#pastfic

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Maisel #5 for your recent prompt.

1950

It's a humid September night and they're sharing the last cigarette from the pack Midge has stashed in her bedroom. The steel of the fire escape is blissfully cool, and they're both grateful for it.

She's seventeen and she's not supposed to be smoking but Noah never claimed to be a great influence on his sister.

Dinner was...

Dinner had been...

It went...

It went.

"So," Midge says slowly as she hands him back the cigarette.

"Yep," he nods.

"She's..."

"A shiksa," Noah responds simply. "But she's great. She's so great, Midge, and she's beautiful and sweet and smart and a little nuts, but that just means she'll fit in with our family."

Midge giggles and leans back against the window. "You're such a sap, it's so cute."

"Shut up."

"Really, Noah, I'm really happy for you, she really does seem nice," Midge assures him. "It's just..."

"She's willing to convert," Noah offers.

"Is she willing to invent time travel, go back and get her great-great-great grandparents to convert?" Midge asks. "I think that'd be better."

He laughs, genuinely, at the joke, and it makes her feel warm. She loves to make her brother laugh. He can be so stoic sometimes.

"It's not ideal for Ma and Pop, I get it," Noah shrugs. "But it's love."

"And once Mama realizes that, she'll get onboard," Midge assures him. "She's a sucker for love, you know that."

"Pop's...more practical," Noah points out.

"Unless Astrid makes you quit your very promising nerd job, I don't think he actually cares all that much," Midge points out.

He takes a drag off the cigarette and hands it back. "You're probably right. I don't want to disappoint them. I just don't think I can live without her."

She smiles widely. "I hope I find that someday."

"You will," Noah assures her. "Don't worry, Midget."

"Stop calling me that."

"No."

[we-are-dreamers42]

Too Broken To Fix Series

Bucky Barnes Fic

Spotify Playlist

Part I: Nightingale: To Broken To Fix

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part 2: Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part 3: Nightingale: We Are Alike

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part 4: Captain America: Civil War

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

[we-are-dreamers42]

Nightingale: Too Broken Too Fix Part I

Bucky Barnes x OGcharacter

photo by me.

This is the backstory or prequel of Alexandra Thomas before entering the official world of the Marvel Universe.

Word Count: 1,332

Series List

Alexandra just wanted to get a present for her friends birthday till one of her targets notices her. Now she’s rushed to end him before he disappears forever.

When the words are like this it’s a memory.

WARNINGS: Swearing

Chapter 3

I knocked on Timmy’s door. He lived in an abandoned building in the slums. I looked around to see if anyone was around. “Who is it?” He called from behind the door.

“It’s me.”

He opened the door just enough for the chain lock to stretch. “Password.”

“I’m not saying it.”

“No password. No enter.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dragon fruit.”

“That’s the old password.

“Bitch if you don’t let me in I’m breaking down this door again.”

“Fine.” He shut the door to unlock the chain. Opening the door fully stood at six foot four, and a little shy of three hundred pound man. “It was pomegranate by the way.” He stepped aside to let me in.

“You change it so much that it’s impossible to keep straight.” I stride over to the red couch in the middle of the room filled with computers, and weapons. Timmy sold untraceable guns, and weapons to the gangs. We met when a group of thugs tried to jump him because they didn’t like his prices. I was walking from the bar where Rox works, and I saw what was happening. He was a big guy, but six against one was still unfair. So I stepped in. Since then we have become friends. He gives me discounts on his tech, and weapons.

He was like Tony Stark, but illegal. He didn’t make anything extravagant. All I cared about was his trackers that are so small that they’re untraceable, and can listen in on any conversation. Then my thumb drives that copied all files on a computer, even the hidden ones without anyone ever knowing.

That’s how I found all my targets damn near at once. My first kill I stole all his files from his computer. I had Timmy unlock them, and it had all their names, and where they were. Where they worked. Even their bank records. I was very lucky. When Timmy saw what else was hidden he was on board to help. He developed these drives for free. In return when I’m done I expose them all at once. To do it before risks the others to have a chance to cover it up.

“I need another drive, and a tracker.” 

“Planning something tonight?” He asked, going through his stuff grabbing what I asked for.

“Possibly.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s Roxanne’s birthday, and if she finds out you are ‘working’.”

“She won’t find out. I’ll be in and out before she gets home from work.”

“When the news reports that Nightingale strikes again. Nice name by the way.” He handed me the tracer, and drive.

“Thank you. Don’t worry about Rox. She’ll have such a great time tonight she won’t even care.”

“I suggest hiding all the baseball bats to be safe.” 

Good point.

I opened the floor boards, and grabbed a couple hundred dollars. We never used this money for just anything, but this was an emergency. If I didn’t get her something for her birthday I’m fucked. She may be small, but she can be terrifying.

I found myself on Rodeo Drive. Now I love shopping. I really did, but these high end clothing stores pissed me off. They have amazing stuff, and comfortable clothing, but I don’t look rich. So if I get an up, and down look from one more person I will throw hands.

Rox loves jewelry, and never allowed herself to buy herself something nice. She made great tips at the bar. She could afford it once in a while. So I bought her an expensive necklace, and earrings. Hopefully this would dig me out of the shit show I'm in for forgetting her birthday.

To be completely honest I didn’t come to this money pit just to get a present. From inside the store I saw one of my targets walking up to the store I'm in. He was with a woman who looked like she couldn't be older than eighteen. Disgusting pig.

As they walked in I bumped into the girl. Slipping the tracker into her pocket. “Watch where you're going.” She squealed.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I said.

“Obviously.” 

I looked at my target, and he’s staring at me. “Have we met?”

This wasn’t good. If he did recognize me he’ll go underground. I wouldn’t get a chance at him again. 

“We haven’t. I would remember meeting you.” I flirted. Hopefully throwing him off so he doesn’t place my face.

“Babe.” The girl pressed herself against him. “Let’s go inside.” He finally looks away from me. I took the chance to slip away. I stood around the corner with an earphone in listening to his conversation.

“I can’t be sure, but I think it’s her. I don’t care. I want the asset there tonight. I’ll be at the penthouse till you get everything together.” So it had to be tonight. It’ll be quick. In and out. I've done it many times before. Easy.

I knocked on Timmy’s door once again.

“Welcome back.” He answered the door. Letting me in.

“This would be easier if you had a phone.”

“No phones can be tracked.” He said confidently as he sat in front of his computer monitors.

I raise my eyebrows. “And those can’t?” I said as his screensaver showed a hamster scurrying across all five screens one by one.

“Impossible. I designed a firewall where-”

“Timmy. I love you, but I really don't care. I do need more of your help.”

“What do you need?” He said looking only a little hurt.

“I need the floor planes of an apartment complex. My target might be onto me so I need the plans for tonight.”

“If he’s onto you then he’ll up his security. It’ll be harder to get to him.”

“I’m aware, but what if he disappears, and I lose my chance with him?”

“Your mission is seeming to get a lot harder.”

“I know, but it’s not just my mission. It’s those kids. No matter how hard it’s going to be. All of this, everything I'm doing is for them.”

“How will you help them if you die in the process?”

“How will I help them if the men keeping them disappear?”

We had a slight staring contest. He finally looked away from his computers. He typed, and turned back to me. “Here.” He hands me a tablet. “It’s all there. Plus the feed of the front, and back doors.”

“Thank you.”

“For the kids.”

“For the kids.” I replied.

I sat across the street at a cafe memorizing the layout. Looking for an opening. The whole place is under constant surveillance. Even when they switched out staff no entrance was unsupervised.

I could walk through the front door, but if I raised too much suspicion they could call the cops, and be there before I got to the right floor.

The only way to get into this building unnoticed was through the roof. Yet the closest building was twenty feet away, and two stories lower. So I’ll have to clear that jump, catch myself on the side of the building, and climb up to the penthouse. That was just to enter. I had to think of an exit plan. 

Make the jump again back to the neighboring roof without breaking my shins in the process.

Getting in wasn’t much of the problem. It was staying undetected. Once I got into the penthouse I didn’t know how many guards he would have. I didn’t have time to do proper reconnaissance. So I had no clue on what I was walking into.

It took me hours to get a plan together to where I felt semi comfortable. I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. I had two hours to do this, and still got back for Rox’s party. I checked to make sure I had all I needed. My knives, gun, and mask. I stared at the one hundred foot drop before me.

Chapter 4

[we-are-dreamers42]

Nightingale: Too Broken Too Fix Part I

Bucky Barnes x OGcharacter

photo by me.

This is the backstory or prequel of Alexandra Thomas before entering the official world of the Marvel Universe.

Word Count: 1,748

Series List

Alexandra had one thing on her mind. To get revenge from the men who abused her for years, and to save the others she’s left behind.

When the words are like this it’s a memory.

WARNINGS: There are mentions of sexual abuse, violence, death and swearing

Chapter 2

8 Years Later

Tourists were fucking stupid. They’re always keeping their wallets in their back pockets. I slipped by one man who was too busy looking at the ocean. I reached my hand into his back pocket pulling out a brown wallet. I pulled out the cash, and noted his name. Then slipped it right back into his pocket without him noticing.

Once away from the pier I counted almost six hundred dollars. Good enough for today. It was a long way back to the apartment I shared with Roxy. We live in the poorer part of the city, but it pays less rent. Saving more money the better. 

Found out taking revenge on people didn't pay the bills. So when we're in a pinch we resort to pickpocketing. It’s not the best way to get money. I even felt bad about it, but it had to be done.

Once I got home I lifted the loose floorboards that hide a duffle bag full of cash, and a notebook. Half of it was full of my targets' names, and the other half was the people I’ve stolen from.

“How much did you get today?” Rox asked, walking out of her room when she heard me come in.

“Just enough for rent this month.” I wrote: Jonathan Burg of Milwaukee $250, and the others I took from today.

“I don’t see the point of the list.” She said,

“Once this is all over I want to reimburse all these people. They didn’t ask to fund my vendetta.” I put the notebook back, and replaced the boards.

“Yet you kill people.” She sat down on the couch, and turned on the news.

“Those men deserve it. Jon from Wisconsin doesn’t.”

“Why not take a bank job when Timmy offers.”

“I’m not robbing a bank. I’m not a criminal.” She whipped her head to look at me, giving me a questionable look. “I prefer vigilante.”

“That’s not what the news is saying.” She turned up the volume on the TV.

“Last night what people are calling The Mask struck another Politician in his home.” They showed my symbol that I left after every one of my kills. It was Roxy’s idea. “The count is six dead, and two in critical condition. Totalling out to twenty five dead in the last year. One of the survivors who will stay anonymous recalled a woman dressed in black, and a black mask broke in. She attacked with knives, and a gun. If anyone has any information please call the numbe-” I muted the TV.

“The Mask really? They couldn’t think of a better name? That’s fucking stupid.”

“I told you to name yourself.”

“Names are stupid. I don’t want a bad nickname attached to what I’m doing. I’m not trying to be infamous.”

“Yet you are no one else who can break into a highly guarded mansion, and take out half a dozen men half her size.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Well that’s what is happening. If you don’t like it think of something or else The Mask is going to stick”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever I’ll think of something. For now I’m going to scout the next one.” I grabbed the case that contained my rifle, and left.

I sat on the roof fifty yards from an outside cafe. I looked through the scope of my sniper rifle. He wasn’t here yet. So I sat back, and waited. Every week two of my targets came to this cafe, and talked. Didn’t know what, and I really didn't care.

It’s almost four in the afternoon. The park inbetween me, and my targets were filled with people. It’s risky to try, and take them out now, but I’ll never find a better time. I’m high enough where there was no risk of shooting someone else, but it’s a sunny day. The risk of being seen was very high. I kept my mask on to mostly hide my face, just in case.

As I waited I started carving my symbol into the bullets. At first I was against leaving a calling card, but Roxy made the point that it’ll strike fear into the men I hurt. There was no way they hadn't noticed their clientele were being murdered, but leaving something behind to remind them that they’re next. Kinda made me excited. They knew that I’m coming, and it scared them. That’s how I felt. So as they die I know they feel what I did.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t like killing. This was the only way to be sure those men never hurt anyone again. They had money, and endless resources. If I outed what they do the punishment would not justify the crime. I’ve seen it countless times over the last eight years. Men with money would never get what they deserve. This ensured that they did.

It was getting harder to reach all my targets. They were either always in a heavily public setting or surrounded by half a dozen to a dozen guards at all times. So my job was getting a little more difficult, but It’s nothing close to something I couldn’t handle.

Finishing the last carving I loaded it into the gun, and waited. Ten more minutes till they arrive. Maybe I should think of a name. I thought. I got to think of something meaningful, nothing stupid.

Vigilante Assassin. Iron Assassin. No, Night Stalker, fuck no. Then it hit me. I was back in my cell. It was within my first year there. 

“You will get out of here one day.” Elaina said. She had just gotten back. Whenever she came back she acted all weird. Like she wasn’t fully aware of what she was saying. “Promise me Nightingale.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“The Nightingale symbolizes love, and emotion. They associate creativity and purity. That’s why they are my favorite bird. No matter what Alexandra remember you are a Nightingale. No matter how this world tries to change you, stay pure.” She looked over at me. “Promise when you get out of here. You will do what’s right.”

“I promise.”

Perfect.

The  two men sat down at their tables. I positioned my scope on them. With precision I shot the first man through the chest. Before the second man could get up I shot him through the head. Like I’ve done dozen times before I packed the gun back in the case, and scaled down the fire escape. Once on the ground I took off my mask, and walked away as I heard the sirens behind me.

By the time I got home the event was already on the news. “The Mask strikes again. This afternoon two well known CEOs were shot dead at The Corner Cafe. There are no witnesses of the shooter. Motive, and connection between all the victims is unclear. Just that they are wealthy men. The FBI have been called in to help investigate.”

“I see it went well.” Roxy said as she got ready for work. She was a bartender at a shitty bar filled with criminals. It sucked, but it had its perks. The only reason she was working there was to familiarize us with the scums of the city. With them it was easier to navigate weapons, and people willing to train me.

“Tell Logan about my snipe today.” He was the one who taught me everything about guns. Even though I didn’t like using them. It’s nice to know how to use them when I got in a bind.

“Come with me, have a drink, and tell him yourself.”

“I got something I have to do tonight.”

I stalked the anchor of the local news from the studio. I waited around the corner in an alley waiting. Right when he passed my sight I gripped the back of his shirt, and pressed his front into the side of the building.

“Who are you? I have money, I'll give you whatever you want.”

“Shut up. I need you to stop using the dumb ass name. My name is Nightingale. If I hear a whisper of The Mask. You’ll be the first person I’ll visit.” I let go, and walked away. He fell to the ground.

“Wait! Why are you doing all this?” I paused, and looked back.

I got down to his level, and pulled out my knife. I put it to his throat. Even if I told him why they wouldn’t care. They’ll just see what they wanted, but I couldn’t help myself from being a little dramatic. “I’m not the bad guy here. Those men. They deserve what they got. No one knows what happens behind closed doors.” 

Cryptic, but it worked. I had a thumb drive that could prove everything. But I’ll just hold onto that till my mission is done.

That next day the story was everywhere. Nightingale was even trending on Twitter.

“Nightingale, really?” Roxy said as she watched me practice throwing my knives at a plank of wood propped against the wall.

“There’s a story behind it.” I threw another perfect shot.

“Why don’t you use guns? We have so many.”

“Guns are loud, and not really a fan.”

“You used a sniper.” She pointed out.

“Only when necessary.” I threw one more. I threw it so hard that it split through the thick wood and was embedded into the wall. “Fuck.” Pushing away the wood I saw the knife was half way through the wall. The concrete wall.

“Are you ever going to explain to me how you can do that?” She referred to the other gashes just like this one all over the wall. “Or how you can run faster than a car or jump between buildings like jumping a curb.” Slowly as I trained myself through the years I’ve found I can do things no one else can. I had no explanation. 

I pulled the knife out with ease. “I told you I don’t know.”

There was a moment of silence before she huffs “Well I’m going to work. I’ll be back at ten, and you better be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Shit what did I forget about?

“We’re going out for my birthday tonight.”

“Oh I knew that.” I said casually, but really was freaking out. I completely forgot.

“You forgot didn’t you?”

“No. I just didn’t think you wanted to go out.” I lied flawlessly.

“Liar.” Fuck. “I’ll see you tonight.” She called out the door.

Chapter 3

[p1x1est1x]

The Fall of Wintersea

Saturday Evening. May 7th, by human measurement. The 4th Bilunar Bright Season of the Sweep.

Wintersea. The Greatest Trading City on Alternia.

Almost everything goes through Wintersea before it ships out, the Imperial forces are currently using it to get their forces fresh weaponry, fresh medical supplies, fresh bodies to litter the battlefields after a rebel half the cushioning afforded puts some brand new holes in their chests. These waves of supplies and soldiers are starting to cause serious problems, for the Communer and her revolutionaries. 

This means it has to fall and it has to fall tonight.

It’s 7PM. The sun is just starting to sink below the horizon, it’s just dim enough to go outside, with protection, and not burn alive. Nobody is awake yet. The Communer, wrapped in cloth the keep herself safe from the sun and the icy Wintersea winds alike, leads a small party through the streets. There are some ships that can’t go out, tonight. They need to make sure of that much.

The rest of her men and the beasts at her command are surrounding the city. Kaveli and Sadoc, fully grown, eyes bright enough to blind anyone with anyone with mildly sensitive eyes, are on their way to the docks. 

The Communer almost hopes nobody’s stupid enough to sleep on those ships, because they’re all about to burn.

A small tealblood child is awake, wrapped in cloths the exact same color as the Communer’s. They both stare at each other, in mutual recognition. The Rebel Leader’s face is plastered on every wanted board. Damara simply sees a threat. She holds a finger to her lips, a quiet shhhhhh sound escaping her lips.

The child nods, and goes back inside. 

Good. Children should not watch such things.

[rosallorart]

Irrational

It was all so stupid, but there was something so undeniable about the way it all sounded. How Jack’s voice was rough and undefined like a spire jutting into darkness, hazy at a distance. Something to admire. Something to fear. Something that Dignitary wanted to touch if only to say that he had, and it made him stupid, impulsive, maybe he’d call it brave it he was dumb enough to think he was capable of being brave.

But it really was the way he spoke. Dignitary looked at him, the corners of his superior’s mouth peeled back showing that row of off-white teeth, stained with coffee, and gin, and hatred. Jack was an exfoliant. There was no being around him without losing a layer of chitin, but Dignitary was convinced that maybe that was the right thing, the good thing, even as he could feel his shell wearing down, and down, and down.

Overthrow. Conquest. Those words were like honey dripped in the right places, sweet and raw. Just crazy enough to work.

Draconian Dignitary licks honey off of an onyx spoon. It congeals on his tongue. There’s a slight crunch, a waxy residue, honeycomb left there, evidence of creation. He’s never tasted honey before. Uncommon, imported from Skaia, an extreme luxury product. Dignitary doesn’t ask Jack how he got it, just licking it off the spoon as Jack starts talking again. He figures Jack gets a lot of nice things. He’s The Archagent, after all. Maybe it was a gift from a Prospitian bureaucrat - organic foods were a lot cheaper on Prospit. He looks at the tag on the jar, and there’s two initials saying who it’s from, but nothing to indicate origin.

The flat of his tongue curves into the concave space of the spoon; the crystal has warmed to the temperature of his mouth.

Jack keeps talking.

Half the time Dignitary doesn’t even hear the words, but he can feel them, piercing deep into him and infecting, taking over his body. He felt stupid, but the good kind of stupid. Like Jack was a leader he could follow. He was angry and unrefined, as raw as honey,not nearly as sweet. Maybe deep down there was something there, and Drac’s fingers twitch, wanting to touch him.

He wonders if he melts when his connective tissue is stroked, if his eyes ever don’t look thin and angry, if there’s something more, there. His tongue withdraws from the onyx and Jack is throwing a paperweight across the room. The glass shatters when it hits the wall, and the man stands there like a bowstring ready to be released, all sharp angles and tensed muscle. Drac can taste his fury.

He barks something - some order. Dignitary rises, the spoon resting delicately now on the Archagent’s desk. Somehow he’s understood everything Jack has said. He feels it in his marrow, this longing. This thing that defies logic, the only thing that could possibly defy logic. Jack Noir is not someone that Dignitary wants to fight with. No, he wants to follow.

He must follow.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

[aetherialarchfiend]

Impressions

It isn’t too uncommon to hear gunshots echoing through the hallways.

It is, however, unusual to hear them right outside her bedroom door, in the middle of the day. The Demoness rouses, pulling the dusty red sheets away from where they cover her face, frowning as she props herself up on one elbow. Her ears twitch, trying to catch the words that are being murmured outside. It not a voice she recognizes, deep, but not rough like she would have dismissed to be Cans or Matchsticks. 

An intruder.

She has to suppress a low growl as she stalks toward the door, pulling the outer shell of her uniform on as she does so. One wand from the nightstand, and the key to unlock the only barrier between her and whoever dared wander into her corridor. That’s all she needs.  She wills the door to be quiet as she opens it, standing patiently under the frame as  scans over the man standing there. Carapacian, dersite to be exact.  Not unattractive, well dressed. Must be Crew. Yet to notice she’s watching him in favor of talking into some kind of communication device, standing at the edge of...

She freezes, every muscle seizing up. Standing at the edge of a pool of blood, that by scent alone, she immediately recognizes to be Fin, even under the blood itself, and gunsmoke. Her ex-moirail, best friend Fin. Dead on the floor, and it’s this fucker’s fault.

But she doesn’t move. Mostly because anything that isn’t retreating into her room makes her mind ache with the weight of a wrong future. So she simply stands, considering what one indulgence would do.

It’s not worth reliving anything, but she does note the tone used when he mentions paying Stitch a visit. Mostly because it makes her skin crawl with disgust, enough to have her retreating. He might have looked up when the door creaked, she isn’t sure. All the Demoness knows, is that she needs to warn Stitch about this serpent.

And that she’ll never believe a word out of that man’s mouth, no matter how many times she gets a totally different first impression.

[atailoralwaysknows-blog]

She.

It’s been months since he last ventured into the rooms reserved. It’s a little known fact, even to some of the Manor inhabitants (past or current), that his boutique housed many branch-offs. Worn doors leading to rooms filled with medical supplies, more pristine for rooms housing finer fabrics. But this door, at the very end of the hall, is dedicated to Her.

Just as there is a door leading to a room holding the funeral gown never worn, never gifted, this one leads to the most perfect of fabric concoctions. Under his hand, the door unlocks with one of the few keys he actually keeps on his person. He wouldn’t trust anyone to enter this room but he.

Not where She is concerned.

It’s been so very long since he looked into this room, looked over the creations, the presents, the gifts that he constructed for Her and all Her elegance. Her grace. It’s been days. Weeks. Months. Years? But with his personal abilities, not quite repairing the tear in the coat that hovers about this room has left a timelessness to it.

No dust. No wear and tear. No decay.

She wouldn’t have any of that.

...

Stitch closes the door once more, trudging down the hall with a pronounced limp. His fingers curl into a tight fist, the key clenched in his against his left palm. His eyes burn slightly.

He’s gotten old.