#look me in the eye and tell me 'anger's remorse' doesn't fit 'em

[captainbaddecisions]

Show me the champion of light.... .... And I'll firewalk with you

[lxchlan]

Butchie prompt: shelter

SHELTER : seeing a threat barreling toward them (such as a storm, the shockwave from an explosion, or a building they’re in collapsing), sender holds the injured / incapacitated receiver close, turning their back to the threat to bear the brunt of the impact instead of the receiver.

☆ Send me Prompts ☆

"Butcher... Butcher, he's hurt bad..."

M.M's voice was quiet, soft, gentle. Like a parent telling their child the family pet was going away to the farm while the poor bastard was really dying from kidney failure. The tone made his anger flare and Butcher closed his hand so tightly his fist shook. He wanted to lash out, to hurt something, to turn this pain outward, make someone understand the agony he lived in. But he only just dropped his fist against the nearest wall, a defeated thunk as he hung his head.

Silence for a moment, before Hughie coughed and groaned, blood bubbling at his lips and both men turned their attention to the boy. M.M moved to help, though his first aid would do fuck all when they were trapped at the top of Vought tower with eighteen hundred pounds of C-4 prepped to take out the lower supports. Butcher checked his watch, then nodded.

"Go down, get Frenchie and his girl, get 'em outside." Again, he checked his watch, knowing the exact amount of time he had, but relaying a different time to M.M. "If you're quick, you can find Starlight. Send her in, she can get Hughie out."

"What about-"

"Times up, mate." Butcher shook his head. "Me brain's sick, s'gonna kill me any day now. Might as well be doin' this. Go."

There was no time for weeping goodbyes, and Butcher knew M.M wasn't that kind of man. He knew the odds, he knew Butcher was beyond help. But he thought there might be hope for Hughie, thought he could save him if he was fast enough. He wouldn't be, but he could save everyone else. Hughie would have wanted that.

Once alone, Butcher crossed to Hughie, kneeling and cradling his head as gently as he could which, unfortunately, wasn't too gentle. Hughie winced, face twisted in pain explicit enough to make Butcher feel genuine remorse. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Hughie wasn't supposed to be here.

"Shh, sh, sh." Butcher shushed him, free hand brushing back those wavy locks that got out of control when Hughie let his hair grow too long. Then he wiped blood from the lad's forehead, cheeks, jaw. Trying to see him one last time. "Take it easy, love, take it easy. M'here."

"Bu- Butcher?" One eye opened, blinking slowly, like he was struggling to see. "Did... Did we win?"

"Yeah, mate, I think we did." Butcher lied, shifting so tenderly so he could have Hughie in his lap, the blood from his impalement wound spreading warmth along his thighs. This wasn't the way he wanted to get Hughie in his arms, but it was sure as fuck fitting. He held him like that for some time. It lasted forever but not nearly long enough at the same time. Butcher brushed away a stray tear, fingertips sliding through Hughie's hair and curling around his ear. "You doin' alright?"

"Mm. No." Hughie admitted, and his lips curled up like he was going to laugh but no sound came out. "I... uh, I wanna go home, now."

"We can go home now. Jus' close your eyes an' we'll be home soon." Another lie, but what else could he say? Tell him the truth? Scare him more than he already was? He glanced at his watch. M.M should be out of the building, probably looking for Annie who was helping all the employees get a safe distance away. She didn't know Hughie was in here, Butcher had promised Hughie wouldn't be, but, as always, Hughie had his own plans.

"Butcher, I..." Another pained sound and labored breath, but Hughie struggled on. "If this is it, I-"

"Don'. Jus' don't, son." Butcher shook his head, looking anywhere but Hughie. "Don't let your las' words be somethin' stupid."

"I... I love Billy Bu... Butcher doesn't sound. Mm. Doesn't sound too bad."

Against his better judgement, Butcher looked down at him. He didn't deserve so good a final moment. Not when he was dragging Hughie down with him. "You're a daft fuckin' cunt, Hughie. Absolutely mental."

A distant boom, and the building shuddered as the lower levels began to crumble. Hughie's hand fisted weakly in the front of Butcher's jacket, Butcher held on to him as tightly as he dared. Against him, Butcher felt Hughie laugh or sob, he couldn't really tell, it could be both. "H-highest form of praise wh-where you come from, right?"

"Right, love." Butcher murmured, the shaking getting more intense as the destruction climbed it's way up. The floor would give out any second and they'd fall into nothing. But they'd do it together. Hughie whimpered and Butcher held him close, curling around him like that could protect him from the inevitable. "It's okay, love. It's okay. I got you."

The walls around them rumbled and cracked, the sound an overwhelming roar before everything went silent.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Just because your roommates are horrible doesn't mean you all can't have a good time now and again... just don't tell Venable.

Hey guys. this scene is pretty short in comparison with my other chapters thus far. It didn't blend well with the other things I have planned, but I thought it was important to show the good times at Outpost 3 as well as the bad. Consider it a palette cleanser for what is to come. Michael will be here by Chapter 4...

The excitement over the idea of salvation by the cooperative was a short-lived joy. After months of listening to “The Morning After” by McGovern over and over and over was enough to make the residents of Outpost 3 question their sanity as well as their conviction.

Em walked into the salon, her hands wrapped around a collection of pens she had been able to scavenge from her room. She pulled at the obnoxiously high collar of her white shirt. Whenever evening wear wasn’t an obligation, she liked to dress in as few layers as she could — Victorian underwear and a dress that made her look like some governess of orphaned children in a period drama. 

Swinging the door open, she stopped in her tracks. The room was usually devoid of life except for the 6 o’clock “cocktails.” Andre sat there on the couch, his back to her as he stared into the fire.

The brunette debated turning on her heels, but by the time she took a step back, it was too late. Andre’s head turned, hair raising on the back of his neck as he sensed her green eyes boring into his back. He wondered if she would go away if he ignored her long enough, but curiosity got the better of him His head turned ever slightly and Em pretended like she had meant to be seen by the man.

Heels clicked against the wood flooring, only a few steps before pausing at the edge of the large black coffee table between the two large dark sofas.

Two months after Stu’s death and his cheeks were still damp with tears. His red eyes burned her, anger unyielding. She was deserving of his hate... even more so than the others. Just as she couldn’t reassure him of Stu’s safety she could not tell him of her guilt. At least the others showed remorse and disgust at their own actions.

Em tried to speak with Andre on multiple occasions, but her words came out hollow. Anything she said was just to chase off her own guilt. At one point she had mistakenly reminded Andre that he had also eaten from the stew... it didn’t end well. 

Needless to say, these days, the only person he spoke to was Dinah.

There was so much anger and grief twisting inside him. He wanted to scream and throttle Venable damn the consequences. At least then he’d be reunited with the man he loves... loved. One meal and the bonds made in good faith and mutual tragedy were fractured with the crack of a whip. 

Em wished he would just verbally eviscerate her like he did Evie. His silence was suffocating. Instead, they stood in awkward silence. She really wasn’t good at this.

“So…” Em trailed, leaning back on her heels and biting her lips as she thought of what to say. Another apology would sound insincere and they both knew it would end them right back where they began. 

“So,” Andre mocked, scoffing as he turned back to the fire. 

Em rose a hand as if to reach out to him, mouth opened before closing it once more. Her hand reached out to him before drawing back, hand running through her hair then returning to her side. 

 “What’s it like having Dinah Stevens as a mother?”

Another scoff, followed by his gaze flickering up and down her with disdain.

She finally settled on the couch opposite him, “Sore subject… fair.”

“Also literally asked by every person I’ve ever met.”

Mc nodded, “basic.”

“Yup,” Andre said, popping the “p.”

Fiddling with the pens in her hand, Em racked her brain for something to say. It was a curse, anxiety. It made everything seem much worse than it was and was often accompanied by an overwhelming desire to be liked by everyone… well… almost everyone. Involuntary cannibalism would have been considered some of the worst, but it pales in comparison to nuclear winter. 

Her leg bounced up and down and her eyes flickered from the fire to the ceiling to Andre and back again. Usually, in these moments she’d take out her phone, pens could only distract one for so long.

“God, I wish we had alcohol,” She sighed.

“Amen to that.”

The door creaked open. Em jumped to her feet, holding back the urge to run towards Emily as she quietly closed the door behind her. It felt like an eternity before she turned around. A smile lit up Emily’s face and she waved a collection of paper she had been able to find.

“Ready?”

Relief rolled off Em, tension leaving her shoulders as they can to settle around the coffee table. There was plenty of room, but Em still found it more comfortable to sit on the floor, skirt billowing around her like a puddle of purple. She took a pen and piece of paper and leaned over the table.

“You start. Give me a band.”

Emily’s lips twisted and her nose scrunched as she thought, “… The Beatles.”

Em scribbled down the name and tore it from the rest of the paper, placing it in a small wooden box Emily had brought with her. She grabbed a paper and pen of her own and turned to Em. “Now you.”

“Panic at the Disco.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

Em couldn’t help the laugh that left her, “shut up. You said The Beetles.”

“What? It’s a classic.”

Andre’s attention turned from the fire to the pair sitting across from him. He would have left, but after months and months of doing nothing but waking up and waiting to sleep again he was dying for something different.

“Lady Gaga,” Em said.

“Madonna.” Emily countered.

“Justin Bieber.”

“Justin Timberlake.”

“What are you doing?” He finally asked after a few more rounds of them shooting random words back and forth. 

“Pictionary,” Emily answered him with a smile, cheeks flushed from laughing, “Em had the idea.”

“Pictionary?” Andre asked, slowly scooting closer, “Is that a game?”

“Yeah!” Em answered, “My siblings and I used to play it all the time. Right now we’re coming up with random things to go in a hat.”

She motioned to the box slowly gathering more and more strips of paper, “The game is to pick one of these and try to draw it while your teammates guess what it is.”

“So like art charades?”

“Pretty much!”

A small smile flickered to Andre’s lips as he stood up and came to sit beside Emily. 

“Okay. I have one: Dinah Stevens.”

“Oooh,” Em awed, pointing a pen at Emily and Andre, “that’s a good one. Should we do one for each resident?”

Emily shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

“How angry do you think Coco would be if we put her in there?” Andre asked, grabbing a pen and paper of his own.

Em looked like the Cheshire Cat, smiling ear to ear, “Furious,”

“Let’s do it.”

As the hours passed, more and more residents joined. A few Greys even whispered ideas into Em’s ear as they passed and she would scribble them in and throw them in the box. Em finally took a seat on one of the couches, Timothy and Emily on her right and Coco to her left.

“Okay!Okay!” Em exclaimed as people yelled things at her all at once, “One at a time! Give me stuff. Movies, books, albums, famous people, sayings. Coco! Go!”

“Michel Jackson!”

Em scribbled down the name and tossed it into the pile of paper that threatened to spill from the small box, “Alright! Now… Emily!”

“To Kill a Mocking Bird!”

She nodded as she scribbled it down, “… and since I’m Emily squared I get to go next.”

Gallant groaned, “oh, c’mon!”

“Hey!” Em snipped, smiling as she swung a pen at the man who could only smile and laugh at her antics, “I’m the one with the pen. My pen, my rules!”

Coco leaned over Em, “What are you writing?”

“Stevie Nicks!”

Leaning back in his seat, Gallant draped an arm across the back of his chair, perplexed, “Isn’t that the woman that sings Jolene?”

“NO!” At least five people yelled in unison, quickly falling into a collection of giggles.

Em feigned insult, “how can you mistake Dolly Parton with Stevie Nicks.”

Gallant waved a dismissive hand, “We aren’t all from the countryside of Georgia.”

“I was raised near Atlanta, thank you very much,” Em jested, “I’m only a quarter country girl.”

“Do you have those shirts that say: ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my sweet tea?’” Coco asked, hands spreading out like she was hanging up a banner. 

Em couldn’t keep her smile down, “That was one time!”

“Uh-huh,” Gallant laughed, “Suuure it was.”

The brunette grabbed an extra pen and chucked it at the man. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d laughed like this. God knows none of them had even been in a room together without mandatory attendance.

Timothy sat at the edge of the group. He shuffled through the cards they had made, sorting them so they’d fit in the box. “I think we’ve filled out the last one.”

Coco looked around at everyone, “So… we get to play now?”

“Not today,” Emily declared, smiling at Timothy as he held out the box for her to place the top on it. Coco, Andre, and Gallant booed them.

“Look,” Em defended Emily, hands wringing at her wrists “I know y’all were just spitting out words, but I had to write them all down. My poor wrist needs a break.”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Coco said.

“Half the fun is not knowing what’s coming,” Timothy reminded, his eyes not leaving Emily. Em could tell he was smitten with her. Poor boy didn’t know how to hide anything.

“Well I don't know about y’all,” Andre spoke, mocking Em’s slight accent as he rose from the couch, “But I’m going to take a nap.”

“I agree, y’all,” Gallant jumped on, dodging another pen Em threw in his direction. 

“Words are an illusion created by humanity,” She jested, earning a dismissive wave from the hairdresser as he walked out the door, “It’s conventional!!”

Coco sighed and laid back on the couch, closing her eyes as she began to whine “I wouldn’t mind the constant hunger if it didn’t come with the constant tiredness.”

Em looked to Timothy and Emily. The latter rolled her eyes.

“I feel like I’m back in college,” Em said, leaning back on Emily, “Eating sleep for dinner.”

She could feel Emily’s shoulders shake as she laughed. Timothy took a seat on the other side of the coffee table, resting on the arm of the chair, “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“I spent finals week eating only spoonfuls of peanut butter. Then the next year I bought a Costco-sized thing of ramen noodles.”

Emily leaned back her head and groaned, “Don’t talk about food. Even ramen noodles make my mouth water.”

Somehow, Em had made her way from leaning on Emily’s shoulder to having her head in the other girl’s lap. Emily’s hands absentmindedly ran through the brunette’s short bob which was growing longer by the day. 

“Oh!” A memory struck Em like a lightning bolt, “my friend took me to an authentic ramen place before the bombs.”

She hummed at the mere thought of the food, “Best. Thing. Ever. They had special ramen eggs and topped it off with a slab of pork that just fell apart—”

Coco jumped from her seat with a huff, “You’re all sadistic!”

The three of them watched as the blonde stormed across the room, door slamming behind her with a loud bang which made their bones shake. Then they looked to each other, biting their lips but ultimately falling into laughter.

“If I knew it was that easy I would have done it months ago,” Emily laughed.

“C’mon,” Timothy tried to be the voice of reason, trying to keep a straight face but ultimately failing, “That’s just mean.”

“So is Coco,” Em scoffed, reaching for a glass of water, “it’s not like we threatened to kill her.”

“You did,” Emily reminded. 

The other girl paused in her movement and pointed up at her, “Mead said ‘murder’, not me. I said I’d come for her… I didn’t specify how.”

Timothy sighed and shook his head while Emily only looked at him with a smile. 

“At least we have each other,” Emily noted.

Em smiled at that, finally sitting up, “The Three Musketeers!”

“All for one and one for all,” Timothy said.

Emily sighed, “God knows Venable won’t do it.”