#hotheadedhero

[unbalancing-act]

Deviled Wings || Closed

Prompt and prim, he deigned punctuality as a must. Had to be followed down to the T. Time was essentially gold, in wartime and peace. So what was this dreadful feeling that he had forgotten something? Sorting out scrolls and tomes as he paced down the hall, he decided that nothing was amiss. Probably just a bad head chill. A vibe check that burned cold. 

As he whisked briskly down the halls, Lukas immediately felt his instincts act up again. He swore that if he was stirring up for no reason, he might simply have to grab some alone time to clear his head. But then came a distinct bird song (songs, if he had to be clear) that quietly, like a sweeping breeze against petaled bushes, trilled to no set rhythm. He swore that it would be pretty had it not been so close. 

Why did it sound like-- 

Swinging his door straight open, a barrage of birds came fluttering out violently, beating him senseless in a feathered flurry. There was even white plume prodding out of his hair, as he coughed his way through a seed warzone. 

“By Duma. Someone’s certainly brave.”

He smiled sweetly, but it never met his eyes.

Closed !! @hotheadhero​

[flowerofgoneril]

🍪? (Pretend Caspar is eating Pocky without even knowing there's a game associated with it, let alone the rules.)

Belated Pocky Day (I couldn’t resist this one)

“Hey Caspar,” Hilda cooed as she practically skipped up to him.  She’d seen him eating pocky on Pocky Day and the chance to see him flustered was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.  “Do you wanna play a game with me?  It’s simple,” she explains as she deftly pulls a piece out of his box, “I’ll hold this piece of pocky and all you gotta do is eat all of it without chickening out.  Easy right?”

Her smile was oh so sweet and oh so innocent right before she took the cookie between her teeth.  “Go ahead, Caspar!”

[dontcallmebucky-blog]

I wonder what the chances are of my getting into S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ at 0100 just to deliver ice cream to Tommy.  Probably slim.  Hell, I can't sleep anyway; I'll just flash my credentials a few times and see how far downstairs I get before somebody tells me to come back at a reasonable hour.

[dontcallmebucky-blog]

Some things are better off forgotten.

James has hardly slept in two days.

Natasha is on assignment in New Mexico still, and with things the way they are, it's looking like she won't be off for a while.  James never claimed to sleep well without her around.  But this is ridiculous.

He keeps jolting awake to the sound of gunshots, of the roar of fire, and of the horrible metallic creaking and groaning of a plane going down in water.

More to the point, he keeps jolting awake screaming in Russian.

He needs to see Tommy.

He needs to be able to apologize.  Even if there's nothing to apologize for, even if it wasn't his fault and even if Tommy doesn't even remember, he needs to talk to him.

Still groggy and feeling heavy-hearted, like this is more of an inevitability than a choice, he gets on his bike just before sundown and shoots of from Santa Monica towards S.H.I.E.L.D.'s west coast office.  It takes less than twenty minutes to get there, but it seems to drag on forever.  Every second of the ride is filled with What Ifs.  He just can't shake the gnawing feeling in his gut that this is a bad idea, and that as glad as he is that Tommy's still alive, he...would rather he weren't.

It's a terrible thing to think about your best friend.

But then, they haven't been best friends for a long time.

James closes his eyes and steadies his breath just outside the building's entrance, then he pushes the door open and strides down to Tommy's holding room like he has every right to be there.  He would wonder at having not been stopped, but that's the last thing on his mind right now.