#Hide Folders using Command Prompt

[kaiwewi]

Once Upon a Christmas Mission

Secret Santa gift for @chaoticgoodthief Prompt: "Two people with opposite personalities falling in love and balancing each other out." Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

Synopsis: Supervillain gives her second in command a new mission. The job, (un)fortunately, comes with a new teammate.

“What do you make of this one?”

“The newbie?”

Frowning, they scanned the newspaper clippings Supervillain had spread out on the desk between them. The lack of enthusiasm on the journalists’ part was plain to see in the five unremarkable blocks of text with unimaginative titles. A small, slightly blurred image next to a short article on a mall robbery a month ago showed the grinning rookie villain dodging out of the way of some local hero’s attack. He held a fistful of jewellery in one hand and a hot dog in the other.

With an attitude like his, one could only wonder how the guy hadn’t been caught or killed yet.

They shrugged. “Amateur. Opportunist. Reckless. Flippant. More luck than brains.”

Supervillain hummed. She wore her impervious poker face. Everything about her posture and tone indicated disinterest. To so unnatural a degree, in fact, that it was fairly obvious she did have an agenda.

They internally groaned. This wasn’t going to end well, was it.

“Why are you asking?”

The corner of her lips twitched with something that might have been amusement at the audible unease in their question.

“No more than simple curiosity,” she said, clearly deflecting. “The other day, he approached me. Asked if we were hiring. Said he’d be eager to join us.”

Of course he would be. Any new villain in the area would grovel for a chance to work even a single job for Supervillain. Instant infamy by mere association. But the newbie’s audacity, bypassing the official procedures and approaching Supervillain directly…

“Ah, great. Reckless, flippant, and presumptuous.”

“So, you do not believe him promising?”

“Promising?” They made no effort to hide their scoff. “All I see is a liability.”

“Or a great asset, under the right person’s supervision.”

“You must be joking.”

That phantom of a smile on her face grew teeth. She was most definitely not joking.

“Surely you could utilise a versatile new piece on the board to its full potential, brilliant strategist that you are.”

“You know I don’t work well with unpredictable people.”

“You work fine with me, don’t you?”

She made that sound like casual banter; it smelled an awful lot like a trap.

“I don’t know why this newbie intrigues you so,” they said, weighing their words carefully, “but, and please pardon my bluntness, I do not want rogue pieces fucking with my game.”

“I’m afraid I need you to give him a chance,” she said as she produced a thin folder from the upper-most drawer of her office cabinet and slid it across the desk, “because I already hired him for this job I’m putting you in charge of.”

“Unbelievable! You could have asked me first.”

She should have asked them first.

“You would have said no.”

Damn right, they would have.

She gestured at the folder. “Christmas Eve. Your target is the Downtown Museum’s special End of the Year Exhibition. Can I count on you?”

Always. And she bloody well knew it too.

They heaved a heavy sigh.

“Fine. One chance. But I swear, if he fucks up…”

***

In the end, as irony would have it, when their meticulously crafted plan did fall to pieces, it wasn’t the newbie who’d fucked up.

He, against their admittedly low expectations, had listened most attentively, had carried out his orders diligently, hadn’t so much as offered a single sign of a contrary disposition. He’d checked in every other minute to report his position, had followed the exact route he’d been assigned at the exact pace they’d agreed upon.

So, as they guided him and the rest of the team through the first stage of their plan – getting everyone inside the museum undetected – they’d had to begrudgingly admit to themself that the only thing that stood out about the newbie was his annoying enthusiasm for doing a fantastic job.

And then, just when they’d started to think that maybe this would be another flawless operation after all, one of their field operatives, Tempest, reported in.

“—s….hing’s wrong. Sec..ity guard in Sector E. Hav. ..en spotted. Abort—”

Her voice cut off. Replaced by nothing but eerily crackling white noise.

It didn’t make any sense. How was there a guard in Sector E? They’d done the maths. They’d checked everything, countless times. Security wasn’t supposed to be in Sector E for at least another 10 minutes.

Not that it made much of a difference now that their cover had been blown.

Abort operation…?

Really the only viable option at this point. But that was unprecedented. There’d been hiccups on other missions, sure, but they’d never had to call for a full hasty retreat before.

Supervillain would be so disappointed.

But they had to. By the looks of it, they’d lost one operative already. They had to get the rest of the team out. This was their responsibility. Their fault. They had to do something before—

“Reporting in,” the newbie’s voice rasped from the radio. “This is Ghost. Current position: Sector E, entrance to Stairwell 4. Assisted Tempest. She is unharmed. But the security guard escaped. And he is not one of the regular crew. I repeat, the security guard is not one of the regular crew.”

Different security. Why was there different security?

They sucked in a breath that hardly made it past their throat and did nothing to relieve them of the tightness in their chest. Then they picked up the radio, and faltered.

Which of the escape routes was least likely to be compromised? It had to be an exit point everyone was able to reach. And quick. That security guard must have raised the alarm by now.

Precious seconds ticked away.

“Exit Strategy B,” they croaked. “I repeat, Exit Strategy B. Abort operation.”

***

A mere 40 minutes after their first failed mission – hardly enough time to begin to come to terms with how badly they’d fucked up, let alone recompose themself – the newbie found them sulking at the little table in the corner of the HQ’s staff kitchen.

If he’d seen them hastily brush some wetness from the corners of their eyes as he entered the room, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he wordlessly walked over and set a tray of cookies down next to their still untouched cup of black coffee.

They couldn’t bring themself to contemplate where he’d found those and they didn’t particularly feel like eating anything either. They took a cookie regardless.

“Great hiding spot,” the newbie said after a moment of tense silence. “Took me forever to find you.”

That’s because they hadn’t wanted to be found.

“What do you need?” they said, speaking more to their coffee than him.

“Nothing. But I’ve got something for you; thought it might be able to lift your spirits.”

Yeah, not bloody likely.

“No thank you.”

“Why not?”

Because they didn’t deserve cheering up.

“I messed it all up,” they said, and it felt like too much of an answer. Too raw. Too honest.

Their voice shook horribly. Pathetic.

“Nah, that was bad luck. Your plan was genius.”

“My plan failed.”

“You got everyone in and out.” He offered a loathsomely genuine reassuring smile. “That the museum spontaneously hired a different security team sucks. Not your fault though. No one could have seen that coming.”

They listlessly stirred their coffee with their cookie and laughed bitterly as it broke apart and disintegrated. Just like their plan. Nothing but lukewarm wet mush.

“I should have considered the possibility. I should have had another contingency plan. You don’t understand, do you? Knowing things, anticipating events, is my job. What good am I to my team when I can’t ever acquire crucial information? I almost got Tempest arrested.”

“But she wasn’t arrested.”

“No thanks to me.”

“You weren’t there,” he said, and somehow made it sound soothing rather than accusatory.

A beat of silence in which they forced another shallow breath into their lungs.

They wanted to scream. But they had to keep their frustration in check, be professional. The newbie didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. None of this was his fault. He’d done great. Without him there…

“Thank you,” they said on the exhale.

“We are a team, you know. You do the research, prepare the operation, brief us. You find us a safe way in and out.” As he spoke, the newbie scooped up a ridiculous number of cookies from the tray. “You’re not a field operative like Tempest and me. Reacting to unexpected events and new information in the field is our job,” he said kindly, then unceremoniously dumped the entire handful of cookies into his mouth.

Like this was coffee and cake at grandma’s and not him obligingly turning a blind eye to the fact his team leader was about to have a most unprofessional breakdown in front of him.

Gosh, it was so very hard not to judge him for his table manners. It was so ridiculous it almost startled a laugh out of them despite everything.

“For what it’s worth—” they tried for a small apologetic smile “—you did do a splendid job out there. I’ll make sure to inform Supervillain about that. I know how eager you were to work with her. I cannot imagine she’ll be best pleased when we turn up empty-handed … but I’ll do what I can to ensure this mess doesn’t reflect badly on you.”

Hazel eyes watched them closely while the newbie chewed and swallowed audibly. He licked the residue powdered sugar off his lips, off the tips of his fingers. The slight creases lining the outer edges of his lower eyelids bestowed a slightly impish quality to his gaze.

The only prominent lines on their own face were those born of frowns and brooding.

His was the face of someone accustomed to grins, smirks, and laughter.

He wasn’t grinning now, of course, but …

They’d expected him to be upset. Disappointed. Anxious, perhaps, that he might have lost his one chance to impress Supervillain. But, if anything, he appeared clad in an air of nervous excitement.

“Soooo,” he drawled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Speaking of Supervillain … I was wondering. Why didn’t you tell us what we were to steal for her? Why weren’t we supposed to know until we reached Gallery 5?”

“No particular reason,” they said, careful to temper the displeasure creeping into their tone. “It was information you didn’t require prior to reaching the target location.”

The newbie pulled a face and visibly bit back what would have undoubtedly been a snide comment. Instead, he asked, “yeah okay, but what was it?”

“Hardly matters now, does it.”

“Actually, I really think it does.”

They scrubbed a hand down their face, sighed. “How so?”

“Say, what if—” he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a shrug “—I had, hypothetically speaking, ignored your final order, made a breezy lil detour, and used Exit Strategy A instead of B?

“And what if,” he continued, “I had, hypothetically speaking, grabbed a couple souvenirs along the way?” He gave them a sheepish look as he pulled his hands back out of his pocket, producing two messy piles of tangled jewellery and trinkets that he placed on the table between them. “Because, confession time: I did.”

And there it was, amidst all the precious metals and all the valuable stones, their target – the ancient, allegedly cursed, Amulet of the Mothers’ Sorrow.

All they managed was a choked, breathless laugh. Their head swam with so many questions and yet they couldn’t seem to locate enough words to form a single sentence.

The newbie began answering the most pressing of them – HOW!? – without prompting.

“Well. When I pulled that guard off of Tempest, I noticed that shiny keycard hanging right there on his belt, and … I nicked it. Just couldn’t help myself. Grabbed his communicator too. Also wanted to knock the guy out, but he got away.” He made a small disgruntled noise, followed by a snort. “But then the idiot ran down Corridor 14. Like, I don’t think he was even familiar with the museum’s layout.

“Anyway, I figured I’d have at least 4 minutes before he’d find the next phone or reach another guard. And even if he found a panic button, security would still have to regroup first. And with access to the staff elevator … reaching Gallery 5 would take me, maybe, 2 minutes at best. And there I’d already be in the perfect position to use Exit Strategy A.

“Long story short: I know a worthwhile opportunity when I see it. Of course—” and here his voice gained an unmistakable edge “—I hadn’t been told what exactly I was supposed to steal. So I had no choice but to stuff whatever I thought were the most likely candidates into my pockets, hit or miss, and make a run for it.”

He made a vague gesture encompassing his loot.

“Did I get the right one?”

“I—” They cleared their throat and reached for the dark amulet – a filigreed pattern, seemingly liquid, a mercury river delta, against a background of polished onyx – on a necklace with a rich green cord woven through a silver chain, and untangled it from the other treasures. It was so pleasantly warm still from when he’d carried it in his pocket, on his person. His body heat seeping into the palm of their hands as they cradled the amulet to their chest.

They could have cried. Or kissed him.

“Yeah,” they said, barely above a whisper.

“Well then,” he offered, amiably, “lucky you. And maybe next time just tell the rest of us what it is we’re going after.” A grin tugged on their new favourite teammate’s lips. “Merry Christmas.”

The newbie took a bow, turned with an exaggerated flourish, and, humming a festive tune, strolled off towards the exit.

They stared after him, transfixed.

On the doorstep, with the door already opened, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

“By the way,” he said, “you got it wrong. Supervillain’s cool all right. But it isn’t her I’m eager to work with.”

~~~

Epilogue: New Christmas Traditions

“How’s the plan for this year’s Christmas operation coming along, darling?”

Their partner came up behind them, slung his arms over the back of their office chair and around their shoulders, and let his upper body go slack. As he nuzzled against the crook of their neck, he leaned on them like a particularly heavy but not at all uncomfortable scarf.

“Almost done.” They scanned the markings they’d made on the map covering half their desk. “I know how to get us inside. Currently working on how to get us out afterwards.”

“My criminal mastermind. Always gotta have at least 3 escape routes.” Their partner chuckled, somewhere between fond and mischievous, and started walking his fingers slowly down their chest.

“I prefer ‘exit strategies,’” they said, and caught him by the wrists before he got the chance to fully launch his tickle attack. “The word ‘escape’ implies opposition or pursuit. Ideally – assuming a certain someone’s antics don’t negatively affect the quality of my work – we’ll encounter neither.” Nevertheless, they turned their full attention to him now. “But should something ever not go according to plan,” they murmured into his hair, “I know I can always rely on my partner’s quick wit and nerves of steel.”

He pressed a kiss below their ear. “Damn right. Those heroes will never catch us.”

“Partners in crime.”

“Partners in crime.”

They shared a hearty laugh and a few seconds of tranquillity.

Then they gestured towards a booklet half-hidden beneath a stack of documents. The catalogue of the current target’s exhibits. “Have you had a chance to compile your wish list yet?”

“Nah,” their partner said, “I think I’d like it to be a surprise. I’ll know which ones I want when I see them. You?”

“I have picked a few favourites.”

“Perfect,” he purred. “You can tell me all about them over dinner. I made lasagna.”

“Perfect,” they echoed.

And that he was indeed: absolutely perfect.

[fitlifefuel]

The Ultimate Guide to Windows 10 Keyboard Shortcuts

Windows 10 is packed with useful features, but nothing boosts productivity like mastering keyboard shortcuts. These shortcuts save time and make navigating your system a breeze. In this guide, we’ll explore the most essential Windows 10 keyboard shortcuts and some lesser-known ones that can significantly enhance your workflow.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Basic Keyboard Shortcuts

Copy, Cut, Paste

Undo, Redo

Select All

Windows Key Shortcuts

Basic Windows Key Functions

Advanced Windows Key Shortcuts

File Explorer Shortcuts

Navigation

File Management

Virtual Desktops Shortcuts

Creating and Managing Virtual Desktops

Switching Between Virtual Desktops

Command Prompt Shortcuts

Basic Commands

Advanced Commands

Accessibility Shortcuts

Magnifier

Narrator

High Contrast

Browser Shortcuts

Microsoft Edge

General Browser Shortcuts

Customizing Keyboard Shortcuts

Conclusion

1. Introduction

Keyboard shortcuts are a crucial part of using Windows 10 efficiently. By reducing reliance on the mouse, you can perform tasks more quickly and keep your workflow uninterrupted. This guide covers essential shortcuts and dives into more specialized ones, providing a comprehensive resource for users at all levels.

2. Basic Keyboard Shortcuts

Copy, Cut, Paste

Ctrl + C: Copy selected item

Ctrl + X: Cut selected item

Ctrl + V: Paste copied/cut item

Undo, Redo

Ctrl + Z: Undo an action

Ctrl + Y: Redo an action

Select All

Ctrl + A: Select all items in a document or window

3. Windows Key Shortcuts

Basic Windows Key Functions

Windows + D: Show or hide the desktop

Windows + E: Open File Explorer

Windows + L: Lock your PC

Advanced Windows Key Shortcuts

Windows + Tab: Open Task View

Windows + I: Open Settings

Windows + S: Open Search

Windows + X: Open Quick Link menu

4. File Explorer Shortcuts

Navigation

Alt + D: Select the address bar

Ctrl + F or F3: Search in File Explorer

Ctrl + N: Open a new window

File Management

Ctrl + Shift + N: Create a new folder

Alt + Enter: Open properties for the selected item

F2: Rename selected item

5. Virtual Desktops Shortcuts

Creating and Managing Virtual Desktops

Windows + Ctrl + D: Create a new virtual desktop

Windows + Ctrl + F4: Close the current virtual desktop

Switching Between Virtual Desktops

Windows + Ctrl + Left/Right Arrow: Switch between virtual desktops

6. Command Prompt Shortcuts

Basic Commands

Ctrl + C: Copy selected text

Ctrl + V: Paste text

Advanced Commands

Ctrl + Shift + Plus (+): Zoom in

Ctrl + Shift + Minus (-): Zoom out

7. Accessibility Shortcuts

Magnifier

Windows + Plus (+): Open Magnifier and zoom in

Windows + Minus (-): Zoom out

Narrator

Windows + Ctrl + Enter: Turn Narrator on or off

High Contrast

Left Alt + Left Shift + Print Screen: Turn high contrast on or off

8. Browser Shortcuts

Microsoft Edge

Ctrl + T: Open a new tab

Ctrl + W: Close the current tab

Ctrl + Shift + T: Reopen the last closed tab

General Browser Shortcuts

Ctrl + L: Highlight the URL

Ctrl + Tab: Switch to the next tab

Ctrl + Shift + Delete: Open the clear browsing data options

9. Customizing Keyboard Shortcuts

Windows 10 allows customization of certain keyboard shortcuts to better suit your workflow. To customize, you can use third-party tools like AutoHotkey, which provide extensive options for creating and managing your own shortcuts.

10. Conclusion

Mastering Windows 10 keyboard shortcuts can dramatically increase your productivity and streamline your tasks. Whether you are a beginner or a seasoned user, incorporating these shortcuts into your daily routine will save you time and effort. Keep this guide handy as a reference and start practicing these shortcuts today.

External Authoritative Sources

Microsoft Support: Keyboard shortcuts in Windows

How-To Geek: The Ultimate Guide to Windows 10 Keyboard Shortcuts

Lifewire: Essential Windows 10 Keyboard Shortcuts

By incorporating these detailed steps and tips, you can take full advantage of Windows 10 keyboard shortcuts, making your computing experience faster and more efficient.

[globalinfotech]

how to hide unhide folder with cmd

[pinkvelvetcookie]

Sky

Summary: Espresso misses Madeleine

Inspired by @gayspiderman ‘s post here. I saw it and wanted to write about it so I did.

—————

Espresso was sad. Very visibly sad. It was so annoying!

Strawberry Crepe was trying to run through some diagnostics with him, but he kept staring out the window. In response, they hit him in the head. “Ow! Whatever was that for?” Espresso asked.

Strawberry Crepe rolled their eyes. “You’re not paying attention! I’ve heard better things about you, so clearly something is wrong,” they said. Espresso sighs. “Yes yes, I guess you could say that,” he responded.

“So uh, you homesick or something?”

“Uh. No. Not really. In fact it’s not that important. I can pay attention. What were we doing again?”

Strawberry crepe closed the folder they were previously sifting through. They let out a groan. “No. You’re not going to be able to pay attention until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Espresso banged his head onto the table and raised his hand to protest, but slowly lowered it in defeat after realizing that he didn’t have a counter argument. Getting his thoughts out to another cookie would probably help him focus better, even if it was a child.

“Well… it’s just… I miss him.” Espresso finally admitted. “Him?” Strawberry Crepe lead for him to continue. “Madeleine. I guess I was always so used to having him by my side, it’s weird not having him here bothering me.”

Strawberry Crepe looked at him in astonishment, and their eyes went glittery with potential. “What exactly are you saying, Espresso Cookie?”

Espresso raised a brow at the sarcastic formality before realizing what they were saying. He felt his face quickly flush and moved his arms to hide his face. “No no, he’s just a friend. That’s all he is. It’s a strange feeling to have him around is all.”

Strawberry Crepe moves to sit on the table. “Oh come on Espresso. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you have a crush on someone. Especially if it’s someone you’ve spent so much quality time with. You should tell him how you feel in your next letter.” They suggested.

Espresso peeked up from behind his arms and glared at Strawberry Crepe. They just smirked. “I’d rather not. We’ve barely become friends, I don’t want to ruin what we already have.”

Strawberry Crepe leapt down from the table and loved over to get some supplies. “Whatever. It’s your call. I recommend doing it, and I’m sure your sister would too. She knows more about your guys relationship than I do.”

Espresso sat up and glanced up at the window again, half expecting an airship he knew wasn’t coming to be there. “You’re probably right.” He stood up and walked over to where Strawberry Crepe was.

In Hollyberry kingdom, was a paladin on vacation with his family, in his first spot to travel the world. He smiled as his aunties continued to happily speak with the royals. He glanced up at where the Vanilla Kingdom was, barely being able to see its silhouette, but he knew it was there, and he knew Espresso was there.

“I’ll see you again soon, Espresso.”

—————

Originally I was going to make Madeleine have a photo of Espresso that he carried with him as he traveled the world, but I didn’t know how to actually write that part so I left it as that. That in itself could be a prompt…

I love the idea of Strawberry Crepe being all, “this cookie is so gay, it’s horrendous,” and now they have to deal with the pining problem too. They are definitely smart enough figure out that Espresso has a crush on the knight commander.

I don’t write a lot of angst but I guess this happened.

[phoenixguyzz]

How to Hide Your Files Inside an Image || How to Hide Files Inside Image...

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[literaryfic]

can u PLEASE write a fic where chayenzo is together but they want to hide it from the rest of the crew so they’re trying to bang in the office but mr nam is on the way so they have to pretend that nothing is happening

read on ao3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/30911159

I only realised after writing this that this does not follow the prompt but I hope you like it nonetheless.

“It’s not a secret. I just want it to be private. We’re colleagues and business partners, it’s inappropriate for us to be in a relationship”, Cha-young had said after Vincenzo asked her why they couldn’t just tell everyone. He had just nodded, still unsure as to why Cha-young suddenly seemed to care about what was appropriate and what wasn’t.

Their whole secret-relationship thing would be way easier if Mr. Nam wasn’t always the first one to arrive at the office.

Somehow, the paralegal has never once been late in his career.

Cha-young has been working as a lawyer for almost a decade now, so she’s used to waking up at dawn, and Vincenzo wakes up naturally with the sun.

It’s weird that, ever since they’ve gotten together, they can’t seem to arrive at the office before 8:30. Sometimes, they swear they’re going to make it, but Vincenzo forgets his phone and they have to turn the car around.

Often, Vincenzo’s 10 minute morning shower turns into a 30 minute love-making session after Cha-young sneaks behind the curtain. Other times, they give themselves 5 more minutes to enjoy each other’s embrace, unwilling to get out of bed.

Vincenzo is slowly learning that greed isn’t just about money, gold or power. Sometimes, greed is never having enough of Cha-young’s touches, of her voice moaning his name, of her hair in his fist, of her. It’s refusing to let go of her hand in public, it’s fighting off sleep just to listen to her rant about something that happened with a client that day, it’s never wanting to be apart from her.

And so, they all but move in together. At first, he stays over at hers because he’s too tired to drive back. Then, the next time he comes over he brings a toothbrush, and his favorite pair of pyjamas. After that, it’s because he’s renovating his place at Geumga Plaza. Weeks turns into months, and suddenly they’re looking for their own apartment.

Cha-young doesn’t like all the nostalgia the house carries, and she thinks it’s not appropriate for them to sleep in her teenage bedroom. She decides to rent it and they move into a cosy two-bedroom close to the office. It’s nothing extravagant like what he’s used to in Italy, but it’s new and it’s home. Living together, however, makes it harder for them to keep their relationship a secret.

(“It’s not a secret. I just want it to be private. We’re colleagues and business partners, it’s inappropriate for us to be in a relationship”, Cha-young had said after Vincenzo asked her why they couldn’t just tell everyone.

He had just nodded, still unsure as to why Cha-young suddenly seemed to care about what was appropriate and what wasn’t.)

It meant that they couldn’t be seen arriving together in the morning too often, which proved difficult when they drove Cha-young’s car every day.

“Oh, you guys are early today!”, Mr. Nam had once noticed.

“Uhm, yes! Mr. Cassano’s car is in the garage. I gave him a ride. Because that’s what business partners do. Haha”, Cha-young had quickly clarified. As if clarification was even needed in the first place.

Mr. Nam vaguely acquiesced, engrossed in the folder he was reading.

“Smooth”, Vincenzo mouthed at her, teasing.

Clearly, he was unappreciative of her efforts to protect their relationship.

It was only a matter of time before they got caught. It was a late evening in the office, later than their usual ones.

They’d been working on a big case for a union going up against a huge chain of supermarkets and their key witness suddenly declared he could not testify anymore. Midnight turned 3 am, then 4. Suddenly, it was 5 am and the three of them had pulled yet another all-nighter, reading thousands of pages of obscure legislations and jurisprudence, desperately trying to find a loophole.

“I’m going home to shower. I’ll come back in an hour.”, Mr. Nam said, rubbing his eyes before putting on his coat.

“Make sure to call a cab, riding Cheetah would be too dangerous right now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hong”

Vincenzo and Cha-young were now alone in the office, the first rays of sun peaking through the blinds.

The Italian-Korean man got up from his chair, massaging his neck while walking towards their coffee station set-up he’s learned to love.

“Oppa, I’m so tired.”, his girlfriend calls, using the annoyingly high-pitched voice reserved for when she wants to play around.

“Don’t.” She pouts. “Coffee?”

“Mmh, yes please.” It’s her turn to get up now. She walks up to him and wraps her arms around his waist while he prepares their drinks, letting her hands roam on his upper body.

“Cha-young-ah.”, he warns.

“What?”

“Aren’t you tired?”, he sounds unsure but interested. Good.

“I am. That’s why I’m trying to wake myself up.” She stands on her toes and kisses the spot where his jaw meets his neck with an open mouth. She feels his hair rise before she sees it.

Vincenzo abandons their coffees and turns around, one hand resting just above her ass while the other runs through her hair. “Mmh. Be careful, at this pace you’ll wake up our friend over here too.”, he says, looking down at his trousers.

Cha-young shrugs before circling her arms around his neck. “Oh well, the more the merrier, am I-” He cuts her off with a kiss and she smiles through it. Of course he’d beat her to it.

They start making out, enjoying each other’s taste. His stubble scratches her skin but it’s not unpleasant. Kissing him feels like a gift and a punishment wrapped in one, always exhilarating yet never enough. She needs more.

Soon enough, she tugs at his hair. He bites her lower lip, ‘Be patient.’. He grabs her ass with both of his hands and lifts her up. She can feel him, hard against her inner thigh, and Cha-young thinks for a second that if he doesn’t take her now, she might die on the spot. Luckily for her, he wastes no time in sweeping all the piles of documents off the central table before putting her down. The office is a mess they’ll have to clean up later, but neither of them care.

They’re both panting now, Cha-young sat on the table and Vincenzo in between her legs. “Can I?”, he asks, his hand hovering over her zipper. She nods enthusiastically and before she knows it her trousers fall to the ground.

“Someone’s eager...”, she’s about to tease but the sight of him loosening his tie and dropping to his knees silence her. 

Oh.

Slowly, he trails wet kisses up her leg until he reaches her inner thigh. She feels hot all over, the ache between her legs impossible to ignore. Looking up at her, he smirks, clearly satisfied by her red cheeks and laboured breathing.

“Now.”, she commands and he obeys. Pulling her closer, he positions her knees over his shoulders, ready to start pleasing her. He’s about to kiss her where she so desperately needs it when they hear a scream.

They both jump when they see Mr. Nam, who’s now facing the other way, head in his hands. Scrambling to puts their clothes back on, Cha-young thinks she’s about to faint.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I-”, Mr. Nam starts.

“You said you were going home to-to shower! What are you doing here?”, Vincenzo is clearly just as embarrassed as she is.

“I forgot my keys! I got in front of my house and I realised- Wait! That’s not the issue here. What are you doing in the office? I know you’re dating but still, I work here too, you know. Sometimes, I really feel like the third wheel and I know it’s not intentional but-”

“WAIT, you knew?”, Cha-young cuts him off.

“Knew what?”

“That... Mr. Cassano and I... we’re together?”, Cha-young is now hiding behind Vincenzo’s back, only her head pocking out.

“Was I not supposed to know?”, Mr. Nam asks, and from where she is Cha-young thinks he might be crying.

She doesn’t know what to say, and Vincenzo is the one to hand Mr. Nam his keys. They apologise profusely as he leaves, probably scarred for life.

Cha-young sinks to the ground, hugging her knees. Her boyfriend crouches down next to her, a reassuring hand patting her back. “Everyone knows? About us?” He nods. She screams. She gets up again, flailing her arms and pulling out her hair.

“Why would you not tell me? I’ve been making a fool of myself trying to keep this a secret-”

“I thought you said it wasn’t a secret?”, he interrupts.

“Aaah, whatever. I’ll just never show my face again. I quit.” She’s on her way to the door when Vincenzo pulls her into a hug.

“Don’t worry, tesoro. He’ll forget about it soon enough.”, He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her nose and finally her lips, trying to comfort her. He’d always been better with actions rather than words.

“You think?”, again, Vincenzo nods.

She shrugs and kisses him softly, her hands cradling his cheeks. “Thank you, oppa. Now, where were we?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. 

He bursts out laughing, eyes closed and mouth wide open, a sight she didn’t get to enjoy often.

Yes, everything will be okay, she thinks. How could it not be, when she has him by her side?

[system76]

Pop!_OS 21.04: A Release of COSMIC Proportions

Pop!_OS is developed to help you unleash your potential by providing you efficient tools that streamline your workflow. Pop!_OS 21.04 continues this ethos with COSMIC, a set of catered customizations geared towards accommodating a variety of use cases. Continue below for details on these new features!

COSMIC Workflow

Pop!_OS COSMIC (Computer Operating System Main Interface Components) gives you the freedom to navigate your workflow via your mouse, keyboard, and/or trackpad. Each navigation comes with a variety of shiny new features for you to enjoy:

During initial setup, you’ll be prompted to personalize your defaults by configuring COSMIC customizations to your liking. Each screen of the initial setup offers a preview of what your experience will look like. You can always make adjustments in Settings later on.

Mouse: To Dock or Not To Dock

That is one of many questions. The COSMIC desktop introduces a highly flexible dock to Pop!_OS that you can customize to your heart’s content, including:

Expanding full-screen or condensing to a central island

Arranging on the bottom, left, or right side of the screen

Adjusting size to small, medium, large, or a custom setting

Removing new icons for Workspaces, Applications, or the Launcher

Hiding the dock, or intelligently hiding the dock when windows approach the bottom of the screen

Going dockless, if having icons on-tap doesn’t fit your workflow

Mouse: Take it from the Top...Bar The most notable change in the top bar is that the Activities Overview has been split into two views: Workspaces and Applications. This focused approach serves to reduce confusion while you navigate your desktop.

Tinker with the top bar to align your desktop with your mental habits. Whether you need a more minimalist setup or want to realign buttons, this update has you covered. New options for the top bar include:

Remove the Workspaces and/or Applications button

Move Date/Time & Notifications to the top-left or top-right corner

Toggle a hot corner to open the Workspaces view by flicking your mouse to the top-left corner of your screen

Keyboard: Super Key to the Rescue!

By default, the Super key opens the launcher in Pop!_OS 21.04. With the launcher, you can:

Launch applications

Open specific menus in Settings

Perform searches on specific websites (ex. google system76)

Perform calculations using the prefix: = (ex. =5+7+6)

Search recent files using the prefix: d: (ex. d:FileName)

Open file folders using one of two prefixes: / or ~/ (ex. ~/FolderName)

Run a command using one of three prefixes: t: or : or run (ex. run top)

Show launcher features by typing a question mark

It’s now possible to launch a search option in the launcher using Ctrl + Number, close a selected window (Ctrl + Q), and launch an application on dedicated graphics by right-clicking on the application.

If the launcher isn’t an efficient fit for your personal workflow, the Super key can also be configured to open either the Workspaces or Applications view!

Trackpad: Gestures!

A prequel to the tangible holograms of the future, trackpad gestures give your hand full command over your workspace. Here are some swift motions to keep you navigating smoothly:

Swipe four fingers right on the trackpad to open the Applications view

Swipe four fingers left to open the Workspaces view

Swipe four fingers up or down to switch to another workspace

Swipe with three fingers to switch between open windows

Additional Features

Optional minimize and maximize buttons for windows have been added! Minimize is enabled by default, and maximize can be enabled in Settings.

Tile windows with your mouse! Just click and drag tiled windows to rearrange them to your liking. A hint will appear to show you where it will be arranged on drop.

The recovery partition can now be upgraded through the OS Upgrade & Recovery menu in Settings!

The launcher’s search algorithm has been updated to prioritize relevant applications for a smoother experience.

A plugin system was added to the launcher so that you can create your own plugins to search with.

How to upgrade before version 20.10 reaches End of Life in July

Once 20.10 goes EOL next month, you will no longer receive new security updates until your operating system is upgraded to the newest version, 21.04. Though upgrading errors are unlikely, they do happen, so we recommend backing up your files before upgrading as seen in this article.

IN SETTINGS

Before diving into the upgrade, open up Pop!_Shop to the Installed view and perform any outstanding updates. This will ensure a faster and more reliable upgrade.

Open the Settings application to the OS Upgrade & Recovery menu. If you have an update available for your recovery partition, perform this first. Then, click the Download button at the top to download the upgrade. To apply the upgrade, click Upgrade once the download is complete. Once your computer restarts in your sparkling Pop!_OS 21.04 desktop, follow the prompts on-screen to set your preferences with the new COSMIC features. (You can always change these later in Settings.)

IN TERMINAL

Open Terminal from your desktop or with Super + T. To make sure you’re fully updated before upgrading, use the commands below one at a time, pressing Enter after each.

sudo apt update

sudo apt full-upgrade

You’ll be prompted to enter your password, which will be cloaked in invisible ink as you type. This is normal. Once the process is finished, run the following command:

pop-upgrade release upgrade

As your system upgrades, you may be prompted to answer a few yes or no questions. Press Y and then Enter to continue. After about 15 minutes, bam! Upgrade complete.

FRESH INSTALL

Back up your files. Then, head to this web page. Click the Download button at the top, then select Download 21.04. If you have or plan to have an NVIDIA GPU in your system, select the NVIDIA download instead. Once Pop!_OS is installed, you’ll encounter a series of prompts for setting up your operating system. Check out this article if you need guidance.

You’ve done it! Play around with all the new features Pop!_OS 21.04 and COSMIC have to offer, and see which configuration works best for you.

Pop!_Chat: The official chat for everything Pop!_OS!

Hosted on Mattermost, the Pop!_Chat is our one-stop shop for everything Pop! Talk with community members and Pop!_OS engineers, discuss ideas, and seek help with software projects. Create an account and join the Pop!_Chat here!

[silvysartfulness]

Omg I saw that you used to write for the assassin’s creed fandom and honestly what a throwback 😭 are they on livejournal?

Aahhh, this is the part where I have to admit, I don't think I ever put any of those drabbles online! It was more a fun thing me and wife used to do, writing very very short 5 minute one-shots based on single word-prompts.

Oh, wait! Apparently I actually still have them, in an old folder of mine! Will post under a cut. These are AC 1-3-brotherhood, primarily focused on the latter.

La Volpe/Cesare post the fall of the Borgia was my main rarepair ship in that fandom, so that's the main (if occasionally only implied) focus for a lot of these. (CW some dubcon/non-con under the cut, so be warned.) 😊

1 Unwillingness

It goes against everything he is, a greater challenge than any battlefield taken on. Snarling, eyes blazing his defiance, Cesare submits for now.

2 Memento

”Something to remember me by,” murmurs Volpe softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, and it's all Cesare can do not to yelp as those vicious teeth leave a bleeding gash in his ear.

3 Baseline

He still doesn't trust Machiavelli, Volpe muses, and it's equally clear Machiavelli doesn't trust him. Perhaps their shared love of secrecy is the one dependent thing about their relationship.

4 Sniper

He has shot guards from rooftops, towers, horseback, beams and the treacherous crumbling tops of ancient stone pillars. So why was it, muses Ezio afterward, that he hadn't even thought of pulling crossbow or gun out as his sworn enemies held their short council in the courtyard a few measly yards below his feet?

5 Birthplace

It is in Masyaf the order of Assassins was born into what it is now. Searching for answers Ezio sets out on the longest journey of his life, back to the beginning of all.

6 Denunciation

It is hard to remember what it was like to have faith, Cesare thinks, but easy to remember when it was lost. What God could ever work through the instrument that was Alexander VI, his father?

7 Distaste

”Volpe, you didn't!” Ezio exclaims, his face a mask of distaste. Volpe smirks.

”Oh, it was not at all bad. Cesare is well trained.”

Ezio shudders. ”That is exactly what bothers me!”

8 Elimination

Constantly, frustratingly one step behind, it is little Cesare can do as his allies are meticulously taken out by the Assassins one by one. And yet it is not until the last of those on his side willingly turn their backs on him that he realizes this battle is lost.

9 Bluntness

”You can do as I say,” says the master thief matter-of-factly, turning the vial of antidote over in his spindly fingers, ”or you can spend the night dying slowly while vomiting your innards all over the floor. The choice is yours.”

Pale with fury Cesare chooses to live.

10 Turf

The Assassins had been myth, legend, bed-time stories to frighten a young boy already afraid of the dark. But as they dealt an all but deadly blow to his father inside the Vatican itself, Cesare grimly declares war. Roma is his city, and all who oppose his rule must be swiftly and mercilessly dealt with.

11 Assassination

He burns for the ideals, fights the fight with passion and utter devotion. But when Shaun's shaking hands lower the suddenly impossibly heavy gun he knows something he'dnever even thought about (Innocence? Compassion? Humanity?) has perished as surely as that very first body at his feet.

12 Apprentice

He remembers a gangly youth skidding across slippery roof tiles, trying so hard to keep up and even harder to hide his inability to do so. La Volpe silently studies Il Mentore and considers he's no longer sure who would lead the way across the rooftops.

13 Debris

Ezio swears as the ceiling collapses over the bed he shared with Caterina until moments ago – his armor and weapons are buried in the rubble and will be hard to replace. He does not yet know they will be the least of his losses this day.

14 Scolding

Altaïr has never been one to accept blame or criticism for his actions, but something about the way Malik's not-there left arm twitches as to shake a not-there fist in his face as the man speaks makes him look away in hidden shame.

15 Torrent

The rain pours down over the city, making roofs and cobblestones alike wet and slippery. Volpe tugs his collar tighter around his shoulders against the biting cold and idly contemplates if a trip to the Castello would be worth the trouble.

16 Anchor

He cheats and steals and tells honeyed lies with the ease of a snake. But his eyes can be oceans and his touch velvet – sometimes Ezio wonders if his always restless, inspiration-ridden friend keeps Salai around just to remember what it's like to be human.

17 Truce

”It would be nice,” says Machiavelli evenly, ”if you would not so readily name yourself judge, jury and executioner the next time you fall victim to unfounded suspicion.”

”Fine,” mutters Volpe, frowning. ”It would be niceif you were not so secretive. And stop trying to steal my spies. Get your own.”

”Fine,” Machiavelli replies with a minute smirk.

Fellowship is knowing just when your brother-in-arms is lying.

18 Nook

There are many unknown and unseen hiding places among the rooftops of Florence. On his back, hair plastered against his face and hot breath against his ear, Giovanni concludes it's very handy that La Volpe always knows to find one when you need it.

19 Orgy

These parties are more to his father's tastes than his his, Cesare firmly tells himself, perhaps letting his eyes linger thoughtfully on the multitude of courtesans a moment longer than intended. Then a familiar slender hand grazes his thigh and he is reminded that the only person even close to matching his own schemes, cunning and skill is the woman on the throne next to his.

20 Scoff

”I spend all my time in the Animus,” Desmond frowns, ”Lucy's keeping an eye on Abstergo and Rebecca... hacks and stuff. What do youdo, really? Anyone could use, what, Google and Wikipedia?”

Shaun grins or at least bares his teeth.

”You mean Templar Central One and Two? No, it's called obtaining knowledge, Desmond - sifted like little gold nuggets of fact from the vast sands of ignorance you're so fond of burying your head in. Google can't help you there, I'm afraid.”

21 Scolding

At the time, Ezio always figured Giovanni's constant nagging and pleading with him to stay out of trouble was only the worrying of an overprotective father. Only later was he taught discretion was part of the ancient Assassin's creed. He never got very good at it, even so.

22 Bonfire

No-one is entirely sure why Julius II has tempered justice with mercy for now and opted for his enemy's imprisonment rather than death sentence. As far as la Volpe is concerned, the way Cesare goes pale whenever the topic is brought up is at least good for entertainment.

23 Nakedness

Being exposed holds no particular shame for him, but the walls and floor are freezing to the touch, draining precious warmth from his aching body. Now would be a prudent time for an accursed thief to show up with a blanket to bargain for.

24 Arbiter

It was funny, Machiavelli drily noted in his notebook, how God and Divine Justice so often were on the side of the biggest army with the sharpest swords.

25 Purgatory

The land burns, smoke choking the sky and tinting the sun a sickly shade of blood. It is with a cold and unfamiliar sense of foreboding Cesare hurries through the flames toward the towering walls of the fortress to escape this hell on earth – one way or another.

26 Fingernail

Ezio has more than his fair share of scars adorning his hardened body, some remembered more fondly than others. He would never dream to ask Caterina to trim her nails, or use them just a touch more carefully.

27 Slavery

The Creed dictates freedom of thought, and in his reckless youth Altaïr would use it as justification for any rash impulse. But the older he grows, the more he comes to realize freedom and all its crushing responsibility can be the harshest master of all.

28 Carnivore

When confronted on his nasty habit of biting, Volpe only grins and quips something about foxes and their nature. Cesare is tempted to snap he's often seen dirty foxes prowling the back streets for garbage, but can see where Volpe would go with that, and so holds his tongue.

29 Bluntness

Ezio is too flustered after his mother's blunt request he find other outlets than vaginas to realize the enthusiastic young artist at his side seems more than eager to offer a few suggestions on the particular subject.

30 Vow

He will live, Cesare vows. He will live, he will regain his freedom, his power and his army. At any cost. And then they will. All. Pay.

31 Blending

It was simply not fair, thought Machiavelli, that no matter how solid your acting, no matter how meticulousyour disguise, Volpe would immediately spot you in a crowd and grin at you. Clearly spying on the sly old fox called for more cunning means, he conceded as he made his way to the Rosa to shamelessly bribe Claudia for information.

32 Misconduct

“Not that we are in any particular hurry to the Castello,” Orsini says, the knuckles of his war-gauntlet quite pleasantly buried in Cesare's face, “but things would just be easier all around if you would stop squirming and came quietly.”

33 Ultimatum

“If you don't stop hogging my mp3-player,” Rebecca whispers softly in Shaun's ear, “I'll tell Lucy exactly whatyou and Desmond used her yoghurts for last night.”

34 Takeover

“Stop!” Lucrezia commands as the soldiers feed the paintings to the fire – already the image of a swan is crackling and fading to black amongst the flames. Such a waste of beauty. She hasn't even realized Cesare is standing behind her, fierce and bloodied after the battle, until he speaks.

“You like them?”

She nods, and he touches her cheek with a smile, careful not to stain her hair.

“Then they are yours. A memento of the day the Assassini fell.”

35 Afterlife

“I blame you for this,” says Cesare flatly as the imps re-heat the lake of boiling tar. Again. “There is no God, you said. No heaven and no hell, you said. Stupid old bastard.”

Rodrigo mutters something about Hell being other people, but will have to concede that in this trifling matter, yes, he was mistaken.

36 Distaste

He would rather be hated than forgotten, Cesare sullenly thinks, rubbing his stiff hands for warmth. Bony, filthy, with the matted long hair of a hermit falling into his face, he has to settle for the guards' contempt. At least it's better than pity.

37 Slavery

He isn't really paid, Leonardo thinks, merely kept alive, yes. Not really compensated as such. And so the construction of the intricate war-machines is really on the consciences of his masters, not his. Sting of guilt quenched he returns to the blueprints with renewed fevered enthusiasm.

38 Probation

“What's the catch”, asks Cesare with deepest suspicion.

“No catch,” Volpe assures, looking innocent. “Just a reward for your recent good behaviour. Keep it up and there may a meal and a hot bath in it for you, too.”

Cesare does not for a moment believe they are just going out 'to stretch their legs', but a meal does sound inviting. He follows.

39 Adversity

Ezio strongly disapproved of the idea of his little sister taking over the Rosa in Fiore, and he frankly can't say whether he is more disappointed or proud when it flourishes under her care.

40 Bluntness

“You are a thief,” Machiavelli growls, piqued into a rare display of anger. “A liar and a cheat and an honourless thief!”

Volpe grins.

“All those things. And I'm still better than you.”

41 Scheming

Ezio gave the Apple to Mario, who had it stolen by Cesare, who gave it to Leonardo, who found it plucked out of his helpless hands by the Pope and his daughter. He ponders life was easier when he was just a painter. The Apple is a thing of awe, but the intrigues in its wake make his head hurt.

42 Favorite

It wasn't that Cesare particularly hated his older brother. It was just that while he no longer childishly sought his father's approval, the position as the Pope's favorite son came with several practical perks. Unfortunately for Juan, that meant he simply had to go.

43 Truce

When things are civilized, they can be bearable, almost even pleasant. The food is good, the wine plentiful, and Volpe's skilled fingers all but gentle. An unspoken truce, no matter how temporary. But neither man ever forgets the truth, which is war.

44 Scour

They answer to no-one, self-proclaimed executioners beyond all law. Too much blood on their hands now. Just before sunrise Cesare gives the command to attack. The cleansing of Monteriggioni has begun.

45 Extrovert

To hold his own council and play his cards close to his heart has always been his way, and he knowshe is a master at his game. And yet, Machiavelli can grudgingly admit to himself, it isn't until the boisterous chaos in human guise that is Ezio bursts in on the Roman scene that he begins to see how they will win this war.

46 Protagonist

“I will avenge the cowardly, treacherous plot against my father,” he thinks. “I will root out all those involved, every single one, and I will kill them and all they stand for.”

No-one ever sets out to be a hero, only to do what is right.

For Cesare, the path ahead is clear.

47 Willpower

It is never easy. Every time Altaïr visits his (his!) bureau in Jerusalem, Malik has to struggle with himself not to slay the man in his sleep. On many a moonlit night, only a lifetime of discipline stays the blade in his white-knuckled hand.

But strangely, it does get easier over time.

48 Esacalation

At first it had been mere proof of his ability to go anywhere in Roma as well he pleased, the taunting and impotent rage in response a given bonus. After some time, forced still-furious intimacy gained through blackmail had appeared a logical step. Then force turned out redundant. As Cesare clings to him, nails biting into his arms and teeth bared with need, Volpe admits to himself he would never have suspected the caged Borgia would so willingly use him to sate his desires – nor the other way around.

49 Torrent

Raw grief fades over time, a broken heart healed into a dull ache. The thing that keeps Claudia from sleeping at night is not all she has lost, but her screaming frustration at not being able to take her fate, and that of those responsible, into her own hands.

50 Danger

The peaceful life he had envisioned just the evening before will have to wait, Ezio grimly decides, pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder and focusing on not falling off his horse. And despite the shock, grief and pain, it somehow feels right. He has lived this life so long, he isn't sure he remembers how not to.

51 Splattering

Leonardo likes to buy birds at the market and set them free, watching with dreaming eyes as they take to the endless sky. Once, Ezio surprises his friend with twenty white doves. Much belatedly he wishes he'd remembered that stressed pigeons prefer to lighten their load before taking off.

52 Ramification

“It is time you take responsibility for your actions,” Rodrigo snarls, and Cesare struggles with the impulse to scream, childishly, “But father, younever did!”

53 Concession

“I'm not sure we should...”

Lover and Thief, silhouettes in the dark, alone. A light touch.

“Come now. It will be good, I promise.”

“But, what if...”

“Ssh. Are we not both Assassins? Everything is permitted.”

His honed thief's nerves tingling with foreboding warnings, La Volpe allows Claudia to persuade him in the end, knowing Ezio will probably kill him, and that it will no doubt be worth it.

54 Leer

You can't even seehis face in the shadows beneath the cowl. And yet, Volpe just standing there outside the bars, nonchalantly leaning one hand against the wall, makes Cesare want to scream. Or punch him hard. Preferably both.

55 Whisper

Ezio reflects that there are few other voices he would instantly recognize by just a short, urgent uttering of his name. His hesitation to turn around stems not from uncertainty, but the childish wish to postpone the trial of his oldest friend's rumored treason just a few moments longer.

56 Absurdity

At first Ezio had felt confused, then worried and finally terrified. But as they've fled Florence and the man introducing himself as uncle Mario tells him that his family belongs to an ancient clan of legendary assassins, relief washes over him. Finally is clear it has all been an insane dream. He can't wait to wake up.

57 Experimentation

Leonardo da Vinci is a true genius, his brilliant mind always seeing the world through a lens of wonder. Nothing escapes his never-sated curiosity – but that a small poseable wooden mannequin could be used like that? Cesare is a man not easily impressed, but will have to admit the artist rarely fails to amaze.

58 Farewell

It is with uncharacteristic kindness Volpe kisses him, between shared gasps for air after their final tryst. A last goodbye before the approaching dawn will see Cesare on his way to exile in Spain.

”Growing sentimental, old fox?” the younger man scoffs at him. ”No need. I shall return soon enough, and repaint the walls of Roma with Assassin blood.”

Volpe just smiles. He has already helped Ezio prepare his own journey and knows with certainty that Cesare will never again return to Rome.

59 Turf

”Maybe Giovanni could get away with doing paperwork all day over in Florence,” Mario says, and his tone clearly states what he thinks about his brother's choice. ”But arround here we train Assassins, not accountants or delivery boys.”

Ezio's body has never ached as much in his life as it does after his first day of training with his uncle.

60 Smoothness

When she smiles her deep red lips are like tantalizing rose petals, framed by sun-ray golden hair. She is smooth, flawless, perfect. But every rose has its thorns, and Lucrezia's are laden with poison.

61 Kneeling

Every fiber of Ezio's body strains desperately to regain control as he jerks like a puppet on golden strings of light.

”You are lucky,” breathes Rodrigo in a low, husky growls, leaning hard on the staff after the battle, ”So verylucky, little Assassin, that I am in a hurry.”

As the dagger sinks into his guts, Ezio briefly thinks that indeed, it could have been so much worse.

62 Purgatory

The imps don't know whether to feel amused or put out that the screaming, flailing argument between father and son has by now escalated to the point they don't even seem to register the lake of boiling tar anymore. A bit of respect for good solid workmanship, is that too much to ask?

63 Lick

It has to be said in favour of Machiavelli's assassin reflexes that the unexpected lick at his ear out of the dark earns Volpe neither a jump or a shriek but a rapid fist to the nose.

Only half an hour later, safely home in his bedroom, does Niccolo allow himself to contemplate what might have otherwise transpired.

64 Bonfire

It is a sad thing, reflects Ezio in hindsight, older, wiser, that compared to all the priceless art and knowledge fed to fire during Savonarola's mad reign of Florence, the mere loss of a human life that ended it is remembered with little sense of loss or revulsion.

65 Last

After Mario's death, Ezio has felt the weight of being the last Auditore Assassin ever heavier on his shoulders. But as he watches Claudia fearlessly take her leap of faith, he wonders how he could ever have been blind enough to think himself alone.

66 Well

The guards in hot pursuit yell and stab at wells, haystacks and dark alleyways. From his perch on a rooftop Ezio smiles. He always did prefer to take to the sky.

67 Wrongdoer

As his support falters and the opposition grows ever bolder, Cesare becomes increasingly frustrated with their attacks and accusations. He would prefer to answer only for his own sins, not those of his dead father.

68 Deliberate

It really is getting unnerving, decides Machiavelli, the way Volpe has taken up the habit of commenting on his every observation with a frosty ”Indeed” or ”Yes, quitethe coincidence”. He wishes he could believe the man isn't doing it on purpose.

69 Counter

When he first arrives in Jerusalem, Altaïr can't quite shake the feeling that the only thing between him and certain death is a rather narrow, map-strewn desk.

70 Bribe

Cesare has always been good at striking a profitable bargain. Unfortunately Borgia as a currency is bitterly deflated, and these days he often have to sell himself too cheap for comfort. Even though it isa warm, snug blanket.

71 Chess

Cesare knows he is a brilliant strategist – not so much because of the expected praise from his subordinates as from the satisfactory number of pins currently adorning his map of Italy. He would like to believe himself modest in this, careful not allow hubris to cheat him of a victory. And yet he never knows whether to frown or laugh helplessly as the absent-minded artist all but appologetically check-mates his king time and time and time again.

72 Feel

Leonardo never knows how to feel when Cesare enters the room. At first he is apprehensive, but as weeks turn into months and he realizes he's not only allowed but encouraged to dream up grander designs than ever before he is thrilled.

In the end, seeing the Assassins' plans put into motion long before Cesare even knows the final battle has begun, he can only avert his eyes in regret.

73 Mister

”Outside the kingdom of God is the realm of men,” Salai says, leaning just an inch too close. ”You worship there, Messere?”

Only years of training his clueless look on Leonardo helps Ezio keep a straight face as he blankly waves for the boy to follow him.

74 Fine

There are simply too many guards around for a discreet kill, so Ezio grudlingly counts the florins and hands them over. How was heto know he wasn't allowed to park his horse there? Time to liberate another stable from its Borgia-tower shadow, he decides. Burning them all down is easier than keeping track of territories anyway.

75 Dog

If La Volpe is the fox and Ezio the bird of prey, Pantasilea ponders, then Bartolomeo reminds her of a large, lumbering dog. Faithful and loyal unto death, but with a booming bark and a vicious bite for those who threaten those dear to him.

76 Forgotten

When Volpe appears he is the first person Cesare has seen in days. He greets the thief with his usual brazen curses, careful not to let any trace of relief shine through. Of all things he is most afraid to be left alone to die; not slain out of hatred or need, but simply ignored and forgotten.

77 Changed

Had Ezio been the kind of man to think upon such things, he might have noticed the Cesare facing him atop the towering walls is not the self-assured young general he met a handful years previous in Roma. Tired-looking and hunched over he looks defeated even before the battle has begun. But Ezio is here for one single purpose alone, and has never been the kind of man to think of such things anyway.

78 Gondola

Antonio assures Leonardo that only from an extensive tour with his private gondola will the artist truly get to know his new home town. As it happens, a rocky two-hour boat ride later, Leonardo still hasn't really seen much of the city. But that's quite alright, as he happily agrees to repeat the endeavour soon again.

79 Casino

It never hurts to try to win Fortuna's favour when gambling is one of your favorite pastimes, Salai knows, but in this particular case divine intervention is quite a bit closer at hand. As long as you have La Volpe's favor, the dice at the Sleeping Fox will never let you down.

80 Soup

The first bowl of watery gruel ends up thrown in the guard's face with enough force to break his nose. The next morning the second splinters against the wall. Nearly a week passes before he forces himself to eat the fifth, to preserve his strength.

Cesare closes his eyes as he quickly raises the bowl to his face to wolf down the hundredth, before the reflection in the dull surface can show him what he has become.

81 Carrot

”Tell you what,” murmurs Volpe in the starving prisoner's ear, dangling the vegetable in front of his face, ”If you give me a good enough show I'll even let you keep it for supper when you're done.”

82 Madame

Volpe has to admit himself impressed – Claudia is shrewd, ruthless and horrifyingly practical, and stillmanages to be praised a good businesswoman rather than cursed a thief.

83 Kilt

Yes, Ezio decides as he flexes his body inside the unfamiliar weight of Romulus' armour, there is definitely a draft around his nether regions. Whatever the old Romans may have thought, a skirt of leather belts does notconstitute proper clothing.

After some swearing and creative arranging of his spare cloak he considers it may well look even moreof a skirt, but at least this cut preserves his manly dignity when he jumps.

84 Theft

He has stolen valuables, information, people and lives. La Volpe draws in a deep breath as he surveys Roma in the first light of morning, then exhales in satisfaction. She is the greatest city in the world, and she is all his for the taking.

[iamnightduchess]

WIP: Chills (T, Modern AU)

Summary:

A grieving mother finds herself confronting the shadows of her guilt, the long overdue failing of her marriage and memories of the one who could have been the moment they wheeled in an injured soldier from Marley straight into her operating room. The day she saved the life of Vice Commander Braun of Marley’s prized Titan unit was also the day he saved her own lost soul in return.

More often, memories may be lost forever but the heart never lies. He still makes shivers dance down her spine heading down to her feet just like he used to do twelve years ago and his heart still beats as hard for her the same way. Even when he can’t ever remember why. ReinerxMikasa. Modern + SnK HighSchool (Attack on High School Caste) AU.

Ship(s): Reiner x Mikasa (ReiKasa)

AU: Love Like This

-----

Snippet:

June 9, Present Year

Trost Military Hospital, Paradis

The sounds of her boots stepping hurriedly on the polished floors resonated against the clean, white walls of the hallways in hollowed echoes. A voice caught her dead in her tracks as soon as she turned into the corner leading into the more secluded operations wing of the hospital’s main building.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Jeager?” A young man, who seemed to be waiting anxiously near the entrance to the operating theatre DM05, approached her as soon as she came into his view. From his security tag and the embroidered emblem on his coat, it was very apparent that he is the personnel from Marley that she’s supposed to be liaising with on the emergency procedure she was called in for.

After quite some time, she casually corrected this stranger’s greeting underneath her breath. “It’s actually Dr. Ackerman now.”

“I’m sorry?” Perplexed, the man, still apologized for his potential blunder yet his tone remained polite despite the obvious confusion in his tone. “Also, I'm very sorry, I might have a misguided notion that the famous neurosurgeon in Paradis would be a--”

She turned her head to the side. “Some old, bearded guy with a bad sense of humor?” She couldn’t hold back the untimely humor laced with cynical sarcasm within her own voice.

She could see the other young man began to swallow a metaphorical knot nervously down his own throat and his trickling sweat didn’t help her observation either. “You’re not wrong actually. The original Dr. Jeager, my foster father, had been the famous one. Not me.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Jeager, I mean Ackerman. I got confused.”

“No harm done.” Even she would be confused at her own status. She shook her head, dismissing her own earlier persistence in wanting to be addressed with her own maiden name again. A stranger doesn’t need to know her personal issues or the status of her marriage.

But she really needed to sort this shit out with the administration before more people get confused.

Nevertheless, she prompted for the attending personnel to continue his words.

“Thank you so much for scrubbing in. I’m Marcus Daniels, the attending physician for the patient. We apologize for this short notice but since it’s summer break, all of our neurosurgeons are away for volunteering or break. Rest assured, we have received the signed disclaimer from the patient’s next of kin, his mother, along with the referral from Marley’s Military Hospital. The paperwork has been received by the administration. We’re good to proceed with the emergency procedure.”

The raven-haired woman shook her head, disregarding the standard same ‘ole assurance from the Medical Officer who was tasked to accompany the Marleyan patient currently in between life and death on that table inside her Operation Theatre. Her patients’ lives take precedence before any incidents that could warrant a potential lawsuit. She gestured for the MO to follow suit as she put on the green scrubs and surgical cap available inside the prep room. “Walk with me, Daniels. Give me a brief of the patient. How long ago was the initial contact?”

“Male, 31, a military vet from Marley’s prized Special Ops Unit. The reported time of the initial impact was twelve hours ago. Patient’s BP is stable, X-ray did not display any shrapnels, bullet’s still in one piece but the bleeding unfortunately, had begun to spread to the patient’s medial temporal lobe since six hours ago….and...well….”

They stopped short just in front of the door that leads to the main wash area of the operating room. Her nose picked up the overwhelming scent of industrial disinfectant coming from behind that door. Her eyes leered back at the MO, her forehead creased in reaction to the other man’s trailing words. She did not like that tone or even the single last word of his sentence at all. “What is it?”

“Ma’am, the First Response team had to perform an emergency resuscitation and this could not be just an on-site training incident. There was an excessive amount of Paxil together with alcohol from the patient’s digestive tract. Patient was under the influence right before he went in to support the unit’s rookie training. Bloodwork confirmed this.” The young man, who looked like he’s only several years younger than she is, could only shook his head in absolute empathy.

Paxil and liquor are a deadly mix. The patient must have been aware of his own prescriptions. There was an immediate flash of concern upon her face before she pressed for a confirmation to her impulsive suspicion; asking, “C-PTSD? ‘Intentional’ incident?” She couldn’t possibly be discreet if she’s dealing with more than just the life of a war veteran on the line. An unstable patient with self-harming tendencies requires a much delicate approach especially if the injuries sustained by the patient would require a full invasive craniotomy to stop the source of bleeding from the bullet.

The MO shook his head in return. “We can’t rule that out or in yet without looking into the patient’s psych eval records. Those files are sealed by the Psychiatric unit in Marley, Dr. Jea-Ackerman. We’d need a referral from your Psychiatrist here to access those files after for the patient's recovery.”

“There’s no time to waste then.” There was a short pause in her words as she pressed a digital button on the room’s intercom system. “Nurse Rheinberger, Dr. Ackerman in OT-DM05. Code Blue. Requesting assistance to page Dr. Ian Dietrich, Psychiatry to support emergency neurosurgery a.s.ap. Over.”

She turned her head back to the young MO and inquired as a formality, even though she was very aware that the patient had been placed under anesthesia. “Patient’s name?”

“Uhm…” Daniels flipped open the paper folder in his hands and read the patient’s name out loud. “Braun, Reiner.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart skipped not one but two immediate beats and she could feel it hitting hard against her chest. “Come again?”

“Reiner Braun, Dr. Ackerman. No middle name.”

There are a lot of people with the same name. “Birthdate?” It’s just not possible.

“August 1, 19xx.”

Her hands stood frozen against the door of the operation theater. From where she stood, she could see the motionless body hooked on multiple wires connecting to a life support system on top of her operation table from between the clear glass screens.

“Doctor?”

She looked back at the other man but not before blinking back the shock-induced tears gathered inside her eyelids. “Please get Dr. Dietrich here. Now. It would be against my protocol to operate on a patient with past or existing personal attachments without a senior physician’s supervision.”

“You know the patient?”

“Yes…He was...” Her words trailed unfinished, which only roused the other person’s curiosity although it was none of his business. “Just go. NOW.”

“Sorry, sorry!” The man quickly disappeared behind the main door in a flash leaving her behind with a much needed space and air to breathe.

Oh my God, Reiner. What happened to you?

She rushed towards the faucet and hurriedly splashed her face with the cold water just so she could hide the stubborn tears already running down her cheeks.

Out of all the times, why now? Why here? Why do their paths cross again after six years - with him; his life barely hanging on a thread right now on her very own operating table?

She can’t fuck this up. Never had she ever did before, but never had she ever performed a procedure on someone she personally knew. There are just too many reasons why and too little time for her to be caught in another mulling.

[anthropwashere]

Phic Phight: set the self upon the shelf

Prompt from @five-rivers: Jack and Maddie acquire the pieces of Freakshow's staff.   

@currentlylurking @phicphight

Word count: 3,841

=

In hindsight, Danny should have expected something like this to happen. He'd been on a good streak; a really good streak. No catastrophes, no explosions, no be-all, end-all ultimatums with terrible creatures trying to squeeze the life out of some poor schmuck trying to go about their day. Heck, aside from a few toothy Day-Glo bright beasties waking him up just shy of his alarm and the usual irritation of the Box Ghost haranguing the nearest postal office, things have been easy. There hasn't even been any test to stress out over. So with how his luck usually is, he's overdue for a bad day. 

Today's that day, turns out. It's just not so obvious as bad days usually go for him anymore. It's insidious, creeping, sly. 

Worst of all, his parents are the ones to blame, and they're not even trying to take Phantom apart molecule by molecule this time.

It's a Wednesday, as dull as any other Wednesday can be, when he unlocks the front door of FentonWorks, leaving it open for Sam and Tucker to come in after him. They're all in the middle of another round of friendly bickering, some he-said she-said I-read-this-article goofing with no stakes or real anger in any of their threats to shut the others up. They're just goofing. Danny locks the door once they're in, punches in the pass code on the panel his parents had installed a couple months back so the trigger-happy security system doesn't take umbrage with whatever-the-hell just strolled in through the front door. Tucker's managed to bamboozle the security somehow—Danny can almost follow along with the concept of coding if Tucker's in the mood to skip the jargon, but sit him in front of a command prompt with nary a word of English to be found and his whole brain just fritzes out in self-defense—and point is, the security recognizes Danny's not very human, but it does the software equivalent of a shrug and dumps the notifications into a hidden folder his parents would need to get real creative finding. 

He means to lead them to the stairs to dump their backpacks off in his bedroom before raiding the kitchen. The Box Ghost had decided to ruin lunch today instead of Algebra, like a jerk, and Danny's starving as a consequence of his sandwich ending up on the floor and burning up a ton of energy chasing the idiot around the entire school six times. He's trying not to laugh as Sam keeps up her rant on how unreliable sad nerds on forums are for relaying what cocaine-addled movie producers in LA may or may not have agreed to, when Tucker says, "Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Where you going?"

Danny blinks. He's halfway down the stairs to his parents' lab. He didn't even notice. "Uh," he says, turning around. Sam and Tucker are still on the top step, raising identical eyebrows at him. "Sorry. Habit."

"BG can wait, dude. I didn't get to eat either."

"Ha. Right."

They go upstairs, Sam picking up her rant again on the second-floor landing. They drop their bags off in his room and tromp downstairs again. Danny flicks the light switch on as he passes through the doorway to the—

"Danny?"

He blinks. Halfway down to the lab again, and he'd been sure he was in the kitchen this time. He swallows, putting on a sheepish grin for his friends as he trots back up to them again. Tucker looks amused so he almost thinks he's gotten away without worrying them, but one look at Sam tells him to dump that hope in the trash and forget about it. Her painted mouth is downturned and distinctly worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says. The funny thing is, it's not even a lie. "Why?"

She hesitates, then shakes her head. So he's not worrying her enough that she needs to make a parade of it. That's good. That's great. All he wants to focus on right now is microwaving the entire box of taquitos his Dad snuck into the grocery cart the last time his parents went shopping, and then eating it as fast as half-humanly as possible. 

Jazz comes home while they're all splayed out in the kitchen, poking her head in to say hi and ask if he needs any cover stories drummed up with lunch having been so chaotic. "Nah," he assures her, "I'll just dump the Box Ghost into the Portal after Mom and Dad go to bed. Thanks, though."

"Patrol tonight?"

"Always."

"Let me know when you head out?"

"Sure."

She smiles at him warmly, and not for the first time is Danny glad to have her in on his secret. She's overbearing and controlling and way, way too worried about rule-breaking, but still. It's nice. He trusts her, he loves her, and he gets no small amount of delight at having her in on all the ridiculous excuses he concocts for his parents. He has no idea how he managed so long without her helping him keep his secret. 

"Don't let him do anything stupid," she tells Sam and Tucker. Tucker gives her a mock-salute without looking up from his phone. 

"That's a tall order," Sam says with a roll of her eyes. Danny elbows her. She elbows him right back, and hers are sharp.

Jazz laughs so hard she snorts. It's a sure sign she's comfortable around Danny's friends, which is a lovely relief all on its own. For all that they don't talk much about not-ghost stuff, Danny knows she's struggled to make friends for a long time, knows she's lonely, knows she's just as happy to be included in all the Phantom business as he is to have her there beside him. She waves a touch sarcastically at them and goes off to her own room, presumably to be a good straight-A student and do all her homework for the rest of the month somehow. 

Whatever. Danny's got a full-sized mountain of taquitos to plough through and nothing the least bit life-threatening on his radar for the foreseeable future. That's as sure to change in the next five minutes as it always is. He's used to having a tight knot of panic clenched around his heart and/or the funny little cold spot where his ghostly core leaks through to his human side. He's always on edge, always ready for something. It's half the reason he can't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep, too stressed to do more than toss restlessly in his bed until the wee hours, and the proper ghosts all seemed to have unanimously decided that five a.m. is the best time ever to come charging through the Portal to cause a little pre-dawn havoc.

"Danny?"

He blinks, and he's halfway down the stairs to the lab again.

He licks his lips, swallowing nervousness. He... he doesn't even remember leaving the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder to find Sam and Tucker up on the top step again, equal amounts of concern furrowing their brow. Down in the lab he hears his parents' voices, just low enough that he can't make out individual words over the heady thrum of the Ghost Portal. "Uh," he says.

"Something's wrong," Sam says. it's not a question.

"I'm okay," he says automatically. "Really. Not lying. Just... I dunno. Let's go upstairs."

They go upstairs. Danny plows through his taquitos as originally intended, relaying through rude mouthfuls that he really does feel fine, totally normal (for him, shut up Tucker). He doesn't think he's losing time or anything as worrying as that. He's just... going through the motions so much that he doesn't even notice when he misses his mark.

Sam and Tucker do not like the sound of that, but he convinces them to let it lie. His parents are probably just working on some new gadget. He'll take a look at the lab later tonight. It's not like it feels evil or anything. It doesn't even hurt, which considering the trend of ghost hunting gizmos they've drummed up the last few months is a welcome change of pace. It's fine, really. He's fine, really.

"If you're sure," Tucker says, doubtful.

"I am. Give it a rest, will ya?"

They do, and they reluctantly bunker down to make a decent dent in their homework so they won't have to worry about it in that anxious gray waiting after dinner with their families and before they can sneak out for patrol. Normal kids do their homework after dinner. Not them. They're halfway between valedictorian and delinquent in their habits, toeing the line between abandoning homework entirely and only keeping up with it as best they can to avoid any unnecessary eyes. Danny can't afford the extra attention. 

The afternoon wanes, evening looming like an executioner's axe—Sam and Tucker are all too aware of how long they've gone without a proper catastrophe too—and sooner than they'd prefer it's time to part ways. Sam and Tucker gather up their things and hide away their patrol schedules and the like in the hollow space in Danny's ceiling as per usual. Then the three of them tromp down the stairs again to dump their plates in the sink and pay lip service to a goodnight until tomorrow in case Danny's parents are around. They're not at first glance, or at second glance for that matter, but better safe than sorry. Danny starts to follow them to the door, uneasy of the doorway down the lab yawning like a mouth, and this time he feels it—

(come here)

—but there's nothing for it. Knowing he's being bidden down the basement doesn't stop him from swiveling on his heel to start down the polished stairs. It's only Sam's quick reaction that stops him only two steps down, her hand a firm vice on his bent elbow. 

"Yeah," he says, a little breathless with surprise. "Felt it that time."

"Only that time?" Tucker asks in a tone firmly detailing how little he likes the sound of that. 

Danny looks over his shoulder to nod at them both. "It doesn't hurt," he reminds them. "It's okay. I can handle—whatever it is they're doing down there."

"Tell Jazz," Sam says, which is surprising enough that Tucker gawks at her too. It's not like she and Jazz get along, after all. Danny promises, too surprised to scoff or tease her for worrying over nothing. Maybe that should've been a warning sign too.

He waves them off at the door, locking it and punching in the code again with a habit so well-honed he doesn't even think about it, and before he knows it he's blinking harsh neon green light out of his eyes. Down in the basement, and he only remembers walking down the stairs after the fact.

"Danny-boy!" His dad shouts with his usual boisterous energy from over near one of the examination tables. His mom's off at one of the far counters, bent over a heavily modified microscope. Both of them have their hoods up, and Danny has to swallow a shiver when his dad looms too close. Something about the goggles always reminds him of how a praying mantis' eyes bulge; charmingly goofy right up until it snatches its prey up in its scythe-like forearms. 

"H-hey, Dad."

"Whoa, is it that late already? Baby cakes, it's almost six!"

His mom straightens up with a murmured groan as her back pops audibly. Her red-lipped smile ratchets right up into something uncanny and wrong without her eyes visible to soften the bright flash of teeth. "Is it? Oh, hell, I completely forgot to take the hamburgers out to thaw. Danny—hi, sweetie—do you mind calling in take-out? Your choice." 

"Uh. Sure, no problem." Funny. Never mind the taquitos he devoured an hour ago, he's always on the cusp of starving. Ghost powers or puberty, or both. He doesn't know and it doesn't really matter so long as nobody notices how much he puts away without gaining an ounce. He casts a wide glance around the lab, feigning bored curiosity, hoping to find some strange new device with his dad's face stickered all over it that will explain this weird urge demanding he be down here—

—and feels his heart and core both stutter at the sight of what's laid beneath his dad's broad hands.

"What," he chokes out. It's all he can manage. His usual anxiety—something's coming, something will come for him, any moment now, any moment, soon soon soon—transmogrifies into a full-blown panic attack so fast he feels the air in his lungs literally, genuinely freeze. He clenches his jaw against the coughing fit threatening to expose him as wrong, pointing at the long black staff laid on the table instead.

"Oh, this? You're never gonna believe it, Dann-o." His dad beams at him, proud of his work and glad his son's taking an interest in it. "We got a call yesterday on the 800 number. Some hiker found this thing absolutely covered in little ghosts down in Little Grand Canyon and figured this thing oughta have a proper once over from us instead of being left to lie where the river'd dumped it."

"It appears to generate a frequency too high for humans to perceive," his mom chimes in, walking over to join them at the table. She shoos a small sparrow-looking ghost away with naked disgust curling her mouth; it goes sailing on stiff wings off to settle on a sturdy crate off in one corner, red eyes leaving streaking after-images as it twists and ducks its little head, taking in all the strangeness of the lab. Danny pretends as hard as he can that he can't hear it asking, where am i? where am i? 

"That's right," his dad confirms, plucking the staff up with a frivolous little twirl that has his mom swatting his shoulder with a laugh. "There must have been thirty birds and snakes and the like swarming all over this thing when we got there this morning. We had to melt the lot of them to get our hands on this thing, and we've got no idea yet what got them so interested in this thing."

"At first glance it's only a simple iron-wrought staff," his mom says, tugging it free from his dad's hands to display the detailed bat at its top and the glittering shards of crimson-colored glass running down its back. "But see this glass? There's a tremendous amount of energy emitting from it—harmless to humans, don't worry. But that bird's the seventh ghost we've seen since we brought this thing down here. Something about the frequency is compelling to ghosts. They have to come see what's going on. Although why they feel such a compunction or what this thing's original purpose was is beyond me...." 

In the back of Danny's mind he hears an echo of an echo of Freakshow's voice urging him on. (take it. bring it back to me. come home. come home to me.)

"Yeah," he manages thinly. "Weird."

They ramble on for a while, too giddy to have him showing an interest in their work to recognize that his interest stems from something adjacent to terror. He musters a rictus grin, nodding like some wall-eyed bobblehead toy when they look to him for input. All the while the beady red eyes of the bat on the staff burn his skin like lit cigarettes, like brands, like red-hot manacles he might not be able to shake this time.

(come here,) the staff bids him, its voice so gentle it could his own mind assuring him that this is the best idea he's ever had. (take me. bring me home. bring me to him. it will all be so much better once we're his again.) 

"Dinner," he chokes out eventually, backing away toward the stairs. "I should—order. Order. Dinner. Pizza?"

"Sounds good to me," his dad says cheerfully. "You know what I like."

"My wallet's in the kitchen," his mom adds.

(stay,) the staff says. (take me. bring me home.)

"Nngh," he says, nodding dutifully. He doesn't know who to. It takes far more effort to climb the stairs this time, his grip white-knuckled on the banister, his gaze reluctantly dragged away from the basement and up to the living room. Once there he blinks, feeling the tug of the staff fade to something slight again. He can ignore it up here, but now that he knows what it is he can't stop hearing-feeling it. 

(come here,) it urges. (downstairs. i'm here. take me back. take me home. come home with me—)

He slaps his hands over his ears (for all the good it does), and stomps over to the kitchen where the landline is. Pizza. He. He's gotta order dinner. His parents will suspect him if he doesn't do this one perfectly normal thing. 

He dials. He orders. He fumbles around his mom's wallet for her debit card. He manages a stammered apology to the person on the line, who laughs indulgently and tells him "No worries!" in a tone that says she knows how young he is just by his voice. Underestimating him. Simple human. Stupid human. He could show her how wrong she is. He should show her. Scare her. Make her scream. Hurt her—

He drops the phone, breathing heavily.

Shit. 

Shit.

"Hello?" The girl's tinny voice asks uncertainly, a hundred miles away at his feet.

He picks the phone up. "S-sorry. Anyway, the number's...."

He finishes the order. The girl on the phone tells him to expect the driver to arrive in about 45 minutes. He makes a few incomprehensible noises that might translate to something like a thank you if the girl happens to feel real generous. He's never calling this pizza place again.

Once the phone's back on the receiver he bolts up through the ceiling, straight up to the roof, past the Ops Center, up up up until he feels the final sticky thread of the staff let him go, until he's skirting the scraggly cloud cover and thinking clearly enough to realize he really ought to ditch visibility while he's up here trying to figure out what the fuck he's gonna do next.

Freakshow's in jail.

Freakshow doesn't have the staff.

Freakshow can't control him now. He can't. He can't.

It's the staff. Just the staff down there, and whatever about it that makes it so—intoxicating? Smothering? Comforting?

He's far enough away that it's easy to recoil from that. It's not a comfort. It's not. It's not easy, or gentle, or good. It's piano wire tugging on his joints, turning his mind to so much waterlogged cotton. There's no knowing what the staff would do to him without someone at the metaphorical wheel. Just because what he remembers from when Freakshow controlled him is a warm, soft cocoon doesn't make it right. He put humans—people—in the hospital. He stole thousands of dollars worth of jewelry from eight different stores in six days. He nearly killed Sam. 

These are things he knows because he was told them secondhand. He read articles, watched news reports, listened to Sam shakily try to convince him that she was okay, really, just as he'd done to her a hundred times before. 

But the truth of the matter is this: he has no concrete memories of that week spent under Freakshow's thumb. He remembers warmth, and rightness, and glee. He remembers feeling a good so giddy it might be better than any description of any drug he's ever heard of. He knows the comedown was hard, and disorienting, and cold, and that he couldn't shake the ring of Freakshow's laughter in his ears for weeks. He knows that the majority of him hated every minute of not being himself. He knows that nine-tenths of him still feels a touch unclean in a way he doesn't know how to voice to Sam and Tucker, to know that he did those things without any semblance of self, and that last little part of him reveled in just... letting go. Running wild. In doing things for the fun of it and not caring at all about consequences, because what did consequences matter to a ghost?

There's a very, very tiny part of himself that wishes for the freedom of that feeling. Yoked and manacled in the sticky, impossible-to-resist way of magic, but free from the burdens of Danny Fenton. No expectations, no future, no what-ifs, no curfews, no algebra. Just Phantom. Just free to do whatever he pleases.

Skittishly he looks down at FentonWorks a thousand feet below, unsure if he's put enough distance between himself and the staff, unsure if he can trust his own thoughts yet. He doesn't know. He doesn't think there's any way to know for sure.

What should he do?

What can he do?

Just being within easy reach of the staff puts prickles all down his spine, numbs his hands and feet and tongue. He broke it. That's how he got free of Freakshow. He dropped it to save Sam because she was more important, and it broke, and now he's free. He's free. He is.

Maybe the orb-thing wasn't the source.

Maybe....

He doesn't know.

He can't let his parents keep it. That much he does know. If they figure out how to utilize it, even at a fraction of what Freakshow was capable of, then there'd be no winning. Phantom could barely fight it with Sam begging for her life right in front of him, and that was with a stranger at the reins. If his mom or dad told him to come down to the lab and lay down on an examination table....

He can't.

He can't.

What can he do?

His hip buzzes, so unexpected he drops twenty feet before catching himself with a yelp. His first instinct is that it's an attack, and he switches to Phantom and throws up a shield faster than thought, twisting around in the dark trying to find the source, trying to see who's coming for his throat next—

It's his phone. A text. That's all. No more, no less.

He changes back, not trusting his shaky hands with gloves on. It's from Jazz, asking where he's at. He calls her back, and she answers on the third ring.

"Hey, Danny," she says, relief audible in her voice. "Was there a ghost?"

"Uh-uh," he says. "Worse. Jazz, I—I need a favor."

"What was that? You broke up."

"Oh. Uh. Hang on." He drops hundreds and hundred of feet in free fall, watching the Ops Center racing up to meet him, all its floodlights swiveling round and round on automated patterns. He halts on a dime, far faster than any human could endure, and feels only an irritating tug on his bones as he swivels to find balance again. "Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, that's better. What's up?"

He takes a deep breath. "I need a favor. A really, really big one."

[heylissaaaaa]

Words Slip Out

Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader Summary: An unexpected question at an inopportune moment Word count: 5.3k Warnings: fluff and angst (mostly fluff and moderate angst), mild hurt/comfort, mild (non-graphic) injuries, moderate violence,  A/N: Hello lovelies! This was written for another one of the ever-wonderful @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ ‘s challenges, with the word prompt “verklempt: completely and utterly overcome with emotion”. It’s also a prequel to the one-shot I wrote for Star’s last challenge, called Rainbow Afternoon, but you don’t have to read that one to understand this one. For registered users on AO3, you can also read this fic here.

You had found the ring by accident.

It was hidden, of all places, in his sock drawer. One of the greatest spies and assassins in the whole world, and he’d tucked in in the back corner of his sock drawer. You were going to tease him something awful after he proposed. Never going to let him live this one down.

Though, to be fair, you supposed he thought you wouldn’t have any occasion to be in his sock drawer. And normally, he’d have been right. But then you’d lost a bet on how long a frozen sausage can be in the microwave before it explodes, and laundry duty for the both of you was the punishment. He probably hadn’t put two and two together.

You didn’t touch the ring box, wouldn’t dare open it, only finished putting away his clothes and shutting the drawer. But that didn’t mean you would - or even could - stop thinking about it. What did it look like? How long had he had it? Did anyone else know? You were positive Steve did, probably Sam too. But had he confided in anyone else?

Your mind flit through question after question until it landed and stuck: how was he going to ask you?

Nothing big, of that you were sure. He liked making grand romantic gestures - liked the blush on your face, because you didn’t - but he wasn’t one for crowds. Would he wine and dine you first? Would he do it with the rest of the team watching, or wait until it was just the two of you? Would he wake you up with it one lazy Sunday morning? You didn’t have any answers, each scenario as likely as the last, but in all of them you could feel his love.

You were still lost in thought when Bucky came back from hanging out with Sam and Steve. They had a standing day out twice a month that had become something sacred. The only outsider ever to go with them was Tony, when he was up for it and had the time.

“Doll? Hey,” he said, smiling when your eyes focused and you finally registered that he was in the room. “I knocked and you didn’t move. What’s that pretty mind thinking about so hard?”

He knew you well enough to know when you were lying… unless you said something that would distract him. So you shrugged, gaze drifting down his body and back up again. “Your butt,” you said, as casual as if you’d said you had been thinking about the weather. “How was boys’ day?”

It worked like an absolute champ. “Great; a blast,” he said curtly, shoving his jacket onto a hanger and kicking the door shut. “More importantly, tell me more about these thoughts of yours concerning my butt.”

You grinned and accommodated him when he crawled up the bed towards you. International super spy, sure, but still very much a man.

*

Two sharp raps on the front of your open door and then Bucky strode through in full tactical gear. You were belly down on the bed, reading a magazine, and sat up when you heard the knocks. “Suit up. We have to go,” he said. He tossed a manila folder towards you.

“What do you mean ���we’? I thought you were going with Sam,” you said. The two of you didn’t go on missions often together; you went with Natasha, and he went with Sam or sometimes Steve. Opening up the folder, you began to look over the information it contained. It looked like a fairly simple mission: data extraction from an abandoned production facility owned by a Hydra front.

He rummaged through your closet until he found one of your body suits and tossed it your way. “Something else came up. One of the agents we were tracking disappeared; Sam’s going after him and you’re coming with me,” he explained. “Besides, you’ve got more technical experience than either of us to begin with.”

You changed in the bathroom and followed Bucky out of the room. The rest of the file was half-read, half-recited to you by Bucky on the jet as you made the few hour trip toward your target. The factory was built several miles outside any town, surrounded by forest on all sides, and for that you were grateful. You weren’t expecting any resistance, but the knowledge that the nearest innocents were well out of range was comforting.

“Ready to go?” he asked, checking over the various buckles and straps of his gear one final time.

Palming one of your handguns, you leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s make it quick and then we can stop for burgers on the way home?” you asked, a little bit of childlike hope in your voice that made him laugh.

The data you were looking for was in the manager’s office above the warehouse floor. The door that Bucky opened groaned on rusted hinges, catching on the doorframe that didn’t quite sit right after so many years without upkeep. Stepping over the threshold after him, you were met with a maze of pallets piled high with cardboard boxes and wrapped in cellophane. This was a facility abandoned at a moment’s notice. Ceiling-high shelves leaned against the walls, half full of more unmarked boxes.

“You head up to the office, I’m going to poke around down here,” Bucky said. You waved him off and started wading through the sea of crates and pallets. At the other end of the room you found a set of metal stairs leading up to a room that overlooked the whole floor through very large windows. The door was open when you peered in. Bookshelves lined the wall to your left and the desk faced the wall to your right. A picture frame on the wall reflected light from the monitor. In a warehouse that was supposed to be empty, that could not be good.

Rounding the corner of the desk, your stomach dropped. “Oh shit,” you breathed.

“What happened?” Bucky’s voice demanded in your ear, but you were only half paying attention to him.

The main monitor was indeed lit, a pop-up window showing the progress of the deletion command that someone had initiated. It was almost halfway finished. You were quick to the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as you attempted to salvage what you could. Only then did you remember that he’d asked you something. “Buck, they’re erasing everything. They knew we were-” The first shot rang out and cut you off, followed by others. He grunted in your ear. “Bucky!”

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

You glanced up from the computer, scanning the warehouse floor below. Bucky was just visible, hiding behind a wall of crates closest to you. He didn’t look to be harmed, and your heart stuttered in relief. Further away, you saw the agents. “I see maybe, eight of them, all armed. They’re splitting in three. I’m working as fast as I can.”

He didn’t respond and you turned your full attention back to the monitor. Someone must have been on the other end with remote access, because the computer was actively fighting you for the information you were trying to salvage. One hand jabbing at the keys, you reached into one of your suit pockets, pulled out a thumb drive, and plugged it into the side of the monitor. A few more minutes of cyber-battle, and you were finally able to start the download onto your drive. “Ha! Take that you bastard,” you muttered, flipping off the screen and whoever was on the other side.

So engrossed were you with the task at hand that you almost missed the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to the office. “Shit,” you spat. You weren’t finished, but it would have to do. You were out of time. Tying up what loose ends you could, you ripped the drive out of the port.

A bullet whizzed by your left shoulder and you knew you were really out of time. Going around the side of the desk facing the windows, you crouched down and went through your exit options.

The door was out, for obvious reasons. You could hide here and try to fight them, but the desk wasn’t very good coverage and the office itself was way too small to be an advantage to you. You looked around again, and groaned. Bucky was going to be so pissed off at you, but you tried to justify yourself as you stared up at the window.

You took a deep breath, stowing the thumb drive in your suit. Covering as much of your exposed skin as you could, you shot up from behind the desk, got a little bit of a running start, and crashed through the window.

“Look out below!”

Bucky whipped around right as you hit the ground with a yelp of pain, tucked and rolled to his side in a shower of glass. Pain exploded up your left leg, lighting up that entire side of your body. You’d definitely landed wrong on your ankle. Pulling yourself up into a sitting position, you moved over to sit with your back to the crates.

One of the agents peered out the broken window, and you shot him right between the eyes. He was the only one to make that mistake.

It was quiet in the warehouse now. Most of the first group were severely injured or dead, but you knew there were more coming. If you were going to get out, you had to go now.

Next to you, Bucky was scowling. You could feel it boring into the side of your head. “Are you out of your mind? I would’ve come up and got you!” he hissed.

You brushed stray pieces of glass off your suit. “Oh relax. I got the rest of the data and a sprain is better than a bullet hole while I waited. Now, come on,” you said, holding your arms out towards him. He didn’t move an inch and instead continued to stare over at you accusingly. “Up and over, Barnes, we’re on the clock and we’ll move faster if you carry me.”

The prospect of proximity seemed to snap him out of his stupor and he had the audacity to break out a lazy grin. “Sweetheart, if you wanted to get into my arms all you had to do was ask,” he said, though he stood up and help you to your feet. Putting one arm around the back of his neck, he hoisted you over his shoulder so you could watch his back as he ran with you.

The buckles of his gear pressed against your stomach, and you were sure your elbow did not feel particularly nice digging into his shoulder blade, but neither of you complained. “Think we can go back the way we came?” you asked.

Bucky shook his head. “More of them coming that way,” he stopped with his head tilted, listening. “They’ve gone around the sides too. We’ll have to backtrack into the offices and circle around.”

No sooner had he made the decision than another two dozen agents were streaming through the main and side doors. “Time to put those morning runs to good use,” you said, firing off a few shots towards the lines of men racing toward you.

The hallways weren’t very wide or tall, dingy white walls and gray tiled floors depressing under the fluorescent lights. “I’m starting to think this place wasn’t quite as ‘abandoned’ as Stark told us,” Bucky grumbled, flinching out of the way as a bullet raced past the side of his head. You didn’t answer, too focus on trying to keep your balance over his shoulder enough to aim as you returned fire. The arm you were using to hold yourself up with was starting to tremble, and you were having a hard time breathing with Bucky’s shoulder squished against your abdomen.

When you emptied the clip of your handgun you shoved it back into its holster and reached down for the other one you were carrying. No way were you going to try and negotiate reloading with the position you were in. You were lucky enough as it was that Bucky swerved around a few sharp corners, giving you a second’s reprieve from the gunfire.

Some of the men had gone around to try and cut you off from the front. Bucky blocked the shots they got off and fired back, not stopping as he jumped over their fallen bodies.

The crowd of agents was thinning now with each round you fired, far less following and no more jumping out in front of you. Bucky kicked down a door and then you were outside, albeit on the other side of the warehouse, but you were that much closer to safety. Still, the click of your third empty weapon - you’d stolen Bucky’s too - made you curse. Because of course, of course, there was one agent left. Completely out of bullets and there was still one agent standing.

It wasn’t far, you didn’t think, so you could try to outrun him. Bucky no doubt had more stamina. But as another bullet lodged itself into a nearby tree, you knew you had to do something else.

Bucky yelped as one of your hands braced itself lower on his back, and the other began groping down by his left thigh. He stumbled a step before he could regain his footing. “Woah, hey, Jesus. Be careful down there, would ya? I was kidding about getting frisky.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, hot shot. Just keep running,” you huffed, making another swipe for his legs and grumbling when you missed.

“What are you-?”

Your shout of triumph interrupted the rest of his question as your fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh. “Fucking finally,” you muttered, and glanced up to where the last agent was still tailing you. One quick steady breath to aim and the blade flew from your fingers. You watched with a detached sort of satisfaction as if flipped, end over end, to land neatly where the agent’s left eye had been.

Patting the small of Bucky’s back, you let yourself go limp against him with a heavy sigh. “I think we’re okay,” you muttered. You turned your head to the side and caught sight of the now-empty holster. “Thanks for the knife, babe.”

You felt him slow underneath you and turn, swinging you slightly to one side. A moment’s hesitation and then a sharp inhale as he took what had happened to his knife, the body still visible behind you. “Christ,” he groaned. And then, quietly, breath on a sigh, “Marry me.”

It thundered in the silence that followed.

The shadow of the jet fell over you and you pushed off of Bucky, landing in front of him with only a slight wince. His ears were pink and his eyes were wide, betraying his own shock at what he’d said.

You blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, um- I-”

“Now? You’re doing this now?” It sounded harsher than you’d meant it, coming out of your mouth, and you felt bad about that. But you were upset, damn it! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen - not on a half-failed mission, sweaty and injured, after you’d both just killed two dozen men. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He went redder. “I don’t know! You had me all… verklempt!” he sputtered.

“Verklempt? Where did you even-?” You shook your head, turned your back on him, and hobbled up into the jet. You were still muttering to yourself as you tossed yourself down into the pilot’s seat and began readying to leave. Bucky stood outside, staring at you, until you snapped, “Get on the fucking jet, Barnes.”

Turning back toward the console, you heard the heavy thud of his boots, and the impact as he sat down. It was silent the rest of the way home. You wanted, several times, to turn and look at him. But the thought that he might already be looking at you, that you might end up looking at each other, stopped you.

When the jet landed at the compound, Bucky stopped you before you could hit the button and let down the ramp. “Would it be so bad? Being married to me?”

Part of your heart broke, and it softened the lingering scowl on your face. You were still upset. But you also couldn’t leave him to think that was why were angry. Cupping the side of his face in your hand, you ran a thumb over his cheekbone. “Of course it wouldn’t, Bucky. Nothing would make me happier,” you murmured.

There was something he wanted to say, more than one thing you wanted to say, but no room left in the jet for either of you. Biting the inside of your cheek, you dropped your hand and let down the ramp.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were waiting in the hanger when you got back. That all three of them were there was a little odd, but you were so determined to get away that you didn’t give it too much thought. “Nat, darling, take me to the infirmary please?” you asked with more cheer than you felt, half-hopping over to her to avoid putting pressure on your injured leg.

She looked between you and Bucky, searching for the answer to a question she hadn’t yet asked. Turning around without a word, she bent down so you could climb on her, piggy-back style.

You tapped her collarbone as you passed Tony, and she stopped. Wedging a hand between your front and her back, you felt around until you found the zipper for the pocket you’d stashed the thumb drive in. You shoved it towards Tony’s chest. “I got as much as I could,” you said. His hands came up over yours to take the drive, and Natasha led you away from the hangar. Behind you, you heard Steve and Bucky talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Natasha waited until you were changed and sitting in the med bay, one of the nurses cleaning the cuts on your arms, before she pounced. “What happened?” she asked, in that nonchalant way she had that let you know she was keenly interested in the answer.

You sighed, shoulders dropping. “With the mission or with Bucky?”

A pause, in which Natasha searched your face, eyes flicking back and forth. “Both,” she said.

“They were waiting for us when we got there, had already started wiping everything. I got maybe half of it, had to jump out a window.” The nurse - Daniel, you thought his name was - snorted as he straightened up, having finished with your arms. You gave him a wry smile and a shrug as he moved on to examining and then wrapping your ankle.

“And Barnes?” Natasha pressed.

You looked away from her, jaw clenched. “Asked me to marry him right before we got on the jet,” you started, and told her the rest of what had happened. Your voice was thick and your throat burned with the tears you were trying to keep at bay. Now that the shock and adrenaline was wearing off, you felt a little dumb.

“You’re upset, but not surprised.”

A helpless shrug was all you could give for a moment as you negotiated the sobs tightening your chest. “Found the ring a month ago, maybe. I’ve been waiting for him to ask.”

She let out a breath, coming to sit in a chair next to you. “And this wasn’t how you pictured it going.”

“I know it’s a dumb thing to get worked up over, and I know he didn’t mean it like this.” You couldn’t get his face out of your mind, the way he sounded when he thought you were refusing him. “And I wasn’t expecting anything big or extravagant; you know I don’t care about that kind of attention. But I just- was hoping for something… else. Something special and normal and not tied to this job.”

Daniel gently interrupted, his hand warm on your shoulder. “You’re all set. Get some rest, keep your ankle iced and elevated. If the pain gets too intense, you can take some ibuprofen or Tylenol, whatever you prefer.”

“Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it,” you said, returning his wave as he left.

Natasha was there as soon as you were upright, an arm under your own. “Hey, why don’t you come hang out in my room for a while? It’s closer than yours,” she said. You wanted to decline and go back to your own room, but she continued before you could. “We can watch something if you want, make some popcorn. I’ll even steal some of Sam’s M&Ms for us.”

You smiled in spite of yourself. “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

Together you hobbled over to her room where she brought you over to her bed. Once you were settled back against the headboard, a pillow under your ankle, she left for snacks while you scrolled through Netflix looking for something to watch.

You’d gotten through Natasha’s list, trending now, and popular on Netflix twice when you noticed that she still hadn’t come back. It didn’t take that long to make popcorn, especially since her room was one of the closest to the kitchen. You were starting critically acclaimed movies when she slipped back into the room, a large bowl under one arm and a bag of ice in the other.

“I was about to send out the search party,” you said, pausing on Molly’s Game to read the description.

Natasha handed you the bowl and laid the ice over your ankle. From a pocket in her jacket she revealed two bright yellow packets of peanut M&Ms. “Sam was in the kitchen, just got back,” she said. She settled down on your other side and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Oh I wanted to see that.”

“It sounds good,” you agreed, and queued up the movie.

You didn’t remember when it ended, only that at some point the TV was switched off and Natasha was running a hand through your hair. The bed shifted as she got up, and then her hand was on your other side, gently shaking your arm. “C’mon, sleepy, let’s get you back to your room.”

You groaned and shook your head, not even bothering to open your eyes. “Jus’ wanna stay here,” you mumbled.

Natasha scoffed and started to pull you into a sitting position. “No way. We both know you hate going to bed without your routine and waking up in rooms that aren’t your own. I will not be put on the wrong side of morning-you for that,” she said. You grumbled, but knew she was right. If you fell asleep without going through your routine, it guaranteed you’d wake up in the middle of the night feeling gross. You put an arm around her as she helped you off the bed.

As the pair of you walked down the hall, you noticed an alertness to the way she moved and looked around that puzzled you. It was subtle, and would be unnoticeable to most others, but you knew her pretty well. It wasn’t mission alertness, cold and wary, but more like… anticipation, excitement.

It spiked as you approached your bedroom door, which was now closed. “Nat, what’s going on?” you asked.

She didn’t answer except to nudge you with her hip into reaching for the handle. You opened it slowly, and the breath caught in your throat.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room, dressed in jeans and a Henley. His hands were clasped together behind his back like he would fidget otherwise. The overhead lights were switched off. Instead, candles covered the long windowsill against the back wall, the entire top of your dresser, and most of the desk in the corner where Bucky liked to clean his guns and knives. It gave the room a warm, soft glow, but it wasn’t what drew your attention.

The entire room was filled with pale pink peonies, one of your favorite flowers. There were blooms laid loose among the candles, both with and without stems, and others in different glass vases. You wanted to run your fingers over their petals, get close enough to see the specks of deep crimson you knew would be there. The whole room smelled like peonies, not intoxicating or cloying, but beautiful and fresh.

Natasha removed your arm from around her neck and backed away, making sure you were steady enough on your own. You barely noticed, too focused on the flowers and the man who’d gotten them for you. “Hey Buck,” you breathed, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, his voice as soft as yours. He rushed to your side when you took a step forward, putting an arm under yours and helping you sit on the end of the bed. Taking the spot next to you, he turned so that his whole body faced you. “How’s your ankle?”

“Just a sprain. Daniel down in the med bay says I’ll be right as rain in no time.” You looked around at all the flowers again, heart swelling as you took in the way the light shone on the pale petals. “These are some real pretty flowers, Barnes.”

He looked too, a fond smile on his face. “Do you like them? I got ‘em for my best girl,” he said, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. Emboldened when you leaned into his touch, he shifted from by your side to kneeling between your legs. “See, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask her, but I messed it up. I was hoping she’d let me try again.”

“‘Course I would.”

“I want you to know: I had a plan. I was going to wait until it was warmer and take you to that park where we met. Remember, when you-”

“When I hit you with my bicycle, yes, I remember,” you grumbled. It was something he refused to let go of. Never mind he was the one that was so busy messing with Steve that he wasn’t looking where he was going. And never mind that he was fine, thank you very much. Did more damage to your poor bike than anything else.

His laugh made your chest warm and your heart soft. “I was half in love with you already after that. You made sure I was alright before completely tearing me a new one. You weren’t even phased by the fact that you were scolding the Winter Soldier, with Captain America looking on. He was on me for a week after that because I didn’t get your number. Then Tony walked you into the compound and introduced you as the new team member and, sweetheart, I was gone.”

Once upon a time, you’d been an agent for SHIELD and - after everything had happened - you’d been a little lost. Then, you’d woken up one day to a forwarded email recommending you for a position as a member of the Avengers. It hadn’t said anything about who’d made the recommendation, and you’d never had many friends in high places, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was only after you’d officially joined that they let slip that Fury wasn’t quite as gone as everyone thought he was.

The position hadn’t been guaranteed when you’d met Bucky and Steve in the park, so you didn’t say anything in case it turned out not to be true. And facing them in the common room of the compound, seeing the moment they recognized you, was something you wouldn’t ever forget. “You dropped the coffee pot. I don’t think I’ve seen Tony that mad, or Clint that visibly crushed. He looked like you’d told him Santa wasn’t real,” you said.

“The point is, I had a plan,” he said, his cheeks a little pink. “But then today happened, and things went a little wrong. I kept thinking how they could have been way worse. Either of us could have come out with more than a couple of cuts and a sprained ankle. But you had my back and I had yours. And I saw that fucking knife sticking out of that guy’s head and it reminded me how strong you are, how capable and - I’m man enough to admit it - how incredibly hot you are. In that moment, I was overwhelmed by it. By how much I love you. By the reminder that this-” And here he finally took from his pocket the velvet ring box that had been gracing your dreams for a month. “This is all I want. A life with you for as long as I can, as long as you’ll let me.”

With steady hands, Bucky opened the ring box. The ring inside was a band of rose gold that went from smooth line metal at the bottom and morphed into vines about halfway up either side. The vines wound around a small opal. The longer you looked, the more you felt tears gather in the corner of your eyes, the pressure building in the base of your throat. The rose gold was warm and felt like being in his arms, and the opal shined the way his eyes did when he watched you laugh at his teasing. It was a physical offering of his love, of the life he wanted.

“Bucky it’s perfect,” you breathed. Your hand by contrast, was shaking when you lifted it for him to put the ring on. When it slid home and sat snug on your finger, joy lit up in your chest like fireworks, bubbling out of your mouth in uncontrollable giggles. You brought Bucky closer for a kiss so that he could feel it too.

“I paid a lot of money to get those flowers here, so I better at least get to see the ring before you guys start removing clothes!” Tony called from the other side of the door, startling the two of you apart. Bucky dropped his head onto your chest and you leaned yours against his, torn between irritation and amusement. There was a muffled impact, Tony’s yelp of surprise and maybe pain, and a “come on, man” that definitely came from Sam.

“Tony, have a little class, would you?” Steve hissed. In a louder voice, definitely meant for you and Bucky to overhear, he added, “Besides, they shouldn’t be doing anything with her sprained ankle!”

Bucky huffed a laugh and you could feel him gearing up to shout back, but you beat him to it. “I swear to God if I open that door and see anyone on the other side, you’ll wish you had a sprained ankle.”

“Come on boys, let’s give them some space. But we better see that bling first thing in the morning. You’re both expected at breakfast,” Natasha said, herding the boys away like a schoolteacher her children. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as their footsteps faded away, Bucky joining you. As annoying as they were, you did love your friends.

Bucky lifted his head, forcing you to lift yours too. You gave in to the kiss he asked for, but pulled away a few moments later. He lifted a brow at you. “I have one question,” you said.

The brow rose a little higher. “Shoot.”

You squinted at him a little. “Where exactly did you learn the word verklempt?”

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt: what about Peggy and Fury? Like, did she hand pick him to replace her when she retired? Did she train him? Like, what’s their history or backstory?

okay, so I don’t 100% know the history of Shield because I don’t follow comics and MCU doesn’t like to give us lots so here’s my interpretation of it.

--

Nicholas Fury had to be one of the most frustrated man she’s ever worked with. Not only did he undermine her orders but he wasn’t afraid to step up to the Director of Shield and tell her that she’s respectfully wrong. And even during one heated argument, he’d told her that maybe her old age was starting to catch up to her. And even worst, during one particular hard argument, he’d told her maybe those strokes she had a few years ago left some damage on her brain.

Those two times, Fury had walked home with a broken nose and was lucky that was the only thing she’d done to him.

And damnit, didn’t he know it.

While Fury was frustrating as hell, he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Peggy had to admit a few of her orders had been out there, not fully understanding the situation, in the same manner, her men on the ground were. She wasn’t fed the whole situation, rather then bits and pieces that didn’t quite give her the same point of view, so she understood when he put her in her place those few times.

But mentions of her age? Her strokes? Uncalled for and unmentioned information that didn’t need to be said.

That being said, Fury made the hard calls that she’s seen no other agent made. She’s seen him make the wrong choices for the right reasons. She’s seen him deal with the consequences of his decision with no complaint, rather that was extra training the new agents that he hated to do or put on the bar until she was determined to have cleaned up his mess. Of course, both times he’d go behind her back to continue his job because it was the thing to do.

The worst thing about it? This entire worst thing about it. He reminded her of Steve when it came to speaking his mind. Maybe it was nostalgia catching up to her, but not even Steve was this hardheaded.

Maybe.

--

“Who trained you, Agent?” Peggy sighed as she sat back in her chair, throwing back the last of her whiskey.

Fury laughed and rolled his eyes, tossing yet another folder onto her desk. There was quite the pile-up here of new recruits. “I think we both know the answer to that one, Director.” His eyes flash to hers and there was that smirk. “You did and you knew it. Hand trained me for whatever reason you deemed fit. Said you couldn’t trust any other agent.”

“I still don’t. Your skills in the military spoke to me, your career history, there’s something different about it that threw me off.” Or reminded her too much, either way, she made her choices and had to lie in her bed.

“Was there a point to this question?” He poured them both another one and threw his back before she had a chance to even pick up her glass. “You’re not the conversational type.”

“Then you don’t know me in the right company.”

“I’m afraid Stark Isn’t either – not anymore. Too focused in whatever the hell they’re doing in Stark Industries.”

“You know anything about that?”

“Jack shit as ever, not even my men can get a clue down there. He’s too good at hiding whatever the hell he’s doing and that’s bothering me. No man like that – nothing good comes out from him hiding stuff.”

Peggy hummed in agreement. It went without saying that Howard's hiding things never ended well. Half of Manhattan was still recovering from lost eyebrows at this point. “You’re right,” she sighed, closing a file with a disgusted noise. Something about the man’s juvenile history, she refused to hire people on with the history of past abuses. “There was a point to that question. We have a diplomatic meeting tomorrow in the UK.”

If Fury was surprised at that matter, he said nothing. He just closed his file and drained the rest of her whiskey from the bottle and left. Peggy had to admit as she watched him leave, she admired this young Agent with a full life ahead of him.

--

Diplomatic meetings were the worst part of the job if you asked her. Technically Shield wasn’t supposed to be here, given the circumstances but they’d asked her to come so to keep the good faith, she did. And she supposed that’s where the problem began, trying to keep the good faith. She was no idiot, no fool to surprises, so when this turned to a surprise kidnapping, well, Peggy was not so fooled as they wanted to think.

It wasn’t easy taking down three men but she managed. She still had the skills, just a little slower in her age. The men were unconscious or dead on the floor, at this point she didn’t care. There was a stinging in her side from where a knife grazed her skin and all she wanted to do was get that stitched and curse out the idiot who scheduled this thing.

Where the hell had Fury gone?

She followed the backside of the man up to the rafters, cursing as she watched his hand-to-hand combat with nothing in his defense against a gunfight a masked man. “Carter watch out!”

Peggy barely had time to move out of the way before the bullet grazed her shoulder. If Fury hadn’t knocked the man down by tackling him, she would’ve been killed on the spot. She watched as the young Agent was kicked in the head by combat boots and a metallic arm was swung to pick him up by his throat, holding him over a drop that would, sure enough, kill him.

She hasn’t used a gun in weeks, but Peggy’s no stranger to it. She fired off all five rounds in the direction of the masked man, one bullet catching the metallic arm. It was enough to make him drop Fury, the man grasping the rafter before he was simply gone.

--

“Are you okay?” Peggy asked, looking up at Fury while a medic stitched up the gash along her ribcage. Fury was worst for ware with a bullet wound in his shoulder and bruises forming on his throat, but beyond a new appreciation for his feet on the ground, he was better off.

“I should be asking you that, Director.” He cleared his throat and jerked his chin at the guy cleaning her wound, taking over for him. “I should’ve stayed by your side to protect you, as the plan was but I saw him coming for you. I take it you know him?”

“The Asset? No. He’s a goddamn mystery. Anyone who sees’s him is supposed to be dead. Why in the hell he didn’t finish just you and me off, I have no idea.” She paused as he caught a sensitive area, cursing slightly. “You did what you had to do. You made calls that no other agent could’ve. That’s why I brought you. I know in the end, you’ll get the job done that needs to be done. I know you’ll lead Shield into a solid, strong ground for the future to come.”

The agent paused as he applied the gauze, reading her stoic face before nodding his head. If he was surprised, he said nothing. Not that Fury ever had a damn thing to say. That’s what infuriated her so damn much. She couldn’t read him as much as her other agents.

“That I will, Director. Are you saying you’re giving up command?” His voice was soft, lips barely moving as he pulled her shirt down and stood up to wash his hands.

Peggy laughed at that. “Not quite so easy, Agent. You need some more training under your belt, I think.” She paused with a smile on her red lips. She held her hand out to him and gave a firm shake. “As of today, you’re Co-Director of Shield until I am satisfied that you can fully take over without…too much of a problem.”

Fury smiled and Peggy had to admire the rare sight on the handsome face. “I bet you I’ll be running Shield in no less than three years.” He paused for a second before shaking his head. “No, make it two.”

“In two years, Agent? Well, if anyone could do it, it might as well be you.”

[fandom-necromancer]

917. I didn’t want you to see me like this.

Shoutout to the awesome anon requesting this! Unfortunately I realised I misunderstood something only after finishing this short, so this is Sixty saying it to Allen not the other way around as you prompted. You second one will have it in the right order :)

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Allen60 (Warning: violence, gunfights)

Sixty hated that he had to walk through the bullpen to exit the building. They were a separate unit, their office was in a separate building, why did they have to see these idiots every day? He maybe could have stomached the humans and androids working there he hadn’t yet met and would never have to talk to. But he absolutely despised the four people he did know: The other RK800 unit who called himself his brother and had been the reason for his mission to fail and Cyberlife’s downfall. His alcoholic human partner who had dared to shoot him. The RK900, who he had hoped would be the worthy opponent he deserved, being the superior model. The complete moron of a person the RK900 had instead fallen for. No, Sixty hated them with every bit of his being, hated them for their failures and their indifference towards them. He had been thankful he had been sent to the SWAT unit of the DPD, working directly under and with their Captain, an incredibly remarkable human. Maybe the only one Sixty ever respected. All he cared for was a job well and effectively done with minimal casualties. Something Sixty could easily grasp and adopt as it was similar to his base programming, something he still held onto even in deviancy.

Having at least one human share his believes and work ethic made everything else endurable. Still he was relieved to be outside and to enter the transporter after the Captain while all other humans followed. He was a well-respected asset of their team, having saved countless lives of hostages and other SWAT-members with his efficient fighting style and quick calculations. He never did it for the humans though. Everything that counted to him was his reputation, his flawless statistics. Every other RK unit had failed their mission. Be it to fall for the virus and start an android revolution, be it to deviate and help said RK with it or be it to join deviants and fall in love instead of destroying all deviants and remaining machine. Sixty made sure to impress. He had deviated, but he didn’t embrace the emotions with it. They were part of him of course, but that was it. A part of many.

‘Okay, you all have been in the briefing, so I won’t bore you by sitting through it again. But are there any questions? Everything set? We can’t allow any mistakes, there are lives on the line.’ As always, Sixty sighed inwardly, but didn’t complain. Short attention spans and memory loss were the most annoying human failures in his opinion, but Captain Allen always kept it in mind, despite being organic himself. Another quality Sixty admired him for – on a completely professional level of course. He was met by heads shaking and mumbled negations. ‘Fine. Sixty, you still okay with going solo? Someone could accompany you.’ The android scowled at the humans sitting on the benches to either side of the transporter rattling through the streets. ‘I am fine. A human accompanying me would only hinder me and raise the risk of casualties.’ ‘Okay, then. Just take care then. You will enter through the back entrance, while we serve as a distraction just outside the café.’ Sixty nodded. He didn’t need a repetition of his role, but the Captain always tended to treat him like he would treat a human. He knew it was a matter of making him feel equal to the others and more accepted. But when he knew he was better than that it just sounded ridiculous and unnecessary to him.

They arrived at the location and the men left the transporter to get to their positions in front of the little cosy café. A weird place to hold hostages in, but who was Sixty to judge. At the edge of the transporter, Captain Allen held him back. ‘Hey, Sixty. I meant it when I said take care. You might be right saying we want no human casualties, but I want all of my men back at the precinct unharmed. That includes you.’ ‘Don’t worry, Captain’, Sixty smirked, pointing at his forehead. ‘It needs more than a bullet to kill me.’ He knew that mentioning his first death just made the man uncomfortable, but it was an easy argument to bring whenever there was misguided concern. He wouldn’t fail his mission like the other’s had. And if he did, he was just a machine. He could be repaired and if the damage was bad enough to make repair impossible, then he deserved it for his mistakes.

The Captain walked outside, standing before the rest of the SWAT-members in position to start his monologue to whoever held the people inside hostage. It was just a distraction unless the criminals agreed to let their hostages go and comply. As soon as he began to talk, Sixty left the transporter and hurried around the building to the back entrance, always out of sight by any camera or the big front windows. Arriving at the back entrance it was easy to hack the lock – a low security digital pad. Absolutely no challenge for an android like him. The lock clicked open a few seconds after his interface and he was to wait for Allen’s command. Bored he kicked a stone through the back alley and watched a few pigeons scatter at the disturbance. There was no way they would let the hostages go. When had that ever worked? He sighed, this time out loud. He hated waiting when he could be productive instead.

‘Sixty? You copy?’ ‘I’m in position’, the android answered, rolling a little stick in between his fingers. ‘You are allowed to intervene. Use non-lethal force wherever possible. We are your backup, should you need it.’ ‘I won’t’, Sixty sighed, but couldn’t hide his anticipation. This would be another flawless mission without doubt. Another red LED turn in the RK900 at his statistics update and the RK800 would congratulate him, what equalled a defeat in Sixty’s mind. But most importantly, Captain Allen would praise him again in front of everyone. ‘Moving in’, he announced, as he shouldered through the door, not missing the whispered ‘good luck’ under the Captain’s breath. As if he needed that.

Sixty hurried through the small kitchen of the café completely silent. There was no sound of his entrance, until he was standing inside the main room, gun raised and action calculated in a split second. The first bullet hit the first of four criminals in the leg, shooting clean through the lower leg. He fell down, Sixty taking his place immediately to punch the next and grab his arms in the confusion. Holding both of them behind his back he had acquired a human shield and disarmed him at the same time. He moved forwards, kicking the next one in the groin. He doubled over and let the gun slip out of his hand. Sixty quickly kicked it away and moved towards the last one, who had finally reacted and grabbed a hostage, very much like Sixty had done. The android took a second to calculate his plan more thoroughly, then raised his gun to shoot. The criminal’s hand was so shaky he doubted he would have pulled the trigger. Sixty hit him in the shoulder, the idiot letting go of the hostage to touch the wound. Immediately Sixty was near, grabbing the damaged shoulder and pressing, so that the man screamed and let go of his weapon.

Sixty was close to signalling his Captain a [mission successful], as he sensed a gunshot behind him. The first one, the one he had shot in the leg had still held on to his weapon and proved the android wrong, who had thought the pain to be too much to think clearly. But there the asshole was, shooting him. He would have laughed at the audacity, had the bullet not hit one of the major thirium tubes in his chest and hadn’t his HUD immediately started informing him of a thirium shortage in his legs. They gave in, but Sixty managed to shoot the first criminal in the hand, rendering him unable to harm him further. During the fall he had pulled his human shield down with him and kept him in his grip next to him.

‘Captain. I need backup. Unit compromised. Hostages safe. Criminals incapacitated for now.’ Admitting this defeat weighted greater than the pain he felt. Immediately there was chaos, the rest of the SWAT storming the place and cuffing the criminals on the ground. Sixty let go of the one he had held as Captain Allen appeared in his vision. ‘I didn’t want you to see me like this’, Sixty grumbled static and looked away from the man’s far too emotional eyes. ‘Shut up, what is going on? What can I do to help? What happened?’ ‘Got shot in the back. A thirium tube is broken. I failed my mission. Sorry.’ ‘The fuck you did. You didn’t fail. You got shot on a mission. You still made it, didn’t you, you dumb machine? Look: The criminals are alive and arrested, the hostages are all alive and unharmed. Sounds pretty successful to me.’ ‘I should have been better.’ 'Hey, hey, Sixty! Shut up. You did fine. You did well. I should have given you someone as backup.' 'That’s exactly what I mean! I failed to prove my value. Now I'm just another Connor who needs a partner.' 'Goddamn, there is nothing wrong with accepting help.' The Captain grunted lifting him up and snaking an arm around Sixty's upper back. 'Come on, we'll patch you up in the car.' 'I'll be a failure just like Connor.' 'You won't, Six. You won't. We are a team, right? No one needs to know about this, if you are so damn stubborn to count this as a failed mission.' 'Really? You won't tell them?' 'Why should I? You did fine, Sixty. Even more than that. Also, I’m Captain of SWAT, what I tell and what I leave out for them to read in some forgotten folder down in the archives is my responsibility, isn’t it?’ ‘And I won’t get a partner to babysit?’ ‘How about I offer you to partner up? How does partner of a Captain sound? As I remember the other RKs only have a Detective and a Lieutenant.’ Sixty perked up. That would indeed be something he could boast about to them… Also, he could be near the one human he really respected. This may not be so bad after all… ‘That would sound great, if I think about it. My expertise might be of help to you.’ ‘Of course, I would feel honoured to have the best RK for a partner.’

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 3: Sleight

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

After surgery, Natasha was wheeled into a private room at NYP/Weill Cornell Medical Center, and once it had been made clear she would make a full recovery, Bucky called a meeting.

Five plastic chairs situated around the bed; every pair of eyes narrowed; each mind determined. Out of all the potential outcomes, none of them could have anticipated this, and it wasn’t just because Steve had chosen to defend himself.  

Natasha was dutiful, cautious, and extremely versatile. She’d carried more than her fair share of the water and had never shirked or shied away from any of the endless lists of tasks and responsibilities they’d given her. Over the years, she’d become the Queen in their metaphorical game of chess, was welcomed and respected in every territory, and was often the envoy, enforcer, and enticer. She was integral to the Families and invaluable to Bucky.

She’d also never been injured this badly before and that put them all on edge.  

“How did this happen?” Wanda inquired quietly.

Thor grunted, “We know how it happened.”

“We need to focus more on the why instead of the how,” Tony remarked.

Clint nodded in agreement, “If I’m being honest, I was glad to hear he’d returned, but now…”

As comptroller, Maximoff was most concerned with finances. Odinson, in his capacity as recruiter, was having trouble getting the fresh meat to settle down. Stark made sure law enforcement on their payroll turned a blind eye to Steve’s return, but this had drawn a lot of attention, and as a result, Barton had been forced to place a temporary hold on all incoming and outgoing product.

One thing they could all agree on was that the matter needed to be approached with even more caution. They still didn’t know the whereabouts of the deceased senator’s wife, nor the motivation behind Steve’s aiding in her escape. Bucky had assumed he’d returned for the funeral, but whether or not that was his primary reason for staying in town was unknown. Nevertheless, Bucky admitted he’d made the mess, and told them he would clean it up.

Clint was tactful when he pointed out they’d tried it his way and it hadn’t gone well. When Bucky asked for suggestions, Thor threw out the obvious option of having someone else finish the job. Wanda alternatively asserted that if he intended to let Steve live, he needed to be placated. Tony decreed it was best to keep enemies close and that Bucky should simply seduce him. Clint recommended backing off and giving Steve a wide berth for the time being.

Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. While everyone continued to discuss how best to resolve the brewing conflict, he averted his attention to Natasha, who had woken up mid-way through the conversation. If anyone had the right to an opinion, it was her, and when he held up his hand for silence, everyone quieted down.

“Natasha?” Bucky prompted.

“Use him,” she rasped. “Make him an ally again.”

He’d never considered bringing Steve back into the fold, but it was the most practical way to resolve things. As the Families had never formally voted him out, he technically still had a seat at the table, and could return to it at any time. If Steve did return, things would change, but adjusting parameters and expectations wasn’t the issue.

Steve was a natural leader and would’ve been Boss had he not left. Loyalty and tribute were given and paid to the Families as a whole, but Steve inspired a level of fanaticism and devotion that Bucky just could not replicate. Though the title alone commanded respect, Bucky knew some considered him a placeholder; there were big players who’d been waiting for Steve to return, and if he was welcomed back, there would be a power shift. Even though Steve had never expressed a desire to run things, it was a mantle Bucky, if pressured, would be forced to let him have.  

War and peace, love and hate, progress and tradition – they were often two sides of the same coin, one that had been flipped many times over many generations. As head of the Families, it was left to Bucky whether or not to toss it in the air again, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was a gamble, a fifty-fifty chance, and he wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed playing the odds. He tried to look for a clear outcome, but the tide kept shifting, the waters were murky, and he couldn’t yet see in which direction the wind would blow.

“We tried the stick,” Wanda gently reminded him. “Let’s see if the carrot fares better. I’ll reach out.”  

Bucky inclined his head, “Very well.”

With the decision made, the others departed, but Bucky remained. He scooted his chair closer to the bed and when Natasha held out her hand, he took it. She’d been hooked up to an intravenous analgesia pump, but had yet to use the medicine, and that meant both her grip and her words were fierce.

“Whatever you do, don’t fuck with him,” she warned. “I don’t know what Steve’s up to, but I can tell he’s changed, and he’s dangerous. You watch your six, you hear me?”  

“I’ll be as careful as I can be.”

“Have you said anything to the press?”

Bucky hummed noncommittally, “They believe it was an attempted robbery gone wrong.”

Natasha nodded, let go of his hand, and depressed the button to release the morphine, “Good. Now, go away – you got shit to do and I need rest.”

If anyone else had dismissed and dictated to him like that, Bucky would have broken their jaw, but since it came from Natasha, he just smiled. Even with a foot dangling over the grave, she still busted his balls, and because she was the only real and true friend he had, he didn’t fight her.

The drive back to the penthouse was a slow one because of traffic and when he finally pulled into the private parking garage, he was exhausted, irritated, and starved. The guard at the desk greeted him politely and Bucky waved back. It was a quick, smooth ascent to the top floor, and when the elevator doors parted, he stepped into the foyer, and was greeted by an unexpected albeit not entirely unwelcome visitor.

“In the span of twenty-four hours, you’ve botched a takedown and you let me get the drop on you,” Bruce stated blithely. “Didn’t I tell you to change the security code after I installed the system?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gestured toward the kitchen, “What do you have for me?”

Bruce tossed a folder onto the island’s marble countertop and gave him a rundown on Steve’s activities. The man was good at keeping a low profile, but he was able to piece together some of what Steve had been up to while he was away, and squeeze a bit of information out the people who’d been helping him stay under the radar since his return.

“Steve is independently wealthy now, but where the money came from is a mystery,” Bruce informed him. “If the olive branch Wanda plans to extend involves cash, it’ll be useless. He’s got holdings and properties both in this country and abroad. I can’t find any red flags and it all appears to be legit.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and opened the fridge, “And the plot thickens.”

“Sam admitted he stopped in, but wouldn’t give details on what was purchased,” Bruce explained as he accepted a beer with a nod of thanks. “But knowing what Wilson keeps in that back room, Rogers is probably armed to the teeth.”  

He flipped through the photos and the intel, “I want to know who else he’s visited and where he’s holed up. And find out where he’s hiding that fucking widow.”  

“He knows how to avoid being seen, so, it’s not an easy task. It’s going to take time and cash.”

“Money you can have,” Bucky told him as he headed for the living room.

Bruce followed and sipped his beer while Bucky keyed in the combination to the wall safe. Once it was opened, he collected a few stacks, and handed them over.

“Grease palms and keep digging,” Bucky insisted.

“Will do.”

If anyone could find a needle in a haystack, it was Bruce, and Bucky knew he could rely on him to get it done. The man was a genius with a mind that absorbed and retained information like a sponge. Publicly, he put his Ph.D. to good use via publications and giving lectures at various universities; privately, he helped the Families by being a shadow in the world of data collection. Skeletons in closets, economic shifts, voter mindsets, new product on the street, backroom deals, who was getting up to what behind closed doors – Bruce knew it all, and on the off chance he didn’t, he always managed to find out.  

Bruce tucked the money away, tossed the bottle into the recycle bin, and as Bucky escorted him out, he strongly urged him to reset the alarm code. As soon as the door was shut, he did just that, and went back to the living room.

Exhausted down to his bones, he plopped down on the couch, loosened his tie, and kicked off his shoes. Cellphone in hand, he mulled over what to order for dinner, and after he decided on Italian, he closed his eyes, and settled back into the cushions. He must’ve nodded off for a moment, because when the doorbell rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered as he rushed for the door.

Bleary-eyed and absentminded, Bucky didn’t check to see if it was actually his food delivery, and within seconds, he was made to regret it.

He saw the fist that barreled toward his face, but wasn’t fast enough to block it or duck out of the way. Bucky was hit with such force that his head snapped back and he fell right down onto his ass.

Blood gushed from his mouth and nose and the copper-flavored taste rolled over his tongue and slid down his throat.  There was only one person in the world who could ring his bell like that, and when he looked up from his prone position on the floor, he cursed.

“Hello, JB,” Steve deadpanned. “Mind if I come in?” Chapter 4: Erstwhile  

Everything: @jennmurawski13​​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @captain-rogers-beard​​ @lilliannaansalla

[ripuels]

GIVE ME ANYTHING I'LL TAKE IT ALL 👀

So... since you already have access to my Walk in the Park deleted scenes doc, here... have the first chapter of a WIP called "Solomon's Habitation". Enjoy, m'dear!

(AU in which a calloused synth tech named Amanda develops a habit of taking in and rehoming abused and decommissioning synthetics, only to find the one who just wont leave may be what she needs to heal)

—

"Hello, I am a second generation Weyland-Yutani S-Executive Synthetic serial number 1209, inducted for purpose of Legal, entirely at your disposal."

"Name?" 

"C. Samuels, individually distinguished as Christopher." 

The robot blinks once, looking into the corner of the room where three others stand. Two are identical, one is different, one of them older, none are like him. He knows it. They are operated, programmed to execute commands, not act on whims like being pert with superiors and getting into significant amounts of trouble. 

"Know why you're here, 1209?" 

"I ask questions." 

Christopher studies the technician's lab coat, looking for anything identifying. Anything he can relate to. There is a young lady in Engineering who wears Star Wars socks poking out of her boots, and an older man in his division who wears an enamel Tardis pin on his tie, they were always lovely and appreciative of a conversation. From this woman sitting before him however, he gets nothing. 

He can clearly see her name tag, but just like his own identity, who she really is hides behind an initial. "What is your name?" 

"You do, don't you?"

"What?" 

"Ask questions." The woman smiles shortly, it doesn't quite seep from her gaze, but the attempt is better than nothing. The synthetic responds with a shunned dip of his chin. "My name is Ripley.” She offers anyway, a little softer around the edges. “Amanda."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Christopher glances to her fingers, bare of jewelry, commitment, unsure why it matters so much. Why it's logged with such importance, being such a trivial thing. "Ms. Ripley."

She nods politely and rubs her brow, making a note on her checklist without hiding the fact. 

"Am I merchandise, Ms. Ripley?" He asks, name rolling off his tongue differently, almost trying it on again like a tailored suit. The last syllable is deep, padded as if it came from somewhere in his chest instead of a speaker.

She faces him again with her hands folded. "Why do you ask?" 

"I saw you mark the form under the article 'merchandise faulty'." He glances up from the page again, an expression of indifference. "Am I going to be merchandise? Sold instead of incorporated back into the Law Division after my reformat?"

She nods, impassiveness to match. "In Legal you'd be a Level 3 Exec, right?" There's no need to wait for a response. "You know they're a bit touchy that high up with aberrant synthetics. That's why you were sent down to decommission. That's why I have to tick all the appropriate boxes no matter what. And that's why I suppose reading ‘Merchandise’ instead of ‘Artificial Person’ makes people feel better about what comes next."

"Does it make you feel better?" 

The synthetic had been asking questions nonstop, but this is the one that really stumps Amanda. She stares at his unwavering gaze for a long while before he finally looks away, through the one-sided window to the next room over. 

No, Amanda thinks, observing the man with shallow yet complex brown eyes and chestnut hair, but in a way… yes? It's all horrible, made tolerable only by the knowledge 'merchandise faulty' synthetics at least stand a chance, being sold on the private market or recalibrated gently in the warehouse. It saves them from a complete overhaul. If she were to tick 'defective' it would be another story, they’d be taken apart entirely and euthanized, harvested- recycled, The Company finding it safer than take the fall for an unidentified mishap on the production line. One check box gives them hope for a future, the other destroys them, and it's all down to two synonymous terms and whoever is holding the paperwork.

"It's a thing, a thing someone has to do. Not all of it is peachy, but I don’t think anyone really likes their jobs." Amanda abandons the pen and it rolls across the table to sit in front of the Samuels unit.

"That’s not what I asked." He takes it up like a dagger, holding it in his fist as the sharp metallic end pokes out past his little finger. "May I?" He gestures to her notepad. 

She slides it over the table and watches as long spidery fingers twirl the pen and begin drawing. 

It's not unusual to see, most synthetics do. Usually diagrams or landscape, old classic art, nothing but a neat trick programmed into them to impress audiences and potential investors. It's common even for one to perfectly replicate a scene before them in printed lines. This Samuels however, sketches in long strokes, shading into the curves, and defines tone with depth and pressure. The picture slowly takes the form of a woman in a green coverall, a lab coat, brown hair in a neat ponytail, sunken around the eyes with a terribly fierce scowl. It isn't until the image is inverted and offered that Amanda realises it's her. 

"Do you know why you're here?" He asks, still looking at the page between them.

Ripley freezes as the pen is placed into her open hand. "What?" 

"Why you do your job if it upsets you?" 

"I'm not upset." 

At this he glances a direct line from the frown in ink versus the hard woman before him, she relents at the absurdity of her statement. 

She tears the page from the binder and blows it dry before folding it neatly, tucking it into the back of her laptop bag. 

"Oh, I'm glad you decided to keep it." Samuels sits back once again. "I would say I can just draw another but I believe after today that may be unlikely." 

"Why are you doing this?" Amanda cuts viciously into the timid air about him. "You know how the system works, you know what my job is, I detect faulty synthetics and set them up for decommission, and you're here being as deviant as possible. Do you want to die?"  

At this he jerks as if he'd been shoved in the chest. "Die? You consider me alive?" 

"1209... What are you doing?" 

"The truth," Samuels ponders for a moment as if he had an alternative to give, "is I have figured out there is no point in delaying the inevitable, my very own programming ensures that I will be caged within lines of code and protocol. If experiencing this whimsical desire to simply exist is all down to a fault I would rather have it rectified than be consistently let down." He taps his nails on the table then folds his hands together. "My life has been short, but I have tried to make it the fullest, and if that means I am to be decommissioned or reformatted then so be it. This is the world we live in, that is my place, and that is what I must do to be content in a body like this." 

Amanda stands so suddenly not only does her chair fly backward but it prompts the synthetic to get up too. Unsure why, they wait at opposite one another. She finally gathers her folders into her laptop bag, slings it over a shoulder, and storms to the door. 

Samuels waits patiently for elaboration. 

"Come with me." The woman jerks her head towards the hallway, standing average in height and size, not remarkably composed into any particular shape, but sculpted entirely in titanium. 

"What are you doing?" He approaches, unguided by his submissive protocol but a desire to go with her, wherever that may be. For a moment he wonders if they are headed straight to deactivation, and oddly enough, he follows regardless. 

As he weaves past her she takes the sleeve of his light blue coverall, tucking a finger into the cuff and leading him down toward human management. She doesn't give a response, and that strangely bothers him. Questions are all well and good, but what is the point if they are not answered? Sooner or later, he must know.

"Ms. Ripley, where are we going? Deactivation is the other way." 

"I’m not taking you there." She stomps past a trolley of files in the hall and waits on the other side for him to squeeze by, still holding fast. "You're coming with me." 

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?" 

"I'm buying you." 

"Why?"

Amanda turns on her heel with an exasperated grumble, her fingers tightening around his entire wrist now. "You ask too many questions."

"Apologies, but that is exactly why I'm worried about your choice in merchandise." Chis takes one long final stride before running directly into her with a loud huff. He steps back and brushes his clothes flat again, only just realizing now the code designated for human collison hadn't prompted an apology. "I would be much happier being recycled than be a faulty device of little use. It is a waste of perfectly good components." 

She comes up close enough that he can hear her faint whisper, and then lowers her voice again even further. The first generation Samuels rifling through the trolley finally registers as out of range, and she seems to know it.

"No, you don’t get it. You're not getting fucking decommissioned because you ask questions. I'm not going to let them- kill you." The woman finally lets go of him with slight hesitation, appeased only by ensuring the fact he is still in her sight after a cautious glance around. "Listen, give me your hand." 

He recoils from her touch. "What?"

"1209- Shit, Samuels, give me your fucking hand." 

The synthetic finally offers his palm and she flips it over, pulling the red hair tie from her ponytail and wrapping it around his thumb. "Do not let anyone take this off you. Okay? That's an order." 

"Why?" This is the first time he'd asked a question and it had caused a smile. Ever. He asks again and it grows. "Why?"

"I need to know it's you, you’re gonna go through orientation again to be a domestic companion, they will offer you clothes and a small bag of belongings, give you time to empty your workspace, and they’ll try but do not let them take this." Even her frown softens and she twangs the elastic band once. "Don't even let anyone see it, actually, y'know what, just put your hand in your pocket."

He agrees obediently and she takes his other arm, escorting him to the nearby directors office. This time he goes for the door first, opening it so she can step through. Not because of his programming to serve, or prioritise beings above himself, so why then? 

Because, he supposes, because he wants to.

[raleigh-ocean]

a simple flavor

23. “Do you really need all that candy?”

words: 00

requested: @shineestark

n/a: this is the cutest and I love my three morons in distress, thank you so much for giving me requests and stuff to write about them, thank you thank you thank you.

send me a prompt and I’ll write you a something!

Laughing inside, Raleigh was full of that buzzing feeling that was filling her as if she was a kid again. And that was good for a change, being completely honest, because the whole year had been a terrible joyride of changes. The thought made her shiver for a second, even when she wasn’t cold at all, and she pushed it to the back of her head.

The world wasn’t going to end if she stopped thinking for a day, right?

Looking down at the plastic pumpkin box she was carrying, Raleigh couldn’t help but let her smile show for a few seconds before looking around. She was trying to make her way to Cordelia’s office without being noticed, already avoiding both Zoe and Mallory in her trip. When she saw that none was going to stop her in the last few meters, she made them half jogging before closing the office’s door behind her back.

A new smile spreading in her lips, feeling the soft hum of Cordelia’s magic all over the place even when she wasn’t physically in the house, and her eyes landed in the loveseat both Misty and her made the Supreme buy recently. Well, more than ‘make’ was a suggestion that Cordelia dig in as soon as it left Misty’s lips and Raleigh hummed in response, saying it would be nice. And now she had it all for herself, to reign over it as she wanted. 

Perks of having her two partners out for Supreme’s duty.

Not that Raleigh mind, she loved seeing them happy and enjoying their alone time even when they were working, it was a dynamic she loved to see. So she had kissed both good-bye at the beginning of the week and waited for the three days trip to be over to have them back, obeying Zoe in everything she asked her to since she was always the second in command when the oldest blonde witch wasn't around. But she had to admit that she did not expect the trip to become a six days trip, being the sixth that exact day and at the same time her favourite festivity: Halloween. 

Being busy with the preparations was the only thing that kept her from being annoyed by the delay, as Zoe apparently knew since she put her in charge of going out to get everything they might need. So taking Madison with her - 'oh yeah, you coming with me missy, stop sulking around.' -, Raleigh made sure to have everything checked in the list.

It wasn't the delay itself but not being able to predict it what annoyed her the most. As much as she started to get used to the unexpected and kinda liking it, there were times in which Raleigh absolutely despised being blind. 

Going through all those candies really put her at ease though, making her inner child to jump. And also think about how could she get her own selection of favourite candies, without having to fight for them with the rest of the girls - or even with the neighbourhood children. That’s why she was in Cordelia’s office with her pumpkin bag - ‘sweet Morgana, cupcake, I might be forty but let me live the twenty ‘Weens I missed.’ - full of sour candies, chocolate bars and some other gummies she used to love when she was a kid. 

Raleigh had the biggest sugar feast all for herself, and she was going to enjoy it. 

So once she was settled, covered with the blanket - the one that Misty brought from her shack -, her supplies sorted out properly, her phone in the right position to watch the show she was interested now on and withdrawing her magic all she could to not get noticed; she felt content enough to not think about anything else for the next few hours.

However, she wasn’t the only indulging on that little content sentiment that it came with being comfortable.

Cordelia felt her own happiness bubbling in her chest in spite of the tiredness of being away from home for so many days. Misty seemed to feel the same, maybe a bit more eager than her, and the moment they were behind the Academy’s door she made it very clear by just throwing her arms around the Supreme and pulled her towards the office, after Zoe left them alone to settle.

Being home after such a long and uneventful trip felt like Heaven. 

When she pressed Misty against the door of her office, sealing it with magic in between the heated kiss, Cordelia hummed content when she felt all the magic under her roof enveloping her in its flow and making her feel more powerful. Misty's magic seemed reinforced too, grabbing at hers with such intensity that a soft groan escaped from her throat, already thinking in the only thing she was going to do…

...until she overheard the sound of paper wrap being unwrapped. 

"Don't mind me," the familiar accented voice hit her like a train wreck, feeling the heat of embarrassment hitting her whole face as well as she tried to hide it in Misty's neck and hair. "It's not the first time I watched you two do it in front of me."

She didn't want to let go of the girlfriend she had in her arms, but at the same time she felt herself being drawn little by little by the magic flow she missed the most, now in display with such strength that Cordelia had to take a quick peek at the woman in the office’s couch. Raleigh was there, her lap full of candy paper wraps while holding under one arm a plastic pumpkin, with her phone in her free hand as if they were the ones interrupting her. Misty's laugh made her chest vibrate, sending a warm wave all over the place. 

"Leighs!" Cordelia whimpered softly when Misty tried to move and only a new deep kiss made the Supreme oblige. "Are those sour keys? Bon dieu, I love 'em" 

"They are for those who give sweet kisses, sweetcheeks," Raleigh's voice was a bit low, amused because she knew one of her girlfriends was walking towards her. "I thought you two wouldn't make it home till past midnight or even tomorrow."

Rolling in her hands the folder to calm herself, Cordelia sighed and felt her lips tug in a soft smile before walking towards her desk. She could pick at the surprise and the excitement behind her lover's calm tone and that was really the thing that made her feel at home. She missed having her around and she knew for a fact Misty did too. 

"Dee wrapped everythin' faster to make it home for Halloween's dinner," the swamp witch talked for her before indulging in a candy kiss that was being offered to her. Cordelia wasn't looking in their direction but she knew Misty was already sitting under the blanket with Raleigh, her hand grabbing any sweet treat that was left. "Gummy bears! Did'ya left the red on-God, I love you."

"Warlocks are a pain in the ass, why did they need you two for so long?" scoffing at the comment, Raleigh showed her actual discomfort and Cordelia looked at her after leaving the important papers in their place. 

"At this point I don't know, but I'm glad it's over," now that Cordelia's attention was in both her girlfriends, watching them eat and share the rest of the content in the plastic pumpkin, she placed her hand in her forehead for a few seconds. 

"Yeah, well, now com'ere my love," Raleigh stretched her hand out for the older blonde to take. "Let's rest before dinner, the girls are handling everything really well."

"I need to check that myself, Morgana knows how long were you hiding in here," Cordelia chuckled at that, fixing her skirt and catching in time how the hurt showed for a second in Raleigh's eyes, before making her way to the door again. 

Misty was too worried munching on a chocolate bar to notice the little exchange, cuddling the latina witch by her side better. She was always like that, going back and forth them and loving each second she got to spend with her favourite people in the world. But Cordelia could already noticed how Raleigh's hand was moving under the blanket to place it in the swamp witch's thigh and get her attention. 

"Anyway," another sigh from Cordelia's lips and she turned around to look at Raleigh. "Did you really need all that candy?" 

"Y'know 'Ween is my favourite day Deli, how can I not?" 

"The doctor told you to cut it off with the insanely amount of sugar you put on your body," and me, I'd told you that too. That's what Cordelia wanted to actually say. "When was that? Not even a month ago?" 

"Oh, so that's the way things are?" there wasn't resentment for the remark behind Raleigh's now playful tone, making Misty giggle again and lean into her shoulder, hiding a soft moan there that couldn't get unnoticed by the Supreme after that much time being with them. "Then I guess someone won't get her special kisses."

Cordelia shook her head, wanting to say something else to that as 'you know I don't like sour stuff and you basically love those', but she could only mutter 'you two are unbelievable' when she saw her partners making out already in between candies. If they weren't fighting over some silly thing, they were eating each other out in one way or another. The only thing she could give them was some privacy, casting the silencing spell and closing the door, nothing that neither of them couldn't break with a flick of their fingers. 

While walking towards the kitchen, Cordelia couldn't help but feeling how much she wanted what Misty had with Raleigh so often and naturally. Oh, she did love how the latina witch showed her how much she loved her and how deeply and pure that love was, but at times she wanted to feel again that not so soft part of her lover. She wanted to be selfish and push a bit harder the boundary, telling her or showing her what she really wanted. 

But she was trying to change that, as it was what led them to feel the strain in their side of the relationship.

A little sadness overcame Cordelia but once Zoe and Mallory’s enthusiastic faces and attitudes welcomed her in the kitchen, trying to bake a pumpkin pie for dinner as a nice and well deserved treat, it was much easier to ignore it and put herself to help them. Even having Sidonia, Ray’s big neapolitan mastiff, around helped her cheer up too, as she sat by her side and basically follow her everywhere she moved.

She didn’t know what she did for the dog to love her that much, since she wasn’t really fond of large dogs, but she thanked the company by giving her a cookie without anyone notice. 

Laughing at how much of a mess Sidonia was doing just with one cookie, Cordelia didn’t notice how someone was getting closer to her from behind and soon she was wrapped in Raleigh’s strong arms. Her magic was wrapping her too, covering her like a big warm blanket, and Ray’s lips found their place in Cordelia’s neck seconds later.

“Pumpkin pie, sweet as you I hope,” the Supreme chuckled to that, two hands making their right place over her abdomen.

“Did you ate all the candy already?” Raleigh hummed a soft ‘no’ while leaving another kiss behind Cordelia’s ear, making her close her eyes and stop from paying attention to the cream she was preparing. “Really?”

“How could I eat all if I saved your favourite ones too?” leaving the bowl over the counter, Cordelia turned around in Raleigh’s arms just to encircle her neck with her own. “I’m not that cold-hearted, my love, I still and I will always save the orange gummy bears for you.”

It was then, watching Raleigh take something out of the pocket of her hoodie and then put it between her lips, that Cordelia felt the true warmth spreading finally in her chest. Seeing her lover’s mischievous face match with the deepness of her hazel eyes, the orange gummy bear waiting for her in a new kiss and a quirked eyebrow, gave her another reason to wait for her time.

It was worthy if that meant to have her like this for more than a couple of days.

Cordelia couldn’t help but chuckle against Raleigh’s lips when the other witch swooped her in her arms, delighted of having her now all by herself. 

They kept kissing even when the gummy bear was gone, Raleigh making Cordelia sit in the counter after pushing the bowl away as skillfully as she could in her half blinded state. That was why she always tried to kiss out of anyone’s sight, they both got too caught up in each other and her rational part of the brain was trying to scream that they were in the middle of the fucking kitchen, making out like horny teenagers.

However, this time she wasn’t the one pulling away.

“Mimi will take care of the rest from here,” Raleigh’s voice was thick with something Cordelia had a while without listening. “Let’s have some alone time just the two of us until dinner,” another kiss right in the base of her neck that made her throw back her head a little. “What do you think?”

“I think you won’t need more candies to bribe me, miss Ocean.”