#it could also be (when it comes to being “off-key”/untracable)

[ponds-of-ink]

Out of curiosity, I’m listening to Springtrap’s humming snippets in DBD and I’m try to figure out what exact songs they could be (if anything at all). Everyone’s already figured out the Ring Around The Rosie part, so I’m skipping that.

The only things I’m learning are:

(1) Wow, Springtrap’s chords are not allowing him to remain on-key for too long. I’ve had to transcribe by ear so far, and I am legit struggling a couple of times.

(2) One voice clip that goes on for two seconds almost sounds like Stay With Me from Into The Woods? Maybe? (It’s C# to F# to G#/Ab, if I’m hearing it correctly. I’m very sure that song’s not the only example of that, but it’s the first thing that came to mind.)

I’ll update if I actually catch anything, but it’s going to be tricky.

[averalia]

The Cold Case

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// part 4 (Final)

| Pairing: Athens Grant x Reader

| Warning: Warning/s: Attempted kidnapping, assault, guns, death

I Summary: Athena Grant-Nash moves her family to a safe house, then meticulously orchestrates the exposure of a deep-seated conspiracy. After a brutal kidnapping attempt on her, the FBI intensifies its efforts. Athena engineers the capture of Julian Hayes, the conspiracy's financial architect. However, the chapter ends with a chilling interrogation, where Connor Maxwell reveals her family is still a target, despite the arrests.

| A/N: this series is a lot longer than I though it was going to be

The remote cabin was exactly as Hen had described: isolated, rustic, and far from any prying eyes. As they pulled up the winding dirt driveway, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The air was crisp, scented with pine, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension of the city. Bobby, May, and Harry were exhausted but safe.

Inside, Hen and Karen, who had arrived earlier, had already set up makeshift beds and a small, secure workspace in the living area. The first priority was making sure the family was truly safe.

"Okay," Athena stated, her voice calm and authoritative, once the kids were settled with some warm milk. "Here's the plan. Bobby, you and the kids stay here. No leaving the property unless I say so. Karen, thank you for being here, your presence is invaluable. Hen, you're with me. We're going completely off-grid."

Her immediate strategy was multi-pronged, designed to protect her family while simultaneously advancing the investigation, using the very exposure that had put them in danger as a weapon.

First, secure communications and digital hygiene. They were officially dark. All personal phones were turned off and placed in a faraday bag Hen had quickly assembled. Their communication would now be entirely through encrypted channels, using a network of burner phones and a satellite internet connection that Hen had rigged up – slow, but secure and difficult to trace. They would access the outside world only through these protected means, minimizing any digital footprint.

Second, containment of Thomas Thorne. "We need to ensure Thorne is even more secure," Athena told Hen. "The conspirators know he's the key. They might have a lead on his current location. I need to make sure he's moved to an even more impenetrable safe house, somewhere completely out of their reach." She began to brainstorm options, leaning on old law enforcement contacts who ran discreet witness protection services.

Third, leverage the press. "Eleanor Vance is our primary weapon right now," Athena explained to Hen. "The exposure has shaken them, but they're still powerful. We need to feed Vance more. Keep the pressure on. Every new detail that comes out makes it harder for them to control the narrative, and puts more eyes on the FBI's investigation."

Hen nodded, already anticipating. "We'll send her more of the audio logs, maybe some of Y/N's more explicit financial breakdowns. Enough to keep the story boiling without giving away our location or jeopardizing your anonymity."

Fourth, establish contact with Agent Miller, cautiously. "It's time to reach out to Special Agent Miller directly," Athena said. "But not from here. We'll use a series of untraceable burner phones, and we'll communicate in code, or use a dead drop. I need to know what the FBI's next moves are, and how close they are to making arrests. I also need to ensure that when they do move, they have the resources to protect my family." She knew Miller would be under immense pressure, but his integrity was something she could stake her life on.

Fifth, plan for the worst-case scenario. Athena walked the perimeter of the cabin with Bobby, pointing out potential weak spots, discussing escape routes, and reviewing their emergency protocols. Bobby, though still reeling from the sudden upheaval, listened intently, his own protective instincts fully engaged. He was a fire captain, a leader, and he quickly adapted to the crisis. They established a system of rotating watches, ensuring someone was always alert.

As the sun began to paint the sky with streaks of orange and purple, Athena felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. They were out of immediate danger, for now. The cabin was a fortress of sorts. But the fight was far from over. The conspirators wouldn't stop until they silenced everyone involved. And Athena, with the quiet strength of her family behind her, was ready for them. She looked at the old photo of you, Y/N, on her secured laptop. Your sacrifice would not be in vain.

Over the next few days, the cabin became a command center. Hen, with her surprising tech savvy, managed the digital side, feeding carefully redacted information to Eleanor Vance. Each new article from Vance's paper was a gut punch to the exposed conspirators, forcing them onto the defensive. The FBI, spurred by public outrage and the undeniable evidence, ramped up its investigation, their every move tracked by Athena and Hen through news reports and discreet inquiries.

Meanwhile, Athena worked tirelessly to secure Thomas Thorne. She used her old contacts, navigating a clandestine network of former law enforcement and private security specialists who understood the nuances of witness protection. Thorne was moved again, this time to an undisclosed location far across the country, his safety paramount.

The constant threat, however, remained. Athena fielded more anonymous calls and texts, the modulated voices growing increasingly agitated and desperate. They knew she was behind the leak, even if they couldn't prove it. The threats against her family became more explicit, describing May and Harry’s school, Bobby’s fire station, even their favorite park. Athena felt a chilling realization that the conspirators had deep surveillance capabilities, or perhaps, compromised contacts within the city.

One afternoon, as Hen was monitoring the news feeds, she gasped. "Athena, look at this."

A breaking news alert flashed across the screen: "Prominent Businessman Found Dead in Apparent Suicide." The name was familiar. Marcus Thorne. Not Thomas, but his powerful uncle, one of the key figures implicated in Y/N's audio logs.

"Suicide?" Athena scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Or silencing."

The implication was clear: the conspirators were cleaning house, eliminating anyone who might flip or who already knew too much. The game was escalating, and the stakes were getting terrifyingly high.

A call came through on the secure satellite phone. It was Special Agent Miller from the FBI. His voice was grim. "Detective Grant-Nash, we need to talk. Your information is solid, undeniable. We've moved quickly, but these are powerful people. They're striking back. We have reason to believe your life, and the lives of your family, are in imminent danger. We have assets ready to provide immediate, full-scale protection."

Athena looked at Bobby, who was sitting across the room, watching the kids play, his face a mask of weary vigilance. She knew this was her chance to bring them back into the light, to rely on the formidable power of the federal government. But it also meant exposing herself completely, becoming a primary target.

"Agent Miller," Athena said, her voice steady, "I appreciate the offer. Where do we go from here?"

Miller paused. "We're moving to bring in the primary targets. Warrants are being finalized. But we need your direct testimony. You're the one who found this evidence. We need you to identify the voices, confirm the chain of custody. And we need to get your family into full federal protection immediately."

Athena looked at the mountains surrounding the cabin, then back at the small, fragile family she had brought to safety. The cabin had served its purpose, but it was time for the next, dangerous phase. The fight was coming to a head. Justice for Y/N L/N, so long delayed, was finally within reach, but the path to it was fraught with peril.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the cabin, Athena made her decision. She would accept federal protection, but on her terms. She wouldn't let her family become passive victims, hidden away while the conspirators walked free. She would use the full force of the FBI, but she would also remain actively involved, ensuring justice was served.

"Agent Miller," she said, her voice firm, "I'll testify. I'll provide everything you need. But I have conditions. My family gets full protection, but I stay in the field. I'm not going into hiding. I'm going to be there when you bring these people down."

Miller hesitated. "Detective, that's… highly irregular. And extremely dangerous."

"It's non-negotiable," Athena replied. "I'm the one who brought this case back to life. I owe it to Y/N L/N to see it through. And I won't let my family's safety be held hostage by these criminals."

After a tense silence, Miller relented. "Alright, Detective. We'll make it work. We'll provide a protective detail for your family, and we'll coordinate with you on the ground. But you follow our lead. This is a federal operation now."

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Bobby, May, and Harry were relocated to a secure FBI safe house, a quiet suburban home under constant surveillance. Athena, meanwhile, was debriefed by Agent Miller and a team of federal prosecutors. She meticulously laid out the entire story, providing the original documents, the forensic copies of the flash drive, and a detailed account of Thomas Thorne’s testimony. The federal team, initially skeptical of a lone detective’s findings, quickly became convinced by the irrefutable evidence.

They began coordinating their approach to the conspirators. Athena, now operating as a key witness and a field consultant, was embedded with the FBI’s public corruption unit. Her knowledge of the local landscape, the subtle power dynamics, and the specific individuals involved was invaluable.

One afternoon, Athena was being escorted by two FBI agents to a secure, off-site location for a final pre-trial review of evidence. The location was a discreet federal building in an unassuming part of the city, chosen for its low profile. As their unmarked SUV turned onto a quiet side street, a large, dark van suddenly swerved from a blind alley, ramming into their vehicle's side. The impact was violent, throwing Athena and the agents against their seatbelts. Airbags deployed, filling the SUV with a blinding cloud of white.

Before the dust settled, the rear doors of the van slid open. Two figures, heavily built and clad in dark tactical gear, emerged. They moved with a chilling efficiency, their faces obscured by balaclavas. One agent, disoriented from the crash, tried to reach for his weapon, but a brutal blow to the head sent him slumping forward. The other agent, still struggling with his seatbelt, had a gloved hand clamp over his mouth before he could cry out.

"Grant-Nash," a muffled voice rasped, the tone cold and determined. "Time to finish this."

Athena, though shaken, was already moving. Her own weapon was still holstered, but years of training kicked in. As one of the figures reached for her door handle, she unbuckled her seatbelt and simultaneously kicked out, catching him squarely in the chest. The blow sent him stumbling back, momentarily buying her precious seconds.

She lunged for her door, pushing it open and rolling out onto the pavement, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder. The second assailant was already coming around the back of the SUV, a dark, menacing silhouette. He was faster, more agile than the first. He lunged, attempting to tackle her.

Athena sidestepped, using his momentum against him, and spun, delivering a sharp elbow to his jaw. He grunted, staggering, but quickly recovered, coming back at her with a furious rush. This wasn't a snatch-and-grab; it was an attempt to neutralize her, permanently.

They engaged in a brutal, silent dance. Athena, though outnumbered and injured, fought with the ferocity of a cornered lioness. She blocked a punch, felt a sharp pain as another grazed her ribs, and retaliated with a series of quick, precise strikes. Her police academy training, honed by years on the street, was a blur of instinct and muscle memory. She heard a groan from inside the SUV—the agents were stirring. She needed to buy them more time.

Her assailant, larger and stronger, managed to get a grip on her arm, twisting it painfully behind her back. He began to drag her towards the van, his grip like iron. "You're coming with us, Detective," he growled.

But Athena Grant-Nash had faced down far worse. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, she dropped her weight, pulled hard against his grip, and then pivoted sharply, slamming her head back into his nose. There was a sickening crunch, and the man roared in pain, releasing her.

Just as he stumbled back, clutching his face, the doors of the federal building burst open. A team of fully armed FBI tactical agents, alerted by the crash and the sudden radio silence from their unit, swarmed into the street, weapons raised.

"FBI! Hands in the air!"

The remaining assailant from the van hesitated for a split second, then scrambled back into the vehicle as the first one, still reeling, managed to follow. The van, tires squealing, roared away, disappearing around the corner before the FBI agents could get a clear shot.

Athena stood panting, her body aching, a fresh cut bleeding above her eye, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the street. They had come for her. They were desperate. But they had failed.

Agent Miller rushed to her side, his face etched with concern. "Athena! Are you alright? What happened?"

"They tried to take me," Athena gasped, leaning against the side of the damaged SUV, her gaze fixed on the corner where the van had vanished. "They tried to silence me."

Miller's jaw was tight. "We knew they were dangerous, but this… This means we're closer than ever. And they're more desperate. From now on, Detective, you don't move without a full tactical escort. We're going to bring these bastards down."

The attempted kidnapping, the brutal fight, only solidified Athena's resolve. They wanted her to back down, to be afraid. But all they had done was fuel her determination. For Y/N, and for her family, she would see this through to the very end. The game had just become deadly.

The foiled kidnapping attempt sent a jolt of grim satisfaction through Athena. They were desperate. The attack was proof that her actions, her relentless pursuit of justice for Y/N, were tearing apart their carefully constructed world of impunity. Now, the FBI wasn't just taking her word for it; they'd witnessed the conspirators' brutality firsthand.

Agent Miller, true to his word, assigned Athena a round-the-clock protective detail. Two highly trained federal agents became her shadows, their presence a constant reminder of the danger, but also a reassuring shield. Her family remained in the secure safe house, a fortress of federal protection. The distance was agonizing, but Athena knew they were safer there, far from the direct line of fire.

The FBI intensified its operations. The audio logs from Y/N's flash drive, coupled with Athena’s deep dive into the historical financial records and Thomas Thorne’s corroborated testimony, formed an unassailable case. Warrants were executed across the city, targeting the powerful individuals named in the recordings. Residences, corporate offices, and private accounts were raided. The media, fueled by Eleanor Vance’s continued exposés, documented every development, turning the once-whispered conspiracy into a screaming headline.

One name kept surfacing in the ongoing investigation: Julian Hayes. He was a quiet, unassuming man, a long-time financial advisor to many of the key players in the original redevelopment project. Y/N’s notes had mentioned him peripherally, always in connection with unusually large, untraceable transactions. He wasn't one of the loud, aggressive voices on the recordings, but Athena’s gut told her he was significant. He was the spider at the center of the financial web.

"Hayes isn't just an advisor," Athena told Agent Miller during a late-night strategy session. "He's the architect. He managed the money, set up the shell companies. He's the one who knew every secret. If we can get him, we can get everything."

Miller agreed. Hayes had been elusive, his financial footprint expertly obscured. He wasn't a public figure, which made him harder to track, but also more dangerous, as he had nothing to lose.

The Trap is Set

The FBI finally located Hayes at a secluded, heavily fortified estate outside the city. It was a testament to his paranoia, a veritable fortress designed to keep the world out. Traditional entry would be a siege. But Athena had an idea.

"Hayes is a creature of habit," she explained. "He's meticulously private. He's also terrified. The news about the others getting arrested, the exposure of the conspiracy—it's unraveling his life's work. He'll want to secure his own escape route, maybe transfer his remaining assets."

Athena suggested a carefully orchestrated ruse. They would leak a false report, carefully crafted to appear legitimate, indicating that a key piece of incriminating evidence, a ledger detailing every illicit transaction, had been found at one of the recently raided properties. The target of this "leak" would be a minor, known associate of Hayes, ensuring the information reached him directly and swiftly. The ledger wouldn't exist, of course, but the threat of it would be enough.

"He’ll panic," Athena predicted. "He’ll think we have something we don’t. He’ll make a move to destroy it, or to confirm its existence. He'll go after it himself, to verify if his meticulous system has a flaw."

The FBI team was hesitant at first, but Athena’s track record and the urgency of the situation convinced them. The fake leak was planted, a carefully woven trail of breadcrumbs leading to a deserted warehouse, an old, forgotten holding facility that had once been part of the downtown redevelopment project. It was structurally sound, with multiple entry points, making it a perfect, controlled environment for an ambush.

The Final Showdown

Under the cover of a moonless night, Athena, accompanied by Agent Miller and a small, elite FBI tactical team, positioned themselves within the cavernous darkness of the warehouse. Cold Case Detective Athena Grant-Nash, a local cop from the beat, was now leading a federal operation to bring down a decades-old criminal empire.

Hours crawled by. The air was thick with tension, the only sounds the rustle of their gear and the thumping of their own hearts. Then, just as the first hint of pre-dawn light threatened to pierce the darkness, a sleek, black sedan pulled up to the main loading dock.

Julian Hayes emerged, a figure of anxious caution, his face pale in the dim light. He wasn't alone. Two burly, professional-looking bodyguards scanned the perimeter, their movements tight and practiced. Hayes carried a small, heavy briefcase. He was there to confirm the "ledger."

"Hayes!" Agent Miller's voice boomed, amplified by a bullhorn, cutting through the silence. "FBI! Hands where we can see them!"

The bodyguards reacted instantly, drawing weapons. But the FBI team was faster, a flurry of movement and shouted commands. A brief, violent exchange of gunfire erupted. The bodyguards were quickly incapacitated, but Hayes, in a desperate, final act, pulled a small vial from his pocket and raised it to his lips.

"He's destroying evidence!" Athena yelled, recognizing the desperate move. "Move!"

She launched herself forward, her protective detail a step behind her. Hayes, seeing her coming, spun, his eyes wild with terror and defiance. He didn't have a weapon, but he lunged, a desperate, cornered animal, aiming to smash the vial against the concrete floor.

Athena intercepted him, a powerful tackle that sent them both sprawling. The vial flew from his hand, shattering against a nearby metal beam, its contents splashing harmlessly. Hayes thrashed beneath her, a frantic, desperate struggle. He was older, but surprisingly strong, fueled by panic. He clawed at her, trying to reach for something at his ankle.

Athena saw it – a small, sharp knife. Her years of street experience kicked in. She blocked his arm, twisting, and slammed her elbow into his ribs. He grunted, momentarily stunned. With a final, decisive move, she pinned his arm, securing the knife.

As federal agents swarmed, taking Hayes into custody, Athena stood over him, breathing heavily. He lay defeated, his meticulous world in ruins. She looked down at him, then thought of Y/N. Their silent, enduring presence had driven her, through every threat, every danger, every long, dark night.

Justice. Finally.

Connor Maxwell, one of the two assailants from the kidnapping attempt, was a ghost. Or, rather, he had been. His face, now unmasked, stared defiantly across the sterile interrogation room table at Athena. He was the one who had grabbed her, the one who had growled about silencing her. The FBI had tracked him down hours after the ambush, thanks to a partial plate number caught by a distant traffic camera and a rapid-response facial recognition sweep. He was a professional, a shadow operator with a history of shady security contracts and no apparent ties to the main conspirators, making him a perfect, deniable asset.

Athena sat opposite him, her shoulder still aching, a faint bruise blooming on her temple. Agent Miller sat beside her, silent but watchful.

Maxwell leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. He was in his late forties, lean but powerfully built, with cold, calculating eyes. He had the air of someone who enjoyed the game, even from a losing position.

"Well, well, Detective Grant-Nash," he drawled, his voice no longer modulated, surprisingly smooth. "Fancy meeting you here. Last time, you were rather… feisty."

Athena's gaze was unwavering. "You attempted to kidnap a federal witness and assault two federal agents, Maxwell. You're facing a long time."

He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Oh, I'm well aware of the charges. But let's be honest, Detective. You got lucky. Very lucky. And messy. We prefer clean operations."

Miller interjected, his voice sharp. "Who hired you, Maxwell? Who gave the orders?"

Maxwell ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Athena, a disturbing glint in them. "You know, when they gave me the file on you, I was intrigued. A cop who just had to dig up old bones. Most people know when to let sleeping dogs lie. Especially when those dogs have teeth."

"Y/N L/N deserved justice," Athena stated, her voice even.

"Justice?" Maxwell scoffed. "Or notoriety? You could have stayed quiet, Detective. Could have enjoyed your life. Your charming husband. Your sweet little boy and girl." His eyes flickered to the invisible bruises on her temple, a hint of satisfaction. "Roughing you up wasn't in the original brief, but you did make it necessary."

A wave of cold fury washed over Athena, but she held it in check. He was trying to provoke her, to get under her skin.

"The FBI has everything, Maxwell," Miller pressed. "The audio logs, the documents, Thomas Thorne's testimony. It's over. Give us the names of your employers, and we can discuss leniency."

Maxwell chuckled again, a genuinely amused sound this time. "Leniency? You think I'm afraid of a few years in a federal pen? I've seen worse holidays. And as for 'everything,' Agent, do you really think you have everything?" He paused, letting the silence hang heavy. "They're always a step ahead. Always."

Then, his demeanor shifted. The amusement drained from his face, replaced by something cold and unsettlingly intimate. His voice dropped, becoming a low, chilling whisper. "You know, Detective, when I saw your family's pictures… very nice. Very typical. The suburban dream. It made me think. All that hard work, all those years building something… just to watch it crumble because of a bad decision."

Athena's jaw clenched. "Don't talk about my family."

Maxwell leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "You should have stayed with them, Detective. Should have listened to the warnings. Built a bigger wall around your perfect little life. Because now, you've put them in the crosshairs. You think a few federal agents can keep them safe from truly motivated people? People who've hidden secrets for thirty years, who've removed obstacles with extreme prejudice?"

He smiled then, a slow, sickeningly triumphant curl of his lips. "You wanted to bring justice for Y/N L/N. A noble cause, I'm sure. But you forgot the first rule of this game, Detective. You bring a knife to a gunfight, you get cut. You bring a shovel to a graveyard, and you might just dig your own."

The unspoken threat, the insinuation that her family was still vulnerable, hung in the air. He wasn't giving up names, but he was delivering a message, designed to destabilize her, to make her question every decision. He was a professional, a conduit for their fear, and he was using it as a weapon.

Athena met his gaze, her own eyes hardening. He was playing mind games, but she was Athena Grant-Nash. She had faced down far worse than empty threats.

"You can play your games, Maxwell," Athena said, her voice a low growl. "But Y/N L/N won. And you and your employers are going to pay the price. You just signed your own death warrant by touching my family."

Miller stepped in, ending the interrogation there. They had what they needed: confirmation of his involvement, and a chilling insight into the conspirators' ruthlessness. But the final, sickening words from Maxwell would linger, a cold shadow over Athena's fierce determination.

[respectable-username]

🔐 Why You (Probably) Don't Need A VPN

A rant by a software engineer sick of VPN ads from her favourite YouTubers

TL;DR:

Here are some legitimate reasons the average internet user might want to use a VPN:

To connect to their company's internal network

To bypass the Great Firewall of China (or other types of website blocks at country or organisation level)

To watch Netflix etc as if you were in another country

Here are absolutely rubbish reasons to use a VPN:

Privacy

And today, I'll tell you why.

Hang on, won't a VPN stop hackers from stealing my passwords?

I mean, it does encrypt the web traffic coming from your device.

You know what else encrypts web traffic coming from your device? Your browser.

Yes, in the year 2021, pretty much all websites on the internet are accessed over HTTPS. The "S" stands for "secure", as in "your request will be securely encrypted". If your browser is using HTTPS, nobody can capture the data you're sending over the internet. More detail in the "I like too much detail" section at the bottom of this post.

It's very easy to check if you are using HTTPS by looking at your URL bar. In most browsers, it will have a lock on it if secure:

(From top left to bottom right: Chrome on iOS, Safari on iOS, Chrome on Windows, Edge on Windows, Firefox on Windows, and Safari on Mac. Screenshots reflect the UI at the time this post was written. Oh gosh this has taken over 4 hours to write.)

But isn't moar encryption better? What if somebody breaks HTTPS?

For starters, nobody's breaking your HTTPS, and there isn't any benefit from double encrypting. This is because of the maths behind encryption/decryption!

Encryption works kinda like a lock and key, except the lock is maths and the key is a special number only known to the person allowed to unlock the information.

The important thing is, without the key, all the locked data looks like complete and utter garbage. Completely unusable. Barely distinguishable from random noise. There's absolutely no way to tell what the original data was.

The other important thing is that the key is nearly unguessable. As in, with current technology, will generally take more than the lifetime of the universe to guess by chance. And when technology gets faster, we just make the numbers bigger again until they're once again secure.

For any major website you use, they will use a strong encryption algorithm (ie lock) with big numbers so your keys will be strong enough to withstand an attack. This means your data is safe as long as that lock icon is in your URL bar.

A VPN will not make the existing garble any more garbled. The extra $10/month or whatever you're paying for does not buy you any extra protection.

If you want to know more about how encryption and HTTPS in particular work, see the "I like too much detail" section at the end of this post.

Something something viruses

How's a VPN going to stop viruses? It controls the path your internet traffic takes, not the content that gets sent down that path. I guess it could block some known virus-giving hosts? But if it's known to the VPN provider, it's probably also known to the built-in antivirus on your computer who can block it for you.

(Oh yeah, 3rd party antivirus is another thing that's not worth paying for these days. Microsoft's built-in Windows Defender is as good as the third party options, and something something Macs don't get viruses easily because of how they're architected.)

Honestly though, keep your software up to date, don't click on anything suspicious, don't open files from sources you don't trust, and you'll be right most of the time.

And keep your software up to date. Then update your software. Hey, did I mention keeping your stuff updated? Update! Now! It only takes a few minutes. Please update to the latest version of your software I'm begging you. It's the number 1 way to protect yourself from viruses and other malware. Most major software attacks could have been prevented if people just updated their damn software!

But my ISP is spying on me!

Ok, it is true that there are TWO bits of data that HTTPS can't and won't hide. Those are:

The source of a request (your IP)

What website that request is going to (the website's IP)

These are the bits of information that routers use to know where to send your data, so of course they can't be hidden as the data is moving across the internet. And people can see that information very easily if they want to.

Note: this will show which website you're going to, but not which page you're looking at, and not the content of that page. So it will show that you were on Tumblr, but will not show anyone that you're still reading SuperWhoLock content in 2021.

It's this source/destination information that VPNs hide, which is why they can be used to bypass website blocks and region locks.

By using a VPN, those sniffing traffic on your side of the VPN will just show you connecting to the VPN, not the actual website you want. That means you can read AO3 at work/school without your boss/teachers knowing (unless they look over your shoulder of course).

As for those sniffing on the websites end, including the website itself, they will see the VPN as the source of the connection, not you. So if you're in the US and using a VPN node in the UK, Netflix will see you as being in the UK and show you their British library rather than the American one.

If this is what you're using a VPN for and you think the price is fair, then by all means keep doing it! This is 100% what VPNs are good for.

HOWEVER, and this is a big "however", if it's your ISP you're trying to hide your internet traffic from, then you will want to think twice before using a VPN.

Let me put it this way. Without a VPN, your ISP knows every website you connect to and when. With a VPN, do you know who has that exact same information? The VPN provider. Sure, many claim to not keep logs, but do you really trust the people asking for you to send them all your data for a fee to not just turn around and sell your data on for a profit, or worse?

In effect, you're trading one snooper for another. One snooper is heavily regulated, in many jurisdictions must obey net neutrality, and is already getting a big fee from you regardless of where you browse. The other isn't. Again, it's all a matter of who you trust more.

For me personally, I trust my ISP more than a random VPN provider, if for no other reason than my ISP is an old enough company with enough inertia and incompetence that I don't think they could organise to sell my data even if they wanted to. And with the amount of money I'm paying them per month, they've only got everything to lose if they broke consumer trust by on-selling that data. So yeah, I trust my ISP more with my privacy than the random VPN company.

But my VPN comes with a password manager!

Password managers are great. I 100% recommend you use a password manager. If there's one thing you could do right now to improve your security (other than updating your software, speaking of, have you updated yet?), it's getting and using a password manager.

Password managers also come for free.

I'm currently using LastPass free, but am planning to switch after they did a bad capitalism and only let their free accounts access either laptop or mobile but not both now. I personally am planning to move to Bitwarden on friends' recommendation since it's not only free but open source and available across devices. I also have friends who use passbolt and enjoy it, which is also free and open source, but it's also a bit DIY to set up. Great if you like tinkering though! And there are probably many other options out there if you do a bit of googling.

So, yeah, please use a password manager, but don't pay for it unless you actually have use for the extra features.

No I really need to hide my internet activity from everybody for reasons

In this case, you're probably looking for TOR. TOR is basically untraceable. It's also a terrible user experience for the most part because of this, so I'd only recommend it if you need it, such as if you're trying to escape the Great Firewall. But please don't use it for Bad Crimes. I am not to be held liable for any crime committed using information learned from this post.

Further reading viewing

If you want to know more about why you don't need a VPN, see Tom Scott's amazing video on the subject. It's honestly a great intro for beginners.

I like too much detail

Ahhh, so you're the type of person who doesn't get turned off by long explanations I see. Well, here's a little more info on the stuff I oversimplified in the main post about encryption. Uhh, words get bigger and more jargony in this section.

So first oversimplification: the assumption that all web traffic is either HTTP or HTTPS. This isn't exactly true. There are many other application layer internet standards out there, such as ssh, ftp, websockets, and all the proprietary standards certain companies use for stuff such as streaming and video conferencing. Some of these are secure, using TLS or some other security algorithm under the hood, and some of them aren't.

But most of the web requests you care about are HTTP/HTTPS calls. As for the rest, if they come from a company of a decent size that hasn't been hacked off the face of the planet already, they're probably also secure. In other words, you don't need to worry about it.

Next, we've already said that encryption works as a lock and a key, where the lock is a maths formula and the key is a number. But how do we get that key to lock and unlock the data?

Well, to answer that, we first need to talk about the two different types of encryption: symmetric and asymmetric. Symmetric encryption such as AES uses the same key to both encrypt and decrypt data, whereas asymmetric encryption such as RSA uses a different key to encode and decode.

For the sake of my writing, we're going to call the person encrypting Alice, the person decrypting Bob, and the eavesdropper trying to break our communications Eve from now on. These are standard names in crypto FYI. Also, crypto is short for cryptography not cryptocurrencies. Get your Bitcoin and Etherium outta here!

Sorry if things start getting incoherent. I'm tired. It's after 1am now.

So first, how do we get the key from symmetric crypto? This is probably the easier place to start. Well, you need a number, any number of sufficient size, that both Alice and Bob know. There are many ways you could share this number. They could decide it when they meet in person. They could send it to each other using carrier pigeons. Or they could radio it via morse code. But those aren't convenient, and somebody could intercept the number and use it to read all their messages.

So what we use instead is a super clever algorithm called Diffie-Hellman, which uses maths and, in particular, the fact it's really hard to factor large numbers (probably NP Hard to be specific, but there's no actual proof of that). The Wikipedia page for this is surprisingly easy to read, so I'll just direct you there to read all about it because I've been writing for too long. This algorithm allows Alice and Bob to agree on a secret number, despite Eve being able to read everything they send each other.

Now Alice and Bob have this secret number key, they can talk in private. Alice puts her message and the key into the encryption algorithm and out pops what looks like a load of garbage. She can then send this garbage to Bob without worrying about Eve being able to read it. Bob can then put the garbage and the key into the decryption algorithm to undo the scrambling and get the original message out telling him where the good donuts are. Voila, they're done!

But how does Alice know that she's sending her message to Bob and not Eve? Eve could pretend to be Bob so that Alice does the Diffie-Hellman dance with her instead and sends her the secret location of the good donuts instead.

This is where asymmetric crypto comes in! This is the one with private and public keys, and the one that uses prime numbers.

I'm not 100% across the maths on this one TBH, but it has something to do with group theory. Anyway, just like Diffie-Hellman, it relies on the fact that prime factorisation is hard, and so it does some magic with semi-primes, ie numbers with only 2 prime factors other than 1. Google it if you want to know more. I kinda zoned out of this bit in my security courses. Maths hard

But the effect of that maths is easier to explain: things that are encoded with one of the keys can only be decoded with the other key. This means that one of those keys can be well-known to the public and the other is known only to the person it belongs to.

If Alice wants to send a message to Bob and just Bob, no Eve allowed, she can first look up Bob's public key and encrypt a beginning message with that. Once Bob receives the message, he can decrypt it with his private key and read the contents. Eve can't read the contents though because, even though she has Bob's public key, she doesn't know his private key.

This public key information is what the lock in your browser is all about BTW. It's saying that the website is legit based on the public key they provide.

So why do we need symmetric crypto when we have asymmetric crypto? Seems a lot less hassle to exchange keys with asymmetric crypto.

Well, it's because asymmetric crypto is slooooow. So, in TLS, the security algorithm that puts the "S" in "HTTPS", asymmetric RSA is used to establish the initial connection and figure out what symmetric key to use, and then the rest of the session uses AES symmetric encryption using the agreed secret key.

And there you have it! Crypto in slightly-less-short-but-still-high-enough-level-that-I-hope-you-understand.

Just realised how long this section is. Well, I did call it "too much detail" for a reason.

Now, next question is what exactly is and isn't encrypted using HTTPS.

Well, as I said earlier, it's basically just the source IP:port and the destination IP:port. In fact, this information is actually communicated on the logical layer below the application layer HTTPS is on, known as the transport layer. Again, as I said before, you can't really encrypt this unless you don't want your data to reach the place you want at all.

Also, DNS is unencrypted. A DNS request is a request that turns a domain name, such as tumblr.com, into an IP address, by asking a special server called a Domain Name Server where to find the website you're looking for. A DNS request is made before an HTTP(S) request. Anyone who can read your internet traffic can therefore tell you wanted to go to Tumblr.

But importantly, this only shows the domain name, not the full URL. The rest of the URL, the part after the third slash (the first two slashes being part of http://), is stuff that's interpreted by the server itself and so isn't needed during transport. Therefore, it encrypted and completely unreadable, just like all the content on your page.

I was going to show a Wireshark scan of a web request using HTTP and HTTPS to show you the difference, but this has taken long enough to write as it is, so sorry!

I could probably write more, but it's 1:30am and I'm sleepy. I hope you found some of this interesting and think twice before purchasing a VPN subscription. Again, there are legit good uses for a VPN, but they're not the ones primarily being advertised in VPN ads. It's the fact that VPN ads rely so heavily on false advertising that really grinds my gears and made me want to do this rant. It's especially bad when it comes from somebody I'd think of as technologically competent (naming no names here, but if you've worked in tech and still promote VPNs as a way to keep data safe... no). Feel free to ask questions if you want and hopefully I'll get around to answering any that I feel I know enough to answer.

Nighty night Tumblr. Please update your software. And use a (free) password manager. And enable two factor authentication on all your accounts. But mostly just update your software.

[codenamed-queenie]

#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched. 

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire. 

So. Quarantine it is. 

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick - 

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days. 

Then he started to get twitchy. 

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.” 

“Dick, no.”  

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t. 

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass. 

Desperate for news of the outside. 

He thrives off of it like a starving man. 

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after. 

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason - 

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist. 

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking. 

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results. 

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it. 

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up. 

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done. 

Barbara - 

Self-quarantined with her dad. 

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive. 

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs. 

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together. 

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles. 

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony. 

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window. 

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background. 

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute. 

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen. 

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’ 

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe. 

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned. 

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim. 

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being. 

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out. 

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it. 

Cass - 

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate. 

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed. 

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far. 

But no one knows for sure. 

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel. 

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later. 

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic. 

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day. 

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’  mostly. 

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost. 

Steph - 

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first. 

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down. 

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable. 

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving. 

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks. 

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s. 

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic. 

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian - 

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house. 

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine. 

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds. 

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion. 

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time. 

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are. 

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time. 

Only that he is Out There. 

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had. 

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies. 

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat. 

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts. 

Duke - 

Did not leave the attic for two weeks. 

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement. 

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement. 

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement. 

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa. 

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally. 

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others. 

Duke has seen these people under pressure. 

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with. 

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

After All

Character: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Just because Bucky pushed her away doesn’t mean he knows how to let go.

Word Count: 2,100 - One Shot

She looked beautiful. Too beautiful. Bucky didn’t know why she put in such an effort for this schmuck. She didn’t need to put in any effort at all to be beautiful. And if some guy didn’t know that, then he didn’t deserve her. 

The bar had giant windows with no curtains or treatments to hide its patrons from outside observation. They did it on purpose, to hypnotize the people walking by and pull them into the romantic and dark lighting…and overpriced cocktails. 

But Bucky didn’t just notice how beautiful Y/N looked. He could also see how bored she was. Her smile was forced. He could almost hear exactly what her voice sounded like as she talked to him. Bucky would tease her about it, always knowing when she was being polite but wanted to find an out from a conversation as soon as possible. She called it her “customer service voice.”

She was probably smarter than him, Bucky thought. She was smarter than most people – maybe not Stark or Shuri, but she had her own genius that neither of those two possessed.

The only thing that could possibly make the people on the street notice Bucky’s lingering was the white vapor that appeared from his mouth every time he sighed. Which he seemed to be doing every time he noticed another piece of body language from Y/N that further proved her disinterest in this man.

It was cold, making everyone hurry to their destination, not paying him any mind. But Bucky didn’t feel the weather’s coldness anymore. Once you spend a lifetime frozen, nothing really compares.

Bucky stood up straighter when the two started making their way out of the fancy bar.

Y/N shifted her weight, not sure what the man’s next move was going to be.

He awkwardly went in for a hug.

She gave another one of her fake smiles, said her goodbyes, and started walking away.

“Not even gonna get her a cab or walk her home, you bastard?” Bucky breathed with irritation.

Men these days. Him and Steve still didn’t get it.

But he figured Y/N was glad to be done with him.

Bucky walked in the shadows of night as he kept his distance behind her. They were only a few avenues away from her apartment.

But he swore she was walking slower than usual. Like she was trying to make the journey home longer.

When they finally reached the stoop of her building, she took the steps slowly. But instead of putting her keys into the lock, she just stared at the door for a moment.

What was she thinking about? Bucky wondered.

Then Y/N quickly turned around and skipped down the stairs. She hurried across the street and made her way into the park that was directly across from her building.

She walked with more purpose now. Which made Bucky realize what was happening.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He took in a deep breath before he followed her into the park.

Y/N sat on a bench in almost total darkness, waiting. If it weren’t for Bucky’s super-soldier sight, she would be practically invisible to him.

Bucky rubbed his face and watched her for a few moments before he made his way over.

Without any warning, he slowly sat down on the other side of the bench.

She didn’t react, didn’t even act like someone had invaded her space.

She had been waiting for him.

“What did I tell you about going to parks at night?” Bucky finally asked.

She scoffed, but didn’t look at him. “Yeah…Well, putting myself into danger is always the quickest way to get you out of hiding.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“He seemed nice.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, James.”

She’d stopped calling him Bucky once he broke her heart.

“Is this the part where you try to lie and tell me you liked him?” Bucky challenged with a smirk, even though there was absolutely nothing funny about the situation.

Y/N finally turned and looked at him for the first time. “What exactly are you mad about, James? That I went on a date with him or that I just went on any date at all?”

He was silent for a second. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“You’d say that about every man,” she challenged.

“Yeah, and I’d be damn right.”

Y/N shot up from the bench and turned to face him. “I’m trying!” She snapped.

Then she paused, trying to get her emotions in control. But she wasn’t successful since her eyes glazed over with tears. She managed to hold them in. “I’m really trying.”

Bucky then stood up from the bench. His body always went into a panic when Y/N cried. He felt sick to the stomach when he was the reason for it. But these days, he was always the reason..

But he couldn’t comfort her like he used to. He wasn’t allowed to touch her anymore.

Y/N sniffed, trying to play it off as if it was due to the cold instead of her unshed tears.

“You have to stop following me,” she told him as sternly as she could.

Bucky shifted his weight, but stayed quiet.

“James, I’m gonna call Steve if you keep doing this.”

And he knew she would. What he didn’t know is what Steve would do to make sure Y/N’s commands were followed through.

And it wasn’t just Steve who sided with her after the breakup, the whole team did. Any of them would love a chance to return to Y/N’s life in some way and give Bucky a piece of their mind on her behalf.

Breakup. Is that even what it should be called?

They didn’t stop loving each other. Even though Y/N hid that with the hate she now held for Bucky.

He didn’t think it was possible for someone to hate a person as much as they loved them, but Y/N seemed to do it effortlessly with him.

“We can’t do this anymore, Y/N. I have to stay away from you.” 

The words still haunted Bucky’s nightmares. All it took was one stupid article. Her full name, where she was from, what she did for work – all accompanied by a photo of them together. If it had been paparazzi, Bucky would’ve clocked the camera. His training would’ve sensed it, noticed the signs. But it had just been some asshole and their iPhone.

“How did you figure out I was tailing you?” He asked, ignoring the threat of Steve.

“Following,” she corrected. “You look like the fucking unabomber, James. You’re trying so hard to hide that you stick out even more.” She looked him up and down, taking in his black leather jacket over his black hoodie that was pulled over his black, nondescript baseball hat.

But in reality, she knew that if Bucky wanted to be completely untraceable, he would be. Which meant that he wanted her to notice him.

He didn’t realize he was doing that.

Y/N stared at the ground, scared to look into his eyes now. “I always think that I feel you watching me.” Then she glanced up at him. “But then I realized that was just me missing you.” She shook her head, embarrassed to be admitting that to him. “It wasn’t that I could feel you watching over me, it was me hoping you’d come around the next corner.”

“I miss you, too.” He admitted without hesitation.

Y/N closed her eyes and winced. “Don’t say that to me.”

“But it is true.”

Her eyes remained closed, but not even that could stop the tears from falling this time.

“Why do you have to make this so hard, Bucky?” She whispered.

The use of that name knocked the air out of his lungs.

He took a step toward her.

But she immediately took a step back. “Don’t. Please don’t, Bucky.”

“Y/N…I’m…I’m so sorry,” he muttered.

“How does this make anything better for us?” She breathed.

“I just…I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m not!” She bawled. “Is that what you want to hear? That I’m miserable without you? That during all of these dates, I’m just comparing them to you? Is that what you want to hear? Is it?”

“No! For Christ – no, Y/N.”

“Then what do you want me to say?” She demanded.

“Nothing. You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. I know that.”

He stepped forward, it was a risk and he knew it. But she didn’t cower from him this time. Bucky slowly reached forward and wiped the tears from her cheek gently.

“I’ll never stop worrying about you. I get anxious, thinking about what could happen.”

“Well, I stopped being your responsibility when you broke up with me.” She knew that was her broken heart speaking, but she had to give it at least one round.

Bucky nodded, knowing he deserved that.

Y/N looked around her. “It’s been almost a year, Bucky. We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he mumbled as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground.

“We need to move on…if that’s even possible. We have to try either way.”

“I know,” Bucky repeated.

But he also knew he could never replace her. However, she deserved to fill the bleeding hole he left after he broke her heart.

“Goodnight, James.” She told him coldly.

He just nodded.

But she hadn’t moved yet.

Before she could change her mind, she stepped into him and Bucky immediately opened his arms to her. She buried her face into his shoulder. Her senses took him in, memorizing every detail. His cologne. The feel of his leather jacket that he’d broken in to perfectly mold around his body. His inhuman body heat.

Bucky did the same.

When Y/N pulled away, her eyes locked to his like those blue irises were magnets.

“You should get home now, doll,” he whispered as his gaze flickered to her lips. His hands were caressing her face now.

She just nodded, feeling the new tension.

Bucky leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

It took every ounce of strength she had to walk away. She wouldn’t let herself turn around and look back once she started walking. But she felt his eyes on her, watching to make sure she made it to her front door safely.

She knew he wouldn’t leave until he saw the light turn on in her bedroom.

Y/N counted to 1,000 before she allowed her crying to start again.

-----

Bucky turned the light on in the kitchen.

“Bucky…”

He had been dreading this. “What? What do you want, Steve?”

The other super soldier leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed. He was giving Bucky the look that no one wanted to get from Captain America. It was the look of disappointment.

“Y/N called.”

That was all Steve needed to say.

Bucky ignored him and poured himself a drink – vodka on the rocks. It was Nat’s hidden stash. But he’d deal with that tomorrow.

“You can’t push her away and then shove yourself back into her life whenever you feel like it. That’s not fair to her and you know it,” Steve warned.

Bucky threw the vodka back before he countered with, “You said you understood why I did it.”

“Yes, I understood it. I didn’t agree with it. And I definitely don’t agree with you continuing to torture Y/N and yourself.”

Bucky tried to pour himself another glass of vodka, but Steve ripped the bottle from his grasp.

“Are you even listening to me?” Steve growled.

“I stand by what I did!” Bucky shouted. “I did what had to be done! And I did it so she could be safe, so she could have a fucking life!”

He caught his breath and his hand rubbed across his face. “I know I shouldn’t go see her. I know that. But…But I’m only human, Steve. I can’t help it.”

Steve sighed, his sympathy now outweighing his anger.

He gripped Bucky’s shoulder. “I know, Buck.”

“I’ll stop. I promise. I owe her that at least.” Bucky bowed his head in shame.

“I’ll check on her. We all will.” They would do it so Bucky didn’t have to.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“Just get some sleep. OK, Buck?”

He nodded, even though he stopped really sleeping when she was no longer in his bed.

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

I wrote this about a month ago and obviously didn’t want to share it with how much everyone sucks on here. 

Figured I’d give this site a chance to redeem itself, but not getting my hopes up. 

I’m still on “hiatus” or whatever, and not really interacting with people on here. 

If you really miss me that much... One Shot – Masterlist

(Also, friendly reminder that just because a fic is old, doesn’t mean you can’t comment on it anymore.)

[easily-infatuated23]

Undercover- Part Four

Prologue, Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

a/n: this has really taken a turn but i’m vibing with it lol 

pairing: Healer!Draco x Reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: a bit of angst at the end, talks of death 

summary: Reader finally comes clean to Draco about what she’s involved in

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

When I came to, my head was pounding. It was the kind of pounding that occurs after you’ve been sobbing hysterically. I opened my eyes to find Draco sitting in a chair next to me. I was back in his bed. I sat up slowly and swung my legs over the side. Draco looked really stressed, but when he saw me sit up, he relaxed a bit. “I seem to be forming a habit of fainting into your arms. I promise I don’t usually faint this much” I said. I rubbed my eyes and gave him a pathetic smile. He shook his head and sat next to me on his bed. “I’m just glad I was there to catch you” he said, chuckling slightly. I nodded. I still felt a bit woozy and pale. “How about I go make us some tea and then you can finally explain whats going on”. I nodded again. It was time. Draco left me in his room as he descended the stairs to the kitchen. I stood up and walked over to Draco’s desk where his computer was. I picked up the piece of paper upon which I had so furiously recorded the names of the dead. It seemed the names of the dead were always growing in numbers. I sighed and shoved the paper into my pocket before descending the stairs and joining Draco in the kitchen. He handed me a mug filled with pipping hot black tea. The aroma of the tea helped calm my anxiety. I looked into the dark swirling hues of the liquid and took a deep breath. Draco was looking at me, the anticipation of answers radiating from him. So, I began my story.

“Almost immediately after I finished school, I joined a special task force that is part of a secret sect of the Ministry. The task force is so secret that the names of the other agents on the team are not supposed to be known by any one except the boss. The Minister doesn’t even know who is on the team, just that it exists. My job has been to discover, hunt down, and bring active Death Eaters to justice. A few months ago, I was assigned to go undercover and infiltrate a group of Death Eaters that call themselves ‘The Dark Saints’. They’ve been kidnapping, torturing, and killing muggle-borns. I was supposed to gain their trust, and gather as much information as possible. Our intel said that they were being funded and protected by someone in the Ministry. I had to do some really terrible things. I never killed anyone….but I had to stand by and watch as people died…good people.”

I paused and tried to control my breathing. It was difficult not to immediately start crying as I remembered the people I let die. Draco took my hand. I knew he could sympathize with this situation. After all, he was practically the poster boy for being forced into standing by as people died. “You did what you had to” he said, trying to comfort me. I shook my head. That was the furthest thing from the truth. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and continued.

“Any way, something I learned a long time ago is that you always need insurance when you’re involved with something as secretive as my job. Not just insurance that you still exist, but insurance that there are others you can rely on or use as contacts. I would go into the office after hours and look through every case file I could get my hands on and document them. But, the biggest reason I went through the files is because I make a point of knowing every agent that goes undercover. Even though we shouldn’t know who we work with, I make it a priority. That way, if anything happens to them, there’s someone who remembers their real name and mourns them.  I was so focused on remembering them, I forgot to look for them when their names started to disappear. When I searched the obit section of the Daily Prophet, I noticed that in the past two years, there are almost 20 people I know to be agents listed as dead. Each circumstance of death is just similar enough to create a pattern, but not enough to make it overtly suspicious. Usually things like drownings or falls from great heights.”

Draco stopped me. “Now that you say that, I realize that we have seen more and more people in the hospital who have been found half dead in bodies of water or from broken necks…we haven’t been able to save any of them. So what does that mean in connection with the Dark Saints?” he asked. “I realized that the deaths of agents started to coincide with a disappearance or death of a member of the Dark Saints. There were only four consistent members of the group and the other five or six would almost cycle through. This made me realize the key piece of information I was missing.” Now I stopped feeling as sad and started to get angry.  

“My boss is the one financing the killings. When I looked in that book, I saw only four names out of the group of ten I was with that I recognized. I also saw my boss’s name in the book. I don’t think anyone knew or knows he’s a Death Eater, I mean hell he’s in charge of hunting them down! He must have devised this scheme to kill muggle borns and get rid of his agents. To avoid suspicion, he’s been using agents to go ‘undercover’ in the gang that he created. This way he’s getting rid of agents and getting more and more people to do his bidding. They thought they were helping… I thought I was helping. Whenever an agent realized they were actually just helping the Dark Saints or wanted to leave the case, they were killed. He also used this as a way to help real Death Eaters stay under the radar. He knew the agents would never get the actual mark so he used this as an excuse to have a sanctioned way to create an untraceable and removable Dark Mark.”

Draco looked stunned. “I see why you passed out. Thats a lot to take in”. I nodded. My hands were balled into fists. My boss had fooled everyone, and I was furious. “What is your boss’s name?” Draco asked. “Hiram Baxter” I replied. Draco looked away and his expression changed. He looked like he was searching his memory for something involving that name. His eyes suddenly widened. “Have you ever heard of the Death Eater called ‘the Barbarian’?” he asked. “Yeah of course. We all have he managed to evade everyone. No one even knew his name. Why what are you saying?” I could barely believe what I was asking. “I remembered hearing my father talking about the Barbarian once and he referred to him as ‘Baxter the Barbarian’. I think your boss is the Barbarian”. I felt my blood boiling. I stood up and let out a scream. I never knew I could feel this amount of rage. “That bastard is going to pay!” I said. Draco nodded. I began to cry again, but this time not from sadness, but from frustration. “I’m going to need your help Draco. With your evidence, we may be able to bring Baxter down. We just have to live long enough to get to trial.” Draco gulped. “I-I don’t know if I can. I’ve been successful in distancing myself from dark magic and I don’t know if I can do it.” “But, you would be helping put a stop to a growing collective of dark wizards.” I stammered. He looked down. “I’m sorry”. I took a step towards him and held his hand. “Draco…please”. He pulled his hand away and turned his back to me. “You should go now. I’ve already gotten too involved.” I was stunned. The tears from earlier had returned and were threatening to flow down my cheeks like raging waterfalls. “Don’t forget, it was you who brought me here! It was you who got yourself involved in the first place!” He didn’t move and I continued to scream at him. “I was the one who told you to leave me alone and what did you do?! You kidnapped me!” His shoulders shook slightly, but not because he was crying. He turned to face me, his face red with anger. “I was just helping a patient! I never needed to know or be involved in this!” He screamed back. He slammed his hand on the counter. I was taken a back. He looked into my eyes and and for this first time he saw a flicker of fear. He hadn’t seen fear in some ones eyes due to his actions in a long time. He felt sick.

I was trembling and did my best to hide it as I began to speak. “You’re a coward Draco Malfoy. The changed man I heard rumors of is a lie. I only hope that when I’m dead, you’ll do something about it.” I fished out the list of names from my pocket and threw them on the counter. Then, I removed the colored contacts from my eyes that had only barely hidden me and waved my wand, removing the glamour concealing my hair. For the first time since Draco Malfoy had laid his eyes on me, he saw me as I truly was, as he remembered me. I looked more like the girl who had been traumatized by the war, just as he’d been. I looked more like the girl Draco had silently pined after before he became a Death Eater. “If you don’t do it for me or even for yourself, do it for the muggle-borns I couldn’t save and the ones who are going to die very soon.” And with that, I ran back to his bedroom, pulled on my back pack, and disapparated. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I was no longer safe with Draco Malfoy.

Draco stood in his kitchen. The screams from moments before left a now deafening silence. He picked up the list of names and crumpled it up, throwing it off to one side. He knew Y/N was right but he was terrified. It was like he was 17 again. He was alone, and had a burden of knowledge that if he shared would get him killed. But, he did have one thing he didn’t have all those years ago. He had Harry Potter, an acclaimed Auror and friend on his side.

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taglist!

@pointlesscoconut @bi-andready-tocry @lunars @spencerreidisbootiful @theotherscottishgirl 

[poc-movie-supremacy]

The Immortal Lovers

Mortals wonder, most can’t even fathom what a centuries long relationship is like. Is it bloody, is it passionate, is it kind? Steven and Andrew hear this and laugh. Immortality with your loved one is soft. 

I hope you (especially @mousemadej) all love this fic. It was so fun to write. 

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There’s a certain softness that comes when you’ve lived forever. You end up knowing someone intimately. Your souls are so intertwined that where you end and they begin is untraceable.

The crackling of the fire and buzz from the cicadas and fireflies outside filled the room. Steven hands Andrew a cup of hot cocoa before clambering into his lap. Reflexively one hand covers Steven’s stomach while his chin rests on Steven’s shoulder. Together they quietly listen to Ryan and Shane recount one of their weird wonderful world stories. In truth, they stopped believing the story after the bloody pumpkin got involved, but they declined to tell the boys that.

Andrew skates and massages his fingers across Steven’s torso where he’s always sore. One would think the sore spots would move but not for Steven. He aches in the same places, places Andrew has memorized. Finding Steven’s sore spots, tickle spot… is as easy as breathing. If they were alone, Steven would start mouthing at Andrew’s neck. He would begin at the collarbone and make his way up to the shell of the ear. The shiver it elicited delighted Steven to no end. In response, Steven would humm happily into Andrew’s ear and use his arm to play with Andrew’s short golden-brown hair.  To show off his newly acquired strength, Andrew would pick up Steven and take them to bed. The shorter blonde would drink in the sound of Steven’s giggles like they were the freshly pressed wine in Italy.

Of course, they have company, so that’s off the table. Instead, Steven plays with Andrew’s calloused fingers as they trade stories with the self-named paranormal bad boys. When Ryan and Shane tire themselves out, the fancy boys, also penned by the paranormal bad boys, get up to wish them a good bye. By then they’re just exhausted so when they fall into the bed they just fall asleep. Steven curls his long-form around Andrew surrounding him like a blanket.

When work is over for Steven the first person he likes to see is Andrew. He likes to cup his face with his hands and rest their foreheads together. For a while, they just sway pressed together. It's nice to reconnect with your love after a grueling day serving capitalism. Steven breathes him in, the scent of earth and food filling his lungs. Right now he smelled like apple pie, Steven smiled in excitement. Andrew brushes the dirt off his apron before sinking his fingers into Steven’s hair, blue this time. He likes blue the most. It compliments outfits and makes him seem sharper like he was cut from stone. Once he dyed his hair pink though, Andrew won’t lie that he stared at Steven for a long minute before peppering him with kisses.

“Berrie baby. You smell like berries.” Andrew whispered to him one night. The world was silent as they lay together. Steven smiled sleepily against Andrew’s neck.

“Must be yummy or something,” he mused before falling asleep. Andrew thought Steven would drop the conversation, but ever since then Steven usually smells of some sort of berry.

While immortality has its benefits, there are some drawbacks. Sometimes Steven gets a little restless, he likes to go with Ryan and Shane on their demon hunts. Andrew packs him a bag and wishes him well on his travels. Stopping him was always absurd, and going with him was also insane. Andrew never was and never will be a fighter. He waits for Steven to come home instead, praying to gods he no longer beloved in to keep him safe, Adam turns out to be of great help during these times. He visits more often when Steven’s away, being a quiet rock to Andrew’s anxious mess.

Usually, he ends up ok, maybe a few cuts and bruises but generally unharmed. Andrew likes to run his hands over Steven to be 100% sure. When he gets proof that Steven’s not harmed they celebrate. A pie, usually apple, waits for them in the kitchen. Andrew feeds Steven slices as old music filters through the house.

Not all homecomings are that sweet sadly. One time Steven had been gone for two weeks. That in and of itself wasn’t odd, just unfortunate. Andrew had just finished shopping when he heard loud banging at the door. Distinctly making out Ryan’s loud calls, he made his way quickly to the door. It wasn’t Steven calling out to him, he also had a key, so Andrew was doubly nervous. What happened to Steven that Ryan had to be banging worriedly at the door?

Upon opening the door, Andrew’s heart stopped. Shane was cradling a barely conscious Steven in his arms. He quickly let them into the home, pointing them to where they should lay Steven. There was a large spot of blood on Shane's shirt and a matching evergrowing blood spot on Steven. Andrew took a deep breath so he could focus. First he checked Steven’s heartbeat and breathing. It was weaker than he’d like, gasping breaths and slower pumps, but it was there. That would have to be enough for now.

Apparently, they were fighting a demon who got a little too close to Steven. Shane and Ryan had their hands tied to notice it quick enough. When it finally caught their attention, they were too late to save Steven. He pinned to a wall by a seven-foot demon. Slowly, using its tail, it pierced Steven’s side before Ryan was able to rip him away. Shane tried his best to stop the bleeding while Ryan finished off the rest of the demons. As quick as they could, the next place they headed was here, to Andrew.

The man in question pressed his lips into a thin line. All the screams of frustration were bottled up tightly in him. He wanted to rage, at the boys, at the demons, instead, he took a few deep measured breaths. Losing his temper wouldn’t help Steven at all. Andrew directed Shane and Ryan around the house to get supplies while he examined Steven’s wound. It was about two inches deep and five inches long. The cut was a jagged little line that had mostly stopped breathing.

A tentative hand cupped Andrew’s cheek and he wanted to sob. “Hey, hey honey. I-I’m ok.” Steven gasped out. His voice was weak and stuttery. Andrew shushed him quietly, one hand on the wound the other carding through Steven’s hair. Steven leaned into the touch fully, practically purring at the contact. “Missed being home with you. Not always- not always fun being the third wheel.” Steven rambled. He started kissing Andrew’s palm almost happily. Unintentionally, Andrew’s heart fluttered at the action.

They didn’t speak much until Shane came bursting in with the medical supplies, and they didn’t talk much after that. Methodically, Andrew cleaned the wound before stitching it up. Steven tried as best as he could to minimize the pain on his face, but he wasn’t exempt from the occasional wince. Andrew noted it each and every time. He tried to be very careful, he hated putting Steven through any sort of pain. They wanted to give him anesthesia, but it was a hard commodity to come by (and sometimes a useless commodity). To replace anesthesia, Ryan and Shane each held one of Steven’s hands during the stitching.

Luckily it didn’t take too long. Andrew shooed the paranormal bad boys up to a guest room to unwind. He helped Steven to bed, slowly stripping him down before putting some layers back on him. They meandered into bed, Andrew as the big spoon for once.

Steven felt a kiss press onto his forehead. “Never leave me.” The low, syrupy voice begged him.

“Never,” Steven squeezed their hands together. Not many things in life were promised, but this? Steven could promise Andrew this. “Not for anything ever.”

Bonus:

Sunlight bathed a sleeping Steven and Simba who had curled himself into Steven’s side. Unconsciously, he wrapped an arm around his cat as he slept.

In the kitchen, Andrew softly puttered around fixing the food. Adam was there to help him, taking care of the goats, chickens, and pigs. They loved Adam, flocking around him wherever he went. It made it slightly harder to get the eggs from the chicken but he managed. He took his basket of about 14 eggs back to the kitchen.

“The animals like me more,” He teased Andrew in his ever soft voice.

Andrew let a faint smile grace his lips. “Yeah, that’s cause you indulge them.”

Adam tsked. “Excuses, excuses. What are you planning on making?”

“As much as can of anything. A few waffles, pancakes, some sausages, a few biscuits, and eggs. The boys will be starving after this ghost hunt. I’d rather cook too much than not enough.”

“You could make a large bowl of poutine.”

“Too late for that. Help me cook this all before the boys get it.”

“You sound like a prairie wife,” Adam pointed out. Andrew’s glare caused him to bark out laughing. Unbeknownst to them, their ensuing bickering about whether or not Andrew was a prairie wife woke up Steven. Shane and Ryan had already been up and found the argument incredibly amusing. They agreed with Adam, Andrew’s mothering definitely made him a prairie wife. Steven was too groggy to understand what they were saying.

He slowly blinked awake, groaning at the light in his eyes. He felt lethargic like he woke up from a nap in the middle of the day and not a deep sleep. There was a soft licking, tingling feeling on his hand. Frowning, he looked down to see Simba contentedly licking his hand. With his other hand, Steven scratched at Simba and tried to gather his bearings. Andrew’s side of the bed was cold, probably why Simba was snuggled so close to him.

When he tried getting up, a painful ache pierced his side. Looking down he saw bandages covering his side. Memories of last night flooded his brain. The fight, the stab wound, Andrew patching him back up. Steven flinched at the last memory. Andrew probably wasn’t too happy after seeing Steven like that. Unhappy would turn out to be an understatement, considering he was stress cooking. Steven slowly got up, put on a large sweater, picked up Simba, and headed out the door to find Andrew.

Half the meal had finished cooking by the time Steven found them. He watched them quietly before Andrew realized he was there. “Hey, how are you. I didn’t realize you were up.” Steven nodded at him before draping himself across Andrew’s back.

Warm hands encircled Andrew’s waist while Steven’s face was buried in his neck. A low hum raced down Andrew’s spine making him smile. “I guess you’re alright.”

“I don’t like waking up without you. The food looks good though. Good job to you and Adam.”

Andrew twisted his head to press a kiss to the crown of Steven’s head. “Go lie down, let Adam and I take care of this.” Steven would’ve objected but he was already feeling a little tired. He grabbed a water bottle as he went to lie down.

Adam and Andrew laid out all the food on the coffee table just as Shane and Ryan came straggling in. "Hey prarie wife," Ryan called. Adam snorted while Andrew glared at all of them. At Steven's confused face, Shane went over to explain it to him.

"Andrew, you are a prarie wife."

Andrew turned around to glare at his husband. "I thought we are on the same side?!"

A round of laughter rang through the kitchen. Steven readjusted himself to let Andrew sit beside him. "Do you really think I'm a prarie wife?"

Steven just giggled and kissed his husband on the side of his face. Andrew groaned into his hands. Immortality could be bloody, mean, and awful; but it was so so soft.

[buffyromanoff]

A Month Without You

Warnings: Kind of angsty, kind of fluffy

Requests: ▪Hi! Idk if ur still taking requests (sorry if I’m too late) but would u be willing to do a nat x fem reader fic where they live together and had a fight and aren’t really speaking but nat finds out the reader is sick with a cold and decides to take care of her and forget the fight?

▪Hi! can i request fighting + making up with nat?

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You knew what you did was wrong, but apologizing to your girlfriend just wasn't enough this time. You and Nat always had small insignificant fights that you both forgot minutes after they ended, but when you decided to go on a mission that was so secretive that you couldn't even tell your girlfriend about, she wouldnt just forget about it in a few minutes.

Natasha had been crazy worried about you. She spend the entire month asking Fury if he knew anything about you and he obviously did, but he couldn't risk telling her anything without jeopardizing the whole thing so he acted like he didn't know anything at all.

Nat wasn't talking to anyone, not even to Bruce, Steve or Tony. She couldn't sleep for the entire month you were gone, thinking that you may have been taken away. She even escaped an Avengers mission to go look for you in Russia, interrogating some grudged old enemies and risking her own life to find you. But it was worthless. You were untraceable, and she would have been proud of your amazing spy abilities if you weren't using them with her.

You returned to your shared apartment around 3am. You opened the door without making any sound and headed to the bedroom to find an empty.

‘‘you better have a fucking great explanation’’.

You turned around to see your girlfriend. Her face was extremely serious and also angry but her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying.

You walked towards her to wrap her in a tight hug but she walked away, leaving you hanging with both your arms open.

‘’It was a secret mission Nat, i was specifically told not to tell anyone about it, not even you’’. You were trying to explain your sudden disappearance.

‘’i thought you were dead, y/n. Do you know how terrifying was to live my life knowing you could be in mortal danger?’’. Her eyes started to water up and you tried to hold her hand but she hid them inside her pockets.

It hurted so much to see Nat like this. And the pain got even worse when you realized that the reason she was like that was because of you.

The talking turned to screaming and then crying. Deep inside, Nat knew that you had to do what you done, it's the nasty part of the job and sometimes the mission requires that kind of commitment.

‘’I've been alone for over a month, one more night isn't going to hurt more’’. Natasha grabbed her keys and slammed your apartment's door shut.

You were a mess, and not only emotionally. Your mission required you to be working under freezing temperatures and lack of sleep, not to mention being constantly stressed out so now that you were home and safe, your adrenaline dropped and all the symptoms started to manifest.

You wanted to run after her but your head was so heavy and you were exhausted so you decided to go directly to bed.

You opened your eyes the morning after but you couldn't get up. Your head felt like it was breaking in half your throat was like sandpaper.

Hours later, your bedroom was covered with used tissue and Nat was nowhere to be seen. You texted her but got no answer.

You slept the entire day and your symptoms were not going away.

Suddenly, you heard the front door opening.

‘’Nat? Is that you? ‘’. Your voice sounded raspy and stuffy.

She didn't answer and you heard the door opening and shutting again. She left, again.

You were a weeping mess. But then, the door opened again.

Natasha walked into your bedroom with a bag full of medicine and vegetables.

She placed her hand on your forehead. ‘’you're burning up’’. She pulled up the blankets to make sure you were warm enough.

Nat started to pick up all of the used tissues and came back from the kitchen with a glass of water and an ibuprofen.

‘’here, take this’’. Her tone was still cold and serious.

‘’Nat im so-’’.

‘’don't talk, just take this, you’ll feel better’’. She interrupted and you obeyed her. Minutes later you fell asleep.

You felt the mattress sink a bit on your side and when you opened your eyes, Natasha was there. She was sitting next to you holding a hot cup of tea she just made.

She handed it to you and you thanked her.

“y/n i'm sorry i left like that, i wasn't thinking straight and i was angry at you, and also at myself for not being able to find you and i just-”.She sighed. ”i was worried about you”.

“You don't have to apologize Nat, i'm the one who messed up, i should have sent you some secret message or something for you to-”. Your sentence was interrupted by a sneeze.

Nat stretched her arm and grabbed more tissue paper for you to clean your nose and gave you one of those soft smiles.

“You didn't do anything wrong, we both know what comes with this kind of job and sometimes when the mission is too urgent, there's no time for explanations, we know that”.

A tear streamed down your cheeks as you sipped the tea and Nat wiped them off.

“I missed you so much Nat”. You threw yourself on her with the little strength you had and gave her a hug. She held you tightly rubbing soft circles on your back. “i missed you too honey, so much”. She was crying. “And judging by your condition,you're not going anywhere for at least a week”. You both laughed. “And i'm going to stay here taking care of you until you're better”.

“But what about your job?”.You asked and then blew your nose.

“Oh don't worry, Fury owes me a big one after keeping you away from me for that long”.

Nat started moving her lips against yours. “I love you so much y/n , i would do anything for you, did you know that?”. You answered her by kissing her harder until you realized something”.

“Wait, i don't want you to get sick too”.

“When was the last time i got sick?”. She kissed you again and then you remembered that she has been enhanced by biotechnology, making her immune to diseases and stuff.

Nat ended up snuggled against you in bed, her fingers softly caressing your face until you fell back to sleep once again.

Hours later you woke up alone in bed, your now less stuffy nose could identify the delicious smell that came from your kitchen.

You stood up for the first time since she got here and followed the scent.

“Go back the bed baby, i'll bring you the soup, alright?”.

You walked towards her and hugged her from behind, resting your head on her back.

“but you're here! I'm going to miss you”.

“says the person who disappeared for over a month without even saying goodbye”. She teased.

“I said i was sorry!”.You pulled her even closer and she turned around to kiss you.

“I know, now go back to bed and i’ll meet you there in five minutes”

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I combined those request since they were similar, i hope its ok. Let me know if you liked it :)

[monaisme]

Day 1: mind control

They say that hindsight is 20/20.

Tony thought hindsight could suck balls, drink poison, and die.

“Tony, come on. You have to come and eat something... anything. It’s been four days—which is too much, even for you.”

Tony spun in his chair to face away from her, ignoring her pleas—

And leaving Pepper to pull out the big guns, “Do you think you’re doing Peter any favors; you being too sleep deprived and malnourished to be of any help to anyone when we do find him?”

Tony hated it when she used that voice, that horribly logical one that neither man nor board member could argue against. He stood up, too quickly, and grabbed the table’s edge to steady. “You’re right,” he croaked. How long had it been since he’d spoken? “Maybe a nap will inspire me.” He tried to smile at her, show her that he was okay, even if he didn’t believe it himself.

This screw up was too big, felt irreparable. He should have let the kid keep the suit. He should have been in contact with the kid from the beginning.  He should have followed up with the FBI about that damned Toomes guy. And maybe... just maybe he should have reined in his asshole-like tendency when it came to one Thaddeus Ross, U.S. Secretary of State and certifiable psychopath.

All of the Avengers knew his history and his obsession, especially with Bruce. They shouldn’t have been lulled into complacency. Ross had wanted enhanced soldiers—and now he had one.” Peter has to be so scared... and hungry, and what if he hasn’t healed yet. What if...”

“Tony?” Pepper interrupted his thoughts before he could really spiral. “Come on. I’ll make you a smoothie and then you can crash on the couch for a bit,” she encouraged, holding her hand out for him to take. “That way you’re in the thick of it if FRIDAY or Rhodey come up with anything.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” His smile felt bigger this time, unsure who he was trying to convince. He grabbed her offering and they headed toward the elevator, only to stop in his tracks and rush out a desperate, “FRIDAY?”

“Tony,” Pepper whispered, “You don’t have to ask, she’ll...”

Tony interrupted her, “Just hang on, please? I just have to check one more thing!“ Eyes flew to the ceiling. “Any luck with Ross’s government or personal cell phones? Any pings?”

FRIDAY responded immediately, “No, Boss. Both cell phones have been untraceable since approximately 20 minutes after your plane crashed at Coney Island. I have expanded the parameters of the search to include any known personal assistants and his daughter, Betty Ross as well. Is there anyone else I can include that I have not anticipated?”  

“No one that I can think of,” he answered. “Good job, Baby Girl. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, Boss. I will notify you of any changes in the search.”

There was nothing else he could do in that moment. Nothing at all.

Pepper squeezed his hand, “We’ll get him back, Tony. If anyone can, it’s you.”

And Tony hoped she was right.

*

Four Days ago:

Thaddeus Ross was not a man to be trifled with. He’d worked hard in his decades long military career to establish himself as a man of morals, of action, and worthy of the respect and admiration of his peers. He practically bled red, white, and blue, damn it.

He also knew better than those talking heads in Washington, D.C. when it came to those bloody mutants and exactly how they should be used in a time of war—(and if wormholes in the sky and glowing rocks didn’t count as that, then they were fools.) which was why the Sokovia Accords needed to be signed now.

His only benefit was that Tony Stark was playing nice... sort of. Yes, Stark wanted accountability. God knew he had enough blood on his hands to warrant it. The problem was that Stark also wanted his band of freaks back in the fold, and after the whole Winter Soldier debacle, Ross was going to make him work for every damned concession—if Stark would only answer his damned phone.

Yes, he knew that Stark was treating this like a joke but that night, on Coney Island, the joke was on him.

Ross had never been sure of how involved Stark was with the Accords versus the band of lawyers Ross was forced to work with day in and day out, and so Ross had submitted a caveat regarding notification to the U.N. Accords Committee of the transportation of any and all Avengers related gear and related inventory—and the necessity of a U.N. sanctioned representative to confirm safe delivery. If he was the official channel, then so be it.

And Stark never mentioned it.

Which was why, on that early October weekend, he had been stationed at the Avengers compound, waiting. Ross knew that there was no one important waiting for delivery, and it would be a perfect opportunity to pocket some Stark tech for his own personal agenda.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. “Ross,” he answered.

He listened to the excited explanation on the other end of the phone. Something had happened and the plane with all of Stark’s toys was currently plummeting toward Coney Island. And then the correction: It had crashed at Coney Island.

Ross was already buckling into the helicopter he’d commandeered for the occasion and was in the air before instructing his man on the ground to stand by, but to observe and inform Ross of any changes in the situation.

And, oh, how it had changed.

“Mr. Secretary, sir, it appears that Spider-Man and an unidentified subject have emerged from the crash and are ‘battling’ over the inventory.”

“What?”

“Yessir, they are actively engaged, though it appears that Spider-Man is wounded and will require medical assistance if things continue as such.”

Ross had to know. He had to know if Stark had violated the essence of the Accords by using a mutant to guard his plane. Tony Stark would be on the Raft faster than you could say, “I was Iron Man.”

He dialed, waited for the call to connect, and then fumed. “Hi, you’ve reached me. I’d rather have a colonoscopy than talk to you, so leave a message at the beep and I’ll call you back... oh, wait. There is no beep.” And, once again, Tony Stark hung up on U.S. Secretary Thaddeus Ross.

Ross hated that man, almost as much as he’d hated Howard Stark, and oh, what he wouldn’t do to make that man suffer.

Stark needed to be brought down a peg.

His helicopter landed, Ross disembarked immediately and approached his aid. “What do you know, Anderson?” he barked.

Anderson pointed to the top of the rollercoaster. “Spider-Man perched on the top of the Cyclone a few minutes ago and hasn’t moved, Sir. Like I said in my earlier report, I think he may be injured. Should we call Mr. Stark, Sir? It’s my understanding that they are working together.”

“I’m afraid Stark is unavailable, so we’ll be dealing with this one in house,” he looked to Anderson and grinned, then made a performance of turning off his cell phone. “You’ll need to call the team. I think it’s time to go and collect us a bug.”

*

While Ross had been on-site exclusively since the acquisition of Subject 17-A, it was the first time he’d been able to pull himself away from the paperwork that comes with trying to build a proper enhanced militia. There was also the little matter of making sure Tony Stark and his minions couldn’t track him down now that he was finally getting somewhere. It was tedious, but with the blood work and tissue samples collected that first day, progress was being made—slowly.

It hadn’t been long for his people to approach him on the first day of the subject’s actual conditioning regiment. Standard drug protocols were proving to be ineffective due to the subject’s enhanced metabolism. LSD, cocaine, and heroin were all burning through too quickly. The altered state they were looking to achieve in order to gain a foothold was seemingly impossible; and so they moved onto less palatable but still valid methods.

And so the beatings had begun with intermittent shock treatments to reinforce and correct behaviours.

That didn’t mean that the chemical option had been taken off of the table—not at all. His scientists were geniuses, simply blacklisted for having the testicular fortitude to do whatever they deemed necessary to create a perfect weapon for the safety of the American people! Another area of the compound was dedicated to running analysis after analysis on different drug combinations to achieve desired effect. It wouldn’t be long before they were back on track with a full gambit of toys to play with.

He keyed entry into the observation room. It was empty save for recording equipment on this side of the one-way mirror, an intercom, and the hardwired control for the subject’s ‘training sessions,’ which was perfect. Ross wanted to observe without distraction.

A weak, “Hello?” called out from the other side of the glass. “Who’s there?”

Ross stepped up to the glass and smiled. He looked so innocent... so frightened there, bare save for a surgical gown and strapped to the vibranium table that Ulysses Klaue had been kind enough to provide for a very reasonable price.

“I can hear someone new. Please? Can you help me?” he called out.

Ross was irritated at the request for help (but still impressed with the enhanced hearing). His conditioning, however, should have been further along for three days of work. He pushed the button on the wall, counted to ten, and then released, all the while watching the subject strain against his restraints.

Electricity was such an effective tool.

“Subject 17-A. Please refrain from any attempt at communication.”

The subject looked confused for a second, like he was trying to figure something out, and then he realized, “Secretary Ross?”

It was out before it could stop itself, it seemed, and Ross delighted in the twenty count this time. Its screams were a thing of beauty. “Subject 17-A. Please refrain from any attempts at communication.”

Subject 17-A sniffed as tears poured down its cheeks.

Twenty-five seconds and then Ross waited.

Subject 17-A was silent after that, save for the sound of its involuntary grunts and spasming limbs striking at the table... and Ross would allow that.

*

They’d hit the one week mark.

Tony was devastated.

Any hopes of tracking Ross or any accomplices through his government staff had been an absolute failure. Those assigned to work the office of the United States Secretary of State were all present, accounted for, and cleared of any involvement with this catastrophe.

Thaddeus Ross had gone rogue and had been planning it for a while.

Tony pulled at his hair. “What the fuck are we missing?!” he yelled. “It’s been a week!”

Rhodey, Vision, and Bruce said nothing.

Tony started listing off everything he could think of. “We’ve checked the dark web. Ross isn’t selling him. He isn’t selling his DNA. There hasn’t been any chatter on any of the black op sites. What the hell is he doing?”

Bruce finally spoke up, “I don’t know, but I’m not sure he knows either. It’s not like he’d planned to nab the kid.”

And that was all it took. Tony grabbed Bruce by the cheeks and planted a big, wet kiss on his forehead. “Bruce, you genius! They weren’t ready for him! And he was hurt! Oh, fuck, he was hurt, Bruce. We’ll have to get the med bay ready for him in case things need fixing, ‘cuz Ross is a sadist if ever there was one and a movie night with—“

“Tony!” Rhodey yelled out, trying to distract Tony from his rant. “What are you talking about?”

“Guys, Ross wasn’t ready for him and couldn’t have been what with his wacked out DNA! That means we track any pharmaceutical orders, international, too! We’re looking for any orders of chemicals or compounds used by or ever researched by you and Cho for use on Steve! Hell, anything that has similar properties or off book uses that could potentially affect Peter, too! You got that FRIDAY?” He didn’t stop for her response. “They could—“

“Search complete, Boss. I’ve found something.”

Tony was feeling hope for the first time in forever. “Lay it on me, Baby Girl.”

“An order for multiple drugs researched by Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho for use in anaesthesia in the event that Captain Rogers needed surgery has been placed by a Dr. Gerald Rickman of Norfolk, Virginia. The delivery is tentatively set for two hours from now at a warehouse in an industrial park to the south of Allentown, Pennsylvania, though actual delivery time may change depending on traffic and route selection.” FRIDAY intoned.

Tony was suiting up before FRIDAY had made it through the standard delivery disclaimer. “Send the delivery point to the suits and quinjet, FRI,” he directed. “Bruce, Vision, fly out and meet us there. We’ll need to be ready for medical evac. Rhodey,” he stopped in his tracks and looked him directly in the eye. “Get the kid out at all cost, and then we burn’em to the ground. Got it?”

Rhodey nodded in agreement. “I got it, brother. Let’s go get your kid back.”

“And one more thing,” he announced as he rocketed into the air, “Ross is mine.”

*

His rage could be heard over the blare of the sirens blaring overhead. “What have you done?!” He grabbed Dr. Rickman by the shoulders and shook him. “All of the security, the firewalls, the backdoors, and you order off of your phone while you’re taking a shit?!”

The man cowered in fear. “B-b-but I thought—“

“If you’d thought, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Do you know what that alarm means? It means a perimeter breach, because of you! The Avengers are here because of you! My life’s work, over! Because of you!” Ross released the man from his grip with a shove. With a calm contrary to what he was feeling, he pulled out his Beretta M9. “This is all because of you.”

The shot could be heard over the sound of the siren, but the sound of Dr. Rickman’s body hitting the ground wasn’t.

It was over.

The wall to the left of him blasted open, debris scattering all over the floor—scattering all over Dr. Rickman.

Iron Man walked through the opening, arm raised and repulsor charged and pointed directly at Ross, still clutching his smoking gun. Iron Man looked from Ross to the body on the floor, and then back to Ross.

Neither man spoke for a moment, and then Ross broke the silence, “Aren’t you going to ask why I did it?”

“No.”

“Are you going to ask where he is?”

“No.”

“The great Tony Stark, silent after all this time? I never thought I’d live to see the day--”

And with that, Tony smirked. “You took the kid. Who said you get to live?”

Ross grinned, “You mean Subject 17-A?”

The repulsor fired before even Tony registered that he’d done it—and he was okay with it. He looked down at the now smoking corpse that had been the bane of his existence and gave it a kick. “His name is Peter Parker, asshole. He’s Spider-Man.”

*

In the end, it had been Vision who’d found him. Dematerializing to float through walls cut out a lot of wasted time.

The flood of relief was evident in the tone of everyone’s reply.

Tony’s, “I’m on my way, Vis. Keep my Spider-baby safe.”

Rhodey’s, “Awesome. Let me clean up some loose ends and I’ll meet up with y’all.”

But then Bruce, “Um, guys? I found something.”

Tony heard the seriousness in Bruce’s voice. “Vis, I’m a minute from your location, get ready to join up with Bruce and get everything you can.” Tony looked at the cement walls as he passed, saw remnants of the others that may have come before Peter. “And do it quick. We’ll analyze it later, unless it’s an immediate need. Bruce?”

“We’re good, I think. I’m gonna grab some samples and let Vision deal with the rest. This place gives me the heebie jeebies.”

Tony looked at what may have been blood stained concrete. “Me, too, bud. I think we may have to go ‘scorched earth’ on this place.”

Rhodey piped up then, “Agreed. I think this place has seen some dark shit.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Tony entered the room where Vision stood guard over Peter’s prone form. “Get it fast so we can get gone, okay, Vis?”

Vision nodded and disappeared, leaving Tony alone with Peter.

Tony huffed a sigh of relief and approached the table where Peter lay, thankfully no longer confined. He smiled down at the boy who seemed determined to stare only at one fixed point on the ceiling.

“See anything interesting up there?” Tony asked, looking to see what had captured his interest.

Peter clamped his mouth shut.

Tony saw it, thought he understood. “Pete? Hey. I’m really sorry about all of the things that happened before, and um, about the suit. I was so wrong and I realize that now.”

Peter remained silent.

Tony was confused, “Pete? Are you okay?” he reached out, brushed back some of Peter’s curls from his forehead.

A silent tear ran down his cheek.

“Pete?”

Bruce appeared in the door, clutching a file and a satchel of more. “I think I understand what happened here... or at least what they tried to make happen...” Bruce trailed off.

Tony waited for an explanation.

“Did you ever hear about the MK Ultra program out of the 60s, 70s, and 80s?”

Tony thought for a second, then remembered, “Do you mean that shady CIA mind control program that was supposed to be cancelled but wasn’t really and everyone just pretends that it was?”

Bruce gulped, loosened the collar of shirt, nodded.

Tony looked down at Peter again. “Did they try to do that with you?” He brushed back the curls again, more gently than before.

No response.

“Tony, he may think you’re a test.” Bruce whispered as he glanced down at the notes in front of him.

Tony’s heart sank. Had he taken too long? He smiled sadly at the boy, “I know what we can do. We can head back to the city and, after Dr. Cho—who’s a really great doctor, by the way—after she checks you out, we can relax and watch a really old movie, like Star Wars or something.” He tried to remember anything. “That was the one you liked, right? Inspired some pretty epic moves during that whole airport thing, huh?”

Peter blinked.

“Speaking of airports, I sort of owe you for saving my plane, Underoos. That would have ended sooo bad if you hadn’t pulled that crazy stunt. I mean crashing a plane? That’s more my style, but I’ll let you have this one, square deal?”

Peter turned his head toward the voice, “Mm—“

Tony wrinkled his nose at that, “Kid, if you’re gonna call me Mr. Stark, we need to have a conversation. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but then you managed to get kidnapped and all.”

Peter huffed out the quietest of laughs.

“And there you are, Spider-baby.” Tony whispered sweetly. “Ready to go home?”

Rhodey and Vision arrived in the doorway. “Tony? Why don’t you guys go on ahead. I’m gonna take care of some stuff here, alright?”

Tony and Rhodey shared a look, and Tony understood.

“Sounds good, Platypus.” Tony pulled Peter into his arms bridal style. “We are gonna fly first class, though, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just gonna light’er up and be right behind you.” He looked at the boy in Tony’s arms. “I was sure I heard something about a movie night as I came in and I am not missing that. Tones does the best snacks.”

Peter curled up a little more.

Tony took the cue and tightened the hold. “Alright, then, Spider-Man, your chariot awaits. Vision? Bruce? Let’s go.”

*

It was hours later, when Peter was sleeping soundly in the medbay, that Tony had a chance to look at the file.

And it was only moments after he finished that he swore he’d never let anyone hurt Peter again.

@febuwhump

[catie-does-things]

Zutara Week Day 3: Shattered

@zutaraweek

The Painted Lady comes to Ba Sing Se, but she isn’t the only one prowling the city by night.

AO3 / FF.N

It was a year since the war ended and they were all in Ba Sing Se again. It was supposed to be a vacation, just a chance to relax and spend time with old friends, but you couldn’t put the Avatar, the Fire Lord, and the Earth King all in one city and expect no one to talk business. Still, Katara was disappointed just how much time the official meetings wound up taking out of their schedule.

She was also disappointed at how little they seemed to be accomplishing. There was sickness in the lower ring that year, and Katara had offered her services as a healer, only for the Earth King to politely inform her that he could not legally accept foreign aid of any kind unless it was formally offered by the leaders of her nation. He would write to her father, the chief, right away, of course. But receiving a reply could take weeks.

Finding the veils and red pigments she needed to don her Painted Lady costume, however, had only taken her one afternoon. Foreign aid from a Water Tribe healer might be caught up in legal red tape, but there were no regulations on miraculous healings by spirits.

Shrouded in white gauze, Katara offered a quick prayer of apology to the Lady for her impersonation, then set off into the night to do what needed to be done.

-----

Zuko couldn’t believe things in Ba Sing Se had actually gotten worse since it had been liberated. Under the control of Long Feng, and then his sister, the Dai Li had terrorized the city - but they had at least kept order as well. The new police force the Earth King had established to replace the Dai Li weren’t half as competent, and with the brutal repression no longer in force, disease was hardly the only thing running rampant in the lower ring.

In his first year as Fire Lord, Zuko had become accustomed to solving problems through politics and diplomacy. He knew the Earth King was learning to do the same, and that this was ultimately the best way to go about things, the right way. It still wasn’t his preferred method.

The Fire Lord could hardly march into the lower ring and start rounding up criminals, of course. But the notorious outlaw known as the Blue Spirit never had been caught, and he had been known to stalk the streets of Ba Sing Se before. The mask would be easy enough to find - it was a stock character, virtually any theater company would have one, which made it the perfect untraceable alter ego as well.

That night, on the rooftops of Ba Sing Se, the Blue Spirit was on the prowl once again.

-----

Slipping in and out of homes without notice was rather more difficult in the crowded lower ring of the world’s largest city than it had been in a small Fire Nation village. By the third house she visited, Katara was beginning to regret her choice of costume as well. The wide hat, flowing veil, and voluminous robe were hardly the most practical attire for sneaking around, and she realized that if anyone here did see her, they were unlikely to be familiar enough with Fire Nation river spirits to be assuaged by her disguise.

Perhaps, she had not thought this through.

But she was here now, and she would press on, at least for this one night. These people needed her help. Even if she couldn’t heal all of them, she had to do something. And in spite of her cumbersome outfit, things seemed to be going well - none of her patients had woken while she worked, and she had managed to duck out of sight of any other nighttime prowlers she crossed paths with while darting from house to house.

When she came to the last building on the street, she thought she caught a glimpse of a dark shape on the roof as she ducked into the small apartment above the tightly locked up shop, but she ignored it and set to work healing the shopkeeper and his wife. This proved to be her latest mistake, as a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind, one hand covering her mouth.

Furiously, Katara bended the water she had been using to heal into a whip that cracked against the side of her attacker’s head, causing him to let go of her with a grunt. Another water whip while he was still dazed knocked the masked man into the opposite wall, where a set of rickety shelves held all the earthen cookware the poor shopkeeper and his wife owned.

The impact rattled the shelves, and all the plates, cups, jars, and pots came tumbling down - and shattered.

-----

Darting across the rooftops of the city was even easier than Zuko remembered, without the Dai Li to worry about. It didn’t take him long either, once he’d made his way to the lower ring, to find the kind of trouble he was looking for. The first robber he came across was hardly expecting the Blue Spirit to swoop down on him from above, and never stood a chance. Though once Zuko had the man disarmed and tied up, suddenly he realized he had to decide what to do with him next.

Perhaps, he still wasn’t good at thinking things through.

He could dump the thief on the doorstep of a police station, but without evidence of his crimes there wasn’t much the police would be able to do. It might be best to just leave him in the street, and let him try to explain to the neighbors in the morning what had happened. Of course, he would probably just lie, and claim he’d been attacked while out for an innocent midnight stroll.

Well, hopefully being waylaid by the Blue Spirit would be enough of a lesson for him. Zuko took to the rooftops again and set off for the next block over, scanning the dark streets for any other potential ne'er do wells. He halted on the roof of a two-story building at the end of the block just as a cloaked and veiled figure tried the locked doors of the shop on the ground floor, then hoisted itself into the apartment above though an open window. That was definitely suspicious.

Zuko entered the apartment though the same window and saw the mysterious prowler bent over the two sleeping forms of the residents. He leapt forward and grabbed the stranger, trying to drag them away from the potential victims as silently as possible. 

He had expected the stranger to fight back. He had not expected the water whip that blindsided him, nor the followup attack that sent him reeling into the wall and noisily broke every dish in the apartment. That, of course, woke the shopkeeper and his wife, but Zuko barely had any attention to spare for them as he hastily dodged a volley of ice daggers aimed at him.

So the mysterious prowler was a waterbender. Strange.

He didn’t like the idea of fighting in such an enclosed space, and he seemed to have drawn the attacker’s full attention, so Zuko dove for the window, leading his adversary back outside. Sure enough, the stranger pursued him onto the rooftop, undaunted by the shopkeeper’s shouts. By that time, Zuko had drawn his dao swords, and was able to properly fight back.

They leapt from roof to roof, dancing around each other. Water and steel slashed and parried, glinting in the moonlight, and Zuko made a few key observations about his opponent. She was female, and though the sheer while veil she wore obscured her features, she seemed to have some kind of dark pattern painted on her face and arms. 

So this outlaw like to impersonate a spirit as well, did she.

Still, Zuko thought, as she drew rainwater from the gutters and formed it into watery tendrils on the end of each arm, there was something else familiar about her...

-----

Katara had only heard vague tales of the Blue Spirit, but she figured it made sense that this was what she would get for impersonating the Painted Lady again, to be attacked by another spirit imposter.

No offense to Sokka, but when she’d seen the Blue Spirit draw his swords, she hadn’t expected much of a challenge. Most swordsmen in the Earth Kingdom just had no experience fighting waterbenders, and that gave her an advantage. But this one was proving to be different. The way he dodged and parried her attacks, it was almost like he was familiar with the forms, and knew what was coming. Her initial water whips might have caught him by surprise, but clearly she couldn’t count on that any longer.

Drawing rainwater from the gutters, she used a tentacle form instead, trying to keep out of range of his swords. She succeeded in wrestling one of them from his grasp, but he ducked under the swipe of the other tendril of water and got in close enough to land a kick on her wrist, making her lose control and drop the water from one hand. He swung his remaining sword around just as she froze the water she had left into a spear and brought it to bear, and they ended up at a stalemate, each with a sharp weapon pointed at the other’s throat.

A gust of wind tugged at her veil, parting it for just a moment. “Katara?” came a shocked exclamation from behind the Blue Spirit’s mask, in a voice she recognized instantly, which explained how he knew her waterbending moves so well.

“Zuko?” she exclaimed in turn.

-----

The Blue Spirit lowered his sword. The Painted Lady melted her ice spear. She pushed the veil aside, pulled the broad hat from her head, and he took off his mask.

What was said between them was heard only by the first quarter moon overhead. But when they resumed their disguises, and took off again bounding over the rooftops of Ba Sing Se, together, the sound of their mingled laughter echoed through the night.

[breanime]

Heartworm (Part Nine)

This chapter is a tad bit short, a lot bit steamy, but there’s also a teeny tiny bit of plot in there! I hope you enjoy, please leave comments!

*gif not mine*

Billy grabbed your face with both hands, deepening the kiss. He pushed you down onto the mattress with his body, pinning you down without breaking the kiss. You could feel the cold metal of the handcuffs against your cheek, and your split lip was still raw, but you didn’t mind.

All you could think about was Billy.

He pulled away suddenly, and you gasped at the sudden loss of his lips against yours.

“I—” he sounded out of breath “—Shit. Y/N, I… I want this. I want this so, so bad,” he licked his lips, the lips that had just been on yours, “But this…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Baby, the path I’m on… It’s gonna get bloody. I can’t drag you into that.”

“Billy,” you sat up, putting your free hand on Billy’s scarred cheek, “I’m with you. No matter what, no matter how bad or bloody it gets, I’m with you Billy. I can’t be without you again.”

He smiled, and you could see the tension drain out of him. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” Slowly, he lifted his cuffed hand. “We through with this?”

You stared at your conjoined hands. You wanted to trust him, to trust that you could undo the cuffs without him immediately running off, but…

“Hey,” he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, “I’m here. I’m right here with you, I ain’t going anywhere, okay?” His dark eyes bore into yours. “I promise.”

You felt the tears in your eyes, and you tried in vain to blink them back. “But what if you leave me again?” You asked.

Billy took a breath, disappointed in himself for making you feel insecure, making you think he left you for any other reason besides the fact that he loved you more than anything. “I know what it is that I lost. I had everything I ever wanted… Money, power, purpose, my own company…You. But of those things, the ones I remember and the ones I don’t, the only one that really, actually matters, that I truly give a shit about: is you. The last few days I’ve been running around with my guys, trying to scrounge up some money for you, some cash because… I want—I need to take care of you.” He shrugged. “And if I never get back any of those things, that’s fine. I mean, I want it back, I do, but… I want you more than anything.” He watched the tears finally spill from your eyes and reached up to brush them away. “And I can look into your eyes and see that you want me too, that you mean it when you… When you say that you love me, even after everything I’ve done. So please, Y/N, believe me when I say that I won’t ever leave you again, okay? Because you mean everything to me.”

You leaned forward and kissed Billy, and he hugged you to him. “I love you,” you whispered into his shoulder, “…even though you’re an asshole who lives in a crack den and you’ve been shacking up with another woman.”

Billy laughed—and he sounded so much like himself that the sound only made your heart skip a beat. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d see that there’s nothin’ special about her.” His smile softened as he gazed over at you. “She’s no you.”

“So…What now?” You asked, moving to dig into your purse for the key. “Do… Do you want me to go home?”

Billy watched as you slid the key into the cuffs, twisting his wrist to make it easier for you. “Only if I can come with you.” He smirked as the handcuffs slid off. “There’s still some things we need to talk about.”

You nodded. “Yeah, okay.” Rummaging in your bag once more, you pulled out a black flip phone. “This is for you,” you said, handing it to him, “It’s untraceable.” Billy raised an eyebrow at you. “I got it from a pawn shop. I put my number in it…”

Billy reached out and pulled your head forward by the back of your neck. He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Thank you.” He stood up, holding a hand out for you, and pulled you close to him. His fingers caressed your face softly, stopping at your swollen cheek. “Let’s go.”

A little over an hour later, you sat on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea in your hands, as Billy took a shower. He brought his black duffel bag with him and had put it on the table for you to look through. There were guns, packs of bullets, knives, and piles of cash in there, along with clothes, a police radio, and some kind of signal jammer. He’d taken a few minutes to check you for injuries when you’d gotten home, making sure to equip you with an ice pack and tea before heading to the shower. You heard the water stop, and you put your cup of tea down on the side table, waiting for him to come back into the living room.

“You heard from Frank?” He asked you as he sat down beside you.

You took in a breath; Billy smelt like pine, and you could feel the heat coming off of him. “No,” you said back, “But I’ve been listening to the police radio and they don’t seem to think he’s even in town…yet.”

“Mm…” Billy leaned back, his arm casually propped up on the back of the couch, fingers slightly brushing against your shoulder. He turned slightly, dark eyes staring into yours. The scars on his face were still slightly jarring for you, but his eyes… His eyes were the same as they were when you were first together, when you were happy and in love—before the money and cars and fancy suits. You could see right to the core of him, the vulnerability and fear and lingering confidence. He licked his lips and smirked when he noticed how intently you were watching him. “You were really trying to find me, huh?” He asked. “The cuffs, the radio,” he raised an eyebrow, “the completely asinine attempt to get my attention…”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” You smirked back, leaning just a tiny bit closer to him.

Billy licked his lips again, and you wanted to bite them. “Y/N,” he said slowly, carefully, “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you could just eat me up.”

You tried to keep the smile off of your face. He had no idea how right he was. “Or what?” You challenged.

He smirked, all teeth, and you recognized that special glint in his eyes as he looked you over. “Or I’m gonna let you.” He turned, knees touching yours, and you inhaled his scent. “Because, if I’m being honest…sitting here with you, being here with you… It’s all I can do to keep my hands off of you.” Billy’s eyes bore into yours, simultaneously lustful and dangerous—a mix you could never resist. “You don’t know how bad I want you right now.”

You took a breath. “Billy,” you said, voice low in the empty space of your apartment, “You can have me.”

That was all you needed to say. Billy grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up, holding you in his lap. He kissed you, harsh and hard, and you felt it all the way down to your toes. He fisted one hand in your hair, pulling at the strands as he moved his lips against yours, and you moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into yours. His other hand was on your ass, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. You grinded on top of him, rotating your hips the way he used to like. If the hardness beneath you was any indication; he still liked it…a lot. Billy groaned when your hands found the way to his short hair. You ran your nails down his scalp and felt him shiver underneath you. You grinned, pulling back suddenly, and stripped your shirt off. Billy ripped it off and had it flying across the room in less than five seconds, and you gasped when he buried his head against your chest.

“Shit…” You moaned, closing your eyes and leaning your head back as you felt his warm tongue circle your nipple. His beard brushed against your skin, and you bit your lip as you wiggled on top of him, rubbing yourself against his hard cock.

Billy groaned again, running a hand down your bare back. You heard him mumble something against your chest, but the sensation was too good—you couldn’t focus on anything except for his hot mouth closing around one nipple before moving to the next. The next thing you knew, he was lifting you off of the couch and carrying you, mouth now sucking a hickey onto your neck, to your bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, and you pushed his shirt up, grinning as he pulled it off. You ran your hands over the scars and grooves of his chest before moving down to his abs. Billy watched you intently as you pushed at his pants. You made a whining sound when they didn’t come off right away, and Billy chuckled.

“You first,” he commanded gently.

You laid down on your back and closed your eyes as Billy’s hands went to the waistband of your pants, pulling them down painfully slowly. You groaned, shifting on the bed when you felt two fingers softly graze against your panties. “Billy,” you ground out, hands fisting the sheets at your sides. He only chuckled, continuing to gently run two fingers between your folds, pressing your already wet panties against you. “Billy…” You repeated. You lifted your hips a bit, hoping he’d get the message, but he pushed you back down.

“Look at me.” His voice was steady, but when you opened your eyes to look at him, you could practically see the desire coming off of him. His black eyes were wide and unblinking, and his naked chest was heaving with the effort of controlling himself. Without breaking eye contact, he slid your panties off. His eyes washed over your bare form, and you felt like the most beautiful, important person in the world—and in his eyes, you were. He stared down at you, and you both knew, in that moment, that there was nothing else that mattered in the world except the two of you. “I love you,” he said, locking eyes with you.

“I love you, too,” you whispered. You watched, entranced, as Billy lowered his head and sank between your thighs. He propped himself up on his elbows and slung your leg over his shoulder. You bit your lip when you felt his finger push inside of you, long and slender, and hummed happily when he curled it, putting a little pressure behind the action.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and you could feel the heat of his breath on you, “Baby, you look so good.” He pushed another finger inside you, and your leg started shaking. He rubbed his cheek against it in a soothing gesture. “Want more?” He asked.

“Yes,” you moaned out, “yes, Billy, please.”

“Anything for you, baby,” he said, chuckling lowly. He obliged you happily, and you could hear the sounds of your own wetness as he fingered you faster.

You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling as he pushed another finger in. You were both breathing heavily now, and you grabbed your breast, squeezing it as you rode his fingers. It felt so good to be with him, to have him touching you again—already you couldn’t imagine how it could get any better.

Then he put his mouth on you, and it got better.

You screamed when Billy’s tongue flicked against your clit; he knew exactly how to eat you out, knew exactly what you liked and how to bring your right to the edge without actually pushing you over it. The combination of his fingers and his tongue was fantastically overwhelming, and you sat up on your elbows to watch him, adding that image to the physical pleasure he was giving you. Billy’s broad shoulders moved in time with his tongue, and you could see the way he was gripping your hip, keeping you in place. You reached down and put a hand on his head, your other hand still gripping your breast—still wet from his mouth—as he went down on you. It was too much, too good, too stimulating. You couldn’t take the incredible pleasure anymore. “There!” You screamed. “There, right there, Billy! Please!” Your eyes squeezed shut, and Billy took you right over the edge, right where you wanted to be. You came on his tongue, legs shaking as you called his name over and over.

He was staring at you when you came back down; a look of complete adoration on his face. He licked his lips, slower than before, chasing the taste of you. Your eyes went to the tent in his pants, and he smiled when he saw you looking.

“Pants,” you panted, making grabby-hands at him.

Billy chuckled and moved to follow your brief demand. “Condoms?” He asked, voice husky and deep.

“Drawer,” you answered, watching him slid his pants off, the sight of his cock literally making you weak, “But lemme suck you off first.”

Billy shook his head, stroking his cock. You clenched your thighs as you watched him. “Can’t,” he huffed out, breathing heavily as he opened up the bedside drawer, “I want to make this good for you, sweetheart, and I know if you put those perfect lips on my dick, I’ll cum quick.” He watched you watch him slide the condom on. “Open your legs, baby.”

You spread your legs happily, and Billy crawled on top of you. He kissed you, and you leaned into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I love you,” you said, mouth still on his, “I love you so much, Billy.”

He kissed you, saying the words back without saying them. He stared into your eyes, and you got lost in the flurry of emotions in them. Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance, and you felt your heart flutter in excitement. He slid into you, and your mouth fell open in a silent shout of ecstasy. It had been a long, long time since you’d last been with anyone, and even longer since you’d been with Billy. You almost forgot how big he was, how naturally he was able to please you—but you were reminded of it now. Billy rocked against you, cock hitting you in all the right places, while his hands roamed up and down your body, appreciating and giving attention to every last curve. You never felt more valuable, more precious, than when you were locked in Billy’s embrace. You were reduced to a mess of moans and sighs as he made love to you, and he met every one of your utterances with a groan of his own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and Billy picked up the pace, going from slow and careful to hard and fast.

“Yes,” you whispered, biting into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes!”

“Shit,” he groaned, hips slamming into yours, “Goddamn—I’m gonna cum!” He slipped a hand between you, and you cried out when you felt his fingers ghost against your clit. “Cum for me, baby,” he hissed, teeth clenched as he pounded into you, “I wanna feel that pussy cum.”

Your body responded immediately, and your climax hit you hard. Billy came with you, and you gasped as you felt him twitch inside of you. You scratched at his back, calling his name, as wave after wave of pleasure hit you, and you shuddered in his embrace.

“Fuck,” he whispered, smiling against your mouth, “I missed this.”

“Mm hmm,” you agreed, drowsy and happy, “me too.”

Billy chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling out. “Hold on, sweetheart.” You closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of Billy’s footsteps. He moved around the house—checking the locks, you were sure—before returning to bed. He picked you up and laid you under the covers, climbing in next to you. Carefully, as if you were made of glass, Billy pulled you to him, nuzzling against you as he held you in his arms. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. His eyes were soft and unguarded as he gazed down at you. “I have to ask you something.”

You blinked back the drowsiness and nodded. “Okay…?”

“I… Are you sure about this? About us?” He asked, nervousness clear in his voice. “…About me? Because,” he went on before you could answer, “if you want me to go, I will, but…” His eyes turned hard, and you saw a flash of his old self in them. “If you let me stay, this is it. It’s us against the world, fuck everyone else. If you let me stay here, with you, tonight, Y/N, there ain’t no going back. You’re mine.”

You sat up a bit, so he could see the same intensity embedded in his words mirrored in your eyes. “This is it,” you agreed, “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

He nodded, and laid down again, bringing you with him. You laid your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat. You were exactly where you needed to be, and so was he. You both lay there silently, happy just to be with one another, for a long stretch of time. Your eyes were getting heavy, but you didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to miss a second of being with him.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Billy said, voice clear in the dark, “I promise I’ll be here in the morning.” He kissed your forehead. “I ain’t never gonna leave you again.”

You nodded, cuddling in closer to Billy, and let yourself fall asleep. There was still a lot that you two needed to discuss, still a lot of questions and doubts swirling around in your head, but none of that mattered to you. All that mattered, all that would ever matter to you, was Billy Russo. And he was right: there was no turning back now, you were in it. You weren’t going anywhere, and neither was he. If Billy was going to prison, you were going to prison. If Billy was going to commit crimes, kill, betray—then so were you. If he was going to die…you hoped you would die first. You were in it. There was nothing left to say about that. The only question now was where would you go from here? Frank was a huge threat, but the cops and Feds were a problem as well. You felt Billy press another kiss to your forehead, and you smiled against his chest. Those were all tomorrow’s problems, tonight, you would enjoy being in the arms of the man you loved…

…because tomorrow wasn’t promised.

*******************************************************************************************

So what do you think? How do you feel the story is going? We’re almost to the part that I’ve been REALLY excited to write, so please comment if you liked this part. Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower@dylanobrusso@ladyblablabla@banditthewriter @something-tofightfor@starsfragments@blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme@hisgirlwednesdayaddams@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka@ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98 @funerals-with-cake@littlemermaidprobz@teacuplotus @king4thesirens@mrsjaxtellerfan@thebabblingbook @tartelette-aux-fraises @madamrogers @charlylama @iaintnofurry@k-buggz2001@whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix @elanor-of-imladris @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq@holamor @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset@songtoyou @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent @heyitslexy @luminex3@sithskywalkers

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 16

Master List

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Angst, and fluff, and feels oh my!

A/N:  So yeah I swear I wroth an authors note for this... but idfk what happened. 

ANYWAY! Thank you all for being so patient while I got my life together. This one is also short and sweet (guess that’s the mood I’m in). However, y’all should know me by now. This is just the calm before the storm. 

Hope you enjoy this one my pumpkins! 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree  @breezy1415  @peachthatdrinkslemonade  @5aftermidnight@jeromethepsycho  @marvel-randomness  @daniellajocelyn  @katecolleen  @yanginginthere@wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2

March 2007

At some point in the last five months, you’d stopped recognizing yourself. The woman in the mirror wasn’t Y/N. Her hair was different, down to even the eyebrows. Her accent distinctly that of a life long Londoner. She worked for an independent UK couture fashion magazine, chose wine over whiskey, and was distinctly heterosexual.

When the chance to work this job requiring deep cover came up in December you jumped on it. You didn’t want to be you anymore. The you that couldn’t be with the woman you loved. The you that was heartbroken. The you who was beginning to doubt that you’d ever be happy. Fuck her.

Being Charlie Daniels was far better. She was, of course, a real person. Just one who was now living comfortably in the Bahamas courtesy of MI6. Even legit agencies had use of freelance talent every now and then.

Settling into her life had been easy. Not setting her boss on fire or blowing his brains out daily was a different task altogether. Turned out that a magazine was a great front for a crime empire. Lots of international travel, young and beautiful and desperate men and women, money exchanged in countless untraceable ways, on and on. And this fucker was happy to take advantage of every single disgusting avenue it opened up.

You almost had everything you needed to hand to MI6, get your obscenely large payout, and get on to another gig while they threw all of these bastards into cells to rot for the rest of their miserable lives. Just one more trip. After whatever horrible things they lay out in Tokyo you’ll be set.

Tokyo is one of those cities you can lose yourself in. Like New York but better for its interesting balance of vibrancy and grounded reserve. You absolutely love it.

The whole point of the trip, at least on the surface, was to focus on Fashion Week Tokyo. Honestly, there was a part of you that wished this was your world. Nothing but runway shows and after parties. Writing about the latest trends rather than delving into the inner workings of the worlds miscreants

Oh well. It was nice enough to pretend. You had to admit that you’d miss Charlie Daniels once you shed this skin in a couple of weeks.

You’re sitting two people down from your boss at an underground show. The level of security here screams that there are other things going on behind the scenes but it’s still a room filled with a who’s who of the Japanese and international fashion communities.

This was your third show of the day, and you knew there would be a party after where you’d have to schmooze all while plucking information from your unsuspecting fellow guests. You’re exhausted. So rather than pay much attention to the show you let your mind wander.

When she walks out you feel her rather than see her.  Slowly you turn your head to stare dumbstruck at the model walking onto the catwalk. Your heart begins beating against your ribs, your mouth goes dry, your hands shake.

It takes every ounce of control you have to keep your emotions in. To not scream “Natasha!” at the top of your lungs. To not grab her and run for the hills. Charlie Daniels and her easy life be damned. It’s hard but you manage.

As she turns and comes back down, passing now closer to you, her eyes don’t graze  the crowd at all. Head up, shoulders back, she walks the runway like she’d been doing it for years.

The rest of the show is maybe ten minutes but it feels like years. You know the models are all attending the party. Eye candy for the high end guests.

It’s fairly easy to ditch your coworkers in the crowd as you try to find the best vantage point in the room without being too obvious. After a solid twenty minutes, you find yourself planning an escape route. Most of the models are milling about but she’s no where to be seen. You will find her.

But you know you can’t skip out just yet. At the bar, you order a red wine and make yourself seen. Charlie would never miss the whole party after all. You spend a bit chatting with designers and a few models, feigning interest in the whole thing until you hear your boss call out to you.

“Oy, Charlie!” Carl’s voice alone makes you want to put him down. When you turn he’s waving you over to the bar. Sighing heavily you head over.

You’re about ten feet away when you see her, head back laughing at something Carl or his friend had said. Both men are far to close to her for your liking and the hungry look on Carl’s face sets your blood boiling.

He slings an arm around your shoulders and you carefully coach your face to not show disgust. “Charlie here is my best writer. Doin’ some pieces for us on this whole thing,” he waves his other hand around wildly.

“Good to meet ya, Charlie, I’m Dan,” the other man, clearly American says.

“Likewise,” Natasha doesn’t react to the accent at all.

“This here is-”

“Natalie,” Natasha cuts him off, extending a hand to you. Holding her eyes with yours you take it. It’s like touching a live wire.

“Natalie is an American model working here in Japan. May be a good topic for a piece.” He ribs you leaning closer, “And a good piece for the office eh?” Suddenly that MI6 money seems far less appealing.

“I’d love that,” Natasha beams. “Why don’t you guys go mingle and Charlie and I can chat!” The men exchange a glance, but there’s plenty of fresh meat around to sink their teeth into.

Carl flashes you a greasy smile and a wink as he walks away. Thinking clearly that you’re going to snare this woman for him. You, unfortunately, had a few others. Not something you were proud of. Demands of the job you told yourself.

“She’ll take a vodka neat,” you tell the bartender.

“Yes,” Natasha smiles at him, “Whiskey for her. Makers if you have it.” He thinks nothing of it and makes your drinks.

“So, how’s modeling in Japan?”

“Probably about as good as writing for a sleazy jackal.”

You laugh, “That bad? What’s the goal.”

“Getting a cover,” you commend the clever word play.

“That’s a good goal. Long term?”

“Something like that.” She takes a sip of her vodka, “How long are you here?”

“End of the week.” Your skin itches to touch her. The men are rounding back. You hold her gaze and shift your eyes back to them. She catches on.

“Perfect! It’s so hard to have a good interview here, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you come by my hotel?” You whip out your spare key card. “I’d love to get your story for the mag, maybe do a full feature.”

“A feature would be excellent exposure!”

“Wouldn’t it?” Carl slides up next to her. “We can get you all the exposure you could want Ms. Natalie.”

“Charlie was telling me all about it.” She flashes him a coy smile. “Thank you so much Charlie! I forgot I have a late fitting tonight for another show so I’ve got to run. But we’ll chat soon yeah?”

“Absolutely! It was so good to meet you Natalie.”

“Same! Bye!” She hurries through the crowded room and disappears.

“Busy girl.” Carl quips. “Whiskey?” You look down at the glass by your hand.

“Some guy sent them over,” you gesture to Natasha’s lipstick stained glass. “Seemed rude to refuse. Can’t stand the stuff though.”

“That’s a mans drink,” Carl laughs at his own perceived joke and you force a smile.

Somehow you make it through the rest of the evening. You’d refused to allow yourself to hope that she’d be here, too obvious to come the same night, better to wait. Kicking off your shoes you head straight to the mini bar and crack open a whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

“You really need to be more careful,” Natasha’s voice comes from the bathroom. “I mean not even checking around. Sloppy.”

“Charlie Daniels doesn’t have to check for Russian assassins in her bathroom,” a smile pulls your face so tight it hurts.

“Well, Natalie Rushman isn’t a Russian spy. So…”

You let your real accent resurface as you pull her into your arms, “Natalie Rushman, I don’t know if that’s clever or lazy.” She kisses you hard, tongue sliding over your lips hands gripping your ass.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Kinda like the accent.”

“Oh?” You revert to the clipped posh Londoner sound. “Would you rather be with Charlie? I hate to break it to you, she’s strictly into dick so you may need to get a bit creative.”

Natasha’s head falls back with laughter, “I’m always into a challenge but,” she cups your face in her hands, “I’d much rather Y/N, she’s got a cute accent too.” Your kiss is soft this time, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey.” Gently you push a strand of hair out of her face. “Is this smart? Are you gonna get-”

“I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was risk.” She pulls away and tugs you toward the bed. “There’s no surveillance on me here, I check in every week, that’s it. This is strictly to build a cover.”

“Cover for what?” She gives you a sideways glance. “Right. National security.”

“Do you really want to talk about work?”

Smirking at her you push her back on the bed. “Maybe later.”

You lean down to her but she stops you by planting a strappy heel in the center of your chest. Trailing your fingers down her leg you snag a knife from her thigh holster. Carefully you slide the blade under the straps, the incredibly sharp edge cuts through the thin suede like it’s nothing.

“Those were very expensive you know,” eyes sparkling with desire.

You slip the shoe off and toss it aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” Your lips press against her ankle.  

Everything in your life until her was so fleeting. Even your own name, the sound of your own voice, who you were… But with her, you were grounded. You weren’t anything but her’s, you were Y/N.

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed. Caressing her muscular calf you just stare at her eyes. Emerald green, dark liner, lids heavy with lust and exhaustion.

“Natasha…” Your voice cracks and you fight for composure.

“Y/N? What is it?” She shoots up, cradling your face in her hands.

You shake your head, unable to really find the words and unwilling to send this storm of emotions to her. “I just…” You cover her hands with your own. It’s not that you don’t want her, you do. But…

“Can we just… I just wanna hold you…” Her expression immediately softens, eyes sparkling a touch with tears. “Sorry… I… I just…”

“I’d love that, baby.” Tenderly her lips brush yours, then your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids as they flutter closed.

You shed your clothes and crawl into the plush bed. Holding tight to one another you spend hours drifting in and out of sleep, covering the other with soft kisses. Before the sun rises your hands wander southward.

This time you don’t fuck one another senseless. It feels like you’re trying to memorize every curve, every sound, every subtle thing that marks being together. You both know you many not get to do this for some time. The knowledge aches but it doesn’t make having her any less sweet.

Post Snap

You lean your head back on the wall behind the booth. The crying man from last night is gone, you find yourself hoping that he’s resting peacefully somewhere… even though you know it’s pointless to hope for such things.

There are more people filling the bar than there was before. The TVs are off, radios turned up, reporters frantically trying to determine what happened. It was global, that was clear. All planes grounded, trains stopped, communications spotty due to damaged cell towers.

A man speaks frantically to someone who seems to be a friend that he was heading to Nuremberg from Budapest, how the roads are almost not navigable. He doesn’t know if his family is even still there but he has to find out.

Despite his distress, your lips curl a bit at the mention of Budapest.

[mytrashs-blog]

Alter Ego ch. 4 “Perficiendi”

Spideychelle, Peter Parker x Reader, slow burn fic, Enhanced reader.

Word Count: 2,388

Warnings: PTSD, men being trash, terrible coping mechanisms

Summary: “When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”

A/N: Made it to the 4th chapter! Yay!! This one is a chill one, I like to say this is the calm before the storm, and you really don’t know what ya got comin’ but yeah, I gotta keep encoraging you to Reblog!! This!! Post!! because that’s how we keep ‘em comin’ and also leave the comments, they make me very happy. If you wanne be part of the taglist, shoot me an ask! :)xx

Ch. 3 “Ipsum Invenies”

It really was a simple design, kind of like the one Spider-man wore, red, blue and a few details in black. You wanted it to be like your male counterpart, a one piece with a mask covering all of your face, plus you needed to solve the eye problem, cause you’ve realized that it’s annoying at some extent to see as wide as you do, so you want to solve this to be able to concentrate in what’s more important.

The doing was the complicated part, because though you had a bit of knowledge in how to make clothes for some clubs you were in during middle and high school, you have no idea how to make a superhero suit. For starters: What kind of fabric is flexible and bulletproof, and super resistent to knives and all kind of lethal weapons? What is Spider-man’s suit made of anyway? So many unanswered questions. In the end you settled for high resistance spandex and a ton of cosplay tutorials on Pinterest and YouTube.

The first prototipe was ready in three days, but the final version, the one in which you could run, jump and everythign else took two weeks to perfect. But of course you wanted to know how to fight, so you enrolled on the gym for some boxing classes and your mother loved the idea, for it was a way for you to defend yourself if you were ever in a traumatic situation again. You really don’t wanna know how she’d react if she knew what you’re planning to do.

The spiderweb was a lot more complicated, where does Spider-man get that thing from? You know that this would be awfully easier if you had a Tony stark to pay for all your toys, but for now, all you have is Lexi: biochemistry student, roomie and very close friend. She offers her help to develpo the webs, one that’s resistent and can carry tons of weight, on the last minute you come up with the idea of infusing the web with a sedative that activates on contact, to avoid the prey from getting rif of it. That process took a lot of work and time aswell.

It took two long months for you to feel ready to go through with your revenge but even after that, you couldn’t quite find the uber driver, at some point you question if it’s even worth it, even google has its limits and it won’t present you an adress just like that. And that’s when it gets really hard. Your idea is to hack into Uber’s database to get the adress. If the police didn’t even go after him, maybe he didn’t run away.

Your college is very big, you know a lot of people, but since you went missing in the middle of exams season, everyone is very busy and it’s hard to find someone available to help you hack a likely vey protected site, but you try regardless. It takes about 15 calls and hundreds of unanswered texts, but you finally get a very nice nerd to teach you how to do the dirty job, because you really didn’t want to tell him what you were planning.

You had to begin your infiltration from a strange computer, in a place far away from your apartment and with a VPN adress, to be untraceable, hard work, but your nerd friend taught you everything you needed and it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes to do it.

The codes you have to write in are long, the ones you have to get rid of are hard to find, but you enhanced senses can do it faster than you’d ever imagined, before the incident you would’ve never been able to do it, while your thoughts drift away, you make it inside Uber’s database, you search for the information you need. You don’t type in his name, that would have made it easier for the page to identify it’s been hacked, but once you find it you take a picture of the screen eith the phone your mom insisted on buying for you and you get out of the page they way your nerd friend tol you. You’re safe.

You get out of the place, but you leave the laptop there, you figured it’d be better of someone steals it, that way it’s impossible to trace it to you. You walk to a bus stop to get back home, you don’t even consider taxis or anything else for transport anymore.

You put on your earphones while you get on the public transport, after playing some music from your phone, you decide to take a look at the data you gathered, when you open it you realize that apart from the data of the man, there’s a picture of him, looking at it takes you back to that same face looking at you like an animal about to attack, his hands touching you, his weight over your body, the puch with the baseball bat, you remember everything he made you live in a second and suddenly you’re gripping the metal bar in front of your seat with all your strenght, you feel the metal giving in under your muscles, molding to the shape of your closed fist over it. You let go.

You have tears in your eyes and the person beside you looks at you concerned, scared even. You get off the bus the second it stops and you run, you run as fast as you can in the direction of your apartment, images attacking you like flashes in a dark room, you don’t want to see it, you speed up and everything around you is a blur, except for the images in your mind, when they stop coming you start slowing down until you stop too. You’re one block away from your apartment, but you can’t, you crumble and start ccrying again. All these new abilities and none of them can help you forget. You cry until the sun starts setting, you’re still sitting on the cold pavement of the street, people walk by and they stare at you, but frankly you couldn’t care less, after a while Lexi calls.

“Hey…”

“Where are you? Everything alright?”

“I’m one block away, I was doing some stuff but I’m almost there now.”

“Okay, I ordered pizza”

“Okay.” The conversation is flat, no feelings there, maybe Lexi sounded a bit worried, lately it seems like she’s treating you like you’re a fragile piece of china that’s about to fall off a shelf, always treating you with tenderness and waryness, it’s annoying but understandable. Paola also had to endure your dissapearance, she had to go to the police only to be ignored, no one even bothered in telling her how the search was doing and she had to be in the apartment by herself, with all your stuff as a constant reminder that you were still gone.

You get up and walk back home, you don’t notice but you’re still trembling for the emotional crisis, so much that when you try to get the key in the door you simply can’t and you get so frustrated that you end up punching the wall, you get worried you might have broken it, but it’s safe for now, it’s just a small crack on it. Lexi opens the door a few seconds after.

“Did you get the info?”

“Yeah. We have to confirm the adress, so we have to go there a couple times to check it’s the right one and we’ll go from there.”

“Alight. There’s the pizza.”

“Thanks… Would you mind coming with me to check the adress? I don’t think seeing him again by myself is a good idea just yet.” Yous ask, eyes glued to the table, avoiding any kind of eye contact.

“Sure. When do you wanna go?”

“Tomorrow.” You finish. Lexi nods and goes in her room.

After finishing your dinner you go to bed, you’d never admit it, but since you came back home, sleeping is the hardest thing to do, you always have nightmares, all the things you’d rather forget come back to you every night. And each time, you lay there, looking at the ceiling until you fall asleep and the nightmares start coming. You tell yourself they’ll stop once you get your revenge, that you won’t let anyone else go through the hell you’re still going through.

The next day Lexi and you get in Sebastian’s car, you didn’t tell him why, but he agreed to take you to the adress, when you get there you decide to park a bit far but not so much that you lose sight and then you wait. An hour goes by and then there’s a car parking in front of the house, it’s not the same car you got in that night, but the driver is the same. Your blood boils in your veins and you feel color coming to your cheeks, then you see a second person getting out of the same car, a woman, the man hugs her and kisses her on the lips, that make you even more furious.

How coud he have a partner and do such monstrosity?He might be even married to this woman and yet he did what he did. You feel Lexi’s arms coming up behind you to hug you, you don’t react, you stay staring at the house of your rapist, Sebastian looking at you worried, but he doesn’t ask.

“Let’s go.” You say and Sebastian drives back to your place. When you open the door to get down he stops you.

“Why don’t you go ahead, Lexi? I wanna talk to (Y/N)”. Lexi nods and steps off, she turns to look at you, but then she walks inside the building. “Who’s the man from that house?” he asks, serious.

“Nobody.” You answer looking in your apartment’s direction.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I just want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t open up.”

“You’d help me if you stop asking questions.” You answer and you turn to look at him in the eyes, he’s looking at you the same way Lexi does, with pity, just as if you were an abandoned puppy.

“I’m not gonna judge you. I just think it’s better for you to talk about it, you know? Did that man hurt you? Does he have anything to do with you waking up in a hospital after being missing for two weeks?” Your jaw falls a little at that. Why the hell does he know you were missing? It didn’t even make it to the news. “News travel fast on campus, of course I found out.”

“It’s none of your business Sebastian. Please drop it.” You feel you voice cracking on the last sentence, Sebastian puts his hand over yours in your lap. You look at his hand then at him and then at his lips. You kiss him. He kisses you back.

The kiss is hungry and messy, almost wild, your hands play with the hem of his shirt, one of them goes up to play with his hair, he takes you by the waist, bringing you closer, you break the kiss for a second so you can climb onto his lap with a nimble movement and you also manage to get the seat back as far as it could, you kiss him again, harder than before, his hands go to your waist once again and they make their way down until he’s firmly holding your butt, his mouth moving towards your neck. Your hands go to the waist line of his jeans, playing with the buckle of his belt for a second. And you hesitate. Should you be doing this with your exboyfriend.? And you stop in your tracks.

“I cannot do this.” You say as you go back to the passanger’s seat, Sebastian looks at you confused, but he says nothing. You get off the car and run to your apartment, you rush to the bathroom and shut the door, you get undressed as you feel the tears running down your face. Are you even able to do anything anymore without crying? You get in the shower and you let the cold water fall on your body. You stay there until you stop feeling.

You feel nothing.

…

Peter ends up deciding to improve the dron a few 20 meters more, which did require a bit of a hustle with the software of the suit, but that wasn’t nearly as hard as getting KAREN to have real time access to police centres all around the country. It took a couple weeks and him having to deactivate his AI for a few days, which made his life a lot harder. But he made it. Now he can listen and record all calls made to 911 as they are happening, which are a lot, by the way, but he was also able to come up with an algorithm to filter what matters to him and what doesn’t, not that some things don’t matter to him, just that there are some stuff that are relevant to the research and some that aren’t, you get the point, right?

So, only kidnapping, dissapearances and found bodies were coming through, and to Peter’s surprise, there were so many calls a day being stored in KAREN’s data base.

After some weeks everything became a bit tedious, none of the calls had anything to do with the case, little by little Peter started to lose interest in the research. Mr. Stark had made very little progress aswell, from what he heard, therefore he too started to focus on other important matters, but not dropping the topic completely, just in case.

MJ is going to prom with Peter, but he needs a suit, and he’s also helping ned come up with a plan o ask Betty out. It’s like, for the first time in forever he finally has time to be a normal teenager and he doesn’t have to go after bad guys in the city. He’s finally finding the balance between Spider-man and Peter.

But of course everything in his life has to change one secong to another, but this… he definetely didn’t see coming.

-

taglist

@caeruleum-in-caritate-lupus, @softstarkk, @peterparkerbabyy, @dottirose, @legit-fandom-trash, @carostar2020, @appreciating-chase-brody, @mvmakki

[aworldoffandoms]

Runaway - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Moscow

Pairing: Liam x MC [Ariel]

Word Count: 4, 759 (long post again...sorry)

Rating: M-ish 

Warnings: semi-sexual references...nothing scandalous

Summary: Liam and the gang arrive in Moscow to search for answers while Ariel reminisces on the past and her life-changing decision.

 MASTERLIST

Tag list: @hopefulmoonobject @annekebbphotography @am-i-invisible777 @blznbaby @khakie4 @lauradowning29 @blackcoffee85 @captain-kingliamsqueen @moneyfordiamonds @super-secret-fandom-blog @jovialyouthmusic @zaffrenotes @ao719 @umccall71 @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @pixieferry @pixelpenny @jlouise88

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 

It was dawn the following morning when Liam and the retinue arrived in Moscow, a car already waiting for them to take them to the hotel, though it was slow going with the snow blanketing the streets. There was a certain, strange beauty to it, but Liam couldn't deny that seeing it against the starry night did not hold the same amount of appeal as seeing Ariel's face light up in joy or the way her eyebrows creased when she silently disapproved of something or the way her mouth would lift up in a smirk when she'd tease him relentlessly.

No. A beautiful white winter pales in comparison to her.

Out of all of this . . . they had to prevail. The king and queen of Cordonia had been through too much - a false engagement, three assassination attempts, and now this. They couldn’t be wrenched apart; they’d been through too many trails already. That cipher was the key to making sure it would happen. He clung to it.

He was thoroughly aware that he had a duty to his people and his country. A duty that weighed heavily on his shoulders every day. Yet, he had a duty to his wife also.

Liam had cancelled all appointments for the next fortnight. It might have been a bit excessive but, this surely deserved more attention. Royals were going missing, and certainly, Moscow would be the key. Once again, the city would play its part in the history of the crowns of Europe.

While Hana had opted to stay behind to look after Valtoria, the others had managed the time well enough to follow him. And if Liam was being perfectly honest? He couldn't do it alone. He hadn't believed it at first, directing the investigation with his own hand, sealing every piece of information that came his way. But as the days passed, and as the hopes of finding his queen did as well, he had to accept the painful truth. He was just a man. They were as much as Ariel’s best friend’s as they were his. He would not be here without them. He trusted them with his life.

Liam sighs as he drops the luggage on the hotel floor after settling in for the night. Exhaustion was finally making its mark. The last four hours on a plane and undertaking last minute paperwork was tedious. His eyes stung even now from staring at documents and papers while on the flight and his hand ached from all the signing. The answers to where his wife would be escaped him, but apparently, a new bill to build more bathrooms in the Cordonian national park did not.

Liam almost wanted to fall back onto the bed, close his eyes and fall into sweet darkness so he’d at least have a reprieve, albeit brief. Yet, the cipher still gleamed in the crevice of the bags, beckoning him back.

Uncovering the meaning behind the cipher was all well and good but where did he go from here?

Ignorance truly was bliss.

***

Ariel drops the keys onto the table as she stops to turn on the light of her apartment. She sorts through her mail, under a fake name, Serena Cordin. It was nothing important, she realized, with a breath of relief. A few advertising emails, a message from a coworker pleading her to take over a shift. But not now, Ariel decided. The days were catching up with her, and she had some sleep scheduled to catch up on.

Just as she is about to head into the bathroom to change after a long shift at the tavern, her mobile starts to ring.

She plucks it out of her pocket and finds the screen black. Perplexed, her eyes fixate on it again as it begins to vibrate.

By the fifth or sixth ring, Ariel's brain kicks in and she realises that it's her other phone.  

Her disposable, untraceable one.

Shit!

Ariel curses silently as the ringing drones on. She drops her bag and races to her bedroom, unlocking the draw with a quick twist of a key. There, nestled inside a bundle of sheets and an errant handkerchief is the tiny silver phone, buzzing its head off.

As she picks it up to answer, the ringing stops as a missed call flicks up on the screen. No voicemail. Ariel didn't have to know who it was - she had memorized the number as soon as she had a text arrive from it the first time.

“Damnit.” Ariel huffs, her irritation flaring up again after her rather crappy night at the bar. Couldn't she go one night without a creepy cold buffoon trying to feel her up?

She could easily have socked him in the face but knew she'd be fired if she did. No matter. If she ever got back to Cordonia and her queenship, she could easily have him extradited. The thought, though absurd, made her smile.

Ariel sighs as she takes a deep breath and exhales, glancing down to the phone, vacillating between a shower or bed. There was an all-day shift waiting for her tomorrow and she already felt the exhaustion settling in. Her muscles ached, her bones were stiff. If she didn’t loosen them, she swore they’d crack. She was working herself thin, bussing tables, pouring beer upon beer just so she could escape the intruding thoughts of the one person she promised herself she wouldn't think about.

She drove herself crazy every night thinking about him. Half the time she wanted to damn it all to hell and just go back to the place she loved so much. To the man that she so desperately missed.

But she couldn't. They were holding her back. Dangling his life in her face like he was a piece of meat and she was a rabid animal.

The call finally goes answered. Fingers hovering over the keys, the little clicks of the buttons echo through the chilly apartment air. Her contact knew to ring only if the information or situation was dire.

And from the tone of her informant - it was.

Her pulse sped up and her stomach twists in nervous butterflies as she hears her voice speak in a quick, sharp whisper. The intent in her was voice clear.

This was serious.

“Ariel. Finally. I've got something to tell you and it's imperative that you know.”

Ariel holds back the desire to gasp, the breath caught in her throat. She clenches her fists in anticipation or fear. The two emotions blurred together into a simmering storm within her stomach.

“What is it?”

The contact takes a deep breath and speaks, her voice almost hesitant, breathy as if she’d run miles just to deliver the message.

“He’s found the cipher.”

It was only four words but those four words sent a tidal wave of emotions to pulse through her. Fear. Shock. Relief. Horror. More fear.

The person on the other end didn't need to elaborate on who this he was. Ariel knew. Her heart skips a beat as she realises that things are getting underway. It might have been a two and a half year wait but it's a good start nonetheless.

Her heart squeezes painfully. From this day forward he would be in danger. She wants to warn him but Ariel knows she cannot. Despite how cruel it is - he had to do this by himself. Liam might be oblivious to the real danger he was in but she could not stop the outcome if he proceeded with his search.

Ariel swallows the lump lodged in her throat. She wondered how she moved through each day. Most days she was on autopilot, just going through the motions of work, researching and being a firm, direct soothing voice to the royals that needed it.  She’s existed in autopilot ever since she left and she needed rest. Anything to put them both out of this lonely misery.

She missed her husband so much. Her love, her life, her Liam.

Ariel clenches her jaw and clamps her eyes shut as those memorable blue eyes appear behind closed lids. Those eyes that she could fall into forever. His easy, charming smile which could melt her on the spot.

Ugh. This is torture.

Ariel straightens her posture, the training from Bertrand and the perfectly composed field practice in front of the cameras kicking in again instinctively. She clears her throat, her voice returning to the classic graceful voice she used to use in every royal interview. No hint of falter. No hint of the pain currently slicing through her like tiny knives.

“Thanks for telling me, Marguerite.”

“You’re welcome, Ariel.”

“Do you have the message to send to him? If they have arrived at the hotel -- send it to him immediately.”

Marguerite hums in affirmation.

“I’ve found where they are staying and have got his room number. I'll see to it that the message is delivered.”

“Good. Good. Make sure it gets there and be sure to firmly say it is delivered to Liam. We don't want another situation like Johannesburg.”

Ariel shudders at the memory. That was a close call.

“I will make sure I do that, Your Majesty.”

Ariel sighs, her gut twisting at the title. She hadn't heard that in nearly three years.

“Marguerite . . . how many times have I told you to just call me Ariel?”

Marguerite chuckles on the other end. “Sorry, your maj-- Ariel. Bad habit. I guess I haven’t forgotten those etiquette lessons. I truly doubt you have either.”

Ariel smiles, shaking her head in amusement.

“Well . . . I don't blame you. It took me a while to figure out which one was a salad fork and which one was the dessert fork, so I'm not judging.”

Marguerite bursts out laughing outright and Ariel joins in, having a shared understanding of royal etiquette. It was nice.

“Well, Marguerite, I'll bid you goodnight. There’s an early shift tomorrow. Send me something when it’s done. And please . . . ” Ariel pauses, taking a deep breath and then exhales.

“Be prepared for him to arrive at your doorstep. He'll want answers and he will come to you for them. I am just not sure how he'll be.”

Liam was a controlled man in front of dignitaries and cameras. Yet, when it had anything to do with Ariel, he struggled to maintain that perfectly controlled facade.

“How long will it take them?”

“I don't know, Princess, but I'm sure it'll be soon.”

Marguerite sighs, the weariness in the sound evident. “Okay, I'll be prepared. It's not like I can enjoy this Russian winter anyway.”

Ariel chuckles. “You and me both, honey.”

They laugh at that, exchange polite goodbyes and hang up. Ariel stuffs the phone back in the drawer, locking it up tight.

She had to take every precaution with this phone and she wasn't going to be careless now.

With her eyes bleary from exhaustion and her feet throbbing, Ariel prepares a bath and soaks for a good while before hopping out, relaxed and ready for bed.

Ariel knew she was tired, evident by the heaviness in her eyes. Thankfully, they open for a few seconds more.

She sifts through her bedside drawer and slips out a few photos, cracked down the middle from endless unfolding and crumpling in pockets. The ache of missing him and her friends almost pulling her down and drowning her in her anguish as she stares at the carefree smiles of everyone she held dear.

She hated this. She hated everything about the situation she was in.

Right now she should be having the best life possible. Ruling beside her king, bringing positive change to their beautiful little kingdom. She should be thriving beside Liam, yet, here she was alone, heart breaking all because of those bastards.

Why did they torture her like this? It was unfair.

Her heartbeat runs against her ribcage, rethinking back to the week leading up to the night she left. The week she was determined to drink up all the love and happiness before she would rip it away from herself. The pain lances through her insides again, her breath short as her quiet sobs wracked her already tired body.

Two and a half years ago…

The ink sinks into the paper, emerging as crisp lines of cursive dictating the outline of the new children's hospital. That would suffice, Ariel thought to herself. It was at least one thing she could do. Ariel’s cursive script imprint the paper as she signs against the dotted line for a bill that had just passed through the Council for a new wing in the Cordonian Children’s Hospital.

Though she was Queen and she held power, Liam had the final say with his signature and wax sigil. He was King after all.

Once she signed with her blue fountain pen, the black ink drying immediately, her neck prickles as a dark shadow looms over her.

She smiles and glances up, her eyes meet her husband’s and she can't help the stutter her heart gives at his presence.

“All done, my love?” Liam inquires, the smile in his voice evident and his eyes beaming with pride even though his face was a mask of neutral professionalism.

“Yes. All it needs is your signature and seal and then we can send it off.”

Liam nods, his gold fountain pen already between his fingers as he signs and seals, and sends the document to be filed away in the database.

It was a done deal now. The die had been cast.

Ariel sighs in content. Her time as queen had already brought promise to the people of Cordonia and she couldn't be more thrilled.

Ariel stands up and pushes out her chair, walking over to Liam, wrapping her arms around his waist as he quietly conversed with the French ambassador over the phone, his accent liltingly falling over the complex words beautifully.

Ariel loved when she heard Liam speak in a different language. She always got a thrill from it. His French was posh and refined, with just the hint of the Cordonian accent shining through. His Italian rolled and swelled lightly like the oceans just outside the city. His Russian wasn’t half bad either.

Liam’s large hand came up and encased hers, twining his fingers through hers as she waited patiently for him to finish the call. Her eyes close against his back as her mind raced forward seven days. There was such little time after the royal engagements and papers as if he had married them instead of her. She vowed that wouldn't be the case in the next week.

Once hearing the goodbye in French, Ariel squeezed his waist again and removed her arms and walked over to her desk to grab her tablet off her study desk to check up on her schedule.

Her stomach drops when she sees the date a week from now.

It was a bittersweet thing to swallow. The day of their anniversary - the day that they had become husband and wife. And the day that would soon separate the two of them. How could marriage be like that? That part broke her.

She was doing it all for him. To keep him alive. If Liam left this world -- she could not live in a world without him. Ariel could not take that chance. She had no choice. The Sons of Earth could not threaten her husband's life.

Ariel sighs as she puts down her tablet, closing her eyes.

A smile pulls her lips, even though she felt the despair kick in, when Liam’s strong arms snake around her waist and he rests his chin against her shoulder, his lips close to her ear as he kisses the sensitive area just below it.

“Are you happy, love?” Liam whispers, his low deep voice making her shiver.

“Very happy.”

Liam chuckles, spinning Ariel around before pinning her against her desk, his mouth immediately going to her neck.

“Happy enough to celebrate your marvellous victory with the bill?”

Ariel drops her head back to allow Liam better access.

Ariel laughs breathlessly, a shiver of desire pooling at her core.

“I'm all for celebrating, my king. What do you have in mind?”

Liam leans back, his blue eyes dilated and dark with want. “Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Ariel raises her eyebrows. “Care to show me?”

And show her he did, their mouths meeting in a frenzy as Liam grips Ariel’s hips and shoves her against the door of her study, biting and nipping at her neck as she moans out his name.

Ariel gasps as Liam’s hand trails underneath her dress and up her inner thigh, their mouths meeting in another fervent kiss, their tongues dancing together.

When Liam’s fingers meet her sweet spot, Ariel moans out his name, already breathless as the desire spreads through her as her lower abdomen twists with need.

Liam and Ariel celebrate their victory a number of times before their interruption of a knock on Ariel’s office door.

They reluctantly dress and with one final kiss, Liam slips out the door and leaves his wife to deal with her assistant who had to finalise the details of the Charity event and a few other odds and ends which needed her attention.  

Her heart is in her throat as she signs the last of the catering order for their anniversary party. She knew that the morning after, it would be the last time she’ll be able to see, touch, hug and kiss Liam because she will vanish after that.

She will leave Cordonia without a Queen. She will leave her friends, her life, her family behind.

A tear slips past her eye. If her assistant noticed, she didn’t show it as her mask remained neutral behind her blue-rimmed glasses.

“Thanks, Hillary.”

“You’re welcome, Your Grace.”

Ariel smiles as Hillary steps out of the door to her study and leaves Ariel to her thoughts and the impending event that will change the course of her life and those closest to her.

***

Ariel’s nerves are at an all-time high as her leg bounces as she sits next to Liam as they share a light conversation with their friends, the Charity ball well underway.

Her mind is elsewhere as she ticks off her to-do list in her mind. She had almost all of what she needed. She had organised Gladys to come to her wardrobe while Liam had a late night meeting at the end of the week with the French and Croatian ambassadors, to dispose of all her belongings and ship them to her estate in Valtoria. She made sure he would be out of the palace for that to happen. She arranged it in the first place.

A hand rests on her thigh, and she smiles when she glances up and meets the blue eyes of Liam, the corners of his lips pulled down in concern.

“Are you alright, Ariel?”

Ariel smiles as she leans back and places her hand on Liam’s, giving it a squeeze. “Yes, I’m fine, Liam. I’m just thinking about the council meeting tomorrow.”

Liam grins reassuringly as he kisses her cheek. “I’m sure you’ll be fine tomorrow, love. You are a natural at public speaking and you’ll capture their attention -- just like you did me.”

Ariel grins, her cheeks aflame as she blushes. She leans forward and kisses him, both have smiles on their faces as they lean back from each other.

“Thanks, honey. I’m sure I can use my natural charms and seduction to win them over with this proposal like I did you.”

Liam frowns, his jaw clenched in displeasure. “I certainly hope you don’t.”

Ariel rolls her eyes, a smirk on her lips. “Oh, Liam.”

After all this time, Liam still had a jealous streak and she had kind of a sick joy in making him feel that. It made her realise just how much he cared for her.

Liam’s hand constricts against her knee. “Would you like to dance, my love?”

Ariel nods as they make their way to the dance floor as the Cordonian waltz breezes through the ballroom.

Ariel treasures this dance, her head against Liam’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

Liam kisses the top of her head, his arms tight against her waist to pull her closer. She clenches her jaw against the sting against her eyes. She will miss this most of all.

She tries not to think of all the things she’ll be losing in two days and just basks in this dance with her husband. The sound of his heartbeat the only thing from keeping her falling apart.

 ***

Ariel releases a shuddering breath as she steps out of the master bedroom where her husband slept soundly in their bed. Her eyes blurry with the unshed tears she was determined not to let fall until she was safely away from the palace and on her way to her destination far away from the one place, she called home. Before she made the trek down the quiet hallways in the dead of night, the halls empty of servants, the lights dimmed in the late hour, she took a moment to drink in the handsome features of Liam, his features relaxed in deep slumber, his eyelashes brushing against the sharp angle of his cheekbones. She softly brushes the hair away from Liam’s face that had fallen against his forehead in his sleep.

Her heart splintering in a few thousand pieces before her, she kisses his forehead lightly, stares at him a few moments longer and leaves as she whispers a final goodbye.

She covers her mouth to stop the sob that threatens to bubble up from her throat.

I don’t know if I can do this…

A small voice flitters to the front of her mind, her desire to stay behind and just let things happen, let the threats become a reality just so she can stay with Liam.

No. No. I cannot let anything happen to Liam or his crown. This country and his people mean everything to him.

Ariel takes a deep breath as she had come to a stop in front of the palace, the black SUV almost invisible in the black of night.

No. She had to do this. If not for herself but for Liam. They would kill him if she didn’t and the monarchy and this country would fall apart without him.

Liam will find her goodbye note in the morning. She would be long gone before he could have any chance of locating her.

***

Present Day

Liam shivers as a brisk cold breeze sweeps around him and his friends, the white snow steadily falling from the grey sky.

He was prepared for the harshness of Russia’s weather, considering Lythikos was much the same in winter but this was a lethal level of freezing. His nose was numb and he almost couldn’t feel his feet, the thermals underneath his clothes doing little to dwell the sharp sting of the weather.

The entourage was huddled outside a restaurant, having just finished lunch after spending the whole day trying to find anyone who could lead them to any sort of answer that Liam desperately wanted. Liam had Bastien search the databases and cameras around the vicinity of the airport in the last few months to see if any of the missing royals arrived here in any capacity.  

It was a long shot but a shot nonetheless.

No such luck as of yet.

Liam sighs, the fog formed from his breath at the cold air puffing around his face.

“Shall we head back to the hotel? I have it on good authority that we won’t find any answers here. We’ve searched all day and nothing has come to pass.”

Drake huffs as he pulls his scarf tighter around his neck.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. It’s freaking freezing out here.”

“Plus, we have been at this for three days and we have come up with nothing. I have no desire to get frostbite,” Olivia grumbles, as she delicately pulls on her coat to give her more warmth. Although she was used to Lythikos winters, Moscow was a different story altogether.

Liam sighs again as Bastien arrives with a rental, all of them shuffling into the back, his’s heart heavy as he gazes out the window. That cipher might have been a big help in the fact that it told them where to go but anything else where it said it’d assist them in finding the answers they needed which were despairingly nonexistent.

Liam resists the urge to grunt and punch the door in his frustration, as anger burns through his chest. This was becoming absurd. Chasing information about a cipher that did not give him any insight into where Ariel could possibly be was becoming nothing short of ludicrous and desperate on his part.

Was he just blind?

Was he so delirious that he followed this clue just because it was even remotely linked to his missing wife?

A groan bubbles up in his throat, yet he swallows. There was no need to alert his friends to his inner turmoil, although, they probably knew anyway.

Once they reach the hotel, Liam and the others march out of the car, the bite in the air sinking into their skin until they breathe out in relief at the warmth that engulfs them once inside.

The weather was becoming too cold for any of them to continue on with the investigation on this particular day. Liam felt the exhaustion weighing him down already.

Drake and Olivia give a parting wave to Liam and Maxwell, both of them exchange a smile as they walk to the elevator, hand-in-hand.  

Liam’s eyes follow them and a surprising twist of envy snakes through his gut at the sight. He was happy for the couple, but another part of him longed for the gentle touch of a partner. For once, he was the one shut out of it.

His jaw muscle ticks as he turns back to Maxwell, willing the absurd jealousy to ebb away. He doesn’t need that. He needs to focus.

They both bid each other farewell for the afternoon as Bastien as he hovers by his side and informs Liam that any evidence of royals entering the country had appeared fruitless and nothing worth pursuing.

Liam nods. “Thanks Bastien. Please keep me updated.”

Bastien gives a subtle bow to Liam as he turns and heads to his room but before he can, the hotel manager steps in front of him to gather his attention.

“Mr. Rys?”

Liam lifts a brow at his fake name. He often needed to remind himself of this procedure when trying to appear like a normal citizen.

“Yes, Sergei?” Liam asks.

“A package was delivered for you, sir.”

Liam’s eyebrows raise but he keeps his face composed.

“Oh?”

Sergi nods and starts walking over to the reception desk, quickly shooting off in Russian to a woman who obediently scuffles for a package in the bottom compartments. Liam duly follows, waiting patiently for it to be handed over.

It’s simple postage with only the address of the hotel and the number of his suite.

Liam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Who else could know where I am?  

Now he was really curious as to what was in this. It couldn't possibly be related to anything Cordonia so what else could it be? Liam shakes his head in confusion. Who would have the resources to find him here? He arrived incognito.

Bastien leaves his charge to continue is journey up to his own suite as Liam strides to the elevator, the item securely tucked under his arm.  

Once inside his room, Liam shuts and locks the door, anxious to see the contents of the mysterious delivery. He grips the package in his hand and rips the lip of the package open. The contents inside it slip out, scattering all over the bed.

Liam leans down and his eyes widen and his pulse quickens as he finds photo upon photo of a few persons of interest that Nazario had mentioned to him. He sifts through the photos, most of them the same but stops on an old decrepit apartment building. It wasn’t something that caught the eye of most people. It looked rather unliveable in his honest opinion.

But flipping over the photo, he almost chokes at what he finds. Surely, this couldn’t be.

KOLOMNA. 25715 PRIROZ STREET,  KNOCK THREE TIMES, RAP THREE. WAIT.

The puzzle was coming together.

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 9 - The Bastard

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3]

Four or five other gangly-looking boys at other cubicles stood up to observe the scene. They did not move to intercept the strange young woman who'd just physically assaulted one of their employees. Clearly this was not a particularly competent security force.

“Zee!” Sasha gasped.

“Relax,” Sweettalk whispered back, “I know how to handle this guy.”

A high-pitched “Jesus Christ!!” escaped Prescott's mouth involuntarily. “Some way to greet your big brother after four years!”

“Stop telling people you're my brother,” Sweettalk hissed. Deathsbane and Backflip each had a hand on one of her elbows, which reminded her not to hit him again. Ghostrunner, on the other hand, was chuckling quietly to herself.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, “I think you broke my son-of-a-bitching jaw.”

“Sweettalk, can you fill us in?” Backflip asked, “I mean, we didn't come all this way just to punch this guy, did we?” This was intended as a rhetorical question, but Backflip glanced over at Sasha to confirm.

“Who the hell is 'Sweettalk?'” Prescott got to his feet and began straightening his shirt, which had come untucked in the fall from his office chair.

“We were hoping to enlist your help, asswipe.” Sweettalk snarled.

“Well, you've certainly got a strong initial pitch.” He scoffed, still rubbing his jaw. “You know, I'm going to see a doctor about this. You'll be receiving a bill.”

“Oh, for Christ's— Sasha, can you see if I broke his jaw if it'll move this along?” Sweettalk pushed her forward slightly.

Sasha immediately reached to feel for a break in his jaw.

“Get your hands off of me,” he said, attempting to swat her hand away.

“I'm a doctor,” she said simply, and moved his arm out of the way with one hand while inspecting the point of impact with the other. “Wow, you are … incredibly weak.”

Prescott visually scanned Sasha, who was still wearing Pilar's tattered clothes. “You're a doctor? Where's your degree from, the school of hard knocks?”

“Your jaw's fine,” Sasha said simply, stepping back with moderate disgust at the disrespect she'd been shown, “Zee, hit him again.”

Sweettalk moved to follow this instruction. Prescott shouted “WAIT” and flinched so hard that he accidentally tripped backwards over his own chair and landed on the floor again. Sasha's confidence that he could be of some help had reached an all-time low. He attempted to get back into a standing position but decided it wasn't worth it and sat back in his chair, hoping he would not be once again punched out of it. “What do you people want from me?”

“We need to get into a secure facility,” Sweettalk explained, “and nobody's better at worming their way in where they're not wanted than you.”

Prescott looked indignant. “I'll have you know I'm a legitimate businessman now.”

Ghostrunner looked around the threadbare office and chuckled quietly to herself that Prescott could maintain any illusion of legitimacy in his business.

“Triton Securities, eh?” Sweettalk asked mockingly. “Aren't you usually in the business of getting past security systems?”

“Exactly,” Prescott explained, “who better to patch the holes in someone's fence than someone who's spent their life sneaking through them? We've got new businesses opening up in the bio-dome every day and despite some promising revitalization, there's been something of a crime wave, so for a small fee, my company installs alarm systems, sophisticated locking mechanisms, everything a business needs to keep their assets safe. There's not a secure system in this dome that we didn't have a hand in.”

“I don't buy it,” Sweettalk said, “you never get paid just once. What's the scam?”

“No scam,” he replied, trying a little too hard to sound genuine, “like I said, I'm a legitimate businessman now.”

Ghostrunner once again snickered at his use of the word “legitimate.”

“That’s a shame. It'd be in our interests to know we could get past the system,” Sasha said sarcastically, “we might have paid, I don't know, five hundred thousand, maybe a million credits for that kind of information.”

She dramatically dropped the unzipped rucksack on his desk, revealing the thick wads of 100-credit notes within.

One of Prescott's coworkers overheard this and stood up to leave the room. The rest of the employees followed suit, all giving Prescott a knowing nod as they passed his desk.  

“I'm listening,” Prescott said seriously when the room was clear.

Sasha continued with her spiel, “Oh, but you're a legitimate businessman, right? I mean, we would've paid top dollar if there was—”

“Drop the act,” Prescott urgently barked, eager for the bag of untraceable bills on his desk, “it's clear we all know the real score.”

“The Red God Life Center. You get a quarter million up front if you tell us how to get in,” Sweettalk explained, “and the other 750,000 when you get us back out.”

Prescott considered this and came to the conclusion that it was simply too much money to refuse. A cool million credits was easily five times more than the price of any security system they'd ever sold. Hell, he thought, he could take the down payment and run and still come out with more than he’d make selling security to ten of these trendy bars. He reached for the bag and Sweettalk pulled it out of his reach.

“Give us something to prove you can get us in,” Sweettalk demanded.

Ghostrunner tapped on her watch, seemingly to indicate that this proposition would not be on the table for much longer.

He sighed. “Our security systems are absolutely uncrackable if you don’t have the key, that much is true. What we don’t tell our clients is that they all have a back door: Enter a special code and the whole system shuts off. We keep the key to that door and sell it to petty thieves for a fraction of what they'll make selling the shit they stole. It even falsifies the internal records to make it look like the system wasn't properly armed at the time of the robbery, so law enforcement chalks it up to user error and our good reputation isn't tarnished.”

Sweettalk grinned, but still managed to convey that she was disgusted by him. “Supply and demand, you create both. The businesses wouldn't need your security systems if you weren't giving cat burglars the keys to the kingdom. The robbers wouldn't need to buy your help if you hadn't installed those systems. It's the perfect scam! You're totally redundant, and yet, you get paid anyway!”

“I prefer the term 'vertical integration' to 'scam,' but that's neither here nor there. I'm paid to keep the robbers out and, separately, to get the robbers in. There's a lot of money in working both sides of the law, you know. Now, give me the cash and I can give you a dossier on how to get in, and out, of the Red God compound without incident.”

Ghostrunner cracked a wide smile and tapped her watch again. A flickering hologram depicting Prescott's face appeared several inches above the watch's face, and spoke in a tinny voice:

“I'm paid to keep the robbers out and, separately, to get the robbers in. There's a lot of money in working both sides of the law, you know.”

Prescott's eyes widened in panic. He was a professional grifter, he should have seen this coming. It was a rookie mistake, being blinded to the risks by his own greed in light of an offer he couldn't afford to refuse. “How long were you recording?”

“Started right about when my associate tapped on her watch,” Sasha smirked, “and I believe the recording cut off just before you would've incriminated us.”

“It won't hold up in court,” Prescott pleaded.

“It doesn't need to,” Sasha rolled her eyes, “it just needs to get the law looking in your direction. This won't get you a conviction, but it will get the cops a warrant, and once they know what they're looking for, they'll find that backdoor in no time.”

“Which is to say nothing of the court of public opinion. I don’t think an angry mob waits for a warrant, do they?” Sweettalk smiled while closing the rucksack and taking a little too much delight in the shame and embarrassment in his eyes as the money slipped away from him. “That little recording is on its way to our good friend Tripwire as we speak. Tripwire has already received a message instructing her to forward it to the Sheriff's office in 48 hours if I don't personally tell her, face-to-face, that you've cooperated with our every demand. That means if you harm us, hinder us, or attempt to warn the Red God organization, you will be exposed, arrested, and convicted. Oh, and you won't have any patsies this time, your coworkers haven't been implicated and I'm sure they'll deny any knowledge of this scheme even if you've been caught.”

“You'll be offering your services Pro Bono,” Sasha explained, “or you'll be in a jail cell by week's end. Call it a 'friends and family discount' if you like.”

Sweettalk laughed derisively. “We're not related and I don't like him. Call it blackmail. Now, let's see that dossier.”

Prescott sighed, defeated, and called her a derogatory name which was, frankly, unfair regardless of the fact that she was extorting him.

Sweettalk grinned ear to ear. “Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual.”

[magaprima]

Part 1 Episode 10 Thoughts 1/3

“My look at the time. It’s almost midnight. Very nearly the Witching Hour, time enough for one more story about Sabrina”

I love this opening, the parallel to both children’s story time back in the day, as well as the old Horror film nights they used to do decades ago, where someone would introduce the tale from an armchair in a calm, seductive photos, bringing us into the haunted tale. Also people have complained that she calls midnight the Witching Hour, because 3am is said to be this time, but in truth, several times in the day are ‘witching hours’, for one reason or another. 3am is, so is midnight, but so is midday. So she’s right...it’s just one of the witching hours. 

“All the signs were there. If you knew where to look. A dead bird brought in by a cat, a spilled bottle of black ink, a broken mirror in an empty room, a loaf of bread split clean down the middle”

I love this too, because, in the habit of CAOS constantly mixing all mythologies and beliefs into one little hotpot of madness, here we have them harking back to old ways, wise women habits, like a broom falling means company is company, crossed knives is a broken friendship, bird hits the window means death is coming etc. I just love the whole opening of this episode, and this episode in general, because it seems to be the most traditional witchcraft practise based, even if with a CAOS spin.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I was to hear Sabrina’s mortal friends rally around her”

Lilith spying on Sabrina and co through the toilet door is both hilarious and creepy, and she is so genuinely pissed off about their support, the way she mockingly says ‘rally around her’ and the disgust when she says ‘mortal friends’, the way her mouth contorts in displeasure; this all really freaking pissed her off. But it shows how much she underestimated their friendship, and probably signifies how Lilith herself has never had that friendship herself:; she’s never experienced that loyal unwavering support from a true friend, so she thought they could be broken easily. 

“The Dark Lord was growing impatient with me”

That word impatient is so key here, not just because we’ve seen what the Dark Lord is like, but the whole context in which she says and the way she says, you know that impatience was dangerous, that his impatience is not simply a ‘lack of patience’ but that he will take it out on her, that growing impatient with someone is code for he’s going to make them pay for failure if they don’t come up with something to please him soon. But the way Lilith says it as a casual, accepted fact, shows how frequently she’s dealt with that, how she knows the warning signs. 

“I needed to change tactics, introduce a threat to Greendale that would compel Sabrina to make certain choices that would.....force her to separate from them”

She hesitates here before she says force her, like there’s a reluctance. And I don’t mean as in she didn’t want to force Sabrina, but as if she’s hesitant to take this direction, as Lilith is all about subtle, manipulation, she coaxes people into making choices, their own free will used against them, but here she had to be a bit more blunt and I don’t think she ever take particular pleasure in that. She prefers the game, the subtly, using her own intelligence and skill.

Also the design on the blanket behind Lilith on the chair she’s sitting on, looks like chains, which is a nice foreshadowing/reveal for how Lilith is in chains, metaphorical, unseen ones, trapped in her service to Satan, even if she convinces herself she isn’t, that it’s all her choice, her desire. 

“As for the threat, I...had an idea or two. Or Thirteen. Buried right under our noses”

The way she says this, it clearly wasn’t her first idea, Lilith put thought into the threat and needed it to be something untraceable to her if it went wrong, something unique, stand-aloneish. You’ve got to appreciate Lilith is both innovative and cut-throat (because she’s thought to use the Thirteen and is also fully willing to sacrifice their entire spirits and existence for her purpose). I like it. 

The way she storms out of that bathroom, there is freaking fury to behold on that face...but you know? It’s not out of place for the expressions of most High School teachers when they come out of a student’s restroom, haha. Also, it may be twisted of me but I just love how she marks out the boy she’s going to kill for the spell, the way she casually walks by him and then spins on the spot and is like ‘bingo’. Especially with the added voiceover of ‘And I would need a warm body...there you go’. I think it also shows how Lilith literally places no value on a male mortal life. She as casually picks him out for dispatch as she did the pizza boy. Mortal men, mortal boys, they have literally zero value to her beyond being food or a tool in a ritual. Men have treated women like objects, chattel, over all the centuries, and so Lilith purposefully does the same to men. 

Also when she drops the glamour in the woods and reveals who she is and the boy does a double-take, understandably, what was going through his head? It’s not just that the girl he was on a date with is suddenly gone, it’s not just that she is now suddenly totally different, but she’s now the teacher from his school. He’s on a date with his teacher...you know before she grabs him by the scalp and pulls out the knife, he probably thought he was gonna die from panic and embarrassment. 

Her pose as she holds him in place and brandishes the knife is freaking as Extra AF. Again, I like how they mix in mythologies, and use traditional magic aspects but in a twisted CAOS way, making it feel very grounded and very fictional all at the same time. Ditto with the use of shadows rather than major effects. I love how they achieve the ‘movie magic’ in this show, usually old tricks and physical things rather than going CGI nuts. 

“Welcome back, ladies”

What are the odds that it’s a literal welcome back? That Lilith was hanging around Greendale in her original form when the Greendale Thirteen shit hit the fan.

As she speaks to them, it is as a leader, they don’t question her, or her instructions and information. They possibly recognise her as Lilith or merely recognise her power, but there is an undeniable leadership here, calm and unquestioned, and despite the bad motives and murderous intent, it’s nice to see Lilith in this role, and how much she thrives in it, how easily she commands respect and attention when she’s allowed to take that role on. 

Also it’s interesting to remember that as she entices the Greendale Thirteen with all these promises of tormenting those who harmed them, and destroying the town they despise, and she’s all encouraging and supportive etc, she, in fact, plans to have them destroyed. The only way this plan works is if Sabrina signs the book and uses her new powers to obliterate the Greendale Thirteen. She is leading them all to their destruction. They’re her bait and they have no idea. But they seem to be especially vile people, that even fellow witches don’t like, so I don’t feel bad about it...maybe it’s even why Lilith picked them. Maybe even she doesn’t like them! Also Lilith seems to get freaking high off this plan. Just saying.