#that with some grime car oil and a little sweat and have her be leaning on or next to an old car

[minamill]

i always forget subtle shadows/highlights don't show up well on tumblr, but this time i kept that in mind and tried to kick them up a notch. it's still pretty subtle with the relatively even outdoor light, but hey man i tried smtn slightly different and i kind of like it :)

[oneforthemunny]

Can we have something for older!dilf!eddie where bunny is finally bonding with bri and they’re really getting along, watching a movie together at home, painting their nails, gossiping etc and Eddie gets home and hears them from the hall and gets emotional bc this is all he wanted since he had bri

I’m in a fluffy mood and it is dilf eddie day after all <3

Eddie hadn't meant to work so late. Really, he hadn't. But the holidays were always brutal, the fourth coming up, and every car in the world needed their tires rotated and oil changed before traveling. Which wouldn't be so bad, if the heat wasn't so brutal.

Eddie was tired, beyond exhausted. He longed for a hot shower to wash the grime of the dirt off, a beer maybe even sneak a blunt out in the shed, and his bed. His bed with you in it. He'd worried when he told you he'd be working late, that you'd be upset, that you'd cancel or huff at him angrily.

Instead, there you were. In your sweat pants, hair pulled back in one of those funny headbands Brielle was always wearing. Brielle beside you in a similar state, eyes glued to the TV.

"Oh my God, Brandi is insane." You gawked at one of the screaming figures on TV.

"Right? She's fucking unhinged, but you know what? Kinda iconic of her." Brielle shrugged, swirling the polish around the small bottle.

You snorted, shaking your head, eyes rolling before cutting back over to Eddie, his frozen, looming figure in the doorway. "Hey, Ed," You smirked, a bright teal face mask covering your skin. Brielle had a matching one, muttering her own greeting towards him.

"Hi girls," Eddie watched carefully, approaching the two of you with all the caution you would a wild animal.

"How was work?" You hummed, eyes still glued to the TV.

"Long." Eddie sighed, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of Brielle's head, another to yours.

"I'm sorry." You grimaced lightly in sympathy. "Brielle and I ordered pizza if you want any. There's some on the counter. I can heat it up for you."

Eddie smiled lightly, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. "Thank you, bunny, but I'm just gonna go take a shower real quick." He was mesmerized, eyes darting back from you to Brielle like he might be dreaming.

"Ok," You nodded, squeezing his hand sweetly. "Just let me know if you want me to heat it up."

"I will." Eddie nodded. He started towards the hall, pausing at the door frame. "Are you two sure you're ok?"

Brielle looked at him like he'd grown three heads, an annoyed snarl that she could have only inherited from Gina. "What?" She asked, brow raising.

"We're fine." You nodded gently. "Just watching the Real Housewives."

Eddie scoffed playfully, rolling his eyes at the two of you. "Oh, well, don't let me keep you." He grinned.

Padding down the hallway, Eddie could hear your muffled voices, excited and cordial for once, not biting or defensive. Brielle's giggles mixing with your own, the sound of the TV washing out the rest of their chatter. Eddie smiled to himself, twisting the shower knob on with a satisfied smirk. Suddenly, he felt better, a little more relaxed and content now that his two favorite girls were finally starting to get along.

[daughterofbearsandrivers]

Horror | 1.0 `yautja`

(<<) (>>)

Vague imagery of honey dipped college memories suddenly tainted with screaming and the indescribable sensation of hearing literal bodies being torn into pieces. The cracking of ribs so each bone snapped from the sheer pressure, flesh squished together as blood vessels burst and spewed out geysers of blood mixed in with their bodily fluids. The stomach lining, organs, soft fleshy innards not covered by bone was consumed like hard liquor on Saturday club night.

Being hit by a car or shanked for belongings in parking lot would've been considered a calculated mercy or bittersweet memory compared to the last moments of the town's population in the past forty-eight hours.

The faint scent of gasoline tingled her nostrils, sending a very faint high to her brain like the chemicals in the pools does. Resisting the urge to cough to flex the muscles of her body in the cramped space of the trunk, the female waited several moments in silence for the slightest shifting of movement or prowling seekers looking to harvest on the strength inept species. Feeling around for the latch on the backseat, bright midday sun poured in through the opening, she inched it forward as she paused every second or so.

'Goddamn it's bright.'

She noticed the torn edges of her emerald painted nails once she fully leaned the seat forward, stringy grime matted locks absorbed the rising heat in the car. Glints of other vehicles windshields momentarily made blackish spots float in her vision, she opened a water bottle once she slid herself out of the car's trunk. The milk spoiled, eggs overheated and bread crusty.

'Good morning America, today's going to be sunny clear skies, maybe chance of rain showers, highs in the whatever seventies and lows- oh shitzerdoodle.'

Leaning on her side to stay within the cover of the car's seat position, she peeked around the edges of the leathery seat, seeing a black mass creep by the front of the vehicle. Ducking down though avoiding on moving her weight around too much, the female stayed in that awkwardly tense angle until she heard it bash through a boutique's doorway a street down.

Sorting through the groceries, she salvaged whatever wasn't affected by the mid summer day heat. Collecting granola bars, a flashlight, screwdriver and some bullets, she found scattered underneath the driver's seat, into a fanny pack. Pressing the button for the window, it slowly slid down. Immediately the intense heatwaves of summer hit her skin, soaking into her body as her clothes suddenly felt too thick to wear at the moment once she eased herself out. 'In this heat I bet ice cream and water would boil. Why couldn't it be a hazy day of clouds.'

Crouching down a little she steered clear from fragmented and little clusters of splintered glass, her footsteps being silent as she could manage. Keeping herself fully aware to pause every few minutes to take a thorough survey of the area, ensuing she didn't have any creatures tailing secretly. Her eyes and top of her head peeking just over the edges of windows, hoods and tailgates of vehicles left stationary in the main street. The crevices of her body's figure little by little condensed with sweat.

Padding herself down a little, she silently lamented as she felt the grains of sand, smears of oil further clogged her pores. All that hard work going down the drain the longer she stayed in the heat and in these ripped and frayed clothes. Without notice her heartbeat sped up, an automatic nearly cemented reaction to the soft skittering of talons, menacing hisses and breathy snarls passing through frosted razor sharp teeth. She crouched down, doing a quick three sixty view of side to side, top to bottom. Seeing all the possibilities where her position made her vulnerable and potential to life ending choices. The vehicles were spaced enough for running and could be jumped across by anything. Though not many of the vehicles had high suspensions to crawl under. And several of the vehicles blocked her in, preventing her from crawling over the hoods from how big or sloped the hood is. Calculating the estimated seconds it would take to jump up, crawl onto the vehicle, run then do the same thing. Another raspy hiss, like sizzling acid in a softer tone. She flinched, her body contracting to still every nerve then slowly releasing to edge forward in a slight crouch.

They were moving by her, a mere vehicle apart.

A few feet away from her fate of being harvested and once again encapsuled in goop to be the fertilizer of an alien colony. She thickly swallowed, forcing back images depicting her chest being tore open from the inside, the sickening sensation of crunched bones. One step, the next and then her body responded in kind. Her fingers kept thumbed over the smooth fabric of her fanny pack, a small assurance against an illusion of control.

'My nails are so damaged and cracked. I should take them off.... though those charms are pretty.'

Her hands turned a bit red from touching hot asphalt. The shattering of a window made her heart burst into a flurry of emotion though she made herself keep stationary. Slowing peeking back over a window, she noticed they had rummaged through a van. More glass sprinkled to the ground. A bony black mass that showed every ridge of it's unnatural existence skittered then body slammed into a vehicle as they fought over scraps of a child.

'Damnit, that's so disgusting- don't, don't think about it. Keep moving.'

Hurrying in the most silent way possible, she crawled underneath a truck and stayed there for a moment to reassess the situation. Her heartbeat had calmed to a considerable pace without her having to manually breath slower. What she didn't calculate is the sudden crashing sound on the truck's roof, making it cave in as the vehicle itself sunk down a little from the weight. Seeing it's shadow on the asphalt, she realized it's the other creature.

He's crouched, his head swiveling around for a quick moment as it let out a roar. A shinking noise of a blade. Those spindly creatures screeched and lunged for him or a very few ran away.

Curled up beneath the vehicle, she felt it's weight shift and sway as the muscular thing fought. A couple vehicles exploded. Heat razed the ground, acidic blood dripped and splattered onto metal and paved rock. Melting it cleanly beyond repair.

'I can't stay here.'

The truck's undercarriage smacked against her head only solidified that thought. She let out a yelp then instantly felt her heart speed up, the accompanying blush and her mind working nanoseconds ahead. She turned her head and saw one of the black creatures hissing loudly at her while the two species created carnage just on her other side. It tried to reach it's talons inside, she fumbled for her screwdriver in the fanny pack.

Yanking it out, she hit the asphalt several times but got her few strikes in against the black alien, making it rethink it's strategy. Knowing it'll likely try to crawl in, she kept wildly swinging her screwdriver around while she felt around in the fanny pack for the few bullets.

The humanoid creature in weird armor slammed a black alien into a car.

She flinched as more acidic blood dripped down from it's broken skeleton. Finally pulling out a handful of bullets, she tossed the shells across the street and right by the burning vehicles destroyed by a plasma cannon blasts.

A roar and an answering screech, more limbs being cut and slashed into individual pieces.

Letting out a sharp exhale, she swung and frantically swiped at the black creature now joined by two more. One of their talons cut into her lower calf, nearly dragging her out before the tossed bullets ignited. They went off and ricocheted, startling the black creatures a few feet and making the beige colored creature snap it's attention to find the source.

Without hesitation she made a break for it, keeping ducked down as she rolled out on the other side of the truck, scrambling to her feet and sprinting hard. She vaulted, slid over the hoods of vehicles to the other side of the street. Noticing some other black creatures crash out of boutiques and whatever woodwork they came from, chased after her.

She wasn't from here though she did know which streets and areas had been the tourist hotspots. Bigger buildings, more hiding spots. Running barefoot on the hot streets of the town, she didn't look back and she didn't stop or veer off to hide. Pumping herself faster than ever, the female saw the distant shining chain link fence of the fair grounds. Darting to her right, she went down a sandy hill of pointed stones, passing by a few tall cactus before coming right up to the fence.

Jumping it, she crawled up and felt the links snag on her jeans to sharply pinprick her skin. Throwing herself over it to land in a puff of dust, she heard them crash into the fence and scramble up it as she continued to run.

She passed through the carnival, her feet sinking a little into the fine sand and feeling the gravel drag on the soles of her heel. Her sights settled on a merry go round, heading over to the controls, she bashed her hands against everything until the ride turned on and the music blasted out of the speakers. Every noise being amplified in her mind.

Their screeches raked her eardrums and made her body turn cold despite the very dry summer heat.

Running in the opposite direction, she went into a house of mirrors. Her figure reflected on the narrow figure warping surfaces. Taking a breath of air, she slowed her footsteps and moved deeper into the entertainment house. Her cheeks red and bright from exertion and anxiety, her heart thundering in her ribcage, she closely listened for any sounds of the black creatures as her breathing seemed to drown out everything else, even her thoughts.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧┍━☽【❖】☾━┑✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A shift of movement as the female rubbed her upper arms, one of her hands keeping a hold on the flashlight she had. She stared at her reflections, the afterthought of an idling mind being how she needed a shower and change of clothes. As she still kept finding small pieces of that secreted goop on her person she'd been cocooned in only hours ago.

Rubbing away the crusted blood on her wrist, the female let out a silent sigh. Slowing getting up, she paused every few moments with her head slightly tilted and her body making minimal movement to determine whether or not she's safe to breathe.

Measuring her footsteps she walked to the exit that's aesthetically covered by a curtain, listening for another moment she heard nothing. Though her heart pounded a bit harder. Holding onto her flashlight, she noticed no sun shined at the bottom of the curtains or made the fabric seem thinner from it's light.

It must've been hours but at this point, hiding and waiting out for hours seemed to become her only source of exercise and constant state of what her life has come to. Peeking out, she drew the curtain to the side with the end of her flashlight's handle. The orange bulbed lights of the solar controlled lights were on, the sky completely black and the desert terrain standing still just like her.

As if the world now knew the events of what happened in the last five days changed the course of mankind's present and future forever.

The female gently tested her weight on the wooden steps before descending down the short staircase. On a last second thought, she took the curtains with her. Wrapping it around her figure like a jacket and dress, she quietly walked through the fair grounds.

Popcorn bags, cotton candy cones and some push toys laid on the dirt. Some lights of rides flickered like a dying candle running on the last threads of it's wick. Her flashlight in one hand and currently unlit, she went to a small gift shop. There was no phone or landline and no internet for the working iPhone she found dropped on the floor. Picking out a shirt one size smaller than normal, couple water bottles and some paper towels despite no one being around, she still went behind the cashier counter to change.

Uncapping the lids of the water bottles, she dunked the paper towels in the water, wiping it over her skin as she took most of the dirt off. Scrubbing and washing away the grime, blood, sweat and essentially the memories that came with the reason there's blood in the first place.

Sliding on the new shirt, hoodie, wrapping the curtains around her shoulders like a strap for future purposes. She found a water basin for apple bobbing, she dunked and shook her hair free what she could. A relief of one problem being dealt with settled her thoughts. Still no shoes to wear.

That night she opened one granola bar for dinner and slept in the cubbyhole of where they kept the extra plushies and boxes of other prizes.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧┍━☽【❖】☾━┑✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧*ੈ✩‧₊˚

There was no hurry to leave or go anywhere though one designation remained present in her mind the next day when she woke in the afternoon. Her family- well her grandparents had a place up in Alaska. If her memory served her right, which both fortunately and unfortunately did, there'd be enough canned food and natural resources for her to survive there without any worry. They hadn't sold the property but kept it as the ideal family vacation house in the winter.

With that her mind she gathered up four water bottles, dozens of granola bars, candy and some pop tarts from the fair grounds remaining food supply. Finding another flashlight, some batteries and a phone charger in the abandoned vehicles nearby. Apparently no one had kept extra shoes in their once day to day work life. Sliding on her backpack and keeping her fanny pack, she walked the cactus and brush ridden terrain.

SIDENOTE | reblog, comments and lmk if you wanted to be tagged for the next part.

[chelsfic]

Accident Forgiveness - Part 2 - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part One | Masterlist

A/N: Part two!! This is so very fun to write. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @sabinemorans​ for listening to me talk about it! Reader gets a nickname in this one, because I can’t deal with Y/N.

Summary: Your wrist is finally healed after your run-in with a certain brooding freight train. You score a great deal on an adorable little motorbike and fix it up with your dad. All you want is a nice Sunday ride...what could go wrong?

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, automobile accidents...

---

The bike calls to you. It’s leaning up against a garage with a hand-written “For Sale” sign on it. It looks old, rusted, and well-used. Considering the low price scrawled on the sign you’re betting it needs some work.

You need it.

You pull out your phone and open your frequent contacts.

“Hey dad? How would you feel about coming down to the city with your pick-up this weekend?”

Your dad’s gruff voice rumbles over the line, “Sounds awful. When and where?”

---

You spend the weekend at your dad’s place in White Plains, fixing up the bike in the garage. Under the layers of rust and grime, it turns out to be a 2001 Honda Super Cub. Beyond a tune up and an oil change, the only thing really wrong with it is the body. Nothing a fresh coat of paint can’t fix. 

“This is a nice little bike, kiddo,” your dad congratulates you, wiping grease and sweat from his brow with an old rag. “You gonna keep it here or ride it around the city?”

You’re perched on a tall stool at your dad’s workbench, your short legs dangling as you consider, “It’d be fun to have it with me in the city on the weekends. I just gotta convince my landlord to let me keep it in his storage shed...I don’t want to leave it on the street…”

You hop off the stool to run your hand over the motorcycle’s refinished body. You’ve painted it in a sleek two-tone pattern: red and cream. Hawkguy is going to be so jealous.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

---

“Nah,” Clint waves you off as he unlocks the door to his apartment. You’ve been lurking out in the hallway waiting for him to get home. 

“What do you mean, ‘nah’?” you whine, following him inside without asking. Pizza Dog jumps up to greet you, nearly knocking you down in his enthusiasm. You smile and give him a quick hug before starting again. “You still owe me, Barton!”

Clint’s head has disappeared into the refrigerator and he emerges with a Chinese food box and his mouth already stuffed with lo mein.

“Wahhh doo eein?!” he chews his food, swallowing and trying again, “Whadya mean? I threw you an apology party, didn’t I? You know how long it’ll take me to clean out that shed to fit a motorcycle inside?”

“C’mon, Clint! If I leave it on the street it’ll get stolen. Or it’ll end up collateral damage in one of your little superhero battles,” you wheedle. You walk into the kitchenette and grab his arm, looking up at him with your biggest puppy dog eyes, “C’monnnn!”

Clint sighs dramatically and finally gives in.

“On one condition...”

---

The bike struggles to reach 30 miles per hour under your combined weight and Clint’s massive form looks ridiculous clinging to you on the back of the little motor bike. But you have to admit--this is pretty damn fun. 

“Weee!” Clint yells from behind you as you putter through the streets of Brooklyn with a giant smile on your face.

---

People are passing you and giving you dirty looks as you make your way over the Brooklyn Bridge. Well, futz them. You’re enjoying your Sunday afternoon ride. You feel like a real rebel without a cause in your worn leather jacket and the bulbous, cherry red helmet you bought to match your bike. Nobody needs to know the saddle bag strapped to the back is full of library books and a take-out container from your favorite bakery.

The sun is just getting low and it’s orange-red glow reflects on the surface of the East River as you chug along. The sounds of car engines and the occasional curse from an annoyed motorist are suddenly interrupted by a long, deafening screech. You glance over your shoulder and your eyes widen in alarm as a black SUV barrels through traffic, heedlessly colliding with other vehicles as it clears a path over the bridge. 

“HOLY SH--”

The SUV screams past and you barely have time to process what you’re seeing before you’re suddenly, brutally thrown from your bike. You tuck your limbs into your body and slam into the cement with enough force to knock the wind out of you. You roll several feet before skidding to a stop. The leather jacket mostly saves you from road rash but your hands are a bloody mess and it feels like your whole middle is one big bruise. What the fuck was that? It felt almost like someone pushed you off but that’s--

You look up just in time to see your bike zooming--well, doing it’s best to zoom--away with a dark figure riding it.

Oh, hell no!

---

The red-wigged impostor is in handcuffs and leaning against the side of the SUV with a surly expression. Bucky glares at the woman, clearly connected with the Red Room and attempting to frame Natasha for the string of murders she committed over the last week.

“Don’t feel like talking, huh?” he shrugs, removing a knife from his belt and flipping it expertly in his hand. “Don’t worry, mladshaya sestra...I’ll help you find the words.”

The woman refuses to meet his eyes, fixing her gaze in the middle distance instead. Only the faintest sneer curling her lips indicates that she’s heard him at all.

Sam lands gracefully a few feet away and is already talking into his ear piece to call in backup. 

“Lotta damage, here,” he states, glancing around at the crashed cars and the wrecked motorcycle. “You’re almost as bad as Banner, Buck. Think you can manage one mission without smashing something?”

“Hey, I captured the target, didn’t I?” Bucky rolls his eyes and slips the knife back into his belt holster. 

Clint finally arrives, huffing and puffing after trying to keep up with the super soldier. He’s bent almost double, catching his breath, when his eyes light on the familiar red and cream motor bike lying mangled on the ground. 

“Hey...isn’t that--?”

All three superhero’s heads snap up as you come limping up to the scene. You’re carrying your helmet at your side and your hair is an impressive tangle whipping around your head in the breeze. When you lay eyes on the wrecked Super Cub you let out a shriek.

“MY BIKE!!”

Bucky freezes in place, his eyes wide and every muscle tensed in anxiety.

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” he mumbles under his breath. 

Clint eyes him accusingly. He is never going to hear the end of this…

You stand there looking down at your ruined bike and thinking about all the adventures you’d planned to have with her. You were going to take her to Coney Island...Rockaway beach...maybe even take a road trip to the Berkshires… Your poor sweet Cubby didn’t ask for this!

“You!” you snarl, marching up to Bucky with your hands on your hips. “Why is it always you!? Do you have it out for me or something?”

Clint snorts and mutters, “He’s got somethin’ for you…”

“SHUT UP!” you and Bucky both yell simultaneously.

You turn back to Bucky and arch your brow in expectation, “Well?”

The super-spy ex-assassin Avenger stumbles over his words, “I--uh, well...I didn’t mean...I didn’t know it was--”

“Didn’t know it was ME?” you finish for him with renewed fury. “Bucky! You can’t just go around shoving people off their motorcycles!”

“‘S hardly a motorcycle…,” he mumbles angrily. “More of a scooter if anything.”

“You! You...ugh!” you fall on him in a flurry of practically useless punches aimed at his chest. Bucky stands there looking bemused as you rain down fury with your tiny fists on his solid, immovable muscles.

“Hey!” Clint shouts in an excellent approximation of a frustrated dad voice. “Enough! Don’t do a hit on Bucky! That’s not nice.”

He puts his arms around you from behind and drags you away from the super soldier who looks--infuriatingly--unscathed. 

“But he stole my bike and wrecked it!” you whine, finally going limp and dropping from Clint’s hold.

Clint rolls his eyes to the sky like a martyr. 

“And do two wrongs make a right, young lady?”

“Pshh,” you scoff, shaking your head and leaning over your bike to check the saddle bag. You flip it open to find that the box containing your cherry pie has been pulverized and…

“MY LIBRARY BOOKS!!!”

---

The next morning you’re awoken by the cacophony of sounds coming from the alleyway behind the building. It sounds like Monty Python building the frickin’ Trojan Rabbit. You growl and roll out of bed, falling to the floor and catching yourself on your bandaged hands, cursing at the stinging pain.

“Stupid…’vengers...think they can do whatever they want...just cuz they save the world sometimes…” you’re muttering under your breath as you stagger to your feet and pull the cord on your blinds to look out your bedroom window. 

The door to the supply shed is open and two guys are bent over your wrecked bike. You throw the window open in an instant and climb out onto the fire escape.

“Hey!” you bellow. “Uh--stop! That’s my bike! I know the Avengers, buds! And I can have them down here so fast--”

The two men crane their necks to look up at you. One of them is wearing a welding mask but the other one is definitely--

“Bucky?”

He looks up at you with a sheepish smile and gives a little wave with his metal hand.

“Hey, Kit Kat…” he greets and you frown in confusion until you look down and realize you’re wearing a baggy nightshirt you’d got at Hershey Park. It’s emblazoned with the Kit Kat logo. Even from two stories up you can see the gleam of humor in his eyes. You can also see...a lot more. He’s wearing a black tank top that shows off his impossibly toned shoulders and back. Your brain short circuits momentarily as you rake your eyes down his form. 

The man beside him flips up the mask and you see he’s an older guy with a sharp goatee. 

“Are we taking a social break or are we getting to work, Barnes? You know I gave up brunch to do this for you. Brunch,” the man voice drips with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright, Tony,” Bucky shakes his head and turns back to the bike. 

Wait, Tony as in--?

“Hey!” you call down and Bucky lifts his head up to lock eyes with you. How can those blue eyes still have so much power from so far away?? “You still owe me for the library books!”

Bucky laughs and turns back to the bike.

“I mean it! I have a clean library record, Bucky! I’m gonna have fines!”

“Don’t push it, doll!” he calls as Tony ignites the blow torch.

---

A week later you scoot up to the curb on a side street near the Bedford Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. Cubby has been restored to her former glory thanks to Bucky and Tony’s loving care and you give her an affectionate pat as you dismount and walk down the street toward the squat, brick library building. There may be grander libraries in New York but this is your neighborhood branch and it feels like home. You mutter and shake your head at the prospect of having to pay replacement fines for the books that Bucky ruined.

The librarian behind the desk is about your age with dyed bright red hair and a sleeve of tattoos that look like children’s book illustrations. Cool. 

“Hey--um,” you roll your eyes in irritation at yourself. “I have to pay some replacement fees? I kind of...got cherry pie all over some books.”

The librarian laughs good-naturedly and pulls up your account on her computer. She asks you for the titles and frowns at her screen. 

“Looks like...yeah--they’ve already been paid for,” she tells you with a shrug. “Guess you have a mysterious benefactor.”

You smile faintly and shake your head. Mysterious, my ass. You thank her and you’re about to leave when she stops you. 

“Do you want to pick up your hold?”

You don’t remember putting anything on hold...but you’ve had occasional bouts of late-night enthusiasm that resulted in excessive library catalog searches, maybe you forgot...

“Uh...sure,” you say and watch as she disappears into an office behind the circulation desk.

She returns a few minutes later with a slim paperback volume in her hands. She scans the barcode and slips the receipt into the book.

“Enjoy!” she says with a smile and you thank her once again. 

You glance down at the cover as you’re walking out and you let out a bark of laughter even as irritation spikes behind your eyes. 

“Motorcycle Safety: Basics for Beginners”

Bucky Frickin’ Barnes...

Tags: @watsonwise​ 

A/N: “Don’t do a hit on Bucky”-- yes that was a McElroy reference. 

[dyke420-69]

Cinder AU

Summary: Logan is a well known mechanic throughout Ladonia. Sadly, he's a cyborg and, where prejudices are common, he's stuck with a terrible stepmother and sister. At least he has Talyn, the android with a faulty chip!

The screws of Logan's foot have rusted, the thread wore down to a smooth cylinder. His hand ached from fighting the nails as he struggled to loosen it. By the time he was able to be free from the damn thing, he pulled it out with his prosthetic steel hand and noticed the hairline threads had been stripped clean.

 Tossing the screwdriver onto the small table, Logan grabbed his heel and ripped the foot off. A spark came from his hands and he jerked, almost pulling out the wires that still barely attached his foot to him.

He fell back into his chair, with a relieved sigh. A freedom came from letting go of that foot. He hated that foot for 4 years, now, he swore to never put it on again. He wished Talyn would be back soon with the new one.

Logan was the only full service mechanic in Ladonia weekly market. His booth only hinted at his profession from the boxes of android parts crowding the wall. The booth was shady, hidden between the thrift booth, filled with old clothes and electronics, and a bar, with alcohol always hinting at the air surrounding it. They frequently complained about the scent of oil and rust in the air but even though the scent of parties from the bakery across from it covered the scent. He knew it was just because they didn't like him.

An old table separated Logan from the shoppers as they passed by. The place was filled with shoppers and hawkers, children, and noise. The sound of bargaining from the robotic shop, even though it was still too big of a price. The hum of hover cars and hopeless voices giving them their receipts as they continued to buy frivolous things. The netscreens that covered everywhere and would never shut up with advertisements, news reports, and gossip. 

Logan's auditory interface was able to dull the noise to a white noise but today a melody lingered over the rest that he couldn't stop from hearing. A ring of small children were standing in the middle of the shops, singing -"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"- and then laughed as they fell down onto the pavement, forcing the others to as well.

A small grin attempted to come to Logan's lips. Not so much at the song, it made him creeped out, the song about a phantom song about pestilence and death that gained popularity in the last decade. But he did love the glares as shoppers tripped over the pile of children. The inconvenience of having to step over the children irritated the shoppers and Logan adored them for it.

"Rosa? Rosa!"

Logan amusement faded. He found Helen Smith, the baker, pushing through the crowd, covered in flour. She grabbed the little girls arm, "Rosa, I told you not to play so close to that android-"

Helen locked eyes with Logan, pursed her lips, and pulled on her daughter's arms. The girl whined, attempting to pull her arm out her mother's grip to cross them, then huffing when she couldn't. Logan glared at their back, rolling his eyes. The remaining children left, going back into the swarm of noise, taking their cheerfulness with them.

"For fucks sake, wires aren't contagious. Stop acting like it," he grumbled to empty air.

He stretched, his spine popping in several places. He ran a dirty hand through his hair, attempting to comb the curls, then grabbed his old work gloves. Logan covered his steel hand first, and while his hands were already beginning to sweat, he was already more comfortable with his glove hiding his less… humanly parts. He stretched his hand, working out the cramp that had formed the base of her thumb from working on his foot, and swept his gaze over the market. He spotted many white faced androids but none were Talyn.

Sighing, Logan bent under the table to look through his toolbox. After digging through his mess of wrenches, wires, and screwdrivers, he found the fuse puller that had been long since buried at the bottom. One by one, he disconnected the wires that still barely attached his foot to his ankle. He couldn't feel.them through the thickness of his gloves, but his retina scan was helpfully telling him he was losing a limb. 

With one last yank of a wire, his foot dropped to the floor. 

The feeling of freedom was instant. For once, he truly liked him and had very little worries. 

He shoved the wires to make room for the foot, setting it upside a shrine to letting go of the past among the numerous lug nuts and screws she had scattered through the table, before grabbing an old rag and cleaning the grime from his ankle.

THUD.

Logan jumped, bumping his head onto the underside of the table. He rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair, his glare first landing on the lifeless droid just sat on his table and then to the man behind it. His eyes widened at the surprised chocolate colored eyes and brown hair almost every girl in the country, and probably others as well, has probably drooled over a thousand times. 

His irritation faded.

His own shock was also quickly extinguished, melting into an apology. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize someone was back here," he said.

Logan barely heard him over the blankness of his mind. With his heartbeat quickening, his retina display scanned his features, so similar from all the years spent hearing and seeing him on the netscreens. He was taller in real life and his gray shirt and jeans was nothing like the fine clothes he's usually seen in. Yet it still only took 2.5 seconds for Logan's scanner to measure his facial structure and make a match to his image in the net database. Another 1.2 seconds later and information he already knew flashed on the bottom of his vision in a thin green text.

Prince Emile, crown prince of the [INSERT NAME] 

ID #001252647

Born December 16, 108 T. E.: A press meeting is scheduled by Crown Prince Emile to discuss the ongoing letomosis research and possible ideas to an antidote--

Logan suddenly launched himself up from the table, nearly falling from forgetting about his missing foot. Catching himself with both hands on the table, he managed to give an awkward bow. The retina display faded. 

"Your highness," he was able to stutter out, glad that his foot, or lack thereof, was hidden by the table. 

The prince flinched, and scanned behind him to make sure no one saw before hunching over the table "Maybe, um,-" he put a finger to his lips-- "on the royalty stuff?"

Wide eyed, Logan gave a shaky nod, "Of course. Whatever you'd like, How can I- Are you?- Uh" he gulped, his throat feeling like sandpaper. 

"I'm looking for a Robert Logan?," the prince asked, "are they here?"

Logan dared to lift a hand from the table, using it to tug the glove higher on his wrist. Staring at the bustle of the crowd behind the prince, he bit his lip, "I'm Robert Logan."

His gaze followed the hand he planted on top of the androids round head.

"You're Robert Logan?"

"Yes, your high-" he cut himself off.

"The mechanic?"

Logan nodded, "How may I assist you?"

Instead of answering, the prince leaned down, bending his neck so that he had no choice but to meet his gaze, and flashed a smile at him. His heart flinched.

The prince stood back up, forcing Logan's eyes to follow.

"You're not hardly what I was expecting."

"Well, you're hardly what I expected." Unable to hold his gaze, the mechanic pulled the android to his side of the table. "What seems to be wrong with your android?"

The android looked brand new but Logan could tell from the shape of its mock feminine body, it needed an upgrade. The design was smooth, though, with a spherical head atop an hourglass body and a gleaming white finish.

"I can't get her to start," said Prince Emile, staring as Logan inspected the android. "She was working great one day, and the next, nothing." 

Logan moved the android to where its sensor lights faced the prince. He was glad he had a routine for his hands and a routine for his mouth, something to focus on so he wouldn't get too flustered and overheat again. "Have you had problems with her before?"

"No. She would get monthly check ups from the team of royal mechanics. This is the first problem she's ever had."

Leaning, Prince Emile picked up the small foot from its shrine, examining it from curiosity in his hands. Logan went taunt, slightly shaking as he squinted at the wire filled hollow center, messing with the flexible joints of the toes. He used his oversized sweatshirt to clean off a small smudge of grease.

"Aren't you hot in that?" Logan questioned, quickly regretting turning back the prince's attention onto him.

For a swift moment, Prince Emile almost looked self conscious. "Dying," he said, "but I'm attempting to not be noticed. 

Logan considered saying it wasn't going to plan but decided not to. The lack of an assembly of screaming people and news reporters surrounding them was enough evidence that it was working better than originally thought to be. Instead of looking like the famed heart throb, he just looked crazy.

Swallowing, Logan turned his attention back to the android. He found up the barely visible latch and pulled the back panel open. "May I ask why the royal mechanics aren't fixing her?"

"They attempted but couldn't figure it out. Someone suggested you. I figured why not." He set the foot back down and turned his gaze to the boxes of old and beaten down parts- parts for androids, netscreens, hovers, and port screens. Parts for cyborgs."They say you were the best mechanic. I was expecting someone older."

"Do they?" He mumbled. 

The prince wasn't the first to voice his surprise. Most of his customers couldn't comprehend that a black teenager could be the best of his trade, and he never answered why. The fewer people who knew he was cyborg, the better. He was sure to go mad if everyone looked at him like Helen Smith does.

He prodded some of the wires in the back panel with his pinky. "Sometimes they just break down when older. Maybe it's time to get a newer model? I could tell you some good ones?"

"I'm afraid that won't be needed. She contains a lot of the government's secrets. It's a matter of national security that I am able to retrieve it…. before anyone else."

Stilling, Logan glanced at him.

He returned his stare for a full 3.5 seconds before breaking into a grin. "I'm joking. Valerie has sentimental value as my first android."

A blue light flickered in the corner of Logan's retina scanner. His optobionics has picked up on something he'd missed- an extra swallow, a small change in tone, a hand going a little too still.

He was accustomed to the little blue light. It was a common occurrence to see it flashing there in the corner.

It signaled someone was lying.

"That's funny," he said.

The prince narrowed his eyes, as if challenging him to correct him. A strand of thick hair fell over his eyes. Logan broke the little staring contest they had. 

"Tutor 8.7 model," he read aloud from the slightly raised words, inside the faintly lit panel. This model was used almost 20 years ago. Ancient. "She looks to be in perfect condition."

Quickly pulling back his arm, he hit the android hard against the side of its head, catching it right before it hit the floor. He set it back as the prince calmed himself down from the shock.

Logan quickly turned it around and pressed the power button, but it didn't turn on. "You'd be shocked at how often that actually works."

Prince Emile let out an awkward chuckle, "Are you sure you're Robert Logan? The most renowned mechanic in Ladonia?"

"Logan, I got it!" Talyn rolled out of the hustle and bustle of midday shopping, their purple sensor flaring. Lifting a pronged hand, they banged a brand new, beautiful, steel plated foot onto the table, right beside the android. "It's a huge improvement, barely used, and the wiring looks great! Plus, I got it down to 650 univs instead of the 800 originally. Must be my beautiful looks."

Logan jolted. Balancing on his human leg, he seized the foot from Talyn and threw it behind him. "Thank you, Talyn. I believe Aramoana will be quite happy that you got their replacement foot so cheap."

Purple flashed as Talyn said, "I don't understand."

With a tight lipped smile, Logan waved a hand towards their customer. "Talyn, please respect our newest customer." He spoke softly, "His Imperial Highness."

[sigritandtheelves]

Prompt: Mulder and Scully have their first full blown make out session at her mom's while washing her car. I am begging you please.. if you want.. I adore you and your writing. I hope today is excellent for you.

Another Beautiful Saturday

2.4k wds | PG-13 | MSR, kinda plotless fluff, post-“The Unnatural”

A/N: Anon, thank you for this lovely prompt, and I hope this is kind of what you meant? I’ve been really sick over the last few days, and I was having trouble concentrating on my dissertation, but I was able to channel some energy into fic-writing. I make no promises to its quality (see: me being ill). I realize there are about a million good fics circulating right now because of the Easter challenge, so I’m sorry for the bad timing… but here is something from my brains to yours.

—

Of course there had been the baseball. That might have counted. There’d been a purposiveness in the placement of his hands, a deliberate excess in the duration of his touch, fingers flattened to the inside curve of her hip and then brushing against her own around the bat’s solid wood. His cheek, lips, voice, against her hair.

When the boy had gone home, he’d leaned his weight atop the down-turned bat like a restless teenager, its wider end pressed into home plate, and looked at her like they’d just won some victory: all stars in his eyes and that innocent quirk of his mouth.

“You’re pretty good at baseball, Scully.”

Sly, she had worried her lip and studied the dust atop her too-formal shoes, arms crossed. “Well,” she’d said. “I’ve maybe played before.” She raised her eyes and saw that he already knew, and then they were both grinning like fools.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” He’d put his arm around her shoulders as they trekked around the dugout. Evening and mild sweat and the sweet combination of his soaps was how he’d smelled, and she’d wanted to stop them right there, to turn into the circle his arms would make, and press her whole body to his, nose to his chest. There was love of the game, yes, but there was also just love.

When they reached the car, he let her go.

Keys clutched in her fingers, she eyed him again. “Thank you,” she’d said, and her voice was lower than she’d expected, rough from laughing maybe—an unfamiliar sound in her throat these days. “I liked my present.”

He’d smiled. There had been a brief hesitation, a small internal war, before he shook his head, as if to knock loose the courage. He leaned down and snagged her lips with his. She startled, and it made her open her mouth, and suddenly she could taste him: a full sweet flavor that ignited a small fire under her ribs. Before she could parse the taste, analyze its effects on her skin and her heart and her future, he’d pulled away. One more nervous smile, and he scratched the back of his head. “G’night, Scully,” he’d said, and then he turned and he was gone.

Now she had dragged him into further outdoor activities on this, the second weekend since that singular (and only) kiss. She supposed it was a date, but again under careful guise.

“Do you know anything about cars?” She’d asked him on Friday morning.

He’d shrugged. “A little. Why?”

She gnawed on the corner of her lips. “My mom has inherited a car from a cousin—some classic, she says. She doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“And she asked you for help?”

Scully nodded.

“You want me to come take a look?” He’d leaned back in his desk chair, letting his pen fall to the blotter. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie already loose, though it was barely ten.

It was her turn to offer a small shrug. “If you want to. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. She wants me to look it over, maybe clean it up a little. She wants to sell it, I think.”

He’d rocked in his seat, smiling. “Mom’s not into classic cars, huh?”

She shook her head.

“What time?”

“Pick me up around eleven? She said she’d make lunch.”

He’d nodded, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

And so she was now in uncustomarily casual clothes before him—cut-off jean shorts and a t-shirt—with her hands dipped into a sudsy bucket, hair pulled back off her neck, while he peeked under the hood (pretending he knew what he was looking at) of a 1966 Chevrolet Cheville, color: Lemonwood Yellow.

“How’s it look?” She asked.

“Ah,” he said, pulling at the oil dip-stick. “It looks good. I think.”

Scully swallowed her smile and stood from her crouched position over the bucket, bringing her sponge to the back window and scrubbing at the accumulated dust and grime.

“I mean the oil level is good. Engine looks pretty clean.” He wiped his fingers on a rag and dropped the hood. “Won’t know for sure until we start it up. Has your mom driven it?”

Soap bubbles dripped down to her elbow, and she rubbed at her forehead with the back of her wrist. She shook her head. “It’s a manual. My mom doesn’t drive stick.”

“Oh.” He scooted behind her to get to the bucket. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, too, like he had on that other Saturday, looking too relaxed. Too good. He was bronzing in the sun, but she felt suddenly hot. Scully swallowed, looked away. He brought his own sponge around to the front.

“We should take it for a drive, then.”

She thought of them driving around the block just to hear the sound of the engine, then flashed on some silly image of them parking at a secluded lookout, kissing in the back seat like teenagers in the old car. If only she’d worn her bobby socks. “Yeah,” she said, then cleared her throat. “After we clean it up.”

He smiled at her over the roof and she flushed again.

Their hands bumped in the suds bucket and they eyed each other like they both knew a secret. Mulder sprayed her bare legs with the hose and pretended it was an accident. She slapped his arm and he dropped the hose. Instead of picking it up again, he moved toward her with his hands up.

“I said I was sorry.” He continued moving toward her, so she backed up, sneakers on the driveway walking backward, until she bumped the still-soapy door. He followed until he was almost touching her, front to front.

“Are you really?” She asked.

He nodded, smiled, then shook his head no.

“I didn’t think so.”

“You know how to play baseball,” he said. “You know a North American P-51 Mustang on sight from only a blurry underwater photo of its fuselage.” His hands moved down, one to rest against his thigh and the other to find the curve of her waist, over her sweat-and-suds-damp shirt. He was hovering above her, mischief in his eyes, head cocked in playful teasing. “But you don’t know anything about cars? Not a single thing?”

She swallowed. “Well,” she said. “I mean, I know a little.”

Mulder nodded slowly, lowering his head just a bit. “A little?”

Her skin was on fire where his fingers pressed, even through her shirt. She wanted to grab his face and pull it down to hers, but that wasn’t how this game worked. “Just enough to get by,” she said. “Change the oil, change a tire, replace a battery.”

“Take apart and rebuild an engine?”

Her lips turned up. “Maybe once or twice.”

He made a low sound in his throat like a growl and then, finally, lowered his lips to hers. She was ready this time. It was broad daylight and her mother could very well be watching them through the window, but she didn’t care. She’d wanted the taste of him again so badly and now here he was, maybe better than before because she’d had time to mull over how much she wanted it. She opened her mouth and let his tongue greet hers. Oh, hello, it said. It’s been too long. She held back a whimper at the sheer goodness of how he felt, dragging his lips over hers, his tongue tasting of sweet tea and his turkey sandwich and himself most of all. She let her fingers go where they would: to his shoulders first, then one hand to his hair, so warm from the sun and just a bit damp with sweat. The material truth of his body, making itself known, drove a little moan from her lips at last. They were two humans of flesh and blood—skin that wanted touching, mouths that could do so much more than communicate their teasing wit. His other hand came to her neck, and she knew then that she would need to stop this kiss soon, lest they end up naked and writhing on her mother’s front lawn. She dove in with another swipe of her tongue, lifting onto her toes to press her hips to his encircling body (and god, holy Christ and any number of other blasphemes, was that the length of him against her abdomen?) before she forced herself to break the kiss.

He studied her with eyes like she’d never seen on him before. Gone was his teasing and cool exterior, but this was not the wounded boy of his solemn and lonely hours. This was his secret and inner self, vulnerable for how much he wanted, should he let himself want, rather than for his loss. And he wanted her—she could see that.

His left hand lifted to push her hair behind her ear, his other still clutching her waist. “That was… something.”

She smiled, still somewhat foggy and unbelieving. “Yeah.”

“Hmm, let me just check something. I need to… hang on—“ and he bent to kiss her again. His lips came down warm and heavy, swollen and wet from their previous kiss. Pressed against the car, Scully turned out her hip, lifted her knee to press it against his thigh, and raised herself up again to alleviate the craning of his neck. He pressed closer and she felt it again—the length of him at her belly. She whimpered.

“Mulder,” she said, pulling back again. “We’re out in the street. It’s daytime.”

“Sorry,” he said, still holding her like he wasn’t really sorry, and god she hoped he wasn’t. “I just… couldn’t help it.”

“Hmm. Any more of that and I’m afraid we’d end up… well, putting on a show for my mother and all her neighbors. One I’m not sure she’d appreciate.”

“Ooh, Scully, an exhibitionist?”

“Not usually, but… that was something.”

“It was.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and she was unable to stop herself from leaning up for one more kiss—just a quick press of her lips to his.

The sound of the front door swinging open startled them apart, just in time, before Maggie stepped out onto the porch with more iced tea. Mulder had quickly spun them around to swap their positions so Scully faced the house. He tugged at the hem of his jeans, the bottom of his tee, trying to be subtle about the predicament she could now confirm.

“It’s looking great,” Maggie said, all smiles. She came down the porch steps and handed them each a glass. “It’s gotten so warm—Dana, you look flushed. I thought you two must be thirsty.”

“Thanks, mom.” She swallowed a gulp, cold and sweet, and thought, It could be love.

—

After they’d washed the car down, wiped the dust from inside and vacuumed its floors, they slipped into its front seats and slid the hot metal of their buckles into place with two almost-simultaneous clicks. Mulder, in the driver’s seat, still playing this game of manly adventurer and master of mechanical things, started the engine. It came to life easily and he gave her a smile. “Sounds good.”

She nodded.

His hand found her knee and squeezed until he needed it to move the gear shift. And then they were rolling out of Margaret Scully’s driveway onto the mismatched streets of Baltimore. Scully fiddled with the ancient radio’s knobs—it still worked. Classic rock seemed appropriate—some station around 100 and they were under Jim Morrison’s spell (come on baby light my fire). Windows down, the warm late-April breeze brought the to some other time: gritty cracked pavement and the rust-belt housing blocks of downtown, under the rumble of this engine, seemed newly alive, like the promise of steel-town money and industrial investment still bolstered this place thirty years later.

“Should we drive up to the Bel-Loc?” He asked. “Get ourselves a malted?”

She smiled at him. “I just need to be home before the streetlights come on.”

At a long stretch with no traffic lights, his palm landed warm on her knee again. His face was something more serious, all of a sudden. “I could take you out if you want. We could go to dinner.”

Her heart thudded at the thought—an actual date, rather than this game of happenstance Saturdays and accidental kisses. But she looked at her state of dress and made a face. “Look at me. I’m all sweaty in these junky clothes.”

“I’ve been looking,” he said, though his eyes were on the road. It meant more than innuendo. It meant that he saw her. Really saw her, now, even if he hadn’t (had refused to look) for most of this past year. She dropped her fingers over his, just for a brief second, before pulling them away again. This was it. Now was the time to be brave, Dana.

“We could order in,” she said. “After you drop me at my place, I mean. You could stay to eat.”

She had just invited him back to her apartment, and it was not to read over a case file. She held her breath, kept her eyes out the passenger side window.

“I’d like that,” Mulder said.

Ahead, a traffic light turned yellow, and he moved his hand away from her leg to downshift.

Maggie thanked them endlessly, smiled subtly at the way they accidentally-on-purpose kept brushing against one another, and promised to invite them both back soon for dinner. “It was so good to see you under happy circumstances, Fox.”

“You too, Mrs. Scully.”

And then it was late afternoon and they were driving back to Georgetown under the heavy anticipation of evening.

When they were about fifteen minutes from her apartment, he broke the thick, uncustomary silence between them. “Hey Scully,” he said, eyes still on the road.

“Yeah?”

“Unless you tell me not to, I’m going to kiss you as soon as we get inside.”

The slow arousal that had followed them since their kissing flared inside her white hot. She swallowed. “Okay,” she said.

“I’m not going to stop this time.”

“Okay,” she said again. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He glanced at her then, a combination of mischief and open need. “Good,” he said, and they were quiet until they got to her block and into her place where they didn’t stop, not once, until they were exhausted and sweatier than ever and hungry for takeout, which they ate in the dark of that beautiful Saturday night.

[babygirlgalitzine]

Can you write a fic about Robert being unable to keep his hands off Aaron all day and he just shows up everywhere.

you’re just too good to be true 

Robert was impatient. Aaron knew this, had done for years, if he was to be completely honest. But this trait of Robert’s was made worse by Aaron and he not having any alone time for weeks, both of them putting business first, going on work trips one after the other, making do with one sentence long texts (finished with a kiss, of course), and the occasional late night phone call. 

“I promise you, later.” Aaron told him, practically whispered it really, pulling away from Robert’s tender kiss, yanking his hoodie over his shoulder. 

“Better stick to that promise Aaron, I miss spending time with you.” Robert groaned, flinging his body back into the bed. He laid with his arms above his head, exposing his chest and one leg dangling out from under the quilt. 

Aaron laughed as he tied his shoe lace, sitting on the edge of the bed now. “No, you miss getting your end away.” He commented, jumping up to kiss Robert once more. A lasting kiss. One to leave him, both of them, wanting more. “Later-”

“You promise, yeah.” Robert reiterated, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance. 

So, two meetings down, one contract signed and one being sent off to the companies solicitor, Robert felt he had achieved something- and deserved time with Aaron. 

Aaron himself had had some success, selling on parts of an old Volkswagen he’d been tearing to shreds whenever he’d gotten the chance to. He was full of dust and oil by the time Robert had driven into the scrapyard, dressed to the nines. 

“It’s later.” He announced, stepping out of the car, walking straight towards Aaron, who was bent over the bonnet of a new edition to the scrapyard, gutting the car of its engine. 

He grunted, sweat dripping over his brow, leaving a stream of natural skin colour peaking through his otherwise grease filled face. “I’m well aware of that Robert, I know time goes on.” He said firmly, trying had to pull the engine out. “But as you can see, I’m working.” 

Robert stepped even closer, body practically pressed to Aaron’s, hands ready to snake around his waist. 

“No, Robert.” Aaron was adamant that a cuddle from Robert wouldn’t even persuade him to lock up early. This car needed stripping before tomorrow. “Either get changed and make yourself useful, or go home.” 

“Spare overalls in here then, yeah?” Robert shouted over, quickly moving to the port-a-cabin. 

Aaron rolled his eyes, but was grateful to get  Robert’s help, however useful he may or may not be.  

All in all, the job took them both until just after dinnertime, and Robert had somehow managed to persuade Aaron to join him in The Woolpack. 

“Two pints and a couple of burgers, please Vic.” Robert asked his little sister, who was stood at the bar, pulling a pint for someone who Robert had never seen before. Probably  someone who had just come off a walk of the dales. Victoria just nodded and handed the pint glass over to the stranger, taking his change.

  Aaron had walked in front of him, face now clear of grime until after tea, overalls just covering his legs, the sleeves of it wrapped around his waist.  Robert sat down opposite Aaron, looking at him with a smile on his face. “This is nice, isn’t it?” He commented, leaning back and thanking Victoria when she walked over, a pint in each hand.

“A pint in my mums pub? Yeah, outstanding.” Aaron sarcastically said, licking the foam from his top lip. 

Leaning his hand over, Robert’s fingers trailed over Aaron’s hand, unable to last more than a few moments without feeling Aaron’s skin on his, needing the familiarity of the warm touch. Aaron smiled sincerely and entrapped Robert’s hand in his own, heat consuming Robert not just on his hand, but his whole body. 

Four years on, and he was still in disbelief that he had this reaction to Aaron every day.

Still in disbelief that every day he spent with Aaron felt like an exciting new relationship.

“We’re still on for later, aren’t we?” Robert asked almost shyly. 

Aaron chuckled under his breath, flashing a knowing grin to Robert and nodded. “Of course. I’ve been waiting all day too, you know?” 

Robert was about to respond when he heard his little sister shout Aaron’s name over from behind the bar. Her face was red, like she’d been rushing about. 

“Your mums with Paddy, Charity is God knows where and I’m working the kitchen and the bar. Will you please do some bar work so you get fed?” She stressed. 

Aaron, by this point, was leaning over the bar, body pressed out, teasing Robert. 

Without even thinking, Robert was finishing his pint and taking the glass over to the bar. Deliberately deciding to take the route closest to Aaron’s body.

And then pressing his hips to Aaron’s, hands flying up to his waist, leaning to top of his body over Aaron, towering over him. A quick kiss below his ear, and a whisper, “Tell her you’re busy.” 

Robert could hear, feel the gulp that came from Aaron. 

“I would Vic, you know I would. But I’ve got some work left at the yard for tomorrow morning. It has to be done, sorry.” He lied through his teeth. 

Robert was quite proud of him, if he was honest.

“Rob-“ She started, like he was next in her personalised list of people who could potentially work behind the bar. 

“No can do.” He interrupted her, watching her face drop. “I’ve got to have an online meeting, and sort out some contracts.” 

“Fine, whatever.” She whined. “But you can tell Charity that she needs to start pulling her weight. I don’t get paid enough for this.” 

And with that Aaron was out the door, Robert quickly behind. Aaron had gone down the steps and was ready to walk up the scrapyard, but Robert clearly had other ideas, swung his arm out to grab Aaron by the hand, and pulled him in the opposite direction- towards their home. 

Within seconds, they were outside the door, Aaron sticking the key in the lock, Robert managing to wriggle his hands around to the front of Aaron’s overalls, unwrapping then from around his waist and then undoing his jeans before they even got into the house. 

“This better be good, after waiting all day.” Robert grunted, Aaron’s back against the wall, lips to lips, breath to breath. 

“It’s always good. That’s why you waited.”

[martyrsfall]

his mother’s eyes ;

    ‘he stares down at the silent blue marble of     the earth and thinks of his sister, as he will     at every important moment of his life. he     doesn’t know this yet, but he senses it deep     down in his core. so much will happen, he     thinks, that i would want to tell you.’

                                   - celeste ng, everything i never told you

    His mother’s eyes had been his favourite place to hide as a boy. Whenever panic had riddled his form, it’s to the green hues he’d look, searching for comfort and love, for a sign that everything would be alright. And his searches would always be fruitful, his mother staring back into the brown of his own, a soft smile on her face as she hushed him, reassured him in only ways she could. A gentle brush of fingers over the top of his head, a small kiss upon his forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she’d tell him, “nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby. I will never let them hurt you.” And he’d believe her, just like that, the thumping of his heart slowing down, the sweat that glossed his skin simply fading away. His mother said everything was fine, that he needn’t fear. And so, it would be. 

    Onyx and cruel is the most he could remember of them now, blackened with hatred as the horror inside her murdered every bit of light she had left. He hadn’t seen his father with the same look, too scared, too afraid to look up at the man behind him; his hero pushing the barrel of a gun against his head. He’d blocked it from memory, refused to revisit it even when his dreams brought the night his hopes had died back to haunt him. Zeke had idolized their life once, viewed hunters as if they were some kind of hero.

    He’d learned better.

    It’d taken months for Zeke to be able to look at Zoe again, her features bearing the same as their mother’s, her eyes just as green, just as gentle despite all they’d seen. It was too much to stare into them, seeing the woman that had raised him staring back, the woman he’d shot dead without mercy, without hesitance so soon before. 

    And even with so many years passing, Zeke still couldn’t do it for long. He’d give Zoe all the attention she needed in the world, but he could never truly meet her eyes, not really. A quick glance here and there before he focuses on the bridge of her nose, perhaps a stray hair hanging down upon her face, maybe her smile instead. 

    Perhaps it was the fear if he looked too long, he’d see her change too.

    Leaning over the engine of the car, Zeke wipes his hands on his shirt, the oil and grime leaving dark and slick lines across the fabric. It was routine maintenance now, a little bit of TLC for a home that had carried him for thousands of miles. She was an old girl, beat up and battered in more ways than one and if the world was right, perhaps she’d of been retired by now. If he’s honest, he’d considered it more than once before Zoe had gone missing, but after, he hadn’t the heart to part with the only thing he had left connecting him to her. 

    It doesn’t stop him from talking shit to the old thing though, standing straight with a shake of his head. “Fuckin’ thing,” he grumbles, reaching up to grab the hood, slamming it down with a loud bang of frustration. “I just fixed you. Why you gotta fuck with me now, huh?” He taps a tire with his foot, crossing his arms over his chest in some stance of defiance. “We’re gonna fall out one of these days, I’m tellin’ you--”

    “Ezekiel.” 

    “Jesus fucking christ.” The hunter, for all his bravado and confidence, quite literally almost jumps a foot in the air, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end like some frightened cat. He spins on heel to find Zoe and he places a hand on his chest, the other pointing at his sister with a huff of breath. “You scared the shit outta me, what the hell Zo.” He doubles over slightly, puts his hands on his thighs as he steadies himself. It’s playful, a tad dramatic and childish. It’s a curious thing, however, how she’d managed to sneak up on him though. The courtyard made every footstep sound loud and clear to the hunter, able to hear someone approaching before they’d even made it outside. Zoe hadn’t made a single sound. He could hardly hear her breathing, even now as she stood so close.

    “Ezekiel,” Zoe says again, her tone far more serious, his name leaving her lips so sharp it surprises him. The look on her face is enough to bring his little display to an end, standing taller again, the protective big brother side of him settling into place. Had something else happened within the house? He couldn’t say he’d noticed. He couldn’t even say he’d been paying attention. Every part of him simply didn’t want to. But now? He can’t drag the worry away, put the job to bed. Had he ever given it up so easily like that? When did he start letting his guard down like this? 

    “What’s wrong?” Zeke asks, his brows furrowing slightly as Zoe’s expression ceases to give anything more away, her features... empty, lacking the life and determination they usually carried. 

    “It’s your fault,” Zoe tells him, “everything is your fault.” 

    Zeke’s expression hardens, his eyes looking to his sister’s in search of something more than emptiness and accusations. “Zo, I don’t--”      “You let them die. Why didn’t you do something?”     “Who? Zo I--”     “Why didn’t you find me, Ezekiel?” 

    Brows furrow, watching Zoe closely. This wasn’t... like her. Sure, there had been times when she’d questioned the things he’d done. Maybe at one time, there’d been resentment there, rightfully so, for killing their mother. But somewhere along the line, she’d understood. She’d accepted it, perhaps even forgiven him.

    She says his name again, his full name, and it’s now that Zeke notices how she holds herself differently, how the tone of her voice isn’t the sound of his adoring baby sister looking to him like he’s her hero. Zoe never called him ‘Ezekiel’. Ever. And so a hand moves slowly to the pistol holstered at his side, eyes narrowing towards the woman in front of him, a question hanging on his lips. One he never gets the chance to voice, for Zoe answers it for him first with her eyes.

    Black; the colour of coal. Cruel and onyx, void of all the love she’d ever showed him.

    His mother’s eyes.

    “Ezekiel, where have you been? Where were you?” she asks him, taking a few steps forward, a wide grin on her face, one too cruel to belong to Zoe. “Where were you when I needed you the most?” 

    It’s a sickening thing, to draw a weapon on his sister without hesitation, the hunter in him and the reflexes from years of training and fighting kicking in. He points the gun at Zoe, the safety already off, finger hovering over the trigger in steady hands. His body knows how to work. It’s muscle memory and experience. His mind, however, is falling apart. 

    Not again. Not again. Don’t do this to me again.

    “Let her go,” he says, his voice wavering, gravelly and lacking the fierce confidence it usually had. It betrays him, showing his fear. “Let my sister go. There’s more than enough bodies in there for you to take, goddammit, let her go.”

    “No.” 

    Zeke had given up on God a long time ago, standing within a church in the middle of no where, candlelight dancing upon the dark walls. All his life, he had questioned, had wondered if there was more to all of this, more than the demons and the monsters he’d dedicated his entire being to killing. 

    He had prayed to the man on the moon when his father had died, standing beside his mother as they burned his corpse in a lonely, abandoned field. He could still feel his father’s blood sticking to his face, the splatter from his mother’s shot drowning him in red. He’d asked then, watching the fires lick and consume his father’s body, that God watch over them. He’d begged Him not to take his mother too, to let his sister grow up. ‘Please let us live,’ he’d asked, ‘please.’ 

    He’d prayed when he murdered his mother; a shot between the eyes just like she’d taught him. He’d asked the heavens for forgiveness, asked him to let his mother know that he loved her, that he never wanted to do it. That he’d had to, that it was the only way to keep Zoe safe. 

    For all the jobs his mother had given him, protecting Zoe was the most important one. “Keep her safe, Zeke,” she’d said the day she was born, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Promise me.”     “I promise,” he’d whispered back, Zoe in his arms, looking down upon the newborn like she was some kind of angel. He’d murmured the promise into the soft tufts of hair on her head over and over, swearing he’d never let anything hurt her. 

    And then, Zoe left him too. 

    “God has plans for us all, my son,” the Father had told him, placing a hand upon Zeke’s shoulder like his words would mean anything, like he could find comfort within the church, standing before a statue of Christ who held his arms wide open, as if he were welcoming him home. “You must have faith.”      “Fuck his plans,” Zeke had snarled back like a rabid animal, something ugly and unkind. “He doesn’t deserve my faith.” 

    But now, in this moment, it’s all the man can give. Because that’s simply all he is, isn’t it? A man with a burden that sits too heavy upon his shoulders. A man thrust into a life that, perhaps at one time, he’d of been happy to live, where he’d looked to hunters as heroes, defenders of the weak, destroyers of monsters. Please. Please help me, Zeke begged in his head, watching how his sister began to approach, power crackling at her fingertips. Power that wasn’t hers. Please don’t make me do this.

    “This is how it ends,” Zoe -- no -- the demon cooed, laughter in its voice, “this is how it will always end. It began with you, Ezekiel, and it will end with you.” 

    Please. Please God, don’t make me do this.

    “Zoe--” He rests his finger on the trigger, tells himself the same thing he told himself the night he killed his mother. ‘She wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. She wouldn’t want to hurt you. She’d ask you to do this. She’d understand.’

    “If you can hear me--” Zeke continues as Zoe raises her hands, dark energy flooding to her finger tips. He feels his chest begin to tighten, his breath catching in his throat.

    No, no no no, don’t make me do this. Please. Oh God, please.

    “I’ll find you again. I’ll always find you.”

    Please. I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this.

    Zoe grins, raises her hand, rushes towards him to attack.

    Please.

    “I love you, Zo.”

    Zeke doesn’t hear the gunshot, doesn’t feel the way his finger squeezes the trigger one, two times. The world moves in slow motion around him. The bullets leave the barrel of the gun in flashes, move through the air in line with each other, find the space between Zoe’s eyes. He watches the crimson burst from the back of her head in a a cloud, falling like soft rain behind her. The black in her eyes shift back to green, the dark taking the light of life that lingered for the briefest second with it. 

    She falls backwards, and Zeke drops his gun.

    He catches her, because he would always catch her and falls to his knees with her in his arms. She’s limp, something warm running down his arm, her hair wet and slick. A trickle of red bleeds from the hole in her forehead, the hole he’d put there and Zeke looks down upon her face and into those eyes.     His mother’s eyes.     Zoe’s eyes.

    Dead.

    A pained sob filled with anguish rips from Zeke’s throat as he pulls his little sister closer, holding her against him, tucking head beneath his chin, the tears falling from his eyes dripping down onto her cheeks. He wails, the sobs wracking his form, cries her name over and over whilst he rocks her back and forth in his arms. She lays still within his grasp, doesn’t protest to how tightly he hangs onto her.

    ‘Gotta breathe, Zeke.’

    So breathe. Come back. Come back. Come back--

    She doesn’t, and he’s left alone again. She’s another body, another name on the list of people he’d killed, murdered, hadn’t been able to save. Now, he had the blood of his entire family staining his skin, their deaths his fault. 

    Zeke tilts his head back and lets out an agonizing scream. 

[goatsandgangsters]

the "I don’t have a plot in mind, I just felt like writing trope-y 1950s vignettes of my otp getting together, because why not” fic that nobody asked for but I’m providing anyway

ao3

Charlie lingered outside the mechanic shop. He leaned back against the wall, exhaling smoke in long tendrils, as he pulled the cigarette from slightly parted lips. Cars ambled down the road, bright sunlight glinting off chrome, with no one in any great hurry on a warm afternoon. He watched a Plymouth—powder blue, crisp white top, shot through with sparkling chrome—turn the corner by the library and disappear out of sight, the driver oblivious to the simple freedom of a left-hand turn.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the door to the garage. They said his car wouldn’t be ready until Monday, but he thought he’d check, just in case. Sure, it was only Wednesday, but Charlie missed his baby. And it was his car, so that meant he was entitled to visit and check up on her, right? Repairs or not, he didn’t like leaving her with strangers.

He flicked the cigarette to the sidewalk and rubbed it into the pavement with the toe of his boot. Mind made up, he paused only to check his reflection in the glass-paned window of the neighboring laundromat. It didn’t matter how much pomade he used, there were always a few curls that popped out of place, springing in their own direction. With a sigh, he tangled his fingers through his slicked hair, yanking until each strand was back in place. He wiped hair product onto the thigh of his jeans, making one last pass with his fingers along his temple.

It was just the mechanic, but he couldn’t go around with his hair all wrong.

Charlie shoved the door to the garage with his shoulder. The smell of oil met him instantly. The clank of metal mingled with radio in the corner, underscoring “have you ever passed the corner of Fourth and Grand, where a little ball o' rhythm has a shoe-shine stand” with clatters and clinks and the hum of an engine brought back to life.

But Charlie took no time to look around. In truth, cars didn’t interest him that much; he only had eyes for one.

And there she was, parked in the back corner, hood up.

He hurried towards her, dodging a cherry red Chrysler up on blocks and an abandoned can of oil on the floor. “Hey,” he mumbled, running a hand along her side. He cocked his head, glancing inside her open hood. It was hard to tell if the repairs had been made yet. “They takin’ good care of you?”

“Can I help you?”

Charlie jumped at the voice—high, sharp, pleasantry hiding a hint of accusation, either because Charlie wasn’t supposed to be there or because he’d just been caught talking to his car.

“I, uh—It’s mine,” he explained, gesturing to the car as he turned. “I’m just checkin’ up on her.”

The mechanic raised an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a rag that hung from his belt loop. It didn’t make much of a difference though. His broad hands were still covered in grime, dark as his sharp eyes. “This may come as a surprise, but we do know a thing or two about cars here. It’ll be fine.”

Charlie scowled. “Well you can’t fault a fella for making sure!” he snapped.

The mechanic didn’t say anything, but he smirked in a way that said he could and did fault a fella. He stepped past Charlie and looked under the hood. He was little, barely coming up to Charlie’s chin, but he sure didn’t act his size.

Charlie couldn’t put his finger on it, but he seemed familiar. He was a young-looking guy, still a little baby-faced, but his expression seemed years older with intent lines and a hard stare. The sleeves of his work shirt were rolled up past the elbow, stretched taut over muscles too firm for a guy that small. Dirt, oil, and a light dusting of new, dark hair covered the lean, rope-like muscles of his forearms.

Charlie cleared his throat. “You, uh—d’you go to Westbury?” He looked too young to be out of high school; Charlie figured that’s where he knew him from.

“Mhm,” he answered without looking up from the engine. “You and your pals are the ones always hanging around back, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, we—hey, how’d you know that?”

The mechanic didn’t answer at first. He just pointed to a workbench with a greased hand, then turned his palm up. Charlie stared at his hand in a moment of confusion, then to the bench, and when it clicked, he hurried to grab a can of oil from the table.

“I walk to school. You’re hard to miss,” he said finally, firmly. “You could use a new valve spring compressor. And some tune ups in here, as a precaution.”

Charlie shifted to his other foot, squinting under the hood thoughtfully. The mechanic continued to rattle off his suggestions, more to himself than to Charlie. All the same, Charlie didn’t want to seem like a dunce, so he nodded along and pretended to follow the conversation. In the pause that followed the explanation, Charlie tugged the bottom of his jacket. “Well, it’s, uh—real swell of you to fix her up for me.”

The guy shrugged. “It’s a nice car.” He wiped his brow with his forearm, leaving a streak of grime along his hairline.

Charlie grinned and patted her fondly, trailing his palm along the blue finish. “Yeah, she took me a while, but it was worth it.”

“What do you mean?” The mechanic wiped his hands again on the black-stained rag, gaze intent on Charlie’s engine.  

“Just savin’ up. You know, doin’ odd jobs and all that. I know a guy in the city, got her for a good price once I had enough.” He didn’t usually go into much detail about how he got the car. He’d had a job for a while, working in a little shop from the end of school until close, but he couldn’t keep it. He didn’t have enough saved yet, so he took to doing odd jobs around the neighborhood—sometimes running errands, mowing lawns, helping a neighbor around the house. And if some housewife was short a pair of earrings or her husband couldn’t find the watch he’d left on the coffee table, well, who ever gave him a second thought?

To tilt the subject away from his odd jobs, Charlie craned his neck to glance around the garage. “Any of these yours?” he asked with a gesture. He figured he should leave the guy to his work, but Charlie didn’t want to go. His hip was magnetized to the side of his car and he wasn’t in any hurry to pull himself away. “That one’s pretty nice,” he said, pointing to the Chrysler with no wheels.

The mechanic glanced over and scoffed. “That one? Runs smooth as silk, but that paint job? Too garish.” He sighed. “Anyway, I don’t have a car.”

“Well that don’t seem fair,” Charlie answered. The guy seemed to know more than most people; he looked real natural bending over the hood with that focused expression. It didn’t seem right that all kinds of ignorant people got to drive all over the place, and he didn’t.

The mechanic straightened up from beneath the hood, a wry smile under all that sweat and dirt. He looked at Charlie for what seemed like the first time since they began their conversation. “I’m still saving. And looking for the right one.”

Charlie beamed. “Hey! How’s about this? You get her all fixed up by the weekend, and you and me take her out for a spin? You can drive and all, anyplace you like!” He was already thrilled with his brilliant idea. He’d get his car back faster, have her in time for the weekend, and they’d all go home happy.

The mechanic turned away again. “I don’t think that will work.”

Charlie’s face fell. “Why? All them repairs you mentioned gonna take a long time?” Sinking disappointment settled in his stomach. He liked having the freedom of knowing she was parked right out back, that he could get in and go anytime. What was he supposed to do on a Friday night, walk? Not only would he be stuck at home all weekend, but what if it took even longer than expected? What if she wasn’t even ready by Monday?

“No, I just—” He faltered for a moment, glancing around the garage. “Look, there are other customers to take care of first. That’s all. Your car will be ready for you Monday.”

Charlie tried not to look too dejected, but he could feel it in the sag of his shoulders. Still, he wasn’t out of ideas yet. “Alright, listen—uh, what’s your name?”

“Meyer.”

“Listen, Meyer—you sure? I mean, I’m offerin’ you… She goes real fast and I don’t know, if you got a girl or somethin’—do you have a girl? Anyway, if you wanted to borrow it one time, just once, for anything like that—”

Meyer blinked at him in surprise. “No. Thank you. I don’t—I really don’t need—” he stammered, a little flustered, but it didn’t take long before his face composed itself into a stony expression. “You’ll have your car back on Monday.”

The mechanic—Meyer—turned back to his work, but Charlie stepped easily between him and the car, catching his eye so he couldn’t avoid him. “You sure there’s nothin’ I can do?”

Meyer’s eyes widened a little. He swallowed and shook his head. “No.”

“Well if that’s the way it’s gotta be…”

Meyer still didn’t cave, not even with Charlie’s heavy sigh and downward glance as he stood propped against the hood. Fine. Monday. With anybody else, Charlie might have pushed his luck further or even gotten rough about it, but despite his height, Meyer looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to clock him in the jaw with a wrench. And Charlie liked his jaw. He had no intention of getting it broken. That’d be even worse than having no car.

With a heavy resolve, Charlie turned his back on Meyer, tracing circles against his car. “See you Monday, okay?” he murmured, giving the left headlight a pat. “And you—” he said, with a finger under the mechanic’s chin, “—you take good car of her, alright?”

Meyer smiled in a small way; Charlie couldn’t tell if it was genuine or mocking, but at least it was something. “If you want to get her back with the brakes intact, I suggest getting your finger out of my face,” he said coolly, smile unfaltering.

Charlie dropped his hand faster than he’d ever listened to anybody before and Meyer chuckled. “What’s her name?” he asked, eyeing the car instead of Charlie.

“Bambi.”

“Bambi?”

“Hey, what’s wrong with that, huh?” Charlie snapped. He’d risk the wrench or the faulty brakes; nobody mocked his car. He tried to do the guy a favor, and this was the thanks he got? “It’s a good name! Deers are fast and graceful and all!”

Meyer’s sooty eyebrows were creeping towards his grease-streaked forehead, his lips quirked into a smile that was definitely genuine and definitely mocking. “You know, my sister likes that movie.”

“Yeah?” Charlie said, his face brightening.

Meyer nodded. “She’s eight.”

“At least somebody’s got good taste…” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and leaning one hip against Bambi’s bumper.

“You know,” Meyer said, slowly, “if you stand there all day, I can’t get your car finished for you.”

Charlie’s eyebrows dipped into a V. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if you get this done sooner than you thought—Just know my offer still stands, alright? Her and you, fast as you want, anywhere you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Meyer answered, in a tone that said I-will-not-keep-that-in-mind. By way of dismissal, he nudged past Charlie to peer around her engine once more. Ignored and able to take a hint, Charlie thanked the mechanic, buried his hands deep in his pockets, and trudged back onto the street.

Out on the sidewalk, he turned his collar up against the breeze and lit another cigarette. He kicked a pebble down the street as he walked home, mind filled with thoughts of the steering wheel beneath his hands, his foot hard on the gas pedal, and the Southern State Parkway speeding by.