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littlestarrykenobi · 3 years

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“I’m Good at Getting on my Knees and Begging”

Ukai x Y/N x TimeSkip!Daichi

Word Count: 2340

Warnings: Hair pulling, oral, soft dom themes, alcohol consumption (but lots of consent!)

You had grown so used to Ukai and Daichi’s bickering that the times where they were gone felt too quiet around the shop. Oh, you appreciated the break. The times when Ukai was off at practice so the constant muttering over the small television on the counter stopped, the times when Daichi wouldn’t be standing over your counter in his uniform, scrolling through his work phone as he drank his coffee… but at the same time, as you checked the clock ticking away on the wall you felt the silence. Silence didn’t describe it either as the low hum of the machines kept you company. You perked up as you heard Ukai’s car coming down the road, knowing your loneliness was about to come to an end.

“Yeah?! Well if you did more receiving drills-”

“Me?! You’re head coach! You can order whatever damn drills-”

“Oh, now you don’t want to be head coach?! Yeah, seems about right!”

“When did I say I wanted to be?!”

“Shut your mouth!”

That was certainly your boys. You couldn’t help but laugh as you went to greet them, leaning against the back door as they pulled their duffels out of his small vehicle.

“So, I take it the game didn’t exactly go spectacularly?” You joked, earning a frustrated huff in return from the older coach.

“Oi, y/n, tell Daichi he’s still that same dumbass he was in high school would you?” Ukai grumbled, lighting a cigarette.

“I told you to quit those, old man!” Daichi griped back.

“No, you said I couldn’t smoke with you in the car! God no wonder you’re single. Do you bitch this much to the people you bring home?!”

You laughed as you pushed Daichi inside, letting him drop the duffel off on the desk as he watched you lock the front doors. “I should be getting home, it’s late.”

“No way, I am not letting you go home alone,” Daichi insisted with a smile, waving his arm dismissively. “I can drive you.”

“It’s really not that long of a walk I-“

“Great! I would love to walk you home then! I need the exercise. Stuck sitting next to the walking dead over there all day anyway.”

“What did you call me?!”

“Oh hush, you both had long days!” You insisted, disregarding how Daichi looked at you as you brushed by his large frame in the small doorway, squeezing by. You two had been in the same high school class but hadn’t had a chance to interact much… not that it’d stopped him from noticing how cute you were.

“Well at least stay for a drink then?” Ukai suggested as he put out the cigarette, thinking that if it got a little later he might be able to be the one to drive you home instead.

“Yeah, a drink at least?” Daichi added, finally finding common ground. “I know he’s been working you like a dog with overtime on our account.”

“Do you always find a way to make it something negative? Damn, no wonder the guys are scared of you.”

“It’s better to be feared and respected isn’t it?” Daichi said defensively with a tight lipped smile, the fire in his eyes betraying his frustration.

“Okay, if it will get you two to quit I’ll stay for a drink.” You sigh, giving into their usual brand of chaos.

One turned into two which turned into a little more. You still had your head about you, to be sure, since the goal really wasn’t to get drunk. You’d done that plenty with both Ukai and Daichi before and trusted them with your safety but you did enjoy the warm fuzzy feeling being buzzed and cuddled up between the both of them afforded you. You seemed to be the one thing that got them to quit their arguing… But your inattentiveness only lead to surprise as you felt two calloused hands slowly slide to your thighs. Ukai on your left, Daichi on your right. The backs of their hands touched, both men immediately looking up to stare the other down.

“You know it’s getting late, Ukai,” Daichi said in his dangerously even tone. “Might want to get to bed. Old men like you need their rest and they’re much younger. They’ll want to be up for a while.”

“Old man, eh?” Ukai smirked, chuckling lightly. “I think you mean experienced. Lovers don’t expire, Sawamura. We age like fine wine. If you want to see what this old man can do, I’m sure they won’t mind an audience.”

Your cheeks flushed as you realized the situation they were putting you in. Their intense eyes turned to you, clearly wanting a decision.

“N-Now guys I don’t really know what’s going on here but,” You stammered, trying to buy some time to think.

“We want to fuck you, both of us.” Ukai said, sharply to the point. “What? Glare at me all you want Sawamura but we both know what we want, why shouldn’t they?”

“But do you have to put it so… Grossly, Keishin?” Daichi groaned, rubbing his temples as he tried to process and move past it. “But he’s not… fuck he’s not wrong. O-Of course you don’t have to fuck either of us. Just say the word and I’ll walk you to your place right now.”

You covered your face with your hands, heart pounding. You’d been imagining and fantasizing for so many years for a day like this hadn’t you? Why the hell is it when it’s finally happening you’re paralyzed with fear?!

“What if I want both?” you squeak, voice cracking. That only made it worse, fully mortified as Ukai began to laugh.

“H-Hey! That’s not- That’s not funny!” Daichi barked, pulling you in by your waist. “Don’t laugh at them.”

“N-No it’s not at them I swear!” Ukai promised through his chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s just so cute how they asked. As if we could say no to such a tempting offer…”

Ukai lightly pushed your hair away from your face, one hand easing yours away so his long fingers could travel down your cheek and jawline, a small smirk on his face. You looked back to Daichi, seeing him nodding quietly.

“You’re sure you want this?” he asked quietly, smiling as you whispered your consent. His lips met yours in an instant, Ukai’s hands quickly moving to your work blouse, unbuttoning it so he could get access to your soft skin as quickly as possible. The callouses only heightened your sensitivity, feeling all your awareness come back before the way his fingers squeezed your sensitive nipples obliterated it all over again.

“Fuck,” you whined, quiet, nearly under your breath as his lips attached to one sensitive bud, Daichi’s hands quickly moving to unbutton and unzip your jeans, easily slipping his hand inside despite how large they were and how tight the strong fabric tried to hold onto your form.

“Kei, I want them naked,” Daichi huffed. “Help me out.”

“Gladly,” Keinshin smirked, leaning you back on Daichi as he grabbed your belt loops, pulling them off quickly along with your underthings. You were naked for the first time in front of the two of them and you looked… perfect. They loved your every soft curve, every inch of skin, every flaw… They didn’t hesitate to start exploring with their lips, wanting to cover every inch.

“W-Wait I-I haven’t shaved or-” you tried to whine, but Ukai shook his head.

“You’re going to be delicious no matter what baby, I can tell,” He smirked.

“You know I’m surprised at you, Kei,” Daichi chuckled. “How Takeda put it, I thought you liked it when they got on their knees to beg more.”

Ukai shot him a look, a growl rumbling in the older man’s chest. “Maybe I should use your mouth instead of theirs if you’re going to be such a brat,” Ukai threatened, only succeeding in making Daichi roll his eyes.

“Just shut up and prove you’re not just all blowing smoke huh?”

Daichi had your head resting on his chest still, playing with your tits as he watched everything Ukai did. The coach wasted no time, tongue working your sensitive spots, licking and sucking greedily as his fingers began to work and stretch your hole, gaining speed as he found the ways you liked best, not afraid to experiment to make your pleasure all the better. You were surrounded by the scent of Daichi’s cologne, of Ukai’s cigarettes, of the liquor on both of their lips. The shop didn’t only have the signature sound of their bickering anymore, nor was it the silence broken by the humming of the lights and vending machines. Whimpers and moans, hard fought for and easily won, as Daichi was forced to close his eyes, uselessly grinding himself against your back as he felt himself reach a breaking point.

You could feel the coil in your stomach now, slowly but surely coming to that tipping point before Ukai suddenly pulled away.

“On your hands and knees, pretty. I wasn’t stretching that cute hole of yours for nothing.”

“W-What?! Hold on what are you wanting them to-” Daichi tried to argue before Ukai helped you into the position he wanted. Your mouth hovered over Daichi’s covered cock, making him breathe a little heavier as he slowly looked up at Ukai.

“I’m not a total asshole,” Ukai chuckled as he shoved the waistband of his athletic pants down, teasing your hole with the head of his thick cock. “But c’mon, I’m not waiting around for you kid.”

Daichi eagerly pulled himself free, letting you see him for the first time. It was thick, heavy in your hands as you gasped, letting out a cry of pleasure as Ukai mentally counted the inches disappearing into your needy body.

One, two…

Daichi couldn’t help himself, eagerly taking advantage of your open mouth to pull you down on top of him, the thick veins pulsing as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

Three, four, five…

The more he pushed into you the further down on Daichi’s cock you went, the choked moans and whines only making it harder for the dark headed man to resist shoving you down completely on his length. He wanted to hear the way you choked, watch how you squirmed, wanted to know what it’d be like to have you a drooling, fucked out mess… But he wasn’t in charge right now. Somehow, despite being the one fucking your mouth, despite the way he’d always owned every other sexual encounter he’d ever had, he was back to taking orders from coach.

Six, seven, and ah, eight. Finally.

Ukai rested now, balls heavy as he waited. He needed to give you a second, no matter how delicious it was that you whined and bucked your hips back against him. “Be good little pet and we’ll reward you, don’t worry,” he cooed. “You like being rewarded right?”

You nodded eagerly, sucking Daichi hard as he groaned, tossing his head back as he thrusted into your mouth.

“Good, good you’re being such a good little bitch in heat aren’t ya?” Ukai chuckled, but he wasn’t just looking at you when he said it, not that you could tell the difference. Daichi blushed heavily, trying to avoid eye contact with his old coach.

Once Ukai started to really move, he grabbed your hips for leverage, groaning sweetly, muttering curse words, letting you happily bury your nose in Daichi’s dark, curly bush as you took him as deep as you could, gagging, pulling back, then going back for more. Daichi pulled off his t-shirt, looking like a chiseled statue as his muscles flexed, watching every last ripple as he took your hair in his hand to use it as leverage.

“I’ve got it from here, sweet pea,” He cooed, not taking you off his cock as he finally moved onto his knees, forcing you up from your forearms to your hands, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he’d been fantasizing about since high school. “Fuck you’re so gorgeous, I want you to swallow me down, okay?”

You moaned sweetly, whining and whining as Ukai’s pace only got more intense, slowing down with a sharp look from Daichi.

‘Can’t a man just chase his orgasm without some dumb punk kid getting in the way?’ Ukai thought bitterly but savored the slower pace, reaching around to play with your sex to try and reach your orgasm. The situation was too perfect, eagerly sucking Daichi’s cock down as Keishin hit your sweet spot over and over. When that coil finally became too tight to handle, you came around Ukai without warning. It was like that was the last thing they were holding onto, the pretty tears rolling down your cheeks and pretty cum dripping from Ukai’s hand being the rain that washes away any pretense at softness. Daichi let out a growl as he grabbed your hair tighter, Ukai doubled his efforts, both of them chasing after their own euphoria with little regard for how tight the muscles in your jaw were getting or how weak your legs were becoming. They were curtious men though, Daichi pulling out at the last second to spray your chest, Ukai happily delivering a few playful smacks as he pulled out and jacked himself once, twice, then spilled his seed onto your arched back.

The hum of electricity and panting.

It was better than a symphony at the right time… and in the afterglow it was delightful.

“Both of you, upstairs… You’ll stay with me.” Ukai said softly. “After you can walk.”

“O-Okay,” Daichi nodded weakly, pulling you into his lap as Ukai found tissues in the office. “You okay sweetie pie?”

You nodded, giggling lightly as you curled further into Daichi’s warmth. “I’m with my two favorite guys aren’t I…?”

Ukai’s cheeks heated up with a blush for the first time that night. Maybe… This wouldn’t be a one time thing after all.

#ukai headcanons #ukai smut #daichi smut #daichi sawamura x reader #ukai x reader #ukai keishin #rare pair haikyuu #i know I'm rotted #I regret nothing #rafabaebee #ukai keishin smut #unedited

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byronictrash · 3 years

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some stuff that would be different in my version of hbo supernatural (season 2)

season 1 season 3

IN MY TIME OF DYING

“where’s the colt?” “your son is dying and you're worried about a gun” “that demon is not dead yet samuel, thanks to you”

when sam finds out that john was trying to summon azazel while dean was still in comma, she loses her shit (“unbelievable! my expectations were low but you surpassed yourself! your own son is between life and death and you want to bring the demon here! for what? to have some stupid macho showdown?” “someone has to” “excuse me?” “you know samuel, this is all your fault, once again you couldn’t just man up and pull the fucking trigger, kill the thing, you had to be same old sissy and chicken off, if your brother dies its his blood in your hands”)

*ghostie dean throws that glass on the floor* john, looking terrified at sam: was it you? sam: what? no, the table is about two meters from me, how could i do it?john:... yeah, nevermind

when azazel and john make the deal, they would’ve kissed, LIKE EVERY OTHER DEMONIAC DEAL!!!!

the thing john whispers to dean is “be careful, something about your brother is not right” which dean interprets as just john being randomly transphobic so he loses his patience and shouts “oh fuck off, i almost died and you come here talking shit about your own daughter?”. john just responds “i’m not talking about this”

EVERYBODY LOVES A CLOWN

sam teasing dean for his (repressed) crush on ash (“interesting that taste in men of yours” “samantha, what the fuck are you talking???” “you flirting with ash” “i wasn’t flirting with ash!!” “you really trying to lie to your gay sister?” “no cause i’m not gay and wasn’t flirting with him” “i’ve road tripping with you over an year, your body language talking to ash were exactly the same like with any girl at a bar”

also all that jo/dean thing would be OBLITERATED because i hate it here!!!!

BLOODLUST

not much considerations here sikes there’s a lot HOWEVER gordon would be a much better built character, explaining how the trauma made him be the way he turned to be which is better than uuuuuuh a vamp killed my sister now i'm batshit crazy am i a joke to you mr kripke?

HOWEVER the misoginy in the hunter community is still a bitch so that scene where they’re all celebrating in the bar would go like “lighten up a little, sammy!” “dean’s the one who gets to call me that, is samantha to you” “oh sure, no offense meant. just celebrating a little.” “sure. well, it's just that decapitations aren’t my idea of a good time” “of course, my bad. sometimes i forget how the ladies can get when things get a little bit gory”

when that vegetarian vampire girl explains to sam that her crew don’t kill people she says “it's not because you were destined to be the monster that you can't act any different, you always have the choice” our catholic antichrist was baffled

“c’mon, hit me on the face” “what?” “i punched you earlier, sam. i have a million flaws but women beater is not one of them so if you hit me back, it will leave the domestic violence field and go to a simple fight between siblings” “ dean that’s literally not how it works!” “whatever lawgirl. now my face, punch it” “i may break your nose!” “so don't aim at it”

THE USUAL SUSPECTS

lawgirl time!!!

“i did my research, sam. 23 years old transexual woman, no job, no home address, mom died when you were a baby. your family moved around a lot when you were a kid but you were always a straight-A student, going to stanford with a full ride. about a year your roommate-” “girlfriend” “girlfriend jessica died and you fell off the grid” “i just need some time” “sam look, you’re a pre-law student, we caught you brother at the crime scene, his life is over” “actually, detective ballard, it’s not. being at the crime scene is merely circumstantial evidence”

HUNTED

“there will be a war and some humans will fight on hell’s side. humans like our very own sam.” “now you’re sounding lunatic” “i know about her visions” “and i know my sister better than myself! the girl is not evil, she feels bad for the animals whenever she eats meat” “wake up dean, all of those psychics gonna be killers” “not my sister, gordon, sam will not turn into a thing!” “look, i’m sympathetic. i know you are siblings but that’s her destiny”

HOUSE OF THE HOLY

christian antichrist time!!!

“she’s the second in town to murder because an angel told them to” “haha right” “why not” “because there’s no such thing” “dude do you have any idea how much lore about angels there is?” “and?? i’ve never seen one” “dean you and i have seen things most people couldn’t even imagine” “exactly! we see it. we’ve been hunting since kids, if angels existed we would crossed paths with them”

little does he knows that he would be dating a literal angel in less than three years but hey

when father reynolds quotes that biblical passage about angels not being ethical but fair, sam recognizes it and says “luke 2:9”

“thats a vengeful spirit right here” “then again, father reynolds started praying for god’s help two months ago, when all started to happen” “oh c’mon sammy, what’s the deal? first the angel stuff then biblical quotes by heart. what’s next, gonna start praying every day?” “i do, every morning and every night. i have prayed for a long time, since before i remember”

TALL TALES

pure sibling hostility!!!!

“you mind taking your shoes off my bed?” “not at all *rubs the sole on the sheet*” “oh my god you’re a pig!”

HEART

being said on screen, explicitly, that over the past year several women were murdered but since they were sex workers the police simply played dumb

bisexual werewolf madison my beloved

*madison puts gossip girl on* “i saw that” “saw what?” “you puffing” “i didn’t” “look, i know you’re probably thinking i’m a futile little preppy but my house, my tv. so suck it up”

“wait, so blair lost her virginity to chuck because she was mad at serena?” “that too, but actually she was mad at nate” “and chuck orchestrated the whole situation? what an asshole!”

when sam asks how an intelligent and beautiful girl like madison ended up in an abusive relationship, she explains that it didn’t start with a slap, but with smaller things that gradually scallonated

FOLSOM PRISON BLUES

let's start that all of sam's punitive speech in this episode simply wouldn't exist

like ??? it’s already ooc to the canon cw sam and hbo sam read angela davis

“this is, without a doubt, the dumbest, craziest thing we’ve ever done and we almost die once in a month” “relax sammy, it’s just a favor for an old friend, why are you so disturbed on that?” “because I'm thinking about the side risks if your plan doesn't work” “and they are?” “spending the rest of my life in a male prison”

lawgirl moment again! (“we gotta move it, if henricksen gets to the lawyer we’re fucked” “how about the lawyer-client thing?” “the privilege doesn’t apply, in fact-” “*grunting* why did i aaaask?”)

WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE

when dean saw sam wearing a pastel floral dress with light makeup he just blurts “christ, where’s all of your goth aesthetic?” and sam answers, totally confused “ended in high school, like a normal person”

“what got into you?” “what do you mean?” “suddenly you're all full of love to give” “i’m just happy for you sammy” “and since when do you call me sammy? c’mon, we don’t talk outside the holidays” “well, we should. i mean, you’re my sister.” “funny that it's been 4 years since i came out and this is the first time you call me sister”

*while going to hunt the djinn* “bitch” “excuse me????” “you’re supposed to call me jerk now” “why would i do that?” “*sights* nevermind”

ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

“relax samantha, i’m trying to help you. you’re my favorite, the one i’m rooting for” “what does that means?” “this is a competition, only one of you is gonna make it out here alive” “weren’t we supposed to be soldiers?” “sure darling, however i don't need soldiers. i need a soldier, a leader, a queen” “what are you talking about?” “i can’t just spoil the whole story”

bobby explaining that cremating sam as the hunters praxis wouldn’t go against her Catholic faith, as cremation has been allowed by the Holy See since 1963

#hbo supernatural #trans sam winchester #supernatural #transfem sam #lesbian sam winchester #kripke era #supernatural season 2 #mine

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

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— title : don’t leave me lonely

— word count : 3 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : when the protective instinct that runs deep within daryl you can’t take how much of a child he treats you, only when words spoken in anger do you both see the truth.

— warnings : swearing, one instance of blood description, vague mentions of daryl’s past and just some general angst

I've heard you're taking requests, soo, Could you please write something with Daryl and 20+62 from prompt list?

Thank you in advance and have a nice day ❤️

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested ? yes ! / requests are open *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

prompt list : 20. “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” && “ After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

Pale grey pavement is being painted with the blood of the walkers you had to slaughter in order to survive, to make it back to your family. You dare not speak a word, already predicting a storm awaiting to drench you in its anger that currently forms within the man you slowly began to love. You can’t pinpoint exactly where you began to have these thoughts, experience these feelings, as it hasn’t been an easy road. Loving him is not uncomplicated, the image he shows the world is harsh, though his actions speak louder than his words.

You’re stuck following him and Aaron, the man sparing apologetic glances back every few metres. He has nothing to apologise for, he was simply a bystander to a very awkward encounter between the two.

“ the hell y’doing out here? “

For a moment, your world stops. You hadn’t expected to see anyone out in the secluded area of the greenery that surrounds Alexandria, the whole idea of going from fighting for your life every day to pretending the world isn’t dead is not a pill that is easy to swallow. A potentially horrid coping mechanism, but you have to remember what it’s like out there, to not be protected by steel walls. To pretend you still have to sleep with one eye open, if anything was to ever happen to anyone you love because you allowed your guard to be demolished by a faux safety you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

A timid smile arises on your expression, almost apologetic. You shrug in response to Daryl’s question.

“ y’got no brain now? “ stomping towards you, his eyes burning with outrage and alarm, he doesn’t trust this new situation with you in it.

“ not here, Daryl. “

Trouble has a way of finding you, the unfamiliarity of everything touching the fear that he prays to stay dormant within the walls of Alexandria. At least with you confined to the area he can see clearly, he doesn’t have to imagine the worst possible outcomes to prepare himself for the inescapable of what always happens.

He can’t lose you, he can’t tell you either.

Eyebrows raise in shock over the suddenness of his heated words, never once had he spoken to you in such a way. Even on the rare occasion he was genuinely annoyed with something you had done. You force your features to stay neutral, not wanting a war in front of Aaron, considering you haven’t known him for long.

A mirror image is the displeasure that has stewed within you, the very same of the Dixon man you had shared the road with. Who does he think he is? You ask yourself, that outburst was for no reason and you know it. It’s times like these that confuse you and your feelings for him.

Though you hear no footsteps behind you, you can feel Daryl’s presence stalking you closely, but you pay no mind. Not in any mood to talk, afraid for what you will say in anger.

A temper is something you control, though there are moments it wants to smash down your walls.

With a heavy breath set free into the air, you turn the handle of your home open, leaving it open for Daryl as you know it’s going to be a conversation he will wish to continue. For a rather quiet man, when he wants to, he can say a lot.

Turning to face him, you wet your lips to say something, hoping to calm him before the situation gets out of hand. Hoping to get an idea of why he is so irate, though your expression hardens ever so softly as you realise that he’s most likely going to continue on the tirade he began outside of the walls. Your heart thumps against your ribcage, almost rattling your entire being with anticipation. Being able to hold your own in conflict is something you are able to do, but it doesn’t mean it leaves no scars to litter your soul.

“ okay, so what was that out there, Daryl? “ your words are soft, almost to the tune of a whisper as you question him. Hoping to understand his point of view.

“ y’really gotta ask that? “

Your lips purse, you merely blink in his direction as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Your heart is full of hurt as he treats you as nothing more than a stranger with the heat that coats his furious words that he hauls in your direction.

It confuses you incredibly how the day has gone to hell so swiftly, but you warn yourself about that. Assuming once dawn breaks that the day will bring something good for once, and not news of another tragedy. Even protected by the stereotypical image of a cookie cut American household can’t hold off death. No matter what, it gets its day.

“ yes, I do! “ you raise your voice, fighting the urge to close the distance. Knowing that he’d mistake it as you being on the offensive. “ I wasn’t doing anything except walking! “

“ yeh, an’ that’s what concerns me. “

A pause.

Nothing but the noises from the residents of this small town can be heard, the silence so deafening it almost obliterates your confusion. The room is so quiet that you even doubt that the two of you are even occupying it, the house feeling more and more cold with the seconds that slug by, it feeling that there’s no life to breathe a new warmth into it. Never has it felt so bare to be in that in that very moment than with the two of you ready to cut deep.

This is what he's pissed about? Before you even realise, you snort from disbelief. It’s something so small, so insignificant you can’t even believe it. Their new found safety has affected the group in many ways, but this has to be one of the strangest as you openly stare at his tense form.

“ seriously? “ you ask, refusing to believe he’s pushing this so intensely for that very reason.

“ y’finding that funny? “

“ yeah, because you’re acting like you’re my damned father. “ pointing a finger in his direction, you pace for a few fleeting seconds.

A closeness between you both has long since been acknowledged, but you’ve never divulged to him the true extent of your emotions. Sometimes you think he’s aware of what you feel, though late at night when you’re alone you realise that it may be better if he doesn’t. You wish you have the confidence to even share it with him, although the thought that blares in your ears warns you otherwise. Your heart couldn’t take another heartbreak, opting for his friendship rather than a cold shoulder born out of awkwardness.

Sometimes you’re sure he’s staring at you with a longing glint in his eye when you’re not paying attention, however you often chalk it up to hope. Never are you one to follow the signs, not wanting to be wrong. Your imagination cannot be crushed if it doesn’t have confirmation.

Hope can be cruel as it can be kind.

“ someone’s gotta, I can’t remember all the times I’ve had t’drag your ass outta trouble! “ his crossbow thuds as it’s dropped without a care, his face reddens as it twists and contorts. You haven’t seen him show this much rage since the Greene’s farm.

The day you first met him is permanently burnt into your brain, being half starved and dehydrated you thought you were hallucinating him. Unable to walk, your limbs weighed a ton under the exhaustion you felt under the punishing Georgian sun but there he was. Surrounded by the rays as if he was your very own guardian angel, but that idea had been put straight to bed as soon as you saw the outbursts from him to the other members of the group.

With the months that passed, you had trouble saying that was the same man you knew today. Less prone to rage, clearer about doing anything in his power to aid his family, though you can’t help but wonder if the old Daryl wants to break through the progress he has made so far.

“ and I never asked for that, Daryl. Why are you acting as if you’re my keeper? “

“ fine! it ain’t my problem if y’wanna be a selfish bitch. “

Causing hurt to the people he loves comes easy to Daryl. To wound deep when he’s scared is all he has ever learnt, to show love and affection was never afforded to him as a child, not even when he silently begged for it. Now, he was physically and mentally scarred, even these days were they still plaguing him like a never relenting ghost. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he hates seeing pain in your eyes, but he can’t convey his worry without fury over the idea of losing you.

He can’t imagine having to live a life where you’re not cracking a joke at the worst possible moment, or your selflessness that will surely one day cause you more harm than good. His breathing increases at the thought, his fists clenching, willing him to stay in place and not barge through the door without a second thought.

“ se - selfish? Daryl, you’re making sense! “

“ y’don’t care about anyone but y’self. Doin’ shit like that by y’self is only gonna get y’killed. All y’think about is you, not anyone left behind. “

“ after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you? “ the fire you had once now leaves nothing but dying embers, defeat coating your words as tears shimmer in your eyes

Daryl doesn’t know how to react at your proclamation, the inner battle to stay in the lounge now lost. His mind is unable to warp the idea of you even entertaining the thought of becoming more than friends, never did he dream that the shield he’d built around himself could injure him more than the outside elements could.

Before he even realised it, he’s leaning down to pick up his crossbow and heading straight for the door. Paying no mind to you taking his departure as rejection and not self preservation.

“ if you think I’m gonna come back, I’ll make you wait a long time! “ you call out before slamming the door.

Hands are brought to your stomach, as if to stem the bleeding from a wound made deep into your torso, though it can’t curb the internal trauma you feel from Daryl ripping himself from your presence. You knew it was a bad idea to tell him your feelings, yet you could hardly stop yourself in the war of words between the two of you. Nothing is a big enough wish than to stop the pain that ignites your entire self, threatening to consume you entirely. Only now do you understand the true extent of your love for him, previously thinking it was little more than a crush, though this feels more. Especially mourning what could have been.

You retreat to your room, not even leaving to share dinner with your family. Afraid not if Daryl would show, but rather your ability to hold your composure when you feel as if you’re glass who’s moments are counting down by the second to shatter into nothing more than sharp fragments that will only slice others to ensure they bleed, to ensure they feel as bad as you do.

“ come on, you’ve got to get some air. “

A series of knocks interrupt your sleep, followed by the voice of who you recognise as belonging to Carol. You ignore her, not wanting to face anyone just yet. The trauma on your heart is still too fresh. However it matters not to Carol, for she simply does not take your silence as an answer, but rather as an invitation as she opens your door.

“ just leave me alone, please. “

“ the others are worried about you, so am I. “ she speaks, concern written all over her face as she steps forward closer to your bed, her frown becoming more and more prevalent.

“ let them be, I just want to sleep. “

“ you don’t have to talk to anyone, come down after breakfast. Just get some fresh air. “ Carol gently requests with a half smile blooming onto her features. If anything is certain, she wants to see you and Daryl work through the fog that currently locks you both away.

Leaving the bed, you groan to yourself. You’re not sure how much time has passed since Carol departed, but it has been long enough for your family to have also left the house to either explore more or two engage in their jobs. It’s something you send a silent thanks to the sky for, all you desire is solitude, with the sun etching its warmth onto your face. Opening the door, you see people going about their business with little regard for you, though you’re sure some of them must have heard the commotion the previous day.

You pay little mind to them though, more concerned on piecing together the broken pieces of your heart than anything else.

Sleep never once visited Daryl, never did it carry him off into a peaceful slumber. Though he can’t help but feel as if he deserves it, as payment for having to be the cause of the damage to you, being the reason you sobbed harder than he’d ever heard you. He’d waited outside that door, pushing himself to make things right, but never did the courage arise. Leaving him lonely once again.

Fuck this he curses himself mentally, this is going to be the one time an opportunity for happiness does not pass him by. Not once more, that was the last time he’d be nothing more than a witness.

Astonishment transforms his hardened expression as he comes to a stop, realising you’re already sitting on the porch next door with a blissfully peaceful air surrounding you. You don’t realise he’s there just yet, your eyes closed as you take in the sounds and smell of Alexandria, a distraction to what you feel. Daryl briefly wonders how he should go about patching things between the two of you, the situation an alien one to him. Fingers reach towards the cigarette packet concealed in his trouser pocket, with the barest of shaking from nerves.

Bringing it to his lips, the smoke is what alerts you to his being closing the distance. You can’t prevent the draining of colour from your face, not prepared from yet another interaction with the Dixon man so early in the morning.

“ I - uh, wanna say sorry. ‘Bout yesterday. “ Daryl apologises, with a regretful tone colouring his words with the most vibrancy he can muster.

Your gaze slips to the floor, watching the grass move ever so slightly with the breeze that wanders through. To forgive is in your nature and you sorely want to extend that forgiveness to him, but to do so after that exchange is a difficult thing.

“ thank you, I suppose. “ you shrug, your hands tying together as you try to make up for a lack of words.

“ I ain’t expectin’ y’to forgive me or nothin’, I just want y’to know. “

You sigh to yourself, you know in your heart he means what he says, you hate that you’ve been this mad at him.. at each other this much, even for a few hours. People and bonds are a rare blessing in this world, and you know it’s better to keep them close than to allow them to burn in the fire of hatred and impulse, to leave them nothing more than ashes ⎯ remnants to revere of an age that has since past.

“ Daryl, I do forgive you. I’m just trying to figure out how we move past this. “ you reply with sorrow, your eyes closing, a crease intensifying between your brows. It hurts to even speak into existence.

“ those things you said yesterday ... did you mean them? “

Bewilderment forces your eyes open, your head snapping to meet his figure that still stands. Here you are preparing yourself to move past Daryl, no matter how hard that would be, and he’s asking you questions about what you said.

“ you’ll have to be specific, I said a lot. “

“ it needs sayin’? “

Daryl can’t help but feel put on the spot as your sight bores into him with a forceful amount of strength, scrutinising him with the need to find an answer he’s not yet sure of.

“ yes, it does. “

“ was y’serious about.. bein’ in love.. ? “ with me is the silent end to the sentence that lays peacefully on his tongue as he leaves it out, the invisible presence of it painfully clear to the both of you, knowing that while it wasn’t included, it was there regardless.

“ when it comes to things like this, I don’t lie. “ you rest your head on your chin, a small yet anxious smile fighting to break free onto your features.

Why do I have to be a nervous smiler?

Daryl doesn’t answer, instead he moves to sit beside you on the porch. Closer than ever before, it’s not something that goes unnoticed by either of you, and like that hope is once again reignited within your core. Even small steps like this are significant, physical affection with other people is still something that has not changed all that much with him.. Though, you’ve seen moments on rare occasions, witnessing it before he can even stop himself.

“ so, we boyfriend and girlfriend now? “ you joke, laughter allowing the grief to peel away from your heart, allowing it to flutter in the air at the thought of the potential between you.

“ shut up. “ mumbles Daryl, although there’s a small grin that is peaking through his expression as he allows it to be set free, even though the full picture is still hidden under the grime and the hair that has long since overgrown.

But, you find you wouldn’t change a thing about that. It being part of his charm. You can’t help but find yourself full to the brim of excitement of what can grow between you, with the possibilities endless.. no matter how hard things can and will get, you will have each other in a new way that you’ve never before and that? It’s a heavenly picture you want to cut and pocket away in the confines of your heart.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl angst #daryl fluff

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frecklef0x · 3 years

Text

Mass Effect 1: Playthrough Masterpost

At last, I have finished Mass Effect 1!

I have heard some mutuals say they wish they could play it again for the first time, and you kind of can--through me! I’ve been posting little “episodes” of live-tweet-stream-of-consciousness as I play, and now I’ve compiled them into one post to make my life easier.

Anyway, here’s the first one, the rest are under the cut. :)

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode one

My ass looks great in this uniform, first of all

Impaled robo zombies, yikes

Cheap shot, Saren, smh. How will I pass my spectre test now?!

Why does he have robot eyes? Is he like, Geth-Turian? Why? Is he a robo zombie also? Was it the beacon???

Cool beacon nightmares, I'm sure this is fine

This Kaiden guy has implants? ORTEGA?!??!?

"Call me princess again and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor" lol obliterated

The citadel elevators are very realistic, five minutes of tense silence huh

Ya girl got a PROMOTION and a DOPE SQUAD time to catch a TRAITOR

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode two

First things first, gotta go find the blue scientist to join the gang

This galaxy is HUGE! How many of these places will I actually be able to go?!

Only two friends at a time????? D:

Ah, a distress signal, let's see wha--A DESERT CENTIPEDE NOPE ABORT ABORT

Robo aliens? In MY Theronian mining facility? Its more likely than you think

Running over dudes in my Mako is extremely satisfying tbh

*runs over geth troopers* *runs over geth armature* *runs over geth colossus* ... *backs over geth colossus*

Working elevators in the ancient ruins ✔

Oooooooh man hope this nerd is gay

Wrex, a friend of yours? Nope, not a friend, too murdery

"ShAaaAame about the ruins Shep, sOooOo much collatoral damage, SHEP" stfu Council, "ruthless" was in the resume when you promoted us, 10/10 would shoot lasers through archeological digs again

When Kaiden calls us "ma'am" I am, uh, into it

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode three

Time to talk to the gang! Gotta meet the fam proper

Oh dear seems we got a shmee of racism on board, compatriots

Wow Raina, good foot-in-mouth moment with Wrex there huh...sorry about the eventual extinction of your race, lost this round of Pain Olympics

OH SHIT OH SHIT BLUE HOTTIE BIGENDER? THIS IS NOT A DRILL???

“hi I’m Kaiden wanna hear about my last crush ;)” “hi I’m Liara wanna hear about Asari mating rituals? ;)))” damn we really slidin right into the DMs no chill

Garrus: fuck rules and red tape amiright Raina: oh u right ;)

Guess I’ll actually do a mission now LETS GO LESBIANS LETS GO

Honestly rolling out with Tali and Liara is a mood, squad goals

Raina @ every corporation on Noveria: I would sell you to satan for one(1) corn chip

This reactivation puzzle is some shit

I see some Mistakes were made

We already killing moms at this stage damn BioWare

FUCK FUCK BENEZIA KILLED ME AND I LOST A FUCKTON OF PLAYTIME

THERES LIKE NO AUTOSAVE IN THIS BITCH FUUUUUUUUU

fuck fuck fuck god damn it gotta shoot a bunch of deranged baby bug people again god DAMN IT

Okay we killed Liara’s mom in front of her hope that’s fine

And we let mama bug go free because after talking to Wrex, Raina’s like “this galaxy is a little trigger happy with the genocide, good luck out there bug mama ❤️ be cool please”

I have literally watched the scientist in the hot labs get killed three times now

So far the debreifs with the council have not gone very well

“You let bug mama go?! How many generations until they take over everything???” “My money’s on two :D Place your bets now assholes or stfu :DDD”

Asked Liara if she was okay and she seems pretty Cool With It

I hope to one day return to Noveria and Death Star it into oblivion

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode four

Talked with Tali and this situation with the Geth and the Quarians is giving me an existential crisis

You “inspect” my beautiful ship? You got somethin’ to say about my crew??? Talk shit get hit, bitch I will kill you

Yoooo my old earth gang, yeah what the hell, I’ll help ou—oh nope nvm he’s a xenophobe, you hang him and I’ll shoot his friend in the face, thx for your time

Went to the citadel to finish some assignments, left tasked with twice as many

“dOn’T cUt CoRneRs” fear not dear Kaiden, I have a permit: this piece of paper that says I do what I want

Still with the elevators, I really cannot with this

“You make it all sound so...dangerous...” ;) ;))))))

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode five

Headin’ to Virmire to rendezvous with the Salarian team

A cure for the genophase?!?!?! :D

Oh wait oh no are we for real gonna talk about destroying the cure like Wrex isn’t standing right here omg

SHIT GUYS NO NOT LIKE THIS WREX PLEASE

Phew for a conversation that basically started with guns drawn, it went pretty well... “What Saren has isn’t even a proper cure, he’s just fucking with the Krogans at this point. Are we gonna stand for that? Or are we gonna murder?” “Damn Shep, you right, we gon’ murder”

Okay Ashley, go join the aliens, try not to die

Shadow Team!🎵 tearing through the base 🎶 disabling all the defenses 🎵 (you gotta sing it to the tune of the Trogdor song)

We free the prisoners!!! :)

We shoot the prisoners??? :(

“Raina? How can you shoot them where they stand?” So it’s more merciful to let them explode? NAH FAM

This scientist is responsible for the mind control stuff? For Benezia? Fine I’ll let her go but I hope she explodes

We did not learn our lesson concerning beacons I see

Wait if even Saren is worried about his mind control ship does that mean there are larger forces involved here?

Oh. Oh fuck

Ugh Ashley I EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU NOT TO DIE

(so we really never found any info about that genophase cure huh? disappointing)

Oh Seren, you dumb dumb. You absolute fool. Clown man.

When Raina slings Kaiden over her shoulder to carry him to the ship—mmmmmmmmwoooow I am very bisexual

Bruh Raina takes every council call and she disconnects pissed off every time

WAIT I literally just hung up with the council, ASHLEY is DEAD, and Kaiden needs a DTR RIGHT NOW?!?!? Boy, NO, READ THE ROOM

This has been a stressful day

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode six

Shepard will avoid her feelings and go to Faros instead

Seeing Ashley’s figure greyed out and her locker inaccessible makes me sad

Wrex and Garrus, let’s go shoot some geth 💪

A mind controlling planet—of course!

Shep gets all her renegade points shooting capitalists

Saved, uh, about half the colonists

If I have one more bad acid trip I stg

Oh nope here’s another one

Shep needs a nap

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode seven

Ah, the council. Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.

At least Liara is good at pep talks ;)

Joker, you cockblock

Haha DUDE we airborne, you THOUGHT

Now that I am exiled from the Citadel, guess I’ll run some galactic errands:

o Killed corporate scientists who though we would rescue them lol

o Destroyed a bunch of geth camps helping Tali on her pilgrimage

o Disabled a nuke and killed some pirates

o Shut down some evil Cerberus experiments

o And illegally traded information!

Okay time to get back on track

So we may or may not be flying to our doom

OH GOD LIARA LOVES ME!!! RAINA, YOU DISASTER, YOU DID IT AAAAAH ❤️❤️❤️

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode eight

You know what I love? Being murdered by geth armatures

All these Ilos ruins be looking the same

Security panel is only kinda helpful

Oh, luckily I know Prothean now!

“CANNOT BE STOPPED” wow very encouraging, thanks

After that super motivating message and disabling security, its time to go down, down to goblin town

Vigil? Oh word?

My girlfriend is GEEKING out

I knew something what wrong with that fucking Citadel

Vigil: information is power. Also Vigil: What does it matter why they do what they do? All that matters is you stop them

“non-essential” personnel die first, huh? GROSS, VIGIL (gotta be honest that hits different in 2020)

Garrus gets it, I knew we liked that guy

Okay, find conduit, save galaxy, break millennium-old genocide cyle, nbd

Ugh Mako you gotta do me dirty one last time I see, I hate this thing

THE CONDUIT STRAIGHT YEETED MAKO

The citadel robot says we’re doomed : )

This shootout is SO fun, seriously

Saren get it toGETHER

Renegade Raina can kill with a conversation apparently, well done then

Concentrate on the Sovereign—why am I gonna save a council that hates my guts, sorry, but I have a JOB to DO that you ACTIVELY HINDERED

Great, zombie husk Saren, just what I needed as I mull over the possible consequences of my galaxy-altering decision

GO JOKER GO

Humanity-only council seems…questionable. Raina didn’t love the council but this sits wrong. Couldn’t we just appoint a more diverse council, including a human?

Anderson seems like a good enough dude, so…we’ll see.

TIME FOR WAR BOYS, GODDAMN WHAT A GAME

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godofsexdrugsandrocknroll · 3 years

Text

5 Reasons Why It’s Good To Be Merc

Professor Oobleck: [To the class] --anybody? Perhaps you, miss Fall?

Cinder: [On scroll, panics] I uh--

Mercury: Sorry teach--

Professor Oobleck: [Loudly] Doctor!

Mercury: [Ignoring him] --but Cindy’s too busy sexting her boyfriend.

Cinder proceeded to furiously kick her asshole of a subordinate in the shin.

Professor Oobleck: *Grimaces* Perhaps, miss Fall, you can engage in...that sometime more appropriate.

Cinder: [Clutching throbbing toes] Of course Doctor Oobleck, I have no idea what I was thinking. [Glares at Mercury]

Mercury smiled. He’d get it later, but the hissing voice of Cinder as well as the slight tears in the corner of her eyes was worth it.

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

Emerald ran from the room in the warehouse, cackling the entire way with his legs in her hands. Sitting at a chair, stumps hanging off, Mercury felt his blood boil - before he took a breath and calmed down. He knew this was in revenge for Cinder nearly breaking her toes, her foot against his cybernetic prosthetic.

He also didn’t care. Focusing, he felt a faint glimmer of his aura getting further away from him and he sent a series of pulses that had one purpose. To remotely flip one of his legs.

Emerald: [Distantly] Ogg fugg, my fuggah teef! [Moaning in pain]

Having effectively kicked the thief’s teeth out, Mercury smiled. Best anti theft measures, ever.

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

Mercury: Kiiiii-fucking-yah!

And like that, the third year Huntsman went down like a sack of bricks. It was expected - the moron had activated his semblance, Yo-Yo, and used a powerful telekinetic pull to yank Mercury towards him. But he wasn’t anything in comparison to his shitbird of an old man.

So delivering a flying sidekick right out of an action movie was all too sweet and all too easy. Also cathartic because the moron had been going on about how lame his boots were and (the real reason he kicked the moron in the skull while going at least 30MPH) ridiculing him for not using his semblance.

Vytal Festival Crowd: *Raucous cheering*

The adulation of the masses was pretty nice too. As he walked back to the waiting room, he grinned. All he had to do now was wait for blondie to make it to the finals, put up a good act and then he can test himself against some real opponents.

They might just be Atlas grunts, but they weren’t the premiere military organization on Remnant for no reason.

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

Mercury grunted, the new additions to his legs making walking awkward. Sure it was just a few pistons as well as a miniature dust engine, but after years of getting used to his leg shaped prosthetics it was a bit awkward with these new clunkier ones.

He stumbled into Emerald, who immediately sneered at him before her brow furrowed.

Mercury: ‘Sup, Em?

Emerald: [Eyes flick towards him] Nothing. Cinder said her scar feels “hot” again, so I’m bringing her a cool towel. *Eyes narrow* What the hell are you doing here? You said the dungeons were creepy.

Mercury just shrugged, watching her carefully. He opened his mouth to speak and saw her staring at the bulky lower half of his legs.

Emerald: And what the hell is that!? [Eyes flick from Mercury, to the dungeon, to the entrance of the hallway that led out of Evernight Castle] Wait a minu--

Mercury didn’t hesitate. Pistons pumped, his dust engine whirred to life with a sound like miniature tornado and with a shift of the leg, a single dust round shot from his ankle and his leg kicked upwards blindingly fast.

Right between Emerald’s legs. The girl was lifted off her feet for a brief few seconds and her formerly narrowed eyes were bulging out of her skull. Then Mercury was putting his modded legs to good use and charging from Salem’s castle, leaving Emerald behind making sounds somewhere between a dying animal and a deflated balloon.

Sure he had to worry about Salem coming to kill him for effectively quitting the game, but if there was one thing his father literally beat into his skull it was that there wasn’t much point in following someone for the sake of an ideal.

Because there was nothing better than cold, hard cash.

And if the freaky Grimm bitch was out to destroy the world, how the hell was he gonna spend all that cash? It ate at him to even remotely agree with his old man, but he had a point.

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

Mercury: You know, if someone ever told me I’d be retiring to a beach with a hot midget I probably would’ve laughed. [Pauses] Then I probably would’ve caved their skull in with a good snap kick, but that’s beside the point! Cheers, tiny! *Slurps obnoxiously on a cocktail*

Neo lay next to him in a beach chair, a pink and brown bikini done in her colors but with a pink cup beneath her brown hair on the left side with a brown cup beneath her pink hair on the right side, with the bikini bottoms alternating the colors again.

Her hands also clenched the armrests mutinously. When she screwed Cinder over and shoved Hush through her belly, she figured her best bet was to go to sea. Find an island. Except she found the Maiden’s old assassin that Salem and her people occasionally tried finding (but to little success, Black keeping on the move) and he’d been the one to charter the boat. He’d been the one to find the tropical paradise they’d been living on the last few years.

It had mostly been a pragmatic choice - neither of them really enjoyed tanning, anything to do with the water and they only truly enjoyed the weather itself. There was a small town a couple miles through the palm trees with a little over a thousand in population who didn’t care who they were as long as they were willing to kill the occasional Grimm.

And so life had gone on. Then those assholes who’d killed Roman did the same to Salem. Word had gotten out. The witch was obliterated by some “heeeyuuuw-mongus purple and gold laser beam!”, that probably meant they didn’t need to worry about the Gods anymore either and the only way Salem would die is if the fire bitch was a corpse first.

So they’d celebrated. Once. Then never again because for the diminutive ice cream themed girl, once was more than enough with a dick weasel like Mercury Black. Seriously, 2 years on this island and he still was calling her a midget! He slurped his drinks! Even though he knew sex was permanently off the menu, he had no problem checking her out or any sense of privacy!

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, shortie.”

He even had eaten her damn ice cream and shrugged, like she wasn’t about to push her fucking spoon through his throat and scoop out his jugular! He was insufferable and he often smelt of motor oil and Hatchet Body Spray!

Mercury: *Sighs happily* Yup. Life is good. *Burps loudly*

Screaming silently, Neo shoved off towards their shared house while kicking up sand the entire way and wondering if those best-friend-murdering-cunt-nuggets would actually believe she would reform herself because she had an obnoxious roommate.

Maybe the cute, doofy looking blond boy would. Huh. Now she had an in - the doofus hadn’t really done anything to earn her ire. Yeah. She’d go to him, make friendly and their friendship would be what would convince his other friends, the titty monster and friend killer especially, that she really did want to be a good guy.

Meanwhile Mercury lowered his shades, checked out the perky booty and shrugged.

Mercury: [Steals her drink] And now she’s wasting good liquor. Eh. More for me! *Slurps*

He grinned as a local girl on a surf board bent to keep her balance, her significantly larger, tanner ass not being contained by her white bikini.

Mercury: *Enjoys life*

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

I’ve never quite understood why the assassin of all people didn’t just up and leave Salem at some point. I have to assume Cinder was paying him to begin with and then the fear of death might have kept him there but are you really gonna tell me this man didn’t think it’d be possible to just run from Salem at some point? Disappear into the background? Come on.

Sure he wouldn’t have disappeared to an island or anything, but crack is what I do apparently.

So yeah, that’s it for RWBY for today and probably until I have an idea again. I actually had these after answering Fish’s ask yesterday and decided to get them down since they’re basically the only ideas I’ve had for my Tumblr.

Hopefully people like these. :D

#rwby #mercury black #cinder fall #professor oobleck #emerald sustrai #neopolitian (rwby)#au #this is what happens when you let a drunk type #what's crack-a-lackin'#shitpost

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kogo-dogo · 4 years

Text

Layman’s Guide to the Sixth House

You know, it’s been a long time (literal years) since I’ve infodumped bullshit about Morrowind to people, and I feel the itch now and maybe this’ll inspire some people to actually play the damn game. If not, at least it’ll lay the groundwork for people when I inevitably angry-write some kind of twisted eldritch House Dagoth bullshit to provide myself the content I want (after I get done with all the HLVRAI/Half-Life shit I have on my plate).

OKAY COOL.

I present: “The Sixth House for Dummies: You’re Not Actually Dummies But I Will Explain This To You Anyway”

Dateline: Year 668 of the First Era

You are an elf named Voryn Dagoth. You are a very powerful elf in charge of a very powerful political house, House Dagoth, and the best friend of the war-king of your people, some asshole named Nerevar Indoril. Your people--the Chimer--are living in the shadow of a very technologically advanced, elitist, perpetually bitchy race of elves known as the Dwemer who, for a long while, were your enemies because... well, your people just stormed onto their land after an argument with their old neighbors and said, “We live here now.”

The Dwemer and Chimer only stopped fighting because other people tried to show up on your lawn and live there. And now your king, Nerevar, is trying to make that ceasefire last because it’s kind of nice to not be always beating the shit out of each other.

But oh! There’s a problem! During some run-of-the-mill diplomatic visit with the higher-ups of the Dwemer, you discover that they’re building a goddamn, divinely inspired war machine in their basement. That... does not sound good. That actually sounds really fucking bad.

So, what do you do? You politely excuse yourself, run home at Mach II, throw open the king’s door, and yell, “Holy FUCK, you know those assholes we’ve been trying not to fight? Bitch, I think they’re going to nuke us.”

Because that is, admittedly, something a technologically advanced, elitist, perpetually bitchy race of elves would do.

So your king says, “Dude, I’m gonna go talk to them about it like a civilized adult, because me and their king are tight as fuck now that we ain’t bludgeoning each other to death. I’m sure it’s all a huge misunderstanding.”

A few hours later, though, your king comes back and says, “Okay, so. That didn’t work out how I hoped it would.”

Your name is Voryn Dagoth and you have accidentally started a war.

Dateline: Year 700 of the First Era

Okay, you are Voryn Dagoth and things were a lot worse than you expected. The Dwemer are building a literal war god out of dead god parts they found in a volcano, and now everyone is involved. Nerevar has an entire posse of people to act as advisors/generals--you; some dude named Vivec who wants to have sex with anything that moves; Nerevar’s wife, Almalexia; Sotha Sil, a mage who doesn’t know how to people very well; and this guy named Alandro Sul who nobody will remember, I promise. You are the oldest, and you do not like these other people very much, but you know what? They know what they’re doing, so we’ll let it slide.

The war has been terrible and, to be honest, considering the fact the Dwemer have goddamn robots on their side and your people are still fighting with spears, it’s impressive you’ve not been utterly destroyed. Again, these advisors seem to know what they’re doing. So much so, actually, that in a final, decisive battle, they help you and Nerevar bust straight into the citadel where they’re building this war god so you can just fight this war god yourself.

The Dwemer panic. The guy in charge of building the war god pulls out a fancy set of tools the second he sees you coming and does... some weird ritual that involves the heart of a dead god. Their entire race vanishes, bringing the war to a very anticlimactic end.

So here you are, confused, standing there with Nerevar and the Scooby-Doo Mystery Gang, holding these weird tools at arm’s length going, “What the hell are we going to do with these? The fuck is this? We should melt these down, right? This seems bad.”

Except most of the Mystery Gang (barring Alandro) is begging you not to destroy them, and Nerevar is flustered and dazed from having the ever-loving fuck knocked out of him, so he tells you, “Bro, I’m gonna go talk to god and see what she has to say about it.”

And you’re like, “... O... kay. I guess I’ll stay here.”

“Don’t let anyone touch this shit, though. Deal?”

“Yeah, cool. I won’t let anyone touch it. Go talk to god, I guess.”

And so Nerevar and the barnyard gang leave you there, alone, with these magical objects that just obliterated an entire race. And you sit there, kind of wondering how it works. So you play with them a bit--feels weird, man--but you’re still pretty thoroughly convinced these things need to be tossed in the volcano and bulldozed over. You hold this thought until the barnyard gang comes back, sans Nerevar and Alandro, covered in blood and demanding the tools.

“Where’s the boss?” you ask. Well, they tell you he’s busy or whatever and you know that’s bullshit. These motherfuckers just killed your best friend, and now they’re asking for these items that just obliterated an entire race. They don’t seem like the type of people who should have them, so you flippantly tell them that your goddamn king told you not to let anyone touch the fancy tools and if they want them so bad, they can go get Nerevar and have him come take them from you himself.

They do not like this answer.

Your name is Voryn Dagoth. Your best friend’s murderers have just killed the shit out of you and taken your impossibly dangerous tools away.

Dateline: Year 882 of the Second Era

Your name is Voryn Dagoth and you are somehow not dead. You wake up in the place you were “killed” and are incredibly pissed off by what happened. The world has changed significantly. Your people, the Chimer, are now called the Dunmer and look completely different. The guys who killed you have somehow obtained god-like powers and are worshiped as deities. Nerevar is now patronizingly considered a saint by his murderers, who also used his dead body as an undead servant and then fucking lost it somehow.

Oh, and your political house? You, your family, everyone? Have been branded “evil” and responsible for every calamity that has befallen your homeland (now named “Morrowind”, apparently, which is also different) since you’ve been out cold. They won’t even speak your name out loud. “House Dagoth” is now “The Sixth House” and “The House Unmourned” because everyone hates you. You know, for doing what you were told and not murdering your king.

Fine. Fine! Two can play at this game, can’t they? In the words of a great scholar, “I was supposed to be good, but you forced me to be bad. So I’m going to be BAD.”

You decide that you’re going to finish the war god. You’re going to take over Morrowind. Fuck, you’re going to take over the whole fucking continent. You’re going to restore order, you’re going to fuck shit up. If they’re gonna fuck with you, you’re going to fuck right back.

You plot. You scheme. When your murderers, thinking you are very dead, come back to use their fancy tools on the Heart (now with a capital H) to restore their stolen divine essence, you mug the shit out of them. You take the tools, you chase them off, you bring back your kin who were executed for just being a part of House Dagoth and you say, “Rise and shine, bitches! We’re starting a religion! Who wants to be immortal?”

And everyone raises their hands because, like, come on. Wouldn’t you?

Now you and all of your brothers and sisters are back and angry, construction on the war god resumes, and you start hardcore studying these magical tools to figure out how the fuck to use them properly. Because you are going to cram your foot so far up the asses of the people who killed you that they are going to be choking on your toenails.

Your name is Voryn Dagoth, and you are feelin’ fine as fuck.

Dateline: Year 427 of the Third Era

You are Voryn Dagoth, and things are going pretty okay. You can do a lot of weird shit with the heart of a dead god, you find, though it’s not the prettiest way to make things happen. You’ve always prized yourself on being a diplomatic and poised guy so, you know, the fact you’re having to stoop to some rough, not-very-aesthetically pleasing lows is not ideal, but it works, and that’s what counts.

Like, you can control disease. The people call it Divine Disease, and it’s got about a 50% success rate on people afflicted, with half of them becoming weird masses of tumorous growths who just drool and eat people and the other half decaying and regrowing parts until they look like weird elephant squids who are still all-there in the head but look really weird. They’re loyal and they’re good company, though, and for some reason everything the disease touches is immortal and insanely strong so. You know. It works out.

You can also mind control people, and infiltrate dreams. It’s good for recruiting people without a plague, and it’s good for issuing orders, and it’s good for freaking people out. That last one is proving to be the most useful, because all of these idiot mortals are now pointing fingers and arresting each other whenever they have a nightmare because, “Oh my GOD, Becky! You’re a DEVIL WORSHIPER.”

So, that’s fun.

The war god is almost constructed and even though it’s taken over four-hundred years (which has given an invading Empire time to take over your home; sucks to suck, huh?), you’re getting a good foothold. Stealing your fancy tools from your murderers means they’re garbage at being gods now, and you’ve managed to expand your enterprise to all sorts of caves and strongholds where your followers butcher non-believers and dance around naked by candlelight. You have assassins in major holy cities that are tearing shit up. You got operatives selling cursed idols right outside of temples in borderline plain sight.

But, lo, there is something on the horizon and it’s vaguely familiar. It’s some scraggly motherfucker that gets dumped off of a boat in the middle of a swamp, and you can’t help but feel as though you’ve seen them before. Or, well, felt somebody like them before. It’s a vibe thing, really, since they don’t look anything like anyone you know, and you don’t really know anyone because you’ve been living in a volcano for hundreds of years.

You take a special interest in this one because of the familiarity. You send them dreams, and you send them personalized invitations to come join your cult. You send your followers to watch them sleep and, like, try to kill them because you’re not sure if this is a good familiar or a bad familiar. They never really take you up on your offer or, you know, die, though.

And the longer you watch them go on, the longer you watch them do things, the more you realize... holy shit it’s Nerevar, bro.

Sure, some superstitious tribals have been chanting about how Nerevar Indoril will come back from the dead for revenge someday (as claimed by Alandro Sul, that guy that nobody remembers), but that was so far beneath your gaze that you kind of let it slide. And now here he is, amnesiac and wearing a new face but checking all the boxes, and he’s being specifically led on a path to come meet you. You know, to kill you.

So, you disease that motherfucker. Incurable god plague, baby! Except he somehow... cures the incurable god plague and he’s still coming. Jesus Christ, he’s persistent.

And... oh no, he’s siding with Vivec, the slutty guy who fucking killed him. You’re raking your claws down your face grumbling under your breath because, you dumb sack of shit, that man murdered you. Don’t listen to him, listen to me. I’m the one in the right, bro, I’m the one who was loyal to you.

And now god herself has endorsed him and he’s walking into your citadels and stealing your stolen tools back and, dude no. Stop. We were friends, bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?

And now he has the tools and he’s coming into your actual house and you’re just sighing in exasperation and trying to explain to him that, you know, you guys are friends. You will totally still let him join your side if he stops cracking open your followers’ skulls. Except he’s still skull-cracking and he’s still coming and...

... Great, now he’s right in front of you. Fantastic.

Okay, so you want to offer him amnesty one more time, but it isn’t going to work. You’re tired, you’re pissed off, Nerevar has somehow grown to believe that you are somehow in the wrong (which you are obviously not; taking over the world with a manufactured war god and a horrific plague seems perfectly justified to you), and worst of all? He has so many questions. He’s just blathering, demanding to know why you are the way you are and it’s just like.

Bro, this is kind of your fault. You left me alone with dangerous, desirable objects while you went to go talk to god. If you’d just let me destroy them in the first place, this never would have happened. Fuck it, offer rescinded. You can’t join my club anymore, Nerevar. Now throw hands or get out of my house.

So, Nerevar throws hands.

You and the reincarnation of your former best friend and king are now having a hair-pulling, spell-slinging, bloody fucking knock-down-drag-out in the middle of a volcano in the shadow of a war god. Your cultists are idiots who keep falling into lava trying to intervene. Nerevar keeps attempting to bypass you to get to the creamy, god-heart nougat at the center of your war god because you know he knows how to undo all the magical shit it’s capable of.

Somehow. Probably because Vivec figured it out and told him.

And if he gets to the Heart and he does that ritual, then your war god is done for. So are your falsely-divine murderers. And, unfortunately, seeing as those divine powers are the only thing keeping you alive after your murder, so are you.

And he’s getting so fucking close and he’s actually got there and you’re trying to burn him alive or claw his face off or literally anything you can do as your powers weaken the longer this ritual goes on until, finally, you look up and see that your war god is collapsing. Nerevar has won. The world is going black. It’s like somebody flipped an “off” switch in your brain.

Your name is Voryn Dagoth. You accidentally started a war, did all the right things, and were murdered. You tried to enact your revenge, you thought you were restoring order, and now your best friend has come back from the dead and killed you.

The last thing you see before you hit the ground is all of your hard work literally falling on top of you. You still don’t understand how any of this was your fault.

#kogoramble #morrowind #info dump #this is VERY long #I apologize #spoilers for a game that's nearly 20 years old

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calamity-callie · 4 years

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The Wrath of Thunder Descends: Part 1 - (Wiztober - Darkness)

CW: Strong language, some (bloodless) violence

Edited by @spiralcompendium

“Hello, hello! Good morning, class!!” Halston’s cheery voice echoed through the storm classroom, weaving its way between the still half-asleep students. Undeterred, he continued, “Today is a very exciting day indeed! But first, let’s all meet our new student! Would you stand up please?” A loud sigh from the back of the class caught everyone’s attention, as they turned around to see a girl with piercing blue eyes and light grayish-blue hair standing up. She gave a halfhearted wave, retaining a nasty scowl on her face, then prepared to sit down. “Now, now, that won’t do! Tell us your name and a little about yourself, hmm?”

“Fine, if I must. My name’s Lamentia Owlsong, I’m from Alto Alto, and I’m already better at magic than every single other goddamn student here. Now leave me alone.”

Halston let out a small surprised gasp. “Well, then!” He took a second to recover his composure, then continued with the class. “As I stated, today is an exciting day! We’ll be meeting up with our good friends in the myth class for a little duel practice!” The class began excitedly murmuring among themselves and standing up as he continued, “Now now, let's do this in an orderly fashion! All you on the left, into the storm tower! All you on the right, meet Cyrus in the myth tower!” As students shuffled out, he turned to Lamentia and began addressing her. “As for you Lamentia, I was going to offer you the chance to sit this one out since you haven’t attended any dueling lessons, but since you feel so confident in your abilities, why don’t you participate as well?” She stood up, a darkly confident look covering her face. “Perfect. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Lamentia trailed several feet behind the crowd as they made their way across Ravenwood campus. Cyrus greeted them in his typical fashion as they entered the building: “Ah, I see the storm class has finally decided to grace us with their presence. Late, as expected.” He then turned to face Lamentia. “Ahh, a new face I see. You must think storm is quite powerful, no? Perhaps today you’ll get a taste of what real instruction can teach.”

Lamentia quickly retorted, “What the fuck are you even talking about, old man? Nobody in this entire school can match the godlike powers I have! Come on, let me up against your best, or are you too much of a little bitch?”

“Language, child. Halston might let you get away with such incivility, but I will not.” Cyrus responded. “But I will also not let such a challenge go unanswered. Calamity!”

A thin, muscular girl in punk clothes with bright blonde, spiky hair pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Aw, hell yeah! I’m SO ready for some action!” She began to jump up and down, warming herself up. “New storm girl, huh? Yeah, you’re so going down!” she smirked.

Lamentia’s glare momentarily faltered, but she quickly replaced it. “We’ll just see about that, now won’t we?”

The two stepped into the duel circle and, after allowing a minute of preparation on both sides, Cyrus gave the signal to begin. The pointer turned towards Lamentia.

“Hah, looks like I’m first!”

“I don’t need to go first to embarrass you!” came the retort.

Lamentia loaded her bowgun with a ball of pure storm energy, causing an ethereal blade to protrude from the barrel. Calamity immediately got a smirk on her face. “A blade, huh? And just what good do you think that will do?”

“It’ll help me fuckin’ obliterate you faster, that’s what!” Lamentia yelled angrily. Using her trusty pair of caestuses to channel her magic, Calamity set up a feint on Lamentia, surrounding her with an unstable sigil, ready to collapse, as another smaller one formed around Calamity. “Hah,” Lamentia thought, “Can’t believe you’d leave yourself that open.” Lamentia began reciting a Verse as Calamity stood still, smirking.

O wrath of thunder, I implore, descend Within mine instrument, destructively To force thyself unto the dagger’s blade And so none whom assail remain intact

As she recited these words, a dark cloud began to hover over her, and at the end of the last syllable, a violent lightning strike hit her body. However, she began absorbing the energy of the bolt, infusing it into her bowgun, and after a few short seconds, fired it all out in Calamity’s direction, taking the energy from the blade and the feint’s recoil. The impact blasted Calamity back, but she quickly got back up and re-took her spot in the duel circle. “Nice poem, nerd,” she said, panting. “But now it’s time for some real power!”

Holding her hands up to the air, Calamity bellowed out a name in a loud, commanding voice.

“MEDUSA, I COMMAND THEE”

The ground opened up as a half snake, half woman creature holding two scimitars slithered out. She turned her gaze to Lamentia and, pointing her sword at her, gave what sounded to most like a loud, piercing hiss. Lamentia however, heard it as a paralyzing screech that had her covering her ears and cowering to the floor, unable to move. As she lay there, unable to move for her turn, Calamity shouted another name.

“BASILISK, I SUMMON THEE”

From the same crack in the ground rose a six-legged lizard that turned towards Lamentia and let out yet another piercing shriek, then turned and stung her with it’s venomous tail. At this point, Lamentia was writhing on the ground, screaming as the pain from the venom coursed through her body, unable to control her movement at all.

At this point, Cyrus, not wanting to be responsible for any serious injury, called the match. “Time! Calamity is the winner!”

“Hell yeah! Nothin’ better than putting a cocky storm wizard in their place!” While celebrating her victory, she saw Lamentia still laying on the ground. She went over to her, pulled her out of the duel circle, uncorked a potion, and offered it to her. “Don’t worry about the pain--all those effects are temporary. You’ll be fine. I’d totally be down to duel you again sometime; you’re pretty strong!” As Lamentia began to regain control of her muscles though, she violently pushed Calamity off.

“I don’t need your goddamn motherfucking handouts, who do you think I am?” she yelled. “I never want to see your stupid fucking face again. Never! Unless it’s been smashed in by me, you understand?!?” She stood up and, with the whole room speechless, stormed out of the tower, attempting to hold in her tears.

#wiztober2020 #w101 #wizard101 #wizzy fanfic #the darkness is definitely more metaphorical lmao #part two coming tomorrow!#its gonna be a crossover #i had so much fun writing these characters too

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butididnottried · 4 years

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So, after a few weeks i'm finally at the finale.

The Phoenix King

Excuse me, mister phoenix fire bitch king Ozai, sir, your enormous ego makes me cackling like a kindergardener that just heard a swear word. This man is just insufferable. But yeah, he is a human being (and once he was an innocent (cute?) baby) and Aang is right with not wanting to kill him. Like, they really never talked about this, and they all act like it's one of the easiest thing to do. I know that fandom likes to jokes about how Toph and Zuko we're killing people and the rest of gaang was more than oblivious to that, but seriosusly, none of them - and i mean all gaang - never killed not even a one person. Probably. As far as i know/remember. I realize that fate of the whole world is lying on their backs, but i also know that they know better than to shaming Aang not wanting to be a murderer and they fuckin know that they're not helipng with such agression.

They didn't tell Zuko about their plans to attack after the comet, so Zuko didn't tell them what his father want to do with the comet. And now The Avatar is missing and you have no time to loose. That's what happens when people do not talk to each other! Buuut Ozai plans towards comet sound kinda... important? Big? Dangerous? Looks like Zuko should tell the rest about that anyway.

But hell, they really wanted to wait out this whole comet thing and attacket later? Like, why?! They really expected that the fire lord wouldn't use it's power to do something crazy? Because he already conquered Ba Sing Se? And that's all? He won the war? What? Cooome on, Katara, Sokka, you're smarter than this. ):

Toph was way too happy about throwing flaming rocks at her freinds. And she moulded a whole Ba Sing Se in sand. With the earth king and his bear looking just like they look. Girl, that is some crazy memory superpower.

👏 Give 👏 Toph 👏 her 👏 life 👏 changing 👏 trip 👏 with 👏 Zuko 👏

I have a really hard time with believing that Azula is just 14. Aang and Toph are just 12? Ok. Katara is 14 and Sokka 15? Sure thing. Zukos 16? Yes. And uh, Azula is also 14. And i'm like... you lost me.

Gay disaster mister avatar tracking master be like "i know what to do" and he takes all his friends to meet a powerhouse lesbian.

The Old Masters

Welcome to the family grampgramp!

Seriously, Paku does not deserve such precious grandchildren.

And also seriosuly, master Pianado is not that old. He's fine and middle aged. How dare you.

Bumi can bend with just his face. He can bend a whole house. And then throw a whole house. What a man. No wonder he can just like that proclaim himself as a king. Who would forbid that to him? Aaaand, do firebenders didn't knew that eclipse would take bending powers away from them? Is this some forbidden knowledge?

Uncle Iroh, i'm really start to doubting your wisdom and common sense. You really want to leave Zuko all alone when he become fire lord? I guess that since Zuko himself recognizes his mistakes and choose the right path Iroh thinks that he's ready to be responsible enough and take lead of a whole nation. Yes. Of course. ...Nooo, no no, i would never leave my baby boy like that. But i'm a dumbass and except moral support i wouldn't be much help with ruling. But an old man having his pai sho plays every day is more important. I'm let down. ):

I read how lionturtle and his gift to Aang is just an easy and lazy deus ex machina and... no? No really? Well, yes, it was easy for Aang to just being gifted with energybending and not needed anymore to kill Ozai, but it makes sense in this world and do not came out of nowhere. Aang was so conflicted about possibility that he must kill someone, that he unconsciously seeked help from spirits. The lionturtle do not came to Aang, he didn't even know that there's a human on hic back. Aang asked him for guidance and help, and lionturltle did excatly that - he helped the avatar with his dillema. Easy. Well, i'm guessing that Aang don't know yet what excatly happened and didn’t feel different. Also, Aangs moral dillema about killing another human is just *double chef kiss*. ATLA aired more than 10 years ago and even now it's rather rare to see something like that on show for kids.

But also, all these past avatars we're rather useless. You need to be more active avatar Aang. You need to bring justice. You need to do something. Blah blah blah. These are not really substantive tips. Maybe expect that aribender avatar lady. She also didn't really helped Aang with his problem, but at least she said something new and meaningful.

Into the Inferno

All these firebenders flying around like they have jetpacks is just hysterical. And yes Toph, yes, that's A LOT of fire. I also like how they used a sound of flamethrower in firebending scenes.

Banishment for you. Banishment for you! Banishment for everybody! ...aaand idk, for me Azula slipping away was a little to fast? Maybe if we saw some some scenes with her between “The Boilin Rock” and this it would hit harder/better? Idk. I don’t really feel her. And when she's drawed LIKE THAT i have even harder time believing that she's just 14.

Oh, i like so much music choice during Azulas and Zukos agni kai. When Aang and Ozai are fighting there's proper battle music, but during agni kai scenes music was sad, emotional and dramatic, not only accentuating tragedy of this situation, but also how Zukos and Azulas personal fight is different from Aangs and Ozai. NICE.

Avatar Aang

And that's why you do not mess with the avatar! Fuck him up Aang!

But lol, how funny it is that Aangs cosmic chakra was unlocked absolutely by stupid accident? Ozai that one particular thing bring wholly oh himself. And oh, Aang knew how this whole energybending works buts still was hesistant to use it because it could be too dangerous to him and he left it at the very end, if he had no other choice. Understandable.

Aang is the best avatar, there's no discussion. When all past avatars went down to absolutely obliterate Ozai and Aang standed up to all of them? NICE.

Hmmm, there's one good thing about loser lord Ozai. His hair game. This thick mane is truly impressive. It's almost on disneys Pocahontas level when it's flowing on wind. And then he got roasted by a bunch of goofy kids. Beautiful.

Yes Sokka, it's amazing that Toph invented metalbending. You have no idea how much.

Katara taken down Azula in a very smart way. Can i get a wahoo for Katara? WAHOO!

That open plot with Ursa feels... unnecessary? Do they planned comics at this point? Like, if you're not going to resolve this in the show then why even keeping her alive? I guess that this is in presupposition, that Zuko is going to find her and bring home and they're going to be all happy and nice but idk. Maybe it would felt differently for me if i didn't know how this was resolved in the comics. :/

Ty Lee was like GIRLS, and girls we're like YES. You go, you funky little lesbian.

Aaaah, it felt so rewarding and satisfying when Aang immobilized Ozai, put a whole laser show and then calmly put down this whole fire around them. Closing scenes after that we're good, but emotionally? Aangs being at peace immediately after fight bringed me peace. My skin is clean, my crops are thriving and all that smooth jazz. So good. Such good finale. I can't believe that. Honestly, i don’t remember the last time when i felt so good after finishing something.

...and they needed to ruin it at the very last seconds. Well, not like, ruin it whole, but scratched it enough. Aang walks on porch, Katara joins him, they look at each other and blush, they see how calm the world is right now and how good and beautiful it is, they hug each other, it nice and cute and just good. And it should end right here. Because this kiss really feel like reward and it's... icky a little.

#atla #avatar #the last airbender #aang #avatar aang #gaang #fire lord ozai #ozai #atla finale #sozins comet #atla season 4 #atla first watch #agni kai #lionturtle

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haddonfieldproject · 4 years

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<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.2.21 HALLOWEEN NIGHT/NOVEMBER 1st AROUND SUNRISE

Haddonfield, Illinois

Rosalita craned her neck to see the time. There was no clock in the supply closet, no light now to see a clock if there was one, the power had gone off shortly after Sheriff Brackett had left her here. When that lightning hit, she thought. She knew the lightning had something to do with it. The Sheriff's daughter, who lay in a hospital bed that took up virtually all of the room in the storage closet, had an IV hooked up to her arm. On the pole that held the IV was a little box with all sorts of buttons and blinking lights and gauges of a sort. Rosalita of course, had no idea what it all meant or was for, but the box had a little display screen that cast a soft blue-green glow inside the closet, and gave her the only light she had. On the bottom right corner of the box was the time. ‪05:46‬. Next to the time was a battery symbol, it was red and flashing...just like the same kind of symbol on the box on Rosalita's IV had been as well before it died about thirty minutes ago and went dark.

This one is gonna die too and soon I'll be in the dark, she thought to herself in her native Spanish, looking down at her newborn baby which she cradled in her arms. The Sheriff had left her, the baby, and his unconscious daughter more than an hour and a half ago. He said he was going to see “just what the hell was going on”. A part of her hoped he'd gone ahead and found it out—or was going to find it out soon— so she could get out of this god-forsaken closet. Another part of her hoped he didn't.

She knew what was going on.

When they had heard the gunshot, she had known right away it had come from Ole' Bitch.

The only thing Sparky Warner may have loved more than his shotgun was draining the cans of Coors Light he used to shoot with it...certainly not Rosalita. He abused his wife almost as much as he had abused the cans. At least when he was done with Rosalita he just rolled ahead on over and went to sleep, but with the cans, he liked to line them up on a log in the back yard and either take pot-shots at them with his .22 or sometimes, if he was in the real mood for some fun, he'd obliterate them with 'Ole Bitch'.

“I named it after your mama,” he had told her once as he pulled it from the back of his work van.

Rosalita knew who the shotgun blast was for too.

Whitey Grey had done a bang-up job on the new roof of the Warner home last year. Sparky had been real appreciative too, and knowing Whitey to be a stand-up guy, and having felt sorry for him because he had been on the outs with his high-school sweetheart, he had been all too willing to give Whitey some odd jobs here and there around the Warner castle in exchange for some cash from time to time.

“Chelsea Keane has always been a fucking bitch, ever since high school” Sparky had belched, crushing an empty beer can in his hand and tossing it off the front porch. “I'm surprised you stayed with her this long.”

Whitey had looked into the hole of the can of his own beer. “I've always loved her man. Ever since we were in six grade. I've always felt she was the one for me.” He had taken a swig. “You know, like my soul mate.”

Sparky had fished a cigarette out of his mouth and laughed, punching his friend in the arm. “You gotta be kidding me with that pussy shit.” He had said, putting a flame to the end of his smoke. “Naw man...you stay here with me. Make that bitch feel what it's like to miss you.”

“You think so?” Whitey had asked.

“Fuck yeah. Besides, I got tons of shit around here you can do in exchange for crashing on the couch.” Sparky had replied, the cigarette bouncing in his mouth.

“Your old lady won't mind?” Sparky had asked.

“Who do you think wears the pants around here motherfucker?” Sparky had exhaled a plume of smoke. “You see,” he had said, pointing the cigarette at his friend. “That's your problem. You always let that bitch run you over. You think I ever let my woman boss me around?”

Whitey changed the subject, “What do you want done around here?” He had asked.

“You're a handy motherfucker...lots of shit.” Sparky had smiled. “These gutters haven't been cleaned a month of Sundays. I've been meaning to pressure wash this driveway. I got siding on the side that's fucked up and could use replacing...and shit...that well in the back has been compromised by about three autumn's worth of leaves.”

Whitey had shrugged and taken another swig of beer. “That sounds cool.”

“Yeah!” Sparky had taken another drag, “And you know...odd job shit. Like bring the salt pellets in from time to time. That shit's heavy and God knows my old lady can't do it.”

They had laughed together at this. Rosalita had watched and listened to this conversation out of the window while she was doing the dishes. She remembered it well because moments after her husband had berated her to his best friend, she had sliced her finger on a steak knife under the soapy water. It had left a small car on the inside of her left index finger.

Rosalita felt that place in the darkness now, thinking.

Yes, Whitey had done a real good job around the house.

After all, Sparky was real busy. His little electric company hadn't taken off the ground as well as he had liked, and he found himself a corporation of one, working seven days a week, twelve hour days.

Anyone with half a brain would have known how this was gonna play out.

One of Sparky's job's on a ‪Tuesday morning‬ had re-scheduled. Rosalita had never found out why. Sparky had come home ‪at ten o'clock‬ in the morning to find Whitey Grey in his underwear making pancakes for Rosalita, who was also in her underwear...well...at least from the waist down. If it wasn't for a well-timed right hook by Whitey and an even better timed smack with the pancake skillet by Rosalita...Whitey and Rosalita would have probably gotten a taste of “Ole Bitch” right then.

Rosalita and Whitey had gotten a room at the Extended Day down in Russellville for awhile, after six months they snuck back into Haddonfield, renting a little apartment two blocks from the Bypass near Orange Grove. By then, Rosalita was sporting a little belly that everyone in town knew wasn't Sparky's doing, and word of mouth travels fast in a little Midwestern town.

So far though Sparky hadn't caused any trouble. Hadn't even called.

That didn't stop Rosalita from knowing that the shotgun blast had come from “Ole Bitch”. She knew it as well as she knew that the sun was gonna come up over Little Egypt ‪tomorrow morning‬ from the east and set over the corn fields and hills to the west ‪tomorrow evening‬. She knew it deep down in the marrow of her bones and the bottom of her soul and had now fought for the last hour and a half to shake the image of Whitey Grey, the father of her newborn baby, laying dead somewhere in the hospital with his brains splattered all around.

And Sparky was now coming for her.

Her and her baby.

Can't think about that now, Rosalita thought, looking down at her newborn baby boy. The Sheriff said he'd figure out what was going on, and he'll figure it out.

Sheriff Brackett had been the top deputy dog in the town as long as Rosalita could remember. If pressed she would say that she had always trusted him, and she would just plain have to trust him now.

The display screen on the Sheriff's daughter went dark. Rosalita couldn't see her hand in front of her face...let alone her baby.

Oh please God. She thought. Let somebody find me in here.

And then she caught herself.

Anybody but Sparky.

NEXT>>

#halloween #halloween franchise #michael myers #horror #horror writing #haddonfield #horror film #fan fiction #fan writing #spooky

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years

Text

14x08 Commentary

Zeta and Giuls scream together, and then die.

Me & Zeta will watch together season 14′s episodes as they come out and we’ll do our commentary while watching.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

14x08 Byzantium

Guys I don’t know if I can be funny this episode.

-....HER?! WHAT. ....oooooh they are gonna do something stupid aren’t they?

Zeta: can I not see Jack like this please?

- “please don’t be sad”

Zeta : Sam? Not sad? ..lol

-is Dean there to choose an album ? wth ...also damn son can you all stop looking like pain in the flesh?

- the oxygen tank?....naaah fam I’m good, bye I can’t. Zee give me the strength to keep going because I’m gonna throw myself out the window

- oh shit...the scene....the promo scene that killed us all.

Zeta : Cas doesn’t know who to worry about anymore.

- Everyone but himself that’s for sure

-Oh my god SAM, omg Jared you and your eyes are gonna kill me this season.

Zeta : “what happens next?”

-oh shit I didn’t think about it.

both: we are gonna die too

- “an adventure”

Zeta : is he serious?!?!

-Oh Dean really doesn’t want to be there.

Zeta : LOOK AT ALL THE HURT

- D: “I can’t..” bitch me too the fuck

- ..pAiN

- C:” He NEEDS you “

- S:”He’s gone”

-asgajsvdaksdasdh WHAT

- I can almost taste the guilt seasoned with pain right there.

Zeta : the fuck?!

- THAT WAS FAST . U KIDDIN’ , WHAAAAAAT THEEEEE FUUUUCK

Zeta : I’m speechless. I can’t even focus on the bowlegs.

- Dean talking about the hunter’s funeral and Sam can’t fucking take it

-OH I love Sam’s stance, beautiful.....aaaaand he’s gone.

-My soul and whole being is hurting but boy that was an amazing Destiel moment and that’s the shit I wanna see.

- Damn, Cas is spiriling

Zeta : Cas is obliterated

-.... OF COURSE THERE IS A VOICEMAIL. Dean’s annoyed af face at his mom’s voicemail is giving me life, and look....my skin is already clearer.

Zeta : Like the bitch cares

- Castiel clutching Kelly’s pic , probably thinking he failed yet again. lol I wanna die....it would hurt less.

- SAM NO

Zeta : where is he going??

-I hope not doing anything stupid

Zeta : I can’t watch them like that bitch

-CASS IS DRIVING!, CASS IS DRIVING , WHAT. HOW. WHAT. I love that is Cass who is driving

Zeta : Dean’s not driving??

- FUCK YEAH

- Probably Sam took Baby and Dean was like....listen babe I’m not even gonna touch that suburban mom’s steering wheel I don’t wanna feel dirty. Baby could smell it and you know how jealous she is.

-”Why did you let him leave?” WELL HE DID AS U ASKED BITCH

- AND HE’S WEARING THE SEAT BELT!! my European's ass is singing ( is it true that y’all americans don’t have to use it? because....wild and also why. Here if they catch you without the seat-belt they skin your ass)

- kill me with that axe

Zeta : something’s wrong here.

-Yeah...they are hurting so much, I hate it. What the fuck is it with everybody’s eyes, fuck me.

Zeta : I think n.1 dad was Sam

-Nah....Cass is #1 Dad , Sam related to Jack. Dean is the step dad who didn’t think could love the kid and now he’s fucked because he love him too.

Zeta : “Taken before me”

Zeta : We get loaded

- omg do we get to see them drunk? omg yes.

Zeta : Please call help

- Is THat NOugAt?

-OMFG

Zeta : bitch

-AAAAAAAAAAAH CAS SMILE AND LAUGH THAT IS JUST SO MISHA OMFG.

- But Castiel entering the room a bit unsteady and with two bottle ? FUCKING MOOD.

Zeta : I love drunk Dean

-WHAT

.WHAT WAS THAT LOOK BETWEEN THEM . WHAT.

my soul....hurts stop it.

-Awe Sam....lol weak.

- Cause of death : Dean slurred drunk sad voice, “We did everything we could right?”

Zeta : HIS VOICE

-”I’m gonna teach you how to read a map”

I can’t deal bitch

-THe DoubLE StRaws

-someone needs to change that lightbulb.

Zeta : Heaven

- THe fuck

Zeta :...Hell..?

- what’s up with shining there

- Dean’s dying groan in the morning: MOOD, SAME.

Zeta : you got old

- Cass and Sam looking fresh and stylish as always .

[enters Dean] the trashcan is heeeeere

- rebooting Dean.exe

Zeta : he can’t even english

-shhh

- oh....no

both: PASS

- but what is the priiiiceeee

Zeta : simple as that

- ...well I mean...fair. I guess she wants to meet her daughter and shit

Zeta : seriously?

-Well we already saw Osiris.

Zeta : Major Dick

-When god left - sorry long story- .

-Oh...no who ARE YOU

Zeta :he does that thing with the eyes.

-WHATSAHFDBF

Zeta : What the hell

- I wanna cry. I am crying

Zeta : thanks, the last part of my heart just withered and died

- Oh no wait until she realize he’s dead

Zeta : aaaaaand

- ...here it comes

- Boi this season is painful

Zeta : Peach, it rhymes with bitch

-oh he really doesn’t like her

- S: “ Taking risks , making crappy deals. The family business “

-”AWESOME”

- “ MORE AWESOME”

Zeta : Was that black goo Lucifer?

- I can’t tell honestly, maybe him and the Empty made a path or something IDK.

-I don’t like when Castiel leaves alone. Bad things happen .

-Sam head tilt lol.

Zeta : forced smile much.

Zeta :look at him ( Dean)

- AH TOLD YA

-Heaven looking nice as always

- I do like seeing Castiel in heaven

Zeta : natural habit and I do love angels clothes

- yeah....50 shades of gray

Zeta : hello Bitch

- *gritted teeth* Naomi

Zeta : He was THAT annoying

- THAT ACCENT THO

- Naomi : Give it what it wants

Cas:

- Cass: “ NO”

-no bitch , Jack he’s everything wtf.

- So Nick woke up the Empty then? *dean’s voice* AWESOME

So now there are 2 big baddies ?

*dean’s voice* MORE AWESOME

- SNAPPY

Zeta : pushing pencils , damning souls

-MY KIND OF WORK

-oh u going down that’s what

Zeta : I’d prefer the scale and the feather

- but the abacus has more sense tho...like....counting good deeds and bad ones, like in the good place right? Can we see the Winchesters using that? I bet the thing would explode.

Zeta : that went well

- Sorry bitch what did u expect

- oooooh what was that little chuckle Castiel stop killing me this season. It burned

Zeta : it stung

- “I failed you”

K: “ you didn’t....Jack...he’s wonderful “

*bawling* YES HE IS

- Misha need to control that eyebrow or so help me god.

Zeta : he needs to control his whole face bitch

- I fucking hate where the angels goes when they die ok

Zeta : fuck

- OH BITCH. *dramatic zoom*

- “He’S OuR KiD”

KIIIIID

*bawling*

Zeta : look at Dean

-MY GOD

both: don’t do this to us

- Empty : “SToP iNteRrupTinG!” Damn bitch, pipe the fuck down

Zeta : crazy ass bitch

I LOVE HER

- I love how she’s doing the Empty. like....*slow clapping*

Empty: “Where I’m taking you is worse than Hell”

oh well you are definitely selling the place

- Empty:” Oh god they look scared. Does that hurt you?”

- *Cass brandishing his angel blade* ....

me already knowing where this is going: oh honey...no

-Puppy Winchesters eyes always wins

Zeta : He can’t hear you.....oh he can

- .... Is that how he is every time Dean pray to him?

When Dean prays:

SAME

me seeing Castiel getting up :

Castiel: TAKE ME

Zeta : take me instead

- he’s so.....snarly....

Zeta : I bet you are drooling

- I am.

A dumb fucking angel: “You want me”

me: I do

A dumb fucking angel: “I would go now and I would go willingly “

me: no u don’t

-NO , NO DEAL, FUCK YOU, FUCK U.

Empty: “ oh “ creepy chuckle “but not now” sharps intakes of breath “ no no no, you see ...what I meant....I want you to suffer . I want you to go back to your own life and forget about this and forget about me and when you finally give yourself permission to be happy...and let the sun shine on your face ...that’s....when I’ll come. That’s when I’ll come to drag you to nothing”

Zeta :She’s goooood

- Castiel: “I accept”

oh look it’s me when I’ll meet Misha ^

and now for an out of context gif:

-She’s so good. I love her BUT FUCK THE EMPTY

- “Because I love you Jack” CRYING CRYING.

- C: “ They don’t need to know what happened”

Zeta : of course they don’t.

- Jack: “ I won’t tell them”

OH so now Jack drove the Impala, snacked on burgers, has hunted, has died and now he has to lie and keeps secret?

CONGRATULATIONS YOU ARE NOW A

- ...

FUCK , CASS YOU DAMN SELFLESS BITCH.

IMMA SMACK HIM.

hold me back bitch because imma smack his face

Zeta : control yourself bitch

-NO IMMA SMACK HIS ASS

Zeta : I can’t wait for the gag reel of this part.

Omg Kelly babe . I’m so glad they met .

-WHAT WAS THAT FACE AGAIN CASTIEL

Zeta : dEAD

- J:”Good, I feel good”

WELL I DON’T *hiss*

-oh that hug. omg my heart

- oh well....uh look at dat I fucking bet that the sacrifice got her heaven watch that.

HI LOOK HOW FUCKING HAPPY HE IS TO BRING HOME SO MUCH WIN ?!?!

friendly reminder that he just like...sold his” soul” to the Empty, tell me again that Castiel doesn’t care.

-...Naomi you bitch why couldn’t you tell that before?

Zeta : because she’s a bitch

- D: “ And we know where Michael is, not sure how you pulled that one off “ *side eyeing Cas*

me: *HISS*

- don’t make me think about the fact that Dean cooked those burghers ( as you can see from the counter) while he looked happily at his family reunited . lol *sobs*

- There is a warm happy feeling in my chest right now. I don’t like it, can’t wait for the writers to rip it off my chest pretty soon.

Zeta : is he wearing the dead man’s robe?

. ....yep

Zeta : I’m dead inside

- Dead with a slither of happiness that will get choked out of us, just you wait.

...

WAIT A MINUTE

*goes back*

wHAT IS THIS SHIT OMFG DEAN

IT’S FINE

If you want to get tagged in the future ones send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @destiel-honeypie @mariekoukie6661 @dragontamerm @closetspngirl @rainflowermoon @mattiecat @bunnybaby121115 @aliaitee @jacks-word-of-the-day @4evamc

#supernatural ep 14x08 #supernatural season 14 #spn season 14 #season 14 spoilers #supernatural 14x08 #14x08 #14x08 byzantium #spn episode commentary #Episode commentary #spn commentary #season 14 #season 14 commentary #spn gifs

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years

Text

Safe with me (14)

Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Graphic descriptions of violence. Minor character death.

A/N: Bucky has methods to his madness and you are just done with these people. Stuck in the middle of a battlezone is a terrible place to be.

Tags for this story are CLOSED Link here for posting schedule

SAFE WITH ME MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously…

The room is silent.

All eyes are on Bucky, who stands at the screen with his hand still raised. Steve releases him slowly, when he feels the panicked movements go suddenly rigid. From behind, a peculiar shapeshifting appears to take place. His posture changes, his neck flexes, his shoulders roll back.

Bucky stands up straight.

When he spins around, even Steve takes a step back at the sight.

Deadly rage burns like blue fire in the Soldier’s eyes.

*****

MID-1990s

Jack Bernstein pours a cup of coffee and parks himself behind the large wooden desk, propping his boots on Pierce's crisply folded suit coat. He takes a long drink, coughing when the scalding liquid scorches his throat. No matter. He enjoys the pain, because he needs something simple to ground him before he buzzes out of his skin.

That was exhilarating.

Every fantasy he's entertained about this day, about meeting the Soldier for the first time, all of it pales in comparison to the real thing. In life, everything about him was infinitely more than Jack ever imagined. Harder. So obedient. Beautiful and perfect. What a marvelous gift.

Scanning the white walls and bits of clutter adorning the small office, Jack memorizes every detail. He knows he'll remember this day for the rest of his life.

Sighing in contentment, he selects the top folder from a large pile, one appropriately stamped with the word "INDUCTION" in chunky red script. He begins to read.

-----

BASIC HANDLING INSTRUCTIONS The Asset requires minimal formal care, but it is biologically enhanced and dangerous if not handled properly. The following instructions will minimize risk to handlers. See related appendices for detailed information.

Removal from cryofreeze: Asset will be sluggish and non-responsive. Hosing down with cold water is recommended before wiping. Clothing is optional, but not preferred during removal phase.

Wiping process (see detailed instruction manual): Asset will tolerate wiping process as long as it is completed shortly after leaving cryofreeze.

Nutrient management: Asset does not eat standard food. Calories should be administered in the form of IV fluids.

Drug enhancement: Adrenaline may be given through injection but should be used sparingly as it enhances agitation levels. 'Oblivion' can be given in limited amounts. Technicians are recommended to hold Asset's jaw shut until clear the drug has dissolved / been swallowed.

Weapons selection: Asset will select its own weapons. DO NOT try to remove weapons from the Asset's body once they have been strapped in place, may result in loss of life or limb.

In the unlikely event of death due to mission failure, Asset has no personal affairs or effects to manage. If available, body should be cremated to reduce risk of knowledge transfer.

-----

He moves slowly through the Asset's files, absorbed in hundreds of pages exploring every detail of the disturbingly long life. Memorizing lab reports and doctor's notes, tracing wondering fingers over the blunt block letters of his mission reports, captivated by photos showing bullet holes and knife wounds littered across a broad chest.

Shivering with delight at the idea that all of this belongs to him.

He was disappointed to put him back on ice, but the Algeria mission was unnecessary and it's best to be patient. He has years to learn him, to understand his Soldier inside and out. Every intricate nuance of his body, every sparking neuron in his brain. How to obliterate everything and how to piece him back together.

A perfectly indestructible toy.

Jack tips his head back and laughs, the sound bouncing around the small room.

And after all – toys are meant to be played with.

*****

PRESENT DAY

5 HOURS AND 10 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

To this day, Bucky marvels at the difference between a Hydra mission and a mission for himself.

Now, Bucky takes blisteringly hot showers before every mission. He despises the cold, hated it during the war, hated it even more with Hydra. He doesn't have time tonight, so instead he stuffs heat packets in the pockets of his tac pants. He loves the way they make him sweat.

Now, Bucky doesn't rely on IVs and pills and manufactured enthusiasm. Instead, he drinks a special cherry flavored Gatorade Bruce had engineered especially for him and Steve, and he raids the Tower cabinets of every king-size Snickers he can find. Chocolate and peanuts make him happy and help him focus, and Bucky swears their tagline was written for him. He is definitely not himself when he's hungry.

And now, perhaps the most stunning difference, are the personal affairs he puts in order. As the Soldier, Bucky had less than nothing. He remembers the vague feeling of wistfulness, of emptiness, that often intruded before a mission – he consistently took unnecessary risks, because he had nothing to draw him home. When he joined the Avengers, he behaved the same way – until Steve reminded him that he had his own real life with people and possessions he loved. So, Bucky sat down and wrote a will. He still doesn't have much, but now the little things he cherishes all have a place to go when the inevitable end arrives.

On that note, Bucky digs out the sheet of paper from the bottom of his desk, finds a chewed-up Bic pen, and makes one small amendment.

Under the Brooklyn apartment, he adds your name next to Steve's.

*****

5 HOURS AND 20 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

Steve can actually feel his body thrumming when he reaches Bucky's bedroom, tension climbing over his skin. Pausing outside the door, he steels himself for a full-scale brawl, because as he well knows, his best friend is a stupid god damn fucking idiot.

Throwing open the door he stomps inside, kicks it shut, and starts speaking.

Loudly.

"Look, I know you're pissed as hell right now, but you need to take a beat and think about things. You can't go barging in, shooting everything on sight with no back-up. It's fucking suicide."

Bucky hums in agreement, fishing through his loose change jar for the key to his bedside weapons cabinet.

"Seriously Bucky, we need a plan. This is very obviously a set-up."

The small key snicks when the lock clicks open, revealing a cache of knives and guns, several old grenades and a handful of Widow's Bites he won off Natasha in a poker game.

"They know you'll come. They expect you'll come. Traps, Buck. There'll be so many traps."

Bucky nods along with the tirade, but the absentminded move proves he's not listening. Frustration bubbles over and Steve's now yelling.

"James Buchanan fucking Barnes, why are you such a stubborn asshole all the time?"

At the words, Bucky looks up in startled surprise.

"What the hell Rogers? Why am I an asshole?"

"I don't know Buck, why are you an asshole?"

Tossing an armful of knives on his bed, Bucky plunks his hands on his hips, head tilted in genuine confusion as he stares at Steve.

"What am I – "

"You're not going alone Bucky."

"Whoever – "

"There's no guarantee you're not walking right into a god damn trap."

"No sh – "

"Why the hell can't you ever let anyone help you?"

"Steve, I – "

"Jesus Christ, you're an insufferable prick!"

Bucky looks on the verge of laughing.

"Are you done? Can I talk?"

Steve grabs a bottle of cherry Gatorade off Bucky's dresser and chucks it at him, growling when Bucky dodges the missile.

"Yeah I'm done. Jerk."

Bucky sighs patiently. "Steve. I'm not going in blind and obviously I need your help. Assumed the whole damn team was coming, so I'm not sure why the hell you're standing here. Stop being a little bitch and suit your self-righteous, spangly ass up."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but – yeah, he's got nothing. Bucky raises his eyebrows and goes back to sorting knives, separating his favorites and setting them aside.

"Well," Steve clears his throat, still spoiling for a fight, but struggling for a reason. "Well okay then. Long as we're clear. About time you stopped acting like a self-sacrificing dumbass."

Bucky snorts. "You should talk. Meet me in the lab in 10, we leave in 40. Only got a few hours until the sun rises. I want this finished before then, I'm not leaving her there a minute longer."

"Good," Steve grunts, and turns to go. The door's almost closed when he hears the question.

"Steve?"

Spinning at the sound of Bucky's low voice, Steve's heart skips a beat when he sees the expression. The façade has broken, harsh emotion filtering through the cracks. In the entirety of their crazy fucked up lives, Steve's never seen his best friend look so desperate.

"If he kills her – I won't stop. Not until every last one of them is dead." A dark look settles on his face in place. "I'm telling you right now, don't get in my way. Don't make me stop."

Steve contemplates him for a long moment.

"I know you won't. And I'll help you do it."

Thank god for Steve Rogers. Bucky gives him a brisk nod and goes back to his knives.

*****

5 HOURS AND 25 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

Bucky storms into Tony's lab, a wraith in head to toe black. The silver arm is emitting a constant whir, endlessly clicking and shifting, a physical representation of the anxiety pulsing through his veins.

"Stark, I need your help."

Tony looks up at his arrival, blanching at the image. Mission ready, Barnes is just a little terrifying.

Black tac pants are tucked into a pair of comfortably worn combat boots, and each boot holds two long serrated blades, rough black handles within easy reach. Strapped around both thighs are matching holsters, the right side holding a Sig Sauer P320, the left side holding a Beretta M9. A black utility belt sits low at his waist, holding extra clips of ammo, a cylindrical tube with five round mini-grenades, and a pack of bandages. Flat against each hip, are two fixed blade combat knives, and tucked into a holster at his lower back, sits his Glock.

Strangely, the most striking feature about the whole ensemble isn't the ridiculous amount of weaponry. It's the ordinary black tank top he wears.

Normally refusing to let anyone see the thick red scars streaking down his shoulder, he always ignores the curious questions or dismisses the thoughtful comments with an icy glare. But tonight, for the first time Bucky appears oblivious to the furtive glances and open stares.

Well, he's not actually oblivious. He's just totally out of fucks to give.

Rubbing both hands down his face, Tony slaps them on the table, fingers splayed wide. Disappointment rolls off him in waves, and Bucky thinks he knows what's coming.

"Stark, listen – "

"I'm sorry," Tony interrupts, curling his fingers into hard fists, rapping his knuckles restlessly against the table. "I screwed her tech up, that's on me. I wasn't – "

"Stop," Bucky holds his hands up. "Seriously. I'm sick and tired of us taking the blame for the shit these assholes do. Forget it and help me fix it."

Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes stare at each other for a long moment. Their relationship's been disproportionately burdened by a shared history, but with this common purpose, each is relieved to find the other willing to wipe the slate clean.

"Done," Tony says tightly. "What'd you need?"

"Remember the throwback outfits we had for that charity event? With Steve's stupid USO outfit and my Commandos uniform?"

"Sure," Tony says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "They're in storage. Why?"

"I need the blue jacket."

"You need it right now?"

"I need it right now," Bucky confirms.

"Are we stopping by Fashion Week on the way? You're not wearing it on this mission, are you?" Tony asks, bemused by the odd request.

"I most certainly am."

Tony purses his lips and chooses his words carefully.

"Uh, not that I don't condone wearing whatever makes you feel comfortable with your bad self, I mean clearly I love red since it highlights my boyish good looks and all, but you're supposed to be stealthy. That's kinda your thing. The blue is bright, Barnes. No clue why Howard ever made that dumbass design, they'll see you a mile away."

Bucky doesn't reply. Instead, he offers a slow smile and there's something so astoundingly sinister, it makes Tony's teeth chatter. Bone-chilling and lethal, he sees the anger simmering just below the surface, Bucky's murder face on full display.

"Ah. Right. So. The color was bright on purpose," Tony guesses. "You wanted to be seen."

"I did," Bucky affirms, his tone easy and conversational. "And now I want every one of those fuckers who took her to shit their pants when they see me. I want them to know exactly what's coming for them."

*****

6 HOURS AND 5 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

Down in the cargo hold of the Quinjet, Bucky's screams grow louder and louder. Sitting quietly on the above level, the team remain stoic.

*****

6 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

The world around him is dark and blessedly quiet.

Alone now, Bucky leans a trembling forearm against the window, rests his aching forehead on the cold glass and takes a shallow breath. The beads of sweat dripping down his face finally begin to dry, so he shuts his eyes and lets his mind wander, searching for something sweet to calm the nightmare still wracking his body. Like a slideshow, the pictures in his brain flip at lightning speed, until they stop on his apartment in Brooklyn and zero in on the book you left tucked under a fuzzy velvet blanket.

The Book Thief.

When he watched you pick it up that day, Bucky fought back a smile. It's one of his favorites, something he's read a dozen times. When he feels anxious and fidgety, the story is soothing, the pages crinkled and bent, the poetic words smoothing the edges of his soul in a way he could never explain. Tonight though, Bucky begins to understand why the story holds so much appeal.

Through the horrors that made up the bulk of his life, first during his war, and later as the Soldier, a concept always played in the back of his mind.

Some people are born into this life with the desire to command, to play God. Some demand the role and some accept the burden when it's given. That was never him. No, Bucky was always asked to play one role above all others, one that led him to find a kindred spirit in the narrator of his favorite book.

Death.

It's been his calling card since the first day of Basic, when the US Army plucked him from obscurity and shoved a rifle in his peculiarly steady hands. From that day forward, he owned every life around him. Some he spared, some he protected. Some he reaped with a broken neck in the dead of night, some he bartered with a sharp blade and a sharper tongue. This has been the way of his life for so long, it boils down to a single truth.

Most of Bucky's life – has always been death.

Now he stands silently, accepting once again the bleak mantle laid across his shoulders and he thinks of you curled in his leather chair, warm in a patch of afternoon sun, your finger unconsciously marking his favorite quote as you drift to sleep, not realizing you equally loved the one line that always gave him pause.

"Even Death has a heart."

Most of Bucky's life has been death, but that's okay. Because those words are a poignant reminder that he can be so much more than the hollow shell he was. In this life with you, he finally understands how his head and his heart really are better together.

So, he holds the words in his mouth, tests them on his tongue, accepting that if the inevitable happens, he has a reason to come home.

"Even Death has a heart."

He certainly does, Bucky thinks wryly. He opens his eyes and gazes into the star strewn blackness, his heartbeat a steady rhythm driving him forward, back to you. And it's all hers.

*****

All you can think right now, is that this compound is freezing and you'll rage kick anyone who comes near you.

Slouched in the chair from earlier, a constant throb of pain shoots up your awkwardly bent arms, still secured behind you with a plastic zip-tie. Earlier struggles had done a number on your wrists, the unforgiving plastic slicing open the delicate skin and even now, blood oozes from the lacerations. It offers a small amount of warmth though, the sticky liquid running down your fingertips and catching under your nails.

You're a little disappointed when it cools.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How did you not know?

You knew Jack. You knew him. He supported you, encouraged you. Offered helpful life advice even when you didn't ask for it and bought you a bottle of champagne to celebrate your first by-line. How could you not see that charming, amiable façade, hid a full-blown unhinged psychopath? How was it possible to be so utterly wrong about someone?

Maybe you should fire yourself for being the world's worst investigative journalist.

Huffing in frustration, pain flares anew when you shift, searching out a comfortable position. The stripes on your arms burn, your ribs are bruised, your jaw aches.

Everything hurts.

Bucky, where are you?

Closing your eyes, you let your mind drift, reaching for the imaginary comfort of your favorite place. An apartment in Brooklyn filled with piles of fuzzy blankets and soft pillows. Shelves of books and bowls of peanut M&Ms. The fresh scent of the river and Bucky's laughing blue eyes.

Did he see the video? Did he know where you were? Would he figure it out in time? The grim reality of this whole thing, was that you desperately wanted to leave, to be back in Brooklyn, warm and safe in his arms, but there was one glaring problem.

You wanted Bucky to find you.

You wanted Bucky to never face these people again.

Success was an impossible duality.

The faint sounds of movement outside your door grow louder, inaudible voices making you tense. Electronic beeps sound and the door whooshes open, revealing two men dressed in faded combat fatigues. One is tall and lanky, bald head shining under the fluorescent lights. He spares you a brief glance, before striding to the table and rifling through the knives and lengths of rope.

The other man is short and thin, with red hair buzzed military short. He gives you a little smirk as he ambles inside, making a show of locking the door and letting his eyes roam over you.

"Don't worry sweetheart, we're just here to tidy up," he says.

Sauntering over, he stops beside you, cocking his head and staring down, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Fixing a bored expression on your face, you ignore him, keeping your eyes trained on the door handle straight ahead.

"I'd look up if I were you," he advises. Heart pounding at the implied threat, you stare forward in silence. Suddenly his fingers are gripping your jaw, pressing into the bruises left by earlier knuckles, and the startled gasp melts into a groan as you struggle away from the rough hand.

Tears prick your eyes when you look up, meeting his mocking stare.

"There she is," he croons, pinching your jaw tighter. The pain makes your vision swim and you blink rapidly, fighting to stay conscious.

"I gotta say, we've been running real low on women around here. Be nice if you could help some of the guys out," he says casually. "Maybe later, once we get your man back under control. Hell, maybe he'll even have a go. I hear he'll do anything if you know the magic word."

Releasing you, he drags the tips of his fingers over your face, tracing the bruises, swirling his fingers through the blood still leaking from the gash high on your cheek. The pads of his fingers come away stained red and he brushes them over your mouth, painting your lips with the taste of salt and copper.

"How about it sweetheart?"

Eye level with you, his thumb is still rubbing your lip, waiting for an answer.

You can almost hear Bucky's voice begging you not to do it, but you're so god damn pissed off.

The taste of copper appears again, when you snap your teeth, sinking them into his finger. He screeches and jerks the hand away, hugging it to his chest as he stumbles backward.

"Bitch," he rasps furiously, raising his hand while you brace for the hit.

"Dude, would you get away from her? You're not allowed to mark her up," his partner cuts him off with a sharp rebuke. "Wait until the Asset's finished and packed away, you'll get a turn after. If there's anything left."

The nonchalant way they speak about you should make your skin crawl and it does. It really does.

But the way they speak about him, about your Bucky, as if he's nothing but a mindless animal and not the sweetest, snarkiest, most infuriatingly wonderful man in your life, makes you shake with anger.

"Makes your nervous, huh?" The redhead sneers, sucking petulantly on his damaged finger. "You should be. I hear he's a beast once he gets going. Brain's so fucking fried, he'll probably get confused halfway through, won't remember if he's supposed to fuck you or kill you, but either way – sucks to be you."

Nothing would be more enjoyable in this moment than stabbing this prick in the eye with a rusty knife, but you'll have to rain check. Taking a soul cleansing breath instead, you settle for your best Bucky Barnes murder face impression, letting a grim smile slowly lift your lips, while glaring in total silence.

"What the hell?" he grunts, unnerved at the creepy expression.

A long-suffering sigh comes from the bald man. "Stop talking and help me."

"Aw come on man, I'm just – "

The sound of a low sonic boom suddenly vibrates the floor beneath your feet.

Both men freeze, turning wide-eyed to each other.

"What the hell was that?"

"Something in the upstairs lab?" the other guesses wildly.

A long pause follows, the world quiet.

The second boom knocks the wind from you, raising dust from the floor. Lifting your eyes, you watch a long crack appear in the plaster ceiling, stilted bursts of movement as it spiders outward.

Silence follows again.

Then the distant pop of gunfire reaches your ears.

"Shit," you hear one of the men behind you whisper in panic.

The surge of happiness floods through you, promptly tempered by the panic of knowing Bucky was here, surrounded by these bastards once again.

"How'd he get here so fast? Bernstein said it'd take a couple days for him to figure it out!"

"How do I know? I wasn't planning to be here when he – "

There's a high-pitched scream in the hallway that's cut short.

Silence.

Suddenly the screeching whine of metal on metal rings through the room when something heavy slams against the locked door.

Once.

Twice.

"Fuck," the bald man spits out, lifting his gun and taking aim at the shuddering door.

Three times.

Next to you, the redhead draws a pistol from the holster under his arm, and you close your eyes when you feel the cold kiss of a metal barrel pressed against your temple.

Silence.

You can hear the ragged, panting of the man above you, deafening in the quiet room. He smells stale, like fear and cigarettes, the scents bleeding from his skin.

Silence stretches on, further and further, and you pray Bucky won't pass, that he knows, that he comes back.

The respite forces a shift in the room. Weapons lower slightly, muscles soften. Perhaps the Soldier has moved on.

A rookie mistake.

A catastrophic mistake.

With an ear-piercing metallic crunch, the door in front of you explodes open, ricocheting off the wall. A knife whistles through the air, cold steel whispering past your ear, before the wide blade lands in the man's neck with a wet thunk. The force of the throw knocks him flat on his back, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the rough hilt, and you squeeze your eyes shut when the gush of hot blood splatters across your face.

Roaring gunfire sets your ears ringing as the bald man fires five hasty bullets at the hulking presence in the doorframe, but each one is swatted away with a lazy flick of a metal hand. There's a sharp retaliatory crack, and the man wobbles for a second, before collapsing to the floor, a bullet drilled straight between his eyes.

Bucky steps into the room, gun raised while his eyes scan the corners, check the ceiling, sweep under the table. Swinging around, he catches the edge of the door and slams it shut, before grabbing a chair and jamming it beneath the busted handle.

When he stalks forward, a small fraction of your heart cowers in fear at the viciousness in his face. This is him, the unreal ghost story, the legend in the flesh.

"Don't look," he orders harshly, bending down to the twitching body beside you. Eyes closed, you turn away when you hear the cracking noise the knife makes as Bucky jerks it from the man's throat. A brief bloody gurgle follows, before it's effectively silenced, and you hear the sound of a body dragging across the concrete floor, landing with a soft thump.

Breathing fast, sharp little pants that make your chest ache, you keep your eyes closed and wait.

A moment later, you feel the light touch of cool metal on your swollen jaw. Opening your eyes, your heart leaps into your throat.

Leaning over you, he gently cups your face, patiently waiting for you to see him. And now, looking into those blue eyes, you wonder how on earth you could have ever been afraid, because this isn't him, he's not the Soldier.

This is your Bucky, through and through.

Reaching down to his boot, he pulls up a long knife, slipping it behind you to snap the plastic on your wrists. They feel like deadweight after being locked in that position, so he helps ease them forward, working out the aching kinks. Two quick flicks and your legs are free, and you see a minute tremble in his fingers when he returns the knife to his boot.

Kneeling before you, Bucky looks up, the penitent man with his heart on his sleeve. He swallows thickly, throat working as he gathers his courage.

"Hi," he finally whispers.

"Hey," you whisper back, voice cracking.

He sees the cuts and bruises scattered over your face, the raised welts down your arms. Reaches a tentative hand to your neck, fingers brushing over the thin line of rope burn, a broken sound rising from deep in his chest when he feels the raw texture of your skin. That sound alone is more painful than anything you've experienced, so you reach for him, cradling his face between your hands and his eyes close. Leaning into the touch, he turns to press his lips to the palm of your hand.

"You came for me," you murmur.

"I’ll always come for you," he responds, lifting blood-stained hands to cover yours, tangling your fingers together. "I love you. I love you so god damn much and I'm so sorry for everything."

Tears flood your throat at his declaration, at the heat behind his words.

"God you're such a pain in my ass Bucky Barnes, but I love you too. More than you can imagine," your voice is painfully hoarse, but his response makes each syllable worth the strain.

Speckles of blood cover one side of his face, sweat plasters strands of hair to his forehead, and there's white dust caught in the dark stubble covering his neck, but at your words, the grime and exhaustion fade away. Bucky's face lights up and his excited smile steals your breath.

"Really? Seriously?"

"Really seriously," you confirm with a smile, voice still weak but growing stronger. "Take me home Bucky."

"I will," he promises. "I'll get you out of here, I swear."

Taking your hand, he curls a warm arm around your waist and stands, lifting you carefully to your feet. Swaying at the move, you lean heavily into him and he wraps his arms around you, folding you close to his heavily padded chest.

And sure, the world may be falling to pieces outside that door, and god knows what you'll find when you leave, but in this moment, the only thing you need is the solid presence of the man surrounding you.

Comforting and stable and brimming with love, he is enough. He is everything.

Finally, reluctantly, he lets go. Stepping backward, he pulls his Glock from the holster at his back, cocks the hammer and flips it around. He presses the grip in your palm.

"Listen to me. We get out there, and I want you to shoot first, ask questions later. If you feel threatened at any point, pull the trigger, okay?"

"Okay," you agree.

"You remember everything I told you?"

It takes a moment, but you fish for the memory and reel it in, remembering that day at the Tower gun range.

"Yes. Squeeze the trigger, don't jerk. Both eyes stay open. Be ready for the recoil," you repeat.

He looks surprised but pleased at the automatic recitation. "I honestly didn't think you were paying attention that day. That was – kinda hot."

"Your face is kinda hot," you sass back instantly.

Pulling a fresh clip from his belt, Bucky snaps it into his Sig Sauer and grins. Watching his movement, you notice something new, something different.

"Hey. The blue jacket – it really did match my dress. I like it. You look really handsome in blue," you say softly, tugging his sleeve. "Sorry, I've been super behind on your compliments. Lots of catching up."

There's a blazing look on his face at your statement, and he wraps a gentle hand behind your neck and steps closer, resting his forehead against yours. Closing your eyes, you breathe each other in, a swirl of blood and death, of safety and protection.

"I love you," he murmurs the words again, reveling in the pleasure they bring.

"I love you," you answer, pressing a light kiss to his chin.

He hums at the response, giving himself one more delicious second to enjoy, before grudgingly stepping away. His voice shifts and he speaks quickly, sharing the basic intel necessary before leaving the room.

"There should be very few people left out there, I swept the majority of the lower level before I found you. There were people here, but it wasn't heavily guarded. Which makes me nervous. I don't know exactly what this place is now, but it used to be a secondary research lab. This is – it was here, where I met him. The first time."

It's clear who the him is in this scene. And while Bucky's voice is calm, you notice a flicker of confusion cross his face, and that small waver makes you want to find Jack and cut his heart out. Gripping his hands, you give him a small shake, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"Listen to me. You got out. You won. You never ever have to go back," he clings to your words, riveted by your conviction. "You came here to get me Bucky, but don't forget – I've got you too."

"I know," he agrees heatedly, pressing his lips to your knuckles. Then he shifts the chair blocking the door and squares his shoulders. "Alright, you ready?"

"Ready," you confirm. "Let's go fuck shit up."

Fingers pause on the handle and he sighs, equal parts exasperated and entertained. Glancing over, he looks like he wants to say something stern, but the serious expression melts and his shoulders shake with laughter.

"I really fucking missed you," he nudges you.

"Same," you whisper back, elbowing him in return.

Keeping one hand fisted in the smooth cloth of his jacket, you take a deep breath as he pulls open the door and steps outside.

Once in the hallway, his demeanor switches back to the man who kicked your door down only a few minutes before. He's overwhelming in this form, towering and tense, confidence in every move, so obviously capable it puts you at ease.

The corridors are eerily quiet, the tracks of fluorescent lights lining the ceiling giving off a steady buzz and the occasional flicker. The smell hits you in that moment, a strange burnt earth smell floating through halls, of gunpower and guts, and it makes your eyes water. People don't seem to talk much about what it's like on a battlefield, the visual horror and the stomach-churning smell. Now you see why.

Turning the corner, you see bodies scattered along the hall, the stench of blood a dense fog hanging heavy in the air. Bright red halos spill around surprised faces, and you see now that bullets leave very large holes. It draws your eyes with each body you pass, and your breath comes faster.

"Breathe through your mouth, not your nose," Bucky urges, his voice a grounding force as he propels you forward. "Look at me or close your eyes, okay? I won't let you fall."

"Yeah," you say weakly, turning your face toward calming blue. "Yeah, okay."

Rounding the next corner, the hall is thankfully empty of human remains. Bucky keeps his gun raised, eyes sweeping along. All seems deserted, until the whisper of rolling wood, like a closet sliding open reaches your ears and you see part of the wall begin to shift. Bucky swings around, but your finger already hovers dangerously over the trigger, and without thinking, you squeeze.

The bullet makes a solid thwack when it hits, and a body crumples to the floor.

A sickeningly familiar body in fact. One with a faded red tattoo crawling up his neck.

He groans, curling around himself, gasping as blood pumps from his abdomen. In one quick stride, Bucky is standing over the writhing body, and he stomps down, grinding his boot into the man's wrist. Screaming in pain as his bones are crushed, he drops his gun and Bucky kicks it away.

Walking slowly forward, with the smoking gun still raised, you stare down into the face of the man who's haunted your dreams for the better part of your life. Who spent the last several hours smiling while he slapped your face. While he snapped a leather strap across your arms. While he tightened a thin rope around your neck.

Who smiled the day he shot your father and took away the only person you had in the world.

Bucky's pistol feels perfect and right in your hand, as you point it at his face. Vengeance, retribution, revenge, whatever word fits, you're feeling it right now, surging adrenaline making you light-headed. Finger brushing the trigger, you steel yourself for the final shot, for the chance to end this on your terms.

The moment drags on and on, the sounds of his wet gasping the only thing in your ears.

"Come on little girl, do it!" he manages to taunt, choking on the words.

Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger.

This man killed your Dad. He tortured you. He destroyed your childhood.

Pull the fucking trigger!

Your arm begins to tremble, precious moments allotted for escape now lost as you stare down. A strangled sob suddenly breaks through and your heavy arm begins to lower. Tears fill your eyes, and you rub them furiously away, trying to raise your arm again.

And then Bucky reaches over, gently pushing the gun down. Looking at him, the tears spill over, sliding down your cheeks, dripping from the tip of your nose.

"You're not a killer," he says quietly. "Once you pull the trigger, you can't take it back. If you want to do it I'll help, but don't become something you're not, just because you think you should."

Firm and compassionate, his familiar voice shakes you out of the haze. Sniffling, you hesitate for another moment, before letting the gun relax at your side. With a deep breath, you turn away instead, snipping the strings tethering you to the survivor's guilt that's hung around your neck for so long.

Bucky nods encouragingly, and together you walk away from the bleeding man. Putting his arm around you, he pulls you in tight. Covers your ear and presses your head against his shoulder, muffling the world.

Then he raises his arm behind him and fires one quick shot.

The hallway goes quiet once more.

*****

Moments later, you turn another corner, relief palpable when you hear Bucky speak.

"We're close, there's an exit in two turns," he mutters, his body still tense, eyes wary as he tugs you along. He taps the comms in his ear, letting it go to the loudspeaker so you can hear as well. "Steve, we're near the north exit, where are you?"

Clear as a bell, Steve's voice comes through sounding annoyed. Gunfire sounds in the background and you hear the clatter of tin cans on concrete, followed by a slow hiss.

"We're coming, just – finishing something up. Apparently Nat decided this was the right time to test Stark's new gas grenades."

"Don't be lame Rogers, these guys are assholes," you hear Nat laughing in the background.

"Yeah no shit, just wondering why – ouch, god dammit – why you couldn't wait 10 seconds. Buck, we'll meet you at the rendezvous point in 10 minutes. Did you find Bernstein?"

"Negative, no sign, I think he ghosted from – "

The comms crackles and goes off. Bucky taps it impatiently, but it stays quiet.

Stark technology will not fail a second time and it takes a split second to connect the dots.

Something is happening.

Swearing fiercely, Bucky pushes you behind him, his arm keeping you pressed against his back.

"Stay against me. Do not move away," he grits out, eyes scanning the empty corridor, searching, searching, searching.

He hears the sound before he sees it happen. It raises the hair at his neck, and with sizzling burst of heat, a web of electricity blooms before you, a curtain of transparent white light. Spinning around, you find the same thing behind, a crackling fence of fire trapping you together.

"Fucking hell," Bucky hisses, eyes whipping back and forth, assessing the electric barriers. Hesitating slightly, he stretches a tentative metal finger forward.

"Bucky, don't – " the warning is still leaving your lips when his hand makes contact. The harsh zap flings his arm back.

"Dammit, I didn't think these'd still be here," he growls in frustration. His fingers curl into a hard fist, metal plates whirring as they reset after the electric shock.

Looking through the waves of energy, you can see beyond them, but there's no possibility of passing. "What are they?"

"Fry zones. Barricades to trap people," he mutters. "When a building was under attack, they were set up like alarms. Someone must have triggered them earlier, because I killed everyone else in the building."

"Well that's just awesome," you mumble, pressing close to him. Bucky turns to face you, hugging you against his chest.

"Okay, it's alright. The team are coming this way, they'll find us when we miss the rendezvous, so we just wait. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," your voice is muffled against the thick fabric.

Bucky leans down to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead, the barest hint of a touch. For a second, you wonder if the sound of electricity is still the walls around you, or if it's the feel of his mouth on your skin. Snuggling closer, you relax in his arms, while his hands rub long, soothing strokes up your back.

For a long, happy moment, all is well. The world is right. A bright future together is so close.

But inevitably, it doesn't last.

The measured, deliberate click of dress shoes on concrete rises above the steady hum of electricity, and Bucky's body goes rigid. His arms tighten around you, but when you raise your head, his jaw is clenched and his face is white, sweat already slicking his forehead. His eyes are fixed on something above you, beyond you, and still clasped in his arms, you slowly turn.

Jack stands on the other side of the barrier, his face flooded with desperate, hungry longing as he gazes at Bucky. He licks his lips and comes closer to the cage, and even through the thick fabric of his jacket, you feel Bucky's heart racing.

"So, here we are then. After all this, there he is," Jack breathes fervently, moving closer, unable to help himself. "I see him under there Barnes. Let him out to play. Let him come home."

Bucky lets go of you, tugging you behind him and extending both arms, widening his stance.

"Drop the barricade and let us go," he says calmly. "She has nothing to do with this."

With a snort, Jack shakes his head.

"Wrong. She has everything to do with it. It's because of her that you're even here. She's a weakness. She's your weakness, don’t you see that? You think you're in control, but she stole that from you. Look at you! Following her here like a pathetic dog. Jesus Christ, what did you do to my Soldier, you've ruined him Barnes."

"Seriously Jack, eat a dick you dramatic piece of shit," poking your head around Bucky, you try to move in front of him, but he holds you in place.

"Don't, it's not worth it," he murmurs warningly.

Jack looks amused for a moment, but it fades as he considers an idea.

"She's scrappy, I'll give her that. We could make a deal you know – give me back my Soldier and I'll let him keep her if he wants. She can be his pet, something soft and breakable to entertain him. Maybe that's what was missing before."

Bucky feels a swoop in his stomach as he considers Jack. Hearing his voice now, he's baffled how in seven hells he could have ever forgotten this man. It's so clear, so god damn obvious he wants to scream. But in the midst of that anger, Sam Wilson's voice pops in his head, and Bucky suddenly remembers the closing remarks of his first group therapy session down at the VA.

"Some things you leave behind, some you carry home. It's your decision what you need to let yourself heal."

Bucky understands it then, the choice he made. The only way he could let himself heal, to get better and move on, was to let go of the horrors in his past. Including this one.

"No deal you sick fuck," he says flatly. "Let us go or I swear to God, I'll rip you to pieces with my bare hands."

Jack shrugs at the response.

"Alright then, if that's what you want," he steps even closer to the barrier, so close you can see the gleaming white of his eyes. "I gave you a chance, so – just know that what happens next is your fault Barnes, it's all on you. I hope you remember that. In the end."

Jack reaches behind him, grasping for something in his pocket, and Bucky crouches slightly, a snarl on his face as he settles into battle stance.

When his hand reappears, Jack's holding a thick paperback book.

He smiles.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #safe with me

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newtothewaywardparty · 6 years

Text

The Ghost of an Idea 1

Stave One: Bobby’s Ghost

Okay, first of all, Bobby was dead. There’s no doubt about it. He had taken a bullet in the fight against the Leviathans, haunted Sam and Dean through his old flask, and finally hitched a ride out of hell through Purgatory before settling in Heaven. Then he busted out of Heaven for the chance to help the boys on one last mission. Bobby was as dead as a doornail. Dean knew it better than most. After all, Dean killed ghosts by trade, and had served his own stints in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

The fact that Bobby was dead must be firmly established to understand what happened to Dean that Christmas Eve when everything changed for the worse.

And then, for the better.

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

PART 1:

Sam burst in the door of the bunker, stomping snow from his boots. Dean looked up from his laptop, startled, as Sam pulled the tip of a comically huge spruce tree through the metal door. A struggle between Sam, the tree, and an unseen force almost pitched Sam down the steep flight of stairs into the bunker. It was resolved successfully when Jack popped through the door like a cork holding the spruce’s trunk, wide grin plastered on his boyish face.

Dean gaped as his brother and the nephilim maneuvered the tree down the stairs. Sam hoisted the tip up as Jack dropped the trunk to the ground. The spruce was dark green, and even taller than Sam. Jack was practically bursting, hands on hips of his plaid flannel thermal jacket, cheeks pink from exertion and cold. “We got a tree!” he announced happily with obvious pride.

Dean felt his chest constrict with a familiar yet unwanted feeling he got whenever Jack was guileless and earnest. It reminded Dean a bit too much of his favorite angel, Cas. That wasn’t a reminder he wanted or needed right now. Instead of following his impulse to slap the kid on the back in congratulations, Dean shoved out his chair and grabbed his empty beer bottle.

“No shit” Dean barked, ignoring Sam’s reproving glare. What did Jack want, a fucking medal? It was a goddamned tree, not the cure for cancer. Who cared if Jack had helped to defeat Michael and Lucifer and had restored order to the dimensions? Nobody got merit badges in this line of work. At least, no one ever gave him one, thought Dean nastily.

“I see you’ve still got your panties in a twist,” Sam said, throwing off his coat. Jack was busy setting up the tree stand. His grin had frozen a little at Dean’s dismissal, but his Christmas spirit seemed undeterred. He almost vibrated with good cheer as he hummed what Dean would never admit to recognizing as a Mariah Carey Christmas pop tune while he worked. Sam angled his body towards Dean, pitching his voice conspiratorially. “Is this still about that hunt last month?”

Dean’s face closed so fast against Sam’s understanding, sympathetic manner it practically clanged shut. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy” Dean replied. He turned on his heel and made a beeline for the kitchen. Between near-constant alcohol consumption and sleep deprivation brought on by relentless travel and hunting, Dean had been almost completely successful at blocking out what had happened on that hunt. Almost.

Dean ditched his empty beer bottle and rummaged in the bunker’s kitchen cabinets. His intake had been particularly heavy lately. Christmas Eve was a terrible time to run out of Hunter’s Helper. He should have asked Sam to pick some up when they were off singing carols and ice skating or whatever other Peanuts Christmas nonsense he had been up to with Jack in town. Fuck it, there had to be some ancient shit buried back in one of these cabinets, he thought desperately.

“Dean” Sam’s voice came from the doorway, where he leaned, arms crossed. Relentless bastard. “You’ve always loved Christmas. You’re usually the one wheedling me about it. I figured you’d be in here cooking gingerbread and cueing up Die Hard for Jack, making ‘ho ho ho now I’ve got a machine gun’ jokes. What crawled up your ass and died?” Sam’s face was a mixture of kicked puppy and nagging parent.

Dean whirled on him, jaw clenched. “Things change. People change.” Dean shrugged, trying to think of an excuse. Anything but the real reason. “We’re not exactly religious, and that normal apple-pie stuff just isn’t for us. We’ve got work to do, remember?” He turned away to continue rummaging for any alcohol, anything hard at all, to obliterate his memories of Cas and the hunt gone sideways and now this goddamn argument with his brother who just wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

Sam shook his head. “That’s exactly why we need this, Dean. Now more than ever.” Now that Mom was gone again, went unspoken but sat in the air between them. “This is Jack’s first real Christmas,” Sam continued with the air of a man laying down an ace “and I wanted it to be special. Pull out all the stops.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Dean, partially in response to Sam, and partly in triumph at unearthing an ancient bottle of cooking sherry. He unscrewed it and took a whiff, recoiling in disgust. “What are you going to do, put him in footie pajamas and hang out his stocking for Santa?” Dean said in a mocking tone. He put his lips to the bottle and swigged, wincing at the burn.

“Why the fuck not?” challenged Sam, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Just because you and Cas had a fight doesn’t mean we shouldn’t show Jack the spirit of the holidays-”

Dean did an honest-to-Chuck spit-take, spraying gross cooking sherry all over the clean tabletop. “Cas and I did not have a fight, I told you.” Dean growled, low and dangerous. “He just flapped off to do some angel shit after the hunt. Like always. I’m not his keeper.”

Sam nodded. “Good to hear. I guess you won’t mind that I invited him, then.” Sam’s eyebrow quirked, questioning.

Dean minutely tightened his grip on the bottle’s neck. “What?” he gritted out through clenched teeth, even though he was sure he heard Sam just fine.

Sam threw his hands up again. “For Christ’s sake, Dean. It’s Christmas eve. We’re gonna decorate the tree, have a few brews, order Chinese take-out, watch a shitty movie, and exchange convenience-store-bought presents. You wanna boycott? Fine. But this is happening. With or without you.” Sam looked at him with something approaching pity. “Maybe you could get cleaned up. Join us?” Sam’s gaze narrowed to the bottle in Dean’s hands pointedly.

Dean scoffed and brushed past Sam. He retreated to his room to nurse the sherry while cranking up Metallica in his headphones. Dean closed his eyes, head leaned back against the headboard. The images memories rose, unbidden.

He and Cas, in sync as any dance partners, gracefully extinguishing a rugaru. The tang and buzz of sweat and adrenaline. Cas’ eyes sparkling in the dancing flames of the rugaru’s immolated corpse. Dean grinning, clapping Cas on the back, inviting him for a celebratory drink. Thighs bumping together below the bar as they downed shots. Eyes locking, lingering. Speech dwindling. Dean slapping money on the bar. Walking back to the motel room. Cas’ hand grazing Dean’s low back. Cas’ breath hot on the back of his neck. Dean fumbling, drunk, with the key, opening the door. Turning to push it shut, reaching past Cas’ shoulder. Cas standing there, in his space, (or was Dean in Cas’ space?) quiet and still, staring. Always staring.

Dean tilted the sherry bottle for a swig, but it was empty. Due to his recent semi-permanent bender, his tolerance was so high he wasn’t even buzzed yet. He dropped the bottle unceremoniously to the floor and grabbed his duffel.

Dean stopped short on his way to the Impala at the sight of three figures decorating the tree. Sam was on the floor untangling some old-school large-bulb multi-colored lights from a garage sale box. Jack was at the table, unpacking car air fresheners from their clear plastic bags to hang on the branches.

And next to him stood Cas. Rumpled trench, blue tie, messy hair, the whole nine. Standing there looking gorgeous and distant, as usual. He smelled like cold, fresh air. He had probably just arrived, Dean thought, blowing in on the December breeze. Cas raised his chin minutely. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean worked his tongue to gather enough saliva for speech. Cas’ gaze, intense as ever, raked Dean up and down. Dean flushed, realizing he hadn’t shaved in days, was wearing dirty sweats and smelled like a locker room after a kegger. His eyes scratched in a way indicating they were probably bloodshot, too. Shit. Just the way he wanted this to go. Impressive, Winchester.

“Hey,” Dean managed finally. If Jack and Sam thought the situation was awkward, at least they had the decency to stay quiet.

Cas’ eyes fell on Dean’s duffel and narrowed. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, looking almost...hurt?

Dean scrubbed his scruff with a hand. “Yeah, uh, hunt. Some of us actually care about saving people, hunting things, remember?” Good one, Dean, he thought. Passive aggression. Not just for 1950s housewives anymore.

Sam scoffed aloud. “C’mon, man, Cas just got here. You’ve been hunting nonstop for the past month. You just got back. Take one day off to be with the people you love.”

Cas looked surprised at the mention of Dean’s hunting schedule. Dean ignored that and zeroed in on Sam with cold eyes. “Love, huh? ‘Love will save the day. Love will find a way. Love heals all wounds.’ Yay, love!” snarked Dean, dripping sarcasm.

Sam’s face hardened into bitch mode, rock solid. Dean hoped, with venom, that it stuck that way. “Like our brotherly love?” Dean waved his index finger back and forth between his little brother and himself. “So codependent we have no other functional relationships? How we’ve screwed the world a hundred times over to save each other?” Sam sputtered like an engine with a dead battery, gearing up to respond, but Dean was too fast, whirling on Jack.

“Hey kid, remember your mom? No? Me neither, at least not really. Not Mary Version 1.0.” Dean knew he’d gone too far. Knows he was way out of line. Yet he didn’t seem to care enough to stop himself, even when he saw Cas tense out of the corner of his eye. “You know why? Oh, that’s right. They died and left us. Hell, mine died on me a few times over. They loved us, but it didn’t save ‘em. Didn’t leave us any less alone. And our fathers...well, even Cas is in the Deadbeat Daddy club.” Jack rocked back as though Dean had physically slapped him, but Dean wasn’t frozen mid-air in nephilim sound waves, and Jack’s eyes hadn’t glowed yellow, so Dean figured he was still golden. Ha.

“And you,” Dean said, turning to Cas but keeping his eyes shut so he didn’t have to look at him. “How haven’t we hurt each other yet?” Dean pointed his gaze at his shoes, unable to confront whatever expression Cas is wearing. “We’ve lied to protect each other, betrayed each other, gotten each other tortured and killed...shit, Cas, we even tried to kill each other a few times. But sure, yeah, let’s exchange presents by the fireplace, drink some nog, and have a Merry Fucking Christmas!”

Dean grabbed his coat from a chair at the table in the stunned silence. He started stomping up the metal stairs.

“Dean. You don’t want to be alone on Christmas. Don’t do this. Don’t push us away.” It was Sam, of course. He sounded so reasonable. Kind. Gentle. He deserved so much better than Dean. They all did.

Dean looked over the railing and saw them standing, frozen, in the positions they had been in when he had begun his tirade. Sam’s face was unspeakably sad. Cas’ gaze was down and away from Dean, like he was really fascinated with something in a corner of the library. Jack’s eyes were wide and wet.

Dean turned away and opened the door. He did not stomp, sigh, or yell. He did not slam the door as he closed it behind him. He did not say what was in his heart, the fundamental truth that ruled his life. A song stuck on repeat: Better to be alone than be left alone, better to be the one leaving than getting left, better to be the one pushing rather than getting pushed away.

Read Stave One: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 2:

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stargleeksil-blog · 7 years

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Criminal Minds s01e04 Plain Sight review

Episode 04 – Plain Sight

Wow, last episode was intense and full of Denelope goodness. Let’s hope this one lives up to those high standards. Let’s see, shall we?

Oh, yeah! R.E.S.P.E.C.T. as an opener. And a middle-aged lady doing jazzercise to it with a video, lol, I’m laughing so hard right now.

Whoa! Some creeper is creeping through her window, someone ought to tell that lady to close her windows when she’s not in the room. Ugh. I hate it when people are being deliberately careless.

Kind of hard to watch murder with Aretha Franklin’s upbeat voice in the background and feel something other than ‘this shit is ridiculous’.

And yeah, the leaking tap is driving me nuts, too. Can’t believe I’m siding with a murderer, albeit a fictitious one.

And he left a message n her blood on the mirror? Ugh, creepy.

Aww!!!! Happy birthday, Spencer!!!! So cute!!!! Oh my god, I love Matthew so much! Also, the amount of love flowing in that room is warming me so much that I can’t even be mad that that bitch ruined it. Which is a conundrum, but I know they love each other so much so it doesn’t matter that someone’s dead … and oh my god I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Yay for show opener! But still pissed at no Kirsten on the roster.

Jaques Rigaut: “Don’t forget that I cannot see myself – that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror.” What? Why are they being deliberately cryptic? I mean, I get it but I don’t get it at the same time cuz I haven’t pursued philosophy in a long while. Ugh.

“Betwixt” I love you, Spencer, you little puppy. And don’t diss him, Morgan! I’m gonna have to spank that boy hard, really.

Hey! Ballads are not whatever! They are gorgeous, and maybe that’s why you don’t have a girlfriend, only dates. Oh, I’m sorry! That was mean! You’re cute, I didn’t mean it.

Okay, that’s just nuts. Why murder a lady who picks her own oranges from her courtyard?

“Putting it together” – of course, I’ll think of Sondheim watching a melancholy show.

Hahaha oh poor Spence. Don’t worry, JJ doesn’t know what she’s talking about, ballads are wonderful.

“There’s no betwixt”. Oh my god I’m dying here from this guy’s cuteness!!!!

Oh that’s a nice house. No wonder the guy is jealous.

What the frick? The detective just automatically goes wherever a body drops? Does he have a magnet for death or something? Dumbass.

He just broke through that seal like nobody’s business, that’s badass.

“I’m a little bit athletic” … sure, and I’m a little bit overweight. Come on, Derek! Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.

So they just assume that because an old white guy says a black man ran from the house that it’s him. Come on! Talk to the raped woman, first, Elle, and then figure out what happened. Come on, honey.

Oh god Morgan talking to himself shouldn’t be this hot. Someone should snap a lid on that cutie and pickle him for me till I’m 40 (not that much longer, honest)

Oh my cute puppy, Morgan!!!!!! What woman was insane enough to dump you? Let me hug you.

Oh crap, lol, she’s not sure he’s black now? Wow. That’s gonna make this whole thing interesting.

He wore a ski mask? Then how could the husband know he was black? That kind of obliterates that whole line of investigation, doesn’t it? Oh, it’s a different one. Ok. I’m beyond confused.

Oh, he’s an attention whore now. Good.

Yup. Definitely suspected it had to do with the nice house, knew it.

Wait. So now he’s white? God damn it. This is beyond confusing. Hold up. Ok, the white guy is the killing thieving asshole who has mommy issues, and the rapist is black, maybe – cuz he wore a ski mask. Nice.

Oh. Crap. Derek just arrested someone! You go, babycakes!

“Go for Miss Penelope Garcia!” you goddess. “Peaches, this is the Office of Unmitigated Superiority, I am always ready. With the awesome power I have in this room, all I need is fifteen seconds on the phone to nail this skeevy perv.” Someone give this woman my heart and soul, cuz she is my spirit animal.

Oh, damn, he just got upset at a can of soda. That’s a waste of what I assume was cheap soda. His couch was cheap as hell.

Yo, Derek, don’t look so impatient! Turn that frown, upside down!

Hahaha oh Elle, I love you. “Have you ever asked anyone out?” “No.” “That’s why you can’t get a date.” True enough.

How the fuck does Penelope have nothing? Come on, angel face, give me something!

Yeah, you better find him, Hotch!

Oh, those are some fine skinny blonde asses, right there.

“It’s more like we’re looking for a needle in a stack of needles …” “What?” “A needle will stick out in a haystack.” Oh Spencer, you fine specimen, you.

Aww, Gideon loves birds. And then the birds give him ideas. Hahahaha

He just lay on the bed where the girls were attacked, ew. What the fuck is wrong with this show?

“Office of Unfettered Omniscience, Penelope Garcia is in. Speak, o fortunate one.” Lord I love her. “Sunshine, I can run CentCom from here and still participate in simultaneous Tetris tournaments.” You’re such a geek and I love you.

Wait. Hold the phone. Pump the breaks! He’s gonna kill a lady in front of her baby boy? The fucking bastard.

Oh, you know when Morgan slams his fist on the counter you’re in trouble, nerd.

Go get the freaky bastard already, guys!

Oh god. Hearing a baby screaming is up there in the unbearable noises that drive me nuts with worry and grief. That and my family yelling with pain.

Aww, Mandy!!!! You just kissed that stranger baby and I love you for being so paternal and I love you no matter what, you perfect man!

Oh come on, just shoot that fucking asshole, he doesn’t deserve anything!!!

So he killed people cuz his mommy oppressed him and he wanted to be famous? Oh my god that is messed up on every possible level.

Rose Kennedy: “Birds sing after a storm. Why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?” Rose, you were depressed, lady.

Aww, Morgan sleeping is so cute!!!!

Come on Reid, beat him! Aww, no you can’t beat Gideon, he got you a present. Aww, Redskins tickets? What? Since when does Reid like sports? Seriously, because of that little comment about JJ calling him Spence he’s gonna try and matchmake them? Aww, papa bear!!!! I love you.

And checkmate! I can’t believe it! Reid beat him! Whooo!

This was so cute with the checkmate part. But overall it was horrifying.

#criminal minds #s01e04 #plain sight #mandy patinkin #thomas gibson #shemar moore #lola glaudini #aj cook #matthew gray gubler #kirsten vangsness

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celiocian-blog · 7 years

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And How’s Your Monday Going?

I told you people I would write. Here’s this POS I wrote for a contest for school.

You know, I’m not a fan of people. They can be a real bunch of bastards. Going around killing, stealing, breaking hearts. I know what you’re thinking - one of these things is not like the other. But it is just as serious. When a heart shatters, that’s all a person can think about for at least a solid week. How you want the one that did it to suffer as much as you, how you want them completely obliterated from the face of the planet…

Breakups are hard. Emotions are painful. And people strive to destroy your emotions, every last ounce of humanity a person may have. And yet, it is still a human pastime. Why? We still don’t know. Humans are cruel beings. And I want the heart of the man that did it-

Well. Ain’t that a load of shit. Sure, I agree with the people info, but goddamn, quit listening to the classical music while you type. You’re gonna die of a busted heart from somebody that didn’t even exist. Creepy freak.

I sat up from lounging across my couch, or at least tried my hardest to. Thing was sinking bad, but what can you do? Being a bachelor isn’t a life of glitz and gold. And glitter. I think glitter should be in that sentence too. It’s sparkly and all that jazz. At least I have time to read, if you call that depressing dreck a piece of literature. Either way, I snapped the book shut and tossed it halfway across the room, barely missing the cat.

Sorry, Sinbad. But you shouldn't be in the center of the room. Quit licking your ass while you’re at it.

I hopped up and brought my arms into the air, bending my back backwards in a lackluster attempt to remove the kinks from my spinal column. Nearly freaking snapped my spine at the sudden damn car horn, though. Mofos need to learn to drive in this damned city, don’t want a Buick driving through the front wall.

I tossed my old shirt that I slept in across the room and made a lazy beeline towards my bedroom, in other words, my closet. Not much was bound to be in there, though. Probably needed to do laundry - shit kept popping up all the damn time. The very fact that I had any work-acceptable dress shirts was in and of itself a miracle gracing the face of the planet.

To be honest, dress shirts and khakis with ties are some of the plainest shit known to man. Seriously, at least let us wear jeans or something, goddamn. And the ties, God, the ties, those freaking fashionable nooses. And I have to do this all in the god-forsaken morning, you fucking asshole boss.

Okay, maybe he’s not too big an asshole, but still. He makes us get up in the morning. But he did give me that raise… And the whole living situation thing… But still! Morning!

Okay, scratch that. I just complain about a lot of shit. Mornings included. Goddamn, do I hate mornings.

After a few select curses, I eventually find those ugly ass pants and pull them on, moaning and groaning the entire time that I do. It’s cold in the room, which means these nuthuggers are just as freakin' cold. Then again, it’s New York in late November. What else is to be expected? I guess this means I need to invest in a better trenchcoat for the the winter season. Or a parka. Just something warmer than the piece of cloth I have now.

I feel kinda guilty turning the heat on in the apartment. It’s technically not mine, after all. Then whose is it, you ask? My boss’s. Soooooo… Yeah. Not an asshole. Needed a place to stay post-divorce and he offered up his apartment for when he had late nights. Nice and fully furnished at least, but it’s creepy sleeping in my boss’s bed. Hence the couch.

After a whirlwind of clothes and tripping over random shit, I finally began my trek to work. Pros of being in this apartment: close to work. Cons: close to work. Well, could be worse. Like I said, my boss is nice and my coworkers are the same for the most part. I’m head of IT so I have to deal with stupidity a lot, but most everyone is pretty competent. Mostly.

Grabbing my phone before heading out probably would’ve been a mistake if not for the fact that I desperately needed it. Apparently, some freaking person decided to call and leave a voicemail! Who the fuck does that anymore? Does anyone even remember their voicemail password besides me? I think not!

Popping in the quadruple digit code brought me to the box itself. “You have one new message from Neil.” Neil? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If there was anyone’s voice I didn’t want to hear, it was Neil’s. He was probably still aiming to take all my money and my video games and my cat and by god, I was not going to let that happen.

Manning up the best I could, I pressed the button to listen to the message. Maybe he decided to be civil. “Hey, Baxter, I need to talk to you. Just some stuff here that I figured you might like that I think you left by accident. A few books, a picture or two. Your rings are still here, too. Maybe we could meet up for coffee at that place you like and talk about it.”

He was quiet for a moment, probably trying to think of some way to lure me back to him. “Anyway, um, I hope you’re doing well. The flat’s pretty quiet without you and Sinbad.” He laughed softly, in that way that made me melt when I was still naive. “I still love you. If you ever want t0 think about getting back together, I’m here-”

I hung up and quickly deleted the message, giving myself a moment to catch my breath. There was no way in hell that I would be going back to that ass, not after everything he did to me these past three years. I was done with him. I swallowed down what little ounce of a panic attack that was trying to creep its way in and left the apartment.

Having been raised New York, hiking through snow is an easy yet still interesting thing to do. Boots are your friend and you should always hunch forwards to move your center of gravity. Make sure to make a pissed off face, too, to get everyone out of your way. It scares people and makes them more intimated. I’ve since mastered this fine art of resting bitch face-ery, especially today after that fucking moment dealing with fuck his face Neil. At least, I thought I had mastered it, but the guy I bumped into, whoo boy. He really took the cake.

Imagine as pretty a face a man can have - full pouty lips, long eyelashes, dark blue eyes that nearly fucking pierced into your soul… And the most annoyed scowl I had ever seen in my life. Like, parts of the guy’s face looked mid twenties, others looked pushing on thirty. He stood in front of my office building, tip tap typing away on his cell phone like a goddamn teenage girl and scaring people off with the RBF that only the gods could have granted. Bet he was a prick to talk to.

I made very sure to whistle the Kill Bill whistle as I walked into the building. By god, I was going to make Mr. Shit Face aware of his own existence to everyone around him. Only, I guess I didn’t expect him to follow after me inside. Was he gonna kill me? Shit, maybe the whistle really was a bad idea. If I get murdered, I’m gonna be pissed.

I resisted the urge to spin a few times through the revolving doors before being met with the way too fancy lobby. This was supposed to be a charity, right? Especially those fancy-ass elevators which I made a bee-line for, immediately forgetting the whistle… Only for it to be slammed shut in front of me. Stairs it is, but hey, maybe the excruciating pain in my legs will null out the excruciating pain in my heart.

I turned the corner around the elevator and found the rarely used stairs door. I mean, seriously people. Why do stairwells all look the same? All concrete and bland and prison-slash-highschool looking. I scowled to myself and began making my way up, trying desperately to not trip while walking up the stairs.

Okay, he was following me to and up the stairs. Maybe I should’ve taken the elevator today, after all. Still not too skippy of this guy stalking after me as if he was going to kill me. Both of us up two floors, three floors, four floors. What the fuck? The hell is this guy trying to do? I really wasn’t entertained with the idea of the last person’s voice I had listened to being Neil’s.

I scrambled through the door that led to my floor and this FUCK was still following me! Goddammit, time to man up twice in one day! I spun around to him as he walked through and stared him down (awkwardly, yet literally… he was a couple inches shorter than me). “H-Hey! You got a bone to pick with me or something?”

He blinked and tilted his head to the side an inch, causing a dark lock of curly hair to fall. Wait, don’t tell me I jumped to conclusions. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. “Pardon?”

Wait, what? Was he seriously not going after me? Did I really just jump to conclusions? Maybe this divorce was getting to me head… Goddammit, was that a blush coming to my cheeks and I am not a smart man. “You were following me! What do you want from me?!”

He kept on with the owl-eyed stare before slowly shaking his head, his lips curling into a tiny smile. Goddammit, I did jump to conclusions. Fuck me sideways-

Aaaaaaand he’s gone crazy. Interrupting me from my mental scolding was him suddenly bursting out into this weird fit of laughter. And by fit, I mean full on, eyes closed and watering, hand over mouth, practically at a right angle he’s hunched over so much fit. Goddammit, I was not funny. And that was not funny.

Not that I could actually get around to protesting because the moment I came out of my shocked stupor, his laughter was winding down. Stupid little grin still plastered to his stupid little face, he reached up and pat my shoulder. “Thanks for that. I really needed it after what I went through this morning.” And with that, he walked off! That stupid little prick just disappeared into the distance, off to whatever department he worked for!

Wait. What department did he work for? Now that I think about it, I don’t think i had ever seen him around before. And this may be a big company, but I usually recognize people that work here. But nope, this guy was a brand spanking new hire. Obviously not IT, I didn’t have to deal with the interview process.

Whatever, I’d probably be getting an email begging me to fix his new computer. “Help me!” he’d say. “I’m stupid with computers!” Ahhh, aren’t they all? And that, ladies and gents is why I have job security.

I made damn sure to avoid every desk I could see, trying my hardest to not be spotted for some sort of tech help. It was like a weird game of hide and seek. Except being caught would lead to you being miserable for the next hour. Yay work.

Long story short, I made it past the hoards of sheeple to my office and plopped right down in my chair, turning on my computer in hopes of a lack of emails. Apparently, the boss man decided to be nice to everyone because they was only one in the inbox and the subject was “New Hire.” Yay, home team! I get to figure out who bug face is!

I leaned forward into my hand with my elbow on the desk (probably like you are right now) and skimmed through. Blah blah blah, recent hire, blah blah blah, be nice, blah blah blah, oh look, name! Apparently this guy was named “Isidore Elijay.” That was certainly a hell of a name.

Now to check and see where he was working. I don’t remember anyone saying they were looking for new hires recently, maybe he was just an intern. But then again, he looked too old to be one. God, come on, email, enough with this fluff!

Wait.

Does that say what I think it says?

“Isidore has been hired as my new personal assistant. Hence, I certainly expect you to give him the utmost respect.”

Awwww, shit.

#writing #my writng #Baxter #Codename: IDK #first person

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