#pov you almost die getting burned alive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

python333 · 9 months

Note

your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.”

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago.

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late.

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath.

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left.

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?”

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening.

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind.

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me?

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece.

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking.

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?”

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment.

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?”

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you.

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—”

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.”

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath.

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again.

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—”

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear.

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it.

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.”

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?”

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?”

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.”

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?”

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.”

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?”

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?”

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.”

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?”

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—”

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too.

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet.

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?”

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed.

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…”

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.”

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.”

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth.

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?”

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…”

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.”

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away.

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before.

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed.

—

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates.

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows.

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you.

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly.

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well.

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one.

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head.

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more.

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back.

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.”

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—”

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together.

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin.

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit.

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.”

“You had the right to.”

“Sure I did.”

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.”

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.”

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.

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braxiatel · 5 months

Text

You know that “if it were a drawing I would call it a doodle or a sketch” incomplete fic I posted a while back?

Well here’s another from a few months ago.

Mumscarian (shocking, I know) hunger games au except instead of being told from the POV of someone in the hunger games it’s told by someone they left behind.

Content warnings are all similar in style and detail to the hunger games books, anx include injury (with specific mention of broken bones, spinal injuries, eye injuries, burns), references to genocide, displacement, and loss of a parental figure. Child- and animal endangerment, dissociation, non consensual body modifications, and possibly more that I cannot recall at this moment. Proceed with caution.

———

Cats have healing powers.

Scar was the one who told him that, on a cold winter’s day in front of the fire. Had it really only been months? It felt so much longer…

Something about their purring, Scar had said. He had been more specific than that, but Mumbo’s head was somewhat hazy at the moment.

But the purring healed you, Mumbo could remember as much.

Still, he was pretty sure Jellie alone wasn’t going to get him out of this one, not for lack of trying.

It was her fault he was here anyway.

… No, that wasn’t true. He would have said as much to himself if not for the fact that even moving his lips to take in gasping breaths was agony.

They had been warned before the bombs started to drop. There has been time to run, Pearl’s hand in his so they did not lose each other in the crowd.

Until he saw a woman carrying a goat in her arms and remembered-

“I have to go back,” he panted through strained breaths - he was nowhere near as fit as Pearl, who had been washing the coal-smeared clothes of half the Seam since age eleven to make ends meet.

“What?!” Pearl asked, continuing to pull him towards the hovercraft that was waiting on the green. “Mumbo if we stay we’re going to die. Whatever you forgot it isn’t more important than your life, if can be replaced, I promise. Just-”

“Jellie,” he interrupted her. “We forgot Jellie.”

Pearl’s grip slackened. The crowd kept moving around them, indistinct bodies pushing them forward and together.

“It will break Scar if he comes home and finds out she’s gone. I’ll just… two minutes, okay? I’ll be two minutes. I’ll go to his house and if she isn’t home I’m leaving without her. I just have to try.”

Pearl had looked as though she wanted to argue. She was practical though, in the same way Grian was, in the same way every child that grew up in the Seam was

“No sense in wasting time then. Go. Two minutes, Mumbo, and no more.”

Jellie continued to purr in his arms, unaware of the danger they were still in.

Suppose he had fancied himself a romantic, running back into a doomed town to save his sort-of-boyfriend’s cat.

Grian would laugh and call him an idiot… or he would have once. Grian didn’t do a great deal of laughing these days.

Mumbo could taste blood on his tongue. He wondered if any of the animals that lived in the forests beyond District 12 could smell it, if at any moment a mountain lion might finish him off, defenceless as he was.

He wondered if any of the animals were even still alive.

There had been blood on his tongue the day it started too.

His father - his adopted father that was - always chided him for the habit of biting on his cheek when he was nervous. But not today. Xisuma may have been smiling under his breather, but the Mayor of 12 was anything but calm. Wishing that another boy - any other than Mumbo - would be the one whose name was drawn today, did not sit well with Mayor Xisuma, who had been appointed to keep the citizens of 12 in line and dedicated himself to keeping them safe instead.

Today Mumbo bit his cheek, lined up with every other boy age twelve to eighteen in the district.

Well, almost. Scar had offered him a wink from the line of girls, standing out like a sore thumb in his trousers and the white shirt that had long ago been tainted a greyish brown by wear.

Although Scar was only a little more than a year older than Mumbo, he had been towards the back with the other seventeen-year-olds, while Mumbo was perfectly in the middle, still two weeks shy of sixteen.

“You look as if you’re about to implode from sheer stress,” a familiar voice has said from behind him.

Mumbo couldn’t remember what he had replied anymore, but he did recall how the hints of blonde in Grian’s hair had stood out in the sun that day. Pearl, he knew, always insisted on both of them having a proper bath before the reaping.

They would have shared the same banter they always did. Grian would tease him for being nervous when his name was barely in the draw at all, and Mumbo would mentally assure himself that Grian was right, he was safe.

That had been the day he learned what he should actually have been fearing all along.

The world had stopped turning when Scar’s given name was called out.

It had taken a moment before anyone had recognised it, it had been years since he used it last after all.

“I prefer Scar, actually,” he had corrected, stepping out of the lineup with a smile on his face.

Scar’s nose wrinkled when he smiled and meant it. Mumbo had admired it a thousand times in breaks between lessons and walking home through the Merchant’s section of the district, had tasted it on his lips far too few times for Scar to go off to his death now.

Grian’s hand was a steadying presence on Mumbo’s back for only a moment before the next name was called.

“Grian Xelqua.”

This time the world had stopped spinning altogether. In Mumbo’s memory it did anyway.

His next real memory was sitting opposite Grian, in a room adjacent to his father’s office, babbling about making sure Pearl wouldn’t be left alone through sobs.

He had felt so awful about those tears. There he was, crying about the prospect of losing Grian and Scar, when his best friend and his boyfriend were both about to leave to die horribly in the Hunger Games.

He had only been given a moment with Grian before Pearl arrived. Even thinking about the look on her face as she went to tell her twin goodbye still chilled Mumbo to the bone.

Next, he had guided to see Scar, the seat still warm from Cub having sat there only moments ago.

Most people would have put Cub’s quick departure down to the fact that he and Scar were cousins so many times removed they were only barely more related than anyone else in the Merchant’s section.

Mumbo knew the truth to be something else entirely. Cub was a man of few words and a practical one at that. In the coming weeks, many would look sideways at his apothecary as it continued to be open even as Scar fought for his life in the games. Mumbo understood, though, and so did Scar.

“I love you,” it had been the first time either of them had said it, their romance still new. Now Scar spoke the words carefully, stroking Mumbo’s tear-stained cheek before he continued to add: “But when I leave this building I am going to have to forget that, and I want you to do the same. I love you, Mumbo, and that’s why I’m going to make sure you don’t lose both of us.”

At the time he hadn’t thought he would ever know greater pain than having to hide his feelings away, watching Scar use his golden tongue to charm the masses of the Capitol, convincing them of his undying devotion towards Grian, never once mentioning Mumbo in all of his interviews.

He was certainly in more pain now... Mumbo had always been a bit of a spoon, though, so it was no wonder he was wrong about that too.

Jellie crooned in his arms and Mumbo forced his right eye open - the left remaining stuck shut just as it had since the fire had licked across his skin.

Jellie’s fur may be a little singed, but Mumbo’s blood had put any fires that had touched her out. He almost wanted to laugh at that, but his lungs were stinging from the smoke and the ash in the air and it was all he could do not to choke on it.

Above the chasm he was lying in the wind blew harshly, stoking the fires consuming the forest around him.

It was definitely ironic that he should die this way. For months now he had had nightmares of flames, ever since that fateful day when the 74th Hunger Games had ended.

Grian had all but dragged Scar through the forests, Scar’s left leg trailing after him like deadweight and his right barely able to support him, fire chasing them ever forward.

Mumbo had been sick three times that day. When the fire started, again when a dagger was wedged into Grian’s right eye, and finally when the game makers had announced that Grian and Scar could not win together after all.

He had missed the part where they took each other’s hands and walked to the edge of a cliff, ready to throw themselves off together instead of either of them winning alone.

The fire crackled above the chasm again.

“Go,” he hissed through uneasy breaths, nudging Jellie with his shoulders. “Please.”

Scar would be devastated if she were to die this way, and he had only just started smiling again…

Hollow. That was the only word Mumbo had known that might describe Grian and Scar when they returned from the games. Facades, stitched together and polished by the best the Capitol had to offer, the very picture of Capitol beauty with none of what mattered left.

Scar had smiled and joked that hey, at least they had taken the tits while they were rearranging his skin to cover the fact that his leg had been mangled beyond recognition by a trap once meant to hold a fully grown bear. Mumbo had laughed. It hadn’t been funny in the least.

And while the things Scar said rarely failed to make Mumbo feel sick to his stomach, it was Grian’s silence that disturbed him.

That had come to a head one evening when Grian had torn the prosthetic eye from its socket, hurtling it so hard against the marble walls of his house in the victor’s village that the plastic had cracked. A new had arrived within the week.

Mumbo coughed and hacked, pain wracking his body as the smoke clawed on the inside of his throat and his lungs.

Stupid, stupid Mumbo. He had known the chasm was here, he had seen it on his adoptive father’s maps of the district enough time that he should have known to run the other way.

Granted, it had been more than half a year since he had last stepped foot in the mayoral office, when his father had disappeared overnight and his uncle had been put in charge of District 12 in his stead.

Xisuma’s brother had never been fond of either of them, and he paid little mind when Mumbo simply moved into one of the many spare bedrooms in Grian’s house in the Victor’s Village after they returned from their victory tour of Panem.

Officially he had become Cub’s apprentice, the district still needing medicine even though their one apothecary was now living with his cousin-nth-removed in luxury.

Unofficially he and Scar had finally talked again, combing out the tangled knots of their relationship and what it could even be now that Grian and Scar were only alive because of their status as the star-crossed lovers in the eyes of the citizens of the Capitol.

Mumbo loved Scar enough that he did not mind only holding Scar’s hand in private, did not mind how Scar looked at Grian in public view and in quiet moments at home when he thought no one would notice, did not begrudge Scar a single bit of the patience and space he needed before he was ready for Mumbo to kiss him again.

Scar, in turn, had not minded how Grian latched himself to Mumbo, how Mumbo and Grian would share a bed when nightmares kept them awake, and how Mumbo could not help but blush whenever Scar spoke of Grian.

In another world, they might have spent years dancing around the issue before they developed the emotional maturity to recognise that there was love enough between them for all three of them to share.

In this world, however, they were not afforded the luxury of time. It had felt as though Mumbo had only just gotten his two favourite people back, only for it to be announced that in a few months time, he would have to see at least one of them leave again, off to compete in the 75th Hunger Games as the only two living tributes in District 12 apart from Impulse, whose experience as a mentor was the only thing standing between Mumbo and the very real possibility that both of the boys - the men - he loved would return to him in a coffin.

Mumbo sobbed at the thought, then sobbed again when he continued to shake, muscles tensing and untensing around broken bones and ruptured organs as the morning sun rose to greet him, crimson red through the not-so-distant fires consuming his home.

Surely Grian and Scar were dead by now. The games… Mumbo was not politically savvy the way his two partners were, but he knew well enough that they had been supposed to die in the arena.

“Go,” he begged Jellie again, the burns on his face stinging as salty tears ate away at them.

Scar wouldn’t want her dead. Scar wouldn’t want anything, because he was no doubt dead in a box somewhere far, far away in the Capitol, but he wouldn’t have wanted her dead had he been alive.

The fires were close now, the air so thick even Mumbo’s desperate attempts for air seemed to yield none.

No one would miss him.

It hit him just then.

He was going to die, a broken body left to rot or burn in a chasm by a broken District. Grian and Scar would die too, his father had been dead for months. No one would even know that he was gone, just one name on a dizzyingly long list.

Silly, silly Mumbo, running back into a town doomed to burn to save a dead man from a broken heart. Pearl had been right, he shouldn’t have gone back.

Oh, Pearl! She would know he was gone. How had he managed to forget her? He felt he ought to know but his mind was providing nothign but static.

Another pang of guilt. He had promised Grian she wouldn’t be alone once, and now she would, all because he had been too sentimental. Because he had been too slow, clinging tight to Jellie as he watched the hovercrafts take off. Because he had taken a wrong turn, getting himself thrown into this stupid chasm by one of the countless bombs that had devastated the only home he had ever known.

“Go away,” he hissed at Jellie while he still had air left in his lungs to do so. “Shoo.”

Jelliw finally rose from her position at his side, earning herself a wet sob when her fur rubbed against one of Mumbo’s burns.

She yowled back at him, a familiar tone of complaint that most often harbingered-

Mumbo cringed when the first drop of rain hit his ruined skin, but instantly felt a wave of relief as water cooled his burns.

Soon the air was clearing too, his breaths less ragged but just as wet as it travelled through his ruined chest.

His one good eye fixed on Jellie as she sought shelter under an outcropping of rocks, looking expectantly at him, unaware that he couldn’t move to join her.

For now he was enjoying the relief of the rain anyway. His burns cooling, fat drops of rain slipping between his cracked lips to wet his tongue. He was certain he was far too calm when he congratulated himself on the fact he would likely bleed out rather than die of thirst.

Above him the fires hissed and sputtered, and for the first time since the alarms had sounded, he allowed himself to disengage from the situation.

His mind floated to the town he had grown up in. Would any of the Merchant’s Sector still be standing? He very much doubted it, given how long the bombs had continued to shake him to his bones and make his teeth clatter even after his tumble to the bottom of the chasm.

If any parts of the Seam were still standing it would only be because it covered a far larger part of the town than the Merchant’s Sector ever did, most of the houses barely able to withstand normal wind and weather.

Mumbo had called the Victor’s Village home for the past several months, but he found himself hoping it had been destroyed as well. There was nothing left for him there, even if he had held any hope of surviving.

Mumbo opened his eye with a start realisation: he very much did not want to die.

Silly thing to forget, really, but as had been established Mumbo could be rather silly.

He must have been drifting in and out of consciousness, because by now the crackle of the fire had grown distant, leaving a deadly quiet in its wake. The rain had stopped, and the clouds cleared enough to allow him to see the last rays of the setting sun painting the sky bruise purple.

He heaved in fresh air, his whole being shivering and shaking with the cold rain soaking his broken body.

His eye drifted to the side, to where Jellie was lying on her paws, watching him intently. She had a cut on her ear he had not seen through the haze of the smoke, but seemed otherwise unharmed.

Here were his choices:

He could stay where he was, dying of exposure or to his wounds.

Or he could try to move, and at least die somewhere slightly more dry and comfortable.

The choice would have been easy to Grian and Scar, he thought. Grian would have clawed his way out of the chasm by now, and not even death could have stopped Scar from holding Jellie in his arms.

To Mumbo it was far from simple.

See, Mumbo didn’t want to die, but he very much didn’t want to be in pain either and he had a feeling moving would hurt a great deal.

His mind was hazy, something that had been vivid earlier unclear to him now. Why did the thought of Grian and Scar make his eyes sting with sticky tears?

He didn’t want to leave them…

With a sob Mumbo realised he really had no choice at all.

“Jellie?” he asked. “Get Scar, won’t you? I need you to get him… I need you to get Scar so that he’s here when this is over.”

Jellie for her part stood and stretched, and that was enough to convince him that somehow the cat had understood his pleas.

Okay. This was it…

He flexed his toes but otherwise had no luck kicking against the ground.

No other thing for it, then…

If pain had weight the one that hit him must be hundreds of tons.

His lungs screamed for air, seizing as he dragged himself one little bit forward. The bone clicked in his arm, but far worse was the white-hot burning radiating through his spine and into his legs.

He wouldn’t have made it much further than half a metre when he collapsed against the wall of the chasm, his ears ringing… or perhaps that was simply the screams echoing through the chasm?

With each thundering beat of his heart panic spread further through his body, seaping into every muscle and every fibre.

“Help,” he called, voice hoarse and throat dry. “It hurts.”

A noise from above his head. A flicker of hope.

The rain had washed the blood from his face, at least enough that he could force his other eye open and locate the source of the sound. Jellie, despite her age, was quite athletic and had made it almost all the way to the top of the chasm.

Well, it wasn’t help, but it was a start, right? Jellie would run home and get Scar, or Grian, or maybe even Xisuma. Someone would find him…

The sun rose and at some point in the night Mumbo had stopped feeling the bite of the cold - in fact the chill dew on his skin was quite refreshing, as was the trickle off water next to his head.

He couldn’t move to drink it all, but with a tilt of his head he was able to gulp some of it down, soothing the dryness in his throat.

The forest was so quiet today. Mumbo had only ventured beyond the fence with Grian and Scar twice in his life, but what he recalled most clearly was how alive it had been compared to the stifling settlement they called home.

There were no birds now, no rustle of the wind in the leaves, not even the distant sound of hares and other small animals skittering through the forest floor.

Mumbo’s stomach churned. Was that roast meat he could smell on the wind? When had he even last had something to eat…?

He wished his clothes were not so heavy. If only they were lighter, he might be able to move and remove his shirt. When had the sun become so warm?

He tilted his head to drink more water, mud and ash sticking to the sides of his mouth.

The moon, too, was warm tonight. Mumbo had never known it to be as much before, but nonetheless, it was even warmer than the sun had been. He felt as though he was burning up.

The stars were so bright, as bright as Mumbo had only ever seen them through his father’s telescope. It had been the nicest thing they owned, the lense scratched but still functional enough that he had been able to look through it and dream himself far away.

They moved oddly, reflecting in the helmet of the person standing at the top of the chasm.

Their language was garbled too. Mumbo never knew there were animals that looked like people in the forest…

He blinked, tilting his head a little for a better look.

The person-animal recoiled and Mumbo wanted to shush it, tell it he grew up sheltered in the Merchant’s Section and had no idea how to harm it even if he wanted to.

It made another garbled sound. Except…

Except…

“-Nd a survivor. I repeat I have found a survivor. Requesting urgent medical attention.”

The person-animal - who may in fact just be a person, come to think of it - climbed down the side of the cave.

First they removed a glove, revealing pale skin, and then their helmet. A cascade of red curls fell out, framing a young woman’s face.

“My name is Gem, Scout for District 13. Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”

He blinked, certain he ought to know how to respond to that. His tongue, however, remained unyielding.

“Mumbo! MUMBO! Let me go! I need to see him!”

Mumbo wished he had the energy to turn his head and look up and see the owner of the voice, but he was simply too tired.

“Get him out of here and start working on getting a stretcher down here, I think his spine might be broken,” Gem said over their shoulder. Their tone was far softer when they turned around and spoke to him. “Mumbo? Is that your name? Mumbo, listen to me, you need to hang in there. Whatever you saw during the bombing of 12 could be very valuable to the resistance, so you have to hold on a little bit longer so we can get you to a doctor.”

The bombing of 12…

Mumbo knew he should feel something. Panic, grief, anger, anything at all.

In reality, he just felt tired.

“Grr… ggi,” he tried.

“You want Grian?” Gem asked. “Sure, sure. He’s on his way to the hovercraft and in a moment you will be too. I’m just going to give you something for the pain and the fever, okay?”

Fever? Since when did he have a fever?

A weight on his chest lessened a little, relief flooding through him as the dull throbbing of pain he had been feeling from his everywhere began to subside.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Gem instructed. “You might get a little tired but it’s very important that you don’t fall asleep.”

Mumbo wanted to open his mouth to tell them that of course, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Instead he blinked and a moment later he was somewhere new. It looked like home, looking like the Market Square, only not at all. The Market Square should be bustling with late afternoon activity, judging by the sun being in the west. The market Square was surrounded by buildings on all sides, whereas this place barely had any rubble worthy of being called ‘walls’.

There was a mask over his face, one that reminded him of his father’s breather, its edges digging into his flesh.

“Let me go this instance or I swear I walk - and don’t think Scar won’t do the same. We both care about him and- Mumbo!”

Grian’s face entered his view. The Capitol liked to style him in a way that made him look older than a mere seventeen, but that was not the reason Mumbo could see no trace of the boy that had once sat next to him in school barely more than a year ago.

His one remaining eye was dark, clouded by unbridled fury.

His gaze softened a little when he sat next to Mumbo.

“Can I touch him?”

Yes, Mumbo wanted to say. His body felt so wrong, cold and hot and numb and aching, all of it all at once. He wanted Grian to hold him, wanted Scar to join in as well. Come to think of it, where was Scar?

“If you’re careful.”

Hold on, that voice was familiar. Cub? Why was Cub here? And where was ‘here’ anyway?

That train of thought died as cold lips pressed against Mumbo’s temple. Odd, Grian normally ran hot.

“Hey.” Another kiss, this time on his forearm of all places. Then again, it was one of the few places that didn’t tingle with pain… “Thought I’d lost you for a moment,” Grian whispered, one of his fingers trailing over the part of Mumbo’s arm he had just kissed.

The world shook, and Mumbo’s body went slack with pain.

“Gently,” Grian hissed over his shoulder. He looked at Mumbo again, and he looked so very human. “Be gentle… Mumbo? Mumbo?! Mumbo, you have to-”

If Grian actually told Mumbo what he wanted him to do, it was lost somewhere between the humming of the world around them and the static in Mumbo’s ears. His eyes had slipped close, and for the first time in days he felt safe to rest.

—

Mumbo was aching.

That was the first thought that crossed his mind. Next was this: he was not at home in the Victor’s Village, nor was he in the small apartment in the Justice Building that had been his childhood home.

The bed was too short for him, the linen too coarse, and most offensive of all there was an incessant beeping next to his right ear.

Heavy footsteps - familiar ones at that - approached and a door swung closed with a whir.

Right. The door opening had woken him in the first place.

He opened his eyes and had to blink when he saw the familiar face of his dead father.

“Xisuma?” he tried to ask, the name muffled by the mask sitting on his face.

“Oh, Mumbo, thank goodness,” his adoptive father said in the same tone as he would normally use when Mumbo came home half an hour late after taking the long way home from school with Grian and Scar. “Grian, he’s awake.”

Mumbo strained his eyes, only barely able to make out the bright red colour of a familiar sweater.

“What?” Grian, too, seemed to just have woken up. “Oh! Mumbo!”

A chair scraped across the floor and a moment later Grian came into view too.

“You’re alive,” Mumbo tried to say, trying to enunciate the words as much as he could with his mouth being as dry as it was.

“We could say the same to you,” Xisuma told him, pushing a lock of hair out of Mumbo’s face just as he had done when Mumbo first came to him at age seven. “I don’t know if you have the worst or the best luck in the world. Falling down a ravine like that, and staying safe from the fires and the bombs. Do you know the scouts only found you because Jellie found them and insisted they follow her? She’s getting a well-deserved rest now, but you’d better thank her when you’re up and about again… or well… Well, yes, when you see her.”

Though his father’s rambling was a comforting background noise Mumbo had missed dearly, one thing stuck out to Mumbo.

The bombs. The fires.

“12 is gone,” he shuddered.

“Some of the people made it out,” Xisuma told him. “The ones smart enough not to go running back after lost pets.”

Oh, had he really done that? Mumbo was certain he must be blushing with sheer embarrassment.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, though. Scar would have been devastated if anything had happened to Jellie.

Scar.

The thought struck him and the beeping sound increased.

“Gri?” He asked. “Where’s S…”

Mumbo choked on the words, his throat aching from the smoke he had inhaled and the dry air flowing through the breather covering the lower half of his face.

Grian waited for him to finish coughing, his hand resting on Mumbo’s right arm as a steady presence.

“He’s okay,” Grian told him, though the waver in his voice told Mumbo otherwise. Grian had always been a terrible liar, and Mumbo knew him far too well to believe him.

Judging by Grian’s expression he realised this too.

“He’s alive,” Grian corrected. “The Capitol have him. But we’re already looking into saving him. We’re going to get him back, Mumbo, I swear. You came back and he will too…”

Grian rose to his feet, kissing the same part of Mubmo’s forehead he had earlier.

“I’ll fix it all,” Grian promised him. “The two of us, we’ll find a way to bring him back, even if it means burning the Capitol to the ground.”

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mumscarian #mumbo jumbo #GoodTimesWithScar #gtws #Grian #Pearlescentmoon #geminitay #XisumaVoid

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lavalais76 · 4 months

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Jon & Sansa | Winter in my Heart

youtube

I am simply obsessed with these 2. All the Metas and Fan Fiction from you beautiful kindred souls makes me feel so alive! I appreciate each and everyone of you. @istumpysk and @esther-dot @starwarsprincess1986 @sherlokiness @stormcloudrising , you guys give me LIFE with your Metas.

I'm more of a book fan because the show did these characters no justice. We all know WHY. I hope you guys are ok with me posting all these sappy videos. Im sort of new to Tumblr, and I love it here. When I heard about the Kit and Sofie movie set at the time of "war of the roses" I became even more obsessed with Jon and Sansa.

They are obviously giving it away with this movie and trying to get the "Anti's" to get comfortable with the fact that these 2 are inevitable. Before Sansa appeared at Castle Black and even before the show begin I always wondered what the deal was with these 2. It just didn't make any sense, or as someone else put it: "Jon and Sansa are the LOUDEST SILENCE". I ALWAYS had that feeling that the girl in grey would be her. There isn't a single doubt in my mind.

I think something horrible will go down in the Vale and the Blackfish will help Sansa some sort of way to get to Jon. I read many Metas where they say Jon will come back from the dead a mindless beast, and he will have no POV. That's just impossible. Our main character/HERO a mute stuck in a wolf.

First of all I don't think Jon is dead AT ALL. I believe he is hanging on by a string due to blood loss and shock and possibly in a coma like Bran was at the beginning of the series. He will warg Ghost and find out many things about himself through Ghost while his friends (the wildings) nurse him back to life. Though VAL is not one of my favorite characters, some say she is a healer. That could be good for Jon.

Melsandra will probably burn Shrinee anyway because she thinks Stannis is dead. I also think Jon was drugged before the stabbings. The way he spoke of clumsily trying to retrieve LongClaw, and he just gave me a weird vibe. I DO NOT TRUST Satin guys. I know everyone loves him but if Jon were drugged, Satin always provided the drinks. Maybe I'm reaching too far, but that's just my gut feeling. Satin is Judas.

Cerci Lannister had plans on taking Jon off the Chess Board as well, so there is no telling if she orchestrated the whole thing or not. Whatever happens, it's gonna be real UGLY when Jon wakes up. Jon Snow as we knew him is definitely DEAD and died in the snow. The real BEAST is what we will have left of Jon. He will make the Hound look like a little poodle dog.

I do also believe he will be in those woods as Ghost while Sansa is being chased by Ramsay's hounds. He will definitely kill them all including whomever is with the dogs. There was a passage in the books if I remember correctly how when Ghost was a pup, and he was eating. A dog approached to try and steal his prize. Jon said the Dog was much bigger than Ghost, but all Ghost had to do was look at her and she ran away. Ghost got right back to his prize.

I've always wondered if that was a foreshadowing for Ghost fighting the hounds. Another thing, WHERE do Ghost go when Jon wonders of his whereabouts? Well, I'm almost done here Jonsa family. I hope I'm not boring you guys to death with this long book of a post I am writing.

I DO believe Sansa is the Girl in Grey and I'll die by that. I also think that after Ghost!Jon saves her, Brianne and Jamie or Brianne and Company will get her to Castle Black. The dying horse in my opinion is not a real Horse. It could be a person. We've already had the real dying horse with Alyas. Sansa doesn't have to be dressed in Grey either because so many other things links her to Grey.

I remember she had a green cloak in Kings Landing that belonged to the hound and if I'm not mistaken she also got on the boat with LF with that cloak on. Where is it? I do not know.

Anyway, Sansa will arrive at Castle Black shortly after Jon wakes up from his coma (refuse to believe he died and actual death) People will SAY he rose from the dead as they did Sansa when she left Kings Landing. It will be a myth, but people will believe it. Jon will NOT be the same. I believe he will have all of his memories which preserved in Ghost but he will become "THE BEAST" After he has "killed the boy." He would have tapped into his powers and possibly converse with Bran and Bloodraven.

Jon will probably forget what happened in the woods and in his wolf dreams but he will have the shock of his life to see Sansa Stark of ALL people come through those gates. She's come to the end of the world to seek HIM out. He will realize it was the wrong sister he almost got murdered behind.

Everyone will fear him at Castle Black. He will be a cold blooded killer with no humanity left until she walks through those gates. It's a craving Jon had (to see her again) but he kept that to himself. We know this from Ygritte, Alays and Val. He was looking for Sansa in all these women, and now the real deal stands right before him.

I'm not saying it's going to be an easy journey, but she will be the ONLY ONE to calm the beast. Jon will protect her of course (or steal her) but he will be mean to Sansa at first. He will eventually fall madly in love with her and vice versa. She will sing to him, annoy him, anger him, pacify him and Jon won't know what hit him.

They will fall in love because of what they both endured. Jon will be OVER protective of Sansa in the books, possibly locking her up in a tower like Stannis has Val, but this time there is a real princess in the tower that Jon WANTS to steal. I know I've reached my limits here. I am sorry for rambling or any errors, I'm just so happy to have ran across you fine people. If I didn't tag someone is because I don't remember the names and I'm still fairly new on Tumblr.

You guys are the BEST!

#jon x sansa #sansa stark #jonsa meta #jonsa #jon x sansa meta #Youtube

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lilyrizzy · 11 months

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max/daniel, hunger games au, outsider pov

The air in the arena is so suffocating, Alex can't help but tip his head back and marvel a little at the artificial domed sky above their heads. He'd always thought, growing up, that if the Capitol invested even half the money they spent on the games into feeding the people of the districts, there'd be no need for any of this.

Dangerous thoughts he'd always known better than to share.

Still, he's said them to George more than once since their names were called for that second time. At this point, there feels like there's nothing left to lose. They already won, Alex two years ago and George just last year. Back to back victories for their District, and here they are anyway. Punished for their victory.

This time, they're going to lose.

A little way off in front of where they are sat side by side now, Max and Seb are talking in hushed, almost hostile looking tones. Trouble in teamate paradise. Charles, who has already lost his, has rolled his trousers up, taken off his shoes and is standing barefoot in the water.

Alex longs to join him. Underneath his legs, the sand is burning. He was the one who'd suggested coming here, thinking that being by the water there would be some kind if breeze, some relief, but-

"Real beaches have wind," Charles had mocked him with an eye roll. "This is not some holiday to the coast." As if Alex had ever been on one. "Now we are just sitting here in the open, like ducks."

Nobody had moved though. There are five of them here after all, almost half of the total people left alive. They stood just as good a chance here, against the three left that were any real threat, as they did hidden away in the jungle behind.

"I don't trust these people," George tells him for the fourth time since they've been sat here. Alex doesn't need to follow his line of sight to know exactly who he's talking about.

Max, who Seb has left standing alone in favour of making his way back up the beach towards them. Max who is stood with his eyes closed, his face turned up towards the artifical sun, hands stuffed into his pocket. His lips moving like he's talking to someone who isn't there.

Maybe George has a point, but-

"He's our best chance of staying alive, and you know it," Alex reminds him.

Max killed thirteen people in his games. A record, especially impressive for someone who isn't trained for it, not from District 1 or 2. A total worth bragging about, but Alex has never heard him even mention it.

Maybe he's naive, but that fact along with the dark circles underneath his eyes make Alex want to trust him in the way George can't seem to.

"He's a monster," George says, something else Alex has heard before, "do you know how many times I was made to rewatch his bloody games, by Toto, by-".

"I'm going to get some water, Georgie," Alex announces, getting to his feet because he can't have this argument again. Can't remind George for the hundredth time that Toto also told them, make allies. That Max, for whatever reason, seems to care about keeping his alivd. Had tried so hard to carry a wounded Carlos through poisonous fog, just because Charles asked for his help.

Alex had never even seen Max interact with either of them before this games, but his voice as he'd told Charles he was sorry for failing, for letting Carlos die is not something he'll forget soon.

He's just made it to the treeline when the same voice calls his name. Turning, Alex finds Max running towards him, almost frighteningly quick.

"I will come with you," he announces, leaving no room for discussion. "We should not go places alone."

Alex glances to George, but he's sat with Seb now, staring straight ahead into the water. Maybe George was right, and this is how they die. Picked off by the two golden boys of District 6.

"Okay," Alex tells him, still not quite finding it in himself to disagree. He just wants to go home to Lily, and he already knows he'll never do that again, so what else is there left to be afraid of.

They walk in silence. The jungle is silent too, eerily so in a way Alex knows can't be real, even if before last year he'd never left the soot covered District 12. How different than a jungle and the forest of his home really be?

Alex has just tapped the spire into the trunk of a tree when Max touches a hand to his shoulder.

"Did Toto tell you," he asks, strangely urgent in a way he wasn't been since trying to drag Carlos's body out of the fog. "Do you know?"

Alex frowns. Behind them, the water trickles, but neither of them move to drink.

"Tell me what?" He asks. "What do-."

Before he can finish, someone is shouting Max's name. Screaming it, loud and piercing. Alex's head whips around to the beach, but it's coming from the trees, and-

"Daniel," Max chokes out, face drained of all colour. Before Alex realises what is happening, Max is knocking past him, running into the jungle.

Alex finds his feet moving, chasing after him as the screams continue. A man's voice, crying for Max over and over. Screaming in pain, begging for help. But-

There's no one in the games called Daniel this year.

Still, Max's voice echos just ahead of him, calling out for him. "Daniel! Daniel, I am coming, Daniel."

"Max," Alex calls, adding to unbreable crescendo, "Max!"

He catches up with him in him a small clearing, finding him stood still and surrounded by a flock of birds flying around his head. It's then Alex realises where all the noise is coming from. The jabberjays perfectly mimicking the person- Daniel's- voice in a way designed to torment Max.

He's slashing his blade through the air, trying to cut them down. Alex makes a step towards him, reaching for his own weapon to try to help, only to find himself jolted back, unable to pass through. On the other side of some invisible torture chamber Max is trapped inside by the same forcefields that have divided this arena up into the 12 segments of a clock.

"Max," he says again, taking in the sick look of terror on his face, "Max, they're not real, they're just birds, they're-"

"Fuck off," Max snaps, eyes wild when he looks to him. "Fuck off, Alex, go- Go back to the beach, I cannot protect you in here."

For a moment he hesitates, watching Max crumple to the ground, pressing his fingers into his ears, eyes screwed shut. With his knees tucked under his chin, Alex is reminded that Max is younger than him. Just 24.

Back on the beach, he sits down beside Seb and George.

"Max is trapped in a new segment," he says, when Seb looks worriedly behind him. Alex's voice is shaking. "He- It's jabberjays, they're- Who is Daniel?"

Seb's entire face falls, and he gets to his feet.

"Another Victor from 6. I volunteered for him this year," he says, and right, Alex should have remembered that. "He was Max's mentor."

Seb makes his way towards the jungle from which Alex just came, not offering any more than that. Not that he really needs to.

If there's one thing these games have taught Alex, it's the face of someone who thinks they are losing everything they love.

#sorry if youve never read catching fire this probably makes no sense #im so lazy with world building #anyway hope someone likes this!!!#max/daniel #fic #like this isnt very imaginative #but i love this scene from the book and wanted to put my guys into it #and its almost 2am and i dont want tk typo fix l

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phoenixstark1708 · 7 months

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the daughter of an archangel

chapter 1

sooo..... this is my backstory in my marvel DR, major trigger warnings, this also crosses over into supernatural later, but i havent even written that yet.

trigger warnings: abuse, torture, blood, death, fucked up timeline, etc.

pairings: later will be sam/dean winchester, and even later will be bucky,

in this, endgame/inf war doesnt happen, i took plenty of creative liberties.

summary: (this is written in first-person) phoenix is a girl who was created by the nazi organization HYDRA, and she meets the winter soldier on a mission, i cant say much more without spoiling future chapters. will try to proofread but no promises.

word count: 2,654/10,649 - that ive written so far.

change of POV's will be indicated

“Get up you stupid pig!” the guard said, in a thick Russian accent, banging the cell door with his truncheon. He shone a flashlight in my eyes, making them burn from the lack of light for the past two days. I stretched out my sore muscles, wincing from the scabbed-over cuts all over my body. After days of no contact with anyone, just me and the cold, dark cell. Somehow being dragged away for training almost feels like a blessing. I stood and allowed him to cuff me. at this point, I know the drill. “so, Angel, how was your weekend?” He asked while holding my shoulder, guiding me out of the cell – the only place I’ve known as home for my whole life – literally. I was born in the damned bullpen. My mother died during birth, I guess having twins really had her beat.

On the way to the hell chamber – sorry, training room - I saw him, I saw Benjamin. For the first time in weeks, I saw my twin. He looked rough. Probably just had a sparring sesh with one of the winter soldiers. he’s always been smaller than me, But there was something different. he seemed especially weak. I haven’t eaten anything in what I assume has been around 4 days. He probably hasn’t either. They were always doing this, trying to weed out the weaker members. Its grim, but I knew he would die soon. It was clear that I was stronger, and if it came down to it, I would kill him without a second thought. After all, that’s how I was trained. I was bred, raised, and trained to be ruthless. And that is the only reason that I am still alive. HYDRA has no room for error.

As I walked into the training room, I saw the winter soldier, long, brunette hair, with a metal arm. The only time ive ever seen him is in cryo-sleep, he looked so peaceful, so harmless. The man standing before me was soemthing different entirely. His eyes were blue as ice, and just as cold. He looked right through me, almost like a drone. “this is her first mission. You will be supervising her.” he hands the man with a metal arm a file containing four pictures of senator james martin, whos been a public neusence for hydra for a while. The winter soldier grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the door.

It was a quiet drive on the Harley, at the moment, we were just n full assassin gear. My small arms were wrapped around his waist, making him clearly tense up. His metal arm was glinting in the moonlight as we pulled into a nearby parking garage, a birdseye view of the gathering senator martin. “I will stay up here while you go inside. As many casualties as possible. No survivors.” He said gruffly, setting up the rifle. “They won’t let me in. I’m wearing a costume.” I said, my voice gravelly from days of no use. He glanced down at me for the first time, and gazed at me for a moment, before pulling out a T-shirt that had the senators face on it, and a pair of grey sweatpants. “Change into these, keep your weapons concealed until my signal.” I quickly stripped. he turned away, giving me privacy. I was more then used to being watched, so this was surprising. I fixed the too-large clothes, and looked harmless. Instead of looking like an eight-year-old assassin, I looked like a normal kid.

There was something in the winter soldier’s eyes that I didn’t recognise, almost like affection. I walked down the stairs of the parking garage, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. Slowly, I crossed the street, nearly getting hit by a truck that I didn’t know to look for. As I made my way to the entrance of the granite building, I noticed trucks outside, like the kind I saw at my home, - armoured trucks. I, of course thought this was normal. “Careful, there are hostiles in the building. Captain America and the black widow are protecting the target.” His voice came through my earpiece. “I don’t know who they are” I whispered back. “You will. They won’t want to hurt you, use that to your advantage.” And with that, he went radio silent.

As I walked barefoot through the large doors, I spotted a woman in a similar outfit to what I wear, only without the red skull. She spotted me immediately, and I tried to disappear through the crowd. I was unsuccessful. A man in a red, white, and blue uniform grabbed my arm gently, holding a shield in his other hand. “Who are you kid?” He peered down at me “I’m here to see my daddy.” I said, feigning panic. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and ran toward a random man, tugging on his shirt. Shield guy turned away before he could see the man push me away. I stayed by him, trying to convince the people that he was my father. I got a little turned around, when a perverted looking man grabbed my wrist “hey sweetheart. You’re gonna come with me now.” He said, his voice just as weird as him. The man in the jumpsuit put his hand on his shoulder “why dontcha leave the girl alone pal.” He dragged him away.

Just then, his signal came, by shooting the senator in the gut, taking him down. The panic set in immediately. People running around screaming like headless chickens. The man with the metal arm burst through the door, sealing off the only accesable exit. I grabbed the first person I saw, they just happened to be the senators daughter. She couldn’t have been more then seventeen; I snapped her neck. I unfurled my wings and tripped some old man with them. I stabbed him in his corroded artery, a fatal blow. Killing got easier the more I did it.

The fight went on like this for a while, until the red-haired woman pushed me to the ground “stay down kid.” seeing me pinned down, the man i was on the mission with began to make his way over to me. I waved my hand, and the woman went flying, hitting the wall with a thud. Oh yea, something I forgot to mention; I'm not a normal person. In addition to having my DNA spliced with the peregrine falcon, giving me wings, and the ability to fly, I was also experimented on with energy from the soul stone, one of the six infinity stones. Ergo, I had ‘powers’. The winter soldier stared at me, shocked, his brief moment of distraction caused him to get a wooden chair to the head. He shot the dude that hit him.

The man in the flag costume, and the woman ran. Smart. Tactical retreat. I ran to every person I saw, and killed as many as I could. Once we were sure that there were no more targets, the winter soldier grabbed me, and threw me on the motorcycle behind him.

We stopped at a motel that charged by the hour… if that tells you anything. “we will stay here for a while. You need to get clean, I know that the hoses hurt.” he said, a hint of compassion in his voice. Hes right. They used fire hoses to ‘clean up’ whenever any of us got dirty. I walked into the bathroom and stripped. I didn’t close the door, because I assumed I wasn’t allowed to. I didn’t know how to use the shower so I just sort of stared at it, waiting for it to turn on. The man walked in, turned the handle of the shower, and left. I jumped when water started to spurt out of the faucet. I stepped into the water slowly, gauging the temperature before completely immersing myself into it. My muscles involuntarily relaxed at the sensation of the warm water. I began rubbing the dirt off of my limbs when the winter soldier walked in.

He didn’t look at me, but made a damp washcloth and started cleaning his wounds. They were worse then I assumed, and I coudnt help but observe him while washing the rest of the dirt off of my body. I only sustained minor cuts and bruises in the fight, but he had deep lacerations on his face, presumably from the chair. I stepped out of the shower and stood there, a towering three-foot-seven-inches, short for my age. He glanced at me and handed me a towel while dabbing his wounds “whats this for?” I asked “dry yourself. They will notice our absence if were not back soon.” so, I dried myself off, and put on my uniform, running my fingers over the red skull with tentacles, like a squid. I giggled, imaging it wiggling its tentacles.

Bucky

The little girl was looking at her uniform, giggling. For a moment I thought of two young girls in brooklyn. I was a teenager with sisters… what? No, I wasn’t. I am a weapon for hydra. Whats going on? I was steadily bleeding from the prick who hit me with a chair, we needed to get back to base. She suddenly looked up at me, concern evident in her sweet, blue eyes. “are- are you okay? You're bleeding,” she frowned. “Let me help you. I can make people feel better.” I skeptically sat on a bed near where she was standing. She slowly reached over to me; I shied away when her hand got close to my wound, remembering the various punishments I've had over the years. I am a wild animal. I need to be controlled. She looked into my eyes, the child-like glimmer long gone. It's unfair; all children should have that. No. She is not a child; she is a weapon. That’s it- like me. She gently laid her small hand on my head near the cut. All of the sudden her eyes started glowing, a certain gold color I'd never seen before. Her hands began glowing the same, and my head started tingling.

I immediately felt better. I can't explain it, but she somehow lodged herself into my memory, unintentionally. And I knew I would never forget her. She looked at me worried, noting the glazed look in my eyes. “are you alright? I'm sorry if I hurt yo-” I cut her off “My name is Bucky,” I blurted out; I had no idea where that came from. “You need to call me Winter, or ‘the winter soldier’, otherwise they’ll kill us both” she looked at me confused and alarmed “okay… I will” “we need to go back.” so I took her small hand, gently, and led her to the HYDRA-issued motorcycle we came here on. The drive back to base was cold. I could feel it in my bones. I couldn’t help but wish I could help her warm up. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew HYDRA wouldn’t like it. I am a machine. Not a man.

I rode up to the gate “солдат?” soldier? “миссия успешна. приветствую гидру.” mission successful. hail hydra. The gate opened, and we rode into the garage. She was immediately ripped off the back of the bike and dragged away. “you are late. The camera in your suit shows you made a ‘pit stop’. She had an effect on you. You will both be heavily punished for this.” no. I practically jumped off the bike. I grabbed the mans neck and snapped it before being sedated. The last thing I heard before I got knocked out was “well, after we make them watch, we’ll have to wipe him again.” I woke up strapped to a modified autopsy table. Modified so I was reclined enough so that I had a clear view of the girl. And she had a clear view of me. One of the doctors walked in with an array of surgical instruments “doctor- sorry- creator! Thank goodness! I was scared we were taken by the bad people!” the little girls face lit up with relief. The doctor sighed and placed his kit on a surgical tray, the knives clattering against the cold steel. “child, птичий урод.” bird-freak “you have been very bad. And you know what happens to bad children.” he put on surgical gloves, and picked up a Sickle Probe, the device that dentists use. He walked toward her slowly “creator, im sorry! It was a mistake! Please. Im sorry” she cried out. however, she didn’t struggle against the restraints. “it is too late to apologise freak. You will be punished.” “yes sir.” she slumped against the autopsy table, keeping her fear-filled eyes on the doctor. He walked up to her small body, and turned off the magnetic cuff, allowing her arm to fall. The monster grabbed her arm, and stuck the hook of the sickle probe into the inside of her elbow. She began silently crying from the pain, blood slowly dribbling from the wound. He slowly dragged the hook down her arm, toward her wrist, tearing her skin. The blood was flowing heavily now, and he was trying to stifle her cries. After reaching her wrist, he put the probe down and picked up a rusty razorblade.

He moved to her chest, and drug the blade down her sternum, and to her lower stomache. She was crying freely now. “heal yourself.” she did as she was told, her eyes glowing gold, and the wounds shimmering as they healed instantly. He grabbed a klein tool – essentially a broader pliers. He walked to her bare feet, and clamped down on her small toe. He bent it to a sickening angle, causing the bone to snap with a disturbing CRACK. She screamed. He used the wire-clipping part of the klein tool to cut off a patch or skin on her foot. He grabbed a knife, and made slow, deep, and deliberate cuts all over her body. After nearly an hour, he decided hed had enough of that. he only reason she was still alive was because she wasn’t fully human – she couldn’t have been. “heal. Now. Not your foot though. You will deal with that.” she did as she was told. She was exhausted. She collapsed against the table before he shocked her with a set of jumper cables rigged up to a car battery. While watching this, I struggled against the restraints so much, my wrist began to bleed. Every time I screamed for them to let her go, my restraints would get an electrical charge. I was muzzled like a dog. Reminding me that I am no better then one. I am one. She screamed every time he cut her, shocked her, stabbed her, or tore the skin off her flesh. When she screamed, the building would shake. Not figuratively either.

She was clearly more powerful than she could see. She could easily kill him, she could kill everyone in this god forsaken building. HYDRA had control over her mind. But not in the same way as they had mine. They beat her down, made her feel powerless, made her think wrong is right, and right is wrong. I have to get her out of here. The doctor made his way over to me “judging by your reaction, she made an imprint on you. Well, time to forget her!” he said, laughing malevolently. “no! You cant-” I was cut off by a blow to my temple. They dragged me to the Memory Suppressing Machine. A white hot pain ripped through me. I couldn’t remember the mission, but I could remember a girl. A sweet, young girl. I knew I should protect her. As far as they're concerned, I don’t remember a thing. “Желание. Семнадцать. Ржавый. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на родину. Один. Товарный вагон” my trigger words.

let me know if you wanna be tagged in pt2

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astr0-philia · 2 months

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙: 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕍𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟'𝕤 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕

Prolouge 1 2

[Y/N] POV:

My eyes finally opened as if they had been closed for a millenia. 'Why the hell is it so dark...???' Yes, that was my first thought. It was pitch-black, just like the mirror. The darkness felt as if it was swallowing me up. It was terrifying. I don't like this at all. 'Where is this?' A bead of sweat rolled down my face.

How did I not notice where I was? This is scary. As I looked around, with trembling hands I touched everywhere as if to find solace in finding something familiar to hold onto.

Then as my hands moved below me I felt the cushion underneath. It was soft as if covered in silk and fluff. It reminded me of the chairs and cushions in my library where I would spend most of my time reading and passing time. Tears were welling up in my eyes. Suddenly I slammed myself back into reality by slapping my cheeks 'Ok ! ' The slap started to sting. I seriously cannot be;ieve any of this is real though. 'I need to get out of here, this place is Uncomfortable...' With annoyance I looked around as if I hadn't already. ' Dang this space really cramp' As I started to nudge the top, but It wouldn't even budge at all.

Panic was the first thought that came to my mind and panic is what I did.

I started to pound at the lid with panic. 'I don't want to be stuck here forever!' I start to pound at the lid. I can't believe I am so naive! What if some kidnapped me! I can' t be stuck here forever! Then in my moment of panic I heard a voice.....

"Darn it, people are coming soon! Grr....Better get the uniform fast...." mumbled a high-pitched voice.

'Who the hell was that? The person's voice sounded high-pitched like they had inhaled helium?'

The person as if on cue walked towards my box at a rapid pace, making me stunned. I froze in place. Was this really it? Was I the future empress of Andromeda really going to die?

*Starts to recite the holy bible of Andromeda*

"Oooo.... I don't think I want this one. This coffin looks shabby as hell. Hey, that one looks cool! I want that one!"

As if the heavens heard my plea the helium voiced individual scurried off to the coffin in a terrifyingly quick pace. 'Wait....COFFIN????' I was in a freaking coffin? Who in the right mind would put a person in a coffin.....

'Damn did the soldiers really think I dropped dead or something?'

"Ugh- why is this lid so heavy? Guess I'll have to use my last resort...."

Then it felt hot. So hot that the coffin I was in was starting to become humid and even more uncofortable. I do not like this at all. 'It feels as if i am getting burned alive....don't tell me....AM I ACTUALLY GETTING BURNED ALIVE??? '

Then all of sudden I heard a new voice.

"You, why are you awake already?!" said the high pitched voice.

Then the new voice, as if had just woken up from deep sleep, replied with "A t-talking raccoon?!"

'Ok, excuse me, a talking racoon? Is the guy out of his mind or something?'

The voice sounded like a male. Maybe this guy could help me get out! And maybe he can help me find out how to get out of this place. So then I screamed.

"Hey whoever is out there help me! Get me out of here! Please!" I begged in plea.

I could not handle being in this cramped and humid coffin anymore. It was getting very uncomfortable.

As if hearing my plea. I heard the person scurry over in a fast pace towards my coffin and start to pull. I got the gist of the plan and started pushing as well. This is such a mess.

I don’t like this situation at all! I just wanna go back to my palace and see my family again!

"I-it’s opening! Just push a bit more" said the stranger.

"I'm trying! I’m trying!!! It's just so hard to budge!" I felt my energy getting drained from me.

With the last of my strength I kicked the lid of the coffin as hard as I could.

Then boom 💥

The lid flew off the coffin and almost hit the head of the stranger. The next I knew I was falling from the coffin at high speeds. Just as I was about to hit the floor, I closed my eyes waiting for impact.

Then I collided with something.

“Oof-"

’Huh? That didn’t hurt…..’

I opened my eyes slowly….. I was on top of the stranger.

I.Was.On.Top.Of.The.Stranger.

Why is my luck so bad?

I looked at the man’s face in a hurry to see who caught me.

…..was this the man who just saved me?

Well damn... he looks kinda cute. Also why was his chest so soft?

‘Dude has man-boobs fr’

Well was very nice to look at as well. His face has a sharp jawline and hints of baby fat but it was still very cute. He had black eyes and black hair too. To sum it up he was handsome.

As I was laying there the man caught me staring and asked “Are you okay?” In slight concern.

It was then when he said that the situation had dawned on me. I was still on the man.

I got up as quickly as possible,

"I am very sorry! I just w-wanted to get out and-" Why did I stutter! Now he'll think I am weird......

"It's okay." Even his voice sounded a bit hoarse. It was probably because I fell on him. I feel kinda bad…...

"What's your name?" I asked trying to start a conversation to diminish the awkward atmosphere.

"My name is Enma Yuuken and I am a first year in college. What’s your name?" He asked in curiosity.

Knowing me I was prepared to answer this question.

"I am the royal princess of the planet Andromeda. My name is [Y/N] Alastair, it is a pleasure to meet you." Heh. His jaw slacked in suprise and looked at me with wide eyes.

Did I say too much? He looks a bit out of himself right now.

"W-wait a princess-" Was that too much for him?

'Hmmm….. Nahhhh’

"Hey what the hell are you two doing? Did you forget about the great Grim?!" exclaimed the high-pitched voice. What's with people cutting each off today?

I turned my head around trying to find the human with the high-pitched voice, but instead saw a raccoon. My face contorted into one of confusion and surprise. Was the guy Enma Yuuken really telling the truth?

’Well damn, guess I was wrong.’

"You better give me your robes if you don't want to face the wrath of the great grim! There's no time to chit-chat!"

"Why would we give you our robes?" I replied back wanting to receive an answer but instead was faced with a huge blue flame thrown at me. Just as it was about to hit me, Yuuken jumped in front of me and pulled us both out of the way.

"Give you robes now-"

In the rush of the moment we both ran together to the safety of the hallways trying to get the raccoon off our trail. Then we reached a library. It was teeming with towers and towers of stacked books. Looked even bigger than the library we had in our palace. It looked amazing.

As we entered I heard Yuuken mumble something, "If this is a dream please let me wake up." he whispered.

'Me too, my man. Seriously how did we end up here anyways?'

Getting bored I turned from Yuuken and looked around. As I looked around our surroundings, I couldn't believe what I saw.

Floating bookshelves. How in the world were they able to accomplish that.

"Did you think you could run away from me!? You lowly humans!" A voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts.

I turned around only to see the fire-breathing cat. "OH MY GOD?! How did you appear here so fast?" I screamed in terror.

"Now, if you don't want to be roasted whole, give me those clothesーFugya!?" A flash of black appeared in my vision. I couldn't identify what it was but it sounded like it hurt a lot.

"It hurts! What's this string!?" In pain as something wrapped around him with a vice grip.

Looking closely at the object wrapping him my jaw dropped. Was that a whip?

Me and Yuuken stared in disbelief as a guy with a bird mask came up to us with a whip in hand. It looked too kinky and weird for its own good. Grim was tied up in the whip and was grunting in what sounded as grunts of pain and displeasure. The sight was very unpleasant to watch.

"It's not a string. It's the whip of love! Aah, I finally found you." Turning to us he exclaimed. "You're this year's new student, right? You should not be wandering around like this! Also to have a familiar! It's against the rules in this school, I'm afraid." he warned us, putting his hands on his hips. First of all okay????

Second of all....school? I didn't sign for any school? I already have royal tutore back home in Andromeda.

Third of all. A familiar? Since when did was grim a familiar? He's probably talking about Grim being Yuuken's familiar-

As I turned around to look at him in a questioning gaze, I looked at him in disbelief as even he looked confused. Was it not his either? He then also looked at Grim and spoke,

"Sir, that thing is not my familiar."

"Yeah and it's not mine either." I said gathering up all my courage.

"Yeah! Let me go- I'm not this guy's familiar!" Grim shouted in annoyance. That whip looked quite uncomfortable in his defense.

"Oh what a rebellious familiar you have, well then let's head to the mirror chamber not quickly." said the bird man, ignoring our statement. Was he serious? Why was this adult man ignoring our statements?

I in disbelief took a closer look at the bird man. His eyes were hidden behind his mask and his yellow eyes shone amidst the darkness they held. They were like amethysts shining in the light. He had a large jacket on his shoulders which had irregular feathers sticking out of them, quite fashionable I would say. He wore a hat atop his head. His ears were pointed as if he was those of an elf from my homeland. His hair was also quite wavy and messy too.

"Where is this?" asked Yuu in a apprehensive voice.

The bird man sweat-dropped and coughed at the question, as he answered. "This is Night Raven also known as NRC. Its a place where magicians with exceptional talents gather, Twisted Wonderland's most prestigious magician training academy." in a monotone voice he spoke. "I am the acting director and headmage of this college, my name is Dire Crowley." So that's his name. Also Why is this unresponsible man the headmage of this school?

"The chosen ones are called into this academy through the door, from all over the world. In your place, too, surely a black carriage carrying a door came to pick you up." Wait what....wasn't the thing that brought me here a black mirror?

"Wait so you're saying I was forcefully brought here by a carriage against my own will!?" shouted Yuuken with shock.

"Yes, yes. Happens to everyone who enters this school" Crowley sweat dropped as he calmly responded.

"I was brought in here by a mirror though?" In unsureness and contemplation.

"A Mirror? How...hmm.... interesting.... Well then let's head to your orientation now!" Okay bro let that go too fast.

I couldn't help but give him a side-eye. He is really too ignorant for his own good.

As I looked at Yuuken in acknowledgement as if asking him if I could follow him, he nodded. So then I quickly grabbed his hand and headed to where Crowley was. Grim was grunting and wiggling as if trying to get out of the vice-like grasp of the whip. Then Crowley...Crowley was just whistling and enjoying his day. While me and Yuuken were behind him trying not to give up on life.

This is not a great day.

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Author note: I hope you guys like this chapter ;) Wait till you see what I got planned for the next chapter!

#twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #lilia vanrouge #crowley #twst grim #enma yuuken #various x reader #x reader

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hiimkay · 1 year

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Alive (Imagine)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Word Count: 1.3k words

Summary: During a mission to take back control of a stolen American missile, Price sends Task Force 141 into Hassan's territory. You were trained rigorously in the art of infiltration and were assigned to enter the main building and recalibrate the missile in time, although things don't go according to plan.

Warnings: TW! VIOLENCE AGAINST THE MAIN CHARACTER IN A SECOND PERSON POV. gun violence, blood/injury, explosions, swearing, just general special forces operations and the dangers that come with them (C/N: codename)

Another Ghost imagine? Who would've thought? Me, I thought. I'm in love with my 6'4" mystery murder man and I will say that until the day that I die. Y'all are just stuck with it until I die.

The humming in your ear became a background noise, almost a comfort as you made your way into the house Hassan’s men had reportedly been keeping the controls for one of their stolen missiles in. Your job? Find the controls, kill Hassan’s men, disarm the missile if possible.

It was a race against the clock, in your mind anyway, and you felt the weight of several eyes on you even if those eyes couldn’t actually see you. Ghost and Soap were up at a vantage point, snipers ready and eyes watching closely for any unfriendly movement. Price and Gaz were down on the ground, searching through the rest of the uninhabited buildings for any left behind clues as to where Hassan was and what he was trying to destroy. Ghost was supposed to go with them, but he insisted on staying back with Soap because “an extra pair of eyes is always better.”

Price and Gaz spread out amongst the small compound, staying silent to keep from compromising your position. Little did you know, it had been compromised before you even entered the building.

The men Hassan left behind to guard the controls knew you were there, silently following behind you as you made your way through the house. No one had been sent in to clear the building before you and you thought the men in the entry way were the only ones inside. After you had taken them down, you listened for signs of movement or life and found nothing. You didn't bother to check the darkened corners of each room, which would prove to be a big mistake.

As you found the room Hassan had previously been set up in, you froze. The controls for the missile were gone, only an eerily empty space against the wall where they should have been, which meant he knew you were there.

“Price, this is C/N, get everyone away from the buildings. They know we’re here.” Your voice was quiet, but you knew he was listening.

“What are you talking about? C/N what’s going on in there?” Your eyes scanned the room quickly and you spotted the explosive charges placed on every wall of the room. Your heart pounded under your vest as you turned to find two of Hassan’s men standing there waiting for you. You took a shot at the first one, hitting him right between the eyes. That only left enough time for the second one to hit you with the butt of his rifle, knocking you back onto the floor. “Soap, Ghost, either of you got eyes on them?” Price asked into the radio.

“Negative, no sight, sir,” Soap replied.

“Nothing,” Ghost added.

“Where did you take the controls?” You asked, pushing yourself to your feet and pointing your rifle at him.

“You cannot stop us, and you will burn for what your government has done.” The man’s accent was thick, but it didn’t stop the venom from seeping through his words. He held up the detonation device, hovering his thumb over the button.

“Dammit, C/N, how copy?” Price called out.

“Ghost, any sign of life outside my location?” You asked, ignoring Price’s callout.

“Negative,” he replied.

“Then get everybody home safe. Yourself, too.”

“C/N-“

“Thanks, Simon.” You thought about Gaz, Price, Soap, you thought about the whole team going up in flames. Then you thought about Ghost. He’d be listening in on the radio, watching every window of the building for any sign of you. As long as everyone else could get out safe, you'd settle in and give up your own life. But not without a fight.

You rocked forward, slamming the barrel of your rifle into the man’s stomach and stunning him just long enough to tackle him to the ground. The two of you landed in a pile with a thud and you felt his fist crunch against your nose. Warm liquid rolled down your face as you returned the favor, feeling a burning sensation in the bridge of your nose. The man’s hand found your throat, squeezing in on your windpipe.

He pushed you down onto your back and regained his footing as he took every ounce of air from your lungs. Your vision grew blurry and you could barely make out his hand holding the detonator once again. A small, echoed beep signaled that the detonator was activated. At most, you had 30 seconds. The man disappeared from the doorway and you pulled yourself up off the ground, clutching your rifle as you stumbled into the wall.

“C/N, do you copy?!” Someone was shouting to you over the radio, but you couldn’t make out who. Your legs gave out from underneath you and you felt it for the first time in a while. Defeat. The beeping started to quicken, begging you to keep pushing, but you couldn’t get up. Your legs felt like water and your head pounded insufferably. In some naïve way you hoped that by staying behind, some higher power might be moved and spare your teammates.

When the explosives went off, the heat hit you before anything else. Throwing you from one end of the building to the other, your back stung in agonizing pain and your ears rang deafeningly. Shrapnel hit you in the few places your gear couldn’t cover and you laid on your stomach, processing the impact. You wished you had just died in the explosion, because living proved to be far more painful. You thought you could hear the faintest sound of movement, or maybe voices, but the ringing wouldn’t let you decipher.

You hoped that the rest of 141 was retreating back to the transport aircraft before more of them could be hurt. Hassan was still on the run and he still held the controls for two American missiles. A pained moan ripped from your throat as the adrenaline began to wear off and the reality of your injuries hit you like a truck. You tried to move your arms and legs but could only go a few inches before retracting back to the least uncomfortable position you could be in with a curdled scream.

A body slowly came into view through the flames and rubble. You could now hear that they were trying to talk to you but couldn’t make out what they were saying. You felt yourself get lifted up and cried out in pain, but the arms that held you still provided a sense of comfort. Someone came for you, and as mad as you would be normally, you were grateful that you at least wouldn't be dying in that building.

"You're bloody reckless, you know that?" His muffled, raspy voice broke through the ringing in your ears and you dropped your head against his shoulder in exhaustion.

"Are they… okay?" You croaked. Ghost looked down at you in his arms. Even in agonizing pain, you cared more about the rest of the team than yourself. He admired that about you, among other things.

"Everyone's fine." You smiled weakly, letting your eyes close.

"Good."

"Open your eyes, C/N. Keep them open." You groaned, forcing your eyelids open again. "You can't die on me," Ghost mumbled, moving quickly as he approached the aircraft. You could feel the thumping of the propellers as he climbed the ramp, clutching onto your body tightly.

"Jesus Christ, they're alive?" Soap asked, moving to look closer at you.

"They're lucky-"

"They saved your life, show some fucking respect." Ghost snapped, moving toward the front of the plane where the emergency medkits were stored. He laid you carefully on the floor, cringing at the small whimper you let out. He grabbed one of the kits and did his best to bandage what he could and cover any of your burns in the salve provided as the aircraft returned to base.

Once he had done everything he could with what he had, he sat back and looked down at you. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your face was splattered with soot and blood. You moved your arm slowly, reaching for his gloved hand. He stiffened at the contact, looking down at you with widened eyes.

"Thank you for coming back for me," you breathed. He wasn't sure what to say, so he gave your hand a small squeeze and offered an appreciative look of his own.

#ghost imagine #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #fanfic #imagine #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #cod

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adarafaelbarba · 1 year

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Officer Down

Pairing: Mike Duarte x Reader (reader’s pov)

Fandom: Law and Order SVU (season 24)

Trigger warnings: Character death (not how he died though. Cause that’s too brutal for this).

An: This has plagued my mind since we lost him, and I need to get it out of my system asap! Please read with caution though! 🫣❤️ We’ll miss you Captain Duarte 🥺💔❤️

Based on this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jkvjx9CCdRo

Red and blue lights cover 213 W 30th St like a train Miles of cars, full of people with nothing to say

Your hands fidgeted as you sat next to Liv in the back of the black SUV, an old habit that you’d picked back up from being on the job. Even more so now with the current situation.

“You ready, y/n?” She asked, her voice muffled by all the thoughts flashing through your mind. The last moments you’d had with him. “y/n?”

Looking up at your Captain, eyes filled with tears, you bit back a sob, “I don’t want to say goodbye to him, cause that means moving on.”

She let out a soft sigh at that, hugging you, telling you you’d always have him with you.

He’d found it endearing, watching you get nervous, had called it cute, his face lighting up in a smile when you blushed. You’d missed that smile, the way his dimples showed, his head falling back when he laughed. His laugh…You’d miss that too.

The sun's out, you'd think that it's just another November day Oh and I can't help but be mad, knowing I'll leave and you're gonna stay

Stopping outside the church, you and Liv got out, followed by Grace and Joe. Sonny, Terry, Fin and Amanda following close behind. Once on the sidewalk you fixed your uniform, flattening out the creases.

The entire area was filled with officer, all clad in uniform, and all there to take part in the funeral.

When they spotted you, they all got up in attention, Chief McGrath barking out orders, all of them presenting arms. It was almost as if you were the one they were honoring, that you’d been the one to die. And in a sense you had, if only a small part of you when Mike died

They called me on a cell phone Telling me there's an officer down And we prayed for a miracle, but you didn't come back around Oh, I've kissed you goodbye a thousand times But never like I'm doing right now

Oh, with twenty-one shots going up for the officer down

Never in your life did you think you’d be here. Least of all alive, in place of a spouse, ready to take farewell with their serving spouse. The engagement ring burning on your fingers as you walked past them all, a reminder of what could’ve been. Your squad following close behind should anything happen.

Tears threaten to spill again, but you do your best to hold them back, lifting your head bravely.

When you get to the end of the line, McGrath stands there, stoic as always. You stop in front of him, offering your hand, “Thank you, Tommy, for this, all of this. Miguel would’ve hated all this for him.” A tear laugh escaped your lips, followed by a strangled sob.

“I’m just happy we could honor him, y/n.”

You shared a quick handshake, then you pulled him in for a hug, needing to be anchored before tears spilled again, not that you were really succeeding in holding them back.

I begged you to throw out that t-shirt that I sleep in now And badge number 0477 is all over town And people keep asking if there's anything they can do But no one can give me back you

“If there’s ever anything, y/n, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” He sounded sincere, and you knew he was, but what you really wanted couldn’t be given. So you simply nodded, thanking him before you walked up the rest of the steps to the church.

The service was beautiful. Some of his guys said a few words. Grace spoke. And then you did, through tears, taking one last goodbye with the man you loved.

Once you’d finished speaking, you walked down the few steps to the casket, leaning down to press your forehead on it, the hand that had your wedding ring on, while also holding his dog tag and wedding ring on a chain, pressed against the casket too.

I held ya tight when they told me it's time to let go And I know that somehow you knew that you weren't alone

Someone’s hand rested on your shoulder, telling you it was time. But you didn’t let go, tears flowing freely now, not caring who saw. “Come back to me Miguel.” You whispered, begging him.

“y/n, it’s time.” Liv said softly, her hand rubbing your shoulder.

They called me and told me It's my officer down And I talked to you and begged you, but you didn't come back around

“Please, Miguel—please come back to me, I can’t do this without you.” You begged, clutching anything you could hold onto, whispering into the void to please give you back your one true love.

Oh, I kissed you goodbye a thousand times But never like I'm doing right now

You finally pressed your lips to the casket, “te amo, mi vida.” The silence that had previously been in the room broke as you let out a sob, at last allowing yourself to cry over him.

Oh, with twenty-one shots going up I wish you had more time with us 'Cause thirty-three years ain't enough for the officer down

~~~

tagging:

@plaidbooks @storiesofsvu2-0 @cycat4077 @thatesqcrush @alwaysachorusgirl @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @bisexual-dreamer02 @misscharlielulu @xoxabs88xox @muchadoaboutcj @beatrice-san @meetmeatyourworst @thats-jaywalking @cursedashes @mysoulisasunflower @crazy4chickennuggets @imaginelover88 @beccabarba @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles

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#tw death #tw character death #law and order svu #mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #law and order svu x reader

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acourtofserpents · 2 years

Note

Don't know if it's spoiler: How would MC's betrayal change the fae ROs?

Like, they feel madly in love with MC and MC made a amazing job of making it look like they felt the same, just to end up leaving with Silos, in the end.

How would this affect them?

I mean, assume they would make it their mission to find MC one day (whatever is to kill them, punish them or make MC love them again is up for debate since not even the RO are sure)

(i'm pretty sure it's big spoilers so i'm putting all that under the cut! you'll get a little something in their POV when the time comes anyway, so!)

TW//death, self harm, suicide. assuming none of the fae ROs die for MC to leave with Silos:

Ryzan - he knows MC is gone the second they leave the Kingdom, as if their heartstrings pull at each other, urging him to go with them, to leave all of this behind. all his coin and his revels and his past that binds him to this place. but he can't, he knows he can't leave, and yet he wishes to do it so desperately that his chest is bursting with pain, and he feels nauseous and confused, and he just wants it all to stop. MC left him, and he knows it's pathetic to lose himself over someone who, apparently, never felt for him what he felt for them, but that thought alone makes everything hurt even harder. he's devastated in every sense of the word, and he feels himself breaking piece by piece. he cries and cries until he feels physically sick. when he becomes King, he becomes the worst tyrant the Kingdom has ever seen. killing people without even thinking much of it. you looked at him funny? you breathed too near to him? oh, you're dead, just like that. doesn't love anyone again, can't even bear to think about such feelings, but sometimes finds himself thinking of MC, and can't decide if he hopes they're dead, rotting away, or if he hopes they're alive and will eventually come back to him. they'll come back, he's sure they will, and he'll welcome them back with open arms and a broken heart, ready to be broken once again.

Nailea - goes back to the world of the Undersea and swims and swims and swims, looking frantically for MC. she's determined to find them. i mean, MC wouldn't actually leave her, right? . . . right? they wouldn't, because they love each other. she knows she's never said it before, she never said to them just how much she loves them, but she's sure it must've been obvious. but what if MC didn't know that? what if MC left because of her own inability to express her feelings, the almost burning love she felt for them? She has to find MC, she'll never forgive herself if she has destroyed this. nothing else matters to her, but this? she can't bear to lose this. after long days and even longer nights of aimlessly swimming, she returns to her home, her palace, her riches. what good is having all of this if she can't share it with the one she cares for the most? the one who made her feel like she's truly deserving of love? the one she needs? she won't swim ever again if she doesn't have anyone to swim to, to swim for. she takes the sharpest dagger she can find and cuts her tail. she doesn't even cry, or scream in pain. she can't feel the pain. she can't feel anything at all.

Zale - so what if MC left him? who does MC think they are to be acting like this, as if he actually cares about them? he doesn't, he never did. it was all a lie anyway, it started as a lie and it ended as one. fitting, huh? so he drinks away the knot in his stomach, he fills the emptiness of his heart with touches and whispers and kisses from other souls who can't even make him feel a fraction of what he felt for MC. he locks himself in his house, now silent where there was laughter and music and dancing and love, but not anymore, because he's a liar, a filthy liar and a fraud, who wanted everything and now has nothing. he sits in his leather chair and waits for MC. they're coming back, he's sure of it. but the time passes—a month, two months, a whole year, and MC doesn't come back. he's tired, too tired of pretending like he can keep going anymore, too tired to even get out of his chair and think of a proper way to end this. instead, he takes the glass full of pomegranate wine and smashes it on the wall. he takes the sharpest piece of broken glass and glides it fast, almost fearful, across his neck, and hopes MC is dead as well, so he can get rid of this agonising silence and hear their voice once more in whatever hell he'll find himself in.

#oof this was angsty my bad yall #a court of serpents #asks #thank you for the ask <3 #nailea #ryzan #zale

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yoonlattesworld · 2 years

Text

How we met: part 2

Main masterlist

How we met masterlist

Drug lord yoongi x angel reader

♡ synopsis: who knew yoongi would be saved by a literal angel when he was about to be beaten to death. Well, he certainly didn't.

Or alternatively: the last thing he expected after bringing home a not so human girl was finding you playing with a fucking condom.

Genre/warnings for this chapter: romance, fluff,angst, eventual smut, mentions of condom, blood,drugs, reader is a little naive so please forgive her,slight tension?, cursing

Author's pov

A breathy groan left yoongi's lips as the doctor in front of him treated the wound on his abdomen while his right hand man jin stood in front of them with a concerned face as another string of curse words left his boss's lips. "Fucking son of a bitch" yoongi whispered as the doctor finished wrapping the gauze letting him lean back against the couch with another mumbled curse.

Jin nodded towards the doctor who bowed and wordlessly left the room after packing his things. Every doctor who treats the drug lord and his family knows that they aren't allowed to ask any questions. Unless they want to leave the world. Jin sighed and looked at yoongi after the doctor left and said "now will you tell me what happened yesterday?" "You don't need to know" mumbled yoongi, going to button up his white shirt back, hearing jin sighing again. "You know what happened to those three?"

Yoongi's fingers stilled when he heard jin say "one of them went blind and will probably die soon because apparently, his stomach has a huge burn and it has affected his internal organs too. The other two haven't woken up since last night and are barely breathing." Yoongi's lips parted before he looked down and let out a small scoff. Who knew such a small thing can do something so big. "And?" It was jin's turn to scoff as he crossed his arms and looked at yoongi with sharp eyes. "And? Alright and maybe you can fucking tell me what the fuck happened last night because I'm sure as hell it wasn't your doing alone. Not with that big gash"

Yoongi rolled his eyes and sighed before standing up with a grunt "shouldn't you be more relieved that I'm alive? It doesn't matter what happened to them. They were going to kill me anyway" jin rubbed his forehead tiredly and decided to drop the matter for now, knowing that yoongi has decided not to tell him then he won't, no matter how much he asks. "Ofcourse I'm relieved and they were going to die anyway but" "but?" Yoongi raised an eyebrow when a smirk made its way to jin's plump lips "who's the girl in your roon right now?" Yoongi's eyes widened for a second and he cleared his throat before turning around and looking at the man in front of him with narrowed eyes "what're you talking about?"

The smirk on his lips widened as yoongi glared at him "i wanted to make sure no one followed you here so i had tae check the cctv from the bar to this house and when he told me there's an unconscious girl with you i was really surprised. But what surprised me more was the way you were handling her so gently. So,who is she?" Yoongi groaned running a hand through his hair and looked at jin with a scowl wanting nothing more than to kick him out when he said "must be pretty special considering how she's sleeping on your bed right now. When was the last time you let a girl step in your room?"

Yoongi rolled his eyes pushing his hands inside his pockets and stared at jin with bored eyes mumbling "none of your damn business. You should worry about getting that shipment back from those piece of shit" jin nodded with a small smirk of amusement but his voice was slightly worried and serious "are you sure she doesn't need any treatment? It's been 4 hours since you brought her in and she's still not up" yoongi sighed tiredly looking at the closed door of his bedroom. No he wasn't sure if you needed any kind of treatment but how the fuck will he explain why you fainted? Because you pulled some crazy shit and almost killed three men with some kind of super power? Yeah the doctor will think he's the one who cracked his head.

"I'll handle it. You can go" yoongi mumbled and jin nodded "alright boss" yoongi sighed hearing the front door shut and the lock beeping before he was left in complete silence and ran a hand through his already messed up hair. Not bothering to button his shirt he walked towards his bedroom thinking you must still be unconscious but his eyebrows raised with slight surprise when instead of your sleeping form, he was met with you sat up on his bed with the large duvet covering your form. There was something in your hand, but he couldn't see it properly because the duvet was hiding your hands.

He was surprised when you suddenly looked up and looked at him with big curious eyes and he could see a little fear in them too. But it seemed like you recognized him as your lips curved up in a smile and he raised an eyebrow when you said "hi! You're the human who those bad people were hurting right?" Yoongi almost wanted to scoff. He wonders how you'll react if you knew that he's also one of those "bad human" but he didn't said anything and nodded, silently watching as you nodded to yourself and raised your hand to show him something-

What the fuck you were smiling as if you discovered something great while holding a fucking condom. Yoongi's eyes widened for the nth time when you said "what is this thing? Why is it so slippery?" He started walking towards you with a raised eyebrow mumbling "you don't know what that is?" You shaked your head smiling cluelessly and continued inspecting the weird thing but then he saw your eyes widening in realization and he almost thought you knew but "is this the thing which gets really big when you blow it? I've seen little humans doing that" you smiled proudly while he almost choked on his saliva as you continued "what is its name? I've seen it at little human's house where they cut the sweet cake. I want to eat it too" you mumbled the last sentence trying to remember what was it called. He really needs to get his mind out of gutter.

"A balloon?" Yoongi scoffed and your eyes widened and you nodded smiling widely "yes! A balloon! I always forget it's name" you giggled and went to put the condom between your lips to blow on it causing yoongi to immediately snatch it from your hands just as it was about to touch your lips, causing you to look at him surprised "i want to play with the balloon too" yoongi sighed rubbing his tired eyes before looking at you "this is not a balloon. And you can't play with this" "why not?" You furrowed your eyebrows going to take the balloon from his hand but he was quick to pull away and walk towards the bathroom to throw the condom.

He was met with your hands crossed over your chest as he entered the room again "i saved you from those bad humans and you can't let me play with the balloon?" You said snd he rolled his eyes going to sit on the arm chair "it's not a balloon. I need to know a few things first, then I'll get you some balloons " He noticed how your eyes softened in concern when he sat with a groan "are you okay?" You whispered leaning forward and he nodded sighing. You suddenly stood up and your legs wobbled causing you to stumble and his first reaction was to grab you but you walked towards him gingerly and crouched down, lightly grazing the wound "should i heal this for you?"

Yoongi looked at you with intense eyes and you continued caressing the area besides the wound gently "you can do that?" You nodded humming a little and said "i can but i might get more weak if i do it right now" his lips parted and he held your wrists stopping your actions, his grip firm yet gentle at the same time "what do you mean?" He mumbled as you looked up at him shrugging a little. " i used a lot of power while stopping those humans. So if i use more power right now, i might faint again and not wake for some time " he bite his lip as you kept your free hand over his knee softly, looking up at him with soft eyes that showed tiredness too "who are you?"

His hand left yours and you looked at him as he stood up and grabbed your arms, helping you stand up too before guiding you towards the bed and sitting in front of you. "Who are you?" He repeated. You looked a little hesitant as you whispered "w-will you hurt me if i tell you who i am?" His eyebrows furrowed and he shaked his head mumbling "why would i do that?" You shrugged chewing your bottom lip whispering "because those humans did that. They got scared of me and tried to kill me" he was silent for a moment as he stared at you while you tried to hide yourself in the covers but he held your wrist again in a delicate grip "i won't. I promise " you looked at him meekly for a moment before looking down at your hand. His hand felt warm against yours.

"I-I'm an angel" he almost thought he misheard you by the way your voice came out but when you stared at him, your eyes holding fear as if you were expecting him to lash out, he looked down, exhaling softly "b-but they always thought i was a witch. So they tried to kill me" you whispered nervously "an angel?" He mumbled scoffing "and? What else? You're saying you came from heaven?" "I did" you said it like a matter of fact looking at him seriously and his mouth hanged open. "You're not lying?" "No why would i lie? It's a sin. I don't want to be punished again" he ignored the last part and stood up running a hand through his hair "you're an angel? A literal angel saved me huh?" He was mostly mummy to himself but you were still nodding because well, he saying the truth. "Am i going to die soon? Is that why i met an angel?"

Your eyes were wide as you said "no you're not dying human you're too young to die, you should not say that! You can say you were one of those lucky beings who got a chance to meet an angel. Although I'm not that lucky" you whispered but he heard you clearly, also choosing to ignore that. "Then why did you saved me? Did you like, knew I was dying or something?" Jin would have found it so amusing to see the ever so calm min yoongi loosing his shit but you can't blame him though. "Well, i was walking around the area and i heard some noise. There i saw them hurting you. And i needed to punish them" yoongi snorted nodding. Yeah that was one hell of a punishment. "Although i shouldn't have done that" his eyebrows furrowed and he mumbled "why?" "Because I'm not allowed to help or interfere between you humans life." Yoongi looked down sighing but his attention was taken by you again when you called him timidly "human?" "What" he mumbled going towards the bedroom table , rolling his eyes when he saw the teared up packet of your supposed balloons and took out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. "C-can i please stay here for a few days?" He looked at you to see your timid eyes "j-just for a few days please? I-i promise I'll leave once i fully recover. I won't bother you. I won't leave this room" you were now looking at him with pleading eyes and he swore he could see fear in them and he clenched his hand feeling the need to protect you again.

Taking a puff he blowed the smoke away from you and mumbled "yoongi" "what?" You looked at him confused and he said "stop calling me human. My name is yoongi" your lips curved up in a pretty smile again and he looked away when you stared at him with soft eyes " I'm y/n " "you can sleep here. It's still early" he mumbled taking his shirt off which was covered in dry blood and for some reason, which you don't know why but your eyes travelled down towards his chest which was covered in a few tattoos before you looked surprised with yourself and looked away. "Y-you can sleep here. I can sleep anywhere else" "and where is that?" He raised an eyebrow wearing a thin white t shirt with the cigarette still clamped between his lips "there" you pointed at the arm chair causing him to roll his eyes "you can't sleep there. Unless you want a broken back" wait. Do you even get a sore back? "It's okay, it's better then all the places I've slept till now" all the amusement vanished when he heard the sentence.

He didn't know how to react when he felt a foreign feeling inside him. Was it pain? Sadness? Anger? He hasn't felt it for someone else since a decade. "Just sleep on the bed" he mumbled looking at you. You were looking at him with uncertain eyes with your fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. "Hey" he mumbled crushing the cigarette on the ashtray watching as you perked up hearing his voice "it's okay" you nodded slightly before smiling a smile that didn't reached your eyes, and watched as he started walking out of the room.

Yoongi sighed leaning against the door and rubbed his face, looking down at his feet "y/n" he mumbled, liking the way it sounded although he would never admit that.

Just for a few days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How we met Taglist♡ (open)

@bunnyrhe @rosquilleta @awmileven @belladaises

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inevitably-johnlocked · 2 years

Note

What are your favorite hurt/comfort fics? It can be on or off your lists

Hey Lovely!

Ahh, I have a LOT of Hurt/Comfort fics! So much so that I'm gonna use your ask to post up yet another list of them! So YAY! Check these ones out! I've even more than this list, this just happens to be the one I have ready-to-go :) Enjoy!

HURT / COMFORT Pt 3: 10 to 50 K WORDS

See also:

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 2: Hurt/Comfort & Whump

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

Watching You Die by laureleaf (T, 10,340 w., 11 Ch. || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Suicide, Switching POVs, Sort-of Reverse Reichenbach, Whump) – John watched Sherlock die three years ago, and Sherlock just watched John die. But neither of them are actually dead. Now an AU, with nods to "The Adventure of the Empty House". Lots of angst and post-Reichenbach feels. No slash.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w., 1 Ch. || Injury, John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Bromance / Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

We Might Not Make It Home by Ballykissangel (K+, 10,702 w., 4 Ch. || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash / Bromance) – A few months later they are on a case that has gone horribly wrong They find themselves gravely wounded and locked in a cellar Holding onto to each other and trying their best to stay alive Sherlock can't bring himself to say another goodbye to his dying friend and John can't find the will to live anymore and just wants to stop hurting. Sequel to When Evening Falls So Hard.

The Dying Doctor by Transcendental Starlight (T, 11,258 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John / John Whump, ACD Rewrite, No Slash / Platonic Friendship) – Loosely based off ACD's "The Dying Detective." Sherlock relives a case that should have killed him, but instead resulted in John being hospitalized for a deadly disease. Sherlock endeavours to catch the murderer, while attempting to envision a future without John Watson.

Sherlock's Sleeping Habits by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 11,424 w., 16 Ch. || Friendship, Sleepy Sherlock, One Shot Collection, Fluff, Domestics) – In which John learns about Sherlock's sleeping habits. Series of unrelated oneshots featuring the one and only ADORABLE Sleepy!Lock! Fluff abounds.

Catastrophe Medicine by LaSuen (T, 11,550 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Suspense, Adventure, Whump, Hard Core Bromance) – Chasing after a pyromaniac bomber Sherlock and John wind up in a deserted building which explodes and leaves them trapped under the rubble, both severely injured.

The River Variations by withoutawish (T, 11,619 w., 1 Ch. || Soulmates, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, John Whump / Stabbing, Romance, Light Case Fic, Near Death Experience, Angst and Fluff) – John Watson never knew that he wanted a ‘no toast in the mornings’ normal until he realized what an honour it is to be destroyed by Sherlock Holmes.

I See You Through by belovedmuerto (T, 12,078 w., 8 Ch. || Psychic AU || Empath John, Alternate TGG, Whump, Nightmares, Bedsharing, Slow Burn, Pre-Slash) –John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to. Part 2 of An Experiment in Empathy

The Hand You're Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) –Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

Out of the Darkness by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (M, 12,165 w+, 2/? Ch. || WIP || Post S3/TAB Compliant, Death, Overdose, Heavy Angst, Whump, Mary is Not Nice) – John Watson has long assumed Sherlock Holmes is immune to sentiment, "doesn't feel things that way." Sherlock, however, would do anything for the person he loves most in the world, including putting himself in danger while keeping John in the dark in hopes of keeping him safe. Tired of being left behind, John is running a strategy of his own. Unfortunately things do not go as planned for either of them. And as John lays bleeding, Sherlock finally allows himself to say the things he’s always meant to... This is the story of love, forgiveness and finally making right all the wrongs in these two men's lives.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w., 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that's exactly what happened. "Congratulations, Lestrade," he called out sarcastically. "You're traumatizing a war veteran."

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

And Here We Are by J_Baillier (T, 12,416 w., 2 Ch. || ASiP Fic, Alternating First Person POV, Drama, Friendship, Mild Case Fic, Autism Spectrum Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Protective John, Pining, Homophobia, Loneliness, Angst, Humour, Domestics, Morbid Fluff, Kidnapping) – All the little things we never got to see when an army doctor and a consulting detective were adjusting to sharing a flat. And a life.

I Need You To See Me by Mssmithlove (E, 12,625 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Amnesia, Soldier!John) – After going back to war, John is yet again invalided home, this time with a broken ankle and a chunk of his memory missing, unable to recall the last five years he's spent being Sherlock Holmes' partner and husband. Part 9 of Happiness Awaits

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

The Velveteen Doctor by Lantean_Drift (M, 12,815 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Developing Relationship, Introspection, Mild Whump, Taking Care of Each Other) – A series of events that show John just how real he has become to Sherlock – like a bright, brilliant flash of colour in an otherwise greyscale world.

I'm content as we are (but) by inqui (E, 13,086 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock's shows up in the middle of a case.

Understanding by rizandace (T, 13,268 w., 15 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Worried Sherlock, John Whump Then Sherlock Whump) – Sherlock's hiding something about his newest case, and John wants answers. Set post-TGG. Friendship fic, mostly, with brief entrances from Harry and Lestrade just for fun.

First Response by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 13,516 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Whump / Injury) – Five times John had to perform first aid on Sherlock and one time Sherlock had to perform it on John.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Meaning of Sacrifice by arts_and_letters (T, 14,101+ w., 6/? Ch. || WIP || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock Whump) – Sherlock has risked life and limb to protect John Watson, sacrificing his freedom and safety to fulfill his last vow. When Sherlock comes back bruised and battered from his second exile, will John's love be enough to help Sherlock heal? And will John ever know the truth behind Sherlock's enigmatic farewell?

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Haze by Ulura (T, 15,381 w., 12 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Whump, Turmoil, Mystery, Worried Sherlock, Mycroft Helps Sherlock, Flashbacks, Blood, Kidnapped John) – Sherlock wakes up, injured and confused on the floor of 221b, the last two days a complete blank. He must struggle not only to recover but to figure out what happened to him and most importantly, find his missing friend John Watson.

Lacuna by coloredink (E, 15,607 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Consent Issues, Drama, Amnesia) – God, it must have been terrible, to think that he would never have this again.

Partners in Crime by Richefic (T, 16,560 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Sick John, Meddling Mycroft, Caring Sherlock, Domestics) – John Watson receives some devastating news which puts a spanner in his medical ambitions. Will Sherlock prove capable of the kind of comfort and reassurance he needs or will their partnership be ended before its even begun? Set between 1.1 and 1.2.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

I Will Take Care Of You by SailorChibi (T, 16,664 w., 15 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Sherlock, BAMF John, BAMF Lestrade, Reunion Fic) – Two years after Sherlock's death, John comes to find him on the sofa. Wounded and ill, Sherlock is convinced he's hallucinating and refuses to share any details about Moran or the fact that Mycroft has been compromised. That doesn't stop John from stepping up and taking care of the last of Moriarty's web, BAMF-style.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

The dying Doctor by marylouleach (T, 21,168 w., 11 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump) – Doctor Watson is gunned down in a dark alley after work, Sherlock wont rest until he finds the man responsible. Guilt riddles him when he realizes he could have prevented this.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarrassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Masturbation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Among the Secret Things by Kate_Lear (E, 26,073 w., 14 Ch. || Angst, Drama, Amnesia) – Sherlock would be the last person to describe himself as given to flights of fancy, but at the look on Lestrade’s face he could swear that something inside him curls up and dies. Part 1 of Among the Secret Things

Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drugging, Smart John, Sherlock Has Internalized Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar, Flirting, John Manipulates Sherlock to Eat, John Deduces, Arguments, Kidnapping/Torture, Hospitalization, John Whump) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn't just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That "doctor" actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop, Past Abuse) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Sunday Evening 6 p.m. by Silvergirl (E, 30,712 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF / TEH Divergence, Grief / Mourning / Stages of Grief, Mutual Pining, Dreams, Reunion, Love Confessions, First Kiss / Time, Alternating First Person POV, Smart John, BAMF Boys, Emotional Love Making, Song Fic, Referenced Suicide, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Sleepy Sherlock, Blow Job, Villain Mary) – Six months after Sherlock jumped, he learns that John is dedicating songs to him on a requests-only radio programme. Is John just working through grief? Or is he—communicating? Fixes the hell out of S3 by pre-empting it altogether. Remember, as TAB told us, John is Pretty Damn Smart.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION|| Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Hurt / Comfort, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR [E], 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford? What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix-It, First Person POV Sherlock, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Injury, John Whump, Slow Burn) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock's failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he's not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #hurt comfort fics #long post

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miras-ash · 11 months

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Chapter 10 of "Just as the stars love the night"

Mira's pov

I stood for what felt like an eternity in front of the door, behind which my beloved was. Nervously I reached for the handle, but before I pushed it down I let go of it again. Gustave put a hand on my shoulder and opened the door for me. Uncertainly I entered the room, closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and then walked towards the bed she was lying in. Eliza looked so small between all the equipment, it didn't help that she was very emaciated. Her left leg was wrapped in new, clean bandages and her upper body was fixed with some kind of cast. She looked terrible and I didn't even want to imagine what she had been through.

Doc stood at the end of her bed, handed me a chart, and then explained what had happened.

"We had to remove a large amount of her remaining skin which had already formed massive scar tissue from third degree burns. She will need another transplant but that can wait for now. We had to break her ribs again so they can heal properly, they grew together incorrectly and she had a lot of very fresh injuries, including some internal bleeding. We suspect that Deimos suspected something or we just had damn good timing to get her out of there."

I felt sick at the thought of what he had done to her, everything spun for a brief moment and I had to sit down. Anger, despair, an irrepressible desire for revenge spread through me.

Gustave handed me a glass of water.

"Is everything okay? Shall we continue tomorrow and I'll go now?"

Still breathing heavily, I looked up at him and shook my head.

I wanted to know everything, I had to know.

"Please just go on."

He eyed me anxiously but then continued talking in his formal doctor voice.

"Where was I? Oh yes, I guess we got here just in time. We also tested her for various substances but he didn't seem to have given her anything, which indicates that she was fully conscious most of the time. We have given her enough care for now, we are still ventilating her until she wakes up on her own which should happen in the next 5-10 hours. We need to keep her under constant observation."

I just nodded, I didn't have much more to say, I just wanted to make this all go away. Only one question was burning on my tongue and I wondered why Gustave didn't mention it.

"Is she really pregnant?"

Gustave closed his eyes, his professional facade crumbling a little. You could tell it was getting to him too.

"Yes I'm afraid so. She's 16 weeks along, so almost five months."

He put a hand on my shoulder again and then left the room to leave me alone with Eliza. Powerless, I slumped further into the chair. Tears formed in my eyes. Deimos would die, but first he would suffer. Everything he had done to her, all the pain, the torture, the psycho terror, the humiliation, simply everything he would feel only a million times worse.

I hardly dared to look at Eliza, let alone touch her, it scared me a little. What if this was all just a dream and I woke up and she was gone again, irretrievably and permanently.

Slowly I reached out my hand and brushed a few stray hairs from her forehead. She was real, she was here, alive, with me.

A knock snapped me out of my trance. Yumiko and Jordan slowly entered and approached us. Concerned and at the same time relieved looks on their faces.

"We could hear what Doc was saying and we truly feel the same way you do, but please don't do anything rash. Liz needs you now."

They knew me too well, but I wasn't going to do anything anytime soon, besides keeping our heads down for now, Eliza was my number one priority. There was nothing more important now.

Together we sat around her bed, looked at her silently and processed everything that had happened. Never would we have dreamed of seeing her again, we were just getting over the goodbye and mourning phase and now it was all in the past.

For a while we sat together in silence until the two of them said goodbye and went to their room, leaving us alone. Even though they couldn't show it yet, I knew they were happy. Not only had they gotten a loved one back, they didn't have to feel guilty about being in a relationship anymore. They never had to feel guilty about it, but it had happened shortly after "Eliza's death" and they were afraid it was the wrong time for it but Yumiko and Jordan deserved so much to be happy together.

I stroked through Eliza's hair as my eyes grew heavier. I knew how much she loved this and hoped she could feel it. I was here, with her and nothing would ever separate me from her again.

#rainbow six siege #ash #r6 ash #tom clancy #eliza cohen #mira x ash #r6s mira #mira #ash x mira #mirash #r6 fanfiction #fanfiction

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renneiscent · 2 years

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Note: Shout out to @layanasstories for giving me this funny prompt. Unfortunately, no one dies here. This is hard to write since it’s been long time for me to write from third POV and being funny is not my field. Please bear with my messy writing and grammar. Thank you.

Summary: Just bunch of weird people try to bake some cake.

Pairing: MC x Cleo x Dan

Genre: Trying to be funny.

Words: 1612

Peine de Chocolat.

“Would you tell me who are actually going to the field mission?” Cleo asked with firm voice; her voice might be stable but it was contrast with the frown on her forehead. Everyone who was looking at her in that moment would realise that she was feeling uneasy.

“There are Jessy, of course, she is the main star. Then Hannah, Thomas, Richy, and me.” The woman in the other side explained nonchalantly. Cleo sighed; she didn’t like the answer apparently.

“Lilly, I told you to leave Hannah or you to help me with this cake. And now what? You left me with MC and…Dan?” Cleo put her palm on her forehead and massaged it gently; she was trying so hard to loosen all the stress which coming all of sudden after Lilly’s answer.

“I think I forgot about that…” Lilly bit her lower lip, nervous. “I understand your doubt with Dan, but you always can rely on MC! Just tell her what to do and not to do. She will listen and understand!”

“I think you forgot too about the Christmas accident last year? Should I recall your memory with ‘she put it on microwave deliberately because she want to see how it explodes’ every time I cook with MC? She is genius and curious. And you know those two things aren’t good in my kitchen!” Cleo almost yelled but she managed to hold herself so no one besides her and Lilly could listen to their phone call.

Lilly escaped a long sigh, suddenly remembering with those dark times about MC tried to burn either kitchen or the house every time they let her to help in cooking. For them, there were always two rules to stay alive in this harsh world; first, do not let MC cook. Second, do not eat MC’s cook. And this moment, they basically broke those two rules at the same time. They would die.

“And don’t even make me start with how the ingredients always missing every time she is in the kitchen. She will put everything into her mouth!” Now both of them released long sigh.

“I’m so sorry, Cleo…” Lilly massaged her bridge of nose, frustrated. “But we already in front of Jessy’s apartment while MC and Dan called me earlier which they…”

Before Cleo was able listening to the rest of Lilly’s explanation, her attention was already distracted by her house’s bell. She didn’t even need to guess who they are because of course the two disasters that she tried to avoid already reached her house. “They are here. Please send angels to my kitchen.”

“I pray this time only your napkins get burnt, not the kitchen.”

As the call was ended, Cleo was walking toward her front door and immediately opened it. As soon as the door was wide opening, the two goofballs which stood in front of her right now were giving innocent grins. It vexed Cleo so much but she didn’t want to bother about it; in fact, she was not sure if their purely existences right now which giving her pain in the ass or how incompetent they would be contrast with their role in the future. Cleo took a deep breath then she gestured them to come in.

“So, what are we going to make today?” MC followed Cleo from behind meanwhile Dan already sat on the couch in the living room, making himself comfortable. “Dan! Make yourself helpful please?” MC scolded him for that.

“Hey! We are not even starting something here!?” Dan complained, but he already stood up and followed them to the kitchen.

“Alright, everyone calms down and listen to my instructions.” Cleo demanded. MC was standing straight and her face showing how serious she was, yet Dan was standing lazily with shaking one of his legs. This is not going to end well, Cleo thought to herself. “Since it is for Jessy’s birthday, we need to make special cake for her. It means the cake must be sweet and big. I decided to make simple chocolate cake since she mentioned it several times. So, I want us to split up; I will make the cake, MC will make the frosting and Dan…” Cleo sighed.

“What!? What’s wrong with me? Why when it’s my turns, you guys always sigh?” Dan frowned.

“It’s because you have gift to mess up everything.” MC giggled.

“Dan, just don’t mess around okay? Suit yourself with TV or something; I will call you whenever we need some help.” Cleo gave concerned look to Dan before she shifted from her position to preheat the oven.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Dan walked out from the kitchen while rolling his eyes.

MC walked to the kitchen counter and took some ingredients with her for preparing the job that Cleo handed for. But while checking some ingredients, her eyes were catching something. There are chocolate bars, lot of chocolate bars. As if Cleo could read her mind, Cleo stood across from her and stared at her with fierce in Cleo’s eyes.

“I won’t give any excuse to the little thief; we need that for the cake.” Said Cleo with threatening eyes, without saying anything, MC gave her nod.

It’s just five minutes passed already, while Cleo and MC were busy with their jobs, Dan came from the living room and had a seat on one of dining chair; looking at the two girls annoyed. “There is nothing good in TV, I’m so bored.” He sighed then stood up from the seat and walked to the fridge instead; checking something there. “Nothing to drink? How boring.”

“There are things to drink, Dan. But if you are looking for alcohol, of course it’s not counted.” Cleo rolled her eyes while being busy with her dough. Then she walked to the kitchen pantry while Cleo’s attention was focusing on there as if the invisible cue, MC put one of small bite of chocolate bar to her mouth. Dan noticed it then gasped, “you…”

MC quickly put her index finger to her lips, told him to stay in silence. Luckily Cleo didn’t hear him and still busily took some ingredients with her before came back to her dough. “What is it?” as if noticed the strange tension among them, Cleo asked them. Of course MC act like nothing happened and while still hiding the chocolate bar inside her mouth, she just shook her head and shrugged.

Dan smirked and suddenly had an idea to tease her; he began opening his mouth, “actually…there is something.”

“What is it, Dan?” Cleo raised her brows, seriously want to know. But on the other hand, MC was nervous and giving ‘you shut up or I will strangle you till die while you’re sleeping’ kind of look to Dan but he didn’t even bother about it.

“Well, I want to tell you but…” Dan teasingly trailed off. He took a glance with MC, “I still love my life so…”

“Dan, you are seriously confusing me. Don’t play with me right now; we need to bake the cake for our friend, for YOUR girlfriend. So, make yourself helpful or stay out of it. Okay?” Cleo gave menacing gaze to Dan then back to focus with her dough.

Dan clicked his tongue, feeling annoyed. His plan to tease MC is failed totally and instead he got scolded by Cleo, this is the kind of opposite that he expected. Feeling excited because Dan is failed, MC was happily sticking her tongue then reaching another bite of chocolate bar to her mouth.

“MC!” Cleo shouted her name as she noticed what MC’s doing; feeling jump out of one’s skin with Cleo’s sudden yell, MC realised that she just put the damn chocolate bar into her mouth while Cleo’s watching. As if she was pulled back with the reality but didn’t know what to do, the chocolate bar on her mouth unexpectedly jumping out from her mouth and fell on the floor.

“Oh no!” MC kneeled down and winced, she bent down while both of her palms between the dropped chocolate bar. “How the mighty have fallen!” she grimaced in pain as if someone just stabbed her on the chest.

“It’s a freaking dropped chocolate bar. Stop being dramatic.” Dan shook his with eyes rolling, disgusted with the drama scene MC was playing.

“MC, grab that with this and throw it away to the trash bin over there.” Cleo sighed while she was handing a sheet of tissue, before MC managed to reach the tissue, Cleo pulled it away and stared at her deeply into MC’s soul. “Don’t put it back into your mouth. It’s gross; it contaminated with bacteria and any disgusting things already. I will give you something to munch. Understand?”

MC nodded but Cleo was still sceptical. “Do you understand, MC?”

“Yes, I do.” MC pouted then took the tissue, she grabbed the dropped chocolate bar with it and stood up from her position; walking to the trash bin near the pantry. But Cleo was still doubtful and she was checking her from behind.

“Freaking Christ, Cleo! She is an adult, not a damn puppy!” Dan grunted.

“Dan, you still don’t realise with who we are talking to. Do you?” Cleo folded her arms over her chest, she was intending to look at Dan but before she managed to do that, MC was trying to put the dropped chocolate bar into her mouth back. “MC, no!!”

As the things that happened flashing on his eyes, Dan threw his hands in the air; he’s harshly exhaling. “And they said that I have gift to mess everything up. I need to schedule them for exorcisms with my priest.”

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #duskwood fandom #duskwood mc #duskwood dan #duskwood cleo #duskwood fanfiction

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writinginthetwilight · 22 days

Text

Knock, knock.

Neighbour!Eddie x Neighbour! Reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone.

AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Loneliness. Anxiety. Dubious Dnd lore. Horror-esk/creepy vibes. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.

Authors note: Thank you for all the love on the last part of this fic you're a lovely bunch. This all Eddie's POV, slowing down to show a little glimpse of life on the other side of the wall and in his noggin. As always, all my love to @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird little world and being so supportive.

Special thanks to Somna for beta reading this chapter and soothing the brain goblins 💙

Wc: 4.4k

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. I hope you're all being kind to yourselves. Bye.

Part 6 - Rapid eye movement.

Starbursts roll over his vision, the edges are fading into burning static, there's a darkness rapidly approaching. He's falling.

Then he's awake.

Sitting bolt upright, his fingers catch the knots in his curls as he runs his hands over his head, panting breaths leaving him in time with the way his eyes dart around the room.

The world's a gentle sombre blue, shadows still overbearing as the sun starts its crawl out from beyond the horizon.

The knock that comes from behind him forces out the last of the breath he's been holding, reality slowly sinking in as he falls backwards.

He knocks back on the wall behind his head.

A returned acknowledgement of the shared time, somewhere.

The walls are too thick to pick up any small movements, but he waits and listens anyway.

He hopes you get back to sleep.

Dashed red numbers are a blur from his nightstand, too bright for tired eyes, they edge into focus slowly as he blinks away the sleep, he wishes he hadn't.

He needs to get up soon.

His first appointment’s in a couple of hours, a new one on the outskirts of the city and he needs to stop by the store first, see if he's picked up anymore for the week ahead.

A car revs its engine outside, his heart stutters, eyes clench closed.

It was just a dream.

Kind of.

Whatever it was, he's back now.

You're back now.

He scrubs at his face, pulling off his sweat stricken shirt, material damp against his skin and rapidly turning cold, before reaching out blindly for his cigarettes and balancing his ashtray precariously on his stomach.

Smoke curls up as he lets out his first exhale and he tries to calm his racing mind as he watches the shapes they coil into, serpents consuming themselves, tendrils that dissipate into nothing.

It had been what felt like a lifetime that you'd both nervously waited to wake, for something to appear from the darkness, but nothing came.

You were stuck, stock still as he'd tried to get you through the light, everything in his body telling him to go.

Your lack of self preservation would be impressive, if it didn't make him feel like such a fucking coward.

He can still see your face, eyes trained on the wall, mouth working like you were trying to get words out as you finally moved with him away.

The relief on your face as the rushing in your ears began.

The small wave you'd given him before being ripped away.

Fuck.

His letter from you sits on his nightstand amongst the clutter he needs to clear. He reaches over, turning on the small lamp which does very little, barely illuminates the area around him in muted peach hues.

It's enough.

I'm going to plan an exorcism, so if you could let me know which weekday evening would be good for you, that would be great.

In the meantime if you could find some sort of bell to wear so I don't almost die of a heart attack each time I come home that would be great.

His cigarette smoulders at the edge of the page smoke drifting over the words like fog.

He scratches at the stubble that's starting to come through on his jaw, trying to hide the smile that comes to his face at your words.

He's not sure who from.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, letter still in hand he pads his way through to the kitchen.

Bare feet hit the smooth cold tile, stray crumbs sticking to the bottom of them that he wipes off absentmindedly against his leg as he leans against the counter.

The coffee machine clicks and gurgles as he looks up from your words to stare out over the street, golden light now edging in making the opposing windows reflect back like a hall of mirrors, light dancing over his hands in waves.

He frowns, moving before the idea can fade with distractions, into the living room.

Peanuts and popcorn lie strewn over the floor as he rounds the corner and he curses lightly under his breath.

He'll deal with it later.

He pulls a stack of books off the bookshelf rifling through until he finds it.

‘Manual of the Planes’.

He discards the rest, sitting down criss-cross, stray kernels sticking into his calves where his sweatpants have rolled up.

He shifts them away and glances up to the space in front of him, the memory of you laughing fleeting through his mind.

The coffee pot fills and clicks off in the kitchen, light reflecting off the glass that shrouds the dark liquid.

It goes lukewarm, forgotten.

It's odd that the intentional quiet of his mornings seems to make the apartment less empty.

He'd stopped turning on the TV or playing music in the mornings a few weeks ago, afraid he might wake you.

The fact that there's someone there to hear him seems to make the silence less overwhelming.

He has to pull himself away from the book, pushing it into his bag to resume later, the responsibility of the day taking priority if he wants to make rent this month.

He's crouched at the foot of your doorway down the hall slipping a note under when he hears footsteps.

There's a woman coming down the stairs that curls off at the end of the hall heading towards him with a wary look.

He tries to look as casual as he can.

“Morning.”

He flashes her a grin still down on one knee and she quickly rushes past without a response.

Shit.

He hangs his head, standing slowly as his knees crack and back protests.

Mumbling, he curses tense muscles and aching bones as he slings his backpack over his shoulder, pulling up his soft black hood he adjusts the hair out of his eyes before long limbs carry him down and out onto the street below.

Dewy spring air still holds its chill, the sun still low in the sky and his breath mists in the air around him. He pulls up the collar on his leather jacket, shoulders hunching up around his ears.

The morning rush hasn't started, but there's still bodies on the street, heads down, paper coffee cups steaming in the air.

The constant low murmur of cars and people's existence buzzes around him, and accompanies him all the way until he finally boards his first bus, steel doors closing and muting the world.

The record shop isn't too far, a twenty minute walk at best, but if he's going to make it out to his first lesson he's not got the time to spare.

Early morning sun warms the side of his face as he pulls out the extra book in his rucksack, eyes resuming where they left off, as the bus takes off.

Transitive planes, demi planes, gods, demons and elemental struggles.

It's lighting up his brain.

The places which sit dormant, unentertained in the daily grind to exist, he greedily takes it in, lets it wash over his mind.

His notebook balances awkwardly on his thigh while he takes notes of anything that fits.

Lights, sleep, entry ways, reflections.

Voids and disembodied voices that will suck out his soul.

Shadows crawl over the pages as strangled light gasps between buildings and as the towering skyline clears daylight catches the white of the pages, making his intense gaze falter and look away.

Just in time to see the record store pass.

Shit

He rams everything into his bag, book pages crease and his guitar case rings out muffled pained notes as he clumsily stands and rushes to pull the cord.

The visit’s short and sweet, the owner Buck doesn't bat an eye as Eddie shouts out a slightly breathless hello as he barges past the closed sign.

Raising a hand in response, his gaze still stays firmly set on his newspaper even as Eddie reaches blindly behind the desk and pulls out a green book.

There's no new students.

But there are a couple of kids he hasn't seen in a while, names penned in next to their parents phone numbers.

A little tension leaves him at the sight, lessons are an extra expense, easily cut around the holidays and as spring crawled in, he was sure he wouldn't see them again.

His flyer in the window needs replacing, the words starting to fade from sun exposure. He should probably check the others around the city too.

He'll do it tomorrow.

He daren't risk too much distraction as the next bus carries him out of the city, as the streets outside turn suburban and unfamiliar he needs to count the stops.

Day dreaming’s an expense he can't afford if he doesn't want to be late. First lessons are hard enough without having to explain why he's not on time.

Languished footsteps fall onto pristine sidewalk as the bus hisses and takes off behind him, leaving him to unknown cookie cutter streets.

A knot in his shoulder makes him huff and wince backpack sitting uncomfortably over the muscles there.

He misses the van.

The thought isn't new but lingers a little longer on mornings like this, as his feet hit the ground every step’s a reminder of how much easier it would be.

How much safer he'd feel.

He pushes the thought down, reasoning he wouldn't be able to afford the gas anyways.

Ignores the fact that one appointment wouldn't take almost two hours out of his morning.

A low whistle leaves him as he finds the street, a cul de sac of matching white houses with cloned cherry wood trees to the left of their driveways.

The air smells like breakfast and there's distant chatter of kids in the tall fenced off gardens.

Number 12.

The driveway alone rivals the size of, your his apartment.

He checks his hair in the car window, pulling it back with the satin purple scrunchy on his wrist, biting into his cheek as he wraps it round his hair.

Just another piece of her which remains, stuck into his life like splinters that he keeps fucking finding, just beneath the skin.

He takes a breath, shaking out his arms as he pushes the doorbell, a muffled sing-song tune alerts the house to his arrival.

He shifts nervously, an outline through the frosted glass approaching.

It wouldn't be the first time someone had closed the door in his face. Not even giving him the chance to explain who he was, why he was there bringing down the house prices.

The lock clicks.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you?”

“I'm Eddie, we spoke on the phone. I'm here for guitar lessons with Sam.”

An hours worth of Munson charm and some badly done scales later, he leaves with an envelope full of cash and homemade brownies snug in his backpack.

Six more lessons booked for the same time each week, discussed while Mrs Graham waved him away and flushed pink at his talk of her not looking old enough to have a 10 year old.

As the buildings get taller again, the bus back starts filling out and his mind strays as he tries to avoid eye contact.

You said you worked around here.

He doesn't need to be at the school for another couple of hours and he lets his feet carry him off a few stops early. Through seas of trench coats and shoulder pads he meanders, a streak of black slipping between white pressed shirts.

Shined shoes file into buildings through glass doors and he wonders, if in another time you're hurrying in with them.

All the buildings look the same here, concrete mountains, unfriendly and overbearing.

He hopes you don't work in one of these.

He sits himself on the back of a bench when the streets turn more pedestrian, bakeries, cafes and mini marts lining the sidewalk.

The cool metal of the bench bleeds past dark denim and into the skin on the back of his thighs as he digs into the bag of brownies, squinting into the late morning sun he pulls his hair free shaking it out.

The woman on the opposing bench watches him and he gives her a tight smile, she looks away.

The next bus is late.

Of course it is.

The walk into school feels surreal enough without him rushing in late for classes.

It's some kind of ironic fuck you from the universe that the best steady source of income he's got means he’s back in the hallways of a high school 3 days a week.

He pulls at the creases in his shirt, formed in his bag over the course of the morning, swapped out for his hoodie on the bus ride over.

The tie around his neck makes him feel like he's choking.

The kids aren't bad, just, not as enthusiastic or interested as the home school kids, he can't blame them.

Pale walls and bright lights seem to suck out your soul while simultaneously spotlighting all your imperfections.

He hadn't wanted to be there at 16 either, still didn't a decade later.

They keep fucking about. Not listening and he doesn't mean to snap, but the fluorescent lights and noise are grinding on him quicker than he should let it.

He spends the time between lunch and after school classes pouring over the book in the teachers lounge while it's empty, drags his way through after school lessons then makes his way back to the city.

One more.

A standing appointment.

Within the city only a short walk from the bus station.

There's no Munson charm here.

He won't leave with brownies.

It's the most comfortable he's felt all day.

A shared acknowledgement of a long day is made over tired eyes as Ruth answers the door to the 5th floor apartment.

“Eddie's here.”

Lizzy, 13, spunky, and really fucking good.

She likes old school Maiden and is in love with Joan Jett.

She reminds him he's old every chance she gets.

Her mom can't really afford him and pays by the week, no block payments but she's never missed a lesson.

Change and creased notes scavenged and saved, are always waiting for him on the small kitchen counter when he leaves.

He picks up snacks on the way there, store brand candy bars and chips that he always forgets when he leaves.

It's a routine he savours.

A place he feels welcome with no pretence of being the help. An hour of playful jabs, jamming and laughter that drowns out the low hum of the radio.

Everything's dropped as soon as he passes the threshold of the door, his shoulders sagging as he walks heavily into the living room.

Late afternoon sun casts the far side of the room in shadows.

Popcorn and peanuts lay all over the floor.

His hands find his face and he lets out a frustrated moan into his palms as he turns and grabs the broom.

It's the bare minimum swept back into the bowl, gritty flakes and salt still peppering the green carpet

He can vacuum tomorrow.

The full coffee pot sits idle on the counter as he walks into the kitchen and his foot catches a crumb pile he made while he swept this morning

It didn't quite manage its way to the garbage.

It's overwhelming in the least intrusive way and he can't stand it.

He's done and the rattling quiet is making his thoughts tumble and run into each other.

Chores and bills and otherworldly bullshit.

It can all wait.

He collapses onto the couch, hair splayed out as he groans face down into the upholstery, legs stuck out at angles which will ache soon if he doesn't move.

The music’s turned up, drowning out the silence of his surroundings and the noise inside his head.

He should read, make more notes, clean, put away the cash sitting in his bag but instead he lets the music become a theme tune to his overactive imagination.

The sound of the door slamming into the wall announces your arrival home, reverberating around him and causing a grin to spread across his face from where his head hangs upside down off the couch.

The tape’s long finished and the energy to get up and flip it crawled out into the couch cushions a good half hour ago.

“Hello” your voice calls out and he purses his lips as it echoes out into the empty space.

“Eddie?”

That's louder, there's a distant sound of something being dropped to the ground with a dull thud, then your movements become clear.

He manovers himself silently upright.

You're mumbling to yourself, some kind of list and he can imagine you infront of him at your kitchen counter.

With a stretch of his arms he cups his hands around his mouth.

“Warning! Warning! ”

The choked scream you let out is followed by the clatter of cans and his responding cackle has him falling back against the couch, soft pillows catching tired muscles as he grins.

“You fucking son of a bitch. Why?”

Your voice is breathy and he shrugs to himself.

“Couldn't find a bell. So next best thing.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.”

There's a pause and something stutters through him as he wonders if the impulse to fuck around with you was too much.

He's too much.

“How was work?”

It comes out quick, a little cracked and he winces as his words press into the empty air.

It reminds him of the first few days, when he thought that the loneliness was finally starting to mess with him.

“Fine.” You say finally, a small laugh in your voice that comes out in a huff, echoing and floating around him. “You?”

“Uh yeah, yeah good, got a new kid on the roster, got lunch out of it.”

“Lunch, how ingenuitive of you. How'd you manage that?” The yawn you let out disguises the last syllables of the words and it catches the muscles in his jaw.

“My unyielding charm” he says with his own, eyes falling closed.

He hears you snort.

“Just ‘cause I haven't turned it on with you.”

“Hmmm.”

He smiles and imagines you rolling your eyes.

Imagines that you're walking around the room.

“So scaring me half to death whenever I walk in isn't part of your unyielding charm. ”

The last few words are muffled by another yawn and his eyes open, staring at the ceiling with a small frown.

“You get back to sleep?”

There's a pause in your footsteps.

The obvious unconscious elephant in the room rousing.

“For a bit."

He nods his head chewing the inside of his cheek as he hears you resume doing whatever it is you're doing in the kitchen.

“I think I know why we end up there.”

He turns his head towards your voice, warped and disembodied its floating out from around the sideboard Paul left.

“ Yeah?”

“ Well not why, but how. Sort of?”

“Sounds like you cracked the case Columbo.”

“Shut up.”

He waves out into the open air and you proceed like you've seen him.

“We both fell asleep around the same time right? So, maybe we both have to be in the same sleep stage? We could both be in deep sleep or REM at the same time if we fall asleep at the same time. ”

“We sleep at the same time all the time.”

“ Yes, but we went to bed at the same time. ”

“I'm lost.”

You sigh and the clank of something metal being set down rings out.

“There's different stages to sleep, depending on how long you've been sleeping. If we go to sleep at the same time maybe we could test it.”

He quirks an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “You want to give me a bedtime”

“Yes.''

The resolute sound of your voice makes him break into a full grin and he withholds the puns which threaten to spill out.

Then the sickness comes wrapped in the memories of last night.

“If it's all the same to you, I'm not exactly excited about going back,” another yawn wracks him and he's thankful for it hiding the shake in his words. He lets his head lol to the side “I can't promise I'll stay awake anyway.”

“Rough day?” Your voice has lost any edge and he doesn't know why it makes his chest ache.

“Just, long.”

His stomach suddenly grumbles loud enough to hear and you laugh quietly. “I should probably eat before I pass out” he grimaces, hauling himself up with a groan.

“You making some sort of future food? Astronaut blocks, powder you stir into water that keeps you full all day.”

You laugh, and he stretches his arms above him smiling to himself.

“Lembas bread.” you quip.

D. RiPpp…

His eyes snap open, dust twisting above him dancing in a gentle light that nowhere provides.

The drip is always off on this side, garbled like it's been re-recorded so many times the edges of the sound have lost any clarity.

You're going to be so smug.

The dread hits him then, catches and settles in the pit of his stomach as he climbs out of bed and peers into the hallway shielding his eyes from the unwavering light at the end.

There's a fleeting fear that you might not be here this time, leaving him to navigate the nightmare alone.

It makes his feet move a little quicker, over the disarray and dirt that clings to the world around him. The items from his life sitting amongst it all like pristine placeholders for when he'd finally checked out for the day.

You're standing at the threshold to your bedroom door when he makes his way through.

Biting at the side of your thumb with a small frown as you glare at the darkness in front of you.

You look tired, clothes wrinkled and posture leaning awkwardly.

“So, this is when you gloat, yeah?”

You startle a little before a triumphant grin spreads on your face.

“I told you.”

“I never said you were wrong.” He scratches at his neck looking over the room. “So what now?”

Your grin dies and you turn away from him, taking tentative footsteps edging around the black.

He wishes he wanted to move, but he doesn't, he's rooted to the floor, watching you.

He can just about see the kitchen floor, it's completely black, indistinguishable between the darkness and the liquid that's now merged with it, slowly soaking out onto the carpet that borders where the linoleum should be.

You're leaning in, you're so close to it.

He swallows.

“I've been reading up, about where we might be.”

“You have?” you look at him over your shoulder and he manages a step forward .

“You're not the only one who can investigate and shit.”

He squirms internally under your gaze wondering if you can see his heart pounding, eyes flicking to the shadows.

Nodding his head behind him, he moves back as soon as you start to approach, slipping behind waves of light as you follow.

Thank fuck.

“D&D? “

You say face unconvinced as he waves his hands out with a flourish to the books that lay haphazardly at the end of his bed.

“What?”

“I was just kind of hoping for something. Real.“

His face falls and he looks at you eyes slowly moving to the light which now pours in through a dark window.

You press your lips into a hard line nodding to yourself. “Fair point.”

He settles onto the end of the bed pulling the book onto his lap and opening his notepad. Pages decorated in scrawl, page numbers circled, words underlined.

“So there's a few planes that match stuff here, but the cosmology of planes just makes sense, like the overlaps and- ”

His eyes flick up to where you stand, wide eyed and staring.

“Lost?” he asks and you nod your head stepping towards him.

“Shit. Okay.”

You come to sit beside him.

“Where'd I lose ya’”

You wince “The beginning?”

You smell like the cold, like when Wayne would come back home on early spring mornings, the world still dark, bird chatter in the trees around the trailer.

It makes him homesick.

He tells you the basics: the idea of the planes, overlapping worlds, door ways of colours.

You're a good student, interested, asking questions.

Running off on tangents with him.

He explains the fey wilds and all the other worlds that he noted down messily as the bus swayed this morning.

“So what's the dark?”

He flips the pages, doodles of monsters and ghouls litter the page and he passes you the book.

The Abyss.

Sprawling desolate landscapes and figures shrouded in shadow stare back from the pages and he looks to you.

“Yeah that checks out.”

Your eyes scan the pages, taking in details about shades and fiends, creatures that suck the life from you.

He watches you absorb it all, then your eyes lift, staring at a spot on the other side of the room before you abruptly stand.

“Where are you going? Hey?” his arm shoots out grabbing your wrist. .

“To look at it, if it's a different place then -”

“Can we not, go stare into the dark caverns of hell tonight.”

He drops his grip on you, hand scrubbing over his face.

“Don't you want to know if there's something in there? “

“It hissed and made screeching sounds that made my lungs feel like they were going to explode. I think it's a damn safe bet something in there.”

Your face softens a fraction, eyes moving to watch where his leg is bouncing and he slaps a palm to it in an attempt to steady it.

“Okay.”

You offer the book back to him and he takes it sceptically.

“Okay?”

“We know how to get here now, it can wait.” You say with a shrug.

He watches as you come to sit back on the bed leg tucked up under yourself.

“So, what now dungeon master?”

He lets himself fall backwards onto the bed and you look down at him expectantly as he waves the book at you.

“Roll for initiative?”

The only noise that echos is the drip, the sound curls then dodges around rays of light and distended furniture until it dissolves into the black.

Your muffled laughters hidden away behind walls of light, his responding grin concealed by its gentle movements which roll and flutter.

The next drip falls without a sound, a spark of light blinks behind crumbling plaster.

The abyss starts to move.

Tag list: @munsonburn3r @winchester-angel @kellsck @valhallavalkyrie9 @em0220

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @strangersmunsons @hellfirenacht

Let me know if you would like to be added <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #joseph quinn #knock knock #my writing #Spotify

124 notes · View notes

sjsmith56 · 9 months

Text

Catching Up - Part 20, From There to Here - Bucky Barnes One Shots

Summary: On the flight to Siberia, Steve and Bucky talk, trying to begin to get caught up after so many years apart. Later, after they battled Tony Stark they speak with T’Challa, who offers Bucky sanctuary and a chance at treatment. Told from Bucky’s POV.

Length: 8.2K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, T’Challa, Shuri.

Warnings: Angst, guilt, despair, sadness.

Author notes: I thought a good one shot would be an account of Steve and Bucky's flight to Siberia then to Wakanda after the confrontation with Tony Stark. In the movie Captain America: Civil War there were only a couple of brief scenes shortly after they left the destroyed airport in Germany then another just after they touched down in Siberia. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of that time. Some scenes from the movie are included but I chose to use different dialogue.

<<Part 19

🌌

After the battle at Leipzig Airport

"Damn," said Steve, looking at the rear display in the quinjet as we flew away from Leipzig Airport. "Rhodes...."

"What happened?" I asked, unbuckling and coming towards the pilot's seat.

Steve was quiet for a moment then took a breath. "Not sure but Colonel Rhodes suit was damaged. He fell to the ground."

It was as if all the air was sucked out of my lungs and I almost stumbled. Another person, hurt or worse, because of me. I could feel my eyes burning as the tears threatened to fall. Steve quickly put the jet on autopilot and got out of the seat, grabbing hold of my shoulders.

"Bucky, don't," he said. "It wasn't your fault."

"We just destroyed an airport, and a man has been hurt, possibly killed, because you and your friends were fighting for me," I said. "Of course, it's my fault. How many people were injured in Bucharest, then how many did the Soldier kill in Berlin when that man activated me?

I slid down to the floor, slouching against the wall. I was done. Everything the authorities said about me was true. No matter what, I brought death and destruction with me. Wiping the wet from my face I drew my knees up and rested my arms on them.

"I know you don't want to hear this but I'm going to keep saying it," said Steve, kneeling down in front of me. "We chose to fight for you. The special forces in Bucharest were there to kill you. You had the right to defend yourself and I could see you pulled your punches and tried your best to make sure to leave them alive. As for the Winter Soldier, what he did is on that fake doctor, not on you. He knew what would happen and he used you to get information then to get away."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "The result is still the same. HYDRA turned me into a killing machine and that's all I've known for 70 years."

"That's not true and you know it," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Summer Alder-Marsh, her granddaughter Megan, and her friend Tamsin Murray."

I looked up at him in surprise. "How do you know those names?"

"Rebecca told me," he said, studying my face for my reaction. "Then I sought them out myself."

"Rebecca? Is she still alive?" My voice cracked. Was it really possible? Did Summer connect with my sister? "She knows about me?"

"She knows what was done to you," confirmed Steve. He stood up and held out his hand. "We have a long flight to Siberia, and I think we need to talk some things out before we get there."

Grabbing it I stood up and watched as he double checked the autopilot settings then he gestured to my seat.

"You hungry or thirsty?" he asked. "We usually keep some energy bars and juice on here." I waved him off, but he got some for himself. "First of all, I never really got the chance to thank you for pulling me out of Potomac. I was ready to die for you, Buck, you know that."

I nodded. "When I saw your face, all bloodied up, and you said those words, it came rushing back to me. All the times I intervened in a fight for you, then telling you that I was with you until the end of the line after your mom's funeral. I knew you were familiar before they wiped my memory. I told them I knew you and Pierce hit me several times. Then they wiped me, brought out the Soldier, and told me to finish you. I would have."

"It was your last mission," said Steve. "Several HYDRA operatives that I believe you dropped off in front of the police station confirmed that Pierce didn't care if you made it off the helicarrier alive. I figured you were in control of yourself and were already trying to make things right when you left those guys there."

"Is that why you told me to go?" I asked, looking him in the eye. "I was watching you, making sure they didn't try to finish you off in the hospital."

He smiled. "Yeah, I also didn't want the authorities to get you, either. No one wanted to believe that you actually saved me and that you were watching out for me. Where did you go between Washington and Townsend?"

"I had a list of HYDRA safe houses that I got from the bank," I answered. "Got some money from them, and some weapons, bought some clothes. That was fun." I grinned. "Couldn't believe how tight blue jeans are."

Steve grinned as well. "Took some getting used to, didn't it? I often wore khakis, they're like a looser fit casual pant. Probably not your style but they were more like what we used to wear. But Townsend? How did you know those women? They wouldn't tell me much, just that they helped you and helped change your appearance, so you weren't as recognizable."

I told him about the botched hit job on the bridge in 1971 and being taken in by Summer and Seth. Said the two nights there were like heaven as they were so accepting of me. I described the wonderful feeling I had helping to dig that stump out with my shirt off, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, then all of us working together to rip it out of the ground. My face must have reinforced how incredible it was as I described listening to the birds flying overhead out in the field. Then I told him about making it to Brooklyn, and seeing Ma from the back stoop but deciding not to knock because I didn't want them to hurt her.

"Is that where you left the book, The Hobbit, with the inscription from Summer and Seth?" he asked. "Rebecca showed me after she told me of Summer phoning her and giving her the message from you. She thought it was a crank call, except Summer described you to a T and told her about the Winter Soldier. When I confirmed it, she told me where to find Summer. She reminded me of Peggy, except Summer didn't have dementia."

I looked at Steve. "Peggy is alive?"

"She was," he said, a look of sadness crossing his face. "She died recently. I visited her but she wasn't always there. She said some things as well that didn't make sense about looking for you." I could see the pain on his face as he thought of her. "So much sadness, so many unrealized dreams. She was still beautiful, inside and out. Summer and Tamsin were both like that, except I got the feeling they were quite different from Peggy."

"I'm sorry about Peggy. She was special. Remember in the pub in London when she kept paying you more attention than me and I wasn't happy about it? Thought I lost my touch."

Steve smirked. "That was a highlight of my life. All those years of being in your shadow and all I needed to do was gain a hundred pounds and grow a foot in height. If I had known it was that easy...."

Neither one of us said anything and I got up to where he got the food, offering him more then taking some out for myself. I took a bite of the energy bar and drank some juice then looked at him.

"They were called hippies," I explained, returning to the subject of Summer and the others. "They left behind normal life for one that was more in keeping with nature. Townsend was supposed to be called Eden, that's what they called it when I was there. Seth, and several of the guys were Vietnam War veterans. They understood my issues, which led me to believe that wars don't really change, nor the men that fight them. All they wanted was to live a peaceful life and make a living with their own hands. I liked it there, very much. I would have stayed."

"I met your namesake, James Marsh," said Steve. "Can't believe he was the child of hippies. He was even more straight laced than I was supposed to be during the war."

"You were," I replied. "You had an image to uphold, and you took that seriously. Did he know I was there?"

"Yeah, Summer told him that they helped you," replied Steve. "He was upset at first, but I had some of the HYDRA files with me and shared them. He was more understanding then. His daughter, Megan, she was smart suggesting you go to Europe. Said she cut your hair for you and thought you were one good looking man. You kept under the radar for a long time."

"I had help," I told him. "Roma in Croatia. They adopted me, took me under their wing and helped me get to Romania, found me that little flat, and kept me working. Their leader was from New Jersey, a guy named Jovan. I helped some of his people fight off some Russian mobsters." I saw the look on Steve's face. "I didn't kill anyone, but I made sure they knew who they were dealing with."

"That explains how the CIA knew where you were," said Steve. "They must have had an informant who kept tabs on you."

"No," I scoffed. "There's no way they knew I was there. Unless ...."

I told him about the con man, about him knowing about me and using that to get most of my money and the list of the European safe houses. It was his suggestion to go to Romania. He looked at the computer on the quinjet.

"You know how to use one?" he asked. "I'm still learning on it, but we could look him up."

"I wasn't permitted," I replied. "It can be tracked you know, electronically."

Both of us reached for it to shut it off. We sat there quietly for a time, not saying anything.

"Rebecca, did she ever get married?"

"Yeah, she did," replied Steve. "She went into nursing in 1948, graduated at the top of her class and served in the Korean War. Met her husband there, a sergeant in the army, Harvey Proctor. He demobbed after, they got married, and he went to school for his accounting certification. She had her first daughter in 1956, a son in 1959 and another daughter in 1962. She went back into nursing when the youngest was 12. They lived in Brooklyn. She lives in a senior's home in New Jersey. Harvey died about ten years ago. She has 8 grandchildren and three great grandchildren."

I was happy for Rebecca. It was hard to picture her all grown up and married. All those years, gone and never to be reclaimed. I sighed and Steve looked away.

"I found your parent's graves," he said sadly. "They're buried in Green-Wood Cemetery. Rebecca said they used our life insurance to buy the plot. It also paid for Rebecca's tuition and wedding."

"You assigned your life insurance to my parents?" I asked, surprised at first, then realizing that if the situation was reversed, I likely would have assigned some to his mother.

"Once Ma died, they became my parents," he stated. "Your dad died in 1965. He suffered a heart attack and then they found cancer in his lungs. Your mom lasted until 1991." He made a face, a disgusted one.

"What?" I asked.

"You were given a posthumous Medal of Honor," he said. "It was presented to your mother and sister in 1991, a month before your mom died. Alexander Pierce was there."

He didn't have to say anything more. I wanted to hit something. My final jailer, the man who kept me imprisoned and loaned me out to every authoritarian or terrorist group in the world to make money for HYDRA stood in front of my mother, offering his sympathies on her loss. I could just picture that sanctimonious smirk of his as he told her what a gift my service was to humanity. He used those words on me, in Washington, just before he put me through the machine and scrambled my brain one last time to make me kill Steve.

"Who killed Pierce?" I asked. "They're sure he's dead?"

"A man named Nick Fury," he replied. "Pierce was his boss at SHIELD. HYDRA had infiltrated it from top to bottom. Fury knew something was up with those heli carriers and Project Insight. Then you were assigned to kill Fury."

I reacted, searching my memory for who this Fury was. "Bald guy, with an eyepatch?" I asked to Steve's nod. "I killed him, didn't I? They said it was mission complete."

"You hurt him, but he was a smart man, and he faked his death," said Steve. "Had us all fooled, except for Maria Hill and a small squad of people she trusted. Then he showed up at the Triskelion, with Natasha already there in disguise. She was the redhead at the airport that let us go. They forced Pierce to cancel the launch and implementation. Except Rumlow tried to override it."

"Rumlow was my handler," I said. "Bastard of a man." I could feel the anger filling me and it must have bothered Steve because he put his hand on my shoulder. "He was abusive, encouraged his men to treat me like shit."

"He's dead," said Steve. "Died in Nigeria. I was there. He knew who you were to me because he brought it up. Thought it would make me weak to know how broken you were."

"I am broken," I said, looking him in the eye. "As long as those words are there, I'll never be free of HYDRA. Someone will always know them."

"We'll get you help, Buck, I promise."

There was a beep coming from the cockpit and Steve went over to see what was going on. I sat there, thinking of the fact that although I was free, I was still a prisoner of my programming, and of people's beliefs about me. Steve came back.

"Course adjustment," he said. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll keep watch for a few hours then we can switch. You know how to pilot one of these, right?"

I nodded. It had been programmed permanently into my brain, just like all the weapons, and forms of killing had been engraved into my muscle memory. Steve went behind me and pulled on a handle, releasing a berth, just like on a train. It was already made up. I unstrapped and removed my leather jacket then took my boots off and laid on the berth. Even though I was desperately tired I wasn't sure I could fall asleep as my mind was racing, especially with what I knew was waiting for us in Siberia. I must have been more tired than I thought because Steve woke me up several hours later.

It was dark outside. He looked exhausted and we switched places. I sat in the pilot's seat and turned all the lights off, except for the night lighting in the cockpit. Soon I could hear him lightly snoring and smiled, remembering the sound of his wheezing whenever he slept over at our place when we were young. So many times, I thought he would stop breathing but the next tortured breath always came. Maybe that was part of what made me remember him. He was my brother in so many ways.

HYDRA knew of our connection. They exploited it many times; telling me he didn't care about me, then that he was dead, which technically he was for almost as long as I was a PoW. They even told me that he had joined HYDRA and was a much better soldier than me for the cause. So many lies, so much pain and torture, and for what? To keep me bound to them as their weapon, not even regarded as a man but as an asset to be used. I was done with all that. No longer would I kill for anyone.

A small glimmer outside the cockpit window attracted my attention and I dimmed the cockpit lighting while I peered outside. There were lights in the sky, green at first, then red and and white. It was like watching curtains being drawn across the sky as the lights flickered and moved. A memory of reading about the aurora borealis occurred to me and I watched it for some time, fascinated at the beauty. After about an hour it slowly faded, and I turned the cockpit lights up.

I heard a snort and turned back to see Steve waving his hands in the air. He must have been dreaming but before I could go over he suddenly woke up and his eyes opened. Raising himself on one elbow he saw me watching and he let out a breath.

"Bad dream?" I asked.

He sat up then came over and sat in a seat behind me. "Yeah, Sokovia," he said. "Fucking androids."

Turning around in surprise I looked at him. "Language," I smirked. Then I stopped bugging him when I saw his face. If it was bad enough to give him a nightmare, then it was bad. "You lost people."

"We lost a whole country," he said. "That's why they tried to rein in the Avengers."

I looked at him. "What do you mean they tried to rein in the Avengers?"

"Said we were too reckless and that we caused too much death and destruction. They came up with something called the Sokovia Accords which was to regulate the activities of so-called enhanced individuals. The Avengers couldn't go into a situation without approval from a UN appointed panel."

"Well, that's ridiculous," I replied. "They blamed you for what evil people did? It's not like they play by the rules."

Steve shrugged. "The thing is they wanted all of us to sign it and agree not to act unilaterally. It was an infringement of our rights, ultimately meaning that if any of us was walking down the street and saw a crime being committed, technically we weren't permitted to intervene unless a UN panel gave us permission. That's an extreme example but it's how I interpreted it. I wouldn't sign."

"Good," I replied. Then a thought occurred to me. "The others, your friends who helped ... did they sign?"

"Nope," he replied. "They stood with me, mostly for their own reasons. But when they gave the shoot to kill order on you after King T'Chaka was killed without even confirming that it was actually you who set off the bomb ... they were not happy. That action meant that any one of us could be set up just like you were, and they would assume the worst about us. Natasha signed but she helped because she trusted me."

"She's the one who let us go," I confirmed. "I think I knew her, a long time ago, when she was younger."

"It's possible as she knew about the Winter Soldier, that you shot through her to kill a scientist she was helping," said Steve. "She was originally a Black Widow but was turned by Clint."

I breathed in suddenly as a flicker of the face of a girl, maybe 14 or 15 suddenly appeared in my memory. Then the memory of seeing that face again outside Odessa when I took out a scientist but didn't kill the witness, a red headed woman who looked familiar to me at the time.

"Then I must have met her because I was loaned to that program for a time," I said. "It was brutal, pushing those girls to the limit of their pain tolerance. Those who came through it went on." I looked out the window. "They wanted me to breed with them. Girls, young girls." I shook my head in disgust. "I wouldn't and I was punished for it."

Glancing back at Steve I saw a combination of pity and disgust on his face, and I turned away. He put so much on the line for me, and I wasn't worth it. Standing up I went to use the head, wanting to splash some cold water on my face. When I came out it was already lighter out and Steve was in the pilot's seat. He turned.

"We'll be there soon."

I sat behind him. "What will happen to your friends, the ones we left behind?"

He shook his head. "I don't know but I'll deal with it."

"I'm not worth all this," I said. "You know that. I've done terrible things, evil things."

"You didn't have a choice," he replied. "They forced you, tortured you into doing it."

"I know. I resisted; I really did but I still did it. It's all there, part of history. Officially I killed dozens of people, that I remember. How many don't I remember, Steve?"

"Bucky ... don't do this to yourself," he said. "We'll find a way. I promise."

I didn't answer because part of me did feel guilty, did feel like maybe I should face a firing squad. While I was in Bucharest more of the memories had resurfaced including one that shook me because I killed someone I knew, Howard Stark. He and his wife were targeted because he had found a way to duplicate the serum that changed Steve and I was sent to retrieve that serum. That was the serum that was wasted on the super soldiers in Siberia where we were headed. I wanted to tell Steve what I had done but it stuck in my throat. Neither of us had liked the man very much when we were in the Howling Commandos, but he was a genius and he invented a lot of things that the unit benefitted from, explosives, weapons, even bullet resistant clothing. He must have remembered me that night as I had recurring nightmares of him calling me Sergeant Barnes while begging for his and his wife's lives. Just for that I deserved to be punished.

"We're here," announced Steve and I stood behind him as he hovered over the frozen wasteland below us. "There's a weapons locker at the back of the quinjet."

I went to it and pressed the control to extend it, choosing a familiar looking gun. Steve finished his checklist and came back, picking his own weapons, then putting his shield on. Pressing a control, the back ramp lowered.

"Remember Rockaway Beach and the freezer truck?" he asked.

I smirked. "When we bought hot dogs with our train money?"

"When you tried to win a bear for that redhead," he replied. "Her name was Dolores, but you kept calling her Dot."

I remembered and gave out a short laugh. Fuck, we were so young then. With a nod, Steve put his helmet on, and we stepped down the ramp. There was a snow vehicle parked there, no doubt left there by the fake doctor. Even though there was light snow the tracks were still visible as were his footprints, so he hadn't been there very long. We stood in front of the entrance to the facility then looked at each other before stepping into the darkness inside. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.*

Some time later

It didn't hurt. Not really, except for the shock of my titanium arm being gone. The beating I took at the hands of Tony Stark hurt more. That suit of his packed a punch but together Steve and I disabled him. Once he learned what I did I knew he wouldn't hold back. I couldn't blame him, not really. He reacted the way a son should when he learned the man in front of him was the man who killed his parents. Part of me wanted to give up, to let him have his pound of flesh but when he started laying into Steve it was like the 1930s again. I couldn't not be involved, couldn't let him hurt my friend. So, we fought him together and left him inside the HYDRA facility to make our way back to the quinjet. After that, we didn't know where we would go, except away from here.

Then we saw him, the Black Panther, Prince T'Challa of Wakanda, the man who tried to kill me in revenge for killing his father. What was most surprising was that he had the fake doctor, in cuffs and was herding him towards us.

"I am sorry that I did not believe you, Sergeant Barnes," he said, in that crisp and precise accent of his. "The Colonel here has confessed to my father's murder and to framing you for it. I am taking him in."

"You may want to take another passenger," said Steve. "Tony Stark is inside. His suit isn't functioning."

"Where will you go?" asked the prince. "The damage to the arm is extensive."

Steve and I looked at each other. "We haven't got a clue," said Steve, "but we'll find somewhere that will treat him, not just for the arm."

T'Challa tilted his head, in an inquiring way. "I have commands implanted in my mind," I said, then nodded at the prisoner. "He found the book with the command words and activated me in Berlin to spread chaos while he escaped. As long as they're there I'll be at risk of being reactivated. Do you still have the book?"

The prisoner's face was sullen, and he didn't answer at first then T'Challa leaned in close and murmured something to him. A look of acceptance passed over the man's face.

"Yes, I will give the location to the prince," he said, then he looked at me. "My apologies. You never asked to be made into a weapon. My grief over the death of my family in Sokovia overwhelmed me into taking the actions I did."

I wasn't sure I accepted his apology but at least he would face justice for his crimes. As for me, I didn't have any idea who would have the ability to fix an arm designed by a madman, or a brain tampered with as much as mine had been. As we walked into our aircraft T'Challa told us not to take off yet as he put the man into his aircraft and made sure he was secure. Then he came into ours and looked at both of us.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the remnants of my destroyed arm.

I nodded and he approached it, then gently raised it to peer inside at the circuitry. His lips pursed as he examined it then he straightened up and looked at me.

"How is it attached to your body?"

"They removed my original shoulder, even though it survived the fall from the train," I began, noticing Steve wincing, as he still felt guilt for not coming to look for me. I squeezed his shoulder as I knew the thought that I survived that fall wouldn't have occurred to him at the time. "They built a metallic version and attached it to my skeleton. I'm always in pain from it. The arm weighed so much it changed how I walked and how I moved but they never tried to improve it for my sake. It was meant for one thing and one thing only."

I didn't say it out loud, but the prince nodded sagely, understanding. Once again, he asked if he could take a closer look and I undid my leather jacket, exposing the shoulder area. Gently, he reached inside and touched the metal plate of the shoulder unit feeling the extent of where it was grafted onto my body. He tried to keep his face neutral, but I could see the disgust on his face. Then he placed his palm on it and lifted it off, looking me in the eye.

"For how many years have you had this monstrosity attached to your body?" he asked.

"Since 1945," I said. "They updated it in 1951 after another super soldier destroyed it, tearing it in half."

Steve shifted and looked questioningly at me. I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it right then.

"I would like to offer you sanctuary in Wakanda, Sergeant Barnes," said T'Challa. "My country has the technology to replace the arm with a better prosthetic."

"I don't want it," I said, with certainty. "I won't kill anymore."

The prince tilted his head again as he nodded. "Then at least let us remove this shoulder and replace it with something more natural feeling. It will be a vast improvement on this." I gave him my agreement. "As for the things done to your brain to make you compliant ... our scientists in Wakanda, one in particular, can help you. We have ways to duplicate the layout of your mind. She can develop treatments, testing it on the duplicate before finding the best way to undo what was done to you."

"Another mad scientist?" I questioned him. "I don't think so."

"My younger sister is far from mad," smiled the prince. "Irritating, yes. A pain in my backside, sometimes. But she is gifted intellectually and will treat you with the humanity and compassion you deserve. Nothing will be done to you without your consent. I guarantee that as the next king of Wakanda, Sergeant Barnes. At the very least we can give you a safe haven."

His offer was unexpected, considering that just days ago he was ready to tear my throat out. But his gaze and his voice were steady, and I could feel the empathy that flowed from him. This was a man of his word and he had just thrown me a life preserver.

"You're willing to let me stay if you can't remove the words?" I asked, feeling the tears forming in my eyes.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "If it proves impossible to undo then we will provide you with a means to live a life of dignity on your terms."

"Alright, I accept," I said. "What now?"

He looked back outside through the ramp. "I will be delayed but I can input certain commands into your quinjet that will give you admittance to my country. You will be met by a ... delegation who will be expecting you." A slight smile creased his face. "Do not be alarmed by their demeanour as they are protectors of the royal family first, the country next, and are just doing their duty. But they will escort you to the medical centre where my sister will be waiting. I will join you when I can."

He followed us onto the quinjet and Steve gave him access to the flight computer. He also used our communications equipment to contact his country, I assume advising them of our arrival as he spoke their language. When he was done, he straightened and faced us both.

"They await your arrival," he said. Then he turned to Steve. "Your friends who assisted you at the airport have been imprisoned in a facility called The Raft. It is a very secure place, located under the waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. There is a possibility I may be able to assist you in finding it, but we can discuss that in Wakanda."

"Didn't you sign the Accords?" asked Steve.

A slight smile crossed the face of the young prince. "My father helped draft them but no, I didn't sign as they didn't know at the time that I was enhanced," he said. "It was not our intention to make the world aware of my existence. I don't think they envisioned that a single man would be able to do so much damage and make it look like another man's fault. Once I have ascended the throne, I will begin lobbying for them to be amended. A man shouldn't be stopped from doing the right thing because of a piece of paper." His gloves suddenly disappeared, and he offered us each his hand, shaking ours before he exited. "I will see you soon in Wakanda."

Steve belted me into the seat and took his place in the pilot's seat. He started up the quinjet and lifted it into the air then pushed the throttle getting us up to speed before turning the control over to the programmed autopilot. Stepping past me he looked in a compartment and came out with a first aid kit, then went to the head with a container, coming out with water, soap and cloths. He stood in front of me.

"You going to let me assess your injuries and clean you up?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "Goodness knows you did the same for me many times when we were young."

I returned his smirk and nodded, undoing my leather jacket. He helped me ease it off, then pulled the singlet I wore underneath off. Gently, his hands pressed into my sides as he watched my face for reaction.

"You're telling me you're not in pain," he said. "Your face gave away nothing."

"I'm in plenty of pain but I wasn't permitted to show it," I replied. "I'm pretty sure I've got a couple of broken ribs on my right side. If you can just bandage them up, they'll start to heal within the hour."

"What else does your serum do for you?"

"Mostly the same as yours, as it's the re-creation of the one made by the man who made yours," I said. "Increased healing capability, strength, stamina, ridiculous good health although they did their best to make me sick by the shit they fed me, slowed down aging, better reflexes, improved eyesight and hearing. I've been programmed to know a bunch of languages. Some of them I didn't know until I started reading them and found I could understand them. You know, just the standard super soldier serum with a few tweaks thrown in."

He cleaned the blood off of my torso and wrapped an elastic bandage around my middle, then turned his attention towards my face, gently cleaning the blood off.

"My memory improved," said Steve. "So did my ability to plan tactics." I gave him an incredulous look, remembering some of the things he planned when we were Howling Commandos. "Yeah, I'm still a reckless bastard sometimes. Even though I'm not comfortable with computers, it seems I have a predisposition to easily learning how to fly even the most advanced aircraft."

"Don't take this the wrong way but has it made you a better lover?" I asked. "I noticed certain physical changes in myself, not that I've had the freedom to go out and test it."

His face turned pink. "Well, I'm not a virgin anymore, if that's what you want to know," he said. "Lost it to a showgirl on the USO tour, didn't I tell you that? I guess I didn't because I lied and you gave me a pep talk after you tried to steal Peggy from me. The showgirl seemed happy with me. Peggy and I ... after you died, we spent a night together but it was more for finding comfort than for pleasure. We never really got that dance that she talked about. Since I woke up, nothing and no one."

"Not even the blonde?" I asked. "Sam told me who she was."

"The kiss was it," he answered. "Another lost opportunity."

"If you hadn't been frozen for so long, would you have gone back to Peggy after the war?"

"In a New York minute," he said, taping a bandage on a forehead cut. "She was it for me and she knew me before I was changed. We were friends first. When you're better, are you going back to being the old Bucky?"

"I don't think so. I don't think he exists anymore. It will probably be a long time before I get the chance to find out."

He tapped me on the shoulder to indicate I was finished and left to pour the bloody water down the head. I could hear the tap running so he must have stayed in there to wash up himself. When he came out, he had his jacket in his hand, wearing just a white undershirt underneath. He went over to another compartment and opened it pulling out a gym bag. From that he pulled out another undershirt and tossed it to me, pulling a T-shirt out for himself. When I struggled putting mine on, he helped. Then he grabbed some more energy bars and juice which we both inhaled.

"A scientist with the Avengers figured a super soldier needs 10,000 calories a day just to function," he said. "How did you manage with the shit they fed you?"

"I guess that's why they put me back into a frozen state so many times," I replied. "Maybe so they didn't have to feed me so often. Although I remember sometimes them saying I was in too long. It made me weak which kind of defeated the purpose of having me."

"Perhaps the Wakandans can decrypt some of the files on you and find out more," said Steve. "With all the manpower and time HYDRA invested in you I can't believe they would deliberately starve you unless they did it for a reason."

"Yeah, everything they did had a reason," I said, sarcastically. I shifted and felt the pain of my ribs, making me inhale quickly, forgetting the conditioning. Steve put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm okay, just can't move too quickly. Can we talk about something else?"

For a while we talked about Brooklyn and how much it had changed from our day. He lived in the city, but found the time to visit some of our old haunts, at least the ones that were still there. We talked about us sharing a place once all of this was resolved. It was hypothetical but in a way it felt good to think about the future when the present was looking so bleak. As we sat there musing of what used to be and of things to come I remembered something that he said while we were on the way to Siberia. I don't know why I thought of it at that moment, perhaps a fragment of a forgotten memory had just nudged itself into my mind.

"You mentioned something about Peggy, about looking for me."

"Yeah, she was mostly crying when she said it and I was more concerned about calming her down," he replied. "She just said she was sorry that she failed. The nurse at the nursing home said she often blurted out things about her work. We would be having a nice conversation then it would be like a switch went off in her mind and she thought I was still lost in the ice."

He looked at me expectantly but whatever glimmer of a memory I'd had was gone and I shook my head. At that moment I yawned and he pulled that berth down, gesturing for me to take it.

"Rest," he said. "I'll catch a few winks when you wake up."

I wasn't going to argue with him as I was exhausted. That fight with Stark took a lot out of me. Sleep came quickly and was only interrupted by Steve's baritone voice waking me to say we were there.

"What happened to having your own rest?" I asked.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a super soldier. I figured you needed it more. They've taken remote control of the aircraft. They did once we entered their airspace. You gotta see this place."

Offering me his hand he helped me off the berth and put me in the pilot's seat while he stood behind me. It was an incredible view, with green mountains, waterfalls, and blue-green lakes. Then it seemed like a curtain opened before us and we saw a city that seemed to be right out of a science fiction novel. Tall towers, some of them covered in cascading vegetation, were interspersed with a monorail snaking its way through the city. It was incredible and both of us were speechless.

Effortlessly, whoever had control of the quinjet landed us in an open plaza that had many soldiers, both men and women, lined up in formation. The women, from what we could see through the cockpit window, had shaved heads. We looked at each other, in a slightly concerned way, as both sets of guards looked very capable. Steve helped me on with my jacket but we left it unbuttoned as we could already feel the heat and humidity of this exotic place. Pressing the button that opened the ramp we waited for it to lower and a guard of six women were lined up with another woman waiting.

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes," she said, in a no-nonsense voice. "I am General Okoye, the commander of the Dora Milaje. My king asked me to meet you here and escort you to our medical centre."

While she spoke I recognized that both of us, but especially me, were being assessed. There was no doubt in my mind that this woman was an experienced soldier. Her manner was authoritative but also professional and extremely confident. I had no doubt that these women soldiers were fully capable of handling two super soldiers, reinforced by how they moved when we began our walk. There was also the way she said "my king", as if she felt a personal responsibility for him. Then I remembered what T'Challa had said about our delegation. They were protectors of the royal family first, then the country. In other words these women were his personal guard, responsible for the safety of an enhanced human, who likely didn't need much protection.

The next few hours were a blur as they efficiently but patiently helped me clean up first then change into soft white hospital wear of pants and a wrap around top. Their voices were soft, always with a please and thank you while they asked me to lie in place while scans were done of my body. Blood was taken from me, with my permission, also done quickly and professionally. It was like nothing I had ever experienced with HYDRA and quite frankly, I found myself distracted by the modern equipment that surrounded me, wanting to know what each piece was and what its function was. They answered all of my questions. Even though there were three Dora Milaje present with me at all times I never felt threatened, nor did they seem to be afraid of me, just on alert. Steve was shown somewhere else that he could clean up. Occasionally I saw him in the background, talking with a very young woman who I assumed was Princess Shuri, T'Challa's genius sister.

Finally, the meeting between me and the princess happened. She was definitely a younger sister. Her attitude reminded me of Rebecca. I felt at ease with her almost immediately.

"Sergeant Barnes," she smiled, as an attendant helped me remove the wrap around shirt I wore. "May I touch you?"

Her eyes flickered to my damaged arm then focused on the shoulder. I gave her permission and she ran her fingers over the seam between metal and skin, pressing in occasionally then she stepped back and nodded at the attendant who helped me put the shirt back on. She wore a beaded bracelet that she made a hand motion over, bringing up an image then projecting it to a solid background so it was visible to me.

"Whoever did this to you was a monster," she said, her indignation obvious in her voice. "You told my brother that your shoulder was intact at the time of the initial injury?" I nodded. "They removed a functioning part of your body in order to put in infrastructure to support an arm that must have weighed almost 60 pounds. It was inhumane, as they integrated it into your ribs, and your spine. It must be painful for you."

"It is," I replied. "Does this mean you can't do anything about it?"

She smiled, then patted my arm. "It's coming out," she said with assurance. "First I want to remove the remnants of this arm. It serves no purpose anymore. Once it is off we will begin the construction of a shoulder insert to replace what was forced on to you. It will still be metallic but we will use vibranium which is much lighter, stronger, and will not provoke an immune response as this one has done."

Her eyes were sad as she said that and I guessed she had recognized the still red scars on my back and chest for what they were, my own failed attempts to claw that metal hardware off of my body. She spoke of being able to construct a prosthetic and fully functional arm out of the same material. I was dead set against it at first then she showed me some film of amputees in their country who had been given limbs of the same material. They were from all parts of their society and other than the metallic appearance of the limbs there was no evidence that the function was for anything other than to live a normal life.

"I know you have experienced a great trauma, and that titanium arm forms part of it," she said carefully. "A vibranium arm will feel much more natural to you. If you choose to never wear it, then that is your choice. Please allow me to make it possible for you to have that choice when we have completed your treatment."

I agreed and then we moved on to the next topic, the code words. The prince had sent word that he had the book with the code words in hand. Whether there was another copy of it was unknown but not dismissed outright. I had thought about it while all of these tests were being done and had come to a decision, my decision.

"I think I should be frozen again while you figure out how to deal with the words. I don't want to be accidentally activated. The chance of me hurting someone or worse is too great."

"I agree," she replied. "I have an idea of how to render the words harmless, but it will take a lot of testing to verify my process. It won't be tested on you but on a virtual model of your brain. There was so much more they did to you, but I am still trying to understand their process and we need to decrypt more of the files on you before we begin treatment. Sergeant Barnes, I promise that your recovery will be a priority for me."

I reached out and grasped her hand, as much to reassure myself as to reassure her that I trusted her, and I did trust her. A team of people came in at that moment and my shirt was removed while they began to remove the remnants of my old arm. They were constantly checking on me, asking if I was feeling pain which I assured them was bearable, so pleased was I that I would never see that appendage again. When they were finally finished with the task of disassembling it a temporary cover was put over the exposed workings of the shoulder unit then an attendant helped me get a clean undershirt on.

At that point Steve was allowed in. Obviously, he had been told of my decision and I assured him it was for the best. I could see the prince just outside of my hearing range speaking earnestly with his sister. He had the book in his hand and handed it to her.

"I have the location of my friends," said Steve, noticing where my attention was focused. "I have to go to them."

"I know," I replied. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. Until these words are out of my head, I think this is the best place for me." I put my hand out and shook his, trying to maintain my composure. "Thanks for believing in me."

"There was never any doubt," he said. "I'll be back when I can."

The prince came over and offered his hand to me, reiterating once more that I was in a safe place and they would do all that they could to help me. With a deep breath I hopped off the table and went over to their cryostasis chamber, already a vast improvement on the HYDRA one. The cover on this one was fully transparent. I wouldn't feel like I was being sealed in a coffin or a torture chamber. As I stood on the platform, a nurse attached many different leads to points on my skin. Then I was strapped in and I watched as the cover came down. The last thing I remembered was a gentle cooling sensation on my skin then nothing.

*Henry V, Act III, Scene I, written by William Shakespeare.

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