#maybe the plane is on a secret mission on a need to know basis for all they know and hey it is scheduled

[ceiling-karasu]

I really thank you again for the compliments!

I actually wondered if the previous post was going to get reblogged over here, funny enough.

Yeah, I can see why you would really not want to even think about changing the codes.

I was drawn to the show because I like older style animations, but the actual effort put into the plot ideas was fantastic! It is easy to tell that the crew working on it was passionate in what they were attempting to do, even if the physics and animation are not quite right sometimes. They were doing their best with what they had, so that is really admirable.

One thing I forgot about with the transmissions was the numbers stations, which I posted about before. North Korean scouts communicate a lot through numbers stations, such as 11545 kHz (Lincolnshire Poacher in WW2), and with the static that occurs between programs with North Korea's international radio station Voice of Korea. They send through bursts of seemingly gibberish sounds or a series of numbers that would only make sense to the spy and handler assigned to the specific sounds and codes (which is really the only way radio static Morse code could work in that one chapter where it is used, I think).

It is possible for planes to pick up on these stations, so I hear, so stealing a plane would allow Geumsaegi, Juldarami, or Scout Goseumdochi to turn to that specific channel and input a coded cypher through the radio somehow. It is notable that in episode 6, Geumsaegi does not appear to actually speak the message, but instead taps it in while the narration translates.

So, it is possible that he was using one of the numbers stations. A channel of radio static might mean nothing to the Weasel Unit, but Flower Hill would have someone monitoring that channel specifically for such codes from specific scouts. The Weasel Unit could monitor the stations, but they would not understand the cypher.

Aekku, as the scout commander, might have recognized the codes as codes and have been interested in studying the ciphers and numbers channels, though.

Although, it might have been a shifting frequency tactic instead. You would definitely have a better idea of what any of them were doing with those planes and radios.

Alternatively to the numbers station, he could have shifted frequencies to one the weasels don't really pay attention to, which he would probably know about since he was the Guard Commander. It is implied that the weasels don't really expect much from Flower Hill (the mice Juldarami and Geumsaegi disguise as were sent in to see if Flower Hill even HAD adequate defenses), which is why they don't seem to pay attention to civilian air traffic as much (that hot air balloon drifting into restricted areas still gets me), and why it is possible for them to not pay attention to air traffic channels that are not important to them.

Of course, it is also suggested that it is not safe to constantly use the same messaging source, which is why the scouts' methods vary throughout the series. It does feel like using planes and the warship are emergency measures, though.

Why the tapping device was already flower shaped brings up other questions. But, then again, the Weasel Unit does not necessarily associate flowers with scouts. Juldarami is easily able to walk around with a scarf with flowers embroidered on it in full view, and no one questions it even when he is disguised as Mulmangcho.

“Squawk number xxxx,” if definitely something that could come in in a humorous scene, I am thinking. It could also be serious. Either way, this specific phrase as you put it creates a lot of powerful scenarios right now involving distractions, desertions, and information leaks that would not necessarily require its own story arc.

To be fair, an insider in FH's FIR office would be very simple. It was only Aekku's specific Tokgasi spy ring that was broken up and captured, after all. I feel like we see from the beginning that General Commander Jogjebi had his own ring of scouts consisting of Field Mice (could possibly be Japanese dormice, which are more closely related to squirrels than mice) disguised as squirrels, that very few people know about.

Geumsaegi is perturbed to find out about the existence of Field Mouse Number 6, who has been scouting around Flower Hill, after all. It would not be too far fetched for Jogjebi to have other scouts embedded around FH, and in the FIR office or even regular military ATC. And since Jogjebi is dead, they might as well stay for a while and help other Weasel Unit individuals escape or something. Especially since Geumsaegi and FH focus on Aekku's scouts, and seem to forget that Jogjebi might possibly have other scouts spying on FH, such as Field Mouse number 8 and others.

So that easily opens up disguised FPL plots, I would think. Probably Field Mouse Number 8, that hat he wears makes me think that headphones would fit nicely under there. If not in the AU, then some of us have been discussing him a lot and trying to figure out where he could have gone. At the very least, he is known as a loyalist to Jogjebi, so he would not have been caught up in the Tokgasi raids.

Some sort of Air Traffic Controller job kind of makes sense for him, I think, if his job is to monitor unusual increases and decreases in traffic. most likely, if so, then his job would have been to make sure Field Mouse Number 6 was able to come and go from the Flower Hill air base in his little plane, perhaps, since Number 6 was going back and forth between Flower Hill and Jogjebi in that plane. After all, the Weasel Unit ATCs recognize his plane, and if he was disguised as a squirrel civilian when he went to the festival, his plane might have been disguised as well.

The disguised helicopter later in the season doesn't have any such issue since it came from the Sturgeon base, and they only needed the jewel necklace to get back inside.

Although, I have the feeling that having a disguised aircraft around FH would not really be something that could be used often without raising too much suspicion. A surprise attack using that method, might actually require multiple scouts in the ATC to allow the plane in question to get close, and they would likely be captured afterwards if they did not die in the attack as well.

I feel like a disguised aircraft FPL might be useful in a background desertion plot (or just a headcanon about the field mice now), where weasels and mice could use it to sneak away from the Weasel and Wolf units in order to desert. I think Flower Hill would figure it out if they did it more than a few times, but they might just pretend they don't know and ignore the plane, because allowing it to exist might bleed the enemies lines dry.

I think that fits in more with one story I read about at least one group in WW2 deserting the army by doing exactly that.

Hi, just want to let you know that I’ve always enjoy reading your tags, it’s a lot of fun reading your clever insights and observations on my arts. I really appreciate them.✨

Your art improve amazingly over these past few months and I’m looking forward to the direction it will take in the future. I also admire your dedication when it comes to writing, finishing 30+ chapters series is definitely not an easy tasks and I think that’s really cool. \(^^ )

Thank you very much! I'm looking forward to completing another 30+ chapters series in the future.

I really like your art and how the color schemes seem to match the personalities of the characters. They always look so crisp with the right amount of style on character positioning.

I always thought it was really cool how you managed to have so much detailed backstories and world building, alongside managing to create pictures and comics to go along with the chapters and stories you write. It has been really inspirational!

Although, funny, enough, I have been thinking about asking you if you had any preferences on sources to start researching universal aviation codes and the differences in between civilian and military planes, jets, helicopters, and airships, and which you think might sound better when used by militaries vs civilians. I think I am going to have to do a lot of studying on IATA, ICAO, PAT, Mode-S, VFR, and transponders, as well as codes used in towered vs non towered airports. I feel like I am going to have to do a lot of study on aviation and plane/jet/drone schematics for future chapters.

[dailydaydreamings]

Best in the Worst Way, Chapter 10

Okay, I might have taken out some inner rage on this one. It mentions some pretty heavy stuff, like trauma and violence. There’s a big argument about sexuality. This one flips back and forth between the night the reader sleeps with the boys (chapter 5) and their mission. I’m seriously gonna try to lighten things up, pinky swear. Please enjoy ;) —K

The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?

1 Year Ago

“What the hell happened last night,” you demanded, pacing back and forth in Steve’s room.

After waking up beside a very naked Steve and Bucky after last nights party, you sprung from bed, starling both boys awake. Bucky was now sitting on the lounge next to Steve bed, his head in his hands. Steve laid against his headboard looking perplexed.

“I’m pretty sure you asked us to have sex with you,” Bucky said, running his hand down his face. He looked like he had the world worst hangover. “I remember thinking, yeah that’s a great idea. But I don’t remember when it turned into a threesome.”

You frowned, “I thought you couldn’t get drunk.”

Steve shook his head, “We were drinking that stuff that Thor brings. I think we drank a lot of it.”

Bucky suddenly lurched forward, looking very green, “This is my first hangover since the 40s’, I might hurl. Don’t bring that stuff up again.”

You closed your eyes, they were useless. “Just to confirm, we had sex? I don’t remember anything after the gala.”

Steve nodded, “Yeah we definitely did...”

You groaned, “For shit’s sake, I’ve wanted to have sex with the two of you for a year and I can’t even remember it! Was it good?”

Bucky turned his head to look at you sideways, “First of all, how are you not hungover? You were pounding them back faster than us without enhancements. Second, YOU wanted to have sex with BOTH of US?”

You purged your lips, poor choice of words, but you would stand behind it. “I have excellent genes, first of all. To your second question, I really didn’t apcare which of you I had sex with last night, as long as it was one of you. I really wasn’t expecting sex with TWO of you!” And honestly, it was relieving to know you had had sex with both of them and you still didn’t have to choose.

Bucky nodded, almost like he respected what you were saying. Like he too had had a couple of nights waking up in a predicament like this. But now that you thought about it, for all of the male Avengers, there were only four you had never had to get their one nightstands to sign non-disclosure: Tony, Bruce, Scott, and Bucky. You’d even had to escort out one of Steve’s flings three months ago. You remembered a particular feeling of joy watching her sign the document, knowing she would never be returning.

But not Bucky, everyone else was having sex or had a reason not to be. There was no way he was a virgin, was there?

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Bucky interrupted your musing, directing his comment at Steve. “Nothing to say?”

Steve was looking both confused and pissed. Totally conflicted as to which emotion should take precedent. You watched his hands twisting in the sheets uncomfortably, “Its just that I’d never...you know...”

You and and Bucky exchanged a quick glance. “No,” you said. “We don’t?”

Steve rolled his eyes, and then whispered, “Never had sex with...” and then he coughed pointedly.

Frowning you asked, “More than one person at a time?”

Steve started to say something when Bucky stood, crossed his arms, and said, “No, he means he’s never had sex with a guy before.”

Steve’s sheepish look downward said enough.

Attempting to resolve some of the tension, you waved a hand, “It’s so not big deal, Steve. I’ve had sex with women. Sometimes it just happens, you know?”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to you, his jaw locking, “I’m not that guy. I’m not gay.”

“You weren’t exactly straight last night either,” Bucky snapped. You looked between the two of them, what happened last night. There was history here too, something you were missing.

You held up your hands defensively, “I never called you gay, Steve. I mean, there was still a woman involved last night, I’m assuming.” You looked at Bucky for clarity, he nodded. “I’m just saying, it’s okay. You don’t need to feel ashamed.”

Steve glared at the two of you, “Yeah, well, it’s never happening again.”

———

Bucky hated to admit it, but going on a mission with Steve was easy.

After the plane ride north, very far north, full of glares and silence, it was like slipping into a glove. No matter how angry they were with each other, they still worked well together. They had to when danger was involved. They were professional, afterall.

Even spare time in the safe house, at first it was cold and awkward, but the very first night, Bucky had a nightmare. He woke screaming to find Steve upstanding over him, shaking him gently. Before Bucky could say anything, Steve climbed into bed beside him, and wrapped an arm around Bucky, like how Bucky needed after a bad nightmare.

And so, things went back to how they used to be, slowly. Bucky made breakfast in the morning and Steve said, “Did you really love Bridgerton or was it just me?”

Bucky smirked, crisping up the bacon, and said, “We watched the whole season in one weekend.”

The thing about this mission, it was boring. There wasn’t a lot of action, just waiting in case it happened on the basis of a really good tip, apparently. Bucky was seriously beginning to think it was a load of crap.

So, during the days they did recon, and when they could, they hung out and caught up at the safe house. At first, it was like old times, pre-relationship. Your name didn’t come up once, they didn’t talk about the babies. Bucky terrified to bring it up and burst whatever bubble they had created.

Then, Bucky was making dinner one night, and Steve walked up behind him and kissed the back of his neck...one thing led to another and they found themselves wrapped in sheets, lazing a couple of hours later. Bucky had an arm over his head, watching the still ceiling fan and he muttered, “What the hell, Steve?”

Steve propped himself up on his elbow to observe Bucky, “What do you mean?”

Bucky glared at him, “You know what I mean. Y/n tells us she’s pregnant. You go awol. You ask her to leave me and get an abortion. You see the babies, you want back into our lives. You spend weeks wooing her and ignoring me. And now what?”

Steve sighed, “I just, I can’t see her being part of my life any more, Buck. She doesn’t want me. And I don’t want to lose you, you’re my best friend and I love you. And I want these babies, and I don’t know, I guess the last couple of days, playing house...I just got thinking, we could raise these kids, together.”

Bucky sat up in bed, quickly at that. Was Steve really asking what Bucky was thinking, for him to leave you and raise the twins without you?

“First of all, that’s never going to fucking happen,” Bucky snapped, reaching for his shirt on the floor. “I’d never leave her and you’d never play the part of the gay guy, I know you. You can’t be who you are.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “And you’d be okay playing the throuple game? You really think people would be okay with that? Captain America and the Winter Soldier in, what did y/n call it? The super secret super soldier threesome?”

Bucky shook his head, reaching for his pants now. “Captain America,” he mused. “How far you’ve come, huh? Rather by the gay guy than a throuple? Do you know how shitty that would make y/n feel? Or how that makes me feel? You only wanted her back so you two could be the good American couple and you could have the babies in peace. Am I right?”

Bucky stood and saw Steve lowering his eyes. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet Bucky’s. “The two of you were always preaching to me it was my journey with how I wanted to come out as bi. Or if I wanted to come out. Maybe I don’t want to. It’s not up to you to shame me for my choices.”

Bucky just shook his head, “I’m just disappointed you don’t love us enough to try.”

———

1 Year Ago

The compound had a Starbucks, it was honestly a godsend. You got coffee there most of the time and it was the best place to get someone talking. Which is why, when you got a text from Bucky asking you to talk, you suggested it.

“What did you want to talk about?” You broached, sipping at your chai tea latte.

Bucky looked down at his plain, black coffee. “You’re the only one who knows what happened with Steve...and I just figured you might be the person to talk about...sex with?” He looked up at that, an eyebrow quirked slightly.

Steve had been avoiding the two of you in the week since the gala. It was just awesome, you loved the silent treatment.

To Bucky, you answered, “I’m more than comfortable talking about sex.” And you were probably a little too comfortable, if you were being honest with yourself, but Bucky didn’t need your detailed kill list.

Bucky nodded, “I figured, no offence.” You shrugged it off. “It’s just, I wanted to have sex with you ever since I met you. Honestly, I wanted more than sex, but this is where we are. Sex is not an easy thing for me...ever since, you know..everything.”

You reached across the table and gently took his hand. He cleared his throat, pointedly looking around. “The thing is, I’ve been in love with Steve since we were kids.”

Oh, you thought. That wasn’t what you were expecting him to say at all. You were totally expecting some speak about being a virgin.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say aloud too, apparently. You kicked yourself internally for your awkwardness. “Okay...Bucky, I’m so sorry then.” You suddenly started to remember Steve’s reaction. He was pissed about having sex with another guy when he’d woken up beside them.

Bucky ducked his head, “I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from him. I hoped, that maybe, finally, he would...”

You placed a hand on your breaking heart, “He would feel the same,” you finished and Bucky nodded.

You looked down at your own drink, trying to think of the best thing to say. “I don’t know anything about being in love with another girl. I’m attracted to both but I’ve always loved men. I do know what it’s like to love someone so much it hurts, and to desperately want them to see you. I once kissed a guy I loved so much in front of everyone we knew, thinking it was some big romantic gesture, only to find out he had a girlfriend and I was the last to know.”

Bucky cracked a smile at that.

“Love sucks,” you concluded.

Bucky leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I hate feeling like I’m losing my best friend.”

You nodded, “He’ll come around. Either to accept you as first friend again, or to see things from your point of view.”

Bucky fiddled with his fingers slightly as he said, “Steve’s always been the more proper one. He follows the rules. I think he can accept me, but I can’t see him ever loving me like I love him.”

You reached across the table, one more time to wrap both your hands around his, “How do you know if you don’t talk to him?”

———

“Fuck you, Bucky!” Steve shouted, following Bucky out of the bedroom. “I’m offering you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Bucky stormed into the kitchen, he wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but it couldn’t involve Steve. He started searching for his cost as he snapped, “What I want has changed. I want her and you, this isn’t an either or situation.”

Steve slammed a hand into the counter, “You just want her because she’s having your baby. Admit it, if I’d offered you this before she got pregnant you would have jumped ship in a heartbeat.”

Bucky paused, sending a death glare at Steve. “What the fuck. I love her, Steve,” he said it almost calmly now. “Baby or not, I love her. She is the best part of my day, my biggest supporter, and takes my breath away every time I see her. I wouldn’t have jumped ship because the terms of our relationship involved three of us, not just you and me. She wasn’t my way to get to you, she as an independent part of this relationship.”

Steve’s face crumpled, as he leaned forward to press his face against the counter. “I don’t know how to do this, Buck. I thought I had everything when I went back to Peggy. I thought this life was over. I didn’t expect everything to just get harder.”

Bucky placed his hands in his hips. “Why do you make it so much harder than it has to be? My god, Steve, you were the skinny kid dying to go to war. You fought Hydra almost singlehandedly. You stood up to Tony Stark for me. And you’re afraid to let the world know you’re in a relationship with a man and a woman.” Steve flinched at those words. “Steve, babe, do you know how much joy you are keeping from yourself by being so afraid?”

Steve looked up, there were tears shinning in his eyes.

But Bucky wasn’t done, “You’re right Steve, this is your journey. If you don’t want to come out, that’s fine. You can be the cool uncle who hangs out all the time, or you can have shared custody and we’ll tell everyone I started sleeping with her later. But we could have a truly amazing life together, if you were just willing to give this thing a try.”

Steve clapped his hand together, a pained look on his face as he said, “Do you know what keeps me up at night, Buck? Any and every single story on the news about people getting beat to death for being gay or trans or different. It keeps me awake, I can see their faces. I can see their pain. Big old Captain America doesn’t have nightmares about Thanos or Ultron, but that. We as a species are so terrible to each other that we kill people because they choose to love.”

Bucky had tears running down his face. Steve’s jaw was clenched so tight he thought it might shatter. Bucky finally said quietly, “I didn’t know that, Steve.”

Steve reached up and aggressively wiped a tear away. “I just want to hide away and be happy together. I know we’re safe at the compound, I know we can defend ourselves. But what if some guy just decided to shoot you or y/n because you’re in some “abnormal” relationship?

Bucky reached for him then, “Babe, we can’t stop any of that from happening. But we can trust that we are well equipped to handle ourselves and take care of y/n and the babies. We can be okay. We can have a happy life, I promise.”

Steve let loose a long sigh and reached for Bucky. Their embrace was short lived, but for a second it was everything they needed. It said more than a thousand words could. It healed.

And then the explosion rocked the house.

———

After what could only be described as the world’s longest day of work, you hobbled towards your bedroom. You were so ready to get out of this stupid work dress and put on some sweats.

In your closet, you stripped down to nothing, and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. At 18 weeks, with twin super soldiers babies, you looked huge. You remembered when your friends had started getting pregnant, they hadn’t been nearly as big, and you were only going to get bigger.

You flattened your hand against your stomach, bringing it to cradle your bump. “Hello, little ones,” you mused, “you’ll be here soon enough. I guess that means mommy needs to stop waiting for daddy to make up your nursery, huh?”

You looked yourself in the mirror, suddenly feeling rediculous. It wasn’t like you were really expecting an answer, were you? You were getting way too used to silence.

As you were pulling on your seats though, you felt a slight flutter. You paused. You’d felt some movement, but this was definitely a kick.

Shaking in disbelief, you hobbled towards your bed, sitting down on the white bedspread, spreading your hands on either side of your belly.

“Okay, guys, I know you can hear me. Give mommy another kick, please.”

Nothing.

You gave your stomach a poke, “Come on, guys. Just one little kick for your mommy.”

Then you felt a nice, sharp kick by your ribs. Letting go a sharp breath, you smiled, “Nice one. Oh my god, your daddy is going to be so upset he missed this.”

You laughed. Because your babies were kicking, and they were kicking hard. And suddenly your bedroom seemed so much bigger and lonelier. And it wasn’t just Bucky who was missing this, it was also Steve. Who had just as much a right to feel these babies kick.

You wrapped an arm around your middle, solemnly, “When your daddies get home,” you emphasized the plural, “you’re gonna kick up a storm for them, okay? No matter how mad mommy is.”

So you started your nightly routine, you made dinner and watched a show and read your book. You were washing your face when your phone rang. Tony’s name flashed across the top.

You answered it on speaker, “Hey, what’s up?” You reached for your serum and started rubbing it in.

“You’re gonna need to come into the compound, right now.” Tony said from the other end.

You raised an eyebrow. No fucking way. You were going to bed, you were dressed for bed. You had a rough day already, anything else could wait till morning.

“Tony, you have given me scrap about taking it easy and sleeping and nothing working rediculous hours. It is ten o’clock on a Wednesday. I am going to bed.”

“Y/n,” Tony’s voice softened and you paused. “I need you to come in right now.”

You picked up your phone, pressing the FaceTime button. Suddenly you were face to face with a sheepish looking Tony Stark. You took a second to observe his face before saying, “Which one of them is dead?”

Tony let out a long breath and your heart constricted.

No, no, no. This could not be happening. Not on such a good night.

Tony finally said, “They’re not dead. Either of them.”

Suddenly you were on the floor, on a sob bubbling in your throat. Oh, thank god. Nothing else matter, they weren’t dead.

“Y/n, they’re in bad shape though,” Tony’s voice now sounded very, very far away. You tried to focus in on what’s he was saying, but all you could think was, they’re not fucking dead. “Y/n, they’re hurt and being transferred here and they’re asking for you.”

Tags

@booktease21 @sexyvixen7 @just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark

[spencers-renaissance]

Vivaldi on Full Volume

Summary: Spencer's done enough pining, so he decides to write a letter for Aaron telling him exactly how he feels and gives it to him on the jet. He cannot be held responsible for what happens when they land.

Tags: Love Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, Insecurity, My Typical CM Characterisation: Protective Aaron, Shy Spencer oops

Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Word Count: 5.2k

Read on Ao3

The Love Letter, Uninterrupted

Spencer’s hands are shaking as he gets up from his seat in the corner of the jet. They’re 40 minutes away from landing, deliberately planned well in advance: everyone’s well and truly settled, there isn’t long to wait for a private conversation and people haven’t woken up to prepare for landing yet. This is well thought out, he tells himself, trying to be convincing. There isn’t much that can go wrong.

Except there absolutely is. He’s run all the possible outcomes over and over in his head, at night, on the jet, spare moments in cases; he knows pretty much every possibility in and out. The worst case scenario, of course, is Aaron flips and hurts him or never talks to him again, but he knows logically that this is unlikely. No, the most likely situation is a polite rejection and a rift in their relationship, but it’s a risk he has to take. This limbo is too painful to exist in forever: he has to give himself a chance at happiness, and if that doesn’t happen he needs a chance to get over him. 

Aaron is, predictably, sitting on his own at the other end of the jet, getting a head start on his paperwork. He’d shot Spencer a questioning look when he’d opted to sit on his own instead of opposite or next to him, but everyone knows that Spencer sometimes needs a moment to himself and after he’d responded with a reassuring smile, Aaron had smiled back and looked down. 

“Reid,” he greets him as he looks up from the plethora of forms and files and reports littering the table in front of him, that questioning look returning and bleeding into his voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks after Spencer stands there frozen for a moment, shaking him out of his head and reminding him of his mission. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he says softly, chuckling a little. “Here. Can you do me a favour and… read this for me? All the way to the end? Leave your questions for the end, and we can talk once we land.” He hands him the pretty stationery wrapped in a tissue paper envelope. The seal is a deep navy that had reminded Spencer of Aaron the moment he saw it in the shop, and he used it even though he knew it would tear the tissue and was utterly pointless. His hands still shake a little as he passes it over, but he doesn’t blame himself. Anyone would be nervous. This isn’t just a Spencer thing.

Once Aaron has the letter in his hands he turns it, looking it over, before meeting Spencer’s anxious gaze with his own steady one, now filled with growing curiosity. “Of course,” he says, indulgently. It’s one of Spencer’s favourite things about him, his stoicism in the face of a surprise. He doesn’t react in a way that might further upset somebody when they share something with him, and it makes him an excellent leader. 

Spencer shoots him another nervous but meaningful smile, the kind he uses with his friends, with Henry, with people he cares about. People he’s been in love with for five years. Whatever. 

He turns away and doesn’t look back.

★

Aaron struggles to contain his curiosity long enough to wait until Spencer is settled back in his seat on the other side of the plane. This must be why he’d chosen to sit somewhere other than next to him on this flight which had admittedly confused him a little, Spencer usually liked the familiarity and comfort of sitting next to him. He’d suspected he needed space but now it seems as though he was psyching himself up to hand this letter to him. 

It’s not a resignation letter, Aaron is fairly certain of that, Spencer would never use such beautiful stationery and a seal in his favourite colour for something so straightforward and professional. He’d also given him one of those heart-warmingly open and trusting smiles before turning back, even if it was a little anxious. This is something personal. 

Finally giving into his curiosity, he carefully opens the handmade envelope and pulls out the letter written on high-quality paper in Spencer’s delicate script. 

Aaron,

I have debated sitting down and putting pen to paper to write this letter for a long time, much less handing it to you to read. This is perhaps the most forward thing I have ever done, and you will understand that it is also the bravest. I know I am crossing a line in writing this. I have never been one to break the rules, it's something we have in common, isn't it? We're both straight arrows. Perhaps I am hoping for too much. I am not the object of many's desire and maybe it is foolish to hope that someone as amazing as you could possibly be the exception, but if I don't get it out of my system I'm afraid this secret may bubble up and swallow me whole, its acidic aftertaste never quite leaving my mouth.

Immediately, Aaron’s heart starts beating out of his chest. Spencer rarely calls him Aaron -- the whole team operates on a largely last-name only basis -- but he’d be lying if those infrequent times when his first name leaves Spencer’s lips don’t make his heart flutter and insides warm. His face betrays him, he knows, but this might just be everything he’s been hoping to hear for the last four years and the team is asleep or preoccupied right now, thanks to Spencer’s clearly well-planned timing. He can afford to let his guard down a little.

His stomach clenches, though, when he sees Spencer’s insecurity bleeding into his writing, the ink revealing his painful self-doubt where his lips keep them tightly sealed away. He’s absolutely everything Aaron is craving, and if others can’t see that then it’s their own loss. He knows, though, that Spencer is too oblivious for his own good: the rest of the team don’t miss the looks he gets when they go out for drinks, but Spencer does. Spencer could get anyone he wants, even if he doesn’t realise it, and the honour of being the chosen person isn’t lost on him.

The truth of the matter is we live dangerous lives. This plane could crash, one of us could get shot, stabbed, blown up and not survive it next time. I need to take advantage of the fact that right now we are alive, and if there is any chance that I could live my life alongside yours then I must take it.

That makes Aaron let out a small, breathy laugh. He’d thought the same exact thing so many times, but Spencer was a lot braver than he was. Even if it didn’t have the potential for a sexual harrassment suit and the loss of his job, he’s not sure he’d have the bravery to tell Spencer just how in love with him he is. Not in a letter written with a fountain pen on pretty stationery, not to his face, not in front of others, not alone. Spencer has guts he’d lost a long time ago. A risky job had led to a tightly controlled personal life. He plays it safe. Spencer doesn’t.

Here is what I want:

I want to throw caution to the wind and live vicariously with you. Let's eat pancakes for dinner, drive down the interstate with the windows down and listen to Vivaldi on full volume, let's hold hands in the street in Virginia and say fuck it to anybody who has a problem with it. I want to get stuck in your head the way you're stuck in mine: when you're doing paperwork, I want to be in the back of your head. I want to excite you when you think of me naked, when you think of me spread out beneath you. Not a moment goes by where I don't think of you, Aaron. I wish I was on your mind in the same way.

Aaron’s face breaks out into a much wider smile. Oh, God, Spencer, he thinks, sending his eyes to the ceiling of the jet. You have no idea. Spencer doesn’t have to wish for this, to crave such a thing, it’s already happening. It feels like paperwork takes twice as long as it used to do before he fell in love with Spencer. It’s not even limited to his job: doing laundry, washing the dishes, cooking dinner, driving Jack to a soccer match, watching TV -- everything he does is consumed by thoughts of Spencer.

And Jesus Christ have mercy, the thought of Spencer spread out naked beneath him, what he looks like under those conservative button ups and cardigans, plays out behind his eyelids far too often. It’s made him feel like a pervert for years, fantasising about his much younger coworker and wondering what he likes in bed, how he could make him feel good. The idea that the same thoughts about him fill Spencer’s brain has him weak at the knees and hot under the collar. Of course he chose the jet to do this, he thinks amusedly. 

Let's find new TV shows and movies together! There's nothing I'd like more than to cuddle up against your chest after a hard case and watch something that we both enjoy, that gives us a sense of comfort and familiarity. On the weekends, let's get dressed up and visit fancy restaurants only to have a cheap crepe at the end of the night before rushing back home to get undressed again. I want to be yours, and I want you to prove that to the world.

Aaron’s heart is melting slowly, dripping down the inside of his chest, he’s sure of it. He’s walked into his apartment after a hard case feeling empty and defeated, wishing Spencer was there to give him a hug and take away the pain far too many times. It only ever made him feel worse, the belief that that would never happen, it never could happen, only now he’s being proved wrong. 

He already knows the first place he’ll take Spencer. Rossi had treated him to dinner there once after Haley passed away, and the ambience and seafood paella had wedged itself firmly into his mind. He’d fantasised many times about how Spencer’s eyes would look in the soft lighting, how he’d laugh in the relaxed setting, how he’d feel spoiled and loved when Aaron footed the bill, ignoring his protests. His heart feels full and bursting at the thought that soon these ideas might not be as far-fetched as he’d convinced himself for so long. He wishes he could see Spencer right now, but he knows he’s probably panicking quietly in the corner, and he was told to save his questions for the end. He’ll play on his terms, especially since it was Spencer who’d had the bravery to do this in the first place.

My biggest fear in writing this letter, though, may not be that you simply won't return my affections, but that you're still in love with Haley. I could never seek to replace her, but I know how deeply you loved her and how painful the wounds of your grief still are. I hope you know, Aaron, that if you do love me back, I'm not jealous of Haley. Not at all. I respect her and I respect your grief.

He can’t help the stab of pain in his gut at the mention of Haley. He’d loved her so deeply and he knew the team was acutely aware of that, Spencer probably more than anybody else if this letter was anything to go by. It strikes him then, just how kind Spencer is. He’s always known it on some level, of course, but the selfless compassion and love for the people around him is so overwhelming when he takes a moment to properly comprehend it. He could have glossed over his late wife in such a letter, but instead he chose to promise Aaron that he could share his heart with Haley. He knows Spencer will keep such a promise. 

I've tried for years to hide the way I feel, Aaron. I went on dates to try and get over you, I dodged you in the break room and bullpen to avoid conversing with you which only made my infatuation worse each time, I feigned plans to get out of family nights because seeing you in a casual setting is so cuttingly painful. I can't hide it anymore, though. I'd rather transfer out of the BAU than continue in this limbo of awkward pining. If you hate me, that's okay, I can deal with that. But there isn't much I don't know, and not knowing this? It's agonising.

Aaron’s stomach clenches again. He wishes they hadn’t been pining all these years so Spencer didn’t have to exist in the parallel of his own realm of wistful agony. The thought of him avoiding him in the break room with the empty ache of unrequited love filling his insides, believing he could never have him when Aaron had been doing the same thing is almost laughable: they were both so oblivious.

Seeing Spencer dressed in jeans and a t-shirt last year when Morgan had invited them all to one of his renovation projects had tortured him for weeks afterwards, and now he was being told that he’d done the same to him; Spencer had gone home after those gatherings and thought about him casual and relaxed, unbuttoned polo shirts and all. It’s almost unbearable. 

It’s reassuring, though, to know Spencer is as committed to this hypothetical as he is. Aaron would leave the BAU, too, if it came to it. If it meant he got to come home to Spencer and cuddle him on the sofa with history documentaries playing on the TV that Spencer was subconsciously memorising and would repeat the next time it was even slightly relevant in conversation. If it meant he could smile knowingly, and wrap an arm around his oblivious boyfriend’s waist, proving to the world that Spencer was his, just like he asked. 

The only way to end this letter is with hope. Any answer you give me I will respect, but I am holding out hope that you will say all this back to me, that you will write your own love letter or profess your own love. That you have similar fantasies and daydreams about me, that you've thought of all these things, too. Thank you for reading this all the way through, Aaron. All that's left to say are five simple words:

I'm in love with you.

Spencer.

Aaron reads the letter over once more before folding it carefully and placing it back in the envelope. He’s completely floored, to be honest. The last thing he expected after a fairly straight-forward case in Seattle was a love confession from the man he’d been in love with since before Haley even passed away, but he’s going to take it and run with it, consequences be damned. 

The plane starts to descend and the rest of the team begin rousing from their naps or putting their books down as chatter starts to rise. “Right,” Aaron says, grabbing everyone’s attention, though Spencer keeps himself carefully tucked away in the corner. “We should have the next few days off though we are on standby, okay? Everyone get some rest, make sure you come back refreshed and ready to tackle the next case. Don’t forget your reports though, have them emailed to me or on my desk by Monday.” He gives everyone a tight smile before turning away as conversations resumed. 

He knows Spencer is tormenting himself by analysing every cadence in his voice, trying to gauge his reaction and he longs to walk over to him and kiss his anxieties away, but he can’t. Spencer specifically asked him to wait until they landed, and he can’t reveal anything to the team so early, certainly not without discussing it first. Instead, he sits back in his seat, abandoning the paperwork in front of him in favour of fighting the fond, excited smile off his face and imagining his first kiss with Spencer, the anticipation making it so much more intense now that it’s actually real.

Time, as it always does, passes, however slowly. They eventually land and Aaron schools his face as the rest of the team pour out onto the tarmac. “Right everyone, I’ll see you in a few days but keep your phones on in case we get called up,” he calls once they’re all off the plane. As everyone starts to peel off to the garage or the office, he turns to Spencer, still keeping his face straight for the sake of others around them. “How about we go to my place and talk.”

“That sounds good,” Spencer says, small smile taking the edge off the anxiety on his face. 

★

The car ride back to Aaron’s apartment is quiet. “I don’t need to pick Jack up until the morning, so it’s just us tonight,” he explains, and Spencer is relieved to see his face soften significantly now they’re alone. He allows a dash of hope to flare in his chest before forcing himself to temper his expectations. You don’t know anything yet. He could be letting you down easy, this could be a pity thing. His fingers drum anxiously against his thigh as Aaron drives, eyes focused straight on the road, his face still unreadable. God, does he have to be so sexy when he drives? 

Just like the time on the plane, though, the time in the car eventually passes, the tension thick between them by the time Aaron pulls into his apartment complex. He smiles gently at Spencer as he takes the key out of the ignition. “Shall we head up?” he asks, and Spencer’s floored at what he sees in his face: he’s wearing the expression he only pulls when he looks at Jack or the team as a whole on a relaxed evening out. To see it directed at him exclusively is a kind of intensity he isn’t prepared for and it bowls him over for a second. 

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs breathily. “Sorry, yeah. Let’s go up.” 

The apartment door closing behind them sounds way too loud to Spencer and, sick of the tension, he decides to try and clear the air. “Look, Aaron, Hotch, can you just tell me--”

He’s cut off by Aaron’s lips pressing firmly against his own, a hand coming to rest on his waist while another grips his face gently. It takes him a second to catch up before he’s kissing back, overwhelmed by the feeling of Aaron’s hands on his body, the very hands he’s admired for years, the hands he’s fantasised about, the hands that make him feel things. He reaches up to place his own on Aaron’s chest, feeling the broadness there, the strength in the body against his making him weak at the knees. 

Aaron pulls away eventually. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says, voice as breathless as Spencer feels. 

“Me too,” he replies, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Maybe… maybe we should do it again.” He smiles shyly at Aaron before leaning in again, this time gasping a little as Aaron pushes him back against the door for leverage, tracing his hand up and down Spencer’s sides, making him tremble in his grip.

“God, Spencer, you’re so damn breathtaking,” Aaron says in between fervent kisses. “Literally.” They both giggle into each others’ mouths at that, relief filling both of them up to the brim as the knowledge that finally, finally, their pining is over sets in. This could be it, they could build something real. 

“Aaron,” Spencer moans, trembling more as Aaron presses himself closer, right hand moving to grip the back of his neck gently, holding him firmly against his body. It overwhelms Spencer a bit, feeling completely surrounded by a man who was so unattainable for so long, by the person he’s been in love with for years. 

It was completely involuntary, but it makes Aaron pull away, resting his forehead against Spencer’s as they both breathe deeply. “We should talk,” he says softly, pressing a final chaste kiss to Spencer’s lips before pulling back completely and taking his hand, leading him to the sofa. 

“Could I have a blanket or something?” Spencer asks shyly, looking sheepish. “I’m a bit chilly.”

He sees realisation dawn on Aaron’s face along with a little bit of guilt. “Of course, Spencer,” he says. “Sorry this is so backwards. Do you want anything else? Something to eat or drink?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says lightly. “Let’s talk and then we could order some dinner?” 

“Sounds perfect,” he smiles, reaching over into a cupboard and bringing out a thick, fluffy blanket. He drapes it over Spencer and makes sure he’s completely comfortable before sitting down opposite him on the sofa himself. “So. Your letter.”

Spencer ducks his head, a light flush tinting his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t know how else to say it?” he says, a question colouring his voice. 

“No, I’m not criticising you,” Aaron rushes to clarify. “It’s possibly the most romantic, beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me, and the truth is, Spencer, I’m in love with you, too.”

Spencer’s head darts up, wide, earnest eyes meeting Aaron’s serious gaze. “You are?” he asks, voice filled with the surprised sort of wonderment that always betrays him whenever any sort of love or affection is revealed to him.

“I am,” Hotch chuckles fondly. “Very much so. I’ve loved you since before Haley passed, to be honest. I’ve done all the things you wrote in your letter, too; I want all the same things you do.”

Spencer’s blush darkens a bit at that, remembering… certain parts… of his letter that he hopes Aaron includes in that statement. “All of it?” His voice is a little squeaky, almost cracking as he clears his throat at the awkwardness. 

“Yeah,” Aaron grins cheekily, loving that he can appreciate the blush on Spencer’s cheeks openly now. There’s no more room for hiding. “All of it.” 

Spencer clears his throat again. “So, is this what you want? Me? A relationship?” he asks, still a little uncertain, not quite secure in the fact that Aaron won’t back off and say this was an experiment, he’s not really committed in the same way Spencer is. 

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Aaron says earnestly. “I want you. I want everything that comes with you, I want the highs and lows of a relationship, I want commitment, I want fun, I want seriousness. Spencer, will you be my boyfriend?” 

Spencer’s brain short circuits for a second before he looks up with the widest smile, one usually reserved for Henry, the kind that reveals unadulterated, unconditional love. “Yes,” he whispers as he launches himself across the sofa and into Aaron’s arms, resting his head on his chest as he revels in the comfort of that exact moment. Finally, though, the extreme emotions of the evening catch up with him and he can’t quite fight them off anymore, maybe his brain is finally convinced that he doesn’t have to, that he’s safe here. Whatever the reason, he can’t help the tears that start to leak from his eyes, or the sobs that softly wrack his shoulders. 

“Spencer,” Aaron whispers back, voice dripping in concern. “Spencer, what’s wrong?” 

“It’s just… it happened,” he tries to explain through his snivelling. “What I hoped for… at the end of my letter. I wrote ‘I am holding out hope that you will say all this back to me, that you will write your own love letter or profess your own love. That you have similar fantasies and daydreams about me, that you've thought of all these things, too.’ And you did. You do.”

“Yeah,” Aaron says, struck with awe, too. “It’s pretty overwhelming for me, too.”

They lie like that for a while longer, finding comfort in one another’s arms, the weight of Spencer weighing Aaron down in a way that feels like security and Aaron’s arms wrapping around him in a way that gives him all the comfort and protection he craves.

Eventually, Spencer picks his head up and meets Aaron’s tired eyes. It had been a long case and an emotionally exhausting evening, and it was nearing midnight. “Shall I order some pizza?” he asks, playing with the tie Aaron was still wearing, slightly loosened but still sexy enough for Spencer to very much appreciate. 

“Please,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “I can’t believe I just get to do that now.”

Spencer hums in content. “Well, by all means, Mr Hotchner, do it again,” he says in a sultry tone.

Aaron groans. “You’d better not talk like that, Spencer, or we’ll never get our pizza.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “You get us some drinks and get the telly set up. I’ll be right back.” 

Aaron closes the curtains, turns off the overhead light and turns on some lamps and lights some candles. Spencer raises an eyebrow at that and he puts his hands up defensively. “What? They’re cosy!” Spencer giggles at that, kissing him again. 

“Can we put the history channel on?” Spencer asks while Aaron turns the TV on and fiddles with the volume. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, sweetheart.” Spencer ducks his head and blushes, insides warming and tingling at the affection. He’s still not entirely sure this isn’t a dream. Aaron, unfortunately, doesn’t miss it. “Aw, are you blushing? Do you like that, you like it when I call you sweetheart?” he teases, smiling warmly at Spencer, clearly relishing in the deep red colour of his face. “Or is it just any pet name? You like it when I call you pretty names, baby?”

Spencer nearly outright moans at that but manages to stifle it, not that it makes much of a difference in Aaron’s delighted expression. “Stop, Aaron,” he whines in a manner that conveys he would very much not like Aaron to stop. 

“God, baby, you are too much to handle,” he groans, leaning across the sofa to pull Spencer away from his perch against the corner and into his chest. They lay quietly like that for a few minutes while the history channel plays a documentary about the Battle of Trafalger, breathing deep and slow as they appreciate this little slice of serenity while they wait for their dinner to arrive.

Once their pizza boxes are empty and they’ve finally had something to eat, Aaron turns to Spencer who’s meticulously wiping the pizza grease on his fingers away with a napkin, making him smile fondly. “Hey, Spence?” he asks, grabbing the attention of the younger man. “I wanted to talk to you about something you wrote in your letter.” 

Spencer looks a little bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights, hesitant as to what Aaron is about to say. What if he was mortally offended by something, or he didn’t like something I wrote? Was I too forward?

“First of all, I’ll always love Haley, but in a distant, wistful kind of way that I can’t quite explain. She’s been gone for a while now and I’ve moved on,” he explains, and Spencer’s flush returns. It’s one thing to write the letter, hell, it’s one thing to hand it to Aaron, but it’s another thing entirely to discuss the ins and outs of his heart in such graphic detail. “I fell in love with you very slowly, but I’d realised it around four months before Haley died. I’ll grant you that in the following year I didn’t really have much time or emotional capacity to dwell on it but it was always there in the back of my mind, and it’s only intensified over the last two years.”

“Really?” The flush is still firmly rooted to Spencer’s face, but his eyes are wide now, staring into Aaron’s with an earnest sort of intensity. “I had no idea.”

“Well I had no idea that you wanted everything I did, either,” Aaron chuckles. “Instead we’ve just been existing in a state of perpetual mutual pining and if you hadn’t had the bravery to do what you did, maybe we never would have known.”

“It was rather brave,” Spencer smiles, joking a bit, but they both know it’s the truth. “I’ve been in love with you since the Tobias Hankel situation. After you understood me and knew how to find me, how you saved my life. It spiralled from there and no effort to try and get over you has succeeded.”

“Mmm you mentioned,” Aaron hums. “I must say, I’m a bit jealous of these other dates you speak of.”

“Well you shouldn’t be,” Spencer says. “They didn’t hold a candle to you, and the few that made it past the first couple of dates knew that all too well.”

Aaron chuckles lightly at that before they settle into a comfortable silence, the TV still playing the background. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asks, voice low and a bit unsure. “No funny business, I just… don’t want to let you go yet.”

“Me neither,” Spencer says honestly. “Of course I’ll stay.” He can hear his voice still sounds a little squeaky, still vulnerable in this new situation. 

Aaron smiles back and turns the lights and TV off, blowing out the candles before offering a hand to Spencer as they make their way to his room. 

“Oh,” Spencer says, stopping in his tracks as soon as they step into Aaron’s bedroom. “I left my go bag in the car.”

“I’m sure we can find a solution to that,” Aaron smirks, pushing the bedroom door closed with his left hand and crowding him up against it with his right, diving for his neck. Spencer moans high in his throat, pressing forward further into Aaron’s hold. “You can wear one of my shirts. God, I’ve fantasised about you in my clothes for years, baby.” 

“So… so possessive,” Spencer teases through Aaron’s kisses.

“Yeah, you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

That gets Aaron to pull away, looking deep into Spencer’s eyes, awe filling his gaze. “I love you, too. Fuck it feels so good to hear that, to finally say that.”

“I know.” Spencer’s blushing slightly, the forwardness of his remark embarrassing him slightly. 

“Come on,” Aaron says, pressing one final kiss to Spencer’s lips. “Let’s get ready for bed. I’ll find you a top and I know I have a spare toothbrush around here somewhere…”

Spencer smiles, sitting on the bed as he watches Aaron bustle around the room, finding the stuff he needs for the night. This could be it, he thinks. This could be my life now. Domesticity had never much appealed to Spencer, but sitting there now as Aaron chatters away about the visit to the shopping centre that has resulted in buying the top he tosses Spencer’s way, he knows he was right to change his mind. He was right to crave this, to crave pancakes for dinner and new TV shows and lazy mornings.

And when they’re finally cuddled up in bed, warm under the covers and safe in one another’s arms, he knows he was right to share that craving with Aaron. 

[locke-writes]

Legends Told

Author: locke-writes

Title: Legends Told

Prompt: “Everything’s got to end sometime. Otherwise nothing would ever get started.” x Tony Stark. For: @thefanficfaerie​ ‘s Doctor Who Quote Challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,137

Tag List: @lotsoffandomrecs​/ @lgbtonystarks​ / @scarletsoldierrr​ / @moonlit-imagines​ /  @randomfandomimagine​ / @groovyfluxie​ / 

When you were young you'd been fascinated by legends. There was something wonderful, magical, about not knowing if something was fact or fiction. If it was fact, where was there truth? Where had it began? If it was fiction, what was the first rendition of the story and why had it lasted for all the years that it had? Legends, they would remain tales of fantastical deeds from long ago, nothing could capture the spirits of people near and far like a legend.

You wondered now if legacies and legends often went hand in hand. It seemed obvious that they might although maybe that was simply some foolish thought. A legacy, what was a legacy? Who did you have to be to become a legacy? The answers to these questions were never meant to be answered, they were meant to be hypothetical and then Iron Man came along.

Many thought him to be the first hero although you knew that Steve Rogers had really been the first. Captain America, his secret had been kept from many, no one knowing that the model of America during the second World War was some science experiment. Iron Man was the here and now, he was something that historians looked upon and recognized would change the face of the world.

Tony Stark was just a man, Iron Man was more than machine. When the world needed some form of hope, it provided it. There was something shocking in the way that the world worked. One moment it seemed that the chaos was going to go unanswered, that everything was never-ending, and the next it seemed as if there was a conclusion. An answer provided to a question no one knew they needed to ask.

Day in and day out there was a new hero. Day in and day out new stories of escapades had begun to be broadcast. It was tiring just to hear about the events and you wondered if it was tiring for them to continue with the acts. Had they still come to think of themselves as heroes or were they now simply actors, each performance being another fight or another villain conquered.

If you dared had the courage to ask you would have known the answer. Instead you burrowed further into your work wanting to avoid any and all distractions. Your job had come as a gift from the universe and you were not going to waste it. Working at Stark Tower was the chance of a lifetime, one which you did not take for granted especially as you had only recently become the head of a new department.

When people learned where you worked it was automatically assumed that you were an engineer of some kind. You understood the assumption and it didn't bother you when that was someone's first guess but the truth was, you were simply a therapist. Mental health was on the equal plane of importance with physical health and if anyone needed it, it would be the heroes who saw the hardships of the world on a day to day basis.

You hadn't intended to become a private practice, and you certainly hadn't intended to open in house at the Stark Tower but when you were contracted through SHIELD to provide therapy or at least resources for Bucky Barnes, word quickly spread to vigilantes of all kinds. Soon after you were hiring other therapists, psychiatrists, and psychologists to assist in the various treatments for each of the team members.

On the outside looking in you supposed it seemed like a foolish concept. They were the Avengers, what problems could they have? What problems could a man like Tony Stark have when he had more money than he could ever need? Sure, Steve was a man out of time and that might be a shock to the system but he was also a war hero with his own museum exhibit.

In reality you saw them as the flawed humans they were, as the people desperate for help and understanding. Steve, Sam, and Bucky all had varying degrees of PTSD caused by the war, you were grateful for Sam's groups at the VA as it proved a tremendous resource for the three of them. Tony had developed PTSD from the Battle of New York and had begun working on ways to ground himself during a panic attack, Rhodey was an asset with this as he knew what Tony's potential triggers were. Thor, Loki, and Odin were all in family counseling. Bruce and Natasha were each working separately on childhood traumas. Clint and Peter were simply seeing therapists as a way to breakdown what occurred on missions.

There were moments in everyone's life where support was needed. It wasn't the career path that you had chosen in the beginning but it was the career path that you ended up on. If anyone could relate it happened to be Tony Stark.

It wasn't meant to happen, your falling in love with him. You supposed time had something to do with it, seeing him on a weekly basis and sometimes outside of your office when you ran into one another in the coffee shop on the second floor of the building. He made you laugh, he understood you, he spent time going over scientific concepts you found yourself intrigued by. Love, it seemed foolish at the start and although you knew better you tried suppress your feelings for him.

In the end there was nothing you could have done to stop loving Tony, and so you finally confessed, telling him there was no way you could continue to see him as a patient. He took it better than you had anticipated.

His exact words were, "Everything's got to end sometimes, otherwise nothing would ever get started. Do you want to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?"

You laughed, having fretted about his response for the days before his appointment and it turned out that it wasn't rejection you were facing, it was unwavering acceptance. You'd been together ever since.

After six months, you'd moved in together.

After a year, you were married.

Now, it had been seven years and you looked upon the past fondly and the future with excitement.

Legends, they had been a part of your life from a young age. The wonder of where they came from had never eluded you although you had chosen not to chase them in your career, taking a different path. Legends, if ever they had existed the true figures were long since forgotten. Looking upon Tony as he welcomed the newest graduating class of MIT into the world you wondered, was there perhaps a new legend to be told in years to come.

You knew who Iron Man had been, but who would Iron Man become.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 13: Dig Your Own Hole

Green Route

~

[helicopter takes off and flies away]

SAM YAO: Well, that was incredibly cool! All my Airwolf fantasies come true. Besides, that chopper was a lot more comfortable than Skull-Kicker's little plane. Although can people have dropped us off at Red Scorpion Base instead of way out in the desert?

JANINE DE LUCA: They would have been shot down. Red Scorpion Base is protected by automated surface-to-air defense systems, highly sophisticated. It must contain something valuable indeed.

MARYAM ABANI: Hmm. Oh, a deadly secret.

JANINE DE LUCA: Red fungus run rampant, perhaps.

PETER LYNNE: Or one of Van Ark's little experiments.

JANINE DE LUCA: Whatever it is, Bakari's message said that getting it out of Red Scorpion Base would prevent countless deaths, and we must proceed on that basis. Now, we're approaching the checkpoint. I trust you have all prepared your cover identities. I am Steel Fist. Peter, you are Visage. And Five, Vampire Squid. Dr. Abani, your alias is Doctor Death. And Mr. Yao, yours is Sven "Psycho" Mountback. It is imperative that we remain in character at all times.

SAM YAO: Why are you looking at me?

[footsteps rustle through sand, a tap on a glass window, window opens]

GUARD: Papers.

SAM YAO: Here you go, officer.

GUARD: Put your feet in the prints. Looking at the cameras. Keep still.

[camera whirs]

SAM YAO: So how's your day going? Gets a bit boring out here, I'd imagine. Not much I Spy material, is there? Also, there's only one of you. [whispers] Ow! Why are you kicking me?

GUARD: Done. You guys are running pretty late. Gets a bit spicy this time of day. Still, you'll be all right, long as you stick to the green route.

SAM YAO: What's the green route?

GUARD: Brad, raise the gates.

BRAD: Copy that.

[gates raise]

GUARD: Okay, you can go. Do not deviate from the green route. Better run.

~

SAM YAO: Oh wow. Surprises me every time I see it, the color of the sand. Sort of burnt orange, like it soaked up the sunset. Not seeing much green, though. Where's this route?

PETER LYNNE: You know it's not literally green, Sam. It's green as in safe, I'd imagine. As opposed to, you know, red for painfully fatal. They must have sent the route to the real Death's Hand, and we'll just have to guess.

JANINE DE LUCA: According to Mr. Boujettif's sources, the principal threat en route to Red Scorpion Base is zombies. We have sight lines for miles in every direction, we should be fine. The principal threat when we reach the base would appear to be Mr. Yao.

SAM YAO: Me? Why?

MARYAM ABANI: Uh, your behavior at the checkpoint wasn't very... assassin-y.

SAM YAO: Oh, right. Yeah, sorry. You should have seen me at immigration. You know that bit where they used to look down at your passport and then up at you like 20 times? Just had to fill in that silence.

JANINE DE LUCA: But Sven Mountback would not. If he is famed for one thing other than prowess with illicit software and garrotting wires, it is taciturnity.

PETER LYNNE: Yes. We're sort of looking for um, gruff monosyllables rather than this whole sweaty, needy thing, charming though it is, obviously. But you've got it easy. I mean, Five's identity is Vampire Squid, and that's all anyone knows. I will say, I am highly impressed with your interpretation, Five.

MARYAM ABANI: [giggles] Yes. I wish I had your imagination. I had to base Doctor Death on the villain from a Nigerian children's television show.

SAM YAO: Ooh... oh, was that the one with the child detectives? Because Frances was talking about that the other day. Her grandmother used to put it on and -

JANINE DE LUCA: Don't get distracted. There are a number of bones in the sand, human bones. The desert may not be as empty as it appears. We must cross before darkness falls. Let's run.

~

MARYAM ABANI: I don't see any zombies. Maybe we found the green route?

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps, though the human remains are troubling. Hard to tell if they are old or recently picked clean by vultures.

PETER LYNNE: So uh, speaking of uh, bones to pick, we have some... reunions coming up. Van Ark, for instance. We've all got a few things we'd like to say to him. And um, Bakari might remind us of certain things, people. Raw nerves, maybe.

JANINE DE LUCA: Yes, Peter. Tom has been much on my mind.

PETER LYNNE: Oh. Uh, right.

JANINE DE LUCA: I've been allowing myself to dwell on... such matters, to work through them perhaps, as you have all encouraged me to do.

PETER LYNNE: Oh. And uh, are you... okay?

JANINE DE LUCA: It has been... a difficult time. Bakari... his betrayal was unforgivable, of course. But the thought of him... it has brought back memories. When Tom and I moved in with him, that wasn't an easy time, either. We'd just lost our parents, but we were together. That closeness... it has been years since I felt that. But... well, I feel it now. I feel it with you, P- on the horizon, to the east. What is that?

PETER LYNNE: Hmm? Oh. Uh, uh, well, I think that's a camel.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then there may be people. Perhaps they're following the green route. Runner Five, binoculars please. [bag rustles] The camel is laden with packs, but no one is leading it. What happened to... the camel would appear to have been sucked into the sand.

SAM YAO: Crap.

PETER LYNNE: Hooray, a monosyllable!

JANINE DE LUCA: I fear that was not a natural phenomenon. Quicksand does not claim its victims that fast. We must redouble our pace to reach Red Scorpion Base before it claims us. Run.

~

SAM YAO: These dunes are bigger than they looked, aren't they?

MARYAM ABANI: It's because they're featureless, no scale. During my training, I provided medical support to ultramarathon runners in the Namib Desert and they found it very difficult to pace themselves on the dunes.

SAM YAO: Yeah, what are these ridge things criss-crossing all over the sand? Looks like there's tubes underneath. Maybe they deliver water to Red Scorpion Base.

PETER LYNNE: Yeah, I reckon Sod's Law is that they're actually just something really, really horrible.

JANINE DE LUCA: Let us not conjure threats because we have seen something unusual. Perhaps we've simply witnessed a camel falling down a hole.

MARYAM ABANI: There was sucking, too. I-I definitely heard -

[zombie screams]

SAM YAO: Screamer, top of the dune! [gunshot] Nice shooting, Five.

[zombies scream]

MARYAM ABANI: Looks like the screams attracted more zombies.

JANINE DE LUCA: We may be able to use this to our advantage. I will position myself atop the large dune to the east. The screamers will be drawn towards you, and I will have a clear shot. Steel Fist's weapon is an M82 rifle. I will dispatch the zombies long before they reach you. Continue on your current heading. I'll rejoin you once the threat is eliminated. Run.

~

[zombies scream]

SAM YAO: Okay Janine, we're between two pretty steep dunes. Don't fancy scrabbling up those with zombies screaming at my heels. Oh God, look at that one. I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream. Also, my skull's gone and there's maggots in my brain. They're close enough to make out the maggots, Janine. You all set up to shoot them? Janine?

JANINE DE LUCA: I... I cannot remember how to assemble the rifle.

PETER LYNNE: Hey hey hey, that's-that's okay. Just-just relax, Janine. You let your hands just do their thing. It's muscle memory.

JANINE DE LUCA: The memory has gone, lost when the nanites rebooted me. I... I can't do it.

SAM YAO: Right. Well, we're gonna need a new plan, like now! Those zoms are getting really close -

VERONICA MCSHELL: Janine, it's Veronica. I will guide you. First, remove two pins from the lower half of the rifle. One is at the front of the body. Pull it out. Good. The second is located approximately four inches from the grip. Draw back the bolt, remove the pin, and replace the bolt. You're doing well.

PETER LYNNE: Ooh boy, they are close now. I can smell the rot. Um, no pressure. Running out of time a bit.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Remove the barrel from the case, locate the spring, and attach it to the bolt.

PETER LYNNE: They're coming from both sides.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Draw back the bolt, slide the barrel onto the body. Finally, replace the pins.

PETER LYNNE: Janine? Did you do it? Um, Janine?

[gunfire]

SAM YAO: Thanks, Veronica.

PETER LYNNE: Uh, Maryam, uh, the sand by your feet is, it's crumbling. I think that it might cave in. [MARYAM screams] Maryam! Maryam, are you all right down there?

MARYAM ABANI: Not really. I'm in some kind of tunnel. There's scratch marks on the walls, like they've been dug with hands. I think something's living down here.

JANINE DE LUCA: Runner Five, extract Dr. Abani from the tunnel immediately.

MARYAM ABANI: Thanks, Five.

JANINE DE LUCA: More screamers have our location, and I do not want to find out what lives in the tunnels. We must leave this unstable ground immediately. There are rocky outcrops to the northwest. Run.

~

PETER LYNNE: Uh, give me a hand up to that rock, would you, Five? Cheers. Are you all right, Janine?

JANINE DE LUCA: It is disconcerting to lose a memory. I'll be sure to discuss it with Dr. Myers. For now, we have more pressing concerns.

SAM YAO: Yeah. like that rumbling noise.

MARYAM ABANI: And whatever lives in those tunnels. The tunnels were person-sized, Janine, some bigger. And something made them. But what kind of person would dig a tunnel like that with their hands?

JANINE DE LUCA: Nothing lives in the tunnels. They and the rumbling sound are the result of tectonic activity.

PETER LYNNE: Um, Janine?

JANINE DE LUCA: We're on top of a fault line - what was that?

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that. Well, that was a bit of a camel. See, the desert just spat it out miles from where it got sucked down.

SAM YAO: Oh God, that's a hump. Something definitely does live in those tunnels. It hunts camels. Camels are big. Oh crap!

PETER LYNNE: Yeah, it doesn't just hunt them, it uh, also dismembers them, of course. It's um, ripped that camel to pieces and then chosen to lob it at us across half a desert. So in short, guys, I don't think this is the green route!

SAM YAO: Oh my God. Look, Five, new tunnels! Over there. Oh, and there. Oh bloody hell, everywhere! They're burrowing towards us!

JANINE DE LUCA: The tunnels form a web. We are at its center, and the predator can sense our movements like a spider does a fly. At the rate the tunnels are approaching, we will need to run as fast as we can if we're to reach Red Scorpion Base before they reach us. Go now, run!

~

JANINE DE LUCA: The tunneling has stopped. The ground feels firmer here by Red Scorpion's entrance. Metal must have been sunk beneath the ground to prevent the... borrowing entities from reaching the entrance. We have found the green route at last.

SAM YAO: Yeah, and the uh, entities aren't happy about it.

JANINE DE LUCA: Their presence complicates our exit strategy, but we have a more immediate problem: me. What happened with the rifle may happen inside the base. I may be unable to recall the details of my cover. I might put you all in danger. Perhaps I should return to New Agadir.

[alarm blares, gates raise]

MARYAM ABANI: Too late.

JANINE DE LUCA: We must compose ourselves. We've been running hard and the guards will look askance at our exhaustion. Mr. Yao, dab your forehead.

GUARD: Welcome to FOB Red Scorpion. You're late and sweaty.

SAM YAO: [deep gruff voice] Zoms.

GUARD: You must be Mountback. Heard you killed 10 men with nothing but dental floss. And I guess you're Vampire – [radio beeps] Sir? Roger that. General Bakari has some pressing matters to attend to. He will see you later.

JANINE DE LUCA: Fine. Please show us to our bunks.

GUARD: Of course. Follow me. The cells are this way.

PETER LYNNE: [whispers] Come on then, Five. Into the dragon's den we go, and there is absolutely nothing to worry about. Except for, you know, deadly red fungus, Van Ark, oh, and the fact that we're all lying through our teeth and could get caught at any time. Yay!

~

Thanks to @mrs-elijah-wood for help on this one!

[rinadoesstuff]

Secret Soldiers

Of red lips that might sink ships

Chapter Twelve

Georgia, Camp Toccoa, 1942

After managing to clean the latrines without too much interference from Sobel, Maggie made her way back to take a quick shower. She had missed dinner time, her stomach almost painful from the lack of food but she was too tired to feel it at that moment. Getting to her barracks, Maggie went through the usual procedures of locking the door, cleaning her PT gear with her in the shower and crying gently.

Usually she wouldn’t let herself cry but it seemed the tiredness and lack of Camilla had gotten to the Brit. After crying for a few minutes, Maggie got out of the shower, dried off and changed into something more comfortable. Letting out a yawn, Maggie made her way over to the chest beside her bed and knelt down beside it. Opening it up, she let out a deep sigh as her eyes landed on the unopened letter from her brother. 

She was hesitant to read it, unsure if it would be about his time in the war - something that terrified her - or about their father - something that terrified her even more. Moving it aside, Maggie dug into the chest to find the simple comb that she had always carried with her. As she did, Maggie frowned as her hand hit something small and metal. Pulling the object up, she felt her heart skip a beat. 

The small tube was in fact the lipstick that Maggie carried everywhere, the small scratches that her mother had made when it belonged to her made that fact known. Maggie was sure that she had misplaced it when Sobel had gone through her things on a weekly basis. With a smile on her face, Maggie pulled the towel from her head, put her hair into a small pony tail and stood to walk over to the mirror. 

Applying the lipstick, Maggie smiled gently at her reflection. She didn’t really recognise herself - of course, her mum’s eyes were staring back at her which she recognised from childhood yet she was so much more tanned than she had been; England wasn’t fortunate with sun, clouds usually cast over the small country. Her skin seemed to be clearer, peculiarly, and her face thinner than it had been. 

Letting out a deep sigh once more, Maggie went to wipe away the lipstick that she’d only just put on but was interrupted by a knock at her door. Her heart dropped to her stomach, thinking Sobel had decided to pay her a visit. She was sure that the latrines were clean, that she had been punished enough. Forgetting about the lipstick on her mouth, putting the tube back into her chest and closing it, Maggie opened the door - ready to be yelled at for something small. 

Instead of finding an angry Sobel there, Maggie was greeted by three soldiers that she had met before. George Luz, Bill Guarenere and Chuck Grant stood with smiles on their faces at Maggie’s door. Before she could speak, question why they were there, George Luz spoke. 

“We’re playing poker, wanna join?” His voice was slightly muffled, cigarette hanging from his lips as Maggie usually saw him unless they were training. She paused for a second, poker was a game that she didn’t even know how to play but such an invitation was surely progression in her relationship with the men. 

“Let me grab some cigarettes to barter with - I'll be over in a moment, you head back over.” Maggie smiled, turning to grab the cigarettes she often left on the side of her bed in case of a really bad day. Turning back round Maggie had assumed the men left to go back to their own barracks. Instead, she was met by a grinning George Luz. 

He was leaning against her door frame, cigarette dangling as he had his hands in his pockets. Smiling back at him, the two made their way out of her barracks toward the men’s shared barracks. Whilst they were walking, Maggie felt the urge to tell George the truth. 

“I don’t actually know how to play poker.” George gave a small laugh, casting a glance at the Lieutenant before bumping against her elbow with his own. 

“I’ll have to teach ‘ya. Stick with George Luz and you’ll be fine.” He gave Maggie a wink as they got to the men’s barracks, the sounds of laughter able to be heard as they walked closer. It was a much nicer environment than her own barracks, Maggie thought. Taking her third deep breath in less than an hour, Maggie followed George Luz inside.

Dresden, November 1942

Staring up at the ceiling, Claire wondered if she did the right thing. With telling Hans the truth she was placing everything on one card. If she really starts to help the three it is bound to happen that Viktor and Ilse ask questions. Everything she worked for could be destroyed in a matter of seconds if just one of them let anything slip.

“Loose lips sink ships.” Claire mumbled under her breath. She heard it over and over again. From her brothers, to the field hospitals and to the SOE. It always followed her.

The bed below her made a screeching sound as Claire swung her legs over the edge. A shiver went through her body when her bare feet made contact with the cold wooden floor. There was no reason for her to go back to sleep this close to dawn so she might as well get some fresh air. After putting on her coat and a pair of shoes, Claire made her way through the small apartment towards the equally small balcony she sat on countless mornings already. Despite the winter temperatures she still enjoyed drinking a hot coffee or chocolate while looking at the church of our lady. The sight never failed to amaze her.

Careful not to make too much sound in order to let Hans sleep, she opened the door and quickly stepped outside. Wrapping her own arms against her shaking body, Claire tried to get some warmth as her gaze shifted up towards the, apart from a few sparkling stars, dark sky. In a night like this, she jumped out of a plane barely two months ago. In a night like this, she parted her way from Andrée and Lise and continued her way to Germany. Claire pushed her memories of the training she went through aside to focus on her mission but the more used she got to this new life, the more she started reminiscing. She missed the two older french women almost as much as she missed her brothers. They took her under their wing when they began their training and Claire was incredibly thankful for it. She knows that without them she wouldn’t have had the energy to push through. To push past the other agents that resented them for being women, for saying that war was a thing only for men. 

With a chuckle, Claire sat down on the wooden bench next to her. The bench was cold and a shiver went down her spine despite having her thick jacket between her skin and the wood. In that moment, Claire wished to wear her red cross uniform again. The long skirt and the layering kept wonderfully warm when she had to be outside to get from building A to building B. If she couldn’t talk about the SOE with her family then at least there would be enough stories coming from the hospital.

„You really do think that we have summer don’t you?“

Claire let out a short yell as she jumped to the other side of the bench in shock. It was beyond her to why she didn’t hear the balcony door open and to why Hans was awake despite her being as silent as possible. Letting out a calm breath she turned her full attention to the man as she fixed her posture, trying to appear as calm as possible after her little jump. 

„It‘s like 6 in the morning, why are you awake?“ Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Claire looked her friend up and down. His blonde hair was a total mess and his eyes pretty much screamed out how tired he really is but the little smirk he wore was enough for Claire to know that he was awake enough to start something. She wasn’t sure yet what he was planning but it most likely included the wool blanket that was pressed against his chest.

„Eh I don’t know, maybe because there was a certain someone tossing and turning in the room next to mine and steps echoing through my apartment.“ Unwrapping the blanket, Hans moved closer to Claire. „C‘mon, I know exactly what you need to get tired.“

After pulling Claire up in a standing position, Hans made quick work to wrap the blanket around the both of them. Having his arms tight around the woman, Hans couldn’t help himself but smile. „Let’s get inside. How about you throw yourself on the couch while I make some hot chocolate?“

• • • • • •

Taglist:

@immrsronaldspeirs @trashgoddess600 @junojelli @kmorecoffee @vintagelavenderskies @order-of-river-phoenix @adamantiumdragonfly @happyveday @alrightnicelighter @easy-company-tradition @keoghans @jamie506101 @ultralillylove @pxpeyewynn @pinkesfaultier @madstertb  @wexhappyxfew

[imaginesoftheuniverse]

Not Enough Time to Say Goodbye (Endgame Spoilers)

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You take Natasha’s place on Vormir.

Warnings: ANGST - massive angst, reader death, some fluff, MORE ANGST

Word Count: ~2300

October, 2009

It had been a long day, and it was even longer now that you were covering for your friend at work. Why did you even agree to it in the first place? It was the Friday night before Halloween, and all you wanted to do was go home, curl up in your bed, and watch some horrible romantic comedy on TV. 

“What can I get you?” you asked for the millionth time that night, eyeing the woman at the bar who was glancing down at her watch. She glanced over at you briefly before tapping her watch and then bringing her attention to you fully.

“I would love a drink, but I’m unfortunately the designated driver. So just a water, please.” She smiled at you, and you were used to everything people had thrown at you over the years, and even though her drink was already free, your heart still skipped a beat.

“Glad you’re looking out for your friends, at least. I see plenty of “designated drivers” who decide on one beer and then are downing shots half an hour later,” you said, feeling her gaze on you the entire time you got her her drink. It was unsettling, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Sounds about right. Listen, I’ve got something to deal with but...when do you get off?” You blinked, unsure of what she was asking. You knew what she was asking, but your brain refused to acknowledge it. She was gorgeous - hair cascading down her back that was as red as her lips, and eyes that showed years of pain and secrets but looked delighted all the same. Why would she even be interested in someone like you?

“I get off at two,” you said quietly, and she hummed, taking the glass you had given her and sliding off her stool.

“I’ll see you then.”

You stared down the cliff, narrowing your eyes as you noticed a few skulls and bones at the bottom of the abyss. You glanced back over towards the...ghost and realized the price of acquiring the stone, and Nebula’s words seem to echo all around you: “Don’t fall down.”

It seemed to you like a cruel joke, and you stayed silent as Clint and Natasha argued over who would take the dive. One person for the rest of the universe that was taken...not a bad price to pay. This wasn’t what the three of you expected when coming here, and a part of you wished that Nebula had told the team more on what to expect, but you supposed she knew this would happen.

There would be more arguing, and the job wouldn’t get done like it needed to be because no one was willing to sacrifice the other for the stone.

“I’ll do it,” you said quietly, and Natasha whipped her head over towards you so fast you swore she might have whiplash.

“No, it’s out of the question. It’s gonna be me - Clint has a family and I’ve...I’ve already done everything that I’ve needed to do with my life. You are gonna go back and help undo what Thanos did. End of story, (Y/N),” Natasha explained, and you shook your head.

“You have an actual lead to your past now, Nat. I’ve got nothing waiting for me if you’re gone and I... It’s gotta be me, Nat, it’s gotta.”

May, 2011

“What is that you wanted to tell me?” You and Nat were at your apartment, finally together again after she had been gone for weeks due to her job. She had only explained to you briefly - and vaguely - what it was that she did for a living. She said it involved a lot of traveling, and most of what she did was for to better mankind, but that was all the information she would give you on the subject.

“I...I wanted to finally tell you what it is I do, now that I’ve gotten a more stable path ahead of me.” The first rule of the game was to never tell civilians who you are, but Nat found it hard not to tell you. She had trusted you the minute she walked into that bar for her next hit. Lying to you felt extremely wrong and she just wanted...

“You’re in business, aren’t you?” She shook her head, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Not...exactly. What I’m about to tell you is something you can never tell anyone, all right? I’m putting all of my trust into you when I tell you this.” You frowned, growing a little concerned.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone. Nat, what’s going on?” 

“You won’t...you won’t think any differently of me, will you?” She felt like she was buying herself time now, wanting to tell you but not at the same time.

“Whatever it is, Natasha, I can handle it, and nothing you say can change the way I feel about you.” You reached out and placed a hand on her cheek, and she leaned into your touch before taking in a breath.

“I’m an international spy, (Y/N), and I work for SHIELD. Before that, I...I worked for the KGB. I’ve done a lot that I’m not proud of, and I’ve killed a lot of people, some good, and some bad. I understand if you want nothing to do with me now but I...I had to tell you. I’ve never trusted someone so easily in my life and -,”

“Nat,” you said softly, forcing her to look you in the eye, “nothing can change the way I feel about you, and I love you even more for trusting me.”

“You weren’t even supposed to be involved in this,” Natasha whispered, head in her hands as you sat down next to her. Clint was attempting conversation with the red guy, giving the two of you the time you needed. It wouldn’t be enough, but when was there ever enough time?

“Blame Fury, then. He’s the one who recruited me,” you joked, and she chuckled dryly, wiping at her eyes.

“You know, sometimes I think it’d be better if we never met, or if I had never spoke to you in the first place. You would’ve never been thrust into this world and you’d be safe.” You sighed, staring down at the ground before reaching out and grasping her hand.

“I could’ve told Fury no, you know. He was just curious to see how I’d work out. I handle you on a daily basis, so he figured there must be something useful about me. I could’ve said no, Nat. But I said yes, and I went through the training, I went through the workouts and missions and everything, because it was a chance to get to actually know your world, to get to know you just a little better. So please don’t blame yourself for this. I wanted this, Nat, and I don’t regret a single second of it.”

November, 2014

“I don’t know why you didn’t want to go to Clint’s - I think it would’ve been nice to spend Thanksgiving with others this year,” you said, wrinkling your nose as Nat took the turkey out of the oven and practically threw it on the counter. Was half of it supposed to be black?

“Maybe, but I wanted to do something nice since I am home for a holiday for once, but I forgot one crucial detail: I can’t cook.” Nat frowned at her horribly made Turkey, and you were just lucky you had made a run to Costco two days prior and gotten everything you needed.

“I appreciate the thought, Nat, and thankfully, I knew this would happen. I am very thankful Costco sells everything you need for Thanksgiving.” She chuckled, watching as you went to the fridge and pulled out various boxes and containers.

“What would I do without you?” she mused, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around you from behind. She pressed her lips to the side of your neck, and you hummed, smiling.

“Oh, I don’t know, crash and burn?”

“I know you’re gonna try and stop me, Nat, so please don’t. Just let me do this, please. Live your life, Nat, find out the truth to your parents, do everything you never got to do before now. Never forget how much I love you, either. Live the rest of your life without fear.” Nat was crying now. She was always so reserved, always hiding her feelings behind a brave face. It’s what she was taught to do.

But now? Time changes people, and she could no longer hide her face anymore when she was finally feeling. She was sniffling, she was hiccuping, she was furiously wiping at her face as the tears kept falling - she was breaking down right before your eyes, and it killed you inside. But the choice was clear. It had to be you.

“Please, (Y/N), don’t do this. I can do it, just -,”

“I love you, Nat. Never forget that, please.” You held her face in your hands and leaned forward, placing your lips gently against hers. It was a bittersweet kiss, mingled with the taste of salty tears and the tiniest feeling of despair. It’d be your last, but you were content with it. Both of you could feel each other, could feel how much you loved one another. You pulled away and stayed for a moment, foreheads pressed against one another and neither of you wanting to let go.

But you did. You let go and then glanced over at Clint. He was crying, too. When you two had met, he hadn’t liked you. He felt like you created a rift between him and Nat, but when you were finally recruited and went on a mission with them, you took a bullet in the lungs for Nat, and he had respected you ever since. You two had grown close over the years, and now he was losing someone else all over again, and having to see his best friend breaking because of it.

He made his way over towards the two of you nonetheless, and as you stepped away from Nat, he held her back. He had seen her hands moving, ready to stop you, and the two of you made a silent agreement for him to stop her if she did just that.

“Clint, no! Let me go! I’ve got to - (Y/N)! Please!” You gave one last smile to Nat, tears falling freely down your cheeks, and then you took a final step back. Clint let Nat go a few seconds later, and she ran to the edge, peering over and then recoiling as she saw your twisted body, a dark pool of red underneath you. She curled up into a ball, sobbing before a flash brought her to a warm plane.

She was surrounded by water, and after a moment, she felt something in her hand. She opened it to reveal the Soul Stone in her palm, and she let out a shout, clenching her fist around it as she doubled over.

2023, before the Quantum Realm

“You know, I was thinking,” you said, strapping on your thigh holster as Nat adjusted her Widow’s Bites.

“Thinking about what exactly?” she asked, glancing over at you.

“Once this is all over, a lot of families will be back together, but there will still be those out there without families, specifically kids. I was thinking it’d be nice if we...adopted one or two.” Natasha stopped, startled by your proposal. She had told you a while ago that she was unable to have kids, and you had never brought it up again so she figured you were fine with not having any. She was never fully comfortable with the idea that she’d never have any, but Natasha wasn’t one to bring up serious conversation unless absolutely necessary.

“I...”

“Obviously not right away, but in the near future. Things like this make you think, you know? And the thought of kids never really occurred to me until I saw Tony and I got to thinking and...it’d be nice. So why not give a kid a chance at having a family, too?” Natasha’s heart was pounding, and after a moment, she felt like she had fallen in love with you all over again.

“(Y/N), I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had,” she said, and you laughed, pulling on your last glove before approaching her.

“Wanna hear an even better idea?” you asked, throwing your arms around her neck.

“I really don’t know how you could top that one.” You scoffed before giving her a serious look, running your thumb across her cheek.

“I think I can, Romanoff. Before we adopt - or after, whatever you prefer - I think it’d be nice to tie the knot, you know? Make things even more official than they already are.” Marriage had always terrified Natasha, but the longer the two of you stayed together, the more she had considered it. She loved you, you loved her - you wanted to have kids with her, wanted to spend the rest of your life with her, married or not. If you wanted that, then she was eagerly for it.

“(Y/N), have I told you lately how much I love you lately?” You grinned, pressing your forehead against hers as she giggled. Natasha Romanoff - honest to God giggling. 

The end of the universe had already happened. One last-ditch effort was being made to bring the universe back to its former self. There was no guarantee that anyone was going to come back alive, but if there was any higher-being out there in this messed up place, Natasha was glad to have you by her side, no matter how long that would be.

[minaa-munch]

If someone were to ask the newly appointed Yondaime whether he believed in ghosts, they would be subjected to an incredulous look; complete with a raised blond brow and owlish blue hues. After a brief moment of scrutiny, said question would be waved aside with a humorous chuckle, before the conversation would inevitably be steered towards matters involving government and the appalling mess that was the archive cabinet in the Jōnin headquarters.

For you see, Namikaze Minato didn’t believe in ghosts. ‘Spirits’ to a degree, could be considered manifestations of wayward chakra signatures that had yet to fade from their plane of existence. Nothing more.

Ghosts though? Pft. 

That was the only logical explanation, wasn’t it?

A frost-laden gale blew from the stormy white peaks up yonder; echoing a ghostly howl and laden with enough snow to swallow the little sunlight that had managed to flicker through the rolling fog. It was dreary, if one could describe it in a word, yet also paradoxically calm; not a soul in sight, none dumb enough - touched in the head enough - to take their chances against nature’s silent rage.

And then there was him of course; an insolent blotch of blue and gray against a backdrop of sweeping white. Blue hues chanced a peek at the charcoal-smudged skyline before disappearing under his flimsy hood - he could barely see past the blizzard, let alone focus enough to know where he was going. Near frozen fingers curled tightly around the handle of a kunai, while the other hand kept a tight hold of his traveler’s cloak. The last thing he needed was the wind to fly off with it.

The border between the Lands of Frost and Lightning was particularly hostile around this time of the year; many a peddler that he had met on his way from Ta no Kuni had warned him as much, citing near-death personal experiences so as to dissuade even the most stubborn of travelers. 

Clearly, they had never met a Konoha shinobi - one on a reconnaissance mission, no less. 

The Second Shinobi War was heaving its dying breaths, with Amegakure having retreated and Sunagakure having suffered the white fang, Konoha was well on its way to claiming complete victory. 

Or at least they would have been. A little birdie had told the elder council of an impending attack from Kumogakure, who had apparently been waiting for the rest of the hidden villages to exhaust their resources before showing their hand. 

Considering the tact of such an idea, it was smooth and simple; an effective tactic while everyone else scattered about like headless poultry. Naturally, with assets stretched thin and shinobi exhausted after 3 years of pointless skirmishes, Konoha’s war office had declared the matter worthy of looking into. The only question being a matter of who would be fast enough, smart enough, to assess the situation from a discrete angle and report back just as swiftly? 

Enter one Namikaze Minato, Konoha’s resident Yellow Flash and nearly the fastest shinobi in the field. He had been given stellar recommendations by Yuuhei Keisuka, the commander of their Kusa outpost for his numerous achievements. It was also rumored that he was quite talented at some odd variation of the shunshin no jutsu, which made him annoyingly deadly on the battlefield. 

For all his talent though, he was certain that he would freeze to death out here in the wilderness. Now-pale digits pulled the cloak tighter around his person at the thought, as blue orbs narrowed against the onslaught of what felt like frost-tipped pinpricks against his vision. Normally, under such circumstances, the blond would use his hiraishin (which was not an odd variation of the shunshin no jutsu, thank you very much) since it allowed him to cover more ground relatively easily; in fact, that was how he had reached the outskirts of Kumogakure in two days to begin with. 

However, most of his reserves had been spent on placing his markers, and since his reconnaissance was meant to be a secretive one, he could afford no chances. The week he had spent on that altitude sickness-inducing nightmare they called the barrack backyard had mostly witnessed him teleporting from one marker to the next; gathering intel with detailed notes - infiltrating their headquarters while they slept, like a kami-forsaken, blond haired ghoul. 

For all his efforts and backtracking, amidst draining his chakra reserves to the point of near exhaustion, Minato had come to one, solid conclusion.

The birdie that had so willfully whispered in the council’s wrinkly ear had clearly been suffering from a concussion. Kumogakure had no plans on entering the war, despite them having picked a bone with Konoha earlier via Uzumaki-napping gone wrong. They were squandering their resources, yes, but for another reason entirely that had nothing to do with their current skirmishes. Minato had the notes (swiped, of course, from under a commander’s upturned nose) to prove it.

Now if only he had the chakra for it too, he grumbled. The near dwindling state of his reserves at present could be attributed to his escape from Kumo’s borders - he couldn’t exactly leave a trace behind, after all. With enough intel to report back (and an outpost in sufficient disarray because they were convinced their corridors were haunted), Minato had simply wanted to put enough distance between him and a potentially explosive powder keg. 

Even if that meant covering some distance via nearly frost-bitten limbs. Cue a grimace as his leg sunk further in the deep snow, the cold nearly gnawing it off from the knee. He had to wait a little while, probably just a bit more before he recovered enough chakra to use the hiraishin with his marked kunai - two dimensional hops would hopefully put him in range of the marker he had placed on a tavern that bordered the forests; a patch of thick green wilderness that lay a little distance from where the ascent to the mountains truly began. 

Cue another crunch of snow which was nearly swallowed by the wind. Gloved digits abandoned his weapons pouch in favor of shielding his eyes from the additional frigid onslaught. At this rate he was going to turn into a blond-sicle and he would have no one to blame but his lack of better judgement. 

Oh, and the elder council - definitely the elder council, came a childish reminder, as blue hues caught a smear of dark green somewhere in his peripheral; it stood in stark contrast to the dull hues swathing the landscape.

Forests were usually green (lets blame a frost-bitten brain for stating the obvious)…mentally trailing off, the chunin felt the beginnings of hope kindle his frozen insides and he flailed through deep snow with increased vigor. It wasn’t until gloved fingers found the brittle ridges characteristic of a Tsuga* bark that he allowed himself to slow down a little; and not until he had made decent headway into the foliage that he allowed himself to pause for breath. 

Trees meant less snow (or more, if he was clumsy enough which, at the moment, seemed like a distinct possibility) and less wind, which inevitably meant better visibility. As thick as they were, they provided ample shelter, with the blizzard too busy running amuck between the heavy branches to pelt him with vision hampering flurries. 

The trees also proved to be an apt backrest because kami, he was tired. The teen exhaled a large puff of breath before pausing behind a particularly sturdy tree; letting his back rest against it with a soft whump that was barely heard over the wind that was basically laying waste to the forest canopy.

Apart from that, it was relatively quiet and surprisingly less hostile. Shadows clung to an overhanging branch here, to the undersides of gnarled roots there…lurking between the trees in a way only nature could manage. His senses told him nary a soul was nearby, and with the paranoia borne of his profession eased off his shoulders, Minato felt his eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment. 

He had been on high alert for so long…letting his head rest back against the trunk, the blond felt exhaustion lull his consciousness into the beginnings of a light slumber. Five minutes…maybe ten? Maybe he could just rest here until his chakra had been replenished enough for him to use the hiraishin without collapsing. Maybe–

“Could you please help me?” The words were soft, barely a whisper in the wind; but to him they were as loud as an explosive seal tag. Blue hues snapped open, and with speed borne of pure instinct, he pulled out a kunai, the deadly three pronged tip pointed at his assailant’s jugular. 

Had he not been as exhausted as he was, said tip would have promptly been buried in an unsuspecting neck without a moment’s notice – but thankfully that wasn’t the case. Startled black hues stared back at him from beneath her wide brimmed kasa*, wrinkled mouth still open from her earlier request. The old lady seemed frail, her weathered hands clinging to a make-shift, gnarled staff as the breeze played around with her long ponytail.

How had he not sensed her? Blue hues narrowed, the kunai point still lingering with deadly accuracy as his heart played a thundering staccato in his ears. Try as he might, he could not pick up on the old lady’s chakra signature - either she was an exceptionally well trained scout or—

“Please” It was more of a statement than a request this time, as her clothed knees shook and she fumbled with the large stick in her hands, “My son…I can’t find him.” There were tears brimming against her beady black hues, “You look like him and I thought…” Trailing off, the old lady choked back a sob as she turned her head to her shoulder to hide her barely repressed tears, frail shoulders quaking with the effort.

Blink. He slowly lowered his kunai, her visage tugging at a stray heart-string he didn’t even know he possessed anymore (thanks to murdering child-scouts on a weekly basis); maybe she was a lost civilian after all? His senses had yet to fail him. Minato spun the kunai to rest snugly against his palm, his index finger acting as an anchor in the metal loop; before taking a step closer to her, still wary - and for all the right reasons, mind you. 

“Summimasen, baa san.” He said, tone just a little warmer than the weather, “But you shouldn’t be out here, in this blizzard.”

The old woman nodded in response, rubbing her face against her sleeve before raising her head to meet his guarded expression, “My son…I just want to find him. You understand?” Of course he didn’t “But the storm and…I…I can’t find him” she flailed, “Since you’re going down…can you help an old lady a little way?” Dark hues stared at him in earnest; hopeful, yet somewhat hesitant.

Minato paused; as heartless as it seemed to simply abandon her right there and then, he was rather inclined to do so - regardless of Kumo’s stance, they were still in the midst of war and his face had recently graced the pages of every bounty scroll in the continent. 

But there was something about her predicament that nagged at his conscience - also, he had probably scared her halfway to the afterlife earlier. With a short nod, he found himself extending an arm to her as additional support before he was even aware of it; only realizing the gesture once thin, spidery fingers grasped his forearm in a frigid, vice like grip. The old lady had shifted most of her weight on him, and he supposed that was understandable since she could barely hold on to the rotting branch anyways. Said branch had undoubtedly been picked from the base of the many Tsuga trees that littered the forest. 

And so they walked - lumbered, in the old lady’s case - for an indefinite period of time. Minato lost track after the second time they passed a familiar tree; the sole indication of their direction based on the downward slope of the forest floor. His companion was surprisingly quiet through the trek, sans the heaving breaths that would emanate from her person. 

If she was still worried for her son, she wasn’t as keen on showing it. Blond brows furrowed at the thought before it was filed away for later; his chakra was nearly at a point where he could teleport with a fraction to spare, and with somewhat replenished reserves, he was more aware of the faint chakra of living matter buzzing about the forest. It was noisier than natural energy, which flowed more like a constant stream; though what bothered him was the fact that the old lady emanated neither.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t as adept at sensing natural energy yet? Regardless, if he was going to use the hiraishin soon, they would need to part ways – though maybe he could bring her along? The woman was clearly no threat to his person, and maybe the tavern owner could help her locate her son?

Cue a tightening of thin fingers, as if she had heard his thoughts. Minato paused mid-trudge, blue hues trying to locate dark counterparts from the shadow of her picker’s hat, “Obaa san, there’s a small tavern dow—”

“Iie” The wind had gotten eerily quiet; a mere treble against the sharp whisper. The icy grip on his wrist curled tighter, as if to break the appendage between spidery digits. Try as he might, he couldn’t tug it away, instead, her nails painfully burrowed holes in the underside of his wrist. 

With a barely withheld grimace, the Namikaze mumbled an apology, while summoning some of his chakra to the other palm before striking the woman squarely in the chest; a controlled gust of wind - usually strong enough to send a grown shinobi flying - erupting from his hand. 

It barely disturbed her kasa “You promised” her voice was hollow, almost an echo from a great unseeing void. Ravenous inky tendrils flowed like a gushing torrent from beneath her hat, wrapping tightly around his midsection and slowly snaking upwards; frost tipped points numbing flesh as they did. 

By the shodai’s eyebrows— Minato almost swore, before he dangerously flicked the kunai from his caught hand, the steel points doing little to hamper her grip on his wrist. The woman cocked her head to the side, before empty hues found his near panicking ones, causing him to freeze mid-struggle. 

Gone was the friendly face; the crow’s feet, wrinkled mouth and the sagging skin. Instead, there was rotten flesh, with maggots peeking from empty sockets that sat snug between layers of decaying, mottled crimson; no doubt decomposing muscle. A strip of flesh hung loosely from one cheek bone as her gaping maw opened wide, barely strung together by fleshy ribbons.

“You promised”

Move, Namikaze – this is a genjutsu. It has to be a genjutsu – but even amidst his panicked thoughts, he couldn’t move a single muscle. The hair had him constricted to the point of suffocation; he could barely concentrate on gathering his chakra together. 

Move, Namikaze! The inky tendrils caressed his cheek now, deceptively gentle as the marred face came closer. Minato felt the breath escape his lungs as bony fingers inched towards his eyes. Quivering digits barely managed to flick the kunai in his hand uselessly behind the apparition.

Move! He was a gray blur at the faintest prick to his cheek. His form disappeared from between writhing strands; only to appear behind her. Blue hues barely registered the inky tendrils in his peripheral before he summoned every last bit of chakra and flickered to his last marked signature—

—And promptly crashed into a table full of delicate china; complete with ink sticks, empty brass scroll holders and rolls of parchment. Spots danced across his vision, as his eyes strained to accustom to the suddenly new, darker environment. Breathing heavily, the blond chunin barely managed to pull himself out of the splintered wood and broken ceramic; quivering knees and fingers resting heavily against the aged tatami. 

The room tilted sideways, and Minato was sure he would have tilted with it had it not been for a squeak that prompted his gaze.

“W-Who?” An old man was huddled away from him, clutching a short tanto blade to his chest as if the presence of the weapon alone would ward off danger. Blue hues blinked dully at it before flickering to the dim lamp light reflecting off the man’s pale scalp.

Thank kami he was bald. Cue a faint, watery grin before chakra exhaustion took its toll and he dropped to the side like a sack of daikon - just as the man let out a particularly high pitched shriek. 

Needless to say, by the time he got back to Konoha, he was considerably poorer than when he had left.

Namikaze Minato didn’t - wouldn’t believe in ghosts. Kato Dan had once explained the idea behind the stereotypical ‘specter’, as the image, once popularized by veteran war narratives, would be enough to build a reputation. Dan had relied on that image, since not only did it compliment his famed Spirit Transformation technique, but there was no weapon more feared than a reputable shinobi. 

As Yondaime, Minato had all that and more - for a man on the pinnacle of his career, he couldn’t afford to give in to idle fancies.

Even though at times, during the frostiest winter nights, he felt the familiar touch of spidery digits curling tightly over his wrist; a forgotten name a mere whisper in the wind. 

Tsuga = Japanese Hemlock trees Kasa = rice picker’s hat

[ladyalatariel]

Means To An End - Meeting Ragnar

A/N: I’ve never written anything like this before, I hope you guys like it.

Hvitserk x Reader ; Ragnar x Reader

Warnings: none that I can think of.

Tag List: @float-autumn-leave, @nothingeverdies, @akamaiden.

Main Masterlist

7:00 AM

“Are you sure that you wanna do this?” Althelstan asked one more time, he’s very protective of Ragnar, and he didn't agree with his decision from the beginning.

“You now I have to, she’s just means to an end.” Ragnar replied, he knew that wasn’t true, but it helped him continue with his mission, he needed you, that was clear.

“You know that’s not true.” Althelstan smiled, he could always read Ragnar, they were friends, and associates for many years.

“Alright, just get out of here, I’ll be out at the end of the day.” Ragnar got out of the car, and entered the building, the CIA building.

Ragnar needed to turn himself in, so he could speak to you, and his plan in motion. You were the missing piece of the puzzle, you were going to help him, liking or not. The building was filled with agents, but no one recognized him, many believed that he was dead, and the ones that didn't thought that he would be in a beach on a deserted island. Ragnar put his coat on the desk of the receptionist, and he gave her his seductive smile.

“Can I speak with Special Agent Aethelwulf, please?” He handed her his passport, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, Ragnar Lothbrok, was right in front of her.

When the computer gave her the confirmation, the building closed and the agents pointed their guns at Ragnar, they took him away, and put him on a cell, they didn't know what to do, so they just waited for Aethelwulf, he would know what to do.

Aethelwulf was practically running to get on the building, he couldn’t believe that Ragnar Lothbrok turned himself in like that, there was something going on. He used his credentials to enter the building, he was having a great day, but now he couldn’t tell if it was a horrible day or an amazing one, the most wanted criminal in the world turned himself, but at what cost?

When he entered the room, he saw Ragnar, looking extremely calm, he was in handcuffs. He didn't said a word yet, he was waiting for Aethelwulf. The agents put him on the interrogation room, Aethelwulf’s orders. He needed to know what Ragnar wanted, and why he did that.

“I see that someone that gives the orders finally appeared, and I know exactly who it is.” The tick accent was as strong, as Aethelwulf remembered, five years ago, that’s the last time he saw Ragnar, when he escaped.

“Aethelwulf, is that you? I can smell your cologne, I must confess it has a signature smell of arrogance, but it suits you.” Ragnar was looking right at the camera, he knew that Aethelwulf was watching, and he was right, he was watching every single move of Ragnar.

“What do you want, Ragnar?” Aethelwulf said through the microphone, and Ragnar smirked.

“I want to stop an assassination attempt, I know the time and the place, and the person they’re going to try to assassinate.” Ragnar was still extremely calm, it was in his nature, no matter the situation, he was always calm.

“Well, tell me.” The irony was dripping from Aethelwulf’s words, he knew that Ragnar wasn’t going to give the information that easily, and Ragnar himself could easily stop this, if he wanted to.

“I only have one demand.” He looked right at the camera. “I only speak with Special Agent Y/N Whittemore.” Aethelwulf frowned.

“Who the hell is Y/N Whittemore?” He asked the agents.

8:37 AM

You were still sleeping, the night before you and your husband were celebrating the promotion you had, of course that no one knew about your real promotion, working as an operative in the CIA in American soil, they just assumed that you got a big promotion on the FBI New York’s office. You turned around on the bed, to feel the chest of your husband, you smiled and put your head on his chest. But something was bothering you, there was too much sun on the bedroom, you opened your eyes to find your cell phone, and see what time it was, when you saw that it was already 8:39 AM, you jumped out of bed, startling your sleepy husband.

“What happened?” He asked, with his sexy morning voice.

“I’m super late for my first of work.” You screamed from the bathroom, already putting your clothes, brushing your hair, and teeth at the same time.

Ethan grabbed the phone and saw that he was late too, he needed to be in the gallery 20 minutes ago.

“Ethan, where’s my shoe?” You asked trying to find your shoe around the bedroom.

“Right here.” He handed your shoes to you, and you smiled.

“What I would do without you?” You kissed him.

“You would probably go to work barefoot.” You laughed, and you ran towards the kitchen, you put your coffee on your mug.

Because of your new job, you and Ethan bought a car. It was very useful to get to work, and Ethan used it sometimes, to take some paintings to his gallery.

“Babe, you’re gonna need the car today?” You screamed, and Ethan showed up, already dresses, and he looked gorgeous, as usual.

“Yeah, I need to grab a painting on Brooklyn.” He explained, and you signed.

Two cars seemed very useful right now, you and your husband were considering buying two cars, but with the maintenance, and all of the expenses, two cars seemed too much, so you decided to buy just one and share it.

“Huh, okay...I’ll catch a cab.” You informed, and you grabbed the house keys, Ethan was following you.

He was very moody, because he didn't had breakfast, your husband loves food, you tease him that he loves food more than he loves you.

“Have a nice day, babe.” He kissed you, that’s when you heard helicopters and five cars stopped at your apartment, you were surprised, and your husband was even more shocked than you.

“Agent Whittemore, you need to come with us.” An agent informed, and you signed.

“I won’t need take the cab anymore.” You followed the agent, leaving your husband very shocked on the door.

The whole way towards the building where you work was quiet, no agent spoke to you. You wondered if they did that every time an agent was late. You were nervous if you were going to lose your job, that was the opportunity of a lifetime, you didn't want to miss just because you were late. The car stopped, but it wasn’t where you were supposed to work, it seemed like an empty warehouse, but you knew better.

The agents accompanied you to an elevator, the elevator went down, at least for three minutes. They showed you an office, and you entered. Your new boss was there, he was waiting for you.

“Agent Whittemore, please have a seat.” He smiled, but his smile couldn’t reach his eyes, and you saw that.

You had to, you were a profiler, the best one in Quantico, that’s why you got that opportunity. You never thought that you would have this chance, but your abilities were outstanding, and you were going to prove yourself worthy of the chance it was given to you.

“Agent Whittemore, what do you know about Ragnar Lothbrok?” Aethelwulf was doing another background check on you, because he wanted to make sure that you didn't knew him, and why Ragnar was so interested on you, if he never met you.

“Only what they taught us in Quantico, he was a spy, working for CIA. One day he went rogue, and he started to sell many secrets, from Ragnar Lothbrok created an empire, he’s the most wanted criminal in the world, he serves no country, has no agenda, the only thing he’s loyal is his own interests.” You explained, but you still had no idea why he was asking you this.

“Have you ever met him?” He inquired, you were getting even more confused.

“No, never.” You replied, and he clicked his tongue.

“The reason why I’m asking you all of this is because Ragnar Lothbrok turned himself in today, he says that he knows that an assassination will happen, but he only talks to you.” Your mouth was open, why did the most wanted criminal in the world specifically asked for you? How did he know you? So many questions were running through your mind, at that moment.

“We’re doing a background check, to see if you have any type of connexion with him.”

“I know what you’re gonna find.” You said, determined, Aethelwulf raised an eyebrow, he was skeptical about a girl at your age, newly formed from Quantico, got a job on his task-force, he thought that maybe Ragnar, somehow, put you there. “Nothing, I don’t know him, he’s just a criminal that I studied in Quantico.” You were as confused as Aethelwulf, if not more, you truly had no idea why he wanted to talk to you, but you needed to find out.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t think that you have what it takes to get this job done, you’re too inexperienced, and I don’t trust you. But you impressed some big guys in Quantico, that’s why you’re here, if you screw up, I’m gonna be the first to kick you out of this task force, and lock you up in a federal prison.” You were speechless, your boss didn't like you, the most wanted criminal in the world was in first name basis with you, this day was nothing what you expected to be, at all. He got up from his chair, and buttoned his suit, he signed, he was already tired. “I’ll take you to him.” You quickly followed him, you needed to prove yourself, and maybe that was your chance to do that.

You entered the living room, and there was Ragnar Lothbrok. You only saw a few photos of him, the FBI didn't had much information on his life, he was a spy, after all. He smiled when he saw you, his plan was succeeding.

“Y/N Whittemore, you look absolutely gorgeous, come, sit with me. We have a lot to discuss.” You sat in front of him, and Aethelwulf left the room.

“How do you know me?” You asked the most obvious question at the moment.

“Sweet Y/N, I know everything about you.” He laughed, you had no idea his accent would be so strong. “How your parents died in a plane crash, how you were adopted after that, and how you were at the top of your class in Quantico, congratulations by the way.” He was talking like an old friend of yours, details about your life that most people don’t know.

“Why do you have an interest in me?” His response didn't answered any of your doubts.

“Let’s not talk about you, we will talk about the billionaire Kwenthrith Queen, she has an exorbitant amount of money, she can finance anything you could ever imagine. She has a son, Magnus. Kwenthrith fought really hard to get pregnant, imagine what amount of money she would give to keep her son safe.” You frowned, that was about a kidnapping?

“They told me it was an assassination attempt.” Ragnar smiled, he liked you, it wasn’t going to be so hard to have you close.

“When you say the word ‘assassination’, people are quick to assume that you’re talking about the president, or others politicians. Do you think that someone would give me any attention if I talk about some kidnaping?” It made sense, no one would pay attention to a kidnaping.

“You have plenty attention here, or anywhere in the world, you’re Ragnar Lothbrok, A.K.A ‘The King’.” That was how Ragnar was known in the world of organized crime, he was a legend, people wrote books about his intelligence.

“Don’t flatter me, you already have me here.” He pointed at the room, laughing, he looked at the camera. “Go find Magnus, he’s in a great danger, and Kwenthrith too, if they don’t have the boy, they’ll go for the mother.” Aethelwulf ordered some agents to go find the boy and Kwenthrith.

“Now, how’s your husband?” Ragnar had a smirk on his face, he was very fond of the reactions you had.

“How do you know about my husband?” He scoffed.

“Don’t mock my intelligence, Y/N. I know about your adoption, do you expect me not to know about your relationship status?” You signed, it was true, but this day was filled with surprises, you were still a little dizzy from everything that happened.

“What do you want from me?” Ragnar seemed to know everything about your life, but you didn't know why he choose you, and why he even bothered to know about your life.

“Your husband is not who he says he is, he’s an assassin, one of the best there is, his real name is Hvitserk, if you don’t believe me, you’ll find out the truth soon.” You laughed, he wanted to accuse your husband of being an assassin, a man that owns an art gallery.

“This conversation is over.” You got up from your chair, but he stooped you.

“I can give you names of criminals that even the CIA doesn’t even know about their existence, all I’m asking is that I’m able to work with you.” He probably knew every single criminal there is, so the information would be accurate.

“I’m not the one deciding your fate, the government is.” You explained, and he smiled.

“If the government decides to make a deal with me, will you work with me?” There was no way the CIA would make a deal with Ragnar Lothbrok, they wanted him in prison for so long, they wouldn’t let him walk away.

“Yes, I would work with you.” You agreed because you knew there was no way of that happening, he nodded, obviously happy with your positive response, when you were about to leave, he called you again.

“When you get home, check every inch of your house, you can find really interesting things.” You left Ragnar alone, to check on the case, and to think, process everything he said to you.

He accused your husband of being an assassin, he knew every important thing in your life, you had no idea why he was so interested in you, and your life, but you needed to find out. There was no way Ethan was an assassin, you knew him inside and out, and he was the same with you, you trusted him completely, he was your husband, the man you loved.

“Hey, are you okay?” You looked to see Aethelred, he was an agent too, and apparently the boss's son.

“Yeah, I’m fine, is just a lot to process.” You informed, and he gave you a tight smile.

“That’s okay, just so you know Ragnar Lothbrok might be extremely valuable in jail, but he’s worth far more giving information for the CIA, you need to get used to him.” That made sense, you didn't even considered that possibility.

“I need to work with him?” You put your hands on your face, your life was turning upside down, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“If you wanna keep your job here, yes.” He left you alone, he was right, the amount of information Ragnar had, was priceless, and you needed to get used to the fact that you were going to work with him, for the greater good.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 10

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 10 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

———————————————————————————-

“I’m not helping you smuggle supervillains out of this city!” Len yelps. “You owe me a favor, kiddo, not vice versa!”

He's been keeping a low profile these last few weeks - a few heists in Keystone, a few jaunts further away, nothing that would disturb Barry and Nora's bonding time - but he still hangs out at Saints and Sinners on a regular basis, and that's where they found him.

Len blames Nora for telling Barry the location of his usual haunts.

But not as much as he blames Barry for coming to him with the world's stupidest suggestion.

“You don’t understand –” Barry starts.

“No!”

“But the city – ”

“No means no.”

“Len –” Nora starts, floating behind Barry, wringing her hands.

“Both of you!" Len exclaims, glaring at both of them, even as he gestures for the bartender to clear the place. "What the hell? When did you two start thinking of me as a go-to charity dispenser? I’m a supervillain. I even have the action figures to prove it!”

Mick is very, very proud of the action figures.

“But you’re a good one,” Barry says.

"Yes. Very good at being very bad."

"That's not what I meant -"

“I know what you meant, and I am not. Plus I’ve got my own problems to deal with – don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Nora, but I think the Santini Family has been trying to assassinate me –”

“But Len –” Barry says, and trails off.

Len makes the mistake of turning back to look at them.

Turns out Barry's got a hell of a set of puppy dog eyes.

Nora, too. It's clearly a familial trait.

Also, Barry’s picked up Nora’s habit of calling him ‘Len’ instead of ‘Snart’ somewhere along the line and Len’s always been weak to a good set of puppy eyes accompanying his given name.

He blames Mick and Lisa for that.

But he's not going to give in, because -

Because -

Oh, damn it.

"You've got to be kidding me," Len says, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to keep off the headache he swears is coming for him. "Smuggling supervillains. It even rhymes."

They both brighten at the fact that he's stopped resisting so hard.

"That doesn't mean I agree," Len reminds them, though he suspects Nora knows him well enough to know that he's just resisting the inevitable out of sheer stubbornness at this point. "Also, Nora, I thought we agreed that you'd have the whole 'why private prisons are wrong' talk with him. Why are these guys even still there?"

"We did have that talk," she says, managing to look simultaneously penitent and embarrassed. "We just got a little distracted – you see, I was hanging around in STAR Labs, waiting for Barry, who wanted a bit of private time -"

"I'm an adult, Mom," Barry says, turning bright red. "It's not that weird to not want your mom around all the time and possibly coming through walls at awkward moments."

Len, who has had to deal with many, many such an awkward moment growing up, understands completely.

"Anyway," she says, "That's not important. While I was there, I saw Wells. I mean, not Wells, we don't think it's Wells. The man who calls himself Wells. He didn’t realize I was there, of course, I was invisible, but he - he stood up, out of his wheelchair - and he ran. Not regular running. He ran the way Barry runs, the way a speedster runs – except unlike Barry, he wore yellow and trailed red lightning."

Len blinks. "Harrison Wells is the man who killed you?"

"The man masquerading as him is," Nora agrees.

"We're planning to capture him," Barry says earnestly. His puppy dog eyes game is spot on. "We need to get the supervillain metas out of the way so that we can catch him - Len, this means we have a chance of avenging my mom and freeing my dad! We just need your help for the plan -”

“Didn’t the first plan you mention along these lines fail?” Len asks suspiciously. “Which is why he escaped and is wreaking havoc and you need to get a bunch of supervillains out of town?”

“Well, yes, okay, we let him go free for a little at first, trying to get him to confess, but there was no way to guess that he was secretly recording us. But how were we to know that he’d convince Hannibal Bates to shape-shift into him!” Barry exclaims.

“I would’ve done it,” Len points out. "If I had access to cameras and a shapeshifter."

And didn't have ghosts.

Actually, given the resources he does have, he could -

This is not a helpful line of thought.

“Not everyone’s a supervillain, Len,” Nora says briskly. “Anyway, we have a better plan this time.”

“We just need some help. From you. Maybe from Mick and Lisa too – wait, Lisa's not dead, is she? Because Cisco is, like, super into -"

"She's not dead," Len says, giving up and just putting his head into his hands. "If I give you her number to give to Cisco, will you lay off?"

"Is she interested?"

"How the hell would I know if – " Len cuts off and sighs. "Apparently the ghost consensus is yes."

Barry looks over to where Nora is hovering. "It is," she says, laughing. "Everyone here just shouted 'YES SHE IS' at the top of their lungs."

"Your life is, like, the most awesome," Barry tells Len, and damn him, he even sounds sincere about it. “And I’m a superhero, so I know awesome.”

"Given that seeing ghosts is likely to kill me before I turn fifty and I’m already hitting forty, not so much," Len says tersely. He's still amazed by how far he's gotten.

"...oh," Barry says, frowning. "Really? We can't let that happen."

"I'm so happy you got super-speed," Len tells Barry, rolling his eyes. "If you got my curse instead, you'd be dead inside a year."

"Why's that?"

"’cause you’ve got a serious problem accepting the inevitability of death, you strawberry-colored sparkplug. Not to mention the fact that you’re a reckless idiot. Do your friends even know you're here?" Len asks, gesturing around the now-vacant interior of Saints.

"Well, kinda?" Barry hedges, his shoulders going up to his ears.

"Kinda?" Len asks, having a sinking sensation that he's about to hear something incredibly stupid. "What do you mean, kinda?"

"Well, I mean, I didn't tell them about the ghost thing," Barry says. "Mom says most people don't believe in them, and I didn't want my friends to think I was crazy – well, think I was crazy again, I kinda had this supernatural blog for a while that on second thought you totally don’t need to know about so just maybe forget that I ever mentioned it – and, well, anyway, getting back to my friends, I just, you know, didn't mention the whole ghost thing or the mom thing or any of that. But I did tell them I was going to ask you for help!"

Len stares at him, making a mental note to look up that blog; judging by Nora's smirk, it's undoubtedly amazing. But still, that fades in importance next to the fact that Barry came to Saints - "Based on nothing more than, what? My record of supervillainy?"

"I like this kid," Mick opines from Saints' kitchen, poking his head out. "Kid, want food?"

"He always wants food," Nora says fondly. "Let me come back there with you; I'll tell you his favorites."

"Yeah, cool."

Len groans. He knows how to read Mick’s reaction: Len is now officially outnumbered by people who want to help out. Damnit, as he keeps reminding Mick, they're villains, now. Villains don’t go around helping people, that’s what makes them villains instead of heroes.

On the other hand, as Nora's always reminding him, ensuring continuing marital bliss requires some measure of sacrifice, and if Mick wants to go…

"Okay, okay," Len says with a sigh. "I’m in. Tell me your plan."

Five minutes of biting his tongue later, Len says, "That is a terrible plan."

"What are you thinking, then?" Barry asks, crossing his arms.

"Same start – me helping you escort the bad guys to the drop off point, but instead of you putting them on a plane, I take the metas and send them out of the city," Len says. "I'll enforce it, too. That way you don't worry about where they are, about them fighting you at an awkward moment, or about them being dissected or abused in some private prison that you sent them to without due process."

Barry pauses for a moment, then says sheepishly, "Yeah, okay. Good point."

Len groans.

He’s going to have to get Nora to really hammer in the ‘private secret illegal prisons are bad’ thing a bit more, it seems.

But if there's one thing Len's good at, it's plans - and when he's in, he's in.

The escort mission is easy enough to set up, at least. Lisa volunteers to sabotage the transport truck, no doubt because it gives her more flirting time with Cisco; Mick goes invisible and wrangles the ghosts that will be hovering over the escort, ready to help if anything goes wrong but primarily serving as a watchmen; and Len takes point on his motorcycle.

He's strapping in when Mick shows up.

"Yeah?" Len asks.

"Got a new recruit," Mick grunts. "Been snooping around, apparently. Knows the whole plan, but says he thinks someone on the good-doers team still called ARGUS to come in and pick up the metas."

"ARGUS? Why? We ain't handing anyone over to ‘em. Part of the agreement with Barry – the whole transporation gig is all acting to get the metas to feel indebted to me so they don’t cause trouble on their way outta town. No need for anyone to involve ARGUS at all."

"If I had to bet," Mick says, "it’s probably someone thinking that if government – quasi-government? – authority shows up, Barry will buckle on the giving ‘em up issue."

"Must be Joe," Len says, after a moment of staring in disbelief. "No one underestimates a person more than their overprotective dad, I'm given to understand. No way Barry buckles, not after the tongue-lashing we’ve all given him on the subject."

Mick rolls his eyes, not disagreeing. He'd been there for most of the excruciatingly long lecture Len and Nora had subjected Barry too.

"I assume you've got a plan to handle it?" Len asks, putting on his helmet.

Len is aware that people view him as the planner between the two of them, and they're usually right, but he needs time and space to make his plans. Mick is far better at coming up with plans on the fly to handle problems that arise spontaneously. That's what makes him an excellent enforcer – Len designs the overall plan, Mick makes it actually work by whatever means necessary and reasonable.

Mick grins. He definitely has a plan. "You remember the run-up of which metas we're transporting? One of 'em being Mark Mardon?"

"Weather guy, yeah," Len says. "Say, I didn’t ask Cisco about their nicknames. You think his villain nickname is 'The Weatherman'? Or ‘Storm’? He-Storm, to distinguish him from the comic books?"

"It better not be, because that’s just dumb," Mick says. "Putting that aside, here's the thing - his whole shtick is that he's out for revenge against West and the Flash for bringing down his brother when they first got started. A brother who got the same powers he did. Name of Clyde Mardon."

"Our new ghostly recruit, I'm guessing," Len says, starting to grin. "He gonna knock that ARGUS plane out of the sky?"

"All Clyde needs is enough juice to poltergeist and he assures us that we'll be seeing lightning."

"Excellent plan," Len says approvingly. “Send him to me; I’ll give him what he needs.” Then he hauls Mick in for a kiss. "See you on the other side."

All in all, the job goes well. ARGUS does send a plane, but it gets struck down by lightning, just as planned, and the metas are mostly rescued. Mostly, because one decides to gun for Barry with laser eyes, which, is unacceptable; Len ices him right off because that sort of stupidity deserves to be put to an immediate end. He spends a minute regretting the fatality of his actions – he really needs to figure out that whole cold field idea so that he can do more non-lethal stuff – before he realizes that he’s managed to get lucky and the guy didn’t have enough regrets to become a ghost.

At any rate, after that little show of force, the metas all give in pretty quick. Len's escorting them out of Central while Barry recovers from his latest bout with the cold gun – if you’re putting on a show, you’d better be ready to sell it good, in Len’s view – and goes to deal with his yellow archenemy problem.

Barry had better have a good plan to capture the guy this time, or Len’s gonna have to take matters into his own hand. At least Nora managed to find time to assure him that both Firestorm and Green Arrow’d been called in for the capture process, which should hopefully increase its chances of success.

But Len’s never been one not to stack the deck.

"Nora," Len calls.

"Isn't she back with Barry?" Lisa asks from where she's curled up behind him on the motorcycle as he leads the truck filled with meta supervillains out of town.

She is, but Len's found that more and more, the ghosts come when he calls them, no matter where they were originally.

Sure enough, it takes a minute, but then Nora appears alongside their convoy.

Len can feel Lisa's eyebrows go up behind him.

"Nora, what're BB's chances?"

"His name's Barry, not 'Baby Barry'," Nora says, like she hasn't been talking about her 'Beautiful Boy' since Len had first met her. "And – I don't know. Wells – Eobard, he says his name is – is still faster, I think, and he's taught Barry everything he knows."

"The time comes when the Apprentice turns upon the Master," Len intones. "Such is the Speedster code."

"I think you mean 'Sith'," Lisa sniggers.

"Maybe a little bit. Nora, when we stop, I wanna give you some extra juice, and I want you to save it for the big boss fight, okay?"

"How will I know –"

"You've seen enough movies, TV, video games, the rest. You'll know when it's the big boss fight."

“Why do you even think there will be a big boss fight?” Nora asks, crossing her arms and still easily keeping pace with Len’s bike. Ghosts, always overdramatic. “The plan is to gather everyone into a group and use our numbers to overwhelm Wells – er, Eobard, I think he said his name was? – and put him into a containment unit. No big boss fights.”

“This guy’s been a step ahead of you the whole way,” Len points out. “I’m not disagreeing with your plan, but I’m telling you, there’s going to be a big boss fight, and I want you to be ready.”

"I guess,” Nora says hesitantly.

Len reaches down and pulls a kitchen knife – long and sharp – out of a pouch on the cycle, and hits the gas until they're accelerating even more. He needs more speed for this. Besides, he doesn’t want the metas to see this, and he’s not going so fast that he can’t multitask. "Nora Allen," he says, and his voice has gone weird and echoing again, and he has no idea why. He really ought to make some time to look into that. "You died through steel and speed. I kill this knife for you, in the same way, for you to have. Take it as a gift from me to you."

And then he releases it.

Kitchen knives were not meant to hit asphalt at a hundred miles per hour.

He slows down carefully, braking by the city limits and waiting for the metas he's escorting to catch up.

Nora is staring at the knife that's just appeared in her hands. "Len," she says tremulously. "I can't –"

"You can," Len says, and extends a hand to her. "I'm gonna make you a full manifestation, and if Barry can't finish the job, you've gotta do it for him, okay? Your son is a good boy, a hero, and sometimes that's not what's needed."

"I've never killed anyone before."

"You're not killing someone," Lisa puts in. Huh, Nora must be on the audible spectrum at the moment. "You're killing the creature that orphaned your son, imprisoned your husband, killed you, and, according to Cisco, videotaped and manipulated your son for over a decade, shaping his opportunities and decisions in order to eventually kill him."

Nora's fingers tighten on the knife.

"You can do it," Len says encouragingly. Nora was never a violent manifestation, but she's still a ghost - and perhaps more importantly, a mother. "You're probably going to have to."

"Okay," she says, and takes Len's hand. Len feels the strength going – more than normal, since Nora Allen is so very far away from being a violent spirit and he's never raised her so much before, but it's fine; he's not expecting there to be much need for more energy tonight. A large dinner and a good night’s sleep should set him to rights.

"Good luck," Len says, and Lisa echoes it.

Nora nods, and vanishes.

"I hope she puts that knife into that fucker's heart," Lisa says. "Beautiful bit of irony, wouldn't you say?"

"Why do you think I got her a kitchen knife?"

"You drama queen you."

The other metas pull up as well when they see Len idling there, stolen truck coming to a halt. They jump out to look at him.

"I rescued you," Len tells them. "That earns me something. Now, I want you out of the city for a least six months, lying low, and then I get a heads-up before you come back. And that's not counting the favor you owe me."

One of the metas sneers. "Why should we listen to you?" he asks.

"Because you’re Central City criminals, the whole lot of you. You've all heard of me," Len points out again. "You know my rep. If you listen to me, you’ll get through this, the heat will die down, no problem; you don't, well..."

"We end up dead," one of them finishes. He looks like Clyde, so he must be Mark. "I've heard plenty about you, Snart."

Len shrugs. He's not wrong, even if Len has mostly stopped killing people in the last few years. Unless they’ve tried to kill him or a friend of his, of course. "I'm not gonna ice you for not listening to me on this, since you didn't sign up willingly," he says, ignoring Lisa's quiet groan at the pun. "But if you know what's good for you, you'll listen."

"Six months isn't so long," the nervous looking girl says. Shawna Baez, Len thinks her name is.

"I’ve got another idea," the first one says, sounding a little giddy, and Len's abruptly concerned about the look in his eyes.

"Lisa, off," he snaps and she scrambles away even as the meta turns into a poison gas and rushes towards Len.

Len barely has time to jump off his bike before lightning hits the ground in front of him, forcing Nimbus – that's his name, Kyle Nimbus; Len's heard of him before, a Family killer-for-hire gone bad – back away from Len.

"Picking sides, Mardon?" Nimbus snarls, reforming his top half like some sort of murderous genie.

"I didn't – " Mark says, eyes going wide. "That wasn't me!"

"Bullshit! Lightning strikes are your domain, Weather Wizard!"

"Wrong Mardon," Len says, and fires the cold gun at the more gaseous parts of Nimbus, freezing them solid and heavy.

Nimbus roars in rage and pain. "You little – "

"For some reason, I take it personally when people try to kill me," Len snarls back. Not just him, no less – attacking him when Lisa is around – that's more than enough for Len. Forget the no killing rule; some things are a step too far. “And when you try, you’d better damn well succeed on the first try – which you didn’t.”

"Your little cold gun doesn't work on me," Nimbus replies, kicking his way out of the ice. Len can see it's not true - he's having trouble moving, now, and he's left some parts of himself behind.

"How do you feel about gold?" Len asks.

"Gold? What about – "

Lisa fires.

The resulting gold statue is very pretty, all gaseous clouds clunking down to the ground.

Just for good measure, Len ices the statue and smashes it with his gun. Then he turns to look at the other metas, who are all wide-eyed. He grins, shoulders relaxing and voice going neutral again now that Nimbus is pretty definitively dead.

Len can always tell when someone dies. No ghost, either, but that’s pretty standard with psychopaths – you can’t have regrets if you don’t know the feeling.

"Any questions?" Len asks the whole group of them, pointedly not putting his gun down.

"Out of town, six months, yes, sir," the last guy – Bivolo? – says. "Also, I'm never making you mad."

"Good idea," Lisa says. "You really don't want to see that."

The metas leave, in drips and drabs and small groups, but Mardon – Mark – stays behind.

"Can we help you?" Len drawls.

"You said –" he says, hesitating. "Earlier. You said – 'wrong Mardon'?"

"Your brother also had weather powers," Lisa says.

"My brother – Clyde's dead."

"Death doesn't stop our reach," Lisa says haughtily. ”Your brother's a ghost."

"He – you can see ghosts?"

"Oh, and use them too," Lisa says, smiling in her best fake-sweet manner. "My big brother did tell you not to underestimate us. Listen, you get out of town, do as we say, and then make yourself useful coming back, we'll see what we can do about making him visible for you. Deal?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mardon says, eyes wide and impressed. "No offense, lady, but with a meta power like that, why're you bothering with the golden gun?"

"I like gold," Lisa says. "And ghosts make terrible weapons."

This isn't strictly true, but Len keeps quiet anyway until Mark leaves, practically oozing out awe as he does.

"You know he'll tell everyone you're a ghost-controlling meta, right?" Len asks mildly.

"I'd rather that I get the rep for that than you, big brother," she says. "This way, if anyone tries anything, you'll be able to rescue me."

"I'm assigning you ghost guards."

"Like you don't do that anyway."

"Yeah, but you ain’t supposed to know about 'em."

"I’m not stupid, Lenny – I may not be able to see them, but I know you."

"Maybe you two want to stop arguing and get home before the big speedster fight?" Mick suggests, appearing nearby.

"Not the worst idea," Len says.

As he told Nora, he has a bad feeling about the speedster fight. Len knows he's good with plans and Barry’s good with speed, but this Wells-Eobard guy's had a whole decade to plan this out and months to figure out the best ways to get under Barry's skin. If he's anywhere near the planner Barry has made him out to be, he's developed contingencies.

That’s why he gave Nora the knife.

He can only hope that’s enough.

Still, Len knows when it's not his fight. If he tries to get involved, even on Barry’s side, he'll just end up distracting the heroes right when they most need to focus.

He does drop Lisa off at the train station, sending her back to continue her masters' program in New York despite her complaints and whining.

"You sure you don't want her around for whatever's gonna happen?" Mick asks.

"I'd rather she not fail out," Len replies. "Plus, y'know, her not dying is rather important to me."

"I feel like you're being biased against the living-challenged."

"That is not a thing and tell Julie that it will never be a thing."

"Stop trying to make fetch happen," a nearby car-accident ghost pipes up.

"Not helping."

“I want to do more about the Santinis,” Mick says grimly. He’s been taking the lead in the Santini investigation, for obvious reasons; they still don’t know why they’ve been taking pot-shots at Len.

“They’re probably just pissy about me being back on their turf,” Len says. Not for the first time.

“We tried that theory out,” Mick points out. “We let the local Don take us in and gave him what for.”

“He didn’t know anything,” Len replies, revving up his cycle and driving home. “That much was obvious, given that he thought he could scare us away with a warning.”

“Which means someone else is trying to gun you down, and we don’t know who, or why, or how to stop them.”

“Mick…”

“Don’t Mick me! I wanna know who’s trying to kill my partner – and then I wanna get my hands on ‘em.”

“You will,” Len assures him. “I’m just saying, I still think it’s some up-and-coming asshole working with the Santinis to prove himself by offing me.”

“And I still think it’s something else.”

“Which is why you’re doing the investigating,” Len points out.

Naturally, less than two days later, someone tries to shoot Len from a window.

Mick tries to find them, but they’re gone by the time even he can get there; they must have not even bothered to wait to see if the bullet hit.

“Amateurs,” Len says, scowling. “That could’ve hit someone.”

“That could’ve hit you,” Mick points out.

“That, too. Okay, fine. Let's go figure this out."

[writeyouin]

Hello! I just found your blog, read some of your stories, and I am hooked! Your writing is amazing, I love your stories so much! Would you mind taking a request about a motion sick shield agent and the avengers? Maybe coming back from a mission on the Hellicarrier, the reader experiences some motion sickness but the Avengers help them through it and they eventually fall asleep? Thank you!

Avengers Reader Insert – Motion Sickness

A/N – Hi there, gosh that is sosweet of you to say. I’ll be honest, I found this request a little difficultbut I’ve done my best to figure out what everyone’s roles would be and I hopeyou like it, you amazing person.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You despised Fury, why did hehave to assign you to the Avengers today? He knew you hated the damned Helicarrier,or most any mode of transport really. Your job in S.H.I.E.L.D was supposed tobe a ‘boots on the ground’ kind of role in New York but then some stupid agenthad to get ill and you had to take their place; you hated the agent and youloathed Fury.

“Great, now I get to be sick,” You thought irritably, trying to hideyour nausea as Tony began the flight to the meeting spot in England.

It didn’t take long for Natashato notice your odd behaviour, usually you were quite willing to talk with eachmember of the team, today however, you weren’t speaking at all; not even a quiet‘yes’ every now and then.

“(Y/N), is everything okay?” Sheasked, worried that something about the mission was going to be more dangerousthan usual and mistaking your illness for guilt.

“Fine,” You murmured.

“If something’s bothering you,you should tell us,” Vision said. “That is what I’ve been taught about humancustoms.”

“It’s nothing.”

“If there’s a problem- What’shappening to your colours. Is it normal for humans to turn so pale?”

“Pale?” Tony got up from thepilot seat curiously. He walked up, ignoring personal space to get a good lookat you. “My God, are you travel sick? You are, aren’t you! Guys, this is great,(s)he’s- (s)he’s-” He cackled hysterically.

Under normal circumstances, youwould’ve argued back. In your current, worsening condition however, arguingwasn’t an option.

“Aww, so cute. Need a doggy bag?Want me to call Fury to pick you up? I’ll tell you what, if you’re good, we canstop at-”

You took a deep, shuddery breath,making Tony falter.

“Wait, you are okay, right? Tellme you’re okay. Natasha, (s)he’s not answering, is (s)he okay?”

Natasha shot him a look,silencing him. She grabbed your hand, gently guiding you down onto the floor, “Breathe.”

“Yes,” Thor commended, “Breathing.‘Tis good for all warriors, even those who do not venture the skies well.”

The group gathered around you onthe floor, making you feel even worse about the scenario. You were an adult;adults weren’t supposed to be babied, especially when it was Earth’s defendersdoing the babying. Sure, they were all trying to be nice but you were supposedto be a professional.

Clint sensed your distress andmade the group back off so he could sit down next to you. Silently, he handedyou a stick of gum which you gratefully accepted, relishing the little reliefit provided.

“Thanks…” You managed, “How didyou…?”

“I have three children (Y/N),this quiver holds more than arrows,” He replied with a grin.

“What uh, what else is in there?”

“Other than the arrows, a fewtoys and an iPod with kids songs; don’t tell Tony that last part.”

“Secret’s safe with me.”

“Seriously though, how’re youfeeling?”

“Not good.”

Clint glanced at Bruce, motioninghim over with a subtle head nod. Bruce hesitated momentarily, he was often waryof people, especially before a mission, though despite his reservations, heapproached anyway, taking Clint’s place beside you.

“I uh, I know how it feels,”Bruce mumbled awkwardly.

“You get motion sick?” You askeddoubtfully.

“Not motion sick, just sick…every time I turn back. I find music helps… if you want it,” he pulled out his iPod,offering it to you.

You smiled sadly, your sicknessseemed so paltry compared to how it must feel for Bruce, recovering from beingHulk on a regular basis. You appreciated that no matter how bad the recoverymust be, he wasn’t mocking you for your silly little ailment.

Tentatively, you took the iPod,finding a pleasant distraction in the sweet melodies of the classical musicupon it. With a content sigh, you rested your head on Bruce. He didn’t move,knowing how comforting it was to have something warm on the Helicarrier,instead he stayed there, even as you fell asleep on him.

Vision and Wanda shared a look, both wishing to sootheyou further. Together, they combined their abilities, weaving a dream whichwould play until you woke up. Each Avenger was aware that they hadn’t done muchalone to help but by working together, they’d managed to help you through atroublesome problem; even Tony was taking care to pilot the plane morecarefully so as not to jostle you awake.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Least I Can Do (Part 3)

Summary: Jensen takes the reader on their second date where she experiences her first con...

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: language

A/N: They just keep getting longer somehow...

“Morning sunshine,” said Jensen when you opened your door, a small carry on by his feet.

“Morning,” you said, waving him in. “There’s coffee if you want some.”

“Already made some,” he said, holding up a thermos. “You ready to go?”

“You texted me like three minutes ago saying to pack some clothes and whatever stuff I wanted,” you said, walking past your couch and into your bedroom where your empty backpack sat on the unmade bed.

“Was that not enough time?” he teased. 

“Do I need a dress? Nice shoes? A parka? I need to know what this con weekend thing is. Or where it even is,” you said.

“Are you that obsessed with clothes?” he asked and you scowled. Oh, if there was one stereotype you hated as much as the sleeping around underwear model it was the superficial clothes and makeup obsessed thing. “Y/N, relax. It was a joke.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” you said. “We really don’t know much about each other and-”

“If you don’t want to go, then that’s fine. But please don’t change your mind because I tried to tease you and touched a nerve. I don’t think you care about name brands and crap like that really,” he said. 

“So,” you said giving him a smile. “Jeans and tees?”

“That’ll be fine. We’re going to a concert tonight too,” he said and you raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, give me ten minutes?” you asked and he smiled, pulling your door shut before you stopped him. “I’m not worried about you seeing my underwear drawer.”

“I don’t want to see my presents early,” he said with a smirk. 

“Oh don’t try this cocky flirting game with me Ackles. You’re gonna lose,” you said, watching him hold up his hands.

“I’ll behave for the foreseeable future,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Alright. Oh and Jensen?” you asked, watching him whip his body around after heading into your living room. “How much do I owe you for the plane ticket and hotel and stuff?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t have to pay for it so don’t argue that you should have to.”

“Wait, this is a show thing?” you asked. He nodded as he sat down. “Awesome.”

“Awesome?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I may or may not have binged like four episodes last night...” you said, walking back into your room to pack.

“So, are you a Sam or Dean girl?” he asked.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Which one are you attracted to,” he said, a laugh in his words. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh, I like John,” you said. “He’s got that hot older guy thing going on.”

“You realize I’m currently older than he was when the show started, right?” asked Jensen.

“You’ve got that hot older guy thing going on ya know,” you said, popping your head out the door with a smirk. “Although you were an adorable baby boy back then. Your voice was so much higher.”

“Is this that flirty tease thing I’m getting now?” he asked. “I’ll give it right back sweetheart.”

“That’s a very Dean thing to say,” you said, walking into your closet and pulling on your airport outfit. A pair of leggings, the first tee in sight and a light hooded jacket. You slipped on your throw away shoes, the ten dollar sneakers that you didn’t give a crap about but held up amazingly well and threw your hair back in a ponytail. You tossed a pair of jeans, three shirts, pajama shorts, some underwear and your to go zip up with all your personal care crap in it. You quickly grabbed headphones, charger and a book before you were zipping it up.

“That was fast,” he said when you walked out after only a few minutes. “You sure you don’t want your laptop?”

“We’ll be busy probably,” you said. You glanced over to your dinner table covered with a few sheets of paper and your computer. 

“True. Okay. Everything off, and-”

“I have travelled before,” you said, walking over to your thermostat and turning it down.

“Thankfully it’s not across country today. Only a couple hours down to Arizona,” he said, stepping out before you so you could lock up behind you. 

“You still haven’t told me about what a con is Ackles,” you said, testing your door before walking with him.

“If you’re already binging the show, you’re going to have fun.”

“What?” you asked the front desk when you were checking into your hotel early that afternoon.

“We never received a request for a second room. Unfortunately we’re booked up,” they said and you sighed before heading over to where Jensen was talking to Jared in the lobby, waiting to go up to their rooms.

“Um, they don’t have a room for me,” you said, looking out the front doors. “I can try the hotel across the street.”

“Seriously?” said Jared. “They normally don’t screw up stuff like that.”

“I’ll bunk with Jared and you can have my room,” said Jensen, offering a smile. Jared seemed okay with that but you definitely weren’t.

“It’s your room, you should keep it,” you said. 

“I mean, you guys could share too. Not like you’re dating or anything...” said Jared, bumping his arm into Jensen.

“It hasn’t even been 24 hours,” said Jensen.

“I’m okay with sharing. We wanted to spend more time with each other. That’s the reason I came in the first place, right?” you asked. 

“If he annoys the crap out of you just kick him out and send him to my room,” said Jared, patting your on the back. “Want to meet up in a few hours and grab dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” you said. “Apparently there’s a concert tonight he’s taking me to so we should be back in time for that.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’ll be fun for you,” said Jared, sharing some sort of silent look with Jensen. “Later guys.”

“What was that about?” you asked. Jensen threw his arm over your shoulders and started leading you over to the elevators. For a moment you forgot all about the conversation were absolutely focused on all the warm muscle around you. 

“Y/N? Hello?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your face. Whoops. 

“Um, sorry, zoned out. What’d you say?” you asked, Jensen’s arm moving away to press your floor button and you wished he’d put it back.

“I may or may not be part of the concert tonight. I haven’t decided yet,” he said. You tilted your head up at him to see his green eyes staring back. 

“Yes you have you little flirt,” you said.

“I have to make you think I’m cooler than I actually am. I’ll use this to my advantage in any way possible,” he said, bumping into you playfully. 

“Right, because tall blonde and handsome isn’t cool,” you teased. Jensen was about to spout off something flirty back but a hand caught the closing doors and his arm quickly fell away. Two young women around your age stepped in, their eyes a little wide. He must not have wanted to draw any attention to you yet.

“Hi,” one of them said to Jensen. 

“Hi,” he said back. “You guys here for the con?”

“Yeah, it’s our first one,” said the other women. Jensen seemed genuinely happy as you realized they were both a little nervous to be near him.

“Y/N’s too,” he said, pointing at you. “What floor you guys on?”

“Fifth,” they said, Jensen hitting the button for them. 

“Are you going to sing at the concert tonight?” one asked as they got to their floor.

“I was planning on it. Have fun this weekend,” he said, returning the wave they gave him as they slipped out. 

“You handled that really well,” you said when you were alone. He shrugged.

“I’m used to it. Most people are super nice. We don’t really do bad stuff or get in trouble so no one bothers us on a day to day basis. No one follows me around or takes my picture. I’m boring. This is the most attention I get really,” he said.

“I like that about you. You’re normal,” you said.

“Let’s see how this weekend goes first and see if I’m worth keeping around.”

“Hey,” said Jensen, hopping backstage after finishing up a song, covered in a thin layer of sweat. “Having fun?”

“I wish you could have seen the exact moment her jaw dropped,” said Jared with a laugh.

“Oh my...you’re like fucking amazing,” you said, not sure where to look at him first. “You look like a rockstar and sound like one and play guitar, not to mention all the acting stuff and-”

“Told you I had to make myself seem cool,” he said, grabbing a drink of water.

“Mission accomplished,” you said, still in awe over him.

“I wonder how long that’ll last,” said Jared, Jensen whacking him with his bottle. “Hey, you got to tease the shit out of me when Gen and I got together. Payback’s a bitch.”

“I was totally in favor of you guys!” said Jensen. “I didn’t do it the second day you knew Gen.”

“I’m making up for lost time,” said Jared. “I mean, I don’t see you saying anything to Y/N for saying how cute your butt looks in those jeans.”

“Jared! You were sworn to secrecy,” you said, slapping his arm. 

“I need protection from you two,” he joked. “Besides, we don’t have secrets in this family.”

“He’s right. We don’t. Seriously though, you think I have a cute butt?” asked Jensen with a wink.

“Your cool guy factor is going down you realize,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Twenty seconds. That was longer than I thought,” said Jared, standing and stretching. 

“Shudyup,” said Jensen. You listened to a few more songs before the show ended and you stood up to head back to your room. “Woah, where do you think you’re going?” he asked, catching your arm.

“Bed?” you said back.

“If you want to we can. Or we can go out for a few hours,” he said. 

“I’m game. Not sure about an old timer like yourself,” you said, Jared raising his eyebrows as Jensen squinted.

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

“Why is your alarm going off. We went to bed three hours ago,” you groaned.

“Sorry. Morning panel,” he said, his voice thick with sleep but willing himself to get up from the other side of the bed. “You can go back to bed if you want and just see the afternoon one.”

“No, I wanna,” you mumbled, stretching out and slumping back into bed. 

“Sure about that?” he asked, pulling off his shirt and walking to the bathroom. 

“I’m sure,” you said. You flashed open your eyes and quickly shut them before your eyes started wandering all over him. “Why are you so perfect?”

“I’m really not,” he said. “Something’s obviously not right.”

“Hm?” you asked, sitting up and opening your eyes.

“Forget it. I’ll shower quick then you can have it. Panel starts at 8,” he said.

“Jensen?” you asked. You watched him take a long sip from his coffee just before his and Jared’s panel was supposed to start.

“This one is only thirty minutes or so. Then we can grab breakfast,” he said, offering a smile.

“You just didn’t meet the right person,” you said, his smile falling away. “I don’t think you should feel bad about not having met that person yet.”

“I didn’t say any of that,” he said. 

“You didn’t need to,” you said.

“Hopefully I finally met her. Even if she thinks I’m old,” he said, Jared rolling his eyes behind him, mouthing ‘idiot’ at him. “What is Jared doing?” he asked, turning around in his seat to see Jared walking away.

“Oh, just being a good friend,” you said. “Come on, I want to see my first panel.”

“This one is smaller so it’s a good place to start I hope,” said Jensen, standing and holding out a hand for you. You followed until someone pointed out where you could go so you could sneak into the audience. You were surprised at how informal the whole process was, how a simple question led to a story and then another but somehow they always seemed to stay on track. You found yourself wanting more by the time it was over.

“You two are adorable,” you said to the guys when you saw them after they’d finished. “No wonder you play such good brothers.”

“We spend a lot of time together. As you can tell by how much Jared’s been hanging out on our second date,” said Jensen. Jared didn’t take offense and asked if you’d met any of the other people at the con yet. “We’ve been hanging out so not really.”

“Do it before we head home. Everyone’s interested in meeting your new girlfriend,” said Jared.

“I haven’t even asked that yet,” said Jensen, his face heating up the more Jared teased.

“Jared, can you give us a minute?” you asked. You waited for the two of you to be alone in the hall.

“Thanks,” he said. “I know this is probably overwhelming on it’s own and-”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you asked, looking up at confused green eyes. “Yeah, I was talking to you.”

“This isn’t scary or weird to you?” he asked. 

“I like you. You like me. We’ll be going on more dates. I think we check off those criteria for boyfriend and girlfriend,” you said, reaching out and taking one of his large hands in yours.

“You’ve got a point,” he said. “I guess we’re together then.”

“I guess we are,” you said back.

“Can I go show you off to my friends now?” he asked with a smile.

“I’d love to.”

“This weekend was a lot of fun,” you said, yawning as you opened your door to your apartment that night. Jensen nodded and yawned in turn. 

“I’m really glad you came,” he said. “Maybe you can come to another one if you want.”

“Uh, duh. Those panels were awesome. I’ve definitely got some catching up to do,” you said, tossing your bag down and walking over to your phone on the wall showing a message.

“You are so going to be a Dean girl,” said Jensen, watching you tilt your head curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just I haven’t given out this number in ages. The only people who have it is my modeling agency and even then they always call my cell or email, never this one.”

“Well now I’m intrigued. Let’s take a listen,” he said, walking inside and taking a seat on your kitchen counter.

“Let’s hope it’s fast. Walking Dead comes on in like ten minutes,” you said.

“Do you mind if I hang out and watch with you?” he asked, kicking his feet softly.

“No ya little cutie,” you said with a giggle. “Does someone like that show or something?”

“Yeah. Papa Winchester is on it now so of course I gotta watch,” he said.

“Now that’d be a hell of a crossover,” you said, remembering how to listen to your voicemail. It took a few tries before the message came through.

Hi Y/N. I don’t know if you remember me from Friday. I was the director in that orange baseball hat. I just wanted to say thanks for stepping in and helping us out at the last minute.

“That’s nice of him,” you said, turning to Jensen who looked skeptical.

We saw your resume from your agency and the producing team was wondering if you could stop down Monday at 10. We’re obviously doing this by the seat of our pants but if you could come in and read a few lines just to try for us we’d be forever grateful. Your agency said you just finished a contract and this might be a great opportunity for us all if you’re interested. I understand if you don’t want to, this is pretty far out of your normal realm of work. Thanks again.

“Oh,” you said, turning to look at Jensen.

“It’s your decision, not mine,” said Jensen. “Have you ever acted before?”

“The last acting I did was Girl #4 in my fifth grade play,” you said.

“Do you want to try this?” he asked, offering a soft smile. You had enjoyed the three seconds of doing it before. That really was getting to pretend to be someone else, kind of like when you modeled. But it was different. There was a story to it and you were lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to at least go and try in the morning. 

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding your head.

“We’ll watch zombies another night,” he said. “You’ve got other homework tonight,” he said, standing and moving over to your couch.

“What homework?” you asked, watching as he turned on your TV and quickly got into Netflix.

“Supernatural silly. If you’re going to read for Dean’s love interest, you should watch some more of the show,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

“Do you...want me to get this part?” you asked, walking over and joining him.

“I get to act that I’m falling for a girl while I’m actually falling for the girl that plays her? Why would I ever want that?” he teased.

“I guarantee I’m going to be awful at this tomorrow,” you said, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“You won’t know if you don’t take a chance,” he said.

“When it comes to you and chances they’ve worked out so far. I guess we see what happens tomorrow,” you said. Jensen kissed the top of your head and your face began to hurt from the wide smile that had formed. At least until you started paying attention to the episode.

“Are those kids playing Bloody Mary? That scared the crap out of me as a kid,” you said, snuggling a little closer to Jensen.

“This one still creeps me out,” he said. “Obviously we should watch with the lights off.”

“If I get nightmares I blame you Ackles,” you said.

“If you get nightmares, just call me and I’ll pop down and sleep on your couch. Make sure nothing bad gets you,” he said, wrapping both arms around you and squeezing you gently.

“You can always just crash here just in case,” you said, letting him decide if he wanted to stay over.

“Good idea,” he said with a nod. “Now we should be quiet seeing as there’s a ridiculously good looking man on the screen,” he said.

“I’ll let Jared know you think so fondly of him,” you said.

“Shudyup and learn how cocky but good of a guy Dean Winchester can be.”

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

@charliebradbury1104 @everyday-supernatural-af @squirels-angels-and-moose@youwerelikeadream @drugpug @darkx143 @kristaparadowski @tom-is-in-my-tardis  @tanithlowisabamf @smoothdogsgirl @dancingalone21 @ktrivia @demonic-meatball@feelmyroarrrr @cojootromuelle@illisea  @gallifreyansass @fangirl1802 @itstheprincess@casgetoutofmydiddlydarnass @mogaruke @secretlyfurrydragon @ria132love @heycassbutt-67@aingealcethlenn @docharleythegeekqueen  @missmotherhen@smacklesandstretch67@tumblinwith-me @awkwardcupcake95 @heaven-is-aplaceonearthwithyou @hey-um-misha@imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @lovelife-tothefullest @safehaven1097 @under-general-asthetics @perpetualabsurdity @emilytehrani  @supernaturalismalife @laurenw1025

[shirlleycoyle]

Here’s Why Gallup Polled Americans About UFOs for the First Time in Decades

In 2019, the public opinion polling company Gallup decided to directly ask the American public about their experiences with UFOs again, for one simple reason: semi-credible evidence of their existence was back in the news.

"Between the 'Storm Area 51' phenomenon and the New York Times articles about the Navy changing its protocols for pilots reporting unidentified things in the air—there was news of pilots seeing bizarre planes traveling at at hyperspeed—maybe we're at the point where some of this is getting more credence," Lydia Saad told VICE, recalling what she was thinking at the time.

Saad is the director of U.S. Social Research for Gallup, and she oversees polls about a lot of things that don’t involve aliens. But in 2019, she advocated for asking about them again, reasoning that the amount of UFO news flooding the atmosphere might have changed people's opinions. (She's not a believer herself, she said: "I'm boring.") The company conducted two surveys, in June and August of that year. They found that a majority of Americans—60 percent—think UFO sightings can be explained by human activity or natural phenomena. But a full 33% think otherwise, saying they believe some UFO sightings can be attributed to alien visitation.

"This group is potentially sympathetic to those who want to uncover what the government knows about alien landings, once and for all," Saad wrote at the time.

Those numbers were particularly high in the West, where 40 percent of residents believed some UFOs can be attributed to aliens, compared to 32% of residents in the East and South, and 27% in the Midwest. People in the West were also slightly more likely—20%—to say they'd seen UFO themselves, versus 12% in the East and 15-16% elsewhere.

Saad hesitates to say precisely why that regional difference exists, but she does have some theories. "The home of Area 51 conspiracy is the West, so perhaps there's more talk and awareness," she said. She also proposed another theory, laughing: "They have better visibility in some of those Western states than we have out East. It's hard to see the stars out here in Connecticut."

"I wouldn't want to say conclusively," she added.

The polls related to a question that has a long and somewhat delicate history at Gallup: As part of their mission of tracking public opinion over time, researchers have to figure out when so-called fringe beliefs become un-fringe enough to ask about. Gallup was created in 1935, which means it’s had a front row seat for some of the hottest hysterias and most fervent public policy debates of the 20th century. Three years after they opened their doors, Orson Welles' War of the Worlds aired; Gallup found that about 70% of those surveyed knew it was a play, while another, highly unsettled 30% thought they were listening to a real alien invasion.

Gallup also periodically does a survey about paranormal beliefs—the last time was in 2005—which covers people's feelings about things like ghosts and ESP. It also asks pretty routinely about a few, conspiracy-tinged topics, like whether Americans believe there was more than one shooter involved in JFK's assassination. All of it, in Saad's estimation, has shown that the American public is receptive to the unknown. "A certain percent of people believe in a lot of things," as she put it. "People aren't straitlaced or very literal. There's quite a lot of openness out there to things that we cannot see."

That's especially true for UFO's, one of the oldest, most popular "alternative" belief systems there is. UFOs entered the broader public awareness around the 1940s, with the mysterious "foo fighters" that hung in the sky during World War II, the Roswell incident, and a string of UFO sightings across the country throughout the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s—some of which, the CIA finally acknowledged in 1993, might have been government agents flying secret spy planes.

The first time Gallup polled Americans about what they then called "flying saucers" was in 1966, when 91% of the people they polled said they'd never seen one. (Five percent said they'd seen one; and four percent hadn't heard the term "flying saucer.") In 1996, the company tried again: "Have you, yourself, ever seen anything you thought was a UFO (unidentified flying object)?" Disappointingly, 87 percent of participants said no, while a more interesting 12 percent said yes, and 1%, intriguingly, said they weren't sure or refused to answer.

The pollsters put the saucers to rest for the time. More than 20 years went by. And then things got publicly, visibly weird, to the point where the Navy created a new protocol for pilots to report sighting, and the Pentagon has had to acknowledge they have top-secret video of a particularly infamous UFO incident that occurred off the coast of San Diego in 2004, between Navy pilots aboard the USS Nimitz and something that looked like an enormous Tic Tac, moving in baffling ways.

Saad said Gallup will likely only keep polling Americans about UFOs on a "very occasional" basis, since they're not a "core topic" like politics or economics. Gallup is admirably careful about phrasing: The June 2019 poll doesn't ask if people who have seen a UFO believe it was piloted by an alien, only if they've ever seen one. "They might think it's a drone or a military jet," she said. That's why the company conducted a followup poll in August, to clarify what people believed the craft might be; at that point, they discovered 33% of those surveyed thought some of the UFOs might be the result of alien visitation.

For the people who had seen a UFO, she added, they didn't do a followup question asking what it might be: "It was… a little too deep in the weeds," she said, after a slight pause. "And you won't get enough people for that to be a reliable estimate in a single survey. You'd need to double that to feel you're getting a margin of error up there that was reportable."

But she also believes there's enormous value in asking about "alternative" belief systems, particularly since they can often reveal they're not so alternative after all. With the JFK assassination, for instance, a majority of people surveyed over the last 30 years tend to believe there was more than one shooter.

"When you get into the Kennedy assassination, you're intersecting not just with kooky conpiracy theories," Saad said, "but the fact that people don't trust the government to tell the truth. That's been an ongoing dimension of public opinion."

In the end, Saad said, "Being exposed to polling—it makes you empathetic to the public." Everyone, she said, "has their reasons" for holding a so-called alternative belief, be it personal experience, distrust of the government, or something else. "If you meet one person who believes in something for odd reasons, it doesn't mean that's everybody. I'm more interested in learning what people believe and probing why."

Here’s Why Gallup Polled Americans About UFOs for the First Time in Decades syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[kathleengage696]

New Post has been published on Power Up for Profits

New Post has been published on https://www.powerupforprofits.com/100-podcast-interviews/

How to Get 100 Podcast Interviews Under Your Belt in Record Time

Ask yourself this, “How important is my message and mission? Am I doing all I can to get my message out to market in order to have the impact I know I can have?”

Based on your answers, are you taking the initiative, on a consistent basis, to serve your market at the highest level? Are you doing what you can to become incredibly visible to your market? Are you being heard and seen by the very people who long to learn from you?

It’s amazing how many experts claim to want to serve at the highest level, but struggle to reach their market. They get stuck with which marketing strategy will give them the greatest result.

A Powerful Strategy

By far,  podcast interviews give you incredible opportunities to reach your market, share your message and impact countless individuals.

Granted, one interview likely won’t get you the kind of traction you need, but imagine doing dozens, even hundreds of interviews.

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been interviewed more than once per day. In a two week period, Monday through Friday, I was interviewed 12 times.

Each show had a unique focus and market reach. Some were focused on business, others on self development, others on sobriety and a few on plant based eating.

All told, I was able to get my message in front of tens of thousands (maybe even hundreds of thousands) of people.

I was also able to position the fact I am a keynote speaker, I have books for sale on Amazon AND about the business opportunities showing up in the green, sustainable, plant based and compassion to animals industries are presenting.  All of this is a result of how I share my message while being interviewed.

Some people get really stumped with knowing how to do this. That is, until they learn some simple strategies.

I have a client who has been interviewed dozens of times in the last couple of months, getting her message in front of thousands upon thousands of people. She has several angels hosts are interested in. Initially, she was talking only about her newest book. On a coaching call, we came up with lots of areas she can focus on and be interviewed on.

Avoid doing what many experts do. They think in very limited ways about what they can be interviewed about or how many interviews they should ideally strive for.

A few days ago, I had a conversation with a gentleman who was led to believe one interview was all it would take to make him famous. What?!?! I’m not sure who told him this (or what bill of goods they sold him), but the fact is, one interview is not going to get him the kind of visibility he likely seeks.

To get the most out of podcast interviews, it’s best to have a plan of action.  The following areas are important to keep in mind.

Determine who you want to reach

Be clear on what your end goal is

Be consistent in seeking opportunities

Advantages of podcast interviews

Minimal to no cost

One of the greatest advantages to securing interviews is most, not all, but most, won’t cost you anything. You can do incredibly great by being on shows that don’t charge a fee to be on the show. There are what I refer to as “bait and switch” hosts.

You find an opportunity, you reach out to the host, they claim you are perfect for their show and for a small fee, you can be on the show. Fees can range from $20 on up to several hundred. The highest I was asked to pay was $1,500.

My recommendation is to not pay to be on a show. Unless of course, you have the budget for this and you are fully aware going into the situation that payment does not guarantee downloads, books sales or anything other than being on the show.

There are countless hosts that won’t charge you to be a featured expert. Seek those first in order to see how many you can get without spending a small fortune.

No travel

What I love about being a featured expert on podcast shows is no need to travel. I can reach thousands upon thousands of people without hopping on a plane.

In many cases, the interviews are audio only so you don’t have to worry about getting dressed for the occasion. However, more every day, shows are done by way of a video platform. Be sure to find out ahead of time if the show is audio or video. This will save you last minute panic and embarrassment when you realize you are going to be on camera and you’re in your jammies.

Increased Credibility

Without a doubt, as a featured expert, you increase your credibility. Again, appearing on one show won’t do much for your credibility, yet, if you are on dozens, even hundreds of shows, you will be unstoppable.

Have you ever wondered how the people you follow, the ones who are well known and seem to be seen and heard over and over, got the kind of visibility they have? For example, Lisa Nichols and Hal Elrod both attribute much of the success of their books (and fame) to being the featured guest on a lot of podcast shows. Not one, not two, not three, but well over 100 shows.

Luck Has Very Little to Do with Success

How often have people said, “They are so lucky to have the kind of success they have?” When referring to “they” it can be anyone who has influence. Whether they be famous authors, speakers, coaches or consultants, it’s likely they didn’t bank on luck. They banked on getting lots of visibility on a consistent basis. It’s also very likely they appeared on a lot of podcast shows.

When you’re tempted to assume that some experts are simply luckier than others, perhaps it’s time to pull back the curtain and look at how many podcast interviews they done. Likely, it’s been a heck of a lot more than one or two.

How about you? Are you ready to book a lot of shows? What about 100 shows?

Getting 100 Interviews Under Your Belt

So how do you get 100 interviews booked? Before I tell you how, let me share a story from my early recovery. Currently, I have 35 years of not taking a drink one day at a time.

Yet, early on, I was very confused how people got any length of time.

“How does someone get 10 years sobriety?” I asked an old timer who had a couple decades of time.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked me, almost brushing me off.

“Yes, I REALLY want to know,” I said almost pleading with him to share the “secret.”

“It’s simple. You don’t drink, one day at a time, for ten years,” he said in a very matter-of-fact way.

“Oh, that makes sense,” I coyly responded.

That one conversation has helped me in a number of situations over the years. Not only to stay sober one day at a time to build up time, but in business too.

When you apply the logic to getting on 100 podcast shows, you do it one show at a time. You look for lots of opportunity. You do this consistently and one day at a time, you get booked on 100 shows.

There’s no average number of downloads you can expect because some shows get as few as 100 downloads while others can get thousands, even tens of thousands. The bottom line is this, if you want to be heard a lot, get on a lot of shows.

The best part of all is often a show host hears you on someone else’s show and invites you on to their show. This happened to be just a few days ago. And it’s not the first time.

Now What?

Left to our own devices, we often think about what we want (and need) to do, but we don’t do it. And then there are those people who know the power of accountability, one-on-one coaching and taking specific, daily steps that WILL get them the result they seek.

If this sounds like you, then you may be a perfect fit for The 100 Club Mastermind Boot Camp starting on May 12, 2019.

If you’d like to book lots of shows, be heard by thousands upon thousands of people and do this in a very short period of time, join me for the 100 Club Mastermind Boot Camp

During this power-packed 30 Day Program you will:

Learn how to prepare for lots of podcast interview opportunities

Find out how to manage your time to get more done in a shorter period of time

Discover how to find GREAT opportunities

Learn proven insights on how to give an amazing interview so people want to buy your products and services even when you’re not overtly selling anything

Uncover a simple strategy to get invited back again and again

Discover simple ways to stay incredibly organized

This is a live remote training for high performing experts who are willing to go the distance with your visibility. Check it out. CLICK HERE