#not gonna spent a cent on someone that wants my friends dead and gone

[wikagirl]

I'm done redecorating my bookshelf! It has some strategically placed gaps for where I'm still missing books. For example I still need the last Magnus chase book in german and the first one in english and of the seawalker book series I'm missing like 5 whole books and assassination classroom I'm missing 10 but those will be stacked upwards so no extra gap was given there.

I'll probably have to rearrange some stuff and move some decor to the currently undecorated top shelf when I actually get around to buying those books but that's a problem for future wiika.

[beeblebrox-be-damned]

Silohuette (Part 2: Implantation)

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

TW: Kidnapping

Mornings were a drag, especially when it was cloudy. You didn’t mind when you weren’t working, but when you were it made your job hell. People were always sour and soaked. Not only did that mean any conversation was clipped and angry, but they tipped much less. Sometimes, not at all.

The woman in the back now was older, almost matronly, but wore a grim scowl. Her hat dripped, a felt number that had soaked up the rain all too readily.

“Where to, ma’am?” you asked politely, switching the wipers up to a higher gear as the rain pounded harder on the windshield.

“Park Avenue,” she grunted, wringing out her hat… right into the floorboard of your taxi. You sighed quietly.

“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please refrain from doing that in here?” You kept your voice as light as possible, carefully pulling back into traffic. She glanced up at you and frowned.

“Well I never!” she huffed, placing the sodden lump of felt on the seat beside her. She said nothing more. You hoped that you didn’t just retract from your tip. Of course, having a water puddle of a floormat wouldn’t help that matter for the other patrons later on.

The city’s traffic was at a crawl due to the weather. There weren’t as many cars as there would’ve been three years ago, but it was still overly crowded. The drive from your current location to where you were headed would be a long one. One a clear day, it’d take twenty minutes, but with the current deluge it would be more like thirty-five.

You grimaced as you drove. The pay for this trip would be higher, but you’d be better off with several shorter trips. The compounded tips would bring in a better profit margin. You gave an inward groan as honks assaulted your ears. Typical New York.

Thirty-three point five minutes later, Park Avenue came into view. You raised your eyebrow as Stark Tower rose on the skyline. Maybe, you thought, you’d be able to pick up more generous business there. “What building, ma’am?”

The elderly woman huffed once more. “Just on the side of the street. I want to get out of this damned taxi.”

You held back a growl of frustration, opting to tell her the fee instead of responding. She roughly shoved a couple bills at you.

“Keep the change,” she snapped, opening the door and storming out of the vehicle with a mutter about “the rudeness of young folk today”. You rolled your eyes. Ah yes, an entire twenty-three cent tip, and you were the rude one.

Sighing, you continued forward, scanning slowly. Someone waved you down, and you pulled off to the side. You looked up through the windshield, impressed even in the bad weather by Stark Tower. It was huge, the pinnacle of modern innovation.

The passenger door open and a man with a hoodie ducked inside quickly. “Good Lord, it’s really pouring out there,” he grunted. He pulled back the hood and your recognized him instantly. It seemed he recognized you too. “Hey,” hey exclaimed, “it’s you!”

“Yup, it’s me. Where to?” You kept your words short, not exactly keen on having a conversation, no matter how attractive and charismatic the stranger was. You’d spoken to him several more times after the night he’d asked for change, but in never went beyond small-talk.

“Downtown. Actually, just out of town.” He sat back in the seat comfortably, seeming unbothered by the wet spot the lady’s hat had left. “Is that alright?”

You nodded. “It’ll cost a bit extra, though.” He shrugged.

“No problem there.” Most people were bothered by it despite the logic behind the fee. You were glad he didn’t try to argue. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about those few extra dollars.

“So,” you asked as you pulled out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Stark Tower, huh?” You slammed your hand on the car horn as some hot-shot driver cut in front of you, slinging water everywhere.

The man looked concerned for a moment as you grumbled in frustration, but then relaxed as you moved on. “Yes. I don’t go in most days, actually, but I had some business to take care of. Turn right up here.”

You realized you’d never asked the address. “So where exactly are we headed?” You hung the right and continued down the block.

“A friend’s house. I don’t actually know the name but I know how to get there.”

You raised your eyebrow. Strange, but as long as he paid the fare. You continued on as the rain beat down, following his directions. Soon you’d gone fairly far out of town, to a sparse neighborhood of wealthy looking homes, much nicer than anything you’d even ever been in.

“Just up here. That little alley, please. He only uses the back door.” You turned off the street and down a relatively clean alleyway.

“That’ll be $15 please. Ten for the drive and five for the out-of-town fee.” You parked the cab, turning around to look at your patron.

He smiled as he dug into his pocket. “So, you gonna be at the pub tonight?” He asked.

You nodded, looking up to clean a smudge of mud off the dash. “More than likely. I spend most of my free-time there.”

In an instant, his hand was wrapped around your mouth. The window to separate the front and back seats shattered as he swung his left fist at it. Glass flew everywhere. You never had a chance to scream as he pressed a rag over your mouth and nose. You struggled to breath, but as soon as you inhaled you began to feel woozy.

“Not tonight, sweetheart, sorry. Not anymore,” he murmured apologetically in your ear as you slipped into unconsciousness.

Bucky hadn’t intended to act so quickly. That night he first talked to you, he laid awake, a plan forming in his head. The next day he spent finding out more about you, like your name and your family history. He had been saddened to find out all your relatives were dead or dusted, but it also made his plan a lot easier to pull off. There’d be almost nobody looking for you.

He’d been appalled to find out you drove a cab for a living. There was a lot of danger in that, despite the precautions drivers took. It seemed that your life was rife with dangers, from work to home and everywhere in between. The thought of anything happening to you made his heart seize. It made it all the more easier to realize that this was the right thing to do.

He trailed you for several days, each night trying to strike up a conversation with you in the bar so he wouldn’t be so unfamiliar. You were friendly, but kept it short and simple. He understood not wanting to talk much, though. When he’d first joined Steve and the Avengers, he hardly talked for months. Now, however, he could honestly call each one of them a friend.

With the technology available at the Tower, it was easy to effectively erase you from records. he was quite a bit better with computers than everyone thought, even better than Steve despite Steve’s extra years of experience. Soon, you were practically wiped out of the system. Only some basic information was left, as he’d need it someday later on.

Today he’d needed to talk to Steve, which was part of the reason he was at the Tower. After paying a woman near your usual route to take the cab to Park Avenue, he’d rushed back to the Tower to make some last minute arrangements. He’d told Steve that the night before he had been walking and ran across a mugging. Bucky lied and claimed he’d killed the mugger, but didn’t want to get in trouble for killing outside of a mission when the police inevitably found out what had happened. After all, with Bucky being formerly of HYDRA, there was a lot of suspicion still cast on him.

He’d asked Steve to help him get the mugger’s apartment cleared out so that perhaps people would just think they’d just moved. Steve had readily agreed, eager to help his friend. A group of hired men would gut the apartment later that day and bring all the items to Bucky’s so he could dispose of them.

Bucky felt bad for lying to Steve, but it had been necessary. Eventually he’d tell him what he’d really done, but only after you were happy and willingly with him. Then, Steve would be able to understand how much better off you were, even if they way you’d gotten there was a bit unethical.

Your belongings, as planned, would be sent to Bucky’s house. He’d sort through them to find things you’d likely want to keep, such as personal mementos, but the rest he’d toss. He’d store what he kept until later when he’d determined you ready to have them back.

After that was done, he went out and stood in the rain. He’d known roughly what time you should get there, but he wanted to be out there early, just in case. His heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw you pull up and drop off the old woman. It wasn’t the one he’d paid, and yet she had been going exactly where he needed you to be. He grinned. It was as though the universe itself knew that this was for the best.

He’d feigned surprise when he got into the cab and saw you. The house he directed you to wasn’t his friend’s house as he’d claimed. He didn’t want to admit it was his or even say the address aloud in case there were cameras set up in the cab as a precaution. It was unlikely anyone would find the cab after he disposed of it into the river, but you could never be too careful.

He thought he’d choke up at the last second when you pulled into the alley behind his home, but to his surprise, taking you was the easiest thing he’d ever done. There was no guilt, no fear. He knew this was where you needed to be.

As soon as you were unconscious, he allowed the rag to drop from your face. He smiled and ran his thumb over your cheek. You were so beautiful. He got out of the cab and rounded the car quickly, opening the driver’s door and picking you up carefully. You weighed no more than a feather in his arms, your head lolling to lean against his shoulder. He opened the door and entered the house with you quickly. This time of day, none of the neighbors should have been home, but he couldn’t be too careful.

He wanted to spend time with you, to be there when you woke up in your new bedroom, but he had to get rid of the vehicle. He laid you down gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Bits of glass were strewn over your clothes, but he’d take care of that later. He slipped off your shoes and took them with him.

You wouldn’t be needing them anymore.

[justrednow]

A little Winter Fever

warnings: Severe illness, financial insecurity, hospitals, death, minimal editing, swearing, extreme cold,                                                                                      my crappy OCs

word count: 2393

Characters: Smalls. (OC’s->) literally everyone else except Roger I guess

Description: The Bronx newsies are hit hard by winter. Not only can they barely make enough to eat, they find temperatures are rising but not outside.    (Sorry for anyone who needs to scroll, I don’t know how to make read more)       _____________________________________________________________

Smalls stared at her bag still filled with 20 papers. She looked up to the street, snow danced in the lights from the lamps. It felt like her cheeks were being cut from the blizzard winds. She dropped the 21st paper back into the bag and shoved her ungloved hands into her pockets. The wind grabbed her skin through the thin shirt she had on. It was too early in the day to call it quits on selling, but her feet were numb. Her boots were wrecked, they were new too. she could feel the water seeping into them. She moved into the stoop of a store, to get out of the wind.

She jumped as a man pushed on the door behind her. Smalls quickly moved out of the way as he walked past her. “Care to buy a paper, sir?” She asked desperately.  To her delight, the man turned to look at her, almost studied her bright red cheeks. To her dismay, he huffed and scurried out into the winter winds. “Maybe next time,” she whispered to herself.

The day dragged on like that. Hiding and begging for people to buy from her. She didn’t break even on the day like she had hoped. Not even close. She pressed 3 coins in her pocket and trudged back home. She was shivering, her lips were blue and chapped.

Finally arriving at The Bronx lodge, she shook the snow from her hair, tossing the sack of papers to the side.  The slightly warmer air welcomed her with the hushed chatter coming from the other room. Smalls glanced at the attendant, lowered her head and kept walking. She owed money for her stay, 14 cents that she didn’t have. She spent it on food for the younger ones. Probably the only reason they hadn’t kicked her onto the streets yet. She traveled into the rec room as it was called. Young newsies ran, oblivious to the winter cold.

Spaniel looked up from her reading, a newspaper that hadn’t been sold. “Someone’s home late.” Her low voice chirped, alerting BlueJay.

Smalls shrugged it off, “it was a rough day.” Spaniel returned her dark eyes to the page. “As you already know, I’m sure.”

“Sure,” the girl murmured. “Didn’t see you at circulation this morning, how much did you take?”

“Only 25,” Smalls plopped herself down next to BlueJay who was sewing away at a loose button. “You?” She nudged him, having expected him to make more of a fuss about her.

“15, I’m not foolish,” he didn’t even look up from his work. “Spaniel didn’t leave today.”

“I did too!” Smalls heard the sound of a paper crinkling as she focused on the frost on the window glass. “But,” the girl stood up as a little newsie tripped over her outstretched leg, “I knew I wouldn’t sell nothing.” the little one, Frog, started coughing. “Carajo! Cover, child!” She stepped away, pulling her shawl closer to her. Frog shrugged and continued playing with the others. “What kept you really? Damn Brooklyn kid’s not dumb enough to walk up here, is he?”

“Someone’s nosy,” Jay chuckled, “it's not like she’s the last one back.”

“She might well be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Smalls sat up a bit more than she had been. “Everyone else is still out there, they’re coming back.”

“No one told you what the paper was?” Spaniel frowned. Smalls hadn’t thought to ask,  the week had been so quiet and slow. “Scarlet Fever, all over Manhattan. They go down there, they’re good as gone.”

“No one is dumb enough to go to Manhattan in this weather,” Smalls assured her friend. “If they are...”

Jay nervously pulled at his sleeves. He had made it to Queens, to see his grandmother. Crazy old lady. “Only Manhattan?” He asked. He prayed it wouldn’t reach here. They’d all be dead.

“Right now, yeah. Hospitals are packed, you can’t see a doctor.”

“Speaking of,” Smalls interrupted, “Doc isn’t back. He’s typically here before you.” She shifted uneasily. She never liked talking about illness, it reminded her of...

Spaniel shook her head, curly black hair bouncing unaffected by the winter. “He’s upstairs, resting.”

“Tom?” Smalls frowned.

“He was here, now he’s not.”

Smalls opened her mouth to list off another name but Jay cut her off. “They’re fine, don’t let hyperbole get you upset.” He had already convinced himself not to be worried about this. “Besides someone having a little fever isn’t going to prevent them from coming back to the lodge.” he rested a hand on her shoulder for comfort. “Hypothermia will.”

“Why.” Smalls turned slowly, “why would you say that?”

“He’s an ass,” Roger walked into the room, stomping snow off of his boots and throwing himself down into a chair. “He’s right though, heard they found a kid from Harlem stuck in the snow. Said his skin was ice.” Roger took a breath as he brushed the water drops from his hair. “Wasn’t dead though. Don’t know how long before he did kick it.”

“Again,” Spaniel sighed and closed the door of the room, “ain’t no one dumb enough to stand out in that cold for that long.”

There was a moment of silence around the group. They were dumb enough, if not dumb they were desperate enough. Each thought about how many times they had refused to go back no matter how damn cold they were. The inside of their mouth could have been covered in ice from yelling and nothing would have changed.

More importantly, Roger’s mind wandered to Knot. The kid was 14 and refused to follow him back to the lodge. Roger had given up and left him alone in the cold. That was the wrong call. It took a week to find him, froze to death in an alley next to an apartment building. Roger took the blame, every time it came up. Not that it came up often. But it was hard for him not to when he thought about everything he could have done differently. It was hard not to think about it when the little ones set out on their own and Roger imagined finding their little bodies curled up around a coat they stole.

“Roger,” Smalls repeated for the third time. This time he came too. “Jay’s going to run and get food, want anything?”

Roger wiped under his eyes. They burned but no tears had fallen. “Yeah, whatever they have. I’ll pay you back,” he promised.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay was already heading out before Roger could protest the idea. Roger glanced at the clock, he became aware of its ticking.  “it’s already 6?”

Spaniel looked up at the clock and shrugged. “Guess so.” She began to pick up clutter around the room, shooing the little newsies off to wash up. She tossed the paper into the fireplace, taking a moment to watch it smoke and crumple. After the few books in the whole building had been put back into their basket Spaniel found her way back to her chair.

“I’m gonna go find Tom,” Roger excused himself as the conversation was over.

Smalls chuffed in amusement, “looking for a fight?”

“You know it,” he sighed before ducking out of the room. Smalls watched him go before she began to pull off her boots. Her socks were still wet. She made a noise. She pulled them off and laid them over the fire.  Her bare feet were still cold but the carpet felt good, almost soft.

“What are we going to do with him,” Spaniel sighed with a smile as she traced her nail across the frosted window.

“Tom?” Smalls raised an eyebrow as she glanced out into the entrance of the building, “or Roger?”

“Both will get themselves killed,” Spaniel chuckled.

_____________________________

Within the next 2 weeks, seven were sick. Five were little ones: Frog, Jani, Louis, Hop, and Slingshot. The other two were Spaniel and Roger. They were all kept in the sick room. The healthy children started calling it the death room, Smalls almost hit them. Yet they weren’t wrong. They had nothing to reduce fevers, all used up. The only medicine for the illness was in hospitals. No adult was rushing to pay that bill. No newsie had the money.

Instead, they went about their lives. It was never of their minds, though. Who was next to become ill, who would die first? What could be done?

Smalls got back earlier and earlier, she couldn’t stand to be away.  She sat in a little wooden chair by the door, listening to the coughing and children crying. She wanted it to be her, just to save one of them.

Jay returned for her when he could. But his own problems arose in Queens. He brought her a chunk of bread from his Grandmothers. “What did she say?” Smalls disregarded the offering.

“She doesn’t like Orphans, Smalls,” Jay let out a long sigh. “Especially street kids.”

Smalls stood up, she was ready to snap. “You’re a street orphan! But we all know that if it was you in that room you’d have a doctor living in the same room as you!” she shouted. “It isn’t fair! She can help them, you know she can!”

“I know...” Jay didn’t need a reminder of anything. “What do you expect me to do that I haven’t already done.” His grandmother was as stubborn as she was rich.  “We’d have better luck begging at the doors of a hospital.” Smalls turned to him. “Which we are not going to do because it’s probably a crime in some way.”

“What other option do we have, watch them die?” Smalls spoke again. He turned away. “They are dying, Jay! You can’t ignore that, it’s not going to go away.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be saying to you right now,” Jay shook his head and pushed the door with his foot, looking into the dark room. Spaniel caught his eye right away. Her usually rosy brown skin was now all rose. She was sweating and shivering. but she managed a smile and a wave to them before throwing herself into a fit of coughing. “Alright, let’s go.”

Smalls pulled the door shut and they headed out. She felt the tear in her boot become soaked with water, but it didn’t matter. She followed close behind Jay as the wind whistled in her ears. Around halfway there she began to think about what would happen if this didn’t work. What were they asking of these doctors? These doctors with other patients who are paying and more important that grungy street orphans. Smalls hugged herself tight as she thought about the five in the room, she coughed instead of crying. Jay spun around.

“I’m fine, we’re almost there, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and slowed down so that they would be walking side by side.

Before long they were there, walking in and moving around the rush. Smalls stared, she didn’t realize how many people there could be. She averted her eyes when she saw a mother holding a newborn with an awful rash. She then turned to an older man and his wife, both nervous looking. Jay pulled her by the arm to the front administration desk.

“We need to talk to a doctor!” Jay demanded.

The lady at the front desk nodded, “yes, I could have assumed that. Are you visiting a patient or admitting?”

Smalls looked to Jay desperately. The answer was neither. They didn’t have a plan, they didn’t bother to make one. “Visiting our younger sister, we are very worried about her.” The lady looked between the two of them, they didn’t look alike. “Last name?”

Jay paled a bit but continued to speak. “Smith.”

She pulled out a book and shuffled some papers. “First name?”

“Mine?” Jay stammered, “or hers?”

“The name of the patient, and if needed the disease they have.” Smalls flinched as she listened, around her people were chattering and coughing and sneezing. It was loud and she was scared.

“Elizabeth, scarlet fever,” Jay answered. 1 out of 100 lies is true. Smalls nodded along. “May we see her doctor please?”

“‘Fraid that’s the only person you can talk to...” The lady tapped on the desk. “She died this morning.” Smalls chocked and Jay bit down on his lip. he imagined the newsies, dead. “Wait down the hall, the doctor will be with you.”

Smalls, in her turn, grabbed Jay by his coat sleeve and lead him down the hall. “Dead.” She echoed.

__________________________

“Alright, I‘m confused...” Dr. Ellsen stared at the two. “You lied to come and talk to a doctor about curing a disease?”

“We just need the medicine, we can take it from there,” Smalls explained. The doctor rubbed his face laughing in dark ironic humor. Smalls looked at Jay who had leaned forward to see what the laughter was about.

The doctor stood up and looked at the pair. “You don’t get it, do you?” He sighed, “there is no cure for Scarlet Fever. If there was do you think half of our wards would be full of crying toddlers right now?” The two said nothing. “You’re brave to come here, but there is nothing to be done.” Jay opened his mouth to say something. “Free advice, you best take it. Keep that door shut and locked. They’ll be dead soon enough. Especially considering how weak you two look, can’t imagine it’ll take long.”

“Your pessimism is much appreciated,” Jay retaliated.

“Try being an optimist after telling a new mother her baby died,” he ushered them to the door. “I’m sorry. No need to waste the money you have here.”

____________________________

By the time they got back to the lodge, they found out that two more had been brought into the sick room. Spaniel somehow looked worse. Smalls entered the room, despite her better judgment. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed that Hop was laying in. The child had curled around the thin knit blanket he had been given. Smalls brushed a hand over his sweating forehead. She realized how still he was and gave his cold body a nudge.

Panic swelled inside her as she jumped to her feet, shaking him harder. She looked for any sign of life. “Hop!” she shouted at him, alerting the others in the room. “Hop?” Her voice grew more and more desperate for the six-year-old to wake up. But he stayed in his endless sleep. Within the week half of those in the room would join him. 

There is no cure.

[adamarinayu]

Now that we're on this hiatus, do you mind telling us what you thought of each episode?

Okay, I know I’m super late to answer this but here I am! I’m not gonna go too in depth on them, but I do want to talk about them.

Treasure of the Found Lamp!

This one was amusing, and I absolutely love what they did with Djinn. I’m so so so glad they changed his name, too, as “Dijon” always bothered me, even as a kid. Also, the story of the lamp was very heartwarming! And seeing Selene again was fun, especially as she had to run around and we find out she’s a terrible liar lol (so she definitely had nothing to do with Della’s disappearance, I think we can all finally put that theory to rest).

The wild goose chase aspect was funny, coming from both sides, and I still think the actress on Ma Beagle’s TV looked vaguely like a character from PKNA so. But Djinn did not pull punches and them Beagles at least got hurt XD

Also. It kinda has a “the greatest treasure is family” vibe to it.

The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck!

As someone who loves Scrooge and loves Goldie, but is indifferent to Scroldie… I still loved this episode. It was great! It was also absolutely hilarious. And Gyro’s time traveling was amazing. Especially Scrooge’s sudden moment of realization when Gyro returned lol.

Louie’s gonna befriend Goldie! That makes me excited. I bet they’re gonna teach each other things that we haven’t even thought of (ie Louie values his family, while Goldie doesn’t even have a family. Maybe Goldie will officially join the Duck-McDuck family not through her strange but obviously antagonistically-romantic relationship with Scrooge, but through her friendship with and tutelage of Louie? Maybe he’s the one who shows her the importance of family and offers her a place in their family… it doesn’t mean giving up adventure, it just means always having somewhere she can call home, and people she can trust and rely on!).

I’m iffy about Jeeves’ redesign, and also his somewhat betrayal of Rockerduck, but I’ve never been like a hardcore fan of the two of them so it was easy for me to move on. I am curious, though, just how they’re gonna come back… guess Gyro’s not quite done with time travel shenanigans.

The only real gripe I have is Sheriff Marshal Cabrera. DON’T GET ME WRONG, I absolutely loved him. He’s a beautiful babby boy. But at the same time, he’s literally just. Fenton. I know he’s like. Fenton’s great grandfather (or maybe uncle, idk) or something. There should absolutely be similarities yes, but it felt like someone had taken the characters and placed them in an old west setting. That being said, I do love him, I just wish he’d been slightly more his own character. Like, maybe a little more like a mix of M’Ma and Fenton! Idk.

The 87 Cent Solution!

…….. You really want to know?

Okay, the episode was good. It was funny, and I enjoyed seeing Glomgold’s timestop shenanigans.

But the funeral scene? That wasn’t cool. I saw the “not really dead” twist coming, I think we all did, but no one thought to tell Donald? Donald thought that, so soon after finally making amends with his uncle, he had lost him for good.

And I get it. It’s meant to be a gag. It’s supposed to be funny. But it kinda really soured the rest of the episode for me. I hate to say that too, because it was a good and funny episode… I just… I can’t believe they did that to Donald. :(

The Golden Spear!

AGONY. Agony is how I feel about this one. Della made friends with the Lunarians! Actual friends! And then Penny made a bad choice, and Lunaris… damn you, Lunaris, you traitor.

All the things Della listed off, wanting to do with her kids and brother and uncle… they’re things the others have already done without her. That hit me in the feels.

AND THEN DONALD- AGH, I CAN’T EVEN. Poor Donald. He’s so stressed and his family loves him so much and just wanted him to have some peace. But alas, it was not to be. And now the fandom cries.

… Even if he really shouldn’t have climbed into that rocket but y’know. He didn’t MEAN to press buttons….

Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!

Della reunites with her boys and no one realizes Donald is gone. And we see Della trying to be a mom, and kinda failing miserably. But she’s trying, and she’s learning!

ALSO THEIR WOULD-BE NAMES HFBVSHKFCS

It really put to rest one of my biggest fears, that all of the triplets would accept her immediately (Louie showed serious hesitation through the entire episode, definitely coming from his place of insecurity that Dewey and Huey don’t share) and she’d be super-mom. She makes mistakes, and it’s acknowledged that she seems to be trying to be one of them rather than be their mother. It does feel awkward at times, and alien, like the boys are trying so hard to think she’s doing great when she’s really causing harm, but in the end when it comes down to it she’d do anything to protect them, and gives them the choice of letting her into their life. She doesn’t try and force her way in (as she kinda did at first, but came to realize this isn’t easy for them either).

Right now she feels kinda more like a cool aunt than a mom, but she’ll learn.

Raiders of the Doomsday Vault!

IS LUDWIG’S CONSCIOUS TRAPPED IN THE VAULT?! HE REACTED TO AND INTERACTED WITH THE PEOPLE OUTSIDE.

Anyway Scrooge and Glomgold’s parts were absolutely A+ hilarious. Della and Dewey bonding, they’re so much alike, but we see Dewey’s insecurity flare up- how he wants to impress Della, feeling like he has to earn her love. Even though she’s already loved them for ten years, even without ever knowing what they looked like.

Della has a moment of realization here, too. She looks down and realizes Dewey is in a dangerous situation. She realizes that Dewey is in danger. She questions if they’re doing something crazy, clearly thinking maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, but when Dewey quotes her “I’m your son, I can do anything!” she instead chooses to encourage him, not wanting to discourage him and possibly cause him to fall.

And then of course, her “exit strategy” thing. I honestly kinda feel like it’s a bit of an ass pull, but it at least makes a little sense. When you’re being hunted by a monster on the moon, you always want to have an escape route planned. Scrooge sees that, even if she’s the same ol’ Della she was before, she’s still changed. Ten years still changes you.

Friendship Hates Magic!

New Girl! New Girl! Violet’s pretty cool. At first she comes off as one of those “um, actually” people, but since I’m one of those “um, actually” people it’s pretty whatever to me lol. And Lena’s back! I’m super excited about that.

Lena gets a little jealous-possessive but who can blame her, Webby’s one of the few people who have always believed in her. And Webby spent so much time we never knew about trying to find ways to bring Lena back, to the point that it’s like clockwork.

The whole “being tormented by her own mind” thing was actually frightening in a way, and I’m just glad it all turned out alright. And now Webby isn’t just a fourth triplet, she’s the central member of her own trio. It’s great!

The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!

Admittedly another plotline to be seen from far away. A good episode full of secondhand embarrassment, but dang Huey’s LUNGS.

I love Gandra’s design and personality. It’s pretty durn great. I love it! I just have one gripe. Warning, this is a bit of a rant.

Why can’t we let characters be feminine? By this I mean traditionally feminine. Dresses, makeup, shopping, high heels, giggling, soft and compassion and gentle and things I’m not, pinks and lilacs, etc. Yes, Webby’s favourite colour is pink and she likes glitter and wears skirts, she is pretty feminine. But she’s the only one, besides Roxanne Featherby (Featherly? I don’t remember, and that’s only arguably because of her clothes), to be even slightly feminine, and even then it can be argued she’s not all that traditionally feminine because, well… she’s the bruiser of the group. Which there’s absolutely nothing wrong with! A feminine bruiser absolutely works, and I love it, but looking at it from certain angles…

Most of the (non-villain) females, besides Webby, show next to no traditionally feminine qualities- Goldie is the closest, when she dresses up for special events or for schemes. Which I don’t mind, per se, I don’t have many traditionally feminine qualities either, but you’d think at least a few would. The original Gandra Dee, who I am glad they changed mind you, was very feminine; she wore her hair long, wore dresses, enjoyed makeup and manicures, etc. She was traditionally feminine, AND smart. (even if I never liked how they drew her face (the eyes and beak look weird imho, DT17 pulled it off better), and I felt like she left much to be desired *cough*…)

There is nothing wrong with having traditionally feminine characters. There is nothing wrong with having characters who enjoy dressing up, or putting on makeup, or shopping, etc. The problem with traditionally feminine characters comes in when it’s done for sex appeal, or you have a woman running from dinosaurs in 6 inch heels (yeah I’m calling that out) or there’s a feminine character there only to be dragged on by the others for their feminine characteristics.

Anyway, rant about that over. I still love what they did with Gandra, but I’m just noticing this trend where female characters aren’t being allowed to like traditionally feminine things. Yeah, there are absolutely a lot of girls who don’t, but there’s probably an equal amount who do! And there’s nothing wrong with showing a competent, traditionally feminine character. :/

The Duck Knight Returns!

DARKWING DUCK DARKWING DUCK DARKWING DUCK NEGADUCK AAAAAAAA

Need I say more?

Okay, Launchpad is a sweetheart and let’s be honest, we knew the moment we saw him that the other guy at the signing was Drake Mallard.

I love that they kept the “Darkwing Duck inspires Drake Mallard to become Darkwing Duck” aspect of DW’s origin story, while twisting it around so that time travel and paradoxes don’t occur. Also! We still get Jim Cummings as Negaduck, while also getting a new VA for Drake Mallard/Darkwing Duck- someone who does a pretty good job at sounding like them, too. So now Negaduck, who is no longer Darkwing/Drake Mallard from an alternate universe, has his own distinguishable voice!

… And I still think Negs is gonna have an unhealthy obsession with Launchpad, thanks to the “my fan” comment. I figure that’s how we’ll get Nega Launchpad, but who knows! There’s so many possibilities!

Anyway Gosalyn, yesterday please. Gimme.

[statusquoergo]

would really like to hear your thoughts on pja/mike coming back cause honestly, i’m not sure how i feel about it. it will be nice to have him back that’s for sure but with the turns this show’s took i’m slightly worried what they are gonna do with it. somehow i just can’t bring myself to be excited anymore.

Hm…Well, let me start off by saying I think it’ll be nice to see Mike again. I’mnot saying the episode will do him right, but I think the moment that heappears, assuming they don’t completely fuck it up, will have that sweetnostalgia factor that comes with favorite characters who’ve gone their own wayreturning for a guest spot. Remember when Jessica came back for Mike’scharacter and fitness hearing? She hadn’t even been gone long, but it was so coolto see her show up! “Hey, I know that person!”

Ofcourse, Mike will most certainly play a bigger role in this coming episode thanJessica did in “Character and Fitness” (s06e16)…although I don’t think it’smuch of a reach to say that whatever this case is that requires Mike, a lawyerwho is based in Seattle, to trek all the way to New York, which is on literallythe opposite side of the country and has plenty of locally practicingattorneys, will be at best a flimsy pretense. But based on the fact that Season8 went out of its way to demonstrate how far apart Harvey and Mike have grownand how much Harvey has adopted Mike’s values and habits as a means of dealingwith his absence (e.g., Harvey taking on Mike’s former client Max as he triedto prove his best friend and business partner hadn’t betrayed him [s08e02],helping Anna the cleaning woman whose mother needed an operation she couldn’tafford [s08e03], calling Mike’s voicemail after the Pavonotti case[s08e13]), two possible outcomes occur to me:

One,those adaptations will be dialed back or ignored outright and Harvey will fightlike hell to win the case no matter what, regardless of the fact that Mike isback, because he hasn’t spent the past year or whatever trying and failing tofill the hole Mike’s absence has created in his heart, what the hell are youtalking about, get out of here with your “evidence-based reasoning.” Two factorswhich might come into play here are Harvey treating Mike as his equal as a signof respect (the student has become the master), and the erasure of Harvey’sMike-related grief by way of his new relationship with Donna.

Two,those adaptations will be magnified, and Harvey and Mike, having become muchmore similar in terms of their values systems than they were at the start ofthe show, will ultimately work toward the same end of finding justice for themore morally upstanding party, regardless of which of them is defending him (orher, or them, or it; I have no idea what kind of case this is going to be).Based on Korsh’scomment that “They are on opposite sides but it doesn’t gettoo testy for the first chunk of it, and then as it ratchets up, things get alittle bit more heated,” this seems unlikely, but I suppose one never does knowwith this show.

One small caveat to the above: in light of the events of the Season 8 finale,Harvey might start the case off as his old hard-hearted self, defending hisclient regardless of moral and ethical shortcomings, only for Donna to pop inat the last moment to remind him to “do the right thing.” Maybe with a fivecents extra side helping of Guilt, if Mike’s abrupt return has somehow put himon the defensive. I hope this doesn’t happen, I really do, but it did cross mymind, so I feel like I have to put it out there.

Now, as I mentioned, I have no idea what the nature of this case willbe, nor what this episode will be about in full, but if you’ll permit me onemore moment of idealism, Korshalso said of the story: “There is more than meets the eye going on.”While I don’t trust Korsh as far as I can throw him, this does make me wonderif Mike and/or Harvey is lying about or otherwise hiding something, becausethat has the potential to be a very interesting narrative.

I would argue, based on his depiction in the first half of Season 8,that Harvey was essentially in mourning after Mike’s departure, and I’m beinggenerous when I call their farewells at the end of Season 7 unsatisfying, so ifHarvey and Mike suddenly meet up again, especially if it’s a surprise(it won’t be, Korsh said that Mike knows Harvey is involved when he signs on,but imagine the possibilities), an erosion of trust between them could play outin quite a captivating way. The foundation is already there; Mike didn’t tellHarvey about moving his and Rachel’s wedding date until the last possiblemoment, nor did he tell him that they were moving to Seattle, and as far as weknow, he didn’t return Harvey’s phone call about the Pavonotti case. He’s goingabout it terribly, but Mike is “outgrowing” Harvey, whereas for Harvey, Mike’sdeparture is death by a thousand cuts, some of them self-inflicted. They’ve gota lot to talk about.

Yeah, let’s be real, if this even sort of happens, it’ll take at leasta three-episode arc to play out properly. Nice to think about, though.

Puttingaside my wild conjecture, from a business perspective, Mike’s return does kindof make sense. I mean narratively it’s almost guaranteed to be a disaster—Korshasserts that they tried “to put some fun scenes and some emotionalscenes with Mike and the old gang,” as if they can all get right back to theirold dynamics and everyone will conveniently forget that Mike left withoutwarning and kind of really fucked them over—but speaking logistically, it hasall the hallmarks of a ratings grab.

For one thing, the show’s ratings are tanking,down from an average of 4.28M viewers in Season 1 to 1.02M in Season 8. For another, Season 8 is spent laying the foundation for the exactopposite of this happening. Harvey is shown to be, as I said, in a form ofmourning; Donna spends the first four episodes reminding Harvey that Mike isgone and not coming back; Mike goes from as many as 10 mentions per episode (episode3) to as few as zero (episode 5, 7, 10, 12). Harvey has moved on (ostensibly), theshow has moved on, and suddenly he’s coming back for…reasons? In its advertising, USAis trying to maximize the momentum of this being Suits’ final season,and publicizing now that Mike is coming back in episode 5 means thatthey can tease it until then to keep people invested until at least theseason’s halfway point.

Actually, there’s one more thing I want to bring up, speaking of Mikein Season 8. The first four episodes focus emphatically on the fact that Mikeis gone and Harvey misses him (e.g., “Is there a chance that you’reoverreacting to Mike having just left?” [s08e01]; “You meant a lot to Mike,which means you mean a lot to me” [s08e02]; “I just thought, ‘What would Mikedo?’” [s08e03]; “Donna, I might be missing Mike, but I’m not Mike” [s08e04]). Episode5 is a Mike dead zone, episode 6 gives us “Everyone leaves: Mike, Rachel,Jessica, my sister-in-law,” and then a funny thing starts to happen: Mike stopsbeing a person people miss, and starts being a point of reference. Aside fromthe phone call at the end of episode 13, most mentions of Mike in the secondhalf of the season are either about Mike’s prison sentence, and how hard it wason Harvey, or Mike’s secret, and how difficult it made life for everyone else.(Point of order, that was at least as much Harvey’s secret as it was Mike’s.)

Thereason this makes me nervous for Mike’s return in s09e05 is that, while we theaudience became invested in Mike as a character during his tenure on the show, he’sonly going to be back for a single episode (as far as we know), and not onlythat but one in which “there is more than meets the eye going on.” If this showhas any tact left at all, the conflict will be a multifaceted one, but it wouldbe jarring, to say the least, to see much of the narrative from Mike’s perspective—he’sa guest star, after all, a mere interloper in someone else’s territory—which meanswe’re probably going to see the majority of the action play out from Harvey’spoint of view. My fear is thus that Mike will be little more than an object, aconvenient shiny thing to throw our way to keep us engaged; we’ll be investedin him because we used to be, because we remember him as he was, even though henow deserves more criticism for his actions (or lack thereof) than support forwhat he might be thinking.

Of course, this is pure speculation on mypart; who knows, maybe Mike will come back and tie up all the loose ends heleft behind and we’ll all have a great time! (Well, we can hope…)

[thatoneidioticrainbow]

Little Assassin (Mob!Tom)

A/N: Hey! This is one of my first official imagines/ short stories and i’m super nervous about it lol. It’s utter shit, just saying, but i hope you like it because i was pretty excited to write it. 

Prompt: (i saw this prompt on my instagram feed) “You are an assassin. A little girl has just come up to you, handed you all her pocket money and asked you to kill her abusive relative.” I’ll be keeping the same idea, but switching it up a bit. 

Warnings: abuse, death, swearing, violence, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of prostitution, 

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Pasts were like a lost puppy; they followed you everywhere. No matter how much you try to run away, or how much you shoo them off, they find you. It’s almost like a sick game, the way they infest you and try to latch back onto you no matter how much you’ve done to separate yourself from it (that being pasts, not the puppy). I would know, because I’ve been running from mine for as long as i could remember.

It seemed like the mob life followed me around no matter what I did. My destiny was preordained in the stars, and there really was no way to change it. I was born to a family of powerful mobsters, and i was taught to never forget it. My father was high up on the food chain, and he tore people apart left and right. He never had a son, and to him it was a very big loss. He complained to my mother on countless nights that he didn’t have someone to take over for him when he retired, or worse, died. Over a cup of wine one night, my mother rolled her eyes and gulped the whole glass down before saying, “We have a perfectly good daughter who can take your place.” Although my father wasn’t happy about it, he decided it was the only option.

He trained me from the age of six how to fight with knives, and when i was seven he taught me how to fire a gun. I remember hating him for forcing me to grow up too fast; for robbing me of a normal childhood. One day i couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally snapped. 

“Why won’t you just leave me alone? I don’t wanna become like you! I don’t wanna hurt people!” not even a few seconds after i had finished, he struck me across the cheek and screamed back.

“You don’t have a choice! Someone has to do it, and there is no one else! And don’t you ever, ever, speak to me like that again.” With tears in my eyes, i turned on my heels and rushed back to my room, my cheek hurting like crazy, but mostly i was hurt because my father laid his hand on me. Right then and there, i wished him dead, and i wished my mother cared enough to find and comfort me.

I guess i got my wish, because later that year, five days after my eighth birthday, i witnessed his gruesome murder by one of his own men. 

My mother fell into a deep depression, not exactly sure what to do now that her husband was gone. She had a daughter to somehow raise, a mob on her hands, and a huge mansion to herself. She drank a lot more than she normally did, and the mob that had been in my family for generations fell through, scattering men like spiders. After a few years of living in silence, my mother decided to become a prostitute, selling her body for a buck so she could buy drugs to help her feel numb. 

I was barely ever home anymore, because i didn’t want to look at the woman i was supposed to call ‘mother’. The last straw was when she wanted to sell me off to men who wanted me for sex. She was willing to sell her ten year old daughter away to be a sex toy for grown men. So i ran away, and flew between the streets, group homes, and homeless shelters before i found a way to make a living for myself the only way i knew how: being in the mob.

I was a private assassin, meaning i worked alone. I hated doing it, because i was walking down the path my father wanted me to walk down. I was only eighteen. I kept to myself; i was quiet and reserved, barely speaking to anyone more than i had to. No one knew about me unless they needed me, and that was how i met Tom. 

When Tom and i were falling in love, i shamed myself every day for involving myself more with the mob; i wanted nothing to do with it. After all, the Holland’s ruled most of London, but i couldn’t keep away from him, and just had to except it for how it was. I stopped being an assassin, finally able to go to college and get that degree i so desperately wanted.

But all that was in the past, and i reminded myself that i needed to stop thinking about it, because none of it mattered anymore. All that mattered was that i was finally happy; i was with the man i so desperately loved, and the job i wanted for years. So i drove all the bad memories out of my head as i walked down the sidewalk, shopping bags in my hands.

I felt the pocket of my jeans vibrate, and a second later my ringtone began to play. 

“Shit.” i muttered to myself. I swapped the two bags from my right hand to my left, before pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. My eyes flickered to the caller ID, and i snickered, seeing that it was my best friend. 

“Hello?” i answered, quickly blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes. 

“Hey, Y/n.” Carrie said hurriedly, and i could hear rummaging noises in the back round. 

“Hey...Did you, like, not leave your house yet?” I said, rolling my eyes. She huffed on the other end, and i could hear her slapping her thighs in frustration.

“I can’t find the damned keys.” she mumbled into the phone, and i laughed out loud. 

“Well, you better hurry up, because it’s getting cloudier out, and i think it’s gonna-”

“Aha! Found them!” She interrupted, and i pulled the phone away slightly, her voice still audible through the receiver. 

“Yeah, on the way now.” she said.

“Right. Call when you get here, or when another set back happens.” i said, a smirk on my lips. 

“Fuck you.”

“Love ya more! Bye!” I hung up, then stuffed the phone back into my front pocket. I continued walking around the strip mall, stopping at an ice cream shop to get a cup of bubble tea. I glanced up at the sky to see dark clouds spreading out further, and i frowned, knowing with my luck it would pour the second Carrie arrived. I sighed deeply, and decided to sit down at one of the tables outside the ice cream shop. I set the bags down at my feet, and pushed my long y/h/c hair away from my face. I clicked open my phone, and began scrolling through different social media apps. I almost didn’t notice the little girl that was approaching me. 

My head snapped up, scarring the girl who appeared to be seven. My years spent being on the streets heightened my senses, and i was always observant even when i didn’t think i was. The girl gulped and walked the few more steps towards me. I could tell she had something in her hands, and my eyes flickered around the sidewalk, watching out for anyone who was noticing us. 

“Are you Y/n Y/l/n?” she asked, her voice shaky but defiant. Her eyes were hazel, and i could tell they held fear, but she seemed so fearless. 

“I am.” i answered, slightly confused as to how she knew my name. She took a deep breath before emptying the contents in her hands all over the table. Seven dollar bills and around twenty coins spilled onto the plastic table. My eyebrows shot up, staring at the girl in shock. 

“I need you to kill someone.” she stated, not flinching or cringing at her own words. My heart hammered against my chest, and i felt a spell of dizziness. I scanned the area again, looking for anyone who seemed too suspicious. Thunder cracked over our heads, and i knew the clouds were only getting darker. 

“I don’t do that anymore.” i whispered quickly to her, grabbing my bags and getting ready to speed walk back to the car. I stood up and took one step, before her small hand reached out and wrapped around my wrist. 

“But it’s important!” she yelped, desperation in her eyes. I closed my eyes to gain my composure, shaking my head.

“Listen, I’m really sorry, but i don’t do that kind of stuff anymore. I’m retired. Tell your mommy or daddy that i can’t help them.” i said, before turning back around. Her hand tightened around mine, pulling me back. 

“But i have money! And it’s not my parents who need you. It’s me.” she said. I glanced back at the small pile of money still sitting on the table. I picked up the bills and counted them. She had sixteen dollars and fifty-one cents. 

“It was all the money i had in my piggy bank.” she whispered, her eyes now filling with tears. My heart softened, but still, i wanted nothing more to do with being an assassin than i already was. I looked at her more carefully, and i could see that her clothes were lightly disheveled, as if she was sleeping in a dirty place. 

“What do you need me to do?” i asked.

“It’s...It’s my step dad. He hits my mommy, and he hits me sometimes. And sometimes he touches me weirdly. And I...I hate him.” She whimpered, tears spilling over her eyelashes. I thought about my own childhood; how my dad was, how he hit me and raised me, and how my mother was never there. I didn’t need to hear anything else, i was already putting my foot through the door. This once, just this once, fuck retirement. 

I put my hand under the table, and pushed all her money off the table and into my hand. 

“Keep your money, hun.” i said, handing the cash back to her. 

“But...”

“No, i got you. Here’s what you need to do: I’m going to give you my number. Call me when you get home and tell me your address.” i said, quickly jotting down my phone number onto the back of a napkin. 

“Thank you.” she said, her eyes filling with tears again, and her voice small with relief. She spun around on her heels, and began running away. 

“Hey!” i called out. She stopped and turned around. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Avery.” she said, before running away. 

On the way to the car, i quickly dialed Carrie’s number. 

“Hello?” she said, right as i flung open the car door. 

“Hey, Carrie, I’m so so sorry, but something came up. I need to go take care of something, i’m really sorry. Maybe we can reschedule for next week, i’m sorry, i love you.” i spoke quickly, not giving her a chance to speak. 

“What-” i hung up before she could finish. 

Nerves ate at me as i drove home. I hadn’t been on the job in over four years. I didn’t know if i could still do what i used to, and how the young girl knew about me. Still though, this sweet little girl needed my help, and i’ll be damned if i didn’t give it to her.

I didn’t have any of my weapons on me, and i was worried i had forgotten where they were placed. When i pulled into the driveway of Tom and I’s shared house, i was out of the car in seconds. Jogging up the front porch stairs, i muttered a quick hello to the security men outside the doors, then burst through the double wooden doors.

“Tom!” i called out, my eyes scanning the living room. 

“He’s out, Mrs. Y/n.” Angela, one of the maids said. I smiled and nodded, then ran up the staircase towards our room. 

The proper attire to wear while out on a job was tricky. I always used to dress appropriately for the occasion. When i first started, i wore a sweatshirt and leggings. When i got money, and made bar calls, i bought nice dresses in order to appear flirtatious and vulnerable. I usually knew more about the people i was supposed to kill or hurt, but this time i knew nothing other than one thing: there was a man hurting women, but most importantly, he was hurting children. 

I flung open the closet doors, flicking on the lights that illuminated the walk in closet. All of Tom’s suits and other clothes took up the left side, my clothes took up the right. I quickly looked over all my clothes, hangers skidding across metal rods. Finally, i ripped a tank top and leather jacket off hangers, and decided to keep on the dark blue jeans. 

‘Call me’, was the text i sent to Tom before slipping on the clothes. Right before i darted back downstairs, my phone rang. Hoping it was Tom -and my nerves calming down at the thought of him- i jumped for the phone on the bed. Unknown caller. My heart sank, but i picked up the phone anyways. 

“Avery?” i asked.

“Y/n? I got the address.” She said, and i fumbled around for a paper and pen. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” i said, setting the phone between my ear and shoulder. I jotted down the address on a scrap piece of paper. 

“You have to hurry though, he’s getting real angry.” she muttered.

“Okay, hun. I’m on my way. What’s his name?” 

“Chris. Chris Jennings.” She hung up abruptly.

Stuffing my phone and the piece of paper into my front pocket, i ran back down the stairs and through the hallways, stopping at Tom’s office. I carefully put my ear against the mahogany doors, straining myself to hear anything. When i couldn’t hear a thing, i gently opened the doors, revealing an empty office. 

Tom kept my knives in a safe in his desk, to use for last minute interrogations. I wasn’t sure which one though, so i opened each of them until i came across the small safe. Typing in the password, the safe opened with a beep, and i took out the knives i hadn’t touched in years. Adrenaline ran through my body, the cool metal familiar against my skin. The knives fit perfectly into my hands, almost as if i never put them away. 

“Hello, old friend.” i muttered, shutting the drawer. When i had knives hidden in my socks, my belt, and strapped to my thigh, i took a deep breath behind the front door. 

“Don’t be a pussy.” i said, before i opened the doors, and made my way to the car. 

Twenty minutes later, i was right outside of west London, where i had spent many nights on the streets as a teenager. I pulled onto the driveway of a questionable trailer in a questionable neighborhood; but i was used to questionable. I opened the car door, and was met with the scent of weed heavy in the air. I walked up the pathway, and looked over my shoulder as i stopped in front of the door. My fingers fumbled around, something i did when i was nervous. I knocked on the door three times, and waited for thirteen seconds before the door was opened.

The big man in front of me wore a dirty tank, and had tattoos covering his skin. He had a beer in his left hand, and he was leaning against the threshold with his right. 

“What?” he asked, taking a deep swig of his beer. I scanned the room behind him, and he seemed to be alone, at least in the living room. Time to get into character.

“I’m sorry,” i giggled, a smile upon my face. “I just really need to use the bathroom. Do you mind if I used yours?” i asked, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. The man licked his lips and took a nice and long gaze over my entire body before stepping aside. 

“Not at all, my dear.” his deep voice grumbled, making my skin crawl. I stepped inside the room, and glanced around, taking in my surroundings. 

“Bathroom’s on the right.” he said, pointing down the hallway. 

“I’m sorry, your Chris Jennings, right?” i asked, my voice still light and airy. 

“Yes I am.” he replied, looking me over again, a deep smile playing on his alcohol soaked lips. 

“That’s good! I’m so glad i came to you, ‘cause, maybe you could...help me out?” i said, running my hand seductively down my shirt. He watched, his eyes mentally undressing me, as i ran my hand down my leg, making sure to touch certain places. My hands stopped right over the strap on my thigh, where the knives were stuck behind my thigh to the piece of material. I grinned at him, right before swiftly reaching behind my thigh to grab one of the knives. 

Before he could react, i flung it at him, and it lodged itself into his shoulder. 

“Ah!” he yelped, blood running down his arm. 

“Fucking bitch!” he screamed, and ran at me, his arms held out as if he were trying to catch me. I dodged out of the way, and he collided with a table next to the wall, sending ceramic bowls flying to the carpeted floor. Out of the corner of my eye, i saw a door swing closed somewhere down the hall. 

I reached for another knife, right as Chris pulled out the one from his shoulder. 

“The fuck do you think you are? Coming into my house and disrespecting me.” He seethed, blood sill trickling down his shoulder. 

“I heard you assault children. I’m only doing you a favor. They tear you alive for that in prison.” i hissed, and braced myself for him to come at me again. He was inches away from me before i sank the second knife into his abdomen, but i guess he was too thick to crumble down. He howled in pain again, and while he was busy throwing his head back, i ripped the first knife out of his hands and stomped down on his knee. 

A sickening crack filled the room, and this time he fell. He was on his good knee, a wound in his shoulder and in his stomach, and a broken knee. I had him right where i needed him, and i smiled, thinking to myself, ‘I still got it’. My phone rang, and with a huff, i took it out of my pocket. The caller ID told me it was Tom, and i answered quickly. 

“Hello?” i asked, and Chris stood up again, his face red and the knife that was in his stomach in his hand. I scolded myself, because i knew better than to leave a weapon in a person; they could and would use it against me. Maybe i didn’t have it, after all. 

“Hi love,” Tom’s voice chirped through the phone as i jumped backwards, dodging the knife. Our grunts filled the air as Tom continue talking. “I’m sorry that i didn’t get your text sooner, Carmichael did something shitty again, and i had to deal with that...what-what’s going on back there?” he asked, as a TV dinner table was knocked over. 

I ripped another knife off my belt, and did a somersault off to the side, and when Chris ran to the place i stood mere seconds ago, i stabbed him in his side. His screams filled the air, and filled Tom’s ear. 

“Goddammit!” Chris screamed, and he grabbed a hold of my foot, causing me to scream along with him. 

“Y/n? What’s wrong?! Step on it!” Tom said, his voice full of concern and hardness, as if he was all ready planning out someones death, and if i knew Tom, he was. I could tell he was talking to the driver of the car, and i realized he thought i was at home. Chris pulled me towards him, and i dropped the phone. 

“Gah!” i screamed, as i felt the knife i hid in my socks slit my skin. With my other foot, i began kicking Chris repeatedly in the face, trying to loosen his hold on me. He didn’t budge, but after a few blows to the face, he released his grip. I pulled myself away from him, and reached into my high top converse to grab the knife, the tip already sunken into my foot. Tears began to swim in my eyes as i yanked it out, and kicked Chris’s face one more time, this time aiming for his temple. 

“Tom! 2407 East Parkway 22134!” i yelped into the phone, hoping he understood. I didn’t get the chance to hear his response, or at least end the call, because i was back on my feet. I twirled two knives between my fingers, and i could practically see red. 

“You are highly annoying.” i said to the man beneath me, who had a bloody and bruised face. He seemed as if he was hanging onto consciousness, but i knew better than to trust that. He was bleeding everywhere, and i was surprised that he fought for that long. I stabbed him one more time in his back, right on his spine, and from the lack of movement and noise, i figured he was dead. 

My foot throbbed, and i was beginning to get a headache. Blood soaked my sock, and i walked with a limp, but i had to find Avery. 

“Avery?” i called out, my voice cracking a bit. I limped over to the hallway, and saw the door that had closed ten minutes ago. I heard voices now, and they were getting louder as i walked closer. 

“You called the police?! You idiot girl! Do you know what they’ll do to us now? They’ll put you in a foster home, and they’ll beat you! I’ll get sent to prison, do you want that? You don’t love your own mother! God, your always so over dramatic! You’ve been nothing but a curse on my life!” I opened the door just as the woman struck Avery on the cheek. 

“Hey!” i yelled, and i was at the mother in seconds. Grabbing her wrist and slinging it behind her back, i pushed her up against the wall, shoving her face into the stucco. 

“You don’t touch her.” i seethed, then my eyes landed on Avery. Her tear stained cheeks were red, and the left side was worse because of the slap. Her hair was sticking to her forehead, and she looked sweaty. Her breathes were coming out ragged as she sobbed, and my heart broke for this little girl i barely knew.

“Come here.” i said, letting go of her mother and taking the girl in my arms. She collided with me hard, her arms hugging me tightly around the middle. I ran my hands through her hair, and pulled the strands loose from her face. 

“You’re alright now.” i said gently. I heard a shriek from the living room, and a few seconds later a picture frame slammed against my head. 

Avery screamed as the shards flew everywhere, cutting the both of us up. I let go of the small girl and grabbed her mothers shoulders. 

“That was for my husband you bitch!” I didn’t want to harm Avery’s mother right in front of her, but something needed to give. No none hurt me and got away with it. I slammed her backwards against the wall again, and held her there at the throat with my arm. I felt the steady trickle of blood run down my head; the glass from the picture frame no doubt cut me up badly.

“That was your last mistake.” i said, then leaned in to whisper against her ear. 

“I do not want to hurt you in front of your little girl. But i swear, if you try anything one more time, i’ll take one of those knives i used on your husband, and with just one jab you won’t be breathing either. Don’t think i won’t just because your a woman. Because from what i saw, your just as bad as he was.” i whispered dangerously. She didn’t say anything as i met her eyes, and carefully let go of her. She ran out of the room, probably to grieve over her dead beat husband, instead of comforting her daughter. I turned back to look at the girl.

She had blood running down her cheek from the glass, and she was hugging herself tightly. 

I didn’t say anything as i took Avery into my arms again, crouching down so that we were at eye level.

“Are you alright, babe?” i asked gently, wiping away her tears and blood. She sobbed in response, and i knew i had to get her out of that house as soon as possible. How much could a seven year old take in just a day?

“I don’t wanna live here!” she sobbed, her voice hoarse and broken.

“It’s gonna be alright. I’ll take care-”

“Ahhh!” Avery screamed, pointing behind me as more tears cascaded down her cheeks. Chris stood there, blood oozing out of him in so many different places. His face was all beat up, and yet somehow he was still alive. I pushed the young girl behind me and pulled two knives out of my belt.

“Ave, look away!” i cried as i flung one of the knives at his chest. Just as the knife pierced through his skin, a bullet was fired. I dropped to the ground, covering Avery, thinking that Chris fired on us. But when i opened my eyes, the man fell to the floor with a bullet embedded into his skull. Tom stood behind him, a gun pointed at the spot Chris stood in just seconds ago.

“Tom!” i cried, and he scooped me into his arms. I could feel his heart beating rapidly against my chest. I wanted to do nothing else besides stay in his arms and cry. Cry about the fact that i was scared, even though i pretended i wasn’t. Cry about how badly my foot was hurting, but most of all, i wanted to cry because Avery didn’t have a father, or a suitable mother. 

“Thank God,” he mumbled, and kissed the top of my head. He pulled away and took my face in his hands. His eyes held so much concern and anger, it was hard to tell which emotion he felt the most. I glanced at the door to see Harrison watching us with a sad smile.

“I was so worried. I thought someone from another mob kidnapped you, I-. I don’t know what i would have done if you died.” he said, his voice cracking. It was one of the times he allowed himself to be this vulnerable; an emotion he saved for me and only me. 

“I’m sorry.” i choked out.

“What the hell happened?” 

“I got a call.” i said, my voice barely above a whisper. 

“I thought you didn’t do that type of stuff anymore.” He replied, his face showing just how confused he was. 

“I don’t,” i said, and wrapped my arm around Avery, who was still beside me. “But her step father was abusing her.” The little girl looked up at Tom with fear in her eyes. Tom looked at her with compassion in his. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Tom said, wrapping his arm around me and taking Avery’s hand. As we stood up. Tom shielded the girls face with his hand, not letting her see her dead step father. Harrison was leaning over the dead body and assessing the damage. 

“You did a hell of a job, Y/n.” The blonde said, giving me a gentle smile, to which i returned. We stepped outside into the cool night air, where Tom’s car was parked right on the street, as if Tom leaped out of the car before Harrison could park it. Avery’s mother was waiting outside, and she timidly let go of Tom’s hand and stepped towards her. I had a strong feeling to pull her back; to shield her from the woman who cared so little about her. Tom held me back, whispering, 

“Let her go, love. We’ll be right here.” He stepped in front of me, and took my hands in his.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” i said, letting the tears fall down my cheeks. 

“Don’t be sorry, my love. I’m so proud of you, you know? You saved that little girl, and you did a damn well good job of doing it.”

“No I didn’t! I fucked up, i thought he was dead when he wasn’t. I could have gotten us both killed.”

“No, don’t say that. You slipped up a bit, yes, but you had him dead. He was dead before i shot him, because you threw the knife first. But that doesn’t even matter. You gave him a run for his money; you handled yourself so well, of course, i knew you would. You’ve always been my bad ass girl.” he said, stroking my cheek gently. I sniffled, and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck.

“I love you, so much. You’re my everything.” he said, pulling back just enough to kiss me. He tasted like heaven, and he poured so much into that kiss, more than words could say. His hands held me tightly around my back, and my hands were tangled up in his hair. I broke away, and stared at him, wondering how on earth i managed to find the most amazing man out there. 

My eyes flickered back to Avery, who’s mother was walking away, down the street. The girl watched as her mother, the person who was supposed to love her more than anyone else, walked away from her. 

“I want her, Tommy.” i said, taking his hand in mine. He stared at the girl, and we watched as she turned back to us, tears running down her cheeks. I stepped foreword and held out my arms, crouching down as she ran into me. I held her as she cried, and i didn’t even try to console her, i just needed to be there for her.

“That can be arranged.” Tom said, as he bent down and hugged the two girls, one who already ruled his life, and the other who was just about to. 

[coligo]

look down.

His own footsteps feel artificial, autonomous, out of his control. His head is throbbing; his breath comes in ragged gasps; his eyes burn from exposure to the wind and snow; his fingers clutch tightly at the chain hanging loosely from his neck.

He knows where he is, but he doesn't know why. He must have seen these streets in a dream. His feet feel as though they've chewed up this concrete for decades; his fingers remember the roughness of the trademark Brooklyn brownstone bricks. Even the varnished wood of the nondescript apartment door feels familiar as his knuckles rap against it. The man on the other side, however, is a complete stranger to him.

What is he doing in this place he's never been but clearly remembers? He's traveled thousands of miles for longer than he can remember just to be here, but why? The man is looking him up and down, clearly concerned about this disaster of a human being standing in his doorway; his gaze becomes particularly worried when it lands on the clenched fist of his metallic arm.

His head spins. His heart is pounding; his ears are ringing.

"Is this 569 Leaman Place?"

The man nods, and for some unexplainable reason, he suddenly feels safe, like he can lay down all his burdens and stop struggling. He sways on his feet, and the man reaches out to catch him. Before he blacks out, he's aware of the worried voices of a woman and child coming to meet him.

—————

The first thing he realizes when he comes to is that he's warm; he can feel the weight of many blankets stacked on top of him. There's the smell of coffee in the air — freshly brewed, not that bitter powdered shit from Vladivostok. More important than what he can smell is what he can't: his blood- and sweat-stained coat is gone, he realizes with a start, and instinctively, he reaches for his neck and the chain he hopes is there.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he feels the cool chain hanging loosely from his skin.

Satisfied, he lifts his head with some effort, gazing around the modestly decorated and thoroughly unfamiliar apartment. He's on the couch, almost drowning in blankets, and curled up at his feet is a sizable black and tan german shepherd; his gaze lands on the dog and, realizing it's been noticed, it pricks up its ears and stands, approaching to bathe his scruffy face in kisses.

"Sage, off!"

It's the man's voice. Obediently, the dog stops its assault and returns to its previous spot at his feet. The man apologizes; he waves it away. He likes dogs.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing." He doesn't recognize his own voice. It's hoarse, rough from the winter wind, and from screaming. "I don't know what I'm doing here, or how I got here, or-"

The man, clearly overwhelmed, raises a hand to stop him. Like a good little soldier, he immediately goes quiet, biting off the end of his sentence like it could sustain him.

"Take it easy. Let's just start with your name, son."

He furrows his brows. He doesn't know his name. Fuck, he doesn't know his name. His mismatched fingers fumble for the chain, follow it to its apex in the center of his chest; the tags there clink together as he lifts them up to read the information etched into them.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He recites it aloud, but it doesn't feel right on his lips. That can't be his name; there's no way in hell that's his name. It feels wrong, like he's never been called that a day in his life. But there's another name on the second tag, one that resonates with him from his brain down to his bones.

"My name is-"

"Good morning, Bucky."

He's vaguely aware that the all too familiar voice in the distance is speaking to him. He rolls over with a groan, burying his face in the pillow to block out the sudden light of the curtains being pulled back.

"What's so good about it?"

He hears Steve chuckle fondly, feels the bed shift beneath his impressive weight as he sits beside his sleepy partner. Musclebound bastard. Not that he's any better. For awhile, there's silence, comfortable and companionable; when Steve speaks, it's in a quiet but sharp voice.

"Three things."

The silence is much more tense now. Steve's all business, one hundred and ten percent Captain America and only thirty percent the friend Bucky knows him to be; Bucky doesn't have to see him to know he's serious. He furrows his brows in a mixture of slight irritation and deep concentration.

"You were an art major at Auburndale; your favorite medium was charcoal. You were always so eager to sketch me: you'd ask me every day when I got back from work."

The corners of his chapped lips twitch upwards into a smile as he envisions his scrawny roommate sitting at the table, fingers stained black with charcoal, eyes shining, lips set into a hopeful grin as he begged his tired friend to model for him. 'C'mon, Buck: just for a few minutes?'

He never could say no to that obnoxious smile.

Beside him, he feels Steve shift; he's silent, but Bucky knows he's nodding for him to go on. He concentrates further, pushing the image of Steve's happy face out of his mind and letting another memory swim sluggishly into view.

"We went to see The Wizard of Oz in theaters; tickets cost twenty three cents. Twenty three cents, Rogers."

"Anybody with access to Google knows that, Buck."

Steve sounds unimpressed. Bucky grins into the pillow.

"Not just anybody could know that you were terrified of the flying monkeys. When they showed up, you squeezed my hand so tight I thought it was gonna pop off."

Dry humor at his own expense gets him through his days. He hears Steve give a good-natured and somewhat impressed huff of breath. He lets go of the memory of Dorothy and Steve being terrorized and reaches deeper, sloshing through a hodgepodge of images and sounds in search of something that will really knock Steve's socks off. He screws up his face and thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

And then, it comes to him.

"Remember when I taught you how to dance? I spent four bucks on that Glenn Miller set and played it on that piece of shit gramophone you salvaged from the alley. Moonlight Serenade. You tripped over your own stupid feet and fell face first into me. I think that was the first time we kissed."

Steve's fingers felt bony between his, the hand at the small of his back shaking and uncertain. Those big blue eyes looked up at him in utter embarrassment; his cheeks were rapidly going from pink to red. 'Shit, Buck, I'm so sorry-'

"You said someone needed to keep the dames in dance partners with you gone."

Steve's tone has become warmer, much less clinical; Bucky's mind isn't on trial anymore. There's a large hand carding through his tangled hair, and Bucky leans into it, something akin to pride swelling in his chest. Though they've been doing this ritual for months now, each time he passes, he's still amazed at what he can recall.

"On your feet, soldier. There's something I want to give you."

Bucky makes a face. He doesn't move.

"Is it a shot of whiskey?"

There's a hard but playful slap to his shoulder. His real shoulder.

"No, you insufferable moron. Just get up and come into the kitchen."

"-Bucky. My name is Bucky."

The man nods, as if he already knew.

"It's nice to meet you, Bucky. C'mon in, honey: it's safe now."

A woman, presumably his wife, appears with a tray in her arms; her daughter shyly clings to her skirt, watching Bucky with wide eyes. A plate is set in his lap, and a steaming mug of coffee is pressed into his hands.

"Eat, then sleep. You'll need your strength for your trip back home," the man says, pulling his daughter into his lap and bouncing her on his knee. Her eyes remain fixed on the man with the metal arm lying on the couch.

Bucky's heart sinks, and he pauses mid sip.

"You didn't call the cops, did you?"

The man laughs, and his wife chuckles, albeit a bit nervously.

"No, son. We called the man who used to live here."

He gestures to the tags hanging around Bucky's neck, pointing to the third line: the next of kin line. The breath catches in his throat; he nearly chokes on his coffee. His heart soars.

"Dog tags?"

He gives Steve a puzzled and somewhat irritated look, and the blond rolls his eyes, clearly not interested in putting up with his shit today.

"Hold still and let me put them on you."

Bucky squirms out of Steve's impressive grip.

"We're not in the army anymore, Rogers: I don't have to wear that bullshit."

"You don't have to, but I want you to. Please? For me?"

Steve pouts, and he makes a show of it, sticking out his lower lip and everything. Damn those big puddly eyes. Bucky holds still with a resigned sigh, allowing his friend to drape the chain around his neck.

"Only because I like you. If you were anybody else, I'd take your head off."

Steve flashes him an award winning smile, the same smile that made him famous, the same smile he'd given him when he'd pulled his friend from isolation in that HYDRA shithole, and Bucky thinks his heart might have stopped for a few seconds.

"Just keep them on, will you? They're a safety measure, just like the three things we do every morning. If you ever lose yourself, all you have to do is look down."

Oh. Still practical. Except that instead of the army looking for me, I'll be looking for my own dead self, Bucky thinks. It irks him that none of this weird shit bothers him anymore. He can't come up with a witty retort, so he doesn't; instead, he takes the shiny metallic rectangles in between his fingers and carefully reads the etch.

"569 Leaman Place? Stevie, I don't know if you know this, but we don't live there anymore."

The look Steve gives him makes his heart swell with pride again. The captain is clearly impressed.

"I know we don't, but I couldn't put the address of the Avengers headquarters. This is a place only you and I know. Don't worry, the current residents know to expect you."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up so high he's afraid they've escaped his forehead. Current residents? As in random citizens?

"So it's totally okay with you that the Winter Soldier could show up, armed and dangerous, on some poor schmucks' doorstep?"

Steve scowls.

"That won't happen. I trust you, Buck."

"But do you trust him?"

Steve remains silent, but the hard look in those steely blue eyes tells Bucky that the conversation is over. He'll wear the tags whether he likes it or not.

Hours pass. Bucky consumes his entire plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, though it takes him an hour and a half to do so. He knows if he eats too fast, he'll be sick; besides, there's something about regaling this kind family with his war stories in between small bites that makes that feeling of pride rise in his chest again. Steve would be so proud of what he's remembered, and all because of the stupid dog tags around his neck. Once he finishes his plate, the wife insists that he sleep; he wants to help with the dishes and she's having none of it, and she orders the dog to sit on his chest until he falls asleep. She eagerly complies, watching the soldier with glee in her shiny black eyes. Full and safe and warm and pinned down by a happily panting dog, Bucky does something he's almost never done: he surrenders, and drops off into a deep sleep.

When he wakes up, it's only because he hears a knock at the front door, followed by the enthusiastic barking of the german shepherd. On alert, he jerks his head up, only to be eased back against the pillow by the child's small hands on his sallow cheeks.

"It's okay. Captain America is here to take you home," she says very matter-of-factly.

Bucky relaxes, not knowing what else to do. He's notoriously shit with kids, and doing time as a well-honed assassin did nothing to improve that aspect of his persona. Dozens of thoughts race through his head like a train through the snow of the Swiss Alps: will he be upset with me? Where is he gonna take me? Where is home now? I don't even know how long I've been gone. Fuck, do I stink? I must stink, it's been over a week since I've showered-

"Bucky."

That familiar voice quiets his thoughts, and he looks up to meet Steve's intense blue gaze. 

He doesn't look mad; he doesn't look upset at all, really. More than anything, Steve looks tired and so, so grateful. Though the girl had called him Captain America, he wasn't wearing the suit, but rather a well-worn leather jacket and faded blue jeans — though he does have the shield dutifully strapped to his forearm. Clearly he was anticipating some sort of trouble. He'll be surprised to know that he'll get none, Bucky thinks as he gives his friend a lopsided grin.

"Hey, Stevie."

The look Steve gives him is unreadable. He shifts his attention to the husband and wife, thanking them profusely for taking good care of his escaped friend. He takes the time to briefly explain the night Bucky lost himself to the couple, and Steve begins wildly gesticulating and giving away just how Irish his heritage is. Bucky quietly waits his turn; when Steve is in the spotlight, it's his job to sit back and make sure all is as it should be.

When Steve returns his attention to his friend, his gaze is fearsome — it would put the fear of God into any self-respecting HYDRA agent. Something in Bucky recoils: the remnants of the wolf at the door to his mind retreating into the darkness.

"Three things."

Bucky grins. He's been waiting for this.

"Hey, Rogers: remember after your mom died and you tried to turn me down? We sat out on the fire escape and fought about it for hours until it got dark and you got too cold and too sick to keep arguing." Bucky glances over towards the fire escape, conjuring up the ghost of his former self and a much tinier Steve shivering against him. "We went inside and got together all the pillows and blankets and whatever warm clothes we had, and we laid on the couch with all of them, and it was so uncomfortable because there wasn't enough room and you were so damn bony and-"

"Alright, Buck, that's enough."

Steve's smiling. He offers a hand to his friend, and Bucky takes it happily, letting Steve help him off the couch. The dog tags clink against each other as he moves, and Steve glances down at them before fixing his partner with a pointed, decidedly smug but clearly happy look.

If you lose yourself, all you have to do is look down.

Steve had been right. Bucky will never admit it to his face.