#and i already have my week scheduled for other comm work and i figured 'fine i will be self indulgent ONCE'

[todayisafridaynight]

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[ifmywishescametrue]

Hi love. I adore your work. Can you write for the prompt “You need to get out of there!” for stevetony? I’m a sucker for za *angst* and I can already imagine tiny Stark being his stupid adorable self and getting in trouble.

hiii thank you!! idk how this ended up being 3k words, but i hope that you like it!

It happens so quickly that Tony doesn’t even have time to really process it. One moment things are as close to fine as they can be in the middle of a fight. He’s close to breaking through the system, just a few keystrokes and a minute away from being able to stop the near army of robots right from the source. The next is filled with blaring alarms and dust starting to fall from the ceiling, though he hardly notices through the laser-focus. He hears Steve’s voice through the comm line in his ear and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond.

“Iron Man, you need to get out of there!” Steve says again, firmer and louder, and this time Tony opens his mouth to tell him off for being distracting right when he’s almost done, but the words die on his tongue at the first crashing beam. 

All he actually manages are a few ineloquent curses muttered under his breath while he scrambles to finish his task. Adrenaline and fear are coursing through him in equal parts, but the fear isn’t for himself. It’s for what happens if he doesn’t do this. If the building takes him out before he can take out the enemy, leaving the other five with far too many opponents to handle on their own. He can see it now - their blood on his hands because he wasn’t fast enough. Just one job to do and he couldn’t do it right.

There’s more shouting on the comm line, more than just Steve, but Tony can’t take the time to listen to it. The floor is shaking beneath him, and the dust in the air has accumulated to cloud his vision. He’s thankful he has the foresight to ventilate the suit through numerous filters, otherwise it would be getting hard to breathe. 

There’s flashing on the monitors in front of him, and he knows he’s done it by the way everything goes quiet for just a second, then explodes back into sound. He hears the relief in Clint’s voice, followed by the barely concealed panic in Steve’s as he urges him to get out of the building yet again. 

Tony powers up the suit to go back out through the shattered window he came through in the first place. No longer focused on dismantling the system, he realizes that the window doesn’t exist anymore. The wall has collapsed on itself, the left side of the room blocked off with rubble. His initial scan of the building showed another floor above him and two below, joined only by one set of stairs, but those were off to the left, too. The suit could probably make it through the wall directly, if he got enough power going. Might break a bone or two, he thinks, but with no other way out, he’ll take the risk. As he scans the walls again for the weakest point, he says into the comm, “Be out in a sec. Maybe, uh, get ready to catch me.”

Whatever Steve says next comes through layers of static, cutting in and out until the only word Tony can make out is his own name. It’s the last thing he hears as he turns up the repulsors to full speed and aims for the center of the wall. 

______________

All things considered, it could have gone worse. He has a concussion that makes him feel dizzy and a couple of large gashes in his abdomen from where the suit had caved in just a bit that required more than a few stitches. Two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder top it off, but he doesn’t need to be in the hospital for more than a day. A precaution to make sure his concussion doesn’t turn into something worse.

He tells himself that the short stay is why Steve didn’t show. Natasha was the first to come, with her own fresh bandages on her arms and stitches in a jagged cut on her forehead. She told him about the end of the fight from the outside, and the way all the robots suddenly came to a stop, just like Tony predicted when he told them his plan for going into that building in the first place. Clint and Thor come together after. Their loud voices make his headache worsen, and the laughter makes his ribs ache, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it. Pepper ends up kicking them out when she arrives and notices that he winces a little every time Thor speaks. Bruce is last, arriving the next morning after he’s recovered from those few hours as the Hulk, but still looking tired from it. He sits with Tony while the doctor tells him about all the things he shouldn’t be doing for a while, then rides home with him. 

In the elevator, Tony thinks about telling JARVIS to take him to the workshop, but one stern look from Bruce makes him reconsider.

“It’s really not that bad,” Tony tries to argue. 

“You’re not allowed to move your right shoulder.”

“But my hands are working just fine.”

“You can’t even stand up straight. You’re actually swaying right now.”

Tony shrugs with just the left side of his body and grimaces when it pulls on his broken ribs. “So I’ll sit down.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me physically restrain you.”

“Kinky,” Tony jokes, but it falls flat because Bruce clearly isn’t in the mood for his humor and his own heart isn’t in it, anyway. He sighs and recognizes the losing battle. “Fine, take me to the penthouse, J.”

Bruce walks out of the elevator with him, hovering close behind like he’s prepared to catch him if he suddenly passes out. Which is fair, Tony supposes, because his vision goes dark around the edges a couple of times before he makes it to his bed. It’s why Tony only complains a little when Bruce kneels to take his shoes off for him when he sits down at the edge of the mattress.

“Alright, stop that, I can take care of myself,” Tony says, pushing on Bruce’s shoulder. Except the pain in his ribs and head that he gets when he bends over makes him audibly groan, and he feebly sits back up. “Okay, nevermind. You’ve got it covered. Even if this does make the top twenty most embarrassing list.”

“It makes it that high?” Bruce teases, and Tony weakly kicks at him. 

Out of his shoes, Tony maneuvers himself under the covers the best he can, trying to find a position that doesn’t make any of his injuries hurt. The pain medication he’s on is fairly low grade by choice, because he hates the stronger stuff, but he’s wondering now if the fuzzy head it gives him might be worth it. 

Bruce lingers a little awkwardly after, so Tony half-jokingly asks, “Are you going to stay and watch me sleep?”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce says, “No, but it’s my shift to make sure you don’t do something stupid, so I’ll be in the living room.”

“Your shift?” Tony raises his eyebrows. 

“Nat’s up next. Clint’s after her.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed babysitting.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he isn’t, really. It’s almost nice that they’re concerned.

“Thor’s on night shift,” Bruce smiles. “Figured he’s the one most capable of carrying you back to bed if needed.”

After his absence at the hospital, the lack of mention of Steve sticks out even more. Not that it wouldn’t have anyway. His life revolves around the presence of Steve a little more than he wants to admit, but no one else needs to know that he plans his appearances in the communal kitchen in the mornings based on when Steve will be back from his runs or that it’s never a coincidence that he only remembers to be on time for team dinners when Steve is the one that did the cooking. 

His face must reveal enough for him, though, because Bruce’s smile softens with just a touch of sadness and something that’s a little too close to pity for his liking. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. He just reminds Tony that he’ll be right in the other room if he needs anything, and Tony thinks about it while he’s trying to fall asleep.

It was almost something, he thinks. Him and Steve. It seemed like it to him, anyway, if the recent interactions were anything to go by. He didn’t think he was imagining the change in the way that Steve had been looking at him lately. The way the glances seemed to linger, eyes flitting down to his lips and back up again, and his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink every time Tony caught him staring. Then there were the almost dates - restaurants Steve always claimed he’d been meaning to try, movies, museums, baseball games. Always on nights all the others just happened to be unavailable, leaving just the two of them. He swears he saw Steve glaring at Clint the one time he actually said yes to one of those half-hearted invitations. Clint’s yes turned to a no just a moment later. 

There’s a new ache in his chest that has nothing to do with the injuries when he realizes just how wrong he was about it all. He must have read too much into it. Mistaken Steve’s friendliness for genuine affection. He would be here otherwise.

______________

True to their word, his friends really do stay around the clock, though the shifts aren’t exactly accurate. Natasha and Clint usually come together, and Bruce doesn’t usually leave for a while after they do. Someone’s always there in a way that would border on stifling if he didn’t secretly soak up all of the attention with fervor. It’s a few days before his dislocated shoulder no longer needs a sling and his concussion has mostly cleared up so he can do more than lounge around. Steve is painfully absent for all of it, and he finds out on the third day that he’s left for a mission without saying goodbye. Natasha distracts him from how badly that stings by asking him which shade of nail polish she should paint his toenails with. He ends up with glittery pink and a pit in his stomach. 

It’s a week after the bruises have already faded that Steve comes back, and Tony pettily decides that two can play the avoidance game. His hurt has morphed from sadness into anger, because even if Steve didn’t share his feelings he could have at least bothered to ask how he was. Even a text would have been better than this. 

Knowing Steve’s schedule pays off in the opposite way now. He knows when to avoid all of the common areas, like the gym and kitchen. If he needs more coffee in the middle of the day, he knows to go between one and three, because Steve will be in a training session with the new Shield agents. If he shows up a little late for movie night, the only seat left will be the uncomfortable armchair in the corner that no one really likes, but he won’t have to awkwardly avoid touching Steve on the couch. 

Days pass like that, with Natasha giving him tired looks every time she catches him sneaking around and Bruce bordering on annoyed with how many times Tony goes to his lab instead of his own just in case Steve decides today is the day he wants to start coming by again. It’s childish, he knows, and it grows even more childish when he reasons that Steve started it first. 

He shouldn’t be surprised when the rest of the team decides that enough is enough, though he is surprised that they choose the pantry of all places for it. The ambush happens on a Monday evening, right when Tony is coming back from a long day of meetings that already have him feeling drained. Natasha grabs his arm, and it seems innocent enough at first. Until she pushes him into the pantry and slams the door shut behind him. He nearly topples right into Steve, who catches him by the elbow and rights him before he can fall. There’s the sound of something being dragged in front of the door, then Clint’s voice on the other side. 

“Get your shit together, and then you can come out again,” he says. 

Tony sputters, flitting between glaring at the door and at Steve. The look towards Steve softens a bit when he realizes that he looks just as confused as Tony, then hardens again when he remembers that he’s still angry at him. 

He turns to the door and pounds his fist against it. “Guys, open the damn door. This is fucking ridiculous.”

“So is watching you two avoid each other like the plague,” Bruce says. 

“Just talk to each other and stop being dumbasses,” Nat adds.

Tony sighs, and when he turns around, Steve won’t even meet his eyes. He stares down at the floor, shoulders hunched and folded in on himself in a way that makes him look small. 

It might be childish again, but Tony doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence first. He slides down to the floor and leans back against the door with every intention of waiting it out. It’s Steve’s famous stubbornness against his own, though, and god only knows how long this could take. He starts counting things on the shelves. Two bottles of ketchup, four boxes of microwaveable popcorn, a jar of pickles. He makes it as far as the tenth different type of cereal before Steve finally says, “I should’ve been there.”

The admission is so quiet it’s barely audible, and Tony glances up to see that Steve still won’t look at him. 

“Yeah, you should’ve been,” Tony agrees, and he can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Why weren’t you?”

Steve hesitates, and Tony rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Cap. It’s fine. We’re not those kind of friends, I get it. I mean, if you were in the hospital, I’d want to make sure you were okay with my own eyes, but you don’t feel the same. It’s my own fault for thinking that you -”

“I was scared,” Steve cuts him off, and Tony snaps his mouth shut. “I was scared, because you were - you could have died. You don’t even know what it was like watching you fall like that. You didn’t see all the blood. You didn’t have to carry your body to the medics because you were unconscious. All I could think is that you could have been dying, and it would’ve been on me. Because I couldn’t do enough, and I should’ve done more.”

Steve looks like it hurts to even say the words, like he’s reliving the memory of it, but Tony only feels angrier for it. “And how does that translate into ignoring me for weeks? You were scared, so what, you just left?”

Steve nods a little, guilt and shame on his face. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and he’s quieter when he continues, “I ran, and then I felt like shit for running, so I ran some more. I thought -” Steve swallows, finally looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, and Tony can see that his blue eyes are rimmed with red. “I thought you would hate me for it, and now I know that you do.”

Tony tilts his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh, “I don’t hate you. I missed you, and I’m mad at you, but I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks, and the hope in his voice is enough to make Tony’s heart clench. 

“I could never hate you.”

“But can you feel the same way about me that you did before?”

Tony opens his eyes, a fragile smile starting to form. “And how do you think I felt about you before?”

Steve’s cheeks turn red, and he looks away again, but Tony won’t have that. He stands up from the floor, and in the small space it’s only a step before he’s right in front of him. It’s nerve wracking to be the one to reach out first, but he does it anyway. He turns Steve’s face back to him with a hand on his jaw and asks the questions again. 

“How do you think I felt before?”

He gets another one of those now familiar looks. Steve’s eyes move down to his lips, lingering there, before returning to Tony’s own eyes again. 

“Tony,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer the question,” Tony whispers back. “What were we?”

“I don’t know what we were, but I know what I wanted us to be,” Steve says, and Tony quietly waits for him to continue. “I wanted to be yours, and I wanted you to be mine. I still want that, if you can forgive me for running.”

Tony nods, “But you can’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises. His hand finds Tony’s hip to pull him in a little closer. “And if you could stop falling from the sky, I would really appreciate that.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I hate that I scared you, but I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t make the exact same choice again. Not when it’s me or everyone else, especially you. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Steve opens his mouth, and Tony can tell he wants to argue it, but instead he sighs. “I would sacrifice myself every time for you.”

Tony smiles, “I know you would, but I’d never let you.”

“Try and stop me,” Steve replies, teasing and light to make Tony laugh. His arm wraps around Tony’s back to press them together chest to chest. 

Tony tugs on the collar of Steve’s shirt to pull him lower, and Steve takes the hint to finally kiss him like he’s been wanting for so long.

[just2bubbly]

Breaking the news..

Masterlist

Rumors and Affairs Chapter List

// This is an update of  What was she thinking?! 

Cinder’s Perspective: 

She decided to go through the articles. Most of them were dated from when she had escaped out of prison with Thorne. They said how Cinder had run away with her ‘lover’ criminal Thorne. She cringed on the word lover. The more recent ones were about her and Thorne at the Ball. After reading many such articles, she came across the article that was the root cause of all the rumors. It had the picture of her and Thorne standing outside the hall while the ball was going on. He had brought her outside to tell her about how he was going to propose to Cress and Cinder had become so happy to see how far her best friend had come. She had hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Being pregnant had made her super emotional; she could have a headache or laugh over the silliest thing. The media captured this specific affectionate moment between the two and right now she wanted to kill herself for her idiosyncrasies. She was just hugging Thorne why did they have to make such a fuss about this. Well after reading the entire article she came to realize that the media had misinterpreted the scene between the two. They had thought that the two were meeting outside to have a word without the Emperor catching them and it became a bit affectionate but Empress Selene restrained herself in the fear of getting caught.

Cinder recalled how she had confined Thorne that she was literally more scared of doing childbirth than leading the lunar revolution and he had assured her in a rather affectionate way, where he did hold both of their hands on her swollen stomach. The media had definitely misinterpreted and made a fuss about it. Plus Thorne was known for his flirty personality all over the world and also Luna.

All such times she hated how the press and mass media could not have any restrictions and limitations. Stars, they should not publish stuff that they did not have a clue about.

She was having a strong headache meaning that if she had tear ducts she would be crying now or maybe she was just having a headache from frustration. Either way it was not good for her or the baby. Last month they had a riot outside the palace gate about her cyborg-ness. The hatred towards Cinder had been high time since Kai and she had announced that they have been expecting an heir soon. Kai did his best to make her feel better but she was so insecure in moments like these. After all she had received this hate since she was 11. Memories don’t fade easily, especially bad ones.

She was walking in the gardens when the whole incident had happened. The riots were peaceful but Kai and Torin were all shaken up. It looked like they had been expecting this sometime sooner or later. Well saying that Cinder was not expecting this would be a lie for she had so many nightmares about her being close to a crowd and then a riot would start where she and the baby would be harmed in some way or the other.

Cinder herself had taken so much effort to remove cyborg prejudice. Even then she had to suffer through first hand cyborg hate taking in consideration that she was the Empress of the Eastern Commonwealth.

That’s when she saw it. It was Kai. He had commed her. In a normal and peaceful situation she would be happy and bubbly(I know I just made a reference) to see him but now that the situation was anything but calm and normal. She wanted to not pick his call. Not receiving his comm won’t help her though. So she gave in.

“Hey! You took a lot of time to pick up the comm, were you sleeping?”

Seeing him in front of her eyes she just wanted to hug him and let him whisper to her that everything was fine-

“Hail to Cinder! Are you there?”

“Yeah! Why?”

“Well respond so that I can understand”

“When are you coming back?”

“Oh! I see you were so lost in thinking about me that you forgot to realize that your dear husband Kai is there in front of you! Tell me Cinder, Am I wrong? Did you spend all your time thinking about me then?”

“Don’t flatter yourself Emperor. It does not suit you well.” Technically she had been thinking about him all the time but pregnancy had not made her lose her mind so far so she would not blurt out about how she was day-dreaming about her husband.

“C’mon Cinder why can’t you just accept that you missed me?  I do it all the time.”

“Okay Kai. Tell me when are you returning now?”

“I will be there in New Beijing besides you till tomorrow afternoon. I would have left tonight but Queen Camilla invited us to dinner at the royal palace. I don’t want to go-”

“What? You will be coming tomorrow?” she screamed, maybe.

“I thought you would be sad to know that I am delaying my flight because of some stupid dinner.”

“No Kai, it is not like that. Well I certainly do miss you and am happy that you will be there here tomorrow. Stars, it has been difficult without you here but I thought you had yet a week to come and stars above I have so much stuff to do and things to fix. I just don’t have the time to do it before you get back I can’t believe I am running late on my schedule Kai I want-”

“Calm down Cinder. I had asked you to do nothing if you remembered. Plus Torin told me.”

Cinder had covered her face with her hands. She peeked at him a bit scared of his reaction. Why the hell was he being good and not yelling at her if Torin had already told him?!

“What did Torin tell you?”

“Why? Is it problematic that my advisor tells me all about you?”

“That’s not the point Kai. What did he tell you?”

“Nothin’ just how you over-work yourself and do not rest well and keep zoning out between conversations. You really do get hopeless without me.”

“Oh! That’s what Torin told you. Thank goodness”

“Why? Was there something else?”

“NO! Nothing else…. for now at least- I can’t ...I don’t know” why couldn’t she lie towards Kai as easily as she did with the others. It felt like Kai could just look through her soul and realize the truth.

“What happened Cinder? Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Did something happen to you? Did Dr.Nandez say something about the pregnancy? Cinder tell me! ” He looked desperate and all the worst possible scenarios were running through his mind now. She could tell it.

“Kai, I am fine. The baby is fine. Everyone is fine. Well not everyone because Torin and I are all panicked because I did some mistake and screwed up big time….” she trailed.

“Oh! Only that much. Well I thought something happened to you and the baby.”

He sighed before continuing, “What did you do?”

“Well it’s related to the baby. In the head staff meeting I said something that made the entire Thorne-Cinder affair rumors worse.”

“Oh.” he had not expected that.

“Can you brief me about it if it is okay for you or should I ask Torin?”

“Well I kind of blurted out that the rumors about me and Thorne are true while I was zoning out and although I tried to assure them I don’t think that they are much convinced. Shit. I screwed up Kai.”

His eyes had definitely widened. Cinder could tell that without looking. He was trying his best to remain calm but she wanted him to talk. Bloody hell she wanted him to talk now. She was a mess on the inside. Thankfully there were no new rumors about her and Thorne or any news about today’s meeting on her newsfeed yet.

There was an unwanted and suffocating silence between the two of us.

“Well you did screw up big time Cinder but it's okay. Do they know that I know about these rumors?”

“I don’t know. Mostly likely not because I think usually courting outside of marriages are to kept a secret.

“Cinder please.” She should not use sarcasm in situations like these. She nodded and whispered a sorry.

“What should we do?” she asked again trying to take a hold over this bizarre situation.

“You really cannot do anything anymore. Whatever you say will not be given much importance and most likely be doubted so you would only give a single official statement in my presence when I return. For the rest, I will come up with a plan with Torin’s help.”

“Kai stop fighting my battles. You already have done enough by not kicking me out okay. I should take responsibility of my mistakes-”

”It’s okay Cinder. Everything is okay. You and I know that we are madly in love with each other. That’s all that I care about. You would no longer over work yourself. I guess you should stop holding meetings for time being as well, you know as a precaution.” he said the last part teasingly but yet I felt disheartened.

I was glaring at him but then the rumors about our child’s parentage hit me like some train. I could not tell Kai this. He would surely be disappointed. He would be heart-broken.

What should I tell him huh- Hey Kai! The media thinks that the child I am carrying is Thorne’s and not yours. Lol, but you know the truth right?

Sue me.

“There is something more Kai.”

“What?” he asked a bit concerned, a furrowed brow forming.

“They questioned about our baby’s parentage as well”

Upon hearing this he really looked so sad. His face had fallen and he avoided looking at her.

She heard some commotion from his side.

“Cinder I have to go. I am sorry we will talk later. I will figure it out with Torin’s help. Bye. Take care.” He was croaking. Cinder had a headache coming as well.

Before she could reply, he had ended the comm.

Glancing at her net-screen Cinder sighed. There was no news about today’s meeting anywhere. Torin might have done his miracles on the staff again.

__

A/N: I am thinking about a good damage control idea, so it might take a while. Needless to say, There is more!

( I also have an another Kaider fic named ‘ Nightmares’, if you like Kaider fluff you can check it out!!  🖤 )

Likes, Reblogs and Comments will be much loved!  🖤

P.S Can you suggest some baby names for Kaider child, both the gender please.  

[goonlalagoon]

A smile in your heart (no better place to start) || Second Star to the Left

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33459862

(Spoilers through to end of ep 10 ahead)

It’s been weeks - months - and Bell’s thought about what they could say, when they’re finally on the ground and face to face with Gwen for the first time. Thank you, that’s a strong contender; they know themselves well enough to know they’re more likely to go with how did you do it? Maybe this time they’ll actually be able to say I love you, though Gwen seems adept at picking it up even when they can’t put the words to it. In their head, they planned for it to be - not dramatic, because they’re supposed to be a fugitive and they don’t want to draw attention, but meaningful. The kind of memory that’s something to think back on with misty eyes and fond words.

Capital-R-Romantic, as Gwen termed it so long ago, that first grudging conversation.

What they actually say is,

“Wow, you really do have a great jawline.”

It’s…admittedly not the worst thing they’ve ever said to someone they have a crush on, but that isn’t exactly the metric Bell wanted to measure this by. They’re standing just feet away from each other, drinking each other in. The silence starts to shade awkward before Gwen swallows, shrugs, gives a shaky smile. Bell remembers a letter, one of the first, remembers reading the clouds are all blurry and the twisting mix of regret and guilty relief, because they didn’t want Gwen to be upset but they couldn’t help but cling onto the fact that she was, that someone was upset on their behalf.

“Well, I never got to see your school graduating photos, so I had no expectations of your jawline, Bell, but hey! It’s a pretty good one too, so congratulations!”

Gods, they’ve missed that laugh.

Someone interrupts them then, of course, because the settler ship has just landed and scout Hartley is very much in demand by everyone, not just Bell. There’s a whole crew of people looking to start a new life, and all of them need their scout to tell them what to do, where to go, what to watch out for. They wave a forlorn goodbye, find a place to sit and idly look around, trying to match this new settlement (very new, scout Summers could probably gauge to the day when these buildings were set up by the wear and tear, even after all this time) to every overheard exploit they’d listened in on over the years.

Gwen had moved the settlement into the trees, combined the natural firebreak with dug trenches to add a layer of defence. There’s a clear track that Bell would bet leads straight to water by the quickest route, an escape path to the coast. They think that perhaps the two of them should put their heads together, figure out emergency bundles for evacuation protocols. Food and water, a spare repair kit for any prosthetics…by the time they find Gwen again, hours of running around helping the settlers - the other settlers - move in, Gigo has a whole list stored. Ideas and checks and suggestions that Bell got halfway through recording before realising that maybe Gwen already thought of all of this and they no longer needed to jot everything down to cram into their four hour window of contact.

They live on the same planet, now. There’s no limit on contact, except that the first several months after settlement are absolute chaos for the scout, and from what Bell recalled hadn’t seemed likely to slow down even before the apocalypse threw everything out the metaphorical window.

Maybe with two of them with scout training it’ll be less…just less. Gwen might be able to get if not the mandated six hours of sleep at least enough to average out more at four or five. They weren’t going to comment on it, but it was easy to tell she hadn’t been getting her full rest anyway - probably hadn’t for months, dark circles under her eyes like permanent bruises.

They’re standing awkward feet away from each other again, and Bell knows there’s going to have to be a conversation about that soon, because it hadn’t really occurred to them before that they know a lot of things about Gwen, years and years of stories and rambling conversations, but there’s things you don’t learn without being in person. Personal space, definitions and comfort thereof, the body language and facial expressions to interpret to know what’s welcomed and what isn’t.

“Hey, so, uh…I know there’s a protocol that I’m supposed to follow when my settlers arrive, and all, but there’s something else I want to do instead.” Bell huffs a laugh, steals a shy glance to see Gwen’s answering smirk.

“Another sworn class tradition to fulfil?”

“Nope! We never talked that far ahead except as jokes. We knew the stats, y’know? But - you told me, the first day, that I should watch the sunrise, that that was something I shouldn’t miss, my first morning. And I don’t…we don’t have that, but I’ve had a long time to find my own wonderfully inspiring views of nature here and I wanted - Bell, you haven’t been on a planet for years and you were with me through everything, but you’ve never seen any of it in real life and I want to show you all of it, and I know where to start.”

Bell thinks about muttering about protocol, for the form of it, for the joke that can be dragged out of it, familiar banter, but they decide not to. It’s no longer their job to care about protocol, and anyway the only reason they cared about the protocol was to keep their scouts safe. Gwen is standing right in front of them, leaning gently against Boots with a casually familiar stance - if they pointed it out, Bell knows she wouldn’t even have thought about it. This is just what Gwen does, when she’s standing about with nothing to do with her hands; rests an elbow companionably atop Boots, one foot hooked around a standing leg and balanced on the toe of her boot.

Gwen is standing right there, safe and alive and happy, so protocol can sort itself, thanks.

(Bell realises they have their own hands in their pockets, their own casual stance, and wonders if Gwen is noticing that too, drinking in all of the unconcious habits that it would never occur to either of them to verbalise. All the little tics and quirks that don’t translate over a FTL comms.)

It’s not a long walk, and it’s more silent than Bell would have guessed, but it’s comfortable. Novel, really, to not have to narrate things aloud because they can just look and see what Gwen is doing, can point at a bird with a dorsal fin and pause to watch it flutter around rather than try to describe it.

They can’t stop stealing glances sideways, catching Gwen more often than not doing the same, both of them collapsing into giggles about it each time. It’s just so surreal, to be walking side by side, after all this time. It feels like a dream, like one of the stories Gwen tells Boots at night - once upon a time, there were two explorers, setting out through the trees…

The light dances on the waves, well below their cliff edge destination. At some point Gwen must have rolled a fallen log over to act as a bench, because it’s too well placed to be natural and there’s a fire-pit dug and lined with careful stones. Close enough to be cosy, but far away from the treeline itself to be safe. The light is dancing on the waves and the grass is drifting in the breeze, a periwinkle blue that Bell is used to seeing in photos if they thought of it at all. Something that had seemed so wonderful and new, when scout Hartley made her first observations, but had drifted into commonplace. A detail that wasn’t worth mentioning any more.

“One day, I’m going to make a boat and go explore that.” Gwen waves grandly at the horizon; she’s leaning her head on Bell’s shoulder, and Bell has decided that they will happily never move again. The two of them can just stay there, forever, Gwen’s head on their shoulder and the soft whisper of waves below. “Once my settlers are…settled, and can be left without supervision for more than a few hours at a time.”

“Already missing the solitude? Mourning all that lovely peace and quiet?”

“What solitude? I had a very efficient scout minder in my ear, I’ll have you know! I didn’t have time to get used to the peace and quiet before beep, time for another check in. Hartley, have you followed the itinary, Hartley, did you maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, Hartley, have you eaten a balanced meal at your officially directed time selected for nutritional optimisation…”

“I’m honestly surprised that you went for reminding me of my remote presence first rather than protesting that Boots was with you the whole time. And I would also like to ask, in the spirit of enquiry, have you done any of those things without my input?” Gwen shakes with barely suppressed laughter and doesn’t bother answering; Bell tries not to join in, because Gwen’s head is still on their shoulder and they’re still determined not to dislodge it until they really have to. “And…hey, I also told you to go watch the sunrise, and you found this instead. I - when did you find this? You never mentioned a little ocean watching viewpoint.”

“I - uh, set it up a few months ago. I didn’t know if it had worked, or if it had all gone wrong, or - and I spent so long pacing around here and wondering what you’d think of the view…”

“Aw, and you say I’m a romantic.”

“With a capital R, yes, you so are. I’m your favourite person, you said so, it was very romantic.”

“That was possibly the least romantic declaration of love that has ever been given. I congratulated you on your jawline, Gwen, I write poetry in my spare time and that was the best I could come up with. I should have just stopped talking - writing, I don’t even have the excuse of not being able to edit it out, the first bit was fine but I kept rambling.”

“It was romantic and I loved it and I have saved all of your letters in three separate back ups to make sure I don’t lose any of them.”

Bell laughs, curls an arm around Gwen’s shoulders as easy as breathing, and lets themselves relax for what feels like the first time in months. A flock of birds takes off from the trees, darting past them over the cliff edge, setting out over the waves. The sun glints off their feathers, the raised fin, a riot of colour catching the light as they watch, leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Gwen is beaming out at it all, and Bell can feel their cheeks creasing to match.

It isn’t a sunrise, but this - this is something close enough, a snapshot of a new world, a new horizon that they get to learn, the first day of a new life.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Here's the headcanon-ficlet-thing I promised! Actually, sorry, it's only HALF of my idea. This thing got MUCH longer than I intended and I've decided it would be easier to just chop this whole thing in two. If I ever send another headcanon, it'll either be much shorter than this or I just won't use anon. Anyways, the death of Dick's parents had just been so SUDDEN and I started thinking, "What if Dick had some separation anxiety when he was younger that just... Never really got resolved? His parents were gone, just like that, and Bruce literally risks his life every day. That couldn't have helped my made up conflict either, I imagine." Hope you enjoy! (1/13)

When Dick first arrived at the manor, he'd just been so GLOOMY. Even after Tony Zucco's arrest, he moped around the living spaces and never seemed happy with how spacious the manor's rooms were. A handful of times, Bruce and Alfred had caught him crying in the emptier wings by himself, but they had never really been sure what to do with the kid other than feel guilty. Sometimes (rarely), Dick would seek one of them out for a hug or SOME form of comfort, but it never seemed to be enough to truly make him feel better. It was no secret that Alfred and Bruce were not the most affectionate people in the world, and Dick had come from a very loving place. It was just another new thing to adjust to in his already new, unfamiliar life. Then Dick wanted to be Robin, full time, and neither Bruce nor Alfred could really say 'no.' Dick still wasn't happy- not for a while- but eventually, his mood started to improve. (2/13)

Maybe that was why no one initially found the boy's habit of waiting by the manor doors alarming. It was one of the places he visited more frequently, and Alfred originally assumed it was because he liked hanging on that specific entrance's chandelier more than the others. However, as the weeks passed, it became obvious that it was just a place Dick liked to hang out when he was waiting for Bruce to return from work or patrol. When it began nearing six thirty, the time Bruce's work hours ended, Dick would set up his homework or drawing paper on the floor and work just to the side of the doors as he waited for them to open. Sometimes he'd even hold a handstand or stretch for however long it took Bruce to come home that day. At first, Alfred didn't know what to make of it. But, watching the way Dick's face lit up every time Bruce knocked at the door, the old butler figured the small habit couldn't do any harm no matter how strange it was. He was just happy the boy wasn't still brooding. (3/13)

Bruce also noticed how Dick always seemed to be waiting for him after work, but ultimately didn't find anything concerning about the observation. Sure, it was a little strange to have such a large reminder that he was an actual guardian now, but he reasoned with himself that Dick would grow out of it after a certain point. He decided to just let the boy be and life carried on. Besides, he wasn't Dick's only person of support; Bruce had caught Dick watching Alfred work in the kitchen on a number of occasions with a concentrated look on his face. Without a doubt, the boy was finally starting to adapt to the manor's way of life. (In all honesty, Bruce had probably been too busy being relieved over the old butler's existence to judge whether or not any of his new ward's behaviors could be considered alarming.) (4/13)

As Dick grew more and more relaxed overtime, neither Bruce nor Alfred put much thought into his other developing habits. For instance, as Robin, Dick always made sure to check in with a quick "Are you still there, Batman?" over the comms everytime the line went quiet for more than ten minutes. Bruce would occasionally warn him not to call in when they were on stealth missions, but Dick never quite seemed comfortable with leaving the line COMPLETELY dead whenever they left each other's sight. On those missions, he'd sometimes blow softly into his comm unit, and Bruce would have to make some subtle noise back so as not to completely worry the kid. Dick even seemed to develop certain behaviors around charity events and galas; for example, he would always hug Bruce's pant leg at the beginning of the events and would only let go once he was made to socialize. Despite the fact that it soon became apparent the kid was far from shy, the habit always took place without fail, to Bruce's perplexed amusement. Maybe the kid just hated Gotham's elites? (5/13)

More and more little habits flew under the radar as everyone still seemed to be adjusting to the new lifestyle. Occasionally Bruce and Alfred would pick up on something seeming a little off, but at the same time, Dick finally looked happy. Really, a few weird displays of affection here and there were FAR from their concern so long as Dick's days of endless distraught were over. And so, once Dick finally- and TRULY- settled into the manor as his new home, a bunch of odd behaviors just seemed to be swept under the carpet and ignored. On the unavoidable nights where Bruce got injured in the field, there was no missing how the habits seemed to rise in intensity, but by then... They became the everyday normal and were never addressed. (6/13)

(The Justice League found Robin's behavior more bemusing than anything. Dick was still in the habit of obsessively checking the comms when Batman, on a rare occasion, asked for backup. "Check in, Batman?" "Still scaling the perimeter. We might not catch any activity tonight past a few petty thefts." "Alrighty. And, uh, Superman! Status update!" "Nothing going on up here either, Robin." "Okay!" Ten minutes passed and the boy's voice crackled back to life on the comms once more. "Is everyone still okay?" After that one particular patrol, Clark had sent Bruce a questioning look. "He's nine. Of course he's worried." Clark didn't push it- or anyone else for that matter.) (7/13)

It wasn't until Dick turned sixteen and started looking to be more independent that his behavior finally set off a few alarm bells. His check-ins had turned more snippy over the years when Bruce and him got into fights, but they never really stopped. The arms clinging to Bruce's pant legs at galas were instead replaced by a friendly hand on Bruce's shoulder, yet Dick's presence had never really left his side- only growing more flighty and uncertain as he got older. When Dick did his homework, by then in his last year or two of highschool, it was no longer on the floor but instead in the dining room closest to the manor's entrance- still started at around five or six just like when Dick first arrived at the manor, and still fit to Bruce's work schedule. It occurred to Alfred that a few of Dick's behaviorisms probably should have been checked out a while ago. (8/13)

"When you were Master Richard's age, you were barely home. It's normal for teenagers to want a bit of distance and alone time, but Master Bruce, he only stays after school for club activities. The rest of his time is either spent partoling around the city or helping YOU. I'm worried whether or not his behavior is healthy." Bruce had contimplated these words before giving his own thoughts. At the time, he and Dick's working relationship as Batman and Robin was becoming a bit more strained, but he still KNEW Dick. "I'm not sure, Alfred. He says he's happy with the friends he has, and he's always been relatively well behaved... Could it be that this is just routine for him?" Alfred disagreed and so the discussion continued. However, any plans they made to adress the situation were cut short when Dick got shot in the shoulder. (9/13)

Bruce tried not to feel guilty about firing Dick and then kicking him out of the manor. A little space would be good for the boy, right? For as long he could remember, Dick had always been just around the corner. It was safer this way. He ignored Alfred's angry, dissapointed gaze and Clark's furious demands to explain what the hell he'd been thinking. Batman didn't need a Robin, and Dick would be fine without Bruce. (Bruce would be fine without Dick.) Later, on patrol, there was a second where the comm crackled to life. Before anything could happen it got shut off again, and before Bruce knew it, Dick's check-ins were gone. Batman didn't need Robin. (10/13)

There was no missing Dick's sudden change. With the Titans, Dick's mother henning got turned up to an eleven. Dick was always somewhere in the tower helping someone, and no one could miss the way he was practicaly always asking if anyone needed anything. Missions and patrols ran mostly the same, but it was much more often that Dick could be found staying up late at night, going through evidence on cases he was working on. His friends did their best to be understanding, but there was no hiding the fact that Dick needed help. Real help. They urged him to talk about what was wrong, but even Dick seemed to be at a loss for what he was going through. "I mean, I got kicked out! What else is there to say?" He yelled one day. Roy tried to reason with him. "But there's MORE to it than-" "There isn't." "Dick, you've been acting off for months." "And I'll be FINE in a few more! I'm always fine. Stop worrying." (11/13)

Eventually, they did. After a few more missions, it was as if nothing ever happened. Dick worked as he normally would and he started running off to do his own things rather than hover around other people's projects. He still gave off a sense of brokeness but by then there wasn't much that anyone could do. There had been one week in particular, though, that things just seemed to... Shift. Dick had just discovered that Bruce adopted another kid in the newspapers and there were sightings of another Robin. For a second, he seemed furious, and they all remembered feeling VERY concerned for what the guy might do. For four days straight it was if he was too angry to talk. On the fifth day, Dick disappeared. He wasn't seen again until the next morning. "Dick, are you alright?" Something visibly settled in him and just like that, Dick was fine again. Still overbearing, but fine. (12/13)

Okay! That's all I have so far since I don't want to spam your inbox with any more text blocks for one idea. You probably noticed that this first part just goes over more HOW Dick behaved when he was younger. The second part to this will focus more on everyone realizing that Dick had some repressed trauma going on, and the consequences it's had on him for never adressing said trauma. (Also Bruce, you shouldn't have kicked your teenage son out of the house. That didn't help.) Some of Dick's coping mechanisms when it comes to dealing with Bruce will probably also be questioned, but with the time away from Bruce, don't worry- Dick will be more obviously independent. He knew he wasn't in the best place. I'll send you the second part whenever I get done with it, which shouldn't take too long. Thanks for being excited to read my head canon and ideas! (13/13)

hey babe. this is,,,,,,oh my god. i love it so much. well actually i hated it because it was full of angst and it made me feel emotions and AGH. but also i loved it and god i can’t wait for the next part. you have NO IDEA how much i need the next part.

also, can i just say? the fic portion itself (2-12) is 1.7k words long. with a little editing, this could be a full fledged fic you can post on ao3. you absolutely don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, that’s just an idea i’m throwing out there.

dick with separation anxiety sounds so so plausible, because that abrupt shift from living in a circus to wayne manor of all places must have been QUITE the shift. i really loved how you touched on all these different habits and quirks dick had growing up, and how those bled over into different relationships in his life. and i can’t wait to see how you resolve it.

and i have one more thing for you. this isn’t really the same idea but it’s got somewhat similar elements: i read a fic a while back about dick being touch starved. it seemed up your alley, and anyone else who liked reading this incredible drabble, i think you’ll enjoy reading it! touch starved by envysparkler.

[jate-kara]

May i request Fives, Echo and Rex for 46. “Shut up, I am a delight!” bescause "Vode An" is tearing me apart rn and thank you!

The prompt is from this list. My interpretation of ‘short’ is highly variable.

You can find Vode An here, in case anyone is looking for it

Lifeday | On AO3

Summary: It’s Ahsoka’s lifeday.

For years, the 501st has been talking about throwing her a party: baking a cake, coming up with gifts, singing her that stupid song all the civvies take such delight in. This is the first time it’s actually been a real and genuine possibility. Rex guesses he should thank Fox for that, whenever the Senate gets around to clearing him of any charges related to Palpatine’s very sudden and necessary end.

–

“You are all absolutely unbelievable.”

Fives doesn’t even have the decency to look properly ashamed of himself. He, Jesse, Dogma, Hardcase, and Echo are covered from head to toe in flour and of the group, only Dogma looks even the slightest bit sheepish about it.

“The General loans us his kitchen, in his home, and this is what you pull,” Rex says.

“We’ll clean it up,” Dogma says quickly. “Promise, sir.”

“It was Hardcase’s fault anyway,” Jesse says.

“How as I supposed to know the bag would explode?” Hardcase grumbles.

“Oh, we definitely don’t know,” Fives says dryly, “but when you figure it out, you let us in on it.”

The war’s been over for three weeks and Rex already wishes he was back on the front lines. There’s still plenty to sort out, of course, that’s sort of an inevitable side-effect of the Republic’s Chancellor having orchestrated the entire war for his own benefit, but beyond waiting for orders about which Separatist holdouts still need to be cleared up, there’s not much they can do.

And besides, it’s Ahsoka’s lifeday and for years, the 501st has been talking about throwing her a party: baking a cake, coming up with gifts, singing her that stupid song all the civvies take such delight in. This is the first time it’s actually been a real and genuine possibility. Rex guesses he should thank Fox for that, whenever the Senate gets around to clearing him of any charges related to Palpatine’s very sudden and necessary end.

“All right, men,” Rex says at last. “We’ve got to pull ourselves together or this is never gonna get done.”

“I’ve never baked anything before,” Hardcase says. “I didn’t know it was gonna blow up.”

“Will you stow it already?” Jesse groans. “We get it: you didn’t think the bag would blow if you punched it. Well, guess what, genius? It did. It blew up and now it’s everywhere and we’ve got no flour for Ahsoka’s cake.”

“We could just go get some more,” Echo points out. Suddenly, all eyes are on him. “What?”

“I suppose you have credits for that,” Fives drawls.

“I do,” Echo says. “Hunter gave them to me. Tech’s really good at pazaak.”

Rex can feel the headache coming on already. “All right,” he says. “Echo, you, me, and Fives are on retrieval. We’ll go to the market, get the flour, and bring it back here. The rest of you, get this kitchen cleaned up. I want it in top shape, and I don’t want to hear any complaints from General Skywalker or Senator Amidala about it later. You got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Dogma bites out, which is better than the eyerolls Rex gets from Jesse and Hardcase.

“They’re gonna make an even bigger mess and we’re gonna be the ones that have to deal with it,” Fives says as they climb into the speeder. “What do you bet, Rex?”

“They’ll be fine,” Rex grumbles. “Just drive, Echo.”

“Whoa,” Fives says. Echo pauses; his finger hovers over the speeder’s ignition. “No, no, no. He’s not driving.”

“What is it with you and my driving?” Echo demands. “I drive fine.”

“No, you used to drive fine. Then you started hanging out with the Bad Batch and now you drive like you have a death wish.”

“I don’t have a death wish. I’m just trying to get us there faster.”

“I’ll drive,” Rex says mildly, and Echo scowls at Fives and moves over.

The market’s crawling with people. There are no other clones, besides a few of the Coruscant Guard keeping watch from a distance.

“So,” Fives says, “what’s the plan if they won’t sell to us?’

They were all thinking it. “They will,” Rex says, though it doesn’t sound as confident out loud as it did in his head. “I mean, why wouldn’t they?”

“Well, we’re the face of the war,” Echo says. A smirk plays at his lips. “All of us. We have the same face. Get it?”

Fives and Rex groan.

“Shut up. I’m a delight.”

“You’re not,” Fives says. “You’re a pain in the shebs.”

“We still need that flour,” Rex points out, “so cut the chatter unless you’ve got something useful to say.”

There are plenty of vendors scattered around the courtyard; it’s the largest outdoor market on Coruscant and the only one in the vicinity that carries the specific brand of flour needed for a Togrutan lifeday cake. “I’ll just go ask,” Echo says haltingly. “What else are we gonna do?”

“You’ll get swindled is what you’ll do,” Fives said. “Have you ever bought anything before? Let Rex do it.”

Echo blinks at him and shrugs. “All right,” he says. “Rex, you’re up. Show us how it’s done, sir.”

Rex warily accepts the credits and scans the crowd for the correct vendor. As soon as he finds it, he shoulders his way through, conscious of Fives and Echo at his back.

The vendor is an old Togruta woman. She looks them up and down and blinks at them, unimpressed. “You got credits?” she asks suspiciously. Rex bites back the urge to sigh. Everyone knows they don’t get paid (and no one does anything about it).

“We do,” Rex says a long beat later. “How much?”

“How much you got?”

“How much are they?”

“That depends on how much you’ve got,” she says, annoyed.

“How are we supposed to pay you if we don’t know how much it is?” Fives asks. “I mean, come on.”

“That’s how it works here,” she shrugs. “How much you got?”

“Just tell us how much,” Rex says. “…please.”

She screws her face up but seems to realize it’s the only answer she’s going to get. “Twenty credits,” she says slowly, like she’s testing them. “For the little bag.”

That’s all they need. Rex very carefully hands her the correct amount. She tosses the bag at them. “Thanks,” Rex says, but she doesn’t answer them: she’s already moved on to talking to the next customer.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Echo says, once they’re back at the speeder. He gingerly settles the bag in the dashboard compartment and clicks it shut.

Ten minutes back to Skywalker and Amidala’s apartment. The others should have the place cleaned up by now. Assuming Kix doesn’t get swept up in more post-war paperwork, he’s supposed to extricate Ahsoka from Kenobi and the 212th and bring her over by 1800.

So that leaves them three hours to make, bake, and decorate the cake when none of them has ever baked anything in their lives.

At least it comes with instructions.

Rex whips the speeder around the corner – and promptly brings it to a screeching halt. There are vehicles lined up as far as they can see up the lane.

“Shab,” Echo says. “What happened?”

“Crash, probably,” Fives mutters. “They were probably driving like you do.”

Rex gives it ten minutes. At twenty, they’re still sitting motionless. The speeder behind theirs has started revving its engine off and on like that’ll somehow make the pileup shift into motion.

They don’t have time for this.

“Where are you going?” Fives asks as Rex pulls out of the lane. Rex doesn’t answer him, just puts the speeder into a sharp incline and guns it.

“Rex, this is a military lane,” Echo says.

“And we’re military personnel,” Rex shoots back.

“In a civilian speeder!”

“Speeder, identify yourself. You are in a restricted lane.”

Fives is plastered to his seat but he still manages to reach forward far enough to hit the blinking comm. “This is Captain Rex,” Rex says easily, heedless of Fives’ scowl. “We’ve…commandeered a vehicle and are using the lane for passage.”

“Roger that, Captain. Carry on.”

“You’re lucky Fox is locked up right now,” Fives says through gritted teeth, “or he’d have your head for this.”

“That was Thire on the comm,” Echo says. “I’m pretty sure he’ll report it.”

No one wants to be on traffic duty. Rex wonders what Thire did to get stuck with it.

“Let’s hope not,” Rex says.

“Please slow down,” Fives snaps. Rex glances at him: his eyes are squeezed shut. “You and Echo and your shabla driving. It’s like no one taught you how. Ever.”

“Relax,” Rex says. “We’re f—”

“Look out!”

Rex swerves just in time to avoid the Coruscant Guard swoops ripping across the lane. “Wonder who they’re chasing,” Echo says.

“Slow down!” Fives barks. “Damn it, Rex, I don’t want to die again.”

By the time Rex sets the speeder down back at Amidala’s apartment, Fives is shaking. He stumbles out of the speeder and wobbles across the platform.

“Hey, Fives,” Jesse says, poking his head out the door. “You all right?”

“Rex should be relieved of his command,” Fives mumbles, letting Echo lead him inside, “until he learns how to pilot a kriffin’ speeder.”

Jesse giggles. Rex glowers at him and shoves the bag of flour against his chest. “Keep Hardcase away from it,” he says. “We are not doing that again.”

“Red means stop, by the way,” Jesse says with a wide grin. “Saw you coming down the lane. You blew through the traffic signal, Captain.”

“Get that cake made, Jesse.”

By some miracle, the cake comes out fine. Rex suspects Dogma was a very large part of that particular outcome, just like he’s sure Echo’s steady hands are the reason the frosted lettering is at all legible; it’s blue on a white background, for the 501st: Happy Lifeday, Ahsoka.

“There is an ‘h’, right?” Fives says, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, there’s an ‘h’,” Rex says. Echo heaves a sigh of relief. Behind him, Hardcase is balancing on Dogma and Jesse’s shoulders to hang up the last of the streamers and balloons.

“Ten minutes,” Echo says. “If Kix is on schedule.”

“Give him plus another ten,” Fives says, folding his arms. “He gets caught up pretty easily.”

The door clicks open. They spin as one. “General,” Fives says. “Welcome back.”

“Don’t call me general when I’m at home,” Anakin says, wrinkling his nose. “Really, Fives.”

“What are we supposed to call you…sir?” Dogma asks.

“You can call him Anakin,” Padmé says, sweeping through the door. They haven’t exactly been the most subtle about their relationship since the news of Palpatine’s treason came down the line, but then, Rex very much doubts the Jedi Council has the time to care right now. They’re too busy dealing with the fallout of an almost-Order-66.

And the fact that Fox and Fives, not the Jedi, were the ones that stopped it.

Everyone’s hair is still growing back from having their chips removed.

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna work for us,” Jesse says. “What else is there?”

“Ahsoka used to call him Skyguy,” Rex says with a smirk. Skywalker scowls at him.

“No. Not that,” he says. “You can call me Anakin. You’re just gonna have to figure out how to make it work. Now hurry up and hide. Ahsoka and Kix were five minutes behind me so they’re gonna be here any second.”

Amidala clicks the lights off. Rex huddles behind the couch with Echo and Fives. Jesse and Dogma duck behind the overstuffed chairs.

“I think it should be open,” Ahsoka says from outside the door. “Anakin usually leaves it unlocked if he knows I’m coming by.”

“Sounds hazardous,” Kix says. Rex rolls his eyes. Beside him, Fives jumps slightly. He stills him with a hand on the shoulder. Not yet.

The door swings open. Amidala hits the lights. “Surprise!” they bellow, and Ahsoka’s face goes from startled to delighted.

“Happy lifeday, Ahsoka,” Anakin grins, and drags her into a hug. She holds on for a second and then Jesse’s elbowing his way in for his turn. Rex hangs back and waits until the others have had their chance. Ahsoka beams at him.

“Happy lifeday, vod’ika,” Rex says, and pulls her close.

“We made you a traditional Togrutan cake,” Dogma says proudly. “With the right flour and everything.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are shining. Rex hoists her up onto his shoulders. “Come on,” he says. “We barely managed not to burn the thing.”

“I’m sure you did fine,” she says.

“Well, it was mostly Dogma. Echo did the frosting.”

“I picked the sprinkles,” Hardcase says, following after. “They’re silver. Just because.”

Fives cuts the cake unevenly, Echo picks at him for it, but none of their bickering seems to bother Ahsoka. There’s a brightness to her eyes that Rex hasn’t seen since the first time he met her on Christophsis. The others are crowded around her, doting and stacking the gifts they brought beside her so she can open them later. Skywalker’s arm is around Amidala. He’s wearing a wide smile.

They’re safe, they’re happy, and they’re so very alive.

For the first time in his life, Rex’s heart is light.

–

[dearlazerbunny]

Let it Go (Ch. 2 of ?)

Pairings: platonic avengers team x reader, potential background loki x reader

Words: 3000

Genre/Ratings: -WARNINGS- there will be an (unsuccessful) suicide attempt by reader- chapter will be explicitly marked in advance. Drug (pills) and alcohol abuse, lots of negativity and self loathing. There will be an arc, but said arc is going to start in the eleventh circle of hell and inch up from there.

Summary: *not far enough into this one to give an accurate summary, so this’ll have to be updated eventually. enjoy for now!*

He had just gotten used to the noise.

When he first woke up, it felt like he was suffocating him- always there, always cars honking and lights flashing and music playing and people going about their lives- the city that never sleeps. Someone told him that, he forgets who. He figured out what they meant the second he stepped outside for longer than a minute.

 Now there’s just the wind stirring up dust, and occasionally toppling over a loose pile of debris. City workers push brooms along the street, trying to clear a path. Machines groan and creak as they haul away pieces of the city- days ago, that window was hundreds of feet in the sky- like its nothing. Another day. Just a little quieter than usual.

 t’s hard to believe, even though he has the scars on his shield and healing bruises on his ribs to prove the aliens did, in fact, try to invade New York and take over the planet. Led by a god. And then he’d teamed up with another god- he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d never been particularly religious, but Bucky was- the insufferable bastard Stark, two assassins and a green giant and became an Avenger of planet Earth.

 This wasn’t what he signed up for in 1941. Nazis or aliens, punching them in the face still uses the same muscles. Metal torsos don’t have quite as much give against the knuckles though.  

 He wanders the streets with no real purpose in mind, other than helping out with lifting here and there where needed. The war roars to life in the back of his mind, overlayed with the eerily calm day. His eyes mark the battle: here, where he launched Nat into the air, her dry words echoing in his ears; here, where Thor had very efficiently covered his back. Here, where for the second time in his life he watched a man who didn’t deserve to fall hurdle towards the ground.

 And here- something happened here. His feet remember even if his mind doesn’t- they’ve stopped in the middle of the road. He squints, resisting the urge to cough on a cloud of dust that gets kicked up in his face. Something… his shield, doing far greater damage than his fist ever could, and then someone… screamed?

Her. A girl, in the middle of the road, eyes sunken and skin so taught and paperwhite he’d wondered if the ghosts of this battle were already coming to haunt him before it was even done. She’s screamed at him to duck, and her voice was so raw it triggered something in the back of his brain from basic training and caused him to hit the ground before he fully knew what he was doing. Something had flown over his head- he could hear it cutting through the air- a thunk, a screech that would likely be added to his rotating litany of nightmares- then nothing, save the battle raging behind him. A Chitauri he assumed he’d missed lay twitching on the ground just inches from his neck, and sticking from its chest- ice. Solid ice. So cold that his gloved hand still recoiled when he reached out to touch it.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

The girl’s face had been a roulette of emotions- a hint of pride, a darkly sarcastic flicker of her lips, and then her eyes widened and- fear. He watched her watch him, clenching and unclenching her fists. By the time he had opened his mouth to call out to her, she was gone, leaving only a trail of what looked to be frost on the ground before she disappeared around a corner- and something that slipped out of her pocket, jostled from her sweatshirt as she made her getaway.

He didn’t have time to think about her after that. A second later, his comm had crackled to life in his ear, and Stark started barking instructions, and Captain America had straightened his spine and grabbed his shield, and got back to where he was needed.

Steve Rogers, though, still has her tucked in the back of his mind.

The frost is still on the ground. Not as white as it had been, but a few grains of ice still cling to the cracks in the pavement. Strange. Magic? After everything he’s seen the past few days he wouldn’t be surprised. He follows the trail, irrationally hoping she’ll still be tucked behind an overturned car or crumbling building corner.

She isn’t. But there is a neon orange bottle tucked amongst the wreckage, and as he reaches for it he has a flash of memory of it falling from your pocket as you run. The contents rattle. A prescription bottle- like the ones medical gives him never get touched and sit collecting dust in a corner of his closet. Neat rows of print declare it Klonopin, 0.5 mg. Take once a day at bedtime, take an additional half as needed. Ingest with food. In the upper left corner is a name and address and phone number- Christian Heysworth.

The girl in the sweatshirt doesn’t strike him as a Christian. He should probably drop the bottle- it’d never be noticed among the rest of the chaos- and walk away. Worry about his own life and his own mess.

He tucks the bottle into his pocket. It might be a place to start.

…

The knock on her door is crisp and succinct, with no room for error. A soldier’s knock. She knows who it is before she turns the lock, because Clint doesn’t bother knocking anymore. When the door opens, she tries not to look as tired as she feels. “Captain.” It’s an easy acknowledgment, and it gives him time to categorize the healing gash on her cheekbone, covered with a butterfly bandage; the bruise blossoming on her collarbone that peeks just far enough above the neckline of her shirt to be seen. She doesn’t need the attention, but he needs a reminder that not everything is different since the forties. Same soldiers, different decade. Despite herself, the corner of her lip flicks up in the tiniest hint of appreciation. It has been a while since someone’s cared. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”

Interesting. “With?”

“Something stupid, most likely,” His voice is just sheepish enough to believe him. From his pocket, he pulls an orange bottle identical to the ones SHIELD’s psych department keeps prescribing her and the ones she keeps using for target practice.

Oh. Something deep in her chest softens and clenches all at once. She knows these questions all too well. “Cap. If you need help with- well. I can try my best, but I doubt I’m the best person to-”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, these- they aren’t mine.” He hands the medicine over and she appraises it with a practiced eye. Klonopin, schedule IV drug in the United States, dose as low as one milligram to sedate an average adult male within forty-five minutes, effects greatly compounded by alcohol- “I, um. I’d like to track down the owner.”

Her brain is humming. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s a long story.”

Wordlessly, she steps aside, letting him in. “I didn’t have much to do tonight.”

Eventually, there are cups of tea in front of both of them, though she’s only taken a sip and Steve hasn’t touched his at all. He tells her about the girl who leaves frost on the ground in the middle of Manhattan and saves him with a spear made of ice. From the way he speaks, its almost like he isn’t quite sure if she was real or not- just a ghost or a very strange guardian angel. It’s bizarre, but not even on her top ten list of bizarre things in this week alone.

“So. I want to… thank her, I suppose?” He laughs without mirth. “I’m not really sure.”

“Think she’s enhanced?”

“Hopefully not by force.”

It doesn’t even bother her, anymore, the implication. Her breathing becomes more controlled on instinct. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t think about it. “Let’s hope. Is she on anyone’s radar? SHIELD?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to check. And if I did, I don’t have anything to go on.”

Natasha glances down at the bottle of pills. But there is Christian Heysworth. She reaches under the couch cushion she sits on to produce a laptop from the gap. It’s wafer-thin and high tech enough that pulling up something as inane as Facebook looks categorically ridiculous. There’s a few Christian Heysworths, but they’re quickly narrowed down by what little information she has. “Christian Heysworth: junior at NYU, frat boy, wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a couple of DUIs under his belt paid off by someone in his family-” she glances up, sharp cheekbones illuminated in blue light. “What?”

“I just… what are the odds he’d be in SHIELD’s databases…?”

“Hardly, Cap. Behold the wonders of the internet. So, are we wringing his neck, or were you thinking something more subtle?”

She says it to get a rise out of him and is rewarded by an aghast expression. “I just need to ask him some questions, Natasha, not-” he stops when her quiet smirk lifts a little of the weight from her eyes and laughs with her. “Fine. But I’m doing the talking.”

...

Natasha Romanov has infiltrated thirty-seven countries in as many or more disguises and has never been caught. She is failing miserably at attempting to camouflage Captain America into a generic civilian. There aren’t enough sunglasses and baseball caps in the world to make him a more manageable height and physique, and his t-shirt- at least two sizes too small for him- attracts the eyes of every wannabe pro sports player and every girl and guy hanging off of their arm. Honestly, they expect her to work in these kinds of conditions? Thankfully pulling her top a little lower and batting her eyelashes nets her enough information to direct her to her “absolutely earth-shattering one-night stand.” They climb stairs in a dorm hall that could be nicer than some of the floors in Stark Tower. She has the urge to crack the tile with something sharp.

Heysworth opens his door in boxers and smoke still on his breath. Heavy-lidded eyes barely focus on her face. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

Steve comes up behind her. “Christian Heysworth? I’d like to have a word with you, son.”

“I didn’t do nothin’.”

“I didn’t say you did.” Steve’s blue eyes are cool when he takes off his aviators; primly folds them and hangs them on the collar of his shirt. “Recognize this?” He holds out the prescription.

“Uh, I didn’t really-” Heysworth stops. Belches. Squints up at Steve. “I- wait. Wait, holy shit, you’re fucking Captain America! Holy shit man, I can’t even-”

As he rambles, Steve looks over to Natasha, who shrugs. “You must have one of those faces.”

Captain America holds up a hand to the kid’s face. “Just answer the question, son.”

“I, yeah, okay, um-” he turns the bottle over in his hands. “Shit, is this what that bitch stole from me?”

“Language. Who stole from you?”

“I met up with some chick downtown who wanted to buy them, but then those freaking aliens started coming and I- you didn’t hear it from me though, ‘kay?”

Steve sighs. “Do you know her name?”

“Nah, chat rooms and shi- stuff. Sorry. I have her screen name?”

He agrees to trade for a selfie with the Captain, which Natasha promptly deletes as soon as he hands over his phone, transferring data to her own. “She’s communicating from this address,” she murmurs, showing Steve the area it triangulated before wiping that information too. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, are you-”

Steve neatly closes the door in his face. “I don’t think he looked at your face once.

Oh, Steve. What a pure soul. “To be fair, I don’t think anyone has been looking at yours either.”

Their trail leads them to the backstreets, to an alley so covered in grime it looks like the whole place should be condemned. And many of the buildings are- covered in caution tape, stairwells crumbling, and fire escapes rusted over. Wind whistles through shattered windows. Foundations are rotting. And yet there are a few minuscule signs of life- a door that’s scraped the ground so many times there’s wear on the concrete, a few piles of garbage here and there. “She’s off the grid.”

“Can’t be right. She was a kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty-”

“You do what you have to.” She gives him a look. “You know that.”

His face goes stony. “Let’s just find her.”

Natasha sets off in one direction, Steve in the other. They both know how this works. It’s a practiced dance. Search the bottom floors first, find faults in the buildings and stairwells so you can avoid them the next floor up. She picks a lock that has managed to stay fast despite rusting over, he leverages himself through a windowsill strong enough to hold his weight. Eerily silent save for scraps of trash and the skittering of mice. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the construction in midtown, slowly shoveling away.

Steve’s mark is almost laughably easy to find. There’s a door tucked in a second-level corner whose seams are iced over three inches thick.

Her boots crunch in frost spilling out from under a crack in the door. She punctures the air with a bird call, and seconds later Steve rounds the corner. He reaches down to run a finger through the snow. “it looks the same.”

“Do you want to do the honors then?” He tests the knob once, twice- the metal doesn’t even rattle, it’s too frozen solid. He opts to kick it in with a well-placed boot, wincing at the sound of ice cracking and then shattering into shards.

The apartment is empty. There’s a table along the far wall stacked with a few cardboard boxes to use as makeshift shelves. Packets of potato chips are shoved in one alcove, a few granola bars in the other. Empty soda bottles litter the floor. The table itself is mostly covered with alcohol: a whole skyline of glass bottles glinting in the light from the newly busted door. Some are empty, some are half full, a few have broken necks. An inspection of the crooked drawers attached underneath reveals nothing but a junkyard of pills, none of which are prescribed to the same person more than twice.

Natasha opens a few of the safety caps, rattling them like a scientist with an interest. “There’s enough in here to put even you to sleep.”

“Is she here? She would’ve heard the door.”

“Maybe.” A door leads off to a molding bathroom and a small hall closet. The next, a makeshift bedroom. A grimy mattress sits in the corner, covered in blankets so dirty there’s no telling what the print of them might’ve once been. There’s also a girl. She’s curled up in the center, drowning in layers of hoodies and sweatshirts. The second Natasha steps in the room she can see her breath. Another step in and the air feels like home. Whatever water was in the air has crystallized and fallen to the ground in a tiny hailstorm, surrounding her like a halo.

She also doesn’t move.

The spy moves with ruthless efficiency, ignoring the cold as she kneels by the mattress. Too many layers. Can’t even see if she’s breathing. She tugs her sleeve up over her fingertips before beginning to shove aside tangled hoods and t-shirts, digging for the collarbone.

“Natasha?”

“Here. She’s almost-” she cuts off with a hiss of pain, wrenching her fingers back like she was bit.

“What-?” the girl is still sleeping. Steve only spares her a glance before taking Natasha’s hand in his, checking for damage. There’s no blood, no broken skin. But the tips of her fingers are white and hard, paler than normal and cold to the touch. He recoils on instinct. “Frostbite.”

Natasha is muttering low in Russian, tapping her fingers together to move the blood, and Steve is momentarily taken back to a plane going down in the middle of an endless ocean surrounded by walls of blue. No going back, only going under, and nothing waiting for him but frost and ice and cold-

“Steve!” He blinks. Natasha’s face swims back into focus. “Get out. Contact the tower. We can’t move her like this and she needed medical yesterday.”

“I’m fi-”

“No, you’re not. I can handle this. Russian, remember?” She tries to give him a small smile. He doesn’t return it. “Get out and coordinate removal. That’s an order.”

Orders, some primeval part of Steve’s brain can understand. He turns and hopes he doesn’t run from the apartment, not even bothering to navigate the stairs- just jumps over the balcony to land in the courtyard below, chest heaving. Unconsciously, he glances in a nearby piece of glass, ensuring his breath isn’t fog. He isn’t cold. He isn’t. He’s fine.

He isn’t thinking when he puts a beacon out for JARVIS to trace. He isn’t flexing his fingers to make sure they can move. He isn’t drowning. He isn’t on ice. He isn’t, he isn’t, he isn’t-

In the apartment, Natasha swears and wrings her hand as pins and needles race down her arm. She’s handled plenty of frostbite, but it never gets easier. The girl is still unconscious, heartbeat dangerously slow. Whatever she put in her system, she meant to knock herself out for a long time. Or worse.

And Steve is on the verge of a panic attack and if your heart stops she can’t perform CPR, so she sits on the edge of your mattress blowing on her fingers as you keep causing the air around you to quietly freeze and fall, a tiny secret twinkle of ice in the middle of New York.

[slut-kiss-g1rl]

geostorm <3

FADE IN:

INT. COURTROOM

GERARD BUTLER is at a COURT HEARING... in the FUTURE!

GERARD BUTLER

It is the future. Natural disasters have become alarmingly commonplace. Hurricanes, mudslides, floods, you name it. The level of destruction is catastrophic.

RICHARD SCHIFF

To be clear, this is the FUTURE you’re talking about?

GERARD BUTLER

The nations of the world have finally decided to take action. So, pooling our resources, we’ve invested heavily in environmental research and clean energy, and cracked down heavily on industrial emissions standards-

(laughs and laughs and laughs)

Just kidding! We’ve built a giant orbital platform that shoots the bad weather with space missiles and space lasers, of course.

RICHARD SCHIFF

So you’re the genius who built the space station. But instead of just making you the chief engineer, which would make sense, we made you director of the whole multi-national program, despite the fact that you have no administrative skills or political experience and mostly get what you want by yelling at people and punching them in the face?

GERARD BUTLER

That’s correct, you useless government fucks. You can all lick my sweaty gonads.

(moons everybody)

RICHARD SCHIFF

You’re fired and we’re giving your job to your little brother Jim Sturgess. At least he can do a passable American accent.

GERARD BUTLER

Och, ye dinnae hae ta be a deck abote et!

INT. SPACE STATION

Engineer RICHARD REGAN PAUL is aboard the WEATHER STATION when he notices that somebody has stuck a SMARTPHONE on an important CIRCUITBOARD.

RICHARD REGAN PAUL

Oh crap, somebody’s sabotaging this hundred-trillion-dollar space program using consumer electronics! I better draw everybody’s attention to this and alert my superiors!

(falls down and hits head very hard)

Duhhhh I mean I should hide this evidence and tell nobody yessss.

He stashes the EVIDENCE, but shortly afterwards the CORRIDOR he’s walking through is SEALED and all the WALL PANELS START BLASTING OFF!

RICHARD REGAN PAUL

What the fuck? Why would we design them to be able to do that? What possible situation could arise in a space station when we’d need to get rid of the WALLS in a hurry? This makes no-

(spaced)

The SPACE STATION then proceeds to turn a bunch of VILLAGERS in AFGHANISTAN into SNOWMEN.

INT. WHITE HOUSE

JIM STURGESS is having a meeting with the movie’s entire supply of Oscar-nominated actors.

JIM STURGESS

So yeah, we kind of murdered a bunch of innocent people with a giant ice ray like Mr. Freeze, oops. We need to send up an international team of brilliant engineers to the space station to investigate what went wrong, despite the fact that there’s already an international team of brilliant engineers ON the space station.

ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE ANDY GARCIA

No way, Jim. As the president, I can’t have foreigners touch this station which has been funded and staffed predominately by foreigners! We’ll send up Americans.

ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE ED HARRIS

ONE American. I mean if we’re going to half-ass this thing, let’s half-ass it, y’know?

ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE MARE WINNINGHAM

I am also in this scene for some reason.

JIM STURGESS

Ugh fine, let’s send up Gerard. It’ll take some doing though, he and I haven’t really gotten along in the vague amount of time since you gave me his job. Seriously, the timeline is super nebulous, it could have been anything between a week and five years.

ED HARRIS

I have faith you can convince him, Jim. As your father figure and mentor, you know I support you in everything, and if you ever need somebody you can implicitly trust-

JIM STURGESS

We get it, you’re the villain, whoop-de-doo.

(leaves)

EXT. LOSER SHACK

JIM goes out to see GERARD, who is hanging with his DAUGHTER.

JIM STURGESS

Hey bro, the space laser’s been acting up. Think you could pop up to space real quick and fix it? Thanks.

GERARD’S DAUGHTER

Dad, no! You can’t go back to space! It’s too dangerous! Don’t abandon me like this!

GERARD BUTLER

OH GOD NOT THIS FUCKING TROPE. Yeah, parents should never do work that takes them away from their families for any amount of time or puts themselves at risk, no matter how important it is. I’m a shitty father because I’m agreeing to go save hundreds of millions of lives, possibly including yours. Shut the fuck up, you little turd.

GERARD immediately storms off and goes to SPACE.

EXT. HONG KONG

Suddenly the movie remembers the CHINESE BOX OFFICE and cuts to HONG KONG, where DANIEL WU is heading home with some SHOPPING.

DANIEL WU

(looks around)

Aw fuck. A famous capital city in a disaster movie? This isn’t gonna end well.

Sure enough he drops some EGGS on the ground and they immediately begin to FRY!

DANIEL WU

Holy shit the ground is apparently as hot as a stovetop! You’d think this is something the people in the street would have noticed, but uh, I guess all our shoes are made entirely of thermally nonconductive silica fibreglass?

(jumps in car, speeds off)

And our tires too, don’t forget our tires!

DANIEL drives through the streets as the pavement CRACKS and FIRE erupts out of the SUPERHEATED PAVEMENT!

DANIEL WU

Damn, the space station must have done that! Not that we ever explain how geothermal energy could possibly be controlled by space lasers!

INT. SPACE STATION

GERARD arrives aboard the SPACE STATION to meet the team of ENGINEERS.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Welcome, Gerard! I am an asshole. A smug, unlikeable asshole. The exact kind of jerk you’d think would turn out to be the saboteur. Which is kind of awkward, because I DO turn out to be the saboteur.

AMR WAKED

It’s okay, I’ll cover for you by red herringing as hard as humanly possible in every scene I’m in.

(lurks sinisterly)

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Meanwhile I’m the station’s commander. I exist to be your sort-of love interest with whom you never get beyond meaningful eye contact, and to make you seem hypercompetent by standing around uselessly while you do everything important.

GERARD BUTLER

Okay then, now that everybody’s in position let’s get this 2012-but-with-weather/Gravity-except-stupid-and-with-more-explosions hybrid on the road! Bring on the barrage of gratuitous global annihilation!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Actually there’s nowhere near as much of that kind of thing as the trailers promised. But if you like scenes where someone stares at tiny gobbledegook on a computer screen and explains what plot points it discloses, we’ve got a buttload of that!

GERARD BUTLER

(puppy dog eyes)

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Oh fine, here’s one to tide you over.

EXT. TOKYO

Giant hail in Tokyo!

INT. SPACE STATION

GERARD BUTLER

Ta! Now let’s look at that satellite that fried Hong Kong.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Uh, oops, unfortunately that malfunctioning satellite got smashed beyond usefulness because the hydraulic arm which was holding it malfunctioned!

GERARD BUTLER

Fine then, let’s look at the surveillance footage from when Richard Regan Paul got spaced.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Um well we can’t see the footage of that wall malfunction because the footage has also malfunctioned.

GERARD BUTLER

Wait though, there’s still a useable recording in a leftover bit of wall that got stuck in a solar array panel! Let’s go for a spacewalk and get it.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Sure thing WHUH OH while you’re trying to retrieve that malfunctioning bit of wall, your space suit has malfunctioned!

GERARD BUTLER

(bouncing off every part of the space station)

HEY YOU KNOW WHAT, I’M STARTING TO THINK THAT MAAAAYBE THERE’S JUST A SMIDGE OF SABOTAGE GOING ON.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Damnit! Turns out that by the time you’re committing sabotage to cover up your sabotage to cover up your sabotage to cover up your sabotage, it starts to get kinda obvious what you’re doing.

(pause)

Nnnnnot that I have anything to do with that. Right, Amr?

AMR WAKED

(hovers creepily at the edge of frame)

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Exactly.

GERARD retrieves the DATA from the WALL FRAGMENT, but finds that he can’t ACCESS IT.

GERARD BUTLER

Oh crap, only a high-level government official could have restricted the data like this! That means that SOMEBODY extremely high-ranking is behind all this, but we don’t know who!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

It’s Ed Harris. Everybody has figured this out already.

GERARD BUTLER

I have to tell Jim about this. But they might have bugged our comms, and my message may be intercepted by whoever the traitor is.

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

It is quite obviously Ed Harris.

GERARD BUTLER

I better use a code.

(calls Jim)

Hey there, Jim! Just thought I’d stop in the middle of this deadly crisis to randomly reminisce. SOMEtimes I think about that old WHITE porch we used to have at our HOUSE, where our pathetic inbred ASSHOLE of a father used to get FUCKED up on tequila and whale on US with a wrench. Glad that’s all OVER.

JIM STURGESS

A high-ranking government traitor? Why that could only be-

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

ED HARRIS, IT’S ED HARRIS YOU IDIOTS, THERE'S NO OTHER REASON FOR HIS CHARACTER TO EXIST

JIM STURGESS

-the president! America is soon scheduled to hand control of the space station over to an international committee. The president must be causing these disasters in order to retain control!

GERARD BUTLER

Right. Because after a fuckup of this magnitude, obviously the last thing people will want to do is remove the administrators responsible for killing everybody.

JIM STURGESS

And he’s not gonna stop with these penny-ante special effect showcases, either! He’s trying to chain a bunch of them together and bring on a geostorm!

GERARD BUTLER

You mean the tiny, ugly-ass sports compact from Isuzu?

JIM STURGESS

Not a Geo Storm, a GEOSTORM! A made-up, probably impossible meteorological phenomenon where it storms everywhere on the planet at once! According to our computers, this precise sequence of weather disasters - including the ones which the space station hasn’t caused yet - will lead to a geostorm in EXACTLY the nice, round timeframe of ninety minutes!!

GERARD BUTLER

Fuck! Fine then, let’s do an emergency shutdown of the station so it can’t frag the planet. This potentially apocalyptic orbital weapons platform DOES have an emergency off switch, right?

JIM STURGESS

Well, yes... but, ha ha, it turns out it can only be activated using the president’s biometrics. So if the most dangerous thing ever made malfunctions, it can only be stopped if you can get the president into the right specific room quickly enough.

(shrugs awkwardly)

Fortunately, I have been provided with a convenient secret service girlfriend who can grab the president for us!

ABBIE CORNISH

Okay then, I’ll-

JIM STURGESS

Plot devices don’t speak, honey.

ABBIE CORNISH

Then why does this movie have any dialogue at all?

INT. DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION

JIM and ABBIE go to find PRESIDENT ANDY at the DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION in ORLANDO. But first they run into ED HARRIS.

JIM STURGESS

Ed, thank god I ran into somebody I can trust! We need to grab the president so we can shut down this Bond villain-esque weather scheme.

ED HARRIS

Uh, okay. I have the president right here in this gun. Stand still so that I might fire him at you.

JIM STURGESS

Wha - YOU?! EVIL?!? DWAAAHHH?!?!?

ED HARRIS

Don’t patronize me. Anyway, part of my plan is to set off a giant lightning storm here and kill everybody in line of succession ahead of me, so I become president!

JIM STURGESS

Are you fucking kidding me? We’ve gone to the trouble of pointing out it’s an election year! Do you honestly expect an administration that ran an environmental program so badly that it KILLED THEM ALL to get reelected?

JIM and ABBIE grab ANDY and run for it! Then a fuckton of LIGHTNING starts DESTROYING THE DNC!

BYSTANDER

Man, those Russian hackers have really stepped up their game.

(incinerated)

ABBIE CORNISH

Quickly, we can get away using this SELF-DRIVING cab we just commandeered! Since I’m driving it there might seem to be no reason for us to point out that it’s a SELF-DRIVING cab, so I guess now the audience has already figured out we’re shortly going to be pulling some trick where it SELF-DRIVES. We’ll still act like we’re being clever, though.

ED HARRIS

Chase that cab, my suicidally dedicated minions! Meanwhile I will teleport to the road ahead of them, so I can set up a rocket launcher ambush! Nothing screams “accidental death” like getting blown up by a fucking rocket launcher. FIRE!

MINION

Uh, you sure you don’t want to wait until we can see who’s driving? Disregarding any possible self-driving tricks, cabs are pretty interchangeable and that could in fact be entirely the wrong car-

ED HARRIS

I SAID FIRE!

They BLOW UP THE CAB! But then ANDY appears and shoves a GUN in ED’S FACE.

ANDY GARCIA

That’s right, we sent the empty cab driving towards you at sixty miles an hour! And now here we are, having caught up to it on foot within the next twenty seconds. My legs are KILLING ME.

ED HARRIS

Come on Andy, you should still let the geostorm happen! My theory is that the massive catastrophe which is going to demolish the face of the planet will handily attack only our political enemies and we’ll be fine!

ANDY GARCIA

Goddamn, how is it that each new layer of your motivations is even dumber than the last?

EXT. EVERYWHERE

Meanwhile DIRECTOR DEAN DEVLIN looks under the COUCH and finally finds the movie’s MISSING DISASTER EFFECTS, and they all start happening at once! Ice storms in Rio! Fire storms in Moscow! Tsunamis in the desert!

GERARD BUTLER

Opposite weather, is it? In that case I’m guessing London is currently having a pleasant sunny day HEY-OOOHHH!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

But we’re not doing so great here in space either. Somebody’s set off our self-destruct system, and the station’s gonna explode in [amount of time left in which the geostorm can still be averted + just enough time for a thrilling escape]!

GERARD BUTLER

Wait a minute, according some kind of plot mumbo jumbo, the only one who could have started the self-destruct protocol is... ROBERT! You little traitor, you’re working for Ed!

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Okay okay, you’ve got me, but SURPRISE I had a gun strapped to the underside of this desk and now you haven’t got me at all, HA!

GERARD BUTLER

What was your plan if I’d confronted you in literally any other room?

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Clearly I must have guns strapped underneath every surface in the entire space station.

(opens fire)

Aw yeah, no better strategy for staying alive than shooting bullets in a room which is separated from the vacuum of space by a single pane of-

ROBERT accidentally SPACES HIMSELF! The movie does not reveal whether, in his last moments of consciousness, RICHARD’S FROZEN, ORBITING CORPSE happens to collide FOOT-FIRST with ROBERT’S CROTCH, so one is forced to assume that it DOES.

INT. SPACE STATION STOPPING ROOM

Back on EARTH, ANDY arrives in the ROOM he has to be in so that he can turn off the SPACE STATION.

ANDY GARCIA

All right, we did it! I just used my biometrics to activate the thing, so now the world is saved! Right?

JIM STURGESS

Actually Gerard still has to get to another specific room on the station itself and press a big “YES” button for it to actually work.

ANDY GARCIA

OF COURSE. What was I thinking, we can’t let this emergency shutdown be activated merely by having the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED FUCKING STATES TURN IT ON WITH HIS OWN SPECIAL BODY SCAN. No, we need the extra, mega-secure step of having some engineer click “confirm”!

JIM STURGESS

Look, we wanted to do the president kidnapping scene but still give Gerard a big action climax, this was the only way.

In SPACE, GERARD and ALEXANDRA make it to the SPECIAL ROOM, shut down the SPACE STATION and SAVE THE WORLD!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Phew, and with one second left to go! That’s right, because we turned off the weather machine when we did all the bad weather instantly cleared up; but if it had gone on for even one more second it would have become a global superstorm which would have wiped out most of humanity. What a sensible premise!

GERARD BUTLER

Unfortunately while we were able to get everybody else off the station, there’s no time left for you and I to escape. But I knew this when I stayed behind. I may not have been a good father, but I hope my daughter can at least appreciate the sacrifice I made by dying in space in order to save-

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Are you seriously copying Bruce Willis’s death from Armageddon?

GERARD BUTLER

Oh FUCK you’re right. Screw it, let’s just jump in a spare satellite and fly to safety then.

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Hooray! I’m not even gonna ask why a weather satellite has room inside it for passengers!

They HOP ABOARD the SPACE EX MACHINA and fly away!

EXT. LOSER SHACK

Months later, GERARD, JIM and GERARD’S ANNOYING DAUGHTER are all hanging out and fishing.

GERARD BUTLER

Neat, our family’s come un-estranged! What a happy ending. Why if we keep the focus on stuff like this, and the fact that in Brazil the dog didn’t die, we can ignore the fact that millions of people just got horribly murdered!

JIM STURGESS

And the rebuilt space station is now in international hands as intended, and they’re gonna make sure none of this can ever-

GERARD BUTLER

Wait, what the fuck? They’re doing the space station again? After the last one turned out to be a city-destroying death ray which could be commandeered by a single nerd with a smartphone? That’s the least plausible ending this movie could have possibly had!

JIM STURGESS

Uh huh. Yeah, I’m sure in real life politicians the world over would instead start seriously committing themselves to environmental policy. Hmmm?

GERARD BUTLER

...Okay yeah this way’s more realistic.

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

>:(

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Like a Building Fell on Him

winterhawk

~2.7k

Pacing is not easy in a hospital room, even in the oversized versions they have in the Tower, but Bucky manages to do it anyway. He’d started out sitting in the chair by the bed, but that had lasted about four minutes. He couldn’t sit still.

Clint is still enough for both of them.

How had this happened? No one could tell Bucky. No one had been there to see. Bucky had been on the other side of the building, dealing with some sort of robots. Tony thought they’d been remotely controlled, but they’d been enough of a pain in the ass, no matter if they’d been AI or not. Bucky and Steve had been knocked around plenty...but neither one of them ended up in a hospital bed.

Clint though… He’s got a bandage wrapped around his head, although the nurse who keeps coming in to check on him keeps reassuring Bucky that there is no concussion. The “this time” isn’t spoken, but is evident in her pursed lips. He’s got a bruise under his right eye, his right arm is broken, he’s got several cracked ribs, and his right ankle is broken too.

And there are so many cuts and scrapes. He looks like a building fell on him.

Which, of course, is exactly what had happened.

*

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Steve says from the doorway.

“Are you kidding? Have you ever heard one of Tony’s ‘superior materials’ lectures? Even I couldn’t damage this floor just by walking on it. Not in a single afternoon, at least.”

Steve stops his restless pacing with a hand clasp to the shoulder. “You really should get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, Buck. But he’s got good doctors and nurses to take care of him. It’s hardly your responsibility--”

“I promised Natasha I’d have his back while she was gone.” There’s a hollow quality to his voice, even he can hear it.

“Bucky. This wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky waves him off. “I know. But I can at least be here when he wakes up. Nat would be, if she was here.”

Without a word, Steve walks out of the room. Bucky looks through the empty doorway, surprised. But he shouldn’t have been. In three minutes Steve is back, carrying another chair and a deck of cards. “You can at least let me keep you company for awhile.”

*

Bucky is asleep in the chair when Clint wakes up.

“Bucky? ’ssat you?”

Clint’s voice is weak and his words slur together, but he’s definitely awake.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice is rough as gravel, sticky with sleep. “Hey, Barton. Was starting to worry. Too much beauty sleep and you might beat me out in the next Prettiest Avenger competition.”

Clint starts to smile, then grimaces. “Fuck, tha’ hurs. Ow. It all hurs.”

“Shh, don’t try to move, alright? I talked to the doctor, you’re going to be fine. You just need time to heal.” He’s already pushing the call button when he says, “I’ll get a nurse to give you some more pain meds and you can go back to sleep.”

The smile starts to creep across Clint’s features again but Bucky holds up a finger. “None of that. You can do all the smiling you want in a day or so. For now, just rest.”

“You gon’ ssay?”

Clint’s looking up at him like a puppy waiting for a scratch behind the ears. Something flutters in Bucky’s chest, and he suddenly wonders why Natasha asked him in particular to have Clint’s back.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and Clint’s face relaxes into an easy smile. Bucky’s not sure if it’s his answer or the pain meds the nurse just pushed into his iv, but Clint looks genuinely happy. The pain meds seem to be working, anyway, if he can smile without pain. “Yeah, I’ll stay,” he says. “Just go to sleep.”

Clint nods, his face solemn once again. Then he yawns, says, “I nee’ta sleep now. An’ you ‘ave pretty eyes. Like ’em.”

Bucky just stares, unsure how to react to that. He keeps thinking, Yeah, but so do you, but he’s not sure if he can just say that. In the end it doesn’t matter; while Bucky is arguing with himself, Clint drifts back to sleep.

*

The next time Clint wakes up he’s a bit more coherent, but not much.

“Nat?” he says. Then slightly more frantic, “Nat? I can’t--”

Bucky tries not to startle him, but he’s got to get his attention somehow and obviously talking won’t do it. He takes Clint’s grasping hand as gently as he can, but the man still jumps and tries to pull away.

Understandable.

But Bucky doesn’t let go. He carefully unfolds Clint’s fingers and drops the aids into his palm. Making sure Clint is looking at him he says and signs at the same time, “I took them out after you fell asleep. Figured it was probably more comfortable.”

Clint nods, then slips the aids into place. He winces at the pain on the right side of his head but doesn’t make a sound of complaint.

“Where’s Nat?” he asks.

“On a mission. Has been since last week. You don’t have a concussion, it must just be the drugs muddling your thoughts.”

He nods, grimacing again. “Yeah. Brain isn’t too clear.”

“How’s the pain?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at the non-answer.

“What’re you doing here?”

Bucky shrugs. “Drew the short straw.”

Clint’s eyes flutter closed before Bucky can parse out the look he sees in them.

He stands up to start pacing again--this room is just too small--when he hears a whispered, “Thanks,” from the bed.

“Anytime,” he says, but Clint is already asleep.

*

“You’re still here? I thought you guys worked in shifts or something.”

Bucky looks up from his book, a smile on his face. “Nah. They all figured I don’t need much sleep, so I got the full time job,” he says as well as signs.

Before Clint can ask he sweeps the aids from the bedside table and sets them in his open palm. Clint’s look is thankful and genuine.

“Feeling better?”

Clint shifts his body around on the bed, trying out various muscles and body parts. “Still hurts, but it’s better. Head’s not pounding quite so bad.” He lifts his right arm and glares at the cast. “Fuck. I hate when I hurt my arms. Messes with my practice schedule for weeks.”

Suddenly every worry, every frustration Bucky’s had for the past twenty or so hours bubbles to the surface. “That’s what you’re worrying about? What the hell were you doing down there anyway, Barton? That area had been swept and cleared. None of those weird robots, no threats at all. And we were both on the same comm link. You knew as well as I did that the building was unstable. We were all warned away from there. What the hell came over you?”

Clint recoils a bit at the force of Bucky’s words, surprise on his face. “There was--”

“This had better not be an excuse.” Bucky’s voice is tight, cold. He’s not sure why everything’s coming out as anger.

Clint looks Bucky square in the eyes. “There was a kid down there. A little girl.”

“A kid.” It comes out of Bucky in a whoosh, like he’d been punched in the gut. “Is she...did you save her?”

And then Clint has the nerve to fucking grin. “Look at me, Barnes. I used my body to shield a kid from a falling wall. Pretty sure I’d look better than this if I’d just let her get hurt.” Seeing Bucky’s glare, he softens his look and his tone. “She’s fine. I took the brunt of the debris. She had a few scrapes, and I may have bruised her when I grabbed her and braced myself over top of her, but she was okay enough to run for help after everything finished falling. Though she may have just gone home, she was plenty scared. She was only nine or ten. What was she doing out on that street alone anyway?” He stares somewhere past Bucky’s shoulder, lost in thought.

“Barton!” Clint’s eyes snap back to Bucky’s. “Have you lost your damn mind? You jumped in front of a falling building. You could have died!” Bucky doesn’t understand why he’s so angry, why he’s yelling at Clint for saving a child’s life. Of course it had been the right thing to do. But still he keeps going. “Did you think at all? Did you even consider--”

He sees Clint’s eyes then, surprised and hurt and confused.

And then he can’t be confined in the hospital room any longer. There’s nothing to say to salvage the mess he’s made, so he just closes his mouth and storms out.

*

Clint spends the rest of the day trying to sweet-talk the nurses into letting him leave. Unfortunately, after all his escape attempts, successful and otherwise, they’re on alert and immune to his charms. They bring him a crutch when he needs the bathroom but are careful to take it when they leave, and he’s not getting far on a broken ankle. Not without help.

So when Steve shows up after dinner he thinks maybe his white knight has arrived. He grins and says, “You here to bust me out of here?”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I brought you coffee, though.”

“Coffee,” Clint says, holding the cup under his nose and breathing in the scent. Those are not tears in his eyes. His eyes are watering from the steam.

They sit together for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft noises of the hospital machines and Clint sipping his coffee. After a bit Steve says, “He didn’t leave this room the whole time you were unconscious.”

Clint doesn’t say anything.

“He says it was because Natasha asked him to watch your back, that she would have stayed if she’d been here.” He gives Clint a long look. “I don’t think that was it, though. At least, not entirely.”

Still Clint just waits, unsure what Steve is getting at.

“You really scared him,” Steve says. “More than he expected. More than he understands.”

Clint swallows.

Steve looks at him, his gaze level. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. His voice is unexpectedly rough. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Relaxing a bit, Steve says, “Good.” Then he smiles conspiratorially. “Wanna get out of here?”

*

When Bucky hears the knock he glares at the door. “Go away, Stevie,” he growls. “I’m not in the mood for your lecture. I’m not going back down to medical and nothing you say will change my--”

Even though he tells him to go away, he opens the door. Because it’s Steve, and they’ve been friends for too long.

Only it’s not Steve standing outside the door. It’s Clint.

So he trails off mid-thought, and finishes the only way he possibly can. “Fuck.”

And there’s that grin again. “I thought maybe we could just talk,” Clint says. “And maybe I could sit down? I snuck out of medical--”

“Again? Dammit Barton--”

“Don’t start yelling at me again, Barnes. Just let me in and give me a place to sit. And maybe some coffee?”

Bucky makes a show of looking at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost eight at night. I am not giving you caffeine.”

The face Clint makes almost changes Bucky’s mind. Almost. Instead he says, “Water. Or juice.”

Clint makes another tragic face, but says, “Water please.”

Bucky turns and walks into the apartment. After two steps he hears a crash behind him.

Clint is a tumbled mess on the floor just inside the doorway. “A little help?” He looks up at Bucky, a smile on his lips but pain in his eyes. “When Steve busted me out he forgot the crutches.”

Laugh or scream? Honestly, it could go either way.

Instead, Bucky growls, “You should be in that hospital bed.” But he belies his words by gently scooping Clint into his arms.

“Hey, I can walk,” he squawks.

“Yeah, you did real well with that. Just shut up and let me carry you.”

He shuts up.

After Bucky deposits Clint (softly, even though part of him wants to drop him, because he fucking deserves it) on the sofa he goes to the kitchen for some water. When he comes back Clint is smiling at him--that laid back, easy smile--and Bucky nearly dumps the contents of both glasses onto his smiling face. But again he controls himself, and silently hands Clint his glass. Clint takes a drink, dramatically sighs at the “not coffee-ness” of the water, then looks up at Bucky.

“Aren’t you going to sit down? My neck is going to hurt worse than it already does if I have to look up at you looming over me.”

Bucky sits down on the far end of the sofa. “You should still be in medical,” he says.

“You’ve already made your feelings on that pretty clear,” Clint says. “But Steve and I thought this was more important.”

“Steve. Always meddling,” Bucky mutters.

“Sounds like Nat,” Clint says. Bucky can’t tell if he’s laughing or commiserating.

There is about a minute of uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable on Bucky’s end, anyway. He won’t even let himself look at Clint. He doesn’t want to start yelling at him again. Yelling at him when he wants to be…

But that’s the problem. He’s too muddled around those clear, bright eyes that see so sharply and that always smiling mouth and…

Oh.

And then Clint interrupts his racing thoughts. “Steve told me--” He stops, abruptly. “No, that’s not what I want to say. Can I start over?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice broken and strained.

“I’m always gonna jump in front of a wall to save a kid. Or anyone who needs saving, really. It’s what I do. It’s what you do too, right?”

Bucky grunts. He wants to say that he’s got accelerated healing and other enhancements, but he knows this isn’t the time. He just listens.

“But...maybe next time I’ll call for backup first. Or at least call in to let everyone know what’s going on. If, ah, if there’s someone on the other end who wants to know.”

His mouth suddenly dry, Bucky takes a drink of his water before trying to speak. “There is,” he says. He finally lets himself look at Clint. The easy grin is gone, replaced by a look so open and genuine it almost frightens Bucky.

“I didn’t realize,” Clint says.

“Neither did I,” says Bucky.

Without taking his eyes from Clint’s, Bucky takes both glasses and puts them on the coffee table.

He scoots across the sofa, angled towards Clint, close enough that they’re almost touching.

“The first time you woke up, when you were really gone on painkillers, you told me I have pretty eyes.”

Clint reaches up with his not-injured arm and tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “You do. I don’t remember saying it before, but you do.” His hand continues on through Bucky’s hair, and he grips the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him closer. When their mouths are just a breath apart, he says, “Okay, Buck?”

Bucky’s brain, his body, his every nerve ending, is screaming yes. His traitor mouth says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

And then Clint is laughing again, and Bucky is falling. Not physically--his body is still on the sofa--but his heart flips over and his stomach lurches and he knows before their lips even touch that he is well and truly gone for Clint Barton. “I don’t remember injuring my mouth, Bucky. We’ll just have to save anything more strenuous for later.” And then he fucking winks. But before Bucky can say anything about it their mouths are pressed together and every other thought disappears, because oh, this is what he’s been missing.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Sixty-Two: Your Policy ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

He knows it’s going to be one of those days when the first thing he hears upon arriving at work is his father saying, “Sasuke, a word.”

...wonderful. What has he managed to do wrong this time? Sighing and putting his things down at his desk, Sasuke follows Fugaku into his office, closing the door behind him in preparation of a beratement.

The patriarch takes his time, making his way around his desk before taking a seat, leaning back with steepled fingers. “I just wanted to give you a little...warning.”

Dark brows furrow. “...warning? About what?”

“As I’m sure you know, we’re been doing performance reviews the last few weeks. And a few people are, unfortunately, going to have to be let go.”

For a moment, fear flickers in his gut. He...he can’t be one of them, can he?

After a brief pause, his father offers, “...I’m afraid your secretary is one on the list of those we’ll have to let go.”

Sasuke...blinks. Blinks again. “...you’re joking.”

“I’m not. She hasn’t been performing up to our standards, my son. Now,” he goes on, holding up a hand to stop his son’s rebuttal. “I know that the two of you have a rather...complicated relationship…”

Sasuke can’t help an outright snort. Complicated, huh? Yeah, sure. If you want to call a woman desperate for both attention and social standing badgering him into sleeping with her a time or two complicated. They aren’t dating. In fact, in a lot of ways, he’s become less and less able to stand her the last few months. Her attempts to wriggle her way into his social circle (and likely leech off of him, maybe for a promotion) have largely failed, and after indulging her out of a mixture of curiosity and pity...he finds her obnoxious, self-centered, and a nuisance.

So in truth? He’s glad. But he also knows this will rock the boat. Hence the warning.

“So, I just wanted you to be aware that I will be serving her her notice this morning. And I expect a rather brilliant fireworks display,” Fugaku mutters.

“Right...you don’t happen to need any errands run this morning, do you?”

Fugaku snorts, a hint of a grin curling his lips. “No, I’m afraid not. But, Sasuke…” Leaning forward, he braces arms atop his desk. “You might want to...reconsider your policy when it comes to the people you become involved with. Secretaries are just...a recipe for disaster. If you really have to date someone in our company, try another department, will you? Give us all a little breathing room?”

“I’m not dating her,” Sasuke retorts, nose wrinkling.

“Well, whatever it is...it’s going to make this all the messier than it would have been if you’d just kept your business relationships professional,” his father bats back. “Now, you’ve got work to do.”

“So...what am I supposed to do about a secretary in the meantime?”

“I’ll have one of the girls from billing step in for a bit - then we’ll see about hiring someone full time. I’ve already started going through a few applications.”

“Do I get any say? They’ll be my secretary, after all.”

“I think this is something best left to me,” Fugaku replies dryly. “You just...worry about today for now. The rest will follow in due time.”

...maybe he has a point. “All right...thanks for the warning.”

“Figured it was only fair.”

With that grim tiding, Sasuke retreats from the office and instead heads toward his own. Maybe he can position a file cabinet against his door to bar it shut in case she tries to come in and strangle him. He might not be the reason she’s getting fired - it’s rather clear it’s her own fault - but he can picture now how she’ll be trying to spin this to make him the bad guy. Because surely she knows that the end of her career also means the end of this...whatever the hell they’ve got going on. And given how clingy she’s been...he’s really not sure what she’ll be more angry about.

All he knows is...she’ll be very, very angry. Sweet facade aside, that woman has a temper…

Closing his door and attempting to make himself look small behind his desk, he just...gets to work, occasionally glancing up to see if she’s arrived yet.

Five minutes before the day officially begins, she shows up, going about her morning routine...only to pause at an intercom from her phone he can’t hear with the door closed. Pointedly looking at his monitor, he can still feel her eyes boring through the window at him.

Here we go…

While Sasuke is sure his father will be as cordial as he can be (though his base nature is rather...gruff and unyielding), he knows there’s no avoiding the blowup. So when he swears he can feel stomping footsteps, he peers warily around the edge of his screen.

To his honest surprise, there’s no yelling, or screaming. Just a very red, purse-lipped woman collecting her things (very angrily) from her desk, shoving them into a box before making her way to the elevator.

It’s then she yells. Just a few words. Very...vulgar words that make even Sasuke flinch, the rest of the floor surely hearing it (and maybe even the entire building).

Risking a glance back up, he looks to his phone at an incoming comm. “Well...it could have been worse,” Fugaku sighs through the speaker.

“True…”

“Your temporary gal will be here in a few minutes - just give her a rundown, and she’ll be fine.”

“All right, will do.” Letting the ‘call’ end with a long sigh, Sasuke doesn’t bother to get back to work until she arrives - he’ll only have to stop and start again. Instead, he watches the window, only standing when a figure hesitantly steps up to the desk, glancing around as if in search of help.

Opening the door, he takes a moment to look her over.

She’s a bit shorter than his previous partner, and entirely different in build. Whereas the former had been rather lean and almost flat (in most regards), this one is...more rounded, with long dark hair and a heart-shaped face. Her outfit is mostly dark purples and soft blues, and he swears her eyes are huge! It’s like she looks right through him, like a doe in headlights. And unlike her predecessor, who was all edges, attitude, and temper, this one seems...soft, receptive, and attentive.

...she’s adorable.

Blinking, Sasuke balks for a moment. “You’re, uh...the temp?”

“Yes, sir. Hinata Hyūga. I’m, um...I’m from over in billing…? Mr. Uchiha asked if I could cover in light of you...losing your secretary. I hope I can be of help…!”

“I’m sure you will.” Doing his best to smooth out his facade, Sasuke puts hands in his slacks pockets, trying to look nonchalant. “All you really need to worry about is phone calls, and my schedule. Think of yourself as like...my day planner, but in person form. In all honesty, I’m not that busy - my brother’s the one who gets run more ragged. You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

“O-okay. I’ll do my best!”

“If you need any help with the software or anything, you can ping my brother’s secretary - she’ll walk you through it. She’s an old pro, so any questions you’ve got, she can handle. And she’s super friendly, so don’t sweat it.”

“Oh, I see...thank you! I’ll do my best!”

“Hopefully we’ll get someone new in here quick so you can get back to your right department, huh?” he asks, giving a hint of a grin.

“That would be nice, yes...n-not that it’s a problem being here! In fact, I...I volunteered for it. I’ve never been in this p-part of of the building. And I thought it would be a good learning experience - to, um...to work with one of the higher ups!”

...she really needs to stop being so stupidly cute. She just...oozes charm and sweetness! It’s not fair! “Yeah, uh...well, I guess you can give it a shot and see how you like it. Guess if it’s a good fit, you could always apply for it yourself, if you wanted..”

“Oh, I...I don’t know about that.” Hinata gives a nervous giggle. “But, um...I guess we’ll see! I b-better get started. If I need anything, I’ll...I’ll ping the other secretary.”

“Or you can ask me. I dunno much about the program they use, but anything else I can probably answer if she’s busy.”

“O-okay! Thank you, sir.”

“Please, just Sasuke - sir or Mr. Uchiha are too much like my dad,” Sasuke offers, grimacing slightly.

“Oh, right! I’ll...I’ll keep that in mind. So sorry, I -”

“Nothing to apologize for, Hinata. Don’t worry so much - it’s just a temporary thing. We’ll help you get through it. Besides, we’re the ones who owe you for stepping up to the plate.”

Her cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink. “R...right. Um...okay. Well, I...I’ll see what I can get started doing!”

Sasuke gives a slight smile. “Sounds good. I better get to it, too. Holler if you need anything.”

“I-I will!”

Retreating back to his office, Sasuke sits...and buries his face in his hands with a gusty sigh. Didn’t he just get lectured about this? Why the hell did the person who showed up have to be so...so…?

...well, at least she’s only here temporarily. Knowing that tone his father used, his next assistant won’t be anyone he’ll be likely to shack up with. And...now that he thinks about it...it was Fugaku himself who suggested someone in another department, right…?

For now, though...he’s going to have to grin and bear it. The poor thing’s going to be nervous and behind enough with her new learning curve without him trying to cozy up to her and being distracting.

That’ll just...have to wait.

                                                            .oOo.

     ...I feel like I wrote something similar to this before, but...I'm getting to the point where I can't tell what's been done in this challenge, or maybe things from past events, so...if it's a bit repetitive, my bad xD But I'm exhausted and in a bit of a rush, so...this is what my brain gave me!      ...I love this trope, honestly - it's SO cliche, but...I'm a sucker for cliches, haha~ I'd like to do more if I get the chance, but y'all know how that goes by now lol      Anywho, it's late and I've got a busy day ahead of me tomorrow, so best to call it a night! Thanks for reading~

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Blame It on Your Beats (8)

Chapter Content: Fluff, mushy song.

Summary: A brush with the underworld leads you on a run, away from what was supposedly your normal life, with Bucky Barnes. You two do not seem to be in sync as Bucky tries to keep you alive, trying your best not to kill each other. Or that’s what you think you are doing.

Series: contains smut, adult content in there somewhere in the future chapters so please look at the chapter content and warnings before you proceed.

Chapter Warnings: none.

A/N: This series is written for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s MK Writing Challenge. Thank you so much for hosting. I am having a lot of fun with the prompts. But I am clearly behind schedule. Eep! Thanks for being so patient!

Tags for this fic are open

MASTERLIST

“Babe.”

“Hmm?”

“What about them? Do they look like they're a thing?”

Yukio turned into the direction Sonic was staring in, taking in your figure dressed in pink shorts and a floral halter top, sitting on the rock by the shore with Bucky, who was dressed in a red Hawaii shirt and black lounge pants. Your hands were busy scribbling something on a similar notepad Yukio had seen you work with yesterday.

“-I don't…” she heard you saying, watching you scrunch your nose at your partner with an offended gasp.

“Y/N,” Bucky stated with such a determined tone, “you were snoring last night.”

“Oh yeah? Well, so were you. And don't get me started on your stomach growls, hon,” you responded, huffing and going back to the pages in your lap. “I told you to go have your dinner but no! Why listen to me? Let's keep the whales awake at night!” you practically sang, swinging your head to add the sarcastic effect.

“Oh, I did bring early breakfast,” he added, bringing forward the tray of oysters into his lap, making your features turn a shade paler with a painful ache.

“No,” you whispered, closing your eyes in defeat and inching away from Bucky, “Bucky, no.”

“What? They are delicious!” He stated, opening one with a small knife he took out of his pants, making you squirm visibly as you inched away a little more and he shifted towards you to show you the glossy, mushy insides as he moaned about how delicious they looked.

You whimpered as he scooped out the insides and gulped them down in one go, forcing you to get up and walk away from him when he wanted you to try one.

“Just try one, doll. You'll love it!”

“Get that sea blob away from me!”

A few seconds later, it is Bucky walking away from you as you had your right arm extended in his direction, a giant furry brown spider sitting on the back of your palm.

“But look at how cute he is! Bucky, come on, it's just a spider.”

“No, it's not cute! Nothing about this monster is cute. Get that thing away from me! Y/N, I swear on all the songs you love-”

Your shriek filled the air swirling from the sea around you as Bucky picked you up and kept a strong hold around your waist as he bent you sideways keeping your arms away from him all the while telling you to ‘shake that crawler away’ while you chortled, your face turning red from the gut aching laughter at the assassin's actions on seeing the spider.

Yukio turned back to her girl. “Aww! They sure look cute together!”

“Mnh, I'm not convinced,” Sonic muttered, entwining her fingers in Yukio's.

Bucky had kept his early morning busy when he had reluctantly left your peaceful, snoring side to contact Stark, fill him in about your progress, do a recon of the hotel’s estate and know about the whereabouts of the man who had threatened to kill you.

“His name is Dexter Ian Christenson. Ex seal. Used to be a shadow hunter for the military’s gory operations once. This guy is as sane as the American Psycho according to the last evaluation the force did before he was compelled to take early retirement. He hasn’t been seen since the incident. Almost like the guy just ghosted. But Friday did pick up the vehicle he had been using the night before through the street cams. A rental under one of Eton’s shadow companies. Has been sitting at the same spot since that man dirtied my facility. He is either gone underground or is searching for the OWL that Y/N so blatantly took away from right under his nose. You know what this means, Barnes.”

Of course, he knew what that meant. If Dexter was as balanced as Tony was painting him in his head, you had a target on your head the moment he had set his eyes on you. Bucky was not ruling out the possibility of him tracking you down in search for the OWL. But what ticked him the wrong way was the conversation you and Dexter had when you were trapped in the lab, his words still crisp inside Bucky’s mind from what all he had heard over the comms. That man had been playing with you and if Bucky had read him right, he would have been elated that you got away with his trophy, making him savour the chase before he hunted you down for his pleasure. The mere thought of him in your vicinity had been enough to snap the firewood into two in his flesh hand when he, Jamal’s husband Ryan and Yukio had offered to help Meera with the evening’s bonfire preparation.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you muttered under your breath.

“It’s just one night,” Bucky retorted, straightening his silver striped tie over the blue sheen shirt you gifted him before buttoning the jacket on his suit.

“And that is one entire anomaly waiting to be unfolded,” you announced, pointing at the pages on the bed, “but you’d rather take me to this stupid evening where I know no one and everyone who knows me probably thinks I’m insane.”

You cursed at the satin blue ribbon coming and going out of everywhere from your front to your back, clearly not a riddle you were happy to be wound up in.

“Come here,” he sighed, taking the ends of the ribbons from your hands and pressing them in his mouth as he loosened the complex mess you had created over the gown. His light touch worked around you to create a symmetrical satin web, before turning you around to tie it up in a nice bow at the back.

You admitted to yourself to be quite impressed by his work, at the same time wondering who else- and how many ‘elses’- he had worked this art on.

“You cannot just lock yourself up in the room like this. You’ve been sitting here for almost the entire day, Y/N. Take a break from the puzzle solving, would you? Enjoy a little.”

You took in one quick breath to calm your nerves that were worked up at the simple graze of his fingers on your bare back.

“I know you think I don’t know much about you, Bucky, but one week is enough to read into what any Avenger likes or dislikes. So, don’t play the ‘loosen up a little’ act with me,” you glared at his reflection in the mirror, catching his brazen blue off guard.

“I may be socially awkward but I’m not dumb,” you added, making Bucky take a mental note to not give away any weakness in front of you that you might use to torture him later. The spider had been enough for the next six months.

But try as you may, he was never going to admit that he wanted to keep you close, in a crowd, where there were low chances of Dexter coming for your head on.

“You’re right,” he confessed, “I’m not much of a people’s person either. But, I’d rather bear the crowd outside than you sulking at the pages, cursing whatever ancient ruler came up with the ways to encrypt their love letters for their better half.”

You were wounded by the open attack for a moment but suddenly shut your mouth at another thought. “You know, a love letter is a good theory, maybe I could find a method to-”

“Get out of the room before I burn down every piece of paper in here.”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t falter with the statement and as much as you wanted to spew that he wouldn’t burn a thousand-year-old manuscript, the warning in his eyes made move towards the door.

“Fine,” your words quaked as your back hit the wall instead of going out the open door, “but just so you know, I’m a very lousy dance partner.”

So much for the questionable feelings, I had begun to have last night, you thought to yourself.

How much of it was questionable and how much of you was lousy, you were about to find out tonight.

“No.”

“Yes! It’s a tradition!”

You looked at Louise with as much of respectful disapproval you could manage before she effortlessly shoved your whole being smack into Bucky’s towering form.

“Come on, now,” she shouted for everyone to hear, “all the couples dance around the bonfire to mark the beginning of the local new year and kiss each other to close the vows you take for the new beginning.”

“Yeah,” Sonic quipped, a smirk on her face, “nothing says ‘I love you’ better than dancing to some blood ritual for the island nation’s inhabitants.”

See! She is clearly the sensible one. And Meera! Where. Is. Meera?

“As much as I’d love to correct my wife,” Meera spoke from the bar, putting down her bourbon to come and take her beloved’s hand, “this one tradition is really sacred and goes back ages. It’d be really lovely if all you would join us.”

Well, there goes the sensible one, clearly smitten under the moon.

The soft music on the piano started. Libet’s delay.

“Is there anything you’re good at?” Bucky surmised with a smirk, clearly enjoying the pissed look on your features.

It would’ve felt nice to come back with all the things you were brilliant at but the mental exhaustion from overworking on cracking the ancient codes had taken a toll over you. So, without a word, you started to head towards the bar before Bucky’s hand caught you.

“Wai-Wait,” he pleaded, positioning you back in front of him, “sorry. Just...let me guide you.”

He patiently waited with his hand open for yours.

With the silent ocean breeze teasing your nerve ends, making you want to curl up in a familiar warmth somewhere beyond all that came with a deadline and a death threat, you glided your palm into his metal, while his flesh hand went across your waist, drawing you closer.

Your body was already beginning to absorb the glow he was emanating, relaxing you with a welcoming surprise.

“Just work your sway with mine,” his pink lips covered in between the dense stubble spoke near you, his scent engulfing you from everywhere.

You synchronised your footwork with his, the sway of your hips at the movement of his feet, the push of his flesh hand to twirl you, the pull of his metal to dip you as he came down from the dazed high, breathing in your form like his personal ecstasy. Every breath in his movement gradually trickled over you, wiping off the dark thoughts, taking away the tightness of your worked up muscles, nullifying the threat that lingered somewhere out there.

How could his presence do this to you?

How could someone make you feel so much at peace with yourself?

And like a high note to mark the end, the music stopped and a song of windchimes filled the air, Meera declaring it as the time to close your vows.

Your reluctant yet curious gaze looked at your partner for further guidance.

The thought was one delicious invitation; one beautiful wave of desire passing through your chest to cut the distance between the two of you and finally answer the question of what he would taste like.

His personal oceans were dark with the same wonderful temptation and you had no idea how much restraint it took on his part to not completely crash on to you. Instead, he planted his inquisitive lips on your cheeks, igniting the latent seabeds inside you like neon blood running through every flora and fauna lighting up the entire undiscovered ocean.

And just like that, the daze lifted up with the sudden explosion of hip-hop reverberating through the speakers around the bonfire; Zemo the redhead doing the honours of taking over as the DJ for the night.

Needless to say, I keep her in check

She was all bad-bad, nevertheless (yeah)

It truly was a shock for Bucky to watch you bop your head at the new tune, only later realising it was more of wonderment to see you glow under the fire lamps- the golden hues doing no justice to the subtle stare you were giving him- and sway your head like that.

Callin' it quits now, baby, I'm a wreck (wreck)

Crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck (wreck)

Your heated body let go of the moderation, letting the tantalising feeling still on your cheeks work through your mind, swirling at the notes you were used to.

Needless to say, I keep her in check

She was all bad-bad, nevertheless

Callin' it quits now, baby, I'm a wreck

Crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck

You took him by his hands, making Bucky raise his hands and sway to the rhythm like you were showing him.

Thinkin' in a bad way, losin' your grip

Screamin' at my face, baby don't trip

Someone took a big L, don't know how that felt

Lookin' at you sideways, party on tilt

You were howling, completely letting the beats take over your senses, everything a sparkling blur. Everything except the stunning blue staring at you through the crinkled corners.

Ooh-ooh, some things you just can't refuse

She wanna ride me like a cruise and I'm not tryna lose

Bucky had no idea of his own happiness was bursting through his heart on watching you like this, his curious and appalled eyes never leaving your jumping figure.

Then you're left in the dust unless I stuck by ya

You're a sunflower, I think your love would be too much

Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower, you're the sunflower

“I told you I’m a lousy dance partner! I never said I was bad at dancing on my own.”

Your giggles filled the air while the cool sand under your feet made you shiver as you walked down the shore.

Bucky was quick to cover you up in his suit jacket as a laugh found its way out of him.

“Haha. For a second there I thought you were possessed or something,” he mentioned before bursting into giggles at his own joke.

“Hah!” you mocked a laugh back.

“Okay, I admit. I never saw you as someone with such...moves,” Bucky muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah. The whole not knowing how to swim thing really threw you off balance, didn’t it, darling?”

Bucky licked his lips and smiled at you.

“You really surprise me, you know. In a good way,” he sighed, his hands in his pocket, his arms casually colliding into yours as you swayed with the lingering effects of the music and just a tiny bit of alcohol.

“Yeah?” you questioned his statement, “even after I nearly took you down yesterday in my anger right on this beach somewhere?”

Bucky’s uncontrollable laughter boomed around you, filling you up with the most pleasant heat in your cheeks on watching him like this.

“Oh yeah, right. You-” he tried to dam his laughter now and then but failed miserably- “you...yeah you definitely took me down. It scared the hell out of me. My life definitely flashed before my eyes. What? I swear on...on...umm...yes! I swear on that constellation I was scared.”

You poked him with your elbow. “Don’t destroy my constellation, you dweeb!”

“Aw, doll,” he enunciated, tilting his head in sympathy, “for all we know that constellation is dead already. Your love letters would be older than this.”

You scoffed before rerunning that thought inside your head, your pace slowing down a little.

“I’m sure I’m outliving them by some margin right now,” he added, walking ahead before realising you were not beside him.

Bucky turned around and found you with a lost expression hovering over your face. “Y/N?” he called out your name but all he got was a silent stare that passed through him into some invisible void.

“Call Tony,” you announced to him with a whisper, “now.”

Within seconds Tony was on the other end, wondering what trouble you two were running into.

“The order of the constellation they worshipped,” was all you said into the phone. And like some unspoken arrangement, Bucky heard Tony call Friday to mark the constellation in the sky during the time OWL was created and asked her to mark the translations you had done for him to be lined in that order.

Two minutes of killing silence later, you hear Tony give out a curse.

“What? Did it work? Tony! Did it work?” your trembling voice called out in urgency to him.

“Y/N,” Tony announced, “do you realise you just discovered a new element made by the old-timey folks?”

The amount of air you wanted to take in could not fit into your lungs as your wide eyes locked with Bucky before jumping up in muted joy.

“Good work, kiddo. Banner will love this.”

For the life of you, you could not find it in yourself to stay on your feet as Bucky got infected by your goofy smile before you finally landed in his arms.

“See!” you giggled close to his face as he chucked you up into the air, “I am good at stuff. This time you helped but I am good at stuff!”

Bucky chortled at your words dripping in victory as he swung you around a bit recklessly, making you scream and wrap your arms around his neck in a secure lock.

And to catch your breaths, your foreheads came together to rest in a symphony, your thumping chests marring the air with the heat they were radiating, your wide grins slowly melting into hints of a smile as the heaviness of this tantalization struck your chords.

You took the liberty to move your fingers at the back of Bucky’s neck through his hair while your parting forehead made you bring your lips forward to his in the heat of the moon grazing his glistening pale skin in contrast to his stubble and those heavily painted lips in the colours of morbid curiosity.

Suddenly the music started over again in the lawn somewhere in the background unbeknown to the two lost souls that were you and Bucky.

I know you're scared of the unknown (-known)

You don't wanna be alone (alone)

I know I always come and go (and go)

But it's out of my control

You wanted a confirmation from him before you could allow yourself to lose your existence in his silver ocean that was anything if not inviting you inside the deep waters.

And you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're a sunflower, I think your love would be too much

Bucky’s thoughts were a mess as soon as your eyes picked on his pulsating lips. The caged enchanted essence driving itself through the roof at the first whiff of your hot nerves vaporizing your delicious scent. And just as you asked him without any words, he tightened his grip on you, driving your already close body closer to him before meeting your lips.

Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower, you're the sunflower, yeah

The supple clash sent stars all through your body that were exploding as they passed every layer of you.

You and Bucky closed your eyes and got lost in the big bang of your making at the edge of the ocean.

Continued here

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen  @choke-me-sweet-pea  @smexylemony  @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death  @lokixme  @l0kisbitch  @tarithenurse  @hiddlestonstansworld @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms  @kcd15

BIOYB

@klmpun

[lalunaunita]

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 3

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7    Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy

Rating: Teen

Summary:  Bruce does his usual tightrope walk between his dual lives. He flirts with Selina at a charity ball, then goes to search for Catwoman.

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 3

Bruce straightened the sleeves of his jacket and smoothed his hair back as he crossed the top floor of Wayne Industries with long strides. It was 8:06 a.m. according to the clock on the wall above a sea of cubicles. He smiled at various clerks that looked up as he sailed by. One man, however, stood at the back wall coffee bar with a frown on his face.

“Late again, Bruce. The Board has been waiting for…” he glanced at the clock, “...seven minutes. Can’t you save your escapades for the weekend? You’ve still got lipstick on your collar.” The frown deepened, stopping just short of a grimace.

Bruce silently blessed Alfred for remembering the little details.

“Oops, good thing I’ve got a fresh shirt in my office. Tell the Board they need to wait three minutes more?” he asked, faking a sheepish look.

The man sighed gustily as he stirred his coffee and shook his head.

Bruce put on the boyish grin that had launched a thousand fansites. “Aw, cut me a little slack, Philmore? It’s only ten minutes of their time. And besides, it was all for charity.”

Philmore grumbled as he stalked away toward the board room. Bruce chuckled. He entered his office, waving at his secretary before closeting himself behind a heavily ornate wooden door. He nabbed a fresh shirt off of a rack in one corner of the enormous space and quickly switched out. A polite knock sounded as he resecured his power tie in front of a mirror on the back of the door.

“Enter!” he called, stepping back.

Debra, his secretary, sashayed in holding a clipboard. She clicked her tongue at him. “You sure put Phil in a tizzy this morning. Have mercy on the poor man,” she admonished. “Here’s your schedule and the materials for the meeting. This one’s gonna be a bloodbath, sorry to say. You shouldn’t have kept them waiting.”

“I can handle the board, Debra. What’s on my schedule for tonight?” Bruce asked.

His mind raced ahead to the hours after sunset. He wondered where he should start the search for Catwoman.

“Charity ball for a cat conservation group,” Debra reported, cutting into his thoughts.

Bruce groaned. “Can I cancel?”

“I suppose. Selina Kyle’s on the board—”

“Selina will be there?” Bruce’s ears perked up as he finished tucking in his shirt and took the clipboard from Debra.

Debra didn’t meet his eyes, but a knowing smile brought out her dimple. Bruce realized she’d mentioned that fact on purpose. He sighed, but with good humor.

“I’ll go. It’s fine. Can you call Alfred—”

“And make sure your tux is ready? Already done. What would you do without me, Mr. Wayne?” Debra chuckled at his expression.

“Suffer. Greatly.”

Bruce flashed Debra one last winning smile and stepped jauntily to the board room, armed with the materials she’d prepared.

Later that day, Bruce was alone in his office, the door partially shut against the bustle of the top floor. His lunch—a high quality sushi tray prepared by his favorite chef—sat untouched as he stared off into space. The board meeting had been… not good. Several of their products were in a sales slump no one could explain, and one particular land development project had everyone out of sorts. He wanted to be excited about the prospect of seeing Selina later, but work had him in a serious funk.

A surreptitious tap on the doorjamb pulled Bruce from his thoughts. He looked up to see Chuck Howson, his number one accountant, peep around the door.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne, is this a good time?” Howson’s round face was more serious than usual as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“It’s fine,” Bruce replied, waving him in.

“So, I tracked down those figures you wanted,” Howson began.

He placed a manila file folder on the edge of Bruce’s desk, carefully avoiding the sushi as he flipped it open. Bruce could feel his eyes glaze over when he saw the colored pie charts and various graphs of Howson’s collected printouts.

“Let’s cut to the chase. Howson, what kind of money are we talking here?” Bruce put his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers under his chin.

Howson pushed his glasses up with one long finger. “Well, Mr. Wayne, the cost of re-zoning, all the permits—and frankly, the bribes to various Gotham City officials...it’s in the neighborhood of—”

The figure he named set Bruce’s ears back. No wonder the board had been calling him all week. Even the deep pockets of Wayne Industries couldn’t handle the cost of the multi-use development he’d dreamed up. He’d envisioned it with Wayne employees in mind, but that small detail didn’t matter. For the amount Howson calculated, it would be cheaper to put his employees up in nice hotels for a couple of years.

Bruce sighed, irritated. “This is my land, isn’t it? How can they charge me so much to develop my own land?”

Howson shrugged. “Realities of living in a big city, Sir. Take it up with City Council.”

“Don’t tempt me. That’ll be all, Howson. Thanks.” Bruce stood and shook out his broad shoulders.

Howson gave a mock salute, turned on a heel, and exited the lavish office. The door closed softly behind him. Bruce rubbed his eyes and sighed again. After a frustrated circuit of the room and a few minutes spent staring out the window, he returned to work. He reviewed reports for a few more hours, annotating them or calling Debra on the comm to ask for follow-ups on one thing or another. Finally, the grandfather clock against the wall chimed five. Bruce stood and pulled on his suit jacket, eager to get out of Wayne Industries for the day.

He’d have to pull a Cinderella at the charity ball this evening. As much fun as one more overcrowded, champagne-soaked benefit would be, Batman had to find Catwoman before Commissioner Gordon set his sights on her.

It had been quite a while since he’d had a good excuse to see Selina, though. They knew each other well enough that he could call her up for coffee or brunch, but something about her always made him hesitate. The cover of another philanthropic event felt… required.

It was probably the intensity of purpose that radiated off of Selina. Her intensity honed down to a sharp, tiny, tolerant smile whenever she encountered Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s playboy. Come to think of it, Catwoman had a similar intense energy the few times he had encountered her. Bruce could imagine Selina’s laugh at being compared to the famous cat burglar. She’d probably love it. She wasn’t the type to be scandalized.

The ball started at eight o’clock. Alfred had him dressed and coiffed with thirty minutes to spare. Bruce set out from Wayne Manor in an appropriately sleek sports car, knowing Alfred would meet him with the Batmobile at midnight in one of their hidden places around town. He took his time on the winding roads leading back into the city, then roared up to the valet parking in front of the Natural History Museum exactly fifteen minutes after eight o’clock. Sometimes he did an even better job of pretending to be irresponsible and late, but tonight he figured ‘nearly on time’ served just as well.

Bruce tossed his keys to the valet, flicked imaginary dust off of the shoulder of his tux, and headed in. He handed a pre-filled and signed check to a well-dressed lady at a table covered in red velvet. When he smiled, she blushed to match the tablecloth and gave him his proof of plate purchase—a little gold cheetah lapel pin. He placed it carefully and set the backing. It wouldn’t do to break a thread on this tux; Alfred would murder him in his sleep.

He had another check already prepared for his actual donation to the cause. It was a number he hoped would make that tiny smile of Selina’s broaden into something authentic.

Warm light, the melodic strains of a string quartet, and the unmistakable musty smell of fossilized dinosaurs swept over Bruce as he entered the main hall of Gotham’s Natural History Museum. He took a proffered glass of champagne and pretended to sip it, one hand in his pocket as he casually walked the perimeter of the gathering. A banner emblazoned with “Gotham Cat and Habitat Conservation Society Annual Charity Ball” stretched across a raised dais toward the back of the large space. A generous dance floor had been put down in the center.

Curiously, several tableaus of taxidermied big cats from different sections of the museum had been brought in, but the glass enclosures were spattered with red paint. It looked as though blood striped the exteriors of scenes of lions taking down zebras, pumas feasting on deer, and other cats made to look fierce in their natural environments.

Bruce came close to the dais and saw the table for the board of directors, placards for the officers at each of their seats. Selina Kyle was behind the table, rifling through her clutch for something.

Bruce stood at the foot of the dais, champagne in hand. He looked up at the graceful woman with a smile on his lips. She’d cut her dark hair stylishly short. In combination with her strapless evening gown, it made her pale neck look beautifully slender. She snapped her clutch shut and straightened up. He caught her eye then, and she narrowed her gaze in admonishment.

“Staring is rude, Bruce,” Selina called out to him across the table.

He only grinned, not taking his eyes away for a moment. She shook her head, exasperated, and came around to the edge of the dais. He met her at the steps and handed her down, her other gloved hand gently lifting her dress away from her heels as she descended.

“I knew you were a cat fancier, Selina, but I had no idea you were involved in rescue and conservation as well,” Bruce rumbled, tugging her fingers forward and dropping a light kiss on them as soon as she was steady on her feet.

Selina offered a tight, insincere smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Bruce. Neglect and abuse of felines is a major problem—both in Gotham and abroad. This charity aims to assist both locally and globally.”

She took her hand back, subconsciously rubbing the glove where he’d kissed her. Bruce glanced around at the unusual decor and indicated one of the exhibits with a sweep of his hand.

“Is that why you held the ball here at the Natural History Museum? So you could use the exhibits as examples?”

“Exactly right,” Selina agreed. “Most of these animals were killed and taxidermied over eighty years ago, when there were no laws and no concept of protection for predators. The museum has no moral obligation to remove them, but they did agree to let us gussy them up to make our point.”

“The red certainly does that—startling and stark,” Bruce mused.

“Good. I hope it shocks a few of these socialites into a conscience,” Selina replied harshly.

She caught herself and sighed, smoothing her face into a more agreeable expression.

“Sorry, Bruce. Sometimes I look at the wealth floating around this city… and it breaks my heart for the less fortunate.”

“I understand completely,” Bruce agreed, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

Selina stifled a shiver. She broke eye contact with him and glanced around the bustling room. Bruce lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it to her, noticing how she rubbed her arms.

“Are you cold? Here, take my jacket,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine,” Selina insisted. “In fact, I should probably—”

“Hold that thought,” Bruce cut in as the quartet shifted into a jazz standard with a good beat. “Let’s dance, Selina.”

Overwhelming her protests with carefully cultivated charm, he enjoyed one dance with Selina Kyle, then released her to her duties. He made sure to pass in front of at least one reputable photographer while they were on the floor. It served Wayne Industries for him to be active on the charity circuit and the publicity served Selina, too. Her ambition was well known. Having some innocent fun was good for her image.

At dinner, Bruce found himself among a few older members of Gotham’s elite. He didn’t mind at all. He usually attracted crowds of vapid young women, but there were fewer than usual at this event. He shrugged to himself; perhaps they were mostly dog people. He seated himself next to a couple that had been friends of his parents, and spent the meal catching up with them and looking at photos of their grandchildren. He resisted the frequent urge to check his watch. They listened to various speakers, including Selina, that made impassioned pleas for funds to help the small cats of Gotham and the big cats of the world. When the hat was passed to accept donations, he dropped in his check.

Midnight came sooner than he expected, despite his impatience. He feigned tiredness and accompanied his parents’ friends out, making sure to exchange one last pleasantry with Selina before he left.

Once he was in his vehicle, Bruce touched base with Alfred. He was already waiting in a warehouse Bruce owned down by the river. Somehow, the streetlights in that part of town were always burning out and it was singularly difficult to get a good view of passing cars.

Bruce allowed himself a private moment of thought as he drove to the rendezvous point. There’d been an unusual sparkle in Selina’s eyes that night, the kind of look Bruce associated with hang gliding or watching your team win the Superbowl. He wondered what fueled her exhilaration. She had flirted with him during their single dance, her lithe figure indicating physical attraction even as her clever tongue said no in twenty different ways.

He’d happily take a lashing like that every day of the week if it meant he could see her more often. She only knew him as the playboy, however. He projected charm, irreverence, immaturity. Bruce knew it would never win over someone as driven as Selina. She was looking for an equal, a partner. As the Batman, he could never risk getting in so deep.

He pulled into a broad alley beside his building and depressed a button on the dash. A sturdy, well-oiled garage door raised up with hardly a sound. Bruce nosed the sports car inside and cut the engine. The garage door lowered behind him.

“Did you have a good time?” asked Alfred as Bruce tossed him the keys.

“I ran into the McAllisters. It was nice,” Bruce replied.

He carefully removed his tux jacket and handed it to Alfred, who draped it over one arm. Next came the slacks. Alfred had them both on a hanger before Bruce could blink. He placed his bow tie in Alfred’s waiting palm and added the cufflinks. The familiarity of years meant that no words needed to be exchanged.

When Bruce slipped his dress shirt off over his shoulders and reached for the hanger Alfred held, the older man slapped his hand.

“You'd best be about your business, Sir,” he reproved, taking the dress shirt away.

“And leave you to yours, I see,” Bruce chuckled.

He turned to the other vehicle in the warehouse.

“Batmobile, open,” he commanded.

The smooth, tinted hatch slid back and he leapt over the side into the driver’s seat. A push of a button set the seat to recline. As soon as he was horizontal, the Batmobile fitted him with his batsuit, hidden in the bowels of the vehicle. The engine roared to life as the seat brought him back up. Batman nodded once to Alfred and spun off into the night.

[onlyinmyimagination]

False Pretenses

Dick/Richard Grayson X (Female) Reader

Mobster/Mafia / Bodyguard AU

Genres: Romance, Drama, Action(?)

Warnings: Violence, Guns, mentions of death, some pining by the reader

Notes: Don = crime boss, crime lord; Consigliere = an advisor or counselor to a crime boss; Caporegime = rank similar to captain or sergeant; in charge of a group of soldiers and enforcers who report directly to them

Summary: You’re the decoy for a mafia princess. Dick Grayson is her bodyguard. When you start to take her place more often because of increasing threats to her life, you and Dick are forced to spend more time together. This is all to keep the mafia princess safe, but it was only inevitable that you’d fall for the man “protecting” you.

“Our former Don* was assassinated this morning, and she,” Barbara gestured to the woman beside her, “will soon take his place as Don. It won’t be long until the news gets out and she will become the top target of the rivaling Mafia families.”

Your eyes moved to the newly appointed crime boss—Princess, is what you’ve always known her as. “My condolences,” you said to her. She nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing.

Barbara redirected your attention to herself. “[Y/N], for the next few months you will be making all public appearances in her place. All eyes will be on you. It will be very dangerous but it’s very important that you do this.

Like I have a choice, you thought to yourself. You simply replied, “I understand.”

“Good,” Barbara said with a hint of a smile. “Her identity is and will remain a secret until we weed out her assassins. Most of our underworld colleagues have never seen her face before, which is why it is possible for you to continue to pass as her for an extended period of time. She will try not to travel anywhere unless it is absolutely necessary but it is essential that you go wherever she goes, and trick the public into thinking that you’re her.”

You were nodding along to her explanation when a door opened behind you.

Barbara looked past you. “Good, you’re here.”

You turned your head and watched Dick cross the room to stand beside the Mafia Princess. He offered you an easy smile in greeting and you nodded back. As usual his 3-piece suit was neat and tidy as he stood upright. In the time that you’ve worked as the Princess’ decoy you rarely interacted with Dick and thus, you didn’t know him very well. Every interaction with him was both brief and professional.  

Barbara explained, “As you know, Dick is the Princess’ bodyguard but for now he will act as yours for appearance’s sake. In the past Dick had a reputation as a highly skilled caporegime* so when people see him as your bodyguard they’ll assume you’re the real deal.”

You were silent as you took in the news. Whenever you acted as the Princess’ decoy Dick had remained as the Princess’ bodyguard and was always at her side while you had a different set of bodyguards protecting you. The change in assignments made you wonder just how public your appearances would be that you would need the best bodyguard protecting you.

“I hope you guys get along,” Barbara said while crossing her arms, “because you’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

“Are you scared?” Dick asked while you looked into the mirror and fidgeted with the wig on your head.

“Not really.” You glanced back at him and continued, “Maybe a little nervous but nothing’s ever really happened whenever I took the Princess’ place.”

“Good,” Dick said with a small smile. “I’ll make sure it stays that way. You don’t have to worry about athing.”

You watched him cross the hotel room to look out the window and said, “Thank you.”

“So how did you become the Princess’ decoy anyway?” he asked while scrutinizing the streets below.

You hesitated to answer. “My family was in debt. Every day was a struggle and for a long time things weren’t looking up. Then Barbara found me and I was offered a ‘special’ job that only I could do. I’ve been living like this ever since.”

Dick regarded you for a moment. “You’re a good kid.”

And dispensable, you thought to yourself. You cleared your throat and tried to shift the conversation. “What about you? What’s your story? How did you join the Mafia?”

“Well, long story short: My parents died when I was young and then the Don at the time took me in.” His features softened as he continued, “I owe everything to this Family. They raised me to be what I am today and I’m good at what I do. And it looks like it’s time to prove it,” he said while looking at his watch. “We gotta get a move on.”

You grabbed your things and Dick escorted you to the elevator. On the way down to the hotel lobby you adjusted the earpiece in your ear and looked over the itinerary for the day. “Why does she have so many meetings?” you muttered under your breath.  

The voice of the Mafia Princess filtered in through the earpiece. “I need to attend the meetings and gatherings as the new Don of the Family. Act confident, [Y/N]. You’ll be fine; I’ll tell you what to say.”

“Understood, Princess,” you mumbled. Dick was signaling the other guards stationed around the lobby and was walking closely by your side when there was a sudden explosion at the hotel entrance.

Dick yelled at you to get down as he whipped out a handgun from the shoulder holster hidden beneath his suit jacket. You felt his hand on the nape of your neck while you ducked your head down. You flinched when another explosion went off and shook the building. You brought your hands up to try to protect your head from the debris falling from above.

“Let’s go! We need to get out of here,” Dick shouted. It was then that you registered the gunshots ringing through the building and distantly across the street. A protective arm wound around your shoulders and coaxed you to stand.

“Who is it?” you asked, trying to yell over the commotion.

“It’s Deathstroke’s men,” Dick answered with a grim expression. “We’ll find out who sent them soon enough. Let’s head to the basement.” He ushered you through the emergency stairwell and directed you to follow along as he scouted the area. He kept his gun pointed down with his finger hovering just over the trigger. “My comms isn’t working. What about yours?” He pulled the device out of his ear as he made his way down the stairs.

Your fingers touched the earpiece as static sounds buzzed lowly in your ear. “Mine isn’t working either.”  

Dick cursed at this. He then carefully opened the door at the B1 level and surveyed the floor with his gun in hand. It appeared to be an underground parking garage from what you could tell, albeit a small one. He lowered his gun and motioned for you to follow.

“I think I should have my own gun next time,” you whispered to him while slowly crossing the B1 floor. You were desperately trying to calm your racing heart but you couldn’t help but comment on the unfair circumstances.

You saw a smile of amusement creep its way onto his face. “You bring up a good point, but we’ll discuss it later.”  

His expression suddenly turned serious and he raised his gun close to his chest. Then Dick swept you behind him while firing two shots at a figure hidden in the shadows. There was a sudden movement and you held your breath in anticipation as you hid yourself further behind Dick.

“Those were warning shots,” Dick announced, his voice slightly echoing through the garage.

“Nightwing,” the figure drawled while stepping out into the light of the poorly lit basement. “A lot of people want your Princess dead. I’ll give you a share of my cut of the reward if you let it happen. Well, no, someone else’s cut.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dick snapped. He kept his gun trained on the assassin who seemed much too relaxed for someone with a gun pointed at them.

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to kill me,” the figure said while gesturing to the gun in Dick’s hand.

“I certainly hope so.”

In a short moment the fight ended with the assassin beaten and knocked unconscious, though it wasn’t much of a surprise. Dick ended up winning the fight with the escrima sticks he kept concealed within his jacket. Like the assassin said, the gun wasn’t enough and Dick had run out of bullets fairly quickly. But Dick’s opponent was no match for him in hand-to-hand combat.  

“It’s still not safe here,” Dick told you. “And you’re way behind schedule.” Then he gestured across the garage. “Alright, pick a car.”

“Pick a car for what?” you questioned.

“We need a ride to get to your next meetings. Now pick something.” You laughed at his answer and chose the most expensive car there.

He hotwired the car you chose and drove you away from the hotel and out of harm’s way.

You ended up missing your first meeting of the day but you successfully attended the rest of your appointments despite the scare at your hotel.

It had been a week since the first incident when the next threat to your life happened in your own hotel room. It was during a business trip to Russia when the assassin waited until the dead of night to strike.

You were already asleep but you awoke to a thump outside the window, out on the balcony. Then a loud shuffling followed and the pistol that you kept on the nightstand was immediately in your hands. All traces of sleep had vanished and you pointed the gun at the balcony door while your eyes glanced around your dark room, looking for movement.

Then there was a knock on the glass door and you were thrown into confusion. What kind of assassin knocked before entering? You slowly moved to get up but before you could leave the bed, the glass door slid open.

“Good, you’re awake. Well, I figured as much with all the noise this guy made,” Dick said in a hushed voice as he peeked into your room. His eyes fell on the gun in your hands that you kept pointed at him. “Oh, looks like you’re prepared. Well done.”  

You broke out of your stupor and lowered the gun quickly. “What are you doing? What happened?” you asked.  

“Well, this guy was trying to enter your room through your balcony but I already took care of him. Here he is,” he said in a casual manner. Dick dragged the unconscious man into your room and you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from making a noise. “Don’t worry. He won’t bother you anymore. I’ll get rid of him now.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly. “Um, goodnight.” You watched him throw the body over his shoulder and cross your hotel room.

“Goodnight. Sweet dreams,” he said before closing the door behind him.  

As expected, Dick was the perfect bodyguard. He planned carefully and paid attention to every detail, whether it was planning your transportation or screening everyone before allowing them to see you. However the more time you spent with him the more you noticed how his guard was always up, even when it was just the two of you. Despite his friendly demeanor, he constantly kept you at a distance and avoided getting closer than necessary. You knew you were only his job and you should remain professional, but you couldn’t help but be disappointed by his aloof behavior. It was almost alarming how much you wanted to be with your bodyguard, or rather, with the Mafia Princess’ bodyguard. You were slow to realize it but your feelings hit you like a ton of bricks one day while you were working.

He had simply held your hand while you ascended the stairs leading to a private party. The party belonged to some business associates and of course you decided to wear a long gown. While you lifted a handful of the skirt in one hand, he offered to take your free hand. His touch felt so warm and comfortable but you noticed the aching of your chest the instant he moved away from you. You longed for his proximity, for his body to be close to yours. You enjoyed his protectiveness and undivided attention. You stared at the hand he held and you knew you were already in love.

And that was a very bad thing. So you buried the feelings you had for him as deep as you could, but he really made it so hard sometimes.

Dick was standing behind you while you discussed business matters with the club owner. You were in a private booth towards the back of the nightclub to ensure confidentiality.

You smiled and thanked the club owner for his time while standing up to leave. It was already past midnight when you finally concluded your business. You could finally escape its booming music and blinding lights.

“Ready to go?” Dick asked, his mouth near your ear so you could hear him.

You nodded and tried to keep yourself from thinking about the proximity of your bodies. He was at your side and his hand was at your back as he guided you through the sea of clubgoers. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, almost mimicking the heavy bass of the music as it shook your body.

You were so swept up in the euphoria of the nightclub atmosphere that you didn’t react right away to the sounds of gunshots that was concealed in the reverberations of the music. It wasn’t until Dick suddenly grabbed your hand that you finally realized what you were hearing. People soon started screaming and pushing against you as they frantically searched for an exit.

Dick was ushering you toward the back of the club to use the back exit. He kept one hand on your back as he tried to cover you with his body. You were struggling to keep up and were stumbling every so often because of the heels you were wearing. 

“Dick?” you called over the gunfire. “Wait...I can’t run that fast!” You yelped when the gunmen shot at the ground around your feet and you squeezed Dick’s hand tighter. Dick turned back to shoot back at the assailants and shouted for you to go on ahead. You did as you were told.

People shoved and raced past you to escape through the backdoor as well. When you finally made it outside you found yourself at an alleyway and instead of following the flow of people escaping, you turned around to look for any signs of Dick. He was supposed to follow after you.

With all the commotion, you hadn’t even noticed Barbara was speaking to you through your earpiece. “[Y/N]? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

“Barbara!” you said with obvious panic in your voice. “I-I’m okay! But I got separated from Dick... I don’t see him. I can’t find him.”

“Relax, [Y/N].”

Your hands trembled slightly despite your efforts to calm down. “Do you know if he’s okay? What should I do?”

“Calm down. His comms probably got damaged again. The other guards are helping him dispatch the assassins. Just wait there for him.”

Suddenly you heard a loud clatter and you yelped in surprise before Dick burst out of the side door. He seemed out of breath and he visibly relaxed when he caught sight of you. He quickly ran over to you.

“Dick,” you said while exhaling and smiling in relief. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

He gently grabbed your shoulders. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” he asked while scouring your body for injuries.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you reassured him. He looked into your eyes for a long moment as he lightly cupped your face with both hands. You thought maybe you were mistaking his loyalty for something else; something that would give you hope and eventually break your heart. You could see the worry in his expression and you were suddenly so envious of the Mafia Princess who would often get to experience this man’s fierce attention and devotion.

Dick swallowed thickly before slipping off his suit jacket and placing it over your shoulders. “We need to go. Who knows how many more are still lurking around here. We’ll head back to the hotel on foot.” Dick took your hand in his and pulled you along through the back alleyways and small streets.

“Barbara, Dick is okay,” you said, reporting to the consigliere*. “He’s met up with me and we’re going back to the hotel.”

“Good,” Barbara replied. “Move quickly because I’m getting reports of some activity around the nightclub.”  

You nodded at this and said to Dick, “Barbara said to hurry back.” Dick tightened his grip on your hand and began a quick pace with you in tow.

After a moment Barbara said, “You did well, [Y/N].”

“Thank you,” you said while staring at Dick’s back. You pulled his suit jacket tighter around yourself and ignored the memory of how you acted just moments before.

You had to remind yourself that Dick was not your bodyguard—he was the Mafia Princess’. And once this was all over, he would return to her once again.

Dick dropped you off at your hotel room and was about to retire to his own room when you stopped him. “What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw you holding onto his sleeve.

“You’re hurt,” you said.

A wistful smile appeared on his face. “Just some scratches. Nothing serious. I’m more worried about you. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just... scared of losing you,” you admitted.

Silence fell between you two and your face burned in embarrassment. You peeked up at his face and saw his troubled expression. You immediately regretted your words. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. Goodnight, Dick.”

“Wait, [Y/N].” He stopped you from closing your door. “I’m not supposed to get too close to my charges,” he said slowly, as if in conflict with himself.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m just being silly,” you said quickly. You stopped talking when his hand brushed the hair out of your face.

“Tonight I was really scared of losing you, too. I shouldn’t have left you alone. Being separated from you scared me more than I thought it would.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you searched his face. “What do you mean by that?” you asked quietly. He closed his eyes and lightly leaned his forehead against yours.

He murmured softly, “It means I won’t let it happen again. I’ll try harder and I’ll be more careful from now on. I promise I won’t leave your side ever again.”

“Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not scared if you’re with me,” you said with a smile.

A smile of his own spread across his lips. “I feel the same way.”

.

.

.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Imagine Natasha trying to set Steve up with both Bucky and Tony. It doesn't matter, however, because Bucky and Tony end up falling in love themselves. Steve, who was just humoring Nat, is pleased with this outcome.

Natashagreeted Steve with, “I’ve set it all up.”

Stevegroaned. “Natasha...”

Shebumped her shoulder against his. “I know, but you’ll really likethis one. He’s superhot,very smart, almost as sarcastic as you.”

“Look,I appreciate the effort, but-- Wait, did you say he?”

Natashasmiled like a cat in the cream. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

Steveeyed her warily, then slumped. “Fine. Send me the details.”

Stevehad been waiting for fifteen minutes. Even granting some leeway forManhattan traffic, he was beginning to feel irritable about it. Hepulled out his phone and was about to compose an irritable message toNatasha when a body slid into the booth across from him.

“SorryI’m late, there was-- Steve?”

Stevelooked up in shock. “Tony?”

[mobile readers, ‘ware the readmore!]

Tony’seyes were wide behind his literal rose-colored glasses. “You’remy seven o’clock?”

“Yourwhat?”

Tonypicked up the water glass that was waiting for him, its ice almostmelted. “Pepper told me I had a seven o’clock dinner meeting. Shedidn’t say it was you.What’s the occasion?”

Steveground his teeth together. “I’m here to meet a date.”

Tonybarely managed to keep himself from spraying water all over Steve,and wound up coughing as the water went back down his air pipeinstead. “This is a date?”he croaked.

Steveput his hand over his eyes. “Apparently so.”

“I’mgoing to kill her,” Tony swore.

“Pepper,or Natasha?” Steve asked out of morbid curiosity.

“Yes,”Tony said decisively. He took another, very cautious sip of water. “Imean, no offense; I’m sure you’d be a great date. I guess Pepdidn’t believe me when I told her I’m seeingsomeone.Guess I can’t blame her. I’ve never kept my private life privatebefore. But as long as we’re here anyway, let’s talk about thatperformance glitch in your helmet comms.”

“Thereisn’t a glitch in my helmet comms, Tony.”

“Surethere is,” Tony said. He pointed at Steve. “In that you keeptakingyour damn helmet off in the middle of a fight.”

Theresulting argument lasted for the entire expected duration of the“date” and wound up costing over a thousand dollars in damages.

“Okay,so that wasn’t the best idea,” Natasha admitted.

“Thatwas the worstidea,”Steve told her severely.

“Allright, all right. It was worth a shot.”

“Itwas definitely not.”

Natashashrugged. “You’d have been gorgeoustogether,though. Just... Mm.” She sighed, presumably in mourning for thenever-to-be-realized visuals.

“Also,”Steve pointed out, “he’s already seeing someone.”

“No,he’s not,” Natasha said. “He spends all his time working,tinkering in the workshop, or with the rest of us. He’s spentalmost twenty hours just this week working on Bucky’s arm.”

Stevejust looked at her.

“What?”

“Itis verycreepythatyou know all our schedules that well,” Steve pointed out.

“Youknew what I was when you all invited me to live here.” Natashashrugged, then leaned forward and put her hand on Steve’s knee. “Ihave someone else for you now.”

“No.”

“Comeon, this one is a lotbettermatched. Still smart and sassy, but not so... Tony.”

“Haven’tyou done enough damage already?” Steve wondered.

“Justone more, Steve, I promise.” That’s what she’d said a dozen“dates” ago, but she was using those big eyes on him that heknew, knew for a fact,mind you, were fake.

Unfortunately,despite knowing that, they still worked.

“I’lleven keep it simple for you,” Natasha had said. “I’ll set it upat the coffee shop down on the third floor.”

Steveliked that coffee shop. It was mostly used by people who worked inthe building, all of whom had been briefed about the possibility ofan Avenger encounter, and so Steve could sit for hours in the cozylittle seating area that overlooked the main lobby without beinginterrupted. He liked watching people come and go, and it was a nicespot for sketching.

Theother Avengers liked the shop, too, so Steve wasn’t entirelysurprised to find Bucky leaning on the rail, looking down into thelobby. “Hey, Buck,” he said. “How’s the arm today?” It hadonly been a couple of months since Bucky had finally admitted to thepain the arm caused and Tony had volunteered to try to make someadjustments to help. Steve had felt guilty for not noticing earlier,so he made it a point to ask every couple of days.

Buckywrapped his right hand around his metal shoulder. “Getting better,bit by bit,” he said. “Where’s your sketchbook?”

“Nodrawing today,” Steve said, leaning back against the rail to surveythe people in the shop. “Natasha set me up on another date.”

Buckyfroze for an instant, and then started cursing, low and vehement.

“What?What is it?”

Buckysighed, head dropping in defeat. “Think I’m your ‘date,’”he said. “Leastways, Nat sent me here, too.”

“Oh,for petesake,” Steve grumbled. “Is she going to try to set me upwith everyoneonthe team, now? Did she use the eyes on you, too?”

“Nah,she told me she was sendin’ me to meet theman of my dreams.I thought it meant she’d figured out... Uh, anyway. On the team?Who else’d she set you up with?”

“Tony,”Steve said, rolling his eyes. And if Bucky thought that woulddistract him... “Whatdidyou think she’d figured out?”

Bucky,to Steve’s surprise, started laughing, leaning heavily on the railfor support. “She tried to set you up with...” He howled withlaughter, and had to fight to get himself back under control. “Well,I guess it ain’t gonna be a secret for much longer anyway,” hewheezed. “Tony’s what I thought she’d figured out.”

“What?”

Buckywas still giggling every few breaths. “We’ve been steppin’ outfor a month or so, now. Well. Not so much out,‘cause we were keepin’ it on the down-low, but I reckon that’sabout to change.”

Steveleaned in the doorway of the library, where Natasha was devouringanother one of her terrible trashy romances. “Hey, Bucky and I,we’d like to take you to dinner,” he said. “Sort of a thankyou.”

Shelooked up with a wide, delighted smile. “Really?”

“Sure,”Steve said. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Buck sohappy before. Guess I just didn’t know what was missing.”

“Steve,that’s great,”she gushed.

“Sureis,” Steve agreed. “So, dinner, yeah? I’ll text you the detailsonce I’ve got everything hammered out.”

“Youbet,” Natasha said. She was practically glowingwithpride.

Waituntil she found out he was setting her up for a double date with Bucky and Tony.

~ @everyworldneedslove

[beninlife]

The End of an Era

Hello, loves! It is hard to believe that for 10 years I have wanted to join Peace Corps.  Not only did I finally join, but I completed my full 2 years of service!  I have exactly 4 days left in Benin and I am not sure where to begin on describing emotions or events that have taken place leading up to my departure.  So, I’ll start by describing my last two weeks in Bohicon.  Christiana, Pauline’s daughter, came by and took all my furniture a week before I moved out (I inherited all the furniture from the volunteer before me, so I figured I should pay it forward as I am not getting replaced in my house).  Once the furniture was gone, I sat there wondering why I had not gotten rid of things sooner!  It felt great to live a minimalist life with only a small mattress on the floor and a few items of clothing. 

It is part of the culture in Benin for the locals to ask for a gift when you get back from the market, when you travel to another city, before you leave for good.  My understanding is that due to the history of French colonization and missionary work – it has left Benin as a very “give me, give me” culture; dependent on handouts to survive.  So, having close to nothing in my house helped alleviate a lot of those demands for gifts.  My friend Jean told me to respond by saying “Je suis comme vous, j’ai rien.”  (I am like you, I have nothing) I did try this response on a few neighbors and they looked at me confused saying….” But you are white, you have money”.  So, all in all, a failed attempt to politely say I have nothing to give away.  This continued three times a day for the last two weeks, which left me feeling a bit frustrated. 

A less frustrating culturalism in Benin is going away “fetes” (parties).  Everyone in the invited fete wears matching fabric, food is prepared, and drinks are shared. Usually the one leaving pays for or contributes some money to the fete.  I happened to have three going away fetes my last week at site in the following order:

1.)    My Women’s Anti-Trafficking Group in Adjido:  I arrived in the small village on Tuesday around 9 AM and the food was not prepared yet, so I sat and helped peel garlic as the ladies danced around and teased me about leaving, asking if they could go with.  Finally, at 12, the women changed into their matching outfits and we began the short walk to the community center where we normally hold our Village Savings and Loan Meetings.  (The women carrying food and drinks on their heads) Once we arrived, the women began singing traditional songs and held a dance off!  Yours truly was pulled into the dance off against Christiana, which the ladies got a kick out of.  Then the President and Treasurer of the group had the final dance off which brought the house down with laughter, cheering and clapping.   We sat down and enjoyed my favorite meal that they had prepared: Pate rouge with soy cheese.  We each got a drink of choice (coke, sprite, or apple juice).  I had put 15,000 CFA ($26.00 USD) towards the fete and am glad I did.  It was worth it to see all of us dressed up so nicely with no place to go, laughing and stuffing our faces.  We eventually got around to holding our savings meeting and then I got back home around 2 PM, exhausted. 

  2.)    Pauline’s Family: Christiana and I had planned to have a fete at La Racine on Friday night, a restaurant in Bohicon.  I pre-ordered 10 plates of food for 20,000 CFA ($35.00 USD) and waited for Friday night to arrive.  I invited Pauline, her husband Julien, Christiana, her son Nehemie, Emile (my favorite moto driver), the school Director of CEG Sodohome, and three of my retired friends.  (Plus me, that would have made 10 people) The fete was set to start at 7 PM, but mother nature had other plans.  As we are in the rainy season in Benin, the rain started pouring at 6 PM.  Christiana called and re-assured me that by 7 it would be fine. Around 7:30 PM, guests started calling and asking if the party was still on.  I said yes, let’s just wait a little bit.  8PM, 8:30PM, 9PM, 9:30 PM…..finally at 9:45PM I called everyone and said the party was off as the rain still had not stopped!  As everyone uses motorcycles as transportation, it would have been impossible to drive in the rain.  I started to get ready for bed when I got a phone call at 10:30 PM from Christiana.  She said to run outside of my house, because she had found a friend with a car who picked up some of the guests! I quickly dressed, grabbed my rain jacket and ran outside.  When we arrived at La Racine, I was surprised to see Julien, my friend who we call Sancho (he is a security guard and helps Pauline around her house sometimes), Christiana and her son.  Julien and Pauline are hosting a student for an internship program, so the girl was there as well.  We called Pauline but she had gotten stuck in the rain trying to make it to the fete on a moto taxi so she was feeling very sick and was at home trying to stay warm.  The staff at La Racine had held the food and warmed it up so we had a nice feast, including a bottle of wine that the owner sent over to our table.  As I had already pre-ordered the food, I still had to pay for 10 plates and drinks but it was worth it.  All in all, it worked out but it was a final reminder from Benin that life does not go as planned and patience is key.

  3.)    Retired Patrons of CLCAM:  Jean, Telesphore and Sabine have all served as Directors at CLCAM over the last 20 years and are all retired now.  (The volunteer before me, Mike, had introduced me to Jean as someone I could rely on as he has worked with Peace Corps Volunteers for ten years) CLCAM is a microfinance and loan association and has been in business for 40 years in Benin.  As they were unable to make it to my fete at La Racine the night before, on Saturday they picked me up at noon wearing 40th Anniversary CLCAM tissue and had made me a matching dress as well!  We stopped at La Racine so they could see the venue and I bought them each a beer.  From there, we drove to Abomey to stop at one of their friend’s house for a whiskey.  From there, they took me to Hotel Bis where we had another beer each.  Finally, we ended up at a bar near my house for a final beer!  I am not a big drinker so I was pretty toasty after all of the bar hopping!  As you all are aware, the last two years have not been easy for me regarding interactions with males in Benin.  It was such a blessing to have these three men as my support and protectors the last two years! In Benin, usually retired, well established men are referred to as “Patrons” or bosses.  It was a hoot being driven around all day by these patrons, and getting only the best service at each place we stopped since they are highly respected in the community.  I thanked them for always being so kind to me and for their friendship since 2015, and then they dropped me off at home.  Feeling quite tired I took a nap and then had one last dinner with my friend Aviva who lives 10 minutes from me in Saclo (she will fly home a week after me)

Moving day!  On Sunday, I woke up and called my taxi drive to verify that he would arrive at 1 PM.  I organized everything that needed to be returned to Peace Corps in my living room (mattress, gas tank, lock box, fire extinguisher, water filter, helmet).  I still had not said goodbye to Pauline and her schedule did not permit a meetup that day, so I was pretty sad.  I then decided to burn my last stick of incense and walked through each room in the house, as well as the garden and bathing area outside.  I thanked each space for the memories and lessons I was taught over the last two years and then I cried a lot.  Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears of closing this chapter of my life. The more I travel, the harder the goodbyes are as I will always leave a piece of myself behind.  I enjoyed an hour of silence as the incense finished burning and then Aviva, Alex and Camille showed up with the taxi driver to help me move the Peace Corps items into the car. 

Surprisingly the move itself was very anti-climactic.  I was expecting neighbors and children to run after the car, waving and crying.  Instead, it was a quiet Sunday afternoon. No one was home.  I went next door to turn my keys into my landlord to find 15 children glued to a television watching a show.  I said, “Au Revoir” and they nodded, not taking their eyes off of the TV Screen.  We dropped Aviva off at her house since she was on the way to Cotonou and I cried a lot as we said our goodbyes! She was a great friend and saw me through me best and worst days in Bohicon, and accepted me just the same.  She lives in California so I am sure we will meet again someday!  I got back into the passenger seat of the taxi (Camille and Alex were in the back seat as they were going to Cotonou as well) and remained silent for the 2-hour journey.  I made sure to soak in all the landscapes, humor the vendors as they tried to shove peanuts and water through the window at every stop, and did not even mind that our driver stopped to urinate a few times.   I arrived in Cotonou around 3:30 PM, checked in my Peace Corps belongings with staff and showered. 

Now begins Close of Service (COS) in Cotonou.  Yesterday, all 11 of us who are flying home this week had to go to the medical office to get a TB skin test done.  We are all provided with a COS checklist, which entails running around to get signatures from different staff members before the day we fly home stating that we have paid any debts, we have returned Peace Corps property, our bank accounts are closed, and that we are medically cleared to leave the country.  The last step is an exit interview with our Country Director, which I have scheduled at 9 AM on Thursday morning.  Pauline surprised me yesterday!  She came to Cotonou and took me out to lunch one last time.  I was so excited that we had a chance to meet up and say a proper goodbye.  I thanked her for everything that she had done for her community and for me the last two years, including loving me as if I was her own daughter.  It was really emotional, as I have received more encouragement and love from her in 2 years than I did in 26 years from the woman who gave birth to me.  We took one last photo together and then Pauline said “go ! quickly! We will start crying! “ so off we went, both on different moto taxi’s going in opposite directions.

As far as luggage, I am ready to go.  My suitcase is exactly 50lbs and my small carry on backpack is stuffed full.  My flight is at 5:25 AM on Saturday, August 19th.  We have a quick stop in Lagos, Nigeria and then continue to Morocco.  I will have a 10-hour layover in Casablanca, Morocco.  As there are two other volunteers on my flight, we are planning to spend the layover walking around Casablanca, visiting the grand mosque and getting lunch.  From Casablanca, our flight will leave at 10:30 PM for JFK!  I am so anxious to land in the USA for the first time in 2 years!  We arrive at 1 AM in JFK on Sunday, August 20th.  I will try to sleep in the airport before boarding my 8:30 AM flight to Atlanta.  After 3 hours in the Atlanta airport, I will FINALLY take my last flight to Albuquerque, landing around 3:30 PM on Sunday, August 19th.  No doubt I will be tired, excited and full of emotions throughout my long journey back to New Mexico.  I will keep you all posted once I land safely and am enjoying New Mexican cuisine with my family!  What a wild ride it has been for two years living in Benin. 

It is the end of an era!  10 years of planning to join the Peace Corps is completed.  Thank you all for your continued support via phone calls, WhatsApp messages, emails and keeping me in your thoughts.  So thankful for my network of loved ones!  Looking forward to catching up with all of you stateside very soon!!!