#+ 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

[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 :).

[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.”

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

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.

[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.

[tht0nesimp]

Yandere Shalnark- Darling

TW: Yandere themes, reader was obtained disgustingly, kidnapping, violence, kinda short, probably only like 1k words, drugging, manipulation, debt, kinda loan-sharks

(fic under cut)

"Bye" you got off of the phone with your landlord, "Shit" you sit on the curb outside of the apartment complex and hide your face in your hands. You sat and listened to the rain for what felt like the rest of your life

The rain was so loud, almost loud enough to block out a pair of quiet footsteps. It was far too late, the second you truly noticed the door hadnt opened was the same second the rag was placed over your face, The night sky blared in your eyes as it blurred and contorted the more you breathed in the sickeningly sweet chemical

You didnt expect to wake up, and certainly not in a dark room which seemed to inhabit just you and likely whatever creepy crawlies were sitting in the corners of these god forsaken walls. You cursed everything, you prayed that your friends and family knew you loved them and every other thing that came to mind

When instead of death, you were met with two men standing infront of you "ill be taking her now, feitan, thank you" you assume the other man just nodded because you were picked up, the man carried you for quite some time before you were dropped, the blindfold stopped you from seeing but you could hear a key jingling before you were picked up once more by the man, who dropped you on a concrete floor "im going to untie you now,ok" you dont have time to answer before the rope around your limbs was sliced quicker than you ask who he was

By the time you stood up and took off the blindfold he was on the other side of the room, sitting on a storage box in the large warehouse "sorry, i cant take you back to my place right now" You quickly back away from him, the door not unlocking as you rattle the door knob "sorry, your gonna need a key for that" The blonde man held up a key before placing it back in his pocket in one liquid motion

"Who are you?" The man seems to have a look of fake betrayal as he gasps "you really dont remember!..You were at a bank we robbed" Your eyes widen as the man "Me and the troupe that is, im Shalnark" your lungs seem to completely give up on you, it would seem so since they were unable to take a breath

"Are you going to hyperventilate?" Shalnark pulls out a small device with wings on the side "Id love to get a video" he gives a sweet smile and points the camera at you while you struggle to breathe on the cold concrete floor

"Whats going on?" A small boy comes out of the dark "Nothing, Kalluto" The boy takes one small glance at your struggling form and flicks his fan at you, A slew of air coming into your lungs as he does, You watch him leave just as quickly as he had entered the strangely tense room

"Thank you?..." you said as he quietly returned to his position elsewhere "Youll get used to it, afterall, youve got a lifetime!" he smiles and seems to be surprised when you perk up "What do you mean?!" His face returns to a near constant smile as he just looks at you like a child throwing a tantrum over something silly "I kidnapped you, i own you now..Youll never leave me" he says it as if its the most childish thing possible

"How did you find me" Shalnark laughs and gives you a glare "I didnt, your debt found me" he gets off of the box and approaches your shaking form, giggling when you tremble as his arm snakes around your shoulder "Your trembling darling! Im gonna bring you out to my..friends" his hand rests on your neck, threatening to squeeze but not quite doing so "If you act up, there will be consequences" his face gets much darker and disturbing than before, but he goes back to just being friendly as his arm returns around your shoulder as he practically carries you into another room "Hello!" he shouts out to the multiple men and women siting around the building "This is Y/N" he says as he drops you on an old couch next to the most muscular man you had ever seen "Nice to meet you" He holds his hand out and gives you a grin that showed his sharp teeth "Dont scare her uvo!" Uvogin just smiles "Just being polite, you dont mind? Right doll?" He turns to look at you once more, shalnark also sends you a look but his is a piercing glare "Well..uhm.." you shrug and the two both seemed to be annoyed at the fakely nonchalant action

Shalnark approaches you and grabs your wrist in almost an unbelievably tight grip, Another man in a black cowl seemed to take notice and smile as shalnark inches ever closer to breaking your wrist, you manage to pull your wrist away and inch away from shalnark. "darling, we'll talk about that later" he whispers in your ear while bending down to your height as you hug your knees and look around the room once more, eventually just keeping your head down

The people in the room spoke, they were so caught up they didnt seem to notice when you slinked away to explore, finding an exit quite quickly as you walk out into the surronding pavement to go down the street. You pause when you read the sign...The nearest town was 20 miles away and you were pretty sure there was just about no one around

You came back to the building and entered once more, noticing commotion in another room. You enter and shalnark practically tackles you "You left, pick your next words very wisely" his smile still remained as he stood above your form "im sorry" the smile fades and he gets off of you "You will be" he practically drags you until your behind closed doors

He pins you down on the ground, kneeling so he was in a position with your arm at his mercy "If i break your arm..you wont be able to leave for a couple weeks.." he debates his choice "if i break a leg..i could keep you here forever" he bites his lip, seeming to think about his desicion

You scream when your arm is pulled, the bone popping and dislocating "I havent even broken it yet!" he laughs as tears stream down your face and onto the floor. He pulls harder and laughs once more when your scream gets louder "Its not that bad! Maybe ill do your leg too~" he coos in your ear as he pulls until he hears a clean snap

He gets up and stretches "That really got me worked up...maybe i can help feitan out!" he smiles and waves goodbye as he goes off to find feitan. Your left with a disgustingly intense pain in your arm, You get on the nearby bed which you assumed was his and clutched your arm

Hours pass, He returns and is suprised to see you still laying down crying "I guess i overestimated you...You are just a civilian after all" he sits down next to you and hands you a bottle of pain relief pills and a gatorade "I stole them from some store nearby" he says it as if its normal as he watches you take the pills "They might make you tired" he looks at you, watching you yawn "Feel free to go to bed, i have to be out tonight" theres a carelessness in his voice as he walks out

You give into sleep, curling up under the thin blankets as the pain dies down

You wake up to shalnark leaning over you, "Your finally awake!" he smiles as the pain from your arm registers. He sits down on the bed next to you and pokes your arm "I went out and stole stuff to make this more...comfortable for you" you nod and look at the bag on the floor and a fuzzy blanket that sat next to it "I really shouldnt give them to you..but im choosing to be nice even after your little escape attempt yesterday" you give him a irritated look "it was not an escape attempt" he gives you a sarcastic glance "Sure it wasnt" he searches through the shopping bag on the floor for a moment

"i dont eat breakfast, but Fei said most people do" he puts a yogurt on the bed and smiles as you pick it up. Your about to eat it but look at him and he seems confused before you speak "did you remember to buy a spoon?" it registers "Nope!, another member might have one though" he walks out before you can ask which

Your forced to get out of bed, trying to not put any pressure on your already aching arm as you try to remember the name of the one who you met yesterday. You found him talking to who you assumed was Feitan with your yogurt in one hand as the other laid strangely against your side "Do either of you know where i can find a spoon" You yawn and stare at them as they point to the bar behind you

You approach the bar and see a couple plastic spoons, you picked one up and began eating as the two men watched you retreat back to the room you had came from and sit back down on the bed. You looked at the bag from this morning, but dont dare look inside as you lay your head down

Sleep envelopes you as you quietly shift, you placed the fluffy blanket over you along with the few thin ones that were on the bed. You would sleep until shalnark appeared again...

[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

[mourninglamby]

are you perhaps comfortable speaking more on winnie and the drs personalities? their relationship to each other?

forgive the quality im inebriated and tired but ummmm well heres some shit abt their dynamic.

he starts seeing her as a patient bc of an incident with a spirit (that she could see all her life but never interact with) where she woke up in an abandoned boat storage warehouse by the harbor surrounded by a dozen dead men cleaved in half. the spirit follows winnie constantly and only seeks dr whittaker out once the spirit halves a man for grabbing winnie on her walk home.

at first dr whittaker is very uninterested in taking on another patient after his previous patient went missing, and assumed to have taken her own life. he struggles a lot with not feeling like a failure and also he goes to this bar/underground fight club type arena where he just gets the shit beat outta him so. he is not very well. but he gives winnie a try bc he feels like he owes it to his last patient who was around her age.

anyways winnie is initially not into it since its a last ditch effort, but also bc hes gonna tell her what every other therapist/psychiatrist/specialist told her before; that these are delusions. but this time she knows theyre not, so shes even more uncouth and cold. dr whittaker doesnt rly react bc he feels the same. he feels like hes going thru the motions and decides to take off his glasses and veer off course and just explain to her this will probably be his last session, so he may as well vent too. winnie and him find common ground and start to kinda bond before she finallytells him whats up. he puts his glasses back on and well. he can see it too.

winnie FREAKS OUT bc she knows the spirit has a particular intolerance for men. she ducks down while dr whittaker kinda just stares. the spirit stalks forward, reaches a hand out, and... fixes his glasses. he can see the spirit, and the spirit trusts him.

thus begins the mystery :J.

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2022: 22-Forgive

Marinette and Damian were trapped in a snowy place by Mr. Freeze. Damian looked around.

'We were knocked out while we were heading from the café. They took me out first. Marinette seemed scared. We're somewhere that is long and rectangular. It's cold so maybe a cold storage container.'

The place was steadily growing colder. Damian brought Marinette closer to his body as she began to shiver from the cold. When she began to shake, the Wayne heir quickly shrugged off his jacket and helped her put it on, to warm up. When Mr. Freeze passed by, he didn't expect to see the Wayne boy cradling the girl. She was still and her lips were beginning to take on a shade of blue. The Wayne heir was holding her close and sobbing.

"Please, wake up Angel." Damian cried, "Please."

Victor looked at the scene before him and saw himself with his wife, Nora Fries. He quickly stopped the snow. Damian looked up and saw Freeze had opened the door. He glared at the rouge and pulled Marinette closer to him.

"I'm sorry." He spoke, "Please, get her somewhere warm."

Damian quickly stood up, with her, and walked towards the door. Before he move anywhere, the bats entered the warehouse.

"She needs medical attention." Mr. Freeze spoke up, immediately, "I'll go with you; I won't run."

Batman looked at his son's girlfriend. Her lips were blueish and Damian had tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Give her to me." he demanded.

The Dark Knight quickly took off his cape and wrapped her in it. He clicked a button on the inside and activated a heating mechanism. Damian didn't move anywhere as Red Hood placed cuffs on Dr. Victor Fries and called in a transfer to Arkham. His eyes never left Marinette.

"What happened?" Batman asked, looking into Freeze's cell.

"I was only holding them with some snow." Freeze declared, "When I saw the Wayne boy asking her to wake up, it reminded me of my wife. She was his priority. I didn't mean to hurt them, to hurt her. Please, let me know if she's okay."

Bruce watched on as Damian never left Marinette's side. Once she was warm enough, Tikki emerged from slumbering in Marinette's coat pocket.

"I'm sure I come off as a bit of a shcok, but this is an emergency!" Tikki exclaimed, "She needs a lot more heat and blankets to warm up. If not, she will go into hibernation until it is warm enough to shake her out of it. The longest one of my chosen has slept is four months."

Damian quickly rushed upstairs to grab all of the blankets he had available. Tikki few after him, filling him in more about Marinette's hibernation status. Bruce left Alfred in charge of her health and went back to Arkham Asylum.

"Freeze." Batman called out.

"How is she?" Victor asked.

"She had an underlying condition." the dark knight explained, "If that girl gets too cold, she faints and her blood circulation slows down. Almost like a hibernation status. She has woken up already once. They are covering her with heating blankets to help her recuperate."

"I'm sorry." Victor whisper.

'I'll never harm that girl again.'

Marinette blinked her eyes open.

"You're awake." Batman stated, "Dr. Freeze has been apprehended. He has apologized for holding you in such conditions. He immediatley gave himself over to GCPD and asked for you to be looked after."

Marinette smiled, softly, "When I'm better, can I go see him?"

"Absolutely not!" Damian growled, "You're not getting anywhere near him!"

"He's already locked away." Mari replied, "I wouldn't be going into the cell with him."

"He hurt you." Damian declared.

"He said he set you both free when he realized something was wrong with her." Bruce interrupted, earning his son's wrath.

"Exactly." Mari yawned, "He could have kept us in there and I could have died. He didn't want that. He realized he made a mistake."

"I don't like this, Habibiti." Damian stated.

Marinette just smiled at him.

Freeze was shocked to see the girl from before, in front of his cell.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted, "I was only going to hold you temporarily. I didn't think you would be harmed."

"Thank you for letting us go when you saw I needed help." Marinette spoke, "I don't think any other rouge would have done."

"You remind me of my wife." Dr. Freeze admitted, "She suffers from a incurable condition."

Marinette smiles, "I forgive you. I know you are a good person. You've just made some bad choices, but you are tryign to help your wife."

Freeze stared at her as she walked away. He felt his tears harden on his cheeks.

'When I get out of here, I vow, she'll never be in harms way next time.'

TAG LIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

Watch out, this one's a doozy.

Christian sat ramrod straight in the front seat of the pickup truck, determined not to let the fear in him show.

He felt like a real dummy as the tall teen sat in the driver's seat and started the engine, “Alright, put this on.” He threw a cloth at Christian’s face, causing him to sputter.

It was obvious that the teen wanted to make sure Christian didn't know where they were going, and he was probably going to kill him. Christian wanted to say no. Say, no, I'm not doing that, or anything you want me to. But the teenager was huge, as in, “I can twist your head off” huge.

With shaking hands, Christian tied the blindfold on his eyes. He leaned his head against the window, out of sight of the other and began to think of home.

Of his little brothers, of his big sister, his mom, his dad. He felt a sting of tears prick at his eyes, and didn't bother hiding them.

He came to the realization that he might never see them again, like ever.

He focused on the twisting ways of the roads, noting changes in texture, bumps of the gravel and smoothness of the asphalt.

Then, the car stopped. Christian's breathing began to pick up as he heard the door open on his other side.

He awkwardly pushed himself up so he wouldn't fall face first on the ground, “Out.” The teen said.

Christian followed like a little sheep, afraid to go to the slaughter. He was led up a gravel drive, through a door and then, the ground was smooth, like concrete.

The grip on his arm loosened and the blindfold was taken off.

They were in an abandoned warehouse, how long were we driving for? Christian thought.

He was led down a flight of stairs into a dimly lit basement, cobwebs marred the walls and spiders skittered around.

Christian let out a small noise. He was afraid of spiders.

The tall teen padlocked the door with a chain. The only exit. Christian felt a sweat break out over him, despite it being a cold basement and him being slightly damp.

The teen sat on the ground against the wall, head in hands.

Christian sat at the other side of the room, wide eyed with fright, but also a little impatient. If this guy was going to kill him, why didn't he just do it already?

XXXXXXXXXXXLINEBREAKXXXXXXXXX

They hadn't spoken to each other, except for basic the teen telling Christian what to do.

There was a drive that saw Christian being blindfolded again.

He paid special attention to the sounds this time. The hum of the highway, the lull of a suburban street.

Finally, the truck pulled into a driveway. Another gravel driveway.

Christian was lead in the dark by this huge guy, to a storage unit in the backyard.

The huge man gave him some chips and a bottle of water before leaving.

Christian was so hungry, he hadn't eaten all day. He thought nothing of tearing open the chips and eating all of them.

It only occurred to him later that they could've been poisoned.

He tried banging on the walls, hoping the sound of crashing metal would alert someone. Anyone. But the walls made a soft, squishy thump.

Christian sunk to the ground and allowed himself to cry because he knew he was never going to see his family ever again.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

i've got a bad case of loving you

Written for Danktober 2022 Day 30: Medical Play, Gear, & Mischief Night

Frank Castle x F!Reader (22+)

Summary: Frank comes home a bit worse for wear one night, and wonders how much of this he deserves, and how much grief he must cause you in turn.

Word Count: 2613

Warnings: Minor descriptions of wounds and the care of said wounds, self-esteem moments of clarity, love and the question of if one deserves it. DADDY KINK.

Notes: me love daddy fwank

[full danktober list here]

Frank was dead tired. His mind just hadn't gotten the memo.

Frank hadn’t been this tired since that final mission before…

Well, before.

Usually whenever he went out with only metaphorical blood on his hands, came back in with the literal kind, the fatigue would set in, trying to repair his injuries in his sleep. He was dead to the world in that dreamless recovery, utterly useless beneath the sheets, just a body on a journey back from hell all over again. He supposed missing out on life was the toll he paid to the ferryman.

Charon, he’s the guy they leave the coins for, he remembered hearing on his first deployment. They were all obsessed with death, then. Hell, Hades, burial rites, the ones you prayed to and the ones you prayed against and every god in between, he remembered them all like the names of saints spoken at executions. He wondered then if he opened his eyes wide enough some nights, if they would turn into coins and he’d be carried away for good.

It was food for thought.

Not healthy food, but a thought to digest nonetheless.

But perhaps he was starting to make an actual dent in things here. There hadn’t been too many people in the warehouse tonight, but two of them gave him a run for his money, an actual run. His chest still ached and his thighs screamed at him from pounding all that pavement after them. With forty-five pounds of gear on him, he’d nearly lost them.

Nearly. But nobody but Frank needed to know that.

Frank dropped off his gear in the rented storage unit he used as a base of operations, to be cleaned later when he wasn’t about to fall asleep on his feet. Even asleep, his feet carried him home to you.

It was like something fundamentally shifted in his mind the moment he slid the key in the lock of your apartment. His guard came down, the fatigue started knocking on his skull, and the weight of the ghosts he carried threatened to bring him to his knees. In the dark of the hallway, Frank never turned on the overhead light, letting the dark antechamber acting as a cleansing place, for him to drop away the sins of the day to the floor at his feet. It was one of those soothing irrational thoughts he let himself have more of these days. Your apartment was a sacred place to him, a house of worship. He hardly thought he deserved to be here at all.

But the high priestess within thought otherwise.

Your socked feet came padding up around the corner. The socks themselves were knee-high, mismatched but adorable. Your holy robes of laundry day. “You’re home early!” You exclaimed excitedly, pulling you from the darkness in the light of your smile.

A smile he was helpless to fight spread across his features. “Was a quick trip.” You came closer to take his coat, before going and getting him a glass of water from the kitchen. He still hadn’t moved from his spot in the hallway, the atoms at the very end of him yearning to touch the cold metal of the door and lean.

Years and years of unlearning that exact habit propelled him away from that temptation toward another one entirely. Frank unzipped his boots while you waited with the glass at the edge of where the living room light stopped. He set them in the black rubber boot tray that held your running shoes, his running shoes, and a pair of baby pink rain boots you needed yesterday during the storm. He bookended your shoes with his, nudging them into the center of the tray, subconsciously protecting every part of you with every part of him.

The sight of his workout shoes was enough to pull a groan from his chest when he stood. “God I’m tired.”

Utterances which he'd kept unspoken behind lips sealed by military bearing now aired themselves in the safety of your empathy. Your face appeared when he opened his eyes, concern etched between your brows as you looked him over. The thick canvas clothes he wore on missions tended to cover any minor injury, but you knew his body well, and knew the pinch of his brow that meant pain. “I’ll get you a snack if you go shower now. I’m still on load three of the laundry.”

Ah yes, so it was the high holy day of little-to-no clothes from you.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, but you put your hands on your hips and fixed him with a look. It was like he could hear what you were going to say right before you said it.

“Daddy.”

That single word, the honorific bestowing his bewildering importance and authority in your life, the precious title you’ve given him, in that tone, with that look, meant you wouldn’t ever let me say the same thing to you. It had taken Frank a long time to get to the point where he felt anywhere near similar to the people around him, and even longer around the ones he loves.

You were right, of course. If you'd stumbled home in his position, exhausted and injured and trying to hide it, he'd have never let you leave the house again.

He met your eyes, turning his head to the side so he could watch you while he finished off the rest of the glass of water. The standoff felt ten times longer than it actually was, but he was smirking when he handed you back the water and passed you to go toward  the bathroom. He landed a kiss on your head as he went, earning a huff for his troubles.

You didn’t follow him in, but it was a near thing. He heard you pulling his clothes out of the hamper while he washed his hair, and could follow the sound of you setting out a new set of clothes for him while he shaved. He was halfway through dressing (just his body, the wounds would keep until tomorrow) when you came back in. You clutched one of those protein bars that made your face scrunch up like you just passed by a dumpster.

“That for me?”

“You’re hurt.”

You’d both spoken at the same time. Frank stopped himself and gestured you closer.

"What happened?" you asked in a soft voice, bringing the little crinkly wrapper to your chest.

"S' Mischief Night. Folks think vandalizing graves ain't a crime when it's tradition."

So he had been at the cemetery.

You went to him then, almost tripping on the lip between the bedroom and the bathroom. The stumble made you halt again, eyes catching on the largest wounds on his body. Most had stopped bleeding by now, but were still an angry red that scared you. “C’mere, doll.”

You didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking over his body with worry clouding your eyes in the same way tears did. Both hurt his heart. “It’s not so bad. Just a few bumps and scrapes. It’ll all look better by morning.”

The assurance is met with a nod, but not with relief. You’d seen him move around with stiff shoulders. You’ve heard the hitch in his breath when he twisted too far one way or another. You’ve felt the creak of his joints when you napped on his chest, on his lap, in his arms. You knew a potentially ruinous truth with every sense you possessed: Frank Castle lived in constant pain. But sure, it would look better by morning.

Wordlessly, you started to move, placing the protein bar in his hand and reaching for the medical supplies you kept beneath the bathroom sink. He ate just as wordlessly as you prepared, but the silence were interspersed with sighs, empty emotional exhales that once bore words, now left unsaid. They came from the both of you, an elephant walking back into the room you'd had enough of talking around. “What is it?” you asked, smoothing over an angry welt on his bicep. The tug of the latex glove you'd put on felt strange and impersonal, but Frank knew you by your warmth.

“Sometimes I feel like a piece of shit, accepting all your help cleanin’ and fixin’ me up just to go undo it all tomorrow, you cookin’ for me like you’re a maid, or—”

You were well used to his melancholy when he was tired like this. You were similar, when work wore you down and you wanted to become a rug instead of a person with responsibilities. You cut him off with a finger to his lips, earning you a surprised chuckle at your boldness.

“Frank Castle. If I thought I was your mother, I would have said so.” He was surprised by your sudden intensity. You were usually so carefree, lighthearted. Whenever you got serious, he knew it was a time to pay attention. It was a few more minutes before you spoke again, working on the big slash in his forearm first. “Do you know what acts of service is?”

Frank looked a little confused, but not entirely wary. “I served. You know that.”

A shaken head. “Not like that. I mean everyday stuff, making an extra cup of coffee for you to take to go. Keeping a clean apartment we can relax in. Taking care of you when you’re hurt. I don’t expect anything in return. I like to do it.”

The idea that you thought he expected those things of you burned in his gut like guilt. “I don’t deserve all that.”

“Have you thought about the fact that it’s me who I’m making happy by doing these things for you?”

Frank's eyes went all huge and round and, for a minute it takes your breath away: how suddenly child-like with wonder he could look in the span of a single second, like he’d never considered the details important about the way he loved another person, or was loved in return. Loving wasn’t a reflexive verb in his vernacular until just then. I love you myself. To you, I love.

“You protect this city, right? Not out of a sense of duty, right? Nobody's asking you to do this. Sometimes this city doesn't deserve your efforts." You waited for him to acknowledge and agree to that, which he did with a slightly-uncomfortable grunt. "I think you do it out of love, out of preventing history from repeating itself. Sometimes that love you give can look violent to those that don’t know you. You’re protecting it. I believe that’s an act of service. Fucked up of me to justify it that way, but I don’t think I’d be the same person if I didn’t.”

"I don't think you're fucked up," he said weakly.

"Frank. I'm playing doctor to a man I call Daddy because it turns me on do to it. I'm not not fucked up."

Even though he tasted like that fucking protein bar in the flavor you won’t eat, he kissed you in wonderment, then rested his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking brilliant, you know that?"

All the other languages you could've used to tell him you loved him flew out the fucking window, because all the blood in your head had gone to your weak knees at the praise. The glint of amusement in his eye told you didn't go unnoticed.

“One of us has to be,” you deflected, going back to your first aid.

He was smiling again, smiling in that way that looked so natural on him, that looked like it hurt to keep up, but you knew that the hurt was natural to a man like him. You gently applied gel over his bruised cheek, softly affixing a bandage to the cut at the center of it. Little by little, the Punisher disappeared beneath your touch, soothed and massaged and bandaged up into Frank Castle. "There," you said. "Better?"

"You know it is."

"I still like to hear it," you teased, packing up the kit.

He shook his head and hopped down from the counter, trapping you in the circle of his arms for a cuddle. “So what do I do, smart girl?”

“About what?”

“The guilt.”

And that question, those words, the acknowledgment and the asking for advice, it spoke of a blessed landmark along a rough and difficult road. It spoke of countless hours of struggling with familiarity, it spoke volumes, and oh, he’d asked you a question.

Your hands turned nervous, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. You didn't have the answer he sought, and you knew he had very little time for sugarcoating the truth. “I don’t know. I feel the same way sometimes.”

Frank knew a little bit of that, he knew the times you’ve cried from his praise, shied from the gentleness of his touch, flinched at his softness, marveled at the positive attention he laid at your feet. He’d seen the sadness in your smiles, and he’d held his kisses to your temple twice as long those days.

You knew there were other ways of learning a language than the classroom. You knew that languages can be parroted, can be faked and never really understood. You could learn an accent and a few choice phrases and never know the depth of what you’re saying. You knew some languages have come to Frank through pure immersion, where he had to crawl over broken glass to learn them, to fight to keep afloat and learn the hard way the tongue of another. Those tongues are lashed across his back and whispered through the scar tissue on his heart and body. The language of tragedy. The language of guilt. The language of pain, of loss and grief. The language spoken by atrocities.

It’s with a kind reverence that he spoke his languages of love to you. Like hymns, like prayers, like oaths and rituals, like the last gasped words of a holy martyr. He made no secret of the ferocity he loves with. You’d never been blind to it, nor stupid enough to believe otherwise. You faced the sunrise of his affection like a woman who survived twenty years of dark nights alone.

The two of you sat in that gentle silence again, soaking in the feeling of turning a page in your relationship, a collectively-held breath exhaled in relief when the story continued on, instead of ending and turning to a blank page and thank yous. You smiled at him, kissed him once, and handed him his shirt when you were satisfied wasn't hiding any other injuries from you.

“Thank you, doll,” he murmured, his voice scraping over the vowels in that way that made your spine shiver on its own. You weren't kidding when you said taking care of him and letting him do the same for you turned you on. He bestowed another kiss to your temple before getting off the counter and taking your hand. “Gonna lay down.”

“Am I coming with you?” you asked mischievously.

He made a weak noise, something half-born in his throat, before he realized you were teasing him. He tugged you to the bed with him and you both collapsed atop the covers with an oomph. You had to use your foot to bring the blanket over top of you both, because there was no way in hell he was letting you go now.

Frank Castle wasn’t a cuddler before you.

He could have slept off the pain and the healing on his own, but why would he? Why would he choose to be alone when he had everything he wanted right here?

[kingofthewebxxx]

Continued from here!

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk at which he sat, it was very much out of place inside an old abandoned cold storage warehouse but he had demanded one so he had got one. No one knew he was there unless he wanted them to, such was his way, he had played with the iceman much of late and sent a few distractions his way, much more than usual, to keep him occupied whilst he played games with his brother. As much as he loved playing with them both, Sherlock and Gemini were still his favourites, especially Gemini, he saw much potential for pain and chaos and wanted to stretch it out of him, with the right pushing it was possible that Gemini would destroy his poor brother's cold heart, now that would be a sight Jim wanted to see.

Hearing incoming footsteps he didn't look up, he said in a deadpan voice “You’re late, though I suppose you must have got sidetracked, pets are so demanding, aren't they? That's why I never keep mine for long” he said looking up with an evil grin before slowly getting up, exaggerating every movement as he stood toe to toe with Sherlock’s secret that even he didn't seem to know about. “A little birdy told me you wanted to have some fun, although I have to ask, just what would you be willing to do? For example, if I told you I had one of your brother's agents tied up in the back, would you deal with them for me? I could reward you for being a good boy, or are you going to leave? And go back to pretending that your one of the angels, Sherlock may me good but you are not, no, you are like me” he said getting right up in his face with excited eyes. Taking a few steps back his face turned cold and stern, he said “So what's it gonna be, mean G.”

@deathtransformed

[burningexeter]

TOP SECRET GOVERNMENT FUNDED COLLECTION, LOCATED IN LOWER MANHATTAN

What you're about to see and read is something that has been kept completely unknown by not just the general public but also several organizations in the U.S. Government as well with this being kept under lock and key by its owner and collected by the people who've helped fund this.

Actually let's cut the bullshit, what this is is a grittier, ultra-hidden, more surreal but also strangely more airier take and combination on and of Warehouse 13 and the SCP Foundation.

Hidden through an alleyway in lower Manhattan, New York, the secret entrance to it is through both a giant elevator straight out of a storage unit or an emergency exit with flights of stairs that you'd almost find in any abandoned warehouses or buildings of sorts. Whichever the way, they take you down to an underground place that's best described as a weird combination of sewer tunnels and a warehouse with sliding doors at the end to the real deal.

When one of the doors is open, here's what you find —

An entire, no VAST collection in a VAST underground warehouse filled left and right with all of these numerous different objects and items that have been collected and stored away from the public and from all of these equally numerous different events. All of them are highly organized in their own distinct sections with their histories written down alongside with them in one way or another.

But before we get to what's in this warehouse, who is the owner of this place that aforementioned keeps it under lock and key — at first, it was simply just one owner however now that's officially changed to TWO owners. Mikasa Ackerman and her wife Historia Reiss.

A former Eldian soldier and the former Eldian Queen, Mikasa's reasoning for doing this is kept completely 100% ambigious but how did Historia get dragged into this?

She followed Mikasa one night to where she was going, she discovered and quietly followed her into the entire warehouse..... only to be "discovered" by Mikasa who already knew she was there and had been following her from the immediate getco. The result was an entire chase that ended with Mikasa sinking her teeth into Historia's left ass cheek.

But what is in this warehouse:

• A 5 1/2" barrel Colt Single Action Army Artillery revolver (A Fistful Of Dollars) with silver rattlesnake inlays on the grips (For A Few Dollars More) and a Colt 1851 Navy revolver with cartridge conversion and the same silver rattlesnake inlays on the grips as well (The Good, The Bad and the Ugly).

• A Colt Model 1873 Single Action Army Revolver, a Smith & Wesson Model 3 "Schofield" Revolver, an FN Model 1903 Pistol, a Spencer Model 1865 Carbine, and a Remington Rolling Block Rifle (Red Dead Redemption).

• A Borchardt C-93, Colt 1851 Navy, Colt New Army & Navy, Colt Single Action Army, FN Model 1900, LeMat Revolver, Mauser C96, Smith & Wesson Schofield Model 3, Volcanic Repeater, Carcano M91/38, Elephant Rifle, Henry 1860, Krag-Jørgensen Rifle, Spencer Model 1860 Carbine, Browning Auto-5, 12 Gauge Double Barreled Shotgun, Sawed Off Shotgun, Winchester Model 1887, Winchester Model 1897 and bow and arrows (Red Dead Redemption 2).

• A large-bore 4-shot double-action revolver forged from a combination of Irish church bells, cold iron from crucifixes and blessed silver. Its wooden grips, estimated to be nearly 2000 years old, are engraved with a logo of a raised fist holding a dagger. Weighing in at about 10 pounds unloaded and chambered for custom 22mm cartridges, it has enough muzzle energy and recoil to break a normal man's arm (Mike Mignola's Hellboy Comic Series).

• An ornate golden ring with a large red stone in an unusual setting, not found in any Earth jeweler's catalog (Flash Gordon).

And believe it or not, that's just five. There's plenty of more where that came from. If you wanna do a retroactive shared universe than this is how you do it, my friends.

[lazaruspiss]

Lower Gotham: Part Three

Bar 8-bit: Over the years, the 8-Bit has flipped between being just a particularly unhygienic dive bar to an active funnel for contraband, thanks to its basement access into The Cauldron. It's been raided so many times over the years that the GCPD Vice unit started holding their Christmas parties there. My latest intel says a new player has moved in from outside Gotham. They call themselves The Regulators, and the 8-Bit's new owner, Demetrius Long, seems to be connected. If the bar's power usage is any indication, The Regulators seem to be running a lot of servers in the basement. That would line up with the gang's focus on cyber-crime and technology theft. Barbara's working on a way to install a backdoor into their systems, but The Regulators' security is surprisingly good.

Daggett Enterprises: Daggett Enterprises is a pharmaceutical company that was established in Lower Gotham in the 70s during the city's financial boom. It was specifically established near the Dixon Docks to make the shipment of products easier. The building houses laboratories, clinical trial facilities and cold storage, though it is mainly used as a warehouse for all Daggett products. For this reason, many gangs have tried breaking into the building in the past in an attempt to steal some of the company's trial drugs. Jim and I had set up patrol routes around Daggett Enterprises to reduce crime near the building, but Catherine Kane dismantled that project when she became police commissioner. There have been many break-ins and reported thefts since then. Notes: Less police presence around Daggett Enterprises. Will have to patrol near the building more often to compensate.

S.T.A.R. Labs: The Science and Technology Advanced Research Laboratories (S.T.A.R. Labs) satellite facility was established in Gotham City in the 1990s to take advantage of regulatory opportunities in Lower Gotham. S.T.A.R. Labs is a research organization specialized in exotic materials, biotech and applied physics. The building has been upgraded several times since its original construction. It features its own power generation and water filtration infrastructure on the waterfront. For the last few years, the company has been developing cryogenic systems for the military. I've been keeping track of their shipments, and so far, it would appear Victor Fries has kept his word. The local gangs have taken a few shots at the Labs, but without much luck. The facilities/security systems seem to work so far.

The Holesome Dough: Tim, why did you add an entry for The Holesome Dough?

Because it's great. It started off as a donut shop, but it's much more than that now! They make everything from cinnamon rolls to cookies, but my favorite is the apple tart. It's amazing! The Holesome Dough first opened about ten years ago and it's become so popular that it's now a franchise. And it really deserves its name. Steve, one of the two owners, used to work in construction and decided to build his wife Sandra her own pastry shop like she always dreamed. Talk about Wholesome! Now it's one of Gotham City's most popular dessert places. I go there like… a lot and every time I come across the owners, they always give me free samples. It's just nice to have somewhere safe and friendly to go to in Gotham, you know? - T.D.