#quccnscars

[tnott]

@quccnscars​ liked for a starter (Slytherin!Percy)

Detention. Theo had never been given a detention before, and to be given one now, in front of half the common room, by Professor Snape himself, was truly humiliating. Her only comfort was that Professor Snape at least hadn’t taken any points from her or from Draco. That would have been even worse.

The problem, of course, was Draco -- specifically, the fact that Draco wouldn’t stop mocking Potter. Potter fainted!, he was always saying. Potter fainted! Well, so what? Theo had nearly fainted herself when the horrible things had come to search the train, and she’d skipped the last Hogsmeade weekend because she couldn’t stomach the idea of walking past them.

Dementors fed off bad memories. Of course Draco could shake off their effects. What was the worst thing that had happened to him, spoiled brat that he was? Probably he’d asked his mum for sweets and she’d said no.

Theo, though, had one extremely bad memory, and she was forced to relive it every time the Dementors were near her. Draco should have realized that; he knew about her mum. For Merlin’s sake, he’d been at the funeral. But he didn’t seem to care about how his words affected anyone else. He’d been carrying on as usual in the common room after they’d all come back from dinner, and had tried to draw Theo into his circle of laughing cronies, and Theo had lost her temper. Shouting had escalated into jinxes, and Professor Snape had broken up the fight and assigned them both detention.

Detention! It was humiliating. What would her dad say when he found out?

She was sitting alone in a shadowed corner, trying not to cry, when Percy Weasley approached, his polished Head Boy badge glinting against the black of his robes.

“Hi, Percy,” Theo said glumly. “Are you here to scold me as well?”

[murder-popsicle]

“I’m not trying to be a hero.” [From Nat]

@quccnscars || some meme or other || if you can find it i’m accepting

“I know,” Bucky said, reaching out and gently taking hold of Natasha’s hand. “I’m not tryin’ to be a hero, either. Not like Steve, or even that kid Peter. That’s not what it’s about for me, and I know it’s not what it’s about for you. But is it really terrible if somebody out there thinks you’re one anyway? You’ve helped a lot of people, Nat.”

[murder-popsicle]

“When I said scars are kinda sexy, I didn’t mean you should get one right away…” [from Nat]

@quccnscars || some meme or other || if you can find it i’m accepting

“It’s not like I asked the maniac to shoot me,” Bucky grumbled from her place on the couch. “He just caught me where I couldn’t dodge without puttin’ that mom and her baby in the line of fire. What else was I s’posed to do, kotyonok?”

[murder-popsicle]

❝ Do you have any coffee? ❞ [From Nat]

@quccnscars || some meme or other || if you can find it i’m accepting

“Only instant,” Jane said, “but you’re welcome to as much as you want.”

Her current hideout was stocked only with the necessities -- her weapons, some spare clothes, and nonperishable foods. A coffee machine wasn’t a necessity. But she did have a jar of instant coffee powder, because sometimes a hot drink was what she needed after a long day.

She and the Black Widow had crossed paths several times during Jane’s quest to burn down as much of HYDRA as she could reach, but this was the first time Jane had invited Natasha back to her hiding place. One look at Natasha’s face had been all it had taken for Jane to realize that she was still in love, despite the torture and memory modification and decades of separation they had suffered. Having the Black Widow at her side felt right in a way that little else did these days.

They’d spent far too long apart, and Jane wanted to make up for that lost time.

[murder-popsicle]

So what do you remember ? [From Nat]

@quccnscars || some meme or other || if you can find it i’m accepting

They were in bed together, facing each other with their fingers intertwined, in a dingy little hotel in Novi Sad that they’d carefully swept for bugs. Not just because they were on a mission, but also because the both knew that Department X tried to have eyes everywhere. And tonight, they didn’t want to be surveilled.

“Not a lot,” the Winter Soldier admitted. “Just -- little things. Like blurry snapshots. There’s a girl with pigtails sitting at a table, except it’s not really a table. It’s just a board placed across a bathtub. And there’s a skinny boy with a black eye. And an old woman singing.”

She sighed and, sounding tired, said, “I’ll have to report it all to Dr. Rodchenko so he can remove it. You know what General Karpov says. I work better when my brain is tidy, when I don’t have anything useless taking up space and distracting me.”

The memories that bubbled up sometimes from the depths of her brain must have belonged to the American, the person the Winter Soldier had been built from. That was why the soldier didn’t know what they meant, or who any of the people in them were. It was for the best that Dr. Rodchenko was able to take them out of her head, because they did distract her, and they always left her feeling sad, as though something important was missing.

But there were only two important things in her life. Obedience to the mission, and this -- Natasha by her side, Natasha in her arms.