#napoleon solo au

[shapelytimber]

Look, social media aus are very dumb but fun to do fklxkdk Illya would make short videos (mostly) about fashion, and Napoleon would be very unsubtle about being a Spy

I am formally apologizing to the uncle fandom for tiktoker Illya Kuryakin, I have no regrets (also @quijicroix is part responsible, being my evil advisor)

Here are the posts in details, and the profile pics :)

[COMMISSIONS]

No process this time, just me yapping for way to long about every choice and refs that went into this dumb au below vvv

Illya is younger than Napoleon (I usualy headcanon him at around 25 and Napoleon 35ish), so I think their use of social media would be quite different : hence Illya on Tiktok and Napoleon on Instagram. Also it's not the 60s so Illya can be like 10% less reppressed :)) but as a debuff Napoleon now has the technology to call him a nerd

Illya's page started as a cover for some affair, but he ended up kinda enjoying doing it in his free time. It's like a hobby for him, a way to experiment with fashion ! It's what made him want to pursue fashion design as a career after his curent spy job. And also I think he gets more and more nervous the more followers he gets, because as a spy having a chance to get recognise in the street is really bad dkdldlos Napoleon teases him endlessly that he became a tiktoker (as he should)-

Did I, at one point in the project, had to scrap the thirst trap idea to keep the fashion nerd vibes ? Yes I did, but just know he uses the "twink" tag :)

• The first post is a ref to the discotheque affair, not the best episode and a great miss for not including a disco Illya outfit, so I made him one to match the other :D

• The second is to the Hot number, but he gets to wear the thrush pattern !

• The third one is what made me do all of this ! Because, if you're not french, you might not know about one of my favorite yearly twitter threads : Met Gala outfits as INSEE graphs by Clara Dealberto ! Don't care about the met gala, but this is very funny :) and such a Illya Kuryakin thing to do kdkdkd

• fourth one isn't fashion related, it's a ref to popart and the "he has Dostoïevski eyes" line that made us laught a lot

• A little Fiddlesticks for the dog post, because it's a banger episode. Plus a nod to he dog expert from it, with whom Illya had palpable sexual tension fkfkfkl I like to think they kept contact ;) (shoutout to this fic (Intensity by AconitumNapellus) who absolutely get the vision, 10/10 guy to "cheat" on your boyfriend with)

• and the final one is a make over because of course it is

As for Napoleon, being older and less invested in this, an instagram made sense. But crutialy, I get such strong modern oss117 vibes from Napoleon (the way he shoots his gun, the goofy faces, the awkward stance everytime he enters a place, the inexplicable in universe rizz...) dkfkldls modern oss117 was a parody of both 60s james bond and older oss117 movies, but I'm now convinced they also whatched some uncle while doing these, it's just so obvious- anyway all this to say, in the second movie oss117 has to pose as a photographer and gets way too invested in his cover (it's his thing don't question it), and at the end of the movie we get to see all the photography he took during his mission..... Let me tell you how hard it was to resist him having an instagram full of blurry women on the street (canon 60s napoleon would have done it I'm sorry)- but what I kept was the pretty "badly" shot pics of random things, tho you sometimes get the odd decent pic taken by Illya. And he gets to be in a duck floatie as a treat and nod to oss <3

• Pinned post is because it became frustrating for him having to respond to people asking him if it was his real name or if he was a far right french man simping for Bonaparte

• first post is not a ref, but if my very sexy flat car was burning in the desert I would take a pic (ft Illya despairing) kdkdkd

• Duck floatie is a oss117 ref

• selfie with a beautiful woman (ft his finger), no ref I just love drawing women

• also Fiddlesticks for the cute Napoleon fox !! And to kinda link the two profiles :)

• and finaly Spy with my face ! He tried taking a picture of his date (I'll let you decide who it was), but oops front facing camera kdkdkdk

Can you tell I had a lot of fun doing this ? I love this show way to much omfg

PS : if you've never seen the recent oss117 movies, you should they funny ! But oh god some jokes are terrible- the first one is the best, minus one gay joke frankly not great. They nail the gay joke in the second one but oh god... They do not always win the 'is our character a piece of shit or is the movie problematic' gamble so be aware of that. And the 3rd one is shit don't bother

PPS : I don't use Tiktok, I tried my best to emulate the feeling of it but be aware I have no idea what I'm doing dkkdld

[justabigoldnerd]

Modern AU Solo in this shirt

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 31 - The bathroom equation

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 30 -- Part 32

Summary: The guys (and girls) take to the group chats to discuss some serious issues

Warnings: Post contains generalizations. Please don't murder me for that.

Word count: Exactly 3k!!!!

**A/N: **SO! The guys joined me in the shower yesterday (not as sexy as it sounds, unfortunately) and as @geralts-yenn and I had had a discussion about what the house groupchat would look like (including very necessary shadow-group with just the girls, and a group chat with everyone who regularly spends time at that house...) this is what I came up with.

[The guys' chat is 179CS🏡, the girls are 179CS🧠🧠, and the everyone-group is 179CS Full🏡]

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81

@ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @thelastsock @wa-ni

@proud-aroace-beastie @totalwool

Mike:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Story2cats (@story2cats)

Sherlock: Great, she’s asking me what I’m laughing at.

August: If you value your life, don’t show her.

Sherlock: And if she steals his phone and sees it anyway? Xoxo Elena

Marshall: Paramedics or police?

Charles: Both.

August: Both.

Leon: Both.

Marshall: 👍🏻

Sherlock: They’ll never get here in time 😈

Mike: Nice knowing you, buddy ❤️

Elena: Dani, get your man in line.

Dani: What he do?

Elena: [video]

Ange: I mean…

Sol: He’s not… wrong…

Dani: He sent me that 🙊

Lexi: Is he okay?

Dani: Was he okay to begin with? 😂

Ange: Not that we know of…

Sy: Speaking of showers… We need rules.

Mike: Eh, why?

Sy: Because I was late for my date yesterday.

August: Which is our problem… how?

Leon: It’s not.

Charles: 👆🏻

Sy: In a house shared by eight guys there’s no excuse for a line for the bathroom!

Mike: Some of us have ✨girlfriends✨

Mike: You should try it sometime

Sy: 🦆🫵🏻 ❤️

Mike: Aww ❤️

Charles: He has a point, though.

Charles: Don’t appreciate getting yelled at for taking a shit in my own damn bathroom.

August: Not to mention the hair.

Sherlock: I don’t see the problem there? Just ask them to clean the drain when they’re done?

Leon: Spoken like a man who has never once in his life watched a woman clean a shower drain…

August: Good luck and farewell, Holmes

Sherlock: ?

Mike: Tears will be cried. Drains will be cleaned — by you.

Mike: Murder may be committed.

Sherlock: Surely, it can’t be that bad?

Geralt: No, he pretty much nailed it.

August: As much as I hate to admit it, the man is right.

Sy: So. New rules?

Leon: House meeting?

Mike: Sure. We’re all home, right?

Sy: Nope.

Mike: What? Why?

Sy: … sometimes when a date goes well, you end up staying over.

Sy: Are there other questions you need answered, bud?

Mike: I think I’m good…

Charles: Ladies, enough with the gossip

Leon: Right. Some of us have work to do.

Charles: Exactly

Sherlock: I highly doubt he was referring to you, Brandon.

Mike: Oooh, mad shade!!! xoxo Dani

Charles: Thanks. Sy, the complaint?

Sy: I had to wait in line to take a shower because the bathrooms were overrun by women.

Leon: Noted. The proposal?

Sy: I’m just pointing out the problem. Someone smarter than me can worry about the solution 🤷🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: Am I right to assume asking the girls to just… spend less time in the bathroom would result in murder, as well?

Sherlock: Never mind, Elena is nodding violently next to me right now.

Mike: What do you want us to do? Assign all the girls to one bathroom?

August: That might work, actually.

Leon: Doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

Charles: Yes?

Mike: Wow, the one time I have a good idea, I don’t even realize it’s a good idea…

Mike: Wait, no.

Mike: I’m not permanently sharing a bathroom with seven of you because we sometimes have girls over.

August: Kid has a point.

Mike: I’m on a roll today! 😎

Sherlock: That leaves us with the question of how many women would have to be present to necessitate giving them their own bathroom, correct?

Marshall: If you desperately want to make it sound like math, then yes.

Sherlock: Not math. Logic.

Sherlock: And I find myself compelled to point out that I understand and enjoy logic.

August: Dealing with women is an aggravating experience, then, isn’t it?

Sherlock: Absolutely mystifying. But I’ve found that thus far the benefits outweigh the costs.

Mike: You know, for you… That’s actually kinda sweet 😂

Marshall: Romantic 👍🏻

Leon: Don’t tell her that…

Charles: Guys, seriously!

August: Right. Sol and Ange together never caused any problems.

Sherlock: Neither have any… liaisons of a fleeting nature

Mike: Hookups. You mean hookups.

Sherlock: You couldn’t pay me to say that.

Charles: Moot point. The average walk of shame happens before the shower.

Leon: It’s not like they stay for breakfast…

Leon: Beat me to it 😂🤜🏻

Charles: 🤛🏻

Geralt: The both of you are unbearable.

Geralt: August is right.

August: But…

Geralt: Sol and Ange don’t cause problems because Sol doesn’t take forever in the shower.

August: Right. But Angel is a nightmare, and so is Elena. Those two alone are enough to cause traffic.

Sherlock: Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘Elena and Anjelica together, or either of those combined with any two others, or neither of them but a minimum of three others’ sounds like the kind of rule that will ensure we won’t even need it for the foreseeable future.

Sy: It also gives me a headache.

Mike: I don’t think I even understood enough of it to get a headache…

Sherlock: Minimum of 3, then ask me and Angie to not occupy both bathrooms at the same time. 🙄🙄🙄 Problem solved. You’re all still in trouble for even talking about this ❤️❤️❤️

Ange: They’re giving us what now???

Elena: Bathroom rules…

Dani: Tell me you’re kidding 🙃🙃

Elena: Dead fucking serious 🙄

Sol: Why?

Elena: Apparently 🙄🙄🙄🙄

Elena: We caused a traffic jam last night and made Sy late for his date???

Elena: Fairly sure Alicia didn’t mind because he’s still over there 🙄🙄🙄

Ange: What are the rules?

Elena: I don’t know. I’m glaring at Sherlock from a distance now.

Elena: I’m pleased to report he looks terrified every time I do 😈😈

Elena: They’re considering a girls’ bathroom.

Ange: I’m considering permanent occupation of all bathrooms.

Elena: Your boy called us both nightmares, by the way 😇😇

Elena: Apparently we take too long to shower, idk

Sol: You both take your time, sure…

Elena: Okay, fine. But he doesn’t have to point that out 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

Ange: Funeral invitations to follow…

Ange: No but seriously

Ange: He thinks I take too long in the shower?

Ange: Fine!

Ange: I’ll take shorter showers!

Dani: He really said that? 💀

Ange: Let’s see how he feels about that in a week or two.

Ange: Enjoy flossing, August 🙃🙄

Dani: 👀👀 [the agonizing scream you just heard was brought to you by me spitting my drink over Mike’s keyboard]

Lexi: 🙊 Mike and keyboard both okay?

Dani: Keyboard fine, Mike hyperventilating. He’ll be alright, back to you Ange.

Ange: I might have to rescind this attitude…

Ange: As much as I want to get back at him for this, I don’t want him to run…

Sol: You really think he’d care? Ange… he loves you…

Ange: Not that much…

Lexi: Girl, please?? Have you seen the way that man looks at you?

Ange: … He’s never seen me, like… untweezed and unshaved and whatever

Dani: Never?

Ange: Never ever ever.

Sol: 👀👀

Sol: But why?? I only shave when I feel like it – which is almost never – and Geralt has never said anything??

Ange: Girl, you’re a blonde 👀👀

Ange: I don’t wax this stache, 2 weeks from now you’ll be confusing me for August. I swear.

Lexi: Okay there’s literally no way that’s true.

Dani: And even if it was, he’d still love you.

Ange: Yeah but I’m not about to find out, thanks.

Lexi: It’s your body, obviously

Elena: Do what feels comfortable

Dani: But if you do ever miss a day and he does say something nasty…

Elena: I’ll grab the shovels 😇😇

Leon: Ladies and gentlemen — mostly ladies. A little PSA regarding an update in the house rules at 179th Crescent Street. It was recently brought to my/our attention that the addition of a number of regular overnight guests has created a somewhat unmanageable situation in the realm of bathroom use. Therefore, the new policy is as follows: When three or more of the girlfriends are staying over, the upstairs bathroom is all yours! Management is currently unavailable for negotiation.

Charles: TLDR: take your long-ass showers on the second floor. Please.

Ange: This message was deleted.

August: I saw that.

Elena: Oh, I’ll say it with my chest

Elena: You all suck.

Sherlock: No…

Mike: Whatever you do, man, don’t finish that thought 😂

Sherlock: I think they got the message regardless.

Ange: Oh, we got it alright…

Dani: You’re lucky you’re cute, Sherlock 🙄

Mike: Hey!

Lexi: I’m so sorry to say this but… Over my cold, dead body am I walking up a flight of stairs in the middle of the night to pee.

Charles: @Leon Told you the ‘not up for negotiation’ thing wasn’t going to work.

Leon: It was worth a try.

Geralt: We’re not banning anyone from the house for using the ‘wrong’ bathroom

Sol: Then why the pointless rule?

Sy: Because yesterday BOTH bathrooms were occupied for well over two hours!!!

Sy: Seriously, what do you do in there?

Mike: Elaborate satanic rituals?

Sol: Occasionally.

Ange: Let’s see… Do we actually enlighten them?

Mike: Please do, I’m curious now…

Charles: I know what happens when I’m also in the shower… 😏

Ange removed Charles

Ange: Any other takers?

August: Angel…

Ange: Don’t tell me I’m overreacting!

August: I didn’t say a word 😑

Ange added Charles

Ange: Behave.

Charles: 🤐

Elena: Good boy.

Leon: Do you say that to Sherlock, too? 😏

Ange removed Leon

Marshall: Jesus, Ange…

Ange: Ugh, fine.

Ange added Leon

Mike: Seriously, girls… Other than summoning the occasional demon — what are you doing in there?

Sol: I’m gonna let Elena and Angie handle this one…

Ange: Alright. So first I check if I have all 4059834 items I’m going to need. Then at some point you’ll have to get naked, unfortunately…

Dani: Look at everything you hate about yourself for a solid 5 minutes until you’re nice and depressed

Elena: Didn’t come here to be called out like this, but thanks 🙄🙄

Sol: Poke your boobs and watch them jiggle because it’s funny until you’re less depressed

Mike: Getting jealous…

Ange: Then you turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up

Lexi: To those ungodly temperatures from the pits of hell, you know? 👀👀

Mike: I’m not apologizing for that video, just so you know.

Lexi: That’s actually useful time to make sure you find the right playlist ✨✨

Sy: YOU DON’T NEED A PLAYLIST FOR A SHOWER

Lexi: Hard disagree

Elena: Yes, we do.

Sol: … Am I supposed to listen to my own thoughts in the shower?

Ange: I’d never be able to suppress my homicidal tendencies ever again, holy shit…

Dani: Then we actually get in the shower and warm up because the bathroom is cold, just like our souls.

Marshall: I’m genuinely learning more than I’ve ever wanted to know…

Mike: This is already taking longer than my whole entire shower…

Ange: And we’re not even close to being done.

Elena: @Ange Especially us…

Leon: Okay, fine, I’ll bite… Why is it different for the two of you?

Sol: Because they have curls?

Charles: That makes a difference?

Sy: So?

Mike: Why does THAT matter?

Marshall: Is that… important??

Elena: You’re all so clueless, it’s almost cute 🥺

Ange: @Marshall you actually might want to pay attention to this…

Ange: Alright. By the time I’m warm, my hair is usually wet all the way through

Ange: Massively heavy, by the way.

Ange: It’s hair-washing time! Which, idk about @Elena, but I have to do this in at least 4 sections if I don’t want to miss half of it.

Elena: I can get by with 2, but 4 is better.

Elena: Of course, 9/10 times I fucking forgot to section it before getting in the shower.

Ange: Obviously. So now you’re wrangling your wet hair into submission

Elena: Which is damn near impossible.

Ange: Exactly. But when that’s finally done, you can get to washing it.

Elena: And rinsing it until there’s absolutely no way there’s still any shampoo left.

Ange: Which takes a long ass time, BTW.

Ange: Then it’s ✨deep conditioner✨ time!!! Like… it’s always deepco time. I don’t even use regular conditioner anymore because my hair thinks it’s pointless. So like. That.

Elena: Mood.

Ange: And that stuff needs to sit in your hair for like 15-30 minutes

Mike: That’s like… 3 whole showers…

Charles: I don’t even spend this kind of time on my schoolwork 👀

Geralt: That’s not something to be proud of.

Sherlock: Imagine what you could do if you did.

Ange: Either way, it’s okay, because next… We exfoliate.

August: For those who haven’t been keeping count, we’re on step 12 or something. Jesus.

Charles: @Leon what the damn hell does our water bill look like?

Sol: Pay attention! Exfoliate! Then shave. Which, when you’re 6 feet tall in the showers here… damn near impossible, by the way.

Elena: (Cut yourself at least twice no matter how long you’ve been doing it…)

Lexi: Ohh! Cubicle yoga while holding a razor!!!

Dani: And while wet and slippery…

Ange: We’re superhuman 💃🏻

Sy: You’re nuts is what you are. All of you!

Dani: Anyway, when we reach baby dolphin status…

Dani: Which doesn’t happen until we’ve checked at least three times if we haven’t missed any spots…

Dani: I personally squeeze in brushing my teeth and skincare before rinsing my conditioner.

Elena: 👆🏻

Ange: Same! If I’m paying like 30 dollars for a hair mask that’ll barely last me two weeks, I’m gonna at least spend some time with it 👀✨

Sol: So that’s teeth and face wash in the shower. Then rinse that conditioner.

Ange: Which — again — takes a while if you have curly and/or a lot of hair.

Ange: Also, before I rinse my hair, I spend an ungodly amount of time detangling it with my fingers, which I have to do while the mask/conditioner is in. So…

Marshall: And at this point you’re finally nearly done, right?

Sherlock: … please, for the love of God, let it almost be over!

Ange: Oh, my precious little babies ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Lexi: At this point we’re slowly considering getting out of the shower, yes.

Dani: But the rest of the bathroom is cold, so we take our time gathering the courage to get out.

Leon: 🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: The entire bathroom is hot enough to steam salmon at this point!

Mike: And yet, they manage to emerge from Mordor absolutely freezing…

Sol: When we do finally manage to make it out, we wrap ourselves in the biggest towel we can find…

Ange: By the way, ladies, you can thank me and Sol for the presence of the big towels in this house.

Sol: Oh GOD I remember the first shower I ever took here.

Geralt: The towels were fine.

Sol: …………. Geralt, I love and respect you, but you’re wrong and also stupid. ❤️

Ange: You’ll pay for that…

Sol: Looking forward to it 😈😈

Mike: Please continue…

Dani: We’re left with the rest of our skincare. So; toner, 1-3 serums, moisturizer. Sunscreen or oil, for me, depending on the time of day.

Ange: But the mirror is fogged up from the shower, so you have to deal with that…

Leon: YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR FACE IS, DON’T YOU?

Ange: Yes, but it’s also very pretty so I wanna look at it. Thanks.

Lexi: How can I meticulously study all the imperfections in my skin if I can’t see my face???

Dani: Exactly! (To both of those things, simultaneously)

Dani: So, after that, it’s time to moisturize everything you’ve exfoliated and/or shaved.

Elena: Which is… pretty much everything.

Sol: Cue deep sigh because this is where you find out you actually did miss a spot somewhere.

Ange: And then it’s back to the hair for the curly girls!

Elena: Leave in ❤️❤️❤️

Marshall: What?

Sy: ??

Mike: Wut?

Ange: It’s like conditioner, but you don’t rinse it out.

Sherlock: @Elena the stuff that smells good?

Elena: Yes 😂😂😂

Dani: Which reminds me; @Elena, is that your Quench in the bathroom or mine? I can’t remember…

Elena: Oh, God, me neither…

August: Settle this in the shadow group, ladies.

Lexi: You know about that, huh? 😂

Dani: Shit, they figured it out…

Sol: Not surprised… They’re not completely clueless…

Ange: Just mostly…

August: Thanks. Enough of that.

Ange: Okay daddy 🥺❤️❤️

August: 🙄

Ange: Anyway. After the leave-in and maybe two or three other products, I wrap my hair up in my hair-towel — or hair-tshirt.

Charles: Another towel? Why in the fuck?

Ange: Boys. I understand that you don’t give a fuck about this, but…

Ange: Regular towels are actually not good for your hair.

Elena: 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

Lexi: Besides… You can’t dry long hair and your body with 1 towel…

Sol: What she said.

Sol: What they both said, actually.

Leon: Are we finally at the end of all of this?

Leon: I’ve literally never been more glad to not have a girlfriend, jesus fucking christ…

Dani: Yeah, pretty much… You get dressed, dreading the cold of the hallway, and then we quickly go find a boy to snuggle up to who can then tell us we smell nice and are very soft, so we can convince ourselves we didn’t just spend an unholy amount of time doing all of that for absolutely nothing.

August: All of this is… insane.

Ange: Hey! I can stop doing half of this, if you think it’s so unnecessary 🙄🙄

Elena: Now that I think about it… It wouldn’t even save any time, because you still need to let the conditioner sit, so…

Charles: Right, ladies, this was very interesting…

Charles: I’m going to take a shower now.

Charles: Talk to you in about… 10 minutes 🙄

Sy: Remind me to never ask any of you any questions literally ever again…

[pippinoftheshire]

@justabigoldnerd made a gorgeous cover for my fic, I am squealing!!!!! (This fic is like my baby, in truth)

I never thought I would be sitting here, one year, 24.5K words and emotional heartache later, with something I felt SO goddamn proud of💖

----

[imnotagaslighter]

Chapter One: Sly as a Snake

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: Tread carefully this will be a dark!fic Please DNI if you're not 18 or older

Blood, Graphic, Minor Character Deaths, Age Gap, Lloyd Hansen being creepy, Hints of Grooming (?)

I was going to do a cute little preview but I just thought why not just post a whole chapter as a preview!! I hope you guys enjoy ;).

It didn’t take long for the gala-themed party to be halted but that’s because who wouldn’t want to? A party that held all of the families under one luxurious, (and in your opinion very flamboyant) mansion. It wasn’t until a very loud breach from the main entrance took your attention away from the attendees in front of you.

You and maybe the rest of the families at the party stood in confusion and shock as men in tactical gear rushed through the main banquet hall firing automatic weapons into the air and at random important heads of different gang families. That’s when screams and weapons began to go toe to toe on who could be the loudest. It didn’t make it any better that you had lost your brother and parents within the crowds that were moving in different directions trying to dodge the bullets.

Your heart was slightly racing as you felt yourself being pushed by the various people trying to run out of the hall and hopefully find an exit, but your mind had other ideas. Moving towards the wall you’d slip into a room before closing the door behind yourself and slouching down onto the opposite wall of the door. Your hands were shaking as you tried to regain your composure, it didn’t make it any better that you were wearing a floor-length dress accompanied by heels that were not ideal for running.

Another round of shots rang out into the air before holes started to appear on the wall and you’d quickly roll onto the stomach hoping none of the shots were aimed toward the floor. Knowing you’d have to think (and move) quickly you began to untie the laced-up heels and kick them off before looking around, you were in the preparation kitchen so it wouldn’t be hard to find something to cut the dress. Your right hand instinctively reached up to your inner right thigh to find your gun still holstered there and you pulled it out. Sliding the mag out of the barrel you saw the clip was full and of course, you didn’t bring an extra clip because you just wouldn’t think someone would have it out for the families so bad to the point where they’d target all of the families under one roof. Which you couldn’t help to admit was smart but very ballsy and you couldn’t help to figure out who was the mind behind all of this terror.

Finding a chef’s knife you held it just above the knee of your dress and you’d hesitate, hating the fact that you’d have to ruin such a beautiful (and rather expensive) dress but you had to get out and find your parents. You’d attempt to cut through the fabric and it was louder than usual meaning outside was quiet and you’d stop quickly to listen.

“I heard something in the kitchen. You three go in there and see what it is” You heard an oddly familiar voice before you looked around for a place to exit and the only thing you could think of was the dumbwaiter on the other side of the room. You knew you couldn’t make it over there in time so you’d finish ripping the dress apart grab the knife and scurry across the floor toward an empty shelf and you’d bring your knees to your chest and turn the safety to your gun off.

Three men in tactical gear breached through the door and looked around slowly as they proceeded further into the room picked up the fabric of the dress and saw the heels.

“Boss, someone was in here and ditched their clothes.” One of them yelled back before looking around the room. You were praying that they couldn’t see your legs but you knew sooner or later you would have to make a move.

‘Well, Fucking find the naked bitch before I have to come in there and do the job myself!’ You heard the ever-familiar voice shout back.

“Come on, she couldn’t have gotten far in here, there’s no exit.” One of the soldiers said as he turned around and closed the door to check if there was a body behind them. You knew if you used your gun it would draw more attention to yourself and you didn’t have enough bullets to fight the whole army that was outside of the kitchen so you knew whatever move you’d make would have to be with the knife that was thankfully still in your hand.

Moving from out of the shelf you’d tiptoe over to the guard that was near the door and you’d slam the knife down into his neck and cover his mouth so he wouldn’t make noise to alert the other two in the kitchen with you, you were lucky the industrial and professional kitchen was set up in aisles so they couldn’t see your body unless they walked around. 

The soldier struggled, voice gurgling under your hand as you strained to move the man to his knees so that when he toppled over it wouldn’t be as hard, and he finally gave out, his body went limp as you pulled the knife out, blood squirting on your face before moving to the other two. As long as you could get to them before they circled back to the door it would be okay in a sense.

Your feet move behind each other in a cat-like motion and you see the second assailant checking under shelves and the third one is moving pots and pans around making enough noise for you to make your play. You take that opportunity to run up to him and proceed to shank him around 7 times, groans leaving his mouth before he falls back blood pooling around him and soaking your feet. You’d feel the cold wet sensation and would mentally roll your eyes at the situation before throwing your knife at the last person’s head and he’d topple over. Hearing the kitchen still, you’d hear the conversation going on outside between the familiar voice and you’d move over to the door and listen in.

‘Jesus fucking Christ! What’s taking these doofuses so long to find the whore?’ The man would ask impatiently as you’d hear the chamber of the unknown person’s gun slide back and you’d move towards one of the ARs the dead person had and you’d take the mags that came with it and move into the bellhopper. You slid the door up, slipping into the tight box and your arm reached out to hit the up button, and almost as soon as you closed the sliding door for the bell hopper you heard the door to the kitchen being kicked open.

‘What the fuck?! You know what?’ The person would chuckle ever so slightly before you heard his echoing footsteps approach the bell hopper which made you nervous because if it was still moving by the time he opened the door he’d know you were in there.

‘I gotcha you little bitch’

-

2 Months Prior

‘You know it wouldn’t be all that bad if you would just put your pride aside and just go on the date Your twin brother would say as your hazel eyes glared across the longer dinner table where you’d be eating breakfast.

There wasn’t much to this schedule it was something new where your mother would accompany you and your brother at breakfast. She sat near the head silently chuckling at the banter the two of you always managed to find yourselves in while she was eating a crepe with a bowl of fresh fruit from her garden.

‘Y’know what, Kaleb? If you want me to meet this man so bad..’ You had emphasized before grabbing your napkin and placing it in your lap. ‘How about you take my place and go on the date with him’ You’d offer the new opportunity and Kaleb looked at you with a rather contorted face before your mother’s laugh was a little more noticeable and Kaleb’s head snapped in her direction before you continued with your pancakes.

‘Oh so the first time in ages that our mother comes down here and one of the first things she does is patronize me because I’m trying to help my sister secure a husband since she’d freshly out of finishing school’ Kaleb would say before you’d shake your head in protest.

‘Kaleb, I simply don’t want a husband for now, and until father says anything about it I don’t think it is necessary as of now.’

‘But, Y/N you have men from families all over practically throwing their sons at your feet every gala we attend. Don’t you think you’re being a little pretentious?’ Kaleb would ask as you gave him a deadpan look. We sat in a very lavish dining room of a 10-bedroom mansion near the oceanside, our father was the head of a great mob family and he thought you were only being a little pretentious was a stretch.

‘Look at how we were raised, Kaleb then ask yourself why I’m being a little pretentious’ 

A soft clearing of a throat had brought your attention to the entrance of the doorway and you’d see your father, donning something other than a suit. He was wearing grey slacks and a white button-down.

‘Isn’t it nice to see my family down here eating together?’ your father would ask before reaching down to kiss your forehead and walking around to grab Kaleb’s shoulders.

‘I suppose it is Dad, which means you have something you need to tell us.’ You’d say eyeing the man and he could only chuckle.

‘Well you are my daughter and there’s no denying that, but nothing too much out of the ordinary. The Solos will be accompanying us to dinner this evening though. Jacoby and I have some business to discuss so I trust you three will be more than entertaining to our guests’ Your father, Issac Beckett would say and you would purse your lips together acknowledging that that was the conversation he was meaning to have. It was rare that your family held company though but it was understandable as to why.

Within the past 4 months, you’ve attended 7 funerals, each one of them had Beckett as their last name, you weren’t sure if the family was being targeted by an outsider but whoever it was was indeed trying to get within the immediate family. It hasn’t been easy for them though because your father’s long-time friend and right-hand man, Lysander Reed, and Luitenant Lloyd Hansen have kept the mansion and its grounds secure. Of course, with someone like Issac Beckett, there would be a lot of enemies made and that’s why he has allies like the Solo family. They still weren’t able to pinpoint a motive or who could be the mastermind behind all of these family murders but since the third one, your father had pulled you from your etiquette academy to ensure your safety and made sure all of the immediate family was under one roof which you guessed wasn’t so bad.

Your mother, Ceanna (pronounced Sienna) was more than ecstatic to see her children under one roof again. Your brother, Kaleb had left off to finish his studies to one day prepare to take over the reigns of the family’s name. But you, you were a different case, a special case.

You’ve protested for years to be more than someone’s wife and bearer of fruitful children. To be more than someone’s arm candy and despite your parent’s disapproval you were enrolled into multiple academies to broaden your skillset, being taught by Lysander how to fight, handle a gun, and be able to hold yourself to those bigger than you, and you proved them to be more than proficient - A prodigy Lloyd would say as he’d spar with you on occasion. Once you felt you were proficient enough your father enrolled you in finishing school where you learned etiquette and social cues to enter society as a woman fit to be a loving wife and also as sly and deadly as a snake.

Your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail as you looked down at your plate and continued to eat your breakfast, pancakes, and eggs which were growing soggy from the amount of syrup you piled onto the plate. 

‘The Solos are the ones with the son, right my love?’ Your mother, Ceanna would ask as your father nodded and moved over towards his wife, planting a kiss on his cheek before sitting down at the head of the table.

‘Yes, Napoleon is their only son. A little older but that still shouldn’t be a problem for our children, right?’ 

‘Leon? I haven’t seen him since we were both in school. Don’t worry I’m sure we can catch up.’

‘As long as you don’t auction me off as a wife to him’ You’d mutter while eating your food and your dad would belt out a laugh while Lysander would make his way into the room saying his greetings to everyone. Lysander had been there long before you and Kaleb were born so on occasion if you didn’t refer to him as Lys, uncle was for mere private times behind the walls of their home which Lysander didn’t mind coming from the twins, he was there for everything and within Issac’s will if anything were to happen to him and Ceanna while the twins were under 25 Lysander would be their ward and be the right hand for Kaleb.

‘I’m sure Napoleon wouldn’t meet your father’s expectations for your husband anyways, Y/N’ Lysander would say before you made a small victory cheer in your head. You hadn’t heard much about this Napoleon character but that’s because your father tends to leave you and your mother out of mob business and she doesn’t mind, but you? Oh, you made it a problem that you were left out of meetings, wanting to know the ins and the outs of the business and how to run it. Your father always says that this path holds no position for a woman, very misogynistic but you weren’t sure on why he would always make that statement.

‘The boy is far too into his bachelor lifestyle to settle down now, especially when there’s no sign of Caspian kicking the bucket over any time soon.’ Your dad would say before Lysander leaned over to whisper something in your dad’s ear and he’d nod.

‘Change of plans, they’ll be coming over for a late lunch and dinner, Y/N I trust you won’t be wearing that?’ Your dad would ask referring to your current pajamas which were an oversized plain black shirt and black and grey flannel shorts.

‘Jesus Dad, I just woke up.’ You’d say defensively before stabbing your fork in the remainder of the pancakes shoving it in your mouth and standing up from the table.

‘Since it’s that much of a problem I will go shower and put on clothes.’

‘Appropriate clothes, Y/N. We will be having guests’ Your Dad responded not looking up from the newspaper that was now in his hand. Your eyes narrowed before you took the glass of orange juice with you and turned on your heels to head out of the dining room.

‘Can I invite Elise and Arabelle?’ You’d ask quickly turning around and your dad matched your narrow eyes but yours instantly turned into pleading eyes.

‘Dad! Kaleb and Napoleon will be in each other's faces the whole time! I’ll make sure they’ll leave before dinner. I promise’ You pleaded before your father looked down at the gold watch before looking over to Lysander.

‘Y/N does have a point, Issac. Lloyd is still on the grounds as well.’ Lysander would say attempting to help your case while sending a wink your way and with a long sigh coming from your father he’d place the newspaper down.

‘See to it that the pool is prepared for the girls and the pool house. Have the chef prepare lunch for them as well.’ Your father reluctantly said before you started cheesing and heading over towards your old man and kissed him on his cheek as well as Lysander’s and you scurried away before he had the chance to change his mind.

Pulling your phone out from your waistband you’d open up the group chat that had you, Elise, and Arabelle in it before sending a single pool emoji with a question mark.

Elise: Uh, Duh!

Arabelle: We’ll be there in 30!

Successfully making plans to occupy yourself you’d scurry to the stairs running past Lloyd and he’d eye you.

‘Why are you running like you've seen a ghost princess?’ Lloyd would say while shooing the other guards away and you’d turn at the first step to face him. It wasn’t a bad age gap between you two, maybe 10 or 12 years? His profession aged him more than he was. The mid-30s weren’t bad for him.

‘Dad let me invite the girls over so I’m trying to get ready before he changes his mind’ 

‘He must be in a good mood, well I won’t hold you up. You look gorgeous this morning by the way.’ He’d say but it went over your head, ever since he’d started working for your dad around 4 years ago he’d always been the one to compliment you. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Giving him a small smile you’d hand him your almost finished glass of orange juice.

‘Thanks Lloyd! Do you mind putting that in the sink please?’ You’d asked before racing up the steps on your hands and knees

‘Anything for you princess.’ Lloyd would whisper low enough only for him to hear before finishing off the orange juice and licking his bottom lip before heading to the kitchen.

[ikeepwatchinghelicopters]

Random thought: Napoleon is a composer and Illya is a classical musician. Napoleon composes music for the instrument Illya plays and always creates pieces which are extremely difficult to play just to annoy Illya. Illya curses Napoleon a lot, but he secretly enjoys the challenge. Napoleon feels a confusing mix of irritation and happiness when he sees Illya nail all his demanding pieces at a concert.

[napollya-inspiration]

69 for the Spotify drabbles haha

#69 on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped is Glitch by Taylor Swift (there’s a number of ways to interpret this song - this is just how I see it)

(send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a drabble about the corresponding song on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped)

15 25 46

There’s a way in which Napoleon understands the world to work. He understands that when he leaves a popstar’s or a model’s or an actress’ house and someone takes a picture, it will drive the interest in his life up. He knows that when he has a movie coming out and he picks a woman to be seen with, the tabloids are going to make fun of him but write about him all the same. He understands that it doesn’t matter what filth they choose to describe him with - especially since he’s come out - it only drives the interest in his name. So, he did it. Oh, he had fun doing it, too. But lately, the whole system seems to be breaking down.

You see, it’s a Friday night and he’s cooked an elaborate meal for two with no desire to go out. He’s not itching for the next beautiful thing in his bed. No, he wants Illya to look at him, wants to hear the plot to his new novel only so they can pick it apart together. He wants to see if he can find the part that makes the tips of Illya’s ears go red as he mumbles something about it being inspired by something that Napoleon had said or done.

He’d met Illya by accident as he’d ducked into his local bookshop to grab something to read during his upcoming press tour. Everything had been as always but then there he’d been. And nothing had ever been the same again.

Oh, Napoleon had fully intended to get him ‘out of his system’. But then he’d been drawn back to him, over and over again. And now it’s been a year and he’s not sure that he wants to stop.

A year of sneaking through the back entrees of hotels and paying ridiculous sums to keep people quiet when inevitably something would leak somewhere. There’s another rumor brewing online - spurred on by the premier he’d attended by himself. He’s seeing someone and it isn’t casual this time.

When Napoleon brushes past Illya who is sitting at his counter, laptop open in front of him, an arm snakes out to pull him in. This is anything but casual, alright.

“You ready for dinner?” Napoleon asks.

“Yes. Just tell me when,” Illya says and with him perched on the stool, they’re face to face. It’s an opportunity that Napoleon won’t pass up. He leans in and steals a kiss.

Despite his newfound secrecy, his movies had sold. Illya had even talked him into doing a small indie project, something he wouldn’t have dared to accept before. He hadn’t come this far to see his name fade back into obscurity. Now, somehow, Napoleon can’t find it in him to be afraid of it.

Because, somehow, Illya is still here. Staying, day after day. There’s a reason why he hadn’t let himself get attached in years. But somehow, Illya seems to defy every rule. He doesn’t care about his fame or his money. He doesn’t care about Napoleon’s dating history or his job. It’s like he’s a glitch in the system and now that Napoleon has found him, he’s not going to let him go. At least, if he has anything to say about it.

“What?” Illya asks. “I can see you’re thinking about something.”

“Mmmh. Just thinking you’re the glitch in my system,” Napoleon says.

“Doesn’t sound very flattering.”

Napoleon chuckles and smoothes Illya’s hair back. “You know, I really thought I knew how my life would play out. And then there was you. I was supposed to sweat you out but-”

“Here you are.”

“Here I am. And I’m not even sorry about it.” Let them talk their talks. As long as he has this, everything else doesn’t really matter. And it surprises no one more than Napoleon himself.

[cha-melodius]

Not a wacky au (I dont think that I could live up to that level of batshit crazy) but an au request never the less.

Paramedic Illya who responds to a multi car pile up. Solo is trapped in his car, it’s a difficult extraction that takes hours, all the while Solo’s condition is deteriorating. But the time they get him out he’s in criticle condition and it’s touch and go. Maybe Gaby was in the car but it was easy to get her out.

For the following days/weeks Illya can’t seem to let solo go - he’s never has this issue letting go off a patient after the hand over - so he goes to visit Solo after he gets moved out of the ICU

Oooh this one is ripe for lots of drama! Honestly perfect for whumptober. I love the idea that Illya has seen this kind of thing time and time again, but there's something about Napoleon that sticks with him. I can see a situation where Napoleon is conscious at first and Illya has to try to keep him talking and awake while they work to get him out. Maybe Illya is not usually the "talking" one, because he's not a very chatty person, but for some reason he's the one who has to this time. He discovers Napoleon is surprisingly easy to talk to, but also he starts feeling more and more distressed as Napoleon starts fading. Imagine if Illya can see at least part of him—enough to see those piercing blue eyes that linger on in his head for ages afterward.

Maybe in the aftermath he doesn't even know Napoleon's full name, and he tries to track it down through the hospital but is rebuffed because of HIPAA. He should give up, but he just needs to know if Napoleon is ok. That's all (that's not all). One day after dropping off a call he runs into Gaby, who's there to visit Napoleon, and he's all awkward about trying to find out about Napoleon without trying to seem weird. She takes him to visit, which surprises Napoleon. They talk a bit and that SHOULD be the end of it, but it's not. Illya keeps coming back, bringing Napoleon better food than the hospital meals and getting shoo'd out by the nurses because he's there too long.

Obviously they fall in love, and what starts harrowing and whumpy ends impossibly soft (guess I'm in a fluffy mood, lol).

Thanks for sending this in anon! It's not a setup I've seen before, actually!

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #28

This is an AU based on the 2009 film Push. So, The Man From UNCLE but with super powers!

xxx we might not make it to the morning 

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering if you’d come.” One corner of her mouth is upturned, and there’s nothing in Victoria’s tone, in the way she speaks, that’s out of the ordinary. And yet…There’s something there, something that tickles the back of Napoleon’s mind and then disappears the moment he reaches for it, like grasping at smoke.

It unsettles him, even as he puts on a false smile of his own, calm and full of charm. “How could I not? When a stunning woman such as yourself extends an invitation, one would be a fool not to accept it. I brought champagne.” He lifts the bottle slightly, and she steps out of the doorway so Napoleon can enter the suite, closing the door behind him. Napoleon sets the champagne down and turns to Victoria with one eyebrow quirked. “So what is it you wanted to discuss? An art deal, perhaps?”

Victoria grins broadly, showing pearly white teeth that remind Napoleon of a wolf’s, and she lets out a laugh. “Come now, Napoleon. Neither of us is that naive, so let’s not pretend.”

Napoleon’s stomach ties itself in knots at the use of his real name, but he’s careful not to let his shock show. His cover is blown, but he has to keep his head. “Damn,” he says. “I thought I was doing so well.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Agent Solo. You were doing very well!”

“What, so you found a Watcher, then? A Sniff?”

The woman watches him out from under heavy, dark lashes. There’s something predatory in her gaze, and Napoleon feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His strategy shifts immediately from gathering what intelligence he can to finding a way out of here, now.

But then…she speaks. And realization barely has time to hit him before her words crash over him and into him, entangling her lies with his reality.

“You really shouldn’t trust that big Russian ape, you know.”

Napoleon frowns. She’s only barely started to Push, and the contradicting thoughts in his mind confuse him. Surely she can’t mean…“Illya?” 

“Kuryakin, yes. He’s still working with them. It’s dreadful, really, the way he’s using you and dear little Gaby. Playing you for fools.”

Confusion slowly turns to anger, and Napoleon feels his hands curl into fists. “I’ll kill him.”

He doesn’t notice Victoria’s amused smile, or the blackness of her eyes. “Now, there’s an idea. He’ll see you coming, though. The man is tracking you, after all.”

Napoleon’s thoughts are heavy and plodding, like there’s weights around their ankles, and it takes him a long moment before he says, “That’s impossible. I check my clothes, and my shoes.”

Victoria sighs, walking past Napoleon and to the nightstand next to the bed. He turns to watch her. “No, no darling. You misunderstand me. He didn’t place the tracker on you, did he? He planted it in you, in your belly.” 

Napoleon’s heart rate picks up, hands breaking into a sweat. His head hurts. This doesn’t seem right, but she’s said so and--

“The bastard,” he says.

“Indeed.” She opens the nightstand drawer and pulls something out, lifting it to show him. A small paring knife. She places the point against the tip of her finger and looks at it thoughtfully. “If you want to kill him, which you do, you’ll need to get that pesky tracker out first and destroy it.”

A tracker, a Russian tracker inside him all this time, Kuryakin and the fucking KGB aware of his every move, his every secret…All of it lies. His trust given to the enemy, to a man who’s needled his way into his life and used him. 

He needs to get the tracker out and smash it to pieces. And then he needs to find Illya and smash him to pieces, too.

Victoria closes the space between herself and Napoleon and reaches up with one hand, gently running the back of her long fingers down his face, lingering at his jaw. 

“I’d love to stay and watch, I really would, but unfortunately I’ve more important matters to see to. Much less entertaining, though. Pity.” She sighs wistfully and holds out the knife. “You’ll need this. A bit short, but it’s sharp enough.”

Napoleon takes the blade from Victoria and she plants a kiss on his lips, lingering a long moment before she pulls away with a smile. 

“Goodbye now, Napoleon. We shan’t be seeing each other again, I don’t think. And do be quiet, we don’t want anyone coming in here and trying to stop you.”

Napoleon nods idly, staring down at the small weapon he’s been handed as Victoria leaves the suite.

The agent turns the knife in his hand so it’s pointed toward his belly. His body’s instinct to survive is shouting at him, trying to seize control of his limbs. But there’s a tracker inside him, put there by a man who has lied to him, violated him, betrayed him. And he needs to get it out. He has to. Mind overrides body and he drives the knife forward, plunging it into the right side of his torso, halfway between ribs and hip. The pain pulls the breath out of him and the blood is instant, welling up around the blade and soaking his crisp, white shirt. He’s on the floor before he knows he’s falling, sitting on the carpet against the settee, his legs outstretched before him. His heart pounds in his chest, in his ears, as he starts to pull the knife to the left (the woman wasn’t lying, the knife is sharp) and his hands begin to tremble as more blood spills from him. His body shakes as he continues, quaking with the effort of containing the screams that want to erupt from him--screams of agony, of hurt, of rage. He doesn’t let them out though, he can’t. Only the occasional whimper or groan slips through his lips, though the sounds are quickly stifled. Mostly he gasps, rapid, sharp breaths through flared nostrils, his mouth drawn into a thin grimace.

He wants to stop.

But then Victoria’s voice again, and her words push every other conscious thought aside so that he’s focused only on his task. To get the tracker out. 

He’s shaking so badly he can hardly hold the knife, so he wraps his left hand around his right and then he keeps moving. He doesn’t think about the fact that his lap is becoming increasingly wet and warm as blood spills from the lengthening split in his belly. Doesn’t think about the fact that, despite the sweat on his forehead, he’s growing colder. 

He has to get the tracker out.

And then he’s going to kill Illya Kuryakin.

xxx 

They don’t wait for the girl at the front desk to give them a key. They don’t have the time, and Illya can blast the door open anyway, and does so with more strength than Gaby has seen in a while, nearly knocking it from its hinges. He bursts into the room and then freezes so abruptly that Gaby runs into the back of him. 

“Illya!” she gripes, and steps out from around him and then she freezes, too. “Mein Gott.”

Napoleon is on the floor, slumped against a settee, his face shiny with sweat and a sickly shade of gray and there’s blood, there’s so much blood all over his front and his hands and the white carpet beneath him and she’s seen a lot since working with Waverly but this…Bile rises in her throat and she has to turn away, doubling over and clutching her stomach and waiting for the moment to pass. This seems to rouse Illya from his daze and her charges forward. 

“Cowboy!” he cries, and Gaby looks up in time to see the Russian fall to his knees beside the agent. He’s muttering in Russian, words too low and fast for Gaby to understand but she thinks he may be praying as he puts two fingers to Napoleon’s neck, searching for a pulse. 

“Is he--”

“He is alive,” Illya says. “Go find clean towels, we must try and control the bleeding.”

Gaby nods, hurrying off to the bathroom, and she’s grateful to have a moment to herself, to collect herself as she collects the towels. She’s strong and Napoleon Solo is strong and it’s going to be okay. 

That’s when the shouting starts. 

She hears Illya first. “Solo, what are you--You are badly injured you must--”

And then Napoleon, and the tone in his voice sends ice in her veins. 

“Get the fuck off me, I’ll kill you!” There’s a tiredness in his voice, a slurred quality to his words that she knows comes with being badly hurt, but even so the words are laced with fury and hatred and she hurries back to the two agents. 

Napoleon has a knife in his red-with-blood hand, holding it up in front of him, and Gaby can see it shaking. Illya is a step back, hands up in a gesture of retreat, face twisted in hurt and confusion. 

“Napoleon!” 

Gaby’s cry gets his attention and he looks over at her, then down at his belly. “I have to get it out. Gaby, I--I have to get it out!” 

And then he’s aiming the knife at himself, moving quickly but Illya is quicker and grabs both his wrists. The knife clatters to the ground and Napoleon’s face darkens with rage. 

“Cowboy, it’s me!” Illya cries. “You’re badly wounded, we have to get you to help, do you understand?”

“You’re a liar,” Napoleon snarls, jerking slightly as he tries to free himself from the Russian’s grip. The action is quickly followed by a sound of pain and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Illya, let him go,” Gaby says, barely keeping her voice from shaking. “He’ll hurt himself more trying to fight you.”

“He will hurt himself anyway if I let him go.” There’s desperation in Illya’s voice, written on his face and in his body, in the uncertainty that is as plain in his grip as the strength. “It--it is bad, Gaby. The towels--he needs the towels.”

Gaby nods, kneeling beside the two men and it’s only then, with the blood on the carpet soaking through the knees of her trousers, that she fully takes in Napoleon’s injury. It’s nothing short of ghastly--a long, ragged cut running from one side of his belly to the other. It's hard to tell but she notes that there doesn't seem to be anything other than blood spilling from the gash. It offers some comfort, but not much. 

She’s seen what a powerful Pusher can do, and Victoria is obviously not short on power. It’s plain that Napoleon doesn’t have much strength left in him, but whatever she’s planted in his mind is compelling him to use every ounce of it acting on whatever she’s told him to do, even if it kills him. 

She positions herself next to Illya, who’s still holding Napoleon’s wrists, and presses a towel to the long gash, and another, and it’s obvious that he’s in agony but he doesn’t scream, just writhes weakly and lets out small, hair raising whimpers.

“We can’t move him like this,” Gaby says. “Maybe if he were calm, but he is bleeding too much and there’s no way he’ll let you get him out of here. He needs a Stitch. You know one here in Rome, don’t you? Go make the call.”

Illya’s jaw works, eyes growing watery, and he shakes his head once. “I will give you the number. I won’t leave him.”

“You have to!” she snaps, then sighs. “Illya, you have to.”

He reluctantly releases his hold on Napoleon, who immediately reaches for the towels Gaby’s holding against his wound. He’s weak, though, and Gaby easily stops him, taking his bloody hands in hers.

“Go!” she barks, and Illya hurries away. 

“He--he--” Napoleon gasps, looking at Gaby with eyes wide and wild.

“What is it, Solo?” she says gently, hoping that she can coax something out that will help her deal with whatever lies Victoria has forced on him.

“He lied to us. The--the--the bastard! Put a tracker in me…I have to get it out.”

So that’s what Victoria told him. She has to think quickly.

“You did!” she says, and his brow furrows in confusion.

“What?” His hands relax in hers, just slightly. 

“You already got it out,” she says, slowly releasing one of his hands and waiting for a moment to make sure he doesn’t try and hurt himself again. Then she reaches into her pocket and draws out one of the beads from her broken bracelet and holds it up. “See? It was on the floor, you must have missed it. You already got it out.”

He still looks slightly bewildered, but he nods slowly. “I got it out,” he murmurs, and lets out a long sigh, and as he does his eyes drift shut and his head dips down toward his chest. 

“Solo!” Gaby puts her hand on his face, tilting his head upward. Her already hammering heart beats so fast that it aches, with fear, with desperation. A Stitch can’t help a dead man. “Solo, come on. You have to stay awake until help comes. Napoleon!”

She almost weeps with relief when she hears Illya’s voice in the hall, and he appears a moment later, a short, harsh-looking older woman in tow. 

“Christ, that’s a lot of blood,” she says in a thick Dublin as she sets eyes on Napoleon. “Is he still breathing?”

Gaby nods. “He’s alive.”

“Alright, help me get him onto his back.”

Illya and Gaby move quickly and carefully, shifting Napoleon so that he’s lying flat on his back on the blood-soaked floor. The woman places her hand on Napoleon’s belly, one on either side of the wound. She glances up at Illya. 

“Your friend is about to make a lot of noise. Might bring some unwanted attention.”

“I will deal with it, Brigid,” Illya practically growls. “Just help him!”

Brigid nods and slowly starts to move her hands. Gaby watches in fascinated horror as the torn flesh deep within the wound begins to knit. As it does, Napoleon stirs, just a little at first, a pained whimper escaping his lips. Whimper becomes groan, and he writhes under Brigid’s hands, and then his back arches and he screams and the sound makes Gaby’s stomach churn. Brigid doesn’t seem phased, barely even seems to notice, just continues her bloody work. Gaby has to blink back tears and she looks up to see Illya doing the same, the big Russian’s jaw tense as he stares up at the ceiling while Napoleon cries out. 

And then it’s over and Napoleon’s body goes limp, sweat beading his forehead as his head lolls to one side, his breath coming in high, breathy gasps.

“Boy’s just been through hell,” Brigid says, standing. “But he’ll be back on his feet in a few hours.”

“Thank you,” Illya says. “Thank you.”

Brigid just nods. “You owe me one, Kuryakin.” And she leaves the apartment without another word. Illya watches her go, then turns to Gaby. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

Illya sniffs once, looking away, then looks back at her. “The way he spoke to me…He was so angry.”

There’s a noise in the hall and Gaby swears under her breath.

“Illya, we need to get him out of here.”

“He does not trust me.” Illya’s voice is small. Broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” Gaby says softly. 

Illya nods, his expression darkening. “And then we find Victoria.”

“And then we find Victoria,” Gaby agrees.

It doesn’t matter how powerful Victoria Vinciguera is. She’s going to pay for this.

xxx 

[write-r-die]

By Tomorrow - Part 10

Masterlist

A/N: Long time no post! Hopefully I can get things rolling again!

Sybil sat back on her heels as she knelt beside the wooden rail that looked out on the hall below.

The door to Catherine’s room was directly behind her, the door still shut. She hadn’t bothered knocking yet; she wanted to remain where she was and see and hear what she could of what was going on below.

The men were shouting most of their words, so it wasn’t difficult to hear them, but they were speaking very fast and in Gaelic. Sybil knew a great deal of Scottish vocabulary, but the language’s grammar was mostly lost on her. She the gist of the conversation – bone, boy, horse, hunt, blood, and a handful of profanities of which she did not know the exact translation – but without knowledge of the finer details, she mostly had to riddle it out for herself.

The door to Catherine’s room creaked open, and her lovely face appeared. Her brows were furrowed. “What are you doing down there?” she asked.

“Shh!” Sybil grabbed Catherine by the wrist and pulled her down to sit beside her. “Didn’t you hear the commotion?”

Catherine’s look was blank and glassy; she must have just woken from a nap. “What commotion?”

“Ugh! Must I always explain everything?!” She made it sound like talking a lot was a great inconvenience to her; Catherine didn’t correct her on it.

She explained as much as she could: A group of Cavill warriors were hunting a deer that they thought crossed the border from Maclean territory into theirs. They did not realize someone else – one of the laird’s sons – was also pursuing it. Someone shot an arrow but didn’t aim well. They’d deduced that the arrow flew too close to the Maclean boy’s horse and startled it, bucking the boy from its back and possibly trampling him.

“The bone is sticking out of his leg, and they had trouble stopping the bleeding,” Sybil finished. “I think they may have to cut it off.”

“That’s awful!” Catherine said, covering her mouth with her hand as she leaned forward to look through the posts of the rail. A moment later, she turned back to Sybil. “Why are we hiding up here?”

“Henry told me to go into your room until he came to get me. I suppose he doesn’t think I have the stomach for it.”

Catherine frowns. “That’s part of it, I’m sure, but I think he doesn’t like the idea of you being close to a Maclean.”

“That’s very silly,” Sybil declared. “He’s not a proper Maclean now. At this moment, he’s just a boy with a bone sticking out of his leg. He’s younger than the triplets, for goodness sake! He couldn’t hurt me even if he wanted to.”

“I know and Henry knows that, too, but he’s not terribly rational where Macleans are concerned.” She looked at Sybil. How much did Sybil know about her husband – about his mother? Certainly not enough, if she didn’t understand why Henry was so agitated by a simple name.

On the main level, Arran had regained control of the situation. He was giving orders of some sort. His voice was loud but he wasn’t shouting. Sybil didn’t catch a word of it.

“What are they saying?” Sybil hissed to her friend.

Catherine shushed her as Arran pulled Henry aside. “Let me concentrate!”

***

“Henry,” Arran called.

“Yes, Uncle.” Henry came in close as his uncle gestured him to do so.

“I’m sending a party to the Maclean keep. The boy’s kin should be with him,” Arran said. “Some of them will come here. Do you understand?”

Henry swallowed hard. “Yes.”

What Arran wasn’t saying was that it was meant to be a peaceful “visit,” for lack of a better term. That meant that Henry had to keep his temper in check.

Arran nodded. A moment later, he added, “We cannot predict how they will behave. I don’t know where things stand with you and the lass . . .” He kept his voice low so that only Henry could hear. “But if you haven’t bedded her . . . you ought to do it now, before they arrive. In case any questions arise.”

Henry glanced upstairs towards Catherine’s door and was quite sure he saw Sybil duck out of sight just a moment too late.

Arran was right, of course. Henry and Sybil’s marriage could be dissolved if it was not consummated; he wouldn’t put it past a Maclean to force a priest into declaring an annulment and then, presumably, perform another wedding ceremony with Alexander standing as bridegroom as he was originally meant to.

Henry wouldn’t put anything past a Maclean, particularly the son of the laird. The laird, who beat a pregnant woman within an inch of her life with the intention of killing her unborn baby –

He couldn’t think about that now.

Henry clenched his jaw and nodded once. “Aye.”

***

Catherine and Sybil hustled back into the former’s room and pretended to be entirely at ease, acting as if there were not a dying boy downstairs and Sybil’s husband hadn’t just caught her snooping about like a disobedient child.

Henry had never been angry with her before, had he? She was fairly certain he wouldn’t shout at or frighten her – at least not intentionally – but the concept of his wrath still made her anxious. She’d been known to break into tears at even a stern look.

She was about to ask Catherine what would happen next when a knock sounded at the door.

Henry didn’t wait for a response before entering the room partway. He still had a hand on the doorknob, one foot behind the door, like he was hoping to hide part of his substantial form behind it.

“Your father wants you,” he said to Catherine. Sybil thought his voice seemed gentler than usual. It only added to her anxiety.

“What for?” Catherine asked.

His eyes darted to Sybil for the slightest moment before returning to his cousin. “I don’t know.” His voice was still soft.

Catherine shot a look at Sybil from the corner of her eye, measuring the other girl’s chances of breaking down if she and Henry were left alone. “All right,” she said after a moment.

Sybil started to reach for her arm, to pull her back and use her as a barrier between herself and her husband but she managed to stop herself.

Henry wondered if he should smile – if that would set her at ease. No. he would just look like he was grimacing, and that would make her very uneasy. He kept his usual expression in place.

Sybil was uneasy all the same. “Why are you making that face?”

“Sybil,” he began, “I think it’s time that I take you to bed.”

The color drained from her face. “You said that we could wait until I was ready.”

“I know, and I wish we could, but more Macleans are coming to see to the boy. We must be . . . properly wed . . . when they come.”

Properly wed. A marriage wasn’t true until it was consummated.

Henry led her by the hand through the keep and down the hill to their cottage. None of the men in the hall - God bless them - laughed or made lewd jokes as the pair passed through. Perhaps the men assumed the two had already slept together, so they didn’t think much of what was happening. 

Catherine was too engrossed in conversation with her father to spare a look in her friend’s direction as Sybil passed her at the top of the stairs - she probably wasn’t even aware that Sybil was leaving. 

Everyone else was shut up in their cottages, so there was no one to speak to them on their walk down the hill either. Most of the clan probably assumed their marriage was already consummated anyway. It was strange to wait this long.

Sybil focused her eyes on where her shaking hand was joined with Henry’s. It was big enough to swallow her own.

She was trying very hard not to cry. She was teetering on the edge of panic. You mustn’t weep, she told herself. You’ll only make it a thousand times worse. Be brave. It will be over and done within an hour.

But as they neared the cottage, her shaking only intensified.

Henry released her hand to open the door for her; she walked into the middle of the cottage. When she realized her proximity to the bed, she panicked. 

The door shut and Henry slid the bolt into place.

“It won’t fit!” she declared before he’d even turned around to look at her. 

Henry raised his dark eyebrows. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

“I know it won’t fit.”

“How?”

She looked very intently at the wall. “That night when we slept in the cave . . . It - well, it grew in your sleep and I felt it and I know it won’t fit. Not easily. Not without . . .” Her face had lost all color. 

Henry took her arm and pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed before she had the chance to swoon. He knelt on the ground before her, gripping both of her hands in one of his.

“Why are you kneeling?” she blurted. It was a strange thing to ask, but it was a strange thing for him to do. “Don’t we both need to be on the bed in order - ?”

“I won’t hurt you, Sybil.” His voice was low but strong. “And if you think I would, then I have failed as your husband.” 

She was startled by his intensity. She couldn’t remember hearing such emotion in his voice except when talking about the Macleans. 

And they hardly knew each other. They hadn’t been married long enough for him to fail her.

“No,” Sybil said with a sniffle. “I mean yes. I do know you wouldn’t hurt me. Not intentionally. But you’ll hurt me no matter what. That’s not your fault, of course; all husbands hurt their wives when they . . .” She swallowed, trying to ease the familiar soreness in her throat that usually preceded tears. “But your good intentions do not change the fact it’ll be painful, and it certainly does not change the fact that I’m . . .”

“Frightened?”

“Terrified,” Sybil said. 

His brilliant eyes seemed to drill holes in her skull. “Of me?” his voice was low. Sybil was too worked up to notice that the idea upset him.

“No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know, Henry! Don’t ask me!” She lunged forward into his arms with such force that she knocked some of the wind from his lungs, forcing an involuntary grunt from him as his arms encircled her. She had no idea what emboldened her to embrace him, but it was either that or start weeping. 

She was holding him tight enough to break his ribs. Maybe that was her intention. “I know what I am doing,” Henry said. He meant to comfort her with this reassurance, but her face morphed into a mix of embarrassment, surprise, and disgust as she pulled back.

“Oh, don’t tell me that, Henry! I don’t know what I’m doing and I won’t be nearly as good as any of the other girls - have there been many others? No, don’t tell me! I don’t wish to know.”

“I know what I am doing,” Henry said again, speaking over her. He continued before she had the chance to interrupt him again: “I won’t kill you. I won’t maim you. Men and women do this all the time without anyone dying.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Sybil said. Henry raised an eyebrow at her; she exhaled loudly and settled back against his chest. “All right. All right. I’m only working myself up, aren’t I? I am. You really shouldn’t let me speak, Henry. It only ever ends badly.”

“Let you?” he repeated. What he did or did not allow her to do was piss in the ocean. Christ Himself couldn’t shut this woman up. 

She remained firmly in place and showed no sign of moving anytime soon.

“Sybil?”

“Yes?”

“Are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding,” she said against his chest, voice muffled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He knew better than to contradict her. “All right.” He rubbed his hands across her back in broad strokes and she began to relax. He moved one hand to her outer thigh; she stiffened at first, but relaxed when it became clear he only meant to run his hand back and forth like on her back. He wasn’t trying to touch her there.

She seemed to like when he touched her in other places. He let his hands roam back up her body toward her breasts as he kissed a trail from her mouth to her neck. It didn’t chase away her fear, but it lessened it somewhat.

He pressed his lips to her throat. Her reaction was dramatic to say the least. 

She jolted as if struck with lightning and dug her fingers into his shoulders and started making these sort of gasping noises that she couldn’t control. 

Her reason dissolved into nothing as her husband shot lightning bolts all across her skin with his hands and his mouth. She couldn’t make sense of anything. 

She wasn’t aware of him removing either of their clothes, but suddenly they were gone and he was everywhere at once.

“Hold on now.” He carefully aligned himself at her entrance. He moved his hips forward to enter her the slightest bit as if to test the waters.

God, she was tight. 

She tensed when she felt him at her gated entrance. He thrust, but she was too tight for him to enter. His hardness was pushed up along her slit rather than into her passage.

Sybil made a little noise of pleasurable surprise when his head bumped against the bundle of nerves above her opening. “Isn’t that meant to hurt?” she whispered. 

He pulled away, sighing.

“Is it over?” Sybil whispered. “My stepmother told me that it’s often quick but…”

“No, sweetheart, it isn’t over.” He kissed her long and hard to distract her.

She started speaking again the moment he broke away for air. “There’s more? Can’t we please just get it over with? Catherine told me that the waiting is the worst part, worse than the act itself, and I don’t - aren’t we supposed to have it over and done with, anyway? Isn’t that why you said -”

“Shh.” Henry gave her a soft kiss to silence her, but she immediately started talking when their lips parted. She was still trembling, her body still balancing on the precipice of some great unknown. Henry didn't pay attention to her words - she wasn’t asking him to stop or slow down or complaining of pain or any such thing, just babbling. 

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Hold onto me.”

She did as she was told, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders as she let her trembling knees fall in opposite directions.

She was too foggy to be nervous, exactly. It was all so strange, so overwhelming that she felt separated from it all, somehow. Separate and yet entirely present. It made no sense. She was grappling at any hint of reason, a coherent thought - 

Using his hand to guide himself, he snapped his hips forward, using all of his brute strength to enter her in one swift motion.

The noise she made was something like a yelp, followed by a shallow sort of sob. 

The look on Sybil’s face was a mix of pain, humiliation, and anger. Tears dripped from her eyes. “You’ve ripped me apart!” she accused.

“Sybil,” he began, voice soothing and soft.

“You lied!” she said, practically sobbing. She didn’t notice Henry’s distress at harming her. “You did maim me. Something is broken or-or torn or - I know it!”

He hushed her. “Stay still. Try to relax.” She turned her face away when he tried to kiss her lips. He pecked her cheek instead. The hand he’d used to guide himself now glided soothingly up and down her side. “The pain will be gone soon.”

“You’re a liar.” she sounded almost petulant. The stretching sensation was just so strange - like she was a too-tight piece of clothing he was intent on fitting into but he just didn’t. He’d make it worse if he moved inside her. She would tear along the seams. “It hurts.” 

Henry returned to where he was before, hovering above his wife, his weight on both his elbows, their bodies pressed together, their faces only a few inches apart. 

Sybil wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, sniffling. She was still furious with her situation; putting her arms around Henry was a reflex, not a conscious decision. 

So was leaning into him. So was wanting him to hold her closer. 

Henry's body was at war with his mind.  She was also hot and tight and wet and his body shook with need. He might die if he stopped now; he’d hate himself if he continued.

He couldn't stifle his groan.

Sybil sniffed. “Are you hurting too?” She sounded relieved and concerned and somehow reassured by that thought. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he managed.

“Are we done now?”

Henry exhaled through his nose, nearly a sigh, and explained that they weren’t technically done until he finished. 

“Yes, finished,”  she said, sounding more like herself, “that’s what done means. Sometimes I forget that English isn’t your first language. I can instruct you sometime if you like.” 

His answering noise was something like a groan and a sigh and a laugh, and it was both exasperated and amused. He let his forehead fall against hers and rested it there. 

“Does it still hurt?” he murmured.

It wasn’t painful anymore but whatever it was, she had no name for it. Discomfort, perhaps?

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

She didn’t try to explain; she knew she would make no sense. “You can keep going.”

“Are you sure? I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“You need to . . .”

Henry brushed his nose over hers and it felt strangely intimate - even more intimate than consummating their marriage.

Henry reached down to stimulate her but she stopped him again. “I want to make this better for you,” he murmured. “Let me make this better for you.”

She shook her head, eyes frightened and wide.

It's the only way I can help you, he wanted to say. 

He wasn’t going to push her on this, not now. They could work on that next time - or, if she still didn’t want him to touch her then, he could teach her to do it herself. 

He told himself to end it quickly, not to postpone his release. He thrust and thrust and groaned and shuddered and then he went still.

Henry’s muscles seemed to give out with his release so he wasn’t propping himself up on his massive arms anymore. His body was heavy on top of hers, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin as he struggled to regain his breath.

Her discomfort was back. She tried to wiggle her hips a bit, enough to ease the stinging sensation at her entrance. Henry groaned at the pleasure that little movement gave him and she went still.

He pushed himself up on his forearms and eased out of his wife. He wasn’t inside of her anymore but she wasn't empty. He left his seed behind. Sybil didn't like how it felt dripping out of her. She was still stinging where he’d torn her, too. She clenched her thighs together in a vain attempt to soothe the pain.

Henry turned her head towards him so he could see her face. She looked surprised by what they’d just done. “Are you well?”

She nodded mutely.

“Don’t lie,” he murmured. 

“I’m all right,” she managed. “Just a bit -”

Someone pounded on the door. Sybil gasped and scrambled to cover herself. Henry absently hushed her as he ran his hand down her shoulder. He’d really have to do something about her nerves - maybe more of what he’d just done. Well, hopefully. First he had to see if she’d ever let him near her again. Then, he would have to make her enjoy it . . .

“Henry, the scout just spotted them,” one of the triplets called through the door in Gaelic. “They’ll be at the keep any minute.”

Henry exhaled deeply through his nose. “All right, Will. I’ll be there soon.” He turned back to his wife, who had the blankets pulled over her, the edge all the way up to her eyeballs. “Next time will be better,” he assured her. “We can move slowly. I have a feeling it will take a long time for you to finish the first time.”

She lowered the covers to her chin. “We did just finish.”

Henry smiled broadly and chuckled. Sybil wasn’t sure she’d ever seen that before.

“Was I . . .” she hesitated. “Did I please you?” she asked quietly, eyes focused on his mouth. She looked ready to weep again if he said no. She was desperate for a kind word, any reassurance. She didn’t care about her own experience, it seemed, just his.

“Yes, you pleased me.” It wasn’t entirely true; it was hard to find pleasure knowing he was hurting her. Sybil was only somewhat appeased by his answer.

Henry looked over the plains and contours of her heart-shaped face - straight nose, smooth skin, black brows. “You are so beautiful.” He thought he saw the shadow of a smile on her rosy lips.

It was easy to give a lovely woman compliments and Henry was eager to soothe his wife. Distracting her with information from his past on the night she wept had been a last resort that he had no intention of returning to. He made a note to say something sweet the next time she was upset. It seemed to work better, anyway.

He brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear; she stilled, wary of the touch.

His expression turned serious. “Next time will be better for you. I promise.” He slipped from the bed and began to dress. When the task was complete, he swiped his wife out of the way to study the bloodstain on the bed linen - proof of their union. 

Instead of stripping the bed, he produced his knife and cut out a large swath of the sheet. He didn’t want to force Sybil from the bed and then make her sleep without a bedsheet. If her expression was any indication, it would be more than she could manage without tears. 

She knew it was expected for them to display the stained sheet in the keep - it was a well-known tradition; even Catherine’s stained bedsheet was hung out for people to see after her wedding night - but the idea made Sybil want to shrivel up into nothing.

She should be relieved there was a stain at all, that her fathers friend had left something behind, proof that she was a virgin. A virgin, she thought, but not untouched…..

Henry pocketed the fabric and pulled the blankets up around her until he assembled a sort of nest for her. She just lay there, looking up at him, still processing what they’d done. 

“I’m sorry to leave you. Try to rest. I’ll be back soon.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead and left without another world.

Sybil started crying again. She was sore and painfully lonely now that Henry was gone. And overwhelmed. So, so overwhelmed.

She thought of her father’s friend, his rough hands and cruel mouth. His fingers in the same place as Henry tried to put his own . . .

This was nothing like that and Henry was nothing like him. Henry was odd but kind and he did his best to make their coupling easy for her.

But she still thought of the other man. She couldn’t help it. It was all too much.

And the act itself – it wasn’t how she used to imagine it, years ago, before everything happened. Lovemaking, people had called it, and she liked to imagine that it was transcendent and beautiful and it wasn’t. It was awkward and strange and she was hyperaware of every detail, but Henry was kind and doting and she supposed that was the best she could ask for.

She was overwhelmed and underwhelmed by what had just happened. And suddenly her tears dried up, as if by acknowledging her conflicting emotions, they canceled each other out.

She lay awake for a long time staring up at the ceiling while the tears dried on her cheeks. She hoped that Henry would come back soon, and she hoped that he wouldn’t come back at all.

A/N: Anyway, yeah, hope you enjoyed. The experience is supposed to be not-so-satisfactory for either of them; it's all part of the greater plan!

[justabigoldnerd]

Thank you so much @kcscribbler for the tag!!!

More from "How To Cook A Wolf", the backstory for Mercenary Solo in "Now You See Me, Now You Don't"

Solo doesn't waste another second in that godforsaken place. Eyes filled with hatred and satisfaction follow him all the way out of the building. He wants to spit at their feet, but he holds his tongue. When he reaches his car, he runs his hand over the crumpled metal of her hood and whispers an apology and a promise. The door shrieks as he pulls it closed. He puts both bloody-knuckled and broken hands on the wheel, takes a deep breath, and screams.

No pressure tagging @huggiebird @happybean17 @falling-into-peril @heytheredeann @pippinoftheshire

@bighandsforabigheart @yallwildinrn @nicijones @cha-melodius

@the-golden-comet @thattripleabattery @too-young-to-fall-in-love @times-up-alone-tonight

And anyone who wants to join!!!

[redfurrycat]

The Man from U.N.C.L.E and Top Gun Fusion - Hangster & Icemav

IceCold Agency and Inverted Agency are two adversary secret agencies, led by Iceman and Maverick respectively, forced to put aside longstanding hostilities and team up on a joint mission: stopping a mysterious international criminal organization that is bent on destabilizing the fragile balance of power through the proliferation of nuclear weapons and technology.

The only lead to infiltrate the criminal organization is a vanished scientist’s daughter, Natasha Trace. To retrieve the asset, Iceman and Maverick each send their best agent: the combat expert Rooster and the smooth-talker thief Hangman.

Thus is created the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, a secret international intelligence agency. Code name: U.N.C.L.E.

[part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [part 5]

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

90 Day Fiancé Deep Lore™

hm i was thinking and now i think i wanna share this with the masses

also to garner the reactions this will get to see if the 90 Day expanded 'verse should exist or not.

(Napoleon Solo deep lore {made up by me} below the cut)

Napoleon's backstory for this fic is mostly the same as the movie except he never becomes a spy. After finishing high school, and around the time his father divorces his mom, he ends up in Europe (pls don't ask me how i haven't gotten that far yet). He steals a lot of art and sells it bc that's just his thing (idk how well that would have worked in the mid-2000s but for the sake of plot we'll pretend).

He did that for a few years, but when he was finally caught, he was given two choices: he could go to jail or go to school. The people who caught him were, in fact, the CIA, but with them was Sanders, a freshman recruiter for NYU. He'd seen everything that Napoleon had stolen and knew he needed to give him an official art history education.

Napoleon was, obviously, completely thrown by this proposition. He was fully expecting to get arrested, as he'd finally been caught after at least two years. So thrown was he, in fact, that he decided to accept Sanders' offer.

[thattripleabattery]

Trying to make an captain America winter soldier au for the man from U.N.C.L.E. where Napoleon is Steve, Illya is Bucky, and gaby is Natasha, but it’s not coming out right, I don’t know why I can’t get it

In the au, cowboy and peril are codenames that became nicknames for each other, illya loathes the captain America suit that napoleon used to where (I think in the au, in modern day napoleon doesn’t want to wear it anymore

[pippinoftheshire]

I still cannot believe how rich this AU has gotten. Truly, when I wrote that first little ficlet, I never dreamed that it would become this wonderful world.

Thank you again to @justabigoldnerd for leaping into my sandbox with your spade and helping me craft such glorious sandcastles💖

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

Bright Lights

Everything's Got a Price

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

A Passion Crime With a Danger Sign

Those Who Cling to Death, Live

Religion Leaves a Bitter Taste (Prequel)

(Picrews edited to perfection by @justabigoldnerd)

[benevolenterrancy]

@rose-of-pollux's napoleon-solo-esque western oc... I'll be honest my main touchstone for napoleon solo is the 2015 movie, I haven't seen much of the original show, so hopefully the vibe is still right