#ignore how the mask keeps disappearing and reappearing it each drawing

[way2gosuperrstarr]

im stretch, and im squash, 🔥🔥the exaggerated expression brothers🔥🔥 /ref 🗣️🗣️

(featuring @missy-wholesome16 . I CAN TAG YOU NOW 🗣️🗣️🗣️)

[allthingskakashi]

please please please do 10 with kakashi :,)

I'm not very satisfied with this but i hope you like it bb 😩❤️

• Try and Stop me •

[ Kakashi x Reader]

Fluff Prompt : "Try and stop me"

You chug what is probably your third cup of coffee in one quick gulp, before putting down the ceramic mug on your desk with a thud.

You have a long, long night ahead of you, and just the sight of all the papers strewn about in front of you, papers that you are yet to grade, is giving you a ringing headache.

The deadline for submitting the graded papers is in two days, and as usual, you procrastinated till the very last moment, causing you to now find yourself in a grave of your own creation.

A loud, exasperated sigh escapes your lips, as you rub your eyes and try to focus your gaze on the letters written in horrible handwriting in front of you. The severe sleep deprivation is catching up to you, making the little letters look as if they’re dancing around on the sheets, and your bottom feels numb from being glued to the chair for heaven knows how long now. But judging by the fact that it was light outside when you sat down and the current view from your window is a dark black sky, it’s probably been a while.

To top it all off, the knowledge that your boyfriend is in the very next room, home after such a long time is doing nothing to ease your pain. The two of you have had such busy schedules lately, you’ve barely had time for each other. But now you are here, under one roof after ages and you still cannot spend time with him. You berate yourself mentally for the tenth time today, for putting yourself in this position.

Looking away to escape the dancing letters for a minute, your gaze falls on Kakashi, making his way into the living room.

“You okay there?” his voice travels through the distance as he glances at you, and you watch him trudge into the kitchen.

“Yeah, just grading my hundredth paper, questioning my existence, the usual stuff” you yell back, your hand moving in steady scribbles on the paper.

Kakashi reappears in a few seconds, holding a glass of water in his hand as he makes his way up to your desk, before placing the glass softly next to you.

You feel your insides turning to mush immediately, his face a remedy for your sore eyes. “Thank you, Kashi” you mutter as he goes around to stand behind you, gently massaging your shoulders in small circles with his fingers. His touch is like elixir and you fight to prevent yourself from melting into it.

He plants a quick peck on your head, mumbling a “Don’t work too late” into your hair before turning around to walk away.

You watch him go, his lean frame walking across the hardwood floor before disappearing into the next room again. You let out another tired sigh, every fibre in your body screaming to get to him, yearning to just get done with all this already so you can be in bed with Kakashi.

With a heavy heart and an aching hand, you force yourself to get back to the papers. You shuffle through them as fast as you can, hastily working your way through the bunch. No matter what, you HAVE to be done with these by tonight. But the abominable answers on some of these papers aren’t making your job any easier.

Under “State which hand sign is formed at the end of a sparring match between two shinobi”, one of the kids from your class seems to have written a rather… unexpected answer. Striking it out with your pen, you make a mental note to have a word with him tomorrow.

You continue ticking and crossing, your hand moving almost in a blur as the hours tick by. The headache claws at your temples but you have no choice but to ignore it. You think of checking the time but even getting up from the chair would mean losing precious minutes so you remain seated, going against even siren in your body to keep working.

The minutes and seconds blend into each other, making you lose track of time. That is, until you suddenly find yourself being yanked back into the world of the living by the call of a familiar voice.

“Y/n!?”, the abrupt interruption makes you jerk in your chair, and you look up to catch Kakashi standing beside you, his brows creased into a furrow. “It’s 12 a.m.!”

“Oh crap, really!?” you start, shocked yourself at how late it is. “But I still—”

“Y/N” his voice almost comes out in a rebuke, cutting yours off. “Get your ass off that chair right now”

You glance back and forth between him and the papers, a deep ache at the back of your neck making even this little movement seem tiresome. “You don’t understand Kakashi, I still have a lot of work left” you object, panic rising in your chest.

“It can wait” Kakashi replies, making his way closer to you. “Have you even eaten dinner?”

“no, but—”

“No buts.” He says, his tone assertive. “You’re overworking yourself. It’s not good for you”

You look at him, his expression a fusion of exasperation and concern. But as much as you appreciate it, you really must keep working. No matter the cost.

“Look, Kakashi” you coax, “you don’t understand. I appreciate your concern, but I can’t get up right now, okay?” you say, exhaustion evident in your tone as you get back to correcting papers.

You haven’t even taken a bath today and you’re currently running on a packet of cookies and three cups of coffee. You feel filthy, hungry, dizzy and tired out of your bones but that just doesn’t matter right now.

Kakashi doesn’t make any more protests, even though you can still feel him standing there. But as long as he doesn’t try to stop you, you’re fine with him standing there staring at you for as long as he likes.

“Okay then.” You hear Kakashi say, and you figure he’s going to let this go, so you don’t bother looking up.

Within a second, however, you feel his body behind you, one hand snaking around your shoulder and the other moving under your legs.

“Kakashi, what the hell are you doing!?” you yell, trying, in vain, to pat his hands away.

But he’s already gripped under your legs and you can feel yourself being lifted off the chair. “Kakashi, put me down, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” you scream louder this time, squirming and flailing in his hold and patting him on the arm as he plonks you over his shoulder.

“Getting your ass off that stupid chair” he replies flatly as he continues to carry you down the hall.

“And where the hell do you think you’re taking me?” you wail, carrying on with your flails and cries.

“To the bath. I’m drawing you a warm bath and heating you up some dinner and putting you to bed so you can get some rest and wake up tomorrow and finish the rest of your work.” Kakashi replies in the same flat tone, putting his palm at the back of your head and crouching as he enters through the doorway of the bedroom.

“You will do no such thing! I HAVE to finish my work by TONIGHT so Kakashi Hatake, you will put me down right now!” you yell again, trying to scrounge up every last bit of strength in your body, but all that you can manage is a weak, tiny squeak.

You notice the bathroom approaching and stare blankly, helpless in his hold as Kakashi enters through the door, with you still plonked over his shoulder. He shuts the door with one hand, before putting you down on the tiled floor.

Once freed of his grasp, you begin your protests again, “I’m not going to let you abduct me from my own living room Kakashi, I have work, you cannot do this right now. I won't let you.”

Kakashi stands leaning against the closed bathroom door, smirking under his mask as he looks at you. “Well...” he drawls, flipping around to lock the door before taking his time turning around to face you again, his dark eyes piercing into yours.

“Try and stop me.”

[teyvattherapist]

Twin Swords - Act iii - The Final Dance

~Return To Liyue Harbour Between 1900 - 2100~

Liyue Harbour was quieter at night, usually busy streets now darkened and lit by the occasional lamp. Though, it was still far more active than Mondstadt at the same hour. Paimon floated beside you as you walked, once more on her usual spiel about being hungry. (Didn’t we just eat?) As if reading your mind, your companion huffed. “We ate two hours ago! Paimon thinks it's time for a snack.” She exclaimed, floating around you excitedly.

(Always hungry, huh?)

>I guess we could stop at Wanmin Restaurant.

Paimon lit up at that, your companion giggling as she floated ahead of you. “Come on, Traveler!” She called. How come she couldn’t move that quickly when you two were hiking? Nonetheless, you followed after her down the road. “Do I want Jueyun Chili Chicken.. Or ooh maybe Squirrel Fish? Or how about-”

>Black-Back Perch Stew?

“Yes! You know just what I want, Traveler.” She mused, slowing her pace so you could comfortably walk beside her. You gave your companion a smile as she continued on without a care in the world. Despite the hiccup with the Treasure Hoarders a few days before, she seemed relatively excited at the relaxing break from recent events.

You waved at Katheryne as you passed by her, the adventurers’ guild receptionist waving back with her usual smile. Paimon left your side once more, closing the distance between where you stood and where Wanmin Restaurant was located. (Always eager for food, good old Paimon..)

“Hi Chef Mao!!”

~After A Satisfying Second Dinner~

Paimon sighed happily as you two left the restaurant, clearly satisfied with her fill. You followed your companion into the lit square, stopping at the small pond across from the alchemy table. “You know..” Your companion trailed off, drawing your attention. “I wonder why those Treasure Hoarders seemed so intent on attacking you. That was weird.”

(Yes, it was weird.. They’d always been a problem, but that was brazen.)

You stretched your arms upwards, looking away from the pond to survey the square instead. “And how did the Fatui know they took us?” She gasped, realisation dawning on her. “Do you think they were watching us?!” You lowered your arms once more, opting to shrug your shoulders instead. (Certainly possible..)

Before you could respond to her though, a nearby blast caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing as you attempted to locate the source. Your gaze was drawn upwards, the red bridges that stood overhead not far away. The bridge leading to the bank was covered in what seemed like a thick layer of ice. “Let’s go see what that is!” Paimon darted forwards and you quickly followed after her.

The lack of millelith in the area surprised you as you raced down the streets towards the staircases. Usually two guards stood by near here, but they were suspiciously missing. You didn’t have time to think about it as you skidded to a stop in front of the staircase, looking upwards at the ice filled staircase.

“How are we going to get over this?” You ignored her, opting to instead look around, eyes landing on the other staircase. You moved towards it, your companion following with a squeak at your quick movements. “Traveler, be careful!” Paimon called as you ran up the stairs. The storyteller’s area was quiet in the evening, but you paid it no mind as you headed up the next set of stairs.

You stopped in front of the bridge that led to Northland Bank, the night guard surprisingly missing from beside the entrance, the bridge itself coated in a layer of ice. Paimon whipped her head around as she tried to find another way. You stepped onto the ice, hand moving to the railing to keep yourself steady as you traversed the ice.

You stumbled forwards at the end, catching yourself on the left railing near to the door. Loud crashing within the bank caught your attention and you spared a glance at Paimon who nodded, looking back at the door herself. Here goes nothing...

~Investigate the Commotion Within Northland Bank~

The doors slammed open as you entered the bank, immediately struck with the sight of the night guard, Nadia, struggling to push herself up beside you. Paimon left your side, immediately joining the guard while she struggled. While Paimon attempted to help her, you tore your gaze from Nadia, to the centre of the entrance, to Ekaterina on the ground in front of the desk.

“Captain Ohm?!” Paimon’s voice drew your gaze upwards, to the captain presumably at the centre of all of this. Tartaglia attempted to use Ohm’s surprise to his advantage, but the captain disappeared from his spot, reappearing behind him instead. Instinctively, you drew your weapon, sword in hand as you surveyed the situation.

“Don’t try it.”

Tartaglia grunted when he dropped to his knees, the captain overpowering him with brute force. Ohm sighed, adjusting his grip on his sword. The only person seemingly uninjured was Sandrone, who stood within the chaos with his arms at his side. “Wait.” Sandrone spoke up, Ohm stilling. “That.. Scar on your mouth..” He trailed off, familiarity bleeding into his words. “Don’t hurt him.”

(Wait a minute..)

Ohm moved quickly, porcelain soon cracking against the tile floor. You eyed the white and gold mask that now laid in several pieces upon the ground. Golden eyes soon trailing up to confirm your suspicions. “So there are two of you!” Paimon exclaimed as she looked between Ohm and a now unmasked Sandrone.

(They’re twins..)

Ohm lowered his sword arm, eyeing his brother. Sandrone tilted his head to the side, long bangs partially obscuring his vision. Even here, even now, his face remained painfully neutral. “Yes, there are two of us.”

Sandrone hummed, turning his head to look at Tartaglia, the ginger still on his knees. “I find myself confused at this turn of events.” Tartaglia looked away, staring at the nearby wall. “This would imply you have hid my family from me, Tartaglia.” His voice remained neutral as he spoke.

(That’s not good.)

“That isn’t an implication, he has.”

Tartaglia struggled to stand back up, wavering from the afflicted injury from earlier. Sandrone crossed his arms over his chest, lilac eyes never leaving the younger harbinger. “Okay!” He admitted, cracking under the scrutinizing stare. “I have but-”

“They told me nobody was missing me.”

Paimon’s soft gasp didn’t go unheard by you as she looked between the three, your companion soon joining your side. “Oh..” She trailed off, looking at you with a frown on her face. You merely returned the expression.

“You have to understand-”

“Do I?”

Ohm scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked at the eleventh harbinger. (He’s clearly bitter.) The captain used his free hand to gesture. “No he doesn’t.”

“But-”

Sandrone inhaled shakily, soon shaking his head. “I trusted you.” You blinked in surprise at the sudden tone of anger and betrayal from the man you had come to know as completely void. Tartaglia hung his head, averting his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I had to.”

Paimon leaned towards you, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Should we go..?”

(This is.. Sad. I can't imagine if I forgot Lumine/Aether..)

Ohm held his free hand out to his brother, drawing Sandrone’s attention, the harbinger looking between him and his hand. “Come home with me, Sulien.” Tartaglia’s head snapped up at the words, the younger harbinger looking at them once more.

“You can’t take him, I’m sorry.”

Sandrone narrowed his eyes at his fellow harbinger. “Isn’t that my choice to make?”

“Think it through, Sandrone, She won't let you just leave.” Tartaglia explained, his usual joyful demeanour now completely gone. “You're too important to her plans.” The man pointed out much to Ohm’s chagrin.

Sandrone lowered his head as he thought it through, eyes closing momentarily. Eventually he sighed, nodding his head. “He’s right. I can’t go with you.”

“Very well, I understand.” Ohm dropped his hand, his sword disappearing from his grip as he took a step away from the harbingers. (Huh..?) Ohm turned his head to Tartaglia. “But know this, Tartaglia, now that I know where my brother is I will get him home, maybe not now. But I promise you.” The captain threatened in a low voice, the harbinger in question nodding in understanding.

Your sword disappeared from your side as you straightened out. (I don’t understand.) You watched as Sandrone bent down, grabbing his broken mask from the ground. Ohm turned towards you and Paimon, forcing the two of you away from each other so that he could wordlessly leave the bank.

You turned to look at the door, eyebrows furrowing at the turn of events.

“Come on Sul-”

“Don’t call me that. We have work to do.”

~Confront Ohm Outside the Bank~

Ohm hadn’t gotten very far down the stairs before you caught up with him, the captain stopping once he realised you were rushing after him. Paimon placed her fists on her hips as he turned towards the two of you, seemingly unfazed by the turn of events. You furrowed your brows at him, he seemed so unbothered.

>You’re just giving up?!

>You’re leaving?!

The captain nodded his head in affirmation, arms crossing over his chest. But he didn’t respond further, didn’t say anything more. This was who Mondstadt placed their trust in? You couldn’t help but find it laughable. “You’re his brother, you can’t just abandon him!” (Again.) Your words seemed to have no impact on Ohm who turned his head away.

(Oh, Traveler, how naive you are.)

You stared at him, only growing more disappointed in his response to these events. You couldn’t imagine leaving behind your sibling. Especially not now. Even Paimon seemed upset as her frown continued to grow. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Captain?” You questioned, tone harsher than usual.

(This world is so willing to destroy you.)

Ohm tilted his head to look at you and you were painfully reminded of Sandrone’s own action. How had you missed this until just now? They were similar and yet so different. Out of the two of them, you almost trusted the Harbinger more. Dull lilac eyes stared through you and though you shifted uncomfortably, you merely stared back.

(And what will you do when you realise how few friends you truly have?)

“No, I don’t. I have made my choice.” Ohm finally responded, straightening out. Paimon gasped and then huffed at him. (Does he not understand?) You tried to understand his reasoning, but the captain before you was just as elusive as ever. “You look at me as if I’ve wronged you.” Ohm laughed, but his eyes didn’t shine. “Have I?”

(What will you do when you see the true nature of Celestia and this world?)

Paimon stammered and you looked away from his expectant stare. Technically no, but it felt like he did. Maybe you were too close to this, it was too similar. “Doesn’t giving up mean you’ve failed? Why give up now?!” Paimon questioned, moving to cross her arms instead. Ohm hummed in response instead.

“I have to return to Mondstadt. I will see you in time, Traveler.”

“H-Hey wait!” Paimon stammered, but he was gone in a puff of black and navy smoke. “Where did he go?!” She exclaimed, moving around as if she could see where he went. (I will see you in time? Why did that sound so ominous?) You sighed, dropping your hands to your side and shaking your head at your traveling companion. He was gone.

(Will you stand the test of time as I have, or will you crumble under the pressure this world presents?)

Ohm looked over the ledge of the roof down at the Traveler and their companion, a frown slowly blossoming onto his features. He watched as Paimon led them away, off to who knows where to continue their journey across Teyvat. Lilac eyes drifted to the moon above, imposing and always present. A guide in the dark to travelers lost within the night’s clutches.

“You do not yet understand, and yet, I do hope you never do.”

[alirhi]

chapter 4

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 4/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky, reference to BuckyNat Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: m/m, this chapter m/f, some light kink, a little drama, references to murder that I probably should have been putting in the warnings sooner lol Notes: I have no idea when the Winter Soldier killed RJ Nakajima, so I once again decided to just go with what suited my purposes. Also, I love that Loki is a shapeshifter XD

Before he went back to Asgard, there was one thing Loki knew he had to do. He couldn't come all the way here without seeing his beloved, no matter how much it hurt to see what HYDRA had turned him into. Deep down, he was still Bucky, and Loki owed it to him to face his present, not live forever in his past. Bad enough he hadn't been back to see him in twenty years.

It took a bit of doing, but he found him, and, thankfully, he was out of the freezer. Unfortunately, he was standing over a couple of corpses again.

"How is it I always seem to find you knee-deep in blood and death?" An exaggeration, to be sure, but it didn't feel like much of one as he stepped delicately past an old man with a broken neck and did his best to ignore the young man with a bullet in his head slumped against the door. "Do they never thaw you out for a run to Starbucks?"

Bucky turned to look at him, and he was momentarily thrown by the muzzle-like mask covering most of his love's handsome face. Those eyes were the same, though; vacant, vaguely confused, but still beautiful and familiar. And then a spark of recognition that made Loki's heart soar.

"You remember me, don't you?" He stepped just a little closer, fighting to ignore the reek of human blood and just focus on those big, pretty blue eyes.

Once again, he found himself with a metal hand wrapped round his throat, this time with a wall at his back. Loki rolled his eyes. "You can't harm me, Sergeant. Didn't we establish this last time?"

"Last time...?"

Confusion clouded the recognition and Loki sighed, reaching up. Apparently, the soldier recalled just enough of their last encounter to know what he was about to do, because he immediately released his throat to pin both arms at his sides. Exasperated, but mildly encouraged, Loki struggled. He managed to wrench one arm free and reached for Bucky's head again, and again was thwarted. "Damn it, you stubborn fool! Let me remind you who you are!"

This went on for a few minutes, Loki attempting to free himself so he could dig through Bucky's mind, and the drone HYDRA had turned Bucky into constantly fighting to keep him pinned. He eventually spun Loki around to face the wall and pinned him again, both hands clutched behind his back in that damned metal vice grip.

The Trickster laughed, turning his head to glance at him over his shoulder. "Well, this is familiar, isn't it? It's been some time since we played this game."

The soldier didn't respond, but he did let up. Free at last, Loki turned, adjusted his clothing, and stepped back.

"Alright, Sergeant. We'll play this another way." For so many reasons, he wanted to get them both the hell away from the bodies. This was, after all, a crime scene, and while Loki could disappear with little issue, he couldn't leave his lover, nor the helpless shell of him, to be caught and incarcerated. And the smell of the young man's blood really was quite nauseating. With a playful smirk he hoped Bucky couldn't see was fake, he taunted, "Catch me if you can!"

Then he was gone. As he reappeared at the end of the hall, he reveled in the way his prey glanced around in confusion, and then radiated frustration when he spotted him. With a cheeky grin and a wave, Loki turned and fled, on foot this time. He could hear Bucky's heavy boots clumping along behind him.

Every time he heard Bucky begin to gain on him, Loki hopped a few yards ahead, but he was careful to always stay in the other man's line of sight. He didn't want to actually lose him, after all; the point was to make him chase. Finally they made it to a room at the opposite end of the hotel a few floors up from where they'd been, that Loki sensed was unoccupied. Not trusting the soldier to get the hint after his brazen double homicide in the corridor, he waited until he was sure Bucky could see him at the door, and then disappeared behind it.

Sure enough, the brute kicked the door open and followed him inside. With a laugh much more genuine than anything he'd managed in over sixty years, Loki simply waited. The exhilaration of the chase was still making his blood sing, and the frustrated determination in Bucky's eyes set his nerves on fire. In all his grief for the loss of the man he loved and his desperation to get him back, it had never occurred to Loki until this moment that there might be something in the obedient soldier to explore. Not obedient to him, but that was fine; that had never been their dynamic.

"It's alright, Sergeant," he assured him, hands out to his sides to show he wouldn't make a move. "I won't drag James out again. Not this time. It causes you both pain, and that isn't what I want."

"I don't care what you want." That voice, still monotonous and without emotion, made Loki smile even as the soldier closed the distance between them and shoved him roughly to the floor. He'd been prepared for that this time, and he went down easily on purpose, dragging not-Bucky down with him.

"Luckily, all I want is this." He tried to tug Bucky closer for a kiss despite the stupid muzzle, and pouted when he turned his head to evade him. Had they stripped him of his sexuality, as well as his free will?

No. He shifted position a bit and his thigh brushed over evidence that, even when Bucky vacated the premises, his body still felt.

But could he consent? That thought stopped him cold as he searched the soldier's eyes and saw only confusion and hesitation. Did not-Bucky even understand what was happening? Just how much of him had HYDRA stripped away and crushed down to the deepest corners of his subconscious in order to control him?

"What do you want, Sergeant?" No answer, naturally. He likely had never been asked that before. Heart hammering in his chest, Loki reached up and, moving slowly so as not to startle him, tugged Bucky's mask off. He was beautiful; unchanged since 1943, save for that unruly mop of hair. Rather than drop his hand back to his side, he stroked that long dark hair. "May I?"

Bucky flinched, eyes wild and still clouded with such confusion and uncertainty that it nearly broke his heart. He didn't move away, though, and Loki chose to see that as a hopeful sign.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured as, ever so painfully slowly, he let his hand come to rest on Bucky's head. "I won't dig, won't bring anything forward. Not this time. I'm just going to skim the surface, alright? Just organize things for you, just a little. Is that alright?"

The soldier closed his eyes and pressed his head against Loki's hand like a cat seeking affection. Heart swelling with gratitude for this small sign of trust, Loki closed his eyes as well, and searched as gently as he could. How much of you still lingers when you're like this? Of how much are you aware?

Though he tried to suppress it, ignore it, the errant thought still skittered through his mind: Do you even still love me?

There was no recognition; absolutely nothing remained of their time together in 1943, not up on the surface, at least. Loki's name fluttered vaguely through the soldier's surface thoughts, but only in the vaguest of recollections from their encounter in 1991. He didn't love him; he didn't even feel love.

But he did feel lust. Loki almost laughed as he found what he was looking for. The soldier had had sex before, with a lovely redheaded woman who'd gotten in his way during a mission. So, he understood the concept, at least well enough to know if he actually wanted to do it. There was some will remaining, then; they'd only stripped from him his ability to refuse an order. They would still burn for that.

Something else filtered through the static that did make him laugh, even as not-Bucky pinned him to the floor, holding both of his wrists down. He wanted him, but he had no idea what to do with him. He didn't have access to his memories of their relationship, so it really shouldn't have been a surprise, but Loki still couldn't help laughing.

1943 Bucky hadn't known what to do, either. Frankly, neither had 1943 Loki; the two young lovers had had to learn together, through frantic, awkward fumbling. He wouldn't mind teaching the soldier what he and Bucky had taught each other, but there was that small matter of a murder scene downstairs, and the fact that they were technically trespassing in a vacant hotel room. Then there was the mess he was contending with on Asgard.

"Alas," he told the man on top of him with a smile, "We haven't the time for much fun, especially not with your mind in such a scramble."

Reveling in the stunned look on Bucky's face, Loki shifted into a female form and made her clothing vanish, neatly folded and piled on a nearby chair. "Is this more familiar, love?"

"How did you...?"

She grinned, took advantage of his momentary distraction, and slipped out of his grasp. "I imagine this form will be a bit easier for you to navigate, yes? You certainly seemed to have little issue finding the right hole with her." Ooh, jealousy was not a comfortable feeling! Whoever this redhead, this Natasha was, Loki wanted to turn her world upside down and set it on fire for good measure.

But first... First she wanted to play. The soldier was on his feet, chasing her across the room and she laughed, nimbly evading him. He was stronger and faster than any other human, but still too bulky to be as agile as she was. She skirted his clumsy grabs for her every time, taunting him and occasionally blowing him kisses as she flitted around the room. Neither of them had time for this, but she didn't give a damn, at least for the moment. Loki hadn't felt Bucky's touch, his weight on him, in nearly seventy years; somehow in their time together, this female side had never been brought out to play. She wanted to feel him, but she wanted to make him earn it, first.

Too late, she realized she wasn't the only one playing a game when suddenly the soldier's arms were around her, quick as a striking snake. So, he was as agile as she was, after all. She found herself slammed back against the wall and that icy metal hand at her throat again, and with a grin, she leaned into it.

"One day, you'll have to tell me what happened there." With a fist in his long hair, she yanked him closer and finally got the kiss she'd been aching for. "But for now, Sergeant, I just want you to use it."

"Be careful what you wish for." Oh, lovely! Where had this playful streak come from, then? There was a gleam in his eyes that Loki hadn't seen since before the brainwashing. It wasn't quite a spark of the old Bucky, but it was something... Something passionate and deliciously feral. It seemed the pretty soldier had a dark streak that extended beyond cold-blooded murder.

"Do what you will, darling," she urged, bringing one long leg up to hook around his waist. "You can't hurt me."

"We'll see about that."

She smiled, purring when he yanked her tight against him and bit her neck. "Yes, I suppose we will, won't we?"

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[httpsung]

a love that’s best forgotten

pairing: wonpil (with mentions of reader)

genre: mythology au, eros!wonpil, light angst

word count: 1,721

note: my contribution to @day6writers myth challenge, happy reading!

Does the god of love fall in love?

That was a question that drifted around for ages and if it were humanly possible to ask him he would tell you simply with a voice so soft-spoken, that love was not meant for him. It was his duty to bring love, to guide humans and gods alike to find their soulmates once if not twice. Everyone that existed in the world had a specific arrow dedicated to them that he could only shoot when the time was right.

The arrows he wielded that pierced the heart and filled the beating muscle with fondness were made of pure gold, sending his targets fluttering with the feeling of love. However, he also held in his possession arrows made of silver which could cause extreme dislike to rupture within a being, making them lose all love for their supposed lover. Each time a silver arrow was fired it left the young god feeling empty, he preferred to spread love instead of taking it away but he could only make decisions according to fate.

Eros was his name but he preferred to be called Wonpil, especially during his duties on earth. He rarely slept, though gods didn’t need much sleep, taking full advantage of his abilities to create multiple versions of himself to aid him in helping people fall in love all over the world. Each couple he paired left him with a tingly warm feeling and kept a bright smile on his face, a smile that had his sharp eyes crinkling into crescents. It was a good feeling knowing he was responsible for bringing two people together but in the back of his mind he often wondered what finding love was like.

Wonpil laid in bed one morning in the comfort of his one-bedroom apartment situated in the city. His gimmick was that of an average college student who sometimes worked at a bakery just a few blocks from where he lived to keep humans at bay.

His chocolate eyes glanced to the corner of his dim room, focusing on the soft glow of light that outshone the sun’s rays peeking through the curtains. It was the glow of an arrow which signified that it was time for a person to fall in love. He pulled back his sheets and sat up in bed holding his hand out toward his bundle of arrows, using an airy magic to draw the glowing gold arrow toward him.

When it landed in his hand he smiled, the name of the person who it was meant for was embedded in the shaft.  His primary target was a girl this time and her name was Y/n.

Wonpil waited near the entrance of the college he attended to catch sight of the girl who was his latest target. He kept his eyes peeled, hands shoved into the pockets of his long coat to keep his human hands warm in the winter air.

When the girl drew near he felt a twitch from the wings on his back, a pair of significant appendages of his godly form that no one could see. He settled his dark eyes on her as she approached closer. She was bundled in warm clothes, a scarf barely covering the lower half of her lovely face.

His eyes lingered as she passed him by, she was a beautiful person and this was the first time he’d ever thought such a thing.

The guy she was set to fall in love with arrived at the college entrance shortly after, hurrying to make it to his class on time. That would be their initial meeting. The guy, Mark was his name, would run into Y/n accidentally knocking her down and then he would reach his hand out with an apology. It was a cliché yet cute first meeting for the two, a meeting that would spark a love hopefully everlasting.

Wonpil vanished from his spot near the main entrance and reappeared in a campus tree. For the time being his magic masked him, keeping him safely hidden. The young god grabbed an arrow from the quiver on his back, drawing his bow in Y/n’s direction. His heart pounded in his chest and drowned out all other sounds as he aimed his golden arrow at her, admiring her beauty from behind. Wonpil never experienced a feeling that made his chest flutter before and once he fired his arrow his shot missed leaving Y/n to walk on ahead of Mark as he tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground.

This was the first time Wonpil’s ever missed a shot but instead of feeling disappointed he felt a sense of relief for the time being. Y/n’s arrow reappeared in the bag on his back and he vowed that he would pierce her tomorrow for sure.

The next day Wonpil found himself attending class, one Y/n just so happened to be in. It was amazing he hadn’t noticed her before, then again, he hardly attended any courses that he signed up for, they weren’t too necessary since his persona was all an act.

Wonpil kept his eyes on her for as long as he could, shying away when she caught him staring. Soon she was speaking to him with a smile, asking him if he would like to pair up for their temporary classroom assignment about the play Romeo and Juliet.

It was not a good idea for him to interact with her, it was not allowed unless he was using a form of guidance with his words to direct her toward her future lover but at that moment Wonpil didn’t want her anywhere else but near him.

He enjoyed the way she looked at him, the way she spoke and when she laughed his heart almost burst.

Wonpil talked Shakespeare, using years of knowledge and having met the man himself long ago, breaking the play down with a unique analysis that had her gazing at him in awe, his cheeks reddening by the minutes.

“That’s amazing…” She spoke as she wrote down his thoughts and opinions, adding some of her own.

“I’ve never thought about it like that before… You really know your Shakespeare Wonpil.” She praised him. “I wouldn’t say that… I just know love.” He smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. Wonpil knew about love, he was responsible for it, but suddenly he felt sad as he thought about the fact that he’s never felt it like everyone else.

“I wish I knew love...” He watched her eyes fall to the desk, vague embarrassment settling on her features at her own confession.

“I could help you!” Wonpil said almost too enthusiastically which had her eyes widening in surprise.

“I mean! Um… I didn’t mean...” He threw his hands up defensively which earned him a laugh from the beauty in front of him.

“It’s okay…” She replied after her laughter died down. “I don’t mind...” She was shy now when she looked at him and that’s when it dawned on him that what he experienced yesterday when he first laid eyes on her was love at first sight.

The god of love was falling in love and from that moment on he decided to ignore the glow of her arrow hoping that she could fall in love with him.

Weeks passed and he had gotten to know her. The two spent time working on assignments, attending the occasional movie and grabbing a bite to eat when campus food just didn’t prove to be tasty. Wonpil’s wings twitched the first time she held his hand on a snowy evening to keep warm and she made his feathers ruffle when she placed a kiss on his cheek as thanks for guiding her home.

When he laid alone that night with thoughts of her he ignored the heavy glow of her golden arrow longing for her to be struck so she could fall in love with a man that was not him. Wonpil didn’t want that, becoming a selfish being. He wanted to experience the joy that love could bring for himself for once.

Even when his mother’s voice echoed in his thoughts from the heavens, Wonpil only closed his eyes ignoring Aphrodite’s careful words about how he should let his new love go.

How he should have listened.

In the next coming days, he found himself drifting apart from Y/n but it wasn’t because he wanted to.

Y/n befriended the man she was meant to fall in love with and the way they gazed at each other made Wonpil feel uneasy.

He continued to carry her arrow noticing how the golden dart glowed fiercely as his conversations with her began to die. Even when it lightly burned his hands for waiting so long, Wonpil still refused to let it go, he didn’t want to let her go.

One early morning when the snow began to fall he waited for her at the place where he first fell in love, the college entrance. Wonpil rubbed his cold hands together, blowing on them to keep them warm.

Y/n’s approaching laughter caught his ears making his tender heart race. When he turned around ready to greet her and apologize for their lack of conversation, his eyes caught her in a sweet kiss with Mark. 

Wonpil stared at the two with crestfallen features, his heart aching as he fell to his knees, disappearing with a blow of the wind.

He appeared once again in the campus tree realizing Y/n’s golden arrow had vanished against his will leaving him to stare after the new couple with welling eyes.

Wonpil quickly grabbed a silver arrow, drawing his bow toward her in bitter sadness. His hand shook as he tried to focus and fire. The young god exhaled with a jittery breath watching her happy smile, fighting with his conscience that argued she should be happy. 

When his finger slipped he gasped watching the arrow that flew in Y/n’s direction fade away before it could hit her. He smiled through the tears, this was not what fate wanted and fate would always win. 

Wonpil concluded that love was truly not meant for him, at least not now and though it hurt to admit it he felt relieved when the bolt of silver missed its mark.

[runningfromexplosions]

Chalk Drawings

------Lazytown fluff and friendship fic------

Robbie curled up in his fluffy orange chair and plopped a large tome on his lap. “Ahh, time for a relaxing read,” he sighed contentedly. He opened the volume, called “Magic and Folklore,” to where he had last left off and removed his silky purple bookmark.

“The pentacle,” he read aloud, “Is a magical symbol often used as a shield against malevolent spirits. An amulet with a pentacle carved into it can be worn around one’s neck to ward off evil.  Drawing a pentacle on one’s door is said to keep demons, elves, and other tricksters from entering one’s house. Hmm. Interesting. Wait, ELVES?!” Robbie did a double-take and re-read the sentence. “It says elves!” The cogwheels of mayhem began to whir inside his imagination. Slower, with a mischievous grin spreading across his face, he repeated to himself, “It says elves. And Sportacus is an elf, which means…”

The villain sprung out of his seat and clapped his hands together. “I am a genius!” he declared to the audience of only himself. “It’s disguise time.” He danced over to his display of costumes. “Too flashy,” he said, looking at a sequined dress. “Too clashy,” he said about an ugly leotard with conflicting patterns and colors. “Too…moustachey,” he said about a pair of moustache-print pajamas. The next outfit in line was a simple brown suit with a colorful tie, a pin that looked like an artist’s palette, a beret, and a thin moustache that curled wildly at the ends. “Perfect!” In a whirlwind of magic, the disguise disappeared from its display and reappeared on Robbie. “Now I just need one more thing…”

Ziggy was strolling through town, sucking on a lollipop (as usual), when he saw a big chalk star drawn on the ground. Followed by another big star. And another. A pathway of stars! Curious, Ziggy followed the path to its end, where the man behind the drawings was squatting and drawing yet another star on the pavement with a purple stick of chalk. Ziggy saw that the man had an entire bucket full of all different colors of chalk.

“Hey mister, what are you doing?” Ziggy asked the artist. The artist looked up, frowned, and raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” he said, waving his chalk at the boy like a chiding finger. “Hmm, maybe…I don’t remember. But you’re talking to me, and I’m a stranger to you, right?” “Go away, kid, can’t you see that I’m working on a very important public art project?” said the artist, who could not possibly be Robbie Rotten in any conceivable way. “An art project? What kind of art project?” “I’m drawing stars all over Lazytown,” the artist announced proudly, “It’s going to be a masterpiece! That is, so long as some messy child doesn’t interfere.” “I sure hope not!” said Ziggy, missing the point of Robbie’s snide remark. “Oh! Could I be your artist’s assistant? Please?” “Er…” Robbie hesitated. The brat was persistent, and Robbie doubted that the kid would quietly walk away if he told him to leave again. Besides, if Zippy or whatever his name was helped draw the pentacles, it would save Robbie some time. “Fine. But you have to draw stars like mine, okay?” “I’ll do my best!” the boy said, eagerly picking out a blue chalk stick from the bucket. Robbie went back to his work and tried to ignore the child. That is, until the kid sighed. “Aww…” Robbie put down his chalk. “What is it?” he asked offhandedly. “I don’t think it turned out so good,” said Ziggy, dropping his chalk in defeat. Well, Robbie thought, the boy’s star…had points, he supposed. Not the correct number of five, but the thing looked more like a star than it did a scribble. “Here, I’ll help you,” said Robbie, picking up Ziggy’s chalk, “I’ll hold onto the top, and you hold on to the bottom.” Ziggy grasped the bottom of the chalk as suggested. Robbie helped guide the chalk over the pavement until they had drawn a complete star. “There, see?” Robbie said. “Yes. This one looks a lot better. Thank you!” “You’re…welcome?” Robbie mentally slapped himself. He was a villain, not a babysitter, for crying out loud! Maybe the pink one had been right and he was a big softie. “Hi Ziggy!” Speak of the eight-year-old devil. There she was, a pink and white soccer ball under one arm, and…oh boy, the other children were coming over as well. The geeky one, the pigtailed one, and the greedy one- the entire Brat Brigade- surrounded Robbie. “What’cha doing, Ziggy?” asked Pixel. “I’m helping Mr. Artist draw stars!” said Ziggy. “Sounds like fun. We were going to invite you to play soccer with us, but it’s cool if you want to keep drawing.” “Ooh, chalk drawings?” said Trixie, interested. “We can play soccer later; I wanna draw!” “Mr. Artist, can my friends draw, too?” Ziggy asked Robbie. “All right,” Robbie said, realizing that he had no escape from the kids, “But be quiet, because I am trying to concentrate on my work. And remember, we are drawing these stars.” He gestured to the first star he had drawn. “What if we want to draw things other than stars?” asked Stephanie. “Excuse you, Miss Pink, but who is the artist here?” Stephanie rolled her eyes, but went to pick out a stick of chalk from the bucket anyway. Pink, of course.

Despite Robbie’s rule about only drawing stars, the children managed to be creative. Pixel drew entire constellations. Stingy drew stars which he labeled “MINE.” He drew arrows towards the other kids’ stars, and labeled those “MINE,” too. Stephanie and Ziggy worked on a gigantic smiley face design with a star for each of the eyes. Trixie drew on the side of a house. “Trixie, that’s someone’s house! You can’t draw there!” Stephanie warned. “Oh yeah? And who’s going to stop me?” “No one! That’s my house,” Robbie lied, “And you have my permission to draw all over it!” “All right!” the prankster cheered. She spent the next few minutes drawing large stars on the sides of the house until she ran out of space. At least, she had run out of space that she could reach. Trixie’s next move was to climb onto the window ledge. She raised her chalk, prepared to draw a star above the window, when she lost her balance. “Whooooa!” Trixie fell backwards, but rather than land painfully on the ground, she landed safely in someone’s arms. “I got you!” said Trixie’s rescuer. “Sportacus!” all the kids cheered at once, while Robbie growled. Sportacus gently set Trixie back on her feet. “Trixie, why were you drawing on that house?” Sportacus asked, his arms crossed. He wasn’t angry, but his tone was serious. “It’s the artist’s house, and he said I could draw on it,” Trixie explained, “Besides, it’s just chalk. It’ll wash off when it rains.” Robbie wailed. He should have thought of that. If the anti-elf magic wasn’t activated soon, Sportacus would be able to come back once the rain had washed the pentacles away. “Artist?” Sportacus said, looking at the man who had just made the anguished noise. “Yes, hello, that’s me,” Robbie said, masking his frustration with a forced smile. “We’re helping him with his art project,” said Stephanie. “Oh! Sportacus, would you like to draw with us?” “NO!” Robbie interjected. Stephanie glared at him. “Why not? You let everyone else draw.” “Yes, but…he’d ruin our work. He can’t draw! He doesn’t know how!” “I can draw,” said Sportacus, slightly puzzled. “Uh, actually, I meant to say I have a special job in mind for you,” Robbie improvised. Sportacus bounced on his feet in anticipation. “I’m always ready to help! What can I do?” “I need you to go stand in the center of that big star,” Robbie said, pointing to the largest of his pentacles. All the kids had stopped drawing to watch Sportacus move to the designated location. They wondered what the artist planned for the hero. “Like this?” Sportacus gestured to himself, now standing in the pentagon of the star. Robbie rested one hand under his chin and squinted his eyes, pretending to contemplate Sportacus as one would a work of art. He circled around Sportacus, making sure that every part of the elf was inside the star. “Yes, good. Now tell me: do you feel like…skedaddling? Running for the hills?” Robbie wiggled his fingers in the direction of the mountains beyond Lazytown. “Well, I always enjoy running,” said Sportacus, who began to jog in place. “No, no, not running!” Robbie clamped a hand on each of Sportacus’ shoulders to stop his jogging. “I mean, do you even feel a little, teensy, tiny urge to leave Lazytown?” He leaned in towards Sportacus in a way he hoped was intimidating, and whispered in his ear: “For EVER?” Sportacus laughed. “No. I like it here!” He began to do jumping jacks, and Robbie was forced to let go of him. “AAAAARGGH!” Robbie shouted, “WHY ISN’T IT WORKING?” “Was something supposed to happen?” Sportacus asked, pausing mid-jumping jack. Robbie, in a fit, plucked off his fake moustache and threw his beret to the ground. He stomped on the beret several times. “Robbie Rotten!” the children gasped. “Robbie Rotten!” Robbie mocked, “Yes, of course it’s me! I take off my fake moustache and my hat, and suddenly, it’s like you can recognize faces!” Stephanie put her hands on her hips and frowned at the villain. “Robbie, what were you trying to do to Sportacus?” “If you really must know, Pinkie, I was drawing magical symbols to banish Sportafool from Lazytown. But for some reason, they didn’t work.” “Magical symbols? They look like stars to me. I would know, because they’re mine,” asserted Stingy. The other kids giggled. Sportacus smiled at them before turning his gaze to Robbie. “You know what I think?” Sportacus said with a twinkle in his eye, “I think Robbie just wanted to be friends and draw pictures with all of you!” “No!” said Robbie. “Yes!” said Ziggy. “Robbie taught me how to draw a star. See?” He pointed to his first drawing. “I couldn’t do it at first, but he helped me!” Ziggy pointed to the star that he and Robbie had drawn together. Robbie spluttered, unable to deny being helpful. Sportacus gently laid a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “You did a good thing, Robbie,” Sportacus said softly. Robbie suddenly felt very queasy. “Good?” he whined, “I’m a villain! I can’t be good!” Beyond embarrassed, Robbie snatched up his hat and moustache from the ground. He started to stomp away, but he paused briefly to turn his reddened face and spit out a few more words at his frie—no! Not friends! Annoying acquaintances. “S-smell you later, Sportastink, brats!” “Okay. See you later, Robbie!” Sportacus called after Robbie had turned away again. “See you later!” the children echoed. Robbie felt strangely calmed by their words. Although he had shouted rudely at the kids and the hero, they had replied with kindness. Ugh, why did they have to make it so difficult for him to keep up his grouchy act? Robbie wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, but drawing with the kids had almost been... Fun.

[ecotone99]

[RF] Grandpa

** This is a long submission. It is incomplete and a work in progress. I suspect it will end up being about 7000 words when complete. This is by far the most complex short story I have attempted, and includes a number of sub plots and the most characters I have tried to use at once. Some of it is very much based in my real world experiences, with characters based on real people and family members. This story is therapeutic to write and deeply personal. Having said that, I REALLY want feedback on it.

As it is a long story, I will be forever grateful to anybody willing to read it in its (current) entirety and offer me feedback and their thoughts. There are bits I am super happy with, and bits I don't like at all. In case anybody has read any of my stories before (I have deleted the ones I have posted in the past I think), the third part of this story has already made an appearance on here before. After writing it, I decided to turn it into a much larger story, particularly utilising feedback from another member. Super thankful to this community for being such a constructive group!

I will of course return the feedback favour. Thank you. **

​

“It’s okay, Lis,” Jordan said, keeping his eyes planted firmly on his wife. “We’ll figure it out.” What he couldn’t tell her was that he didn’t believe it himself. His stomach churned at the thought of burdening her with such pain. So, he lied with his eyes; begging her to heed his words.

“I know,” Lisa said.

“Just think good thoughts. We’ll get there.” Jordan reached out and took his wife’s hand, squeezing. They were cold; lonely. Her thumb nails were chewed and uneven, the result of an old, nervous tick rearing its head. All he wanted was to reassure her; make her believe it would all work out. He never intended to be the source of her pain, in fact, it was supposed to be his role to comfort her; to protect her. He was supposed to bring her joy, but lately that seemed to be the one thing he couldn’t do.

“I’m just scared that when I get the test, it’ll be bad news.” Lisa looked at Jordan. The creases around the edges of her eyes were deeper than usual and her nose was red. This had become a regular occurrence, but Jordan wasn’t desensitized. If anything, the more he saw her cry, the more it broke his heart.

“What if they say never?” she asked. “What will we do then?”

Jordan’s insides screamed. It took everything he had not to throw a dining room chair across the room and into the mirror. He wanted to watch it shatter into millions of pieces and scatter across the room so that he could walk on the broken glass. It seemed like the only thing painful enough to distract him from reality. Staring into Lisa’s eyes, he felt his mouth hanging open, unable to speak. Words seemed suddenly unattainable, blurry and just out of reach. Then, the phone rang.

Jordan looked down to see his mobile vibrating on the table. The caller ID read: Dad. He saw his chance to escape the conversation and gave Lisa an apologetic smile. She nodded, giving him the okay to answer and squeezed his hand before leaving the table and disappearing into the kitchen. Jordan collected the phone, swiped the green button to the left and lifted it to his ear. “Hey, Martin,” he said, hoping his dad would take the bait.

“Don’t call me that.” His dad’s voice was uneven; rough. There was no banter, no jokes. It wasn’t right.

“Sorry, Dad. What’s up?”

“Matey, it’s Grandpa.”

Jordan furrowed his brow and inhaled before responding. “What about him?”

“He’s not okay. Cancer.” For the second time in two minutes, Jordan found himself lost for words. It didn’t make any sense, he thought. His dad always used to say his grandpa was fit as a fiddle made of steel. The man ate germ meal and steamed broccoli for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It didn’t make sense.

“He’s having an operation to remove a large tumour from his brain,” his dad continued. “We should visit him before he goes in.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jordan stuttered through his response. “When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll see you and your brother at four o’clock outside the Wesley.”

“Do you need me to call Kurt?”

“No. It’s done.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, matey.”

The phone disconnected and Jordan stood in stunned silence. The world felt quieter; less chaotic. But, much darker. His grandpa was lively and charismatic in his old age; the life of the party. That image immediately began to fade, only to be replaced with hollow stillness.

“What was that?” Lisa called from the kitchen.

“That was Dad.” Jordan tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only seemed to get larger. “Grandpa’s sick. You’ll have to get the test on your own tomorrow.”

Lisa reappeared from the kitchen. “Is it serious?”

Jordan turned to look at her and nodded slowly.

​

***

​

Outside the Wesley Hospital, Jordan watched his brother take a long draw from his cigarette. Clamping it between his fore and middle fingers, he pinched his eyebrows together in what looked like intense concentration, before blowing out the smoke and gazing into the distance. It was funny, Jordan thought, how all smokers seemed to suck on their cigarette in exactly the same way.

“So, cancer,” Kurt said, “that’s shit.”

Jordan frowned and let out a small chuckle. His brother always had a knack for thoughtless thoughtfulness. It was charming in a way. Reminded Jordan of the beauty to be found in simplicity.

“Yeah. It’s shit,” he agreed.

Jordan had always found it difficult to talk with his brother. An ocean of difference separated them, often too expansive to swim and too murky navigate. Kurt had always been into heavy metal and horror movies, while Jordan was more interested in sport and politics. They were brothers, but they’d never really been friends. Of course, it hadn’t helped that, growing up, they fought like brothers.

Jordan had always been good at poking the bear, like the time he found one of Kurt’s cigarette filters on the floor of the living room and, even though he knew exactly what it was, decided it best to pretend otherwise and show it to their mum. Jordan marvelled at his own genius that night, taking great pleasure in his brother’s admonishment and indefinite grounding. The look in his mum’s eyes had always stuck with him, though, as he was sure it had with Kurt. Looking into them was like being pulled into a black hole, lost forever within an expansive and ever painful nothing. He’d thought it best to make sure those eyes were never directed at him.

But, like any self-respecting older brother, Kurt would reciprocate to Jordan’s provocation. One time, after Jordan had stolen his Play Station controller, Kurt chased him under the house and guarded the only exit with an enormous stick. Too scared to get close and too stupid to apologise, Jordan had cowered in the corner of the room until their mother had gotten home. Thinking he was finally saved; Jordan screamed for his mother at the top of his lungs. Ironically, it was then that he faced that which he’d feared so much.

They were both grounded.

A stiff breeze forced Jordan’s hands into his jean pockets. Looking at Kurt, he was both jealous and impressed by his brother’s ability to ignore the cold. There they were, standing in ten-degree weather, and Kurt was wearing a black tank top and cargo shorts, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat as he smoked his Winny Blue. His nonchalance was awe-inspiring.

“So, how’s up north?” Jordan asked, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said, taking another draw from his cigarette. “Hot. Sticky. My air-con’s shit.”

“That sucks.”

“Oath. Mining work’s tough too – two weeks on, two off. I can never quite get settled.”

“Sorry to hear, man. I’d hate that.” Jordan scrambled for another discussion point. “How’d you get down so quick? Dad only called me yesterday afternoon.”

“He got onto me about ten in the morn’ yesterday. I flew down early today. Had lunch in the city.” Kurt took one final draw from his cigarette before dropping it to the cracked pavement and stomping it out. Then, without pause, he pulled the pack from his back pocket and lit another. “How about you?” he asked, “How’s Lisa?”

Jordan gave his brother a quick smile, doing his best to mask his apprehension toward the topic. “Yeah, she’s good. We’re good.” Kurt looked at him as if to say, that was convincing.

“Good to hear, mate. Did you know about Grandpa?”

Jordan was glad his brother had moved on. “Nah. Didn’t even know he was sick. You reckon Dad’s known for long?”

Kurt took his last draw from his cigarette, dropped it to the pavement next to his first, and stamped it out.

“We can ask him ourselves. Here he is.” He motioned behind Jordan.

Their father walked towards them. His posture was slouched, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His hollow smile was worn thin and a five o’clock shadow painted his jaw in grey. It looked wrong; incorrect. Martin Alexander was a man of rigid, unwavering routine. Every morning he got up at six, brushed, shaved and showered in that order. He ate the same breakfast every day; one whole orange, sliced in half, one cup of coffee and two slices of wholemeal bread with vegemite. Whenever he left the house, he had to check that all the windows were closed, all the power points turned off and every door was locked. Twice. The man was like a machine. Programmed to perform the same tasks in the same ways every day. Seeing just one of these routines broken made Jordan feel uneasy. Martin Alexander with facial hair didn’t look like Martin Alexander; rather he looked like Bizarro Martin. Dark Martin. Martin from another world. Another reality. A reality Jordan didn’t want to know about because it was obviously darker than this one.

“Hello, boys,” Martin said as he approached. The brothers glanced at one another before hugging him.

“He’ll be right, you know,” Martin said.

Jordan and Kurt looked at each other and grimaced. “Yeah, Dad. We know,” Jordan said, placing his hand on his father’s shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze.

“He’s got a lot of life left in him,” Martin continued.

“That he does,” Kurt said.

“He’ll have the surgery and be-” Martin paused and looked past his children’s heads, avoiding eye contact, but refusing to cry. He continued, “He’ll-”

Jordan interjected, “Dad. We-”

“He’ll be up and at ‘em again soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jordan watched as his dad tried desperately to control the uncontrollable. He’d always been like that – determined to keep everything in order. Like a marching band. Organised and predictable. Most of the time he was successful, but Jordan sensed that today would slip through his fingers.

“Dad,” Jordan said. Martin turned to look at his son in the eyes. “We know. Let’s go in.”

​

***

​

The room was white; oppressive; sterile. Jordan hated it. The walls were pristine; not because they'd been prepared for visitors, but because they'd been meticulously cleaned with bleach - or some other nauseating chemical - time and again. He could smell it in the air. Their sheen was a sombre reminder of what happened there week-in and week-out. People went there to die.

The sun spilled through the small window and into the dark room, trying desperately to remind everybody the world outside was still bright. Dust danced through the light and, presumably, settled across the room, decorating it in filth. Jordan chuckled to himself. It was ironic, he thought. A place kept so diligently clean was still unable to escape dust.

Martin was standing next to him with his head down and his eyes closed. His arms were a straitjacket across his chest, folded so tightly, it looked as though he was struggling to breathe. Kurt was by the window, reading some medical poster that was hung on the wall. It outlined the circulatory system or the lymphatic system or some system. He was still tapping his foot to an imaginary beat.

A cough from behind them disturbed the solemn silence, and they all turned in unison to stare at the bathroom door.

"You okay in there?" Martin called; arms still locked. There was no reply. "Dad?" He tried again. "You okay?" He looked at his sons, frowned, and exhaled.

"Be right out, mate," Grandpa called. His voice was hollow. Sick. but still full of unrestrained enthusiasm. "Just dealin' with the toot!"

Jordan put his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh and turned to look at his dad. A smile was haphazardly scrawled across Martin’s face and he was slowly shaking his head back and forth. "That's Dad," he said and shrugged.

“He used to call me Kurtle.” Jordan look at his brother, his eyebrows raised, imploring him to continue. “You know, like a turtle.”

“You loved them as a kid,” Martin said, shifting his weight on the spot.

“Yeah. Still do. None up north, though.”

“Not even in the desert sand?” Jordan asked, his tone sarcastic and his smile exaggerated.

“Nah, too dry,: Kurt said, straight faced, before turning back to his poster.

Without warning, the bathroom door flew open and a frail eighty-two-year-old walked out in a blue hospital gown. His grey cheeks and thinning hair were juxtaposed against his wild smile and starry eyes.

“Check it out fellas, they’ve got me in a bloody nappy!” Grandpa shrieked.

With no other warning, he yanked up his gown to reveal a large, white adult nappy.

Jordan’s eyes widened and, unable to contain his laughter, he turned away from his grandpa to look at his dad.

Equally amused, but twice as embarrassed, Martin protested, "Jesus, Dad! Put your gown down." His arms unlocked and he waved them in front of him, as if to say we don't need to see that!

Jordan looked back at his grandpa. Martin Senior couldn't have given two shits, wiggling his hips from side to side in some kind of dance. His eyes were wide and mischievous and the wrinkles on his face creased as he smiled. Even in the face of death, their grandpa was full of life. It pained Jordan to think that he couldn't remember if he'd always been this way; if he'd always been such a kid. He hung his head, unable to recall when he’d last spent meaningful time with his grandpa.

He cast his mind back as far as he could reach, but all he was able to pluck from the ocean of memories, were a few sporadic moments in which he’d ignored the man who only wanted to know him, in favour of video games, alcohol, and anything else.

Jordan made his way to a chair in the corner of the hospital room and sat down. On the periphery of his vision, his dad struggled with his grandpa, fighting to get his gown down, with Kurt watching from the sidelines offering unhelpful commentary and egging his grandpa on.

Jordan exhaled, pushing what remaining life was left in him out into nothingness. He could feel his muscles growing weak and his eyes becoming increasingly heavy as tears welled. The world wrapped its icy tendrils around him, pulling him in for the kill. His head pounded as it played over every moment he'd missed to actually get to know the man standing just a few feet away.

“Alright, Dad. Now just sit there, will you?”

Jordan looked up. His dad had managed to convince his grandpa to sit down. Studying the bed, Jordan noticed a small jug attached to its side about half-filled with yellow liquid; urine. A plastic tube hung loose; disconnected. The catheter was yet another visual reminder that, even though the nappy was funny, and it was good to see him laugh, his grandpa was in a world of pain.

“Will you stop fussing over me?” his grandpa said. “I get enough of that shit here as it is.”

Martin looked unimpressed. “Dad, this is serious. You need to be careful and look after yourself before the surgery.” Jordan watched his grandpa shoo his dad’s concerns away like they were nothing. This, of course, bothered Martin to no end. He did little to hide it.

“Kurt, mate,” Grandpa began, “how’s up north?”

Kurt began to answer him, but Martin interrupted. “Have you thought about accommodation when you come out, Dad?”

“Jen’s set the basement up.”

“What about care?”

“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”

“Dad, look, you need t-”

“Dad,” Jordan interjected. “Calm down. Leave it be.” He looked directly into Martin’s eyes. They were wet and red, ready to burst. You can’t control this, he thought, trying to telepathically communicate the sentiment to his dad. Just leave it.

And for a second, he thought he’d been successful in communicating his message as Martin’s expression appeared to soften. For a second Jordan thought that maybe his father might accept that he was unable to control just one thing. Then his phone rang, breaking their telepathic connection and breaking Martin free from his calm.

Jordan looked at his phone. Lisa was calling. He felt immediately guilty that he’d forgotten where she was. What she was doing. Without him.

Sighing, he said, “I’ve gotta take this.”

As he left the room, Jordan heard his father’s berating continue and he shook his head to himself.

Jordan closed the door. He looked in both directions, making sure nobody else was in the hall. Nothing but still silence. He didn’t really know why he had to be alone to take this, but for some reason, the notion of a stranger hearing potentially life changing news felt like a violation. Looking down at his phone, he took in a deep breath and answered.

“Hey, Lis. What’s the go?”

Nothing.

“Lis?” He could hear muffled sobbing on the other end of the line and his heart dropped. He tried again. “Lisa?”

“I don’t know.” The words spilled out her messily.

Jordan softened, “So, why the crying?”

“I’ve just got a feeling, Jord.” She took a deep breath and phone fell silent once again.

“Lisa, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“What feeling?”

“Jordan-” She took another breath. “-what if we never get pregnant?”

​

- TO BE CONTINUED -

submitted by /u/OneStepAway14 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2RH5KiZ

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone -Part Thirty-Five

Well, this is a week overdue, but we’re ignoring that.

Welcome back! Last time, we got to see Okoye, Aneka, Ayo, and Djabi take a much needed girl’s night! Fun stuff!

This week, we finally get to see the thrilling end to Okoye’s efforts in stopping General Ross’s plot to undermine Wakanda.

Rating: M for use of guns, fighting, death, mentions of blood/injuries, and strong language.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku, T’Challa x Nakia, and Shuri x OC.

@skysynclair19, @the-last-hair-bender

There may come a time, my dears, when you will have to look your sisters in the eye and hold them in account for a wrong they’ve done. There may also be a time when the same will be done to you.

Walk as carefully as you can in life, and extend kindness and sympathy to those who have to hold those they love in account.

Doing the right thing is not always an easy task.

“So there’s still no sign of them?”

“No, my King. We’ve had all our War Dog teams on alert since they disappeared from the Raft. There’s been no sign of the team on the Raft or their victims anywhere.”

T’Challa, Nakia, Okoye, Jhanvi, Captain Rogers, M’Baku, and Okoye had all gathered in one of the several conference rooms in the palace to put their heads together on how to solve an unpleasantly lingering problem: how to stop General Ross and his new team of experiments.

T’Challa frowned and ran a hand over his face, then sat back in his chair as he stared at the films Jhanvi had ripped from the Raft’s digital records.

Five victims, each held in the cells they’d help rescue the renegade Avengers from. From the security footage, it was clear that one of the experiment victims --a stocky, angry looking man with scars that covered the right side of his face--had been given enhanced strength and speed. One of the others --an American-Asian woman that looked to be about Okoye’s height--seemed to have abilities that mimicked that of Wanda Maximoff.

The other three victims, however, were complete and total unknowns. Jhanvi hadn’t even been able to pick up on what their power sets might be during her couple weeks of spying on the Raft.

Unknowns weren’t good, especially in Okoye’s line of work.

She took a silent, calming breath, then looked to T’Challa. “What are you orders, my King?”

“At this point, I don’t have any,” T’Challa said with a tired sigh. “I am open to suggestions.”

“We need to identify what they’re after,” Nakia said as she gently rubbed her husband’s shoulders. “Once we know that, it’ll be easier to find them and predict their movements.”

“Failing that, I could just do a mass sweep of the global internet,” Jhanvi offered. “I mean, someone has to email someone at some point.”

Okoye grimaced. “It’s an option, but let’s save it for last. We can’t afford the time it would take right now.”

Across from T’Challa, Steve Rogers grimaced. “What if they’re coming for Bucky?”

“We managed to undo the efficacy of the command words--”

“Yeah, but he still has the memories of all his years of service for HYDRA,” Jhanvi pointed out. “Everything they’ve had him do. He’s living evidence of all the evil HYDRA stands for --in the sense that they tortured him, not that he’s evil.”

“Miss Singh is right,” Okoye agreed after a moment of thought. “Sargent Barnes would be a damning witness against HYDRA --a witness that General Ross can’t afford.”

“So you think they’re coming here?” T’Challa asked.

“Well, if they decide to unleash their experiments anywhere else, we’ll definitely hear about it,” Okoye muttered.

“So, what do we do?” M’Baku asked, finally breaking his silence.

The million dollar question. “Well--”

“Shit.”

Okoye looked over at Jhanvi, who’s gaze was unfixed and distant, just as Shuri called T’Challa.

“We have a breach at the Western border.”

Okoye frowned. “Why didn’t we get an alert?”

“It looks like they made a technopath,” Shuri said. “Should I send out the security teams?”

T’Challa glanced at Okoye, then nodded when she shook her head. “No. Send out an alert to put the nation in a state of emergency. Tell everyone to head to the nearest safety bunker.”

“No? But-”

“If they do have a technopath on their team, our weapons are going to be useless against them,” T’Challa said as he stood. “And I don’t like the idea of sending in a bunch of unarmed guards against the power levels we’ve already seen out of the experiments. The best we can hope for is that we can draw them into a trap and disable them.”

Shuri frowned as she tapped at her lab’s main interface. “If you’re sure. What should Dewani and I do?”

“Get back to the palace as soon as possible so we can keep you safe. Do not try to go after the enemy unit, Shuri.”

“I won’t! Sheesh!”

“Should I call in my... team?” Steve asked while T’Challa and Shuri argued back and forth.

Okoye nodded. “We need all the help we can get right now.” She finished typing out a message to Ayo, then looked over at Jhanvi. “We’ll need you to take down their technopath.”

“Fine by me. I like being one of a kind.”

Okoye fought the urge to roll her eyes and forced herself to focus on implementing the proper security measures for what would undoubtedly be a brutal battle. Yes, and the rest of us are thankful that you are.

The palace was deathly silent as they waited.

Okoye stayed by T’Challa’s side, spear in hand, as they patrolled one of the empty hallways together. “Commander. How does the East Wing look?”

“Everything’s locked down, General,” Ayo replied. “No signs of any threats.”

“Good. Princess, Miss Singh, have you two been able to locate HYDRA’s team?”

“Sort of,” Shuri said. “There are consistent glitches in localized monitoring software and equipment. We mapped all of them out, and it does appear to be a coherent path that’s headed in our direction.”

Bast be with us, Okoye prayed as she tightened her grip on her spear. “When did the last disruption show?”

“Thirty seconds ago, thirty miles away from us --and there’s another one, much closer.”

“How much closer?”

“10 miles --no, wait five. They’ve moved again.”

“Do you think they have some sort of teleportation device?” T’Challa asked through his Black Panther suit mask.

Okoye opened her mouth to put in her two cents --then whirled when she saw a person staring at her from the landing platform outside the palace.

The landing platform was empty.

“What is it?” T’Challa asked.

“I saw someone,” Okoye growled. “On the landing platform.”

T’Challa tensed as he peered out at the platform. “You’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Is everything alright over there?”

Before Okoye could respond, something hit her on the back.

Hard.

She fell the the ground, stunned. “What in Bast’s fresh hell--” She looked up just in time to see T’Challa fend off the attacker --and see the intruder vanish in thin air. “What the--”

“One of the experiments has teleportation powers,” T’Challa said.

“I’m guessing one of them has psionic abilities too,” Jhanvi’s growled. “Considering neither Shuri or I noticed the assload of proximity alerts until now. Motherfu-”

“Retreat to the throne room,” Okoye ordered. “Quickly. It’ll be too easy for them to pick us off one by one if we’re separated.”

T’Challa helped her to her feet. “Come on, General. We need to keep moving.”

The throne room was in sight as she sprinted down the hall, doing her best to keep pace with T’Challa, when her spear suddenly retracted in her hand.

Okoye whirled around in time to see the technopath --an androgynous looking person with different electronic components grafted into various parts of their body--lurching towards them. “We found the technopath!”

T’Challa let out a grunt as his suit unformed and reformed in various patches. “We might be in some serious trouble.”

Suddenly, the technopath halted, then collapsed to the ground.

Jhanvi darted out from one of the adjoining halls, kneeling down to try and hold the convulsing experimentation victim steady. “Clearly Ross doesn’t know what quality work looks like.”

An explosion rumbled through the hall, making the floor vibrate, and then Ayo and Aneka appeared with Captain Rogers and Wanda.

The Sokovian was holding back a barrage of blue energy from the Asian woman that had been enhanced with similar powers, while Steve, Ayo, and Aneka were trying to fend off the man endowed with super strength.

“Get to the throne room!” T’Challa ordered as he ran towards Steve, Ayo, and Aneka. “Make sure it’s secured!”

Okoye reactivated her spear and sprinted down the hall.

M’Baku, Dewani, Nakia, and Shuri were already in throne room, trying to take down the teleporter with little success.

“I thought you said that you’d developed a system to predict where she’d be appearing next!” Dewani shouted as she took another bust swing at her opponent with her staff.

“I did, but their technopath completely destroyed my equipment!” Shuri shouted back as she tossed a defunct, sparking gauntlet aside. “We’ll have to do this without help!”

M’Baku managed to tag the teleporter in the back --then growled when she disappeared before she could hit the floor. “We won’t be able to do this without ‘help.’”

“What? Is the Great Gorilla acknowledging that technology can be useful?”

“We have our own version of technology--”

“Can you two save your arguing for another time?” Nakia shouted as she took a shot --and missed--at the teleporter. “We have more urgent problems to deal with right now!”

Okoye narrowed her eyes and watched the teleporter pop in and out of view. She can only move to wherever she can see... and she can’t control who she’s facing when she reappears.

It was also apparent that the teleporter was favoring M’Baku and Dewani more.

They don’t have vibranium weapons, Okoye realized. She’s already put together that Nakia and Shuri can cause more damage if she gets too close. She watched for a moment longer, then carefully stalked around the side of the throne room until she was positioned near Dewani.

Sure enough, the teleporter reappeared next to Dewani, unleashing a flurry of kicks and punches.

Okoye darted up behind the teleporter while Dewani blocked the onslaught and shoved her spear through their opponent’s midsection.

The teleporter let out a gasping breath, then disappeared and reappeared a few feet away. She looked down at the gaping wound in her abdomen, then up at Okoye before she collapsed to the ground.

Another explosion shook the room as the ‘Wanda-type’ let out a larger blast of energy.

“Everyone back!” Ayo shouted as the other Dora Milaje soldiers, T’Challa, and Captain Rogers’s team retreated into the throne room.

Shuri winced as she helped Jhanvi drag the unconscious technopath into the throne room. “What do we do now?”

“Whatever we do,” Steve said as he backed into the throne room while Wanda held up a shield against the energy attacks, “we need to do it quickly before we get our asses stomped.”

Before Okoye could start processing how best to handle the situation, the room went blurry, almost like she had been submerged in water.

Next to her, M’Baku stumbled. “What in Hanuman’s name--”

Through the sudden bleariness, she could see that everyone else was having a similar reaction. She could make out Wanda’s shield, warping and patching in places as she tried to push through the fuzz that seemed to be settling in all their heads.

And, just past the failing the shield, she could make out a third figure standing with the other two experiment victims.

Psionic... attack... She braced herself upright with her spear as her knees shook, trying to keep control over herself in the face of an assault she couldn’t even touch or protect herself from. Fo... cus... Use your... training...

She gritted her teeth together and forced herself to stand, staying focused on the sensation of the ground beneath her feet and the cool vibranium shaft of the spear in her hand. Constants. Unchangeable facets of reality.

Her vision started to clear, still filmy around the edges.

Past the red glow of Wanda’s barely intact shield, she could see the woman endowed with psionic abilities watching her.

The woman narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth.

Okoye nearly collapsed as the room went blurry again. She felt numb, like she was under the effect of anesthesia. Find... the ground... She hissed when it felt like she was falling, all of a sudden, and squeezed her eyes shut. Trick... it’s a... trick... She opened her eyes when she felt the ground return --barely--and nearly fell over again when dizziness washed over. Shit.

Beyond the three HYDRA experiments, she could barely see a darker, taller, blurry figure moving towards the throne room. Something extended from the figure towards the telepath--

Her vision went crystal clear in less than a second, fast enough that she could see Adesina lift the telepath off the ground by the back of her neck.

She flicked her wrist, almost like she was shaking dirt out of a blanket, and the telepath dissolved into a cloud of ashes.

Okoye blinked. Well. Okay. She has powers.

Adesina bared her teeth when the ‘Wanda-type’ let out a feral scream at her --and extended her hand towards the woman.

Shadows shot off the wall, wrapping themselves around the woman’s limbs and effectively cutting off her attack.

Okoye felt, more than saw, M’Baku stiffen next to her and reached out to grab his arm. “On your feet. You need to keep moving.”

The fight from there seemed to move like a blur. She helped T’Challa, Steve and his team --sans Wanda--and M’Baku take down the super-strength man, or at least fight the man into a corner until T’Challa managed to get in a shot and sink his panther claws into the man’s chest.

She turned around in time to see Wanda and Adesina forcing the last HYDRA member into a kneeling position with their respective powers.

Then, Adesina bared her teeth in a grim smile as the woman let out a pained shriek, grabbed her by the front of her shirt, and shoved her towards the floor.

The last HYDRA experiment dissolves into ash, the same way the telepath did.

Okoye watched, intentionally aware, as Adesina stood and straightened up to her full height. She’s almost as tall as M’Baku.

Speaking of which--

“Are you going to trust me now?” Adesina asked she looked M’Baku dead in the eye, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Okoye tapped the end of her spear against the floor and stepped between Adesina and M’Baku, quickly getting the taller woman’s attention. “We appreciate your assistance. Do you require any medical treatment?”

“Yeah, Ade,” Dewani piped up from where she’d plopped down next to Shuri. “You’re looking a little... ashy.”

Okoye almost tossed the comment aside --until Adesina lifted up one of her arms to reveal a large patch of literal ash covering the skin near her elbow.

“Really?” M’Baku asked as Dewani beamed, clearly proud of herself. “Really?”

“I’m with him on this,” Shuri agreed. “That was bad.”

“My puns are excellent and you know it.”

Adesina wiped her hand over the ash, and the gray powder was immediately replaced with blood that was so dark it nearly looked black. “It’s superficial. I can handle it on my own.”

“I didn’t see you get hit,” Nakia asked, visibly as wary as Okoye was.

“My powers have consequences, your Grace. I try to use them as sparingly as possible.”

“Again, we’re grateful for your assistance,” Okoye interjected, trying to keep a handle on the situation. She nodded to four of the Milaje soldiers standing nearby. “We’ll make sure the necessary medical supplies are sent to your room.” She watched Adesina as she left, escorted by the soldiers --then felt a wave of sheepishness roll through her when she realized she’d inadvertently overridden T’Challa’s authority and glanced at her King.

T’Challa --he’d already had the suit’s helmet retract into the necklace--only smiled at her and nodded.

Before she could make any further comments or suggestions about everything that had just happened, she was distracted by the sound of a choked sob.

Jhanvi sat back on her heels, scrubbing angrily at her cheeks as she stared down at the dead technopath. “This work is shit. I’m surprised they lived long enough to even reach Wakanda.”

Now that the chaos had ebbed, Okoye could see the heavy scarring and bruising around the harshly grafted electronic pieces on the technopath’s arms and face. They must have been in a great deal of pain.

Jhanvi let out a harsh, shaky breath as new tears started tracing down her cheeks. “What are we gonna do with Ross?”

“Technically, we can’t do anything,” T’Challa said. “He’s a figure in the American government. We have no jurisdiction over him.”

“Fuck ‘technically,’“ Jhanvi spat out through gritted teeth. “I don’t give a shit about ‘technically.’ I’m going to put a fucking bullet in Thaddeus Ross’s head.”

Okoye eyed Jhanvi evenly as the woman stalked out of the throne room. “Not quite my style, but I can get behind the sentiment.”

“We know Ross is responsible for the creation of the HYDRA team and the vibranium theft,” Nakia added as T’Challa sighed wearily. “This could be --technically is--an act of war.”

“We aren’t going to war with anyone.”

“No, but Ross is a threat and he’s going to keep going unless he’s stopped.”

T’Challa pursed his lips together, then nodded and looked at Okoye. “Get a team ready to go after General Ross.”

She bowed. “Yes, my King.”

Okoye watched, faintly amused, as Agent Ross paced from one end of the ship to the other. “Doing that isn’t going to make the ship fly any faster.”

“Very funny,” the blond mumbled as he kept pacing. “I can’t believe--”

“Believe it,” Jhanvi growled, briefly breaking away from her conversation with Shuri. “What? No, not you. Everest.”

“Everett.”

“Whatever. He’s doing the whole doubting thing again.”

“Look, I will acknowledge that my brother is a conniving, manipulative, selfish asshole,” Everett snapped. “But I can’t believe that he’d actually stoop to human experimentation.”

“We showed you the fucking videos! What, no, I’m obviously not talking to you--”

T’Challa put a hand Agent Ross’s shoulder. “We’re all deeply sympathetic for what you must be going through, Agent Ross, but the facts don’t lie.”

“No, no, I know they don’t. I know what reality is, I just--” He braced himself against one of the seats and laughed humorlessly. “When I found out he’d gotten mixed up with HYDRA, I’d hoped --hoped--that he’d just be surface level. Just some face they used to make little waves. Expendable.” He grimaced. “Fucking Thaddeus. Always going for full fucking marks.”

“Older siblings are always the overachievers,” Jhanvi agreed. “What? No --okay, now you’re just doing it to piss me off. Have you finished taking the pictures or not?”

“We’re closing in on the Raft,” Djabi announced.

Through the craft’s windshield, the floating prison was barely visible amidst the dark, churning sea.

“Jhanvi,” Okoye said. “We need you to check the systems and make sure General Ross is still on board.”

“No, don’t send them to my phone! What, am I gonna shove my fucking Android in his face?”

“Jhanvi.”

“Laptop --do not start with me, Shuri, I know you know what a fucking laptop is--”

“Jhanvi.”

“Oh, hang on.” Jhanvi looked up long enough to barely make eye contact with Okoye. “Everything’s good, I’ve been tapped in for the past half an hour.”

“At least she’s efficient,” Okoye muttered when Ayo rolled her eyes.

The Raft was deadly silent as they boarded, save for the sound of the air being filtered through the vents and the sound of the water pressing against the metal hull of the steel fortress.

The only sign of life on the floating prison was the soft glow of a desk lamp that spilled into the main hangar from one of the nearby offices.

Okoye narrowed her eyes as she kept pace with T’Challa. He was wearing the Panther suit, which meant if General Ross was waiting with a weapon he wouldn’t be able to harm her King, but--

Running towards an explosion. And people carrying guns. And fights in general.

Survival instincts were survival instincts, and since T’Challa didn’t seem to have any, she’d just have to stick close enough to act as his.

Thaddeus Ross, however, wasn’t holding a gun when they walked into the office. Or any sort of visible weapon. Instead, he was sitting in a padded, expensive looking leather office chair, watching recordings of the experimentation and development process on the team of enhanced individuals they’d dispatched no less than twelve hours ago.

He didn’t look up as they filed in. “I’ll admit to being impressed. I wasn’t sure how you’d handle my strike team, but I didn’t think you’d take them down that quickly.”

We probably wouldn’t have taken them down at all, if it hadn’t been for Adesina.

Ross didn’t need to know that, though.

“Well, I guess this confirms our suspicions. Wakanda is indeed a match for whatever HYDRA can produce. I’d tip my hat to you if I was wearing one, your Majesty.”

“What you did constitutes itself as an act of war, General,” T’Challa said icily.

Ross finally looked at them, smirking. “And here I thought that’d rather be the point.”

“No,” Everett spat out, pushing past the group so he could look his older brother in the eye. “No. Do you even realize what would happen to the world if anyone went to war with Wakanda? We’d lose. End of story. What’s the point of trying to start a fight like that if there’s no way to win? What’s the point of even starting it at all?”

“HYDRA grows in chaos,” Thaddeus said, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to say, like ‘the weather’s a little nippy today’ or ‘I’m going to get coffee with my breakfast.’ “Wakanda is the first viable threat we’ve had since the Avengers. We managed to break up the Avengers with the Accords. We tried to push Wakanda down with the UN’s demands. That fell through, so we had to move to a different tactic.”

“Are you insane?” Everett shouted.

Okoye watched as Nakia narrowed her eyes, gears clearly turning in the former War Dog’s head. “The Accords weren’t a surefire way to divide the Avengers. If it hadn’t been for Baron Zemo framing Sargent Barnes for the embassy explosion, it might not have worked at all.”

T’Challa tensed. “What are you--”

“How did he know where to find the book? Or about any of where Barnes would be held? HYDRA would’ve been the only organization that knew about the book’s existence, about the Winter Soldier’s existence.”

Okoye’s eyes widened as everything crystalized. He didn’t.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Everett breathed as it all hit him too. “You fucking--”

“We only provided the information. The rumors. Zemo did everything else on his own. He was astonishingly capable,” Ross said, still calm and detached, like he was talking about the suit he was wearing. “It’s a shame we weren’t able to recruit him. He’d make for a wonderful operative.”

“The embassy explosion,” T’Challa said, voice low. “My father’s death. It’s all on your head.”

“Debatable.”

“No,” Okoye spat out. “It’s really not. You instigated the events that lead to the former King’s death. His blood is still on your hands, whether you think it should be or not. To say nothing of the team you sent to Wakanda in an attempt to kill us.”

“What about them?”

“‘What about the--’ You tortured them!” Jhanvi snarled. She set a laptop down on Ross’s desk with a loud smack and nearly ripped the lid off when she flung the device open. “You strapped them down--” Pictures and videos flew across the screen, blurring as Jhanvi’s anger caused her to lose control of her precision “--and mutilated them! Tormented them until they fit the criteria you were looking for! You left them in pain! Agony! Your ‘technopath’ was on the verge of death well before they got to Wakanda!”

Ross raised a brow at her tirade. “Like you haven’t done worse.”

Ayo’s gaze snapped to Jhanvi as the technopath recoiled. “And just what does he mean by that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” T’Challa interjected before things could spiral out of control. “General Ross, you’re coming with us.”

“And what? What jurisdiction do you have over me that you can make stick? Besides, if you try to present anything to the United Nations, HYDRA will bury it before you can make any headway.”

“You’re a plague,” Everett ground out as he glared daggers at his brother. “You need to be stopped.”

Thaddeus stood, smugly staring his brother down. “And how can you take something out that you can’t touch?”

“Don’t assume too much.”

Okoye barely had time to blink as Everett whipped out his gun and unloaded two rounds into Thaddeus’s chest.

The taller man dropped back into his seat, expression almost comically stunned as blood bloomed out of the two holes near his heart. His eyes went unfocused, and he stopped breathing a couple minutes after that.

A muscle in Everett’s jaw ticked as he stared down at the body of his brother. “Do we have everything we need?”

“All we really came for was your brother,” Okoye said.

“Alright. We should probably get out of here.”

“Agreed,” T’Challa said.

“Sink it.”

Okoye looked over at Agent Ross as they hovered above the Raft, preparing to fly back to Wakanda. “What?”

“Jhanvi. Sink it. The Raft. Open the bay doors and let it flood.”

Jhanvi glanced at Okoye, then at Everett when Okoye shrugged at her. “You sure?” When he nodded, she sighed and stared out the window.

The Raft slowly submerged, the water around and above it churning briefly before the metal fortress disappeared from view altogether.

“Set our course back to Wakanda immediately,” Okoye told Djabi before following Agent Ross and Jhanvi into the main cabin of the ship. She clasped Ross by the shoulder and scanned his face carefully when he turned to face her. “Are you alright?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. I just... need to process things.”

She nodded back and let him go, watching him carefully as he walked to the back of the cabin. Bast be with him.

“He’s gotta be in a world of pain right now,” Jhanvi muttered as she eyed the American agent.

“You’re not far away from one either,” Ayo grumbled as she walked up to the technopath. “What did General Ross mean when he said that ‘you’ve done worse?’”

“I do things and make money,” Jhanvi said with a defiant smirk. “I’m sure your imagination can work out the rest.”

“You’ve worked for HYDRA,” Okoye surmised.

“Once,” Jhanvi said tersely. “I draw the line at non-voluntary human experimentation.”

“You knew about General Ross.”

“I knew he was connected. I didn’t know how. And me knowing didn’t give me a leg up in figuring everything out when we were trying to figure out where the vibranium went! Maybe you’re not aware of this, but HYDRA keeps things pretty well buried.”

“Did you know about Bucky?” Steve asked, having overheard the argument.

Jhanvi shook her head. “No. They brought me in on a different project. I figured it was smarter not to dig around the evil Nazi organization’s archives --and then I met Klaue and was making better money, and I didn’t look back.”

Ayo narrowed her eyes at the technopath. “That better be the end of it.”

“No,” Jhanvi said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes, drawing out the ‘o.’ “You got me. I was secretly working with the darling General this whole time. The fuck that was the end of it! Believe it or fucking not, Commander, I do have a moral compass!”

“You might want to check it. I’m pretty sure the needle fell off a while ago.”

“Alright, separate,” Okoye ordered as she stepped between the two women before Jhanvi could do something that would result in Ayo kicking her ass. “You, over there,” she said to Jhanvi, pointing to the opposite side of the cabin.

“Uh, ‘you’ has a name.”

“C’mon,” Steve muttered as he ushered Jhanvi away from Ayo.

Okoye mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ at the captain before turning to face Ayo. “Please, don’t give me more headaches than I can handle right now.”

“Alright. But if she turns out to be linked up to HYDRA after all--”

“You get first dibs on stabbing her, I know.”

Ayo smirked and saluted before walking over to where Aneka was sitting.

Okoye let out a breath and plopped down in the nearest seat. Fuck, I’m tired.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” She smiled as M’Baku kissed her forehead, then giggled when he lifted her into his arms. “I can walk.”

“Yes, and so can I.” He gently set her on his bed, then started taking her boots off for her. “How’d everything go?”

Okoye’s mouth twitched with a blend of emotions she couldn’t quite identify. “Agent Ross killed the General.”

M’Baku looked up at her, expression shocked. “Weren’t they brothers?”

She nodded. “That’s not all. General Ross helped set the events in motion that led to the death of the King’s father.”

M’Baku actually stopped tugging her left boot off as his eyes widened. Then, he closed them and let out a heavy breath. “Fuck. How is the King?”

“Processing.”

“I can only imagine.” He finished tugging the boot off and set it next to its mate on the floor, then gently rubbed her calves. “And how are you?”

“Tired, but glad this is all over. At this point, all I want is a hot shower and then to sleep in your arms for at least eight hours.”

“I think both of those can be arranged. Do you mind if I join you for your shower?”

“Only if you promise to rub my shoulders while we’re there.”

M’Baku grinned and kissed her softly on the lips. “I can manage that.”

Okoye grinned back and let her head rest against his shoulder as he carried her to the bathroom. It’s nice to have a safe place to come home to in all this chaos.

“I’d never let her hurt you, you know.”

They were laying in M’Baku’s bed, blanketed by the soft sheets and the darkness that enveloped the room. The ceiling fan whirred softly overhead, keeping the room comfortably cool for M’Baku; his hands, in return rubbed up and down Okoye’s back, keep her comfortably warm as she nestled against his chest.

He kissed her forehead gently. “I’m not following, my love.”

“Adesina.” She kissed his shoulder when she felt him tense. “I know she scares you. It’s fine.”

He sighed and held her tighter against his chest. “I don’t want to seem unsympathetic to what she’s been through--”

“Hey, if I had been raised in the Jabari culture, I’d be scared of her too. She’s the living embodiment of what your people define as evil. It makes sense. And, anyway, the real point of all this that I wanted to let you know that’d I’d protect you from her if she turns out to be evil.”

“Thank you, ‘koye,” M’Baku murmured, chuckling softly as he pressed his lips against the top of her head. “But I think supernatural powers trump a vibranium spear.”

“I don’t give a shit about her powers. I will kick her ass.”

“Okoye.”

“Hmm?”

“Go to sleep.”

“I feel like you’re not properly appreciating my willingness to fight for you.”

“I am, I am.” He kissed her forehead again. “I love you, ‘koye.”

“I love you, too.”