✂ - for my muse to rescue yours from danger

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Pietro cursed loudly, ducking behind a car. “This was your plan? Can’t you do your thing? Make the earth shake?”

“Well, we’re surrounded by buildings with people in them, so no! Earthquakes are not a good idea!” Daisy shot back, peeking out from her position long enough to get a few shots off.

“Fuck,” Pietro groaned, collapsing against the car.

“That’s helpful.”

“Блядь.”

Perhaps they hadn’t thought this through entirely. When HYDRA got involved, things became personal for both Pietro and Daisy, and neither of them was particularly skilled in thinking things through when emotions ran high. Still, going into a HYDRA base, no backup and few weapons, was foolish even for them. They hadn’t even brought Wanda, too eager for revenge to wait. Now, they were pinned down, unable to move.

“We’re not going to die here,” Daisy said, determination in her tone.

“Been there, done that. Not ready for seconds,” Pietro nodded in agreement. As if in answer, a bullet whizzed by him, close enough to move his hair. They needed to move quickly.

Luckily, quickly was what Pietro did best.

Looking to Daisy, he raised a brow. “Sorry about this,” he said with a small smile.

“Wha--” she started, but before she could even finish the thought he was beside her, scooping her into his arms and running. He ran between the bullets, wincing as one grazed his arm. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he yelled as he ran. Not his most heroic moment, perhaps, but he was sort of working on the fly here. A minute later, they were miles away, the echo of gunfire distant. Pietro set Daisy down and collapsed, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?” Daisy’s voice was hesitant, and for a moment, Pietro didn’t respond. Finally, he moved an arm away from his eye, looking up at her.

Ұ - for my muse to comfort yours after witnessing an emotional meltdown

He wasn’t adjusting well. If he’d ever bothered to see a psychiatrist, he was sure they would tell him that this was a chronic condition; Pietro had never adjusted to change, particularly not when it concerned his immediate support system. It was why it had taken him so long to warm up to the Avengers, why he still didn’t trust them, why he might not be in the Tower at all if not for Wanda.

It was also why he still hadn’t quite accepted the idea of Lorna as his sister.

Pietro was used to it just being him and Wanda. The two of them, the Maximoffs against the world. All they’d ever need was each other, they used to say, and it was true. Pietro had never needed anyone but Wanda.

That didn’t change the fact that Lorna was here now, didn’t change the fact that the blood that ran through his veins, through Wanda’s, was in hers as well. They shared a father, and even if they shared little else, that had to mean something. Didn’t it?

So that was what brought him here, to Lorna’s living room. (His sister’s door, he tried to force himself to think. It didn’t work. In spite of the facts, Pietro couldn’t make himself think sister without thinking Wanda. It was as if there was no room for someone else to share the title.) 

So far, conversation had been strained, clipped. Sharing DNA didn’t give people much to talk about, it seemed, didn’t make it easier to relate to them. Once upon a time, he’d thought relating to Lorna was easy but now, it was different. It was one thing to see a friend grow up better than you had, one thing to see an acquaintance live in the States with a family and a home. It was another thing entirely when it was your sister who’d grown up in a warm house worrying about homework and crushes while you’d lived on the streets worried only for survival. It stung more than a little.

She flipped on the television, presumably to fill the silence, and Pietro was relieved for it. He’d never liked the quiet much. He was glancing around the apartment, unable to focus on the TV, when he felt Lorna stiffen beside him. Immediately on edge, he turned towards to TV, faltering when he saw the screen.

They were talking about Registration (thye always were, these days), but this time, this time, there was a photo of Magneto in the corner of the screen. Of their father. 

Lorna’s breathing quickened as the anchor spoke of Magneto’s horrifying abilities, showed images of him tearing things apart. Men like this are why we need Registration, the anchor was saying in a clipped tone. How could anyone with those abilities be anything but dangerous?

Quickly, Pietro flipped the television off and came to Lorna’s side. He was used to witnessing such things, had seen Wanda go through it too many times to count. He knew that sometimes, all you could do was watch it happen. Sometimes, all you could do was wait for it to end.

Eventually, Lorna’s breathing slowed to a more normal rate, though tears still streamed down her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t --- I didn’t --- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Pietro said, tone soothing and quiet. Hesitantly, he touched her hand, and when she didn’t flinch or pull away, he took it into his and squeezed. “You’re okay. You’re not him, Lorna. You aren’t.”

“I could be,” she said, voice small and afraid. “One day, I could be like that. Like him.”

“No,” he said softly, “you couldn’t. You’re good, Lorna. You’re so good."

“How do you know?” God, she sounded so young in that moment. Pietro had never thought of her as young, but she was. He had three years on her, and a lifetime of experience. 

He hesitated a moment before answering, unsure what to say. After a second or two, he squeezed her hand tightly, looking up to catch her eye.

“Because you’re my sister. That’s how I know.”

howl’s moving castle sentence pack  → accepting

💛 for jessica’s honest opinion of:

@polcris @dqisyjohnsons

lorna:

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jessica snapped at the open folder. Lorna’s picture, her green goddamn hair, sits on the very top, staring at her. 

Jessica pushes back from her desk with a huff, grabs the mostly empty bottle of whiskey and drains the minuscule amount left. She tosses it aside, then leans on the desk, her hands framing Lorna’s face.

“I’m trying for you,” she mutters to the photograph. “I don’t goddamn know why.” She bits her lip, reopens the cut Snart’s uppercut left. “Maybe because of that goddamn look in your eye. You look so fucking lost,” she breathes, swiping away a droplet of blood that falls onto the picture. “You were a total goddamn brat when I met you, you know that? But I’m still helping you. Because you need someone to.” Jessica was a poor excuse, but she wasn’t going to give up either. “Honestly?” she says to the picture. “You deserve better. Better than this shit hand life has given you.”

She sighs, then sits back down and goes back to her research.

daisy: 

Now that she has a name -- a goddamn superhero name, though it’s not the worst she’s ever heard -- she can find out a lot more about Daisy. Combs through article after article about a mysterious vigilante named ‘Quake.’ 

It’s almost hard to match up what she reads with what she knows already. Daisy has always struck her as quirky more than quake-y. Cute. Quick-witted. A damn good tease. But there’s a darkness in the woman, too, something that sends a chill through Jessica’s veins. A power. 

She’s just glad to be on her good side. And if she’s being honest, she’s a little bit jealous. She wants to have that same self-control, that same practiced technique that Daisy used on the punching bag, apparently used on all those people she took out as a vigilante.