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lastbluetardis · 6 months

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Sacred New Beginnings (20/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 |

All hell breaks loose in the hallway: cameras flash, voices shout, and Rose is frozen at the door. James springs into action at once, flying to her side and swallowing the sudden nausea that threatens to buckle his knees.

How did they find him? How do they know where Rose lives? How do they know her name?

“Get back. Get inside,” he says woodenly, grabbing Rose’s arm and pulling her away from the cameras that are snapping dozens and dozens of photos. There’s a delivery person standing at the threshold, holding a travel tray of drinks and a bag of food. James takes them from him. “Thanks, mate.”

He utterly ignores the paparazzi, who are shouting his name and hers while asking all sorts of questions, and instead slams the door behind him.

Fucking hell. This is it; his worst nightmare is coming true. He’s been found, and Rose has been found, and now the entire world will know her name and her face and where she lives.

“How did they find me?” she whispers, her voice brittle.

She’s pale as a sheet, white as a ghost—or maybe he’s got that backwards?—and she’s clutching at the front of her robe, as though people are still trying to sneak a photo of her in such a state of undress. Righteous fury rises up in him, and he has half a mind to go out into the hallway and roar at the parasites who thought it proper behavior to snag a cheeky photo of himself and Rose during their private hours together. He wants to rage at them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for any pictures they got of Rose in her dressing gown.

He drops the breakfast he no longer wants onto the kitchen island and stalks back to the bedroom for his phone. The sheets and pillows are rumpled from their morning activities, a mockery of the peace that’s been shattered to oblivion.

The moment he turns off the “do not disturb” setting on his phone, it blows up in his hand. All the notifications he’d seen and ignored from an hour earlier are from Donna, who tried to warn him about the circus in the corridor. Twitter and Instagram banners are warring with each other for the top spot as the newest notification, and he’s getting dozens of texts amidst the series of missed calls from his team.

He slumps down onto the mattress and rings Donna, but he’s vibrating with so much tension and energy that he springs to his feet a moment later and begins pacing.

His cousin answers within seconds. “You’re in a steaming, heaping pile of shit!”

“What happened?” he demands, voice cracking. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Something must have happened in the middle of the night. We’re working on putting the pieces together. When I woke up this morning, I found all sorts of rumors and speculations that mentioned Rose by name.”

“They’re outside her fucking flat!” he snarls. “A whole fucking swarm of them!”

“I know,” Donna grits out. “New photos are emerging. Jesus Christ… in your bloody pants?!”

“I didn’t realize we were opening the door to the fucking wolves,” he seethes. “We just wanted to order breakfast. Rose opened the door. She opened the door in her dressing gown and everyone saw her like that and they took pictures and called her by name and… Fuck, Donna. What am I supposed to do?”

His legs give out, and he pulls on his hair until it hurts. It’s just like before, when he had awoken to an empty bed and a whirlwind of notifications that nude photographs of him had been leaked and gone viral across the internet. But it’s so much worse now because it’s Rose, the person who has become his best friend, the one good thing in his life, the person who deserves the absolute best from this world.

“I’m on my way to her flat right now.” Donna’s tone is painfully gentle, and it makes him want to snap at her. “So’s half your security team. How’s Rose? Is she all right? How’s she handling this?”

James is now painfully aware he left Rose all alone in the kitchen without saying anything at all to her. His chest hollows out and he’s desperate to be with her, to hold her close and apologize for everything that’s happening, to promise her he’ll fix this.

“Call me when you get here,” he says, then he ends the call and flies down the hall.

Rose is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone with her forehead in her hand. He aches for her, and he forces his anger to soften so he doesn’t make this worse for her.

She hears him approaching and glances up with an emotionless expression. Her voice is hollow when she says, “The game’s up. We’re everywhere.”

She hands her phone to him, and part of him doesn’t want to look, but he takes it anyway. It’s a Twitter page—she has a Twitter?—and it’s full of them. He grinds his teeth together when he sees her shocked face in the photos, dressed in nothing but a satiny pink dressing gown that barely disguises the fact she’s naked underneath. Then there’s him in his boxer-briefs and rumpled t-shirt, with mussed hair and swollen lips and a ring of red around his neck that makes it so painfully obvious they’d just had sex.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Rose, I’m…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Her phone buzzes in his hand before he can start reading any of the articles that are popping up across the Twitter feed.

“Everyone’s calling me,” she murmurs, taking her phone back from him and declining the call. “Friends. Coworkers. My boss.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he croaks, sinking to a crouch in front of her. He covers her trembling hands with his and brings them to his lips to press kiss after kiss to her knuckles.

She nods absently but doesn’t say anything. The silence between them is stifling, so different from the lighthearted laughter of her bedroom that morning.

“Donna’s coming over, as is my security team. They’ll get rid of everyone outside.”

“What’s the point? They’ll just come back.”

Yes, they will. James doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fix this, but the one thing he can do is take care of Rose right now. He knows all too well the state of shock she’s in, and when he’d been in her shoes, all he’d wanted was for someone to tell him exactly what to do and exactly what to say.

“Why don’t you get a shower?” he suggests, rising to his feet and tugging at her hands.

She doesn’t resist but also doesn’t speak, and he ignores the panic in his gut that’s telling him that everything is ruined, that everything he built with Rose is crumbling to ash.

“A nice, hot shower,” he says, guiding her through her bedroom and into the bathroom. He even goes so far as to turn the water on for her, testing the temperature until it’s just shy of scalding, exactly how she likes it.

Rose is staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He brushes his arm down her sleeve and asks, “Can I take your robe off?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he promises, unlacing the feeble knot Rose had hastily made.

Rose covers his hands, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on. “Neither do you.”

He merely shrugs, but Rose catches his hand and squeezes. “James. Look at me.” He doesn’t want to, but he does nevertheless. Her eyes are so gentle that it makes something twist deep in his chest. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? It’s not your fault.”

She then wraps her arms around him, and he melts into her. They cling to each other, not speaking, but simply being present together. He tucks his face into the side of her neck, breathing her in, and trying to quiet the fears screaming at him that it’s all over.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never wanted this to happen. Not like this.”

“I know.”

They stay in the embrace for several moments longer, listening to the pitter-patter of the water beating down on the floor of her shower.

James eventually leaves her to wash up in peace, and when she’s done, he showers too. He doesn’t have any of his own soap or shampoo here, so when he’s finished, he smells exactly like Rose. It’s comforting enough to soothe the raw nerve from the morning’s events.

He dresses in the same clothes as yesterday, wishing he had something else to change into, and when he joins Rose in the kitchen, he’s relieved to see her picking at a croissant. Well, it looks more like she’s shredding it, but he convinces himself she swallowed down a few bites.

She offers a weak smile that he tries to return.

“Has Donna called?” he asks, jutting his chin to his phone.

Rose shakes her head. “People keep knockin’ on the door. Haven’t even looked to see who it is.”

“Good. Don’t open the door yet. Not until Donna and my team get here.” He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “Have you read any of the articles yet?”

“Some,” she admits. “It’s all the same: you’ve been datin’ a nobody called Rose Tyler for the past few weeks.”

“You’re not a nobody!” he squawks.

She snorts humorlessly. “Better than bein’ called a whore.”

“Excuse me?” His tone is icy as rage sparks through him.

She shrugs. “Some people think I’m a hired escort for you while you’re in London. Seems an even split of opinions, honestly. There’s a poll goin’ viral on Twitter about it.” She scrolls through her phone. “Girlfriend is winning over escort, 55% to 45%.”

“I hate people,” he growls under his breath. But then he sobers and says, “Try not to read anything on the internet. I know it’s tempting, but please don’t. It won’t do you any favors. People can be quite nasty under the mask of anonymity. They’ll say whatever they want to sell the story that’ll make them the most money. Some of my fans can be brutal too, thinking they know what’s best for me. Please just… just try to stay off Twitter.”

“Everyone’s followin’ me now, too. Ten thousand new followers and climbing. Five hundred and more DMs. It’s made Twitter unusable. I haven’t even checked Instagram yet.”

“Fuck,” he groans, beating the heels of his hands into his brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reminds him.

“Yes it is,” he snaps. “If you were dating a normal bloke, nothing like this would ever happen to you. It’s because it’s me that your life is being thrown upside down and torn apart for everyone to scrutinize. I’m a disease, infecting everyone around you, and it finally got to you now, too.”

“Well, tough. If I wanted to date a normal bloke, I’d date a normal bloke. But I decided I want you, you numpty, and you’re not responsible for anyone else’s behavior other than your own, so stop blaming yourself for everything that’s happening.”

James wants to keep arguing, even though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to fight with Rose, but this sympathy, this acceptance, this forgiveness… it’s almost too much to bear. It’s easier to lash out, to put the blame on himself, to infuriate everyone else around him until they, too, blame him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he instead mutters.

Her eyes flash with a hint of anger. Good. It’s time for the mask to fall away, time for her to stop seeing him as blameless.

But rather than condemn him as he expects, Rose says, “Don’t you dare accuse me of ignorance. I knew exactly what I was signing up for by being with you. And I won’t lie, it scares the hell out of me, but I decided ages ago that you’re worth it. So don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know better, ‘cos I do.”

He snaps his mouth shut before he can say something incredibly stupid. And as though to save him from himself, his phone chimes from the kitchen island with the name Donna Noble printed in bright white letters.

“Are you here?” he asks without greeting.

“Obviously. We’ve got half your team here and the other half is at your house. We’ve got some police with us to help disperse the crowd. It’s a zoo out here.”

He can hear it: a cacophony of voices shouts indistinctly from the other end of the line, and he can hear several people barking at them to back up and clear some space.

“Should I come down…?”

“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “Stay exactly where you are. Who’s the landlord of the building, by the way? We should probably let them know of this fiasco.”

He sighs. “It’s Rose’s father. Well. Stepfather. Tyler Peters.”

Donna pauses for a beat, then says, “At least he’ll be easy to get ‘hold of. Right. Stay on the line with me ‘til we get upstairs.”

James listens to every chaotic second of Donna’s trek, from the shouts in the background to her telling people exactly where they can shove their cameras.

“Bloody hell, we can barely get through this corridor. Oi, move it! This is a fire hazard, this is! Back up back up back up back up, oi, hands to yourself!”

If he wasn’t so miserable, he might have laughed to hear his cousin yelling at everyone who came within two feet of her. Alas, he stays quiet and steps up to the door, ready to welcome her in.

“We’re here, knock knock knock.”

As she says the words, three hard bangs rattle the front door. He peeks behind his shoulder to make sure Rose is well out of sight before he cracks open the door. The moment he’s visible, the shouting grows louder and the paparazzi snag more photographs. A combination of some of his security team and police officers have forced them several meters away from the door, yet it’s still close enough for them to get some good shots.

Donna, River, and a junior agent named Adric steps into the flat before he slams the door shut again. Within moments, he’s being pulled into his cousin’s arms. He hugs her tight and rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his ear, giving him a squeeze.

He drops his arms from around her, prompting her to release him, and when he pivots towards Rose, he finds River perched on the couch next to her, speaking softly.

“The plan is to get you back to your house,” Donna says, shifting from concerned cousin to professional publicist in an instant. “Unless you wanted to go somewhere else?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” he says, “but I can’t leave Rose here.”

At the sound of her name, she locks eyes with him.

“You… you’re more than welcome to come home with me, but you don’t have to, if you’d prefer to be somewhere else. I don’t think you should stay here alone, but if that’s what you truly want, I can arrange for officers to stay here with you.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m comin’ with you. I should… I’ll pack a bag.”

Rose stands and brushes past them to head down the hall, but he catches her hand and says, “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

With that, she heads to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Of all the ways I thought you’d be found out, this wasn’t it,” Donna admits.

“Did you figure out what happened?” he asks.

Donna hesitates for a moment, biting her lip.

“What? Tell me. I deserve to know who violated our privacy like this.”

“Please keep in mind that it was an accident,” she prefaces, but already he’s getting angry at this mystery person who leaked Rose’s identity to the whole world. “Apparently it was Rose’s mother.”

That stuns him enough that his anger is abruptly gone, replaced with confusion and a cloying emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He knew Jackie had despised his very essence, but he never would have thought she would’ve put her own daughter at risk…

“An accident?” he asks skeptically.

“A report went in to a magazine reporter in the middle of the night. Two girls who live here overheard Jackie Tyler say that her daughter was dating James Noble; she was quite upset about it, mind. I take it you didn’t make a good first impression?”

“Not the time, Donna,” he snaps.

She holds her hands up and lets that subject drop before she says, “The girls passed along the conversation as a tip. Early this morning, the magazine did some digging, trying to verify the information. That digging leaked to other tabloids, and it all snowballed ‘til everyone showed up here to find out for themselves.”

He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Great. Just fucking great. And what’s this about people thinking Rose is a hired escort?”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Elitist arseholes who don’t think she’s good enough for you since she’s not rich or famous.”

“Didn’t help they caught her in her dressing gown,” he mutters murderously.

Donna winces. “No, it didn’t. But this is fixable. The flurry of speculation will run its course over the weekend, and once it’s out of everyone’s system, you can start setting the record straight.”

“I don’t want to set the record straight, I want things to go back the way they were before!”

He’s well aware he’s whining like a child, but he can’t help it. It’s like if he just gets angry enough, things will go back to normal.

Never mind the fact that he’s tried that before, and it has never worked.

Rose emerges from her bedroom with a suitcase in her hand. She eyes them tentatively, as though catching on to the bitter mood that has settled over the kitchen, but says nothing. Instead, she sets her suitcase down and gathers up her laptop and a stack of papers and notebooks, which she shoves into a backpack.

“I’ve got to do some lesson planning,” she explains to nobody.

“Of course,” he says. “No problem.”

“Has there been any more news?” she asks, striving to keep her voice nonchalant.

“News?” he squeaks, then clears his throat to force his voice back to his normal register.

“About what happened? How it happened?” Rose peeks up at him through her lashes, gnawing on the corner of her thumb with such force he’s worried she’s about to rip her cuticle off.

He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, tugging them away from her mouth as he lies, “No. Nothing yet.”

“Right. Good. Yeah.” She finishes packing up her school bag, then smooths her hand down her fuzzy blue cardigan. “Do I look all right? Is this okay?”

It’s only now that he realizes she applied a full face of makeup. The red of her lipstick makes her lips look more kissable than usual, and the arc of eyeliner makes her beautiful eyes utterly sparkle. His heart trips over its next beat.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, bending to kiss those ruby lips for a fraction of a heartbeat.

She smiles slightly into the kiss before she pulls back. “Don’t smudge it.”

“Yessir,” he says gravely, snapping off a silly salute.

She laughs, and for a moment, they both forget about the morning, and it’s just like any other day together. But then River approaches to usher them toward the door, and the illusion breaks.

As Rose shrugs into her coat, James excuses himself down the hall to her spare room-turned-library. He immediately goes to the shelf he remembers Rose saying housed her favorite books, and he picks two of them at random, then grabs two other random books from the bookcase she’d said held all the books she hasn’t read yet. He can’t give her peace, but he can try to give her the comfort that comes with losing oneself in a book.

Everyone’s waiting by the door, staring quizzically at him. Rose is the first to notice what he’s carrying, and her entire face softens.

“I… I thought maybe you’d want to do a bit of reading,” he blurts. “And I didn’t know if you’d like what I have on my bookshelves. So I thought… books.”

“Books,” she repeats quietly. Then she meets his eye and says, “I love books.”

He smiles, then draws in a deep breath. “Ready to face the wolves?”

“Awoo,” she halfheartedly replies.

James slips his free arm around her waist then nods to River to open the door. Several officers have created a barricade with their bodies, keeping the horde of reporters out of arm’s reach, but there’s nothing to be done about the cameras, which begin to click and flash the moment he and Rose emerge.

He bends down until his lips are at Rose’s ear and says, “Keep your eyes on the ground and keep walking. Don’t react. You’re doing brilliantly.”

She follows his instructions to the letter, keeping her head bowed while they slowly amble down the corridor and to the lifts, with the police officers and security agents creating a bubble of protection around himself and Rose.

The main foyer of the building is just as bad, and outside is even worse because now regular people have gathered by the hundreds to try to catch a glimpse of him and Rose. Everyone is shouting his name, and some are shouting hers, asking how they met, how she snagged him, how long they’ve been together. Some questions are less polite.

“Ignore them,” he whispers again, fuming at the sight of her crimson cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re almost to the car. We’ll be getting into the back seat. You first, behind the driver.”

He keeps his hand planted on her spine as they walk to the car, where the back doors are open for them.

“In you go. Slide all the way over. Take your time. No rush.”

Once Rose is settled into her seat, he climbs in beside her, mindful of the books he’s carrying. The din of fans and paparazzi lessens when the door shuts behind him, but the buzzing in his head is loud enough anyways.

It’s slow going for his driver to get some distance between the crowd, but after a few minutes, they speed for his house amidst the sparse morning traffic. James is disheartened to see another crowd of fans and reporters on his street, crowding around his driveway. More police officers and his security agents have formed a barricade, but it doesn’t help the screams and shouts of his name.

I need to get a new house. Somewhere secret. Somewhere easier to protect.

His heart sinks to see that his security team has set up an entire perimeter around his property to control the swarm of people wanting to stick their nose in his business. He led Rose out of one hell and into another.

A soft, warm hand slips across his, rubbing soothing lines along his knuckles. He clutches Rose’s hand as though it can anchor him to the present, keeping the swarm of darkness at bay.

Inch by inch, the driver pulls the car into his garage and closes the door behind them, giving him some privacy. They each get out of the car and step into the house, which feels cold and empty. He heads to the thermostat and cranks it up, wanting Rose to be as cozy as possible in his home, and sets her books onto his huge dining table.

“Right,” Donna says, breaking the brittle silence around them. “Not much else to do, is there? Let the story run its course. If you’re feeling cheeky, post a statement on social media, or a cute photo of the two of you. Or let the paparazzi shoot themselves in the foot; already your fans are getting hashtags trending, outraged on your behalf at the photos they took.”

Usually James is uplifted to hear about his fans being good people, but apathy is all he can manage. He’s been hollowed out, exhausted beyond mere physical fatigue.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling Donna in for another hug. “I think we want to lay low for a bit.”

He receives a nod of agreement from Rose.

“Fair enough. Oh, your mum’s on her way here. She heard about the news a few minutes ago and couldn’t get ‘hold of you, so she let me know.”

James frowns and stares at his phone, which he now realizes has been oddly silent for the duration of the car ride home. The screen stays black, no matter how many times he presses the power button. All the notifications blowing up the device must’ve drained the battery.

“Can I get you anything?” Donna asks. “Either of you? Rose? You doing okay?”

“I think so,” she answers. Rose glances at him, but he has nothing to offer her, so she returns her attention to Donna. “I think we’re okay here. We’ll just… I dunno… stay in.”

Donna casts her a sympathetic look, then she says to him, “Your security team is out in force, so are several local police officers. We think the crowd will die down a bit once they realize you’re being hermits for the weekend. But security will be vigilant. I trust you know better than to sneak off on your own anywhere?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

“One last piece of business,” Donna says. “As your publicist, I feel obligated to confirm the news that you and Rose are, in fact, dating. Is that all right? It’ll be as simple as that. No details, no photos, just an announcement.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” he says, waving his hand at her. “You know best.”

“Damn right I do,” she says, but he can see the gentleness in her face that threatens to break the delicate grip he has on himself.

With one last comforting squeeze of his arm, Donna departs, leaving him and Rose alone. But are they really alone, when dozens upon dozens of his fans and paparazzi reporters are making a muffled commotion outside? Would it help if he goes outside and requests they leave him alone?

(He knows it won’t… he’s tried that before.)

So where does that leave him? He feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. He’s radiating with so much tension that he’s not sure how he hasn’t detonated. Despite being the largest house he’s ever lived in, the space feels too small, too cramped, like there’s not enough air for him to breathe.

James begins to pace a frenetic circuit around his living room where he mindlessly picks things up and puts them down in a new location. Yes, redecorating, that’s exactly what he needs. He needs to move things, to do something, to put all his energy into not thinking about the sordid photos going viral and the gross accusations people are making about Rose and…

“Hey, slow down.”

Rose steps in front of him and takes the bookends—that admittedly shouldn’t be relocated off his bookcase—out of his hands and sets them on the coffee table. (Bookends don’t go on coffee tables, Rose, what are you thinking?)

“Talk to me,” she pleads.

“And say what, exactly? This whole morning has been a scene straight out of my fucking nightmares?”

“Yes, actually,” she says, and it surprises him enough that he pauses his agitated movements. “Stop trying to pretend everything’s okay, or that you’ll make it okay. ‘Cos it’s not okay. I’m not okay, and I don’t think you are either. But I want you to tell me that, rather than running from me.”

“I’m not running, I’m walking.” Rose pins him with a glare so fierce it steals the rest of his sarcasm straight from his tongue. He sighs and admits, “I’m not fun to be around when I get like this, so I’m trying really hard to be a half-way decent person at the moment.”

“I don’t want you to be a half-way decent person, I want you to be James.” She cradles his cheeks, forcing him to look down at her. “I want you to be my James.”

All the fight goes out of him and all the voices in his head shout on top of one another. He slumps, dipping his head until his forehead rests on hers, and it all spills out of him: how much he hates that this has happened, how much he loathes the paparazzi and some of his nosy fans, how much he wishes he’d been the one to answer her door, how scared he is that this will drive her away, how worried he is about her reputation, how angry he is at everyone who had a hand in outing them. Everything. Every nasty, gnarled thought, and when he finishes his tirade, he’s calmer. Whether that has to do with everything he’d said or the fact that Rose is rubbing his back and nuzzling her nose into his, he doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care.

“There’s my James,” she says, pinching his waist playfully.

“Your James just… just… verbally shat all over you.”

Rose breaks into a giggle and muffles it by burying her face into his chest. He holds her tight and smiles secretly into her hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “And I know it’s not my fault, but I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I know. This certainly tops my ‘weirdest day of all times’ list.”

“Oh yeah? What used to hold the number one spot?”

She pulls back and gives him a cheeky grin. “The night a famous singer bought me a drink and asked me to dance.”

“Huh, kinda weird that happened to you twice now,” he teases.

She laughs aloud, and the sound is enough to loosen the knot of tension that continues to wrap around his chest. He ducks down to catch her lips in a sweet kiss.

They pull away after a few moments, and Rose rests her head on his chest, seemingly content to stand there with him. The silence is solemn, but not uncomfortable, and for a moment, James hopes that maybe this means they can come out of this mess unscathed and, more importantly, together.

“It was my mum,” Rose murmurs, the words so sudden that for a moment, James has no idea what she’s talking about.

But then he remembers his conversation with Donna, and swallows hard. “What?”

“My mum,” she repeats, not lifting her head from his chest. “She was so angry when she left last night, and she must’ve complained about it to Dad. And people overheard her. That’s how everyone found out.”

Rose sounds so miserable and dejected that he’s desperate to do anything to take that tone out of her voice.

“It was just a bit of bad luck,” he says, pulling back slightly to try to force her to look at him. She doesn’t; she keeps her eyes level with his chest. He places his fingers beneath her chin and nudges upward, and she finally meets his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t your mum’s fault. Those girls didn’t have to send a tip into the papers, but they did. So it wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t introduced you to my mum like that…”

“Not. Your. Fault.” He interrupts her by resting his fingertips overtop her lips.

“Still feels like it,” she mumbles around the digits before moving his hand away from her mouth. “I haven’t been brave enough to talk to my mum yet, other than to tell her I’m safe. I dunno what to tell people. My boss is demanding a meeting with me first thing on Monday. And my friends want to know all the details. It’s exhausting. I dunno how you’ve done this for all these years. It’s been two hours, and I want to just… just…”

“Disappear?” he supplies, knowing exactly what she means.

She nods, and sighs.

“Want to know the secret? Distraction.” He darts his eyes around his living room, searching for anything that can get him and Rose out of their heads for a moment, and he lands on his television and gaming consoles. “Right. You and me. Mario Kart tournament.”

Rose pulls back, confusion written across her face. “…Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart.” He flashes her a wink and clicks his tongue in a way that usually makes her laugh, but only pulls a half-smile from her.

“Sit,” he orders, half-guiding, half-pushing her to the sofa before he turns on his Wii console.

“Hey, you made fun of me for having a Wii,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling, so the words carry no bite.

“Excuse you, this is the next gen Wii,” he boasts, then he comes to sit down beside her with the controllers, which he pops into a steering-wheel-shaped attachment. “No changing the subject. Are you ready to get your arse handed to you in Mario Kart?”

He’s so relieved to see a broad, genuine smile steal across her face that he kisses her soundly. When she kisses him back with equal vigor, warmth blooms in his chest and his toes curl into the plush carpet.

She pulls back after many long seconds and grins devilishly at him. “Oh, you’re so on.”

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #sacred new beginnings #ten x rose au #james x rose #romance #angst #hurt/comfort #my fic

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kckramer · 11 months

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Hello! It's time to properly introduce myself to the writeblr community. You can call me KC if you want. I am a full time specialist as my local library system and I have a Master of Letters in Fantasy Literature from the University of Glasgow. For now, this is my writing website, until an agent/editor tells me to build a WordPress or something. (I honestly hate traditional blogs. Weird quirk, don't know why. Also, links are underlined). If I get tagged in things, I will do my best to respond to them and share it forward.

Published Works- This includes my self-published 5e adventure and the two anthologies that include my stories. It will be updated and kept current as this develops.

Works in Progress- The main projects that I've been bouncing back and forth between. Most are world-oriented, meaning they have numerous interconnected stories within a single world.

Where to Find Me: Some of my other internet homes, including World Anvil, Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook.

More Details Below...

Here are some more details on the different things I linked above:

Published Works

"Sofia Serrento's Flying Circus and the Sky Pirates of Shanghai" is published in the anthology Hell Hath No Fury: New Pulp Heroines. It's a New Pulp story set in 1930s Shanghai, featuring Sofia Serrento and her all-women aero-circus/spy ring.

"The God-Kings' Tomb" is published in the anthology Futures That Never Were, an anthology of original sword & planet short stories. This one is in the same universe as Sofia Serrento, so the two stories are... technically connected. This one involves an SOE advisor specializing in the occult and arcane who finds herself transported to a different planet in the solar system.

Siege at Oasis Butte is a standalone 5e adventure published through the DM's Guild featuring a desert town under siege by mercenaries with mysterious motivations.

Works In Progress

Iron Horizons/The Pilgrim's War: This was a NaNoWriMo novel from a few years ago that has since... grown. I've been calling it a Dieselpunk space opera, but alternate history/retrofuturism is also apt. Basically, humanity rapidly developed space flight in the 1920s based on some MacGuffin physics nonsense leading to the second world war happening on a solar system level using extensions of 30s aesthetics. Pilgrim's War is set roughly 400 years after that war ended, with the extensive resources from space maintaining the colonialist expansion into the stars and focuses primarily on a sort of... War of 1812 situation between a well-established independent government and their recently independent colonies.

The Centurion Club: My published short stories are set in this universe. Ironically, this is also an alternate history. It's the primary setting for my "New Pulp" fiction. It's mostly short fiction, with some longer projects in the brainstorming phase, and it focuses on the fictionalized city of Weymouth in New England and the members of the illustrious Centurion Club, a scientific society for explorers, scientists, freedom fighters, reformers, and others who push the boundaries of human society. Beyond that, a sword and sorcery setting in Mesolithic Doggerland, some privateers/mercenaries in the 17th/18th centuries, and a contemporary CGIS special agent in a Clive Cussler vein, plus a great many vigilantes and adventurers in the 1930s.

Sigil of the Sea King: A heroic fantasy which, also a NaNoWriMo project, is self-indulgence, where I throw together everything I've really enjoyed but could never fit in elsewhere. So there's an island kingdom ruled by merchant sea princes, flying air whales, nomads whose wagons are pulled by sails, cozy Forest Folk, a lone surviving heir to a crumbled kingdom, and lots of influence from Georgian/Armenian/Caucasian culture, mythology, and history.

Flintlock Fantasy: This is just the earliest stages of development, mostly just simmering, but somewhat Napoleonic secondary fantasy world. The main character is an elf named Lark, and I think she's sort of a janissary-type sent to work covertly in a border region between two empires. Random, Personal Information

You may have once known me as NovelistSpaceRanger, but that was like 8 years ago.

I'm a certified open-water diver and I'm working on my advanced open-water diver later this summer.

Also a whitewater rafter, backpacker, mediocre yogi, and rock climber.

I've been to 14 countries and spent a year and a half living in Europe.

#writeblr #kckramer #writing community #my writing #writeblr intro #short story #new pulp #writing blog #novelistspaceranger #dieselpunk

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currentlyfckingurmom · 9 months

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Human: Rewritten

Chapter One

Natasha Romanoff x Female OC

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in her brain before her eyes even opened. She didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time she’d woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of her life. She no longer needed to wake up that early, yet it’s a habit so deeply entrained in her framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. She rolled out of bed and made her way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math she figures that she got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s typical. She started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of her and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” She slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat.

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and Eight could already feel her patience wavering.

Two hours later, Eight rubbed her forehead in an effort alleviate the headache.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” She said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When she didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left her apartment, leaving her with nothing but her rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury paid a visit to Eight’s apartment in Barcelona. They had kept in contact and he hadn't given up on her joining SHIELD. She’d lived in three different apartments since then. Eight was watching the seven o’clock news when she saw something that made her choke on her Cheerios. “An alien invasion? What the hell is—” Her muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of her burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes, aliens. I’m forming a team of extraordinary people to help protect against these threats. They could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be a bit unusual but I’m not ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join, you can go right back to France after the fight is over and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence she agreed.

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. How do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later:

Eight flew her jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. She found herself extremely grateful for the stolen German jet capable of flying 2100mph. She saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. She maneuvered the jet and— Is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? She landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines, then hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell she was and—whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing her steps had literally faltered at the sight of the woman, she slowed to a walk and said “You guys need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the gorgeous redhead.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that she took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of her magazines into Chitauri bodies, she switched to swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. Eight started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when she saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. She stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and Mr. Hammer Man when the big green thing grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to the group. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said, nodding toward Eight. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed Eight’s blood-soaked form from head to toe.

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I’d be into it if you were.”

She shook her head at Eight with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up.

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

Eight had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed her where to land her jet and directed her to a room so she could shower and stay the night if she wanted to. Eight had put on black jeans, a white tank, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in her jet. She was toweling off her hair when someone knocked on the door. Eight opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

She walked into the conference room, finding the Avengers already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names Eight had learned from Hill—were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed Eight from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her. Eight squinted her eyes and wiggled her eyebrows in response, and she could see the redhead stifle a laugh.

“What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression.

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let’s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let the group leave. Eight was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to her.

“Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards her in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both women were trying to figure out if the conversation was over.

Eight was about to leave when Natasha continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that she turned around and started walking away, but a hand on her arm stopped her dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in Eight’s head, and Romanoff might’ve been saying something to her, but she was too caught up in the memories to register it. After a few seconds, the white of her vision cleared up and the voices in her head faded into the background. Her heart was still hammering in her chest and she was trying to keep her breathing steady. Eight regained her neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” Natasha had a concerned expression and if Eight wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, she would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” She turned around and walked back to her temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind her, hot tears raced down her cheeks and she lost the ability to breathe as she fought the old conditioning messing with her head. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

She finally managed to calm herself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so she decided to leave before anyone woke up. Eight didn’t have much to pack so she grabbed her duffel bag and left the room. She made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads, then ran into the one person she really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebel streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” Natasha studied her for what felt like way too long, probably debating if Eight would try to kill her or not. Spies can be so untrusting.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how she ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at her to ‘slow the fuck down!’

“Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know. You’re dodging my questions.”

“You act like you’d answer my questions if I were to start asking about you.” It was quiet as the two women shared a look of mutual understanding.

Madrid, Spain:

Eight landed the jet at the local SHIELD base and killed the engines. They removed their headsets and Eight stood to help Romanoff get her bags. “Well, I’ll see you around I guess.” Eight had never been good at goodbyes. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean.”

“Um, I don’t know, honestly.”

“Why won’t you join SHIELD? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Oh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” Eight was cut off when Natasha threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Fucking crazy woman.”

When their laughter died down, Natasha said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give Eight a hug but she must’ve seen her body go rigid because she stepped back. And then she was gone. Eight walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

Series masterlist

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romonova #natasha romanoff smut #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x oc #yelena belova #black widow #black widow x reader

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cealesti · 3 months

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"The Benko Gambit"?

That's a chess move, isn't it? I feel like this is either Tom centric, or Ron centric. I have my bias, obviously, because I did so enjoy how you portrayed Tom and his relationship to chess in "with eyes like these", but I would be curious anyhow cause I love chess in general.

As a gambit, it's rooted in the sacrifice of pawns, right?

Wonder what that might say about the focus character. If it's not Ron or Tom, I'm betting on Dumbledore.

oooh, what to say about "The Benko Gambit"?

edit: Right off the bat, this is a fic that's sort of a love letter to a bunch of fics I adore. The idea of Harry as Senior Undersecretary, for example, is straight out of "All For Show". The Snape & Hermione dynamic is something I only thought of after reading Hauntingly. You get it.

This is one of the WIPs I'm most excited about, definitely the one I've written more for, and probably my next big project after the "anybody else" series is eventually done with. This isn't really centered around a specific character, there's an ensemble cast to focus on, but Ron is a very important piece of the puzzle and yes, that's part of the reason I chose to go for a chess-themed title. The objective would be for every chapter to be named after chess manouvers; think "x opening, castling, y defense, check" so on and so forth.

The general strategy [of the Benko Gambit] is to sacrifice your Queen-side pawns in order to gain advantage (...) If the gambit is accepted, some of the lines that can develop are complicated and difficult to play.

This fic follows a back-and-forth structure; we go back between the trio's fifth year and the present moment of the fic, a good five years later. They're drastically different timelines: after all, in the present, Hermione, Snape, and Kinglsey are leading the Order of the Phoenix; Vee is playing at Government with Harry as his Senior Undersecretary and Ron and Draco as his Junior Undersecretaries. Susan Bones is an Auror, Luna is an Unspeakable, and this is very convenient, because Sirius Black has just popped out of the Veil, for reasons still unknown.

You may be asking: how on earth does any of that happen?

Here's a "for want of a nail" scenario: what if, in OotP, Ron doesn't throw Percy's letter away? What if - stick with me here - what if he answers it?

Wouldn't that be a hell of a gambit?

Snippet under the cut!

(September, 1995)

Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.

Three friends sit by a fireplace, late at night in their Common Room. The room is empty but for the three of them and a large ginger cat, who’s content to lay on his owner’s lap and purr up a storm. The rain pelts against the glass windows of the tower, wind whistling sharply, and though the room is warm and cozy and familiar, there’s a whisper of unease in the air.

Something that creeps under the skin, like disease. Like rot.

They’re living through a war, though many would not call it that. Many would rather call a fifteen-year-old orphan a liar, ridicule him in the papers, as quick to turn on him as they are to seek his favour, in a maddening media circus that speaks to the fickleness of public opinion.

You’re sixteen years old. You’re bright, and you’re driven, and you’re scared. You’re a target yourself, too muggleborn and too clever by half, but that’s not even the half of it, because one of your best friends has a target on his back as well, and the rest of the world is more than happy to pretend that it doesn’t exist.

Your other best friend has a letter clutched in his hand. His knuckles are white, ears red with fury and a little grief, for that letter was penned by a brother that he hasn’t seen in months. A brother who walked out on their family, blind to their reason in the face of his pride, and who now urges your friend to do the same.

Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.

The three friends ridicule the letter and the one who sent it. They sit in their fury against an establishment that was meant to protect them. They go through the school year and form a rebellion, a resistance, jump through hoops and outsmart older and more experienced wixen with little more than their guile and their will. At the end of the year, they fall headfirst into a trap. They lose the first of many friends.

This is not that story - though it might not be obvious at first.

In this story, they still fall headfirst into a trap after a misguided attempt at rescue. They still lose a friend. They still form a resistance, outsmart their watchers and all of those who would see them condemned for speaking the truth, and they do it with little more than their wits and their heart and their conviction.

But in this story - they don’t dismiss that letter.

In this story, your best friend, who is proud and brave and selfless, the epitome of what a fairytale hero should be -

In this story, he raises his head, green eyes flashing with something shrewd. Something new.

In this story, he pauses, and says:

“We can use this.”

#ron is like. my third little meow meow at this point #he gets harry's idea as soon as the words are out of harry's mouth #there's a whole lot of lore and complex plot points that happen here. i have them mapped out in milanote cause my notebooks werent enough #also am i writing tomarrymort with a side of dron and possible snackmione? ...... maybe i am. what are you gonna do about it #eve.txt #the benko gambit #writing updates #wip tag game

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feith-rikya · 6 months

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All these characters are from an RPG campaign called; Gehenna's Gates, set in the world of Vampire The Masquerade. Feel free to ask any questions!

Here some ladies of the story!

Danya Vetranov: A charming Ravnos with a difficult past. Her sire took her to the circus for her extraordinary divination skills, and for many years that place was her home. The events she experienced in London had a radical impact on her life, pushing her to become the human soul of her coterie. She has a natural talent for bringing people together and considers those close to her as her family. She's willing to do anything to protect them, without any hesitation.

Elizabeth De Lacy: Coming from a rich and noble family, she lost everything at 17, only to regain it with her own strength and the help of a charming Ventrue who took her as her initiate. As beautiful as she is ambitious and the last of her clan in London, she juggles the government and her various thorny relationships. Haughty and snobbish, she also hides a kind side in her own way.

Simone Levesque: She represents a living miracle, an extraordinary uniqueness in this world. A little girl transformed by a Malkavian when she was still very young, she joins the Cernabog Circus which becomes her first real family, despite the problematic nature of her clan. After being kidnapped by the Camarilla for horrific experiments, she is found by Arthur and Luc practically dying and with no hope of saving her. But we don't know how Arthur did something that day, practically a miracle, not only saving Simone's life, but making her human again. But fate had not finished with her, in fact some time later, during the siege of Ekron, Simone was cursed again but this time she was transformed by magic into a lupine. In an attempt by the demon to drive Luc to madness which by now considered her as a daughter. But this act only created another foe for him with blind fury and extraordinary strength.

Aria: A Salubri, embraced when she was about 10 years old, rescued and then subsequently adopted by Arthur a long time ago. Despite being a vampire, he has a kind disposition and never backs down from helping the group with his healing discipline.

Amelia: A Cappadocia left alive, a rare sight, imprisoned in the hands of the Hunters forced to use her skills to create dolls in the service of the vampire hunt.

Ranya The Witch: A Ravnos, in league with the demon Ekron. Trick Danya into finding and recovering the dice so she can allow the King of Hell to appear on earth and unleash the apocalypse. Apparently an ancient vampire with infernal powers who tries in every way to torment and destroy the coterie. He's going to kill Becker by driving them all out. After his capture it was discovered that his will was under the control of Ekron and that therefore his actions were totally controlled by the demon. Evidently dice are too great a temptation for anyone. In exchange for his release, he makes a deal with Elizabeth to become an ally and a valuable asset to the coterie.He will reveal himself to be a crazy and unpredictable person with a particular sense of humor that many within the group find amusing.

#vtm #vampire the masquerade #vampire #ravnos #ventrue #salubri #cappadocia #world of darkness #camarilla #vtm npc #vtm oc #vtm art

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 years

Text

Two Sides of The Same Coin - Chapter 23: "Dancing With Our Hands Tied"

"I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us..."

You weren't sure how long it had been since you bolted from the conference room, leaving both Bucky and Tony calling after you, but it didn't really come as a shock to you that someone was already knocking on your door. You don't reply, still staring out at the window at the seemingly endless horizon. The door quickly creaks open and you sigh softly, “I don’t want to talk right now, Sam.”

“Guess again,” a familiar voice says.

Your head jolts to the side to see Nick Fury standing in your doorway.

“Oh, hi Nick,” you mutter, only offering the smallest of smiles.

“To be honest, I was expecting a warmer welcome,” he remarks, walking into your room and taking a seat at your desk.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need. I was in the area, thought I’d stop by to check on you.”

“So Sam called you?” you knowingly guess. You figured that it was only time before Sam checked on you himself or in this case, called in reinforcements.

He chuckles, “Very good, he did. He said you met Dr. Strange today- that he showed you something that you didn’t like.”

“He showed me, me.”

“Yourself in alternate timelines, alternate universes,” Nick corrects.

“It’s still me.”

“But it’s not you.”

“It could be," you counter.

“And I could be a circus clown in another timeline, doesn’t mean I am in this one.”

“You don’t understand! I’ve spent my whole life wanting to be good. To be better. To be more than what I was told, and to know that I still could be bad, I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t do anything with that," he replies simply. "We make choices every single day, we make the choice to be good and do the right thing every day- you just keep doing what you’re doing. You seem to be doing it very well.”

“People have died because of me. People have gotten hurt because of me.”

“I assume you’re talking about Wanda. And your caretaker.”

“They killed her because of me,” you remind him, your voice absent as you stare at your hands, remembering how you desperately tried to save her. Every day you had to reconcile that there was nothing you could have done, she was dead the second the bullet hit her. It didn't change that you wept over her body for days, blood very literally staining your hands and face. Until someone had the decency to remove her body from your room.

“I just have a question for you: How do you think we found you?”

“What?” you shakily exhale, finally turning to look at him.

“How do you think we found you? It’s not like I’ve got some built in superhero radar.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you how: we received an insider tip claiming to have witnessed a gifted individual. That said individual needed help. We didn’t believe her at first, and our preliminary search showed no such individual. You already know that there is no record of you…anywhere, which is practically impossible in this day and age. But I imagine she was trying to get ahold of SHIELD for quite some time before someone believed her.”

“And then you found me,” you mutter, putting the pieces together.

“And then we found you,” Nick confirms.

“You found me because of her?”

“They didn’t put a bullet in her head because she was caught smuggling something in. They did that because she gave you a way out, because she chose to do the right thing. After working for that terrible place, she did the right thing. Any person, at any time can choose to do the right thing. You could kill me with a flick of your hand if you wanted to.”

“I would never do that!” you insist.

“Exactly. You would never do that.”

And though Nick's words helped, once again, the toll had already been taken. The damage inflicted. And the firm grasp of mental stability was loosening, slipping from your fingers.

After Dr. Strange's little display, Sam effectively benched you again, telling you to take some time to process everything. The kidnapping. Seeing versions of yourself you were never meant to see. It seemed like there was not one constant in your life anymore.

Things with Bucky had irrevocably changed, and you found yourself unsure of where you stood with him.

You and Sam weren't as close as you used to be when it was just the two of you.

It was all different now.

You couldn't close your eyes for a split second without seeing that room. Without hearing Rumlow's words in your mind. Or seeing the alternate timelines. You couldn't blink without seeing it, much less actually sleep.

The last time you managed to sleep was the same night that Strange showed you those timelines, and now you were really wishing that he hadn't. The final thread of sanity that you clung to, was almost completely frayed, and you found yourself unsure of your own mind.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you hoarsely whisper, looking up to see Bucky standing in front of you with a concerned look on his face.

“Doesn't seem like it. You seem, I don't know, off."

"Off?" you bitterly chuckle. "You could say that."

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks again, ignoring the malice dripping from your voice. It's malice that you've never directed toward him, but you can't bring yourself to calm down. There's something not right about the whole interaction, the way Bucky stands rigidly in front of you, the absent expression on his face. It all feels...off.

“Sam’s my best friend, you know. I love him. He does so much for me," you gently say, your tone dramatically shifting in a way that feels stilted, unnatural.

“But?”

You shake your head. “No, no but’s.”

“But?” he asks again.

“Sometimes I just feel so helpless. So small.” You let your words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And I don’t want anyone to think I’m not grateful, because I am. I really am…but sometimes I just- I feel like I’m losing myself, you know? I don’t even know how that’s possible- a person losing themselves without even knowing who they are. And I know one day I’ll look around and the world won’t be new anymore. The novelty, the excitement, it’ll all be gone. And I don’t know who I am without that.”

Bucky's head turns in confusion, like you're speaking two different languages. Something he's never done before, part of the reason you gravitated toward him was because he understood you so well, so to have him look at you like that, there aren't words for how painful it is.

“I’m losing it. That’s what’s happening. I’m going crazy," you declare when he remains silent. "I'm actually going crazy.”

"Stop it." You look up just as he flinches away from you.

"I'm not - I'm not doing anything," you stammer, looking down at your hands. You're just in your room, the air is still, and but your hands tremble with unease as a chill runs down your spine.

"I'm being serious, stop," he firmly demands.

"I'm not doing anything!" you exclaim, but when you look away from your hands, you're not in your room but in some strange empty field. Flowers begin to wilt around you, winds scream against you. Bucky raises his hands to shield his face against the violent winds.

"Stop it!" he pleads desperately. "You're scaring me!"

“You should be scared,” you thunder, anger building inside of you at your helplessness. "You should all be scared."

You look up once more and you see Bucky standing there - blood pooling in his midsection and staining his shirt.

You woke up gasping for air that night, coughing like someone's hands had gripped your throat all night. The air was still, the night quiet but your hands trembled for hours after.

That was the last night you even tried to sleep. Now, you were running on short cat-naps and copious amounts of caffeine. You weren't even laying on your makeshift bed at night, too worried that you accidentally fall asleep and have those awful dreams again.

It's 3 AM now. Once you’re sure that the coast is clear and the Compound is completely quiet, you pad over to the kitchen. You take a deep breath as you prepare for your third night without sleep. As you enter the kitchen, the lights flicker on, startling you.

“James,” you gasp, tripping on your own feet and harshly stumbling back.

Bucky instantly grabs your arm to steady you, he maintains the gentle grip on your arm as he asks, “How many days has it been since you slept?”

“What?” you exhale, your brain muddled from sleep deprivation.

“You heard me, how many days has it been since you slept? And don’t lie to me, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

You try to wipe the exhaustion from your eyes, hoping he can't see the turmoil you were desperate to hide. “Just didn’t get a full 8 hours.” Bucky’s stare hardens as he waits for the truth. “Okay, it’s been 2 days.”

“You haven’t slept for 48 hours?”

“No,” you squeak.

“And why not?”

Your voice cracks as an involuntary whimper leaves your mouth, “I can't go back there anymore. I don’t want to go back.”

“Oh, Doll,” he coos, pulling you into a tight embrace. He knew exactly what that felt like, and for you to feel that too, it killed him.

“I always end up back there now,” you mumble into his shoulder, staining his shirt with your tears.

"You have to sleep," he gently reminds you.

You vehemently shake your head. "I can't. I can't do it anymore."

"Come on, you can stay with me tonight."

You nod wordlessly, allowing him to intertwine his fingers with your own as he guides you to his room. At first, you have every intention to stay awake, not wanting to risk any more mental anguish- especially in front of Bucky. But it's the dead of the night, and you both are equally exhausted. It doesn't even occur to either of you to find this awkward or to place any implication on what this means as he pulls you into his pseudo-bed. It's too familiar, even though neither of you had ever slept in the same bed together. There isn't any thinking, any wondering, as you slip into his bed, under the thin blankets, sleepily watching Bucky as he watches you. You offer him one last sleepy smile as you simultaneously nod off.

Bucky jolts awake at the quiet sound of a camera shutter, his eyes snap open to find Steve standing by the door holding his phone up with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Oh my God,” Steve exaggeratedly mouths, the smirk still present on his face.

“If you wake her up, I’m going to kill you,” Bucky mouths back, careful not to move a muscle.

“Sam's going to,” Steve mouths, comically dragging a finger over his throat as he backs up to the door. He turns the door knob, silently laughing at Bucky because Steve knows that Bucky won't risk waking you up to chase after him.

With the door shut, he's once again alone with you. Bucky throws his head back, dreading leaving this room to listen to Steve endlessly rag on him, or worse, to find out that Steve caved and told Sam how he'd found the two of you this morning.

And now that Steve's gone, there's nothing to distract him from the less than friendly situation he'd found himself in. He really didn't know what he'd been thinking the night before.

To put it simply, he'd been worried about you for days. He could see that you weren't yourself. That combined with subtle changes in behavior that he noticed and the weary expression in your eyes on your normally bubbly face, he knew there was more than you were letting on.

Catching you in the middle of the night was intentional, spending the night with you was not. He didn't know where he'd gotten the nerve, the boldness to guide you into his room, into his bed.

And these were the consequences of his own actions - if he could really call it a consequence.

You clung to him tightly, it leaves him wondering if you'd been intertwined like that all night. Your arm is circled around his waist, leg over his hip. His own hand, now that he'd realized it, was sitting a little too low on your hip to be described as anything vaguely resembling friendly. If he turned around just a little bit more, you'd be laying on top of him in a koala bear-type hold.

This wasn't good, it was terrible timing, and more than anything, you needed stability - a friend more than anything else right now.

But all thoughts are gone when Bucky feels you shift underneath his arms. His arms pull you in just a little closer as the two of you continue to sleep off your days worth of insomnia.

Next Chapter

"Two Sides Of The Same Coin" Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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thecutestmancardoorhookhand · 2 years

Conversation

POV: A random goth showed up to class and recited one line from a Shakespeare play and now your history teacher is having a meltdown

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE?

STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE GOD DAMN FOOL SHITTY PLAY COMPOSER DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT AVATAR OF THE WHORE BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING WILLIAM SHAXBEARD

STOP ASKING ME TO TALK ABOUT WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY FUCKED UP GOOD PLAYS WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE DID HE SELL HIS SOUL DID THEY FUCK MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER TALKED TO THIS MAN AND I KNOW HE HAD THE WORLDS SHITTIEST LAUGH GET AWAY FROM ME

if i ever decided I do want to die and Death said william shakespeare was waiting in the sunless lands i would piss on Death's feet for the sole purpose of getting sent to a different afterlife

if i have to deal with a new shakespeare sonnet being discovered and hear it in person on voice in real life not only will i stab the one reciting it i will buy the original manuscript out of spite and burn it down for the experience of being able to see another part of his legacy end up forgotten and lost

don't even ask why i hate him so much. he wanted to inspire men with his works but i am just mad because i am angy

he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if he was just some bright eyed twink whos a fan of dreamy rich goths and wanted to have a go with one ill go ham

The fae BETTER have had Shakespeare kill his son cuz if he didnt Im still going to call the furies on him

paypal.com/IFuckingHateWilliamShakespeare

book's not even about him. vaguely mentioned what is supposed to maybe be the globe and I lost it

where the fuck is william shakespeare if hes a ghost in the dreaming im going to so deeply wish he wasnt

overrated spoony bard

ill punch shakespeare and his sad frail twink twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all thats left is one final sonnet he kept on him at all times simply titled Now You Fucked Up in middle english

im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point

The date William Shakespeare died? i have made it a reminder on my phone

everyday once a year i see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who had so many fucked up if true plays

#the sandman netflix #the sandman #Hob Gadling hates William Shakespeare #jumping in the bandwagon with an adaptation of the Jurgen Leitner rant #dreamling #well some version of it at least enough that interrupting the centennial date so rude that so much spite lingers #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman shitpost

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artbribery · 8 months

Text

i was looking through the daily wikipedia things, as you do, and this was fun

the Ruddigore; or, The Witch's Curse, and the picture of the day:

depicts a scene from the opera in which the ghosts of Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd's ancestors step out of their picture frames and accuse him of not having committed a crime every day in accordance with the family curse.

which i didn’t guess was a common theme but i should’ve. there has to be a meme about the amount of times a ghost has come out of a portrait to haunt a relative.

then there is this about the song “When the night wind howls”

When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies – When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon, Then is the spectres' holiday – then is the ghosts' high-noon!

that had an ancestor in the song “The Ghost to his Ladye Love” and it goes

Fair phantom, come! The moon's awake, The owl hoots gaily from its brake, The blithesome bat's a-wing.

if this isn’t dpxdc content waiting to happen. what with all the bat, bird, and ghost imagery.

Someone in Gotham has a problem. There are strange happenings happening and they call for help.

This might involve the Bats. This might involve a charity party. Like murder mystery.

The “owl hoots” could be a reference to the court of owls

Maybe there is a gathering and the ghost of the talon’s mothers come to seek vengeance instead of being ancestors to a cursed lineage

(could just be the ghosts of the unwilling talons.. the place has a lot of them, who’s to say they don’t see them as expendable)

(i don’t actually know much anything about the talons or the court :D)

(MAYBE it’s just the bat family being the cursed lineage even through adoption and they have to deal with this every century or so)

(well. i mean, anyway)

The gathering is in one of the high rankings house, i have spontaneously decided it is that hotel owner i just barely glanced through

or for higher level of indulgent story telling, it could be happening at that Orchard Hotel that was founded by the father of guy who got talon-ed for running away to the haly circus (and maybe, say that it was conveniently where the talon-ed guy was stationed at? and maybe also dick’s talon-ed great-something-grandfather is there too,, for fun and profit,,,)

Understandably, there are no picture frames but there might be files and copies. Imagine a hurricane of pictures and papers surrounding the host and angry faces sometimes peaking out of them, maybe pointing hands and claws

The women/people become a murder of ghost harpies (meaning snatchers, more wikipedia✨, they were said to steal food from their victims while they were eating and carry evildoers (especially those who have killed their families) to the Furies, the three main girlbosses on revenge and judgement of mortals(?) “spite, anger and destruction”

(tho this could mean anything, like the three furies could be three main ghosts/mothers that became more powerful than the others or

actually be tucker, sam and danny sharing monarchy custody, as it says they are “daughters of hades and nix” meaning, yknow, death

and darkness, so you could also say they are batman and red hood and nightwing in this context, idk)

(and that could mean that the someone calling for help was the harpies, which means maybe ominous messages and blood letters, maybe screaming and breathing on a call, or plain “anon tip” call for help)

this mostly has a little to do with the original start but i’ll find som- wait

bonus!

it’s ya boi john constantine!!!

he is the cursed!! the 👏 cursed 👏 lineage!!

Hear ye, this man already knew of the curse, and the curse is that he has to make deals with demons. trade his soul/firstborn or whatever away,

but he decided he didn’t want to just do that, it’s his soul and he decided to break tradition and began what he is known for

the ancestors are a little impressed but still

every once in a while he will trade a bit of his soul to keep the ancestors from nagging too much.

and once he hit the required age to ride that malefice roller coaster/curse, he got a too big family reunion of too cunning (read:smartass) and annoying relatives

the thing is that his house is so magical that most ghosts of his ancestors could be there the whole time

this is like dora the explorer only they are telling swiper to swipe, and so, john to deal with demons

So:

if i want to involve danny in this as the ghost king, and of course i do, it could be about him finding out:

1, the amount of paperwork he has because of this guy, why is this his afterlife

2, the guy is actually a heritage student in the very exclusive school of cursed,

and 3, well, 3 is that now he has to help this guy become uncursed to stop the pile of work on his desk from growing and safeguard the poor smithereens of John’s soul

and his first order of business: being horrified by all the soul thing and tired from looking at the work ahead of him,

second, because he doesn’t know about the curse, is to be indignant because why are these ghosts just encouraging him to trade his soul (something already terrible) but also make him more paperwork

and then indignant and angry because they are shaming this guy into it and berating him “you haven’t done your chores”-style like What the hell?

Cue finding out that it’s a condition and being sympathetic and deciding to help

Bonding???

Bonus bonus?

constantine ancestors: this one came like this, we are moderately proud

john: 🕵️‍♂️🤷‍♂️✨

danny: 👀👄👀

#dp x dc #dc x dp #i've had this one in my pocket since jun 8 #the bonus bonus? opens interpretation of eldritch danny #i like wikipedia a lot alright #just ghosts coming out of the woodwork #someone please reblog with a meme about haunting your ancestors #me: no post only anxiety- also me: post for the sheer gremlin energy- do it #then back away into darkness once more #sidetracking gives me double the fun #me after months of not looking at tumblr: where is the draft section???#also making sense is for other posts/people #I FORGOT #THE SONG CALLS FOR 'THE FAIR PHANTOM'#and i was cackling at that

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ask-the-furies · 11 months

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what are you guys called? like, as a group? like how you can have a flock of birds or a school of fish. what's a group of skills called?

CONCEPTUALIZATION- We're all anthropomoprhpized aspects of thinking processes. Perhaps a "cluster", like a nerve cell cluster in the brain?

ENCYCLOPEDIA- That wouldn't be accurate. We aren't all representative of parts of the brain. Endurance is associated with the lower intestine. Pain Threshold correlates to all the nerve endings on the body...

DRAMA- How about a crew? Or a troupe?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- We aren't a traveling circus, nancy.

CONCEPTUALIZATION- Ooh, maybe a colony. An independent micro-group.

AUTHORITY- What does that make Harry, then? Our territory?

SHIVERS- Our natural habitat.

LOGIC- Does the answer change depending on the skill family? I elect that intellect skills should be referred to as a "ponder". A ponder of intellect skills.

INLAND EMPIRE- A "sensation" of psyches? An impression?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Physique skills should be a "flex". Or an ice hockey or volleyball team, because there are six of us.

REACTION SPEED- Can motorics be a "whoosh"? Or a "swish". Or a "whizz"!

COMPOSURE- I don't want to be part of a "whizz".

CONCEPTUALIZATION- I'm starting a new thought project on this one. We have to come up with the right name for a group of skills. Otherwise, how will people refer to us?

THOUGHT GAINED: FLOCKS, HERDS, AND SCHOOLS

You know that a group of mallards is called a sord. A group of hawks is called a cask. A group of ravens is called an unkindness. Those are just birds- what do you call a group of bodily and mental functions given personality? It has to be exquisite, perfectly capturing the ephemeral and unknown nature of these furies. Categorize and label what they are, together. That will bring you a step closer to understanding them.

#(ohhhh this is new and exciting! yes sometimes i may make up new thoughts to add to the cabinet >: ))#/conceptualization #/encyclopedia #/drama #/physical instrument #/authority #/shivers #/logic #/inland empire #/reaction speed #/composure #//motorics #//physique #//intellect #//psyche #//thought gained

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sjsmith56 · 3 months

Text

Away Mission - Part 1

Summary: Bucky deliberately ends his relationship with the Avengers and his girlfriend in order to undertake a secret undercover mission for Nick Fury.

Length: 2.9 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC (not described), Nick Fury, Alphonso Mackenzie, Shuri

Warnings: Bucky deliberately being an asshole for a reason, angst, breakups.

💔 🙋🏻‍♂️

Part 1

Sloan

It was like a scene from a movie, a heartbreaking scene. The main female character, me, Sloan Hunter, respected writer, and once voted most likely to win a journalism award, finally realizes that she can no longer stay with the main male character, the man she loves. In this real-life scenario that wasn’t a movie, that part was played by one James Buchanan Barnes, former Howling Commando, former Winter Soldier, and now former Avenger, and former love of my life. My bags were packed, a friend was on her way to pick me up, and I was waiting for Bucky to say something, anything, to convince me to stay. Instead, he sat sprawled on the chair, his legs splayed out and wearing that look on his face that he often had that was a cross between a smirk and a scowl.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Sloan,” he said, his voice sounding like anything other than a man who once said he loved me. “I can’t change who I am. You knew my issues when we first got together, and I still have them.”

“If it was just your issues, I could stay,” I replied. “But it’s not, Bucky, and you know it. You’ve changed in the last few months. You’ve pulled away from me, isolated yourself from everyone who cares for you, and quite frankly I don’t even recognize you anymore. You won’t even talk about it with anyone.”

“Nothin’ to talk about,” he stated. “I quit the Avengers and there’s nothing more to be said.”

“Quit? Is that what you’re calling it?” I shook my head. “If you call deliberately wrecking your relationship with your best friend, then acting like an asshole to people who used to trust you to have their back, quitting, then you’re worse off than I thought. You were fired.”

He shrugged. “Not my circus anymore.” He stood up, poured himself a double scotch and lit a cigarette, even that act showing his disregard for me as I hated the smell. “I just got tired of trying to make people think I was worth their trust. There’s a lot of money to be made as a mercenary and I’m ready to start making money with my unique skill set. They don’t call them soldiers of fortune for nothing.”

My phone’s text alert went off and I checked it to learn my friend was downstairs. With nothing more to be said, I maneuvered my suitcases through the door and took the elevator down to the lobby. My girlfriend helped me load the suitcases in the trunk and I got in. I tried not to cry as she pulled the car away, but I was bawling like a baby by the next stop sign. Bucky didn’t even say goodbye when I left.

I was staying with her for a while but after that I didn’t know what I was going to do. Part of the reason I lived with Bucky was to allow me the opportunity to write my novel, without having to worry about a job, paying bills, and dealing with the little things of life. When Bucky asked me to move in with him, he swore that his Avengers pay would cover everything for both of us. Now we were both discarded like neither were of any consequence. I wasn’t just heartbroken; I was disappointed that the man I loved and admired had turned into someone I didn’t know any more.

Bucky

It was quiet in the apartment after she left and as empty as I felt inside. I took my phone out of my pocket and sent the confirmation text to Fury. Ready for pickup. He texted back within seconds. The crew is coming up to clear out the apartment. Everything will be put into storage. Take nothing with you, including your cellphone. I turned it off and waited for the knock on the door. When it came, I opened the door, receiving the security code from the man waiting there. Handing him my keys I left him and his crew to clear out my apartment. I went down to the lobby then out to the street and directly into the large black SUV waiting at the curb. Fury was in the back seat.

“We’ll keep Sloan under surveillance,” he said. “I already have a job opportunity set up for her with an operative in place there to keep her safe, and another in her friend’s apartment building. The friend’s apartment has been wired and when she moves into her own place it will be wired as well. If they come for her, we’ll have a team there within 30 seconds.”

“You better keep your end of the bargain,” I replied. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me and doing this to her has been painful for both of us. Not to mention lying to my friends and colleagues. They may never trust me again if this doesn’t work.”

“It will work,” said the former director of SHIELD. “There’s no one else I can trust to do this; no one else who can convince people that he’s turned. Those videos from Madripoor proved that. As soon as they hit the internet, people said they knew it was all an act, that you faked being sorry for what the Soldier did.”

I didn’t react visibly but inside I was seething. Zemo really set me up for this with his suggestion that I pretend I was still the Winter Soldier when we were investigating the Flag Smashers. It was bad enough that the Wakandans were almost apoplectic over that charade. They were going to have a coronary over this scheme.

“Shuri knows the argument we had in public was a set-up, doesn’t she? It seemed awfully real from my perspective.”

“Yes, Shuri and King M’Baku are the only ones who know the truth. No one else does, well, except for my driver.”

He nodded towards the man behind the wheel, Alphonso Mackenzie, the current head of SHIELD, or what it evolved into after it was resurrected two years after I stopped being the Soldier, two years after Natasha Romanoff released all of SHIELD’s dirty laundry on the internet, including the fact it had been completely infiltrated by my former captors, HYDRA.

By the time we arrived at the safe house, I was almost second guessing my decision to take part in this mission. But I owed it to Shuri, and to her late brother, T’Challa to integrate myself with the team of mercenaries that were being assembled to break the Wakandan defences, setting up an attempt at a coup. The team was hired by a private security firm that was supposedly financed by a consortium of industrialists who wanted control of the vibranium in the country. When Fury first contacted me several months ago, alerting me to this attempt at violating Wakandan sovereignty, I was initially reluctant to be involved, not because I didn’t want to protect the country. I had worked hard to get past all that I had done as the Winter Soldier. The thought of giving all that up to successfully infiltrate this mercenary force did not appeal to me. Then Fury reminded me that he did much the same, when he authorized Natasha to reveal everything about SHIELD in order to cleanse it completely of the taint it had by HYDRA’s infestation of the organization he was associated with. We needed to find out who made up that consortium.

“By showing your willingness to do what is necessary to save Wakanda you will prove beyond all doubt and for all time that you are an honourable man,” he argued.

To make it believable that I was willing to turn my back on the Avengers and my life with Sloan, the plan was conceived for me to become increasingly jaded and cynical at remaining with that organization, apparently not a hard thing for me to accomplish. I picked fights with my colleagues, insulted them and their abilities, showed up late, left early, and made it known I was done being a good guy for the measly pay we received in comparison to those on the private payrolls of the corporations that seemed to operate with impunity. There was talk of rescinding my pardon but some of those same corporations had deep pockets and successfully convinced the politicians in those pockets to squash any talk of that. When they came looking for me, a former marine sergeant showed up at a coffee shop where I was, leaving a card with a phone number on it. I called, and the person on the other end of the line offered me a hefty pay check to lead one or more of their “private security teams” employed to look after the interests of a certain conglomerate as part of their international operations. I was in, or I would be once I underwent some enhancements at the SHIELD safe house before my rendezvous with my new employer.

We pulled into the driveway of a ramshackle garage that was part of a rundown house in one of the worst parts of New York City. The door to the garage opened automatically for us and closed behind the vehicle once we were inside. I went to get out, but Fury shook his head.

“Stay inside,” he said, as Mack sent a text from his phone. The garage was actually the top level of an elevator, and the platform we were on slowly moved down through several levels before opening onto a place that rivalled anything I had ever seen in a James Bond movie. When it stopped, Mack drove towards another door; this one slid open and closed behind us. Only then was I allowed to step out of the vehicle, with Fury and Mackenzie joining me. We entered a single door, walked down a long hallway and came to a lab, that equaled those I had seen in Wakanda.

“Sergeant Barnes,” said a familiar voice and I soon saw the smiling face of Shuri. “Welcome to the Wakandan Outreach Centre, or rather our secret lair version. I am going to make some adjustments to your arm and shoulder unit that will allow us to monitor you. There are also some rather innocuous devices that you can use to provide audio and video that will be monitored by one of us at all times.” I smiled weakly at her, as the last time I saw her she threatened to kill me. “We were very convincing to the general public at our last meeting, weren’t we?”

With that greeting and acknowledgement of what we both had to do to provide a convincing story, I was asked to remove my shirt and she disconnected my arm, putting it off to the side while she opened a panel on the back of my shoulder unit. As she worked, she described what she was doing.

“I am taking out a component and replacing it with an almost identical component that has been updated with a secure GPS tracker. It is a component that was manufactured at the same time as your arm and shoulder. The GPS tracker has been camouflaged to appear as a linking component for your arm. If they scan you it will show up as a communications nodule connecting your arm’s function to that of the shoulder unit. It will appear to be configured to work only to keep the two units communicating. I’ll install a similar nodule in the arm.”

“They won’t be able to tell that it’s giving my location?”

“No, it’s one of my inventions that I haven’t patented yet and there is nothing like it in the world,” she replied, as she finished inserting the component and replacing the panel on my shoulder. “It is set at a frequency that shouldn’t be detectable to any sort of sensor except for what I have here.”

She used another device to make it look like the component was soldered in place years ago when it was originally installed. Then she came around to my front, looking kindly at me. Gently, she ran her fingertips over the seam of the chest portion of the shoulder unit. Another access panel opened, and she inserted a slender tool into it coming out with a computer chip.

“This computer chip is a backup chip that reboots your arm in the event of a power surge,” she said, showing me the old chip. “You can see there was some damage to it after the battle you and Sam Wilson had with John Walker, when he still claimed the shield.”

“Did you have eyes on us then?”

She smiled mysteriously. “There are always eyes to hack into,” she said. “Sam’s Red Wing units had a record of the event and we saw the effect the power surge had on you. I’ll put an upgraded chip in that will withstand any surge. It will also have a unique feature that will allow for separate tracking. It’s been made to appear to have been manufactured shortly after that time, and I have created a record of you coming to one of our more visible Outreach Centres for the upgrade shortly after that incident just so that the timeline is consistent.”

She inserted the new chip and closed the access panel. While she worked on the arm, testing its functions and running updates on the systems that she changed the date of, Mack brought out a go bag of tactical gear and weapons for me.

“The tactical suit that you wore during the Flag Smashers has been duplicated,” he said. “The new version, which looks exactly the same visually has been outfitted with sensors that will record your surroundings in both audio and visual format. It will store everything you record and upload its data every time it is near a wifi source. When you are not in or near a wifi signal, or if they have implemented a dampening field it will appear to be a regular part of the uniform, just like something commonly used in military tactical uniforms. It is possible they may insist you wear their gear as part of their mercenary force. If they do, then the same sensors have been inserted into portions of your weapons. Of course, if you’re using the weapons, it will affect the quality of the recordings, but something is better than nothing.”

Shuri finished updating my arm and came over with it to re-insert it into the socket. After it clicked into place, I recalibrated it by swinging it backwards in an arc. Mack came with another bag of clothing for me, casual wear. That and the go bag with my suit and weapons were all I was taking with me.

“If you ever feel that you are in danger or when you have compiled all the evidence and require extraction, all you have to do is say “Reclaim my past,” said Fury. “The recording device will pick it up and we will institute a search and rescue of you immediately upon receipt. Since there is a possibility that your recording doesn’t upload right away you are authorized to use deadly force to protect yourself until extraction. I know you vowed not to kill again but I hope you see the need to stay alive.”

I nodded. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, no matter what, but if I had to kill someone to get away from danger then I would do so. With my arm back in place, I pulled my shirt on and grabbed the two bags. Shuri placed her hand on my forearm, squeezing it before quickly patting my cheek, as a goodbye and good luck. We returned to the vehicle and went back up the elevator to the street. After confirming we weren’t being followed, they dropped me off on a street corner and I walked a couple of blocks before hailing a cab. The driver dropped me off at the rendezvous point that had been agreed upon and I waited.

Two hours later a white panel van pulled up and the passenger window was rolled down. A man pointed a gun at me.

“Get in the back,” he said, as the side panel slid open.

I did as I was told and stepped inside. As the door slid shut a black bag was put over my head and my bags taken from me.

“Sit down, shut up, and relax,” said another voice. “We’ll drive for a while to make sure you weren’t followed then we’ll take you to our transport.”

“You know I could kill all of you without breaking a sweat,” I said.

“We know,” replied the voice. “But you won’t. If you care about her, you’ll do as you’re told.”

With that threat I knew that they already had an upper hand. The “her” was Sloan and they probably knew where she was. If they knew that then it meant they at least had eyes on her and possibly had their own operative near her. So, I said nothing, and settled back against the side of the van, waiting for the next part of this operation to unfold.

Part 2

Short Fiction Masterlist

Series Masterlist

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