fracturedlegacies

[fracturedlegacies]

hiatus reminder

Scheduled post to remind everyone I am on hiatus while I am vacationing. Hope you are all well!

PS: Miss you!

[fracturedlegacies]

Just a heads up that I will be on hiatus from July 12/13th (depending on what time I leave on the 12) to the end of the month. I am vacaying in Europe!

Sorry for delays in replies!

[fracturedlegacies]

He waited a beat before stepping inside, afraid that her thoughts might catch up to her heart. When he was sure that she wasn't going to issue a retraction, Tony stepped into the apartment. He gave it a cursory once over, as if he expected to find it a reflection of her.

But then again, how much did he really know about her?

He swallowed hard at that realization and then turned to face her just as she asked the obvious question. Even though he saw it coming, he was still at a loss for words. "Look, I am not even going to pretend that I am not a shit person when it comes to you," he began. "But I'd like to try to fix that...if you'll let me."

A loss of words was a common occurrence when it came to her father. He just had that way about him. So, unable to think of a intellectual response, she simply stepped aside, opening the door wider to allow him inside.

It was a sunny day out, the ceiling to floor windows allowing the light to shine in. It's what she loved about the apartment. Stepping into the kitchen, hands steadying herself on the island, Ana took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. "What are you doing here?"

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you're doing amazing sweetie

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It was never like that, Layla mused to herself.

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, to push back because there was a part of her that was hurt. Logical or not, it felt like she was asking him for something (anything) and he couldn't even give her that. She couldn't help but feel like she meant so little to him.

(she hated that she was so controlled by her emotions in this situation because she knew it was so much more complicated than that)

Only she didn't argue. She fell silent as he spoke. The night that Harrow had been defeated had been a blur to her --- she had ran solely on emotion, on the need to save as many as she could (including him). She had tried to reflect on it but often found herself caught up in flashes of memories instead of the whole story. Here he was, filling in the gaps.

Whatever she was expecting him to say, this was not it. Her eyebrows knitted together as she listened. Someone else? She couldn't help but think over all her interactions with Marc and Steven since she had found them holed up in that little apartment. Never once did she think she was dealing with a third person.

" --- so you're protecting me, is that it?" she asked, finally breaking the silence and pinning him with a gaze. "You think this guy...this one that went on a rampage that night and is clearly hiding from you, is a danger to me?" She frowned at the thought. She had never once felt on edge with him. She couldn't see herself starting now. "Fine, let's say I am someone who needs protecting from you. The least you could have done is give me the heads up. I think I am owed that."

Shit. Marc cringed, his guilt making itself clear. “I…” One hand rubbed at the back of his neck. Maybe he had been avoiding her a little, but, “It’s not…like that.” He owed it to her to be honest, didn’t he? After everything he’d done to her? No matter how difficult that honesty was, no matter how terrifying being that open with anyone was, Layla deserved it.

Don’t be a fucking coward, Spector.

He sighed and took his own seat near her. “The, uh…the fight with Harrow. At the end, there. Something…happened. Harrow had me dead to rights, his men had you pinned down, and I…blacked out. Fight was over when I woke up, and Steven sure as hell didn’t end it.” She knew all that already, but a little context was sort of necessary here.

“It happened again, a couple days after we got back. Went to bed one night and woke up in France two weeks later. Steven was out the whole time, too.” Something he was clearly still unsettled by. “We just got back a few days ago. There’s…there’s someone else here, Layla. Me and Steven, we’ve been tryin’ to find him, but…” No dice.

There was an apology in his eyes when he looked at her, his next words pained as much as they were earnest. “I should’ve called you back once I got home. That was…it was a shitty move. I’m sorry, I am, but…” A bit of vulnerability leaked into his voice. “Whoever this guy is, he’s dangerous, Layla. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

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Layla waited a beat, then raised a brow at him arguing with her. "Semantics," she told him firmly. "You are literally arguing semantics at the moment." She left it at that because he had no room to move, although she highly suspected he just might try. In the end, it didn't much matter if he was worried or if he was concerned because either way, he was there with her. There was a small thrill in knowing that a heist was literally moments away. Despite stealing for mostly noble reasons, she couldn't help but get excited by the process, by proving that she could do it.

Her gaze once more fell on the jar. She could sense the history behind it, knowing that it would tell a whole story. It deserved to do so back in the land where it came from, not collecting dust on someone's shelf. In a few moments, people would be distracted by the unveiling of a new piece, something that promised to dazzle them. She wouldn't fall into temptation. Instead she would use that to her advantage.

But for now, she huffed in agreement with his words. "Oh yes, you definitely suck at communication. But surely, after everything we can do a bit better than doxxing each other, don't you think?" It was a challenge and one that she hoped he would rise to.

She ribbed, and Marc huffed something low in the back of his throat at the comment, letting it be. Nothing had really changed, when he looked at it that way. Her pushing buttons and him allowing her to do as much. Just the same as they always had been. Always were. Maybe the same as they always would be. "I'm -- concerned. There's a difference." Only truly, there was not. It was the very same emotions, just masked a tad bit differently depending on how he wanted to phrase it. At the very least with her leaning into him, warm and easy -- he could assume his worry wasn't something to peeve her. Like he'd thought before, he knew Layla didn't need his protection at the end of the day. . . But that didn't mean he couldn't help wanting to give it. "Backup." A huffed few syllables. Eyes back on the prize, noticing she was actually very correct. Most people were looking towards the much fancier, pricier, older picks. Leaving her beloved jar on its own with only their set of dark browns to gaze upon it every now and again. "Talking isn't exactly my. . . strong suit." She should know, she married him despite it all. Despite terrible communication skills and even worse commitment issues.

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She couldn't help but hum a little in amusement when he brought up her contribution to that night. She was only doing what she needed to do to ensure that Marc and Steven survived. If that meant jumping headfirst into being an avatar, into fighting then she wouldn't question it. "I am glad that I looked like I knew what I was doing," Layla told him. And because it was Steven and because he had the kindest heart of anyone she knew, she felt like she could confess the reality of it all. "I was actually terrified. Worried that I was going to screw up. Worried that someone was going to get hurt." Mostly Marc, mostly Steven. The innocent people who had wandered into the fray. Not herself. She didn't really think about that. "But I think I hid it well." There a hint of amusement in her voice, as if she hadn't just confessed that she had run on instinct that night instead of logic because logic would have dictated that she would have stayed far away from there.

There was part of her that wished that Marc would tell her himself how he was doing but she can't push the man (although part of her wanted to and hard for once again keeping her at arm's length). She could see the inner turmoil play on Steven's face and she felt bad that she was using him an as intermediary. But then she realized she wasn't alone in that.

"Well, you tell Marc..." she began, as if the other man wasn't listening (she assumed he was listening). "...that he shouldn't be putting you in the middle of his..." What was this? A fight? No. She actually had no idea. " --- you shouldn't have to do his dirty work, Steven. I do need to talk to him. It's important..." Something that he would only understand. A bit of their shared path rearing its head. "But in the meantime, I am glad to see you. Glad to know that you are doing what you love, Steven. I can't wait to see you in action."

Does a hint of pink appear on a set of tanned cheeks because of those compliments Steven's receiving there? Absolutely, yeah. Is he feeling a little sheepish once more, since it's Layla who is complimenting him on is fighting-skills? Totally. ...And is Steven possibly feeling a tiny little bit smug on top of it, because yeah, he definitely did show those guys how to use those truncheons of his? Oh, very much so, actually.

So there he is, smile-smirking with a bit of a chuckle, a hand that scratches along the back of his neck once more as he shrugs, then tilts his head. "I-I mean, you did an amazing job yourself, Layla! Not only did you look amazing - as said - but you definitely showed those guys how strong you are, yeah you did!" A nod, another following soon after, with Steven's smile widening - he means it, truly does. He's very impressed by her having chosen to fight alongside them with the help of Taweret...

A swallow, smile softening a little, with Steven being very happy about the fact that she does want to come to the museum, does want to listen to him, does want to go for tea after! Perfect, that sounds perfect to him; They just need to figure out a date, then, he assumes... ---but before he can really think about it, she inquires about Marc.

---Which makes perfect sense, of course it does. First of all, Layla had originally asked Marc to see her, and second of all, Marc is... well, he's... he's the host, the one who owns the body, who had once married her a while ago, with them having been very close. Steven's just... well, he's here now, and he likes Layla, and he thinks they're getting along really well - but he does not know her as much as Marc does, and he has no real hisory with her either.

"...He's doing okay, yeah." A bit more of that smile has faded, the topic more on the serious side of things, so Steven quickly adapts - his hands fold in front of him once again, tugging and pulling, getting rid of some more nervous energy as he thinks for a second, gaze averting, then looking back at her. "Y'know, he's got his... uhm, up and downs. But he's managing, yeah. It's usually me who's out and about, and Jake takes over at night to do his own thing; I guess Marc feels the most calm when he's... inside, well..." A finger points at Steven's temple, followed by an airy exhale, something akin to a chuckle but not quite. "...Here, yeah."

"Don't make her worry even more, Steven. I'm fine. I'm peachy." Marc's being a bit grumpy there as he speaks, words muttered under his breath; Steven almost jumps at his sudden presence - the other had been gone ever since spiraling and pushing Steven into the body, after all.

"Sorry, sorry--- I was just trying to explain---"

Cutting himself off, he realizes that he's been speaking out loud instead of thinking; Steven blinks, offers an awkward, apologetic smile when he focuses back on Layla, followed by another shrug...

"---Erm, I was, uhm." Another gesture at his head. "A-anyways, he's okay, yeah. He's doing good. Normal, I guess. Yeah. Yeah, that. Good."

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❛ don’t act like you know me. ❜ (for Frank)

"Don't got to know every nitty gritty detail to know that you are going to go in guns blazing like you got something to prove, sweetheart. That is just wafting off you like a perfume. Ain't saying there is something wrong with that --- I get it."

[fracturedlegacies]

*peeps the dash*

Now that I am done work til September I will be playing catch up here and hopefully writing new plots/threads. Sorry for the delay in replies. In the meantime, if you want to plot, just hit me up.

[fracturedlegacies]

Hey all,

I am literally 11 days away from summer vacation. Trying my best to crawl across that finish line in one piece (but the last few days of school are meetings, dealing with excited students who want summer, exams, prom decorating, graduation, etc.).

Will do my best to get some things done before I am officially on break but if I don't, please know I am probably sleeping in a corner somewhere.

Signed,

an exhausted educator

[fracturedlegacies]

Hey all,

I am literally 11 days away from summer vacation. Trying my best to crawl across that finish line in one piece (but the last few days of school are meetings, dealing with excited students who want summer, exams, prom decorating, graduation, etc.).

Will do my best to get some things done before I am officially on break but if I don't, please know I am probably sleeping in a corner somewhere.

Signed,

an exhausted educator

[fracturedlegacies]

&. 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  an  assortment  of  short  and  angsty  dialogue  prompts.  feel  free  to  change  and  edit  as  you  seem  fit.  )  

❛ i didn’t know where else to go. ❜

❛ i’ll never be that me again. ❜

❛ you can still be good. ❜

❛ i thought you’d be here. ❜

❛ don’t act like you know me. ❜

❛ because i care about you, okay? ❜

❛ it wasn’t supposed to end like this. ❜

❛ i was scared. i thought you had lost your way. ❜

❛ am i supposed to just let you go? ❜

❛ you deserve better than me. ❜

❛ don’t make me do this. ❜

❛ i’m not who you think i am. ❜

❛ you don’t mean that. ❜

❛ please just hold me. ❜

❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜

❛ and why should i care? ❜

❛ you look awful. ❜

❛ i can’t do this without you. ❜

❛ don’t let me lose you too. ❜

❛ for what it’s worth, i really am sorry. ❜

❛ it’s not your fault. ❜

❛ i don’t know who i am anymore. ❜

❛ is this the part where you kick me out? ❜

❛ don’t we deserve to be happy? ❜

❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

❛ you can’t save everyone. ❜

❛ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ❜

❛ it’s just a scratch, don’t worry. ❜

❛ you know me better than i know myself. ❜

❛ don’t go where i can’t follow. ❜

❛ you’re better off without me. ❜

❛ we all die alone. ❜

❛ people get hurt if they get too close to me. ❜

❛ i hate what i’ve become. ❜

❛ i’m not going anywhere. ❜

❛ is there anything i can do to help? ❜

❛ i don’t even recognize you anymore. ❜

❛ who did this to you? ❜

❛ please don’t leave me. ❜

❛ oh, now you care? ❜

❛ don’t come any closer! ❜

❛ i missed you so much. ❜

❛ you don’t have to say anything. ❜

❛ do you want me to leave? ❜

❛ why are you avoiding me? ❜

❛ you could have died, you know. ❜

❛ i wish you were here. ❜

❛ you’re not alone. i’m staying right here. ❜

❛ i can be your family. ❜

❛ of course i’m here. where else would i be? ❜

❛ we just can’t seem to get it right, huh? ❜

❛ don’t look at me like that. ❜

❛ don’t push me away again. ❜

❛ this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. ❜

❛ you’re leaving already? ❜

❛ this was a mistake. ❜

❛ can’t sleep? ❜

[fracturedlegacies]

Christine realized right then and there that she should have done a better job at keeping touch with Pepper. It felt like this moment was long overdue and she was sorry that it was happening in such a public setting. She would do better --- she had let work consume her for many reasons and now she was regretting not pulling her head out of the sand sooner.

She hadn't really known Tony Stark. Oh, she knew of him, of course. It was hard not to. He had been larger than life and it would have taken a special person to contain him. Clearly that was well within the capabilities of a woman like Pepper Potts. In fact, Christine was willing to bet that she barely had to lift a finger to do it.

She couldn't imagine what it was like to have your heart shredded like that.

There was a small nod of her head as Pepper squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. "Well, if you ever need anything up to and including going out for a drink, you know where to find me." She then looked around them, noting the growing crowd. "I am not. I don't even think I have any art in my apartment --- but I am into finding donors for the hospital. I figure that people here might be willing to listen to what I have to say."

It was second nature by now: smiling like it was armor, like it was a mask she’d learned to wear every time someone spoke to her. But when Pepper realized it was Christine standing there, the corners of her lips curved not out of habit, but into something real. She opened her arms and pulled the brunette into a warm embrace.

When they stepped apart, Pepper gave a small shake of her head. She knew Christine hadn’t meant it that way, not really, but still, after months of seeing that same look etched on every face that dared meet hers, she was tired. Tired of pity. Tired of the well-meaning softness in people’s eyes whenever they looked at her.

Yes, life had unraveled in the wake of Tony’s death. It was as if color had drained from the world. But one thing had become crystal clear to Pepper early on: she had to keep moving forward. No one, and nothing, would ever truly fill the void in her chest. But she had a life to live. And she was certain, absolutely certain, that’s exactly what Tony would have wanted.

She reached out and gently squeezed Christine’s hand. “I’m okay,” she said, sincerely. A pause. “Well… okay in the only way a person can be, right now.” Her lips pressed into a tight line, just briefly, before she tried to summon another smile. “But what about you? I didn’t know you were into art auctions.”

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thunderbolts* | 2025

[fracturedlegacies]

" --- you could have just said there's not a lot to smile about and left it at that. Besides, I do smile. Genuinely smile. Just...not on command. I am just trying to stay realistic here, Natasha --- and by that, I mean I am trying to keep us both alive." Not that she needed his help. He was giving it anyway.

"come on milii moi, there's not a lot to smile about but we're alive. we got out. someone's got to be on your back, you know i'm not going anywhere even if you do throw me a smile."

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Karen would be lying if she said she hadn't admired Pepper Potts for some time. From afar of course. They hardly ran in the same cycles. Even now, she felt sorely underdressed despite the fact that she had dug into the back of her closet to ensure that she looked ever bit the part.

After they shook hands, Karen took her seat, watching as the redhead was attended to by the people that made Pepper's current project possible. She was patient as the necessities were taken care of. After all, she had ended up in this room by what felt like sheer dumb luck. She was not going to ruffle any feathers (at least not right away).

"A water would be lovely, thank you," she said and then nodded her head at the request for Pepper's assistant to remain. Like she had a choice.

At the mention of Wilson Fisk, Karen tensed. It was an automatic response to the mere thought of the man who had caused her so much pain. " --- you are correct," she said when she managed to claw back her control. "I guess I have to ask the most obvious question, given that up until now you have lived your life as a private citizen, albeit a prominent one --- what possessed you to enter the race?"

“Thank you for your patience.”

The sharp click of Louboutins echoed against the marble as the redhead moved with effortless grace, almost floating, as she approached Karen. Her hand extended in welcome, and a confident smile, painted in her signature crimson, lit up her face. Her handshake was firm, but not aggressive: measured, intentional. With her free arm, she gestured to the chair opposite her desk.

A few team members moved through the room quietly. One assistant leaned in, whispered something in her ear, and Pepper nodded in acknowledgment before her emerald gaze settled calmly on Karen across the glass table. “The pleasure is mine,” she replied, her aura of professionalism unwavering. Especially now, when every vote hinged on her image, and the fate of New York itself could rest on her success.

“Something to drink? Coffee? Water?” she offered, nodding toward a brunette seated nearby, who silently rose and slipped into the hallway. “I hope you don’t mind if my assistant joins us for the conversation?” It was phrased as a question, but offered with such composure that disagreement seemed… unnecessary.

“I’m assuming the majority of this interview will concern my candidacy against Wilson Fisk. Am I right?”

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He sensed the verbal spanking coming --- and frankly, he knew he had done nothing to avoid it. He kept his gaze locked on her, almost amused at her stance but also remorseful. Not because he had sent the press room into a tizzy but because he had made her job infinitely harder. He did not enjoy that particular byproduct of his misbehavior. "Look, I told the truth. No harm in the truth is there?" A loaded question, especially given Stark Industries less than stellar past. He took a deep breath, feeling the fight in him leave just a little. "I'm sorry, Pep." His voice was quiet. "How bad is it?"

"Wonderful," Pepper said, almost with admiration: if not for the heavy dose of sarcasm coating her voice. The redhead crossed her arms over her chest, leveling Tony with a sharp, no-nonsense stare. "For the thousandth time: stick to the prepared plan. Read the opening speech the way we rehearsed it. I really can’t keep cleaning up your PR disasters."