Peter Parker: -on meeting Loki, offers his hand- Hi, I’m Peter!
Loki: -shakes his hand- Loki of Asgard.
Peter: Aren’t you like…a bad guy?
Loki: It varies from moment to moment.
Peter: So like…on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst evil imaginable, like…killing puppies, and one being I’ll spit on your hotdog…where are you right now?
Loki: …maybe a three?
Peter: Cool. Lemme know if it gets above a six.
Loki: -thinking- I like him.
It had been a joke, a flippant line, but somehow, Loki found himself taking the youth up on it.
It was hard living around these heroic Avengers, hard trying to stay close to Thor. And when he felt his need for mischief rise too high, when he felt exasperation with these Midgardians turn too close to spite, he would casually say “Six.” to the young man, or sometimes “Seven.”
And Peter would spend the rest of his day with Loki. He would badger him with questions about magic, or drag him across his beloved city to see its entertainments, or take him along stopping petty crimes. He grounded Loki to the here and now, and distracted him from the churning, jagged shards of ice in his mind.
WE NEED LOKI AND PETER FICS
Stark’s brat had a system. It had been amusing, at first glance, especially when “killing puppies” was apparently a higher level of evil than trying to take over the world. It had risen and fallen – two, five, one. There were honestly good days.
It took some time before a truly bad day came up.
After a difficult battle, the Captain was being particularly sanctimonious, his team following suit. Even Stark made biting comments.
Loki could scream.
“Spider-man,” he said as calmly as he could. The young man glanced up, having been tying up some of their enemies a few yards away.
“Seven.”
“… okay, guys, I’m going to head out with Loki for the rest of the day. Don’t need us for debrief, yeah?”
“Sure,” Stark shrugged, glancing between the two of them oddly. Loki wasn’t entirely sure what the plan was. They went in civilian clothes to a small café.
“I wasn’t paying attention, so whatever was said, I don’t agree,” Peter began. “But that’s not what I’m here for. So. When you teleport, how does that work? Is it harder with longer distances? Or is knowledge of the place more helpful?” Loki blinked, but explained. It led to a discussion of magical theory. Peter (Loki still called him Parker aloud, but the child and even his young friends grew on him in time) was eager and curious, comparing what he knew from Strange and fantasy books to Loki’s knowledge. It was admittedly fascinating to see how many versions of sorcery humans had created by mere imagination. He was definitely amused by the elves and dwarves of Lord of the Rings.
Sometimes Peter tentatively asked about Strange and Maximoff, if they were doing similar things. Never if Loki was at an 8 or above though.
“Strange is like a child prodigy. He’s good, picks the practical parts up well. He even got the jump on me – but he has not had as much time to study as me. He’s a student where I am a master. Maximoff is incredibly powerful and incredibly lucky, but she does not have much training at all.” Sometimes conversation turned to music, animals, current events.
Peter was good. It was odd, how Loki became so sure of the fact so quickly.
After the conversations, often accompanied with food or a walk, he was always down to a 3 or so. Which made Peter an important person.
So the next time Peter was in trouble and the Avengers were indisposed, Loki was not the least bit surprised that he was not the only one ready to tear someone apart for the kid. Two men in red – one with horns, one with guns and swords – a young girl with cat-shaped blasters on her hands, and the Captain’s assassin friend. Loki curled his lips and muttered:
“For anyone that harms you? 10.”
IT GOT MORE SINCE THE LAST TIME I SAW IT AND IM IN LOVE
also, the fact we get Daredevil, Deadpool, Shuri, and James teaming up with Loki to protect Peter? I AM HERE FOR ALL THIS HELLS YES
(I thought I didn’t have anything to add but I do)
It was just after noon on a Saturday when Loki got a text from Peter, all it said was
‘8, I’m at home′
Peter had never used their number system for himself before.
Loki had promised the boy’s aunt he would not teleport into their home and while he’d had every intention of honouring that promise, this was definitely an exception.
When Loki materialized in Peter’s room, his friend was pacing, angry and red-faced. Loki had never seen Peter furious before.
Peter began shouting when he saw Loki, ‘Men are scum! Irredeemable, horrible, crappy, scummy scum!’
‘Thank you for telling me, Peter.’ Loki said, sitting down on Peter’s bed. ‘Any particular men inspiring this diatribe?’
Peter grabbed a pillow off his bed and screamed into it, ‘There’s a guy at Aunt May’s work who’s harassing her and she says I need to stay out of it and let Human Resources do their jobs and he’s a creep and he’s making May feel creeped out and… I don’t know what to do.’
Loki blinked. Of all the people Peter could have gone to, he had chose Loki.
‘Thank you, for telling me this. Although I’m not sure how I can be of help.’
Peter flopped down onto the bed next to Loki, ‘You’re my friend and you’re an adult. And I wasn’t sure who else to talk to.’
Loki flopped back next to Peter, it seemed appropriate. ‘If Human Resources doesn’t sort this out to your satisfaction, I can turn this person into a goat.’
Welcome to the 4 Minute Window Advent Calendar for 2017! Written a bit on the fly but with the goal of giving you a bit of story every day until Christmas to get us through the season. This is the master post, I’ll update as it comes!
***NOW FEATURING ART BY ALBY MANGROVES!!! aka @artgroves
“HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO BARBEQUE ON THE EVE OF THE BLOOD MOON. I FEEL WE GOT OFF TO A BAD START.”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, DO YOU NOT WISH TO PARTAKE OF THE UNCLEAN FLESH-MEATS OF PIGS AND THE POLLUTED ESSENCES OF TOMATO? PERHAPS YOU ARE A CAROLINA STYLE MAN, NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“PUT THE GUN AWAY NEIGHBOR STEVE, YOU KNOW I SHALL ONLY RISE AGAIN WITH THE DAWNING OF THE MOON. WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS MANY TIMES.”
“LOOK AT THIS PICTURE MY SON DREW OF YOU AND CHILD TIMMY, YOUR SON. ARE THEY NOT THE PICTURE OF PACT-MATES? THIS COULD BE YOU AND ME, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“YOU MISSED THE UNHOLY NEXUS OF POWER THAT IS THE KEY TO MY CORPOREAL FORM, NEIGHBOR STEVE. YOU WILL NEED TO RELOAD NOW, SO I WILL GO INSIDE TO MY HELL-WIFE AND PUT YOU DOWN AS A SOLID ‘MAYBE’.“
I have the feeling that the families get along great except for Steve. Like, the wives are baking (questionable) brownies together, the kids are playing together, Antler Guy occasionally takes Son and Timmy to school (no car, just carries them in huge swinging strides through a nexus of ungoldly sights in a swirling netherworld shortcut. Sometimes they stop for McDonalds). Hell-wife gave them a potted Audrey Jr., Steve’s wife (who I now christen Sharon) gave them a begonia.
One time Steve tries throwing holy water but all Antler Guy does is thank him, saying that no, Antler Guy isn’t Catholic but it’s the thought that counts, he is so kind to water his creeping deathshade vines regardless.
For Christmas Antler Guy gives Steve a case of ammunition. To be funny/sarcastically mean Steve gets Antler Guy the world’s most hideous Christmas sweater, singing light-up reindeer included. He immediately regrets it because not only does Antler Guy love it and wears it for several months, it will never need batteries because Antler Guy powers it with his own eldritch aura.
When they come back from a holiday to Hawaii, Steve is horrified to find out Sharon bought them matching Hawaiian shirts. He is even more horrified that his wife means it that if he doesn’t wear it he will forever sleep on the couch.
I want to expand on this, since I see it’s still passing around and the ideas have grown in my brainmeats.
What drives Steve up the wall and down the other side is how… normal… everyone treats the Abominations. (Yes, that is their last name. No, it is not a joke. Son was asked his last name for the standardized testing at school, had a quick conference with Timmy, and decided that Son Abomination sounded good, “Since my dad calls your dad the Abomination anyway and we can paint it on your mailbox just like the Henderson’s did theirs!”. Antler Guy agreed and did a lovely rendition of it for the mailbox, with only a few glyphs of soul-rending terror added to keep up to snuff.)
The Great Plant Exchange went beautifully, though the Audrey Jr. (named Aubergine for the lovely shade of purple poison that drips from her fangs) is on a diet at the moment. She was in cahoots with the cat and the dog to get into the good people food and ate two frozen turkeys all herself. Now she’s restricted to the hallway table to answer the phone and the door. (Steve actually likes her, and keeps slipping her hotdogs when Sharon isn’t looking. Their door-to-door salesman rates have dropped dramatically since she changed abodes.) Hell-wife has almost gotten the begonia to bloom and say it’s first words.
The homeowner’s association just loves the Abominations. All paperwork stamped and dotted, in on time and in triplicate. Antler Guy likes filing, says it reminds him of his old job. There is a resident who spent 20 years as a lawyer and they have long, animated conversations about all sorts of things that make Steve swear to never need legal counsel.
Hell-wife joined the PTA and spearheaded a committee to fundraise in the fall with a haunted house. It was a county-wide hit, though the claims that a particularly rowdy group had been deliberately lost in a timeslip to the Outer Doors Of Chaos was firmly rebuffed. Most young people nowadays, it was agreed, just couldn’t appreciate flute music.
Antler Guy really does try to connect with Steve. The surprise birthday party was perhaps a bit much, given that most participants do not have the ability to suddenly materialize in front of the guest of honor to give them a hug. Sharon assured them that Steve normally screams on his birthday, and the remains of the cake were heartily enjoyed by all. (A plate was saved for Steve once he came down from the treehouse.)
After the Hawaii trip (which was a present for his birthday) and the Matching Shirt Ultimatum (which was Sharon’s attempt at patching things up with Antler Guy, he really was sad about the birthday screaming), Steve finally grabs his courage in both hands (plus the shotgun, which let’s face it is about as useful as a teddybear at the moment but it does comfort him) and confronts Antler Guy, about why such a group of……Abominations could possibly come to his quiet slice of suburban bliss.
“……BUT NEIGHBOR STEVE, WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.”
“No no no, I read it in a book! Don’t you have to be invited or something?!”
“WELL YES, TO THE HUMAN WORLD. BUT THIS IS NOT THE HUMAN WORLD AS YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN PERCEIVES IT.”
“What the hell does that mean?!!”
“DID YOU NOT KNOW, NEIGHBOR STEVE? LEGALLY SPEAKING, ALL OF THE VASTNESS OF HUMAN SUBURBIA IS, IN FACT, A PART OF HELL.”
“……..”
“THE FLAMINGOES ARE THE BOUNDARY MARKERS. IT WAS DECIDED THAT THE FLAMING SKULLS WERE TOO KITSCHY FOR MODERN TIMES.”
Reblogging cause I kind of want more of this….
Since you asked nicely ^_^
Antler Guy, as one may have noticed, is a calm sort of fellow. In the face of human atrocities he displays a curious Zen sort of state of mind. Timmy asks Son if he’d ever seen his dad angry, and Son hasn’t. (When asked, Timmy says that yeah his dad gets mad, but it’s like the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua down the street- mostly high-pitched noise and occasionally TV remote chewing. Sharon replaces the poor thing every 3 months or so.) When pressed (gently, at the monthly book club, and with many cups of tea and at least one daiquiri), Hellwife admits that this comes from serving many years at his old job.
After the revelation of the nature of his neighborhood, Steve has not been overtly mean to Antler Guy. Not yet in the realm of friends, but vastly better than before. No more holy water, no more shotgun blasts. (Still the occasional jumpscare, but Antler Guy really can’t help that part.) They even occasionally share news over the fence as Antler Guy trains the creeping deathshade vines in proper oral hygiene, and Steve waters his lawn (and occasionally slips a goldfish cracker to a deathshade vine that looks particularly adorable. Aubergine has trained him well.)
Which is how Antler Guy learns about the peeping tom that’s been plaguing the adjacent streets. Apparently the pervert has been getting bolder, and rattling doors. He almost broke into one apartment, whose occupants were a single mother and her daughter, Mildred. Millie, a shy girl who is a great horror fan and firm friends with Timmy and Son, had missed school because of it.
Steve knew because Sharon had told him, on her way to deliver a tuna casserole and a double batch of brownies to the pair. (Sharon has been dubbed the unoffical mob boss of the Mother’s Mafia. She is quite pleased with this title.) He tells her to wait, confers briefly with Aubergine, and sends her along with, “Only as a loan, you know, but Auby wants to stretch her roots and she’d probably like getting all ribboned and curled anyway. Little girls still do that, right?” She has strict orders to bite anyone that makes Millie or her mother cry. (Steve is dubbed the official neighborhood marshmallow for this. The bookclub buys him a jar of marshmallow fluff in commemoration.)
He turns to look at Antler Guy, and freezes, much as a chihuahua will when faced with a hungry hellhound.
Steven makes a very ungraceful exit when space starts bending around Antler Guy’s still, unmoving form.
When Steve sees a shadowy form in his back yard when he gets up to pee that night, there’s no hesitation. He grabs the shotgun from the cabinet and peeks out the back door window.
Just in time to see a nebulous form of soul-wrenching terror engulf the man reaching for the door handle. A sliver of moonlight reveals a very familiar eyesocket. After a moment (and a sincere prayer of thanks that he had already peed, cause otherwise he’d have done it then and there) Steve opens the door. The nebulous form freezes, reality bending around the edges.
“Good. G’night then. Oh, and if Hellwife has an extra Audrey Jr. that needs a home, let me know. Millie likes Aubergine a lot but Augy’s just too big for the apartment. Dunno if they come in miniatures though.”
There are no more peeping reports. Millie brings back Aubergine and spends an entire afternoon teaching Steve the particulars of Augy’s new “hairstyle” (a gravity-defying mass of teased tendrils, ribbons, and barrettes) in between games of tag and hide-and-seek with Timmy and Son.
When Antler Guy and Hellwife present her and her mother Beatrice with a tiny Audrey Jr. (”pOOr ThinG Is a ruNT And wOn’T geT MorE Than A FooT taLL, BEa, aNd NeeDS a New FRiEnD”, assures Hellwife), both mother and child burst out crying. Millie names it Bella, after Bella Lugosi, and shows it to the excited group of boys (Steve and Augy included).
IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER!!!!
Life in a subdivision partly populated with eldritch and possibly magical (officially classified as “extra-dimensional”, for even when faced with the physics-defying nature of their new co-habitating citizens the government cannot bring itself to acknowledge them as “magic wielding hell-beasts”, as some high-ranking staff members initially suggested) goes on fairly normally.
Sure, there are a few hiccoughs. The creeping deathshade vines get a stern talking to about appropriate afternoon snacks (”NOT the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua, I don’t care how much he has it coming or what he excreted where, now spit it out!”), Aubergine sheds all her leaves at once and snowballs the house (but does helps sweep up afterwards), and moonrise is a good time to watch the night-gaunts fly by (but on moondark it’s best to stay inside, no matter how prettily they glow. They’re somewhat similar to fireflies, and don’t always check to see if their partner glows as well. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they didn’t dive mid-coitus and drop just above the ground.)
While the neighborhood in general is accepting of the Abominations, when things get to be a bit much they tend to come to Steve. Since meeting Beatrice and Millie (and the formation of the Terrifying Triad known as Millie, Son, and Timmy) Steve is the adult human male most comfortable dealing with Antler Guy on the whole street. (Sharon as U.M.B. is widely held to have, well, steel-whatever-the-hell-she-wants, and Timmy is known to run over to Antler Guy and ask for rides through “that wobbly grey place, you know, the one with the REALLY BIG alligators?”. Still, the courtesies must be observed.)
So when a writhing sparking ball of snarling terror and teeth takes up residence in the Manzo’s tool-shed, and when Animal Control refuses to come (the street is banned due to a run-in with the deathshade vines), Steve is called. Having heard the description, Steve brings Antler Guy.
When they get there, Mr. Manzo is forcibly holding the door shut. Unholy yowling is coming from inside. At a gesture from Antler Guy, Mr. Manzo leaps away, and the doors blast open.
A 150 pound ball of whimpering, flaming something hits Steve and knocks him on his ass. The whimpering, flaming something proceeds to slobber all over Steve, his shirt, his pants, and a decent portion of grass in between distressed yelps.
“GACK!”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?”
“GAAACKLEARGHSPLUH- DOWN boy, HEEL, that’s a good- Antler Guy, what is this?!”
“I BELIEVE IT IS A HELLHOUND, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“Good grief, I didn’t know they came this big and…..and….. Guy?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Is he supposed to be…..skinless?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE. THIS VARIETY WAS BRED TO BE LAP DOGS. THEIR FLAME IS MOSTLY WITHOUT HEAT, AND THEY HAVE NO SKIN FOR THOSE WHO ARE ALLERGIC.”
“…….laPDOG?!”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE.” Antler Guy lays a hand on the hellhound, who tries to burrow further into Steve with little success. “HE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY WEANED. IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR HIM TO GROW TO HIS FULL SIZE.”
“……”
“THE SMALL BREEDS GROW MORE SLOWLY.”
A vile hissing emanates from the shed. (Mr. Manzo has long since fled for the safety of his kitchen.) As Steve attempts to calm the frantic hell-puppy, Antler Guy investigates. He reaches one long hand in behind the riding lawnmower and….. winces.
“NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Yeah- I’m right here, uh, doggie, not going anywhere- Guy?”
“I APPEAR TO HAVE AN…. ATTACHMENT.”
Steve is awed at the tiny ball of white fluff attached to one long, thin finger. He didn’t know that Antler Guy’s fingers COULD be bitten, much less by a tiny kitten.
Which is how Steve and Sharon got Clifford (”Aww c’mon Sharon, how could I pass that one up?”), and Antler Guy and Hellwife get Fluffy (”NEIGHBOR STEVE ASSURES ME IT IS A TRADITIONAL TITLE.”)
This might be the most amazing thing that ever crossed my tumblr dash
I cannot like this any more intensely by clicking again, but I can reblog for the continuations. It’s like a wonderful serial fiction that updates about as often as Sherlock. *g*
This…is everything. I would watch the shit out of this soap opera.
“villain attempts to go back in time to kill superman as a small child, gets shot in the face by ma kent, who buries him behind the barn with the others” would probably have niche appeal as a comic but i don’t care, i want it
The first time a man from the future showed up at Martha Kent’s house, Clark Kent was two years old.
According to his birth certificate, anyway. She just kind of accepted that the details were a little fudged. Relativity, and all.
Maybe the stranger would have succeeded in whatever it was he wanted to do, except that he really did just show up. Appeared, like a ghost made flesh, right in the backyard. Clark, thank goodness, was out in the fields with Jonathan. He couldn’t bear to be alone, that boy, and they could never bear to leave him.
Which left Martha free to shoot the ghostly intruder in the face.
Martha had not always considered herself a shoot first, ask questions later sort of a person. But that was before she found a baby in a spaceship where her corn was supposed to be.
They’d switch off, Jonathan and her, who got Clark and who got the shotgun. Martha got the shotgun more often than not. Guns made her husband uncomfortable. She was hardly a fan, but she’d always been a terrible pacifist. Too determined to defend herself.
The sight of all that blood and brain and bone was still nauseating. She compartmentalized, told herself it was no different from slaughtering a cow; didn’t think about riot gear or tear gas or the friends she’d lost or all the things she’d moved away from when her heart couldn’t take it any longer. This was different. This was her son.
She prodded the corpse with her foot. It remained a corpse. A real nasty looking corpse, all big and burly and holding a gun much too large. She didn’t like making assumptions based on appearances, but she didn’t imagine he’d been coming for anything nice. She bent down to search his pockets, found a metal wallet and flipped it open.
Born 2018.
Well, hell. Wasn’t that just a kick in the pants?
Probably she ought to have been a bit more unsettled than she was. But she’d been waiting two years for someone to show up on her doorstep, men in black or UFOs or something. Hell, she’d half expected her sweet little boy to hatch into something worse.
Just because she brought home space babies didn’t mean she was a damn fool.
Jonathan had rejoined her in long strides, was holding Clark in such a way that he couldn’t see the corpse on the ground. “Well, shit,” he said.
“Eyup,” Martha agreed.
“Don’t look government.”
“Nope.”
“We burying him?”
“I’ll bury him,” Martha said, standing up. “You get Clark inside and read him a book or something. I don’t want him seeing any of this, getting him messed up in the head.”
“You sure? Looks heavy.”
“That’s why we have a wheelbarrow. I’ll stick him out behind the barn, might as well keep all our secrets in one place.”
Martha had a long time to think as she dug a time traveler’s grave. There were a lot of reasons someone might travel back in time trying to kill her kid. The first was her instinct as a mother, which was: he was a fucking asshole. Who killed a kid? Fucking assholes, that was who.
Now, it was also possible that her sweet little boy grew up to be some kind of space Hitler. She didn’t think she’d raise that kind of a kid, but she didn’t suppose there was any parent who set out to raise a Hitler.
Still didn’t sit right with her. She didn’t much like the idea of killing baby Hitler, either.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky interrupted, dropping the pile of dirty laundry on Jim’s bunk. “Did I sound like I was asking? Fresno, you’re on laundry. I need it done by tonight, and Monty can’t keep it in his pants around Julia the washer woman.”
“That’s not –”
“You’re headed to the commissary with Dernier and I don’t want to hear it, Lieutenant.” Bucky rolled his eyes, caught Monty’s left hook in his open palm and twisted, landing on top of Falsworth and tugging the man’s arm high enough up his back to drag out an undignified whimper. “Anything you wanted to say?” he wondered, waiting patiently for Falsworth to growl out a “no” before helping the man back onto his feet.
“But I am to get the weapons,” Dernier declared, arms folded rebelliously, face set in the same scowl he wore when Steve decided they didn’t need to blow anything up.
“Not this time,” Bucky informed him. “Jones is going to handle that. And Dugan, you’re with Carter. I want radio codes, maps, all the information she’s got for us memorized and ready to spoon feed Fresno by the time we fly out.”
Even Jones frowned at that—it was his job to work with Carter. He ran the radio, and he was the one who didn’t make her threaten to clock him on a regular basis.
“C’mon.” Barnes clapped his hands once, sharply, and then spun and headed for the door without waiting to see if the Commandos would obey. “Howard wants us in the hangar by dark, so let’s move.”
“Fucking asshole,” Dum Dum muttered, though he waited until Barnes’s footsteps stopped echoing down the corridor. “He knows Agent Carter wants to set my hat on fire.”
“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t stop with the hat,” Gabe told him, on his fourth deep breath and his sixth slow count to ten.
“Why can’t I go collect our rations?” Morita complained, shoving the pile of dirt encrusted uniforms off his lap and onto the floor. “In fact, why don’t I? Monty, you can take the laundry—and take Julia, while you’re there—and Sarge will never even know.”
Dernier giggled, and shook his head when the others turned to stare. “He will not know? Barnes, who knew when you tripped over your feet for ze girl who drives the ambulance and she refused your kiss?” Jim blushed, stared at the ground and kicked at the small mountain of clothes. “Who knew when the Captain lied about checking his parachute? When –”
“We get it,” Monty announced with a huff. “Why don’t you tell me all about Sarge’s fucking superpowers while we’re sitting around counting stale crackers and beef paste?”
Dernier’s face fell, at the reminder that he wouldn’t be spending the next few hours devising explosives with Stark, but he sighed and followed Falsworth out the door.
“Why’d he pick today to be an asshole, huh?” Morita demanded, shoving the laundry into a bag. “We had a working system!”
“We’ve only been back ten hours,” Dugan pointed out, tugging half a cigar from behind his ear and lighting it with obvious relief. “And it was three weeks in Poland before that. He’s probably just fussy because his balls ache.”
“So why doesn’t he go see Julia?” Morita muttered, standing up and slinging the bag over his shoulder, nearly toppling over under the sudden weight. “Or at least let Monty see her, so that one of us gets some relief.”
“The last time Monty took down the laundry, he was two hours late,” Jones said, cutting his nails with his pocket knife. “You moped for a week because the medic who turned you down was in the commissary, and Jackie caught Stark on fire and delayed the mission by two days.”
“I didn’t say it was a perfect system,” Jim offered grudgingly, and staggered toward the door.
“Bucky?” Steve’s voice echoed down the stairwell and reverberated through the hall, bouncing ahead of the slap of his boots on the concrete floor. “Buck?” Evidently Cap’s uncanny hearing or eyesight must have spotted their sergeant, because the voice changed direction, growing fainter as it raced away. “Hey, jerk, wait up! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I wonder what Barnes is doing, while we’re fetching and carrying and having our hats set on fire by ungrateful broads.”
Jones kept his gaze focused on the blade of his knife, so that Dum Dum and Jim couldn’t see the edges of his smirk. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said quietly, grinning at his hands. “I’d guess he’s getting some relief.”
(Author’s note: If Bucky is the oldest in this, Gabe is totally the middle child, Jim is the youngest, and the others shove their way in and elbow each other down the line.)
All burning questions merit consideration! However, I think things go slightly differently than you are expecting.
First of all: Marisol and Julianna Flores (aka Mary and Julie-Anne Jones, aka Marcella Rodriguez and Jenny Smith, aka Michelle and Jill Garcia and, aka ‘Where the hell are two teenagers getting all of these fake IDs?’ (that last one per Hardison) disappear.
They’re wanted for questioning in connection with all of the shit that went down with Julianna’s foster/adoptive dad, and that’s a hornet’s nest that’s not worth kicking. Luckily, Marisol and Julianna Flores are part of the Washington State foster care system. Portland is a whole new ball game.
Why is this making me want Bucky Barnes/Eliot Spencer buddy fic?
OMG, you too? It’s gotta be the hair and the shirt.
It’s a very distinctive look.
Gotta be.
Can’t you just picture it though? Hitter buddies hanging out, doing their thing, and neither of them really talking about their past, but every now and then Bucky does something in such a way that reminds Eliot of something familiar from a job or two, but… nah couldn’t be…
Title: The Cyborg Arm Job Rating: Teen and Up Summary: The Leverage crew run into a new friend, find some buried treasure, and fight some Nazis. It’s a pretty good day. (Leverage/MCU crossover) Warnings: None.
***
They found him in the middle of a bar fight. He was in the middle of the bar fight as well.
“This is a gastropub!” Eliot yelled, charging out from the kitchen. “There are no bar fights in a gastropub!”
“Man, I don’t think he cares,” Hardison said. He was watching the fight from a distance with an almost philosophical look on his face. Most of the table settings in the immediate area were already broken, so that was no longer of any concern, and he’d never liked that pattern anyway (it had been a compromise betweeen Eliot’s desire for square plates and Parker’s desire for lots of flowers, and nobody ended up satisfied).
The day Natalia marks as successachieved on her private but not particularly secret project of make-James’-subconscious-accept-that-I-will-not-be-a-threat is a Tuesday. And actually it’s evening. And an illustration, she thinks, of just how much James subconsciously sees Clint as an extension of her, because Clint gets granted the same assessment at the same time.
Kimchi and Justice 