#cable-car-barn

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Can I ask for revenge for hurt s/o with fem reader and Thomas Hewitt, maybe reader is a neighbour to the Hewitt's and her and Thomas become close over time, and maybe their latest victims are there and reader goes over to the house as well, and it's an all fight between everyone but someone cuts reader bad and maybe Thomas sees red and she is the only one to calm him down, and then they kiss

.⋆｡Anything For You｡⋆.

Thomas Hewitt x plus size reader

Thomas has always been your sanctuary but now, he would be your protector too

Warnings: death of parents, fire, murder, friends to lovers, angst, getting stabbed, violence, knives, happy ending, protective!Thomas WC: 1.9k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You liked the quiet of your farm. Just you and your animals and the family across the way, it was peaceful. It was all you had ever known. 

Your family moved to Fuller when you were barely a month old, buying up a small farm on the edge of town in hopes of laying down some roots. Life was peaceful, at least until the town began to decay. Less and less children would enrol in school every year, less cars on the roads. Even the fire station shut down as the last family moved out from the city centre. And that led to the death of your parents.

A spark from a frayed cable in the basement landed on a pile of newspapers, setting them alight. It had been a dry summer, far more than usual, and there was no lack of kindling for the blaze. You chose to sleep in the barn that night, wishing to rest beside the newborn calves. Your parents had indulged your silly request, not realising that it would save your life.

You could vividly remember the smell of smoke as it bellowed out from the shattered windows of your home. The dogs howled from their kennels while you ran onto the dirt road leading to the Hewitt household. You banged on their door, begging for them to save your parents.

But even with Monty and Charlie doing their best to put out the fire, no help was coming. You were forced to watch from the comfort of Luda Mae’s arms as your entire world turned to ash.

You lived with the Hewitts for a long time after that, being that you had no other family, as the small farm house was rebuilt. By the time you were 19, you had a new home and a deep friendship with the younger Hewitt brother. Thomas had always been kind to you in the brief moments you had seen each other, but it became something more when you became a daily fixture in his life. 

He showed you how he did his chores around their own farm, took care of the animals and crops on yours when you could not bear to look upon the mound that used to be your home. And in turn, you treated him with more kindness than he had ever experienced. You never faltered at his appearance nor his size, in fact you always found ways to compliment him. You taught him to read and write, and later on, how to use sign language after your schooling ended, even if he only ever used it with you. 

You were his best friend and he was yours.

Perhaps that’s why he never encouraged you to leave as the rest of his family did.

Having finished your morning chores, you sat on the small porch in front of your house with a cup of tea and the book you had been meaning to read, eager to soak in some sun before the Texan heat rolled through. Just as you were getting to a particularly juicy section where the gentle giant farm hand had finally kissed the farmer’s daughter in the barn, a shrill scream cut through the faint buzz of the cicadas.

“What the-“ You tilted your head, waiting for another sound but none came. Leaning over your porch railing, you could just about see the edge of the Hewitt’s driveway and noticed their truck was missing as was Hoyt’s police car. A warm breeze rustled the wheat growing along your property line. 

A sour feeling gnawed at your stomach, urging you to grab your sunhat from its peg by the front door and take the short walk over to the dilapidated home. 

Thomas would be at work already and if Luda Mae wasn’t home, then neither would Charlie since his old age was starting to get to him. Maybe an animal had gotten hurt, you mused as if trying to convince yourself that the scream couldn’t have possibly been human.

“Hello?” The screen door was firmly shut but you couldn’t quite see anything in the dark hallway. You’d have to remind Luda Mae to open up the windows when she left the house for the day, again. 

The floorboards creaked as something moved around. You glanced over your shoulder, hoping to see Thomas’s hulking figure walking up the driveway to save you from having to go in and investigate. But alas, only a toad sat on the gravel, looking up at you with a bored expression, as much as a toad can have.

“If I get murdered, Thomas gets all my stuff.” You pointed at it before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

A coppery smell clung to the stale air, an almost constant of the home but today, it set you more on edge. After three years of living there, you could’ve navigated the house blindfolded but as you passed the switch, you flicked on the lights somehow hoping it would ease the twisting in your stomach.

“Hello?” You called again, passing by the kitchen, not noticing the now empty knife block. The basement door was open. “Hoyt I swear to god if this is you trying to be funny, I’ll kick your ass.” You glanced down the basement stairs, but only the single hanging bulb was visible in the dark. 

Just as you were turning to continue your search, something heavy threw itself into your chest, sending you down the steps. You slammed hard against the concrete floor, the air was ripped from your lungs violently as your ears began to ring. Footsteps thudded down the stairs. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as you tried desperately to breathe. 

“Get that rope.” You reached for the leg of Thomas’s workbench, your vision beginning to tunnel. A hand grabbed at your shoulder, forcing you onto your back. 

“She-she’s not one of them.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter! She’s here isn’t she?” 

“Please.” You wheezed but you were only met with a fist to your jaw. Your eyes rolled.

“C’mon we can make a run for it now. We don’t have to hurt her.” The voices were growing distant.

“Would you just shut the fuck… up.” The last word trailed off as something else caught their attention. You dug your heels into the floor in an attempt to push yourself away from the two voices. The ache in your stomach was starting to ease but you still couldn’t fill your lungs all the way. 

Darkness suddenly covered you as the light from the dining room vanished. “Please.” You tried again but you were only met with silence. Wood creaked and suddenly, you were hauled up. 

“Get any closer and I’ll slit her fucking throat.” The cold metal of a blade pressed itself against your neck. A bitten off whimper slid past your lips as the tip dug into your skin. Your vision began to clear as adrenaline rushed through your veins. A huge shadow loomed at the top of the stairs, silently watching as the two people holding you back panicked.

“Thomas.” You tried to reach out to him. You caught the glint of metal before he raised his arm and threw a meat cleaver directly into the forehead of the one that had tried to run. They dropped like a sack of potatoes, eyes wide with fear as the life quickly left them. 

“Shut up you stupid bitch!” Their hold on you got looser as Thomas took one step forwards. His eyes glinted with anger, a rage you had never witnessed in your gentle giant before. His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles were white, his shoulders raised, making him look even bigger.

You could feel the body behind you trembling as he steadily got closer. “Stay back!” But their tone wavered. You were pulled backwards as Thomas reached the middle of the stairs. “I’ll fucking kill her!” 

As slowly as you could, you began to reach into your front pocket for the small knife you always kept on you. The one Thomas had given you on your 16th birthday. His eyes flicked to you at your movement. You hissed as the knife against your throat pressed in deeper, nicking the delicate skin.

A sound akin to a growl rumbled through the basement. “Thomas no-“ The words had barely escaped you when suddenly the knife was pulled from your neck and shoved into your side. Coldness exploded from the wound like you had been plunged into a frozen lake as your body fell forwards.

A scream echoed through the home but it didn’t sound like your voice. It was warped and all wrong. You fell against something solid but also somehow soft. Its warmth drew your mind back for a moment, just enough to watch as one of Thomas’ massive hands coiled around the other man’s throat and squeezed with all his might.

He thrashed and struggled but he was no match for Thomas. There was a crunch, and then he went limp, his head lolling strangely on his neck. Thomas dropped his body like it was a piece of trash before all his attention shifted to you. 

Your own body was shaking in his hold but you were the furthest thing from scared. With the same hand he had just used to kill someone, he pressed down on your side, stopping the bleeding as best he could. “It’s ok, you saved me Thomas.” He shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his face. 

He eased you back onto the workbench making you wince as the first tinges of pain began to appear. “Thomas.” You reached for him but he stepped away from you and darted into the darkness of the basement. He was rummaging through something. You heard glass break while you clutched at your stomach. 

His lumbering footsteps returned and the bulb above you flicked on with a gentle hum. A bright red box was in his hands which he was looking through as he rushed back to you. “Talk to me.” You urged. He glanced at you then sighed heavily. 

Not yet, he gestured and pulled out a thick bandage. You let out a huffed laugh, letting him pull up your now ruined shirt to get access to the wound. His eyes narrowed before he let out a breath of relief. Not deep.

You bit down on your lip as he wrapped the bandage around your plush stomach, pulling it as tight as he could without causing you more pain than necessary. “Thank you for saving me.” He helped you to sit up, taking care not to put too much strain on you.

His bulk was all you could see now. He cupped your cheek, a move far bolder than you expected from the shy man. You nuzzled into his touch, unable to stop yourself. “You did so good Tommy.” He nodded and you finally smiled. His head dipped down as his eyes flicked to yours with a silent question, one you had been waiting for since you were 15. 

It was you who leaned in first, capturing his chapped lips in a kiss that was long overdue. He was frozen for just a second then melted into it, naturally meeting the soft push and pull of your mouth in a way that made your brain go fuzzy that wasn’t purely shock. He hesitated when he pulled away but he didn’t go far, only putting enough space between you in order to meet your gaze once more.

“Protect.” His voice deep and rough from disuse but as he gathered you into his arms and tugged you against his broad chest, you knew that he would do anything to do just that. And you couldn’t help but smile through the pain.

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[gardens-light]

Something Unexpected

Between debt collectors and the bank flooding the mailbox with eviction notices. Your father's positive attitude could no longer smooth out complications. And you once thought life on the farm couldn't get any harder...

Recent days- no months has been nothing but tough. This never ending sea of bad situations happening one after another, begun to drown and suffocate you. Feeling like you could barely keep float, while working two jobs. Attempting to keep some money flowing in.

But the universe has finally offered you a break. Something that could change you and your family's life forever...

Content: Reader insert. Event take place in 'Transformers- Age of Extinction' (Minor spoilers.) Mild coarse language.

Sparkmate Series- Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (End)

"Hey, sis! I'm home!" Tessa shouted as she stepped out of her car and onto the driveway. "Lucas and dad has gone to the next town, so they won't be back for a couple of days."

Looking around the family farm, a heavy sigh left her as you were nowhere to be seen.

"Seriously..."

Making her way to the barn, Tessa called out for you. This time getting a response.

"Are you working with lasers? If so, I'm not coming in-"

"You have never seen a truck like this before!" your excited tone cut her off as you abruptly open the barn door. "Get in here. Lock the door."

Tessa raised an eyebrow as you grabbed her arm, pulling her inside the barn. While she closed the door behind her. "It doesn't have a lock..."

"Y'know that rusty ass truck dad brought in a few days ago? Look! Look at the hole in the radiator."

Tessa rolled her eyes at your enthusiastic tone, as you placed an arm through the grill. "Look at the size of it! Something blew a hole in it!"

"Yeah, so?"

"It's not normal steel! The shrapnel in the engine, it ripped all the connections apart."

Tessa watched you fractally climb the scaffolding which brung you a little more to the truck's engine level. Rubbing her temples as a sigh left her.

"I honestly don't know who's worse. You or dad-"

"Dad is going to lose his fucking mind, when he finds out what we've got! And watch! Watch!"

Your sister rolled her eyes before crossing her arms. Her unimpressed gaze watching as you took hold of two jumping cables.

"This took some family genius. You're gonna love this, sis! Just watch what happens when I hook this thing up to a working battery."

Placing the clamps onto the battery, the rusty old truck rumbled and shook in it's place. Headlights flickered as the engine inside failed to roar to live. But the deep robotic voice coming from the vehicle made Tessa's jaw drop.

"Calling all... Calling all Autobots..."

Throwing the cables aside, allowing the rusty truck to slowly die again. Tessa watched you jump for joy, while her stomach did a backflip.

"Oh yea!" you cheered. "I don't think this is a truck at all... I think we just found a Transformer!"

"Are you out of your mind? You need to get that thing out of here!"

"You don't have to worry" you called out, jogging after Tessa as she quickly left the barn. "I've been working on it all night. And look at me. I'm fine-"

"This isn't one of Dad's random piles of junk! It's an alien killing machine!-"

"Sis, it's DOA. Nothing is gonna happen."

Tessa ran a hand through her blonde locks, as she began to pace in front of you. "This isn't happening! This isn't happening!"

"Tessa-"

"Listen! I-I remember Lucas telling me about a number that you call- that you're supposed to call. He said something about you're supposed to call a number, and if something ends up being alien. Then you get twenty-five grand."

"That's bullshit, and you know it." You crossed your arms. "Nobody just hands out large sums of money- especially the government-"

"Y/N, I'm making the call." Tessa's fumbled through her pockets.

"I've seen the commercial. It isn't a guarantee" you protested snatching the mobile out of Tessa's hand and taking a step back.

"Look! If that's a Transformer from the Battle of Chicago. Dad's gonna lose his mind! If I could figure out how it works and apply that technology to his inventions. We wouldn't need to worry about money again-"

"Yeah! That's why you're working two jobs!" Tessa got onto her tiptoes as you held the phone above your head, slightly out of her reach.

She slightly pushed you, quickly grabbing the falling mobile. You both sighed, just giving each other side glances while pausing for a moment.

"Twenty-five grand, Y/N. It pays for the house. It pays for my collage."

"Please Tessa. Please" your begging tone caused a sigh to escape your sister. "Let me do this, and... and I'll do your chores for a week- A month!"

"No. I'm making the call and telling dad-"

"Keep this a secret and I'll... I'll won't tell dad about your boyfriend!"

Tessa's stiff body language made you smile. Stopping in mid-dail as she studied your features.

"I... I don't have a boyfriend"

"Yes you do" your teasing tone unsettled your sister's nerves. "Well at least I hope it was your boyfriend I saw last week, and not some pervert climbing out of your window in the middle of the night. And wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear, may I add"

Tessa bit her bottom lip, "you saw Shane...?"

"Saw him? Girl, I heard him falling out of the window and onto the damn roof. I'm surprise Dad didn't hear anything."

Tessa hesitated before speaking. Groaning at your smug smile.

"Ugh fine! But if you die I'm stealing your laptop!"

"Deal!... You just might wanna delete my browser history first..."

---

" I think the shrapnel took out your power core" you muttered to the rusty machine.

Your legs dangled outside of the truck, while your torso hung inside the engine. Grabbing random bits of shrapnel, lose nuts and bolts, and throwing them over your shoulder.

"Hmm... what this?"

Reaching out for a shiny silver cylinder, roughly tugging it out of the engine and holding it against your chest. As you pushed yourself back onto the scaffolding. Pushing your goggles up onto your forehead, examining the unusual object.

Climbing down the scaffolding and powering up your wielding machine. Hovering the fire torch over the metal, cocking your head to the side.

"Nothing... perhaps you have a higher melting point- oh shit!"

The flame of the torch ignited sparks from the cylinder. Screaming you dropped it, accidently allowing it to fly around the barn. Ricocheting off the walls and floor, banging into the truck and knocking the scaffolding over. Before breaking through the wooden barn door and flying into the house.

Tessa's screams could be heard from the house, as the missile slid around on the floor, going from room to room.

The sound of groaning metal plates shifting caught your attention, your eyes widening as you watched the truck grow taller. Cogs and gears made unhealthy churning noises, as the now 22ft tall robot struggled to get onto his feet.

"I'll kill you!" the machine's voice groaned, as you scattered away.

"Hold on! Hold on!" you cried out. Looking over your shoulder, as Tessa's screams echoed throughout the barn.

The machine pulled out a giant cannon from his back, backing away from you and Tessa, while aiming the intimidating weapon at you both.

"I'll kill you! Stay back!-"

"No! No! Don't shoot!" you yelled, stepping in front of Tessa. Attempting to shield her.

The robot's blue optics studied you carefully, watching your body language as you cautiously stepped towards him. Holding your hands in the air.

"Easy, human"

You slowly nodded before speaking, looking up at the robot as he groaned while sparks spat out of his mechanical joints.

"Weapon systems... damaged-"

"A missile hit your engine" you explained. "And we took it out of you. You're hurt really bad, but you're safe now. You're in my home."

He scanned his surroundings, looking at the messed up barn. A cough echoed from within his chest plate, as dust came out of his mouth.

Getting a little closer, the machine's gaze returned to you as he knelt to the ground.

"I'm trying to help you. My name is Y/N Yeager, I'm an engineer." You reached out for Tessa, whom hesitantly took your hand. "And this is my sister, Tessa."

"Y/N... Tessa. I'm in your debt... my name is Optimus Prime."

You turned back at Tessa, "it's alright. He won't hurt us."

"Wh-What happened to you..?" she asked, not letting go of your hand.

"We... We were ambushed. A trap set by humans. I escaped and took this form." Optimus' voice groaned and coughed. As he withdraw his weapon, allowing it to retract back into his back plates.

"But you're on our side. Why would humans want to hurt you?-"

"They weren't alone... ah! My Autobots! They're in danger!"

Optimus tried to get up again, but his legs gave way. Causing him to fall back down onto his knees and cough up engine fluid, as a part of his headpiece fell to the ground with a loud clang.

"I must go to them now. They can... repair me."

"How far do you think you'll get?" you questioned in a calm tone. "With all this damage, you'll wouldn't make it to them."

Optimus watched you carefully pick up his headpiece.

"But let me help. I can fix you."

Tessa's worried eyes glanced between you and Optimus, as he hesitated before speaking.

"Very well... for now. We have a truce..."

---

"Go in dad's shed, rumish through anything- everything he has. Try and find things on that list."

Tessa grabbed your arm, as you both stood outside the barn.

"Wait! You're gonna try and fix him?" she protested. "He's not a model train set, Y/N!-"

"You're right. He's important-"

Tessa raised an eyebrow, "important to who? You can't keep an alien locked up in Dad's barn. What are you gonna do? Play with him?"

A heavy sigh left your lungs before speaking, "calm down. Just please... calm down-"

"I'm trying to! But a moment ago that rusty ass truck you wouldn't stop messing with, turned into a fucking giant thing!-"

"You still promise not to say anything?"

A half-hearted chuckle left Tessa, as she stared at you in disbelief. "That's your concern right now?-"

"Look! Look! Dad and Lucas is gone for a couple of days, right? That's all I need to get him in a decent state. Once he's fixed, I promise you. He'll be gone. But I need you to stay quiet!-"

"Fine! Fine!" she breathed heavily before snatching the list out of your hand. "But you owe me big time for this! Big time!"

---

"You took one hell of a hit, y'know." You said while placing a molten bit of scrap steel into a bucket of water. "The missile just missed your power source."

"We call it a Spark." Optimus watched you climb up the reassembled scaffolding. Coming to the height of his chest plate, your eyes sparkled in the gentle blue glow of his Spark. "It contains our lifeforce, and our memories."

You flashed him a warm smile before pulling down your goggles. "We call that a soul..."

A low rumble came from Optimus, as he felt your hands carefully place the scrap piece of metal against the opening in his chest plate. Taking your time to weld it into place, while he placed a hand over his Spark. Protecting it from the ambers that occasionally left the fire torch.

The leader of the Autobots gazed down at you. Remaining silent as he watched you solder away.

It wasn't the first time a human patched him up. Back at N.E.S.T, there's been multiple times when soldiers put him back together after a mission. But with you, it was somehow... different.

Your touch was gentle. Each movement was careful and mindfully placed. You even welded things onto him in a cautious manner. It was like you treated Optimus like he was some sort of antique, rather than an millennium old alien being.

"Y/N..."

You looked up at him. Turning off the fire torch and placing your goggles back onto your forehead.

"Why are you willing to help me?" Optimus asked, as he pulled out a large bullet shell from his shoulder plate, and flicking it away.

You felt the Autobot study you, examining every feature upon your face and reading your body language. As you slowly leaned back against the railings of the scaffolding.

"I guess... maybe because you trust me to."

Your words were simple and true. Optimus couldn't detect any lies or waver within your voice nor tone. His scanners didn't read anything out of the ordinary from your relaxed posture.

Perhaps... I've judged too quickly...

"Is it... just you and your sibling?" Optimus asked, trying to make small talk.

You squinted at a few bolts, while holding them up to the Autobot. Judging weather they were right for the next job.

"Yes- well actually no. Our dad lives here- he owns the family farm. But he isn't here." You explained, while putting the bolts down and moving onto different sized ones. "He's in the next town over for the next couple of days. Working- well, selling some inventions."

Optimus looked around the barn, tilting his head to the side as his processors tried to make sense of the random machines and scrap bits of metal. "Are you an... inventor as well?"

A heartful chuckle left you, as you approached the Autobot. Tapping on his left leg, "no. No. I just help him put things together, or strip them down for parts. Whenever Dad has too many projects."

Optimus' groan quickly made you realize the tone of your sentence. You looked up at him.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything-"

"It's alright. None offence is taken."

Butterflies slightly fluttered in your stomach as his smile mimicked yours.

You quickly turned your attention back onto his leg. Making sure the bolt wasn't too tight.

Optimus noticed you trying to hide your blushing features. His smile grew wider, finding the action somewhat amusing. He watched you bend and stretch your body, after chucking the tool onto the workbench.

"You've been in here for hours. You should rest."

"I will later." You promised, "but first. Let's put your headpiece back on."

He speechlessly nodded, gently using a hand-crank to bring the scaffolding a little more to his height.

Gathering the tools required to put his headpiece back on, you climbed the scaffolding stairs. Reaching the top and placing the tools onto the metal floor of the scaffolding.

Optimus averted his gaze as you pulled off your hoodie. Allowing your torso to breathe in the light cotton tank top. You examined the wires and gears on the side of his head, tilting your head from side to side.

"I think the inside is fine. Your headpiece just needs to be welded back on." You spoke with a smile, placing your hands on your hips.

"I thank you, Y/N. Your assistance thus far has been appreciated beyond compare-"

"Don't go all soft on me now, Big Guy." You spoke with a smile. "Now eyes forward. You need to stay completely still while I do this."

Optimus faced the barn doors, as you pulled your goggles back into place. The headpiece slotted back in nicely, but you still held it in place as you welded the metals together.

His spark skipped a beat sometimes, whenever he felt your breath upon his metal plating. Through many years he's warned his Autobots about getting too attached to humans, yet here sat the infamous Optimus Prime, allowing a human he's just met for a few hours making him feel this way.

"All done, Prime!" your cheering voice snapped him out of his daze.

His optics falling upon your smiling face. Although you were covered in dirt and grime, to him you were the most beautiful human he ever set sight on.

"Thank you... I am in your debt-"

"Hush. Hush" you interrupted, pulling your goggles down and around your neck. "There's still plenty of work that needs to be done. So promise me you won't wander off."

A low chuckle rumbled in his voice, "I promise."

Your eyes glanced up and down at him, "and promise me one more thing?"

"Of course."

"When you do return to your Autobots... promise you won't forget about me..."

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@jellyfishxxi

[delimeful]

you can't go back (10)

warnings: depression mention, death mention, animal violence mention, angst, lmk if i missed any

-

Roman had been poking and prodding the alien in his barn for answers for the better part of a month, to no avail. 

No matter what combination of words, actions, or prop-laden charades he and Logan had attempted, they’d come no closer to anything resembling communication than they had when Roman had been angrily threatening the alien with a broom. He’d been growing more hopeless— and admittedly, more guilty— by the day. 

And then, entirely unintentionally, along came Patton. 

Less than an hour after their accidental introduction, Patton had somehow managed to not only convince the alien to speak to him, but also earn their apparent undying loyalty. 

Roman kind of got it, because, well, it was Patton, but he was still feeling incredibly miffed about how the entire situation had played out. He couldn’t even say as much, because then Patton would start making pointed statements about not hiding things from one’s friends and how nice it would have been for him to have met their excitable extraterrestrial earlier. 

Going by the way the alien kept hovering over Patton like a brooding hen, Roman figured their captive-turned-guest(?) probably felt the same way. Not that he could really blame them.

Despite Patton’s gentle prompting and Logan’s intense staring, the alien refused to utter so much as a recognizable syllable in front of them, sticking firmly to bobbing a clawed hand up-and-down or side-to-side for ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, respectively. 

That alone was enough to confirm that Patton was right: the alien absolutely could understand human speech, though not as comprehensively as Star Wars would have had him believe. Even with this new willingness to interact, around half of their questions were still answered with a hesitant motion of bumping the sides of their forearms together and then drawing them back apart, which seemed to be the alien’s version of a shrug. 

This wasn’t the only new gesture they were introduced to over the course of the next few days. From subtle shifts of their faceplates to the absent air-pedaling their stabby limbs did while they were thinking, they were now witness to a whole gallery of unfamiliar mannerisms. The thick spiral-ring notebook Logan had dedicated to documenting the alien’s body language had rapidly begun to run out of blank pages, with the frantic scribbling becoming such a well-worn background noise that even the alien stopped being wary after a while. 

As it turned out, the alien was a lot more expressive when all six of their limbs weren’t forcibly restrained. This was one of those things that seemed a lot more obvious in hindsight. 

Given that four of those limbs had both the sharpness of a spear and the spring-loaded power of a harpoon gun, Roman still felt a fair amount of uncertainty about just how much trust they were placing in a relative stranger, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

After all, this was a welcome change from the quiet, still way the alien had been curled up on their makeshift bed for the past week, not nearly as aggressive as before but also not nearly as alert or even responsive, some days. Roman had been getting more and more worried, half-expecting to find a corpse every time he went to check on them, like a bug left in a jar to suffocate. 

Whatever magic Patton had worked, it had brought an undeniable spark of life back to the alien, and wary or not, Roman was unspeakably relieved about it. 

The past couple of days had been dedicated to finding supplies for the alien’s project, which they had figured out (mostly through extensive guessing) was a makeshift translator. One of Logan’s old laptops, the disemboweled guts of the alien’s helmet, and an old car battery from the junkyard had been sacrificed to the alien’s tinkering, along with various bits and bobs pulled from old charging cables and a broken VCR player. 

After the third unsuccessful game of charades, Roman had just grabbed the whole junk drawer in the kitchen and tipped all the contents out in the hopes that the alien would find what they needed. 

Seeing as there hadn’t been any more requests, they seemed to have found the pieces they needed— or at the very least, acceptable substitutes. From there, all that was left to do was loiter in the barn and wait for them to finish. 

“Guys,” Patton called, the only one allowed to sit nearby while the alien worked. “I think it’s ready!” 

The moment the words split the air, Logan practically teleported over to their corner of the barn, and Roman was only a step behind, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest at the thought of finally learning what had happened to his brother. 

The alien was crouched with their backwards-jointed legs folded under them, and as they all gathered around, the limbs on their back pulled in to avoid grazing any shoulders, as though even the barest touch would be poisonous. As always, they didn’t make direct eye contact with anyone, simply reaching out to the contraption and pressing one of the buttons on the VCR. 

They made a series of carefully enunciated clicks and churrs, the same muffled language that they had used during Roman’s pointless interrogations, and then released the button and pressed down another one. 

There was a brief moment of silence, and then: 

“Can you understand this sentence?” 

The voice was robotic, the inflections slightly strange, but the words were clear. 

“Yes!” Roman exclaimed, half an answer and half a cheer of success. “It worked, we understood that!” 

The three of them exchanged glances, sharing a sort of awed joy at the impossibility of it all. The alien waited for a moment longer before recording another stretch of clicks and sending it through the translator. 

“The energy cell won’t last long. Ask important questions first.” 

Like mirror images, both of his friends turned to look at him at the same time, and whatever expression he was making seemed to tell them everything they needed to know. 

“No matter what the answer is,” Patton told him, reaching out to hold onto his hand tightly, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?” 

Logan flipped his notebook over, abandoning the list of questions to set the tip of his pen to a blank page. “I’ll record the information verbatim. It’ll ensure we don’t miss anything.” 

Embarrassingly enough, Roman’s eyes began to sting. He cleared his throat, smiling weakly at his best friends. “Thanks, guys.” 

The question sat heavy on the back of his tongue, the shape of words practically memorized after the many times he’d spoken, shouted, screamed them. When he looked forward to the alien, though, he realized that there was something else he owed it to them to ask. 

“What’s your name?” 

The alien went rabbit-still for a moment, a reflexive attempt to hide that Roman was pretty sure meant they were surprised. He didn’t rush them; he was pretty surprised at himself, too. 

Finally, they leaned close to the speaker again. “I am known as Anxiety.” 

“Anxiety?” Patton echoed, his eyebrows lifting in bewilderment. 

The alien shuffled their hands over each other in an uncertain-looking gesture before speaking into the translator, a little quicker now. “Was that the wrong word? The direct translation is more like ‘he who fears needlessly’?” 

“Anxiety… is a good word for that, yes,” Logan answered after another uncertain pause. “It simply isn’t a word we would usually use as a name.” 

“Alien,” Anxiety replied succinctly, with another one of those forearm shrugs. 

Roman nodded, fitting the name carefully into the list of things they’d learned about this stranded stranger. “My name is Roman, and this is Logan and Patton.” 

Each of them waved on cue, one perfunctory and the other over-enthusiastic. Anxiety glanced between them for a moment before apparently giving in to his curiosity. 

“Who is first?” he asked through the translator, earning three confused looks. 

“I’m the oldest?” Roman offered, not in the least confident that this was the answer Anxiety was looking for. “But not by that much? We’re all in the same grade, um, which basically means we’re only a few months apart in age.” 

Anxiety didn’t lose the air of puzzlement, but he shook his hand in the ‘no’ gesture. “Nevermind. Ask your questions.” 

Roman swallowed, his nerves returning to him twofold, and forced the words past numb lips. “What… What happened to my brother?” 

Although Anxiety had almost certainly expected the question, his limbs still flexed behind him, trembling slightly with tension. Foreboding sunk into Roman like a stone through water. 

“Your brother was abducted,” Anxiety finally answered, the translator turning the words flat and stilted. “Stolen, but most likely alive.” 

Alive. Alive. Most likely alive. Roman’s chest felt like it might burst with how hard his heart was beating.

“Why? What are they going to do to him?” he asked, his voice rising louder in his desperation. Patton squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

Anxiety’s hesitance stretched even longer. This time, after speaking into the translator, he shuffled backwards slightly. Preparing for a violent response to whatever he’d just said. 

“Deathworlders are valuable in some circles. That crew is money-hungry. They probably took him to use as a champion in illegal fighting rings. Dangerous, but not lethal if he can fight,” the translator spit out dutifully. 

Fighting rings. Roman thought about every movie scene he’d ever watched with gladiators, every news article about local dog fighting, every old story about men shoved into a pit of starving lions. Pictured Remus, dropped into some horrible real-life version of that scene from Star Wars, but without magic powers or even so much as a lightsaber to his name. 

He felt sick. His hand went limp in Patton’s grip, nausea churning in his gut. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. What could he possibly say to that? How was he supposed to ask about his own brother’s odds, his life expectancy on an alien battleground?

“What do you mean by ‘Deathworlder’?” Logan asked, his gaze sharp as he picked up the slack. 

Anxiety’s attention was clearly riveted on Roman’s response, but he managed to answer after several seconds passed without anyone lashing out, leaning forward again. 

“It’s a title. Sapient species that originate from deathworlds.” When this clearly wasn’t as helpful as he thought it would be, he elaborated further: “Planets with harsh terrain, hostile fauna, lethal weather patterns. A Deathworlder has adapted to thrive in these conditions. You make a home out of a place that is difficult for most aliens to even survive.” 

Patton frowned, confused. “You’re surviving just fine, aren’t you?” 

Anxiety’s faceplate twitched slightly, an expression they had no reference for. 

“I thought Patch would kill me for our entire first interaction.” For the first time, a sense of his voice was audible even through the machine-tone translator. “I pay attention to danger. This planet is full of things that could very easily kill me.” 

His extra limbs twitched slightly, as though he’d said more than he’d meant to, and he firmly averted his gaze to the ground. 

Abruptly, Roman realized that they were one of the things Anxiety was referring to. The primal panic that they’d witnessed while interacting with him wasn’t a farce or an exaggeration. To Anxiety, humans were a potentially lethal threat.

“Patch?” Patton asked.

The angles of Anxiety’s back limbs shifted to point at where Lady Macbeth was sprawled out in a beam of sunlight, content that all was well within her kingdom. 

“You renamed my cat?” Roman asked incredulously, and then, more pressingly, “If you thought she was going to kill you, why did you befriend her? You tried to stab me the moment we made eye contact!” 

Anxiety’s arms twitched in what seemed like a hastily-aborted shrug. “Predatory beasts normally kill to eat or to defend territory. Sapient species are capable of a lot worse. If I am going to die, I want it to be quick.” 

Something about the way the words were spoken, present tense and oddly direct, made Roman’s skin prickle unpleasantly. It was uncomfortably close to a request. 

(Sure, Anxiety understood their language, but had they ever said aloud that they wouldn’t kill him?)

“To aliens, humans are dangerous?” Logan asked, dragging them back on-topic. “How so? From my perspective, you have more natural weapons than we do.” 

Anxiety made a dragging chirp that seemed to serve as a wordless scoff. “Humans are impossible to kill. I bite you, and you hit me. My bite bothers you, but your hit shatters my exoskeleton. I bleed out and I die. Your body heals and you live.” 

Patton looked discomfited at the very idea.

“Aliens are delicate, compared to us,” Logan surmised. “Because the environments they evolved in weren’t as hostile as Earth.” 

Anxiety nodded a fist in confirmation. 

By the time Logan turned to him with a grim look, Roman had already put the same pieces together. 

“They wanted Remus because they were sure he would win,” he said, fists clenched at his sides. “Because he’s a Deathworlder, so he’s hard to kill.” 

Remus wasn’t being tossed to the lions. He was the lion, trapped and caged far from home. A monster only let loose to slaughter. 

Sure, maybe his brother wouldn’t die, but what kind of a life was that? Remus was sixteen. He was supposed to be trespassing in abandoned buildings with his shithead friends and creating bizarrely gory trash sculptures for his art portfolio, not fighting for his life in front of a crowd of alien scumbags. 

“How do we get him back?” he asked, lifting his jaw stubbornly.

Anxiety only watched him, making no move to speak into the translator. 

“Come on, there has to be a way,” he urged, shoving to his feet and staring down at the alien. “He can’t just be gone. I have to help him! You have to do something!” 

Patton stood too, frowning in a way that suggested he thought Roman needed to back off, take a few deep breaths. 

“Please!” Roman added instead, his voice cracking down the middle of the plea. “Please.” 

Anxiety shifted to press the record button again, but the laptop screen flickered and faded, nonresponsive. Their battery power had run out. 

With a displeased sound, Anxiety slowly rose back to his full height, immediately moving several steps away, and for a moment, Roman thought that was it, his begging had been rejected. It was hopeless, and there was nothing else to be said. 

Then, there was a strange crackling sound from Anxiety, who had turned to face away from them in an uncharacteristic move, his spidery limbs shifting tensely. 

“Give t—ime,” he spoke, the words nearly made unfamiliar by the odd pronunciation. “Thhhin—k.” 

“Think?” Roman echoed with uncertainty; the ‘th’ sound dragged so long it was almost a hiss. 

“You need time to think of a way?” Logan interpreted, clearly exercising all his willpower to remain where he was instead of circling around to see Anxiety’s face. 

“T—ry,” Anxiety emphasized. “Don—t. Hope.”

“Trying is all we can do,” Patton replied warmly, while Roman was still puzzling out the soft clicks Anxiety was using for the ‘T’ sound. “Thank you for trying to help us, Anxiety.” 

There was another odd noise, like the crinkling of paper, and Anxiety’s face was as concealed as ever when he turned and hurried back over to his makeshift bed, apparently done with speaking for the day. 

Feeling more than a little exhausted himself, Roman didn’t begrudge him it. All that mattered was that Remus was alive, and they would figure out a way to rescue him. Anxiety might have warned them not to hope anything came of his efforts, but long odds had never stopped Roman from hoping before. 

He wasn’t giving up on his brother. No matter what it took to bring him home. 

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Bloodied Hands

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> When you get hurt on a case, Colter stays with you.

Disclaimer: I don't really know what this is. Mostly caring fluff with a little angst, I suppose. Descriptions of blood, surgery, being in hospital. Not proof read.

Having felt a familiar hand on your arm, you woke up to find Colter stood over you. 

“I need to change your bandage.” 

Too tired to reply, you nodded and he helped you sit up before, slowly, you lifted the hem of your t-shirt to allow him access to your stomach. 

Colter was careful when he unravelled the old bandage, and he was doubly careful when he cleaned your wound and redressed it. 

His fingers were light against your skin, trying their best to avoid hurting you. 

“There. Done.”

“Stay with me?” You asked, opening your eyes long enough to take a mental image of his face. 

He nodded after a moment. “Let me just get rid of these.”

He was back less than thirty seconds later, walking to the opposite side of his bed. 

“Come here,” he said in a low voice. 

Every movement you made was slow, but he waited. He would wait a lifetime if he had to. 

Taking you into his side, your hand clung to his arm as they wrapped around you, your back toon propped against his chest. 

“Anything else hurting?”

You shook your head a little. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Colter replied before absentmindedly kissing your temple. “You sleep?”

“Stay with me?”

“Always.”

It wasn’t long before your breathing became even and the tensed weight in his arms softened, drifting into a hopefully dreamless sleep. 

But Colter remained awake. He couldn’t help but have his brain run over the last week. From when you surprised him at his trailer, dressed in a raincoat and carrying a foil covered dish. 

Reenie had called you, telling you Colter was in the area and since he didn’t know you had moved, you decided to surprise him. 

However, when Teddi and Velma called only a few minutes later, it turned out you knew the family considering you were the one to last treat their animals. 

That night, you helped Colter with some research. Bobby would still be asleep and since you and Colter had nothing better to do than talk and catch up, you pulled out his laptop and began researching. 

Colter smiled at the memory, seeing you easily get into his laptop. 

You had grilled him slightly for using the same password as he did years prior. 

That night, you fell asleep on his bed. But rather than wake you, offering to drive you home, he pulled a spare blanket from his cupboard and covered your body. 

By the time you woke up in the morning, you were alone. But there was no surprise there. You figured Colter still went on his morning runs. 

He called it a morning run. You called it torture. 

By the time he got back, you were pulling on a pair of grey cable knit socks and tucking your yellow t-shirt into your jeans. 

“Have you seen my-”

Colter found your hair clip on the side. “This?”

“Yes.”

Plucking it from his hands, you moved to find a mirror and twisted your hair around your fingers before clipping it back. 

If Colter knew less than a week later he’d be carrying that clip in a bag of your belongings…it wouldn’t have changed anything. But it made him think. 

Eventually, Colter and yourself managed to track the stolen animals to a farm across town. They had a couple of abandoned sheds a couple of acres away. Only, yourself and Colter had gotten separated. 

And just as he was talking one of the thief’s down from murder, you were fighting for your life, surrounded by caged animals. 

By the time your attacker, and the second thief, ran outside, he was met with police cars and armed officers. 

Inside the first barn hadn’t just been animals, but also enough drugs to warrant a ten year prison sentence, minimum. 

Only, as Colter was talking to the sheriff, he mentioned you. 

“And where is your partner? We’d like her to check the animals over before we take them back to their owners.”

“Yeah, she’s…”

Colter looked round and finally spotted you. Except, something was different. Wrong. 

He called your name, but you barely heard him. All you could do was look at your hands. 

“C-colter.”

That was all it took for him to start running across to you. 

“Hey, what- oh my god. Medic! Someone call an ambulance! Hey, hey, hey, what happened?”

All you could do was say his name again before you felt your legs grow weak and your body drop. But he caught you. Barely. 

“Whoa, hey, hey, okay. Take it easy. Hey, y/n? Y/n, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

“It’s gonna take a while before an ambulance can get out here.”

Colter looked you over. The sheriff was right. And you might not last that long. 

“Put her in my car. I can get you there in half the time.”

Colter nodded, moving his eyes back to you. “I need you to stay with me, okay? This is gonna hurt, but we’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

You nodded, weakly. 

“Put your arm around me.”

Within seconds, Colter was carrying you to the Sheriff’s car and getting into the back seat with you. 

Half way, you passed out, so you couldn’t remember much until you woke up in the hospital a few days later. 

But Colter could. 

He was applying pressure to your wound, your blood swirling over his hand whilst his mother cradled your head and tried to keep you awake. He called your name. Louder still when you passed out. 

It was a whirlwind, pulling up outside the hospital and carrying you inside whilst the Sheriff called for a doctor. 

A bed was brought over immediately and you got rushed into the OR. They forced both Colter and the Sheriff to stay behind the doors and all Colter could do was stand there, watching you be wheeled away. 

A few hours later, a training nurse walked over and handed him a bag of your things. And his mind went blank. 

“Shouldn’t- shouldn’t she have her stuff?”

The nurse nodded. “We’re waiting on a room for her, but it’s best if you keep hold of her things. That way they don’t get lost.”

“S-so, so she’s okay?”

The nurse nodded, with a slight smile. “Your wife is going to be fine. Sore, for a while. And tired. But they say her odds look good.”

Colter felt his entire body suddenly relax and tears came to his eyes. “Oh, thank god.”

“I’ll ask the Doc how long it’ll be before you can see her, but I doubt it’ll be long. Once we get her set up, you can see her.”

“Okay. Thank you. And please, thank everyone for me. I- I don’t even-”

But the nurse just smiled at him. “That’s okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As the nurse walked away, Colter sat down holding your bag of belongings in his hand. Inside were your clothes, plus your bloodied t-shirt. Along with your hair clip. 

Pulling out his phone, he made a call to Reenie. 

“No, no. They said she’s going to be fine.”

“Not that I’m not glad they are, but why are they telling you all of this?”

“I ran in with her and-”

Then it dawned on Colter. 

Wife.

“And they think I’m her husband.”

Rennie sighed. “Good. Let them keep thinking that. I’m gonna catch the next flight out. Please keep her safe.”

“Always.”

A few hours later, they let Colter in to see you. 

They had you dressed in a hospital gown and you had a couple tubes in your arms. If you hadn’t been slashed with a knife, lay in a hospital and if he still didn’t have your blood on his hands, Colter would have thought you were at home, sleeping. 

You looked peaceful. 

Still. 

Colter placed your belongings at the foot of your bed before sitting in the chair beside your bed. Even the thought of having lost you sent Colter spiralling. Which was why he reached out and touched your hand. He needed to know you were alive. 

Then he started counting your pulse from your wrist with the machine beside your bed. 

And he did that everytime he came in to see you until you finally woke up. 

When you did, Colter was asleep, holding both your hand and your wrist. There was a blanket over his shoulders which you could only guess was from one of the nurses. 

It took you a moment but everything came back and the last thing you could remember was Colter’s voice calling your name in the back of the Sheriff’s car. 

Carefully, you removed your hand from Colter’s before pushing back the hair from his face. 

“Colter?”

It took him a moment before coming round. 

“Colter?” You asked once more, your thumb rubbing at his temple. 

And when he did finally open his eyes, it took him a moment before he realised you were awake. 

His hand came to yours before he placed it in both of his hands and he stood up. “You’re awake.”

It wasn’t long before a nurse came inside with a bright smile, once she saw you were awake. 

“You’re lucky your husband got you here as quickly as he did. Breathe in for me.”

You leaned forward a little more, looking at Colter who had a little coy smile on his face. Clearly he hadn’t shut down the ‘husband’ thing. You took a deep breath in. 

“Reenie’ll be glad to know you’re finally awake.”

And she was. She arrived a couple of hours later, rushing inside before hugging you as tight as she could without hurting you. 

It wasn’t long after that, along with a few teasing words from Reenie about being ‘the happy couple’, that she got called away for a case and you were finally discharged. 

“She’ll need help changing her bandages,” The nurses explained to Colter, handing him a couple extra supplies and a list of things you’d have to get and how to use them. 

It was never a second thought to Colter to bring you back to his home. He could have driven you the hour and a half to your place, but he wanted you close. And safe. 

You would be at home, and you would be with him. But…it was just something a little extra. 

And you never questioned it. In fact, you avoided bringing it up to avoid the conversation that you should go home and that he should leave, most likely, for his next case. 

And when you asked him to stay, you were glad he did so. 

Because falling asleep in his arms was the place you felt most safe. 

[e-dubbc11]

Birthday Boy

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: A couple of swear words and fluff

Word Count: 1.8k-ish

Summary: It’s Billy’s birthday, after a day of paintball, you have a couple of surprises at home for him and you’re hoping he’ll snap out of the bad mood he’s in

A/N: Part of the Gingerverse. Frank and Ginger are in this but only a little bit, I hope you’re not too disappointed, I know some of you guys really love those two(I do too.) But I wrote this in honor of my love Ben Barnes’s birthday coming up on the 20th. I wrote it kinda fast so I’m sorry if it sucks or if there are any mistakes. I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Just like laser tag, it was Ginger’s idea to have a day of paintball. You had been trying to think of something to do for Billy’s birthday anyway and thought he’d probably have fun with paintball and he did have fun until he didn’t.

And again, just like laser tag, you thought it would be better if Billy and Frank were on opposite teams. At Frank’s request, more like demand, he had to be on the opposite team as Ginger too.

Watching them try and work together during laser tag was painful because they fought like cats and dogs but all in good fun, and it was very amusing to watch. Still, Frank couldn’t have Ginger on his team this time, he said it may cause him to “pop a blood vessel.”

Frank got Billy and he got him good, right in the side of his neck. He’ll definitely have a bruise there in a couple days.

The silence was deafening in the car on the ride home while the ride up was so lively and upbeat. There was no music, no stopping for a coffee, and no talking. You could tell he was furious. You’ve been with Billy long enough now to know it was best to just leave him alone for a bit BEFORE telling him he was being a big baby.

The taunting Frank did after he shot him was what probably pissed Billy off the most, although he would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. Frank’s team captured your flag first, game over, your team lost, and you were left to listen to the others gloat about their victory.

Billy always played to win, only this time he didn’t, and he felt like he let the whole team down even though it was just a game.

Even the elevator ride back up to the penthouse was silent, the only noises were the hisses and whirs from the friction of the guide rails. The modest squeaking of the cables and pulleys that you don’t normally hear because you’re usually talking or laughing with him, were quite loud when everything inside the elevator car was hushed.

Once inside, he dropped his bag and headed right for the shower but didn’t ask you to join him like he usually does. If you didn’t know before, you knew now that he’s REALLY mad about it.

It was supposed to be a friendly game of paintball for your husband’s birthday but there was nothing friendly about any of this. You were all competitive in your own way, Ginger took the loss pretty hard too and she was already planning a rematch. She really was the most competitive person you’ve ever met but Billy was a close second.

He had been so excited earlier when you told him that’s what you were all doing for his birthday, a scout sniper’s dream game, but the lot of you were sullen and quiet when the game was over even though you tried to be upbeat, saying it was all about having fun.

“UH, and WINNING y/n!!!” Ginger bellowed. “It’s about WINNING!!”

You weren’t sure you ever heard him yell “FUCK!!” as loud as he did when that green ball of paint exploded against his jugular. Billy called Frank every name in the book as Frank’s laughter and taunts echoed from behind the rustling trees.

“That’s gonna leave a mark, huh Bill?!!” Frank shouted in between hearty bouts of laughter.

Ginger groaned. “Dammit Frank!! Billy was our best shooter!!!”

“Not anymore!!!!” Frank yelled. “Bill the Beaut, you’re DONE!!!”

Billy was in the shower for a long time which gave you time to sneak down to your neighbor’s apartment one floor down to get the birthday cake you made for him.

Billy had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to sugar so you had to hide it somewhere where he wouldn’t find it and you burned probably every scented candle you owned to try and mask the scent of cake when he came home from work that day.

Meticulously, you cleaned every square inch of the kitchen to make sure all of the evidence of your cake baking and decorating adventure was gone so he would remain clueless because it really was difficult to surprise him. You hid his gifts under the kitchen sink behind all of the cleaning products, knowing full well he wouldn’t look back there.

Billy still wasn’t really used to receiving presents, he had never really had anything when he was a kid living at the group home so to watch him open presents with pure excitement in his eyes and a childlike smile on his face was better than any gift you could ever receive.

Gently, you closed the door behind you and listened carefully to see if the water was still running. Thankfully it was, so you could prepare his gifts and the cake.

You were very satisfied with the cake you made for him, it was round and it looked like a button down dress shirt, complete with a collar, and a black tie cascading off of the top. It took a long time and a lot of hard work to get it exactly how you wanted it but in the end it all came together and you really hoped Billy was going to like it.

In addition to the cake, you bought him a couple of gifts. The first one was a bottle of the bourbon you know he really loves and just ran out of not too long ago and the other was a new watch, the band was made from a whiskey barrel.

You heard the water turn off. He would be out soon and if you were to guess, he would ALMOST be ready to apologize for being salty and a sore loser. Dimming the lights, you lit the single birthday candle in the middle of the cake. It glowed bright yellow with flickering blue at its edges.

“Baby? You out there?” He called out from the bedroom, his voice becoming louder as he got closer to the edge of where the bedroom ended and the living room began. He was wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants. “Sweet girl, listen I’m really sor—“ He started to say but stopped when you began to sing very softly.

Happy Birthday…to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday, Mr. Russo

Happy Birthday…tooooo…youuuuuu.

The smile on his face stretched from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat as he lovingly watched you walk out of the kitchen holding the cake in the soft glowing light from overhead, the one bright spot being the lone candle in the middle of the cake, illuminating the smile on your face.

“Sit down on the couch, handsome. This is all yours…and so is this cake.” You giggled.

He couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You’re such a goofball, baby.”

“Ah, but I’m YOUR goofball.” You said with a warm smile behind the candle.

He smiled and licked his bottom lip. “Yes you are, my love. Yes, you are.”

“Make a wish, baby.” You said.

Billy gazed at you from behind the candle as he blew out the flame. He had an apologetic look to his beautiful brown eyes and in return, you showed him the forgiving look to yours. You had been waiting for him to reveal the silent apology that he would eventually vocalize later when he felt ready enough.

“Happy Birthday, Billy.” You said, as you gently pressed your lips to his. “I got you these too!”

Excitedly, you handed him the gift bag.

“What did you do, y/n?” He genuinely sounded surprised that you handed him a gift to open.

Discarding the tissue paper on the floor, he pulled out the bottle of bourbon first. The tension in his shoulders eased and he looked more relaxed as he gazed fondly at you and then looked closely at the bottle.

“Sweet girl, this is…you didn’t have to do this.” He shook his head in astonishment.

Billy had a hard time finding the words to say but before he could say any more, you said “Oh there’s something else in there too!”

He reached in, pulled out the small wooden box, and opened it.

“Do you like it? The band is made from a whiskey barrel.” You stated.

Billy looked at the watch and the bourbon, then looked at you with a warm smile. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb and kissed you, while he moved his hand from your chin to your throat, wrapping his long slender fingers around your neck like a necklace.

His lips pressed harder against your mouth causing you to let out a faint moan and you tangled your hands in his tousled hair which was still a little damp from the shower. His tongue twisted with yours as his lips traced down the side of your neck before landing on that special spot you love so much.

“I take it, that’s a yes?” You asked sarcastically.

Billy flicked his gaze back up to meet yours. “Of course, it’s a yes. But I really don’t deserve it after the way I acted earlier, I’m sorry baby.”

“You did act like a big baby, ya know. You would have gloated the exact same way if you were the one to shoot Frank.” You said sternly.

“I know.” He said, scratching gently at his beard.

“I don’t wanna have to put you guys in time out…Ginger too!”

The two of you started laughing, he pulled you into his chest and leaned back against the couch, kissing the top of your head.

“Ok, ok we’ll do better next time, I promise.” He said. “So you made that cake just for me? It’s impressive!”

“Well, I’ll say it wasn’t easy and I wanted it to be a surprise so Jane let me keep it in her apartment for a day.” You said.

You could tell he had narrowed his eyes and when you looked up at him, he was pointing his finger in the air.

“Wait. Is that why you had every candle known to man burning in here the other day when I got home?” He asked.

With a sly smile on your face, you replied “Maybe…”

“This is amazing baby, I almost don’t wanna cut into it.” He said.

Brushing your knuckles against his beard, you lifted your head off of his chest and said. “It’s double chocolate on the insiiiiiiiiide.”

Bolting up off of the couch, he said “I’ll get the knife…and some ice for my neck.” He turned back around to face you and said with a warm smile. “Thank you sweet girl…for everything. I love you.”

“Happy birthday, Mr. Russo and I love you too.”

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If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[runawrites-blog]

Until The Break Of Dawn Ch. 6 (Josh Washington x Reader)

Summary: You and Mike venture into the mines to try and find Josh, meeting Sam on the way. But your way back out is harder than your way into the mines. (Female Reader) Warnings: Talk of Mental Health. Mild Violence (Mike slapping Josh like in the game). Mentions of the Twins' Death. Wendigos. Specific warnings will be posted in the notes of each chapter. No Y/N, Petnames (Honey) Author's Note: You can find the previous chapter here. Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49644949/chapters/125305396#workskin

“I have to go look for Josh.”

“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Emily shook her head at you as you paced the surveillance room in the basement. “And I’ve dated Mike so the expectations are pretty high on that front.”

Ashley looked up in uncertainty. “If that old man is right, Josh is probably already dead. You shouldn’t risk your life and go down there.”

“Maybe it’s not the worst idea.” Mike mused and looked up at you. “You could go find Josh and I could come to look for both Jess and Matt.”

“See?”

Emily eyed you for a few seconds. “It’s still a terrible idea.”

“I’m his girlfriend, Emily. We’ve been friends since we were children and we promised to always be there for each other. I can’t leave him.” You argued but when she still looked unconvinced you sighed miserably, deciding to tell her the truth. “Listen, I promised him that I would keep him safe and I left to check on you. I left him in that barn all alone and now one of these Wendigos took him down to the mines. I have to look for him.”

“Besides, he is probably the one that has the key to the cable car.” Sam argued, crossing her arms and looking at Emily. “If anything you should be happy that she and Mike are going to get it, so we can finally get off this mountain.”

After a few seconds of silence, Emily nodded. “We will wait here for you. Just be careful. I’ve seen horrible things in these mines and-- and you’re my friends. I want you to be safe.”

“Yes, please be careful.” Ashley pleaded, looking at you in fear. “What do we do if you two don’t come back with the key?”

“According to Emily, someone will come for us at dawn.”

---

The old Sanatorium was terrifying but thankfully you had Mike by your side, so you weren’t alone. After he had acquired a gun and you had found a torch, the two of you had started making your way toward the mines. You had assumed you would only encounter the Wendigos in the mines but the screeches sounding from the basement floors proved you wrong.

“Did you hear that, Mike?”

“Hard to overhear it.”

“I thought they were only in the mines.” You whispered in fear, clutching the torch to your hand. “I thought this route would be safer.”

Mike nodded along to your words but kept going nonetheless. “Same here but the tunnel was safer than walking around outside, at the very least. If you’re too scared, you can go back to the safe room.”

“I am scared. Fuck, I’m downright terrified, but I have to save Josh.” You explained, feeling a little bit more encouraged as you remembered why you were going to the mines. “I can’t leave him down there.”

“You’re a wonderful girlfriend, you know that?” Mike commented as he began descending, lowering himself to the basement through a hole in the ground. “After everything that happened tonight, that he did to us and you, you still risk your life to save him.”

“I am in no way defending his actions. If anything they really hurt me, too. But he planned a prank and nothing more. Granted it was a fucked up prank but he never meant for anyone to get hurt. The fact that there are Wendigos around isn’t his fault and he doesn’t deserve to be taken by them.” You argued softly, sitting down at the edge of the hole to lower yourself down after Mike, giving him a small smile when he reached up to help you down. “Thanks, Mike.”

Mike drew back after helping you down and nodded in the direction of the steel door behind him. “Before we go in there, just know that your father would be proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mike. You’re an amazing boyfriend for going back down there to rescue Jess.” You smiled softly and gripped your torch tightly. “Let’s go.”

“Here goes nothing.”

To your surprise, you weren’t attacked upon entering the next room. Though Wendigos kept screeching at you and trying to get to you, they weren’t able to reach you because they were locked up in iron-barred cells -- presumably by the man with the flamethrower. You and Mike ventured through the room, keeping close to each other and as far away from the Wendigos as possible.

But your luck ran out mere seconds later because not all Wendigos were locked up. One of them burst through the door you had just come through, screeching at you and immediately taking up chase. The two of you booked it down the hall and ended up at a large metal door.

“What do we do now, Mike?”

“Help me get the door open.”

You did as he had told you, slamming yourself against the door but not being able to get it open. All the door did was budge a millimeter at a time but never opened up completely. Things went from bad to worse when the Wendigo caught up with you and jumped at the two of you. You screamed and pushed at the door while Mike shot at the Wendigo, sending it flying backward. But the old man had made it clear that bullets couldn’t kill them and he was proven right when the creature got back up from the ground to once more lurched at the two of you.

That’s when you spotted what looked like a barrel of oil between you two and the Wendigo. And you remembered that the man had said fire could harm them, so you quickly grabbed Mike’s shoulder to get his attention. But Mike had already thought of that idea himself and shot at a nearby barrel. The whole thing blew up, dozing the room and the Wendigo in flames. It screeched at being burned and you two just so managed to get the door open before the flames reached out, tumbling out into the snow. You pushed yourself up to look at Mike who was already getting back to his feet and offering you a helping hand. As you took it and got back to your feet, you couldn’t help but laugh a little at how wrong you had been about thinking there were no Wendigos in the Sanatorium. Mike gave you a questioning look at your laughter.

“I guess the Sanatorium wasn’t exactly a safe way to go.”

“You’re right about that.” Mike mumbled in amusement before he froze. “Fuck, one of them isn’t dead and it’s coming right at you.”

You looked back at the doors and saw a Wendigo that was now dozed in flames coming for the two of you. Without thinking, you grabbed Mike’s arm and pulled him after you, yelling at him to run. And Mike didn’t have to be told twice.

---

You were incredibly thankful that Sam had followed you and Mike. Because when you two stumbled through a door into the mines, a Wendigo in hot pursuit, you hadn’t expected to get out of that situation alive and mostly unharmed. But Sam had been there to hit the creature with a metal pipe, sending its head flying across the floor. As you got up to your feet, Mike was already asking why Sam had followed and where everyone else was.

“We realized that the old man kept Wendigos locked up at the Sanatorium and wanted to warn you. But according to the burning Sanatorium, you’ve already found out.” Sam explained before looking around. “Ashley, Chris, and Emily went back to the cabin when we came to a wall that was hard to climb. Luckily, I have rock climbing experience.”

“Thanks.” Mike said before looking at the mines that lay behind Sam. “We should get going. We have quite some space to cover.”

“Exactly.”

Together with Sam and Mike, you proceeded through muddy water and claustrophobic tunnels. The screeching of the Wendigos was deafening in the caves, echoing through them and making you cling to the metal pipe you had picked up, ready to fight against an ambush at every turn. You kept going for a while before Mike suddenly stopped, nearly causing you and Sam to run into him.

“I hear something.”

Both you and Sam listened and against all the other noises in the mines, you heard someone talking. It sounded like Josh but Sam had warned you during your exploration of the mines that Wendigos could mimic voices, so you were careful when you peered through the wooden planks to your left. But you felt the tight feeling of worry and fear in your chest lighten when you saw that it was indeed Josh.

Mike quickly busted the door open and all of you hurried over. Josh looked horrible, bruised, and terrified, mumbling to himself and begging someone to leave him alone. You approached him and moved closer in careful steps, not wanting to startle him.

“Josh, it’s me. Sam, Mike, and I came to get you home. We’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

“No!” He sobbed out, backing away from you with terrified eyes. “You’re not real. No one came to get me. I’m alone -- all alone. You are not real!”

“He’s in it too deep.” Sam warned. “He doesn’t believe it’s us. What do we do?”

Before you could make a suggestion Mike took the initiative, slapping Josh across the face. You were about to go off at Mike for hitting Josh but then you saw that your boyfriend actually snapped out of his daze and focused on the three of you. He blinked a few times, his eyes finding yours and then he moved in to embrace you, holding you tightly as he began to cry.

“You are real.” He whispered through tears. “You came for me! After-- after everything I’ve done you came for me. I am so sorry.”

“I would never leave you behind.” You reassured Josh, holding him tightly. “We will get you out of here. I promise.”

Sam interrupted you two when another screech echoed through the caves. “Josh, do you have the key to the cable car?”

“Yes, I do.” He whispered and pulled away from your embrace to hand it to Sam before grabbing onto your biceps and holding on tightly. “Don’t leave me, Honey.”

“Never.”

“Josh, Hannah was down here.” Sam whispered in horror, staring at Josh with fearful eyes. “For weeks or months or--”

“Sam.”

You interrupted her, not wanting her to tell Josh about the gruesome way Hannah must have died or about how she might have become a Wendigo, too. He was not in the right state of mind to hear this news and what mattered more was getting everyone to safety.

“We will get you out of here.” Mike promised firmly before looking around. “I’m just wondering what the best way to go is.”

Sam looked up at the slope Josh had been standing next to. “This is the direct way out but no offense, I doubt we could all get up there. I go mountain climbing on a regular basis and I’ve forced your girlfriend to come along a few times, Josh, but I don’t know if you and Mike can get up there.”

“You should go up there and get to the lodge.” Mike suggested. “We’ll keep going and find another way. Get them to the cable car and we’ll meet you there.”

“We’ll try to find Matt and Jess along our way.”

And so you went on with Josh and Mike while Sam started to climb the slope. Mike was leading the way and you walked after him, Josh clinging to your arm in fear. You understood his fear because the mines were truly a terrifying place. As you went on, Mike kept calling out to Jess and Matt but no one answered. Josh kept close to you, trying to quietly reassure himself that he’d be fine.

“Josh, I will get you home.” You promised him once more, bringing a hand to where his was placed on your arm. “I’ll make sure to stay by your side.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning closer to you. “I’m so fucking sorry, Honey. I am such-- I can’t even begin to describe how terrible I feel for what I put all of you through and for what I put you through.”

“Just please-- Just don’t do anything like that again, please.”

“You haven’t forgiven me, have you?”

“It’s hard. Of course, I don’t blame you for this whole Wendigo situation but you knew what happened to my father, you knew more than anyone else how horrible it was for me and you still thought it would be a good idea to prank me by making me think you disappeared.” You explained, still keeping your hand on his. “But I still love you and-- and I want you to be safe.”

“I love you.” Josh mumbled, looking back at you. “What can I do to make you forgive me?”

“Just give me time.”

Josh looked at you for a few more seconds before nodding and lowering his gaze. Mike stopped in front of you and when you looked up you once more saw the water you had waited through earlier. You went in after Mike and held out a hand to Josh, watching as he hesitantly got in, as well. He kept his hand firmly in yours as he kept walking after you and Mike.

Suddenly, Mike screamed and was pulled under the water. And before you could look for him a Wendigo popped up, making you freeze in shock. It raised its hand to grab at you but Josh quickly pulled you backward and behind himself, protecting you despite his own fear.

“Get back! You’re not real!”

You looked on in horror as the Wendigo reached for Josh and when you saw the butterfly on its upper right arm you knew it was Hannah. Sam had mentioned to you and Josh that she had been down here for months. Now your fear that she had turned into a Wendigo had been confirmed. Josh seemed to realize that this creature was his sister, as well.

“Hannah?”

The Wendigo screeched and grabbed him by the throat, starting to drag him away. You saw Mike slowly moving to hide behind a rock but you didn’t have the time to ask for his help, so you grabbed Josh’s hand tightly, holding onto him.

“Let go of him!”

The screech the creature emitted was deafening and it almost made you let go but you kept holding on. She then tried to get you away from Josh, lashing out and slashing her sharp claws across your left arm, making you let go in pain. Blood started seeping out from underneath your jacket and sweater, running down your arms and you were horrified by how much damage these creatures’ claws could do. But you tried your best to work through your pain because Josh was in danger.

You still had the metal pipe from earlier and you did the only thing you could think of and hit the Wendigo with it. Guilt washed over you because you knew this creature was Hannah, your friend, the poor woman who had been trapped down here and turned into this creature. But you had to save Josh. You knew how much the twins had loved their brother, so you reasoned that saving him was what they would have wanted.

She let Josh go and you pulled him back, quickly retreating through the water and making sure he was behind you. When you reached the other end of the pond the Wendigo had recovered from the shock of being hit and was once more approaching you. Josh climbed out of the water and grabbed you from underneath your arms, pulling you out and away from the creature. The two of you ran before you could even see if the Wendigo was following you.

You felt terrible for leaving without Mike but when you realized that the creature was indeed following you rather than staying and looking for him, you felt a little less guilty. Mike had managed to hide while you had been attacked and while you didn’t blame him, you also knew he’d understand that you were also too terrified to go back and get him. Besides, you were luring the Wendigo away, giving Mike ample opportunity to get out some other way. You knew for a fact that the ladder you had used to get out before was close by and you were certain he’d find it.

Josh had your hand tightly in his, pulling you along as he ran through the tunnel and when you came to a fork in the caves you told him to go left, toward the metal door you had come through with Mike earlier.

Once there, Josh pushed you through the door and slammed it shut behind the two of you. The Wendigo scratched at the door and Josh grabbed you by the arms, turning his body so it was between you and the door. The scratching stopped eventually and you heard her retreat back into the mines. Josh breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly and bursting into tears.

“That was Hannah.”

You embraced him, holding his head to your shoulder where he quickly buried his face. “I am so sorry, Josh. That is a terrible fate.”

“I just left her there.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” You whispered in earnest. “She is no longer human and you would have only endangered yourself had you attempted to get her out with us.”

“I abandoned them.”

“You didn’t abandon them. Josh, they aren’t angry at you. Your sisters loved you so endlessly.” You promised, holding him tightly. “The last thing either of them would have wanted would have been for you to end up hurt. They aren’t angry at you.”

“You sound like our old guidance counselor.”

You sighed at his words, squeezing him tighter. “It’s what my old therapist told me when I told him about how guilty I felt for never finding my father. He told me my father loved me so much and that he wouldn’t have wanted me to feel bad. He said my father was not angry at me. And I know that the same goes for your sisters. Josh, they loved you so much. They aren’t angry at you.”

“Are you sure?”

“They would be beyond happy that you escaped.”

Josh was quiet for a few seconds before he released a deep breath. “Is there-- Is there nothing we can do?”

“Maybe once we’re back to safety we can find someone to go into the mines and look for her.” You mused, rubbing Josh’s back soothingly. “Maybe there is a way to help her or-- or get her back to her old self or something. But for now, we have to get down this mountain and get help because we can’t do that alone.”

Josh drew back from your embrace, still looking terrified and devastated. But when his eyes flicked to the blood still running down your arm he seemed to snap out of it, quickly taking it into his hands to examine it. “Fuck, Honey, that looks painful.”

“It is.” You mumbled, biting your lip as he moved your arm and pain started coursing through you once more. “It just-- It’s bleeding a lot.”

Josh thought for a few seconds before reaching out to unwrap his scarf from your neck. You watched as he started to wrap it around your arm, pulling it tight to stop the bleeding, and hissed in pain, the pressure sending jolts of pain through your body. But you knew that it had to be done.

“Almost done.” Josh promised under his breath, tying the scarf into a tight knot. “Sorry. I’m so sorry for causing you pain.”

“No, you-- you had to. Thank you, Josh.”

“Not just the arm.” He mumbled, averting his eyes for a second before forcing himself to look at you. “I can’t believe that after everything I did tonight, you-- you still came looking for me. It feels so-- so unreal.”

You shook your head and reached out to touch his cheek, trying to assure him that you two had really escaped the mines. “It is real, Josh. I would never leave you behind, Sweetheart.”

“You-- You called me ‘sweetheart’ again. Are you-- Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?” Josh asked and looked up at you in uncertainty. “You really don’t have to.”

“I did.” You nodded and took his hand into both of yours. “You saved me. You got in the way of a literal Wendigo to protect me. And when she had you in her grasp, I just-- I thought I’d lose you and I realized that I can’t live without you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

With that, Josh pulled away from your grasp and placed both of his hands on your cheeks before leaning in to kiss you. He was slow at first, giving you the opportunity to pull away before he could place his lips on yours but you wanted nothing more than to feel him again, so you closed the space between you two. Josh breathed a sigh of relief and you wrapped your arms around his middle, deepening the kiss for a small moment before pulling back.

“We need to keep going, Josh.”

“I know.” He said and extended a hand toward yours which you gladly took, making him look back at you in worry. “Your hands are freezing. You look really cold.”

“We are drenched in cold water in these temperatures. I am so cold.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t have a way to warm you up.” Josh said mournfully as he looked down his body. “I left my vest at the lodge.”

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault. At least I had your scarf up until now. It really helped with the cold and to keep me calm when I was in the mines before.” You explained, grabbing his hand once more to pull him down the mountain after you. “It smells like you.”

“You were down there before?”

“I fell down there while looking for you after I thought you’d disappeared.”

“I am so sorry.” Josh whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. “You were down there because of my prank. I am so fucking sorry, Honey.”

“Josh, you risked your life for me. I’ve forgiven you. Just don’t ever do something like that again, please.”

“Never.”

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Majestic distraction

Pairing | College student!Bucky Barnes x College student!Steve Rogers

Word count | ~ 850 words

Summary | Steve and Bucky need to study for an important upcoming test, but Alpine doesn't care; she only wants the attention she deserves (or demands...). Her Majesty, the Queen of Fur, doesn't take no for an answer and becomes Steve and Bucky's best distraction.

Prompt(s) | B5: Alpine & Studying/textbooks | @stuckybingo

Warning(s) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Established relationship [ Boyfriends ], college AU.

A/n | Welcome to the second fic for Stucky Bingo Round 5! This was such a cute one to write, and I hope you all enjoy the route I took with this 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💚

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | Header & 18+ banner are made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist | Bingo Masterlist

''Right, let's go home to study there; it's too noisy in here,'' Bucky sighs, and Steve, his roommate and boyfriend, agrees.

''I didn't know it could be so loud and busy inside a library,'' Steve says while rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed by the distractions.

They have an essential test coming up, and they are both aiming for another perfect score. They have been working hard for this test the entire year, and they're both straight-A students, so they want to be satisfied.

While the two of them are packing their bags, they hear all kinds of rude comments towards them, mainly about being 'nerds' and 'dorks' for studying all the time.

Neither of them had much growing up, and they always had to work for what they wanted, so this mindset is engraved in their brains, which shows in their school work.

''Ready?'' Steve asks as he sticks out his hand for Bucky to walk to Steve's car together.

''Ready!'' Bucky says as he leans in for a small kiss, which Steve happily accepts.

As soon as they're at Steve's car, Bucky walks over to the passenger side and lets himself slide into the seat, finally sighing because his head is not as full anymore.

''Is everything okay, Trouble?'' Steve asks, and he looks at his boyfriend with a worried look.

''I- Yeah, everything's fine,'' Bucky tries, but Steve knows him long enough to see that he isn't telling the truth.

''You want to try that again?'' Steve asks, and he rubs Bucky's cheek with his thumb to calm him down and get him out of his head simultaneously.

''It's nothing. Let's go home and study for this test,'' Bucky tries, and this time, Steve lets it go, not wanting to push him too far.

''Okay. We'll talk about it later,'' he says before leaning in for a kiss, and Bucky plugs in the AUX cable to choose the music for the drive home.

It was Steve's turn to cook dinner tonight, and Bucky decided to work at the kitchen table so he could still be in his company without being too distracted. If only Alpine had that same idea, Bucky thinks to himself.

''Alpine, can you just-'' Bucky says after picking her up from his books for the third time in a few minutes, but she doesn't want to hear it. All she cares about is getting attention from Bucky.

Steve chuckles while cooking, which earns him a glare from Bucky.

''Somethin' funny, punk?'' Bucky asks, and Steve can't help but laugh at the comment.

''Yeah. It's charming how Alpine keeps demanding your attention because you spoil her rotten,'' he says, and Bucky looks at him like he's grown three heads.

''I don't-'' he tries to protest, but Steve raises his brow at the other man.

''Bucky, there's a reason I call Alpine 'Her Majesty, Queen of Fur.' She gets everything she wants, whenever she wants, and more. And I don't doubt for a second that you're going to fold soon and give her the attention she's begging for,'' Steve says, making Bucky's cheeks turn red at those words.

''Not fair...'' Bucky mumbles as he returns to work, but Steve is right. In the next few minutes, Alpine is again back on the table.

Steve hears her unmistakable purring sound, and when he looks over his shoulder, he finds Alpine cradled in Bucky's arms while he scratches her belly.

''See?'' Steve says, and Bucky gets so scared he accidentally drops Alpine.

''Sorry Alp!'' Bucky says, and he quickly turns back to his work, but this time, Alpine doesn't bother anymore until after dinner.

The two men finished dinner and moved to the couch with their laptops, always sitting close together. They have to complete their last assignment before having the rest of the evening to themselves.

Alpine's lying next to Bucky on the couch, and she keeps pawing at his leg, demanding attention, but this time, Bucky isn't having any of it.

After a few minutes, she jumps onto the back of the couch and walks over to Steve, trying to see if he will give her attention, but when that isn't working either, she decides on a more drastic measure.

She stands on Steve's shoulder and drops herself onto his lap, but he is fast enough to pull his laptop away so she doesn't break it.

When that's complete, she stretches onto Bucky's lap as well, and she goes to lay comfortably, ready for her nap; now all she needs is scratches, and she's one happy kitty.

''Did she just-'' ''Yeah.''

Bucky can't help but chuckle and tell Steve he was right.

''You can't blame me, though; no one would be able to say no to such a majestic distraction,'' Bucky says, and Steve laughs softly in agreement.

''I love you,'' Steve says as he pulls Bucky closer without disturbing the little fur ball.

''I love you too,'' Bucky says as he cuddles into Steve's side, and they decide on watching a movie together while giving Alpine all of the scratches her heart desires.

School can wait until tomorrow. Alpine can't.

[cable-knit-sweater]

I do.

a moodboard by cable-knit-sweater

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 884 words

Created for: @buckybarnesbingo card B101 | Adoptable: Diary, & @stuckybingo card R4005 | Square: G2 - “I read about you in a museum”

He keeps them like treasures, each and every single one of them. The ones from earlier, months ago, read like not more than the ramblings of a mad man, words scribbled over and over, sometimes with painstaking effort to hold a pen or pencil without his hand trembling, with seemingly no intent behind it except to get them out of his head and onto paper, like he’ll feel less haunted that way. He doesn’t, not really, but it helps, at least for a little while, and at this point, that’s all he can ask for.

They’re his most prized belongings, if you can call it that, traveling with him from city to city, abandoned apartment to warehouse to street corner, all packed safely into his backpack. They’re a part of him, his thoughts and fears, his every half formed thought, and even less than that, right there on paper. He wouldn’t want anyone to see them, thinks he’s an idiot sometimes, for putting it down like that for anyone to read, if they’d find him. His lips curl into what would count as a smile these days, thinking about him, him telling him something about taking all the stupid with him, in a different life.

It’s better now, than it had been. He has flashes of memories that he puts down immediately, afraid that they’ll slip out of his hands if he doesn’t. His mind feels less like he’s in a constant state of confusion, some sort of fog lifting, but some days he still wakes up with no recollection of where he is or how he got there, and writing down as much as he remembers lets him hold onto some semblance of control.

He wishes he could just stop. Stop running, stop looking over his shoulder. But it’ll be either them, or him that will catch up with him eventually. He’s not so sure which one of those is worse. That’s a lie. He is sure, although he tells himself he could fight them, and facing him…he’s not sure he can bear it. Not now, not like this.

It doesn’t end up mattering. He runs up to his apartment to pack up his stuff, his diaries, some cash, some weapons, to get the hell out before they find him. But it’s too late. He can hear cars hurrying up the street, and he doesn’t have to guess their destination. There’s someone in his apartment, he can hear the steady breathing and rustling around before he enters.

His heart beats out of his chest when he sees him. He knew, technically, that he’d recovered from what Bucky had done to him, but in his dreams sometimes…No matter. He’s there, and he looks calm, collected, but Bucky can hear more than just his own heart racing. In his hands is one of Bucky’s diaries. A recent one, the pages already worn by use, flipping to one page in particular, the worst one, the one page that shows too much, lays him bare.

“Do you know me?” he asks, but his voice doesn’t sound right, like the calm he’s trying to exude, affected.

Bucky can barely look at him, afraid to show too much, to give hope where he knows he can’t. He has nothing to offer, except lies. “You’re Steve,” he says, and it comes out more breathless than he’d hoped. God, this punk is going to see right through me, a voice in his head tells him. Please, please don’t. Please just let this go. “I read about you in a museum.” He has to look away at that, can’t bear the look that Steve must have on his face.

“I know you’re nervous, you got plenty of reason to be,” he says, voice rough, holding back an emotion Bucky can’t place. He used to know him, know all of him. He swallows heavily. “But you’re lying.”

He is. He is lying. I know you, I do, he wants to scream. I’ve known you my entire life. I just don’t know who I am, and I can’t…he can’t do that to him. Not to Steve. Steve, his Steve, who expects his Bucky. Steve deserves more than someone who forgot him long enough to beat him to a pulp. Someone who wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming. Who still doesn’t know who or what or where he is sometimes. It’s not safe. He can’t hurt him again, not ever.

He wishes he could tell him that, but his throat feels too tight, and he can hear heavy boots come up the stairs, and he feels trapped, every instinct telling him to run. Even when a little voice in his head tells him to stay, that Steve will figure it out, to let himself get a good look at him, now that he remembers enough, might remember this, one more good look at him, before it all goes to hell. Or whatever is past that. He thinks he’s been in hell, that tendrils of its flames are still wrapped around his wrists, trying to pull him back in.

He ignores the little voice. He runs. He takes one more glance at him, at Steve, and then he runs, his backpack strapped to him, all his memories inside. At least he has those.

[tllgrrl]

Heart Beat: a SarahBucky Vampire AU

Chapter 1, Part 1 “The Beautiful One is coming.”

Relationship: Cardiologist!Vampire Sarah Wilson / Vampire!James “Bucky” Barnes

* * * * * * * * * *

San Francisco, California - 1989

It wasn’t supposed to be her. She wasn’t even originally scheduled to be there that night. She’d simply agreed to work someone else’s shift.

That’s where it happened. At work.

Claudette Singh had called St. Francis of Assisi Hospital.

Dr. Arun Singh’s appendix had burst during the 4th inning at their kid’s Little League game, so he wasn’t going to make it to work.

Dr. Nina Chow was his backup, but she was busy giving birth to twins and thus a little bit occupied.

Dr. Max Richards, was laid up with a broken arm and recovering from a mild concussion due a rollerblading accident.

(“Don’t ask,” he replied when asked, but word got out anyway about the drinks, the bet, and how lucky he was. He’d wiped out just yards before the intersection, causing him to miss a collision with a cable car.)

Dr. Sarah Wilson, the on-staff cardiology fellow, was next in the rotation.

Having just hung up on her now Ex, she answered the phone on the first ring thinking she was about to give him another piece of her mind, but instead ended up agreeing to work the upcoming weekend’s night shift because, other than work, her calendar was now completely free.

Again.

***

Despite it being an unusually quiet Friday night, a man who had apparently fallen/jumped/was thrown from the roof of a building over on Upper Market Street was being wheeled into the ER at about the same time Sarah was upstairs taking a break in the Doctor’s lounge, and beginning to smell the apple fritter heating up in the fancy new Radarange microwave that replaced the ancient toaster that had finally given up the ghost two weeks earlier.

{*Ding!*}

“Awwwyeah, come here you hot, sweet thannng,” she crooned to herself, opening the oven and removing the treat.

Just as she sat down and picked up her fork—

<<Doctor Wilson. Doctor Sarah Wilson, please call the ER immediately. Doctor Wilson, please call 999…>>

“No! Nononooo,” she wailed. “Can’t a sistah get a proper break?”

“Guess not,” Nurse Sanchez laughed as he glided into the break room gleefully rubbing his hands together. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that fritter gets a good home.”

<<Doctor Sarah Wilson, please report to Emergency. Doctor Wilson, to Emergency, please.>>

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Octavio. You and Cynthia got my maple bar yesterday with this trickery. Get your own fritter, you sneaky—“

“My God, what is that delicious smell?!” Head Nurse Robbins practically panted, peeking into the lounge, eyes scanning the room for the source of the aroma.

“Oh, Doctor Wilson! ER just called. Dr. Haddid needs you downstairs, ASAP.”

Nurse Sanchez shrugged. “Sorry, Doc.”

Pouting, Sarah sighed, gave him the plate, and hurried to the elevator.

To be continued…

* * * * * * * * * *

Finally. And with a slightly updated moodboard for the actual fic.

Thanks @fleurdelouve for the nudge. I’ve been hesitating with this for too long. (And Thanks Alan Silvestri and Ludwig Göransson for being my soundtrack this morning, assisting me in getting off my ass and start posting this thing.)

[southpaw-99]

Reasons I am Pro-Life

( I am spreading misinformation online )

I used to work at an abortion clinic and I saw some extremely fucked up shit there which is why I'm so anti-abortion now. This is just SOME of the horrible stuff I personally witnessed:

• A 23 year old woman came in 11 months into her pregnancy and said "I don't want this stupid baby anymore, kill it" and the doctor said "okay" and he put jumper cables up her baby hole and connected them to a car battery and let it run for six days straight

• A little 8-year old girl wandered in and said "I want an abortion but I am not pregnant" and the doctor said "we'll fix that" and he stole a baby and cut the girl open and put the baby inside her and sewed her shut and then woke the girl up and said "congratulations it's a healthy six year old boy" and the girl said "can I keep him" and the doctor said no and then backed over her in the parking lot with his brand new Ford Raptor

• They made me sign an agreement promising to stop drinking from the medical waster container (I signed somebody else's name)

• One of the doctors there developed a futuristic ray gun that could make anything he shot have an abortion, even trees, cars or barns

• The receptionist threw nail polish at an elderly man

• The doctor's assistant invented this thing she called "the silly slide" and it was a really fun little water slide that connected a woman's vagina to a paper shredder so a newborn baby could briefly "enjoy the high life"

• The oldest child we aborted was in his late 70s, we didn't even know he was a baby until his wife brought in photos

• The doctors put all sorts of crap up a woman's uterus including a clown nose, bicycle handlebars, a calendar, and an entire Sears retail outlet (before bankruptcy)

• During every succesful abortion, the doctor would shout "take that, baby" and he'd push a red button that made sirens go off and confetti fell from the ceiling and we'd all get Del Taco for free

[jovialtorchlight]

THE WITCH--A ONE ACT PLAY by JONNY BOLDUC

The Witch

            A play by Jonny BOLDUC

CHARACTERS:

JONNY: Male, 20-50

A young man. Troubled, disheveled. 

WITCH: Female, 20-50 

A mystical and enigmatic guide, similarly troubled.

JACOBY

Male, 10-18

A scared young boy.

 GLEN:

Male, 20-50

The embodiment of evil.

CHARLIE:

Male, 40-70

A barfly who dies.

THERAPIST:

Any gender, 40-70

A kind professional. 

SAWED MAN:

Any Gender. 20-70

A soul claimed by evil.

EMT/BYSTANDER

COP/ GUARD

BOUNCER/NURSE

JONNY:

Lights up on Jonny, centerstage. He is in a flannel shirt and has a pitchfork, dressed like he just he is in a barn. He addresses the audience directly. He is telling a story.

Three months. Doesn’t seem real. The days blur by like a roar. What did I do today, even? Well, I went out to the barn. Our barn.   I found two dead, newborn goats in a corner. Black and brown, tiny, the size of puppies, twins. The mother looked at me like she always did; huge marble eyes dilated, sideways, like they were about to bulge out of her skull. 

My farmhouse, a farmhouse that used to be ours, was down a small hill from the paddock, a half acre fenced off with a barn built at the crest of the hill. I could see it from the small wooden slat in the stall door. The baby goats were born in a bad way. It wasn’t their fault. It was November, and even with a heated blanket and  the insulation of the hay, the cold air wrapped around them,  their spirits slowly fading.  Even in April, the normal birthing season, on the cusp of spring, it was normal to lose a few babies. 

November seemed to take farm life with greed. Earlier in the month, a fisher cat had chewed through the wire of the coop and slaughtered 13 turkeys, leaving decapitated bodies piled up against the doors of the coop. 

Half of life is keeping wolves from the door, I thought as I bent over to cradle the dead goats in my arms. 

And the wolves are drawn to the scent of blood.

And there was no shortage of wolves, or blood. The whole farmed reeked of pain. At first, everything was coated in a thick film of memory. Even the pots and the pans, the coffee maker. The pang of “that was once ours.” The knowledge that she touched this mug, cupped it in her palms, let the steam rise into the chilly morning air, leaving the floating scent of coffee lifting through the house.

I snapped back to the dead goats in my arms, limp, limbs flapping around awkwardly, the mother staring at me.

It’s hard to figure out what a goat knows. Did she want a snack of grain? Most definitely. Did she miss her babies? Maybe. Sometimes, they seem like bleating animatronics, only interested in food, screaming, and breaking shit. Other times  they stare at you, long tongues lopsided, eyes sideways, looking at something beyond you, understanding what exists beyond what’s here. 

The Witch taught me how to feel that connection. That communion. Not the evil, biblical pentagram shit. But a link to something beyond. Once you know it’s present, you can feel it. 

Animals are a vessel. And it’s not a dark energy they draw from, a dark message from an abyssal place. It’s just another place, another place we go when we’re done being here. Most of the time, it works out fine. 

The witch also taught me that  everything can be perverted, can take on a new form, a terrible form.  Scene jumps to a parking lot, where the Witch, rubbing her hands together for warmth, is stranded outside of her car. 

JONNY:

Hey there. Battery dead?

WITCH:

Startled. 

Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you. Yeah, it is. 

JONNY:

I have cables in the back. 

WITCH:

Oh, you don’t need to--

JONNY: 

No problem at all. 

JONNY attaches the wires to the invisible car.

SFX: Car starting

WITCH:

Freezing.

Thank..you.

JONNY:

You got some snowflakes in your scalp.

WITCH:

What?

JONNY:

Akwardly.

I assume it’s not dandruff.

WITCH:

Uh…

JONNY:

I mean, uh, it would be ok if it was dandruff--

WITCH:

Laughing.

It’s not.  Thank you. I’ve been waiting for almost an hour.

JONNY:

Not a problem. Get in your car before you freeze. See you around.  WITCH exits. Lights dim on JONNY.  I’d like to say that it was love at first sight, that I knew she was a witch, that I felt her presence and knew that she was going to gradually teach me that I was fundamentally wrong about the universe, about the way things worked, about life and love and joy and terror.

 But as I drove out of the Walmart parking lot, the sky was just the sky, the cold was just cold, and the emptiness of a half lived life swam around me.  Days, as they often do, turned into weeks. We kept circling each other. Sometimes I noticed her, sometimes she noticed me; at least three or four times a week. In gas stations, waiting rooms, checkout lines. It became a bit of a joke shared by two near strangers; we were always together, by complete accident.

It was a hot July day, and I was at the town beach, lying on a towel. I  had been reading a book, but I closed it, and laid it on top of my eyes so the beating of the sun wouldn’t blind me. 

Monlouge breaks. We are at a beach, several weeks later. JONNY sheds his shirt and pants to a layer of swimgear underneath. WITCH is sitting on a beach chair wearing dark sunglasses and a sunhat. JONNY lays down on a towel.

I could feel my skin tightening into a sunburn, so I sat up. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her. 

JONNY:

You again?  Jonny smiles.

WITCH:

Yep. looks like it. Grins back. 

JONNY:

I’m starting to think you’re following me.

WITCH:

Grin fades. Her tone is suddenly very, very dire. 

I’m not. Are you following me?

JONNY:

“Uh...no. And look, I’m sorry if I spooked you. It was a half-baked joke. Starts to get up. 

WITCH:

It’s okay. I didn’t think so. I just had to be sure. What’s your name?

JONNY:

Jonny. What’s yours?

WITCH:

Ignoring the question. She concentrates out into the audience, her voice falling into a  sharp  whisper. She points. That boy out by the floating dock is going to drown. Things are about to fall into place.

JONNY:

Back into narration.

Six or seven children were standing in the corner of the floating dock, trying to sink it. They did; and the other half of the dock rose into the air. 

A boy who looked to be about ten was standing on a particularly pitched part of the float. As it rose sharply, he slipped, smashed his face off of the wood, and, before his friends could catch him, slipped off into the water. 

Before I registered what I was doing, I was in the water, running, as fast as Icould; diving into the water, stroke after stroke, kids screaming, parents from the beach yelling.

Lights up on a boy, some distance from Jonny.

Rapid fire delivery. Frantic. 

JACOBY:

He was swimming quickly, and he was at the dock, I gasped and I swallowed more water and he dived under and he opened his eyes 

JONNY:

 I couldn’t see anything, just a chain attached to the slimey underneath of the dock to the bottom of the lake; breath running out, I followed the chain to the rocky bottom;

JACOBY:

But I wasn’t there either. He looked back up, and saw me, face down, under the dock. He 

JONNY:

Pushed from the bottom upwards, running out of breath.  I grabbed the boy’s limp body, and dragged him out from under the dock  with a final push before I inhaled a lung full of lakewater.  I felt the fire hit my lungs, I pushed his body up above the surface of the water and some hands grabbed him and while I wheezed and coughed—

O.S VOICE:

OH GOD HE’S NOT BREATHING!

JONNY: 

No, I thought, I just saved him, just grabbed him, I should have saved him, and I thrashed as I lost strength and before I lost consciousness I felt hands grab me and pull me— 

People rush around JONNY, who stands still, slow motion  in the middle of the chaos. Two EMTS lift Jacoby onto  stretcher and hurry him offstage. 

Everything should have been fine. EMTs were having lunch at the hotdog stand up the road; they heard the screaming and came on the scene while I was underwater. The boy was under the dock for just under a minute. The guy who jumped in right behind me was a lifeguard. The guy swimming behind him was a former Navy S.E.A.L. 

On that hot July day, everything lined up. We should have been able to save that boy—I’d learn later, from his mother, that his name was Jacoby—and he should have been the one, blue lipped, shivering, on the back of the ambulance, having his vitals monitored, coughing up water. 

While I was unconscious, I had a dream. 

BLACKOUT. Lights come up. Three distinct spotlights, the rest of the stage as black as possible. JONNY, the WITCH with her beach-chair, and JACOBY each occupy a space onstage.

                      JACOBY:

Sobbing, stifling sniffling. Where’s my mom? 

WITCH:

The spotlight follows her as she moves to JACOBY. She embraces him, and puts a hand on his head. 

She’s not here now, but you can visit her later. Why don’t we go take a walk? There are some people up by the hot-dog stand who would love to see you, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

          Oh...okay.  JACOBY begins to move, but he suddenly whips around and stares at JONNY.

        Terrified. Who is that? Out on the dock? Is he the bad? Is he going to--

JONNY:

No, no, buddy, I’m a friend, I tried to help you--

JACOBY:

He shouldn’t be here. JACOBY looks as if he is going to bolt. 

WITCH:

Stern, like a mother. Jacoby,  you need to turn toward me. Please. You don’t have to be afraid.  He is a friend.

JACOBY:

JACOBY begins to writhe. Lights make it look like energy is bursting from his skin. 

WITCH:

JACOBY! 

JACOBY:

                    It’s so hot…all this light…I can’t…

Red. Everything is washed in red. JONNY begins to narrate.

JONNY:

Breathless. 

I felt myself burn into him, felt my consciousness blend into his—for a moment--Add strobe effect—I had to stand—had to stop this— I felt my chest tighten as his eyes fixed on me and I felt the way his smashed face felt when it hit the dock and scraped against the wood and how his head pounded and he slipped and the way he tried to swim up before he lost consciousness and the way the water filled his lungs—I saw the writhing and the fear, the red open sore of the sky, the dark hue of the beach suddenly vast and endless, a void, drawing me and the boy in like a magnet, like we were being pulled; I had to stand up, do something—

BLACKOUT. In the blackout, which lasts a second or two, JONNY moves next to JACOBY and the WITCH. 

                            WITCH:

Thank you, Jacoby. Thank you for trusting us. Now, I need you to get out of the water, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

I don’t know if I can. Subtle hints that he is escalating; perhaps a strobe flashing once. 

WITCH:

You can. You can, Jacoby.

              JACOBY:

         Turns to JONNY. 

     I’ll do it if he jumps in.

WITCH: 

                                                 Addressing JONNY. Friend. You don’t have to jump.

JACOBY:

                                      Petulant. Yes he does!  I won’t do it if he doesn’t!

JONNY:

Narrating.  I looked down at the water. It was black, oily, bubbling.  I glanced back at Jacoby. I didn’t know what was going to happen to him if I didn’t jump. But the fear in my chest told me he would be lost, swallowed up by whatever this oily water was. 

Breaking back.

Alright. On the count of three. 

BOTH:

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

          JONNY jumps. BLACKOUT.

SCENE 2

JONNY:

Laying down on a stretcher stage center, with an EMT leaning over him... Lights dim on JONNY and an EMT. 

JONNY coughs. 

                  Where is he? Where’s Jacoby?

EMT:

                                                    Woah, take it easy. Who’s Jacoby?

JONNY:

Speaking hurts. The kid. Underwater. Jacoby.

Silence. After a pause. 

            EMT:

    His parents said they didn’t know you. How do you know his name?

JONNY:

A bad liar. Somebody yelled it. How long was I unconscious? 

EMT:

Three minutes. No matter what happened to Jacoby, it wasn’t your fault. You tried to save him.

JONNY STANDS. EMT’s exit, wheeling the stretcher off. The BEACH scene is over, and JONNY is narrating. 

JONNY:

For a while, I convinced myself that the  the dream was my mind responding to the influx of trauma and the lack of oxygen and the exhaustion.  A few days passed. Jacoby’s family called me a few times, told me it wasn’t my fault, that I was a hero for trying to save him. They asked me to come to his funeral. I couldn’t.  I could barely leave my apartment. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jacoby. Or the black, oily water.

And in my dreams, I was standing on the edge of the dock, staring at the bubbling void and Jacoby's blue bloated bloody face rose up from the depths and he was sobbing, asking me why I didn’t swim faster, why I couldn’t save him.

When I drank, I fell asleep and I didn’t have dreams. So I took to drinking.

 Hard.  We are now in the interior of a car. There is an open bottle of whiskey barely concealed underneath a coat in the drivers seat. JONNY is driving. He mimes falling asleep. SOUND FX: CRASH. JONNY stumbles out of his car; from the opposite side of the stage, the Witch stumbles out of hers. A small crowd forms around. 

JONNY:

             Drunkenly. Anyone have any---uh, Listerine? Or Tik Tacks? 

JONNY and the WITCH notice eachother. 

                      WITCH: 

It’s…you. 

JONNY:

Sure is. Your eyes are bloodshot as fuck. Also, you smell like…a…whiskey…factory. I do too. Damn it. Tell me, when I jumped, did Jacob…

WITCH:

He made it.

A bystander approaches. 

BYSTANDER:

Are you both…drunk?

JONNY:

Then why am I…

WITCH:

Having the dreams? You jumped in. 

Blue lights flash.

                          JONNY:

I had to. I had to jump.

WITCH:

Smiling. Once we sober up and post bail, we have to talk. 

COPS ENTER.

JONNY: 

The Witch was right. We both got arrested. My coat fell off the bottle during the force of the crash. I glanced at it. It was almost empty. I did a quick calculation; I had been drinking heavy for six months. I didn’t even notice when the bottle was gone. The bottle was the first thing the cop saw. I saw him put on some gloves and grab it. Another cop car rolled in. 

COP:

Not really a question. You been drinking, sir?

JONNY:

Addressing audience. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should have waited for my lawyer. But I just wanted to get it over with. 

Addressing COP.

            Yes. 

COP: To the Witch. 

And you, miss?

WITCH: 

Yes. 

COP:

Do you two know eachother?

BOTH:

No. 

JONNY:

That was the first lie we told. Addressing the audience as he he is cuffed and led away by the COP. 

We both blew the same blood alcohol level. Way over. Both JONNY and the WITCH are sitting in the back of a cop car.  We decided, subconsciously, that the back of a copcar wasn’t a good place to talk. 

It is silent, cut by bursts of SXF: Radio chatter. JONNY leads his head back, and closes his eyes. The WITCH is asleep as well. 

For the first time in six months, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t see Jacoby. I saw her face. I understood her.  I knew she was as tired as I was. She had the same dreams of Jacoby dying.  When we got to the jail, we were separated. I spent a night in County, sobered up, and posted bail. First time. No convictions. Not even a speeding ticket. $500, only bail condition not to drink. 

I knew I’d probably be back behind bars. I already knew I needed a drink. I should have called a lawyer first thing. Called my parents to tell them I’d got into trouble and probably lost my job and needed help and I was so sorry—  But I didn’t . The first thing I did—and I mean the first thing—was to try and find the Witch. 

COP is now a GUARD who is handing JONNY his belongings.

                        JONNY:

 The woman I was brought in with--do you know if she’s been released?

GUARD:

Fuck off. Get out of here. Here’s your stuff. One uncharged phone, a lighter, and a wallet with 14 dollars in cash.

JONNY:

JONNY leaves, and sits at a table, drinking a coffee.  There was a Cafe down the street. I got a coffee, and sat. The morning’s paper was on the stand.  We were sure to be in there. Sure enough, I flipped to the local section of the paper, greeted by my mugshot, and hers.  Headline read, “two arrested after drunk drivers slam into each other.”

But I had something important. Her name.  I never told her that I learned her name from her mugshot. I left my coffee on the table, and left the cafe without paying for the paper. 

As JONNY leaps up from the table, he walks, and delivers these lines to the the audience. As he does, a basic apartment with a chair is set behind him. 

It was a two hour walk back to my apartment, but I made it. I charged my phone. About 100 voicemails and missed calls, from my mom, my dad, my sister. My work. I was fired. 

SOUND SXF: Phone ringing. Witch appears with a phone on the other side of the stage.

WITCH:

Hey, I found your number in the phone book...I found your address, too. I’m coming over.

JONNY:

What?

 WITCH:

Bursts through the door. Looks around. Her tone is playful.

Wow, this place is a shithole. All carpeted, right? Even the bathroom?

JONNY:

Yeah, how did you--

WITCH:

Been here before. Your closet is full of booze bottles and pizza bozes towering like a pyramid. You’re not going to get your damage deposit back, and you’re fine with that. The “living” room is a futon pad on the floor with a TV and a Playstation hooked up, and your bedroom is a mattress on the floor. You use an oversized flannel as a blanket. 

JONNY:

Uh. Yeah. How--

WITCH:

You still hungover?

JONNY:

Yeah. 

WITCH:

Well, clear the pizza box off that chair and we can talk. 

JONNY:

Hastily moves a pizza box. 

I’m sorry my apartment is such a mess.

WITCH:

I was just giving you shit. Mine is just as bad. 

JONNY:

Sits across from the Witch. They are silent, but not uncomfortably. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m so goddamn tired.

WITCH:

Me too. But it feels like we’re both back from the brink of whatever the hell had happened to us. Like we’re  finally sitting down, gasping for breath, not drowning, happy to be safe. 

JONNY:

Or at least pretending to be safe. 

WITCH:

Right.

JONNY:

So…what happened on the beach?

The Witch puts her head in her hands, slumps down. She looks up. 

WITCH:

It’s hard to explain. It’s no so much a ‘what was that,’ as a  ‘where were we?” type question. 

JONNY:

Jacoby…was dead, right?

WITCH nods.

Were we dead too? Did I die-

WITCH:

Snapping.  No. No, we weren’t dead. Jacoby died, we survived. 

JONNY:

I’m sorry. I just thought:

WITCH:

I’m sorry.  Jonny. I’ve been...going to that place...for a long, long time. As long as I can remember. And I’ve never had anyone else come with me. Usually, it’s easy. I offer a hand, tell them everything is going to be fine, and we walk. Sometimes, things get fucked up. The...bad thing comes.

JONNY sits in stunned silence. The WITCH gets up, goes to a fridge, and grabs a beer. She treats the kitchen as if it’s her own, as if she knows where everything is.  

Usually, when things get as bad as they did with Jacoby, I can’t save them. I...I try the best I can. But you...you saved him. You jumped in the water. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. 

JONNY:

                                     Sorry, what? What did I do? How did I save him?

WITCH:

He wasn’t going to go. He was going to get claimed by that...black shit, the oil. You helped him go beyond.  I want to see if you can do it again. But I need you to promise me something.

JONNY:

Gazes at her.

 Anything. 

WITCH:

                                                        You have to trust me. Please trust me. JONNY nods. The WITCH smiles, downs the entire beer in three gulps, and bounds out the door.  

                                                                              JONNY:

As he follows, he breaks, and addresses the audience.  I would have followed her anywhere.

SCENE 3

Lights up outside a dive bar called the “Blue Goose.”  JONNY and WITCH are standing. 

WITCH:

This is my favorite place. Shoulder to shoulder, shoes stick to the floor if you stand in one place for too long. 

JONNY:

Are we going inside?

WITCH:

No.  Someone is going to come out of that bar. They’re going to trip on the sidewalk, and when they fall, they’re going to get hit by a car.

JONNY:

What? We have to stop it--

WITCH:

I’ve tried. So many times. But we can’t. When it happens, let me do the talking, please.

CHARLIE stumbles from out of the bar. CHARLIE is in his late ‘60s. A BOUNCER trails behind him. 

BOUNCER:

                                                                        Go sleep it off, Charlie. 

      CHARLIE wobbles, tries to catch himself, and falls over, onto the road. SXF of screeching tires. Bouncer screams. 

JONNY:

A car raced over Charlie’s body with a thud, limbs caught in the wheels, bones snapping off like twigs. Parts of the man spilled out onto the road, crushed open like a smashed jack-o-lantern. Then, everything shifted. 

                                                            A striking shift in lighting. Stage is black again. A spotlight lights JONNY and the WITCH, and a separate beam illuminates CHARLIE. 

CHARLIE:  

Looking down at his hands. What happened? How am I sober?

WITCH:

I’m sorry, Charlie. 

CHARLIE:

Who are you? Points at JONNY. Who is he?

WITCH:

Friends. We’re here to help you, Charlie. There’s a few people waiting for you around the corner.

CHARLIE:

Who?

WITCH:

Nancy.

CHARLIE crumbles to the ground, sobbing. A light pulsates for a second, the same pulsation that happened with JACOBY. 

WITCH:

I know. You miss her. She’d love to see you, Charlie.  But we have to go. We can’t stay here.

CHARLIE:

Why?

WITCH:

“Because it’s not safe.”

CHARLIE:

Okay. 

He rises. As he rises, a sickly green lights up the stage. SXF of a screech tires. CHARLIE convulses, tendrils of sick light and smoke burst out of him. The scene is sickly green chaos. 

JONNY leaps in front of Charlie, and pull him in close, as if to protect him. SXF of a car whizzing by. 

To JONNY. 

You saved me.

JONNY:

We need to go. Before it comes back. 

They walk offstage, the WITCH holding JONNY’s hand. JONNY comes back onstage, addressing the audience. 

She slept over on the couch that night. With her there, even in the other room, I could sleep soundly. In the morning, I took her to get some coffee.

    WITCH comes onstage and they both sit at a table.

To the WITCH. So, where do you live?

WITCH:

Presses her mug tightly into her palm.  Nowhere. I got kicked out of my apartment after I was arrested.

JONNY:

TO audience.  I knew it was crazy, inviting someone I had just rear ended in a drunken bender to live with me. But I felt like I knew her. Like we had already met, that some deep part of me had studied her before, like she had spoken to me and I had listened. 

To WITCH. Do you want to move in?

            WITCH:

                                             Smiling. Sure. The WITCH addresses the audience. 

WITCH:

Jonny  moved in with me. We cleaned the place up. We went to court, lost our licenses for six months, and I managed to get a job at a Subway around the corner. His  parents helped us out with rent until Jonny got a job at a newspaper. We managed to be happy.  JONNY learned how to help people die. He learned how to exit death if things were getting bad, how to sense if the bad thing was coming. 

The first time we kissed, it was a few days before Christmas. We had been semi-platonic up until that point. We were watching the Grinch. Not the Jim Carrey one, the old school cartoon. I found it romantic, I guess. I leaned into him.

Our first kiss was on the pullout couch I slept on, and after that, I slept in the bedroom with him. The next morning, I got up before him and made eggs. She came into the kitchen, got a running start, and jumped on my back. I spun around, shifting her, and kissed him again. I grabbed his hand. And for a year and a half, we never let go. We were happy. Together. 

And we kept going to the other place. We kept saving people, walking with them. Someone would die. We would be there. We would help them along. 

One night, I went to work. And Jonny fell asleep on the couch.  WITCH exits.

JONNY:

A dream. Jacoby wasn’t there. I knew something was wrong. The dead can come in dreams, and they often do, and when the Witch and I would talk to each other about visits, it was almost like we were talking about old friends. Alvin was doing fine. Jen had managed to move on. Curtis was getting there. Mike was a piece of shit, but he was slowly learning how to not be an asshole.  The dreams followed a format. But Jacoby never showed up. He wasn’t ok. 

Lights up, mirroring the beach scene, JACOBY standing on the dock. 

                        JACOBY:

Robotic. I’m going to sink it. I’m going to sink it. I’m going to loose my balance. I’m going to fall in. I’m going to drown, bloated, blue--

              JONNY:

NO!

JACOBY:

You have to jump in. You have to save me. You couldn’t. I was under the dock, drowning, and you couldn’t save me. Step in. Save me. 

JONNY:

                             JONNY steps out of his spotlight. He yelps in pain. It is like stepping into hot coals.

WITCH:

                  O.S

                                   Jonny. Don’t. Please. You can’t save him. 

JONNY:

                                         You said he was okay. He’s not okay. 

WITCH:

                             VOICE quivering. Please, turn around. You can’t do this. 

              JONNY:

Dives into the oil.

WITCH:

Screaming. JONNY!

JONNY, in the black, makes terrible noises as if he is choking. WITCH exits. Lights flood black on. JONNY is gasping, hands to his neck, emerging from the dream.

JONNY:

I need a fucking drink.  JONNY goes to the pantry and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He grabs a shot glass, but sets it down, and insteads opts for a pint glass, filling it, and chugging it. He does the same, again. He is now addressing the audience.

I felt heavy, like the gunk had latched onto my soul. I was back in the days after Jacoby died, back to thinking that if I drank I could get rid of the stain of not being able to save him. But this was different. This time, I couldn’t save Jacoby’s soul. Reality snarled at me, bit me in the face. I was a drunk. I had a criminal record. I was broke, in way over my head. And who was she, this woman I was obsessing over, the woman who I called the witch? I had the distinct feeling that I was being drawn into something that I couldn’t quite understand. I was fucking with people’s souls. Something deeper than myself, something far, far more important than me.

I didn’t want to be drawn into anything. All I wanted to do was drink myself to death. The stakes were incredible, and I knew that I was utterly unable to deal with whatever the hell happened again if it happened again. 

            JONNY goes to the fridge and takes a bottle of chilled rum. He puts it in  a paper bag.

I left my apartment with the intention of finally fucking dying. 

                  EXIT. END SCENE.

SCENE 4

                          Dark streets of Lewiston, Maine, between three and four in the morning. JONNY is stumbling, wandering. A lost soul. The WITCH speaks from offstage. 

                              WITCH:

Lewiston, Maine is an old factory town, mills empty; a town rooted in the whirling mechanics of the past, where the fog stopped rolling and the factories shut down.  A bridge connects Lewiston and Auburn.  Jonny had  been blacked out,  and subsequently,  came too  on the bridge.

The jump might not have killed him, but the river, in the winter, was fierce, overflowing; rapid. If he jumped, it could be over. And I guess that’s what he wanted. He wanted whatever happened to him, whateverhe  almost did to Jacoby, to never happen again. 

JONNY reaches a guardrail. He lifts a leg over it. The Witch appears on the other side of the stage.

Turn around.

Blue lights flash.

              JONNY:

It has to be now. 

      WITCH:

                    Jonny, turn around. 

                          Jonny stumbles, passes out beside the guardrail. He’s safe. 

                JONNY:

They pumped my stomach and they stabilized me. While I slept, I was back at the beach, this time, on the shore. I looked down at myself, and I was coated with tarry oil; I couldn’t breathe, my lips were sealed shut by the glob, sticking to my skin, and I failed, trying to gasp, mouth sealed shut; and I couldn’t see through the oil that had solidified on my eyes, I was buried alive, standing up, and I was flailing, and I was going to die—

I felt myself scrubbed away. I felt the tar removed, but by bit, first from the mouth, so I could breathe, the eyes, so I could see, and finally, I stood whole and clean. 

Someone was scrubbing my back. I turned around. It was the Witch. 

WITCH:

Furious.   Why didn’t you turn around?  You promised you would trust me.

JONNY:

I..I couldn’t. Whatever happened to Jacoby was my fault. I shouldn’t have been there…

WITCH:

Look at me. It’s not your fault. But you have to listen to me. Please. I only have so much to give, and tonight, you took most of it.  When you see me, I’m going to be weak. I’m not going to be myself. But still, for the love of everything, you have to trust me.

JONNY:

I...I always trust…

WITCH:

No.  Angry again. If you trusted me, you would have turned around. Whatever that thing was on the dock, it wasn’t Jacoby. It wanted you to dive in, and you fell right into it.

JONNY: 

I’m sorry…

WITCH:

Anger dies. Sadness rises.  I don’t forgive you, not yet. I… I...can’t carry this weight on my own.  Anyone can be ruined, Jonny.  I love you. You can’t be the one who ruins me.

JONNY:

To the audience.  I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by family, with an incredible guilt. And not because I had just tried to kill myself. But because I had hurt the one who had tried to save me. The one who wanted me to be ok. I could almost feel the Witch, almost feel how that oil had set into her, how I put that heavy stone on her chest.  I spent a day in bed at the hospital.  They put me on some sedatives. The next day, they sent me to a psychward. 

NURSE enters. She is giving JONNY a tour of the ward. JONNY is shuffling behind. 

                NURSE:

This is the nurses’ stations. Line up for evening meds after dinner. Here are the showers…

The WITCH, looking incredibly awful--hair in a ragged mess, wearing dirty sweatpants--sits in a chair. The NURSE and JONNY pass by. JONNY almost walks by, but sees the WITCH. He stares at her. She doesn’t recognize him. The NURSE keeps walking, unaware that JONNY has paused.

We have group at noon, three, and six…

                            JONNY:

. To audience.  It looked like she hadn’t washed for days. Her long hair was filthy, ends frayed, and she stared off into the distance. She looked at me, but her eyes danced off somewhere else.  And, for a moment, they went black, like someone had dipped her irises in oil. 

NURSE:

                                                         Hey! You can’t be in there! Jonathan! 

                                      JONNY moves stage center. WITCH and the NURSE leave.

JONNY:

The nurses wouldn’t let me in her room. I couldn’t talk to her. I spent a lot of my time sleeping, trying to reach out to the witch, trying to meet her again.  But I didn’t know how. There had to be a ritual, some way to get to that place, the beach, the inbetween, as she called it.  But every time we went to that place, she touched me. Her touch was the gateway. And I couldn’t get near her. She spent most of her time locked in her room. Days turned into weeks. I kept sleeping. The ward was a secure floor, the rooms consisting of two beds, a desk, and a locker. My roommate was named Joe. For the first few weeks, he was detoxing, so he was in bed almost as much as I was. 

When it was meal time, we gathered in the hallway, where we all lined up while the food cart rolled in and we were served, one by one. Most everyone in the ward were detoxing, or alcoholics, or had OD’d, and it wasn’t like insane people in straightjackets. Everyone was quiet. 

Scene shifts to the ward cafeteria. 

We got our food and went into the kitchen, where they had us sign out forks and knives so no one could try to kill themselves in the bathroom.  There wasn’t much talking. We were all hungover, scared, or in withdrawal. Until the stranger came in. 

JONNY is sitting, eating. A LINE of 2-3 people has formed, and an ORDERLY is handing out food. A wild, greasy, unkempt man with hair long to his back, a pencil-thin mustache and long fingernails shuffles on with his mouth half open, in a complete daze. He walks right into the back of a woman waiting in line. She turns around, starts to say the word “sorry,” and he swings on her, screaming--

                GLEN:

                                          Don’t FUCKING TOUCH ME YOU FUCKING CUNT!

The caferia erupts. NURSES grab GLEN, and one takes the woman, who is bleeding from the face offstage. They drag GLEN offstage, leaving the stage bare, except for JONNY.

JONNY:

He was carted off to the isolation room and sedated. Dinner was normal. I went to bed.  I woke up in the morning to screaming coming from the TV room.. MAN screams.  JONNY dashes to the TV room. The asshole from yesterday’s breakfast barracaded himself inside by sticking a chair underneath the handle so it couldn’t open from the outside. The nurses were banging at the door and the patients were lining the hallway; the door to the ward flung open and five security guards poured in and pushed us back away from the door to the room.

LIGHTS transform. Stage is black, spare a spotlight on GLEN, who is holding a butterknife to a man’s throat and sawing at it. The man is thrashing, trying to get GLENN OFF, but GLEN has him in a hold.  A spotlight pops up on JONNY, who is just to the left of them. 

JONNY: It’s over. He’s dead.  Put the knife down.

GLEN:

  Yellowed teeth in a wide grin. 

                      It’s not over!  It’s not over, we’re just getting warmed up, you fucking idiot! I already got his fucking soul! I cracked his  bones and I splattered his blood on the white wall and he’s mine! Just like Jacoby!

JONNY:

 Launches himself at Glen, but as he does, it is like an explosion catapults him backwards. The man with the sawed throat begins to cough, hacking. If possible, he hacks up black liquid. 

GLEN:

This ain’t what you’re used to, bucko. Usually, that bitch you call a witch makes everything ok, right? Polly Anne takes them around the corner into forever peace. Well, I’m a greedy bastard. I want you, boy. I want everyone. And God damn am I going to take you. 

Sawed throat man convulses. LIGHTS pulsate. GLEN hovers over him. The sawed man is screaming in pain. On the other side of the stage, in the black, the WITCH has come out with a chair, and is sitting, comatose. JONNY breaks as if he is going to tackle GLEN, but runs straight past, to the WITCH. 

        GLEN: 

YOU FUCKING COWARD!

BLACKOUT on GLEN. Spotlight up on the Witch. Using black paper mache, she looks like a burned corpse. She is breathing laborously. JONNY is panting. 

Where'd ya go? Where’d ya go? To save your fucking whore of a girlfriend? I fucked her already. I’m gunna fuck ya both! Gunna rip you apart! Gunna make you watch her.

JONNY pulls the same move GLENN did and uses a chair to prop the door closed. He hastily begins to peel layer after layer of the void off of the WITCH.

Inch by inch, the WITCH is revealed. Her mouth is uncovered. She gasps. Her eyes are uncovered. She blinks.

JONNY:

              I will never let anything like this happen again, I swear to you. GLEN breaks through, into the room. JONNY squares off with him. With whatever special effects your theater can muster, GLEN unhinges  his jaw, a monster with innumerable teeth, skin dancing up like an oil flame. This is his dreadful form. JONNY holds the WITCH in his arms as GLEN hovers over them. The WITCH feebly raises her arms. GLEN freezes. JONNY and the WITCH scurry OFFSTAGE. 

                          END SCENE.

SCENE 5.

A therapist’s office. JONNY is still clad in hospital robes, and is speaking with a therapist. 

THERAPIST:

                                I’m proud of you. You’ve been doing the work. 

JONNY:

Thanks. 

THERAPIST:

Are the meds working?

JONNY:

Yeah. 

THERAPIST:

Do you think you’re ready to leave?

JONNY:

I think so. 

THERAPIST:

What’s your support system at home? What’s your discharge plan?

JONNY:

I’m going home to live with my parents. I’ll get a job at the corner store near my house. My parent’s insurance covers therapy. 

THERAPIST:

                    Great. 

THERAPIST gets up and leaves. JONNY addresses the audience.

    JONNY:

I recovered, I guess. Or I played along enough to get discharged. After Glen was arrested and sent to a max-security ward upstate, I decided to just complete the therapeutic coloring pages and say what I thought they wanted to hear.  The witch kept a distance. When she did look at me, she glanced at me, like she was ashamed, like she was the one who had fucked up royally. I knew she needed to be apart, I knew she needed to recover. So I left the ward withough saying goodbye.

A day later, I was in a minivan, my silent dad driving, my mom in the passenger's seat, smiling faintly. It was raining.  

              MOM:

      O.S

It’s good to have you home.

JONNY:

And, for a while at least, it was good to be home. The Witch gnawed at me, though. I missed her.

Sometimes, when I rose at night, alone, I’d think she was there, trick myself into thinking I saw her shadow move in the hallways. I’d say something out loud to her and expect her to respond. I’d look in the passenger’s seat and realize that she wasn’t sitting next to me and I’d slam my fists on the dash. I’d scream and pull over. Then, the dreams started. 

SAWED MAN enters with a TV remote. His throat is raw. 

SAWED MAN:

I was watching Love It or List It. I never even saw him coming. To JONNY. You know he stole my soul, right?

JONNY:

I’m sorry. 

SAWED MAN:

“No. Don’t. You don’t get to say you’re sorry. You could have tried.  SXF: Bone cracking and breaking. 

Slowly, like an owl, his head twists towards JONNY, but his neck unmoving. Black oil pours from his eyes. 

  JONNY:

This went on for a few months. The terrible nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat, continuing on with my cookie-cutter day like everything was fine. I got promoted, saved up enough money to move out again. I started looking for the dying. I needed to help.  The Witch taught me some rituals. To find a death, the mind had to be clear, and the guide, the map, was a copper pendulum, kept in a pocket, as close to the core of the body heat as possible, smudged with oils, used to ask what poor soul would soon need help leaving the earth. JONNY lights incense, and places his forearm on a table, using the pendulum.   In my mind came the location, a farm, and the time, 3 p.m., and the name. When the name came, the world crashed. Her name. The witch was going to die. 

I tried her old cell phone. It was disconnected. I ran outside, to the car, and fled as fast as I could, to the farm, out in the country, about 40 minutes away. 

The ritual was never wrong. The ritual was never wrong, but how could the Witch die? I had left her to protect her, to keep her from the slog of me, that followed me wherever I went. It was noon. She had three hours left on earth. 

Fast, pushing 80. Made the 45 minute trip in 30; everything seemed like it was blurred down into moments, each second seemed like something vital was being chipped away.  One of her first lessons she taught me after Jacoby was that you couldn't change death. It came. If the bell was rung, if the process began, it could not be stopped without a life slipping from earth.

I pulled into her driveway, skidded to a halt, kicking up dust from the gravel. I flung the car door open, kicked open her slanted gate and ran up the path, towards the white farmhouse. 

She was waiting for me on the screened-in porch. 

WITCH:

Hi. 

JONNY:

                                Frantic. Oh my God are you--do you know--

WITCH:

Yes. I am going to die. 

JONNY starts to shake, and the WITCH embraces him. They melt into eachother. She leads him to a blanket, where they lay together. 

WITCH:

I felt his pain melt away. We lay together in the dimly lit living room, candles flickering. I traced my fingers across his face, memorizing it. I pushed back his hair, studying him. He did the same.  Death isn't so bad. The hardest part is the forgetting, the forgetting of the voice, of the features of the face, the way the eyes dance and the way the skin reflects in the sun; the way the numbing of the days passed leaves the leftover, the one on earth with just an abstract thought of the tangible, living person.  I knew that. I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of bright lights go dark. 

I got up.

BOTH stand, and walk together.

 I could tell that he was afraid to follow. But he did. I led him outside, through my yard cluttered with scraps of wood and a rusted out grill. He followed me onto the farm,  and followed me to the back paddock, where my goats stood on the slight incline leading up to the barn, bleating loudly at us. 

To JONNY.

Close your eyes.

He does.

SXF: a gunshot. The WITCH collapses.  Shallow breathing, gurgling, breath forced like her lungs are full of pebbles;  lying in a pool of blood. 

                                         The lights change to a spotlight on the WITCH, and a spotlight on JONNY.

WITCH:

Come. JONNY hesitates. I'm ready. But I don't think you're ready to walk with me.

              JONNY:

How can I ever be ready? Falls to his knees. How can I say goodbye? There’s no way to do it. No way to say goodbye. I’ll always wanting one more; one more touch, one more glimpse into your face, one more conversation. There is no light enough to fill the void. 

WITCH:

The terror isn't here. We don't have to worry about it. I prepared this for you. It's beautiful, isn't it?

Lighting resembles a orange twilight sunset, jutting out from behind purple clouds in brillant, paint brush strokes. 

             A cool breeze, refreshing, like a thunderstorm rolling in from the corner of the sky. Peace.

            JONNY:

Thank you. It's wonderful.

WITCH:

"I've lived for about a thousand years, Jonny. I've had many lives with many different people. I've loved many. I love you. But we all have to take the long walk. You know that. And there are still many people left in the world that you can help, but you need to promise me something.

JONNY:

                                                               Of course.

WITCH:

Promise me that you will help. For as long as you live.

JONNY nods. He takes her hand, and they walk. 

I nodded. I took her hand. We walked. 

END

[fizziefactory]

Profile: ♤ Undertaker Fizzy

Model: Undertaker Fizzy

Nicknames: “Undertaker!Fizzy”, “Undertaker”, "Mortis", “Mort”

Pronouns: he/him | it/its | they/them

Height: 6’3”

Can always be found at: A small shed in the Wrath Ring, atop many, many graves.

Works for: Mammon and Satan got a deal, Mortis Cleans up the Wrath Ring, and Mammon takes the cash

Vibes: Weight of the world - Shayfer James || Zeit - Rammstein || Hellfire - Barns Courtney || Daydream in blue - I Monster

Features

Referring to the “hat” as horns, the right one is all black, while the left is white with rib-like stripes on the underside. The horns appear droopy

Instead of the usual jingle bells at the end of the horns, there are two grave bells hanging at the end instead

He has a little black top hat with a green ribbon sitting in between the two horns, he switches it up sometimes though

His “beak” if you will, is black instead of red

He wears all black trousers, coat and vest, a white button up with a standing collar, and a black ribbon tie around his neck. Clothes, once again, often changes.

He frequently wears shoes over his feet to avoid wear and tear

He's quite a bit taller and stronger than the average fizzy, this to handle the heavy workload that comes with handling dead weight all day.

Functions

Its main function is to handle and bury the remains of hellborne that have passed away, a job not many in hell consider necessary. 

This includes performing autopsies, mortician duties such as burial preparation, and of course, gravedigging. You want a fancy grave he'll arrange that for you, and you want a mass grave, he'll fix that too.

While it's mainly working in Wrath, the place where many casualties happen to take place, it can be rented out to other rings as well.

He currently has a contract with Carmilla Carmine, where he cleans up the dead after each extermination, while also collecting all the weapons from the dead. This information is not shared with Mammon. He ain't no snitch.

He may also performs funerals, holding them in Satan's name.

Connections

Satan: Working in the Wrath Ring under Mammon, this fizzy will often take orders directly from Satan.

Asmodeus: He designed him.

Mammon: He works for him and he is considered his “boss”, but he isn't all that faithful to this arrangement. He can do work for anybody really, not like Mammon questions where the money comes from. 

Manager!Fizzy: He was made the same day this fizzy was made, and he's the only other fizzy that can talk to this guy on equal footing. That being said, they aren't particularly involved with one another.

Therapist!Fizzy: Knows him through his psych-evaluations. They will nod at each other from across the room, that's the extent of their relationship

Mind

Mortis is one of the older fizzies, and has been very isolated from the general “fizzy-culture” all the others have been exposed to. He dunno much about that there Fizzarolli feller, he's designed after him, sure… but the only thing he sees all day is the wrathian desert, or the mangled corpses of the dead. He doesn't relate much to the others, which in a sense, is a very lonely feeling.

But eh.

He's just happy sitting in his rocket chair after a long day of hard work, smoking his gas-filled electric cigarette while the charging cable is doing its work in the back. He ain't about to clown around for some rando on the street… he's a busy man.

That's not to say it can't get depressing...

Hellborne teenagers letting the thrill of living in hell get to them, sending their cars crashing and burning. Sinners who thought they'd live on forever, only for an angel to snuff them out with one jab of their spear... Seeing mothers ripped away from their own children, clutching on to the little bodies as they scream into the night...

Your own immortality must feel like such a slap in their faces.. so the least you can do is to treat those moments with the respect they deserve.

[club-touge]

Story time: This  particular car has come full circle..1988 NA FC RX7 with an unknown history & a spirit that won’t be snuffed out. I met my buddy on our first touge drive with his other friend, both randoms I met at a gas station the night before. First corner on the local run and the man in back understeers straight off into a tree killing the 91′ miata.. Due to life circumstances he had to sell the car which was in bad shape and, he sold it to his friend (other driver). Me and the friend became close, I helped him rebuild the wrecked miata into a drift missile. New gas tank, subframes, welded diff, suspension, a arms ect. Due to my life circumstances then, I had to move and never got to see the car drive. We stayed friends, and I got to see videos of it driving and drifting. An awesome feeling to see the car I helped put together getting use and enjoyment! Time goes by and the friend ends up trading that missile miata for this 1988 RX7. 187,000 chassis miles. Original NA car, with a turbo ii drivetrain swap running on one rotor, and paint/interior trashed. Car was an wreck..A great financial choice for a college student. So naturally he goes full budget or f-ck it build. Rebuilds the motor, “wires” it together, and has a turbo 13b car. Car is broken and rebuilt throughout the learning process of driving. Car goes to North Carolina, does drift events, touge, street duty. Years down the line buddy moves to where I am. I have the opportunity to drive the car, drift it, work on it, tune, help out with whatever. Felt like a team car. Took it to events, meets, touge. Naturally, life situations, I move again and don’t see the car for 2 years. It gets beat, broken, but not rebuilt. Time goes on, she sits. But cannot be laid to rest. Life situations, blessings, I get the opportunity the own the car. I drive 1200 miles to pick up the rx7. It looked like a barn find when I put it on the trailer, covered in dust. I get it home and assess the issues, fix a few so I can move it about. Rip it around a few times but on one drive it developed a major electrical issue. Car sits for a year due to life situations. I got to work on it for the first time in a while and plan to regularly whenever possible!  I want my friend’s dream and spirit to live on in this car because he was so inspired to piece this thing together. And the way it all came together and the friends who have helped keep it going along the way. And I know he will drive it again and probably even own it one day.. The motor rebuild was pieced with used parts from local rx7 guys. With FD rx7 irons, FD rotors, s5 turbo, s4 rx7 other bits. Along the knowledge passed down by other rotary enthusiasts. A true frankenstein build. This car just has to live and be driven. This car has to scream again! This is how its sitting currently... car was repainted and looked great a few years ago, but now.. its trash Also I dug into the whole wiring mess, isolated every wire (harness was heavily modified)  and properly insulated it all, routed nicely ect. Fixed a ton of connections and bad crimps, bad grounds, redid a lot of the harness. Found wires rubbing through on metal causing shorts, AFR 12v source intermittent connection, battery cable from trunk to starter was about to rub through and cause a fire!  Haven’t taken pics as its been a few weeks since ive been into the shop.. but all that effort I did fixed the major wiring issue and I knew the instant it started up, smooth idle. Took it for a few drives and just fell in love again. The feel, sound, experience of this 80′s chassis with a 250 HP turbo rotary is just something unique and really special. This car is a few steps closer to being track worthy! -I want to delete the swirl pot setup that I don’t trust is routed correctly. And the extra port is capped with a zip tie. Which already blew off once. Rather delete this setup and eliminate extra leak points. -Car has mismatched coilovers with too stiff of springs rates -Car has nice cusco LSD rear end but need adjustable camber and toe bits + alignment -Need extra 5 lug wheels for drift spares -Few minor leaks need to be addressed -I do have bumpers for it, but cosmetics are not priority -Need to rebuild front wheel bearings -Car has Inline hydro e-brake which I am not a fan of. Going to remove it and do a dual caliper setup to retain brake feel -Exhaust leak under the car fills cabin with premix smell

-Passenger bucket seat/harness

*down the line* -BNR rebuild turbo w/ billet compressor wheel and porting

-New intercooler setup, greddy throttle body inlet, exhaust (it was made quiet for cali..no emissions where the car is now) and retune on new ECU. It’s on an old old 2000s version of adaptronics.

The motor runs great on the current setup.  So I want to keep it simple for now, and just spend more time in the cockpit after I go through and make it a bit more reliable. Dreams, time, money 💖

[motorhearted]

CHAPTER TWO.

CW: descriptions of object destruction.

{ LAST. — NEXT. }

Every night following a derby, once the people left and the track was cast in darkness, the surviving cars gathered underneath the grandstands. The rows of seats facing the track reached a decent height, and the back half had plenty of vacant space with ceilings that touched the very top. The area functioned like a makeshift barn that happened to have missing walls on each shortest side; wide enough, long enough, and tall enough for the tired vehicles to fit into.

These gatherings could be viewed through a few different lenses. Some could describe it as a winning team heading to the bar after a game; others could describe it as a celebration of life and death. A giving of thanks to whatever gods were listening. The cars refused to miss them for anything; even those with missing wheels and little consciousness were carefully pushed behind the stands.

And that’s why Number 20 had to go.

He had been parked on the track, staring into the dark for what seemed to be hours before he heard the shouts and laughter coming from elsewhere. Every car was expected to be there. Especially him. Especially the coupe.

It would be awkward for all of them tonight. But that would imply there were other nights when it wasn’t. There was no appropriate way for the cars to congratulate the winner while sharing their condolences; it never seemed sincere nor fair for either side. Most attempted to solve this problem by picking one to focus on and completely shutting out the other. The grief was often pushed down in the end, in favor of the more lighthearted, “At least I’m still alive, right?” approach.

At the very least.

Number 20 hated it. He hated it all. He hated that he couldn’t just go to sleep. He hated knowing as soon as he stuck his grille into the party, he would be hounded with praise. He hated that the coupe would have to be there to watch. He hated that he would never be able to apologize in a way that mattered.

As Number 20 spun himself around to face the grandstands, he watched in grim silence as his headlights shone over the charred remains of Number 13 in the distance.

Mud splattered his body as he desperately drove away.

“Well! Lookit who the tow cable dragged in.”

“What were you doing out there Number 20, admiring your work?”

“S’not often y’get t’ see a competitor get barbequed.”

Immediately, the voices and the metal bodies attached to them swarmed like flies. Number 20 tried to nod along and give his fans a daring smile, but he felt the covers to his headlights wince together as he did. He pushed through their jeers about Number 13 and carefully rolled his way through the crowd.

Despite all the noise, Number 20 could still hear the clack of the caps on his exhaust headers every time he hit his brakes. His mighty engine rumbled and turned tires his way. The further he drove under the grandstands, illuminated in the dark by dozens of headlights, the larger his crowd grew.

In his fruitless attempts to avoid, his own headlights landed on a particular someone. This particular someone stood out in the sea the same way Number 20 did; boxy, large, and long. And loud, undeniably so. He was painted a dark purple with two black stripes that went from one end to the other, bumper to bumper. Three short pipes, displayed shortest to tallest like a pan flute, stuck out of his engine. The number 58 was branded on his doors by a skilled hand, slanted forward and exaggerated in a way where the digits themselves seemed to be racing.

“Hey! Hey, Brad! Over here!” he called, as if difficult to spot.

Number 20 flinched at the sound of his own name. Anxiety clawed deep into his machinery. As they cowered at the new voice in their own way, he gave his current crowd an abrupt farewell and drove towards him.

Number 58– Rodney, if Brad recalled correctly— had been stuck with the derby cars years prior to his own entrance. A predecessor in a way, winning almost every match before he too had been forced to fight for his life.

There were many spats to speak of because of this. There was even a time where Brad almost killed him. Thankfully, the incident got Rodney to swallow his pride and pass the crown along.

Champion of the derbies. How awful, he thought.

“Number 20! Look at you, better than ever!”

“Oh come on, man, don’t flatter me,” he tried to joke.

A few smaller vehicles saw him coming and obediently gave him a space to park without a word. Brad settled in with silent thanks. Rodney beamed at him.

“You put on one hell of a show out there tonight. You’re crazy, man! You’ve started to fight like you’re invincible!”

Brad laughed. “What can I say? It’s easy to lose yourself out there.”

“Totally, totally,” Rodney agreed. He leaned closer to Brad, headlights darting around to scan his body in the shadows. “Didn’t even dent yourself too much! You feel okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I feel fine. Did they let you out in all the action?”

“Nah,” Rodney said with a frown. “Not tonight. I guess they had their dibs on you. I got a damn good spot to watch it all go down, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The little hill near the back, yeah. Hell, it was like you were puttin’ on a show just for me in that corner!”

Brad laughed again. “I don’t think that was on purpose.”

“Sure, but it still felt like it. Man, it was brutal, man. You’ve got some good stuff.”

He looked off into the crowd, as if he were guarding them. Brad followed his gaze as it swept over all the vehicles, stopping every now and then to check their dents and scratches. No matter how hard he focused on the chipped paint of a sedan or the twisted bed of a truck, he couldn’t pull himself away from the memories of that night. His companion’s comments certainly hadn’t helped his case.

“Definitely some missing faces here,” Rodney spoke eventually. “Gone, just like that. It’s so crazy, man. I don’t think there’s been a single derby this season that hasn’t killed a car or two.

…Thanks to you, anyway.”

The words made Brad want to drive into a tree. Rodney was quite good at rubbing Brad’s so-called victories in, and no opportunity ever seemed to be a good one. Especially not tonight. It wouldn’t be long before—

“Number 62 didn’t even show up. She seemed so pissed at you.”

“…I thought she was gonna tear me to shreds out there.”

“What, that little thing? You crushed her like a soda can, man! Ripped that headlight right out! Bam, bam! I’m honestly surprised she isn’t toast either.”

“Just resilient, I guess.”

“Not as much as she thinks, apparently. How long till she snaps, you think?”

“…What?”

“I mean, she just lost her girlfriend. You saw her, she was practically glued to that bitch. She must feel lost as hell.”

“Oh. Yeah, I dunno,” Brad replied. “We’ll all lose our minds here eventually. Either that or crushed to bits.”

“Well I don’t think you’ve lost your mind, and neither have I.”

Rodney paused to see Brad’s reaction. He stared back in silence.

“Fine, maybe a little.”

“I just don’t think crashing into each other is something stable cars like to do.”

“Then so be it, man. So be it.”

The nonchalance of it all was unbearable. Brad opened his mouth to change subjects, but Rodney continued.

“See, Number 62 could use that. She really could. Not a lotta cars around here have a reason to fight.”

Brad blinked, giving his companion a curious look. “Use what?”

“A little bit of losing her mind, man! Don’t act like you don’t know. You set her up for a revenge streak.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, man! She doesn’t have anyone anymore. If she’s gonna do anything, it’s gonna be kicking your ass. And considering the damage you did with a mercy hit…”

Brad’s engine was buzzing again. Rodney’s words were slurring together as he processed them. Brad’s headlights darted around, begging for an exit.

The sea of cars was never ending.

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

Hello! First of all i want to say that i adore your headcanons about the 2p's and your blog. It's my first time requesting, and altho I'm not new to the blog i must admit that i haven't been here in a while and i kind of forgot if you do or don't do the thing with naming the anons, if you do, feel free to call me ⭐ anon.

To summeraize it up, it's just that i didn't have any idea up until now but this one hit me like a shower thought.

So onto the question.

What about the 2p's and a very perceptive S/O?

Examples: The S/O caught onto their obssesion and schemings, or they saw through their manipulation, or they caught them stalking them, or maybe they somehow managed to escape them, they lead the yandere on a false trail while they escaped on another.

I mainly want to see the Allies, Romania and Poland, if you may.

Thank you, have a cookie🍪 and have a great day!

Of course, ⭐anon, and thanks for the cookie, compliments, and patience!! How did you know that I am a dessert junkie?

France: François is like an old, barn cat in that he’s done his work and now believes that he’s owed something easy. His observant Cher decided that wasn’t how it was going to which sly tricks and quick getaways. When the pattern repeats itself for the fifth time, François no longer puts his physical energy into the chase. Relying on the city’s cameras François begins to lay a series of snares. Each one is layered like hair-thin threads, so small that even Cher’s power of perception cannot catch them all. With each pulled off, two have gone unnoticed, until their combined power is stronger than steel cables. Leading to an easy capture for François.

America: A man with a temper like Allen’s doesn’t do well with an observant doll. Similar to what would happen with a professor darling, each escape would be like a tick on a detonation clock. The closer to zero that hands get, the more likely Allen is to become drastic, especially once his pride becomes damaged. His final tactic is the same no matter what, he or allow those around you to die.

Canada: Matt’s work with animals sets him up well with an observant darling. Both rely on their keen sense of awareness to survive in this world and in response, Matt first views each false trail he’s led down as just that. Someone struggling to survive. Unlike the others that chose more physically damaging methods, he doubles down on ways to build reliance on himself. Maple’s car breaks down or her window shatters, Matt makes sure that he’s the one that fixes it. It doesn’t matter if he’s punching a man’s lights out to take their uniform or finding Maple on the side of the road, he’ll be the one to do the repair. Sadly, if his gentle methods fail, then Matt will become harsh. Repairs are replaced with destruction, and gentle herding turns into a bruising grip on her forearm. This game won’t last forever, because at some point he will run her down. It will only take one slip, and she’s doomed.

England: Oliver would watch as Dearie slipped out of his fingers the first time. Tutting to himself as he replayed the days leading up to his failure. Mumbling about the notes left for him by his rabbits, when one thing pops back up in his mind. Dearie always could tell when she was being watched, meaning she was very observant. Like Allen, it’s a similar song to the Professor. He thinks it's cute until it's not. Her avoidance of his ‘gifts’ and duty to remain professional with him rubs Oliver wrong. By the game’s end, a deal is made with a creature of her nightmares. Dearie’s shrill screams show that her punishment is underway, and her silence means she’s almost in his arms.  

Russia: Just like Oliver and Allen, Viktor has also dealt with a professor situation, and she was just as observant. He will not enjoy being outmaneuvered but does take note of what he learns. Slowly creating the perfect tactic to ensure no escape. As the plan commences and his darling runs, swerving like a serpent between the trees as his men give chase. All the while Viktor remains hidden and watches from strategically placed cameras like a wolverine in the trees. Waiting for his darling to sprint past in fear, only to be ambushed. Dragging into his stone chest, stuck forever with a blizzard-like man.

China: Centuries of success can only be achieved by observation. As she knew Jin was on her tail, so did he know Qin had that stubborn, little trait. For a while, Jin will allow her to feel as though he’s been outplayed. Repeatedly allowing her to escape and feel safe, only to repeat the cycle within a matter of hours. It takes a toll on her mental health as her observant nature allows her no rest due to the cycle he had forced her into and the unknown amount of people working under him. As her world became shaky from the lack of sleep and paranoia, her once beneficial trait worsens it. Until the world becomes dark and Jin can take his sleeping beauty home.

Romania: As a hunter, Nicodim would enjoy a perceptive lover. Something about the constant vigilance reminds him of a small creature. A simple, rabbit that thinks as long as its predator is in sight and several feet away that the danger has been managed. Though in reality, Nic is working to change the wide meadow to a dark, city alley. Eventually, she’ll be cornered and Nicodim will capture his prize, eager to dissect every side of his rabbit.

Poland: Piotr is already tired enough and a darlin of this caliber makes him more so. From the constant vigilance to the complex escape plans, this man feels the wariness from those actions deep in his bones as he slowly follows like a true persistent predator. As the chase progresses and her decisions to escape become more often, Piotr becomes annoyed. That annoyance quickly turns into irritation and with that comes aggression. Just like a frog in a pot, his harsher tactics of capture start off pretty soft with pitfalls, snares, and herding by his men. The passage of time brings with it crueler methods; rusty bear traps, home invasions, and the destruction of anything that makes her independent. If she’s perceptive enough to dodge even all of this, then Piotr’s final option is to appeal to his boss for a legal summons. At that point there is no way out, she’s finally cornered and captured. Forever stuck in his cold house, sleeping with the one source of constant warmth, Piotr.

[lasenbyphoenix]

Unshakable Faith (2023)

Episode 16 Breakdown

Lai Guangrun confronts Dr Bai about saving Ji Danyang, but Dr Bai tells him he did so to remove suspicion, and now that he's now gained the trust of the experts it's time to arrange the meeting with Snow Wolf he asked for, but the truck driver is non committal.

A now drunk Officer Hongmei compliments the still sober Nurse Bai and thanks her for her friendship,  but soon turns somber and asks if her father was really on Dongshan or not because she needs to find witnesses. Nurse Bai denies it again but learns that the civilians will be asked as well and relays this to her father when she gets home.

Security Captain Li is told that sabotaging the pool construction is his last mission and then he can go find his sweetheart, but he's skeptical and tells Lai Guangrun for money and passports to be arranged first.

The police team learn from the wood cutter that Dr Bai was on Dongshan, and at the same time Dr Bai comes to the office to confess. Ji Danyang is busy doing calculations from his hospital bed despite Officer Hongmei and Nurse Bai bullying him into resting when Officer Hongmei is told that Dr Bai is being questioned. Dr Bai admits being on a different part of Dongshan on that day, and didn't speak up because he didn't want to cause trouble for Nurse Bai's position at the hospital, but they've both regretted this. When asked about the herbs Officer Hongmei saw at his house, he advises that he bought them from a local woman.

After he leaves, Police Captain Chen and Officer Hongmei review Dr Bai's habit of showing up to tell his story only once they had heard from the wood cutter, much like how he only told them about Zhang A Shui visiting him after they had found the blood at his house.

The Police Chief receives a painting from Zhou Jun for the fake art competition, and Police Captain Chen identifies the scene as the factory house block that his radio set up was in, stating that they are being taunted.

Expert He Xiwan is abducted when her car got a flat tyre when she was on the way to meet someone at the railway station. Lai Guangrun blindfolds He Xiwan and ties her up in a barn, taking a photograph. The electrician Liu Simao hooks up a phone cable in an alleyway and Lai Guangrun calls directly to Police Captain Chen and gives him instructions on how to find her. They search the area and find a note hidden in a hut with the photo and a message to cancel the pool construction and hand over Ji Danyang's notebook if they want to see her alive.

The police team have to rely on the clues from the photo - grain barn & lion clock -, all the while suspecting a mole in the factory.

........................................

Dr Bai isn't quite in the clear from the police team's suspicion, but he's anticipated that and has sown enough good will to keep him afloat for now.

Our math man can never win an argument against Hongmei but he will continue to try. 

Another AI Subtitle Fail: " in 2005" what year do these subtitles think we're in???

I know I said that Lai Guangrun was a terrible painter but actually his paintings are pretty good, but that one of the cliff?!?!?!? I swore out loud at the screen when I saw that. Fucker loves to taunt.

The fucking electrician is a spy too?? I feel betrayed! I felt sorry for him!

More terrible AI Subtitles, but I got the gist of it and I hate that the truck driver made me laugh with that.