foxedattheedges:

“You have more faith than most,” Phillip said, a sardonic smile curling his lips, turning it into a self-deprecating smirk as he poured another for Amar. He tipped back his head, draining his glass with a swallow. He had no idea how they’d gone from sharing a drink to reflexively draining the bottle, but he was hardly about to argue.

Phillip snorted at the tale of the pirates. “‘Take what you can, give nothing back.’ Fools. They scrabble amongst themselves for scraps, for which I should be thankful. If they were to join forces, and set their sights on SHIELD, I fear we should find ourselves most overwhelmed, like a carcass covered in rats.”

His mood had soured perceptibly, and he frowned, inspecting the liquor in his glass at the question.

“You do not pry,” Phillip said. “Questioning your superiors when they appear to not be in full control of their faculties speaks of a wise leader.”

He poured Amar another drink, chewing the inside of his lip as he considered.

“Steven Rogers and I have a history. We have marked the other, and I fear that it will be the end of me.”

He pulled his bracers, in reality Steven’s bracers that were cut down to fit his smaller forearms, off. Pushing back his sleeves, he revealed the scars that were still soft and pink, still healing and yet to receive the silvered touch of age. Three inches across, the scars on his wrists from his struggle aboard the Falcon looked as though Phillip might have permanent rope burn, etched there by his own hand to escape the ship.

“I do not know if this voyage will kill me or not. Perhaps I am…hoping it does.” Phillip met Amar’s eyes, suddenly feeling much more sober. “The pirate and I are locked into combat. He taunts me, sinking SHIELD ships to recover their goods at his leisure with these storms. There is something foul and unnatural aboard his ship, and he uses it to his advantage. Though it be the death of me, I would see it end before good people starve because we cannot get supplies to them.”

Amara started when Phil mentioned Steven, but Amar bit her back. There would be time for her to fret later. Even if she felt badly, they were both now employed by SHIELD. Fighting and killing pirates, even those for whom she felt affection, was their duty.

Amar’s eyes flashed and grew hard as he studied Phil, listening to the man talk. He stared at his glass, rubbing it with his thumb. “If you sail to die, at least find a crew that will die with you,” he all but hissed, the pain of being sent into traps coming up fresh. “A captain who sails without the firm intent to return dooms the ship, not himself. This Rogers, whoever he may be, warrants attention, not sacrifice. I’ll not hear of my promotion if it will come so easily from you.”

He drained the glass that Phil had refilled, looking up and daring the man to argue with him or grow angry with his speech. He would rather anger than the seeming defeat that filled the man before him now.

jaazpaul:

<33333333

showmeyourmoneyshowmeyourmoves:

amara-kota:

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Especially dead ones with soft brown hair and pretty brown eyes who remind you of every faceless body you’ve fucked…

Oh my God, he thought to himself as he listened to her talk. This was a sudden turn of events that he hadn’t anticipated. At all, really. How could he when just moments ago she had been whispering to him, begging him, or rather, ‘Alina’ to stop? And now she was pulling out the creepy act, running her fingers like spiders up and down his arm. God, he wished he could high-tail his way out of this assignment, but a job was a paid job and he was here to do it. Even if he did have to deal with psychos. And geez, did it always have to be the psychos.

He could feel her leg trailing up the inside of his own and he found that that was quite enough, thank you, and so he quickly sidestepped over the limb to stop it trailing any further. He had to remain professional, even when in the midst of a very unprofessional captive. Seriously, wasn’t this girl well versed in the fact that she was supposed to be screaming and crying right now? Sigh. People these days.

“Well, y’know, darlin’- I’ve heard a lotta things in my time an’ lemme tell ya, that hasn’t been one of them. Because what you’re tryna tell me right now sounds a lot like you tellin’ me that you’re fuckin’ insane. I mean, the hell’s wrong with you? I might be a killer but at least I ain’t some cold hearted murderess whore,” he said, still astounded as to what he was hearing. She was a SHIELD agent, for god’s sakes- didn’t they screen these sorts of people to keep them out? And here he was thinking standards were starting to get lax in places like HYDRA. Well, now he knew they looked like angels in comparison. “Maybe it woulda been better if I had been told t’kill ya, coulda done with one less weirdo like you on the planet.”

He was about to step back in disgust, perhaps to do something else to her until her arms wrapped around his, pulling him uncomfortably closer. Great. Her tone sounded low as she spoke, but the dead silence of the room made her loud enough for him to understand what she was propositioning, for want of a better term. Wrenching himself away, he didn’t even have time for a proper reply before he found his hand and the knife cutting through the air, in the direct path of bashing into her skull. 

“Bingo! I woulda been less insane, but my parents fucked me over pretty good,” she said, all but singing her reply. “They’re not dead. Not yet, anyways. I’m saving something real special for them. Not that you’d want to hear it, killjoy.”

She kept going even as he pulled away from her, unable to stop the torrent of words as they spilled from her mouth. “You should kill me. You should kill me anyways, then, do a good job for your masters ‘cause I’m telling you, baby, you’re a whore as much as I am. Just ‘cause people ain’t riding your dick to pay your rent doesn’t mean you’re any better—”

She didn’t even flinch as his hand came down at her face, smashing the handle of his knife into the side of her head. The crack of the impact sent her out of the chair and she landed on the floor, curled up on her side as she tried to reorient herself.

At that point, she did the only logical thing left. She started laughing.

It swelled up from deep within her, bubbling out from a well that could not be stopped and the laughter kept coming and coming as she pushed herself off of the floor.

“So you work for HYDRA and AIM? I’ve never heard of two pimps sharing a whore, so that just isn’t sitting right with me,” she spat, still giggling as she got into a sitting position, knees tucked under her. “Then again, maybe you’re good enough. You hit nicely, and maybe you have a pretty little fuckable face under that mask. I don’t pretend to know how you take it.”

As she spoke, she moved closer to him, pushing herself upright, a vague plan churning in the back of her head.

Love if she dresses like that ..:’) 
She looks super sweet <3

showmeyourmoneyshowmeyourmoves:

“A-Alina, please!” he repeated, mocking her tone in an exaggerated manner. Instinctively, he glanced back behind his shoulder to make sure that she wasn’t speaking to some unknown presence or something that he had missed, but he found nothing. “Sorry, but there’s no ‘Alina’ ‘round ‘ere. Jus’ you an’ me, dumplin’.” He added the slightest amount of pressure on the tip of the blade as a warning to ‘cut it out’, not particularly caring as to whether it drew blood or harmed her.

“Now, if you’re done with what I’m gonna assume is you tryin’ t’ stall me, I suggest we get started on t’ the’ main event, which is me beatin’ the hell outta you, if ya would be so kind as t’ let me. Because y’know,” he said, shrugging and using a hand to gesture vaguely, “places t’ go, people t’ kill… all that sorta stuff. Kinda takes up a lotta my time, I’m sure you get it.” He nodded solemnly at this before continuing. “Funny thing is, though; I was hopin’ that a part of this little shindig I’ve got planned for ya would include going through the whole ‘personal taunting’ routine, y’know, dwelling on your whole past and family or whatever to incite ‘extreme mental reactions’ or something. ‘Cept the strange thing is it looks like you haven’t got me covered in that area. Care to elaborate, sweetums?” he said, waving an arm back to encompass the whole room. “Care to tell me as to why your whole apartment looks like it’s come from a staged IKEA ad?”

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(Source: amara-kota)

icanleadyouhome:

amara-kota:

“Right,” she said, tone slightly apologetic. “I could tell the country, just not where specifically. You’ll have to forgive me— I’m American and do not travel often outside the States.”

She studied his expression and with the way he had said “work”, she was pretty sure he didn’t want to talk about it. She moved away from that, choosing instead to answer his question as she looked out on the crowds passing by.

“Work, really. I got a government job and was transferred up here about three years ago. I’m quite boring otherwise.”

He nodded politely at her apology. If she worked for the government, she either traveled extensively, or not at all. It was understandable. 

“Ah, transfers are always fun, aren’t they?” he asked jokingly with a hint of smirk. “At least you’re in New York. Imagine if they transferred you to some rural town in North Dakota?” He gave an exaggerated shiver.

“What type of work do you do?” he asked. “Unless you can’t answer that. I understand.”

Classified and all. His work with the X-Men didn’t have government-level restrictions in the same way as an FBI agent might, but he did understand keeping things quiet.

“Some transfers are fun. You’re right, at least it was to New York this time. If it had been to North Dakota, I don’t know who would have requested me out faster: me or the people I worked with.” She chuckled, sipping her drink with a satisfied hum.

“I am not so exciting,” she replied, smiling “I work with software, really. Sit in an office and write code all day long. It would be boring if I didn’t listen to music while I did it.”

She watched the people out on the street as she continued to sip her drink. “So, if work is not a viable topic of conversation, we shall have to switch to something else… Perhaps the people around us?” She suggested, gesturing vaguely to their surroundings.

foxedattheedges:

“Then, you have my congratulations,” Phillip said, toasting to Amar. “I am glad. I should hope to be back soon enough, but with these storms, I cannot guarantee it.”

He drained his glass, pouring out another for himself. He offered the bottle, his eyebrows raised.

“Tell me of your last journey, Captain,” he said, sitting back. “I would hear about your travels, and what you’ve encountered out there.”

Amar quickly drained his glass and held out his glass, a soft warmth spreading through him as he drank more. “I shall be looking out for your ship until the last, sir. I have faith that you’ll return.”

He was about matched with Phillip for drinks, filling his glass again before answering. “This last journey, we managed to see the storms before we were caught in them and we made for port here. On the way, though, we came upon a pirate ship, and I had my men set upon it, only to find that there was naught but a captain, a  first mate and a month’s supply of rum. We dealt with that quickly, but what a sight they were, the fools.”

The grin on his face faded but slightly as he looked up again at Phillip. “Something troubles you beyond this journey, does it not? Forgive me if I pry, but… you are troubled by more than the hunt you are to depart for.” He frowned slightly, large brown eyes studying the face across from his.

foxedattheedges:

Phillip’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Dodgson can’t navigate outside the set trade routes. He refuses. Tully is in his cups more as of late, and he lets his crew roll over him when they come into port. I am not, in fact, drunk, Captain Amar.”

Phillip watched the young man finish his port and poured him out another, his walk steady and rolling with the creak of the ship.

“Quartermain himself will not be parted from his position as my first mate. That is set in stone in his mind. He has declined. That leaves you as my most trustworthy employee and my only possible choice as successor.”

Phillip drained his glass and poured himself out another.

“If you wish to decline, I understand. I will not, however, change my course. I seek the Falcon, and Steven Rogers. I will not rest until these storms cease, and I believe he is the key.”

He spat the pirate’s name as if it were a curse.

“I did not exactly mean that, sir, forgive me,” Amar apologized quickly, looking properly contrite. “I was taken aback, but…”

He cast his gaze about the cabin, letting it fall back on the admiral. When the name Steven Rogers came up, spit in such a venemous tone, Amara’s eyes widened, heart beating wildly and, were he observant, Phillip might have seen the swell of a bosom and soft features of femininity returned to Amar’s face.

A second later and Amar sat before him again. He raised his glass and bowed his head slightly, drinking before speaking again. “I follow where you lead, sir, and I would be proud to become your successor.”