#which means they had to come from the trinkets and games section of barnes and nobles

[applesfromthetrees]

the closest I'll ever be to Sherloc Holmes is trying to figure out the presents Bailey got me for christmas

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 2

well. head’s up- smut ahead. With the ‘mistaken person’ trope. Enjoy. @kriskukko​

Blood For Gold 

Part 2

Once the Count and Countess Morrigan finally left, you went up to your personal quarters to find three huge chests, one was chalk full of new jewelry, you expected it to be paste, but it was real, every last bit of it, but all of it from the moura stables and in the current style here in England. You also found over a dozen bolts of expensive and luxurious fabrics, also from the moura stables along with new shoes, soaps, perfumes, hair conditioners and lotions and a host of beauty treatments along with all kinds of makeup and other trinkets and treasures, then you noticed a few new books in the trunks and took them out and flipped through them to find a message written down on a small note between the pages, from a friend of yours who still lived at the stables. 

“My dearest Audra, 

I am writing you, hoping that this letter finally finds you as others have always returned to me without you getting a chance to read them, to let you know that the Morrigans have enlisted the stables to help them get you remarried as quickly as possible, and the stench of their desperation is rank. Beware of who they introduce to you, for I fear they will be worse than Edward ever was. I know you have been in mourning, and can only have visitors there, but if at all possible, make friends with your brethren in the feather. 

There is a few clubs in London, The Gold Finch, The Midnight Peacock, and The Green Barn, only mouras or moura descendants will be admitted into these establishments. Give your name and what estate you stayed at while at the stables as your password and they should let you in. Explain your situation to them, and they may be of some help and at least they might warn you of bad suitors and help steer you clear of other dangerous people. Now that you have finally been granted your freedom, I would hate to see you lose it over anyone who is not worthy and who can not make you happy. You deserve everything you want Audra. Do not settle. Embrace your choice to choose wisely for yourself. 

Your friend always, 

Callellea.” 

If she had been right there with you, you would have embraced her and cried tears of happiness and relief as you wondered how many other mouras were here. 

You agreed to go out with Agnes on Wednesday, that left tonight and tomorrow. Even though you were tired, you didn’t have much time to waste.

“Malcom, I need my carriage, again, I need to go to The Gold Finch.” You implored as you took the note and quickly turned on your heel and grabbed your purse and quickly went down the stairs. 

“Where?” Malcolm asked as he got his coat back on. 

“There are moura clubs here in London, let’s pray they’re still open on a Monday night- The Gold Finch- The Midnight Peacock and The Green Barn, I must go to at least one of these places tonight.” You insisted. 

“Of course, right away Countess.” He readily agreed. 

The Gold Finch was the closest and surrounded by other various shops but when you walked in, it was clearly some kind of tea shop. 

“How can I help you miss?” The kind gentleman asked behind the counter. 

“Hello, my name is Countess Audravienne Saharrazat Morrigan from the Kalina Estate of Dorierra, I was told by a friend still there that I would be able to find brethren of the feather here.” You carefully told him before he went and got a big book from underneath the counter and began flipping pages to find what you were referencing. 

“Which Quarter is Kalina in?” He asked. 

“It used to be the Sultanate Quarter, but now it’s considered to be in the Hanging Garden Quarter.” You answered as he got to the right section. 

“Ah, yes, Kalina. Do you have any marks?” He asked. 

“Yes.” You answered as you unbuttoned your coat to reveal your chest so he could see the marks on your skin, which looked like many gold peacock feathers gracing your skin, and even turned around so he could see them on the back of your neck where the intricate pattern of your moura collar on the back of your neck along with the gold peacock feathers gracing your shoulders which made him smile because your “wings” covered you from shoulders to legs and wrapped around all of you. 

“Welcome Miss Saharrazat, you’ll do better going by your stable name than your English name at all the moura clubs. From now on, your password will be your house name- Kalina. Right this way.” He urged as he flipped open the gate on the counter so you could pass through and then led to one of two doors behind the counter, one would lead to the shop’s back room and the other led to a staircase and once you ascended it, you were met with a huge room full of other mouras, not all of them had the golden hair or the gold eyes, but they all had at least one gold feather on their skin and the moura collar around their necks or at least the moura mark on the back of their neck with bright, eager, happy smiles to see someone new, as they all gasped excitedly at seeing you and especially once you took off your coat and gave it to the little coat room and your moura marks became visible, then they happily cheered and you were practically ambushed by hugs from everyone as you couldn’t help but start crying at finally receiving the warm welcome you had been craving since you got here, all of them eager to know how you got here and what had happened and word about if the stables had changed much and it was better than coming home before you explained your situation and they brought you to the only elder moura there that night- Yalin who sat at her own table with her own preferred older group of friends. 

“I need your help. The Count and Countess Morrigan wish to push me off and marry me off to someone as soon as possible, and I am going dress shopping on Wednesday with the Countess. I have had peace in my mourning, and now they are going to steal it away because they think me a leech.” You worried to Mother Yalin who was like a kind grandmother to all. 

“What do you need?” Yalin asked thoughtfully.  

“I need to know how to really navigate this place, at least socially, I need to know who to stay away from, who will mean me harm, who will abuse me, or take me for my “dowry” and then leave me devastated. I have played this game once before and lost. If I am to marry I want it on my terms. I want to marry for love this time or not at all. And I can not find it if annoying gnats and flies are buzzing around me like I’m rotting fruit or meat. I need guidance and friends who I can trust. And the Morrigans are the last ones I trust.” You divulged. 

“Does breed matter to you?” Yalin asked thoughtfully. 

“You mean nobleman or commoner?” You asked. 

“No, I mean human, moura, orc, troll, tiefling, ifrit…” She began to list off. 

“I suppose not.” You shook your head no. 

“What about their means?” She asked. 

“I have some saved, the Morrigan’s are giving me a dowry of 50 thousand pounds, but preferably I would like to marry someone who is wise with money, not stingy but discrete but still a little generous, at least towards me, careful, thoughtful, respectful, kind and honest if at all possible.” You specified. 

“So some fortune to keep you comfortable but not destitute.” She realized. 

“Yes.” You confirmed. 

“And because you are a Countess now, the Morrigans will not let you go to a commoner, for fear of tarnishing ‘the family honor’, right?” She ventured. 

“Probably.” You nodded. 

“But because you are a widow, you can not enter the royal family.” She noted. 

“Thank the heavens of which we used to reside.” You murmured which got her to laugh. 

“How long do you have?” She asked. 

“A fortnight, two weeks, my first “reintroduction” into society will be the Friday after at a ball at Havenfield.” You answered. 

“Oh, that’s my sister’s estate, I will also be there, and I can help guide you there then as well, and at least it’s not this Friday. Tell you what, there are four places for moura here in the city. You’ve found Gold Finch, Gold Finch is for chatting and cards over tea. Midnight Peacock is for dancing and The Green Barn- well that’s for business, any kind of business you want to partake in, invest in, even some gambling.” She revealed. 

“And what’s the fourth?” You asked. 

“Red Velvet Rope- it is the house of sin for a moura, and where anyone can find a moura to rut with, not all moura are in high society. They have the best casino, and the most handsome, talented and eager men who can ring your bell seven ways from Sunday or even women and everything in between who can do that too. But my advice to you, only go there for the gambling or the sex, nothing more. Otherwise you could face ruination.” She sagely advised. 

“Of course.” You nodded in understanding. 

“Give me about a week to compile a list for you of suitable partners for you, this weekend, go to the Midnight Peacock and dance till your feet are sore, go to the Velvet Rope, get all the kinks out of your pipes, and then go to The Green Barn and find a way to make what you’ve managed to save away work for you better than any man, in that order.” She advised. 

“And what would you like in return?” You asked. 

“A bar of that Dorierra soap and whatever else you can spare. The soaps that they make here are so harsh on my skin. Almost makes me not want to bathe.” She advised. 

“Is there a way to get the recipe and bring it to one of the soap makers here?” You asked. 

“No, the soap is probably a trade secret solely for the moura stables and most of these companies are about mass product, not quality of their product. I think the soap is more costly to make than it would probably be worth to anyone else not in the moura stable. It’s been decades since I set foot in Dorierra, and I long to have a piece of it again.” She said. 

“Give me your address and I’ll deliver it to you myself tomorrow.” You offered her before she gave you her address. 

“Oh, by the way, I shared a ride on the train with two perfectly agreeable gentlemen today, Duke Demsey Voyambi of orcish decent and Count Javyn Jabire, who was troll, what can you tell me about them?” You asked her curiously. 

“I don’t know them well personally, they do a lot of industrial business, I do know that much, but I can find out about them.” Yalin offered. 

“Thank you.” You thanked her before you sat down at one of the tables and played all the card games that were popular in the stables and making many new and fast friends. 

However you didn’t exactly follow Yalin’s word of advice, to hear that The Red Velvet Rope existed had you aching to be touched lovingly and reverently, if not passionately so the very next day after you dropped off what you could to Yalin, you went to the Red Velvet Rope the very next afternoon, because if you were going to suffer through a day of dress shopping with Agnes, you were going to at least do so in as pleasant a mood as possible. 

“How can I help you miss?” The Ladies entrance Abbess - Annie, asked you as you came in. 

“I need every kink in my pipes cleaned out and I want to get railed so hard I have a hard time walking after.” You said which got her to laugh. 

“How long has it been lass?” She asked. 

“Far too long,” You answered honestly. 

“Aye, you’ll be needing Draft then, drink this cup of tea, it will ward off pregnancy, you take a cup before and a cup after and it’ll do the trick and then go to room 17, here’s your mask to protect your privacy too Lass.” She told you as she handed you a gold silk mask which you readily put on before she opened up the velvet rope that covered the entry way to the stairs then ascended the stairs giddily after you drank the tea, familiar with it because you drank it regularly when you were married to Edward and the last thing you wanted was a child to tie you to that family. 

“Wait, did she say16 or 17?” You asked yourself once you reached the hallway as you noticed someone going into fifteen and another going into 18 at the same time while 17 was still in use, very loudly too. 

“Sixteen it is.” You decided as you went into the room and found it clean and ready and quickly got undressed and even put on your own gold lace stockings, instead of your usual white ones and decided to lay seductively on the bed and wait for “Draft” whoever he was. 

Meanwhile Demsey hadn’t been able to get Countess Morrigan off of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes her gold eyes were always behind his eyelids, her delightful giggle in his ears and her smile swooning his heart. He was growing so frustrated, he wanted to bury himself to the hilt in her and had been so ridiculously attracted to her when he met her again. He had asked around and found that there was a moura brothel in London, surely if he could use one, he could get rid of these distracting and frankly improper thoughts about Countess Morrigan. 

It was barely after lunch time and Demsey found himself across the street from the place and walked into the gentlemen’s side of the building which faced one street while the women’s entrance was on the other.  

“What can I do you for?” The Abbess- Maria asked since there were two counters, one for the gambling hall which sprawled out before him and the other next to the stairs, roped off by thick red velvet ropes. 

“I’d like a rut with a moura please.” He confessed. 

“Male or female or something in between?” She asked as she looked at her book. 

“Female.” He specified. 

“Well, I have Bess, Audrey, and Lilly.” She listed off. 

“Audrey,” He decided, because Countess Morrigan’s name had been Audravienne and that was close enough for him. 

“Good choice, that’ll be five pounds, then Sir.” She stated before he readily handed it over and she handed him a gold silk mask to tie around his face so he would not be recognized by anyone else using the place. 

“Room 16, she’ll be in there shortly.” She offered before he nodded and ascended the stairs after she unhooked the rope from it’s place to let him through before he ascended the rest of the stairs before he found a long hallway with red silk wallpaper and red carpeted floors before he walked down the hallway and the right room and all the air crashed from his lungs to see a very sexy moura splayed out on the bed seductively. 

“Well you are built like a draft.” You purred as you sat up and started to stalk down the bed, your gold eyes practically glowing as all of your gold moura marks started to pulse in anticipation as Demsey dropped everything onto the floor as his pupils dilated as wide as they could as he took the sight of you in while his cock was stiffening in his pants while he slowly walked over to you, afraid that if he breathed wrong, you would vanish. 

“So many clothes,” You remarked as you stood on your knees at the foot of the bed and were still chest height with him and reached out to grab them before he realized what he had been in there for as he readily tried to strip out of all of his clothes all at once as you cackled and helped him, remembering how Edward seemed to wear more layers of clothes than you usually did and the second his chest was bare to you- you greedily attached your mouth to one of his pert nipples and began to suck on it while expertly taking off his trousers to get at your prize which caused him to moan. 

Draft was the perfect name for him because he was practically hung like a draft horse too as you had to use both hands to stroke him. 

“Oh Audrey.” He murmured as his hands reached around you and started stroking your petal soft skin and watching the golden feathers on your skin continue to pulse and glow, it was hypnotizing. 

“It’s Audra, Draft.” You corrected in a purr as you noticed his cock practically shot a load of precum all over your hands as he seemed to become putty before you. 

“Call me Demsey then.” He answered which got you to giggle, oh you were going to pretend he was the good Duke now. 

“Perfect, now plough me so hard I won’t be able to walk straight Demsey.” You ordered huskily and that was all the instruction you needed to give him before he practically grabbed your face and kissed you deeply, passionately, like he was pouring his soul into it as he pinned you to the bed and entered you rather roughly, which you needed as your legs had already fell open as wide as they could to accommodate him and he was so large, you finally didn’t feel underwhelmed at the sensation, if anything you were almost overstuffed, but not painfully so before he worked up an earnest rhythm that had your moura marks alight in an equal rhythm with his movements as he feasted on your neck and chest and kissed you like a man starved as you finally felt all the lust you had been lacking in your life breathe into a zealous fire that burned oh so brightly and your heart and soul were being consumed by it.  

In almost record time he was hurtling both of you towards orgasm and Demsey was enthralled to see your moura marks practically constantly pulsing with your pleasure and when your whole body seemed to stiffen as all the marks lit up like soft sunshine as you keened, moaned and whimpered his name as your fingernails dug into the meat of his back and shoulders that indicated that you came which fed his ego and your inward fluttering spurned his own orgasm before he slammed himself into you as far as he could go and finally unloaded himself into you and you were grateful he had done it with good speed before he collapsed fully on you as you both took a moment to bask in the afterglow. 

“Thank you Audra,” Demsey thanked you gratefully, feeling, for now- sated and relieved. 

“Thank you Demsey.” You returned before you kissed him sweetly as the two of you happily helped each other get redressed before you went your separate ways out of the room, Dempsey going one way while you went the other, both of you happily and contentedly sighing as you practically pranced down the steps. 

“And?” Annie asked as she handed you a cup of tea once she let you through the velvet ropes. 

“Draft lives up to his name, built and hung like a draft horse, I’m doing good just walking down the stairs.” You sighed dreamily as you took the cup of tea offered and drank it down before you handed back your mask then left a very generous tip for “Draft” and left to go back home, you hadn’t left the place two minutes before Draft came down the stairs himself, his hooves clattering on the stairs since he was a moura minotaur before Annie handed him his tip from you. 

“Very well done Draft.” She cooed. 

“Thank you, do I have another lady waiting on me?” Draft asked. 

“Nope, you’re clear for now, just make sure the room is ready for the next client whenever they do come.” She answered. 

“Will do.” He said as he went back up the stairs at the same time Audrey was coming down to collect her next client as the maids were busy cleaning up room 16 after just finishing the others next to it. 

“Well done Audrey.” Maria grinned as she handed Audrey her own very generous tip from Demsey. 

“Thank you.” She grinned and put her tip into her coin purse before she got her next client from the casino part of the place.  

[errantabbot]

On Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Jesus (and Buddha et al.) - Myth, Reality, and Truth Beyond Historicity

I spent the better part of the day yesterday roaming Kansas City, and checking into some of my more recently neglected places of once common frequent. Taking advantage of the unseasonably delightful weather, in the afternoon I took a stroll through the Country Club Plaza, noting the dizzying array of empty and emptying storefronts, amidst a demolished tract of land where an underground IMO’s Pizza location, a Bank of America branch, the better part of a cinema and the parking garage for my place of Zen practice for many years once stood. It was perverse in many ways.

Eventually, we came to the towering three-story Barnes and Noble which was undoubtedly the Mecca of my youth (that is after Borders went out of business and I started reading, almost exclusively, esoterica not routinely stocked in most any bookstore), and it was fascinating to see the dramatic was that it had changed. The lower level of the store which once housed thousands of albums on compact disk, and films in a variety of formats had been rendered mostly an empty shell, with a few awkwardly placed and angled shelves of freshly pressed vinyl (on sale for 50% off) shielding our eyes from the sparsely strewn cases of decades-old movies, and last-change bargain books.

The upper levels of the store were in relatively better shape, though shelves had once again been commonly turned to more space-filling angles and placements so as to hide the thinning stock. Casually perusing a section of shelving where I once spent many hours browsing eastern religious and philosophical titles, I quickly realized that a rather large selection of wedding planning texts had taken up roost in the space. Among the many titles, one, in particular, caught my eye - “The Wedding Officiant’s Guide - How to WRITE & CONDUCT a Perfect Ceremony.” Leafing through the text, much irony was apparent. In a space where hundreds of volumes on religious praxis and myth once stood, a text now shouted to onlookers with instructions on how to legally usurp the previously uniquely religious requirements for celebrating vows of matrimony, so as to build a business with but DIY training in the wedding industry as an officiant. “An astute if not incidental commentary on the state of religion in the global west,” I thought. Scoffing at the book’s contents, I returned it to the shelf, in its outward-facing, highlighted space.

Continuing through the store, the second floor’s periodical, game, puzzle, and memorabilia collections seemed to remain vigorously stocked and equally shopped. Fascinatingly, to me anyway, was the nearly endless variety of Harry Potter-themed memorabilia, which was interspersed with Lord of the Rings themed trinkets, and Star Wars products galore. I am reminded that the first Harry Potter book was published in 1997 (some twenty-four years ago), and while the last film was released in 2011 (ten years ago), fervor for the series has seemingly done little but increase. Millennials and Gen X’ers (together comprising the ever-absent demographics in mainline religious institutions today) continue to spend their hard-won dollars on Harry Potter themed tattoos, jewelry, home decor, and even vacations with the same energy and resources that religious devotees once earmarked for pilgrimages, icons and wall art, necklaces, rings, and awkwardly placed verses of scripture (tattooed or otherwise).

Lord of the Rings (published some seventy-three years ago in 1948) has enjoyed similar devotion, albeit among a typically older demographic, and Star Wars is receiving nothing but new renewed interest as Disney has begun to pump billions of dollars into the production of content for the franchise some forty-four years into its history (debuting in 1977). Each of these fantasy universes too finds life in ongoing conventions around the globe, replete with Live Action Role Playing (“LARPing”) and “cosplay.” In some cases, there have even been somewhat successful attempts at moving beyond LARPing and into the realm of actual religious praxis with the initiation of such movements as “Jedi Realism.” I find it all quite fascinating and wonderful.

There seems to be something about the overt mythic ethos of these aforementioned universes and appendant pursuits that renders them that much more attractive than the literalism that religion frequently seeks to uniquely attribute to its dazzling array of fantastic stories and parables. Indeed, devoid of such literalism, the fantasy worlds of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars render the truths and archetypes present within their myths (beyond historicity) profoundly more accessible and attractive to generations of post-modern seekers of meaning than religion could possibly hope to at present.

I wrote elsewhere this morning that meaning is made and not found, and that wonder and awe (essential components of the meaning-making process) are found and not made. There is, beyond the shadow of any doubt, wonder and awe to be found in the constructs of the fantastic and mythic, both as presented in contemporary fantasy and in ancient religious fable, and it need not be held up as uniquely literal and real to be really accessible, attractive, and meaningful.

Much like human physiology needs vitamin D to make use of dietary calcium, it seems that myth needs reality to make use of its nutrient contents for the mind and soul, at least in the psycho-spiritual physiology of contemporary people.

It’s a shame to me that the most devout religious practitioners of today tend to also be the most literal adherents of religious mythology. Indeed, there is hardly room among such zealots for seekers so inclined to even sit among them so as to inquire as to what truths might be contained and accessible in the ceremony, ritual, and attached stories of a given religion in any authentic way. The older I get the less tolerance I have for such devotion, bellicose as it tends to be.

As the famed scholar of comparative religion, Max Müller once put it, when it comes to religion “He who knows one, knows none.” I would suggest that interested parties start putting in the work to realize that the present devotion to such fantasy worlds as Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars constitutes a de-facto form of proto-religion, from which we can learn much should we wish to reform and thereby preserve the wisdom of our inherited traditions, before they vanish into the immaterial realities that their literal conceptions constitute.

I’m reminded of a favorite quotation from the venerable poet and thinker W.H. Auden who once wrote “It is as meaningless to ask whether one believes or disbelieves in Aphrodite or Ares as to ask whether one believes in a character in a novel; one can only say that one finds them true or untrue to life. To believe in Aphrodite and Ares merely means that one believes that the poetic myths about them do justice to the forces of sex and aggression as human beings experience them in nature and in their own lives.”

Truly, we do not need mythological literalism (which in fact can be construed as nothing more than overt heresy) to approach reality and commune with its wonder and awe through the uniquely efficacious tools of religion and myth, so as to derive the tools necessary to construct meaning in enduring and transmittable forms. Those threatened by the uncertainty and mystery that is to be found in surrendering to the innate emptiness of mythological literalism stand not on an unshakable or sturdy ground as it is, and would do well to open themselves to the dis-ease intrinsic to the introduction to existentialist unknowing, so as to sooner than later find themselves made whole in its inexorable vest. In doing so, they might help reclaim the once tangible power of the gods and cosmologies that they hold so suffocatingly dear.

~Sunyananda

[lailannajacobs]

Talk You Out Of It

Pairing: Amelie X Hitman!Bucky 

Summary: Amelie goes after a story or more precisely, someone. 

Word Count: 3.1k 

Warnings: Mainly fluff! 

A/N: Decided to try and see what Amelie’s up to, don’t know if it actually worked or not but seeing as it’s spring break for me, here’s a little surprise Monday post before Thursday’s post! Feedback is always appreciated and welcome! 

“I need someone to go after ex sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. You’ve heard of him?”

I nodded, but my boss, Cary, kept going as if he hadn’t.

Typical.

“He’s ex-military. He defected five years ago and has been working as a hitman ever since. If the cops are right, then he’s to blame for over a dozen high profile kills since. I’ve got a source telling me he’s in Boston, about to hit his next target. I want you to find him and get me a killer story before anyone else even thinks about it. And before you say anything, I know you’re a reporter, not a cop, but this could be huge for the Globe.”

Like hell I would say anything. Finally, a real case. “Do you know who the intended target it?”

He shook his head, “my source wouldn’t say. But I need to make sure you’re okay with this Novak. He’s cunning and dangerous. I don’t want you walking into this expecting peaches and roses.”

I nodded, afraid he would take the case away if I looked even the slightest bit unsure. “It’s no problem sir. This will be my number one priority. I’ll stay focused, I promise.”

I could barely contain my excitement.

With a curt nod, he waved me out of his office, apparently satisfied by my conviction. I was almost out of his office, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question I’d been dying to know. Curiosity got the best of me.

I paused in the doorway, glancing over my shoulder, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, “Why me?”

He didn’t bother to look up from the papers he was now engrossed by, “They told me, when I hired you, that your biggest asset as a reporter is that you’re constantly being underestimated. I figured the best way to get to someone like him, is to send someone like you. Am I wrong?” he didn’t wait for an  answer. “Didn’t think so. Now get to it Novak, somehow I doubt he’ll be here for long.”

I left his office, unable to contain my smile.

I stared at the computer screen finally understanding why Cary had sent me, a reporter of all people, after a known criminal. I had agreed to take on the job because, quite frankly, I’d been stuck with fluff pieces ever since moving to Boston, but really, my first thought had been that maybe the police, FBI, bounty hunters or even PIs would have been better suited for the job.

However, digging up more information on the hitman had made it clear why I had to be the one to find him - or more precisely, find his next target. And no, it wasn’t as simple as finding him to save some man’s life. Or woman. He didn’t seem to care.

I stared at the article from the Chicago Tribune. Dangerous hitman yes, but even I couldn’t deny that he was good at what he did - which happened to be taking out criminals before anyone even knew that’s what they were. The hit would lead to an investigation, which would lead to the exposure of the skeletons in their closets. It didn’t make any of his vigilante hits any less of a crime, it only meant that getting a story like this before anyone else would be huge for anyone who got it. All I had to do was find the scumbag my little hitman was after.

The only problem it seemed, was that no one was ever able to figure out who Barnes’ next target would be before the body dropped. It seemed random, but it couldn’t be. I had reached out to other journalists across the country but all anyone could say was that he was a ghost.

So the problem was finding him.

But that’s where I came in.

I was pretty good at digging up dirt, and better at following a lead but for some reason, I had the uncanny ability to be at the right place at the right time. I never could explain it, not that I tried to - because who wants to sound crazy - but those instincts had lead me in the right direction more often than they hadn’t. It was what I was going to rely on to find him. I figured it was my only advantage over the dozen or so journalists who had gone up against Barnes.

There was a photo in the article of the Sargent from his military days. I didn’t doubt that he looked nothing like the picture now. The cropped dark hair and clean shaven face would be long gone, especially that he was aware he was a wanted criminal. I knew I would have to rely on recognizing the rather striking, ocean coloured eyes. Seeing him in his military uniform made it hard to remember that the sergeant was an infamous hitman.

I kept digging. It seemed that most of his hits were in large, public areas, creating mass chaos and the perfect opportunity to escape. So that’s where I would start. Tomorrow. I wasn’t going to be able to find him without a full night’s sleep and I had promised myself that I would unpack at least three more boxes before the end of the day. Boxes that I should have packed away weeks ago.

I wandered though Quincy Market, weaving through families decked out in Celtic’s green, ready for tonight’s big game against the Raptors. I let myself be stopped by tourists asking for directions, and popped into gift shops, looking for a little trinket to send back to (y/n) to say that I was adapting just fine. If it was weird being friends with your ex’s ex, we had gotten past it a while ago.

I kept an eye out for him. Every ball cap in sight caught my eye, though none were hiding incredibly blue eyes. But I was sure he would be wearing one. It was the best way to go through a crowd incognito and he definitely didn’t want to ping on someone’s radar. Still no sight of him.

After an hour I considered leaving but ended up deciding against it. My instincts had gotten me this far and I wasn’t going to start doubting myself during what was probably the most important story of my career.

Before I could decide where to wander to next, I was sent flying to the ground, pain zinging through my wrists. Where the hell the basketball had come from was beyond me, but I pushed myself up, wincing, as it rolled away.

“I’m so sorry miss, are you all right?”

I took in a deep breath and forced a laugh, “I’m fine, it happens to the best of us right? Let’s just hope none of that happens to our team tonight right?”

The chubby man in a stretched thin jersey picked up the ball and handed it to his son, my assailant. He smiled, most likely pleased by the kind smile, cheery attitude, and the fact that I wasn’t chewing out his son. They always were. Nice was usually seen as a weakness. Nice never seemed to make anyone look twice.

He finished with another apology and whisked his aiming impaired son away. I watched them as they left until settling on someone far more important, about fifty yards behind them. The cap, which is what I spotted first, was a dumb choice on his part. The navy only brought out the colour in his eyes, making it so much easier to spot him.

I grinned.

It was time to pay him a little visit.

I wove through the crowd, with purpose this time, keeping an eye on my target so not to lose him. Stalking him like a creep wouldn’t do any good. I could do that later if need be. Right now, he was probably hyper aware of people trying to tail him, and less wary of people actually trying to talk to him. So that was exactly what I was going to do.

I knew I should feel afraid. There was an incredibly accomplished - albeit good-looking - hitman walking among us, but the only thing I could feel was excitement. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt it. This was what I was good at. This was what I had come to Boston for.

I tapped on his shoulder, “Hi! I’m a reporter from the Globe’s sports section and we’re conducting a survey to see who’s watching the game tonight and where. Mind if ask you a couple questions?”

He turned around, narrowing his brows, as if surprised to have been spotted in the crowd.

“No.” He answered gruffly, walking away.

I hurried after him, “technically that means you don’t mind!”

He kept walking.

“Please. I’m never going to be taken seriously if I can’t even get this silly task done. And I’m so done with the sports section. Please, just answer one little question for me.” I begged.

He sighed but thankfully stopped, “If you want to be taken seriously then lose the perky attitude.”

Rude.

“I’m asking you a question not asking you to act like an-” I cut myself off, trying to get a grip on the ditzy girl act.

“That’s better.” he smirked. “You get one question.”

I couldn’t roll my eyes at him, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn’t be threatening or suspicious. He couldn’t suspect that I was anything other than what I pretended to be. A cheery woman, somehow stuck doing an article for the sports section. That’s who I had to be. That’s who I would be.

“If you’re watching the game tonight, are you watching at the Garden, at a bar or at home?”

His face was a perfect image or boredom. I wondered if it was something he practiced in the mirror.  “I see why you don’t want to keep asking these questions.”

“I’m glad you agree.” I said dryly, unable to help myself.

He stared, his blue eyes focused solely on me, which meant that he wasn’t looking for someone else. He seemed like he didn’t want to be here, answering questions but he didn’t seem like he was in a rush to leave either. Whoever his target was, he or she wasn’t here. So either my hitman had been fed false information or he was scouting a location rather than looking for a person. It wasn’t much of a clue, but it was something.

“Let me guess,” returning to the perky Amelie act, I hoped to get a solid answer out of him this time. “you seem like the kind of guy who would go to a bar to watch the game.”

He squinted his eyes, so I leaned into the act even further, widening my smile. I couldn’t slip up now. He sighed. If he was suspicious, he quickly dismissed it.

“Are you trying to prove your journalist’s instincts with that question?”

“Are you trying to evade the question?”

“Maybe. What about you?”

“Maybe.”

I held that piercing blue gaze, refusing to be the one to back down first. Arching a brow, silently challenging him, I waited for an answer.

“Yes.” He conceded. “I’ll be watching in a bar tonight.”

I let out a sigh of relief, “Good. Thank you. See, was that so hard?”

He snorted and walked off without another word.

“Have a nice day!” I called after him with fake chipper, muttering asshole under my breath.

He didn’t turn around, not that I had expected him to. I watched him leave until he was out of sight and hopefully I was already out of his mind.

The game didn’t start for another couple hours. I had been hoping he would prove me wrong by saying that he was going to the game tonight but of course he couldn’t make my life easier than it had to be. One arena was a hell of a lot easier to search than over a dozen bars. I couldn’t even be sure he was telling the truth. Odds were, he wasn’t. Yet, as irritating as he was, for some reason, I believed him. Rude hitman didn’t necessarily mean sure liar.

I let out another sigh, the adrenaline wearing off. It had been risky giving myself away so obviously, but I had banked on the fact that not many people, especially someone who looked like I did, would knowingly approach a hitman. Though I still didn’t understand why I hadn’t been intimidated by someone I most likely should have been. Infuriating sure, but he was nothing like the scary man the articles had made him out to be.

There were a couple hours to kill before the game, so I went home. There was no sense in alerting him by following him all afternoon, even it it meant finding him more easily. No journalist had ever gotten close. I wanted to be the first. I would be. None of the others had killer instincts and luck on their side like I did. I sucked in a calming breath. I could do this.

**

I had tried five different bars before finding him in a pub known to be a hang out for members of the Irish mob. My feet were sore, someone had spilt a drink on me at bar number two when the Celtics had scored, and it had taken an extra fifty just to convince the bouncer to let my through. But it was worth it.

Because I had found him.

Finally.

I had gotten so caught up in trying to find him that I had forgotten to plan out what I would do when I actually did, so I did nothing. I found a seat at the bar and ordered a drink, close enough that I could see him, but far enough that he couldn’t. The pub wasn’t as packed as most of the other placed I’d been to, but it was just as noisy. After finishing the first drink, I still wasn’t sure what to do, so I ordered another one, waiting for my instincts to kick in, and glancing at him from time to time. That was, until he wasn’t there anymore.

I cursed myself for being so sloppy and pushed off, only to run into a broad chest in a grey tee and leather jacket. I tilted my head only to realize I was face to face with the exact man I was looking for. His narrowed eyes probably meant it wasn’t a good thing. I smiled.

He leaned over so that I could hear him when he growled, “sit down.”

My eyes widened in nonexistent fear, following his order, while he slid into the free seat on the right and ordered a drink, letting me stew. He was probably hoping to ramp up my supposed fear, which, unfortunately for him, had absolutely no effect on me. Although to give him credit, it probably would have worked on most people. But he had no idea; I wasn’t most people.

“Who are you?”

“Oh! Right! You didn’t get my name earlier. I promise I’m not stalking you or anything, it’s purely personal.” I could tell the sweetness in my voice threw him off guard so I continued, laying it on thick. “It’s not everyday I get to interview someone so…handsome. I just thought that if I ran into you tonight-”

“Who are you?” he interrupted.

Clearly manners weren’t his thing. I forced a giggle even though it was getting harder to keep up the charade. What I really wanted to do was shake him and tell him that manners were for everyone, including good looking hitmen.

I extended my hand. “Amelie Novak.”

He looked as though he thought it might bite him but took my hand anyways.

“I wasn’t expecting such a firm grip.”

“From someone so perky?” I asked with a pointed look.

I couldn’t help it. His attitude made it impossible not to want to answer in this same tone, regardless of the goal here.

He let out something that might have been a laugh, if hitmen did indeed laugh. And judging by the looks of him, it wasn’t thing that he did all that often. At least not in from of other people anyways. But before I could go ahead and psychoanalyze him, he stood up.

“I’m flattered by your…interest, but I have to go. If you’re lucky, some overgrown frat boy will take my place.”

I was too annoyed to be insulted.  “I tried that already.” I muttered, thinking of Bryan as he left, “didn’t work out.”

I ordered another drink, following him out the bar with my eyes. I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him tonight. Or at least, that’s what I had thought before realizing that he was following someone else out of the bar. Someone I very much recognized. And if that man was my hitman’s target, then all I had to do was find that man’s dirty little secrets. And finding skeletons was something I was pretty good at.

**

The article had gone viral. Mine. Amelie Novak’s. Cary had actually smiled when I had turned it in two days ago. It had managed to get enough press that even (y/n) had heard about it. Thinking about it still made me giddy. The man, a corrupt CEO, working with the Irish mob, had been placed in protective custody, despite his white collar crimes. Putting him in jail would make it too easy for any good hitman to finish the job.

I probably should have felt better about having saved a life but it was hard to feel proud when the man was pretty much a grade A scumbag. I didn’t want to think too long about what kind of person that made me.

I fumbled with my keys, trying not to drop any of my grocery bags as I let myself into my apartment. It was late evening and the place was dark, the city lights barely making their way through the window. Without any strength left in my arms to flip the switch - gone from carrying the milk jug, eggs and five pound sac of potatoes - I wandered into the kitchen blindly.

“I’d have to say I’m impressed.”

I shrieked, almost dropping the bags. My heart hammered but I didn’t move to turn on the lights. I didn’t need to. I recognized the voice in the dark. Sargent James Buchanan Barnes was in my kitchen. And he was most definitely trespassing.

[natasharomanovs]

Never Take It Off | clint barton x bucky barnes

Idea: Bucky and Clint celebrate their anniversary and Bucky has a gift for Clint. Pairing: Clint Barton x Bucky Barnes Warnings: just pure fluff honestly Words: 1542 A/N: I had the idea for this fic months ago and after two weeks of actually “focusing” on it I’ve finally finished it oops. Tagging: @sleepytony @spidcyson

AO3 | REQUEST

As a rule, Clint and Bucky didn’t usually go out for dinner at fancy restaurants where they need to dress up to impress other people. It wasn’t that they didn’t like going out or being around people, it was simply they were trying to live within their means. 

 Clint taught archery down at the local range on a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and did a few jobs on the side to get extra money whenever he could. Bucky had a moderately decent job working in the office of a car rental place, but their jobs were not high brow by any standard.

They made do though, and that was all that really mattered in the end.

Tonight, though, Bucky had gone to the effort of dressing up as nice as he could, whilst getting Clint to do the same before they left for the restaurant. Arriving at their destination it wasn’t the poshest one in the area, but it was a step up from what they usually went to - which was just some shitty takeaway spot.

But it was their shitty takeaway spot and though Bucky never tired of watching Clint try to juggle wontons on chopsticks or whatever the fuck else he could come up with, Bucky had decided that after all their time as a couple it was time to treat Clint, and himself, but mainly Clint.

The dinner so far had been pretty uneventful and even though this was not a regular scene for the two, they were both putting on their best faces. Or trying, anyway. Clint was still teasing Bucky about the upscale and how they could have gotten more takeaways for cheaper - comparing prices and all Bucky could do was smile and listen to his partner drone on, the tell-tale glint in his eyes letting him know that by no means was Clint serious.

They were waiting for their desert when Bucky finally let out a little shigh of nervousness and slid a black box across the table.

Clint looked at him curiously, taking the box in his hands and fiddling around with it for a moment. It was too big for a ring or anything, more rectangular shaped than cube, and Bucky only hoped that Clint liked what was inside of it.

Bucky continued to watch, fiddling nervously with his hands under the table as Clint finally opened the box and peered into it, nothing but curiosity and confusion on his face. His eyes immediately softened when he saw what was inside and his voice was barely a whisper filled with almost too much emotion, “Oh, Buck…”

“I saw it again the other day and couldn’t help myself from getting it for you.”

“You should have tried a bit harder, imagine all the food we could have gotten with how much this cost. Lucky would have had a field day.” Bucky didn’t take much from Clint’s words though, seeing the smile playing on the edge of his partners lips as he pulled the necklace from the casing and held it in his hands, peering closer at it.

“Yeah, well. We deserve a treat from time to time as well.”

Clint looked up from the necklace and raised an eyebrow, smirking towards Bucky with interest, “Oh do we now? And what did you get for yourself?”

“A night out with my fella, of course. Don’t need anything else.” Clint blushed lightly again, looking down towards the necklace in his hand and getting a bit of a sappy smile as he really took in the detail. He lifted a silver necklace even closer to his face, holding it still, and really took in the little arrow that was placed nicely in the middle of the chain.

Bucky had seen Clint admire it from time to time when they passed the jewelry shop down the road and upon getting a bonus at work had decided that instead of getting something useless they didn’t need like they normally did - for example, the extra nerf guns Clint had been very adamant on getting last year - he would get his partner something Bucky knew he deserved.

Especially after all these years.

Watching his partner from across the table, eyes getting slightly watery and smile getting sappier, Bucky new he had made the right choice.

“You know why I decided to get you that?”

Clint tilted his head in question, not saying anything as he unclasped the hook and turned around so that Bucky could hang it around his neck. It slotted just how Bucky had thought and when Clint turned around again to face him, he fiddled with it slightly to get it resting perfectly against his chest. Bucky couldn’t help the grin that was making its way across his face.

“Remember our first date? We went to the carnival, and I used the last of my pay from the previous three weeks to pay for our tickets.”

“I wanted to help out but you wouldn’t let me.”

“No, you wanted to sneak in. But we ended up sending most of the time walking around anyway. We sat down by the beach for like three hours just doing nothing. Then after getting yelled at for making out like the teens that we were we made our way back up and brought the few trinkets we could afford.”

“We still own that troll doll. It’s hair has a whole lot of slobber in it, but it’s still standing.”

Bucky laughed, reaching across to take one of Clint’s hands in his own as he leaned forward and grinned, “Then we got to the game section. We did a few but didn’t manage to win anything. I mean, obviously they were rigged, but we still kept trying until we only had our bus money to get home with. We were about to leave but you looked so sad that we didn’t win any prizes and I think one of the people on the stand felt sorry for us so they gave me that extra ball.”

Clint leaned forward a bit as well, matching grin as the necklace moved with him, resting his chin on his hand. Their faces were so close that they were almost kissing, lips brushing lightly if they moved a certain way, and their voices were quiet in a restaurant where they didn’t exactly need to be quiet. It made it more intimate though, like there was no one else except for them.

The two weren’t usually this sappy, not in public especially, but neither could really help themselves in the moment. It was their anniversary and damn it, they were going to be as sappy as they pleased.

“And then you managed to hit it somehow.”

“And I won you that necklace,” he pointed towards the other necklace that sat around Clint’s throat. It was a simple small leather strap with a shitty purple (fake) gem in the middle. Some of the leather had frayed at the edges and the gem wasn’t hanging on by much either, but everyone knew how much Clint loved it.

Clint had owned (and lost) a lot of things in his life, but the necklace was one that he took better care of than anything else - including himself sometimes. Bucky smiled, reaching out to draw his thumb across the material before he sat back in his seat, hands still connected.

��We’ve been together 5 years today. We have a dog together and also a bunch of friends who seem to show up on our doorstep in the dead of the night with no more reason than they need a place to stay.”

Nat and Kate were guilty of doing that a lot, though it also wasn’t uncommon for Steve to drop around half drunk - which brought Sam around not long after him to check that he was okay. They both usually just ended up staying the entire night, but at least they cooked breakfast the next morning.

Unlike Tony, who would whine about how they weren’t cooking him breakfast until Pepper or Happy came to get him.

“Our apartment is pretty great.” Bucky huffed a laugher, stroking Clint’s knuckles lightly with his thumb as he hummed, tilting his head slightly as a grin stretched further across his face.

“5 years we’ve been together and you’ve never taken that necklace off or even insinuated wanting another one even though that one’s almost ripped to hell. That necklace probably cost something like $10 when we spent about $25 trying to get it in the first place. I brought you this one,” Bucky spoke gently, fondness overtaking his tone in a way that only Clint could make it, “because I knew you’d never take it off.”

Clint’s smile went a bit more wobbly as he leaned over and kissed Bucky, finally closing the distance between the two. It was short and sweet, though they usually reserved more passionate displays for when they were in a more private location.

Pulling away and resting his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky could hear the smile in Clint’s voice as he spoke, “Wouldn’t it be a shame if I took them both off now though.”

Bucky hummed lightly and kissed Clint’s forehead, “Hm, you won't though.”

“Hm, no. I guess I won’t.”

———-

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