#arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells

[ahb-writes]

"They don't gotta burn the books, they just remove 'em."

from "Bulls on Parade," Rage Against the Machine

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 27: Left for Dead ♡

@febuwhump

< Prev

Content: Guns, death threats, kidnapping, low-key suicidal whumpee

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

As dawn lights up the abandoned warehouse they’ve been sitting in all night, a newly stitched-up Whumpee tilts their head at Whumper with a smug little smile. “Told ya they wouldn’t show.”

“Why do you look so pleased? Your friends abandoned you. Left you for dead.”

“Cause I win.”

“You’re chained up. Completely at my mercy. I’m the only reason you haven’t bled out yet. You haven’t won shit.”

Whumpee sighs. “Can you just let me have this?”

“No.”

Whumper packs up their things, not missing the way Whumpee tenses expectantly when they pick up their gun to put it away.

“You’re not gonna shoot me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Nope.”

“Then shut up.”

Whumpee continues to run their mouth for the entire drive to Whumper’s place. Whumper turns up the radio to drown them out. Whumpee sings along.

They really would do the responsible thing and gag their captive, but it’s a long drive and they just don’t want to make any stops.

At Whumper’s hideout Whumpee is deposited in a cell while Whumper goes to their room to pass out. Whumper doesn’t visit them again until the next morning.

“You’re healing quickly,” Whumper says as they reapply bandages to Whumpee’s wounds. “I’d like for you to fill your end of our deal today.”

Whumpee puts their shirt back on, wincing as they lift their arms above their head. “What deal?”

“You know. I don’t shoot you. You give me some info on your friends.”

“I didn’t shake on that.”

“I’ll get my gun, then.”

Whumpee flops back on their bed. “Okay.”

Whumper pauses, incredulous. “‘Okay?’” they mimic. “What is wrong with you?”

“I accepted my fate the second you grabbed me. Just make it quick, please.”

No wonder Whumpee’s team didn’t come for them. They’re a walking disaster. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“Then shoot me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just answer my questions?”

“Not really. I don’t know what gives you the idea that I’d tell you anything.”

“Aren’t you mad at them?”

“Sure, yeah. But not enough to let you hurt them.”

“God. You are just…” Whumper shakes their head, at a loss for words for once. Something about Whumpee drives them crazy, but the thought of putting a gun to their head makes Whumper cringe internally. There’s potential here. They can’t waste it.

“The worst? Yeah, I’ve heard that one.”

“Pathetic.” That’s the word.

Whumpee shrugs, drawing blankets around their body and curling up as well as they can without disturbing their stitches.

“I’ll give you three days to think about it. After that… Let’s just say you’re going to tell me what I want to know whether you want to or not.”

“Can’t bring yourself to kill me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Next

@the-art-of-trepetnoi @unicornbeck

[semusepsu]

Weapons not food, Not homes, not shoes, Not need, just feed the war, Cannibal animal. I Walk the corner to the rubble That used to be a library, Line up to the mind cemetery now. What we don't know Keeps the contracts alive and movin' They ain't gotta burn the books They just remove them While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells! Rally 'round the family, pockets full of shells!

—Rage Against the Machine, Bulls On Parade

[methotrex8]

“Weapons not food, not homes, not shoes

Not need, just feed the war cannibal animal

I walk the corner to the rubble that used to be a library

Line up to the mind cemetery now

What we don't know keeps the contracts alive and movin'

They don't gotta burn the books they just remove 'em

While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells

Rally 'round the family, pockets full of shells.” -Rage Against the Machine, Bulls on Parade

[unfortunately-obsessed]

All Things End

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader • Hurt no Comfort • AO3 link

In the end, all is quiet

You said many and many times to Miguel that being in love wasn't a weakness.

It was supposed to be easy. In-and-out, just trying to make a map of the warehouse Sinister Six were using. Empty room. Empty room. They've been doing some remodeling since last tim you've been there.

Just trying to get some pics. Maybe a manifest. Counting the number of goons. Your steps just like a mice's, soundless and light, using of the celling and vents to move undetected.

True to the word, you don't operate the same way most Spiders do. Peter B calls you sneaky and Jess slick, but Miguel respected you for not being reckless like that whole side of the multiverse.

The whiskey, rain and and knock-off cigars scent flooded your nose. Kraven and Sandman are playing poker over a wood box. Kraven got a Full House but you mentally bet on Sandman. Hah.

With the two as guards, you just needed to noiseless.

Empty room. Not empty room, filled with wire but nothing interesting. You had wondered what Doc Ock been planning now. Another empty room.

You don't know what hit you.

The hair in your neck raises, you can't feel your legs.

Mind goes blank with jasmine acid and white, room filled with gas and you weren't quick enough to dodge a kick to the mouth. You punch and cuss aloud before Kraken can lodge a knife on your throat.

Ears unable to hear and eyes unable to see for a sharp second. A tiny mystery. There's shouting and there's pain. Everybody has broken ribs by the end of it.

Your hand voracious raw against a face, so you fumble about what is up and what is down until Kraken is is either unconscious or close enough and there's sand on your lungs and socks.

Two seconds and hard cough is what it take for a metallic arm ragdoll you into a wall.

You bleed an unsurmountable amount.

When the fight is over and after you put Doc Ock to sleep, you hear sirens approaching. Crawling to a celling down the road, you throw up, head tripping.

It's disorienting and the sky doesn't have stars because, after all, you're in New York. The blinding lights are not from stars and your right side is all tender. And it smells like trash and oil. And you think of red eyes and pouty lips and a stubborn valiant man. You wish it to end faster.

Not reckless, huh. You wonder what went wrong and can't pinpoint it, but neither you can feel your fingertips, so all you think is never damage and concussion. Maybe you were just ill-prepared, payed the tool but couldn't pay the price. The shaking comes in waves.

You did say that being in love wasn't a weakness.

And it's true, which doesn't mean you also doesn't have to convince yourself.

Damn Ohio and Vermont. Hate New York the same amount you see it behind your eyelids. Kindness isn't free and both you and Miguel refused to put a name on this burning. You want to go home.

Sometimes the poem writes itself. Sometimes it doesn't need to be written. It untravelled all lungs.

Until the story ends all their heartbeats. Flickering matches. Teeth dripping lead.

Do you love Miguel? Not sure. Does it matter when you're bleeding? Unlikely.

A strange habit: Miguel sometimes travels half the multiverse to see why you weren't answering his calls. You hear him swallowing dry and panic in his eyes.

"M'fine," you say to him.

"You look like shit," he tells you, kneeling to be in your side, hands hovering over, unsure of what to do. Worried that holding you will cause more damage.

"Thanks," you say, calm despite the numbness growing each passing second. Moving was impossible on your current state. Instead, your throat burn at the sight of Miguel. "I can't feel my hands."

Even Miguel, a complete idiot on intersocial intelligence, notices the perfectly hidden edge on voice. You tell yourself that you'll sleep it off, perfectly tucking away the fear.

It's natural and inevitable. Miguel is calm despite himself. "It's alright," he says, voice smooth but deep, husky. Ah, you do love his voice. It could lull anyone to sleep. "You're going to be fine."

The story doesn't have a massage. The notion of it, itself, is ridiculous. In another life, we hold our hands together.

You scoff even if you tell yourself the same. Heart won't stop racing. His hand cupping your neck makes you almost believe it.

It's almost peaceful and quiet, and you can't hear the sirens or the city buzzling as it does. "I'm dying", you conclude, sharing it with him, like you do. At this point, there's not a piece of information you don't share with him.

Miguel's eyes grow wide, fast but you see it. "You're no-"

"Something's wrong, I'm not feeling pain," you say, throat dry and hurting, "I'm dying."

He says something to Layla, who toughly scans you with one droid. The conversation doesn't register on your mind. You place a hand over his.

His head snaps back to you, gaze over your bleeding body. "You lost blood," he tries, yet his voice wavered, "but you're not dying."

Tears. You're crying. His hands relax over your carotid, suddenly bare, calming your mind and breathes. Miguel's shoulders are tense, thumb caressing your cheek. When did you ever take the mask off?

Before throwing up, you think.

Finally, pain laces your head. Red spots on you suit, pooling, but the wound is to o big to stop the flowing. It's smearing him, too. You think, very clinically, that you could have tasted his lips if you both were not cowards.

A stupid mistake. You should have named what's between the two of you.

(You're dying and you can feel it. It's the bleedout and the heart going fast and Miguel denying it instead of saying you're an idiot if you think he'll let you die. It's the trembling and the getting harder to breath. It's the fact you're not in panic.)

He smells apple cinnamon pie and warm sweet home.

There's nothing he can do. Moving you may cause it to come faster. So you don't let him know how much it hurts to move at all. His stomach twists.

Miguel's instinct – always there to be blamed, making him unable to clearly process his thoughts, – is to reach out and engulf you on his arms. He moves slow, closer. He threads his fingers into your stained hair.

"I'm not stupid," you say to him, clenching at his other hand.

This declaration shocks him. As normally, Miguel can't hide the frown on his face. "I know you're not."

"No. I–" A few feverish moments pass. It hurts to breath. You might stare at him forever before blurting out, "Please kiss me."

Keeping you eyes open was starting to be a problem. The sky is spinning. All you feel is drozyness. Like you want to sleep. You want your bed.

"Sweetheart," he says, so slow and low you might have imagined it.

Hot, desperate tears streaked down your face. You couldn't keep appearances anymore, keep playing the waiting game with Miguel. You don't know what cause this pathetic display, but still wasn't worse than the numbness.

A gasp left your mouth as his lips pressed against yours. It settles deep within your chest, but all he probably taste is metal.

A low growl rumbled in your heart.

Why are you crying? It has leapt from my throat when we first spoke, alight when I first head your laughter, strong, hands gone rough with time. Your hands are trembling now.

Hungry mouth and lips. In the end, it's quiet.

Your face dropped the frown. Why are you crying? I cannot undo it. My heart under your palms, ribs de-boned and body peeled from skin. Glossy ruby eyes.

Sorry about the mess. Just hold me. In angry tears, never-mended flesh, and razor-sharp teeth, and sometimes I wondered about the needle edge of it. Guts half-spilled, and rocking waves.

Dear thing, we are bound by fate. I'll let you bring me anywhere.

Bleeding still, shining ribs.

Did you taste the best on the roof of my mouth?

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

[tittyinfinity]

Weapons, not food, not homes, not shoes Not need, just feed the war, cannibal animal I walk the corner to the rubble, that used to be a library Line up to the mind cemetery now What we don't know keeps the contracts alive and movin' They don't gotta burn the books, they just remove 'em While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells Rally 'round the family, pockets full of shells

Rage Against the Machine – Bulls on Parade

[agoddamnedrayofsunshine]

God if I was Tom Morello I would probably have an eternal concussion from constantly bashing my head against the wall every time a right wing jackoff whines about Rage Against the Machine going """woke""".

Ah yes, the band whose songs had such lyrics as:

Those who died were justified/ for wearing the badge they're your chosen whites

They don't gotta burn the books they just remove em/while arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells/ rally round the family, pocket full of shells

A spectacle monopolized/ the camera eyes on choice disguised/ Was it cast for the mass who burn and toil/ or the vultures who thirst for blood and oil

Mister anchor assure me that Baghdad is burning/ your voice it is so soothing/ That cunning mantra of killing

And like, a thousand more lines like that-

yeah they just now went """woke"""

Sirs what machine did you think he was raging against, the fucking microwave???

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

" they don't got to burn the books they just remove them while arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells"

Rage Against the Machine

[burritosandpeppermint]

Come wit' it now Come wit' it now

The microphone explodes, shattering the molds Either drop the hits like De La O or get the fuck off the commode Wit' the sure shot, sure to make the bodies drop Drop and don't copy yo, don't call this a co-op Terror rains drenchin', quenchin' the thirst of the power dons That five sided fist-a-gon The rotten sore on the face of mother earth gets bigger The triggers cold empty ya purse

Rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells They rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells They rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells They rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells

Weapons not food, not homes, not shoes Not need, just feed the war cannibal animal I walk the corner to the rubble that used to be a library Line up to the mind cemetery now What we don't know keeps the contracts alive and movin' They don't gotta burn the books they just remove 'em While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells Rally 'round the family, pockets full of shells

Rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells They rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells They rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells They rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells

Bulls on parade

Come wit' it now Come wit' it now Bulls on parade Bulls on parade Bulls on parade Bulls on parade Bulls on parade

Rage Against The Machine 'Bulls on Parade' 1996

[fayemouse]

It's not as cold in your cell when you wake up.

The pawn is still there, something to curl up around. An ersatz touch that only conducts your own body warmth against your skin. It's certainly not the cement floor, where you slept in a now-dry puddle of your tears.

To your surprise, a bit of fresh air hits your nose. Not hot, but not the cold blast of the air conditioner. A scent, beyond just your increasing body stench and mildewy forced air.

The door is open.

You stand. Your body droops a bit, muscles and fat calling for something to eat after days of deprivation. There's a uniform with your number laid out on your bed. Clean underwear. Socks and shoes. A work rota giving you time to stop off at the cafeteria to get much-needed calories. Normalcy returns with much less fanfare than you expected. No gloating, no armed guards, no explanation of the real sentencing to come.

The pawn is still there.

You turn. Your face frowns a bit. It's not fair to its occupant that you get to walk free and they stay within it. The small port on the outside wheezes down its restricted airway. You can't imagine what's inside -- this is beyond what the public sees. A quick thought and your fingers grasp at one of the paper frogs laying on its back, its thin legs pushing against thin air. You move it from the bed to the head of the pawn. You doubt the imprisoned one can feel it, but you hope that it knows that you want them to have some kind of companionship, even if you can't be there.

The time is here. Your feet bring you across the cell's threshold. Fabric, neither soft nor rough, swishes between your thighs. And you appear as simply one of a hive of prisoners in the cafeteria hall.

Simple food, not too much. It's not your first time. Just something to line the pit in your stomach. Mashed potatoes with too much salt and not enough cream. A bit of gravy.

Simple hellos, not too much. It's no one's first time. Everyone shifts uncomfortably until someone breaks rank. Small talk with too much saccharine and not enough real trust.

But more than a hint of what's really going on. No one has mentioned them. Not a question, not a thought given in their direction. They leave a conspicuous void where they should be, and no one's going to be the one to remind you that it's actually your fault.

No time, really to think about it. "Yeah yeah, I'll see you after my shift. I dunno, just some time moving boxes in the stockroom. Yeah I'm probably gonna be beat afterwards. I'll just be a cheerleader this time. Next game, for sure."

No strength to put the thought fully to bed, either. It consumes you as you go through the motions on your shift.

Slam. Another pallet into its spot.

Your shift partner's back where they always are. Perched on a pile that you moved. "Come on, '820. You're just back from solitary and you're like this? I figured you'd…"

"I'd what?" Slam. "Enjoy organizing the warehouse? How'd you let it get this bad?"

"As if I care what it looks like in here. And you shouldn't either." Their legs swing impishly. "It doesn't matter whether you do a good job or not. One little mistake and--"

Slam. "I'm aware."

"You brought it on yourself, dummy. Jumpin' on them like that. Holdin' them. I saw it! You didn't even care about the rules."

Slam. It covers a quiet snarl. You're aware.

"And what, they've been gone… ooh, about the same time you've been, huh? Wonder where they went." You didn't miss that lilt.

Slam. You conveniently make a stack in front of their perch, boxing them in.

They scramble to the top of the new stack. A gargoyle in loose cotton pants. Their voice drops nearly a full octave. "Hon, this isn't good for you. None of it is. And you know it, too. Even if you do see them, take it easy for a bit."

A grunt fills the air instead of a slam. You're getting tired. Your voice wavers, on the verge of a sob. "Oh and I should take your advice? You're some super-smart sage in here? 'Don't care. Don't try. Just do the bare minimum.'"

It's not stopping. Your voice raises in volume. It bounces off the concrete and metal walls. "You're not even jealous. I know what you do. We all find our ways. And you get to tell me to take it easy? To not worry? To just sit up on a pallet that I just stacked? Just because you can so easily be all high and mighty about it all and tell other people what to do, because you're on top of the stack in a storeroom instead of in solitary."

You sniffle. You didn't think it bothered you that much. You've taken it before, and that was before they showed their gorgeous face back in your life. It was fine before, it was fine and they were outside and you were in here and you could just survive. But now? You're barely able to hold yourself up without them.

Their face drops the cheshire grin. They hop down from the stack and pick up the other dolly. "You-- You don't have to do anything. I'm sorry. I…" They sigh. "I'd give you a hug if I could. They'll turn up. They can't go anywhere."

All you can do is just nod.

[injuredcyclist]

Some of the lyrics from Bulls on Parade:

Weapons not food, not homes, not shoes Not need, just feed the war cannibal animal I walk the corner to the rubble that used to be a library Line up to the mind cemetery now What we don't know keeps the contracts alive and movin' They don't gotta burn the books they just remove 'em While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells Rally 'round the family, pockets full of shells

Does any of that sound familiar or topical right now? It sure as fuck does to me.

[vecran]

Weapons, not food, not homes, not shoes Not need, just feed the war cannibal animal I walk the corner to the rubble that used to be a library Line up to the mind cemetery now What we don't know keeps the contracts alive and movin' They don't gotta burn the books, they just remove 'em While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells Rally 'round the family, pocket full of shells

[charminggirl512]

missing goddess // chibs telford x oc

Chibs Telford x F!OC

Warnings: 18+, violence, language

SEASON 7 SPOILERS

Chibs' POV

    I've called her three times. I've texted her at least ten times. I've called Diosa three times as well. No answer from my wife. We've been together for almost a decade and she has never not answered my phone calls. I continue to pace around Red Woody, waiting for her distinct ringtone to call out to me. Nero's cell phone rings, making me jump in anticipation. He stays quiet after he answers, and I know something is about to go down. 

"Jackie boy, what's going on? I need to find Ellie," I ask as I pace back and forth, a path probably beginning to form in the concrete. 

"Diosa," Nero answers before storming out of the building, my brothers quick to follow him. I mindlessly follow, peeling out of the parking lot and eventually breaking formation to pull in front of Jax. I don't give a fuck about club etiquette right now.

Ellie is at Diosa. Ellie is at Diosa. Ellie is at Diosa.

   This chant repeats over and over in my head as I make my way toward the unknown, knowing only that she needs me. My wife needs me and I'm not there. The mother of my children needed me and I was miles away from her.

Ellie's POV

    The shaking won't stop. I feel like my bones are going to rattle out of my body, but I can't calm down. My girls, my beautiful beautiful girls. They're all dead. I had to watch as the life left all of their bodies while I stood there with a gun to my own head. I had to watch as the girls who took care of my children, my husband, my family were brutally murdered by Lin's crew. I almost wish I had been killed with them, just to stop reliving their bodies dropping to the floor.

"They know. Now we just wait until they figure out that we took one with us." Lin's crew had no respect for the club and they definitely didn't have any respect for Jax. One of them vaguely recognized me and decided that I was important enough to use as a hostage.

"They're going to fucking destroy you," I tell them, rage filling my voice. I ignore the tears that haven't stopped falling down my cheeks. Acknowledgment of them is a sign of weakness and I can't be weak right now.

"For some pussy? I doubt it. You're just a pawn to get them here. I doubt you even matter to them," One of them scoffs. I suppress my grin at their lack of knowledge. They have no idea how much they've majorly fucked up. 

"Well, that would be quite shocking considering I'm their vice president's wife." They all have the same 'oh, shit' looks on their face, finally realizing the gravity of their mistake. They're looking around at each other when I hear the most comforting sound in the world - the sound of rumbling motorcycles. 

"Ellie, Ellie!" I cry harder at the sound of Chibs' voice calling out for me. 

   The warehouse door slams open soon after and chaos ensues. I drop to the floor and try to stay as covered as I can. The sound of gunfire doesn't stop for a minute and I try not to picture the bodies dropping, but all I can see and hear is my girls dying over and over again. I cover my ears and close my eyes and I sob as I try to block out the sights and sounds.

   I scream when hands grab my arms, relaxing when I feel the familiar leather kutte underneath my outstretched hands. I open my eyes to see my Filip, a piece of hair laying on his forehead. I cry even harder and he pulls me to him, our bodies touching at every spot that they can. One of his hands pulls my face into his neck as he picks me up, pulling my legs to wrap around his waist. 

   The cold night air is a shock on my skin, but it's welcome. Chibs sets me down on his bike and crouches down in front of me to begin inspecting my body for injuries. He presses kisses to the rope marks on my wrist and I hold my breath until he notices the fingerprints on my neck. I hadn't seen them yet, but I knew that they would be there and I would remember the feeling of them on my skin for the rest of my life.

"One of them held me by my throat to make me watch," I whisper before he can even ask. His grip on my thighs tightens as he closes his eyes. "My girls, Chibs. They killed my girls."

   I had been working at Diosa ever since Nero opened up in Charming. I didn't actually have any clients, but I worked the front and made sure that the girls were taken care of. Lyla helped me out when I was helping out at TM or Scoops. I was like a second mother to those girls and I loved them almost as much as my own boys.

"I'm so sorry, my little lamb. It'll never be enough, but I'm so sorry." I pull him to me and he holds me as I continue to cry. I fear that the tears will never stop coming. 

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Panther Princess; T’Challa x child reader

*Author’s note*

Well this was a LONG time in the making, not only cause of motivation and time schedule wise but I wanted to make sure I GOT THIS FIC RIGHT since this is my first time writing for T'Challa since Chadwick's death last year (MAY HE RIP OUR KING!!!). Hope you guys enjoy this, and I’ve decided that after a few Wattpad requests I’ll open requests up here on Tumblr but there will be some MAJOR adjustments to what fandoms I’ll do. For now just be patient with me and eventually I will open requests here on Tumblr, I just don’t want to be overwhelmed.

Warnings: Malnourishment. abuse, terrorists involved (no action but just the word), some fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@soy-guey

@queen-paladin

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

______________________________________________________________

It was in the dead of night when T’Challa received word about some smugglers were traveling with some stolen Vibranium, and word has it that they were working for Klaue.  Even though he had been dead, Klaue’s business was still running and forging deals with terrorists groups and anti-government parties.

Him and Okoye were flying over towards the drop-off point where the dealers were gonna be exchanging their latest steal of Vibranium.

“The dealers that Klaus’ second Lt. Rosko Lannister is selling the Vibranium to come from an Iranian terrorist group.”

“As usual we will let them make their business transaction before taking any further action. After dealing with the terrorist group and Lannister is ours, he will be put under the same crimes as we would’ve given Klaue.” T’Challa told Okoye.  She nodded as the jet continued to fly towards their destination.

It was just before sunset when at an old, abandoned warehouse Rosko Lannister and some of Klaue’s old men waited for their clients to arrive.  Soon enough driving in the black SUV’s and Honda trucks, the Iranian terrorist group came out of their cars.  Most of them were soldiers holding their AK-47’s close to their chest while out of the head van, 3 men dressed in full 3 piece suits exited the car.

They looked exactly alike for these three men were actually brothers.  Two of them were twins and the other was a year younger than his older twin brothers. Hasim, Sami, and Achmed Israeli were the three leaders of the biggest terrorist group in the world.  There was even record shown that they made deals with HYDRA back in the day.  Mostly smuggled weapons and potential serums for super soldiers.

After the fall back in 2014 when both SHIELD and HYDRA were exposed, the brothers decided to go underground and disappear under the radar.  The US and European governments have been trying to find them ever since but they are too clever and can easily cover their tracks both physically and wirelessly.

“The Israeli brothers. I can’t tell you how honored I am to be doing business with you.” Rosko praised.

“We didn’t come for praises. We came for the Vibranium. Do you have it?” the oldest twin brother Sami demanded.

“Getting down to business. That was one thing my former associate Klaue always appreciated. God rest his soul.” Rosko kissed his finger before raising them upward. “Nah I’m just kidding he was an arsehole, I’m actually glad he’s dead.” He changed his tune.

“The Vibranium. Do you have it or not!?” demanded the younger twin Hasim.

“Patience Hasim. Let the white man talk.” Sami eased his brother.  Rosko turned to one of his guys and nodded.  His left hand man let out a whistle and soon two men come carrying in a large box that was filled with the stolen Vibranium that Klaue had stowed away for himself.

The men set it down before the brothers and Achmed opened the case up to reveal the Vibranium they were looking for.  A small smirk came across Sami’s face and he said.

“Excellent. The most powerful material in the universe.”

“It did come at personal cost from Klaue, better him than me. It’s worth billions. Hope you also kept your end of the deal. This transaction is only fair if both parties agree.” Hasim smirked cunningly and turned to his general.

He nodded and exclaimed in Muslim and before Rosko even knew it. Every single one of his men was shot dead by the Israeli brother’s soldiers, leaving only him alive.

Every gun was now turned on him and Rosko had no choice but to raise his hands slowly.

“True. But when dealing with terrorists you should’ve also realized that there is a price to pay. Especially if you’ve been followed.” Sami said. At this point Rosko was confused.

“What-what-what are you talking about?”

“I’ve been in this game for a long time Mr. Lannister, I’ve seen everything and heard it all. Superheroes, aliens, psychotic androids, even real life wizards. So don’t think for a second that your actions hasn’t risen suspicion to the one who rules the very place where you got this Vibranium from.” Sami closed the case and patted it before his brother Achmed took it and had it put in the truck.

“King T’Challa has no idea of this Vibranium that was stashed away. He’s recovered the traces of Vibranium that Klaue kept public. There’s no way he could know about this.”

“Clearly Klaue had a better game face than you Mr. Lannister. For he wouldn’t have revealed such an important fact to me.” At that moment Rosko knew he had been played by the brothers.  Before he knew it, a bullet went straight into his head and he died right there.

“Surround the area. We don’t leave till the King is dead.” Ordered Achmed to his security team.  The soldiers exclaimed Arabic commands as they surrounded the warehouse with their guns outward and ready to fire.

One guard in particular heard something move behind him and he quickly turned and fired three shots but didn’t hit anything but some old crates.  His paranoia was getting the best of him and that’s what gave him away.  He was suddenly grabbed by the back of his robes and lifted up and beaten till he collapsed to the floor unconscious.

2 more guards heard what was going on and went to check on their fallen soldier when a flash of a figure ran behind them. They quickly turned and fired their guns when suddenly T’Challa came down behind them, quickly disarmed them and knocked them unconscious.

As more of the brother’s security came in and they open fired on T’Challa, he merely walked towards the security before sprinting forward and disarming the rest of them.  His claws tearing their guns apart, and using his quick ‘cat-like’ agility, he managed to take down the entire fleet.

“Israeli brothers!” he cried out.  It was then Sami came out and T’Challa revealed his face to the eldest brother.

“King T’Challa. I must say it is an honor to be in your presence.” Sami mocked.

“Did you really believe we would be unaware of this trade?”

“On the contrary, I expected this all along. It was that witless white monkey Rosko who didn’t expect to see you. But never fear, he’s out of both of our hands.” Sami said nonchalantly as he looked down at his nails.  

“If you surrender the stolen Vibranium to me, we can resolve this peacefully. But refuse, and you’ll face justice of Wakanda in Rosko Lannister’s stand. You and your brothers.”

“See my brothers and I made a pact. If we can’t escape the system, we’d be—how you say, judge jury and executioner to ourselves. And rather than rot in a cell separated, we shall join together in a blaze of glory. And we’re not afraid to take you with us, suffering the same fate as your own father did.” Sami raised his arms out like he was flying and waiting for a fiery explosion to happen.

But nothing came.

He opened his eyes to reveal that nothing had happened.  It was then coming into the open space were Ayo and Okoye who had Sami’s younger brothers. Both men were bruised and battered up pretty badly.  The two Dora Milaje members dropped his brothers down at his feet like trash and T’Challa said.

“I told you. This could’ve been resolved peacefully. But you forced our hand, especially when you had planned to blow up the place with all of us inside.” Sami growled but nonetheless raised his hands in surrender.

As the Dora Milaje were detaining the three brothers, T’Challa retrieved the stolen Vibranium when he heard something nearby.  It sounded like chains, they had defeated all of the security, Rosko and his men were all shot by the Israeli brother’s defense, and the brothers were all detained so who else was here?

“My King?” Okoye asked.

“Stay here Okoye, I want to check something out.” He told his general of the Dora Milaje.

“My king, it could be another threat we do not yet know about. Let me come with you.”

“I’m not defenseless Okoye. Now you and Ayo just put the men on the ship and let me handle this. It could be some animal or the chains fell down off of something.” Okoye nodded to her king and soon T’Challa headed deeper into the warehouse.

As he explored every bit of it, he soon noticed that there appeared to be a hidden door within the walls that was very faintly cracked open.  He opened the door and could hear the sound of the chains getting louder and louder.

It was almost like they were��pacing? They kept a constant rhythm as they would move about, in a circle pattern or something close to it.  T’Challa slowly walked towards the direction of the chains and soon found what appeared to be a cage.  A glass cage but it was inside that surprised the Wakandan King.

Inside the glass was a child.  She appeared to be around the ages of 8-11 years old. Her hair was extremely long and madded like a lion’s mane.  She looked malnourished so much so that you could almost see her bones.  But for being malnourished, how could she have the energy to pace so frantically like she was now?  He also noticed that there around her neck, wrists and ankles were chains keeping her inside.

T’Challa slowly walked out of the shadows and into the light where the child would be able to see him.  She stopped her pacing and just stared at him curiously. T’Challa disengaged his full Black Panther suit so that he was in his normal clothes.

“I am not here to hurt you.” He gently told the child.  The child slightly tilted their head like a lost puppy.  “My name is T’Challa, what’s yours?” T’Challa slowly and slowly got closer and closer to her cage as he spoke in that soft voice of his.  When she didn’t answer him he assured you, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just want to be sure you’re okay.”

Suddenly in the blink of an eye, her (e/c) soon turned to a deep cat eye yellow.  Her body shifted into a fairly young but still decent size panther and she lashed out at the cage, knocking T’Challa off his feet in slight fear.  The child now standing before him as a full panther clawed and roared at the cage furiously.

“My King!” Ayo’s voice spoke in Xhosa and soon her and Okoye came in and when they saw the panther, they lifted up their spears in defense.

“Stand down!” T’Challa commanded them.

“But my king—this animal is feral. It was going to kill you.” Okoye reasoned with him but T’Challa told her.

“She is a human child. She shifted into this panther before my eyes. Look.” Soon enough the panther shrunk down and soon turned back into the young girl who was still pacing back and forth in her cage.

“What sorcery is this?” asked Ayo.

“Not magic. Science. Look closer at her arms.” T’Challa said.  At the section of the arm on the other side of the elbow, they noticed dozens of needle injection scars.

“This child was experimented on.” Okoye said grimly with a horrified expression.

“What do we do my King?” asked Ayo.  T’Challa looked at the child who was growling and trying to act scary even though she was no longer a panther anymore.

“We take her to Shuri. Maybe she can shed more light on the matter. Get her to the ship. But approach her cautiously. Don’t make any sudden movements.” Ayo and Okoye bowed their heads to their king and walked towards the cage.

The girl would hit her skeletal body up against the cage trying to rattle it and actually roared out a panther’s real roar, her teeth slowly growing into the large infamous canines of a real big cat. Okoye and Ayo then placed a hover bead on each end of the cage and soon the cage levitated just a few feet off the ground.

The little girl roared and began clawing at the glass but it hardly did anything as she was now being guided towards the ship.

When they reached Wakanda after dealing with the brothers, Shuri in her lab was going over the girl’s intel scan that she made of the girl from her cage with her kimoyo beads.

“So what is it you can find Shuri?” T’Challa said as he entered his sister’s lab.

“This may come as a surprise to you brother. But—she has no birth record at all. I’ve contacted some of my people in various places around the world to see if there has been any missing child and all of them have said no. My theory is that she may have been created from a test tube to look like this.”

“Any idea who could’ve made her?”

“The same organization that made the White Wolf into the Winter Soldier.”

“Hydra.” T’Challa said gravely.  Shuri nodded.

“I hacked into their old files and it only confirms my theory. Seems like they wanted to create their own Cat-god or something.”

“Any records on what her powers are? She can shift into a panther but can she also shift into anything else?”

“I’m still digging through the files, there’s a lot of files that came to creating her. It’ll take time brother.” T’Challa nodded in understandment.

“Keep me updated.”

“Yes brother.” T’Challa walked away but he turned back towards the young girl and saw that she had briefly stopped her pacing to look at him once again.

A week later after finding the child, Shuri managed to dig up that HYDRA’s plan for the Child was for her to become their Agent Battle Cat.  The ability to shift into a panther.  She also has enhanced agility, speed, and strength.

However when HYDRA fell back in 2014, they were forced to abandon the project and she had been left alone in that warehouse ever since.  Thinking about the enhancing experiments she must’ve been forced to endure or whatever genes they gave her, it allowed her to survive even being chained up in a cage for years on end until she felt like she needed to give up.

While being kept under his sister’s supervision, T’Challa also made it apparent to try and communicate with the Child, just to see if she could either understand or (in a rare case) speak in any language.  The first time he had tried to talk to her well—let’s just say she ended up with broken nails and chipped teeth after trying to take a bite of T’Challa’s forearm when he activated his suit to protect his arm from her attack.

He had finally finished his royal civic duties for the day when he decided to try and talk to the Child again.

“You sure it’s a good idea brother? You did cause her to lose her nails and chipped some of her teeth.”

“I learned my lesson last time. But you weren’t there before that happened. She had actually dropped her guard and almost looked like she wanted to communicate with me. I think I’m getting through to her.”

“Okay brother. But if she attacks you again, I doubt that’ll sit well with Mother as well as Okoye and Ayo.”

“I will handle mama and the Dora Milaje. For now see to it that no one disturbs us.” Shuri nodded and told her workers to go home for now, leaving T’Challa and the Child alone.

T’Challa slowly approached her cage to see her lying down on her side licking her broken nails.  Some of them had broken off by the top, while the rest had the entire nail broken leaving a bloody mess in it’s wake.  She was currently licking her blood stained fingertips when she caught T’Challa’s scent.

She growled and hissed angrily at him, her canine fangs extended out and her eyes shifted into the cold, yellow panther eyes.

“Steady, steady. I’m not here to hurt you.” T’Challa sat down a few feet away from the cage and continued, “I am sorry for what happened to you. I was only protecting myself from getting hurt. It was my fault for overstepping my boundaries.” Her hissing ceased and she closed her mouth hiding her fangs but she would occasionally growl lowly, her tail coming out and twitching anxiously.

They sat there in silence for a couple of minutes when T’Challa said to her.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of a name for you. You know something to call you. I’m betting the men who created you never really gave you a real human name. What do you think about—Ariana?” the Child hissed. T’Challa chuckled, “Didn’t think so. Shuri said you might like it but now I can prove to her that I was right. Now for the real options, what about…….Nala?” the child tilted her head confused.  “No? What about…..Diana?” she looked down and went back to licking her fingertips. “That won’t really help them heal. Sure it’ll clot the blood but it’s not that good for saliva to heal a wound like that.”

She looked up at T’Challa and growled lowly.

“I’m just trying to help. We have the medicine that’ll help you. I won’t lie it might sting for a brief second but it’ll help. Will you trust me with healing you, please?” the child looked between him and her fingers before slowly extending her arms out and she briefly nodded.

T’Challa then got some antiseptic and band-aids. He opened up a small section of the cage, just enough for her arms to come out.

“Thank you for your trust.” He then began to doctor her fingertips.  She let out some painful roars on the stubbed fingertips that no longer had a nail anymore but at least this time she didn’t try to attack him like last time.  He soothed her with calming phrases like ‘it’s okay. It’s won’t last long.’ And ‘Just relax, it’s almost over.’ After bandaging up her left pinkie finger he told her, “There, I’m done (Y/n).”

At hearing that name, she looked up at T’Challa curiously.  Her tail perked up and the tip curled inward.  T’Challa looked at her to see her tail fall limp to the cage floor. “(Y/n)?” her tail lifted up again and her head tilted curiously.  “So you like that name eh?” She looked at T’Challa and her nose twitched as she was trying to sniff him through the glass.

Taking a risk, he slowly reached his hand into the cage once more like before.  However this time he kept his hand in a downward position, so that his hand formed the shape of another cat’s nose.  The Child slowly crept towards his hand and gave it a sniff, when she saw that he wasn’t moving his hand, she rubbed her head against his hand for a brief second before nuzzling underneath his palm so that it sat on top of her head.

He gently began scratching her scalp which caused her to let out soft comforting purrs.  T’Challa smiled warmly and continued to gently give the child—well (Y/n) some more scritches and pets.

“Don’t you worry (Y/n). I promise I won’t allow anyone else to harm you in any shape or form.”

The next couple of months after getting her body weight back to normal and healing any other wounds she had maintained, T’Challa allowed (Y/n) to venture outside the palace with him.  Thinking the city itself was too much for her right now, he decided to take her out to the Border tribe so that she could see the outside world for the first time in her life.

Needless to say she was overwhelmed but she was happy to feel the grass beneath her feet, see the beautiful landscape, and hear all the sounds of the outside world from the animal calls to some of the Border tribe members talking with each other.

“Seems she’s getting along well.” Okoye observed (Y/n) who was cautiously watching the rhinos from their pins.

“Slowly but surely she is. Walking on two feet is still a bit of a challenge but she’ll get there eventually.” T’Challa told her.

“At least she’s learned to not attack you.”

“It was one time Okoye, be nice.”

“As your General it is my duty—”

“I understand your duty General. But you must also know that there will be times you can’t protect me. And this attack was very minor compared to the fights I’ve been in before.” It was then T’Challa saw (Y/n) now focusing her attention on some birds that had just landed a few feet away from the rhino pins.  Her panther instincts kicked in as she got into pouncing position, her pupils were fully blown and her shoulder blades flexed over one another as her butt raised higher and higher in the air.

Finally she raced forward and the birds immediately took off flying.  She leaped well over 7ft in the air and managed to capture a bird in her claws and delivered a fatal bite.  She then raced over to T’Challa and presented him the dead bird.

She placed it on the ground before his feet and backed away before tilting her head with a happy smile on her face.

“Seems she has a gift for you my King.” Okoye said. T’Challa grimaced at the gift but he quickly smiled down at her and knelt down in front of her.

“I appreciate the gift (Y/n). But—we cannot keep this bird kept within a cage. Like how I freed you, we must also allow this bird to move onto the next life.” He dug into the earth for a small shallow grave, just big enough for the bird and he placed the bird into the makeshift grave.  He buried it under the earth and he sent a brief prayer to Bast in Wakandan. “Right, now let’s head back to the palace. I have a meeting with M’Baku about reforging our alliance and allowing the Jabari tribe into the council.”

Okoye and T’Challa walked ahead when they heard something behind them.  At first they thought it was one of the goats but it sounded to hoarse to be one of them. They slowly turned around and saw (Y/n) with a hand over the grave of the bird and she was saying.

“Ba……Ba.”

“Is she……?” Okoye started.

“Ba.” (Y/n) was trying to talk!  She was trying to say the Cat goddess Bast’s name.  She managed to get out the first constant and vowel but she couldn’t figure out how to do her S and T.

“Her first time talking. She’s trying to say Bast’s name.” T’Challa knelt down and he asked her, “(Y/n), are you trying to give a prayer to Bast?”

“Ba!” she exclaimed again.  T’Challa was overjoyed on the inside that the girl he had decided to take under his wing and raise was finally trying to talk.  Many of the tutors he and Shuri had growing up had given up saying that she was incapable of speaking because all she did was just hiss and growl as well as throw things at them before laughing like a deranged hyena.

“Here I’ll help you say her name.” he adjusted himself so that he sat down and he placed his hand right next to hers and he said slowly so that she could see how his lips did it. “Say Bast.”

“Ba.”

“Bast.”

“Ba.” T’Challa shook his head.

“Watch me carefully. Bast.” He enunciated the t at the end.  (Y/n) growled lowly before taking a deep inhale and finally exclaiming.

“BAST!”

“Yes. Yes that’s it! You did it (Y/n) great job!” at seeing T’Challa’s excitement, (Y/n) began to repeat Bast’s name gleefully as she pranced around.

“A little cocky there isn’t she?” Okoye muttered.

“Let her have this moment Okoye. Besides probably hunting and killing, this is her first real big achievement. A normal milestone.”

“I suppose so.” She agreed.  Even though she might not have wanted to admit it, she thought it was adorable how little (Y/n) was finally able to speak a human language and become so happy with herself that she would prance around like a yearling antelope.

Over the next couple of years, (Y/n) continued to not only advance in her human speaking skills, but she now began to show signs of aging.  She went from that small child to now almost a young adult woman in just 2 years since finding her.  Seemed with the animal enhancement, it also increased her human aging with each time she grew stronger and tougher.

T’Challa continued to raise her as his own and pretty soon all of Wakanda looked at her as their young Princess.  Shuri loved hanging out with (Y/n) and teaching her everything there was to know about science and technology.  She even took her as an apprentice in her lab.  Okoye eventually came around and soon saw (Y/n) as a member of the royal family and took it upon herself to train her like a Dora Milaje so that she could defend herself without the need of her animal powers.

For she was the Panther Princess.

[earlgreydream]

red.

| bucky x reader | smut | fluff |

anon requested. using your safeword with Bucky

cw: spanking, overstimulation, impact play, use of safeword, humiliation kink

Bucky watched you shudder, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. Your soft sobs echoed in his ears, and you tensed anxiously as you heard him shift his weight.

Every movement and sound from Bucky had you bracing yourself, fearing another lash from the designer belt in his hand. He’d delivered countless red stripes across your burning skin, pulled tight from your unforgiving position.

Your pleas and apologies fell on deaf ears, and you’d given up after Bucky’s tenth blow. You bit the inside of your lip so hard a metallic taste filled your mouth, all in an attempt to silence your pathetic crying.

The mahogany tabletop was cold against your bare skin. You were stripped fully naked in front of your dom, while he remained clothed, adding to your humiliation. Your face were sticky with tears, your cheek resting on the tabletop as your eyes trained on the pale yellow wall of your kitchen.

Your body jolted forward as Bucky’s belt cracked down against your skin, sending a sharp stripe of pain through the burning flesh, up your spine and into your core. Your muscles tightened around the silicone that was buried in your bum, which Bucky pressed or tugged on every so often to increase your discomfort.

The pain was intense, blurring your vision and stinging through your skin with crimson heat. Your muscles ached as you squeezed around the jeweled toy, and you were raw from Bucky’s earlier overstimulation.

Bucky watched the black leather connect with your skin, harshly reminding you to never repeat the transgressions that had put you here.

Sheriff Bodecker had caught you trespassing, trying to break into a warehouse. Your friends had fled but you had been caught with no possibility of escape. Your dom, Bucky, didn’t even realize you’d snuck out while he’d been pulling a late night in his office, and was furious when he got the phone call from his best friend. Luckily, because of their relationship, you were let off with a warning.

You may have gotten lucky with the law, but you’d rather have spent a night in a holding cell then bent over the table in front of a very angry Bucky.

Your punishment had lasted hours. Your throat was raw from being brutally fucked, followed by being overstimulated to the point it was like white-hot pain when Bucky’s tongue lapped through your folds.

The leather belt connecting with the underside of your ass, right at the top of your thighs, had all the air knocked out of your lungs. Two more hits came in quick succession, and the pain was practically blinding.

You couldn’t endure anymore, long past your limit. You’d tried to tough it out and be brave, knowing it would please Bucky and get you in his good graces. And you had taken your punishment well, but now you were so small and weak and brutalized in front of him, you had to put an end to it.

“Red, red!” You cried, trembling as your safeword came out in a scream.

Bucky’s belt hit the floor, and his entire demeanor shifted instantly.

“Y/N, my love, it’s okay, you’re done, beautiful. I’m so sorry for not stopping earlier,” his voice was gentle and tinged with concern.

He moved to kiss your cheek, gently laying his hands on your back.

“I’m scared,” you confessed tearfully, and guilt bubbled up in his chest.

“Oh my love, you’re completely safe. We’re alright, you did great,” he praised you, taking the smaller hand that reached for his. It grounded you a bit, and you squeezed him tightly.

“Going to get this out of you, yeah? Deep breath for me,” he guided you, pulling the silicone toy out of you. You choked on a sob at the action, folding your arms under you and hugging your body tightly.

“I tried to take it,” you mumbled, desperate for Bucky’s approval.

“Doll, I know. I was too hard on you, but you took it so well,” Bucky’s gentle reassurance calmed you.

Bucky watched as you started shivering, your body cold from the kitchen temperatures and the cream he was applying to your burning skin. He apologized softly for the discomfort, kissing the back of your shoulder blade. 

He gently helped you up, noting your timid footsteps as you walked painfully back to your bedroom, slipping one of his oversized cotton shirts over your head, covering your body without irritating your skin any further. 

Bucky caught your hand, turning you toward him and gazing into your glassy eyes. He cradled your face and pulled you into a loving kiss, relaxing a bit as you melted forward into his body, wrapping your arms around his neck. He whispered how much he loved you into your lips, his large hands snaking to your waist and gently squeezing you. 

“Can I get you to eat and drink some water?” he asked as he kissed your neck.

“Tea?” you tried, making the soldier grin at you.

“Anything you want, doll.”

You returned his smile, walking to the living room and laying on your stomach, one of the yellow throw pillows tucked under your head. The aftercare you received from Bucky was always worth it, and you smiled as cinnamon tea and chocolate was set in front of you, while a fantasy TV show played softly on Netflix. 

Bucky let you get comfortable on his lap, his hand coming to settle on your waist. He watched you eat, the color slowly returning to your face and your eyes brightening. There were no traces of distrust or anger in your gaze, and Bucky let himself relax as you curled up on top of him. 

You drifted off on your boyfriend, the leftover tension in your body fading as sleep consumed you. He lightly traced over the marks on your skin, making you sigh and stir. He kissed your temple, promising he loved you.

You woke up a couple hours later, feeling significantly better than you had in the morning. Bucky held a book in his hand, silver eyes traveling over the words as his free hand traced the divets of your spine through your thin shirt.

“I love you,” you yawned, stretching your arms and moving to sit on his lap, ignoring the dull pain as you settled down on top of him. He kissed you, setting his book aside and focusing his entire attention on you. 

“You alright?” 

You nodded, giggling as his scruffy face brushed against your cheeks, kissing you everywhere and tickling you.

“Need to hear your words, doll.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you held him still and pressed your lips against his.

You dragged your fingers through his dark hair, earning a pleased hum from Bucky. His arms snaked tightly around your waist, hugging you against his chest. He wanted to keep you in his arms forever, and you were more than happy to let him. 

“Are you going to stop fretting?” You asked, kissing along his neck. 

“No. I’m going to worry about you, especially after seeing you crying and screaming our safeword.”

“If I wasn’t okay, I would’ve been on the first train out of Brooklyn. Trust me like I trust you, Bucky.”

He knew you were right, and he relaxed a bit, letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“Besides, if I left, who would watch Netflix with me?” you teased.

“Nobody. You’re lucky to have me,” Bucky lightly nipped at your shoulder, and you shrieked with giggles, struggling out of his arms as you tried to turn the show back on.