#someone please feed these men more than ration bars

[chaosjedimasterk]

What’s cooking good lookin?

The bad batch get a good meal from reader.

Summary: after the somewhat failed mission of finding the heart of the mountain your favorite batch member drops by your apartment for a comfort meal. Here’s how it goes and what you cook! In reality I just really wanted to make sure someone feeds these men some real food.

Reader is gender neutral

Warnings: SFW- None - I just really wanted to be able to give these men an actual meal for once so this is how I’m doing it. I didn’t include crosshair in this one because he’s harder to grasp for me. And I’m super new to writing, plus he isn’t in that episode. Let me know if you have any thoughts!

Also a personal head cannon that hunter is the only one in the batch that has any cooking skills whatsoever

Pairing(s): Hunter x reader, Wrecker x reader, Tech x Reader, Echo x Reader

It had been several rotations since you had last seen the batch. Last you had heard they had gone off to find some mystery treasure…a heart of a mountain. Regardless, Hunter had finally commed you to let you know that they should be back planet-side by 1700. Knowing the boys and Omega lived mostly on ration bars during missions you started prepping.

Your apartment above Cid’s was small but not cramped and the best part was it had a decent kitchen. You had always loved cooking. It was part of who you were, from a young age your grandmother taught you all of her secrets. You spent ample time learning to play with flavors and textures. So it was here in your kitchen humming and chopping away when your door unlocks….

Hunter:

~ when you first met Hunter he was skeptical that someone could out cook him. He prided himself on the quick but nutrient dense and tasty meals he could make for himself and the boys. That was until he finally caved and tried your secret creamy manoomin soup. It was rich but it also tasted like comfort. As though you had wrapped him in a hug. Honestly the recipe was like 5 ingredients and only took you 20 minutes to make. But he swore on it. So when you were expecting him back you made sure you had everything handy.

~ However, since it was an easy dish you figured you’d also bake a cake. You had time to kill anyways. But while you were baking time slipped past you and you heard your door open. “Hey darlin, you hom—?” He paused as he looked at you and you were a mess. You were a messy baker so there was flour and other ingredients everywhere. His hand flew to his mouth so you didn’t see him snicker at you

- “ Shoot is it already 1730?!” You exclaimed surprised to see him standing there and quickly brushing the flour off your hands. He chuckles as he gently sets down his helmet and walks over to you and wipes away flour that had gotten on you cheek. “You are the most beautiful sight to behold right now. All this? For me? You know you don’t have to.” He says softly against your forehead as he plants a forehead kiss. “I know” you sigh a bit dejectedly “I hate to ask but would you mind helping me? I’m sure you’re starving”. You look up at him and he smiles and nods.

~ you two wordlessly move about the kitchen as a team getting things together. Typically you loathe people in your kitchen but Hunter knows his way around and is helpful. You two prepare dinner together and eat on the sofa while soft music plays in the background. He tells you about the mission and how curious and smart Omega has been lately. You’re both chatting long into the night when finally you doze off.

~ Hunter gently picks you up and lays you in your bed, where he goes and cleans up the dishes and puts away the leftovers before joining you in a deep and comfortable slumber.

Wrecker:

~ after Hunter commed you with their ETA you rush to the market. If Wrecker stops by you know you’ll need to stock up on some things. Wrecker LOVES your food. Cannot seem to get enough of it. Based on Wreckers size he eats a lot but you don’t mind because every other bite is filled with “babe have I told you how good this is?” And you’ll always giggle because of course he has

~ Wrecker also loves to eat like it’s a challenge, if it’s spicy he can’t seem to eat enough of it. You’re aiming for hearty and hot with this meal. You decide on a spicy bantha curry. You love the market and all of its smells and stalls and you could spend hours browsing but you quickly stop where you need and head straight back home.

~ Your nearly done cooking as you’ve just gotten the rice into the cooker when you hear the click of your lock open. “Hey sweetheart! Woah!! It smells fantastic in here” wrecker takes a deep breath in and before bother to remove any of his gear strides over to you and wraps you in a huge hug. “Wrecker dear, I need to breathe!” You laugh into his chest plate, he’s the best hugger. “Right!” He chuckles as he sets you back down.

~ Wrecker goes and sits lazily on your sofa to remove his gear and you ask how the mission went. He talks about the explosions and the puzzles omega solved “Damn thing was HUGE!!!” He exclaims as you pull everything from the oven. You grab dishes from the cabinet and he gets up “let me get it for you!” As he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck. And he dishes you both up. You continue to chat about the mission as he animatedly tells you all about it

~ there are of course no leftovers and now you two snuggle in on the couch for some lighthearted competition in some holonet games. The dishes can wait until tomorrow.

Tech:

~ Tech was the toughest member to cook for. You remember being mildly frustrated after all of the meals you’ve had him try and none had earned anything more than a “this is quite satisfactory”. Then one day he arrived unannounced to show you a new update he added to your data pad. You were making homemade pasta with a butter sauce. And offered him some. Surprisingly he loved it? The way he talked about it made it seem as though it was a technical and flavorful masterpiece you had to smile because this was the highest praise you’ve ever received.

~ Tech, as you learned over time had quite the sweet tooth but wouldn’t tell others. So you always made sure dessert was around where he could find it. As you were getting the water boiling for the pasta you had made earlier that day the door opened. “Ah you are home!” He said matter of factly. “How was the mission?” You asked as he strode over to your side. “Well we are alive so I suppose it could be counted as a success” he mumbled into your hair as he planted a kiss atop your head. He glanced around the kitchen looking for the context clues of what you were cooking. “It’s your special” you said with a teasing wink. “Plus check the fridge i made you dessert as well”.

~ Tech turned to open the fridge and took out a ramekin “what exactly is it?” He asked setting it on the counter. “It’s crème brûlée - it’ll hit the spot between sweet and simple for you”. You said as you finished up the pasta. Tech reached over you and grabbed bowls down from the cupboard “well I am highly looking forward to it!” He almost exclaimed. He had started to grow more adventurous with food since seeing you. You ate and he explained in great detail the technicalities of the beast they found. Keeping his hand a top your hand for the entirety of dinner. and you listen in rapt attention to everyone of of his words. “ fascinating.” You said with wonder in your voice. 

~ you two ate dessert and after you had both done the dishes you had snuggled up to Tech’s chest to read the latest novel that had you hooked. Tech, reading his own data pad gently combed his fingers through your hair. Then softly “thank you for cooking for me. It is highly appreciated that you’ve gone out of your way to find foods that I will enjoy”. You smiled and looked up at him “of course” you replied after a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

Echo:

~ you’re cooking something simple, you know Echo is a picky eater and while he trusts your cooking he is still hesitant to try new foods. You go with the trusty chicken noodle soup. A favorite for when it’s cold, or you simply need a good comfort tastes like home feel.

~ Echo opens your door and takes one long breath in. “Smells fantastic in here, what are you making?” He asks. You smirk over your stove knowing how high of a compliment that is coming from Echo. “It’s not much, but I figured you’d want something heartier than ration bars after that mission” you respond setting your spoon down on the counter.

~ Echo proceeds to remove his gear and sit down at your small table and begins telling you all about the mission. Wordlessly, you ladle the soup into a bowl and set it in front of him. And without hesitation he continues his story while eating. You’ve never not seen him pick through your food before to see if there’s anything he won’t like. You smirk, “what? Something on my face?” He says staring at you with a confused look.

~ “it’s nothing” you smile sweetly before kissing his temple and dishing your own bowl. You both finish eating and Echo helps you dry the dishes before you both snuggle in for a well deserved rest.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 40

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor reveals what he wants with Bucky, and with you.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Witnessing past noncon (mildly graphic), psychological torture, isolation, captivity

AO3

Fear was a constant in the semi-darkness. Despite the man’s words that he would eventually let you go, you didn’t trust him an ounce. You remained hypervigilant, poised on the edge of flight, though you were more than ready to fight for your escape. It turned out, bond active or not, the thought of Bucky being used and enslaved was enough to move you to violence.

But between the dizzying seesaw of fear and anger, you were crushed with a deep sadness. You were worried about your mom noticing your absence. You worried about Monster being left alone, even though he was no ordinary cat and could fend for himself.

Most of all, you missed Bucky. You were grateful he was safe, even though hours before you’d been resentful of his situation. It had been a blessing in disguise, because no matter what he was out of reach of this madman.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him terribly, and that you didn’t wish someone would hurry up and find you, wherever you were.

As you lay on the stone bench, you continually touched the marks on the wall, a reminder that Bucky had been there. It made you feel less alone, but it did nothing to ease the ache in your chest. You’d caught a glimpse of his life under HYDRA’s control, and you didn’t want to think about the things that might have occurred in this very cell.

You had time. Too much of it. Enough to play back the memories of the last three months and how they led you to this moment.

Bucky had been so reticent at the beginning. Distant, aloof and impenetrable wall you couldn’t climb. But you’d caught moments, glimpses past the armor into the man inside. Despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d been as lonely as you were. It had taken so long for him to let you past his walls, and it had been so worth it. Even the moments that would leave their scars, the memories that kept you up at night, it had been bearable with Bucky there.

Now, all you had was yourself. Alone in a prison that smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. At least… that’s what you thought.

You very carefully turned your head, trying to catch the thing you’d spotted earlier in the corner of the room. A flash of green, like the slitted pupils of a cat reflecting the harsh light from the single bulb overhead.

Heart leaping, you sat up and faced the darkness, about to call out Monster’s name… but then you shut your mouth. They were the wrong shade of green, and they were too high off the ground.

Not to mention Monster would never hide from you. No… this was something different. A second set of sickly green eyes you recognized.

“Did he tell you to watch me?” you asked, voice cracking painfully. You cleared it, and nudged the water pitcher with your sock-covered toe. “Make sure I don’t drown myself in this?”

The Alp didn’t respond except to blink its reflective eyes, not unlike the way Monster would when he was listening to you ramble on about your long day at work.

You frowned and chewed on the inside of your cheek. What did you know about this demon? You had assumed it was the same one that had attacked you on Halloween night, but Bucky had killed it, hadn’t he? Then again, you knew from experience that death wasn’t quite so permanent for demons.

Same demon or not, this one had abducted you at the man’s command. That much was true. And what you had also managed to recall just before you’d slipped into unconsciousness was the pained howls of the Alp being punished.

So, in conclusion, it was possible you had more in common with the Alp than you’d first realized. And from the way the man had been talking about wanting to enslave Bucky, it wasn’t a stretch to think this demon wasn’t a willing participant.

Okay. You could work with that.

“I don’t blame you for abducting me,” you said. “Maybe you didn’t even want to, but he made you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The demon said nothing, but it was no longer blinking.

You lowered your voice to a soft, understanding level, hoping the Alp would realize you weren’t the enemy.

“I know he hurt you. Punished you. Probably not for the first time, right?”

No response, but that was all right. The demon only had to listen.

“I can help you,” you whispered, leaning toward the bars. “There are sorcerers in New York, powerful ones who know all about demonic magic. They could free you from this man, or at least protect you. You could be free. We both could be free.”

You took a deep breath, putting all your sincerity into your words.

“All you have to do is get me out of there. Take me back. We could go to the Sanctum together, and—“

The demon finally reacted, or rather, it made a low, saddened noise that sounded suspiciously like a no. And then it vanished with a popping sound, black tendrils of smoke curling in the air where it had been, and then disappearing and leaving the faint but pungent scent of sulfur.

Sighing, you sat back against the wall and tried not to let the discouragement or the cold get to you. Your captor had slipped you a blanket between the bars, but it provided little warmth, metaphorical or otherwise.

You only had to hope you could survive long enough, either to be rescued or to escape. One thing was for certain: it would only be a matter of time until your abductor realized Bucky wasn’t coming.

***

It became a waiting game, one neither of you were going to win.

Time flowed in unpredictable lurches, but you could give a rough estimate from how often the man came back to the room with a pitcher of water and a tray of food. It was clearly prepackaged, maybe even from some kind of military ration, but you still ate it because you needed the energy and he wasn’t going to poison you. Not if he wanted Bucky to be caught in a trap with living bait.

If the man was feeding you three meals a day, then you’d been down here for a day and a half already. You would be missed by now. Strange would be searching for you, and while you didn’t know who this man was, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the head sorcerer.

Or so you thought. On his eighth visit, he returned to the room and put down the folded chair. There was something in his hands. A book. Red, with a black pentagram on the cover.

Horror shot through your mind. You remembered that book: it had belonged to the Russian officer who had once enslaved Bucky. The Colonel. He’d been a high-ranking member of HYDRA, so how had this man gotten ahold of it?

“From your expression, you recognize this tome. But do you know what it is?”

The man, whose name you still didn’t know because he refused to give it to you, watched you with a patient smile. Almost as if you were a child he was teaching at his knee.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it was a testament to your isolation that you were talking to him at all. But after being trapped in the semi-darkness, cold and alone, you were willing to talk to anyone. Even him.

“I do not know the book’s name,” he said, turning it over reverently in his hands. You noticed a thin, gold wedding band on one finger. He was married? “But I know its purpose. It’s an instruction manual, of sorts. A guide in all things demonic. It predates HYDRA, a stolen relic as many things were, and one must have proficient knowledge in Latin to read it.”

His voice was faint, far away as he mused, “A sacred text, written in a dead language, coveted by a doomed cult. There is a lesson to be learned there, I think.”

You let the man speak, the more he did the better it was for you. The last thing you wanted was for the effects of isolation to make you reveal something you shouldn’t.

“With this book, you will be freed.” He leaned forward, his soft voice taking on an eager quality. “Sergeant Barnes will no longer hold sway over you, but that’s not all I offer. With a new master, I can protect him from HYDRA, whatever little of them is left. Or I can protect him from the next group which attempts to use demons. There will always be men who lust for power wherever it resides, and your demon has quite a lot of it.”

You said nothing, resentful that he wasn’t wrong about Bucky in this regard.

“It was quite a journey to find the latest owner of this book,” he continued, apparently not discouraged by your lack of interaction. “It was in the hands of Colonel Vasily Karpov: Sergeant Barnes’ last master. He was in the Russian Armed Forces and one of HYDRA’s top men. Do you know where I found him?”

The man sneered distastefully.

“Cleveland.”

He looked down at the book and slowly shook his head.

“The man who enslaved and humiliated the demon you wish to protect was living not too far from your own home. I’m the one who found Karpov. I’m the one who killed him. Don’t you see? We are allies in this.”

A noise finally escaped you. A dismissive snort.

“You want to make Bucky your slave, and you have the nerve to think… what, that you’re his friend?”

“A friend? No. One does not make friends with a weapon.”

You looked away, grimacing in disgust.

“How are you any better than HYDRA?” you growled out.

“Because I will put Sergeant Barnes to a nobler purpose. He will not be used for cruel or evil intentions.”

“So you admit, you would use him.”

It was a terrible idea to engage with his dangerous man, to nurse his delusions, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting him antagonize you, either.

He gave you a pitying look.

“Sergeant Barnes has been used his entire life, and the US Government was his first master. Drafted into the army, trained to be a sniper, he killed Nazis without compunction. Your sergeant has always been a killer; HYDRA simply unleashed him on their enemies. And I will unleash him onto mine.”

You opened your mouth, the urge to spit venom on the tip of your tongue… and then you shut it. Intentionally or not, he was revealing quite a lot of information, such as what he really wanted with Bucky.

“What kind of enemies?” you asked, tone carefully even. But the man merely stared at you, gave a small smile, and stood from his chair.

“I estimate that Sergeant Barnes should be here soon,” he said. “A demon master without its slave is vulnerable, and if the human inside him still exists and has compassion for you… then he will come even swifter.

“In the meantime…”

He approached the projector in the corner, and your stomach clenched, even as you weren’t sure why. His next words confirmed your instincts were right.

“I have something that will hopefully enlighten you.”

The man flicked a switch and the clicking of the old projector accompanied a square of light cast onto the wall. Distorted images from empty bits of film bubbled up onto the screen until it formed into a coherent picture. An image of the very room you were in, though the camera was facing toward the cell you currently occupied.

The image showed a horrific scene. A ring of men were surrounding someone, their boots and batons striking his curled body. You were sure the man must be dead after a beating like that, but once they stopped and backed away, the bruises and abrasions faded away… and your stomach sank as the man propped himself up.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His muscles were much leaner and less bulky, his face rounder and younger, his hair cut short. He was almost entirely human except for the demonic left arm and a smaller version of his current tail. The wings, the horns, his clawed feet and tapered ears—none of those existed yet.

“I can do this all day,” Bucky said, giving a smile stained red. He was entirely naked, stripped of his clothing, but he showed no signs of intimidation. Even through the tinny quality of the audio you recognized that stubborn tone of voice, and your heart ached at hearing him again, especially in such a dire situation.

“Good, Mister Barnes,” a voice responded from out of frame. His accent was heavily Russian, but he he spoke in English. “Because I am curious as to how much punishment your body can take before it runs out of its stored energy.”

Bucky cursed, and the man behind him laid him flat on the ground with a kick to his spine. Bucky wheezed and curled into a ball again as the men continued to beat him.

You were sure he was going to die. You knew he wouldn’t, but every instinct in you screamed to stop something had had happened over seventy years ago.

The man on the film was speaking as if documenting an experiment, noting Bucky’s healing ability as it slowed, leaving his wounds open and painful-looking.

“If you want to learn about demons,” Bucky cut him off with a snarl, “you can go to Hell.”

Pride surged in your chest. Bucky was a fighter, he would never give up—

The same man who had kicked him in the back now struck the side of Bucky’s head with a baton, and he collapsed hard. Bucky groaned on the ground, his claws digging into the concrete. It took you a moment to realize he wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Sufficient injury past the point of healing appears to drive the subject into heat,” the man behind the camera observed. “Note the expanded pupils giving the appearance of solid black eyes. Does pain turn you on now, Sergeant?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He only eyed the circle of men as they drew closer, and there was something other than wariness in his gaze.

“Turn it off,” you said, voice small and laden with horror. You didn’t want to watch. Didn’t want to see. You’d witnessed enough of Bucky’s humiliation without his consent. It wasn’t right.

“Not yet,” the man said. You couldn’t see his face, covered in shadow as he watched you watch the film. “Not until you truly understand.”

“And when the subject is in the throes of heat,” the cameraman continued, crackling from the old audio, “he produces pheromones that have a drastic effect on men near him.”

Bucky remained silent, glaring up at the men pulling closer. They rubbed themselves obscenely through their pants, clearly affected by the pheromones, but you doubted those pieces of shit needed much encouragement in that regard.

“Perhaps these fine men will assist you with what you need, if you ask them nicely, Sergeant.”

You could see it in Bucky’s eyes. How hard he fought, to resist the urges pulsing through him, and you knew the moment when he gave into them.

Bucky lurched to his knees, grabbed onto the nearest HYDRA soldier, and ripped open his pants.

You shut your eyes tight and turned your head away. If this bastard wanted you to watch, he’d have to force you to do that himself.

But he didn’t come into your cell and force you to watch, and unfortunately, you could still hear the sounds all too clearly. The heated grunts, the obscene wet noises that were uncannily familiar, in a way. You considered covering your ears, but leaving more of your senses blind with your captor wouldn’t be wise, either.

So you opened your eyes and stared at the floor, praying it would be over soon.

It wasn’t. The same man who was filming this torture, who seemed to be the man in charge, taunted Bucky. Mocked him that he wanted to be fucked by HYDRA soldiers until he was senseless.

He was their prisoner, helpless in so many ways, and still this man, whoever he was, chose to be even more cruel than he had to be.

“Who are you thinking of, Sergeant?” he eventually asked. “Your dear Captain, perhaps?”

You curled your hands next to your face, nearly covering your ears. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you shouldn’t!

There was an awful chuckle of laughter at however Bucky had reacted.

“You do hunger for your Captain?” the man continued. “Did he know what you were? Did he debase himself with you?”

You didn’t expect Bucky to answer; you’d seen him caught in the middle of a heat firsthand, and experienced something similar yourself and knew how difficult it was to think, let alone talk.

But he still managed to growl out, “F-fuck you… Lukin. Ste-Captain Rogers… never…”

“Perhaps we will send him a copy of this film: of you reduced to HYDRA’s whore,” the man called Lukin said, a sneer in his voice. “Do you think he would come for you knowing the things you think about him?”

Bucky’s voice was flat, defeated when he finally answered.

“No.”

The rapid clicking of the projector slowed to a crawl until it went silent.

“Do you see now?” your captor asked, his soft voice floating to you from the darkness. “Do you understand what I would be shielding him from? With Sergeant Barnes under my power, he will never suffer from such humiliation again.”

You said nothing and stared resolutely at the stone floor just before the bars. It gave you a decent peripheral view of the room without having to actually look at the man. You despised him. Hated him. More for him using Bucky’s pain to manipulate you than because of your own abduction.

“I won’t help you,” you finally answered, flat but final.

He sighed, taking the reel of film from the projector.

“You will,” he eventually said. “How uncomfortable you are in the process is up to you.”

The swing of the wooden door on its hinges left you in unbroken silence, but in that silence, you could still hear the terrible echoes of sharp gasps and pained whimpers.

Next Chapter

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [63]

v. shifting sands

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: creepy parasitic worms, blood, anxiety, scary sandstorms.

Summary: When you and Clarke find out about a scouting group on its way to Shallow Valley, you do everything in your power to join them.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You spend all night helping Bellamy and Clarke tend to the wounded from the blast. Sometime after sunrise, early in the morning, someone comes to Bellamy, asking for help with moving the rubble from the fountain. You start to go with him, but Clarke holds you back, motioning towards a ledge for you to sit on. “I need to look at your shoulder.”

You look towards Bellamy and he nods, giving you a small smile before following the man, leaving you with your twin and Jackson. Clarke cleans up your wound, working quickly to restitch the few that were ruined, and Jackson finishes checking on a patient before he comes to watch her work. “Could've used you in the bunker, Clarke.”

“You had our mother.” You and Clarke look over at Jackson when he says nothing, and when you do, you see him looking away from the two of you, averting his eyes. You give Clarke a confused look, and she shrugs before asking, “Why was she afraid? Why was Kane arrested? Please help us to understand what happened down there.”

Jackson starts to step away, avoiding eye contact, and Clarke rebandages your shoulder quickly so she can follow him. Her plans are stopped as Miller walks into the alcove the three of you are in, and pulls Jackson into a hug. Jackson whispers, “Be safe, okay?”

You spot the pack on Miller’s back and you and Clarke exchange another look as you both take note of it. The two men exchange a kiss before Miller pulls away and walks right past you, eyes never glancing your way. You and Clarke call out to him, following him as he ignores you and heads towards the exit of Polis, “Miller! Miller, wait!”

Bellamy is nearby when he hears you and Clarke yelling at Miller’s retreating figure, and he stops clearing rubble to stand in the man’s path, blocking his exit. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.  Where are you going?”

“Wish I could tell you, Bellamy.”

A hurt look passes over Bellamy’s face. “Octavia told you not to?”

The pieces start to fall together, the secrecy, the war for the valley, and you turn to your twin. “They're going to Shallow Valley ahead of the army.”

The words are enough to put you both in movement, making your way towards the building that Octavia is using as a headquarters. Madi is in the valley with the rest of Spacekru, and nobody knows the area better than you and Clarke do. That’s enough to get you both eager to be on the scouting team. Miller runs after the two of you, the roles now reversed, grabbing each of you to pull you to a stop. “You can't just do whatever the hell you want here!”

Clarke glares at him, “I'm guessing you're moving ahead of the army, to scout forward terrain. Which route are you taking?”

When Miller says nothing, you shrug and add, “It's sandstorm season. The wind moves in a predictable path. We’ve made the trip dozens of times, you need our help.”

He hesitates and then releases you both, allowing you to continue your path to the headquarters. You can hear Octavia’a voice as you grow closer, talking to the others inside. “They don't know we're coming, so all three Northern passes will be wide open. But the village will be fortified. Where's the water source?”

You hear Indra question, “Why? What are you thinking?”

Clarke looks at you with worry, knowing the dangers of Octavia poisoning the last water source in the last valley on Earth. She bursts through the door first, you right behind her, Bellamy and Miller behind you. Clarke deadpans, “My question exactly.”

A woman you don’t recognize, tattoos running down her forehead, glares at Miller. “Miller, your orders were to go-”

He cuts her off quickly, sounding annoyed. “I know my orders. I think we should listen to what the twins have to say.”

Octavia looks at him in surprise, but she turns towards you nonetheless, brows lifted, waiting for you to respond. “You can't take the sea route.”

Indra looks at Clarke in confusion, not understanding her dissent. “Why? You said the sea is gone. Is it passable or not?”

“Yes, maybe. But you have to understand-”

Octavia starts walking towards the door, already done with the conversation. “Maybe's good enough for me. Let's move out.”

Bellamy steps into her path to stop her, and suddenly every guard in the room has their weapons raised, trained on him. You see a look of confusion, mingled with fear, pass over his face, before Octavia orders, “Stand down.”

Their weapons lower, and Bellamy pleads, “Please, O, just hear us out.”

You smile at her, hoping her anger doesn't extend to you, hoping that you can get through to her. “Octavia, we're all on the same team. No one wants to get to that valley more than us, because it's our home. But this way is too risky.”

“Risky how?”

Octavia grabs your hand and pulls you over to the map, “Show me.”

You look at the path she has traced onto the map, instantly aware of the dangers associated with it. “You chose the shortest route, which makes sense, but the dry seabed is hit by almost constant sandstorms.”

“We have the tents from the Second Dawn. Sand won't be a problem.”

“It's not just sand.” They all look at you, at a loss for what you mean, so you clarify, “Some of the sand crystallized in Praimfaya. I'm talking shards of glass like razor blades. Your tents will be torn to shreds, and so will you.”

The tattooed woman listens to what you have to say, and then immediately disagrees with you. “Blodreina is right. Besides, we can only carry rations for 7 days, the sea route will take 6. The next shortest path adds 50 miles. That's two days, if we're lucky.”

“How do we know there won't be sandstorms on the longer routes?”

You open your mouth to respond to Indra, but snap it closed again when Octavia's voice cuts through the room. “Enough. We're doing this. The hydrofarm is barely feeding us now, so if this is the last living valley on Earth, then it should be ours.” 

Bellamy counters, “Diyoza thinks the same thing.”

“And so we fight.” She turns and walks from the room without another word, the other guards following behind her. Only Indra lingers, giving Bellamy a serious look. “Your sister needs you, Bellamy. I'm glad you're here for her.”

Bellamy doesn't say anything, and Indra moves towards the door, motioning to the right of it. “There are packs with the rations here by the door.”

And then she walks out the door, following the path of the others, already yelling orders as soon as she is outside. You, Bellamy, and Clarke stand there in silence, looking between each other, and Bellamy mutters, “Am I crazy or were they gonna kill me for getting in her way?”

“Looked that way to me.”

Clarke looks outside, shaking her head. “What are we gonna do?”

“Raven and Murphy are in trouble, so I have to go with them.” You nod, already in agreement with him, and he turns to grab the packs, pulling his on and holding the other two out to you and your twin. “Six day hike through sandstorm country, with gladiator cults. What could go wrong?”

You let out a snort of laughter, and grab your pack. As soon as it’s pulled on, you motion towards the door, “After you.”

The three of you walk out of the headquarters and fall in line at the back of the army, marching towards the place you’ve called home for the last six years, which is on its way to becoming a war zone.

-

The energy surrounding your reunion is strange and charged, given the tense circumstances under which it occurred. Because of that, you, Bellamy, and Clarke spend most of the hike in silence, only sticking to topics related to the bunker. Bellamy lets you know what he found out about the fighting pits from Octavia, how many people survived, and the level of dedication he’s seen from Wonkru. You and Clarke let him know the very little information you have about Kane, along with the worry you both have for the condition you found your mother in. 

Before you know it, night falls, and Octavia orders everyone to set up camp, which is where you find yourself now, sitting around a campfire with Bellamy and Clarke, all of you watching Octavia at the campfire nearby. She is sitting in a circle of followers, holding up a ration, while those around her do the same. “We honor those who died, so we might live. Omon gon oson.”

Everyone repeats the words back to her, and then they break off a piece of their rations and chew, before passing it to the person to their right, repeating the process all over again. Clarke picks at the granola bar in her lap, uninterested in it, and you try to offer her a piece of the cookie in your hands. But she shakes her head and glances at the group again, repeating their words in English. “‘All of me for all of us.’ It's kind of beautiful.”

Bellamy looks at her in confusion. “How so?”

“They lost 400 people, that’s a third of everyone in that bunker. They had no idea if they'd ever get out. Yet look at them: strong, unified. I can see why our mom was terrified, but you gotta admit, it's impressive.”

You nod, agreeing, but Bellamy seems less impressed with them, and more impressed with the two of you. “So is surviving alone. How'd you do it?”

“We weren't alone.” You smile at Clarke and then turn back to Bellamy. “We had Madi and each other. A small family, but one that worked.”

Clarke stands, handing you her rations, “I'm tired, you can have the rest of my rations.”

You see the look in her eye and you smile, knowing this is just an excuse to give you some alone time with Bellamy. Still, you’re thankful for it, and her, and you squeeze her hand before she turns away and leaves the two of you alone. You hand half of Clarke’s rations to him, the two of you sharing, before you look up at the sky, the stars stretching all around you in the vast desert. You smile as you think of the valley, and the home you started to build there. “I can't wait until we get to the valley. It took a lot of work, but me, Clarke, and Madi spent the last few years preparing it for those in the bunker and for all of you. Of course, we didn't expect prisoners to come down from space too, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as we figure out a way to live in the valley, I have something to show you, a house. Built for two.”

You turn your smiling face towards him, and you can tell he’s been watching you in awe, a smile on his own face. As the two of you sit staring at each other, you realize that in the chaos of your reunion, the two of you never sealed the moment with a kiss. But you start to think that maybe that’s because the Universe wanted your first kiss after six years to be perfect, and nothing is more perfect than a kiss underneath the stars. You close your eyes and start to lean in, but just as you do, you hear someone let out a blood curdling scream. 

Your eyes fly open in alarm, immediately looking around for the source of the sound, seeing nothing at first. You and Bellamy both stand, looking out into the darkness, finally seeing a light bouncing in the distance and you hear Indra yell, “It's the scouts!”

“Miller, what is it?”

“Medic! We need help! It's Obika!”

You see Clarke’s head poke out of the tent, and you yell to her, “Get the medkit!”

She disappears from view and you and Bellamy run over to meet Miller, who has stopped at the edge of camp and put a man, Obika, on the ground. Obika is screaming and thrashing, clearly in pain, and Clarke cuts through the crowd, medkit in hand. “Out of my way! I can help.”

The woman with the tattoos on her face, whom you have since learned is named Cooper, puts an arm out to stop your twin. “Not you.”

You turn to look at Octavia, giving her a serious look, as Obika falls silent and still. “Octavia.”

“Let her in.”

Cooper complies and lowers her arm, and Clarke drops to the man’s side and puts a finger to his neck, checking for a pulse. “He's alive, but his heart's racing.”

“What the hell happened out there?”

Miller’s answer to his queen comes in pants, clearly panicked. “We separated to cover more ground. Then I hear him screaming out that they're everywhere, but when I get to him, there's nothing. It's just more screaming and-”

Clarke pulls up Obika’s shirt and you all see something shift beneath his skin, making you all jump back and away from him in horror. “There's something inside of him.”

Clarke looks up at Octavia with a serious look, “We need to get him inside a tent.”

Octavia nods and Miller and Bellamy grab the man, quickly carrying him to one of the nearby tents. You and Clarke follow, along with Octavia, Indra, and Cooper. As soon as you get Obika inside and stretched out on a table, Clarke mutters, “Help me get his jacket off.”

You and Clarke free him from his jacket and shirt as she glances over at Nate. “Miller, tell us exactly what happened.”

“Nothing happened. We stopped to eat, then we separated again. Next thing I knew, he was screaming.” 

“Your rations, show me.”

Cooper cuts eyes at your twin for even daring to ask. “Nothing's wrong with our rations.”

“He was eating when it happened.”

But Octavia ends the debate quickly, “Cooper's right. If it was the rations, Miller would have it, too. They share everything.”

Clarke sighs, “Well, it got in him somehow.”

Bellamy looks down at Obika and mutters, “Wait.”

You all look towards him as he presses a hand to Obika’s leg, coating his palm in fresh blood. Bellamy tugs up his pant leg to reveal a hole in his skin, red and bloody. “Look.”

You get a horrifying realization, one that makes your skin crawl as soon as you think about it. “It came from the sand.”

Clarke looks at you in alarm, before turning to Octavia. “We have to go back.”

“What? No.”

Clarke argues, “Octavia, he told Miller that they were everywhere.”

“Yes, but Miller just said he saw nothing.”

Cooper offers, “Everywhere could mean everywhere inside him. I agree with Blodreina.”

You see Indra cut her eyes at the woman, and you get a feeling that some tension lies between Cooper and most of the others. You’re more inclined to trust Indra’s judgement, so as soon as she deadpans her reaction, you know you’re on her side. “What a surprise.”

Octavia turns and heads towards the exit, ending the conversation in a way that seems common for her now. “We march on at first light.”

Miller turns to look at her, his expression one of shock and disgust. “And Obika?”

“If he's not better by then...I'll end his pain myself.”

The words take you back to the days after landing in the dropship, when Jasper caught a spear to the chest and moaned in pain for days. You think of Bellamy, arrogant and obnoxious, making a similar threat about the boy with the goggles. When you glance at him, you can instantly tell he’s thinking the same thing, though he doesn't seem pleased that his sister is taking after him in this regard. Everyone else files out of the tent, leaving you, Clarke, and Bellamy alone with Obika. Clarke gets started on bandaging the injured man’s leg, while Bellamy collapses into one of the cots with a sigh, looking troubled. You sit beside him and put a comforting hand on his thigh, and he glances over at you, giving you a small smile. He rests his hand on top of yours, and Clarke watches you both before musing, “Octavia's not the only one who's changed you know. You could've killed those prisoners in cryo, but you didn't. Diyoza would have killed us both if not for you, and Madi would be alone. You got that bunker open.”

Her words don’t seem to bring him the comfort she thought they would, because he just stares at the wall of the tent, clearly lost in his head. “Who knew it would turn out to be Pandora's box?”

You whisper, “She’s right, Bellamy. You didn't let the storm within you make the decision. You evaluated everything and made the decision best for everyone. I’m proud of you.” 

He smiles at you, remembering the last conversation the two of you had before he went into space and left you behind, but the words don't hurt him like they would have when he was in space. Now, sitting beside you, they bring him comfort. The moment, however, is cut short by someone yelling, “Something’s coming!”

Bellamy looks at you, brows pulling together in confusion, and he mutters, “What the hell?”

You all head for the entrance of the tent, running out to join the gathering crowd. You push your way to the front, and as soon as you do, your stomach drops in fear. Dark, thick clouds are now moving your way, lighting up with lightning every couple of seconds. You and Clarke both whisper in horror, “Sandstorm.”

Bellamy’s eyes don't leave the approaching clouds as he mutters,“It's blocking the way back.”

Indra asks, “Can we outrun it?”

Clarke nods, still watching the clouds. “As long as it keeps moving laterally from East to West, we shouldn't have to, but if the wind shifts-”

Octavia cuts her off, “The wind hasn't met Wonkru. Now there's no choice, we keep moving.”

She tries to walk away, but Bellamy steps into her path, blocking her exit. “Keep moving? Thanks to you, we're stuck between razor blade winds and burrowing, parasitic bugs.”

“Thanks to you, we're at war, Bellamy.”

“Only if you insist on fighting it.”

“Fight or die, that's all there is. You don't understand, I get it. Because you're not one of us.”

“Is Obika one of you? Hm? Because you're about to end his life like he means nothing. I understand that.”

You can see the crowd around you drawing closer, and Cooper tries to lunge at him, only to be held back by Indra. You give her a look of thanks as a man steps close to Bellamy and snaps, “Show some respect.”

You reach out and grab Bellamy’s hand, not liking the sudden tension and anger in the crowd around you. Your voice is a quiet warning when you mutter, “Bellamy.”

Octavia cocks her head to the side, appraising her brother. “Easy. I'd stop if I were you.”

The Blake siblings stare each other down, playing an unspoken game of chicken, waiting to see who will back down first. None of you ever get to find out though, because Obika suddenly starts screaming from the tent you left him in. 

“He’s awake!” You all run back to the tent, watching Obika thrash and scream for help. Clarke yells, “Hold him down!”

All of you grab onto him in different places, trying to hold him still, watching in horror as the skin of his stomach wiggles with movement. You all stare on in quiet horror as the movement intensifies, and then his skin bursts open, sending worms everywhere. You all jump away, trying to avoid the worms, and Bellamy yells, “Everyone out! Now! Go!” 

All of you run from the tent as fast as you can, and Octavia collapses on the ground just outside of it yelling, “Indra! Burn it down! Kill them all!”

Indra grabs a torch and tosses it inside, zipping up the tent to let them burn. Just then, Octavia lets out a scream of pain, and you see movement in her forearm, looking just like a worm. You call out to your twin, voice worried. “Clarke!”

She comes running over and as soon as she sees the movement she points to her tent, “Get her inside!”

They carry her inside, and Octavia weakly mutters, “I can't feel my legs.”

“It must be venom.” Clarke points at the table and starts yelling out instructions, “Put her arm on the table. We can't let it get into her torso. I need you to make a tourniquet out of whatever you can find. And get me a med kit!”

Everyone starts running around grabbing her the things she needs. You help hold Octavia in place as Miller grabs a tourniquet and Bellamy comforts his sister. Cooper stands nearby, hovering, anxious, entirely unhelpful, “There were dozens of those worms. They must lay their eggs-”

Knowing now is not the time, you snap out, “Thank you! Go!”

She runs from the tent and Clarke ties off Octavia’s arm, slowing her blood flow. 

“Will that stop it?”

Clarke shakes her head, making sure the tourniquet is tight enough. “It's not for the worm. It's for the blood. I need a knife now!”

Indra grabs a knife and hands it to her, before she comes up behind Octavia and helps you hold her in place. “Whatever you're going to do, do it!”

“This is gonna hurt.”

Clarke cuts into Octavia’s arm, and Octavia gasps in pain. Clarke digs into the girl’s arm, grabbing the worm, and you all watch on with bated breath. Bellamy looks anxious as he watches on, “Clarke, you're gonna lose it.”

“Like hell I am! I got it!”

Just then, the radio at Bellamy’s side that has stayed silent since Diyoza flew away, suddenly comes to life with Monty’s voice. “Please, if you can hear me, this is an emergency.”

Bellamy looks at your twin, wondering what to do, and she nods, “I got this, take it.”

“Monty, it's me. Something tells me we got your emergency beat.”

Monty’s voice comes through quickly, trying to give all of you as much information as he can, as fast as he can. “I doubt that. The prisoners have an eye in the sky on the mothership, and a missile system on their transport ship. They're on the way to you right now, you have to move. Hide somewhere. Take cover.”

You all look at each other in horror, wondering how you’re going to survive this. Bellamy says as much to Monty, “Hide from an eye in the sky? How are we supposed to do that?”

“Murphy says we have a friend inside. If he's right, the eye won't be watching. You have a window, but you have to move now.”

Clarke finally gets the worm from Octavia's arm, and Miller stands waiting with a jar, which they stuff the worm inside of. As you all tend to Octavia, Indra grunts, “Where do we find cover from missiles in the middle of a wasteland?”

“If they see us retreat, they'll stand down.”

Octavia, despite being weak from the venom, disagrees instantly. “You still don't understand. Wonkru does not retreat.”

“You do if you want to live.”

“Now is not the time for a debate. Even if we did retreat, the path home puts us in the middle of a sandstorm.”

“Those ruins are not our home.” Octavia stands, wobbly on her feet, glaring at her brother. “That valley is, and we're taking it back.”

“Octavia, easy. The venom’s still in your system.” She ignores you, and mutters to her brother, “Get ready to understand.”

You all watch her walk out of the tent, and you stare at each other in shock, no clue of what her plans are. None of you have to wonder for long, because within seconds, someone runs into the tent to grab you, Bellamy, and Clarke, and you’re led outside to stand beside Octavia. Someone hands each of you your packs, and then Octavia yells, “Into the storm!”

“Wait, what?”

“Octavia, the storm will kill us! Clarke and I nearly-” She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “Enough. This is the only choice.”

She leads the entire group into the storm in record time, and as soon as you step within it, you feel a shard of glass graze the skin of your arm. You wince, and then start to object, knowing none of you will survive this for long, but you barely have your mouth open to speak before you are shoved to the ground beside Bellamy, Clarke, and Octavia, and Wonkru gathers around all of you, forming a solid wall of bodies. And there you remain as Wonkru shifts around you, Indra calling out continuously, “Hold! Hold! Hold!”

It amazes you, Wonkru’s dedication to their Red Queen, and you spend much of the time beneath the wall of people wondering how she managed to achieve the undying loyalty of her people like this. You're grateful for the loyalty, because it saves your life and the lives of the people you love, but it scares you, the lengths they’re willing to go for her. Because as soon as any of you get on her bad side, there are hundreds of people just waiting for her orders to take you out. A fact you’ve already seen in play the few times Bellamy has challenged his little sister and her rule. 

And you just know, this can’t last forever. You’re sure that soon, one of you will upset Octavia in a major way, and soon, one of you will have to face the major consequences. 

-

When the sandstorm passes, the sun is already up, previously blocked out by the thick clouds of the storm. You and Clarke immediately check on those that are wounded, which is pretty much...everyone. You help the ones that you can, and offer comfort to those you can’t, letting Miller know each time someone has died. You and Clarke  are checking over Indra, who is laying in the sand near Octavia, blood dripping out of her mouth, her breathing ragged, when Octavia asks, “What's wrong with her? Is it a worm?”

“I don't think so. I'm guessing there's glass in her lungs. We gotta get her back to Polis.”

Miller walks up, giving an update to his leader. “Blodreina, there's 11 dead. Twelve including Obika.”

“Take their weapons and their armor. Leave the bodies.” She turns to Cooper, who is lingering nearby. “Sound the retreat.”

Cooper seems shocked to hear the words, but she complies, running off to inform the others. Clarke stands and walks over to Octavia, checking over her arm. “Damage to the muscle should be minimal, but, we'll know more in a few days.”

Octavia looks up at her, nodding her head. “Thank you for saving my life.” 

Bellamy’s voice floats towards you, approaching you from behind, directed towards his sister. “You saved ours. You were right, Wonkru is strong. Just like their leader.”

Octavia pulls herself up, getting closer to Bellamy, their faces nearly touching, and she whispers, “I'm glad you're alive, big brother.”

They hug each other, putting their feelings into it, and you smile at the siblings, glad to see that things seem okay. But then Octavia surprises you by pulling away slightly, resting her forehead against Bellamy’s. When she starts to speak, her voice is low and threatening, and you know she means every word she says. “But if you ever speak out against Wonkru again, then you are an enemy of Wonkru. And you are my enemy.”

 You and Clarke exchange a look, worried at the implication of her words, reigniting your earlier fear that one of you will eventually go too far in Octavia’s eyes. Bellamy just stares at his sister like he doesn't know who she is. She pulls away and lowers herself into the sand, just as someone begins to yell in the distance about an incoming sound. You listen out for it, hearing the low whine, and you look to the sky, thinking it’s a drone. Clarke does too, both of you worried, muscles tense as you try to decide what you’ll do when the drone comes into view. But then a second later you see the rover drive around the corner of a sand dune, into view, and the two of you smile at each other, knowing what that means. It slides to a stop and you see Wonkru pointing guns at the vehicle until the driver’s side door swings open and Madi jumps out. 

She looks around for you and Clarke, and as soon as she sees you, her face lights up and she starts to run your way. You and Clarke run towards her, equally happy to see her, and Madi and Clarke collide in a hug first. Clarke spins her around, laughing with happiness, and they release each other so that you can hug Madi. She jumps into your arms and you hold her tight, beyond happy that she’s alive, okay, safe. 

As you put Madi down, you see the others jump out of the rover, looking at the scene in front of them. Monty and Harper offer Octavia a tentative wave, as the Red Queen watches the group closely. Echo is the last to jump out of the back and she looks around, searching for someone, taking off running as soon as she sees them. You look around, following her line of sight, watching as Bellamy runs right towards her. They collide in a hug, and a second later you watch their lips meet in a kiss, your world suddenly turned upside down. You feel Clarke grab your hand, centering you, and you feel tears well up in your eyes as you watch the Azgeda spy from Mount Weather kiss the love of your life. You feel your knees start to go weak and your stomach drops, and Clarke whispers, “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

You take a deep breath, listening to her voice hum Clair de lune, trying to center you and keep you calm. You blink away the tears, vision becoming more clear, and when you do, you see that Echo and Bellamy are now staring at you, looking worried. And in an instant, you feel your heart harden, not wanting to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt. You swallow back your tears, push them down low and deep, buried in the dark, before you turn your attention back to Madi, smiling down at her. She’s looking up at you, worried, and you know she has an idea of what’s going on, always one step ahead of everyone else. And as you, Clarke, and Madi enjoy your reunion, excited about each other’s safety, Madi pulls out your knife and hands it to you. “I kept it safe.”

You take it from her, nodding in thanks. “Thank you, little sun.”

You attach the holster to your thigh, the knife back in its rightful place as you try to ignore the eyes still watching your every move. You focus on this action, taking your time, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts circling through your head on a loop. Why didn’t he say anything? Warn you? Why did he let you find out like this? How soon did they get together? Right after your “death’? Did he at least mourn you? You spent six years missing him, calling him on the radio, preparing a house for the two of you to share, and in that time, he moved on. Fell in love with someone else. Forgot about you.

Your brain comes to one heartbreaking realization, one that makes you want to break down as soon as you think it.

Bellamy Blake doesn't love you anymore. 

-

next chapter

[ct-7386]

Lost and Found pt2

[Continuation of Lost and Found pt1 :)

The warnings on this part are a little more intense, so please be careful, and please let me know if I missed a tag or tagged something wrong.

Also, yes, I named Vada Squad after the U.S. state Nevada - because the youngest trooper of the squad is named Reno (the capital city of Nevada). lol.]

Authors: myself and @cc-4477commanderthire Characters: Commander Thire (them); CT-7386, Vada Squad (me) Word Count: 4k Rating: T+ TW: depicted depression and anxiety; referenced isolation (self-imposed and imposed by others); anxiety/panic attacks; mild dissociation; bullying; referenced past deaths (ocs); referenced assisted suicide; implied neglect

Mando'a Guide: Vor entye - thank you

Lost and Found pt1

The alarm of Thire’s comm beeps insistently to wake him up for his next shift.

86 wakes blearily to the familiar crackling of a comm going off - but something is wrong: he’s being held by someone he doesn’t immediately recognize, and he’s in a room that isn’t his.

He tenses and lets out a quiet whimper, afraid for a moment when all he can remember are different memories, different nightmares. Then the events of the last few hours come rushing back, and he finds himself relaxing back into Thire’s arms. 86 is safe here.

Thire groans and raises a hand to rub over his eyes. He looks down at his vod‘ika, grateful that the other didn‘t bolt in the middle of the night. “Good morning.”

His voice is still rough from sleep and he clears his throat before continuing, “Slept well?”

He, for one, will definitely have back aches and a stiff neck. Hopefully moving around won‘t hurt too much.

86 tries to nod, but pain shoots from the base of his skull up and around to settle just behind his eyes. He winces and sighs quietly, burrowing down against Thire’s sternum. There just isn’t time for a migraine this morning, and he’d rather not be more of an imposition.

But… he did sleep well. “Best sleep in months,” he admits quietly. “Kinda - Kinda sore now, though.”

Thire chuckles quietly, “I second that. I hope I‘ll be able to move my neck properly today.”

Without thinking he brings his hand up and lightly scratches the back of Wren‘s skull, “When does your next shift start?”

They still have some time until first shift because Thire‘s alarm goes off early to afford him some interrupted time to get work done.

86 goes boneless at the light touch, and he lets out a quiet sigh as the pressure in his head melts away. “That - That feels good, vor entye,” he mumbles.

He thinks a moment. “My shift is always -” He yawns, “always from 0800 to 2200 - later if there’s a gala or other event.” 86 frowns slightly. “What - What time is it?”

Thire moves his hand up 86‘s skull to reach different points and replies, “0600, no need to rush.”

He has ordered 86‘ squad to his office in an hour and decides to make himself a little more comfortable until then. So, Thire shifts until his back his straight on the floor and 86 is star-fished above him, “Ah, much better.”

It is a much comfier position than before, 86 realizes, and he gratefully arches his back like a tooka to stretch out the kinks before settling back down. He’s perfectly happy to doze here a little longer, basking in the warmth and comfort of a vod - a friend.

Thire reaches over and sets his comm to beep again in half an hour. He hugs his vod‘ika close once more and closes his eyes.

When it beeps again, he gently cards his fingers through 86‘ hair. “Let’s get some breakfast, okay?”

86 sighs and reluctantly wakes up. All he wants to do is snuggle back into that warmth, but Thire is right: it’s time to get up. He drags himself into a sitting position and rubs the sleep-dirt from his eyes.

“Are we going to the mess?” he asks, voice a little rough with sleep.

“Yeah, I ordered your squad here for 0700. But we should still have enough time.” 86 definitely deserves a warning ahead of time. Though it‘s arguable if half an hour early is really ahead of time.

“You can use the fresher first, I need to check if the Senate‘s still standing,” Thire gestures and walks over to his desk to check his comm on an actual chair.

86 freezes in place, eyes and face suddenly blank. Inside, though, he’s panicking. He even feels slightly betrayed. “You - You ordered m-my squad here?”

It hasn’t been long at all - a few days - since his fight with Cory, since he confessed his original sin to Fox. He doesn’t know if he can face the rest of Vada Squad so soon, doesn’t know what Thire’s intentions are.

“Well, I understand why you acted out the way you did in the Senate. But the fall-out wasn’t fun to deal with, and I need all of you to be civil with each other, even if you dislike each other. That is necessary for the safety of all my men.” Thire understands that this is incredibly uncomfortable for 86 but Vada Squad needs to properly function together, reliably.

But first, “We’ll get some breakfast and then we��ll talk to them. This won’t take long, I promise.”

He gently places his hand on 86’ shoulder and squeezes reassuringly.

86 looks away guiltily. He hadn’t meant to cause more problems for his commander, and he wasn’t even the one who technically started it - but he hadn’t ended it, either, or even brought it to Thire’s attention sooner. This conversation with his squad is, as much as he might hate to admit it, necessary.

(He told Thire he trusts him; now he has to show it.)

He nods and leans briefly into the hand on his shoulder before stepping away to use the ‘fresher. When 86 is finished, he waits awkwardly by the door for Thire.

Thire closes his pad with a sigh; today is going to be a long day. He stands up and stretches until his shoulders pop back into place and smiles at 86, “Let‘s go and get some caff, shall we?”

He leads the way to the cafeteria which is still mostly empty because it‘s almost one and a half hours until the start of first shift. There isn‘t a cue and they can get their breakfast right away. Thire leads them to a table at the back of the room where the Commanders usually sit (when they actually come and eat something other than ration bars).

86 follows quietly. With how early it is, no one even gives them a second glance as they get their food and take their seats. He sits with his back to the wall so that he can see as much of the room as possible - a habit born from before he had his implants and needed to see to ‘hear’ people; now it offers a sense of safety in an environment he’s not entirely familiar with.

Still not feeling terribly hungry, 86 chooses instead to sip at his caf. For once, it’s the perfect temperature right away: just hot enough to sting the tip of his tongue. That doesn’t keep it from tasting awful, though.

“I should - I should try to get the kitchens stocked with proper caf,” he comments idly. “I get better stuff in the - the lower levels all the time.” He takes another sip and grimaces. “Not that - that I really like caf.” Is he rambling a little to fill the silence? Yes. Will he stop? No. He needs something to distract him from the upcoming meeting with his squad.

Thire listens and prepares his food. “I usually steal my caff from Fox‘s secret stash. But don‘t tell him that. Besides, if you don‘t like caf, have you ever tried tea? My Captain once acquired some and it was quite nice.”

He checks his chrono to see if they still have time. 86 probably isn‘t eating out of nervousness so Thire decides to sneak him out some food, for afterwards.

86 nods. “I’ve had tea a few times. Plenty of - of senators prefer it, and many of them like to offer me some while - while I’m translating to help keep me from losing my voice. I have a couple blends that I prefer, but other - other than those, I don’t much like tea.”

His smile is small and a little strained, but it’s honest. “If I were to choose my - my favorite drink, though, it would be Correlian whiskey - and not the cheap stuff. The good stuff, all - all butter-smooth and burn. Alderaani wine isn’t bad either, and Pantoran mulled cider? Perfect. It has - has just a hint of spice to kick your palette, and it’s a little tart to go with the sweet. And - And if you warm it up on a - a cold day, it’s even better.”

He watches Thire check his chrono and resists the urge to ask for the time or check his own; if he doesn’t look, he can pretend the squad meeting is further off than it is.

“You have a fine taste. Personally, I‘m used to rotgut of any kind and enjoy a beer every once in a while,” Thire replies with a smile. He‘s glad that 86 feels comfortable enough to ramble to him.

Thire finishes up his food, “Are you sure you don‘t want any? There is still plenty of time.”

And he knows from experience that it is better not to enter these sorts of conversations on an empty stomach.

86 shrugs. “I’m a - a little spoiled spending all day in the Senate Building -” And the lower levels when he can get down there, but Thire doesn’t know that, “especially around the senators who don’t hate clones. Certain - Certain favors can result in good benefits, too.” He eyes Thire thoughtfully for a moment; he’ll have to get something special for him after all this trouble.

He grimaces down at his tray at the question, stomach clenching. At this point he’d almost rather just be sick to get it out of his system. “I think…” 86 sighs and chokes down a couple more bites of food before pushing the tray a little. He admits softly, “I d-don’t think I can - can eat anymore.”

“That‘s okay, you don‘t have to.”, Thire gets up and cleans their tablets away but bags two bread rolls. He‘ll force feed them to 86 before sending his vod‘ika on a senate shift without having eaten something.

He comes back to the table and together they walk to Thire‘s office. It‘s a couple minutes before 0700 when they reach it.

The knots in 86' stomach tighten as they near the room, and the insides of his gloves are clammy with sweat. 86 sucks in a sharp breath that does nothing to loosen the tight band around his lungs or the tight stretch of his skin over his bones or the anxious stutter of his heart. Standing in the middle of the room, he flexes his fingers; his hands are shaking.

At 0700 sharp, there is a series of precise, even raps on the door. Instantly 86 changes, posture straightening, shoulders relaxing, face adopting an expressionless mask. He looks calm and composed - exactly like the perfect soldier he is expected to be in the Senate Building.

And he hates that this is how he instinctively presents himself to his squad.

“Come in”, Thire calls out. He leans against his desk in a relaxed posture and takes in each of the incoming troopers, “Do you know why I called you here?”

Streak, the sergeant of the squad, waits for the nine other troopers following him to enter and remove their buckets before answering. All 10 pairs of eyes flick to 86, each expression varying. Streak's expression is blank while at least two others look irritated, and the youngest trooper looks carefully bored.

86 pretends not to notice any of it.

"I'm going to assume," Streak replies neutrally, "judging by his presence, that this has something to do with the altercation between Corporals Cory and 86."

One of the troopers who had glared at 86 hisses snitch under his breath, and 86 only barely controls the flinch that runs through him.

“This isn‘t about Corporal Cory or the altercation at the senate a couple days ago.”, Thire replies. His voice is cold as ice and his face is a careful, well-practised mask, “This is about the behaviour I just witnessed. None of you are shinies. Yet, you still act as such.

“You deliberately, without being prompted, discussed a private, internal squad matter in front of a superior officer. And you have shown that you also will do that in front of Natborns. Do you know what that means? It means that you‘ll be decommissioned sooner rather than later."

Thire fixes his eyes on every single one of them. “I had a private conversation with Corporal 86, and I‘ll also have one with Corporal Cory. But the rest of you are apparently no better.” He lets his disappointment be heard audibly.

Streak stiffens and slowly turns to glare heatedly at the trooper who had hissed before. "In front of natborns? Cory, you utreekov! What were you thinking?!"

Cory bristles. "What was I thinking? How is this my fault? 86 is the one who's got a problem!"

86' head ducks just a little, eyes now trained low on the opposite wall.

Thire watches them calmly argue with each other before his eyes. “So, you not only argue in front of superiors, but you also specifically use names so that I couldn‘t possibly save any of you by fixing the roll call afterwards? Congratulations, you‘re all dead men walking.”

Cory snorts and mutters, “Then we’ll be just like the bastard’s first two squads and his batch.”

One of the other troopers, one who hadn’t spoken yet, rounds on him in shock. “Cory!”

86 hears it as if from far away, head ringing, ears staticky. His hands are trembling - all of him is - and nothing but the painful tripping of his heart and constriction of his lungs is real to him anymore.

Vada Squad is not his first, or even his second. On Geonosis, the three survivors of his squad, including himself, had been reassigned to different posts. His first squad in the Guard was killed on patrol - while he was on duty in a different part of the Senate Building. All of that is information available to his sergeant who, with his permission, had shared it with the others. 86 thinks that might have been a mistake.

Words filter back in through the jumbled mess in his brain.

“- heard what he said in Lock Up!” Ah. That would be Ember, a sister and twin to Flare, the vod currently holding her back from punching Cory. “You can’t just - How can you still think that?! It wasn’t his fault!”

“He still killed them!” Cory is being held back by Streak and Waffle, the squad’s other sister. “How can we trust anyone who would kill vode at all? And he’s never here! How can we trust that aruetti to have our backs if he just ignores us all the time?!”

86 stands frozen, drifting numb and apart from the scene in front of him. A low throb is building behind his eyes, and he realizes distantly that tears are slipping down his cheeks, silent and unnoticed. This is why he never came forward, never said anything. He just wanted to keep this from happening… He didn’t want them to fall apart.

“Enough!” Thire‘s voice booms through the room. “Every single one of you is a disgrace to the Guard. I expect you to be better. You will be punished accordingly. Dismissed.

“Corporal Cory, report to my office after shift ends. And I want a serious explanation for your behaviour. 86‘ past won‘t convince me.”

Once the others have filtered out he turns back to 86 and places his hands on the shoulders of the vod. Slowly he guides 86 to sit on the floor and pushes his head between his legs. Softly he begins talking to him, “There you go, you‘re alright. It‘s going to be alright.”

86 focuses on the buzz of Thire’s voice and his own breathing, which is deceptively calm. It takes a few minutes before the numbness begins to fade, melting back from the tips of his fingers and toes back up his limbs until he thinks he might be able to move again.

The moment the numbness fades completely, it releases the steel band around his chest, and he folds in on himself with an actual sob; he’s still shaking, and he can feel his tears soaking the collar of his blacks where they’ve rolled down his neck. He’s a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for - his squad, his part in this disaster, his reaction to it - he doesn’t know.

Thire simply pulls him close and puts 86‘ head in the crook of his neck, “Nothing to be sorry for, vod‘ika. You did good.”

He gently rubs 86‘ back and continues to talk to him quietly. The position isn‘t exactly comfortable, given that they're both in full kit, but he keeps a tight grip on his brother nevertheless.

Just like the night before, it takes some time before 86 has calmed down some. Despite the uncomfortable position, he leans heavily on his commander, not quite able to hold himself up.

“W-What - What happens - happens now?” he hiccups. The hard plastic of Thire’s kit digs into him, but the discomfort helps ground him in the present moment, and he never wants to leave. More quietly he admits, forehead pressed against the unarmored stretch of Thire’s neck, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You‘re not alone, 86. Corporal Cory might be angry and hateful, but some of your squadmates defended you. And that means there is hope.” Thire pauses and lightly scratches 86‘ head.

“Part of the problem is that you‘ve never found each other as a squad. And, I know that that‘s a lot to ask, but maybe try and seek them out a little. For example, that sister of yours who defended you against Cory, I‘m sure she would like to spend some time with you, hmm?”

Thire’s going to seek her out and ask her to include 86 occasionally, he thinks. His vod‘ika isn‘t exactly socially confident, and there is a lot of baggage in his squad relationships.

86 laughs a little wetly, a little more of the tension melting as Thire scratches at his head. “Ember. I - m-maybe. She’s - She’s good. She’s n-never been - never been cruel like C-Cory or cold like Waffle and Tax. Ember and her twin, Flare, they both - they both have s-stopped Cory from being too h-hurtful before, though they l-let the antagonism and - and passive aggressiveness slide.”

He exhales shakily and presses closer. “S-Streak… He’s just bitter. He tried to - to get Cory and I to stop, at first, but when n-nothing changed, he became irritated. The longer he spent with Cory, the m-more he - he subconsciously began to believe what was being said, and he started blaming m-me for how Cory an-and I could never get along.”

“Reno, our youngest, he’s - he’s good though,” 86 admits softly. “Poor - Poor kid just got thrust into the m-middle of this shit. He doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want C-Cory and the others to - to be mad at him, too.”

Thire slowly rubs up and down 86‘ back, and hums along soothingly. He‘s glad that 86 is talking to him and listens attentively.

“I‘m sure they don‘t always hang around as a big group, so you can talk a little to the twins, hmm?”

He doesn‘t want to jostle them too much but needs to shift slightly to prevent his leg from falling asleep before he hugs 86 close once more, “Do you have anything you‘re interested in? Something you could enjoy spending your time doing?”

86 makes quiet, thoughtful noise. “May-Maybe. I can - I can try? Talking to them, I mean. It can’t be that hard, r-right?”

He uses Thire’s shifting to remove at least the chest and back pieces of his armor; the edges were starting to dig into him uncomfortably with the way he was pressing close to the commander. 86 relaxes into the hug, and when Thire asks his next question, he flushes and tucks his face against Thire’s neck. It’s so easy to talk to Thire - though that might have something to do with the way 86 feels sort of drunk on the closeness and the friendship and the caring.

“I - I like flowers,” he mumbles, a little embarrassed, “growing them. Other plants too, but flowers mostly. The science is fascinating, the process cathartic, and - and plants make sense. People d-don’t, even though I work with them all day. With plants, I just - I just know when somethin’ will work or not, if it needs more water or light, and they - they don’t want anything from me. Just…” 86’ sigh shudders slightly, and his voice becomes smaller. “I can - I can say no, and they can’t be mad at me. They’re simple.”

86 knows he sounds a little crazy, talking about the plants as if they’re something close to sentient, but to him they are. He wouldn’t know how to explain how he really does just have a knack for the plants he grows - an instinct, even. It’s just how it’s always been.

Thire smiles, “Plants are a good interest to have. Do you have someplace where you grow them yourself?”

Belatedly he realizes that that is probably a threatening question coming from a superior and adds, “You don‘t have to tell me where, and I won‘t go looking for them.”

He reaches up and softly ruffles 86 hair and tucks his vod‘ika even closer. If he could he would hold him close and just never let go again. Hide him from the world and protect him from its cruelty. It pains him physically that he can‘t.

The question makes that familiar anxiety build in his chest again - but Thire’s next words soothe it away. Still, he hesitates before answering.

“I - I do. I found a place out of the way where no one would - would stumble across it, and I found ways to get w-water there without using the Guard’s rations. I… I know some people who were able to - to supply me with various things I might need. And now…” 86 hums, eyes slipping closed again. “It’s safe for me there. I like to - to take my food down there at night after shift, and I - I like sleeping there, too,” he admits softly. “No one who hates me, and I have less nightmares.”

“I am glad you have found something worthwhile to spend your time with. I‘m sure you‘ll also find people in time to share your hobby with you, vod‘ika.” Even though Thire doesn‘t want to, he lets go of 86 and helps him to stand up. “Sadly, shift starts in 5 minutes and we both have meetings to attend to. So I‘m afraid we have to go now.”

As they leave the office Thire stops and knocks their heads together in a keldabe, “I‘ll always be there if you need me or just want to talk with someone. Don‘t you dare forget that.”

86 gratefully accepts the help up even though he finds he doesn’t want to go. For once, he doesn’t want to leave the presence of a vod - the very thought makes him want to curl into himself all over. But he stands up and puts his front and back plates back on, tugging his armor into something straight and presentable for the day.

The unexpected keldabe has emotion swelling up from the bottom of his stomach until it presses against the inside of his chest, throat, eyes until he wants to cry all over again. This is what it’s like to be wanted. He’d very nearly forgotten.

He leans hard into the keldabe, eyes scrunched shut and breath stuttering harshly as he tries to control his tears. “Vor entye,” he breathes. 86 blinks rapidly as he draws back and musters a smile. “I - I’ll try not to forget. And i-if I do, I’ll…” He squares his shoulders, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes glinting determinedly, “I’ll f-find you, sir. Promise.”

86 relaxes, smile coming back a little stronger and brighter - truer - than before. Then he turns and begins making his way to the Rotunda. They really will be late if they don’t hurry.

Thire smiles after him before turning around and walking to his own first meeting of the day.

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

Artificial

My submission for @hetabang​ ! Hope you like it! 

Word count: 3,590

Summary: Novovol, Russia, the 36th century. The people of this new age have formed two distinct societies: those of the upper world, high in the sky in pearly cities, and those of the lower world, living on junkyard scraps and breathing polluted air. These societies, both run on fear and power, were meant to forever stay separate. But one night, an android fell from the sky and broke through the barrier that divided them. An android who has no memory, not even his own name, programmed to be a companion, but also a guard. His weapons system had been upgraded illegally, and without proper maintenance, could prove to be dangerous and unstable. Ivan, one of the best mechanics of the lower world, fixes him up and gives him a name; Alfred. Together, they go on an adventure, discovering things about their world, themselves, and their feelings.

Chapter summary: Ivan ventures into the junkyard to dig through the heaps for useful treasures, his almost nightly activity. One wild decision changes the course of his life. 

Warnings: brief mentions of death and bodies, hints at abuse(through scars)

Rating: T (to be changed)

Chapter 1: Hell’s Wasteland

The cold night air did wonders in smothering the noxious scents that blanketed the junkyard like a fog. While the sun’s heat cooked them and made them more powerful, nighttime forced them into hiding. The stench of death and rusted metal was enough to make a normal person retch, but Ivan frequented the location often enough that it was nothing but a minor nuisance. 

With his scarf pulled up to cover his nose and goggles to protect his eyes from the chemicals and dust, he weaved through the heaps of filth, looking for treasures hidden amongst the trash. His mechanical pack mule followed behind him dutifully with its heavy, steel feet making square indents in the hard dirt. The droid was bulky and large, similar to the size of its namesake, but its well oiled parts allowed it to move silently. The only noise that came from it was when the luggage it carried clashed into each other inside the bins on its back. 

This machine, that Ivan had built from scraps and named Buster, carried his maker's oddments so that Ivan could dig through the heaps freely. Every couple feet, the man stopped to poke through the collection of garbage and junk to pick out pieces that he could use for his work. There was a time when he'd jump at every eerie thing he found, but after years of coming here, those things only made his heart skip just a little. 

Spotting a human-like leg sticking out from a pile, Ivan scanned it with his device and waited. "Artificial, 20% damage," it said, allowing Ivan to release his breath and drag the limb out so he could toss it into his bins. He had learned the hard way that it was better to be safe than to drag out a corpse. 

It was one of the reasons the place was nicknamed "Hell's Wasteland." Broken androids tossed out here made it look like the place was littered with human bodies. The gangs saw that as an opportunity and began to dispose of their enemies here, hence the smell of decay. No one but vultures like Ivan went through here. No one would ever see. And even if someone did, the law would never listen to someone who only had 2 sets of clothes and ate crumbs for meals. 

What was once a scrap yard had now turned into a dumping ground. After the owners had disappeared, no one was left to take over. Local rumors said that the owners were still on the land, buried under rotten food and broken refrigerators. “If you listen closely, you can hear them crying,” they would say, “they’re waiting for someone to rescue them. But once you get close enough, they’ll snatch your body and use it as their own.”

But Ivan knew better than to listen to wild stories of ghosts and possession. He knew after many visits that it was the cries of cats. When they yowled in the night, it sounded like a child who had lost their guardian, or perhaps someone who was in pain. And since they ran away at the slightest sound, it was no surprise many people have never seen the source of the sound. 

Just then, that exact sound that people dreaded hearing pierced through the air and struck Ivan’s heart with chilling fear. He knew it was only a cat, but even the bravest of men would flinch at a shrill noise breaking silence. Head tilted towards the night sky, he listened, waiting for the sound to meet him again. 

When it came, he followed it with the stealth of an assassin. Even the slightest disturbance could send them running, and Ivan didn’t want to miss his chance of seeing a cute cat. 

With every step, he drew closer, which meant the cat had not discovered him yet. Maybe this time he would be able to catch it and bring it home. Then again, his budget could barely support his sisters and himself. To add another mouth to feed, that would leave them eating out of the dumpster. But one could dream. A small part of him hoped that the soft clanging of metal in Buster’s bins scared the cat away so he wouldn’t have false hope. 

But things never seemed to turn out his way. As he peeked out from behind an overturned car, he spotted the cat that had been yowling for attention and finally understood why it had not run. 

What he saw was an unfortunate black cat stuck in a discarded raccoon trap, its paw reaching out past the bars in an attempt to open the spring doors. Ivan approached it slowly, his large body hunched over in an attempt to make himself smaller for the cat. The mental image of himself looking like a crooked, old witch approaching their animal apprentice crossed his mind and made him smile. 

“Don’t scratch me, please,” he whispered after tugging down his scarf, “I’m just trying to help you.”

Back arched and hairs standing straight, the cat was not happy at all that such a big creature was so close while it was defenseless. It hissed and swatted at Ivan’s hands when he got too close, but eventually, the human proved to be trustworthy. 

He didn’t make any sudden movements, and for that, the small creature was thankful. Slowly, it relaxed, pressing itself against the corner of the cage instead of trying to shred Ivan’s helping hand. 

“You’re very beautiful. I will call you Novi. Do you like that?” He smiled down at the black cat that stared at him with wide, wary eyes. The cage jolted and clicked when it was finally opened and the cat took off with such speed, he could see bits of the ground scatter as her claws tore it up. 

Ivan let out a soft grunt of disappointment watching her disappear behind a pile of garbage bags. “What? No ‘thank you’? That’s a little bit rude.” He chuckled at his own silliness before walking back over to his droid. “Did you get that, Buster?” 

Those keywords made the droid open his sealed mouth with a click. Ivan reached between the spiked teeth to grab a cord to connect to his phone while Buster’s eyes flashed red to verify his identity. They turned blue when the iris scan passed the test, his tail wagging as his defense mode was disengaged. Only Ivan, his sisters, and people he approved had access to Buster’s security files. If anyone else had tried it, the jaws would clamp shut with enough force to take their hand clean off their body.  

With a few taps, he was able to see what his droid’s eyes had recorded. Crystal clear footage of Ivan interacting with the cat popped up on his screen. The quality was good enough that Ivan could pause and zoom in on it just to get a closer look. He took a screenshot and smiled.

“Send this image to Kat. Caption it, ‘rescued a cat from a raccoon cage. Named it Novi. Can I keep it?’ Message complete.” He continued to scrub through the video as he waited for the droid to do as he said. 

The droid went completely still for a few seconds then moved his head in a nodding motion once it was done. He spoke in a human-like voice with a slight mechanical buzz. “Message sent to Kat: Rescued a cat from a raccoon cage. Named it Novi. Can I keep it? Image attached.” 

“Good boy.” Ivan pat him on the head twice before disconnecting the cord and tapping his chin, making his steel jaws slam shut. Turning to the left, he began to return to his previous task but Buster stood firm. 

“Novi spotted.” 

Ivan stopped, turning back to the droid. “What?” 

“Novi spotted,” he repeated, looking straight ahead. 

He followed the eyes of his droid until he saw what his target was. There, standing on top of an old monitor, was Novi. Her tail swayed in the air playfully, as if waiting for Ivan to notice. “Are you back to thank me?” He asked the question as if he expected an answer.

Novi stared at him, completely still except her tail, then she blinked and hopped off the pile of scraps. Ivan had expected her to run a second time, but she turned back to look at him and waited. 

“Buster,” he said, his eyes not leaving the cat.

The droid chimed once. 

“Choice: Follow, or don’t follow.” 

The droid chimed twice. “Choice: Follow, or don’t follow. I choose follow.” 

Ivan hesitated. “Buster, what’s my luck today?” 

Two chimes again. “Your luck today is amazing! Who knows what will happen when you take a chance!” 

“Take a chance,” he repeated under his breath. Every fiber of his being was screaming to him that this was just like the start of a horror movie, but he took a deep breath and began walking towards the cat. “Maybe she will show me her kittens. Yes. This will be good. I have good luck today.” 

Even as he told himself this, his hands were cold and clammy from nervousness. A black cat on a full moon wanted to lead him somewhere. It didn’t seem like a good sign. Any rational person would ignore this stray animal. It could be a trap. Maybe demons. Or maybe Ivan was just being too superstitious. 

Several times, he had attempted to turn the other direction, thinking that following a cat was just too silly, but every time Ivan tried, Novi would walk back over to Ivan and stare. Waiting. Whatever it was Novi was trying to show him, it must be important. 

“Alright alright, I’m following,” he muttered after a fourth attempt to escape. 

They were nearing the center of the junkyard now. The piles here were stacked so high, even Ivan had to crane his neck to catch only a small glimpse of what was at the top. 

He tended to avoid this area. Located directly below the highway, it was a popular spot to toss things over the side. If one wasn’t careful, they could be crushed flat by someone tossing out their garbage. It was also very unstable. One misstep could cause the garbage to topple like an avalanche, and if one was alone, once they were buried, that would be the end. 

“I don’t think I can follow you further, Novi.” Ivan watched as the cat hopped gracefully on the pile, her light body barely making the objects move. But for Ivan, every step he took made garbage tumble down the sides. 

The foolish human had already come this far on his quest, and he didn't want to waste it by turning back. But one wrong step made his foot slip into the pile, a broken beer bottle cutting into his leg. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to make him hiss and stain his torn pants with blood. 

Maybe it was a sign that he should stop trying to climb this mountain of garbage. The wound on his leg was small, but if it wasn't treated, it could cause an infection. “I’m sorry but this is the end of our little adventure. My sister will be very angry if I die trying to follow a cat.” 

Of course, Novi gave no response. She only stared at him a while longer, looked at the highway above, then took off. At first, Ivan thought that perhaps she had run off because she knew Ivan would no longer follow, but the sound of a car door slamming shut told him otherwise. 

“Oh no.” He looked up at the highway, spotting two men approaching the side, working together to carry something heavy. Ivan shouted for them to stop as he scrambled to get to the bottom, but they couldn’t hear him. From the highway to the ground was a drop almost a hundred feet. His pleads would never reach them. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care. 

Ivan had only caught a glimpse of what looked like an old sofa being chucked over the edge  before the impact of it crashing down into the pile caused everything to topple over. Like a mudslide, everything on the top layer tumbled to the ground, Ivan included. 

He did what he could to protect himself as he fell; his limbs cut and bruised as he tried to shield his head. There was nothing he could hold on to. Nothing was stable. It only stopped when everything pooled on the ground, adding to the mountain’s size. 

Buster, who had stayed on the ground while Ivan chose to climb, ran over to the spot his maker was buried. He dug him out as fast as he could, then dragged Ivan to the side where he’d be able to avoid the damage of falling garbage. 

“Are you okay?” What Buster got wasn’t an answer to his question, but a smack on his metal head. “Ow.” 

“You liar. You said I have good luck!” He hissed as he stood up. His clothing was torn in several places and his body was covered in filth. 

Buster tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Luck readings are chosen randomly from choices you programmed into my system. If you are not satisfied with your reading, please ask ag-... Ow.” The droid was cut short when his maker smacked him again. 

“Maybe if I rebooted you, you won’t be so sassy.” 

“My personality is also programmed by you.” 

“Stop talking.” 

“Silent mode: On.” 

Ivan sighed when the droid went silent. He knew it was his own fault for following a cat into such dangerous territory. Now he had to go home and tell his sister that he needed to borrow money to buy a new set of clothes. At least his scarf was okay.

He wrapped the piece of cloth back to how it was when he started his hunt and tended to all the cuts with the first aid kit kept inside his droid. Then, pretending like nothing had happened, he went back to digging through the rubble. If he was going to ask Kat for money, the least he could do was sell a couple more of his projects to earn it back. And to do that, he needed the parts. 

The more he looked and the more he collected, he was beginning to believe that perhaps Buster’s reading was correct. While this area was dangerous and risky, it also held the freshest picks. He had collected so much scrap metal and spare parts that the bins grew full. 

Dozens of different projects zipped through his mind. He could make a small pet droid. Maybe a drone. Or maybe he could invent something brand new! He could be rich! 

A noise from the highway above only added to his excitement. He took a couple steps back from the pile, just to be safe, then watched to see what the people would toss over. “Come on. Give me something good.” 

All he could see were dark figures, but the mystery of it made his heart race. It all stopped when he saw the discarded object reveal itself in the moonlight as it fell. “No way…” 

Like before, the impact of the tossed object caused the pile to crumble. Anything on the surface was buried once again, but Ivan’s eyes were locked on the new addition. 

He waited until the trash had settled and the men above had left before dashing over to where the object was resting. It was buried under bags of garbage and electronic trash, but Ivan had found it. It was broken and damaged, but it was unmistakably an android. 

“What a beauty,” he said to himself as he admired the human-like machine. If it wasn’t for the broken skin revealing metal underneath, Ivan would have thought it was a human. 

The body was built to be male, a strong one too, and it had a head of long, blond hair with a firm but pretty face. The model wasn’t one Ivan has seen in the catalogs either, so it must be custom built. Which also meant it was an expensive model. The more expensive the model, the more he could sell it for. 

“Let’s see… Are you still active?” He waved a hand in front of the android’s lifeless face but gained no reaction. Snapping his fingers to try and wake it by sound did not work either. But when his hand made contact with its silicon skin, its eyes snapped open and locked on Ivan. 

Ivan jumped back quickly when blue eyes flashed red. “W-wait!” He snatched up whatever he could to protect himself. Unfortunately, his weapon of choice turned out to be a bent pole. “I’m friendly. I promise.” 

The android stared at him for a long time. Ivan could hear the whir of his engine as his system tried to determine whether or not Ivan was a threat. Several times, his eyes had gone dark only to flash back on again seconds later. 

“Battery failure,” he whispered as a mental note, “but reaction is good.” That brought a smile to his face. With a couple quick fixes, he could have this android good as new and sell him for thousands. So no matter how long it would take, he waited. 

He waited, with an eager smile, until the android relaxed his body, his eyes dimming down to a natural blue. “Identify yourself,” he spoke. His voice box was damaged, making his speech sound like he was speaking through a static tube. 

"My name is Ivan. I won't hurt you," he keeps his voice calm and quiet like he had with Novi. Now that the android had calmed, he lowered his weapon and came closer until he was within his arm’s reach. 

Ivan had opened his mouth to speak again, but the android’s arm shot forward and grabbed his scarf. He pulled the human down until Ivan was staring into flickering blue eyes. “Who… am I?” 

"I don't know. We've only just met. But I can find out." Dig through his memory files, erase them, reboot him, sell. 

"Are you ICON?" The android spoke the word as if he didn’t know the meaning. 

“ICON?” Ivan paused, his train of thought halting. "I'm Ivan, not ICON. What is ICON?"

He was silent and still for a while, making Ivan believe that it was another system malfunction. But since he had continued to blink, Ivan knew it was just his mind trying desperately to process an answer. "I... don't know. My limbs are damaged. I don't believe I can walk."

"I can take you to my home.” He took a step to the side, gesturing to Buster. “I can fix you. Would you like that?"

"I lack the currency required. At least... I believe I do..." His eyes moved sluggishly from Ivan to the droid, then back again. 

"I don’t require currency. Only your permission. Will you allow me to fix you?"

The android grew silent again, then slowly, he nodded. “Okay.” 

"I'm going to pick you up now. Is that alright?" 

"... I give you permission," he nodded again, "but become a threat and you're dead."

Ivan gave the android a nod in return before he slowly moved the junk off of him. It wasn’t until all of it was cleared that he realized the reason the android couldn’t move. 

His left arm and both of the android’s legs were marked with plasma burns. The damage of it melted through the synthetic skin, past the metal plating, and scorched the circuits underneath. The pattern of the injury looked like it was done with a rope, or perhaps a whip, wrapped several times around each damaged limb. Thoughts of fixing and reselling the android quickly began to fade. Not even a machine deserved to be treated like this. The rich were truly inhumane. 

“Does it hurt?” 

"Of course it hurts," he gave him a puzzled look, "but that doesn't matter."

"It does matter. You shouldn't suffer. Do you want me to power you down? I promise I'll turn you on again when you're safe. It’s so you won't suffer any pain when I move you."

The android frowned, his face scrunched up in distrust. "How can I trust you?"

"I guess you'll just have to. But I won't force you to agree." 

The android had no reason to trust Ivan. They had only just met. If Ivan was a dishonest person, he could shut Alfred down, take him apart, and resell every piece for a good price. Both parties knew that. But Buster had predicted that today was Ivan's lucky day, and that prediction showed to be true. The android, who couldn’t even process his own memories, had decided to trust him. 

“Fine,” he said, his voice soft. “Turn… turn me off. But I’m trusting you.” 

"You're making the right decision. I'll speak to you again soon. I’m turning you off now." He reached forward slowly, praying that the android wouldn’t activate his defenses once again. His fingers felt around the back of his neck until he grazed across a circular dent. 

For a second, his fingers rested there as he stared into the android’s eyes. He recognized the fear, the panic and uncertainty, but if Ivan was going to move him without hurting him, he would need to be shut down. 

“You can trust me,” Ivan reassured him. 

Then slowly, the android’s eyes slipped shut. 

[doubleshotofsomething]

Publicity Stunt

Publicity Stunt | Part Six

Warnings: heh...a lot of swearing. like a lot of swearing. and violence, but like, not too much violence?? Pairings: Bucky x Reader .  Summary: Things get a little too heated for the reader’s liking. Reader is a PR/Fixer and longtime friend of Pepper Potts

PS: Im so very sorry for the inconsistency. I hope you guys are safe and that those you care for are safe xx please take care of yourselves xxx ALso, sorry for the typos, this hasnt been proofread yet but it will be fixed .

--

You were gone when Bucky woke up.

The smell of you lingered in the air, but you were nowhere in sight. He thought he had dreamed the night before, that his imagination was playing sordid tricks on him. But it was still warm where you had laid next to him, still smelled like you, and that eased his confused heart for a moment.

His room bore the memory of you from last night, a night he wished he could extend – the man would travel the world, chasing the sunset if it meant giving you the longest night of your life. The blanket that he usually tossed to the floor in his sleep was now covering his lower body, the empty bottles that occupied his nightstand were missing, his clothes were folded neatly on the couch that you’d gotten him – because ‘It goes with the setting, Barnes’ – and a suit was hung over the armrests of it.

He groaned, burying his face into the pillow. It didn’t smell like you, he’d somehow managed to get you to use him as a pillow instead. Just as you’d managed to convince him to wear the suit for tonight’s event.

He would wear the ridiculous suit for you, he hated that damned thing, but he would because you had asked. You were as good as a siren, or as bad, when you flashed those eyes at him, dragging him into the depths of your affection as you asked. Knowing he’d regret saying yes in the morning and hating how he could never say no to you, he gave in, and he was glad he did – the look on your face was worth all the yes’s he could give. Not even Sam’s remarks could make him change his mind

“It’s not the end of the world, Buck,” he murmurs into the pillow, before getting out of the bed. “One night is a huge step.”

He was in the shower when a scream pierced through the walls, echoing in his ears. It was faint and far enough for him to know it was coming from the kitchen, and the pit that formed in his stomach spiked enough dread for him to know it was you.

“What the fuck?!” You were hysterical, throwing anything you could get your hands on at the floating thing. “What the actual fuck!?”

It was red and came out of literal air, alone and didn’t have the glow that came with Wanda’s powers.

You were frazzled and stressed and trying to figure out a way to tell Pepper about your plan for Tony’s memorial. It was more of a gala than an actual memorial, he was a man of the people after all and an event celebrating his memory was simply mandatory – if you didn’t do it, someone else would. Probably Secretary Ross, the opportunistic twat.

The event was to take place at the museum you had created in his honour, Tony was more than just a billionaire and more than an Avenger, he was—is a beacon of hope, a monument if you will. A simple wing or section in some museum wasn’t enough; he was an Era of the Impossible, of Excellence, of Miracles. He was the ultimate Ultron, the Shield he believed Earth needed, and you were going to make sure he was remembered as such.

You had barely managed to escape Bucky’s death grip without waking him up, one wrong move during your escape from his room could and would land you back in his clutches, leaving you absolutely no time to finish the last-minute details for tonight. You couldn’t risk going to your room, the door and movement would wake Bucky (his room was right next to yours), so you remained in his shirt and your leggings as you had tiptoed your way into the kitchen.

You were in the middle of making coffee, turning around with the steaming hot mug in your hands when a circle sizzled in front of you. The cup fell from your hand and you stumbled back as something flew out from the growing green. You squealed and throw the milk in your other hand into the hole, the red thing coming back into your line of sight as you did. It wasn’t Wanda so you screamed and reached for the nearest thing – the sugar basin – to throw at the thing.

“Get the fuck away!” Sam’s mug was next to shatter against the wall, then Wanda’s, then Clint’s, you were about to reach for Scott’s – but he’s been a sweetheart during your entire stay and he valued mugs as much as you did so – you reached for Bucky’s instead and threw it at the man.

Wait a minute.

“Who the fuck are you?!” You lifted the coffeemaker as you watched the man float out of the now ­large air hole and into the room. “Come any closer and I swear I’ll—”

“What the hell is going on?” Sam was the first to run into the room, shield in one arm and a lamp in the other, brown eyes wide and dangerous as they landed on your terrified form.

Bruce ran in through the wall, hulked out and battle-crying, heaving and ready to pummel. Clint had his crossbow locked and loaded – you were certain he slept with it – as he came in through the new doorway Hulk had just made. Scott landed and human-sized in front of you, ready to be used as your human shield. Bucky and Wanda slid into the room right behind Sam, Wanda’s hands were glowing and Bucky’s arm was twisting in anticipation.

“Is this how you welcome your guests?” Steven Strange began as he landed on his feet, carton of milk in one hand as the liquid dripped down from his hair onto his shoulder. “‘Cause I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies.”

The red terror mechanism floated back to the man and attached itself onto his shoulders, and you nearly lunged at him.

Clint looked around the room, everyone seemingly as confused as he was. Sam lowered the lamp and Bruce took a deep breath to calm down.

“Strange.” Sam acknowledged, narrowed eyes darting between you and the man. “What’s going on?”

“I was attacked by your current keeper.” Is the man’s simple response.

As if anticipating your rage, Scott ant-sizes just as you fling the machine at the man. “You were attacked?!” You shrieked, grabbing the fruit basket on the counter and throwing it at him. “I’ll fucking show you attacked, you creepy old fuck! You and that fu—”

“Woah—” Everyone was crouching behind something as soon as you yanked open the cutlery drawer, anticipating your weapon of choice.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” You were carelessly grabbing and tossing knives at him, and they kept disappearing mid-air. “You can’t just come out of thin air unannounced and expect to be welcomed with open arms like some kind of zit! Do I look like an acne prone teenager?!”

Strange rolled his eyes and extended his hands. “I’m getting tired of this—”

You quickly moved to pick up a bar stool and pointed the steel portion at him. “Move those fucking hands an inch and I’ll fucking feed you to Barnes!”

Bucky blinked from behind the kitchen doorway, turning only to find Sam grinning cheekily at him. “Is she speaking from personal experience?” He whispered, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly at Bucky. “Wham-bam-thank-yo—wooah”

Sam flew into the kitchen and landed at your feet, his groans stopping abruptly at the sight of Scott sitting on the broken handle of his gold mug. “Great landing, Cap.” Scott mused.

Bucky walked back into the room, aware of the confused expressions on your and Strange’s faces, as he stood over Sam. “Wham, bam, there goes Sam.”

You blinked at both men, then turned back to the source of your anger – only to be angered once again as you saw the red cape wrap around the chair. You narrowed your eyes at him as you gripped tightly onto your weapon. “I will burn you.”

“Okay—” Wanda’s hands wrapped around your wrists, “—how about we calm down and talk like rational adults.”

You bared your teeth at the cape. “Tell the witch to lower his little rug and I’ll consider boiling him alive instead.”

Steven frowned at that, eyebrows furrowing as he turned to Bruce – whom had just entered back into the room with Clint.

“She means ‘not’ boiling you alive.” Bruce smiles tentatively at the Doctor.

“No,” Clint shook his head, “no she doesn’t.”

--

You were fuming the remainder of the day, barrelling through rooms with smoke coming from your ears.

Dr Steven Strange, as you were later told by Pepper, was there to join in on the preparations of the event and help you in any way that he can. His magic fleece blanket followed you around every where you went and whenever you ended up in the same room as him and Pepper, she would conveniently excuse herself and leave you two to talk.

You knew her well enough to know she was trying to set you up, the tie of his suit matched your dress for the night – you had demanded to see it to make sure it was appropriate, and you were utterly disappointed that you didn’t have a reason to send him back home – and you currently trying to find a dress in Wanda’s closet that suited the night. One that wouldn’t match the annoying prick’s outfit or his cape.

“—me, match with that insufferable man witch?,” you argued as you rampaged through the closet, “I’m pretty sure men like him incited the witch hunt back in the old days—” you huffed as you pulled out a burgundy dress, “—remind me to take you shopping after this. I can’t believe I’ve been too busy to check the things in your—I mean who does he think he is?!”

You turned around to find Jonah staring at you blankly from Wanda’s desk chair, while she sat cross-legged on her bed eating away at her tube of ice cream and watching you with amusement. Jonah was supposed to finish the last details that you were to upset to handle and report back to you, while you insured everyone was dressed and ready – especially a certain super soldier, that you’ve been avoiding all morning.

“That’s a really nice shirt,” she mused, pointing at the shirt you hadn’t had the time to change out of. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s a little Buchanan for your taste, though.” Jonah added, head tilting to the side as he eyed you.

Wanda nodded, “too Barnes and Noble.”

“Is it imported?” He asked, leaning forward with wide eyes of feigned interest. “Romanian perhaps?”

“Christ—” You gritted your teeth as you glared up at the ceiling.

“I suppose there is a resemblance,” Wanda stated as she turned to Jonah, “hmm? What with the long hair?”

“And that annoying beard—” He quickly turned back to you, “—did it give you like a rug burn when his face was b—”

“For fuck’s sakes!” You threw a hanger at him before he could finish his sentence. “Since when did the two of you get along? You hated each other’s guts literally a few days ago.”

Silence filled the room. Wanda visibly tensed and looked down at the tub of ice cream, mumbling something in a language you couldn’t identify – hopefully, you thought, Russian. Jonah leaned against the chair and shrugged, deciding the file he had brought for you was suddenly far more interesting than the question you had asked. You frowned, eyeing Wanda’s reddening cheeks and Jonah’s uncharacteristically nonchalant behaviour. You knew Wanda well, but you knew Jonah even better.

Jonah was a passionate man in ways that didn’t need you being in his bed to know. Everything he had, did, was never dull or rational. In fact, you were the rational one in this duo. He was always filled emotion, very reactive, the only time he was ever indifferent about something – or someone – was when it had to do with Bucky or the occasional ex that you both ran into on one of your outings.

“Wait a minute—” Your eyes widened at the realization, “—You two—you and Wanda—you guys did the dirty? You did the deed? You got filthy with each other? Are you kidding me?!”

“I would have liked to turn it into something other than the occasional fuck,” Jonah retorted, then pointed at Wanda with the file in his hand. “But little miss mourning over here has commitment issues—”

“Holy shit!” You gaped at them.

“—Don’t turn this around on me!” Wanda fired back at Jonah, eyes flaring dangerously at him. “You’re the one that said you don’t normally do this—”

“—Yeah, sleeping with superhero clients is kind of not in my rule book!”

“Oh, but dating them is?”

“What can I say, I’m old fashioned!”

“You’re a pig!”

“And yet you still let me take you several ways to Sunday, all over this room—”

“Oh my god!” You nearly gagged as you threw the clothes in your hands at the floor. “Oh my god—” You cringed and shuddered violently, your eyes at the sight of your bare feet on the carpet and you made a beeline for the door. “Oh my fucking god!” You used the hems of the shirt to help you open the door.

Jonah rolled his eyes at you. “You don’t get to be dramatic—” He got up to follow, “—you banged Barnes into submission and now Pepper is setting you up with the Wizard of Oz, that’s more sex than I’ve had in less th—”

“I’m not going to sleep with that wannabe Magician!” You were storming down the hallway, with a hot shower and a thorough scrubbing in mind.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You nearly fell as you blanched at the thought, groaning as your skin began to inch with disgust. Why did you constantly surround yourself with assholes?

Jonah merely laughed at your disgusted expression, enjoying this moment of your faded façade. In the time that he has worked with you, he has never seen you like this, so frazzled and responsive. You weren’t an open book, many had tried to woo you and failed, others tried to get under your skin, but it proved to be an impossible task. He knew where your buttons were, but he could never really press with them hard enough to get a powerful reaction from you. You got annoyed, but never ‘throw things at him’ annoyed. You got frustrated, but never ‘move into the room next to him’ frustrated. Maybe it was the fact that he was one of the few people you considered family – heaven knows how big that emotional distance is between you and your blood – or maybe it was the mere fact that he wasn’t Bucky (or the Good Doctor, as he had now realised). But he would gladly enjoy the you without the weight or the chip on your shoulder while he still can. While you’re both still there…

You were passing by the common room when Pepper’s voice stopped you.

“Y/N?” Her eyes were red and frantic as she waved the papers in her hand. “What’s this?”

Frowning at the occupied room, you made your way towards her and took the papers in your hand. “What is it?” Jonah asked from behind you.

“It’s a warrant of arrest for everyone.” You mumbled, skimming through the papers before sighing and look at the mother of your goddaughter. “Where did you get this?”

“I have a friend in the justice department.” Rhodes said from behind Pepper. “Apparently those warrants are to be issued an hour into the event, tonight. Funny how everyone’s names are on them except yours.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What happened to trusting me?”

Pepper let out a sob. “Oh my god—” She gaped at you. “—You knew about this?”

“Pep—”

“There is an arrest warrant out for Morgan and you didn’t tell me?!”

“She wasn’t going to get arrested, that’s not part of the pl—”

“—Your plan is to get my daughter arrested?!”

[ladyrevanhalin]

TWISTED MORALITY (PART III of ONLY LIGHT CAN CAST SHADOW) CHAPTER THREE: SEEKING SHELTER FROM THE STORM (PREVIEW SECTION 6 OF 16)

[AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a preview section from an incomplete chapter]

><><><><><

As hungry as Gwen was, Carth had insisted they seek medical care prior to seeking food. With how long she had been unconscious combined with what little medical supplies they had, he wanted to be certain there weren’t further undetected injuries in addition to the head injury that he’d been treating since the crash. Gwen had taken part of a ration bar in the meantime to hold her over. She had a lingering headache that she could not tell if it was from her injury or the fact that she had not eaten in the three days she had been unconscious. Either way, it hadn’t put her in the most pleasant of moods.

“Look, I’m fine,” she insisted as they walked. “While I appreciate your concern, I don’t need you mothering me.”

“Don’t you think we’re better off at least checking?” He said. 

“I think I’d feel a lot better if I had something other than ration bars,” she snapped. “I couldn’t eat a single thing on that damned ship it seemed without getting sick afterward!”

“Well sorry fleet cafeteria isn’t good enough for you,” Carth said sarcastically, rolling his eyes in the process. 

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me!”

“Calm down, geesh! It was only a joke. There’s a cantina close to the apartments, we’ll head back that way as soon as we finish here.” Carth added the last part as they stepped inside of a Tarisian Clinic. It was very plain, steryl… as a clinic ought to be. There were two men there who seemed to run the place: a younger one who was polishing a medical droid, and an older one who seemed to be working with chemicals at a lab station of sorts.

Carth approached the one working on the droid. “Excuse me,” the pilot said, “but can you help us--”

“Can't you see I'm busy with my duties?” the younger man snapped as he turned around sharply to face them. “Go talk to Zelka if you need something.”

“Well, nothing quite beats good old Tarisian hospitality,” Gwen muttered sarcastically. It was no sooner that she had than she felt Carth’s elbow nudge her ribs as he gave her a sideways glance. The woman groaned, rolling her eyes at her male companion’s disapproval. 

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Carth said, frantically trying to cover up Gwen’s commentary. “We’ll uh… we’ll go talk to him now.” 

She felt his hand on her back a moment, presumably to encourage her to walk away, and tensed. She quickly shrugged him away in an attempt to quickly end her discomfort. The physical contact felt strange. It had ever since… Well, there was no sense in thinking about that at the moment. Her head hurt enough as it was without additionally lingering on bad memories.

Carth must have understood her discomfort because he retracted his hand just as quickly as she had begun to shrug him away, and Gwen let out a silent sigh in relief. He left her and approached the older man at the other end of the clinic. 

Gwen folded her arms and meandered throughout the little steryl space. There wasn’t much to look at, but it gave her something to do while she waited to head to the cantina. She could hear Carth talking in the background to whom she could only assume was the ‘Zelka’ the first man had referred to. Her eyes skimmed over the walls and shelves… until they fell upon something that caused her to pause.

There was a large locked door on the West wall that read ‘Lab Personnel Only.’ While it was normal for such establishments to have areas off-limits to all but employees, something felt… different. She didn’t know quite how to best describe it. She felt… familiarity? Was that it? Whatever it was, it compelled curiosity from her. Gwen’s haze drifted from the Aurebesh lettering of the door sign to a simple electronic lock pad on the wall next to the door. It was such an easy lock….

“Gwen? Could you come here?”

She spun around at the sound of Carth’s voice to look at him and Zelka “Yeah?” she said. Her hand had quickly drawn away from the lock, she hoped faster than anyone else there could have seen. ‘Dammit, Gwen, you’re supposed to be respectable now!’ she thought to herself. ‘Just let it go….’

“I'll not have it said that Zelka Forn refused to help somebody just because they weren't a citizen of Taris,” the clinician said to Carth, seemingly in response to a part of their previous conversation. He continued, this time addressing her directly and introducing himself. “Miss Dakaal, isn’t it? I’m Zelka Forn. Your friend here tells me you’re in need of healing? I can treat almost any injury or ailment right here at the medical facility, except the rakghoul disease, of course.”

“I’m sorry… rakghoul disease?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow. She folded her arms as she approached them, choosing to remove herself from the bizarre urge to pick open the lab personnel door. “What’s that?”

 “A terrible affliction that has plagued Taris for many generations,” Zelka said, shaking his head. “I was just telling Mr. Polla here about it. It is spread by the rakghouls, horrible monsters that live in the Undercity below Taris' great skyscrapers. Prolonged exposure to the Undercity breeds the disease and those infected will eventually mutate into rakghouls themselves, becoming mindless beasts that feed on the flesh of others. Granted, from what Mr. Polla tells me, that would be impossible since you’ve not been down to the lower levels…”

Gwen had to restrain herself from snorting at the name by which Zelka Forn had referred to Carth. “Oh?” she said, a somewhat amused grin spreading across her face as her gaze shifted from the physician to the Republic pilot. “Now I’m curious. What else were you discussing with Mr. Polla?”

She caught Carth’s expression cracking just a bit at her dig, though it seemed that Zelka hadn’t noticed. That much was probably for the better. She could understand Carth’s choice for giving a false name, given the fact that he was a decorated Republic Lieutenant. After all, someone might recognize the name ‘Carth Onasi’... but Polla!? Surely in the days she was unconscious he should have been able to come up with a name better than that...

“Well, I heard the Republic scientists at the military base here on Taris were close to perfecting a cure for it. But the Sith have since overrun the base and are keeping the serum for the patrols they send into the Undercity.” Zelka sighed. “If I could just get my hands on a sample of that serum the rakghoul disease could be wiped from the face of Taris forever…. But nevermind. I don't see how that's going to happen now, and it’s irrelevant anyway to the situation.” He gestured for her to sit in a chair nearby.

She opened her mouth a moment to voice a protest, but caught sight of a look from Carth that made her stop. She leered back at him as she moved to the seat that Zelka had indicated.

“Well then, Miss Dakaal, I hear you’ve suffered some head trauma?” He took out a small light and shone it in her eyes, causing Gwen to instinctually squint and raise a hand to block out the excess light. “Eyes open, please,” the physician added. “What exactly happened?”

The woman struggled to keep her eyes open for him, choosing to focus her gaze passed him in order to aid her efforts. “My associate could tell you better than I,” Gwen said flatly. “I was unconscious, after all…”

“You know,” she Carth say. He seemed to be ignoring her, but she could not see him at the moment to tell for certain. He seemed to be circling back around to the previous conversation with Zelka. “There’s gotta be some way to get ahold of that cure the Republic military were working on…”

Zelka turned away from Gwen, back to Carth for a moment, and the woman used the opportunity to relax her eyes from the light, blinking slowly as strange colored phantom shapes floated across her vision. 

“ I don't see how anyone could get their hands on the serum,” Zelka said. “The military base is crawling with Sith guards. Breaking in there would be a suicide mission. I suppose the Sith patrols in the Undercity might have a sample of the serum on them, if they hadn't already used it because of a rakghoul infection. But I doubt a patrol would just hand the serum over. And nobody's stupid enough to attack one of the Sith patrols, even in the Undercity.”

“Well, as soon as we’re off, I’m sure we’ll find some way,” Gwen said, wanting very much to end the conversation so they could get out of there and head to the cantina. Most of the reports were of the escape pods crashing in the Undercity anyway, so who knew! Maybe that actually would happen across a sample of the serum… There might even be some sort of reward, and they could always use access to medical services while stranded on an enemy-controlled planet…

“Please don't say that!” Zelka exclaimed as he turned to her, frantically gesturing with his hands to say no more on the matter. “If the Sith hear you they might think I'm suggesting you start sacking their patrols. They could shut me down! I only mentioned the serum because you asked. I don't actually expect anyone to get me the serum.” The man sighed, letting his arms relax. “Tell me what symptoms you’ve had since you regained consciousness.”

“Well,” Gwen said, “I’ve had a lingering headache, but I also haven’t eaten in a couple days--at least not since before the injury.”

“I don’t see any signs of lingering damage from your injury,” he continued. “The headache you described is likely from hunger, not lingering effects of concussion. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nope!” she said, standing promptly. “I think that about wraps things up here….”

“Not so fast,” Carth interjected, catching her arm as she attempted to walk passed him toward the exit. He then spoke again to Zelka. “We heard some rumors about Republic escape pods having crashed in the Undercity from the recent space battle overhead. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Republic escape pods? Uh... no… That’s a strange question,” Zelka laughed. “Why would you ask me that? I don't know. Those pods crashed in the Undercity, I'm not involved in any way!”

Gwen turned back, raising an eyebrow at the man’s reaction to the question. “You seem awfully defensive about this,” she muttered. She’d seen more than enough bad liars in her time to spot it when someone was so obviously hiding something. 

“I'm not defensive! I just don't like being accused of knowing something about those Republic pods.” And then Zelka scoffed. “This is as bad as an interrogation by the Sith!”

Carth winced. It would seem he hadn’t anticipated Gwen commentary, and was disturbed by how Zelka had been suddenly put off. “Don't worry, we’re not with the Sith. We won't betray your secret if you tell us…. Uh… not that you’re hiding anything, that is.” Carth rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Whether or not Zelka would trust them with any further information remained to be seen.

“The Sith were already here,” the clinician huffed, “asking these same questions you are now. I'll tell you what I told them. I don't know anything about those pods. Now, is there something else you need?”

“We need a better answer than that,” Gwen said. If Zelka Forn actually knew anything about the crashed escape pods, then it could prove most useful in their quest to find Bastila and get off of this rock. “If you know something, you should tell us. Like my associate said, we don’t work for the Sith. But if you are hiding something, the Sith will find out eventually, and they will come here again. It’s in your best interest to help us. I think you want to…”

“I…. I want to….” Zelka said slowly. He seemed to be much calmer as he did so. “Well... you don't look like you're with the Sith. I guess… I guess I can tell you my secret. Or rather, I can show you…”

Zelka Forn walked over to the door that Gwen had seen previously and punched a code into the access pad. The large door slid open, revealing a series of kolto tanks, a few of them with familiar-looking men and women floating inside of them. 

“Hey... I recognize these men,” Gwen murmured, approaching one of the tanks. “They're Republic soldiers!...”

“You... you recognize these soldiers?” Zelka asked. “But how? Unless... unless you're friends of the Republic!”

Carth raised his hands. As if to try to prevent Zelka from doing anything rash. “Looks, I have a feeling we’re on the same side here,” Carth said. “We’re friends of the Republic.” He conveniently left out the part about them also having been on the same ship the soldiers in the tanks were from. After all, they were already putting themselves at risk here. There was no point in sharing more information than necessary… “We’re friends of the Republic. You can trust us.”

“Since the space battle overhead,” Zelka explained, “people have been secretly bringing in these Republic soldiers who crash-landed on the planet. I had to take them in. What choice did I have? Their injuries are terrible, most won't survive. But at least I can make their last days more comfortable. And at least here they are hidden away from the Sith.”

Carth let out a sigh of relief. “Well, for that you have my thanks,” he said, clasping the other man’s shoulder briefly. “It's good to know that at least some of these men ended up in compassionate hands.”

“I hate to imagine what the Sith would do if they discovered these soldiers here,” Zelka continued. “But since their initial questioning the Sith have not returned, so it may be my fears are unfounded.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Gwen asked, turning back toward Carth and Zelka. While they were in a hurry to find Bastila and get off, and while it would be easier for them to remain unnoticed if they were in a smaller group, she couldn’t help but to feel a sense of pity wash over her at the sight of her former comrades in such a state.

“I'm afraid there is nothing more anyone can do for these soldiers,” Zelka said. “Now, if you'll excuse me I should return to the front in case anyone comes in needing medical attention.”

The clinician stepped away, closing the door but leaving it unlocked for Gwen and Carth to exit of their own accord. 

“Well,” Gwen said, shrugging with a bit of unease, “at least we know we’re not the only survivors.”

“It’s a good thing,” Carth said somewhat somberly. “It means there’s even more chance that Bastila survived as well.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” There was a twisting in Gwen’s stomach that reminded her current hunger and she winced. “Standing here’s not going to do us any good though. I think we should gather more info--at the cantina! I’m starving.” And she let out an exasperated sigh.

A smile tugged at the corner of one of Carth’s lips as he let out a single laugh. “I guess we can head over now… Wouldn’t want you passing out on me after all!”

Gwen rolled her eyes and moved to the door, beating the switch with the side of her first, causing it to open as she walked out toward the exit of the clinic, the pilot scurrying briskly after her once he say she was leaving. They were stopped, however, by a voice when they reached the door leading out of the clinic.

“Psst. You there! Wait a minute. I need to talk to you about the rakghoul serum. I've got an offer for you you might want to hear.” it was the assistant they had seen working on the droid previously.

“Not interested,” Gwen said dismissively, and she continued to move toward the exit. 

“Oh, don't be an idiot,” the man said, moving to block them from exiting. “Just listen to me for one minute and you won't be sorry. Davik Kang wants the cure, and you'd be smart to give it to him.”

Gwen placed her hands on her hips, regarding the man with a rather unamused expression on her face. “Davik Kang? Who's that?”

“Oh, come on – everybody knows who Davik Kang is! He's the big boss around here. Gambling, smuggling, extortion – he's got a piece of all the action on Taris.”

“You mean Davik's a crime lord?” Carth said, now seemingly rather unamused by the conversation also.

“I prefer to think of him as a role model,” the man continued in a rather grating voice. “He started with nothing, and now he's got it all: credits, power, women. It's the Tarisian dream, right?”

“Why does Davik want the cure so badly?” Gwen asked, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“Davik's interested in anything that can turn a profit. He could make a fortune selling the serum to anyone infected with the disease – not like Zelka, who'll practically give it away.”

“I think we'd rather give the serum to Zelka,” Carth said. “He'll use it to help people.”

“Helping people is all well and good,” the assistant harrumphed, “but you have to help yourself first, right? I'm telling you Davik will pay big credits for the cure. More than Zelka could ever afford.”

Gwen considered a moment. Credits would be a big help if they were going to get off of Taris. After all, they would need a ship… “Where can we find Davik if we want to give him the cure?” she asked, folding her arms.

Carth looked at her a moment in seeming disbelief. She tried as best she could to ignore his gaze of disapproval. 

The assistant smirked. “Davik isn't the kind of guy you can just walk up to, you know? He likes to keep his business at arm's length. The best thing to do is take the rakghoul serum to Zax. He runs the Lower City bounty office, but everybody knows he also works for Davik. He'll make it worth your while.”

“And why do you care who gets the cure?” Gwen asked, narrowing her eyes at him. The man seemed parasitic as a mynock…

“Look, Zelka can't afford to pay me much,” the assistant explained. “If you sell the serum to Davik, I can probably get a nice finder's fee for directing you to him.”

“What if I tell Zelka you're helping Davik get the cure?” Carth interjected. It seemed he was having none of the idea, despite how lucrative it could prove.

“Hmph! I'll just deny it,” the assistant said with a shrug. “Who's Zelka going to believe – me, or some off-world stranger? Now, be smart about this. You'll get a better deal selling to Davik.”

“And then only the rich could afford the cure. Just let the poor suffer, right?” Carth said.

The assistant frowned, glaring at the pilot. “Look, if you find the rakghoul serum, just take it to Zax in the Lower City bounty office. He works for Davik. He'll pay you what that cure is really worth!” And with that, the man stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

Once Gwen and Carth were a bit a ways from the clinic, Gwen spoke first. “That guy gave me the creeps,” she commented.

“Why would you even consider something like selling a cure to a crime lord?” Carth asked her. He still seemed to be in disbelief at what he had heard. “You saw what Zelka was doing in there. He’s a good man…”

“Yeah, but we need the credits, Carth. Last I checked, even if we do find Bastila, we can’t get off Taris without a ship…”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, I just… I think we should consider this carefully before we make any decisions of the sort. I mean, who knows if we’ll even find it while we’re looking…”

“Yeah, well unless you have a better idea for how to get enough funds to get out of here, I think we should consider his offer… but enough of this. Let’s get to the cantina or I really am going to pass out on you.”

><><><><><

[enjoylove42-blog]

The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not Protect you

God’s Will… What is it? Why is God’s will sometimes so damn hard to figure out? How do we as mere mortals even begin to determine what His will for our lives is just for today, much less for our whole life?

A few years ago I did some real bad shit. I was stuck in a chaotic life running rampant in My Own Self-Will. I woke up one day, went to breakfast with friends, laughed, enjoyed the beautiful warmth of the sunshine, and was enveloped in God’s beautiful world of love and joy. Later that afternoon, I shot up heroin for the first time. It was actually the first time I put a needle in my body. Unfortunately, it would not be the last. I was 35 years old. It was a good day up to that point. I thought I was living a purposeful life. I had joy in my heart and wanted to share my inner peace with others. I was happy. I had absolutely no valid reason to put the poison in my veins. Or did I?

Back up to those three words, “I was Happy.” My sick demented mind probably assumed that if I was happy and life was good , how could anything possibly go wrong? Boy, it was the beginning of a lifestyle full of the three D’s. DECEIT, DESTRUCTION, & DESPAIR. I’m not sure if it was the drug or the needle, but I immediately spiraled down the rabbit hole. I was hooked instantaneously. I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t get high enough, stick myself enough times, or just attain the level of out of body freedom i was desperately searching for every minute of every day. The level of insanity and chaos that ensued from that day on until I went to jail can only be described as pathetic, disturbing, deplorable, disgraceful, and wretched.

Within one month of the first rush, I had lost every morsel of inner peace, joy and rays of fucking sunshine I previously described to you. I lost all sense of ME. The woman I had known for 35 slipped away. All of the core values instilled in me since birth vanished. I no longer had the capability to differentiate between right and wrong. The only thing I could comprehend was, “I have to maintain. I HAVE TO do whatever it takes to pull that red rose bud back and push the enervating drug into my dwindling dehydrated veins. Be damned laws, morals, or spirituality. I had to invite the toxic venom into my body as many times a day as I possibly could.

I loved the venom, but I also loved the point. The repeated pricking and sticking of my skin. My track marks were like a map of misery no one seemed to even notice. I was bruised black, blue, green, and purple. A mental and physical avow of what I had to endure to remember I was still human. The pain was good. When all my veins knotted and dried up and the only place left was my neck to inject the forbiddenfruit, I welcomed the misery with open arms. Just one more stop on the road to my madness.

During this time I did the most selfish act of my entire life. I ABANDONED MY CHILDREN. It wasn’t until five years later in rehab, that I stepped out of denial and realized just how shitty I was to my own flesh and blood. My Babies!!! They needed me to pull my wicked shit together and be their mother, but my sick fucking mind convinced myself, they were better off anywhere on this planet but with me. Until the day I die, the look of disbelief and fear on their faces, as well as, the huge crocodile tear that rolled down my youngest son’s beautiful cheek as I dumped them off, will forever be embedded in my mind and heart. In that moment, i honestly believed I was doing the best thing I could for them WAKE UP LINDA!!!!! What would have been best for those precious innocent children was for me to quit fucking up our lives, quit banging dope into my veins, get over myself, turn around scoop them up, and be their fucking Mom. I cannot ever begin to express with words the guilt and shame I carry within myself for this inconceivable action. Yes, it was an action. I drove away that day impregnated with two feelings: grief and relief. I was full of self loathing and self pity. However, I was also discharged from a duty I was no longer capable of performing. As long as my children were with me i was not able to fully bow down to my selfish obsessions and compulsions. I was required to feed them, clothe them, keep utilities on, and provide a seemingly stable environment for them. Finally, I was able to think only of My next attempt to mainline my newfound god. I could feed my desires and fuck whoever dared step onto the pavement leading me down the highway to hell. If you have ever been in full blown addiction, you understand that I was incapable of providing them with their needs for very long. I didn’t love myself anymore and no longer required anything other than my next dose of smack. I was as previously stated, deplorable.

At this juncture in my life, there were absolutely no holds barred. Please understand, I was beyond help. I was in the inner rings of hell and my life point blank fucking sucked. No amount of prayer, tears, or pleading could relieve me of ME. I stole from every single store I walked into. I slept with men for crumbs of dope, I lied to every single person who crossed my path. I was so diabolical in my methods that when someone encountered me, they were meeting a twisted sick chameleon who could and would convince you that what we did was your idea and that it was critical for everyone’s survival in the world. People gave me money, drugs, food, a place to sleep, etc.. and I always made them believe whatever they did for me was actually for them, and it was in their best interest to do it. I was a conniving incorrigible cunt. I hated myself. I hated you. I hated God, I hated the fact that I had to work so hard at being a constant mastermind of corruption. Inside my head, I honestly believed that I deserved to have whatever it was my addiction desired. I believed I was an entitled HBIC, but truthfully, the only thing i really deserved was contempt and mistrust. I had become what my father once said, during my childhood, he hated more than anything: A thief and a liar.

I will never forget the night before I went away. I was lying on some asshole’s couch, and in an instant complete and total desperation engulfed my entire being. Deep down in the core of my soul the real “Angie” cried out a long and sorrowful plea. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I commenced to pray. (Some individuals would argue this fervent prayer to be a foxhole prayer.) That being said, It was as if I had split into two people during that time and the evil diabolical “me” had taken over my body and suppressed the real “me” deep into the depths of my bowels. I had been trapped in the darkness and my spirit broke free with a mighty jolt. I wanted all of the irrational absurdity to end. I prayed for God to help me. To relieve me of the demons that controlled my spirit, for God to take me into His arms and hold me close, to save me from me. I prayed that he would get me out of the situation by any means necessary, but not jail. I didn’t want to go to jail. (At this point I had no idea I was a wanted woman.) I felt in that moment a spiritual awakening, because i felt, for the second time in a few short months, RELIEF. I had just admitted to myself that I was powerless over the drug and lifestyle I had designed and my entire life was undoubtedly and undeniably unmanageable. It was like the ceiling of that crusty one room hole I was sharing with three other people, opened up and God covered me in a hedge of protection for the night.

Do not ever doubt that the God of my understanding has a sense of humor. He does. He also knew the only way to remove me from that “modus vivendi” was to lock me up and sit my junkie ass down. I had charges pending in four mid-Tennessee counties. I had been on the news for theft at multiple large retail stores in Nashville and the surrounding areas.

Please understand, I deserved to go to jail. I had been doing ”the Most” with all disregard for consequences. It was as if in my mind I didn’t comprehend that “I” was breaking the law. I was doing what I had to do to maintain. I couldn’t work with track marks all over my body, I could not pass a drug screen, and first and foremost had to keep myself off sick every morning. How could I possibly maintain the requirements for an honest job during this time? I could rationalize every despicable behaviour until all the king’s horses and all the king’s men figure how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. I was, as so straightforwardly stated in the rooms of AA, in a state of spiritual, moral, and physical bankruptcy. In order to help relieve me of my will and help me better do HIs, God saw it fit for me to do 15 long months in various county jails. I took this time and severed myself from a sick toxic relationship I had been in for years. I took every class the jails offered. I did two rehabilitation programs in two different county jails. I reconnected myself spiritually and slowly regained my morals. God began providing me with miracles. My father and I reconnected through letters during this time. I did not get visits like all the other inmates, but I got mail everyday. I began to walk for at least a couple of hours each day in the small pod we were housed in, and my body started to feel better. After a whole year of incarceration my track marks healed and my obsession for the venom of heroin left my mind. When I was finally released on November 7, 2016, i returned home physically, mentally, and spiritually healed. Not cured, for a true mentally disturbed sick addicted individual like me, there is no cure. Only a daily reprieve that is dependent on my spiritual and emotional well-being. At the end of this chapter of my life I learned that God answers prayers. He gives us exactly what we need when we can and will receive it. Ultimately my self will run riot led me into a cold dank jail cell where God’s will began to take over my life and send me down a path I would not believe I deserved, at that time. WIth that being said, I will end this period of my life with one last thought: “Be ok with not knowing for sure what might come next, but know that whatever it is...YOU will be ok.” -author unknown.

[the-canary]

Retro - B.B (2/8)

Summary: Please, third times the charm, right? Because James Barnes is tired of failing at this thing called love. (Modern AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt:  “If you focus on what you left behind, you will never be able to see what lies ahead.”

A/N: This is for @buckyofthemyscira 5k challenge.

Part 1 | Masterlist

Please enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed.

Keep running. Keep moving forward.

It was something you had read in a book a very long time ago. Or maybe, you had heard it on the television, while you weren’t exactly sure anymore, it was something of a motto that you had always lived by. Things were hard or difficult at the moment, but eventually they would pass you by -- tomorrow was another day that sort of thing was the type of stuff you lived off of, even dreamed of it sometimes. You were a jack-of-all trades sort of person and though life did come with hardships and setbacks -- you tried your best to bounce back.

However, as you got older, people gave your sunny disposition as strange look as if you were naive or nonchalant about the events around you, it was strange but you got used to that too. Running around and doing whatever interested you is how you kept going in life -- it kept you sane for the most part.

Then, it happened -- a close coworker, and sometimes friend and more often a drinking buddy, asks you with hazy clarity one night.   

“When are you going to stop running?”

And for a moment, you do.

 There is such a thing as meeting someone by chance, even more so by coincidence. Bucky Barnes understood that he would see his strange neighbor every once and awhile after the window incident and while he was bit mortified by the event, it didn’t seem to faze her -- she said goodbye and hello like her jumping from the window to the fire escape had never happened, and eventually Bucky learned to forget about it to. He just didn’t expect to be seeing her everywhere he went.

The first time he really takes notice her is simple enough -- it’s in the entryway to the apartment building as she stands next to Stan, listening to music. However, it is her getup that catches his attention the most as she’s dressed in a heavy green coat for the weather, but he sees the red dress and dark stockings with her hairdo more presentable than before. James moves just slightly to see her making hand motions to the sound of some old 1940’s song , as Stan just nods.

“I knew you would know!” she exclaims as Bucky walks a little closer, since the elevator was to her left. She’s giving the elderly man a bright smile, “It was playing at the ballroom we were using for work and it wouldn’t leave my head all day.”

“Always happy to help,” Stan smiles, as she laughs at her new discovery, while she starts dancing just a little. Blue eyes tear themselves away as the elevator dings to signal it had reached the ground floor.  

What a silly gal , Bucky can’t help but think as he heads to his apartment floor (because who likes big band music in this day and age?), though he notices a few days later he has been humming the same song for quite some time now.

 The second instance that burned brightly in Bucky’s head happens a few days after that. His schedule is killing him -- he barely had breakfast and is running late with a coffee at hand.

He is walking out of the building and she is walking in, causing him to curse as she apologizes over and over again.

“It’s all right,” Bucky manages to say, as he takes notices of the huge pink box in her hands.  His stomach growls at the smell of freshly baked bread, as blue eyes meets hers, only to gave them light up in amusement for a moment.

“Please take one,” she opens the box to show him a 2 rows of 12 donuts, as he wonders why she needs so many donuts, and while his mouth waters he is ready to refuse.

“I--” he stops when his stomach growls once again, as she gives him a sympathetic smile and pushes the box in his direction.

“Come on,” she says with a laugh that causes Bucky to pause for a moment before he grabs some napkins from the corner of the box and grabs a regular glazed donut. She frowns and pushes the box a bit more.

Bucky knows that he’ll have to work out those 3 donuts later, but for now he is just happy over getting a pastry with his coffee and can’t seem to stop smiling for the rest of the photography session.

 Over the rest of chilly March, Bucky just gets used to seeing her everywhere.

In the grocery store, he sees her having a conversation on whether she should get ketchup or catsup, though he also sees her feeding a dog not too far away after he leaves.

He sees her in the old bookstore reading a fashion magazine, but also wearing a red carp backpack with a black-and-white striped sweater. The image, due to his time around models of all kinds, sticks to him for the rest of the day, as Bucky isn’t quite sure whether he should consider it strange or cute.

James goes on with work, going on dates, and trying to ignore the important event just on the horizon as April comes around, but he slowly comes to realize that she’s always there at the edge of his mind, it’s driving him mad and he doesn’t know why.

“I mean, we’ve both lived there for 4 years,” Bucky complains to Steve on the last Friday of March, not much closer to his original goal but the blond could tell his oldest friend wasn’t gonna let this go, “Why now? Why is she so--”

“Captivating? Memorable?” Steve laughs, as Bucky makes a face -- scrunching up his nose like he had smelled something bad.     

“Weird, Stevie,” Bucky exclaims before taking a swing of his beer, as he hears a laugh echo in the back, “ Really ?”

Bucky declares in disbelief as he turns to look at a booth not too far away, as Steve follows his friend’s line of sight. There in the booth are four people, two women and two men, sharing drinks. The dark-haired man is lying on the table already at his limit, as the strawberry blond is shaking her head -- she doesn’t seem to be drinking. The other two people seem to be drinking, but while the man seems to be nursing one drink the woman has several glasses around.

“She’s a heavy drinker, all right,” Steve remarks in amazement, as Bucky turns to look at him.

“That’s my neighbor, punk,” Bucky remarks as Steve’s eyes widen before giving him a quick sorry, “I wonder if that’s her boyfriend or something.”

“Maybe,” Steve answers vaguely, though Bucky frowns at the teasing tone that Steve seems to have as the blond takes a sip of his beer.

Oh, you have it bad, Buck , is all Steve can think, looking at his friend keeps watching the group -- glancing at then until it’s time for them to go.    

 James keeps thinking about the event back at the bar for a long time, as April comes those quick appearances from his neighbor stop -- and it’s driving him up the wall. For all her eccentrics, his neighbor seemed like a kind gal. Nat’s wedding is only a week away and he isn’t any closer to having a date for the event -- it’s not that he wants to show anyone off, he just doesn’t want to be alone. James doesn’t want to see the woman a younger version of himself would have called the “love of his life” once. How had everything he had wanted gone so well for Natasha, and not him?

It was in his choices he had made, the things he had decided to ignore. James was starting to regret a lot of things -- they were haunting him in the darkness of his bedroom and his photo room. He was tired of being alone.

But, what was he supposed to do? How could he move forward?

“Hey, James,” he looks up from his inner monologue to see his neighbor giving him a concerned look with a soft smile, “Are you alright?”

Blue eyes glance at her outfit as he cringes internally once more -- brown skirt, dark stockings, red shirt, and the same green coat from before. Dot and Nat had always been impeccable in how they dressed and presented themselves in public -- makeup and clothing from the latest trends and dressed to the nines. His neighbor didn’t have that eye for detail. James Barnes was used to taking pictures of the most beautiful people in the word, but for some reason he was slowly finding his neighbor’s smile --right at this moment-- to be the most picturesque thing of all, and that was scaring the hell out of him.

Too bad, he had to open his big mouth instead of rationalizing his feelings like he usually did.

“Would you do on date with me?”  

Part 3

[baek-again]

THIS ISN’T GOODBYE // PART 2 // BAEKHYUN [ANGST]

Baekhyun x Reader Words: 2096 Notes:  Y/L/N = Your / Last / Name REQUESTED so this took a really long time and i have zero idea about how the korean military system works so i’m really sorry if this is nonfactual  /: ALSO! i’m still very much not over descendants of the sun

PART 1 // PART 2 

The call had come later that evening, from the commissioner's office regretting to inform you that Byun Baekhyun was unfortunately not been recovered and that until his body was found he would be considered missing in action. But, it didn’t come as a shock, you had suspected it to be the case before you had even picked up the phone, you just knew that he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon. However, it still came as a crushing blow, like you were a delicate and refined sculpture carved out of thin ice and you had taken a hit from a mallet.

Your friend had offered to stay with you overnight to make sure you were okay, but you had assured her that you would be alright and that you didn’t want her engagement to be ruined because of you. So you slept alone that night, not for the first time, but the loneliness you felt made you feel more isolated than ever.

The sofa became your bed and each night you would dull your mind with the petty drama of soaps and sitcoms until you fell asleep. Because other people's problems seemed to be overshadowed by the feelings you felt inside, yet somehow it helped, you could zone out of the issues and heartbreak surrounding you and let your mind be consumed by someone else’s story.

It wasn’t until several months later that you made your way back to the bed. You had gone out for a couple of drinks with two of your friends, comforting one of them on her misfortunate breakup. Sat at the bar, the three of you had already attracted a bit of attention, so much so that your night of drinks might have been free if you had accepted. However, all of the bidders had been for your two glammed up friends, not for you- until then.

The man had almost caged you in, his thick, robust, ‘compliment me- I work out’ arms forming two barriers against the bar and the back of your chair. “Can I buy you a drink beautiful?” He asked, his voice deep and his words slow, he murmured them in your ear like an incantation. Perhaps he hoped they’d work like a spell and magic him into your tight fitting pants.

You glanced to your side, only to see your two friends sending you not-so-subtle nods and thumbs up’. But, instead, you pressed your painted red lips together in a sorry smile and said, “I already have a boyfriend.”

The man sighed and turned away without a word, visibly disappointed. You wrinkled your nose, glad to be out of the musty cloud of cologne that surrounded him.

In your peripheral vision, you saw two surprised faces staring at you open mouthed. “Are you crazy?!” Your friend squealed, “He was so hot! And you don’t even have a boyfriend.” Her voice is slightly slurred from drowning her sorrows in expensive cocktail probably named by a drunk Caribbean pirate somewhere down the line.

You shook your head, “Until Baek’s tags are mailed me in the post, he is still my boyfriend and until I see them bury his body in a coffin I am not single.”

Your friend raised her eyebrows, “Jeez, I’d rather my boyfriend was dead.” She mumbled under her breath.

Your other friend rubbed both of your backs, her diamond encrusted engagement ring glittering tauntingly in the dimmed pub light.

You forced back the tears that threatened to overflow. Why did everyone think he was dead, so far they had already found one of the other missing bodies. And that meant that the 5 missing soldiers had been alive, just under the imprisonment of a radical group of mercenaries, but not dead. The first body had shown up just over a month after they had gone missing, he had been shot in the head with his body left for dead in the dust of the fleeing group. When the forces found him his tags were laid out upon his chest like a message of ‘one down, four to go’, a sort of catch us if you can- before it’s too late game.

The words repeated themselves in your head in the taxi home that night, he is not dead. He is not dead. He is not dead.

And again when you dragged yourself into your bed, the sheets crisp from lack of use. He is not dead. He is not dead.

And yet again as you curled up in a cocoon of many blankets, the layers of material folding like petals around your delicate heart. He is not dead.

✦

The sunlight filters in through the unclosed curtains and you unfurl yourself from your blankets, the morning was strangely unpeaceful. Not from the expected cars and buses, or the business men and woman and students on their commute and not from the trucks and workmen who had already been up far before the sun. No, the thing that disrupted the peace was something in the air, it was carried on the breeze and in the song of the birds, it was in the rustle of the trees and the almost excitement it carried with it. A whisper humming a victory song that is growing louder the more voices that join it.

Your phone beside your bed rings and it makes you jump, violently shaking you out of your dreamy revery. “Hello?” You answer in a raw, morning voice, “Who is this?”

“This is General Seo. Is this Miss Y/L/N?”

At the sound of the deep voice on the other end of the phone line, your back immediately straightens and a buzz of electricity shoots along the arteries of your body, jolting you into a more upright position. “Yes!” You exclaim, trying not to sound too optimistic. Don’t get your hopes up. You tell yourself, but it’s hard to prepare yourself for the worst when the small voice in your head echoes the words had been chanting to yourself for the past months, he is not dead.

“What I am about to tell you is very important and should not be repeated until otherwise notified, do you understand?”

You hiccup out a weak “Yes.” and squeeze the spot over your heart, attempting to tame the creatures writhing about and feeding off your worry.

The man continues: “Last night we carried out a raid on a suspected hideout of the group that have our missing troops, that raid was successful and we were able to safely remove all four of the men being held captive. Your fiance was one of them and is being treated in intensive care, it will be a couple of days before he is released, but please know that Byun Baekhyun is not dead.”

You whisper the last words along with the General, not bothering to correct him that you aren’t actually engaged to your boyfriend, realising that it was probably only under that pretense that you would be allowed to hear those words. The tears stream down your cheeks, but they aren’t the sad, lonely tears that you have become accustomed to, far from it. These tears are full of gratitude, “Thank you.” You wail through the phone line, an intangible grin forming on your face as you imagine the old General Seo hold up in his office holding the phone away from his ear to avoid your hysterical sobbing. “Thank you so much.” And you hang up.

You flop back down onto your bed and roll around squealing, your body is full of the adrenaline of a drugged up cage fighter before a match and you can’t breathe, you don’t know what to do with yourself, with the overflow of emotions you are experiencing.

You reach for your phone and ring your friend and release a torrent of words about nothing in particular, things about Baekhyun that you miss and things you want to do when he gets back to make up for the lost time. If she stops listening at some point, she doesn’t let on, she lets you ramble about all the inconsequential things that mean the world to you, like the dimples in his cheeks and the way he makes coffee for you in the mornings, the sparkle in his eye when he kisses your neck whilst you wash up and the way he asks you to rub his shoulders after a busy week at work. It’s only after almost 40 minutes that she tells you she needs to go to work but there’s a smile in her voice as she asks: “When do you get to see him?”

“They’ll let me know.” you breathe happily.

And they do, two unbearable days later after being able to think of nothing else, your phone rings telling you that your ‘fiance’ will be on the 4 o’clock flight and will be ready to be picked up an hour after.

✦

The traffic on the highway is horrific, the cars are stacked up bumper to bumper for at least a kilometer in both directions, behind and in front of you and you slowly crawl forward at the pace of a snail. Luckily you set of several minutes- 34 to be exact- early and you get to the airport on time with a couple of minutes to spare.

The sign overhead tells you that Baekhyun’s flight has just landed and you begin to pace up and down the waiting room, your eyes glued to the arrivals gate.

The waiting room is quite busy already, there is an old lady waiting there with two small children holding a glittery sign that reads ‘WELCOME HOME DADDY!’ with sparkly love hearts surrounding it. There is a middle-aged man there in a smart brown suit, there is a huge bouquet of yellow flowers in his arms and he hops nervously from foot to foot. There are half a dozen chauffeurs standing against the back wall holding sheets of paper and Ipads with names that have important looking initials in front of them. They are the standard family welcome party there too, the ones that look like they have come out for an outing rather than to pick someone up.

That’s when you see him, it’s a quick blur of khaki and then his face. He’s lost weight, that’s plain to see, the bones in his cheeks are more prominent and the clothes that were tight fitted and smart when he left are baggy around his shoulders and thighs. But his eyes are the same, though, a little more tired than they used to be, they still light up the room when he sees you.

A sound that sounds like a whimper leaves your lips and before you can think a rational thought, you are speeding towards him with your arms open wide.

The bag that was straining the muscles in his arms is discarded on the floor as he catches your figure, you almost bowl him over you are so forceful. You are finally back in his arms and the feeling is better than you had imagined it would be. You hold him and he holds you, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a broken vase and your yearning for each other is the glue.

“I missed you so much.” Baekhyun whispers in your ear and in that moment, you are the happiest you have ever been. His hands have become coarse in the weeks of his absence and the tough skin scratches your soft cheek as he cups your face. “So, so, so much.” He whispers these words like they’re a dangerous secret in between peppering your lips with soft kisses.

You pull away to study his face, inspecting it like an artist would before painting a masterpiece. There are subtle things that have changed that you didn’t notice at first, some of his features are sharper than they used to be, there are scrapes and scratches along his cheekbones, a fresh looking one along the bridge of his nose and a nasty scar on his forehead. His body is different too, he doesn’t stand as tall as he used too, his posture is slightly slumped and he’s standing with his weight more on his left foot than his right, like the right side can’t support him enough. You decide you won’t ask him about what happened, whatever it was it wasn’t good but if he needs to talk to someone, you promise to always be there.

“Let’s go home.” You whisper.

Baekhyun nods, kissing your cheek one last time, “Let’s.”

[thedramafilesblog-blog]

Appearing before The Dramacourt: Just Between Lovers Eps 9 and 10

***If this is your first time browsing The Drama Files, please read The Rules section first for our reviewing and rating system***

Issues:

Whether Kang Doo trying to leave for Moon Soo’s sake makes sense.

Whether its awesome that Moon Soo stands up for herself about who she likes.

Whether family is really something that you can build.

Whether the characters need to experience Grandma’s loss.

Whether it’s true that the healing process itself is painful.

The Rule(s):

Yes. And No.

Absolutely. She doesn’t let anybody tell her how to feel which is badass.

Yes. Family isn’t something that exists because of blood ties. Families can be made.

In a way, yes.

So true.

Analysis:

RedRosette J: First of all these episodes were an assault on my feelings. Just when I thought they wouldn’t they dumped a whole bunch of feels on me. If you thought this week was emotional, next week (if the preview is any indication) is going to take us through even more of an emotional roller coaster. But if you can survive an hour of angst and tears, these episodes are worth the watch!

That view though

Poor Kang Doo 😥

I’m glad that they spent a lot less time on the architecture/construction problems this week and focused more on character development. Moon Soo came to terms with her feelings for Kang Doo and Kang Doo got a well needed reality-check from Grandma. CEO Boss also got shut down by Moon Soo and Kang Han Na’s character became a character that actually pushed our leads together instead of creating unnecessary conflict. My only criticism (of sorts) is that I wish that Moon Soo didn’t have to hear about Kang Doo being injured in the Mall collapse from Kang Han Na’s character. I just feel like there would have been a greater impact had she heard it from someone closer to Kang Doo or Kang Doo himself. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s not really like its a huge detriment to the plot so whatever I’ll let it slide.

When you get irrationally mad at your crush when they do dumb stuff…

  Going for advice like…

Can you seriously stop going around spilling people’s secrets?

When you suddenly remember someone like…

OMG girl it’s about time you remember!

The biggest plot point addressed in these episodes was Grandma’s illness. It had to come sooner rather than later and, as sad as it is, I’m glad they decided to address it at this point because it gives the characters some time to process her death before the drama ends.

Why did you leave it if was going to be this bad?

Thinking at sea like…

When the love of your life goes away….

Realizing you love someone like…

I also liked that we saw another side to Noona. She seemed like a regular person in her sweater dress and sneakers and not quite as intimidating as we have seen her so far (and I think the Director became a total goner once he saw her feeding the kitties. Poor guy). I love love love that the drama doesn’t typecast people. Sure, she a beautiful woman who runs a sketchy bar or whatever but that’s just her job. The writers don’t let that define her and shows us that she’s a well rounded person with an actual life aside from her work. As I have mentioned in previous posts, there is no judgment in these characters’ lives and jobs because its normal. It’s life. Some people do ‘questionable’ jobs  and their jobs don’t define them. I love that about this drama.

Issue 1: Whether Kang Doo trying to leave for Moon Soo’s sake makes sense.

RedRosette J: Logically, it makes sense when I think about Kang Doo’s state of mind. However, as a viewer who is now emotionally invested in the outcome of the characters’ relationship, it seems pointless. First of all, logically, Kang Doo has self-esteem issues and has very low self worth which explains why he feels like he needs to leave for Moon Soo’s sake. As a rational viewer, it makes little sense. I get that. But from his point of view, he seems to genuinely believe that him leaving her is going to be better for her. I think it might also have to do with the fact that he seems to think that the CEO Boss guy is a real contender in the race for Moon Soo’s heart. This is silly because anyone with eyes can see that Moon Soo doesn’t give a crap about the CEO. It’s his lack of self worth that pits him against the CEO with the impressive resume. I liked that Kang Doo admitted to Kang Han Na’s character that he’s afraid he’s going to lose Moon Soo to the CEO but he’s still going to run away because that’s what he thinks is best for her. It really took Grandma yelling at him in episode 10 for him to realize that there’s nothing wrong with him and that it’s Moon Soo who gets to decide whether she wants to “ruin” (so to speak) her life by staying with him. He doesn’t get to make that decision for her.

Contemplating your life choices like…

Drinking your sorrows away

Setting your priorities like…

Noooooooo!!! Kang Doo!!! Don’t leave!!!

Seriously don’t leave!!!!!!!!

That’s right Grandma, you tell him!

Shots Fired!

As a viewer, it frustrates me that Kang Doo can’t see himself the way that us viewers, Moon Soo, Noona and Grandma see him; as a genuinely caring and loving guy with the best heart, so it sort of feels like it’s pointless angst meant to drive a wedge between the characters. But he needs to get past this point of seeing himself as worthless so that as he moves forward in his relationship with Moon Soo he feels deserving of her love. Also, it just about killed me at the end of episode 9 when he still got on the boat while she yelled out to him. To make matters worse, I think it just about killed him to do it too. I absolutely loved that this drama showed us that his struggle to leave her was very real and that he was doing it even though every fiber of his being was telling him not to.

Boy at least pretend to subtle

Can you be more upset that she didn’t show

When you’re happy to see her but then remember that you’re actually pushing her away so you can’t smile anymore…

See if I care LOOOL!

Issue 2: Whether its awesome that Moon Soo stands up for herself about who she likes.

RedRosette J: The thing that I like about Moon Soo is that she’s not a doormat (although initially it kind of comes across like she is). She has this quiet strength about her and she doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do (Kang Doo included). I find that this is a rare phenomenon with Kdrama heroines. When Kang Doo insists on leaving her and asks her to go to the CEO, she makes sure that he knows exactly how she feels. She says to him that she’s going to do what she wants and that he can’t tell her how to feel. I love that she voices how she feels because in reality that’s what a real woman is like. I also really like that this drama doesn’t try to hide her awareness of Kang Doo. She’s aware that Kang Doo likes her just as she’s aware that the CEO does. I appreciate that the drama doesn’t try to show that she’s a dumb Candy who has zero inkling that the male lead is in love with her. This is especially true in the snippets where she notices Kang Doo sneaking glances at her or him accidentally overhearing conversations that she has with someone else. She also brings it up with him which is super realistic. I think this is awesome and that more Kdrama females need to do this. I’m sick of seeing these passive females who go around as if they are totally oblivious and unaware of men. Honestly how unrealistic is that?

You tell him girl!

Standing up for your friends like…

Overhearing conversations like…

Confronting him about him overhearing your conversation

Be brave girl

Tell him how you feel!

Kang Doo you’re an idiot

She doesn’t care at all

This girl is really ballsy

Awwww

She finally set things straight.

Issue 3: Whether family is really something that you can build.

RedRosette J: I love the idea that family is something that can be built and not only something that you are born into. At the end of episode 10, we see the beautiful friendships and family that Kang Doo has built after having lost his parents. Grandma, Noona, Sang Man, and even Moon Soo and her friends have become a part of Kang Doo’s circle and are now reliant on each other just as a family is. It really shows that family is built on trust and acceptance and I really liked how this drama portrayed it.

Family ❤

  Issue 4: Whether the characters need to experience Grandma’s loss.

RedRosette J: I will be the first person to say that I don’t want Grandma to die. She’s my favourite character. But, that being said, she has to die for the benefit of the other characters (that sounds mean but you guys get my drift). These characters have all experienced loss in such a sudden and shocking way that they need to understand that loss is not always something that happens like that and that sometimes you actually get to say goodbye properly and eventually come to terms with loss through a proper grieving process. Arguably, Kang Doo and Moon Soo are still grieving the losses of Dad and Sister respectively but that is likely because of how sudden and shocking the loss was. While Grandma’s loss will inevitably bring a lot of grief to Kang Doo and Moon Soo, they need to experience this so that they can grieve properly because they couldn’t properly grieve the loss of their family in the accident. This is why I agree with what Moon Soo said to Kang Doo’s sister that she has to tell him about Grandma’s illness sooner rather than later. He needs to know while it’s still not going to be sudden so that he can be prepared (as much as one can in this cases) for Grandma to leave.

So adorbs

Kang Doo finding out about Grandma

Please don’t delay the truth

Issue 5: Whether it’s true that the healing process itself is painful.

RedRosette J: Another thing I love about this drama are the little sound bites of life lessons that we get. Small things like this really resonate with viewers. This week, I really liked when Kang Doo talked about how the healing process itself was a painful one. I totally agree with this. The hardest part about an injury is recovery. Whether its a physical or emotional injury, its the recovery that’s tough. For the person who makes it to the other side in one piece having endured the pain, they become a stronger person for it. It’s real character development. These characters are still in the process of healing which is why they are hurting so much. Once we get to the end of the drama, we’ll hopefully see the characters towards the end of their journey of healing and over the more painful parts, and having become stronger people for it.

Momma

Dad coming to visit is progress

Kang Doo stop taking those pills!!!

Conclusion: Appeal Allowed.

Rating: 4 = I’ll Give You A Cookie (I actually do want to give everyone cookies and hugs because these episodes were so sad!!!)

File No: Just-Between-Lovers-EPS-9-&-10 Appearing before The Dramacourt: Just Between Lovers Eps 9 and 10 ***If this is your first time browsing The Drama Files, please read