#defectivexfragmented

[worldloved]

@defectivexfragmented continued from x

Bucky has been careful about this. Thoughtful. He's wanted to do this for weeks now, tell Yelena how he feels, what's been weighing on his mind, why he's been even more quiet and somber than his usual quiet and somber self. He invited her over, made tea, planned on making her dinner and telling her over champagne, something fancy that wouldn't so much as touch his inhibitions. Instead the words came tumbling out as soon as she sits down.

I'm in love with you.

And now she's laughing at him, turning away from him toward the windows, and for a moment his heart shatters into a million pieces. This isn't the first time he's been in love. Real love, not some passing fling in Greenwich. Last time was a diminutive blonde with a smart mouth and impulse control issues, too, though, so he supposes he might have a type. He never anyone how he felt last time. Knew he needed to tell Yelena before he loses her, too.

"I do mean it," he insists quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator.

He'd lit the fireplace and a handful of candles. Made the space as inviting as possible when it's barren of any personal touches. Not even a rug on the floor, which thuds hollowly beneath her feet. No art on the walls to reflect his state of mind. Everything a grim shade of Landlord White. She looks beautiful in the firelight, even while attempting to turn him away.

Crossing the room to join her at the window, he stares down at her profile rather than avoiding her gaze. He repeats himself with all the solemnity of a terminal diagnosis: "Yelena. I love you."

[rayofsunshinc]

ASKS ANSWERED

From @defectivexfragmented “Can’t sleep?” (Bucky, Matt)

Despite the fact that Matt's bed was one of the more comfortable places that he'd ever slept, Bucky was restless. It came with his brain trying to do circles to figure himself out sometimes, he supposed. So he was awake, staring at the ceiling and watching the lights from the signs outside flicker to different colors.

He shifted, pushing the warmth of the blankets away and got up to get a glass of water or something. When he padded back in the room, Matt was awake and asking about if he could sleep.

❝No, not really.❞ Bucky said, settling back into the bed, despite the fact that he was wide awake. He turned to his side to face Matt, head resting on his own folded arm. ❝Do you ever sleep?❞ Bucky asked.

[onlyathief]

@defectivexfragmented

it's sad, okay? his dad is gonna ask what the deal be and all remy is gonna say is damn, dad, it was jus' sad is all. sad as fuck. pathetic even, maybe, but mostly just... pitiful.

enough so that even tho this fella is an easy mark (or, at least, remy assumes thus far) there comes a point where it's no longer shots of madam boudreax's moonshine remy pushes forward. now it's little glasses of cool water instead.

"sooo.. you in town for what again?"

and let's be clear: remy knows who this is. ain't many down here in this hole in the wall spit of a bar that might, but remy watches the news an' reads the paper sometimes. hell, he's even on reddit!

it's just strange that this avenger is sittin' here drinkin' like a fish an' not... out.. avengerin' or whatever. and damn if remy can't bring himself to grab this fella's wallet! damn, it's sad!

[emmatriarchya]

For @defectivexfragmented from Remy to Matt

Leaving New Orleans hadn't been Remy's choice, but after years of avoiding the Assassins, as well as a bunch of folks who wanted to get their hands on mutants, he finally decided to bail from his beloved hometown. N'awlins would always be home, but he could make a place for himself somewhere else, couldn't he?

He didn't need the Thieves Guild anymore - he took the Elixir of Life many years ago, which stopped his aging - and they didn't want him as King anyway. They took him in and raised him to be their patriarch, but discarded him the moment he became an inconvenience. Quite on par with the course.

Remy made a sizable hole in his savings to purchase a very nice penthouse, and was now trying to find ways to replenish the bank account. Starting with a Hell's Kitchen based businessperson who had a few stolen artworks that Remy could get paid to bring back to their rightful owners. Rich stealing from the rich by way of the Guild, it was always the favorite marks of the thief.

That it was a businessperson trying to gentrify the neighborhood only made Remy want to oust them out more. As a former street urchin, he never liked people trying to gentrify and push out the original residents of an area. If they got a serious hit in their art collection, maybe they'd just pack and leave the neighborhood alone.

Security system disabled, Remy was picking the lock of the backdoor to the building when he felt - not watched, but like he was no longer alone. He peered over his shoulder, sensitive red eyes trying to see who was in the shadows.

[eyeless-smiles]

eyeless-smiles asked: [ PULL ]:  sender  pulls  receivers  hair. (For Clint, found him!)

@defectivexfragmented

Another town, another no name hole in the wall bar. Not that it mattered to him as long as they were fully stocked behind the bar and didn't say shit about his name. Clint was a paying customer after all. He simply wanted his glass to remain full and to drink in peace. It had been over a year at this point and the Avengers still hadn't managed to track him down, even with Tony's tech and Natasha's skills. Finishing off his second glass of bourbon, the archer waved to the bartender to indicate he wanted another and set the empty glass towards the inside of the countertop. The drink was replaced before the bartender headed into the back, assuming to the bathroom, and leaving him alone in the empty bar. Clint let out a heavy sigh, gaze briefly turning towards the old television mounted on the wall and was relieved to see no mention of the Missing Avenger on the news. It was an old news story but every so often it would pop back up and he would have lay low for a bit. His thoughts were elsewhere when the fingers ran through his hair to take a firm handful and yank his head backwards with a harsh grunt. Blue eyes quickly came to narrow on the face above of the asshole standing above him. "Unless you want your hand shoved so far up your ass that you can bit your fingernails, I would suggest you let me go. Now."

Clints steely blue gaze is met by midnight glass. Reflecting the mortals own appearance back at himself. Below them, a cold calculating smile is worn by a deceptively handsome face.

The Corinthian's golden digits remain tightly bound in the missing Avengers locks, despite the graphic threat. A low rumble of sultry humour purring in the Nightmare's chest when he dares to crane Clints neck back just a little farther.

"Hush, doll. You don't want to alarm the bartender." Casting an idle glance back towards the tv that Clint had been staring at moments prior, the Nightmare purses his lips.

"You've spent far too long disappearing to ruin all that effort. Now, finish your drink, and you and me are gonna head out for a little chat." The fingers in his hair loosen, roughly letting go of the Avengers head to step to the side and wait patiently for Clint to get out of his seat and make a move for the door.

[snkts]

📐 (Bucky 5’11”)

Send 📐 + your character's height to compare with one or more of mine! || ACCPETING

"You don't even let me have this?"

[honorhearted]

@defectivexfragmented liked for a short starter!

"You know, they say it's unwise to wander off at these sort of gatherings," Benjamin said. His voice cut across the empty terrace, softly, though akin to a yell due to their solitude. He offered a smile for the target -- a young Tory woman named Robin Byrne -- and stepped forward. "After all, you never know what sort of untoward scoundrel you might meet..."

Here, he offered his hand. "John Bolton," he greeted. "Finally, it would seem I've found someone at this party who looks as miserable as I do."

[vvaywardhunter]

@defectivexfragmented

Time was strange inside the mansion. Dean didn't have any concept of how long he'd been there or even how he'd gotten there in the first place. He didn't remember the Impala parked and hidden in the overgrown brush a few blocks away. He remembered very little about himself at all, in fact, except for his name, and he couldn't have said why that was the thing he got to keep. No, most of his knowledge was about this house. It was an evil place. Few who set foot in here left alive. He couldn't remember if he thought he'd be the exception to that rule, or if he'd been caught unawares.

He was pretty sure he was dead.

He was far from the only ghost to haunt these halls, but none of them were friends. Some, like the original owner, had always been wicked, but he knew it wasn't true for all of them. Others were simply trapped in endless torment, reliving their deaths over and over again. He thought those might have been here the longest. There was little left of them other than those final, awful moments. Others did his bidding, the owner's. Dean thought he might have known his name once, but names were powerful. Names could help end this, and so of course the knowledge had been taken from him. He also knew, without knowing how he knew, that all ghosts ended that way eventually. The longer they were dead, the more their memories and personalities eroded, until they became vengeful. He didn't want to be a vengeful spirit, but he couldn't leave.

None of them could.

The ghosts were in a stir today because someone new had walked through those grand front doors. Someone alive. He wouldn't be for long if they had their way. Dean had been trying in vain all day to get his attention, to warn him, but manifesting took energy, and he didn't think (although he couldn't be sure) that he'd had a lot of practice at it. He'd tried appearing in mirrors or moving his things, but at most he could only manage to nudge them an inch or two. He thought he'd made the flames in the hearth flare higher once, but maybe they were going to do that anyway.

Night had fallen early with the storm clouds rolling in, and it was in full glory now, rain lashing the windows, thunder and lightning clashing. Dean doubted he could get the man to leave in this weather, even if he could make himself heard, but now that he'd chosen a bedroom for the night, he had another idea. He'd perched on the edge of his bed, not sure why he should feel nervous. It wasn't like the man could see him yet, let alone hurt him. Slowly, he reached out to rest his hand on his arm. He could almost feel it, warm and solid beneath his hand, and beneath that the tug of life. He pulled tentatively on that energy, warmth flooding his fingers as he leeched it from the man's body. In contrast, the temperature in the room dropped dramatically, until Dean could see the fog of the living man's breath. "Wake up."