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jj-5656 · 4 years ago

Text

The Fight

With; Newt (TMR)

A/N: Kind of a long one guys. Thank you again for all the love. I appreciate every like, reblog, and comment. Enjoy!

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts/attempt, anxiety, minor panic attack, Minho being an ass (I promise it’s not all depressing and sappy there is a good amount of angst/fluff ofc)

“Bugger off Newt, I want to be left alone.” The boy trails behind as you stomp over to the forest, figuring collecting fertilizer would be better than having to tolerate the pestering blonde any longer.

“Don’t you want someone to keep you company?”

“Am I still speaking English? Leave me be.” It’s been a long day, and a part of you is still getting used to the harsh, mundane work days of the glade since you’re arrival a few months ago. It’s been a lot of pressure, but surprisingly you’ve managed to hold it together. It’s impressive too, you’ve managed to adapt better to your new life better than any other glader had. Perhaps that was why the boy was so drawn to you.

It’s not like he had wanted to be. In fact, Newt would have been more than happy treating you like any other glader. But it just so happened the one and only girl in the glade just had to be a natural track-hoe, so there was no avoiding her. Not her smooth skin, glistening eyes, or her infectious laugh-

“Hello? Would you quit it, shank? It’s like you want to get me jacked.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you all riled up.” You can feel the smirk playing on his stupidly Cherry-red lips as he teases you, quickening his pace so he can grab the straggling branches of the thick forest out of your way. Your stomach flips at his words, but it’s quickly filled with hot anger as the nervousness fades. He won’t quit flirting, and despite your quit wit you’re finding it harder to snap back at him when he says things like that. He doesn’t even mean it

“You’re infuriating!”

“And you’re gorgeous.” The words slip past his tongue before he can catch him, and your footsteps stutter over a stray twig amongst the brush on the ground. You almost trip, but the glader behind you is quick to catch your forearm. It’s silent, and you’re darting your head around just fast enough to catch the stunned look on his face, informing you he hadn’t meant to voice the compliment aloud. Your eyes narrow, trying your best to ignore the longing temptation within you begging to kiss away the stupid blush in his cheeks.

“You know, instead of searching the forest for fertilizer, I should just pick up all the klunk that comes out of your mouth.” The harsh words come without much thought, but you don’t completely regret saying them. If he was actually interested, he wouldn’t be so keen on making you annoyed every minute of every day.

His eyebrows narrow, but if your snarky comment provoked any thought he doesn’t voice it.

“Shuck, sorry then newbie. I’ll slim it.”

“Listen, I was a newbie four greenies ago! So you can stop calling me that.” You spin on your heel to face him, standing your ground when he stops short in order to not run you over. When you meet eyes, he gives a kind smile, studying your features intently. Almost as if you were in a daze, you do the same. Relishing in the sounds of the nature around you and the warm sun beaming through the tree tops, perfectly illuminating the lightest streaks in the taller boy’s hair. You hadn’t notice before, but there are small puddles of gold in his deep brown eyes, speckled about in his irises and disappearing when he tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. He licks his lips before letting his accented voice break the silence.

“What’s up with you?”

“What? Nothing.”

“You’ve got that look about you.”

“What look?”

“That look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Well, I’m looking at you right now, and you have a look.”

“What look?!” He grins at your suddenly aggravated persistence, holding back a laugh when you let out a dramatic groan and start to tread deeper into the woods.

Later that night, you’re making conversation with Frypan as you help with the dishes. He’s good company, and most times mundane chores like cleaning up after other gladers seem to fly by when he’s around. You let out a sigh when a familiar hand reaches out to help you take out one of the heavier pots from the drying rack.

“Didn’t know you were a cook, greenie.”

“Maybe I;’m just trying to avoid you.”

“Impossible, you’d miss me too much.”

“What do you want, shank.”

“What, I can’t help out too?”

Just then, you’re pulled away by the forearm with a strong yank. Releasing yourself from Mihno’s grip and rubbing the excess suds off of your hands quickly.

“What the hell?”

“Listen, you want him to quit being a shank towards you right?”

“Of course I do Minho, but-“

“Then flirt with me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Flirt with me, squeeze my arm and laugh like I just said something really funny.”

“You’re already saying something funny. You must be jacked.” You attempt to blow your friend off and walk away, but he pulls you toward him again.

“Just humor me for a minute, yeah? Let’s see how riled up this shank gets.”

“Minho, he’s not going to get mad. He lives to annoy me, he’ll be happy to see you’re joining in on the fun!”

“Y/n, you’re not seriously this dense? The poor shank likes you, he’s just got no idea how to show it. The playful banter you two have, although it’s cute, is starting to get old. So, because I’m an amazing friend and wing-man, I’ll help you shanks out. Now squeeze my arm and laugh.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t believe me?” His challenging smirk is enough for you to give in, determined to prove the raven haired boy wrong. Setting aside your irritated mood, you adjust your hunched stance before giving Minho your most charming smile. Muttering idly and pressing his bicep with a dramatic laugh. He shoots you a glare when you pinch with a little too much passion, but a smirk stays on his face nonetheless. He moves just a bit closer to you, eyes darting across the glade and smile widening.

“See she-bean? He’s practically fuming.” The boy does all he can to contain his laughter, pulling himself together when you offer a subtle glance to the blonde across the glade. He’s leaning against the now empty sink with his arms crossed. Looking too angry to even begin to make his death glare towards Minho any less obvious. Admittedly, you don’t think you’ve seen Newt ever look so flustered. When you lock eyes, his lips remain tightly pressed together. Not long after does he turn back around to continue attending to the dishes. All whilst muttering something under his breath and shaking his head.

“Don’t get so cocky, you’re blushing too you shank.” You swat Mihno’s hand pinching your cheek, genuinely laughing when he nudges you out of the homestead hut.

“I’ll probably be banished by sundown for that.”

“You think he’s really that upset about it? I mean, I know we’re good friends and all but I never expected Newt to see me like that.”

“It’s a good thing I’m one of the only shanks around here with a brain.”

“Y/n, mind if I talk to you for a bit?” Alby approached the pair of you with a soft expression, his gentle nature filling you with a bit of concern. You nod hesitantly, feeling as though every damn glader needed to pull you from one conversation to the next tonight. You follow Alby closely as he leads you back into the homestead, sitting on one of the hammocks and motioning for you to do the same. There’s a contemplative silence before the head glader speaks, only taking him a few moments to gather his thoughts before meeting your eyes.

“I gotta be honest greenie, I’m a bit worried about you.”

“Why me?” Your eyebrows narrow in confusion, and the older boy’s worried tone makes your heart sink.

“Most of the newbies are jacked the first couple weeks. You know, lashing out one minute and crying like a baby the next. But you’ve been quite, collected. That leaves a lot of room for me to be concerned.”

“Alby, you’re upset that I’m not...Upset?”

“I’m upset that you remind me of myself. I was a lot like you, I kept everything in when I first got here. I was reserved, and I kept everything bottled up inside. And I’m no therapist, but that quickly tore me apart. I understand being a girl might...Complicate things, seeing as some of these shanks expect you to be weaker. You don’t have to prove yourself greenie, at least not in that way.” You take a minute to consider his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek in thought. He studies you for a moment, seemingly thinking about his next words with caution. “I don’t mean to jack you up, just think about it.” He finishes carefully, nudging your shoulder with his own before exiting the hut. Giving you a tight lipped smile and curt nod before disappearing from view. Was that supposed to be a pep talk?

**************

The past weeks had been confusing, terrifying, and downright unbelievable. That was clear, but didn’t you have no other choice than to accept what was going on? You still had millions of questions, and a certain ache in your heart that felt like it was pulling at you. But there wasn’t time to break down, not yet anyway. Is there even a right time? The conversation with Alby seemed to have made you worse off than before. You shuffle for the hundredth time in your hammock, letting out an exasperated sigh at the restless situation.

Despite your efforts, sleep never comes. For the past week, you’ve been exhausted just about everyday. Today had been no different, except when you try to relax, anxiety crawls in the air around you. Suddenly, the warm night air is absolutely suffocating. It’s too much pressure, too much unknown for you to handle it any longer. When your pounding heartbeat begins to drown out the cicadas and other sounds of the glade, you can only think of one thing. Alby was right

Stumbling out of your hammock, you start making your way out of the hut. It doesn’t matter where, you just need to escape. Even when you’re outside, there’s still not enough room. The four walls that once felt like a barrier between you and the horrors of the ominous maze, now feel like a cage. Trapping you inside and shrinking impossibly smaller until they eventually crush you.

Without thinking, you begin to sprint over to the west wall, pounding at the menacing stone and letting out a chocked sob. All at once, every emotion you’d suppressed since your first day in the glade releases from you. It’s nauseating, and you grip your stomach in an attempt to latch onto some sense of stability.

Who put you here? Why was everyone so indifferent to their lives here, and why had you eventually become the same way?

There’s been this ache, some rotting substance in your core that’s been emanating within you since you first woke up in the box. A horrible, indescribable hollowness that is the result of the loss of what must have been your life before the maze. Suddenly, you miss your mom. Or maybe a woman who resembled one. It’s mortifying, to know you must have parents somewhere out there. But you can’t remember them, can only feel the ugliest parts of you that aren’t whole without them. Your vision blurs, and there’s an awful white noise that drowns out any and all sounds of reality surrounding you. Completely immersed in your own thoughts, even the ground beneath you feels as though it’s been meticulously sculpted by whatever monsters put you here. It’s impossible to breath, feeling as though every beat of your heart, every blink of an eye is in the control of the creators. So caught up in your own panic, you don’t sense the boy calling your name behind you.

You attempt to squirm out of his strong grip, his stature never showing how strong he truly is from his long hours in the gardens. It’s no use to keep pulling away when his back hits the stone wall of the glade, using his strong grip to hold your hands against your chest as he slides you both to the floor. Weaker leg giving out from the sheer strength needed to restrain you. Newt’s not sure if he’s helping or making your panicked state even worse, but he’s reassured when you begin to calm. Erratic cries faltering into small whimpers as your head uncontrollably jerks at each sharp intake of air your body forces you to take. You can feel his heart beat rapidly against your back, informing you just how scared he is despite his stoic nature on the outside. You try to release from his grip once again, instincts telling you there’s too much to worry about to calm down. The blonde pulls you closer to him once more, hushing your cries and leaning his chin atop of your head. The world feels authentic again, and you silently think out a plethora of thank you’s to the boy for immersing you back into reality. Doing your best to cease your cries and gain control of your breathing, you grip onto the fabric of his long sleeve sleeping shirt with a terror-induced strength. It’s all too much

“Just breathe y/n, breathe with me.” He mutters softly, chest filling with pride when you mimic his dramatic intakes of air.

The ringing subsides, and the white clouding your vision finally clears when your heart begins to slow. Eventually, Newt releases your arms. And in an instant, you clutch onto his hand in fear the crippling panic will return. Rip you away from everything you’ve come to know in only seconds.

“You’re alright now love, just breathe.” He soothes again, not even flinching at your harsh grip on him. The minute you had left your hammock, something within him beckoned him to follow. You’d been off the past couple of days, and somehow the boy knew you couldn’t be alone. His eyes well with tears, you having reminded him so much of himself his first year in the glade. He wonders what you would have done if he hadn’t caught you in time, and what lengths you would have gone to if the pain never stopped and the maze walls opened. He wills away the thought with a shake of his head, reminding himself that you’re still here, and in dire need of a friend.

“I miss my mom.” You stutter out eventually, soft lips trembling and pulled into a pitiful pout. “I don’t remember her of course, but it’s like I can feel her. I feel everything and nothing at the same time, you know? There’s so much death here, it’s been hard to find something to live for. How am I supposed to do this, how are we supposed to survive this? I mean...This has gotta be some sort of sick joke, nobody could be this shucking cruel right?” You let out a pathetic scoff, still shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

“Listen to me y/n, I’ve been where you are. We all have, and I can promise you there is so much more than that feeling. You have to believe me.” You shake your head, refusing to accept his empty promises. He sighs before continuing, trying to gather his thoughts in preparation to confess what he’s kept secret from almost all other gladers until now. “A couple weeks into my first year here, I couldn’t shake the same feeling you’re describing. That dark, ominous part that sits inside of all of us here. The unknown, the memories begging to re-enter your mind. I hated it, I hated this place, and I hated myself.” You lift your head from his shoulder at that, wanting to study his contemplative expression as he carries on. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it. So I ran out into the maze....And I did what I assume you’ve been thinking about the past couple of days. And I can assure you, nothing you do to yourself with get rid of that pain. That’s why we survive, we persevere, we fight. It might have taken a shattered leg and permanent limp for me to realize, but I know now the only way to beat that feeling is to escape this shucking place. What comes next doesn’t matter, we have to show whatever slintheads put us here that they won’t ever win. Do you understand?” His expression becomes stern, willing each word to bore into your mind as a permanent oath. Stunning brown eyes boring into yours as if they’ll cement each syllable into your mind. You nod, unsure of how to respond.

“You have to promise me.” He mutters softly, eyes welling with tears at your empty expression. “Please love, promise me you’ll fight.” He’s holding your head in his hands now, silently willing the overwhelming demons your facing to escape that beautiful mind.

“P-promise. I promise.” You reassure weakly, overcome with love for the boy under you. Instantly, you encase him in a tight embrace. Heart swelling even more when he plants a soft kiss to your temple.

“Good that.” He breathes gently, pulling you impossibly closer to his heart. Just to hold you for a little while longer. You have to fight, and you’ll do it together.

Tagging: @8avery8 @jenny33996

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deniigi · 4 years ago

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I WOULD LOVE A DAVE FIC !!!

Excellent. Here’s for you and @dudewhereismy-tardis

I am putting most of it under the cut because it is LONG

Dave (Daredevil copycat from Inimitable Verse) POV. Reminder that Dave is not his real name, but one given to him disdainfully by Wade in this verse.

Title: rises in the east

------------

“Dad.”

What?

“Dad.”

What time was it?

“Your phone’s ringing,” Charlie said. “It’s the boss.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Give it here,” Dave rasped, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Mom said you’re gonna hurt your back sleepin’ on the couch,” Charlie reported as she shoved his phone into his palm.

“My couch, my rules,” Dave said. He crammed the phone to his ear. “Ansel here,” he said.

Charlie wanted to stay home and if she was a year older, Dave would have let her. But alas. The last time he’d let her stay home, she’d texted her friend Jesse who had become unspeakably jealous and had appealed to her own parents for such freedoms, and now the whole block thought that Dave recklessly abandoned his daughter when he went to the goddamn grocery store.

All that for a can of Sprite, man.

This neighborhood was off the fuckin’ charts sometimes.

Case in point: Dani standing in front of him in the lobby with her hands on her hips, telling him that he needed to wear a tighter t-shirt or to start flexing because they were losing business.

“Dani, I’m an instructor,” he reminded her. “I’m hired to do classes.”

“It’s two hours,” Dani said. “Take the damn fliers.”

But he didn’t want to?

Dani blinked at him slowly from under her headband.

Charlie was having a great time and Dave was glad for that because he was not. He was being stared at by every person in the street as if they’d never seen a dude with muscles before.

It was the shirt.

He knew it was the shirt.

And possibly his nipples. Smashing the brochures high enough against his chest to cover them wasn’t going well and the highlighter teal underarmor Dani had forced upon him left very little to the imagination here.

There wasn’t anything else to do but let the poor things live their best lives.

“Dad, gimme more,” Charlie said.

She tugged at the brochures covering what was left of his dignity.

Blessed child, who hurt you?

“Where did the others go?” he asked her.

Charlie pointed across the road to a gaggle of ladies leaning out from their stoop, smiling.

Ah.

Yes.

Them.

“Let’s try for someone who looks more like a bro,” he told his offspring.

Charlie blinked up at him.

“Why?” she asked.

Oh, baby.

“Because they’re an easy mark,” he said. “Go up and say ‘my dad can take you’ and send ‘em my way, okay?”

Charlie’s face went from confused to ready to kill instantly.

This was her game face. This was her ‘I’m gonna wreck this goalee’s teeth’ face.

Dave shouldn’t have been proud of her, really; her teachers said that she was becoming argumentative and obstinate in the classroom. But there was just something there in the fact that his kid sure as shit wasn’t no sheep that made his chest feel big, wide, and full of hot air.

“I’m on it,” Charlie said.

He gave her three brochures and let her scramble off to the other side of the sidewalk and then turned to meet the eye of a family with a father with neat hair and the beginnings of triceps peeking out from under his sleeves.

“You lookin’ for a gym, sir?” he asked.

The guy looked his way and eyed him up.

He took a flier on his way past.

“Excuse me?”

“One second, man,” Dave said, doing the rock-shuffle to keep all the fliers on the table from blowing away.

“Excuse me.”

“Hey, I said just a sec,” Dave snapped.

He turned back and found himself staring into the dark eyes of a bald man with olive skin and deep wrinkles in his forehead.

And Dave knew him.

Holy shit.

Dave knew him.

Fuck.

God.

Jesus, Lord.

“I am so sorry,” he started.

“DAD.”

Ch—Charlie?

He looked down and sure enough, holding Rudolph ‘Diamond’ De Luca’s massive bearpaw was his very own daughter. De Luca made her wiry, suntanned limbs seem like unbaked pretzels.

He was so much bigger than he’d seemed on TV all those years ago.

“This your kid?” De Luca asked.

Jesus.

“She is. I’m so sorry,” Dave said, “Did she—she didn’t bite you or anything, did she?”

“Dad,” Charlie whined. “Don’t tell ‘im that.”

“I’ll pay for whatever damage—” Dave continued.

De Luca blinked at him impossibly slowly with long dark eye lashes. He turned his face slowly back down towards Charlie.

“You sure this is your old man?” he asked.

Wh—

Wait.

What the hell did that mean?

“That’s him,” Charlie moaned. “He’s just bein’ dumb. Dad. Stop bein’ dumb. This dude’s the real deal. He’ll fight you in a heartbeat.”

Dave grabbed his child before she could cause any more damage. She made a fuss, but let go of De Luca’s mitt. Dave shoved her behind him, just in case this situation got any more tense than it needed to be.

De Luca lifted an eyebrow at that and then brought his face back up to Dave’s.

“Who’s gym?” he asked.

What?

Oh.

“Spitfire,” Dave said. “We’re, uh, just about there, on the—”

“I know where you’re about,” De Luca said.

Dave didn’t know what to say. De Luca held his eye.

Oh, god.

This wasn’t going well.

“How old are you, son?” De Luca asked.

FFFFFFFFFFFffffffffffffuck.

“38,” Dave said.

“And your baby girl?” De Luca asked, gesturing with his chin down at Charlie.

“I’m 12,” Charlie told him brightly.

“Hm,” De Luca said.

He shifted his weight back and wrapped a few fingers around his chin, surveying Dave’s whole body like he was the statue of David with a knee injury.

Dave became intimately aware of his nipples again.

“Not bad,” De Luca said.

Oh, thank god.

“Thank you, sir,” Dave said. “Is there, uh, somethin’ I could help you with?”

“You got an accent,” De Luca noted.

Uh?

“A good accent,” De Luca said. “Whereabouts did you grow up?”

Oh.

Well.

Dave could actually just point to it from here. The condo was still standing, despite all building codes and actual alien invasions. At this point, the only thing that was gonna take it down were the rampant, rapidly mutating, borderline feral gangs of chickens that roamed its halls.

Not that anyone spoke about them.

No, that was inviting trouble to your doorstep.

“The chicken coop?” De Luca said.

The one and only.

“Bless you, you poor fuck.”

Yeah, that tended to be the usual reaction.

De Luca laughed.

“You’re a funny guy, uh,” he squinted at Dave’s nametag, “Ansel?”

How could a word sound so wrong in someone’s mouth?

Where had Dave’s life gone wrong that his own name sounded so foreign and distant to his ears?

“Actually,” he said, swallowing, “My uh, my friends call me ‘Dave.’”

De Luca’s head snapped right up and slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, now, that’s a good name for ya,” he said. “You look like a Davy.”

Hng.

Diamond De Luca thought he looked like a ‘Davy.’

Welp.

Time to get that birth certificate changed.

“Listen, Davy,” De Luca said casually, “Your baby girl there was tellin’ me that your boss has you out here like dancin’ monkey; is that true?”

Fffffffffff.

Technically yes?

“It’s even his day off,” Charlie whispered.

Dave wrapped a hand over her face.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It happens. Folks’ve been sick lately. I don’t normally do this kinda thing.”

De Luca’s face said that that was real cute. Real, real cute, honey.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s just say it like this. Where you work don’t gotta be where you train.”

Oh.

Was he offering--?

“If you decide to drop by, tell the guy at the desk Rudy sent you,” De Luca said. “Your kid’s real sweet, Davy. She can come too, lord knows the damn place is a daycare at this point.”

“Thank? You?” Dave stuttered.

“Don’t mention it,” De Luca said.

He left. Dave watched him waltz down the block and wave at the gals collected on the stoop at the end of it and felt a little lightheaded.

“Dad?”

Not right now, champ.

“Dad? Is he famous or somethin’?”

HHHHHHHHHHNG.

Back when Dave had been 14 and scraping the tips of his fingers into callouses on the old guitar he’d found tossed into a dumpster in the Upper West Side, he’d had to compete with the sound of the couple fighting in the apartment next door and with the radio the old man downstairs always had playing on his fire-escape window.

The old man downstairs was a real hard-ass. Always slammed a broom into the ceiling, scaring the shit out of Mom and Dad and sister and auntie. Dave had never seen him not smoking, nor had he ever seen him without suspenders.

The man was a retired plumber, apparently. And while Jim Beam was his main vice, his passion was boxing.

To the tune of chords picked out of an out-of-tune guitar, Dave had listened to tinny commentators oohing and awing over match after match, until finally, when sleep wouldn’t come one night, Dave had snuck out of the room he’d shared with Flora. He’d settled down on the living room couch, next to his old man splayed out in the recliner.

Dad had lifted his eyes slowly his way and told him that he should have been in bed.

Dave had told him that he couldn’t sleep because the couple next door was makin’ up from their daily afternoon argument and Dad had just sighed.

He’d let Dave stay up with him and the TV in the living room had fuzzed and rattled away, making sounds really familiar to Dave at that point.

Boxing was a sport that he had, up until that night, left to his father. But for the lack of anything else to talk about that wouldn’t make his dad look at him with disappointment in his eyes for all that damn music-playin’ and eyeliner, he’d asked who the guy on the screen was.

And that was how he’d learned about Diamond De Luca.

About Kenny Varga. Bert ‘The Albatross’ Kleinfeld.

But there was one guy who Dad had mentioned was his favorite rookie and, now it felt both kind of silly and surreal that the name had been spoken so casually in Dave’s home growing up.

Dad had been puttin’ money on Battlin’ Jack Murdock back when Dave had been a little kid.

He told Dave, disappointedly, after a few weeks of Dave getting up at 12:30 to come out and watch boxing with him that he’d really thought that Murdock was gonna be the next big thing.

Guy was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Dad had said, shaking his head. But wolves that got too wily got put down and Battlin’ Jack had been found in an alley, bled out in the arms of his reason for fighting.

Dad said it was a fuckin’ shame that Murdock had gone out with a slug in his head.

A fuckin’ shame, he said.

Dave didn’t remember him every saying that Murdock’s reason for fighting was a blind ten-year-old, but the thought was now merged with that memory.

That, in itself, was merged with the memory of Dave’s phone ringing one night was Addie’s name on the Caller ID. Her voice was shaking when she told Dave that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just called her from an unknown number.

He had their baby.

He’d snatched her and Jesse out of the arms of two men looking for girls to be used in businesses Dave didn’t want to think about.

He’d saved them.

The devil had heard their screams when no one else had and he’d come flying out of the dark.

He’d held the girls in the light of a bodega and he’d coached Charlie through typing Addie’s number into his phone and then he’d taken it from there.

Addie was too scared to go meet the devil on her own. Mason hadn’t been around yet and so Dave had thrown on his shoes and had meet her on 46th.

The devil was on 48th, swinging his boots with both girls in his lap.

They were all singing. The devil had pretended like he didn’t know the words to Britney Spears’s ‘Toxic.’

Matt Murdock was under that mask.

Knowing that this whole time, he’d been the one dragging a stick against the fences and bricks of Hell’s Kitchen was almost impossible to digest.

And Dave had worked with him now.

He’d seen that smirk and that notorious jaw unwrapped from its red armor and that didn’t make reconciling the murdered boxer’s son with the man who’d saved his daughter any easier.

Charlie hadn’t remembered him.

She thought that Matt Murdock was a weird fuckin’ dude, and granted, he was a weird fuckin’ dude, but Dave had to say: he was grateful.

Matt Murdock not only brought home his baby, but he’d given Dave purpose in a life that had become consumed by the daily grind.

Matt Murdock had smiled in his direction, never quite into his eyes, and he’d passed along the baton with next to no fight.

Dave wasn’t him.

Dave would never be him.

Matt Murdock wasn’t just some poor murdered boxer’s blind son. He was the product of some serious poverty. Some serious violence. A whole fuckin’ cult induction, if he was to be believed. And Dave wasn’t so sure if he was always to be believed.

But he still appreciated Matt Murdock for what he’d done and what he’d made for this part of the city.

He’d made Daredevil.

And he shared that with Dave.

Dave’s own dad’s approval hadn’t felt like the honor that had come with Matt Murdock’s covered eyes and curled lip slowly relaxing as he’d lifted his face up from Dave’s knees.

He hadn’t been inspecting.

He’d been listening. Dipping his fingers into the blood in Dave’s heart and deciding if he was worth his salt.

Matt Murdock, son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym in the Kitchen.

Diamond De Luca, retired heavyweight, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym.

The stars had aligned. And Dave had stood in their path.

And he wasn’t wasting the chance that they offered him.

Charlie was stoked to be allowed to come to the gym with him. She usually went to Jesse’s house, where Rubes would look after both girls for a few hours.

But De Luca had said that it was okay for her to come along, and so he figured, why not?

Fogwell’s was an institution in the Kitchen. All kids deserved to know their own history.

“I’m gonna fight Fogwell himself,” Charlie announced halfway down the block.

“You will not,” Dave told her. “Because I’m not tryin’ to get thrown out before we even get started here, alright?”

Charlie whined.

He ignored it.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been to the gym. Matt Murdock slipped in and out of it when he was in the city and he’d taken the whole team there once or twice. But it was different to be there in the presence of the daytime crew.

Dave felt very small in their presence.

The whole place was full of people pounding bags and swearing and shouting at kids who were tumbling all over the rows of benches set off to the side of the bags.

It was not what Dave had been expecting.

He told the guy at the front that ‘Rudy’ had recommended that he stop by and got a nod and a wave.

“He’s probably upstairs,” the receptionist said. “Go pick a bag, I’ll give him a buzz.”

Charlie refused to join the kids on the benches because apparently that was ‘only for babies, Dad.’ She wanted to hold the bag.

She was not, in one thousand years, holding the bag.

Dave wrapped her hands and let her go at it first to ‘soften it up’ for him.

De Luca caught him adjusting the demon-child’s thumbs before they ended up at the hospital again and laughed.

“Davy-boy, you made it,” he said.

Dave snapped up straight to attention.

“I did,” he said.

De Luca laughed again.

“Relax, kid,” he said. “Damn, you’re tight wound. Don’t worry, we won’t tell no one you’re sleepin’ with the enemy.”

Ahahahaha.

Please don’t.

These people were jacked. Dave was but a kickboxing instructor.

“Here, bub, lemme see what your pops has got,” De Luca said, shooing Charlie out of the way.

And this was the moment of truth.

De Luca seemed surprised when Dave finally laid off the bag. And Dave couldn’t read his expression for a million bucks.

“Uh?” he tried. “Not good?”

De Luca blinked himself back to earth.

“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s just uh, you fight a little like someone I know.”

Please don’t say a mobster.

“Kid used to live around here; name’s Matt Murdock,” De Luca said. “You know him?”

Did—

Did he know him?

QUICK. Answer the question.

You’re takin’ too long.

He’s gonna—

“S’alright if you don’t,” De Luca said. “I was just sayin’. Kid was like one of my own.”

He—

What?

“Yeah, boy fought like the devil like his daddy before ‘im,” De Luca said. “He’s the only one Fogwell lets call him ‘Grandpa.’ He’s about your age, actually. God, I’m old.”

AHAHAHAHAHA.

Please change the subject.

“You’re not that old,” Dave said. “I think I might have heard the name.”

Charlie looked up at him, baffled at the hedging.

He pleaded with her with his eyes not to say a damn word.

“Yeah, he’s somethin’, left here for San Francisco. Didn’t even say good-bye, the little shit,” De Luca sniffed. “Came back last year all ‘I’m gettin’ married’ and I swear to god, he’s picked up some kid. Just between you and me, pal, the old guard here have been talkin’, and we think that someone missed out on the sex ed talk, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Oh.

Poor Sam.

He wasn’t even there to scream from the mountaintops that Red was a last resort for him at best.

“I’m just sayin’,” De Luca said with a shrug that spoke far more of supreme irritation than nonchalance, “He coulda just told us. I’m just sayin’.”

Any more ‘just sayin’s’ and Diamond De Luca was gonna go find a wall to bury them in.

“Did you, uh, have any feedback?” Dave blurted out as the guy started mumbling.

“Hm?”

“Feedback,” Dave repeated, waving a gloved hand at the bag.

“Oh. Yeah, loads, kid. You got all the muscles and not a damn lick of memory, here, lemme show you.”

Crisis averted.

Thank god.

D2: hey uh, DD?

SM: DAVE

S2: DAVEEEE

S3: DAVE

SM: what’s up man?

D2: nothing I was just trying to get ahold of DD?

BT: He’s trying to get Kirsten to give up her dreams of an indoor office pond rn. Can I help?

SM: I want an indoor office pond

S3: omg same

D2: uh yeah actually could you just tell him I met a guy named De Luca the other day and he might want to give him a call?

BT: de Luca?

D2: yeah

BT: okay sure thing

D2: thanks

BT: I’ll go see if I can get a word in edgewise.

SM: good fucking luck

S2: I hate fish

S3: leave this place and never return

S2: I HATE FISH

DD: WHAT

SM: oh shit that was quick

D2: oh. I was just saying that I met Diamond De Luca the other day?

SM: ?? Who’s that?

DD: oh no

S2: ??????????????

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): who the fuck is that?

DD: are you still with him?

D2: no?

D2: he caught me out fliering and invited me to Fogwell’s

D2: and when I got there he mentioned my stance was like yours and he uh

D2: got a little distracted

DD: what kind of distracted?

D2: He thinks Sam’s your bastard kid

BT: GODDAMNIT

DD: FOR FUCKS SAKE

BT: First Mrs. Jones, now this guy?? TEACH.

DD: These people have zero faith in me I swear to god.

DD: like come ON man. I did sex ed in the same class as Angie he knows I’m too catholic for that shit

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): I looked this man up and he looks like an Italian nate with less hair

SM: wh

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): okay you’re right he looks nothing like nate

SM: that

SM: that’s not even slightly helpful, wade, thanks not at all. Hey who’s angie?

DD: long story. Rudy’s daughter

S2: RED YOU FUCKED A BOXERS DAUGHTER?? That’s a million dollar baby man

DD: I

DD: what?

DD: no? Why would I fuck angie she’s like my sister?

S2: oh nvm

SM: 😬😬😬

S3: I am confused ❤

D2: you should probably call him, friend

DD: on it. thanks for the notice

DD: hey what’s your fuckin name again?

S2: f

S3: f

SM: f

D2: It’s Ansel

DD: Adams?

D2: not the photographer. Ansel West.

SM: WEST

S2: OMG

S3: guys don’t

SM: I BET YOURE A SUNSET DAVE

S2: YOU EVER FEEL CALLED TO THE PRAIRIE DAVE???

SM: YOU’RE A&W, DAVE!!

S2: ROOT BEER ROOT BEER

D2: ah yes. Middle school. I remember this feeling.

Dave laid his phone on his chest and stared back up at the ceiling.

It was never dull, this new life he’d settled into.

He said a prayer for Murdock and rolled onto his side.

It was still his goddamn couch.

#fic #inimitable verse #ficlet #team red

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samthemarvelfan · 5 years ago

Text

Goodbyes: Chapter Seven

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark

Warnings: DARKER THEMES AHEAD. Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, PTSD, Fluff! Mentions of Panic attacks, flashbacks, and vomiting Def not following a specific MCU canon or timeline.

A/N: WOW! I am so grateful for all the love! Thank you so much @captain-rogers-beard for taking the time to not only read, but enjoy and reblog my work! i am honored! Please enjoy this hastily written chapter. (life is hard, but i love yall so much(

Taglist:@iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @heartofagamotto (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry! Tags are OPEN!)

Bucky should have kissed her.

When he woke up, it was the only thing on his mind. He would do just about anything to turn the clock back, so he could grab her face in his hands and feel her pillowy lips against his.

Just imagining it sent a familiar heat to Bucky’s lower abdomen.

“Hey Iceman, what’s up?” Sam said as he entered the training room.

Bucky looked up, shaken out of his daydream, “Hey Sam, hows it going?”

Sam feigned a look of shock, “Wow you’re in a good mood this mornin’! Any particular reason why? Hm?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he moved equipment to make space, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Sam laughed, “Whatever you say, just tell me one thing—y’all fuck yet or what?”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, “What?”

“You and Ella. Did you guy fuck yet?”

His causal tone threw Bucky for a loop. Bucky swallowed hard and shook his head, “Sam it’s not..I don’t...I’m just—“

“See that’s your problem right there,” Sam interjected, “you don’t know what the hell you want with that girl, but you know you want her. I’ve seen you guys in a room together, the sexual tension is off the charts.”

Bucky laid mats down in the center of the room, “Sam, she’s just a—“

“A recruit. Yeah I know, but if you think for one second I believe that’s all you see her as then Iceman, I got some baaaad news for you.”

Sam took a sip from his water bottle, taking in Bucky’s expression. He looked happy on the surface, but Sam saw the dissatisfaction wading underneath.

“Bucky,” Sam called. He only ever used his name when he was serious. “Why are you so hard on that girl? It’s so obvious you two are crazy about one another. Why are you pushing her away?”

Bucky looked up to Sam, and simply shook his head. “I’m not good. For her or anybody else...but especially her.”

Sam look at him confused, “What the hell is that suppose to mean?”

Bucky sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I would love to be a guy who could have a girl like that on my arm without worrying I might kill her? That I could take her out somewhere and not have this constant paranoia hanging over my head like a guillotine ready to drop at any second?”

Bucky hadn’t said these thoughts out loud to anyone, not even Steve. “Sam she’s...she’s everything I want but can never have. I gotta keep my distance, but she makes it impossible. I’m mean to her, downright cruel, and boy, does she give it back to me...” Bucky smiled and let out a chuckle at the thought.

“But she’s kind. She’s so sweet and genuine and I-I’m a time bomb. Ella...she’s been through hell and back. I don’t want her to have to go through anything like that again.”

Sam stood in front of his friend, seeing the pain in his eyes. He sighed taking a step toward Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Does she make you happy?”

Bucky looked up confused, “Did you not just hear m—“

“Does. She. Make. You. Happy?” Sam repeated.

Bucky nodded slowly, “She makes me feel alive again. After feeling nothing for almost a century.”

Sam nodded to himself. “If I were you Barnes? I wouldn’t push away my chance at happiness. Who knows? You might be her chance too.”

You look through the doors to the training room and see Sam with Bucky.

Is he passing me off to Sam again? You think.

You take a deep breath and push the door open. They stop their conversation and Sam turns to you.

“What’s up, Punchline? How you doin’?” He asks happily.

You can’t help but smile, his grin is infectious. “Hey Sam, you joining in on the fun today?” You ask, hoping for a regretful answer.

Sam shakes his head, “No, apparently Barnes wants you all to himself. Isn’t that right, Iceman?”

You look to Bucky whose gaze is unwavering, “Ella needs an actual trainer, not a comedian with a whistle.” He jests.

Sam’s jaw drops open slightly and you let out a small giggle.

“Alright, alright. I see when I’m not wanted. Catch ya later, Punchline. And Barnes, I’ll see you in hell.” He flips Bucky off on his way out the door, and you can’t help but laugh.

A few moment pass as a comfortable silence falls over the room. You try not too, but you can’t help but remember the last time you were here. When you were alone with Sergeant Barnes, and what happened.

When he almost killed you.

He noticed the sudden discomfort in your eyes. “Hi, Els.” His smooth, honey voice calls to you; drawing you in.

“Hey, Sarge.” You reply kindly.

He steps forward, testing the waters. “Bucky.” He says.

You look at him confused. “What?”

“Bucky. Use my name. Please.” He says quietly.

“But I thought—“

“I like your voice. The way you say my name...I like it.” His boldness takes you by surprise, but nonetheless you smile.

A small nod, “Bucky.” You say happily.

He smiles back, a real genuine smile. One of the first you think you’ve seen from him.

“Where’s your sling, Doll?” He asks concerned.

“Oh,” you say baring your bandage covered shoulder to him. “When I woke up this morning, my shoulder was...I don’t know. It feels...different? The wound itself still hurts but somehow, it feels healed.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, “Can I?” He gestured to the bandage, and you nod.

He gently sweeps your hair behind your shoulder, rubbing circles on the exposed skin.

When he pulls back the bandage he can’t help but be a little curious.

“Have you ever been injured like this before?” He asks, replacing the bandage.

You shake your head. “No, when I was...where I was, they were very careful not to hurt me this bad.”

“Why’s that?” He asked.

You smile sadly, “Can’t use a punching bag with a hole in it, can you?”

A flash of anger dances in Bucky’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Doll.”

You shrug, “I can’t change the past, no point in living in it.” You push the flashbacks out as they threaten your mind once again. You’re not going to ruin this. Not this time.

Bucky strokes your arm a few times, before his hand grasps at yours loosely. “When HYDRA had you, Steve said they experimented on you?”

He asks like he’s afraid of both your reaction and your answer.

You nod. “Yeah. They injected me with so many solutions and serums. I have no idea what any of it was or did.”

Bucky smiled softly and gently thumbed your knuckles. “Well whatever it was, one of them must have helped you with healing. Steve and I share that trait too. Cuts heal in hours, fractures and breaks in a few days.”

You nod thoughtfully to yourself. “Huh, finally a perk from those assholes.”

He dropped your hand softly, “We’re gonna take it easy still...I don’t wanna push you too hard.”

A laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Bucky asks curiously.

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Sergeant Barnes?” You ask sarcastically.

Without missing a beat, Bucky steps into you, cupping your cheek with his hand. The pad of his thumb is swept over your cheekbone tenderly, prickling your skin with goosebumps.

“I’m trying to be me. The real me. We got off to a terrible start and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.” His voice is so genuine and honest, it takes you by surprise.

“You like keeping me on my toes, huh?” You ask.

He nods fondly, “I could say the same about you, ya k now.”

Silence crept into the room, blanketing the air you shared with him. Suddenly, you can’t help but look to his lips.

It would be so easy to kiss him, too easy. You look down to Bucky’s feet hoping to shake the eagerness from your bones, but it doesn’t help.

“Look at me, Els...” he coaxes you.

You catch his gaze again, and your breathing hitches in your chest.

“I’m gonna earn your trust, Doll. I promise.” Bucky whispers.

Before you had the chance to reply, a chime echoed in the room.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Barnes you’re needed urgently in briefing room C.” FRIDAY’s accent called out.

He looked confused for a moment, “On whose order?”

“Mr. Stark’s.” It was a simple reply, but a telling one nonetheless.

Bucky looked at you quickly, “Let’s go.”

On your way back to the compound, you couldn’t help the nervous feeling in your stomach. Since Tony retired, he never helped out for missions. He came in a few times a month to check on the property and get debriefings from the staff, but his main job was being a Dad.

That’s why when you heard it was him calling for Bucky, you knew something was up.

“What do you think it is?” You asked Bucky, shoving your hands deep in your pockets.

The elevator doors opened and Bucky ushered you out, placing his hand on the small of your back.

“Not sure, but if Tony’s involved it can’t be good.”

As you approached the room, you saw Cap, Bruce, Sam and Wanda at the table, Tony heading the meeting.

You slowed, allowing Bucky to walk ahead of you.

“Come on, Doll.” He said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head, “They didn’t ask for me.”

Bucky chuckled, “Just come on.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him.

The room got instantly quiet. “Look who decided to join us...” Sam jested.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve said kindly.

You sat in the chair by the door, ready to leave if you were asked too. Why should you be here? You’re not an Avenger—or whatever these guys are called now.

“We all know why we’re here. They’re back. This time it seems like for good.” Tony spoke.

He pressed a button on the console, projecting a hologram above the table.

It showed an aerial image of some kind of camp, though fortress would probably be the better word. You stared at the image, when your stomach suddenly dropped. Your skin prickling and clammy before you had time to think.

“Where is this?” Wanda asked.

“Romania.” You whispered.

All eyes were suddenly on you. “Ella? You know this place?” Steve asked.

You nodded subtly, “Y-yeah. I—excuse me.”

Feet carrying you faster than your body wanted, you ran from the conference room. Opting for the stairs instead of the elevator, you run down the several flights to the living quarters.

Luckily, you made it to your bathroom before you were sick. Unable to stop the dry heaving and shaking, you knew there was no point. You’d successfully avoided the flashbacks for over a year, stealing your mind had become second nature, but this...this was too much.

The light headed feeling over took you as you laid in your bed. You desperately drank water, hoping to calm your nerves, but nothing was helping. This was a panic attack, one of the worst you could remember.

“Ella? Ella open up.” Steve’s voice was outside your room, muffled by the door.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move.

“FRIDAY?” You heard him ask. The A.I. didn’t respond, she simply unlocked the door.

You were in the fetal position now, hugging the pillow desperately to your chest.

“Ella.” He said, moving his hand to stroke your back. His touch elicited a fight or flight response you’d been denying for months. You instinctively began kicking and punching him.

“No! No! Don’t take me! Don’t touch me! Stop!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. Steve wasn’t there. You were suddenly back in Romania, in the cell you’d been kept in. The faceless men of your mind were there, touching you. Stabbing you. Hurting you.

“Ella no! Please it’s me, it’s Steve. You gotta fight it, Ella.” He tried you comfort you. “You’re safe, Ella, I promise you’re safe!”

Without warning, the faceless men vanished. Revealing a panicked Steve, sat just inches from you on your bed.

Oxygen filled your lungs once again, as you began to come down from your panic attack.

“Steve?” You question.

He nodded, stroking your hair. “It’s me. You’re safe. It’s me.” He pulled you in for a hug.

You blinked the tears out of your eyes, “Oh my God. Steve, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

He shook it head, “Stop that. Stop that right now, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn’t know you’d be coming in with Buck, I wouldn’t have let them show that had I known...”

“No, I can’t be put in this bubble and hidden away my whole life! It’s not your fault, it just took me off guard, I haven’t seen that place...thought about it in so long I just...” your voice drifted off as you wiped your eyes.

The camp was where you’d been held--where you’d been taken from your family and hidden away all those years ago.

It took a while, but you’d calmed down. People kept coming to check on you, but Cap would kindly move them along, giving you the space you so desperately needed.

It seemed everyone had come to see you, except one person. The one person you actually wanted to see.

“Cap? Where’s Bucky?” You ask innocently

Steve sighed, “Bucky’s been sent ahead of the rest of us.”

Your eyes widened, “Sent? Sent where? Not Romania. Steve he can’t do this alone he can’t, they’ll—“

“We’re headed there tonight. In just a few hours in fact.” He replied, cutting you off.

You stood from your bed grabbing your pistol from the night stand. “Let’s go now, he needs backup.” You’re desperately trying to hide the panic in your voice.

“Ella no, we’re going. You’re not ready for this.” Steve stood from you bed as well, what does he mean not ready?

“Steve I can’t just sit here and—“

“You can and you will. That’s an order, Ella. It’s clear you need more time to heal, both mentally and physically.” Steve put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You said it yourself, you need time. I want you to take it.”

The wind had been knocked out of you. You nod at Steve somberly, accepting his words for what they were; orders.

A few hours after Steve had left, you hear the rumble of the Quinjet take off from the roof. Despite the lack of worry in his voice, you could help the awful feeling in your stomach, telling you something terrible was going to happen...

and you couldn’t do anything about it.

You worried for Bucky, but despite your worry you couldn't help wonder why he just left. Why he wouldn't come check on you, or at least say goodbye. He just...left.

You flopped on the couch in the common room, flicking mindlessly through the channels. Tonight would bring nothing but sleepless bouts and nightmares.

You shut the tv off and stare at the ceiling, unsure of when, or if you’d see Bucky Barnes again.

Chapter Eight: Light Bulb

#samthemarvelfan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu bucky #bucky #captain america #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #seb

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fangirlfics · 5 years ago

Text

Reunited part 1 (Cal Kestis x reader love triangle)

(this is how y/n’s Armour looks)

word count: 2,001

summary: y/n, a former jedi and current bounty hunter attempts to capture Cal to collect a bounty however upon realizing he’s an old friend she changes her mind. (love triangle)

When order 66 had been executed hundreds of jedis had been slaughtered by their own troops. Everything erupted into chaos soon after, and the jedi order fell. Y/n was only a padawan when it all happened. She had witnessed her master switch sides and turn against her and she had watched many of her friends parish. Although she didn’t know what became of her best friend Cal Kestis hope for his survival faded away with each day that passes. One year after the horrific events of order 66 she had been discovered by a young boy her age named Jeremy. He was a bounty hunter--like his older brother-- and in time she also adapted the skills of a bounty hunter. Now five years after the order was made, the three of them were a part of a small group (her force sensitivity and past had still been undiscovered.) And her and Jeremy’s relationship had shifted into something that no longer was as simple as a ‘friendship’. Although he could be manipulative at times and blame other people for his own faults, he was all that she really had. Without him and his gang of bounty hunters what would she do? How would she survive? So now laying atop a building on Zeffo, y/n stared through her scope contemplating all of her decisions within the past five years, including all of those people she had hunted down for a dumb bounty. Lately her line of work bothered her--especially considering the fact that being a bounty hunter went against every moral code that the jedi had taught. What if he made it to an escape pod too? Y/n thought, letting her thoughts drift back to Cal. The Star Destroyer that they were stationed at did have a few escape pods after all, so it was possible that he got away. But there were so many of them She remembered, picturing the shooting clones. She shook her head forcing her thoughts about her former friend (and crush) out.

“I have eyes on the target, he’s headed your way.” y/n heard her partner, Jeremy say through the other end of her receiver, “you ready? Remember, he’s got a droid with him.”

“That bounty's practically already ours.” She confirmed, pushing down her guilt. “Just gotta wait till he’s within range.” She stared through the scope of her rifle, ready to deliver an electrical shot, when a tiny droid came into view, it scrambled forward bouncing excitedly as it scanned something on a wall. She watched the droid some more before turning her attention to the person who followed it, moving her aim up to get the full view of who this person was. She saw it was a male, and he was wearing a dark blue colored poncho with it’s hood up, covering his identity. “Bingo.” She said under her breath.

“Keep an eye out for one of those laser swords, he’s a jedi.” upon hearing those words she froze. “He’s a jedi?” She breathed out shakily. She adjusted her blaster rifle, inspecting his waist area though her scope and sure enough, in his belt she spotted a shiny lightsaber hilt. It was clipped to the boys belt.

“If you’re gonna shoot, better do it now.” She heard Jeremy’s voice echo through her ears. Don’t do it, a voice came into her head. “y/n!” He pressed on when she didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on the rifle’s trigger still aiming at him. I shouldn’t. It’s wrong. She tried shaking the thoughts away, I should be helping him, he’s like me. What would my master think if he saw me now? “y/n shoot the gun!” The sound of Jeremy’s booming voice made her jump, and she wished that her fingers hadn’t been on the trigger, because it shot. It felt like time was moving in slow motion as she watched the blue electrical charge shoot towards him. “move.” She whispered desperately, not caring if Jeremy heard. Please move. Please. And the jedi ducked down to talk to the small droid, missing the bolt of electricity. y/n took a relieved breath, closing her eyes as she watched the cloaked figure’s head snap up to where the bolt had hit the building’s wall.

“Nice shot.” Her partner commented teasingly. So he hadn’t heard her. “I got it.” His accent rang through her ears.

“no wai-“ But it was too late because by the time she looked up into the direction where Jeremy had been stationed his blast had hit the jedi in the back, shocking him with enough power to knock him unconscious. “no-no-no.” She whispered to herself, getting up. “I’ll get him.” She blurted out in desperation.

“Don’t you need help getting him on to the ship?”

“No.”

“You just want the droid don’t you?“

“uh-y-yeah the droid, I want the droid.“ She lied, she just needed an excuse to be alone with him so she could wake him up and get him as far from the bounty hunter group as possible.

“Ok, fine.” He agreed much to her relief . “I get to keep the lighsaber though. I’ll round up the crew and get the ship ready for take off. Then maybe later...if you want I can take you on a date. We haven’t been on one in a while.’”

“Great.” She lied. His idea of a date always resulted in going to the nearest cantina and getting drunk out of him mind.

“I’ll meet you on the ship.“

“ok.“ From her scope she could see that his back was facing her and that he was retreating. Y/n was on her feet within seconds and got down from the roof where she was stationed at, rushing towards the cloaked jedi she fell onto her knees, shaking his shoulder, “Hey get up.” She told him.

“boop-beep!” The jedi’s droid trilled from beside her.

“Calm down I’m on your side.” She reassured the droid, “Help me wake him up, will you?” What if someone from the crew sees me? “Hey get up!” She tried again. He began to stir before jolting awake. And when you just wake up from being electrocuted, a bounty hunter at your side is not what you want to see. The jedi’s eyes widened under the darkness of the night, and he reached for his lightsaber but she was faster and grabbed his wrist to prevent him from drawing it. Seeing this as a threat he jabbed her arm with his elbow, which she blocked and from there they had gotten into a small fight. Each trying to land a hit on the other to knock them down and in the end it was the jedi who tackled y/n down, toppling into the dirt with her.

y/n now lay on the ground with her arms pinned down beside her head. It was then when the the jedi was on top of her holding her down, that she could see him under the faint moon light. His pale complexion, his green eyes, the small freckles scattered across his face.. “Cal?” y/n asked just above a whisper, she had said it so quietly that she was almost certain he hadn’t heard her.

“Why do you know my name?” He asked, and although his voice sounded threatening, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t that type of person. Especially with growing up in the jedi order.

“It’s me.” she told him, “it’s y/n.” She tried pulling her arms out of his grasp but he only gripped onto her wrists tighter. “t-that’s impossible.” He breathed out, and something flashed in his eyes although she wasn’t sure what it was. Anger? Pain? “y/n’s d-dead.” He said quieter, “She died when the jedi order fell, now who are you!”

“It’s really me.” She told him again

Cal shook his head in denial, squeezing his eyes shut for a second “N-no, you’re lying. You’re just trying to get my guard down so you can turn me in. You’re a bounty hunter, I know your tricks.”

“What does your gut tell you?” y/n said softly.

“If you’re really who you say you are, prove it.”

She thought for a moment before rushing her words out at once, “When we were younglings the other kids made fun of me a-and you were the only one who ever helped me. That’s why we became friends.” He didn’t budge. “After our private lessons with our masters we used to tell each other everything we learned, and we fantasized about being heroes. We used to make bracelets together...” For a moment she thought that he hadn’t been persuaded or that he didn’t remember those highlights of her childhood. But he seemed to freeze for a second, and his mouth gaped open as if he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

“y/n?” He asked, not recognizing the girl under the helmet, “it’s really-I...what?” He got off of her, still in disbelief as he stood.

Y/n got to her feet slowly observing his reaction before pulling her helmet off, exposing her y/h/c eyes and y/h/c hair-which was pulled back into a pony tail. Cal who had been looking at the ground now turned his head into her direction, and his mouth fell open again. Unsure of what to say he stumbled over his words for a second in disbelief. “I-you...I thought...” His eyes began to get glossy now as his emotions took over, “I thought you were dead!” He cried, trying to stifle his tears. But there was no points because they were coming out like a faucet.

y/n bit her lip and covered her mouth with her free hand letting out a small sob before dropping her helmet and throwing her arms around her old friend.

“I-I t-thought that you died.” She said shakily.

“I did too...” Cal whispered against her temple as he wrapped his arms around her. “I missed you so much.” He said with closed eyes.

“Oh my god.” y/n said now with joy. She pulled away, still holding onto his arms as she took another look at him, “you-you grew up.” She observed. “And you’re hair is obviously different.” She laughed.

“You look so different.“ He laughed, but he then snapped back into reality and looked down to her helmet and blasters, frowning slightly. “Why-are you a bounty hunter?”

“Yeah.” She admitted embarrassed. “I just-wait. We need to get you out of here!” She said, suddenly remembering the reason she had come. “My crew, they’ll come looking for you-”

“I can’t come.” He cut her off, “The ship’s busted, my crew and I took a hard landing. It’ll take a couple of days to get it fixed.”

She bit her lip in thought before replying. Now what? “Well, we have to keep you hidden then.”

“Well I was staying here-”

“It’s too dangerous there, they’ll be looking.”

“Then I can stay up in the woods.” He suggested, “There’s plenty of cover and there’s a few caves in the deeper part.”

“Perfect.” She agreed, “I can go check up on you then.”

“Ok.“

“You should probably go now then, before someone comes here to check up on me...“

“What are you going to tell them?“ Cal asked with a worried expression.

“The truth; you got away.“ She smiled.

Cal chuckled lightly before giving her shoulders a small squeeze “be careful.“

“You’re the one with a bounty on your head.“ She reminded the boy.

He tilted his head in a playful manner. “true.” Then his tone grew serious, “But seriously, if they try to do anything to you-“

“Look at you still trying to protect me.“ y/n smiled “You didn’t really change much. Did you?“ He blushed at this. “I’ll see you later. Stay safe.“ Cal nodded and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze before turning around and disappearing with BD-1. I’m so screwed y/n thought.

#star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars one shot #star wars #jedi fallen order #star wars jedi: fallen order #jedi fallen order fanfic #cal x reader #cal kestis #cal kestis imagine #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis fanfic #x reader #imagines

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years ago

Text

Stay Ch. 19

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: A little violence (kinda) and a lot of feelings

A/N: HOLY SHIT I AM SO SORRY! I had no intention for this to take over a fucking month. But Endgame fucked me up so hard (in the best way, I think I earned those hurts with the shit I write here lol) and just life, in general, has been NUTS (also in a really good way).

I honestly cannot thank you all enough for being so goddamn patient and supportive while you waited for this chapter. Some folks have to deal with really demanding and dickish followers but I’m over here getting asks and DMs of y’all wishing me well and shit. HOW AM I THIS LUCKY?!

I hope y’all like this one.

Tags are open!

Post Snap: Wakanda

Shock settles cold and heavy over Natasha’s shoulders.

Her gaze has been on the blank screen of her phone for an unknown amount of time. She’d tried to call… but all communication had been cut off, Wakanda locking itself away… A knock from the door behind her causes her to jump, sending the phone clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s tone is cautious. “The jets almost ready.” They needed to get home… She knows people need them but…

“I can’t.”

“Nat… we have to-”

“No. I have to find her Bruce…”

There’s pity in his eyes, “Natasha… the odds…”

“Go,” Steve’s voice comes from the hall, rough and low. She steps out holding his haunted expression. A set of keys sail in her direction, “There’s a bike you can take outside…” Steve pauses, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “Outside Bucky’s place.”

A touch of warmth fills her chest. He already knew what she’d need to do. Her fingers curl around the keys. “Thank you.”

The moment she’s outside of Wakanda’s protective barrier she tries to check for the message… still, she can’t get through…

A scream threatens to rip her apart. She may be able to make it through the end of the goddamn world… through watching members of her small family fall to ash… But she would not survive losing you… not again.

October 2009

“Fuck!” Natasha bellows slamming her fist against the wall.

Months of searching… this had been their last lead. It came up empty. She was supposed to be the best and yet she couldn’t find and save the one person she cared the most for… not even with the resources and blessing of S.H.I.E.L.D…

They’d given her everything she could need. Everyone from Secretary Pierce to Fury throwing their weight behind this, pulling strings no one would even fathom pulling with governments and low lives alike and still not a sign of you. It was as if you’d simply disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Nat…” Clint lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugs him off.

“We missed something. There’s gotta be… something…” her voice cracks as he takes her by the shoulders.

His sad eyes break something in her, “There’s not, Natasha. She’s… she’s gone.”

“No,” her voice is thick with restrained tears. “She wouldn’t-”

He shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t think it was a choice… But someone…” Nat shakes her head like a child denying a very obvious truth.

“Clint-” A sob slips out before she can catch it.

He tugs her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. A guttural sob rips from the deepest parts of her being and her knees give way sending them both to the floor. All she can think is how you’d feel this emotion with her, how you’d understand everything without her having to speak a word…

Slowly her sorrow is replaced with a cold rage. Someone took you from her. They likely caught wind that you’d turned your services over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and thinking you’d give something away… They couldn’t even leave her a body, couldn’t even give you dignity in death.

“We’ll figure out who did this, Natasha.” Clint may not be you but he knew her well enough to read her. “We will.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

They never did though…

Fury assigned her to Stark because she was best suited but also because he felt the distraction of deep cover would help. It may have but… Being Natalie Rushman reminded her of your night in Tokyo… There was nothing she could do to escape your memory.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long. In less than a year she was back to just being Natasha, back to the Widow, working every job she could. The more exhausted she was the less she felt how hollow she was. The more her body ached the less she missed your touch.

When she stared down a horde of alien invaders she thought that just maybe this was it. She’d go out fighting and save some people in the process. If there was another side well, she hoped you’d be there waiting.

But it wasn’t the end. Somehow they’d pulled off the impossible.

By that point, almost five years had passed. Natasha still missed you on a level that felt impossible to truly convey. But there were days that the ache was less than it had ever been. It wasn’t moving on per-say but it was something like healing.

At the very least now she had the distraction of Steve. She could make him a project. She’d never have the life or happiness she wanted but maybe she could help him find his footing. Maybe one of them could have a chance at happiness, at a life.

There was something she related to in his detachment. She supposed the loss of just about everyone and everything a person knew could be similar to the void you left. So many times she thought of telling him about you, hoping that he’d feel less alone in his pain but… He was a man from the ’40s… She wasn’t willing to risk losing a friend over dated prejudices.

Turned out she should have given Steve Rogers more credit.

When she heard the ballistics on the bullet that killed Fury her blood ran cold. It was him…

So many things had crossed her mind then. Not a single one of them had been that somehow she’d find you because of this.

She’d been so wrapped up in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s demise that she didn’t have time to look at the files she’d released. Thankfully Clint had her back and had been scanning them the moment they’d hit the web.

Just after she’d settled into the tower he showed up looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Fear gripped her. Had she exposed Laura and the kids in her haste to topple Hydra… had she sacrificed everything-

“I found her.”

For a minute the words rang hollow and meaningless.

“Found who?” Steve asked from his spot on her couch.

Clint said nothing, just held her gaze until his shot inevitably hit its target. “I think she’s alive, Nat.” He hands you a file.

With trembling hands, she turns the pages. Scarcely breathing. Steve says something but Clint hushes him.

As the words on the pages soak in she thinks she may vomit. Experiments, tests, torture… kill missions… Riots you’d incited at their command, dignitaries dropping from what appeared to be brain aneurisms. Little subtle things she should have looked for and then the last report… February 2014… nine months prior.

Natasha’s knees give out and she hits the hardwood with a thud. They’d had you for five years… Her breath stills.

No.

“Natasha!” Clint kneels in front of her, Steve stands at the ready behind him.

Pieces rapidly click into place. All the subtle ties to Hydra since the very moment the two of you met and they meant one thing. My fault. All my fault. They wouldn’t have gotten to you if it weren’t for her. You wouldn’t have let your guard down. You wouldn’t have trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d had a feeling about them from the start but she’d been convinced you were just being overly cautious.

“Nat…”

A raspy breath sucks into her lungs so fast it almost hurts. “I did this.” She breathes out.

“No. No, you fucking did not.” Clint grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

“I did. She wouldn’t-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up with that I’ll slap you,” she sees Steve shift in the background. “You didn’t do this. They did this and we will get Y/N back.” She says nothing, just stares at a hair on Clint’s shirt, numb. “Do you hear me, Natasha?!”

Slowly her eyes meet his. “Do you hear me?” His tone level now.

“Yeah,” weakly she nods.

This was the last base that could possibly be hiding you. The last little flickering ember of hope. With cell after cell empty or filled with rotting bodies, that ember was fading quickly.

Natasha thought when the inevitable realization that you were gone hit her she’d go mad. Screaming, tearing her hair, the full Linda Blair. Instead, she feels… nothing. Not the calm detachment she’s used to but a nothingness so deep she wonders if it’s actually what death feels like.

“Natasha,” Sam’s voice crackles in her comm, “one floor down from you, south side. We think we got her.”

Tingles creep up her spine, feeling electric against her scalp. She won’t believe it. Won’t hope. All Sam and Steve had to go off of were old photos… Who knew what they’d done to you… Natasha ran faster than she ever had in her entire life. The slightest chance that you could be alive was all it took to drive her forward.

Honey. That’s all she wanted to hear in your rich accent. “Please,” she breathes out to anything that would hear her as she sprints down the hall toward where the guys waited. “Please give me her.”

“Where!?” They’re standing before a glass wall and part as if on cue.

The figure slumped on the floor beyond the glass isn’t the woman she remembers. There are bones where once ample curves had been, supple skin replaced with dull bruised flesh, thick hair traded for thin scraggly locks, pink lips for cracked grey things. Honestly, she couldn’t even tell if the person in there was alive.

A small sound ekes from Natasha’s mouth before her hand can fly to cover it. Why had she dared to hope?

Clint’s warm hand settles on her back. She doesn’t know when he arrived or how long she’s been staring. “That’s her, Nat…” He says it like she really doesn’t know like you aren’t a part of her very soul. She’d know you… she’d always know you. But were you-

Your head rolls on your shoulders, a groan sounding through unseen speakers. Natasha’s breath stops. -Alive.

“Hey,” your voice is cracked, low, and hoarse but still… it really is you. Clint grabs her hand tight. “How about you pieces of shit bring me some water?”

Still very you. Unable to wait a second longer she rushes to the door. Desperately she tugs at the handle, clearly locked.

“Rogers, a little help?!”

“Are you sure Nat? We don’t know if-”

“If. I know that if you don’t help me open this door I will break your super-powered body in ways you can’t even imagine.” Every word drips with conviction.

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. With a swift tug and a touch of effort, he pries the door open.

Your head rolls in the direction of the door, “About fuckin’ time. Was beginning to think y’all were just gonna-”

Eyes Natasha has missed for far too long fly wide open. Instead of the joy and love, she was hoping to see, terror floods your features.

“No,” your voice is barely a whisper. “God no please, no.” You bury your face in your knees, covering your ears with your hands, “I’ll do anything you want… don’t make me do this, not again, please. No.” Your body trembles, rocking back and forth.

Natasha doesn’t even hear Steve and Clint warn her to hold back as she kneels before you, tugging your hands from your head. Caution a long forgotten skill. This is you. You need her.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok. Look at me, feel-”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Your head shakes back and forth, “They lied, whatever they promised you is a lie. You won’t win, just go. Go. I can’t… I-”

“Y/N,” she tilts your chin up. Red rimmed, fearful eyes, gaze at her. “It’s me.”

“No. Leave, they’re gonna make me… just go. Go now. Tell ‘em I’ll do whatever it is, just leave… please… don’t make me do this…”

She shakes her head, “Do what? Baby, I-”

“Go!” You roar. Behind the word is something else. A force so strong it knocks the wind from Natasha’s chest. “Get out!”

She can’t breathe, her heart begins to trip over itself. Panic, terror, pain, all combine making her brain misfire in every direction. A low keening rises from you, with the sound the emotions become more and more pronounced. Natasha can’t even reach her concern for you anymore, there’s only this, this inescapable feeling of pure fear. Curling into a ball she tries to focus.

Slowly you rise, looking down at her. When her eyes meet yours she’s struck by how black they are, the pupils so huge they seem to take up more space than your irises ever did. They look… inhuman. For a second it quells the suffocating fear.

“Please…” Desperately Natasha reaches up for you, silently begging you to know her, all of her, in that way only you can. Instead, your hand slowly lowers, aimed for her head.

This is fine, Nat thinks, eyes closing. Strangely, she’s at peace with the thought that if she died here, by your hand, at least then you’d feel her, know she came for you even if she was too late.

The distinct crackling of electricity followed by a thud beside her meets her ears. Breath begins to fill her chest as her heart slows. Something happened to you… A new sense of panic breaks her from the stupor she’d fallen into.

You’re unconscious, one of Clint’s shock arrows stuck to your back. Vaguely, Natasha is aware of the shuffling feet near the door. Someone grabs her shoulders. Logically, she knows they’re helping her up but she isn’t operating on logic. Without thought, she blindly lunges at this faceless person. Flesh contacting flesh with an effective smack.

Ignoring everything and everyone else she crawls to you ripping the arrow off your limp body tugging you into her arms. With every ounce of strength, she has she clutches your back to her chest. Your head lolls on her shoulder as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha whispers against your skin. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok, baby.” Tears burn the backs of her eyes, pricking like a thousand needles. She refuses to allow them to fall. Tears won’t help you.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice is level like he’s speaking to one of the kids. “Nat, we need to get her some help. Will you let us do that?”

Clarity dawns. Her eyes scan the room to find Steve rubbing his neck. It was Steve who she’d lashed out at. “St… Steve?”

“I’m ok,” his smile is weak but he’s sincere. “Will you let me carry her?”

The thought of letting you go… but Clint was right. Your skin feels clammy, your breath shallow… scarily so… Natasha nods and he cautiously approaches, not wanting another fist to the throat.

Steve lifts you from her arms like you weigh nothing. Despite his bulk, he’s so gentle, ensuring you’re supported properly. Clint and Sam flank her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before trekking to the jet.

Immediately Sam begins hooking you up to oxygen and a saline drip. He says something about your oxygen levels and heart rate that doesn’t sink in. All Natasha can do is stare at you, horrified and amazed in equal measure that somehow you’re back with her. Somehow after all these years, she has you again.

“This isn’t fucking necessary, Tony!” Natasha shakes with rage.

“I think all present parties would disagree.”

Her eyes desperately scan the room for backup but even Clint averts his gaze.

“I don’t know if you blacked out back there but all of us damn near flipped shit when your girl in there did. She’s a bomb and we have no idea what the trip wire is. Until we know exactly what’s going on we need to control the environment she’s in.” Tony collapses in a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like it either, Nat but he’s right. We have to play it safe. For her sake as much as ours.” Clint looks so tired…

She shakes her head, “She… she won’t know she’s safe… that-” I’m here… Natasha can’t finish the statement though because she knows that’s part of the point. Seeing her had set you off.

“We’re gonna have to keep her partially sedated for at least a few days anyway, Nat.” Sam offers a half smile when she glares at him. “The withdraws from whatever they had her on will be rough, it’d be cruel to keep her fully conscious while she goes through the first part of them. She’ll come to slowly so the change doesn’t shock her.”

She knows Sam’s right. They’d had you on some sick mix of heroin and other chemicals for longer than they knew. It was the perfect combination to keep you desperate and pliable without harming your mind, leaving you an effective weapon for them.

But when she looks at your unconscious form through the view screen she just wants to hold you. Truly it feels as though her whole body is aching to wrap around yours. She wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up but… they took that from you both.

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe, Natasha. Promise.”

Post Snap

The rain had slowed but that only meant that cold could settle in. That kind of cold that makes your insides ache.

You can’t bring yourself to move, all you can do is focus on the pain and what it reminded you of…

November 2014

Your whole body throbbed with pain. A deep, aching, hungry kind of pain. It was familiar but you weren’t certain of it until your stomach clenched.

Without ceremony, you lean over the side of the bed and heave, nothing but bile burning up your dry throat.

After you refused to kill the woman they sent you should have known they’d do this. It never took very long for withdrawal to set in and the last time it had been enough to break you… They’d send her in soon enough… And Natasha’s face or not you were fairly certain you’d end her life if it meant stopping the pain.

Anyway, it wasn’t Natasha… Hell, sometimes you wondered if there ever was a Natasha. Maybe your brain, in hopes of surviving, crafted some fantasy to comfort you…

You heave again, abdominal muscles screaming from the effort. “Fuck,” you groan, wiping your cracked lips on your arm.

It’s not until you collapse back into the bed that you realize you’re in a different cell, and this bed… well, it’s possibly the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in years. Interesting tactic for them to take.

The door opens cautiously. A dry laugh tumbles from you. Even if you wanted to attack whoever was on the other side you don’t have it in you. It’s strange though, caution isn’t usually their style.

Slowly a man with a kind smile comes into focus, a tray in his hands. He’s not in uniform, just plain street clothes. Your head cocks to the side, trying to put these pieces in place.

“Hey, thought you may want something on your stomach. Better than heaving up nothing.”

You say nothing, eyes narrowing. Focus, Y/N. Read him, come on. But your brain isn’t in the mood to obey you.

As he approaches, instinctively you curl into yourself. Thoughts of other men, other cells, flash rapidly through your mind setting your heart to thundering. The familiar feeling of your chest splitting open begins but you fight to maintain control. If they thought you attacked him…

The man clears his throat shaking his head a bit as if to fend off a fly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly he sets the tray of food at the end of the bed. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

He extends a hand just close enough for you to reach. For a long moment, you just stare at it, confused, trying to work out what the trap here is. It’s always something there’s always something. But maybe if you played along they’d give you want you needed to make the aching stop. Fuck, you just want it to stop.

Hesitantly you let your fingers graze the back of his hand.

Quick as though you touched a hot stove you withdraw. Bad idea. You couldn’t control it. So many images tumble in your mind. Faces, names, voices. A small sound comes from you as your hands grasp your head, trying to keep it from flying apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Can you open your eyes?” Sam, his name was Sam, is kneeling beside the bed looking up at you with earnest eyes.

Slowly things come back into focus and you know one thing for certain. He’s not lying to you. This Sam, whoever he may be, does want to help you. You don’t trust him, he could be being used, but it’s been a long time since someone was near you that didn’t mean you harm.

“I… it was too much at once…” Your body relaxes a touch, “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s that familiar flash of surprise before he responds, “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” his smile is true. “Think you can eat something?” Blankly you stare at the trey, the thought of eating making your abdomen clench. “If you can eat a bit I can give you something that’ll help with the pain.”

Saltine crackers had never looked so appealing and horrifying all at once. Taking a deep breath you scoot down the bed and pick one up with a shaky hand.

The salt explodes on your tongue as though it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Your stomach growls demanding more. In an instant you’re reaching for another cracker.

“Take it slow,” Sam smiles brightly as he pulls up a chair close enough to be personable but not uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling hungry that’s a good sign. Means your system is getting closer to being clear.”

“What’d they have me on?” You ask before taking a deep drink of water.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, “It was a cocktail. An addictive one.”

You didn’t really need the details, nor did you want them in all honesty. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. One thing you did want to know…

“Where am I?”

Sam holds your gaze, clearly weighing his response carefully. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s a shit answer.” Your hands shake as you sip the oversized mug of broth. It’s hot and stings your chapped lips a bit but you nearly groan from the taste.

“True.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in New York. With people who want to help you. Can that be enough for now?” His sincerity hits you, a warm wave of emotion, unlike anything you’ve felt in so long.

You’re too tired to fight, “For now.” The half-empty mug clatters to the trey as it slips from your hands. Mindlessly you itch at your arms, every nerve feels like it’s tingling, almost enough to drive you crazy.

Sam stands, crossing the room. Your eyes follow him as he places his thumb on a pad causing a small door to open. “This will help that.” He holds up a vile and syringe.

Fear chills your over-warm body instantly. However, your eyes light on your arms, scratch marks red and irritated, and despite the food, everything still hurts… badly. Plus, who gave a fuck what you wanted. He may be kind but you were still in a cell, still a prisoner.

Habitually you hold your arms out. With a gentle touch, he grips your wrist, locating a non-ruined vein and injects whatever new concoction these helpful people have for you.

As it works its way through your blood the aching does quiet some, your nerves stop their incessant tingling. A deep sigh escapes you. Whatever it was it felt good. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the food, or just soul-deep exhaustion but your eyes flutter and you sway.

“Here,” Sam grips your shoulders, guiding you to the plush pillows. Suddenly you see a flash from him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” Through your half-lidded eyes, you see his confused expression and feel just a touch of fear.

“Your friend. Riley. I’m sorry.”

He looks away, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” When he looks back his eyes are glassy, “Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll check back in on you soon.”

It had been six… no seven days… They blurred together into one purgatorial haze.

Natasha hadn’t left the observation room off your cell the entire time. Sleeping on a cot next to the viewscreen just to feel closer to you… when she slept that was. But after Sam had assured her that his exchange with you earlier was an excellent sign she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. That little touch of relief better than any sleeping pill.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out but a sudden cry instantly pulls her from sleep.

You’re still in the bed, very much unconscious, but… You’re thrashing, so much so it’s hard to tell if you’re not seizing. The only thing convincing her that you’re in the grips of a terrible dream is the cries of terror filling her ears. Then…

“Natasha!” Your desperation and pain feel like a bullet straight through her heart. A red light flashes in the observation room, the others are coming, she has to get in there now before anyone can stop her.

“Natasha! Don’t!”Clint’s voice barely hits her ears as the door to your cell slams shut behind her.

For a moment she can’t breathe or move. The air of your cell is thick, swamp-like with your emotions. Taking a deep breath she gathers herself.

With effort, she focuses on every good memory she has of you, every happy moment, every safe tender night and… love. She pulls that core emotion around her like a cloak hoping it will somehow reach you.

“Get out of there, Natasha!” Tony’s voice is harsh through the speaker. She ignores him, almost to you.

A scream accompanied with a wave of abject terror and images of a lab almost send her to her knees. She doesn’t falter though, tears stream down her cheeks, her body shakes but still, she moves toward your thrashing form.

Slowly she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her arms wrap around you, pinning your arms. Her legs do the same around yours holding you steady.

“No!” You screech as your head flings back. She barely avoids the hit.

She’s not feeling the fear you’re pumping out though, not anymore. All she feels is relief. It springs from some part of her she had forgotten about. You’re in her arms, the ache she’s felt for years quieting.

“Y/N, you’re dreaming baby.”

“Natasha, no!” You sob as an image of her own bloody body slams into her. She just holds you tighter.

“That’s not me. I’m right here. I’ve got you, Y/N.” She feels a shift in your body. “Do you hear me? Focus on my voice baby… Come back to me, Y/N… please.”

You gasp, “N… Natasha…”

“That’s right.” You’re no longer thrashing so she slides her hands to grasp yours. “It’s me.” Natasha keeps her mind focused on all those good memories that got her from the door to the bed. Focused on the love she feels for you.

A thick sob bubbles from you causing your torso to shake. You try to turn in her arms and panic grips her, remembering your reaction in the base.

“Keep your eyes closed ok? Can you do that for me?”

You nod and she helps you turn to face her. You’re so gaunt, so clearly battered, but somehow still so fucking beautiful to her.

A trembling hand releases hers rising to find her face. Natasha hears the speaker click, but her free hand shoots up, signaling them to shut up. Your fingers lay gently on her cheekbone, from there they slowly trace her features stopping on her lips.

In a movement as natural to the both of you as breathing you pull one another even closer, your lips fitting together perfectly.

Natasha nearly cries out with joy at that long forgotten warm feeling of love that always flowed form you when your lips met hers. It was thick and golden like-

“Honey.”

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen @yanginginthere @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf @itsqueenofchains @demonlover87 @firegoblet01

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #queer fic

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acrobaticcatfeline · 5 years ago

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The Fear of the Dragonwitch (Triplets RoLoRem AU) Chapter 3!!!

Word Count: 2329

TW: This is chock full of them! Remus, violence, blood, broken bones, bullying, homophobia, transphobia, swearing I think that’s it, LMK if I missed anything!

Notes: OK!!! Third chapter is... rough. It sorta comes out of nowhere, but all will be explained in time. There’s a little more closure from last chapter before everything takes off to the violent bit. I really wanted to play with Logan, I’ve been trying to keep him close to his canon self, but that means hes really really apathetic most of the time, and doesn’t want to confront his emotions. I played with how it manifests in this chapter. I also wanted to introduce Logan as another main character, because all of the triplets are, and they have their own arcs to complete. I see the Dragonwitch as nightmares and fears in general, so now from the title you might get where end game might be. They all have to face their biggest fears and grow from them, and that’s really rough in particular for Logan, who isn’t afraid of some trivial everyday fear like being alone or stage-fright. anyways I’ve gone on too long, last chapter is here, first is here. I hope you enjoy!

Pairings: Logicality, Joan X Talyn, OC X OC (vivian X mimi)

Summary: “The next day at school was interesting to say the least.” Roman goes to school after his whole crisis and rocks it! Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Logan. The boy is walking hand in hand with Patton when a bully walks up and decides to go much further than throwing simple insults. Logan is only so much of a distraction to them, who have targeted Patton in particular. In essence, people are assholes and it can end up with you in a whole lot of pain.

The next day at school was interesting to say the least. Roman had gotten thrown headfirst into rehearsals. Valerie and Terrance ran lines with him the whole time before school, after he had sufficiently made sure Joan was ok without him. He hadn’t even really quite remembered what he was performing as. It was a shock to be reminded that the musical was kinky boots, and that him being the lead meant he was Charlie price. Heck, he was playing the same character that the absolutely legendary Brendon Urie did, and that was a revelation. They were singing songs and Terrance had begun singing sex is in the heel, and roman could immediately see how perfect his casting was. He giggled at one part in particular.

I'm black Jesus, I'm black Mary, but this Mary’s legs are hairy!!!

They continued and he danced like a dork with the other two as he sung step one, twirling Valerie around dramatically with a wide grin. He couldn’t stop laughing when Valerie sung a history of wrong guys, her silly accent she was exaggerating was absolutely killing him. They ran through the script once before the bell rung and they had to split.

By the time it’s his lunch period he's gone through the script another 3 times and he thinks he pretty much has the lines down, to the shock and awe of the others.

Just put One foot Onward and forward I used to be a zero but now I clearly feel that I may be the hero who reinvents the heel I may be facing the impossible I may be chasing after miracles And there may be the steepest mountain to overcome But this is step one!

At that, Valerie had stopped him. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“Terrance, how have we only just been let in on this magical voice and impossible memory of our boy?”

“I mean he is pretty shy most of the time”

“… guys I've been the one to train understudies for the past year because of my memory for scripts.”

“what???!!!”

“I guess it makes sense that you wouldn’t know that, I don’t think you two have ever been understudies.”

“TOMMY WHEN DID YOU PLAN ON LETTING US IN ON THIS???”

“if you had asked, I would have told you.”

“gosh, you already have your lines memorized, could you help us?”

“uh, yeah sure? I mean if Joan needs help, I’ll have to bail, but sure.”

“don’t worry about me Ro, its mostly finished, I just gotta fuss with the rollers so they roll straight and quietly.”

“ok then! Then let’s get to it!”

Logan on the other hand was having a less than optimal day.

He flinched as his head hit the lockers and the hand holding his shirt lifted him off the ground. His own arms clung to the other, legs kicking futilely.

“what's wrong fag? Having trouble? Good, you disgust me. You and your fucking tranny boyfriend.”

Logan was dropped, and he fell to his knees, his head bobbing forward. He stumbled back to his feet; a determination set in his jaw. Patton had a bruise forming on their cheek, a black eye and more matching marks on their arms. Patton said nothing, silent tears flowing as their head fell forward. Logan turned his attention back to the bullies, he knew Virgil had ran to get a teacher, and he knew how slow some would be, hoping that they would get back before he and Patton were both blacked out from the assault. He balled his fists, wincing slightly as he felt a large pain shoot through him at the action. He ignored it and swung.

Roman flinched as the theatre doors slammed open louder than normal. He flinched again at the yell that came from it. He turned to see Virgil and only heard Logan and hurt, and he was standing. Thomas had turned and was rushing to the doors just the same as he was. Joan, Talyn, Terrance, and Valerie followed behind them. Roman silently hoped that they would be fast enough, he had no idea what was happening, but he knew it was bad.

Logan wanted to scream. He was an idiot! He swung and his hand, his right hand thankfully, was grabbed, and he felt the bones in his wrist crack. He merely winced again, continuing to fight back, refusing to leave Patton there defenseless. He didn’t hear the door to the hall open, didn’t see the bully and his group turn and try to leave, he saw red. He didn’t see Remus roundhouse kick the main guy and apprehending him as Mr. Sanders came through the other side of the hall. He just couldn’t see anymore. He DID feel himself collapse, however, and the screaming of his wrist. He knew he had apologized, didn’t feel it escape his mouth, or hear it ring through his head, but he knew he said it as he passed out.

Next thing Logan knew, his vision was blurred and white. He had panicked, where was he? Where was Patton? Did his teachers know what had happened? Would he be marked as ditching? He was seen by several people that morning, what would they think? He tried to push himself up to get his bearings and when his wrist protested, he let out a quiet whimper. He continued to sit up, supporting himself on the other hand, quickly snatching his glasses off the counter and slipping them on.

He was in a bed in the nurses office. He looked for Patton and frowned when he didn’t see them. He swung his legs off the bed and went to stand but crumpled to the floor with a yelp. He steadied himself against the wall and assessed his legs. They were thoroughly bruised; he could tell from the constant throbbing pain. He also saw there must’ve been spots that he had broken skin, big blood stains scattered on his jeans indicated as such. He leaned on his good hand, pressed against the wall and stumbled painfully to the bathroom he knew was just down the hall. Once he had gotten there, he grimaced at his reflection. It was covered in dirt from the school’s floors and his blood mixed with it. The nurse must not have gotten to him yet, which meant he must have only been out for a bit, that was good. he carefully rinsed his face, then his arms with a fraction more pain and struggle. He then stumbled back over to his bed, leaning heavily against it as he grabbed his phone and shot a text to his mom and roman, basically a formal apology at the trouble he had gotten into, not to worry about him, that his writing hand was unharmed and that he was fine to continue the school day. He didn’t look back at it to see their crazed replies telling him to absolutely not continue with the school day. Instead he wandered to find Patton.

He saw the nurse turn and leave and then stumbled over to Patton who looked about ready to yell out his name when Logan raised a finger to his lips. He hated the tears that stung their cheeks. He placed himself on the bed and carefully wrapped them in a hug. He also noted, that he hated how Patton's shoulders shook while they cried.

“Lo… Lo why are you up and moving? The nurse said that your wrist is broken, and you have a bunch of bruises and scars, Logi why did you do all that?”

“Pat, what did you think I would do? I wasn’t about to leave you to get attacked, you could have died”

“so could you!”

And Patton's eyes flooded again. Cries about how stupid he was for protecting them and just cries of fear in general fell from their lips. Logan stayed silent and held them, letting them vent. When they couldn’t cry anymore, he placed a kiss on their forehead.

“its ok Pat. We’ll be ok. I'm gonna head to class though, I don’t want my teachers thinking I'm ditching.”

At this, Patton clings to his arm with an annoyed look.

“Logan, Mr. Sanders got us here, our teachers know we’re here. You are hurt, you are absolutely not going to class, or I'm getting up myself to stop you.”

At that Logan’s will crumbled. Patton looked miserable, there was no way he would let Patton get up and stop him. He was right, he was in a lot of pain, his legs and wrist kept screaming about it. His partner had a hardened gaze and he knew there was no way he was going to be going through with his plan. On top of that, the nurse, frazzled and confused had just found him and he got reprimanded for leaving his bed. He had been granted his request to be over next to Patton, if not for anything but it hurt too much to walk back. The nurse brought his things over and had just began setting his wrist when Roman, Remus, and Mimi had burst in. Remus was over immediately, his movement sporadic, but he didn’t speak. He sat on the edge of the bed staring at Logan’s broken wrist being fixed. He faintly heard the nurse explain to Mimi that what she was doing was only temporary, and that he would have to get it set at a proper doctor’s office. Roman walked over and Logan could see the words forming in his head getting held back. He merely smiled, and Roman started crying.

Mimi walked over soon after, her eyes brimming with tears as she gently held his hand that wasn’t broken. He frowned slightly.

“why are you crying?”

“because you got hurt you idiot!”

Logan was shocked to hear Remus say it. He looked at him and was shocked again to see tear stains on his cheeks.

“… it happens Re, its not that bad, pr-”

“don’t lie. I hate it when you lie to make us feel better. You always do it. It is bad, I was there, he broke your wrist, he kicked the shit out of your legs, I'm surprised they aren’t broken as well. This isn't fine this is bullshit. The kids aren’t even getting expelled, they have a week suspension and its so dumb! They assaulted you and Patton, why aren’t they in jail? They could’ve killed you and they're still staying here that’s unsafe and it’s bullshit!!!”

Logan couldn’t help the swell of anger at hearing his assailant’s punishment. Remus was right, it’s not fair. The world isn't fair, he knows this, but he had hoped that at least the school would do what's right. In the corner of his vision he saw Patton's eyes filling with tears again.

“Remus calm down. Me and your mom have already reported it to the police and pressed charges. We’ve also already called the school board to reverse your suspension.”

Logan’s eyes widened and he gaped at Mimi and Remus both.

“wait, you got suspended?”

“yeah. Apparently, roundhouse kicking someone who was trying to murder your brother falls under the same category as trying to kill someone to the school.”

Logan was furious. Remus had been working so hard to keep his record clean, he had punched a few kids when he was a kid, broken a few noses, but he had been getting better, he had been handling his anger responsibly and hadn’t had an incident in years, to have this ruin his record had Logan fuming.

“I… I heard from the nurse that we almost got suspended too. Um, apparently someone on the board had said we did damage as well, and that there was no proof that it wasn’t just a normal fight. They grabbed security footage and they were out-voted, I guess. I think they were the kid’s parent. That’s probably why.”

Logan hissed at Patton explanation.

“what? They- those fuckers broke my wrist, I barely got a hit in there, what the hell?”

“we are going to deal with this Logan. Your mom already has a line of people who are willing to take this to court for us.”

Logan felt both a little more at ease, and much more filled with anxiety. He really didn’t want to have to take his school to court.

“it’s- it doesn’t matter that much, like I said I'm fine, its Patton that I'm worried about. He was the one they targeted.”

“Logan, they broke your fucking wrist.”

He flinched at that. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that. He said it himself. But Patton saying it, Patton didn’t curse. They never cursed. And they seemed so angry. It scared Logan, he wouldn’t admit it, but he was. He was really scared. People attacked them for their gender and sexualities. And they got away with it. Logan’s legs were in complete and utter pain, his wrist was broken, and he was almost suspended for it all. His significant other wasn’t always with him, what would he do if he wasn’t there? He couldn’t imagine it, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to confront this, he just wanted to go to class, at least go home and sleep, be somewhere safe.

He was scared of his mortality, and knowing he was in danger in one of the few places he's ever felt safe was sending him into a panic attack. Mimi had left work to come and see him, maybe he could go home. But- but then Patton would be here alone. His head was swimming when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Logan. Breathe. You're coming home, and when Viv gets home we’re taking you to get a real cast. The nurse just said Patton's parents are here to pick him up. He’ll be ok Hun. And so will you.”

Logan breathed in… and out. He would be ok.

Taglist: @fivebyfive-finebyfive @tacohippy56900 @analogical-mess @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @angels-and-dreams @fandomloverangel @demented-dukey @karmels-stuff @demented-dukey

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing!!!

Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!!!

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galadrieljones · 6 years ago

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 23

Formerly A Funeral

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood, pregnancy, Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Protective Arthur, Minor John Marston/Abigail Roberts

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big, all of which bring them closer to one another, as well as to their future. But they’ve fallen in love during hard times. With the gang tipping dangerously close to a breaking point in a changing world, Arthur must make a difficult choice. Can he escape the past, as well as the outlaw life and start over, building a family of his own? With Mary Beth by his side, one thing is certain: redemption and second chances finally seem within his grasp.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog ^_^***

Chapter 23: Out on a Limb with Mary Beth

Back in their room at the saloon of St. Denis, Arthur and Mary Beth commenced undressing from the evening. It was a slow process, as neither of them was used to such elaborate sartorial affairs. Arthur was tense and very quiet as he took off his gloves, took off his tie at the dresser, untucked his shirt, and loosened his collar. Dutch had sequestered him toward the end of the party, while Mary Beth waited beside the champagne with Hosea and Bill. Hosea was subdued, scribbling something down in a leather notebook. Bill complained ceaselessly about the attitudes and accents of rich, French people, and in that time, something had happened to Arthur. When he came back, he was solemn and preoccupied, and he had barely spoken since—not to her, not to Hosea, not to anyone.

She was in her chemise now, and her powder blue bodice, with her hair down, sitting cross-legged on the bed, fussing with the rose gold bracelet around her wrist. The latch was delicate. She couldn’t get it with just one hand. At some point, Arthur leaned back against the dresser, hanging his head. He seemed like he might say something, but he didn’t.

Mary Beth watched him, real careful. She scootched up to the edge of the bed, letting her feet dangle off the mattress. She almost asked him what was wrong, but then she became discouraged. Normally, she would have, but now, she didn’t know how to navigate this part of him. She’d seen it before but never been this close. His stoicism was powerful. It wasn’t cold, but it was big. It could swallow the whole room. She sighed, looked back down at her wrist. She wasn’t gonna push him. She knew that it was Dutch making him so quiet, and she wasn’t gonna push him.

At some point, he straightened up off the dresser. He undid his cufflinks, one by one. With both gathered into his palm, he took a long look at them like they were poker chips and then set them on the dresser. They made little metallic clinks. She commenced focusing on her bracelet. She wondered why the hell anyone would make a piece of jewelry that was so impossible to get on and off. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to take it off, but in truth the metal was pricking at her skin and she did not much like metal pricking at her skin. Aside from her turquoise necklace—a hand-me-down from her mother—she didn’t really like jewelry all that much. Too much drama. Like this stupid little clasp on this stupid little bracelet. When she was almost ready to give up and just break the damn thing, Arthur approached her. Finally. He sat down next to her on the bed, and it sunk beneath his weight. Gently, he took her wrist into his hands, and he undid the little clasp of the bracelet for her. He piled the bracelet into his palm, looked at it for a moment, and then handed it back to her. He then picked up her hand, kissed her knuckles, and gave her back her hand. Then he sighed, folded his own hands together in his lap, and looked down at the floor.

She was very still. He was untucked beside her, all rumpled with no jacket, his pomade wearing off. He was just the old Arthur now—simple, undone, and hers. She was deeply touched by how he had unhooked the clasp to her bracelet, without even being asked. It was such a small but meaningful gesture. She tried to remind herself that Arthur was much better at communicating his feelings through his actions, not always words. She felt relief. She felt understood.

She waited. And after a little while, he finally spoke.

“You’re a storyteller, Mary Beth,” he said.

The sound of his voice surprised her. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and it was so deep, it could have vibrated the floor. “What?”

“I said, you’re a storyteller. A writer. You write stories.”

“Oh,” she said. “Pft. I mean, I try. What about it?”

“I wonder,” he said, looking up, wringing his hands now, “if you were writing this story, who would the villain be?”

“The villain?” she said.

"Is it Bronte?” said Arthur. “Leviticus Cornwall? Who?”

She thought on it. She was flattered but also somewhat confused. “I mean, I don’t know much about it, Arthur, besides what little you’ve told me.”

“You were there tonight,” he said. “You’ve seen enough.”

“I suppose.”

“Is it Dutch?”

“Dutch?”

“Is Dutch the villain, Mary Beth?” he said. Now he was looking at her. His blue eyes looked sad. He seemed desperate for something, anything of wisdom. “Because I gotta tell you. I’ve known the man for twenty-two years, and I still can barely make heads or tails of his motivations.”

“No one can,” she said. “It ain’t just you.”

“Just tell me,” he said, shaking his head. “Who’s the villain?”

She took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought about it like this, but now that she was, she could see with some modicum of clarity the thing that he was asking. “I don’t know, Arthur,” she said, “but if you want my honest, uneducated opinion, it seems to me that the villain in this story ain’t no who.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s not a person. It’s time, and it’s space.”

“Time and space?”

“Yeah,” she said. She looked down at the bracelet. Despite its annoying little clasp, it was still a pretty piece. “We’re running out of both, ever since Blackwater. It’s time and space that’s catching up to us. We got nowhere to run, and no time to do it.”

Arthur looked down at his hands. He closed his eyes.

“Arthur,” she said.

“Yes, Mary Beth,” he said.

“Can I just—I got a question.”

“Go on.”

“Why did we come here?”

Arthur looked at her. “To the party?”

“No,” she said. “To St. Denis.”

“We followed Bronte,” said Arthur.

“But why did we follow him here?”

“Because he took Jack.”

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. The Braithwaites took Jack, and we got Jack back, and the Braithwaites—well, they been dealt with.”

Arthur clenched his fists, opened them up again. He had such enormous paws. “You’re right.”

“I’m just saying,” she said. “Bronte is just—he’s an illusion. A red herring. Dutch is blinded. We ought to leave, escape, while things is quiet, while we still can, but I ain’t sure escaping is his aim no more.”

“What else would he be aiming for?”

“Vengeance,” she said. “We been running from the Pinkertons for months. But the Pinkertons, that’s just Leviticus Cornwall, and Cornwall, that’s just civilization. It's laws. You asked me before at the party if Dutch was still sweet on me. I don’t know, Arthur, but I have spent a lot of time with him, listening to him read from the pages of that book by our friend Evelyn Miller. Men like Bronte and Cornwall—to Dutch, they represent the death of the frontier, of freedom and the whole big American way. The West. We is all trapped, Arthur, enslaved by law, the way he sees it. They’re reshaping the world, us in it, and Dutch don’t like it. I don’t know if this is about escaping, Arthur. I think it’s about revenge. Big, cosmic revenge.”

Arthur seemed to be thinking hard on this, something sharp coming up and catching him in the chest like a fishhook. He swallowed, looked away, squeezed his eyes shut. He hands were winding together anxiously now.

“Arthur,” she said. She began to wonder if she’d said too much, gone too far.

Then he spoke, but he would not look at her. “Who am I?” he said.

“What?”

“In the story,” he said. “Am I the hero? Or am I the fool.”

He was serious, defeated. Last time she’d seem him look like this, it was when he was talking about Eliza, up on their camping trip, somewhere in the grassy canyons of Ambarino. She shook her head. She put her hand on his back, like she always would have, even when they were just friends. “I don’t know that one, Arthur.”

“Why not?” he said.

“Because I'm in love with you,” she said. “That part of the story I can’t see. It’s too close.” She thought she might cry. She got closer to him, linked her arm in his. His arms were big and warm and full of welcome for her and her alone. She placed her head on his shoulder. “You’re my hero,” she said, shrugging against him. “If that means anything at all. I ain’t forgotten what happened up at O’Creagh’s Run. You saved my life, Arthur. You saved us both.” She had one hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat, his breathing. Time passed, and you could hear the ticking of the clock as it did. You could hear the people outside on the cobblestone streets, the clomping of the horses. You could hear the piano downstairs, somebody singing to the tune.

At some point, Arthur put his arm around her because of this. He kissed the top of her head, and held her like that, just for a minute to show her his gratitude. He didn’t have much to say. Not to that. What do you say to that? There was nothing. He turned toward her. He pushed all of the hair off her shoulders to see her skin and her millions of freckles. Her hair was all undone. It was all a mess, a rat’s nest, just how he liked it. He looked right down at her, full up even though he did not smile. He studied her, all the different parts of her face and how they fit together. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s gonna be okay, Arthur,” she said, like she meant it. “We’re gonna figure it out.”

“I know,” he said. He was calm now. “I know.”

He kissed her then, finally, a long kiss. It started deep and then it became something else, though that was not necessarily what he had intended. They were both so tired, and the night had been forever, but soon their hands grew frantic, and then it was inevitable. He undid the laces of her chemise, and it slid off easy, but the bodice was new and too sturdy, and he lost his patience. He ripped it open like a shell. Like he was cracking her open. That was the sensation. Like she had many layers, and he was cracking them all wide open until he got to the soft parts, which he held and kissed in generous ways. He took her in the sheets like he was both thanking her and reminding her—sometimes smooth, sometimes gentle, sometimes hard enough that she became feral and needful as she held him close, said his name, vindicating his long held though latent belief that there was good somewhere, out there left in the world and that if he just held on long enough and did not let his grief and his anger consume him, some share of that good would come back around and become his.

He was lucky.

After, the room felt stifling hot. Arthur got up, threw the french doors open to let the air come sweeping in and cool their skin. He went downstairs and came back with a pitcher of water and a very fine bottle of Bordeaux, which the bartender gave to him for free as a thank you for his continued patronage. He and Mary Beth drank it out of the glass cups provided and drank the water right out of the pitcher, passing it back and forth until it was empty. The hour was either very late or very early. They could no longer tell the difference. At some point, Mary Beth remembered something important, and so she found her blue dress on the floor and reached into the pocket of the skirt, fishing around until Arthur asked her what the hell she was doing down there.

He was leaning against the headboard, naked, drinking his wine, waiting for her. She had thrown on the blue over shirt he’d been wearing the day before. She liked wearing his clothes. “What’s that?” he said.

Mary Beth climbed back up onto the bed and showed him—it was Angelo Bronte’s pocket watch. “I stole it back,” she said, handing it to him. “When you wasn’t looking.”

She didn’t meet his eyes at first, worried he’d disapprove. But when she finally did look at him, he was holding the watch. He set his cup down on the nightstand and looked resigned but also pensive. She was proud of what she’d done. She didn’t regret it. Still, he sighed. “You should not have, Mary Beth.”

“Ain’t no fence gonna bat an eye,” she said. Then she grabbed the watch to show him more closely. She clicked it open, showed him the face. “See these? These is diamonds, Arthur. This watch is platinum, with diamonds, and that’s a ruby there, and that there’s a trio of emeralds.”

“He’s gonna notice,” said Arthur.

“So? As to who took it, he ain't none the wiser, and you know he’s got ten more just like it. But for us, this watch could bring in a couple thousand dollars, Arthur. Easy.”

“And?”

“And we can put it toward our lily farm,” she said, giving it back to him, closing it inside his big palm. “In Wisconsin, whenever we get there. Or, maybe not a lily farm. Maybe a horse ranch, or general store. It don’t matter. We’ll put it toward something, something of our own. One rich asshole’s watch for a whole new life. Seems worth the risk, don’t you think?”

Arthur stared at the watch, and then he stared at her—always full of her surprises and many directions at once. He gave in. They were still outlaws, after all. He gave her back the pocket watch and sighed. He closed the watch inside of both her hands, and then he closed her hands inside of his. “Best we fence it at a distance,” he said, “in Emerald Station, just in case.”

She smiled big, like the sun.

They left St. Denis the next morning in the carriage with John and Charles. The weather had cooled off, and there were more clouds in the distance, creeping inward off the water, looking like more rain. John seemed full of tension and happy to be getting back. He and Abigail had made their decision, it seemed, and he had told Arthur about about during a quiet moment as they both sat up front in the carriage. Arthur smoked, hands on the reins as John said that they were with him, that they were ready when the time was right, that they could be ready tomorrow if that’s what Arthur wanted. To even his own surprise, Arthur had become the de facto patriarch of their arrangement. John deferred to him on every instance and gave him his word.

“We’re loyal to each other now,” he said. “I mean that, Arthur. Okay?”

John had an ironic sensibility, it was true, but he could be sentimental as all fuck when he was sincere about something, and Arthur believed him. Arthur nodded, seriously, then put his eyes back on the road. Truth be told, he was still uneasy from the night before and yet unwilling to speak on the matter and this put a strain on almost everything. He had not yet had the opportunity to decompress his feelings about Dutch beyond those moments with Mary Beth. He needed to speak with Hosea.

He flicked his cigarette as John took to wiping down the barrel of his shotgun. He then looked out past the edge of the horizon to the endless waves of the Lanahachee and where it dumped off into the wild sea and the green clouds that swirled above it. He turned around and glanced back to where Mary Beth was in conversation with Charles about the weather, and he smiled as he listened.

“I ain’t seen no tornado since I was a girl,” she said. “But they used to rip through Shawnee like no tomorrow.”

“Shawnee. That’s where you’re from?” said Charles.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did they hit the city?”

She shook her head. She was eating a plum. When she finished, she tossed the pit out the side of the carriage and wiped her hands off on her skirt. “They’d dance around the city like ballerinas. It was so strange.”

“I’ve never seen one,” said Charles, chewing on a piece of leather and whittling a little polar bear out of wood with a carving knife. “A tornado. It must be spectacular.”

“They sound like freight trains.”

“Yes, well. I can imagine they’d be pretty loud.”

When they approached the tree tunnel that would eventually take them off the main road and through an arboreal vortex to Shady Belle, a chilly wind came through with some rain on its edges. They all shivered. They then saw a strange sight grazing on the turnips growing wild by the edge of the trees, a great big draft horse, a mare, all alone, hanging out and saddled with no rider, looking like she had wandered in out of nowhere. As they got closer, Arthur straightened up. He pulled back on the reins to put the carriage at a full stop. He tossed his cigarette and studied the horse, which he dearly recognized.

“What’s going on?” said Mary Beth. She stood up and put her hands on his shoulders, leaning forward to see what he was seeing. “Is that Diana?”

“It sure is,” said Arthur.

“What’s she doing out here?” said John.

“I got no idea,” said Arthur.

He hopped off the carriage then, and he began to approach Diana, his old Ardennes who had retired a month back. He was careful, just in case she'd been spooked. He held out his hands and spoke to the horse in a calming fashion, but she recognized him immediately. She did not start or stir. She licked his hand as he got closer. He patted her behind the ears and smiled at her softly. “Hey, girl,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

Mary Beth climbed off the carriage. She was coming toward Arthur cautiously.

“That’s weird,” said Arthur. “It ain’t like Diana to wander.”

“Strange,” said Mary Beth, looking around.

“Didn’t you mention that Kieran was taking her out, a few days back?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Before the storm hit. He hadn’t returned by the time we left for St. Denis.”

“Kieran wouldn’t have let her wander out the camp like this.”

“I know,” said Mary Beth. She bit off a hangnail, looked around again, a little frantic this time.

Arthur watched her fretting. “You worried?”

John and Charles were getting antsy now back at the carriage. “What’s going on?” said John.

Arthur dusted his hands together. “Did either of you see the O’Driscoll boy before we headed off for St. Denis?”

“No,” said John.

“I don’t think so,” said Charles. “Why?”

Arthur turned back to Mary Beth. “Do you know where he was headed?”

“Rhodes,” said Mary Beth. “Oh gosh, Arthur. Do you think something bad happened?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said. “We’ll head into camp. He might be there.”

“And if he ain’t?”

Arthur took a deep breath, placed his hands on his hips. “If ain’t, then we’ll deal with that then.”

Arthur gestured for John to take over the reins on the carriage after that. Then he mounted Diana and rode at a trot alongside them the whole way back to camp. When they got there, he hitched her up at the horse station and fed her an apple, and then he, Mary Beth, John, and Charles commenced their way up through the yard and back to the house. It was business as usual, with Pearson preparing the stew for the evening and carving a deer hung up by its haunches. Abigail ceased her knitting by the dried up old fountain and greeted John in a bashful manner that suggested she was happy to see him but was unwilling to openly express herself. Jack and Cain came running around front. Sadie was feeding the chickens and Javier was chopping firewood. The Reverend was passed out on the grass by the gazebo while Tilly tried to nudge him awake, concerned for his health. Karen and Lenny had been on perimeter duty, with their shotguns resting on their shoulders, drinking whiskey out of tin cups and discussing the foreboding weather, while Mrs. Grimshaw was scrubbing the floors inside the house. Uncle was passed out against one of the covered wagons, and Micah nursed a hangover by the fire, drinking his hair of the dog. Dutch, Hosea, and Bill had not yet returned from St. Denis.

Mary Beth, Arthur, and Charles went around, asking if anyone had seen Kieran. Had anyone seen the O’Driscoll boy, they asked. Was he somewhere in Shady Belle, hanging out where they could not see? Did he ever find his way back after the storm. They asked everybody, one by one, and the universal answer they received was no. Nobody had seen or heard from Kieran in three days. He was missing.

Mary Beth became sick with worry after that. They stood at the scout fire as the wind picked up in the swamps all around.

”Arthur, we gotta find him,” she said. "This ain't good."

Arthur looked at her, and then he looked at Charles.

Charles nodded. “I’ll ride with you,” he said. “We can do our best to track him. But the rain ain’t gonna make it easy.”

Arthur nodded. “We should wait it out,” he said. "Hope the rain don't do too much damage. No use getting caught in a storm.”

”I agree,” said Charles.

But Mary Beth was hurried. “I wanna come with,” she said. "To find him. When you go."

Arthur have her a look. “No.”

”Why not?”

”Because,” he said. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for, Mary Beth.”

“Then there ain’t no set reason I can’t,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Somewhere over the water, thunder cracked. Arthur glanced, and then he sighed, sounding torn. “It might not be safe, Mary Beth,” he said. “I won’t put you in danger.”

“He’s my friend,” she said, sensing his ambivalence, softening. She uncrossed her arms. “I been out robbing with you before, and you just took me on a ten-day hunting trip up into the Roanoke Valley. I can do it."

"Mary Beth."

"Don’t make this something it ain’t," she said. She was reading his mind. "Arthur. Please.”

He felt a cold pain in his chest, a tug. He sighed. He could no longer tell. How dangerous was it? What were they even hunting anymore? Up at O'Creagh's Run they'd been hunting moose, and they got hunted instead. By psychopaths. Everything had become so unpredictable. Everything was wooly. It felt like he was dreaming again. He looked at Charles, who shrugged. “It could be nothing, man,” he said.

Arthur closed his eyes. He placed his hands on his hips, hung his head so that his chin nearly touched his chest. He had a bad feeling, but he relented. “Fine," he said. "We leave as soon as the storm passes.”

“Sounds good,” said Charles.

“Thank you,” said Mary Beth.

He gave her a long, worried look, tried to smile. Little raindrops started falling from the sky. “We best get inside,” he said.

Mary Beth watched him go on to the house. She said she'd be right there. Then she sort of waited back, and Tilly came along and wanted to hear from her all about the party. Mary Beth was eager to talk to Tilly, but Tilly was a bit of a gossip. She wanted to know all about her and Arthur, even more so than Abigail, but Mary Beth felt private about her and Arthur. She wasn't ready yet to tell anyone about her and Arthur getting married. It still felt like something secret, something new to nourish, an intimate truth between them, and she felt like if they let it go too soon, it would slip away. So much of their lives they had to share, and that can make things feel diluted, less real. She wanted every moment she spent with him to be as real as possible. So she hung out with Tilly in the gazebo for a little while, protected from the weather and talking only about the glittering fools of St. Denis. She smiled demurely all the time and thought about Arthur. She knew he was protective of her safety. It was another part of him that she appreciated, like his stoicism, but that she was not always so sure on how to navigate. Sometimes it was good, sometimes it was bad. From the gazebo, she saw Charles prepping the horses for the coming rain. She saw the rest of the camp begin its lazy migration to the indoors. Tilly was so eager. She wanted to see Mary Beth's dress from the party. Mary Beth blushed. It was all in a pile in a canvas sack, getting soaked in the back of the carriage, by the storm.

Meanwhile, Arthur felt pressure on all sides. He was thinking about O'Creagh's Run, all those things he got from talking to the veteran Hamish Sinclair, the subtext about starting the rest of his life as soon as possible. He felt sucked back in now. The distance provided to him by their time up in the Roanoke Valley and nights talking with the Wintersons in Emerald Station was feeling more and more like an illusion. He didn't want to lose it, wanted to get back there but the more he reached the more it all seemed to fade out of reality and into the scenery of dreams. They were out on a limb. There was no rest here. It was a constant balancing act and all he wanted to do was rest.

When he got back to his quarters, Arthur sat by the window and listened to the advancing rain in solitude. He heard a bit of scrambling outside as Mrs. Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson got into some sort of argument over the stew. He smoked and opened his journal for the first time since they returned from their hunting trip.

The O'Driscoll boy has disappeared, he wrote. He ashed his cigarette directly into a tin can as the rain got steadier and the thunder rolled. His pencil was dull. He sharpened it with the tip of his knife and then he continued. I will admit that I don't feel good about that. Charles said it could be nothing.

But it could be something.

He thought he heard someone coming up the stairs but it could have just been another illusion. He smoked.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #mary beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskil #arthur x mary beth #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #john marston #charles smith #kieran duffy #the lily farm

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imjustthemechanic · 7 years ago

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The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest

It kinda ruins it when you clarify that ‘preparing a quest’ in the 21st century mostly involves a lot of phone calls.

It had only been a few minutes since the chief had stepped in and told everybody to get moving, but the police officers had taken his orders to heart. The station was now positively boiling with activity as people photographed and sketched the room, set out markers for things they thought were important, and compared the contents to lists to see if anything had been stolen. Natasha and Dr. Wilson wound their way through the crowd with murmured “excuse me”s and “beep beep”s, and made their way out into the car park.

The car park was busy, too, with more police cars pulling up and people who worked elsewhere on the street wandering over to see if they could figure out what all the fuss was about. It was a breath of fresh air after the panic inside, though, and Nat and Wilson stood there together for a moment, trying to de-stress.

“So now what?” asked Dr. Wilson. “Now we've gotta go on a quest?” Once again he almost smiled before getting control of his face.

“If you're trying to sound like you don't think that's the coolest thing you've ever done, you're failing,” Nat noted.

“Right.” Wilson chuckled nervously. “I have to admit, this is what I fantasized about when I was a kid. But that's not the same as having to actually do it in real life. In the fantasy versions I always managed to save the day.”

“Well, we don't have to,” Nat said, but she couldn't help thinking it would be very selfish not to. They were too deeply involved now. Natasha, Dr. Wilson, and DI Carter were the only people who really could help Sir Stephen, because they were the only ones who'd seen with their own eyes that he wasn't just a nut. It didn't matter what century it was. If all of this were real, then the Grail was a very dangerous object, and a man who'd done the terrible things legend said Johann Totenkopf had done should not be allowed to get possession of it. “You want to bow out?” she asked. It wasn't sarcasm. If Dr. Wilson didn't want to come, she wouldn't force him.

“Hell, no,” said Dr. Wilson. He smiled for real this time, not trying to suppress it. “Eight-year-old me would travel through time to strangle me.”

“And we can't have that,” said Nat with a return smile, although the world had gone so mad she wasn't entirely sure she was joking. Could that happen? “Why don't you rent a car so we can go back to Dundee. I'm gonna call Yancy Hughes about the shield, and then I'll see if I can find a copy of The Romance of Sir Stephen and Totenkopf.” The original chivalric poem might shed some light on the situation.

Dr. Wilson snorted. “That makes it sound like a love story. And you teased me about sleeping with him!”

The level of activity in the car park made it a loud place to try to talk on the phone, so the two of them separated and Nat walked a little way up the road to an abandoned lot on the corner. There she hopped the fence and sat down on the gravel next to the concrete wall supporting the overpass. This was relatively private, and she pulled out her phone.

Her first call was to a local library, to see if she could find an audio copy of the medieval poem. While she waited for the librarian to track it down, Nat reached into her purse to find a pen, and found something else – the little Anglo-Saxon pendant she'd grabbed from Zola the moment before he vanished. Maybe while they were at Dundee she could have somebody take a look at this, too... if it were made of ivory, she could get it carbon dated and at least find out whether it were medieval or just a replica.

“Is this the one?” the librarian's voice asked. “Sir Stephen and the Red Death, author unknown, based on J. A. Fisher's 1941 edition? It's read by the late Sir Richard Attenborough.”

“Is that the only one you have?” asked Nat. Mid-century academic writing tended to be tedious, and the thought of spending an hour in a car listening to mid-century academic writing in a stuffy British accent made Nat feel as if she were asleep already. Then again, The Romance of Sir Stephen and Totenkopf wasn't exactly Le Mort D'Arthur or The Canterbury Tales. She should probably be glad they had an audio edition at all. “Never mind, I'll take it,” she said, before the librarian could answer her. “What's your address.” She wound the broken chain of Zola's pendant around her wrist, clutching the object in her last three fingers so she could write with the first two.

With the poem secured, Nat's next call was to Sue in the Faculty of Archaeology office. She'd expected the usual polite greeting – instead, for the first time Nat could remember, she got to hear Sue take the Lord's name in vain.

“Christ, Natalie!” Sue exclaimed. “I'm so glad you rang! I've been worried to death about you – with the hospital bombing and now there apparently rerally are monsters in the Loch and people are patrolling the banks with guns! I think the whole country's gone mad. Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I'm fine,” Nat assured her. “I'm nowhere near all that.” She was not about to tell Sue how close she'd actually been to both. “I'm actually heading back to Dundee today,” she went on, as if this were for totally normal reasons instead of a trashy fantasy novel coming to life. “Can you do me a favour?” “Off course,” said Sue.

“Can you get me a personal number for Dr. Hughes in Anatomy and Human Identification?” Nat asked. “It's kind of private and I don't want to leave a message in her office.” Not where there was a ghost of a chance somebody else might hear it.

“I'll take a look at the faculty phone book,” said Sue. There was a soft swish of paper moving past paper as she pulled it out. “Speaking of messages,” she added, “I'm sorry if you left me one about this already and I just missed it somehow, but is your Dad coming to the faculty dinner this weekend?”

Nat groaned to herself. It would probably have been much simpler to tell people that both her imaginary parents were dead, but having one still alive was such an easy excuse if she ever needed to run off for some reason. The biography she'd put together for 'Natalie Rushman' stated that her mother had died of cancer when she was a teenager, but her father was still living in Manhassat. If she ever needed to disappear, she would simply tell everyone that he'd suffered a heart attack or stroke and she was flying back to the States to be with him. By the time they began toworry about her, she would be gone without a trace.

The Atlantic Ocean was normally a good excuse for why nobody had ever met Natasha's father, but every so often something like this came up. “He's got a car club thing this weekend, unfortunately,” she said.

Sue clucked her tongue. “Is that more important than his daughter? He can't have seen you in years!”

“I visited him last Christmas, remember?” said Nat. “He doesn't really have the money to do a lot of trave...ow!” she exclaimed, as it suddenly felt like an electric shock in the fingers of her left hand. She quickly dropped Zola's pendant and looked at her palm, but the skin was undamaged. What had that been?

“What happened?” asked Sue.

“I'm fine,” Natasha told her. “Just a papercut.” She scooped the pendant up again and tucked it back in her purse.

“Okay,” said Sue. “Here's Dr. Hughes' number.”

Nat copied it down on the edge of a reciept, next to where she'd written the address of the Inverness Public Library. She thanked Sue and promised to see her in a couple of hours, then went on to make her third phone call. This one picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” said a woman's voice.

“Hi,” said Nat. “Am I speaking to Dr. Yancy Hughes?”

“Speaking,” Dr. Hughes agreed.

“I'm Dr. Natalie Rushman, “Nat said. “I work in the faculty of Archaeology. I think we met last year. One of your students wanted to do a DNA study of the remains of medieval plague victims.”

“Oh, yes, I remember!” said Dr. Hughes. “The redhead, right? What can I do for you?”

“I have kind of a weird request,” said Nat. “The cops in Inverness would have sent you a replica Anglo-Saxon shield that they believed was crime scene evidence. There would have been blood on it that they wanted you to test. Do you have it?”

“Yeah, the courier dropped it off this morning,” said Dr. Hughes. “I haven't had time to look at it yet.”

So it had made it to Dundee – that was good. Nat had been worried it would be intercepted en route. The best way to take something from its rightful owners was to convince them you were the person they were supposed to be entrusting it to. “That's great,” said Nat. “Can you set it aside for me? Because I've seen pictures of it and I have a feeling it's a lot older than they think it is. I want to take a closer look.”

“Sure,” Dr. Hughes said. “I'm not likely to get to it today, so that's no problem. I'll leave it in the locker for you. Do you have permission from the cops?”

“I do. Inspector Carter's coming with me to make sure I don't drool all over it,” said Nat. “Now here's the weird part. When I arrive, I want you to ask me for photo ID, and don't let me at it if I don't have that. It's just a precaution,” she added. “The cops will want to know if you have a record of who looked at it.” That hopefully made sense. If nothing else, it would make more sense than telling a complete stranger there was a shapeshifting hobgoblin looking for this object.

“Okay,” Dr. Hughes agreed amiably. “What time are you likely to be here?”

Nat checked the time. “After lunch, probably around two o'clock.”

“I'll pencil you in, then,” Hughes promised.

Natasha put her phone away, picked herself up and headed back to the police station to find her... friends was too strong a word, she decided. Colleagues didn't quite work, either. Was there a word that meant the other people mixed up in this fiasco? If there were, it was probably nine syllables of German.

She found Dr. Wilson still out in the car park, tapping his foot impatiently. “You all done?” he asked when he saw Nat coming.

“Yeah,” she said. “You got us a car?”

“The guy should be dropping it off any minute,” Dr. Wilson said.

“Perfect,” Nat nodded. “We'll have to stop by the library to pick up the poem, and then go straight to the University of Dundee. I've made an appointment with Dr. Hughes to look at the shield. If we're lucky we can get the map Sir Stephen mentioned and leave the wooden part with them, and then everybody can be happy.

A champagne-coloured Nissan Altima turned the corner into the parking lot, and Dr. Wilson waved it over. “Here he is! Took him long enough. You want to go get Carter and Sir Steve?” he asked Natasha.

“I'll be right back,” Nat promised him.

The inside of the police station was starting to be a little less chaotic as people found their roles and settled into them, but Nat still had to wind her way in and out of a considerable hubbub to get back to the little interrogation room. Sir Stephen and DI Carter were still in there – and apparently it was now Carter's turn to listen raptly as Sir Stephen told her a story.

“The wooden frame of the catapult was quite whole,” he was saying, “so we only needed a bit of rope to get it working again – we stole the rope the abbey well to use, then rolled the biggest stone we could find into the bucket, released the cantilever, and let it fly.”

DI Carter smiled. “Were there any survivors?” she asked.

“We didn't aim it at the abbey!” Sir Stephen huffed. “We turned it to fling the stone into a field! All it did there was frighten a few sheep. Then we had the idea that we should pile some straw where the stone had landed, and we could then fly through the air on the catapult to a soft landing.”

“That's a terrible idea!” Carter protested.

“Yes, it is,” Sir Stephen agreed, “but we were only eleven years old, and had no such quantity of good sense. We wound the rope again, and rolled a die to see who would go first. I won, so I climbed into the bucket and Buckeye sent me flying.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

Sir Stephen grinned. “What neither of us had taken acount of is that whileI was small, I was still heavier than our stone, so I did not fly as far. Rather than landing in the soft straw, I went straight into the thorny hedge at the edge of the pasture.”

“Oh, no,” Carter repeated. Her hands were at her mouth in horror, but she was also trying not to laugh.

“Buckeye came and pulled me out, and my head was spinning so that I was promptly sick. We agreed to put the rope back on the well and pretend it had never happened, but of course my mother asked me how I'd come by my scratches and bruises. I told her I'd been chased by the ram and had fallen into the hedge trying to escape him, but then I had no answer when she asked me why I was in the pasture in the first place.”

Nat smiled to herself. That was the problem with lies – they had to make sense. The truth, as the past few days seemed determined to drive home, was under no such constraints.

#fanfic #natasha romanov #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #sharon carter #agent 13

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kdfrqqg · 7 years ago

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Revenge of a Clown Part 1

Garth x Plutonic Reader, with Sam and Dean, Crowley makes an appearance in part 2 Warnings: character death, violence, language, crying and angst, BMOL Word count: 2.2K

A/N: Written for @chaos-and-the-calm67 80s challenge. Prompt is: An American Werewolf in London. This follows season 12 pretty close to canon. I was really inspired by this prompt and I continued to add little bit and peices until I created something that I’m really proud of. I cried a few times when writing this so I’m sorry if you get emotional too.

Morning came too quickly for (Y/N), you and the boys had been trying to find Cas and Kelly all week, and you and Dean had been clearing out vampire nests that the British Men of Letters sent you on. You didn’t like working for them but their method worked and you had never killed so many monsters so fast. Drinking your first cup of coffee in the war room you heard a jarring knock on the old iron door. Maybe it was Cas, you ran up the steps, you almost squealed in excitement when you saw your tall skinny best friend Garth. Before you made a sound he fell to his knees, it was like he had willed himself to get to you but once he saw you he couldn’t will himself to move any farther. You pulled him into the bunker, wrapping your whole body around him. He smelled like dirt and sweat and there was dry blood all over him. Who the hell did this? “Guys! Guys!” You yelled and the brothers came running in seeing you up by the door on the floor. They rushed up the steps and hovered around you while you tried to get Garth to talk. “Garth, Garth, you gotta say with me!” Your words were frantic. “What happened?” Sobbs only came from him, which made you and the boys tear up as well. You didn’t know what was wrong or how to fix it, all you knew was he was hurting. It’s was quiet, for a few moments, except for his crying, you’d let him cry until he was ready to talk, that’s what best friends do. “They killed her.” Garth somehow managed. “Who’d they kill?” You asked. “They killed Bess.” He sobbed with his head on your shoulder. “No!” You screamed. Your mind was racing, all the hunters knew that Garth and his clan were off limits unless they started killing people. “No! Not Bess. Garth,” you wept with him, rubbing your hand over his back. “Was it other hunters?” “I don’t know (Y/N). It was these British guys. I didn’t catch much they said.” He explained, his voice was raw. “What after all that help we gave them they resorted back these methods?” You said out loud in disbelief turning your head to glare at Sam. Garth wiped his eyes and looked at you, “You know them?” You tried not to cry, “Yeah, we know them.” Running a hand through your hair, “we thought we were helping. See they’re the British Chapter of the Men of Letters.” “As in this place?” Garth questioned finally understanding why you work with them. “Yeah” you sniffed. Had your involvement caused her death? “But they’re heartless, cold and ruthless. They are nothing like you or us. I don’t expect you to forgive us.” You pulled him close crying on his shoulder. “You probably didn’t know.” Dammit he was comforting you and this should be the other way around. “No, Garth, hunny, we knew. We knew.” you sighed and sobbed at the same time. “They kidnapped and tortured Sam and I for days until Dean rescued us.” “Are you ok? How could you still work with them?” Garth continued to ask. “Garth,” Sam interjected, “I convinced everyone that we should team up, combine resources, do the most good. Try and kill as many monsters as possible.” “Like Bess?” Garth looked up at the youngest Winchester. You turned Garth’s face to look at you, “No, not like Bess. She was an amazing, wonderful woman, who just happened to be a werewolf, she is no more monster than you are. Do you hear me?” He nodded. “Garth, I love you. I loved Bess. You were my best friend when I didn’t want one, you have always been there for me and I’m going to be there for you. Let’s get you off the floor and cleaned up.” You stood and boys gently helped Garth up and down the stairs. “I got him.” You put your arm around his waist to support him. “When was the last time you ate?” “I don’t remember.” He mumbled. “Dean” his low head shot up at the mention of his name. “Will you make him some food while I get him showered up?” Garth stood motionless almost catatonic still processing everything that happened. You started the water and tested it when it ready. “Ok I’ll leave you be.” The look on his face was one you had never seen him wear. He was defeated and you couldn’t leave him. “Let me help you.” You stripped the hunter down, his naked form looked so fragile and weak. Your heart sank and you wanted to wrap him up in the warmest blanket in the bunker and protect him from the whole world. But instead you quickly removed your shirt and jeans knowing that in his state he couldn’t even handle washing himself. “Is it ok if I get in there with you?” He looked into the void and only grunted. With the dirt and the blood washed away, you had new hope that Garth would be able to heal. You tied a white bath towel around his waist and draped one over his shoulders, you put your shirt and jeans back on over your soaked bra and panties, at this moment you didn’t care about your own comfort. You walked him down to Cas’ old room that you always kept made up, and sat him on the edge of the bed. You searched through the dresser there was only an old pair of light blue boxers in the drawer, they were too big but they would work. “I’ll be right back.” Running to Dean’s room, you grabbed a t-shirt, a pair of socks and a flannel pair of sleep pants. Trying not to manhandle him too much, you pulled on all of the clothes you had found for him as gently as you could. Dean rapped his knuckles on the door, he had a full plate of food that you thanked him for. “Garth, sweetie, I need you to eat ok.” You begged, ripping a chunk of meat off of the chicken leg. “Smells good right?” You looked over at Dean, he had a single tear rolling down his cheek. His concern was touching, he wanted to help but he knew that Garth only would respond to you. Placing the meat to his lips he opened his mouth, “That’s good. I need you to chew.” He slowly chewed the piece of chicken and swallowed, you forced him to finish the drumstick and a breast. “Garthy, you should get some rest.” You put him to bed and before you were about to turn the light out, he whispered, “thank you” “Get some sleep, sweetie, you had a rough couple of days. You’re safe now.” Garth slept most of the day and night you checked on him sporadically sometimes just peeking in and other times sitting on the bed and running your fingers through his hair reassuring him that you were there. He finally got up and made his way to your room. You woke when the hallway light shown on your face from the opened door. “Hey” you sat up. “ Are you hungry?” “No, it’s lonely in there. I’m not used to sleeping by myself anymore.” “Oh Garth,” you pulled the blanket back, “come here.” In seconds, your legs and arms were surrounding him, pressing his head against your heart. You peppered his forehead with gentle kisses as your played with his hair. “I would have never gone along with all this if I thought you would get hurt.” “I know. You’re the best person I know. I still love you.” “Thank you.” You kissed his eyelids, “I love you too.” In seconds, he was softly snoring, you pulled him as close as you could get him.

“So what are we going to do about them?” You asked Sam and Dean the next morning about the British Men of Letters. “Stop working for them for one.” Dean answered. “No, don’t stop working for them.” You heard Garth’s voice come from the hallway. “Excuse me!” Dean exclaimed. “Keep working for them they need to think nothing’s wrong, that is how we take them down.” Garth explained. “What’s the plan?” Sam asked. “We lead a double assault.” Garth said. “Meaning what?” You questioned. “It’s not just good enough to take them down on our soil but we need take them down on their own soil that way they know never to mess with us again.” Garth gritted his teeth. “So you wanna go to England?” You covered his hand with yours. “I always wanted to see Big Ben.” He smiled at you. “They have London locked down. Garth, you won’t be able to make it two feet without them knowing.” Sam informed. You stared at the hopeful Garth, “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Part 2

I love all the likes and reblogs but I really do want your feedback. Please leave me a comment; let me know what worked or what didn’t. If you hated it let me know what I could do different. It may determine how I write my next fic.

“Give it to me! You know you want to!” Writer winks at reader.

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#bev's 80's writing challenge #garth x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #garth fitzgerald iv #sam winchester #dean winchester #angst #spn #supernatural #plutonic reader

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clarke-kom-eden · 7 years ago

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I wrote something.... I'm scared! Here goes! Ahhhhh!!!!!

I have never written or posed a fic before, I just sort of, had an idea and went for it. It may be terrible, it probably is, but, im giving it a go! Post season 4, bellarke, follows canon, I think. Anything science ish is completely made up though! sorry if ive mis-tagged or anything, I really don’t know what I’m doing! Sorry for the accent. I felt he had an accent.

“Nevermind, I see you.”

If she was completely honest with herself, for the longest time now, Clarke had begun to feel like it would never happen. She had tried to stay hopeful, she really had, but with each passing day it became harder. Had they ever even made it to the ark? Had she spent the past 6 years talking to ghosts?

But here it was, reality, a ship. Until she really looked at it. She remembered talk of Becca testing nightblood on a mining colony, but the people out there were lost, and would have perished long ago, and weren’t they criminals?

Clarke waited back, shielding Madi, and watched as the crew of around 30 men left the ship. She saw as they basked in the sun, felt the drops of rain on their skin, touched the grass around them, and remembered when the Hundred had first landed on earth, filled with hope.

Clarke was unsure how to proceed. From what she had observed,they seemed like ordinary men, but they had been sent away for a reason, and abandoned in space for years, they could be dangerous. However, it was an incredibly small piece of earth to inhabit, and more than likely she and Madi would be discovered soon. Clarke decided she would rather be in control of the situation, and so, eyes sharp, weapon hot, made her approach.

“My name is Clarke Griffin,” she called from a distance, “I wish to speak to whoever is in charge.”

An older man, with toughened skin and a greying beard took a few steps forward, keeping his hands raised.

“Well I’ll be damned. There really is someone living down here?!” He had an accent Clarke had only ever heard in an old western film she had once watched on the ark.

“More than one. Stay back.”

He stopped.

“Missy we don’t mean no harm or nothing, we just want to get our bearings. Are you from that there bunker she told us about.”

“ How do you know about the bunker?”

The man’s name was Thomas. He followed Clarke to another area while the rest of the men stayed with the ship.

“Start from the beginning.”

“Ok, but I gotta tell ya, I’m not even too sure myself of what’s happening. I’m just a prisoner, trying make sense of all this.”

He gestured to everything around him.

“You see, I never really could hold my drink. It got me in trouble, well, I got me in trouble. Ended up hurting someone, more than I meant to. You could get a big ol’ reduction on your sentence if you agreed to do some, labour, they called it. Never mentioned much about radiation and injections and being put to sleep. Next thing we know we all wake up, look around the ship, there’s no one. No crew, no guards, just us prisoners all waking up. That’s when we hear someone trying to communicate with us, honest at first I thought it was the voice of God! Turns out she’s on a space station. Says her name’s Raven.”

At this, Clarke could not hold back her tears. It felt as if she had been holding her breath for years, as she finally let go. “Raven? She’s, alive, you spoke to her?”

“ She’s the one woke us up.” Clarke had too many questions, but all she could think to ask,

“did you talk to anyone else?”

“Yeah, there was a Monty too. Smart guy, couldn’t follow a lot of the tech talk but, I tried.” Clarke laughed, yeah, that sounded like Monty. “ Anyone else?”

“ Just those two, really. I’m guessing from your face that’s not the answer you wanted. I wish I could give you more, I’m sorry, it’s been a, well, a damn mess of a time.”

“I understand. So, are they coming down too, why aren’t they with you?”

“ That was the tricky part I’m afraid. See she explained she found us drifting, and that’s when we realised, well, we’d been asleep for gone a hundred years.” He shook his head, “ everyone we knew, our friends, family, all long gone.”

“I’m so sorry, that must have been a shock.”

“To say the least. Don’t think I even really believe it still, you know?” Clarke wasn’t sure how to respond. Ever since they’d been sent to earth it had felt like one shock after another, but to wake to find everything you’d ever known was gone, even with everything she had been through, that would have been unimaginable. Thomas took a deep breath and sat on a rock nearby.

“I’m sorry to press you Thomas, but I need to know about my friends.”

“Course you do. I’ll try n keep it short. Raven said they had been looking for a way to get back to earth, tryin to make fuel or something, but was havin trouble. Thought maybe they could use our ship, had no idea we were still in stasis. Anyways, she directed us to where they were, we were gonna take them on board, but there was a problem. Our airlock was completely ballsed up or something, no way to open her up in space without killing us all.” Clarke felt sick. So they were stuck, if they couldn’t make fuel, that’s it.

“ So that’s it, they’re stuck?”

“ I sure hope not. We had a few escape pods on our ship. She told us how to detach them, direct them toward their airlock. They all still had fuel in them. Not real sure what she’s planning,but they might still have a chance.”

Finally, for the first time in a long time, Clarke’s hope felt real. This was Raven, she could do it.

Clarke had tried every thing she could think of, but she just couldn’t make it work. She threw the tools across the room with as much force as she could muster, narrowly missing Andrew.

“ Clarke, I told you, Raven said most likely once we landed we wouldn’t be able to communicate with the ark anymore.”

She knew this, of course she did, but what else could she do? She had been trying to communicate with them for 6 years. It was her way of staying sane, she couldn’t just stop now, she had to keep trying.

“ Anyway, they’ll be here soon. I’m sure of it!” Andrew was one of the most optimistic people she had ever met, it was impossible to stay mad around him. He was just 18 when he had been put into stasis, although he seemed younger still, and was so skinny he really brought out Clarkes maternal side. Madi had also taken a real shine to him, though as Clarke kept reminding her she was much too young and he was a criminal! Clarke had begun to spend more time with the prisoners over the past few weeks, but still kept herself and Madi at a distance. She had tried to get an idea of the various crimes these men had committed, but as she had no way of knowing the truth, she just had to trust what they told her. Although, in Andrews case, she really felt like he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, she hoped. Three weeks had passed and still no sign of them, and the prisoners wanted to focus on getting to the bunker. With their mining equipment, they should finally be able to dig the others free, but it was taking time to get the equipment back to working order, as it had been dormant for over 100 years. Clarke knew this should be her focus too, she was desperate to see her mother, but she couldn’t take her mind off of them, up there, alive. She knew that the bunker had only had enough oxygen for 5 years, knew that difficult decisions would have been made, her head should be underground, but her heart was in the stars. She thought of what she would say to him, she thought of the last time he held her. As she picked up the tools scattered around her and calmed herself once more, she heard distant excited shouts.

She stood slowly, as Madi came bounding in. She didn’t even speak, just gave Clarke the biggest smile and reached out her hand. Clarke took it and followed Madi outside, legs shaking with each step. She watched as the rocket she had waited for crash landed into the ocean.

“Well, let’s go get yer friends.” Thomas walked out in front of Clarke and towards the sea.

With every step closer to the crash site Clarke got faster and faster, until she was running so fast that Madi could no longer keep up. She stopped when she realised she had been dragging the poor girl. “Clarke, it’s ok” Madi let go of her hand, “you go, I’ll follow” Clarke nodded, and started running again, no longer feeling the ground beneath her, no longer feeling her own breathing, just running. She ran until she was waist deep in the water. The hatch of the shuttle was just beginning to open, and someone climbed out. They reached back into the shuttle to pull someone else out. One by one they all emerged from the rocket. Clarke stood and watched, silently. She meant to shout, to move, but she was frozen. She watched them help each other down and splash into the water, she watched them help each other swim towards the shore the opposite side of the bay from her, still unaware of her presence.

Finally, they began to remove their helmets. First she saw Murphys face, same smug grin as ever, as he helped Emori off with her helmet. They still looked as in love as she remembered. They all now faced away from her, looking toward the trees. Then she saw him. He ran his hand through his unruly curls and dropped his helmet on the ground. The group all spoke amongst themselves, but he separated himself and walked around a little. Then, finally, he turned to look back across the water. He stopped dead. For what felt like forever, they stared at each other. They were still a fair distance apart. He began to move back towards the water. Clarkes feet finally began to work. She moved deeper into the ocean until she could no longer stand. She tried to swim as best she could, but had never really done it before. She kicked and splashed but got nowhere. Her head dipped below the water. Suddenly, she felt strong arms around her, bringing her back up, carrying her to shore, laying her down on the beach.

“Are you trying to drown yourself, you can’t swim!” she coughed and spluttered and clung to his arms, digging her fingers into his suit. He pushed the hair from her face, then pulled her to him and squeezed her so tightly her ribs hurt, his face buried into her neck.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t, I don’t know, I, just…” she couldn’t finish. She had no answer, her mind had switched off and her body had taken over. He enveloped her entirely, as she wrapped her arms around his back, and cried.

“I left you.”

“you had no other choice!” Clarke finally loosened her grip on him, he pulled back slightly to look at her.

“Are you real?” He asked, as he studied her face. She nodded and laughed. He pulled her in again, this time more gently, and held her. She began to shiver, the water had been cold. “God, Clarke you’re freezing,” he rubbed up and down her arms.

“I don’t care”.

“ Clarke?” It was Raven. Bellamy and Clarke suddenly remembered they weren’t alone. He helped her up, as Raven threw her arms around her, followed by Monty, all the while Bellamy kept his arm around her waist. Finally, the cold began to get to her,

“We should head back to camp, I’m assuming you probably want something to eat that’s not algi?” At this Murphy jumped in, “Clarke, please tell me you have something meat based? Anything. Honest to god I’ll eat rat right now”

“Just, head that way.” Clarke pointed towards the trees, just as Madi, Thomas and a few others appeared. “Raven, you know Thomas”

“It’s good to meet you in the flesh.”

“I knew you’d make it down, never had a doubt”.

Madi greeted Clarke with a hug and eyed up Bellamy.

“He looks just like your drawing.”

“My drawing? Clarke has drawings of me?”

“Yes. I know all about you. You’re Bellamy.” at this Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

“I, mentioned you, a couple of times. Madi is a nightblood, I found her, alone, after praimfaya, I’ve been teaching her. Your name has come up a few times.” Bellamy smirked, that same way he used to when he’d call her princess. “Madi, could you lead the way back to camp?” Madi looked like she wanted to say more, but did as Clarke asked. They started the walk back, Raven and Thomas in deep discussion, Monty and Harper talking with Andrew, Murphy and Emori keeping together, Echo staying close by them. Clarke and Bellamy fell to the back of the group.

“Clarke,” he said her name in that same deep voice that she had longed for, and it almost felt as if the last 6 years hadn’t happened,

“I still can’t believe you’re alive. You saved us, again, and I, just, left you.”

“Bellamy, I meant what I said. You did the right thing. I’m so glad you went, I told you to go, over the radio. If you hadn’t, you’d be dead, and we wouldn’t be here now. Together.” she reached for his hand. As he locked his fingers with hers, he repeated her words,

“Together”.

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 season 4 #the 100 fanfiction

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bastardtravel · 7 years ago

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November 9, 2017. Athens, Greece.

They hid the Acropolis.

I don’t know what they stand to gain from it. I think maybe the only way they could convince people to go through the Plaka. Apparently, it’s a beautiful, idyllic village, and one of the oldest towns in the world. It seemed to me like a whole lot of lame graffiti and narrow alleys full of outgoing grifters with friendship bracelets, all of whom happened to love my Barcelona shirt and sought to vocalize that.

The Plaka is a labyrinth that might wind up saving me the trip to Crete, and what few signs exist are in Greek. I asked a tiny goth girl on the corner if this was the way to the Acropolis. Her eyes got big for a second, but then she realized I was not trying to beg for money, give her friendship bracelets, or sell her drugs, and she became very helpful.

“All roads lead to Acropolis,” she said in some of the best English I’d heard out of a local, “But I think that one over there is easiest.”

“I’ll take easiest,” I said, and did. It’s possible she was a grifter plant, and by easiest she meant “most dense with people calling you MY FRIEND, giving you garbage bracelets, explaining how hungry they are, and inviting you to an African dance festival in the square”, but unfortunate dentristy aside, she was too cute for that to be her job. She could’ve been a waitress, at very least. Especially in America. Goth chain restaurant food service workers are the sultry, emotionally damaged specters that haunt every young man’s dreams.

I wove through the Plaka uphill, up stairs, up more hills, more stairs, small cafe owners giving me shady looks as I cut through the stairs that they somehow set up tables and chairs on. When I finally got to the top, I discovered all of the humans.

I later found out there’s an Acropolis metro stop, which is probably how all these fat old Americans beat me to the top. No one’s more confused by my aversion to obvious tourists than I am, considering it’s usually pretty obvious I’m a tourist, especially in Europe. I’m a foot and a half taller and 50 – 100 lbs heavier than everyone except the Nords, and none of them even lift. I think part of their socialism is they all decide on one guy who lifts for Scandinavia, and that guy is The Mountain.

All these little purple-lipstick hobbit women keep looking at me like I escaped a genetic engineering lab, and the international perception of Americans can’t be helping. From what I’ve gleaned in drunken hostel conversations, most Europeans and Australians seem to think America is a post-apocalyptic spaghetti western where we’re all looting in all the major cities and open-carrying AR-15s in case President Immortan Joe sends his death squad drones to Build the Wall.

As I approached the Acropolis, a one-eyed man on a Segway wearing a laminated SEGWAY TOURS sign cruised up to me and said, “You goin’ to the Acropolis?”

“Yes indeed,” I said without eye contact. I don’t want a Segway. This is a goddamn pilgrimage. You think I came around the world to irreconcilably demonstrate to Athena that I’m a li’l bitch?

“Well, you better hurry,” he said in an unexpected show of non-hustling candor. “It’s closing in an hour.”

“I thought it was open til 8.”

“They changed the hours. They start kickin’ people out at 4:40.”

Well, it was 4, so it was go time. I thanked him and charged up the hill, dodging around enormous Asian tour groups and lines of geriatric Central Americans walking 5 abreast to make sure no one could get past them. Everyone was shouting, all the time, forever.

I swung off the path a few times because it was easier to just climb the rocks than navigate the teeming sea of human vermin, paid the 10 Euro to get in, and climbed up toward the Acropolis proper.

You know in spy movies when there’s a laser grid the protagonist has to cross, so they do gymnastics and cartwheels to avoid hitting any of them? Imagine that, but with cameras and selfie sticks. No matter where you went, you were photobombing somebody, and still, they were screaming. Everyone was screaming so much at the silent hilltop archaeology temple, and making faces for the cameras like they’re in a cheap photo booth, and forcing me to hate them.

The Old Temple of Athena was devoted to Athena Hygieia, which pertained to health and medicine. This was probably my favorite part.

The olive tree planted on the west side of the Erectheion symbolized the original olive tree that built the world as we know it.

In the ancient days, Athens was already booming, but it wasn’t called Athens. King Cecrops almost single-handedly dragged Greece into civilization, introducing ceremonial burial, marriage, and literacy to his society. It’s arguable that this was a mixed bag, but eh. After seeing all the thriving, he decided that what the city really needed was more thriving and issued an open invite to the gods to have one become the city’s protector and patron. Immediately, Athena and Poseidon both laid their claim.

Athena suggested to King Cecrops that a contest be held, and he be the judge. Now, Cecrops must have been shitting bricks, because every time the gods hold a contest someone gets turned into a cow or raped by a goose or something, but you can’t tell Athena “that’s a terrible idea” because then you will definitely be getting flayed alive every day for the rest of eternity, so the king said, “Yeah, totally. Let’s do that.”

Poseidon had it all figured out. He knew what Athens needed. He stabbed the earth with his trident and brought a flood right up to the edge of the city. The people had water, now! Poseidon brought water, what a surprise! It was really practical and convenient, right up until they discovered it was seawater and drinking it would kill them.

We can assume that Athena shook her head in disgust before presenting Cecrops with the olive tree, or rather, seeds to it.

“Plant this and wait,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Seed they did, and see they did. Olive oil became a staple for everything in Greece, in ascending order of importance: fuel, wood, shelter, food, and lube. When the trees finally grew, Cecrops faced the music and declared Athena the winner, and they just kept building her temples after that. If you read up on the mythology, Poseidon got the shaft pretty often. Probably why he was always so salty (ha haaaaa).

The Odeon of Herodes Atticus. They still do performances here, unlike the Theater of Dionysius, which was far too ruined and roped off for me to sneak in and honor Diogenes’ memory by poopin’.

The plague of humanity was becoming too taxing. I was getting snippy. A dude’s just trying to honor his personal patron goddess. Did I yell in your church? Well, okay, a little outside of the Basilica in the Vatican, but that wasn’t on me. God started it.

I shimmied down a hiking path to get back to center city. On the way down, I saw a scrawny girl wearing boots with 6 inch heels, trying to navigate the slippery rocks and loose gravel that made up the entirety of the hill.

“Heels to the Acropolis, huh?” I asked her. Her boyfriend was not thrilled at my casually outgoing nature, and sneered a “Yuh” at me, as though he were the one wearing heels to the Acropolis.

“Bold choice.”

She giggled. He didn’t. I slunk back into Athens and went back to the hostel to spend happy hour writing. My Greek bartender friend tried to hit me up for that 4 Euro beer because happy hour didn’t start for another 3 minutes. I gave him a dark look and said I’d wait it out. When the clock rolled over, I got two smaller beers for also 4 Euros, but it was a net gain I could abide.

Outside on the terrace, I met four excitable Australian lads. We got drunk and compared cultures, and they taught me a lexicon of Aussie slang that I knew most of because of the internet. We were joined by a guy from Michigan whose accent was, to me, more pronounced than anyone else’s, and the Austrian tagger I mentioned yesterday. You can check out his work here.

“All right, mate, let’s hash this out,” they asked me. “How in the FUCK did Trump happen?”

“Bible belt, man,” I said. “The news you see coming out of America is all left-leaning media from metropolitan areas. New York, Boston, Philly, D.C., anywhere in California. The majority of America is middle America. Impoverished, living in the boonies, voting straight Conservative every time cuz “we gotta stop that therr abortion, mm-hmm”. The left is louder, but the right is definitely more prevalent. Not to mention, more likely to vote.”

“So, like, is it that bad? Is he really gonna build the wall?”

Me and the dude from Michigan both laughed.

“No, dude. There’s no wall happening.”

“He’s a joke,” the Michiganian said. “He just goes up there, and says things. But there are people behind him in the government that have to allow him to do these things, and they don’t.”

“Right, because they’re impossible and stupid,” I said.

“I think he just says things for attention. And that keeps getting him attention, so he keeps saying it.”

“So let’s get to the kangaroo thing,” I said. “Are they like deer?”

“They’re just like deer,” they said. “They’re everywhere, and all they do is jump in front of your car and fuck it up.”

“Yeah, that’s what deer are for.”

“Down in the bush, ya go shootin’ roos. Ya shoot a lot of things in Straya, actually. The ecosystem is wrecked from all the species the Europeans introduced, so if you shoot one of the poisonous toads and bring it to the municipal, they’ll give you 8 dollas.”

“Damn.”

We drank our drinks, then I said, “I saw an odd thing, the other night, allegedly pretty common in Australia. How prevalent are shoeys?”

Immediately, they all started screaming in joy like I just said the secret word on Peewee’s Playhouse.

We hit the streets, inhaled some 2 Euro gyros, and attempted to find a bar. Instead, we found a hookah bar that claimed it was 5 Euro a hookah, but was actually 5 Euro per person smoking a hookah. That, my friends, is how they getcha. They blasted reggaeton the entire time we were there, which kind of clashes with the intended ambiance of a hookah bar in my ever humble opinion, but nobody asked me.

After that, the impetuous Australians went to buy drugs from one of the shady grifters in the square. Apparently, friendship bracelets aren’t the only thing they’re selling. They picked up 6 gs of Grecian weed for 50 Euro, and then pledged to us that they’d meet us up on the roof terrace with it. It wasn’t going to make or break my night, but we gave them a half hour and they never showed. Ghosted. Too savage. But, you know what they say: Ozzie come, ozzie go.

Off to the rest of the sights. Talk soon.

Love,

The Bastard

Athens: Sartre Was Right November 9, 2017. Athens, Greece. They hid the Acropolis. I don't know what they stand to gain from it.

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