#but you can see from your lane me in the passenger seat flipping the bird while we drivw through elves looking for the dream boy

[zanarkand-babes]

Me, sobbing while looking for content of my boy: his last name is stormsurfer tag him with it you don't need to double tag it with just his first name the og sinspawn had the name first you animals this is my boy erasure

[twriteskpop]

ADRENALINE (Jungkook AU x OC )

The silence of Delilah's apartment was the welcome letter to the thoughts penetrating her sleepless mind. Between work and the drama she had escaped from not too long ago,  she had plenty to think about.  However,  Delilah was tired of letting the poisonous brain seep into every gyrus her brain had. A year ago she would have just smoked marijuana and used that as a sort of pest control for trauma. She'd given that up after she moved back to Florida,  calling it a cleansing.  392 days of the protruding thoughts finally caught up to her. Tempted by her neighbors that she grew close to,  she held strong.  They had offered her the green substance many times considering they were never sober,  except in slumber.  The neighbors reminded Delilah of Dank and Dabby from the Netflix series Disjointed. They were always high on marijuana, were comical,  but had hearts of gold. They lived in the apartment beside her and were friendly with her from the day she moved in, 392 days before.

Delilah was strong, but even Superman had his weakness. Superman had kryptonite,  Delilah had her thoughts. She needed them to go away even for a brief period of time.  

Delilah pushed the salad bowl off of her lap and onto the coffee table. She picked up her phone and began texting her neighbors. Instantly,  she got a response. Bennet and Clarissa were two kind hearted people who became two of the only people Delilah could call friends and they were well aware of this,  so they kept an eye out for her. This included always being available to talk.  

It was no shock to Delilah as her phone buzzed and Clarissas name popped up on her screen.  She clicked open her phone and read the grey bubble: Hey D!  Btw, our dog climb over to ur balcony again? Delilah pushed herself off of the couch and walked over to her sliding glass door.  For what seemed to be the tenth time this month,  the golden Retriever had been laying on her empty balcony,  enjoying the cool weather. The balconies were connected by one wall that was waist high for a 5'3 person.  It may have not been the best architecture but she didn't expect any less for how cheep the rent was. Delilah reached over the wall and knocked on the glass door. Clarissa came walking out eating what looked to be a triple chocolate chip cookie. Delilah smiled at her taller friend and pointed to the ground,  "Tuck likes my balcony more,  apparently." Clarissa finished the last bite of her cookie and asked for Delilah to meet her in the breezeway.  

Delilah beckoned Tuck inside her apartment and out the front door where Clarissa had been waiting.  Tuck sat beside Clarissa as she spoke,  "thanks girl. We have some cookies we made,  some without… you know, we made those ones just for you.  We were going to bring them in the morning but then you texted. Speaking of,  what did you need?" Delilah took a deep breath and smiled up at her neighbor,  she must have just retouched her bright red hair because it looked more like a fire truck on this day,  than ever before.  "I would actually like one of the special cookies.  And a number… to your supplier. If that's okay?" Clarissa flicked a brow up at her in suspicion.

"You a narc now?" She scrunched her perfectly arched brows. Delilah shook her head,  letting out a slight chuckle,  "I'm starting to forget why I quit in the first place." Clarissa frowned and pulled out her phone. She typed frantically and Delilah felt a buzz in her pocket.  "Thanks," Delilah smiled. Clarissa went inside her own apartment and put the dog inside,  returning soon after with a Tupperware bowl of cookies.

"The wrapped ones are the special. We were about to start a movie if you wanted to come over?" Clarissa informed,  leaving her apartment door open just enough for them to enter.  However,  Delilah was exhausted and had an opening shift at the diner so she politely declined. She walked back into her apartment,  placing the cookies on the counter,  unwrapping the marijuana one and went to lay down.  The cookies smelled rich of cocoa and were soft at the first bite. She could hardly taste the thc,  which means it was very well made,  and with every bite she felt like her tongue was sitting in a bath of chocolate.  It was heaven.

Clarissa and Bennet were Delilahs first friends when she moved back,  and became like family over the year.  They hung out multiple times a week and always did favors for each other.  She knew she could pay for the cookies in dog sitting later.  

It took twenty minutes of mindless scrolling through Instagram for the thc to kick in and slowly,  and quietly,  she fell asleep.

For the first time in months,  Delilah woke up to the sound of her bird song alarm without wanting to throw her phone through the glass window. She woke up refreshed.  She sat up from her bed,  walked over to her shower and began getting ready for the day.  She works in a 50's style diner with a perverted boss named Tim,  so her uniform was a short poodle skirted dress,  50's style shoes,  and hair in a high pony with a matching bow. It was a cute uniform,  but the sexual harassment that came as an accessory was not.

She got into her yellow '67 Volkswagen Beatle and drove the thirty minutes to work, without the touch of dread she normally had about going to work at six in the morning.  

The roads were empty,  and so was the parking lot.  Only three cars were in the employee spots,  including hers.  She felt some relief that the chef was beside the owners car,  this would mean Tim wouldn't be able to harass her too much this morning.

She walked into the checkered, from wall to floor, diner.  She was greeted by the familiar smell of coffee,  maple bacon,  and sweet pancakes. She punched in her ID number on the tablet in the back,  then made her way to the front of the kitchen,  tying her apron around her waist.  She knew Tony was going to be in his usual spot at the grill,  working on making plates for the staff before opening at 6:30.  Tony was a tall,  buff,  Italian man who had a thick new york-italian accent. His hair was gelled back and he fit every stereotype anyone could think of when it comes to an Italian-american, which he would gladly tell anyone.

Tony passed her a plate,  smiling per usual. "You have so much energy in the morning.  I'm envious," Delilah smiled,  pulling a fork from the tray. She bit into a dry pancake,  savoring the natural sweetness. She then moved on to a slice of bacon before hitting start on the coffee machines. Tony glanced at her with a side-eye,  "someone's actually eating the food I make for her?  Is the world ending?  I better tell ma!" Delilah poured herself a cup of coffee and lifted a brow at him,  "Tony,  I eat." He chuckled,  shaking his head while flipping the linked sausage,  "I have known you for… what?  A year now?  You take baby bites of everything and say you're full. Ma says you're tryna be skinny when I tell her all about it.  It hurts my feelings you know?  You're a beautiful lady!  Thin as a twig I'd say-" He was rambling,  but cut off by Tim walking through the swinging black kitchen doors. "Open in five," The blonde,  heavyset man in his late 30's smiled at the sight of Delilah,  "hey hot stuff. Mrs. Marigold is already at her table. Coffee." Delilah brushed off the comment and poured the sweet grey haired woman a cup of coffee.  She was a regular,  so Delilah knew she would want exactly three spoons of sugar and a splash of sweet cream.

The hours of the morning shift had passed and Delilah was soon to be off work.  Tim was full of inappropriate remarks and gropings per usual,  making this day just like any other.  When she got off work,  she climbed into her Volkswagen and pulled out her phone. She opened the message from Clarissa the night before.

Delilah hesitated as she copied and pasted the number into her text message bar. Being medicated last night made sleeping easier,  and even boosted her mood this morning but it made her feel numb. Being numb had it's ups but it caused a lot of downs prior to her decision to quit.  Sure marijuana stopped her from thinking and it wasn't a heavy drug so she could still have mild thoughts,  but some things she should have thought about,  she impulsively did because she was high. However,  smoking was more responsible than drinking because she was able to think and could remember everything. She hasn't ever been a real drinker,  but people close to her were and she would tell you that she's seen people worse off drunk,  than high.

After ten minutes had passed of just staring at the screen,  she began typing the number,  making her final decision.

Hello,  I got your number from Clarissa S. Can you meet today?  

Her engine roared to life and she shifted her gear into drive. The radio was softly playing today's pop hits from Spotify linked to her phones Bluetooth. The Orlando afternoon traffic was irritating to most people,  but she had no where to be except home.  So as she drove,  weaving in and out of lanes,  letting tourists with out of state plates pass her at any opportunity,  she began to think of the bad decisions she made by simply being high.  Numb to dumb,  as she called it several times.  She had never done anything criminal,  but definitely ended up in several dangerous situations. It was not enough to get her to change her mind now.  She enjoyed the sleep she got and Tim's harassment had not bothered her too much today,  all because of the sleep last night.  It was a butterfly effect she wanted to feel again.  

As she pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, she heard the phone ping in the passenger seat. She parked in her usual spot, next to the stairs of her building, and reached to read the notification.

I can meet in 15 min at Bill Fredrick park. Text me when you get there. First time meetings are in public. See you then. JK

------------------- A/N I'm so happy to be back.  I've been writing on a different account and I've definitely improved.  😌 PLEASE Leave feedback if you want! I love tips too!  I have big plans for this.  

-T

[doctorcolubra]

How about Eleanora or the Fall of the House of Usher for Jarrich? (Fluffy or no, I'm interested in what you do with these!!)

I say that I want to write drabbles or ficlets and then end up with almost 3K, typical. I really want to get better at short-form stuff (still taking prompts if anyone wants to send more). 

I’m in a haunted house mood for fall so here’s Fall of the House of Usher! 

_____________

Richard doesn’t like driving, or at least he doesn’t like traffic. The hostility, the birds flipped, the goddamn honking. He’s doing okay out here in the country, on empty roads where no one can take offense at his speed, his signalling, his sloppy lane changes or his occasional hasty U-turns. Jared’s in the passenger’s seat, asleep. Collar askew, hair windblown, lips parted—keep your eyes on the road, Hendricks.They’re driving back to Palo Alto from the Central Sierra Audobon Society Birders’ Convention. “I was going to be Muriel’s plus-one,” Jared had said one day last week. “But I suppose I can go alone. I have my safety whistle.”“For what, bears?”

“Of course. With black bears, your best strategy is to stand your ground, if you’ll forgive an expression sadly tainted by the legal system. You make yourself look as big as you can.” Jared held his arms out wide, hands in his raincoat pockets to make his skinny frame broader. “And that’s where the whistle comes in. Noise frightens the bear off. Those same tactics would probably get you killed if you ever met a grizzly, though,” he added. “But you won’t. In spite of what the state flag would have you believe, the last grizzly bear in California was shot in the ‘20s.”

“Where is this place?” Richard said, and then: “Don’t go alone, for fuck’s sake. Can I go? With you, I mean?”

“Richard…” Jared lit up. “Oh, I would love to take you. But I couldn’t possibly take you away from—you have so many things to think of…”Even Jared couldn’t quite pretend that Richard is still a busy CEO.So they did BirdCon. Richard was wondering if he needed glasses or whether he was just bad at this hobby, because Jared and the other birders kept losing their minds over woodpeckers, warblers, flycatchers, sparrows, raptors and vireos. Richard, once, correctly identified a squirrel. Jared drove here, anyway, so Richard’s returning the favour on the way home.And he’s not lost. He’s not. He’s supposed to be in some town called Confidence on the edge of Yosemite Park, and follow the highway from there to Modesto, and from there he can figure his business out.The Google Maps lady has been giving suspicious instructions for awhile now, though, and Richard doesn’t think he’s anywhere close to Confidence. Which, ha ha, super funny. He’s on a stretch of road that’s…well, not desolate. It’s pretty. Hills, grass, trees. Whatever. But he’s trying to figure out if Google Maps Lady is on the level, and the land around them doesn’t hold any clues.When a cop car rolls up behind him, he’s almost relieved. (Almost. He’s sweating a lot.) Jared jerks awake while Richard fumbles with the window switch.The stocky, brown-skinned cop bends to the window. “You boys looking for the casino?”“Wh—no,” Richard says. They couldn’t have blundered into Nevada somehow. Right? No, absolutely not. “We’re…are we near Confidence? The town, I mean?”“You’re on Miwok tribal land,” says the cop. “Tuolumne Rancheria.”“Oh.” Richard has no clue where that is in relation to Confidence, Yosemite, Modesto, or Palo Alto. Fucking Google. “Um, sorry. Are we allowed to—we shouldn’t be here, right?”The cop avoids a complicated question of colonialism. “You’re not in trouble, just thought you might be lost. Casino’s down that way. Where you coming from, Jamestown?”“We were up in Yosemite, for—for BirdCon—and we were supposed to pass through Sugarpine and then Confidence,” Richard says, disconnecting his phone from the cord and showing the officer the screen. “The GPS voice kept saying to stay on 108, and I was doing that, and then the road turned into the E17…”The cop looks at Richard’s phone and chuckles. “You’re real lost, wow. I don’t even know how you did that.”Between the two of them, they determine that Richard had made some catastrophic error while typing the address into GPS, and Maps is now trying to send them to Confidence, New Mexico. Richard is indignant—the one thing he wouldn’t fuck up is data entry—and blames Google’s shoddy user interface and aggressive auto-correct.“Yeah, maybe,” says the cop with a shrug. “But you’re still going the wrong way.”“Oh,” Jared says suddenly, softly, looking ahead. He’s been quiet and bleary from taking an extra allergy pill, but now the haze has lifted. “Oh, no, I know just where we are.”Richard turns back to look at him. “You do?”“I used to live near here. For awhile. Not on the reservation, naturally. But I know this road. Thank you, officer, we’ll be fine from here,” says Jared to the tribal cop, who wishes them goodnight and heads back to his truck.“You don’t have to drive,” Richard says, plugging his phone back in. “My fuck-up, I got it taken care of.”“No, not at all—I’m so sorry I fell asleep on you, Richard.” Jared is straightening his collar, brushing his dark hair back into place with his fingers. “I should have stayed awake to navigate—”“Come on. It’s the end of the day, it’s my turn.”“Okay. But could we…no, that’s self-indulgent of me…”“What?”“I think—I think I might like to drive past the house. If it wouldn’t take us too far out of our way. We don’t have to stop, even, but…” Jared trails off, looking out the window at the hills. “Only if there’s time. I’m sure there’s not.”“There’s lots of time, now that we’re not…going to fuckin’ New Mexico. Just—point me where we’re going, it’s okay,” Richard says. Muriel would have stopped for Jared. “We’ll take a look.”The house is low and white and dead, like a broken eggshell lying amid the trees. Peeling paint, windows boarded, a child’s plastic car lying sun-bleached on its side, no cars in the gravel driveway. Jared doesn’t seem disappointed—in fact, he’s quietly elated. “It’s empty,” he says in wonder, staring out the window. “It’s all empty.”“That’s…too bad,” Richard says, but he’s guessing. “Is it? Did you like this place?”“No,” Jared says, the way he always says these things. Light, soft, without rancour. He hasn’t looked away from the shabby house in the trees. “I didn’t at all. Could we—no, I’ve already taken us out of our way��”“You want to get a closer look?”“Maybe. Yes. For a minute or two, Richard, not long.”The grass is knee-high around the front yard, where the trees clear, and Richard can see glimpses of weeds out back that would come up to his shoulders. He’s picking his way carefully toward the door, convinced that he’ll step on a snake at any minute. Poisonous snakes. He’ll get bitten. Richard is not mentally or spiritually equipped to be bitten by a snake, it’s haunted his nightmares ever since he was a reluctant Boy Scout in Tulsa. He’ll end up in the hospital being laughed at by that goddamn doctor. Then a painful death, then—“The door’s off its hinges,” Jared says. “We could go inside.”“Is that safe?” Part of Richard wants to shake Jared out of this reverie: don’t look at this, don’t remember, don’t get lost. But he knows that if he did, Jared would apologise profusely and never mention the house again. And that’s bad, Richard knows. Because something bad must have happened here. “Are you okay with this, man? We don’t have to go in. I mean, I will. I know you came to check out Peter Gregory’s stuff with me, so. Fair’s fair. But…I’m not trying to—to talk you out of it, unless…like, unless you want me to talk you out of it?”Jared has opened his backpack (practical, pristine, everything tucked in orderly pockets) to get out his flashlight. But he looks back at Richard and smiles. “It’s funny,” he says. “I barely remember the year I lived here. The brain is an amazing organ—there we are…” The flashlight’s blue-white glow shivers over the front hall of the house. “Hello? Anyone here?”Silence. The flashlight’s a necessity, but there’s still some sunlight streaming in from outside, and that’s all that’s holding Richard together. It’s not dark yet, but as Bob Dylan said, it’s getting there. Everything’s dusty. Good thing Jared’s already popped an allergy pill.Richard follows Jared, using his phone for more light, looking at the time capsule of a house. Harvest gold and avocado kitchen, landline phone on the wall with its cord a cramped spiral tangle. Warped bookshelves disgorging hoarded piles of magazines. Someone must have tried to clean the place before giving up: there are garbage bags and boxes everywhere, Pine-Sol and Febreze bottles, mops and brooms at rest in the corners. The ceilings are water-stained and in places the paint has buckled away from the wall, bubbling outward in layers that Richard instinctively wants to peel away.“What are we looking for?” he asks Jared.“Nothing,” Jared says, tentatively pushing open a half-closed bedroom door. A teenage girl’s room, walls papered with Tiger Beat and Big Bopper pages. Jonathan Brandis, the Hanson boys, Leo in his salad days, young and green. (Richard knows too much about magazines from this era. But that’s another story.) “Nothing special—oh, Richard, don’t look so frightened, please. We can go back to the car.”“No,” Richard says, stubborn now. “Not until you’re done with…this. Closure. Right? That’s what this is. Isn’t it?”“Maybe part of the process of closure, yes.” Jared moves to the next bedroom door. “This wasn’t the worst place I ever lived. I think I was relieved to get here. It felt safe, safer. Back then. The Alguires were strict, but they didn’t hurt me. Just…I’ve forgotten so much about living here. If you’d asked me yesterday to list all the homes I’ve ever had, I would’ve left this one off the list. But I was here for almost a year. Eleven months, I think.”“How old were you?”“Ten.”“I don’t remember ten either, really,” says Richard, staying in the teen girl’s room and raising his voice a little to be heard. “I mean I know where I was and what I was doing. We never moved, same house in Tulsa all my life. But I don’t remember being ten. It sucked, I know that.”“How come?”“School.” Richard used to rage over this, why did they do it, what was wrong with me, but in Palo Alto everyone else had a similar story, and he got over it. Kinda. “Everyone hated me.”“They just weren’t ready for you,” comes Jared’s voice from the other room, as inexplicably fond as always. “The solitary genius.”Sometimes Richard’s not sure if Jared’s making fun of him or not. Who could actually believe this stuff? What would it even be like to be so earnest? Terrifying, Richard thinks.He’s afraid that somewhere in this house they’ll find something really dark: chains and shackles on a radiator, or a potty chair in a locked closet. The house is depressing, but in an ordinary way. The former inhabitants must have verged on clinical hoarding, but the situation wasn’t bad enough to get on TLC. Just a particularly good archaeological record of the early ‘90s.Richard makes his way further down the hall, still on the lookout for snakes. It’s darker, and then, suddenly, brighter—the back door is gone, open to the audience of Sonora pines. Shafts of slow gold afternoon sunlight break through into the dark little house, nurturing a tidepool of vegetation. Moss is spreading across the rotting wooden floorboards, with leggy weeds crowding in the brightest spots. Tiny green tendrils trace paths from the shadows into the light, breaking into full leaf where the sun hits. The air smells damp, fresh, alive when everything else in this house seems dead. Flourishing.He wanders back to find Jared in the other bedroom. Jared’s poking through a big Rubbermaid tub that seems to be full of toys: headless Barbies and uncanny baby dolls, loose Lego, die-cast cars, green plastic army men, neon water pistols empty of their charges.But then a look of recognition breaks over his face and he reaches in to pull out a recorder, still in its blue plastic sleeve, a sheet of music folded inside.“Mrs. Alguire hated noise,” Jared says. “This was her house, the year I lived here. She used to confiscate inappropriate toys. I don’t mean to say she was unkind—she was a step up from my aunt’s place. But she did like silence. And I…” He slides the recorder out of its plastic sleeve. “I always wanted to play an instrument, or—when I got to Vassar I was allowed to sing. I liked that. But one day I found this in the inappropriate toys box. Even if I couldn’t make music, I thought…I thought I could make noise. Maybe somebody would notice if I was loud. I don’t know what I wanted them to notice. I was already getting as much help as anyone could give me.”“Not enough.” Richard is beside him, digging through the Rubbermaid tub too, examining the Barbies and the Hot Wheels and all the other miscellanea in the pile. “I had one of those plastic recorders for about three days,” he says. “My parents took it away too. Not that—I mean, it’s not the same as your thing.”“Well, some adult reactions become more sympathetic as we get older.” Jared polishes the dust off the recorder with a clean tissue from his pocket. “But the recorder was a very important part of early music, you know. Some beautiful airs were written for it. No instrument sounds very pleasant when it’s made of plastic and costs a dollar.”“Yeah, true.” Richard fishes the sheet music out of the recorder’s sleeve and unfurls it, skimming the notes. He has no talent himself, something he discovered from the childhood piano lessons that he got and Jared didn’t. “‘Early One Morning’—oh, I remember this from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer…”Jared laughs. “You’re so cultured, Richard.”“Okay, that, right there, that was making fun of me,” Richard says—he’s grinning, not even mad, just relieved that he finally caught Jared just teasing him for being an idiot, the way a normal person would. “You know goddamn well that’s not cultured.”“I would never judge you for—”“You should, though, Jared. You should judge the hell out of me. For everything.” Richard bumps his arm gently against Jared’s, one of the few tactile gestures of friendliness that he’s learned how to use properly. “You’re gonna blast some ‘Early One Morning’ right now, aren’t you?”“I shouldn’t.”“It’s your moment, c’mon.” Richard likes to tempt Jared—sometimes to make him do things he needs to do for his own good, sometimes for more selfish reasons. To enjoy Jared’s purity, and to feel it crumble. “We’re a million miles away from anything. You’re not gonna bother anybody.”“Well…” Jared looks down at the recorder in his hands and smiles. “A little bit. Okay.”They walk out into the sprouting back hall, over the crumbling floors, where the weeds are winning in the sun. Richard gets his phone earbuds out of his pocket and puts them in as makeshift earplugs.Jared takes a deep breath and blows the recorder like a shofar, a raucous high-pitched whistle. Not playing any note in particular, just blasting it as loud as he possibly can, with all the air in his lungs. Not music, only noise. Serious noise. Richard can hear it even through his earbuds. It echoes through the pines, loud enough to frighten off a black bear.It’s a silly, childish sound—it brings back memories for Richard too. He used to annoy his parents with plastic recorders and cheap harmonicas and the repetitive sounds of Bach’s French Suite No. 3 by way of Tetris on his GameBoy. He’d had the freedom to bug people without having to worry about whether he might lose the roof over his head for it.When Jared stops, he looks satisfied for a brief moment, then guilty. “I feel so foolish,” he says. “I don’t know what I was expecting. We came so far out of our way just for that.”“You were trying to remember and you did. And we’d already gone out of our way, right?” Richard smiles at him. “I was trying to take us to Confidence, New Mexico. I’m the foolish one here, I’m Boo Boo the Fool.”“Never.” Jared reaches out for Richard, almost aimless: straightening one of the strings on his hoodie, fingers brushing over Richard’s shoulder.Jared starts to say something, and Richard is afraid that it’s thank you, which is bullshit—I’ve given him nothing, I’ve done nothing but take—so he leans in to wrap an arm awkwardly around Jared’s waist. “Let’s go home.

[ilikemilkbread]

i had a nightmare again last night and since this was coherent im gonna write it up. im not putting it in my dreamtag tho

it started as a sweet dream. a momma cat was crossing the road with her kittens - waddling, almost storybook, with a kitten in her mouth and two trailing behind. the only issue was that shed chosen to walk close to a roundabout and she was very not visible with how short she was, and she didnt seem to notice the threat of the cars.

i made the decision to walk beside her, hands waving wide so if anyone turned off of the rounabout theyd see me and stop. i knew it was kinda bad of me cause i could get hit or cause an accident, but i didnt want these cats getting hit.

only one car turned into the lane before the kittens fully crossed. it was an old, beat up ute - the kind of greeny browny grey where you cant tell what colour it was painted and what was dirt. the man driving it was going far too fast around the corner to stop before me, so he kept his speed and swerved around me and cat momma.

“fuck you,” he shouted from his window. the man riding in the passenger seat flipped the bird. i repeated the insult back to them. that was the moment of my mistake.

i began to see the two men regularly. i think they were stalking me - but it was always in such public spaces i could be sure, you know. they were both old and white and had hair that was in the bad phase of greying.

they began to trail closer and closer across days. i couldnt tell my mothers about them, of course.

and then one day they cornered me. it was against a wall where people very rarely use as an exit from the nearby shopping centre. i noticed this time, the man who had been riding shotgun had long scars across his back. parts of skin puckered upwards, scar tissue showing the implication of where hooks had snagged through and ripped.

“finally,” said the man who had been driving and they told me their story of how theyd been following me. to punish me for my rudeness, for the way i dared disrespect my elders and the men. 

and then they started really talking.

“if this wasnt such a public place, wed take you with us,” they said. and then they told me what theyd do.

knives, said the scarless man. knives were good and sliced well - id know true pain when my skin was flayed to the point of barely being connected to my flesh. “and then,” he said, “there are so many things you can do with injuries like that. we could let you bleed. we could pour things into the wound. we could cauterise it and start all over.”

“no,” said the scarred man. “i know the pain of hooks, and you can do many things with them. through your back, through your lips and eyelids. and you can pull and tug and rip. youd know true pain when we give you hooks.”

i stood against the wall, and no one came to save me. if the men said anymore of what theyd do to me, i dont remember. i woke.

[multifandomlovely]

The First Meeting

After the attack in New York, you decided to work with Shield as part of Steve’s team in Washington D.C. Being on a well deserved break, you were going home from the gym where you stumbled upon the Winter Soldier’s attack on the interstate. 

You tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the music that was playing through the speakers. Humming softly, your mind took you back to the weird situation that was occurring presently. Ever since Steve’s and Natasha’s ‘betrayal,’ you have been trying to get in contact with them behind Shield’s back. However, there has been no response which, of course, led you to blow off some steam in the gym. 

Here you are now in the bulletproof black SUV that was going below speed limit due to the slow driver in front. Looking at your side review mirror, you turned on your blinkers to change lanes but a loud explosion caused you to suddenly step on the brakes. 

“What the hell!” You quickly pulled over the right side of the road. The bridge was divided by a small wall in the middle, and the explosion occurred on the opposite side. 

Turning off the engine, you went over to the passenger seat pulling up the gym bag that was on the floor. Reaching inside, you pulled out your small gun and your specialized silver chigiriki. 

You opened the passenger door and stepped out using the car as a shield and as a hiding spot. Walking towards the back of the car, you hid the gun in the back of your tights and covered it with your shirt.

Fortunately, there was no traffic as cars were moving away from the fight. Trying hard not to get hit, you jogged diagonally across the lanes before squatting in front of the small wall. Peeking from your spot, you made out a jeep and turned over cars. There were also men who were armed with weapons that should never be used in public. However, the sight of red hair and metal arm caught your attention immediately. 

“Natasha.” You whispered in shock as you watched her shoot the men. The Metal Arm Man launched a small missile towards the van that Nat was using as a shield before she jumped over the small wall. 

“What the fuck is going on?” You quickly jumped over the wall and used a random empty car to hide behind. You saw Natasha fall off the bridge, but you didn’t worry knowing it would take more than that to stop the infamous Black Widow. 

“Who the hell are you?” A male voice yelled grabbing your attention. You slid your chigiriki into your boots before pulling out your gun, 

“Y/N, but people usually know me as Ninja.” You answered, “Who are you?”

“Shit, you’re Ninja. Your much beautiful in person.” He replied back with a smirk, “I’m Sam, and people usually don’t know me.” 

“It’s nice to meet you Sam, but would you like to explain to me what exactly is going on here?” You asked as both of you softly moved behind cars advancing towards the Metal Arm Man who was now shooting at something from the side of the bridge. 

“It’s a long story. Maybe I can tell you after we survive this over a cup of coffee.” Sam pulled out a small knife from his back pocket. 

“I don’t like coffee.” You replied without looking at him as you quickly made it to the area where the men had hooked their ropes to cars. Sam already took out one men before turning towards you,

“Did I just got rejected?” A small chuckle escaped your lips before you grabbed the rope of the man who was shooting nonstop at a fallen bus. A smirk formed on your faced as you winked at him before descending down. 

“That was hot.” You heard Sam say. 

You landed quietly behind the man before elbowing the him at the back of his head causing him to stumble and stop. Using this small peace, you jumped off the car while Steve ran towards him and flipped him over knocking him unconscious. 

Steve landed beside you, both of you squatting behind the car. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked with irritation and worry. 

“Don’t get mad at me.” You argued back, “I was being an innocent citizen just going back home ready to binge watch Disney movies which helps me deal with the worry that was consuming me about you and Natasha . Instead, here I am fighting these men with guns that should be inside a highly secured safe and trying to figure out who’s the Metal Arm Man.”

Guilt present in Steve’s eyes as he noticed your frustration. You continued, “I should be asking you that question: What are  you doing here, Steve and What the heck is going on?” 

Steve sighed before softly smiling at you, “Later.” You raised your eyebrows at him with doubt.

“I promise.” He whispered. With a small nod, you quickly turned around to shot a man who was making his way towards you. A round of shots caused you to look up at the bridge to see Sam shooting more men from his spot.

“Go, I got this!” He yelled. 

“You go this way, and I go that way. Whoever gets him first, engage him but be careful.” Steve ordered. You gave a quick thumbs up before running away from the bridge to find the Metal Arm Man.

Using cars as shield, you immediately show Nat on top of the Metal Arm Man with her legs wrapped around his head using a wire to choke him. However, the man flipped her over and picked up his gun ready to shoot her. 

You ran at full speed using the same car Natasha used as a boast to jump toward the Metal Arm Man. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck in a choke hold. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” You repeated, “Faint already.” He held on to your arm trying to pry it off, but Natasha threw a small circle device on his metal arm causing it to malfunction and make it fall to his side. 

“Run!” You yelled at Nat trying to put more pressure on your hold. The man backed up against the car before falling backward straight against the hood putting all of his weight on you. His body crushed you causing you to let go of him,

“How much do you weigh, Man?” You choked out as he got up. You made a quick glance towards your left noticing that Natasha listened to you. The Man walked towards his gun that fallen due to your intrusion, and started to walk away without a second glance at you. You pulled out your chigiriki whipping it foward causing a chain to shoot out and wrapping around the man’s ankle. 

You pulled, but the Man only stopped. You pulled harder, but, again, he did not budge. The Man slowly turned around looking towards you with his blank blue eyes. 

Without any warning, a sudden sharp pain developed on your lower right side of the stomach. Your eyes got wide as you looked down to see a dagger embedded into right side of your body with blood gushing out staining your white shirt. In pain and shock, you fell downed on your knees before falling on your butt with you back against the car. Another sharp pain shoot up, 

“Fuck.” You gasped taking deep breathes. You look up just in time to see the Man tugged on his leg causing the chain to break from your chigiriki.

“Hey!” You yelled, “I got this as a present from Tony.” Even through the horrible pain, you yelled at the Man whom seemed surprised as you noticed his eyes got wide. 

He continued to stare at you with his intense eyes causing you to feel uncomfortable before he walked away, again, without a second glance. You took deep breathe and wrapped your fingers around the small knife. 

“1. 2. 3.” In one swift moment, you pulled the knife out and put pressure on the wound, “Damn Bastard with beautiful eyes.” 

Using the car as leverage, you pulled yourself up and started to slowly walked towards the fight between Steve and the Beautiful Eye Bastard. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s shocking revolution stopped you in mid-step. You stared at the Beautiful Eye Bastard, now named Bucky, in disbelief. Steve had told you many wonderful things about Bucky, their deep friendship, and how he was the true hero in Steve’s mind. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” His deep voice questioned. Before you could blink, Sam came flying behind Bucky and swiftly kicked him. 

“Is that a bird suit?” You asked to no one, but heard a chuckle behind you. Quickly grabbing your gun you turned around ignoring the sharp pain on the side of your stomach. However, it was only Natasha holding a rocket launcher. 

“Don’t ever say that in front of Sam.” She smirked before moving around you with heavy footsteps. You saw the bullet wound on her shoulder, 

“Nat, you’re bleeding.” 

“So are you.” You looked down again to see more blood was oozing out. You added more pressure while leaning against the car behind Natasha who shot a rocket at Bucky. His confusion was replaced immediately when he dodged the attack. 

Sirens ripped through the tense atmosphere before everyone were surrounded by dozens of agents with big weapons. 

Two men came towards you and Natasha, and both of you let yourself be handcuff without putting up resistance. The man slowly led you toward the van. You passed Bucky who had a indifferent expression. 

“Bucky.” It wasn’t a question. It was a clear statement. He looked at you with the same face; however, his eyes were full of confusion. You held eye contact until you were forced into the van and the door closed. 

That was definitely Bucky, but how was he still alive? 

How could he not remember Steve?

 Why did he looked like he was in pain and in need of help?