and then it would be you. Everything is still very fresh in your mind, since you were the one that had mentored both Zavian and Tanith. What you’re saying is, you’re a perfect candidate.

Anyway, the final girl that had wanted to go in was Enobaria. A Capitol favorite, like most of you are. Fierce, confident. She got her teeth filed to be sharp because of her signature win of ripping a tribute’s throat out. Fun to be around, nowhere near bubbly like some people think.

And for the boys, the list was quite large, and you wouldn’t be able to name all of them on one hand. The whole point of this is, there could only be one girl and one boy sent in. Therefore, the competition narrowed it down for everyone, as the challenges progressively got harder.

For boys, Brutus won. Tall, bald, muscular. He’s in his forties, but he looks to be about late thirties instead. He’s cocky, a complete pain in the ass, and he would be difficult to fight. But he’s an ally that you can’t deny wouldn’t be good to have at your side.

And for girls, you won it. You practically blew Sorcha and Daleka out of the water. Enobaria was much more difficult to shake, though. She’d obviously continued studying even after her games. You might have been a softie back in the academy, but you were a quick learner, and all of it stuck like it’d been glued with superglue. 

The volunteer is yours to have. And if you chose to back out, there would be no harm in it. That’s why Enobaria is there, she’s the backup in case you were to choose to do something like that. However, you didn’t fight tooth and nail with a bunch of bullies just to quit it. You want that win.

“Yes,” you answer Tanith’s question, “I do. Afraid I won’t win?”

She snorts, “Hardly. I’m afraid that you’ll be a murder machine.”

You look over your shoulder at her, “Have you eaten yet?” 

“No,” she says, and with that, you serve her the eggs, toast and berries. After that, you slide her the butter for her toast, “Thank you.”

As you go back to cook your own breakfast, you smile down at it, “Obviously you haven’t watched my games.”

“I was fifteen.” she objects, “I watched them. What I mean, is that I’m afraid you’ll become a murdering machine again.”

“That’s what all the victors are, not just me. Look back at anyone’s games from this district and you’ll see that.” you pop a strawberry into your mouth, “And it’s not like there’s much to lose, either.”

“This big old house?” she proposes, “Me?”

Tanith has uncomfortably clung onto you like a parental figure. She came straight from the foster care herself, an orphan. Academy took her when she turned eight, because obviously no one would miss her. She was just as deadly as you were, when she turned seventeen. You hand picked her yourself, even though there were ‘better candidates’ for it.

She’s your first winner, like how Zavian is your second. You were sure to keep him out of the same games with Tanith, knowing that it would screw the whole system. You’re fond of them equally, but unlike Zavian--who was eager to get away from you as fast as possible--Tanith has stuck around.

Take today as one of the many examples.

“I like how the house was your first priority to say.”

“You speak about this place like it’s a home base.” she reasons, “You seem to like it more than me, what can I say?”

You go ahead and plate all of your food, turning off the stove but leaving the pan. If you put it under water so soon, the metal will warp from the temperature change, and ruin it. It won’t sit right ever again.

You stand opposite of Tanith, leaning against the counter as you eat, “I wouldn’t say I like it more than you, that seems like an overstatement.” you decide to change the conversation, bored of this one, “Should I be worried about anyone else coming to visit?”

“Enobaria was.” Tanith says, picking at her egg, “She wanted to come and be the one to harass you about volunteering. I told her that I’d take the blow.”

“Smart girl.” you say, stabbing your fork into your egg, walking as the yolk runs out, and straight to your toast. The berries are long gone, “Well, I guess she’ll find out when I volunteer.”

“What’s the point of it, anyway?” she asks, “I mean, you have everything you could have wanted, right?”

“You and I don’t think the same.” you say, “You remind me of myself, back when I was on my victory tour.”

She gives you a confused look, “Is that compliment?”

“I’m more or less calling you humble.”

“Thanks…”

“And mushy, you’re an overthinker. You like the simple things, you won and now you’re done, right? You’re not bothered by the fact that you’re just another face, another name among this crowd of victors.” you take your time eating between sentences, “Me, on the other hand--who would give up the opportunity to be a living legend?”

She hums, nodding a little bit, not knowing what to say. It’s a rhetorical question, there’s a ton of people that have passed on this. But the idea is way too tempting. Possibly double the cash, and you literally get put into the books for not surviving once, but twice? The Capitol citizens love you now, wait until later.

You finish your breakfast quickly, taking your and Tanith’s plate as you move over to the sink, running water over them. Next, you go ahead and place the pan in there too.

“I’ve got to get ready, are you sticking around?”

“I should report back to Enobaria.” Tanith says, you can hear the chair again, “I could come back later with Emi, if you want.”

“Whatever.” you say, heading towards the staircase, “Don’t worry about me too much, kid. I’m unbreakable so far.”

“So far.” She echos.

There’s no goodbye as you go up. By now, your hair is pretty dry. In the bathroom attached to your bedroom, you go ahead and get ready now. You brush your hair, blow dry only a little bit, and then straighten. When you’re done with that, you curl and hairspray.

By the time you’ve moved onto makeup, Tanith is back with Emi already. Emi is older than the both of you, but she has more experience when it comes to some things. She picks out the jewelry for you, and does some of the harder parts of your makeup. The both of them work together to get you into the dress, and then help with the shoes too.

Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, you double check everything, asking yourself if this is what you want. With a few more turns, you decide that you’re going to get praise for the outfit choice. The Capitol will be impressed with how dressed up you got for it. Others might see it as some joke.

You have about thirty minutes before the reaping, which is when you go to leave the house. It isn’t until you’ve stopped at the door, when you realize that you’re missing some sort of token. You tilt your head from side to side, trying to remember what you wore in your first games.

A necklace, wasn’t it? Given to you by your then-boyfriend. He later broke up with you because of your performance inside of the games, which he wasn’t expecting at all in the slightest. Because of this, you kept the necklace as a reminder, it’s tortuous, and you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it now.

“What are you waiting for?” Emi finally asks.

“I need a token.” you tell her, still staring at the staircase, distracted.

“Earrings, necklace, bracelet…” Emi urges slightly, “Ring?”

“No.” you tell her, “Wait--yes for the necklace.”

Your hand finds it, already dangling around your neck. Another gift, Tanith. Some souvenir she had gotten from the Capitol during her visit after she won. This will please her.

“Never mind, it’s on me.”

You leave the house, closing the door with a slam, since it’s a bit shifty when it comes to closing. After that, you wait at the bottom of the steps with the other two, watching as people come out of their houses, one by one. In no time, you’re all walking towards the stage in one big herd.

“Not everyone can visit you, but I definitely will.” Tanith says, “In the departing room, I mean.”

“Sweet.” you look over all the district people who dressed up nicely, despite the fact that they’re not going to be the ones going in. You catch the attention of a few people because of your out. You wonder if they know deep down that it’s because you’re going to volunteer.

“Zavian even agreed too. It was supposed to be a surprise but I know how you feel about them.”

It’s like showing up uninvited. Like her being inside of your house without any prior warning. You guess that’s somewhat your fault too, since you hadn’t talked to anyone yesterday. You were too amped up about today. It’s funny to you, that you were allowed to feel excited yesterday, but so unmotivated today.

Maybe your soulmate was full of anxiety this morning.

“Wanna know something cool?” you ask Tanith.

“Sure.” She looks over at you, but you’re still staring off at everyone you pass.

“I think I actually do have a soulmate.” 

Tanith gasps, covering her mouth. You look over at her, confused by the reaction, until you realize that it was genuine excitement, “Really? That’s good news! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrug, “Didn’t see it as important. Haven’t heard anything from them in a long time, so I thought they were as good as dead.”

“It’s good news.” Tanith looks happy for you, “I wish I’d come across mine already.”

She looks down at her wrist, running her finger over the words.

“You’ve got plenty of time.” you tell her.

“Says you. You were so worried about it.” Tanith says, and before you can object, she adds: “Come on, admit it already.”

You give an exasperated sigh, “I suppose.”

She smiles a bit.

Tanith helps you up the staircase to the stage, which almost looks brand new. It isn’t though, it’s just pristine clean. Unlike the other districts, two is highly loved. Which means that the entire district is rich, except for a select few who were born in the poorer part of the district to begin with.

It just means that everything looks nice. The stage is white, it hardly had dirty footprints. You watch as some comes across with a broom to brush off the dirt after everyone has stepped onto the stage.

District Two is practically a second Capitol.

This year, no one sits in chairs. The girls stand on the right, in the back stand the tallest, and the front stand the shortest. You’re fairly tall, you’re able to see over most people’s heads. Most of the girls in the district manage to be short anyway, it was just the genes that you inherited that allowed you to be tall.

You’re given an easy escape route, the same as Enobaria as a backup. If your name is called, no one is allowed to volunteer over you. However, if you don’t volunteer fast enough, then that leaves it up to grabs. There’s a whole list of people that are dying to be able to go back inside.

Two people sit in chairs, waiting for everyone to file in and get comfortable below the stage. The first is the governor, a woman you’re not that fond of. She got on your nerves back when you had won your games. Back then, you were taking a lot of trips to the Capitol to have work done on your body. She was getting irritated about it.

The second person that sits next to the governor, is the district representative. A short man with loud opinions. He’s one of those people that you wouldn’t mind being thrown inside of the arena with. He’d likely be torn apart like the tributes are a pack of wolves. 

He thinks of you guys as used tissues. There’s been a couple of times when you’ve gotten in his face because of what he said. Nearly shredded him right then and there in front of a few peacekeepers and tributes. If people think you’re scary normally, then they haven’t seen you angry.

It’s a disappointment that he is the district rep. You wish he would jump off a cliff and die. 

Once everyone is in their respective places, the governor gives her speech that she gives every year. It’s the one about the dark days, a required speech. In the group of girls, you whisper the words in harmony. After she wraps it up, the rep moves forward.

His name is Theo, a boring name. Unbearably common and simple. You thought the Capitol people were supposed to be extravagant. This man is a disappointment in more than one way, it turns out.

“Happy hunger games!” His voice is what you’d like to also describe as ‘average’. Not deep, not high pitched. Average, “Let’s start with ladies first, shall we?”

As if it’s a question any of you are allowed to answer. You know someone in this group--mainly Sorcha--is dying to yell back ‘actually no, we shall not’ just to see his reaction. Forget the tributes being seen as monkeys, the Capitol people’s reactions are just as entertaining.

He sticks his white-gloved hand into the bowl, spinning his finger around while he puckers his face. He’s likely thinking, ‘Which one looks the most presentable?’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ you want to yell back, ‘I’m volunteering either way!’

It’s building up unnecessary tension. You scowl, eyes glued to his hand as he finally picks a damn slip of paper. He pulls it out, his suit sleeve nearly clipping the mouth of the bowl, and goes back over to the expensive microphone. He pulls off the black tape, and reads over the name.

“Tanith Nuova!” he smiles widely, looking over towards the girl section.

How funny, your own tribute getting called out. It’s a sign. If you didn’t have your mind made up before, you do now.

“I volunteer!” your voice rings out, no one is surprised.

You slide out of the section of girls, along the way, Tanith holds out her hand, and you slap it for a high-five. A small smirk appears over your face as you gracefully go to where you need to stand. One look at the choir of girls, and you can see that you’re nowhere near out of place with how you’re dressed. Plenty of people look like they’re also ready to head back to the Capitol.

Theo doesn’t look too thrilled, his face puckers again as he heads to the microphone, “(Y/n) Rosecelli for our girl.”

He moves over to the boys now, doing the exact same thing that he did the first time. You glare at him out of annoyance. You manage to catch the eyes of Brutus to see he’s shifting on his feet, clearly fed up with this too.

Theo finally gets to the point of it, “Cobalt Struyk--”

He barely gets out the last name when Brutus’ voice overpowers him, “I volunteer.”

Brutus comes over, standing in front of the boys bowl. Theo, scowling and hinting at the beginning of a temper tantrum, motions to the two of you, not even bothering to introduce Brutus.

You hold your hand out for Brutus, and he gives you a smirk as he takes it. Once you have a hold of each other, you turn towards the cameras, holding up your intertwined fingers, a giant grin on the both of your faces.

Two volunteers, it’s unsurprising to the entire nation. They’re expecting volunteers, but they definitely weren’t anticipating those who would step forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Quarter Quell!” Theo says after he managed to pull himself together. He skips the bit about shaking hands, and the two of you are then escorted off of the stage.

You begin in the direction of the departing room, noticing how the peacekeepers follow you and Brutus tightly. By the time you get to the building, Tanith and Zavian are already there, in your room.

“What’s with them being so stuffy?” you ask once the door shuts behind you.

“I heard a few districts are getting out of hand.” Zavian leans on the arm of the couch, “I guess it’s better safe than sorry.”

Another reason why you don’t like that Katniss girl, look at the mess she’s made of everything. It was fine before she came along, fucked up the process. Should’ve gotten over the fact that both of them couldn’t win. It’s not like Peeta was a use anyway. Like you’ve said before, deadweight on her fragile, little girl shoulders.

“Well, this is goodbye.” Zavian says, “Thanks for mentoring me.”

Tanith elbows him, giving him a glare, “You could at least be a little sympathetic, douchebag.”

He raises his eyebrows, “That’s a new one, what else are you gonna call me?”

For a second, they’re staring at each other. And then, Tanith grabs her arm like it’s going to detach itself. You watch in awe as she holds it out, looking down at the words.

“Oh, this is unbelievable.” Tanith now looks like her arm can detach, “I’ve been paired with a moron.”

Zavian doesn’t look that phased, taking one look at his arm, and then shrugging. Almost like nothing that went on in front of you, actually happened, he looks at you again, “Good luck in there, you’ll need it. Twenty-three people to fend off? May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Tanith isn’t very good at brushing it off, but she knows her time is limited. She comes over, holding her arms out like a child. You hug her, for her own sake and squeeze her tightly.

“Will you actually use the necklace as a token?” she asks.

“Well, I need something.” you say, “It’s better than nothing.”

“I’ll be rooting for you.” She pulls away, “Thank you for being the greatest person, ever.”

“Cheesy, she hates it.” Zavian comments, laughing a little to himself, “Look at the look on her face.”

Tanith pretends not to hear him, “I know she’s not fond of affection but--” she backs away entirely, “--you should know that a lot of the victors do like you. Truly. Sorcha and a few of the other’s won’t say it, but they love you. We all do.”

You give her a smile, “Thanks.”

“I’ll send anything that you need.” she says, “Make plenty of allies. Be ruthless.”

She’s quoting you. Those are the exact words you said to her last, before she was off to the hovercraft. It’s funny how they’ve stuck with her this long. They must echo inside of her mind like an empty chamber.

“I will, I promise.” you take in a deep breath.

The doors open, “Time’s up, time for the train.”

You look over the two people that decided to visit you, and you open your arms one last time. Tanith comes over willingly, and it takes Zavian a moment before he realizes that it’s extended to him too.

“You two are my pride and joys. Two of my biggest achievements, really. I’ll be back soon, and then you guys can praise me all you want.”

“Get off of me.” Zavian laughs, pushing away now.

“Bye.” you tell them firmly, before turning around and heading towards the peacekeepers.

One of them presses their hand to your lower back, guiding you to the car where Theo and Brutus await. Theo goes in first, since he’s royalty. Next is you, and Brutus nearly weighs the entire car down when he steps inside.

Theo begins muttering about something, you’re not entirely sure if you’re supposed to be listening or not. You want to tell him to shut up, but Brutus beats you to it. Theo glares, you can see him mouth the word ‘ungrateful’ and then stares out of the window for the rest of the time.

When the ride is over, you purposely hold onto Brutus, making him wait, “Open the door for us, Theo.”

He looks over like you just insulted his mother, “Huh?”

“I said, open the door for us. This is our spotlight, after all.” you motion, “Go ahead, before the peacekeepers do it first.”

Brutus is smiling, and he pushes Theo towards the door forcefully. Theo doesn’t like this in the slightest, popping open the door, and holding it open for you and Brutus. Brutus lets you go first, and you step out of the car carefully, holding onto your dress.

Out of the car now, Theo leads you up to the train station. Around you guys are a bunch of peacekeepers still, getting you up to the platform, and then taking on an automatic position behind you guys.

You take your time, waving with a smile at the thought of the fact that the next time you’ll be here, you’re going to be a two-timed victor.

–

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[sunlightdances]

take my hand (when you can’t see the light)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Rating: PG-13 for like, 2 swears. Summary: Dean plays the knight in shining armor when you meet him by chance. Turns out you’ll meet him several more times. Everything happens for a reason, right? Author’s Note: This was supposed to be posted on Valentine’s Day, but we all know how I am with deadlines. Have some fluffy Dean to make up for it. Last year’s Valentine’s fic is here, but is unrelated and you don’t need to read that to like this one! Please excuse any tense issues - I changed it back to second person after a read through, so there might be some errors. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites including Wattpad, AO3, or other archiving sites without my permission! I don’t own Dean, Supernatural, or any other related characters. I also don’t own “Forever on Your Side” by Needtobreathe, which I used for the title.

It’s freezing outside, and your car is running on fumes.

You curse yourself for not having the forethought to get gas a few states ago when it was relatively warmer, and it just adds to the irritation buzzing through your veins.

Pulling up next to the last available gas pump, you jump out of the car and swipe your card. The machine beeps, and tells you your card can’t be read. Your stomach drops when you try to think about how much money is left in your account. You swear you had enough to get through this trip.

You swipe again, and this time it says, please see the cashier. “Oh, fuck you,” you groan, and the person on the other side of the pump from you looks up, startled.

“Sorry, not you.” You mutter, and feel your face burning as you quickly turn away and head inside to figure out why your card isn’t working.

Inside, you give some sob story about driving across the country, but the teenager behind the counter clearly doesn’t care. You don’t blame him, but it doesn’t help your situation. That’s until a hand sneaks around you from behind and places a credit card on the counter.

“Put it on this one along with pump eight.” A deep voice says, and you stiffen when you feel a distinctly male presence at your back.

“You don’t have to do that--” You start to say, looking over your shoulder to see the man from outside behind you. He backs up a few steps and you feel like you can breathe again.

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs.

“I have money,” you blurt, wincing when you realize how defensive and stupid you sound.

The corners of his mouth quirk up in an amused smile. “I’m sure you do. Just think of it as me paying it forward.”

The kid behind the counter has already run the stranger’s card through the machine for both of you, so you have no choice but to stand there awkwardly until he tells you you’re all set.

“Well… thanks.” You say, and turn to head out the door quickly, trying not to prolong this embarrassment more than you have to. You want to get back on the road and this is already a longer pitstop than you planned it being.

Once your car is filled up, you sit back in the driver’s seat and check your phone. Ten unread text messages that you delete without reading, five missed calls, and a notice from your bank that your card has been put on hold due to suspicious activity.

You groan - you never even thought to let the bank know you were taking a trip, you just hauled ass out of town the first minute you could. Didn’t even stop to think of the consequences. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to think what you can do - you have a small amount of cash but not enough to get you where you’re going. The bank is closed by now, so even if you call them you won’t get your card turned back on until the morning.

You have absolutely no idea what to do.

A gentle knock on your window brings you out of your daze, and your eyes meet a pair of bright green ones, twin pools of concern. He gestures for you to roll down the window, and you do, but only halfway. He’s a stranger, after all.

“Are you alright?”

You huff a laugh. “I’m the farthest thing from alright. But I’ll be okay. Thanks again for the gas, by the way.”

He smiles gently. “I know how that goes. And it was nothing, really. Here--” he holds out a to-go cup of coffee, “You look like you might need this more than I do.”

“Thanks…”

“Dean.”

“Thanks, Dean.” You take the coffee from him and when his fingers brush yours briefly, you feel it zip up your arm. So cliche. You sort of hate yourself for thinking about it. “I have to go,” you say quietly.

He clears his throat. “Sure, sure.” He looks down at his feet awkwardly. “Drive safe.”

You watch him go to the other side of the gas pump and get in a sleek, black car. You sigh to yourself before putting your car in drive and hitting the road.

You give kudos to yourself that you only look in your rearview once.

.

.

.

After Dean’s been on the road for a few hours, he realizes he’s following the same route the girl from the gas station is, and he feels like a creep.

You were cute, but he tells himself to stop thinking about you. You’re clearly going through something, and he’s never going to see you again.

Even so, he wonders what you were running from.

Physically shaking his head to stop himself from letting his mind wander, he calls his brother. “Any update?” He asks as soon as Sam gets on the phone.

“No change. How long until you’re here?”

“Six or seven hours if I don’t stop.”

Sam sighs. Dean can tell he’s tired, though he knows his brother will never admit it. “There’s no rush, Dean. We’re just-- waiting. Take a break, get some sleep.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you soon. Call me if anything changes.”

He tosses the phone in the passenger seat after he hangs up and pushes the image of Sam alone at a hospital out of his mind, and pushes it even farther away knowing it’s Jody they’re waiting on, Jody who didn’t even get hurt from a job, but was in a car accident.

Surgery went perfectly, but until she wakes up, they don’t know much else.

It’s a shitty way to spend Valentine’s Day.

He puts it out of his mind the best he can and concentrates on the road. That’s when he notices a familiar car on the side of the road, flashers on.

He frowns. He paid for your gas himself, so he knows you’re not out of gas. Unless something else is wrong with the car. Weighing it for a few seconds, he pulls over behind you, not too close, and tells himself to stop overthinking it before he gets out.

Her door is already open by the time he gets close, and he sends you a small smile when you notice him.

“I just want you to know I’m not following you,” he says, and then quickly continues, “and I know that’s exactly what someone following you would say.”

You laugh, but it’s a little watery. “You seem to show up right when I need help, though.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I-- the car is fine. I just needed to stop for a few minutes.”

He sees the tear tracks on your cheeks but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to do anything to make you more upset.

“Valentine’s Day really blows.” You say finally, and Dean laughs, your words echoing his own thoughts.

“Definitely.” Dean opens his mouth to keep talking but his phone rings, shattering the moment. “Sorry, hang on--” He digs his phone out of his pocket, seeing Sam’s name flashing on the screen. “Yeah?”

“She’s awake. Going to pull through.”

The relief Dean feels is physical. He lets out a sigh and the tension seeps off him. “Good. That’s-- kick ass, dude. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hangs up and looks back to you, an apology on his face.

“I have to go. If you’re okay…”

“I’ll be fine, Dean. Thanks again.” You say, a little sad maybe, but the sorrow that was on your face when he first saw you on the side of the road isn’t there anymore. You tell him your name, “-- by the way, just in case we run into each other again,” and then with a wink, you’re back in your car.

Dean is a little awestruck, but with another laugh to himself shaking his head, he gets back in the Impala and continues on, finding himself wishing the passenger seat wasn’t empty.

.

.

.

You make it across the state again before you stop for food. Only a bit of cash left, you decide to go to the closest grocery store and get something from the ready-to-go section instead of going the fast food route.

You feel a little better. You’re still getting texts and ignoring calls from your now ex-boyfriend, but you’re finding it easier and easier to press the reject button every time. Your heart doesn’t hurt quite as much.

Digging through your wallet for cash as you walk through the doors of the store, you run right into a solid mass of a person, an oof leaving your mouth as you regain your balance.

A rough voice says your name, and panic rushes through you before you realize who it is.

“Dean?”

“Now who’s stalking who?” He asks, tone light, corners of his mouth twitching.

“This is getting a little weird, dude.”

“You’re telling me,” he agrees, and your eyes shift to the flowers in his hand.

For some reason you feel a little bitter about it. It’s Valentine’s Day. Of course he’s buying flowers for someone. A guy who looks like that? Who buys strangers coffee and gas? Definitely not single.

“Late gift pickup?” You ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, “For a friend, yeah. She was in an accident. On my way to see her.”

“Oh,” you feel like a total jerk. “Sorry to hear that.”

“She’s going to be okay. But thank you.”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you, but this time it’s your phone that breaks the silence. “Oh, for fuck’s sake--” you say, pulling your phone out just to turn it off. You’re so tired of this.

“Someone special?” He asks, wry, and feels relieved when you laugh, even though it’s more distressed than anything else.

“Unfortunately.” You don’t know why, but you feel like telling him everything. You didn’t tell anyone before you left except your roommate, so she wouldn’t think you were murdered or something. “Came to my boyfriend’s to surprise him for Valentine’s. Turns out he found someone else to spend the day with.”

Dean winces. “What a dick.”

“I packed up pretty much everything I owned and just… left. I moved to that town because of him. I had my job because of him. I just had to get out of there.” You swallow hard, feeling like you’re going to cry again. “I have no idea where I’m going to go and my card got turned off. I’ve got a hundred dollars to my name.” You sigh, meeting his eyes. “Sorry - you have a friend literally in the hospital. I shouldn’t be complaining.”

Dean’s eyes are so intense as he takes in what you’ve told him. You wonder if he knows he’s got this effect on people.

“Come with me.” He says. He too, looks a little surprised.

“What?”

“You can stay with me. Since you don’t have anywhere else to go. I just have to stop at the hospital first, if you don’t mind going with me--” He shakes his head, “Sorry, I-- we don’t know each other. But I have a house, a big house, and there’s extra room if you need it. At least until you’ve got some cash again.”

You hesitate, of course - he’s a stranger. But-- something tells you that you can trust him, and you have no other options, really.

“Okay.”

Dean smiles. “Okay.”

.

.

.

This is probably, easily, one of the stupidest things Dean has ever done.

Sam is going to give him so much shit, but as he looks in his rearview to check that you’re still behind him, he can’t help but smile when you give him a little wave.

You pull into the parking space next to him at the hospital, and he gestures for you to follow him through the large double doors at the entrance.

Inside, he finds the room number Sam sent him, and knocks lightly on the door when he gets there.

“Dean,” Jody says quietly from the bed, her voice a little rough.

“Hi,” He says, grinning at her. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Sam said you drove all night to get here.”

“Was finishing up--” He stops, remembering your presence at his back, “-- a job. Otherwise I would have been here sooner.”

Sam clears his throat. “Got anything else you want to share?”

You snicker, and Dean bites back his smile. God, what is it about you that makes him feel lighter than he has in years?

“Hi,” you say softly, introducing yourself.

“She needs somewhere to stay for a few days.” Dean says, hoping his tone is firm enough that he’s not going to get shit about this from his brother.

After some small talk and a few pointed looks from Jody, she announces that she’s tired and that Sam and Dean should go get some rest. Dean turns to you.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” you say, “too many hours on the road.”

Dean is the last one to lean in and give Jody a hug, and after a second’s hesitation, he grabs a single flower out of the bouquet he got her.

“Smart guy,” Jody whispers, and Dean rolls his eyes playfully.

.

.

.

You can’t believe this place.

This is where Dean lives. With his brother. This giant, amazing place.

You have a thousand questions, and Dean promised he’d answer a few, but more than anything you need to take a nap.

You do, and when you wake up, there’s a single red rose on the table by your bed.

Happy Valentine’s Day - DW

A giddy, schoolgirl-like feeling comes over you as you read the note, and you find yourself feeling excited and hopeful for the first time since you left your house in a heartbroken daze. It feels like years ago.

When you find your way to the kitchen and see Dean and his brother there waiting for you, near identical smiles on their faces, you start to think you could get used to this.

The unknown doesn’t feel as scary as it did yesterday.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #spn reader insert

[omnivorousshipper]

Shobbs: Adventures in Rescuing

This was requested by anon here

Summary: In the middle of the night, Deckard receives a phone call. Apparently, Hobbs had gotten himself into a sticky situation and it's up to Deckard to save him. He just hopes he's not too late

Deckard leaned back into his plush armchair, carefully balancing his tablet on the arm of the chair as he tucked his legs under him. Once settled, he spread a blanket over himself, picked up his tablet, and readjusted the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. On the end table next to him sat a steaming cup of tea, heavily doused with honey.

This was one of the first nights Deckard had had to himself. No MI6 agents knocking on his door, no little siblings bugging him for attention, and no bad guys trying to kill him. Deckard didn’t mind his chaotic lifestyle, but sometimes it was nice to have a little break and catch up on some reading.

Reaching for his cup of tea, his hand stilled when he heard his phone go off.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Deckard sighed and let his head fall back for a moment before lifting it once again to look down at his phone, which laid next to the cup. For a second, Deckard considered ignoring the call, but knowing who he was related to, he decided that would be a bad idea.

His hand moved towards the phone slowly, almost as if he was about to pick up a venomous snake. Finally, his fingers wrapped around the cool metal and strong vibrations as the phone kept ringing. Looking at the screen, Deckard raised an eyebrow.

Unknown number.

Nobody, other than the people already stored in his phone, should have his number. Whoever it was calling him had a lot of explaining to do. Rolling his eyes, he finally picked up after a few rings, and gruffly answered.

“Shaw.”

“Oh thank god, I never thought you’d answer. Let me tell you, hearing your voice, it’s like hearing an angel’s. No. Like hearing God’s voice himself. Well, if you believe in stuff like that. Myself, not so much. I like believing in stuff I can touch, you know? Like chimichangas-”

Deckard hung up.

And his phone immediately started ringing again.

Even though he knew it was going to be a bad idea, Deckard sighed and picked up again. But before the other person could talk, Deckard growled out a warning.

“If you don’t get to the point right this second, I will find you and force feed you your own bollocks.”

There was a beat of silence before the other person started speaking, much slower and subdued this time.

“Okay, yeah. Totally understand.”

“Now, who the bloody hell are and what do you want?”

“Agent Locke, CIA,” the other man answered happily. “And let me just say, it’s an honor to finally be able to talk to you Deckard. Can I call you Deckard? Great! So, I have a favor to ask of you!”

Taking the phone away from his ear, Deckard rubbed the bridge of his nose, nearly dislodging his glasses. He knew he should hang up. It would be the easiest and simplest way to avoid a headache. But if the man was actually CIA and was able to contact him, something must be up.

Bringing the phone back up to his ear, Deckard was able to hear the tail end of Locke’s tangent.

“-but they said no, even though I told them it was a good idea. Why does nobody listen to me? I get results! I get things done! So what if there’s a little blood spilled along the way? It’s part of the job!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Deckard sighed, feeling his patience close to snapping.

“Your good ol’ buddy, Luke Hobbs of course! Although, he prefers to be called Rebbeca. I came up with that name, you know? He loves it ‘cause we’re best friends and-”

“What about Hobbs, you absolute tit?” Deckard hissed.

“See, that’s where you come in. I sent him after a few baddies in Belgium and all we’ve gotten from him in the last twenty-four hours is radio silence,” Locke blurted out, not seeming to take a breath at all as he relayed the information to Deckard. “And I don’t have any guys in Belgium to help him out, you know, with waffles and chocolate being the only things in Belgium. So, I was hoping you’d go in and help him out?”

Deckard had to resist the urge to rub the bridge of his nose again. And then gave up and rubbed his temple instead.

“You mean to tell me, the CIA doesn’t have anyone who can help an agent who could possibly be taken hostage?”

“Yeah,” Locke sheepishly responded. “That’s basically it.”

“All of you Americans are idiots,” Deckard grumbled.

“And talking about idiot Americans, Hobbs still needs help. Probably. If he’s not already dead,” Locke tagged on at the end.

“Jesus Christ, man!” Deckard nearly yelped. The way Locke just casually mentioned Hobbs’ possibly being dead had Deckard straightening his back and knocking his book to the ground. The idea of Hobbs being surrounded by enemies and taking his last breath made something inside Deckard twist painfully. Nobody deserved a death like that, especially a man like Hobbs.

“So, what do you say?”

“Send me the files on the guys he was tracking. I’ll see what I can do,” Deckard finally said, a note of resignation in his voice.

The next few hours went by in a blur after that. Deckard had rushed to get dressed, collect his gear and weapons, and all the documents he would need to get into Belgium in the middle of the night. Taking one of his least flashy cars, he sped down the Channel Tunnel while he listened to his phone read out the files on the guys Hobbs was tasked to take down.

Hobbs had gone after a guy named Mark Hulmes, the nephew of Lewis Hulmes, one of the most notorious mob bosses in all of Brussels. Apparently the younger Hulmes had been branching out and had tried buying some high end weapons from the black market, sending red flags to the CIA. And it seemed like they had a valid reason to be concerned if Hulmes got his hands on those weapons. The man had been involved in a multitude of violent crimes, including attempted murder, but because his uncle had strong connections with the judge, the younger Hulmes got off with only a few months of probation.

Deckard had never really been in contact with the criminal underworld of Brussels, but he knew Hulmes’ types. He was a ticking time bomb.

One that might have a mouthy DSS agent in his grasp.

Deckard knew Hobbs could handle himself, but from the way Locke put it, it seemed like Hobbs went in alone. And while the man was an absolute powerhouse by himself, Deckard knew that it could take only one lucky shot to take someone down. He just hoped that that didn’t happen to Hobbs and the man was just laying low.

“You better be alive, Hobbs, or else I’m going to kick your sorry arse,” Deckard mumbled to himself, gripping the steering wheel hard, his knuckles going white..

The next few hours went by slowly, with Deckard stiffly sitting and pushing his luck with the speed limit and local police. He couldn’t help the images that would pop into his head every few minutes. From Hobbs beaten and bruised, to him screaming in pain, to his lifeless bo-

“He’s fine,” Deckard firmly told himself. “If he could survive Brixton, he can survive some back alley punk from Brussels.”

The statement only marginally helped him feel better, but didn’t stop the darker thoughts from creeping back in.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Deckard finally reached the row of abandoned warehouses that the Hulmes family owned and no doubt did most of their dirty business. The buildings were on their last legs, looking as if a strong wind would knock them down. There were weeds growing up the sides of them, while every window was shattered and allowed the elements to enter the buildings.

After a few loops around the place, Deckard was able to spot a few cars parked around one in particular, while all the others stood empty. Parking behind the one that appeared to be inhabited, Deckard started to grab as many guns, ammo, and other weapons that he could. And it being him, he was able to carry quite a bit.

He had no idea how many men would be inside, only a rough estimate from the eight or so cars he saw parked in front. It took him several minutes to gear up, but finally he shut the trunk of his car, armed to the teeth. Holding his custom handgun, the SVI Infinity, he sneaked around the warehouse, looking for a different entrance other than the front door.

“That’ll work,” Deckard smirked, spotting a firescape on the side of the building and allowing him access to the second floor. It was severely rusted and missing several rungs, and creaked horribly when Deckard started to climb up it. Taking his time, he listened carefully to the noises coming from inside.

He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but from the shouts and loud, boisterous laughter, it made the hair on the back of Deckard’s neck stand on end. People like Hulmes didn’t laugh when things were funny, but when something was in pain. That thought made Deckard quicken his pace, not caring if the deteriorating metal underneath him made noise; he needed to get to Hobbs.

The door at the top was just as rusted as the rest of the firescape and almost fell apart in Deckard’s hands as he shoved it open. It creaked loudly, making Deckard freeze in fear of being discovered. He couldn’t risk Hobbs’ life before he had even verified if the man was even in this building. Luckily, the shouts from down below didn’t stop, and Deckard could feel his heart slow.

Carefully entering the building, Deckard crouched near the railing of the platform that made up the second level of the building. And immediately, Deckard could feel rage boil up from his gut and spreading through his veins. Because down below, he could see Hobbs.

The large man was chained to a chair, surrounded by a group of various men, all who were circling the DSS agent and shouting taunts at him. Deckard felt himself jerk forward as he watched one of the men down below move quickly, his hand shooting out to punch Hobbs across the face.

“Look, boys! He’s not so tough anymore!” The man shouted, shrill laughter leaving him and bouncing off the concrete walls of the warehouse. “And to think anyone was ever scared of this worthless piece of shit!”

Hobbs didn’t react from the hit or insults. Instead, his head rolled so his chin was sitting on his chest, his whole body saging into the chair.

Deckard felt his finger twitch on the trigger of his gun as a spike of panic went through him. Hobbs was obviously unconscious and would no doubt need medical assistance soon.  Clenching his jaw, Deckard raised his gun with both hands, leveling it at the group of men.

“Try it again, you arseholes,” he growled.

And like he predicted, another man broke away from the circle and was leveling a kick towards Hobbs’ head. With ease, Deckard tracked the man’s movements and before his foot was even halfway in the air, Deckard was pulling the trigger.

Chaos exploded underneath Deckard as the rest of the men started shouting and screaming from their friend’s brains spilled all over the floor and the resounding crack of Deckard’s gun echoed off the walls. Deckard sent out several more shots as the group below him ran around like headless chickens, all of them scrambling to grab their own guns.

“Up there!” One of the men shouted, pointing up at Deckard.

“Shit,” Deckard hissed out, and quickly stood up from his crouch and ran towards the stairs leading down to the lower floor and to Hobbs. He could hear several bullets ricocheting off the guardrail next to him. Ducking, he grabbed a different gun and easily raised it to shoot the men who were running up the stairs, trying to get to him.

Their bodies fell, making him have to jump over them and down the last few steps. He was immediately met with a baseball coming straight for his head. Dropping down, Deckard balanced on one foot and a hand on the ground, and sent a sweeping kick to his attacker’s legs, making the man hit the ground hard. Quick as lightning, Deckard moved over the man and hit him over the head hard with the butt of his gun, knocking the man out.

Jumping to his feet, Deckard kept charging forward, meeting another wave of Hulmes’ lackies head on. He ducked and weaved between them, easily dodging their fumbling limbs as they tried to fend him off. Every single one of them dropped to the ground, either from a vicious punch, a swift kick, or well placed bullet.

Panting, Deckard took on every person who came at him, and soon enough, the crowd of minions was thinning and leaving only about ten minions and Hulmes himself.

“Hey, arsehole!”

Shoving a guy off him, Deckard whipped his head around at the voice.

And felt his heart stop.

Standing behind Hobbs, holding a knife to his neck, was Hulmes.

“That’s right! If you don’t want me slitting this rat bastard’s throat open, then you better give right now, you piece of shit!” Hulmes shouted, the knife he was holding pressing further into Hobbs’ skin and making a line of blood to appear. “Drop you guns!”

Baring his teeth, Deckard let his current handgun fall from his hand and raised both hands to show his surrender. Two of Hulmes’ minions grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms tight behind his back. Ignoring the spike of pain that shot up his shoulders, Deckard let the men drag him towards where Hulmes and Hobbs were.

Now that he was much closer, Deckard felt another wave of rage wash over him as he took in the state Hobbs was in. He was clearly unconscious, his head hanging limp in Hulmes’ hold. There was a mess of bruises all over his face, while Deckard could see several cuts and gashes scattered all over his body, all of them slowly bleeding and soaking his clothing. The only thing keeping Deckard’s anger from spilling over was the fact that Hobbs’ chest was steadily moving up and down.

“That’s right,” Hulmes sneered. “One wrong move from you and I’ll cut your DSS buddy up.”

Deckard didn’t say anything, but felt a thrill of amusement go through him when Hulmes’ expression fell slightly at the glare Deckard was sending him.

“You two” Hulmes waved to some of his remaining men. “Search him and strip him of all of his weapons.”

Staying still, Deckard let the minions grab gun after gun off him, and couldn’t hold back the smug smirk that grew larger and larger as a formable sized pile started to form.

“Not so tough now are you, without all of your guns,” Hulmes taunted, his voice filled with faux confidence. Deckard could clearly see his hand shaking from where it still held a knife to Hobbs’ throat.

“I don’t need any gun to take you or your boys down,” Deckard said in a bored tone. Hulmes’ face scrunched up in confusion and fury. He shoved Hobbs’ head away from him, and stormed up to Deckard, shoving the knife so close to Deckard, he could just about feel the tip of it brushing against his nose.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but let me tell you, I won’t be bullied by some wannabe-”

While Hulmes was talking, Deckard subtly twisted his hand and was able to slip his watch off. With a hard thrust backwards, he was able to break the hold on his arms and snap his arm out to hit Hulmes across the face with his watch.

“Fuck!” Hulmes screeched and stumbled away.

The men who had been holding Deckard’s arms were staring at him in shock, not knowing what had just happened. Using their confusion, Deckard lunged toward them, with his watch wrapped around his knuckles, so the watch face was on the top of his fit. He heard a satisfying crunch as his fist landed on the first minion’s face. The second one went down just as quickly, still too stuck in his own confusion and fear as he watched Deckard take down his buddy.

The last few minions came at him fast and hard, but it was too easy to duck down, grab a gun and face them head on. The fight only lasted less than a minute, with each minion falling one after another. When the final body hit the floor, Deckard watched it disinterestedly, before looking up and tracking the room for Hulmes. The man was running straight for the main entrance.

Lifting his pistol, Deckard took aim and a final shot boomed through the warehouse as Hulmes’ body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Deckard didn’t bother watching the body hit the floor, as he was already turning towards Hobbs and rushing towards his still slumped body. Gently, Deckard grabbed Hobbs’ head, each hand on a cheek.

“Hobbs. Hobbs! Can you hear me?” Deckard tried not to let the panic he was feeling slip into his voice. Still trying to be gentle, he patted Hobbs’ cheek, trying to get the man to wake up. “Hobbs!”

“Nnngh,” Hobbs finally groaned after a minute of nudging. His dark eyes blinked open, blurrily looking up at Deckard.

“Hobbs, thank Christ,” Deckard breathed out, cradling Hobbs’ head. He looked into the other man’s rapidly closing eyes, trying to see if his pupils were the same size.

“What…?” Hobbs slurred and promptly passed out again.

“Fuck sakes,” Deckard sighed out. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to drag you out of here, you giant?”

~~~

Luke’s not sure what woke him up; it could have been several things: the blinding light streaming in from the window, the loud voices he could hear not too far away, or the massive spiking pain that was going through his body. Well, it was definitely more in his head than anywhere else. Rubbing his head, Luke carefully levered himself up right, and took in the room around him.

It was a standard hotel room: outdated wallpaper, a bed, a dresser, a door to a bathroom, a door to the outside, and on the bed, Deckard Shaw.

Wait. What?!

Luke had to do a double take and whipped his head to look down at the man sleeping next to him. Laying next to Luke, the smaller man was curled up tight, still above the covers, with a hand stretched out towards Luke, almost as if he wanted to grab him.

What is he doing here? Wait, what am I doing here? What happened? Luke wondered to himself.

Frankly, even trying to remember more than his name hurt his head, but he tried to think back to the last twenty-four hours. One of Hulmes’ men had found him sneaking into one of the warehouses the mob family owned, and had been dragged inside, where he met Hulmes face to face. But, after that, things got hazy. Luke could easily remember the pain, the questions Hulmes spit in his face as he kicked or punched Luke repeatedly. He remembered passing out and the rest was a blank.

Keeping an eye on the ex-assassin still in the bed, Luke slowly swung his feet off the bed, trying to ignore how the world was spinning.

“Hobbs?” A voice rasped behind him.

Cursing under his breath, Luke turned and saw Shaw slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, keeping his voice level. He watched with narrowed as eyes as Shaw nimbly rolled off the bed onto his feet and rounded the bed to face Luke. Without thinking, Luke’s back straightened and he leaned back when Shaw was in front of him. The other man ignored him and was immediately grabbing the back of his head. Luke tried to jerk his head out of the strong grasp, but a sharp pain had him hissing out instead. “What the fuck are you doing, Shaw?”

“Checking how the lump on your head is, you absolute wanker,” Shaw mumbled back, focusing on feeling the said bump.

Luke was shocked to hear the actual concern running through Shaw’s voice and the way his touch stayed gentle, never once pressing too hard and causing pain. Soon enough, he nodded and took his hands away from Luke’s head, but then moved them to Luke’s torso, making Luke freeze at the feeling of those surprisingly soft hands on his bare chest, where several bandages were. And that’s when Luke realized just how close the other man was.

Shaw was practically standing in between Luke’s legs, his face only a few inches away from Luke’s as his brow furrowed as he checked Luke’s injuries. Luke could feel his face heat up and his heart beat faster by how close the smaller man was.

But all too soon, Shaw was pulling away and taking a step back from Luke. And Luke immediately missed having him so close.

“What do you remember?” Shaw asked bluntly, crossing his arms and waiting for Luke’s answer.

“Other than when Hulmes’ men caught me, not much,” Luke admitted.

“Bastards really got you,” Deckard said tightly. “You were completely out of it when I got there and saved your sorry arse.”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up. That had definitely been concern in Shaw’s voice.

“You took Hulmes and his guys down?” Luke asked incredulously.

“Wasn’t that hard,” Deckard shrugged. “Hulmes might have acted like a hard ass, but as soon as I bitched slapped him, his tune changed.”

Luke couldn’t help but match the smirk on Deckard’s face with a smile. Most guys he faced acted tough, but could never really deliver. But when it came to Shaw, the man could always hold his own and find a way out of a situation, which Luke had to admit was impressive.

“Well, thanks, man,” Luke sincerely responded, catching the surprised look on Shaw’s face. “If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shaw mumbled, not looking Luke in the eye and shifted his weight from one leg to another. Luke couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he watched the bashful display. He’ll have to thank Shaw a lot more in the future. However, the other man cleared his throat before Luke could say anything else. “Do you think you can stand?”

“I think so,” Luke answered, a trace of uncertainty in his voice. Sitting up and staying still had helped the world to stop spinning, but Luke didn’t know what his balance would be like. It felt like someone had replaced his bones with jello.

Carefully, he hoisted himself off the bed and stood for a moment. So far, so good, Luke thought and took a step forward.

And almost fell flat on his face.

“Whoa there, big guy!” Deckard huffed out, catching Luke’s arms and helping him stand. Luke blinked rapidly, letting Deckard keep a hold on him and making sure he wouldn’t fall again. Because honestly, Luke had a feeling he would need the help.

After a moment of catching his breath, Luke looked down at the smaller man and felt his heart stutter at the way Shaw- wait, no- Deckard was looking at him. The worry in those deep, brown eyes was astounding as he carefully kept his grip on Luke firm, but gentle at the same.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with so much worry and attention, other than Sam. And thinking about it, Luke wasn’t sure he could remember a time where someone had to come save his ass, take out the guy he had been hunting, and then drag him somewhere safe to patch him up. And all without expecting anything in return. Because Luke knew Deckard wasn’t the time to save someone and ask for payment. That’s not why he did it.

Looking down at the smaller man, Luke couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward and just barely brushed his lips against Deckard’s, causing him to let out a small gasp. Pulling back, Luke was expecting a punch, a shove, or to even to be yelled at. Instead, he felt Deckard’s hand once again on the back of his head, but this time, his grip was tighter as he kept Luke where he was and crashed their lips together.

It was like fireworks were exploding all throughout Luke’s veins from where they touched: from every motion of Deckard’s lips, to the way his arms clung to Luke’s, and when Deckard shoved his chest against Luke’s, trying to get as close as he could. Luke never wanted the feeling to end, but he could feel himself becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen.

Finally breaking the kiss, Luke rested his forehead against Deckard’s, both of them leaning on each other and catching their breath.

“We should leave soon,” Deckard whispered quietly, not daring to break the calm between them.

“Where’re we going?” Luke whispered back, slowly rubbing a thumb on Deckard’s arm.

“Breakfast first, and then to London, back to my place.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“But first, let’s get you dressed.” Deckard smiled and leaned in for one most swift kiss before pulling back. As they both moved to wrangle a shirt over Luke’s bandaged chest, Luke was again surprised how gentle and caring Deckard’s touch was. He could definitely get used to it.

Deckard wrapped an arm around Luke’s waist, both of them moving slowly since Luke’s legs were still doing an imitation of a newborn fawn’s. But suddenly, Luke stopped, something just occurring to him.

“Um, is this a bad time to tell you I probably can’t pay for breakfast since I don’t have my wallet anymore?” Luke asked hesitantly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I’m sure I can find several ways you can repay me,” Deckard purred, his smirk holding several promises.

Smirking back, Luke was going to make sure that Deckard held to all of those promises.

#shobbs #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #rescuing a loved one #rescue mission #hurt/comfort #small bits of violence #fast and furious series #fanfic #my fanfic

[buckysrighthanddoll]

Born Again

Pairing: Loki x fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, hostage situation, murder (of the bad guys), fluff

Loki is old. He has existed nearly since the beginning of time, and certainly for millennia before ever finding the Avengers. He doesn’t remember too much of his childhood, although Thor most certainly does, and he certainly doesn’t remember ever celebrating his birthday.

Loki was not born on his birthday. At least, he doesn’t feel like he was. He was born when he met her. The (Y/H/C) Avenger with an attitude yet a philosophical view on life. She wasn’t a human, per se, but she looked like one. She was stunning, more ravishing than any goddess Loki had ever encountered. It felt as though gravity was turned off when she walked into the room since it seemed so light in her presence. She left flowers behind in each step she took. The sun and the moon seemed to bow down to her; it was as if she was the reason the world spun.

Nobody had ever made Loki feel the way that she did. He was smitten with her, and he made leaps and bounds to attempt to be a good person just for her. He went out of his way to help her and to be noticed by her. He had never felt more human in his entire godly existence.

Needless to say, he was very, very scared.

(Y/N) definitely noticed him. She took one look at the prince, heard one word from his gun-like mouth, and she fell like a bullet casing. While Loki thought gravity turned off when she was around, she thought that someone cranked that bitch up--that’s how hard she was falling. He didn’t have to change for him. He didn’t have to even try, but he was just so damn perfect.

“I still can’t believe your team is even letting me on a mission,” Loki scoffed.

“They say that you’ve changed a lot since the attack on New York,” She responded, getting geared up to get on the quinjet.

“Do you agree?”

“Well, yeah. You’re not under Thanos’ thumb anymore.”

“Do you think I need to do better?” He asked her. This side of Loki was unusual. He was smooth and charming and so eloquent with his words, but now he sounded vulnerable and open.

She stopped zipping her uniform and turned to look at him as he sat on her bed. “Loki, I don’t think you ever needed to change.” The words were simple, yet they meant the world coming from her. “You’re amazing as you are.”

(Y/N) continued to get ready, not noticing the genuine smile that adorned Loki’s face.

They get on the quinjet. This was supposed to be a solo mission, but Tony was convinced that she could use the backup just in case, although she was almost immortal. Most of the team was already on a far larger mission, with the exception of Clint, who was out of commission until his shoulder healed fully.

“What’s the plan, love?” Loki asked. She smirked and shook her head, trying to ignore the pet name that he had given her.

“I mean, it’s a basic hostage situation. I’ll start at the north entrance while you--”

Loki could hardly focus. He could only look at her mouth, the way the words flowed from her lips like a mother language, the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the way she spoke with her hands. He was entranced with someone who he believed he could never have. He had dealt with so much pain and agony throughout his entire life; he was a bad person--how could someone like you love someone like him?

The quinjet landed and camouflaged, and the duo stepped out. She went through the north entrance to create a distraction while he used his magic to pop himself into the building and retrieve the hostages one by one.

There were fifteen in total--all young boys and girls who were in the process of being sold into human trafficking rings. Loki managed to get most of them out before they realized what she was up to. From there, it was guns blazing.

(Y/N) was a badass when it came to fighting. Her near-immortality came at an advantage, such as centuries of previous experience in comparison to these knuckle-heads’ decade combined, and a keen sense of what was going to come next. No man was left undetected, and no man was safe from the hell she would unleash.

“How many children are left?” She yelled to Loki.

“Two,” He responded as he stabbed one of the eight men in the jugular.

“Get them,” She said, dodging a bullet and grabbing a man’s gun. She pulled his arm away from him and kicked him square in the chest, effectively dislocating his shoulder and knocking him to the ground in one motion. She shot him in the forehead and moved on to the next one.

“But, love, you’re vastly outnumbered.”

“Did I stutter?” She snarked. Loki groaned but obliged; his faith in her was unmatched.

By the time Loki returned, the remaining men were dead and his precious (Y/N) was holding her arm. “Are you hurt?” He asked, dropping everything in an attempt to help her.

“Shot in the arm; I’ll be fine in an hour or so.” Another perk to her near-immortality was her uncanny ability to heal quickly from most wounds.

The pair get back onto the quinjet, this time with fifteen children, and (after checking the kids for injuries) they begin their flight to the compound where the authorities were waiting.

“It’ll heal quicker if you let me take care of it,” Loki offered. (Y/N) sighed and put the aircraft into autopilot, unzipping her shirt and pulling it over her head to hold her arm out toward him. He ignores just how fit she looks, instead opting to focus on helping rather than ogling. He makes quick work of removing the bullet, which was thankfully in one piece, and then wrapping it with the nearest first aid kit. She zips her uniform back up but doesn’t go back to flying just yet.

“Thank you, Loki,” She says. Her voice is softer than normal, and he doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline in her veins or if he’s just hallucinating this, but she gives him this look of adoration. They stare into each other’s eyes, and for a moment time stopped. “Are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to make the first move?”

“I’m afraid you already have, my pet,” Loki smiles. They close the gap between them and let their lips meet in the softest and purest kiss either had experienced. The world stops spinning. Time halts. Hell itself freezes over and Loki momentarily believes that he is in nirvana because her lips are like nothing else he has ever touched. It is no doubt that he is head over heels for her, and she most certainly feels the same way.

When she pulls away for air, she feels the most human she has since she was transformed into this experiment-gone-weird thing that she is now. Her eyes nearly glow with love and elation. “And don’t be afraid to do that whenever you want,” She smirks.

“Oh, I’m certainly not afraid,” Loki says, going in for another kiss.

Loki was nearly ageless. He has witnessed some of the most horrific things this universe has offered, yet he forgets them whenever she blesses him with her very presence. He can’t remember his own birthday anymore since he’s far too old to even care, but it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t born on his birthday. He was born when he met her.

#born again #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki one shot #loki laufeyson one shot #loki laufeyson x reader #fluff #marvel #marvel one shot #one shot #mcu #mcu one shot

[fandom-necromancer]

Chasing time

This was prompted by the wonderful @smolandangry001! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: self-neglect, description of a serial-killer-case)

[Remaining time: 00:00:05] [Remaining time: 00:00:04] [Remaining time: 00:00:03] [Remaining time: 00:00:02] [Remaining time: 00:00:01] [Remaining time: 00:00:00] [Victim died.]

‚PHCK!‘ Nines stared down on his hands, back up to the screen where he saw millions of pictures, websites and articles flickering by. He had long connected himself to the computer and didn’t care to put up an act as a human. They had no time for typing, no time for writing down and waiting for sites to load. They didn’t even have the time to blink, to go into stasis for the day or to go to the toilet. Thankfully, Nines didn’t need that. Gavin, however did, and the human slowed him down despite his unbelievably efficient way of thinking and his willingness to sacrifice whatever necessary to fulfil his duty.

Disappointed and weirdly worn out, Nines took the few seconds to shut down all processes that would only lead them to another dead body. They had outsourced finding the body to their co-workers, solely concentrating on finding the next person faster and hopefully still alive. Their opponent was always a step in front of them, always dropping hints for them to run after and deciding to send them in a loop whenever they got too close on finding the murderer. It was a game, a perfidious game that played with the life of people.

It chiselled away on their nerves and with every new victim turning up there was less hope they would be able to win. All they had managed until now was lose and lose and lose, picking themselves up and trying again. Three persons were dead already, well four now, and every body would turn up with a stopped watch depicting the time of the next murder and a hint to the location. Well, time to send off the gathered data to the other team and then tend to their own bodily needs until someone would wake them with the time and hint of the next.

Nines stood up and waited for Gavin to follow. The man looked worse than ever. Too little sleep, a constant headache too high intake of caffeine and no free time did that to a body. Humans were no machines and still Gavin tried his best to be one, to force himself to functionality. It would be remarkable hadn’t it been his friend and partner wrecking himself in front of him.

‘We did what we could’, he tried to soothe the man as he stood up and shakily walked over to the android. ‘We’ll get him the next time.’ ‘We won’t’, Gavin shook his head weakly. ‘He wants to wear us down. And phck me is he succeeding.’ ‘Gavin. Trust me. We’ll get him next time. You need sleep. Me too. Come on.’ ‘’M coming, toaster.’

Nines guided the human to the old, now unused android booths and stepped into the one he had taken for himself to charge and go into stasis the minimum time required. Gavin had brought a mattress, blanket and a pillow with him the next day they found out this was a serial killer and they wouldn’t have any time to lose to driving home. Gavin remembered to kick off his shoes, before falling into his makeshift bed as he stood. ‘Night tin-can.’ ‘Good night, Gavin.’

-

‘Come on! We got it! Wake up!’ Gavin groaned at the loud screams that echoed through the precinct, neither team bothering to waste time by walking over. Nines immediately stepped out of the booth and got to work, downloading all evidence the others had gathered. The human took a bit longer, prying open his eyes and putting on his shoes as he was filled in by someone.

Nines only allowed himself one look over to his partner as he fell into his seat, a coffee already prepared and standing next to a dozen empty mugs and takeaway cups. Then he already raced through the networks again searching for anything related to calligraphy pens. They had eight hours.

-

[Remaining time: 00:00:00] [Victim died.] ‚Goddamnit, Phck!‘ Gavin was more aggravated as before. ‘We nearly had him! We already had the damn paper-shop, how long of a drive would it have been?’ ‘Twenty-three minutes.’ ‘Twenty-three phcking minutes. They could have been saved. Phck. A few piss-breaks less from me and we could have had it!’ ‘Gavin. Calm down. You are right. We nearly had him. We are getting better. Next time we’ll have him. Trust me. Now it’s time to sleep. We need every bit we can get.’

-

[Remaining time: 00:00:00] [Victim died.] This time they weren’t even close. Nines dearly needed a full stasis cycle. His calculations weren’t as accurate anymore, heaps of data had accumulated and were ready for deletion. He was no way close to a forced shutdown, but if this continued on, he would be. And Gavin looked worse with every day. He looked years older than he should be with deep rings under his eyes and shaking hands. He had fallen asleep several times at his desk already, the scarce sleep the man got finally taking its toll and overpowering the coffee. He didn’t complain. He didn’t talk about how hopeless their work was. He just stood up and shuffled his way to the bed. He was already asleep as Nines followed shortly. The android looked down on the human at his limits end. In a breeze of sympathy, he bowed down, pulled off the man’s shoes and covered him with the blanket, before he stepped into his own booth.

-

[Remaining time: 00:38:16] Nines worked away relentlessly. This had to stop. They both would work themselves to death if this continued only one more day. Baseball. 11pm. Not the slither of an idea. His thoughts were interrupted by sudden silence opposite to him. Had Gavin fallen asleep again? He needed him now. These last minutes he could stay awake but- Gavin was awake. Wide awake. And staring at his screen. ‘I got him…’, he mumbled, then louder: ‘I got him!’ He jumped from his chair in excitement, screaming once again: ‘I got him!’, before crashing to the ground hard.

Nines immediately was by his side, checking his pulse, then looking up to the screen. He identified the location instantly and sent it to Connor and Hank. ‘Get a car and drive fast!’, he screamed out to them. [Remaining time: 00:36:02] The drive was fifteen minutes. They would make it.

The same was not to be said about his partner, who still laid unconsciously on the ground. He had pulse and was breathing; his temperature was alright. He should be okay. ‘Chris. You know what this is?’ But the other human standing next to him just shook his head. ‘Sorry. No idea. I’ll call an ambulance.’ ‘No!’ That was Tina. ‘I know what’s up. Big guy. To his car!’ Nines lifted Gavin from the ground and followed Tina. ‘He will be alright, Nines. Take him home. Here are his keys. Lay him on the couch and start cooking him something. He will wake up then. But no word to anyone and now go!’

Nines knew better than to argue with Tina, also the human knew Gavin longer than he did. He trusted her to know what was going on. He sat down in the car and it felt weird as he grabbed the wheel. He had never driven Gavin’s car. He had only ever been his passenger. He brought the man home, relaxing more and more since Connor’s message had come in. He had been there on time, saved the victim from certain death and apprehended the criminal. They were on their way back to the precinct now and Nines knew they could handle it. They had time.

-

Gavin awoke to the blissful scent of onions and garlic sizzling in a pan. Whatever else was being cooked was drowned out by it and immediately the man felt his stomach cramp in pain. He let out a groan and was immediately caught by the cook: ‘So you finally woke up.’ ‘Mmyeah’, he mumbled and looked around. Wait. This was home. But that voice was Nines. Somewhere had to be a connection but Gavin couldn’t find it. ‘What happened?’ ‘Your dumbass decided to pass out after you solved the case.’ ‘I did?’ ‘Yes. Connor and Hank got them. The victim is safe, the criminal is locked up at the precinct.’ ‘That’s… so good to hear.’ He struggled to get up, only to be stopped by a not so gentle hand on his chest. ‘Don’t.’ It was nearly a threat and Gavin looked up to these blue eyes. ‘Stay down. Your circulatory systems wouldn’t take that yet.’ ‘What?’ ‘I don’t want you to pass out again, I just cooked.’ ‘Oh.’

Gavin sank back down into the pillows and watched Nines going back into the kitchen. How the hell had they gotten into- oh. Right. Tina. He would never let her look after the cats for him again. The android came back with a steaming plate of mashed potatoes, eggs and bacon, waiting for Gavin to give him enough space to sit down too. The human already reached for the plate, starved beyond reason, but Nines pulled it out of reach, looking at him harshly. ‘Why didn’t you eat?’ ‘What? Come on, I’m starving over here!’ ‘I know. You passed out in front of me. I’m only letting you eat if you tell me why you did it and promise me, you’ll never do it again!’ ‘Okay, yes, I promise! Goddamnit, let me phcking eat!’

Nines handed him the plate, watching him as he greedily gulped it down. ‘Slow down, Gavin. Your body won’t take that much so sudden.’ Surprisingly, the human listened and started talking between the bites: ‘It keeps me focussed. The pain… it grounds me. And the hunger creates urgency, so I don’t slack on the job.’ ‘That are terrible coping measures’, Nines judged, and Gavin nodded, chewing. ‘Hmm-hmm. I no dat.’ He swallowed and continued: ‘I know that it’s not healthy and I’m a total shit for falling back into it… Having a partner helped me get out of it, because I knew you wouldn’t tolerate such bullshit. But this last case it… It is proven I am more productive when starving myself!’ ‘That’s no excuse, Gavin.’ Nines did his best to sound worried and it wasn’t too difficult. He actually was. ‘I got too caught up in the case, too. I should have noticed. Please, don’t ever do that again. I know we should have asked for help with this thing.’ ‘You are right with that.’ Gavin yawned long and thoroughly. ‘Both to stubborn to admit defeat.’ ‘Promise me, you do it now?’, Nines asked, looking the man in the eye. ‘I’ll never do it again. I swear by your goddamn thirium pump.’

Nines sighed at that and allowed himself to sink back into the couch. His partner was fed and getting better. Gavin was safe. They both had finally time. He decided to message Fowler they both would take time off for at least the next few days, then he allowed himself to disconnect from everything, just being himself sitting here with Gavin. Finally, being able to relax. Gavin was finished with the plate and sat it down next to the couch before cuddling deeper into a blanket, closing his eyes. Soon the human was asleep and Nines entered stasis next to him.

Leberkäse – a type of meat loaf popular in Germany and Austria

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #RK900 #honestly this story is a big mood for me currently cutting back on sleep and down-time #But more importantly I was at my peak German again writing Nines cooking Leberkäse and then searching for the translation #Leberkäse – a type of meat loaf popular in Germany and Austria #well pch you too I guess. What do ze Americas eat? Bacon #Sorry I just thought that was funny no hate on anything here I LOVE bacon

[lucifers-trash-stash]

Run From Me: Chapter Eight

Summary: There aren’t many solutions to escape becoming a member of The Mad Titan Thanos’ harem. All you can try to do is to run and pray he doesn’t find you.

Word Count: 5,515

Chapter Warnings: The beginning of plot, some degrading stuff, some sex talk

Run From Me Masterlist

I hummed softly to myself as I sat on the floor with Alice in Wonderland propped in my lap. My back was to the couch, and I reached up to the coffee table to grab another bit of cheese to nibble on. My legs stretched out under the table, feet swaying back and forth to the beat of the song in my head. 

The last week had not been completely horrific, surprisingly. Yes, I had zero privacy anymore besides when I was both going to the bathroom and hiding in the bathroom from Thanos when I was going stir crazy from not being let outside, but otherwise I was doing fine. He made a point of having Maw bring me a stack of Earth books from the library to keep me occupied, which worked very easily and I appreciated. Most of the time I completely ignored Thanos as he came and went. He would try to start conversations with me, but they never lasted long as I found ways to drop the subject. Ultimately he realized it was easier to leave me alone than to start a fight.

Not to say there weren’t fights. Our main one over the past few days had been a matter of my wardrobe. He insisted that I wear the dresses he provided for me, these long flowing gowns that made it difficult to move around in. Many of them were a halter dress style with an open back. My chest was covered but I felt far more comfortable in pants and shirts. That and I refused to be his little Barbie doll for him to make up and dress as he pleased. 

So he compromised. I could wear what I wanted in his room, but outside I would have to wear dresses. And considering that I hadn’t been allowed to leave his room for a week now meant I could enjoy wearing my leggings with a long sleeved shirt while I lounged around doing pretty much nothing. Besides being nagged periodically to talk to him, it wasn’t too horrible.

Except there was one thing. One teensey weensie thing. Thanos and his casual attire. It was incredibly infuriating and distracting all at once. He would only wear casual attire in his room, and I was subjected to it. Sometimes he would wear a loose fitting t-shirt that would still somehow show off his muscles. Or he would be completely shirtless, and those muscles would be completely on display. It made for incredibly conflicting emotions running through my brain. Which was why I engrossed myself into my reading as often as I could.

I was taken out of my thoughts when I heard Thanos stir at his desk and I quickly stopped humming. He passed in front of the couch and stopped, regarding me for a moment. He was wearing only a pair of high waisted training pants, baggy enough to be comfortable for normal wear. He was shirtless otherwise, his massive physique incredibly daunting. 

“Why did you stop?” He asked.

I looked back at my book, ignoring him. “Because I didn’t realize you were there.”

Thanos let out a soft grunt but didn’t push the subject further. Instead, he opted to cross the space and sit down in his chair, resting his chin on his palm and tilting his head slightly as he looked down at me. After a few moments of feeling his eyes drill into the side of my skull, I shut the book with a loud thump and turned back to him. “What?” 

“Rather irritable today, aren’t we?” He asked. He didn’t even move an inch, instead looking rather bored.

“Well I would have no idea why I would be irritable, of all things,” I said sarcastically. “It’s definitely not because I’m being kept prisoner in this fucking room and have been sleeping on a couch for a week straight.”

Thanos sighed. “Well, besides offering you a place in my bed, I don’t know what else I could suggest. I know you wouldn’t agree to that anyways. So what’s the point in arguing about it?”

“Because I want my own bed and my own room! Duh!” I said. “But you know, no point in arguing about it because you won’t give me either of those things.”

Thanos sat up and gave me a tired look. “Well then, perhaps I shouldn’t bother telling you that Proxima will be here to take you on a walk shortly-”

I suddenly sprang up onto my feet. “Wait what? Excuse me???”

A small smirk crept onto Thanos’ face. “You heard me. Unless you couldn’t bear to be apart from me.”

“Oh don’t fucking play that game you know you don’t have to offer a way out of here twice.” When Thanos narrowed his eyes, I scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that. You walked right into that one.”

Thanos let out a heavy sigh and then gestured with his hand. “Go get dressed. You’ll be her problem for a while.”

I grinned and turned to walk towards the closet Thanos had set up for me. The halter dresses didn’t even matter at this point. Even if it was only for an hour or so it was still an escape. “Mister I-Have-Patience-in-Spades needs to hire a babysitter huh?” I asked.

When I turned towards the bathroom to get dressed, he said, “Even I need a brief period of respite.”

I shut the door behind me with a smile. I wasn’t sure what I had done to earn such a reward, but I wasn’t going to question it. Yanking off my clothes, I stepped into the dress and adjusted the strap behind my neck. The fabric was soft and flowy against my skin. It felt so foreign from my normal clothes. I had a pair of sandals I was wearing already, so there wasn’t much to do besides walk out of the bathroom.

Thanos’ eyes gave me a once over as I exited, and I immediately felt the need to cross my arms over my chest. I couldn’t help the feeling that he was checking me out even though there was nothing to see. What I really wanted was my jacket and boots, but I promised I would dress how he wanted me to. And he was letting me out for a bit so obviously that meant that listening to him occasionally gave me special privileges. 

Before I could make another comment, there was a knock on the door. Thanos stood before telling them to come inside.

Proxima walked through, wearing a more casual version of her armor, which looked more like a regular black bodysuit. She bowed her head respectfully, uttering, “My Lord,” as she did. Thanos nodded, and just as Proxima stood back up to her full height, someone else walked through the door. 

Elsy. My brow furrowed in confusion as she stepped in front of Proxima and bowed to him, only she regarded him with, “Master.”

When Elsy stood up, she locked eyes with me. She gave me a big smile, and mouthed the word “Hi” as she raised her hand up a little in a half wave. She wore a purple gown that made her yellow skin pop, and she had tied her tentacle hair up in some sort of a bun that confused and intrigued me. 

“You may go now,” Thanos addressed me. 

I looked back at Elsy and then back at him. “Why didn’t you tell me Elsy was coming with us? You told me Proxima and I were going somewhere.”

“Elsy not going with you,” Thanos said firmly. 

I stared at him. He stared at me. I looked at Elsy whose smile was slightly faltering in embarrassment. I looked at Proxima, who was currently dissociating as a way to ignore having to be a part of this conversation. I looked back at Thanos.

“Are you telling me… This walk isn’t a reward?” I asked slowly. “It’s just an excuse for you to get laid???” 

Thanos glared at me as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What I do is none of your concern.”

“No it’s cool. It’s fine,” I said, waving my hand as I stomped off to the door, Proxima finally looking over at me as I approached. “No you go ahead, do your thing, you totally didn’t just insult my intelligence or anything. No that’s cool.”

I turned back towards Elsy, who gave me a pained look and whispered an apology. I spoke up again. “No Elsy, it’s no offense to you because you are a lovely ray of sunshine that hasn’t done anything wrong.” I pointed to Thanos. “But you get ALL of my offense. All of it. Fuck you. Don’t wait up. I’m going to live my best life. You know. Tied to a short leash like a dog. It’s fine.”

I stomped off while Proxima followed behind, closing the door behind her. Fuming, I grumbled curses under my breath as I picked up the pace. Before I got too far, Proxima’s hand gripped my bicep, pulling me back against her body.

“I’ll remind you that I’m the one taking you on a walk, whore,” Proxima hissed. “So you follow me, understand?”

I scoffed. “You’re still going to call me whore even after all that?” I asked. “I’m not even fucking him!”

“Perhaps if you had a name other than whore to provide, then I would refer to you by that instead.” Proxima released my arm with a harsh push and began to walk. I followed close behind.

“If this is some trick to get me to tell you my name so you can tell Thanos, then I’m not fooled,” I said. 

She snorted. “As if I care about your feud with him. Other than it meaning that I have to babysit you when he grows tired with you.”

“What a terrible burden.” We walked in silence for a moment as I continued to stew. Finally, I spoke up again, “I can’t believe he kicked me out so he could have a booty call.”

Proxima stopped walking and glared back at me. “Are you done?”

“No. I never am.”

Proxima inhaled deeply and stared down at me with her red eyes. “Why my father hasn’t murdered you yet is beyond me. You’re too much work for a fuck.”

She began to walk again and I followed. “I’m just that great, I suppose.”

“No. Hardly. Only a desperate man would keep pursuing you after this long. And Thanos is hardly desperate.” She looked over her shoulder. “So far my theory is that your only purpose is as a toy for him to amuse himself. He wants to see just how long it takes to break you. Make you dependent on him. And after a few fucks he won’t care anymore and go back to his other whores or find another pretty new toy.”

I blinked. “You’re saying I’m pretty then?”

She shook her head. “You truly are exhausting.”

After a few moments of silence, I spoke up again. “Where are we going?” I didn’t recognize the area where we were headed, and I assumed this was a private area of the ship.

She suddenly stopped at a door and I had to double back and turn around to face her. Proxima opened the door and ushered me inside. I stared around the room, a large industrial space with various hubs installed on the floor. It was cold and expansive, spanning the size of perhaps a large cafeteria. There were also various levels in the room with platforms and bridges between sections that provided a bit of a drop. 

I leaned over one of the edges and peered down, gulping when I realized that while a skilled fighter might be able to land the fall, I sure as shit wouldn’t. Proxima ignored my trepidation, instead gesturing for me to follow her across the bridge. She came to a stop beside a hub and I watched as she pressed down on it with her foot and a control panel rose from it. 

I watched for a moment as she tapped the controls before asking, “Why the hell did you take me here anyways? Did you need a sparring partner or something?”

Proxima scoffed. “No. I certainly don’t need a partner. Especially not you.”

“Then why-”

I shrieked as the floor suddenly shot up into the air out from under me, raising me up a good ten or so feet off the ground. When it finally stopped, I continued to clutch the sides of the platform for dear life, shaking like a leaf as I watched her grin smugly up at me.

“That should keep you from running off while I train.” 

“You bitch!” I screamed down at her, afraid to even sit up in case it decided to move again. 

“Thank you,” she said, smirking. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go punch things and pretend that it’s you I’m punching.”

My mouth hung open as she turned back around and ignored me. Just like that. What a bitch! God, I wanted to be like her. 

After touching commands on the screen some more, a couple of other hubs in the room began to rumble to life. Blue lights shot up from them and holographic creatures emerged, screeching in rage. I quickly sat up and pulled my feet up from the edge of the platform. They were nasty for holograms; Lovecraftian beasts that oozed, growled, and hissed. There were eyes, pus, tentacles, claws, teeth, and I was trying to figure out which parts of them I should be more terrified of.

Proxima, on the other hand, stared at them with a look of boredom. She tilted her head to the side, her neck cracking loudly as she did. She repeated with the other side before rolling her shoulders and letting out a deep sigh.

Then she ran at them. Bare handed. 

I watched in awe as the holograms appeared solid enough for her to land a kick right in the middle of one of them. It roared in pain, staggering back a bit. The other creature tried to lunge at her, but she stepped to the side and shot her hand out to grab one of its many arms, yanking back hard as she planted her foot against its back. A sickening crack reverberated through the room, the creature howling out as his arm came off clean in her hand. When she tossed it to the side, it slowly faded out. 

As I watched Proxima mindlessly hack away at these creatures with only her hands, my mind began to drift back to my own anger. Thanos got to have the time of his life balls deep in Elsy while I had to sit up on a platform with no way to get down if I didn’t want to break my legs in the process. Well, maybe not break my legs but definitely twist something.

But why did I care so much? I pondered for a moment. It certainly wasn’t jealousy. As long as I didn’t have to fuck Thanos, I was perfectly fine with the arrangement. A part of me was more hurt by the fact that I thought I was doing so well earning his trust that he finally let me out of his room. Without being under his watch, no less. 

But again, why did I care about his approval? I didn’t need his praise or his rewards. I was a prisoner. I shouldn’t want my captor’s approval, and yet I did. I just felt so… insulted. I did what he asked. My fights with him were less scream filled and had turned into annoyed banter. I thought that would have pleased him.

My face scrunched in disgust. The fact that I was even upset about this infuriated me. It meant I was getting soft. I wasn’t going to let him get what he wanted. But I had to in order to escape. That was the worst part of all of this. I wasn’t sure what part of my feelings were fabricated in order to trick him and which ones were actually genuine care for what he thought of me. 

“Sister,” a new voice called out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned to the source of the voice. Two women now stood in the room, one green and one blue. The green woman tapped on the control panel, causing the beasts that Proxima was stomping into jelly on the floor disappear. The blue one glared at Proxima, who was currently looking annoyed at having to be brought out of her training. 

“Nebula,” Proxima said, addressing the blue woman. She turned and nodded to the green woman. “Gamora. What a pleasant surprise. Did you miss us so much that you had to come visit?”

“Hardly,” Nebula shot back, a scowl on her face. When I looked closer, she had something going on around her eye that I couldn’t quite make out. 

“I have some concerns from The Accuser to relay to our Father,” Gamora said.

Proxima cocked her brow. “Then why not call him?”

“It’s more complicated than that. I felt we needed to see Father in person.”

Proxima only nodded in response. 

As Nebula opened her mouth to speak again, her gaze traveled up the podium I was sitting on top of. When she finally met my eyes, her mouth hung open in confusion before turning to Proxima and yelling, “Who is that!?”

“Our Father’s newest acquisition,” Proxima replied calmly. “She refuses to give a name because she detests making life easier for herself.”

“Sup,” I called down.

Nebula looked visibly enraged with me, while Gamora only looked at me with a quizzical expression on her face.

“Why is she up there?” Gamora asked.

“Because Proxima’s a bitch that’s why,” I said. 

Gamora raised her eyebrow at Proxima who only shrugged in response. Gamora in a hushed tone continued, “And Father is allowing this?”

“His whores usually keep their mouths shut and their legs open,” Nebula hissed. “This one does neither.”

“The Maw brought her here as a gift,” Proxima said. “He thought a spunky little Terran slut would put up a fight for a few days and then calm down. Instead our Father is taking his sweet time breaking her and all of us suffer because of it.”

“You love me though,” I told Proxima. She glared at me but otherwise said nothing.

Nebula scoffed. “What does Father need more whores for? The Maw meddles with things he has no business meddling in.”

Proxima stepped forward, causing Nebula to flinch and stand up straighter. “That might be so. However, he is more trusted by Thanos than you, sweet sister. He has earned that privilege when you have not.” Proxima smirked. “And I am surprised that you are so confident to speak ill of Maw considering he always seems to know everything that happens even when he isn’t around.”

Nebula puffed out her chest in defiance but said nothing in retort. It was then I began to notice what was around her left eye. It was some sort of mechanical component, and I wondered if it was a cybernetic enhancement. Not too many people took to upgrading with cybernetics, but it’s a huge underground scene in the black market. It showed not only how tough you were but often gave an unfair advantage in fights. Aliens with different enhancements would fight each other to prove whose upgrades made them the most skilled, for prize money of course. I wondered if that’s why Nebula had them.

Gamora made a noise in her throat, calling everyone’s attention back to her. “This isn’t the time for petty bickering. We need to speak to Father. Where is he?”

I snorted loudly, causing them to look up at me. “Something tells me he doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Even if it is urgent.” I pondered for a second. “On second thought, please do disturb him. I hate seeing him happy.”

Nebula’s nose scrunched in disgust. Gamora’s gaze flit to the side for a moment to avoid my gaze but her face still held firm. It seemed as though their father’s proclivities for harems weren’t something they favored. Not that I blame them. I didn’t care for it either. 

“There are ways to pass the time,” Proxima spoke up, shrugging slightly. 

Nebula’s piercing stare found Proxima as her head whipped around. Her back straightened and she took a step towards Proxima, closing the gap. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“We don’t have the time for this.” Gamora crossed her arms.

“If you keep turning down opportunities to spar you won’t be Thanos’ favorite for long,” Proxima said. Nebula snorted at that.

Gamora narrowed her eyes at the two women and shook her head. “That tactic might provoke Nebula, but not me. I don’t care about your opinion of me.”

Nebula growled slightly under her breath but Proxima spoke up before Nebula could spit an insult back. “So what? You’re going off to bother our father anyway? Or go report to The Maw?” Proxima gave Gamora a knowing smirk. “You simply can’t get off your high pedestal for a moment to socialize with us?”

Gamora’s lips pressed together in a thin line. It almost looked like she might have given in if not for the shrill ring breaking the silence. Immediately I put my hands to my ears, hissing in pain at the suddenness of it. Gamora cringed slightly, while Nebula turned to the control panel. Proxima smirked and swiped her finger to the right, silencing the sound. 

Another hologram flashed into view from the hub on the floor. I grimaced at the sight.

“Maw, splendid timing, as always,” Proxima said with a smile.

The transparent blue Maw tapped his fingers in front of him with a slightly irritated look on his face. “I am quite aware.” Maw’s gaze fell to Nebula as she crossed her arms over her chest. His eyes fell upon Gamora next. “Lord Thanos has been informed of your arrival and wishes for your counsel with him in his throne room.”

“Oooooooo y’all are in troubleeeeeeee,” I called down, reminding everyone that I too existed here.

“And what am I supposed to do with that one, huh?” Proxima asked, gesturing up to me. “I got stuck with babysitting duty.”

Maw looked off to the side for a moment, as if he was listening to someone we couldn’t see. He then turned back to us, his pale green eyes staring up at me as he spoke, “Lord Thanos says to bring her with you. On the condition she behaves herself.”

I looked around in fake confusion and then pointed to myself. “Who, me? I always behave myself.”

“Don’t dawdle.” Maw’s figure suddenly flicked away, and I was left back in the room with the three other women. 

Without a word, Gamora turned on her heel with Nebula following close behind her. Proxima looked up at me and sighed, her fingers hovering over the control panel.

“Please don’t slam it down again,” I said, trying my best to sound pitiful. If I could get out of falling that would be great.

She stood there for a moment, fingers wavering before finally clicking the button. The panel I was sitting on moved slower this time, but it was still a bit of a rush as it sunk back into the ground. I smiled at her but she only rolled her eyes in response and walked after them.

It was a start.

------

Proxima and I entered Thanos’ massive throne room right after Gamora and Nebula. Maw, Cull, and Corvus had already arrived, watching the four of us approach. They stood in front of Thanos’ throne, placed high above them as Thanos lorded over us, as if he wasn’t tall enough already. I didn’t feel that same fear I felt seeing Thanos on his throne for the first time, but it was still an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I couldn’t help but smile to myself at the look of subtle irritation in Thanos’ eyes as he looked down at us. Serves him right. I mean, sucks for Elsy if they got interrupted but I felt there was some kind of justice in Thanos needing to step away to take care of some meeting.

Gamora and Nebula passed the three already standing beside the throne and knelt before him. They both called him Father as they paid their respects to him. Thanos nodded, before saying, “Welcome back, daughters.”

As Proxima held my arm, she guided me to kneel down beside Gamora. When she stepped forward with me, Thanos turned his gaze to us. “Come here.” I knew it was me he was commanding, his finger urging me closer.

Before I had the chance to look at Proxima, she let me go and pushed me towards the steps of his throne before taking her place beside Gamora. With apprehensive steps, I made my way up the stairs, feeling the eyes of everyone stabbing through my back.

When I stood in front of him, he leaned in, making sure I was focused exclusively on him. In a low voice, he asked, “Does this please you? Being trusted enough to listen to our business?”

I stared at him, confused, for a moment. Was he trying to make up for kicking me out earlier? Did he really understand the reason why I was pissed off and was letting me be here as a way of rectifying the situation? It surprised me to say the least. 

“Yes, Master,” I said, not realizing how quickly the word ‘Master’ fell off my tongue anymore.

“Good,” he said, a soft grunt in his voice. “The next time you act up, I won’t be so eager to reward you. Now sit down.”

I looked around for a brief moment. “But there’s no-” He gestured to the floor beside him, and a flash of anger ran through me. “You want me to sit at your feet?” I hissed.

Thanos responded back with only a cold stare. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from causing a scene. He will never fucking change. He will continue to push and push until he either breaks my spirit or drives me to snap. 

So, with the nicest smile I could muster, I turned away from him and knelt down on the floor beside his legs. I sat down with my legs folded under me, thankful that the skirt of my dress was long and billowy enough to comfortably sit how I wanted.

The rest of them barely glanced at me. Like it was a common occurrence to see a whore at Thanos’ feet. Almost like a decoration that you barely notice in the room because you’ve been in that room many times before. Just a pretty object, a trinket, nothing more. Serving no value other than to be a display of the power Thanos had over myself and everyone else. We were all pawns for him, whether we were willing or otherwise. 

It made me sick.

“Rise,” Thanos commanded as the three women now stood before him. Proxima stepped back to Corvus’ side while Gamora and Nebula remained. “Daughter, what is your report?”

Just as Nebula parted her lips as if to speak, Gamora spoke up in place of her. “Ronan believes he’s found the location of the Orb.”

If the room was quiet before, this was a step beyond that. It was as if the atmosphere in the room changed. The Black Order now all looked to Thanos, shock and a hint of excitement showing in their eyes. I felt Thanos shift beside me, leaning forward in his throne. I didn’t dare look back at him, because I knew that if I looked back I would see that same deadly expression that had been haunting me ever since I’d witnessed it.

“Then why are you two still standing here?” The question was piercing, and Nebula immediately bowed her head slightly in shame to avoid his gaze. 

Gamora didn’t look as shaken up by the question, but still showed discomfort in bringing the news. “Ronan first wanted confirmation that your reward for the Orb still stands.”

Thanos inhaled sharply. The hair at the nape of my neck was standing straight up. I take it back. This was the scariest I had ever witnessed Thanos, and I couldn’t even see his face.

“I have allowed Ronan the privilege of serving me. He had the honor of assisting the training of the both of you. And I’ve allowed him to utilize the both of you in order to find the Orb.” Thanos paused for a moment. “And now you tell me that he thinks my promises are mere empty words? That he sends the two of you here to ask for verification makes me question his integrity. If he has concerns he can come to me personally and raise them. Is that understood?”

“Of course.” Gamora bowed her head. “I will call him immediately.”

“See to it that he knows of my irritation and pray he finds a way to quell it.” Thanos leans back slightly, relaxing a bit more into the throne. “You all may leave now.”

The group didn’t spend any time dawdling, and I watched as they all left me behind. I attempted to leave with them, but Thanos’ hand brushed against the back of my neck, urging me to stay behind. I couldn’t help the shiver that rose in me as his large fingers brushed gently through my hair, waiting until everyone had left in order to speak to me.

“I was not expecting such a tense discussion. You should not have been here,” Thanos said softly.

“What is so important about this Orb?” I asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t tell me.

And he didn’t, instead rubbing the tips of my hair between his fingers. “That is something you need not worry yourself about. It will be resolved soon enough.”

I sighed deeply. It was a struggle for me to attempt, but I knew this was one of the few moments I might have to lull him into trusting me more. And to do that I needed to make myself vulnerable. Make him feel like I needed him and that I couldn’t live without him. All of the things he so desperately wanted me to be, I needed to fabricate for him so he could tell me more. 

“This Ronan guy wouldn’t try to attack us or anything, right?”

If Thanos noticed a change from my normal behavior, he didn’t display it. His fingers brushed under my chin and gently tilted my head up to look up at him. His expression was neutral, but I noticed a tiny smirk on his lips. “I have not known you to be the kind of woman that scares easily. Other than our introduction in this very room.”

I ignored his last comment. “Well, that was a rather intense conversation about this Ronan and this mysterious Orb so you know,” I shrugged. “Sounded like he’s a bad guy to me.”

Thanos leaned forward a bit more, and I shifted myself to where I was facing him so I wouldn’t have to crane my neck backwards anymore. Thanos’ fingers lingered along the side of my face, drifting down to outline my neck. “Let me tell you a secret about Ronan,” he said with a knowing smile. “He has had his entire world stripped from him. All he has known is the life of a Kree Accuser, and when the Accusers were disbanded after they failed to succeed in the Kree-Skrull War, he held onto that title like a child’s security blanket. He is nothing but a petulant child throwing a tantrum. And battles are not won by children.”

Thanos’ thumb gently brushed over my cheek, grazing my bottom lip in the process. These soft touches were murder on my system. I wondered if he could feel the pounding of my heartbeat through my veins when his fingers touched my throat. Fear, hatred, and a tinge of arousal all fighting inside of my mind trying to vie for power. And I was the one stuck in the middle.

“So there is no need to worry about Ronan or any other being in the Galaxy.” Thanos began to stand up, offering me his hand as he pulled me up alongside him. “Because even if someone was suicidal enough to try to storm my ship, they would never be able to reach you or any of the others before my men slaughtered them where they stood.”

I simply nodded, and allowed him to walk beside me with his hand resting against my back, urging me to follow him. I wasn’t fully certain if this conversation helped break some more of the boundaries between us, but at this point I was too desperate to not at least try.

And I couldn’t waste any more time.

#run from me #thanos #thanos x oc #thanos x ofc #thanos fanfic #thanos fanfiction #my fanfiction

[akingdomtheorist]

KH Catch Up: KH2FM The FINAL PART

THE FINAL PART WITH LESS THAN TWO MONTHS TO CATCH UP. HOLLOW BASTION

"I forgot how to play this game."

-fleeing enemies- "Because why deal with your problems when you can just nyoom."

SPACE PARANOIDS

"So how does it feel to be pewpewpew'd back?" "Is this what I do to people?"

"I give these Heartless a 3/10. Not a fan."

He went Wisdom Form had no pewpewers remorse after that.

"Is this way to the I/O Tower?" "Well if you walk up to the entryway it'll tell you. You may have to go through a few maps." "Well okay that's great but which way is the I/O Tower?" -literally walks up to the entrance- "I'm sorry."

"Why don't they just reformat the computer?" "That's what the disc is for." "You don't need a program to do that!" "You do when they're sentient!" "Why don't they just CTRL+Alt+DELETE the MCP then?" "He's Win10." "Even Win10 lets you do that! He's Win11."

"Wait, did Leon not put the fuckin' disc in the computer? Aerith put it in the drive?! Leons from a futuristic setting!"

-walks into boss fight- "I didn't save."

"Man, he did deresolution him, he's at 144P now. He's like a JPEG."

Poor guy has hit the Limit Break instead of Delete so many times.

"We just deleted System32."

HOLLOW BASTION IS NOW RADIANT GARDEN

I force him to try Assault of the Dreadnought with the ships I have.

And then we realized where the Full-Auto setting was after all this time and he laughed at my agony.

"This is the most StarFox this game has been." "You don't even KNOW."

"This isn't bad. I've played StarFox Assault and that's not bad."

"Sorry I'm gonna disappoint you with the panic." "Oh we're not there yet."

I got to Mission Level 3 for him to try. Just waiting for the moment... He died BUT MY ENGINEERING WORKED SO WELL! We created Code Rave and our new Teeny Ship 'MAXIMUM PEW' to take on this break in the story. After finding out we need the power of Neon Orb all day all the time, we go back to Atlantica.

ATLANTICA

"We kind of destroyed her (Ursula) last game. Right, that's a thing we did?"

"Did we just have a fight off screen?" "Nah."

"She's plagarizing her!"

"Way to go Eric, you really... really leaped into action there."

"Just kill her, you have a trident, stab her."

"Really? We're having a dance-off to save the universe?"

"Why didn't Triton just impale her? Like Eric just did? When his daughter was in danger?"

Now we need to come back later with Thundaga. Except we don't the game just kicked us out anyway.

There was some trouble that totally didn't happen  with the last song.

"Wait we didn't use Thundaga once."

TWILIGHT TOWN

"Oh it literally won't let me go anywhere else. Well at least they could give me a skateboard."

"Hey Mickey-wait guys stop everything I gotta restart Share Play."

"Well since that's the obvious direction of the plot, let's go the other way."

"Touch. The beam..."

"That's my data. That's me!"

Then he spent 5 minutes theorizing the name because clearly Xehanort is a Nobody name.

"Hi Axel. Why should we leave?"

"Ohh... it's just me..."

"Axel's just like 'don't mind me I'm just casually dying here'."

"Oh stop making puns while you're dying motherfucker."

"Aw he just wanted to bring his boyfriend back."

"Alright fuckin' wannabe Sephiroth." He's upset at Saix.

THE WORLD THAT NEVER WAS

"I'm betting it's Riku."

"Oh it's Roxas!"

"What's my dodge button? That's not the button-THAT'S NOT THE BUTTON!"

"You gotta dodge my dude." "Yes-thank you."

-tries Strike Raid- "OH NO THAT WORKED ON RIKU THAT DOESN'T WORK ON YOU!"

He died. Take 2.

He died. Take 3.

He died. Take 4.

Through the power of technical use of Limiting for more magic and drives, the lock on+dodgeroll tactic, FIVE TIMES THE CHARM.

The Two Become One has been obtained. I await the moment

THREE ANTI-FORMS IN A ROW. I made him try Master form and IT FINALLY HAPPENED. FINAL FORM ACHIEVED.

"Alright these mother fucker's got a giant flyin' saucer..."

"Namine's like, 'I'm bustin you out!'"

"Is this to the final boss?" "Nah."

"He's disguised! He's disguised, that's Riku. He's disguised right?" "Not exactly."

"Kairi's just like no, we're not- no, it's not happenin'."

"KAIRI GETS HER OWN KEYBLADE!"

"Is that DiZ? I mean I knew he was Ansem the Wise but I called that like ages ago."

"Is he gonna Luigi's Mansion all the Heartless into that thing?" "No." "But it looks like it does!"

"Organization XIII is real sassy for people without emotions."

"What are his weapons? How is he supposed to use them? Oh they're guns! I didn't think they'd give him actual guns."

"He doesn't have just a gun it's a fuckin' Halo Needler!" "Does this upset you?" "No, I just think it's a little cheap." "Oh it will though."

He died.

The second time around he abused the speed of Anti-Form to avoid ALL THE BULLETS and ended with a "FUCK YOU" to Xigbar.

"Did he (Berserker Nobody) just Minimize- did he just fuckin' minimize? No more of that."

"Oh Kairi just- cats outta the bag!"

"Riku took hair tips from Axel."

"Oh he's gonna Luigi's Mansion Kingdom Hearts!" "No he's gonna reverse ReBoot it."

"Ohh these are all the Organization Members I've killed? What's Marluxia the- oh of COURSE he's the Graceful Assassin."

Now it's time to play a game with Luxord. It was fairly easy though late on learning all the games was fun to watch in failure.

"Of course your weapon is called Soul Eater you edgy bastard..."

Time to go beat up angry moon barbarian.

"Oh what happened did you lose your weapon buddy?"

He did it first try.

"Yeah no Roxas didn't spend eight hours fighting this fucker."

"Too bad it's impossible [For Roxas to meet Sora] but I'm not gonna say it's 100% impossible, because this is Kingdom Hearts."

"Calling it now this is gonna change Riku back into Riku. I CALLED IT HIS HAIR IS BACK TO NORMAL. Back to his Axel hair."

"Riku get your bangs out of your face."

"Riku is a tol."

"We're finally working together! WE ARE GONNA FIGHT SOMEONE TOGETHER!" "Yeah, you are." "YES, YES-I can't shout because people are sleeping-BUT YES."

"He's- oh my god I'm basically playing as two people. I love this."

"Oh his sword- look it has an angel wing! I just noticed that! Riku dah best."

AND THEN THE GRINDING OF 8 HOURS COMMENCED

We are joined by one more friendo who has completed the game. They will be F2 in conversation quotes.

"Oh that's a lot of Heartless."

"You murdered people. You had a choice to not murder people."

"Okay, is this round one? Yeaaaahh..."

"Okay first round done. I've played the first game I know how this is gonna fuckin' end."

"Well he's dead, we can go home!"

It’s victory, or oblivion. "Well I have Oblivion so, it's just victory then."

"Is the castle fucking alive?"

"Oh we Dr. Strange now."

-uses slicer reaction command- "ALRIGHT Sora just, slice a building in half."

He thinks this is the best part, and he's only just begun.

"We're destroying the engines now? Oh no they're giant Death Star lasers."

"Of course this wouldn't be a Kingdom Hearts game if it didn't have you fighting an old man on a spaceship."

"Mickey uses his powers of darkness! No."

"Is Namine about to Cortana us--OH GOD OH GOD ROXAS JUST WALKED OUT OF ME."

"Roxas and Namine shipping Sora and Kairi together just because they wanna hang out."

"Riku, why do we always lose Kairi? Can we put a tracker on her so when we inevitably lose her again we can just find her?"

"Hey Riku do you wanna pick me up? This seems incredibly unsafe, I'm just standing on a platform."

PHASE FOUR INITIATE

"Did we do it? At least this phase? Are we onto the next phase?" F2 "-laughs- Oh ho ho we're only just getting started buddy."

"That looks bad. Hey Riku I don't like what's happenin' right now. This is a solid 3/10 experience for me."

"Okay Lich King wannabe round 2."

PHASE FIVE INITIATE

"Is it safe to use my drives? Is it? What if- OHHH FUCK." "Remember when I said what if you got knocked off the edge?"

"Oh whaaaaaat oh no."

"Let's just throw buildings at him, that seems to work."

"Hey remember how you have that reaction command that's a shield?" "Shhhhhhhhhhh."

"LET ME AT THE BUILDINGS!"

FINAL PHASE BEGIN

"Buddy... buddy... you are not the Aztec concept of nothing!"

"I can Limit Form!"

"Nope, nope nope, NOPE. STOP IT!" He isn't a fan of the lasers.

"Was he actually damaging me during that?? Let's just heal up!"

"You're gonna wanna spam Reversal." F2 "The DBZ fight continues!"

"Press the button as fast as you can." "Oh, OH IT'S A LIMIT OHHH."

"Oh hey we Roxas now."

"I think I did it?"

"I know you're in Kingdom Hearts 3 Riku, you won't die. Or at least you'll come back."

The final cutscene.

"Awww, Riku's a sap now."

"Sora how does your hair stay like that, you were underwater."

"Mickey just, Pikachu'd Riku." F2 "That's just how things work in this world, don't judge." "I didn't know Riku was Mickey's Pokemon Trainer."

"Riku get your hair out of your face. Don't you have a mom that can cut your hair?"

"Who are you? Some Anubis motherfucker-WHO ARE YOU? Why are we in Destiny now?!"

"Those are our keyblades..."

"Oh my god... that's a lot of Keyblades."

KH2FM has been beaten! At least, the main game anyway. I have a few more things I'm going to make him do first.

LINGERING WILL ATTEMPT TIME!

"Why is there a black hole in our castle?" F2 "I think we should go into that black hole."

F2 "Remember that place you saw thirty seconds ago? That is not this place."

"UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...."

"I don't like this."

"I'm not Xehanot, I'm not-I'm not-I'M NOT!"

"OH GOD HIS HEALTH WHAT THE FUCK?!"

He died in about thirty seconds. His second attempt was in two seconds!

"Well that's it for that boss!"

CAVERN OF REMEMBRANCE

-sees the car heartless- "Nope we're not dealing with these fuckers nope."

-takes look around the second room- "Help."

"Help. Help. Hlep."

Yes I helped him, I'm not a demon. No that third one is not a typo.

"That might have been the one time you wouldn't have wanted to revert." "Oh really? Whatever."

"Wait, is this the longest hallway?" "WELCOME TO THE LONGEST HALWAAAAAAY."

-beats first quarter- "Am I done now?" "Oh you sweet summer child." "You know you could just say no." "Yeah but that's boring."

Nothing says the longest hallway like eleventeen uses of Final Form!

"Fuck that place, fuck that hallway."

"Garden of Assemblage? Oh it's a place to redo all the boss fights!" "You're missing some because you need to do the absent silhouettes." "Aaaand we're done with this game!"

I made him to attempt Sephiroth.

"So a tip. When you fight Sephiroth, spam triangle." "Okay?" "While the cutscene is loading, spam triangle."

"Why do you have knee wings Sephiroth?"

He tried twice and gave up.

Well that's it, it's now 358/2 Days watch next! That’ll be all one part

#kh catch up #kh 2 fm #long post

[qqueenofhades]

the dragons on the map: viii

Rating: M Summary:  After the Lifeboat is nearly destroyed, the Time Team ends up stranded in their strangest and most unfamiliar destination yet: 1195 France. With Rittenhouse to stop, medieval adventures to be had, and a pair of rival kings at war, it’ll truly be a miracle if they ever get home. (Garcy/Lyatt/pre-Garcyatt, Flogan, Rufus Is Judging, general Time Team relationships and bonding. Guest appearances from the Plantagenets, for reasons.) Available: AO3

This has not been the most enjoyable night of Wyatt Logan’s life. In fact, it’s one of the worst, and considering how stupid it’s been recently, that’s saying a lot. First, the only thing less enjoyable than having a bullet dug out of your gut with medieval hardware store tools is getting to lie there for eight hours, completely sans morphine or even a goddamn Tylenol, feeling it throb with every heartbeat. Next, your only company is your friend who is still kind of mad at you, but isn’t enjoying watching you suffer, and who can’t go out to get liquid comfort in case he’s abruptly murdered by members of the cult you are chasing through Medieval Times Dinner Theater. And when your ex-girlfriend and your – fuck if he knows what Flynn is – are trying to stop said cult’s leader from doing anything bad like killing your wife version 2.0, and you don’t know when they’re coming back, or what’s going on, because the frigging Pony Express would be an upgrade…

Yeah. Wyatt thinks he’s earned a little bitterness.

He lies on his back, since he can’t exactly lie anywhere else, trying not to breathe too deeply. He’s a soldier, he’s been messed up in pretty gnarly ways before, and if nothing else, he’s always been used to pain. You can thank his dad for that. Wyatt can feel every single one of Flynn’s careful stitches, holding his side together with silk embroidery thread, and to his bafflement and disquiet, he keeps catching himself worrying about Flynn in the same way he’s worrying about Lucy. Not quite in the same way, but… not altogether different, either. Despite the chronic bickering, they’ve worked together since getting here, and Flynn has now saved his bacon twice. Once after the Lifeboat wrecked, and again with this. Kind of rattles his pessimistic presumption that if it came down to it, Flynn would still let all of them (aside from Lucy) die at the first chance.

In the back of his head, Wyatt wonders if that’s entirely true, if that’s what he really thinks, since he’s gotten used to having Flynn around and hasn’t actively wanted to kill him for… well, a while now. Has had to trust him in tight spots, worked with him on the mission to save Rufus, even had a beer with him when they got back, sweaty and grimy and exultant. In fact, there have been a couple moments where Wyatt thinks they might almost be friends, and he… he’s wanted it. And yet, since getting close to Flynn always feels like a terrible idea and Wyatt has several reasons to avoid it, he hasn’t said so overtly or made any real indication that he does anything apart from still 100% hate him. He’s reminded himself that Flynn's involvement (aside, again, from Lucy) is entirely strategic. The team is fighting Rittenhouse, it’s easier to do that with them than alone. Definitely better than jail. That’s all.

(Wyatt does know that this is a complete crock of shit, but emotions have gone really horribly for him recently. It’s better to take refuge in a few delusions, pretend that things are still simple, pretend that he hasn’t changed, when frankly, more than anything else, even painkillers, he wants Flynn and Lucy to come back. Both of them.)

He and Rufus do not talk much. Rufus dozes sporadically on the whatever-the-medieval-couch is called, a low, armless padded bench, though he keeps lifting his head whenever footsteps go past outside. Nobody tries to force the door, which is good, given as they’re completely unarmed after Wyatt sent his gun off with Lucy. Finally in the wee hours, when it’s become apparent that neither of them are going to get much sleep, Wyatt says, “I’m sorry. That I tried to lie to the others at dinner. About Emma.”

Rufus shifts position, rolling over onto his back. Even if obviously better than a gunshot wound, the couch thing (settee? Why does Wyatt want to say settee?) doesn’t look like luxury accommodation. It’s clear that he is weighing how to respond, is not going to instantly lie and pretend it’s fine. Finally he says, “I guess I’m just wondering if we would have been friends if this wasn’t our job. I don’t even mean that as a diss. But I’m an engineer and a nerd and a black kid from the West Side of Chicago who went to MIT, and you’re a redneck military white boy from Texas. It just feels like if it wasn’t our responsibility to save literally all of the known universe on a weekly basis, we wouldn’t have much in common.”

Wyatt opens his mouth, then shuts it. He wants to ask if Rufus really has to kick him while he’s down, but that’s the thing he does where he takes what someone is saying about their pain and makes it about his own, and he’s trying, he’s trying, to be less of a tragedy in that department. “Rufus, if this is about Chinatown, about Jiya… I know it was because of me that Jess was in the bunker and all of that happened, and I guess… it’s a lot to ask you to forgive me for. If you want to just be teammates and that’s it, I – I get it.”

There’s a pause. Wyatt stares miserably at the dim ceiling, thinking that he’s totally whiffed it with the other two, why not Rufus too? They can be the new threesome who are friends and family, and he can be the shunned, fuckup outsider looking in the window but not part of the house, the position he keeps putting Flynn in for comfort’s sake but which more accurately belongs to him. His loneliness hollows out the core of him, makes him feel as bleak and desolate as an abandoned ruin (all the ruins in their modern time probably haven’t even been built yet). “I’m sorry,” he repeats hopelessly, into the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Look,” Rufus says. “Being dead sucked. At least I think it did, because – consciously, at any rate – I don’t actually remember it. After all, you and Flynn and Jiya saved me before it happened. I know that in your first timeline, I died, and you got visited by Lara Croft and an extra on the Walking Dead, and figured out how to work it around for another try. But you remember that happening, and I don’t. And that’s because you saved my life. Yes, I am still pissed about some things, I’m not gonna lie. But you know what? Honestly, it doesn’t matter a crap whether we would have been friends in another life or not. This is the one we ended up in, and we are friends. At least I think we are. You can disagree.”

“I – ” Wyatt blinks hard, tasting tears in the back of his throat. “No. No, I don’t. I’m just sorry I’ve been such a monumental screwup and I’ve hurt all of you and I kept doing it as a reflex instead of trusting you. I have a lot of humble pie to eat and… I just need to make sure I actually try to goddamn do that.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” Rufus says. “Even when time travel isn’t involved.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt grimaces as a bolt of lightning spears his side. “If you want to punch me in the face or stick my head in the toilet or whatever other dumb dude stuff we have to go through to make it up, just – wait until I can stand up on my own, all right?”

“No thanks,” Rufus says. “Because as you said, it’s dumb. You definitely owe me a proper dinner when we get back to the twenty-first century, though.”

“If we get out of here, I’ll buy you literally whatever you want.” Dining out might be a little complicated at the moment, but it’s the thought of just being able to do ordinary real-life things like that again, instead of being on house arrest in a succession of government bunkers and anonymous safe houses, that sends a pang through Wyatt’s abused chest. “Cool?”

“Cool.” Rufus sits up, gets to his feet, and walks over to the bed, holding out his hand, and they do as much of a bro-shake as Wyatt is functionally able to manage. It still hurts anyway, but he manages to ignore it for a while longer. Rufus goes back to the settee, they both doze off, and by morning, when they haven’t been murdered, aren’t sure whether to be relieved about that or worried about Lucy and Flynn. There’s no way to say how long that was going to take, when they should expect them back, or if they’d even know if something went wrong. In a slightly too-cheery voice, Rufus says, “Think they have continental breakfast?”

“I’m guessing no.” Wyatt can’t tell if he’s hungry or not; the thought of food is nice, but the effort required to eat it would probably make him puke. He also has a killer need to take a piss, but doesn’t want to make Rufus have to help him with that. “Maybe you can go look, though? See what’s going on in the castle, what people are saying?”

“I suppose.” Rufus is aware that they’re not supposed to leave this room until the others return, but he hesitates a moment longer and then says, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Don’t try to go Superman on me or anything like that.”

“Yeah. Not gonna be a problem.”

Rufus raises an eyebrow, as if to say that he had to make sure, then pulls the bar out of the door and vanishes through it. Once he’s gone, Wyatt slowly staggers to his feet, and by dint of a clever trick (profuse and repeated use of the f-word in noun, verb, gerund, adjectival, and emphatic forms), manages to pee without killing himself. He peels away the knotted, blood-crusted tablecloth, trying to see if the wound looks infected, though there’s not a hell of a lot he can do if it is. It’s red and swollen and otherwise unhappy anyway, he can’t really tell. He’s glad Eleanor isn’t dead, he really is, but God. They definitely owe him a get-well fruit basket. Or maybe a knighthood.

Wyatt eases himself back down onto the bed, breathing hard. He has just gotten (not) comfortable when the door opens again. Rufus reappears, trailed by a grimy, tired, frowning Lucy, and a grimy, tired, stunned-looking Flynn. Wyatt bolts upright, swears again, and falls on the bolster pillows, but he doesn’t even care. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m – thank God. Thank God. I’m so relieved you made it back.”

“You’re not going to be in a second.” Lucy looks at him with a foreboding expression. “We did catch up to Emma, and we even know what she’s doing, we think. But it – it’s bad, and you aren’t going to like hearing it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Wyatt wonders what exactly can be worse than – well, everything, but tries to brace himself. “What are we talking, or do I really want to know?”

By the time Lucy has filled him and Rufus in on the latest terrible development (Flynn has continued to look like he’s been concussed the entire time, making Wyatt briefly worry that maybe he was hurt, and then have absolutely no idea what to do with that), Wyatt has concluded that maybe he didn’t. “Fuck,” he says. “Thirty Rittenhouse agents? And Emma brought Jess here? To marry Richard and use my kid to – the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says again. She sits down on the bed next to him, putting her hand next to his, but not quite taking it. “It’s – it’s diabolical, honestly. It makes plenty of sense for her, and it might be something Richard could see his way into accepting, but… neither you or even Jessica deserve this.”

Wyatt doesn’t know how to respond. His old instinct to lash out at them and defend Jessica’s honor is clearly not going to fly, and he doesn’t feel that he should. As they all keep saying, she’s chosen her allegiances, but – even for the sake of an organization that this version of her remembers as being part of since childhood, that saved her brother and whatever else – is she really willing to barter her kid, their kid, off like this? To choose between staying in the twelfth/thirteenth century with him for the rest of her life, or going back to the present as a faithful Rittenhouse disciple, having proved her bona fides, and never seeing him again?

(Wyatt supposes the takeaway from this is that he is in fact having a son. A son he’s probably never going to meet. A son who will live his entire life as Rittenhouse’s pawn to change the world, who will think that this time is his own. He’ll get to be a king – is that going to make it worth it? Make any of this worth it?)

(The thought hurts even worse than his perforated side, and he doesn’t think it ever won’t.)

There’s a pause as Rufus, Lucy, and Flynn all avoid looking at him, as Wyatt thinks grimly that yet again, his mistakes are here to bite them in the ass. Then he swallows his pride and decides to give this a try. “Okay, Flynn. What do we do?”

No answer.

“Hey. Flynn?”

“Sorry.” Flynn blinks hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“Dude,” Rufus says. “Wyatt just asked you what you thought we should do, and you missed it? You must really be distracted.”

“I – oh.” Flynn doesn’t take the tailor-made opportunity to gloat, which is equally astounding. Wyatt glances at him in confusion, then notices that Lucy is maintaining a slightly too-casual expression herself, and feels as if he’s missed a step going downstairs. This is definitely not the time to wonder if anything happened while they were out on their overnight excursion, but even more unsettling is the fact that he isn’t sure if it’s just the obvious part of that (Lucy with Flynn) which bothers him. Or if it’s also somehow the –

Right, no, never mind that, back the truck up, up, up. Besides, Wyatt is still working on accepting that things have been broken and may not get put back together. After all the time he’s spent with broken – well, everything, you’d think this would be easier, but it isn’t. Flynn still seems too discombobulated to put together a substantial response, until Rufus is finally the one to chime in instead. “You two know where the Mothership is, right? Can’t we just go steal it? I know we can’t all go home with thirty frigging Rittenhouse agents here, but I could take Wyatt to a real hospital, and then come back to join Flynn and Lucy.”

“There’s no way Wyatt could manage a ride all the way there,” Flynn says. “The wound would open and he’d bleed to death before we got close. Besides, if we leave Wyatt in the present by himself in some hospital, how do we know Rittenhouse doesn’t just go in and pick him off? He’d be a sitting duck.”

Wyatt starts to say something, then stops. Not least because Flynn has voiced explicit concern for his well-being (twice!), and he is, yet again, not prepared to deal with that. At last he says, “I don’t want to split up except as a total last resort. Besides, if we make any move for the Mothership, that blows our cover and Emma realizes we’re onto her and her entire plan. We only have one shot at getting to it while she doesn’t know – yet – that we know where it is or what she was doing with it, and yeah. This eats a huge amount of ass right now. I’m not going to say it’s fun. But I’m not gonna let you blow that shot for me.”

Lucy glances at him, her expression troubled and tender. “Wyatt, we have to take care of you. You’re still part of the team.”

If nothing else? Wyatt doesn’t want to ask that, or know how she might answer. Delusions, after all. Kinda wants to hold onto a few, after reality has bitch-slapped him on both cheeks and taken a dump in his front yard. “Yeah,” he says, “but I think we’ll also agree that you’re all tired of me fucking up things for you. Don’t make me do it again. Okay?”

“Okay,” Flynn says. Yet again, refraining from any of the obvious cracks that are there to be made, which is just bizarre. (Or perhaps not at all, but Wyatt’s still not going there.) “Though either way, we’re probably going somewhere. I said they’re most likely taking Jessica to Chinon, and Emma will tell Richard to meet her there. So some of us will need to go.”

“I can’t ride, obviously,” Wyatt says, as neutrally as possible. “That seems to rule me out.”

“It’s your wife and child.” Flynn looks at him with an intensity that Wyatt can feel to the back of his spine. “That Rittenhouse wants to use for their own sick little game. Don’t tell me you’re content to do nothing about it.”

“Of course I’m not fucking content.” Wyatt wants to be more emphatic, wants to shout about this, wants to kick up more of a fuss, but his chest feels pulverized (in more ways than one) and the most he can manage is a croak. “Of course I don’t want this to happen. I never wanted any of this to happen. But I’m half-dead and I would definitely get all the way there if I rushed after Jessica right now, to – what? Get my heart stomped on all over again? Can I save her if she doesn’t want to be saved? I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’ve tried to do that for years, since I joined the damn team in the first place, and we can safely say that I have totally blown it. Maybe this is what I deserve, I don’t know.”

“Yes,” Flynn says. “You’ve totally blown it. But you’re not the only one who has, eh?”

Wyatt blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into Flynn, why he keeps saving his life and then worrying about it later and saying these things that almost sound like clumsy olive branches, and once again, he thinks it’s better not to ask. There’s another silence. Then Rufus says, “Just spitballing here. But is there anything to be said for the nuclear option? Say fuck it, tell Richard we’re time travelers, and that’s why he can’t remarry? I mean, he’s got his thing going on with Andrew, he doesn’t really want to shake that up, right?”

Flynn raises both eyebrows, but charitably restrains from comment. Then he says, “What? Tell Richard that he has to die without a son, to fail in the central duty of a king, to leave his throne to his little brother with whom he has, at best, an ambivalent relationship? That John then proceeds to arse it up to such a degree that it becomes enshrined in law for hundreds of years? I can guarantee that is not something Richard would have any interest in facilitating, and if we tell him that, we have to tell him his future. Tell him when he dies, and how. Which he would then obviously try to avoid, messing up history still further.”

“Yeah,” Rufus says. “Since you’ve always been the one of us who’s really concerned with preserving history, Flynn. I can absolutely see why you’d suggest that.”

Flynn seems to sense that he deserves that, and gives a sue me shrug instead of answering. Then Lucy says, “We could just not tell him that part. Right? Even if he asked – ”

“Do you want to be the one that says no to him?” Flynn asks. “Spill the beans that you know everything that’s going to happen in his life and after it, and then refuse to tell him? We’d get into even worse of a mess. Besides, if we come clean about that, we’d also have to tell him that we came from Paris and Philip sent us. And while he might laugh off the time travel, or not bother taking us seriously, I can assure you that he would not do the same when it comes to Philip. They hate each other past all reason, and if we get Richard angry at us…”

“Wild guess,” Rufus says. “We won’t like him when he’s angry?”

“Not in the least.” Flynn leans against the wall, eyes darting to Wyatt, then back to Rufus. He seems to be avoiding looking at Lucy if remotely possible, even when talking to her earlier. “He’ll kill us if he finds out that we’re supposed to be spying for Philip, and he’s not going to buy any pleas of having our arms twisted.”

“But he’s obviously going to notice that – sorry, Wyatt, but still – Jess is pregnant,” Rufus persists. “Aren’t they really into bloodlines and legitimacy and all that? He’s just going to accept some random Jon Snow as his heir, especially when he knows he is NOT the daddy? I mean, it’s not like they have Maury here, but it seems like an issue.”

“I don’t know,” Flynn says. “He might take it as a backup option. Or he might think that he just needs a son born to his wife and isn’t too particular about how he gets one. Emma could have already told him about it, assured him it’ll be a boy and promised he doesn’t need to end his relationship with Andrew if he doesn’t want to. If nothing else, it’s proof that Jessica could have more children, especially since Berengaria hasn’t had any. I have no idea where they’ve told him that she’s from, what she’s the princess or countess of, but I assume they’ve made it worth his while in plenty of ways. They could tell him what Philip’s going to do, treat him with modern medicine so he doesn’t die when he’s shot – anything, really.”

Wyatt grimaces. This may be an operationally necessary topic of conversation, but he still doesn’t want to hear it. “So what, Richard’s flirting with Flynn and now he’s gonna marry Jessica and steal my kid? The fuck? What gives?”

There’s a slightly too-long pause. Then Rufus raises both eyebrows. “Dude, I get why you’re upset about the latter, but… why the former, exactly?”

“I – ” Wyatt opens his mouth, keeps it that way, and then shakes his head. “Look, so, what are we doing?”

“I’ll go see if I can talk to Richard,” Flynn says. “I need to find out if Emma’s tried to approach him and what she’s said, and if there are any plans afoot to send the court to Chinon. He’s grateful to us for saving Eleanor’s life, so – ”

“You mean me, right?” Wyatt points out. “Still the one who got shot here.”

Flynn rolls his eyes. “Yes, Logan, we’re all grateful for the sacrifice. Anyway, I’ll try to leverage that. You three, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

With that, sounding very much like the stern school principal or exasperated father who is sick of these motherfucking Rittenhouse agents on this motherfucking field trip, Flynn whirls around and heads out. Rufus notes that he didn’t actually find any food earlier, and excuses himself as well. That leaves Wyatt and Lucy, who is still sitting on the bed next to him, though she glances away when he looks at her. The silence is not horrendously awkward, but it’s a long way from comfortable. Finally Lucy says quietly, “I’m sorry about Jessica. It just seems like that wound never gets to close, does it?”

“Guess so.” Wyatt blows out a jagged breath. “I suppose it makes sense as a plot for Emma. And Jess – I don’t know what she thinks about this. I was a shitty husband to her in any reality, so no wonder Rittenhouse feels like home. That they’ve given her what I couldn’t and didn’t, even though I wanted to. I don’t know if we’re ever going to be together again, but I just wish…” He trails off. “A son. I’m having a son. I used to think about that, what that would be like. Playing catch with him, having buddy fishing weekends, going to his parent-teacher conferences, teaching him about cars, all the stuff I was going to do and not screw up like my old man. I don’t even know if I could manage that now. It’s like half of me thinks it might be better for him if he grows up here and gets to be some medieval king, rather than have me as a dad. How fucked up is that?”

Lucy bites her lip, then looks at him full-on for the first time. “I don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t think that would be better. Not just because of messing up history, but because you deserve the chance to know your son, and I’m going to help you fight for it. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jessica, but if she’s still what you want – ”

“I don’t know.” Wyatt stares at the ceiling. So long so determined to get his wife back by hook or by crook, convinced it would fix all his problems, and it’s only made everything worse. “I – meant what I said to you, Lucy. It’s just… it occurs to me it wasn’t a good time to say it, and it wasn’t what you needed to hear right then, and maybe I’ve screwed up things too far to ever really be fixed. So if you want to say something to me about that now, I’m listening.” He waves a hand and grunts in pain. “Can’t exactly get away.”

“Yeah.” Lucy lets out a breath of her own. “I don’t know either. You – you did hurt me. I can’t say I want to rush back into anything. Actually, I – ” She stops. “Never mind.”

“No,” Wyatt says. “Come on. I want us to be friends again, I want us to start talking to each other about things. I swear, you can tell me.”

Lucy looks at him as if she’s not really sure that she can, and the simple, painful realization that the trust between them has been broken, that he can ask but he has to be all right with it if she doesn’t answer, twists in Wyatt’s gut in a different way than the blacksmith’s pincers. He can’t push, that’s counterproductive, but he tries to think of a way to keep the conversation going, rather than cut it off full stop. “Okay, can you maybe tell me the reason why not?”

“You don’t – ” Lucy looks down at her fingers twisted in her lap. “You don’t take it well.”

Wyatt supposes that this doesn’t really narrow it down, alas, as he hasn’t exactly handled anything well in the recent past. However, he has an inkling what it might be, and while they’re being honest, maybe they should give it a try. “Is it about Flynn?”

Lucy tenses, shifting away from him, as if in clear preparation to be yelled at. Then she says, purposefully casual, “Yes, it’s about Flynn.”

“Okay.” Wyatt thinks that literally any way he’s ever reacted to this topic in the past, it’s probably wrong, and he should try something else. “I’m – look, him and me have had our thing, and it’s been what it is, but he’s saved my life twice now. I guess I can see why you trust him, and he’s been a big help. He still likes kicking my ass a lot, though.”

“That’s just how he is.” A small, fond, private smile turns up Lucy’s mouth, clearly summoned just by the thought of the team’s large garbage fourth party, and Wyatt struggles not to let it sting. “I just – I like him, Wyatt. I like him, and I want him around, and he’s proven himself as much as you or me or Rufus or Jiya or any of us. So if it’s just about you not trusting him, I think that’s settled. More than settled.”

“I do trust him.” It’s not easy, but Wyatt decides it probably should be said. “I don’t like him, but I trust him.” He doesn’t want to go so far as apologizing for being a dick to Flynn, since he feels like Flynn invites and eagerly reciprocates at least seventy-five percent of it, but he looks up at Lucy. “I promise, I’ll try to quit sniping at him as much. But if he starts it – ”

“I wouldn’t tell you not to defend your honor.” Lucy rolls her eyes, but laughs a little, and it feels like one of the first genuine moments they’ve had in a while. Not even in a romantic sense, but just as two people who are familiar with each other and are stuck doing a dangerous job with a difficult coworker, who can commiserate on equal footing and try to shut out everything else for a while. “I know he’s… a handful.”

“You seem to manage him pretty well.” Wyatt wants to bite his tongue, but it slips out anyway. “I mean. Never have any trouble getting him to listen to you.”

Lucy’s cheeks go rather pink, and she looks down at her hands again, that same shy smile paying a return visit to her lips. “That’s different.”

Yes, Wyatt supposes, it is. He glances up at her with a crooked smile, doing his best to play the role of a friend elbowing another friend about a crush, an aw-come-on-you-like-him sort of thing. He doesn’t have the heart to commit to it, but at least he can put up the appearance. Fake it ‘til you make it, and because Lucy deserves something else from him on this topic apart from condescension and critique and shame. Finally he says, “You think Rufus is going to come back with breakfast? I could maybe eat something.”

“Hopefully.” Lucy gets off the bed and goes to peer out the window. “Well, nothing’s on fire yet, so maybe Flynn and Emma haven’t come face to face.”

“Always a good thing,” Wyatt cracks weakly. His side is starting to really hurt again, and his flash of appetite is deserting him as fast as it’s come. He feels nauseous, and puts his head back down on the pillow. Well then. He fondly fancies that maybe he didn’t completely blow that conversation. Where it’s going to go, or how, or why, he’s given up speculating. Not dying is top of his priority list right now. The rest of it can wait.

(He is also thinking about when Flynn is going to get back, and whether he’s run into Emma or any of the new Rittenhouse gang, and what he’s said to Richard, and any of it. But that also feels like something that he would definitely prefer to delay.)

It takes Flynn a while, especially when his head is still going in wild vortexes and he needs to struggle an alarming amount to maintain the keen and razor-focused competence that he is generally known for, to track down Richard. He eventually finds the king just getting up (it’s midmorning, so Richard was definitely not springing out of bed with the lark to attend Mass at six AM) and not terribly interested in being bothered with business first thing. He is also clearly annoyed with Flynn’s lack of proper deference. “What exactly are you doing here, Garcia? Is it the custom in Spain to burst in on the royal presence unannounced?”

“Sorry, Your Grace.” Flynn inclines his head, hoping that Andrew de Chauvigny will not choose this moment to make his entrance and be even less enthused to find him in Richard’s private chambers at a still-unsociably-early hour. “How is your mother?”

“My mother is quite well, and if you really were interested in enquiring after her health, you would have burdened yourself elsewhere.” Richard whirls on his heel, pouring a cup of morning wine from the decanter. His hair is tumbled in his eyes, he’s only wearing a dressing gown and loose braies, and despite his protestations, he doesn’t seem entirely averse to Flynn glimpsing him in this less-than-regal state of dishabille. He sits on the unmade bed, stretching his long legs, and enjoys a few sips, with the kingly prerogative to make Flynn stand there and wait until he’s ready to continue the conversation. Then he says, “Your serving man isn’t dead either, I take it?”

“No, he made it through the night. Not very comfortably, but he’s alive.” Flynn hesitates. He doesn’t suspect that Richard is at all concerned about the well-being of servants in the ordinary course of things, and tries to think how to gently nudge the conversation from here. He knows that it’s only Richard’s – well, whatever notice he’s taken of him, of whatever sort, that is the reason he’s still here, and the king has not called his guards to remove this unwashed interloper until later. Much later, possibly. “Last night, what my wife told you and the queen about the assassins’ guild, Rittenhouse. Their leader, the woman called Emma – I don’t know if she’s approached you. But if she – ”

Richard gazes back at him inscrutably, until Flynn realizes that if Emma has, she may also have warned him that people might be asking about it, and to keep it appropriately on the DL until he has come to a decision. Probably with plenty of flattery. Richard is not the kind of man who appreciates criticism, constructive or otherwise, and if Flynn pushes him too hard into thinking he’s made a mistake entertaining Emma’s overtures, he might double down on them, just because. Still, Flynn feels the need to emphasize it. “Emma’s men are the ones who organized the attempt on your mother’s life. She wants you to marry again for reasons of her own, and you – you can’t trust her.”

“Even if any of that was true.” Richard finishes off the wine and puts the goblet back on the sideboard, then stands up. “Do you have any shred of proof?”

This was always going to be tricky. “No.”

“So how would you know that?” Richard stares at Flynn with a narrow, shrewd expression that makes it clear that no matter if Flynn has caught his eye or not, he is not going to be swayed into overlooking any other suspicions he has about them. “My mother said to me last night that she doesn’t believe you’re really from Spain, and I must say, I’m starting to agree with her. You don’t speak French like anyone I’ve ever met, for a start, and that weapon – ” He points to the Rittenhouse assassin’s Glock, which is lying on his desk, looking jarringly out of place among the charters covered in gothic script, waxen seals, daggers, quills, inkhorns, melted candles, and rolls of parchment. “I took it apart and looked at it, and I see no receptacle for Greek fire, which was how you said it operated. It’s much more advanced than the crossbow, and I can damn well promise that I would remember if the Saracens had been shooting at us with this thing while I was in the Holy Land. Where did you get it from? Who sent you?”

Flynn fights the urge to take a step back. To say the least, it’s the rare man that can intimidate him, physically or verbally, and that’s not even quite what’s going on here. But the Angevins of Richard’s paternal line are colorfully rumoured to be descended from the Devil’s daughter Melusine, for reasons of their hair and tempers, which are equally blazing. Richard’s father Henry used this legend to great effect, and Richard himself is extremely fond of it, telling the story to anyone who ever doubts his ability to cosmically fuck them up. But so far as Flynn remembers, there always came a moment when, faced with an angry Plantagenet, everyone started being pretty sure that it was not just a tall tale. As well, this is only an irritated Richard, not an angry one. Flynn himself was warning everyone about that. He needs to be very careful.

“Your Grace,” Flynn starts at last. “That is… a long story.”

Richard stares at him cuttingly, deeply unimpressed by this non-answer. “Yes, Garcia. I gathered that. Or are you several poxy halfwits cunningly disguised as a man?”

Well, Flynn supposes, that was feeble enough for him to deserve that. It occurs to him, ludicrously, to actually give the time-travel thing a try. He’s hardly been the most close-mouthed about that fact in the past, and witchcraft panics (and the attendant stake-burning, though that’s also a massively overstated stereotype) are an early modern phenomenon, not a medieval one. Heretics don’t even get the burning treatment until after 1400, in the run-up to the Reformation. Richard is religious, as everyone is in some way or form, and he is a crusader who believes deeply that the Christians are entitled to reclaim Jerusalem, but he formed real friendships with his Muslim counterparts and has made laws to protect his Jewish subjects, as well as repeatedly objecting to the crusade’s religious philosophy when it clashed with his thoroughgoingly pragmatic view of things. In other words, religious bigotry or baseless zealotry is not really in his nature; he is interested in how things work on a tactical and strategic level, and doesn’t have time for irrationality or hysteria or incompetence. Flynn says, “I don’t think you’d believe me, Your Grace.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Richard raises both eyebrows. “Your Saracen friend, Prince Ali, the one you said was an acquaintance of Saif al-Din. Where is Agrabah, exactly? It was never mentioned in any of my negotiations with the sultan’s brother or his advisors.”

Flynn winces. As he also seems to recall warning the others, Richard is much too smart to be easily manipulated, and their cover stories have been flimsy at best. Oh, what the hell. “We’re… travelers, Your Grace. From… well.” For once, he actually doesn’t want to be the one to do this, but needs must. “From the future.”

There is a long and very hideous pause. Then Richard bursts out laughing. “Travelers from the future? So you’re lunatics, you mean? Or are you from a traveling fair, one of those charlatans who promise to tell fortunes for a silver penny and get burning bushes to speak with the voices of saints and angels? You remind me of that venerable padre back in Messina, Joachim of Fiore. He was very keen to prophesy that my crusade would be a great success and usher in the fiery advent of the Last Days and the judgment of the faithful, along with various other dramatic mumbling that I misremember. To say the least, he was wrong, but it did earn his abbey a generous reward. Is that what you want? Money?”

“We don’t want money, my lord.” Flynn supposes this is a reasonable interpretation for Richard to take, but it’s also not helping them very much. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is the truth.”

Richard snorts. “You struck me as a sensible man, Garcia. Even if you were traipsing about with a woman, a Saracen, and a blockhead. Why disappoint me in such a fashion now?”

“I…” Flynn tries to think of something he could say to convince Richard, while wondering if he actually wants to do that, and if revealing any information at all could in fact get them (once again, as warned) into more trouble. “It’s just – it’s important that you don’t remarry, and especially not to the woman that Rittenhouse has chosen for you. That’s all.”

Richard regards him inscrutably. “My wife has not given me a son. That being the case – ”

“And have you tried very hard for her to do that, my lord?” Flynn is starting to push it here, but he’s in too far to turn back now. “I’ve heard certain… rumors of your conduct, both now and in the past. If you remain estranged from Queen Berengaria, surely that gives them cause to proliferate? Surely if you were to recall her to your side and – ”

Richard’s nostrils flare. In the original timeline, he was shamed into reconciling with Berengaria after a serious illness led him to reflect on his sinful conduct and hastily abjure it for the good of his soul, but unless they poison him (which, to say the least, is a terrible idea), it’s less clear if he has the same incentive now. In a very dangerous voice, he says, “What exactly are you accusing me of, Garcia? I suggest you choose your words most carefully.”

“I…” Obviously, as a modern man who has a certain perspective on this, and who has batted for the same team a few times himself, Flynn’s natural instinct is to tell Richard that there’s nothing wrong with him, and the church should shut up about the thrall of guilt and terror it exerts on him and others like him. Wants to say that he knows Richard and Andrew love each other and should be allowed to stay together. But while Richard is relatively open about his preferences, or at least habitually returns to them after brief episodes of public repentance, that does not translate into unconditionally accepting them. He views sodomy as a venial sin like any other, to which he seems unfortunately prone, and certainly not as an orientation or a legitimate way of life. Even if Flynn gets out his inner pride flag and tells Richard that in the words of one Stefani Germanotta, he was born this way, that will go directly against everything Richard has heard all his life, that he has taken to heart and believes about himself, and it’s not clear that he would appreciate it. Flynn isn’t going to call him a dirty gay, obviously, but how the hell does he do this?

When Flynn doesn’t answer, Richard seems more or less satisfied that he’s won the argument, but continues to stare at him in a way that makes it clear the subject has not been dropped. Then Richard says, “You’ve amused me thus far, Garcia, and as I said, I’m grateful for what your man did for my mother. But I get enough damned sermonizing from churchmen, and I am not certain that I require your advice going forward. Nor do I recall asking for it in the first place, or why you thought you had any right to offer it. If you wish to collect your wife, the Saracen, and your servant, then I think it best that you remove yourself from my court and get on amusing others with your fables.”

Oh dear. Flynn can sense this about to go badly. “My man is hurt, Your Grace. He can’t stand a long ride, and we need – ”

“I don’t recall that’s my fucking problem.” Richard’s eyes have turned to blue-grey slits. He gets up sharply and turns away, pulling off the dressing gown and shrugging on a red velvet tunic, the sleeves decorated with lions in golden embroidery. He ties his braies and slides his feet into his boots, then turns around. Richard the man is gone, and it’s the Lionheart, the king and feared warrior, who’s staring dead at Flynn and looking like it’s entirely likely he’ll go for his throat. “Was any part of that statement unclear?”

Flynn opens his mouth, even though he knows the best course of action is to duck for cover and run like hell. “Your Grace – ”

Just then, he’s almost abjectly grateful to be interrupted by a knock at the door, even if only because this might give Richard’s hurricane a chance to blow onto someone else apart from him. Then Andrew de Chauvigny’s voice calls, “My lord?”

Wait, no. Never mind. Flynn is pretty sure he doesn’t want to be caught like this. But it’s too late, as Richard strides past him and jerks the door open. “God’s balls, Andrew, what the bleeding Jesus is so important that you have to – ”

Flynn turns around just in time to see that it is very bad. In fact, actually worse. Because yes, Andrew is standing there, and standing right behind him –

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Emma Whitmore says, in flawless Old French. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

#timeless #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #flogan #garcyatt #the time team #the dragons on the map

[themurphyzone]

Aspects Ch 5

Ch 5: Performer

Perry gestured for Norm to restrain the Father until he calmed down. Norm eagerly obeyed, wrapping his dad in an enormous hug that lifted him off the ground. 

“Get out here right now so we can talk about this like mensch!” the Father howled, thrashing in Norm’s grip. “And if I find you treating my daughter like a science experiment, I’ll-well, I don’t know what I’ll do yet, but once I think up something it’s gonna be painful!” 

“Seriously, Dad. I’m fine. No weird cybernetics or wires on me,” Vanessa complained as she emerged from the lab. “He’s working on a few things in the lab, so don’t bother him.” 

Norm lowered the Father so that he was standing again, though he still scowled in the direction of the lab. 

“Hey, you two wanna watch a movie with me?” Vanessa suggested. “We can lipsync along to a non-subtitled foreign film and make up our own plot. I’ve done it with Norm before. He’s a master at plot twists.” 

“ROBERT WAS NOT A LIZARD PERSON AS DR. PIERCE ORIGINALLY SUSPECTED. HE WAS ACTUALLY A SNAKE PERSON.” 

Perry was glad that Vanessa knew exactly how to keep everyone occupied so they didn’t murder each other before the problem was fixed. The Father settled on the edge of the couch so he could be next to Norm. 

Vanessa sorted through a stack of DVDs until she found the movie, then turned on the TV. A reporter’s face popped up onscreen, an angry frown crossing her face at the overly cheery soundtrack behind her. 

“It’s National Kiss a Baby on the Forehead Day at City Hall, and lots of families are in line to see Mayor Roger Doofenshmirtz select one lucky infant from the crowd-ACK!” the reporter ducked when a guitar handle nearly clocked her in the shoulder. “I need security over here!” 

“Hey, you guys are cameramen, right?” a familiar voice asked. Suddenly another Heinz Doofenshmirtz appeared onscreen, and the camera jiggled as it was forcibly turned towards him. He was wearing that showboater hat again. Must’ve been in a musical number mood. 

“Hey man, this is expensive equipment!” someone protested. 

“C’mon, the speech isn’t starting for another twenty minutes. That’s plenty of time for a song!” Heinz exclaimed. “Oh, actually I got the number from the Chorus Girl Union here, lemme make a call! Then you can broadcast my message to the Tri-State Area! You hear that? You’ll be under my rule, and nobody can stop me!” He frowned. “I think I kinda overdo that last part with the whole ‘nobody can stop me now’ bit. Could I get a do-over?” 

“HI, CONVENIENTLY TIMED DAD!” Norm said, waving at the screen as though the Heinz on TV could hear him. 

“I guess you’d better get him before he does anything too crazy,” Vanessa sighed. “I thought the whole take over the Tri-State Area thing was in the aspect you just brought back.” 

“He’s not exactly a good role model,” the Father said. “You two aren’t hogging the spotlight like that if the cameras ever get turned on you.” 

“Norm can have my share of airtime. I don’t really care for cameras,” Vanessa said as she popped the movie into the DVD player.

Perry jumped off the couch and headed for the balcony. He opted for his glider this time, since he wanted to conserve the fuel in his jetpack. 

As he flew towards City Hall, he wondered if Vanessa and Norm would accept him calling this particular Heinz the ‘obnoxious aspect’. 

Perry decided to wait out the musical number in a nearby bush, one where he would be hidden from view but still have a front row seat to the musical number Heinz had put on. Thankfully, the reporters had moved onto interviewing the volunteers in charge of the event and were completely ignoring Heinz. OWCA would definitely get on Perry’s case if he allowed a fight to be broadcasted live to the general public. 

With any luck, the Flynn-Fletchers were pursuing their own activities and not paying attention to the local news. 

Perry could tell it wasn’t one of Heinz’s best performances. Heinz kept glancing over his shoulder towards the cameras, barely avoiding a high kick to the head from a backup dancer. Instead of focusing on the music, he was trying to be aware of his surroundings. 

Almost as if he expected someone to show up. 

Perry double-checked to make sure the cameras were far away. Then he crawled out of the bush, making sure Heinz spotted him. For the duration of the song, Perry sat attentively and listened to Heinz pour out all his frustrations about his brother being a natural people-pleaser. 

Heinz’s performance improved in just a few seconds now that he had an audience. The song reached a final crescendo and ended with Heinz and the backup singers striking a dramatic pose. 

Perry clapped politely, throwing in a whistle for good measure. 

The backup singers broke form and were about to leave when Heinz stopped them. “Hey, so if one of you is interested in a date-” Heinz began, but they  rolled their eyes at him and left at a much quicker pace than before. “Okay, I get it. My number’s on the list of clients if you need to mull it over a bit first!” 

Perry raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” Heinz protested. “A normal dinner date would probably be two hours. That’s plenty of time to get through the introductory phase! But I’m digressing. Anyway, you see this crowd, Perry the Platypus?” 

It was hard to miss, Perry thought. But he played along anyway, figuring this aspect was the one who valued their usual routine the most. He nodded. 

“They’re all lined up to give my brother Roger their full, undivided attention and their babies,” Heinz complained, gesturing to the gaggle of parents and children. “Why would you just hand your kid over to a total stranger? This whole National Kiss a Baby Day doesn’t make sense! And what’s worse is that one so-called lucky infant will get all this fame simply because Roger is holding him! And what did the kid do to earn it? Nothing! When the voters see how much of a baby magnet he is, they’ll keep him in office cause apparently holding a baby makes you trustworthy!” 

Perry glanced around, but didn’t see any inventions anywhere. Heinz didn’t seem to have a portable inator on his person either. There probably wasn’t one since the Scientist had Heinz’s inventiveness. 

At the same time, it didn’t seem right to cut to the actual fighting. 

“Perry the Platypus,” Heinz said. “Did...did you like that song? I just had to let it out, you know? Nobody else wanted to stop and listen. They don’t appreciate hard work, I think.”

Perry gave him a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod, which seemed to boost Heinz’s spirit. 

“Maybe we should find an adoring crowd elsewhere,” Heinz suggested. “You can be my musical buddy. Unless you know anyone who’d be willing to listen?” 

Nodding, Perry took Heinz by the hand and led the way back to the penthouse. 

Vanessa knew that most siblings fought over the bathroom, but seeing it occur with two copies of her dad was just downright awkward and embarrassing. 

“AT LEAST NONE OF YOUR FRIENDS WILL BE WITNESS TO THIS DISPLAY, UNLIKE THE TIME HE PICKED YOU UP FROM SCHOOL IN A BABY BONNET AND DIAPER,” Norm declared. 

“I’ve blocked 95% of that incident from my mind, Norm,” Vanessa muttered. “Please don’t mention it again.” 

She turned up the volume to drown out the ruckus the Father and Scientist were causing. The Shell slumped against the couch cushion on the opposite end, and Vanessa had no idea if he was actually paying attention to the movie. 

“Didn’t Vanessa put you to work or something?” the Father demanded as he pounded on the bathroom door. “And just how is Norm supposed to learn any work ethic if you’re goofing off in there?” 

“Geez, calm down!” the Scientist yelled back. “Can’t a guy take a bathroom break?” 

“You got thirty seconds and I’m counting down. Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight....” 

“Norm, if I step out for a few minutes can you promise me that you’ll prevent any explosions or murders?” Vanessa sighed, deciding that she really needed to clear her head for a bit. She stood up and stretched, grabbing her phone off the nearby table.

“OKAY!” Norm exclaimed. “PLEASE TAKE THE CARDBOARD CUTOUT OF A COFFEE SHOP I CREATED AND PUT IT IN FRONT OF THE ENTRANCE OF THE BUILDING SO WE CAN DELAY PERRY THE PLATYPUS SO I CAN CONTINUE HAVING FUN WITH DAD.” 

Vanessa shook her head. “That’s not going to work on Perry and you know it.” 

The Scientist had stepped out of the bathroom to continue his argument with the Father, and Vanessa ignored them both as she exited the room. Grateful for the peace and quiet of the hallway, she decided to just wait outside for a few minutes. 

She checked her phone, finding that Perry had sent a text while she was watching the movie to let her know that he’d found another aspect. They were locating them at a decent pace, so hopefully this entire mess would be put behind them soon. 

Get rid of unsavory aspects of personality from target.

There were plenty of things about her dad she could name that embarrassed her. Sometimes he could be overprotective to the point of dressing up as a hippie and thinking that would fool a bunch of teenagers. 

Then again, he did save them all from a swarm of bees. And he did know a few tricks about roasting marshmallows over a campfire to make them taste even better. 

He could be obsessive about his schemes, and often spouted platypus and ocelot fun facts at completely inappropriate times. Her friend Candace fangirled over Ducky Momo and her boyfriend’s band a ton, so she found it pretty alarming that he acted more like a teenage girl than an adult. 

But since his brand of evil wasn’t all that malicious, sometimes good things came out, even if they were unexpected. She grew to enjoy being a big sister to a robot after all. Perry was a great confidant, no matter how trivial a problem seemed. And her Mary McGuffin doll was a reminder that he loved her to the point of spending nearly a decade rummaging through any garage sales in the hopes of finding a silly discontinued toy. 

In the end, she wouldn’t trade her dad for anything in the world. 

“Perry’s probably back by now,” Vanessa said to nobody in particular. Hopefully the aspects had given up their fight. Besides, she needed to check on the progress of the rebuilt Aspect-inator. 

“He’s probably just gonna run off again when you give him the opportunity. He never sticks around for the aftermath,” a voice sneered. “No surprise that Perry the Platypus overlooked me just like everyone else. And I never even left Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated.” 

Vanessa turned around, her eyes widening in surprise. An aspect of Heinz Doofenshmirtz had been in the building the entire time and they hadn’t even noticed. 

#phineas and ferb #aspects #heinz doofenshmirtz #perry the platypus #vanessa doofenshmirtz #norm the robot

[glorifiedgpjfic]

Glorified G- Chapter 26

Eddie and Joanne woke up the following morning to Joanne’s alarm, she groaned and kissed him before getting out of bed and getting ready for work. Eddie threw on some of his clothes that were accumulating in Joanne’s room, when she returned into the bedroom to get dressed he went off to make breakfast- they had a morning routine that worked, Jo would get ready to rush off and Eddie would make her some coffee to go with some toast or something so she didn’t skip breakfast.

When Joanne arrived at work there was a tall stack of files waiting for her, as she approached her desk William stuck his head out of his office and called her over. She entered with caution and took a seat,

“Morning Taylor, I need you to take charge of the cases. I’ve been looking over them all and I can't pick which one to start working first they all seem to be equally bad. I want you and Eleanor to set up in the conference room and skim through each file and work out which order to tackle them in- because I just can’t.” She nodded while he spoke,

“Okay, Sir that is fine by me, I’ll get to work right away.” He thanked her as she left. As instructed she and Eleanor got set up in a large conference room and took half of the pile each, it was gonna be a long day.

Eddie made his way to the studio as soon as Joanne left for work, when he got there he saw his four bandmates standing around in a huddle staring at something that Mike was clutching onto,

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Eddie asked, Stone turned to him and all the colour had completely drained from his face- there was no witty remark, or joke - something was seriously wrong. Mike gestured at Eddie to move closer,

“This letter was addressed to us all when we got here. I think you should call Jo.” Mike mumbled, Eddie snatched the letter from him and scanned the page,

For the Attention of Pearl Jam.

Hello. I am writing to tell you that this will not work out you think you can replace the Andy and re-invent Mother Love Bone with some one else. Tell him he will never be Andy and you can tell him that he will be stopped, it will never work out for you. You are nothing next to Mother Love Bone. If this doesn’t end. It will be ended. Also she won’t help you. If she even gets involved there will be sun flowers on her tomb stone.

Eddie frowned at the paper and looked to his bandmates,

“Guys, this is nothing- it’s probably just some kid that got bored or something.” Eddie shrugged off the letter and passed it back to Mike. The others were still pretty shaken by it, it bugged Eddie that sunflowers were mentioned- maybe someone had been following him? Nah- sunflowers are pretty common it’s just a lucky guess,

“Don’t you think you should give Jo a call maybe she can look for prints or something?” Dave suggested and Eddie shook his head furiously,

“Jo is working, solving actual cases- where there is a real threat. She doesn’t need to worry for no reason.” Eddie replied, the others all frowned at him before changing the subject. Mike and Stone offered to do a coffee run after a few moments of awkward silence, on the coffee run they took a small detour to the FBI field office, Jo needed to know. They’d agreed on that before Eddie had arrived at the studio, they were hoping he would be on board with it- but four against one- they win the vote.

They arrived at the office and tried to head straight for the stairs before being stopped by a security guard who told them had to go to the reception area to sign in, they went to the desk and asked how to sign in- the receptionist eyed them warily before handing them a visitors book, they scribbled their names before asking for directions to the Behavioural analysis part of the office. They followed the directions up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor, they pushed open a heavy glass door and were greeted by lots of people in suits rushing around holding mugs of coffee or case files, Stone scanned the bullpen before noticing the conference room off to the side of the bullpen, he spied Joanne’s messy hair and pointed to the room.

Joanne was just finishing her final file and jotting her notes onto the whiteboard and Eleanor had just taken a five minute break when the conference room door swung open, Jo spun around at the sudden movement, she saw Stone and Mike standing in the doorway they looked around the room and their faces froze in horror- it was then that she remembered she had pinned some of the crime scene photos to the whiteboard, she snatched them all down and put them with the relevant files,

“What’s up guys?” She said pulling out a seat, they took a seat each beside her, Mike placed a white envelope on the table and slid it towards her,

“We got this today, we wanted you to check it over to make sure it’s nothing to worry about- I’m sure it’s nothing really. But we wanted to be sure.” The two watched as Joanne read the letter with an expressionless face, holding it with her sleeves to avoid leaving her prints, she placed it back down on the table,

“How many of you have touched this?” She questioned, Mike told her that only him and Eddie had touched it, she nodded, “Wait here one second.” She said offering them a small smile, she returned with a plastic evidence bag, she put the letter inside. Next, she spun the whiteboard around to its clean side and wrote out what the letter said word for word, “One-minute guys.” She said as she dialled a number on the phone in the center of the table, “Meg? Hi, I’ve got a letter here that I need you to check for prints on asap if possible.” There was a moment of silence, “Thank you, Meg, I’ll see you soon.” Joanne explained how the head of the forensics team was going to take the letter for fingerprinting,

“Can you tell us anything yet? What do you think, Jo?” Stone asked as Jo turned to the whiteboard for a few moments,

“What I can tell you so far is that it was written by someone either still in school or someone who is poorly educated, look at the language used,” She said pointing to ‘sun flower’, ‘re-invent’, ‘some one’, and ‘tomb stone’, “I’d also say that they must’ve seen Eddie and I together, or Eddie getting sunflowers- or it could be a totally random guess.” She grabbed the evidence bag, “Also the handwriting, there are random capital letters in the middle of words- It’s a unique style and look at how there are four different ways of writing the letter ‘y’. If we can get a suspect list we can compare writing samples, maybe. Who’s Andy?” She explained, when she mentioned Andy, Stone’s expression changed from concern to sadness,

“He was the singer of mine and Jeff’s last band,” He stated, Jo went to open her mouth to ask more, “Died of a heroin OD last March.” He said bluntly, Jo nodded - Maybe it was a disgruntled fan. There was a knock on the door and Meg hesitantly entered the room, Joanne handed her the evidence bag,

“We’re pretty dead at the minute so I’ll have the results back to you as quick as we can, it’ll probably take us forty-eight hours to get the results back to you.” Jo thanked her, as soon as the door shut Mike let out a groan,

“Two days?” Jo nodded,

“That’s quick, normally it’s three.” She said with a small smile, “Don’t worry though, I highly doubt this is someone who will act on anything- and the threats were aimed at Eddie and I, and he’s pretty much always with me so we will be ok.” Mike nodded before speaking up,

“But what if there is someone following us? We might not be safe at all.” Jo sighed, she understood their fear hell- she was terrified too, but statistically, celebrity stalkers don’t tend to be violent, although numbers had increased dramatically since the murder of John Lennon,

“I’m going to work this case as much as I can to get to the bottom of it, but I will most likely have to work it on overtime, as there are some serial offenders active in the area- whereas this is just a threat which could be empty.” They nodded and a few seconds later Eleanor walked in holding two coffees, Jo had explained the situation to her and she’d begun annotating the letter picking up on linguistic tells other than what Jo had picked up by the author’s spelling.

Jo and Eleanor spent a further ten minutes comforting and reassuring Mike and Stone. They’d mentioned how Eddie didn’t want to mention it, Jo had scoffed and said they made the right call in telling her, during training all law enforcement officials are taught to treat every threat as if it were real so that people don’t die or get injured due to laziness from law officials not taking things seriously.

Jo’s day was jam-packed and full of downing coffees and trying to focus on work, but she found herself worrying about the letter- she’d told herself repeatedly that it wasn’t something to worry about, but it was so bloody difficult- what if someone was watching her? And Eddie! It made her skin crawl thinking about it. Eventually, it was time for her to go home and she couldn’t wait to get out of the office and put the whole day to the back of her mind. When she arrived home it took her around five seconds to kick her shoes across the kitchen into the corner with her docs, she scurried to her bedroom and threw some fluffy pyjamas on- she grabbed a beer and plopped down on the sofa letting out a groan.

Joanne finished the dregs of her beer just as the door swung open, she leapt off the sofa in a brief moment of panic before hearing the fridge door open,

“Hey!” She called to the kitchen,

“Hey Jo, how’s it going?” Eddie asked handing Jo a beer,

“It’s certainly going- I’ve had one hell of a day! How’s your day been? Any news?” She responded, subtly testing the waters to see if Eddie was going to be open about the letter, he took a swig of his drink before letting out a sigh- Joanne watched as he fiddled with his hands he was nervous,

“Nope-” He said popping the ‘p’, “pretty plain day, just been jamming in the studio, Jeff’s been working on some pretty wicked riffs.” Jo nodded and let out a quiet hum, “What’s up?” He questioned raising an eyebrow,

“Oh nothing, you know the usual- murder, murder, kidnapping, murder, threateningletteraimedatmyselfandmyboyfriend, just a normal chilled out day.” She spoke fast and it took Eddie a few seconds to twig onto what she had just said,

“Woah, woah go back a second- what was that?” Eddie sat forward on the sofa, sitting up straight,

“Oh, I just had two civilians showing up with some letter, just something to look into- sound familiar?” She asked, it wasn’t intentional but she let a slight tone of annoyance slip out, Eddie looked at her for a few moments before nodding,

“I didn’t want to stress you out, it’s probably nothing, right?” Joanne rolled her eyes,

“I think I should probably be the judge of that, what if I didn’t know about it and someone was waiting for us outside or something?! Did that ever cross your mind? Don’t you think it would be better for me to be stressed and to be alert to our fucking surroundings- so no one or thing would catch us off guard! Eddie if I didn’t know about this and they were serious and followed through it would be a fucking nightmare, if they came for us like they said they would and something happened to you- I just can’t bear to think about it!” She found herself snapping at him, he simply sat there with a slack jaw, “sorry.” She mumbled after a short while of silence Eddie didn’t respond and pulled her towards him into a hug,

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Do you think we should be worried?” He asked,

“I’m not sure, I mean I don’t think it’s serious- but I’m used to worst case scenarios.” Eddie planted a tender kiss on Jo’s head and she let out a sigh,

“So I’m your boyfriend am I?” Eddie asked with an almost shy smirk,

“I guess you are-” Jo responded before quickly adding, “if you want to be that is.” Eddie laughed at her before pulling her into a gentle kiss,

“It would be an honour.”

A/N Hey so I finally managed to ‘beat’ the writer’s block. I really really hope that this is okay for everyone, please let me know what you think!

#Eddie Vedder Fanfic #eddie vedder #eddie vedder fanfiction #Pearl Jam #pearl jam fanfic #pearl jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #grunge fanfic #jeff ament #mike mccready #stone gossard #dave abbruzzese

[starkbucks-prompts]

Omg I've dreamed of a blog like this! Could you guys possibly do a prompt where Howard is the director of SHIELD and makes the mistake of bringing Steve and Bucky home to the mansion when they're found, only to grow mortified when he realizes that his two friends are flirting with his son? Possibly where Howard isn't an asshole to Tony either?? Thank you so much, I love your blog!

Okay so it officially eight pas six over here so it’s evening. Which means I can post this for you guys! There’s another prompt already written + I am halfway through another not-prompt, but starkbucks so you guys won’t have to wait too long on the next one. BTW, from now on I will tag the “name” of the story, it is easy to find it + any installations in the same AU. This is not edited (by someone else), so sorry for any mistakes!

Hope you enjoy Xx CJ

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Even though Howard was feared and revered inside of Shield, everyone knew that inside the house he had nothing to say. His loving wife and brilliant son overruled him in everything. It wasn’t even that he had no authority in his own home; the simple fact was that Howard was a total pushover when it came to the two people he loved most in this world.

That was why, when Howard announced that the two recently de-iced super soldiers were coming to his house because his son wanted to meet them, nobody was even the slightest bit of surprised. It didn’t matter that the super soldiers were technically still classified; Tony had adored them all his live, so he going to meet them. The old and loyal employees still remembered the twelve-year-old boy with big round eyes, following his dad with a Bucky-bear in one hand and a Captain America backpack around his shoulder, touching everything, talking with the scientist (and actually keeping up with them) and hugging his dad’s leg.

“I can not believe I am actually meeting them,” Tony said into the phone. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are actually gonna be in my house tonight!” Tony could barely keep still on the phone, because of the excitement. He was wiggling around as he talked to Pepper on the other side. “I am gonna be breathing the same air as the leaders of the Howling Commandos, Pep. Pep? Pep! Are you still listening?! This is the best day of my live and you are not even listening,” Tony whined into the phone, theatrically falling onto his Shield-covered bed.

“I am not listening because I am 100% sure that I should not even know that these super soldiers exist, Tony. Honestly, you better make sure that you are better at keeping secrets once we are starting our company, because if you leak or sensitive information to corporate enemies I will actually murder you.”

“But, Pep, Pepper, spice of my life. You will know not to trust me with secrets. That’s why you are going to run the company and I am just going to run around and play in the R&D department. I thought this out, do not fret my dear.”

“Anthony,” Pepper sharply said, and Tony could just picture her rolling her eyes at him from the other side of the phone, “I am not running this company by myself. You will have responsibilities.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony whined. “We’ll talk about it later, for now let’s focus on the hot beefcakes that are going to sit at my table in a couple hours.”

Pepper sighed.

“Cara stop fretting. You look amazing and the captain and sergeant will most definitely agree.” Tony and Maria were sitting at the table, waiting for their father and husband to come out of work, with two recently defrosted soldiers in his tow. Tony had agonized about what he would wear for two hours, before he simply gave up and called his friend Jan, who was a fashion guru and, coincidentally, always right. So now Tony was sitting at his table wearing dark jeans, a red blouse that looked delectable on him and black dress shoes -with in them soft and fuzzy socks that Tony loved to wear, but nobody but Jarivis needed to know that one tiny detail. He knew he looked great, but still he couldn’t stop fuzzing with his cufflinks, his watch, his ears -with the piercings in them that he had to beg for for months-, his collar and then back to his cufflinks again. Honestly it was a miracle that his mother hadn’t taped his hand to the table already. “I’m sorry, mamma.”

Finally the door opened and Tony could hear Jarvis, his father and two voices he had heard countless times on war reels conversing in the hall. Tony jittered with his legs, noticed, and forced himself to sit still. He was anxiously watching the door, preparing himself to see the two guys that had always played a role in his life. From stories about their bravery as bedtime stories to the very first wet dream, to the countless mastrubation sessions that followed. They were his heroes when he was just a little boy, his anchor when he was going through puberty, all through his rebellious phase and his idols now that he was in MIT. They were his heroes. His idols.

His idols were stupid. Like, actually too stupid to function. Steve had taken one look at Tony and promptly tripped over his feet. James had been using stupid one-liners all through dinner to catch Tony’s attention. They were both a trainwreck and Maria was smiling indulgently, while Howard was looking murderous and amused at the same time.

“So, we were told at the base that you were a big fan of The Howling Commandos back in the day,” Steve started as soon as he saw that Bucky opened his mouth again. Everytime Bucky said something Howard got a glint in his eyes that said he was thinking about where he stashed the shotgun. “Who was your favourite?” The added effect of making Tony blush made Steve happy that he had gone with that question. In his state right now the alternative was ‘So… you like bread?’ so he had limited options anyway. Maria’s laugh was delicate and made Steve think of tiny bells tinkling.

“Oh yeah. Tony loved The howling Commandos. He still has a Bucky Bear in his room. He actually,-”

“Mom,” Tony interrupted her, his soft pink blush changing into a deep red flush sitting on his cheeks and creeping to his neck. “They really do not want to hear about my childhood obsession.” In the background everyone could hear marry scoff. “Childhood. As if he…” She was cut off by Tony again, now talking louder to drown his mother out.

“And besides, my favourite was always Aunt Peggy. Let’s be honest, she was the most badass of all the Commandos. Even is she wasn’t technically in it. She could kick all the guys ass at the same time, probably. Probably could still. I remember a week ago when she took at this one guy in the room with a spoon. It was awesome and it looked quite painful, especially be,-”

“Tony, dear, you’re rambling.” Howard said, with an amused smile.

“Oh,” Tony chuckled. The table fell silent. Steve and Bucky were looking sad, offended and fond at the same time and Howard knew the smile on Maria’s face meant trouble for him. And his sanity.

After dinner,Tony and Maria were walking in the front of the group to the pink chamber for some coffee. Howard took hold of both Bucky and Steve’s shoulder and pulled them back.

“If you hurt one hair on my boy’s head I will rain down the wrath of the entirety of SHIELD. And all the righteous fury of Peggy.” Steve and Bucky turned white and nodded quickly. They knew for certain that once Peggy was done with them, all SHIELD had to do was find their body parts and stash them somewhere.

#starkbucks #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stuckony #directorstark!au