#+ going to the cold storage warehouse

[monitor-kernel-access]

PLEASE STOP MAKING ME GO TO THE COLD STORAGE WAREHOUSE WHEN I DONT KNOW IF IRIS IS SAFE OR NOT I AM SO FUCKING SCARED ALL THE TIME

[buckysfaveplum]

her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

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Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was. 

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone. 

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there. 

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly. 

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield. 

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off. 

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying. 

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky. 

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker. 

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did. 

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment. 

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air. 

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips. 

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again. 

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm. 

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again. 

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

---

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[zuzu-tries-to-write]

“Stay Where I Can See You”

Bakugo Katsuki X reader

Summery: During a UA mission, Bakugo panics when you suddenly disappear. After finding you cornered by a villain, he takes them down but realizes his fear wasn’t just about the mission—it was about you. Overwhelmed, he kisses you, finally understanding his true feelings.

Bakugo had scoffed when Aizawa gave that order, arms crossed over his chest. “Tch. Like she needs protectin’.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Aizawa had replied flatly, staring him down until Bakugo begrudgingly accepted the responsibility.

Now, standing in the dimly lit warehouse where their mission had led them, Bakugo kept his sharp crimson gaze locked onto you. You were moving stealthily ahead, eyes scanning the area for threats, your communicator active as you relayed information back to the team. Everything was going smoothly.

Until it wasn’t.

One second, you were there. The next—you weren’t.

Bakugo’s entire body went rigid. His breath hitched, heart hammering so violently in his chest it felt unnatural. Where the hell did you go?

“Oi, where are you?!” His voice came out harsher than he intended as he activated his comms.

Silence.

A sickening feeling coiled in his gut. He gritted his teeth, hands sparking with tiny explosions as panic threatened to take over. He wasn’t the panicking type—hell no—but this wasn’t just some random mission partner. This was you.

He took off running, eyes darting frantically through the darkened corridors, mind racing with possibilities. Had someone taken you? Were you hurt? The thought made his stomach churn.

“Shit,” he muttered, shoving open a rusted door that led to an adjacent storage area. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you.

You were pressed against the wall, a villain looming over you, knife in hand. Your expression was tense but not fearful—you were waiting for an opening.

Bakugo didn’t wait.

Before the bastard could react, an explosion blasted him backward. Bakugo lunged, slamming his fist into the villain’s gut before knocking him out cold. His breath was heavy as he turned to you, fury and something else swirling in his gaze.

“The fuck were you thinking, dumbass?!”

You blinked at him, catching your breath. “I had it under control.”

“Like hell you did!” His voice cracked, and that’s when you noticed it. The slight tremor in his hands, the tension in his jaw—he was scared. Not angry, scared.

Something inside you softened. “Bakugo…”

“Don’t,” he growled, stepping closer until you were caged between the wall and his broad frame. His hands gripped your shoulders, firm but not rough. “You—you can’t just disappear like that.”

Your breath hitched at the proximity, the heat radiating off of him. His gaze darted between your eyes and lips, frustration and something deeper warring in his expression.

Then, as if something in him snapped, he crashed his lips onto yours.

The kiss was desperate, fierce—like he was trying to make sure you were still here, still breathing, still his. His hands moved to cup your jaw, fingers threading into your hair as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His lips were hot, demanding, but softened when you kissed him back just as eagerly.

You clutched the fabric of his hero suit, pulling him impossibly closer. His breath hitched against your lips, a low groan rumbling from his chest before he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmured, voice raw.

You managed a small smirk despite the way your heart pounded. “You gonna kiss me like that every time I scare you?”

His grip tightened slightly. “Shut up.”

But as he kissed you again, slower this time, you knew you had your answer.

[thepixelelf]

superhero cheol x tech whiz reader warnings: coarse language, death threats, manipulation, injury, gunfire. wc: 1.7k

read part 1 & part 2 first

[anonymous nights 3] Seungcheol didn’t burn down the entire building. Minghao wouldn’t let him.

In fact, despite the urgent need find you within the maze that was the old seafood packaging factory and warehouse, now known as the sketchiest place in northern uptown, Minghao’s focus was completely on damage control. Seungcheol could feel Minghao constantly at the back of his mind, keeping him in check when all he wanted to do was burn the stupid place to the ground — after finding you of course. While Seungcheol barged through each and every door in his search, Minghao made sure he didn’t kill anyone in his way, and Seokmin lagged behind, healing said people with his rejuvenation and slapping them in zipties to deal with later. 

No one else was with them. Seungcheol had rushed out too quickly for anyone to call for backup, and only Minghao had the foresight to grab three masks before dashing from headquarters. That was why they were running so haphazardly through the warehouse — they had no one to guide them. None of them even stopped running to put on their masks, each fitting perfectly to their faces thanks to your latest invention in the supersuit department. 

It was when Seungcheol busted through a door roughly labeled “Storage Unit 3″, flames and all, that he finally froze.

“No sudden movements, hothead.”

You were in the middle of the empty unit, tied to a chair with your head hung limp. A man, the one who spoke, stood next to you, the tip of his gun a mere inch from your temple.

Seungcheol felt blindingly hot rage flow through his blood, but although every nerve in his body screamed at him to rush forward, he stayed frozen. His fingers couldn’t even twitch.

No sudden movements, Minghao reminded him in his head. Normally, Seungcheol would try anything to block Minghao out of his mind, but he had to get his priorities straight. He tried to clench his teeth, but couldn’t.

They’re alive. Let’s try to keep it that way.

I get it, I get it! Seungcheol barked back in his thoughts, hoping Minghao could hear him. He felt the hold on his control loosen.

Seokmin’s still back there, we need to—

“What, nothing to say, dear heroes?” the man interrupted without knowing, his voice reverberating off the cold stone walls. “I must say, when I found out that idiot lackey of mine let this little bitch get a phone call, I expected the cops.” He waved his free hand as he spoke, gesturing towards Seungcheol. “But who would’ve guessed this twerp was all cozy with the hero brigade?”

The man’s laugh rang hollow, and it sent a shiver down Seungcheol’s spine. He never shivered.

Can you get in his head?

He’s a goddamn psychopath, Minghao complained.

But can you?

It’ll take a minute. Keep him talking.

“Ignoring me now?!” the man yelled. His finger twitched on the trigger, the sight causing Seungcheol to dig his nails into his palms. “Maybe I’ll just shoot them right now, just for pissing me off.”

“Touch one fucking hair on their head and I'll turn you to ash!” Seungcheol bellowed, his restraint finally lost. Minghao’s hold on him had completely let go once he started focusing on getting into the motherfucker’s head.

“Oh, he has a voice,” he teased. “Solar Flare, isn’t it? Everyone’s favourite fiery hero. Well I have news for you, wonderboy—” his jaw tensed “—I’m already dead.”

Flame erupted from Seungcheol’s hands, but he stayed still. The man laughed again, dry and cynical.

“So why don’t you just let it happen, huh? Neither of us—” he waved the gun at your head “—are getting out of here alive. You could let me end it quickly and painlessly, or…” Seungcheol bit his lip as he watched the man’s disgusting smirk grow wider. The man spun your chair so that Seungcheol could only see your side, and he stuck the barrel of his gun in the dip of your eye socket. “…I could rain so much hell, you’d have to bury a faceless body. You decide.”

“Just let them go.”

“I could,” he said casually, “but a deal like that needs a trade, don’t you think?”

“What kind of trade?”

He laughed. “For their life, I want mine in return. All you have to do,” he explained through a smirk, “is let me walk away.”

“Fine.” It didn’t matter what Seungcheol agreed or didn’t agree to as long as Minghao could stop him. (Though he was taking his damn time.)

“And.” The man paused, cocking his head to the side with an air of confidence. “I want a plane.”

“I’m not fucking SWAT. I don’t have that kind of power.”

“Well then we don’t have a deal, do we?”

You used to tell him about the books you would read as a kid, and the strange things that would happen in them. One thing you would always complain about was the “slowing down time thing” that you claimed people used too much in both books and movies. “That doesn’t happen in real life,” you’d said. “Unless we find a time-controlling superhero. You know what? That’s a great idea actually, remind me to write that down.”

But Seungcheol felt it now, the way time slowed as he watched the man’s finger tighten over the trigger, and he felt as if the fire burning in his hands no longer had the power he's feared his entire life. His voice couldn’t come out in time. The step forward he tried wasn’t fast enough.

He lost.

A thundering gunshot echoed throughout the room, and Seungcheol barely registered that he had closed his eyes. He battled with himself over whether to look, to finish that bastard off right then, but a strangled scream forced his eyes open to watch as the man collapsed to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor as his eyes bulged. He thrashed and squirmed on the ground before falling still, his eyes turning blank.

“Shit,” Minghao breathed out behind Seungcheol. He fell to his knees, clutching at his own hair with eyes screwed shut — evidence of overworking his mental powers. “Fuck.”

Seungcheol took a shaky step towards you, his feet slow as everything began to settle. The room was silent save for Minghao’s uneven breaths and the distant sound of Seokmin’s footsteps. He wanted to ask Minghao if you were alive, to check with his power because he was too scared to get close without knowing, but he could tell Minghao was in no condition to get up, much less get a read.

So he stumbled your way, uncertainty driving him.

Minghao had to have saved you. That was what they did. Save people.

You had to be okay.

You had to.

The adrenaline seeped from him, leaking out so that he could finally hear the pounding of his own heart. He fell to his knees at your feet, first looking at the floor, then slowly raising his head. Cupping your face in his hands and lifting it up, Seungcheol let out a breath of relief when he saw nothing on your slack face other than a few scrapes.

He’d never cried in front of you before, but today, now, he allowed himself to let go, dropping his face into your lap. You were still unconscious anyways.

After a while, he dimly registered voices whispering behind him, and when he lifted his head again, Seokmin had his hand on the back of your neck, his eyes closed as he focused on healing you. It wasn’t as simple as that, but Seungcheol felt solace knowing that you’d live to see tomorrow.

Once Seokmin finished, you began to stir, and Minghao clapped Seungcheol on the shoulder. “We’ll be outside,” he said. “Seokmin, grab the guy on the ground. He’s not dead yet, but I don’t want him waking up before backup gets here.”

Seungcheol watched as they left and dragged the lump of a man with them, then focused on you as your eyes scrunched tight. You let out a pained groan.

“Hey,” he said softly, untying your restraints. With you freed, he gently guided you to the floor with him so that you sat on your knees, your top half slack against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, one landing on your back where his thumb rubbed in circles. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s me.”

You tensed in his hold for a second but relaxed after another few, soothed by his quiet assurances. A small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you, and Seungcheol shut his mouth.

“A fucking cult,” you mumbled into his shirt. The words were so quiet that Seungcheol barely heard them.

“What?”

You laughed again, and while ten minutes ago, Seungcheol had been begging any god he could think of to hear your laugh again, he didn’t want this. You sounded so… sad. Defeated.

“A cult, Solar Flare,” you said louder this time, though he could tell your throat was dry. His heart panged at the use of his alias, recalling how real his actual name had sounded during that phone call. He wondered if you would ever call him that again. You clutched your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, which was starting to get soaked by the tears he hadn’t noticed before. “That son of a bitch was sacrificing kids to some fucking moon god and I — fuck, I don’t know. I just wanted to get a closer look. I didn’t think… I didn’t…”

You took a deep, ragged inhale, the breath shaking your entire body in Seungcheol’s arms, which only made his grip tighten. Another bout of laughter escaped your lips, but he knew it was to cover up your crying. Though Seungcheol was the superhero, you were always the one wearing a mask — one to cover up how you actually felt.

“Fuck, Solar, I was so fucking scared.”

He gave you a few pats on the back. Then, quietly, “Well maybe don’t get any ‘closer looks’ from now on.”

Nothing sounded better than your real laugh.

“You’re probably right,” you admitted.

“Of course I’m right. You may be the brains of the operation, but you can be a real dumbass sometimes.”

As you giggled into his shoulder, Seungcheol closed his eyes as the world aligned itself once more. You were alive, You were laughing.

“That was really smart of you,” he said after a short while. He didn’t know how long you needed to recover, but he also didn’t want to stay in the storage unit for long. It already had bad memories. “You know, the tracking chip thing.”

“Oh, that?” You raised your head, meeting his eyes with a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll have to disable it and install a new one for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Well—”

He gave you a look -- the one you tended to give him.

“Fine. There won’t be a next time. I’m still installing a new one though.” Slowly, you stood, shaky on your legs with Seungcheol to steady yourself on. You kept your hands on his shoulders. “And Seungcheol?”

He paused, hands on your upper arms in his attempt to help you stand.

“Sorry about what I must've said. You know, on the phone. I know I probably made you uncomfortable, but I’ve kinda had that scenario written down for six years, so I didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t mean to weird you out with all the gushy first date stuff… Sorry, I’m making it awkward again.”

Dropping your head, you sighed and moved to go, but Seungcheol held you still, making you look up at him with question.

“So the things you said,” he began to ask, his words slow with doubt as he licked his lips. “You didn’t mean any of it?”

“No?” Your brows furrowed. “What? Did I say something weird?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really… The guy knocked me out, and before that I only remember one of his followers letting me have a phone call. But you’re here, so I must’ve told my cover story. What did I say?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “Um, you said… uh.”

“Uh…?” You gestured for him to go on.

“Forget it!” Seungcheol gulped down whatever he wanted to say and dropped his hands from your arms, swiftly turning and walking to the exit.

“What?!” you exclaimed, following after him and catching up at his side. You turned your head as you walked, but Seungcheol kept his eyes forward. “What do you mean forget it? I’m trying to remember what I said to you. C’mon!”

“No. It was stupid.”

“Well now I really wanna know,” you whined. “What did I say? Did I confess to stealing your chips because if I did I was lying. That definitely wasn’t me. Or was it that I have two stray cats in my apartment that I need you to take care of because I promise you, now that I’m alive, I can take care of them by myself. Wait, I didn’t tell you where I live, did I? Because that’s against company policy and I really don’t want boss finding out that—”

“You said you love me!”

At his outburst, the both of you froze in the middle of the hall. Seungcheol’s hand rose to cover his mouth, but the damage was already done, he’d already said everything. A terrible few seconds passed where nothing happened, and Seungcheol wished he could just steal Minghao's powers and snap his fingers to make you forget any of this ever happened.

Your face twisted with a playful smile, eyes lit with your classic mischief. You began to laugh, your own hand coming up to your face.

Fuck. Obviously that was part of the script. No one could love him. All he did was burn things. All he could do was destroy.

You couldn’t love him, not in a million years.

“Seungcheol.”

His name again. Hearing it in your voice (for, what, the fourth time?) brought pause to his melancholy thoughts. You stepped closer, leaning in to take his hands in your own and hold them between you.

“Of course I love you. I love you in a way I’ve never loved anyone before. And I choose to feel that way. You know that, right?”

“I…”

“And you care about me too, Seungcheol. I know that. We might not be like that high school couple I talked about on the phone, but we’re a team. We have each other’s backs. I trust you with almost everything I have, and you? You came all the way to this shithole just to save your tech assistant.” You squeezed his hands, not minding the heat that seemed to rush through them, nor the red on Seungcheol’s cheeks. “We’re partners in crime. Or I guess, partners in fighting crime, and we’re here for each other. If that’s not some type of love, I don’t know what is.”

Seungcheol trembled, unsure of what to ask out of the hundreds of questions he had on the tip of his tongue.

“C’mere,” you said, pulling him into a hug.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding tight because if he let go again, he wouldn’t know what to say. In his head, he whispered, I love you, over and over again.

I love you I love you I love you.

One day, he thought as you brought him outside by the hand, your features outlined — illuminated — with the red and blue lights of the police car sirens. One day, he’ll tell you out loud.

part 1 | part 2

[teal-fiend]

A tiny who just wants to explore comes across a giant in a state.

content: g/t vore, multiple prey, implied fatal, unwilling prey, digestion, observer pov

–

You slip quietly into the room, your tiny footsteps barely making a sound on the cold, cemented floor. An abandoned warehouse. Or perhaps, to the giants, it was just a storage room. 

Either way, you liked to wander and sneak around places where you probably shouldn’t go. It was part of your borrower instincts, you’d say. Urban exploration is a fairly normal hobby anyway, for both giants and tinies. The point is, you weren’t looking for trouble. 

At first, everything looks normal for a condemned building—echo-y, dim, neglected, just the kind of place you’d been looking for.

But you have the sense that something isn’t right. A gut feeling—you can’t place it. You turn a corner and freeze.

A giant.

Your breath catches in your throat. The figure sprawled across the floor is immense, larger than any living being you’ve ever seen. From your minuscule perspective, the sheer scale of them is disorienting—no animal should be this large—it was like seeing a dinosaur; it should be extinct. It shouldn’t exist. But what really grabs your attention is their stomach.

It’s colossal.

You stare in shock at the massive, swollen curve of their belly, rising up like a hill in the center of the room. You’ve seen giants from afar, but never like this. Not up close, and not... like this.

The stomach is enormous—so much bigger than you, bigger than your car, even bigger than a house. It’s distended, rounded out in a tight, unnatural way that makes you start to realise something is wrong here. Are they sick?

The giant is passed out, their face relaxed in sleep, but their body tells a different story. Their stomach is so grotesquely distended, so unnaturally large, it looks painful.

And the sounds—oh god, the sounds. Despite any survival instinct you have, you inch closer, carefully stepping around their outstretched arm, your eyes fixated on their swollen midsection.

Deep, heavy gurgles reverberate from their gut, like the low rumbling of an earthquake, vibrating through the concrete beneath your feet. It’s so loud, so visceral, like standing next to an industrial machine. The noises make your skin crawl. Listen, as if in a horrible trance, to the groaning and churning of their stomach, struggling with whatever is inside.

And then, faintly, you catch something else.

Voices.

Your blood runs cold. Faint, muffled cries, barely audible beneath the thick layers of skin and muscle, but unmistakable. You edge closer, your eyes locked on the giant’s stomach, unable to look away. The voices are weak, but they’re there. It sets in with a sickening dread. There are people in there.

You take a step back, heart pounding in your chest as you realise what you’re hearing. The giant had eaten them—swallowed them whole, by the sound of it. You glance around the room; it’s still a nondescript warehouse interior. But you theorise the giant chose somewhere unassuming to hide while they...

Your stomach twists as you look back at the giant, their massive belly stretching up above you like a grotesque monument. You can’t help but imagine what it must be like inside, trapped in the tight, churning darkness of that giant’s gut, squeezed into the hot, suffocating space, with no way out. 

You can’t believe what you’re seeing—what kind of person would do this?

The giant shifts slightly in their sleep, letting out a long, low groan. You flinch, stepping back, but they don’t wake. Their face is slightly vexed; it seems like a fitful sleep; this might have been too much, even for them. 

But then, as you watch, their lips part, and a deep, thundering belch rolls out of their mouth. Their expression relaxes; it becomes peaceful even. They continue to lie there, completely unaware of the horror inside them. 

The noise is deafening, shaking the air around you. You cover your ears, the sound reverberating in your chest like a subwoofer, a reminder of just how enormous this body is compared to yours. The belch is loud and lazy, almost careless, like the giant’s body is simply responding to the meal. Their stomach seems to stir, and the deep gurgles return, louder this time, more ominous.

You take a shaky breath, your eyes locked on that unnaturally large belly. The skin is stretched so tight it shines under the dim natural light, and you can see the faintest bit of movement beneath the surface—small bumps, appearing here and there.

Your mind reels, trying to comprehend the scale of it all. The stomach is so large, so engorged, and those voices... There must be at least a dozen, maybe more, trapped inside. You can hear them still, faint and muffled, like they’re buried deep under layers of sound. How many people had the giant swallowed? And how did they catch them? 

You inch closer, trembling with fear and disbelief. From down here, the giant is like a living landscape, their body so vast it’s hard to take it all in. Their belly rises far above your head, towering over you like some grotesque monument. You reach out, not thinking, and place a hand against the tightly stretched skin. 

It’s hot, like an overheated computer, and you can even feel a constant whirring. You can feel deeper and stronger vibrations, which coincide with the audible gurgling.

The sheer size of it makes you feel so small, so utterly insignificant. And inside that massive gut are people—people like you. Only what, a metre or so from where your hand is placed. 

The giant lets out another soft groan in their sleep, and you jump, quickly stepping back again. Their body is so loud—every churn from the overstuffed organ is amplified to an almost unbearable degree. 

Your thoughts race, panic rising in your chest. You have to get out of here. This giant is dangerous—a predator unlike anything you’ve ever imagined. The predator is asleep now, but what happens when they wake up? 

You get the feeling that they wouldn’t still feel hungry...

But the fact that you’ve seen this means that you are a liability. You may be the only surviving witness to a terrifying crime. 

You glance back at the direction from which you came. Your heart thuds in your chest. You can still hear the voices—desperate sounds of those trapped inside the giant’s stomach. But there’s nothing you can do for them. You’re too small, too helpless. You can do more for them by escaping and letting the world know what happened. 

The giant stirs again, grumbling in their sleep, their bloated belly gurgling loudly, and you are once again frozen in place. You pray they don’t awaken. 

Another belch escapes their lips, still so resonant. You have to get out of here.

You take one last look at the monstrous sight in front of you—the giant, passed out on the floor, their stomach swollen beyond belief—and then you turn and run.

[seat-safety-switch]

So-called motorcylists love to shove their beloved bikes away whenever there's a little bit of snow on the road. That's because motorcyclists are famously concerned with their public perception. They don't want to drive around town with wood screws run through their tires, shrieking profanities at stopped traffic before ripping a perfect 12 'o' clocker and driving across the iced-over multi-use-pathway, comfortable in their knowledge that the police will not and can not follow. Or it's because they don't have heated grips, and their handsies get cold.

Heated steering wheels are the single greatest innovation in cars in the last two hundred years. Unfortunately for me, they hadn't been installed into cars of the age I own. In the late 1970s, the newest innovation in steering wheel comfort was "maybe make them a little smaller, for the ladies." Seems like I was cursed to a lifetime of wondering if my thermostat was seized, freezing to death even through many layers of mittens and work gloves while waiting for the tow truck to arrive and clean up the commuters in front of me.

Of course, Plymouth also didn't equip this car with a lot of other modern features. For instance, liquid-cooled active speed laser and radar jamming was not available. Active pursuit drones pre-programmed with a seek-and-destroy order for all speed cameras were not yet on the market, unless you worked for the CIA. And also the good people of China had not figured out how to make $35 45-millimetre ball-bearing turbochargers capable of adding nearly four hundred horsepower to any engine strong enough to keep its guts on the inside when presented with one medium-sized jet engine's worth of boost. I had to add all those things myself.

Easy, right? Run some wires to a heating element on the steering wheel. There's just one complication: steering wheels turn. If I keep spinning the car left and right, eventually the wire will get tangled up and rip itself out, causing an electrical fire. Admittedly, that will also keep my hands warm, but the walk home after is inconvenient.

The original "engineers" who took a whisky-soaked gander at this car before slapping their secretaries on the ass had a solution, though. In every steering wheel, the horn button has the same problem. Unfortunately for me, the horn hasn't worked in this car since 1983, which complicated my attempts to reuse the wiring.

Ultimately, I came up with what a rocket scientist would call "a compromise." A pair of bolt cutters and a map to the local truck-supply warehouse's storage yard soon provided me with a nifty diesel-fired interior heater, a roaring flame that consumes all and produces enough heat to make toast from three feet away. Ratchet-strapped to the place where the passenger seat used to be, it will keep my fingers warm, as well as my feet and every other part of my body. Sure, it's inconvenient having to continually refill it with stolen farm diesel, and I could have run the exhaust pipe out of the cabin a better way than through the rust hole in the floor. Once you get that heated seat feeling, though, you simply can't go back. If you'll excuse me, I need to get going: if I don't get to work in the next five minutes, my boots will melt again.

[a-whisper-in-the-forest]

A deal

Part 1 (Disgraced apple pie) Part 2 (A work of art)

TW: Violence

Hero adjusts the earpiece in their ear. The annoying thing has a tendency to fall out during fights.

“Hero, can you hear me?”

Other Hero's voice sounds through the earpiece. “Yes, I can hear you.” Hero says with a nervous edge in their voice. These fights stress them out every time. Whoever said that it gets easier, has never been in a fight.

The Agency send Hero and their team to investigate an empty warehouse, on the edge of the city. There have been a few sightings of villains and henchmen walking in and out of the building. According to their surveillance team, there should be no one inside now. The perfect opportunity to know what those criminals are doing.

“Alright, there should be a hallway on your left side. Go through there. There should be a big storage room at the end.”

They hear Other Hero crackling through the earpiece. “Got it,” Hero answers, sneaking through the hallway. Sure enough, they can see an open door leading towards a big storage room. When they move towards the door, they hear a voice from inside.

“I'm telling you, Supervillain is going to reward us for this one. They're gonna see how much of an asset I am.” Other Villain's voice echoes through the room. Hero's hair on the back of their neck stands up straight. They don't like Other Villain. No one does. They might not be the most powerful one, but they have no regard for personal safety and will not stop at anything. That is what makes them dangerous.

“I'm gonna get my own lair or something. Something big is going to happen, mark my words,” Other Villain continues. Hero tries to inch closer but stops the moment they hear the other's voice. “For the third time today, shut up.” The cold voice is immediately recognised by Hero. Villain? What are they doing here? Supervillain only sends Villain if it's something serious.

“And for the third time, no. I do what I want. You're not-” Other Villain didn't get to finish that sentence. “Ouch, you motherf- ouch. Why would you punch me like that?” Other Villains hisses in pain. “I told you to shut up, didn't I?”

As Hero scoots closer, they can see behind the corner. Other Villain is walking around while Villain sits on some sort of crate. Both of them are suited up and ready for a fight. If this ends up in a fight, Hero is going to need a whole lot of backup.

All of a sudden, they can hear some muffled cries. As their eyes dart around the room to find the source, they can see a hunched over person bound to a chair. They may be sitting in a dark corner but Hero can easily distinguish the Sidekick's uniform. They quickly go a bit back in the hallway so there's a slimmer chance of being heard. “Other Hero?”

"Yes? Everything alright?”

Other Hero responds through the earpiece. “I think i just found the missing Sidekick from the Other team.”

"Oh, that's great. Are they okay?"

“I don't know, they´re being guarded by Villain and Other Villain.”

“I am calling back up. I will be back in a minute.”

Hero looks around the corner again only to see Other Villain gone. “Did your mother never tell you that it is rude to eavesdrop?” Hero's heart sank as they heard the voice behind them. They slowly turned around. “Hi~,” they say, looking like a deer in headlights. 

“If I were you, I'd run.” 

Hero didn't waste another second and bolted to the nearest exit. A bright flame flies next to them, hitting a nearby wall. Their earpiece flies out by the sudden movements. They don't dare to look back and keep running. They try to see the building’s lay-out in their mind.There is no way they can beat Other Villain on their own. If they go left on the next corner, there should be an exit close by. 

“If you want them to stay alive, I'd stop,” Villain says behind them. They stop dead in their tracks. They turn around to see the Sidekick held up in the air by shadows. “What do you want?” Hero asks, growing desperate seeing the sidekick panic in their shadow bonds. “A little favor.” Other Villain says, having caught up with them. “Like what?” What could they possibly ask for? “All the heroes' personal files would do the trick.” Other Villain smiles, standing with confidence next to the struggling Sidekick. “I can't do that…”

“Well, guess Villain here can have some more fun with Sidekick then.” With perfect timing the Sidekick starts to scream. “Stop, not again! Please!”

They look at Villain. How is this the same person that they talked to for hours in that diner? They looked at Villain's face to expect the same smug grin as Other Villain, or at least a glint of malicious pleasure in their eyes. They didn't find any. They see a sadness they can't quite explain. If they are so against doing this, then why are they doing it anyway?

“So?” Other Villain asks. “Fine, I'll do it. Give them over now,” Hero answers quickly. They were so gonna get in trouble for this. That's a problem for later. They first need to get Sidekick out of here and get them medical treatment. “I don't think so. You can have them back when we have the files. Sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?” Villain gives Other Villain an annoyed look. They stopped hurting Sidekick as soon as the Hero said ‘fine’. 

“Alright then,” Hero says reluctantly. “Where do I drop off?”

“You know where,” Villain answers the question. “In two days.”

“Done.” And with that Hero turned around to go look for their team. Villain has a lot of explaining to do next time.

~

What Hero doesn't see, is a figure appearing out of the shadows, well hidden by Villain's powers. “Good job, you two. Villain, how about you bring our little friend home? Other Villain and I still have some grocery shopping to do. I am giving you your reward by not pushing you into a crowd, which I know you hate.” The figure steps forward and caresses Villain's cheek. “What do we say then?”

“Thank you, Supervillain.”

Next part

Hi! Finally part 3 of this series! I did struggle with this part so I hope it lives up to your expectations. I hope that the next parts come a bit easier :).

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[edamette]

A package

a little headcanon story about how König got his bracelet of the arachnid skin

Your wrist aches and you can’t get it out of the grip. The coldness in his gaze burns more than the bitter frost.

“Do that again and I’ll break it.”

You jerk your hand, but he doesn’t let go warningly, he holds it for another second, and then only slightly loosens his grip.

“What the hell?” you frown. König now looked like he didn't recognize you. He looks at your hand, then at your face and only says:

“Nein.”

His fingers feel your quickening pulse. The fabric of the glove scratches the skin unpleasantly. It’s hard to read his emotions on his face, hidden by the mask and balaclava that you tried to pull off. You glare at him angrily and jerk your hand again.

“Do you understand?”

The air seemed to become tense.

“König,” you mutter through clenched teeth, “let me go.”

He looks at you for a while longer, and then releases your hand. Your face darkens with anger.

“Are you satisfied?” his voice lowered, his arms crossed over his chest.

“And what was that?” you give him an equally cold look, instinctively rubbing your wrist.

König remains silent, as if testing you, and only after a while breaks it:

“I don’t like it when people touch me without permission,” his fingers twitch reflexively, as if trying to grab onto something, to defend himself, “if you’re done trying to remove the mask, you can continue.”

“At first you don’t react when your name is called, and then you attack and are ready to break my arms,” you snort irritably.

His eyes narrow.

“You shouldn’t take lack of reaction as permission to touch me whenever you want. But keep that warning in mind.”

“Screw you,” you say angrily.

He clenches his jaw and looms over you as an ebon shadow in response to this behavior, and then raises his voice.

“Screw me, but you'll lick the entire warehouse clean today. Another insubordination - you will do it with your tongue. And now, fifty push-ups.”

You silently look into his eyes. It feels like you are crossing blades, as if testing who has the stronger steel in eyes.

“Eighty,” he says evenly.

Anger makes you feel noticeably vulnerable, and you deliberately replace it with disdain and indifference in your eyes. Raising your chin arrogantly, you lower yourself to the floor and begin to do push-ups. König towers over you like a silent rock, crossing his arms over his chest and watching you do the exercises.

“Don't lift your head. And don’t spread elbows.” a voice is heard from above.

You grit your teeth but don't say anything.

When you finish the last push-up and stand up, he's still looking at you expectantly.

“Since you’ve finished reading the lectures, then I’ll go,” without waiting for any answer, you walk around him, heading towards the exit.

König allowed you a lot. Even more. As soon as you leave, he sighs tiredly. You needed to tell him something, but now pride clouds your mind, and you leave on principle without saying a word about it.

You decisively walk along the hallways of the base and at some point, turn into a weapons storage. You do everything automatically, attach the card, open the desired locker and take out your favorite rifle. A brand new one, received quite recently, somewhat modified, but with a couple of scratches from previous missions. You take out a rag and begin to mindlessly but diligently move it over it, wiping the already clean trunk. You do not pay attention to the shadow that loomed after some time in your peripheral vision, continuing to wipe your weapon even with excessive zeal.

You glance into nothing at some point, without looking at König standing silently in the doorway, leaning his shoulder on the door frame.

The silent presence gets on your nerves, and you put the rifle butt down on the floor, turning to König. Your hand rests possessively on the gun, as if provoking him. Many in KorTac knew about his desire to become a sniper. König is silent for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before finally breaking the silence with a response. His voice is calm but firm as he says:

“You know that handling a sniper rifle should not be taken lightly. It takes discipline and focus,” he pauses for a moment, studying your confident stance and the way you hold your rifle with the ease of an expert and the way you roll your eyes before continuing, “but to become a true sniper, it takes more than just skill.”

You look at him for a few moments with your mouth slightly open and your eyebrows drawn together on the bridge of your nose. A provocation to provoke emotions and teach a lesson? First a laugh escapes your throat involuntarily, then a second, and then you burst into laughter, shaking your whole body.

“Are you serious now?” you ask, giggling.

No, definitely an attempt to smooth things over. He knows how stupid his line sounds, he deliberately encourages you to laugh, he wants to relieve the tension between you. König is silent, checking the reaction. His emotions cannot be counted under the mask, but by the way his chest sank and his eyes half-closed, you understand that he exhaled with relief.

“And you seem to understand this,” you decide to play along with him, teasing him in response.

Something trembled in the depths of his eyes.

“Do you think it's just a matter of weapons? I would have done great if only I had been given the chance.”

You fall silent, looking intently into his eyes. Your eyebrows go up. His remark, similar to an excuse, sounded like a cry from the soul. You knew he wanted to be a sniper, but you didn’t think it would affect him so much, especially after all this time. His words hang in the air. Suddenly becoming serious, you look at him for a few seconds, and after a while you silently nod to the seat next to you, calling him to sit down. König’s gaze flickers between you and the spot you pointed to. After a moment's hesitation, he takes a step closer, heading towards you. Without a word, he sits down next to you, his massive body a stark contrast to your much smaller frame.

Without further ado, you hand him the rifle. He carefully takes it from your hands, his fingers wrapping around the shaft. The weight of the weapon seems to make him feel a little nostalgic, and his touch on it is combined with a mixture of respect and longing, as if he were holding something fragile and long lost. You watch his reaction sideways, watching as he takes the rifle off the safety, checks the magazine, adjusts the scope. All these movements are neat, honed to the point of automaticity. You rest your elbows on your knees, burying your face in your hands, looking away guiltily, not wanting to bother him with it.

“I like this model even more than the previous one. And the sight was finally well calibrated,” you say, as if by chance.

“They finally did something honestly,” König agrees.

He disassembled the rifle with obvious pleasure from the process. You lean back tiredly and stretch your legs, listening to the metallic clicks. As you watch him, you notice how the tension in his shoulders gradually eases. Apparently, this moment of concentration brings him peace. When König hands the rifle back to you, you give him a straight look before taking it from his hands and placing the weapon in the locker. An unspoken peace was concluded.

You leave the warehouse together and König accompanies you with a heavy tread. Entering the dining room, you silently sit down at the table while he rummages through the drawers. The silence is deafening, the aroma of coffee fills the room, and you point your nose towards the kitchen. You close your eyes and listen in silence.

König puts a couple of cups on the table and sits down opposite. Indifferently he pulls off his mask. You had seen his face more than once, but something stirred inside you every time he took it off. You didn’t understand why he wears it all the time, he doesn’t have any serious injuries or flaws on his face to hide them. His face is the most normal, but at the same time he reacted so violently when you tried to pull it off that it confused you.

The ocean depth of his eyes rushes into you, noticing your attention. He leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee, without looking away and as if asking: “Are you satisfied?” You just grin in response, repeating his action. When the cup lands on the table, you decide to break the silence with what you came to him for in the first place:

“There is a package for you. They say it was from one of the hostages you rescued in Berlin.”

König looks thoughtful, then nods slightly, accepting the information, taking a couple more sips.

“Thank you.”

He finishes his coffee before you do, and then gets up and leaves the kitchen. You slouch, throwing one arm over the back of the chair and smiling sadly at his dry gratitude, looking into your cup. Something was missing. Even though peace had been restored between you, a piece of the puzzle seemed missing. You slump in a chair, sighing as you stare at the ceiling.

But you raise your head in surprise, instantly straighten up after a while, hearing footsteps and again seeing the tall figure of König. He crosses the room and sits down again, placing the small box on the table. Without wasting any time, König opens it to the confusion and interest in your gaze. You watch patiently as he unfolds the neatly folded letter.

“Hello, Colonel,” he begins.

The corners of your lips creep up, and you listen to him read out the text. Shy and sweet formulations, tons of epithets and thanks testify to the young age of the author, which you cannot help but be touched by. A gift was attached to the letter. König takes out a scarlet bracelet, clearly handmade, and examines it.

“Will you wear it?” your smile widens, and you can’t understand why exactly: how nice the author of the package is or because König trusted you, since he decided to show what he received.

His gesture seemed to now burn out all the negative emotions inside that filled you before. He puts on a bright bracelet that contrasts so sharply with his uniform, glinting in the dim light. He twists his hand, looking from different sides.

“Of course I will.”

[drivinmeinsane]

Snowstorm ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Ten ※ Colt Seavers / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You and Colt discover that some gambles don't pay off.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Cuddling for Warmth, Ill-advised Winter Safety Practices, Fluff/Humor

※ Word count: 1998

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Despite your layers, you’re shivering enough that your teeth feel like they’re going to rattle right out of your skull. It’s hard to imagine that the weather is going to take a turn for the worse when it’s already cold enough in the warehouse that everyone’s breath is visible in front of their faces. This far north by the Great Lakes is always a gamble this time of year. This movie production is certainly not winning the lottery. 

“Alright crew, let's wrap this up,” calls the team lead. 

Everyone picks up speed, finishing their tasks so they can separate into pairs and small groups to carpool back to their temporary housing. Automatically, you gravitate towards Colt. The two of you have been working off and on together for years on various movie sets. Being around him comes as easily and naturally as breathing. It was a massive relief when you were assigned to share an airbnb for the couple months you’re going to be spending here. 

“This sucks, huh?” You comment, helping him to roll up an impact mat. 

He laughs, breath clouding the air. “Yeah, it super sucks.”

The rest of the crew files out while the two of you work, alternating between sweating and freezing. Securing all the impact mats for storage is a miserable task, but it gets done. The building is empty aside from Colt and you. 

The stunt guy straightens up, groaning as his back loudly pops. “Ready to bounce on outta here?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

At the door, the two of you take the time to adjust your layers. Colt wraps your scarf around your head teasingly after offering to help you put it on. You give him a scathing look between the layers of material before you break and the two of you start laughing. Colt is wiping at his eyes, still chuckling a little, when you shove the door open. 

The cold air immediately tears right through your clothes. The hollow thud and click of the door closing and locking behind you both sounds ominous. Colt offers his arm to you and you take it, resigning yourself to the weather conditions. The snow is coming down heavily, making it difficult to see across the sprawling parking. 

Your Lord of the Rings worthy journey to Colt’s truck starts out easily enough, until you wipe out on a snow-covered patch of ice. If it wasn’t for the death grip you have on each other's arms, you would bust your ass right then and there. Instead, you and Colt end up doing a weird dance to try to stay upright. 

“Maybe we should consider a career in couples ice skating. Maybe retire from the stunts biz.” Colt suggests, breathing heavily from the unexpected exertion.

“Toddler level, maybe,” you grumble back, foot skidding again. You hate the fact that the stunt crew has to park clear out of the way on the very fringes of the parking lot. 

You risk a glance at your coworker. His gaze is focused intently on the ground. Snowflakes are collecting in his beard and in his shaggy hair, making his blue eyes appear even bluer. After what feels like an age of taking minuscule steps across a frozen wasteland, you finally spot his garishly colored truck through the snow. You’ve never been happier to see the yellow and brown eyesore. 

Colt helps you up into the passenger seat. Once you're settled, he pushes his tuck keys into your hand. You pass him the windshield scraper in return. It was a new purchase after having to use the airbnb’s dustpan the first morning the two of you had walked out to the vehicle to find it under a thick layer of snow. 

“Start her for me?”

Mumbling an affirmative, you lean over and slot the key into the ignition switch and twist. The truck sparks to life with a smooth rumble. Meanwhile, Colt skirts around the edge of the vehicle. He’s scraping at the windshield, chiseling the packed snow in sheets. He suddenly slips, hitting his sternum on the truck’s grille guard. Upon seeing your horrified expression through the cleared glass, he flashes you a thumbs up and a grimace. You give him the same in return.

Working faster now, he finishes the windshield and makes sure that the side windows and mirrors are clear. He knocks the scraper clean before opening the door and heaving himself into the truck. The stunt man tosses it at your feet onto the already cluttered floorboard. The cold air that followed him into the cab does neither of you any favors.

“You think we’re good, Colt?” You ask, watching him pull off his gloves and tuck them into his sun visor for safekeeping.

“Hope so. If it doesn't get worse we should be fine,” he says with a shrug only to yelp when his bare hands come in contact with the steering wheel. “Shit, that’s cold!”

With the heat on full blast, Colt backs out of the parking lot and then you’re off to the airbnb. He handles the truck expertly. While not used to driving in what is essentially a blizzard, the man has done enough crazy stunts to keep from skidding all over the road. That and his monstrosity of a vehicle with its sizable off-roading tires makes the trip go a little easier. 

“Colt…” You say, worried. The weather is getting worse, much worse. The truck is struggling to maintain traction.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” Both of you are so glued to the increasingly limited visibility and heavier snowfall that neither of you acknowledge the unintentional endearment Colt lets slip.

Spotting a ihop coming up, he makes the choice to pull into the empty lot. There’s no way he’s going to be able to push through. The weather is just too bad for his vehicle. The restaurant is clearly closed. This isn’t the southern part of the United States where there’s a Waffle House around to keep its doors open no matter the situation.

“There’s no way a tow truck is going to be able to get out here, is there?” You comment rhetorically. 

Beside you, Colt groans when he can’t get reception on his cell phone. “Looks like we’re going to be here until the plows come through. Might be in the morning.”

You sigh and settle into your seat. Both of your phone batteries are too low to risk running them down by idly scrolling through old saved pictures. It’s going to be a long night. 

To pass the time, you decide to lean over and rummage through the pile of trash and receipts on the floorboard. Like his apartment, he does not keep his truck clean or organized. You spend the next couple hours going through his receipts and judging him for his purchases. It’s mostly “Another Bonsai tree?” and “Just how much do you love this fast food place?” while your best friend does his damndest to defend himself as though he’s in front of an imaginary jury. 

Eventually, the light fades too much to see the small text. Colt has long since turned off the truck. As the sun dips below the horizon, it gets colder in the cab. 

You shiver and Colt notices. “C’mere.”

You slide across the bench seat and underneath his offered arm. He’s warm but the meager contact is too scant to do much. You seem to take turns shivering against one another. 

“It’s a shame we don’t have a tauntaun,” he says suddenly. 

You turn your face into the side of his chest to smother a groan at the reference. “I’d give anything for a hot drink right now.”

Colt makes a sound in agreement and slides down in his seat, struggling to get comfortable. His knee hits the steering wheel and you feel his pained exhale. “Yeah, I would too.”

A particularly vicious wind tears over the truck. It feels like it bypasses the layers of barely insulated metal entirely. The two of you clutch at each other in response. The lack of light isn’t helping it feel any warmer or cozier. Snow has entirely covered the windshield and the windows are fogged up from your breath and body heat. 

“I’ll turn on the truck for a sec to run the heater, but then I guess we oughta try to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You don’t separate when Colt turns the key. The warm air is luxurious against your cold face. You nearly shove your fingers into the vent. He turns the truck off once you’re both sufficiently warmed. Now comes the difficult part, navigating where to put your bodies for sleep. The temperature has ruined any semblance of personal space. 

“Wanna be on top?” 

“If you insist on bottoming, stunt guy.”

“Oh, I always insist.”

Nearly hitting your head on the cab’s roof, you manage to shove yourself off of the bench seat enough for Colt to wedge himself into the short space. You can barely make out his shape. His hands find you and he guides you on top of himself. He hisses sharply and puts a hand over your kneecap when you graze it dangerously close to his crotch. 

“I don't have plans for kids any time soon, but I’d like to keep my options open,” he jokes.

Finally, you are settled on top of him. It’s incredibly uncomfortable for both of you. He’s got his knees drawn up, shins against the door. Your left knee is wedged between his hip and the seat as you lay with your cheek on his shoulder. His arms are up and around you. Yours are tucked alongside his torso with your hands under his shoulders. You feel like a pair of pretzels.

You lay in silence, listening to the winter storm outside. Both of you start to shiver again.

“I know it’s silly but-”

“This sucks so-” you accidentally start at the same time. “Go ahead,” you encourage. 

You hear him swallow. He seems stiff, nervous all of a sudden. “I know it’s silly, but uh… skin to skin contact works. With us both wearing jackets we can’t share body heat as well. So maybe if we… Wow, I promise I’m not trying to come onto you.”

“Okay.” You say gently.  

Sitting up in his lap, his hands fall from your back to the sides of your hips. You unzip your jacket. You’re instantly colder. Underneath you, you feel Colt’s breath hitch and pick up the pace. You put your hands on his amble chest and find his coat zipper and tug it down. His fingers twitch, but they don’t make any move to stop you. You push his shirt up over his pectorals, all the way to his neck. You don’t touch his bare skin with your fingers. His hands find the hem of your shirt and together you draw it up to your collarbone. Both of you are bared in the truck cabin. 

The man leaves you holding your shirt in place while his hands move to your back. He guides you into laying down on top of him. Your friend sucks in a breath and exhales slowly as inch by inch you make contact. Your bare skin colliding is sinfully warm. 

You sigh into his neck, resisting the urge to press a kiss against it even as the stubble of his jaw grazes your face. He pulls his jacket up and over you as much as he can. His hold on you is tight, comforting. The direct contact of his body provides much more heat than between the layers. You’re not as cold as you were before. 

“Heck of a holiday season, huh?” You mumble, already beginning to drift off.

Colt hums in agreement. Before you slip entirely under into the oblivion of sleep, you swear you feel a kiss pressed to your forehead and a low “Sweet dreams.” that rumbles against your chest.

[empressofthesunwriter]

Beauty Is A Curse

Queen B.

Beauty Queen.

Wear your mask, don't let them see.

The Girl underneath.

Hide, hide, hide under snide and pride.

Use a sharp tongue to make them bow.

You are the Queen of this school.

Beautiful, so beautiful, yet deep down, you feel so vacant.

You scream inside and no one hears.

They love your face, but what about your soul?

Beauty is a curse for sure.

Four

#NO COMMENTS NO CHAPTER

(*)

Paulina was scared.

She never felt such terror like this.

And the best part was that Danny was away and couldn't even talk her down.

Shaking sitting in her Hideout, thinking about what happened these days.

When she had gone to the cinema with Star, they had seen the cardboard cutout for the newest Sayonara Pussycat movie.

Star had out loud wished to be as cute as the anime cat and...poof she turned into a chibi-version of herself.

Paulina just stared on with an open mouth at how all adored and celebrated her transformed friend.

She didn't know what to do.

Then a flash of white and black tackled Chibi-Star and they were gone.

Finally, Paulina could move again.

Star was a cruel bitch, but she was still her best friend.

So Paulina searched for her and both friends found each other in a storage room of the cinema.

Star didn't remember anything, only her head hurt.

This already was creepy and scary, however, what happened the next day to herself, set Paulina off.

Till now she couldn't explain it.

One moment she was walking outside school, enjoying her lunchtime, the next...it was like she had fallen asleep.

She only remembered how a voice that wasn't hers yelled out loud that she wasn't friends with Danny anymore before the narcotic feeling left her and she had control over her body again.

Ignoring all the confused stares of her classmates, she hightailed out of the situation.

What was going on in Amity Park?

The Latina had tried talking to Danny, but to her luck, he caught a bad cold and now was off to Wisconsin with his family to participate in the college reunion of his parents.

What should she do?

Could she do something?

That's when a crazy idea formed in her head.

Fast she returned home and sat before her computer.

She took a deep breath, tipping supernatural activities into the search machine.

Anything that had happened couldn't be explained normally...so it had to be the opposite.

For hours, she read, and read, and read till she found something that fit.

Ghosts.

What experts wrote on their powers, came really close to what she had experienced.

Signing she looked at the website.

When Danny returned she needed to talk to him.

(*)

Danny was happy and surprised at how Paulina wanted to meet up with him in a secret place.

Of course, his brain got wild ideas, which he tried to calm down.

Still...if they did kiss this whole disaster of a weekend would turn out good.

He entered the abandoned warehouse where Paulina wanted to meet him and got up on the rooftop.

There he saw her in clothes he never guessed she owned.

A big black hoody, jogging pants and sneakers.

She was absolutely cute.

"Hey Paulina.", he greeted her warmly. "How are you? You sounded frantic on the phone."

His crush stepped to him and formally threw herself into his arms.

Danny blushed up a storm but held her tight as she started to unload all that had troubled her the past weeks.

Oh dear god, he felt so guilty.

Paulina had noted all the ghost activities and that he and Tucker, when he had ghost powers for a while, overshadow her didn't help his crush at all to stay calm.

"I-I researched.", she stuttered, while Danny caressed her long black hair. "It points all out to Ghosts...Danny, I am crazy?"

She looked into his eyes, tears falling down.

No...it broke his heart.

In a way, it was his fault that she was like this.

Sam and Tucker, mostly Sam, would probably have his head for it, however, Paulina deserved to know that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

"No you are not crazy.", he assured her and made them both sit down on the ground. "I have to tell you something Paulina, but you have to swerve to not tell anyone."

Sniffling Paulina nodded.

So he started from the beginning.

How his parents made an inactive Ghost Portal, how he walked into it like a dumbass and it turned on and transformed him into a Half-Ghost.

How since then he fought ghosts left and right and all that she had seen and experienced had to do with his superhero side job.

"I never wanted to hurt anybody, especially you, some kind of hero I am.", he ended.

Fearful of her reaction he looked up and found a pensive Paulina.

She didn't scream, she didn't call him a freak, she calmly asked more questions to understand.

It seemed like hours they sat on this rooftop till Paulina was satisfied.

"I won't say I am happy about that you and your friend overshadow me.", she made clear. "But Danny you are a hero and use your powers for good. Thank you for trusting me with your secret I won't tell a soul."

"I'm glad I could calm you down Paulina, I was worried."

Shy he took her hand and caressed it.

This made Paulina blush cutely before she leaned in and gave him a cheek kiss, which made now him blush.

Now they were both blushing messes, smiling like lovey-dovey idiots at each other.

They both felt how their relationship turned deeper and more intimate.

And maybe one day they would have the courage to tell the other what they really felt.

But for the moment Danny helped her up and asked grinning: "Would you like to go on a flight?"

"I would love to.", agreed Paulina smiling.

In wonder, she saw how Danny transformed into his ghost half.

He was still the most handsome boy she knew.

Danny picked her up bridal-style, which made Paulina gasp and wrap her arms around his neck and shoot with her into the sky.

At first, Paulina had her eyes closed before Danny encouraged her to open them.

Since she trusted him with her life she did.

"Oh my gosh!", she gasped and looked at the faraway ground and then up to the starry sky above them. "It's absolutely beautiful!"

"This is my favourite part of my powers.", confessed Danny. "I love flying!"

Paulina gripped his neck harder and let out a pretty laugh as he flowed up higher.

"I can totally agree with that!"

It seemed they flew over Amity Park for hours before Danny brought her safely home.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush of course and both promised to see each other tomorrow in school.

With a lighter and happier heart, Paulina falls asleep.

(*)

#NO COMMENTS NO CHAPTER

[barry-j-blupjeans]

key to the storage unit/ oh but I gotta know? thank you!!!

object + emotion prompt list here! still accepting!!

19. Key to a storage unit.

20. OH BUT I GOTTA KNOW??? I GOTTA

--

Kravitz could have sworn that being sneaky used to be a lot easier. Maybe people— necromancers, in particular, because that's those are the only people Kravitz had been around for a good while— had just been stupider in the past? It was possible, considering the amount of necromantic knowledge that just got fuckin' blasted into everyone's heads thanks to Story and Song. People had definitely been more dumb when he was alive at least.

But maybe he was coming at this from a weird point of view, considering that he was still getting adjusted to having two people with him on every single mission. The two people who, in particular, had done most of the necromantic research that got blasted out to everyone. And the two people who had multi-classed in so much shit that Kravitz wasn't even sure what their main class was.

Kravitz missed when he only had to worry about Lup and Barry in abstract. Like, "wow, these folks have died way too many times, that's fucked up!" and not "if I say one wrong thing, they will immediately swarm me like over-eager dogs and demand to know where I'm going and if they can go with me".

Unfortunately, Kravitz was bad at saying the right things. So here he was, swarmed, just trying to get his work done.

"We have a storage unit???" Lup said, stepping out of the portal behind him. He heard Barry trip, but he didn't turn to help, because one: Barry should know better by now, and two: Kravitz had to mentally prepare for what was coming next.

"Yep," Kravitz said, walking up to the building. "Well, it's more of a warehouse, if we're being honest, but same difference." It was bleak and cold outside, but it always was in the astral plane. He'd given up asking for a heater long, long ago. Lup and Barry followed behind me.

"And you never told us because…??"

Kravitz stopped at the door, sighing. He turned to face them. Barry's glasses had begun to fog up due to the temperature.

"I need you to promise," Kravitz said, very seriously, very professionally, "that you will not take anything that is in there back with you. Okay? Just like, a little promise—"

"A prommy," Barry said. Lup nodded in agreement.

"A prommy, sure," Kravitz said. "You gotta prommy you won't take any of this shit home, okay?"

"What happens if we do, though," Lup said. She paused. "By accident."

"The Raven Queen will be very, very mad at you," Kravitz said. "Also, depending on what you take, it could fracture the connections between planes, or like, your mind, or your body, or someone else's mind or body, or— a lot of bad shit, is what I'm trying to say. Do you promise?"

Lup and Barry shared a look. That was never a good thing.

"Cross my heart," Barry said, drawing an X across his chest and holding his hand up, like a boy scout.

"Hope to die," Lup said sweetly.

That's… as good as he's going to get, probably. Kravitz turned back to the door, using his pinky to slice another portal through realities and reach his hand into it. He really needed to clean out this pocket dimension, because the minute and a half he spent rooting around in it did not help his cool factor, even like a little bit. He found like, fourteen pens before he found the key.

"What's even in there?" Lup asked as he dug around the pocket dimension. "I gotta know. For science reasons."

"Mostly pens," Kravitz said, embarrassed.

"No, the storage unit, babe," Lup said. "I couldn't care less about your fucked up pocket dimension. Taako's got a whole ass spa in his pocket, it can get worse than that."

It can, but Kravitz wasn't going to say that.

"Oh," Kravitz said. "I knew that."

"Sure you did, bud," Barry said.

"Well, uhm, it's a lot of different stuff?" Was that the key? Aw, fuck, nope, that's a fifteenth pen. "Mostly confiscated necromantic stuff— which you promised not to take!" He could practically hear their disappointment. "Mostly books, but there's some huge ass bones and a few like, cursed objects? It's hard to— You'll— you'll see what I mean."

At long last, he pulled the key out. The key itself was black and sapphire blue, with a raven skull as the bow. Behind him, Barry snapped in appreciation. He slid the key into the door, unlocking it, and then placed the key back in the pocket dimension, so future Kravitz could deal with it. (Future Kravitz would not.)

The room was large and, much like he said, mostly filled with books. There was a loft up near the rafters and rickety stairs that led up to it. Most of what was in here was dust, if he was being honest. Dust and spooky, illegal stuff.

"Alright," Kravitz said. "Much like the Eternal Stockade, this room is mainly a waiting chamber. We're trying to outlast the magical energy these objects have, basically. You should just be able to like, feel if the curses or enchantments have worn off already. If they have, we can start a pile right ov— and you're not listening anymore. Great. Stellar."

Barry and Lup had immediately split off behind him. Lup was headed towards the big bones, Barry was poking around at some of the books already.

Kravitz sighed again. It was going to be a very long day.

[tvchi]

Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 1

Villan

Lola

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK.

DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Kidnapping and Bondage.

Pairing: black male x black female

Word Count: 1942

A/N: So I'm fairly new to writing fan fiction and new to writing short stories. I began writing poetry and spoken word, then tried my hand at prose. I've been reading a lot of @megamindsecretlair 's stories as well as @thecapodomme 's story and I thought I'd try my hand. I have posted another short story that wasn't really fan fiction on my page before called The Challenge. I didnt cast it or anything this elaborate, but yea. I'm trying to get better at writing more stories and prompts really help. Casting my stories after writing them actually helps to keep me motivated so I thought this was a good marriage of the two forms. This story currently consists of two parts. I will lay the first part out and then link the second part (when I figure out how to do that lol). If these parts get positive feedback, then I'll force myself to develop the story even further and write the third. Your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog if the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️🥰

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm

PART 1

The sounds of footsteps are heard in the distance. They are all too familiar. The cadence of his strides haunts my dreams. Always four evenly paced steps before a slight halt. It’s almost as if he’s deciding, studying, …. calculating. He absorbs me. Maybe that’s how he can take me time and time again. He knows how I squirm, how I walk, how I do my hair, and the next time I’ll need tampons. At least, that’s what happened this time. I went to Kroger to get tampons, while walking back to my car everything went dark. 

Waking up here would make this the fourth time I have been dragged here in thirteen months. I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I keep getting taken or that I haven't made any strides to stop this from happening. The hard, steel chair that I’ve gotten to know these past couple of months comforts me a bit. It’s about the only thing that hasn’t changed. Every time, there's a different warehouse, dungeon, storage site, or wherever this is. The lights are always dimmed but there’s always a change in hue from the little I can see through the blindfold. The smells are different, sometimes reeking of mildew and sweat. Other times, it smelled of must and concrete. This time it smelled of wood and dust. Every time I would wake up to this familiar cold chair, I rubbed the spot where I scratched lines into the legs with my nails, and that’s when I knew I hadn't been making this up. 

He steps closer to me. Barely touching me, he lays something down at my feet.  Maintaining minimal contact is a good way to avoid a scuffle and getting his skin under my nails. It’s also a good way to prevent me from noticing a scent or any identifiable body markings, but I have the smell of a bloodhound. Something is different. Something has changed. He doesn’t smell of the usual skin and sweat but of something recognizable. Something that I’ve smelled many times before but can’t quite place.  

    “Why me? Why are you always doing this to me? Have I done something to you,” I say hoarsely. 

I tried my best to keep my voice even. This was an attempt at a conversation, not a cry for mercy or an admonishment. He said nothing. He never speaks. 

 “I just want to know why you keep taking me and then letting me go. Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill me?” I ask, measuring my breaths in between words. Calm. Even. 

He remains silent. That was irritating to me. The least he could do was reveal a sinister plot or threaten to kill me. He wields his power mercilessly, offering me nothing to hang on to not even the next minutes. There is nothing to look forward to but darkness. I can’t plan my prayers or meals or thoughts. I never know when I’ll go; whether this time will be the last. 

The heavy thud of his footsteps suggests that he wears construction or heavy hiking boots. He walks beyond me, hopefully, to retrieve some water or food now that I’m awake. Our last couple of encounters have convinced me that he can’t cook worth a damn. Each time even worse than the last. I never look forward to his sardine surprises, and sometimes, he mixes them with canned beans or cream corn. I imagine that he’ll stay away from the beans this time, being that he had to empty two buckets worth of shit last time. I didn’t feel bad or embarrassed either. Fuck ‘im. That's what you get for kidnapping a girl with a sensitive stomach. I’d kill for a sardine sandwich right about now, though. 

It fell silent for a while. 

That means this room is large or leads to other rooms. The problem is, I never can find a way out. I’ve only been freed because he had let me go. Once, some homeless men found me in an old sewage system. Another time, I was in a forest preserve forty-two miles from home and I hiker alerted the police. Yet another time, I was found by a janitor in the basement of a city mall that was getting renovated. This last time, I woke up chained to a different chair in the expressway facing oncoming traffic. That made the news. No one knew how I got there. No one saw anything. The street cameras were as useless as the people the police interviewed. Each time he frees me it gets more elaborate. This time, I don’t struggle or exhaust myself trying to imagine an escape. No. This time, I should start looking for patterns and motives. Who would do this to me? Who hates me so much to have me kidnapped once a month? I don’t make many enemies as a data analyst. I’ve worked on some high-profile cases recently, but no one gives credit to the data analyst who tracks the numbers and bank accounts of the bad guys. All the credit goes to the men in black or the blue windbreakers. He never asks for any information from me. This can’t be from work. 

“Not again,” I think as my heart quickens its pace. 

I feel him before I hear him. He walks back towards me. This time another sound accompanies him, a light yet sharp resonance. It is chow time. He sits the food down in front of me and removes the blindfold. It’s dark, with just a stream of light peeking through, reminiscent of those through a pinhole camera, to illuminate the cold plate in front of me. As I glance over my plate, his gaze brooding over me at a distance, I wonder how he could even see in the dark. He could go one living in the shadows, feasting on girls shopping at Kroger, dragging his spoils back to his layer. 

My inner thoughts are running wild at this point.

“Ok, focus on what you know, Lola,” I think. 

I don’t personally know any creeps who would keep doing this to me. I stopped dating entirely after the first time this happened. After the second time, I was scared to leave my house, so I had a therapist and a psychoanalyst come to my house three times a week to walk me through what happened and get me acclimated to going outside again. They claimed I wasn’t a true agoraphobe, I just had severe PTSD. The third time it happened, a bunch of shitty kids heard about my story and decided to go on social media and talk about how I was probably staging my kidnappings. The videos went viral. The police started coming by less and less and brushing off my case. I was no longer a priority but a possible psych case. I started thinking that maybe I was going crazy and perhaps I was staging these kidnappings, blacking out, and forgetting my elaborate plans for attention. I was enrolled in group therapy and started focusing on healing. After that, I started going out with the new friends I met in group therapy. I even managed to bump into the most thoughtful man on earth. 

“Shit, is Max looking for me? Has he called me? Did he go by the house?” my thoughts spiraling. 

“You should know that I’m on my period and I need to change my feminine products. Folks don’t think about that when they are kidnapping women. At least, I don’t think they do. You never really see it in the movies. No action movie that I have ever seen had a girl kidnapped in the thick of her menstrual cycle. You should call Paramount about that and show ‘em how it’s done. Representation and all that. Justice for the vaginas. Hashtag: me too, my period is not taboo!” I rambled. 

I do that when I’m nervous. I do that when there’s nothing else to do. Maybe it’s because I fear silence. I wonder if the last thing I’ll hear is nothing at all. I take another teaspoon of spam and throw it into my mouth, attempting to swallow it instead of chewing. I feel around for the glass of water he always puts beside the beef, being careful not to knock it over. Once I find it, I chug it down. It would be the last bit of water I’ll have until it’s time to eat again. He walks back to me and takes away the tray with the water and the plate of barely-eaten Spam. I try to look around as much as possible before he places the blindfold back over my eyes. I feel around for any loose object on the ground with my feet, hoping to find something that I could use to get me out of the zip ties he will place back around my wrists. I try to wiggle my way out of the ties around my ankles in a last-ditch effort. I give it the good old college try for tradition’s sake and then give up as his footsteps return. I wonder if he just saw all of that. I wonder if he was looking right at me.

He is back right in front of me now, and there is a pause for a moment, almost as if he is deciding on something. A moment later, he places the blindfold back over my eyes and lifts me out of the chair in one swift motion. We are closer now. And there it is again—Musk, sweat, and …sandalwood. I hold onto that as we walk about twenty paces and then turn a corner. Within five more paces, we come to a door. He opens it and sits me on what feels like a toilet. The lights are dimmed and he places a thin, square object in my left hand and a couple of thinner, tubular objects in my right hand. Wait, are these…are these feminine products? Had he granted a request? That was a …first. 

“I’m going to need to see or else there'll be blood everywhere. I would hate for that to happen, especially given what happened last time. We don’t have the greatest track record with bodily fluids,” I jest.  

There was a pause. A hare longer than the one before I was carried over here. He was contemplating again. The door slammed in my face when the blindfold was finally lifted, and the surrounding light dimmed significantly. I could tell that he was directly behind the door. He was probably watching, who knows, but I peed and changed. I feel clean and dry for the first time since waking up to this darkness. I am grateful. I also thought about what I could use to get out of those zip ties he’d place me back in once he noticed I was finished. I’ll shove the other two tampons in my boots for now. I’ll figure out what to do with these later. I knocked on the door to signal that I was done. He opens the door and carries me back to the chair. Once at the chair, he places my hands behind my back and zip-ties them. He ties the blindfold lightly over my eyes and places what appears to be extra water by my side before walking out of the vicinity. 

“Being extra nice to me, Sandalwood,” I taunt. “Must be the period thing.”

PART 2

[ruvastuon]

Thanks for another fun prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial !

Happy New Year!

This is another random snippet inspired by the prompt.

Cold Winters Night

The falling snow turned to slush around midday and had continued pelting down in an endless onslaught well into the evening. Annexed from the other houses and nestled between two towering warehouses, a pair of windows glowed brightly with an inviting warmth that seemed to cut through the howling wind. Inside, the fire burned brightly, keeping the week's soup and most of the bar toasty. It helped that Zora had finally invested in some proper insulation over the summer months, but what good did it do her if there were no customers filling the tables?

Usually, around this time, the bar would be packed with workers, just back from the mines, drinking and carrying on about whatever petty squabbles that had grabbed their attention this week. Today, it seemed that the slush was enough of a deterrent to send them all scurrying back to whatever holes they called home. Even the corner closest to the fire was completely empty. If the weather continued to get worse, and this became a trend, she might have to take Ruth up on her offer to go to the country for a bit. It would be nice to see the kids again, even if she’d end up suffering another lecture about starting her own family, and Prior had been asking to borrow the bar for storage anyway.

Just as she was convincing herself that the trip would be a good choice, Zora’s solitude was interrupted by the little bell above the main door ringing. A dripping figure draped in a brown sack stepped through her door, tracking in a mess of ice. The shivering child who barely stood three feet tall struggled to close the thick oak door before turning to the counter and tottering forward. From the boney limbs poking out from under her ragged clothes, the child looked to be a beggar, but Zora hadn’t heard word of any kids on the streets lately.

When the child finally made it to the bar, Zora watched in silence as the scruffy child pulled herself slowly onto one of the bar stools and shoved a bag across the counter towards her. As the torn burlap scraped forwards, the twine strap holding it closed came loose, spilling shining gold coins between them. The child looked from the coin up to Zora with a determined expression that didn’t belong on such a young face.

“I want you to be my father.”

Zora briefly wondered if her years of drinking had finally resulted in hallucinations but quickly decided that the child was just confused. Turning away from the child, Zora grabbed a clean bowl and filled it with soup. Her appearance had always been on the masculine side, sure, but usually flirtatious drunks were the only ones to mistake her for a man. Maybe Prior wasn’t completely off basis with how much she’d let herself go.

“Eat up kid.”

Setting the soup down, Zora watched the child’s eyes light up.

“Thanks Dad!”

After gulping down the soup like a starving animal, the child gave her a big smile and offered up the clean bowl. Zora chuckled and accepted it, filling the bowl once more, much to the child’s delight. She wasn’t sure what this father business was all about, but there was nothing else going on tonight, and it wouldn’t hurt to figure out what the kid was doing with so much gold.

[chronal-anomaly]

The Healy family farm is a 1600 acre mixed family farm in the hills of Ireland. While it began life as a much more modest 600 acres owned by her grandparents, years of family coming and buying out the land surrounding the once-small farm, built the land into more of a compound.

There are seven families that live on this farm, each house sitting on a few acres of land in a semi circle, with her grandparents house sitting as the apex of the half circle. A gravel drive to the nearby dirt road twists through a fence of trees, pastures lining the winding gravel. The driveway divvy out into individual driveways, spokes on a wheel, certain degrees of separation.

Aunts and uncles reside in the houses surrounding the main house, each with a handful of kids varying in age ranging from unborn to twenty two. They attend school and work the farm on the side, each with their own plans for school and work. Two of the older children have enlisted once again, and are currently stationed overseas. Others have plans to study law, go into humanitarian aid, or stay with the farm, among other options. The adults consist of veterans of the omnic war, each missing fingers or limbs, one of her aunts picking up Irish sign language after a bomb stole her hearing. Banged and dented military prosthetics replace what could be replaced. They're wounded, grizzled fighters with some heavy PTSD issues, looking for a quiet, healthy place to retire.

In additional to the houses, there are a handful of outbuildings, pole barns and storage spaces, shipping containers and garages, that litter the property, somewhat scattered across the farm depending on use and purpose. Tractor storage, a garage with a car lift, barns for livestock, etc. One of these out buildings has been converted into an apartment; meager living, but all the necessities - a fridge, microwave, tv with dvds (no cable lmfao), couch and bed, heater. The couch and bed are made with handmade quilts, thick and heavy and warm. The family calls this "the warehouse", long-term storage dominating the remainder of the building. The apartment is located on an upper floor, accessible by stairs both indoors and outside. While the warehouse itself can run pretty cold, especially in the winter months, the heavy blankets and rugs are good at trapping heat in the insulated apartment - it's a comfortable enough stay.

The Warehouse has long been used as a multi-purpose space - guest bedroom, homework nook, place to smoke weed and avoid the attention of parents, and just somewhere to go for some quiet. The idea was born from one of her uncles, who was caught in a PTSD episode and disappeared into a to a loft for a week. Following this episode, some of the older cousins and two aunts spent a weekend laying the framework for the loft apartment. It provided people a place to go, whenever they needed space; while the houses were separated, sometimes more distance was helpful.

Lena grew up going to the farm during school breaks, as a way to get her away from a pretty hard-off London and into the countryside for some much-needed fresh air and space. She learned to mend fences, ride horses, what the best times to plant and harvest, and as she got older, how to butcher animals. Her yearly trips to the farm dwindled as she entered her teen years, with life getting busy and the military actively scouting her. By the time she turned sixteen, she was training full time to enter the RAF military academy and lost touch with her friends and family on the farm.

Lena did not return to the farm for many years following this transition. From the miliary academy to active duty, to the Slipstream project and all that came after - life got in the way. She'd answer the occasional text, tell them what she could about the slipstream project, but never quite made it back to the farm proper.

Despite mixed feelings on Overwatch itself, her family was all very elated for her; their little girl, a soldier, a survivor. And the face of Overwatch, but that merit wasn't all that cracked up in their eyes. There's a standing offer, at the farm, for her to return any time, if the fame and the fortune got to be too much for her. She could return to the humble beginnings and find peace there.

And return she did, stepping among the ash and rubble of her life she traded everything to build. Following the fall of Overwatch, the Swiss base explosion, and eventually being released from her arrest, Lena was left with very little. She defined herself within the boundaries of Overwatch, built her friends and family in direct correlation with it. Her friends and family dead or scattered to the wind, Lena limped home.

They welcomed her with open arms, the prodigal daughter returned. While the family was ready to pull out all the stops, invite the neighbors for a party, and kickoff her return with a feast, Lena requested a quiet place to just lay low for a bit.

At first, she spent most of her time in a dusty attic in her grandparents house, an old bed up there and the space quiet enough, while still being close enough to family. She hated the idea of being alone, so the warehouse was out of the question. At the same time, Lena refused to come out of her attic, taking weeks to process all that had happened. Somebody dropped food off three times a day, with tea and snacks throughout the day, as well as old school paper and pen books. Lena forwent a phone, computer, anything that would connect her to the outside world, and spent much of the time journaling, paying homage to the stories she left behind and people she lost. On nice days, she'd open the window, listen to the cousins bicker and work outside, or listen to the family eat Sunday dinner at the large farmhouse table downstairs. It was her way of clutching onto family, of reminding herself that other people existed outside of the stale heat of the attic air.

After those first weeks had passed, Lena slowly became more social, stopping downstairs for dinner some nights, roaming the house at all hours while the family slept. She'd go for walks around the farm, occasionally running into cousins who avoided her eyes and ducked back into their homes, under threat of mucking out stables if they bothered the woman. Days marched on, and Lena found a horse, something familiar from a childhood she missed greatly. Riding was awkward, unwieldly, a body too used to the hum of engines and roar of rocket fuel beneath her, but the wind in her hair felt freeing. A woman born of speed, returned to it again.

Days turned into weeks, turned into months. Lena became an active participant in farm chores, reclaiming some absent hole in the everyday grind. The nightmares of the explosion only haunted her dreams some nights, and she could almost pretend that she didn't see the ghosts of the pasts that lurked in her periphery. Eventually, she moved out to the warehouse, a space more independent for her to rebuild. Her family still tip toed about her, not mentioning Overwatch.

After almost a year at the farm, Lena finally moved back to London, where she rented a small flat. She returned to work for the Royal Airforce, testing experimental crafts and training the specialized pilots of the future. It was a quiet, quaint life, if you didn't count the fact that everyone on the street recognized her face, and had an opinion about her. Not to mention some of the vigilant work done in the pursuit of good.

[rivka-kopelman]

Crepuscular Lemur: Log 0.4

<view full log>

August, 3430

Delivery Lemur (Deliveremur) here, despite everything.

Approaching cold storage outpost 3-80A. This base was designed as a seed locker to safeguard crop diversity against natural disasters and whatnot, but most of the gene bank has been thrown out so the site could be repurposed for commercial use. Lots of large warehouses were being set up to support the intergalactic fruit & vegetable supply chain, as part of a government project to improve short-term food security.

I've got to deliver a bag of cherry seeds to a Jol3n3 Metteray who lives and works down there.

I dock on the courier pad and hop out. The terminal is unoccupied but a gruff voice on the intercom beckons me into a little office: “The one with the light on.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He's printing out the latest fax from the big game; a short paragraph detailing the second inning of the UGBL semifinal match: the Zargle Gargles versus the Yurnel Kernels at the Ferret Field Baseball Double-Dome. He sacrificed a half-second of his attention to glance at me.

“A Delivery Lemur is it? Haven't had a Delivery Lemur here before.”

“I see. well, I've got seeds for Ms. Metteray, can you sign for it?

“Mmhm yea. I mean. no can do,” said the rhino. the fax machine churned out a new ribbon of text: Yurnel Kernels Score!

"Son of a bitch! Son of a shitty asscrack!"

“you can't sign the uh delivery receipt?”

“no. yeah I cant. i could , but the seeds ain't fully delivered are they? this is reception. We don't preserve vegetable matter in reception – not equipped for it. they gotta be put in cold storage. then I can sign off that they're delivered.”

the fax machine updated us with another Yurnel Kernels point.

"Shitty asscrack!" he bellowed.

He studies my face which I'm sure is completely expressionless and he asks, “You're not a Kernels fan, are ya?”

“I'm delivery lemur (deliveremur)”

“nah. well, yeah, well, if you got seeds for the preservation unit, you're gonna have to go through tank Q-2 cause Q-1 is frozen shut. Even I can't budge it, and I'm strong as a rhino. Hah! It's frozen solid. no one's been in or out for six months.”

“I see. What's tank Q-2?”

“It's the raspberry tank, isn't it? Always has been.”

“I mean where is tank Q-2?”

“Go down two levels from here and cut through Section-R. You know tank Q-3 burst, and there was a power failure, so there was a thaw, and fruit pulp flooded section Q, and the power came back and it froze before anyone cleaned it up. So it's solid now. I mean rock solid, top to bottom.”

The fax system is spooling out a detailed play-by-play. Josh leaned over it, scowling at every word.

“Is there no way to get through it or around it?”

Josh laughed.

"Fuck if I know. There's schematics on our server. password is assword. knock yourself out."

I have knocked myself out before, as it happens. Hopefully not again here today.

The fax machine beeped and spat out “Yurnel Kernels score again! A home-run by Ben J. Bennyman!”

“Asscrack Bennyman, the son of a shit! A damn shit!” Josh roared, punching his desk, very nearly knocking over a pencil holder.

I type in the assword and download a map of the complex. The shortest path to the gene bank is helpfully crossed out. According to that rhino I can only get down there by going through this 295,000L tank of raspberries. how though

When I get inside, I see that someone has clawed (or eaten(?)) a tunnel through the red mass of frozen berries. It's how all frozen fruit gets when it melts a little then re-solidifies; the individual berries lose their shape and they all become one rigid mass.

I wonder if I could break off a little chunk of it? It smells pretty good.

Hmm. Nah. It would be stealing. And frozen food hurts my teeth.

I activate my phone's flashlight and follow the twisting passage, zig-zagging on and on and on.

I'm in a very big tank.

Okay this is going to be a long walk. I pause and put my headphones in. For this tedious journey, I will listen to my favorite podcast, “It's Bullshit: Forever Countdown.”

“Hey Hi you ~ Hi and hey and how are you? Welcome to the show ~ joining me today is Secret Service Agent Nole B'Gole. How are you today Nole?”

“That's classified.”

“ThAt'S cLaSsIfiEd, folks! Nole B'Gole, your number is 39214294493191,92349123941239401 ~ happy counting!”

“One.”

Nole cleared his throat.

“Two.”

Nole cleared his throat.

“Three.”

Nole cleared his throat.

“Four.”

This is really good. A bit later I notice I'm hungry, then I notice a big bag of seeds right there in my hand so I start munching on them.

I'm just walking and walking and eating, and walking, ya know, tum te tum

“Eighty-one thousand, two-hundred, thirty-five.”

Nole cleared his throat.

“Eighty-one th”

I walk into a door and and hear a loud thunk when my head hits the door that I walked into just now.

A door.

Uhhh

uhhhhhhh

Oh yeah! I'm here on business. I didn't even realize I was walking, and now this job is as good as done.

I go in and there's a turkey who is really startled and drops her cup of tea.

“Hell's bells! You're blood red!” she cried. “You scared me out of my wits!”

“Oh. I'm just covered with raspberry juice. It will surely wash out.”

“Yeah, Maybe! Who are you and what do you want?”

“I'm Delivery Lemur (deliveremur) and I have a delivery for Jol3n3 Metteray, is that you?”

“I'm Jol3n3 Metteray: Head of crop preservation, seed expert, master of horticulture, and amateur tap dancer. I also do gouache paintings!”

“Ah,” I say. I would deliver the package but I realized then that I had eaten it. “I was just kidding. I don't actually have anything for you.”

“Oh, damnation,” she sighed. “I'm expecting some endangered cherry varietals.”

“Those are great.”

“Oh! You're not the health inspector, are you?”

“What's a health inspector?”

She blushed. “I'm not sure.”

“I don't think it's me. I better leave.” I turn to go. “Goodbye, Doris.”

I retrace my steps through the tunnel.

My mom used to tell me about this time she was on a delivery and her ship sank into a gas giant. Near the core, her sensors showed the radar outline of some enormous object. She landed on it and saw it was a modular capsule with a snapped bracket that must have fallen off some old space station. She went aboard and found it was full of cheddar cheese, over 300,000,000 tonnes. A maze of tunnels had been excavated a mouthful at a time. There were deer living in the cheese. Their parents or grandparents were working or squatting inside when it was lost to the crushing gravity of the planet, and their offspring had been surviving there off pure cheese for decades. They'd never seen the color green, or seen anything besides cheese. Mom knew she could overcharge her engine and break free from the planet's grip, and she tried to explain to the deer about the universe beyond their little world of cheese. How do you even begin? The deer were terrified of her and pranced away, vanishing into the tunnels. Their threatening voices came out of the shadows in an unintelligible dialect. Widely-spaced gleaming deer eyes watched the intruder's every step. My mom's not easily unnerved, so she sat down and gorged on cheddar cheese for three days before going home.

After climbing back up, I see Josh the rhino in reception.

The live baseball fax-feed read “Foul by Zargle Gargles goaltender Dennis Divorcey against the Kernel's Captain Benny Bennyman!” “Thattaboy Dennis! Show em who's boss!” cried Josh. He noticed I walked in. “Oh, hey.”

I haven't actually delivered anything but he took my clipboard to sign the receipt without asking about the whatever it was. He missed the paper and wrote Josh on the wooden edge of the clipboard itself. That's permanent marker too. Now my clipboard has Josh written on it forever.

“Gargles are back in the lead! Six fouls to four!”

Okay Josh

End of log 0.4