#ZE BEING A GENTLEMAN

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

THE moment 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

[littlelioncub43]

Come On, Come On, Darling

Summary: A late night out with friends, and an uncomfortably deep talk has Eddie thinking about you. He just hopes you're thinking about him the same way.

Pairing: Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Warning: fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love, best friends to lovers, drinking, Eddie being an absolute angel and a gentleman, reader does Eddie's make up (you're welcome), pet names ( I overuse "princess," sue me), the rest of the ST gang all being happy, season 4 never happened here, Wayne being oddly insightful and a good uncle, more plot than anything, but smut will happen in part 3, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Word Count: 4,039

A/N: I started this a while ago, hated it, took a break from it, came back and finished it — bon appetit. Bahaha! No, the break from it was much needed. I think I was tired when I said it was awful, because upon review it wasn't that bad. I love this one, you guys. I'm jealous of them. I'm jealous of the fictional couple that I created. I hope you guys like this one! Part 3 will have ze smut, so you have to be patient and polite as you wait for it hehe. Let me know what you think! Reblog, comment, send an ask, a carrier pigeon, a singing telegram— really anything. Ok! I love you!

Kisses 💋

—K

Part I. Series Masterlist Part III

The sound of random tinkering and a distant radio at the end of Mack’s Auto Garage welcomed you with a familiar warmth. Cars and trucks littered the parking lot and garage, random parts and pieces that made absolutely no sense to you sprawled out over the work benches. Eddie had a morning shift today, much to his dismay, but when money calls— he answers. Parking next to his decrepit van, you fiddle with the strap of your bag as you meander through the concrete workspace looking for him. You hear him long before you see him.

“Where did I put it? Son of a—“

“Missing something, Munson?” You interrupted Eddie’s nearly frantic search of his locker, his head snapping up in surprise. His normally untamed hair was pulled back into a low bun (with a scrunchie that looks suspiciously like the one you misplaced two weeks ago) with his favorite bandana tied around his brow to keep the sweat off. The dark blue coveralls with his name etched in red thread on his left chest were unzipped at his waist, a plain white t-shirt adorning his chest, oil and dirt smeared into the fabric were he wiped his hands clean on his thighs. 

“Yeah, my freaking lighter. That thing must have finally grown legs and ran off or some shit,” he rambles and resumes to pat down the pockets of his leather jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“You left this in my car,” you slip the silver flip lighter from the back pocket of your black jeans and wiggle it between your thumb and index finger, “figured you’d need it sooner than later.”

“Oh, you’re a beautiful, gracious, and kind woman,” he groans dramatically with relief, happily taking the lighter from you. You chuckle and lean against the hood of the car at his bench, Eddie following suit. He pops a cigarette into his mouth and lights it swiftly, taking a long drag, his eyes shut as he holds it in at the top, and slowly blowing out a wispy cloud of smoke. 

“Jesus Christ, you have no idea how badly I needed that,” he grumbles before bringing it back to his lips, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh. Yeah, you, too, Sweets, thanks,” he teases with a coy smile. You playfully shove his shoulder, making him laugh around the cigarette. “We still on for drinks later with Steve and them?”

“7, right?” He hums an affirmative, “yeah, that sounds good,” you glance at the clock on the wall, “Shit, I gotta go, my shift starts soon.”

“Okay,” he nods, crushing out the partially spent cigarette in the ashtray on his bench as you fish your keys out of your jacket pocket. “Wear that cute top, the black one that hangs off your shoulders,” he calls out after you as you walk away.

“Why?” You chuckle and turn to look at him while you walk backwards, the move alone made Eddie think you were the coolest fucking chick that ever graced this floating space rock. 

“It’s pretty,” he shrugged casually as he slung the arms of his coveralls back on, but you noticed the soft dusting of color along his cheeks. 

“Fine, but only if you tuck your shirt into your pants,” you bargain and point at him from your spot at the mouth of the garage. He groans, making you laugh. 

“I’m going to look like a loser!” He whines, failing to hide his smile at your giggling. 

“That’s the point! I’ll see you then, Gomer,” you tease and finally get to your car, if you stayed any longer you’d definitely be late for your shift at the record shop. 

You heard his van pull into your driveway just as you were finishing the last bit of your eye makeup. You always went light with the mascara and eyeliner for the sake of being comfortable, and it made washing your face a lot easier at the end of the night. The sound of Eddie’s keys jingling was followed by his bright voice calling your name. When you came out of your room, you found him sitting on your counter, munching on a bag of chips. 

“Oo, look at you all prettied up,” he coos around a mouthful of Doritos. You feel your face heat up ever so slightly at his words, you did feel pretty. The knit, long sleeve black top that Eddie had requested clung to your shape deliciously, precisely the reason he loved it so much. The neckline was low enough to show off your collarbones and bits of your shoulder, and gave you the perfect opportunity to show off the pendant necklace that Eddie got for your graduation present years ago. Tight ripped black jeans matched Eddie’s own pair down to the black studded belt, except you swapped out your comfortable pair of converses for a chunky black boot. Eddie was positive: you were the coolest chick to ever live. 

“I was going to say the same thing about you, Munson,” you chuckle and take him in, he does a little twirl. He wore his classic black jeans and handcuff belt, a staple in Eddie’s uniform. A black AC/DC t shirt hugged his sturdy torso and was neatly tucked into his jeans, just like you asked. You gotta admit: he did not look like a loser. He never did. 

“Ya think so? I was worried that my jacket didn’t match my purse,” he jokes. 

“No, no, they do, don’t worry,” you soothe and try to hide your smile. Suddenly, you speak before your mind can catch up with what you’re saying. “Do you want some eyeliner?”

“What?” Eddie chuckles, licking the Dorito dust from his fingers. You swallow and decide, fuck it, you already asked.

“Do you want some eyeliner? I think it would… look nice,” you stutter out as smoothly as you can. He thinks it over for a brief second before he nods casually. 

“Yeah, sure, why not,” Eddie manages to sound calm, much to his surprise. His heart may have skipped a few beats at your small compliment. 

The next thing he knows you have him sat at your vanity, facing you as you stand in between his legs. One hand gently cups his jaw while the other wields a stick of your favorite black eyeliner. You try your best not to get lost in the feeling of his stubble scratching at your palm or the warmth of his hands on your outer thighs, and focus on drawing in the darkness around his eyes. Eddie sits as still as he can, the last thing he wants is to lose an eye. He trusts you completely, it’s his fidgeting that he doesn’t trust. 

“Ok, close your eyes for me,” you say softly, the closeness brought your voice to a hushed whisper. Eddie shut his eyes without a second thought, he listened to the steady inhale and exhale as you stood in front of him. Eddie was unfairly gorgeous, his sweeping eyelashes, the placid expression that soothed his face coupled with the calm trust that surrounded you both made your heart flutter and your knees buckle. Steeling your nerves, you carefully applied the makeup along his upper lashes. “Alright, open. Look up, please.”

Eddie stared up at the ceiling, trying his best not to flinch as you brought the product under his lashes. He wished so badly to be able to watch you, you were so cute when you concentrated on things. Your eyebrows furrowed, drawn together in concentration, and your face set in an oddly serious expression. With one last smudge of eyeliner, you pulled back with a smile. 

“All done. What d’ya think?” You ask and put your makeup away as he turns to look in the mirror. 

“Not bad, not bad. What do you think?” He quirks an eyebrow. If you were honest, he was the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and that was without the makeup on. With the dark circles rimming his gorgeous brown eyes, he was deadly. But you couldn’t exactly say that. 

“I think you look super cool,” you say honestly and grab your purse. 

“Metal?” He stood up, following you out of your room.

“Very metal, but if we don’t get going soon, we’re going to be very late,” you chuckle and hand him his leather jacket and keys. Eddie nods and slips one his jacket with ease, the full ensemble complete, and, fuck, did he look hot. He locked the front door after you, skipping quickly ahead to open the passenger seat door for you. 

“M’lady,” he bows, grinning like an idiot when you curtsey back and hop in. 

It was going to be a fun night. 

And it was. 

Steve, Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy were sat comfortably at the table when you and Eddie arrived. Jokes were told, laughs were shared, and drinks were poured. Lots and lots of drinks. By midnight, the whole table was on the heavier side of tipsy, if not drunk. Steve and Robin were neck deep in a debate on whether or not Michael Myers was human or not, with Jonathan acting as moderator while Nancy fought through the spins. At some point, you ended up in Eddie’s lap, your arm slung around his shoulders with his own circled around your waist while you both listened and weighed in on what you have dubbed “The Great Halloween Dispute of 1987.” 

Eddie had slipped his jacket off after his second beer, revealing his toned arms (all those shifts at the garage were paying off in more ways than one), the short sleeves of his t shirt rolled up ever so slightly. You toyed with a strand of Eddie’s hair like always and sipped on a glass of water, one that Eddie was quick to swipe from your hand. He took a good gulp without much thought and set it on the table. 

“Well, Princess, what do you think? Should we call it a night?” He slurs his words as he rubs the length of your outer thigh absentmindedly. 

“Yeeaah,” you drawl, your head was starting to spin even from the safety of Eddie’s lap. Looking down at him, you were struck again with the overwhelming feeling flooding your heart. Even in the low light of the seedy bar, he looks like the perfect man that God, or whoever is up there, made just for you. You bring one hand to rest on his forearm, your thumb stroking the bat tattoos you love gently. Eddie tightens his grip on you before giving you that million dollar smile, one that you can’t help but return with drunken ease. He pats your leg, signaling for you to stand, and you do, much to your objection (you were quite comfortable in his lap). 

“Alright, gang, as fun as it’s been, the missus and I gotta head out,” Eddie announces as you slip away to pay for your drinks before he can. A chorus of slurred but friendly goodbyes send Eddie on his way to the bar just as you finish forking over the money for both his and your drinks. “Noooo, you don’ pay for drinks,” he scolds as you put your wallet away, his face scrunched in a pout. 

“Yeah? Who said?” You playfully tease as he slides his leather coat over your shoulders, one glance outside and he knew that you’d be chilly on the way to the van. You subtly breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne, the same one you got for his birthday 2 years ago.

“Pretty girls don’ pay for drinks, everyone knows that,” he casually answers, he was much bolder with about 4 glasses of liquid courage warming his blood. You laugh, not bothering to hide the bashfulness in your voice and he smiles at the sound, leading you out to the van at the far end of the parking lot. He saw the way you shivered and pulled the oversized jacket around you tighter. Fishing his keys from his pocket, he opens the back doors and quickly starts setting up the blankets he had stored in the back. You must have made a face because Eddie’s soon laughing and shaking his head. “M’not drivin’ you home drunk, Princess. Could get ya hurt, s’too dangerous. Now, com’on.”

Your heart does a summersault at his words, but that’s just who he was. Caring, sweet, understanding, reliable, trustworthy. That’s Eddie Munson. He sees the fondness in your smile again, his stomach erupting in butterflies. If he wasn’t such a chicken shit, this is where he would tell you how gorgeous you are and kiss you, if you’d let him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he hops out of the van and holds out his hand to help you inside. 

The old mattress he keeps tucked away in the back is draped in blankets, folded as neatly as a drunk Eddie could get them. You sit at the end of the makeshift bed, your legs hanging out the doors to take off your boots. Without a word, Eddie starts untying your laces, carefully undoing the knots, slipping the shoes off your feet and setting them neatly next to the mattress. 

“Thank you,” you meekly reply, the sweet gesture having stolen your voice.

“You’re welcome, Sweets,” he pats your leg, “scoot over.”

He hops in, shutting the doors behind him before double checking that all the doors are locked. You hide a yawn behind your hand as he settles down on the other side of the bed, kicking off his shoes unceremoniously. You slip off your belt and other jewelry, opting to stay in your jeans for the night. Eddie does the same, slinging his belt into the pile with his shoes before crawling under the questionably clean blanket. He sighs and settles in with a groan, his eyes shutting for only a moment before he’s watching you tuck your earrings into the pocket of his leather jacket. You turn around to find Eddie making grabby hands at you, smiling, you crawl in next to him, letting him pull you into his chest and tuck the blanket around you both snugly. The chill of the van made cuddling a necessity, even under the blanket you could feel the stagnant bite of cold of the coming winter. Letting out a content sigh, you relaxed into the comfortable silence, the world around you only slightly spinning now as sleep began to descend on you. Eddie stares up at the metal roof, his eyes slowly getting heavier and heavier as the moments tick by. 

“I like when you tuck your shirts in,” you sleepily confess, your voice was hushed as you whispered your little secret to your best friend. He can’t help but chuckle tiredly at your words, the sound more akin to a deep rumble as opposed to his normally bright laughter. 

“Yeah?” Is all he can think to say, his face burning even in the chilly van. 

“Yeah,” you shyly confirm, tracing the bats on his forearm once more, the action sends Eddie into a tizzy.

“Y’like when I look like a dweeb?” He jokes with a yawn, sleep fast approaching. 

“You never look like a dweeb,” you mumble just before you drift off, your fingers slowing to a stop on his skin, If he wasn’t tired, he would have teased you to hell and back about it, but all he can do it chuckle lowly in his chest and hold you a little tighter. Why do you have to be so cute?

“I like when we sleep like this,” he rested his cheek on the top of your head, letting one hand stroke your arm tenderly, the action only pushing you quicker towards sleep. He hears you hum in acknowledgement and agreement. 

“Me too, Eds.”  

There’s a few moments of silence before Eddie realizes you’re asleep.

“Goodnight, Princess,” Eddie whispers with a smile and kisses the crown of your head, the sound of your even breaths fill the van and lull him into his own peaceful slumber. 

Eddie wakes up to the sound of your soft snores and the growl of a stray truck chugging down the street. Your back is pressed to his front as you both lay on your sides, his arm under your head like a pillow and out stretched, his other arm was strung across your waist. The warmth of your body pressed against his had fought off the cold of the night exceptionally well, it drew him in for more, so he buried his face into the crook of your neck. The smell of your perfume mixing with the scent of his own cologne had Eddie groaning softly, this was the life. Nothing could bring him down, not even the soft thudding in his head or the dryness of his mouth. 

You stirred next to him, your eyes still shut as you reached out for Eddie’s hand on instinct. When your smaller hand found his, you immediately laced your fingers together. Eddie looked at where your hands were joined and gave a small incredulous scoff and smile, his arm around your midsection squeezed you into him hard enough to force the air out of you. 

“Why are you so damn cute? Huh? Who said you could be this fucking adorable?” He rambled on in a groggy whisper, his morning voice was just as glorious as you remember it being. You giggle as consciousness fills you. 

“It’s a curse, really. Doctors have been studying me for years, it’s a medical mystery,” you joke and carefully rub your eyes with your free hand. You were surprised to find that you felt well rested for having slept in the back of your best friend’s van after a night of drinking with no pillow, in a pair of tight jeans, and no fan. You peek over your shoulder to find Eddie’s puppy eyes already staring back at you. The smudges of eyeliner looked even better in the morning sunshine. You could only imagine how you look right now. “Wanna get breakfast?”

“God, yes,” he mumbles with a smile. He was starving, plus he wanted to pay you back for covering his drinks last night. Reluctantly, he peels his hand from yours to reach for his shoes and keys. You hum and stretch out a little, cracking your back before getting your shoes back on as well. You’re both quick to fold the blankets and get into your seats, the pits in your stomach rumbled and demanded to be satisfied. The drive to the nearest diner was thankfully short. 

Before long, you and Eddie find yourselves tucked into a booth with plates of hot food and even hotter coffee in front of you. The looks you receive from the other patrons did nothing but amuse you both. And what a sight you both were: strolling in at 9am reeking of the drink that Nancy accidentally spilled, last night’s makeup smeared across your eyes, bed hair, both dressed to the nines in black. Compared to the lovely elderly couple on their weekly Sunday morning date, you both looked like bats out of Hell. When you offered the old woman a polite smile, she was quick to return it, her husband was busy staring Eddie down, clearly not a fan of his tattoos or makeup. Soon, the plates were cleared and the cups were emptied, and you both meandered your way back to the van. 

“Alright, Sweetheart, back home, it is?” He asks as he backs out of the parking lot, you scroll through the radio stations, hoping to find something good on.

“Yes, please, I need to shower,” you groan, the longer you stayed in your makeup the more grimy you felt. A hot shower would solve all your problems. 

“Oo, no chance you’ll let me join, would you?” Eddie half jokes, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You roll your eyes with a smile and shake your head. “Damn, next time, then.”

Quicker than he’d like, he parks in front of your trailer. You gather your things, double checking that you have everything before hopping out of the passenger side. With a quick goodbye, you’re bounding indoors, making a beeline for the shower. Eddie watches until you’re inside then makes his own way home. He’s surprised to find Wayne’s car parked in its spot in the yard. 

“You just getting in?” Wayne asks as soon as the door opens, Wayne sat at the kitchen table, eating whatever leftovers were in the fridge before heading to bed. Eddie sets his keys aside on the table and nods. “Out with that girl, again?” Eddie gives him a look as he sought out a glass of water, Wayne knew your name but he just liked giving Eddie a hard time, especially when he stays out all night. 

“Yeah, we had some drinks with some friends, it ran a little later than planned.”

“Did you and her…” Wayne trails off, tilting his head to finish his sentence. 

“Oh God,” Eddie sighs and hangs his head. Wayne would ask from time to time, and it never ceased to be awkward as balls. 

“I’m just askin’. If you are, I’d rather you be safe about i—“ he defends calmly. 

“I know how to be safe about—“ Eddie cuts himself off with another sigh, rubbing his face with both his hands. “I know how to be safe, but no. We did not… do things.”

“Ok,” Wayne nods, throwing his hands up in surrender to show that he dropped it. Eddie relaxes and finishes his water, happy to escape the awkward conversation. Or so he thought. “It’s obvious you like her, so I thought it would have happened by now.” 

Eddie sputters a few words, each sentence of denial dying on his tongue. Wayne gives him a look and Eddie just knows that denying it isn’t any good. He flops into the chair on the other side of the table, looking up to his uncle through his lashes. 

“How obvious is it?” Eddie asks softly. In that moment, Wayne sees the years fall away from Eddie and what’s left behind is what Wayne saw all those years ago: his kid nephew, lost and needing guidance. He smiles warmly, a rare sight, and scratches his head. 

“Well, it’s not super obvious,” Wayne grumbles gently, resting his forearms on the table, “but I’m sure some of your friends notice it too.”

Eddie curses under his breath, his face hot with embarrassment. If other people could see how bad he has it for you, then that means you might see it too. 

“Do… Do you think she knows?” He asks shyly, fiddling with the rings on his fingers for comfort. Wayne leans back in his chair, giving a small shrug. 

“She might,” that answer weighs heavily on Eddie but Wayne is quick to try fix it, “but, would that be a bad thing?”

“Yes! No! I-I don’t know,” Eddie rambles, bouncing his leg as he does the mental gymnastics of trying to figure out if you knew. 

“Personally, kid, I don’t think it would be. Knowin’ that you love her, how could that be bad?” His words knock around in Eddie’s head for a few moments before he speaks in a small voice. 

“It could ruin everything,” Wayne couldn’t help but laugh at those words. 

“Kid, lovin’ someone doesn’t ruin a damn thing,” he smiles and crosses his arms. “If it’s right, then it’s right. If not, then it’s not. But that doesn’t mean that it’s wrong.”

Eddie took in his words again, chewing his lip nervously. He hated when Wayne was like this, all insightful and wise. It was unnerving, but at the same time, he always knew exactly what Eddie needed to hear. 

“You do what you think is best, Eddie. I’m gonna go to bed now, I’ll see ya tonight,” he stands and pats Eddie’s back as he makes his way towards the pull out sofa. Eddie mumbles his goodnights and makes his way to his own room, Wayne’s alarmingly wise words knocking around his head as he gets ready for a shower. 

Would it be so bad if you knew? He was going to find out. 

Part I. Part III

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[applepiewinchesters]

Don’t Blame Me (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

A/N: Hellooo friends. This is a fic I started a month or so ago and just now finished so I hope you like it!! This is based around the song “Don’t Blame Me” by Taylor Swift 

Word Count: 4,200

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn’t you ain’t doin’ it right.

 When you agreed to help Sam and Bucky investigate who was to blame for the recent string of super soldiers running around, you didn’t really think it would entail breaking a terrorist out of prison.

Helmut Zemo was crafty, dangerous, and overall, at least in your mind, a shit person. So, when he emerged from the dark in what apparently was his parking garage, you had to hold back from knocking his teeth in.

It wasn’t long after you were aboard a private jet flying to Madripoor to try and get to the bottom of everything. Bucky and Sam were bickering constantly, and the Baron wasn’t exactly welcome company, but he was quiet as he sat across from you, reading in his seat. 

A question was nagging at you, one that was insensitive in some respects, but you were curious regardless.

“Did you really try to kill us all because a sentient robot decided to try and take over the world?” you’d asked suddenly.

Zemo’s eyes lifted from his book to you, raising an eyebrow as he did. He sighed slightly, marking his page before setting the book on the small tray beside him.

“To be truthful, you and your friends were easiest to blame,” Zemo told you casually.

You eyed him, waiting for some cruel comment, but none came.

“We saved everyone we could find in time, you do know that right?” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Yes, and I do applaud you and the others for that, but my family…” Zemo began but trailed off, a pained look in his eye.

You were both silent for a moment before he continued, “Love will make you crazy, perhaps you’ll find that out some day.”

A nasty remark caught in your throat, and you sat back, because he was right.

 My name is whatever you decide, and I’m just gonna call you mine.

 Of course, your job was being the arm candy. And not even the arm candy of whoever the hell Sam was pretending to be while you four slunk around Madripoor, Zemo’s arm candy.

The dress you had managed to find on such short notice glittered in every light you passed, the gold color of it apparently matching the gold in the Sokovian flag, according to Zemo. The high heels you wore were almost impossible to walk in, and you could hope you wouldn’t be doing any running.

Your hair was curled and pinned back, your makeup accentuating the best parts of your face.

When the car stopped on the bridge, Sam helped you out of the car, and Zemo appeared beside you, offering his arm, his gentleman ways stirring something up inside you.

The man was a murderer, but a classy murderer at that.

You took his arm, and he began leading you towards the city along with Bucky and Sam, who were ready to kill the man if he touched you the wrong way. Despite knowing the fact you wore a knife in the thigh holster barely hidden by your dress, they’d kill Zemo for you at your request.

By the time you finally got to the club, your feet were on fire, and you were ready to just get whatever information you needed and get the hell out of there.

Zemo led you all towards the bar, and once you all reached it his arm let go of yours, moving down to your waist and securing you to his side. Sam looked ready to punch him, and looks could kill, the glare he was getting from Bucky would have made him drop dead.

You tried your best to look happy, even leaning into Zemo to give everyone a show.

“Hello gentlemen, and lady, wasn’t expecting you Smiling Tiger,” the bartender greeted you all.

“His plans changed, we have business to do with Selby,” Zemo lied smoothly, easily and almost absentmindedly, pulling you closer to him when a drunk girl bumped into you.

So close you had to put a hand on his chest as to not look awkward and uncomfortable.

“The usual?” the bartender asked, making Sam only nod, trying to look intimidating.

You could feel Zemo’s heartbeat fast beneath your hand, it seemed his calm exterior may have been just an act.

The bartender set to work, making two normal shots of what you assumed was probably rum or tequila, before setting to work on Sam’s drink.

It was made with at least three different liquors, and you nearly jumped when the bartender pulled a cobra from a glass jar, tossing it on the counter and cutting it open from head to tail, easily pulling out its heart and plopping it in the drink.

You almost snorted, there was no way Sam was going to do it.

The bartender set the two normal shots in front of you and Zemo, and slid the more intricate drink in front of Sam.

“Ah, Smiling Tiger, your favorite!” Zemo exclaimed as Sam reluctantly picked up the glass, inspecting it.

Zemo handed you one of the other shots, taking the other in his hand not on your hip.

“Cheers Comrad,” Zemo told Sam, clinking his glass against the other man’s before turning to you, leaning down so his lips were by your ear, “and you, dorogoy.”

You had no idea what that meant as you weren’t exactly fluent in Russian, one of the main spoken languages of the Sokovians, but nonetheless gave your fake date a dazzling smile before tossing back the alcohol.

It burned your throat as it went down, almost making you feel dizzy, it seemed to be stronger than the average alcohol.

Sam was hyping himself up it seemed, the bartender was obviously getting suspicious. You managed to shoot a look that said “hurry the fuck up” to him and he finally tossed it back, obviously disgusted as he did so.

But at least the bartender seemed satisfied.

“I got word from on high, you ain’t welcome here,” the bartender said pointedly to Zemo, who had Bucky standing close behind him, rather good at keeping up the Winter Soldier persona.

“I have no business with the Power Broker,” Zemo began, “but if he insists, he can either came and talk to me, or bring Selby for a chat.”

“New haircut?” the bartender asked Bucky suddenly, who only gave him a deadpan look.

When the bartender looked away, Bucky leaned over to Zemo, “A power broker, really?”.

“Every kingdom needs its king,” Zemo replied, smiling a bit. “Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” Sam asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner,” Zemo told him.

Suddenly a man saddled up beside Bucky, telling him something you didn’t understand in Russian.

That was all it took for Bucky to grab him, shoving you and Zemo out of the way as he slammed the man into the bar, bending his arm back and making the man groan in pain.

The sound of guns cocking around you filled the air, and Zemo moved in front of you as he leaned towards Bucky and whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Selby will see you now,” a man said as he appeared beside Bucky, who let the man go.

“Thank you,” Zemo said, wrapping an arm around your waist again as he led you away, Bucky and Sam trailing behind you both.

You were all led to a back room where the club’s music was quieter, making you wonder if the others inside would be able to hear if you all got shot.

The room looked to be an office of some sort, couches and a desk were the main staples of the room, along with the bodyguards stationed around the room.

Zemo sat down on one of the couches, easily pulling you down onto his lap so you sat sideways, legs hanging off one side and one arm going to rest behind him, the fur of his coat tickling you a bit.

You did your best to look like the bimbo arm candy you were playing, even going as far as leaning into Zemo’s chest, and placing a kiss on his cheek.

His arm wrapped tighter around you, hand gripping your waist.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you whispered to him as a woman with short white hair entered the room. This must be Selby.

“You should know Baron,” Selby began, taking her place on a couch across from you and Zemo, “people don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer,” Zemo spoke as you fiddled with the fur on the back of his coat nervously.

"A lot has changed since you were last here,” Selby replied, “by the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered, voice unwavering. “I’m sure you have already heard what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’ve heard, Smiling Tiger,” Selby commented, half ignoring Zemo.

Sam gave Selby a convincing smile, so she turned back to Zemo, “What’s the offer?”.

Zemo smirked, “Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum and I give you him, along with the code words to control him of course,” Zemo spoke, nodding in Bucky’s direction, “he’ll do anything you want.”

Selby smiled, leaning back on the couch, “What about her?” she asked, motioning to you perched on the Baron’s lap, “She’s a pretty one Helmut.”

While your heart pounded in your chest, Zemo only gave you a small smile, his hand moving to cup your cheek, gloved thumb rubbing against the warm skin, “Isn’t she? But I’m afraid this little bird is mine.”

Your face got hot, but you managed a ditzy giggle, grabbing Zemo’s hand from your cheek and holding it in your lap, giving it a squeeze. Maybe a bit too hard.

“Too bad, I could think of plenty of people who would gladly take her to bed,” Selby commented, shrugging off the fact she essentially wanted to pimp you out.

Zemo must have felt you tense up because he gave your hand a light squeeze, leaning over to whisper to you as Selby moved to ‘inspect’ Bucky.

“I won’t let anything happen,” he reassured quietly, making you nod.

While you really tried to hate this man still, it was hard not too when he’d just promised to protect you from the psychopath you were doing business with.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you immediately, you were right to come to me,” Selby suddenly spoke up, seemingly satisfied with the deal offered to her. “Arrogant, but right.”

Zemo nodded, motioning for her to go on.

“The serum is here in Madripoor, Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank…or condemn, depending on what side you’re on,” Selby explained. “The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still here in Madripoor?” Zemo asked.

“Oh,” Selby answered, almost mockingly, “the bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.”

Zemo opened his mouth to reply but the vibration of a phone broke the silence, all eyes fell on Sam, who looked like he wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Selby frowned, “Answer it, on speaker.”

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, doing as told, “Hello?”.

“Hey, we need to talk about the situation, it’s been driving me nuts,” came the voice of Sam’s sister, Sarah.

“What situation are we talking about exactly?” Sam asked, trying to keep up the tough guy exterior.

“Are you high?” Sarah exclaimed on the other end, “You know exactly what situation, it’s the only situation you and I have!”.

“What situation Sarah? Say it!” Sam commanded, raising his voice.

You could feel yourself beginning to sweat, this was going downhill fast.

“The damn boat! And watch your tone okay? I let you slide at the bank.”

Sam scoffed, “The bank, yeah. Laundered so much…they’ll come around.”

“If that was the case, why did they dog you out, Big Time?” Sarah asked, obviously annoyed.

“Yeah, you damn right I’m big time, you’ll see when I have that banker killed,” Sam answered, trying to sound cocky.

“Cass! What’d I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this! Sam, listen, I’ll have to call you back,” Sarah spoke, and with that, hung up.

Your heels were kicked off and you were ready to run.

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” Selby asked, your heart dropped, “Kill them!”.

You jumped, Zemo joining you shortly after, but before any of you could pull a gun, the sound of glass shattering filled the room, along with a sickening crack as a bullet pierced Selby’s skull from an unseen shooter, killing her instantly.

All of you ran, Zemo grabbing your hand and pulling you from the club, weaving you through sweaty bodies and out into the cool night air.

“They’re gonna pin this on us!” Sam spoke hurriedly as you all began power walking down the street, you stumble a bit as Zemo pulled you along.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead,” Zemo reassured, continuing back the way you’d came.

Phones began pinging around you and it wasn’t long before the sound of gun shots filled the air, some whizzing right past you.

“Shit!” Sam yelled as you all scrambled, Bucky and Sam continued running forwards, while Zemo pulled you down an alleyway, both of you sprinting, breathing hard, his hand never leaving yours.

Your path was blocked suddenly by a rather larger man, and before he could react you ripped your hand away from Zemo’s, reaching for the knife in its holster on your thigh and tossing it, the blade sinking into the man’s chest.

“Come on!” you shouted, grabbing Zemo’s hand once again, as it was your turn to pull him away from danger.

You felt relieved when you spotted Bucky and Sam at the end of the alley you’d turned into, both staring in confusion at a dead man laying on the ground.

“Seems you have a guardian angel,” Sam was saying as you and Zemo stopped, catching your breath.

“You okay?” Bucky asked you, and you nodded, still trying to breathe normally.

“Well, isn’t this just perfect,” came a voice behind you.

You whipped around to find the last person you expected to be there. Sharon Carter.

 For you, I would cross the line.

 Music shook Sharon’s large home, you were almost afraid some of the priceless art would fall due to the loud bass.

People danced, sweaty bodies moving to the beat of the music, or they stood around talking about the art surrounding you.

You sat at a small table, sipping the drink you’d gotten from the bar. Bucky and Sam were “patrolling” at a party of all places, and you could see Zemo on the dancefloor. He danced like the whitest dad at the neighborhood block party, but either the alcohol, or the fact it was sort of cute, made you giggle.

Zemo happened to look over as you were laughing, and you quickly tried to hide it by taking a sip of your drink, but it was obvious he saw you.

In minutes he was sitting across from you at the table, drink in hand, a bemused look at his face.

“Did I catch you smiling at me?” he asked, taking a sip of the amber liquid in his glass.

“Laughing, actually,” you retorted, leaning back and crossing your arms.

Zemo smirked, “You expect me to believe that, dorogoy?”.

“You dance like an old man,” you replied, looking away from him and to the dancefloor.

Surprisingly, Zemo laughed, a genuine one, making you smile a bit.

“Ah,” Zemo pointed to you, “there it is again.”

“Oh, shut up,” you told him, taking a drink from your own glass.

Zemo obliged, but still smiled as he leaned back in his chair.

It was silent between you both, before you spoke again,

“Would you really have protected me from Selby?” you asked, eyeing the man across from you.

“Of course, you had no business with her,” Zemo replied without hesitation.

“Even with my…background?” you asked, referring to your alliance with the Avengers.

The man chuckled, “Like I said, of course, you’ve proven you are much more than what I believed you to be.”

“And that would be?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought you’d be much like your friends, loyal to a fault, but you…you are much more. You know what you want, you know what you’re worth, I admire that,” Zemo told you, and you couldn’t help the blush that crept across your cheeks.

“Um…thank you,” you told him awkwardly.

“You are welcome,” Zemo told you, throwing back the rest of his drink, “now, you owe me a dance.”

You must have looked unsure, because Zemo smiled, standing and offering his hand to you, “I promise to not dance like an old man, as you put it. We must blend in, correct?”.

Sighing, you took his hand, and he led you to the dancefloor, more towards the edge, away from others. He took your hands, moving them so that they rested on his shoulders, and his moved to your waist, pulling you a bit closer.

While the song was fast and loud, you two moved slow, still to the beat, but nothing like the others jumping around you.

“Is this so bad?” Zemo asked, looking down at you.

“I suppose not, but you better be careful, one wrong move and Bucky will make you swallow your teeth,” you joked, making the Baron wince slightly.

“It will be hard not to cross that line with you, I must admit,” Zemo told you casually.

“You can’t fall for the first girl you meet out of prison,” you laughed, but the man in front of you looked serious.

He leaned down so that his face was closer to yours, his lips beside your ear, “How can I not when she is so beautiful?”.

A shiver went down your spine as one of his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you against him, his other hand sliding into yours.

You managed to get out a small laugh, “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.”

 I would fall from grace, just to touch your face.

 After some help from Sharon in Madripoor and the imminent death of Dr. Nagel, who was shot by none other than Zemo himself, you were all hiding out in one of Zemo’s houses, this one located in Latvia, where the super soldiers were thought to be.

The sheets beneath you were cool and soft despite the heat radiating from your bare skin. You were laying on your side, watching the rise and fall of the Baron’s chest. He looked peaceful when sleeping, the seemingly permanent frown lines gone from his face.

If someone had told you a few days ago you would have slept with none other than Helmut Zemo, you probably would have punched them in the throat. But laying here beside him, the morning sun streaming through the window, you couldn’t help but smile.

Sam and Bucky had left you to “babysit” Zemo last night and hadn’t come back. If they found you like this, they’d surely kill Zemo, and then you, for “sleeping with the enemy”.

This would be your fall from grace for sure.

The Baron’s eyelids fluttered suddenly, slowly opening, blinking in the morning light. He sighed, blinking a few times before his eyes met yours.

A small smile broke across his face and he reached for you, easily pulling you on top of him, despite your slight protests.

“Shhh, just lay with me printsessa,” Zemo spoke, voice gravely from sleep.

You huffed, resting your head in the crook of his neck, his fingers trailed up and down your spine. He turned his head to plant a kiss on your forehead, making you giggle.

Zemo smiled in turn, resting his head back against the pillows.

It was silent besides the sound of you both breathing, both content to lay there forever, although you both knew it wouldn’t last. None of this would, but that wouldn’t stop you from pretending it would.

“They’re going to come for you, aren’t they?” you asked softly, tracing a scar on Zemo’s chest, more than likely from his years as a Colonel in the Sokovian army.

The Dora Milaje warned Bucky just yesterday they would come for Zemo, and that you would all have no choice but to hand him over.

Zemo sighed, arms wrapping around you, “I suppose…but that does not mean I will be gone forever.”

“You’re going to escape The Raft?” you scoffed, making Zemo chuckle.

“Did Sam not do so?” he asked you, “Do you not believe in me?”.

You smiled and shook your head, “Of course I do…it’s just, they’ll find you, again and again.”

Zemo kissed the top of your head, “I’ll find you lyubov’, every time.”

 If you walked away, I’d beg you on my knees to stay.

 You gripped onto Zemo’s coat tightly, sobbing.

“Y-You can’t, you can’t go,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your face.

Everyone knew this would happen, you, Zemo, Bucky. You knew the Dora Milaje would come for him, but it was too soon.

You’d ran with him when Bucky and Sam were distracted by John Walker and the Dora Milaje when they’d all arrived at Zemo’s home in Latvia. You two spent an amazing night at another one of his safe houses.

When he brought you to the Sokovia memorial, you knew he was saying goodbye before Bucky even showed.

“I have to,” Zemo told you calmly, gently prying your hands off his coat. You only wrapped your arms around his waist, wishing that if you held him tight enough, he wouldn’t leave.

“Please,” you choked out, “you don’t have to take him.”

You moved to look at the members of the Dora Milaje standing behind Zemo, but you were only met with a cold glare, “He will pay for his crimes,” one of them told you.

Turning your attention back to Zemo, you were met with a man who accepted his fate. You wanted him to fight, to run, but he wouldn’t, you knew that.

Zemo took your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your lips, when he pulled away he kissed your forehead as well.

“Let me go, Moya lyubov’, I’ll find you,” Zemo told you softly.

You shook your head as Bucky grabbed you from behind, forcing you away from Zemo, holding you tightly against him as you thrashed, hitting his arms, kicking him.

Given he was at least 50 times stronger than yourself, it really wasn’t much of a fight on his end.

You watched helplessly as Zemo nodded to Bucky in thanks, giving you one last look before following the female warriors to their ship and boarding without a fight.

He only let you go when the ship disappeared from sight and you collapsed, the hard ground beneath you hurting your knees as you fell but you didn’t care.

You cried into your hands, your whole body shaking. The one good thing in your life in years and it was gone in seconds, he was gone in seconds.

“Come back,” you rasped out, “please.”

Bucky let you cry until your sobs had died and you’d stopped shaking. He carefully helped you up and away from the memorial.

“It’s better this way,” Bucky tried to reassure you, but you weren’t listening, you could only think of the phone number Zemo had put into your phone the night before. The number that with one call, could maybe get him back.

 Oh lord save me, my drug is my baby, I’ll be using for the rest of my life.

 Red lights flashed and sirens blared throughout the Raft, signaling a security breach. The lights inside went out and the emergency lights flashed on, illuminating everything in red.

Helmut Zemo sat up on his bed, raising an eyebrow.

Guards ran past the Baron’s cell, armed and ready for whatever, or whoever, had just breached one of the most top security prisons in the world.

The door of Helmut’s cell slid up moments later. Helmut stood, walking hesitantly towards to escape.

A shadow moved in the blinking red lights, walking towards him. Helmut had no weapons, but he’d go down fighting whatever the hell was coming towards him.

But the lights flashed again, illuminating a familiar face. Your hair was tied back, a gun in your grip.

“Dorogoy?” the Baron spoke.

When the lights flashed again you were smiling, running towards him now and when you slammed into him, wrapping your arms around him, Helmut felt his heart skip a beat.

Helmut’s fingers tangled into your hair as he held you tightly, afraid you’d disappear if he let go, still unsure if this was even real.

You buried your face into his shoulder, hugging him even tighter.

“I know what you mean now,” you told him, your voice muffled.

Helmut’s brow furrowed, pulling away from you.

“What?” he asked, making you smile.

“Love, it really does make you crazy,” you replied.

Helmut smiled, shaking his head slightly and pressing a kiss to your lips.

 Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn’t you ain’t doin’ it right.

[aardvark-123]

~Fallout 4 Companions React to Being Cheated On~ (By you, the Commonwealth's infamous heartbreaker.)

Ada would be appalled when she walked in on you and KL-E-0 making love on the armour workbench. "I don't believe my eye. That technique you're using is simply appalling!" she'd declare, shoving you to one side. "Sorry about them, babes. But now that I'm here, why don't we take this opportunity to have a practical demonstration?" Ada would purr, drawing a metal finger along KL-E-0's chin. "I thought you'd never ask," KL-E-0 would smirk, wrapping her slender arms around Ada's steel-clad shoulders. "Show me what that custom body can do, handsome. The shop can wait for a few hours..."

Cait wouldn't seem particularly bothered. "You and the Mariner, then, is it? I'd never have seen that coming!" she'd laugh. "Why don't I go and get Arturo or that lady from Vault 81, and we can have a double date? No, don't get up, sure I can fetch them right now if you want!" Cait would wander off, and then, after a reasonable wait, start beating up the nearest mannequin with a sledgehammer. She may be polyamorous, but you still should have told her you were seeing the Mariner, and sadly Cait doesn't know how to express that feeling while maintaining her party-girl persona. She settles for being increasingly passive-aggressive (and then just plain aggressive) until you get the message.

"B-by George!" Codsworth would cry, dropping his tea tray. "Sir and/or Mum, what on Earth is happening? I don't- I don't- I don't understand..." Poor Codsworth would want to believe it was all just a misunderstanding, and that somehow you'd cheated on him completely by accident, but in his CPU he'd know it was no accident. In tears, he'd pack his bags and hover out of your life forever.

"I was thoroughly aware zat exclusive relationships are ze most popular variety," Curie would weep with anger. "But never could I 'ave imagined 'ow painful it would feel, seeing you, twisted around zat jumpsuit-wearing harlot Kasumi! Y-you made me human! You showed me 'ow it felt to be in love! Was it all just a game?! Did you merely think you were toying with ze pretend feelings of a poor, naive little robot?! Putain! Get out of my sight, or I SWEAR I shall kill you!"

Paladin Danse would seem, if anything, to underreact. "I see," he'd growl. "Not like I could ever hope compete with Paladin Brandis's rogueish bad-boy charms. Well, I hope you're happy together..." And that would be that. ...Or so it would seem until you tuned into the Brotherhood of Steel's radio channel. "People of the Commonwealth, do not fall in love with the individual calling themself the Sole Survivor! They are single-handedly responsible for a trail of broken hearts from here to Sanctuary Hills," Scribe Haylen would recite. "Paladin Danse would like me to add that, contrary to some of his previous remarks, the Sole Survivor is terrible at kissing. And now, the weather..."

"I know I can't really complain about you keeping secrets," Deacon would say, "but you've got to be upfront about these things! If it's... if we're just something casual, say so! Don't just leave me hanging until I find you shacked up with some other handsome devil, okay? ...Okay, then. When do I get a turn with Fahrenheit?"

Dogmeat would be deeply upset. "How could you?! And with my sister, of all people!" he'd bark. "I never treated you wrongly. I was always there when you needed me, I fetched your slippers and that tennis ball you kept throwing for some reason! I was the PERFECT GENTLEMAN! But no, apparently that isn't ENOUGH for you!" he'd howl with despair. Dogmeat would flee into the night, his tears mingling with the rain dripping down his snout, and you'd never see him again.

Porter Gage wouldn't exactly be thrilled, but you're the Overboss of Nuka World, so what can he do? (Tell you about a secret stash of Nuka Cola Quantum, but neglect to mention that it's currently stored in a super mutant behemoth's fridge, that's what.)

Glory would kick you in the groin. "That's what you GET for playing stupid games, you wanker!" Since Glory is wearing a brand-new pair of adjustable women's Chore™ boots by the Original Muck Boot Company™, made of flexible cloth on the lower leg and sturdy rubber on the foot, her kick would be devastating.

"Wow," Hancock would chuckle, seeing you curled up in bed with Bobbi No-Nose. "Just... wow. I was feeling kinda bad about seeing Moe Cronin and Trader Rylee behind your back, in addition to sleeping with Mel behind Bobbi's back, but not any more! ...What? Oh, I know Mel's gay, but we're still doing it behind your back, Miss Noseless Wonder."

Old Longfellow would drink himself into a daze and forget about you.

MacCready would drink himself into a daze, shoot you in the head, and help himself to your things.

Nick should've known better than to get mixed up with you. From the moment you slunk into his office, lips red with lies and Maybelline, eyes dark with broken dreams, he could tell you were trouble. There was something about you, though - maybe it was how you drew yourself up like a cat when the detective held your hand, or maybe it was how those hips of yours swayed like an anaconda. None of it matters now, though. Nick opened up his heart to you, sweet cheeks, and he sure as Hell ain't making that mistake again. (You were found snogging Mr Zwicky, as it happens, in the bus on top of the school.)

Piper would confront you loudly and vociferously in public. "What the Glowing Sea was that, Blue?! Just how long've you been seeing Ellie Perkins behind my back, huh? What's going on with the two of you? And does Ellie think I'm cute?!" The questions would come in faster than you could make excuses, but Piper would offer you an olive branch when her head was clearer. She'd still be your friend, as long as you'd learned your lesson and wouldn't toy with a starry-eyed reporter's heart again.

Preston would be heartbroken, to the point that he wouldn't even be able to look at you for a few days. Nevertheless, he'd swallow his feelings and try to stay on good terms with you, because the Minutemen need a talented builder/pest control specialist on their side. What's his happiness worth compared to the safety of the whole Commonwealth?

Strong would wander in while you're in bed with Marcus and not react at all. "Strong here to borrow torch," he'd say, taking a torch out of the drawers. "Don't break the handcuffs, all right, Marcus?" he'd add, wandering back out of the room.

"I don't believe your nerve, seeing Strong behind my back! What's WRONG with you?!" Marcus would be weeping with fury and occasionally throwing things at you while he packed his bags. "I thought we had something special, but no, I guess I'm just another warm, green body to be used and thrown away! You pig! I'm taking the kids and moving back to Jacobstown."

X6-88 wouldn't know what to feel to begin with. He isn't programmed to feel anything, really; the sex was just to give you some enrichment. X6-88 is a Courser, nothing more. But why does he tense up so, and where does that fire in his heart come from, when he sees you in bed with Doctor Li? Kissing you and caressing you, letting you try on her lab coat... There's nothing else for it. One of these days, the good doctor will have to suffer a sudden, fatal accident.

[goddamnjustgoddamn]

23.06.23

-PL-

W zależności od humoru żałuję lub nie, tego, że jestem dorosła. Odkąd skończyłam 18 lat chciałam opóźnić starzenie się w jak największym stopniu. Ale bycie coraz starszą niesie ze sobą też sporo plusów (nie wierzę, że to piszę). Na przykład to, że nie jestem już tak wystraszona jak kiedyś, w sytuacjach stresowych lepiej sobie radzę i zanim coś zrobię, to potrafię policzyć do trzech i wymyślić jakieś rozwiązanie. Mogę też być bardziej odpowiedzialna, za siebie oraz za innych. Za samodzielnie zarobione pieniądze kupuję to, co potrzebne oraz czasem to, na co mam po prostu ochotę. Jasne, to nie znaczy, że nagle wszystkie moje problemy zniknęły. Myślę, że zawsze jakieś są. Ale co jeśli po prostu tak ma być? Może gdybyśmy nie rozwiązywali problemów, to stalibyśmy w miejscu w kwestii naszego rozwoju? Zresztą, każdy zna chyba ten moment niesamowitej satysfakcji, kiedy przeskoczy się samego siebie i coś się nam uda.

Miałam wczoraj taką sytuację. Pan, który ledwie co przyleciał do naszego hotelu, zostawił telefon w taksówce. A ja z dumą przyjęłam profesjonalną postawę i starałam się mu jak najlepiej pomóc. Zadzwoniłam na infolinię kontrahenta, u którego robił rezerwację, a później staraliśmy się dodzwonić do taksówkarza. Myślę, że jeszcze parę miesięcy wcześniej bardzo bym się zestresowała w tej sytuacji, chyba nawet bardziej, niż ten pan. Ale teraz, jestem w stanie zachować zimną krew.

Uwielbiam też widzieć uśmiech innych. Staram się go zawsze wywoływać, jak najczęściej. Utożsamiam się z podejściem jednego gościa, o którym wspominałam już we wcześniejszym poście. Powiedział, że w ciągu jednego dnia stara się pobić rekord z dnia poprzedniego w sprawianiu komuś uśmiechu na twarzy. I z tą dewizą chciałabym dalej iść przez życie.

Ja sama jeszcze nie umiem siebie traktować, jak dorosłą, taką prawdziwą, jak z książek, czy jak te wszystkie dorosłe panie, które widuje się na ulicach, czy w tramwaju. Ale cieszę się, że (chyba) w pracy mnie tak traktują. Doceniają mój wkład i zaangażowanie z czego niezmiernie się cieszę.

Wracając z pracy byłam tak zmęczona, że kleiły mi się oczy, ale zobaczyłam coś, co bardzo mnie rozweseliło. W tramwaju, na siedzeniu obok siedziała pani, w jasnych falowanych włosach, a obok był pies, którego futerko bardzo przypominało jej włosy (cocker spaniel). Wskoczył jej przednimi łapkami na kolana, a pani, jak gdyby wierzyła, że towarzysz ją rozumie - mówiła do niego "Zobacz, poznajesz tą okolicę?".

-ENG-

Depending on my mood, I may or may not regret being an adult. Ever since I turned 18, I wanted to delay getting older as much as possible. But getting older also brings a lot of pluses (I can't believe I'm writing this). For example, the fact that I'm no longer as scared as I used to be, I can cope better in stressful situations and I can count to three and come up with a solution before I do something. I can also be more responsible, for myself and for others. With the money I earn on my own, I buy what I need and sometimes what I just feel like. Sure, that doesn't mean that suddenly all my problems have disappeared. I think there are always some. But what if it's just meant to be? Maybe if we didn't solve the problems, we'd be stagnating in terms of our development? Anyway, everyone probably knows that moment of incredible satisfaction when we leap over ourselves and succeed at something.

I had this situation yesterday. A gentleman who had barely arrived in our hotel had left his phone in the taxi. And I proudly took a professional attitude and tried my best to help him. I called the helpline of the contractor he was booking with, and then we tried to get through to the taxi driver. I think that just a few months earlier I would have been very stressed in this situation, probably even more so than this gentleman. But now, I'm able to keep my cool.

I also love to see others smile. I always try to evoke it as often as possible. I identify with the approach of one guy I mentioned in an earlier post. He said that in one day he tries to break the previous day's record of making someone smile. And with this motto I would like to continue to go through life.

I myself don't yet know how to treat myself like an adult, a real one, like from books, or like all those grown-up ladies you see on the streets or on the tram. But I'm glad that (I think) at work they treat me this way. They appreciate my contribution and commitment, which I am extremely happy about.

Coming back from work I was so tired that my eyes were sticky, but I saw something that cheered me up a lot. On the tram, there was a lady sitting in the seat next to me, with light wavy hair, and next to her was a dog whose fur very much resembled her hair (a cocker spaniel). He jumped onto her lap with his front paws, and the lady, as if believing her companion understood her - said to him "See, do you recognise this area?".

[spidermilkshake]

SAWBONES

Oh goodie, look what fandom writing idiom has ensnared me now: Team Fortress 2.

Time to make up shit about ze Medic!

1: "Hiring Process"

Mid-October, 1962

San Francisco, the Mission District

7:00 p.m.

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

            The spy watched for several long moments even after confirming that the man in the alley was indeed the one the Administrator sought out, the one in his file. Statue-still except for the eyes and for breathing, he observed his target.

            In watching, he was more and more convinced the Administrator must be mistaken this time. This fellow was a nervous type, flitting back and forth from the parked van and the door to the basement room in the grimy neighborhood—all the while muttering in a mixture of German and English. He was on the older side of adulthood. Not nearly as old as the spy, but at least within a two-decade dart-toss of him. He was fidgety—he was somewhat put-together and what would be conventionally considered handsome for both his age and the times. He was a glasses-wearer, and a suspenders-one too. Out of current fad style, but doing better on that front than the spy…

            More troubling, the target was quite a bit bigger, more robust in build, younger and more vital than the spy, and there was no telling if the blackmarket doctor was armed, or how armed. The silent watcher must be careful not to let this encounter come to blows—even he wasn’t confident he would come out on top without the element of surprise.

            Though the spy did not quite believe this tall Teutonic gentleman was indeed the infamous “Butcher of Bavaria”, he did have to admit he had the frame of someone who routinely overpowered and chopped up Schutzstaffel officers and was also in the right age range for it. There was the added hope that, were he the legendary serial killer who had made it hard for Nazis to sleep at night from 1941 to current day, that it may make this doctor more amenable to being approached by the Frenchman over any of the American agents.

            “Ach, vhere ist..? Ahh, zhere you are.” The spy overhead the man’s voice muffle out from a trunk in the back of the van. His jaw dropped open as the target retrieved a slightly blood-stained Waffen-SS Schirmmütze from the trunk’s depths. Okay then. Maybe this was the Butcher of Bavaria. With a bright, almost wistful grin the doctor chuckled and popped the peaked hat onto the top of an anatomical skeleton model’s skull where it sat outside the open back of the vehicle. The spy stood still as ice but secretly was quite startled and impressed as the doctor dug around more and… pulled out another officer’s Schirmmütze… and then another… and then a final one, decorated with a rust-brown smear on the side and the accoutrement of a (late) SS captain instead of the usual Wehrmacht markings. Balancing the “war trophies” on his strong, skillful fingers, he giggled darkly to himself again and seemed to be considering where to set them for the time being while he carried on rearranging the van’s cargo. “So viele. Hmm, I need to invest in a hatbox of somezing… would hate to lose track of all you…”

            The Butcher’s back muscles suddenly tightened, posture sharpening and tensing, and the spy’s spine chilled in almost the same second. Mon dieu. The realization that a slight noise of his suit jacket’s silky fabric shifting had alerted the doctor to someone close by brought his focus up to a peak, holding his breath as he saw the man whip his head around and tuck the hats back away. The once jolly, soft-edged blue eyes had hardened until they glinted just like the glass lenses augmenting them—gaze scanning around not like a frightened prey animal but like a formidable beast enraged by a rival. A wolf sniffing out a threat.

            “Who is here?” The cheerful, flutey-high voice had roughened and darkened. The Butcher turned to have his back blocked by the van—eyes flicking around eager for a sign of an adversary, “Zeige dich!”

            It was now, or never. Any more delay would only lower his chances at recruiting this dangerous madman. The spy took a subtle step forward and allowed the Invisi-watch’s cloak to drop just as he entered the faint light creeping out from the open basement and the panel van’s dash.

            “Bonjour,” he said in his typical unimpressed tone. Years of practice assisted in keeping his composure despite entering the considerable lunging-range of the tense stranger with an impressive kill count. Flicking out a cigarette from his case, he lit it in a fluid motion and locked eyes with his target, “Doctor Fritz Ludwig, am I correct?”

            “Who is asking?” the Butcher growled. It was impossible to avoid noting that one of those skillful hands of his was creeping into an outer coat pocket. The spy shook his head, waving his free hand for patience.

            “Relax, mon amí. I am not here for any violence tonight. If you must know a name, then please call me Mercier.” The spy was unbothered throwing out his real surname—with all the records-scrubbing it mattered little now. “And you are the one I’ve heard so much about. The very famous ‘Butcher of Bavaria’. Je suis impressionné!”

            The praise did not seem to put the mad doctor at ease, and he instead screwed up his brows in suspicion and barked: “How do you know zhis?” The weapon he had been reaching for slowly emerged from the deep pocket and into his white-knuckled grip: An alarmingly large blade. A Wehrmacht Heer bayonet knife, if the spy had to guess. Probably another memento off a dead Nazi soldier; that was at least five now. “Who sent you?!”

            “If you’re concerned about police, or any sort of government intelligence finding this out, then I assure you that your full identity is strictly known to my employers. And they are in no way interested in legal nonsense,” Mercier took a slight pull from his cigarette, very aware of the weight of his revolver holstered under his suit jacket but making sure to not incline his free hand towards it just yet. “What they are interested in is your particular set of skills. Perhaps we could speak somewhere more privately on that,” he gestured towards the basement chamber, “and preferably without sticking knives into each other.”

            “Rrrgh… sheisse…” The Butcher relented a notch, but did not let up the tension in his squared shoulders or put away the blade. He glared over at the Frenchman and muttered in a fierce tone, “Fine—you first. And I keep zhe knife, you keep… whatever it is you have.”

            “Assez juste,” The spy nodded, “Mind if I smoke?”

            “Ja. Fine. Zhat’s fine,” the doctor was clearly irritated by the request, but found it a non-issue compared to everything else at hand. “Now go, schnell—before someone else vanders in here…”

            Mercier took the few nerve-wracking strides down the two small steps into the Butcher’s current lair, calm on the outside but preparing himself mentally to repel a sudden pounce from the serial killer following just a few meters behind him. He paused at the open receiving area, taking in the clean but rough concrete confines—the flimsy fold-out table and rusted mediocre shop shelves all packed with a wide variety of ominous-looking surgical tools and devices. In one corner, more brightly-lit with a hanging contraption of fluorescent tubes, was what looked like a salvaged dentistry chair. Tellingly, the armrests had a series of grooves worn into them, right where the wrists of a patient would be placed. Or… probably not a “patient” so much as one of the good doctor’s favorite types of unwilling organ donor.

            The door latched shut behind Mercier.

            Ah. Terrific. This certainly wasn’t the start of the last ten horror films he had seen. Against the genre, Dr. Ludwig stepped around the spy with a wary buffer zone and settled into one of the available folding chairs by the one semi-clear space at the table. He gestured with the point of the bayonet to the other seat. Mercier took it, crossing his legs casually and sucking down another lungful of cancer-stick to keep his wits about him. The Butcher remained slightly hunched, as if watching for a reason to need to spring back upright, and with one dexterous hand continually fondling the grooves of the bayonet’s hilt. Nervous. Not hiding it at all unlike the spy.

            “Mercí,” Mercier began, trying not to glance at the small cooler set close by on the table or at its “Biohazard” label, “I will not waste too much of your valuable time, doctor. Have you ever considered work in the mercenary field?”

            “Wha…” Behind the gleam of his spectacles, the doctor’s eyes widened, “Mercenary vork?”

            “It is very worth considering. The kind of combat medic able to perform the transplant of several vital organs on a man within half an hour and send him out in peak form the next day—and also not be too squeamish of supplying the organ donors directly from the opposition on the battlefield—is in quite short supply.” He puffed on the cigarette once more, “Actually, I believe that supply is one. You are exactly the man we need on our team.”

            “Mm.” Dr. Ludwig’s gaze flicked around before settling on the spy’s glowing cig once more, “Maybe… you could convince me. Ja. Vhy should I want to join zis team?”

            “You’re a man of science, non?” The spy cocked an eyebrow as his gaze rested next on an autoclave, sat popped open with a selection of fluid-stained clamps, scissors, and vials waiting inside. “You no doubt have some significant research to fund. Equipment, electricity… subjects do not come cheap.”

            “Vell…” Ludwig frowned with narrowed eyes, and Mercier was keen to see that the bayonet was now resting on the table (though with the deadly doctor’s palm still set on its handle), “Zhat is mostly true… hmm… Go on.”

            “Should you accept our offer, then you would receive a significant research budget from T.F. Industries,” the spy cracked a dry fraction of a smirk, “You may recognize the name as among the highest-grossing multi-sector defense contractors on this continent. You could accomplish a lot more with us than… well, here.”

            “Hmmm…” The Butcher of Bavaria was looking far less threatening now, a contemplative flash in his half-hooded eyes. His hand which was not readied by the knife snaked up and adjusted his glasses a bit higher on his nose. “Yes… I could believe zhat.” He aimed a sharp look at Mercier, right in the eyes for once, but with more intrigued energy than predatory. “I must know more though… Vhat about restrictions?”

            “As far as the team’s Administrator is concerned, ‘restrictions’ align only with the bounds of physical impossibility,” he shrugged, “And she is not so partial to those, either. She is the sort of boss who would give… bonuses for toiling in God’s domain, vous savez?”

            The doctor blinked, inhaled over a long pause with an expression morphing into one of mixed alarm and hope, “Ah… I see.

            “And zis team you speak of?” Ludwig’s composure settled, gaze returning to an area slightly left of Mercier’s face. “What exactly is zhe goal of it all?”

            “Our employers have some opposition. Dangerous opposition of course. The usual mess in these company mix-ups: Stealing trade secrets, attempts to blackmail each other, industrial sabotage… et cetera, ad nauseum. And the team itself is, erm…” the spy flipped which side of his mouth held his cigarette, “…currently reduced in number due to an unfortunate mishap. We only have a skeleton crew at headquarters. In order to recover and defend our resources, we need a medical professional.

            “Especially one skilled at piecing dying men back together. And can do that with parts of other, enemy dying men.” The spy blinked, noting his cigarette had reduced to a smoldering nub, “Does this sound like something worth signing onto, in exchange for essentially unlimited funding and laboratory space for whatever medical experiments you desire?”

            “…Vell… Vell…” The man suddenly looked quizzical, “Vhere is all of zhis fighting, and funding, and free laboratory supposed to be happening?”

            “New Mexico.” He shrugged, “Not the most glamorous location, I know, but remote enough for our purposes. It is as Americans would say, ‘the Wild West’ out there.”

            “Zhat’s… aheh, zhat’s very far away, ja?” A sliver of the non-threatening, nervous nature the spy had first seen this man exuding returned.

            “We can arrange for whatever transportation you require. For you, and any possessions you wish to take with you. I assume there may be quite a bit.”

            Before the mad doctor could formulate any confirmation, or any further digging into details, from behind where they both sat and beneath a sanitary sheet came a series of harsh flutters and soft burbling noises. Almost like… purring? But frantic, smaller, throatier.

            Cooing.

            “Ach—aheh, ein moment, bitte—” the doctor stood, abandoning the knife for a spell. With delicate but anxious speed the man lifted the sheet partway to peer inside the top of a very large open cardboard box, the sort that a television set or some other shiny technical appliance might come in. Mercier stared, dumbfounded, at the most efficient killer of Nazi officers outside of the French Resistance and the Red Army grousing at the dimly moving contents of the box in mostly his native German—tone so low the Frenchman only caught and fully understood portions of it:

            “Okay, wer von euch Kämpft? Du schon wieder—nein! Nonono, hör auf damit! Muss ich dich wieder fangen und festhalten? Ergh...!” The Butcher stretched down to reach the shadowy interior with one hand and grabbed hold of something which struggled pitifully against his strength. When he straightened and flicked the cover back over the large box, he turned to reveal his fingers curled around a pure white pigeon of some sort—neck feathers ruffled and feisty but very unable to escape its position.

            Still with bird a prisoner in his hand, Dr. Ludwig slipped back into his chair and looked about in short, embarrassed glances. Mercier’s raised eyebrow got even more raised.

            “…Doves?” he ventured.

            “Ja, er. Zhey are new. Zhis one is a bit aggressive.”

            “How ironic.”

            “Really I just need a proper cage for zhem… more space.” He peered hopefully over the rims of his glasses at the spy, “Would zhat be somezing possible to have, if I take up zhe offer?”

            “Mon amí, you can have whatever cages you want or need,” Mercier almost laughed at the trifling nature of the request, “for whatever test subjects you want. For birds it would be supremely easy…”

            The Look which flooded up into and pooled behind the killer doctor’s eyes like a tide of blood made Mercier bite down a bit too hard on the cig’s filter; here, with that unbridled laser-beam of violent intent aimed into his soul, he could believe beyond any doubt that this was the phantom doctor which had made the habit of divesting Operation Paperclip sign-ons of their spinal columns. He also knew without a doubt he had made a grave error—and he hoped not too literally.

            “Zhey are not test subjects,” Ludwig snarled. The pigeon in his grasp settled its feathers and began boredly biting at the man’s thumbnail, which did nothing to break his murderous focus.

            “Ahem… apologies,” Mercier tried not to let on how much the sweat beading beneath his mask itched, and fixed his sights on the white bird in order to break the hellish eye contact, “so… these birds are..?”

            “Haustiere. Zhe English is ‘pets’, I believe.” He spat, dripping sarcasm. With his free hand, the Butcher demonstrated by stroking the creature gently on the head with two fingers (which the pigeon proceeded to gnaw at with renewed vigor). “And zhey would be coming with me.”

            “Of course,” the spy internally sighed with relief as the promise of a gruesome death simmered down, placated by the presence of the fluffy little critter. He pinched out the remains of his cigarette and tucked the filter into his case’s “trash pocket” before fetching out a fresh one. “Now, if there are no further questions?”

            “None zhat are zat important,” the doctor let out a huff, scritching up the handheld dove’s neck feathers until the thing’s eyes pinched nearly shut with tame delight and it stopped fussing.

            “Excellent,” the spy lit the new cig and held out a hand palm-up, expectantly, “What shall I tell my employers?”

            “I zhink I have been convinced.” Dr. Ludwig cracked a faint smile—all pearly teeth and the most menacing appearance of dimples and crowsfeet to exist. “Ja, I need to leave zhis disaster of an operating theater anyvay… about zat transport?”

            “Take this—” Mercier slipped what appeared at first to be an innocuous business card from another pocket in his cigarette case and passed it to the doctor. “Call the number here, within the week if you could. The person you speak to can arrange everything when you are ready. Just be sure to identify yourself and bring up our little meeting tonight.”

            “Danke,” Ludwig held the card between two fingers, dubiously examining the branding of the front-business plastered all over the hunk of cardstock: “R.E.D. Bread.” The pigeon kicked up a brief fit of coos, stretching its neck to try and nibble at the paper before the doctor sighed and held it well away to tuck the card into his breast pocket. “Vell, zhey’ll be hearing from me soon, zhen.”

            “Mm-hm,” Mercier stood, puffing lightly on the fresh carcinogens as he took a few steps towards the door. “Very good. I look forward to working with you, doctor. I would be especially pleased if you could show me your, ahem… ‘collection’ sometime,” he tipped his head in the direction of the parked van, and the still-unloaded skeleton model wearing a former-Nazi’s peaked hat.

            “Oh! Ohohah,” The Butcher’s unnervingly cheery grin returned, chest puffing out slightly with a pride which Mercier understood well but was still a teensy hint freaked out by, “You saw zhose, ey? Hm, well I suppose I could give you zhe tour, once I’m settled in.”

            “Fantastique… I will look forward to this also.” Mercier stepped out the door, aiming a courteous nod back towards man and bird, “Until then, I bid you adieu.”

            “Lebe wohl!” Dr. Ludwig replied with a half-chuckle, the pigeon in his hand cooing emphatically and watching the spy retreat and politely close the door behind him with a few twitchy tilts of its head. Once outside, Mercier took a pause—eyes settling on the anatomical skeletal model dangling on its rolling frame and the bloodied hat still resting on it. He stared at—really past it—as he vacuumed mightily at his cigarette until the tip blazed. His weary exhale wreathed his whole head in a stormcloud of smoke.

            “Mon Dieu…” He sucked in another cloud, examining the skull closely and noting how very much detail was paid to making the teeth look, uh, flawed and… real. “C’est l’homme qui me soignera si je suis blessé par balle…”

            With that thought, Mercier pocketed the second spent, snubbed filter end and picked up a brisk stroll out of the alley and over to the cracked, dirty lot tucked around the neighboring street corner where he’d left his car. At least now, here, alone in a nighttime city hundreds of miles from any Team Fortress stronghold or even safehouse, he wanted most to put a little distance between himself and the mad doctor.

            There would be times and places (not now and with backup, and most importantly with repercussions) for cordial familiarization with his new, terrifying colleague.

            The doctor, meanwhile, was content to tend his recently-rescued birds before sealing and starting up the filled autoclave—a murmured and casual rendition of “Bei Mir Bist Du Shoen” echoing up between the damp cinderblocks into the alley. Lined up on a shelf for their evening feeding time, the pigeons didn’t understand what this bizarre giant that fed them delicious sunflower kernels and slivers of lettuce off his sandwich was singing to them, but they did seem to appreciate the time out of their makeshift box nest and the undivided attention.

            Whether the upstairs neighbors thought much of it was unknown. Wasn’t time to figure it out. Within two days of the foreign lyrics drifting up their drainpipes, the basement room had been cleared out except for a threadbare dentist’s chair, ratty shelving and a few loose white feathers. The van sat dead and gutted—with no one putting together its connection with the recent disaster of a dignitary’s wedding—most choosing to just pick it clean for parts and tires and make no mention to the authorities. They were a little puzzled where that friendly European doctor went—and were sad to see he’d gone so quickly from the area—but glad various local folk had gotten a shiny new kidney, a square foot of healthy skin over an old stretch of scar tissue, a functional liver, a couple of cleared-up nasty infections, and a miraculously good knee out of it.

            Oh well. C’est la vie.

[lulubelle0318]

Shrunken Test Subject

Chapter Eleven: Melissa and the Second Merc

"My apologies for interrupting such a heartwarming moment Cyclops, but I came to check in on ze little one since it has been a quarter of an hour." Spy said. Then he looked at Melissa. "I mean no offense mademoiselle."

"None taken." She replied. "Everything is just fine."

"Say there lass," Demo said to her. "I'll be goin' ta see Soldier for awhile. Do ye want to come with?"

"No thanks, I think I will spend some time with Spy." answered Melissa.

"It would be an honor." The espionage expert (cue the distorted scout laugh for any of you french speakers) said.

He steadily walked towards the table and held his hand out for her to climb on.

"You can hold on, as long as you don't ruin my suit." He told her.

"I'll try not to." The little woman replied. "Could we possibly go and check on the other spy's head?"

"I'm afraid that we cannot. Medic's taking care of him alone. Are you thirsty?"

"Yes please."

Being the gentleman that he was, Spy carried Melissa to the kitchen. As he got out a bottled water and poured a couple of drops into the cap, he noticed that something was troubling Melissa.

"What's wrong?" Spy asked.

"What if I don't ever become normal again?" She said softly.

"Fear not, we are doing all that can to help you." He responded. "Engineer has just finished building the shrink ray replica and he is deciding whether to test it on the BLU team or on an inanimate object."

"Thank you." Melissa said.

[jolapeno]

I read the post that we can send prompts soo... pouting Zemo bcs you have been ignoring him all day

honestly, anon! I'm always down for more Zemo in my life. hope this is ok? (Part of the sleepover)

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helmut zemo x reader summary: he's not sure what has stolen your attention, but he knows he doesn't like it. wordcount: 1k

++++++++++

Helmut Zemo isn't sure what you’re doing, but just knows you're not doing him.

Hidden behind a door you have locked shut, a simple handwritten sign telling him to not disturb. And, even if he shouldn't be, it annoys him.

Very little gets to him after all the loss he's already experienced. But sharing you is something which rattles him. He despises it, in fact. 

He hated it from the moment he met you.

Because, even if he tried not to, he found himself vying for your attention. Trying to find innocent reasons to talk to you without James or Sam.

Not knowing or realising that you liked talking to him—just him. Having a soft spot for him, as much as he did for you. Being rewarded with a kiss for being persistent and so much more for being a gentleman.

And now he's competing with something—or someone—all over again.

This time, though, he isn't entirely sure what he's fighting against. Drained by the idea of it all again, annoyed with himself for forgetting that you'd have moved on in the short time he'd been locked back up.

Annoyed because he knows he should be grateful. Relief that it's you he's bound to, on house arrest in the confines of your home for a reason no one can adequately explain to him. But he can't complain. And shouldn't, either.

Because the moment James left him in your capable hands, he found himself with his own hands full. And they have been, from time to time, for the last two weeks.

Until today. Today, you’re hiding from him.

Locked in your office. His hand brushed over your cold sheets when he woke. Descending the stairs to find cold coffee in the pot. The wisps of your perfume in the air, but no person, not even a sound.

It wasn’t that he slept in particularly late. A trait of his time in the military and the schedule he’d been on when Carl had been young. But, as of late, you were up earlier than him. 

Something you rarely ever were before. You liked and needed lots of sleep. Became a nightmare without it. You grumbled and became irritable, half-depending on naps even if the world was on fire. He'd found it cute, even if your friends did not.

His mouth shifts as he remains lost in his mind, not recognising he was even pulling an expression until he saw you in front of him. Lifting his eyes, taking you all in.

“Are you… pouting?”

“No,” he says too firmly, too quickly. Continuing to stir his fruit tea with a spoon.

But, your arms are folding, brow arching, and he knows before it appears that you'll smirk. And you do.

He both loves and hates it equally. Because on one hand, it makes your eyes twinkle, but it also informs him he’s been caught. A smirk you first sent him when John Walker handcuffed him; a similar smirk he sent back when he broke free with ease.

"Why are you pouting?"

He shifts his face, attempting to quickly bury it.

Hating he even had been, never mind been caught.

“Ze," you continue quickly. “Don’t do the head tilt…”

He swallows. "I hadn't been about to."

He had. But, he rather hated that you knew him so well. Saw through him when he felt he'd only just begun to scratch the surface when it came to you.

The things he did know, mainly how insatiable you were, had presented themselves easily. The rest, it feels like he moves further from learning the closer he gets.

"You're a terrible liar for a criminal mastermind."

He quirks a brow.

Not that you notice, too busy moving from your position to darting around your kitchen. Likely for food since it's long past lunch.

 "So," you continue, pulling open cupboards before rustling fills the air, "Why are you pouting?"

His mouth opens, almost ready to spill his secrets. Thankfully, he refrains. Managing to catch the words before they're even said, likely looking more idiotic the longer he stands there.

So, he places his spoon in the sink, returning to lean against the counter, taking a sip, even if it burns his tongue.

And then you say his name. Not a nickname. Not Zemo, Zee or Hel. But Helmut.

In that soft but stern way, you do when you want an answer. One he's heard so often directed at others.

"You have been gone. All day, in fact."

He hears you hum. A short sound, one having brewed at the back of your throat before you close the cupboard door, holding nothing.

"And, I'm guessing that's bothered you?"

Annoyance and embarrassment descend over him.

Because he's not been this weak, this needy, in a long-time. Not required attention from anyone.

"Immensely," is how he answers.

Sighing afterwards, hoping to exhale his emotions.

It doesn't work.

It never does.

His eyes catch you nod before moving closer. Finding you leaning against the counter beside him in the corner of his eye, your hands fall to your sides. For a second, there's nothing else, and he feels irritation growing in the places his other emotions haven't touched.

And then your fingers brush over his.

"I hope... I hope that doesn't bother you," he adds, quieter than he originally intended. "I've grown used to your company, is all."

"Grown implies I've worn you down."

He snorts, placing his cup down, before turning his head to face you. "A poor choice of words on my part, Liebling."

You smile. "I know, Hel." Your fingers weaving with his. "I'm not going to apologise for leaving you to stew and pout, though."

"Truthfully, I hadn't expected you to."

You nod. "Good. Because if I'm going to continue wearing you down, I need you alive."

He raises his brow as you shake your head.

"Another time. For now, I feel I have some attention I need to give." Your body moves from beside to in front of him, fingers remaining connected as his free hand slides over your hip. "How would you like me to make it up to you?"

He considers many things.

Some involve bed sheets, and some involve staying curled against you without removing a single item. Half-torn over what to choose.

"Don't move," he says, gripping your waist a little tighter, "Not for a moment, at least."

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

Hi Lexci! So for your HCs I was wondering if you could do some with Kuroo, Suga, Akaashi, and Oikawa and a smaller s/o? Specifically one that likes being cuddled? I'm rather short myself (only 5'4) so most of my husbandos would absolutely be taller than me and I'm also super tactile for an asexual.

𝐻𝑄 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑆𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑆/𝑂 💛

𝔽𝕥- 𝕂𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕠, 𝕊𝕦𝕘𝕒, 𝔸𝕜𝕒𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚, 𝕆𝕚𝕜𝕒𝕨𝕒

Oh god

Dude you might as well just PRAY that this man will go easy on the teasing

Homeboy is a whopping 6’1

So you could be pretty tall and still be shorter than he is

And no matter what

He WILL tease you

Makes those “I knew you always looked up to me” jokes

Or he’ll tell you that you didn’t drink enough milk as a kid 🥲

Your name in his phone is something like Small Fry 🍟 or Shawty 😎

And he thinks it’s the FUNNIEST thing on the planet

Shit if you even wear heels he’ll tease you

Moral of the story is that no matter your height you are going to get picked on by this man

However

If your that cuddly type

He will 100% big spoon you

But his favorite cuddle position is when your head is towards his chest and he’s holding you that way

Lemme just tell you that nights are ALWAYS cozy with this man holding you

Also

He will definitely give you piggyback rides if asked 😌

But be warned that he will scare the shit out of you by full on SPRINTING with you on his back 🤠

Alright

For the record this man is 5’8

So tall

But not THAT tall 🤨

So this man wouldn’t PICK on you per say

But he would definitely flex his couple inches of height

You can’t reach something?

Never fear, Sugas here

But it’s not like he just helps you

He needs to say some snarky ass comment while he does it

And if you ever call him out he just plays dumb and says he was just helping you

“aS aNY GOoD bOYfrIenD WouLD”

Ahem

Anyways

Suga is 100% a cuddle bug 🐛

But get this

He likes it when your the big spoon 👀

He just likes getting held by you 😚

Or he likes when you just hold on to him like a koala

He also really likes to give you hugs 🤗

Suga hugs > Literally Anything

Ah yes

The soft boy

Aka the ONLY NICE ONE

So akaashi is about 5’11, 6’0

So uhhh...Tall

However unlike the other two

This man does not bully you 🙃

He would help you if you needed to grab something

Because he’s a gentleman

(And he wouldn’t make any snide remarks like a certain gray haired setter I know)

But other than that I don’t think he’d care that your short

But he thinks your the perfect size for hugs, cuddles, etc

He really likes to just have you in his lap while he’s reading or watching something

This pose

Very wholesome boy right here

And he’s always coming behind you and hugging you from behind

And depending on your height he’ll rest his head on you head and just chill there

I’d say the only time he’s “mean” about your height is when he just kinda uses you as a arm rest

But it’s VERY unintentional and not in a mean way at all

Your just the perfect arm rest ok 🥲

This mf

Ok so he’s 6’0

And shockingly he does not tease you about your height

HOWEVER

Him being the petty mf he is

Will use your height against you in a fight

Like if y’all are fighting about something

He will just look up and be like

“Y/n where’d you go” “oh no I can’t seem to find you”

And your just standing there like ಠ_ಠ

Ok now for ze fluff

He really just likes to hold you 👉👈

Standing up

Laying down

Sitting down

No matter what just expect this mans arms around you

AND HUGS

Expect a l o t of hugs

I think he’d pick on you a little bit if you asked for cuddles

Just comments like “do I not give you enough cuddles already y/n?”

But this man is touch starved af so he’ll always give them to you

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Arrival at the airport

[zl181]

Comprehensive Biography of Zhao Yu

Zhao Yu, styled Yuanda (趙昱字元達; d. 193/194), was a civil official who was the Grand Administrator of Guangling Commandery. He was known for his benevolent demeanor. Later, Ze Rong killed him.

Ancestry

Zhao Yu came from Langxie Commandery.[1]

Childhood and Education

When he was 12 years old, his mother became seriously sick for three months. Zhao Yu, throughout the whole time, felt extremely concerned and stressed, as well as becoming more thin from it. It got so severe that did not sleep for days on end. He offered grain to the gods to receive divinations and while praying, he cried so hard it was like blood gushing out of a wound. All of this gained his fellow villagers' respect for such filial piety.[2]

He was taught the Gongyang Commentary by a recluse scholar, who was just called Gentleman Qiguan, while also doing other unspecified deeds. He became so engrossed in his studies that he rarely went outside or visited his family, and when he did visit his family, he only lingered for a short time before returning back. This described how dedicated Zhao Yu was to his studies.[2]

Early life

He was friends with Wang Lang and Zhang Zhao when he was young; he was already known for his scholarly deposition.[3]

Later, one of the Nine Ministers, Zhong Fu, recommended Zhao Yu as Filial and Incorrupt for his uprightness.[1][2][3] At some point, he was also nominated as Flourishing in Talent.[2]

He was often invited to serve in local posts, but he often declined out of illness. Soon, the Chancellors, possibly of Langxie; Tan Mo (檀謨) and the later Chen Zun (陳遵) both summoned Zhao Yu, to no avail. Zhao Yu's frequent refusals made some of the officials increasingly annoyed and angry, but Zhao Yu still declined to serve.[2]

Finally serving

He was implied to serve as a Gentleman in Luoyang. Before 185, Zhao Yu was appointed Chief of Ju, which was in Langxie Commandery, Xu Province, to fill in a vacancy.[2][4][5] There, he preached about proper courtesy between family, like sons having to be filial and younger brothers having to respect their elders. Apparently, his type of government was praised by the nation.

At the time of his tenure, the Yellow Turban Rebellion was in full swing. Five nearby commanderies and their counties all sent troops to defeat the Yellow Turbans. Soon, the rebellion was put down. The Inspector of Xu Province, Ba Zhi, later wrote in a petition that his merits were the best compared to others', recommending that he himself be promoted and bestowed rewards. Zhao Yu considered this shameful, resigned his post, and returned to his family.[2]

Entering Guangling

Around 190, Zhao Yu became a subordinate of Tao Qian after much difficulty. It is said that Zhao Yu refused the initial summon, claimed illness, and tried to avoid Tao Qian. Soon, however, Tao Qian sent Wu Fan (吳範) with a more demanding letter. Zhao Yu still declined, but when Tao Qian threatened to punish Zhao Yu severely, he relented.[2] While serving, Zhang Zhao also declined Tao Qian's summon, resulting in him being imprisoned by the slighted Tao Qian. Zhao Yu humbly asked Tao Qian to release Zhang Zhao, which he eventually did.[2] Tao Qian frequently ignored Zhao Yu in other times, however, because he disliked his honesty, and heeded the advice of less than moral men.[2] At this time, the Guandong Coalition formed against Dong Zhuo, forcing him to move the capital to Chang'an from Luoyang with Emperor Xian by his side. Tao Qian was hesitant to support either Dong Zhuo via Emperor Xian or the coalition, so Zhao Yu and Wang Lang suggested to Tao Qian,

"The righteousness of the Spring and Autumn Annals states that asking help from the lords pales to serving the King. Now the Son of Heaven is far away in the Western Capital, you should send an envoy to receive royal orders."

Tao Qian thus sent Zhao Yu and some others to receive orders to Chang'an. Emperor Xian admired the trip there, so he appointed Tao Qian to become General who Stabilizes the East. To replace the rebelling Zhang Chao, the court appointed Zhao Yu as Grand Administrator of Guangling.[5] Among Zhao Yu's actions in this post was to recommend Zhang Hong for being Filial and Incorrupt.[6] During Zhao Yu's tenure, however, one of Tao Qian's trusted men, Ze Rong, was sent to supervise the transport of grain via water routes, only to embezzle them into his own pockets. Whether Zhao Yu was aware of this is unknown (see second account of death).[7]

Death

Either in 193 or 194, Ze Rong fled from Xu Province when Cao Cao invaded it. He apparently led 100,000 people as well as 3,000 cavalry to Guangling.[6]

There are two accounts of Zhao Yu's death. Traditional history states that Zhao Yu welcomed them and treated Ze Rong like a honored guest. Zhao Yu perhaps was trying to take pity on what he deemed refugees. However, Ze Rong was greedy and when he noticed how rich Guangling was, he (most likely) invited Zhao Yu to a banquet, got him drunk, and killed him.[6] He apparently killed Zhao Yu's immediate family afterwards and later ravaged Guangling.[6][8] According to Xie Cheng, however, Zhao Yu led troops against Ze Rong when he encroached onto Guangling, but was defeated and killed.[2] This may hold some credence, as Ze Rong was known for embezzling resources out of Guangling's water supply routes and could have attracted Zhao Yu's attention.[7]

Postmortem events

Around 200, Zhang Hong, now Grand Administrator of Kuaiji, was grief-stricken when he heard of Zhao Yu and his family's death. He sent one of his registrars to deliver a message to Zang Xuan (臧宣), the Chancellor of Langxie, stating that he should set up sacrifices as well as continue Zhao Yu's lineage. Zang Xuan agreed, selecting a four-year-old boy from Zhao Yu's clan to receive the sacrifices.[6]

Personality

Zhao Yu was described as being respected and kind; such was his courtesy that his eyes never drifted elsewhere when talking. He was also known for his strict morality, refusing to listen to any "evil words".[1] He praised good deeds and often encouraged people to be virtuous, while also speaking against evil deeds and corrected any wrongdoings.[2]

His main trait, however, was his eagerness to study. He was so concentrated on studying that he rarely visited his family and friends.[1][2] Xie Cheng also stated that literally no one was able to disturb his studies.[2] Chen Deng praised Zhao Yu's personality, saying,

"...For possessing innate incorruptness and despising evil, also having knowledge and having righteousness, I esteem Zhao Yuanda..."

Chen Deng praised him so.[9]

Legacy

The death of Zhao Yu and Ze Rong's ensuing raid on Guangling Commandery devastated it. Cao Cao later appointed Chen Deng to be Grand Administrator of Guangling.

Personal info

Name: Zhao Yu

Style name: Yuanda[1]

Death date: 193 or 194[8][a]

References

[1] - 【昱字元達，琅邪人。清己疾惡，潛志好學，雖親友希得見之。為人耳不邪聽，目不妄視。太僕种拂舉為方正。】《後漢書•劉虞公孫瓚陶謙列傳》

[2] - 【廣陵太守琅邪趙昱，徐方名士也，以忠直見疏；(謝承《漢書》曰：昱年十三，母嘗病，經涉三月。昱慘戚消瘠，至目不交睫，握粟出卜，祈禱泣血，鄉黨稱其孝。就處士東莞綦毌君受公羊傳，兼該羣業。至歷年潛志，不闚園圃，親疏希見其面。時入定省父母，須臾即還。高絜廉正，抱禮而立，清英儼恪，莫干其志；旌善以興化，彈邪以矯俗。州郡請召，常稱病不應。國相檀謨、陳遵比召，不起；或興盛怒，終不迴意。舉孝廉，除莒長，宣揚五教，政為國表。會黃巾作亂，陸梁五郡，郡縣發兵，以為先辦。徐州刺史巴祗表功第一，當受遷賞，昱深以為恥，委官還家。徐州牧陶謙初辟別駕從事，辭疾遜遁。謙重令楊州從事會稽吳範宣旨，昱守意不移；欲威以刑罰，然後乃起。舉茂才，遷廣陵太守。賊笮融從臨淮見討，迸入郡界，昱將兵拒戰，敗績，見害。）曹宏等，讒慝小人也，謙親任之。】《三國志•卷八》

[3] - 【與琅邪趙昱、東海王朗俱發名友善。弱冠察孝廉，不就，與朗共論舊君諱事，州里才士陳琳等皆稱善之。...刺史陶謙舉茂才，不應，謙以為輕己，遂見拘執。昱傾身營救，方以得免。】《三國志•卷五十二》

[4] - 【時選三署郎以補縣長...琅邪趙昱為莒長。】《三國志•卷七》

[5] - 【除菑丘長。師太尉楊賜，賜薨，棄官行服。...時漢帝在長安，關東兵起，朗為謙治中，與別駕趙昱等說謙曰：「春秋之義，求諸侯莫如勤王。今天子越在西京，宜遣使奉承王命。」謙乃遣昱奉章至長安。天子嘉其意，拜謙安東將軍。以昱為廣陵太守，朗會稽太守。】《三國志•卷十三》

[6] - 【(《吳書》曰：初，琅邪趙昱為廣陵太守，察紘孝廉，昱後為笮融所殺，紘甚傷憤，而力不能討。昱門戶絕滅，及紘在東部，遣主簿至琅邪設祭，并求親戚為之後，以書屬琅邪相臧宣，宣以趙宗中五歲男奉昱祀，權聞而嘉之。)】《三國志•卷五十三》

[7] - 【謙使督廣陵、彭城運漕，遂放縱擅殺，坐斷三郡委輸以自入。】《三國志•卷四十九》

[8] - 【曹公攻陶謙，徐土搔動，融將男女萬口，馬三千匹，走廣陵，廣陵太守趙昱待以賔禮。先是，彭城相薛禮為陶謙所偪，屯秣陵。融利廣陵之衆，因酒酣殺昱，放兵大略，因載而去。】《三國志•卷四十九》

[9] - 【清脩疾惡，有識有義，吾敬趙元達；】《三國志•卷二十二》

[a] - Cao Cao invaded Tao Qian twice, both in 193 and 194, and Chen Shou does not specify which campaign it was.

[dispatchwithlove]

 🎃🎃  Halloween Fic Sneak Peek!  🎃🎃

Shepard stood in front of her bathroom mirror painstakingly applying enough pomade to turn her typically ruffled mess of red hair into a dapper coif befitting a gentleman. She only briefly took her attention off her project when she heard Vakarian step through her open bedroom door so she could watch his reflection approach.

“You ready?” he asked as he rounded the corner into her bathroom.

“Not even close,” she muttered, swirling goop into another tendril of hair, playing a delicate balance between plastering it back and fashioning it in a fantastic swoop. A wig would have been easier.  

“Party starts in five minutes,” he warned.

“A Halloween party doesn’t start at all if you don’t have your costume on.”

He leaned against the bathroom wall and crossed his arms, a single talon tapping against his forearm. “How long?”

“I don’t know, like, twenty minutes? Ze pomade is tricky.”

He barely got his huff out before she shooed him away with a flick of her hand and a stern look. “Go sit on my bed. I had a show playing. Turn it on and tighten your mandibles, or you’re going to make me anxious and I won’t be able to focus.”

Without a second huff, he did as he was told, sauntering over to her bed, plopping down on the end, and starting up the next episode. She couldn’t see the screen, but the eerie, steady tones of the theme music hit her straight in the heart, giving her so many happy goosebumps she had to shake the shivers away with a shimmy of her shoulders.  

After a moment Vakarian asked with a bit of dubious curiosity in his voice, “What’s this show called?”

“Unsolved Mysteries. A classic. It’s been airing off and on for like two hundred years.”

A few minutes passed while Vakarian nearly silently watched the show. Only nearly silently, because every once and a while he scoffed or muttered to himself. Too occupied with perfecting her hair, and grumbling every time a lock slipped out of place, Shepard didn’t care to get involved. Eventually pleased with her hair, she began to work on the mustache, cursing that costume glue still wasn’t very good. You’d think after hundreds of years they’d be able to make it — she tapped her sticky fingers together trying to make it tackier — less goopy and more sticky. Placing the artificial mustache on her upper lip, she gently patted a fingertip to it, struggling to get it to stay in place. When it drooped slightly on the left side she let out a low, frustrated growl.  

“What’s going on in there?” Vakarian leaned to the side, body inclined and neck stretched to watch her.

“Oh, just being the worst at gluing hair to my face.”

“This is going to be a weird night,” he muttered and focused back on the vidscreen.

Holding it in place for a solid two minutes did the trick, so Shepard walked past Vakarian to her closet, sliding the door shut behind her. Once she had her dove grey three-piece suit on and primly situated, she grabbed the tie and left her closet to join Vakarian in watching the show.  

“I frickin love this show,” she said with whimsy in her voice as she stopped to stand next to his knees. “When I was a kid I would snuggle in my Papa’s lap and we’d watch it. He’d be holding a cup of coffee and crackers. I’d get so spooked and I’d tuck myself into his side to cover my face.”

His browplate rose as he stayed focused on the screen, trying to reconcile Shepard’s esteem with the campy aesthetics. “What’s so scary about it?”

“I don’t know. The creepy music, I guess. And the narrator’s voice is so ominous. They told stories about people getting kidnapped, just disappearing like a puff of smoke, and I just knew it would happen to me.”

“Why’d you watch it then?” He turned to look at her, his eyes lasering in on her fake mustache and popping in surprise. “You gave yourself fake facial hair?”

She smiled. “You like it?”

He raised a hesitant finger to her lip and petted the hair. “That is so weird.”

“Careful,” she warned and drew her head back. “This damn thing is going to fall off. That glue sucks. And to answer your question, being spooked is fun. If you don’t understand that, then you have a lot to learn about Halloween.”

“I have everything to learn about Halloween. I have no idea what to expect, except that humans will be wearing strange clothing.”

She felt the mustache droop, tickling her lip, and gave Vakarian an exasperated look. “I told you.”

He said sorry with a small smile and reached up to hold it in place. A wicked look flashed in his eyes. “Maybe you should have used electrical tape, we know how well that sticks to your lips.”

She groaned and struggled to hold back her smile threatening to dampen her frustration. “You drive me crazy, do you know that?”

A warm chuckle rippled with subvocals. “I do. And it only encourages me.”

Her heart thumped. Three pounding beats before she stifled those dangerous feelings that were only growing in strength lately.

They fell silent. Vakarian holding the mustache in place seemed to do the trick, so they watched the show together, him on the edge of her bed and her standing by his knees. As the first case wrapped up, Vakarian’s browplates pinched. “And this case is unsolved, really?”

“Mhmph,” she muttered with a tie stuck between and dangling from her lips while she tried to get the initial knot correctly tied.

“That’s unbelievable.” He paused. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

She drew the tie from her mouth to answer him, mentally cursing that she didn’t buy a pre-tied bowtie. “Well yeah. It’s clearly the husband.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, focusing on the screen even harder. After a moment he raised his omni-tool and began typing with a look of determination setting his browplates.

She rolled her eyes and turned to grab her cane and hat. “It’s not your case to solve, Garrus.”

“I’m sending them some details they might have missed. I can’t believe those idiots haven’t solved this.”

“They probably think it’s him, but can’t prove it.”

“But all the evidence is right there in front of their noses. And they clearly used the wrong travel route when checking the timeline. I can tell by just looking at the map of the area.”

“Not every detective like me is lucky to have a detective like you. Gut instinct means nothing without evidence.” She carefully placed the hat on her head, making sure not to mess up her meticulously coiffed hair, took the cane in hand, then, spreading her arms wide, stood in between Vakarian and the vidscreen, waiting for an approving reaction.

She got a confused look instead. “That’s a strange outfit. Your costume is...a man?”

She scoffed, deeply upset that he didn’t automatically recognize the character she modeled herself after. She’d have to insist they watch some Earth detective shows. “I’m only the best detective of all time. Hercule Poirot!” She wiggled her lip and thus the dandy little mustache for effect. She’d been too wrapped up in getting her own costume on to inquire about his. “Where’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your costume.”

“I’m not human.”

Like that was an excuse.

With a quick tap to her wrist, she pulled up the invitation and displayed it for him. “It says ALL attendees must embrace the spirit of Halloween by donning a costume.” She matched his narrowed, heated stare with her own, determined to stifle his stubbornness with sheer resolve.

Shepard gave in, realizing words and eyes were both insufficient to help her claim victory, so she turned and marched back into her closet. A second later, she emerged with a low effort and nearly imperceptible costume — meaning he couldn’t refuse to wear it. “Here, put this on.”

He took the headband with two small, fuzzy black ears in his hands and inspected it dubiously. “What is this?”

“Cat ears. You can go as a cat.” She shrugged. “Hell, you already purr.”

With a blank expression, he stared down at the costume that had just been forced upon him before his eyes rose to meet hers. “I’m not wearing this.”

                                                       🎃🎃🎃

Think Shepard will get Garrus to wear the ears? The full fic will be posted on ao3 soon, and keep an eye out for accompanying fanart from @blueboxness 💙

[scribbles97]

Paris

From @gumnut-logic 's AU Where There Be Dragons

Specifically from THIS FIC exploring Eos' creation

Thank you for letting me play in your universe Nutty.

“Eos has promised to do no more harm. She just needs a chance.” Please, Gordon. A one-sided slow blink as the black spots danced. “I invoke Paris.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “John, no. No, not for this. Please!”

“Worth it.” And John was falling, hands grabbing at him until he blanked out.

It was Grandma who saved John.

And Gordon who saved Eos.

Because John saved Gordon.

Paris was beautiful at night, there was no denying, John thought as he strolled the banks of the Seine with Penelope on his arm. The city was more to Scott or their father’s taste, all boutique tailors and nice places to lunch. Women that smiled prettily and batted their eyelashes until one paid attention to them.

Alongside him, Penelope was dressed to match the most elegant of ladies in the city. All tight corsets and coats that she complained pinched at her waist, and big skirts that took up more space in the carriage than John needed as a whole.

It was apparently the fashion though, and John had caught more than one so-called gentleman taking a second look at the pale pink dress she had been wearing over dinner. Even covered in her winter cape, thick, dark and heavy to protect from the cold night, he still caught others looking. He didn’t doubt the question in their eyes of what was under such a luxurious coat.

John had no such interest. The oil lamps that lined the streets blocked out the stars, their light drowned out by something artificial.

Penelope has asked for him specifically though, insisting that his brothers stay aboard Thunderbird Five nestled away deep within the English Channel. She had been unwilling to say more until they were well on their way to Paris from Calais. Apparently the other didn’t need to know until more information had been garnered.

With both Gordon still not operating at full steam, and Scott and Virgil insistent on mollycoddling, John hadn’t disagreed.

“What is on your mind?” Penelope murmured, turning slightly to look up to him, “I can hear the cogs turning from here.”

He knew his smile was tight and hardly reassuring to the lady that saw everything. To trick Penelope was fatal, and near impossible for his family. She knew them all too well, had spent enough days watching them all to know their traits and tells.

John wasn’t sure he would ever have reason to lie to her anyway.

“Gordon.” He admitted softly.

Her frown was brief but noticeable as she focussed on the path ahead, twirling her umbrella slightly as her brow dipped.

“I thought your brother was doing well?”

“He is.” John nodded, tugging at his scarf slightly against the frosty night air rolling in off the river, “As you saw, he is walking well now. The function he has regained, even at this point, is remarkable.”

“However?”

“You know my brothers, Penelope,” He smiled with a slight shake of his head, “They are not patient men. Gordon wishes to prove he is fit, that he can and should be allowed to return to duty alongside us.”

“He is not ready.”

“He is not.” John confirmed.

Her hand squeezed his arm tightly in a form of silent reassurance as she nodded ahead, “I believe this is the barge we were looking for.”

John followed her gaze, recognising the figure stood under the next lamp smoking his pipe.

“I would be inclined to agree.”

He took the step across first, holding his hand out for her as she stepped lightly from pavement to the boat. The river was still and quiet around them, much like the rest of the city hiding away from the frost bitten air of winter.

Allowing her to step ahead, he hesitated, eyeing the figure approaching the edge of the dock as he jumped more purposefully on to the coal barge.

“Parker.”

“Master John.”

“Parker.” Penelope turned back, umbrella folded as she smiled to them both, “I trust our hosts are expecting us?”

“That they are M’lady.” The older man tipped his cap to her, “Below deck h’I’m h’afraid.”

John could tell the lady wasn’t best pleased with the news, the light colour of her shoes would no doubt be ruined by the black dust left from the coal. He knew better than to expect it would put her off though. There was a goal in mind for the evening, and he doubted anything would disrupt her from it.

“Well I suppose we shan’t keep them waiting.”

Parker ducked ahead of them both, gesturing towards a hatch, hidden amongst the piles of coal, “This way M’Lady.”

John followed last, having to duck down in the low height of the hold clearly designed for people much shorter than himself.

“Good Evening, Mister Yost.” Penelope was saying, her focus aimed on the sole occupant of the room, a man tied to a chair in the centre of the space.

“Who are you?” He spat back at her, “What are we doing here?”

“I am aware that you have a hand in the designs for the tower that is to begin construction next year, yes?”

John glanced between her and Yost. Penelope knew exactly the man's part in the plans, knew what information she was there to gain.

“If you want ze plans I shall not give them to you.”

“It is not the plans I am in need of, Mister Yost, but I do not believe you are the sole architect as had been planned?”

“It was to be my masterpiece.” He uttered, eyes aflame even in the low light.

“Assist me in my queries and maybe it shall be.” Penelope offered, the young sweetness in her voice like a flame drawing in a moth.

The sneer from his face fell instantly, dropping to a slight glare before landing on something altogether more neutral. John could guess Penelope was using that smile of hers, the one that seemed to manage to get her whatever she so chose.

“What changes did the other architect make?”

He glanced towards John, the man’s eyes hardening again before looking back to Penelope, “To ze designs themselves very little. It was ze alloy zat he changed, a new material, one I had not heard of before.”

“Why?”

John missed the response, something above him scuttering along the tops of the boards. A glance towards Parker told him the older man had heard it too.

Being closer to the hatch, John turned slightly, stepping up onto the first step as he listened again.

The footsteps were meant to be quiet, he could hear how they were slow and cautious in their movement. Against the wooden deck of the barge, sneaking was impossible.

“We have company.” He murmured, glancing back into the hold.

Penelope’s tutt was loud in the small space as she turned to face him, “Might yourself and Parker deal with our visitors, I shall finish off here with Mister Yost.”

“Quite.” John smiled, “Try not to be too long.”

She almost laughed at his request as she turned back to Yost, and John focussed on making it above deck unnoticed.

Movement immediately caught his eye as he rose from the dusty hold, drawing his attention towards the port side.

A flash of blond in the lamp light was enough to have him straightening in fear as a figure in black wrestled with the shorter person. One set of feet against the deck were much heavier than the other, a whir of hydraulics accompanying each movement.

Parker alongside him hesitated, “H’is that…?”

“Gordon.” John confirmed under his breath, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“Not if we do first.”

Both spun at the voice, accent familiar english.

Parker was first to move, taking on the other Brit with a well trained hand. John knew he was more than capable, but the man was older, getting slower as life moved on by his own admission. It wasn’t something a Tracy did, to run in the opposite direction of those that may need help.

A cry of pain from across the boat reminded him that his brother was the one more likely to need such help.

He was off without further thought, not caring for how the coal may muck up the crisp lines of his evening suit. His shoes were slippy against the deck, made for walking along cobbled roads and not climbing across boats mounded high with wares.

Stumbling around the hatch they had emerged from, the glint of metal caught his eye.

“Gun!” He yelled, hoping his brother took heed as he raced for the assailant.

Gordon spun too fast, the hiss of his legs not keeping up, his balance off still as he adapted to the new legs. It may have been months, but learning to walk was a slow process, one the swimmer was yet to remaster.

The line of his fall flashed before John’s eyes as he tracked the squeeze of a finger on the trigger. The timing had to be right, he had to save his brother.

“No!” He screamed at the final possible moment, grabbing for the gun as he slammed into the man. Kicking hard, he buckled before him, giving John the desperate moment he needed to claim the gun.

A single solid thwack to the back of the head was enough to still the man that had been attacking Gordon.

“John!”

He would always react to the call of his name from a brother, though it was rare for such a call to set his heart racing. The fear and desperation so plain and clear.

In the rush he hadn’t heard the splash that he knew must have happened. He hadn’t had time to do anything other than allow it to, even if Gordon had yet to relearn to swim as he once had.

John had only hoped he had the upper body strength to keep himself above the water for long enough.

“Reach Gordon.” He encouraged, throwing himself half over the side, stretching as far as he could. Even from a distance he could feel the icy coolness of the river against his face, his brother would freeze if he didn’t get out in a moment.

“‘Ere!” Parker called, throwing a rope down into the water before John could look around, “Grab on Master Gordon.”

His brother did as the older man bade, grabbing on with hands the shook from equal parts cold and fear. Together, John and Parker heaved, pulling the swimmer from the water and to the damp boards of the barge.

John didn’t dare look, anger burning hot in his chest as he dropped the rope and looked straight to Parker.

“Get a carriage and get him out of here.” He spat, “Penelope and I shall finish here.”

“H’of course, Master John.”

He didn’t look back as he headed for the hold.

***

Penny had been the one to catch the blood staining his hair a darker shade of red. One look at him in the hold and she had been pulling the scarf from his neck to tend to the wound.

“We have what we need.” She had uttered to him, “Where has Parker gotten to?”

“I sent him to the hotel.” John murmured, wary of listening ears as Yost looked between them, “There was a complication.”

“Then we shall follow on.” She nodded matter-of-factly, “Mister Yost is of no more use to us.”

In the moment, John didn’t overly care for what Yost had or hadn’t told her. There were too many other aspects to consider. Scott and Virgil were going to give him so much grief for not only his wound but for Gordon sneaking along.

“You are fortunate,” Penelope whispered once they were in the cab, she hadn’t stopped fussing with his hair since they had set off, “”Tis a minor scrape, less than an inch and it would have been your head.”

He couldn’t help but scoff with a shake of his head, wincing as the world in front of him spun with the movement.

“You can blame Gordon.” He uttered back to her, “Dear brother followed us.”

Her silence had him worried, it wasn’t like Penelope to not have a response quick off of her tongue.

His head was starting to throb though and he really did not have the energy to look to her.

“Scott is going to kill me.”

Her gloved hand was warm over his, “He shan’t. We will deal with this and your brother need never know.”

Opening his eyes just enough to look down to her, John found himself smiling slightly. When it came to the Lady, he knew he had her word.

***

He awoke to the sun shining through the light lace curtains of the windows, it’s low light in the winter sky an indication that he had slept in far later than anticipated. His head still ached as it had the night before, the gash at his scalp pulling as he screwed his eyes shut again.

The bed was warm but the air around him cold. There was another reason for him to hate Paris, for him to dislike anywhere that wasn’t his ship.

The quiet hiss and pop of a fire assured him that the room would heat up soon, even if he wasn’t quite ready to venture from the warmth of the bed.

“Master John,” Parker’s voice was soft despite the harshness of his accent, “H’it is time you were h’awake.”

Sighing he hummed softly in some sort of response. The ride back would be hell if his head continued as it was.

“Her Ladyship has made arrangements for us to remain in the city for another day.” Parked continued, “She thought you might want to recover a little more before making the return journey.”

If he had been so inclined he would have kissed the woman.

“H’excuses ‘ave been sent to your brothers. Her Ladyship shall fill you in over breakfast.”

Shifting, he sat up in the bed, resisting the want to probe around in his hairline to asses the wound on his head.

“Might h’I recommend a wash before you make h’an appearance, Master John?”

Grimacing, he looked to Parker, “That bad?”

The butler tilted his head slightly, a smile hiding somewhere behind his eyes.

“How is Gordon?”

“‘E’s well. Though regretful of your injury.”

John frowned, they hadn’t run into his brother on their return to the hotel the previous night. Parker had done enough to assure John that his brother would at least live for the time being. It had been John’s aching head that had forced him to retire early, despite the conversations he knew he needed to have.

“Master Gordon ‘eard your return with ‘er Ladyship and caught a glimpse of you before you retired.”

That made more sense.

Reaching for his shirt he swung his legs out from the bed, “Send him through please.”

“Of course.” The butler nodded, stepping backwards towards the door, “Though, master John?”

“Yes?”

“H’if I might say, h’I wouldn’ be too harsh on Master Gordon. There was no intention for ‘im to get you hurt. H’and I do believe ‘e was only lookin’ out for ‘er Ladyship.”

As much as John wished to deny it, he knew the older man had a point.

“Tell Penelope we will join her for breakfast in good time.”

“Of course, Master John.”

He dressed quickly, determined to keep out the chill of the room and have himself composed before Gordon turned up.

His family had always said his anger had burned as red and as hot as his hair.

It seemed ironic, he thought to himself as he warmed his hands by the fire, that red hair determined a hot temper when fire so often burned the yellow of Gordon’s hair. Everyone knew his younger brother wore his emotions on his sleeve, that you simply had to look in his eyes to know exactly what his feelings were on any matter.

“You asked for me.”

John looked up from the flames as his brother slipped into the room, layered up in clothes that didn’t quite fit him.

“Are you well?”

He looked okay, though John knew that looks could be deceiving.

“Bruised and sore,” Gordon admitted softly, still hovering by the door, “I spent the night by the fire, Parker ensured I was warmed through. I shan’t catch a chill.”

John nodded to his own fire, “You will do well to stay warm today brother, I do not know what I should tell Scott if you were to catch a chill. Where does he think you are?”

“Thinks I went up the coast to Dunkirk to meet some old Navy friends. I would rather we kept him believing as such.”

The swimmer had the decency to look guilty as he approached, sinking down in the armchair John directed him to.

“Fortunately that is possible as you did not take a bullet last night.” John uttered, voice low and dangerous, “Was there any thought as to the implications of your actions, Gordon? Do you not think we have already lost enough of you without the risk of losing more?”

He stayed quiet, not even fighting back as John knew his brother should have done. His anger was burning hotter than the fire though, heating his gut from the inside out as he glared at his younger brother.

“I am not Virgil, Gordon. I had no way to save you like he did. I do not even know if he could have saved you from that. Having your life saved once does not make you invincible brother, it would do you well to remember that!”

“I did not anticipate the situation.” Gordon uttered, not looking up from where he was wringing his hands together, “I did not expect for someone to attack me, John. I did not--”

He caught himself, looking away as his mouth twisted.

John frowned down at him, ignoring the pain in his head. He knew his brother, knew that it was so very unlike him to leave anything unsaid.

“What?” He prompted.

Gordon looked down as he shook his head, “Tis nothing.”

The voice was too soft and young, so unlike his brother.

“Gordon?” He stepped closer, shifting to crouch, “Brother, something is bothering you and I can see it. I may not be Scott or Virgil, but you know you can still talk to me.”

Amber eyes were wet as they looked to him, the sharp intake of breath a telltale sign that something was most definitely wrong.

“What am I, John?”

There were many questions John had heard in his life, he prided himself on having the answers to all that he could.

Except, he didn’t understand Gordon’s.

And there was no answer for a question he did not understand.

Shaking his head he reached out to the arm of the chair, “I--”

Gordon reached to the leg of his breeches, tugging just enough to pull up the hem and reveal the metal beneath.

“What has Virgil done to me?”

John shook his head, wincing at the pain briefly before refocusing on his brother, “Virgil saved you.”

Desperate hands grasped at John’s, amber eyes pleading as they reflected the firelight.

“Yes, and for that I am forever grateful. Is this not also a curse though? None of you shall ever allow me near a rescue again, I am not capable, last night was simple proof of that. I cannot even swim, something I have spent my whole life doing!”

The energy was all Gordon, burning as hot and as bright as the fire behind John. It burned his heart to hear the words, singed him to even think that his brother had all these feelings.

“I cannot do anything that my life has revolved around and with all that I am a monster. I must hide in the shadows for fear of either ridicule or theft. You and I know this world John, we saw what people will do last night, nobody shall ever know the truth outside of our family and that--”

A fist tightened as he pulled away, jaw clenching tight as he tried to blink away the dampness in his eyes.

“Virgil saved me, but now I do not believe I shall have a life.”

Long, cold fingers grasped at his brothers, pieces of the previous night falling into place all at once.

“Gordon,” He choked, “Tell me you did not ignore me last night. When you were in the river? Tell me you intended on getting out?”

His brother looked to his legs again, “The last days were the first I have seen Penelope since…”

John didn’t need him to gesture to the false legs before he continued.

“And until last night she had barely said more than two words to me.” A tired scoff as he shook his head, “I am well aware of the jokes you all make at my expense, because you all know how I feel for the woman. When she came for you though, whisked you away in her carriage without even a thought of me. What was I left to think, John?”

He could only bow his head in response, the thoughts of his brother irrational but so understandable all at once.

“My dear brother,” He whispered, squeezing the hands in his tightly, “Penelope, she--”

“I know.” It was whispered back as Gordon slouched in the seat, tears fresh on his cheeks as he sunk into the cushions, “Parker set me straight last night. It was about when he threw me the rope that I realised how wrong I was.”

“I love Penelope dearly,” John murmured, “As a friend, Gordon. She does not see you as anything other than the man you always have been. Penelope is a woman so very above material things despite her expensive taste.”

The comment had the desired effect as Gordon laughed, eyes brightening just slightly with the sound.

“And do you really think I would allow her to court me aboard a coal barge?” John continued, allowing his own smile to spread, “Of all the places in Paris?”

Gordon laughed softly again, nodding slightly in admission, “I’ve been out of sorts. I am sorry.”

John sighed, watching him carefully and knowing all too well what it felt like to be so very alone in a room full of people.

“You will save people again my brother, do not doubt that. You are still healing though, your injuries still fresh and raw to us all. We are your brothers and we shall always fear for your safety. There is no denying though that we cannot keep you from that life, and if you have started to believe that we would then I can only apologise.”

The wetness in his brothers eyes was gathering again, brightening the reflection of the fire as he focussed on John.

“Have we not proved so many times,” John continued, “That there is always a way my brother, whatever you need we shall do all in our power to make you well and make you happy. If that means to be on rescues we shall work towards that, or if it means courting Penelope then we will find a way.”

Taking a breath, John thinned his lips, “You are not the only one in our family to believe that you are so very alone. I promise you though Gordon, there is always someone when you need them.”

He didn’t expect the soft snort as a response, “Parker said the same thing.”

“Parker is a wise man.” John smiled softly, “It would do for you to listen to him once in a while.”

Nodding, Gordon sniffed, “I am truly sorry John, I almost got you killed.”

Shifting to stand, John winced, the shift in height exacerbating the ache in his skull.

“Damn,” Gordon cussed softly, “Sit down before you collapse.”

He waved him off, “I am fine, just don’t tell Scott.” Softening he smiled as he rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “It is worth it for saving a brother's life.”

“In more ways than one.” Gordon murmured, “I owe you.”

John didn’t disagree as he glanced towards the fire, flames dying down quietly as the wood settled into place.

“Do not forget it, brother.”

[angeli-marco-writes]

Bill and Fleur - Our Spot

A/N - I do not own these characters, this is a work of fiction. Fleur is an absolute darling and I absolutely adore her. Please enjoy this cuteness despite the awful writing from my wattpad. It was fun to write in my two best languages as well, even if the French is just in bits.

Warnings - mentions of other character death, fluff, bad English and French for 1.6k words. 

Summary - After the final task, Fleur finds herself in despair, and goes to the only spot she can think of to unwind, not expecting to be approached by a handsome stranger.

AFTER CEDRIC'S DEATH and the events of the maze, Fleur could be found in a hidden corner of the Hogwarts grounds that she'd discovered in her time there. She didn't realise anyone else went over there, until she heard footsteps. She didn't really want to be found, she was heartbroken and kind of traumatised. Inside that maze she'd encountered terrors that she never thought could be real.

She looked up, still wearing her blue velvet tracksuit in the faint moonlight mingling with remaining sunlight, and was met with the strikingly handsome ginger gentleman that she'd marvelled at in the stands, and in the relatives room much earlier on.

"Fleur is it? Are you ok?" he asked softly, going up to her and crouching next to her sitting figure. She wiped her eyes instinctively of mascara mingled tear tracks, even though they'd been dry for a while and met his eyes, nodding.

"Yes, I am ok merci. Cedric dying just upset me. Sorry, my Eenglish is not good. Comment t'appelle tu?" She spoke gently, seeing the man sit down next to her in the grass.

"Je m'appelle Bill. Nice to properly meet you." He held her hand gently and kissed it gently, making her chuckle a little but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "I don't speak much French, but I speak enough to get me through a conversation. and your English isn't too bad." He winked, causing her to smile again.

"I'm so sorry zat you found me here. I'm a mess, covered een mud!" She insisted, pointing to the patches of tried mud and blood stains all over her pale tracksuit, but Bill kept his grip on her hand firmly, so she let it happen, intertwining her fingers with his.

"You're beautiful you know?" He murmured after a moment of silence, making her flush a little despite constantly receiving compliments on her looks. She was startled also at how forward he was, and she felt special, like he really saw her. "I know you're part Veela, I can tell, and my brother said so... but it's not just that. You're beautiful even when you're dishevelled and muddy." He chuckled. "And you were so brave to take on that tournament. as soon as I saw you in the chamber and I saw your eyes, and then I saw you outside the maze and I was rooting for you despite Harry basically being my brother." he continued and she laughed a little.

"You should not 'ave looked at me before ze maze. Your handsomeness distracted me." a coy smirk began playing on her lips. She moved her spare hand up to brush some stray red hair off his face and tuck it behind his pierced ear.

She couldn't help but revel in him, despite her own good looks. He was tall and muscular, freckled with piercing blue eyes and a warm smile. He had quite long fiery red hair which was tied at the base of his neck in a little pony tail which suited him, as well as the fang dangling from his ear. Fleur had never felt this way about anyone before, she'd never been nervous around a guy due to her Veela heritage, but that didn't matter here. Despite only knowing him a short time, she felt that Bill could see who she really was beyond her billowing silvery blonde hair, perfect good looks and terrifying anger.

"You wanna talk about any of it? I don't have to get home for a bit, I was just visiting Harry in the hospital wing with mum, and before you ask, he's fine." He said, seeing the sorrow in her eyes, and she nodded. Bill sat down on the ground and pulled her velvet covered legs into his lap, allowing her to be comfortable.

"I feel like I failed me and my school in zis tournament. I did not complete ze second task in le... le lac. Ron et Harry saved ma Gabrielle. Et I messed up in ze maze, bringing shame on Beauxbatons et Madame Maxime. C'est mon année finalement, I wanted time to do somesing special and I failed. And Cedric-" She paused, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "We were friends, ze four of us. Because of this task. And now 'e is gone. I'm so sad he's been killed." 

A lump began forming at the back of her throat and all her pent up emotions from the past year were being released. Bill could somehow tell that she'd be shunned if she showed this emotion to her classmates or headmistress, so he let her cry it all out, wrapping a reassuring arm around her.

"Fleur, you didn't fail your school. You performed admirably in this tournament. It's designed to test you and put you out of your depths ok? Quite literally in that second task, and no one blames you. You were an admirable champion and you've brought glory to your school in your final year, that's nothing to be ashamed of. And Cedric. I know you were friends, Harry wrote to me. Cedric lived in the same village as my family, I saw him growing up; the same year as my brother-" He began, but was cut off by a confused expression from Fleur.

"Your brother eez en Harry's year, non?" She asked with a bemused face, perfectly illuminated in the moonlight, and he laughed, having to gather himself before continuing. He held her legs closer to him, absently drawing shapes on her joggers, but she didn't mind.

"I have five brothers and a sister," He said, and her jaw dropped in response. "There's me, I'm 24, Charlie's 22, Percy's 18, Fred and George are in 6th year here so they're 17, Ron is in Harry's year so 15 now, and Ginny my sister is a year below Ron, she's 13."

Even after he finished, Fleur still looked astonished.  She was admittedly a little awestruck, and it took her a while to speak, to find the words. Bill couldn't care less, he could sit with this beautiful young woman in his old spot under the stars forever.

"You 'ave a grande famille!" She said and he chuckled to himself, their oceans of eyes connecting and forming a bond. "It's just me and ma soeur Gabrielle, she eez almost ten." Her heart seemed to glow as well as her cheeks when thinking of her sister, and Bill could instantly tell they were close.

"Family's amazing isn't it? I want a family of my own one day, just maybe not with seven kids..." he said playfully, and her tears subsided, leaving her able to just enjoy his presence.

"It's ok that you're sad about Cedric, you know, a lot of people are, and you'll be able to go to his funeral. But the ones that love us never really leave us do they?" She nodded, a smile meeting her eyes this time. "There's that gorgeous smile. I know I only saw it at the start of the task and I've only known you, what a day? Properly, less than an hour, but your smile is wonderful." He marvels at her perfect pearly white teeth and her dusty pink lips. 

He didn't mind that she was donning a dirt covered tracksuit with mud and blood on her face, he didn't mind that her hair was messy and held together by a breaking hair bobble, he didn't mind that they didn't speak the same language or that she'd just cried to him. Bill just enjoyed her company and honestly never wanted their meeting to end.

"So, when school ends, what are you gonna do?" He inquired, breaking the silence and pulling Fleur in closer to him, she happily agreed and nuzzled her head in his neck.

"I'm working at Gringotts 'opefully, maybe just in a shop, to make my Eenglish better. Just for ze summer." She smiled before asking him a variation of the same question and seeing his eyes light up.

"I'm a curse breaker for Gringotts!" He grinned, and she joined him, her cheeks beginning to ache. "I was working in Egypt, but now things are getting bad here, I'm gonna work at the main building in England. Guess I'll be seeing you at work then." He teased and nudged her lovingly which she thought was more than amiable.

"You will 'ave to 'elp me," she gazed up at him with wide eyes and he nodded almost immediately in agreement.

"Anytime..." he murmured, their faces getting closer until their lips were inches from one another. "We shouldn't do this. we'll be working together and I'm years older than you." 

He tried to reason his desire, but couldn't even convince himself as their lips met in a lustful kiss. Their lips moved in unison, understanding one another, and they didn't dare let go until they couldn't breathe.

"Madame Maxime will want me at ze carriage now. Eet was nice to meet you, Bill Weasley." She blushed as she stood up and scrambled away, the moonlight reflecting off her hair, but Bill hurried after her and caught her wrist.

"Here." He said, slipping a hair bobble on her wrist. "Yours is about to break, and I know how often they go missing. A token to remember me by, until I see you next month of course." He flushed himself, his cheeks matching his hair, as she stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his cheek.

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour. I come to England on ze 10th of July."

And with that, she ran off into the starry distance, he could see her small frame turn into a faint shadow as he smiled to himself. Maybe it wasn't so bad that someone found his old spot, maybe it was their spot now.

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 17 of Possible-y Utah

Chapter 17 - Villainous Heat

(A private island somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, 7pm local time)

Senor Senior Sr. came right near the pool area where his son, Senor Senior Jr., was tanning.

"Father, why did you come in here?" Junior asked as he rubbed suntan lotion on his chest.

"I am here to tell you, Junior, that the heat ray is almost complete." Senior replied with malevolent glee.

"Ah, yes, very good." Junior said, playfully clapping his hands, "Can it help me with my tan?"

"No, my son..." Senior said, turning his head sideways, "The ray is intended for evil purposes as per tradition. It has the capability to melt solid steel off of a 70-story skyscraper!"

"So...I cannot use it even in its lowest setting?" Junior wondered, missing the point.

Senior groaned at his son's cluelessness.

"No..." he sighed, not even in the slightest. "...though we are still missing one piece that would make the ray fully operational."

"And that would be...?" Junior questioned.

"Project Phoenix!" Senior grinned evily. "With it in my hands, I will be able to make the world bow to me! And as per the tradition of evil villainy...the evil laugh!"

Senior then began to laugh evily.

"Bowing is not good for my spine." Junior replied, "I may need to hire a chiropractor."

Senior groaned even louder. "It is a figure of speech, Junior."

"Speech? I do not see him or her anywhere!" Junior exclaimed, turning his head around and looking around the pool area.

"Sometimes, I even wonder if you have a brain." Senior muttered.

"Now we...as an old saying goes...change gears." the elderly gentleman then added, refocusing his attention to a life of crime. "We need to steal the location device for Project Phoenix."

"How are going to do that, Father?" Junior asked.

"Simple, my son." Senior grinned as he held up his laptop, "All we need is the Internet, a clear location on where the Locator is, a jet...and, of course, 50 henchmen from HenchCo!"

Senior snapped his fingers and fifty henchmen appeared before him, twenty-five on both sides of him.

"So what do you say, Junior?" Senior asked to Junior.

Junior replied while putting down his tanning mirror.

"Okay, Father, but I may need to bring at least 10 jars of Le Goop with me to prevent any cowlick issues on the flight."

Senior muttered again under his breath, "I'll give you some cowlick issues..."

(Zugspite Mountain, Bavaria, Germany, 9pm local time)

Professor Dementor, in his usual outfit and protective helmet, was pacing along the balcony in his lair. He was observing the progress being made on a destructive Doomsday device of his own.

"Bill, tell me zat heat ray iz finally complete!" Dementor demanded.

"It is about 95% complete, Professor!" Bill, one of his leading henchman, replied.

"Wunderbar! Zat iz very good news to hear, ja!" Dementor grinned, "Because I..."

Then he shouted out loud "...CANNOT TOLERATE INCOMPETENT FOOLS!"

"No need to worry about that!" Bill replied, "You have henchwomen and us henchmen!"

"Yes, yes, I know that." Dementor said, "I'm an equal-opportunity employer, zank you very much!"

"Is there anything missing from your heat ray, Professor?" Bill asked.

"Zere is vun part I am missing from ze machine." Dementor said.

"Which part is it?" Bill asked about it.

"Ze component known only as...Project Phoenix!" Dementor explained, "From vhat I am able to decipher from ze black text ze US military puts, it has such power that it can melt A 70-STORY SKYSCRAPER!"

"So what can we do?" Bill questioned.

"Gather ze henchmen and ze henchwomen und put zem in ze jet! Ve are going to Colorado in Colorado to steal ze locator to ze device!" Dementor instructed.

As per his tradition, he gave an evil laugh with his fiendish red flashlight.

(The Carribean Lair, 9pm local time)

"Shego, do you know where the screwdriver is?" Drakken asked.

"Dr. D, do I look like your personal tool finder?" Shego snarked while filing her nails, "I believe the answer is no!"

"Bah...I'll look for it myself!" the blue-skinned scientist grunted. "I know that I must've last seen it on the couch cushions!"

He was then shifting through the cushions for any signs of the screwdriver.

"You really do need to stop embarrasing yourself..." Shego sighed.

"Come on, Shego! Be a bit more supportive of my latest evil plan..." Drakken complained.

"...That is going to ultimately F-A-I-L!" Shego shouted, "No thanks to your carelessness, the Diablo plan has unwittingly put your mother in a financial hole!"

"But I called her and said to her that it was very expensive radio equipment that got destroyed by...rivals! And not Kim Possible!" Drakken complained, for he had to still conceal the fact from Mama Lipsky under his radio personality guises. "This is going to be a much smaller-scale evil plan: a heat ray that is capable of melting solid steel."

"Mmm-hmm...and it's going to probably end up in the scrapyard just like all of your other inventions!" Shego muttered.

"Shego, at least follow through with me this!" Drakken insisted "I want you to steal the locator to the most important component of my evil plan: Project Phoenix!"

"Oh goody...another top-secret whatchamacallit to steal." Shego sarcastically replied, "Why can't you just invent this Phoenix thing? It's only going to waste gas on the hover car."

"Nonsense, Shego. Stealing is inherent in villains and villainesses like you and me!" Drakken replied.

He got all excited for a moment.

"Woo-hoo! I finally managed to find the screwdriver!"

"Yay...whoop-dee-doo for you..." Shego snarked. "As if I care!"

"Now...if you won't damper my excitement for a bit, we are going to find the locator to Project Phoenix!" Drakken exclaimed as he held up a GPS tracker. "And I believe I know where!"

The coordinates were locked onto Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico.

[internutter]

Challenge #03064-H141: To Deal With Reformed Devils

the Deregulation brothers meet and start to work with with the gentleman that bought trash worlds and developed them into resorts.

Being the Fiscal Empire of Lodalute IS still a deregulation, and given how suspicious Deregulations are of anything from the Alliance, they are happy (and only a little suspicious) to offload their waste, and walking assets onto another Deregulation.

https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-03010-h087-secrets-of-the-network

https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-02955-h032-we-the-undersigned

https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-02883-g326-learn-something-guys -- Adam in Darwin

Rejuvinator Tars made sure ze had a full security escort when the two brothers turned up. Lodalute was Deregger space and anyone with CEO rank from Deregger space was automatically trouble. Ze pulled some Intimidators as well as trained Station Security agents and at least one of them had trained with the Immortal Master Twii. Just in case they wanted to step up from bringing the funny business and launch into an outright comedy contest.

The brothers Lodalute - Nigel and Steve - arrived in rather plain suits by Deregger standards and absolutely no tricks. They also came with a contract drafted by the CRC with their full consent. This was, as far as Deregger empires were concerned, unprecedented. Tars went straight for the fine print. All properly in order. No loopholes. No weird wording. Not even a giggle's worth of funny business.

"I'm not selling my resort to you or any Dereggers," Tars said, making hir limits known up front. If they were true to type, they would throw an outraged tantrum and try to intimidate hir. Which was why what they did next was such a shock.

[Check the source to see the full story]