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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years ago

Text

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?�� you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Worthless Comforts

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Word Count: 2,146

Warnings: None

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Reader shows Din the small comforts that make life worthwhile. Like sleeping in a real bed and eating three meals a day.

Life aboard the Razor Crest was always interesting. Not necessarily bad, but not good either. Interesting. Din had hired you originally as a translator, but that role turned into mechanic and then babysitter as time moved forward. You two were close, close enough for him to share his name with you. He knew your tells and triggers, and you knew most of his. So it was no surprise when you noticed he was stressed before he did.

“You need to relax,” you said offhandedly one day while you two were traveling to Tatooine to hunt a quarry. “How do mandalorians relax?”

“We die.”

You rolled your eyes, flipping another page in your book. “Okay Mr. This is the Way. When did you last eat something?”

Din shrugged. “It was that Bantha meat you gave me.”

“That was yesterday,” you said, sitting up straighter and staring at Din’s helmet. “When are we landing?”

“A few hours.”

You sat back, still eyeing Din’s tightly wound figure. “Okay.”

Tatooine was not your favorite planet. Boba and Fennec made it better, and Cobb was always fun. Peli gave you shit but made you smile, and you did like traveling with the Tuskens. But no amount of decent company changed the dusty atmosphere and the blinding suns. The way the sand dug into your feet and got into every crevasse. By the time you’d reached the old Hutt Palace, you were cursing the sand and the suns and everything in between.

“Finally!” Fennec said, guiding you into the palace. “We expected you last week!”

“Picked up another quarry on the way,” Din explained, nodding to the guards who stood by the doors. “Had the time.”

Fennec rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever relax?”

“That’s what I said!” You said, nudging Din. He sighed and shrugged you off.

Boba was happy to see you both in one piece, and he was especially eager to see Grogu asleep in the carrier across your front. “Your rooms are open, as always,” he said with a grin when you suppressed a yawn. “Go unwind. The quarry hasn’t moved in three months. You can wait another few days. I know traveling the way you do can be stressful.”

Before Din could open his mouth and ruin it, you spoke. “Thank you so much Boba. We appreciate it.”

As night fell, you ate, drank, and talked. It was fun, and Fennec made for excellent company. When you finally retired, you found Grogu asleep in Din’s room. He must’ve taken the child when you weren’t looking.

“Sneaky bastard,” you said affectionately, shutting yourself in your own room and falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillows.

You woke to loud thunder and the sound of rainfall. Confused, you rubbed your eyes and got dressed, forgoing your armor and weapons. You barely even put shoes on, sliding into leather flats instead of your supple boots.

Boba was already on the throne when you arrived in the throne room, Fennec on his right. He looked up as you walked in, an easy, relaxed grin on his face. “It seems you and Djarin have found yourselves trapped here,” he said. “Tatooine rarely has rainstorms, but when it does, they are dangerous. You will stay here until the rain passed.”

You noticed the final sentence was a command, and you nodded. “Thank you,” you said. “Din would’ve made me walk in the rain had you not kept us here, I’m sure of it.”

Fennec laughed. “Find him,” she said. “We have water for baths now. He smells like a bantha.”

You laughed. “Thank you again,” you said. “I’ll go find Din and tell him.”

Din’s room was locked, as it usually was at night, but once you knocked, he opened the door within a few minutes. “What?”

“Boba told us to stay until the rain passes,” you said. “King’s orders. Fennec also said there’s water for baths now, and she recommends you take one.”

Din nodded, stretching a tiny bit. You smiled. “Maybe we can take this chance and actually relax,” you said.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

You rolled your eyes as you and Din walked to the baths. Tatooine was big on communal bath spaces, so bathing was always interesting. But you’d figured it out.

As you walked, you examined Din. He’d done the same as you, forgoing his usual armor in favor of his long sleeved brown undershirt, brown pants with the black patches, and boots. He was still wearing the helmet, but not the head covering that hid his neck. The high collar of his undershirt did conceal most of his skin though. He looked comfortable, especially with Grogu tucked up under his arm.

The bath room was empty when you arrived, and you immediately began to fill two of the dry pools. Each one was small, meant for one person, but all the sunken pools were open to each other. No privacy.

While you filled the tubs, Din found a wooden divider, dragging it over and separating your pools. When you were done, you collected soaps and towels before hopping behind the divider and stripping out of your clothes. You could hear Din doing the same, folding his clothes as he took them off. Finally, you heard the sound of the helmet being removed and set down, and then the ripple of water as Din got into his pool.

You and him soaked, side by side, separated by the divider, for a while. The water was warm, and the smell of rain that filtered through the palace made your eyes heavy. “Din?”

“Hm?”

You sighed, leaning back so you could stretch your legs out. “How long do you think this rain will last?”

“Rain storms on Tatooine are aggressive,” Din said from behind the barrier. “But it should only last a few days.”

A crack of thunder sent a small shock through your body, but you calmed quickly, relaxing into the warmth of the water again. “Okay. I can do a few days.”

An hour later, once the water had gone cold and you’d scrubbed all the grit from your body, you got out and toweled off. Din, judging from the sounds, was doing the same. When you two reunited, you both smelled better, and Din seemed a bit more relaxed. Well, relaxed for him. He was still guarded, but it seemed he was finally starting to realize he was safe.

The palace was mostly empty. The rain seemed to deter most potential guests, so the only people around were Fennec, Boba, Din, and you. You and Din swung by the kitchen to grab some food, you carrying the food while Din held Grogu. It wasn’t an easy task, considering just how much Grogu squirmed. By the time you’d carried the food to Din’s room, Grogu had bitten Din twice in a desperate attempt to reach you.

“Alright you little Womp Rat,” you said, setting Grogu in his cradle with his food. “Stop messing with us!”

Grogu pouted, but let you walk away without crying too much. You sat beside Din, looking over your kitchen raid spoils. “Damn,” you said. “We did good.”

Din snorted, and you scrunched your nose at him. “What do you want?”

“This,” Din said, reaching over you to grab a metal container that was warm to the touch. “Please.”

“Go for it,” you said, taking something you didn’t recognize, but it smelled heavenly. “You have permission to eat as much as you want, and please do, because I know you don’t eat enough on the Crest. Turn around though, I want to be able to eat with you.”

Din turned, and you sat with your back pressing to his. He seemingly got the message and removed his helmet, slowly eating whatever he’d taken.

“Y’know,” you said, stabbing another glazed slice of fruit from your dish. “We actually get three nutritious meals a day while we’re here. No ration blocks twice a day.”

Din hummed, and you could feel him chewing when he put his head back and pressed it to yours. “Those ration blocks really are shit,” he decided softly. “But I can’t cook.”

“I can,” you said. “If we store ingredients on the Crest, we should absolutely be able to have meals like this. And I don’t mind cooking,” you added, knowing Din was likely to protest. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Decent,” Din said. “Feels good to sleep on a mattress.”

You laughed, reaching to grab a container of cake. “Told you!” You said. “You sleep on that damned rubber pad, I can’t believe it.”

“You sleep on the same kind of rubber pad,” Din pointed out. “Yours is just bigger.”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “The mattress is really nice here. Why don’t we visit more often?”

Din was quiet for a second while he ate another bite of food. “I don’t like Tatooine,” he finally said.

“Preach,” you said, pulling Grogu’s cradle closer and feeding him some of your cake. “Want dessert?”

You and Din shared food back and forth until you were both full, Din finally relenting and admitting he wanted a nap. At which you closed your eyes so he could get up and get into his bed.

You didn’t open your eyes until you heard the curtains around the bed shut, a feature Boba had put onto the bed specifically for Din. When you opened your eyes, you saw the helmet sitting atop Din’s folded shirt. Oh right, he slept shirtless.

Standing and stretching, you quietly kept Grogu occupied until he fell asleep too, and then you decided to find Fennec and maybe practice sparring.

You scooped Grogu up and set him down on the bed, leaving him to crawl his way to Din’s warm side. As the curtains shifted, you got a tiny peek at Din’s sleeping form.

He slept on his side with his arms up, covering his face. His hands were tangled in his hair, and you stared, entranced by the scar pebbled expanse of Din’s chest. It was the most skin you’d ever seen on him, and you almost wanted to touch it.

“Are you getting in too?” Din asked sleepily, and you yelped, jumping away from the bed like it might hurt you. You heard shuffling from inside, and then the curtain rustled. Before Din could push it open, you slapped your hand over your eyes, determined not to look.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go spar with Fennec,” you said, trying to sound firm despite the wobble to your voice. “Goodnight.”

Din chuckled softly, and you heard more rustling before strong and very warm arms wrapped around you. “Please come nap with us,” he said, leaning on you. His hand found your wrist and tried to gently tug your hand off your eyes, but you stubbornly refused.

You whimpered, resolve softening at Din’s half asleep voice and almost unfairly warm body. “Din,” you said. “Your face”.

“My Creed has long since been reforged. You can see my face. Fennec and Bona both have.”

When Din pulled against your hand again, he met no resistance. Your eyes met his first, and you swear your breath stopped altogether. “Din.”

“Yes?” Din said, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Can we nap please? I’m tired.”

“Of course you’re tired,” you said, your wits finally returning to you. “You haven’t taken a break in a decade.”

Din led you back to the bed, and you discarded your shoes before crawling under the blankets beside him. Grogu cooed when you joined the cuddle pile, and you snuggled up to him and Din, deciding to close your eyes only for a second.

When you opened them again, it was to a loud crack of thunder. The suns had set already, and in the dark, you could barely make out the outline of Din’s face. His curls were unruly, the mess visible even in the darkness. You sighed, resigning yourself to sleeping beside Din, especially because his arm was tossed over your waist. You were a bit surprised to find that Din was big on cuddles.

It wasn’t long before you were drifting off again, absently watching the rise and fall of Din’s chest while he slept. You wondered faintly if this was the longest he’d slept since he’d last been here. He often napped in three hour increments, just for convenience.

“You awake?”

“Well I am now,” you grumbled, watching Din’s eyelashes flutter as he blinked, his silhouette shifting when he rolled to his side. “Why’re you up?”

Din yawned. “Felt you move,” he said softly. “Woke me up.”

“Ah. Sorry,” you said, settling back down and feeling your eyes droop closed. “I’m exhausted.”

“Same,” Din said, pulling you close. “Thank you.”

You smiled against Din’s chest, curving so you were practically molded to his body. “Any time Din. Any time.”

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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zrtranscripts · 3 years ago

Text

Home Front, Mission 30: Daddy Lessons

Necromancy

SAM YAO: Okay Five, you're outside Thurman's bunker. There's a... there's a lovely occult sigil of uh... a bleeding eye on the door. And we don't know what's inside, so warm up just in case. Stretch, jog on the spot, whatever you need. I want you ready for anything. [sighs] I wish I could say I'm not scared, but I know we're both scared. It doesn't feel like three days since you got out of the underground village, does it? It-it sort of like feels like-like a couple of hours and also about two years.

Okay, briefing Janine-style always seems to help me focus. I have carefully checked every single camera in Spectrum Mall, but there's been no sign of Thurman since he left you in the dumbwaiter. Zombies don't notice him, so maybe he went out into the horde? The point is this might be our only chance to find out more about him. Specifically, how he can be in two places at once. Oh, and oh yeah, the bunker's locked with a code. The tape you took from the longevity research lab says where it is. Give it another play.

DR. MCBRIDE: April 9th, 1991. Dr. McBride. I've heard keeping a diary can help one make sense of things, and I refuse to lose my mind. Seven months ago, Artemus Thurman fired me for excessive altruism. Weeks later, I watched on my sofa as he attempted the highest ski jump ever built. I was willing him to fail, but only so he'd embarrass himself. I still see his neck snap when I close my eyes. I saw his funeral on the BBC News. It felt like I’d killed him, somehow.

Except two weeks ago, Thurman turned up at my door in the middle of the night and forced me at gunpoint to come with him back to my old lab. It's deserted. He won't explain how he survived, only says, “Prepare the bunker for my son. He'll be here once the dust's cleared, and there are things inside that explain everything.” The gossip pages say his son hates him. He wasn't at the funeral. Maybe he knew it was fake, but I can't say that to Thurman. If I disagree with him on anything, it's like he doesn't even hear me. I'm too afraid to argue.

He's different now to how he was before, some sort of monomania, and he keeps talking about the occult, secret knowledge that will help the chosen to survive. He asked me more than once if I would participate in the ritual with him, and I'm too afraid to answer. There's something else I'm afraid of. Thurman left tins of food, but they're running low. If he doesn't bring some more soon, I'm opening the bunker myself. He told me often enough the code for the bunker is engraved on the frame of Brandon's portrait in the Thurmanville labs.

SAM YAO: Stop the tape, Five. It gets a bit grim once McBride realizes Thurman's locked her in the lab and all he's sending her is plastic fruit. Okay, I'm looking for a portrait. Mmm... Ah! Yeah, I can see it. Boy in a suit, but uh, the actual face has been cut out. That's creepy. Still, I've got the bunker code on cams. It's um, 1875. Oh, that didn't work. I'm missing something. Keep warming up, and I'll figure out how to get you in.

SAM YAO: Okay Five, I've worked it out. The bunker lock’s electronic and the power's down, but the door's hooked up to the generator, so you just need to crank it up with some bicep curls. So press your elbows into your sides, forearms down, palms facing forwards. Grab the bar with both hands. Now it looks heavy, about the weight of a couple of tin cans? Now bend your elbows to lift the crank to your shoulders, then lower it back down. Careful, don't hurt yourself. It should take a minute.

Janine's been looking into some occult stuff since McBride mentioned it. She says Thurman was probably using fear of the supernatural as a way to control and manipulate his employees. She also says 1875 is the year that occultist Aleister Crowley was born. The occult sigil on the door, I wonder if it was from one of Crowley's books. Apparently, Crowley wrote about being in two places at once via astral travel, but the occult isn't real. Janine says, "There will be a rational explanation, Mr. Yao," and she's right, obviously. But there's something seriously weird going on.

Okay, you've got the generator working, Five. Try the code again. 1875. Yes, the bunker's open, but you might want to crank the generator a little longer. Don't want the power going out while you're inside.

SAM YAO: All right, Five, time to enter Thurman's bunker.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Brandon! Here at last.

SAM YAO: That's a recording, Five. Brandon was Thurman's son. He obviously thought only Brandon would make it in here.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: I trust your journey to post-apocalyptic England wasn't too arduous. I'm serious. If it's still a nuclear wasteland, go to the decontamination suite for three weeks and reread my autobiography. You've got a lot to live up to. You can't just rely on your Thurman genes. They're diluted by your mother’s. Penelope raised you to be a sissy, mommy's boy.

You were almost six when I last saw you, and you didn't even know how to box. I hope that black eye taught you a lesson, and the wasteland has hardened you. Regardless, I've prepared tests so you can prove you're worthy of meeting me. If you fail, you'll die, and good riddance. I'd rather have a dead son than a weak one.

SAM YAO: Five, a dart just flew past your face! Another by your knees! Uh, quick, do some jumping jacks to avoid them. Uh, feet together, arms by your sides. Now jump, spreading your arms and legs in the air so you land in a star shape. That dart almost clipped your ear! Jump back to the starting position. Keep doing those and the darts will miss you.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Still alive, Brandon? These darts are tipped with poison, you know. Ever see The Running Man? Contestants fighting to the death on television, a marvelous idea! The weak are punished and their deaths set an example. Televised combat is just what this country needs. Gladiatorial battles for children, now that's an idea! Get rid of the weak early and stop them growing into giant wastes of resources.

SAM YAO: [sighs] It's over. What was wrong with Thurman? He's treating this like some kind of joke! I mean, it's one thing to prepare for the future, but this... ! [sighs] I hope wherever he is, Brandon never gives his dad a moment's thought. Head to the next chamber, Five. If any more darts fly at you, just keep jumping.

SAM YAO: There's an arcade cabinet in this chamber. Must be another test from Thurman for his son.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: With discipline, strength of mind, and secret knowledge, one can live forever. If you prove worthy, Brandon, I'll tell you about it.

SAM YAO: Oh, I hate to send you further into that... that bastard's lair, but we have to know what he knows, Five. He's too dangerous, and he's fixated on you. We've got to find out how to stop him.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ever heard of The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle, Crowley's lost manuscript? Explains how to harness occult forces to make reality bend to your will. I bought it for millions, memorized it, then burned it. Couldn't have anyone else reading it. Sharing is for commies. Besides, they say the book is cursed. Everyone who owned it before me died horribly. Starving, thirsty, trapped and alone. You know why? Because they were unworthy!

You must prove you have the right values. Approach the arcade cabinets. Behold, a computer rendering of Karl Marx. Before you are two buttons, Hero and Parasite. Press the one you think describes Marx. Get it wrong, and the room fills with poison gas.

SAM YAO: [laughs] I'm pretty sure Thurman thinks Marx is a parasite, Five, but the buttons have corroded. The levers on the floor are all that's left. You can't stop looking at the screen, I need your head cam, so um... Okay, yep. Lunge and hit the lever with your knee instead. Stand with your feet together. Now step forward with your right leg and lower your back knee so that it almost touches the ground. And raise back up.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: That's right, Marx was a parasite, and you've exterminated him! Here's Ayn Rand.

SAM YAO: Ugh! Um, yeah, I think Rand wrote a book called The Virtue of Selfishness. Hit the hero button. Lunge with your left foot this time.

ARTEMUS THURMAN Keep going, Brandon! Here's Robin Hood.

SAM YAO: Looks like Thurman's alternating heroes and parasites, so keep lunging with alternate feet. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ah, Henry Ford. Tore down 5,000 square miles of rainforest to build a private rubber production colony. Excellent man. Yes, Brandon, exterminate those parasites! Halfway there. Oh, Dickens. Reagan. If you become half the man he is, you'll almost be worth the time I've spent on you. You've done it, Brandon! If you'd made a single mistake, I'd have gassed you like a rodent.

SAM YAO: A door just opened, Five! If anyone else pops up on that screen, keep lunging. Otherwise, press on.

SAM YAO: Oh, there's an altar in this chamber, Five. I wonder what that's for.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle explains how to harness animal spirits through ritual sacrifice.

SAM YAO: Of course. Yeah.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Your mother disapproved, Brandon. Called it torture. Well, now's your chance to prove you don't hold with the stupid ideas about animal rights. Release the hounds!

SAM YAO: Oh, well surely there aren’t live dogs here. Oh crap, Five, robotic dog heading right for you, glowing red eyes and razor blade teeth! Quick, punch it! Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, left foot back, fists up. Now punch with your right fist. Nice shot, Five! Keep hitting it with your right fist.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: "Save the whales!" Penelope used to say. Hogwash. What have the whales ever done for us? Ever wondered what happened to your gerbil? Rat poison. Taught you a lesson about wasting resources on useless creatures.

SAM YAO: You've taken down that robo-dog, Five, but there's another one! Right, switch stance so your right leg is behind and punch with your left fist. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Prove you have the stomach to continue Crowley's work. Show no mercy, Brandon!

SAM YAO: Five, I hope your knuckles are okay after that. Keep going, we've got to know what this grimoire actually did. And if you see any more robo-dogs, you know what to do.

SAM YAO: Right, I just searched for Brandon Thurman on ROFFLEnet, but nothing came up, not even gossip like McBride mentioned. It's like he never existed. Everything about this family is so... just twisted and wrong.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Getting my hands on that grimoire was no picnic, Brandon. Had to hold my nose and venture east of the Iron Curtain, spend a week in a basement in Bucharest getting a man who refused to eat or drink to tell me what he knew. There wasn't much I could threaten him with, but I found his weak spot in the end. [laughs] After he told me what he knew, I followed Crowley's trail to India. There are carvings under a temple in Hyderabad, tied all my research together.

Immortality is there for the taking, Brandon, you just have to work for it. You can exist in two places at once. Think about it, working twice as hard, making twice the money! I bulldozed the temple, of course. Full of stupid warnings. The grimoire states that to conquer death, you must overcome an attempt on your life, value strength over weakness, and sacrifice those less valuable than yourself. And at last, you have to be willing to kill.

You're nearly there, Brandon. I'm almost proud of you. I've been testing you all your life. Never sent your mother a penny. Wanted to see if you'd grow up self-reliant. And when I saw that article about you in the FT, “Teenager establishes paper route pyramid scheme,” I knew I'd been successful. There's only one thing left, Brandon.

The staircase ahead bears blood sigils. It is a shrine to the god Moloch. He demands the sacrifice of love, so as you ascend, you must renounce all that you love, as I have renounced you. Only then will you be granted power over death. Speak the words carved on the stairs as you ascend.

SAM YAO: “I vow to sacrifice to Moloch that which I love. To starve, kill and...” What the...? Don't say any of that stuff, Five. Don't even look at it. Just climb the stairs.

SAM YAO: Okay, you're outside the last chamber, Five. Almost there. And yeah, your way back is clear. You can get away if anything's... bad. There's a glass coffin inside.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Well, Brandon, you've found me. I'll be taken here after my death. Of course, since I followed the grimoire's instructions, I won't really be dead, just sleeping.

SAM YAO: The coffin’s bristling with tubes leading to the machines beside it. Dr. McBride worked in longevity research. Maybe this equipment has been keeping Thurman alive all this time. Yeah, maybe he's um... uh, you know, zombie immune because he died, or-or something. Take a closer look.

There's a desiccated body in the coffin. It's uh... Yeah, I'm not imagining it, am I, Five? It's Thurman, but dead. Really, really dead. Oh Five, look at the machine. Every switch has been flipped to off. And is that a note? “See you in hell, dad. B.” Did Brandon come here to turn his dad off? Not that I... [sighs] not that I blame him, really, but... ugh. For his sake, I wish he hadn't cared this much.

Nothing makes sense, Five! If Thurman's really dead, then who's been chasing you? What was that noise? The whole bunker’s shaking!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Oh Brandon, I've installed monitoring systems. If my state deteriorates too far for me to be revived, I have a contingency plan. See you soon, boy.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 30 #daddy lessons #zr transcript

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toomuchstory-toolittlebrain · 3 years ago

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Chapter Two: The Factory

Nire Richard ran through the halls of the factory, attempting to find any possible exit. The echoes of footsteps could be heard as she tried to get away from her pursuer. Screams and crying rattled Nire to the bone, knowing exactly what was going on in this hellish place. Sadly, she couldn’t stop to help them because if she did, she would just end up in their situation.

“NIRE! GET BACK HERE!” The pursuer said, “Why can’t you understand why I am doing this?!”

“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE HOW MUCH SUFFERING YOU ARE CAUSING, ERIN!?” Nire screamed back.

Looking back, Nire saw the face of Erin Richard, her very own sister. She was a tall and pale woman with blue eyes as cold as her heart. Her hair was black and was tied into low pigtails. She wore a white lab coat that was stained by chemicals over a blue sweater and a pair of baggy pants. She had on her rubber gloves and goggles, as if she was planning on doing another experiment.

Of course, that was the reason she was trying to get away from this place in the first place. Apparently, Erin discovered something important about the virus: it only affects humans. Animals, fungi, and plants were seemingly unaffected at all. However, Erin decided to take those life forms and combine them with human beings, attempting to insert a form of resistance to the virus. So far, she only managed to figure out how to put animal DNA and features onto humans, but that hasn’t stopped her from trying. She was both curious and desperate, which is a terrible combination. She was willing to push the limits, wanting to see what she could do rather than what she should do.

At that point in time, Nire was her only family member left. She did some research on the virus, hoping that one day, they could find a cure and stop all this suffering. However, she should have been aware that eventually, Erin would also try to experiment on her. She already knew that she wasn’t above using her own followers as lab rats, so who is to say that she wasn’t above experimenting on family members.

Turning away from her sister, Nire ran faster and faster, attempting to get away from her as fast as she could. Turning a corner, she quickly hid behind several crates, hoping that Erin didn’t notice her. Hearing several footsteps getting louder and louder, she braced herself for the worst. However, just as quickly, she heard the footsteps walking away as they got softer and softer. When she couldn’t hear it anymore, she let out a sigh of relief, allowing herself to finally relax.

This was it. She was finally going to get out of here. She didn’t care about what the outside world contained. She would rather risk being infected than stay in this place.

——————————————

Robin slowly walks through the hallways of the factory, looking in every single room to find his dear friend. All he wanted to do was get Tyde back and leave this place. However, the more doors he opens, the more horrors he unveils. He needed to find him and fast unless he wanted them to end up like the others. Perhaps they can also free everyone else while they are at it.

Robin looks around the area cautiously, making sure that no one is in sight. He continued onwards, with the hope of finding Tyde filling him with courage. Stopping at a pile of crates, he scanned the area once more. Suddenly, something (Or rather someone) grabbed him and yanked him behind the crates. Before he could even say a word, a woman quickly hushed him and peeked from the crates to see if the coast was clear.

The woman had messy black hair and blue eyes, although you could still see the fear in them. She wore a dark red sweater and blue jeans, along with some plain old sneakers. Once she made sure it was safe, she quickly turned to Robin.

“What’s your name and what are you doing here?” The woman asked.

“I am Robin Lewis,” he responded, “And I am here to rescue a friend. How about you?”

“I am Nire Richard and I am trying to avoid my sister who is the cause behind all of this. As for your friend, I fear that you might be too late.”

“What do you mean by that?!”

“It means that if they are here, Erin most likely already experimented on them. I am sorry.”

“What about you? What do you do if she is your sister?”

“I was just trying to find a cure for the virus so that this nightmare can finally end. However, Erin turned on me and now wants to add me to her list of experiments.”

“Gosh, that sounds terrible.”

“It is, but we must focus on getting out right now. She will eventually find us and will experiment on us both.”

“Well, there is a vent that leads to the outside. I used it to get in the first place and it’s not guarded at all. We can use it to get out of here.”

“Do you think you could lead us there?”

“I am sure of it! Follow me.”

Creeping out of the crates, the duo went down the corridors, holding onto the hope of escape. They walked slowly and as quietly as they could in order to avoid alerting the guards or even worse, Erin. On the way there, Nire grabbed a pipe just in case they encountered anyone on the way there. Unfortunately for them, Robin tripped on a wire on the ground, falling with a loud thud. The sound echoed throughout the factory and followed by it was a voice.

“Nire?” Erin shouted.

Terrified, Nire quickly helped Robin up and running alongside him as she was pursued yet again. Robin held onto her hand as he directed her to the exit. Erin’s footsteps got louder with every stomp she took as she tried to stop them.

“DON’T YOU SEE?!” She yelled, “I AM TRYING TO SAVE EVERYONE!”

“Don’t listen to her!” Robin told Nire, “We can make it out of here alive!”

Determined to get out, Nire threw the pipe at Erin, stopping her in her tracks and buying them more time. Robin then led them into the storage room before locking the door behind them. He quickly hopped into several boxes and attempted to pry open the vent grate. Nire looked inside several of the boxes before finding a screwdriver and scrambling up the boxes to help Robin. Meanwhile, Erin was banging at the door, doing everything she can to get in.

“NIRE! YOU BETTER OPEN THIS DOOR! THIS IS FOR THE GOOD OF EVERYONE HERE!”

Nire didn’t listen. She unscrewed the last one holding the vent and took it off. The banging at the door only got louder and so did Erin’s screaming.

“YOU HAVE UNTIL THE COUNT OF THREE! ONE… TWO… SCREW IT!”

Using the pipe that Nire threw at her, she destroys the door’s knob and lock. Kicking it open, she barges into the storage room. Pulling out her taser, she aims it at the one that she was looking at.

“Found you.”

#caps tw #ac #apocalyptic chaos #nire richards #erin richards #robin

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thewritingstar · 4 years ago

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When the Night is Still Young

Pairing: Brute x Princess

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

notes: Did I write this because @sxnalien art and couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was? absolutely Plus this ship needs more love and I shall serve. Enjoy :)

tag list: @shellielyzabeth @over-under-through1 (if you want to be on my tag list I have a post about that.)

---

The wind was light and fair as it rolled through Townsville. It was one of those nights that nothing happened. No monster attacks or a bank being robbed. Rare but peaceful. Unless you were a part of the Morebucks household. No every night was pure bliss as the richest girl in the city and probably the entire country, waltzed towards her room ready to turn in for the night.

Her glass of milk was set on her nightstand that was embezzled with pure gold and hefty sapphires as the handles. She was one of high class and taste so anything under $500 would not cut it. Even the mountain of pillows that laid on her king size bed had more worth than most of the salaries of the kids on the far side of town. Big, flashy, rich. Her taste couldn’t be matched.

She grabbed her novel and slipped into bed where the finest silk sheets of a deep purple hue laid. Even at age 24, she was just as many remembered. Spoiled, chunning, spoiled, rude, spoiled, hot, spoiled, manipulative and of course spoiled rotten.

But when Daddy Morebucks had more money than most, what else were you to expect? In fact her taste proved in every aspect of her life.The food she ate was organic and came from the best chefs around. The clothes were designer and handbags imported from overseas. Her jewels had rare value and she loved nothing more than to show off her money. Even the people she dated were a part of her social level.

She flipped the page of her book as her lamp, that came from Paris and was crafted from stained glass, gave a soft glow. It was quiet and the estate had turned in for the night. The only thing she heard was the soft tapping of the wind.

And then the shuffle of the balcony door lock.

“You’re late.” Princess said as another page was turned. A grumbled came from the window as it closed.

“You’re lucky I'm even here.”

The book was taken out of her hands and she looked up to see the pair of greens eyes. Black eyeliner was caked around them, bringing out the rich color that glowed under the soft light of the lamp.

“Still dressing like a street rat I suppose.” Princess smirked and a dark chuckle came from the other girl.

“You act like you don’t like the chains and spikes. Sugar Plum.” Brute winked as she flashed a grin that showcased her slightly sharpened canines.

Princess pressed her lips together as her cheeks puffed out into a pout knowing she was right. But nonetheless her eyes traveled down. For someone who only wore Louis Vuitton and Gucci, she found out that her soft spot was black crop tops, leather jackets and a spiked collar that made her shiver every time it was worn around Brute's neck.

“Maybe I do. Get over it.” Princess spat as Brute leaned until her nose bumped hers.

“You’re such a little brat ya know?” She said as she took her lips into a bruising kiss.

If you would have told Princess that she would one day end up underneath the notorious green powerpunk. She would have laughed and thrown a gold bar at your face. She had only dated men whose wallets were almost as big as hers and just as snotty. Yet not once did she ever feel something more than physical attraction, even then it was slim.

She wanted high class and someone who could stand their own next to her. No one had ever come close to it. The relationships would turn to dust in a matter of months and deep down she wanted to have someone there who appreciated her for more than money, she was human after all.

And that's when she met Brute. One of the galas she had attended was coming to the end and she had decided that the world had seen enough of her for the night. Since it was one of the smaller events, Princess took her own car. Sometimes the limos were too stuffy and she preferred to drive the night with the windows down and her own tune humming.

“Damn these heels.” She groaned as the elevator to the parking garage was now out of order. She pushed open the stairwell and wished she had her jetpack to soar her through the sky. The click of her black stilettos echoed as she climbed the stairs.

The top of the parking garage came into view as she opened the last door and clicked her phone to make sure that whoever didn’t fix that damn elevator would be fired or seriously hurt. The luxury convertible with her signature license plate was on the other side and sometimes she wondered why she did this to herself.

Huffing, she continued in her tall heels not noticing the door behind her opening. In those mere seconds of her pulling out her eyes, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She let out a yelp before throwing her elbow back and twisting the arm not caring about the snap that came with it. She turned before sending her foot in between the legs of the man who dared to touch her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She growled before shoving the tip of her heel down next to his face, missing him by a hair.

Her eyes glared down at the man now weeping on the ground. His hands were raised in a shudder as he tried to regain his breath from being thrown to the ground and kicked in the balls. Quickly she leaned down and took a picture of his id before tossing it at his face and spraying him with pepper spray for good measure.

She ignored his scream as she walked away and texted the picture to her personal body guards. “Fucking scum bags.”

Her head was now sprouting a headache and all she wanted to do was get home and be surrounded by her riches. Princess narrowed her eyes as she came closer to her car and noticed a figure leaning against it. Smoke blowing from their lips as the cigarette sat between their fingers.

“Unless you are going to pay for those scratches, beat it!” She spat and pointed her finger.

The cigarette was dropped to the ground with an immature flip and black combat boots came down on it like a bug. The light gave out as she looked up with a dark chuckle, the last of the smoke dissipating into the air and Princess felt the shiver in her spine as she noticed the sinister grin coming from the other woman.

“This little thing?” The woman, she assumed was around her age, trailed her finger along the hood. “I’ve seen better.”

The red head rolled her eyes and looked her up and down. “What do you want Brute?”

Brute tilted her head like a dog getting offered a walk. “Ahh so the queen knows who i am.” She pushed off the car and threw a hand in her pocket. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s not like you keep a low profile. Everyone knows who the Punks are.” She spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave.” She tried to take a step but Brute blocked her path.

“The night is still young Sugar Plum.” Brute raised her eyebrow and Princess suddenly felt so small against those green eyes.

“Why would I want to spend my valuable time with you?” She asked.

Brute chuckled and shrugged. “Not too sure babe. But I did just watch you kick and spray that poor sucker over there and now I'm intrigued.”

Maybe Princess didn’t notice the blush creeping up on her cheeks but she pushed all thoughts away and scoffed. “He’s a creep and I don’t have time for nonsense. Goodnight.” She pushed past and clicked her car door open.

“Yay know. I wish I were in town to see the old Princess.” Brute said and she paused.

“Old Princess?”

“Yep.” Brute popped the P. “The infamous Princess Morebucks. Doesn’t take shit from anyone and does what she wants. So sad that we are so young and yet you parade around like daddys little golden medal, making sure to please everyone with an image you don’t want to keep.”

“It’s called running a business.” Princess said quickly yet she hated that the other woman was right.

“No need to get defensive, I’m just saying that I thought you were much more wild. Afterall you were a super villain but maybe you’ve been humbled down to a spoiled brat whose only reckless behavior is staying up till one.” Brute smirked before turning on her heel. “See ya later Sugar Plum.”

Brute began to walk. The metal chain belt made a slight rattling as she inched closer and closer towards the stairwell. Princess stood as she looked at her steering wheel then back at the punk. Something inside of her wanted to just drive away, feel the freedom that she used to as a teenager.

She got into the car, seatbelt clashing loudly as if all sound had been turned off around her. Her hands gripped the wheel and her eyes glanced towards the sky where the moon was hardly up.

The engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking space making her way towards the exit.

“Get in.” She said and the punk turned around with a devious grin. A shutter went through her spine as the door opened and the seat filled in with Brute.

“Alright Sugar Plum, lets see that wild side.” And soon the parking lot was filled with dust as rubber burned through the city's streets.

You could hear the music blasting from the street as the pair walked up to the door.

“A club?” Brute asked yet she was impressed with the location.

It was located on the far side of town. The crime rate here had skyrocketed over the years and if you wanted to find a drug paradise, check between the cracks of the sidewalks.

Princess led her to the door. Her ID didn’t need to be checked as they passed the long line and were ushered in quickly. The dim lights only held a sea of bodies grinding against one another while cheap booze flowed in their veins.

The music was terrible and the smell might have been worse but she grabbed the punk's hand and led her to the dance floor without a care in the world. Their hips swayed and soon they had a drink in their hands.

The red head let the alcohol flood her system and soon the music wasn’t as bad as before. She kept her eyes focused on those dazzling greens. She hated the color beforehand. Thought that it was trashy unless it was a crisp hundred bill. But now even with the blazing light, she could see the flecks of the hue taking shape in her iris and wanted to explore it further.

“I never would have pegged you as a club person.” Brute said in her ear as the Princess pressed her back to her chest.

“It's the only place no one cares who you are.” She said as her hand made its way to Brutes cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

Maybe she let the world of her father's business consume her before her life had even started. Maybe Brute was right. She was Princess Motherfucking Morebucks. The same girl who used to build rockets and lasers just to destoy the puffs and now she was wasting what should be her reckless party years, doing things she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Brute's hands traveled down until she spun the red head around and kissed her again. Princess’s hands wandered to her neck as she tugged slightly at the spiked collar with a large metal loop.

“There's that wild side.” Brute said against her lips as she pulled her impossible closer while the music played. “I like it.”

Princess couldn’t tell what was driving her insane. The third shot of vodka or the way her lips felt like molten lava, a tingling sensation she had never had before but she was craving it like no other. All her past relationships came into her mind.

Man after man, not one could even bring Princess the satsiaction to even smile. They had all been the one thing she hated most, boring. Fake smiles, only there for her last name and to climb the ranks, that all she was. She was a bank vault that many wanted to access and she had begun to just give up the code, but not anymore. She didn’t want boring and she certainly wouldn’t be that.

Brute was far from it. Piercings and tattoos covered her arm, something her father would disaprove of greatly, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world as she just let the music play on.

Princess kissed her back, enjoying the way the metal lip pieces felt against her lips. It was electrifying and freeing as Brute kissed her neck. She had been captivated by the punk. The way she doted on her like no man had before. She originally thought she was only here for the money, a big fear she kept to herself but although Brute loved cash, she enjoyed the presence of the spoiled girl more.

“I got you something.” Brute whispered in her ear. A shock wave of pleasure jolted through Princess' heart as Brute reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “I know how much you love chain babes.”

Princess took the box and opened it. It was a silver chain necklace with a small crown charm.

“But I also know that it's not your thing, so I thought something that would remind you of your royal status would do.” She joked but Princess stared at the small necklace with wide eyes.

It was simple and small, yet she felt tears threaten to spill. Her entire life she had been showered with elegant gifts and priceless treasures. She was accustomed to receiving fine things, because it was expected. Sometimes it was underwhelming to constantly get things that never had an emotional value.

She took the necklace out of the wrapping and put it on. The cool metal graced her skin and she felt her cheeks heat up at the sweet gift. She looked up at Brute who had a soft expression, something she wore rarely.

Princess set the box aside and placed her hand against Brute’s cheek.

“It's not diamonds but it will do.” She playfully teased before kissing Brute.

She felt Brute groan against her lips and soon she was laying on top of her.

“You’re still spoiled as ever.” Brute glared as she ran her fingers through the curly ginger locks. “But I still like it.” She winked “Reminds me of when I first saw you beat up that dude.”

“That was two years ago.” Princess blew on her bangs.

Brutes hand lightly slapped her ass making the redhead bury her face in her neck. “Yeah but it was hot.”

Princess hummed. “Whatever. Thank you by the way.” She said the last part quickly.

“Ooooo did I just hear the queen thank me?” Brute laughed and her hands were then held above her head pressing into the sheets. She looked through hooded eyes up at the redhead pinning her from above.

“I’m not repeating myself.” Princess batted her eyelashes. “Now, let's go for a ride.”

“Really? At two a.m?” Brute smirked.

Princess practically jumped off her bed before walking to her closet and changing quickly. She reappeared wearing a short black dress and her own pair of combat boots.

Brute sat up with a smirk and gave a low whistle.

“The nights still young babe.” She said before grabbing Brutes hands and leading out the door to her private garage. Soon her car roared to life and the windows were rolled down as the drove off into the night.

I hope you enjoyed :)

shout out to my lovely betas: Lisa, Aves and Cilla :)

#princess x brute #brute x princess #ppg #princess ppg #brute ppg #thepowerpunkgirls #ppg fic

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1-2-4sudoku · 4 years ago

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Snapped Restraints: Chapter Four: The Last Straw

AU: This is a long chapter, folks. If you’ve been waiting for the ‘snapped’ part of Snapped Restraints, this is where your wish comes true.

“What happened to your room?” Alfred asked me suspiciously.

“Um, I had an emotional breakdown.”

“I’m well aware of that, but I was told it happened at school,” he replied with one eyebrow raised.

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other and twined my brown hair around my finger anxiously I wasn’t stupid. I knew that Alfred knew that I was lying.

“You’re sure, Miss Juliette. that it was you who destroyed every one of your precious origami, which you spent hours on, which I’ve heard you refer to as your ‘pride and joy’?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and said:“Yes, Alfred. I just lost my temper, is all.”

I felt bad for lying to someone who had been good to me. He had saved me from training sessions, defended me, made me my after school snacks, and so much more. I knew he wanted to help me, and I lied to him.

He couldn’t prove I was lying, though he knew I was. There weren’t any cameras set up in my room, no honest eye witness report. If he tried to dig deeper with no solid evidence, he could fail and Bruce would be angry and it would be worse for me.

On Friday, Dick picked up Damian to spend the weekend with him in Bludhaven. When Dick brought him back, he talked to Bruce. That freaked me out. I thought that Damian told our brother about Bruce hitting us. I felt it was my fault for encouraging him to stand up for himself.

I came into his room without knocking, and discovered that Tim and Cassandra were already there. Damian saw me come in and immeaditely blurted out: “I didn’t tell Grayson what you think I did. I only said anything at all because he asked me why I was sad!”

“Fill me in,” I demanded.

“I only told him about what happened at school and Father being angry with us, not that he hit us, and now Grayson is angry with Father.” Damian looked scared and pale and very small. He was on his bed with his arms around Titus, who he was holding onto like a lifeline.

“Okay. Okay.” I began pacing rapidly with my fingers woven tightly in my hair as I desperately wondered: What now? What the fuck do we do now?

Cass was sitting next to Damian, looking just as lost as he did. Tim sat in a desk chair with his elbows on his knees and his hands supporting his gaunt face.

After a few long moments, Damian inquired in an appropriately childlike voice: “Are you angry with me?”

Tim responded the fastest and the most harshly. “Um, YES!”

“Zip it!” I told him. “I need to think.”

“That’s funny,” Tim stood up. seeing his face, I noticed that he seemed to have worry lines despite his age. He started towards Damian. He wasn’t replying to me. He had concentrated his anger on Damian. “Because you know what I’m thinking? I think-”

“Quiet!” Cass snapped.

“Thank you!” I said empathetically. “Don’t try to redirect your anger at anyone else, Tim. It’s Bruce who hurt us, Bruce we should be angry with.”

“Hero. Helped me.” Cassandra interjected quickly.

“He hurt you, too, Cass,” Tim replied. “After all you’ve been through, of course you’d like the world to be black and white and Bruce a hero. But it isn’t and he’s not.”

“Tim is right,” I agreed.

Tim inhaled deeply. “When he found out that you were suicidal, Bruce should have tried to find you therapy. Instead, he locked you in a sinking ship to make you want to live.”

“Got out. Lived.” Insisted Cassandra fervently.

“What if you didn’t?” Tim demanded of her. “What if you had wanted to die so badly that you lay on the floor and let yourself drown?”

“You were suicidal?” Damian asked. “Why?”

Cass nodded. After a period of silence she admitted: “Killed before. Hated myself.”

Cass’s feelings were a welcome distraction from my own panic and turmoil. I instantaneously jumped on the new topic.

“You stayed with Barbara for a long time, right?” I asked. “Did she try to help you with those feelings?”

She nodded.

“Tell me about that.”

This time Cass waited a long time to talk and said a lot when she did. “Barbara was kind to me. Tried to teach me words. Helped me... socialize.

“She told me everyday that I was good. Said I wasn’t my father. Wanted to know my feelings. If I said I was bad, Barbara told me all the good I did.”

After that speech, Cassandra brought her knees up to her chin and and wrapped her arms around them. She closed her almond eyes, clearly exhausted from saying so much, and put her head down. She told me without words that she was done speaking.

“Cass,” Tim concluded gently. “Barbara loves you like a daughter. Bruce appreciates you as a weapon.”

“Amen,” I verified with passion. “Bruce doesn’t love us. The sooner we come to terms with that, the better.”

Damian muttered something from his bed.

“What’d you say?” Tim inquired tiredly.

A short pause. A child’s voice muffled by his sadness. “I’m difficult to love.”

“You only think that because Bruce never tried to love you!” I cried. “I know! Tim filled me in on everything about this family when I got here. Bruce didn’t try to know you, didn’t try to be patient with you, didn’t try to help you, didn’t try to bond with you. If that shitbag can’t love you, he’s got no one to blame but himself.”

Damian started crying. The tears streaking his face and his runny nose were good reminders as to how young the little soldier was.

Without a word, Cassandra and I wrapped our arms around him. After a few moments, Tim did the same with an accepting mutter of, “Oh, what the Hell.”

Silently, we all agreed that we were going to stick together through whatever happened.

As for what all Dick said to Bruce, I’m not sure what exactly it was, but I know it made him angry and I know it affected Alfred’s view of him.

After that day, he was never not home when Bruce was. And sometimes, when the Batman looked at me, I could see it in his eyes that he was full of burning hatred of me. I knew he wanted to hit me. The feeling was mutual.

Three weeks later, Alfred decided that is was safe to leave all us kids alone with Bruce while he went to the library. Big mistake.

That fateful Tuesday afternoon, I was working on a puzzle at my desk. As I did, Nadia chased a small rubber band ball across the floor.

Foolishly, stupidly, absolutely moronically, I had left my bedroom door wide open. I felt Bruce come in before I turned and saw him, because kids like me have a sixth sense for danger.

I stood up and we looked at each other silently before that bastard spoke. He watched Nadia studiously. She was stock still with quivering whiskers; a deer in the headlights. “I know you love that rat.”

A lot of things happened in the ten to fifteen seconds following his words. They didn’t blur together to me; instead they were all very clear in my mind.

I knew exactly what he was thinking. I thought: Hell no, you motherfucker.

Adrenaline flooded my system immeadietly. I started moving, and moving fast.

“It would be a sha-” Gargoyle Face began, but I interrupted him, yelling: “OVER MY DEAD BODY!!!”

As I uttered those words, I pinned my beloved friend to my chest with my arms and arched my back over her with my legs bent beneath me.

Gargoyle came at me screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, but I didn’t try to run.

He kicked me hard in the side. He grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me so my back was to the floor. I must’ve learned something after all from all the training, because I manged to kick him fairly hard in the balls.

After that was when everything started to blur together. I think he threw me across the room to try to shock me into loosening my hold. I think he tried to stomp on my hands to break them. I think it’s a miracle that he couldn’t, a miracle that I somehow kept Nadia safe.

I know that I was crying hard and swearing and Nadia was screaming and shitting herself and the demonic excuse for a hero was yelling and beating me and I knew better than to try to fight him and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Cassandra and then suddenly it stopped.

She knocked out Bruce with a nerve paralyzing move on, I found out later. She finally stopped standing by and helped me.

Tim and Damian came in moments later.

Tim was the first to speak. “Oh, Jesus Christ!”

Cass said: “Bruce hurt Juliette. I hurt Bruce.” She said this in a very quiet and flat voice, like she was in shock. Later I decided that she probably was.

“Damian, try to take Nadia from her, and you take care of her,” Tim ordered. He spoke in a calm, professional manner. “Cass, you help me move Bruce to his bed.”

After a long time, Damian somehow managed to pry Nadia from my grasp and hold her for me so that I could take a hot bath.

Most of one wall in my bathroom was covered in mirror. When I stood up and looked at my body, the bruising was so bad that the freckles that covered every inch of my skin were no longer visible in some places.

Damian began cleaning my room while Tim looked for pain medication and cold packs.

“I’d give you morphine if I could, but that means an IV, which there’s no way Alfred wouldn’t notice,” he said miserably. Then Tim helped Damian clean up.

My brothers and sister put me to bed and arranged ice packs around me. They planned to help me fake being sick so that I could stay in bed and recover.

I lay there staring daggers at the ceiling, nowhere near sleep. My wounds pulsed to the beat of my heart, as rage simmered and boiled inside of it.

One thought played on repeat in my head. That’s it. You don’t fuck with me or the people I love, because there’e Hell to pay if you do. Oh, that bastard’s gonna pay.

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mothmanhamlet · 5 years ago

Text

A Few Angsty Haikus

Analogical, 2584 words, high school au, fluffffffff, I don’t think there are any warnings to speak of.

Roman gets Virgil to use his services to ask out his crush. Bad poetry ensues.

Roman Prince was many things. He was a jock, a self proclaimed “Matchmaking God”, and the biggest theater nerd Virgil had ever known. Most importantly, Roman would be dead if he didn’t stop begging Virgil in the next 30 seconds.

“Come onnnnnn, please,” Roman begged. They were pinning flyers for Roman’s new “business” idea to the corkboard outside of their math class. Or rather, Roman was pinning flyers, Virgil was just there for moral support. Moral support apparently included attempts at making him Roman’s first customer.

“No,” Virgil said, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall.

“Listen, it benefits both of us! I need my services to get out into the world and you happen to be the perfect candidate!” Roman reasoned, moving his hands a concerning amount for someone who was holding sharp objects.

The services in question were a complicated list of steps Roman called a “confession session”. The idea was that someone filled out the application and Roman would plan out an elaborate display of something that he promised would be spectacularly romantic.

“No. Absolutely not.” Virgil didn’t even bother looking at Roman, his eyes were too busy scanning around the hallway. School ended not even two minutes ago, so there were still people there. He looked to see who could see him, who could see the poster. Pitifully, Logan was still there, Virgil’s super-genius crush. If Logan saw that poster, his opinion of Virgil would immediately drop. He was too good for that kind of thing.

Roman, sadly, caught Virgil looking just a little too long at Logan and got a brilliant idea. “Well I say you should get a second opinion. Oh Lo-”

Virgil’s hand practically flew to Roman’s mouth, nearly tackling him in the process. Logan, thankfully, didn’t move an inch.

“Do it and you’re dead,” Virgil whispered through gritted teeth. Against his palm, Virgil heard a muffled noise that sounded something like “But can you stop me?”. He looked back at Logan, who was still trying to fit three books and a globe into his already full backpack, and then at Roman, who was looking at Virgil with his eyebrows raised as if to say, “Your move”. At least if he let Roman do this, the embarrassment would be delayed.

“I’ll say yes if you don’t yell when I remove my hand.” Roman nodded and Virgil released his grip on his face, slight red marks where he had pressed rather aggressively. Roman pulled out his phone and started typing.

“I’m emailing you a link to the website. Fill out the form so I can make it spectacular!” Roman said, all too cheery for someone who had to blackmail him into doing it. Virgil just rolled his eyes and started walking down the hallway, trying to shake the small bits of attention that their (rather loud) conversation had gained.

****

Virgil sat down on the purple bean bag chair in his cluttered room and reached for his computer. It was a light grey color and covered in various stickers, his headphones a permanent fixture in its side. He clicked on the link and was immediately redirected to a flashy red and gold website that used hearts like they were commas and used clip art that probably hadn’t seen the light of day since the 90’s. Roman was creative, but sometimes his execution was subpar and unfortunately this was one of those times. Virgil leaned back and read over the questions.

1. What is your prospective boyfriend/girlfriend/datemate’s favorite love song?

2. What type of flower best encapsulates their personality?

3. Balloons, streamers, confetti, or all?

The rest of the questions followed suit in a similar fashion, and there were a lot. Maybe 30 or so until Virgil got to the end of the application.

“Who the hell has a favorite kind of sprinkle?” Virgil muttered to himself, trying to work through the questions. Even more surprising than how specific the questions were, was that Virgil actually knew most of the answers. He had never really bought into the whole pining-after-someone-he’d-never-met thing (pretending he even had a choice in the matter), so obviously he had to fall for his lab partner/project partner/person he sat next to in every class. Apparently the teachers thought it was funny to pair up the kid named “Sanders” and the one named “Saunders”. It was that, or just some alphabetization. Either way, it meant they had spent a lot of time together in their first three years of high school. Logan was distant at first, but after a while they opened up to each other. Which was a little weird because Virgil was pretty much the world’s worst lab partner, always assuming so strongly what would happen and planning to mess up, which in turn tended to mess them up. Now they seemed to talk about anything and everything, Virgil’s speaking ability permitted. Logan loved tea and Sherlock and classic literature (Victorianism not Romanticism) and jam and being right and debates and space. He really loved space. Whenever anyone brought up space his eyes lit up and it practically made Virgil’s heart do backflips. He was just glad one of the questions wasn’t “what do you like about them?” because Virgil could have written an essay. What was there, however, was far worse.

27. Write 10-20 poems about them.

Now Virgil was an emo nightmare of a person, but he did deviate from the trend in one key factor: He couldn’t write poems. No angsty sonnets for him, no haikus about suffering, no half-baked attempts to write his own songs. Nothing.

Virgil got up from his comfortable chair and started sifting through boxes on the floor, looking for something he’d rather forget. Underneath one particularly dusty pile of biology notes, he found what he’d been looking for, a beat up composition notebook that had served as his 6th grade English notebook. He flipped through the pages, stopping when he finally found the page labeled “poetry rules”. How he remembered this page, he had no idea, but was at least partially thankful for it.

Haikus: 3 lines. 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. Doesn’t have to rhyme.

Well that seemed easy enough.

****

Your eyes look really nice

Magnified by your glasses

Blue as the ocean

Your hair looks fluffy

I want to touch it sometimes

So soft and shiny

****

Logan anticipated a lot of things. He anticipated his AP World History teacher to say something dull or ignorant during class. He anticipated the way his earl grey would taste every morning, bitter with hints of citrus. He even, on occasion, anticipated the perpetrator in his mystery novels, attempting to figure it out before the detective did. What Logan did not anticipate was two of his friends running towards him before he could enter school for the day.

“Logan, something absolutely delightful happened inside,” Dolos said, dressed in a peculiar combination of a suit and rubber gloves. Remus nodded vigorously next to him, munching on what seemed to be frosting in an empty deodorant bottle.

“There’s something inside your locker Nerdy Wolverine!” Remus said, making an attempt at teasing out his own curiosity while simultaneously applying a neon green fake mustache to his upper lip.

“Remus, if it is rats again, I am really not interested, especially after last time-” Logan began, thinking back to the year they had decided to share a locker.

“Of course. Because we totally put it in there,” Dolos interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“I personally think it’s a jar full of angry hornets that’s set to break when you open your locker, releasing into the school and stinging everyone but Dolos says that’s “unrealistic” because he’s no fun,” Remus said, waving his hands around to simulate a hornet infestation.

“But if you didn’t put anything there, how do you know there is something in there to begin with?” Logan asked.

“There was a sign on your locker,” Dolos said, gesturing to the door, “But don’t worry, it’s super tasteful.” With that, the two walked off, snickering. Despite the fact that school started in 20 minutes, they walked away from school.

Logan arrived at his locker, not knowing what exactly to prepare for. What he found, was his locker covered in dark blue paper hearts, “There’s a surprise inside” written on them. It was more distinctive than he would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t the worst thing he could have come across. The hearts managed not to cover his lock, so he could easily open his locker, however what was on the inside proved the hearts correct, for it was definitely a surprise.

His locker was covered along the walls, flowers, candy, and streamers occupying any blank space along the sides. In the back of his locker, there was blue poster paper with words Logan didn’t bother to read. On the small shelf he had in his locker, he found sugar cookies in the pattern of the Microsoft logo, littered with little blue sprinkles.

The most interesting thing however, was on the side of the door. Around twenty pieces of paper folded into little red paper hearts stuck with string onto the inside of his locker door. What was even more intriguing was the fact that there seemed to be words written on them. Carefully, he plucked one of them and unfolded it.

You smile so bright

Your laugh makes me want to cry

But in a good way

Ok, so it wasn’t a great poem, but nevertheless Logan thought it had a particular quaint authenticity to it. He pulled them off, one by one, careful not to rip them. In every heart, he found a haiku of similar quality and theme. Virgil would probably enjoy them, and for a moment Logan considered giving him something like this. Virgil seemed to have a certain affection for particularly bad poetry, and Logan had an affection for Virgil. Besides, it seemed that some of the poems were just lyrics from some of Virgil’s favorite songs, something about falling boys and chemistry.

When he had finished reading through the poems, Logan decided to have a better look at the poster in the back of his locker. Looking at the giant words on the paper answered some of his questions, but caused even more. Logan, I like you a lot. Go out with me? - Virgil.

It made sense, that this whole display was a confession of sorts, however what didn’t make sense was the fact that it wasn’t, well, Virgil. Virgil was a little bit extra sometimes, but from what Logan knew of him, he was far too nervous to do something like this. And if it was Virgil, then where was he? Unless he had run off somewhere-

Virgil had definitely run off somewhere. He looked at his watch. He had fifteen minutes till class started, which was probably enough time to find him.

****

Virgil was, for lack of a better phrase, freaking the hell out. He got to school really early, early enough to intercept Logan, who got to school like half an hour before he really needed to. The night before, he realized he couldn’t go through with the showy confession. Logan would probably hate it and then maybe hate him, which would of course happen after Logan rejected him so then Logan would stop talking to him because Virgil embarrassed him with it and then Roman would hate him because it didn’t work and then his life would fall apart. So instead he decided to get to school early enough to intercept Logan and confess to him before he could see the giant confession, then explain what had happened when he got rejected and got it so Logan was never surprised with whatever Roman planned. He would wait in the empty classroom Logan spent study hall in (he worked out an arrangement with the science teachers) and wait for Logan, who usually came there before his locker. He felt like such a stalker knowing that, when in reality he just asked Logan’s friend Dolos.

Which would have worked out great, except Virgil couldn’t stop freaking out. He was just staring at the clock, anxiously waiting for him to come in, all the while mentally running through every worst case scenario. He had around 13 minutes before school started, which meant Logan had to be there. It would be any minute before-

“Hello?”

Logan was there, dressed formally as always, hair slicked back with a polo shirt and tie. Virgil was there too, but he was sitting on a table, staring at the clock above the door.

“Hi Logan,” Virgil said as calmly as he could, which happened to be not calmly at all. “I have, uh, something for you.”

Virgil reached behind him for the card he had made. He painted a swirly blue sky with Logan’s favorite constellation on it. Hopefully he would like it more than the giant display.

“It’s very nice looking,” Logan commented, looking at the front. “It even has Vega on it, my favorite.”

Logan probably didn’t even know what was going on. Virgil thought he was amazing, but even he had to admit Logan was clinically oblivious. Logan opened up the card, looking a little confused and surprised. But not angry or disappointed. So that was a step in the right direction.

Logan flipped around the card to show him the inside. Logan, would you like to maybe go out with me? “Yes? Assuming you are asking what it seems you are asking, I would love to go out with you.”

What?

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was happy or confused or surprised, the emotions blending in the pit of his stomach. But he said yes. Logan said yes.

“Y-yes? Are you sure?”

“Yes Virgil, I’m certain.”

Virgil let out a breath. He was in a calmer place and honestly a little light-headed. Logan sat next to him on the table, looking like he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ok. In that case, be careful when you visit your locker. There’s something in there that’s a little, uh, extra,” Virgil said, trying to be as vague as possible. Logan’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“If you’re talking about the confession you made, I have already seen it. I apologize if I ruined any surprises.”

“You- But- You saw it? And you don’t hate me now?” Virgil asked, it a bit of a frenzy.

“No, not at all. I particularly liked the poems.”

Virgil was surprised. Flabbergasted. Betrayed. He could no longer tell if he wanted to punch or hug Roman. Maybe both.

“It was actually Roman’s idea, but I’m glad you don’t hate me,” Virgil said, wringing his hands and looking at Logan. “I also don’t have too much planned for the actual, um, date. I kind of assumed you’d say no.”

“You do like jumping to conclusions. Fortunately, I am prepared. There’s a new documentary on one of Jupiter’s moons, Callisto, and it will be playing Friday at seven thirty. Does that sound enjoyable?”

Virgil simply nodded with a smile.

“Perfect, I will pick you up at seven. It is, as they say, a date.” Logan said, surprisingly well prepared for someone who didn’t know he would be asked out. Both of them slid off the table, standing back on the ground. Just as Logan began to leave, Virgil reached out and tentatively caught his hand. Logan’s eyebrows raised for a moment, then turned more relaxed.

Slowly and happily, the two walked out together, hand in hand.

#analogical #fluff #high school au #sanders sides #sanders side fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus is there but just for like five seconds

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tessxomarie · 6 years ago

Text

Saving You - Part I

*Hi everyone! First, I need to shoutout @hellosupernaturaldoctor for giving me advice and the confidence to even attempt this. This is my very first time writing any fan-fiction and the first time I’ve decided to post any of my writing some place other than a word doc. I’ve had this idea for this story since mid-season of the Mayans, and after the finale I put all my thoughts into a story. It starts off slow, but I promise what I have in store next will be worth it! PS, Any feedback is appreciated! - This story takes place a few months after the season one finale. Ez is now a newly patched in member, Alvarez is still working for Galindo; things have been quiet as of late, well for the most part.*

It’s a Friday afternoon, I’m just getting off of work. It’s hot as fuck outside – guess that’s the price you pay when you live in the desert. I lazily gather my purse from the backroom, before I step foot outside, I redo my hair. What was once a cute pony tail this morning has turned into a mangled mess. As my luck would have it, my hair tie snaps as soon as I go to wrap it around a third time. “Fuck.” I mumble to myself. I always wear an extra hair tie on my wrist, but I cannot have a naked wrist. “Fine, a mangled mane I will have. It’s fine, it’s fine.” I whisper to myself. If I don’t leave here now, I will lose all sanity I have left. Man, what a shit show day today has been, this heat must be getting to the kids. Two broken wrists, a broken arm, a no helmet incident and a random summer cold. I didn’t get puked or shit on, and no kid attempted to kick or hit, so I call today’s shit show a success. Just as I’m about to leave, one of my co-workers stops me, “Leah, good work today. You kept that broken arm kid really calm. Keep it up.” Elena tells me with a smile. “Thanks, Elena. I’m just doing my job, but I always welcome feedback, so thanks again.” I say to her as I head out the back door. It’s 4:30pm, I’ve been on the clock since 6am, one would think I deserve to simply go home and use my complex’s pool – oh one can dream. But nope, I’m still on the clock but I guess you could call this gig more of an always “on-call” service.

I pull up in my old school blacked out Jeep Grand Cherokee about twenty minutes after I leave the clinic to the Romeo Brothers Scrapyard, also known as the headquarters for the Mayans MC.

Chucky greets me, per usual. “Greetings Nurse Aleeah.” He says to me with a big smile and a salute. I let out a giggle as I always do whenever someone says my full name…I rarely ever go by it, but around here, I hear it more than I have in years. But Chucky, oh Chucky– how does one describe a chronic masturbator who has a good heart and is part of the biker world without truly being a biker? I guess I just did, didn’t I? “Hey Chucky, how are you?” I ask as I park and exit my Jeep. “I am well, swell actually. I have no complaints today.” Chucky answers with a big smile. “Good, I’m glad to hear that.” I say as I give his arm a friendly squeeze. “The boys need your assistance, I don’t know details but clearly someone got messed up hence why you are here.” Chucky explains in typical Chucky fashion.I roll my eyes as I stand in front of the clubhouse. “It’s always something with these boys, huh?” I rhetorically ask. Chucky nods his head and heads back to the office. I walk up the steps and take a deep breath before I enter the clubhouse. This club is like a box of chocolates, you never know what the fuck you’re going to get so it’s best you just grin and bear it. Is it just a cut from a broken beer bottle? Did a fight break out and there is blood everywhere? A bullet wound? A stabbing wound? A rat bite? Like I said, you just never know. I open the doors and pray today is nothing major. “Have no fear, your favorite RN is here.” I announce as I enter the clubhouse and strike a pose in the doorway. “Umm, isn’t it RN BSN?” Riz corrects as he stands and greets me. “Have I told you that you’re my favorite?” I reply with a playful wink and smile, it does make me truly happy that these guys acknowledge and are proud of my accomplishments. “Hola Aleeah.” Riz says to me while we greet with a warm hug, per usual. “Hey, I spy my favorite nurse!” Gilly shouts from across the room. Creeper, Hank and Taza also wave from the card table. “Greetings gentlemen, you all seem to be in one piece.” I say as I mosey around the few tables between me and the guys. “Although that pleases me, who is the one who called up 1-800-Rescue Nurse?” I sarcastically spit, which receives some laughs from the guys. “They’re in church.” Hank points towards the door. “They? Plural?” I ask looking at Riz, and he nods to confirm. “Jesus Christ.” I say palming my face. “Lee Baby!” Coco shouts from exiting church and walking over to me with open arms. “Ah, Coco Loco.” I reply with a smile and we hug. “How are you doing, Coco?” I ask after we break our embrace. “A lot better than your next two victims.” He replies, him not making much eye contact and that just gives it away – I know automatically who my victims are. “You gotta be kidding me? They got into it again?!” All Coco does is nod and look down at the floor. “How bad?” I ask. “What do you mean? How bad do they look? Or how bad is it between them?” Coco asks me. I shake my head with disgrace. I angrily take my steps towards church and I aggressively open the door. “Damn, she is pissed.” I hear Creeper’s echo as I close the door, as soon I enter the room. Looking at the table, I see them. One is at one end, the other one on the opposite end. I drop my nurse’s bag on the table and cross my arms. “You two have some damn nerve - getting into it again. Jesus. You’re fucking brothers, you are blood – blood don’t do this shit.” I yell with anger and confusion. Silence fills the air as the guys look at each other and up at me. Bishop then looks over to me and quirks an eyebrow and half smile. “Excuse my poor manners, Bish. Your boys tend to make me lose all sanity I have left at the end of a work week.” I tell him as I walk over and give him a warm embrace. “Oh Leah, you’re fine. I know this shit has been out of control recently.” Bishop pauses and looks over to the guys. He takes a deep breath. “I’ll let you handle them now. I’ll be outside if you need a referee.” Bishop exits and I just stand there, crossed arms again. Both boys refuse to look me in the eye, but instead stare each other down. “Are you just going to stand there?” Angel seethes. I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Give me one good reason as to why I should fix the both of you up? Huh? Because as I see it, this is the fourth time this month…THIS MONTH! Angel, please, humor me and explain to me why the fuck I should tend to your wounds yet again? Maybe if I let you both be, you’ll learn these fights aren’t worth it.” I take a deep breath myself, and I run my hand through my tangled hair, which I then end up putting up in a pony tail right after, I’ll just have to remember to find another hair tie to wear on my wrist later. “Alright, I’m sorry I went off. You two, you two just frustrate me.” I say holding my hands up mimicking a surrender. I take another breath and look between the boys. My gaze is drawn to EZ, probably because he’s the easier one out of the two. “Okay, EZ, I see that nasty cut on your cheek, oh and your hand – good going big brother.” I say as I look over to Angel. He looks away the moment I look his way. “Shocker, EZ gets to be first yet again.” Angel chirps. “Seriously?” I snap. “I’m over here fucking bleeding, I could be dying but all you and anyone ever cares about is Ezekiel.” “Shut it Angel, just shut it, please.” I beg. I start to tend to EZ’s war wounds; some cuts, a nasty one on his cheek – I’m guessing Angel’s rings got the best of him this time around. EZ, he doesn’t say much this time I’m here. I know that he feels the same way as me – he’s tired of this back and forth shit with his brother. “EZ, no more. It’s one thing when you all call me to take a bullet out, or to give a rabies shot, but this shit – playground fights, I’m done.” I explain as I place the last bandage strip to his cheek. EZ doesn’t make eye contact, and his jaw is clenched. His knees shaking. “I know, Lee. I’m sorry you’re doing this again.” EZ tells me as he finally meets my eyes for the first time. EZ, he’s easy to read. He wears his emotions in his eyes, his eyes right now are filled with pain and sadness. This whole feud with Angel, it’s taken a toll on everyone in this club. It’s been almost eight months of this fuckery. “Remove the bandage Sunday night, it needs about 48 hours to heal. If you feel the need to remove it beforehand, clean it thoroughly. Have some of your favorite tequila tonight, and you will be good.” I tell EZ as I throw away the things I used to care for him. “Thanks, Lee.” He says as he kisses me on the cheek and walks somberly out of church. My heart aches for EZ, because the pain – physical and emotional is all over his face and body. Angel hasn’t taken his eyes off of the wall nor has he spoken. I slide my bag down the table as I slowly make my way towards him. Rubber gloves are on, and I grab his face. “Let’s see your damage.” I say, like a dog would when a human goes to check their mouth for something, Angel gives me a little tension as I touch his face. Again, no eye contact. A look of annoyance screams from his expression. I see a nasty cut on the side of his head, by his eye – a sensitive area which bleeds more than most. A black eye is also forming. “Jesus Christ, Angel.” I say examining the cut a little further. “This has to stop. I’m begging. I cannot deal with looking at you two like this, because my fear is that one day, I’m going to be too late to help any of you.” “What if it is?” He spews. I scoff, “No more.” Is all I manage to say. I take out an alcohol swab to clean out his cut. “This is going to sting, on the count of three – one, two, three.” I say as I then put the swab against the cut. A loud hiss comes from Angel and an instant reaction of mine is to grab his face and blow lightly at the cut, helping the sting not be so painful. Angel’s eyes then lock with mine, a look of shock and confusion fill his brown eyes. Angel and I, we’ve had a very interesting relationship since I first came to Santo Padre. He gave me an attitude and I gave it right back – he seemed more pissed off when I talked back than just walking away, and the more I talked back, the more tension built up between us. We started out on the wrong foot, and that’s how we have remained. He lets me care for him, depending on the time of day. Sometimes he lets his girlfriend, well I think she’s his girlfriend, Adelita, clean him up. Today, for whatever reason, he stuck around the clubhouse. I continue to blow on his wound, and I wince back in pain for him because I know it had to sting like a bitch. “Uhh, sorry. It’s a habit of mine, when I treat the kids, I have to do this; they hate it too, so that technique helps them...” I ramble and look away because I sense a bit of embarrassment, as I’ve never been “nice” to Angel. I look and reach back at the table to grab what I need next, just as I turn to face Angel again, I notice a very small smile on his face. “What?” I question, because seeing him smile legit concerns me. “It’s nothing, Leah.” He says monotone and lets me continue working on him. A few more minutes go by, and I determine that he doesn’t need any stitches, just a little butterfly work on one of his eyebrows. “Okay, that’s all. No stitches today, that cut on the side of your face, it’s a sensitive area that bleeds more than most. Your eyebrow cut, it’s an awkward cut – it’s ugly but not ugly enough for stitches. My only request is when you clean it out, could you please use both water and soap?” I emphasize. I know how these guys operate. They either use a dirty rag or tap water to clean themselves up. I turn to clean up my stuff and Angel lets out a minor laugh, which catches me off guard. I look at him and quirk an inquisitive look. Angel stands up, he turns behind his chair and lightly pounds his fist to the back of it. “You sounded just like my ma.” He tells me, in the softest voice I have ever heard Angel speak in. I offer him a small smile as I already know what that history is. Angel leaves church, and per usual no other words are spoken, no thank you’s, nothing. I stay behind a few more moments and collect my thoughts and belongings. I hear the door open, at first I’m startled but relieved it’s just Bishop. “How we doin’, sweetheart?” He asks. I let out a very deep sigh and my facial expression tells my feelings of this whole ordeal. Bishop can’t help but laugh, “I know, Lee. I know.” He tells me as he pulls me in for a hug. “I just need to go home and lay in bed and watch a trashy romcom.” I exclaim as I grab my bag. “I think you’ve deserved that, but before you go – you have a visitor.” He tells me. A look of a deer in the head-lights flashes across my face, who the hell could be visiting me? “Just come with me.” Bishop motions for me to take his hand and follow him. Nerves take over, with the Club, you never know what can happen. As I exit the room, I see the guys scattered all over the clubhouse yet all eyes are on me. “Your visitor is the biggest pain in my ass, so make it quick.” Bishop says, but I catch his playfulness I his voice and I look to the bar and I see who Bishop is talking about – Marcus Alvarez.

#Mayans MC #fanfic #My writing #angel reyes #ez reyes

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thephantomofthe-internet · 6 years ago

Text

Homeward Bound: Chapter 14

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter Summary: It was all a little harmless, late night summer fun, right?

Word Count: 3,329

Warnings: Swearing, Blood mention, death mention, this part’s pretty dark and violent so maybe avoid it if that worries you sorry

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @hipsmcgee @casaharrington @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22

Series Tag: @moonstruckhargrove @baebee35 @kurt-nightcrawler @supernatural-pants @thoughstofaredhead @bby-becca @fear-the-reaper115 @estheflowergirl @onemorekissisallittakes

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” you asked the trio: Max, Lucas, and Marcy, all looking at you like deer caught in headlights. You had to work very hard to look as serious as possible. In actuality you couldn’t give two shits if they were sneaking out nor where they were going, but seeing their little, scared faces was well worth the effort.

“Why are you wandering around our streets? Aren’t you supposed to be out with your friends?” Lucas countered, obviously trying to be the brave hero of the group, but failing spectacularly.

“Got coated in a milkshake, left early. Not exactly my finest hour.” You replied with a chuckle, brushing sticky hair out of your face.

“We’re breaking into the public pool. You wanna come?” Max announced breezily, tossing her backpack over her shoulder with a confidence not found in her co-conspirators.

Marcy gasped, smacking Max hard and earning a death glare from her. “Shut up…” she said through gritted teeth, as though that was going to come off as subtle.

“Nah, Y/N’s cool, it’s no biggie.” Lucas replied, grabbed Max’s other arm to keep her from attacking the girl, flashing you a Crest white smile.

“She could rat on us.” Marcy snapped at him, her sharp angled black hair swiping over her eye, forcing her to angrily brush it away.

“Nah, I’m chill.” You said with a shrug “And yeah, sure I’ll come, sounds fun.”

“You’re not invited.” Marcy crossed her arms tightly over her chest, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah she is, she’s chill.” Max snapped at her, pushing ahead to head onto the sidewalk, watching the upper windows for flickering lights from TV sets.

“This is a couple’s thing.” Marcy retorted harshly, looking you over with a sneer. She obviously thought lowly of you and it seemed to be manifesting now in your lack of a man on your trip. She was sounding more like your mother than you liked and it made you want to turn and leave.

“No it’s not.” Lucas replied, bewildered. He turned to you and said “Will’s coming alone.” And that alone encouraged you to stay.

“And since when are you and Dustin an item?” you asked, cocking your head to the side, looking at her pityingly; you might not have to fight like a teen girl anymore, but you could still throw down with the best of them. Marcy groaned loudly, throwing her hands up in the air. You couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed of being called out or simply annoyed with your lack of defeat.

“We’re gonna go get Will, you go get Dustin and we’ll meet you there, yeah?” Lucas said, pulling his bike from the wall and pushing it over to the sidewalk, hopping on and letting Max get on the seat.

“I’ll meet you there.” Marcy grumbled, hopping on her own bike and rushing off before you could even bother to ask where she was rushing off to. You rolled your eyes, rushing off down the street, cutting through back roads to get to your own house just a second faster, even though it risked you getting chased by a dog or getting cuts on your ankles from thorny rose bushes.

You unlocked your door slowly and tiptoed upstairs. You made a beeline for Dustin’s room and, using your old Morse code knock against the wood before pulling open the door.

“What? What’d you want?” Dustin snapped, dropping his drawstring bag to the floor as though it would be more subtle than just holding it. You noted the already open window.

“Relax, I already know where you’re going. I’m not ratting on you, I’m going with you.” You replied, shutting the door slowly, keeping your voice low.

“How’d you find out?”

“I ran into Max, Lucas, and Marcy sneaking out of the Mayfield house.” You told him, watching the colour drain from his face.

“Marcy’s coming?” he asked slowly, looking to his bag slowly.

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t think Max was going to invite her.”

“Oh. Well, she is, I guess. Anyway, I’ll meet you at the side gate, okay?” You grabbed the door handle, turning it slowly and creeping out back into the hall and into your own room.

Why you’d brought a swimsuit, you had no idea. Maybe it was a leftover from your last trip, maybe you’d had a premonition about what would happen while you were in town, maybe you just thought about the pool in town and threw it in just in case, either way you had an old black one piece in your bag which you pulled on easily and pulled the diner shirt on top, followed by the shorts you were wearing earlier that day. You raked your hair up again, cringing at the crunchy knots that had formed in the wake of the mess. You threw a towel out the window and planned to follow it when your door swung open.

“Y/N! I didn’t hear you come in!” your mother chimed worriedly.

“Yeah, sorry, I kind of snuck in, didn’t want to bother you.”

“I thought you’d be out longer…” she hummed.

“Yeah well, Marvin spilled a shake on me and I can only sit around sticky for so long.” You said with a shrug, pointing to your abandoned skirt.

She cooed at the stain, picking up the material and scratching at it with her fingernail “I’ll get this out, you heading out again?” she asked, folding the skirt in her hands.

“Yeah…just wanted to change before I head back.” You lied through your teeth.

“Alright, just don’t be out too long, don’t wanna miss the main event.” She warned “And DON’T be too loud when you come home, I don’t want to be woken up.”

“I got it, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said softly, waving as she headed out of the room. You quickly stuck your head out the window and looked for a sign of Dustin. He waved your towel over his head before climbing onto his bike and riding off. You huffed and ran out of your room, bounding down the steps and slipping on your shoes before running out the door.

You only lived a few streets away from the Hawkins community pool, you could easily run it. And so you did, bolting down the sidewalk, hearing the slap of rubber soles against pavement and the glow of streetlights casting yellow circles on the road, lighting your way. You felt like a child again, rushing far past your parents despite their yelling for you to slow down. You found yourself laughing to yourself, turning down towards the park and taking a sharp turn to the grass and up a small hill to the fence.

You found the teens waiting for you, leaning casually against the fence and talking amongst themselves as though Marcy wasn’t trying to pick the lock to the open the gate, a second bobby pin held tightly between your teeth.

“You guys know the fence isn’t like topped in barbed wire, right? We could just hop it.” you said between huffing breaths, hunching slightly as you caught your breath.

“Did you run here? Where’s your bike?” Max asked, looking you over judgementally.

“My bike? My bike is probably being ridden by some kid in Malcolm; I sold it when I moved. I have a license-I don’t need a bike.” You replied, standing up straighter and wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“How are you gonna get away from the police when they get called?” Lucas asked.

“Why would I need to run from the police?” you countered.

“Because we’re breaking and entering. And every year we do this, the police get called.” Dustin said, dropping his bike against the fence.

“And we’ve never been caught, so you better not get ruin that streak.” Max pointed a finger at you, trying to look as stern as her slight baby face would allow.

“Wouldn’t she love getting caught by Officer Harrington? Probably wants him to frisk her…” Marcy muttered, roughly pulling the bobby pin from the pad lock.

“Hey!” Dustin snapped before you could “That’s my sister. Be nice or go home.” Marcy looked up, gobsmacked, gaping like a fish. But Dustin didn’t back down, watching her carefully, firm in his convictions. Marcy scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she dropped the sneer she’d been sending you every so often.

“If anyone’s gonna get us caught, it’s me.” A tiny voice added, trying to diffuse tension in the group.

Will Byers was still tiny and frail, still wearing a bowl cut, still dressed in hand-me-downs, and still happy as ever to be a part of a group. He was taller than last you saw him, but he was only an inch or two taller than Dustin, which wasn’t saying much as Dustin would always be sort of short. He was still stick thin, although now he looked as though he ran, maybe even track, either way his legs looked strong and powerful. He finally looked like the kid who fought monsters before adulthood, who’d nearly died twice and saved lives all the while-he looked powerful, but there was weariness in his eyes, the light had been dimmed with age. He looked to be the oldest of the group despite them all being the same age; he just had a maturity that comes with forced growing. It made you sad to look at him-you were sure that his whole childhood had been ruined by all of this. But he was smiling, that was the uplifting thing-he kept smiling throughout his lives pain.

“You will not!” you replied, chuckling to yourself as you pulled him into a slightly unwanted hug, filled with emotions you hadn’t had moments ago.

“I missed you too…” Will muttered, rubbing your back awkwardly. He wasn’t put off by the sentiment, you noted, just simply that he was embarrassed by it happening in front of his friends and a practical stranger. Still, he didn’t push you away; he accepted your love with as much in his own heart for you. The bond you all had shared didn’t fade with time away from them all; you swore you’d given bits of your heart to everyone who’d lived through the mess of Hawkins that you’d never have a full heart to give to anyone else. That didn’t matter though, not when you had all these little families waiting for you.

You let go first, huffing out a sigh and nodding slightly “Alright, let’s do this before we get caught.” You announced to the group.

“Lock’s not coming undone. It’s no good.” Marcy countered, getting up and shrugging comically “You should just head home, Y/N, it’s a crap shoot.”

You rolled your eyes “If you think a shitty lock is gonna stop us, then you’re nuts.” You hooked your foot into the fence and gripped onto it, pulling yourself up, climbing carefully until you got to the top, hooking your leg over the other side and looking down at the kids staring up at you. “You act like we haven’t done this before, guys, come on!” you cried, jumping off the top and landing gracelessly on the tile below, hopping to your feet and pulling off your top and shorts, hopping into the open water and relishing in the luke warm water left open since the pool’s closure for the day. Soon enough you were surrounded by laughing kids, splashing each other and bobbing under the water.

“Wait!” you said as Max tried to dunk your head underwater, using her buoyancy to gain leverage against you “Where’s Mike?”

“Visiting with El!” Will called, chasing after Lucas. It was as though no time passed. You found yourself smiling at the whole scene, pushing away from Max and catching Dustin by the ankle before he swam over to Lucas, leaving Marcy pouting in the corner, not even in the pool.

“Personal question.” You whispered, cupping a hand over his ear.

Dustin groaned “What?”

“Are you and Marcy a thing or not? Cause she tried to tell me that you were.” You asked softly, eyes darting briefly to her steely gaze, toes grazing the water.

Dustin shook his head “Not as far as I know.” He said. He didn’t look happy about the new information either; instead he was frowning, a crease forming in between his eyebrows. “It’s complicated, I’ll explain later.” He said, swimming off before you could demand an answer.

You nodded to yourself, choosing to take a break from the dog pile forming in the corner and not wanting to breech the wall of sneer Marcy was building. You held yourself up on the ledge, staring out into the forest.

As much as you were trying, this place would never be a happy place for you. It was full of too many terrible memories to fully enjoy. Heather had worked here, she was head lifeguard when you returned, her dream job. She’d written you letters every summer you were away from Hawkins about her job, all of them a who’s-who of people who flirted with her-the little kids who made her laugh in their attempts and all the adults who made her want to crawl out of her skin-and how she couldn’t get the smell of chlorine out of her hair and how, at the end of every summer, her hair would be green from the constant chlorine in it. She’d always have her save of the summer, the highlight of the last year’s being performing mouth to mouth on hunky senior Bryce Lee, which she bemoaned was the closest thing to kissing she’d gotten up to.

You were the highlight of her last summer.

The thought permeated your thoughts. You were the highlight. And you’d barely seen her. She declared it in the last letter she wrote you before you moved back, stating that even her new boyfriend, Keith, couldn’t beat you coming back. You were flattered, excited to see her, but then Hawkins took over your brain and you fell away, despite her pleas to come visit her. You just couldn’t find the time, you were so tied up. It all felt so stupid-you should’ve visited her. You should’ve let her in. You shouldn’t have gotten in yourself in the first place. You should’ve spent your summer by the pool instead of hunting monsters.

Maybe if you did, it all wouldn’t have happened the way it did.

You let go of the edge, sinking into the water with nose held, squeezing your eyes shut. The memory came anyway.

Heather never took the closing shift, but she did when you asked. You told her that you’d hang out while she closed up. And she agreed. In reality, you were watching the perimeter of the woods entering the park, waiting for the sign El had predicted you’d see. To prove that all of this was manifesting physically too.

“So, anyway, Keith’s been begging me to dress up like this character from Dragon Slayer, Princess Daphne, apparently he’s into her. And I don’t know, you know? Like is that weird?” Heather was rambling as the skimmed the pooling, waving a polite goodbye to her co-worker, leaving the pool area with a confused expression.

“Hm? Oh, um well it’s only weird if you think it’s weird, Heath, if you’re into it or up for it, then do it.” you said; you weren’t really paying attention, you’d heard about this before. “But know that my dweeby brother is into her, too.” You added with a smirk, looking over to catch her grimace before looking back out into the woods. As expected, Hopper was waiting at the forest edge, leaning on the door of the paddy wagon. You nodded to him, which he returned easily.

“Ew! Ugh, Y/N why would you tell me that? SO nasty!” Heather exclaimed, almost dropping her skewer in the pool.

“What? It’s true! Him and all his little buddies used to be, well not so much Will, but he had a hard couple of years so I get it. But him and Mike and Lucas all adored her. Now it’s just Dustin cause they both have little girlfriends.” You said.

Heather sighed “You remember when everyone in middle school wanted to be in relationships so bad? And we played matchmaker for a fee? How many relationships did we set up in seventh grade alone? Like fifteen?”

“Probably, the only one that stuck was Carol and Tommy, not my best move. They’re the only ones I really remember, other than when I tried to set up Steve Harrington with myself and it all fell apart.”

“Oh yeah!” Heather giggled “He wanted his money back and you’d already spent it on the tickets to see The Outsiders at the Hawk. So I had to set him up with Annie Howards to get him off your ass! Oh my god that was a nightmare, I was worried about it for weeks!”She shrieked, but you weren’t listening. Something caught your eye at the corner of the scene and you were trying to signal to Hopper to look out for it, but he wasn’t listening-he was all dazed out, his mind under someone else’s control.

Quickly, you paced to the other side of the pool, gripping onto the fence and trying to force yourself to be able to see further away from yourself, wishing binoculars weren’t so suspicious in this scenario.

“So, anyway, are you coming with me and my mom to see Cher? You said you would but then you’ve been so busy since you got back-” she never got through that last sentence; it was cut off by a guttural scream. You turned around fast, but not fast enough-it was already too late.

You’d never seen one up close; you’d never seen what they did to people. They really did earn their names; they attacked just like wild dogs and looked like demons. It was on top of Heather, ripping at her flesh, tearing her limb from limb. You ran for your crowbar, pulling it out of your bag and smack the thing as hard as you could.

But it was too late. It didn’t matter.

Heather was gone.

The thing had gone after her face, ripping off her skin and then her head. Blood pouring from the open wound on her neck. It was eating her head. She was gone. She was gone.

You couldn’t remember what happened after that, the memory of Heather’s lifeless body took it over.

It filled your mind even now.

You forced your head above the water, gasping desperately for air, your lungs screaming to feel something again. You forced yourself to the edge of the pool, holding yourself up and squeezing your eyes shut, counting every breath you pushed out and took in.

Ripping and tearing and screaming…

But Heather’s scream echoed through your mind. You couldn’t block it out. You had to get out.

Blood and cries and oh my fucking god…

“Police!” you heard a voice behind you called, and you vaguely felt someone pulling you out of the pool and pushing you to move forward. But you were frozen in place, unable to move, trapped in your mind.

The white lights blinded you at first, but then they were street lights and the sky was warm and sunburnt. You found yourself running to the fence, but something was coming towards you, fast. You let out a scream that rip through your throat. You tried to scramble up the fence, but your wet feet slipped. You hit the concrete and tile with a thud.

And Heather on the ground lifeless and gone and oh my…

It was over you before you could try to cover yourself, to protect your vital organs. Across the tile, Heather’s body lay lifeless and bloody.

“No!” you cried, but it wasn’t your voice, it was Heather’s final cry. And then, everything went black.

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metalotaku-da · 6 years ago

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Kinkance Victories

“Ryan! Oh my god. You just scared the shit out of me dude!” Lance said bracing himself against the hall wall with one hand and a palm to his chest to support it from bursting out of his chest like it felt. He was practically bent in half as he stood in front of the MFE pilot. Ryan at least raised a brow at the wreck he unintendedly caused Lance to turn into. The Voltron pilot still in his hospital gown. His iv-bag tied haphazardly to his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asks the paladin once Lance has visibly collected himself enough to drop his hand from his chest and pull himself up by the wall back to standing height.

“What am I doing?” Lance asks back. “What are you doing?” Lance shoots back with a scrunched accusatory look at the MFE pilot. Causing the taller boy to raise his brow even higher and turn his head just a centimeter to the side at it.

“Patrolling.” Ryan answers still keeping his eyes on Lance.

“Pa...tro...lling?” Lance draws out the word looking around the dimmed hall they are in. “Just outside the medical ward?”

“there is a vulnerable important resource in the area.” Ryan says with a tone of authority.

“in the medical ward?” Lance says again. A skeptical brow raised and head tilt with a hand on a cocked hip.

“yes. One of which is currently out of its designated area.” Ryan says still keeping his eyes on Lance.

Lance looked around the hall again before turning back to Ryan. “and you know this… how?”

Ryan couldn’t hold back the little chuff snort at that. “I’m looking at him.” And Ryan would be lying to himself if he didn’t say he enjoyed watching the paladin turn a shade of his lion.

Lane sputtered a bit before getting out. “excuse you, I am not vulnerable.” He pointed an indignant finger at the ground between the two.

Ryan dropped his chin and both of his eyebrows rose at that exclamation. “you are unarmed, you have no pants, and your iv is tied to your arm.”

“And as a paladin of Voltron I've been at a worse disadvantage in a more hostile location. So, I'm just dandy thank you.” he flapped his hand condescendingly at the wrist at Ryan with an up turned nose and puckered lips.

“I'm still under orders to see to it that all paladins remain in their rooms for their required bed rest until discharged.” Ryan states plainly with full authority in his voice and posture. Shoulders squared and back, chest out and locked eye contact with the offending party.

“Right…” Lance says slowly pushing himself up and away from the wall a bit to stand up straight. He clicks his slippered heels together and brings his hand up for a salute. “Good luck with that cadet Kinkade.” Just as the look of puzzlement at the strange address and tone of respect directed at him kicks in Lance is turned and taking off running down an ajoining hallway. Giving the paladin a few second head start while Ryan's processing rebooted to follow. It does not take long for MFE pilot to catch up to the fleeing paladin. He is taller, uninjured and wearing rubber soled shoes. Just as he gets up alongside Lance the skinnier and more agile boy cuts a tight turn into another hall. Sliding a bit on his improper shoes and nearly colliding with a wall. But managed to keep moving forward until he righted himself. Getting another small lead as Ryan needed more time to make the turn and follow.

“Please do not get more injured on my shift. I don't want to fill out the paperwork.” Ryan called out as he watched Lance slip into another turn. He followed the sound of Lance's struggling laughter to find where his target had slipped into his next turn.

“Crap.” He heard from Lance as he made the turn to only see the paladin hunched over a bit braced once again on the wall of a dime hall way.

“Lance…” Ryan cut off as a finger was jutted up at him at an odd angle behind Lance's back.

“Minute. I just need a minute. I call a time out.” Lance got out between a few wheezes. Ryan carefully positioned himself behind Lance putting an arm around him at the shoulders above his ribs for support. Carefully maneuvering his other arm over his shoulder so as not to crush his iv bag. “No… no. I said time out. I'm not giving up my chance at freedom yet.” Lance said through some struggled breathes. Making an attempt to push away from his would-be jailer.

“You are not a prisoner.” Ryan says flatly with a roll of his eyes.

“Correct, I’m a captive. Prisoners get yard time at least. I’m done staring at the same four walls, and the teasing window that does not open. I need fresh air. I need out of this tin can. You are not going to stop me either. Been there for 3 weeks. I’m going stir crazy Here. We got out more on the trip home in deep space.” Lance all but yells at Ryan still trying to pull away from the man’s hold while panting.

“Five.” is Ryan’s response

Lance stares at Ryan for a hard minute, but he stopped straining against his hold also. “what?”

“You were unconscious for two.”

Lance Stares slack jawed at Ryan for several long seconds before squawking out loud enough to make Ryan flinch away from the sound. “You think that’s helpful? Less bad? Anything besides making it worse and justifying my mad dash for freedom?”

“It was just factual.” Ryan tries to sooth. But Lance just frowns deeper at him. Ryan let out a sigh. “if I take you back to your room will you…”

“I’m making my escape as soon as your back is turned.” Lance cut him off glaring at him. “I’m getting out of here for a few hours. You are not stopping me. No matter what. Do not think just because I’m in pain now that I’m letting you win this.” Lance seethed at him.

“you’re in pain?” Ryan said giving the boy in his arms a pained look.

Lance just gave him the most deadpanned look he could while hanging off him. “that’s your take away from what I’ve said.

“is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?” Kinkade asked carefully watching Lance’s face.

Lance puffing out his lower lip and rolling his eyes with a huff. “No, there is no changing my mind on being stir crazy and trapped like a rat on this ship. No offense to Allura’s mice.”

“Then,” Kinkade let out a sigh. “I'll accompany you.”

“What?” Lance asked confused by the response at first. Then completely caught off guard by Ryan sweeping his feet out from under him to lift him into his arms bridal style. Lance would deny the shriek that left him from the action, and that he clung tighter to his jailer bring up his free hand to wrap around the man's neck. While pressing his face into his own elbow propped on Ryan's shoulder.

“I won't drop you.” Ryan said turning down the hall he came from to head towards an outer exit to the haul of the ship.

“That is not the point. Why did you even pick me up? I can walk on my own.” Lance protested verbally. He made no attempts to get free though. Lifting his head to look around and get his bearings on where they were headed. His heart pounding away in his chest at the fright slowly settling though his breathing still a bit short.

“You still seem to be having some trouble breathing. I've failed my duty if you are made worse in the execution of them.” Ryan answered clearly.

“Ok, but like won't you get in trouble for sneaking out with me? What about the rest of your rounds?” Lance asked looking to Ryan with a worried lilt to his voice and face.

Ryan managed to catch it from a side glance before his attention was pulled to the door he was at. An air lock That was set to its atmospheric parameters. “Hold tight so I can open the door.” Ryan instructed instead of answering his charges questions. Once he felt Lance tighten his grip around his neck, Ryan dropped his arm from Lance's upper back and grabbed his key card attached to its lanyard at his waist swiping it across the lock before allowing it to retract to his belt. He swiftly brought his arm back up to support Lance before walking into the airlocks chamber. Once the inner door was shut he crouched down and set Lance up with his back to the door they just entered. Was he was clear of the paladins grasp.

Which Lance did seem to be a little hesitant to release at first. And maybe had a little regret in doing so the way his brow was furrowed as he watched Kinkade step away from him to swipe his key card to the exit door. Pressing a few keys to keep the door open. Allowing the cool night air to flood the room and giving the two boys a view of the sky from this upper deck. “I don't want to get you in trouble Ryan.” Lance said with some sadness to his voice and features when Ryan turned around to look at the paladins sitting on the floor.

Kinkade chose to sit down beside him before answering once his back was pressed to the same door as Lance's. “My shift is almost over anyway. I call in a favor to get my relief on duty early.”

With those words to Lance Ryan pushed his call button. “Kinkade to Griffin.”

“What is it Kinkade? Why aren't you at your post?” Griffin's voice came in clear over the comms. “Rizavavi brought you dinner and you were not at your post. She's on shift now because of you.”

“Apologies. I was needed to escort an escaped paladin.” Ryan's hand shot up to cover Lance's mouth before the boy could say whatever words he had hanging from his lips in indignation at being ratted out by the boy besides him. “In process now.”

“Are you kidding me!?” Griffin's angry tirade over the comms echoed off the walls. “You tell Kogane to get his ass back to his room and actually follow orders!” Lance's eyebrow raised at that and Ryan gave him just the slightest up turn of the side of his mouth. “He maybe be head of Voltron, but he is not in charge of anything here at the Garrison. He the same lowly cadet as the rest of us. And he needs to step back in line.” They both smiled, Ryan feeling Lance's on the palm of his hand and seeing it in his eyes at the comm as a frustrated growl came through it. “Where the hell are you at Kinkade? I'm checking your location.”

“Sector Hulu 23 sir.” Ryan answered before James responded in like.

“Is he on the outside of the atlas again?! You get him inside and back to his room! Do you hear me Kinkade. Put your comm out the fucking airlock.” James didn't even wait more than a breath before he started screaming. Ryan wincing and Lance bringing his hands up to cup his ears. ” Kogane back inside the ship or so help me I will have the entire science R&D department on a way to keep your dog from disappearing. Do you hear me?! I will find a way to extend your stay in medical another 3 weeks asshole, you are not above a fucking medical order for bedrest.”

“I don't think you have that kind of pull sir.” Kinkade answered with another grin when Griffin stopped for a breather. His smile widened as Lance had heard and when dropping his hands from his ears had to quickly clamp them over Ryan's pressed to his mouth to keep from laughing.

“That is beside the point Kinkade. Is he coming to you or not?” Griffin practically growled.

“He is not on the outside of the ship sir.” Kinkade answered in his same stoic voice he had been using the whole conversation with James. No hint of emotion or lie to his words. Lance watched him in awe as he easily lied to his Superior and basically pinned it all on Keith without actually doing either.

“That son of a bitch.” Griffin cursed. “Kinkade your shift is up. Get food then hit the hay. The rest of us will find the black paladin and escort him back.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ryan answered before turning off his comms before pulling his hand back from Lance's mouth and taking both the other boy’s hands with him.

As soon as the obstructions were clear words spilled from Lance's slightly swollen lips. “Holy shit!” His hands shot up to pull at his hair. “did you… did you just… throw Keith under the bus to buy me some free time in the yard?” His hands darted from his head to Kinkade’s collar to shake him by it slightly.

Ryan's face was back to its emotionless mask as the paladin shook him. Only raising a single eyebrow while responding after grabbing the boy’s wrists to stop the jostling. “I did not. Just because he's escaped 4 times this week and Griffin chose to jump to conclusions instead of asking for more information, does not mean that I threw anyone under the bus.” Once Lance released his collar Ryan moved his hands a few inches away from his body before releasing them. “And this is not the yard. It's barely a patio or balcony.”

At that Lance fell back against the door to laugh before his giggles turned into groans and he held his sides while coughing and groaning between giggles. “I wouldn't have picked you the type to skirt the rules Ryan.” Lance said with labored breathes. Before he turned to look at Kinkade fondly with his head at an angle. “Thank you for doing it for me. Even for something stupid like seeing outside.”

“It's not stupid. You were gone for almost five years. You deserve to get to see the earth.” Ryan said with his own soft look at the paladin before turning his attention to the view of the moon and stars out the air lock. “Besides, maybe Kogane should take one for his team. He is your leader. And the action of those under him fall under his responsibility.”

With that Lance threw his head back to laugh loudly again before it caused another flare up of pain. “I like you cadet Kinkade.” Lance said once his breathing steadied again. “He got under your skin too at the academy?” Lance asked still a smile plastered to his face as he looked out at the constellations he thought a few times he'd never see again in the past few years.

Ryan gave a small shrug in answer. “I hated doing unnecessary drills.” and Ryan caught out of the corner of his eye Lance's smile grow impossibly bigger.

“Yeah, me too. You want some revenge on him. Tell him we had a bonding moment that I actually remember.” His last word getting cut off with a yawn.

“Will you remember it? Sounds like your about to fall asleep.”

“Definitely. And I am not. I wouldn't want to make you deal with waking me up to go back to my room in the ward. I'm cranky when I get woken up. Unless you are yay tall.” Lance raised his hand to roughly gesture the height of his niece and nephew.

“Don't worry about it. I'll watch your back and carry you back after you fall sleep.”

“You don't have to do that Ryan.” Lance said with another yawn.

“No, but I want to have to return my charge. Even if a Bit late. Small victories.” those words follow with a soft smirk of the lips from Ryan.

“I got to get out, so we can both have this one. Though I think I won more. I got some nice company I wasn't expecting.” Lance said with a lighter smile. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.” The two sat in silence for about an hour before Lance slide on the wall till he was leaning against Ryan's shoulder fast asleep. The older boy lifting his Voltron counterpart into his arms to carry back to his hospital bed. A warm smile on his face the whole way.

#ryan and lance week #ryan #kinkade #kinkance #lance #lance mcclain #Voltron #mfe pilots

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lesbrarians · 7 years ago

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Junkrat/Roadhog: Voyages Ch 11

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

---

It was hard, finding a place in the congested city that they could successfully hijack as a base of operations. Nothing stayed empty for long, leaving very little in the way of housing options. After searching for a while, they no longer bothered to keep an eye out for an elusive abandoned place to serve as home. Living in the streets worked for them -- until the skies opened up. It was freezing and biting, a kind of rain Junkrat had never experienced in the arid climate of the Outback, not even on the nights where it was cold enough for a frost to form.

Junkrat swore heavily as they searched for cover. They could only linger in stores for so long before they started arousing suspicion. They had yet to build a reputation as a pair of criminals in Beijing, but their very appearance, coupled with generally shifty behaviour, was cause for alarm.

They overturned a recently emptied recycling dumpster and sat inside it, using it as a makeshift roof. From their vantage point in the alleyway, they could see the throngs of pedestrians braving the elements, some scurrying for cover with soggy newspapers held over their heads, others walking briskly with their heads down and umbrellas in hand. Across the street, an omnic left its apartment tower, rubber gum boots and a wide-brimmed rain hat on to protect the more sensitive bits of its machinery.

Junkrat scowled. “Look at that smug little bastard. He gets a roof over his head and we don’t? He’s a bloody machine, s’not like he gets cold!”

Roadhog grunted in agreement. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Junkrat said, full of righteous indignation. He rubbed his hands together. They were clammy from the cold and wet, and he hated it. “Maybe if we, ah, asked him nicely, he’d be willing to loan us his place.”

Roadhog snorted. “Worth a shot.”

“Yeah, what’s the harm in tryin’?” Junkrat snickered and ducked back out into the downpour. He picked up a piece of rusty metal piping and tapped it against the palm of his mechanical hand. It made a menacing, rhythmic clink as he approached the omnic, who was fumbling to lock up his apartment.

Junkrat opened his mouth to shout “hey!” -- but only half of the syllable made it out before a hand clamped over his mouth. He dropped the pipe in surprise, then wrenched his head down and away, curling in on himself as much as he could manage. Experience and sheer faith told him that Roadhog wouldn’t hesitate to blow off his assailant’s head, and Junkrat wanted to give him the clearest line of sight possible.

His attacker dropped to the ground, Junkrat beneath him, just as a shot rang out, a lethal projectile whistling through the air above them.

All the wind had been knocked out of Junkrat when he hit the ground, but once he recovered, he elbowed the man in the gut and wormed his way out from beneath him. A Junker had once called him a slippery little rat as an insult, but he considered it an ability to be proud of.

Roadhog reached them in record time. He grabbed Junkrat’s attacker by the neck and hauled him upright. It was then that Junkrat realised that he had assumed wrong, and the person was a she -- a butch woman with a short haircut and interlocking Venus symbols tattooed on her cheek. Small in stature but powerfully built, she looked like a dangerous criminal, with a bullish expression and a staggering amount of tattoos peeking out from beneath the cuffs of her sleeves and the collar of her black jacket. Junkrat desperately wanted to take off his sweater so he could flash his own tattooed bicep in return, but he was soaking wet and shivering. He thought better of it.

“Oh, by the Iris,” breathed a voice behind them. In all the commotion, Junkrat had nearly forgotten about his initial target. He looked over his shoulder to find the omnic quivering in its gum boots. It dropped its keys twice before it ran in the opposite direction, one hand clutching its hat to its head and the other gripping an umbrella.

Nobody was pleased. Junkrat and the woman locked eyes, both thoroughly sour over the loss of their prey.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Roadhog growled. Likely the only reason why he hadn’t done so already was because he, like Junkrat, was curious about why she had intervened. She certainly didn’t look like an omnic sympathiser. The woman answered in Mandarin, slowly and deliberately reaching for her pocket. Junkrat picked up his pipe and wielded it like a bat. Roadhog cocked his gun.

The woman withdrew an innocuous looking device, and Junkrat lowered his weapon slightly. It didn’t look dangerous; it was a small clip-on gadget, similar in size and shape to the key fob for Roadhog’s motorcycle. With a twiddle of her thumb on a side dial, the woman directed her next words into the device.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” the device translated, the English words mimicking the woman’s raspy intonation perfectly -- Junkrat wouldn’t have realised it was machine-translated if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.

The red dot of a laser winked onto Roadhog’s forehead and hovered there.

Junkrat was surrounded by water, but his mouth went perfectly dry. “Let her go, ‘Hog,” he managed. He let his pipe clatter to the sidewalk, eyes darting around for the source of the sniper, but he noticed nothing unusual. It took a lot to scare him -- hell, a healthy dose of fear would have kept him out of more than one bad scrape, but fear was a commodity he sorely lacked -- but the thought of Roadhog taking a bullet to the brain terrified him.

Roadhog released her and lowered his gun. The red laser dot remained in place.

“You cost me big,” the woman said. There was a slight amount of delay between her native language and its translation. “That was my mark.”

“Didn’t see yer name on it--” The words fell out of Junkrat’s mouth before he realised that it was unwise to antagonise someone who had their sights set on Roadhog’s head. He clamped his mouth shut, but the device was already spitting out a translation into Mandarin.

The woman’s lip curled. “You didn’t see the symbol?” She jerked her head at a small piece of graffiti on the side of the building, a red emblem that had entirely escaped Junkrat’s notice. It reminded him of the crude symbols that delineated different gangs in Junkertown. He was beginning to think he had made a grave error in going after this particular omnic. “You must be new here.” She clipped the device to her jacket’s collar and folded her arms. With a wave of her hand, the red dot disappeared. “Come with me. You lost me this, you’re making up for it. Don’t try anything funny. There are still eyes on you.”

Unsettled, Junkrat looked around for the hidden sniper again. He glanced at Roadhog and shrugged. Getting involved with a dangerous Chinese triad hadn’t been on his agenda for the day, but if it meant getting out of the rain, he’d take it.

The downpour began to lessen as they followed the woman through a maze of streets that occasionally looped back on each other, as if she was trying to ensure they wouldn’t be able to find their way to her base of operations on their own.

“What’d you want with that omnic anyhow?” Junkrat asked. “I was just gonna beat him up and take his key.”

“I know. And you would have ruined him for me. I need his internal workings.”

“What, like robot organs? Is there some kinda black market for robot parts?”

“Something like that.”

“Omnic organ trading. I love it.”

“Good. Because you’re going to be helping me to pay off your debt. That omnic we lost had a valuable set of servos that could have paid my rent for the next three months.” Junkrat didn’t know enough about paying for housing to tell just how expensive this was, but judging from her bitter tone, he gathered that it cost a pretty penny.

“I can get on board with that,” he said. “Do ya kill them afterwards?”

“Sometimes. If we’re taking their essentials. They’re usually good enough for other purposes.”

Roadhog spoke up. “A trafficking ring.”

They took her silence as a yes.

“Well, ‘sometimes’ is good enough for me!” Junkrat said jovially. “So, I reckon if we’re gonna be workin’ together, we probably oughta know yer name. Junkrat speakin’, and the big guy over there’s Roadhog.”

“You can just call me Lee.” She did not seem inclined to elaborate further. Junkrat attempted to fill the awkward silence that ensued, but all his conversation starters fizzled into nothing. After his pointing out a dead pigeon failed to garner any interest, he decided to shut up. Mostly because Roadhog gave him a look that managed to say stop talking, even with his expression obscured by his mask.

The rest of the walk was quiet. They finally arrived at a massive, derelict warehouse. Lee keyed in a passcode. Both Junkrat and Roadhog wrung out their sweaters and shook themselves off, grateful to be out of the rain, while Lee stood aside, dripping dispassionately on the concrete floor and doing nothing about her appearance beyond slicking back her short hair.

“Finished?” she asked sardonically. She led them down a long hallway that emptied into a large room. Stacked with crates, it looked like the central den of operations. A few gang members had made an attempt to make it livable, with a handful of sleeping bags spread out on the ground and a table that appeared to have multiple overlapping card games in progress. If they tipped their heads back, they could see the dark grey blanket of clouds through a skylight, the torrential downpour leaving streaks on the filthy windowpanes.

On the far side of the room stood an omnic encircled by humans, its back turned to the door and hands clasped behind its back -- tied together, Junkrat assumed. It was hard to read its height from a distance, but he had the impression that it was tall, and it was noticeably robust, with broad shoulders and a thickly plated chest. It looked like someone capable of taking more than a few hits. A real challenge.

Junkrat rubbed his hands together. “Got yerselves a big one there, eh? What, are ya gutting it? ‘Cause I’d love to volunteer my services...”

Lee glanced back at him. “No, and don’t let him catch you saying that.”

Junkrat snorted. “Like I couldn’t take it? Me and my mate here, we’d have it in a heartbeat, wouldn’t we, ‘Hog?”

“Yes.”

Lee wheeled around to face them. “I said, don’t let him catch you saying that,” she growled. “He’s our Boss.”

Junkrat couldn’t help it. He pointed his finger at the omnic and screeched, “That’s your boss? It’s a bloody omnic!”

Lee shrugged. “And he’s good at what he does. If it wasn’t for us, he’d be running a business. It was his job, I guess, being a backup if his company’s bigwig couldn’t make it to a meeting. He got tired of being in his shadow, killed the poor son of a bitch, and left. Free will and all.”

Junkrat was apoplectic. “It doesn’t have free will! It’s following its damn programming and bein’ a business leader, just for a gang instead of a suit, that’s not free will, that’s -- why would ya even want it as yer leader, I--”

He felt Roadhog’s steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him long enough to take a deep breath. By now they had garnered the attention of most of the other gang members, although their leader still hadn’t turned around. Junkrat gestured rudely at its back.

“Likewise,” the omnic replied in perfect English.

Junkrat froze, hand still mid-air. A pair of thin incisions on the back of the omnic’s head glowed bright red, and he realised with a trickling sense of dread that they were eyes. He didn’t like the idea of something having eyes in the back of its head. Bloody unnatural, he thought.

“Lee, who are these?” the omnic continued, switching to its native Mandarin.

Lee left Junkrat and Roadhog behind to step closer. “Boss, I had to intervene, they ruined my objective--”

The translator device was still activated, and Junkrat could hear the muffled beginnings of their argument before Lee realised it was still repeating everything they said and switched it off.

“What did I say about violence against westerners, it draws too much attention, we don’t need to unnecessarily complicate things--”

They furiously whispered at each other in Mandarin until they finally seemed to reach an accord. The Boss turned to look at Junkrat and Roadhog. “You’ll be accompanying Lee on her next venture. We’ll decide where to go from there. That’ll be all.”

Junkrat had the impression that he had just been dismissed, and he did not like it at all. He was a free Junker, nobody told him what to do. “That’ll be all,” he sneered. “No, you listen, I gotta few questions first.” The first was the most pressing. “If yer an omnic, why’re ya traffickin’ them? How do I know yer not makin’ some kinda -- some kinda evil robot army with all this?”

The omnic spread his hands wide. “Why do humans traffic other humans? They’re inferior models and make for good labor. As for the second part, I suppose you don’t. Just know that others have questioned my motives...” He gestured at the group of humans around him, who nodded. “And none of them are capable of questioning further. Next question?”

Junkrat was not impressed. He had been on the receiving end of more intimidating threats. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. Just like I imagine I shouldn’t trust you.”

“Yeah, ya really shouldn’t.”

“But you’ve sorely inconvenienced my operations, and I am offering you an opportunity to work out your apparent aggression towards my kind. So for the time being, we should work together.”

Junkrat considered it. The ramifications of refusing could be severe, and he had pissed off enough people as it was. Besides, being around omnics and their body parts could provide the inspiration he needed for hatching a new plan to execute their god program. “Deal,” he said.

Neither of them offered a hand to shake.

Lee led them back to the warehouse’s main door. “He’s a lost cause now, thanks to you, but meet me outside that omnic’s apartment tomorrow. Eleven o’clock in the morning. I’ll know where you are if you don’t show. We have eyes and ears all over this city.”

“Give us a better reason to show,” Roadhog said.

“Yeah!” Junkrat piped in. “We don’t work for free.”

Lee scowled at them. “You’re repaying a debt, you’re not getting paid. You already cost us enough today.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Junkrat said. “We both lost out on that one, we didn’t get anything out of it ourselves!”

Lee stared at them, eyes flicking over to Junkrat’s mechanical arm and leg. “Fine,” she finally said. “If anything we get turns out to be a dud, you can have it. Use its parts for your prosthetics.”

“Fair enough.” Junkrat was satisfied with this idea.

Lee scrolled open the door for them, and Junkrat let out an audible groan when he saw that it was raining again. Lee had already turned away to leave them to their fate and was unclipping her device when she paused. “Dixia Cheng.”

“Dixia what?”

She clicked the scroll wheel on the side of her translator. “The underground city. Check out the underground city,” she said, “if you need a place to sleep.” She continued walking.

Junkrat and Roadhog looked at each other, then ran after her, leaving the warehouse door gaping. Gusts of rain and wind blew in behind them. “Wait, wait,” Junkrat said. “Y’can’t just say somethin’ like that and leave -- what underground city?”

“It’s an old bomb shelter complex. From the Cold War era, it was Chairman Mao’s idea. I’ve never been inside -- no one I know has been aside. My grandfather visited it once when he was a child, when parts of it were a tourist attraction, but he’s long dead. Barely anyone is aware it exists anymore, and most of the entrances are lost.”

“Then... how are we supposed to find it?”

“I said, most are lost. My grandfather supposedly knew of three, but today, I have only heard of where one used to be. It’s walled off, but...” she glanced down at the grenade canisters in the harness Junkrat had slung around his waist. “I don’t think that will be much of a problem for someone like you.”

Junkrat puffed his chest out, hands on his hips. “Sure it won’t be! No wall’s ever stood in my way before.”

“Where is it?”

Junkrat tuned out the directions that Lee gave them -- he wasn’t going to remember them anyway, Roadhog could take care of it -- and instead struggled with pulling the back of his sweater over his head.

“You look ridiculous,” Roadhog told him when he turned back to face him.

“Least I’ll be dryer than you!” Junkrat retorted.

“And colder.”

Junkrat looked down at the bare stretch of torso that was exposed as a result of attempting to use his sweater as a hood. “Eh, it’s a tradeoff.”

Lee shook her head and headed back down the hallway with nary a goodbye.

“Hold on,” Junkrat called after her. “How are we supposed to find our way back to that apartment from this underground city place?”

A nasty smile played on Lee’s lips. “Good luck.”

#junkrat #roadhog #roadrat #overwatch #origins #voyages #my fanfiction

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readerwinterbarnes · 8 years ago

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Motionless Pt. 12/?

Bucky x Reader, original characters

Summary: What work is Albern finishing and what was his brother up to? And why does it involve Bucky and why the hell were you involved?

Word Count: 3,740

Warnings: Language, character injury, graphic stuff, depression, angst

A/N: Guys we have come a long way in this series, thanks for sticking with it. We still have ways to go, but we’ll get there!

Wanna Recap? Part 11

vvv (Albern looks like this, btw) vvv Creepy right?

You couldn’t move, well, you could but if you did hot searing pain shot out from everywhere. Your shoulders were far from numb, you could no longer feel anything besides the pain that was inflicted upon you. Time wasn’t a part of your life anymore, considering you couldn’t tell the difference anymore. How the hell could you in the first place? You were in a semi-dark room, hanging from the ceiling from your wrists, feet bound to the floor in rusty iron cuffs. They transferred you into a different room a few days after Alberns “play time”.

You weren’t sure why and you no longer cared. The only good thing that came out of the transfer was when you felt a slight breeze hit your face. Man, it felt amazing to lay down and not hang from the ceiling. Sure, you were placed on a stainless steel table that was cold as fuck, but hell if you cared.

You knew this wasn’t going to last very long, so you were going to cherish every single moment of it. You watched as the ceiling lights passed over you as they wheeled you down the damp, murky hallway to your new room. Well, the room where Albern would just continue to cut, dig and mark your skin. He always saved your spine for last though, each day he would cut even deeper into the base of your spine to get at Tony’s and Bruce’s little contraption. No patch of skin was untouched, besides your lower abdomen and thighs, everywhere else was marked in one way or another.

It wasn’t much longer until you were hauled off the table and strung back up in the same position you were taken down from. A scream made its way up your throat, but you didn’t have to strength to even let it out. Your throat was so sore from all the screams and curses you spewed out from the multiple days you’ve been here, so it just came out as a groan. Bane finished cuffing your feet to the lock on the floor and stood off to stand beside the door, awaiting further instruction.

You’re not sure how much time had passed since your new buddy Bane brought you here. The numbness of your body was slowly disappearing as every sensation slowly regained its place. Your subconscious was swarming with all the newest signals of fresh and old pain.

You felt the pain of the cuffs locked around your wrists and ankles digging into the tender skin that was being rubbed away. How the fabric of your bra and panties stuck to your skin from the blood that soaked into them just hours before. How trails of the crimson liquid were now nothing but smudged, dark, cracked rivers on your skin. The stinging sensation every cut and burn gave you when you moved. You’ve handled pain many times before, but this pain was nothing like you ever felt before. The pain you experienced usually came quickly and took its time leaving you.

However, this pain stuck with you every second, minute, and hour of every day. It was a pain that would never leave you, a pain you’d always remember. You no longer had the energy to do anything except breath in and out, but even then it was difficult when you had a few broken and bruised ribs.

You missed Steve and his awkwardness. You missed Tony and Bruce’s excited voices when they finally figured something out that’s been plaguing their minds for days. You missed Sam and Clint’s pranks you always took part of. You missed girl’s night with Wanda and Nat. But most of all, you missed Bucky. Your Bucky. The man who always stood by your side, through thick and thin, who stood up for you, protected you. The man who promised to marry you. But now, you don’t think you’ll live to see the day where you got to walk down the aisle in a white dress. To say ‘I Do’ to the man who changed your life. You miss home, and home was wherever Bucky was.

A dull light filled the room when the door was opened. If someone was to see you a few days after you were brought here, they would’ve seen you cower back in fear, caught like a deer in headlights as a predator stalks its prey. But now, your reaction is completely different, shut down, no longer reacting to Albern’s physical presence. Sure he still gave you a sick feeling in your stomach, but you weren’t going to give him the joy of actually showing him how much he affected you.

Because if you did he’d try a different technique to pull another reaction from you, but if you didn’t show any form of emotion that meant his techniques were far more painful. You kinda wished one of Albern’s goonies would come in and give you a gold star for all your hard work, considering you’ve lasted this long. Like that was going to happen, they only gold star you were ever going to get was on your headstone when he finally manages to kill you and drop you onto the Avengers compound front step.

“Ah, you are awake. How do you like your new living quarters? I thought you’d like the cleaner room.” You scoffed at his smug face, bullshit he was giving you a cleaner room.

The room you were currently in, was three times as worse than your previous one. It was dark, mold spots on the walls and floors, rats were most likely hiding somewhere and the room smelled like shit. He took off his black hat, coat and adjusted his glasses on his face. Which made his small beady eyes even sicklier.

“I like what you did with the place. Are those new wall fixtures? Because I’d really like to meet with your decorator, I need to get my own place upgraded.” Your voice hoarse and dry from lack of water, but you managed to give him a weak smile. Not wanting to back down, still gathering whatever will you had left, to fight back. There was no way you wanted to die, not today, not tomorrow or a week from now. You needed to live for Bucky because he would want to live for you.

“I must admit my dear, you are stronger than what my brother perceived. Which is really good on my part I have to say, it will help for what is coming next.” You always believed he was bluffing whenever he said that, but man were you so wrong.

The first time he said that you didn’t believe him and you got shot in the thigh. The second time, he shot your shoulder, which hurt like a bitch because you were hanging by your arms and the bullet lodged itself pretty deep. But what could possibly be worse than what he’s already done? What else could he do to cause you more pain other than to kill you?

“It has been really exciting to have you stay with me over the past month Y/N, but I am afraid we need to push on. I am nearly finished with my brother’s work and the only thing we really need now is Bucky Barnes and you of course, but you are already here.” The doctors made their way towards you, pushing a table with medical tools along with them.

“You are probably wondering what I have planned for you. (Brothers name) has slaved over this work all throughout his life. Having Hydra give him exactly what he needs, helped him work grow faster. Quicker.” You watched as one of the doctors stepped behind you, the sound of rubber gloves snapping sent a pang of fear through you. Your skin was still very tender from the last time they poked, prodded and sliced through you. A pain you did not want to go through again.

“P-Please, don’t…” Your once strong exterior was finally cracking under the pressure. He was finally winning and you couldn’t let him get to you, but there was only a certain amount of pain you could take.

“But I must, Y/N. Pain is part of the process, whether it be physical, mentally, psychologically. It just brings us one step closer.” He nodded slightly and your body tensed as the man behind you sat down on the chair and shifted closer.

You could feel the tip of the blade slowly prick your skin, slicing over the partly healed would. You tugged on your restraints, biting your bottom lip to hold back the scream making its way up your throat. Tears streamed down your face, leaving wet trails through the blood and grime that covered your once clean skin. Albern held your face in his hands until your noses were about to touch.

“Es wird sehr schmerzhaft sein.” (It will be very painful) Your arms jerked as the scalpel cut deeper, you tried to get away from the source of the pain, but there was nowhere for you to go. “Sie haben genau das, was ich will.” (You have exactly what i want) Another slice was made but deeper. “Was ich brauche.” (What I need) He slid his hands away from your face, down your torso, resting them on your hips. His thumbs running smooth circles on your lower abdomen. You hated having his hands on you, all you wanted to do was to bash his face in, break every single bone in his hands. But the fucking restraints prevented you from doing just that. So all you could do was just jerk away from his touch as best as you would not like it helped anyways.

“Bucky hat, was ich brauche.” (Bucky has what I need) He gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, only adding the several ones littered across them. You were forced to stop moving when you heard the sound of metal against metal from behind you. Your nerves began to tingle, a new numbness spread through your limbs as if ice was melting against your skin.

Everything was fine until a sharp pain, one you’ve never felt shot straight up your spine. You cried out as fire like pain radiated at the base of your spine, but it was gone as soon as it came. Gravity was now in control, your legs crumbled underneath you, but strong hands held you up. Alberns face now replaced with Banes. The doctor finished patching you up, packed up his materials and stood next to the others.

Albern stood behind you, his voice hot in your ear. “Aber mit Ihrer Hilfe, geben Sie ihm, was er braucht.” (But with your help, you’ll give him what he needs) He gave orders to the other doctors, but his voice sounded muddled to you. Your senses started to become overwhelmed, there were too many things to focus on. So many thoughts ran through your head, what the hell happened? What was going on? Why were you involved? What did you and Bucky have that he needs?

All you could tell was that you were moving, you were no longer hanging from the ceiling, but instead being placed on a gurney on your stomach. You couldn’t feel anything past your waist and that scared the shit out of you. Your gaze happened to fall down to your hand and that’s when you realized he also took something else from you too. Your ring finger was gone, the ring that was once there was gone. The last physical piece of Bucky you had. The last piece of him to help keep you strong.

You tried to keep a hold of whatever strength you had, but even that grip was slowly fading into nothingness. The events that have transpired over the past month you’ve been held here finally started to overtake you. No matter how hard you tried to move, the pain would always remind you that it was present. It was now the only friend you had in this hellish prison, but it wasn’t the friend you needed.

“What did you do to me? What do you want from me?” Your voice was scratchy and hoarse from overuse. Albern crouched down eye level with yours, he took off his glasses and just stared at you. You could feel his eyes roaming over your figure, lingering in certain places. Eyes bright as he took in his handiwork.

“All in good time, my dear. Your questions will be answered soon enough.” He slipped on his glasses back on and stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a message to send.” His footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving you alone with the other men in the room. One doctor lifted your left hand and wrapped it up after cleaning it up quickly. He then laid it by your side, as the others busied themselves with bandaging your other wounds. You weren’t sure why they were doing this or why they even bothered. You were practically dead anyways.

They didn’t clean or bathe you, they just bandaged whatever cut, stab wound, bullet hole, etc. they could find. So you let them, you let them handle you, however, way they chose, not like you could stop them even if you tried. It wasn’t much longer until you felt yourself being wheeled back towards the back of the room. Bane walked up and handcuffed both your wrists to the metal bars of the bed they transferred you to. The transfer hurt like a son of a bitch, you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, but you welcomed the pain. It reminded you that you were still alive. Barely, but alive.

Now it was just knowing how much longer it was going to stay that way.

------------------

Bucky’s POV

One month, three days, and four hours. It’s actually quite funny when you look at it, how this short of time makes it feel as if a year has passed. Because it surely felt like it did.

I tried my best to stay busy, spending most of my free time in the gym, burning off all the extra energy, frustration and anger off. Fury thought it was best if I stepped down from bigger missions for a while, but I was cleared for smaller missions.

However, I could no longer go on my own, because the bastards knew I would just abandon the mission altogether and go hunt down the bastard who took her. Of course, that was a few days ago. I did try to steal, well borrow, a quinjet and leave on my own, but fucking Steve had to find me and pretty much drag me back into the compound. So I was put on a forty-eight hour lockdown, or at least until I calmed the fuck down. Like that was ever going to happen. The only way I was going to fully calm down is when Y/N was safe in my arms again. To feel her arms around me again.

Thankfully the room I was locked in wasn’t all that bad, it didn’t feel like a prison, just a small room from a dinky motel. A bed with a simple comforter, a bathroom, and a small TV. There wasn’t much for me to do in here, I’ve read all the available reading material that was stashed in here. Even had my own special spot to mark the days I’ve been in here. At least this time it was only for a forty-eight hour period instead of being cooped up in here for a few days. I was getting out later today, it took forever for two days to pass.

Closing my eyes for the umpteenth time, I tried to get some sleep, but that was short lived when the door burst open, practically tearing off its hinges. I bolt out of bed when I take in Steve’s appearance. His skin was deathly pale, a light sheen of sweat covered his face, eyes wide with shock, anger, murder, fear, god there were so many emotions flickering across his face it was hard to keep track.

“Steve? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I take a tentative step towards him, my own nerves going off like fireworks. My instincts already told me that something really bad happened if it made Steve break the door down. But the longer he stayed silent, the more I grew irritated.

“Steve, you better tell me what the fuck is going on before I’m going to have to force it out of you.”

“He sent us a package….,” his eyes finally locked with mine, “it’s for you.”

“Yeah….and?” Steve’s skin seemed to grow paler. “Buck, there’s blood on the box.”

My heart stopped and I couldn’t breathe. Besides the newspaper message, this was the only thing we got from him. The only information we had on Y/N. I let my feet take control, letting them steer me out of the room, towards the elevator and to where everyone else staring at the box, expecting it to explode in their faces. My eyes locked onto it and sure enough, there was blood on the box. But more than I thought there would be, it was smeared all over the sides and across the top. It was fucking everywhere.

I slowly walk up to it, actually contemplating if something was going to pop out and grab me. But nothing did, instead, there were clear instructions on the top that it was “For J.B.B. Eye’s Only”. I accepted the knife Nat offered me and hovered it over the top where it’s taped down. I took a deep breath and sliced open the tape. Placing the knife on the tabletop, I slowly opened up the flaps. The air around us went tense as everyone held their breath, anxiously and nervously waiting to see what the box contained. Everyone’s view of the contents was blocked, giving me space to open it. But I regretted it as soon as I opened it.

“Oh, god,” my stomach churns, gut clenches and my face pales. Inside the box laid on black charcoal silk with a red Hydra insignia in the center, was the Stark contraption Tony and Bruce invented for Y/N. It was covered in dark crimson and a few pieces of dried flesh. But the object beside it, made me stumble backward to the wall, breathing heavily. Y/N’s ring finger, her engagement ring still attached was placed carefully in an indent of the black silk. The room blurred as the team rushed around in a fury.

They each took turns in peaking inside it, each one coiling back in shock and horror. I started to shake, giving my legs permission to drop me to the floor. Flashes flickered across my mind in a frenzy. Y/N laying in a dark room, bleeding to death, hand infected from the missing finger. Lying there helpless, unable to move, completely motionless with no way to defend herself. I was supposed to protect her and I couldn’t be there to even do that. I felt so defeated, angry, horrified, pissed off. (Brothers name) brother surely knows what he’s doing, he’s playing with me, toying with my mind and he knows what effect it’s having on me.

All I could focus on right now was the burning anger welling up within me. This bastard’s had Y/N long enough and I no longer cared what happened to me, I needed to get her back. If you could see me, you’d be smart enough not to approach me, as for I was in killer mode, burning holes into the floor. And they knew something was definitely up.

“Buck? Bucky talk to me? Please don’t do anything stupid.” Steve was crouched down a few feet in front of me, knowing it’s best to give me space. I don’t say anything, instead, I stand up and start to walk out of the room.

“Buck, where are you going?” Without a second thought, I rear back and punch a hole into the concrete wall. My breath was ragged, a low growl rumbles deep within my chest. All I saw was red.

I needed to kill someone.

And that person was Y/N’s capture. My hand exits the hole, falling into a tighter fist at my side. The urge to hit something was growing immensely, however, the urge, want and need to kill someone grew even stronger.

“Buck?”

“Steve, I really need to hit someone. Fuck, I need to kill someone. So if you’re not volunteering for either, I think it’s best you leave me be. I suggest you don’t come to the gym for a while.” It was no easy task to get those words out, let alone to hold back from adding another hole in the wall to match.

“Bu-” I whirled around and crowded Steve’s space, causing everyone to go on alert.

“When we find that fucker, no one, absolutely no one lays a finger on him! That bastard is mine and mine alone. I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch and you’ll stay the fuck out of my way.” He gave me a nod in understanding, knowing full well not to get between me and my target. He grips my shoulder tightly, eyes hard and full of hate.

“Bucky, when you find him. Give him hell and make sure it hurts.” I nod at him curtly, then leave to head towards the gym, really needing to beat something up.

“I’m coming for you Y/N. I’m coming for you and that bastard. You better be ready, because there’s no way you’re making it out of this alive and in one piece, you piece of Hydra shit.” I grumble to myself with each heavy step I took. Someone was going to die and I’m going to fucking enjoy it.

Part 13 - Coming Soon!

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