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jarvisisbetterthansiri · 5 years ago

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Only Human - Aftermath

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader + some Tony Stark x Pepper Potts Word count: 1520 Description: Reader and Tony deal with the aftermath of sleeping together when he was engaged to Pepper. How will they deal with the guilt, and more importantly, the feelings for eachother? Warnings: *SFW* Angst, super angst, a lil bit of fluff, soft!reader + conflicted!Tony

A/N: This is a sequel to Only Human (which is a smutty sex pollen fic, click here) but it can be read alone if you just want some good ole angst

---

The room is silent apart from the sounds of heavy breathing slowing to normal.

Tony lets an arm drape over your body, an action that should be comforting, but then you feel it.

Warm metal on your skin. A ring, his ring, his engagement ring. The guilt comes then, and he feels you freeze, tears falling onto his chest.

What have you done?

---

Tony watched you stiffen, before scurrying away from him as if his touch burned you.

He sits up slowly, scratching at his beard, guilt settling in his chest. Shrugging it off, he weighs his options. He could pretend it never happened - but he couldn’t do that to Pep, one look at her face and he knew he’s crack. He held too much respect for her.

And then there’s you; the girl who managed to still get his coffee order wrong, the girl who would cover her face when she giggled at his ‘dad jokes’, the girl who looked into his eyes with the same adoration Pepper once had.

The girl who had scurried away from the room with her blouse buttoned up all wrong, hair a tangled mess, mascara smudged below her eyes, clearly holding back tears.

Tears because of him. --- Everything you ever wanted had happened. But...you didn’t want it like this. Yes, you had a crush on your boss. Yes, you daydreamed about what it would be like to be with him, just once.

But that was just a daydream. And the reality wasn’t something you were ever expecting to feel. You react the scene in your mind over and over, feeling the ache in your chest dig deeper each time. Then you feel the metal on your skin and it’s all you can do not to scream.

Homewrecker. That’s what you are.

You wish you could just go back in time and do things differently. But you couldn’t, there was no way to make this better. An image of Miss Potts teaching you how to use the software on your computer flashes in your mind.

God, she was such a nice woman. And what had you done? Slept with her fiance.

You scrub your skin in the shower until it’s raw and painful. But you can still smell him, taste him. And you still want him.

---

Telling Pepper had gone as well as expected. Which was, understandably, not very well at all.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, she looked into his eyes, as if looking for a sign he was joking. And while Tony knew she wasn’t one to throw things or scream, he almost thought that would be better. Anything would be better than this.

One second passes. Two seconds. Three seconds. He feels her stare eat away at him, burning through his chest. Those glassy blue eyes hitting him like a sledgehammer.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m listening, Tony,” there’s a hint of vulnerability to her voice that he’s not used to, and it hurts more than he thought it would. “What do you want me to say?” He grimaces, “Anything.”

Then he moves closer to the woman he loves, sighing when she rejects his touch, “Say anything. Do anything. Just don’t take it out on-”

“Don’t say her name,” Pepper cuts him off, suddenly back to being cold, her guard up, no trace at all that she had been close to tears only moments ago. “Don’t you dare Tony.”

Her face is harsh, and Tony can see the fine lines settling around her eyes. She was blaming you for this.

Of course, it was blatantly obvious you’d developed a slight crush, but you were no seductress. If anything, he initiated it.

No. This wasn’t on you, it was on him - Tony folds his arms, “I mean it Pepper.”

“I have a right to be angry,” her voice is softer than his.

“At me,” he starts, desperately grabbing at her arms, urging her to look at him, “Not at her, she didn’t-”

“She slept with my fiance!”

“You know for a fucking fact it’s not like that!” Tony reacts before he can think, and regrets his tone instantly.

The dam breaks and tears are now flowing hastily down Pepper’s cheeks, freckled face turning an ugly red. Tony wants to brush away the tears, whisper an apology, but she takes a shaky breath and steps away from his grip, “I can’t do this. You’re shouting at me, like it’s my fault you cheated.”

“Pep I’m sorry,” the pet name feels like barbed wire on his tongue, “I’m sorry. I just - I don’t know how we fix this.”

“Fire her.”

He shakes his head, “Pepper-”

“Move her to another office, Tony. And we can try to move past-”

“Please don’t do this,” now he’s the one pleading, searching in her eyes only to find hatred staring back at him.

But that’s all that she needs to hear, and all of the emotions catch up to her at once. Anger. Betrayal. A hint of jealousy. But more than anything, hurt. “You’re doing this, not me.”

Then without so much of a goodbye, Tony finds himself outside of his own home, with one expensive, shiny ring closed in his palm. And then he’s gone, walking away from the home he built with the woman he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with.

---

Tony watches you through the glass door of his office; shoulders hunched, head hung low as you type at your desk. You’d handed in your resignation earlier in the day, before he arrived. There’s an atmosphere thick enough to choke on when you knock gently at his door.

“Your coffee,” you mumble, scurrying to place it on the table and leave as fast as you can.

“Y/N-”

“Mr Stark, please don’t,” you wave off any sparks of a conversation, and walk away, only to be followed.

Tony knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t run after you, he shouldn’t talk to you so soon after breaking it off with Pepper, and he definitely shouldn’t do this in a public office. But he couldn’t stand to see you so miserable, blaming yourself, too scared to even look at him, “Listen to me, you’re not leaving.”

“I have to,” you manage out, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to stop from crying. God, you felt so stupid.

“Not over this. You can't let one mistake ruin your life.”

Mistake. Your hands tremble when the word leaves his mouth. That’s what it was to him, a mistake. “I can’t stay here. Pepper…” You trail off, voice thin and distant.

“Pepper already knows,” he sighs, “Look, this isn’t your fault.”

“It is,” you cry, louder than you anticipated. You feel the burning of your coworkers stares. Quieter, you breathe, “I was...it’s my fault. And I have to live with that, every day, and I feel horrible. I’m a bad person..”

Tony is startled by how distressed you look, and he places a hand on your shoulder, replacing it as soon as you shrug it off, not caring if people see. “No. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

“Please don’t be nice to me,” you almost beg, any composure gone at this point. This kind of attention was something you’d craved for as long as you’d known Tony. But not like this. You weren’t supposed to be some kind of homewrecker. But one look into Tony’s eyes has your breathing laboured, heart hammering in your chest.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Tony feels unnaturally weak when he pulls you closer to his body, arms wrapping around your frame.

Ever aware of your audience, you struggle against him. No, you shouldn’t...you didn’t deserve to be hugged. Tears spring to your eyes and a sob leaves your mouth before you can stop it, “You shouldn’t…”

“I don’t care. I don’t regret what happened,” he exhales shakily, trying to calm his anxiety when you look up at him, pouty lips pulled downward in confusion.

And fuck how he wants to kiss those lips.

He refrains, closely watching your expression, “Do you? If things were different, would you do it again?”

A gasp, but no answer. Tony brings a hand to your cheek, thumb gliding towards your lip, “Sweetie?”

“I would,” you whisper, ignoring every inch of your body telling you to lie. You don’t want to lie. You want him, despite the shame.

And fuck if Tony didn’t want you. He wanted you when you laughed too loudly at his bad puns. He wanted you when you were coming undone against his body. He wanted you when you were crying into his chest. He wanted you completely.

He wanted to be with you, to kiss you. So he does. He leans in gently and places his lips to your own in a soft kind of passion that has you reaching for his shoulders to stable yourself. But you push away, remembering your setting, only too late.

Murmurs. Shocked whispers. Clicks of cameras. And one very unmistakable strawberry head of hair hurrying out of the offices.

---

A/N: Lol, idk if that was trash, but bon apetit, hope you enjoy

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years ago

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Down the Rabbit Hole part 29

The FBI agent reclines the front seat in the big black Tahoe and gives me a look like I’m a little girl being stubborn. My nose is still a little stuffy from all the crying I’ve been doing, and my leg feels swollen and crooked and wrong, but the time for all that is past now. I take a deep breath and let it out and refuse to meet his gaze, glare out the tinted window at the fading afternoon.

Outside there are two more FBI men in big baggy blue windbreakers, chatting casually. One of them is smoking a cigarette, and as I watch him bring it to his mouth I feel a little gnarled pang of want, for it really has been so long since I last had one, and after everything I’ve gone through –

“How’s your leg?” the agent in the SUV with me asks, and I look round at him but don’t answer. He’s a big, broad man, probably somewhere in his forties or maybe his late thirties. His tone is calm and mild but his voice is deep enough that it feels like it ought to be accompanied by a rumbling vibrato I can pick up in my bones.

My leg is okay. Makado knew exactly where and how to kick me, it seems; after the FBI agents picked me up and carried me out of the gondola Makado got them to take me straight to the infirmary where a small, stone-faced woman looked it over and tutted at how they were treating me, saying that it probably won’t heal right, but they got her to just shoot me full of painkillers and throw a boot on it. After that I was able to walk, at least a little bit; I found to my immense surprise that with the boot I was actually able to put some weight on my right leg without it folding under me or my calf snapping in half. I examined it as best as I was able on the walk over to the parking lot and discovered that instead of the mangled wreck I was half-expecting there was just a rough scrape from the cleats on the bottom of Makado’s boot and only the slightest misalignment of the broad flat bone there. I could feel, I discovered, the part where my bone melded into the synthetic replacement the autodoctor had put in, a little ridged scoriation dividing the two.

“I have some ibuprofen,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, “if you need it.”

“I’m fine.”

My voice is dry from lack of use. I lick my lips, make a little cough in the back of my throat. He shrugs, puts the bottle away. “Suit yourself,” he says.

Another five minutes or so go by. I pointedly ignore him. Eventually he clears his throat. “It’s going to be a lot easier on you,” he tells me, “if you talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. Ever since Miss Veret gave us a call and told us what you were up to, we’ve had a lot of questions for you. I think you’ll find that you’d prefer me to be the one asking them.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask him, and he laughs.

“It is whatever you make of it, Miss Dzilenski.” He stumbles over the frontloaded jumble of consonants, overemphasizes the ‘e’ sound in the middle. Duh-zil-een-ski. Almost makes me wince.

“Alright,” I say. “What did Makado say I had been up to, then?”

It would probably be smarter not to talk at all, but sitting here in the blasting a/c in the back of the Tahoe is making me sleepy. It feels like I haven’t had a chance to actually sit and rest for what feels like ages, even though just earlier today I was just waking up from a day-and-a-half nap after surgery. I’d gone through the pumped-full-of-energy phase and then the ballast had worn off and I’d gone through the splitting-migraine phase on the way up and now at this point I just feel hollow and brittle and empty. Even though it’s cowardly I try not to think of Elena and how I’ve abandoned her, I try not to think of Makado and what she’s done, but it’s futile. Rage and despair course over me in alternating waves and I haven’t a clue as to how to adequately deal with either.

The FBI man offers me a tissue and I realize with a start that I’ve nearly begun crying again. I wipe at my eyes as best I can with my cuffed hands and leave him there, hand outstretched, until he sighs and takes his hand back, tosses the wadded tissue on the floor. “How’d you end up here?” he asks me. I stare back at him. He reaches over, takes a slim manila folder from the center console, leafs through it. “Not a lot on you in here,” he says. “Except for that whole thing with your father.”

I stiffen.

“Must have been hard,” he says, neutrally.

I know I’m being baited and I ought to stay quiet but I can’t stop myself. “You don’t know the first thing about it,” I tell him, “so you should just shut up –“

“On the contrary,” he says smoothly, turning a stapled, glossy page and squinting at the next. The first page hangs over the edge of the folder and I can see through it to the other side, see the painfully familiar mugshot that’s been etched into my brain, little fourteen-year-old me, her eyes red from crying, trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip, staring defiantly into the camera, still wearing the lumberjack shirt she’d begged her dad buy for her as soon as they made it to Illinois and the nights started to get cold. “I know a lot about it,” the FBI man continues. “I’ve got the entire report right here.”

“If you read the report,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, “you know that by now it’s ancient history. It happened twelve years ago.”

“Yes,” he says, “and now twelve years later you’re in another mess. I suppose you’re going to blame somebody else this time as well?”

The words strike me with about the subtlety of a sledgehammer but I still stiffen in the backseat, my fists clenching so hard that my nails dig into my palms. “Fuck you,” I blurt. He continues on as though he didn’t hear me.

“I don’t know what exactly they’re planning on charging you with, but I know it’s at least a few dozen counts of manslaughter, and possibly a couple of murder charges. Then there’s all the human trafficking you and your partner Peter Caum were doing. Did you really think you’d be able to get away with that?”

My mouth dropped open about halfway through. “So that’s how it is,” I say. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning; my heart is going about a million miles an hour and all the hair is standing up on my arms. I feel claustrophobic suddenly, here in the back of the SUV, my hands cuffed together, my leg throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

The FBI man’s eyes flash beneath his glasses. “That’s how what is?”

“Makado is trying to blame all this on me,” I tell him, knowing that it’s futile, that maybe it’s even actively detrimental to say anything, but I – I can’t just say nothing, I can’t just –

“Are you saying that she’s the one responsible for this?”

I swallow and nod.

“That Makado Veret,” he says, tossing the folder to the side and fixing me with his full attention, “the Chief of Security for the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, that Makado, has really been trying to smuggle people inside the Pit, with the help of a disgruntled ex-Park Ranger and mental patient, for…no real apparent purpose other than to fleece desperate people of their money?”

“Yes,” I say softly. It’s pointless. He isn’t going to believe me.

“And you are,” he continues, “the same Roan Dzilenski who has a documented history of lying to law enforcement authorities?”

“I was fourteen!”

“So you aren’t denying it? That you have lied to the police before?”

“I –“

“I mean,” he says, speading his hands, “it was a juvenile offense. And it was overturned. You got off scot free.”

“I did not get off scot free,” I tell him. “I’m tired of this. You’ve got the fucking report, you can read it. Either arrest me or don’t.”

“Fine,” he says. “If that’s what you’d like me to do.”

I lick my lips. “Look,” I say, trying to think of how to phrase it, how possibly I can tell him and get him to believe me. He gives me an expectant look. “Look,” I say, a little more softly, “this is all fine, but right now there’s someone down there inside the Pit who’s hurt. Someone who might die if I can’t get to her. And if you arrest me –“

The FBI man laughs, cutting me off, and rolls the window down to signal to the other two men in windbreakers. The tall, thin one with the cigarette tosses it on the black asphalt and grinds it out with his foot, and then he gets in next to me. I can still smell it on him. And then the other gets in the front seat and, after a quiet, murmured conversation with the man who’d just been grilling me, pulls us out of the parking lot and onto the curving road that reaches around the back of the ranger barracks and over to the main road back to Gumption. I feel as though I’m going to be sick.

The sky is terribly blue and for a long while I have a hard time recognizing it, I stare at the clouds passing by outside the window and wonder at them. The world feels strange when it isn’t pitch-dark and smelling of meat.

And, god, Elena –

I’m done crying. I can’t do anything for her now. I – I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t see that Makado was just using me.

I suppose I will process all of this later, in a jail cell somewhere. Right now I don’t have the ability to handle any more. I lean my forehead against the cool glass next to me and shut my eyes. I’d rather think about something else.

* * *

“Now remember,” my father is telling me, “it’s going to be hard to pull that trigger, but if you just squeeze it steadily it’ll be okay.”

“But daddy,” I start, but he just ruffles my hair like he always does and adjusts the revolver so that the two little legs stuck to the barrel sink a little deeper into the berm we’re both laying on.

“Now go ahead,” he tells me, his voice gentle, “and line up those two little bits there with this one in the front.”

I close my left eye and peer down the ridged metal spine of the thing. Just holding it makes me nervous, it’s like holding a power tool, like holding the big reciprocating saw he keeps down in the garage for his woodworking. It’s heavy and weighty and purposeful. “Okay,” I murmur.

“You’ve got them lined up? The one in the front should be in the middle of the rear two, and it shouldn’t be higher than the rear two.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, now, line the whole thing up with that beer bottle over there.”

“Which one?”

“The Blue Moon bottle over there on the left.”

I shift the gun over a little and then line it up again. “Okay,” I mutter. The little green bead in the front rests just above the label, but now it’s up too high, it’s poking above the line made by the back two bits.

“Remember to focus on the sights, not on the target. If you focus on the target you won’t be able to tell whether the sights aren’t aligned. Keep your eyes right here,” my dad tells me, pointing to the front of the pistol. I nod.

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m going to move the cylinder now so that the hammer is over the chamber with the live bullet in it. When you pull that trigger the gun will fire. Got it?”

I swallow hard. I can see the back of the cartridge in the little cutout for it on the left side of the gun. My dad told me it was so you can see whether it had already been fired but I don’t know how that works. As I watch he reaches down and moves it so that it’s in line with the barrel. “Daddy,” I say, “I don’t know if –“

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. Now, it’s going to have a hard kick, but I’m going to be right here holding it with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I say again. Down there, maybe about fifty feet away or so, the sunlight is glinting off the darkened glass of the Blue Moon bottle. My father places his hands loosely over mine; his skin is calloused and rough. He is a carpenter but only during the day, at night he writes, holed up in the den with the door cracked open so if I want to I can sneak up and peek in, see him tapping away at the enormous computer with the cathode-ray screen, the big stuffed buck’s head on the wall just behind him, angled just like his, echoing his. I want to write like he does when I get older.

His hands are just over mine. They’re very warm, and so big compared to mine. I still have a band-aid on the ring finger of my left hand from where I tripped and cut it open on the ground outside the motel yesterday. Dad was proud of me for not crying about it but I wouldn’t have cried about something like that for a long time. Even this young I’m serious, more serious than either of my parents. Right now my father is being very serious and it isn’t something I’m used to. It makes me feel nervous, like I’ll do something wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready, keep the sights lined up and pull the trigger back slowly. It’s got a bit of a weight to it so you’ll have to squeeze hard, but it’ll shoot.”

And so I pull the trigger back slowly. My hand is shaking a little but that’s just from how hard I’m holding the gun. As the trigger moves the little metal lever on the back of the gun moves too, and I glance over at my dad. “Is that supposed to –“ I start, but he’s already nodding at me.

“That’s the hammer, that’s what actually hits the cartridge to make it fire. It has to drop down onto it to do that, so when you pull the trigger what you’re doing is bringing the hammer back and then dropping it. Go ahead and shoot, baby.”

I keep pulling and the hammer keeps going back and back and back and what I realize is going to happen is that there will be a point where it’s all the way back and then it’ll fall and the gun will go off and scare me half to death, and I keep anticipating it and it doesn’t come and eventually it’s too much and I ease off of the trigger. My dad stares down at me wondering if something’s wrong, takes his hands off of my hands and starts to lean over, and the thought of having to explain all this to him is far too unpalatable for me, so instead I squeeze my eyes shut and jerk the trigger back as far as it will go, and the gun roars so loud that for a moment I wonder whether I’m even wearing the big bulky earmuffs my dad handed to me.

The pistol leaps out of my hands and then something slams into my face and I cry out and clap my hands to my nose. The revolver is lying there on the berm, kicked over onto one of its little legs, and my nose is bleeding. My dad looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to yell at me or cheer for me. Instead he just hugs me to him before I can start crying and points down at the beer bottles. “You did it,” is all he tells me, and when I look I see that the Blue Moon bottle, amber-hued and glossy, has disappeared, and even though I’ve gotten blood all down the front of my new plaid lumberjack shirt, I can’t stop staring at the place it would have been, can’t stop grinning at the knowledge that I did that.

* * *

The glass jostles against my forehead and my eyes flick open. I’d drifted away for a second there. Then the noise begins and the man driving slams on the brakes, sending us screeching to a halt. “What the fuck was that?” he cries.

I know what it is, of course – it’s the Pit. What else would it be? What else can open its gaping mouth and scream like that, scream from its belly, miles and miles and miles deep, channel the sound out into a pinprick-tiny orifice and make it shriek for kilometers? The noise is throbbingly deep, rattling into our bones and setting my teeth vibrating unpleasantly, but also somehow manages to screech upwards into a high keening wail that drags on and on and on…

The FBI men look shaken, at least. I’d heard groans and moans and shrieks like this down in the Pit, but none quite so angry, and definitely none as loud. It makes me wonder if there’s something different about this or if the sound is muffled, down there in the Pit, muffled by the flesh everywhere. Maybe it carries differently.

There is another low resounding thump and again the ground shakes. I freeze. If we can feel it here on the surface –

The FBI men glance at each other, and the one in the passenger seat, the one who’d been interrogating me, nods. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he tells the driver, who puts the SUV back in gear and starts off again down the road, moving at a faster clip than before. He isn’t quite gunning it but he’s getting close. The one in back sitting next to me leans forward.

“Did they say anything about this?” he asks. “Is it like a test or something? I heard –“

I never hear what he heard, though, before the ground erupts like a bomb maybe two hundred yards to our left and a vast stream of – of something hurls upwards into the sky. The driver cries out in shock and for a moment all of us are just staring out the left side of the SUV, watching as a nauseatingly pale pillar of flesh hovers there, sticking out of the ground at an obtuse angle, quivering in the waning sunlight. It must reach a couple hundred feet into the air at least, and it’s as thick as a redwood, or maybe even a couple of redwoods, it’s hard to tell from this distance. It curls inwards on itself and slams into the ground and begins scrabbling around on the ground, splintering trees and bushes and rocks, crushing them beneath itself.

“Makado was right,” I breathe, watching the tentacle writhe like a blind, pale worm. “She was right, it is waking up.”

“What did you say?” the man in the passenger seat asks, but before I can repeat myself there is another echoing roar and another tentacle, a smaller one this time, bursts out of the ground just before us. The driver screams a profanity and tries to turn but the big fat SUV is too damn slow. We strike it at an angle instead and it is just enough to flip the car.

It all happens incredibly quickly. I’m very lucky that the man who got in next to me buckled me in; he neglected to do the same for himself and got tossed around the cabin like a ragdoll, slamming into the ceiling and then falling through into the back and rattling around back there like a roulette ball. The two in front are a little luckier; they both had buckled up but I see the one in the passenger seat strike his head hard against the window next to him, hard enough that the window cracks, and when his head reels back I see a flash of bright red blood mottled in his hair and dripping down his forehead. The driver is still tugging desperately at the wheel, his instincts screaming at him to do something at least, but it’s useless – we flip end over end three times before the car settles onto its side and comes to a halt.

Aside from nearly being strangled by my seatbelt, I come out of it okay. I knocked my leg against the front seat a few times but with the boot on it isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and then when the front windscreen burst inwards I did end up with a few cuts on my face, I think, and the same bruised spot on my cheek where Klaus struck me is aching like hell.

I think I screamed, that’s all; it’s like my brain shut down as soon as we flipped and I was simply running on automatic, no conscious thought required. I remember bringing my hands, still cuffed together, up to protect my face, and I remember clenching just about every muscle in my body tight enough to leave me with a lingering ache in my abs once we rolled to a stop, but somehow I haven’t done myself any lasting damage.

It takes me only a couple seconds to realize that this might be my big break, and then I spring into action, slamming my fingers down on the release for the seat belt and rocketing out of the SUV as quickly as I can. The driver yells at me, apparently still conscious as well, and I snap a terrified glance back at him, but he’s trapped – I can see now standing on the outside that his door is crumpled inwards and jammed into the frame, and what’s more it doesn’t look like he’s able to undo his seat belt, although I can’t tell whether it’s because it’s jammed too or because the man is injured.

Behind me the roars continue unabated. There is the faint ratcheting wail of a siren coming from the facility, over the lip of the hill, just there to my right.

The man with the glasses who cracked his head on the window, he has the key to my cuffs. I sprint around the back of the truck, tear the passenger door open as quickly as I can. He falls out, lands on his belly in the dirt, and then I am rummaging through his pockets; not here in the jacket, not on the other side of the jacket, not in the left back pocket…

I can feel my panic mounting as I rifle through his things, trying to ignore the angry cries of the man in the driver’s seat, telling me to stop, telling me that I’m going to be in really fucking big trouble if I don’t come around and help him get out of the damn truck. I shut him out, I don’t even look at him. Where is the fucking key? If I can’t find it, if it’s fallen out of his pocket somewhere when the SUV flipped –

There is a raw, wet noise next to me and I glance over. The tip of the tentacle, glossy with slime and bleeding from a dozen skin-deep cuts, from rocks and sticks and just abrasion with the ground, is nuzzling at the deflated rear tire of the SUV. It’s insane how normal it seems to me. A month ago I would have figured I was going insane if I had seen something like this grubbing around on the ground like someone trying to reach a potato chip they’ve dropped on the floor. Where is that fucking key? Goddam it –

I take a step, dragging the FBI man with me, or at least trying to, because the fucker is heavy, and immediately the tentacle jolts in my direction. I feel a scream catch in my throat but I manage to clap a hand to my mouth and stop it. The sound? No, that doesn’t make any sense, the thing’s skin is smooth and clear and bereft of anything close to being an ear. Vibrations then, that must be it.

I eye the thing. The end is blunt and about as narrow as a baseball bat but it widens out to about as wide around as a tree trunk a little further down. It’s obviously very strong; rippling bands of muscle shift beneath its thin skin. If it got wrapped around my leg –

“You fucking bitch!” the driver curses at me. He’s still yanking fruitlessly at the seat belt. I see the tentacle’s skin twitch with each word, and then it snakes its way under the SUV. “You bitch! I swear to god, if you don’t come over here - !”

I have one last pocket to search. Rear right. Wallet, what feels like a package of breath mints or chewing gum, a piece of paper…no keys. I shove my hand in deeper, all the way to the bottom, and then I find it, the tiny metal key brushing against my fingers. My heart jolts in my chest and I pull it out as quickly as I can and then try to unlock them myself, but it’s no use, I can’t reach it. “Fuck,” I murmur, out loud, and then glance carefully at the tentacle. It’s wrapped itself all the way around the SUV. At this point the man inside has seen it. It sounds like he’s having a panic attack.

I start to back away slowly, just as the tentacle flexes and lifts the SUV into the air. “Holy shit,” I murmur before I get a grip and shut up. The tentacle seems satisfied with its prize, though – it doesn’t pay any attention to me. There’s more commotion inside the SUV and then – I jump – a few gunshots. I see them slap into the tentacle’s flesh, puffing out sprays of blood, but it’s entirely futile. The tentacle flexes and crushes the SUV with the ease of someone crushing a can of Coke and then it whips back down into the dirt, still clutching the SUV, and then they both are gone.

My heartbeat is very loud in my ears. The enormous tentacle off in the distance is still scrabbling around someplace else, pointed off in the other direction from me. My hand have gotten very sweaty and I’m scared I might drop the key someplace, but I haven’t got anywhere else to carry it. I take a step tentatively, cringing in anticipation, waiting for another tentacle to burst out of the ground and scoop me up, but when none are forthcoming, I break into a hobbling sprint and make for the facility. I have to find someone who’ll be willing to uncuff me, who might be willing to help me get back down into the Pit so that I can find Elena –

The thoughts die in midstride. I crest the ridge and stare down at the wreckage below me. There are three more tentacles of roughly the same size as the first rooting around the wreckage of the administration building, which looks as though it’s been peeled open like a tin of sardines. Before me, down on the road, a Humvee speeds by, and then another. There are people rushing all about the sedative plant, and I wonder if they’ve done anything, if there even is anything they can do. Can they turn it up to 11, pump even more sedative into the thing? Would that even work, does it have a tolerance for it?

The exclusion plate, at least what I can see of it from this vantage, is cracked into three pieces, and beneath is just pale skin basking in the orangey sunset.

As I watch, one of the tentacles shudders and flops to the ground. I can feel the impact throb through my soles all the way from here. A dust cloud rises from beneath it.

I scan the line of intact buildings nearest me and then slowly, unwillingly, I grin and start to make my way down the slope.

For there, just down the hill and across the road, is the ranger barracks. And there, in the third window from the left, a light shines, and I can see Fumi’s unmistakable shaggy silhouette outlined in it.

* * *

When he opens the door after about five minutes of knocking I push in past him and scan the room. “Roan!” he blurts. “What the fuck are you doing here – “

“Fumi, there’s no time. Are we alone?”

“Well, yeah, but –“ he says, and then he breaks off. He’s glimpsed the cuffs around my wrists and I give him a little sheepish grin. “What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you that,” I tell him. “Why’s the Pit freaking out? And why are you in here and not -”

He blows his breath out, and glowers. “Firstly, Makado’s taken a Tunneler down to get that crystal. Those always piss off the Pit and I guess after 2007 it decided to grow some extra appendages near here that we weren’t aware of and now it’s putting them to good use. And secondly,” he shrugs, “I think they just forgot about me. I’ve had my radio on and I’ve been waiting to respond but I never got a call. Not really complaining.”

I hold up my hands. “Sorry – Tunneler?”

“It’s what they used to make a lot of the bigger tunnels in the Pit. You ever seen those big digging machines they use to dig train tunnels and stuff through solid rock? Think that but bigger and grindier. It’s got vacuums to suck away the dead flesh, cauterizes as it goes, the works. Pisses the Pit off like crazy, though, and now that it’s hungrier these days I guess it got mad enough to pitch a fit about it. They still have two or three of them in a hangar, sitting around from the old Anodyne days just in case they ever need them.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur. “And they – Admin or whoever – they let her do that?”

Fumi laughs. “I guess,” he says. “I heard she stormed into Admin and raised a huge stink about the crystal, told them this was their last chance before the Leechman vanishes with it, and they signed off.”

“Fuck her,” I growl. Fumi looks a little taken aback at how bitter I sound. He starts to ask something but I shake my head. “There isn’t time. Help me out of these. Please.”

Fumi mutters a curse under his breath and takes the key. The cuffs fall away from my wrists and clatter on the floor and I am so relieved I don’t know what else to do but hug him. He smells of sweat and cigarette smoke but at the moment I don’t care. His hands flutter, startled, before they close around me and he holds me gently. He pats me on the back after a moment, and I draw away from him. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I was just –“

“I get it,” he says. “Look, why don’t you just get out of here? With all this chaos it’d be easy to –“

“No,” I tell him. “I can’t, I can’t just leave. I have to get back down there.”

“Roan,” he starts. Something about his tone puts pressure on some place in me that’s been bending and bending and finally I snap.

“Fumi,” I say, my voice harsh, “Elena is down there. Maybe she’s already dead, but if she isn’t, she needs me. Nobody else is going down to get her, especially not now.” As if to punctuate my argument, there is another crash from nearby as a tentacle slams into the ground. Fumi nods, explaining that they’ve probably upped the sedative dosage and it’s finally taking effect. His face grows more serious.

“Do you know if she’s still alive down there?”

“No,” I admit. “But if she’s dead I – I have to know. I just have to. Now you can either help me or not, but if you don’t, I’m probably going to end up dead,” I tell him. I marvel at the perfect calmness in my voice. “One way or another, because I’m not experienced enough, because I don’t know the landscape, whatever. But I’m going down there, and that’s final.”

I stand there staring up at him, my hands balled into fists on my hips, and am relieved when his shaggy face breaks open in an unwilling smile. “Alright,” he says after a moment. “But I hope you know a way down, cause there’s no way we can get in through the main orifice now. When the Pit bucked it cracked the plate and wrecked the gantry up here.”

I bite my lip. “Couldn’t we use whatever hole Makado made with the Tunneler?” I ask. Fumi shakes his head.

“No, it’ll be practically vertical. You could maybe rappel down it if you had a whole team to support you but we won’t.”

I utter a mumbled curse. I feel like punching something. If I’ve come all this way and I can’t go back down and get Elena because Makado bored a hole into the Pit and it threw a fit about it –

I stop. Fumi raises his eyebrows. I look over at him and grin. “Fumi, I know how we can get in.”

“Okay, but how - ?”

“There’s no time,” I tell him. I grab his hand and drag him over to the equipment locker in the corner. “Get a suit on and then help me with mine,” I tell him, crouching down to take the boot off. “We’re going to save Elena.”

Continue with Part 30

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#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #original writing #alt lit #mystery #thriller #caving #disaster #romance #Michael Crichton

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eugenesmorphine · 4 years ago

Text

My Girl // Merriel “Snafu” Shelton Imagine

AN: Okay so the ask box glitched out, so I couldn’t properly answer, but, I tried my best. So, Anon, I hope you enjoy.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @hihosilvers @floydtab @punkgeekchic @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @adamantiumdragonfly

Words: 2,786

Y/N worked endlessly in the hot sun of the Peleliu Island. A wrench in her hand as she went around, fixing mortars and other small gadgets all day. An engineer's work was never done it seemed. Always something breaking or needing to be built in order to keep the Marines safe and or able to continue the fight.

Her palms and fingers calloused from working her metal wrench and screw drivers day in and day out. Hour by hour. Some oil and grease scattered all over her. Her face had been covered in sweat dirt, and dried blood from a few cuts that littered the female Marine's hands. Beads of sweats dripped from her brow, and onto the hot dirt and sand mixture beneath her boots. Her white tank top forever stained with dirt, grease, oil, and god knows what else.

Snafu watched the woman work on a mortar from about twenty feet away. A smirk on his lips while he twisted a toothpick between his teeth. Enjoying every inch of the view in front of him. Her back arched, slightly bent over, dog tags dangling, sweat dripping from her sweet pink lips. Mr. Shelton could sit and watch the woman all day.

It was no doubt Merriel Shelton had a thing for Miss Y/N L/N. He was head over heels for this woman, and everyone knew it. It wasn't like one of the Marines just trying to get some because he hadn't seen a woman in years. Well, maybe that is how it was in the start when he first met her, but after a while. When she just kept shooting him down, only made the want for that woman grow more and more. And it almost turned into some sort of need. Just the way his name would roll of her tongue. How she would scoff at his comments. Her insults never even hit him. Each word was just another notch of him falling deeper for the woman.

Y/N's eyes glanced upwards and met with the Louisiana native. Scoffing at the sight of the wide smirk on his face. "Take a picture why don't you, it'll last longer!" she called out as she stood up the Mortar, wiping the sweat off of her forehead and flicking it off her hand. Snafu whistles with a response, god he thought she was just so pretty.

"You know if I could, I would, sugar!" he called back, chuckling slightly. Y/N's cheeks dusted pink as she let out a soft laugh. Dropping the wrench from her hand and into the dirt. A small cloud puffing up in the process. The female approached the male Marine, her canteen filled with water stood besides his right leg.

Y/N reached for the metal container, but Snafu saw this as some sort of opening. Snatching up the canteen filled with water, and holding it high above his head. She threw her head back and let out a loud groan at the man.

"Don't you have work that needs to be done? I just fixed up your stupid Mortar and I deserve a cold sip of water. And not have your filthy little Infantry hands on my canteen!" Y/N she scolded. Jumping up and down, trying her best to grab at the canteen. While Merriel was just getting his jollies.

"Aw come on, doll. Don't you know that I broke that Mortar just to see the beautiful view of you fixing it?" that was a lie of course. The Mortar had been hit with a large rock while working at the air field that was flung by an Japanese artillery shell. Y/N huffed once more, dropping her hands down to her side and stopping her boot. Her brows furrowed. But the Cajun's smirk just grew wider. His teeth were still pearly white, she would be lying if she had said that she didn't find him at least the slightest bit handsome. Whether seeing him digging gold teeth out of a dead Japanese soldier's mouth, or washing the dirt and blood off of his face.

"That's my damn water Merriel, I got more work to do unlike you. And I need some water in this heat!" She huffed. Licking his chapped lips her leaned in closer to her. Her eyes never leaving his.

"Maybe for a quick kiss from the pretty little lady herself," he spoke lowly. Y/N mentally thanked the muck on her face that covered her cheeks as they turned a deeper shade of red. She laughed softly, thinking maybe he was joking. There wasn't any way possible that he found her pretty. Her hair was greasy and dirty, her uniform stunk along with the rest of her. Bruises and cuts littered her body along with sweat stains, dirt and mud caked over her body, along with patches of dried blood all over her. But when she looked into his eyes and could tell that he was in fact not joking, it made some kind a switch flip inside of her brain. A smirk came to her face as an idea came to mind.

Y/N got up close to him, pressing her chest against his and slipping one of her legs between his. Catching the Cajun completely off guard. Making him freeze completely. That's right. Merriel "Snafu" Shelton actually froze and shut up. Something nobody would of thought a woman would be able to do with the rather 'forward' Marine.

The tips of their noses brushing against each other while their lips only centimetres apart. Her hot breath on his lips. "Well, Mr. Shelton," Y/N trailed off, still capturing all of his attention. Using the time to snake her free hand upwards snatching her metal canteen quickly from his tight grip and pushing away. Laughing loudly as she took a huge gulp of water. Leaving Snafu pouting slightly, but he couldn't help but laugh in response. His stomach had been filled with butterflies, and his heart felt as if it was doing back flips. Something he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. "Thanks for my water back! Now I got some more stuff to fix!" Y/N gathered her composure, a few giggles still slipping from her lips as her cheeks were feeling like they were on fire.

Y/N turned and waved him off, plucking her wrench and other tools off of the ground, still having laughter erupt from her mouth as she walked away. Snafu just kept enjoying the view of her hips swaying as she walked away. Placing a cigarette between his lips and pulling out some matches. Staring down at the small package that sat in his palm. Remembering that the woman that had just left him completely starstruck. A smile spreading on his lips remembering the stupid little memory.

///

Patting down his sides, looking for something to light the stick of nicotine that rested between his lips. But he couldn't feel one thing. Strings of swears spilled out of Snafu's mouth as he just kept searching. It had been a long day, the sun had just went down and the heat had began going away. The crave of the nicotine hit him as he just reached his foxhole when night hit, the stress of the day finally washing over him.

"Hey, Sledge," he whispered to the Marine besides him. Who seemed to be sleeping. He pushed his shoulder lightly, seeing if he would move or wake up. Nothing. He grunted slightly and pushed his shoulder again, this time a little harder. "Sledgehammer! Wake the fuck up!" The Cajun whisper-shouted. With one more hard push, the fellow Mortar-man shot awake. Grabbing his rifle that rested besides him quickly, his eyes wide but still filled with exhaustion. And a slight string of fear. Snafu placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to tell him that there wasn't any threat and he could relax.

"Relax, Sledge. Just need to know if you got any matches or a damn lighter on you," he asked, voice sounding almost desperate. The other Marine just yawned and shook his head slightly.

"Sorry man, I don't smoke so I don't have either one," was all he said before rolling back over and falling asleep. Snafu huffed as the itch within him to have a smoke just kept messing with him. Throwing his head back and huffing loudly. That was until the sound of someone dropping into the foxhole caught his attention. His head snapped to look at a rather tired looking female who let out a sigh and looked over at him.

"Need matches?" she asked softly. Noticing the cigarette dangling between his lips and the look of aggravation written on his features. His eyes widened as he nodded quickly. Y/N giggled softly as she dug into one of the pockets on her trousers. Pulling out the pack of matches and holding the small package up to show it to him. She watched as he reached for it, but yanked her hand back when he just almost grasped it. He let out a grunt as he glared at the woman who was deciding to play around.

"What?" she asked playfully. Snafu actually gave a small plead with his eyes. Y/N rolled her eyes and tossed him the small thing of matches. Laughing softly as she watched him tear open the pack like a wild animal to grab a match and quickly light it and light up his cancer stick.

///

A pat on the shoulders brought Snafu out of the memory daze he was in. He looked over to the side of his shoulder, his eyes meeting one of his close buddies Eugene Sledge. He had a small smile on his face as his eyes darted between him and the female who was now far away.

"You done annoying her?" he asked jokingly. Knowing all about his feelings for the female. Snafu scoffed and turned to look at Sledge, a small smirk quirked up onto his lips.

"'Annoy'? I am not annoying her, I'm winning her over!" he spoke as he picked up his rifle and started walking the opposite way with his battle buddy. Who just laughed at his comment and shook his head. As they walked, they chatted.

"You really like her, don't you Snafu?" asked Sledge with a smile wide on his lips. Snafu chuckled, thinking for a moment. A small sigh left his lips as he lit the cigarette that rested on his lips. Taking a long drag and letting the nicotine filled smoke flow around his lungs for a second or two before exhaling it out into the atmosphere.

"I'm telling you, Sledgehammer. That is my future wife right there," he retorted. Sledge just let out another laugh, shaking his head slightly. He opened his mouth to say something, but they sound of a loud bang like something exploding was heard. Causing the two Marines to jump and look in the direction of the small explosion. Assuming the worst they quickly ran over to that direction of the sound.

When Sledge and Snafu reached the spot, they exhaled a small sigh of relief as they realized that it wasn't any enemy artillery rounds, and no one looked injured or dead. Surveying the small area that more Marines came to observe, Snafu noticed a familiar female, with black soot on the front of her body. She lifted up a pair of goggled that had left huge rings of where now soot was. Y/N looked like a reverse raccoon. The thought caused Snafu to laugh slightly. That was until he saw one of the newer Marines that was probably fresh out of boot camp that stood a few feet from her.

See, what happened was Y/N was asked to fix on the new Mortar squads Mortar due to a jam. A small shell was lodged within it. And while Y/N was busy trying to fix the mistake caused by the two privates, one of them was talking her ear off. Trying to catch her attention by complimenting her, boasting about himself and how many Japs he killed. Y/N could care less honestly, she was older than the private and had more rank than him. So she just ignored him, working carefully as she tried to dislodge the Mortar round. Knowing fully well that the slightest hit the wrong way onto the round that it could go off.

Though, the tuning out of the young Marine seemed to have worked for a while. It was until he placed a hand on her shoulder suddenly. Causing the female Marine to jump and her screw driver hit the tip of Mortar shell. Y/N immediately jumped back. "Shit!" she yelled, grabbing the private and yanking him away from the Mortar. And in seconds, that shell busted within the artillery machine. Completely breaking the Mortar and causing the loud yet small explosion. Dirt and soot covered the two.

Anger radiated off of the woman as she pushed herself upwards of the ground, lifting her protective goggles onto the top of her head. She huffed loudly as she stood herself up, looking around at the crowd that was now forming. This made it even worse. But, the private didn't stop there.

"Damn, Corporal. I got you falling for me. Maybe I can help you get cleaned up," he smirked. The female Marine just sat there in anger, yet in awe at the fact on how this Marine was acting. Like he didn't almost just blow her up. She slammed her wrench on the ground and began marching up to him. Planning on stinking his head in the blown up Mortar. But was stopped short with a hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her back shortly. Her gaze went up to stare at the person that held her waist tightly. Of course, there stood Snafu. Whose eyes were locked on the new recruit that stood just feet in front of him.

"Hey, Devil Dog. Don't you ever listen? You could've killed little old, L/N. She is one of the smartest we got. Let me catch you," he looked around at the rest of the new recruits, "Let me catch anyone of you rookies, talking to my girl like that. And or nearly kill her. It won't be no Jap that guts you like a pig," he fumed, his eyes dark.

The look of a smug, flirty Marine quickly faded into a intimidated and scared look as his mouth clamped shut and nodded fearfully. Snafu smirked as he looked at a few other Marines. "Clear this shit up, make sure nothing else with these dumb asses happens. I'm taking her to get checked out by the Corpsman," Snafu ordered as he pushed Y/N along. Who was trying protest, but Snafu was having none of it.

///

"God damn it, Snafu! I can take care of myself!" Y/N shouted, finally pushing away from the Marine. She huffed, her chest heaving. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins. She tore off her goggles that rested on her head and through them to the side as she walked into her little hut. Snafu following along side her. Totally ignoring the anger she faced towards him at the moment. She grabbed an old rag and immediately began vigorously scrubbing at the dirt and black soot that was on her arms and face.

"Now now, Y/N. You keep scrubbing that hard you are gonna ruin that beautiful skin of yours. Why don't I help you-" he flirted. Y/n grunted loudly and stomped her foot.

"God, Merriel! Why are you so... so-" Snafu saw this chance of her stutter to approach her, a small smirk on his face as usual. Grabbing the rag and taking her arm, wiping down her arm softly. Instead of being so rough and tough like he usually was, it made Y/N's anger melt away so fast, it confused her. Her eyes landed on the hand that held her arm and watched as he softly scrubbed. Her lips hung open, not knowing what to say.

"So, gentle all of a sudden..." she finished. Her eyes went back up to his. Gulping slightly.

"I can be gentle. Sometimes," his voice raspy, just how she liked it. She chuckled softly, not really knowing what to do. The female Marine just leaned back against a small table, allowing Merriel to continue what he was doing. Not at all disliking the softer attention she was receiving from the rough Marine.

"You know, Snafu. I don't mind you calling me your girl. I quite like it, actually," she smiled as the Infantryman looked up at her with his eyes. He smirked and looked back down at what he was doing.

"Then I'll be glad to continue saying it."

#the pacific #the pacific imagine #HBO Series #hbo #hbo war #hbo imagine #hbo war imagines #Snafu Shelton #snafu x reader #snafu #Merriell Shelton #merriel shelton imagines #snafu imagines #imagines #x reader

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trademarknickersoncharm · 5 years ago

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Here's your angst bro

He kept running, past the door, past the steps and the sidewalk. He lost his footing, or his legs gave out, and his knees and palms met pavement.

He gasped and felt fresh air enter his lungs for the first time in, God, months, years?

His hands were shaking uncontrollably, but he could barely see them through blurred eyes. He could feel tremors starting in his core and traveling the course of his whole body, wracking him uncontrollably. He managed to focus on the ground ahead of him. Blood, blood everywhere. Had he cut his hands, or was it just from…him? From something else? God, how much of him was even left?

Behind him the night sky shattered into a million pieces as a momentous explosion erupted from deep within the tower building behind him. He threw his hands up to shield his head. The shockwave knocked him back into something, and his vision went black and red for a minute, until it slowly melted into the yellow-orange of the flames consuming the building.

Frank Hardy tried to stand, but his legs weren’t working. He punched his leg, but he couldn’t even feel it.

Come on! Get up! GET UP! You don’t have much time.

His hands were still shaking. Dark red. Was it blood, or was the skin just gone? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t think right, but he hand to. The drugs, the drugs were still in his system.

Frank tried to breathe. It came out in gasps and ended in coughs. He clung to the object the blast had knocked him into, and tried to steady himself.

Lukewarm metal under his hand. What was it? He looked. It took a second to focus.

A motorcycle.

Frank dragged himself up, adrenaline kicking back in with a renewed sense of purpose. His fingers began to fiddle with cords, trying to remember how to hotwire. He kept fumbling—shocked himself once. Thank God muscle memory was working, and his hands were doing most of it on their own. He couldn’t think straight. His hands. His hands were the hands of a skeleton. He could only imagine the rest of himself.

The motorcycle purred to life, and he let out a deep sigh of relief. Noticing the helmet for the first time, Frank put it on. Good, it would cover his face. Maybe he wouldn’t be stopped.

He dragged himself on top of the bike. Sirens were going off in the distance. He had to move fast. No one could still be alive in the building behind him, and he knew for a fact that three of them were dead. No…Not three. Three in the room, then two outside, and…another…six? More?

Why? He’d been so focused, but now his memories were falling apart. It was like the explosion had broken the flimsy wall he’d constructed in his mind to hold his sanity in. Everything was fading, crumbling. It was so hard to think. Joe.

Frank hit the gas and sped out of the parking lot.

He drove until the gas light came on, and he pulled over in a secluded part of town. Quiet. Closed stores. Apartments nearby. Vaguely familiar. He found a wall and parked, and leaned against it.

Joe. What year was it? He had to find him! He had to find Joe. He had to get help. ATAC. Why hadn’t anyone come for him? They had to looking, and if they were, they would be nearby. But where to start? He needed new clothes, a disguise. Something to stop the bleeding. He had to find Joe—he had to still be alive, he was, he knew it—he had to be. Where—where to start? How—

He became aware of something. Pain? Worse than normal? Or was it…

He looked down. The cut in his side was still slowly letting fluid seep out. Very slowly, but still. He had to find a way to stop it.

He couldn’t die. Not until Joe was safe.

He could find the Embassy…No, no—if Zhiming knew he was alive, they’d know he was coming for them. If they still had Joe, they might—no, he couldn’t let them know he was alive. But where?

“Oh my God. Frank?”

He looked up, ready to run, or kill the speaker. When he saw him, he did neither. He collapsed. Somehow, his body realized it was okay to do so now, and stopped pretending it could keep him upright.

Ned Nickerson dropped his bag of groceries and ran, cutting his knees open, skidding on the pavement in time to catch him in his arms, and keep Frank’s head from hitting the pavement.

“Frank! Oh God, what did they do to you? I’ll call an ambulance, please, just hang on!”

Frank was losing sensations, losing consciousness, but he could see Ned’s panicked face looking down through a haze of grey fog.

“Don’t…Please, you can’t tell anyone I’m alive. I need you to no…t…or…” Frank faded out.

Frank Hardy opened his eyes. He didn’t recognize the sensation at first. Comfort. He was on something soft. It was warm, and dry. Something…smelled? Nice? The ceiling was white plaster. Where was he? What kind of sick trick were they using today? It wasn’t going to work, he wasn’t—no!

Frank shot upright.

He’d killed them! He’d escaped, he had—

“Frank?”

He turned his head. A familiar face greeted him. She’d been sitting by the bed; her face held a mixture of extreme emotions. She looked like she was going to cry.

“N…Nancy?” His voice. He hadn’t heard it for a long time. Until he’d spoken to Ned. Ned? He looked up and saw him, standing behind Nancy, looking worried and relieved.

“Frank, oh, I’ve been looking for you!” Nancy threw her arms around his neck and hugged him—trying her hardest to be gentle. “For two years! I never stopped—I knew it, I knew you were alive!”

Frank didn’t hug her back. He couldn’t remember how, or his arms weren’t responding. Why?

Tears were streaming down her face and he could feel her chest heaving. It hurt. But he didn’t mind. A different…a different kind of pain. There were different kinds of pain, that was right. Some of them were okay. He’d forgotten.

He looked up and saw Ned. He could tell he was trying to keep it together, but silent tears were streaming down his face. A strange sensation welled up in his chest. For a second he thought he was having a heart attack, because he didn’t remember what it felt like to laugh, but then he was laughing and remembered. It hurt. In a good way. His hand went up slowly and he hugged Nancy with the arm that was easier to move.

Nancy finally let go and pulled back. Her face was stained with tears. “Frank, what happened?”

Frank shook his head, trying to put his thoughts together. “I was…Joe and I. We had a case, and this man—he, he turned on…He—“suddenly, the memories slammed into his head, as merciless and hard as a sledgehammer. He reeled backwards, bringing his hand to his face. Joe. God, no. No, no, no. He saw it. Bai Guo, grabbing him, the gun—using Joe as a shield. He’d shot Frank. He shot me…No…no, no, no, no…no. God please, no. Through Joe. He saw the gun flash, the bullet tearing through Joe’s chest, slamming into him after killing his brother. Killing?

“No!”

“Frank, Frank what’s wrong?” He felt Nancy’s hand on his shoulder.

“It can’t.” He finally broke. One second of facing reality did what two years of physical and psychological torture couldn’t. The memory of Joe—he hadn’t meant to accept it. But he finally had. And his mind shattered with the wall of denial he’d fought to keep up.

He didn’t remember much from those few days. He remembered crying. He remembered memories, or nightmares, all sorts of contorted things in his head. Thoughts—images. Real, not real? Who knew. They destroyed him, a piece at a time. He remembered the memories of Joe the week before it had happened, watching Jumanji on the plane, Joe completely wasting his opportunity to try Chinese cuisine by requesting McDonalds. And, God, had he really been so mean to him? Had he had to make fun of him for that? Couldn’t he have just smiled at him, one more time? Couldn’t he have said something else to him, with his last words? Why did they have to be “Don’t mess this up?” Why did they have to be…?

He remembered Nancy, and Ned. They were both there a lot. Feeding him, healing him. Looking after him. But those memories were foggier than the ones inside his head. They were worried—he’d known that. But they’d honored his request not to take him to a hospital. Nancy had called his father, to let him know. He had held the phone. He remembered that part clearly. Nancy’s voice, saying “Fenton? You might want to sit down. One of your sons is alive—“He’d cut her off, his dad had, asking about something. Nancy had tried to say something a few times, but had given up and handed the phone to Frank.

Frank remembered it so clearly, taking the phone. His dad’s voice.

“Frank? Joe?”

Which one. “Frank.” He’d answered. Speaking the word had hurt. If it could have just been the other name.

“Frank? Oh, Frank, thank God it’s you.”

“Thank God it’s you.”

He’d hung up. Nancy had called his dad back, explained Frank wasn’t doing so well, convinced him not to tell anyone his son was alive. She’d seemed to have been successful, but Frank hadn’t cared.

Thank God it’s you.

#whodunnit mafia post for the TBT #submission

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prettyyoungtragedy · 6 years ago

Text

Written in the Stars (5)

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You’re the type of woman who is headstrong and fiercely independent. Heiress to a fortune and one of the most brilliant minds of the 21st century. Until you’re forced into witness protection. Your “Protection” turns out to be 220 pounds of dreamy, sassy, delightful Bucky Barnes. Whatever could go wrong?

Warnings: Swearing, gun violence, blood and angst

A/N: This chapter gets a little intense. If you watched bodyguard on Netflix you will know one of the scenes in this chapter! Also took a little inspiration from a scene in CATWS, if you get it holla at me lol. There’s a lot of drama so buckle up bitches lol. Also if you love me throw me a reblog bc i always need validation! lol

This was generously Beta’d by my beta @suz-123 without whom I will never have any good ideas! thank you buddy!

Tags: Hit me up in my ASK box!

“There’s mail for you,” was the first thing you heard before the box your colleague, Lola, carried was dumped on your desk.

“What the-” You replied, startled.

“Yeah, I don’t know where it came from and don’t care,” She yawned, “Hey, is your hot bodyguard around? I wanna stare at him until its creepy.”

“Ugh, he’s probably skulking in a corner somewhere.” You waved your hand dismissively at the thought of Bucky’s hotness. Things had been tense between the two of you since that day at the tower, you’d been avoiding speaking to him and Bucky seemed to be trying harder to be nice to you. Of course, you weren’t ready to forgive him and what he’d done so you brushed off his niceness with stoic coldness.

When he was around you, you gave him tightlipped answers and a cold shoulder, only conversing with Arcas and Achilles. Both of whom were thoroughly entertaining to hang around all day. Bucky got the hint after a few days and he stopped trying to be nice, withdrawing from you completely and only speaking to you when necessary.

The trial had started again, and it had begun to take its toll once more. However gone were the days when he asked you if you were okay, instead, you were met with pitiful glances from Bucky at the end of each session in court, which you just ignored.

You had finally been able to get to work and had a moment alone before Lola interrupted you with mail. You reached for the box and letter she’d dropped onto your desk, grabbing a pair of scissors of the table and sliced open the tape of the box in an attempt to open it.

“Oh, too bad, I want to touch his biceps, my god that body of his. Ugh, can you imagine being beneath him and him just slamming into-”

Lola is cut off when you both hear a distinctly male voice clear his throat in the doorway, both of you whirling around in its direction.

“Fuck.” You muttered when you saw Bucky standing there with an amused look on his face.

“Oh, hi Sergeant Barnes,” Lola said, flirtily walking over to Bucky, she held out her hand for him to shake but he just looked at it, and then at her, before walking into the lab.

“What is that?” Bucky asked, seriousness suddenly lacing his tone.

“What now?” You sighed your hands still on the box as you pulled it open, Bucky was always bitching about something you were doing. It was exhausting, especially after the other night and your drunken escape from his protection. Needless to say, he was watching you like a hawk now, every second of every day he was hovering and it was driving you mad.

“Wait, don’t tou-” Bucky begins to say, rushing towards you, but, before he can finish his sentence, you pulled open the top of the box and flipped it open, dropping the contents onto your hand.

It was sticky and slightly warm, and when your eyes gazed down at the object in your hand you let out a horrified scream, flinging it onto the table in front of you. Lola backed away from the table, her hand flying up to her mouth to cover her own scream.

Bucky is beside you in a flash, his metal arm whipped across your body shielding you from the horrifying sight before you.

“Is that a fucking tongue?!” Lola exclaimed.

You couldn’t find any words at the moment, your mind was racing through the possibilities of what this package meant. But of course, you already knew who it was from, and what it meant. It was Hydra, they had sent you a fucking tongue in a box. Why? Because that’s what they did to traitors. Cut out their tongues and their hearts and mailed it to their families.

“Where did the box come from? Who brought it here?” He demanded looking between you and Lola,

“I-I don’t know.” Lola stuttered, “It was left at reception.”

“Was it cleared with security?” Bucky is hauling you out of your chair and backing you away from the bloodied tongue that now lay on your desk. It was the most vulgar thing you had ever seen and you had gone to medical school.

“I don’t know, they just handed it to me when I came to her lab.”

“Fucking fuck!”

Bucky pulled out his phone and quickly hit speed dial, he waited a moment before he began barking orders into the receiver.

“We have a problem, a big fucking problem. I need forensics and Banner here, now.” He waited for a response, “Yes, Jesus fuck, I know. No, no, it’s a body part.”

“Copy, Switch protection mode.”

“We have to go, now,” Bucky ordered, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and took you by the elbow, hurriedly guiding you out of your lab with Lola a few feet in front of you. Your mind isn’t processing what just happened, your heart is thundering in your chest and your mind is racing.

They sent you a fucking tongue in the mail. A bloodied, severed tongue.

~~~

The calm before the storm.

That saying always stuck with you, something you never understood really. Because you never found the calm before the storm a real thing, it always felt like chaos before a storm arrived. But at that moment, when Bucky hustled you into the backseat of the armored car, a strange sense of calm settled over you.

As if, after all these weeks of protection details and court dates, Hydra were finally stepping out of the shadows and doing something. It had been weeks of looking over your shoulder and sleepless nights that something, anything, was going to happen to you and, suddenly, here it was, that moment of panic.

“The Tower, now!” Bucky commanded the driver, as he got into the front seat beside him.

Almost immediately the car is kicked into drive and it speeds off the curb, from your seat in the back of the car you looked at Bucky’s face, his brow is furrowed, mouth set in an angry snarl, his usual starlight eyes seem cold and hard.

This wasn’t the Bucky Barnes you were used to.

“Bucky, what’s goi-” You started to say but there was suddenly a crack against the driver’s seat window that startled all of you in the car, it sounded like someone throwing a rock at the glass.

Your eyes flew to the window and you see it splintering as if something had been slammed into it with brutal force. The whiteness of the cracks spreading rapidly across the glass, each little shard of apparent bullet proof glass being crushed beneath the force of the object fired at it.

A bullet from a sniper rifle.

It doesn’t shatter, then again another round slammed into the window the driver skidding off the road as he attempted to get clear of it and away from the sniper.

“Get down!” Bucky bellowed at you before turning to the driver, “Go! GO!”

The driver speeds up the car, and a scream erupted from your throat, terror ripples through you, your heart lurches in your chest. Bucky’s metal arm reached over to the back seat and pushed you down to the seat in an attempt to shield you from any harm. He is rougher than he realizes, and you felt the bruising force behind his metal arm and it yanked you down onto the seat, gripping onto the flesh on your arm.

A third bullet is fired at the window, shattering it this time, and suddenly the driver is hit straight through the side of his head with a second instant bullet.

Brain matter and blood splatter everywhere, all over you and Bucky, covering you in the warm slick blood and matter. You shut your eyes and screamed again, it’s terror like you had never felt before.

“Fuck!” Bucky shoved you to the floor while trying to get control of the car at the same time. It’s pointless, as the vehicle skidded off the road, slamming into a nearby car parked by the curb. Your body is lurched forward at the impact, another scream erupting from your throat, terror clawing its way through your limbs and almost paralyzing you when you opened your eyes again.

Bucky utters a string of curses and drew his weapon, another three shots are fired, slamming against the armored metal of the car. It sounds like a sledgehammer being battered against it, the sound rings in your ears, your heart pounding harder with each shot fired at you.

“Window integrity 45%.” The programmed AI announced, its voice startling you as it rang through the car.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The rounds hit the windows, splintering the glass and you screamed again.

“Get us out of here!” Bucky yelled at the AI.

“Propulsion systems are offline, Sergeant Barnes.” Came its reply.

“Then fucking reboot, god damn it.”

“System reboot initiated. Medics alerted. STRIKE security signal alerted to an imminent threat.”

The robotic way the AI spoke made you terrified. Something was wrong, of course, something was fucking wrong. Someone was fucking firing bullets at the goddamn car.

Another bullet hits the window and you screamed again, covering your ears and shutting your eyes in terror.

“Stay down! The bullets can pierce the windows but it can’t get through the armored metal.” Bucky exclaimed at you before he touched his comms, signaling he needed help.

“Sam!” He said into it, “Sniper, situation critical. One casualty, Achilles enroute I don’t have a visual on the shooter, the rounds seem to be strong enough to pierce the metal with a few rounds.” A pause, “She’s in the car, I have to get her out of here. Track my location and alert Strike, propulsion systems are offline.”

There’s a pause and four more shots are fired, and you scream, again. The wail of sirens pierced the air and civilians start screaming, chaos ensuing outside.

“Of course I fucking rebooted it, just fucking get here god damn it.”

You couldn’t hear anything that Bucky is now yelling into his comms and he shoved himself out of the seat and into the back seat beside you. The air in your lungs is scarce, blood rushing through your veins, heart slamming against your ribcage. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to get out of there, that is all.

“It’s okay,” Bucky suddenly said softly to you, his blood covered hands gripping yours and you both crouched down in the back seat of the car, “It’s okay, the bullets can’t get through the armor plating.”

His voice is calming to you, he spoke in a low tone and held your hand, tightly. You know he is trying to soothe you through the situation but the blood that covered his face, and the wild look in his eyes, is doing nothing to calm you. It doesn’t stop the panic that is rising in your chest.

Once again your breaths are ragged and escaping you, wrong time to be having a panic attack as you struggled to breathe.

“Bu-Bucky, I can’t breathe.” You gasped.

“Sergeant Barnes, protection subject Aphrodite’s vitals show she is having a panic attack. Immediate action is advised.” FRIDAY stated through the watch you wore.

“Fuck, hey hey. Look at me. You’re fine, I am here, I will protect you. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

Bucky looked up through the splintered window, he had to assess an escape route for the two of you. Right now, you were sitting ducks and there could be more Hydra operatives on foot on their way here. His eyes moved over the terrain quickly, A coffee shop, an apartment building, a massive office building. He had to get you off the street and into one of those buildings and then he sees them.

Twelve men rushing towards the car decked out in full tactical gear. AR-15’s, kevlar vests, black masks that covered their face. He didn’t need to think twice to know who they were or who they worked for.

All he knew was that he needed to get you out of there, now.

His training kicked in, and he shifted his mind moving into battle mode.

“Steve, I am moving her. ETA?” Bucky said touching the comms in his ear.

“Negative, we’re exposed. At least a dozen hostiles excluding the sniper, AR-15’s, full tactical. I stay here, we die.”

At that admission, you whipped your head towards Bucky, eyes wide with fear. You weren’t ready to die, not like this at least, panic rising even further in your chest.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky said in a low voice, gripping your arm tighter, his blue eyes searching yours for the trust he seeks.

You just nodded, and with that, Bucky pulled you towards him, holding you close to his chest and kicked open the back door of the car. He slid out, hauling you with him, his glock in one hand, raised and clocked, and the other arm around you holding you close.

You clung to him, your nails practically digging into his clothes, your hands ached from how hard you were holding onto him as your eyes darted around the area looking for the attackers. Bucky cursed under his breath, kneeling behind the car with you. The asphalt feels hot on the skin of your legs as he slowly begins to move the two of you.

Crawling behind the armored car, you hear the sound of more bullets hitting the metal and you open your mouth to scream but Bucky quickly covered it, his blue eyes meeting yours and he shook his head to silence you.

“I need you to be quiet, okay?” He murmured, “When I tell you to run, you do it.”

“I can’t.” You whispered in terror, feeling paralyzed. You hung onto him, not wanting to leave the safety his arms were bringing you at that terrifying moment.

“Listen to me, sweetheart, I need you to follow my instructions, okay? I am going to get you out of here, but you have to trust me.” He said, his voice is low, but firm.

“No, no, please don’t make me do this.”

More gunshots are fired and there are shouts, Bucky glanced over the top of the car and he sees the assailants drawing closer. The two of you were running out of time.

Where the fuck was Sam and Steve.

“You have to go, now.” Bucky urged you, he pushed you in the direction of the nearest building. A bistro which was obscured by the truck which was parked in front of it, it gave him the perfect eye line to see you escape, and also hid you from the attackers, “Please, I need to keep you safe.”

“What about you? I can’t leave you.”

Bucky flashed you a reassuring smile, “I’m the god of war, remember?”

Even in the midst of all this chaos, Bucky smiling at you somehow sends an injection of calm through you and it was like you could move again. Nodding at him, you sucked in a deep breath and steadied yourself a little, Bucky gives you the signal, and you break out into a crouched sprint across the sidewalk.

Just as you enter the bistro you see Bucky stand up and face the attackers, multiple gunshots going off all at once before strong arms closed around you, one hand over your mouth to silence you the other around your waist lifting you off your feet and you screamed.

~~~

Bucky Barnes prided himself on self-control because half of his existence was spent being controlled by someone else. He couldn’t control when he ate when he slept, where he walked, how he spoke. He controlled nothing about his being.

So when his freedom was handed to him, Bucky prided himself on being able to give and take that control as he pleased.

He prided himself on the control he had in his job, that was the ultimate trust the people around him had given him.

So when that controlled slipped the moment he walked into that tower, blood and grime covered bellowing orders at the strike team, Steve Rogers his trusted best friend knew that this meant more to him that just a job.

“Buck,” Steve said softly, firmly placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

“What?” Came his snappy reply.

“Take a breath, she’s alright.”

Steve’s words seemed to penetrate his mind and settle under his skin, Bucky took a deep breath to calm himself down. That morning had been one from hell, and Bucky needed to reign in his anger and focus on the real problem here.

How the fuck did Hydra get her that package and know their route.

“Where’s Tony?” Bucky asked, “I want to know how that package got to her?”

“He’s in the lab, Banner and Sam are there too.” Steve was already walking in that direction, Bucky immediately falling into step beside him. There were quick glances and soft murmurs passed through the agents on the floor as they blew passed them.

Bucky’s visage was terrifying, Steve noticed this immediately. Everyone skittered out of his way as they marched towards Tony’s lab. Some even averted their gaze, Bucky Barnes was a terrifying man when he was in a mood, even more so covered in blood and grime, funny enough none of the blood was his.

Steve walked into the lab a few feet behind Bucky, who interrupts the conversation between Tony and Bruce. He slammed his hands down onto the table and hunched down before looking up at his fellow teammates.

All three men turn towards Bucky and Steve, their gazes flitting from Steve’s concerned expression to Bucky’s thunderous one.

“Anyone want to tell me how the fuck that package got through our security at her lab?” Bucky demanded, in a deadly low voice.

Tense looks are exchanged between the three men, none of them have an answer yet. They scoured every inch of the lab and reception, and were currently running through the security footage, but had come up with nothing. It baffled Tony especially because no one and nothing got past his security.

“We are running through all the footage, hopefully, there’s something we missed,” Tony said.

“We have searched every inch of that lab, and the surrounding floor. We will find something.” Steve said, with an assured nod.

“Nothing on the individual who delivered the package?” Bucky asked turning toward Steve.

Steve shook his head, “We must have missed something.”

“No, there’s a mole. That’s the only way.” Sam interjected all of them turn their gaze towards the Falcon. His expression is hard, a frown on his face as Sam looked at the file before him.

“What do you mean?”

“How is that possible?”

“We vetted every person who has been in contact with her this past couple of weeks.”

Sam nodded slowly, and tossed the files onto the table, “Exactly, there are only six people who know every single move she makes, Bucky, Steve, myself, Arcas, Achilles, and Dionysus.” Sam laid a finger on one of the files, “I know I didn’t leak anything, Steve and Bucky you two are too righteous to pull that shit, so that leaves us with our three other trusted agents.”

“Motherfucker.” Bucky cursed picking up the files of the three agents and clenching them tightly.

“But how? It’s not possible.” Steve said shaking his head, “We ran every single check on all of them, they are the highest ranking security in our protection detail program.”

“Maybe Hydra got to one of them?” Tony suggested.

Bucky stopped listening to his teammates for a moment and looked at the files in his hand, he flipped through the pages, scanning every detail in the files, searching for something that he might have missed and he finds nothing. This bothers him, he couldn't understand it, there must be something he missed, there has to be.

“Figure it out, now.” Bucky said in a demanding tone, “Until then, no one is around her unless it's myself, Sam or Steve. She stays in the tower, I want Astro mode around her at all times, I don’t give a fuck if she feels like a prisoner, she is our number one priority as of this moment forward, got it?”

All of them nod, no one is about to argue with Bucky, especially not when he uses that demanding tone of his. Bucky Barnes may have been a Hydra weapon all those years ago but today, he is one of the foremost Avengers and his teammates listened without hesitation when he gave an order.

But his control was slipping all of a sudden, and Bucky felt terrified for a moment.

~~~

Helen Cho is speaking to you in a soft voice, but you aren’t listening to her. Instead, you stared down at your hands, blood covered and dirt stained and just felt numb.

It had been Arcas that had pulled you out of that coffee shop and to safety, you had no idea if Bucky was okay but they had assured you he was. Helen immediately gave you a calming sedative when they brought you to her lab, she checked you for any severe injuries and when she found none she tried to speak to you about the attack.

“Y/N?” She said frowning at you.

You finally looked up at her and shook your head in confusion, “Sorry what?”

“I asked if you want to go and shower?” She repeated.

“Yeah, yeah…” Your voice trailed off as you looked back down at the blood that covered your clothes, staining the white lab coat you wore, a scarlet red. Your skirt was ruined and half your face and neck were sticky with blood.

“Captain Rogers will escort you to the residents level, okay?”

You just nodded numbly and hopped off the bed you had been sitting on. Your legs felt a little wobbly and unsteady from the sedative but Doctor Cho gripped your arm to steady you, she gives you a reassuring smile just as Steve walked into the lab.

Steve didn’t say anything to you at first, he waited by the door with his hands crossed in front of him and just watched as Doctor Cho took off the lab coat you wore and handed you a bottle of pills.

“Anti anxiety medication.” She smiled at you.

“Thanks.” You mumbled closing your fist around it tightly before walking over to where Steve stood.

Steve gives the doctor a quick thank you nod before he scans his badge on the system, and the door slides open. You walked out first, with him falling into step beside you. Steve walked you in silence to the elevator, his eyes cautiously trailing over your face every few seconds as you fidgeted with the watch on your wrist.

A nervous tick you had was to fiddle with whatever you wore on your wrist which, lately, had been that watch Bucky had given you. Despite the sedative that you had been given, your nerves were shot to shit, and you felt more anxious than you ever had before.

The whole ordeal that morning had almost cost you your life and, worse yet, it could have cost Bucky his. You knew he was your protection detail, it was his job to do so, but the thought of him being your human shield, or giving his life to save yours didn’t quite sit right with you. Even though you were still pissed off at him, and he worked on your nerves more than anyone else on the planet did, you felt a tinge of guilt for not thinking about what he must have been feeling at that moment.

As you and Steve walked into the elevator and stood side by side you finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Is…” You cleared your throat, hesitating for a moment, “Is Bucky okay?”

Steve looked surprised that you had asked but he quickly hides it before answering, “Yeah he is fine, pissed off, but fine.”

“Pissed off?”

“Yeah, Bucky doesn’t like when things don’t go according to plan.”

“Like assassination attempts on his protection detail?”

“Sure,” Steve smiled at you, “but he’s fine, don’t worry about him. He’s a trooper.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried, I was just thinking if something happened to him I’d have to get another bodyguard I’d have to hate, and the thought of that exhausts me.” You said quickly trying to play off your concern as irritation rather.

This made Steve laugh, he tilted his head back and his laughter sounded through the elevator. To your surprise you found yourself smiling at this, Steve seemed to have a calming effect on you. And you decided you liked him, for all the pompous patriotism, Steve Rogers was a decent guy.

~~~

“Shower has everything you will need in it,” Steve said pointing to the door on the other side of the spare bedroom he had led you to, “There are clothes for you on the bed and if you need anything else just ask FRIDAY.”

“Thanks, Captain Rogers.” You said.

“You can call me Steve.” He flashed a smile at you before he nodded and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he is gone, you walked into the bathroom and slowly began to strip out of the bloodied clothes you wore. Your body ached for some reason, must have been all the stress. As you pulled off your shirt, you hissed in surprise when you look at yourself in the mirror and see the angry bruises already forming from where Bucky had shoved you down onto the seat to protect you. The bruises trailed along your upper arm and shoulder, clear bruises where his metal appendage held on too tightly.

Your reached up and ran your fingers over the bruises wincing when you poked one of them too hard, and pain lanced through the area.

You sighed deeply and closed your eyes, taking several deep breaths. The cold feeling in your stomach hadn’t left you yet, this anxiety that was currently plaguing your mind was grappling with your sanity as you tried to process the attempt on your life.

Feeling tears prickle in the corner of your eyes, you squeezed them closed a little tighter forcing mack the tears. You weren’t going to cry, no, you had to woman the fuck up and take the hits that were coming your way like a champion. This was what you signed up for, you knew this was going to happen and you had to face it head on. When you opened your eyes again, you sucked in a deep breath before moving toward the shower. You turned on the water and waited for it to heat up, then got in.

You felt relief seep through your aching body as the spray of hot water cascaded over you. Looking down at the water on the floor, you watch as it changed from clear to stained red as the blood slowly washed away from your body, disappearing down the drain.

A few minutes of just standing beneath the water and you finally mustered up the strength to use the body wash to rinse away the rest of the dirt from your body and shampoo your hair.

Once you got out, you patted yourself down with a towel from the rack and wrapped it around your body before walking out of the bathroom. You were so preoccupied with your own thoughts that when you walked back into the bedroom, you hadn’t seen Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, and when you finally looked up and saw him a terrified scream escaped your throat as you stumbled back in fright.

“Oh, shit, fuck. My bad, sorry, sorry.” He said quickly getting up, he started towards you but stopped short when he realizes you’re naked and scantily covered by a small towel.

“Jesus H. Christ, Bucky!” You exclaimed the watch on your wrist going crazy as your heart beat spiked.

“Sorry, I should have knocked or something.”

“You think?!”

“I...I just wanted to see if you were okay and if you needed anything.” He explained running his hands through his hair, he seemed nervous or agitated, you couldn’t tell.

“I could be better.” You shrugged and winced when pain lanced through your shoulder at the movement. Bucky notices your wince and he frowned before his eyes traveled to your bare shoulder and he sees the bruises on it, along with the ones peppered on your arms.

His eyes almost bulged out of his skull, you watched as his whole body tensed up and he clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists beside him.

“Did I do that?” He asked slowly.

“Do what?” You asked in confusion as he approached you.

Bucky reached up and brushed his fingertips against the bruises on your arm and you realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I am fine.” You waved him off and turned away quickly, walking over to the bed where you took a seat.

“I am so fucking sorry, I wasn’t thinking-” He began to say but you shook your head vehemently at his apology.

“Bucky, I am fine, don’t apologize, you were doing your job.”

“I...fuck...it won't happen again.” You could almost hear him beating himself up inside for hurting you, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty. So you shake your head again at him and give him a smile.

“I’m okay, Bucky, and that’s all that matters.”

“I know, I don’t know what I would have done if…” He stopped himself before he finished that sentence, the two of you lock eyes for a moment. Your heart was beating slow and hard as you looked at him, the way he stood before you, tall and assertive, those starlight blue eyes filled with remorse.

And suddenly all you wanted to do was hug him, and tell him it was okay.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself, shoving those thoughts aside and quickly getting up.

“Well, can you get out so I can get dressed? I mean unless my protection now requires you to watch me naked as well?” You said clearing your throat.

“Oh, right, sorry I’ll leave you to it.” Bucky chuckled and quickly walked towards the bedroom door.

“Bucky,” You said and he immediately stopped in the doorway though he doesn't turn toward you.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for saving my life.” You said softly.

And the look he gives you over his shoulder almost has your heart falling out of your body, the soft half smile and the twinkle in his blue eyes,

“Always.” was all he said before he walked out and closed the door.

#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky #james buchanan barnes #bodyguard!au #Bodyguard!Bucky #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #the winter soldier #bucky barnes series

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swiss-cheeze · 6 years ago

Text

Midnight Memories || Eugene Sledge

Warnings: guns, violence, blood (probably), talks of genitals, semi smut (nothing graphic), swearing, making out & kissing, uhh I don’t know if there’s anything else.

A/N: this does NOT follow a specific episode however it does have quotations from the show.

———

“Look at all this dirt and mud on me, not one inch of me is clean” (Y/n) said, glaring at a new recruit, “and look at you, almost little to no dirt, barely fucking blood and you’re grinnin’ like a mad man in a slaughter house for killing ya first Jap” letting go of the man’s collar he stumbled back into the mud and growled.

“WOULD YA QUIT IT ALREADY” the man yelled, he stood up quickly and shoved (Y/n).

“WOULD YOU BOTH SHUT UP OR WE’LL LOOSE OUR POST” Eugene yelled at the pair, “(L/n) go back to the group” (Y/n) glared at the man she had shoved earlier and kept her eye contact.

“I’ sir” the girl mumbled before turning and walking away, heading for Snafu and the rest of the group, Eugene hot on her trials.

“Now you kiss your momma with that mouth?” Snafu asked with a shit-eating grin.

“Can it Snaf, aint in the mood for your games today” (Y/n) grumbled as she slumped down into the dirt, hitting her helmet a little to move out of her view.

“Goddamn it (L/n)” Eugene said as he slid into their ditch.

“And they say the men in the marines have the biggest balls” Snafu said with a grin to Eugene, (Y/n) quirked the corner of her lip.

“I got bigger balls then all of you guys combined” (Y/n) said half-heartedly, “if they allowed me, a woman, into the marines chock full of men and let ME of all of them onto the field then I definitely have bigger balls then anyone here”

“Doesn’t mean you have to yell at a newbie” Eugene said from the side, “I’ve been here shorter then you guys but it’s still no reason to pin him”

“So you wanna go now Sledgehammer?” (Y/n) threatened, a deadly glare shifting through the whole group, “I’ve seen things that would rock your core, I have more mud caked in my ass then you do in your feet. If you wanna go ahead and fuck me over too I won’t hesitate to shoot”

“Calm down love” Snafu said a little shaken, “we’re just waitin’ here. Kay?”

“INCOMING” a voice yelled, a large plane came over the top of the marines before shouting could be heard from in front of them.

“Japs” Snafu muttered as he started shooting.

“HOW IN THE HELL DID THEY GET PASSED US” (Y/n) yelled, “GRENADE”. A loud bang could be heard as well as some screams.

“MUST’VE BEEN TO SMALL FOR THE TROUPS TO KILL THEM BEFORE THEY GOT HERE” Eugene said from beside the girl, he loaded up one of the rockets, yelled out and shot off. A large booming sound came from the Marines side, “WHAT IN GODS NAME WAS THAT” Eugene yelled as he looked towards the sound. Men shouting and signing off could be heard to the groups left but they tried not to pay attention before a man army crawled over to them; Snafu, Eugene and (Y/n) kept firing their guns.

“OUR PLANE THOUGHT WE WHERE THE ENEMY, TOOK OUT THREE OF OUR FOX HOLES AND AT LEAST NINE MEN” the man yelled, Snafu kept shooting but Eugene stopped momentarily as he looked to (Y/n).

“Keep going, don’t stop” (Y/n) muttered, a tear slipped down her cheek but it was the only one, Eugene went back to firing his gun.

“CEASE FIRE. CEASE FIRE” a man yelled, Eugene growled as he stopped his rifle as one Jap kept moving slowly towards them. (Y/n) stood up, about to walk out and finish the man but Eugene was quicker, he pulled out his handgun and shot at the Jap, (Y/n) bent and held her arm up as cover before falling to her left into the arms of Snafu.

“IDIOT WHAT THE FUCK” (Y/n) yelled.

“I SAID CEASE FIRE” the captain yelled, Eugene started to walk away but the captain kept talking, “WHEN I SAY SIEZE FIRE YOU SIEZE FIRE” the captain stayed still as Eugene did too, “what where you doing?” the captain said harshly, the whole platoon was looking towards the captain and Eugene.

“Killin’ Japs” Eugene said coldly slowly turning around.

“You just gave away our GODDAMN position Marine!” the captain yelled.

“I think they got a pretty good idea of where we are in the first place” Eugene hit back, Snafu turned to (Y/n) quickly.

“Can of beans that Eugene will hit the captain” Snafu said with a cocky grin.

“I TOLD YOU TO CEASE FIRE, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE OBSERVING, what do I see? – I SEE YOU WITH YOUR GODDAMN SIDE ARM” the captain yelled.

“You’re on” (Y/n) muttered softly.

“WE’RE ALL SENT HERE TO KILL JAPS WEREN’T WE?” Eugene yelled, “SO WHAT THE HELL DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE WHAT WEAPON WE USE” Eugene got into the captain face and gritted his teeth, “I’ll use my goddamn hands if it had too” and he walked off. The captain turned around and glared at Snafu and (Y/n) as he walked to the pair.

“Get him under control” the captain said through gritted teeth before returning to his post. (Y/n) sighed softly and started to get up.

“I’ll see to him, you owe me a can of beans” (Y/n) said, she started to get out of the hole and holstered her hand gun before walking over to Eugene; sitting up a small mountain of rocks overlooking the bodies of the Japanese and the field, he was playing with a small bit of grass with his pipe in his mouth.

“Well marine, you sure pissed off our captain and Snaf now owes me a can of beans. Should I be proud or mad?” (Y/n) said with a grin as she came up the rocks and sat down next to Eugene.

“Snaf owes you a can o’ beans?” Eugene asked looking at the girl with a cocked eyebrow.

“Made a bet whether or not you’d strike the captain. I won saying you wouldn’t. Mommas boy you are wouldn’t do it” (Y/n) said with a childish grin as she too started playing with some pieces of grass and mud.

“Mommas boy I am wouldn’t strike the captain but still keeps track of how many Japs he kills?” Eugene questioned with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, exactly” (Y/n) replied with a little body jump and a grin, “Fucking bullshit though, ‘f I find the goddamn F.O. that called the arty, I’d shoot ‘Im” (Y/n) said softly, her southern accent had started to come out. After spending some time with Eugene she had adopted the accent unwillingly.

“Sons of bitches’ll just do it again” Eugene muttered as he took the pipe from his mouth and looked at the burning tobacco.

“Why’d they shell us” (Y/n) mumbled, in the short amount of time they had of answers to the bombing she didn’t think Eugene would actually answer.

“Cause some asshole officer read a map wrong, nobody gives a shit about us.” Eugene muttered back, (Y/n) cocked a grin.

“Didn’t think you’d answer” (Y/n) said side-eying the marine next to her.

“I don’, just a suspicion” Eugene said before looking over to the groups.

“They’re setting up camp” (Y/n) muttered, “when did they even cross the field?” the girl asked rhetorically.

“Time passes by quicker when you’re having fun doesn’t it?” Eugene asked as he started walking to the camping ground.

“Oh so we’re having fun now?” (Y/n) asked with a grin as she followed Eugene across the ground.

“I was” Eugene said, before (Y/n) could reply Snafu threw their bedding as each other as well as a cover.

“’Ere, caps orders” Snafu said with his grin while chewing some gum, or tobacco, they didn’t know.

“Caps orders of what?” Eugene asked as he looked at the bedding and covers.

“Y’all are the last lookouts, from twelve in the morning until six” Snafu said, “so get some sleep now”

“Who’s first?” (Y/n) asked as she started setting up.

“Dunno, but shut up I’m tryna sleep” Snafu said, he rolled over in his bedding before throwing a can of beans in the pairs direction before dozing off.

“Eat now or wait until guard” (Y/n) said smirking to herself as she looked at the beans, turning the can over in her hands.

“Wait until we’re on guard” Eugene said dismissively.

“And why’s that Genie?” the girl questioned as she laid down in her bedding, Eugene didn’t answer for a few moments as he got into his bedding.

“Gives you a chance to eat without having to discharge by using a rifle” Eugene said, “Goodnight”, and with that Eugene rolled over.

“Night Genie” (Y/n) said with a small smile as she got into her bedding, a soft smile placed over her mouth as she looked into the night sky, it was more peaceful up there then down with them.

---

“Wake up, we got duty” Eugene said sleepily, shaking (Y/n)’s shoulder, the girl woke almost immediately with a grumble.

“We don’t get paid for this do we?” the girl mumbled softly as she slowly got up.

“Don’t think so” Eugene responded with a slight grin, (Y/n) stood up quickly as Eugene grabbed their rifles, extra bullets and started heading to the observation point, (Y/n) slowly trailing behind with her can of beans, a pot, a box of matches, and a spoon. Eugene sat down at the rocks the pair had been at before as (Y/n) slowly crawled her way up to his position and started setting up a small fire.

“Ya know, I think this may be the first time I’d be having beans that are actually cooked” (Y/n) said, she stuck her knife into the top of the canteen and started cutting away at the metal, taking back the lid and then dumping the contents of the can into the pot. Eugene lit one of the matches and started to burn the dead grass under the small sticks of the fire before putting the pot into the small hole of the fire, the beans slowly starting to cook as the sticks and twigs crackled beneath the metal.

“Ever or since you entered the war?” Eugene asked as he started to move around the beans making sure to get an even cook.

“Since I entered,” the girl sighed as she looked at the night sky, “haven’t had hot food for a long while actually” she mumbled softly before changing subjects, “so, what about you then huh Genie? Why’d ya get in here when you could be out there” (Y/N) said as she nudged the boy.

“Just wanted to help is all, can’t stand sitting back from something this big. Almost didn’t let me in though, my dad’s a doctor, said I couldn’t and shouldn’t because of the heart murmur I had” Eugene said blandly, “went against his rules in the end though, entered, got in. Now I’m stuck in this place until otherwise told”

“Well it aint all that bad I guess” (Y/n) sighed, Eugene looked at the girl with a cocked eyebrow, “haven’t died yet have we?” the girl asked with a large grin as she stretched out on the rocks.

“No, guess not” Eugene mumbled as he pulled the pot off of the fire and set it aside on the cool rocks, “dinner is done”

“Perfect, I’m starving. Literally” (Y/n) said, the girl sat up quickly and looked to the pot as Eugene put out the fire. Eugene laughed softly as the final remains of the fire got put out, grabbing the pot Eugene handed the pot handle to (Y/n) who quickly dug into the food. Scooping a large amount into her mouth quickly before chewing and handing the spoon and pot to Eugene.

“What? Cold?” he asked.

“No” (Y/n) said softly, “eat”

“Why”

“You need it, you may be gaining a little muscle but you need food to go with it” (Y/n) said, she nudged the pot and spoon to Eugene who took it carefully and took a mouthful before handing it back.

“It’s beautiful tonight” Eugene said absently looking up at the sky.

“Really? I thought it was beautiful all the time” (Y/n) said as she looked up as well, handing the pot to Eugene who took a mouthful with a confused look.

“The stench of dead bodies and blood and the firing of guns and screams is beautiful?” the boy asked as he handed the beans to (Y/n), the girl laughed softly as she looked to Eugene.

“When I get to look at you all day I’d say so yes” (Y/n) said with a cheesy grin. Eugene let a smile cross his face for a moment.

“A-are” Eugene cleared his throat, “are you flirting with me?”, (Y/n) laughed softly as the boy took the pot and ate what was left of the food.

“Have been since you got deported here Genie” (Y/n) said as she laid back on the rocks, arms behind her head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice” Eugene said, internally scolding himself for saying something so weird.

“Don’t be Genie, nobody notices me” (Y/n) mumbled softly. A wind blew through the trees and the clouds moved as a sweet silence came over the pair, soft snores could be heard in the distance from the sleeping marines.

“I notice you” Eugene said after a little while, his arms wrapped around his shins and his chin rested on his knees.

“Don’t flatter yourself” (Y/n) said softly as she closed her eyes.

“I mean it” Eugene said he turned to crane his neck to look at the girl before giving up and turning fully to her, “I notice when you walk away from the group to go help someone with their riffle, I notice when you scrub your boots clean almost every night, I notice how serious you get when we’re in range and shooting the Japs, I notice when you curl yourself in almost every night and cry; every night you cry and I don’t know why. I notice when you bite your lip when getting yelled at by the captain, I notice when you realise something; a pattern in the Japs fighting, a kink in a gun or a bomber a mile away, you always quirk your lip and you always say ‘well I’ll be damned’” Eugene took a breath as (Y/n) sat up on her elbows, “I know we’re all just marines and we may just be a part of the body count when and if this war ever ends but I notice these small things, not because it’s things to get my mind off of the war but also because…” Eugene paused and sighed, “Because I really like you” Eugene went back to his previous position. (Y/n) sat quietly for a moment as she let the words sink in and let herself think for a while.

“You know I almost didn’t become a marine, didn’t sign up” (Y/n) said, Eugene took this moment to lay down next to the girl, “almost would have never have met you, Snaf, Leckie and everyone else” the girl sighed softly, “can I try something probably really stupid?” the girl asked as she stared up at the sky.

“We could die at any moment and you’re asking for permission to do something stupid?” Eugene asked with a small smile, turning his head to look at the girl.

“Yeah, you’re right I shouldn’t do it” (Y/n) girl sighed sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant!” Eugene said loudly, shoving the girl softly. (Y/n) laughed softly as she sat up on her elbows.

“Fine fine! You asked for it” (Y/n) exclaimed, the girl quickly leaned forward to Eugene and connected her lips with his. Eugene’s eyes widened as he braced his hands behind himself to keep steady from the force of the kiss, the moon glinted in the background as the stars shone above the pair. As (Y/n) started to move back and separate the kiss Eugene realised what she was doing and brought his hand up to the back of her neck and pulled her forward to his lips again, Eugene’s hand slid to the side of her cheek and jaw as (Y/n) squeaked slightly from the sudden action. A soft hum came from the girl as Eugene glided his tongue over the girls bottom lip, (Y/n) opened her mouth slightly and let Eugene’s tongue dance with hers as her head tilted to the side slightly to get a better angle and her hands came to wrap around the boys waist as Eugene slowly pulled the girl on top of himself as he laid down. (Y/n)’s hand came to wrap in Eugene’s orange locks and pulled softly, emitting a soft groan from the boy beneath her as his head went along with her pulling; (Y/n) bent down and started to quickly kiss and nip at the skin of his neck as the boy whined softly, his hands going to the girls waist and pulling her down harder onto his groin, her growing wetter, him growing harder by every second that passed. A soft moan passed through the girls mouth as she slowly started to try and unbutton Eugene’s shirt, her hand going under the boys shirt and gliding her thumb over the soft skin she found there, (Y/n) was about to glide her hand down further south before-

“AAAAHHHHHH”

Feet.

Running.

Screams.

“THE JAPS” both (Y/n) and Eugene yelled together as they separated, Eugene scrambled for his gun as (Y/n) grabbed the siren left over by the team before them; setting off the siren as Eugene started to slowly pick off the Japs as the once sleeping marine scrambled for their guns and started to pick off what they could. There only seemed to be about 30 or 35 Japs coming for the large team but they were picked off extremely quickly, while guns were fired and the screams of the Japanese died down every minute (Y/n) and Eugene where laughing to themselves at the situation, not even contemplating the shit they’ll be getting from the captain, Snaf or their team mates.

#joe mazzello x reader #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzelo x reader #joe mazzello #eugene sledge #eugene sledge x reader #the pacific #the pacific eugene sledge

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izzy-b-hands · 6 years ago

Text

Stranded

Was trying to write a different Sledgefu fic, then this one happened. I am also discovering I may have a small obsession with writing them traveling, or wanting to travel-I’m a sucker for road trips lol.

Also there’s a real cute bit in here that I admit I’m proud of. I think you guys will know it when you see it, and I hope you guys like it too.

Love to all who read/like/reblog!

It was bound to happen at some point. Ever since they’d moved out, Eugene had been expecting it. The car wasn’t horribly old, but it certainly wasn’t new either.

“Fuckin’ car,” Snafu sighed. “...I don’t mean that. If I had a few more things, I could fix her up right here, and we’d be on our way.”

“I know. But we can’t get her home to be fixed if we don’t head out now,” Eugene said. The car had broken down at the worst possible point in the journey between their house and town; it was a long walk either way, along back roads. And it would be dark soon. But that was on them for staying so late at Sid and Mary’s.

“Wish I had a way to call the shop. Could make sure someone would be there by the time we get in, to help us come back out here and tow her home,” Snafu muttered, a hand gently running over one of the car’s door handles as he walked over to Eugene. “I really don’t like leavin’ her out here all on her own.”

“Me neither, but she’ll be okay. She’s a tough old gal,” Eugene smiled.

Snafu didn’t smile back. Instead, he looked about ready to cry.

“Come on. We’ll walk fast as we can,” Eugene tried again, gently taking Snafu’s other hand and pulling him along as he turned them down the road back towards town.

They walked in silence at first, but it itched at Eugene not to talk. Not to say something when Snafu was so clearly upset.

“You’ll get her fixed up again. Maybe we just need to start carryin’ more tools in the car with us; we could do that,” Eugene started.

Snafu nodded, but he wouldn’t turn his head to look at him.

“Hey,” Eugene continued. “Talk to me. Where are you?”

“Just...disappointed,” Snafu sighed. “I was thinkin’ about another trip. Sid and Mary could check in on the kids for us while we were gone; it wouldn’t be a long trip away. But if the car can’t make it down the damn road anymore, then...”

“Where to?”

Snafu shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anymore, not gonna happen.”

“Where?” Eugene asked again, coming to a halt, squeezing Snafu’s hand just tight enough that he had no choice but to stop as well.

“New Orleans. Not to do like we did last time, in the city. But near the swamps. Used to know some folks who’d rent out their houses near there. Nothin’ big or fancy, mind, more like cabins. But you could get away from everythin’ out there. Thought it might be nice, just for a bit. Some time away, just you and me and nothin’ to do but wander out in the country. I know we can do that here, but...”

Eugene nodded. “When?”

“The hell you mean, ‘when’?” Snafu snorted derisively. “The car barely wants to make it in and out of town. New Orleans is a good, what, two or three hours away, if we wouldn’t stop anywhere? Doesn’t matter if I want us to go now or not, the car won’t-”

“Summer or winter?” Eugene interrupted.

“I...maybe winter? Not like it gets real cold, and probably not as many people out there. Figure folks at work won’t be jumpin’ to take vacations, so if we ask for a week or two away it won’t be so bad,” Snafu replied.

“Okay. Maybe...early December?”

Snafu stared. “You gonna have us walk all the way there?”

“You can fix the car up so she can make it. I know you can,” Eugene replied, pulling on Snafu’s hand gently again as he started them back down the road.

“You really wanna go? Most people wouldn’t jump at the opportunity,” Snafu said. “Most everybody wants the city and the bars and all the noise. That’s all fine and good sometimes, but there’s somethin’ about bein’ away from it too...”

“I get it. Same reason Sid and I used to wander out here all the time. In the fields, just us, for hours. To be away from everythin’ and everyone. I wanna see what that was like for you, out there.”

The silence rolled back in again, but it was warm this time, a soft smile on Snafu’s face now.

The dark covered them, and Eugene pulled out his lighter. It wasn’t much, and barely made a difference, but at least it kept them from walking into the ditch.

Until it burned out.

“Well, fuck,” Eugene sighed, and he put the lighter back in his pocket. “That was gonna keep us from gettin’ hit by a car, if anyone should come down this way. Guess we’ll just have to listen, and move fast if we hear anythin’.”

“We’ll be okay,” Snafu said, but he didn’t resist when Eugene carefully edged them towards the side of the road, not quite in the ditch, but close enough to fall into it if they needed to avoid a car.

Finally, the few streetlights came into view, and it was a weight off of Eugene’s shoulders. There was still the walk to the shop, the call to the shop owner to bring his tow truck, and then getting back to the car to haul her home. But at least now they had far less chance of being hit by a car.

In the shop, sat at the counter, he let Snafu lead the rest of the rescue effort for their car. By some blessing, the shop owner woke up right away at Snafu’s phone call, and agreed to run down to help them.

“He said about fifteen minutes,” Snafu sighed as he hung up the phone. “Gives us time to talk more about this vacation of ours.”

“You excited?” Eugene asked, already knowing the answer. But he could tell Snafu was itching to talk about it more, to show how happy it made him.

Snafu nodded. “We should put in for leave time now. I’m gonna. Hell, I’m here, why not write it up now?”

Eugene smiled as he watched him dart into the garage part of the shop, all hopped up on his excitement and happiness. The sight of him returning with a toolbox was confusing, however.

“You keep paper and pencil with you in this thing?” Eugene asked as he watched Snafu rummage through it, letting his fingers run over the letters of Snafu’s name that had been painted onto one side of the box.

“Just in case,” Snafu replied, moving to another part of the counter as he started to write out his leave request.

He rifled through the toolbox while Snafu’s pencil scratched. Most of it was what he expected, various tools covered in oil and who knew what else. But one thing was unexpected.

“What’s this?”

Snafu’s eyes went wide as Eugene pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Nothin’. What’re you lookin’ for in there anyway?”

“Just snoopin’,” Eugene replied as he spun off of his chair and dodged Snafu’s hand, reaching to grab him or the papers. As he read, he grinned. “You been writin’ about me?”

“Put those back,” Snafu said weakly.

“You embarrassed? Don’t be,” Eugene laughed. “These are good, and I’m not just sayin’ that ‘cause they’re about me, I promise.”

“...you like them?”

Eugene nodded. “I do. Never seen you write, not like this, at least. How long have you been doin’ this?”

Snafu shuffled his feet, and stared at the floor for a moment, before taking a breath and meeting his eyes again. “Y’know back on Peleliu, when I gave you shit about writin’ stuff down?”

“They did tell us to avoid it, worried about information bein’ stolen and all that,” Eugene replied. He’d just figured the Japanese troops wouldn’t give half a shit about whatever he’d written, so he hadn’t given a shit himself about the warnings.

“I mean, it was partially that. But I didn’t want you findin’ this,” Snafu sighed, and reached into another part of the metal toolbox. He pulled a small notebook out, so small Eugene figured it’d be a pain to even try and write in, and tossed it to him. “Started it after the first week you joined up with us. Hadn’t ever written anythin’ like that about anyone else before then. Didn’t think I’d ever be the type.”

Eugene returned to the chair, and set the other papers down as he opened the notebook and started to read.

Pages upon pages of poems and free-flowing passages, all about him. About how he made Snafu feel, how that in turn made Snafu feel about the war and the rest of the fighting with Eugene by his side. One set of lines in particular was the one that broke him, that made the tears fall:

‘I think so long as Sledgehammer stays with me, the war will be worth winning. Worth surviving. I only wish I could find a way to keep him with me after. I don’t know what life after him, without him, looks like. And I don’t want to know.’

“Why didn’t you show me this sooner?” Eugene asked, wiping away a tear. “Snafu, my god-”

Snafu was around the counter in a flash, holding him close and kissing him hard, cutting off the rest of his words.

“I didn’t show you because...I don’t know. I got so used to tryin’ to keep it a secret, back over there. And then I figured, I don’t know, that somehow it would be strange,” Snafu murmured as after the kiss broke. “Especially seein’ that I was writin’ about you from Day One.”

“It isn’t strange,” Eugene choked out, laughing despite the tears. “It’s sweet, and beautiful, and the kindest thing I think anyone’s ever done for me. No one ever thinks someone’s gonna write about them like this, y’know? So I just...I love you so much.”

The sound of the garage opening and the tow truck pulling up outside broke them apart, but not before Snafu leaned in for another quick kiss, and a soft “Love you too” as he grabbed the rest of the papers and shoved them into his hands.

He kept them folded, hidden in his trouser pockets with the notebook while Snafu’s boss drove them back to the car, loaded it up, and then took them back home.

As soon as they were home, he read them again though, safe in bed with Snafu’s arm wrapped around him, his head resting against his chest.

He wondered what Snafu might write about him during their trip to New Orleans, and realized he couldn’t wait to read it.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu #I have a companion piece to this that I started literally weeks before even getting the idea for this one #and I was fussing with it because I was like I can't finish it because it needs something else!#I think this fic was the something else cuz the inspiration for that one just hit me like a brick to the face

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scouts-mockingbird · 7 years ago

Note

Chansaw (romantic or platonic, your pick) with number 5 has a lot of comedic potential.

My fever broke and I’m having a good day, so here you go! It’s pretty long, but it’s also the best Chansaw fic I’ve written, so I hope you like it! Enjoy!

“Pass me the sledgehammer.”

“Heather… No.” Veronica stood in front of Heather, blocking her access to the enormous hammer that was hanging on the Sawyer’s garage wall.

“Veronica, I am not kidding right now, give me the hammer. There is a car that desperately needs to be fucked with.”

Veronica stared at the blond girl, wondering why she had to have a crush on Heather Chandler of all people. Heather was volatile, ,mean, and (worst of all) straight. It was an impossible, hopeless situation.

Speaking of impossible, so was stopping Heather when she was determined. Right now, she was dead set on illegal activity. “Veronica, this asshole cheated on me. On ME. How dare he? I’m not going to let him get away with it, I have a reputation to maintain!” Heather leveled a powerful glare at Veronica, “And if you’re smart, you’re not going to stand in my way.”

Weighing her options was complicated. Veronica knew if she got caught she was in deep shit, but on the other hand, this was a chance to hand out with Heather while Duke and McNamara weren’t around. Sure, it was about Heather getting revenge on the Remington asshole of the week (Chad? Derek? They all ran together in Veronica’s mind) but it was something right?

Remembering how physical activity and adrenaline could put people in a romantic mood, Veronica stepped aside, “Okay, go for it.” She grabbed an old metal baseball bat, “But I’m coming with you.”

Heather smiled, “Let’s do this.” And, after sending a quick prayer to the god of impossible crushes, she followed Heather out of the garage.

Two girls, one sledgehammer, and a baseball bat could do a lot of damage to a Camaro in not a lot of time, as it turns out. The thing was fit for the scrap heap already, and Veronica couldn’t help but feel proud of her work.

Taking a step back, Heather looked over their work with the expression of a high-class art critic appraising a painting. “Almost perfect, it just needs one more…” With an almighty heave, Heather swung the hammer and brought it down on the top of the car, caving the roof in. She squealed in glee, beaming at Veronica like a kid in a candy store.

“Hey, what the fuck was that!” A male voice called from the other side of the fraternity parking lot.

“I think it came from the parking lot!” Another voice replied.

Oh, shit.

“Heather we need to motor, someone’s coming!” Veronica tossed the note she’d prepared onto the smashed windshield and grabbed Heather’s hand. They took off running.

Veronica was panicking, but Heather seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. She was giggling uncontrollably, even as the sound of running footsteps got closer and closer. Chad’s frat brothers seemed to have realized what happened and were searching for the culprits. Hopefully they’d seen her note.

Veronica and Heather dove into some bushes to hide until the guys were gone.

“When we find them I’m going to kill those Beta Delt assholes!” This was a new voice, and based on the footsteps, there had to be at least five guys out there. If they were found they were in deep shit.

“Come on, I think I heard something over here, we’ll get them this time!” Roaring some generic chant, the guys all trouped off in the wrong direction.

Veronica sighed in relief and turned to Heather. There were leaves scattered through her permed hair and her face was flushed. “What were they talking about, Beta Delt?” Heather asked, giggling a little.

“Umm, I left a note saying that another fraternity did it?” Veronica answered, biting her lip.

Heather laughed maniacally, “You are an evil genius!” She dissolved into giggles so adorable that Veronica couldn’t resist.

She kissed Heather Chandler.

She was kissing Heather Chandler!

And holy shit, Heather Chandler was kissing her back!

When they broke apart, Veronica couldn’t quite meet Heather’s eyes. She didn’t know what it all meant, but she didn’t want to be an experiment or a rebound.

“I had no idea…” Heather whispered.

Veronica tugged a leaf off one of the bushes and absently tore it to pieces, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah… I’ve liked you for a while now, sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing. Heather hadn’t seemed to mind the kiss, but now that it was over everything was awkward.

“Don’t be!” Heather said quickly, “I… I like you too.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, “I thought you liked Chad or whatever his name was.”

She shrugged, “Chet, actually and not really. Guys like him are status symbols, they don’t mean anything. I didn’t smash his car because he hurt my feelings, I smashed his car because he needed to know who he was fucking with.” A smile bloomed across her perfect face, “Anyway, I’d rather be with someone I can commit crimes with.”

Veronica laughed, “Okay, but let’s wait for a while before we do more property damage, I don’t think a forged note can get us out of everything.”

“You’d be surprised…” Heather muttered cryptically. “Anyway, I’m hungry, want to grab a milkshake or something?”

They stood up and clambered out of the bushes, giggling and tripping over each other. As they walked away towards the sunset, holding hands and swinging their blunt instruments Veronica thought to herself, Not a bad first date, all things considered.

#my fanfiction #my writing #requests #prompts #heathers fanfiction #chansaw #heather chandler #veronica sawyer

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literal-fand0m-trash · 8 years ago

Text

Psychic Wars Part 11. No Exit Part 2

Note: I do not own any of the Supernatural characters or stories, but I do own Dakota Winchester. Please leave comments and let me know if you want to be tagged.

Summary: Sequel to Dakota Elizabeth Winchester

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Masterlist

“Theresa Ellis, apartment 2F. Her boyfriend reported her missing around dawn.” Dean said walking into the livingroom where Sam, Jo, and Dakota were spread out on the floor looking through the information Jo had collected, again.

“How was her apartment?” Jo asked.

“Cracks all in the plaster-ceilings, walls, all of it.” Dean answered.

“Between that, the ectoplasm, and chunk of hair, I’d say the sucker’s coming from the walls.” Dakota said.

“Yeah, but who is it? The building’s history is totally clean.” Dean said.

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.” Jo guessed. “Check this out.” She said handing them a photo.

“It’s the field where the building was built.” Dakota pointed out.

“Take a look at the one next door.” She smirked.

Sam leaned in closer to the paper, “Bars on the windows.”

“We’re next door to a prison?” Dean asked.

……….

Jo stepped out of the room to call Ash and get some information, leaving the three Winchesters to flip through the papers. Jo came back into the room a few minutes later with a spring in her step.

“Moyamensing Prison. Built in 1835, torn down in 1963.” Jo explained.

“Let me guess, 1835, executions in the field?” Dakota guessed.

“Hangings.” Jo confirmed.

“Alright, we need a list of all the people executed in that field.” Sam said.

“Ash is already on it.” Jo said.

Half an hour later, Ash sent them the list and they started looking through it on Sam’s laptop.

“157 names?” Dakota asked in shock.

“We gotta narrow that down or else we’re gonna be digging up a Hell of a lot of stiffs” Dean said.

Sam continued scrolling through then stopped on one name, Herman Webster Mudgett.

“Wasn’t that H. H. Holmes’ real name?” Sam asked.

Dakota sighed and dropped her head.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Dean said.

Sam switched to a new screen and quickly searched it, “Yep. Holmes was executed at Moyamensing May 7, 1896.” He read.

“H. H. Holmes himself.” Dean whispered to himself.

“Come on. I mean, what are the odds?” Dakota asked.

“Who is this guy?” Jo asked.

“The term, ‘multi-murderer’-they coined it to describe Holmes. He was America’s first serial killer before anyone knew what a serial killer was.” Dean explained.

“He confessed to 27 murders, but some put the toll at over 100.” Sam added.

“And his victim flavor of choice, pretty, petite blonds.” Dakota continued.

“He used chloroform to kill them, which is what I smelled in the hallway last night.” Dean said.

“At his house they found bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blond hair.” Sam said.

“So, we just salt and burn the bones, right?” Jo asked.

“That’s the problem. His body is buried in town, but it’s encased in a couple tons of concert.” Dakota explained.

“What? Why?” Jo asked.

“The story goes, he didn’t want anyone mutilating his corpse, ‘cause, you know, it’s what he used to do.” Dean said.

“You know something? We might have an even bigger problem than that.” Sam said standing up and leaning over the papers.

“Why? Just, why?” Dakota sighed.

“Holmes build an apartment building in Chicago. They called it Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory. They had trap doors, acid vats, quicklime pits. He built these secret chambers, inside the walls and kept them locked in there for days so they’d suffocate. Others, he’d let starve to death.”

“So, Theresa might still be alive. She could be in these walls.” Jo said.

“We need sledgehammers, crowbars.” Dean listed. “We need to smash all these walls, anywhere thick enough to hide a girl.”

With that Jo and Dean walked out the door, presumably to get supplies.

“Am I the only one who sees a problem with randomly smashing walls in an apartment complex?” Sam asked.

“No, I see the problem here, too.” Dakota nodded. Taking a sip of her now cold coffee.

……….

Sam and Dakota went to check the Southeast wall on Teresa's floor. Luckily, because of the cracks everywhere in her apartment it was fairly easy to knock a part of the hallway wall down. The space was claustrophobically small, Dakota had to turn sideways to shuffle through with her flashlight in front of her and her EMF reading in her other hand.

They came across a section of piping in the wall that took up half the space and Dakota sighed, “Do we turn back?” She asked.

“I guess.” Sam said and he pulled out his phone to text Dean and Jo.

Dakota judged the small space in front of them, “I can fit through there.”

“What? Are you crazy? You are not going into the walls alone with a serial killer who likes tiny blonds on the loose!” Sam scolded.

“You got a better idea?” She sassed.

As she squeezed through the small space, Sam pulled out a make of the building they had found. Dakota walked along the narrow walkway and turned a corner, cautiously stepping over more piping.

“Where are you now?” Sam called.

“By the south wall.” She answered.

She came to a dead end at the end of the walkway and went to turn back, until she saw a hole in the floor that she could fit through. Realizing she was too far to yell to Sam she pulled out the walkie talkie Dean had given them.

“I found some sort of air duct. I’m going down.” She told him.

“No. No. Stay up here.” Sam instructed.

“We have to find this girl and you can’t fit through her, so I’m going.” She replied.

Sam sighed over the walkie, “Okay, I’m heading to you the long way around.”

Dakota took a deep breath and climbed into the air duct and grabbed onto the ladder that was attached to the wall.

She pulled her flashlight out of her pocket and started walking through the dusty, cobweb covered tunnel until she came to a place where to pipes blocked the path. Grumbling she tried to make herself same enough to fit through, then froze when she smelled something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She looked at the wall in front of her and saw ectoplasm leaking through the cracks.

“Shit!” She whispered harshly to herself, grabbing the walkie talkie and screaming Sam’s name into it as the world went black.

……….

Dakota woke up to the sound of water dripping and something creaking; she immediately sat up and smacked her head on something causing her to groan and lay back down. After rubbing the new forming bump on her forehead she careful felt out to the sides and realized she was in some kind of box or, God forbid, coffin. She wiggled her hand down with the limited room she had to the extra flashlight in her jean jacket pocket and turned it on.

She shined the light at the ceiling and saw that whatever she was in was made of metal and there were fingernail scratches everywhere causing her to shutter. She looked over to the side and saw some kind of door with two small slits in it that was unsurprisingly locked.

“If I look out this right now is something going to jump out at me?” Dakota asked herself quietly. She leaned toward the “window” as much as she could and saw that there was similar metal container across from her.

Suddenly a door opened and Dakota quickly laid back down.

“Hello?” A girl whispered softly.

“Is anybody there?” Another asked quietly.

“Are you Teresa?” The first voice asked.

“Yes.” Teresa answered.

“Wait? Jo?” Dakota whispered.

“Kota? Are you here, too?” The first voice, Jo’s voice asked.

“Yes. Teresa, this won’t make you feel better, but Jo and I are here to rescue you.” Dakota said.

“We’re normally better at our job than this.” Jo promised.

Teresa let out a quiet sob, “Oh God, he’s out there. He’s going to kill us!” “No he won’t! We’re getting out.” Jo said.

“My brothers are looking for us.” Dakota added.

“Quite!” Teresa commanded and Dakota shut her mouth in time to her footsteps coming towards them.

Dakota held completely still until a hand shot into her box and grabbed on to her hair causing her to scream and thrash until a chunk of her wavy blond hair came out in his hands. She bit her lip as she cradled the part of her head that was now bleeding, listening to Jo scream as her hair was ripped out too.

Soon H. H. Holmes showed back up infront of her box and started whispered, “You’re so pretty. So beautiful.”

“Go to Hell.” Dakota said as she slowly reached down to grab her iron knife she keep in her shoe.

A hand slowly reached into the box and Dakota shoved herself as back as she could, but the arm still reached her and began to caress her arm and once it got down to her hand she pulled the knife and sliced the hand making it disappear.

“How do you like that! Lined with iron you creepy-ass son of a bitch!” Dakota yelled.

“Is he gone?” Teresa asked.

“I don’t know. Jo, if you can reach your knife keep it out and ready.” Dakota instructed.

Jo screamed and then it was suddenly muffled and Dakota realized Holmes must have her.

“Leave her alone you bastard!” Dakota yelled.

“Hey!” A voice Dakota instantly recognized as Dean called out and she breathed a sigh of relief as a gunshot fired.

“Guys! We’re in here! Me, Teresa, and Jo! We’re all here.” Dakota called out.

She heard two of the doors creak open before her door was opened and light shined in her face from Dean’s flashlight.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She promised.

“Let’s get the Hell out of here before he comes back.” Jo said.

“Actually, I don’t think we’re leaving just yet.” Dean said.

“Please tell your not planning what I think you’re planning.” Dakota said looking at Sam who shrugged as he held up a weak looking Teresa.

“Remember when I said being bait was a bad plan?” Dean asked rhetorically, “Now it’s kind of the only one we got.”

“Why can’t Dakota do it!” Jo said.

“Hey!” Dakota cried out.

“If we just use one of you, he might come from the other and we can’t risk that.” Sam explained.

………..

Dakota and Jo sat back to back in the center of what Sam and Dean had explained was a sewer system.

“Kota.” Jo whispered and Dakota turned her head to see Holmes standing in the shadows.

“Down.” Dean yelled and Dakota and Jo ducked as the guys fired at the ceiling letting bags of salt fall in a perfect circle around them. Holmes started screaming and Dakota and Dean raced out the door slamming it behind them.

“Scream all you want, there’s no way you’re stepping over that salt!” Jo yelled as they turned to the tunnel that would lead them out of the sewers.

Once they were back on ground Dakota and Jo were sitting on the ground while Sam stood nearby; Dean had run off to grab something very secretly.

“So, is the job as glamorous as you thought it would be?” Sam asked.

“Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror, yeah.” Jo answered, “But Teresa’s going to live a life ‘cause of us. It’s worth it, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. Sometimes it is.” Dakota nodded.

“Hey, what if someone finds that sewer down there, or a storm washes the salt away?” Jo asked.

“Both very fine points which is why we’re waiting here.” Sam answered.

“For what?” Dakota asked as a beeping noise started behind them. She turned around and saw a cement truck backing up towards them.

“How?” Dakota asked as Dean got out of the truck and Sam started lowering the spout into the entrance to the tunnel.

“I’ll give it back.” Dean promised.

“You ripped off a cement truck?” Jo asked and Dean shrugged.

……….

The car ride back to Nebraska was incredibly uncomfortable, both due to the fact Sam, Jo, and Dakota were all squished in the back seat and also because a very pissed off Ellen was sitting in the passenger’s seat. Sam and Dean had explained after returning the cement truck that Ash had flipped on them and that Ellen was flying out.

“Well, you-you really weren’t kidding about flying out, were you?” Dean tried to joke.

When he was met with silence Dakota saw him slowly lean over and try to turn on the radio, but Ellen smacked his hand away. Jo turned to Dakota and raised her eyebrows.

“This is going to be a long drive.” Dakota whispered.

When they got back to the Roadhouse the next morning Ellen physically grabbed Jo’s arm and dragged her in.

“Ellen, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I lied to you and I’m sorry. But Jo did amazing out there.” Dakota said.

“I think her dad would be proud of her.” Dean added and Dakota’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you dare say that! Not you!” Ellen snapped. “I need a moment with my daughter, alone.”

“Actually, I think it’s best if we head out now. Tell Ash ‘hi’ for us.” Dakota said before grabbing the boys by their arms and leading them out.

“What was that about?” Sam asked.

“Jo’s dad had a pretty strict policy about not working with other hunters, but one day this friend of his really needed his help, so Jo’s dad, Will, let this other hunter use him as bait in their trap and Will didn’t make it. The other person he teamed up with was Dad. Ellen barely spoke to me for a year after that and Dad wasn’t allowed back in the Roadhouse. I don’t think Ellen ever forgave him, and by association us.” Dakota explained.

“But you two seem fine now.” Dean pointed out.

Dakota sighed, “After y’all took off for Stanford and to hunt on your own I stuck around with Dad for maybe six months before...something happened and I took off. I had no idea where you was so I found myself at the Roadhouse and Ellen took me in. I stayed with them for six months before meeting back up with Dean and then it was only another six-seven months till we got Sam.” Dakota explained.

Tags:

@one-giggling-unic0rn @skeletoresinthebasement

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stormcloudgeneral · 5 years ago

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Hero’s Legacy, Friend’s Memory

The village of Jarkynn had changed drastically since Adeia had last come to it. In fact, it was no village any longer; forty years had seen it grow into a burgeoning city, with many of the old streets she once knew to be trodden dirt now covered over in cobbles. The old town square had grown to twice its size, an unfamiliar statue in the center depicting a bastard sword of silver metal impaling the marble skull of a dragon. Shopkeepers proudly hawked their wares to passersby, and children darted about. The old hunger and strife that had beset the former trading village had given way to growth and prosperity. And though Jarkynn had always had a temple to Nelandr, the temple now was thrice its former size, and Adeia spied priests of every god in the Glödraun pantheon tending to it. Never had the speed of human lives impressed her so as now. But then, the speed of human life was exactly why she’d come to Jarkynn.

The last and only time she’d come, she had been little more than the guard of a merchant caravan. She initially hadn’t wanted to, but humans were such easily impressed folk, and having a Nularyan guard seemed to them to be worth paying her triple her mercenary’s rates. Back then, her life had been so much simpler, albeit harder. Adeia almost missed the simple days of taking odd jobs, cooking hunted food over a fire, and learning about the short-lived nation that had sprung up beside her native Ilguardia. But Jarkynn had ended that, and she only had one man to blame for it: Balthazar.

Winding her way through the city streets, hood up and snug against her long ears, Adeia did her best to follow the streets that her memories told her led to Balthazar’s home. He’d only been a militiaman at the time, so it had been in the village’s military district, near to the guardsman’s keep. Said keep was growing into a bastion now, and the former ramshackle houses had been replaced with sturdier constructions. That three-story manorhouse, didn’t that used to be the one-story dwelling of the smith who’d made her bodkin arrowheads? Where did he go? Where was his forge? Did the past four decades run him off, or was this still his family’s home?

The Snow Elf shook her head to dispel her recollections of the old homes, nearly running into a scampering pair of children playing at soldiers. She couldn’t count on such thoughts anymore, it seemed. Gods above and below, what felt like such a short time ago was a lifetime for these mortals. Sighing, Adeia let herself lean against a corner, staring up at the buildings. Why was such melancholy in her heart? It wasn’t as though she didn’t expect things to change. Perhaps she wasn’t as used to humans as she liked to tell herself.

The moment’s reverie was broken by a light cough. “Pardon me, ma’am, but have you business here? The merchant district is back towards the Temple, and–”

Adeia turned her head, ears twitching futilely beneath the cloth of her cloak. The person who’d questioned her—a shieldmaiden, judging from her chainmail armor and spear—recoiled at seeing the icy blue skin of Adeia’s face. “Oh! Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t realize what you were.”

“Being an elf makes me a lady, does it?” Adeia’s lips tightened at the formality; wariness of Aryans hadn’t changed in forty years, it seemed. “No matter. I happen to be looking for the house of...a colleague.”

“Then perhaps I can direct you.” The shieldmaiden gave a small, informal salute. “The Dragonslayer District is my responsibility, so if they live here, I can help you find their home.”

“I suppose so.” The Snow Elf tapped one foot against the cobbles, considering whether or not to ask. Finally, her resolve weakened, and she crossed her arms. “Then would you happen to tell me where Balthazar lives?”

The words hung in the air for a few moments before the shieldmaiden seemed to pick them up. A look of pure amusement crossed what was visible of her face beneath her spangenhelm, and she laughed. “Jarl Dragonbane will be holding council tomorrow at the keep, if you have business with him. In the meantime, I can help you find an inn, perhaps?”

“I’m not here on business. This is a social visit.”

The shieldmaiden’s mirth dimmed a little, suspicion in her aquamarine eyes. “Social? You called him a colleague.”

“Colleague and friend.” Adeia set an elbow down on the hilt of her sabre, feeling the creep of misunderstanding growing ever closer. “I would rather leave it as such.”

“Then I’m afraid I cannot direct you to his home, my lady.” The shieldmaiden shook her head. “I’ll have to insist I take you to an inn.”

“Oh fine.” The elf clucked her tongue, and cast back her hood, letting the silver circlet holding back her tawny hair catch the afternoon sun. “My name is Adeia Crestalla. And that should explain to you why this is a social visit.”

Another long pause as the shieldmaiden processed the words, then a louder laugh. The human woman collapsed against her spear to hold steady as the guffaws racked her frame. Embarrassed, Adeia lifted her hood back up. “You think I lie?”

“No, no, I, oh Madyr…” The woman gasped a few times to recover her breath, then removed her own headgear, copper braids frizzy from their captivity in the helmet. “What do you want with my grandfather?”

Though unable to feel the cold of winter, Adeia felt as though a glacier had just run over her heart. “...grandfather?”

“My name is Imma Carlottasdottir, who is the wife of Lafki Balthazarson.” The shieldmaiden let the targe on her shoulder swing onto her arm, revealing four entwined serpentine dragons, each biting the next’s neck. Adeia knew the design immediately; Balthazar had painted it on his own shield, decades ago. And if the Nularyan woman knew anything of humans, it was that they were just as picky about family heraldry and patterns as were Aryan nobles. So it seemed the shieldmaiden was speaking truth.

While Adeia processed this, Imma swung her shield back to a more comfortable position. “So, are you really Lady Crestalla? Grandfather’s stories of you made me think you’d be...gruffer? More stern?”

“Perhaps when I am not caught out of my element.” Adeia raised a hand to cover her eyes. “Balthazar...married?”

“The jarl of a principality has to produce heirs, so, yes.”

“He could have told me.” The elf felt her voice crack slightly as yet more evidence of time passing struck her heart with sledgehammer blows.

Imma frowned lightly, and reached out a hand to pat Adeia’s shoulder. “Well, come on, I’ll let you ask him about it yourself. I’m willing to believe you, but if grandfather turns you away...well, I’ll do my duty.”

“Of course. Lead on then.” Adeia lowered her hand, and stared up at the sky, melancholia settling around her like chains.

As it happened, Balthazar didn’t live in the keep. He lived adjacent to it, in the grandest of the district’s houses. From the stonework, it seemed that the council of Jarkynn had hired Dwarven stonecrafters to build their jarl’s abode, and all the timber seemed high quality as well. The interior was equally lavish, all perfectly made furniture and rare fur rugs. Painted tapestries hung here and there, and the halls were lit with oil lanterns rather than the typical candles of the region. It was a far cry from the soldier’s house Adeia remembered. And despite sitting in a parlour across from the man introduced to her as Jarl Dragonbane, Adeia couldn’t help but feel that she’d been misinformed.

Balthazar in her memories was tall, muscular, and weathered from work and battle. She remembered a man with tanned skin against a wild copper beard and back-length hair, golden eyes glinting with mirth and focus as he would practice swordplay or tend to his leather armor. She remembered his booming laugh when he would make jokes, the snarl of pain when she would treat his wounds, and the broken sobs he gave when they’d been told his parents had been killed in a drake attack. She remembered a human man full of light, life, vigour, and emotion.

The man across from her was a shadow of such a man. His hair was storm grey, neatly braided back and to his shoulders, beard trimmed close to his jaw. Where once was armor and soldier’s clothes now lay elegant robes, trimmed with wolf fur. A golden circlet rested on his brow, and if she really wanted to, Adeia could convince herself that it was the metal’s weight that was causing his face to be so sagged and wrinkled. But the old man’s hands trembled slightly as he took a long sip of mead, eyes less gold now and more like bronze as he stared at the elven woman.

Adeia, she knew, hadn’t changed. What were forty years to an elf, after all? Her muscles were still firm and defined from her training, her face unwrinkled and unblemished, her eyes youthful to match her movements. She was still a young adult by elven standards, barely 1500 years, and she knew she looked it. And the Jarl knew it too, judging from the sadness in his eyes. Finally, the man gave a drawn out sigh, then smirked. “You’re late for our morning spar, Adeia.”

Despite herself, Adeia felt tears clamour for time in her eyes; even with forty years and old age making his voice waver slightly, it was very much still Balthazar’s voice, the same one that had rung out over their campfires during their travels. “I didn’t see you coming to Ilguardia, so I’d say we’re even.”

“I don’t think I ever got an invitation for a state visit.” Balthazar chuckled. “Not like Glödraun is recognized as a worthy power by your Elder Council, no matter which jarl sends them a letter. And it isn’t as though you sent me any yourself.”

That made the elf’s ears twitch in surprise. “I...sent five within ten years, Balthazar. You never answered.”

“Hm. I sent ten in four.” The human man rested his chin on a fist. “I guess Jarl Ordel was right; messages between humans and elves don’t make it to their recipients.”

Adeia winced. She could have figured that out for herself, if she were honest about it. But now at least she knew her old friend’s silence wasn’t malice. After all, here he was, genial as ever towards her. “I...probably should have come sooner, then.”

“You should have. You missed my wedding, after all.” Balthazar lifted his left hand, letting the golden band on his ring finger shine in the firelight. “I had to go for my second-choice of witness.”

“You know I’d have done it if word had gotten through.”

“Adeia, it’s in the past.” Balthazar waved away the apology. “I’m not angry about it. Not anymore, anyway. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“And missed most of your life in the process.” The elf’s grip tightened on her own mead, the drinking horn creaking under her fingers. “I missed it all.”

The wrinkles on Balthazar’s face deepened as he listened to her voice. “You had your own matters to attend to, and I mine. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Who else can I blame?” Adeia closed her eyes tight. “I came here to scold you for not getting in contact, but...I forgot how fast things change. I missed your wedding, your children’s youth, and even your grandchildren are adults now.”

“Imma’s only barely an adult, but the other jarls don’t begrudge me for having let her become a shieldmaiden so young.” Balthazar grinned. “She always liked stories about you, by the way. Even with plenty of tales about Freyja and ancient shieldmaidens, she’d always ask to hear about the Archer of Ilguardia. Pretty sure there’s a tapestry of you in her room, actually. So hey, my granddaughter’s your fan.”

Adeia scoffed slightly at the change in topic, though her reaction was equal parts embarrassment and annoyance. “Be that as it may, your people remember you, not me. Not Vishas either, or Moqita.”

“I did my best to make sure they got credit.” The jarl glanced into the fire, his own sadness doing nothing to stop Adeia’s own from surging in her. “But the people of Glödraun have heard plenty of stories about the fairfolk champions and their mighty deeds. They wanted their own, so...here I sit. The Dragonbane.”

“Not as though you don’t deserve it.” Adeia took a long drink of her mead. “Even the Aryans are buzzing about it, thanks to my talking some of their ears off.”

“Please tell me they’re praising me and not saying that Runhaarzaal was frail by the time I got to him.”

“Depends on who you ask. A few nobles try to spin the tale so that Runhaarzaal died of overindulgence, and you just poked him in the eye a few times before calling yourself a dragonslayer.”

The both shared a small chuckle at the ridiculousness of people denying Balthazar’s achievement, but melancholia replaced the mirth far too fast. Adeia took the moment to control her breathing, recenter herself, then looked her friend in the face. “I...miss you, you know. Travelling has felt wrong these past forty years without a brute of a human sharing my fire.”

“Well, I’d have only been a decent swordhand for twenty of those.” Bathazar tapped one knee. “The fall I took after stabbing him has come back to bite me in my old age; walking is an absolute chore.”

“A good enough healer could fix that, Balthazar, if you wanted them to.”

“And I don’t.” The man leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want to lose the memory, no matter how old I get.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t let them heal the scars I got from it.” The elven woman placed a hand against her abdomen, the feeling of dragon talons raking through flesh as vivid in her mind as the human hero’s geniality. “But...I am sorry I took this long to come back.”

“Then make up for it by staying awhile.” Balthazar drained his drinking horn. “I have an opening for a berserkr, and there’s no one I trust with my life more.”

Adeia’s hand tightened more around her own drinking vessel. “I...I don’t know. Your people probably won’t accept–”

“So what? I’m the Dragonbane, Adeia, hero of Glödraun. I think they’ll let me name an Aryan woman to my berserkir as opposed to naming her a shieldmaiden. I can get away with that.”

“What about your wife?”

That gave Balthazar a moment of pause, after which he gave a chuckle. “Hilda knows what we were and what we weren’t. She’s not about to be jealous because my old friend came back. She might be jealous that you still look so good despite the years, though, while she frets over every sign of age.”

“Age. That’s another thing.” Adeia felt the tears rise again as she lifted her gaze to Balthazar’s, piercing his bronzing eyes with her vermillion ones. “Tell me the truth, Balthazar: how long until you…?”

The human man set his horn aside, a cloud shadowing his face. “No idea. But I probably won’t make another decade. That’s mortality for you. You’re lucky you never have to experience it.”

“Lucky?” Adeia’s lips pulled back in a hiss. “I’m lucky that I don’t age, am I? Lucky that my life is endless? Lucky that I’ll outlive the humans I’ve met? Lucky that I’ll have millennia upon millennia of life left after this city dies? Lucky that I’ll outlive you?”

A crack rang out through the room as Adeia’s fingers shattered the drinking horn, sending her mead cascading down to the floorboards. Red blood dyed her blue skin as she let the fragments of horn clatter down to join the drink, and the sadness she’d been holding back finally started making streams run down her cheeks. “Lucky, Balthazar? I’m cursed! Even if I had never left after you killed Runhaarzaal, that’s still barely any time with you! Your whole life has gone by, and...and what have I done aside from travel, spread stories, and fight a bit more? Even if I become your berserkr, what am I supposed to do with myself when you’re dead and gone, and I no longer have a friend to guard? Tell me, damn you! What am I supposed to do with this curse of life if your time runs down before mine?”

The aged hero sat silent as Adeia struggled to find her composure again, the flickering firelight turning his wrinkles to canyons. He sat silent as she wiped her tears, silent as she used a small pulse of magic to heal her hand, silent until her breathing was steady again. Only then did Balthazar look her in the eyes, and give a sad smile. When he spoke, the elf finally heard in her friend’s voice the tone of the leader he’d become in her absence.

“Adeia...we humans believe that everyone deserves to live life to the fullest. We only have eight decades in us at best, and not all of those are useful. So we live. We do everything we can, try everything that interests us. We fight, we laugh, we love, and we pass the torch to our children. I rule so that my son can take my title and build off it, so that Imma can find a worthy husband and maybe raise little heroes of her own. As a mortal, I try to leave a legacy behind that my children and people can be proud of. So I can’t tell you how to live an endless life. What I can tell you is that I missed you these long years, and if I’m going to die soon, I’d like to die with my friend nearby. And because the only things I can leave behind are memories and stories, I want you to have as many of those as possible so that my legacy can life forever on in you. My passing will hurt. Hilda will cry, Lafki will beg Lalnur to honour my soul, and Imma will hide her sorrow in her work. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t die. So, my friend...please be with me until the end, be there for my family after I pass on, and remember me until your time comes. Please?”

Breath shaky, Adeia stood from her seat and walked over to Balthazar. Standing over him for a moment, she bent down and wrapped him in a hug. “I never did learn how to not go along with your dumb plans, you brute.”

A sniff came from the man as he embraced his comrade to him. “So much for Aryan superiority, then.”

“Shut up. But you’d better last as long as possible, or I’ll kill you myself.”

“It’s a deal.” Balthazar squeezed his friend, the tightness of the hug far less so than the old ones Adeia could remember, but warm nonetheless. “Welcome home, Deia.”

The elf nodded, feeling the chains about her heart start to loosen, replaced by the armor of duty and camaraderie. “I’m home, Bal.”

A month later, Adeia Crestalla, Dragonslayer and Archer of Ilguardia, was named to Jarl Balthazar Dragonbane’s berserkir to no complaints from anyone. Two years later, she was in the crowd at the wedding of Imma Carlottasdottir to a jarl of another province. In another two years, she was named godmother of Imma’s son, Balthus. A year after that, Adeia spoke at the funeral for Hilda, dead from plague. And three years from then, Balthazar the Sword of Victory passed in his sleep, entombed in the Pantheonic Temple. It was Adeia who signed off on Jarl Lafki’s decision to rename Jarkynn to “Balthasberg,” and Adeia a century later who helped finalize the decree from the Council of Jarls that Balthasberg and its province would forever be under the rule of the Pantheonic Temple. After this, she vanished from Glödraun, insisting that she had matters to attend to elsewhere.

A millennia onward, Balthasberg was a metropolis, a holy mecca for Glödraun, and the Pantheonic Temple had grown strong and influential. The leaders for each of the pantheon’s gods ruled well, spread their divine’s word, and never faltered in their duties. In the city center now stood a dramatic statue of a youthful human man, bastard sword held at the ready, posed bravely and defiantly in the face of the implied Rogue Dragon Runhaarzaal. Forever memorialized now was Balthazar, God-Hero of Victory and Success. His triumph served as one of the catalysts for elven nations across the world beginning to draft interspecies relations laws, for the fairfolk the world over to accept hominids as potential equals. His legacy was that of power, change, and divinity. Truly a scion of human potential, even if his bloodline had vanished from the world over time.

And yet, every decade, on the anniversary of his death, a hooded figure would appear at the statue at dawn. Every decade, she would place something at the statue’s feet that she’d found on her travels: a scroll of foreign poems, a decorative axe, a crystal sculpture of a sphinx, and so on. Every decade, this woman would spend the rest of the day in the inn that boasted of being Balthazar’s favourite as a youth, telling lesser-known tales of the God-Hero to anyone who would listen. When asked why, she would give no answer aside from “I haven’t stopped remembering him.” And she never did.

#Long Read #short story #fantasy #elf #snow elf #humanity #aging #memory #Glödraun #escheluon #mortality #friendship #legacy #dragonslayer

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