#and i do think nobody understood Wilson as well as House

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

I think Amber was genuinely so good for Wilson. She understood him more than most people, and she encouraged his independence. She genuinely wanted him to put himself first and do things he wanted instead of just doing things he thought others wanted. And a lot of that was able to happen because she herself was incredibly independent. She wasn't the stereotypically "needy" person Wilson had been drawn to before, so she wouldn't stand for his attempts at being a martyr. She stood up to House, too, but she also cared about him in her own way because Wilson cared about him. She appreciated their relationship and went out of her way to work things out with House for Wilsons sake. I have a lot to say about why I think all of Wilson's female relationships failed and why I think that was caused by his internalized struggle with his sexuality, but I stand by the fact that I think Amber was actually good for him and one of, if not the most, healthy relationship he had in the show.

[scribblingfangirl]

WITH LOVE, THE GOSTS | Julie and The Phantoms - Part Three

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Author’s Note: I decided that this fic trilogy occurs a year after the season one final, making Julie and Y/N almost (or already) 17. Also… this part turned out waaay longer than expected. Which is why there is going to be a fourth part because I have one last idea but didn’t want to rush to write it. And to think this all started because of a rushed (haha) 1k Oneshot. I should really start to write more spontaneously, it seems like good things come out of it. Anyway, Enjoy! :D

Songs mentioned in this chapter (in this order): Now or Never & Wake Up by JaTP | Don't Stop Me Now by Queen | Rude by MAGIC! | Don’t Laugh At Me by Mark Wills | Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing by Tori Kelly | Still Learning by Halsey | Ayo Technology by 50 Cent | My version of My Name Is Luke by Trevor Wilson | Let’s Forget About It by Lisa Loeb | Let's Just Get Naked Lyrics by Joan Osborne | Hey by Pixies

word count: ~ 3.9k

summary: Even after meeting the boys they still aren’t tired of helping you out and they each have their own little ways to do it.

warnings:  // (english is not my first language, not beta-read)

| PART ONE | PART TWO |

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Knowing that ghosts existed was an absurd feeling (even though you had always believed or hoped that there was more out there than just this world, especially with all those planets that had been discovered by NASA), but knowing that there were three certain ghosts that liked you enough to kindly haunt you, well… that was just plain unimaginable somehow. Yet, still less anxiety awakening than you expected. 

After Julie let you meet the guys for the first time you thought you were prepared to accept that you would not be able to talk to them unless they played something (after all, you had Flynn to groan about that), but the occasional giggle from Julie and her glances into nothing still sent chills down your spine.

So you started to always look around very suspiciously whenever you were over at her house and make obscene hand movements just to be sure that the boys would move before you walked somewhere or sat down (which just earned chuckles from Flynn and annoyed sighs from Julie - “Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they can’t see you. They know where you are, so please stop, or else my dad will call your parents and send you to Dr Turner as well.” The boys found it hilarious and liked to imitate you whenever they came too close to you.) 

The boys also still kept doing little things for you, just not so in secret anymore (though… Reggie was never one for subtlety). Whenever you seemed to have had a bad day (or whenever they just wanted to make you smile) you knew you could count on them having something prepared for you. 

You soon discovered that anything related to food (which sometimes were extremely odd and bizarre combinations) was Luke’s doing (except for pizza and meatballs, according to Julie that was always Reggie). And you knew it was Alex whenever it was something more calm and soothing, yet sometimes a little bit clumsy. And whenever it was blatantly obvious and/or slightly weird (in a good way!) it was Reggie. 

Well, no. Not always in a good way. One time you came back from school and your whole room was filled with glitter and butterflies and a small note with a little ‘Sorry!’ on it was pinned to your desk - cleaning that had been a pain in the a-. But you couldn’t be angry at Reggie, even though you weren’t quite sure what his ultimate goal would have been. 

Speaking of REGGIE...

All those helpful little deeds and nice gestures were always done within the limits of your house (mostly room) or Julie’s house and the studio, which is why you almost let out a loud yelp when suddenly during a math test your pen started to move on his own, filling out the empty space (because yes, you hadn’t been doing very much other than staring helplessly at the paper in front of you). Quickly you grabbed the pen as well (loosely and while trying to ignore the fact that you were practically holding hands with one of the guys) so that nobody would see a floating pen as you did a few weeks ago at Christmas.

From the corners of your eyes, you saw Julie slightly move her head towards you, as if she was listening to you - or rather someone right beside or behind you. ‘Of course. I can’t see them, so the only way to help me is by physically grabbing the pen, but Julie can hear and see them, so they (whoever this is - because let’s be honest, none of the guys really looks like a math genius) only have to tell her the corrects solutions and how to get there. My money’s on Alex.’

You were kind of shocked, and weirdly proud when Julie came up to you after class and said: “Reggie’s not so questionable after all, huh?” (Though… you should’ve guessed it, you did say subtlety wasn’t Reggie’s strong suit.) So you just giggled and shook your head while leaving some of your books in your locker (alongside the fact that Reggie was probably almost (if not!) hugging you from behind - you shuddered at that thought, it’s not like you were already awkward around living boys your age, no need to add ghosts to that list!)

A week later you and Julie entered the studio with blank faces and hanging shoulders. Julie threw a weak little wave towards the piano and sighed while you threw the blankets and snacks you were holding carelessly on the ground and let yourself fall face-first onto the couch, not being able to hide your smile anymore.

“We got our math exams back… yes the one Reggie helped us with.”

You couldn’t see what Julie was doing, but you heard her gasp and whisper “No! Reggie…” after a while. Then she was standing beside you, nudging your shoulder and willing you to sit up, but you didn’t bulge, needing a few more seconds to wipe the smile off your face again.

Faking to disgruntledly accept defeat as Julie’s nudges got stronger (the couch was really comfortable, you totally understood Luke now) you sat up and looked at Julie. “Who’s going to tell them?” you said with a heavy voice and felt how the couch dipped beside you. Raising your eyebrows you quickly glanced to the side (obviously not seeing anybody or anything) and looked back at Julie questioningly. 

She nodded, telling you that it was indeed Reggie and gave you the okay to drop the bomb.

You sighed as you turned back around, facing the wall on the other side of the studio and hoped that Reggie would ignore the fact that you were probably talking to his ear or something. “So Reggie… the help you gave us on the math final? Well…,” you couldn’t keep your face straight any longer and jumped onto the couch, “WE ACED IT! I WOULD HUG YOU IF YOU WEREN’T MADE OUT OF CUTE AIR!” (Okay… maybe there was a little bit too much serotonin involved.)

Julie added smiling, “And I’m happy to announce that due to my good grades my father allowed Julie and The Phantoms to play at the upcoming Summer Music Festival!”

A guitar riff filled the studio, followed by a short drum intro and with a ‘puff!’ the boys appeared in front of you, beaming and glowing at the news. Reggie even threw a wink at you when you smiled back and said: “Thank you!”

Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising Up right now And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never!

This allowed LUKE…

The music festival was an experience you would never forget. You were very happy Ray managed to persuade your parents to let you accompany Julie (sadly Flynn had no such luck). Not only did you turn 17 and the boys made sure to have the whole crowd sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you (as soon as you were back home you would add an extra point to your to-do: ‘find out how to kill ghosts a second time’), but the boys rocked the stage and Julie stood up taller and shined brighter than ever before. 

Gone (yet not forgotten) were the painful shocks and the fear of never performing again and the serenity of the guys was visible. 

It was the last night of the music festival when Julie got the phone call from her father. He would come by to get her the next morning and they would drive directly to visit other family members and spend the rest of the summer holidays there. 

Of course, Julie was excited to see her cousins and aunts and uncles again, but she also felt bad to leave you to drive back alone (you had come with your car jam-packed with all the necessary equipment you needed and that wasn’t provided by the festival).

“Don’t worry! It’s only a four-hour drive! I’ve got good music, podcasts and audiobooks to keep me company and back home Flynn will be waiting. It sadly looks like I’m going to survive without you.” 

Early the next morning Julie and some newfound fans of Julie and The Phantoms helped you load the equipment into your car and you said goodbye to Julie. Expecting the boys to just directly puff back to Los Feliz you didn’t waste any time and entered your car, connected your phone with the stereo and started to blast your favourite Broadway musicals.

You must’ve been on the road for half an hour when suddenly the playlist stopped and ‘Wake Up’ started to play.

So wake that spirit, spirit!

Confused you scrunched up your nose and touched the touch screen displaying the music system, trying to change it back to your playlist. But instead, the music changed yet again.

(Don't stop me now) 'Cause I'm having a good time (Don't stop me now) Yes, I'm havin' a good time I don't want to stop at all

“What the hell?” you muttered, staring at your stereo for a quick second before focusing back on the road, “Why you always going crazy on me dude?”

Once again the music switched.

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too?

It took you a hot minute to understand what was going on and then you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Don't laugh at me, don't call me names Don't get your pleasure from my pain

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said mockingly, looking at the empty passenger seat, guessing that that’s where your invisible friend was sitting. “Your pain? I’m not the one who is able to puff wherever and whenever their heart desires and who sneaks up on innocent people.”

Silence. 

“For what it’s worth. I’m sorry. I really am. It’s not like you choose this life, you deserved better than this. But I’m really glad I was able to get to know you. I’m really thankful for the light and happiness you brought back into Julie’s life.”

Don't you worry 'bout a thing

But I'm still learnin' to

using technology

You laughed. “Impressive skills nevertheless. Knowing three fitting songs and then changing them at the right time? Let me guess, Luke? Because I don’t think all of you three would fit into my tiny car full of musical equipment.”

At first, there was no music yet again, but then the slow melody of a (for you) well-known song flooded your car. It was the one Trevor Wilson song you never understood until you met the boys, the one song that was so totally different to his usual rock sound (except for the refrains, which, as you later would find out, were parts of the original lyrics Luke wrote for his version of the song).

I sing to remember the stories that used to be But I don’t write to create what could have been And as I scream words into the darkness around me They come out like a dying whisper

The kindest thing to do is to silence them and let them die To unleash my heartfelt sorrow into the sky  And diminish the will to fight That pulses like fire and screams with pain through my veins

But life’s not always beautiful, it’s rare So I’mma chase it, watch you make it

Don’t need to introduce himself You will want to know his name Pushing your foundations down  He is here to stay

Don’t call him a breeze when he’s a hurricane Don’t call him a tremble when he’s an earthquake Don’t call him an inconvenience Please just say his name

Leaving lyrics in my hands That I swallow like pills Like hurtful words, they rip and claw And press painfully against my chest

But no matter how painful they are I will soak them up, thinking of our hopes and wishes And as each word pushes a new pulse through my veins I keep staring out on the grave of our shared space of mind

Life’s not always beautiful, but it’s rare So I’mma chase it, watch you make it

Don’t need to introduce himself You will want to know his name Pushing your foundations down  He is here to stay

Don’t call him a spark when he’s a lightning bolt Don’t call him a flicker when he’s a raging flame Don’t you dare to underestimate him Please just say his name

But even when the word flood finally comes to an end Fidgeting hands remind me of music never played

I owe him my voice I owe him my sound

So I give him this time I give him this space To sing it out loud To let him declare And let me be proud

What’s his name? (His name is Luke!) What’s his name? (His name is Luke!) What’s his name? (His name is Luke!)

How long do we say his name? (Until we explode!)

My name is Luke! (Tell your friends!)

Tears were rolling down your cheeks, the song now more emotional than ever before. You couldn’t imagine how this song must affect Luke. Thinking that his bandmate abandoned him (which honestly… he kind of did, only mentioning him in one song, not giving any money to their parents and so on) up until he heard the song for the first time.

“Luke…”

Forget about it Let's forget about it

The ensuing silence wasn’t awkward. You hummed along to the music Luke selected, sometimes it were old classics (probably his favourites), other times it seemed to be random newer hits he probably never heard before mixed with some songs from your favourite playlists.

It was nearing midday and your stomach made itself known. As if on cue a road sign hinted at a diner just up ahead. Setting the blinker you pulled into the parking lot a few moments later.

“I hope you don’t mind. I know home’s only like an hour away, but...” you began to trail off, not knowing where to look at and your stomach finished your sentence. And before you were able to grab the door handle it sprung wide open. 

“Uh, what a gentleman. Thank you very much.”

The meal was over in a flash and once more you realised how much the boys actually knew about you without having actually interacted with you (perks of seeing other people without being seen themselves?). 

It’s like Luke could read your wishes just from your facial expressions. Whenever you needed salt or pepper they were right there. Whenever something was too salty or had too much pepper on your drink was being pushed closer to your side. And when you accidentally spilt something and needed more napkins they magically appeared.

When you then spotted a cute little guitar keychain that reminded you of Luke that was being sold as a souvenir at the check-out it was suddenly safely tucked into your back pocket (though that was really really risky, and while you did not condone it you couldn’t really stop a ghost).

Back in your car, you didn’t even bother to turn on the stereo, knowing that Luke would take over as soon as your hands were on the steering wheel again. 

However, a glance to your right presented you with a map of your surroundings, a big x hastily drawn over the Silverwood Lake in San Bernardino, which was basically just around the corner.

“You want to go swimming? We- I just ate! And my bathing suit is somewhere under that mountain of equipment on the backseat.”

Let's just get naked, just for a laugh Let's just get naked It's a trip and a half

You laughed at that, rolling your eyes and shaking your head, before stowing the map away and turning on the car. “I guess catching Reggie in the shower isn’t enough anymore?”

Hey!

“You started making it weird buddy.”

It had started to rain when you finally pulled up in your driveway, but you couldn’t be bothered to rush inside, enjoying the feeling of the cooling wetness on your skin.

“Look at that,” you said to nobody in particular, not knowing if Luke was still around or if he puffed back to the garage, “I didn’t even need to go swimming after all.”

He was. Sitting in the passenger seat, face on his arms while he leaned on the open car window, he watched you dance in the rain with a smile on his face. He was glad he decided to stick around and keep you company on that road trip. You gave him the courage to listen to My Name Is Luke for the first time (and getting to see you smile while showing off his impressive music knowledge was a bonus too). Because without knowing, you were doing little deeds for the boys too.

And made ALEX…

Whoever wrote that “Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning how to dance in the rain”-quote totally forgot to mention how dangerous small summer storms can be. 

Well sure, it might have been your fault for staying out for too long and deciding to let the sun that came out a little bit later dry you instead of changing into fresh and dry clothes, but whatever happened happened and you got sick. (It’s not like you had anything better to do during the last few days of your summer holidays, right?) 

Flynn had been a great friend and hung out almost daily at your house, playing board games, watching movies or tv or even just discussing upcoming Julie and The Phantoms possibilities with you. But your dearest little helper had been Alex.

The blond drummer had turned into the tall brother you never had but always wanted (focus on tall because the age thing with ghosts is seriously confusing) even if he was invisible to you 100% of the time. You had the same interests and were able to bond without actually having to say any words, little gestures and reciprocations on your side were more than enough.

Julie had come up with an easy solution and had bought you some of those sound buzzers (like the ones that dogs and cats use to communicate with their owners) and recorded some simple words and phrases the boys liked to use on them. Now the boys just had to press them to be able to communicate with you without having to use pen and paper or Julie herself (sure your parents were a little bit weary and confused, but you said it was for a longer school research project and that shut them up).

Now, feeling way better than during the last few days, but still very tired, you were sitting in your bed, not really focused on the tv show (or was it a movie?) that was playing on your computer. You had been contemplating and mentally preparing yourself to get something to eat and to drink for the past 15 minutes, but the thoughts alone were exhausting and binding you to the bed. Just then a tray with a water bottle, meds and a fruit bowl floated into your room. 

Suddenly wide awake and full of energy you clumsily jumped out of your bed and grabbed the tray, throwing a quick glance out of the door to see if your parents were around and slammed the door shut, wincing at the loud sound and hoping that Alex had walked out of the way (not that it would have hurt him, but you know - rude).

“Rude.” 

See? He thought the same. (Julie had to specifically add this word for Alex.) 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But I would like not to get murdered or have Sam and Dean Winchester on my back because my parents think I’m possessed and need to be exorcised.”

“Me.”

“You what?”

“Me.”

“Alex… I need more context.”

“I do. Me.”

You just blinked blankly at the sound buzzers, trying to piece together what Alex was trying to say.

“Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. M-”

“THAT’S ENOUGH Y/N! WHATEVER THAT SCHOOL PROJECT IS, TELL IT I HEARD IT AND I DON’T CARE WHAT IT WANTS!” you heard your father's scream come muffled through the door.

The audience laughter from sitcoms filled your room and you groaned, grabbing a pillow and smashing it against your face.

Faintly you heard the telltale sound of a pen scribbling something on paper and when you peeked from behind the pillow a note was floating in the air in front of you. “You mean exorcise ME! You would be the one surviving!” 

“What? Oh my god… yeah okay, YOU get exorcised… same thing. Both aren’t allowed to happen. Forgive my fever brain.”

“No.”

“Fork you, Alex.”

“No.”

“I have Carlos on speed-dial, I’m sure he already came up with other methods to get rid of ghosts other than the salt thing. He already told me that he’s sorry and that he thinks I might get haunted by you too with the amount of time I spend at their house.” 

“No. Food.”

Confused at that topic change it took you a few seconds to answer. “What?” Looking around your gaze landed on the tray that you had deposited on your desk. “Oh right! Boy, I completely forgot how thirsty and hungry I am. Did I say thank you? Fang u!” you mumbled with your mouth full of fruit. 

“No. Food.”

You swallowed down your food and took a big gulp of water. “Yes Alex, thank you. I am eating. You see? Here I am, here’s the food. The food is here and now whoops - ifs gan!”

You could basically feel the annoyance radiating from the ghost and weren’t really shocked when the pen started to scribble something down again.

“No! Argh!” He really wrote Argh… that dork really wrote Argh! “You can be worse than Reggie sometimes, but you do it on purpose and I’m just sorry for Reggie. A) Carlos thinks he got rid of us by making a french dip and B) You’re awfully lively for a supposedly sick person. I might need to use the buzzers more and see what other reactions I can provoke from your parents.”

Crumbling the note in your hands you thought ‘Challenge accepted’. “You know what? I think I’mma go back on Reggie’s offer and actually let him introduce me to Wilbur. He might know some stuff I could use to blackmail you. And you’re right! I feel much better, just very tired, but that’s nothing a little bit of fresh air can’t fix! Toodles!” 

You left your room, leaving a flabbergasted ghost behind who had lost his snapback with the number of times he had been combing through his hair with his hands. And while angrily pressing a pink buzzer, the buzzer wasn't the only thing that screamed “WILLIAM!” after the girl. (That was another important sound Alex wanted to have recorded.)

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Taglist: @sunsetcurvej​​ @ifilwtmfc​

[shurisneakers]

shut in [3]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, ptsd, fighting over beds

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: every part i introduce more anonymous characters smh. i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Don’t make me shoot you, Wilson.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way, agent.”

“How’s it looking out there?”

“There’s been some talk. Apparently Serpentine isn’t very happy that their intel is dead. They’ve got people looking out for you everywhere.”

A frown adorned your face. Sam was leaning forward on his arms, head turned down as he listened to Ransone.

“How dangerous is it?”

“I would say that everyone’s a little wound up. Best not to go anywhere even a little populated.”

“Noted.” It would blow over in a while. The media coverage of Pierce’s assassination would die down with the changing news cycle soon.

“I can have someone pick you up wherever you are. Just tell me where.” 

“Don’t bother. We won’t be here for too long,” you responded, Sam nodding in agreement. Once it quietened down you could leave, go back to Ransone without blowing your cover.

“Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know when you’re out.”

The click of the call ending took with it the only noise in the room.

Sam picked up the phone to remove the battery, discarding it to maintain your security. Burner phones were useful, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

“Wait,” you cut in, holding your hand out for it, “I need to make another call.”

The both of you were seated at the dining table. A piece of paper lay in front of you, playing the dangerous role of being the mediator. 

You were trying to ration out your supplies and create a schedule as a way of finding middle ground. Things were more or less calm for the last two days, but the fight over the bedroom was wading into territory that could only be solved by a good old middle school fistfight.

Currently you were figuring out a meal plan so that you could establish some kind of routine. With bread as the only uniting factor, the other three components were going on a rotation. You had reached all the way till Saturday before running out of possible combinations.

“I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.”

“We’ve exhausted all edible options, it’s the only combination left-”

“I will not hesitate to fatally wound you.” You were only half kidding. The ridiculousness of the ideas he was proposing was entertaining, and you knew he wasn’t being serious. It was hard to catch a moment where he was. 

“Fine. But in case we get to the point where peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that’s left, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“I would rather die than shovel spoonfuls of plain jelly and peanut butter into my mouth.”

“Your survival game is weak,” he chided, tsk-tsking at you.

You only rolled your eyes at him, moving on to the next subject.

Bed.

“Easy, we just alternate days. You got the last two days, so I get the next two and then we just switch everyday.” Sam eased back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head leisurely.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” you asked, writing down the plan he had just presented. The bed wasn’t queen sized with memory foam or any kind of privilege like that, but it definitely beat the couch with its odd lumps and depressions.

“A week tops. Anything more is just excessive.”

“Hello,” you said, voice low, even though you were well out of earshot of Sam. He was eying you from the living room window. If he was as good as he claimed he was, he’d know how to read lips and you couldn’t afford to have him do that.

“Code?”

You turned your back to the window, facing the large trees that loomed before you. “1993. It’s me.”

“Y/N?” He sounded suspicious, a little shocked, and you understood why he would be.

“Living and breathing.” You toed at a rock that lay ahead of you.

“Word on the street is that you’re dead,” he pointed out dryly.

“Not me; Pierce. I escaped. It was a trap.” When the rock you were playing around with escaped after a particularly hard kick, you started pacing up and down instead, “Ransone put a hit out on him because he thought he was leaking information.”

“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?”

“Don’t know. He was dead before we got there.”

“Who is ‘we’? You got someone there with you?” You didn’t realise it had slipped out during your conversation. 

“Another one of our guys. Apparently I was a backup in case he didn’t show up, but he did, so now we’re stuck together.” You averted your gaze to Sam who was still observing you from the window brazenly, intently. 

“Where are you?”

“We’re safe.” 

“Alright.” He sounded like he understood, albeit not entirely convinced. “Stay low.”

“Will do.”

With that you hung up the call, dropped the phone to the ground and crushed it under your boot heel. When you were convinced that it was sufficiently useless, you turned on your heel, making your way back.

You walked back into the house, beelining to the kitchen to make up for your missed lunch, only to be greeted with Sam sitting on the couch looking at you inquisitively.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody,” you answered straightforwardly, opening the cabinet to get two slices of bread.

“If it has somethin’ to do with this situation we’re in then I need to know who you’re talking to.”

“Just drop it. It has nothing to do with you.” You found the jar of peanut butter he had already opened, using a butter knife to spread it along the bread.

“Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you must. I’m going to take a nap,” you answered evasively, chewing absentmindedly on the sandwich you had just made. You didn’t bother to look at him as you headed towards the bedroom.

“Hey now, hold on a minute. Who said you had bedroom privileges? You’ve been using it for two days.” You stopped in your tracks, face scrunching in annoyance. “If you’re keeping vital information about my life from me, then I think I deserve to not have a fuckin’ backache when I wake up in the morning.”

You quickly weighed the pros and cons in your head, imagining how the next few minutes would pan out if you just said ‘no’ and left. But in every imaginary argument you proposed, the bottom line ended with him prodding at you until he either got the information that he wanted or the bed.

Frankly, the bed was something you were willing to sacrifice to get him to stop meddling in your business. It seemed like the only reasonable way to get him off your ass.

“Fine.” You spun around to face him. “We’re making an arrangement.”

“Whoever has the bed has to forfeit TV privileges for that day.”

“Sounds reasonable. None of those three movies can be played more than twice in a row.”

That was more to preserve your sanity than anything. You had already seen each of them once, bordering on thrice for Die Hard. Sam’s fault, not yours.

“We should have a codeword. In case there's danger or something. Or maybe if you just want to be left alone,” Sam suggested, finger pointing to the blank space left at the end of the paper. “But it’ll be like solitary confinement since it’s so fuckin’ quiet here.”

Almost on instinct your mind flashed to images of dark cells. Quiet sobs. Blood stains on the wall, originating from clawing at it. Sunlight through one small window at the top. Utter loneliness except for yourself.

You could remember the soreness in your legs from curling up into a ball for hours, rocking back and forth. The smell of drain water collecting in the basement where the cell was.

Isolation.

“You got any suggestions?”

“Huh?” You forced yourself back to the present. Your knuckles had a dull ache in them from holding the pencil too hard.

“Do you have any ideas for a codeword?” Sam repeated, looking at you intently.

“No, nothing off the top of my head.” You shook your head, trying to regain focus. You loosened your grip on the pencil, letting it fall to the table.

“We’ll just leave it at ‘Brooklyn’ for the time being.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed to whatever he was saying. It was just a precaution in case something major happened. It was rather unlikely that you were going to use it anyway. 

Codewords weren’t uncommon in your business, but it was mostly used for missions or other professional standings. Regardless of being less adventurous than what you tended to work on, this was work at the end of the day. 

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think we’re done.” His chair scraped loudly against the ground as he got up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out for a while. Need to shake off the possible osteoporosis.”

You didn’t bother asking where he was going, ears following his footsteps as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, probably to get his jacket that he hung up in the drawer.

You left the paper on top of the mini fridge, alongside the car keys and a few dollars you had nabbed in the hurry from Pierce’s house.

Staring around you at the silent room, you realised that there really wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t like you to have so much time on your hands. You could always go for a run or test out some of the weapons hidden here. 

You had the rest of the house to explore, plans to draw up, a post mortem to assess what went wrong on the mission, even though the last option wasn’t possible without Sam’s cooperation.

Fuck it, you decided. Couch it is.

Kicking your feet up, you grabbed the TV remote to flip to the news station. The town rarely had anything to report on but it would be worthwhile to know what exactly was available around. Possibly assimilate in the crowd in case you wanted to be hidden.

It took you a few minutes of mindless surfing through static channels till you found it. It seemed like a scene right out of a Hallmark movie; the reporter was holding a microphone to a child who looked like he understood nothing of what was going on.

You were barely paying attention as it flipped from segment to segment, other things taking precedence in your mind even though you willed yourself to relax. There really wasn’t much to make a note of other than a few good samaritans and how utterly boring the lack of content was. A few occasional glimpses of stores and other resources available in the background were the only interesting part.

You were starting to drift off by the time it reached the breaking news of the evening. Sam had already come back when the sky slipped into twilight. He barely acknowledged your form lazing on the couch, only offering you a greeting and a goodbye as he made himself his dinner to take to the room.

Your eyes were just about closing when the breaking news of that evening came in. It was all politics. People you knew from old missions waving and smiling their way to lead their country as if the dubious acts they committed behind the scenes to get there was erased.

Until you suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide open.

“Wilson. Wilson!” You hit the cushion furiously to get his attention when he didn’t respond the first time around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What?” he yelled in response, mild irritation in his voice. You knew it sounded like you were shouting bloody murder even though no one was around other than you two, but you didn’t care.

“Look at this!” You couldn’t stop gawking at the screen. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“What? What do you wa-” He stalked into the room, ready to tell you to stop yelling but stopped mid sentence when he finally saw what you were so concerned about.

“Reports claim that the victim was attacked early in the afternoon at his villa. Officers say they found multiple signs of a forced entry, following which he was shot dead. So far no arrests have been made but the police have since released photos of two suspects of whom, they claim, have reason to believe orchestrated the attack.”

On the right side of the screen flashed yours and Sam’s picture side by side. Old mugshots from a petty offence you committed years ago for which Ransone bailed you out.

“The pair are said to be on the run after escaping before law enforcement arrived. If you have any tips on the whereabouts of-”

You turned to look at Sam. His stare didn’t budge from the TV as they once again reminded the public what you both looked like.

Years of anonymity, working in the shadows and creeping around to avoid being recognised only to have the entire country know what you looked like.

“Well, shit,” he finally exhaled. “Somehow I think our stay here just got extended.”

Part 4

[writingtoforgetreality]

Louisiana Fever (Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader)

Request: Hi! Since your ask are open could I have a imagine with bucky where him and his boyfriend (if you’re uncomfortable with male reader could you make it gender neutral pls?) are at the Wilson’s party and they talk about moving here and maybe getting a dog? Something really sweet and fluffy please? I’m having a hard time and need a bit of softness! Thanks you! (by @pastel-boy-sungjae), [Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: A forever changing decision was made between Bucky & you. Whatever the future held for you, you could not wait to finally start somewhere new.

Words: 1,876 [Are you proud of me?]

Warnings: language, humor, fluff, short & sweet, no pronouns used, TFATWS spoilers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Louisiana. Home of the Wilson family. A pier alongside the turquoise sea which created comforting tunes to soothe your ears. The slight breeze that tickled your skin in the most pleasurable way possible. A peaceful place to stay & feel safe, no matter the alarming threats menacing this universe daily. Here, it appeared to be as calm as ever. Like a bubble enveloping the area here, along with its people. A dome to prevent jeopardy from taking over.

The party was hosted by Sam, assisted by his younger sister Sarah. They invited Bucky & in addition to that, he invited you. You were his partner & if he attended a get-together then he only ever did with you right by his side. At first, you disliked the idea of inserting yourself where you believed you were not wanted. Luckily, your boyfriend had some reassuring pep talks up his sleeve that convinced you to tag along.

A flight was booked & before you even knew it, Sam hugged you close to his body as he greeted you. Bucky had informed him that you would come along. To his best friend, that was a given. There was no Bucky without you & no you without Bucky. Hence why he did not explicitly say that he obviously invited you as well.

It was the first time you were introduced to Sam’s family & his friends living nearby. The locals were more than welcoming & helpful even though you were complete strangers. Plainly stated, you fell in love with this place. The atmosphere was incomparable, like nothing you had ever encountered. This new, unfamiliar feeling washed through your body & there was only one word that could come close to describing it. Home. Not Bucky’s apartment where you had moved into a while ago. This strange yet somehow well-known place triggered emotions in you that you thought did not exist. You wondered if Bucky reacted in a similar way as you walked down the pier, hands intertwined, gazing out to the endless blue horizon. Where one hue kissed the other in an almost seamless way. Connecting yet separating sea from sky. A stunning sight that caught your plenary attention. You imagined yourself spending hours, simply watching the sun rise during the chill hours of the morning & set during the warm hours of the evening. The light not only coloring the sky in reds & purples but that same tone reflecting in the waves of the water which were caused by the wind.

“Hey, lovebirds! A little help here!” a familiar voice echoed in your ears & you found yourself turning around as you searched for the source of it.

“We’ll be right there, Sam.” you yelled over the distance so he could hear you clearly.

“He does have awful timing.” Bucky joked, wrapping an arm over your shoulders. You giggled & silently agreed with him though both of you were aware that you did not mind one bit.

Preparations were almost done, you simply assisted with the last finishing touches. They really went out of their way to create a homely aura for everyone to enjoy. Bucky & you occupied one of the many wooden tables, sitting next to Sam, Sarah & her kids. You guys had so much fun & could barely contain your laughter. Those people were not just friends. They were family. Blood related or not, the feeling they gave you counted at the end of the day.

The barbeque was delicious, as were the many options of desserts. One of them which you brought along. Bucky whined about a cake & who were you to deny him something you loved too? And by the fast pace it was gone, you assumed the others relished it just as much.

Food was long forgotten but the chatter kept the party alive. In the lifestyle you found yourself in, it was a rare sight to be surrounded by so much happiness & contentment. Usually, people radiated desperation & fear. Here, it was as if nothing bad existed. Only the smiles & sparkles in people’s eyes as they talked about something they were passionate about or the most random topic that came to mind. It did not matter. Acceptance was capitalized & it was a gift to experience it. With your boyfriend, with your best friend. With soon-to-be friends, you hoped.

“…so they aren’t here today ‘cause they’re currently movin’ out.” Sam pointed to the house that sat right next to his. Your eyes widened a little at this statement.

“It’s up for sale then?” you questioned, referring to the cottage that definitely needed some hours of dedicated work but appeared to be worth it underneath its surface.

“Yeah, it is. Still looking for a new owner.” Sam nodded. A smirk spread onto your face & you nudged Bucky with your elbow to gain his attention. With raised eyebrows, he turned his head so your eyes were locking.

“Okay. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Bucky chuckled as he noticed the enthusiastic look you wore. Sam observed your interaction but decided to stay silent for the time being.

“We could buy it, right?” you suggested, rambling so your words blurred together & it was hard to make out what you said.

“The house?” it took him a couple of seconds before he answered your question with another one. Simply because he was uncertain if you were joking or if you were serious.

“No, a trip to Disneyland. Of course the house.” you replied with a slight sarcastic tone.

“You wanna move here?” Bucky asked once again to ensure that he understood correctly.

“Don’t you? I mean, it’s perfect for us, Buck. The people here are lovely & we’ve got Sam here.” you pointed out, trying to list as many positive aspects as necessary to convince him.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sam chimed in & you directed your attention to him. “Does that mean robot-boy will be my neighbor?” he pointed his finger at Bucky with fake disgust that had you laughing.

“That would annoy you, wouldn’t it?” Bucky inquired with a sly smile.

“Totally.” Sam countered, now completely ignoring that it was your idea in the first place. The two of them were bickering like children & it was a useless attempt to stop them.

“Perfect, we’ll buy it then.” your boyfriend’s statement had you shocked but equally excited.

“Really?” you could not help but ask.

“Really.” Bucky assured you & placed a short kiss on your lips.

“Why did I even say anything?” Sam shook his head, mumbling those words so nobody heard. Deep down, he had to admit that the could imagine it to be pleasant to have you two with him at all times. Though he would never say that out loud.

“We’re gonna move to Louisiana.” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around Bucky’s neck to hug him tightly. Your future could finally begin here. Something told you that it was the right decision. Sam only had to pull some strings & the deal was almost as good as yours.

A few hours ticked by, the sun had already started setting & Bucky suggested to watch the remaining minutes down by the dock. Your back rested against his chest, his arms securely wrapped around your waist as you sat in between Bucky’s legs. Savoring the last sunbeams that shone into your face & had you squint your eyes in order not to blind you. A comfortable silence settled around you. The sound of the sea the only discernible noise amongst the calm of the evening. But every quiet had to end eventually. And it was you who broke it, voicing a thought that had been playing in the back of your mind ever since you agreed on moving here.

“Hey, what about a dog?” your question caught him off guard & he barely had time to prepare a reply.

“Huh?” was all he could muster & you giggled at his perplexity.

“A dog. When we move here. Don’t you think this is a perfect place for a dog?” you turned in his arms so you could hold eye contact.

“We’ve already got Sam.” Bucky scoffed & you rolled your eyes annoyingly at him.

“I’m being serious, Buck.” & you truly were. Ever since you could remember, you promised yourself that you would adopt a dog if the chance was given. With a house this size, it would be a waste to not fulfill your dream. You watched Bucky sigh but the glint in his eyes showed you that he contemplated your thought.

“We’re not getting a Chihuahua.” he made clear before you got even crazier ideas.

“What’s wrong with a Chihuahua?” your dumbfounded expression had him laughing.

“They’re outta the question.” he stated & left no room to argue.

“Fine.” you breathed out with an exaggerated sigh. “A Corgi?”

“Why?” you did not understand why you had to reason with him but you had to think fast to provide a reasonable explanation.

“Because they’re cute.” maybe not the smartest of replies but if you worked your pleading expression then you should win.

“You say that about every single dog. That’s not a valuable point.” Bucky called you out & earned a pout from you.

“But it’s very much true.” a short pause allowed you to gather your thoughts once more. “Besides, they remind me of you.”

“Do I even wanna know?” Bucky breathed out & threw his head back to visualize how done he was with you in this moment. You, of course, were aware that it was only him teasing you.

“No, but that was, in fact, a very valuable point & speaks for getting a Corgi.” a proud smirk made its way onto your face.

“You’re lucky I love you.” his ocean blue eyes flickered between yours. You moved forward & pressed a tender kiss on his cheek. “But I’m the one choosing the name.” he decided.

“No way.” you shook your head frantically. “We’ll end up with a dog called Dog then.” you almost whined.

“You can’t stop me from giving it a nickname.” he reasoned with that famous smirk of his & you groaned because you knew he was right.

“I don’t like it.” you mumbled after a few moments.

“Alright, no dog then.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders & pretended that it did not matter anyway. But it did. And he really did like the idea of getting a dog.

“NO WAIT!” you were quick to raise your voice & stop him from turning down your plan. “Ugh, can’t we just…I don’t know, pick a cute name together?” you offered him your best puppy dog eyes because he had a hard time resisting you whenever you played that card.

“We could.” Bucky agreed but kept his response short. He waited for you to ascertain what he meant.

“But?” your voice went an octave higher at the end.

“But I’ll still call it Dog. It’s a great nickname.” Bucky praised himself.

“It’s foolish.” you commented & crossed your arms over your chest.

“Do we have a deal or not?” his head tilted to one side, waiting to watch your reaction.

“What do you think?” your eyebrows perked up. “Of course we do!”

Published (05/10/2021) by Cathy

✨MY Ko-fi PAGE✨

Tags: @bibliophilewednesday, @msmarvelsmain, @weareironmanbitches,@zestyemby, @kattenjager1, @cheraboo330 (thanks for your support <3)

[fandomwriterstuff]

Traumtänzer (Pt. 8)

Rated T

Part 7

Part 9

By the time you approached the others in the jet, they’d found the woman they were looking for in Riga, a city on the Baltic Sea.

So, you thought to yourself. We’re going to Latvia.

You sighed, sort of missing the Plain Jane life you’d left behind. But as the Baron took the seat across from you and smiled softly, you couldn’t help but enjoy the life you’d found since you let these three men into it. Sure, you were still wary of Sam and James, but Helmut… You’d formed a bond with him.

By the time you got to Riga you were starting to understand that Helmut was willing to be intimate with you in private, but not in front of his companions, and you understood. Really, you did. They wanted him back in prison and you… You weren’t sure you wanted to see him go back there.

He was saying something about the Sokovia Memorial as you walked the streets of Riga to his safehouse, and all you could think was that you wished you could hold his hand. You were beginning to realize you’d entered into a fragile relationship with a very complicated man. You side eyed him and flicked your eyes back down when he looked over at you. You didn’t want to seem like an eager school girl, but you were needy after having been touch-starved in captivity for so long. You weren’t used to being touched casually, but you’d found that you liked it immensely when he pressed casual touches to you when you met Selby, when you were playing his fiance.

“We are here,” he turned to his companions, and James decided he was going on a walk. It seemed rather suspicious, you’d only just arrived.

“You good?” Sam asked, as if he had the same thoughts as you had.

“Yeah, see you guys in a minute,” he muttered and walked off.

“I think you should take a nap, Y/N,” Sam suggested as you entered the Baron’s lavish safehouse. “Have you even slept since Berlin?”

“I don’t like to sleep around guests,” you muttered, looking down at your feet. Sure, you were exhausted, but you couldn’t risk dreamwalking and dying like you imagined you might have in James’ dream.

“Zemo and I will stay awake, you won’t go into our dreams,” he insisted, but you shook your head.

“There’s a whole city of people, I don’t know whose dream I might walk into.”

You were resolute, but when you blinked your heavy eyelids and locked eyes with Helmut, his pity got to you.

“I can show you to the master bedroom, you should rest,” he spoke in accented English, and it lulled you off nearly to sleep while you stood.

“Maybe just for a few minutes,” you yawned deeply and followed him towards a grand door.

“You can rest in here, liebling ,” he spoke quietly into your ear, and placed his hand on the small of your back to usher you into the room and shut the door.

You were suddenly so tired, you allowed for Helmut to help you undress to your underwear. He then pulled what must have been one of his own t-shirts over your head and tucked you into the bed.

“Rest well, little mouse. I’ll be waiting for you,” he kissed your forehead and as you closed your eyes, you heard the door shut quietly.

You were only awake and aware for another moment before you were looking at a wooded clearing with thousands of puddles.

It must be nap time in Riga, or perhaps night time? How long have I been asleep?

You found that you actually had control as you walked amongst the different puddles, and you got to choose which one you went into. The one in front of you looked promisingly deep and sparkly. You dipped a single toe in and you were dragged into a dream.

“Hello?” You called out to the dreamer. “Is anyone there?” It was dark, but you heard a singing voice. It was an old woman singing to a young woman. As you approached, you weren’t sure if it was the young woman or the old woman who was dreaming.

“ Hallo ?” You asked, this time in German. You didn’t know Latvian.

The singing stopped and the young woman turned back to you.

“Who are you?” she asked cautiously, and as you approached you admired her curly red hair and freckles.

“I go by Maus,” you spoke back in English, as the young woman spoke it as well.

“What are you doing in my dream?” She was getting defensive, and you backed up with arms raised.

“I mean no harm,” you spoke slowly. “I am a dreamwalker, I am not here to cause trouble. Your dream just looked… Enticing,” you shrugged and approached again when the young woman dropped her defensive stance.

“ Maus? Funny name,” she commented, and you shrugged.

“What’s yours?” You wondered aloud, this time conjuring a rocking chair and sitting across from her.

She paused.

“I go by Karli,” she frowned, but sat in the chair you conjured across from yourself, the old woman finally disappearing with a wisp of smoke.

“That’s a lovely name,” you smiled. “What brings you to Riga?”

“Are you in Riga?” She asked sharply.

“Yes, that’s how dreamwalking works. I have to be roughly close enough to somebody to step into their dreams,” you explained.

“I’m here for a funeral,” she murmured, relaxing into the seat, having decided you weren’t a threat.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” you tilted your head. “Was it someone close to you?”

“Yes,” she looked down. “Donya Madani. She took me in when nobody else would.”

“That name sounds familiar… But I never got many TV channels in my old house in Germany. Was she famous? Perhaps I heard about her on Das Erste ?” You asked, and Karli bristled.

“She wasn’t famous, no. How would you know her name?” She stood and towered over your small form, and you were beginning to think you shouldn’t be in this dream.

“I… I don’t know,” You were afraid, and Karli could tell.

“You said you were from Germany?” She asked after a beat.

“No, I live in Germany,” you corrected her. “I am from Sokovia.”

This time she relaxed.

“A refugee then?”

You nodded.

“You might be able to help us then.”

“Us?” You wondered. Where was this going?

“Would you like to help a fellow refugee?” Karli knelt in front of you and gently held your folded hands in her own.

“I- I would,” you were being honest with her, you would like to help a fellow refugee, but you had this unnerving feeling of fear.

“Can you find the dreams of Sam Wilson or Bucky Barnes?” She asked, and you stiffened.

“Me and my friends, we’re trying to get them off our trail. Could you get into their dreams and tell us where they are?” Karli’s hands were tightening on yours and you dropped the facade of the chairs. You stood and backed up.

You didn’t want to give yourself away, and you had a very serious feeling you were in danger.

“There are Avengers in Riga?” You squeaked. She nodded.

“I’m afraid,” you told her, hands shaking.

“Don’t be afraid of them, they can’t hurt you. It’s just a dream, Maus,” she insisted, but you were looking around for the exit.

“I want out,” you murmured. You were in a dream, but maybe if you screamed loud enough, somebody would help you. “GET ME OUT,” you screamed this time, tears streaming down your face as you ran through the endless whiteness that was Karli’s dream. She didn’t chase after you, but you felt her presence. “HELP ME!” You screamed it in your mind, trying to reach Sam and Helmut.

Your eyes snapped open as you were shaken awake. Your face was wet with tears and sweat. You stared straight ahead until someone shook you again and you looked over to see Helmut, Sam, and James.

“What’s going on? We heard you in our minds,” Sam asked her, face serious.

“I walked into a dream, I didn’t know who she was,” you sobbed, and much to your surprise, Helmut moved forward and clasped your hands in his.

“Who, liebling ?” he asked. “Who was she?”

“Karli,” you whispered. “She spoke to me, she tried to get me on her side, but I was afraid,” you were choking on your tears and you missed the significant glances Sam and James were giving each other. “She asked me to find Sam or Bucky,” you continued. “She doesn’t know where you are, just that you are close.”

“Why don’t the two of you go figure out a plan, and I will deal with our little mouse?” Helmut suggested, and you were thankful to see the other men agree and walk out.

“Do not be sorry, you did the right thing by asking for help,” he rubbed circled onto your back. “Would you like to rest more? I’ll watch over you. You weren’t asleep very long,” Helmut brushed your sweaty hair back from your face, but you shook your head. You didn’t want to go back to sleep. “Alright,” he whispered. “Maybe we will just sit here for a while and read? I brought your book with.”

“ Schätzchen, I never want to hear you screaming ‘help me’ in my brain ever again. I was so afraid for you,” Helmut broke the silence with his admission, and you turned to him, lower lip wobbling.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I was so afraid,” you sobbed, and this time he took you into his arms.

You smiled, he could be so considerate.

“Okay.”

Masterlist

[iamtrebleclefstories]

I Believe in Second Chances - Part 6

Drunken nights and wedding invites

A lot of you have been asking me when this takes place. The story is taking place during s9, which means that Derek is alive and the plane crash victims are currently in the process of filing a lawsuit against the plane charter/hospital. It still is SGH because the hospital sale has not happened yet. Things will all make sense and I will reference them further on in the story!

“Jo! Dude, wake up!”

“Huh?” Jo shot upright and looked around at her surroundings, trying to determine what was going on. 

“We’re gonna be late to the hospital. Put some pants on and get up from the couch,” Alex yelled from his place in the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to,” Jo groaned. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago when I tried to wake you up the first time,” Alex smirked and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m serious. I have a surgery and you got a lecture with Webber and all the other interns in half an hour.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jo stood up sluggishly from the couch, searching for her pants on the floor. “I’d much rather be in surgery.”

“Well, you can’t today. At least for the first few hours,” Alex walked into the living room and laughed slightly at Jo’s disheveled appearance. He bent down and picked up her jeans that had landed somewhere around the fireplace. “You looking for these?”

“Yes!” Jo reached out and began to slip her legs in. “How the hell did they end up over there?”

“You were pretty wasted last night,” Alex handed Jo the other mug of coffee in his hand. “I had to carry you inside because you couldn’t get out of the car without falling. I placed you on the couch and by the time I came back with some water and Advil, your pants were on the floor and you were knocked out.” 

“You know, it’s embarrassing how many times you’ve seen my ass,” Jo cringed. “Sure, we’re friends, but you’re also my boss and you live with another one of my bosses. Where is Yang by the way?”

“She left twenty minutes ago.”

“Great so she saw my ass too.” 

“She didn’t see your ass,” Alex rolled his eyes. “I covered you with a blanket before I went to bed last night. You were completely covered.” 

“How thoughtful of you,” Jo deadpanned. 

“Hey, I could have just left you lying there on the couch in a t-shirt and your underwear all night. But instead of being a jerk, I covered you up and made sure you were nice and warm. It is December after all,” Alex flashed her a smug grin. “It's a nice ass by the way.”

“What a gentleman,” Jo replied sarcastically and laughed at the way Alex rolled his eyes again. 

“Come on, let’s go. There’s a thermos with coffee⎯one third cup of milk and three teaspoons of sugar⎯and a grilled cheese sandwich on the counter,” Alex said as he threw on a jacket and slipped on his boots. He heard shuffling and a set of eyes on him. Alex turned to see Jo staring at him with a curious expression on her face. “What?”

“How did you know how I like my coffee?” Jo asked, brows furrowing. “I’ve never told you that.”

Alex chuckled awkwardly, “I just… I figured that’s how you might like it. I take my coffee the same way.” 

“Uh huh,” Jo continued to stare at him curiously. “You know, I find it kind of unfair that you just seem to know all of my quirks beforehand and I have to learn them as we go.” 

Not really knowing what to say to that, Alex shrugged, “Sorry?”

“Okay, sure,” Jo chuckled. “You are definitely way too happy about knowing so much about me.”

“Whatever, let’s go.” 

————

“You still haven’t made a move?” 

Alex was getting tired of the constant meddling of his friends. Today he was getting grilled by Cristina, Jackson, and surprisingly Bailey. “No I haven’t. I already told you guys that I’m waiting for the right time.” 

“Dude, well you better make a move before I do. She’s hot and I need to get over April,” Jackson frowned. 

“Shut up,” Alex shot him an unimpressed glare. “Over my dead body. Just figure it out with Kepner. Choose to be together. Don’t be an idiot that hurts the people you love. Same thing goes for you and Hunt, Yang.”

“Well, I don’t see you choosing to be together with Wilson,” Bailey said from her spot on the couch as she flipped through a medical journal. 

“You see, even Bailey thinks you’re being ridiculous,” Cristina snickered. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you waiting? She obviously likes you. Otherwise, she wouldn’t crash on our couch on average three nights out of the week. She literally passed out on our couch like four days ago. I walked out of the house and there she was on the couch, sound asleep while this idiot was making coffee in the kitchen and staring at her longingly.” 

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Jackson placed a hand under his chin. “This girl spends the night at your house on a regular basis and she sleeps on the couch downstairs? Not in your bed? Are you losing your touch? Is that what’s happening?”

“I’m not losing my touch,” Alex grumbled. He looked at his friends who stared at him with raised eyebrows. “Look, I know she likes me. I overheard her talking with the other interns a few weeks ago. But she’s scared because she’s been through some things that gave her some major trust issues. That’s why I’m taking it slow and waiting because I am not gonna screw this up. Not this time.” 

“Karev, you listen to me now,” Bailey pointed a finger at him. “Here is what you are going to do. My wedding is in three days. You are going to bring Wilson as your plus one to my wedding. You are going to be kind and charming and keep your hands to yourself and your eyes from wandering. You are gonna give her your full attention and then give her a ride home. And at the end of the night, you are going to tell her how you feel and let her think about what that means. Then, you just go from there. Understood?”

Alex huffed a slight laugh, “Yes Dr. Bailey.” 

————

“Hey! I heard you were on my service again today,” Alex smiled as Jo approached him. It had been a couple days since he’d truly seen her. Sure, they’d passed by each other in the halls, but the past few days had been especially busy for the both of them and he hadn’t seen her since she woke up on his couch almost a week ago. 

“I love peds. All the babies and kids and joy and magic,” Jo sighed dreamily. “Sure, it sucks that they’re sick, but kids really bring out the best in people.” Jo looked at Alex teasingly. “You especially. You’re a huge jerk to everyone else, but those kids bring this happy, soft side of you. It’s a good look. You should show people more often.” 

“And ruin my reputation? Nah,” Alex scoffed. “Can’t freak my friends out by letting them think that I’m not cold and dead inside.” 

“Well, I feel honored that I get to see this side of you,” Jo smiled. 

Her smile always seemed to give him butterflies. Something about that beautiful smile that awakened something deep within him. It was mesmerizing. So much so, that he often found himself getting lost in it. 

“Hello? Earth to Alex. You okay?” Jo waved her hand in front of Alex’s face. 

“Yeah,” Alex shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah I’m fine. Let’s go check on my pre-ops.” 

They did their rounds on patients before finally making it to the room of the child who’d be getting their surgery performed first thing today, “Hey Jenna! How’s it going?”

“Hi Dr. Kawev!” the small five year old girl gave him a toothless grin. “Look! I lost my toof last night!”

“Dude, that is so cool!” Alex high-fived Jenna and smiled at the parents. “Did you get money from the tooth fairy?”

“Uh huh,” Jenna nodded emphatically. “I got two dowwas.”

“Two dollars? Wow, the tooth fairy must really like you,” Alex looked back at Jo and pointed. “You see that woman over there? That’s Dr. Wilson and she’s gonna be helping me with your surgery today.”

“Girls can be doctows too?” Jenna’s eyebrows shot up in excitement.

“They sure can,” Alex nodded. “Girls can do anything boys can do. And a lot of times they do it better than the boys.” 

“Woah! That’s so cool,” Jenna’s eyes lit up. “I wanna be a doctow too!” 

Jo’s face broke out into a smile and she felt her heart flutter at the little girl’s words, “Really? Well, it’s going to take a long time and be hard sometimes, but you can do it.”

“Why did you wanna become a doctow, Dr. Kawev?”

“You know, nobody has asked me that before,” Alex paused and looked at the girl for a moment before responding. “Well, I have a younger sister and when she was a kid, one day she got really sick. So, I took her to the hospital to get some help because my mom and my dad couldn’t do it. And while we were sitting there, I saw all the hard work the doctors were doing to try to help my sister and it made me happy that somebody cared so much about a stranger’s life to save them. That day was the day I decided that I wanted to help people.”

“I wanna help people too,” Jenna decided. “But fiwst, I need youwe help.”

“You sure, do and we’re gonna take you up into surgery right now. Say goodbye to mommy and daddy,” Alex instructed and turned over to Jo. “Prep her for surgery and I’ll meet you in the OR in twenty.” 

They’d been in surgery for about an hour when Alex finally got tired of the looks Jo kept sending his way, “What? You look like you wanna ask a question, but you’re too scared to actually do it. Spit it out.” 

“I didn’t know that story about your sister that you told Jenna,” Jo stared up at him. “But, I’m guessing that’s not the full story and you only gave her the age appropriate answer.” 

Alex took a second to collect his thoughts before saying what had really been on his mind when Jenna asked him why he wanted to be a doctor, “My whole childhood, I was surrounded by people who didn’t have a problem hurting others. My dad was abusive and neglectful, my mom was sick and most of the time didn’t even realize that she was hurting us, even my school nurse took advantage of me when I was fifteen, nowadays, she’d be arrested for statutory rape. Then there were all the foster homes and parents that treated me like crap, like I was trash, and for a long time I believed them. All of these people were people that were supposed to take care of me and keep me safe, but instead, all they did was hurt me. And I usually got the worst of it, too. I was the oldest and I needed to keep my little brother and sister safe, so I took the beatings meant for them, and I ate less food so they wouldn’t starve, and I even stole a car to get my baby sister to the hospital in time for someone to help her. She couldn’t have been more than eight months old. 

“When I got there, it was the first time I ever actually had anyone take care of me and my siblings. The doctors went above and beyond to help my sister and gave me some food and let me stay with her in her hospital room that night. They gave a crap, ya know? And it was so damn refreshing because for at least one night, I was able to see that people weren’t all bad. Then we went home and I was back in that crappy, dirty house, with my abusive dad that was too strung out on drugs to even remember my name. That’s when I decided that I would never be like him. I would never be like the people that hurt me. I wanted to help people. I wanted to save them. I wanted to get out of that hell hole of a town and make something of myself. I wanted to prove everyone wrong when they said I would never amount to anything in life. And I’ve done that. I have proved them all wrong and I’m a freaking kickass peds surgeon and I don’t hurt people back . Not anymore. Not like I used to.” 

The rest of the surgery was conducted in silence. Because what could you really say after something like that? Every time Alex opened his mouth, Jo found herself falling for him more and more, which absolutely terrified her. She was sure that if she would’ve opened her mouth after his speech, the only words that would’ve come out would've been ‘I’m in love with you.’

That was ridiculous, though. Jo couldn’t be in love with him. He was too good, too kind, too perfect. And she was all shades of messed up and complicated that he couldn’t possibly want. As much as she wanted him, she knew that she couldn’t have him. Not with Paul out there. 

But sometimes the heart wins out in the end because Jo couldn’t bring herself to put distance between her and Alex. Instead, she kept getting impossibly closer to him. It was almost as if there was this thing pulling her, beckoning her to be with him and it scared the living daylights out of her because she kept giving into that tug ever single time. 

By the time the day was over, Jo and Alex had successfully performed four surgeries and were on their way to the bar for some drinks. As they were walking, Alex stopped, “Do you want to go to Bailey’s wedding?”

“Huh?” Jo wondered aloud. 

“Bailey’s wedding is tomorrow and I have a plus one,” Alex explained. “All my friends are going with their partners and I don’t really want to be alone so what do you say, wanna go with me?”

She knew what her answer should’ve been. It should’ve been no. Because this was not how you put distance between yourself and the person you were dangerously close to just word vomiting all your feelings to. That’s why she kind of surprised herself as the following words came out of her mouth, “Yes.” 

[barnesandco]

White Feathers and Melting Wax

Bucky’s trigger words are redefined with Sam’s help.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 7029. Square filled: “Mutual Pining”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, questionable food preferences (blame Hasan Minhaj), slight language, nightmares, slow burn, fluff that will make your teeth ache, cliche ending.

A/N: This one is dedicated to @searchingforbucky because I saw her post something about how much she loves SamBucky, which gave me an idea for my SSB, and one thing led to another, so long story short, this story is for you, Meg. Thank you for providing an invaluable and unimaginably difficult service to our fanfic community - you’re a real gem. 

It’s Armageddon. Hell on Earth, as if its crust has been made to split open, and all that fury and heat and horror, alongside creatures that nobody could conjure in their worst nightmares, is pouring out. Taking revenging for millenium upon millenium of imprisonment, it is biting and scratching and clawing its way through the best of humanity, bringing out the worst of humanity – the murder, the anger, the rage – in the process. Wakandan skies, once bluer than the surface of Lake Tiorati on a July day, are raining ash and smolder. 

Sam’s arm is bleeding. A particularly agile alien caught the bared portion of his bicep – stupid, stupid, uniform design – and blood drips as he tries to increase his altitude, and find a better angle. Steve notices him from over the shoulder of his own opponent – of course he does, Steve never misses anything – and frowns in a moment of concern that the enemy recuperates in, because Sam is now a more visible target, but he is also good at math. The risk-benefit calculations are telling him that it’s worth it, and the glint of gun-metal fingers he sees in the distance, the owner of which is struggling to cope with half a dozen demons, confirms that.

Barnes is doing the best he can, teeth bared as he attempts to fend them off with a very impressive, but near-empty machine gun and a dagger that’s doing more harm than good. Moments away from defeat, and from an unholy death. His hair is nothing but a second skin sticking to his face and scalp with sweat and monster slobber. Should’ve tied it back, Rapunzel, Sam has time to think before landing in the thick of it. Growls and roars and snarls mix as he manages to join backs with Barnes, both at each other’s six, until nobody can tell which battle cries are animal and which are human. He must be longing for a fight like the one at Leipzig now.

Within minutes, the horde has thinned, but not ended, seemingly infinite in magnitude and strength, and they’re still fighting. The pain from his arm has dulled to an aching throb, lulled into faint numbness by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and has joined the other innumerable wounds that litter his body. He can hear Barnes’ gun behind him, like bass-boosted fireworks. It’s a square dance – an intuitive one rather than practiced, because he knows his partner as well as he knows what else the cosmos might hold for them - his back against Barnes’ as they parry and spar with each of their individual opponents. A twist and a turn, a lucky, peripheral glimpse at someone trying to blindside the other resulting in as short a tight-lipped nod as they can afford to convey their gratitude.

Sam’s stomach is sinking, he wants to throw up in the face of the evil creature he’s fighting; the scent of ozone an impending warning. They seem to have understood that the winged man and his metal-armed companion are a threat, and a ring of them has coordinated to close in around them. Sam finds a gap in which to press the for emergencies only button on his control panel at the same time as Barnes’ unleashes a series of small grenades in his arm.

The wings leave Sam’s back and turn to lethal blades, spinning like a deadly boomerang around them, and his ears ring when the grenades detonate. In the eye of the storm, Sam and Barnes are safe, but shooting adrenaline-deaf and fear-blind, the battle overcoming their every sense and soul. When the smoke clears, there is a moment of quiet amidst the terror, where sparrow brown meets ice blue, framed by blood spatter, and they quirk the sort of intrinsic, basic, smile at each other that can only emerge from overcoming something inexplicably tremendous as one unit. But then the moment ends.

Barnes shouts – an unintelligible sound of shock - and the sky cracks like an egg.

--- 

Bucky wakes up in an open field, the sky the color of egg yolks, golden, glistening, nourishing. For a moment, he thinks he’s still in Wakanda, the threat miraculously eliminated, but then he gathers enough strength to sit up and note the absence of obsidian skyscrapers in the distance. He can’t evaluate any other landmarks before his eyes lower to the ground he’s lying on and realize that he’s not alone. Scores of bodies litter the grass; his stomach flips and writhes, and he turns onto his hands and knees and heaves up the contents of today’s – is it still today? – breakfast. Closes his eyes to shut in the water that elicits. When he opens his eyes, the vomit is gone.

Moreover, his hands are clean. Not a trace of blood, dirt, and death on the metal or the accents that run across it like tributaries of a golden river, nor on the white skin of his human limbs. In fact, it looks like it’s been scrubbed pink, his epithelium infused with roses. There is no risk of tears now, the surprise so visceral he knows not how to treat it. It doesn’t lessen when something stirs, in the corner of his eye, and he stills the scream in his larynx just long enough to recognize the shape of Sam Wilson, his dark-brown skin shimmering topaz in the sunlight they seem to be laying in. A sigh of relief – intuitive, subconscious - loosens Bucky’s shoulders. He’s not as alone as he might have thought. Sam is confused, too, and he stands up quickly, reaching for a gun that isn’t there. 

Bucky waits, knowing better than to scare him as he reorients himself, and watches as Sam grapples with the black trousers and shirt he finds himself wearing instead of the weapons he’s seeking. Others move, and Bucky – not knowing where this cold peace that fills his lungs is coming from – finds it prudent to speak up now.

“Wilson,” is still all he can say, but it’s enough. That one word, two syllables, six letters – sufficient to erase the taste of rusted blood from his mouth. Sam turns to him as others call for their loved ones, the amber gold of his irises meeting his icy ones. Bucky doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know how he got here, he’s so tired dammit, but if this man – this man who has defied law and land for the people he trusts and the values he holds, this man who he knows nothing about besides the fact that he has a moral compass like the North Star – if this man has his six, they can fight their way out. Sam’s eyes and Bucky’s brain tell him that this isn’t heaven or hell or purgatory. They’ve both seen too many prison walls to not recognize more, be they grey concrete, the insides of their own skulls, or a vaulted arch of sunshine above their heads.

---

Clouds have built and gone grey-black, iron heavy, and are preparing to mourn the loss of a good man, but not a single tear escapes Sam’s eyes the day they bury Steve. Old, feeble, fulfilled Steve, that is, who passed on to wherever noble souls go. Bucky couldn’t make himself give the eulogy, so it was, like the mantle of Captain America, passed on to Sam. Sam, who has spent every other day of the past year on the porch of his house with Steve’s wisdom and wit, and knew him better than Bucky who forced himself to make a trip every week.

Bucky, who now stands in front of his tombstone, head bowed and brow furrowed, couldn’t make himself reconcile this Steve with the one he knew. Sam doesn’t fault him that, would never give himself any right to. They’ve all seen some shit, but he can’t bring himself to even touch the tip of the iceberg that weighs on his companion’s shoulders. He’s tied his hair back into a bun at the nape of his neck, chestnut waves tamed to an orderly presentation. Domestic, even. Sam looks behind him and through the graveyard gate at the sound of a car door shutting, as Sharon gets behind the wheel and smiles at him, her own tears long gone, before making her departure.

Intentions to give Bucky his silent farewell are also interrupted by that background sound, and he turns to look at Sam, whose heart leaps to his throat at the sight of him. He’s been seeing him all day, but the veil of public appearance has fallen, and Bucky – Sam reprimands himself for the morbid comparison – now looks like as much of a skeleton above the ground as those under it. He’s pale, eyes not hollow but sad. His hands clench and unclench, reflexively, protectively, drawing Sam’s gaze. Those knuckles must be sore with how tightly the ghost-white skin over them is stretched. Sam’s own hands are in his pockets, and he looks back at Bucky with the warmth of seventeen bonfires.

A desperate attempt, futile in result and heavy in empathy, to ease some of the hurt, the hurricane that Sam is certain is throwing Bucky’s insides around like a rag doll. Bucky’s recovering, he’s better now, he’s working to be alright, and it’s working, but climbing the glaciers of his trauma is a Herculean task. Which, now that Sam thinks about it, can only be accomplished one step at a time, like any other. Ice melts a drop at a time.

“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” He says, approaching him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. To anyone else, the question might seem insensitive – his best friend, or this new version of him – has just been buried, of course he’s not feeling good, but their language is like that. Straightforward. Blunt and no-nonsense, but layered with understanding that has come to be through shared experiences and an emotional connection that speaks more between them than any words they exchange. Bucky turns back towards the tombstone, and Sam, too, looks at the epithet of Steven Grant Rogers, beloved husband, father, and friend. Human, not superhuman, in the end, the way they all want to be. They way they long to be acknowledged as.

“I’ll be alright, Sam. Just a little confused,” he answers eventually, after a long-suffering sigh. Sam is relieved, because the hope in Bucky’s voice is the best he could want to hear. And the fact that even now, when articulating what he feels must be the hardest thing in the world, he still manages to, as honestly as he can. Honesty is the beacon Sam’s heart searches for, and he’s found it here. It’s incomplete sometimes, and offered in brief words because Bucky isn’t always fond of sharing, but it’s always the truth.

“Me, too. Me. Too.” Sam nods in agreement, thinking of the muddle of thoughts and prayers and desires in his mind, as the first drop of rain falls from a steely sky, washing away old wounds, cleansing their skins for new ones.

---

The mass of blue-black ink that is the night sky is the first witness when Bucky starts writhing under his sheets.

He’s stuck in the cold. Not the glass walls of the cryochamber he knows so intimately, no, he’s buried in snow up to his neck. The unending scene of the icy mountainside stretches out before him, like a postcard from a nightmare, and he can’t move. Tries to wiggle his toes, and the snow bites and nips at his feet. Hands are frozen to his sides, and the panic starts to claw at his chest. Icicles seem to have wedged their way between his ribs, and pain sears through his abdomen.

He screams. An echo. He screams louder, hot tears turning to ice halfway down his cheeks. He screa-

Eyes the color of the first hour of daybreak appear inches from his sweat-stained and misery-sodden face, and he sits up, almost hitting Sam’s head with his own. His breathing is broken, every inhale cuts at the inside of his lungs, and every exhale tears at his trachea. Sam, trying to fix that, takes Bucky’s clammy hand in his calloused, safe one, places it over his chest.

“Breathe with me, c’mon,” he urges in a midnight rasp, exaggerates his breaths, and Bucky follows the movements he is making. Follows the way Sam’s bare chest, dusted silver by moonlight, rises to accommodate the air he takes in. Follows Sam’s eyes, the silent plea they convey to do as he does, holding that breath. Follows the release, pretends that he can hear the breath traverse his trachea, and exit his lips as his mouth parts to release it. Bucky’s calmer now, eyes fixated on how Sam’s tongue peeks out to lick his lips, the lush pillows of light brown now shining wet. It’s only when they start moving that Bucky’s gaze returns to Sam’s eyes, and his words reach his ears.

“You haven’t had one that bad in ages.” It’s a fact. A statement, an accurate observation, but because few serious words ever go wasted between them, it is also an open assertion. An invitation for Bucky to say more, with the option to nod and agree left on the table.

“Yeah, it was. I’ll be alright, though, Sammy. Thanks,” he responds, and Sam nods warily. Sits back on his haunches, knees digging into the mattress.

“Good. Do you, uh…” He scratches the back of his head. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks, and Bucky is suddenly, keenly aware of how close they are. He swings his legs over the edge and stands on shaky knees, hiding the blush that originated from fear and adrenaline and has been maintained by something he can’t name or explain. A nervous laugh as he makes his way to his dresser and pulls out a fresh pair of sweats.

“No, no, I’m going running. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep right now, and it’s almost dawn anyway.” Bucky waits in front of his bathroom door. Hears Sam get up and make for the door.

“Alright, Bucky. I’d go with you-“

“You pulled that muscle yesterday, yeah. It’s okay, don’t worry about me,” Bucky says, and when the door shuts behind Sam, rushes to the bathroom to wash off the watercolor that interaction painted across his cheeks. Gripping the granite vanity with both hands, he watches it drip off, eyes radiating a bewildering plethora of emotions. Hears the nightingale depart from his bedroom windowsill, and fly off into the night.

---

It’s a beautiful morning, punctuated by the dot of the golden, glowing Sun in the distance, but Sam doesn’t have it in him to appreciate the first sunshine after a spell of rain. Sam is disgusted. Horrified, mortified, petrified by this new development. He didn’t think the former Winter Soldier could get any scarier when he wanted to be, but he has grossly underestimated the cruel ways of his best friend. Anyone without a direct line of sight into the cereal bowl in front of Bucky would not know what he’s so upset about. But Sam, standing at the stove on the kitchen island across from Bucky, watches in horror as the latter lifts a spoonful of dry-as-the-Sahara-desert Froot Loops to his mouth, chews, and then takes a sip from a glass of milk.

To say that Sam regrets introducing Bucky to sweet breakfast cereals in an effort to sate his incurable sweet tooth is a severe understatement. When Bucky had disapprovingly forced down soggy, sweet Froot Loops the morning before, and grumbled about the disgusting experience for the rest of the day, Sam did not think that this would be the solution. He thought he’d be forced to finish off the rest of the box, and dreaded the toothache that would follow.

“I’m eating it like this, or not at all.” Bucky finally addresses the outrage written all over Sam.

“I think I prefer not at all,” he says gravely, his tone out of sync with the cheery scent of sunny-side-up eggs that his words waft across to reach Bucky.

“Too late, I love these,” Bucky says through another mouthful of dry cereal. He’s intentionally pushing as many buttons as he can at one time, a master at multitasking his way to maximum irritation. Sam shudders. Puts his eggs on a plate and goes to sit down next to Bucky at the island, one stool between them. Saturday mornings after a good night and a better workout are a good look on Bucky, as much as he hates to admit it.

Aureate beams of bubbling sunlight illuminate his side profile, his cheekbones glowing rose-gold and light dispersing through a bead of water that slides down his temple. All of a sudden, Sam isn’t hungry anymore. The last bite of his first egg feels like clay in his mouth, and he empties his glass of water in one go. Bucky looks up from his almost-empty bowl – thank God it’s almost over -  and looks at Sam with concern. It takes all of Sam’s power, and then some, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s teeth biting into his pink lower lip, and up to his blue eyes.

“You okay, man?” He asks, and Sam nods.

“It’s nothing, just got lost in thought,” he answers, and he’s being truthful. Doesn’t know what came over him, just that the slow surveillance of Bucky’s features led him down a different path than it usually does. They’ve always watched each other cautiously, know each other’s movements with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if the haven’t known each other for centuries rather than years, a couple of which were spent in animosity. Bucky’s eyes flit between his again, and they find nothing to prod at further, so he returns to his cereal.

Sam hurries to finish his breakfast and clean up after himself, before heading back to his room with a half-coherent excuse and a heat in his cheeks too hot to be caused by morning sunshine. Thanks God for melanin and for intimate knowledge of the super-soldier hearing range on his way down to the garage.

The rumble of the car’s engine is a relief, and the first breath he takes off the premises of the compound even more so. A little guilt nibbles at him, but it would’ve eaten him alive if he didn’t know that Bucky intended to work on the plans for the library today, and so he keeps driving.

Sam isn’t stupid. That furnace warmth, the magnetic way Bucky’s being drew his gaze, it’s unmistakable. In his sound head and solid heart, he knows what it is. And that’s why his heart is beating so fast, why it won’t take a goddamn break around those blue eyes and sunny smile. Sam is too self aware to be too stupid, too blind to his feelings. He’s just nervous. A cup of coffee from his favorite place downtown won’t do much to settle, but it will give him room. And he needs room. 

Because Sam has never done this before. Never acted on feelings for someone who he can’t afford to lose. Maybe, the risk-benefit balance is not tipping in his favor. However, he can’t say for sure, if he knows what result is in his favor anymore. Is the torment of this schoolboy crush worth not risking his friendship?

Sam exhales through his teeth, and looks out the window. Decides to go flying when he gets back in order to clear his head. Maybe that canopy made from blue satin holds the answers.

---

Birds are chirping on the balcony railing, their silky brown bodies picturesquely contrasting against the cottony blue sky behind them. Pretty enough to frame, and Bucky commits another scene to memory that he might want to paint some day. Closes his belt buckle and then picks up the brush but does a double take at the reflection that looks back at him from the dressing table mirror.

He looks healthier than he has in years, but that’s not what’s remarkable. No, it’s the length of his hair. The brown waves reach his collarbones, and he runs his hand through it with a huff, putting down the brush and leaving his room. Sam’s in the living room, and he can hear Earth, Wind, and Fire playing from down the hall. He enters the room to see Sam lounging on the sofa with a laptop in his hand.

“Hey, Sammy, you busy?” He asks, walking up to him. Sam looks up, turns the music down.

“No. Why, what’s up?” He says, placing the laptop down next to him, and Bucky sees that he was online shopping for clothes. 

“I need you to cut my hair,” he tells him, sitting down on the sofa. Sam blinks. Once, twice, thrice. His face splits in a toothy grin of agreement, and it disarms Bucky so much that he forgets completely to be angry at the smug look on his face.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to ruin your hair, Rapunzel, but are you sure you don’t wanna go to a barber?”

“Yes. You do it.” Bucky nods assuredly, willfully ignoring the nickname, relieved to be rid of it soon, too, but hoping that Sam will know, unspoken, what he is trying to say. He’s gotten better around people, around strangers, but he doesn’t trust them. Not with sharp objects, and especially not with handling sharp objects in such proximity to him. And there’s a part of him, perhaps the old romantic, the one who is just a little on the sentimental side, that prefers for such a change – small though it may seem, it speaks magnitudes to someone who craves stability now – to be made by the person he is closest to. So Bucky is grateful, when that person, Sam, agrees, with a nod back.

Fifteen minutes sees them in Bucky’s bathroom, him sitting on a stool in front of the vanity, a towel over his shoulders, and Sam behind him with scissors. He lifts the spray bottle from the counter with his free hand and spritzes Bucky’s hair. It’s cold, refreshing, and gentle stray drops land on his face. Bucky’s hands are clenching around his knees, red fingerprints growing darker on the skin just below where his shorts end. It took him two summers to feel comfortable enough to wear those. Sam has a matching pair.

He raises the scissors to the side of Bucky’s head, just by his right ear, opens them, and then pauses. Moves to the back instead, raises the scissors, stops again. A heavy sigh ruffles Bucky’s hair, and he looks at Sam’s reflection. He looks back.

“I don’t know where to start, man. I have no clue what to do with this,” Sam says, exasperated already, gesturing towards Bucky’s head with one hand and almost running the other over his own head before remembering the scissors he still holds in it. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but throws him a look up and over his shoulder that seems to say You think I do?

Shaking his head, Sam starts again. Bucky closes his eyes, his body hairs standing on edge as the scissors start clipping. A coarse, large, warm hand rests on the back of his neck to steady his head, the point of contact burning.

“I think it’s short enough to use the machine,” he whispers, as if conveying a holy secret. He turns on the clippers and soon, the buzzing sound fills the room. Bucky doesn’t reopen his eyes, lets Sam trim the edges short on the sides and back, and keep it a little longer on the top, as per their pre-determined plan of action.

He starts running his fingers across Bucky’s scalp as he’s finishing up and making the final touches, and every nerve ending of his lights up. When Sam announces that he’s done, and Bucky’s lungs collapse and then swell like balloons at the sight of his new appearance, and his eyes meet Sam’s, the world stops.

They’re inches apart, once again. Eye to eye, nose to nose. Heart to beating, fluttering heart. Thank you’s are glued to his tongue and his tongue is paralyzed in his mouth, his mouth dry and wanting. He counts nine heartbeats, and begins to lean in on the tenth, but the eleventh brings the obnoxiously loud sound of his phone ringing from the bedroom, and the bubble bursts.

Bucky answers Peter’s call with less concern than he usually does, the affection and mentorship for the teenager overshadowed by the almost-moment. The one that makes him want to scream into the New York skyline.

---

Flaming red hair reaches as far as Sam’s eyes are concerned, accentuated by the backdrop of the setting sun, an unusual hour for sparring, but a crucial one today. Nat is visiting from the European headquarters in Budapest, where she is SHIELD’s head of the region. It’s a calmer job, safer than Avengers duty, but she works herself to the bone and lets out her frustration in the gun range or the sparring mat, with the latter making for better quality time with her teammate today. Not that Sam’s much for competition right now, and she doesn’t mince moves or waste time. He puts up as much of a fight as he can, but she has him on the ground in fifteen minutes. A new record.

She helps him up and he passes her her water bottle in return as the sit on the mat. Her outstretched legs prod at his knees.

“You were off your game, Wilson,” she says, as if he doesn’t already know. As if he doesn’t know he was too busy counting days since Bucky’s haircut to counter her moves. It’s been twelve, and every hour exponentially increases the tangible awkwardness between them.

“Distracted.” Sam shrugs truthfully. Nat’s laugh isn’t cruel or taunting, but teasing and friendly, a lightweight windchime.

“Yeah, I can tell. Want to tell me why?” She asks, with another sip from her bottle.

“Like you don’t already know,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes. Tilting her head, she looks at him like a curious robin. Like she’s trying to pluck out the secrets like wildflowers in his head.

“I just know it has something to do with Barnes. You can hardly look at each other.” She says, giving him her hand to take off the boxing tape, and he picks at the edge it’s bound at. Tries to ignore the piercing stare she’s focusing on his head.

Once the tape is off, he tries to drink from his bottle again. His throat is parched, and he doesn’t think it has much to do with the exercise any longer. Natasha’s stare turns to a glare, but eventually, she seems to relent, trying at another joke.

“What, did you kiss him?” She murmurs, reaching for her bottle. Sam sputters, water going in his windpipe, and Nat’s eyes widen as she watches him cough and cough and cough. “Are you serious? Oh my God, Sam, did you really?”

“No, no, no, shit, no. That’s crazy, Nat,” he says, standing and starting to powerwalk to the showers but Nat follows quickly, light on her feet and heavy with her questions.

“Then what was that for?” Nat asks, pointing towards the mat where he just had that undue coughing fit. Shit. Keep digging your own grave, Wilson, keep digging.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine,” he says, and she quirks an eyebrow. Crosses her arms. He’s known Nat for too long and too well to not be entirely aware that talking to her is for his best. And Sam is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. He follows her back to the mat like a lost puppy, and consoles himself with the fact that he’s reduced a master assassin to near-gossip.

“Well?”

So he tells her. Sam picks at the mat with bitten fingernails as he relays the tale of the five years of pragmatic planning and professionalism under imprisonment in the Soul Stone, during which they talked little but shop and pretended not to see the fear in each other.

Sam avoids Nat’s emerald gaze while he tells her about the first year as Captain America, with the weight of the mantle so heavy that Bucky became the crutch he leaned on, a super-soldier it took everything to put back into the world.

Sam closes his eyes when he recalls Steve’s funeral, and the instant he decided that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a miracle, he was one of the most beautiful people Sam had ever met.

Sam watches the punching bags sway while talking about the warmth that spreads like bushfire whenever Bucky is near, but also about how he is at his coolest and calmest next to him, because he gets him.

Sam sees the sky transition from peach to indigo telling Nat about the moment in the bathroom, where that emotional connection almost manifested itself physically, and how those feelings that he thought were benign became dangerous, boiling under the surface, and how he doesn’t know whether to bury them, or set them free.

---

Icarus. The legend of Icarus and his melting wings, his broken body drowning is the first thing to enter Bucky's mind as the quinjet lands on the helicarrier and Sam is wheeled out on a stretcher and rushed to Dr. Cho's cradle. A trail of blood follows, dripping slowly despite the medics' attentions, and that's what seals Bucky's trance. He doesn't have answers for Hill or Fury - it's a morbid game of Hansel and Gretel, right up to the entrance of the medical wing.

The sterile whites and greys, alongside the vague hum or nurses barring his entry into the trauma bay and Fury's raging demands for answers are secondary sensations. Lost behind the veil. He has to watch through the glass as Sam is put in the cradle, but there’s so much blood. The Director and Assistant Director talk calmly now, suggesting that Bucky get his own wounds checked, but he is blind to their concerns, so they give him the space they see he needs.

It takes an hour to heal Sam. A torturous, unending hour, that has Bucky pacing across the floor, smearing blood and mud across pristine tiles, his mind humming so loud he can’t hear himself think. When it’s over, he has just enough presence to follow Sam’s unconscious body as it’s wheeled to a recovery room, where he sits at his bedside.

However, he doesn’t stay seated for long. Can’t look at his friend’s wounded form, helpless and undoubtedly in screaming pain, although he may not feel it. His body does, and he will feel it when he’s awake. Bucky stands and moves to look out the window. Absently, he scrapes at the clots of blood drying under his nails and in between the panels of his other arm. Part of him recalls the term dissociation, used by his SHIELD appointed psychiatrist, and the consequent recovery techniques. An alert corner of his subconscious is grateful that these episodes aren't as frequent any more. Or as debilitating, most of the time. Just… distracting, with the fog that pierces his ears and diffuses inside his skull until he's numb. Weightless. Recovery techniques. Right. Touch, taste, smell, sound, sight. Glass and metal, blood and sand, jet fuel, whirring engines; open, open, sky.

Bucky likes the sky. Likes to watch clouds form, transform into something new, drift onwards to a better place. A better view than he must present. The infinite stretch of blue. Sometimes, he paints his own clouds on the sky in his mind's eye, but right now that canvas is dripping red - fists clench tight above his thighs - dripping red, white, and blue, Sam is dripping red, white, and blue, and he's falling, Icarus to the ocean.

Falling, falling, falling.

Oh. 

Bucky jerks upright. Shakes his head, wipes a blood stained strand of hair back. Forces air into his lungs - it's thinner up here, colder, too, so he has to focus, feel the bite, good - and then: clarity.

He remembers where he is, the smoothness of tiles under his feet, the sweat sodden uniform sticking to his skin, the physicalities of his position return, as does the feel of his beating heart. But there's something new in the way it hammers against his ribs. Something gentler, that prompts a flutter of intrigue, until he realizes what it is, until he can name the newborn emotion screaming to be heard inside his heart. 

Hot forehead against cold glass. Hot tears on hotter cheeks. Bucky lets them fall as he tries to face the sky again.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he tells the clouds. Not because he doesn’t want to be in love, or because he is love with a man instead of a woman, or because said man is Sam Wilson, but because it’s just so inconvenient. Because there is no happiness to be found in lives like these, and because it is an impossibility that a man with a heart as pristine a golden could want one with bruises and stains that stretch across every inch of skin. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

And he swears he can hear his Ma answer from the sky: Why of course, you didn’t, my baby boy. No one ever does. Doesn’t mean it isn’t right, or meant to be so. The universe has a way with these things. Knows how to put people together, just like a starling knows to hide her nest from crows. It’s nature, James.

Nobody’s called him James since Winnifred Barnes. Nobody ever will. But “Bucky” doesn’t sound so bad coming from Sam’s voice. Returning to his bedside and slumping into the chair, Bucky hopes he’ll only live long enough to tell him so.

Bucky, post-war, post-Winter Soldier, doesn’t know all that much about fate or the universe, nor does he know a thing about love, but he knows homecoming.  And Sam, his eyelashes delicate against skin like gold poured over tourmaline, is home.

All resistance leaves Bucky with a muted sigh. It’s like he can feel the adrenaline, the fight-or-flight, both physical and emotional, evaporate when he takes in the expression of calm that has washed over Sam’s features. He takes half a dozen deep, deep breaths. Allows the oxygen to cleanse him from the inside out, and now, he has enough presence of mind to feel the exhaustion entering his bones. Aside from the scrape on his cheek, none of the blood on his being is his own. He should clean up, he knows that, but he thinks he’ll throw up if he tries to stand up again, so he breathes instead. Breathes in the fact that Sam is alive like he needs that statement to live. So that he doesn’t forget it, and wake up screaming - wouldn’t be the first time - he imprints it into his memory.

Only then do his shoulders stop guarding his neck, relaxing and hitting the back of the chair he’s sat on. The air conditioner whirrs on, and Sam’s breaths are puffs of cotton in the air, that if Bucky focuses enough on, he can envision as clouds. Clouds that turn to sheep, sheep that he counts, and it doesn’t take many of them before he is fast asleep.

---

The day Happy and May get married, Sam almost asks Bucky for a dance, under a starlit sky that twinkles like fairy lights. The months since his injury have been better than those before, contrasting a new smile, and a lighter face, against the tangible sense of will-we-won’t-we. They’re still tense, still have moments where they can’t read each other, still almost talk about it, but their companionship has returned.

This is obvious in the grin Bucky throws him with a roll of his eyes over Nat’s shoulder, as Sam twirls May around like he’s trying to make her nauseous. The poor bride tolerates his hijinks for all of one song before politely excusing herself, as does Nat, pretending that Bucky hasn’t gotten better at dancing again after practicing for months on end. She throws Sam a wink as she leaves the dance floor, and Sam swallows before turning tail and going to get a drink, leaving Bucky to find another dance partner. He quells a bubble of his own nausea as a wonderful girl – Annie something, from May’s work – tries to ask for a dance. To his surprise, Bucky refuses, and then Sam feels guilty for the cheer that goes up in him.

It’s short-lasting, overwhelmed once again by the anxiety that comes with interacting with Bucky. Sometimes, he thinks he sees roses bloom under Bucky’s footstep, the scent of him so alluring. At others, like now, the weight of his gaze is so heavy, he thinks he should drown under it if he doesn’t release the secret in his chest. If he doesn’t tell Bucky that he remembers waking up in that hellicarrier holding an asleep Bucky’s hand, with an asleep Bucky’s lips pressed to the back of his own. And that he liked it.

“It’s a nice party,” he says, tipping back the champagne flute in his hand. He can’t get drunk, and it takes large sips for him to even feel the spark in his throat, the movement exposing a stretch of slender, soft skin. It’s a matter of milliseconds, barely one breath, but Sam’s mouth is dry, useless but for a nod of agreement with a survey of the hall. Nat is wiggling her eyebrows at him from across the dance floor, and Bucky has to repeat his name twice to regain his attention, something that he immediately loses to the color of Bucky’s eyes upon turning towards him.  He breaks eye contact and looks away again with another nod.

“Yeah, yeah, it was a great day. I’m really happy for those two,” Sam says honestly, gesturing towards the bride and groom, who are chatting away with Pepper.

“So you’re happy for Happy?” Bucky murmurs and Sam snorts, downing his glass, and shaking his head.

“Ha ha ha, what are you, twelve?”

“You may have to check my birth certificate to find out,” he deadpans, and Sam pinches the bridge of his nose as Bucky cackles. He glares at him, but soon, the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkling while the sound of his laughter echoes comes into alarming focus against May and Happy swaying in the background, and Sam doesn’t need to wonder what it’s like to feel so much joy and such magnanimous love from someone that you decide to bind yourself to them forever. In fact, Sam decided a long time ago that Bucky was the one person he couldn’t live without any longer. The only difference now is that the emotions that went into that definition have changed. The twinkling sky winks down at him, as if to reaffirm that that realization is correct, and to tell him that he’s on the right path.

---

The city of New York stretches out through the window before them, buildings piercing the dusk that is settling above, and Bucky and Sam sit against the freshly dried paint in the living room of Bucky’s childhood home. It has taken four years after the Blip, four years of newfound stability, of recovery and building up and breaking down and defining his life for his own, to come back to what his life used to be. He thought it only fitting that the man who played the most invaluable part in helping him to his feet be with him at the most magnificent landmark of his progress, of his new life.

The building had, wondrously, been the same one, in that it hadn’t been demolished and rebuilt, only thoroughly renovated. Bucky had bought it several months ago, and Sam had instantly been enraptured by the idea of rebuilding this apartment. Only the furniture remains now, the empty rooms freshly painted and smelling of paint and paper, sawdust and sandalwood and sweat. Bucky looks over at Sam as he closes his eyes, and watches the sunset light his skin like honey on dark silk. Glimmering, glowing.

It hits him like a freight car. The notion that even though his life has been longer than most, it is too short to abandon what you love. Bucky is scared. He’s been scared his whole life. He was scared to go to war that first time, he was scared for his life when he was captured, he was scared for Steve when he went after Hydra, he was scared when he became Hydra, he was scared. And angry. And he doesn’t want to be any longer, even if the alternative is regret and shame. Those would still be new emotions.

That’s what has him turning to Sam, the rustle of his jeans alerting him so he opens his eyes. A question swimming in their content depths. Bucky answers it.

“I love you, Sam,” he says, heart in his throat. Sam gulps, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to, that there are words lodged in his throat that he longs to set free, and Bucky tells him he knows what they are already. Doesn’t need the words spoken, now or ever, when they’re so visible in how Sam can do nothing but lift his hands and cups his face in them. The I love you, too, is folded like a hidden love note between their lips, passed to Bucky when they meet, and Sam moves his mouth like flower petals over glass. Bucky kisses back. He kisses back harder, tilts his head so they’re like puzzle pieces, his heartbeat taking flight. When they stop, the sky is as pink as roses, the gold accent wall behind them is smoldering, glowering with light. Their foreheads rest against each other’s, Bucky’s hand rests over Sam’s to hold him there, and they fit together like the stars fit in the sky.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique​ @murdermornings​

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Inhuman (2)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3600

A/N: Not a lot of Reader in this chapter. Please tell me what you think! I love hearing from you guys and it keeps me motivated!

[New York, March 2024]

“We can’t find her,” Steve said as he walked back into the flower shop. Everyone else followed the Captain in.

The flower girl took a quick gasp at the heroes in her shop but Natasha gave her a soothing rub on the back. Nobody wanted to deal with a hysterical flower girl. Luckily, the woman who had killed Anderson hadn’t knocked over any plants in her hurry and the shop was still in one piece. Nat stood up and gave the woman one last look to make sure she wasn’t about to break down again and then the Avengers filed out of the shop.

There was a small crowd when they walked out onto the street. People were taking photos and videos of the ruined cafe. Their phones turned to the heroes, though, when they were spotted.

“Stark, can you get the security video from the cafe?” Steve ordered. “Wanda and I will talk to the baristas. Everyone else either deals with the crowds or examines the cafe.” Everyone nodded and went off to their respective jobs.

Inside the cafe, Anderson lied dead in a large pool of his own blood. Nat started to snap pictures of the bodies and damages. Behind the counter, she found a pair of plastic gloves and made a small show of putting them on. Bucky just picked up the bullet casings with his metal hand.

Nat gingerly moved Anderson’s head to get a clearer view of his neck wound. He had definitely died of blood loss due to the wound which was definitely inflicted by a knife. She looked around the room and her eyes landed on one of Anderson’s goons. A simple, black knife sat in his forehead. Nat walked over to the body and pulled the knife from his head and held it up to show Bucky.

“Think we can run this for prints?” She asked.

“Yeah, there might be some bags behind the counter.” There were. “Have you seen the bullet wounds in each of the security guys? All straight through the forehead.”

“Same with the fourth guy with this knife.”

“There are plenty of bullet casings from the securities’ guns but only three from another. She fired three times, each one hitting its mark.”

“So she’s a good shot,” Nat surmised.

“Are you guys done in there?” Sam asked through the broken window. The two ex-assassins rolled their eyes and joined everyone else outside.

“I got the security feed, obviously, but Cap also got a video from one of the baristas, right?” Tony reported.

“She just wanted to get Steve’s number,” Wanda laughed.

“Okay, we can go back to the compound to compare notes,” Steve suggested.

They all nodded and went back to the quinjet, the sounds of excited civilians and their cameras following them.

🌹

"Please let me come with you to see your home," she begged at the end of one of their meetings. They stood in the forest. Far enough in where they wouldn't be spotted but still close enough to the edge to be safe from wild animals.

"I wish I could. I really do. But I can’t.”

“Why not?” She knew how she sounded. Her mother always warned her against whining. Still, she could not help the doubts clouding her mind. “Are-are you ashamed of me?” Her eyes watered at the thought as her cheeks burned from the absurdity of the question. Of course, he wasn’t ashamed of her. Right?

“I could never. You are perfect.” He kissed the top of her head. “The only thing stopping me is the Asgardians. They disapprove of you Midgardians," Loki explained.

"But I am sure if you tell them I'm your soulmate," she paused.

"I do not think that an Asgardian has ever had a Midgardian soulmate. You are the only ones in the Nine Worlds without soulmates." She huffed and nodded like she understood, although she honestly didn't. "Thank you for being patient. I believe that you will, one day, have the privilege to see Asgard. It is not as beautiful as you."

“I don’t want you to leave me alone here.”

“You will never be alone. I will never leave you, my dear.”

What a load of shit that had turned out to be. It had been so long since Loki had dreamed of her. He supposed that’s what he got for being back on Midgard. He couldn’t think about her. It hurt too much, knowing that he couldn’t have her.

Now, what had woken him up? Oh, the fucking AI. Apparently the Avengers had returned from their escapade.

“Is everyone here?” Stark asked when Loki walked into the conference room from earlier. Why was he always the last one to enter? “Okay, we have some videos to watch. F.R.I.D.A.Y. hit the lights.”

The lights in the room dimmed and Loki sat down at the table. The screen at the front turned on and a security feed began to play. Loki recognized the Midgardian Senator when he entered despite the tinted glasses on his face. Four men followed him in and spread out across the small cafe. He sat down with his back to the camera. The video skipped a couple of minutes and resumed when a woman with pink and green hair walked in.

“That’s obviously a wig,” Wilson snorted.

Loki narrowed his eyes. The woman reminded him of (Y/N) somehow. Maybe the body shape or the way she held herself. It obviously couldn't be (Y/N), though. He couldn’t even see her face because of the hat and camera angle. Loki brushed off the familiarity to the recent dream. He was seeing her in everything.

They talked briefly, but the security feed had no sound. The woman showed the man something on her phone and the Senator put a briefcase on the table. He opened the briefcase and the Avengers only caught a brief glimpse of its contents before the woman turned it to face her. She smiled and dramatically rubbed her hands together.

“What was that?” Thor raised his eyebrow at the screen.

“Probably to get the knife out of her sleeve,” Romanoff said and sure enough a moment later, the woman stabbed the Senator in the neck.

Loki tried to hide his smirk when she removed the knife and the Senator’s blood squirted like a fountain. The four men converged on her and drew their guns. She flipped the table as the men fired on her. Loki found himself rooting for her, even though he knew the outcome. The woman popped up and shot three of the men. Then she threw the knife at the fourth man. Once he went down, the cafe’s window broke and she left the cafe.

“And then we arrived, she ran into the next door flower shop where we lost her,” Stark continued once the video stopped. “The next video is from one of the baristas.”

The video changed and this time it had sound.

“Dude, that’s a Senator or something, right?” one female voice behind the camera asked. The video shook and the Avengers watched the woman walk in.

“I don’t know, shut up.”

“Senator,” the woman said.

The dream must really be getting to Loki’s head because the woman even sounded like (Y/N). Even after all this time, he would never be able to forget what his soulmate’s voice sounded like. Could it be a descendant? A relative? He knew she never had children.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the Senator replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“I would have stabbed him too if he said that to me,” Romanoff joked. Maximoff snorted  and nodded in agreement.

“Well of course I couldn’t be. My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” 

The Senator made no sign of noticing her tone, but the Avengers sure did.

She pulled out the phone and showed him the screen. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase on the table.

“Open it.”

The Senator followed the order and this time, the Avengers could see the money that filled the briefcase. She nodded and rubbed her hands together.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

The following chaos ensued and the video stopped when the girls ducked down behind the counter to hide. The lights came back on.

“We have a couple more presentations before we get into the group discussion,” Stark said and the majority of the people at the table rolled their eyes.

“We’re not a fucking kindergarten class, Stark,” Barnes grumbled as he and Romanoff went to the front. The screen now showed various pictures of the bodies.

“We recovered the knife used to kill Anderson and one goon,” Romanoff held up the knife. “We found prints on it, but we found no records to match them.”

“There were many bullet casings on the ground, mostly from the security,” Barnes continued. “Only three came from the woman, I assume. That means she has a lot of practice shooting people in the forehead.”

“Is this the same group that Anderson had hired?” Barton asked. “Cause there were no white roses.”

“We got a closer look at what was on the phone, and it looked like text messages. This was a meeting for the payment. And it seems like this lady is in charge.”

“Thank you, kids,” Stark stood back up with his eyes glued to his phone. “But apparently Senator Anderson’s house was robbed around the same time he was murdered.” He tapped the phone and flicked his wrist and new photos appeared at the front. “They took everything of value and—”

“Left white rose petals everywhere,” the Captain sighed as he studied the pictures. “This white rose organization has been growing under our noses for too long. I think we have to end it.”

They needed time to come up with a solid plan. If they scared them off, it could be years until they had another chance to catch them.

🌹

Thoughts of (Y/N) ran rampant in Loki’s mind. After the meeting, he had gone up to Bruce to inquire about her. She had been a princess, a queen, right? He had to know about her.

“Queen (Y/N)?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re asking about Queen (Y/N), eldest daughter to King Henry VIII?”

“Er, she had a sister named Mary,” Loki supplied.

“Bloody Mary?”

“Maybe? Can you just give me a quick Midgardian history lesson?”

“I’m not the most well versed in sixteenth-century English history. Maybe you could search it up online? Or go to a museum?”

Bruce had done a quick search with the help of Stark’s AI and had learned that a museum down in the capital, Washington DC, was having a special exhibit on English history. He had also suggested Thor go along with him. Just in case Loki decided to do something stupid. So now, Loki was being trailed by the very obvious God of Thunder as he walked through the museum.

Crowns, jewelry, and clothes from the sixteenth century were displayed in glass cases as humans milled around reading the descriptions. A tour guide was leading a group of teenagers around, pausing every once in a while. Loki couldn’t get past the group and stuck to listening to the tour.

Fucking finally. They had made it to the monarchs and family trees. Loki could see (Y/N)’s painted portrait. It was an accurate image of her, yet it still could not capture her true ethereal beauty. Delicate white flowers filled the empty space behind her.

“(Y/N) was the infamous Bloody Mary’s older sister and eldest surviving child to King Henry VIII,” the tour guide said to the teens. “Born in 1513, she married Phillip II of Spain when she was twenty-five. After her death, Phillip II would remarry her sister, Mary. She was a benevolent ruler, especially compared to her sister and successor. After her father died in January of 1547, she, along with fifteen others, perished in a suspicious fire that was never solved.”

What? Loki stood staring at (Y/N)’s portrait as the group moved on. The museum must have it wrong. (Y/N) had died seven years earlier in December of 1538. Loki’s mind spun. Was she actually alive for seven more years? Why was the connection shut off? She had to have died that day. It was painful but was it better than him seemingly abandoning her? Because he did abandon her, and his choice haunted Loki ever since.

🌹

[San Juan, Puerto Rico, December 1538]

You could see the land up ahead. It was a vague outline of a coast, but it was more land than you had seen in four weeks. The ship creaked under your feet as Agnes brought you to your new husband’s study. He was going to show you the reason you were sailing across the ocean.

In the study, a strange metallic object sat on a thick cloth on the desk. It was about the length of your forearm and it had many geometric sides, causing it to look bent.

“We found a case of these in Portugal,” Phillip told you. “We managed to get most of them out, but it cost a great many people’s lives.”

“It was guarded?” you asked. The many surfaces were not smooth. You wanted to touch it. When you reached a hand out for it, Phillip grabbed it and pulled you back.

“Not in the way you would think. The men who directly came into contact with them were quickly turned to stone. But when they did,” Phillip opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment, “the strangest symbols appeared on its surface.”

On the parchment, seemingly random lines and ellipsis. You looked at your husband for an explanation.

“The locals told a story of blue angels who fell from the heavens to Earth. Some called them the… Kree? Yes, I believe that was it. We are traveling to Puerto Rico because there are similar stories there. I believe we found where this belongs.”

Loki, you asked your soulmate. Have you heard of the Kree?

“You said there were more?” you asked Phillip while you waited for Loki’s reply.

“Moving more than one is too dangerous. This… object. It is a weapon.”

The sound of ringing bells made both of you look up. You were here. As you were disembarking from the ship, Loki finally responded.

The Kree are a very advanced militaristic race. I know of them, how do you?

Have they ever been to Earth? You looked around at your new surroundings as the warm air tickled your skin.

Not that I know of, but I can do some inquiring. He went silent.

“Right this way, your majesty,” a man said with an accent. He led you to a carriage and opened the door for you.

“Where are we going?” you asked before entering.

“To the site, your majesty,” he replied.

You supposed you were already in your traveling clothes and you didn’t want to get any of your fancy dresses dirty. Agnes joined you in the carriage.

“What did the King want?” Agnes asked. All formalities between the two of you had already been dropped by the third week of knowing each other.

“He showed me this,” you paused. You didn’t know what it was. “It was this object that he believes belongs here or more specifically, where we are going.”

The ride was, thankfully, over quickly, but Loki had not gotten back to you yet. You and Agnes left the increasingly stuffy carriage and watched men with shovels linger around the giant hole in the ground. You walked closer and a tall, thin man with spectacles fell into step next to you. He gingerly held a box in his hands.

“Is it in there?” you asked looking at the box out of the corner of your eye.

“Er, yes. Yes, it is, your majesty,” he stuttered.

“What is going to happen?”

“W-well, a team of men are going to go down and th-they will find where it belongs.”

A man walked up to the thin man who opened the box to display the mysterious object. With gloves on, he wrapped the object in its cloth and removed it. You should be the one to take it. Where on Earth did that come from? You shouldn’t touch it lest you want to turn to stone.

You followed the man with the object as he joined a group of six men with torches, armor, and swords. They began to climb down a ladder that led deep into the ground. You needed to go with them. Why, though?

“I’m going as well,” you turned and began to descend the ladder.

“Your highness,” the tall man rushed to the edge and yelled down at you. “I-I wouldn’t advise—”

“You are not my advisor.”

“Your highness!” Agnes shouted.

“Nobody else follows,” you ordered. “Or tell Phillip.”

The rest of your descent was silent. Goodness, this went down much further than you had thought. The closest man’s torch barely illuminated the rungs where you were. It still felt as if you had made the correct decision.

Loki? Are you there? He remained silent.

Sounds of pained screaming and concerned shouts erupted below you. What now? Then the shouts became more fearful and the sound of metal hitting metal reached your ears. You got to the bottom and gasped when you saw four of the seven men dead on the ground, blood seeping across the ground. One torch was still lit so you picked it up and followed the sound of the last three.

The ceilings were high above you and the walls were solid rock, not dirt as you had first expected. Out of the darkness, a man ran at you, his face contorted in panic.

“Your highness,” he said with an accent. Then he spoke in rapid Spanish as he caught his breath. Someone yelled down the hall and you took a step back. “Run!” the man yelled.

Then another man came out of the darkness and impaled the first with his sword. You jumped back with a small scream and clapped your hand over your mouth. Your breathing was heavy as the second man straightened his back and looked at you with terrifying red eyes.

To your surprise, he didn’t attack you. After a minute of stillness and silence, you realized that he was beckoning to you. You took a tentative step closer and he took one back. You took another step and he moved back again. He wanted to lead you somewhere.

The first place the man brought you was just a few meters down the hall. He pointed to the object on the ground next to a statue. No, not a statue. The man must have touched the object and he turned to stone. You took in a shaky breath and looked at the red-eyed man for confirmation. He only continued to point.

You couldn’t see the cloth it was wrapped in before so you made the insane decision to pick it up with your bare hands. You winced and waited to turn to stone but when nothing happened, you looked at it. The same pattern that had been on the parchment Phillip showed you had popped up, covering the object in a glowing red-orange light.

With renewed confidence, you followed the man through the maze-like halls. The next stop was a large, circular room that was lit from above. A stone pedestal was in the center and when you walked over to it, you saw it held the patterns as well. The walls around the room began to move, leaving you trapped alone in the silent room.

Loki? You couldn’t feel his presence.

The object moved in your hand and you instinctively let it go. It didn’t fall to the ground but floated to the pedestal. Were you shaking? The object opened and started to fold in on itself, revealing rising, dark blue crystals.

Loki, please. Where are you? You felt a tear slip down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. The crystals began to glow and then a wave of mist exploded outward. It exploded outward and knocked you backward. Loki!

I’m sorry, my brother was bothering me. What’s wrong?

Your breath was quick and it shook in time with your body. I-I don’t know. I’m scared, Loki. Your body tingled and you saw a dark layer of stone spread across your body and around your clothes. Tears freely dripped down your face now. S-something is happening Loki. Please, I’m so scared.

I’m sorry, I can’t do anything.

You couldn’t move and the layer reached your face. You could see it creeping up on you out of the corner of your eye. You were stuck. You couldn’t do anything as your vision was obscured but mentally call out for Loki.

It felt like you were in darkness for hours, but it was probably only a minute. Eventually, the crust around you began to crack and you were able to move your fingers. The stone layer kept falling away and the moment you could, you collapsed to the ground. Silent sobs racked your body.

The walls opened up again and the red-eyed man still stood, waiting.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry until you ran out of tears. You wanted to give up and lie on the stone floor forever.

You knew that something had changed. When you were waiting in the darkness, you knew. You felt empty inside. You knew it wouldn’t work but you still tried to call out to Loki.

He was gone.

He had promised he would never leave, but he was gone.

And you were alone.

*

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Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah​ @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury​ @aberrant-annie​ @simplybree​ @adalina-perez​ @emage-king​ @yandereforyou​ @notactiveonmain​ @tvdplusriverdale​

[wolf-stark]

You ask I deliver — both tfatws asks in one!

tfatws weekly ask 1

i finally saw ep1!! i wont be able to see ep2 until thursday at the earliest but i already have some Thots on this ep. here are the ones I remember

first is, and i'm so sorry for this, a grammar lesson. an appositive is when you stick an additional phrase in between commas, dashes, or the like. i actually just used one! the "and i'm so sorry for this" in the first sentence of this paragraph is an appositive. thing is, most english speakers don't normally use them when they speak, only in writing. so i'm always on high alert whenever i hear somebody in tv or movies use one. (it's generally a marker of bad screenwriting). anyway there was one right in the beginning of the episode. the white army guy yelling at sam wilson said "first lieutenant Torres, our intel officer, will be helping on the ground." yeah so. the writing of this series started out on the wrong foot for me. but the rest of the episode was obviously tons and tons better (every interview i see with malcolm spellman makes me love him more and more)

the contrast between the opening minutes (falcon action sequence) and the rest of the ep.... i would 100000/10 rather watch a series with just sam and bucky dealing with life. i dont give a single crap about the flag-smashers or any of that. i just want sam, sarah & fam getting their boating business back on the ground & yeeting racist dickwads, bucky going through therapy and making amends, sam and joaquin being bros, sambucky homoerotic tension, etc.

the cinnamontography! wandavision mostly used cinematography to signify era n stuff. tfatws doesn't have wv's premise to go off of, so here's some tricks i noticed:

with sam there's obviously all sorts of shots with the captain america iconography next to his face, but he hasn't totally claimed it. there's the mural of steve rogers in the background; there's sam staring into the shield like it's a spectre of steve's face; there's sam looking into the exhibit, the shield and sam separated by glass and a layer of camera focus. steve is a constant spectre, always there, an idea, a symbol himself. sam's relationship with this iconography is distanced. he is separated by glass exhibit walls. by painting canvases. he doesn't yet feel worthy to take on that iconography. this whole thing was pulled off quite well but also a bit on-the-nose if only in quantity. there's just sooooo much fancy iconography stuff

speaking of the exhibit, there's something that i get real pissy about. it's when like, there's an action going on you're supposed to be paying attention to but the cinematographer is like,,,, hey! check out this location! or this headline! or something! there was a lot of that in the exhibit. the camera was like, you could focus on sam and rhodey's convo (which was fine but could have been so much better with an extra like 10 minutes of deep character study talk) but noooo you want me to look at the symbol for the united nations and read all the text about bucky who hasn't even showed up yet. shut up i know the lore and ill watch the shot-by-shot breakdown yt vids you don't have to make the shot this long jkdsalcjklasejf

my fav trick was with bucky and the therapist. i had seen a clip of the scene with bucky and the therapist beforehand and i thought the cinnamontography was super obnoxious, but then i was like, oh duh. the shots frequently change the distance between the camera and its subject. sometimes it's uncomfortably close and sometimes it's really far. a clear allegory for the duality of therapy, esp for bucky! therapy is an invasive process wherein he is ruthlessly examined, picked apart, and berated for his trauma (this therapist is crap in every way btw, "mean therapist" works for greg house and greg house only). so the camera goes close. it makes the viewer claustrophobic like bucky. but when he's like "no i haven't had any nightmares" the camera suddenly goes really far. we see bucky as this tiny head in the center of the bottom of the frame. we are distanced from him. he has pushed us away. we cannot see him. he lies because he is vulnerable. so yeah, amazing work there. the therapy scene was hard to watch on purpose!

did bucky slip a note to yori inside the dollar bill? bucky stop making me emooooo. the suuper awkward fake smile has me 😭 (veteran trying to adjust!)

mark my worrrrds when sam asks someone y the govt picked john “white bread” walker they’re gonna say “we needed somebody everyone can get behind....someone uncontroversial, someone everyone can see themselves in” like that exact racist dog whistle

tfatws weekly ask 2

just saw ep2 so im taking advantage of the 2 seconds i can be on tumblr without worrying about tfatws spoilers before new episode drops

when isaiah said "your people put me in prison for being a hero" and bucky thought "your people" means hydra. 🤦‍♂️

speaking of racism, the interplay between sam being Black (anti-Black racism) and sam being the Falcon (negrophilia, "can i take a selfie w you as i deny you a loan?") and the intersection between the two (j*hn lichrally called sam "steve's wingman"! he takes the crypto out of crypto-racist in like 2 seconds!) !!!!!!!! a Black celebrity's Black experience, the separation of man and identity!!!! (thinking about vanessa bayer in snl in that skit "beyonce is black" telling her black friend "you're not black, you're...my girl!")

after sam gets racially profiled by cops we see j*hn standing in front of cop cars cinematic parallels turns out j*hn is racist who knew

this therapist sucks major ass but she got bucky and sam together in the same room and ready to collaborate...that's something ig. it was lichrally couple's therapy she said she used her miracle exercise with couples sambucky antis get blended

bucky says "he was wrong about you so maybe he was wrong about me"...that's not how people talk. when therapist asks bucky, the guy who doesn't talk at all about himself, "y do you hate sam", the last thing bucky's gonna do is actually connect his hatred of sam to his own self-worth issues. bucky generally refuses to talk about himself, so why would he talk about himself in the one context that nobody ever links back to their own neuroses: hatred of other people? one thing human beings hate most is admitting we're wrong. admitting you hate someone because of your own issues? that's a major therapeutic step. bucky would absolutely have to be prompted to do that. even like one or two lines of dialogue more would have set up that line better. but in terms of the actual thought? an amazing way to take the sam/bucky relationship. bucky bases his self-worth on steve believing in him, and if steve is wrong bucky has no self-worth, so 1) he has to develop self-worth disassociated from steve's assessment of him and 2) he has to love himself before he can love sam, and 3) he has to realize that sam giving up the shield is a sign of sam's humility not his unworthiness.

conversely, we don't get into why sam hates bucky? yeah sam has the right to hate a guy that has tried to kill him (albeit while brainwashed) multiple times, and now shows up in his life just to bash him but. everything happens so fast i cant follow their relationship

in fact i dont feel like i understood much of anything. like y did bucky and sam go on that mission together? how connected are sam/bucky/joaquin with the government? doesn't bucky just want to retire now? literally what is everyone doing/feeling and why???

if battlestar becomes a knowing commentary on the black best friend stereotype i'm gonna party, but i dont expect much of that

the interplay between man and symbol. captain america is obviously a symbol. the shield is obviously a symbol. but steve rogers? the. man behind the cowl? he too seems to become a symbol. a paragon of a good guy, so good he's unreachable. steve was just a guy stop idolizing him the last thing steve would want is to be idolized

as the resident musician/music nerd on mcublr, 1) that captain america rally music slaps, but 2) re: the song at the end of the ep, if you're just gonna rip off mozart's lacrymosa then at least play mozart's lacrymosa. we wont blame you the lacrymosa slaps (if you dont know what im talking about go on yt and search it up youll recognize it fo sho

look i love enfys nest as much as the next guy but if tfatws is gonna get erin kellyman to play another innocent little gurl blackmailed into the fakeout-villain position (her text seemed to suggest as such) then 😡 like why can't women just....be evil? young, freckly, innocent-looking women? girls are not untouchable pure objects but full of rage and resentment just as much as anyone can be

bonus ep1 comment: bucky says about that senator whose car he hijacked, "she continued to abuse the power i gave her." fictionaldarling on yt say that he says "i" because he can't disassociate himself from his winter soldier persona which begets endless and senseless guilt. like dude. can i not be emo for like 1 second.

OKay. First off, as much I enjoy your sending it to me, what made you decide to send me these??

-

TFATWS WA #1

Don't worry about getting this to me as early as possible. I usually don't watch the episode right away.

1. Cool writing lesson.

2. Everyone wants a comedy show [like Friends] about the MCU superheroes.

3. Cinematography is always a beautiful thing.

4. Sam definitely has to carve his own Captain America status for himself, outside of Steve's ya know everything.

5. They have to do that for people who was just now tuning in because they're in love with Sam Wilson or Sharon Carter.

6. I think the therapist was taking a 'tough love' approach for Bucky, because she likely has some very strong opinions about the literal assassin she's been assigned to give therapy too. She did not choose to talk to him, she was assigned that make that clear in the second episode.

And, Bucky isn't lying when he said it wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't a nightmare, it was a resurfaced memory. So, technically he wasn't lying - and yes, the camera does move away because while he's saying he didn't have a nightmare, he's not expanding on what actually happened - so, he's still pushing the therapist/us away.

7. Bucky, and Steve, have/had a TON to adjust to.

8. Yeah, I agree that will be the bullshit line they give. If they ever actually talk about it.

TFATW WA #2

Yeah, always got to take advantage of avoiding those spoilers lmfaoo.

1. Honestly, that line was double meaning. Both about White people and Hydra [which is made up of mostly white supremacists/nazis] So, the line is gesturing to both White People in general and Hydra assholes together. I think the terminology is “double edge sword”??

2. This whole paragraph structure confused me, ngl - so I'm going to answer it the best I can. I do like that they're not ignoring the fact that Sam being Black is 1000% the reason he's not the Official Captain America - because the gov't is racist as hell.

I also like the little lines about how they point out little things about Sam's Falcon persona, like that kid calling him 'Black Falcon' specifically and Sam's response show the split between Sam and Falcon itself.

John is a dick for calling Sam the wingman of Steve Rogers. Sam was a hero all on his own before Steve asked him to join up again. [Side note, it's lichrally??]

3. Exactly, the parallel of Sam being profiled and surrounded while just on the street and John being surrounded by fans and being able to spring Bucky with apparently only a few sentences shows a Loooooot

4. Honestly, at this point I wonder if she's not actually a therapist and is just an agent assigned to assess Bucky outside of an Official Building. I do know, however, that her 'look at each other and speak' exercise is actually a real therapy practice. It's just a little slower.

5. Actually, I think he would've blurted that out. That whole line. I don't think Bucky hates Sam. I think they could've done the scene better, but I think that had Sam prodded him/the therapist been more annoying Bucky would've lost control of his emotions and blurted out the whole "If he was wrong about you, he was wrong about me" but I feel like the writing for this show is just... not there. Sometimes you blurt shit when you get overemotional and I think that was what Bucky was supposed to be like.

6. I don't think Sam hates Bucky, I think he doesn't trust him though. I do wish they'd talked about that though. The whole 'talk to each other' scene should've been a LOT longer and a LOT slower.

7. Sam and Bucky's relationship is being fast tracked because they don't really know how to work the relationship out, writers-room-wise. Bucky is technically retired, but I feel like he's trying to live up to Steve's expectations and doing what Steve would've done and we all know that if Steve was there, Steve would've jumped on that plane with Sam. It looks like Sam/Bucky/Joaquin are a side-team based from Military services but as Sam says they're all free agents so...?

8. Sadly, They seem to just be propping up to be another stereotype.

9. Captain America is a symbol. Steve Rogers is a man. But now Steve Rogers is an idol because of all the shit he's been through and honestly, it's not a bad thing he's become an idol for people - it's using Steve as a reason to make White Bread Walker the next Captain that makes Steve's idolization so fucked.

10. I don't know anything about music so I have no opinion here, sorry.

11. Enfys?? Also, I think they did the whole Innocent Girl Thing as side commentary for Bucky lowering his guard about seeing a young girl rather than a guy.

12. Bucky is the Winter Solider. The Winter Solider is Bucky. That is how Bucky will always see it because although he was brainwashed, it was still him and he remembers all of it. When you have constant memories of something 'someone else' did, you tend to not be able to pull the two personas out of each other. I want Bucky to take up the title, White Wolf instead of Winter Soldier. Honest.

This is all my opinion, I’m honestly a little disappointed with the writing of TFATWS so far so... I’m not really optimistic about this.

[that-damn-girl]

Boomerang

(Oneshot)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x (cis)female!reader

Words: 3000+

Type: Not exactly fluff, but not angst either. Smut. Happy ending.

Warnings: Smut ahead. It's not exactly cheating, but idk what exactly your definition of cheating is. So just warning. Happy ending though. Not proofread. 

Summary: You only know what you had after you've lost it. Although it's been two years since you've broken up, you can't forget about Sam.

A/N: This is in answer to a request by the wonderful @princessmisery666 . The song prompt requested was 'Boomerang' by Mic Lowry. Honey, my writing isn't as good as you, but I hope you like it.

I know why you're calling me

'Cause he can't love you like you want him to

You know I hit it properly

But nobody do it like me and you

"So," You started, feeling a bit awkward, playing with your bracelet as you sat stiffly, "How's life?"

You had bumped into Sam in the streets of New York City, purely coincidentally. You were on the way to your apartment from the store, hands filled with snacks as your dinner, when you bumped into Sam. He was walking over from the other direction, fully concentrated on typing furiously in his phone to notice anything else.

You didn't mean to start a conversation with your ex from two years ago, but after seeing him out of the blue you couldn't keep yourself from loudly gasping, 'Oh my god, Sam?' He had looked taken aback at the sudden outburst of his name; and at seeing you too. He had a baseball cap and a pair of reflectors on; in a 'disguise', in hopes that nobody would recognise the new Captain America.

Although you felt awkward, you didn't want things to be so. You didn't want to let him know that you were still hung up on him while in another relationship.

As you made small conversation, he asked you if you were free to have dinner, just to catch up. You didn't want to say yes, but you did thinking it would be better than whatever junk you initially intended to munch upon. Moreover, it was just to catch up, right?

Right?

It's funny how everything changes, but still remains the same

Something like a boomerang, you're coming 'round my way

'Cause I've been hearing all these rumors

That you've been seeing someone new

You went to a pizza place nearby. You seemed to have run out of topics when you asked that question.

Sam smiled. Well, he always either smiled or smirked, "It's been a little stressful lately." He shrugged, "But life always is. You say." He did that cute little head tilt of his.

You didn't want to drown in him, in the memories he brought back with himself, but you did. If he noticed yourself looking at him with a distant gaze, he didn't comment.

"Well, my boss is the same piece of shit she's always been. My rent got increased with no promotion in sight. Same old, same old. How's Bucky?"

"Oh, he's doing much better than the last you saw him, actually. My man is killin' it. He is much more open now. The nightmares are very rare now. From what I hear, his therapy's going great. Also, remember Sharon? Yeah, Bucky and her are kind of a thing now." Sam said, leaning forward and keeping his hands criss-crossed on the table, which bulged out his biceps.

"Oh," you said, taking a moment to think but having a hard time imagining Bucky and Sharon as a couple; and also trying to get the flashing memories of his hands from around you out of your head, "Really? Wouldn't have guessed those two."

"Yeah, it was a shocker for me too! But they are just at the start of it, so let's see how it actually goes." Sam shrugged, "Enough of him, though. Tell me about your man." Sam didn't miss the way your smile faltered just for a second.

But you addicted to my addiction

It's time for you to stay away, away

So call the medical, can get a little dose

I got an antidote for that body

We're compatible, ain't no need to take it slow

You knew you had gotten in your current relationship with Jason as a way to get over Sam, because you couldn't get the thoughts of him out of your mind even after a year of breaking up with him. Now nearly reaching your first year anniversary, you still couldn't.

You knew you should've felt guilty for misleading Jason, but you somehow didn't. The year you had spent with him made you realise that the two of you never had a connection as deep as you and Sam did in the six months you were together.

Moreover, it didn't even feel like Jason was actually trying. That night was supposed to be a date night. As you were nearly ready, dressed to the nines and eagerly awaiting the forthcoming hours, for the third time in a row Jason had cancelled. He had had made plans with his work friends which he had forgotten about. As his boss was included too, he couldn't ditch them last minute. That is why you had planned on munching all the junk available you could get your hands on and dwell in your sorrows.

You understood. You always did.

Things like this only prompted your subconscious brain to point out the vast differences between him and Sam. You had gotten with him not long after he had to handle Captain America's mantle. The first few weeks had been extremely stressful for Sam, yet that didn't deter him from being the ever dotting boyfriend to you. Plans were hardly ever cancelled, and when they were, the newer ones were worth wait.

"Jason," You looked around, not daring to hold eye contact with Sam, "He's a great guy." Yet, Sam easily caught onto your bluff. He didn't say anything though, sparring you the embarrassment.

Truth be told, he was internally satisfied to know that your current wasn't as good as him, but he hid that well. Despite it he wasn't happy. How could he, when you weren't.

You talked about Jason, exaggerating his goodness. It felt like you were trying to make yourself believe that indeed he was as good as you said. Moving on from him, you asked Sam if he had gotten someone in his life.

Sam dipped his head, suddenly finding the napkin on his lap extraordinarily interesting, "There's been no one but you, Y/N." As he looked up, you couldn't help but let your breath hitch as his eyes bore into yours. He put on a smile which couldn't mask the seriousness and melancholy behind his words which you knew in an instant they were nothing if not true.

"Sam..." You started, but the phone ringing, flashing your best friend's name saved you from having to reply to the mind boggling discovery.

I know, I know, I know

I know why you're calling me

'Cause he can't love you like you want him to

You know I hit it properly

But nobody do it like me and you

I know what you need, girl, you know this also

As your call had ended, Sam brought up discussions from the pop culture and you two fell back into conversation, the earlier revelation being completely ignored. Soon your meal was over. As you the stepped onto the sidewalk, Sam insisted that he walked you home. You didn't think it was a good idea, but Sam claimed that it was rather late and he couldn't relax until he made sure you were safe and sound in your house. So you agreed.

The conversation was light, as before. None dared to jump into the talks of feelings, not trusting themselves keep their hands to themselves.

When you reached your building, 'It was good to meet you after so long's were said and goodbyes were exchanged. As Sam saw you climb up the stairs to the front door, walking away from him yet again, he couldn't bear the pain of letting you go so soon; of not being the one to hold you close in your lows; of not trying; of not telling you the one thing which had been on his mind the entire night and regretting it later.

He climbed up to you in two long strides, skipping a few steps in between. Just as you were about to open the gate, he turned you around, and clashed his lips with yours. Shocked by the suddenness, you pressed you lips to harder. They were sweet and plump, just as you remembered.

I'll leave the key up under the door

So you can come on, get on top of me

So I can fuck you like you want me to, like you want me to

I'm told you want it

Girl, like you want me, too

I'm told you want it

He immediately pulled back only a second later. His hands cupped your face as his forehead leaned against yours. "Baby girl," That nickname, that damn nickname, "I love you still, so fucking much. Know that I've waited for you, and I'll always wait for you."

Not giving you anytime to think about it, he climbed down the steps and walked away into the shadows of the night. You stared at his retreating figure dumbfounded, your own heart beats loud and clear in your ear, making you doubt when what happened was actually true or was it just one of your daydreams .

~~~

Sweet yet powerful, that's how the memories you carried of being with Sam were. You'd never had had to think about putting effort into your relationship as things things escalated; how you'd seemed to know what other needed when, the trust into each other, the support for each other, the understanding; everything had come naturally.

Your relationship had ended only because of your fear of being close anyone.

You hadn't known you'd fall for Sam as deep and hard as you did. 'I love you's were said. You were happy. When he asked you to move in with him, you weren't.

Commuting to and fro from work to you was a work in itself. Sam knew you wouldn't like the idea because of how scared you were if your own feelings, so he never raised the question. However, it slipped past his lips on the night of your six month anniversary, after a nerve wrecking session in bed. Perhaps he really had wrecked his nerves between his brain and mouth when those words left his lips despite knowing better.

Overwhelmed at the fast pace of everything going in and around you, you immediately left his home. You were scared like all good things, this was just a dream; that he would leave you as soon as you allowed him to breakdown that last layer of boundary you had protected yourself behind all your life.

You figured, getting your heart broken then was better than later.

He gives you that basic kinda loving, now all you do is complain

(I bet the neighbors don't know his name)

You know I got that boomerang (boomerang) so I come through late, oh oh oh oh

So shout me when you coming through, right

You ain't gotta tell me what to do tonight

As you sat across Jason the next day, eating the dinner which was initially planed to be had a day before, you couldn't get Sam out of your mind. Though you yourself loved him still, it was hard for you to accept that after the bizarre note on which you ended things, he still loved you to this day.

You moved your food around the plate, your mind working overtime enough to kill any appetite.

You looked up at Jason, animatedly telling you about his week at work, without having yet asking about yours. Sam never did that, your brain said. No matter what, he always loved hearing you talk about your days, not caring how shitty or monotonous they were. He also loved talking about his, excitedly gushing about the love and support he recieved and carefully leaving out the gruesome details of the missions he went on. He was Captain freaking America, yet he never made you feel any less.

You're addicted to my addiction

It's time for you to stay away, away, yeah

So call the medical, can get a little dose

I got an antidote for that body

We're compatible, ain't no need to take it slow

Work had always been important for Jason. For many it is. It was important for you as well. It was important for Sam too, yet you were always his top priority. Albeit not before saving the world at last minute notifications, but in a way you were his world too.

As Jason kept on and on talking about himself and only himself, you couldn't help but cherish how Sam had been anything but self centred. He was selfless almost to a fault.

You sat there, staring at the face of one man but thinking of another. As your brain pointed out the differences between the two one after the other, something in your brain clicked.

You grabbed his hand at once, not giving any second thought to what you said and what you did, "Jason," When he got your attention, you said, "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, but it's over."

Jason gaped at you open mouthed, flabbergasted at how out of the blue it was, "I- what- Y/N?"

He watched you stand up and put a few bills down on the table. Before leaving, you turned to him and said, "It's okay, I won't miss you."

You left in a hurry. On the sidewalks you hailed a cab and gave the directions to Sam's place.

I know, I know, I know

I know why you're calling me

'Cause he can't love you like you want him to

You know I hit it properly

But nobody do it like me and you

I know what you need, girl, you know this also

I'll leave the key up under the door

So you can come on, get on top of me

So I can fuck you like you want me to, like you want me to

I'm told you want it

Girl, like you want me to

I'm told you want it

You chewed your lips as stared out the window. You should've known that you wouldn't have been able to stay away from him; that you were bound to return to him, like a boomerang.

You felt like a bitch, and not in a good way. Though your feelings hadn't lessened, you realised what a fool you were in leaving Sam only after being with Jason. It wasn't ideal and you weren't the most proud person around, but the heart wants what it wants.

As soon as the cab stopped, you paid and hurried to Sam's door. Pressing the doorbell, you only wished he didn't have any plans for the evening. When he didn't answer the door right away, your anxiety started gnawing at you.

What were you thinking? Of , course he'd have plans on a Saturday night. He's Captain America, for heaven's sake. Of fucking course he'd be busy. It was so stupid of you -

"Y/N?" Sam gasped. Not in his wildest dreams had he thought that he'd find you on his porch, deranged like you were. He didn't even think you'd come back to him after the stunt he pulled the previous night.

This time round, you gave him no time to ponder as holding his neck you brought him down and kissed his lips with all the strength you could muster. After getting over the initial shock, Sam picked you up by your waist in a second and you gladly wrapped your legs around him. He closed the door and pushed you against it.

You pulled back, clutching his face softly, "Sam, Sam, I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry." He put you down, cupping your tear stained face. He tried to stop you, but you continued, "I shouldn't have had left you. I was just so scared, Sam. I thought you would've left me eventually." You paused, taking a deep breath, "I love you Sam, so fucking much."

Sam hugged you close, petting your head, whispering sooth calming words. You said still, "I broke up with him. I'm sorry I didn't realise it sooner. Please, have me back Sam...I understand if you're upset with me, and you got every right -"

Sam shut you up with his lips, which unhurriedly moved against yours, warming up your heart and soul, "Baby," He breathed against you, "You don't gotta be sorry about anything," He moved to your ears, whispering, "I love you, honey. So glad you're back."

He descended to take your lips in his once again, biting them ever so softly. Licking and sucking your lips as if it were the last time he'd kiss you, Sam picked you up and carried you to his bed, on which he dropped you down unceremoniously before caging you between him and his bed.

Now I got your head up in the pillow

Girl, you can't say nothing, can't say nothing

I'ma have you here like a boomerang

Make you wanna say something, wanna say something

His arms went under your shirt, lifting it, drawing his hands up and down your sides. Littering you neck with kisses, he raised your shirt over your head. Your own hands moved to his back beneath his shirt. He removed his own, and soon, the both of you undressed completely.

When his mouth went back on yours, his skin moved against yours, sating the need to be close to him. His hand went down lower, messaging your clit with his calloused fingers. You let out a moan as the electric pulses raced down your nerves.

You drifted lower to the skin beneath his ear right above his pulsing vein, sucking and nipping at it. Sam moaned sinfully in your ear, relocating his fingers in your channel and slowly easing into it. The heel of his palm worked magic on your clit while his fingers leisurely yet steadily brought you cleaser.

Panting, you said, "S-Sam, I need you."

"Baby girl..." Sam whispered, increasing his pace.

"I need you right now. Please, Sam," You whimpered, unable to control yourself as your back arched.

"You sure, honey?" Sam asked. As soon as you voiced out your confirmation, he took his hard length in his hand and stroked it before placing it near your entrance. He slid it up and down your slit, teasing you nub everytime he touched it.

Fixing his length in front of your entrance, Sam groaned as he pushed inside, "Ah, baby girl."

You whimpered, surprised by the stretch but welcomed it with open arms. Your walls clutched his member hard, letting you feel every protruding vein pulsing inside you. Not wanting to wait any longer, you gripped his ass, pushing him further inside you and urging him to move.

He started out slow, taking his time, enjoy the feel of you around snugly around him, leisurely soothing the want you both had. After a handful of strokes though, he couldn't contain himself. He hadn't touched in so long, hadn't felt you in so fucking long. He needed to like a starved needed food.

Balancing his weight on his arms, he thrust inside you again and again without any restrain. You moaned loudly as his bulbous head hit your g-spot at the new angle. He railed you into the bed, grunts escape every so often, charging you up even more.

He kissed sucked the skin of your neck, marking you, laying his claim on you. The meaty and veiny member of his soothed the need of friction inside you.

"Sam..." You squeezed his ass, moaning his name repeatedly. He in turn moaned into you ear you good you took him, how good your velvety walls felt around him. Sensing him nearing his climax, he rubbed you bundle of nerves expertly with his fingers.

"Cum for me, baby girl," You closed your eyes and arched your back, letting out a silent scream as white hot pleasure ran through your veins when you came. Feeling your walls clench around him, he couldn't help himself as his face contorted into pleasure; his pace faltering as he released himself in you.

His head fell down in the crook of your neck, splaying gentle kisses around every surface he could reach. With the promise of more beautiful times, he tucked you in his arms as he rolled onto his side and the both of went into a peaceful slumber.

~~~

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[evilelitest2]

Do you know of any good resources on how and why Reagan won? He seemed to have a lot of resistance from the Republican old guard and all four of my grandparents absolutely despised him. But he somehow won with what sounded like was a very unpopular platform, and I don't understand exactly what happened.

I mean most electoral histories will have you covered, are you looking from a cultural perspective or an electoral perspective, or just a general overview of the 1980 election?  Personally I recommend the book “Backlash” on the larger reactionary movement of the 80s which is in no way relevant today...

But in short there are many reasons why Reagan won, many of them depressing familiar today

1) Ronald Reagan was an actor and was a really charismatic speaker, specifically he was very good at seeming friendly, approachable and non condescending.  It was extremely easy to understand Reagan’s message if you weren’t paying attention and he didn’t seem like some sort of elite who understood policies or knew where Cambodia was on a map, because he didn’t either.  With the possible exceptions of JFK, and OBama, Reagan is likely the most charismatic president in the last century and that makes a big difference in the election

2) Jimmy Carter was a bit of a mess.  I love Carter and I think he is one of the most moral people to ever be president (judging on a scale) but...his administration was extremely chaotic, inept, and really bad at messaging.  

3) Reagan cheated.  At his most famous debate with Carter, it turns out Reagan’s team had actaully managed to get Carter’s debate plans before hand, so Reagan knew exactly what Carter was going to say which is why Reagan seemed so invincible in the debate

4) The Economy.  Due to a wide variety of reasons including but not limited too the fallout of the Vietnam War, the OPEC oil crisis, the natural eb and flow of the market, and the failure of Kenysian economics meant that when the 1980 election was happening, America was in a pretty bad economic place.  Unemployment was high, inflation was spiraling and for many white people it was the first time they had ever experienced an economic downturn

This wasn’t really Carter’s fault, just like the economic boom in the 80s wasn’t really Reagan’s fault (though the initial crash certainly was) but that is how it was perceived.

5) The Failure of Kenysian Economics.  Now when I say “failure” i don’t actually mean “this is a bad system” Kenysan economics got us out of the Great Depression after all and lead to the largest economic boom in US history.  However they aren’t the end all, especially when politicians running things don’t really understand what they are doing.  So while they aren’t nearly as awful as the Free market economics that would follow, people were becoming disillusioned with the prior economic model

6) Vietnam.  Oh dear god Vietnam.  Reagan would be the first president who didn’t preside over Vietnam in any way, which meant he wasn’t tainted by the total fuck up that was that war.  America was still reeling from losing our first major war to a small nation that nobody had heard off before they started to kick our ass, and the battle over Vietnam has basically torn the country apart.  A huge amount of people felt pissed and humiliated over the defeat, and rather than question why we went to war or the morality of our tactics, blamed protesters and leftists for not supporting the war enough, a stabbed in the back myth if you will.  Also Vietnam was a Democrat fuck up, Republicans weren’t in power when it started under JFK and LBG, who collectively created the horrific circumstances of the war.  The republicans who oversaw it were the comparatively (to Reagan) more ‘moderates” of Nixon and Ford.  So American both felt humiliated and weak from looking a major war to a people we saw as inferior and was blaming everything associated with the left for it.  Reagan’s “Make America Great Again” message was extremely attractive to a lot of people, and since he didn’t have anything to do with the war, you couldn’t blame him for its failure.  

7) The Soviet Union.  The presence of the USSR hung over every US election since Woodrow Wilson, but after Vietnam a lot of Americans felt like the USSR was winning.  This was ironically utterly untrue as the Soviet Union would collapse only 11 years later, but the perception in America was that the US had been defeated by COMMUNISM and needed to get our groove back for round II.  And Reagan was by far the most aggressively confrontational anti Communist president we have had since FDR, so much so that he accidentally almost triggered a nuclear war and destroyed all of civilizations...whoops.  But that is what American wanted back then

8) The rise of the religious right.  For most of the 20th century, while religion was certainly a thing which effected politics, the US political landscape was largely secular, religion being evoked more than it made its own demands.  But due to rise of the Counter Culture movement, religious folks sort of went into panic mode and suddenly conservative fundamentalist Christianity was one the rise.  And Reagan embraced them 100%, leading to the fundementalist cancer that lives with us to this day

9) The death of the Counterculture.  At the exact same time as the Religious Right came into power, the group it was opposing had largely collapsed.  I mentioned this before when talking about the civil Rights movement, but once overt legal segregation had been outlawed, what was left were the far more serious, complicated and unclear problems, which lead to a lot of hippies burning out, falling into infighting, declaring victory and going home, or turning to more radical and largely ineffectual approaches.  And since so much of the counter culture was linked to to its fashion and aethetic, as the Hippie style/music/clothing/demeanor became lame and uncool, the causes behind them were seen as uncool as well.  Also the most dedicated leftists quickly turned to auto cannibalism and spent more time fighting each other rather than focusing on their enemy a dynamic which the left can always be counted on (cough what happened to Counterpoints cough) 

10) The larger cultural backlash.  America as a whole was feeling threaten by the left, and by extention the progressive made for women, racial minorities, and sexual minorities, and was pushing back against them.  The 60s and 70s was a moment of sudden shocking change which took the old guard by surprise and they didn’t know what to do, but once the left had burned themselves out a bit, the Right was able to reorganize, refocus their efforts, and remake their arguments to reassert the oppressive systems they so valued.  And for a lot of Americans who were passively bigoted, the incredibly fast pace of change got them scared and they sought comfort in the return of the familiar.  Again Reagan wasn’t just an actor, he was a cowboy actor from shitty kitch family films.  And as we’ve seen before in terms of Whitelash or Male Fragility, fear of losing privilege can get people to vote against their own interest (cough union workers cough)

11) America was facing a big choice.  After WWII, we were basically the only major nation with a good economy, which we were able to turn into a great economy, and had an over 20 year post war high.  But other nations started to compete with us (most notably Japan) and our status as the singular nation started to be threatened by the EU, India, China, Latin America, and our own changing history.  For the first time, Americans started to realize that maybe, not right away, but eventually, we would just be one nation among many again, rather than the only superpower.   Simultaneous, the threat of Climate change first started to be noticed, and Americans started to realize that maybe we should tone down the materialism, the consumerism, and the reliance on fossile fuels.  Carter infamously wore sweaters in the white house to save on gas and put solar panels on the roof, which was seen by many Americans (idiots) as weakness.  

Basically we had a choice, we could either 

A) Prepare our nation for the transformation period we were going for, and slowly start to move off oil as our economy changed and we had to make adjustments for it 

or

B) FUCK THAT.  THIS IS AMERICA AND WE DON”T COMPROMISE FOR ANYTHING.  YOU KNOW WHAT...LETS BE EVEN MORE RECKLESS

Americans were asked to choose between accepting an uncomfortable reality or embracing a comforting delusion.  

12) The Iran Hostage crisis.  This made Carter look weak internationally and everybody knows that America looking weak is worth destroying our own internal economy.  

13) The Democrats were in the middle of a civil war.  The Civil Rights movement and the Great Society had torn the democrats apart which means Carter was never really able to get his own party to obey him like the Republicans did.  WHats worse is that the aftereffect of the Vietnam War had basically crippled LBJ’s Great Society Program, meaning the Democrats were really chaotic

14) Finally, it is important to remember, the Democrats had held power from 1932 all the way to 1980s, the US was kind of a single party state for most of the century, and a lot of people were pretty sick of them.  Corruption, incompetence and hypocrisy are around in every party and the democratic congress in particular was widely hated, so the Republicans felt like this new exciting thing, something which could maybe bring a new era in America.  “Its morning in America”

And of course, Reagan was in many ways what white America wants, a giant self congratulatory message that lets us avoid dealing with real issues....

[everlastingdreams]

Dex X Reader: Sugar Crush Chapter 23

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Notes: Nah

Summary: Reader moves into the same building as one Agent Poindexter. A bond starts to grow between them. Can the reader move on after a traumatic past ‘relationship’ ?

Chapter: 23/28

Trigger Warning: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse ! YES this one will come with trigger warnings. I tried not to post too much into detail stuff but this entire thing comes with a trigger warning !

Word Count: 2538 words

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Like someone just turned on the switch again, that's what it felt like when you woke up. When you did you felt relief, relief that you were alive. Back on the world, but it only lasted for a few moments before the feeling of disorientation wore off. And when your eyes focused on the room you were in, it was enough to jolt you up and back into conciousness.

“Easy there, love. Take your time.” you saw Shaw sitting on a chair in the room at the foot of the bed.

You closed your eyes, hoping all of this was just a horrible dream. Shaw's voice broke through the silence.

“I was wondering if we had gone a bit overboard with the sedative. I've been waiting for you to wake for hours.” he said as he sat in the chair cross-legged, drinking a glass of wine.

“Why the hell did you come back for me ? We both know I hate you.” your voice was still weak from the sedation.

He putted the glass on a nearby dresser “Love and hate cannot exist without one another, dear. The fact that you hate me also means that you still care.”

You scoffed in disbelieve when you heard him say it.

You gritted your teeth while you glared at him “What happened to your face ? Devil left his mark on you ? Now the outside is starting to match the inside.”  

He looked to the side and you knew your acid remark hit a weak spot in him “Ah yes, Daredevil.” his jaw thightened as he said the name “I have thought about it, I understand why you ran when you had the chance. I admit we had our fair share of problems in our relationship, but you selling me out to Daredevil. That hurt, sweetheart. But I am willing to look past your flaws.”

You wondered how the hell he knew you told Daredevil he was in the armory until Shaw pointed to the small moving camera in the corner of the room.

You were starting to feel sick, he had a security camera in here ? “I thought I knew how awful you were, but it just keeps getting worse.. you make me sick.”

He scoffed before he looked at you “Lord, you have gotten quite the mouth on you, haven't you ?”

“Pot, kettle.” you snarled.

“Carefull, little dove.” he warned.

Fear and anger were mixed inside you, you were lucky to escape the first time. Trying it a second time would be near impossible.

“Why ? You'll hit me anyway ! Because that's who you are Shaw ! You are the kind of guy that makes women afraid of meeting men !” you didn't hold it in anymore as you spit the words at him.

Shaw was losing his patience fast, his voice was low, controlled “You should be gratefull.”

“Gratefull ?” you scoffed “ For what ? To be here ? To be locked in this prison called hell !”

“You are alive because of what I did to save you !” he almost shouted it at you “For some reason Wilson Fisk wants you dead. I was able to convince him to let me do the job. He told me where you were, if it had been anyone else, you would be dead. Remember that.”

You let out a breath when you processed what he just told you, why would someone like Wilson Fisk want you dead ? Remembering the man that followed you that day you bumped into the devil himself....no. He can't be telling you the truth.

Shaw was calmer again, but his words were laced with venom “Tell me, little dove. Are you not curious why someone like Wilson Fisk wants you dead ?"

You didn't answer him. "Don't take this as an insult but, you are nobody, you are nothing. Yet you are somehow important in this grand scheme Fisk has planned. Why is that ? What are you not telling me, love ? " "Really ? That was not supposed to insult me ? " You scoffed. "Oh right. I forgot, you only speak 'asshole' ." "Language." He warned. "Where did you learn to speak this way ? You used to have such good manners before our unfortunate seperation." "How would you know ? You never really cared when I spoke. I'm nothing more then a piece of decoration to you." He eyed you up an down as he spoke "But what a lovely decoration you are." Your stomach turned, you didn't want him to look at you like that. You didn't want him thinking about touching you. Those few months had been a nightmare, one you never wanted to live through again.

“Your phone has been rather popular today." He says before he pulls out your phone from his pocket.

You looked at your phone in his hands, this was not good. Not good at all. "Let's have a look shall we ?" He unlocks your phone "Landlord, a pizza place.. who is Mister B ?" He was calm but the words were filled with venom and jealousy. You bit back the tears at the fresh memory of Bob, on the floor, gasping for air as he bled out. Your jaw clenched and Reed now watched your expression waiting for an answer.

“Must I repeat every quest-” he started.

You interupted him “You shot him.” your eyes filled with tears but your words were full of anger.

His eyes fell back to your phone “Oh. Well. That is one number you won't be needing anymore then.”

He reacted like it meant nothing to him and you were certain that was exactly the case.

He focused on your phone some more and you calmed down a little. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him.

You looked up at him and his eyes moved from your phone to you before he spoke as if he would ask a child for an explanation “Who's 'Dex' ?”

O O O O oo o o o o ooo o o o o o o ooo o  oo oo o oo oo oo o o o o o o o oo o   oo ooo o  o o o o o

Putting Reed's name in the system had given them an address. Ray put a team together and soon Dex and Ray were on their way to the location. Dex knew they would have to do this low profile, Reed was no small fish in the criminal world, that he was sure of now. That slimey snake had fooled even the FBI. God knows what else this asshole was capable of. Ray sended some of the agents to the back of the house, Dex stuck with Ray as they got ready to breach the place.

Ray moved to the side of the door, gun's drawn, Dex stood behind the agents breaching the door, ready for anything.

Ray held up his hand, quietly counting down with his fingers before he yelled “BREACH !”

The agents breached the door with the ram.

“FBI !!!” The agents shouted as they swarmed the place.

Soon shouts of agents that said “CLEAR !” could be heard.

Dex searched in every room of that place, every inch of it. All there was to find was furniture covered in sheets.

The place was abandoned, and it had been like this for a while as dust was starting to collect on the sheets.

Dex put his gun in the holster as he let his arms fall besides him. The voices of the other agents didn't reach him as the voices in his mind had once again started to scream.

You weren't here.

“Dex..” Ray walked up to him, his face sorrowful. “She's not here.”

Dex could only nod as he did a few paces and kicked a chair across the room in frustration.

The other agents stared at him until he gave them a look that could send chills down the devil's spine.

Ray didn't reprimand him this time “We'll find her.”

“How ? Ray. How the hell are we going to find her now ! That son of a bitch could be half across the world with her by now ! We have no leads !” he sneered.

Ray understood his friend's reaction, he was sure he would react the same way if someone harmed his familly.”

They were interrupted when a cellphone went off. Dex's cellphone.

His brows drew together as he fished the phone out of his pocket.

His couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the name on the screen.

Your name.

o o o o o o o oo  o o o o oo o o o o oo o o o oo o   oo  oo o oo oo oo  o o o o oo  ooo o o  oo o

You had tried to fool Shaw about how Dex is just your neighbour, but Shaw always was a suspicious/ jealous bastard. You could only sit and watch in horror as he called Dex on your phone.

"(Y/N) ?!" Dex's voice came through the phone loud enough to even make you hear it across the room. "I'm afraid she is unable to come to the phone right now." Shaw kept his voice professional, "Where is she, asshole ?!" Dex's voice sounded. Reed looked at you with interest "Well, this explains the sudden change in her choice of language." "I asked you a question, asshole. Where is she ?! " Dex demanded again. Reed hummed, something he always did when people dared to insult him “Allow me to make something clear to you. Dex. I don't answer to you. But you will answer me.." he looked at you as he spoke again "Unless you would enjoy hearing her scream in pain." His eyes were dark. His threat wasn't empty, they never were. Reed was jealous and it always brought out the worst in him. There was silence on the other end of the line. "Are we clear on that ?" Reed said in repressed anger. "Yes." Dex finally said. "Good. Glad to hear. So tell me, Dex. Who are you ? Or did your parents really just call you Dex ? " You knew what Reed was doing. He was trying to find out who exactly Dex was, it would make it easier for him to find and kill Dex if he would pose a problem. You prayed Dex wouldn't answer him, he would never be safe again if he did. Reed watched your reactions like a hawk as you tried to keep a blank expression. "Well ?" He was getting irritated. "Poindexter." You could hear Dex say and your heart dropped. Reed ended the call right after Dex had answered him. The look in his eyes was something you had never seen before, not with Reed. It was gone in a second but impossible to miss. Fear.

Oo o o o o o oo  oo o o o   o o oo  o o o o oo o  o o o o o o o o  o o o o o o o o oo oo oo

Dex gasped for air after the call ended, his worst fear had come reality. You were at the mercy of a madman and he had no idea where he was keeping you. His hands itched, itched to be around Reed's neck and strangle him.

“Was that him ?” Ray gave him a worried look.

“That was him. He has her, Ray. He threathened to hurt her.” he was breathing so fast yet he felt like no air was getting in his lungs.

“Did he say anything that could help us find her ?” Ray asked.

Dex shook his head “No.”

Ray brushed a hand over his mouth “Alright, we'll go back to the precinct. Talk to Ally Smith again. Maybe she can remember something from their conversations, something (y/n) might have mentioned to her.”

He didn't think it was useful, but Ally was the only connection to finding you at this point. So he agreed to go back to talk to Ally with Ray.

Oo oo o o o o  oo o oo oo o o  oo o o o o  oo oo o o oo o  o o o oo o o oo oo  o  o o  o ooo  oo oo oo

“Finally I understand why Fisk wants you dead.” Shaw scoffed “He wants that Poindexter guy and you just somehow managed to get inbetween those plans.” Shaw clenched his jaw in anger.

Fear build inside of you when he told you that Fisk wants Dex for some reason.

“So tell me because I am curious, what is going on between you and this 'Dex' ?” Reed's words were filled with venom, you had seen him angry many times before but this was worse. He knew there was something going on between you and Dex, he knew and he was burning up his patience for your answer very fast.

You thought of a good answer, a lie he could believe, but the fear in your eyes must have given it away.

“ANSWER ME !” his calm facade fell as he stood from his chair and shouted it at you.

You hated that you automatically started to shake when he shouted at you.

“He's just my neighbour, he must be upset over the fact that you killed the people in the apartment building. ” you tried to sound like you were telling the truth, knowing that Shaw would skin Dex alive if he knew he was more then a neighbour or friend to you.

He breathed audibly through his nose as he straightened the jacket of his suit. You slid further away on the bed, knowing he could easily snap right now.

He didn't look at you when he picked up his glass again. He took one sip and in one sudden move he threw the glass in your direction. It shattered on the wall close to you and some of the shards grazed your hair and skin.

You were lucky the glass didn't touch your eyes as the bed was now covered in glass and wine.

You looked at Shaw in shock.

“DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL ?! Fisk wants you dead because you are the only thing standing in his way to get to Poindexter.” He took a step closer to you, eyes filled with rage.

The door flew open now and two men stood in the doorway “Sir..” their eyes scanned the room, falling on the shattered glass around you and the spilled wine “We heard.. we thought..”  

Shaw composed himself just enough to address them “Did I call for you ?”

The men shifted awkwardly on their feet “No, Sir..”

“I don't pay you to think. I pay you to follow orders, understand ?” he said through gritted teeth.

The men nodded “Yes, Sir.”

Shaw sighed and looked at you one last time “I will have to undo the damage you have caused. We will talk when I return.”

You heard the lock turn when he walked out of the room.

Tag list for this series (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list :) ) :

@givemeabite@aquietfortitudeandstrength@missminx1993@fuchsiagrasshopper@legion-18@love-mia-marisol@star-spangled-man@bilson-bethel@peterbxrnes@burningmusicmachine@xxemoluverxx@queenselana@superflashvengers @marvelmayo @qrangcr

[redhoodsjacket]

Decibels - Sam Wilson

Wow two in a day yeah. So this is one installement of a serie I’m doing. All parts are stand alone, they’re only like, all in the same timeline/universe. Some of them will be more humoristic I PROMISE. (But this ain’t one of em sorry)

Mutant series masterlist

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Mutant!Reader

Genre: Drama

Word count: 2387

Summary: A nuclear accident not only leaves you mute but give you a power you never wanted.It however comes in hand when Sam is in danger

Warnings: death, semi-graphic descriptions, uh yeah.

"She's not talking" "Maybe she's mute?" "Well, she doesn't know sign languages..." You looked down to see a paper and a pen being slid to you. The person took a seat in front of you and waited. You didn't write yet, but you decided to meet their eyes. The man was giving you a kind look, something akin to understanding. He didn't seem frustrated or impatient with your behaviour, which you were grateful for. "I know what it's like" He spoke softly. "You're safe here, but we need to understand what happened... You do realize that there aren't a lot of people who survive a nuclear explosion, right?"

You were sunk into the comfortable couches in the common room, doodling nonsense in your sketchbook. Bucky was sitting in the lazy boy across from you, frowning at his cell phone. He was probably trying to figure out a new function he discovered, which wasn't rare.  After four months at the compound, you had already spotted your favourite Avengers. Bucky was on top of the list, because he too was quiet, and he seemed to appreciate hanging out with someone who wouldn't say a word.  Clint was also on that list; he never failed to make you laugh when you needed it. That, and he was teaching you sign language.  The last person on your top friend was Bruce. He had taken you in from day one and he was someone you could actually relate to, and that could concretely help you understand what had happened to you. Five months ago, you were sure your days were counted. When the reactor of the local nuclear plant failed and fissured, most of your town got wiped out. Only a few survived, including your family, but the radiation poisoning was so intense they had all passed within two weeks. You had thought you'd be the last to go. But you didn't go. You were actually feeling physically fine. The only weird thing you noticed was your throat itching and muffling your voice more and more. It wasn't until a week later after you had encountered robbers pillaging your old house, that you had found out why your voice had been dying. You were in the midst of grabbing your family album when two masked men surprised you. So you screamed. But it wasn't any scream. It was some high pitched sonic scream that sent them flying away. At that moment, you were scared, horrified and not comprehending what had just downplayed. So you took off into the woods into hiding, where you would accidently hurt anybody and where nobody could find you. Except the Avengers, you'd know a week later when Tony Stark dropped in front of you and asked you to come with him. You were reluctant, but he said they could help. And they did.  Your hand went to your throat, feeling the soft material encircling it. Tony and Bruce had managed to come up with a device that would block your sonic scream and made it fashionable. So not only you wouldn't accidently harm someone by being startled, but you now had a very cute choker to accessorize with. "Hey (Y/N)" Bucky asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. "How do you turn on the do not disturb function?" You smiled and put down your sketchbook, moving to sit beside him. You held your hand out, taking his cell phone but leaving it in front of him so he could see. You slowly accessed the function, pausing in between every step so he knew what you did.  "Thanks (Y/N)" He gave you one of his rare smile. It soon turned into a smirk when he side glanced at you. "You know," You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Bucky might be quiet and grumpy, but he was still mischievous as his best friends. So that look couldn't be good.  "There are other ways to get Sam to notice you than verbally" He teased, and your eyes widened.  You knew he was observant, but not that observant. You had tried to conceal the fact that you were attracted to the man, because you knew it could never happen. He was chatty and loud, and he probably wanted someone who could keep up with him, who could shoot back witty one-liners to level up with him. Even when you had your voice, you weren't that person, so you could forget about even catching his attention. "Lemme guess, you don't know what I'm talking about?" He mused, and you shrugged. Why did Bucky choose to be talkative all of a sudden? You glared at him and he stood up. "You should really let him know, (Y/N). He isn't as bad as he seems"  With that little joke, he left you alone to over think his words. ********** You didn't let Sam know. Another two weeks passed, and you put all of your focus on your sessions with Bruce and Tony. Your powers were still a wonder for them, and quite frankly for yourself too.  You leaned on the wall for support, still shaken up from the last cry you had let out. You had found out that the louder you projected your sonic waves, the harder it took a toll on you. After a day of testing, you were always left exhausted; so much that you could even not wear your dampener knowing no scream would be able to even form. Today you still decided to wear it, however, just in case. "Can you try louder?" The voice of Tony Stark rang in the isolated room.  You turned your head toward the glass panel which from behind him and Bruce were monitoring you and you shook your head no. According to them, you hadn't even unlocked 40% of your capabilities, yet, the frequency was enough to shatter bulletproof glass. Or someone's eardrum. They had tried to make you use multiple devices for wave’s concentration and amplification, but nothing worked to get your powers to the next level. You thought it was kinda a good thing, because you were afraid of what your full potential could do.  You exited the room and went straight to the end of the hallway, knowing the two scientists would get the cue you were done for the day. You pressed the elevator button and waited until your heard the ding to step forward. You halted your steps when you noticed the elevator was already occupied by none other than Sam Wilson. You forced yourself to act normal and leaned in the opposite corner. "Going down?" He asked as one of his disarming smiles graced his lips. You realized you hadn't pressed any button on your way in, so you nodded awkwardly.  "I don't see you around much" He spoke again. "How's the integration going? Starting to feel like home yet?" Small talk.  This was something you never thought you'd ever miss being able to do. You still smiled and gave him a thumbs up, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The elevator opened, and you realized he had to get off on the same floor as you, so you fell in step beside him. "I see you made friends with Barnes" He grinned. "Do you know how hard it is? I don't even think he likes me as much and it's been a while" You chuckled silently at his words, aware of the relationship between the two. It was the weirdest frenemy dynamic you had ever encountered, but it worked for them, and it was entertaining as hell. "Hey um, we're gonna go grab dinner in an hour with the gang" He said as he paused in front of a door, his stop probably. "If you wanna join. I mean, you don't have to say yes... I mean- Not because you can't or- Shit I'm sorry" Your shoulders shook in a silent giggle. You understood what he meant, and at best it could make a harmless joke that you could take. You nodded and mouthed a yeah sure. "Great, uh, see ya later then, (Y/N)" He said and you waved. You spent the rest of the night after dinner silently squealing at what had happened. It was probably just him being friendly, but you couldn't help your joy. Good thing you had kept the dampener, finally. ************ Six months after being taken under by the Avengers, you found yourself on the field. You weren't even supposed to be cleared yet, but with injuries plaguing the squad, you felt like you had no choice but to back your friends.  You were assured that your role would be kept simple, especially since you still had control issues over your powers. Break a bulletproof three inches glass, throw the first wave of enemies on their back and get back into the quinjet. But when does anything goes to plan? Exhausted, you had made your way back to the jet escorted by Rhodey, where Bruce was waiting for you. He was there to make sure you were okay, but also as backup if needed.  You would have dropped on the floor if it wasn't for Bruce catching you and dragging you to the nearest seat. The quinjet's door was wide open and fresh air always helped you see straight, so it really was the best spot to rest up.  "You should lie down for a while" He suggested as he handed you your blocker. You were about to tie it to your neck when something outside caught your attention.  You watched with horror as an exploding device damaged one of Sam's wings and sent him plummet on the ground at the other end of the field. Agents quickly surrounded him with their guns held up, no doubt ready to take him down for real. Time seemed to slow down as you pushed yourself on your feet, dropping your blocker on the ground. You could only faintly hear Bruce's protest behind you as you ran out of the jet, feeling panic and urgency bubble up inside you.  Like your mind obeyed another force than your will, you filled your lungs with air and did what you did best. You screamed. ************** The world around you seemed to slowly fade back in as you regained awareness of your senses. First, you felt the cold temperature against your skin. It wasn't outside's cold, it was more like AC. Then, voices and various noises reached your ears. Some you recognized, some you didn't. You tried to move some muscles, and you managed to flex your fingers against your body. Nothing ached. Then you forced your eyes open, adjusting to the bright white light.  You thought for a moment that you might have been dead and in a celestial waiting room, but then a warm hand closed against yours. "(Y/N)"  Your head snapped to the side and your eyes widened, relieved to see Sam there looking very much alive and okay. The events of the mission then came crashing down on you, and your hand immediately went to your throat.  You didn't feel the soft material of you usual sonic dampener, but instead whatever device was on your throat was held in place with hospital tape.  Sam's hand squeezed yours and brought your attention back to him. He was half worried, half relieved. "It's a new one, a stronger one" He nodded to your throat. Wary took over your features, knowing what happened after you passed out must have been bad if they developed a stronger device. "You saved my life, (Y/N). Thank you" You tried to give him a smile, but it didn't quite reach your ears. Obviously, he noticed and gave another squeeze to your hand. His expression turned somber. "I just wanted to let you know that before I told you what happened. Please keep it in mind, okay?" He whispered carefully, and you nodded. "Your cry... It was nothing like you've shown before. It carried on for the mile and a half between the jet and me, and it was so loud..." He hesitated, but you urged him to continue. He looked away, and you knew that whatever you made happen, it was bad. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't want to harm anybody but... They all died. Tony said part of their brain liquefied. Hell, even with the earplugs, I still got it good." You gasped in horror as tears rushed into your eyes. You knew your cry was potentially devastating, but to cause such ugliness... It was something else entirely. You guessed it was what Tony had in mind when he talked about unlocking your full potential.  Then his last words repeated in your head. You placed a hand on his arm and he met your eyes again, so you mouthed 'you? ' to ask him what had happened to him. "I'm fine" He reassured, putting his hand over your own. "I was just a bit dizzy and wobbly on my feet, but nothing the doctors couldn't fix" You sighed in relief, but you still hated that he got hurt.  'I'm sorry' You soundlessly apologized, wiping the tears away from your cheeks. "Hey, don't be sorry for anything" He shook his head and gently squeezed your hand. "You did great. You saved my life, and you cleared the path for everyone to be back safe and sound. You're officially a hero" You smiled with him at his last word, letting a breathless chuckle escape. 'Thank you' You mouthed.  "Thank me by resting well in the next few days, so you can return to us soon" He said as he stood up. "I like having you around, (Y/N). I guess I just wanted you to know that" He shrugged.  In a moment of bravery, you pulled yourself in a sitting position and placed a small kiss on his cheek. He seemed surprised, but the soft smile that appeared on his lips was a good sign. He nodded to himself and left you to your well needed rest, closing the door behind him. As soon as it did, Sam let his smile become all wide and giddy, touching the place where your lips had kissed. At that moment, he was truly gone for the sweet quiet girl that was a lot more than the eyes met.

•••

Tag list:

@thehabssuck-getoverit @potato-with-possible-standards @ fortisetgloriosusinarduis

[imjustthemechanic]

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up Part 16/? - Just Passing Through Part 17/? - Dinner with Druids Part 18/? - Kracness Henge Part 19/? - A Task Interrupted Part 20/? - The Red Death Part 21/? - Aphelion Part 22/? - The Stone Giants Part 23/? - Nat the Giant Killer Part 24/? - An Interrogation Part 25/? - Guilt Part 26/? - Rushman’s Brilliant Idea Part 27/? - Hunter in Hiding

Our heroes drop in on their friendly neighbourhood cryptozoologist, who shares an embarrassing secret.  Oh, and I tell you where the Grail is, because that was mean.

           As they headed south again, under heavy gray skies that threatened rain but never actually delivered on it, Natasha found herself thinking about several different things.  The first, of course, was the urgency of finding O’Herlihy.  It was reassuring that Sharon had another theory, but the only way to know for sure was to go there, and Nat had an awful mental picture of breaking into the man’s room in the Glenmoriston Arms and finding nothing but another smear of blood.  Even if the Red Death hadn’t gotten there ahead of them, he was probably still on his way, and he had an entire secret society behind him while they were just five random people.

           She also thought about Allen Rushman.  He was going to have to stay with them for the time being, and that was okay as long as they were just visiting libraries, doing Google searches, and driving across the country.  What would happen, though, if things came to a fight again?  Nat had little doubt they would, and when it happened, Allen would be worse than useless.  Somehow, he was going to have to be kept safe.  Like any other predator, the Red Death would go after the weakest member of the herd.

           Mostly, however, she thought about her theory. It was only a theory at this point – it had popped into her head at the same moment as the shock that seemed to signify the activation of a Grail fragment, but beyond that there wasn’t a lot to support it.  It was based on an awful lot of assumptions, none of which she had any evidence for.  She hoped she wasn’t just making it up.

           Her theory was that since William the Conqueror must have known about the Grail, he would almost certainly have gone looking for it himself.  Maybe that was even part of the reason he’d had the Domesday Book put together.  An inventory of the entire country would be a great way to get started.  If he’d found it, like Sir Galahad he would have learned that it wasn’t nearly as nice an object as the King Arthur stories would have had him believe.  He’d therefore taken steps to prevent another man like the Red Death trying to get a hold of it, by wiping out any evidence that it had ever existed.

           In the fantasy world this had all happened in, that would be the reason the Grail and the Red Death weren’t mentioned by the chroniclers or recorded in the artworks – the Conqueror hadn’t allowed it. Maybe that was even the reason in the real world.  Who the hell would be able to tell after a thousand years? All historians had was the word of their predecessors, and chroniclers were notorious for ‘improving’ their stories or leaving out the parts that didn’t contribute to the axe they wanted to grind. The Goo-Goo Dolls had a song about that, didn’t they?  All we are is what we’re told, and most of that’s been lies.

           When he’d found the Grail, whether it was on Flotta or somewhere else, William would have moved it.  He would want it someplace where he could keep an eye on it, but nobody else could get at it or stumble across it by accident – so he’d built something to protect it.  Something that, in his world, could never be dug up or knocked down.  Something he would have an excuse for setting his best soldiers to guard, without having to tell them what they were really guarding. A stronghold so secure his descendants would use it as mint, palace, prison, and treasure house, because it was impossible to break in or out.

           The Grail was under the Tower of London.

           At least, that was the theory.  It made internal sense, but Nat wasn’t sure how well it meshed with the outside world, or exactly what aspects of it counted as truth or fantasy.  Was it her lie about knowing the answer that had come true, thus placing information in her brain about something that was already true?  Or was the theory a lie she had told herself, which had then come true when she believed it would come true?  Would somebody searching there a month ago have found anything unusual, or had this whole thing sprung to life as part of Pierce’s thing with the statues?  As with the problem of O’Herlihy, there was only one way to know, and that was to go there and see.

           Part of Natasha hoped they arrived and found nothing at all.  Then they’d know that the Holy Grail didn’t exist and never had, and while that would mean this had all been a colossal waste of time, at least the world would still operate by rules Natasha understood.

           They arrived back in Inverness to find it crammed to overflowing with tourists.  Word of the Monster had gotten around quickly, and scientists, media, and interested laypeople from all over the world had converged on the city to see for themselves.  There was not a hotel room, parking spot, or restaurant table to be had in the entire town, and the Ness Bridge was lined on both sides with people holding binoculars, just waiting for one of the creatures to rear its head.

           Things were fortunately quieter in the suburbs where the police station was.  The storage room where Zola had broken in and Lipcomb had been killed was still roped off with yellow tape, but the police were beginning to get back into their routine. Sharon headed inside, and asked for the chief.

           Chief Fraser was an overweight man with a bushy red and gray mustache, the one who’d shouted at everybody to get back to work when he found them standing around staring at the mess Zola had made of their locker room.  He arrived panting for breath, having evidently run from wherever he’d been.

           “Carter!” he exclaimed.  “I was just wondering what happened to you!  Where have you been?”

           “Flotta,” Sharon replied.  “I was…”

           “Flotta?  What, with the giants on fire and the Ebola?”  The man went white and took a step back from her.  “I thought you were working on the Pierce case!”

           “I am working on the Pierce case,” said Sharon.  “Alexander Pierce is dead.  He was murdered by a man called Johann Totenkopf, who threw him out of a helicopter. It’s going to be a hell of a report when I get around to writing it.  Before I do that, though, I’m pretty sure the next guy on Totenkopf’s hitlist is Darren O’Herlihy.”

           “The previous victim’s brother,” said Chief Fraser.

           “Yes!” said Sharon – Nat might not know yet about her theory, but Sharon was clearly delighted that hers was correct.  “Please tell me you’ve got him in protective custody!”

           Nat glanced around the room, worried.  Zola could be here right now, listening… he could well have been with them all the way from Galltair, in the trunk of the car or something.  There was no sign of him, but how could they tell for sure?

           “He asked for protection,” the Chief agreed. “He said he’d gotten threats from the guy who killed his brother.  We’ve got him in a hotel in…”

           “Ah!  Ah!” Sharon put a hand over his mouth. “Just… don’t tell us out loud. Don’t tell us at all.  Take us to him, but don’t say the name of the place. Walls have ears, okay?”

           Chief Fraser stared at her a moment and gently reached up and took her hand from his mouth, but he didn’t continue his sentence. He just said, “what’s going on?”

           “It’s… let’s just say it’s a conspiracy,” Sharon decided.

           “What kind of conspiracy?  Are we talking about a three-blokes-get-together-to-murder-the-fourth type of conspiracy?  Or a the-queen-is-a-lizard-alien type of conspiracy?”

           “I’ll tell you all about it when the case is closed,” Sharon promised.  “Right now, just trust me, this is really important.”

           The Chief nodded slowly, and pointed a finger at the people behind her.  “Who are they?”

           “Experts,” said Sharon.

           “Experts?” he echoed.

           “Yes,” said Sharon.  “Dr. Rushman is the archaeologist Mr. Pierce had consulted about this statues.  Sir Stephen is an authority on the folklore they were based on.  Dr. Wilson is helping me look into the, uh, Ebola thing, and Mr. Rushman here is…” she spent a moment trying to figure out what his role could be, then gave up.  “He’s Dr. Rushman’s father.  We’ve got to talk to O’Herlihy.  At least, four fifths of us need to talk to O’Herlihy.”

           “All right.”  The Chief sighed.  “I trust you, Carter.”

           “Thanks,” said Sharon.  “That means a lot.”

           He shook his head.  “Lord knows nobody else seems to know what’s going on.”

             The police had put Darren O’Herlihy up at the Mercure Inverness Hotel, which Nat thought was an awfully nice place to be in protective custody.  It had five-star dining, a pool, and free wi-fi – the last time Nat had been in protective custody, it had been in a cell in Siberia with only one tiny space heater for her and four other girls.  O’Herlihy wasn’t enjoying any of his luxuries, though.  He was in his suite with the door locked and the curtains drawn, while two policemen stood guard at his door and another smoked on the balcony. There was a very unseasonable ivy Christmas wreath hanging on the door.

           Sharon showed the two cops her badge, then knocked on the door.  “Mr. O’Herlihy!  I’m Detective Inspector Sharon Carter!  I’m looking into your brother’s case.  May I come in?”

           There was the sound of furniture being moved and a latch being turned, and then the door opened as far as the chain lock would let it.  One terrified blue eye, bloodshot with lack of sleep, peeked out.

           “Hi.”  Sharon tried to smile warmly.

           “You were in the helicopter,” said O’Herlihy.

           Natasha was surprised he remembered – he must have been really angry with them for stealing his thunder.

           “Yes, that’s right,” Sharon said.  “It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?  I just need to ask you something.”

           Nat pulled the two pendants out of her purse again and held them where he could see them.  The round one Sir Stephen had been carrying now had the red gems missing, too, which she decided to take for a good sign.  “Your brother gave you something like this, right?” she asked.

           O’Herlihy slammed the door again.

           Sharon gently pushed Nat’s hand down, then knocked again.  “Mr. O’Herlihy, this is important!” she said.  “We need to know anything you can tell us about those pendants!”

           The door opened again and O’Herlihy’s hand came out, dangling another cross-shaped token on a broken silver chain.  This one was also bereft of its red decoration, if it had ever had any.

           “Take it,” he said.  “I don’t want it anymore.”

           Nat would have done so, but Sharon stopped her again.  “Where did your brother get that pendant, Mr. O’Herlihy?  He had more, right?  What did he do with them.”

           “Just take it,” O’Herlihy pleaded.  “I think it’s bad luck.  It gave me a zap a while back, and since then I lost my monster, my brother was murdered, and some little goblin went through my stuff.  It’s half the reason I’m hiding in here, please take it away.”

           Sharon took the pendant from his hand, then caught his wrist to keep him from closing the door.  “Wait.  Tell me about the goblin.”

           O’Herlihy didn’t answer at first.  “If I tell you, will you take it away?”

           “Yes,” said Sharon.  “I’ll lock it away where you’ll never have to see it again.”

           The man took a deep breath.  “Mick called me the night before… the night before they killed him.  He said there’d been this critter watching him, like a little old man the size of a child. It woke him up in the middle of the night to ask what he’d done with the charms.  I figured he dreamed it.  I didn’t notice that I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days because I was busy with my monster, but when I came back to town to get more gear, I found my flat all torn apart, and there’s this little man, just like Mick described him.  He disappeared right in front of me, and an hour later the cops showed up and told me Mick’s blood is all over the floor in some warehouse.  Whatever those things are, I figure they’ve gotta belong to the Little People.  That’s why I’ve got the ivy on the door.  Grammy always said it kept the fairies out.”

           Under the circumstances, that didn’t seem like a bad idea, Nat thought.  They were dealing with creatures from folklore.  Maybe folklore could tell them how to fight back.  Although they might have better luck if they didn’t use plastic ivy.

           “Did the creature ask you about the pendants?” asked Sharon.

           “It ripped that one off my neck,” O’Herlihy said. “Then it threw it away and said it was spent, and vanished.  There were a bunch of them originally but I don’t know what Mick did with them.  He probably old them on eBay, and I don’t have his password so I can’t check.”

           “What was his username?” asked Nat.  If she had that, she could get into his account easily.

           O’Herlihy didn’t answer.

           “Did you know it?” Sharon asked.

           “Yeah.”  O’Herlihy looked embarrassed.  “It was Stud-Mick-Muffin,” he said, and shut the door.

           Nat kept her face carefully straight.  “All right,” she said.  “I’m gonna need some equipment, but I can get the names of the buyers.”  And if she ever needed an eBay account, she’d remember to pick a username she wouldn’t mind seeing on her tombstone.

[yaelsstory]

Product Of A Murderer - Chapter 6

I’m sorry for spamming, guys. I’ve been neglecting this Tumblr-blog. For a little while, I’ve been thinking about erasing it as I raised the bar too high for myself, but I got over that. As  I’m trying to get it back up to date, I’m posting all the finished chapters at once, so I can post my new chapters at the same moment as I post them at AO3.

So please accept my apologies, I’m doing it to feel more comfortable, so I don’t have to stress out about this :)

Summary: Yaël, a twenty-four years old girl with the powers to control the four elements, lost all her memories after a terrible incident. While trying to get her memories back, she somehow befriends Wade Wilson and Peter Parker. It’s a bumpy road,  because after being gone for almost a year, everyone thinks she’s dead and there are many different reactions to her comeback. That …and while struggling to remember her life as it was before, she discovers that she isn’t who she thought she was. Maybe there are a few things she doesn’t want to remember at all… .

Note: This story is the third part of the Sweet Child of Mine-serie. You can read the other parts of this serie on AO3 on my account (Caspinn) or on my friend’s account (kalkoenvsneoklak).

If you want to read more about the story of Peter, Tony and Steve, you should read part one of the series: Being a Stark.

If you’re interested in the story of Natasha Romanoff and James “Bucky” Barnes, I suggest you to read part two of the series: Golden Locks, Silver Arms.

The next day, too, Yaël went to work. She even did some extra hours to please Diego. It rained all day, which sucked for someone who had to work outside. She surely hoped she wouldn’t get a cold again.

A few hours later, she walked back home, looking muddy and completely soaked. Her shoes made squishy noises as she walked into the hallway. Once she opened the door to her apartment, she sprinted into the shower, leaving her clothes on. After that, she hung her clothes to dry, put on a gigantic T-shirt, panties and nothing else.

She laid down on the fluffy rug with her cello and started tuning on the strings. After she fiddled with the instrument for a while, she got up and got a book and a blanket and installed herself in her sofa.

Yaël opened her eyes and stood in the familiar forest once again. Okay, so she fell asleep, oops. She’d surely have a sore neck the next morning from sleeping in the sofa.

“Welcome back.” There he was, the black-haired dude. This time, he had a braid tucking his hair back. It looked kind of awesome, though.

“Cool hair!” Yaël grinned.

“What? Oh…You once did this to me, actually.” He said with a smirk. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Yaël noticed there was no cage this time, she was free to move, probably because she broke it last time. Wait, that’s not logical at all, because it was a dream. But dreams never had any logic, did they? And where were all the other people by the way? Why were they in the last dream but not in this one? Would this guy have something to do with it?

“Why would I braid your hair?” she asked him casually while following. He was walking towards the little house where he walked out a while ago when she dreamt like this.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of a habit to have braids around here. I think my unbraided hair annoyed you.” Here? Where is here? Where were they? Yaël looked around, but all she could see were trees and darkness. As she looked up, she could see the lines of a few towers and turrets from some kind of castle far, far away, like she had seen before in these dreams.

The closer Yaël got to the cottage, the older it started to look, but also well maintained. Someone had taken care of all those flowers around the small building. Someone must’ve painted these shutters a thousand times and someone must’ve spend hours of keeping the ivy, curling up against the walls, in control.

Why could she almost see someone do it?

The man held the rounded door open for her. The light coming from the house looked inviting. Yaël’s mouth fell open as she walked in. The interior looked cozy and warm. There were plaids and rugs everywhere. An open fire warmed up the room and, together with a few candles, lighted it. There were no signs of electricity or modern devices of any kind. The bed was placed behind a big sort of curtain which served as a door and stood open a bit so Yaël could see it.

“I used to live here…” she mumbled to herself. The man, who decided to sit down for a minute while she looked around, stayed silent. “Who lived here with me?” Yaël turned around and saw that black-head eating a pear from the big basket of fruit standing next to the old, comfy-looking chair he was sitting in. So he was kind of stealing her pears now?

The man swallowed a piece of the fruit before he answered. “You lived here with your father a long time ago. A very, very long time ago. His name was-“

“Cem,” she interrupted him, remembering bits and pieces of the story. Cem, her dad, had been a big, muscular man with a grey beard, long, grey hair that was almost always braided and happy wrinkles of laughter under his eyes. His grey hair fitted with his blue eyes, blue because of being able to steer water, like a piece of art.

Suddenly, a memory came across Yaël’s mind, which made her flinch her a bit. She suddenly understood what the man meant with a long, long time ago, since her dad had died a long time ago. A very long time ago. Her dad had been coughing for a whole while, and after some time, the phlegm turned into blood. He died of some form of tuberculosis and Yaël stayed behind, alone.

Her mother, Agostina, had never been in the picture. She died when Yaël couldn’t even walk yet. Apperantly, Yaël had a younger sister, Nilla, who stayed in town when her father decided to move out. But why? Why did a young kid like Nilla decided to stay alone in a town? And why did Cem decide to move out of that town?

“You’re frowning, that doesn’t look pretty on you,” the man mumbled nonchalant while still hanging in the chair.

“Do you know why we moved into the forest? I mean like, there’s nobody else living here.” The man stood up and walked around.

“You once told me you were banished from town,” he answered while he fiddled with a plaid hanging against a wall and held his other hand behind his back.

“Why?”

“Because everyone thought you were ‘damaged’-“

“For having these weird powers?” she interrupted him.

“For having no powers at all.”

What?! “That doesn’t make sense, I can steer the four elements!”

He let the plaid go and turned to her, standing with his both hands behind his back.  Every move he made, was gracious, like he was royal or something.

“There was a time you didn’t have those powers,” he answered “I even met you when you still had no powers. So the king saw no use in you, and banned you as he was afraid you carried a disease that could infect others. He also wanted to make sure this way that you’d never reproduce. Because how could you have kids if you never came in contact with any men, right? And Cem didn’t want to send you alone in the woods, so he came with you and built this house, all on his own.”

“Then why didn’t my sister come with us?” Yaël felt like she knew the answers to all of her own questions, but she wanted him to tell it to her. She wanted to hear everything, so she was sure she wasn’t imagining stuff, even though he was just a part of her dream.

“Oh, but Nilla was very talented with her power: fire. The king kept her, so she’d work for him. She still does, I guess.”

“Wait, so, if I understand this correctly, I lived in a country where all people could steer the elements?”

“Well, everyone could steer one element, no one actually could do what you do: steering all four of them. Your dad steered water and your sister fire. Your mother had heterochromia, so she was one of the few people who could steer a bit of fire and a bit of air.” What was this town, or land or whatever? There was no place on earth like this one, right? Where there countries filled with people with powers to steer the elements?

“So…where the freaking freck on earth are we? And why can I steer all four elements if nobody else can do that?” The guy smirked at her.

“Oh,  my dear, we’re not even on earth… And your second question is a bit harder to explain.” No, that’s impossible, right? Well, at least, that would explain why Yaël still didn’t know half of how earth worked. Like the voting system; it freaked her out.

And she remembered taking the bus for the first time, that was way too complicated for her to understand, with the paying and then following the screen that flickered and kept saying the same stop because apparently it was broken and Yaël somehow had to guess where her stop was and then she didn’t know she had to push the button so she missed her own stop. The bus driver got angry at her for yelling “STOP!” so loudly.

“So I’m like, an alien?”

“There’s no shame in that as I am an alien too. From a different planet, though, but still some sort of alien.”

“Which planet is this?” Yaël asked as she looked through the window. It surely was a planet filled with trees.

“This planet’s called He-“

“YAËL, WAKE UP GIRLIE!” Yaël almost jumped out of bed from getting scared up.

“Holy shit,” she mumbled while rubbing her eyes. Who woke her- Oh, it surely was that freaking Wade again. He was the only one who called her ‘girlie’ and who would wake her up like this. Was he making a habit of waking her up? Yaël stamped towards the door and pulled it open aggressively.

“Wow, good morning, angry German bitch.” Wade cocked an eyebrow as he saw Yaël’s murderous looking face.

“Dude, I was so close from knowing what planet I came from!”

“Oh, sor-“

“Don’t say sorry, you jerk! You couldn’t know! Come in.” she grumbled pissed.

“So, you’re an alien? I told you Fury and X kept something from you.” Wade said while Yaël made a cup of coffee for him. Wade visited her for no specific reason. He knew she only had to work in the afternoon today, so he simply jumped in during the morning.

“Do you think they knew?”

“I don’t know, probably. Why don’t you ask them?” That was a good idea, she should call one of them. “So do you remember what language they speak on your planet?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s a bit complicated. We speak two languages, but in our dialect, we mix those two,” Yaël scratched her head, how could she remember the two/three languages she spoke, but not the name of the planet she came from? “One language is a specific one from our planet itself. The other one is Norwegian.”

“What? Norwegian? That’s a random language…Why would they speak that?”

“I don’t know,” Yaël shrugged.

“Well, count to ten in Norwegian for me!” Yaël laughed, this was so weird, a few hours ago, she didn’t even remember that she had another mother tongue.

“Uhm, let me see… Null, en, to, tre, fire, fem, seks, syv, åtte, ni, ti.” Wade clapped for her way to enthusiastically

“That sounds so crazy! Let me try it!”

Somehow Wade managed to pronounce every word correctly.

“Dude, are you Norwegian yourself or are you an alien too?” Yaël asked with a wide grin.

“Alt bra? Wow, detteermoro!” Wade answered her ‘How are you? Wow, this is fun!’ in fluent Norwegian. How did he even…?

“Wade, stop it, you’re freaking me out.” Yaël muttered. She’d never understand how this guy’s brain works, but it surely was freaking creepy.

“Do you want to go party tonight?” Wade randomly asked. Yaël was eating breakfast and Wade joined her around the table, sipping from his coffee.

“I have to work until seven, but I’m free tomorrow…meh, why not.”

“Good!” the guy grinned. Yaël somehow doubted if partying with Wade would be the most responsible thing to do, but whatever. Having some fun wasn’t a crime, right?

Wade stayed for the rest of the morning. They watched a few episodes of their series and made some arrangements for the night. Yaël quickly ate some soup, shooed Wade away and went to work again. She had to go Mr. and Mrs. Thompson again, so that was great! Would they have made some cookies again? While walking to the old couple’s house, she took her phone.

Wade was right, she should call professor X, maybe he’d know where she came from. She could also wait until she slept again, but she didn’t always dream about the forest, so there was no certainty in getting more info via the dream within this week and she really, really wanted to know it as soon as possible. But Yaël didn’t want to bother or disturb X once again.

On the other hand, Fury wouldn’t pick up the phone and X literally told her she should call him more frequently if something was wrong.

As soon as the beeping stopped and she heard a soft crack from someone picking up the phone, Yaël started speaking because she knew X didn’t always have the habit of starting to speak as he picked up.

“Hi, mister X?”

“Yes. Hello, Yaël.”

“Hi, uhm, I have a new problem.”

 “Your apartment got warmed up again, right?”

“Yes, yes, thank you for that!” Oh, wow, she felt like she sounded ungrateful.

“Okay, so what can I help you with?” he asked kindly.

“Uhm, so I dreamt again and, eh, I kind of discovered I’m from another planet. But somehow I remember the languages I speak, but I simply can’t remember the planet itself. So, I was wondering if you knew the name of my planet.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry, but I don’t have that information.”

He had to be kidding her, right? He read her files, he helped her through the tests once she woke up in that hospital-ish place. He must’ve got some info about her birthplace.

I’m afraid you never had the chance to tell mister Furywhere you’re from, or that he never wrote it in your files anyways and I never took the opportunity to dig into your mind for that info, X said in her head. Great, why did she even bother to call that man if she could just ‘think’ to communicate with him. Oh, shit, she never told him she accidentally met Steve in the park.

Oh. Fuck. Yaël, stop thinking.

“That’s okay, Yaël.” He started speaking through the phone again.

“W-why were you in my head and now- heh?” she muttered confusedly.

“Sometimes I too like to test my powers, Yaël. I’m not at all around New York at this time and I wanted to see if I can reach to you there.”

“You obviously can.”

“Yes, but it’s extremely uncomfortable. I’d say I’d come over to help you, but I have a few meetings this week, spread across the country. If I’d reach further I’d be able to help you from afar, but I’m afraid that won’t work out.”

“That’s okay, sir.”

 “I’ll come over to do another session as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, sir. There’s no hurry.” At least she didn’t want him to think he’d have to hurry, he was too kind for her.

She felt a bit frustrated after that phone call. Somehow, she had hoped X had answers for her, but he had none. Maybe she should call Fury? Last time, he let his assistant pick up in his place. But there was no harm in trying, right?

*Beep beep* Yaël sighed, why was she even trying?

“Yes?” Fury sounded a bit annoyed, like he was suspecting that she did something stupid again.

Holy shit, he actually picked up the phone.

“Eh, hi, it’s Yaël. I have a question, mister Fury?”

“What is it?” talking to Fury surely wasn’t as pleasant as talking to X. Fury sounded way more…restive. Probably because he didn’t like her anyways.

So Yaël told her about her recently gained memories and asked him about the planet she came from. His answer was clear.

“Are you calling me for this? I don’t have time for things like this, Yaël. Why don’t you call mister Rogers or whoever about that?” And with that, he hung up.

Because you never informed me that I could contact mister freaking Rogers, dick! Yaël thought. But, it wasn’t a bad idea actually! Steve was going to help her if Fury wanted it or not and he could…he could…Oh, fuck it!

Yaël stomped through the street while slamming on the touch screen of her phone. Wait a bloody minute. Steve’s number wasn’t in her phone… what?! She still didn’t have his number! Suddenly Yaël discovered she walked too far, which didn’t light up her mood.

Yaël had to rake the leaves, the most braindead job the Thompsons could have given her. Well, no, pulling out the weeds like the previous time was most definitely more braindead. Not that she’d ever complain about certain tasks. She’d just put on her headphones and dig into it.

But this time, she needed no music. She could just calm down a bit and think about the situation. Like for instance, if she’d called Steve right after calling Fury, she would have been somewhat more aggressive towards him and afterwards, she’d be sorry about that.

Not that he had never seen her angry before, but still, this situation wasn’t Steve’s fault at all. Guess she just had to be patient about it. With some luck, she’d dream about it that night.

When Yaël was finally finished with raking all the leaves it started pouring rain again. Then the rain turned into hail. Freaking January.

Without even thinking about it, Yaël steered the rain and hail away from her, so it seemed she had some sort of waterproof shield around her. She picked up the leaves and started putting them into big bags. When she looked up, she saw Mrs. Thompson staring at her from her kitchen window, with her mouth fallen open.

Yaël looked up and then it kicked in that her clients didn’t know about her powers at all. What could she do? Yaël panicked and stopped steering the hail.  Which caused her getting soaked, but she hoped Mrs. Thompson would think she imagined it. The old woman disappeared behind the window. Yaël should go and get her bag, right? It was time to go. But as she went to get her backpack, someone opened the backdoor.

“Sweet child, come in!” Mrs. Thompson yelled. Yaël looked up confusedly. “Come on, before you get sick!”

Yaël nodded slowly and then took a sprint to the house.

“Here, get a cookie!” Yaël was put in front of an open fire with a trillion blankets wrapped around her. Mr. Thompson was still putting new lumps of firewood into the open fire. Yaël took a cookie from the plate Mrs. Thompson was holding in front of her nose.

“T-thanks,” she said. This wasn’t what she’d thought would happen if she’d use her powers in front of clients.

“So, are you a mutant, too?” Mr. Thompson casually asked while wiping off his hands on his pants. Wow, that question got dropped on her like a bomb. What could she say? Did she have to explain that she was an alien or would that make things go bad?

“Eh, sort of,” she mumbled vaguely.

“We had two grandchildren who were mutants.” Mrs. Thompson happily mentioned. Yaël remembered Mrs. Thompson telling her once that the couple only had one daughter because they couldn’t get any more and that they simply gave up that big-family-dream at some point and gave their daughter and grandchildren all the love they had.

“Well, Scott still is, but many years ago, back in the early nineties, Alex passed away.” She pointed at the pictures of two men, hanging above their open fire. There were many pictures of them, as babies playing on the beach, as kids on a horse mill with their grandmother, as teenagers playing baseball with their grandfather…

Yaël totally didn’t know how to react to that, but it seemed like they didn’t expect her to as they just kept talking. They clearly didn’t need to hear her condolences for something that happened years ago.

“Yup, their parents were always ashamed about the mutant-stuff, though.” Mr. Thompson said. “They always lied, and still lie, about it to everyone. They say they send them to a boarding school for their troubling behavior, but Alex was actually kind of rescued from solitary confinement by this Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, where he was put in for not being able to control his powers. They took him to this school… uh…”

“Xavier’s school for Gifted Youngsters!” Mrs. Thompson helped her husband.

“Yes! And a few years later, Scott started showing his powers as well, which troubled his parents somehow and they called Alex to come and pick up the little one too. He still visits us every now and then and sends us postcards. Lovely young boy.”

Yaël stayed and had dinner with the Thompsons, she felt more welcome than ever. But they had always had the talent for making her feel welcome. They didn’t ask her to show off her powers or anything, they just let her be who she was and accepted her that way. Hopefully Scott knew how lucky he was with grandparents like this.

Mr. and Mrs. Thompson did ask a few questions out of curiosity. Questions like: “So, did you also go to Xavier’s school?” Yaël’s trick was stuffing her mouth with peas so that she’d always have a few seconds before she could answer, because she needed some time to think about it.

She remembered Fury and X discussing the fact that X trained her for a while. That probably happened at his school, right? So she nodded.

“Oh, so then you must know Scotty! He’s a teacher there. Maybe you students called him mister Summers…” Mrs. Thompson chattered happily.

Errr, shit, Yaël was kind of trapped in that one. Quickly she pushed a big spoon of peas into her mouth again. If she went to the school, she must have met Scott there, right? So Yaël nodded again, only to realize that she could’ve put herself into a corner again. Hopefully they didn’t ask her about the course Scott gave or about homework or anything. She surely wished he taught her how to take a bus a while ago.

But luckily, with that Mr. Thompson looked at the clock and told his wife their soap was going to start. So Yaël helped them clean the table and thanked them a thousand times before stepping into the rain again, this time with an umbrella she got from Mrs. Thompson.

[reaganyouth]

Merry Easter bitches and Passover alike. Now go say your lords prayer about forgiving your debtors as you get ready to pay your rent, cuz it sure ain’t a Happy one

It's Easter and no ones at church, sacrilegious ! Maybe now people can finally grow up and realize religion is useless today. Priests are more pedophile then they're clerical. They used to be "clerics" in the sense they told you what day it was, church bells gave the hour of day because no one had a watch or read your mail because few could read and write, let alone count. We're told to expect a new "normal". Trump promised us deaths would be down to zero and we'd be allowed out for Easter. Instead only promise he delivered on was handing out hard working taxpayers money to corporate interests,none to individuals expressing their individuality. Only Rothchilds and Hapsburgs are allowed that while Senator Loeffler

and her husband, who runs the NYSE insider trade away on our misery. Think those fucks have cabin fever stuck inside their cities like some bird locked in a cage,only able to be let out and fly around the room, but never really free. This shit is, was and doesn't have to be the new normal. There are pyramids in Egypt, the Bible tells the "greatest story ever told" and it's so good it's still going on now. Wage slavery and incarceration, just like being an indentured servant is plain ole slavery, and slavery is murder. The White House has it's Pyramid just like there's a pyramid in Trafalgar Square or the front yard of the Vatican. Yes that Vatican that's not doing mass 'live" but on line, so you can't eat Christ's body or even drink his blood. Go out because you're covered in Jesus' blood and that protects you? What does that Bible belter identify with,the centurion that stabs Jesus' side? Now to get us used to being traced. Greenbacks are gonna disappear and your dealer is gonna have your info in their app. Out of town? Then download the app steering you to your closet local drug dealing spot. but until then y om the rich and give to the poor, the last mafioso not state sanctioned, no not Kevin Costner or even Robin Hood, but Salvatore Guiliano. 

Go watch Francis Ford Coppola's "The Sicilian" if you want to watch a really crappy movie about Guiliano with no mention of that fact. My source, a Sicilian who drove me all around Germany so he schooled me on that. Fuck google search. But rent is going to be due. So what's you gonna do? I know some landlords are smoking crack and drinking while their beautiful daughter stays with them because they're out of work. You can't model now. Thanks landlord of my band mate, for doing that and not asking her for rent. But self medicating ain't gonna help. 99% of Landlords shouldn't die but they shouldn't get paid either. they are not our Lord and it ain’t their land. PROPERTY IS THEFT !. I'm talking about motherfuckers who would charge every human to breath if the could control the air around us. And what to do with them ? I’d suggest the Yugoslavian communist model of having the children of the 1% kill their parents if they want to live in a just society as opposed to Pence wanting U.S. to follow the Italian model of stop counting the dead. Now some will say “But now's not the time! To talk about this”. Too busy in isolation ? Or “We got to come together in this tragedy” By not having enough time to think of an alternative to the new normal ? Or by respecting the dead by ignoring them ? One NYC cop dies it's a big deal and all over the news. When 25 die they're a statistic. As for my view of the police I align myself in the same train of thought as Pier Pasolini. Now today Anarchists have someone like Cody Rutledge Wilson 

but where are the Leon Czolgosz's ? He treated McKinley presidential the same way Lincoln and JFK were treated presidential. If it wasn't for Leon then we never would have had the only president with the balls to threaten to sic the U. S Army on the Coal Barron's and not striking miners. 

But that president spoke softly and carried a big stick while today our president talks shit and thought it okay for America to get sick. Sicker then any other country out there today. China sure knew how to play Trump like a fiddle and all they needed was the best chocolate cake Trump ever ate. Don’t snicker at communism, it’s still going strong in China where they didn’t have to renounce religion because they don’t believe in God. God is dead and if you don’t know now you know. Where is our Nestor Makhnov? 

Allowing prosperity for all while repulsing the 1% and greedy neighbors like Russia and Germany. Was Nestor Maknov the leader? No, just the head amongst equals. And what happened after a president last wielded power like Teddy Rooselvelt,

Americas most popular president of all time, well by 99% of it’s citizens at his time? Betrayed by Taft which opened the door for the KKK's Woodrow Wilson to be president. He instituted the banking system, The Fed, that insures the rich get richer and the poor get murdered as he presided over WWI plus the Spanish Flu and got rid of many unwanteds. Kinda like what’s going on today. Now History ain’t as big as religion here in Amerikkka so I’ll offer up a sermon or two;

If I were asked to answer the following question: What is slavery? and I should answer in one word, It is murder!, my meaning would be understood at once. No extended argument would be required to show that the power to remove a man's mind, will, and personality, is the power of life and death, and that it makes a man a slave. It is murder. Why, then, to this other question: What is property? may I not likewise answer, It is robbery!, without the certainty of being misunderstood; the second proposition being no other than a transformation of the first?

— Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, What is Property?[I]

That was some new testimonial for y’all

Ending it a real creation story

The first man who, having enclosed a piece of ground, bethought himself of saying 'This is mine', and found people simple enough to believe him, was the real founder of civil society. From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this impostor; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody."

DO THEY OWE US A LIVING ?

OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO ! 

Peace Unto Us All,.... well 99.9% of us that is ;-)