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plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms · 3 years

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Nemesis: Retribution (2)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: MENTIONS OF SMUT FOR THIS CHAPTER. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOURS. (18+ ONLY), polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, mentions of illnesses, momentary fluff, bit of angst care of Bucky, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, rejection, bullying, heartbreak, character death

A/N: I couldn’t resist not posting this early. Here you go. Next ones will probably take a while coz I have to be an actual adult for a bit.

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

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1:2 Dark Chocolate

A few days of rest was required to recover from a super soldier's punch. The doctors had said that you were lucky Steve hadn't punched you with full strength or else you would probably have a whole cracked rib cage. You were anxious to jump back in to training, not used to being idle for very long.

You were given some painkillers at the clinic and ordered to stay there for the rest of the afternoon for monitoring. When you woke up, it was early evening and a blonde super soldier was napping on a steel chair next to your bed. He jumped when you moved to sit up, his heightened senses alarmed and disoriented for a second before he quickly switched to repeatedly apologizing to you. You laughed out loud. It was just a little ridiculous to you to see such a commanding presence in the field so charmingly boyish and adorably embarrassed.

Steve was a comforting presence but to be honest you were hoping to see Bucky. You didn't get a chance to thank him since he left immediately after the doctors had ushered you into the examination room. Once you were cleared to return to training, you caught sight of his long brunette hair and the bright smile on your face couldn't be stopped. It was the glare he pinned you with that made you halt your approach.

He was back to his disapproval of your very existence.

You had to admit that it stung. You thought that you were getting somewhere with him after he helped you. At least somewhere outside of the realm of outward disdain. And maybe you were hoping just a little bit that it could lead down the road to him feeling the same about you.

The timing was perfect when you were assigned to your first official mission with the Avengers. It was a chance to prove your worth to the team and to Bucky in particular. A chance to maybe make him see you as more than just a troublesome recruit.

You came back from the mission with your head held high and absolutely glowing with confidence at the kudos from Sam and Natasha. The great Natasha Romanoff had complimented your sniping skills, picking off enemies in her area even before she could aim her own gun at them.

The first thing you wanted to do after getting back to the Compound was to tell Bucky. You wanted to brag a little bit and maybe even thank him for the mentoring. If he hadn’t been so hard on you then you wouldn’t have pushed yourself to be at this level. You were skipping down the halls of the Compound in search for him, clutching the bullet casing from your first official Avenger kill.

FRIDAY had informed you that he was in the training area and you were bouncing on your feet with excitement. As you entered though the place was empty, the rest of the agents having retired to the mess halls. You ventured further in, trusting FRIDAY’s intel until you heard some noises coming from the adjacent armory. You smiled, he must be cleaning his guns again.

As you got closer, the noise began to get louder until you could make out what was undeniably pleasured moaning, one low and gravelly while the other more high pitched. You should have turned away, if only for the privacy of the couple who was wrapped up in their passion, but your curiosity pushed you to come closer and peak through the small crack in the door.

The brief image that you saw made you instantly draw back, a shaking hand pressed to your mouth to silence the shocked gasp. You backed away slowly, your mind struggling to process what you had just seen, then your flight response kicked in and you ran like hell out of there. The scene was burning a hole in your brain and caused your skin to grow cold. Sergeant Barnes rutting hard against a woman wrapped around his waist, his glinting eyes locked with yours, and a cocky sneer on his face.

You didn’t go to dinner that night or to the team celebration for a successful first mission. You chose instead to lay in your bunk with tears burning in your eyes and trying to erase the memory of your discovery. Of course he was already dating someone. A man of his caliber was sure to have a line-up of gorgeous eager women at his disposal. He probably had no interest in boring recruits like yourself. The woman he was throwing into bliss must be some supermodel or high ranking spy. How did you even end up deluding yourself that you could possibly catch his eye?

The rest of your roommates filtered in after a few hours, chatting away noisily about the party. Anna had come to sit on the edge of your bed and ran a comforting hand along your arm, concern clearly etched on her face.

“I’m fine. Just tired. The mission really wore me out,” you muttered with a small smile. You weren't ready to talk about it yet.

“Personally I think I had better success today than all of you,” Kim’s shrill voice cut through the good natured conversations in the room.

She wasn’t part of the group taken on the mission, claiming beforehand that she was ill. A chorus of curious why’s rang out through the group and she preened at once again being the center of attention.

“Well I just had the fuck of a lifetime from none other than Sergeant James Barnes.”

The room of women burst into chaos; squeals of disbelief, rapid fire questions on how big he was and how good of a lay was he, were they dating now or was this a fuck buddy situation. Of course Kim was more than happy to entertain each question.

You tuned all of it out, the noise turning into an annoying ringing in your ear. You turned around to face the wall as the silent tears that refused to be contained any longer fell to wet your pillow. You barely registered Anna squeezing your shoulder or the words that Kim threw your way.

“Sorry, Y/N. I guess I was just more Bucky’s type.”

You curled yourself into a tighter ball as the pain in your chest radiated across your whole body. You had assumed wrong about Bucky. It seemed that he wasn’t opposed to dating new recruits.

He was just opposed to you.

The taunting from Kim continued on and you just couldn't take it any longer. You brushed the tears away, grabbed your sweater, and marched yourself to the door. You needed to get some air. You needed to get away. Anywhere but there. You wrenched open the door and almost came crashing straight toward a solid chest. Your eyes travelled up to lock with the kind blue gaze of Captain America. You wondered why Steve was standing at the doors of your bunkers holding a pack of beer in his hand.

"Good evening, ladies," he said to the room of now suddenly speechless females. "I'm just going to borrow Y/N for a bit."

The crowd remained in shocked silence while you stared at him in confusion as he smiled sweetly down at you. He had gone looking for you when he didn't see you at the celebration after Natasha and Sam had sang your praises to him at your performance. He wanted to congratulate you and bring you a drink for a job well done.

"Come on. I know a good spot," he said, placing a hand on your back and guiding you out.

Steve brought you to the top of an observatory in the Compound. It was quiet, peaceful, and offered a great view. He cracked open a bottle for you and the conversation just flowed naturally. He kept making you laugh until your sides hurt with stories about his time as a performer in the military and all the unfortunate videos that came with it. You were crying with pure joy when he relented and re-enacted his buy military bonds act, your earlier darkened mood forgotten for the moment.

Steve felt like he did something right when your glassy eyes and defeated expression was replaced with clear amusement. Even if it was at his expense. He wouldn't ask what the reason was, but he felt happy he made you feel better.

"Thank you, Steve," you muttered before you parted ways. Somehow both of you understood that it was more than just for the drink.

You promised yourself then that you would give yourself tonight to weep over your unfortunate romantic feelings. Only for tonight. Come morning you would focus all your energy on what you actually came here to do; become an Avenger. You slept fitfully that night, the shell casing from your first mission still gripped in your hand.

You made a conscious effort after that day to limit your interactions with Bucky and Kim to polite clipped conversations. At first Bucky had been surprised at your change in attitude, your blank expression and sparse words causing a momentary guilt to flash in his eyes. You had chosen instead to spend more time with Steve and the twins, your mood obviously brighter around them.

You were sitting now in a large conference room for a briefing on the next mission with a handful of other recruits when Sam Wilson sent you out to fetch the rest of the Avengers who were running late and not responding.

"Can you get them for me, sweetheart?" he chuckled, knowing that you blushed uncontrollably each time he used a nickname on you.

FRIDAY had directed you to the private common room exclusive for their use. You were about to knock on the door when you heard your name in the middle of what sounded like a heated argument. Against your better judgement, you leaned in closer.

"I don't think Y/N's cut out to be part of this team."

Your heart dropped. The conviction in Bucky's voice was clear. It was one thing for your infatuation with him to be forcefully thrown back at your face, but for him to explicitly state to a set of people that you held at such high esteem that you were not good enough was a whole other vicious heartbreak.

Lily was wrong. This time you should have known when to quit.

You forced yourself to crack the door wider and step inside, clearing your throat to announce your presence. You didn't see the startled look on their faces or the guilty one that followed when they realized that you had heard. One look at your sad glistening eyes that refused to look up confirmed it. Natasha and Steve both threw Bucky a deadly glare.

"Sam wants you all at a briefing. I was sent to come get you."

Your voice was so small and unsteady, none of the easy happiness and optimistic determination that it usually carried. Bucky felt the shame burn through him, the guilt drowning him in an instant. You weren't supposed to hear that. He took a step towards you, instinct driving him to do anything to wipe that defeated look off your face, but a threatening look from the twins pinned him in place.

"We'll walk back with you, little star," Pietro said softly, appearing beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Wanda came on the other side, looping your arm with hers.

For the rest of the briefing, you strained with the effort of focusing on Sam while blatantly ignoring Bucky. You knew he was staring a hole at the back of your head, but you couldn't allow yourself to give him any satisfaction by looking back. You were soon assigned your tasks, you being placed on sniper duty again having performed well the last time.

It was supposed to be a run of the mill mission for intel and taking out a criminal base, but with the expectation of more hostiles so a slightly bigger team was necessary. You practically flew out of the room when you were dismissed, not giving anyone a chance to talk to you. A decision was solid in your mind now for when you got back.

This would be your last mission.

The ride on the jet to the location was spent with you cleaning your gear and checking your weapons. You were sliding a few knives in place when Bucky came in front of you holding out another set of knives for you to take.

"You know if you tilt the hilt to the left you can fit more in one holster," he said.

It was odd hearing him with almost warmth in his tone toward you. If it had happened yesterday, you probably would be celebrating this fact. You nodded at him, but didn't say a word.

"Remember to keep your head low and stay on your post. Okay, doll?"

You nodded wordlessly again. Because you made a point not to look at his face, you missed the way he was struggling to say more to you and the disheartened look when you obviously weren't going to answer him. You ignored him for the rest of the ride, choosing to focus on reviewing the intel.

As far as bad intel could go, this had to be the worst. You were perched up on a densely covered hill a good distance away from the base that the rest of the team were storming. You were picking off as many hostiles coming out of the base as quick as your hands would allow. Your fingers were starting to ache from the constant reloading, your eyes stung from the gunpowder, and your lip was already bleeding from biting down on it.

The noise in the comms was pure mayhem. Each team member trying to ask for help, for backup, for a plan. You had all come expecting a fight but not an army prepared to defend. You were certainly not expecting HYDRA.

"They have Bucky."

Three words spoken that sent a cold dread to wash over all of you. HYDRA couldn't be allowed to take Bucky. You abandoned your post without a second thought and sprinted down toward the base, pistols at the ready for anyone coming your way.

"Last location," you asked urgently as you slipped into the building shooting down two agents immediately.

"West wing. Near the last corridor," Steve grunted, clearly having a hard time on his end. "Y/N, do not engage!"

"I'm the closest one, Cap."

"I'm close too. Just a little busy," Natasha huffed. "I'll follow, Y/N. Steve, we need to get the hell out of here."

Steve had reluctantly agreed, seeing that there was no other choice. He quickly barked orders and commanded you to keep safe. You nodded although he couldn't see it as you wove through the corridors at full speed in search of your teammate. The moment you barged into that last room, your eyes found an unconscious Bucky immediately.

Seeing him in that chair horrified you; shirt ripped, bleeding in several areas, skin pale and cold with sweat, chest rising and falling far too rapidly, and eyes that were unresponsive. You were so distracted by the jarring image that you failed to notice the operatives across the room until the bullets were burning through your soft flesh.

You screamed from the pain, but raised your gun and fired back until you heard their bodies thud heavily on the floor. You clutched at your side, the amount of wet blood pouring out was alarming. You pushed your own welfare aside and hurriedly undid Bucky's restraints. It was a struggle to sit up a semi-conscious super soldier and when you took his weight on your shoulders, you collapsed to the floor at the intense pain in your arm. You hadn't realized that you had multiple shots there too.

You gritted your teeth and groaned at the effort of lifting you both up, your blood soaking through your gear as well as Bucky's. You huffed painfully with each step but you just had to get him out of there. You could have kissed Natasha square in the mouth when you saw her come barreling towards you.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N!" she winced at your state before taking Bucky's other side. Apparently you looked as bad as you felt. "We gotta move fast. I hear more of them coming up this way. This path is clear."

Having Natasha's help in carrying Bucky alleviated some of the burden from you and made you all move faster, but the blood loss was already starting to make your vision blurry and the adrenaline was wearing off. Through the haze, you could also hear the rapidly approaching footsteps. Soon you would be basically useless and you knew there was no way Natasha could carry you both out while fighting off a hoard of enemies.

"Natasha," you said quietly, your steps faltering.

"No. Keep going goddamn it!" Natasha cried.

She knew what you were thinking. She had assessed the situation too and come to the same miserable conclusion. You smiled sadly at her angry eyes and shaking head as you let go of your hold on Bucky. Her eyes widened further as you limped toward the doors behind you and locked them tight before raising your guns to aim right at anyone who would come through them.

She didn't miss how your hands were shaking and your shot arm could barely hold up, the way you scowled deeper in pain with each movement, or how your uniform was soaked in your own blood and slowly forming a pool at your feet. Ghastly as you looked, you turned your head and tossed her another gentle smile. You were basically going to use yourself as a human shield for them and yet you were comforting her. You were reassuring her.

"Check on my sister for me, yeah?"

Natasha wanted to insist on another plan. Anything other than leave you behind to hold off the nearing enemy units. Shouting and gunfire from the other side of the door forced her to make a decision. She cursed sharply under her breath and dragged Bucky away with her, the regret heavy on her heart for having to leave you behind.

You stepped further back and supported your weak body against the wall after Natasha had thankfully left. The enemy was trying their hardest to barge through the door, ramming into it and shooting their guns at the locks. It wouldn't be long now before they manage to breach it.

You took a moment to spare a thought for your sister. A part of you was saddened to think of her grief after she finds out that you had done the most heroic thing anyone could ever do.

Sacrifice.

Another part of you was relieved knowing that she had Jill and she wouldn't be alone in that grief. When you decided this morning that this would be your last mission, you didn't necessarily expect it to be in this way.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

Natasha managed to get Bucky back to the jet where the rest of the team were all converging, still fighting off operatives chasing after them. There just didn't seem to be any end to them.

"I'm going back for Y/N!" she yelled to the team as she dropped Bucky on the floor of the jet. There was no time to be gentle, she had to hurry back to help you out.

"What do you mean? Where the hell is Y/N, Nat?" Steve shouted as he grabbed her arm.

"She stayed behind to hold off the ones chasing us so we could get out. I have to go back!"

"I will go. I can get her out," Pietro volunteered at once but he doubled over immediately from the extensive wounds on his torso.

Natasha was already sprinting back into the compound, not willing to waste another minute. She made it only a few feet before the entire facility exploded into a fiery inferno that quickly ravaged it and threw her farther back.

The entire team watched in horror as the explosions continued on several parts of the structure. The area was quickly getting engulfed by the flames and smoke. Steve had to force everyone onto the jet and bodily carry a shell shocked Natasha.

No one could have possibly survived that.

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Natasha steadied her breath as she quietly landed on a perch high above in the rafters of a seedy warehouse. Wanda joined her seconds later, weaving her magic to better cloak them. The other twin was running a lap around the perimeter and would join them later.

She was assigned weird missions all the time. Missions that had very little to doubtful intel was common. This mission though was by far the strangest she's ever gotten. There was a very small list of vague things that were told to them; the time and location, not to intervene, to remain unseen until the target was ready, bring the target to the Compound.

She was slightly annoyed, but she complied anyway. She was curious too as the mission was given in secret to only the three of them. A million questions was speeding through her mind as she observed the activity below. It looked like a regular run of the mill drug den filled with busy workers and roving guards.

"How many, Wanda?" Natasha whispered.

"I sense more than 25 of them. All armed, but with much fear."

A gust of wind signaled the return of the other twin. He had a frown on his face and a concerned look in his eyes. "There is another one, but this one does not seem to be with them."

Natasha was starting to sincerely doubt this mission when a fast movement from the shadows caught her eye. By the way the twins perked up too, they surely had seen it. They followed the figure as it slipped through the darkness, almost losing track if they hadn't noticed that the guards were quickly dwindling in number. Natasha was growing worried, this was surely a highly skilled group of assassins. Pietro must have been mistaken. They were clean and efficient too.

All of a sudden a gunfight broke out below them. A figure completely clad in black, strolled casually out from the shadows with a pistol in each hand firing precisely at their targets. They confidently charged closer, unfazed as they greeted the gunfire. They continued to tear viciously through the crowd with a deadly mix of combat, bullets, and blades.

The workers had drawn their weapons by now as well, but they were quickly killed off with barbaric aggression. It did not take long for the floor below to become a sea of blood and lifeless bodies. One person remained barely alive, hanging on to his middle to keep his internal organs from spilling out from the wide gash. The attacker came to him, nonchalantly stepping over decimated bodies. They couldn't hear what was exchanged from this distance, only the choked scream that followed as he was stabbed straight through the throat. His blood spurting out like a broken faucet.

Natasha had been in this profession for a while, but she has never seen this level of unrestrained violence.

One person.

One single person had cleared out a base of approximately 30 people. Natasha was growing more and more worried. Clearly this person was at the very least an enhanced and even with the twins with her, they were not prepared to face someone powered.

What kind of bloodthirsty lunatic does this?

"You can come down now."

All three of them froze in place. Looking down, the attacker was staring right at them with cloaked eyes. Reluctantly and very slowly, Wanda used her powers to float them down carefully keeping a good distance from this murderer.

From this close they could now see that they were in full military tactical gear in what was originally all matte black, but now had an explosion of dripping red. Combat boots, fitted cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt underneath a tight bulletproof vest, gloves, a loose hood over their head, and a cloth mask around the lower half of their face.

"Should have known something was up when my team mentioned seeing a really fast man."

The shivers that travelled through every expanse of skin on Natasha, was a reaction to that voice. It sounded strangely familiar yet unknown, but something in her mind was denying her from piecing it together. The moment the hood was dropped to reveal their eyes was when she spiraled into a complete icy shock. They were eyes that had haunted her for the past ten years. Haunted all of them. The only difference was that the eyes in her memories were smiling warmly.

The bloodied face mask was lowered to reveal a face they mourned, unmistakable and yet completely different. White raised scars branched out like weaving vines from the right side of the neck to just above the jaw and the ears. They were obviously old and healed but still raised and prominent, adding an even more dangerous edge to the menacing look on their face.

Your face.

"Hello, Natasha. Pietro. Wanda."

10 years after they had watched you tragically perish in a burning HYDRA facility, you stood before three of a group of people you had unknowingly tormented all these years.

The earpiece you wore crackled to life. "Blackbird to Hedwig. I have a visual. Should I shoot them?"

You smirked. There was no need for that. At least not right now.

"Hey, Blackbird. Tell Raven I'll be late for dinner. I have a reunion to get to."

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A/N: Tell me which pairing or combination in this harem you’re most looking forward to. Smut or otherwise. I’m still rearranging scenes and working out smut. There is a long list of kinks. I need help.

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teawaffles · 3 years

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The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 6, Part 1

With the complete annihilation of Bond and his teammates, the blue team’s victory was now all but certain. But the news had yet to reach Albert and Jack as they advanced toward the cabin on high alert.

Sniper shots continued to issue forth from the little hut, and both men frequently took cover as they approached the cabin. But the shots were fired at regular intervals, so it was clear that the sniper had no intention of hitting his target. In all likelihood, this was just a warmup phase: when they drew close enough to the cabin, that would be where the decisive battle would take place.

In accordance with their predictions, the two men reached a distance of about ten steps from the cabin without any trouble at all. The small wooden house had one door on its front wall, and a window on each of its other three sides. The surrounding land had been cleared of vegetation, forming a small open space in the forest — not a single item was present to provide cover. Albert and Jack halted their strides, then hid behind the nearest tree.

“……Strange. I thought he’d set up some big trap, but we managed to get this close without encountering anything.”

Puzzled, Jack voiced his doubts as he observed the cabin. He’d considered the possibility that Moran was just pretending to be inside, and would attack them from the surrounding forest; but with no indication of anyone present in the vicinity, Jack was certain he was inside the building. In that case, however, it was all the more strange that there hadn’t been a single trap laid out for them.

Albert agreed. “Certainly, since his rifle is a long-range weapon, it’ll be difficult for him to attack now that we’ve drawn this close. Perhaps he intends to fight us using another method.”

Even as Jack concurred, his expression remained grim.

“……I don’t mean to brag, but against a master of close combat like me? At least, I’m no laggard when it comes to knife-wielding.”

Jack spun his knife on the palm of his hand. His tone had been stern, as if he were simply stating a fact, rather than spoiling for a fight. Then the cabin door standing before them creaked open.

The person who calmly stepped out the door was…….

“……Louis.”

Albert quietly murmured the name of his youngest brother.

Louis James Moriarty opened the wooden door slightly, then walked out the cabin one step at a time, as if he was trying to ascertain how the ground felt. When he had travelled exactly five paces, he looked towards the trees Albert and Jack were hiding behind.

The instant they locked gazes—— Louis sprinted towards them.

“So that’s what it is.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth curved upward in amusement.

Perhaps their strategy was to have Louis fight them head-on, with Moran taking advantage of that opening to snipe them. In other words, their opponents had forgone setting traps — they wanted to achieve victory via direct confrontation. Albert also reached the same conclusion, and levelled his revolver at the approaching Louis.

“Though, it breaks my heart to aim a gun at my dear brother.”

Strangely enough, the situation Helena had half-jokingly described before the game was now a reality, and Albert couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh.

The two men had shifted into battle stances. As Louis approached them, he suddenly bolted to the side, and dived into another thicket — of course, he wasn’t so foolish as to go head-on against an opponent with a gun.

In response, Albert and Jack split up to the left and right while staying alert to sniper fire from the cabin.

Immediately after, Louis appeared before Jack and thrust a knife at him.

“So it’s me, then.”

Without panic nor fuss, Jack fought back with his own adept knife skills.

The two men clashed blades head-on. As the knives were made of rubber, there were no clangs of steel upon steel; even so, the sounds of their conflict displayed the strength of their fighting spirit. Their blades clashed two, then three times in succession.

It then dawned on Jack that this was a battle between master and student, and he grinned.

“Hmm. It’s been a while since we last fought, but you’ve improved greatly.”

“…………”

Jack had murmured that in admiration, but Louis kept his lips firmly shut as he continued to wield his knife with a stern face. Then, for a split second, his eyes darted to the side — and he bounded backwards in retreat, emerging from a thicket into the open space.

“So that’s the location you chose, Louis?”

Having moved behind a tree, Albert spoke to himself as he trained his revolver’s sights on his brother. He had wanted to take Louis out while he was still distracted by the fight with Jack, but Louis had sensed the impending attack, and temporarily broke off the battle by moving into the open.

Then, Jack closed the distance to Louis with swift steps. The fight between master and disciple had resumed, but now with the two men out in the open.

Right now, Jack and Louis were engaged in combat in the open space around the cabin, while Albert was looking on from within the cover of the forest. In addition, Moran was probably keeping his eyes peeled from within the hut.

Albert wanted to support Jack with his gun, but in order to shoot, he would have to step out at least a little from his cover — which would expose himself to Moran’s sniper fire. As even a bullet graze would result in his elimination, Albert couldn’t afford to be careless. On the other hand, he had no direct line of sight towards Moran’s exact position, hence right now, it was also impossible for Moran to hit him. It seemed Jack had understood this too, for he briskly darted left and right, switching places with Louis in order to avoid being targeted.

In other words, at this moment, Albert and Moran were completely on standby. Both men remained in a state of tension as they concentrated on the intense knife fight before them.

 However, Albert was completely at ease. Given the situation, the battle in the open area would become the key to this two-on-two fight, and Jack didn’t seem to have any intention of lagging behind in a contest of knife-wielding. As proof of that, a trace of agony had begun to seep into his opponent’s expression.

“Kuh……”

“What’s wrong? Out of breath already?”

Upon uttering that line, Jack’s attacks grew even more vigorous. As he was still on the lookout for sniper shots from the cabin, he couldn’t go all out in his attacks; even so, Louis was gradually starting to retreat. Sweat had started to bead on the elderly man’s brow, yet he still had plenty of fight left in him — on the other hand, although Louis was supposed to outmatch him in physical strength, he had now been forced onto the defensive.

“…………”

Steadily, the conflict began to tilt in favour of Jack, but Albert took no pride in that. Moran had probably anticipated this outcome, and Louis himself knew that too. Hence, the question now was what move they would make next. Albert kept his gaze riveted on the fight as he pondered.

Amidst all that, once again, Louis suddenly took a huge leap backward. This time, it was not to dodge an attack, but simply because Jack’s onslaught of attacks had become unbearable.

However, the old man had no intention of letting up. Facing his weakened prey, he instantly closed the gap between them. Although Louis persisted in deflecting his blows, the decisive moment was drawing near.

Perhaps he finally grew conscious of his impending defeat, for right then and there, Louis swung his knife wide. Against a skilled veteran, such a move was fatal. With a keen eye and the minimum of movement, Jack thrust the rubber knife into Louis’ chest.

He used just enough force for the tip of the blade to bend slightly. Then, upon retracting the weapon, a smear of paint had been left across his opponent’s chest. The duel between master and student had ended as expected.

In a flash, Jack’s attention snapped towards the cabin. He was standing at an angle from the front wall. Because the angle was tight, one couldn’t snipe him from the window without first leaning out a little; moreover, he couldn’t see any sign of Moran through the cabin door, which had been left slightly ajar. Hence, Jack reasoned that there was no immediate danger of being shot.

“That was a good fight, Louis. To be able to hold out against me like that, you’ve become a true master yourself.”

Having just won an intense battle, Jack returned his gaze to his student with a satisfied expression, his eyes creasing in delight as if he were looking at something dazzling.

Louis should’ve been defeated. But right then, he broke into a bewitching smile.

“It’s an honour to receive your praise. With that, I shall be taking my leave……. Me, that is.”

“Hm?”

At that meaningful line, Jack furrowed his brows — and then something hit him in the side.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

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speechlessxx · 4 years

Text

Bring Him Light - ii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: Just as everything began to settle, you discover a bit of truth to the rumors you feared.

Warnings: Nothing much just really bad writing. Steve’s less bipolar so that’s great.

Word Count: 3.3k

I finally know where the direction of where I want to take Bring Him Light to.

Bring Him Light Masterlist

I hope you guys enjoy!

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

A week has passed since your first meeting with the king. He grew more pleasant the more you two spent time together – perhaps his sour mood was indeed due to the king being overworked. Nevertheless, you still refused to grow attached to the man. There were rumors of his cruelty for a reason. But as the days wore on, your stubbornness was soon relenting, allowing yourself to enjoy his presence despite his mood swings that swayed like a pendulum.

And with your wedding on the horizon, perhaps the bond growing steadily between you and King Steven was a good thing.

The arrow whizzed through the air and landed centimeters away from the red center. You let out a groan as your arms slack in defeat. “I swear I’m much better,” you muttered. You were normally a great shot with your own bow – the bow that the huntsman broke when you fought against him.

The king chuckled as he took the bow from your hands. “I’m sure you are,” he teased. He drew an arrow and aimed for less than a second. When he let it go, it landed right into the center – much to your dismay. “My, I do think I’ve won.”

“You’re so humble.” He chuckled at your words. Your sarcasm was as crisp as the morning air. “But I do believe I have a redemption shot.”

Steven quirked up an eyebrow. “Of course, your highness,” he gave you a cocky smile as you grabbed the bow from him. “If you think you can beat a perfect shot.”

You hummed as you lined up your shot. You took a deep breath as you stared into the target. Your breathing was steady as you aimed. He doubted you could best him. His arrow lodged in the exact center of the target. It was a guaranteed win. Surely –

You let the arrow go and with an audible snap, Steven’s eyes widened in surprise. It was hard to tell from the distance, but it became clear as you both approached the target. “You’ve split my arrow,” he said in disbelief.

“I told you I was great a shot. Did you not believe me?” He sputtered excuses and you felt a rush of pride as a smirk found its way onto your face. “My, I do believe that I have won, your grace.”

“I concur,” he chuckled. “Took you some time to adjust to the bow, though. Perhaps, we should’ve played at even stakes from the beginning. Shall we ask a servant to fetch for your bow?”

You gave him a sad smile and shook your head. “I’m afraid I did not travel with my bow.”

“Why not?”

“Thor, the huntsman, who gave me these,” you lifted your wrists as you alluded to the cuts that were now mostly healed, “snapped my bow.”

“You never did tell me why you were fighting with Thor.”

“Perhaps it’s a story that should be told another day,” a voice called out. Lord Alexander Pierce, one of the lords of Steven’s council, bowed to you and his king. You quickly noticed Steven’s sudden change in demeanor. His smile had been abandoned as his brows furrowed and his stare hardened. You weren’t a fool. You knew that the Lords Pierce and Rumlow were almost always the cause of his aggravation. “Your grace, I’ve come to collect you. Lord Rumlow and I request a meeting with the council.”

“Has Lord Barnes and Lord Wilson been informed?”

“Yes, your grace. We are all waiting on you.”

“Can’t it wait,” you frowned. Steven glanced over at you in surprise. Ladies normally hold their tongue in the presence of the nobles. Some would’ve called your outburst impolite, but King Steven found it amusing. “The king and I were enjoying our time together before you arrived.”

“I’m afraid it cannot.” Lord Pierce simply stared through you. How dare a woman speak in that tone to me, he thought though he knew better than to snipe at his future queen – especially in front of the king.

Steven let out a sigh through his nose as his jaw clenched up in frustration. What the hell did Rumlow and Pierce want now? “I will join you later for a rematch.” He told you but you shook your head.

“I will be at one of the eastern villages later today,” you said. “I was told there was a fire last night and I wanted to provide any aid I could.”

“Of course,” Steven nodded. “When I’m released, I will join you.”

“I would love that, your grace,” you nodded and curtseyed to him and walked off.

Lord Pierce sent a glare your way and as soon as you were out of earshot he said, “is everyone in that family horrendously outspoken?”

“Amusingly so, Lord Pierce.”

“»————-　⚜　————-««

“I do not see the problem,” Steven said, squinting his eyes the two men. Lord Rumlow let out a sigh of frustration as he looked to Lord Pierce to further the argument.

“We have reason to believe that your future bride may be conspiring against you. How simpler can it get?” Lord Pierce snapped. The older man was visibly annoyed. The wrinkles around his brows and forehead visible with his frown. The king didn’t appreciate the man’s tone. “She has you galivanting in your gardens with her, playing a game with arrows. She’s keeping you from your duties.”

“Was it not you who said that the wedding should be postponed?” James scoffed.

“Besides… she is not a distraction. We’re simply getting acquainted with one another. I do not want to marry a stranger. Not again.” The king said. He looked at the painting that hung near the door. He remembered painting that portrait of Queen Margaret, his first wife.

“The Starks cannot be trusted.” Lord Pierce added. “Not long ago, we were at war with them! Now, you trust that Anthony Stark has sent over his own daughter willingly?”

“I trust Tony.” Steven nodded. He did. Despite the disarray that plagued the north three years ago, he did trust the other king. “And his daughter has not given me any reason to doubt the Starks. She’s lovely company. Perhaps, you’re just upset that she doesn’t scare easily.” Lord Wilson and Barnes chuckled at this. Alexander Pierce took pride in his ability to bend others to his will by striking fear in their hearts – something you seemed impervious to.

“I believe we can save ourselves from King Thanos entirely.” Lord Pierce suggested. The five men fell into silence as Lord Pierce smirked, knowing he finally had their attention. “Marrying the Stark girl may unite the North, but why should we stop at just the north. Of course, but what if you marry King Thanos’s eldest daughter – the Princess Gamora. You would spare Brooken from Thanos’s wrath.”

“But that would not mean that Brooken is free from the Mad King’s tyranny! He would want Brooken as his own.” James interjected.

Steven agreed. “His daughter would slit my throat in my sleep so that my kingdom falls in her father’s hands. I will not have it.”

“Cousin, I ask that you entertain the idea,” Brock spoke. The King narrowed his eyes at his cousin as if to say as if you aren’t entertaining that idea yourself. “Acknowledge the threat and align yourself with Thanos.”

“I will not hear of this ever again.” Steven snapped. “Do you understand – all of you?” A chorus of agreement – though Brock and Alexander’s tones were not happy. “I will marry (Y/N) Stark in a week. Our marriage will unite the northern kingdoms. Unity is what we all need. Standing together with York – with the Starks – that union will help us prevail in any war.”

Alexander Pierce had been a friend to King Steven’s father. Though, Steven did not know why his father befriended the man. He found Pierce rather insufferable – always pushing an agenda that he says will “better” Brooken but in truth, only benefits himself.

It was Alexander Pierce who set up the betrothal between Queen Sharon and the king. The two had known each other for less than a day before they were wed. The marriage had not been successful for many reasons. Wanting to avoid another failed marriage – and already distrusting Alexander Pierce’s judgement – the king chose his own bride: you.

The brief meeting was adjourned. The king and his two friends hurried off to meet with you and your ladies in the village, leaving Brock and Alexander murmuring to themselves.

“That was our one opportunity. He will not hear of if again. I know my cousin. His mind is already made.” Brock muttered. “I do not see how he was made king. He’s boneless, the self-righteous arse.”

Alexander chuckled. “Oh, Rumlow, your cousin has indeed made a fine king. He’s lead Brooken to victory on the battlefield so many times. Smart one, too. He’s evaded our attempts too many times now. He’s even decided to choose his own bride instead of listening to my council. His intuition has always been on his side.”

“We cannot turn him against Stark. We cannot get him to ally with Thanos.”

“Indeed… but perhaps, we can turn his own queen against him. She must’ve already heard the rumors if not in York but here. She just needs a push.”

“»————-　⚜　————-««

When the king arrived, he had not expected the damage. The building had been burnt down. The burnt scent still hung in the air. The crowds that gathered welcomed him, bowing to their monarch.

“Your grace,” Lord Barnes muttered, getting his attention. Though the king searched for you in the crowds, he nodded to Lord Barnes to show his friend that he was listening. “This may be the first time the people see you and their future queen interact. It’s imperative to give a good impression.”

“Of course,” Steven nodded. He spotted a fiery haired woman cut through the crowds and recognizing her immediately. “Lady Natasha!” The woman stopped in her tracks as the king stalked towards her. She bowed to him and threw Lord Barnes a small smile, one he gladly returned. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Before the red head could respond, your voice rang out throughout the crowd. Steven’s head snapped in its direction to catch a glimpse of you surrounded by villagers. You were handing out various food items to his people. They were the leftovers from the feast the castle had a few nights ago.

He cracked a smile at the sight. Lord Barnes clasped his shoulder. “She will make a fine queen to your people, Steve,” he muttered under his breath.

“Indeed.” Steve felt a sense of pride in seeing you. All you were missing was a crown on your head. His heart raced at the thought. It’s only been a week and you’ve already had such an effect on the man. He stalked towards you with a smile. “Your highness, may I be of assistance?”

You smiled at him as you glanced over to the cart of food behind you. He nodded and stood with you as the both of you gave out the food to the poor. It was safe to assume his people loved you.

“We shall thank Princess (Y/N) of York for her generosity!” the king announced to the people who cheered in response. “Thank you for feeding my people, my love.” Your heart fluttered at hearing those words. You scolded yourself for the feeling. You were not to fall so quickly for the king you barely just met. In turn, Steven wasn’t sure if his words were just for show or genuine, but he was certain that you at his side would be a great addition to his reign – not to mention, he liked having you around altogether.

He snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, inhaling your scent. The smell of rose petals strong in your hair. You laughed as your hand rested on his chest as the people cheered for you both. You have definitely made a wonderful impression.

His loving stare did not go unnoticed by his friends, your ladies, and the people. This was their feature. This was Brooken’s future.

And it seemed bright.

“»————-　⚜　————-««

“I told you he’s not as bad as the rumors made him out to be,” Wanda remarked as she brushed through your hair. The water from your bath left your hair damp while your lady tried to unravel the knots.

“You two have become quite close in our short time here.” Natasha added. “It’s the early morning excursions about the property, isn’t it?”

“He’s different than I assumed, yes,” you agreed with a smile. “However, he does have his moments. I think he’s restrained himself because of our first meeting.”

“Your wounds have healed quite well.” Natasha said, taking your wrist and examining it. The wrist that Steven had grabbed was still scabbing over. The other had healed almost completely, leaving light pink scars around your wrist. “I’m sure King Steven has shown his apologies for this.”

“He’s quite cocky,” you thought aloud. “Though what man isn’t. He is a king after all. His confidence is well placed. He nearly beat me this morning in archery. Though, I split his arrow, winning the game.”

“I’ve never heard of a split arrow?” Wanda asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“It’s quite rare, I believe.” Natasha explained. “Your shot must’ve been well aimed, your highness.”

“It was.” You smirked.

“Perhaps cockiness is just a trait that all monarchs eventually develop,” Wanda chided. You three laughed. “I cannot wait until the wedding. The dress you wear will be divine.”

“I wish we could push back the wedding even further,” you confessed. You rubbed at the healing wrist nervously as you remembered about the wedding. It would occur in less than a week. You would be queen of Brooken in less than a week – Steven’s wife in less than a week. “The king and I… We may get along now, but we are still strangers. I’m afraid that this may all be an act – his kindness and his charm. He may still be the monster that I fear the rumors make him out to be.”

Natasha tsked at you as she took your hands in hers. She remembered the stare he had on you when he saw you in the village. His eyes had shined – something the portraits never showed. The glint of a promising future – a loving husband and a great king. “He looks as if he was already in love with you.” Wanda nodded in agreement. You groaned, pulling your wrists from hers. “Why am I the only one concerned about our safety?”

“Because he has not given you any reason to be concerned.” Natasha said. You lifted your scabbed wrist with your brows raised.

Before she could rebut, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” You called.

Ser Pietro opened the door and Lord Barnes walked in. Natasha suddenly stood and straightened out her dress. He bowed to you and nodded to your ladies. His stare lingered on Natasha for a few seconds longer before turning to you.

“King Steven has asked me to deliver a gift,” he smiled. He handed you a box and you cautiously took.

Was this someone’s head? No… There was no one that you could think that the king would have reason to behead. You laid the box on your bed and slowly lifted the lid. A surprised gasp left your lips as you stared at the bow. It was strikingly similar to your own.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. A note had been placed inside.

Dearest (Y/N),

Upon hearing of your broken bow this morning and reached out to the huntsman. He has a remarkable memory and gave me a detailed description of it. I had one of my talented men in the weaponry recreate it from what the huntsman could recall. It may not perfect or even what you expected, but I do hope that you will enjoy your new bow as I have enjoyed our time together.

With much love,

Steven.

“Give the king my gratitude, my lord,” you smiled at Lord Barnes who nodded.

“Your presence at court has brought much joy to my king, to my friend.” He said. James glanced over at Natasha once more before leaving. You made a note to ask her about it later.

Wanda took the box as the ladies helped you into bed. Natasha smirked at you as if to say see? Nothing to worry about.

That night, you tossed and turned but was unable to lull yourself to sleep. You kept thinking about the bow and about the kind words in his letter. Perhaps he wasn’t as horrible after all?

Frustrated, you decided to wander about the castle in an effort to tire yourself out. With a candlestand in one hand and your robe wrapped tightly around you, you went off on your adventure.

The castle was different at night. The moonlight illuminated the corridors and left an eerie feeling in your gut. The shadows that casted upon the walls looked as if they were creatures of the night and every turn you made had you jolt in fear.

You heard faint whispers near a staircase that only went down. From your tour, you vaguely remember that this was the pathway to the dungeons underneath the grounds. You had no intention of walking down those steps until you heard a familiar voice riddled with anger. You felt goosebumps rise on your skin upon realization. It was Steven’s voice.

You crept down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Since Brooken did many things differently than York, you weren’t sure what would condemn someone to the prison. Theft? Perhaps, murder?

“Admit it,” Steven’s voice grew louder the closer you approached. You kept yourself hidden, diminishing your candle’s fire so that you would not be seen. There was a groan in response. There were several groans throughout the prison.

“Water… Please, sire,” someone begged. “We know nothing.”

“Do not lie to your king!” Another voice snapped. It was James’s.

Steven sighed. “We know the truth, but we need a confession. I will grant you freedom if you confess.” You frowned. In York, those sent to prison were given a trial before the king and the nobles of the court. It would be made known what the offense was, and the council would decide the punishment accordingly. But it seemed as if Brooken dealt with their legal affairs privately.

“I will not speak out.” The hoarse voice responded. “I will be loyal until my last dying breath.”

You heard shuffling as King Steven approached the prisoner. “Death I can arrange.” His tone was even but his threat was a promise. His rage radiated and you felt it from your hidden position. “But if you confess now, I can grant you freedom.”

“No.”

An exasperated sigh left the king. “Very well. Pull out each and every one of his teeth until he confesses.” You weren’t sure who the order was for – Lord Barnes? Was there another man there? “If he doesn’t, stretch him until his joints dislocate. Pop them into place then repeat until he confesses because I will have a confession.”

“And if he dies, your grace?”

“Turn his body to ash.” There was no remorse in his voice. There were groans of protest and begging, but the king had already made up his mind.

There were murmurs between the two men – Lord Barnes and the king – but you didn’t pay it much mind. You heard all you needed to. You rushed up the staircase and ran to your room, not caring about the maids and knights who saw you.

You slammed the door shut and ran your hand through your hair. What the hell did you just hear?

The king slowly made his way out of the prison, but suddenly stopped. He stared at the spot you were standing at minutes ago. There was a scent – one that was very different from the putrid smells of the dungeons.

A woman’s scent.

Roses.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #king!steve #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #Bring Him Light

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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The Critic Valentine’s Day Double Feature (Pilot/Sherman, Woman and Child)

Vivia Jay Sherman! Viva Quebec! Viva Valentine’s Day! And Viva WeirdKev who as happens for a good chunk of my content payed for this wonderful double feature for one of my favorite shows. The Critic was created by Al Jean and Mike Reis of The Simpsons fame, a comedy team supreme. While I knew the two wrote for the simpsons, more on that iin a minute, I had no idea just how many classics the two churned out: There’s No Disgrace Like Home, Moaning LIsa, The Telltale Head, The Way We Was, Stark Raving Dad (Sadly tainted by it’s guest star being a horirble monster but that’s not their fault), Mr. Lisa Goes to Washington, the treehouse of horror segments The Bart Zone and Clown Without Pity (The second of which may be my favorite treehouse of horror segment), and later coming back to write the story for one of my all time favorites Round Springfield and to outright write the classic “SupercalfragalisticexpalliDOHcious”. And to his credit Jean would later go on to write some classic post-golden age simpsons episodes during his tenure as producer: Lisa’s Sax, Mom and Pop Art, and Children of a Lesser Clod, which is notable if nothing else for this gag.

So yeah the guys are legends and were right to start their own show under Simpsons producer James L Brooks over at ABC. The show followed the adventures of film Critic, Jay Sherman, a parody of film critics with high brow tastes, impossibly high standards, and a huge opinon of himself, having won the pultizer at least once. Despite this he was also constnatly spat and shat on by society, divorced, lonely, depressed and eats like a thousand pigs combined in some horrific science accident. And given the last three parts describe me, as well as my profession of b eing a critic, naturally I love the guy and this show. I’ll get into his cast as we go as the first episode does an excellent job of introducing the entire cast so there’s no sense repeating myself. But the show’s style I can and will talk about: It’s basically Golden Age, i.e. season’s 1-10, simpsons, but with more pop culture refrences and movie parodies, since the show would often feature multiple on Jay’s show coming Attractions and took place in the celebrity hot spot of new york and was a love letter to the city.. and sometimes a hate letter but only when those digs at the city would be funny, which to be fair depsite never having been to or lived in new york most really are. That’s the series key asset: while a LOT of the jokes haven’t aged well as a lot of the celbreity refrences are dated as are some of the movie parodies, most are hilarious wether you get what their making fun of or not and to me tha’ts a good parody: where knowing what their making fun of HELPS, but you can laugh regardless. The show had the charm and pace of the Simpsons while having it’s own unique style and cast that was just as charming and I love it dearly. The show sadly only lasted two seasons, with ABC canceling it after one, and Brooks having it moved over to FOX, which was a good idea and lead to what’s probably my faviorite simpsons episode, a Star is Burns. Ironically despite you know, the show being created by two simpsons writers, backed by one of their producers and perfectly in line, creator Matt Groening was against the idea, publicly ranted about it to the press, and generally was an ass about it. Look I love the guy and even Brooks, Jean and Reiss were all nice enough in thier criticsim of the guy, but sitll very much understandably pissed off. .and i’m with them.

It gave what’s again, my faviorite episode and what is not a “30 minute add” but an episode that easily stands on it’s own and also you know, pokes fun at itself for being a crossover a few times. You don’t need to see the critic to enjoy it, and episodes most iconic gags, Boo-Urns, Man Getting HIt by a Football, Senior Speilbergo, all don’t involve jay. And again the shows were not at all dismilar: While the critic was it’s own thing it still had the simpsons sense of humor and pacing so I saw it more as a petty rant against having a crossover in general more than a legit critcisim. Especially since Groening had no such complaints decades later with the family guy crossover after both shows had all tehir talent surgically removed and had the gall to NOT remove a cheap shot at Bob’s Burgers. And yes i’m still bitter about seeing that in a promo for the special, Bob’s Burgers is fantastic, to the point that now, in a fabulous case of history repeating itself, it’s got it’s OWN show like the critic made by talented former crew members using a similar but sitll throughly unique comedy style , The Great North. My point is that controversy pisses me off, and The Great North is spectacular go watch it while you read this.

So yeah the Critic is awesome, me and Kev are both fans, and there are plenty of romantic episodes abound as the show digs into Jay’s love life quite a few times and has episodes about his son’s first love, his boss finding a wife towards the end of the series, his parents rekindling their spark and in what’s easily my faviorite episode, his sister dating a grunge rocker. So there was no shortage of choices but the choice made was brilliant.. and i’m not saying that because i’m being paid to, as my review of splatter phoenix’s first episode in darkwing duck and woops should show, paying me does not guarantee that I have to LIKE what your paying me to review. But here I did and he pointed out the first episode of each season, with season two being a soft reboot that while keeping the premise and supporting cast changed a few things around and added two new main characters, and both involve jay finding a new love intrest and intorduce a lot of the cast. I found him to be right, so where we are and after the cut i’ll dive into the good and bad of both episodes and see what changed inbetween seasons.

That gag will make sense.. later. Right now it’s time for our very first episode, the show’s very first episode as you could probably tell by the title.

Pilot: The pilot starts with Jay getting touched up by his Makeup Person Doris. Jay is played by legendary comedian John Lovitz, who this show gave me a deep and lasting appreciation for. Lovitz was at the time best known for his 5 year long stint on SNL, and film wise is best known for Three Amigos, the Brave Little Toaster, The Wedding Singer and Rat Race. Sadly while I do geninely love the guy.. he has been in enough crap to destroy the New York Sewer system, as everyone needs money and sadly not everyone appricates the talents of John Lovitz like I do.

So naturally he’s also been in The Stepford Wives remake, Grown Ups 2, The Ridiculous 6, Eight Crazy Nights, North, Benchwarmers and Benchwarmers 2: Breaking Balls. Yes that’s an actual movie, though it’s already better than the first one for virtue of not having Rob Schnider and David Spade starring in it despite.. that title. The irony is not lost on me that Lovitz has essentially made his money starring in the kinds of films Jay was forced to see for his job. Still a VERY talented, very lovely man.

Before we get to our next voice actor up, no profile of Jon would be complete without mentioning that time he slammed Andy Dick’s face into a bar. To make a very long story short, Lovitz was friends with the late great Phil Hartman, who even did some voice work for this very show, whose wife who had severe drug and mental ilness killed them both. Phil had told Lovitz he saw Dick give his wife cocaine, so after Phil’s tragic murder when Lovitz and Dick ended up on the same show, Lovitz ended up exploding at the guy out of grief and blamed him for her death, but later apologized like a gentleman. Living up to his name though Dick later went up to Lovitz at a restraunt Lovitz owned and said “I’m giving you the Phil Hartman curse, you die next”. Granted he was drunk but still...

Naturally Lovitz banned the guy and Lovitz later demanded an apology when the two ran into each other when they ran into each other at Lovitz regular gig at the comed store. Dick not only refused to apologize even when Lovitz put him against a wall, but said it was because “you blamed me for her death”... which was a decade ago with change by this point, the actions of a man GREIVING for his best friend whose wife’s relapse you caused which inadveradntly lead to her and her husband’s death, and something HE APOLOGIZED FOR. Naturally Lovitz took this how you would and did what we’d all like to do in general and broke the shit out of his face and only didn’t do more because they were seperated. IN short this man is a hero and I wil lbring up this story at every opportunity. Doris was played by the late voice actress Doris Grau, a script supervisor who worked on a LOT of films as one , the most notable I could find on wikipedia being Clue. This is a fact I just learned today but boy if it isn’t neat. Grau mostly did aditional voices for shows, most notably Ducktales and the Simpsons, where she played Lunchlady Doris, and of course this show. Still she seemed like a very funny and talented woman and it’s sad she’s gone. The two start the series mostly sniping at each other and while that never ENTIRELY goes away, Doris gets more supportive after a spotlight episode where she and Jay bond and Jay thinks she might be his mom. And while she’s not this surprisingly sticks and for the rest of the series while still not above making potshots at him on occasion, she’s far more supportive. She also informs him she’s out of spray on hair “I’m bald and ugly, get more!”. This show is naturally comedy gold and a lot of it relies on Lovitz sense of timing, though the rest of the cast aren’t slouches but we’ll get to them as we go. She ends up putting a hat over him and we get our first film parody, Rabbi PI starring Anuld, which is alright. Not one of the series best but passable and gets the gimmick of having film parodies on jay’s show across, which was a nice way to set it apart from the Simpsons. Jay reviews it on the Shermometor, a gimmick jay hates and that disappeared by season 2, giving it a bellow zero to the ire of his boss Duke Phillips. Duke is one of the best parts of the show, an unhinged southren billlonare who was a modeled after Ted Turner, down to the mustache, who built up his fried chicken franchise into a multimedia congrlomorate and is also mildly nuts, though that part would be more of a thing in season 2. In season 1, he’s mostly there to make Jay’s life hell, with about half of the seasons episodes having him either fire jay or put his job in jeapordy versus 2 the next season. He’s still not unfunny, but most of his best stuff is in season 2 when Charles Napier’s allowed to cut loose a little more and the character wasn’t shoehorned into just being a clueless executive. Charles Napier is a longtime character actor who showed up in TONS of films and tv shows too many to list.. and trust me with some of the lists of credits before and after this that’s saying something, his biggest voice rolls being in this series and Men and Black the Series as Zed. But needless to say he was ALWAYS this awesome and sadly passed in 2011. Jay’s guest for the day is Valerie Fox, an up and coming actress whose first film kiss of death is coming out soon.. and whose age is an engima and it’s only a problem because if she’s 20, like the episode mildly suggests giving her starting career and her voice actress being that age, then this gets really gross as jay is 17 years older than her then. But given she looks older than that and sounds certainly older than that, i’m going more with 30, since she looks more like it, and sharon stone, who she’s mildly based on given she stars in a basic instinct knockoff and does the leg thing, was 32 at the time of basic instinct. Valerie is voiced by Jennifer Lien, aka Kes from star trek voyager who I only know about because of reviews done by SF Debris and Allison Pregler. She was the childlike love intrest of Nelix, the ship’s resident pain in the audience asses who made them BEG for early seasons wesley crusher and who once, and I saw footage this wasn’t SF Debris exagreated, lunged at a crewmate in a jealous rage, unfounded by the way since Tom was AVOIDING kes depsite being attracted to her as he just wnated her to be happy and to not mess up her relationshpi, and screamed “i’ll kill you!”. Point is she hasn’t had a huge career, but was still worth noting and does a fantastic job here. Again I did not realize she was that young at the time by her voice, and that means she did a great job.

So Jay’s smitten with her, finds her super attractive and she asks him out.. but to the show’s credit, and Jay’s he does try to rebuff her because he knows ther’es a conflict of intrest there.. but ends up giving in. However at least the show not only is upfront that there’s an issue here but that ends up being the thrust of the last act. Granted there’s still some.. questionable stuff like when she does the basic instinct leg cross and he says “can we get a shot of that”, which no.. Jay.. no you can’t. Ewwww. Seen far worse, like It’s Pat, which was a VERY real SNL sketch about people trying to guess the titular pat’s gender because that’s not creepy or invasive even for the time. And they made a movie out of it because Wayne’s World was popular forgetting that Wayne’s World, one of my faviorite movies by the way and one I need to cover here sometime this year now the thought’s occured to me, was a labor of love, with a talented director and actual ideas from it’s two leads who actually fleshed out the character versus a concept that was NEVER funny to begin with and has gotten down right horrifying with age. And wasn’t I talking about the Critic? Not the abusive jackass mind you, Jay Sherman.

Ah yes so Jay takes Valerie to a date at Lane Riche, the rich jackass where we meet Vlada, a vaugely european man whose your typical hollywood suckup. As Jay puts it in a later episode Vlada: I love you too Jay: You only love my money Vlada: That’s true but it is a love that will never die. He also naturally scoots Jay to a less nice table in the Critic’s section once Conan O’Brian shows up... which WAS supposed to be a different kind of joke, as at the time Conan was just a writer on the simpsons and SNL, but now given he has a decades long career in late night and famously said fuck you to NBC during that whole Tonight Show debacle, which netted him his own show on TBS, it comes off more as the kind of self deprciating gag Conan makes about himself. So in other words it’s actually funnier now?

As for the critic’s section that’s a part of the series I’ve neglected to talk about so let’s do that: The kind of critic Jay is, one who plays clips of the movie and reviews them.. on television. And were usually academics who looked down on popular film, the kind Siskel and Ebert popularized, and both suprisingly had a huge guest apperance in season 2 and even reviewed the show on their show. This kind of film criticism just dosen’t exist on tv that i’m aware of anymore, and mostly lives on with internet reviewers , many of whom were inspiried by critics like this, and who range from acadmeics to average joes to some mixture of both. It never went away just simply went to a younger generation. Some of which squandred it and somehow still have a career like certain abusuive jackasses i’ve mentioned enough with that one gag a few paragraphs ago. Point is it’s a much more varied and different game now so the critic ended up as one of those shows or movies where the main characters very job feels like an artifact of it’s time, like our heroes in Wayne’s World hosting a public acess show, when nowadays they’d just put it up on youtube or the entire idea of a UHF station in well.. UHF. It’s not a BAD thing, just something to note.

But the date goes well as Valerie shows she’s really into jay and even takes him oggling her in stride, though we do get an utter classic of a gag when Jay says something about women being drawn to him.. and cue an old woman asking to rub his nonexistant hump for luck “You hunchbacks are all alike”. She does so anyway to his understandable annoyance.

But the two go back to Jay’s place, talk about his acomplishments including a pulitzer and then well.. the obvious happens they go to bed together and the next day after Valerie is horrified at his just woke up fac,e he gives her an easy out but she’s fine with it. It honestly shows just how low the poor guy’s self esteem is that he just.. assumes a woman will regret having slept with hima nd walk out and while played for laughs it really gives a clear look into Jay’s mental state: He’s so full of self loathing, not helped by the world being out to get him, that it’s really oddly endearing. And VERY releatable. The two are interupted by Jay’s son Marty. Marty is played by the very recognizable and very wonderful Christine Cavanagh, who sadly passed away in 2014. She voiced Chuckie Finster, Gosalyn Mallard, Oblina, Dexter from Dexter’s Lab and the titular pig from Babe. She decided to retire in 2001, so while her career was only about a decade she made quite the impact and is sorely missed. Unsuprisingly her usual voice is perfect for the very awkward Marty, who Jay asks to tell eveyrone about the beautiful woman in his bed especially his unfaithful and utterly loathsome ex wife ardith.

This scene demonstrates two problems. The first is just the pilot as Jay’s kind of sleazy. While Jay being thirsty wouldn’t go away, especially in the episode Lady Hawke, it’d be made more awkwardly endearing. Here there are moments of him just plain being creepy like the aformentioned oggling, which while not bad in itself, if a bit awkawrd, also has him creepily muttering to himself while doing so which removes any charm or relatability and just sends it straight into needing 10 showers just to wash this scene off. The rest of the series would just turn him into a bit desperate at worst. It also explains why the only other romantic story the guy has in the season is a pastiche of misery. Thanfully this would be GREATLY adjusted next season but we’ll get to that.

The other problem is just the tone... we get a good half a minute of Marty talking about how he calls Ardith’s boyfriend “Uncle Al” because he likes him a lot.. to his dad’s face. And granted his dad is being creeptastic this episode but the early episodes just pile on the Jay hatred by the world a bit thick, to the point one episode puts him as “worse than hitler”. Granted the audience is full of idiot teens who have no idea who hitler is, and the gag is kinda funny, but it makes my point: Jay is just utterly shat on by the world, and while he does get a few wins, most are undercut by something awful and it gets taxing sometimes. The guy is just too loveably pathetic to hate, too relatable even as a teen and not snobish enough to be really loathsome or WANT to see him knocked down by the world. It’s not overwhelming enough to ruin the first season, it still has good episodes but this episode does highlight a LOT of these problems. He does get to spend the day with val though, dancing outside the trump buliding, seriously even back then he was a joke and his lack of money half the time was well known.. how did the last four years happen, and they tell each other they love each other. I’d aww if I didn’t know how this ended. So jay relates the good news of how he feels to his best friend, Jeremy Hawke, played by Maurice LaMarche. LaMarche is one of the most talented voice actors alive, a master of impersonations paticuarlly orson welles, who was naturally brought on board because they knew they were going to need a lot of celebrity voices for the film parodies and needed one or two guys to do them to keep it cheap. The guy is like most of this cast a legend in the industry, having voiced the Brain, Squit, Dizzy Devil, the Human Ton, Big Bob Pataki, Egon Spengler, Sleet, Kiff Kroker, Headless Body of Agnew, Morbo, Various other Futurama characters because that list is long, Mortimer Mouse, Blue Falcone, Father, Yosemite Sam, Vincent Van Ghoul, Doctor Doom, Abradolf Lincler, and Odval. Point is the guy has been engranged in my childhood and adulthood and will probably even after he’s gone come back from the grave to do some voices. He even got the part of Jeremy Hawke here because he happened to do a REALLY good australian accent depsite not being australian. Jeremey was a combination of paul hogan, the star of the Crocodile Dundee movies and at the time sex symbol and at this time known anti semite Mel Gibson. Obviously neither of those refrences has aged paticuarlly well, but since hollywood ALWAYS has room for a super hunk from australia, just ask Chris Hemsworth or before him Hugh Jackman, the character still works and his breakout role, Crocodile Ghandi is so ludcrious it works. I.e. a white australian man playing the mahtma and saying before he brings peace “First a tasteful shot of my bum for the ladies. Jeremy, while sometimes increidbly oblvious, is still a fairly nice easygoing guy and an extremley loveable character. And whie Jay worries about Valrie meeting him because he’s sex on a cracker she ignores him and jay gloats for a bit, paticuarlly with the great bit “take your genatalia right back to australia”. And while Jeremy’s happy for him he tries to reign Jay in when Jay talks asking her to marry him. As Jeremy later relates on Jay’s fire escape “Bubala, i’ve learned there’s two things you should never do: Marry an actress and wear blackface to the naacp image awards. Two things I found out the hard way. “

So Jay takes her to meet his parents and finds out he’s adopted.. and their also rich. Jay’s waspy parents are his cold and overly honest mother Elanor, played by Judith Ivey, his kooky dad and THE best part of the series Franklin played by Gerrit Grahm and his loving and free spirited teenager sister Margo played by Nancy Cartwright. Okay (cracks knuckles) here. we. go. Judith Ivey is a tony wining stage actress and has also directed numerous plays and is mostly known for her stage work but I know her from Designing Women where she played BJ in the last season. Garret Grahm apparently shows up in a lot of brian depalma movies, including Beef in phantom of the paradise, a lot of tv work and to my shock the asshole dad from Child’s Play 2. Another thing I genuinely love I wasn’t aware an actor or actress from this series had a part in. Finally there’s Nancy Cartwright, who you DEFINTELY know from the Simpsons, where she plays Bart, along with Nelson, Ralph, Kearny, Database, and Maggie, and Kearny. Other credits include Pistol Pete, Mindy from Animaniacs, Chuckie Finster picking up for Christine Cavanagh ironically enough, Lu and Rufus from Kim Possible. She’s a talented lady and i’m glad sh’es still around. Whew.

Okay so yeah I do love the shermans and fraknlin is again easily the best part of an already excellent series and unlike Duke that’s in full display here, with him saying, when his wife mentions they were going to give jay back at one time, “Son if I’ve said it once I said it a thousand times.. who are all you people. “ and he’d only get better. Sadly he’s NOT in sherman woman and child. Our loss really. But he’s in pretty much every other episode of season 2 thankfully and most of this season so eh, fair trade off. Also we get the classic line, after Jay says he’ll love valrie even when he’s decaying in the ground, his mom quips “Cna’t we go one meal without talking about your rotting corpse?” Though Eleanor understandably thinks Valarie is using jay for a good review. Margo suspects her of the same and takes her on a horse ride, though all she can gleam is that Val genuielly loves jay and welcomes her to the family. Jay however does decide to duck out of the inteview by faking sick, which leads to a really sweet moment where Valerie visits him and they dance, in a hilaroius but oddly sweet parody of Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and King Dork. Despite the title and the song insluting him a LOT it’s still just endearing. This is a problem but we’ll get to in just a moment WHY all these touching moments are a problem. So naturally things don’t go that well for Jay as Duke has a tape of the film sent to him “My shrink was right: GOd does hate me!”

Naturally kiss of death is bad and valrie is bad in it and Jay is left uncertain what to do, but eventually decides he has to do what he feels is right,.. though he does take a picture of her while she’s sleeping. “In case you do leave”

So in a tender and heartbreaking moment Jay is honest, the movie does suck and she’s not good but he does compliment her, for her personality not her body despite his skeevy behavior and say she could get better. Instead when he arrives home.. she dumps him to his face and leaves never to be seeen again while he assumes she’ll come back. And that’s the issue it’s GENUINELY hard to tell if we’re supposed to side with Jay. On one hand he genuinely loves her and does the right thing and on the oth er he’s kinda creepy. It’s a mixed tone that just sorta hurts thing and something the series DID fix after this, as it found a better ballance of the guy being pitable while also still being an ass and ONLY usually being punished when he does something actually wrong, the only exception being Dial M for MOther which is easily the weakest episode of the series. The episode does close on a really funny moment as Jay’s dispondent because “I’m sitting on top of a volcano of rage and I don’t knwo where to direct it”. Marty mentions a new Sylvester Stallone movie where “He plays a concert pianst who” And jay dosen’t even need the rest of that to shout “To the multiplex!” The man is back

Final Thoughts for Pilot: This episode is not bad. It has it’s flaws as I said, mostly in tone, but the series would iron that out and it’s still a great pilot that organically introduces the entire main cast in one episode and really gives us the full idea of who Jay Sherman is. It’s also REALLY funny, as the series should be and it would get better, but i’d still put it over some more awkward first episode like Letterkenny’s “No Reaosn to Get Excited”, even with it’s brilliant ending or Bojack Horseman’s first episode whose title is way too long to put here in an article that’s already long as hell about about to get longer. But like those series this pilot worked pass the awkwardness and the result is a damn good series. but if you want a better idea of what it became.. wellllllll

Sherman, Woman and Child: So yeah as you can tell JSUT by contrasting images a few things were changed up between seasons, part of it at network instance. The designs were softened , the color palette was brightened with jay being the most noticably alterted between seasons.

The execs wanted jay a bit warmer, so his face was given wider more expressive eyes and was also scrucnehd down a bit. He was also made slightly less of a jackass, with his elitisim toned down a bit and his creepeir moments gone. For instance he no longer had a split personality/imaginary secretary named ethel. That was actually a thing. It didn’t even really change Jay as a person, this very episode mentions him not liking the Lion King, and he’s still snooty, he’s jusst not as punchable about it and that was for the best. But the cringe comedy in general was taken down a peg and replaced with more fun weirdness, which wihle present in season 1 really pops more here, especially with Jay’s dad who sadly dosen’t show up in this episode, but at various points dresses up like El Kabong, puts on the mask from the mask (”He did the same thing at Nixon’s funeral”), and blows up famous works of art while babysitting. But yeah things get a bit more surreal like the simpsons from season 4 onward, ironically enough given these guys left to make their own show, and it’s to the show’s benefit.

But besides a lighter tone, they also wanted two things to hook viewers in: A permenant love intrest for Jay, and an adorable kid character. The former.. was acutlaly quite resonable, as i’td both give jay a “win” as it were, allow the cast to have another femlae character and give him someone else to confide in besides Doris or Jeremy, to give those characters a break. The other was less so and we’ll get into why when we meet her.

This episode really is a second pilot, reintroducing about half of the main cast. Marty, Elanor, Margo and as I said Franklin are all absent. But their reintroduced soon enough with the fourth episode in both broadcast and dvd order, and my personal faviorite “A Song for Margo, is entirely focused on Jay’s parents and sister, while Lady Hawke has marty breifly at the start for broadcast order and he’s in the frmaing device for Sherman of Arabia in dvd order. So the characters all get a proper reintroduction to new audiences, but it was the right call to NOT shove them into this one, still introducing new people to the new cast, but letting the two new additions to it breathe and get properly intergrated into this universe.. well more Alice than Penny but we’ll get to that. It’s part of why, besides the genuine extra coat of polish aand seasonal changes I feel this is the better episode.

So we open with Jay on his show and two parodies in a row. The first is a few good men but with Jack Nichelson making fun of Christan Slater for sounding like him even though. they honestly aren’t too similar other than both doing that pause thing a bit. So yeah not their best but the second segment makes up for it “The Nightmare Before Channukah” a parody of the nightmare before christmas that was so beautifully animated and funny, that they actually bumped it up to the season premiere. But while the parodies are good Jay’s show is once again, this happened a LOT in season one, in jeapordy, being beaten by the Benedictine monk variety hour. Which while the Bendictine Monks are VERY much an artifact of the 90′s a choir of monks that somehow went mainstream, the whole segment is so absurd and wonderful it stands on it’s own and is still funny to me in 2021. Duke comes in anda fter trying to softball things shows the change I mentioned: He’s actually sorry the show is in danger and is genuinely sincere that he’s sad he’ll probably have to cancel it versus season 1 where he was ready to cancel it what felt like every other episode. And I prefer this, where he can still mess with jay or flex his power over him, but is more cordial with the guy and it allows more jokes between the two.

So Jay’s not doing so good.. and during his crappy day he spots a 30 something woman and her young daughter struggling in the rain and stops his cab to help. And gets maced for it “MMM, Jalapeno”. Though Alice does apologize and Jay does understand as it is New York and she graciously takes the offer. It’s in the cab their properly introduced. Aliice thompkins and her daughter penny who in a great bit punches jay in the nose for not liking the lion king (”rex reed did the same thing”) and then kissing him on the nose in apology (”Rex did that too” And he acompanies them in.. and also gets conked on the head by a potted plant and put in a materinity dress.

So we get to know Alice and what her deal is: Alice was once married to and supported the career of country star Cyrus Thompkins who was.. less than subtle in his music about how faithful he was

Easily one of my favorite gags of the series if in part for Pat Overall’s delivery. So she moved from Knoxville to New York to prove to her daughter a woman can make it on her own, and proves she’s smart, talented and driven she just needs a break. She seemingly gets one in a man in a bright white outfit who says “this is your ticket out of this rundown flophouse” only for him to cheerfully exclaim “Your being evicted!”... PFFFTT. Cue where the commerical would be

So during this lull in the action let’s talk about Alice and Penny’s voice actresses: Alice is voiced by Park Overall, though for some weird reason I thought she was voiced by Hollly Hunter. Dunno why. Park is an outspoken liberal, supporting my boy bernie sanders in 2016 and in general seems like a fascenating lady. Naturally like with Jay’s parents I know her from something more oddly specific, the sitcom Reba, as I did not realize she voiced alice depsite using a similar voice for her character there, Reba’s best friend Lori Ann.. And while Park TRIED her best.. the character didn’t work out: a combination of it being simply funnier that barbra jean tried to wedge herself into the roll and the fact Reba really didn’t need a horny abrasive sidekick meant the charcter had a very short shelf life and the audience had very low patience for her. I did like her constnatly insulting Brock as he was not a good person andi t was nice SOMEONE besides Reba actually got to roast him on a regular basis.

Penny was voiced by the one and only Russi Taylor, who sadly passed in 2019. She voiced Huey Dewey and Louie, Webby Vanderquack, Minnie Mouse, Fantasma, the imcomprable martin prince...

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Among tons of smaller rolls. She’s sadly missed. We’ll get more into what they add or subtract from the show in a minute, as the next day at work Jay wonders how to help, though Duke’s interjection gives us two great gags: his “30 second workout” which involvees throwing jay around like a medicine ball and.. well this.

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The man is a legend for a reason. He earned that golden statue. So Jay TRIES slipping alice the money only to give it “To my good friend crazy postman”, and Alice refuses the money due to pride.. even if you know, she has a small child and new york is expensive but Jay finds a better solution, hire her.. even if it’d make it impossible for them to date. For all of one episode. What keeps the power dynamics from feeling EUGUUUUGGHH here is that Jay treats alice like an equal partner at work and dosen’t let their relationship really impact things outside of one episode, and dosen’t use his position to get into a relationship with her nor does she use being responsible for a turn in his fortune for hers.

And yes turn in fortune, as a makeover and a change of attidue under Alice’s direction, which is utterly amazing to watch and wow’s duke and hte audience, wins back his fans and his job is secure. Duke meets alice and we get more great duke stuff. including something truly iconic...

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I want bears who sing for me, doo dah, doo dah. But yeah things are well though Jay ends up admitting to Jeremy he can’t stop thinking about her “Her merest smile is like pedals of the empreror’s bathwater, BATHWATER I TELL YOU BATHWATER. “ So Jeremey encourages him carpe canum “Seize the dog”. He does so.. and the day but instead finds Alice with her ex Cyrus whose trying to win her back. Wuh oh. Once the asshole leaves, and agrees to give her the night to think, Alice admits the only reason she’s considering it is she has a weakness: his singing melts her like butter on a bagle (”God i’ve been in new york too long”. ) Jay tries to talk her out of it at the critics meeting for “Dennis the Meance II Society” which involves Dennis pulling a drivebye on mr wilson.. why wasn’t this the second live action dennis the meance movie? WHY I ASK YOU. But Jay gets a good idea, as Alice TRIES to tell the asshole to get to stepping (And to see penny often, she’s not a monster), he works his evil song magic.. only for Jay to undercut it with his own amazing song on acordian. “Cyrus is just a virus, he wants to tie you down while your still young. Your potetial, is what’s essential, you could someday be another connie chung!” And that ultiamtely shows WHY jay is the better man. He just wants what’s best for her and dosen’t care if it’s him, he just wants it not to be THIS asshole. He’s not even trying to win her over, which a lot of these gestures creepily lead to. He just wants to help her be who she’s MEANT to be. And that’s why this works better: Instead of a fake relationship built on lust and someone conning the other person, it’s a real one built on genuine chemistry. Also Alice you know dosen’t just.. vanish after an episode but is a permenant part of the cast. I mean she does for the webisodes but we don’t talk about those.

So our hero undercuts Cyrus one more time Cyrus: “Loverrrr, without you there’s no other” Jay: Give him a chance he’ll do your mother....

I mean he’s not worng, So Cyus is sent packing and we get a nice romantic moment between the two.

Final Thoguhts: Sherman, Woman and Child This one is truly excellent. It relaunchs the show on all cyllanders. And frankly Alice was a fine addition to the cast: her own fully fleshed out woman with her own personality outside of jay, who was tough, smart and a good counterpoint and confidant to Jay and it felt like she’d always fit. Penny on the other hand, apologizes to the late Russi Taylor who tries her best, just dosen’t work and feels ultra cloying and out of place in the series and unspurisingly is barely used after this. But overall a better pilot than the actual pilot was already pretty good and a fine pair of episodes. Check em out whenever the series eithe rgets on a streaming platform or pops back up on youtube as Sony’s struck it down... despite not putting it up anywhere i’m aware of. Seriously sell it to HBO Max or Disney I want a reboot. But for now this series is awesome check it out and until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure.

#the critic #jay sherman #alice thompkins #marty sherman #duke phillips #pilot #sherman mother and child #jon lovitz #the simpsons #mike reiss #al jean #abc #fox #animation #the 90s

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slothgiirl · 4 years

Text

shadowplay part 14

You’re going to miss LA. You think to yourself as you hoist your bag out the uber, considerably heavier than when you arrived a little under a week ago.

“I’ve got it love,” Alex grins, not waiting for your response, before taking the bag right out of your hands, clad in a jacket like the sun wasn’t shining high in the sky.

“I had it.”

“Yeah well,” he smiles, taking a moment to plant a kiss against your lips, “I’ve got it.”

You roll your eyes, leading the way into the airport, but can’t help the smile that grows on your lips. The warmth in your chest has nothing todo with the california sun, leaving you bubbly as fuck, the same way you’ve felt this whole week with Alex.

Even rock stars have to wait their turn to grab their tickets before having to go through the very unsexy security.

Standing in line, the airports ac cranked up like crazy, you’re glad to be wearing one of Alex’s jackets. “ feel like a glorified coat hanger,” you tell him, “just here to keep your jacket from being ruined during the flight.”

Alex chuckles, “but you're much better company.”

“True,” you giggle, “can’t say the same for you though. It’s no fun getting tipsy while you're holding your own like a proper james bond.” Thinking back on the many drinking games you'd taken part of during the last week. Zack had been a surprising lightweight.

“Well-,”

Whatever he was about to say is lost. The sound of cameras clicking, a flash temporarily blinding your eyes. As a man urgently says, “Alex is this your new girlfriend!”

A camera clicks again.

“Alex! Look over here,” the man cries out.

You wish you had Alex's sunglass wearing habit, as you blink rapidly, trying to recover from the blinding flashes suddenly assaulting you.

One man becomes two becomes three. All jockeying for his attention. “Alex are you working on the new album!”

“Sweetheart, look over here!”

“Is she your new girlfriend!”

“When's the new album out!”

The people around you, who moments ago hadn't cared, look over, whispering under their breath. You don't know how celebrities like Kim Kardashian can deal with the media circus that surrounds their lives constantly you think as you try and ignore the flashes continuing to go off. Ignoring them like you would the pointed looks of your profs as you struggled to stay awake during seven in the morning lectures.

Alex, sensing your unease, slips his hand into yours, squeezing your hand in his tightly as he pulls you along up to the self check-ins.

It's easier to block them out when you're busy concentrating on printing your tickets.

“I swear my passport was just here,” you mutter. Your purse wasn't even that big. How could it have gotten lost.

Alex smirks, unable to help himself as he teases you, “should've given your passport to me love.”

You snort. “My passport picture should be kept between me and this unfortunate machine.” You had tried to bleach your hair blonde, but had only achieved a horrid orange color that you'd dyed back to black the next day.

You pull out the elusive passport, but Alex nabs it from your hands before you can scan it into the machine.

He looks down with a ridiculously sappy smile, “you look beautiful as ever.”

“Oh you're so full of shit,” you snipe back.

Alex chuckles, the machine finally printing your tickets, before leaning in and kissing you again, taking you bottom lip between his lips, for just a moment too long for such a public place.

You flush crimson, but can't make yourself look away from Alex; the man you've grown so fond of.

He'd never been this open and at ease of PDA back when you had been faking a relationship for his benefit. It makes you really wonder how his friends had bought it.

A crease forms between his brows, “don't mind the paps love. ‘s better if you just ignore ‘em.” There's a certain stiffness to his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago too.

The paps bother him too. You're surprised he isn't used to it. Then again, he hadn't even spared them so much as a glance.

Understanding dawns on you, he was worried about how you'd react now that you'd both just decided to start dating. Alex doesn't want them to put you off.

You shake your head as you both make your way to TSA, Alex still holding your hand, keeping you close to him. “I was just thinking how I'd be a terrible paparazzi. They'd send me out to chase Britney Spears and I'd be like but what if she doesn't want to be bothered right now.”

He laughs as you step on the escalator up and leave the paps behind.

You're in the cab back from the airport as your phone buzzes, finally off from airplane mode. Ten different texts from your mum asking if you landed okay. All the work emails you put off in the states. And Sam sent you a million screenshots of you and Alex in the airport earlier with the text: i'm now celebrity adjacent and i WILL name drop.

You laugh, having expected nothing less from her.

“What,” Alex asks lazily, cigarette in hand, both the cabs windows down.

“Just Sam being Sam.” You reply.

He nods, becoming incredibly serious, too serious to be sincere, “she's your Matthew.”

“Well you're not wrong.” Sam was that close to you. “We're going house hunting tomorrow...later today. I hate jet lag.”

Alex grins. “Why don't you just move in with me,” he says simply, as though it's not a loaded question. As though it's really that easy.

Sending you through eighty five degrees of: you haven't told your parents, they're going to freak, you just started dating, too fast, you're parents were going to absolutely murder him because everyone in your family had been convinced you were going to die an old spinster by now.

“We just started dating,” you say instead.

Alex shoots you a puzzled look. “Technically it's been six months.”

“Stick to being clever in writing Alex,” you reply. “this has been on my to do list for a year now.” You have been saving up money and building credit for ages now.

“Okay so maybe it's been a week,” he shrugs, flicking the cigarette ash into the street, “but it feels like forever.”

You snort, your cheeks heating up all over again. You hadn't felt this happy with a man in ages. “Nice try but the answer’s still no.”

“Can I at least come with,” he pouts.

“No,” you laugh, “Sams going to want all the gossip as soon as I see her. Who else is going to tell her that Breanna really thinks rice crackers and peanut butter are a snack!”

“Don't be so hard on her.”

“You didn't have any either,” you counter. “I can understand someone eating healthy, I dunno if I've ever made a dress larger than a size 6, but I draw the line at trying to pretend kale chips taste good.”

“I hate peanut butter,” he answers, the laugh clear in his voice. “sticks to the roof of my mouth.”

“She also told me about this app that fakes plastic surgery for editing,” you add, “made me feel like an old woman. Only just discovered filters.” You really didn't use instagram for much more than following some writers and designers you admire.

“She hogged you all week,” Alex groans at the memory. Breanna telling you where to squat so her legs would look longer, her camera in your hands.

“It was fun. She's a hell of a hiker,” you admit. She'd been able to walk and talk easily, lugging around her camera with her, while the boys jammed out back at the cabin.

“Miles won't walk more than a block before whining. Ya sure I can’t go with you and Sam? I've gotten very used to having you around all the time”

“You can help me move in,” you tease.

“Oi!”

You lean in close to his ear, “promise I'll make it worth your time,” you practically purr, barely managing to keep from laughing.

Alex's cigarette falls out of his hand.

He turns to you fully, his hand cupping your cheek, a glint in his eye as the sun sets over London, “I'll hold you too it.”

You beat Alex to the bags, having learned by now that he wasn't about to let you pay. Which was for the best. But you could at the very least carry your own bag up the stairs to your flat.

“I've got it,” you shut him down, keeping a hand outstretched, so he doesn't just take the bag from your hand.

“Alright alright,” Alex laughs, following you up to your flat.

You were glad that he was staying. You had also gotten used to waking up to him every morning. To making out in bed first thing. Or lounging around on your phone as Alex tuned his guitar.

It had been that way for a while if you were being honest with yourself.

Alex had carved out a place in your life long before he'd kissed you and told you he loved you.

Saying you had only been dating for a week meant nothing when you were already sure of the depth of your feelings for him.

“ ‘s it alright if I stay over,” Alex asks softly, leaning against the door while you search for your keys, looking just as hopeful and earnest as he had so long ago when drunk, when he'd tried to kiss you then.

You stick the key in the door, before turning to meet the warmth of his brown eyes, and kissing him for all the times you'd wanted to before: kissing him just because you can. You can't imagine ever being sick of the feel of his lips against yours. “Stay as long as you like.”

The door clicks open.

“All that's good,” Alex smiles, “I already ordered breakfast… ‘fink it's closer to lunch by now.”

“Oh thank god,” you reply, abandoning your bag next to the door and sinking into your sofa, stretching out all the kinks in your neck from having sat on a plane for the last nine hours. “I was just thinking how I was going to have to run to the grocery store.”

“We can go after.” Alex says, kicking off his shoes, and laying down next to you.

You giggle, scooting over as much as you can do there's room. Both of you are slight, so it's not hard to curl up on the sofa without feeling squished together. You relax against Alex, happy to waste your last hours of vacation with him.

#Alex Turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x reader #Shadowplay #we in the last few rounds now

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featherymalignancy · 5 years

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CHAPTER THREE—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

“In wine lies the truth”

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

Check out the masterlist for In Vino Veritas here!

Chapter Three: Bollinger

This time, Nesta didn’t bother lying to herself; she’d made the trip to Merchant because she wanted to see Cash.

It was perfectly innocent, though. She’d had a good day was all, and the truth was she didn’t have an over-abundance of friends in San Francisco. It would just be nice to see a familiar face. Besides, Tomás was out of town, which made this...easier than it might have ordinarily been.

The old bell chimed as she strode in, and Cash—who’d be pouring over what looked like an inventory report behind the bar—grinned when he saw her, eyes glittering. His hair was tied up in its usual style at its crown, but today he also wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made him look more distinguished, if no less roguish. She found it vaguely irritating that he seemed to get more handsome every time she saw him.

“Let me guess,” he said in greeting. “Another dinner party.”

“No,” she said primly, setting her bag down and perching on a stool. “Today we’re celebrating.”

He grinned, teeth bright against his bronze skin.

“Are we?”

“We are,” she said. “I just won a huge case.”

“Congratulations. Unless—” he narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t defending a murderer, were you? Tell me he didn’t do it.”

“It was a civil case. Police brutality.”

Cash’s eyes softened.

“Not just a supermodel, then. A superhero, too.”

Nesta let the comment glance off of her, unsure the sort of damage it could do her if she let it sink in. Instead she pursed her lips.

“The officer broke my client’s back during a rough ride. A man who’d done so little wrong that he was never even charged for the supposed crime he was arrested for. He was only in police custody so long because he ended up in surgery.” She shook her head. “Fifteen hours on the table, and he’ll still never walk again. I pushed for criminal charges but couldn’t get the government to prosecute, so I took the case to civil court instead.”

She flashed a dour smile.

“I made sure there wasn’t a cent left on the table.”

Cash let out a low whistle.

“You sort of scare me, you know?”

Nesta shrugged, feeling oddly pleased by this observation.

“Normally I only take on criminal defense cases pro-bono, but this wasn’t one I was going to let slide.”

“You fascinate me,” Cash admitted, and Nesta huffed, not wanting to let that sink in, either.

Unfortunately, it was harder to ignore, and Nesta felt her cheeks warming.

“Maybe you just need to get out more.”

Cash laughed, eyes glittering from behind his frames.

“I’ve been out plenty, trust me.”

“Gross,” she sniped, and he laughed again.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just determined to make me a philanderer, aren’t you?”

She glanced at her watch to give herself something to do.

“You’ve yet to prove you aren’t one.”

“I can’t prove a lack of something. As for proving the opposite—“ he shrugged. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“I don’t care for surprises,” she said, needing to change the subject.

It felt too much like they were flirting again, and it was a line she knew she couldn’t cross. Tomás would be beside himself if he ever found out.

“Alright,” Cash said, seeming to read her body language. “Enough witty banter. What kind of champagne do you like?”

“Bollinger,” she said. “If you have it.”

Cash grinned, the gold in his ears winking at her as he propped his chin on a fist.

“Are you sure you’re not a international super spy? That’s James Bond’s favorite, too.”

She couldn’t stifle a short laugh.

“How do you even know that?”

“When are you going to accept that when it comes to wine, there’s nothing I don’t know?”

“Never,” she said in challenge. “Because someday you’re going to make a mistake, and I vow to be there to roast you for it when you do.”

Cash raised his eyebrows, leaning in slightly.

“Then I’ll be sure to make said mistake in the shower.”

“Cash,” she warned, even as she fended off another laugh.

“You’re the one making threats!” He said, holding up his hands. “I can’t help it if you occasionally fall victim to your own hubris.”

“I—“ she began, still trying to avoid imagining what Cash looked like in the shower. His thick hair slicked back, skin glistening as water ran down the arched grooves of his Adonis belt towards his thick—

She cleared her throat.

“Fine. You win this round.”

“Part of me is afraid that you’re only giving ground as some sort of tactic, but I’ll take my wins where I can get them.”

“Then I have you just where I want you,” she said, glad to have made her way back to more familiar terrority.

He laughed, going to get the champagne.

“You can have me wherever you want, Archeron,” he called, but before she could censure him for it, he’d disappeared into the back.

He came back carrying the Bollinger and two antique glasses that reminded her of Downton Abbey.

“Nice touch,” she said, gesturing to them.

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk.

“Thought you’d like these. Be gentle with them, these are Dev’s babies.”

He popped the bottle with a expert kiss of sound before pouring a measure for each of them and pushing one of the glasses to her.

He held his up to her.

“To the justice we can get.”

She raised hers in answer.

“Even if it isn’t the justice that’s deserved.”

Their glasses sang as they touched, and Nesta paused before taking a sip so she could watch him take his. As always, his reaction didn’t disappoint.

His brows drew together as he gave a hum of appreciation, biting his lip as he let the flavor linger. She hurriedly took a sip herself, not wanting to get caught admiring him. She could feel him studying her in return as she did.

She let her eyes flutter shut as the satiny bubbles caressed her tongue.

“What do you taste?”

Her eyes snapped open to find he was still watching her, head cocked slightly to the side.

“You’re the expert,” she said archly. “You tell me.”

He laughed.

“I already know the profile. I want to hear what you think.”

“Is this your way of putting me in my place after all my dress-downs?”

His grin faded, something she couldn’t quite name softening his hazel eyes.

“Never. I just—“ some of the tension melted from his shoulder as he gave a laugh that didn’t feel entirely genuine. “You obviously have a great palette. I just want to know what it is you like about this vintage in particular. Think of it as—market research, if you want.”

She considered this, and him, because taking another sip.

“I’d know it was champagnois even if I’d never had it before. It’s nuttier than a Prosecco or a Cava. Not as finely-edged. And the fruit in it is lightly spiced. Apple, definitely. And...pear, maybe? It reminds me of Christmas.”

She glanced up to find him looking at her.

“Well?” she said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “How did I do?”

“Spot on,” he said. “Though no surprises there. You would have made a great sommelier. A big part of the job is painting a picture that makes people fall in love with the wine. That description was painfully charming.”

“Don’t be obsequious,” she warned, even as she felt herself preening a little from the compliment.

“No idea what that means,” he said with a grin. “But I will do my best. How did things turn out with your sister and the Riesling?”

Nesta flashed a feline smirk, one she knew sent most men running for the hills.

“Better than I could have hoped,” she said “Graysen’s mother wouldn’t stop raving about it. Her new favorite, she said. Even better than the bottle Graysen got here for her birthday last year.”

Her smirk widened as he shook his head, laughing.

“You’re gonna put this poor kid in therapy.”

Nesta sniffed, taking another sip.

“He’s made Ellie cry more than once; he can burn in Hell for all I care. Besides, he couldn’t be less worthy of her if he were were a clown car mechanic. I’m going to throw a gala they day they break up for good.”

“If you could invent a perfect man for Elain, what would he be like?”

“Quiet,” Nesta said immediately, and when Cash laughed, she added, “I’m serious! Graysen is constantly talking, and she can never get a word in when they’re together. She has so many interesting things to say; she deserves a guy who wants nothing more than to listen to her all day.”

“A wallflower, roger that. What else?”

Nesta considered.

“Someone who does sweet things for her. Elain’s love language is acts of service. Men always want to buy her expensive things or spouts odes to her beauty. What she really wants is someone who will pack her a sack lunch or get her car washed. Also dark-haired. Grown men shouldn’t be blonde.”

Cash grinned, eyes slight.

“He sounds like a dreamboat. Maybe I should let you find me someone, too.”

Nesta was surprised at how much the comment ached. Not that she begrudged Cash meeting a woman; he certainly deserved it. She just—didn’t want to have to imagine it.

“I don’t know you well enough to make an accurate assessment,” she sniffed, trying not to seem too desperate as she poured herself more champagne.

Cash opened his arms in invitation.

“What would you like to know?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes as she considered.

“How do you feel about Beyoncé?”

Cash laughed.

“Is this a trick?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“The Lemonade album deserves a permanent exhibit at the Smithsonian as a pillar of human achievement.”

She nodded in approval.

“Good. At least I know I can trust you now.”

“That’s your litmus rest?” He laughed. “What were you going to say if I say no?”

“Leave and never come back, obviously,” she said.

“Fair enough,” Cash allowed. “What else?”

“Best Hogwarts house?”

“Alright, this one is too easy. Gryffindor.”

Nesta feigned a gag.

“That is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Daring and chivalrous! Those aren’t favorable traits to you?”

Nesta sniffed imperiously.

“Self-important and braggadocious, you mean. Besides, there’s nothing more dangerous that a person who’s convinced they’re right.”

He shook his head, chuckling.

“I feel so foolish. Everything about you screams Slytherin; I should have seen that question for the trap is was.”

“You know why I’ve been so successful in the courtroom?”

“Because you’re brilliant?”

She dismissed the compliment with a flick, even as it warmed her from the inside out.

“Because most of the time I’m going up against self-righteous prosecutors who’d rather waste their time beating their chest and waxing dramatically to the jury about my client’s character, instead of arguing the facts. It makes mounting a defense and tearing them to ribbons almost comically easy.”

“Like I said,” Cash offered, studying her with unchecked appreciation. “Fascinating.”

“I’ll change your mind before this is all over,” she said. “Mark my words.”

He leaned in slightly, enough that she could smell his clean scent again.

“Looking forward to it.”

They studied each other for a moment, and this time it was Cash who looked away, chuckling quietly to himself.

“What else?”

“Tell me secret. Something no one else knows about you.”

He considered this before turning over his forearms to show her his tattoos.

“I cried like a baby when I got these.”

She put her chin in her hand, if only to resist the urge to trace the slightly-ridged ribbons of ink. The designs were exquisitely tendered; whoever the artist was, they’d known what they were doing.

“Why?” she asked finally.

He laughed.

“Because they fucking hurt!”

She pursed her lips to indicate she wasn’t buying it, and he laughed again, glancing down at his forearms.

“Growing up, I just always felt like—I don’t know—a mongrel. When you’re a kid all you want to do is fit in, and being mixed, I never really felt like I did. I was—weirdly resentful I couldn’t just be like everyone else. I had my gran in my ear always spouting all this Māori stuff, but I just wanted to be Hawaiian. It wasn’t until she took me back to Waitomo when I was in high school that I got to see my culture for what it was—mine. I wanted to wear that pride on my skin.”

“So when you got the tattoos...”

He nodded.

“When I got the tattoos, I felt like I was reclaiming something I’d lost. Not just a sense of belonging, but a connection to my dad, who I never got to meet. It was—really emotional.”

“Did you take anyone with you?”

“My friend Ro. He was the only other Māori kid in my neighborhood growing up, so our families were always close.”

Cash laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“You should see him. His tats cover almost the whole left side of his damn body. If he hadn’t wanted to be a cop, I’m pretty sure he’d have gotten them on his face. We had to convince him to stop mid-neck.”

Cash glanced down at his own again, and Nesta couldn’t resist. Gingerly she reached out to follow the band on diamonds that studded along his wrist. She watched his skin pebble under her touch, and she pulled her hand back, knowing she was being unfair.

“That sounds—intimidating,” she said instead, trying to shift the conversation back.

Cash shrugged.

“He’s a sweet dude underneath all the gruffness, but yeah, he’s pretty terrifying with all that ink. I suppose it doesn’t help that he’s also 6’6 and looks like a jacked Anderson Cooper.”

She had to laugh.

“What does that even mean?”

“He started going grey when we were still in high school, and now he’s completely silver. It’s annoyingly dashing.“

Nesta snorted.

“The silver fox trope is such a double standard. If I was completely gray, no one would be gushing over it.”

Cash considered.

“I feel like you would be very striking as a silver vixen. Besides, I thought women dying their hair gray was a thing now?”

“How do you even know that?”

Cash laughed.

“My friend Rhys is a...great lover of females.He loves to opine on all the various trends.”

“Is that your polite way of saying he’s a playboy?”

Cash shrugged.

“His dad’s a billionaire. Az and I think he didn’t hear the word ‘no’ enough as a kid, and it’s made him restless and hedonistic. When he meets the right girl, though, it’s going to be game-set-match. I know it.”

“Thats...charming, I suppose.”

“You’d like him,” Cash said before pausing to laugh. “...I think. His cousin I think you’d definitely like. In fact, I’m having a friend from Paris in next week to host a tasting, and Mor will be there. You should come and meet her.”

Nesta’s heart leapt at the opportunity. She loved getting dressed and going out, and she was in rather desperate need of female friends. Still, there was Tomás to consider.

“I know that look,” Cash said. “So let me beat you to the punch: you can bring your boyfriend, and whoever else you want.”

“Elain would love it,” Nesta said, not wanting to admit that Tomás wouldn’t, especially when he saw Cash.

Still, she was reasonably confident she could convince him.

“Maybe I’ll tell her to bring Graysen, and your friend can embarrass him in front of everyone.”

Cash shook his head, giving a resigned chuckle.

“You are terrible.”

Nesta admired her long nails self-importantly.

“Please, you love it.”

She immediately regretted saying it. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Cash sometimes looked at her, and she didn’t want to blur any lines by being over-flirtatious. It wasn’t fair to him, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Tomás. And if he ever found out she’d been saying things like that to another guy behind his back, he’d never let her step foot in the Merchant again.

“I admit I’m morbidly curious about this guy,” Cash admitted. “Though I don’t want your sister to hate me for humiliating her boyfriend.”

“She’ll love you,” Nesta blurted, and realizing her misstep, forced herself to add, “maybe I’ll set you two up once she gives Graysen the boot.”

The idea made her stomach roil, especially when Cash smirked.

“First you accuse me of philandering, and now you want to set me up with your precious baby sitter? Pick a lane, Archeron.”

Nesta shrugged mechanically.

“At least I’d know she was being treated the way she deserves.”

Cash laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the bar.

“I don’t want to date your sister, Nes.”

Nesta ignored the way something in her black heart fluttered at the declaration, pursing her lips in feigned annoyance instead.

“Why not? Gorgeous and brilliant aren’t your type?”

Cash laughed.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that gorgeous and brilliant are every guy’s type.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Nesta had no idea why she was pushing the issue. She had less than zero desire to see Cash pursue Elain.

Cash only laughed again, an edge of exasperation souring the otherwise rich sound.

“Maybe I’m too afraid of you. I can only imagine what kind of cruel and unusual torture you’d cook up for me if things didn’t work out.”

“I’d flay and barbecue you at a low heat,” Nesta affirmed, and Cash grinned, his expression easing slightly.

“Exactly. Besides,” he paused, eyes glittering from behind his frames as he studied her again. “I wouldn’t want to risking messing up our friendship.”

She sniffed to disguise the way that touched her.

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends. We hardly know each other.”

“I know you better than you think, my thorny Slytherin queen. And we are friends, so don’t be like that.”

“Fine,” she said. “I admit I find your company enjoyable in an...annoying sort of way.”

“Please,” Cash said, grinning. “You love it.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, and he only grinned wider.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. So about next weekend: are you in? I’m trying to firm up the guest list for my friend Hélion.”

Nesta felt her cheeks warming as she admitted, “I...have to discuss it with Tomás. He’s been out of town.”

Cash looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he said, “Well if you do decide to come, I have only one request—“

“That I don’t bring my friend Claire,” Nesta finished for him, and he laughed.

“She was in again last week and left me her number on a receipt. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Call her?” Nesta made herself suggest.

Cash frowned.

“I told you: not my type. Everything I said, she agreed with. I don’t want a woman who only ever tells me what she thinks I want to hear.”

Nesta couldn’t help herself.

“What do you want, then?”

Cash sank his teeth into his plush lower lip as if he were trying to suppress a smile before finally glancing at her.

“Someone who’s quick on the draw, and who isn’t afraid to dish it back. I don’t want a admirer; I want an equal. Besides,” he paused, biting his lip again. “I prefer brunettes.”

Nesta felt her heart beating in her throat as he studied her—her dark hair—before meeting her gaze again.

“If you know anyone like that, then...”

“I don’t,” Nesta said automatically before adding, “sorry.”

Cash continued watching her for a second before shrugging.

“Being single isn’t all bad.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” Nesta admitted in a soft voice. “It’s been a while.”

Cash nodded, adjusting his frames as he looked down into his glass.

“How long have you two been together?”

“Six years.”

“That’s—a long time.”

“It is,” she agreed, wishing they could change the subject.

“No ring yet?”

Her eyes snapped up, he shook his head.

“Sorry. None of my business.”

She thought about biting out that no, it most certainly wasn’t, before realizing she didn’t want to sour things with an unduly harsh retort. Instead she shrugged.

“If he had his way, we’d be married already. I’m the one who’s insisted on waiting.”

“Why?”

She didn’t know why she answered. She knew she really shouldn’t, but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Cash was so easy to talk to, and the fact he didn’t know Tomás personally somehow made it feel like less of a violation of their privacy.

“We’ve been through a lot together, but I don’t know—I’m not ready. I guess I’m just waiting for a sign to show me that I am.”

“Didn’t have you down as a person who believed in signs,” Cash admitted.

Nesta fidgeted in her seat, looking down at her bare left hand.

“I’m not usually. But this is...too important not to be completely sure.”

Cash nodded but didn’t push for clarification, even though she could tell he wanted to.

“I’m happy, though,” Nesta added, needing to hear herself say it out loud. “He makes me very happy.”

Cash gave her a smile that was warm, even if it didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“You deserve that,” he said.

“How would you know?”

At this Cash’s smile widened to show pearly teeth.

“Because I’m an excellent judge of character. Besides, doesn’t everyone deserve that? Someone who makes them happy?”

“You do,” she blurted, and her cheeks caught fire as she realized she’d said it out loud.

She’d clearly drank more champagne than she’d thought; she was being embarrassingly loosed-lipped. Cash only smiled again, politely ignoring her insidious blush.

“You think?”

“Per your logic, everyone does,” she pointed out, drumming her nails on the oak bar top. When he dimmed a bit, she softened.

“But yes, I think you deserve it more than most.”

Cash gave a sheepish laugh as he looked down at the scuffed chukka boots her wore, and Nesta found herself adding, “She’s a lucky girl, Cash. The woman you end up with.”

It was truer than he even knew, and harder to bear than she’d expected. She had a sudden image of Cash in the arms of some unknown brunette beauty, and she felt her hands curling to fists.

She was on dangerous ground, and she knew it. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she hadn’t retreated to safer territory yet.

“I should get home,” she said, draining her glass. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”

He grinned.

“Thank you for an excuse to drink champagne on a Tuesday. And before you embarrass us both by trying to pay for this bottle, let me make a proposition instead.”

Nesta huffed and made to protest, but he cut her off.

“You know it’s nothing like that, so don’t get shirty with me. Just—come next Saturday. Tastings go much easier when there are people there who know what they’re looking for in a good wine, and I promised Leo I would give him something to work with. He’s French, so he gets fussy like that. And if you come, I can just put the bottle on his company’s tab. He works for one of the biggest distributors in France, so they won’t mind.”

“How long have you been cooking this scheme up?” She asked, and he grinned.

“Since about the word ‘celebrating’. Do we have a deal?”

He even extended a hand, and she bit her lip as she considered.

“I still have to talk it over with Tomás. But yes, I will—tentatively be there.”

She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed gently as his smile returned.

“But you have to let me pay for the bottle if I don’t end up making it.”

Cash rolled his eyes.

“I’ll add it to your tab, I promise.”

“Fair enough,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll will let you know on Tuesday when Tomás gets back into town.”

Cash laughed, though the sound was a bit hollow.

“How? You don’t have my number.”

Nesta bit her lip, resisting the urge to shift on her feet. She and Tomás had given each other permission into their respective phones, and though it wasn’t a privilege he often exercised, she knew that if he did and saw Cash’s number, he’d freak. It would certainly be the end to their coming to the tasting.

“I’ll—call the shop.”

All the playfulness melted from Cash’s expression as his mouth tightened.

“Are you serious, Nes?”

“What does it matter?” She shot back, needing to go on the defensive. “You’re always here anyways.”

“That’s not what concerns me.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”

He crossed his bruising arms across his chest, his tone brittle in a way that belied he usual ease.

“Oh really? Then look me in the eye and tell me that—as your friend—I have nothing to be concerned about.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

She turned to the door and heard him swear under his breath.

“Nesta.“

She tightened her grip on the leather strap of her handbag, fighting the urge to turn back to him as she left the shop.

————————————————-

“What’s going on with you?” Hélion asked from where he lounged on the sofa, watching as Cash straightened the collar of a fresh button-down in the mirror.

They were currently in in the apartment above the shop, which Devlon had bought when such things were still possible to afford in North Beach. He’d agreed to let Cash stay there while he was in Hawaii, provided Cash didn’t change anything.

So far, he’d had the place painted, replaced the dated backsplash in the kitchen, and bought a new couch. A contractor was coming the following week to talk about taking down a wall in the living room and gutting the master bath.

“What do you mean?” Cash said, shrugging into the burgundy blazer slung over a nearby armchair.

Hélion eyed him critically for another moment.

“That’s the third time you’ve changed your shirt.”

Hélion continued his brazen assessment before snapping his fingers in realization.

“There’s someone coming you want to impress. Who is it? Investor for your mythical vineyard?”

Cash cleared his throat.

“No, I’m—still working on that.”

Hélion smirked.

“Ah, okay. Who is she, then?”

Cash fought not to tense. This wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have right now. Despite the voicemail he’d gotten from Nesta on Thursday at the shop informing him she’d be coming with two guests, he was terrified to get his hopes up knowing it was still entirely possible she wouldn’t show.

“Who is who?”

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“The woman you’re clearly trying to impress. And if you don’t tell me, know that I can get it out of Mor when she arrives.”

Cash felt his palms beginning to sweat.

“It’s—not like that.”

Hélion smirked.

“No? Certainly seems like ‘that’ to me.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend isn’t a husband, Cashish,” Hélion said in a coo. “Besides, who could resist all this devilish charm?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Cash warned.

“Me?” Hélion said in mock offront. “Never! Come on, tell me more about her. She must be something if she’s caught your picky eye.”

“I’m not—“ Cash shook his head. “We’re just friends.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “You like her. You’re smitten, I can tell. What’s her name?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“What? Why not? I only want to know who I need to charm tonight. I will help make her yours.”

“For fuck’s sake, Leo,” Cash said, unsure whether to be exasperated or warmed by his friend’s meddling. “She’s bringing her boyfriend.”

Hélion bubbled his lips and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist.

“I hate him already. He’s a swine! A wretch! Totally unworthy of her!”

“I actually think he might be,” Cash admitted, and at his tone Hélion straightened, setting down his glass.

“What do you mean?”

Cash blew out a breath, trying to keep his anger in check as he remembered the look on Nesta’s face when he’d suggested she take his number. Normally he might have taken it as a sign that she was more interested in him than she let on, but it hadn’t been guilt he’d seen in her eyes; it’d been fear.

“Allô!” Hélion said, snapping his fingers to get Cash’s attention again. “What does that mean?”

“He’s totally controlling; demanding to know where she is all the time, I think going through her phone—I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Have you met him?”

“No,” Cash admitted. “But Dev has, and he said the same. He said that he’s very territorial over Nesta, and that I should keep my distance.”

“Nesta,” Hélion said with a satisfied smirk. “That’s very pretty.”

Cash flipped him a foul hand gesture before turning back to the mirror. He sighed before continuing.

“I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t get her out of my head. And it would be bad enough knowing she’s got a boyfriend, but this prick—“ Cash shook his head. “I hate thinking of her in a bad relationship.”

“Maybe she just needs someone to show her there’s a better way,” Hélion said, and Cash huffed.

“Don’t tease me. This sucks enough as-is.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “No teasing. She clearly likes you, Cash, or else she wouldn’t be coming tonight.”

“She’s coming with him.”

“Then she must like you very much, to risk upsetting him just to see you.”

“I don’t want to put her in a bad spot.”

“But...?” Hélion prompted.

“But what?”

“But you do want her.”

Cash groaned, slumping down on the arm of the sofa.

“How could I not? She’s brilliant, and thoughtful, and witty. And God—so fucking gorgeous. She might honestly be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Hélion gave an amused snort.

“The man’s in love.”

“I’m not in love,” Cash protested before pausing. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s got her sod of a boyfriend, and I just got her to admit we’re friends; I can’t mess things up.”

“Okay,” Hélion said, holding up his hands in submission. “I won’t say anything to her.”

Cash let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

“But say the word, and I will seduce the boyfriend and clear the path for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cash muttered, and Hélion smirked.

“So far as I know, you’re the only man who’s been able to successfully to resist me, straight or otherwise.”

“Az,” Cash pointed out, turning to the mirror to pull his hair back.

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“He’s just being obstinate to spite me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re onto him.”

Hélion smirked and settled back into his seat.

“Can you imagine what he must look like naked?”

“As his friend, I try not to. Shall we?”

Hélion rose, straightening his immaculate heather gray slacks as he did. Cash shook his head.

“I don’t know how you’re wearing that sweater. It’s bloody August.”

Hélion straightened the collar of the turtleneck self-importantly.

“I’m French,” Hélion sniffed. “The laws of nature don’t apply to me.”

“That’s not at all how that works,” Cash pointed out. “But suit yourself.”

They descended the stairs to find the servers Cash had hired readying the place at Mor’s direction. The dining table had been set with the appropriate glasses, and flutes were arranged neatly on trays, waiting for champagne.

“Looks good,” Cash told her in greeting, coming over to kiss her cheek. “Almost good enough to justify flying you all the way out here from London.”

“Please,” Mor said, batting his cheek. “I flew myself out here, you ungrateful plant pot.” She spotted Hélion and shoved Cash back. “Leo, there you are! Come give me a kiss.”

Cash only barely managed to get out of the way as Hélion slid a hand around Mor’s waist and pulled her to him. She draped her arms over his shoulders and pecked him on the lips. Cash only barely managed to fend off a groan of disgust, and Mor only flashed him a quick hand gesture before her eyes settled back into Hélion, who still had a possessive hand pressed to her low back.

“How are you, mon cœur?” She purred, and Hélion gave her an appreciative up-down.

“Better, now you’re here. Oh, and Cash has a woman coming tonight.”

Cash snarled.

“What part of ‘be cool’ did you not understand?”

“You are?” Mor demanded, turning to punch him in the arm. “Who?”

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Cash said, feeling sour for having to repeat it out loud.

“So? Never seen a defender you couldn’t score on. What’s her name?”

“None of your—“

“Nesta.”

Cash screwed his eyes up, rubbing his temple.

“Leo, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mor asked. “This is so exciting! I haven’t seen you interested in someone in—“ she paused to think. “I honestly can’t remember the last time.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend,” Cash said, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “And she’s my friend, so please don’t scare her off with your meddling.”

Mor toss her blonde waves off her shoulder.

“I don’t meddle.”

Cash pursed his lips.

“Tell that to Az’s love life.”

“That’s different. Without my help, poor lamb’s going to die alone.”

“I can think of someone I know who could make him feel properly loved up,” Hélion said with a smirk, and Cash rolled his eyes.

“Leave him alone, both of you. Leo, if you want someone to flirt with, go back to London and bother Rhys. He’ll be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Tempting,” Hélion admitted. “But he’ll flirt with anyone. Besides, there’s just something about that pouty mouth of Azriel’s that drives me crazy.”

“Let’s just get the champagne opened,” Cash said, not wanting to discuss his friends’ love lives anymore.

He gestured to the servers, and Hélion glanced at the label of the nearest bottle and frowned.

“Bollinger? I thought we’d agreed on Moët.”

Cash shrugged.

“I changed my mind.”

Hélion narrowed his eyes.

“Fine,” Hélion sniffed. “But no more changes. I made these selections for a reason.”

Cash grinned.

“You’re afraid I’ll pull something something you don’t know, you mean.”

Hélion gave him a dirty look, and Cash laughed.

“I haven’t changed anything else,” he promised.

At this the door chimed, and Cash’s heart rate picked up. Forcing himself not the react in a way his friends might notice, he nodded towards the door.

“Go, minions. Be charming, make people feel welcome.” He grabbed Hélion by the elbow as he made to strut off.

“Not too friendly. This is an elegant tasting, not a live sex show.”

Helion grinned, teeth bright against his dark skin.

“Afraid I’ll meet your Nesta and win her away from you?”

“No, because you lay even one line on her and she’s probably punch your lights out. Get out of here.”

Hélion laughed, clapping Cash in the shoulder even as his eye snagged on fetching red head who was already smiling at him.

Cash found as people trickled in that he was too wound up to mingle, so he busied himself in the back instead, helping pull bottles and making sure the hor d’euorvers looked the way he wanted.

When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out to find a text from Hélion.

Come to the front.

Swearing under his breath, Cash did as a instructed to find Hélion waiting for him at the bar.

“What is it?”

Hélion shrugged.

“Nothing. But you need to be out here. It’s strange for your to lurk in the back like the hunchback in his tower. Have a glass of champagne and relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“That’s exactly what a tense person would say,” Hélion said. “Go talk to people.”

“I will as soon as—“

He broke off as he watched Hélion eyes skate over his shoulder and light up.

“What?” he demanded.

Helion smiled, eyes flicking back to Cash.

“I think your Nesta just walked in.”

Cash’s throat went dry. His first instinct was to whip around, and he forced himself to relax his posture.

“Merde, you weren’t joking,” Hélion said, gaze going over Cash’s shoulder. “She’s—fetching. Who’s the woman with her?”

“Her younger sister, I think.”

Hélion’s grin grew sleepy and slightly wicked, and Cash shook his head.

“Nesta will flay you alive.”

Hélion only shrugged before looking back and cocking his head slightly.

“C'est intéressant...” he mused, tapping his fingers against his lips in mock bemusement.

Cash grit his teeth.

“What’s interesting?”

Hélion’s smile was a feral thing, one that reminded Cash of a fox.

“I don’t see a gentleman with her,” Hélion finished.

Unable to resist any longer, Cash turned, his pulse drumming a lulling beat in his belly as he drank Nesta in.

She was dressed more provocatively then he’d ever seen her, and it made his mouth dry as he took her in. The slinky navy cocktail dress she wore hung off her body as if it had been made for her, highlighting her gorgeous small breasts and lean legs.

She’s yet to see him, but his heart sped up as the woman next to her, who was undoubtedly Elain, turned her head in his direction. Elain gave him a delightfully unsubtle up-down before she leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear.

Something warm began to pool in Cash stomach as Nesta’s gaze snapped to him and she flushed.

He smiled in greeting, feeling pleased when she took Elain’s hand and started towards him.

“Go away,” Cash hissed to Hélion.

“But—“

“I’ll introduce you later. Buzz off.”

Hélion huffed before retreating, and Cash fought not to fidget or look too eager as Nesta approached. She dark hair fell in a satiny curtain down her back, and he imagined bunching it is hands as he kissed her neck, peeling off that dress so he could...

“Cash, hi.”

He flashed what he hoped as an easy smile. He wanted to kiss her cheek the way he might have with someone like Mor, but given everything, he doubted she’d appreciate it.

“Nesta,” he said, taking in the hint of her cool, sharp perfume as she came closer. “Glad you could make it.”

She smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. He admired the elegant line of her wrist as she did, marveling that wrists could even be attractive. Hers were, though. They were gorgeous.

“Thank you for inviting us.”

At this she put a hand on her sister’s back.

“This is my sister, Elain. Ellie, this is my friend Cassian.”

Hearing her said the word “friend” had giddy delight crashing through him, and he forced himself to look at Elain instead.

She gave him a bright, easy smile, and he immediately liked her.

“Lovely to finally meet you, Cassian,” she said as they shook hands

“Cash, please. Honestly, I feel like I know you already. Nesta’s always bragging about you.”

Elain gave a sheepish laugh, doe brown eyes sparkling. Like her sister, Elain was beautiful, though hers was a much softer, more angelic thing: the fresh-faced Disney heroine to Nesta sultry villainess. She was of a curvier build as well, her figure voluptuous where Nesta’s was willowy.

If Az was here, he’d be drooling all over the floor. He was a sucker for big tits and brown eyes, even if he was too much of a gentleman to ever admit as much out loud.

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Elain said. “It’s not like I’m going to cure cancer or something.”

“No it’s not,” Nesta said. “You deserve it. You’re brilliant, El.”

Elain blushed before turning back to Cash.

“I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you, too.” Elain continued. “It’s good to put a name to the face.”

Cash grinned at Nesta, whose mouth has pinched into a pert frown.

“You been bragging about me too, Archeron?”

Nesta sniffed in a way Cash now knew signified she’d been caught off balance.

“Hardly. It’s Claire who can’t shut up about you.”

Elain gave a delicate laugh.

“It’s true,” she admitted. “I think she’s got a crush on you. She still hasn’t stopped talking about that red Nesta served at her dinner party. No one could; did Nes tell you?”

Cash laughed when Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Your sister isn’t in the habit of giving me compliments, unfortunately. But thank you, it’s nice to know you liked it.”

“I loved it,”Elain corrected. “You should come to the next party and listen to everyone fawn yourself.”

Cash glanced to Nesta to gauge her reaction, afraid to find her expression disapproving. She wore a sardonic smile instead.

“Before you say yes, please keep in mind that Claire will be there, and there won’t be a bar or a stock room to shield you from her attentions.”

Cash grinned.

“You’re not going to protect my virtue?”

Nesta pursed her lips to hide a smirk.

“As if there’s any left to protect.”

“I will,” Elain assured him, grinning as she touched his arm. “We’ve known Claire for ages, but she can get a little—predatory.”

“Yes, a scrawny thing like you, who knows what she might do if she caught you alone,” Nesta added dryly.

Cash laughed, and unable to resist showing off a little, he crossed his arms across his chest and said, “Archeron, I’m pretty sure I could bench your weight about five times over.”

“Doubtful,” Nesta shot back, eyes glittering with the challenge. “I weigh over 300 pounds.”

“What a coincidence; I bench 1,500.”

“Well congratulations on setting a world record, then. The last I heard, it was 1,075.”

Elain watched them, a grin on her face before she cut in, “Will you excuse me? I have to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nesta said immediately, and Elain gave her a hard look.

“Don’t need any help, thanks.” She brushed a friendly hand down Cash’s arm. “Nice to meet you again.”

With that she slipped away, leaving them alone.

“She’s cute,” Cash said when she’d gone.

Nesta smiled, eyes softening in a way they only ever did for her sisters.

“Isn’t she?”

They watched in silence as Elain sauntered off before Nesta turned to give him a thorough once-over.

“You look—nice.”

Cash laughed, basking under her careful attention as her eyes swept from his blazer to his caramel dress shoes.

“Do I not usually?”

She flushed before pursing her lips.

“The joggers certainly gave me pause.”

He grinned, wanting to see if he could make her blush again.

“I try to avoid them in mixed company. It’s unfair to the women present. Too distracting.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I managed them just fine.”

“Or so you claim. But you easily could have been checking me out when my back was turned.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Get over yourself. Your ass is not as cute as you clearly think it is.”

He flashed her a smirk, seeing the opportunity her comment presented and finding himself unable to resist.

“And how would you know?”

She flushed, and he felt his belly tighten, even as he grinned.

“Gotcha.”

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t offer a retort, and the realization she had been checking him left him feeling giddy. That was, until he remembered who’d she was supposed to have with her that evening.

“So,” he said. “No Tomás?”

He tried to keep the hopefulness from his tone, unsure if he’d succeeded as Nesta straightened.

“He’s running late. But he’ll be here, don’t worry.”

Cash felt his heart sink.

“I can’t say that I was,” he admitted quietly.

“Was what?” She said, tone flatter than before.

“Worried he’d be here.”

He hated the way her face pinched at that, the light in hey eyes dimming.

“Don’t start, Cash.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her expression darkened.

“You didn’t have to. Please, promise me you’ll play nice. I think you two might really hit it off.”

Cash knew he would never like this prick and that the feeling was certain to be mutual, but afraid of pushing her away, he only smiled.

“I’m sure we will. You look lovely, by the way.”

Nesta looked down under the guise of smoothing her skirt, but he suspected it was really to hide another blush. God, she was killing him tonight. He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “It’s new. I don’t usually like this color, but—“

“It suits you,” he said, and though he wanted to push the issue, he knew he’d gone as far as he’d dared.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed a forgotten tray of champagne, passing her a flute and taking one for himself.

They were silent a moment as they both took a sip, and Nesta nodded in approval.

“Bollinger,” she said. “Should I be flattered?”

He shrugged, sure she was seeing through him.

“I’d forgotten just how good it was until you reminded me. I figured I’d help remind everyone else, too.”

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “I would hate to think you were just trying to impress me again; you know I’m immune to your charm.”

“But you do admit I’m charming,” he said with a grin. “I’ll take it.”

She considered this, eyes sparkling.

“I admit nothing,” she sniffed, taking another sip.

He laughed.

“Of course you don’t. It’s fine, my ego can take it.”

She snorted.

“That I don’t doubt.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence as Nesta turned to survey the room. Cash watched her in profile, admiring the narrow bridge of her nose and the dusting of freckles she’d clearly tried to conceal under her makeup. She was so lovely it made his chest ache.

Knowing he had to stop staring before she caught him, Cash turned to watch the crowd milling around instead.

“So no Graysen either, huh? I’m oddly disappointed.”

Nesta huffed.

“Elain was going to bring him, but they got in a tiff earlier and now they aren’t speaking.”

“Why don’t you seem happier about that?”

“Because this happens all the time. I can’t emotionally invest in the hope they’re actually break up; the disappointment is too bitter. Please just tell me there’s someone here to distract her. What about your friend Azriel? Vanity Fair seems to think he’s single.”

Cash laughed.

“Az is still in LA; he generally avoids mingling with strangers, even for my sake. And my friend Leo was practically foaming at the mouth when she walked in, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you want dating your baby sister. He’s something of a...philanderer.”

“I’m not concerned,” Nesta said. “One thing I will say for Elain: she’s not easily wooed. I think she honestly gets hit on so much it doesn’t phase her anymore. Besides, she’s annoyingly loyal to Graysen. Tell your friend to do his worst; he’s not going to win her over.”

“Why do I get the sense that pleases you?”

She flashed him her Disney Villainess smirk again, and he felt his skin prickle in arousal.

“Because it makes me feel like I raised her right; weird blind spot for Graysen aside, Elain knows who she is, and doesn’t let others try and tell her different—especially men.”

“What about Feyre?”

Nesta expression grew more devilish.

“Fey’s more like me. She didn’t need to be taught how to shred men to ribbons. It’s instinct for her, and she’s damn good at it.” Nesta pursed her lips. “I just wish she’d use it a bit more often.”

“She’ll get tired of kissing frogs eventually,” Cash offered. “You remember what it was like at 19.”

“I didn’t date until I was 19.”

Cash smiled.

“What was your first boyfriend like? I’m imagining either a geeky engineering major or an uptight Shakespeare nerd.”

“Neither,” she said, taking another sip of champagne. “He was a gorgeous Portuguese exchange student.”

He chuckled, even if some of his amusement had soured.

“You really have a type, don’t you?”

When she gave him a pointed look, he felt his heart sink.

“Tomás was your first boyfriend?”

It explained a lot. The blind loyalty, the way she seemed to capitulate to him when she didn’t for others.

“Some people are just lucky, I guess.”

“In what way?”

She shrugged.

“To get it right on the first try.”

It hurt—physically hurt—to hear her say it, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting something petulant. Instead he forced himself to shrug.

“I guess I wouldn’t know. My first girlfriend’s name was Becky, and she was the actual worst.”

“The fact she chose to go by Becky didn’t tip you off?”

“Looking back, it was the first of many warning signs.”

Nesta laughed, and Cash felt some of his bitterness fading. They were friends, he reminded himself. She’d claimed him as her friend, and as far as he was concerned, that made him the luckiest guy in the world. Her relationship with Tomás wasn’t any of his business. If she was happy, he’d be happy for her.

Over Nesta’s shoulder, Cash spotted Hélion trying to get his attention by tapping his watch.

“I should probably start getting people settled,” he said. “Do you want us to wait for Tomás?”

Nesta bit her lip. He knew she hated when people did her favors, and he suspected she was embarrassed that it was her boyfriend holding things up.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’m sure he’ll be here soo—“

The doorbell chimed, and Cash didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He fought down a searing stab of annoyance as Nesta raised her hand in greeting, choosing to glance at his own watch instead.

“Querida,” a smooth voice called. “There you are.”

Cash thought about trying to use the opportunity to make his escape, but he knew Nesta would see that for the cowardice it was and be annoyed he wasn’t playing nice like he’d promised.

Instead he turned, watching the well-dressed man making his way towards them. He was of rather average height and build, Cash noticed with satisfaction, though his face was classically handsome. Between the way his dark hair was pomaded away from his face and the fact he wore no socks in his Armani loafers—despite being dressed in slacks and a blazer—Cash thought he probably worked at a hedge fund.

Of course he did, the little prick.

The minute he was close enough, Tomás caught Nesta by the elbow and hugged her into him for a wanton kiss.

Cash bristled at seeing Nesta stiffen, clearly embarrassed. She should be, he thought sourly. It was like the beginning of a bad porno.

After a second Nesta pulled away, flushing a little as she dabbed at her lips. Tomás kept a proprietary hand on her low back.

“Where’s your phone?” Tomás said in Portuguese, ignoring Cash entirely. “I called you twice.”

“It’s on silent,” Nesta said. “I’m sorry.”

Tomás pursed his lips in unveiled irritation before finally seeming to take note they weren’t alone. Cash felt a grim satisfaction when Tomás had to tilt his chin up to meet Cash’s eye.

“Tomás, this is Cassian. He owns the shop.”

Not friends anymore, Cash noted with disappointment. Acquaintances, if best. The fact she wasn’t willing to admit to any degree of familiarity in front of Tomás was monstrously telling, and it made him hate the asshole even more.

Tomás tossed a casual glance in Cash’s direction, and though his smile was placid, his gaze was cold.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shifting Nesta in his arms so he could extend a hand.

Cash could tell she was uncomfortable that he hadn’t released her, and he fought the urge to break Tomás’s fingers as they shook hands.

“I suppose I have you to thank for all the exquisite wine I’ve been drinking lately,” Tomás said, smiling down at Nesta before letting his eyes drift back to Cash.

Cash shrugged. If Nesta wanted or needed to downplay their interaction for the sake of her relationship then he’d oblige her.

“I guess. Though Nesta’s got great taste on her own. She doesn’t need my help.”

“She doesn’t need anyone’s help. Right, querida?”

Nesta’s laugh was tinny and hollow as she finally extricated herself from Tomas’s grip until the pretense of looking around.

“I’m going to go find Elain,” she said, leaning over to peck Tomás again. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Tomás said, and Cash wanted to punch him for the tone he used, as if he were granting her permission. “Come right back.”

Nesta nodded her agreement and headed off, and though Cash expected Tomás to follow, he stayed, flashing a much cooler look as he took Nesta’s abandoned glass from the bar.

He raised it, and when Cash raised his, Tomás said in Portuguese, his tone light as if he were making an actual toast, “I don’t like you.”

Fucking coward.

Cash only flashed a grim smile, clinking his glass to Tomás’s and replying in English, “I don’t really give a shit.”

Tomás’s oily, self-satisfied smirk curled into a sneer, and Cash found himself bracing his feet a little farther apart on the floor. He guessed they were really doing this, then.

“Stay away from Nesta,” Tomás spit out. “She’s none of your concern.”

“And she’s not your property,” Cash shot back. “So why don’t you try treating her with a little respect?”

“Fuck you.”

Cash let out a bitter laugh.

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“Stay out of our business, bugre.”

Cash took a step in Tomás’s direction, teeth bared.

“What did you just call me?”

It was a slur Cash hadn’t heard since he’d left Brazil, but it wasn’t one he could ever forget. It had gotten him into more than one fight growing up, and even now, it still made some part of him burn.

Tomás had the good sense to take a step back, even as he bared his own teeth.

“Stay away from Nesta,” he said again. “Or I will make you very sorry.”

Cash snarled.

“First you insult me, and now you’re threatening me? Tread lightly, caralho. You don’t want to fuck with me.”

“What’s going on?”

Both men looked up to see Nesta approaching, brows drawn.

“We’re leaving,” Tomás said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Leave? You just got here.”

Nesta spared Cash the briefest glance as Tomás tried to pull her along behind him.

“I have a headache,” Tomás said curtly. “Get your things.”

“I have Elain with me—“

“Give her your keys; she can bring your car home.”

People had begun looking now, and Nesta tugged her hand from Tomás’s, flushing.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she said quietly.

“I have a headache,” he said more forcefully. “Are you expecting me sit here and suffer?”

“No, but—“

“Good, then let’s go.”

Unable to stand by any longer, Cash intervened.

“Nesta—“

“Stay out of this,” Tomás snarled. He turned to Nesta. “Let’s go. Now, please.”

Nesta looked rather helplessly towards Elain, who was trying to make her way over to them.

“I need to—“ she gestured to her sister, and Tomás mouth tightened.

“Do what you need to and let’s go. I’ll be waiting in the car. Two minutes, querida.”

With a final sour look he stormed off, slamming the door as he left.

“Prick,” Cash muttered, and Nesta whirled on him.

He expected her to snap at him, but instead she pursed her lips, looking down at her feet for a moment before glancing back up at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said tightly, and he realized what he’d been interpreting as annoyance was actually her attempting not to cry. “I have to go.”

“No,” Cash said, touching her chin gently to win her gaze back from the floor. “You don’t.”

She brushed him off immediately.

“Yes, I do. Have a nice evening, and please make sure my sister gets home safe.”

“Nesta—“

By now Elain has arrived beside them, and Nesta pulled out her keys and stuffed them into her sister’s hand.

“Don’t drive if you feel like you’ve had to much to drink. I can come get the car tomorrow if need be.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elain offered, but Nesta was already shaking her head.

“No, you stay. Tomás just isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to take him home.”

“For fuck’s said, Nes. You don’t have to do this!”

Nesta flashed Cash a searing look.

“Please don’t make this worse. Ellie, I’ll see you back at the house. Have a good time.”

She brushed a hurried kiss to Elain’s cheek, and before Cash could protest again, she was striding for the door.

“I’m sorry,” he called, and she only raised a hand in salutation before disappearing.

“It’s not your fault,” Elain said from his side. Her voice was quiet but bitter. “It’s always like this. I’m going to try and smooth things over. He’s—less harsh when I’m there.”

Cash could hear his heart beating in his ears, every instinct roaring at him to go to the parking lot and beat Tomás bloody. Nesta might hate him for it, but at least then he’d know she’d be safe.

“Is she going to be alright with him?” He asked Elain, and she pursed her lips.

She knew what he was asking, and she nodded.

“I’ll make sure she is.”

“Will you call me?” He asked, knowing he sounded desperate and not caring. “And let me know everything’s—okay?”

She nodded, handing her his phone so he could enter his number. When he handed it back, she gave her another soft smile, this one edged in a sadness and regret and broke his heart.

“It really was nice meeting you, Cassian. I hope I—see you again sometime. ”

She patted his arm before she too was leaving.

He swore until his breath when they’d both gone, furious and terrified in equal measure. Furious at Tomás for the slur, and for dragging Nesta out like a rag doll, and terrified that despite Elain’s reassurance, something bad might happen to her because of him.

More selfishly than that, he was terrified that he’d never see her again. She’d been lying to Tomás about coming to the Merchant before he even knew Cash existed. Now he’d be watching her even more closely. The thought made him sick, as did his powerlessness to help her.

“What the hell was that?”

Cash turned to find Mor behind him, brows drawn. Hélion, he noted gratefully, had corralled the other attendees and was beginning a speech about the history of the Bollinger and it’s flavor profile.

“Her boyfriend is an abusive prick,” Cash grit out. “And I just lost my cool.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?”

“And make things worse? I’m sure sure she hates me enough already.”

“Are you worried about her? Maybe you should call Ro, have him send over some unis for a wellness check?”

“I thought about it, but her sister said she’d call me. If I don’t hear from her in the next fifteen minutes, I will.”

His and Nesta’s friendship, he feared, was already destroyed. The least he could do now was make sure she’s alright.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mor breathed, lacing her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder. “I can tell you really like her. If it helps, she likes you, too. That’s why her boyfriend hated you so much.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t think it matters, anyway. I doubt she’ll be back after that.”

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out.

Hi, it’s Elain Archeron. I just got to Nesta’s, and Tomás is gone already. Guess his “headache” worse than we thought.

Cash let out a breath.

I’m glad. Please tell her—

He paused. Tell her what? That despite the fact he hardly knew her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her? That hearing her laugh was like hearing the voice of God, and seeing her with Tomás had been like a knife to the gut?

He backspaced before trying again.

Thanks for letting me know. xx

Elain’s response came at once.

Thank you for caring about her. She deserves that. ❤️

Cash blew out a breath as he read it, something tightening in his chest.

“How can I help?” Mor asked.

Cash straightened his blazer, forcing a broad smile as Hélion introduced him and he waved.

“Scout the talent,” he said, scanning the bevy of beautiful, eligible women who were now smiling in his direction. “I need someone to make me forget, at least for tonight.”

“Forget what? Her, or the fight?”

Cash sighed.

“All of it.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER

TAGLIST: @bookofmaas @katexrenee @overgrown-bat @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @mightymorphingayagenda @abillionlittlepieces @illyrianbeauty @wesupremeginger @marnz @toallthefandomsivelovedbefore @empress-ofbloodshed @actuallyacotartrash @tswaney17 @keshavomit @songlyricsincludingthewordfjord @run-as-fast-as-you-caan @donnarosemary @my-fan-side @kingdomofbrokenhearts @dayanna-hatter @verifiefangirl @mariamuses @blxckbeak @goldbooksblack @skychild29 @marry28sstuff @starlightheir @light-in-the-shadows72 @rhysanoodle @pilesofriles @awesomethreedragons @a-novel-blog @thevodkaaunt @booksapphic @my-fan-side @toallthefandomsivelovedbefore @run-as-fast-as-you-caan @donnarosemary @actuallyacotartrash @queenofillea1 @queen-of-wings-and-fire @willsrune

#nessian #nessian modern au #nesta x cassian #nessian angst #nessian smut #in vino veritas #featherywrites

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dorms-fic-archive · 4 years

Text

oh, you say that word and pour myself like wine: part 2

Summary: She was never Bond's to keep. [Madeleine/Safin, No Time to Die-centric] Rating: M Genre: Romance/Angst

Links: [Ao3 | FFNET]

Preview:

It's for your safety that you were brought here, he'd said when she first woke up, bare-faced and stoic. Bond will be coming to collect you in a few days.

Madeleine hadn't known what to think. She'd wanted to be furious for a good minute, but it was bizarre enough seeing him in the flesh—a childhood monster that had lost its edge by daylight. Standing on her feet, out of her heels, the top of her head came up to his brow—James was not a tall man but he was still taller than Safin—the disparity had intrigued her simply for the sake of its existence.

She'd caught his arm and pulled him close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. He hadn't asked what she was doing, just locked eyes as though waiting—for what, permission?

Madeleine had kissed him, because why the hell should it be any different for her when Bond would happily take the opportunity to get his in-between missions?

NOTE: This concept was too promising to leave as a teaser. I might capitalize on it within another story, but for now, here's Madeleine's side of the situation!

Madeleine feigned sleep until he began to make the rounds, then cracked her eyelids to observe. Thoughts converged sluggishly into the tactile; the winter air revolving thin and bitter in and out of her lungs, residual heat trapped unpleasantly beneath the blankets, reminding her this was no dream.

She thought, inexplicably, of Bond.

Specifically, the faded image of him tossing away the gun into the Thames on a warm summer's night—a spur-of-the-moment display of his resolve, not uncharacteristic—and how even back then, she wondered if he was doing it for her sake.

They were married within the same year.

Within a month he became restless—three months, and they were hardly in the same room. James jumped at any chance to throw himself back into a pale imitation of a mission, fruitless thrill-seeking through various hobbies. First it was boating, then water-skiing, then it gradually escalated into more dangerous ventures. It was amusing initially, but eventually he started ending up with injuries and she couldn't ignore the fact he wasn't getting any younger.

So after a lot of brooding she'd finally sat him down one morning and told him she wanted a divorce, because they were just going to keep stepping on each other's toes for the rest of their lives if they didn't figure out a compromise. He would leave for several days and come home smelling of whiskey, unable to look her in the eye without wincing. They sniped out of habit, not passion. Their dynamic had shifted from spouses to roommates. It was depressing enough to think about, let alone admit—without the constant sense of danger, they were shells of themselves.

James wasn't even that upset. Well, he'd tried to be—he couldn't deny it with a straight face. Was it all for her sake, this act of perfidy? She feared his true answer would break her.

Which brought her to the present: On her mother's couch with her underwear down her knees while the man who had once tried to assassinate her father disappeared into the other room.

It's for your safety that you were brought here, he'd said when she first woke up, bare-faced and stoic. Bond will be coming to collect you in a few days.

Madeleine hadn't known what to think. She'd wanted to be furious for a good minute, but it was bizarre enough seeing him in the flesh— a childhood monster that had lost its edge by daylight. Standing on her feet, out of her heels, the top of her head came up to his brow—James was not a tall man but he was still taller than Safin—the disparity had intrigued her simply for the sake of its existence.

She'd caught his arm and pulled him close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. He hadn't asked what she was doing, just locked eyes as though waiting—for what, permission?

Madeleine had kissed him, because why the hell should it be any different for her when Bond would happily take the opportunity to get his in-between missions? Safin hadn't closed his eyes or kissed back. She'd cracked her eyes and he was still staring—flustered, she pulled away, intending to offer some contrite apology. She got halfway through the word sorry when Safin kind of grunted, took his gloves off, working efficiently at her dress until she'd scoffed, amused and slightly patronised, before helping him help her.

The bitter air had felt like tiny pinpricks on her skin—but it was enough to remind her she was alive. Felt like sacrilege, letting him put his hands over her—she wasn't even married anymore, and her father had been dead for five years. She hadn't talked to her mother in six.

Safin didn't speak. Just ran his hands over her calves, thighs, stomach, working at her underwear and, well—the rest was evident.

She wondered vaguely why he hadn't gotten off; maybe it wasn't the point. She was never Bond's to keep.

She frowned. They had divorced a year ago. She really should be angrier at herself, but she felt frustration at a lack of justifiable emotion. Perhaps it was the drugs in her system. Most likely it was simply indicative of her own mid-life crisis. Departing from one dangerous man into the arms of another—now that certainly didn't sit well with her.

Sound of the old gas stove reached her ears, a faint hiss; he was boiling water.

Safin came back around, paused in the entryway. She couldn't feign slumber any longer and sat up. He came over to her without a word, and she considered her priorities here. She put her heels back on and stood, matching his height. Her hands raised his mask—the cold only further emphasised the severity of his scarring—as he stared her down, a different, challenging light in his gaze.

She touched his face. He bared his teeth in some stiff intimation of a smile that was somehow far too genuine to be misinterpreted.

Well, she thought, this wasn't exactly the solution she'd had in mind, but since when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

#no time to die #fanfiction #fanfic #bond 25 #madeleine swann #safin #james bond #angst #romance #rating: mature #drama #these romances keep getting more uh... unique #this was fun to write though #:D #ao3 #ffnet #dubious consent

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tonystarktogo · 5 years

Text

In celebration of my birthday *yay, I’m getting old*, here’s the second part of An Unwise Murder (An Inconvenient Survival). It’s only half of the chapter, but once I’ve finished it (which will hopefully be tonight although no promises cause I’m spending a lot of time with my family today) I’ll post the full version on AO3 as well.

Part II

Tony pours himself a glass of lukewarm coca cola on autopilot. It tastes disgusting, but that doesn’t stop him from swallowing it all down in one go. He should probably put the glass down afterwards, except that’s easier said than done when his hands clutch the fragile cup so hard, his fingers ache. Still better than watching them shake and tremble though.

Maybe it’s a remnant of being raised as the heir of the leading company in one of the most cutthroat industries. Maybe it’s just a byproduct of being the son of Maria Carbonell. Either way, Tony has learned the value of good pokerface early in life. It’s going to take more than some stranger appearing out of nowhere with ominous declarations to shake his composure. Particularly considering Mystery Guy has the guts to introduce himself as James.

James. Of all the fake names he could have picked, seriously. The least he could’ve done is put a bit of effort into the pretense. Tony wants to snort, make a stupid James Bond quip, except—

Steve is dead.

Tony doesn’t know what to do with that information. His mind is racing into five different directions at breakneck speed and simultaneously shies away from the terrible, inevitable conclusion that rests at the center of it all. The implications of what Wannabe-Bond [who, by the way, is glowering suspiciously at Tony from where he’s leaning against the wall on the other side of the kitchen, the best vantage point to keep an eye on all windows and the door, and is apparently incapable of understanding why Tony might need a goddamn minute] has oh so casually announced — and, more tellingly, what he hasn’t said — are staggering.

"Want some?" Tony gestures jerkily towards the open bottle of coca cola. Never let it be said that his mother didn’t drill some basic manners into him, whether the situation calls for it or not.

00-Copy-Cat shakes his head, which suits Tony just fine. He’s not in the mood to share.

Officially, Tony barely knows Steve Rogers. [And fuck, it’s knew now, isn’t it, no, no, don’t think about it—] They ran into each other twice, once accidentally, once on purpose. Both times they spent more time arguing than agreeing on things. Both times left Tony feeling raw and tired, a little bit like he’d just barely escaped a violent death.

Officially. Such a nice, convenient, little word, isn’t it? The grounds you can cover with that kind of safety blanket are truly astonishing.

Tony takes a sip from his drink, is reminded that the glass is already empty, and promptly grabs the whole bottle instead. Lukewarm cola is disgusting, but it’s still sugar and caffeine — the magical combination, in this case. Tony has no illusions about his odd visitor: He’s going to need all the energy he can get if he wants to make it through the next forty-eight hours intact. That he’s got what is quite possibly a real-life assassin watching over his shoulder, screaming murderous aggression from his every pore, is doing wonders for Tony’s ability to stay calm and focused.

Not.

Anyone asks about me, don’t trust them. Anyone searches for me, lie. Don’t say anything, don’t admit anything, don’t imply anything. If they don’t think you useless, they’ll convince themselves you’re a threat. Do you understand? Steve’s voice whispers into his ear, low and serious and so irritatingly commanding that Tony wants to turn around and punch him in his stupid, white teeth.

But since he’s currently in the company of a more volatile version of Steve — something Tony didn’t know was possible — who looks like he might eat aspiring serial killers for breakfast, that’s probably not his best idea.

“Alright,” Tony says eventually, mostly to himself. “Steve’s dead. Shit happens.” Move on and adapt, is what is father used to tell him. These circumstances probably aren’t what the old man had in mind, but Tony has underestimated Howard before. The man has his fingers in a lot of pies, some of which the general public doesn’t even know the existence of. If Tony was three years younger and two times more paranoid, he’d suspect this to be another attempt by dear old dad to show him "the error of his way". Although not even Howard Stark would kill off Steve Rogers just to prove a point.

Probably.

Tony turns around and looks Wannabe-Bond straight in the eyes. [He’s lied to Maria Stark’s face, okay. This is nothing.] They’re a very pretty shade of blue, there’s no denying that. That doesn’t change the fact that it would really suck if those eyes were the last thing Tony ever sees though. He’s too young to die. He’s got things to do, people to annoy. Not to mention Pepper would murder him if he got himself killed before the whole mess with his inheritance is sorted out.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here." As far as questions go, it’s an implied, roundabout way of asking. The kind that raises Tony’s hackles — as well as the spiteful child inside him — and makes him snipe back viciously in response. Despite that Tony can’t bring himself to ask the far more direct 'Why are you here?' out loud.

It helps that he really, really doesn’t want to know.

Wannabe-Bond stares at Tony with a blank expression that gives nothing away. It’s creepy as fuck, Tony’s not gonna lie. Like staring at a lifelike puppet and half-expecting it to start moving any moment now, even though you know damn well it shouldn’t.

Double-0-Leather takes a measured step towards him. Then another. “How much do you know about Steve?” he asks in that gravely voice that makes Tony want to lecture him on the dangers of smoking. Totally not helpful right now, but it’s always good to know that, despite all evidence to the contrary, Tony has been listening to Pepper’s lectures.

Not that he actually lectures Mister Tall, Dark and Murderous. Tony has some sense of self-preservation, thank you very much.

“I know seven different Steves. You’re gonna have to be more specific."

Alright, maybe not that much. In all fairness though, everyone who knows Tony knows he doesn't handle fear well. He just doesn’t. His fight or flight response is broken beyond repair — or so Rhodey likes to mutter under his breath when he pretends to be the reasonable adult he definitely isn’t and Tony has done something Improbably Stupid™ again — and it’s moments like these when it shows.

To his surprise, Wannabe-Bond snorts. It might have been a trick of light, but Tony could’ve sworn he sees the beginnings of a grin there for a second. Huh. Are assassins allowed to have a sense of humor?

“Fun as this might be-” Wannabe-Bond takes a hold of both of Tony’s shoulders, looming straight into his face now, and, nope, Tony doesn’t like that at all, he’s fond of his personal space, okay, this totally isn’t cool because he’s made Steve a promise and Tony keeps his damn promises — no matter what stupid, self-righteous Steve might think — and Tony really isn’t sure how well he’s going to hold up under torture, that is so not his specialty.

“Are you even listening?” the Man in Black snaps suddenly, in the middle of what is undoubtedly a lengthy, well-delivered threat. It’s the impatience in his tone more than the words themselves that jerk Tony out of his internal rambling.

“Not really?” he blurts out, then immediately regrets it when Double-0-Lame-o’s expression darkens even more.

“Listen carefully!” the guy grinds out between his teeth with the barely restrained violence of a panther on the prowl. "I don’t have the time or patience to play nice right now. This isn’t the time for games. Because I’m not Steve and no one’s gonna look twice if some mouthy civvie disappears." Tony does not shrink into himself — he’s been trained better than that, and it’s not true anyways, Pepper and Rhodey would raise hell in the wake of his disappearance— but, damn it, he really, really wants to.

“We’re compromised," Agent McGrizzly continues with glacial calm. "Someone from the inside betrayed Steve. And you’re going to find the rat. I don’t care how, you’re gonna get it done or I’m gonna use you as a demonstration for what will happen to them when I catch them, got it?”

Tony swallows. Wannabe-Bond hasn’t raised his voice even once. Has spoken barely louder than a heated whisper. Somehow that makes him all the more terrifying.

“And how exactly—” Tony croaks, immediately clears his throat and continues without pause, "How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

Because even when he ignores every command Steve has given him — and there’s a certain delight in that knowledge, not gonna lie — even if he believes this stranger with a handsome face and murder instead of tears in his eyes, even if he wanted to — which he doesn’t because Tony Stark doesn’t help people out of the goodness of his cold, black heart — that still leaves him with a grieving madman sprouting conspiracy theories and nothing else to go on.

Tony expects many things in response to his very legitimate question. The USB stick Suit-Without-The-Suit throws at his face isn’t among them. Luckily, he’s got fast reflexes. Evading DUM-E’s claws whenever he’s trying to help because he’s fallen in love with yet another car is one hell of a training exercise.

The stick is unremarkable in all the ways that matter. A black, plastic casing. Nothing to see there, it screams at anyone who might care to listen. Tony stares at the small, outdated piece of technology in the palm of his hand for a long moment. Then, slowly, like a cat stretching before its next nap, he smiles.

"You should’ve led with that."

Sleep is for the weak anyways.

(tbc)

#ReRe writes #WinterIron #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #Secret Agent Bucky #Secret Agent Steve #Mechanic Tony #Hacker Tony #That AU I should've finished six months ago but didn't #An Unwise Murder (An Inconvenient Survival)#fic #wip #MCU #AU #James Bond AU #Tony loves his nicknames #I put a lot of effort into those to keep them from getting too repetitive so appreciate them

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paranetics · 6 years

Note

also drarry, 24

24. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

Harry’s socked feet slide against the wooden tiles of his kitchen, pace rapid-fire switching from sleepy to hurried as Nimh yowls, tangling her body with his ankles.

“You’re not a famine victim,” he admonishes her even as he pours a little extra into her bowl. Straightening, he casts a Tempus and realises that it is, in fact, just past four p.m. and Draco is late. “Bloody Slytherins,” he mutters. The pettiness of the statement is left unappreciated, alone except for the company of his cat.

He wanders to the front room, stares at the heavy floral drapes and considers drawing them for a moment for no other reason than to look up and down the street for Draco, but he hasn’t drawn his curtains in ages and decides, wand dangling uselessly from his fingertips, that he’d really rather not. This house, the one he’s chosen to lock himself inside, is chock full of ghosts and memories half-buried beneath dust.

Harry spends a lot of time these days going through boxes, piecing together parts of Sirius’ life, collecting little scraps of stories of the other erased Black family members. He’d had Hermione and Ron help remove the portrait in the hall, the stench of Dark magic hasn’t completely deserted that part of the house, an angry black charred mark stained permanently where she had been, then told them to bugger off and live life, he’d do the rest.

He hasn’t done much, these days, mostly spends his nights and days wandering number 12, Nimh trailing him, silent and pale, like a ghost where he’s supposed to be living. Standing morosely, staring at nothing, it takes a couple of minutes for Harry to register the familiar three-part knock.

“You’re late,” Harry accuses crossly when he yanks open the door.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shuffling past Harry and undoing his coat at the same time. He genuinely sounds it, too.

Draco dumps his coat and scarf unceremoniously on Harry’s coatrack, beelining for the kitchen, grabbing the gelato container off the counter, knowing without asking that it’s for him, that Hermione brought it over, and knowing that Harry left it to thaw for him. He reaches for Harry’s spoons and digs in, aware that it’s already gone cookie-dough soft.

“Didn’t keep you long, did I?” he asks around the spoon.

Harry sneers at him. “Thought Malfoys were brought up with manners.”

Draco shrugs. “You don’t exactly inspire extreme cleanliness.”

Harry shrugs back, hoping his expression is sharp and mocking, but suspects he only lands somewhere around vaguely fond. Draco’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he winces, hard, when he leans against the counter. Harry tilts his head at him.

“You okay?” he asks.

He’s never asked before, but they’re friends now, or – sort of. Something. Harry doesn’t trust anyone these days, but eventually, he’d had to give in. Draco used to sit outside on his porch, looking all sorts of miserable, last dredges of February snow settling on his shoulders and melting in his eyelashes. He was the Daily Prophet’s last resort, every other reporter and newswriter thrown firmly away when Harry’s front door had launched fireballs at them. All except Draco, who’d just stepped neatly to the side and gazed long-sufferingly up at Harry’s shuttered windows and yelled that he knew that Potter was hiding, and what, is he a coward now, he who faced the Dark Lord won’t even answer his front door.

Draco was meant to gather material on him for the new wireless show that the Prophet runs on the radio. He hasn’t said anything about Harry. Harry would know, he listens to it, the neat mish-mash of Muggle and Wizard pop, to soothing classical at night. He likes Draco’s morning show the best, he runs it with a muggle-born called Mark with a slow American drawl and wit just as quick as Draco’s, enjoys listening to them sniping at each other while reading the weather and other trashy celebrity stories.

“You should meet him,” Draco had remarked once, in the early days, standing by Harry’s dead fireplace, shivering. “He’d like you, and Mark doesn’t like anybody.”

Harry hadn’t said no way back then, and he won’t say yes now. Since then Ron and Hermione had started building a tentative relationship with Draco, by dropping by and exchanging books and various gossip, mostly about Ministry folk, all of them that Draco remembers. Molly still makes Draco wildly uncomfortable, so does Ginny, but she’s with Blaise now, so Harry suspects he sees her much more than any of the other Weasleys.

He doesn’t think of her much these days, what with almost eight years behind them. She comes by once in awhile, red-cheeked and grinning, and Harry’ll hug her and take the bread from her arms and congratulate her on making her way in the Quidditch world while Hermione eyes him warily over the top of her coffee mug.

They’re worried for him, they don’t say, staying locked up and hating the idea of exposing himself, his screwed up head, to the disappointment of the whole world. Draco has, at least, started to attempt to establish something normal in Harry’s life, dropping by every day and just… talking. It hadn’t been like that after Harry had first let him in, snappish and tense and Harry’s magic had crackled so brightly you could taste it in the air, scrape your fingernails against the wooden boards of the wall and come away feeling electric.

“I’m fine,” Draco says, too late to be convincing.

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, hoisting himself up onto the counter next to the stove. He swings his feet, heels banging against the cupboard. “Tell me what kept you, then.”

“Someone’s stealing from my coffee stash,” Draco answers immediately. “Someone who runs the evening show. I’m investigating,” he adds imperiously, top lip smeared with chocolate.

Harry smiles, indulgent. “I’m sure. Who did you run into on the way here?”

Draco pauses, eyes widening minutely. Harry’s smile stretches into a grin, delighted his guess had been right, probably not doing anything to discourage the suspicion Draco has that Harry might be a Seer.

He looks away, down at Nimh who rubs her tabby-cat hair all over the ankles of Draco’s trousers, wiping the smudge away with his thumb. “Nobody,” he mumbles.

Harry leaves it, deciding he won’t push where he’s not wanted to push. Suggests he’ll read some James Bond aloud, tatty copies Ron left when Harry had first started complaining of boredom and simultaneously expressing worrying amounts of venom towards the telly. Draco says yes, looking relieved.

They curl up in front of Harry’s fireplace, still coated with dark ash. Harry settles on the plush rug, cracks open the spine of Goldfinger, one they’ve read before, and falls into the familiar cadence of the words. Draco’s laying on his back on the sofa, stroking Nimh, who’s lounging on Draco’s stomach. When Harry catches sight of them, Draco’s eyes closed, Nimh purring as he strokes her, the knuckles of his other hand dragging against the carpet, mismatched socked feet tucked against the armrest, Harry’s voice stutters and falls away.

Draco cracks open an eye and catches Harry staring at him, dry-mouthed and heart beating too fast.

“Lord, Potter, you look like you’re having gas,” he says.

Harry pulls a face immediately. “Charming.”

“You think so,” Draco says, turning away and making himself more comfortable. “Come on, then. We’re not even at the good part.”

–

It’s four a.m., five a.m., some undesirable time when Harry wakes, shooting up in bed, heart in his throat, blood rushing in his veins. There are items in his room floating about, magic gone haywire with whatever panic his dream was. It’s pouring outside, he realizes, the heavy torrent-slash-hurricane outside momentarily drowned out by his own panting, and Harry times his breaths with the beat of the wind knocking something around outside.

Distantly, Harry hears Nimh yowl and screech downstairs. He sighs out, savours the warmth of his bed before he gets up and putters down the stairs, sticking his glasses on his face and casting Lumos at the same time.

He freezes, horrified, in the pitch-black of his sitting room when he hears the faint three-part knock Draco uses, and Nimh meows, desperate, in response. Harry almost trips over her and the carpet in the entryway, trying to get the door open. Late night visits have always been bad, and eight years haven’t washed away the memory of living in constant terror. He throws it open and Draco tumbles in, groaning. Harry catches him before he hits the ground.

He’s soaking wet and Harry’s door immediately becomes a puddle, Harry struggling to drag Draco inside and close the door at the same time.

“Ugh,” Draco murmurs, and that’s when Harry sees the blood.

He doesn’t freeze, even though he’s never been good at seeing his friends in pain (Ron, on the ground in the forest, groaning with incoherence, fingers searching blindly for Harry or Hermione or both, skin stark white, freckles a sick, sharp contrast, flashes in his mind). He kicks the door shut and manages, somehow, to drop Draco onto the sofa and peel off his blood-stained, rainwater-soaked coat.

Draco shivers, lips blue, white shirt almost all the way red, hair plastered to his forehead. Harry gives up and finally, after years gone unused, lights a fire in the grate and kneels down in front of Draco, gently casting warming charms.

“What the fuck,” Harry says. “Why aren’t you at Saint Mungo’s?”

“D-d-don’t,” Draco tries and Harry shushes him. “I don’t want,” he says, stubbornly, “a-a-any-anyone but you. You’re the only one I trust to-to-to do this.”

Harry’s hands slow on the buttons of Draco’s shirt, helping him shrug it off so he can see. The skin on his back is the worst, stripped raw, tiny little pinpricks that have blood gathering at their opening. It looks like he was poked all over with a needle, deep enough and hard enough to draw blood, enough to satisfy someone with a problem.

“Okay, okay,” Harry whispers to himself, braces his palm against Draco’s knee and casts all the healing charms Ron taught him, back when Ron started Healer training.

Draco hisses, sharp and painful, digs one of his hands into Harry’s shoulder, like he wants to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, unsure which to pick. Nimh meows, soft and curious, trekking across the back of the sofa.

When Harry finishes, done the best he can, he makes Draco wear one of his too-big Weasely sweaters, puts him in drawstring pants and makes him sleep in Harry’s bed. He’s too wired to sleep, so he stands in his kitchen for hours, sipping the same mug of coffee, watching his Tempus charm tick from the wee hours of the morning to the afternoon, blood gone angry, magic crackling in his hands, flinging all the ceramic pots on his neighbour’s windowsill to the concrete below. Harry times his breaths with the sound of the terracotta hitting the ground. Crack, crack, smash.

–

Draco comes downstairs half-way between noon and afternoon, looking pale and sallow – and that’s saying something. Draco hasn’t eaten much in the years after Hogwarts, gotten notoriously bad at taking care of himself, doesn’t look like a healthy weight.

“You look like shit,” Harry says instead of all the things he wants to say. You’re alive, I’m glad and you have no idea how worried I am and I thought we were friends, what’s going on, please tell me.

Draco says, “Smells like there’s a hypocrite living in your skin, Potter.”

Which, okay, fine, maybe.

Draco’s eyes are cautious, movement slow and careful, like he’s trying not to startle a wild deer. Harry should be treating him like this, Harry ain’t the one that showed up in the middle of the night, half-frozen and soaked in blood and sky-jizz.

Harry pushes a plate of bacon sandwiches toward him, kept under a warming charm, and waits for Draco to finish eating before he asks, “So what happened?”

Draco shrugs.

Harry sighs, looks up at the ceiling. “Look,” Harry says. “I’d really like you to tell me.”

“Okay,” Draco says, slight reluctance at the base of his vocal chords.

“Because, you know, we’re friends now, or–” Harry stops. “Wait. Really? Okay?”

Draco sighs. “I probably should’ve told you sooner.”

Harry keeps his vehement agreement inside, stomps it down with the rest of the speech he’d spent those hours alone rehearsing.

“I mean, there’s this group of guys that loiter in Diagon Ally, just outside where I work, you know. They don’t like me, understandably, I think they were veterans or,” Draco shrugs. “Sometimes they follow me. Cast stinging hexes, calling out rubbish. It’s distasteful, especially since I did, you know, apologize.”

Harry remembers, sometime in March, figuring out the crochet needles, the way his lungs dropped to his knees when Draco, twenty-one, tired and just starting to re-learn who Harry Potter is, went on air and talked about his involvement with Voldemort.

Mark, who hadn’t grown up here, seemed rather surprised at the story, murmuring, “You never had a problem with me.”

Draco, saying, “People grow up, life goes on. Either you accept it or you end up with part of yourself locked up. You get stagnant, fall out of the loop of life.”

They’d fought that day, like they were back at school, hard and childish and Harry’s magic filling the house to the brim with the taste of iron, pissed that Draco would say that on the air, Draco snapping waspishly that neither of them had realized that they were still on the air, that maybe the reason Harry was taking it so personally because it was true.

Almost four years ago now, Harry thinks with some surprise.

“I was heading in early, I was going catch the coffee thief. There were more than usual,” Draco laughs, sardonic. “I didn’t hear them over the sound of the rain.”

–

Harry’s heart stutters painfully, standing in between the door and the concrete steps leading to the sidewalk, reminding himself he doesn’t have to go, he doesn’t have to listen to the fury that sets in his chest.

But Harry’s always wanted to avenge the people he loves, always been stopped by people more sensible than him, forced to let emotion wash over like waves crashing over more waves in an ocean. He thinks of Sirius here, with a pang, then Remus and Dumbledore.

That’s what makes him take his first steps out, flipping the hood of Hermione’s Oxford hoodie over his head, drawing Sirius’ old leather jacket tighter around his shoulders, tucking his hands in the pockets of his denims and quickens his pace. It’s eleven p.m. so Harry passes almost completely unnoticed, and no one who sees him recognizes him or cares.

He draws up to them, four guys leaning against the concrete brick building of the robe dry cleaner’s across from the wireless building where Draco runs his show. Harry recognizes it from Hermione’s description, she’d come in excited the day after guest starring, half-giddy and half-patronizing, saying Harry ought to visit it, isn’t it such a nice place.

Harry takes off the hood and tilts his head. It doesn’t take them long to notice him, takes them a nanosecond to recognize his scar.

“Hi,” Harry says, false cheer, conversationally. “My name’s Harry Potter. From what I understand, there’s a man from over there,” Harry waves vaguely behind him. “He’s got a Death Eater mark. His name is Draco Malfoy.”

The guys glance at each other nervously.

“What’s he gotta do with us?” one of the blokes asks bravely.

Harry flashes a smile that isn’t friendly at all. “You touch him again and you won’t get a second warning. If you fought in the war, if you remember what it felt like,” Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t fight for this, reckon you didn’t really, either. I don’t care about your petty revenge. Voldemort righted wrongs with violence. We don’t do that. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

“And besides,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he turns away, “people grow up. Life goes on.”

When he gets home the door is ajar, and he can hear Draco’s voice talking to Nimh, pitched low, and she meows anxiously, reacting to his pacing. Harry pauses in the doorway and stares at him, hand rucking up his perfectly styled hair, waving his wand around. He calls Harry’s name once, into the air, like a hopeful question, like this isn’t the first time he’s asked.

“Yes?” Harry says, from the doorway.

Draco spins to him, wand brandished, then relief breaks the scowl on his face and his eyes widen. “You’re outside,” he says.

“Astute observation skills,” Harry remarks, stepping inside and making sure the door’s locked when he closes it this time. “Those guys won’t bother you anymore.”

Harry watches as Draco rakes his eyes over Harry, cataloguing the dirt on his body, the reddened mark on his jaw, the flecks of blood on his knuckles. He’d punched one of the guys when they’d jeered after him, calling Draco purist scum. Hermione would deny that even now, these days. It’d not been pretty.

Draco meets his eyes again, bright and grateful, and he strides up to Harry, presses him into the doorway and kisses him. Harry makes a surprised sound, brain going offline at the first brush of Draco’s mouth against his. He’s cold from the night air but Draco is a hot, long line against his body. Unsure what to do with his hands, Harry clenches them at his sides, then puts them on Draco’s shoulders, wants to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, unsure which to pick.

Draco’s hand slides along his jaw, fingertips brushing the raw spot that’s sure to bruise later, angling Harry’s head as he kisses back, dizzy.

“Oh, hello,” Harry says, when Draco pulls away, hands sliding down to his waist, keeping him close.

“Hi,” Draco says back, smiling. Harry thinks of chocolate smeared on his top lip, thinks of Draco curled up on his couch, of Draco wearing his jumper.

“What’s this, then?” Harry can’t help but ask, even though he knows he’s smiling big enough to crack his face.

“This is me trusting you,” Draco says very seriously. “Like trusting the big scary world for an hour in order to punch someone.”

Harry nods, deciding to go with it. “I’m familiar with the metaphor.”

Draco laughs, a helpless little goose-honk sound that Harry had never imagined Draco could make when they were at school. Just for that, Harry decides to kiss him again.

(this is. a drabbleFAIL……. i’m so sorry. unashamedly inspired by Natasha’s On a Clear Day – which is such a great fic. check it out.)

send me a prompt and a ship + i’ll write a drabble!

#drarry #answer #harry potter

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wannawritefast · 6 years

Text

The Crown of Brooklyn

A/N: Hey! I have recently become obsessed with the mobster!AU. And I haven’t written for our beloved Cap in a while. So I did a thing. I hope you like my thing. I certainly like this thing. I’m tagging @caplansteverogers cuz I love her and she inspired me to write this! Feedback is appreciated and, once again, requests are OPEN. xoxo, Echo

Warnings: Death (including death of a single mother of a young girl), blood, violence, alcohol use, mentions of sexual harassment and rape, attempted roofie

You grew up amongst crime. Your father was involved in a mob in Brooklyn and your mother worked as a spy for them. Your parents would have been more surprised if you didn’t enter into the life of crime in Brooklyn than if you had.

Unfortunately, they died when you were in your teens but it came with the territory and you easily made peace with the fact that they had died doing what they chose to do. And you made easier peace with the fact that you wanted in.

Somehow you infiltrated the mob that had taken out your parents and investigated their deaths. But rather than take out the boss you became family of sorts to him.

He never had children and always wanted kids of his own (something about scaring any possible wives away with revealing his job). He held you close as he got old. He doted on you as if you were his own daughter and you were the little princess of the mob. When he passed away he passed his job to you: his only child and the young queen of one of the most powerful mobs in Brooklyn.

As you rose to power you evolved the mob into something different, something unprecedented; you focused your mob on the women. You cleaned out the plague of oppression in strip clubs still keeping them standing but actually taking care of your workers and recutting their pay to be fair. The strippers enjoyed their jobs but not the harassment that came with it.

You swapped out your heist squad with inconspicuous girls. Overall you found that they just did the jobs better.

You didn’t kill the men or condemn any of your girls that wanted to pursue relationships. But any men that continued to treat you or your girls like garbage after fair warning to change their ways were taken out immediately.

Your numbers grew quickly. Women on the streets of Brooklyn were terrific allies. You became a guardian angel of sorts to the women that had been taken advantage of, harassed, and violated. Even though Brooklyn was high in crime, the numbers for rape, sexual harassment, and domestic abuse went down and the perpetrators were dealt with seemingly overnight. Even when you left Brooklyn to travel, your destination was cleansed of their sexual assault perpetrators. Your reputation traveled around the world as much as you did and you became influential.

The archetype that women were catty and two-faced was only true in movies as far as your experience was concerned. You took care of your girls and they helped you in many more ways than you could have possibly imagined. Who knew girl positivity and togetherness could be so powerful?

Your team was built of the most boss women you had ever possibly met. As it turned out you had assembled the best weapons engineers, self defense trainers, and hackers the city had seen and it was all underneath everyone’s noses because you were girls. And they were your girls. The mutual dependency made everyone close and your sisterhood type of bond rivaled that of sororities. Let’s just say Elle Woods would be proud.

Under the moniker of Juno, the queen of the Roman gods, you made it a point to learn hand-to-hand combat (anything with a blade became your new favorite) and trained those in your care. Soon enough, grown men cried in fear of the women they so commonly threw aside in their pursuits of power. Bitches had never been so feared in all of Brooklyn.

The Bitches specialized in diamonds. Your black market sales made incredible amounts of money and you made sure that your girls were paid before you were. Your new weapons became something that the other gangs sought after and, in exchange for providing arms, they offered protection and backup when jobs needed to get done.

The gangs of the world soon had a soft spot for The Bitches and the scariest mob bosses took you under their wings. You joined them for family dinners and to much of them you were like an adoptive daughter or sister. They understood that you didn't get involved in bad blood feuds between the other gangs but saw you as family nonetheless. Enemies were powerful but nothing beats the power of friends. Naturally it came as no surprise when your gang became the most successful in all of Brooklyn.

Well… Steve Rogers and his goons wouldn’t agree with that. But who gives a fuck about him?

The two of you hated each other. Although you never dared attack the other, it was abundantly clear that you were oil and water. You didn’t mix. Something about power-crazed mob leaders that had equally large egos and self-assurance in their abilities. You never interacted with him and you liked it that way.

Your assistant pinged your BlueTooth earpiece in the middle of a meeting. “Juno, we have a situation.”

With your codename ringing in your ear (in case your lines were tapped), you raised your manicured finger to the businessmen in the room, demanding a moment. “Can it wait?”

She took a deep breath. “Not really…”

“Why?” You asked suspiciously.

“It’s Rogers…”

“Fuck him,” you said, with no hesitation and returned to speaking to your audience again.

“He’s here.”

You paused. That made you stop in your tracks. Your skin prickled and blood boiled at the mere sound of his name. “He’s here? Why the fuck is he here?” You spat. The people around the table all jumped.

“It’s one of our girls.”

Oh hell to the no… Without a second thought you slammed the projector remote into the table and shattered it. A part of the glass table rained down with it as you stalked for the door.

“Meeting dismissed,” you growled as you threw open the door and it banged against the wall. The hinges snapped off the threshold. “I have a dead motherfucker to deal with.”

You smoothed your white jacket and pencil skirt and cracked your neck as you unholstered your vintage pistol.

Your assistant met you down the hallway. Victoria was your temper control, thank god for that.

Seeing your warpath, she immediately slowed you. “It wasn’t him or any of his men.”

It sated you a little bit but you were still fuming. He knew better than to just show up uninvited, unannounced. What kind of bullshit was this? “Then who’s responsible?”

“I didn’t tell you who was taken out…”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever did it is going to pay with their life.” With that, you pushed past her and into the room where Rogers and his boys presumably were. You couldn’t believe that he thought he could just waltz in here on your turf as if he owned the place. You shoved the door open and were met with four men all looking at you, two out of the three startled.

“Well, hello to you too,” James prompted. Your eyes immediately landed on Steve, the bastard. He only blinked casually at your storming.

“Shut it, Barnes!” You snarled. “Start talking Rogers. Why the fuck are you here?”

Your rival mob boss stared you down cooly. Two alpha personalities in one room created a volatile environment. Especially with Steve motherfucking Rogers. “Cursing isn’t becoming of a lady,” he mocked.

“Well, it's a good thing that I’m not a lady, Rogers. I’m your worst nightmare.” You got in his face, the white of your suit contrasting the volatility of your temper.

“I’m the King. I’m your worst nightmare.” He got in your face right back and stared you down right back with his light blue eyes that contrasted his pitch black suit.

“Yeah, you’re both nightmares. Get a room some other time,” your jaw dropped as your head snapped to one of his cronies… Sam. “Meanwhile we have a real problem.”

You bristled a bit and you weren’t sure if the wave of heat that washed over you was embarrassment or anger but you brushed it aside. “Please! Steve wishes he could.” You glanced at the boss standing next to you. He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s not important right now though.” Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the damage and nodded at Victoria to fill you in.

“There were two bodies discovered at 3 AM this morning at our docks. One of them was a Rogers cronie… a man known as Phillip.” Steve gulped beside you as Victoria continued. “The second was one of our own… Cleo.”

Your heart dropped at the announcement but you took a deep breath. “What were they fighting over?”

Victoria shook her head. “They weren’t fighting.” You cocked an eyebrow. “They were sniped. In fact, our intel tells us that the cron- uh- Phillip was planning on proposing later that evening… to Cleo.”

You needed to sit down. Cleo had disclosed to you that she was dating someone new. Someone who actually loved her… and her daughter. Her daughter… She didn’t tell you he was a Rogers goon. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Her daughter is with a social worker. I sent Florence over there already to get her situated in the meantime and I… um… I have custody papers when you’re ready to look over them and-”

You cut her off with a motion of your hand. That was a matter you would take care of later. “Any word from our private investigator?”

“Actually,” Sam interjected, “we sent in our P.I. as well… And there’s reason to believe that there’s a new mob in Brooklyn and they want your titles.”

“‘Titles?’ What do you mean ‘titles?’” You interrupted Sam.

“We mean they want you and Steve…” He drew a line with his finger across his neck.

“We don’t… We aren’t working together. Does this new gang have any brains whatsoever? Do they know that we’re not allied?”

“Yeah.” James spoke this time. “They just don’t care. And they’re getting bolder.”

Steve crossed his arms and spoke. “They took out one of our artifact ships last week. It was leaving our harbor on the way to pick some up and they exploded it. 150 meters from the docks. It was a power play.”

You took a deep breath. “What does this mean for us?” You asked. “Why do I care? For all I know this is a ploy by you to take me out.”

“Y/n,” he addressed you, softer than usual. Steve always called you by Juno when he did talk to you. This was serious. “There were two bullets… in each.”

You gulped. One would have been a coincidence. Two… was not an accident. Especially if Phillip was sniped. “You’re sure it's the new gang?”

“They signed off on the deaths. They took credit for it,” Sam interjected.

“I wouldn’t be asking for help unless there was a real threat here…” Steve turned to you, his face dead serious. “In fact, you’d probably be the last person I went to in conflict. They want my crown and power and will do anything to get it. Including take down threats, like you and me. I will not let them tread on innocent bystanders and pull civilians into the crossfire.”

His eyes held a certain plea. You hadn’t seen any expression close to this one cross his features. Ever. Although you would rather be arrested than help Steve under normal circumstances, this was not normal. And deep down you knew that you needed his help just as much as he needed yours, if the speculations about the new gang were to be believed. No matter how much either of you would want to deny that you needed help at all.

“Fine,” you agreed, “I’ll help.” A smirk pulled on the corner of Steve’s mouth. You pulled the whiskey in the glass vial off the alcohol shelf in the room and, after taking a swig, you poured it into five glasses. You maintained eye contact as you offered a glass to the mob boss standing in front of you.

“If your men or their families don’t feel safe, I can set them up a space. Just say the word.” Everyone in the room now had their glass. Victoria merely held hers respectfully but didn’t drink. She was never any fun. But Steve downed it in one go and returned the glass to you to be refilled. “It’s nothing Juno can’t do. But there’s something you should know, Steve.”

You refilled it generously. “I wear the crown here. Not you…”

“I hope you know, Steve, that this doesn’t mean I trust you.” You were seated in the booth of one of Steve’s restaurants: a swanky joint with invite access only. Tonight it was empty except for you, Steve, and the “up and coming” mob boss who was running late.

You smoothed your long red dress and subconsciously ran your fingers over your garter knife holster, just in case. Tapping your painted fingernails on the white-clothed table you took a sip of the red wine offered to you. The diamond necklace perched on your collar bones was a comforting weight but still did little to calm the small bout of anxiety in your system.

“I know it doesn’t. I still don’t trust you either.” Steve unbuttoned and rolled the botSteves of his shirt sleeves. He adjusted his red handkerchief. The two of you truly hadn’t intended on matching. It just happened. “God, he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago…”

“Steve,” you started. He turned toward you and for a moment you realized how nice he looked. Only for a moment. “If I die tonight, the hit is going on your head.”

“You’re not going to die,” Steve grabbed his whiskey and took a sip as he reclined back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “It’ll be fine.”

You scoffed as you pulled your pocket mirror out of your clutch, which conveniently had bullets in it, and were reminded of the 1930’s style mini-pistol securely lodged in the middle of your chest. With the mirror flicked open you dabbed at your lipstick delicately with your finger.

“You look good. I have no idea what you’re fussing over.” Steve commented as he lightly scratched his nose. Was that a compliment? Your eyes shot to him in shock.

“Did Steve Rogers, the second best mob boss in Brooklyn, just compliment me?” You hovered a hand over your red lips in exaggerated surprise.

He rolled his eyes at you and was about to respond when the door to the dining room was thrown open. Steve and yourself stared at the swaggering young man who strode to your table.

“Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, but there was no apology in his tone whatsoever. “Traffic.” He snapped his fingers at one of the waiters and ordered vodka. The young man briefly sized you up by running his eyes unabashedly up and down your frame before turning to face Steve. What a pig… “So what seems to be the issue? I was invited here by the esteemed Steven Rogers with no explanation. I’m not complaining, by any means. But I do think you called me here for a reason,” his eyes landed on you again. “The eye candy is incredible by the way. How much is she?” He leaned forward with a smirk. Your jaw dropped in disbelief. Who did he think he was?

“She’s not for sale, asshole,” Steve asserted. He had his eyes narrowed at the little shit. The blood roared in your ears as the man’s vodka was set on the table. Your temper was no longer amiable. There was blood in the water now and you and Steve were honing in on your prey like you had a thousand times before.

You patted one of Steve’s clenched fists that was resting on the table. “Don’t worry, Steve. I’ve got this…” Your fingers wrapped around your wine glass and brought it to your matching lips. “Darling, you wish you could afford me.”

The man chuckled darkly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, I see. No, don’t worry. I can respect an arrangement. Hey, sweetheart, tell your-”

“I’m not a messenger,” you sipped your wine. “And Steve and I have no arrangement. But I’ll tell you what can be arranged: a bounty on your head… or a hit. Your choice really.”

The man leaned forward threateningly. “I’m sorry but are you in any position to be making threats, whore?”

You blinked slowly and ever so slightly pulled down the top left side of your dress to reveal a tattoo of a minimalist crown: your unmistakable emblem of power. His reaction went from anger to lust to nervousness in mere seconds. The man gulped harshly as he downed his vodka and strained to keep his eyes challenging. You pulled the fabric back up and tapped Steve’s hand again. “I’ll let you cut back in, Steve.”

It was your turn to lean back once Steve took the reins. As he leaned forward you saw the amused sideways smile he had directed at you before it turned bloodthirsty. Something about watching it happen caused you to stir a little.

“You should really think about who you threaten before you do it. But you won’t have to worry about that anymore.” Steve poured himself more whiskey.

“Why-why is that?” The man stammered as his hands found his lap. This guy thought we wouldn’t retaliate…

“Because you’re going to shut down your sorry charade, pack your things, and leave Brooklyn.” Steve stared the man down. “And never come back.”

A waiter set down a tiramisu in front of you, Steve, and this sad excuse for a gang boss looking like he was going to wet himself.

You decided to speak up again. You stuck your fork in the rich slab of custard, coffee, and pastry. “Did you think you could take out my best programmer, yank her daughter away from her only stability in life, and not deal with the wrath of her aunties, one of which is Juno, the Mob Queen of Brooklyn?”

“I-I have a-uh-a sniper.” The man stuttered. He was grabbing for straws.

“I’m sorry,” Steve piped up. He stretched his arm closest to you out and laid it on the rim of the booth. “But are you in any position to be making threats, you son of a bitch?”

You chuckled at Steve’s response. “You’ve got two options: my way or Steve’s. Which one would you prefer?” You swirled the dark liquid in its glass.

“The latter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I thought so.”

The scoop of tiramisu on your fork tasted delicious. You watched the man in front of you wear regret on his face. This man was not cut out for the mob life. He wore his emotions too outwardly. You were doing him a favor really.

“Did you honestly think that you could threaten the two most powerful people in Brooklyn and get away with it?” Steve asked as he began eating the dessert in front of him.

The man only stared at his dessert contemplatively. You went back to your clutch to check your phone. But before the screen could even turn on, there was a clatter at the table in front of you.

You, startled by the sudden commotion, looked back up. The man’s hand was hovering over your wine glass with a tiny vial clutched in his fingers. A roofie bottle. Steve had one hand wrapped around the man’s wrist and the other had a gun pressed against the man’s temple. Steve was staring the man down, a deadly look in his blue eyes.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking with rage. In one swift motion you pulled your pistol out of your dress and stood up, knocking the table over. It toppled to the side noisily and the sound of utensils, plates, and glasses hitting the tile floor echoed through the empty room.

You pointed the gun at his forehead and a humorless laugh escaped your lungs. “You motherfucker… Looks like we’re doing this my way. Any last words?”

The man looked at you like he was a man with nothing to lose: the most dangerous look in the world. “You’re a bitch,” he spat. Quicker than a blink he drew a knife from his jacket and stabbed it into your outer thigh.

You screamed in pain and your leg began to give out for a few seconds. You supported yourself before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I am.” And with those words you fired your gun.

The man slumped lifelessly in the booth and rolled to the side onto the floor. You dropped your pistol to the booth and fell back into the seat. You stared at the knife protruding from your leg with a wince.

Steve stepped over the legs of the fallen table and got to the other side of you. Your head was now thrown back against the rim of the booth, trying to manage the sharp pain running up and down your right leg. Maybe if you didn’t look at it it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“Are you ok? Can you walk?” His voice sounded. Your eyes were clenched shut in pain.

“I have a knife in my leg, Steve… What do you think?” You brought your neck back up. There was a knife in your leg. The only thought going through your head is that it would be a good idea if the knife was removed. You reached your hand to grab the handle. But Steve’s hand grabbed yours to stop it.

“You’re not thinking right. Don’t touch the knife or you’ll lose more blood,” You nodded in agreement. That made more sense you supposed. He yelled for his guard to call one of his medical cars. His guard raced off noting the urgency of the situation. “You need to lie down. Come on. Let’s get you to the floor.”

You nodded through the nausea and lightheadedness that was seizing you and helped Steve help you to the black tile floor. Keeping your leg as still as possible, you used the rest of your body to slide off the booth.

“It’s gonna be a few minutes,” Steve remarked softly. You were laying on the ground now and your vision was starting to sparkle a little bit. “Let me get you more comfortable.”

Steve was remaining calm as he took off his jacket and threw it over your torso. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt leaving him in a wife beater. His dress shirt was quickly rolled up and stuck underneath your head. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, not daring to look at your thigh.

“Steve?” You inquired. You could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness.

“Yeah?”

“Can you take off my heels please?”

“Yeah…” You felt the shoes get pulled off your feet but any pleasure that it may have provided was overpowered by the agonizing pain in your leg.

“Steve. I think I’m going to pass out.” You warned. Your hand latched on Steve’s. His opened to accommodate yours. It felt nice.

“You’ve gotta stay awake or… I’ll… I’ll take your crown.” He offered. His tone wasn’t serious but you appreciated the effort.

“If I wasn’t able to wear the crown,” you opened your eyes to look at him. His blue eyes looked into yours with something that looked strange… Worry, maybe? That couldn’t be right. Your mind was playing tricks on you. “I’d be more than happy for you to wear it.”

You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you blacked out.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. It was a bedroom with typical furnishings but it had hospital equipment next to you instead of a nightstand. You stared up at the canopy draping over the top of the bed for a few seconds.

The silkiness of the sheets felt smooth against your skin. Remembering what happened before you went unconscious, you gingerly hovered your hand over your leg from above the covers.

“And Juno lives,” a voice sounded from the doorway. Footsteps moved along the carpeted floor and they stopped at your bedside. You turned your head and saw Steve standing with his hands in his pockets.

You groaned groggily. “Are my girls ok?”

Steve smiled at your question. It wasn’t a vicious smile but a kind one. One you hadn’t seen him wear before. Your heart didn’t skip a beat… did it? “You got stabbed with a knife in the thigh, passed out, had to get stitches (which I ever so graciously covered for you) and you’re asking if someone else is ok?”

You shrugged… it’s all you had the energy for. “Well, are they?”

He chuckled and shook his head at you. Maybe the nurse needed to look at your cardiac vitals too… “They’re as good as when you left them. You need to rest.”

“I can’t rest. I have to-,” you attempted to sit yourself up. Steve only put his hand out to stop your shoulder when it reached his palm. It felt like he had pushed you full force back into the mattress. “I have to lie down… For a while.”

“Is there anything you need that I can bring you?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he peered down at you.

“My pistol, my phone, and three shots of tequila.” You listed earnestly. “Please.”

“I can get you one of the those,” he responded before leaving the room.

You whispered to yourself. “Please be the tequila…” He sauntered back in with your phone and you reached for it longingly. You figured you would just have to settle for next best.

It touched your fingers and you unlocked it immediately to dial Victoria. But before you could touch ‘call’ Victoria herself appeared in the doorway.

“Oh thank God you’re alright!” She rushed into the room and hugged you tight. “I thought you had been taken out when Steve called and said you’d been stabbed.” He called them personally?

“Well, unfortunately for Steve, this bitch is still alive and kicking.” You winked at Victoria playfully and turned your gaze to Steve briefly. “Sorry, darling, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joked.

“Damn,” he cursed exaggeratedly. His eyes glistened humorously. “I can not believe you foiled my elaborate plan.”

You shifted the tone of the conversation and forced yourself to sit up, a little stronger than when you had woken up. “I suppose I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You yanked the blankets off your torso and shifted to move off of the bed.

You finally saw your leg since you had been ever so rudely stabbed in the leg. There were bandages wrapped from the base of your hip to the top of your knee. Your thigh was officially sans knife. The small use of your muscles sent a hot shockwave of pain through your leg and up to your lower back. Your expression soured instantaneously as you took deep breaths and steeled yourself to stand. Nausea welled up and punched you in the gut but you weren’t going to let a tummy ache stop you.

Victoria and Steve alike rushed forward to force you back to laying down. “What are you doing,” Victoria scolded, “Your leg isn’t even close to being healed.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Lie down, Y/n.” Steve ordered you. You knew he was probably right but the dominant part of your ego didn’t take orders from anyone, especially Steve. Defiantly and weakly, albeit, you pushed him to the side with the back of your hand and stood to your feet.

Or at least tried to. Steve had been right. The moment your injured leg was standing was the moment your knee buckled and you started to fall to the floor.

Your hands scrambled for the closest thing to hold onto to stop the impact. Your fingers wrapped around the IV stand but it wasn’t enough. Fortunately for you, Steve had better reflexes and caught you as you continued to fall. He swiftly grabbed your torso and secured you from falling further. With his calloused hands on your waist and your hands on his muscled biceps you stepped backwards and sat back down.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” He asked as he pulled away slowly, uncertain if you still required his assistance.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Does this face look like it follows orders?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at you. “The answer is no, Steven. I don’t follow orders. Besides you don’t want me here. We’re rivals. Remember?”

“Yes, I do remember. But I do also remember you getting stabbed in the fucking thigh in front of me. In my restaurant. While carrying out a plan of my volition. I am responsible for you getting injured. You need to heal and you are going to stay here to do that.” Steve had his hands on his hips.

“I have my own doctors, Steve. I can heal at my headquarters. I have power here too.” You leaned forward with as much dignity as you could muster.

He clutched his forehead in frustration. If nothing else you were glad that you were still able to piss him off while minorly incapacitated. “This isn’t about power, Y/n. This is about you being hurt. And I don’t think Victoria’ll let you leave here until you’re healed if I ensured your safety. Which I do.”

Your head snapped to Victoria who looked conflicted. She visibly squirmed at the equally scrutinizing looks you and Steve were giving her. “He has a point, Juno. Us moving you would do more harm than good.” You could practically feel Steve’s infuriating and victorious smirk. “Joan and I can handle it. We can send you documents and you can sign them on your tablet and send them back to us.”

“Victoria…” You started. This was NOT happening.

“It’s better that you get a break any way. God knows you need it.” She fiddled with her nails. Then she began to move for the door. “Getrestandfeelbetterbye!”

“Victoria!” And she ran out of the room shutting the door behind her. You were gaping like a fish.

She just… She just left you.

Alone.

At your rival’s headquarters.

While you were at a physical disadvantage.

You slowly turned your head back to the man standing in front of you. “Told you,” he chided.

“There’s no need to gloat, asshole,” you glared at him. “I hate you,” you mumbled.

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. You’re just angry.” He took a deep breath. “What kind of entertainment do you like? TV, movies, card games…” Steve suggested.

“You know what would be great?” You clapped your hands together in faux enthusiasm. “If you located the nearest cliff and took a long walk right off of it!”

He winced apathetically. “Sorry, doll, no can do.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You moved to lie down and tried to use your muscles to pull your hurt leg back over onto the mattress. But they either didn’t want to comply or they clawed at your nerve endings violently.

Steve’s hand found the underside of your partially bandaged knee and lifted it gently onto the bed. You weren’t sure whether to thank him or snap at him. “I still don’t like you, Rogers,” you jabbed as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared at the shut door to the room that seemed to mock you. “But I do like Netflix.”

“Really? You tell me you hate me and expect me to give you something after that?”

“Yes.”

“No. That’s not how this works. I’ll help you get healed but if you’re going to be rude then I don’t think I should help you pass the time.”

“Are you seriously wagering with a cripple right now?” You asked incredulously.

“Yes.” God, you wanted to rip his pretty eyes out of their sockets!

“Fine,” you growled. With gritted teeth you apologized. “Thank you for treating me and…” Your voice trailed off into a murmur, “I’m sorry for being difficult.”

“What was that?” He asked obnoxiously with a hand to his ear. This asshole.

“I’m sorry for being difficult.” You enunciated venomously. You pressed your lips together and crossed your arms as you stared at the wall rather than him.

“Now… was that so hard?” Steve’s voice was maddeningly smooth and his blue eyes glittered tantalizingly.

“No. It wasn’t actually.” You spat.

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem doing it again in the inevitable future.” Your anger began to bubble like lava.

“Can I have my Netflix now?” He raised a brow. “Please.”

“Why yes you can!” He over enthusiastically responded. Steve produced a remote from his suit pocket and pressed a button. An LED TV began to slowly lower from a slot in the dark ceiling.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my pistol, jerkwad. I would’ve shot the ballsiness right off of you.”

“I bet,” he agreed amiably as pressed more buttons on the remote nonchalantly.

You huffed a deep breath. “Dammit, Steve. You’re supposed to respond to me with witty repartee. You’re not being any fun.”

“Mmhmm.” The screen was open on the Netflix main screen and he tossed you the remote. Steve dragged a lounge chair to the side of your bed and reclined in it. Suit and all. “What are we watching?” He prompted.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I asked ‘what are we watching,’” He answered matter-of-factly.

“Why? Don’t you have your mob to run?” Your brows were furrowed.

“I’m the mob boss. I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I want to watch something.” Even though you couldn’t quite argue with his logic your jaw was dropped and you didn’t move. He huffed and snatched the remote out of your hand. “I’ll choose then.” He clicked on the arrows and settled on a crime tv show.

You were still staring at him. He was contentedly facing the screen. He turned to face you, his blue eyes looking into yours. A stray blonde curl fell out of his gelled do. It was endearing. “What are you looking at?”

You shook your head and faced the screen. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing…”

The two of you simultaneously inhaled and exhaled a deep breath.

Halfway between episode 3 and 4 and making jokes about the the criminals, you fell asleep. It was exhausting, what could you say… You had gotten stabbed not even 24 hours before.

Steve hadn’t noticed you had fallen asleep initially. He thought you were ignoring one of his comments. It wasn’t uncommon. When you hadn’t responded after a few repetitions, he opened his mouth to give a biting remark and expected you to respond in like fashion.

But when he looked over at you, head lolled against the pillows, hair askew, and mouth slightly ajar, something weird happened.

Steve smiled to himself.

Not because of how vulnerable you looked (maybe that was part of it) or even because there was a little bit of drool seeping onto the pillow but because one of the most vicious and vengeful and ruthless people he knew slept looking like an angel. There were bags under your eyes and there were spots of imperfections on your skin. He couldn’t tell if it was despite them or because of them but he thought you looked… dare he say… well, beautiful.

He looked away. It felt oddly intimate watching you sleep if only for a few seconds. A little bit of an invasion of privacy. Steve gently readjusted your awkwardly flayed arms and pulled the covers up to your shoulders, careful not to wake you. He stood silently from his chair and walked noiselessly to the door. As he closed it shut, Steve took one more peek at you.

You only scrunched your nose momentarily in your sleep. Deadly, he thought.

But in that moment, Steve knew that he was completely, irreversibly and undeniably fucked.

The following days and weeks were nice. Startlingly nice. Every morning Steve dropped off a coffee for you and checked on you, if only for a few minutes. And every night, after he was done with his work for the day, you fell asleep watching that horrid crime show on Netflix with Steve. Like clockwork.

For meals, he would help you limp down to the dining room when you were finally able to move out of bed rest. He would visit you on his breaks. It didn’t matter if you were engaging in conversation with him. Steve would still sit in the room while you were communicating with Joan and Victoria. It wasn’t invasive at all… It was nice just to have his presence in your room.

You weren’t sure when the two of you began helping the other problem solve but the two of you were certain that you should have brainstormed together earlier. Neither of you were willing to admit, however, that the fault was with your pride… What? Steve’s ego couldn’t even fit through the door sometimes.

But you guessed you could say, at the very least, that you were on friendly terms now…

“Joan,” you switched your phone from one ear to the other when Steve poked his head into the threshold and rapped on the wood with that signature smirk on his face. You smiled at him reflexively and waved him in. “No, I agree we’ve given him plenty of time to pay. You have my stamp of approval to send in the Valkyries….”

Steve meandered into the room and fell back into his recliner. Joan’s tinny voice sounded on the other end. “Will do…” The sound of a keyboard typing filled the silence for a few seconds. “Your order is in.”

“Great! Let me know how that goes. I want a mission report emailed over immediately after …Oh! Is Phoebe there?” You asked hopefully.

“One moment…” The sound of Joan calling Phoebe to the phone was faint but still exciting for you.

“Hi, Anthie Juno.” The voice of Cleo’s three-year-old came on the line. Your heart warmed instantaneously.

“Hi, darling! How was school today?” You asked enthusiastically.

“It was fun! I went on- I went on the swings!” Her little voice informed you excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! Did you go so high?”

“I did, Anthie Juno. I was like a bood!” She giggled as she finished her semi-mispronounced sentence and the sheer adorableness that you imagined was happening on the other side of the line made you hold your chest.

“I bet you were,” you were beaming through your words. “I miss you so so much, Bee.”

She giggled again, at her nickname this time. “I miss you too. When can, when can I see you?”

You glanced over at Steve. He was smiling in your direction and your heart jumped a little bit. There was no doubt he could hear Phoebe speaking. The little girl practically yelled in the speakers whenever she was on the phone.

“I don’t know, Bee…” You wanted to see her but you didn’t want to overstep your bounds with Steve. He had already been so helpful. You almost felt indebted to him.

Steve spoke up. “She can come tomorrow if she wants…” He sat up in his seat.

Your eyebrows shot up. You put your hand over the microphone. “Are you serious?”

He nodded nonchalantly. “Absolutely…”

Your spirits soared. “How does tomorrow sound?”

The squealing on the other side of the line was answer enough. “Ok! Ok…” You could practically hear the gears turning in her little brain. “I’ll- I’ll see you tomowow! I love you! Bye!” The moment before Phoebe hung up you heard the beginning of Joan calling to her.

You chuckled and shook your head as you put your phone down next to you. “I’ll have you know, Steve. She is very excited to come over tomorrow.”

The smile on his face matched yours and his eyes crinkled. “I certainly hope so. I’d miss you if I hadn’t seen you in that long.”

“Steven, no one could ever get tired of this face.” You framed your face with your hands comically.

He jokingly winced to himself as he stood from his spot. “I don’t know about that.” Steve offered his hand when he arrived at your bedside.

You dropped your jaw dramatically and swung your legs over the side of the bed and took his hands. Making sure that you were standing securely on your uninjured leg, you placed a light amount of pressure on your stabbed leg. You could only stand on the ball of your foot before it began to hurt.

He, almost instinctively, wrapped your arm over his suit-clad, muscled shoulders. You hobbled through the bedroom on your way to dinner with Steve supporting you at your side.

“You know…” You pressed your hand against the wall of the hallway to hold yourself up as you addressed Steve. “You’ve been so nice to me that I feel like you’re buttering me up for something.” You were only half joking.

“The King of Brooklyn? Butter you up?” You rolled your eyes at his self-proclamation. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, slowing his pace to allow you to strengthen your muscle a little bit. “Now where would you get an idea like that?” Steve resupported you, this time with one hand on your waist and the other grasping your outstretched hand.

You just glanced at him from the corners of your eyes as you continued to limp to the dining room.

“I am not buttering you up, Y/n,” he corrected. “If I wanted something from you, I’d tell you. Honestly. Like how much your hair needs a brushing.”

Your jaw dropped as you scoffed at him. “Well, I don’t exactly have the materials to look presentable, Steven. I don’t need to spend much time like you do but I do need the proper instruments.”

It was part of your banter to roast each other.

“I can send someone to the store to pick up some stuff for you?” Steve suggested.

You smiled at him gratefully as you continued to limp along. “That’s alright… I can have Joan send some stuff over when she drops off Phoebe tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” He asked.

You nodded assuredly. “I owe you big time, Rogers. Seriously, thank you.”

He only shook his head and smiled at the floor… bashfully? “You don’t need to thank me. I was being decent.”

“Steve, mobsters aren’t decent. I know a handful of bosses who, if I were their enemy, would have let me bleed out or took me out while I was down.” He looked up at you once again and you, in turn, looked straight ahead as you paced yourself down the hallway. “So, yes. I do owe you, Rogers. I owe you and then some. When you figure out how I can make it up to you, let me know and I’ll be there. Anytime.”

He smiled genuinely at you. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” You confirmed without hesitation.

He chuckled to himself and your heart lifted a little bit. Just a little.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke up again. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath. “Dinner.”

“‘Dinner’?” You were confused. “Is that a code for something that I’m not aware of or-”

“It’s code for,” he lowered his voice, “I want to take you out to dinner after your leg is healed because I like you, Y/n.”

You halted in your tracks as your heart did a tap routine. He liked you? You had had your suspicions but there was no way you could have been absolutely certain until now.

“What if I said no?” You inquired. You weren’t serious. You definitely wanted to go on a date with him but you made it a point to see how a man would react to rejection before pursuing a relationship with him. Just because you really liked him didn’t mean he was exempt.

“I’d be disappointed but I’d respect your ‘no.’ You’re busy and you’d have your reasons, I’m sure.” He shrugged and aided you as you continued to limp to dinner.

“And if I said yes?” You prompted.

A goofy smile graced his features again. “Then I’d be excited and plan the best damn dinner you’ve ever had.”

“That’s quite the claim, Rogers.” You teased with raised eyebrows.

“You can see if it has any merit if you decide to go to dinner with me.” He smirked at you cheekily.

A sideways smile of your own moved your cheeks. “It seems like I’ll just have to.”

“It’s a date then.” He declared. You pretended not to see the kick in his step as the two of walked to the dining room. Steve supported you as you trekked to the dining room, his hands holding yours.

You supposed that’s how it was always meant to be: the two of you working hand in hand.

After all, you knew the value of a good relationship with others…

Especially one with your future husband.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #mobster!steve #mobster!au

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movienotesbyzawmer · 4 years

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Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones

December 9: Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones

(previous notes: Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace)

Source: Blu-ray release, the box set with all six Lucas-era movies (2D)

I feel like in recent years I've seen a lot of rhetoric claiming that this is the worst of all the Star Wars movies. But I've always felt like the prequels improve as they go, at least a little. Like, Hayden Christiensen might not be especially good, but he's an improvement on Jake Lloyd. Is there less of the childish stuff in this movie? Let's press play and find out.

Opening crawl is first mention of Count Dooku; seems like the previous stuff was resolved and a new story is beginning. Maybe that's why it's common for people to recommend skipping Episode I, like it's not actually necessary.

We also at this point in the natural chronology don't know anything about clones. Just the title here.

Another decoy-Amidala, but this one gets blowed up right away. And that's Rose Byrne, right?

0:07:30 - Obi-wan does a "oh… oh yes…. Mm mm mm mm mm mm" thing which is stupid and I don't like it.

Wait, no Rose Byrne is a silent handmaiden lady I guess. Unless they're clonesies. Are they clonesies?

Hey, a glimpse of Coruscant's colorful nightlife scene! Or at least some commercial advertisements. Feels like we don't see much of the lives of regular folk of Coruscant much.

Super pretty imagery of this city at night with its traffic and lights and I know I say that every time but it's great.

0:14:30 - Obi-wan shooting himself through a hole in the window in pursuit of that flying robot villain is exciting! And then he just hangs onto it, and then the sniper snipes him off it and he just falls and falls! This is a good action scene.

Then later, Anakin just jumps and falls and falls on purpose like and it's fun to watch.

0:20:00 - Does the sniper have a weird disguise that goes away when she turns her head? Is that what I saw?

"This weapon is your life" says Ewan McGregor doing his best impression of Alec Guinness. I think it was supposed to be funny. And I think it succeeds. Helps to remember that EG's natural accent is Scottish. And you know what? Maybe a little bit ago when I didn't like EG's hammy delivery, I should respect that he's embracing the need for him to embody a young version of Alec Guiness's character, figuring out what that would look like while honoring the director's vision.

They're in a nightclub, and I think there's some genuinely imaginative vision around what people are doing in there.

Ooh! The sniper got sniped by someone else, and the shot of that second sniper zipping away on a jetpack is I like it.

Senator Amidala gives Jar Jar the important job of substitute senator while she goes and hides. Yeah right. Not very credible.

Now Anakin is venting to Amidala in a way that shows how cocky he is. He does the flirtation stuff so that we'll think he's sexy like Han Solo, but also visibly flawed with impatience. Meh. Okay.

Whoa, Rose Byrne just did some acting! She spontaneously shed a tear in a way that looked authentic! Acting… in a Star Wars prequel!

0:31:50 - A greasy spoon diner! I don't remember this. Obi Wan is doing some intel gathering and George Lucas decided to go all in on having this be a 50's-style neon urban railcar slop counter!

The romance. Anakin and Amidala. GL is also going all in on the overtness of that plot. Maybe it's fine? Anakin seems like a horny and awkward teen with a huge crush on someone out of his league but he's going for it anyway. Maybe we'll be convinced that she'd succumb to his charms?

0:39:00 - We're back on Naboo… this scene is oddly non-CGI-looking. Did they film this in a real place with that actual architecture?

The tension they're setting up between Anakin and Amidala is moving in a direction of NOT growing fonder of each other. She looks irritated, and rightly so. This is a move that experienced romance plot makers make, but will GL pull it off?

Meanwhile Obi-Wan is doing spycraft, going to the clone planet place and pretending he's the one who ordered the whatever. "That's why I'm here!" Kinda funny.

0:44:45 - Okay, another A&A scene. He has that line about sand getting everywhere. She looks really damn fly. They kiss a bit and then she changes her mind. See, this is a weak link in the romance plot. We don't buy it. She's not such a sucker that she'd want to kiss him now. She didn't go, "oh he was so charming when he talked about where sand goes that now I'm not only less annoyed by his churlishness but I'm actually turned on". Or did she.

There's something about Obi-Wan's intel gathering, realizing that this huge army of clones is being put together, that's very James Bond-y. I mean that in a good way.

Naboo countryside is hella pretty.

Oh ick. A very very stupid romance scene just happened. See, Anakin fell off a blob creature and it looked like he was hurt! This worried Amidala! She ran to him but it turned out he was okay! They laughed and laughed at this merry misunderstanding and rolled around together! Oh merry! And…. SCENE.

Now Obi-Wan and Jango Fett are having a fight on a platform place and it's pretty exciting and still kind of like a Bond movie. Even more so because of "gadgets" like the devices on JF's outfit. And a dippy little "this is not good" comment from Obi-Wan that would fit in okay coming out of 007.

A&A go to Tatooine and talk to the salvage dealer who used to own Anakin. I like where that CGI character visibly starts to recognize the grown-up Anakin.

Obi-Wan followed JF & Son to a pretty red planet with an asteroid field and it's fucking beautiful and they do this wicked sound effect with bombs and it looks and sounds mother fucking amazing. Seriously god damn. The SOUND.

1:11:40 - They're at what will be the moisture farm of Luke, et al. "I'm Owen Lars and this is my GIRLFRIEND Beru." See, because this is BEFORE they're married. She's JUST his GIRLFRIEND.

1:14:20 - Okay, they just did a weird thing where A&A have an exchange, then hug. But the camera just shows their SHADOWS. And Anakin's shadow looks like he maybe kind of has some semblance of a VADER HELMET. I'm not even that convinced that that's what they were going for. If it actually conveyed that, it'd be cooler. As is, it's a little awkward. But I wouldn't discourage a director from going for this kind of thing.

Anakin found the Tusken Raider camp where they'd brought his mom and he found her just in time for her to die. Like she was just hanging on long enough for him to witness her death. Melodramatic. Then he goes and slaughters everyone… this turns out to be important because it's the catalyst for him turning dark, but it's sort of a weak explanation for something so important.

So HC just did a rage monologue about how he killed everyone, and okay it's not good, but I really don't think it's HC that isn't good. I think he did his very best with really dumb writing.

1:34:30 - Ooh, we're back in that neat senate hall. Jar Jar was suckered into proposing that Palpatine be given special powers, and it's super easy and it just works, and the Jedi are like "oh, hm, bummer". I'm just not impressed with the story.

A&A have arrived on Geonosis and it's quickly quite actiony and rather like a video game where they have to fight robots and hop on platforms at just the right time. I dig it.

It's a little odd now… so I already forgot how A&A got captured in the video game factory place, but they're quickly hustled to an execution arena to be munched to death by monsters before a delighted audience. With Obi-Wan. Just a little odd, but now it's pretty fun action.

Oh yeah, Mace Windu cut Jango Fett's right head off! Forgot that. Another case of an interesting villain ending disappointingly. Except that it's important because his "son" witnesses it and looks vengeance-y.

1:56:40 - Yoda heroically shows up to save the good guys with a force of soldiers that look kind of like Stormtroopers. Those are clones, right? I guess so, but the movie didn't quite ensure we know that. I mean, if they're going to treat the audience like children with their jokes, maybe they could extend that same expectation to plot explanations.

Okay, so now they're in a much bigger battle. I like the flying thing that delivers a walking tank thing! Lots of exciting things to look at. It's not that clear which side is which, not by looking at the battle, but maybe that doesn’t matter too much.

They shoot down a globe-shaped ship as it's taking off and it's pretty. So is lots of this battle stuff.

How does Anakin have a lightsaber now? His was broken earlier. I'm probably not the first to ask that. I probably overlooked the explanation. Seems like they trimmed stuff out of this part of the movie to improve the pacing.

2:07:50 - This is the part that worked well enough that it's probably the main factor in holding this movie's reputation above that of Episode I: the light saber duel with Yoda! Those of us who had played the Dark Forces PC games were already familiar with how it would look to see a Yoda-type wailing on someone with a light saber, but it was a pleasant surprise for many, and it definitely worked.

Then Dooku escapes on a ship that does a really sweet-looking panel-unfurling thing. Love it. And then he goes to Coruscant. Very visibly. Which is for me to love some more.

The movie ends right after that, with Yoda observing that it's dumb to think of this as a victory because now the Clone War has started. Then we get suitably disturbing imagery of the Clone Army being imposing with, significantly, the Imperial March in the background. It's okay. Then a shot of A&A getting hitched. With, a little less significantly, the new tragic-love theme in the background which John Williams was probably pretty pleased with. And over. Okay.

Yeah, better than Episode I. Less childish. Although it's harder to point to a climax, it somehow seems less anti-climactic than Ep1. No less impressive visually, but with new locales compared with the first one. And it's true that you can get all the information you need by starting here instead of with the first one.

(next: Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith)

#star wars #episode 2 #attack of the clones

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highbuttonsports · 5 years

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Made in China: Calgary Flames Past year & Future.

Made in China. We see it on everything. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with the whole buy local, support home thing. Made in China had a different meaning for the Calgary Flames this year. The start of a new year, a new season, a new journey to the Stanley Cup. Anyone who has played hockey before knows that heading out on a road trip is the best time to get to know the boys, bond and hang out. Although the travel was gruelling, it was setting up to be a good start. The Flames were beginning the year with some fresh faces in the lineup this year thanks to some work by GM Brad Treliving. The additions of Noah Hanafin on the blue line, Elias Lindholm and Derek Ryan up front. Free agent signings of Austin Czarnik and James Neal, the summer sun wasn’t the only thing that was bright in Calgary. All these new faces mixed with this early road trip things were looking up after a lacklustre season in 2017-2018.

Fast forward to October, and the dreaded home and home with the Canucks is on the docket to begin the year again. The Flames got off to a decent start at the beginning of the year. Nothing that would of gave anyone the assumption the team was going to have a record year. The talk around the town was the same as usual. Win some games, lose some games, let’s see what this team can do. Goaltending this, forwards that, nobody was happy about all the pieces together. Talk radio was riding Mike Smith’s lacklustre starts, James Neal was bouncing up and down the lineup, it was a typical October in Calgary. I remember watching a game early on against Colorado when David Rittich absolutely stood on his head and the Flames won 3-2 in OT. I said to myself at that point, and although still early, this is going to be a fun year. Boy, was I right, to an extent. October was very mediocre for the Flames, basically winning a game, losing a game, winning a game, losing a game. October 25th, 2019 was the true turning point to the season, and you can ask everyone in the city, on the team, in the media about that game. I remember sitting up high in the 200’s, hands in my face sitting there saying WTF is this. What are we watching. Why did we just pay money to be here. Thank god the Saddledome beer is like gold, because it was needed by all. An absolute thrashing from the Penguins, 9-1. The only upside, James Neal scored, one of his 7 goals on the year. You don’t hear the term rock bottom thrown around a lot, but in those post game scrums it was used more than once. It was the low of lows. I think everyone in that dressing room used that thrashing as motivation, and if you look at the season totals after that game you can see it definitely struck a nerve. The Flames started rolling. A 9-6 win over the Blue Jackets in an absolute gong show of a game, a 7-2 win over the Blues, 7-2 over the Knights, 6-3 over the Jets. It goes on and on. Night in and night out the Saddledome started to fill up even more, get louder. The buzz was finally hitting this city like you’d expect any NHL city to do night in night out. Obviously there was still many speed bumps, many obstacles and many questions to be answered throughout the year, but one thing that was for sure, is this team was for real.

The real test was still yet to come, they still had the Christmas break and the All-Star break to get through. You know how easily that can cool off a hot team. Unfortunately it cooled the Flames off for a little bit. The true trying time was after the All-Star break followed by the mandatory 5 days off. Sure it was great for some ailing bodies, some lingering injuries, but I bet if you asked most guys in that dressing room they would of fathomed to keep going. Why stop now. You know when you get in that groove, and then all of a sudden you fall out of it. For most of us average folk how hard is it to get back into that grove. I can’t imagine the pressures of the NHL and being at peak performance all the time and hitting this lull. The Flames had a hell of a schedule coming up in February with multiple trips out east, back west, back east and then home. Let’s sum February up with this. 17 days on the road, finishing with a record of 8-3-2. That’s pretty impressive. Can you imagine travelling for 17 days straight, competing at the highest level of your profession night in an night out, and surviving like that. *Insert applause here*. The home stretch to the end of the year was now upon us, and the Flames were battling night in and night out.

St. Patricks Day, the ol’ luck of the Irish. The Flames were in. Playoff bound, here we go. As I mentioned earlier the city was buzzing for a good portion of the year, but now, the C of Red was alive. The city was taking it to the next level. We know our Flames were going to be hosting a Stanley Cup playoff game. We knew the city was going to be jumping behind the team as support whether it was the bandwagon or not. Do you know how cool it is to be in a city where everyone cares about the same thing for once. Political views out the window, life views out the window, nobody cares who you are, where you come from, we are all Flames. How cool is that? Calgary ended the year with home ice, and drew Nathan Mackinnon and his Colorado Avalanche in the first round. Playoffs, everyone knows it can go either way. It doesn’t matter where one team finished, who clinched when. It’s a new season. You can look at Colorado in a sense they clinched so late, they had to play at such a high level late that they could roll right into the playoffs with the hot hand. But hey, Calgary has had some guys get some much needed rest, they’ll be fresh, maybe they have the upper hand. Calgary opened with a win in game one, and everyone was satisfied. This is what was expected. What wasn’t expected is what happened in the next 4 games. Game 2, Saturday night live in Calgary. The city was insane. The rink was insane. It was a lot of run, and hey! We got overtime on a Saturday night. Anything can happen, and who finishes it but my hometown boy Nate. A pure snipe. What could you do. 1-1 heading down to Denver. I can go on and on about the rest of the series, but everyone knows how that ended up. Colorado absolutely dominated. They skated circles around Calgary. I was in the building for the final game in Calgary, game 5. A couple of jerseys were thrown on the ice late, and the building was silent. I don’t think anyone in that building had any thoughts running through their head. Sure there was frustration, but we all know you can’t think clearly during times like that. The season came to an abrupt end. Treliving described it perfectly, “It’s like running a 100M dash in a 80M gym”.

Everyone was in shock. There were so many questions, so many frustrations. Where do you begin? Everyone new this was stepping up to be a special year. Many thought it was our time. Such is hockey, such is playoffs, such is life. I can go on and on about where I thought it went wrong, what I wasn’t happy with, but realistically we just have to move forward. There were a lot of good things to come out of this year. Rasmus Andersson showed that he can play top pair minutes and stick there. Noah Hanafin and Travis Hamonic put them selves up as one of the top D pairs in the NHL. Jusso Valimaki although hindered by injury most of the year showed he can hang with the big boys as a 19 year old. Elias Lindholm, Johnny Gaudreau had career years. Mike Smith and David Rittich played the 1A, 1B tandem to a near perfect T. Although goalie questions came up all year long, Mike Smith showed he belonged in the playoffs. Sam Bennett was an absolute beast and truly found his own this year. Garnett Hathaway was probably one of the best penalty killers in the NHL this year. Let’s stick to the positives, and leave the negatives aside. We can build off both, but having a positive outlook on the negatives can go a lot further than tearing someone down. There were a lot of great things this year, a lot of experiences had that I truly think this can be built off of. Calgary can do it again, they will do it again. Looking into the future, there are many great pieces sitting in the cupboards. There were a few prospects like Dillon Dube had signs of a full time NHLer when he was called upon this year. Alan Quine played only 14 games with the big club this year, but showed that he can be a reliable speedy third or fourth line player. Although a few questions will be raised, and a busy off-season will be had. Brad Treliving reiterated that “there will be changes”. One can only begin to guess what changes will be made, but lots of rumours are floating around. Calgary qualified Matthew Tkachuk, David Rittich and Sam Bennet, all who are going to be key pieces moving into the coming pieces. Andrew Mangiapane was also qualified, and he turned out to be a firecracker out there this year splitting time between the third and fourth line. This goes to show you the depth that these scouts go to to find guys that can hang at this level after almost being counted out just based on draft position alone. The biggest question mark is who will be tending the pipes next year. Part of the puzzle has been all but decided, but that is one cupboard that is missing a few solid pieces.

I’ll leave you with one lasting thought until next time. Buckets. What the hell does this guy mean about buckets. Well let me explain. Buckets was a term that was used when describing last year. We had guys in this bucket, and guys in that bucket. One bucket was half full with guys that wanted it, the other bucket was full of passengers. Let’s up that size of bucket so everyone wants to be in it no matter how tight, and everybody is driving. The everlasting Flame from the C of Red is definitely shining a little brighter.

-Mike Murrant

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turnupswritessometimes · 3 years

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As You Like It - Bond/Moran - Yuukoku No Moriarty

Title: As You Like It

Word Count: 5179

Summary: Moran teaches James how to perfect a gun. They flirt. They catch feelings for each other. *** “Yes, I can shoot a gun,” he said. Gave him a charming smile – that hadn’t changed, his smile still had the same effect on everyone. Still, those eyes narrowed at him. “Well enough.” An eyebrow twitch, at that, and James gave a sharp sigh. “You have to admit that you are remarkably more efficient with one than most.” It didn’t feel exactly fair that someone like Moran – who could snipe without any kind of scope – would judge James’ capabilities. But then, he’d judged him from day one. Had constantly examined whether he was good enough. It was nothing new, but it was something from that old life – that dead life, and something he was eager to get away from.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

Moran asked it on a quiet afternoon. When there wasn’t much they’d been told to do – and even then, it was not as though Moran was inclined to clean the chimney, anyway. An afternoon whilst they sat – lounged – in back parlour, the windows open just enough to hear the pigeons in the grounds and the carriages passing the front of the house.

James looked up from the latest Penny Dreadful. He hadn’t been concentrating, anyway. His mind had still been getting used to that name – Bond. James Bond. Still getting used to thinking of himself as a ‘he,’ and still marvelling at how much better that felt. How could he not have known that before? Maybe he had – maybe that was why he’d suggested it.

It hadn’t been the Moriartys’ idea.

William had turned to James – even if he hadn’t been James then – and said, “Since you’re in the public eye so much, it might be an idea to change your appearance.”

When he said change your appearance, he had meant dying hair to brown, or covering the beauty mark.

The response had been – “I am. I want to be a man.”

It had felt impulsive. The decision. And yet, once the words were said, they made sense. All those disguises – the times when being a man wasn’t necessarily required, but felt like the right thing to do. Just felt better. It hadn’t been anything to do with the occasion. It had all been because that was right. That fitted.

James Bond was right.

Moran hadn’t been asking that. He’d asked if James could shoot a gun. Now he was leant against the tall windows, arms folded, those dark eyes boring a hole in him.

“Yes,” he said. Gave him a charming smile – that hadn’t changed, his smile still had the same effect on everyone. Still, those eyes narrowed at him. “Well enough.” An eyebrow twitch, at that, and James gave a sharp sigh. “You have to admit that you are remarkably more efficient with one than most.”

It didn’t feel exactly fair that someone like Moran – who could snipe without any kind of scope – would judge James’ capabilities.

But then, he’d judged him from day one. Had constantly examined whether he was good enough. It was nothing new, but it was something from that old life – that dead life, and something he was eager to get away from.

Moran shrugged broad shoulders. “It’s just surprising that someone with such interesting ideas with them doesn't know how to use one.”

“I said I can well enough.” James crossed his own arms. Leant back against the plush sofa, feeling annoyance niggle at him.

There was enough bite in his voice that Moran paused. Seemed to have dropped the subject entirely, because he looked out of the window. The sun made his hair black as ink. It was easy, when he brooded like that, to see why he was so popular with ladies.

Then he looked James over – with that calculating look. “You've never had a lover who –”

His stomach turned itself over. “That sort of things not very romantic.”

Another slight raise of an eyebrow. “Really?”

Bless him, he seemed genuinely confused, and that made it hard to still be annoyed with him. James smiled, tilting his head to one side. Knew that it would catch the light, and look like spun gold.

“Not when I was already blackmailing them,” he said. “Giving me a gun made me more dangerous.”

Moran nodded. Just a slight one. Rolled his tongue in his cheek, as he kept looking out of the grounds. There was nothing out there – nothing that James could see, at least.

Then – “I could teach you.”

Which was a surprise. Because Moran kept himself to himself so much, because he told James to do whatever he wanted, on that first mission. He’d never seemed like the kind of person who’d be interested in helping – not in that way. Not in a teaching way.

James raised an eyebrow. It was easier to tease back, than to fall for any kind of trick. “Teach me how to make shooting romantic?”

“Teach you how to use a revolver well.” Was it his imagination, or was Moran blushing? Just slightly; just a dust of pink on his cheeks. He gave one of those miniscule shrugs again. “Might be handy.”

And it was the perhaps blush that made him realise Moran was genuine and not being insulting. That was enough for James to soften - to shrug his own shoulders, and say -

"Alright. You teach me." He pulled himself up, off of the sofa. "Should I call you Colonel?"

An almost frown, at that. Moran pushed away from the windows. Passed James, and called back over his shoulder, "Moran is fine."

James was left to follow. And he hated that feeling. That feeling of being behind all the time. It had been bad enough on the stage, but now it’s return now was worse. If he was as good as any other man.

And he was a man. That was what he had wanted. All the times in the past, it had only been for an evening, a day at most, now it was - all the time. He was James Bond. And liked that.

Still a lot to get used to.

Moran headed straight out to the garden. It was spring, but spring in London meant that the air was still crisp, and the sun was still watery. That the chill still bite through James’ suit jacket, as they headed to the archery range. That was how rich these Moriartys were. They had an archery range.

"What about the –" James pulled short, when Moran drew the pistol from the inside of his jacket.

He grinned. "Never get caught short, Bond."

This man’s mind was hardly there. And yet James found himself smiling back.

"Noted."

The pistol changed hands. It was heavy, in James'. They always were. It was a weapon, and it killed people, and that made it heavy.

"Let's see what you can do." Moran stepped back. Crossed his arms. The wind caught his dark hair.

Objectively handsome, James thought, as he tried to focus on the targets. And in that dead life, someone who would have been easy to flirt with. If the rest of his physique was an indication, it would have been a good time.

Would he want to? With Moran? He adjusted his stance. Raised that heavy gun.

How would it even work now? There were ways, of course, but it would be different. It would always be this – thing.

His finger squeezed down on the trigger. It was a jarring bang. It always was. And it was wide, much too much to the left, even if he did hit the target.

What did the particulars matter, if he was comfortable now?

He adjusted his aim. Over-adjusted. This time it was too far to the right.

James gritted his jaw, and concentrated. Even after the six bullets were gone, none of them were a perfect bullseye.

It wouldn't have been embarrassing, if it hadn't been Moran standing next to him. He was silent for just a moment too long, when James lowered the gun.

"Well," Moran said. Finally. "You can definitely kill someone with it."

There was a very slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, and it made James smile. Made the frustration hurt a little less.

"And make a right mess of it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"It would be painful, yeah." Moran almost grinned. He fished more bullets out of his pocket, holding them out.

At least James managed to pop the chamber open with fumbling. He held it steady, as Moran dropped the bullets in. Their fingers nudged each other - not a romantic brush - they were getting in each other’s way. As always.

And anyway, it didn't matter. Moran was famous for his womanising. Not mananising.

"Here," Moran said, when the chamber had clicked back into place. "Shoulders back-" He gave a tug, to pull them into place. "Back straight –"

"Straight arm?" James asked.

"Not unless you want to dislocate it." Moran wasn't joking back. He put a hand on James’ arm, just to relax it. "Keep your arm relaxed. It's better than most, but it's still going to recoil."

"I noticed." He had aim of the target again. Felt stretched out by Moran, but it was like stretching in the morning. It made him feel like he could do this.

He could do this.

James Bond fired off the next round. Kept his eyes only on the bullseye, and kept his posture just how Moran had adjusted it.

And yet, it was still distracting that he was stood so close – that gunpowder smell coming from him. That his eagle eyes were seeing everything James was doing wrong.

He gave a grunt, when he was finished. That was something.

James lowered the gun. Looked at the target. These bullet holes were much closer to the centre. Almost perfect.

Almost was annoying. Was going to niggle at him. James Bond wanted to be perfect, in every way.

"Better. Keep practising and you'll have it,” Moran said. That slight hint of approval that made him feel like a student impressing a teacher.

“You see why this isn't very romantic,” James replied, tilting his head to one side.

A dark eyebrow raised. “You want me to make it that?”

“I'm all for you trying.” Was this flirting? Teasing? Did he mind?

“So –” Moran stepped around James. Close, so that their backs were pressed against each other – so that it was obvious just how much wider and taller he was. His arms held James’, tugging the gun back up to the height of the target, his mouth at James’ ear. “So like this – I can aim and fire for you. Can make sure that you get all bullseye and it'll make you feel like you've gotten very good at it. Like I've taught you something.” He paused. Tilted his head, so that he really was murmuring, his lips almost touching skin. “Then I can tell you that I’ll teach you more than that.”

A cheesy line, really. And the answer was obvious. Still – James couldn’t resist turning his head. Of lowering his own voice, because this he knew – this was well-trodden ground.

“And what will you teach me, Moran?”

“I –” He pulled away, abruptly, with such force that James’ arms recoiled from the impact. He lowered the gun to see that Moran had stepped away. His back was to him, and he was messing with his hair, again. “I shouldn't flatter you. Your head’s big enough already.”

That wasn’t it. James knew that wasn’t it. It was because they were flirting, and because Moran couldn’t always wrap his head around the ‘James Bond is a man’ thing. It had only been a few days that James had joined all of them, when Moran had asked – in the changing rooms – “but how can you be a man – without –”

He gestured to his belt.

Fred had turned crimson, and turned away, burying his head in a cupboard as though it was a portal to another world.

James, sat on the bench, had just raised an eyebrow. Just slightly. He’d let the silence sit, for long enough for Moran to realise that he’d made a mistake. And he did. He shifted his weight, looking like a caged animal.

“Would you still be a man if you lost your cock, Moran?” he’d asked.

That had been the end of the conversation. Since then, Moran hadn’t mentioned it. Had respected James’ wishes, and treated him exactly like a man. Apart from the flirting. Or maybe the flirting. It wasn’t clear if Moran treated men exactly like he did ladies when it came to that.

Did James want him to?

Moran was a friend. He could say that, now. And he had the air of a Byronic hero about him – still catnip to Bond.

“I’ll keep practising,” he said. Stared at the bullet holes in the target, instead of Moran. “And one day I’ll be better than you, Moran.”

He laughed then. A wolfish bark. “I’d like to see that.”

James looked at him. Knew he would be all white teeth and bright blue eyes. “Keep watching.”

And he was sure that he was imagining Moran looking flustered.

Bond kept practicing. Whenever he had a spare ten minutes, he would head out to the archery range, and fire off a few rounds. Sometimes Sebastian watched. Sometimes he pretended that he wasn't - that he was pruning a bush. But he was paying attention. Was interested in seeing him get better at this - because when he was getting better at hitting the target, he looked more comfortable. Was growing into this James Bond day by day.

And he did improve. Was able to hit the bullseye within a few days - knew that he was good enough when Sebastian muttered, "but you won't always be perfectly face on to your target, will you?"

So then he moved to different areas of the garden. Further away from the target, and to the left and right. It was - easier, in a way. Then it became a puzzle to figure out the right angle, and less about hitting a person.

Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder, occasionally, after a particularly good round. And Bond smiled at him, but there was something guarded in his eyes.

That was understandable. He'd never really forgiven Sebastian for that first day. Was probably right to do so. Sebastian's defence was that he'd been naked, and had known Bond - before. That was it. If he'd met Bond first, then he wouldn't have opened his stupid mouth. Might have raised an eyebrow, when other things came to light, but would have had the decency to keep it to himself.

And because of that - it was messy. Not because Bond was a man - there had been plenty of men he'd taken as lovers. (A lot from the army, if all was to be admitted.) Because he didn't know if Bond had decided on his own stance. Because it would be complicated now, if he wanted to get truly intimate.

It didn't help that he seemed to be growing more and more handsome by the day. Was all bright, blue shining eyes, and messy, golden hair. Was dimples, and that beauty mark bobbing up and down when he winked. Was suave grins and suaver slight of hand tricks.

Sebastian was at risk of mooning over him like a girl.

"People move, as well, you know," Sebastian said, a week or so later, when Bond stood up from a chair in the parlour. They weren't so alone - Louis was in the next room over and Fred was outside, tending his roses.

Bond stopped, and grinned over his shoulder, blue eyes catching the light and sparkling like sapphires.

"Where do I find a moving target?" He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're offering?"

Sebastian rested an arm on his leg, and raised his own eyebrow.

"You seem determined to shoot me, Mr Bond."

That only made the grin wider. "Determined to see if you have the reflexes to get away. William told me you're quick as a tiger."

"Quicker." He smirked. "I used to hunt tigers."

Ladies – and some men – usually gasped at that - raised eyebrows and parted lips. Either from surprise, admiration or horror. Some asked how he could bare to kill such a beautiful creature.

Bond didn't. He rested his elbows on the back of the chair, leaning over it. "I see."

"That bothers some people," he said.

Bond considered that, rolling his tongue in his cheek. That pink, pointy tongue. "Did you at least make good use of it?"

"They stayed with the army, I guess." Sebastian scratched his ear. Thought back to the hunt, and how it made his heart pound. This didn't - not in the same way. "When I left."

"Sorry to hear it." And Bond seemed it. He didn't move away from the chair.

Did he know? Had he been told about Sebastian's past? How much? How many of the particulars? He clenched his gloved hand. Clenched his jaw.

Bond brushed hair from his face. Let it fall forwards. Yes - he looked like a handsome Lord who should be playing cricket with a lady on his arm.

That – reminder – reared its ugly head in Sebastian. Made him feel guilty about that first day all over again. And he had to say it – he had to say it because he thought it would help, but he didn't want to say it because he thought he'd sound like a complete dick.

But maybe it would help.

"Hey - I had -" He cleared his throat. "There was a gal I was with for a month or so, a year back, I guess. She - got sick."

"I'm sorry for that too."

"No, she - she's alright, as far as I know, now." He took a breath. Remembered how distraught she'd been, and how he'd held her until he early hours of the morning as she sobbed. "It was - she had cancer in her breast." Another pause. "They - removed it - removed her whole -"

"And that was why you left?" Bond's eyebrow seemed permanently raised in disdain.

"Of course fucking not," he snapped. I left because I couldn't offer her a stable life. Not the one she wanted."

Bond's eyebrow fell at that. His expression changed, just enough to suggest he didn't think Sebastian was a complete dick.

It gave him the confidence to continue.

"I just thought - well - I'm assuming you still have –" he gestured to his own chest. Both sides. Remembered seeing Irene Adler in a risqué dress in the papers once and being transfixed by it.

Irene Adler was dead. He forced it out of his mind.

Bond stared at him. The sun made his hair shining gold and his eyes looked as blue as the sky outside. He didn't move - as though Sebastian had punched him in the chest, instead of asking about it.

Bond’s cheeks were pink. Pink as Fred's roses. Pink lip too - he bit it, looking at the embroidered rug.

"It's - sweet of you to suggest," he said, stiffly.

Yes. Sebastian had cocked this up. Royally.

He raised his hands. "You can shoot me if you want and I'll stay still. Promise."

Bond maybe chuckled at that. He didn't reach for the gun

- left that on a side table, as he came round. Maybe to punch Sebastian in the face.

No, he just - sat. Heavily. On the sofa next to Sebastian.

"It's just - it's not as simple as that," Bond said. Brushed hair behind his ear, frowning. Blue eyes flicked up to Sebastian's. Wary. "Did you attend her surgery?"

No. He had held her the night before whilst her sleep was wracked with nightmares. She woke up, shaking and clutching Sebastian's chest and saying that she couldn't go through with it.

"I wasn't allowed," he said. The words fell heavily.

"From what I've heard it's exceedingly painful." Bond leant back, into the sofa. Crossed his arms. "Even more so on both."

"Right." Of course it would be. Now that he thought about the particulars. "Yeah."

Bond looked over him, as though he didn't think he was a complete knob. Bit his lip again.

"But you saw the scars after?" he asked.

"She - didn't want me to." Had kept her corset on, even during the night. Stuffed at the front to hide the shape of her chest. As much as he insisted that it didn't matter - that he didn't care - she hadn't let him see.

Bond raised both eyebrows. It proved his point.

"I'd need a long think about if the pay-off is worth the agony."

He didn't say it unkindly. He didn't need to.

"I just - thought- not that you aren't –" Fuck, he was bad at this. "But it might make you feel -"

Bond grinned. A dazzling, charming grin that made his eyes sparkle. Like he was laughing at him.

"I feel very comfortable as I am, Moran," he said. Patted his knee, like he was a dog who had done a particularly charming trick.

He wanted to be cross about that. Instead, he just said, with warm cheeks, "of course."

"And it’s not –" James put a hand against his chest. Completely flat. Suit framing his body so that he was the perfect image of a gentleman. "I'm used to it. For different roles - and -" He smirked. "Disguises."

Right. Sebastian had heard about how Bond had gone to the masquerade ball as a man. Albert had seemed amused by it.

"Roles?" Sebastian asked.

"Are you familiar with Shakespeare?"

"What do you think?"

"I've played parts in plays where the woman dresses as a man." He smiled, mostly to himself, tilting his head to one side. "They've been some of my favourites."

Sebastian knew nothing about plays. Nothing about theatre or roles. He rubbed the back of his neck, and thought for something mildly intelligent to say.

"Sounds like the writing was on the wall."

"Maybe so." Bond's voice was carefully neutral again. He didn’t give Moran a chance to think about it – he patted Moran’s shoulder – used it as a handhold to pull himself to his feet. "Well then, are you going to run from my bullets or not, Moran?"

It was a rather inelegant way to change the conversation, but one that Sebastian couldn't resist. He loved guns. Enjoyed seeing Bond learn to shoot - to become elegant when he was holding a pistol.

Elegant and deadly.

Two things Sebastian couldn't resist.

Moran thought about James Bond. Thought about how he was not all anatomically male - but also thought of how to change that. Not for the sake of definitions sake, but to make James comfortable. That was what he’d been struggling to convey.

And the fact that he had was – touching. Showed that he’d come a long way from that day in the changing rooms. Meant that James saw him as an actual friend, and not a comrade.

Still, it niggled at him. That Moran would bring it up. That he would remind him.

He threw a ball – an old dog’s toy – and James had to shoot it. And again – he liked that. Found that his mind liked calculating distance and angles. Found that he liked surprising Moran by trying a different technique.

Moran would raise an eyebrow, if he leant to the side, or vaulted over a bush to get the height right. But he would be smiling too. He would pat James’ shoulder, or nudge him with an elbow – or high five him. Like lads did.

James felt like he was doing it right – doing this right – and it spurred him on. Made him feel like he could live up to the task of being a ‘double o.’ Even if he didn’t relish the thought of shooting that pistol at a human. At fatal shoots.

He did have, after all, a license to kill.

“You’re competent,” Moran decided. A week or so after the conversation of surgery. It had not been brought back up, even if it still played on James’ mind. A possibility. But it was finding a doctor who wouldn’t ask questions and was skilled with a knife. It would mean – conforming to someone’s idea of what his body should be.

He didn’t think Moran meant it like that. He didn’t have to, for it to be a niggle.

James slipped his gun into the holster at his hip, (He had a holster now, and it didn’t feel as heavy as it used to be,) and grinned up at Moran. “That means I’m bloody good, and you just won’t admit it.”

“Whatever you say.” Moran kicked the ball up from the grass. Not that there was much left of it, now – it was riddled with holes that made James’ chest glow with pride.

“And I didn’t even need your arms around me to do it,” James added. Mostly just to see what Moran would do.

Or wouldn’t. Because he didn’t look across to James. He tossed the ball into the air, and caught it, one handed.

“Which means you’re competent on your own merit.” He stepped past James, back towards the house – mansion – it was a great, big mansion. A big mansion that made it easy to hide from each other.

“So, is that all you can teach me?” James called after him.

Moran looked back. Actually showed his teeth when he smiled. That and the glint in those dark eyes, made him seem like the big bad wolf. “Oh, there’s more.”

Well, James was no Red Riding Hood. He stepped forward, flicking hair from his face. “Such as?”

Glinting dark eyes looked over him – “Such as hand to hand combat.”

Hand to hand combat sounded like getting close to Moran. Sounded like no personal space.

He opened his hands, and tilted his head to one side. “I’m all yours.”

Moran paused, then. Just for a moment. Then he huffed, pushing his messy hair from his face.

“I assume you at least know how to throw a punch?” he asked.

“Thumb on the outside.” James demonstrated. “I’ve done stage fighting before, Moran.”

He actually laughed at that. That baying back of a laugh. “Yeah? Let’s see how you do in real life.”

James grinned. Readied his weight, taking a breath. Tried to remember those rehearsals – of rolling on the balls of his feet and dancing across the stage.

Moran gave him a moment. Then he sprung, like a coiled spring, a fist come up and down.

James ducked on reflex. Remembered a moment to late that he had to –

Move.

Moran’s knee just grazed his ribs, as he ducked under that outstretched arm. It stung more than it should.

No time to think about his own attacks. Moran fired off another punch – lower. He dodged again.

Moran raised an eyebrow, as they circled each other in the grass. “You’re light on your feet.”

James knew better than to bait him. Knew that Moran was as quick as a snake, when he put his mind to it. So he raised his own eyebrow and said, “I hope I am.”

“Try deflecting.” Moran stepped forward. Hit his own forearm with his wrist to demonstrate what he meant.

James had all of half a second to memorise it. Something in him wanted to flinch away – was desperate to flinch away – but managed to put his own arm over his head. Managed to catch Moran’s forearm on his own.

There wasn’t a lot of power behind it. He was pulling his punches.

And he’d be mad about that, when he got better at this.

It became more like dancing on stage, than fighting on one. Became blocking Moran’s hits as he fired them off, his shoes digging into the ground as he did. James was losing ground – getting closer to the mansion.

“I found some Shakespeare book in the library,” Moran said, as threw a left hook.

James ducked – found the courage to thrust his own fist forward to find Moran’s stomach – “Oh?”

His arm was blocked. Pushed away. “Thought I’d read check out that play.”

“I didn’t know you could read.”

Moran aimed a kick at him for that. He managed to deflect it, but was sure that he’d get a bruise for the trouble. He stepped back, again.

“Well –” He paused for a breath. “Not that shit”

James laughed, then. He couldn’t help it. Had to stop and laugh, whilst they were both stood still.

Moran rolled his eyes. “It’s all tommy-rot.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” And since Moran wasn’t paying attention, James stepped forward. Swung a kick –

Moran blocked it, expecting it to hit his stomach –

It didn't. It collided with the back of his shin instead. He almost fell.

Almost.

"Nowhere near as fun to acquire as beer, though."

James wrinkled his nose. "Beer is tommy-rot.”

“Agree to disagree.“

Just like that, Moran went back to sparring, and James went back to blocking his attacks. To waiting till he could throw in his own jabs.

“Would you play that character again?” he asked. Sounded interested – for Moran.

"Rosalind and Gynamede?" James stomach clenched at he thought. His punch was caught on Moran's forearm. "No. No way."

A frown, then. "But -"

"I know this is hard for you to understand." James found himself rounding him with a flurry of punches. Not really aiming. "But I am not a woman." He kept punching. Moran kept blocking. "And I'm happy being a man." His voice rose; more force behind his punches. "I like myself the way I am."

Moran caught James' fist in his, frowning turning into a scowl.

"I didn't mean it like that," he snapped. Kept hold of James' hand, even as he tried to tug himself away.

"You keep mentioning it." He punched with his other hand. Blindly.

Moran caught that too. "Only because - fuck, you need someone to talk to about this shit in this place."

James didn't want to think about that for too long. He pressed his fists further into Moran's palms, and let himself give in to the anger.

"It obviously bothers you," he snapped.

Moran blinked. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you won't even touch me!" He yanked his fists free from Moran. Felt that burning hot anger in his chest. His back collided with the wall. They really had gotten close to the mansion without him realising it.

“Because you don't like men!” Moran snapped back. Slammed his palms into the wall either side of James’ head.

He didn’t think about that – what it meant. Just pushed against Moran’s chest. “Of course I do!”

He didn’t move. Blinked, slow as a cow. “What?”

“You don't like men.”

“I do.” Another slow blink. “Not as much as – but - I do.”

It hit James, then. What they were saying. That Moran had been stepping on eggshells whenever they touched – had looked so unbelievably awkward about it – because he fancied James. Because he liked boys. And thought James didn’t. Had tried to reign himself in – unsuccessfully – whilst James had been doing exactly the same thing.

Talk about the plot of a Shakespeare play.

James sighed. “Oh, you idiot, Sebastian Moran.”

His hands took hold of Moran’s shirt, and pulled him closer. Even with his shoes, he still had to go onto tip-toes to reach.

Moran was frozen. Not even breathing.

James chuckled. Pressed their mouths together. It took a long second for Moran to wake up – to realise what was happening – to move his lips back.

Even when James pulled away, almost laughing as he looked up at him, he stared.

“Ah.” He smiled, slowly, as his brain caught up with it all.

James did chuckle then. He leant back against the wall, loosening his grip on Moran’s shirt. Nodded, just to confirm it.

And couldn’t resist going on tip-toe again, to whisper in Moran’s ear – “at least you can make sparring romantic.”

#turnupswrites #yuu no mori #yuu no mori fanfic #fanfiction #sebastian moran #james bond #bond x moran #bond/moran #yuukoku no moriarty

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iesorno · 4 years

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As promised, we’ve got part two of our two-fer from the team bringing Department of the Peculiar – Goes Pop to Kickstarter RIGHT NOW. This time artist Robert Wells. Part one of the two-fer featured Rol Hirst, writer of DotP.

Rob’s been on zine love before, so this makes him our first returning interviewee for the site (stealing the position at the last moment from someone else that I was slow to respond to!!).

DotP 2 page – pencils

DotP 2 page – inked

He seems to be constantly busy drawing something and collaborating with creators whose work I enjoy, which is how I came across his work in the first place. He has really strong chops when it comes to drawing and designing characters and a lovely turn in understated snipe, so that’s been a bonus – as well as being lovely to chat to.

You can buy from him here, check out some free downloads of DotP here and back it here, and socially follow him on twitter instagram or facebook

DotP 2 Heroes? stretch goal!!

Over to you Rob – tell us a bit about yourself and your tastes

Can you tell us a bit about the first creator whose work you recognised?

The first comic creator was John Byrne. I remember thinking that the art in X-Men, which he was still drawing at the time, looked similar to the art in a Marvel Premiere two-parter featuring Ant-Man (#47 and #48), then I noticed the credits in a comic for the first time and realised that people actually drew these things.

Marvel Premiere-47-48

Outside of comics, I was about to give the same answer as Rol (Hirst – writer of Department of the Peculiar – see interview here) and say Stephen King, as I’ve read quite a lot of his books (probably less than half of them but that’s still a lot). Then I remembered that when I was a kid, I really liked James Bond films and that I read a lot of Ian Fleming’s James Bond books (and some written by other people) when I was at secondary school. That was probably the first time I ever saw a film or TV series and then went and on to discover the source material, which was often quite different. (I have no interest in James Bond at all now.)

James Bond covers

Which creators do you remember first copying?

Maybe John Byrne but I probably copied things out of comics before that not knowing the names of the artists I was copying.

More generally I’d say Charles Bukowski, whose work I probably wouldn’t enjoy much at all now and may even find quite offensive, but I liked it a lot when I was in my early-20s. ‘Copied’ may be an exaggeration but around the time I was reading a lot of his stuff I started going to a writers’ workshop to improve my writing and in the couple of years I was going there I wrote a lot of semi-autobiographical short stories that often involved a lot of drinking.

Charles Bukowski covers

Who was the creator that you first thought ‘I’m going to be as good as you!’?

I don’t know how to answer that really. I’ve hoped to be as good as a lot of creators, but I don’t know that I’ve ever thought that I would be as good as someone, not even artists whose work I dislike. I’ve certainly seen a lot of art that’s made me think ‘I could do better than that’ but that’s generally the work of amateurs who I wouldn’t be able to name. Art I tend to dislike in professional comics I usually dislike because it’s bland or conforms to some dull house style (I’m thinking of a lot of DC comics from a decade or more ago) but even then the artists involved probably have a better grasp of anatomy and better basic drawing skills than me, they are just working to tough deadlines and drawing characters who have to be drawn in a certain way.

Which creator or creators do you currently find most inspiring?

Cult of Luna – Mariner with Julie Christmas

Sean Phillips, who I still can’t believe I was cheeky enough to ask to do a pin-up for DOTP Goes POP! #1 after he told me he liked my book. Not only did he agree, he even posted me the original art.

Other than that, I can’t think of one particular example right now but like Rol I love Better Call Saul and watch a lot of TV in general, particularly US TV, and I’m sure that influences my storytelling. I also listen to a lot of music – particularly metal – while I’m drawing and that really helps me to switch off and lose myself in my work.

Which creators do you most often think about?

Jaime Hernandez = Love and Rockets

For comics it’s Jaime Hernandez. He was already great when I discovered Love and Rockets in 1986/1987 but he has somehow kept getting better. I often go for long periods without engaging with his work at all (I haven’t bought any issues of the current Love and Rockets series yet and because I rarely get to visit good comic shops, I haven’t even seen them) but I always pick up the collections and come back to it eventually.

More generally? Now I will say Stephen King, even if what I’m usually thinking is just: ‘Bloody hell, he’s somehow written three more huge books since the last one I read, and I still haven’t read at least 20 of the ones I picked up in charity shops a decade or more ago!’

Can you name the first three creative peers that come into your head and tell a little bit about why?

Rol, Paul Rainey (who encouraged me to start drawing comics again at a time when I had almost given up on it), and Martin Eden (who I exchange long emails with very regularly).

Paul Rainey – Thunder Brother Special -cover

Martin Eden – Zeros

Finally, can you tell us a bit about your recent work and yourself?

I’m 51, married, no kids, two dogs. I live in Kent. I self-published my first comic in 1991, when I was 22, published a handful of other comics in the ‘90s, didn’t do much at all in the 2000s, but got back into it big-time in the 2010s, when I was in my early-40s. It’s only since I did my graphic novel (which even I didn’t think I’d actually finish when I started it) that I feel like I’ve developed any confidence and really got going. I’d be happy for everything I did before that point, along with the years I wasted doing things other than drawing, to be stricken from the record. I write and draw but now I seem to be mostly drawing and I’m quite enjoying collaborating with other people on comics for a change.

I’m currently working on Department of the Peculiar Goes POP! #2 (just finishing off a 3-page back-up strip but the rest is done)

About to start drawing a 6-page sci-fi strip, written by Paul Duncan, for The ’77 #3

Malty Heave #2 (with Phil Elliott). I have written most of my story for this horror-themed issue, which will probably be out for Halloween now, but Phil and I have both been distracted by other things and haven’t really got going with drawing it yet (although Phil has drawn at least two pages of his strip).

Thank you very much for taking the time to fill this out and let us into your mind.

all art copyright and trademark it’s respective owners.

as promised - we have @RobertDWells as 2 of the two-fer with @rolhirst up now on https://zinelove.wordpress.com/ he seems to know people - so there's a lot of links took ages, so please click them all #comics #minicomics #music #funny As promised, we’ve got part two of our two-fer from the team bringing Department of the Peculiar – Goes Pop to Kickstarter RIGHT NOW…

#comics #interview #music

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one-of-us-blog · 5 years

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SPECTRE (2015)

Today Drew is forced to watch and recap 2015’s SPECTRE, the twenty-fourth and final (for now) James Bond adventure. 007 has been put through the ringer over the course of these last few movies, but now it’s all come down to this. Can Bond unmask the shadowy puppet master who’s been pulling the strings this whole time? Can he find out who’s been manipulating not only himself and MI6 but the whole world? When the time comes, will he want to?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, I can’t believe you’ve done it, you madman! You can now say you’ve watched every single episode of The Golden Girls and The Golden Palace. What a coup! I’m extremely proud of you, and you’ve done an amazing job with your recaps over the years. I know you still have one more post to go, but you should give yourself a well-earned pat on the back! And hey, mister, this duo’s got two powerhouses and their names are You and Me!

Buttocks tight!

Screenplay by John Logan, Neal Purvis, Robert Wade & Jez Butterworth, film directed by Sam Mendes

We start off with a traditional barrel shot, which it feels like we haven’t seen in forever, and then we get a menacing quote about the dead being alive. We cut to an absolutely banging Día de Muertos celebration in Mexico City, where Bond, decked out in full skeletal garb, is led to a hotel room by a hot-to-trot Mexican lady. Bond’s only interested in her hotel room because he can use the window to get out on the roof, much to her disappointment. From the roof he can see into another building where a shady deal is going down. He snipes a few henchmen but then a bomb goes off in the room and the whole damn building comes crashing down, taking part of Bond’s hotel with it. I sure hope that lady got out in time! The man Bond was actually after, Marco Sciarra (Alessandro Cremona), survived the explosion, and Bond chases him out into the Black Parade. A helicopter is coming to collect Sciarra, but Bond boards it right after him and gets in an aerial fight with Sciarra and the helicopter pilot. Bond yanks a ring off Sciarra’s finger before kicking him out of the ‘copter to his death, then kicks the pilot out for good measure and barely manages to get the helicopter under control before it crashes into the parade-goers. Bond flies toward Mexico City proper and notices a stylized octopus on the ring he took off of Sciarra.

With that high-flying action behind us, we cut to our opening credits as Sam Smith, the first gay to ever win an Oscar, sings “Writing’s on the Wall”. A nude bond is felt up by some fiery ladies as a spooky octopus waves its tentacles around menacingly. Also, there’s some full-on hentai shit going on as some naked ladies get felt up by more octopi.

C’mon, I don’t need to be Samuel L. Jackson to know tentacle porn when I see it. In addition to this flagrant display of fetishes, we also get some call backs from the last few movies. We see smoky visions of Vesper Lynd and Le Chiffre from Casino Royale, Raoul Silva from Skyfall and even the late, great Dench-brand M. I guess Dominic Greene from Quantum of Solace was too busy to come in that day, huh? From here things get very amateur-filmmaker-going-into-their-first-year-of-film-school-with-a-big-chip-on-their-shoulder as Bond and a woman make their way through a motionless crowd of people and embrace while a massive octopus with a skull-with-eyes for a head looms over them and the nonexistent film strip melts. Bond prepares to shoot someone, but an adorable baby octopus envelops his gun and turns his bullet into ink, which zooms through a crowd of sexy naked ladies. We get shots of a board meeting overseen by a cecaelia and some body horror in the form of an iris made of tentacles (which is actually a pretty cool shot) before we head back to wear it all began with a nude Bond being felt up by some fiery ladies.

With that hour-long sequence behind us we jump to MI6 HQ, where Bond is getting reamed by M (née Gareth Mallory) over the destruction he caused in Mexico. Turns out Bond was going a bit rogue, and M has no idea what Bond was doing in Mexico City. Bond refuses to tell M what he was doing south of the border, and M takes Bond off active duty. Bond meets Max Denbigh (Andrew Scott), the head of the new Joint Intelligence Service whom Bond dubs ‘C’. C seems friendly enough, but M informs bond that he’s intent on dismantling the 00 program for good.

Miss Moneypenny catches up to Bond and delivers him a box of stuff MI6 managed to recover from Skyfall. Bond has Moneypenny deliver the box to his spartan apartment, where he shows her a tape from the late M telling him to hunt down and kill Sciarra. She also notes that he should attend Sciarra’s funeral, which is in three days. Moneypenny points out that the current M won’t sign off on that, but Bond’s not worried about that. He needs Moneypenny to do a little digging for him and investigate a name he heard in Mexico: The Pale King.

Moneypenny leaves and Bond sifts through the stuff from Skyfall, finding an odd, partially burnt picture of him as a boy with a mysterious man and an unknown young man. Bond heads to the Q Branch, where Q implants a tracker in his arm on the orders of M. Q then shows off an amazing new car, which it turns out is actually for the mysterious 009, and gives Bond a normal, totally non-gadgety watch instead. Bond convinces a reluctant Q to make his tracker go on the fritz so he can sneak off to Sciarra’s funeral and heads off to run some errands. He drops Moneypenny and a thank you note and a conspicuous cell phone, then breaks into Q Branch, steals 009’s car and a big gun.

He arrives at Sciarra’s funeral in Rome and immediately puts the moves on the dead man’s widow, Lucia (Monica Bellucci). Lucia rebuffs Bond’s advances, but he later saves her from some assassins at her house and she tells him her husband belonged to a shadowy cabal of businessmen before they fuck the pain away (Peaches. “Fuck the Pain Away.” The Teaches of Peaches, Kitty-Yo, 2000. MP3.). Lucia tells Bond where this shadowy cabal is meeting, and he heads that way despite her warnings that he’s definitely going to get killed. He uses Sciarra’s ring to gain access to the meeting, and he witnesses the group planning all sorts of untoward and illegal activities. Bond notices the chair at the head of the table is empty, though that soon ceases to be a problem as the head honcho (Christoph Waltz), shrouded in shadow, arrives and takes his seat.

The group moves onto discuss the death of Sciarra, and one of the businessmen argues that they should scrap the plot Sciarra was working on. That businessman is promptly killed by Mr. Hinx (Dave Bautista), a hulking beast with metal thumbnails that he uses to gouge out the unfortunate dissenter’s eyes. With that display of power over, the man in the shadows calls out Bond by name. He hints at a past connection with Bond, and reveals his face. Bond seems to recognize him, but he’s set upon by various henchmen and barely manages to make it to 009’s car. He sets off through the streets of Rome with Mr. Hinx in hot pursuit. Bond thinks this is a good time to give Moneypenny a call and finds out that the Pale King is in fact Mr. White (remember him?). He asks Moneypenny to look into a man named Franz Oberhauser, who’s supposed to be dead. With that out of the way Bond gets back to the whole chase thing, and finally gives Mr. Hinx the slip by using the ejector seat in 009’s car before he drives it into a canal.

In Tokyo, C is advocating the Nine Eyes program, which would unite the globe under unprecedented surveillance. M secretly votes against Nine Eyes being enacted, then he receives news about Bond’s car crash in Rome. He orders Q to track Bond down, and Q reports that Bond is in Altaussee, Austria. Bond’s tracked down Mr. White with Moneypenny’s help, and it’s finally time to give that wily rascal his comeuppance. Or, well, it would be if a gnarly case of thallium poisoning hadn’t done most of the work for Bond. White explains that Oberhauser has ordered his assassination because White had a problem with him taking their work, which was always pretty bad, in a much darker direction with a lot of innocent bystanders getting hurt. Bond demands to know where he can find Oberhauser, but White says Oberhauser is everywhere. Bond deduces that White is trying to protect his daughter; White tells Bond to find her, and if he keeps her safe she’ll take him to someone called L’Américain so he can find Oberhauser. White then eats a bullet from Bond’s gun, and Bond leaves.

Back in London, C reveals to M that he’s bugged Moneypenny’s phone so he knows Bond was headed to Austria. Right about that time, Mr. Hinx arrives at the dead White’s house. Bond arrives at the office of White’s daughter, a psychiatrist named Dr. Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux) Bond informs Dr. Swann about her father’s death, but she refuses to take him to L’Américain. Bond goes to a bar where he’s met by Q, who informs him that all hell is breaking loose in London. He tells him Franz Oberhauser is dead, and that he and Moneypenny are both going to get screwed if Bond doesn’t get his shit together and come home. Bond gives that idea a pass, and instead gives Q Sciarra’s ring to investigate. Bond is about to be escorted away by security when he sees Dr. Swann being kidnapped by Mr. Hinx and some nondescript goons.

Bond just can’t keep his feet on the ground in this movie, so he steals a little plane and pursues Mr. Hinx et al. Q, meanwhile, is having problems of his own. He’s been hacking away at the mainframe inside Sciarra’s ring, unaware that he was totally about to be assassinated by a pair of henchmen. He’s only saved by the arrival of a bunch of ski bunnies in the cable car he and the assassins are on. Bond uses his plane to crash one of the cars in Mr. Hinx’s entourage, and the sound of the explosion is enough of a distraction for Q to slip away from his would-be assassins and hide in a closet. After a rather rough landing involving a crash through a barn, Bond rescues Dr. Swann. She’s not thrilled about the idea of working with him, but he convinces her to tag along as he goes to meet up with Q.

Q’s managed to hack into the ring, which reveals that several important figures from past movies, including Le Chiffre, Patrice, Mr. White, Sciarra, Raoul Silva and Dominic Greene (who gets shown on Q’s screen but apparently doesn’t warrant being mentioned by name, which is really making him feel like the middle child of this criminal underworld), are all linked together by Franz Oberhauser. Q doesn’t know what this collection of hoodlums is called, but Dr. Swann does: SPECTRE. Oh shiiiiiii

Dr. Swann finally spills the tea on L’Américain. Turns out it’s not a person, but a hotel. Specifically a hotel in Tangier, Morocco, which is where Bond and Dr. Swann head while Q goes back to London. Dr. Swann checks into a room that her father would always check into, and Bond begins to dismantle it in search of some kind of clue or message while Dr. Swann gets shitfaced on wine like a soccer mom with a kid-free afternoon. After Dr. Swann passes out Bond gets a hot tip from a mouse he has an intimate moment with and discovers a secret room connected to the hotel room. The room is littered with pictures of Dr. Swann as a baby, as well as a VHS that apparently recorded Vesper Lynd getting interrogated, but more importantly it holds a set of coordinates which lead to Oberhauser’s base in the Sahara.

Back in London, C has gone behind M’s back and gotten Nine Eyes approved. He’s also gotten the 00 program shut down, which M is understandably not thrilled about. Meanwhile, Bond and Dr. Swann board a train headed for Oberhauser’s hideout. Bond tries to mansplain guns to Dr. Swann, but she’s a badass in her own right and doesn’t need any lessons from him. They begin to Bond, but this is interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Hinx. Mr. Hinx beats Bond’s ass up and down the train, but Bond and Dr. Swann working together are able to get him yeeted out of the train by a rope around his neck. They then have sex, because of course, before arriving at a deserted waystation on the Sahara. They have to wait a while, but eventually a car comes to collect them and takes them to a secret hideout located inside a crater.

In a very Dr. No-esque scene, Bond and Dr. Swann are greeted politely by Oberhauser’s staff and sent to bespoke swanky rooms (after Bond turns over his gun). In Dr. Swann’s room she finds a picture of herself and her dad, and in Bond’s picture he finds an unburnt copy of that picture that was recovered from Skyfall. Turns out the mysterious other young man who was standing with baby Bond and that unknown man was none other than a young Oberhauser. Dr. Swann and Bond are taken to meet with Oberhauser, who shows off the meteorite that made the crater he’s built his base in. He gives a heavy-handed monologue comparing himself to the meteorite before he gives them a tour of his facility. The tour culminates in a room full of people monitoring news stations and hidden security camera feeds, including one hidden in MI6. Bond deduces that C works for Oberhauser, and Oberhauser’s been striving to dismantle the 00 program.

Oberhauser describes himself as the author of all Bond’s pain and takes credit for the deaths of Vesper Lynd and the previous M. He confirms that Le Chiffre, Greene and Silva all worked for him, and then he plays a recording of Mr. White’s suicide to torment Dr. Swann. Bond is knocked out, and he wakes up he’s strapped to a chair as Oberhauser prepares to fiddle around with his brain. Also, just to give the game away, we get a shot of a certain signature white cat. Dr. Swann is forced to watch while Oberhauser drills into Bond’s brain, and when she demands to know why Oberhauser is doing this he launches into some backstory. Turns out the guy from the photograph is Oberhauser’s father; after Bond was orphaned at a young age Oberhauser’s dad took him in and asked Oberhauser to think of him as a little brother. Bond and Oberhauser’s dad formed a strong connection, so Oberhauser killed his own father out of jealously and faked his own death. As you do. He tells Bond that Franz Oberhauser really did die in an avalanche alongside his father, and the man now torturing Bond is Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Hey, it’s been a while (sort of)!

Blofeld begins to drill into Bond’s brain again, this time with the intention of destroying the part of his brain that lets him recognize faces. Why not! Bond is able to pass the watch Q gave to him forever ago to Dr. Swann, and it turns out there’s a bomb in that little sucker. Blofeld is caught up in the explosion but Dr. Swann is able to free Bond from his restraints and the two beat feet out of there. Bond sets off another explosion which destroys Blofeld’s entire facility, and then, because Bond’s feet have been on the ground way too long, he and Dr. Swann fly off in a helicopter.

Bond and Dr. Swann arrive in London, where they meet with M in secret. Bond lets M know that C is dirty, and they plan to take care of him. Dr. Swann can’t handle being part of all this cloak and dagger stuff anymore, so she peaces out while Bond, M, Moneypenny and Q head off to TCOB. This super squad lasts about a minute before the car carrying M and Bond gets t-boned. M manages to slip away, but Bond is taken prisoner. Q and Moneypenny pick up M while Bond manages to take out two goons with his head in a sack and his hands tied together. M and Q try to keep C’s Nine Eyes system from going online confront the traitor in his office while Bond navigates the ruins of the former MI6 HQ in search of Blofeld.

Bond finds Blofeld safely encapsulated behind some bulletproof glass. The explosion from earlier has given him his trademark scar and milky eye, and he informs Bond that he’s once again captured Dr. Swann. He’s wired the building with explosives, and Bond only has three minutes before they go TF off. Bond can either waste time trying to find Dr. Swann or he can save himself and escape. Blofeld triggers the countdown and heads out, leaving Bond to search for Dr. Swann. Q manages to keep Nine Eyes from going off, but M and C scuffle and C falls to his death. Bond catches sight of Blofeld getting away in a helicopter (the helicopter budget for this movie must have been off the chain), but he manages to rescue Dr. Swann and the two make it outside as the building explodes behind them.

Bond, riding in a speedboat, manages to shoot Blofeld’s helicopter out of the sky with a handgun. Let that sink in for a minute. The helicopter crashes, but Blofeld survives and escapes the wreckage. Unfortunately he scuttles right into Bond’s path, and Bond prepares to execute him. Blofeld urges him to finish it, but Bond declines and turns Blofeld over to M while he goes to meet Dr. Swann instead. Blofeld watches Bond and Dr. Swann walk away together as M informs him he’s being arrested.

Some time later, Bond arrives in Q Branch and gets the newly rebuilt old-timey car so he and Dr. Swann can drive off in style.

The End

~~~~~

Man, I know I’ve complained about how long these movies can get before, but I really wasn’t prepared for this puppy. To start off with some things I liked, I thought Mr. Hinx was a neat henchman and it feels like it’s been a long time since we had a good goon with a physical quirk like his metal thumbnails. It was fun to see some gadgets at play, and in a lot of ways this movie felt like a nod to classic, cheesier Bond films as opposed to the grittier, more realistic movies that have preceded it. I liked Dr. Swann a lot, and I appreciated that M, Q and Moneypenny all got stuff to do instead of just meeting with Bond before he jets off on his adventure and they’re left in the office. Now, I’ve got to comment on Blofeld… First of all, it’s neat to have him, and SPECTRE, back in the game after such a long absence. But why they heck did they need to make it so he and Bond grew up together? And Blofeld has built this entire criminal empire just because he had daddy issues and he was jealous of Bond? There has to be more to him than that! Also, I hated that Silva got turned into a henchman for SPECTRE. It was pretty blatantly stated that both Le Chiffre and Greene were part of a larger organization so I don’t mind them getting retconned into Blofeld’s agents, but Silva’s vendetta against the late M felt so personal and it doesn’t make sense to me that he was working for someone else. A lot of this movie was fun and I enjoyed most of it, but if I think about the motivations behind it all for even a little bit then the whole thing comes apart. This isn’t the worst Bond movie by any means (lookin’ at you, Thunderball), but it feels like it did a disservice to its immediate predecessors and didn’t come anywhere near the heights of Casino Royale or Skyfall.

I give SPECTRE QQQ on the Five Q Scale.

I can’t believe it, but there aren’t going to be any new recaps after that! We did it, Eli! Well, almost. Eli’s going to do a final post recapping his thoughts on his time spent with the Girls in The Golden Girls and The Golden Palace, and after that I’ll put up a post summing up my final thoughts on the James Bond franchise.

Until then, as always, thank you for reading, thank you for joining us on this wild ride and thank you for being One of Us!

#One of us #james bond #007

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