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the-name-is-z · 4 months ago

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SKELETONS | ch. 44

daryl dixon x f!oc

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Summary: While in pursuit of the vehicle that took Beth, Iris and Daryl encounter another group of survivors with unorthodox methods. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; threats; sexual harassment; injury; discussions of maiming others; general discomfort

Chapter 44 - Alone, Not Alone

Iris and Daryl ran for hours. The sun had risen and they were still running down the dirt road in the direction Beth had gone. When they got tired, they jogged, and then walked, but they did not stop until it was well past noon. They met a four way intersection, the road to the left intersected by train tracks. Both of them were dripping in sweat, panting, their fear palpable. Daryl dropped his crossbow, plopping down in the middle of the road. Iris knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

“We can’t stop.” She said softly. There was no way to know which way they went, but they had to try. “Make our best guess.”

“Our best guess?” Daryl yelled, looking up at her. There was fury in his eyes, but behind it was just sadness. Iris knew his anger was not directed at her, and she sighed, head hanging.

“What the hell else can we do?” She nearly whispered. Daryl dropped his head too, adjusting something on his boot.

Iris had sat down beside him after a few minutes, hugging her knees to her chest while she waited for him to get his bearings. If they didn’t move, they made no progress, but at least they weren’t losing progress. They sat there for about half an hour, Iris realized as she glanced halfheartedly at her watch.

She stilled, however, as a loud group of slow footfalls echoed down the road. They were loud, slow, but not dragging, and accompanied by soft muttering between men. Not walkers. There were six of them, and as soon as they got near enough, surrounded both Daryl and Iris. Neither of them made any movements, keeping their heads on as they silently assessed the situation. Perhaps these were the assholes that took Beth.

One of them, presumably the leader, stepped particularly close, a shotgun hanging from a strap over his arm. He didn’t aim it at them, but he had no need when the five others had their own weapons trained on them. At least two were armed with compound bows. Iris inwardly frowned. A bullet would hurt less.

“Well, lookie here.” The first man said, calling to the others. “Hello there, kitten.” He took two steps closer, bending down to pick up the crossbow, when Daryl socked him across the face. The others surrounding them raised their weapons, but Iris and Daryl were already on their feet. Iris had her knives at the ready as Daryl knocked the man down, peering down the scope of his crossbow. “Damn it, hold up!” He pleaded, holding one hand to his bleeding nose.

“I’m claiming the vest! I like them wings.” One man called, adjusting his bow.

“You’re claiming the vest? I’m claiming the girl.” Another called, his eyes raking up and down Iris, even as she bared her teeth at him. “I like her spunk.”

“Oh, she’s gonna like my—“

“Hold up.” The first man repeated firmly, wiping the blood from his face. He started chuckling, laughing loudly as he pushed to his feet. “A bowman! I respect that. See, a man with a rifle, he could have been some kind of photographer or soccer coach back in the day. But a bowman’s a bowman through and through. What you got there, a hundred fifty pound draw weight? I’ll be donkey licked if that don’t fire at least 300 feet per second. I’ve been looking for a weapon like that. Course, I’d want one with a bit more ammo, and minus the oblongata stains.”

“Get yourself in some trouble, partner?” The second man, the one with the bow, chuckled, the one who wanted Daryl’s vest.

“You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over.” The leader warned nonchalantly, staring down the loaded bolt. “Though, then I’d have no control over what they’d do to your woman, there. That what you want? Come on, fella, suicide is stupid. Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?” Iris’ lip curled at that. “Name’s Joe.”

“Daryl.” He replied lowly. Daryl slowly lowered the crossbow, the other men turning their guns to Iris.

“Put the knives down, sweetheart. Don’t wanna ruin that pretty face.” The third man suggested, taking a step closer. Iris was thankful Daryl stood steadfast at her back. She lowered the knives, flipping one in between her fingers before sheathing it, a small, silent threat. The others lowered their weapons, Joe smiling and nodding as he stared at them.

Iris and Daryl did not sleep. How could they? Even when the little group set up a camp in the woods, surrounding themselves with barbed wire and tin can alarm systems, even when every single one of the bastards went to sleep around them. Daryl tried to convince Iris to close her eyes, but she refused to leave him alone with them. Not when they were the type of people the two of them suspected they were. It wasn’t exactly safer for them to stay with this group, but they would. For now.

In the morning, they stepped out, leaving the most of their things with the group. Iris followed Daryl as he trekked, not far, to find something for them to eat. She almost stayed with their things, to make sure they wouldn’t be stolen, but she had a feeling Joe wouldn’t allow that. And she had no intention of placing herself among them, alone.

Just as Daryl loosed his arrow into the rabbit they’d found, a second arrow whizzed past the both of them, spearing the rabbit a second time. Iris whirled, scowling at the man with the compound bow.

“What the hell are you doing?” Daryl barked.

“Catching me some breakfast.” The man replied with a shrug.

“That’s mine.”Daryl countered, stepping forward and grabbing the rabbit.

“My arrow’s the one that hit first.” The guy argued. “Cottontail belongs to me.”

“Been out here since before the sun came up.” Daryl continued.

“See, the rules of the hunt don’t mean jack out here.” The man said with a scowl, brushing past Iris to face Daryl. “Now, that rabbit you’re holding is claimed, boy.” Iris looked at the back of the man’s zip-up hoodie, eyes zeroing in on the biker gang logo on the back. Motherfucker was wearing a white supremacist confederate gang logo. He was also still wearing a wallet chain, which said more about him than Iris ever needed to know. “Claimed whether you like it or not. So if I was you, I’d hand it over, now, before you get to wishing you ain’t never even got out of bed this morning.”

“It ain’t yours.” Daryl said simply, walking over to face him head-on, a deadly look in his eye.

“You know, I’ll bet this bitch got you all messed up, hmm?” The man asked. Iris raised an eyebrow, seconds from acting on the murderous thoughts in her mind. Daryl didn’t respond, walking back over to Iris quietly. “Am I right? Got you walking around here like a dead man, who can’t get himself a piece of tail. Must be a good’un. Tell me something, does she get wet even when she say she don’t want it?”

Iris felt nothing but fury, but Daryl acted before she could. He had his knife out, cocked above his shoulder and posed to descend into the man’s clavicle before he spoke another word. Joe appeared suddenly and stopped him, just barely, inserting himself between the two before they got a lot bloodier.

“Easy, fellas, easy.” Joe called, even as the man laughed, staring hungrily at Iris. “Let’s just put our weapons down, see if we can’t figure out what’s really the problem here, huh?” He turned to the man, who slung his bow over his shoulders. “You claim it?”

“Hell yeah.” The man replied.

“Well, there you go. That critter belongs to Len.”

“So let’s have it.” Len said, putting his hands on his hips. Daryl made no move to hand it over.

“Looks like you may be wanting an explanation.” Joe proposed as if he was the most generous motherfucker to grace the earth. “See, going it alone, that ain’t an option nowadays. Can’t keep your lady safe, hmm? But it still is the survival of the fittest. That’s a paradox right there. So I laid out some rules of the road to keep things from going Darwin every couple hours. Keep our merry band together and stress-free. All you gotta do is claim. That’s how you mark your territory, your prey, your bed at night. One word, claimed.”

“I ain’t claiming nothing.” Daryl spat. Joe raised an eyebrow as Len rubbed his hands together.

“You sure?” Len asked, licking his lips and making vulgar gestures toward Iris. “Gotta teach him. Rules say we gotta teach him.”

“Now it wouldn’t be fair for us to punish you for violating a rule you never even knew existed.” Joe offered, hands up.

“There ain’t no rules no more.” Daryl grumbled. Iris watched with sharp eyes as Len paced back and forth impatiently.

“Oh, there are. You know that.” Joe stated, shaking his head. “That’s why I didn’t kill you for the crossbow.” He reached around, grabbing the other end of the rabbit from Daryl’s hand.

“Hey—“

“Easy there, partner.” Joe soothed. The rabbit was pulled taut between them, Daryl refusing to let go. Joe lifted his other hand, armed with a knife, and sliced the rabbit in half. Daryl took his half, and Joe haphazardly tossed the rabbit at Len, not shy about spraying innards and blood across his clothing. He looked between the two men before Len stormed off. “Claimed. That’s all you got to say. Ass end is still an end.” He gestured down to the rabbit before following after Len.

“I might cut all their hands off.” Iris whispered into the ether. Daryl hummed in agreement, looking down at his half of a rabbit.

“You okay?” He asked softly. Iris nodded, looking over at him with a gentle smile.

“These dumb fucks are nothing I can’t handle.” She replied. “I’ve got knives upon knives hidden everywhere.” Iris joked.

“Can’t be tamed.” Daryl said with a quiet huff of laughter.

“Can’t be claimed, that’s for sure.” She grumbled, looking off after Len and Joe.

“If those sons of bitches ever lay a hand—“ He started, but she put a hand on his arm.

“We’ll burn their bodies together.” She agreed, earning a huff in response before they trudged off back to the campsite.

The group meandered down the train tracks in a shamble, Joe hanging back with Iris and Daryl at the end. Some of the guys chatted up front with each other, but they kept it quiet.

“So what’s the plan, Daryl?” Joe asked.

“How so?” Daryl replied.

“You’re with us now, but you ain’t soon?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Looking for the right place.” Iris said when Daryl didn’t reply.

“She speaks!” Joe called enthusiastically, turning halfway toward her as he lit a cigarette. “We ain’t good enough for you, kitten, is that it?”

“Some of you ain’t exactly friendly.” Daryl pointed out defensively. Joe chuckled, shaking his head.

“You ain’t exactly a friendly pair yourselves.” He replied. “You know you need a group out here.”

“Maybe we don’t.”

“No, you do. You should be with us.” Joe insisted. “And if your woman is claimed, no one’s gonna touch her.”

“Somehow that doesn’t inspire much confidence.” Iris grumbled, earning a grin and a shrug from the sleaze-ball of a man. A single walker snarled up ahead, and Iris pondered for a moment if it would make better company.

“People don’t gotta be friendly.” Joe mused. “We don’t have to be nice, we don’t have to be brothers in arms. We just gotta follow the rules. You claim. If you steal, you keel. I know that sounds a little funny, but nobody laughs when something goes missing. And you don’t lie. ‘Cause that’s a slippery slope indeed.”

“What happens if you break ‘em?” Daryl asked.

“Oh, you catch a beatin’.” He answered with a shrug. “The severity of which depends on the offense and the general attitude of the day. But that don’t happen much 'cause when men like us follow rules and cooperate a little bit, well, the world becomes ours.” He stopped, letting out a whistle to the men ahead. He pointed to a rusted train garage on the side of the tracks, probably once used to house cargo of whatever sort alongside old train engines. “Right there. It’s our abode for the evening.”

“Hey.” Daryl called after him. Joe turned around. “There ain’t no us.”

“You leaving right now?” Joe asked. “No? Then it sure seems like there’s an us.” He walked a few steps ahead as the other guys scoped out the garage. “You a cat person Daryl? I am. Loved ‘em since I was three years old. Vicious creatures. Anyway, I’ll tell you, and this is true. Ain’t nothing sadder than an outdoor cat that thinks he’s an indoor cat.”

The men filed into the building, guns at the ready, Daryl falling in last. They put their weapons away at the sign of no immediate threat, Joe motioning for Daryl to close the door behind him. They all looked around, finding the warehouse to not house trains or cargo, but cars. They were dusty and in okay shape, though who knew what parts they did or didn’t have.

“They ain’t here.” The sleaze, who first tried to “lay claim” to Iris, announced. “Nobody’s been here a while. Whoever was, they got all the gas.”

“That don’t matter.” Joe shrugged. “We’re getting closer, I can feel it.” Iris’ eyes trailed to the sweet Cadillac in the corner, black paint job a little faded, a little chipped, but good enough. Len had his hand on the locked door handle, and she let the knife fly between her fingers. Coincidentally, the knife found its purchase hilt-deep in the steel of the door, right between Len’s fingers. He whipped around, looking at her in shock as she straightened from her follow-through.

“Claimed.” She said simply, offering the smallest upturn of her lips as Len sneered at her. Joe chuckled.

“Kitten’s got the right idea.” He mused. They erupted into chatter, picking various cars and “claiming” them. Daryl walked around, getting cut off by one of them each time he tried to place his things near one of the cars. Within seconds, the other six cars in the room were under new possession. Daryl very nearly put his bag on the floor before Iris nudged him with her elbow, jerking her chin at the Cadillac.

“C’mon. No need to sleep on the floor like a dumbass.” She said quietly, her frown morphing into an amused smirk. He followed her with his head down as they walked past the others. Iris grabbed a piece of thin sheet metal from a street sign with a notch at the end, using it for a slim-jim and easily unlocking the car door. She unlocked the other side, the two of them sitting down before locking the doors again. “Safe enough.”

“Thanks.” Daryl grunted.

“Of course.” Iris replied, shaking her head before adjusting the seat to sit comfortably. “Not better than a casket, but better than the floor.” He hummed his agreement, laying the passenger’s seat flat and pulling a cinnamon stick from his pocket before lying down. He had the crossbow still tight in his grip, and Iris kept her eyes on their temporary companions.

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

#thenameisz #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x original character #skeletons #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc

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ghostboneswrites2 · 7 months ago

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Doe Eyes - CH8 - Rules

Chapter List

You couldn't go on anymore, and neither could he. Simultaneously, you both collapsed, panting, sweat adhering messy unkempt hair and dirty clothes to skin. You had stopped near a train track. The leaves were tumbling around in a seemingly nonexistent breeze. Your scalp itched with sweat and grime. What you wouldn't have killed for a shower.

"The fuck do we do?" You asked breathlessly. He didn't speak. "C'mon, man. We can get her back we just -- we have to plan something, alright?"

"Like what?" He snapped. "We can't track a fuckin' car on a damn paved road!"

"Did you see any turn offs? We can follow it. It's a straight shot, at least for a while."

There was a heavy silence as the two of you sat motionless, catching your breath and wracking your brains for any kind of solution to the problems at hand.

"Well, look-y here." A man's voice sounded from behind you. You and Daryl looked up to see about six men surrounding you. One went down to touch you but Daryl punched him hard, sending the man straight down on his ass. He stood quickly, aiming his crossbow at the guy he just laid out.

Another aimed his weapon at Daryl. "Damn it, hold up!" He ordered.

Another one with a bow and arrow smirked. "I'm claimin' the vest. I like them wings."

"Hold up." The man Daryl punched said, now sitting up, wiping blood from his nose. He looked down at his bloody finger and began to laugh. You were now stood up straight, back to Daryl's, crowbar raised. Daryl's aim remained trained right between the guy on the ground's eyes as he stood up casually, wiping away the remnants of blood from his face. His smile never left him. "A bowman. I respect that. See, a man with a rifle, he could've been some kind of photographer or soccer coach back in the day. But a bowman's a bowman, through and through. Wha'd'ya got there, 'bout a 150 pound draw weight? I'll be donkey-licked if that don't fire at least 300 feet per second. I've been lookin' for a weapon like that."

"I been lookin' for a piece of ass like that." Another commented, looking you up and down. You glared and tightened your hold on the crowbar. Over my dead fuckin' body, you thought.

The other guy, the one who Daryl punched, the one you would assume was the leader, ignored the perverse comment from his pal and carried on.

"Of course I'd want one with a little more ammo in it, and minus the oblongata stains."

"The guy who claimed the vest started laughing. "Get yourself into some trouble, partner?"

"You pull that trigger," the leader explained. "These boys are gonna drop ya ten times over, and you don't even wanna know what might happen to that pretty little piece behind you. That what you want?"

Daryl's aim still hadn't dropped and you were beginning to grow nervous. You prayed to whatever powers may be, that he wouldn't let his pride get in the way of survival. Please don't get me killed trying to win the dick measuring contest.

"C'mon, fella. Suicide is stupid. Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?" The leader continued to persuade Daryl. "Name's Joe."

Joe, you repeated his name in your head for when you got to kill him.

"Daryl." He finally said, dropping his crossbow.

"And the lady? She yours?" Joe asked. The question brought lingering eyes from the men around you. You clenched your jaw. Daryl turned to look at you for a moment before turning back to Joe. "Nobody touched her." He said. "She's my sister."

The men around dropped their weapons, and you reluctantly let your crowbar fall to your side.

"Y'all can tag along with us." Joe offered.

"Do we have a choice?" You asked.

Joe chuckled.

"Sure ya do, darlin'. We could take everything ya got and leave ya, dead or alive depending on how hard ya fight."

"So, no, then." You rolled your eyes.

"That's the spirit." He grinned. "You know, we don't usually let ladies tag along. Too weak, to moral."

"You give them the same choices you gave me?" You retorted. His grin became more of an unpleasant sneer.

"Pull your weight, girl. We don't share, we claim. We don't lie. Simple rules. Oh, and don't piss me off, got it?"

----

You didn't sleep well at all, constantly jumping at every sound. You all set up camp in the woods, a barbed wire perimeter lined with clanking objects acting as an alarm.

You woke to a walker trying to get in, its face shredded up by the barbed wire.

"I got it." One of them sighed as they stood up and stabbed it down.

"Looks like that Robin Hood cat cut out on us after all." Another said. You snapped your head to where Daryl should have been, and he wasn't there. Your heart sank.

"Looks like he left us a parting gift." A third one said, licking his lips at you. You cringed.

"Doubt he's leave his little sister behind, boys." Joe sighed. "Probably just stepped out to drop a morning deuce."

Eventually Daryl came back, and the asshole that tried to claim his vest, each holding a half a rabbit. You sent Daryl a look that could kill, silently cursing him for leaving you there with the creeps. Daryl split his half rabbit with you after he got it cleaned and cooked, and eventually you all hit the road -- or, more accurately, the tracks. You'd all been following the train track that day.

"So, what's the plan, Daryl?" Joe asked.

"Huh?"

"So you're with us now and soon you ain't?" Joe clarified.

"Yup." Daryl nodded. You felt relieved, if only slightly. You hadn't had any time with Daryl since you two met these men, so you never got any kind of clarification on the situation. Were you guys just waiting for an out? Giving up on Beth? What was going on?

"So, what's the plan?" Joe repeated.

"Just lookin' for the right place is all." Daryl shrugged.

"Oh, we ain't good enough for ya, huh?"

"Some of you ain't exactly friendly." Daryl admitted. You never thought you'd say it, but Daryl actually seemed soft and kind in comparison to these dickheads. Joe wasn't so bad, at least not so far. But Len, the guy who wanted Daryl's vest, he was a real dick.

"You ain't so friendly yourself." Joe retorted. "You know you need a group out here."

"Maybe I don't." Daryl argued.

"No, you do. You should be with us. People don't got to be friendly. We don't have to be nice. We don't have to be brothers in arms. Just gotta follow the rules. You claim. If ya steal, ya kill. I know that sounds a little funny but nobody laughs when something goes missing. And, ya don't lie. 'Cause that's a slippery slope, indeed." Joe explained. Why did he want Daryl so bad?

"What happens if you break rules?" You asked, trailing behind the two as they walked at the back of the group.

"Oh, ya catch a beatin'." He told you both, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to acknowledge you. "The severity of which depends upon the offense, and the general attitude of the day."

You swallowed. You two had already broken a rule. You definitely weren't Daryl's sister.

"But, that don't happen much, 'cause when men like us follow the rules, and cooperate a little bit, the world becomes ours." Joe whistled and everyone stopped to look at him. "Right there. It's our abode for the evening."

"Hey." Daryl stopped him. "There ain't no us."

"You leavin' right now?" Joe asked. "No? Then it sure seems like there's an us." Joe turned to walk away but he stopped and turned back. "You a cat person, Daryl? I am. Loved 'em since I was three years old. Vicious creatures. Anyway, I'll tell ya, and this is true : ain't nothin' sadder than an outdoor cat that thinks he's an indoor cat.

And with that, Joe walked away, toward the little train station he previously called out. You and Daryl exchanged glances before you sighed and followed Joe, Daryl right behind you. You stopped before you reached the building.

"New rule, by the way." You glared at him. "Don't ever leave me alone with them again."

The men cleared the building, but you hung back. You figured there was no harm in exercising your right to fit into the weak girl stereotype, since that's what they thought of you anyways. In truth, you could take down at least two of these fuckers before the rest took you down, but you didn't want them to know that, at least not yet.

The building was more of a garage than a train station like you'd originally thought. It was full of cars.

"They ain't here." The guy who always wore a black bandana said. "Ain't been here for a long time. Whoever it was, they got all the gas."

"That don't matter. We're gettin' closer, I can feel it." Joe told him.

"Claimed."

Everywhere you and Daryl went for a bed, another claimed it. You eventually settled for a nice open area on the floor. Daryl scrunched up a tarp for a pillow to share. You laid down next to him, hugging your bag and your crowbar close.

----

You snuck out again that night for another smoke. You guessed maybe you were a smoker now, with all this stress. You just sat on the tracks by the garage, keeping a sharp eye out for threats. It was still somehow more peaceful than trying to sleep on a concrete floor while any one of those men could be plotting something. Hell, just earlier Len planted his half of the rabbit in Daryl's bag to frame him. Len caught the beating though, for lying. Joe saw him plant it.

You took a long drag and heard the sliding metal sound of the door opening. Daryl stepped out and looked around frantically before he laid eyes on you sitting there. He stormed over fast.

"The hell you doin?!" He nearly shouted.

"What does it look like?" You asked, taking another puff.

"Looks like you're bein' stupid." He hissed.

"What the fuck is your problem?" You fired back. "You had no problem with leaving me at camp this morning so what's the issue?"

"The issue is I can't keep an eye on you if you ain't where you're supposed to be!" He replied. You scoffed and stood up, looking up at him ferociously.

"I don't need you to watch my every move--"

You tried to argue but he cut you short, gripping your face tightly around your jaw with one hand. He leaned real close to you. The only sounds were the nature around you and each of your breaths crashing into each other.

"I ain't losin' you." He growled low through gritted teeth. You two stayed that way for only a moment, his eyes searching yours with an almost predatory glare, before he abruptly let go of you and stormed back inside. You stood, stunned, before you threw your cigarette down and followed him.

Masterlist

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years ago

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Sub Rosa [15]

ii. inclement weather

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Language, allusions to past assault, mentions of nausea.

Summary: Being locked up sucks, especially when Shumway is locked in the cell beside yours.

a/n: happy show day! so many of you liked the twist from the last chapter, and I’m glad! season 2 is my FAVORITE season of the 100, so I’m very excited to share this season with you guys. As always, feedback is appreciated and the taglist for this series is open!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You turn away from Bellamy when you hear the doors slide open behind you.

You both stand, watching as Kane hands off his gun and steps into your shared cell, gaze already hardened as he looks at you both. You step closer to him and ask, “How long are you going to keep us locked in here?”

“Until I'm confident neither of you are no longer a threat to others.” He pulls out a chair and sets it in the middle of the room, getting comfortable. “Let’s continue.”

He gestures to the two chairs in front of him, side by side, and you and Bellamy exchange a glance before settling into them, resuming the interrogation from earlier. “Now you said there were hundreds of Grounders attacking. 200, 300?”

“We were too busy getting killed to count.”

Kane glares at you, but ignores your tone. “Why do you think they attacked? What provoked them?”

Bellamy answers first, “We were here. That was enough.” His voice grows louder as his frustration grows. “We’re wasting time. The others didn't just vanish into thin air. They were taken, and we need to go after them!”

“A search team is prepping to leave, but not before we've gotten the intel we need from the two of you.”

You lean forward in your seat, voice begging. “We need to be on that team, please.”

“That’s out of the question. Neither of you are trained. It’s too dangerous.”

“Those are our people out there!”

Kane ignores your outburst. “They’re my people, too. You want to help them? Tell me what we're up against... Grounder tactics, their numbers, what kind of weapons they used.”

Bellamy answers for you, “Arrows and spears, axes, swords. Their teeth.”

“No guns? You had guns.”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “The guns we found at the aid depot leveled the playing field, and maybe, maybe if we'd had more bullets, we could have-”

Kane cuts him off, “There were more bullets.” You and Bellamy turn to each other as Kane adds, “Search team just returned from the bunker. They found two more barrels full of rifles and a third filled with bullets.”

You feel a look of horror pass over your face, and Bellamy whispers, “We should have looked harder.”

The door slides open, ending the conversation, and two guards pull Murphy into the cell. You and Bellamy both stand, angry. “What’s he doing here?”

“Excuse me, sir. Dr. Griffin cleared Mr. Murphy out of medical.”

Kane nods, “Put him over there, Major Byrne.”

They lead Murphy to one side of the cell, and force you and Bellamy to the other side, grunting, “On your knees. Come on.”

You both comply, and the guard slips cuffs around each of your wrists, and then attach you to a support beam in the middle of the room. Murphy catches your glare and mutters, “Well, this should be fun.”

Kane looks over at him, ready to respond, when the sound of gunshots pop off in the distance, and the room jumps into action. “Let’s go! Move, move, move! Go, go, go!”

You’re all forced to watch the retreating figures run from the cell and out into the camp in search of the sound, while you’re all left behind, glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room.

A voice reaches you from the next cell over, “Wonder what that’s all about.” You cringe at the sound of it, the voice that haunts your nightmares. Kane’s interrogations were pointless, but they had given you temporary reprieve from him.

Murphy eyes the man in curiosity. “Who’s that?”

“No one.” You snap back.

“It breaks my heart to hear you say that.” His voice grows closer, and you know he’s moved until he’s standing just on the other side of the wall, but you don’t turn to face him. “I thought we were closer than that, little la lune.”

Your skin crawls at the sounds of your nickname coming from his mouth, and you fail to suppress the chill that scurries down your spine. Beside you, Bellamy yells, “Shut up, Shumway!”

He laughs, “No need to get defensive, Bellamy, we’re just having a little fun.”

You can feel your emotions rising, threatening to spill out and over, and Bellamy must sense it too, because he reaches for you. The restraints keep him from offering anything more than a hand to hold, but you take it, grateful. You close your eyes and focus on the feel of his hand in yours, warm, safe, and picture the night sky, tracing constellations from memory.

When you feel yourself grow calmer, your eyes open and land on Murphy, who’s giving you a strange look. You see his gaze bounce between a tensed up Bellamy, your intertwined hands, and then to Shumway, and an odd expression passes over his face, almost like he’s tucking the information away for later. You’re about to throw an insult over to him when the sound of Raven screaming cuts through the camp and into the room.

“Yeah. That was me at the Grounder camp. You now, I did everything I could to not scream, but eventually…”

You glare at Murphy, and Bellamy tenses even further, grounding out, “But eventually, you broke and you told them everything.”

“And you wouldn't have because you're better than me.” He says it like a statement, not a question, but Bellamy answers him anyways.

“Damn right. I’m not a traitor. I didn't tell them where they could find us.”

“And I did. Yeah, I did. After they tortured me in their prison camp for 3 days, but go ahead. You just keep on believing, even if you are in here just like me.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to answer, but Shumway beats him to it. “Three days?” He lets out a low whistle. “Too bad they didn’t get you, Bellamy.”

You spin around, finally allowing your anger to run free. “Shut up, Shumway! You worthless, pathetic, piece of shit! Just shut up!”

He smirks, and his eyes drop down to your hand, intertwined with Bellamy’s, now in his view. His smirk grows. “Now this is interesting.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but you can hear a set of doors slide open, and he turns around. A muffled voice reaches your ears, “Shumway, you’re coming with us.”

“Why?”

“We just lost three of the Guard, and the Chancellor wants everyone with weapon experience on watch.”

You try to stand, held back by your restraints, and yell out in protest, “You’re gonna give him a weapon? He’s a psychopath! You can’t let him go!”

Shumway flashes you a smile over his shoulder. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about our deal. I’ll come to collect once you’re out.”

The words drop you back down on your knees, and nausea rolls through you, nearly pushing its way out of your chest and onto the floor. You hear your blood rushing in your ears, and beyond that, muffled words from Bellamy. You shake your head to clear it, his words now coming through. “Don’t listen to him. I’m not going to let him near you, do you understand? I’m going to keep you safe.”

You feel yourself nod, and he squeezes your hand. “You should try to get some rest, you’ve barely slept in days.”

And as if his words remind you, you finally notice the heavy feeling in your limbs and your eyes. The emotions and trauma of the last few days stretch and blanket over you, weighing you down further. You nod again and lean against him, dropping your head onto his shoulder and allow sleep to take you.

A hand closes over your arm and shakes you gently, and you wake with a start. Finn is kneeling in front of you, pulling a pair of bolt clippers from his bag. “Get up. We’re going after them.”

He cuts your hands free, then Bellamy’s, who quips, “It’s about time.”

You both stand and start for the door, but Murphy stops you. “Wait, wait. What about me?”

Bellamy bends down and lifts the discarded bolt cutters and walks towards Murphy. For a second, you think he’s going to knock him out with them, and Murphy must think the same, because he cowers behind his hands. Instead, Bellamy cuts the lead on his cuffs, keeping him restrained but allowing him to leave. Finn protests behind you, “No! What are you doing?”

Bellamy pulls him to his feet, “He’s coming with us.”

You cut your eyes towards Bellamy and your brows furrow in confusion and Finn responds, “No way.”

“He’s been to the Grounder prison camp.”

“He’s right. I can bring you there.”

Finn considers this, then lets out a quiet sigh. “Fine.”

He heads for the open door, past Monroe who is waving you through as she keeps watch down a separate hallway. You follow Finn out of the building and along the back of the camp, until he slips underneath the fence in a poorly guarded area. You all duck beneath the wire and follow, running towards the wall of trees that line the camp, using them for cover. Bellamy whispers, “You don't think anyone saw us?”

Finn turns around and gives him a sharp look. “Shh. Keep it down.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a pair of flashlights land on you, and you all freeze in place. You start to contemplate how far you can run before they can get a shot off, when a familiar voice cuts through your thoughts. “You're late.”

They lower the flashlights, and you see her, your mother, along with a member of the guard that you’ve never seen before. As soon as your eyes land on her, you think of your father, and what she did to save you. Conflicting emotions run through you, but guilt stays at the forefront, strong and heavy. Your mom passes Finn a pistol, and the guard passes the rifle in his hand to Bellamy. “Here. Find my son. His name is Nathan Miller.”

Bellamy nods and the guard un-shoulders a second rifle and passes it to you, and your mom’s gaze bounces over each one of you. “Bring them home.”

Finn starts to run off, followed by Monroe and Sterling. Bellamy pushes Murphy ahead, and you bring up the rear. As you pass your mom, she grabs your arm to stop you. “Bring Clarke home.”

You look up and see tears in her eyes, and she brushes a finger over the moon around your neck. “And stay safe.”

“I will.”

She drops her hand and releases you, and you jog off, turning around to look at her one last time. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a sad smile, before you turn back around and catch up with the others.

next chapter

#bellamy blake x reader #bellamy x reader #bellamy blake x you #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake x y/n

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fallout-fucker · 4 years ago

Text

Commonwealth Unsolved: Part One, The Museum of Witchcraft

"Today on Commonwealth Unsolved, we're going to be taking a look at the strange and unsettling Museum of Witchcraft as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: Are ghosts real?" The first ghoul starts boldly, his voice crisp and distinct, yet strangely soothing, a voice used to narration. The second ghoul rolls his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, making the first grin. "You don't seem very open to the idea, Shane."

"We've been asking this for over 200 years. Ghosts don't exist, Ryan." Shane drags, making a point to say Ryan's name back to him sarcastically, in retaliation to his own being used. The smaller man laughs, messing with the microphone he'd fixed to his Pib-Boy.

"And after all we've seen, you still don't believe in ghosts? Not even a little?"

"What? What have we seen? We live in the apocolypse, there's nothing to see but dead people and junk." Ryan wheezes, grinning from ear to ear as he looks at his partner.

"What if some of those dead people are ghosts now? Waiting for us to go to the museum to find them?"

"What? Every single ghost? There's just a hoarde of dead people who have nothing better to do for the rest of eternity than wait for us to visit them? What are they waiting for? A 'come back to life soon' card?"

Ryan breaks into a fit of laughter, shaking his head, "That's not what I-" He cuts himself off, wheezing and choking slightly. Shane joins him a little, cracking his own smile and hint of a chuckle. Once Ryan calms down a little, however, he clears his throat. "Let's just get into it," He begins. "Built in 1972, Salem's Museum of Witchcraft was built in remembrance to victims killed during the Salem witch trials which began in 1692. Over 300 years later, the museum is now a breeding ground for rumours and a hot spot for what people claim as 'strange activity'. A reliable source from the Commonwealth's Great Green Jewel itself states that 'something bad went down there' recently, despite it being 'abandoned'."

"How'd you get into Diamond City?"

"Well I couldn't go in, I was chatting to one of the-" Ryan stops himself abruptly, "I mean, my source- Just outside the city walls, you know near all the turrets and arrows?" He says, gesturing with his hand slightly in a circular motion.

Shane laughs. "Way to almost get your 'source' in trouble there, Ryan. It wasn't Piper, was it?"

Ryan shakes his head. "No, it wasn't Piper." He smiles. "Even if it was, I wouldn't tell you," He shifts, changing the subject, "But I am talking to her about that- That other thing, you know for the other episode later? Well, I guess it's two other things-"

The taller ghoul nods his head. "Ah, yes, the mysterious two other things."

Ryan snorts, "Fuck off."

Shane snickers. "Okay, okay, other than ghosts, what do you think could be in the museum? And don't say aliens." He says, pointing his finger at Ryan and eyeing him accusingly.

"I don't know- An animal maybe? Some raiders? That's what some people have been theorizing. Maybe it's a Deathclaw?"

"It's not a Deathclaw-"

"What if it is-"

"Well then, we're as- We're as good as dead- Look, if it's a Deathclaw, I will eat my own boot, how's that?"

"Deal." Ryan smirks, shaking Shane's hand. The other man couldn't look more done with him. Ryan presses the stop button on the device attached to his arm, pausing the holotape's recording of them.

The air is cold and bitter, Ryan can see his breath turn to mist in front of him as he hugs himself tighter. One of the worst things about being a ghoul is the increased chance of illness and also increased chance of fatality from said illness, so he's not exactly grateful for the cold Autumn air. It worries him that he might catch a cold.

The orange and brown leaves on the ground crunch beneath his feet as him and Shane walk closer to the side of the Museum, stopping when they see the mutilated corpse of what looks like a Gunner.

"Well it's a good job we're in a graveyard." Shane quips. Two hundred years ago he may have been a little more sensitive and considerate, and more likely to throw up at having seen a dead body. Fortunately for them, though, living through two centuries of irradiated wastelands gets you used to seeing dead bodies enough to gain a morbid sense of humour rather than going numb upon every corpse you come across or create. "Holy moly, there's a stash!" Shane reaches around one of the graves and fiddles with a hollow rock, pulling out some ammo, a rifle, and a note. Another thing that surviving the apocolypse teaches you is how to be good at spotting hidden stashes, something Shane and his beady eyes have always been good at since day one. Ryan sums it up to his height, being tall's gotta help you spot things.

"What's the note say?"

Shane shrugs. "Just someone named 'S' saying they missed their friend, 'E', at Megaton and left them some gifts."

"Megaton? That's all the way back in DC, right? Yeah, we lived there for a few years about- What? About ten years ago?"

Shane nods. "And I swear we found a rock outside Megaton with the exact same kinda note."

"Maybe the real mystery isn't the Museum, maybe it's who the Hell S and E are."

Shane laughs, pocketing the note and moving towards the Gunner. "Maybe." He bends down, searching carefully through their pockets and rucksack, pulling out more ammo, some caps, a pair of holotags, and a holotape. He holds the holotape up to Ryan, an eyebrow raised. Ryan shrugs and watches as Shane inserts it into his own Pib-Boy, listening carefully as the audio cackles to life. He winces slightly, audio recordings not being what they used to be, worn down and damaged now. You think he'd be used to it, but there's only so much you wouldn't miss from before the war. Sadly, clean audio was one of the many things he did find himself missing.

It starts with a woman's voice as she talks boredly about the job she and her crew had been assigned, teasing another Gunner about the job. Quickly though, the audio shifts, growing tense as the crew seem to spot something. The woman screams about her friend, Connor. "Where's the rest of him-?!" She cries, sending shivers down both of the ghouls' spines. Something roars in the background, sounding similar to that of a lion. The crew rush inside the museum, but the audio cuts off before they can find out what was chasing them. Shane and Ryan stare at each other. "Well, at least it's not a ghost."

They gave themselves a few minutes to clear their heads and look around a bit more in case there was something they missed. Shane had tried the front door but it had been locked and chained up, so they made their way into the basement from an entrance at the side of the museum instead which, thankfully, hadn't been locked.

They slowly stalk down the steps into the building as quietly as they can. The floorboards above them creak, making them freeze as small bits of debris crumple and fall from the ceiling. "Hey there, demons," Shane says quietly, trying to lighten the mood. "It's your favourite ghoul boys," He pauses to shine his light around the room. "Well I'm glad I don't have a nose because this place looks like it stinks." Ryan smacks his arm, shushing him. His heart pounds in his ears, Shane seems to get the message and shuts up a little.

They make their way through the first room reluctantly, looting whatever they need along the way. The building seems to shake every few minutes, like whatever is upstairs is large enough to make the earth shudder every time it moves.

The two men enter a small use-to-be-closet, and Ryan almost screams as a body that was poking through the boards of the ceiling gets dragged away by something. Shane's hand is over Ryan's mouth, the only reason he hadn't managed to scream, making sure not to alert whatever it is of their presence. He could feel Shane shaking slightly behind him. The taller man pulls his hand away, carefully stepping over a pool of blood and through a hole in the wall, he holds his hand out for Ryan, who takes it, still shaking as he too crosses over the blood. "Holy shit," He whispers, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt over where his heart is. "I can't breathe."

"You're okay." Shane pats his back gently, one of the few times he's ever actually this comforting is when something genuinely terrifying is happening and when they're most likely in danger. "We should go." Ryan nods, but before they can step back towards the hole in the wall, the beast moves again, this time its weight makes the ground below it collapse, and a mountain of bricks, wood, and other debris piles into the room, separating them from the exit. They both look up, staring at the ceiling. A quiet, unsaid realisation dawns on the both of them that the only other exit is upstairs. "Fuck."

The reluctantly make their way through the maze of rooms left in the basement, before reaching the final one. A body falls through a hole in the ceiling and Ryan yelps, quickly cut off by Shane's hand covering his mouth yet again. He feels the other drag him backwards then pause, listening silently. Nothing but quiet fills the museum.

A chill runs up Ryan's spine as he spots some mannequins in the corner, their eyes black and cold, matching black smiles painted on their faces. It feels like they're watching him and he prays the conspiracies surrounding the figures are nothing more than ghost stories. Above them is an old, broken staircase made from rotting wood. Something in him hopes they stay intact, unlike the upper floor that caved in a few rooms ago. He pushes Shane gently off of him, moving towards the staircase. He sucks in a breath as he tests the first few then signals for the taller man to follow.

As they ascend the creaking steps, a growl cuts through the silence, low and soft; the murmur of a beast. Shane and Ryan stare at one another, Ryan's eyes wide in fear whilst Shane's remain unreadable. The older ghoul moves in front of Ryan and places his hand on a door at the top of the stairs. Another sound comes from whatever's out there, this time a whimper. Almost sad. Almost... Broken? They have no time to consider it as Shane carefully opens the wooden barrier, shotgun in hand. It's now or never.

They stalk through the opening, eyes darting around. The first thing their eyes land on are more mannequins, just as creepy and unsettling at the previous ones. This time, however, they're set up in a way that depicts on old witch hanging, making it even worse. They make their way reluctantly through the exhibits, stopping when they hear a soft panting. From the cracks of a few walls, Ryan sees it. He grabs Shane frantically and points in its direction. It is, indeed, a beast. A reptile with large horns and large teeth to match, its signature deadly claws on display, blood dripping from them as it tears apart the body of a gunner. A Deathclaw, the thing of nightmares itself. Standing there, ripping apart its prey. Then, it stops. It moves slightly, snout tilting towards the ceiling as it sniffs. Ryan feels every inch of his body grow tense as the monster slowly turns towards him and his partner, beady eyes settling on them. Time slows, it feels like the Deathclaw stares at Ryan for forever, looking directly into his soul. Finally, time moves again, but Ryan wishes it hadn't as the Deathclaw roars, charging towards him. He runs left as Shane goes right.

The Deathclaw follows Ryan through a series of holes and exhibits as Ryan helplessly shoots at it. His heart pounds in his ears, Shane is nowhere in sight. Half of him feels thankful, knowing his friend is safe, but the other half wants to scream to him for help. He stumbles through another broken wall, grabbing a nearby mannequin and pushing it in front of the entrance before he continues sprinting. Behind him, he hears as the beast trips up on the statue, mid way through a roar that ends up as a pained whimper. The ghoul almost feels bad, but considering the Deathclaw has probably already laid out 50 ways it wants to rip apart, cook, chew him, and spit him back out again, he realises he doesn't feel too bad about it. He turns around to shoot it during its moment of weakness. The bullet hits it right in the torso, but it isn't enough, even as he realises some of his earlier bullets had also hit it. The Deathclaw is littered with wounds, both from his and, what he assumes is, the gunners' attempts to kill the beast. Ryan regrets his decision as the it bellows angrily. It's too fast for him to outrun and it quickly grabs Ryan by the leg. He screams as he falls onto his back, shooting rapidly at its face. His life flashes before him and tears well in his eyes as he resorts to kicking the Deathclaw with his free foot. His gun's out of ammo and he can't reach into his backpack for a backup whilst in this position. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. This is the end. It can't be the end. Not like this. Not after everything- Everything he's survived, a whole ass nuclear war and a 200 year old apocalypse and he's gonna die at the hands of a Jurassic Park actor. At least it'll be a cool death, right? Oh, God, Shane better make it out. But what will he do without Ryan? They've been a team for so long, what now? Is Ryan even okay dying without his best friend by his side? Where is he? Where's-

Shane's voice rings out loudly as he hollers, climbing atop of the reptile and grabbing it by the horns. He pulls at them, making its head turn, dropping Ryan in its shock. Ryan scrambles away, watching in a mix of horror and awe as Shane practically plays mechanical bull with the monster. The taller male kicks the Deathclaw in its jaw a few times before it goes to bite him. His eyes widen and he quickly retrieves his foot but not before the Deathclaw can claim his boot, leaving it clenched between its yellow and crimson dyed teeth.

After nearly an astonishing 30 seconds of clinging on, Shane manages to press the barrel of his gun right against the demon's skull before pulling the trigger, immediately killing it.

As it falls, so does Shane. He comes topping forward, collapsing onto the ground next to Ryan with a loud thud, a groan falling from his lips soon after. Ryan stares at him momentarily but then pulls himself up, stumbling towards the Deathclaw's corpse. He pulls Shane's boot from its open jaws, tossing it to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Get eatin'."

---

A little thing I’ve been working on! This is what the cryptic ‘Soon’ comment was about. I’ve had this idea for a while but just started writing it. Future fics in this series will include:

Investigation into the Institute, including an interviews with Piper Wright and Nick Valentine, and various theories about the crows and mannequins across the Commonwealth, as well as some political figures

Interview with the Man/Woman Out of Time

Investigation into Pickman Gallery

Investigating Alien Crash Landing

Haunted Insane Asylum Investigation and Rumours of a Mysterious Serum?

Investigation into the Railroad

Early days Appalachia Unsolved and The Hunt for The Infamous Mothman

Stories from DC Unsolved and New Vegas Unsolved

Investigation into the Strange Occurrences Surrounding Far Harbour

A discussion about meats in the Commonwealth that exist despite animals said meats are supposedly made from not doing.

An Interview with Mamma Murphy and Her Sight

Who Are the Children of Atom?

Investigating MedTek

A Discussion about Vault-Tec and Their Inhumane Experiments

And many more, if you have any ideas, leave a suggestion!

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mandobls · 5 years ago

Text

the mandalorian and the caretaker | one - bounty

pairs: the mandalorian x reader

genre: fluff, action!! force-sensitive!caretaker!reader, s2f2l, slow?? burn??

warnings: one swear, canon-level violence

word count: 2.8k

description: it always starts like this. a job.

a/n: the parts of this series are gonna be a little longer! i had to rewatch some parts for this lmao. i try to keep it on the short side when i start accounts, but i think i’ve had enough of 300-word-long drabbles for the time being. i’m gonna keep these to two-ish chapters each part, but we’ll see lol.

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist

“i have a camtono of beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the asset and its caretaker,” the client hisses.

“alive.” the mandalorian’s attention is drawn to the man on his right. he’s nervous. it might have something to do with the way the hunter’d threatened to blast him earlier.

“yes. alive.” the client leans in conspiratorially, as if sharing a trivial secret. “although i acknowledge that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. this being the case, proof of termination of both is also acceptable for a lower fee.”

the mandalorian stalks out, glancing down at the newly-acquired tracking fob in his hand. unconventional, but the promise of payment looms large.

the fob would have to do.

upon arriving at arvala-7, the ugnaught called kuill--too kind for this age--proves to be generous.

he has arrived at the encampment far quicker than he would have alone. peering through his periscope presents a sight he isn’t the fondest of. he groans quietly. a bounty droid.

“...subparagraph 16 of the bondsman guild protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.” there’s a beat, then the sound of blaster bolts.

the mandalorian pushes onto his feet with a sigh. “droids.”

the exhilaration of taking the whole encampment down almost makes up for the shot he’d caught with his just-smelted pauldron, courtesy of the droid.

“well, now we just need to get the door open,” he mutters.

the machine gun catches his eye.

as soon as the two step over the fallen door, their tracking fobs beep rapidly.

“my sensors indicate that there are two life forms present,” the droid says. the mandalorian pulls his fob out, pointing it towards a curled-up figure and a covered egg of some sort, just to be sure. they step closer.

a press of a button has the egg opening. he steps back in alarm, but there is little movement within it.

“wait, they said 50 years old,” he says, peering into the egg.

“species age differently. perhaps it could live many centuries,” answers the droid beside him.

his attention turns to the figure

it’s a girl, legs tucked below the floating egg, wearing a loose white tunic and brown, flowy pants. the mandalorian nudges her lightly with the barrel of his blaster. she doesn’t stir, but her chest rises and falls with her breath.

“is this the 50-year old one?” he asks, mostly to himself. (the damned droid answers, though.)

“most likely not. i detect signs of the girl being human, and her description fits the asset’s caretaker.” the mandalorian nods, eyes lingering a little longer on her face.

the droid raises his blaster-

“no. we’ll bring them in alive.”

“the commission was quite specific. the asset and its caretaker were to be terminated.” the droid raises his blaster again, pointed towards the girl.

a blast rings through the room. the droid, now fried, drops to the floor with a clang.

the mandalorian studies the two, reaching hesitantly towards the child. its three-fingered hand reaches back.

he quickly connects the egg to the controls on his wrist and glances back down at the girl. she’s still asleep. he cuffs her quickly and sighs, gathering her legs in one arm and her lower back in the other, picking her up with a light grunt.

it’s a trek back to the ship. mud splatters around his heavy footfalls and the heat is nearly unbearable. the limp girl in his arms doesn’t make it any easier. the child is very much awake, making noises at the reptilian creatures following them.

the mandalorian stops. he feels uneasy here.

a shadow flits past, and he places the caretaker next to the egg. the child’s eyes follow her figure. he places a wary hand on the blaster at his hip-

a snarl sounds at his right. it’s another bounty hunter, weapon pointed at the child. the mandalorian pushes the egg away, pulling his rifle off his back while keeping an eye on the girl, still knocked out in harm’s way.

two others jump into view, and he takes them down, shooting the last one into dust as it reaches for the girl.

there are no others, but a still-beeping tracking fob is on the ground, where the now-disintegrated bounty hunter once was. he walks over, crushing it under his boot.

a quiet groan comes from the girl, and the mandalorian spins around. she’s in cuffs and can’t escape, but he keeps a hand on his blaster in case.

she rises to her feet, and he tenses as she staggers over to the child, paying him no mind. the kid coos with a toothless grin, and he can see her relieved smile from where he stands.

“hey, love,” she whispers, one hand pulling the other with it as she strokes the child’s head. she glances over at the mandalorian with a smile too sweet for the situation she’s in.

“not going to run?” he asks, strapping the rifle onto his back, grip on the blaster loose.

“you won’t hurt us.” he almost scoffs aloud.

“how do you know that?” she shrugs, placing a gentle hand on the child’s back.

“just have a feeling.”

he studies her for a second. “let’s go. it’ll be dark soon.” the mandalorian sweeps past, having deemed her harmless. the egg follows, and she yelps. “keep up.”

the sun is already down when he decides to rest. the girl is across from him, next to the child as he cauterizes his wound. as soon as he got a better look at it earlier, the girl looked ready to throw up. he looks up to make sure they don’t try anything, even after her calm demeanor earlier. the girl is asleep again, head leaning against the egg as the child grabs at her hair. his eyes follow the bridge of her nose, the curve of her slightly-open lips, the-

“shit,” he mutters, tearing the cauterizer from his skin where it burned him. he needs to focus.

the child is relentless, getting out of the egg somehow and reaching up. he does it again before the mandalorian closes the egg, laying down to sleep warily.

he’s shaken awake lightly, warm hand resting somewhere below his pauldron. his eyes open to the same sweet smile as before, and he has to blink a few times to remember where he is. sitting up abruptly and almost knocking foreheads with the girl, he checks the cuffs around her wrists, still intact, and the egg, still occupied by the green child. he lets out a sigh of relief, studying the girl beside him.

“you seemed tired, so i let you sleep, but i heard voices just now, and i think we should get going soon. if not now.” he nods, checking over her once more just in case.

he’s never captured a bounty so kind to him before.

“let’s go,” he says, standing and leaving her to follow.

she does, of course. the child is programmed to follow him, and she is programmed to follow the child.

they reach his ship, and it’s in disarray, jawas invading the area, stripping it of its parts. the mandalorian curses, reaching for his rifle.

“stand back,” he grunts, and the girl does, pulling the child with her. he can only take a few shots before they’re retreating. the ship is already tarnished, though, and he stalks down the hill.

“listen.” he turns towards the girl. “i’m leaving the child here. it can’t be moved, so don’t try to run with it. stay here.” she nods, watching as he sprints off. he’s far behind the jawas’ ship, but desperation is far greater than logic.

he returns soon enough, body sore from electricity and defeated. the girl leans against the hole-littered wall, watching the child sleep. he silently thanks the stars he doesn’t have to worry about escaped quarry.

just in case, he trudges to the cockpit, flicking switches even though there are gaping holes in the ship’s walls. nothing, of course. he turns back to the girl, who is already standing.

“come on.”

they walk until it’s dark, the girl with at least one bound hand on the egg at all times. the child happily coos as they walk, even though the only scenery is dune after dune of sand. kuill is working on something when they approach.

“i thought you were dead,” he says, turning and eyeing the mandalorian’s new companions.

the caretaker lifts the child from the egg, setting him down so he can play. she watches him fondly.

“they were what was causing all the fuss?” the mandalorian ignores the question, focusing on his immediate problem.

“my ship has been destroyed. we’re trapped here.”

“stripped, not destroyed,” says the ugnaught, grabbing something from his shed. “the jawas steal. they don’t destroy.” he hands it to the bounty hunter, and he gratefully takes it to fix the electricity-worn control panel on his forearm.

“stolen or destroyed, makes no difference to me,” he mutters, glancing at the child and his caretaker. “they’re protected by their crawling fortress. there’s no way to recover the parts.”

“you can trade,” the ugnaught suggests.

“with jawas? are you out of your mind?”

“i will take you to them.” kuill takes the repairing device back. “i have spoken.”

the mandalorian sighs behind his helmet, turning back to the child. he points, bewildered, turning to the girl.

“is that- can he-” she looks at him with a slightly regretful expression and a small smile, nodding as the child swallows a frog whole. he sighs again, shaking his head.

it’s raining as they start on their way to the jawas’ ship. the mandalorian sits on a platform that a bluurg drags slowly. the child’s caretaker sits uncomfortably beside him, so he can keep an eye on her. the egg is closed beside the girl, and she shields herself from the rain with a piece of scrap metal haphazardly welded to an electrostaff too beat up to ever work again. morning arrives by the time they finally reach the jawas, and kuill greets them with a wave.

“they really don’t like you, for some reason,” he remarks as they raise weapons warily.

“well, i did disintegrate a few of them,” the mandalorian replies, paying no mind to the caretaker, whose eyes widen as she covers the petal-shaped ears of the child.

“you need to drop your rifle,” kuill calls over his shoulder.

“i’m a mandalorian. weapons are part of my religion.”

“then you are not getting your parts back.”

he sighs, starting to put it away.

“fine.” a jawa exclaims something as he gets off.

kuill translates. “and the blaster.”

they poke at him, setting off his temper when they demand his beskar and insult his pronunciation of their language.

“you understand this?” he asks, flamethrower on his wrist exploding outward and roaring as the jawas scramble.

a hand (that is definitely not kuill’s) is placed on his shoulder, then moves to pull his forearm backward and shut off the fire. the girl (who he didn’t even realize had approached) kneels in between the two as the jawas recover.

“he is of mandalore,” she says in jawa. “he cannot trade his beskar.” the jawas seem to consider this, considerably more pleased with the new arrival. “is there anything else we can trade?” (to say that the mandalorian is caught off-guard is an understatement, but he doesn’t show it.)

the jawa that was speaking stands taller, pointing at the child and speaking its language. the caretaker stands with a start.

“get away from him, please!” she cries, walking over as they scatter.

“there must be something else,” kuill says as they turn back to the jawas. they huddle, considering what else they can ask for. they turn around, and the mandalorian already knows it’s nothing good. they make their request, and he can pick out two words with his broken jawa vocabulary.

“the egg? what egg?” he asks.

they chant the whole way, as if it didn’t get on his nerves the first few times. he’s stooped in the cockpit, obviously made for jawas. the girl has a little bit of an easier time squeezing in, but they both hit their heads against the ceiling at a particularly violent bump all the same. he sighs, but she just laughs, obviously amused.

the three, a mandalorian, a girl, and a child, exit the ship, walking down the ramp.

it’s still a bit of a walk, and they make it in uncomfortable silence.

she hesitates for a second before asking, “uh, do you think that you could take these off?” his head turns toward her, silent. “just for a little!” she says. “it’s just that, if there’s anything dangerous i want to make sure i can protect-” he stops the two, grabbing her bound hands and unlocking the cuffs, hanging them on his belt for later.

“until this is done.” he starts walking again, and she smiles brightly behind him.

“okay!” she says, jogging up on the other side of the child, making faces and exaggeratedly showing off her wrists. raw and tender from the cuffs, but free. the child squeals, sensing her excitement. the mandalorian watches from the corner of his limited vision. he can’t imagine what would happen to her if he hadn’t been the one to find them first.

they finally reach the cave the jawas had described, and they regard it in interest. he turns to her.

“stay here.” she nods, watching as he checks his weapons are in place and carefully ventures into the cave.

he’s launched out only moments later, slamming into the ground with a groan. the girl scrambles back, pulling the egg with her. the beskar in his pauldron and the pain weighs him down as he stumbles onto his feet. (it feels like something helps him do it, but there is no one behind him.)

his rifle (which would be incredibly helpful in this moment) is jammed, and he struggles with it a bit too long, flying into the air as the mudhorn charges him. he thinks he can hear the caretaker gasp to his right. the muddy animal turns to the child and the girl with a growl.

she grounds herself, gripping the egg with one hand and raising the other, as if she’s going to stop it with just her hand.

the mandalorian, exasperated and panicked, connects the egg to his wrist, flinging it to the side, subsequently pulling the egg and dragging the girl through the mud with an oof.

the mudhorn crashes into the rock where they once were, grunting as it catches sight of the mandalorian again. he unleashes the flamethrower that scared the jawas so well earlier. it does nothing against thick skin, and the mandalorian is driven into the mud by its horn.

he activates his grappling hook, at it catches around the mudhorn’s eye. he almost celebrates, but is cut off before he can. the beast drags him along the ground, and he’s forced to roll away before he’s launched back into the cave. he’s charged again, slamming back into the mud with a vision-blurring impact.

all he has is his knife, and he weakly brandishes it as the mudhorn rears to charge again. it approaches, closer and closer and-

it stops. then starts to float. he watches as it kicks the air in confusion. the mandalorian has time to catch sight of the girl somewhere to his left, hand raised and eyebrows furrowed as if... she’s the one doing it.

she gasps, eyes flying open as she drops the beast on the ground, giving him enough time to stab through its thick skin and kill it. he retrieves his knife, turning back to the girl, who’s unsteadily walked a little closer.

“what was that?” he demands, looking at the now-dead mudhorn again. she grins sleepily.

“wasn’t all me,” she says, looking back at the child, completely knocked out in the egg. “lost my concentration when he passed out.” she looks into his visor again. “sorry ‘bout that.”

he’s about to respond, but she turns away, walking towards the cave.

(and it’s a good thing too, because he might have blurted out something about how beautiful she looks with mud in her hair.)

he follows, turning on the light attached to his helmet to find her feeling for “the egg” already.

he never gets the chance to put the cuffs back on her.

it proves to be enough for the jawas, and they return to his ship with all of the parts. with everyone’s help, the ship is fixed quickly, and it is time. the ugnaught denies a job, finished with his life of servitude. the mandalorian understands.

so, they are alone. the mandalorian is in the pilot’s seat, and the girl is in the passenger’s seat with the egg on her lap. the bounty’s seat. he finally remembers what she is here for.

but he doesn’t want to.

the mandalorian and the caretaker taglist: @twofacedbassy, @peggers-n-beggers, @krissykat0207, @holybatflapexpert, @cosmichellfire, @optionl, @dreamxcollide, @disasteren, @honestlystop

permanent taglist: @llama259, @lustriix

#mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mando x reader

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freetheshit-outofyou · 4 years ago

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On This Day....

On June 21, 1788, New Hampshire became the ninth state to ratify the document, and it was subsequently agreed that government under the U.S. Constitution would begin on March 4, 1789. In June, Virginia ratified the Constitution, followed by New York in July. On September 25, 1789, the first Congress of the United States adopted 12 amendments to the U.S. Constitution–the Bill of Rights–and sent them to the states for ratification. The Signal Corps dates its existence from June 21, 1860, when Congress authorized the appointment of one signal officer in the Army, and a War Department order carried the following assignment: “Signal Department–Assistant Surgeon Albert J. Myer to be Signal Officer, with the rank of Major, June 27, 1860, to fill an original vacancy.” The Signal Corps was authorized as a separate branch of the Army by act of Congress on March 3, 1863. 21 June 1921 – U.S. Army Air Service pilots bombed the captured German battleship Ostfriesland to demonstrate the effectiveness of aerial bombing on warships. At the time, the ship was one of the world’s largest war vessels. Brigadier General William “Billy” Mitchell, assistant chief of the Army Air Service, arranged the demonstration to prove that air power should become the country’s first line of defense. Most military leaders doubted that airplanes could inflict serious damage on warships. Mitchell’s tests proved them wrong. 1942 – Churchill receives the news of the fall of Tobruk while meeting with US President Roosevelt. FDR immediately offers aid and 300 Sherman tanks and 100 self-propelled guns are immediately dispatched to North Africa. The better equipment will make a difference in the British performance at El Amien. 1966 – U.S. planes strike North Vietnamese petroleum-storage facilities in a series of devastating raids. These missions were part of Operation Rolling Thunder, which had been launched in March 1965 after President Lyndon B. Johnson ordered a sustained bombing campaign of North Vietnam. The operation was designed to interdict North Vietnamese transportation routes in the southern part of North Vietnam and to slow infiltration of personnel and supplies into South Vietnam. During the early months of this campaign, there were restrictions against striking targets in or near Hanoi and Haiphong. In 1966, however, Rolling Thunder was expanded to include the bombing of North Vietnamese ammunition dumps and oil storage facilities. In the spring of 1967, it was further expanded to include power plants, factories, and airfields in the Hanoi and Haiphong area. The White House closely controlled operation Rolling Thunder and at times President Johnson personally selected targets. From 1965 to 1968, about 643,000 tons of bombs were dropped on North Vietnam. The operation continued, with occasional suspensions, until President Johnson halted in on October 31, 1968, under increasing domestic political pressure. 2000 – Some 55 years after World War Two ended, 22 Asian-American veterans received the Medal of Honor for bravery on the battlefield during a White House ceremony.

*HARVEY, CARMEL BERNON, JR. Rank and organization: Specialist Fourth Class, U.S. Army, Company B, 1st Battalion, 5th Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile). Place and date: Binh Dinh Province, Republic of Vietnam, 21 June 1967. Entered service at: Chicago, Ill. Born: 6 October 1946, Montgomery, W. Va. Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sp4c. Harvey distinguished himself as a fire team leader with Company B, during combat operations. Ordered to secure a downed helicopter, his platoon established a defensive perimeter around the aircraft, but shortly thereafter a large enemy force attacked the position from 3 sides. Sp4c. Harvey and 2 members of his squad were in a position directly in the path of the enemy onslaught, and their location received the brunt of the fire from an enemy machine gun. In short order, both of his companions were wounded, but Sp4c. Harvey covered this loss by increasing his deliberate rifle fire at the foe. The enemy machine gun seemed to concentrate on him and the bullets struck the ground all around his position. One round hit and armed a grenade attached to his belt. Quickly, he tried to remove the grenade but was unsuccessful. Realizing the danger to his comrades if he remained and despite the hail of enemy fire, he jumped to his feet, shouted a challenge at the enemy, and raced toward the deadly machine gun. He nearly reached the enemy position when the grenade on his belt exploded, mortally wounding Sp4c. Harvey, and stunning the enemy machine gun crew. His final act caused a pause in the enemy fire, and the wounded men were moved from the danger area. Sp4c. Harvey’s dedication to duty, high sense of responsibility, and heroic actions inspired the others in his platoon to decisively beat back the enemy attack. His acts are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army.

*MCWETHY, EDGAR LEE, JR. Rank and organization: Specialist Fifth Class, U.S. Army, Company B, 1st Battalion, 5th Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile). Rank and organization: Binh Dinh province, Republic of Vietnam, 21 June 1967. Entered service at: Denver, Colo. Born: 22 November 1944, Leadville, Colo. Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Serving as a medical aidman with Company B, Sp5c. McWethy accompanied his platoon to the site of a downed helicopter. Shortly after the platoon established a defensive perimeter around the aircraft, a large enemy force attacked the position from 3 sides with a heavy volume of automatic weapons fire and grenades. The platoon leader and his radio operator were wounded almost immediately, and Sp5c. McWethy rushed across the fire-swept area to their assistance. Although he could not help the mortally wounded radio operator, Sp5c. McWethy’s timely first aid enabled the platoon leader to retain command during this critical period. Hearing a call for aid, Sp5c. McWethy started across the open toward the injured men, but was wounded in the head and knocked to the ground. He regained his feet and continued on but was hit again, this time in the leg. Struggling onward despite his wounds, he gained the side of his comrades and treated their injuries. Observing another fallen rifleman Lying in an exposed position raked by enemy fire, Sp5c. McWethy moved toward him without hesitation. Although the enemy fire wounded him a third time, Sp5c. McWethy reached his fallen companion. Though weakened and in extreme pain, Sp5c. McWethy gave the wounded man artificial respiration but suffered a fourth and fatal wound. Through his indomitable courage, complete disregard for his safety, and demonstrated concern for his fellow soldiers, Sp5c. McWethy inspired the members of his platoon and contributed in great measure to their successful defense of the position and the ultimate rout of the enemy force. Sp5c. McWethy’s profound sense of duty, bravery, and his willingness to accept extraordinary risks in order to help the men of his unit are characteristic of the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army.

MONTI, JARED C.* United States Army Rank and organization: Staff Sergeant Headquarters and Headquarters Troop, 3d Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment, 3d Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division. Place and date: Nuristan Province, Afghanistan, on June 21, 2006. Citation: Staff Sergeant Jared C. Monti distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a team leader with , in connection with combat operations against an armed enemy in While Staff Sergeant Monti was leading a mission aimed at gathering intelligence and directing fire against the enemy, his 16-man patrol was attacked by as many as 50 enemy fighters. On the verge of being overrun, Staff Sergeant Monti quickly directed his men to set up a defensive position behind a rock formation. He then called for indirect fire support, accurately targeting the rounds upon the enemy who had closed to within 50 meters of his position. While still directing fire, Staff Sergeant Monti personally engaged the enemy with his rifle and a grenade, successfully disrupting an attempt to flank his patrol. Staff Sergeant Monti then realized that one of his Soldiers was lying wounded in the open ground between the advancing enemy and the patrol’s position. With complete disregard for his own safety, Staff Sergeant Monti twice attempted to move from behind the cover of the rocks into the face of relentless enemy fire to rescue his fallen comrade. Determined not to leave his Soldier, Staff Sergeant Monti made a third attempt to cross open terrain through intense enemy fire. On this final attempt, he was mortally wounded, sacrificing his own life in an effort to save his fellow Soldier. Staff Sergeant Monti’s selfless acts of heroism inspired his patrol to fight off the larger enemy force. Staff Sergeant Monti’s immeasurable courage and uncommon valor are in keeping with the highest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself, Headquarters and Headquarters Troop, 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division, and the United States Army.

SOURCE

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theliterateape · 5 years ago

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Yoga in the Time of Quarantine

By Rhiannon Koehler

Chicago self-isolation, Day 11— By now my boyfriend and I, stuck in our 400-square-foot studio, have gone through our television and movie watch-lists, stuffed ourselves with take-out, and pretty much murdered our puzzle/boardgame/book collection. Work takes up some time, but today is Saturday. We’ve been getting on each other’s nerves.

I’m planning on doing yoga today. I’m desperately trying not to gain 300 pounds while being largely immobile.

I say, “I’m going to try a vinyasa yoga video, do you mind?” He shakes his head. “No, I’ll just be playing a game.” This is the only time he gets these days with his friends back home, in England. And he puts his gaming headphones on.

Six feet away, I roll out my yoga mat, prop up my computer, and hear the soothing voice of my online yoga instructor.

Start your practice seated, if that’s available for you. Just cross your legs, and take a large breath in. Try get the length of your inhale to match the length of your exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

Yeah there’s another dead guy by the box. There. By the box. The BOX. By the store thing.

Ignore it. Keep going.

Now we’re going to do some large circles with our shoulders, just to activate our spine—

What fires up a flare? I know, I just put it on my gun. Fucking hell, this is taking ages. I shot him fucking twice, somehow I didn’t kill him.

And we’ll reverse the direction. Just trying to loosen the spine. If your mind starts to wander, just bring it back to the present—

They’re going into that—INTO THAT BUILDING! He’s shooting at you! I’m all the way up the stairs…

And set an intention for your practice, releasing expectations for you, for me, and for the world.

My intention is to approach today with calmness, sensitivity, and to be in the present. I breathe in and out, deeply, with intention. Everything has been so scary lately—I really need this thirty minutes—

I saved Caleb last time, so it’s on you. As long as I don’t die right now. FUCK! OH MY GOD! MATE! THAT IS BULLSHIT! DID YOU SEE? I DID THE FUCKING HEARTBEAT SENSOR TOO AND NONE OF THEM POPPED UP! BULLSHIT. FUCK’S SAKE. Right as I was about to get you in here, too. Oh, well.

I open my eyes. Should I stop yoga? Do this later? The thing is, this gaming could last one hour, or it could last eight. Nobody knows. If I stop, COVID-19 wins. I close my eyes, vow to keep going.

And coming back to center, place your feet behind you, and we’ll meet in downward dog.

Nice one, mate. Mate, mate—they’re below you. They’re below you. OOOOH that was a fucking helicopter! Shit! That was a nice one.

And here in downward dog, let’s bend the right knee a lot, stretching back into our left heel. Do you feel that release? I feel the release—this is so relax—

FUCK! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’m SO pissed off… might just want to run, mate. OH SHIT! Mate… uh… FUCK! I killed somebody and then immediately—ugh. There’s going to be two of them there.

And take that right knee, pull it in towards your chest, look forward, and step that knee through your hands to the top of the mat.

I’m in the Gulag. Let’s see… yeah, you got a gas mask. What the FUCK.

I’m here. I’m focused. I got this.

Alright. I’m out of the Gulag.

I wish I was out of the Gulag. This is the worst yoga practice I’ve ever had.

Now we’re going to shift our weight forward, straighten up, and raise our arms to come into our low lunge.

I feel the release. It’s amazing how a little movement can solve so much stress—

Not really sure where I should go… Farmland? I think I’m just going to drop in and try to pick up some guns.

And now we’re going to shift, just follow me gently, into utkatasna, chair pose. I stumble a little bit on this one, I need to improve my balance—

OH SHIT! They’re both right around that corner, FUCK! Nice one, mate. Did you get both of them? Fucking hell. Everything is rinsed. HA!

From chair pose, let’s reach up, try to get a bit more space… I’m reaching. I’m reaching, I’m reaching so far up I can almost feel my spine decompressing… relaxation is imminent—

Mate—alright there mate! I killed him! OOF! That was a close one. I landed on the building—and he was already in here. You’re in the same building as me? Mate, yeah, I’ve got fuck all. I just killed him with a rifle.

And now, see if you can raise your left foot—I try, I can’t. I stumble, and fall. It’s a larger thud than I’d like to admit to. I wait for the next plan of attack from the man in the gaming chair next to me, but hear only silence.

I look up, and see him looking at me, concerned.

Mate, sorry, I’ve got to go.

He turns it off.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He’s being very nice in not laughing at my less-than-stellar-yoga.

“Yeah.” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you stop, I wasn’t trying to be passive aggressive or anything, I just feel like a giant slug these days—” He stops me, shaking his head.

He’s smiling. “This can wait. Let’s finish that together. What was it? Ski pose?”

“Chair pose.” I say, and start the yoga video again. I love this man. He’s next to me, actually trying. We get into chair pose, reach up, and don’t fall over. He looks at me. “Nice one, mate!” And he’s right. It is.

#COVID-19 #Coronavirus #Quarantine #yoga

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inconvenient-sneezes · 5 years ago

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you already know what time it is (sick negan time)

read chapter 1 read chapter 2 you’re reading chapter 3! read chapter 4

Chapter 3: Catching On

Maggie watched from the window from about 300 meters away as Negan collapsed. And just like that, she threw open the door to their small house and took off running.

Her boots pounded the earth and her thighs burned as she ran at full speed, like a marathon runner. Her gut told her not to shout for him, as she could see a few walkers approaching the area where he lie and didn’t necessarily want to attract them to where she was.

Once she was close enough, Maggie stopped and took aim, her breathing ragged.

Her finger found the trigger of her .22 caliber rifle and she pulled it. With a loud, thunderous bang, Maggie saw one walker fall, then aimed for the other.

Once they were both still, she took off again, toward Negan.

She stood over him, panting, and quickly searched his exposed skin for any scratches, cuts, or other abrasions.

“Negan,” she whispered, running up and crouching by him. “Negan. Wake up.”

Both her hands were on his shoulder, shaking him. Maggie placed the back of her hand on his forehead again and cursed. He was much too hot. Jesus.

For some reason, feeling the heat off his skin brought her back to some other negative but distant memory — a faint memory of her half-sister, Beth. She was 15, just before the apocalypse and she—

Maggie shook her head as if trying to shake the memories out of her mind. Negan needed her now, not Beth. Beth had been long gone.

Shaking, she removed his leather jacket and tugged his sweat-soaked T-shirt off. “Negan!”

Negan blearily opened one eye and then the other. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his head and he looked up at her, dazed. His breathing was ragged and he coughed a little.

“Can you hear me?”

Negan’s mouth stretched open, Maggie thought, for the purpose of talking. Instead, his eyelids fluttered shut and his nostrils quivered. “H-hih’RRDSSCHHH!”

He sniffled lazily, and ran the knuckle of his forefinger beneath the his nose’s tip, trying to ease the tickle. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked simply exhausted. Negan licked his lips, trying to get some moisture for his dry throat.

He looked awful but at least he was alive. Maggie sighed in relief.

“Let’s get you to your feet.”

She helped him up and the two made their way back to the house, one step at a time. Negan’s arm was thrown around Maggie’s shoulder and her knees bent under the added weight as she helped him, best she could.

Although she fully expected it, her heart still sank when Negan tried to wrestle out of her grip.

“I don’t — I don’t need your help, woman,” Negan snapped, trying to break away from Maggie’s grasp.

But he was exhausted and weak, and frankly, rather unable to free himself from his wife’s awkward embrace as they stumbled forward.

Like the “good wife,” as he often called her, Maggie tried her best to support him. “You’re ill, you… you’re sick. You need rest.”

“I d-do not,” Negan said quickly, breath quivering uncertainly as he lingered just beyond the breaking point of a satisfying, gut-wrenching sneeze. “H-huhhh… Hh’WRHFFFHH!”

She watched him closely as they approached the house. He snuffled into the back of his hand in a desperate attempt to keep his nose from running.

“Bless you,” Maggie told him gently, as they made their way back into the house.

The door was still cracked open where she’d left it and she kicked it closed behind her. Maggie helped Negan sit down on the couch they had in the living room — a purple and green plaid thing, truly ugly — and unlaced his muddy boots.

She saw Negan involuntarily shiver and break out in goosebumps without his shirt, but Maggie knew she needed to get his fever down before almost anything else.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, putting his boots aside.

Negan looked up at her, clad only in some dirty denim pants and his thick socks. “Hell yeah,” he said, nodding. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

His now-playful mood effectively threw her off, but Maggie went into the kitchen anyway and returned with a steaming bowl. While he was out doing God knows what, shooting at walkers for seemingly no reason, Maggie had set herself up in the kitchen, bringing in tomatoes, peppers and okra from the garden and unwrapping a large chuck of rabbit meat that Negan had caught and skinned recently.

“It’s soup. Made with vegetables from the garden and some rabbit.”

Negan chuckled, mood suddenly lighter. “You know me so well, Mags. If I could smell anything, I bet this would smell damn delicious”

The hot broth was both clearing up his sinuses and making his nose run. He sniffled thickly before rooting through the pile of clothes on the floor for his handkerchief. Evidently, he found it just in time because no sooner had Negan tugged the cloth out of the pocket, his nostrils began to betray him again.

“Oh, f-for f-fuhh… f-fuck’s—” Negan broke off and buried his red nose in the welcoming comfort of the cloth. “H-heh’RFSSHHHH! ATSCHSSSHHH!”

Maggie had been diligently cleaning off his boot and jumped at the sudden loud sound. She looked over just in time to see Negan hitching desperately into the handkerchief. “Ahhh… h-hahHH! H-hh’RRDSCHHH!”

The sneeze tore through him and she saw another round of goosebumps travel down his arms. Frankly, it was difficult not to feel bad for him when he was this sick.

“Bless you,” Maggie said sympathetically as she sat next to him. “How’re you feeling?”

Negan suddenly glared at her through watery eyes, mood completely flipped on its head. “How the fuck do you think I’m feeling?”

Maggie was taken aback, but perhaps not too shocked. “I— I’m sorry, I only meant—”

To her surprise, Negan immediately shook his head. “I know, I’m sorry honey. This cold is just k-kihhh… kicking my ass.”

It was strange for him to be this open and honest with her. And him feeling bad for doing something? Well, it was certainly new for him.

“Okay, well, why don’t we go to bed early tonight?” Maggie suggested, gently rubbing his back. “I know you’re sick of being in bed but you’ve had a long day and you’ll get better faster if you can get some sleep.”

Negan sniffled and nodded. “You know what, Mags? You just might be right.”

He took another few spoonfuls of his soup — making sure to at least eat the protein of the meal — and pushed the bowl away. To Maggie, it seemed almost childlike in notion and she smiled in spite of herself.

Negan stood up shakily, his nostrils fluttering with the intense need to sneeze again. “I’m going to t-tuhh… t-turn in,” he told her, scrubbing at his nose. “This fucking tickle won’t leave me alone.”

“I know,” she said, trying to sympathize. “I’ll lock up the house and join you.”

Their home had a significant locking system that Negan had essentially installed, which included two deadbolts. After a few months of living together, he eventually explained and showed her how to effectively lock up the house, which put her more at ease. Living out here wasn’t easy.

As the two made their way to the bedroom, Maggie made sure to grab another glass of water to put by the bedside table, just in case. She figured Negan’s cough would be back and it would be a long night if he kept that up. Then again, he couldn’t help it, could he?

“You Maggie… you’re special,” Negan told her as he lumbered into bed and patted the side next to him. “You’re somethin’ else.”

She smiled lightly, prepared and ready for his mood to change completely, for little to no reason. “Need anything?”

Thankfully, he shook his head and pulled the blankets up to his chin. “Nope. Night, sweet thing,” he said.

***

#someone stop me #or commission me why not #sneezy negan is ok with me #snz #snez #snzblr #snezblr #sneezeblr #snzfic #snezfic #sneezefic #fic #walking dead #negan #walkingsnz

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garryspolicememories · 5 years ago

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Policing Memories of

Garry Crawford Circa 1962

Part XVII

Armed Robbery Lighthouse Restaurant

One afternoon shift in the latter half of 1970’s I was at the Wawa Detachment Office. I was advised by dispatch that there had been an armed robbery at the Lighthouse Restaurant south of Montreal River. The culprits had left northbound. Corporal Gerry Thompson from the Sault Ste Marie Detachment was in the area, had responded to the report and was in pursuit of the culprits vehicle; northbound on Highway #17.

I grabbed my rifle jumped in a cruiser and headed south. At the same time I requested our radio operator to dispatch a second vehicle containing Constables Tex Luoma and Don Harrison to the Old Woman River Bridge which was about twenty miles south of Wawa. My instructions were for them to wait at the bridge for further instructions. I proceeded as far south as Red Rock Ranger Station and waited. There was a straight stretch for the better part of a mile south from my location. My thought was to have a clear view with no other cars involved when I stopped the vehicle. When I seen the wanted car coming with Gerry in pursuit, I pulled my cruiser crossways on the centerline of the highway. I attempted to flag the wanted car down. An occupant leaned out the window and started firing at me. I took cover behind the cruiser. The culprit’s car swung onto the shoulder down on the bank and around my cruiser. I fired a shot at the fleeing car as it pulled back onto the highway. I thought I had shot the rear window out at that point, but it may have exploded as the culprit shot back. Gerry hardly slowed, he followed the culprits car around the cruiser. I radioed the cruiser at the Old Woman Bridge and told them that when they seen the wanted car with us in pursuit, with no cars in front. They were to put their cruiser crossways in the middle of the Bridge. Then take cover. My thought was to leave no opening for them to get by. The quicker we stopped them the fewer people would be involved. They had indicated to me by the gun fire that they were not going to give up easily. They had a choice, Stop, go in the river, or run into the cruiser on the bridge.

Gerry and My adrenaline was flowing pretty good at this point. Something I had learned over the years, was to try to slow down when you found yourself in this situation. One way was to force yourself to talk very slowly, the other was self talk. In gives you time to think and rationalize a little better and remember your training.

So here we are barreling down the highway and I radioed Gerry and said something like: How – are – you – doing – Gerry? Gerry’s response: Hey! These – guys – are – shooting- at -me. Hey! I – think – they – just – hit – my - radiator. My response: Maybe- your – too - close.

As we dropped onto the flat before Old Woman Bridge I could see our cruiser with all lights activated on the middle of the bridge. I guess the culprits saw it too, as they suddenly pulled off the road down into the east ditch and travelled right over close to the bush line.

Gerry came to a stop crossways on the shoulder with his headlights on the side rear of the vehicle. I skidded past him and stopped with my headlight lights on the front side of the vehicle. We then had the four occupants of the vehicle exit it and lay face down on the ground with their arms and legs outstretched. They were handcuffed and questioned. We could find no firearms. As we got backup, we searched back down the road and shoulders with out finding any. One of the four then admitted that a fifth subject with the gun had exited their vehicle and ran into the bush. Neither Gerry nor I had seen him go.

Tex Luoma and Don Harrison arrived on the scene within a couple of minutes. I seem to remember Don saying something about Gerry and I being a little strange. Lol.

We did not feel it was advisable to try and follow the suspect into the bush at night. We decided to move our roadblocks a couple of miles north and south of the scene. They were to stop all vehicles and tell them under no circumstances to stop between the two roadblocks. We then used plain cars to do a constant patrol through the area. Lorne Neve the Detachment Commander had been advised at this point and he accompanied me in one of the plain cars patrolling the area.

Just after daybreak we were patrolling south on Highway #17 down the Hill to Old Woman Bay. At the point where you can first see the Old Woman Beach, we could see a person walking north on the beach. The subject was about ½ a mile away at this point. We drove into the Beach Parking Lot. Lorne headed for the Beach with the intent of making his way towards the person. I headed south on a trail that parallels the beach. I was carefully making my way with the intent of intercepting the individual. I reached a point about 300 yards south of the parking lot, when I seen the suspect hiding behind a clump of dirt, he had his rifle up and was attempting to sight in on me.

( We learned later that the rifle was a .303 military rifle that had both the barrel and the stock sawed off. In order to sight it, one had to hold it away from them and sight down the barrel)

The instant I seen the individual was sighting on me, I threw my rifle to my shoulder and fired. The suspects rifle flew into the air at least 15 feet over his head. I thought I had somehow hit the rifle. The suspect then stood up with his hands extended over his head. I was approximately fifty yards from him. I ordered him to walk out to the path very slowly, then had him lay face down with his hands extended. I then moved up and handcuffed him. At that point I rolled him over and I gasped. The suspect was no more than sixteen years old, I had two teenage boys at home. I was using my own personal rifle which I carried on the trap line. I was very accurate with it and seldom missed a shot. Only his head and top of his shoulders were visible when I shot. I had aimed for the center of his forehead.

Lorne and I returned the individual to Wawa and lodged him in the Detachment Cells. The excitement was over for the time being. On checking the individual a short time later, I asked him if there was anything he needed. He replied that he would sure like a pop. We did not have a pop machine in the Detachment, but the good thing was that Gerry Thompson was still there. I checked Gerry’s bag and sure enough he had a quantity of COKE. I took one and gave it to the suspect. Gerry has never forgiven me. I know because just last year he mentioned that incident. He said: That guy tried to kill me! What did you do? You gave him one of my coke. I really don’t believe he was that upset, because he has remained a steadfast friend over the past fifty some years.

The rifle I was using was a .308 cal. Winchester lever action. Model 88. I carried it most of the time while in the bush, but I used reloaded shells. The day following this incident I took it out to the pit where we did our firearms training to try to figure out why I had missed my shot. I learned pretty quickly what had happened. At fifty yards the reloaded shells were right on. I had used military rounds from the Detachment that were 7.62 mm. These were meant for the old sniper rifle that most Detachments use to be issued with, but were much hotter than my reloads. At 50 yards they hit about 1 ½ “ high. I guessed my shot most likely passed through his hair. That was enough. He wanted to give up.

The accused was charged by Sault Ste Marie OPP for the robbery at the Lighthouse Restaurant and then returned to the Toronto Area where he was convicted for several other robberies and sentenced to a lengthy period in a Federal Institution.

I was grateful in one way that I had missed my shot and was not responsible for the life of a young teenager, but felt he would most likely continue his life of crime.

The story does not end there. I was promoted to Sergeant in the early spring of 1980 and posted to Bala Detachment as Detachment Commander. A couple of years later this same suspect escaped from a federal institution at Kingston Ontario. Constable Ray Negus was on patrol in the Old Woman Bay parking lot and seen a vehicle which had been stolen at Kingston Ontario. The story as I heard it was that Ray had waited out of sight of the stolen car. Sure enough the culprit returned to the stolen car and Ray arrested him. He had hidden the money he stole from the Lighthouse restaurant in the sand along Old Woman River and had returned with the intention of retrieving it. The Old Woman River floods every spring and the sand bars and shoreline change. No money was ever found. The name of the accused has not stayed in my memory, however I often wonder if he ever made anything of himself or did he as I expected just continue a life of crime.

I have included a photograph of Lorne Neve and myself with this submission. I am not to sure just when it was taken, but it appears something was in the planning stage. I am sure it will bring back some good memories to some who read this.

A Drowning With A Message

How often I have wished that during my time as an active police officer, I had a camera or phone with a camera as we have today. There were so many times that I seen or witnessed something that I would have recorded

One day in the summer during the 1970’s we received a call at Wawa Detachment from Camp Lochalsh on Wabatongushi Lake. They reported that one of their guests had gone through the chutes at the dam on their lake and was believed to have drowned.

Arrangements were made for the use of a Beaver aircraft with Airdale flying services. Ray Negus was the investigating officer. Ed Zelionis District Dive Master and one other diver was dispatched from the south. We flew up and landed on the lake below the dam. Dave Little the owner/manager of Camp Lochalsh was waiting at the lake.

If my memory is correct, two people had been fishing in a boat just above the dam. One of the men had stood up to relieve himself. The boat had drifted through the chutes upset and continued down the river and rapids. One of the men had been able to get to the shore. The other disappeared. On arrival the two divers suited up and began their recovery operation. Beginning where the boat had upset then working their way down the river to the second lake. Ray and I waited on the shore acting to assist where we could. The divers had been working for a couple of hours with no success. I decided to take the boat that was at the landing and have a look down the lake. As several stop logs had been replaced in the dam after the accident, it was feasible that the earlier high volume of water at the time of the accident had flushed the body down the lake.

Dave Little accompanied me and we started down the lake. When we reached a point about ½ a mile down the west side of the lake we found the body. It was floating vertical in about 8 feet of water. His pants were down around his ankles and they were snagged on a root on the bottom. His head was about three feet under the water. There was a 66 ounce whisky bottle that was ¾’s empty floating immediately above the body. A photo would have given a great safety message. Don’t drink and go boating!

We had a bit of difficulty getting the body into our boat, but finally succeeded, wrapped it in an emergency blanket and rowed back up the lake. As we came back to the landing where Ray was waiting I seem to remember Ray having a little accident. The flat rock down to the water was sloped and covered in moss. As Ray rushed down to catch the boat it moved and poor Ray fell into the lake. Ray probably has a different version, but its my story. What made it bad was Ray was in uniform and we still had to fly over to Camp Lochalsh for him to interview a couple of people. He was true to form and finished his investigation without having any more mishaps.

If you wish to read my previous submissions, they are all stored at the following URL: <garryspolicememories.tumblr.com>

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alteredphoenix · 5 years ago

Text

Untitled WoW/Jak and Daxter one-shot (WIP)(Belf!Jak/Nelf!Keira)

A/N: (Warning: very brief spoilers for the end of the Nya’lotha raid and 8.3 in the preview below, please be advised.)

I’ve never played Jak and Daxter. Growing up, at the height of the console wars, the only games I acquainted myself with were strictly from Nintendo and the PSX (my father was of the mindset that if you had to choose between the Gamecube, the PS2, and the Xbox, you were going stick with the one you got, no ifs, ands, or buts), so I never had the opportunity to try popular games such as Grand Theft Auto until I hit my early twenties.

But I love sci-fi mixed with my fantasy, and I love my elves that aren’t small and cute and are confined to shelves during the Christmas holiday season (and I refuse to believe the J&D cast are humans - not with ears like that) but are tall, lean, and ass-whooping killing machines. I also love WoW (if that isn’t plainly obvious), and J&D had been on my mind at work the past couple days, wondering if we will ever another game that clearly addresses what became of Gol and Maia Acheron 300 years later or a series reboot from Naughty Dog if they ever decide to get off their high horse regarding their stance on the inability to tell mature stories in an over-the-top cartoonish world.

So this is the first thing that came to mind, and I set about plunking away at this before my shift yesterday. There are other ideas I have in mind, but none as thorough as this: a one-shot in which the cast of J&D are reincarnated in Azeroth long after the events of The Lost Frontier. Here Jak is a blood elf and Keira a night elf with loose ties to the Horde and the Alliance, both of whom remember their past lives and meet again upon a chance encounter in Gadgetzan.

Obviously I don’t ship much if at all, but Jak/Keira is canon in-universe (although, from what I’ve seen of the occasional Jak II playthroughs I’ve watched on YouTube, I found Jak to have better chemistry with Ashelin over Keira) and, for this fic at least, I wasn’t about to reconsider given the context.

It feels like a thousand-thousand lifetimes before they realize where they are. What they are, after so much time spent together.

He’s the first to remember. For the man that had previously been Jak of House Mar, it happens long after the Scourge swept through Quel’Thalas, long after Lor’themar is made Regent-Lord and interregnum that is the Council of the Sun is hastily formed, right when the battles that’ll come to comprise the Blood War (“The Fourth War,” High Examiner Tae’thelan Bloodwatcher will remind him and everyone in a twenty yard radius with an indignant sniff) ends with N’Zoth’s demise in the realm of Nya’lotha.

He doesn’t call himself by the name his parents gave him at birth anymore. Even with the return of his memories, he still can’t recall if he ever learned he was truly the Mar of legend or a descendant meant to honor his namesake (for all the fat lot of good it did for him; the thought of Veger and Haven City burns bitter at the back of his throat). Perhaps it’s sheer coincidence, or a stroke of cosmic irony, to be called Marellius and his last name be Clearwater, bringing up memories of the tides that always broke over Sandover Village’s coasts, the ruins of the Precursor facility looming ominously on the horizon.

Marellius—Jak—takes a moment to appraise his coworkers as the morning crew punches out for the day and the second to third shifts are filing into the building, lunches and toolboxes in hand. There’s been a lot more talk than usual: word on the street has been making the rounds that Gallywix has been up to no good at Crapopolis and went on the run, presumably traipsing the world for wherever Sylvanas is currently holing up at. Gazlowe is gone, too, but for another reason: the leadership gathered at Orgrimmar have decided to make him Trade Prince, and they should like to have him present in Stormwind for when they will convene with King Anduin Wrynn and the Alliance to sign the peace treaty signaling the end of the war and the reparations the Horde must pay for the next several years. Steamwheedle and Marin Noggenfogger have the run of operations while he’s away, keeping security tight and inspecting everyone for signs of SI:7 saboteurs seeking to undermine them. Tae’thelan balks at them but doesn’t comment on it, focusing on overseeing that all their supplies are loaded onto the ship and the paperwork transactions have been double-checked for discrepancies and authenticity before handing them over to the quartermaster.

He blinks. They are not Reliquary archaeologists and researchers, but Underground scouts and operatives preparing to slink back into the shadows of Haven’s streets and raise some hell while he and Daxter (sometimes with Sig tagging behind them) take advantage of the chaos and hit up the next point of interest that has Krew’s eyes tinkling or Torn’s barely restrained bloodlust needs to be slaked. Those aren’t crates full of telescopes, shovels, picks, and other utility; they are filled with rifles, pistols, energy cells, vibro blades, scrap metal jacked from Metal Heads and Krimzon Guard junkyards on the edge of South Town. Those are not Tae’thalan Bloodwatcher and Cyrme Brightblade standing out on the docks but Torn and Ashelin, discussing not how to get lost in Gadgetzan’s streets but hitting the bongs, reminiscing about the old days before the world went to shit, and what they would do once Praxis was overthrown and they could rebuild Haven City into an image that would do its name justice.

Why me? Why am I here?

Could it be...I’m the only one that was reborn?

“Hey,” a voice calls. Then, more loudly, “Hey.”

Jak jolts with a start. “What?”

Fingers snap, causing him to look down. Reena Cogscrap stands before him, peering up at him intensely. “I said, are you ready to go? Last call just sounded. Better get on board, ‘less you wanna get left behind and your ass chewed by Belloc.”

“Oh. Alright. Thanks for letting me know.” He bends down to grab the toolbox he had set at his feet and adjusts a strap of his backpack, filled with his coin purse and books to take notes and sketches, that’s slipped over one shoulder.

When he gets back up, Reena is still there. “Come on,” he says, gesturing at the boat.

“That’s not like you, Mar.”

“What isn’t?”

“Staring off into space like that. You don’t do that sorta thing. You’re always moving around.” She shrugs, hands raised with palms up. “Get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.”

“You worried we won’t make our quota?”

‘Quota’ being ‘how many newly unearthed artifacts can they pawn off to the highest bidder at the auction block before Remy Starminder and his merry band of sticks in the mud kick up another fuss about the philosophical differences of historical value and financial value’. The Big Three Families—the Grimy Goons, the Jade Lotus, and the Kabal—are going to be there, and Jak will be damned if they won’t try to rig the bids against the Cartel to funnel their own operations against each other. That means little to the High Examiner so long as they procure the artifacts that can be salvaged and shipped off to Silvermoon for restoration and – if Rommath can keep Lor’themar and the others distracted long enough – off-plane experiments, in the worst case scenario that the Alliance will break the armistice and plunge Azeroth into a crusade of kaldorei vengeance and human retribution. It also means little to Jak himself; the closest he’s gotten to participating in the war is doing smuggling runs for the Bilgewater Cartel in Ratchet under cover of night, and rarely did he ever have to club an Alliance marine cold before word got out. The paychecks were decent, a helluva lot better than what Krew could bother to give away from the comfort of his greasy paws, and that put food on the table at the meager little cottage on the coast of the Great Sea west of Fairbreeze Village. He needn’t involve himself anymore than that.

Jak shakes his head. “No. It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

He starts walking, molding himself among the crowd of Steamwheedle excavators and Reliquary knights heading for the ramp. “I was just thinking about the past.”

#world of warcraft #battle for azeroth #jak and daxter #jak mar #keira hagai #fanfiction #preview #mywriting

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shaken-veil · 6 years ago

Note

All the fluff ones for Aine and Saladin

For the Fluff:

1. What are things they both find funny?

The missteps of their unfortunate Guardian children.

2. If they could each describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?

‘The strength and patience of a mountain, the wrath of a thunderstorm.’

‘The warmth and the fury of the sun.’

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

‘Most handsome man I’ve seen in a thousand years’ (he will probably grumble about it because he’s so old.)

‘The beauty of the sun pales when I look at you.’

4. What would be their ship name?

Iron Grandparents!!!!

5. What activities do they enjoy together?

Going for long walks, reading together, just keeping each other quiet company.

6. What is/are their love language(s)?

Touches, words, gifts. All works for them.

7. Write a ~300 word love scene for them.

Thank you jay for the idea xD

Aine sat in the Library of the Iron Temple, lost deep in the old writing of an ancient tome a young hunter has brought to them some time ago. With Tyra being on her own travels, Aine did what she could to unlock it’s secrets. She had forgotten time and no idea how long she already sat here, when the door to the study opened just a little.

Saladin glanced into the room, finding his wife leaning over a desk, furiously taking notes and flipping through the pages of this old book. Usually it was him, who worked too much on the days, but lately Aine had been too busy. Behind him, there was excited whining. Asena and her latest litter of white pups were waiting to see their wolfmother/grandmother again.

“Aine? You still alive?” His deep voice carried a certain amount of amusement with it, knowing very well what was about to happen.

“I am, Love. I’ll be out shortly….” And she was gone again. Lost in her work and one could literally see the clockworks working in her head. It was enough for him to push the door open and let the wild horde in for the attack. Five Wolves, Asena the biggest of them, charged into the room and jumped at Aine at the same time. With a startled shriek she fell over to the ground, only to be attacked by a lot of loving wolf kisses.

“Lord Saladin Forge!!!! By the Traveler’s saggy balls!!!!” Aine tried to keep off all the smooches, while Saladin just stood in the doorway, laughing.

“Hearing you curse was worth the wait.” Eventually he took pity on her and stepped forward, pulling Aine back to her feet and into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Now enough working. I’m hungry.” Saladin lifted her up and just dropped her over his shoulder, walking away.

“Put me down, Sal! Saladin! Put me down!”

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

For Aine: ‘I wonder, if my Sniper Rifle can breach that helmet?’

For Saladin: ‘She’s gonna shoot me.’

#Lord Saladin x female guardian #lord saladin #aine #warlock guardian #my ocs #jules answers

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bucky-at-bedtime · 6 years ago

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Redemption

Summary: Your life as an assassin for the mob has always been an easy one – find the target, kill the target. Simple. Everything changes when you fail to kill your new target – Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Eventually, Bucky x fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (wow, a bit different to my usual fluff)

Words: 3.5k

A/n: I’m posting this now – I don’t know when I’ll post the rest of this story because I’m kind of stuck with my plan for it, so if you have any ideas/wanna chat about it, I don’t mind! Though, this is just set-up – the Avengers become a bigger part of it next chapter, you might need to read that before you start speculating lmao

I just really wanted to post this and see what you guys think. Let me know!

Chapter One

Stay low, go fast

Kill first, die last

One shot, one kill

Not luck, all skill

Inhale.

The air entered your lungs slowly, your chest rising ever-so-slightly as you closed your eyes. You were grounding yourself in the moment like you always did. Your entire body was still – practiced in the art of not being seen. You crouched in the empty sandwich shop, your rifle rested on your shoulder, your hands tight around the cool metal of a 300 Winchester Magnum as you begun your process – the habitual movements you followed before pulling the trigger.

Exhale.

You opened your eyes, staring across the road at the bank. You had trailed your target here and set up shop in the restaurant across the street – emptied out by the commotion. A robbery –– hostage situation –– in the bank across the road. At first, you thought they were your target – the masked idiots who attempted to rob a high-security bank with nothing but a few pistols and masks. Turns out, your target was someone else – the man that came to stop them. The Winter Soldier.

Inhale.

This time, your eyes stayed open, watching carefully as he landed a punch on one of the robbers, consciously withholding the metal arm – the one that would do more damage.

You squinted through the sight, adjusting your aim to make sure you were on-target one last time and swallowing carefully.

He wasn’t fighting to kill, just to subdue. The criminal fell to the ground and the Soldier’s partner –– a redhead with skills comparable to yours –– zip-tied his wrists. He was the last one to go down.

Exhale.

The breath came out shaky. This was your chance – The Black Widow moved to help the hostages, helping them up from the ground and attempting to comfort them whilst The Winter Soldier assessed the building, looking for any signs of danger. All You had to do was pull the trigger.

Your eyes flickered down and you noticed your shaking hands, your finger hesitating to cover the trigger. You frowned to yourself and took a sharp intake of breath, closing your eyes again as if you were restarting your process. You never had to do this twice. You swallowed the hitch in your throat and opened your eyes again on the exhale, trailing over the brunette. You couldn’t miss this chance.

His metal arm rose up and he squinted through the sight on his own gun, magnifying his surroundings as he spun, securing the perimeter. Shit.

You didn’t have enough time to move and suddenly, he had zoned in on your position, freezing in place as he saw the gun pointed at him.

“Shit,” you hissed to yourself, ducking down and reaching to pack away your gun. You glanced up over the ledge to see his figure running towards your position, calling something back to his partner. You mumbled a string of swear words under your breath, shoving the black bag under a nearby table and leaping up from your spot on the floor, smashing the window with the butt of your handgun. You’d been spotted – there was no longer a need to be subtle.

You ran at the glass, swiftly breaking through the already-cracked window, using the sleeves of your leather jack to shield your skin from any major cuts. You could deal with a few scratches. You could hear his footsteps now, heavy boots making their way towards you and you jumped into action, running down the empty footpath and swiftly dodging a hotdog stand.

He was still catching up –– clad in black, he was practically your shadow –– right behind you, step after step. But shadows couldn’t catch you.

His metal arm hit your back and you both hit the ground, half of his body pressed against your back. The air seemed to fly from your lungs on impact. You struggled to slip out from underneath him, scrambling back up onto your feet. You were about to run again – try to lose him, but he was up too, pressing you against the brick wall. His metal arm was pressed against your collarbones, cutting of a significant amount of air.

“Who the hell are you?” he practically growled as one of your hands gripped his forearm in a weak attempt to pull him off.

Instead, you lifted a knee, nailing him in the stomach and forcing him to lose his grip, allowing you a moment to get out of his grip. When he turned back to face you, you were ready for him and threw a right hook at his jaw, causing his head to jolt back. “No one important.” you heaved, attempting to throw another punch.

You didn’t keep the advantage for long though as he caught your hand, sending a punch to your ribs that caused you to double over.

“Who sent you?” He asked, grabbing you by the collar of your leather jacket and throwing you back against a window.

You fell through the shattering glass, letting out a few coughs before realising what had happened –– he made space between the two of you –– this was your chance to run. You scrambled back through the hair salon, feeling a few cuts on your hands from the glass, but he hadn’t entered the shop yet, and you managed to get behind the counter.

Seconds later, his footsteps entered the salon – but he was too late. You swiftly snuck through the back door, sprinting as fast as you could down the alley to a main road. You knew your employer would be tracking you, and luckily enough, a familiar black van pulled up at the end of the alley, the door opening just in time for you to leap inside.

The door was sliding closed in front of you when you saw him emerge, gun raised and ready to shoot. You pushed yourself up against the wall of the van, scrambling to get it closed as you heard a gunshot go off, hitting the door and creating an indent. With no vehicles nearby, he didn’t have a chance to follow the speeding van.

Silence filled the small space and you pulled yourself up, blinking rapidly through the pain of the fight.

Inhale.

You hissed at the burn in your ribs, pressing a gloved hand to the emerging bruise and squeezing your eyes shut. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as the adrenalin pumped through your bloodstream and your body jolted with every twist and turn the van made.

Exhale.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself, eyes still squeezed shut.

Why couldn’t you pull the goddamn trigger?

You were pretty sure you hadn’t been able to breathe since you got into that van – at least that’s what it felt like. It was the first time you had ever failed. You had no good reason, no way to excuse this fuck up. You just froze.

Your hands had continued to shake as you sat silently in the back of the van, a masked driver staring solemnly at the road ahead, each twist and turn making your heart lurch as you got closer to your destination.

You brushed off your leather jacket, noticing the blood on your hands and wincing at the cuts that were scattered across your skin from the shattered glass. They would heal quickly – certain enhancements made sure of that, but for now, they stung with every movement.

Over the last few years, you had found yourself in and out of labs. Hundreds of injections into your bloodstream as they tried to perfect your enhancements, create the perfect assassin. None of it had worked how it was supposed to –– you weren’t anywhere near invincible –– just a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, a little bit better. You’d live a little bit longer and you healed a little bit faster. But it wasn’t good enough.

The van screeched to a stop and the door slid open, revealing your employer’s right-hand-man; Nathaniel, his lips were pulled into a straight line as he gestured for you to get out.

“King’s waiting – follow me. Weapons in the box, you know the drill,” he spoke, straightening his tie and tapping something on his phone screen. He was one of the only familiar faces – a constant in your bosses entourage. His slim figure and sharp features were a rare sight, and it wasn't hard to tell that Nathaniel wasn’t a fighter.

You pulled yourself out of the van, biting your lip at the pain that shot through your ribs. You caught up to Nathaniel and threw an arm over his shoulder.

“Nathaniel! How are you? Long-time no see. Still the same old tight-ass?” You managed to sound as though your anxiety wasn’t going crazy in that moment and he quickly shrugged your arm off, dusting his shoulders and shooting you a tired look.

“If you would refrain from dirtying my suit, I would be better.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You nodded, strolling along beside him as he entered the warehouse, punching some numbers into a keypad to unlock a door and then gesturing for you to step into the room.

The warehouse was the base of operations – the man you worked for was something of a modern mob boss. He insisted on being referred to as ‘The King,’ and his kingdom was full of shady characters. Hitmen, lackies, and goons – all brutish people who strived for money and power, people who killed with no remorse. Over the last few years, you had gotten used to them – their snide remarks and gross infatuations. You had desensitised yourself from this world –– the world of criminals, the world of monsters –– as you, yourself, became one.

As you entered the dark room, (as all rooms seemed to be in this place) your eyes flickered over to The King. His hand was tangled in the hair of another suited man, tied to a chair. Blood seemed to seep from every orifice on his face and he groaned in pain as his hair was pulled back, his body straining to stretch towards it. His eyes searched the room for a way out, something to soothe the pain and they soon found yours.

They were wide, begging, brimming with tears – they were the eyes of a broken man, a man with no answers. He was a deer caught in the headlights and you were the brakes of the truck.

But the brakes had been cut long ago.

You watched as the slim, suited man pulled his knife and thrust it forwards, burying it in that man’s chest. You lowered your eyes at the choking sound the man-made and brushed some dust from your pants, biting the inside of your cheek.

Finally, the room fell silent and a few men entered, dragging the now-limp body from the room.

“Ah, my princess is back.” His voice was deep and full of false adoration as he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his navy-blue suit, wiping the knife carefully before tucking it back into the inside of his jacket, looking up at you. “How’d the mission go?”

“Wasn’t my best,” you huffed, looking up at him with a passive look on your face.

“What does that mean?” he asked, raising one dark brow and crossing his arms across his chest. “Did you get the target?”

“Not exactly, no. He uh… He got away”

“Excuse me?”

“The Winter Soldier – he’s good, boss.” you hated the way that word felt on your lips, but you used it anyway, in hopes that he would calm down. You licked your lips. “He got away.”

“You’re supposed to be better,” he growled, taking a step towards you. “This just won’t do.”

You watched as his jaw clenched and he brought one hand up, gesturing to the man behind him. “Bring him in.”

That’s all it took – those three words. You hadn’t heard them in a while, but then again, you hadn’t fucked up in a while. Your heart dropped to your stomach and you opened your mouth to protest, but the door crashed open, and your brother fell through. He already knew you’d failed – he was testing if you would tell him the truth.

“Andy!” You lurched forwards as soon as your brother hit the ground, but two men grabbed your arms, pushing you up against the wall. You tried to kick your legs out – do anything to get away, but the men threw punches at your torso – taking it in turns until you fell limp.

You watched as your brother’s eyes found yours – dark bags under his eyes, as usual. His skin was pale, and his cheeks were sunken. He looked tired. He always looks tired.

“Y/n, it’s okay – listen, it’ll be alright,” he murmured, blinking away the exhaustion and pulling himself up onto his knees.

The King was renowned for his cruelty – but in your opinion, taking your brother was the worst thing he had ever done.

In the beginning, 8 years ago, you had volunteered –– you took a few jobs, took out a few dirty congressmen, earned some (desperately needed) cash –– but when you tried to get out, after only two years, The King decided he didn’t want to lose his best assassin. He got up one day, ordered his men to kidnap your brother, and had been using him as leverage ever since. It had been 6 years, and you’d learned to co-operate pretty quickly.

“What are you doing? Stop – I’ll– I’ll get him next time,” you begged, trying to stop the pale man from hurting your brother.

“You need to learn from what happened this time,” he stated, pulling off his jacket and rolling his crisp white sleeves up to his elbows, stalking towards the middle of the room.

The first punch was always the worst – the sound of skin hitting skin, the blood spurting from his mouth, the crack of his neck as his head flew to the side. You pulled at the men who were holding you down, desperately trying to get to him as another methodical punch landed. Then another. And another. A few minutes in you were hanging limp in their arms, watching with the usual defeated expression as each punch hit.

Blood ran down your brother’s chin, and you let out slow shaky breaths, glaring at the scene in front of you. The King’s suit was splattered with drops of blood and you were trying your hardest not to yell and scream – the more you cooperate, the easier this would be.

But suddenly, your brother wasn’t aware of that.

His eyes locked onto yours across the room, lids hooded in pain, but you saw something in them – something you used to see in your own eyes. You shook your head subtly, trying to discourage him from whatever he was about to do, but he sent you a slow wink, the corner of his mouth twitching up before he looked away.

It all happened in a matter of seconds – you were unable to stop any of it as your brother lifted his arms, catching the bloody fist and pulling it towards him, smashing his forehead against your boss’.

“ANDY, NO!” you screamed, managing to loosen one arm and throwing an elbow against the man’s face, sending him to the ground.

Your brother reached for the gun on The King’s belt, pulling it out and holding it up, finger hovering over the trigger.

You struggled to get away from the man holding you back, watching as the man’s bloody knuckles closed around another gun tucked into the back of his pants.

You turned, sending a punch your captor’s nose, throwing him off guard, you lifted your knee, sending a blow to ribs, before you threw a kick at his left kneecap. He fell to the ground as a gunshot rang through the room and you felt your heart stop as you turned back towards the noise.

You froze at the sight of your brother’s body, the blood pooling underneath him. Your ears were buzzing and all you could do was stare. Your entire body was vibrating with anger and you could feel your mouth pulling into a straight line as The King stood up, brushing off the front of his shirt and adjusting his collar.

You wouldn't believe it. It couldn’t be real. Not after all this time. All these years you spent trying to protect him, keep him alive. You tried to tear your eyes away from his body, but you were stuck.

“Well, that was unfortunate.” His voice rung through the room and your shoulders jolted at the sound. A jolted breath escaped your throat as you continued to stare at the growing pool of blood. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”

Finally you raised your head, your eyes still on your brother as your face turned. With a blink, your eyes shot up to The King – his furrowed eyebrows as his fingertips brushed over the graze on his arm. “Not a very good shot,” he mumbled, picking up the handkerchief from before to wipe away some of his own blood.

“Yo– You–” your eyes flickered back down to the floor and you felt nausea surge through your stomach, causing you to keel over, hands on your knees. “I can’t– God I can’t breathe,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Now, if you could just cooperate, I’m sure we can work something out-”

You drowned out his words, your mind going into overdrive as you tried to think of your next move. You came to one conclusion – with nothing keeping you here, it was time for you to finally get out.

You stayed bent over, tuning him out as he continued to speak. Your eyes searched the part of the room you could see, looking for a way out. Planning your escape.

You couldn’t think about anything else right now.

You took a deep breath in, and dropped to the ground, pulling a gun from the holster of one of the men you had knocked out. When you pulled back up, pointing the gun at The King, your hands were steady once again and his gun was pointed at your chest.

“Oh, my king,” you drawled passively, pointing the barrel at his head. “Do you really think you can pull that trigger before me?”

His face morphed into a snarl – a brief moment where you could see exactly how angry he was. It was gone in seconds, a polished smirk appearing behind it as he let the gun fall to his side.

“No,” he chuckled lowly, raising an arm in surrender. “No, I don’t. I do think, however, that you won’t make it out of here if you shoot me. Far too much commotion, isn’t it?”

You let out a steady breath, holding the gun steady. “You’re right. But here’s how this goes – the second I leave this room, you’ll call your lackies, send ‘em after me. There’ll be a chase, I’ll get away, maybe I’ll kill them.” You shrugged a shoulder apathetically, quirking a brow as he watched you carefully. “And then – it might not be anytime soon – but I’m gonna kill you.” You murmured, taking a step back towards the door. “You’re gonna regret ever giving me that first job.”

You kicked back, and the door swung open, allowing you to slip out, staying low as you ran through the halls.

A few men were on your tail in a matter of seconds, but you shot back, taking one down as you continued to run, swerving through the shipping containers and old buildings.

Moments later, you’d lost them all except one – and you had a plan to lose him too. You were coming up on the inner-city streets and with a quick look over your shoulder, you could see the man in pursuit, pushing past drunken passers-by.

You assessed the entrance to a nearby alleyway and you knew that if you timed it right, he wouldn’t see you slip through.

You dodged a few more people before slipping down the alleyway, using the metal bars of a fire escape above you to pull yourself up and swing over the edge of dumpster, landing neatly inside, surrounded by trash. You let out a quiet groan, unsure if it was due to the smell or the pain.

You let your head fall back against the side of the dumpster, unable to care about how disgusting this situation was. You sighed to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to try and stop the tears that were brimming in your eyes. You clenched your jaw in determination, fingers brushing over the gun in your jacket.

The King killed your brother. It’s about time he lost his crown.

Tags:

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#bucky x you #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #angst #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: violence #there's no fluff here #surprise #ugh I dont know #reader insert #new series

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marvel-nerd-87 · 6 years ago

Text

Saved By The Bell(3/?)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Peggy, Natasha x Clint, Tony x Dr. Strange

Summary: (Y/N)’s mother decides to enroll her in a boarding school after being homeschooled her entire life. After being thrown in the deep end she decides maybe high school isn’t so bad.

Warnings: Language, high school and everything that come with, ex:bullying, harassment, etc.

Taglist/Requests:Open Masterlist

You walked into your class and were immediately swamped with eyes staring at you. You didn’t have any of your friends with you and suddenly you forgot how to function as a human being. You were buried under so much stress you didn’t feel some put a hand on both of your shoulders. You looked up to see Clint and Steve behind you. “Oh hey guys!”

“Hey (Y/N) we have an open seat next to us do you want to sit there?”

“Oh yeah sure!”

You followed them to the front of the room and put your bag down at your feet. You pulled your phone out and texted Loki.

‘I’m in class with Clint, what do I say if he ask us about the bet with Stark?’

‘Bullshit something. Or make sure it doesn’t come up. You’re one of us, you’ll figure it out. I promise.’

You locked your screen and listened in on Clint and Steve’s conversation.

“I get your captain of the football team and all but I’m telling you The Guardians are gonna win this game.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Call it wishful thinking but I’m about to be about 300 dollars and a cheese stick richer my friend.”

“Man. White people and there cheese.” You jumped at the voice behind you and turned around to see Sam. He moved to the desk in front of you and turned to face you and the other two.

“Are you excited for the game?” You leaned over to make yourself seem interested in what he had to say but in reality you were just trying to get as much information about the game tonight as you could. They angle you were sitting at gave him the perfect view of your cleavage. You had him hook line and sinker.

“Fuck yeah I am, sweet cheeks, we’re gonna crush it.”

“What’s so important about this game anyway? I’ve never been to high school so I don’t get it.” You were playing the innocent facade well. Maybe Loki was right.

“Well, the Guardians are our biggest competition so we have a lot riding on this.” He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Clint said he’d give me 150 to throw the game.”

“Are you gonna take it?” You let your mouth linger for a second after you finished your sentence.

“Not if you and Wanda are there tonight, I got show off for the ladies.”

“I’m sure we will be.”

The bell rang and you grabbed your stuff before booking it to your room. You threw open the door and saw Wanda in a black crop top, red leather jacket and shorts that showed the perfect amount of ass.

“I laid out clothes on your bed. I went through your closet and nothing was skimpy so you can borrow mine.”

You quickly threw on the high waisted miniskirt and what was basically a bikini top. You added your fishnets and jean jacket and left with Wanda to meet the others in Loki’s room. Wanda knocked on the door and Thor answered. “Hello Wanda, (Y/N), Loki and Barnes are waiting for you inside and I need to get to class so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Thank you Thor!”

Bucky wolf whistled at the way you two were dressed, “Damn Doll, you dirty up nice.”

“You two can flirt later, we have a job to do.”

You and Wanda were lazily hanging out behind the bleachers while Loki and Bucky hid out behind the field house. You were telling her about Sam when you noticed the other team’s bus pull in. A bunch of guys in blue jerseys walked off and Wanda spotted the one with ‘Quill’ written on the back. “Follow my lead.” She pulled a lollipop out of her purse and stuck it in her mouth. The way she was using her tongue on the damn thing was almost enough to get you to question your sexuality.

“Damn girl, what else does that tongue do?”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” Quill and the rest of the team walked over.

“Shouldn’t you babes be in class?” You could tell by the look in his eyes he was imaging the things he could do to you and Wanda. You laid a hand on his chest, “Why would we go to class when we can stand here and admire the view.” You winked at him and bit your bottom lip. What you didn’t know was the way you were dressed coupled with the way you bit your lip was making Bucky picture pinning you down and fucking you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

“Earth to Bucky.” Loki was waving his hand in front of Bucky’s face waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I said we’ve deflated the balls so we need to get the (Y/N) So she can tamper with the scoreboard.”

“Right.” Bucky sent you a text and told you to start phase two while Wanda had them distracted. You managed to slide out of the conversation and made your way to the scoreboard. Bucky boosted you up and you started messing with the wires until you were sure it wouldn’t read correctly. You were about to climb down when your foot slipped and you fell landing on top of Bucky. “Doll, you gotta stop fall for me.” He chuckled and helped you to your feet.

“Fuck You Barnes.” You stared at your feet knowing he noticed the blush painting your cheeks, “let’s get Wanda and get ready for the game.”

You Wanda Bucky and Loki made the long walk to the football stadium to watch the game. Sam spotted you and Wanda and approached.

“I see you two dressed for the occasion.” You didn’t realize it but you and Wanda had never changed and suddenly you felt very exposed.

“Of course, gotta make sure the game is played like it’s supposed to be.” You winked at him. You couldn’t wait until after the game was over and you could stop flirting with Sam.

“And damn Maximoff you killin’ it too.” Wanda rolled her eyes and sighed. Bucky elbowed her reminding her that we had a job to do.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself birdbrain.”

“Why don’t you two drop these losers and spend your night with a real man.” Sam was too close in your bubble for your liking.

“Sam is it? It looks like Rogers is trying to get your attention you should probably go see what he wants.”

“We can finish this conversation after the game.”

“Thanks Loki.”

“No problem, darling, you two are going to leave the game early so he can’t follow you.”

You and Wanda nod and the four of you sit down in the bleachers the game is going good until one of the Guardians kicks the ball at a weird angle and it hits you in the nose.

“Shit.” You cover your nose and blood begins to stream all over your hand and shirt. Wanda digs in her purse and hands you a tissue.

“I’m gonna walk her back to her room I’ll be back soon.” The walk to your room with Bucky was a long one he was helping you support yourself. You had never been faint around blood but this time you were starting to feel a bit queasy. Bucky helped you to your bed and got a wet rag from the bathroom wiping the blood off your chest.

“I’m gonna go back to the game. Get some sleep, Doll.”

“Goodnight Buck.”

You heard someone knocking on your door you figure it was just Wanda. You drowsily walked to the door and opened it. To see Quill standing in the door way. Your stomach dropped.

“Hey Quill, how can I help you?”

“All I was able to think about during the game was you and your roommate. I have to admit, it through me off my game a little. Probably why we’re losing.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that. I was actually going to bed. So bye.” You went to close the door but Quill shoved his foot to stop it, “god babe. The things I could do to you. We’re all alone. It’s halftime so I got Maybe 15 minuets it’ll be quick.” He pushed into the room you backed away but he kept getting closer.

“No thanks. I would very much enjoy it if you left.” You we’re physically pushing him towards the door but he was too strong.

“How about I just wait here for your roommate and we have some fu-“

“Hey asshole. I suggest you leave her alone if you know what’s good for you.” Bucky has Quill pinned to the wall by his collar.

“Hey man. You didn’t see the way she was acting earlier today.”

“Well That was earlier today. This is now and she said no.”

“Whatever. She’s a bitch anyways.”

“I suggest you go back to field before you get a career ending injury.”

Bucky put Peter down and he sulked back to the game.

“Thank you so much Bucky.”

“Don’t mention it Doll, are okay?”

“I’m a little shaken up but that’s fine. Why’d you come back?”

“Oh you forgot your purse and I figured you’d probably need it. I’m glad I came back in time to stop that asshole.”

“Where are Wanda and Loki?”

“Oh, Wanda wanted nachos so they went to get some but they’ll be back soon. I’m gonna wait until they get back. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You’re so sweet”

“No, I’m the bad boy you date to piss off your parents.”

“Oh yeah I’m sure my mom hates boys who fight fuckboys and clean my bloody nose up.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud of her daughter who just rigged the football game.”

“Well what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Bucky smiled and sat down on the bed. He patted the bed beside him and you laid your head in his lap. He was lazily braiding pieces of your hair.

“Hey Buck.”

“Hey (Y/N).”

“How did you end up in this school?”

“Oh Uh.. my dad was a heavy drinker. One night it got so bad he pulled the rifle of the wall shoved it in his mouth and squeezed the trigger. Mama wasn’t right after that. They put her in the hospital. I still visit her on the holidays. It was either here or the system so I figure this was the best option.”

“I’m sorry Buck.”

“Ah don’t worry about it. I’m okay I promise. That’s why I don’t like drinking, I’m afraid I’ll end up like him. But that’s enough about my parents. What about yours?”

“Well my dad was never around he left when my mom told him she was pregnant. My mom worked odd jobs to make ends meet but now she works for Tony’s dad and wouldn’t have time to do that and school me so she put me here.”

“I’m glad she put you here.” You and Bucky we’re both laying on your sides facing each other.

“Me too...” your face were so close and you could see his gaze shifting between your lips and your eyes. You both leaned in and Wanda kicked open the door with a large pizza, “WE WON!!” Suddenly you and Bucky were pulled back to reality. “Are you okay? We overheard Quill talking to some of his teammates after the game.”

“Oh yeah I’m fine thanks to Bucky.” You took a slice from the box and told them what happened between you and Quill before Bucky showed up.

“I’m glad he got to you in time. How’s your nose?”

“Just a little sore. Did Sam try anything?”

“He tried to follow me but Loki stopped him. So all fuckboys tonight have been avoided.”

You were all sitting and talking when there was a knock on the door. “Who is it this time?” You pushed off the floor and opened the door.

“Hey Stark how can we help you?”

“Seeing as we won the game I just wanted to say thanks for helping me out.”

“It’s no problem man.” Bucky said standing behind you.

“Here.” He held at 150 dollars, “I figure it’s the least I could do.”

“What about the chemistry homework?”

“Call this ‘assuring my future’ Whenever I need ne’er-do-wells to do my bidding you’re just the fuckers I’m gonna call. Welcome to the new Stark enterprise.”

“Rightttt... good night Tony.” Wanda closed the door, “Do you guys just wanna crash here?”

“Uh sure.” Bucky and Loki laid on the floor between your beds. Everyone said their goodnights and passed out.

Taglist: @the7intheimpala @mooniightbucky @wolfarrowepz @iris-suoh

#bucky x reader #peggy x steve #tony x stephen #clint x natasha #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfic #avengers #marvel #avengers high school #high school au #fanfiction

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dragon-heisters · 2 years ago

Text

Session 14: 23 Jul 2022

Our DM is an uncle, yay! He can’t go and see his niece yet because she and mum are both still in hospital, but doing great. We are to adventure this week, in order to take up some of the time he has to wait before he can visit.

Suggested talking points: The role and suitability of metal grinders at a Pagan wedding, the trailer for the new D&D movie (it’s either going to be amazing or awful, either way we’re all very excited), BWJ’s bath time, Madonna’s terrible new face and Christina Aguilera at Pride (Nuri: “… I don’t like it…”).

Vervain shares their Eyes of Night ability so we can all see for 300 feet in dim light. Hazel sneaks into the guard barracks; it’s empty of people. She considers rifling through for trinkets, but decides they probably don’t have much. We head for the door at the far end. Hazel listens before she grabs the doorhandle, after a suspicious ‘how do you check the door’ question from the DM. She rolls a nat 1. Nuri has a listen - a 13. He heard metal on metal from outside, but hears nothing new now. Hazel turns the handle, with Resistance from Vervain, and it opens into a courtyard.

The mud out here looks recently churned up. There is a gate in the fence that looks like the perimeter. The right door will lead into the house, the left door the coach house. Vervain has a look at the door in the guard room that we didn’t go through. It isn’t locked so they open it - it’s a store room for big, two-handed weapons and it is empty of all of them. Whatever is going on here, it’s big.

We head for the main house, leaving the coach house for now. This isn’t Zelda. It seems that the action is happening in the house proper. Hazel listens at the door - she hears voices, somewhat distant. She can’t make out words, but there are at least two male voices that sound agitated or nervous.

She tries the door - unlocked. There are muddy footprints going into the kitchen beyond. There is a large fireplace across the table, which is set up for roasting big joints of meat. There are no people visible; she steps in. The footprints could well be the stamping of guards. They lead south - well, the majority do. Some lead to the north, to a door that’s ajar.

Pfenig wants to know if the two sets of footprints look different? They all look pretty much the same, he is told. Through the crack in the door to the north Hazel sees a smudge of blood on the floor, fresh, it’s not huge, but it’s there. It’s a pool rather than a dry stain.This is the laundry room.

She makes a perception check - 18. Not a sound from in here. She pushes the door open. There are stairs to her left that go up. There’s a dead maid on the stairs. Hazel investigates the body, with help from Pfenig.

The pool of blood has come from her throat. There is a ring of keys on her belt - Hazel swipes it. Are there footprints beyond her, going up the stairs? Yes, there are. One or two people seem to have continued up the servants’ stairs and left the body behind.

Hazel is tempted to follow the bloody footprints; we all agree, and we follow her up the stairs. There is a window ajar, and three doors from what we can see from the corridor at the top. The trail of footprints leads to the open window. Pfenig dashes to it and peers out - he sees there is currently no sign of whoever jumped out, but there is a hooded man with two mastiffs walking around the courtyard where we came in. He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything happening in the house.

Why would someone sneak in, murder the maid, run upstairs and jump out of a window? Unless someone was chasing him? Hazel makes an Insight check; the attacker might have been being pursued. “Ah, good guards,” she praises them.

The rooms here are poky little servants’ quarters. Live-in, so quite nice. No way to get to the main house from here. So back to the kitchen and south, to follow the muddy footprints. Hazel makes a perception check at the southern door of the kitchen. The male voices are somewhat closer than before, but not just the other side of this door.

Oh wait - she’s at the wrong door. She’s found a secret one! She’d rather investigate that please! The voices are on the other side of this door - she makes a Perception check to see if she can hear what they’re saying - Pfenig listens in as well. The words Hazel hears suggests they’re criminal.

Pfenig hears that they are nervous and annoyed about having been left to keep watch. Ambush…?

Vervain is all about that. We make ready a surprise round… Hazel goes first, then Nuri, Pfenig and Vervain. She boots open the door and starts shooting. (Fuckin awesome.)

There is a little panelled area back here, part of the servants’ corridors, and it leads to a big room into which Hazel careens, drawing her bow. The floor is strewn with bodies and there are two thugs with maces standing near the table. The fireplace has a framed family portrait hanging above it - parents, three kids and a dog.

Valuables! If Hazel shot a chandelier, would it take out both the thugs? It is above them, but it might not do enough damage. They’re not especially solid. Also, that would make a lot of noise.

“Okay, I will be sensible and just shoot one of them.” She aims right for the puddin’, and fires - 24 hits! She specifies non-lethal damage (“We really only need one of them, but anyway…”) She rolls away commando style and hides.

Nuri rolls a nat 1 on his attack, quips anyway (“Make a wish, punk!”). He accidentally conjures something, which is hostile to everyone in the room. Brilliant. It turns out to be a magma mephit. It doesn’t look pleased.

Pfenig casts Shilksdgkjgsdfsdlgh as he rushes in. He takes aim at the other, uninjured thug with his club. He does 11 damage!

Vervain just manages to get one to Sleep, but the other is still awake - they hold a finger to their lips and say “Shhh!”

We roll initiative. Hazel is up first, by chance. She shoots the remaining one in the caboose.

“Is this lethal or non-lethal?”

Hazel, sounding glum: “… Non-lethal.”

Her attack hits, but the thug stays on his feet. She hides again - from the awake thug, but Nuri’s fiery little companion has its beady eyes on her. Pfenig lifts his club, shushes the thug. Does he look like he’s going to fight back? Yes.

“Alright, I’ll hit him with my stick again.” He misses. “That was a warning shot.” He moves out of the way for whoever wants to take a crack at the thug next.

Now comes Mag-Me. Hurray. It flies up to Hazel (“Oh no!”), and swoops down to drag its fiery claws over her scalp. It misses, fortunately. Hazel whips around like there’s a bat in her hair.

Nuri. “Well. This is a merry to-do.” What does he know about mephits? It’s a small Elemental. He makes a Nature check at Advantage, since it’s from his home plane. It speaks Ignan and Terran, it’s immune to fire and poison, and it’s evil. He also knows when we kill it, it will explode and spray lava everywhere. Wonderful.

Nuri hisses at it in primordial. “Parlay?” He makes a Persuasion check. 21. It turns its face to him. “Ifriti. We’re having fun. What you want?”

He directs the mephit to even more fun (the thug) and offers to send it home once its fun is done?

“Other fun more screamy?”

“… Yes.”

He repeats his Persuasion throw - 8. Bummer. “Okay, for now. It best be screamy.” It looks sort of reluctant, but agrees. We have a pet mephit.

Vervain runs up and hits the thug for 4 damage. and says we will let him go if he’s quiet after this. They make a good persuasion roll, but the thug informs them that we are scary but his boss is scarier.

“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”

He swings at Vervain and Pfenig, and misses both of us.

Hazel is up, and is free from menace from the mephit. She is still hidden, so she attacks. 19 hits, and he had 1hp left! Yay!

We see the flying snake emblems on the sashes now, so they’re Zhents. Vervain ties the sleeper before he wakes, and Hazel the unconscious one, while Nuri has a little tete-a-tete with his new pal. He tells it about the guy outside with the dogs, who he says are being held against their will. After that it could come back inside for more fun if it wants. Persuasion 12. Which way, the mephit wants to know. Outside to the east in the courty- oh wait, the big doors in here lead outside. Nuri opens the door, the mephit flies out, and he shuts the door behind it.

Just as we finish tying the thugs, the sleeper begins to stir. We stuff a sock in his mouth. Before we do Vervain asks what they’re doing here with a 19 persuasion. They were just told to hold this room. Nuri asks if they killed the maid.

“What maid? I haven’t killed any maid, just guards.” Nuri squints his Insight check at the man - a ten. He seems to be on the level, plus the bodies on the floor supports the claim. How many Zhents? At least 20, we might want to fuck off before the rest hear us.

We might drop the name of the guy we’re looking for, which we definitely remember. Usrtal Floxin, that’s the badger. Pfenig makes a Persuasion check. “Thats our boss, what of it?”

Yeah, that tracks.

Has he seen a marionette-man? You know, a mechanical man, a hodmedod. Pfenig rolls again - 19 Intimidation.

He doesn’t know anything about a marionette. He knows nothing. He doesn’t even know who we are to grass us up. Okay, fine. We suspend them from the chandeliers for the cops to find, that’s way funnier than putting them in a cupboard.

They dangle unhappily like flies from a spider’s web. Haha.

Nuri makes a Perception check for Clive (which is what he’s named the mephit) but hears nothing.

We have more doors to check out, or we can try upstairs which seems to be where the action is. They’ve probably thinned each others numbers a bit by now.

We decide to check out some of the doors first. Pfenig thinks the first one he finds will lead us back to the kitchen. He pushes it open to find - “Oooh, some dead’uns.” There is another door that is nailed shut which seems to lead out onto the street and some more dead servants.

Pfenig suggests loosening the nails on the door so we can make a quick escape, but that might be noisy.

Nuri pushes open another door off the dining room. It’s some kind of den, with beasts’ heads on the walls, and suits of armour. There is a falcon in a cage on a table, wearing a little hood. Nuri sneaks past the bird and looks through the door on the other side of the den. The bird turns its head as he moves, but makes no noise. Hazel wants to make an Insight check on the bird; she doesn’t trust it.

From what she can see, its a hunting falcon, a posh one. It’s a status symbol. Mediaeval sports car. She’s satisfied with this. Nuri opens the door. There is a parlour, and the bodies of two guards.

We Investigate the room. We find various oddities in this room. The guards are wearing chain shirts with livery rather than the type pf armour we might have seem on the racks in the guard room - fancier than what would have been there. We find a metal dish with bloody water in it, as if someone was cleaning runes or something in it. Either someone was holed up in here.

Our man walked away from troll skull alley wounded; he came back here, cleaned up, and killed his guards. He wasn’t a hostile prisoner but was under guard. Why did he kill his guards?

One of the guards has a stab in his neck, and the other up his sleeve into his armpit under the chain mail. We were told he’s an assassin, so that tracks.

Well; it’s ten o’clock, and we have loads of new information and we know exactly what’s going on now, so the DM calls it there!

#dnd #dragon heist #dragon heist spoilers

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dabbledrabbleprose · 7 years ago

Text

Reunion in Shadow

Part One / Part Two

Reaper76 Week Day Six - Questionable Actions

Read on AO3! Tagged for Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, and Angst

* * * * *

As usual, events had not gone according to plan. A patrol group had delayed Jack from getting to the rendezvous point on time, and when he’d finally arrived sixty-three minutes later, Ana wasn’t there. No communications, either. They’d both gone into the base without communicators or any tech with triangulation abilities, as that Talon hacker had a nasty habit of tapping into their transmission frequencies at the worst possible time.

This was good, though, Jack thought as he stared at the warehouse that was their rendezvous point, filled with crates and cargo, but empty of one half-blind sniper. He’d be worried that she hadn’t made it here at all, were it not for the single biotic grenade sitting conspicuously on top of a crate. This meant Ana was sticking to the plan. They had agreed that if either of them was thirty minutes late to the rendezvous, they were to evacuate alone and meet back up at the hideout. He had to trust that Ana had done just that, even leaving him a sign that she had waited as long as she could before moving on, so it was on him to get out of this Talon-infested hellhole in one piece. He pocketed the grenade and slipped out of the dark warehouse.

Alright. Back to work. The evacuation route was supposed to be clear, but that was without taking into consideration that he was supposed to evac thirty-four minutes ago. Patrol routes would have changed by now, and despite their best efforts, he and Ana hadn’t been able to get solid intel on the Talon patrol schedules, just permanent fixtures like cameras and security turrets. No choice now but to head out and hope.

He followed the planned exit route, sticking to the shadows and the blind spots in the security cameras. He made it out of the base and over the high perimeter wall without incident, leaving only a few layers of hotwire and laserlink fencing to go through and he’d be home free, assuming he could also dodge the cameras and the perimeter patrols. Things almost seemed like they were actually going well for once.

As soon as the thought had even crossed Jack’s mind, there was a shout from a guard tower.

“Intruder!”

Dammit.

The sharp ratatat of assault rifle fire tore through the night and Jack broke into a run. The shrill screams of alarms followed a moment later, and Jack knew he was in trouble. The hole they’d secured through the laserlink fence upon their entry was 300 yards to the left, but the guard tower was between him and his exit, and he could see a perimeter patrol sprinting toward him from that direction, too. He could keep heading for his exit and fight a group of at least six Talon guards while dodging assault rifle fire from above, or he could run to the left, taking his chances with the turret that was positioned on the corner of the perimeter wall, and trust in his abilities to quickly break through the fence.

A second patrol group rounded the corner, hot on the heels of the first patrol group. Make that twelve Talon guards. Jack decided to take his chances with the turret. He hurled Ana’s biotic grenade at the closest group, hoping it would at least slow them down, then turned and ran.

Thank God those SEP mods let him run like the fucking wind. He managed to put some distance between himself and the patrols, even getting out of range of the gunfire from the guard tower. Now it was just a game of chicken between himself and the turret. He could see it coming up, the irregular shape breaking up the smooth outline of the perimeter wall. He needed to get in close enough to land a solid hit with a trio of helix rockets, and then it would be down. After that, he probably had enough time to break through the remaining fencing and he’d be able to vanish into the night.

The only problem was that the turret had a longer range than his pulse rifle or rockets, so there would be several long seconds when he was vulnerable before he could get the rockets off. With some luck, some careful dodging and his unnatural speed would be enough to confuse it for the few crucial seconds he would need to get in close enough to fire.

Jack kept his eyes locked on the turret, highlighted against the darkness by the modifications in his visor. A red light flickered as he entered the turret’s range and the machine stirred to life. He needed six steps. Six long, sprinting strides and he’d have it.

One, two…

The turret began to fire, slower than the assault of a machine gun, but making up for speed in range and accuracy.

…three, four…

He heard the whistle of a bullet graze past his ear and he raised his pulse rifle to fire, flicking his thumb over the switch that activated the rocket modification.

…five, six!

It almost worked. He fired at the turret, and his aim was true. However, Helix Rockets were big and slow, and the turret was still firing. While the pulse rifle was still slamming recoil into his shoulder, a line of bullets ripped through leather and Kevlar, tearing through his chest and abdomen. The turret exploded a fraction of a second later, but the damage had been done and Jack crumpled to the ground.

Shit.

This was far from the first time Jack had been shot, but whatever the hell that turret had been packing was brutal. Or perhaps he had just been unlucky enough for shock not to set in. Those were always the best ones, when you couldn’t even tell you’d been shot until someone was yelling at you to sit down before you got blood everywhere.

This was definitely a different situation. Everything hurt. He couldn’t tell how many bullets he’d taken, but his entire torso was alight with fire, from his right shoulder to his left hip. When his vision cleared enough to see again, he could make out a warning on his visor’s HUD, letting him know he had been injured. No shit.

Fuck. Come on. Get up. He had to get up. Get up or die.

He rolled to his stomach and got his hands under him, trying to push himself upward.

Push through it. Ignore the pain. Get up. Gotta move. Gotta run.

He tried, he really tried to stand, but the moment he put any amount of pressure on his left hip, he collapsed. Something was wrong. Very wrong. A second attempt to get up revealed that he couldn’t move his left leg at all. A few ragged breaths later and he discovered that he couldn’t even feel the leg.

Oh God. Oh God.

Dread settled somewhere beneath the pain like a lead weight. If he couldn’t move, this was it. This was over.

Not yet.

A burst of the old Morrison Stubbornness rose in his chest and he gritted his teeth. Maybe…maybe he could crawl. Maybe he could double back, get back to the hole in the fence, and crawl to the hideout.

The plan was dubious at best, but it was all he had left. Gritting his teeth behind his mask, Jack pushed up to his arms and began to crawl, dragging his numb leg behind him. He felt a pang of regret as he left his pulse rifle behind, but there was no way he’d be able to carry the heavy weapon when it was all he could do just to drag himself closer to the line of fencing. So he left it where it lay, and focused on crawling.

Each foot was agony. His movement consisted of reaching forward to clutch at the ground with his gloved hands, work his right knee underneath him, then use the leverage to lurch himself forward and start the whole process over again. His shoulder and gut burned with a seething fire the entire time, and he couldn’t tell how injured he was. He was able to breathe easily, so he didn’t think he’d gotten a chest wound, though he tried not to think about how warm and wet his skin of his abdomen was starting to feel underneath his Kevlar. That would be his downfall, if he bled out before he could get somewhere safe. He wouldn’t be able to crawl all the way to their hideout, but if he could just get somewhere secure and hidden, he could throw down a biotic emitter and rest, hopefully healing up enough that he could get back to the hideout and back to Ana.

For a while, the plan was working better than Jack could imagine. Closer to the perimeter edges, the ground grew rockier with sparse vegetation, providing him with at least a little cover, though it was more difficult to crawl through. The patrol group that had been following him had even run past, found his rifle, and then continued in a different direction, not anticipating that he would double back. He might be able to do this. There were plenty of rocky formations and deep crevices outside the fence where he could hide and the light from a biotic emitter wouldn’t be seen. He was even pretty sure he remembered some kind of fissure that ran halfway along the base’s north side. All he needed was somewhere to hole up for a few hours, stop the bleeding, and he could keep going.

Once again, it almost worked.

He could see the hole in the fence, the line of electromagnetic dampeners that killed the hotwire and deactivated a three foot section of the laserlink. Twenty feet ahead. Ten. He could do this. Five feet. Two. He was through! If he had any breath to spare, he would have let out a sigh at exiting the Talon stronghold. It felt good just to be out, even if he wasn’t in the clear yet.

He pulled himself another foot forward and a wave of dizziness washed over him, hitting him hard enough that his arms gave out and his head cracked against the rocky ground.

No. No! Come on! Move, dammit!

Jack clutched at the ground with trembling fingers, but his breath was starting to grow quick and shaky, air somehow seeming in short supply. No matter how he moved, he felt dizzy and lightheaded, and he was cold, despite his jacket.

Goddammit, no! Not when he was so close! Just a little more… down the hill, into the ravine and he’d be able to get a biotic emitter down. His arms shook as he tried to pull himself forward, but his strength had finally left him and he fell still.

Okay. Dammit. Crawling wasn’t an option anymore. No choice. The light would draw attention, but he had to get the biotic emitter down now. He tried to reach for the closest one, but found his arms had stopped obeying him entirely. As much as Jack tried, he couldn’t even twitch a finger as his injuries and bone-deep exhaustion became too much for even his enhanced body to bear.

No…no, no, no…

His heart sank and dread washed over him. He had known for years that this was how he would die. Someone would finally get the better of him, and he’d be forced to crawl away in some back alley and bleed out alone. Jack Morrison already had a tombstone, Soldier:76 didn’t need one. Didn’t deserve one.

A year ago, he would have accepted this. Would have laid down and let it finally, finally end. But now…

Ana. No, he couldn’t die now. Not after finding Ana alive after all these years. She was counting on him. He couldn’t let her mourn him a second time. Not when he didn’t deserve it. It had been a blessing to even see her one more time, but now she had helped give him purpose, more purpose than blind vigilantism. They were doing good work, striking out against Talon, protecting people, and tracking down Gabriel…

Gabe.

Jack’s heart hurt so badly he felt it would stop beating then and there.

God, Gabe. Gabe, what have you done? What are you doing?

Jack let out a low, slow breath. Of course his last thoughts would be of Gabriel Reyes. Why would he think of anything else? If he had one dying wish, it would be to see Gabe again. He was dying anyway, right? What did it matter if he met his end at the barrels of the Reaper’s shotguns? At least he’d see him again. One last time.

Jack’s breath grew slow and shallow and his limbs felt cold and distant. He couldn’t have moved even if he tried. Darkness crept in along the edges of his vision, and his visor began to blink a critical health warning. Hah. Like he needed it to tell him he was dying.

I’m sorry, Ana.

The last thing he saw were a pair of thick, steel boots stepping into his field of vision.

I’m sorry, Gabe.

Jack’s eyes fell closed and he left the world behind.

God, Talon grunts were idiots. Didn’t they teach kids how to search an area anymore? It had been disgustingly easy to find where the intruder had been shot and from there it was a simple matter of following the blood trail. The very long blood trail.

The Reaper walked along the fence edge, not in any hurry as he tracked his quarry. Whoever it was obviously didn’t have long, judging from the amount of blood they’d lost. He was grudgingly impressed with the tenacity of the intruder; most people would have passed out by now.

There. A hole in the fence ahead. Hm. He’d have to have someone figure out how the intruder had overridden the laserlink and make protecting against further security breaches their problem. He had enough to deal with. Like the prone form a half-dozen feet on the other side of the fence that looked like they had finally succumbed to their wounds. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to interrogate anyone tonight. As he approached, he caught the strong line of the figure’s shoulders in the moonlight, the familiar curve of his spine, wrapped in a leather jacket with a very clear 76 on the back.

Oh. Oh. Well, shit.

Reaper’s relaxed, unhurried pace suddenly broke, and he melted into mist, blowing through the holes in the fence and rushing toward the fallen form. What the hell was he doing here in Morocco? Last he knew, Jack and Ana were still in Cairo!

Goddammit. That complicated things.

Jack never did know when to quit, the Reaper thought as he rematerialized beside the fallen Soldier. But then again, he’d have been terribly disappointed if his Jack ever decided to give up and die.

His Jack.

Even after all these years, he still thought of him as ‘His Jack.’

Currently, his Jack was sprawled on his front and still oozing a truly alarming amount of blood into the dirt, especially considering the lengthy blood trail Reaper had followed to get here. He spared a glance behind him, making sure that all active Talon Goon Squads were still running around like cats at a laser show, looking very busy and distracted, but not actually getting anything done. Idiots. Most of them didn’t even know he was currently on the base, much less notice his dark figure lurking on the other side of the fence, so there was no one to see him gently lift the Soldier’s still form into his arms.

Jack’s breath was short and shallow with a wet rasp on each exhale, but he was still breathing. That was something, at least. Not much, but something. A quick check of clawed fingers to his throat revealed that his heartbeat was still steady, but starting to become light and fluttery. He’d lost a lot of blood, that much was more than obvious, but his pulse wasn’t yet arrhythmic and the fact that he was still breathing was a good sign. He needed to stop the bleeding. Now.

If Gabe had to guess, he would bet that Jack had been planning on crawling into the ravine and patching himself up before finding somewhere safer. A solid plan, except Gabe was sure Jack hadn’t realized how deep the ravine was, and doubted the injured Soldier would have survived the thirty foot drop in his condition.

The thought brought an unexpected shiver down his spine. He could see it in his mind’s eye. Jack, half dead already, crawling to the edge of the ravine, thinking he’d finally made it to safety, only to fall further than he expected and land with the sickening crunch of flesh and bone. He’d be too stunned, too broken to move, assuming he’d even still be conscious at that point, and have no choice but to slowly die alone.

God, he’d gotten morbid in his old age. Jack wasn’t dead yet, and now he had a stubborn old ghost to help, whether he wanted it or not. He carried Jack to the edge of the ravine, and then let his lower half fade into mist and spill over the edge. He couldn’t go full Wraith without dropping Jack, but he could become insubstantial enough to get them both down the drop without injuring either of them.

The moonlight all but disappeared in the shadows as he got them safely to the ravine floor, but Gabe’s enhancements let him see well enough in the dark to spot a small alcove in the rock wall, deep enough that the light from a biotic emitter would be entirely hidden from above. It didn’t take long to set Jack down and drop the biotic emitter, washing the two of them tucked under the small alcove with warm, yellow light.

Alright. Time to see what he had to work with. He unzipped Jack’s gaudy jacket (Who had allowed Jack to make his own fashion decisions? This jacket was a menace.) and carefully peeled it off, followed by his Kevlar underarmor.

Ugh. Not good. Jack’s entire torso was covered in sticky, coagulating blood, still oozing from three gunshot wounds, one in his right shoulder, his lower abdomen, and his left hip. Gabe wouldn’t be surprised if the shot to his hip had shattered part of his pelvis, too. Jack needed serious medical help, and whatever patch job he could put together wouldn’t be nearly enough. Well, where there was Jack, there was Ana. If Gabe could stabilize him, then Ana could get him the help he needed.

Now he just needed to put his money where his mouth was and stabilize Jack, get him to wake up, and somehow convince him to tell him where Ana was. Just save his ex-lover’s life under a pile of rocks with nothing but a biotic emitter, their combined personal supplies, and his own skill. No pressure. The Reaper pulled off his clawed gauntlets and got to work. What could possibly go wrong?

His communicator chirped to life, and a familiar, perky voice spoke in his ear.

“Hola, Gabe!”

Goddammit. Could the gods of irony or instant karma or whoever just leave him alone for ten fucking minutes?

“Don’t call me that,” Reaper growled. Sombra’s timing was too terrible to be coincidence.

“Hear about that intruder? Pretty crazy, huh?” Sombra continued, ignoring him.

“What do you care,” he grumbled, cleaning Jack’s wounds with the Soldier’s own canteen. “You’re on the other side of the planet right now.”

“Oh, I was just checking on some things,” She replied vaguely. Sure she was. “And I saw that your old pal Seventy-Six had been caught on camera! Wild, right?”

“Get to the point, Sombra.” There were a lot more scars here than Gabe remembered. Jack had been busy in the years after Zurich. He trailed his finger down something that looked like a knife wound before getting back to work.

“So I did a sweep for any devices I could triangulate location with to see if he was still hiding on the base, and can you guess what I found?”

“Sombra…” His voice held a warning tone. Convenient how she only did things like this to him while she was a continent away.

“You, Gabe! Oh. I mean Reaper. You, off-base, and heading further away. Now, why would that be? What important business do you have in the desert, Creepy-Reapy?”

Wonderful. Sombra had found an even worse nickname.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said as he put pressure on Jack’s abdominal wound, the last injury still bleeding. Jack, of course, chose that exact moment to rouse just enough to let out a long moan, sufficiently loud enough for communicator to pick up.

Sombra cackled.

“What are you doing to him, Gabe? Are you two still an item? I thought you would find somewhere more sanitary for that, but if you two are that desperate…”

“What do you want, Sombra?” he snarled.

“The usual.”

Information. Of course. Luckily, he kept a few tidbits on hand in case he ever needed to bribe the hacker. Hacker. Hah. She was clearly more of an information broker with a hacking gimmick.

“Gerard Lacroix isn’t buried with the other Overwatch Agents. That grave is empty. His real body is buried in Marseilles,” Gabe said, starting to bandage Jack with the few resources he had.

“Boring! I already knew that one, amigo. You’re going to need to try harder than that to buy my silence this time.”

“Widowmaker visits his grave in Marseilles on the anniversary of his death and on Christmas. She thinks no one knows.”

“Oho!” Sombra crooned in his ear. “That’s more like it. Interesting. Very interesting. You know, for that I’ll even throw in a bonus. They’ve taken your Soldier’s pulse rifle to storage bay C. I’ll erase the footage of you stealing it.”

“Tch.”

“What was that?”

Dammit. If he didn’t say it, she wouldn’t do it, and it would actually be a decent sign of good faith to return Jack’s stupid giant stolen rifle to him.

“Thank you.”

“De nada. Hey, Reaps. Why do it? Hell of a risk, just for an Ex.”

“Is that information part of the price?”

“Not this time. Just curious.”

“Then you don’t get an answer.”

Sombra laughed. “That’s fair, my friend. Oh! And just because I know you’re having a bad day…” A flash of numbers flicked across the cybernetic display of his mask. Coordinates. Coordinates that were close by.

Ana.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you, Gabriel.” She made a kissing sound, and then disconnected.

Damn meddlesome brat. She’d likely known where Jack and Ana were hiding all along, and had only dropped the information so Gabe would still owe her a favor, damn it all. On the upside, he’d managed to stop Jack from bleeding out, and the biotic emitter was doing its job. He was breathing easier than before, chest rising and falling slowly, without that horrible shallow rasp. A few more hours with the nanobots and Jack would probably be stable enough to move. Meanwhile, that gave him a little bit of time to steal back the pulse rifle, make a plausible excuse for why he would be missing for a while, and grab a few more supplies.

He wiped his hands off and put his gauntlets back on, looking down at Jack, finally having a chance to examine him in the light. He was still firmly muscled, but he thinner than he used to be. A little more lean and a little less of a wall of solid muscle. His hair had gone white and his hairline was starting to retreat across his forehead. The end of a scar was just visible, vanishing under his mask.

For a moment, Reaper was tempted to remove it, letting his clawed fingers linger on the mask’s release catch. He sighed. No. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want Jack to see what was under his own mask. He would respect that.

He stood and straightened his coat.

“You’re a lot of trouble, Jack,” he growled at the prone form. “but I guess you’d be boring otherwise.”

Reaper turned and left the alcove, returning to base to steal back a rifle.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

#Reaper76Week #Reaper76Week2018 #Day Six #Questionable Actions #Reaper76 #Overwatch #Gabriel Reyes #Jack Morrison #Ana Amari #Sombra #My Drabbles #4000 Words #AW YES #The whole week has been leading up to this fic #Part two coming tomorrow!#Character Injury #Angst #Blood

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