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suicidalslasher · 3 years

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forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed. The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again. But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second. The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden. 1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face. Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself. Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.

It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable. A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards. The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot. Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you. Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps. It could have very well been the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying. (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

(Of course, there was more.)

(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.) Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs. "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully." "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.

(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge. With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things. Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse. "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital." (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up. Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.

Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off. "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's. The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'. (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice. And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open. There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle. "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N). (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant. "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together." Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right. "Tom..." "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.

Now that she was thinking about it....

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago....

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne. If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner. Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her. A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too. "I love you too." Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to." "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs." Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

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silverstarsheep · 4 years

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Oh man, it’s a fic for the “Coffee Shop AU,” which is lead by @doodledrawsthings.

I started this really early on and wrestled with it a lot, so things changed and shifted a bit since I started writing it. Looking at the new stuff vs. old, I’m surprised what details I got accurate, and not at all surprised at what I got wrong. Quite a lot of it is super super SUPER inaccurate, sorry.

This is more or less my take on Luka’s transformation, so... Take it for what you will, haha.

I also finished it a while back, but never had the guts to actually post it for one reason or another--I may as well post it anyway, since it’s gotten this far.

Word count: 6,749

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Luka nearly flew out of the restaurant and into the cooler-than-normal evening air, stumbling down a few of the steps leading to the door. The sound of rain could be heard all around him--it hadn’t let up since he arrived. Standing underneath the awning with his umbrella cradled in the crook of his right arm, he stuffed both hands into his pockets, puffing out a frustrated sigh. His face was burning hot, and his chest was tight with indignation.

He should have known that a call to “make amends” from Vanessa was going to be a big, fat lie. Luka’s brow creased, and he stared at the damp pavement beneath the bottom step, silently wondering why he had ever thought that such would have been the case. During the legal battles of divorce and custody, that vile woman more than demonstrated her ice-cold and vitriolic feelings towards him.

Maybe, deep down, he still felt something for her... And he did truly want to make amends. Too bad the same wasn’t true for Vanessa.

Popping his umbrella open, he finally trotted down the rest of the stairs and to the sidewalk. It was about time that he went home, but along the way he needed to pick up little Harriet from her friend’s house. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind walking in the rain, but somehow he doubted she would.

As he turned the corner, he couldn’t help but shiver. Frown creasing his features further, he thought to himself, “Wasn’t it supposed to be in the 70′s tonight?” If only he had worn a thicker sweater... If it got any colder, he would have been able to see his breath!

To make matters worse, in the corner of his eye Luka could make out little white dots bouncing around on the ground. Pace slowing a bit, it wasn’t long before he was hearing heavier objects hitting his umbrella. Hail?! For pity’s sake, can’t he catch a break for just a second? Holding the umbrella tight, he started to run down the sidewalk, having to skid to a halt when he realized that he had nearly overshot his friend’s house.

Bounding up the porch, he knocked on the door, drumming his fingers against the umbrella’s handle. The door opened, however instead of being met with her caregiver, he was instead met with the very small, curly-haired Bonnie. She stared up at him with her big, purple eyes for a moment, then gave him a toothy grin.

“Hi!” she chirped. She looked over her shoulder, “Ms. Tina! Mr. Luka is here!”

“Tell him to come in, please!” he could hear a woman’s voice call from inside. Tina must have been making dinner.

The smell of steamed vegetables hit his senses in just the right way, causing his stomach to growl a little. However as he took in a deep breath, Luka’s throat felt rather sore. Not wanting to assume the worst, he simply brushed it off as him having raised his voice a bit too much when he spoke with Vanessa. The conversation did get quite heated, after all--but with Vanessa, one could say that she was always chilling.

Bonnie motioned for him to come inside as she skipped into the living room herself. The home was comfortably warm, a welcome change from the cold, wet outside. She flopped back onto the floor right next to Harriet, who was lying on her stomach and holding a purple crayon in a crab-like vice grip. She looked up and smiled.

“Oh, hi, dad!” she kicked her legs up into the air and drew both arms to her chest, “Did it go okay with mom...?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Luka replied with a sigh. He didn’t reply at first, trying to think over his response. Standing in the door frame he shook his folded umbrella off over the porch, then placed it inside beside the door. He could feel Harriet’s eyes piercing into him.

“Sorry to say, it didn’t go so well,” he finally stated, his shoulders slumping significantly. His daughter was young, but he knew she was smart. There was no sense hiding it, but the look of disappointment on her face made him feel regret tweak at his heart.

Bonnie spoke up, “She didn’t use any of her,” the girl wiggled her fingers in a “mysterious” fashion, “Eeevil magic on you, did she?”

Blinking, Luka couldn’t help but smirk, “Oh, no... She didn’t!” he grinned, “But if she did,” he grabbed his umbrella and brandished it like a sword, droplets of water scattering about, “I would’ve fought her off!”

When the two girls giggled at his display, Luka relaxed a bit. For Harriet, laughter was a powerful tool in these harsh times. First and foremost, making her happy and keeping her healthy was his biggest goal.

Just as he set the umbrella back down, Bonnie’s caregiver, Tina, stepped into the living room. She gave Luka a warm smile, “Hey! It sure sounds like it’s coming down out there, did you manage to stay dry?”

“I’m mostly dry, but it started hailing on the way here!”

Tina blinked, her dark brown eyes wide, “Hail?” she asked in a doubtful tone, “This time of year?” she made way towards the still open door and peered through it. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, “Wow! Isn’t that something...” she squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips, “Well, I can’t let you walk home in that...”

“It surprised me, too,” Luka huffed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Would it be too much to wait it out here?”

“Not a problem at all!” she flashed Luka a bright smile, “I can add some more to the dinner if you’d like to stay! Once Honey gets here, we can have a nice, big meal!”

Closing the door, Luka shot a glance to his daughter, “What do you think?” he asked, having to clear his throat, “Wanna eat dinner here?” his throat was starting to feel worse. Was he suddenly coming down with a cold, or something?

The girl threw both arms into the air, nearly tossing her crayon in the process, “Yeah!! Ms. Tina’s food is the best!”

Tina laughed in a merry way, then started for the kitchen once more. She muttered quietly to herself as she thought about how many more vegetables to steam, how many patties to fry... However she stopped in her tracks when Luka gently flagged her down.

“Need any help?” he asked. There was a sudden weight on his shoulders, as if someone had put a thick blanket over him. Despite this, he didn’t want to impose on such a good friend, especially after she had so kindly watched his daughter!

The woman smiled brightly and gave a wave of her hand, “Oh no! It’s a real simple meal tonight, but it’ll be delicious all the same,” she motioned to the couch, “Why don’t you watch the girls? That’d be a mighty help.”

“S-sure,” he replied, clearing his throat again, “But can I,” he cleared his throat again, this time ending with a small coughing fit, “Mmh, can I get a glass of water?”

Concern creasing her brow, Tina replied, “Well sure... Are you alright?”

With slow and careful movements, Luka took a seat, “Hm... All of the sudden, I’m not...” he rubbed at his face, it was burning hot, “I’m not feeling so great...”

“Dad, your face is all red!” Harriet remarked in shock.

“Goodness, she’s right!” Tina leaned over him, gently placing her hands on his arm and back, “Maybe you should go home and rest up!”

Brow creasing, Luka rubbed his forehead with the base of his palm. He took a moment to answer, but eventually nodded. Going home would be best... If he was getting sick, he didn’t want to risk making anyone else ill.

“Okay, Bonnie,” Tina said with a clap of her hands, “Get your shoes on.” when Bonnie rushed to her room to grab a pair of socks, Tina turned back to Luka, “Don’t you worry, I’ll drive you over. It’s not far, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to walk there, especially in hail.”

Luka merely nodded in agreement, however he looked to Harriet, “Hey, kiddo... You wanna spend the night here...?”

She shook her head briskly, her ponytail slapping the side of her face, “No! I need to make sure you’re okay, dad!” she said firmly. She went to the door to grab her shoes. Well, looks like that was settled...

Once Bonnie and Harriet had gotten their shoes on, the four of them piled into Tina’s mini van, and were off.

Trying to keep himself awake, Luka attempted to make small talk, “So... How’s it been fostering Bonnie?” he asked.

Tina smiled, “It’s been going wonderfully, but...” she sighed as they reached a stop sign, “We’re nearing the end of the 13 month care...”

Luka gripped his seat belt with both hands, “Have you and Honey... Considered adopting her?” he asked in a hopeful tone

Smile faltering, Tina seemed to hesitate before easing on the brakes, “Yes, but... Getting the paperwork cleared has been a struggle. Honey and I haven’t had any luck...”

“Ah, sorry... Maybe I can help you clear things up a bit?” Luka offered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“I’d appreciate that, and I’m sure Bonnie would, too!” Tina chimed with a toothy grin, “You need to put all that law studying to good use, huh?”

With the vehicle thoroughly pelted with hail, and a couple blocks later, they pulled into Luka’s drive. The father-daughter pair said their goodbyes and quickly retreated inside, however the hail was finally starting to subside. Now that they were home, it was time to get Harriet some supper.

Frankly, he wasn’t feeling very hungry himself, but one way or another he had to make sure that his daughter ate. He shambled into the kitchen and pried open the fridge--the seal was oddly tighter than usual--where he produced a frozen kid’s meal. Harriet stood in the door frame, watching him with worry in her eyes. She wrung her little hands nervously.

“Dad, I can make it myself!” she urged. She knew how to use the microwave...! It was just a little hard to know how many zeros to put on it when cooking something, and she often forgot to stir it halfway through... But she didn’t mind eating it a little cold! Honest!

Luka pulled a knife from the drawer and started poking holes into the film. He glanced over his shoulder with a weak smile, “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.” he said with a low voice. Using his head, he motioned for her to go to the bathroom, “Why don’t you kick off your shoes and wash your hands?”

Hesitating, Harriet bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to leave her dad alone... But if she was quick about it, then it wouldn’t be a problem! Maybe she could even grab her stool from the bathroom so she could reach the microwave buttons, and kitchen sink. Then she could make her dad a meal, too! The girl rushed deeper into the house without another word.

In the bathroom, Harriet made quick work of washing her hands, knocking over the soap bottle in the process of dispensing some of the foam onto her hands. She’d pick it up later! As she rushed to rinse her hands, she noticed her dear owl plush, Professor Popcorn, sitting by the sink. She had to rinse off his dear little beak this morning, and she must have left him there when she heard she was going to visit Bonnie.

Wringing her hands dry on a towel, she picked him up carefully, “Professor!” she cried, “Dad’s feeling sick, what do we do?”

She tried to imitate the voice her father would use when speaking for the owl by making her voice sound deeper, “Hm, I say that a hot bowl of soup will fix him right up!” she waved the plush around gently to make it look like he was talking.

“You’re right, Professor Popcorn!” Harriet confirmed with a nod, “Dad loves chicken soup, and we got a can of it! I can heat it up in the microwave!”

“I’ll help you read the instructions!” she had the professor conclude, manipulating his wing to adjust his glasses.

Meanwhile, Luka’s time was starting to get harder. His vision was getting hazy, his head was spinning, and his entire body felt sore. Dark splotches obscured his vision, and it almost looked as though his own arms were starting to turn dark.

Rubbing at his forehead with his knuckles, there was a loud clatter as the knife tumbled out of his hands and fell to the floor. Thankfully it didn’t land anywhere near his foot, however it was curious; he had a tight grip on that between his finger and thumb.

Pain snaked its way through his body as he leaned over to pick it up, causing him to grit his teeth and close his eyes tightly. He froze in place, one hand pressed against the counter top as one reached for the ground. Sweat began to pour from his brow in droves, drip, drip dripping onto his arm and the floor. At that point he had dared to open his eyes, and his stomach did a back-flip when he saw the state of his hand.

It... Wasn’t his hand anymore, or at least, it didn’t look like his hand. It had been replaced with a paw-like two-fingered hand that was a deep shade of purple. Said purple was slithering up his arm with snake-like tendrils. Losing his grip on the counter, Luka only managed to gasp as he fell roughly onto his knees. He looked to his right hand, which was much the same--thumbless and purple. No wonder he had dropped the knife! The purple substance had reached well past his elbow there.

The lights above flickered as fear struck his heart. With clumsy movements he tried to manipulate his new “hands” to try and scrape and push the purple stuff off of him, but all that succeeded in was sending droplets of purple onto the tiled floor. His arms remained unchanged, and the color only seemed to pick up the pace as it soon reached his shoulder and crept up his neck.

Bowling over as pain overtook him, Luka wrapped both arms around his stomach and pressed his forehead against the now-damp floor. His jaw was locked open, his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his vision was filled with a golden light as tears streamed from them.

Fabric ripped and shredded as his form shifted and grew. The lights buzzed as they flickered wildly. A mane sprouted from his neck, ripping and tearing his shirt further. It didn’t take long for his entire body to be shrouded in the purple tone. Finally, when his legs began to twist together, Luka let out a scream.

The kitchen lights burst. The house was shrouded in darkness.

When the lights began to flicker, Harriet clutched Professor Popcorn close to her chest, gasping in fear. She hated it when the power went out! She closed her eyes as the lights buzzed.

“D-dad?!” she cried. That was when she heard his scream, and her heart fluttered. She yelped when the lights went out, and without thinking about it she jumped from her stool and rushed into the hallway. However her pace slowed, her hand gently guiding her along the hall when she heard an inhuman panting from in the kitchen.

It sounded like there was some kind of monster in there... But monsters weren’t real, right? Dad always told her that she had nothing to be afraid of under her bed or in her closet... So the only thing that should be in the kitchen was her dad....

Right?

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and every fiber in her body was telling her to run away, to hide under her bed until the power came on, or her dad coaxed her out... But despite her wanting to scream at her legs to stop, they carried her all the way to the kitchen door.

The house was dark, but there was just enough light for Harriet to see. In the kitchen, however, it was as if something had absorbed all of the light. It was pitch black, and she couldn’t make anything out--even the window had turned black.

Harriet fought back her tears. She was so frightened that she could barely speak, but she just had to make sure her father was ok. She finally managed to speak up again with a squeak, “Dad...?”

Something in the darkness moved. She could hear it shuffling about. Slithering around like a giant snake. Her grip around her plush tightened, and her heart nearly sprung into her mouth. A set of bright, golden eyes appeared in the darkness, illuminating a bit of the kitchen with yellow light. She could just make out the shape of the eye’s owner--big and purple, with a scruffy-looking mane. It had a long, long body, and two arms that propped it up.

Around it were scraps of clothes and little puddles of a dark liquid. In the dim light she couldn’t tell what color those were, but her imagination quickly filled in the blanks--blood.

It was blood. It was her father’s blood. Whatever monster this was had ripped her dad to ribbons and ate him, leaving nothing but his shredded clothing behind.

Harriet’s mouth dropped open, but nothing escaped her throat but air. Tears were streaming from her eyes. The monster opened its own mouth, revealing its wicked, sharp fangs. More golden light spilled out into the kitchen from the beast’s maw. Its breathing was raspy. It shuffled about and moved its mouth as if trying to speak.

“Ha... Harri....” it croaked. It almost sounded like her father. Chills washed through the girl’s tiny body, and her hairs stood on end, “Ha.. rriet...” oh peck, it knew her name!

It reached out to her with inhuman fingers. Frozen in place, Harriet hadn’t a single clue what to do. Her legs continued to refuse to listen to her--now that she wanted to move, they were suddenly cemented to the carpet. She whimpered pathetically.

Hot fingers brushed against her cheek, the tips of claws gently caressing her face. Harriet inhaled. Then she shrieked. As loud as she could she screamed bloody murder, and the monster shrank back in shock. Her legs finally listened to her, and she bolted for the door, which she flung open and didn’t think to close behind her.

“W... Wai... Wait!!” the monster called. But it fell on deaf ears.

Not only did Luka’s body ache, but his heart did, too. He never wanted to frighten his daughter, he never wanted to make her feel unsafe or in danger. But now, it almost seemed as though he had no choice. Whatever form he had taken on mortified the poor child, and now she was running into the late evening streets, completely unprotected.

He had to go after her. He had to make sure she was safe, and he had to let her know that her dad was still here, despite not looking the same anymore. He attempted to push himself upright, however he quickly realized that he no longer had legs. When they had twisted together in such a painful manner, they had fused together to make one long tail. There was no way he could chase after her like this!

He’d just have to drag himself, then. With his arms he began to haul himself past the tile, over the carpet, and through the door. As he lowered himself off of the porch, he realized that his body was remarkably light. He had no issue dragging himself across the ground, and now that he was on the stairs, he felt as though he were...

Floating?! He could float? There wasn’t any time to question it... He’d just have to take it as a blessing in disguise and hope that he could use it to his advantage. He pushed himself off of the ground, and much to his surprise, he remained in the air. Twisting his body this way and that like a snake, he quickly found that this mode of transportation was much faster than crawling around like a newborn. As he got the hang of it, he could pick up the pace.

Man, he hoped no one would see him like this...

Rounding the corner, Luka looked this way and that until he caught a glimpse of Harriet, who was bolting down the sidewalk towards the park. He gasped, “Harriet!” his voice boomed. It echoed and carried throughout the subdivision, causing a few dogs to start barking in shock. Even Harriet was surprised, and she tripped over her own feet and smacked into the pavement.

Luka clapped a hand over his mouth. Goodness, did his voice carry! He was sure to be seen now. Before he could catch up to her, his daughter had picked herself up and was running with new strength across the road to the park. Her beloved owl doll lay limp on the cracked pavement.

“W-wait, please, wait!” Luka called, pathetically trying to moderate his voice, “Hatty, please!” he hoped that the fond nickname would cause her to pause, but she kept on running. If he could have seen her face, he would have noted that her eyes were screwed shut. Thank goodness no cars were coming...

Making haste to pick up the doll, Luka was hot on Harriet’s tail. He could hear a few people poking out of their houses nearby, which only made him speed up. He quickly hopped over the brick wall and started his search for Harriet, looking in, around and under anything that she could have been inside of.

Finally, he found her huddled in the corner of one wall, concealed by a bush coated in flowers. She was shaking like a leaf and trying her hardest to hold back terrified sobs. Coiling himself inside the bush, he hoped that it would be enough to hide himself as he tried to console his daughter.

“Harriet?” he cooed. His voice was still too loud, even as he tried to whisper. It didn’t sound right, “Harriet, it’s me--it’s...”

She pushed herself further into the corner, turning her head towards the wall. She sobbed quietly, and Luka’s lower lip trembled.

“Sweetheart, please--please don’t be...”

This time Harriet sobbed louder, hiccuping into her knees. Luka shrank back a little looking at his empty hand. Could he really console her like this? When he looked and sounded like a monster? He then looked to the plush he held in his right hand. Professor Popcorn... Maybe this could help.

Holding the owl out, Luka tried to hide his face behind the plush as he put on the special voice he always used for the dear old professor, “H-hey there, kiddo! It’s me, Professor Popcorn!” the owl waved his little wing, and Harriet lifted her head. Luka dared to crack a weak smile, “I know things are really scary right now... But I just want ya to know that everything’s gonna be O-KAY!”

Harriet turned, staring intently at the doll. The way he moved, the way he spoke... It was exactly like how her dad would talk when they played together. Sure, his voice sounded a little... Scary, but the tone, the inflections... They were all the same.

“And that I love you...” Luka’s voice started to seep into Professor Popcorn’s, “Very, very much...”

Harriet dared to look up. Through the branches and leaves she could make out the monster’s face, his eyes glowing faintly. As he took on a gentle expression and leaned forward, she could almost see her father’s face in its features...

“... Y-you... Dropped him while you were running...” Luka continued, “I know how much you hate it when his beak gets dirty.”

Tears were spilling from her eyes again, and she shuffled about anxiously. Was it? Could it be?! Her eyes darted up and down his body, doubts still sprouting in her mind. But all the same, she wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true, because it was an awful lot better than her dad being gone.

“Da... aad??” she hiccuped. Luka smiled weakly and nodded. With a loud sob she jumped into his arms, pressing her face into his scruffy-looking purple mane, which was surprisingly soft. She buried her nose into it, drinking in his smell. He looked different, he sounded different, but now she knew, this was her dad.

Wrapping his hands around her tiny frame, he gently rubbed the back of her head, whispering into her ear, “Shhh... It’s okay, it’s okay...” he took in a shaky breath, “I’m still here, dad’s still here...”

Harriet continued to sob. She must have been so frightened. Guilt stung at his chest, knowing that he was the cause of her terror... However he nearly jumped when she started to spurt out apologies. He backed away, his brow creased.

“What are you apologizing for?”

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Harriet hiccuped again and sniffled, “I... I thought you were a m-monster,” she replied, “An... And you ate my dad... I ha-hated you for a little bit...”

Carefully cradling her shoulders in his hands, Luka shook his head, “No no, you have nothing to be sorry for, Hatty. I... I’d be scared, too.” with one finger he wiped away a tear, “But you know, you’re very brave,” he added, “You looked me in the face now, and realized I wasn’t a monster.”

A little smile appeared on Harriet’s lips as she continued to sniffle, “E-even if you look like a monster,” she whispered, “I... I still love you, dad.”

Scooping up into his arms, Luka gave his daughter a tight squeeze. There was some relief that washed over him, knowing that his daughter still loved him despite all of this, however worry had started to snake its way into his mind. How was he going to care for her when he looked like this? He hadn’t even seen his own reflection yet, but considering how Harriet reacted, he wouldn’t be able to even face his best of friends...

Suddenly, there was a jab at his lower end, as if someone had prodded him with a stick. Crap, he had been seen! Tensing up, the length of his body coiled tighter as he held Harriet closer to his chest, protecting her from sight and harm with his torso. He must not have concealed himself enough. Curse this snake-like body!

“A-alright!” a man’s voice demanded, “Come out, y-you... Beast!”

Luka’s body went cold. What was he to do now?! Fear had pooled in Harriet’s eyes once again, and she clung to his mane as tightly as she could. He could feel her little body trembling.

“Come out or I’ll shoot!”

He realized he didn’t have a choice. He popped out from the bush, scattering leaves and flower petals everywhere. A group of ten or eleven adults had gathered, a few of them with children who were cowering behind their legs and clinging to their pant legs. The group gasped audibly, backing away as they erupted into distress.

“Oh gosh, it’s got a kid!” one shrieked. This caused a few screams within the group, and Harriet to try and hide.

“SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!”

“No, get animal control!”

“Roger, just SHOOT the thing, already!!”

The man in front, who was holding a hunter’s gun, was quite literally shaking in his boots. He aimed his weapon, but his moment of hesitation gave Luka enough time to react. He wanted a distraction, a diversion of some kind, and when he screwed his eyes shut he somehow willed it to be. The area was suddenly plunged into darkness as if the sun had been blotted out. Both his daughter and the group screamed, but it was more than enough of a distraction as he leaped over the brick wall and flew off in search of a proper hiding spot.

The two emerged from the darkness as if it were a bubble. Blinking rapidly, Harriet peered over her father’s shoulder, finding it curious that the darkness was in such a concentrated area.

“D-did you do that?” she squeaked.

Glancing over his shoulder, Luka was equally surprised at what he had done. Frankly, he didn’t want to even think about it, “I-I guess so...” he replied. He dreaded the idea that powers came with this monstrous form, but as he lifted them above the treetops in hopes that they’d look like a bird or lost kite, he realized that his say didn’t matter.

Harriet continued to grip his mane for security, her eyes drifting to the land below, “Uh... We’re getting kinda high...”

“Sorry, I don’t want them to catch us,” he glanced at his daughter, “Is it too high?” he tightened his arms around her.

“N-no... I kinda like it.” she admitted. She fell silent for a few moments more, watching the city go by beneath them. She eventually asked, “Where are we going?”

Luka bit his lower lip, “Not sure... Somewhere to hide until the neighborhood calms down.”

“Um... Why not that old movie theater they closed down?” she suggested, “That should be big enough.”

“That sounds good.” Luka whispered in reply. It’d have to do for now, seeing he could sneak in through one of the doors. Or at the very least, they alleyway would suffice as a hiding place.

Locating the old movie theater, Luka had to squeeeeeze his way into the alleyway, between the brick walls. Was it just him, or had he gotten larger? He felt so big and obvious already! There was no way he’d be able to fit inside the theater like this, so he just hoped no one would be coming into the alleyway, especially this late.

He lowered Harriet to the ground, “We’ll stay here for a while...” he whispered.

“Dad, we’ve gotta get some help!” Harriet cried, however she tried keeping her voice down, “We need to find someone who can turn you back to normal!”

Luka’s tail twisted itself into knots, and his expression turned dour, “I don’t know anyone that can fix this,” he sighed, looking at his hands, “And going out now, with everyone in a tizzy about a monster... That’d be asking for trouble.”

“What about Ms. Tina and Honey?” Harriet persisted, “They might be able to help! They’ve got a real big basement you can hide in!” she threw her arms in the air to demonstrate.

“Harriet...” he placed a paw on the top of her head, “... No, I’m sorry. I need to lay low for a while. At least let things calm down. It’s hard telling if anyone would believe me.”

“Bonnie would...” she pouted in reply.

Heaving a sigh Luka paused to think, placing his free hand to where his chin would have normally been. If he was going to be laying low for a time, he couldn’t keep Harriet with him, now could he?

If anyone found out that he was a monster, there would be no chance of him being able to keep Harriet’s custody. After such a long and difficult battle, that made his stomach churn. The idea of Harriet falling into foster care, or even worse, falling into the custody of Vanessa, made his stomach do back flips. What was the best option here? His expression grew grim, a frown etching itself deeper and deeper into his dark features.

“You okay, dad?”

“Hey,” he spoke up, “Why don’t I drop you off at Tina’s house? She and Honey can take care of you for a while.” he paused, “Until I can get this all sorted.”

“What?!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes widening, “No! No way!” she pushed her father’s paw off her head and pressed her hands against his chest, “I’m staying with you!”

“Harriet--”

“I don’t want to leave you!” her fingers wrapped around his fur, “And, and--you’d be lonely without me!” tears welled in her big blue eyes again, “You need someone to scout for you, to see if there are people around! What if something happened, and I never saw you again?!” the tears spilled over her cheeks and down her chin.

“Hey, hey...” Luka cooed, placing his all-too-massive paws on her shoulders, “Okay... Okay, you can stay with me...” he hoped that he wouldn’t regret that decision.

Smiling, Harriet wiped her tears away, “Mean it?”

“Yeah.” Luka nodded, “I mean it.”

Lying on the ground, Luka allowed Harriet to climb into his crossed arms. They remained silent for a time as he waited for enough time to pass. He wondered if anyone would be checking out their house. He certainly hoped not, but he could imagine that most of his neighbors would recognize Harriet as the “hat kid from down the street” without much problem. He sighed.

Harriet’s stomach growled, “Dad,” she gently tugged at a tuft of fur, “I’m hungry.”

Lifting his head, Luka frowned. Shoot, he didn’t finish making her that frozen meal, did he? And he didn’t have his wallet, either, “Ah, sorry kiddo... You’ll have to wait a couple more minutes before we can try to go home.”

“Hm...” her little face scrunched up in thought, “Oh, I know! There’s a restaurant nearby, I think! I can dig out some food from the trash!” before her father could object, she jumped out of his arms and ran off.

With a quick motion, Luka grabbed her by the back of her shirt and lifted her in the air, “Oooh, no you don’t, kiddo!” she squirmed a little but quickly gave up, “I’m not letting you get a stomach bug, or eat a rat or something.” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Folding her arms over her chest, Harriet pouted, “Aw... What if I wanted to eat a rat?”

Lifting himself into the air, he plopped her back into his arms, “Well, you’re not gonna.” he glanced to the sky, which had gone completely dark, “It ought to be late enough for everyone to go back home...” . At least he’d be able to hide fairly well in the dark of the night.

There were a number of police cars around the neighborhood. Luka’s body had gone cold again, not wanting to think about what would happen if one of them spotted him. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and then slid across the subdivision, keeping low to the ground and hiding in any shadows he could find. He crawled over fences, through backyards, and around houses until they finally reached their destination.

Their house was still pitch dark. A few police cars had just pulled away from the front--had they investigated the home? Luka chewed on his cheek, hoping that they had gotten everything they needed by now and were all gone.

“Dad,” Harriet whispered, “There are people in the front, how will we get in?”

Eyes drifting along the back wall, he decided that they’d just have to break in. How odd was that? Breaking into your own house... Well, it had to be done. Hovering to the windows, he attempted to peer inside of one, however his glowing eyes were all that reflected back at him. He scoffed in disgust.

“You ok?” Harriet asked.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” he asked. When she nodded, he held her up to the window, “Take a look inside, and let me know if you see anyone.”

Cupping her hands around her eyes, Harriet looked through the window with a scrutinizing stare, “All clear!” she said. The pair repeated this process a few more times until they eventually concluded that the house was empty. What a relief!

“Okay, hold onto me,” Luka said. Once Harriet’s arms were wrapped around him, he located her room’s window, and pried his fingers underneath the frame. It took a bit of work, but he eventually managed to pry it open with a loud grunt, “Okay, go inside, and get your clothes.”

Harriet frowned, “We can’t say here anymore...?”

Drooping a bit, Luka shook his head, “Sorry... We can’t. Not with everyone suspicious of it, now.”

Despite her feelings, she complied and crawled through the window. As she went to find her suitcase, she turned to the window, “Can you help me...?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, Luka wasn’t sure he’d fit in her room, let alone through the window. But, he’d give it a shot. Pressing his head through the window, he found it to be quite the tight squeeze, but after a few attempts, he managed to get inside, knocking over a lamp in the process. The bulb shattered upon impact with the ground.

“Oh!” Harriet cried. Realizing she rose her voice a bit too much, she shrank back a little and lowered her voice, “Did you get smaller?” she asked. It wasn’t a significant change by any means--he was still massive--but he fit in her little room better than he did the alleyway.

“I don’t know,” Luka shrugged with a furrowed brow. Picking the lamp off the ground, he didn’t really know what to make of this. But there was no time to dwell on it! They had clothes and food to pack!

Harriet passed her favorite outfits over to her father, who carefully folded them into a purple-colored suitcase. A tight fit, but Harriet managed to find space for a few toys by cramming them in the pockets. They grabbed her back pack, dumping Harriet’s kindergarten books unceremoniously onto the floor. With a larger duffel bag in tow, the pair went into the kitchen to pack more supplies.

Harriet’s bag was filled with the lighter supplies--money, bandages, Luka’s phone, a lighter, and a number of other necessities. As he took a few items, such as bandages, from the bathroom, that was when he finally got a good look at himself in the mirror. He stared at his reflection blankly at first, then his expression twisted into one of disgust. He turned away, not wanting to look at it any longer.

Back in the kitchen, the duffel bag was filled with whatever non-perishable foods Luka could find, as well as a pot or two. He double-checked everything in the bags, then slung the duffel over what shoulders he had. He had to tighten the strap to make sure it stayed in place.

Luka couldn’t think of anything else to pack, especially anything that wouldn’t weigh them down too much. He was certain that he’d think of more on their way out of the city, but at this point it was best to just get the both of them to someplace safe.

With everything in tow, Luka scooped Harriet into his arms, and slipped into the night, his sleek purple body blending perfectly in the dark. As he rose into the air, he ran a few options in his head; where they could hide, where they could find shelter, where they could get food... It was going to be terribly difficult for his little daughter, and he so desperately wished that he could have simply left her with a trusted friend instead.

Harriet spoke up when they were high enough to soar over buildings, pulling him from his thoughts, “Hey... Dad?”

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“... Do you think mom was the one that did this to you?”

Luka fell silent, his tail jerking a bit. It was odd; until now, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. But as his stomach churned, he could only conclude that it was true. The drink Vanessa offered him, the sick feeling he got after leaving the restaurant, the horrific transformation. It all added up. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned deeply.

Five years later, Vanessa was just as petty as when Harriet was born.

“You know, I think you’re right.” he finally sighed, “Somehow I don’t think she’d be very willing to reverse it. For now, let’s just... Get somewhere safe.”

A pang of guilt flashed in Harriet’s eyes as she gently placed her hand against her father’s chest. She slowly nodded in reply, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

Solemnly and in silence, the pair flew to the horizon, uncertainty following them like a storm cloud.

#doodledrawsthings #ahit 'coffee shop au'#ahit coffee shop au #sheep of the epic story

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tonystarkbingo · 3 years

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3 Prompt Summaries Game

reunions, masks, body worship - suggested by @polizwrites

@polizwrites - Now that Rhodey was full time military, Tony hadn’t seen him in months. They made plans to meet up in Key West during Fantasy Fest — wearing masks (and very little else), they could finally indulge their own fantasy of being a couple in public.

@psychiccatpanda - Rhodey took the kids trick-or-treating on his own because Tony had been called away on business again. When they get back, Tony's home and has set the place up for a Halloween party for the kids and their friends. When the kids' friends go home and the lights go down, Rhodey takes his time welcoming his husband home.

@somesortofitalianroast - It was 5 years since Steve Rogers had last seen Bucky Barnes, when Barnes left in the middle of the night after they had sex for the first time, leaving the country the next day for a lucrative job, and Steve heartbroken. It had been several years since Steve had thought of Barnes, though he’d recognize the man anywhere, even behind a domino mask at a masquerade ball. Just seeing Barnes made his blood boil, and he wanted to charge across the ballroom, slap the man silly, and then worship every inch of the man’s body. Too bad he was at the ball with clients and there was no way he could do that without losing a very important contract.

@darthbloodorange - (ShrunkyClunks) - He waits in the shadows of an old warehouse, a mask obscuring his identity. No one could know he was here; not only would his reputation be tarnished, but that of the Avengers as their leader. But there was something about the dark assassin that drew him in. Barnes treated him like no other in this world. Treasured him, possessed him, worshipped him. Not like a hero as the world did, but as a man and lover.

Keep reading for lots more!

cookies, mermaid, dancing - suggested by @somesortofitalianroast

@somesortofitalianroast - Darcy didn’t bake for the Avengers all the time, and she never made her mermaid cookies, since they were complicated and she needed to pay attention to the details when icing them with fancy icing. So it was a big deal when she made them, the sort of thing that made you want to dance in the kitchen.

@gavilansblog - Luca AU where Tony introduces mer-people Steve and Bucky to cookies and dancing

@deehellcat - Morgan's eighth birthday party featured a mermaid theme, cookies with sparkly decorations, and dancing.

@psychiccatpanda - Bucky Barnes never dreamed he'd ever be put in charge of kids. Who'd want the Winter Soldier for a babysitter? But this little girl - Tony Stark's little girl - stared up at him, waiting for a reply.

He was pretty sure the last time he'd been this nervous was when he came back to the States after Wakanda. "Yeah, we can do that. Sounds like fun."

Which was how he found himself not-quite elbows deep in blue-green frosting for the ocean reef cookies they had baked (that he had baked) while Morgan spun around the kitchen dancing in her mermaid costume.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony looks at the tray of raw cookies in dismay. Whoever had designed the mermaid cookie cutter clearly had no concept of the baking skill of the average parent.

He had managed to press out all the pictures without causing more damage than the occasional lost arm or misshapen head (and a couple of 'defective' cookies are always required for taste-testing straight out of the oven). But the process of transferring the cookies from the bench to the tray had caused the raw dough to stretch and fold and tear; leaving figures better described as some sort of vaguely-humanoid aquatic eldritch horror...

Impatient, Morgan clambers onto her stool and gasps in delight. "Look, Daddy! The mermaids are dancing!"

@darthbloodorange - (Thundershield) - Thor set out on his boat to the middle of the lake. A smile on his face and a song on his lips. People feared the lake and the creatures that dwelled within. He didn't see why. Peering over the edge of the boat, he watched the mermaids dance. His eyes drawn to one in particular; the blond with the silvery-blue tail. He unwraps the cookies and sets them on the edge of his boat, hoping to draw the merman close again.

picnic, dragon, promises - suggested by @psychiccatpanda

@deehellcat - Steve and Bucky slip away from the village every chance they get to spend time together. Their favorite place to picnic is perilously close to a rumored dragon's lair, but they dare it for its beauty. imagine their surprise when one night as they stargaze and promise forever to each other, a dark shadow flies overhead then lands nearby. It's the legendary dragon, who greets them and offers to witness their solemn vows. (spoiler alert, the dragon is Tony, and I'm not sure what his relationship to them would end up being.)

@psychiccatpanda - Tony hated picnics. He'd been on so many for photo shoots with his mom and Howard, then for Stark Industries, and the occasional summer charity event. Picnics sucked. There was either too much sun or not enough, not to mention bugs, screaming kids, or other couples making out.

"You promised, Tony," the love of his life reminded him. "And I got you a surprise." The surprise was a kite in the shape of a dragon. Suddenly, the day was looking better.

@somesortofitalianroast - Steve was walking to a picnic on the beach when he found a baby dragon, abandoned on the side of the road. He picked it up, intending to take it to the local fantasy animal shelter, but as soon as he touched it, he knew he would never be able to let it go. Which is why he was standing on the dunes, murmuring promises to the dragon in his arms.

@rebelmeg - pepper sighed. "tony, you promised you were gonna stop doing that." pointedly looking away from her, the red and gold dragon roughly the size of a large dog pointedly opened his mouth, and stuffed the donut hooked on his claw inside. puffs of smoke emitted from his nostrils and he chuckled in a rough, growly way when a sandwich in a baggie smacked him in the back of the head.

"we're never going on a picnic when you're shifted again, this is ridiculous."

@darthbloodorange - (Stucky, Fantasy AU) - Steve walks up to the den of the dragon; his once best friend and lover. Baskets of meat in hand, and his heart weighted heavily in his chest. He'd kept his promise for over 70 years, and he wasn't about to break it now. "Bucky, it's me. I know you remember me. You're in there somewhere, I feel it," he says in his elvish tongue. Within the den comes a mighty roar, seeming to shake the very core of the mountain. But Steve is not dissuaded.

bread, defenestration, jingle - suggested by @rebelmeg

@rebelmeg - standing at the window and very calmly eating her sandwich, natasha watched as clint climbed out of the bushes underneath and went streaking for the street, where an ice cream truck was driving past. the second he'd heard the jingly song, the idiot had flung his own sandwich in the air and literally dove out the window. wondering if he'd realize he didn't have any money on him, nat smirked.

@psychiccatpanda - (WinterIronHawk implied) To be fair, Clint had not thought about 'costume integrity' or the fact that the Christmas elf pajamas did not count for much in the way of bodily protection. On the other hand, though, he'd just been planning on eating as much of the freshly baked panettone bread as Bucky let him get away with while they waited for Tony to get home. Getting thrown through the window of Tony's Malibu house by some Hydra experiment had not been on his radar at all. (Not Bucky - to be completely clear, he was cute and Clint didn't think mean things about people who baked him a nigh-endless quantity of sweets.) At least he managed to keep the hat with its little bell that jingled cheerfully as Clint sailed through the air.

@darthbloodorange - Stony (probably a 5+1 fic) - Tony frowns as the familiar jingle of his phone drew him away from kneading his sourdough. He groans when he sees who it was that was calling. He nearly doesn't answer, but Barnes almost never calls, so curiosity gets the better of him. "Stark," the man greets, voice as gruff as ever. "What do you want?" he grumbles. "Arm's acting up again. Accidently threw your husband out a window. He's hanging on about the 26th floor? Thought you should know." "Damn it!" Tony cries, armour assembling around him quickly. He wishes this was the first time Barnes' arm had thrown an Avenger out the window... but it wasn't.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony likes bread as much as the next guy, but he is this close to swearing off the stuff entirely. He tenses as Clint moves behind him, his humming looping into yet another round of the jingle for the local bakery. He snaps. "Clint! If I hear another note I swear I will throw you out this window! And not send the suit after you." Clint grins, opens his mouth and... shuts it again. Silent.

Werewolves, Gardening, Hurt/Comfort - suggested by @darthbloodorange

@somesortofitalianroast - (preserum!steve/werewolf!bucky) When he moved into the house, Steve was looking forward to growing a garden, with a large vegetable patch, all the herbs, and some flowers for the colors. He wasn’t expecting to get overheated. He certainly wasn’t expecting the werewolf to bound out of the woods to take care of him. He’d think he imagined the entire thing, except the werewolf stuck around. Still taking care of him.

@tehroserose - Steve and Tony had retreated into the woods. Obadiah had taken over Tony's birthright, and Hydra had encroached on Steve's home of Brooklyn. They met there, and lived off their wits. Tony did most of the smithing for the various exiles, while Steve gardened vegetables that were rare and valuable. They were content, and while they wished they could save their homelands, there was no real hope of doing so. No hope until one night, when Steve was doing one last check of the garden before going to sleep, he found a big, bleeding wolf.

@rebelmeg - "right here, honey," pepper pointed to a spot in the dirt, and tony padded over, pawing at the spot a few times before starting to dig. "yep, that's enough." she stopped him when the hole was deep enough, then held out a hand for the flower morgan had cupped in her hands, cradling the ball of roots and dirt with care. "see, now it's perfect! you wanna take a ride on daddy now, morgan? i think he's getting bored with gardening."

"yeah!" morgan jumped up with a shout, and scrambled up onto the werewolf's back with no problems. "go, daddy, go!" with a woof, tony took off at a run, morgan holding tight to his fur as she giggled, and pepper smiled as she watched them. tony hated going through a transformation during the full moon, the pain of it pretty extreme, but they'd found a lot of ways to make up for it.

@psychiccatpanda - Tony had avoided Barnes since Steve had brought him to the compound. The werewolf had done the same. Howard hadn't had anything good to say about weres in general, but everyone knew wolves were the worst. It was part of the reason that part of the Avengers had been politely asked to leave Wakanda. Opening the door to his patio, Tony caught the shine of eyes and Barnes scrambled back from what he'd been doing. Tony scanned the patio and only saw a trowel, some loose dirt, and a flat of plants - wolfsbane. "Doesn't that stuff give you blisters or something?" Tony asked, knowing that it was probably true. "How about you come in and wash your hands and tell me what you're up to."

@darthbloodorange - (Ults Stony) - After Steve is infected with Lycanthropy, Tony took him to one of his parents' houses out in the country. Everyone expected Steve would get over it, given time, as he did with the vampirism. But the lycanthropy sticks, appearing to have fused with the serum. While SHIELD's scientists look into a cure, Tony stays with Steve. Growing bored of the overly-manicured, emptiness that was the green fields surrounding the country house, Steve takes up gardening as his current mission. Tony watches, completely enthralled, as Steve slowly transforms the area around the house.

letter, basket, book - suggested by @rebelmeg

@jamesbuckystark - Someone left a basket on Tony's doorstep containing a book, a map, and a magnifying glass. Inside the book was a letter dated 1942. He's curious to find out what this means

@tehroserose - Morgan put down the letter. It was the last one. Her father had written her one for every birthday and potential special occasion. This one was for when she became a mother. She couldn't have them hidden away, they were on a basket on her dresser in her room, but that didn't make them any less bittersweet. He left her behind. To save the world, but he had left her.

She went to sit in the rocking chair next to her child's crib and began to read the children's story her mother had allowed all those years ago. "Iron Man and the End of Thanos". Any children she had would know their grandfather.

@somesortofitalianroast - When Bucky decided to become a librarian, he thought it would give him access to all the books all the time, in exchange for maybe some shelving. He didn’t realize how much work went into collections development and management, nor how much time was spent looking books up for patrons on their own system when asked if the library had a particular book. Boring and frustrating. He just had to stick it out until he paid off the worst of his student loans. Until the day the letter arrived on his desk, sitting next to a gift basket from a local fancy food store. A letter letting him know that the gift basket was from his secret admirer.

@jacarandabanyan - After waking from the ice, Steve took to reading voraciously to catch up on what he'd missed. Despite Tony's offers, he never did come around to a screen reader, though, and instead opted to keep a pile of books on his bedside table. When the pile of books got too big, he had a whicker basket to put the overflow in.

Tony feels like the two of them can't have a conversation outside the heat of battle without devolving into arguments and personal attacks, so he takes to slipping notes into Steve's books. Over time, the notes get longer and longer, until it would be more proper to call them letters than notes.

@rebelmeg - tiny!tony is digging through a basket of new books the jarvises got him, a mix of kids books and textbooks and novels. as he digs, one of the books falls open, and out falls an envelope. the letter inside seems to be written in code... but he's also pretty sure that's his mama's handwriting. a grin spreading across his face, he sits down next to the basket and starts working out the code.

@darthbloodorange - (Stucky? Witch/Fantasy AU?) - Steve sits in his chair by the window and opens his favourite book. With careful hands, he pulls out the letter from his mother, which he'd been using as a bookmark, and carries on where he'd left off. Library, his familiar, jumps from her basket into his lap and curls up, butting her head against his hands. Despite the warmth and happiness he felt here, it wasn't complete. A part will always be missing until Bucky returns.

@psychiccatpanda - Whoever had suggested they stay at this rickety, 'quaint' seaside hotel had apparently never seen any island murder movies ever, Tony thought with disgust. The wood floors creaked and the building made weird noises at night. Combined with the crashing waves, it was not what Tony called relaxing. Somebody knocked and Tony assumed it was the room service snack he'd ordered. Instead, he found a basket with a book tucked inside. Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None.

"That's not ominous," Tony muttered to himself, flipping through the pages. Then he saw the letter tucked inside.

#tonystarkbingoflash2021 #tsbflash2021 #tsb discord party #3 prompt summaries #party game

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 4 years

Text

Totaled

You accidentally total your Dad’s precious car, but that’s not what he’s worried about.

“Be careful,” your dad told you as he handed you the keys to his precious black Audi. It wasn’t the first time he was letting you drive it, but it was the first time he was letting you drive it alone. You’d had your license for over a year and he still barely even let you get something from the inside if you left it. But you’d literally begged him, just this once, to drive it to the movies. And he’d finally agreed.

“Thank you!” You said, throwing your arms around his waist. He chuckled.

“If you crash this car, you will literally never see another set of keys as long as I’m alive.” You nodded.

“I’m not a bad driver.”

“I know you’re not, ‘cause I taught you how. I’m just messing with you, alright?” You let go of him and took the keys from his hand. “Really, though. Drive safe, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow if I’m not up when you get back.”

“Okay. Good night.” He watched you as you went to the couch and grabbed your favorite fuzzy blanket, your wallet, and your phone. And then he watched you get into the car, set your phone up with Bluetooth, and drive off. He turned toward the dog on the couch, sat down with him, and turned on the TV.

He wasn’t lying, and you weren’t either. You were a good driver. He’d trained you well before letting you get your license – one of the first times you drove he had forced you to go up Mulholland. That had terrified you, but you were prepared for anything after that. So he didn’t feel bad about letting you have the car for the night. Besides, your own was there if he needed to go anywhere. It was just the fact that you were seventeen – it was less scary than sixteen, but not quite old enough yet to be on your own. And it was also the fact that you were going to the movies, at night, with a friend, on back roads that were hard to navigate in the dark. But you could handle it, he kept telling himself. He had to let go every once in awhile. This was one of those times.

You made it to your friend’s house, pulling into her driveway and getting out. You did a mini-photoshoot with it, just to send to your dad to make him laugh, and it got a few chuckles out of him. And then you were on your way to the movies.

“Dude, it’s fuckin’ creepy out here,” your friend said as you drove through the state park. You were going to the nicer theater a town over, and you were actually a little surprised your dad was okay with it. But your friend was right. It was creepy. The road was unfolding in front of you in a set of headlights, foggy as hell, and there were the occasional times your headlights would catch the bright red eyes of a deer. But you had it under control.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, adjusting your leg and bringing it up to rest in the seat. “Maybe next time we shouldn’t try to make a 10 PM showing.”

“It’s more fun, though.”

“Oh, definitely.” You made it through the park and to the theater. Nothing bad happened there – you grabbed popcorn, chose your seats, took pictures of your tickets, and watched the movie. It was good, but there were a few things you wanted to remember to tell your dad later.

Movie is over! You texted him. Heading home!

See you soon!

You walked out of the theater and threw away the last remaining bits of popcorn and soda, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. And then you started the way home. The town was smaller than the one you lived in, but you knew it pretty well, and you took the back way out of the theater so there was less traffic. You were determined to make it through the night without crashing your dad’s precious car.

“Here we are again,” you said as you entered the park. This time it was darker and even foggier, but there were no jumping deer or drunk drivers. Everything was fine. You and your friend talked and laughed about the movie, turned your music down so that you could focus better, and just enjoyed being with each other. You didn’t get to see her much in the summer because your dad usually dragged you out to California, but the past few weeks you’d been back in Boston and trying to spend every minute with your friends.

You dropped your friend off at her house, still reeling from how tense you’d been driving through the park. You checked your phone – your dad hadn’t sent you anything to indicate that he was going to bed, so you assumed he would still be awake to talk a little bit about the movie. Your house was only ten minutes away, but you know what they say – most accidents happen when someone is ten minutes away from home. You took the neighborhood streets, the same streets you’d grown up on. You would know them with your eyes closed in a thunderstorm. And you knew that the entrance to your neighborhood required a U-turn. You slowed down and got in the correct lane, putting your signal on, and waited for a few cars to pass. There was a Camaro, one that was loud as hell, coming toward you, so you waited. But the car started veering away from their lane and into yours, and, oh, shit. You looked in your blind spot and tried to move, but the Camaro made it to you before you could.

You didn’t quite know what happened at first. Where the other car hit you. Later on you’d find out it hit the front of the car and they were drunk as well as going 70 in a 35. You could feel pain in your leg first, and then you felt the wheel hit your chest. Your head crashed into the airbag, but it wasn’t working right, it couldn’t have been, because the last thing you felt was a crack before your head hit the back of the seat. You tried to breathe, but in those few seconds all you wanted was your dad.

Your dad was still up, waiting for you, honestly. He wanted to see what you thought about the movie, but he also wanted to say goodnight. You always waited up for him, so he tried to do the same for you. He looked at the clock, and then back down at your text. You should have been home for about ten or fifteen minutes, and he knew you weren’t going to go anywhere that you weren’t supposed to go because he trusted you. He opened the tracking app and checked your phone, seeing that you were sitting at the neighborhood entrance. You probably just got caught in traffic, he thought.

Ten minutes later and you hadn’t moved. You were still not home. Something was wrong, your dad could feel it, and he decided to just call you. Usually he didn’t call you if you were driving, but he wanted to know where you were. His call went unanswered and he stood up, grabbing the keys to your car to go out and find you because maybe the transmission had shot again and your phone died or something, but before he could, he got a call.

“Hello?” He asked, looking out at the driveway to see if you would pull in while he was on the phone.

“Hi, are you the owner of a black Audi with the plates AZL-X32?” Chris hadn’t exactly memorized his plate numbers, but he was definitely the owner of a black Audi.

“Yeah, but my daughter should be driving it. Is everything okay?” He was sure you’d just gotten pulled over or something. Like he did, you sped just a little bit, but cops tended to go harder on kids than they did with adults.

“Unfortunately I’m at the scene of an accident involving the vehicle.” Chris’s heart dropped. “Another car hit hers head on while they were speeding.”

“Is she alright? Is she okay?” He asked. He started walking out of the house, locking the door, and climbed into your car.

“She was unresponsive when they pulled her out, but they’re speaking with her now. They’re taking her to Boston Memorial, is that alright?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Can we get her name and date of birth? And is she allergic to any medications or have any conditions?”

“Yeah, her birthday’s March 13th, 2003. She’s not allergic to anything that we know of besides peanuts. Her name is Y/n.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there at the hospital to get some more information from you.” Chris started driving toward the hospital, tears in his eyes, freaking out.

You were freaking out, too, only a different kind. Your entire body was bloody when you looked down. Your head was swimming and the only thing you could do was throw up when you realized where you were. You could see your cracked phone in the cup holder and wanted to reach for it, but your arm was in so much pain. You were in so much pain. Your head was hurting, your leg was hurting, and you could feel liquid dripping down. You knew it was bad. But suddenly a rush of air came toward you and someone was lifting you up.

“Dad?” You asked, wishing it was him. Your eyes were glazed over, unable to focus on anything. You saw the night sky.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” A voice asked. It was a woman’s voice.

“Y/n,” you said. “I want my dad, where’s my dad?”

“We’ll call him, honey, don’t worry. I’m gonna give you a mask and check over you, alright? Don’t fight me, I know you’re scared.” You were. You were terrified. You didn’t even really know what happened. But you could smell burning rubber and oil and blood. It only took you a second to come to the conclusion that you’d totaled your dad’s car because someone else had veered into your lane. You tried to say that, out loud, but the woman put a mask over your face. You felt the soft bed of a stretcher and then a clanging noise. You were in the back of an ambulance. The lights were what made you finally pass out. They were just too bright.

“I’m looking for my daughter, Y/n Evans, she was in a car crash, she would’ve been brought in half an hour ago,” Chris said hurriedly as he walked up to the front desk, nearly slamming your car keys down.

“She’s being looked at right now. If you could fill out some papers and consent forms, that would be the most helpful thing right now.”

“Of course.” Just as long as you were alive, he thought. But they wouldn’t be talking like that if you weren’t okay. So he sat down, filled out a shit ton of papers, and gave them back to the nurse. He called the neighbor, asking if they could lock the house up and make sure Dodger had some water because he was sure you’d be there all night and there was no way he was leaving you.

They finally let him in to see you half an hour later, when they’d moved you over to the pediatrics wing. He had to walk the entire length of the hospital, but at least they were letting him see you. He strode over to the front desk, asking for you, and they told you that you were the first door on the right and they’d send a nurse in to talk with him. He was quiet as he walked in, trying not to spook you, and sighed when he saw you. He couldn’t help but almost start crying; there were scratches on your face, a huge bruise on your neck, your leg was wrapped up but your wrist already had a cast on it, and most of all, he could see dried tears in your eyes. There was an IV giving you blood and that was what nearly broke him. You’d lost so much blood that they had to give you more.

“Hey, y/n, honey,” he said softly, walking toward you. He laid a hand in your hair, kissing your forehead. Your eyes didn’t quite open, but your hand started moving and he took it.

“Daddy,” you murmured. That actually made the tears fall from his cheeks. You hadn’t called him that since you were twelve.

“I thought I was gonna lose you, sweetheart.” He was incredibly gentle as he pulled the covers up over you when he saw the chill bumps on your arms. “Do you know what happened?”

“I was trying to turn and this car just came over into my lane. I tried to move, but I was too late.” He sighed. So it wasn’t your fault. That was good. But he was about to sue the shit out of somebody. “Don’t go all papa bear on me,” you murmured as if you knew what he was thinking.

“Hey, I get to go all papa bear on you.” You opened your eyes, finally, and he smiled at you. You couldn’t do much, but you wanted to be closer. You needed to be closer. You did what you could do scoot over into the corner of the bed, right next to where your dad was sitting. A nurse walked into the room and asked your name.

“Yeah, that’s us,” your dad responded. He squeezed your hand, looking down as your eyelids shut again.

“She’ll be just fine. Her ankle is fractured, she broke one of her wrists, and she lost two pints of blood from a cut on her thighs. But she’ll be perfectly fine. We can’t let her go home tonight, we need to monitor everything, especially the cuts and the blood transfusion.” Your dad nodded.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be around to check for her vitals every half an hour for four hours, and then we’ll change to once an hour if things are getting better. How does that sound, Y/n?” The nurse asked. You didn’t really answer. You just stuck your thumb up.

“Thank you,” Chris said with a smile. The nurse started checking you over and left a few minutes later. Chris sat in the silence for a few minutes as you slept, only able to hear the ringing of a telephone and a siren down below. He got up, making the rounds and calling the insurance company, then calling the police to get access to the crash report for insurance, and then calling your grandparents to tell them what happened. He must have been on the phone for a few hours because the nurse only started coming once an hour and the sun was finally starting to rise. You woke up with it, opening your eyes and looking around the room.

“Dad?” You asked. He turned his eyes toward you and walked over, sitting back down in the chair.

“Hey, honey,” he replied. “How do you feel?”

“Awful.”

“A car accident will do that to you, huh?” His voice was soft and his eyes lit up when he watched you. They always did.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“What?”

“I told you I wouldn’t crash your car.” He chuckled.

“That wasn’t your fault, hon. None of this is.”

“But I crashed your car.”

“Cars can be replaced, sweetie. You can’t. But there’s no way in hell I’m ever letting you drive it again.”

“Yeah, I ruined that didn’t I?”

“Maybe. Are you hurting at all? We can get you some more pain meds if you are.” You shook your head. He brushed your hair out of your face, his thumb rubbing against a cut on your forehead.

“I’m just tired. And I wanna go home.”

“They need you to stay for a few more hours and then I can take you home, alright?” You just nodded this time. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“Where’s my phone?”

“I don’t know if they found it or not, we’ll get you another one if it’s messed up.”

“I wanted to watch Netflix.” He chuckled and handed you his phone, pulled up to Netflix. You laid down on your side, as close to him as you could get, and started watching your favorite show. You fell asleep half an hour later, right before your grandparents called to check in. Your dad gave your forehead a kiss before standing up to answer the phone.

“How is she doing?” Your grandmother asked right away.

“She’s alright, she’s sleeping right now,” Chris said softly, letting go of your hand to walk out into the hallway so he wouldn’t wake you up.

“That’s good. We’ll come over and let the dog out and feed him. And we can bring you both some clothes and chargers.”

“That would be amazing. Can you bring me her laptop, too? She can’t find her phone.”

“Of course.” His mom paused. “You’re doing so well with her, Chris. You always have. We’re so proud of you.”

“She’s doing it all on her own. I saw a picture of the car last night. It’s hard to believe anyone made it out of there, much less her.” He saw you waking up. “Hold on, she’s waking up.” You were just stretching, but it nearly gave him a heart attack. He really needed to get some sleep or he just might go crazy.

“You okay?” He asked you. You didn’t answer. You were asleep.

“Is she?” Your dad sighed.

“She’s asleep. She was just stretching, I think.”

“I’ll let you go then. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Ma. Love you.” Chris hung up the phone and walked back over to you, sitting down again, and took your hand. There were two things he was absolutely sure of; he was staying with you, and he was never, ever letting you drive his car again.

A/N: I hope this was fluffy enough because I am in overload right now! Thank you for the request because I loved writing this one!

#chris evans x daughter!reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 2

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past and Future) Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2,129

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

Part 1

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

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Your father, Negan, chuckled as you got off the golf cart in front of the trailer you’d be celebrating Christmas in again, like you had for three of the past ten years, at the Los Angeles County State Prison.

“Hi, daddy.” You breathed in relief, grateful to spend any amount of time with the only family member that you could completely trust. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry fucking Christmas to you, too, Princess. Fuck you, give ‘em.” He barked as he pulled the bags of food and your clothes off the back of the cart before you could even think to reach for them. You simply rolled your eyes and grabbed your guitar case before thanking the officer and heading inside the family visit trailer. “So what kinda trouble did you get into this week?”

“Well…” You sighed as you sat down at the small table in the kitchen. “… I went to Cleveland on Saturday and flew back yesterday morning. Pretty sure I got pregnant, too.”

“You fucking what?!” Your dad roared as he slammed a box of Mac and Cheese down on the counter. “Fucking Henry?”

“Henry is not coming back!” You shouted back, defensively. “And does it fucking matter? I made a choice, two choices actually, to sleep with some douche bag and not take Plan B after. It is what it fucking is.”

“So what, you're just gunna throw away your fucking life…” He started as he went back to throwing groceries in the cabinets, angrily.

“No, I made the choice to not be fucking alone any more!” You interrupted as you looked over at him. You couldn't hide the hurt in your eyes when he turned around to stare at you, shocked that you were actually talking about your emotions.

“Sweetheart…” He breathed as he abandoned his task and came over to sit down in front of you. “You are not fucking alone…”

“I am alone, daddy.” You nearly whispered as you put your feet up on your chair and wrapped your arms around your legs. “Mom’s dead, and you're in here for who knows how much longer. And Henry…” You scoffed and shook your head. “Henry isn't coming back. He loves being some hit shot doc the Army more than he ever loved me. So other than my research, which I've all but abandoned anyways out of sheer boredom, I have nothing. I have no one, daddy. Just the occasional visit from Ashleigh and some of the harlots from the club. Maybe a once a month lunch date with some of the people from UCLA. But that's it. So I made a choice not to get the morning after pill after I stared at the box for over an hour and weighed out the pros and cons. And I would much rather raise a sperm donor baby than be alone in that house anymore.”

“OK.” Negan whispered with a nod as he rested his hand on your bent knee. “OK. I don't fucking like it, but I will get on that train all the fucking same.” Tears welled in your eyes as you rested your cheek on the back of his hand, and you closed your eyes to hide them. “So I'm gunna be a grandpa?”

“Maybe.” You choked the slightest bit as you opened your eyes to look at him again. “It just happened but I know I'm ovulating…”

“Eww fucking gross.” He fake gagged to get you to smile as he pulled his hand free and got up to finish putting groceries away. “I don't wanna hear that shit.”

“That's what you get for raising a daughter with no filter.” You pointed out as you propped your chin between your still bent knees.

“Fucking gross.” He repeated with a laugh. “So the fuck was in Cleveland? This fuckin guy?”

“Ashleigh’s client. He’s a rock rapper that needed someone that could learn music fast and played the guitar well. So Ash landed on me. But dude is a total self absorbed prick. B minus in… well in the broom closet.”

“I'll have Simon kill him.” He said almost 100% seriously.

“You are not going to kill this idiot for being bad at sex.”

“No, I'm gunna fucking kill him for laying a Goddamn hand on my daughter.” He responded with a smile as he balled up the last empty grocery bag and put it in the recycling bin.

“You're an idiot.” You laughed as you grabbed your guitar and got up to sit outside for a while.

“Hey, be nice to your old man.” He huffed as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches off the table and followed you out front to enjoy the California sun. “And go easy on me today.”

“Yea fucking right.” You laughed as you sat down on one of the plastic lawn chairs and pulled out your guitar, which took you almost a year of bribery to be able to get it into the jail it now lived in in the first place. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Pain in my Goddamn ass.” He grumbled around his cigarette as he moved his chair out off the shade and pulled off his blue prison issue shirt for as long as he could get away with it. “Alright… rock music from the 70’s.” You nodded at the category and tuned your guitar before picking an easy AC/DC song to start with. Which is pretty much how you always spent your days when you visited your father in prison.

——

Your office hadn’t looked so chaotic since you were working on a regular basis, but as of that morning, every available surface was covered in every single medical textbook, (with a focus on pregnancy and pediatrics) and motherhood book you could get your hands on. The dry erase board that usually had your equations to see if your Milky Way black hole theory was a possibility, had been wiped clean and replaced with columns upon columns of notes, to separate the ridiculous from the actual facts you would need to go through a pregnancy and raise a child.

You were blazing through the ‘Essential Neonatal Textbook’, when your house phone rang, startling you the slightest bit and forcing you to pull your attention away from a long list of the benefits of cord blood. You sighed and snatched up your headset as you set the book down to work through all of the information and pick out the more important bits and pieces to make the best informed decision.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)? I have a Colson Baker here to see you.” Your fingers froze with the cap of the marker in one hand and the marker itself in the other.

“You can let him in.” You sighed as you took a step forward and started a new list under the newborn column in the middle of the board. You heard the line click in your ear and you wrote quickly, trying to get some of the information down so you knew where to pick up when you came back inside. You got a short start and reluctantly forced yourself away from your research to let your guest in. You started to work out your ideas vocally as you opened up the two gates and watched his purple Lamborghini pull into your driveway. You waited just long enough for him to make it half way to you, before you turned and headed inside to add more to your cord blood list with him following behind you.

“Umm… what the fuck is this?” Kels asked as he looked at the board over your shoulder in shock.

“Did you vaccinate Casie?” You asked as you continued to write.

“You’re fucking pregnant?!” He shouted over you as you capped your marker and set it back down on the easel.

“I am pregnant.” You said evenly as you walked over to find the ‘The Umbilical Cord Blood Controversies in Medical Law’ book to cross reference the former textbook. “Did you vaccinate Casie?”

“Were you gunna fucking tell me?” He shouted as you flipped through the pages, easily reading 20,000 words a minutes despite the distraction of your visitor.

“I was neither planning on telling you, nor keeping it from you.” You said simply. “I want nothing from you, Mr. Baker. I don’t need money, and I don’t need you to step up to be a father. You were a one night stand that I chose to not take Plan B after. My choice, my child, my body, my life.” He looked at you completely lost for words as you set your finished book down and headed back to the white board to add and change notes. “I would like your family medical history, though. I could easily do a diagnostics test and an MSS while I’m pregnant but…”

“Oh, I’m gunna be fucking sick.” He groaned behind you as you finished your idea and turned to move on to the next section. You grabbed the trash can and handed it to him on the way past as you tried to keep your thoughts as straight as possible, relatively unsuccessfully.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” You sighed as you looked over at him for a moment. “And after the way you treated me that night, the way you just used me and threw me away like I didn’t mean a Goddamn thing…” You exhaled through your nose and shook your head as you looked away from him and out the back door to the ocean.

“I don’t care that you’re not happy here, Mr. Baker. I don’t care if you want to be in this child’s life or not. I don’t care if you see me or this child as a mistake, or what you see us as at all. I just don’t care. What I care about is having a calm, healthy pregnancy, and becoming a mother. And I will not tolerate having someone come into our lives to walk in and out of it because he never wanted us in the first place. Nor will I tolerate someone treating me like I’m worthless trash in front of my child.” Kels didn’t say a single word as you shook your head and turned back around to go back to work. “Stay as long as you want. I have work to do.”

As Colson sat and thought, you went over to find a book about banking cord blood so you could round out that column. The next column was pros and cons of breastfeeding verses formula, which was a lot more extensive than you originally expected due to the varying opinions on length and benefits, but after reading through seven different books, and writing and erasing conflicting notes, he finally spoke up.

“Breastfeed for a year.” He almost whispered as he watched you work. “That’s what we did with Casie. And yea, we vaccinated her.” You nodded your head as you erased the idea you were writing and stood up to make a note in the vaccines column. “I don’t turn my back on my kids.”

“OK.”

“I’m sorry.” He continued as you capped your marker “It’s no excuse but I was high as fuck and running on adrenaline. I used you and that was shitty as fuck.”

“Yes it was.” You agreed with a nod as you leaned against the front of your desk and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well I’m fucking sorry.” He said a little harshly. “And I’m sorry for knocking you up.”

“Pregnancy happens, Colson.” You breathed with a shrug of your shoulders. “I’m obviously a little more prepared since I actually made the decision…”

“Yea, that’s a fucking understatement.”

“OK, you can fucking leave and I can file a restraining order.” You snapped. “What’s done is done. I’m pregnant, you’re the father, your kid and my kid have a new sibling. You’re not going to have to pay child support, I’m taking primary custody with open visitations. And no, I am not going to date you. Not now, not ever. You left a sour taste in my mouth and I want nothing to do with you or your crazy lifestyle.”

“You’re just making this super fucking easy, aren’t you?” He asked as he pushed himself out of his chair. “I’m outta here. I’ll get your number from Ash and I’ll be in touch.” You rolled your eyes and gestured toward the door behind him.

“You can see yourself out.”

“Such a fucking bitch.” He muttered as he stormed out the doors and through the atrium to leave. You let out a huff and shook your head as you went back to your research.

“Idiot fucking sperm donor.”

Part 3

#machine gun kelly x reader #mgk x reader #colson baker x reader #henry cavill x reader #too smart for your own good

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purkinje-effect · 3 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 70: Something Old, Something New

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 1. First chapter of Third Instar; go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Canon-typical animal violence, hostile locals.

In the shape of things to come.

_______________________

It should have jolted ‘Choly electric, when Sticks turned over Little Boy Blue with the rhythmic sequence of soft chirps from its push-button transmission. Yet, the smooth uniform purring of the fusion engine left him doe-eyed sinking deeper into the ancient moving blanket that had been folded lengthwise and tucked down atop the otherwise exposed re-stuffed guts of the passenger seat’s upholstery. A lone Mister Handy fuel tank tucked itself behind him.

Sticks had replaced the front driver’s seat with a balding duct-taped armchair, trimmed to fit; he had also replaced the entire back seat with a footlocker, to make extra room inside the vehicle. The ghoul had paid the interior far more attention in flirting after perfectionism, with what he could loot from Concord nearby. His flux welding intimated once present chrome contours, the refinished salvaged wood, its prior vinyl wood paneling. The ghoul drew down the parking lever, now a screwdriver with a leather-wrapped handle, took the freshly royal blue 2071 Chryslus Coupe out of neutral, and eased it out from under the canopy of the Red Rocket Truck Stop to exit the parking lot.

Before ‘Choly could register to wave to the Sanctuary settlers out the open window behind them, Sticks had shifted into third and spirited them down to the first light to turn East into Concord. He sank down in his seat again, and folded his gloved hands in his lap.

‘Choly supposed that the two of them were just as patched together as Blue--though Angel would certainly have argued it took the cake for this distinction, were it in on his internal monologue. The composite Mister Handy had powered off its thruster on Blue’s roof, where Sticks had latched it down with a pair of tow chains, hooked around the rear pillars of the blown-out back windows. From atop the car, its Mister Gutsy grade sensors would provide them with a slightly greater forewarning of incumbent road hazards.

Sticks slapped the steel dashboard and laughed.

“Hah! aren’t the hydraulics just riding like a dream.” He beamed, petting at it. “Ohh, sometimes I surprise even myself.”

“It’s skating on glass,“ ‘Choly agreed, his attention squarely on the ghoul. He chewed at his lip. “Are you sure you don’t need another nap? We could pull in behind the Wright’s Inn, and you could recline--”

Rather than answer, Sticks zipped left and picked up a speed more befitting an automobile. With the windows down, the quarter windows open, and the floor vents unlatched, the crisp breeze disturbed ‘Choly’s headspace before it could sour. He tugged his golf visor down on his head, and coughed a bit at the smell of the road kicking up in the floorboards, but he welcomed the fresh air, as the air conditioning was the one notable thing Sticks had not managed to restore in some capacity.

He couldn’t get the ghoul to admit how he’d managed a (mostly) in-tact windshield, when there hadn’t been a scrap of glass left on the husk of the car after laying on its side for the better part of two hundred years.

‘Choly reached up to put a hand on the roof. Angel tapped it emphatically, reassuringly. His eyes couldn’t follow the scenery as they zipped along Route 62.

“Have you been further North than Lowell?”

“Oh, yeah. No further than Ant, though. Never been reason for me to. This’ll be a first.”

Route 62 changed over to Route 4 as it eased North. Sticks swerved around a bit of road debris, but did not otherwise slow down. ‘Choly fretted that little remained of the junkyard, after the fusion engines of automobile and robotics alike had exploded last he’d been this way. Sticks decided to push Blue’s constitution and gunned it up to sixty, then eighty.

As the scenery blurred past them and even with the correct prescription of eyewear on his face, ‘Choly shook his daze and instead squinted at the map on his Pip-Boy.

“Ant? As in... ants?”

“Don’t overthink it. We’re not stopping. Straight shot to Nashua.” The ghoul belted another laugh, letting the wind whisk his noseless face and last locks of blond hair. “I haven’t had a car run this smooth in eighty years. Maybe more.”

“You did great...” 'Choly admired his enthusiasm and pride of craftsmanship. “I doubt anybody else could’ve done what you’ve done.”

“You can say that again.” Sticks threw a hand across the back of ‘Choly’s headrest, and rubbed at his shoulder. ‘Choly leaned into it. “With how well he runs, we might be able to get back to Goodneighbor by the end of the week. --Fuck Tucker Bridge, though. Fuck it to Hell.”

“You really think we’re on the road for a while then?” He picked at the radio dials before deciding not to see if WXXX was the only surviving station in the area. “Shouldn’t we stop to loot in Tyngsborough or Chelmsford, then? There’s plenty of silt flour for a month or two, but I’ll need way more than a bottle of mouthwash and a half tube of toothpaste if we don’t want to have to choose between using it and my eating it.”

“For real. Don’t sweat it. If I were worried about groceries, I’d have had us stay over in Billerica to loot on the way down. Still can’t quite wrap my head around you getting by on that stuff, ya know.”

“Mm.”

Several minutes passed where they took in the sound of the open road. The unevenness of the rubbled roadway became more obvious to ‘Choly in the break in conversation, although Blue cleared a majority of it without hesitation.

“Say, where do you see us a year from now, anyway?”

“Is this your way of proposing to me?” ‘Choly turned to him with a starstruck start. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve got rings in that Cram tin.”

Sticks turned thoughts over in his head a bit.

“Well, there are rings in there. But they’re not for you. That box of rocks is our insurance.”

“I suppose I’ve spoiled the game, then.”

“You’re the one who had a proposal at all, you know. The proposal I was meaning. Gee, you really are head over heels for me, if you’re already talking about getting old.”

“I haven’t been thawed out for a whole year yet. It’s hard to imagine getting any older than I already am, let alone with you. ...You really think you’ll stick with me a whole year?”

“Many more, is the idea. Hopefully, you’ll stick with me.”

“...I meant to do that.”

“Sure,” the ghoul grinned, giving him a side-eye.

It took less than an hour for them to pass through the residential ruins of Chelmsford and Tyngsborough, though variably dense evergreens paved much of their way. The Merrimack ran against them to the right, coiling back and forth out of sight. Blue skipped a wet patch on Route 3A, spraying a muddy mist up into the floorboards and getting the two to sputtering and laughing.

Sticks slowed as they neared the invisible demarcation which once divided Massachusetts and New Hampshire. ‘Choly was about to crack a joke about speed limits, only to notice the three figures, in mostly combat armor, attending the military road blockade ahead. ‘Choly straightened in his seat as Sticks slowed to a stop.

The elder of two women stepped up to the driver’s side coddling the hulking chrome and steel form of an assault rifle. The other two guards aimed directly at the vehicle.

“You sure are a bad habit.” She chewed at a cigar.

“Sergeant Bea.” Sticks gave her an awful grin. “Just passing through. If that’s all right with you.”

She stooped to squint and scowl at ‘Choly. He swallowed hard and gave her a tepid smile.

“Sticks, you’ve got one minute to get that pile of metal shit off the Lane before I tell Gerald he’s got target practice.”

“Be out of your hair in half that,” he blandished. “Good to see you again, love.”

She told him off as they continued past. He casually waved his middle finger out the window, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

“You’re just on everyone’s good side, aren’t you?” ‘Choly wrung his hands, still stiff against the seat.

“Laners hate machines, is all. Can’t appreciate a fine automobile.”

As Sticks accelerated again, ‘Choly wondered whether Sticks’s reservations coming this way had more to do with the locals than the climate. He slouched, only to see a towering projection screen come up on their right. Agape, he nearly hung out the window, clutching at his visor. In the parking lot of what had once been a Starlight Drive-In, now stood a bustling flea market. A romance flickered anciently on the screen.

“Sticks, there’s people here. A hundred, maybe. People.” Under his breath, he murmured, “I wonder if they’ve got any horror movies.”

The ghoul scoffed.

“People with a stick up their asses, more like it.”

They passed the parking lot of a large shopping mall. Before ‘Choly could get into him, gunfire rang. A dozen mutated waterfowl the size of a human assailed around twenty settlers armed with shotguns, pole hooks, and bludgeons. Sticks sped up and ‘Choly grabbed him by the arm.

“The fuck are you doing!” the ghoul yelled. “Gerald’s their missile man!”

“We’ve got to go help them!”

“They don’t want our help!”

'Choly shook Sticks until he loathingly relented, then tried uselessly to unlatch the tow hooks in the back seat. Once he managed it, Angel lit its thruster and sped off saws blazing headlong toward the Radfowl. ‘Choly hadn’t expected to need to have a weapon at the ready. Sticks, meanwhile, hunched into the steering wheel with the determination to mow at least one goose-like thing down with the traffic barrier he’d bolted where Blue once had a front bumper.

The Mister Handy and the vehicle beset the composure of the locals far in excess of the fowl. As Blue connected with a pair of birds, the locals they’d squared off with immediately lashed out at the front of the car with their baseball bats. One punctured the trunk hood with their pole hook.

“HEY!” Sticks roared. He laid on the horn, and the three scattered to assist the others.

‘Choly shakily unholstered his Nagant. Before he could aim out his own window, a pair of Radfowl had rushed to snap and snarl in the driver’s side. One chomped down on Sticks’s upper arm where it could get at him, and he let out a groan. At close range, it felt more like administering tranquilizers with a jet injector rather than the modified syringer revolver he’d endeared as the Tryasovitsy. Their gnarly tusk-like teeth scraped at the door on the birds’ way down to the pavement.

‘Choly tried to get a better look, but Sticks shoved him back, to reach for the hunting rifle he’d tucked between the seat and door. He took aim and fired on one of the fowl.

“Just get your damn robot back over here before they beat the shit out of it.”

“Angel’s doing well with the birds--”

“--I meant the Laners.”

Another massive goose-like thing ran flailing toward the passenger side and ‘Choly reflexively drew on it, emptying the rest of his barrel of Pax Syringes with a choking panic. Once the last of the geese dropped, he sank back in his seat to steady ragged breathing.

Sticks got out of the car long enough to shoot the two Radfowl sedated on the driver’s side. An older man in fishing overalls with a shotgun came up and finished off the Radfowl on ‘Choly’s side before aiming the gun at him. A pair of teens had picked up the tow chains and approached Angel, swinging them slow and furious.

“We’re just trying to help!” ‘Choly squeaked out at the man. He dropped the silenced revolver in his lap in an instant. “We don’t mean you any harm!”

“You fucker. Ruined perfectly good meat,” the Laner snapped, repulsed and hateful. “Can’t eat drugged meat.”

“Please!” ‘Choly adjusted in his seat when he realized his sudden lurch could’ve seemed like hostility rather than begging. “Don’t hurt my Handy. We’re leaving! I swear it!”

“You’ve already wasted enough of our time. Tussling with you ain’t worth it.” The older man kicked at the concrete with a growl that punctuated in a hiss. “What did you think you were doing! Horning in on our hunt!?"

“Hunt?” ‘Choly frowned, guiltily incredulous. “You were attacking them?”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourselves like that. We had it under control. Get your goddamn tin can liabilities off the Lane!”

“Forgive us,” Sticks started. The man brandished a finger at him, warning that they keep their distance.

“And you can’t have any of our Radfowl meat!”

“All yours. Sorry to be trouble, folks. Angel! Come on, chap.”

Sticks waved to the Laners to gesticulate for the berth to reverse enough to turn around. They all glowered at the pair before getting to dressing their kills.

“The fuck is wrong with these people,” ‘Choly finally blurted out.

“Listen to me next time? I told you we didn’t need to help them.”

“Of course we did, Mister Hawthorne.” Angel swept around to the driver’s side where Sticks could hear its indignity. “It’s not our fault they’re ingrates!”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Those things have more teeth than a shark.”

“There had better be a Stimpak there. Or something.” He snorted to shrug off a pout. “Not like I’m bleeding out. Hurts, but I’ll live.”

“There’s definitely a full assortment of first aid stock at the warehouse. I’ll patch you up once we get inside. ...Sorry that I didn’t listen.”

“You keep doing the exact opposite of what I tell you, and it keeps biting you in the ass. This time, it bit me in the arm. Got a right mind to start telling you to do the opposite of what I think you’ll do.”

Now that they’d crossed the New Hampshire state line, ‘Choly produced the folder he’d tucked between the center console and seat, to skim Gretchen’s landmark location directory again. Going North on the Daniel Webster Highway, you’ll pass the Pheasant Lane Mall on your right. Crossing under a double overpass, there’s a Luxurique lot and cemetery on your left. The Nashua warehouse is at the next left.

“Let’s just... keep onward. Priorities. Right.” ‘Choly sighed. “We made good time getting up here. There’s still plenty of daylight left. The warehouse shouldn’t be more than ten minutes from here, provided we don’t encounter more locals.”

Go to next »»»

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #sole survivor #ghoul oc #the anatomy of melancholy #mister handy #sticks #melancholy #angel

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pinballwitxh · 4 years

Text

keep on - imagine - holden ford

summary : Holden runs into an old college friend at the club and together they reminisce on their school days, and the many drunk nights out they had.

warnings : MAJOR sexual tension cause that’s always fun, dirty dancing, mention of drug use and alcohol, cursing (ITS THE 70S BABY)

a/n : I love my baby Holden and the second season was so worth the like 2 year wait we had so here’s a small imagine on our fave bby. Also I listened to Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough by Michael Jackson while writing this.

18+ ONLY FROM HERE DOWN

It was rainy outside and all Holden wanted to do was go home, shower and go the hell to bed. Patiently he stood in line at the gas station, waiting for the attendant to return from his “smoke break.”

The bell above the door rang and he turned to the side slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the patron.

“What can I do ya for, dude?”

Holden turned to face the attendant, who seemingly returned out of nowhere. Holden handed him some cash and grabbed for a bag of candy as well.

“You still enjoy Reese’s Pieces?”

The young agent turned to the voice behind him, nearly reeling at the sight of an old college friend. She was dressed to the nines in an outfit perfect for the disco.

“Are those the same boots you used to wear in college?” Holden smiled at her.

She grinned back and threw her arms around him, “It’s been a long time, Holden Ford.”

He chuckled nervously, eyeing the friends in tow with her for the night, “Y-you look good,”

She twirled in front of him, “My disco wardrobe is even bigger and better than the last time you saw it.”

Holden shoves his hands into his pocket, “I have no doubt about that,”

“Who is this?”

She turned back to the friends that were with her and introduced them, “This is Holden Ford, met him through my cousin back in college. Which was like, what, five years ago?”

“It feels a lot longer,” Holden said, “Listen it was so great to catch up, but I should be getting home-“

“Why don’t you come out with us?”

Holden’s jaw shut as he considered the invitation. It was Saturday night, and he really wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sleep, and watch television.

“You don’t have to stay the whole night,” she winked at him, “Remember how late we would be out? With those nasty hangovers the next day?”

“Well hopefully both of us can handle our alcohol better now, I’ll join you.” He said.

She smiled at him and clapped his shoulder, “Let me pay for my gas and then you can follow us downtown.”

He chose to ignore the drugs that the attendant slipped his old friend and smiled happily at her when she joined him outside. As they pumped their gas, Holden took his time to study his old friend. She had changed so much since college.

She was still just as pretty, but something about her under the station lights and the way her bell-bottoms cling to her thighs made something stir inside of him.

No, this was still the same girl, the same best friend from college. He couldn’t think like that.

- - -

This was a nightclub he had never heard of, not that he spent a lot of time at the clubs surrounding Quantico. Lots of young agents and students were moving to the D.C. area so he imagined there were lots of nightclubs he had yet to hear of.

He jumped when she took his hand and drug him to a booth along the wall. Her friends took their places on the dance floor and she sat across from him. She smirked at him, “I take it you’re not into illegal activities much anymore,”

He chuckled, “Not really.”

“Light up with me in the bathroom?” She asked.

Holden looked around nervously, “Light up what-“

“You know exactly what I mean, just follow me.”

Apparently it didn’t bother anyone that he had followed her into the women’s restroom, seeing as most people here were high off their minds or drunk. They probably didn’t even notice them.

She reached into her bra and pulled out a freshly rolled joint, followed by a lighter also tucked into her shirt. Holden leaned against the sink and watched as she took a deep drag from the joint, her lipstick staining the wrap as she pulled it away.

She looked at him, “Things are definitely not the same anymore,”

He cocked his head, “What do you mean?”

“Obviously you’ve been successful. At least successful enough to not be able to take a drag from this joint,”

Holden plucked the joint from her fingers and she gasped in mock anger. He shut his eyes and took a long drag, inhaling through his nose at the same time. She smirked at him and crossed her arms, leaning on the sink as well.

“Maybe some things are the same,”

He opened his eyes and exhaled, “What’s changed for you?”

She took the joint from him, “It’s hard to find a job for an artist with a degree in psychology.”

“So you’re. . .”

“Unemployed for the time being,” she said as she took a puff, “But right now I work at the laundromat,”

Holden snickered, “That sounds incredibly fun,”

She rolled her eyes and passed the smoke back to him, “It pays the bills.”

He leaned back against the counter and sidled up next to her. Her eyes roamed his face and the familiar features she didn’t realize how much she had missed. There arms were nearly touching and she could feel the heat from his body.

He pulled the joint from his mouth and turned to look at her, his eyes catching on her stare. She smiled as he blew the smoke in her face, laughing.

“Wanna dance?” He asked suddenly.

The music was slightly muted through the walls and for a moment she realized they truly weren’t alone. She took the joint and pulled another long drag, “If you can keep up with me,”

He rolled his eyes, “Everyone had to make room for you on the dance floor,”

“Can’t help it,” she said as she leaned in close to him, blowing the smoke gently from her lungs and in his face.

There noses were mere inches apart and the smoke began to clear. For a moment longer they held gazes before she abruptly pulled away and tugged him out of the restroom.

The dance floor had gotten significantly smokier since the time they had been in the bathroom. Holden smiled as she cheerfully pulled him through the crowd, excited to dance.

Somewhere in the middle of the floor she stopped and turned to face him, “Loosen your tie, agent.” She said quietly as her fingers cooled around his striped tie.

He laughed as she attempted to loosen it, taking over for her when she got frustrated. He wished he could’ve changed before coming, being spontaneous in the social world was not something Holden did often.

Holden watched her hips sway as she twirled around him, dancing to the rhythm that everyone else in the club could feel. Her shirt hung loosely around her torso, but part of him could just imagine what she looked like underneath the clothing.

He shook his head at the absurd thoughts and took a deep breath.

The familiar feeling of the drugs working in his system started to make their presence known. The music was louder, he could hear every single drum beat and twang of the guitar. The floor vibrated underneath all the dancers and he could feel everytime she danced close to him.

“Now this I remember,” she said as she danced up to him, “Remember how high we used to get?”

“It’s been a long time,” he sighed, his feet begging to move and dance around.

He took a sharp inhale when she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely, “I’m sure you’ve still got some rhythm in you, dance with me.”

His brow quirked, “Like this?”

“We can try something new,” she winked.

Her hands ran down his shoulders and over his arms, sending shivers up the agent. She took both of his hands in hers and soon she had him dancing around with her. They laughed and sang together in the colorful lights of the club.

His arms snaked around her waist at some point, she didn’t know when due to time seeming to slow down. His head settled in the crook of her neck, pulling himself closer to her.

She smiled at the touch and danced against him, dipping low and pushing her backside against his front. Holden let out a small growl as she grazed against him and pulled away quickly.

Her eyes were hooded as she stared him down, “Maybe things will be different tonight,” she whispered, pulling his ear down to her mouth.

Her hot breath tickled his neck and he grabbed onto her sides. She gasped as he squeezed her hips in his strong grip, his fingers trailing over her skin.

Slowly she wrapped her arms around his neck again, their faces inches apart now. Holden grinned at her and guided her hips against his, “Surprised you haven’t stepped on my toes yet with those big boots,”

He winced slightly as she did just that, “You haven’t changed a bit, Ford.”

“Just call me Holden,” he responded.

She nodded, “Okay then, Holden.”

They ground against each other to a song that they both knew from their college days at the discos. She could remember those nights so well.

Holden would be piss-drunk against the wall while her cousin flirted up every girl that came his way. She would dance like no one was watching and Holden would cheer her on from the side. Eventually he would make his way to the dance floor and join all of his friends. They would laugh at his drunken dance moves and poor attempts to talk to females.

Michael Jackson songs would fill the disco and nearly all the attendants were their peers. It was a time everyone loved.

Her mouth was parted in close-ecstasy and her eyes were shut. Holden ran his hands back up her sides and drunk in the sight of her in his arms. Something he never expected to happen, ever.

She was always wilder than him and he felt like he could never keep up with her. She had a blooming social life, while being able to keep up with her grades in their college days. Holden was always glad to watch from the sidelines and encourage her.

But he never realized how ethereal dancing with her could be.

She opened her eyes and found his gaze close on her. As she dipped beneath his hold his eyes travelled down to her chest, hungrily eyeing her.

“Eyes up here, Mister FBI,” she tilted his chin up slowly upon standing up.

His face was serious as he directed his stare back to her own orbs. She felt slightly intimidated, it was a look she had never seen on Holden before and reminded her instantly that they were not in college anymore.

“We’re going for another round in the bathroom, wanna join?”

Their stares were broken when her friends approached them. He pulled her closer to him, silently asking her to stay on the floor with him. She shook her head, “Later I will,”

One of her friends giggled at the sight of Holden’s arm so tightly around her. Before leaving she leaned in and whispered, “I hope you get it tonight, girl!”

As soon as they were out of sight Holden groaned and pulled her back to him. She laughed, “People are gonna notice how excited you are for me if we stay out here much longer,” she pushed herself against his erection, “My friends won’t mind if we leave,”

Holden smiled down at her intensely before squeezing her sides, “We can go back to my apartment.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, “It’s a good thing we aren’t in dorms anymore.”

THE MASTERLIST

#mindhunter #holden ford #holden ford x oc #holden ford x reader #mindhunter imagine #holden ford imagine #johnathan groff

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bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (IX)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: This chapter was 7 pages in my Word document. You’re welcome.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter IX - Star Treatment

Her leg couldn’t stop the anxious bouncing. It was late, and the sight of her sitting on her bed in her evening dress would’ve probably made a few heads turn if she hadn’t been by herself. It wasn’t often she got this nervous anymore, and certainly not over something like this.

She took a deep breath, before picking up the phone and dialling a familiar number. It rung only three times when a voice answered her.

“Hello?”

“I need you to come over.”

Nothing that morning had given her any insinuation that she would be calling someone later that night, because they’d only just taken a seat at the breakfast table. “Where’s mister Turner?” she wondered as she grabbed a piece of warm buttered toast. Watching them exchange looks with each other, she grew suspicious. “Uhm, he had some things to take care of, miss. He’ll show up eventually,” Nick hesitantly answered, his eyes darting to Matt to look for some kind of approval.

Said man simply rolled his eyes, adding, “He’s sorting the last things out with the police. It’ll be some time before he can get off the phone.” She hummed, “Was it that difficult to pass such information to me, Nick?” “W-Well, you know how mister Turner can get,” Nick replied, “He doesn’t like it when we talk about his business with others.”

“With others?” she repeated, clearly upset. “I thought I’d done enough to be not just ‘others’. What are you not telling me?” Nick looked downtrodden, casting his eyes upon his lap. “I’m sorry, miss. I wish I could tell you. But mister Turner will probably explain everything later today, you’ll see.” She huffed, throwing her napkin on her half-finished plate before taking off.

Matt clapped his hands, “That went well.”

“Yes, thanks for the help by the way, prick,” Nick grumbled.

“You know Alex would have murdered me if I had told her anything about his plan.”

Her eyes darted over the words in the book she’d randomly picked up off the shelf, but she couldn’t keep her concentration long enough to understand what they were saying. It was a high amount of frustration built up inside her which she wasn’t sure how to get rid of. After having spent so much time in the hotel owner’s presence, chipping down bits and pieces of his walls and finally getting to the grand finale of hearing the hotel’s biggest secret, she had no clue what there was still left to hide, or why there were reasons to hide anything at all.

She laid her head against the armrest of the loveseat she’d been sulking in, watching the flames in the fireplace flicker and crackle as a piece of char broke off of a wooden log. The heat that spread across her legs was comfortable, and she could have dozed off then and there if it hadn’t been for the small draft tickling the hairs on top of her head. Turning towards the library’s large windows, she noted that none of them had been opened and that the door she’d come in through had been shut when she’d slammed it behind her like an ignorant child. She felt a bit bad about it now, seeing as the woodwork of the door looked intricate and very old.

Her head perked up when she saw something out of the corner of her eye during her investigation of the mysterious draft. It was a thin door, tucked in a corner between the grand bookshelves, which had the same colour of the wood around it. It’s probably why she’d never noticed it before on first glance, or had perhaps initially brushed it off thinking it was some sort of broom closet.

The room she stepped into was rectangular, with the window nearly covering the entire wall of the thinner width of the lounge. She would call it a lounge, though the seating area in the centre had been covered by white sheets to prevent any dust from settling from underusage. In front of the glass panes stood another piece of furniture, one with a distinct shape that told her exactly what it was, but she threw the covers off of it anyway.

The sizable piano wing was stunning, though now she understood the intention of hiding it for it was far too beautiful to be touched by an inexperienced hand.

“Do you play?”

She smiled to herself. She could’ve expected it. “A little. My mother was far more talented, however. She tried to teach me, but I was too impatient for her as a child.”

Alex hummed, sliding his hand along the black shiny coating of the instrument as if he was caressing a marble statue. “One of my business partners gifted it to me,” he told her, “I’d always preferred the guitar, but when I felt like I’d found everything there was to discover with it, I learned to play the piano a bit.” He lowered himself onto the small leather seating, lifting the fallboard to uncover the black and ivory white keys. He patted the space next to him.

She begrudgingly sat down as well, as he began to play an interesting tune.

“I just wanted to be one of The Strokes, now look at the mess you made me make,

hitchhiking with a monogrammed suitcase, miles away from any half-useful imaginary highway,

I'm a big name in deep space, ask your mates, but golden boy's in bad shape,

I found out the hard way that here ain't no place for dolls like you and me,

Everybody's on a barge, floating down the endless stream of great TV,

1984, 2019,

Maybe I was a little too wild in the 70s,

Rocket-ship grease down the cracks of my knuckles…”

She’d almost sighed when the sound of his velvety voice had trailed off and his fingers slid from the keys. “You wrote that?” she asked. He nodded shyly, running a hand through his hair. “You know, if the hotel thing doesn’t work out, you could always just become a poet. Or a singer-songwriter. You have the voice for it.”

He huffed, “You flatter me, writer. But I think if I ever chose the music path I’d need at least five years to make an album. I’d lose my train of thought.” “I highly doubt that,” she remarked. He glanced up at her with his serene brown gaze. “You’re upset about something,” he noticed, “What happened, love?”

She looked at him with indecisiveness, feeling apprehensive about sharing information with the person who was apparently still holding something back from her as well.

“Your staff was very cautious not to tell me where you were this morning,” she decided.

He straightened his back, not quite willing to meet her gaze as he fumbled with the cuffs of his suit, which told her enough. “I had to take care of some business.”

“Okay, good talk.”

He grabbed her hand before she could get up, letting out a deep sigh of defeat. “I’m sorry, love. But you’ll have to hear about it later today.”

“I thought you were trusting me, Alex.”

“I am. You’ll like it, so there’s no need to worry.”

His face hovered closer to hers. “It’s something for you, after all.” He gently moved her hair and placed a soft kiss behind her ear, before leaving a breathy trail along her throat, not quite touching her but still making her tingle all over. When he reached her lips, he finally kissed her, but it was only brief. “I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.”

What a bastard, she kept thinking to herself. How dare he put her in such a situation? The audacity.

She was standing in front of her closet. It wasn’t usual for her to unpack her suitcase when staying at a hotel, but from the beginning on having not known how long she was staying, this was one of the rare occasions that her clothes didn’t have as many wrinkles as they usually would have because she’d been wise enough to put them on the hangers.

It was where she’d decided that she had absolutely nothing that could fall under the phrase ‘something nice’.

Anything she did have was either bluntly denied because it seemed too floozy, or thrown onto her bed because it was ‘too nice’. Her mother’s to go response for a clothing crisis such as this one had always been plain and simple; ‘wear something classy, yet comfortable’, but she now felt like she should have asked her for a bit more details.

Her makeup was done in what she usually would have thrown on if she had gone out, with only the right shade of lips missing because that came after the first crisis. She only had about half an hour left and she was still sat on her bed in her fluffy white robe, wondering if she should even go at all.

A knock came from her door and her stomach sunk, but she decided that it would be better to yell at him for being early than not answering at all. When she opened the door a tad so only her eyes could peek out, she wasn’t expecting to see Matt. He raised his eyebrows at her when she only blinked at him. “Can I help you?” she muttered; her voice slightly muffled behind the woodwork.

Matt raised his arms which held a beautiful bouquet of white roses. “A peace offering?”

When she allowed him to step in, he glanced over the mess of clothes she’d made before turning to her with a smirk on his face. “Is someone nervous?” he teased. “I thought you were here to make peace, not war?” she questioned in annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest. He smiled awkwardly, “Sorry, ma’am. About this morning, too. Me and the boys never meant to offend you in any way. We see you as a part of the family now and were only being secretive because Alex was so adamant on surprising you with dinner.”

She raised her brows in pleasant surprise. “He’s taking me out to dinner?”

He froze. “Well- it’s only in the dining hall, to be fair- I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She patted his arm comfortingly. “You’re forgiven if you help me pick out a dress.”

It turned out Matt’s fashion sense was a lot better than she’d expected, because he had her dressed and ready to go in no time and had even managed to find a pair of matching shoes for her classy-but-comfortable evening dress. She did her fifth once-over in the mirror after having applied her red lipstick, and it made Matt smile. “You look beautiful, miss.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Matthew.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gunna pop off before Alex sees me in the same room as his lady looking all fancy,” he muttered, taking a glance at his watch. Before she could ask all about his particular choice of words to describe her, he had unfortunately already taken off.

It was the next time she opened the door that made her chest almost burst with giddiness. Alex wore an all-black suit, which, like all of the others he wore, was tailored to the detail. His hair was slicked back with only the front cuff hanging over his forehead, giving him a classic bad boy appearance. He smelled like expensive cologne and a hint of cigarette smoke. He managed to look irresistibly attractive and not just because she’d always had a thing for men who smelled good.

He let his eyes wander over her body and it nearly made her shy if she hadn’t felt so good in the dress she was wearing. He looked about ready to cancel the date and just push her up against the wall then and there, and a small part of her kind of wished he had. “You look absolutely ravishing, love,” he growled. It made her lips quirk up and she had to restrain herself not to break into a full smile out of excitement. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this. “You clean up nicely yourself, mister Turner.”

He huffed, “You’re killing me, love. Call me Al, Alex or Alexander or I won’t last the whole evening.” She pursed her lips with amusement in response. “Good to know.”

She’d held onto his arm the entire trip downstairs and he seemed very willing to keep her close to his side, slowing his stride to match her pace and glancing down at her ever so often. It made her realize how nice it was for someone to return her affections so delicately.

She’d almost burst out laughing when she saw Matt awaiting them in full tux, bowtie and all, looking like a proper waiter. “If you start laughing I’ll throw them flowers out of the window, miss,” he frowned. She smirked at him, as Alex scolded, “Be nice to the lady, Matthew.” “Well, I would be if I could just remember why I actually agreed to doing this.”

“Don’t worry, Matt. I’ll even tip you at the end of the night if you haven’t thrown my flowers out by then,” she joked. He snorted, before gesturing for the both of them to follow him into the hall.

It was the usual setup of tables, only this time their particular spot had been decorated with a few candles and small but classy bouquets of dried wildflowers. “So, it is a date, then,” she commented, noting the table was only set for two. Alex blinked at her blankly, before replying, “I’m sorry, would you have wanted to have a candlelit dinner with someone else?”

Matt intervened, “Now that you mention it, I’m actually quite hungry-“ before Alex shoved his elbow into his side, making the temp waiter groan. She laughed at their antics, telling the hotel owner, “No, Alex. I wouldn’t have wanted to share it with anyone else.” It made Alex perch up in delight as Matt simply gasped in an overexaggerated portray of betrayal.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair for her, only taking his own seat when he knew she was comfortable. “Now, may I finally take your order?” Matt asked, taking a notepad and pen from his jacket’s pocket. “And you’ve always wondered why I never let you be a waiter,” Alex muttered as his eyes scanned over the menu.

When Matt left them with their requests written down, Alex leaned back into his chair, seeming to finally relax a bit. “Did you spend all morning planning this?” she wondered. He shrugged, “The thing that took me the most time was to convince the guys to play along.” “And how did that work out?” “Let’s just say that when they started making ridiculous demands in return I reminded them of who’s really in charge here.” “So, you had to bribe them anyway?” “Yes.”

They shared a smile; one she could only ever get from this joyful banter she shared with him. It made her appreciate him doing this for her even more.

“Have you started your novel yet?” he finally decided to ask. She leaned her elbows on the table a bit, giving him a questioning look. “Do you actually want me to start a novel?” He hummed, “I’m not sure yet.” “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, Alex. If you don’t want people to know about it, my lips are sealed.”

“I know, which is why you’re the first person I haven’t completely shut down the idea of a book about the hotel with. I just need a bit more time to think about it.”

“I understand. Take as much time as you need.” She mulled it over for a moment, thinking of how the book would be plotted out if it ever were to happen. Her lips quirked back up a bit. “But, in the probability that a novel might be written, I suppose I’d have to inquire a bit more about the hotel owner himself.”

His eyebrow was raised in amusement. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, I already know you’re a literature fanatic. But I didn’t know you were as much into the art of music as you’ve shown me this afternoon.”

He nodded, “It’s always played a big part in my life. It started when I became a big fan of the Strokes when I was younger. Wanted to be a part of their band or create one of my own, which is partially why I started playing the guitar. Me, Jamie, Nick and Andy even used to play a few gigs here and there while we were in school.” “Would have loved to see that.” “I’m sure you would have, even if it was just to laugh at my stupid haircut.”

“I wouldn’t dare laugh at you mister Turner,” she smirked, “Even having heard of the fact that you’re really just a big science fiction nerd.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?” “I inquired one of your dear friends about it, who was very happy to tell me all about your obsession with Blade Runner and the sort.”

“So, you spoke to Miles.” She shrugged, as he continued, “You can say anything you want about that movie, but you can’t deny that Harrison Ford was fantastic in it.” She sucked in a breath, “I’ve never seen Blade Runner.”

She snorted when his eyes widened. “What do you mean, you’ve never seen Blade Runner?”

Lifting her shoulders, she replied, “I’ve never really had the patience to watch it.”

“Outrageous. I can’t believe I’ve told you all my secrets when you haven’t even seen that masterpiece.”

“Guess I’m just that good,” she noted with a twinkle in her eye.

It wasn’t long after when Matt barged back in with their dinner and a bottle of a very expensive-looking champagne sitting in a tub of ice. “You don’t have to open that. Save it for a special occasion,” she objected, but Matt only looked to Alex, who nodded. A pop of a bottle opening followed, and it made her sigh. “You can’t expect us to not go all out tonight, Miss,” Matt explained, “You mean more to us than you think. If you’re lucky I’ll even show you a magic trick.”

“You’re not showing her a magic trick, Matthew,” Alex said.

“Bummer. It’s really good.” As he was about to leave, she mouthed ‘later’ at him, which he peaked up at a bit.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” the hotel owner commented, having seen her little act, “He nearly drove me off the road once while trying to show me a card trick.” “It’s endearing.” “I think I prefer the phrase ‘bothersome’.”

As they dug in, she went to ask a bit more about the hotel itself, her curiosity being indulged by his acceptance to tell her almost everything now. “What’s the most visited room?” He snorted, “Pretty obvious, really. The honeymoon suite.”

“You have a honeymoon suite?” she asked incredulously. “I already knew you’re secretly a romantic at heart, Alex, but really?”

“It’s easy money,” he begrudgingly admitted. “You call something a ‘honeymoon suite’, make sure they get the best view and shove cheesy rose petals and chocolates in their face and you’re all set.” “I don’t think that’s true.” He quirked an eyebrow in question. “I think you enjoy it,” she told him, “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have set this whole dinner up just for me.”

“Well, when you only have one guest, you have to keep them entertained somehow.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “What else would you do to keep me entertained, mister Turner?”

His gaze remained in a trance with hers, not once wavering. He mirrored her, setting his elbows on the table and propping his chin upon his intertwined fingers. “What do you suggest, writer?”

“Dance with me,” she said.

“There’s no music.”

“Then sing that song from this afternoon.”

He’d slid an arm around her waist without a second thought, his other hand taking hers in a warm embrace. Lifting her other one to his shoulder, she had to remember to breathe while being in such close proximity to him. Though he had intimidated her from the beginning, from the moment they’d met, even, she now felt like she’d molten into a puddle in his arms, like the feeling you’d get after a deep tissue massage. It made her wonder what it was about him that could flick a switch in her so quickly.

“I just wanted to be one of those ghosts, you thought that you could forget,

And then I haunt you via the rear-view mirror on a long drive from the back seat,

But it's alright, cause you love me, and you recognize that it ain't how it should be,

Your eyes are heavy and the weather's getting ugly,

So, pull over, I know the place…”

It didn’t take long for them to fall into an absolute trance with each other, just shuffling back and forth between the empty tables as Alex’ voice lulled her into the thought that what she felt for him was something she’d never meant to feel for him before. But she was glad it had happened, because what it was that she felt, did feel completely right.

She twisted the key in the lock, opening the door to her room with a click that broke their little silence. She turned back to look at him. He had a hand in his trousers’ pocket, the other holding the jacket he’d swung over his shoulder. “Good night, mister Turner,” she said. “Good night, love. I had a lot of fun.”

He leaned in to kiss her deeply, and she closed her eyes at the unmistakable feeling of electricity sparking between them again. It was as if every touch of his lips was something better than the last, and when he slipped his tongue along her bottom lip, she had to steady herself to not lose her balance. He breathed through his nose when she lifted her leg to wrap around him, sliding sensually upwards while he prickled her mouth with as much preservation he was somehow still able to hold.

She felt defeated when he pulled back, slightly out of breath. “I’ll see you at breakfast, writer.”

“You better.”

He smirked, gliding a hand down her lifted thigh before gently lowering it. “If there’s anything else, just call me. I’ll be here in a whim.”

She refrained from making a Batphone joke, not wanting to ruin the moment while she forlornly watched him go back to 505. It made her think about something her mother had once said to her. ‘Grab love by the shoulders and shake it before you find you left it too late.’

Though the hotel owner certainly had made the implication, he hadn’t expected to receive the phone call a bit later that night while he was still reeling about the night’s events on his bed.

“I need you to come over.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #TBHC #Matt Helders #Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino #Jamie Cook #Nick O'Malley #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #AM #Humbug #Wpsiatwin #Romance #Fanfiction #Reader Insert #Suck It And See

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death-himself · 4 years

Text

Hidden in Shadows—Roman’s Story (pt 2)

Summary: Roman goes into Thomas's care and begins to heal

Word Count: 1,891

Warnings: Past Trauma, Internalized homophobia, Fear, Jealousy at the end

Part 1 (AO3 Link)

The house was so small compared to where he used to live. Only two bedrooms, a small kitchen, the dining and living rooms were just one big room! And not even a second story! And he wasn’t even gonna be going to private school anymore! Compared to his parents’ place, it was just depressing.

But, Thomas greeted him kindly enough to maybe make up for it. He set up his room, grateful that at least his room was decently big, before pulling out his crayons and paper and trying his best at art.

By the time Thomas knocked on the door to call him out for lunch, he had finally made something he was proud of. It wasn’t good, but he didn’t completely hate it. He allowed himself to smile at it, before stowing it away under the bed.

It had been a few days since he was placed under Thomas’s care. He was a kind and caring grown-up, but Roman didn’t dare look him in the eye. His eyes overflowed with so much emotion and empathy. Roman was scared that if he looked him in the eye, the grown-up would see every single flaw he had, and realize that he wasn’t worth all the time he’s been spending on him.

And he kept that up, his gaze slamming to the ground whenever Thomas looked in his direction.

Then one day he was drawing. Thomas, for whatever reason, had bought him a new set of crayons, a set of 64 that Roman had to struggle to contain his excitement over. He had been drawing on his bed, humming quietly to himself as he added a few swirls of a darker blue through the light blue river, not really paying attention to much. He didn’t even hear the knock on the door or the door open as Thomas stepped in. He just continued humming.

“Roman?” The kid in question screeched, reeling back so fast he had to scramble to stay on the bed. Thomas held back a laugh, apologizing and asking if he was alright. As he did so, he glanced over at the drawings laid out on the bed, before looking them over.

Panic gripped Roman’s heart. “Don’t look don’t look!” He shouted, beginning to grab up the drawings and hide them from view. Thomas, albeit confused, politely looked away, covering his eyes with his hands. “Alright, I didn’t see anything!”

Roman blinked, turning to look at this grown-up who had just looked away from his awful drawings just because he asked him to. “You aren’t upset?”

“Of course not! I didn’t see anything to be upset about.”

Roman huffed. “You saw my drawings, don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. I didn’t see anything to be upset about.”

Roman blinked, staring as Thomas slowly took his hands away from his eyes, turning to look back down at Roman, slowly sitting next to him, gesturing at the now somewhat-crumpled drawings in his hands. Roman handed them over to him, feeling almost numb as Thomas took them and looked them over.

And then Thomas smiled. His eyes turned to Roman, and this time he didn’t look away, leaving him to stare directly into eyes radiating more fatherly pride than Roman had ever seen in his lifetime, all directed towards him and his awful drawings.

“This is so good! Is it alright if I put it up on the fridge?” The first part of his words had Roman’s heart beat with excitement, but the second part froze it in dread. Still, he nodded, following Thomas down the hall to the kitchen, where Thomas took a magnet and stuck his drawing up high on the fridge.

Roman stared up at it for a moment, knowing where he would find it later on.

It surprised him to find that it was still up there in the morning, then the day after that, then the day after that. Maybe his drawings weren’t so bad.

Roman had been with Thomas for a full month before he officially decided to take him clothes shopping. Everything had been pretty busy for him; he had been recording and editing a really big video nonstop, and hadn’t really had time to do anything else. But now that the video was ready and uploaded, they could head out.

They had gone to some random Walmart, since Roman’s new father was a peasant. To get to the boys aisle, Thomas simply cut through the girls’ aisle. Roman refrained from looking at any of the cute skirts and dresses, keeping his eyes trained forward, opting to look at the boys’ shorts in front of him.

Thomas allowed him to choose whatever clothes he wanted, which was strange enough as it was. But, Roman went through, grabbing whatever Disney-themed shirts he could find in his size. As he tried to pick a final shirt out, he accidentally looked into the girls’ section.

And there was the most incredible skirt Roman had ever seen. It was red and poofed out like a tutu. Sparkles and glitter covered every bit of it, so, just like that dress he had seen when he was six, it seemed to glow in the cheap lighting.

He realized he was staring and forced his eyes away, grabbing a shirt at random and walking back over to Thomas. He glanced up at him only to realize he had been watching Roman that whole time. Roman threw the shirt into the cart, his eyes trained to the ground.

Thomas thought for a moment, before sighing and deciding to just get straight to the point. “Do you wanna get a skirt?” Roman tensed up, shaking his head quickly. “I’m sure you’ll look adorable in it!” Thomas insisted.

Roman simply shook his head again, mumbling, “Skirts are for girls. I don’t want one.” Thomas wanted to push a bit harder and get the skirt anyway, but decided to hold back. They made their way out of the store.

“Just so you know, there’s nothing wrong with you or any other little boy wearing a skirt. It’s not hurting anyone, so why should people care?” Roman was silent as Thomas paid for their stuff, as they walked to the car, and as they drove home.

Three weeks later, Roman was carefully placing a skirt in their shopping cart.

Roman was now in third grade and was learning multiplication. And it was one of the hardest things he had ever been forced to learn. It made no sense! How did a 2 and a 3 make a 6? It should be 5!

That’s why Roman wasn’t at all surprised, yet still just as upset, when he got a 63% on his first test. He was scared to get on the bus home that day, getting in the back of the line and hoping that the bus would run out of seats and leave him there at school.

Thomas was waiting for him at the bus stop. He gave Roman his usual smile, ruffling his hair in a way that was so similar—but so different—from how his dad would.

“How was school today?” Thomas asked. It was something Roman was still getting used to—having him ask how his day was before asking about his test.

“Fine.” He answered bluntly. Thomas immediately knew something was off. He looked at Roman in the rear view mirror, before asking, “Didn’t you have a test today? How’d it go?”

“63.” Roman mumbled out. Thomas was looking in the mirror more than he probably should have been, watching Roman’s upset expression. Thomas didn’t particularly care about what grade Roman got, especially since Roman wasn’t even in middle school yet. But if it was bothering him this badly, then it was now very important.

“Were you having a bad day, or are you having trouble with the material?” Thomas asked softly, pulling up into the driveway. Roman definitely wasn’t used to that kind of question.

“Multiplication is hard.” Thomas nodded as if he understood. “It is, isn’t it? Makes no sense that the numbers do that, it’s weird.” He turned around to look at Roman.

“Mind if I tutor you a bit on it? I’ll help you with any issues you might have with it, and I’ll try and help you understand it. How does that sound?” Roman was hesitant, but eventually agreed. The two went inside and sat at the dining table, running through anything Roman asked about.

Roman got a 70% on his next test, then a 55% on a spelling test. Turns out Tho—Dad was proud of every grade, not just the passing ones. He was always willing to tutor him if he asked.

Roman was a kid more interested in fantasy than the real world. But when he got curious about something in the real world, he got very curious. That’s what got him to walk up to his dad early in the morning before school and ask, “Why don’t you have a wife and children of your own?”

Dad seemed taken aback, and nearly offended, by the question. He took a moment to process it, before holding back a laugh and saying, “Well, I’m gay, so if anything I would have a husband.”

Roman blinked up at him, before outright saying, “You’re not gay. That’s gross!” Dad stared back, having not been prepared to receive homophobia from his own child at seven in the morning.

“I am, I like guys. And it’s not gross, it’s just as natural as a guy loving a girl.”

“But it’s gross!”

“In what way is it gross?”

“Because! Because, umm…” Roman sputtered out nonsense for a moment, smacking his fists together as if trying to prove a point. “Just because!”

Dad crouched down to his level, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him dead in the eye. “Like I’ve told you before, if it doesn’t hurt anyone, then why should people care? It’s okay for people to be gay, straight, bi, or whatever they identify as.”

He checked the time, before standing up and saying, “Come on, we gotta get to the bus stop!” Roman silently followed, lost in thought.

When he came back from school, he asked, “Why don’t you have a husband?” His dad didn’t have an answer for that.

When Dad had first told Roman he was getting a new brother, he was extremely upset. Why was there gonna be another person coming in? He was gonna take Dad’s attention away! When he found out that his new brother was three, almost four years old, he was even more jealous. His old parents always swooned over toddlers.

When his Dad came home with his new brother, he refused to look in their direction. Then he heard small footsteps toddling over to him, and a small finger poke him in the back. He huffed, turning around and pouting at the kid.

His eyes met round, bright blue eyes, shining with innocence. He giggled at Roman’s expression, booping his nose. Any jealousy that Roman was feeling melted away. It was hard to stay jealous of a toddler for very long, anyway.

He hugged Patton close, glad to now have a brother around to play with. He looked up to see Dad smiling down at him. That’s when Roman realized that he would never have to be alone again.

#sanders sides #hidden in shadows #roman sanders #kid!roman #thomas sanders #character thomas #dad!thomas #tw homophobia #tw past trauma

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thosekidswhohuntmonsters · 5 years

Photo

Life Gains it’s Magic

Summary: It’s hard not to have a major crush on the angel that is Steve Rogers, and just because none of your friends can blame you for it, doesn’t mean they can’t tease you about it.

Word Count: 3249

Authors note: my lil summary doesn’t do this fic justice! honestly this one is gonna pull at your heart strings and make you feel like all the avengers just want the freakin best for you!!

For my more “spicy” fics click: here

p.s masterlist under construction

***if you reblog/comment on my fics there’s now a 110% chance you’ve made my heart flutter***

Steve picked his head up at the sound of footsteps, his expression softening as he realized who the sound belonged to. His eyes quickly scanned up and down your body, although he wished he could admire you for longer, and he found himself mirroring that infamous smile of yours.

“Hey (y/n)”, it was short and sweet but all he could manage. It was wild, but being around you had this affect on him. To put things simply, he was sure he embodied the look of a love sick pup.

You sat down across from him at the kitchen table. He watched as you tilted your head to the side, and he wished so badly to know what you were thinking. You placed your phone down onto the table face down, silently telling him that he had your full attention.

Of course he picked up on it, and it made his smile grow. You propped your head up by placing your hand below your chin, “I thought you were supposed to be training the new recruits?”.

It wasn’t that you wanted Steve to leave, if anything you wanted him to stay forever, you were just curious as to why he was wearing navy blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt instead of his suit.

Steve placed down his paper, a more obvious sign that you had his full attention. He held your gaze, “Sam told me, while really threatened me, into taking a break. Said I need to check myself before I wreck myself, but I really think he misses taking charge”.

You let out a small giggle at Steve’s impression of Sam, it was spot on. Steve felt proud of himself for making you laugh, as if it was as great of an accomplishment as the Medal of Honor.

“I have to say I’m kinda bummed that your pjs aren’t star spangled, or camo”.

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, but unbeknown to him it also had an affect on you. The way he always licked his lips before letting out hearty chuckle made your heart flutter. Sometimes you wondered how many hearts he had silently broken just by being this effortlessly sexy.

Steve took a sip of his coffee, “Oh Tony bought me my very own Captain America onesie last Christmas, but I only break it out on special occasions”. For what felt like the hundredth time since you’d walked into the kitchen and sat down, the room was once again filled with laughter.

Steve had never had conversation just flow so seamlessly before. As much as being around you could make his head dizzy and his heartbeat quicken, you were one of the easiest people to talk to.

He felt his stomach drop as you began to look at him mischievously. You had a certain glimmer in your eyes, “Well my birthday is coming up soon..”. He couldn’t help but chuckle, and blush, as he caught on.

Steve hummed in response, “I can’t exactly say that isn’t a special occasion...but-”. He watched as you leaned forward and did a version of puppy-dog eyes that rivaled Bucky's’. You clasped your hands together, “It would be like the best birthday gift ever! Come on, Bucky showed me those old pictures of you doing press in the old Cap costume, so if you can sock ole’ Adolf in the face you can def rock a onesie! For me!”.

As Steve heard you pleadingly say, for me, he felt his heart melt. God there was no way he could ever say no to that, the words leaving your lips put him in a trace. You could’ve asked for his heart itself and he would’ve said yes.

Accepting defeat he told you, “How could I say no then, doll”. He hadn’t meant to include the pet name, but the second it left his lips it had awoken something inside of him. Steve had suddenly come face to face with an intense longing he had never felt before.

He wanted you, not just in that way, he just craved your presence. About every cheesy line from each Rom Com Bucky had made him watch flooded his mind. Steve wanted to breathe your air, to bask in your warmth, to just experience the magic that was you.

It wasn’t a moth drawn to a flame, or bears drawn to honey, it was like the way a plant bends toward the sun. Steve felt as though being with you would make him grow. Even just joking around with you made him feel more confident and free, just as how sunlight nourishes a shadow-ridden plant.

The table began to vibrate as your phone started to ring. Flipping it over and reading the name you saw that it was Tony, and thus your work day had begun. However, you didn’t want to end what was just starting before you.

So you let it ring as you winked and told Steve, “Then I can’t wait, doll”. Steve had never known one word put together with one look could make his stomach have butterflies. You were so alluring without even knowing.

Finally you picked up the phone to a semi-annoyed Tony, “Alright R2D2, you can’t start talking statistics to me until there’s caffeine in my system. Let me go to Mels on third, I’ll get you a breakfast burrito, and then we can discuss the success rates of the Spider Tracer”.

Steve gave you a soft smile, knowing that within a moment or two you’d be rushing out the door and to the team’s favorite breakfast place. He held in his laughter as you began to silently mock Tony as he continued to speak on the other line.

As quickly as he could he tore off a piece of the newspaper, and scribbled something onto it. Now that you were up from the table you walked toward him and took the paper. Instantly you smiled with reading it.

Steve had written down, “just think about the onesie, and the matching Cap slippers”. In order to stop yourself from laughing you covered your mouth with your hand. Taking his pen from his hand you wrote back, “I can picture it now ;)”.

The winky face was a little daring, but so had been Steve calling you doll. Besides, it was adorable to watch a blush slowly creep upon his cheeks as he read your little note. Steve mouthed, “Good Luck” before letting you grab your jacket and start your day.

As much as he hated you leaving, this had been your best interaction yet. It was the first time that the tension between you both was tangible, to be cheesy love was in clearly the air. Steve still felt himself smiling even after you left.

Just because you were physically gone didn’t mean that you had left his mind. The Star Spangled Man with a plan felt himself re-reading the same sentence from his paper over and over again, his mind clearly fixated on you.

The sound of a cabinet closing made Steve wake from his daydreams, Bucky had entered the kitchen. Buck was rummaging through the cabinets like a wild animal, but to be fair he had just came back from his morning run.

“What, or who, were you dreaming about?”. Just like always, Bucky cut right through the bullshit. It was probably because given all their time together reading Steve had become second nature to him.

Steve averted his gaze, a clear tell, “Who says I’m dreamin about anyone?”. Bucky wanted to laugh, looks like the serum hadn’t enhanced Steve’s ability to lie convincingly. Bucky began to scramble some eggs.

“Because for the past week you’ve said a certain someone's name in your sleep, and as I passed this certain someone in the hall she asked me if I wanted my usual from Mels”.

Steve just smiled, he was caught. There was no way to lie himself out of this one. He finally turned to Bucky, “Alright Buck, you’re right”. Bucky smiled to himself, although it was nice to hear, he already knew he was right.

“What’s the problem? Gonna wait another 70 years before you get the girl?

It might’ve sounded a little harsh, but Bucky was right. Steve had spent so much time putting others before himself, Steve needed to put himself first. Also they weren’t talking about some girl, they were talking about you.

Bucky knew you were different. It was the way Steve’s eyes brightened when you entered a room, the way he always looked at you when he thought no one was watching, and the way you made Steve laugh harder than anyone else could.

What was the point of wasting time when you had someone like that in your life? People like that don’t come around often. So yeah Bucky teased, a little harshly, but it was out of love.

Steve sighed, “No...but I’m not sure how to get this one”. It wasn’t a question of whether or not Steve wanted you, we’ve already been over that, it was a question of mustering up the confidence.

Bucky grabbed a plate from the dishwasher, “The thing is Steve you know how to get her. For some reason she really likes you, punk. You can rush head first into any fight, but you’re too afraid to tell a girl, you desperately like, how you feel”.

Steve laughed, he was always the first to stand up for others but the last to do so for himself. Something finally clicked inside of him, whether it was the last bit of ice in his brain finally melting, or the sudden realization that above all; love is worth fighting for most.

Before Bucky could even put his eggs on his plate Steve was up from the table and grabbing for his coat. He threw a teasing glance Bucky’s way, “I think this is one fight I’ll finally win”.

Steve was hinting to the countless times Bucky had saved him when he’d picked off more than he could crew, and before the serum that was nearly every fight. Some friends liked to watch movies together, Bucky and Steve liked to save each other from near death experiences.

After sharing a laugh, Steve was out the door and Bucky was left with his breakfast. Bucky wished he could see it now, Steve running through the streets of New York on a mission to confess his love, maybe all the Rom Coms had gotten to them.

The ringing of the welcome bells weren’t the only reason everyone was now looking at the door, it was because the door itself had been pulled from its hinges. There stood Steve, a determined look on his face.

“I’m sorry Mel I promise I’ll fix it, and buy a coffee and donut for everyone here”.

You grinned, ah yes, chivalry at its finest. Mel just smiled, more entertained by the show that was about to begin. Besides, this was nothing compared to the time baby Groot accidentally broke an entire display chasing a fly.

As Steve’s eyes found yours, the happy cheers of the customers faded, and the rest of the room seemed to vanish. It was just you and him, and the way he felt about you and him, that remained.

With the same amount of purpose and strength he marched into battle with, he strode towards you. It had seemed as though in a sea of people you were the lighthouse, and he the ship. It had been a long and perilous voyage, but finally he was coming home.

“I really like you (y/n). I like how life seems lighter with you, I like that you always tease Tony, and how Bucky feels comfortable enough around you to tell you about his nightmares, and that you make me feel like I can be who I am”

He seemed calmer, “Not Captain America, not a soldier, just Steve Rogers”. He wondered if you could understand how important that was, that when he was with you he wasn’t some leader or icon but just rather a person.

You nearly dropped Tony’s order from your hands. This was not how you’d expected this morning to go. You’d thought that you’d have to spend the next week constantly dreaming about your earlier flirting with Steve, but here he was confessing his feelings for you.

As you looked at his face, and how sure of himself he was, all nerves faded from your body. You took a step toward him, “I like you too Steve, but I think I’d rather show you”. You placed Tony’s order on the counter, and finally did something you’d been dreaming about for months.

You kissed Steve, hard and long, and in a room full of people. But none of that mattered. Your world was standing right in front of you, kissing you back, and everything else was merely static.

Suddenly you knew how it must’ve felt when the first caveman created fire. The electricity that jolted through their fingertips as rock against rock created spark, how alurring the flames were as they grew, and the warmth of the fire itself.

Even as you pulled back from Steve you could still feel that initial spark on your lips. Slowly, and reluctantly, he let you out of his arms. It had only been one kiss but it confirmed that the ice that plagued Steve was finally melting.

You could see him beginning to blush, so you wanted to lighten the mood. Distracting him from the fact that you both had just got it on in a room full of people you teased, “So since I like Steve Rogers, does that mean I don’t get to see Steve Rogers in a certain Captain America onesie?”.

He grinned, “I’ll be wearing a Steve Rogers onsie under the Captain America one, so if you’re lucky-”. Steve stopped his sentence when he realized how forward he was being. He might as well have just asked to reenact the dirty dream he’d had about you last week.

Luckily enough for him, he was saved by the bell, or well he was saved by Tony on the other line. During the kiss you accidentally pressed speaker mode and Tony was not going to waste an opportunity to shine.

“If she’s lucky she’ll see you in your birthday suit? That’s more 50 shades of grey than 50 shades of freedom there Cap”.

The both of you began to laugh, Tony’s comment cutting at the sexual tension between you both. You grinned, “He’s just cranky because he hasn’t had his morning coffee”. You obviously couldn’t see it, but you knew Tony was rolling his eyes on the other line.

“I’m cranky because my assistant and bestfriend have decided to reenact The Notebook while getting my breakfast”.

Tony wasn’t angry in the slightest, he just took pleasure in making Steve all riled up. You took the phone off speaker, “And we’ll use your office to reenact 50 Shades of Grey if you keep it up Stark”.

Steve blushed at the thought, but only because he the idea of it excited him. He didn’t know what Tony said from the other line, but it was passive enough to let you finally hang up the phone.

He pushed back his hair, “Well I should probably fix Mel’s door, and then maybe we could grab lunch on your break?”. It was adorable to see him go from confident and determined to unsure and shy.

You pulled him in for one last kiss, “Not until we make Tony really pissed off first”. Steve laughed, and then felt his brain shut off as your lips were on his. It was like you could magically make every nerve in his body relax.

As the kiss intensified, you knew that as much as you didn’t want to, you needed to stop before a room full of strangers watched you have at it. Steve seemed more sure of himself after the kiss.

He smirked, “Tell Tony I say hi, and that I’m sorry his burritos cold but that he deserved it”. You started to smirk yourself, Steve was becoming more playful by the second. Fighting against his gravitational pull, you walked away from Steve and back out toward the Tower.

Bucky smirked as he heard the familiar sound of heels, instantly he knew it was you. He listened as you hung up your coat, made your way into the kitchen, and opened the microwave.

Smugly he asked, “Why is Tony’s food cold doll?”. Bucky knew exactly why the burrito cold, he could picture it in his head, he just wanted to hear you say it. There was a pause as you wondered what to say.

After rolling your eyes you just turned around to face the smug assassin. There he was, munching on a bowl of cereal with a shit eating grin. You could tell from the look across his face that he already knew the answer to his own question.

Once Bucky knew you knew that he knew, the room was filled with laughter. After taking the last bite of his cereal he walked toward you. Bucky placed the now empty bowl into the sink, leaned toward you and kissed your cheek.

“You two deserve to finally be happy”.

There was another moment of silence as you both processed the emotion behind his words. He had said so much with saying so little. Bucky wasn’t the most talkative, but often when he did say something it was incredibly moving.

He had been through so much, processed so much pain, and had incredible wisdom to show for it. Bucky might’ve looked rough and tough, but he was one of the most empathetic and understanding people you knew.

You couldn’t help but smile in response, “Thank you James”. Although you could’ve spent twenty minutes telling him how much he meant to not only you, but also Steve, you instead decided to let the moment speak for itself.

Sometimes it’s better to just look at someone, to see and feel the emotion radiating off of them, and not ruin it with words. Those moments stay with you the most, when you feel so connected to someone that you don’t have to physically speak to know what they’re thinking.

Bucky nodded his head, “Steve’s happy, Tony’s mildly irritated, I should be thanking you”. Once again the room was filled with laughter, and it felt wonderful. It reminded you of how good things were right now.

When you’re forced to constantly go, go, go, it’s hard to realize how good life is. You’re so busy thinking about the next task that you don’t even register the small things.

The stuff like being able to piss off your best friend instead of the other way around, or having people who truly wish the best for you, and having a man who means the world to you tell you that your his world.

Life can be unpredictable, fast, and difficult, but it can also be magical. There will always be moments that shake you to your core, or make you feel like some greater power is laughing at you, but there is also an undeniable beauty about life.

One morning you can wake up dreading the day you’re about to have, to only have it be the best day of your life. When you listen to that little voice in your heart, that one that whispers your deepest dreams and desires, life gains it’s magic.

if you enjoyed this fic please leave a comment! Or reblog! It lets me know that I should keep doing what I’m doing! Thanks for reading!!

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #Sebastian Stan #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Chris Evans #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #captain america #tony stark #Robert Downey Jr

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

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War of Attrition: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You and Bucky take steps to protect yourselves, which leads you back to New York. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of: past torture, death, blood, weapons. Allusions to PTSD. Word Count: ~4,557 A/N: Next Chapter will probably start the events of CA:CW. Also, I’ll probably be busy starting to write things for Spooktober. There will likely be a special taglist for Spooktober fics that will tag you in things including but not limited to Monster!Character one shots, A Night to Remember, and A Dance with the Devil. Keep an eye out for it!

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Ready to go?” he asked a moment later as he stepped up beside you. His blue-grey eyes searched your face for any flicker of emotion that would set off warning bells, but for the first time in a long time, your head wasn’t a complete mess. Or, at least, you had one burden among hundreds taken from your shoulders.

“Yeah, Buck. Let’s go home.”

“I have the analysis you requested, Misses Barnes.”

You glanced up from the drone you’d been working on. Installing the new targeting algorithm was taking some time, but it would hopefully ensure they’d never fire with deadly force on any human... though the same could not be said for aliens and robots. Factoring in variables for mutants and other enhanced individuals had been especially tricky, but you’d enjoyed tackling the challenge with a single-minded purpose.

The screen in front of you was slowly rolling through information, finally ending on a summary:

Matthew Michael Murdock.

Hell’s Kitchen; New York, New York. United States of America.

Lawyer Daredevil.

You stared at the screen for a second, taking in his face in the professional and candid photos alike. It only took a glance at the first picture to notice he was blind. “That would explain the mask...” you muttered as a couple low-quality shots of Murdock with a scarf tied over the top of his head flicked across the screen. “You sure about this, Al?” you asked the air around you. A frown crinkled your brow. It wasn’t exactly easy to identify the blind lawyer as the nearly superhuman vigilante.

“Quite, madam. I believe Mister Murdock is one of the only people on the planet with the correct disposition, life experience, and skills required to assist you. He is, put plainly, your best option.”

That only made you frown harder at his picture, though. Talking to him- going to New York- it was a huge risk. You were so lost in thoughts you nearly missed Bucky walking into your workspace, but managed to notice his presence before you accidentally fried him to a crisp on reflex.

“Did Alfred get a hit?” he asked, voice hoarse and deep from having just woken up. You glanced at the clock, nearly wincing when it showed the time as 4:38 AM. He walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and placed his chin on the top of your head.

You hummed an affirmative, though your frown didn’t abate. After a second, you could practically feel Bucky grimace, too. “New York...” he muttered, obviously perceiving the same issues as you.

New York was dangerous. It was where Hydra had recaptured you once before. Tony Stark lived there. The population was huge, which meant it was easier for people to blend in... and that it was all the more likely that you’d be recognized. Undoubtedly anyone looking for you would be keeping a close eye on the city.

“Even with possible dangers taken into consideration, I believe Mister Murdock will be the most likely to assist us,” Alfred insisted. You wondered briefly if he was capable of being upset with your and Bucky’s apparent lack of faith in his assessment. You’d have to check later and possibly apologize.

“If you’re sure, Al,” you said after a long minute. Bucky sighed deeply and squeezed you gently and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was discontent with the idea.

“Quite, ma’am.”

“Then ready travel plans for New York, please,” you said somewhat reluctantly. You reminded yourself that trusting Al was tantamount to trusting only your own best decision making skills, as you were the one that had designed the artificial intelligence in the first place.

You turned in the old rickety computer chair and Bucky loosened his arms enough to move, taking a small step back and straightening a bit. His eyes were stormy, concern obvious even with the dark circles under his eyes. “Did I wake you up?” you asked quietly as you reached up to run your thumb over his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly at the light contact, then shook his head. “Nightmare?” you guessed with a frown.

A shrug, then, “Dunno.... Can’t remember. Come back to bed?” he murmured, extending a hand out towards you.

You smiled softly, ignoring the fact that you couldn’t come “back” to bed seeing as you hadn’t been there in the first place, and dropped your hand from his face to take his offered hand, standing with only slightly wobbly legs. You’d been sitting for... ten hours? It never felt like long when you got to work, but somehow the time always managed to flash by.

Time passing by in a blur hadn’t changed, even without the icy clutches of cryofreeze to speed the process along.

You expected Bucky to just walk into the other room with you, but he picked you up with ease and practically threw you over his shoulder. You smiled, surprised, and muffled your huff of laughter in your hand. Whatever had woken him up (it might have even been Alfred, telling him to come collect you), it definitely wasn’t a bad night. This was just sleepy, possessive Bucky, not unlike how he was before... everything.

You found yourself on the mattress on the floor not five seconds later, landing gently, as Bucky had been careful to lower you slowly before letting you fall the last few inches.

He was beside you in an instant, reeling you into his chest with one arm while the other grabbed the sleeping bag you used as a blanket and pulled it over both of you. It was just big enough to cover you two like this, though you were pretty sure Bucky’s feet poked out the end and over the bottom of the mattress (not that he ever complained).

“Goodnight, Buck,” you whispered even as you began falling asleep, more tired than you realized now that you weren’t in front of your bright monitors.

“Night, Doll,” came the immediate, nearly-incomprehensible response from your practically asleep husband. You smiled and let yourself relax in his arms. Like this, it was easy to ignore the anxiety of knowing that you’d have to go to New York tomorrow.

You fell asleep to the sound of Bucky’s soft snores.

Curvy cars, posters about the war, dames in modest dresses, and fellas in hats.

You blinked and the past vanished like fog chased away by the sun, revealing the truth- the present- underneath.

“That used to be a butcher shop,” you murmured, nodding your head towards a skeevy-looking pawn shop with bars over the windows.

Bucky paused his subtle scouting long enough to give it a glance before his eyes returned to rooftops and alleys and shadowed doorways. “You went to Manhattan a lot?” he asked quietly.

You pressed even closer to his side as a small group passed. You’d checked them for weapons the moment they’d turned the corner, but that still didn’t stop you from being wary around strangers. People didn’t need guns to be dangerous. As if sensing your distress Bucky’s arm went around your shoulder, leaving his left arm free if he needed it.

“Sometimes,” you admitted as soon as they were out of earshot. “I lived all over New York at some point or another. Most orphanages couldn’t get rid of me soon enough and no one in their right mind was adopting during the depression. It was better to explore the city and pickpocket greenbacks from rich jerks than sit in the orphanage and listen to my stomach rumble.”

Bucky stopped looking at the shadowy corners of Hell’s Kitchen at that, nearly slowing down as he processed what you said. “You... remember that?” His brows were pulled up ever so slightly in the middle and you fought the urge to look away. That was a pitying look if you ever saw one.

As if you had any right to pity anymore.

“More or less. I filled in the gaps the records left,” you admitted. It was almost a relief that the building you needed finally came into view as you and Bucky turned the corner. “Show time, sweetheart,” you said with what you hoped was a bracing smile as you stood on your toes and placed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Judging from the conflicted look he gave you, you weren’t completely successful.

The door was between a residential building’s entrance and an old electronics repair place. The little gold and black placard on the red painted wall could easily be overlooked, but it was exactly what you were looking for.

“Nelson and Murdock,” Bucky murmured, giving it and the building a cursory once over.

You opened the grating-covered door and led the way inside and neither you nor Bucky relaxed in the slightest until the door clicked shut behind you.

Four flights later you were greeted by gold lettering, “Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law.” You knocked on the door and opened it quietly when a voice on the other side called “Please come in, it’s open!”

A pretty, tiny blonde with blue eyes was sitting at the desk, smiling at you and Bucky politely.

“Hi, uh-” She fumbled a bit with the papers on her desk. Her cheeks tinged pink and you could tell she was growing more flustered by the second. “Sorry, I’m still not quite used to us having clients and- Did you have an appointment or are you here to-”

“They’re here for me, Karen. My two o’clock.”

All three of you looked up at the newcomer. Matt Murdock stood in the doorway, tense but projecting a sense of calm and control, likely to ensure the woman- Karen- didn’t catch on to the danger you and Bucky posed.

“Oh!” she smiled nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced at the old clock on the wall and then nodded. “I was so busy I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. Are you ready for them?” She directed the last question at Murdock, who took the entire situation as smoothly as he could.

You could see him work it through in his head: Get the threats away from civilians. Don’t make a move before you ascertain the situation.

“Yes, of course. Please, come in,” he said, stepping aside and sweeping an arm wide and gesturing both of you into the room.

You and Bucky gave Karen polite smiles and stepped quickly inside. The door shut softly behind you, but neither you nor Bucky missed the lock sliding into place.

“Please; the blinds, if you would,” Murdock said, voice only slightly strained as he maneuvered the room as though he had 20/20 vision.

You moved over to the window that looked out into the waiting room and flicked the blinds closed, turning them down until no one could see in or out of the room. Bucky and Murdock were already seated and, for all intents and purposes, staring balefully at each other by the time you took your seat.

Murdock’s jaw worked dangerously for a moment before he finally collected himself to speak. “I don’t know who or what you are but if you try to hurt-”

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. We don’t want to hurt anyone.” You felt a little bad for cutting him off, but he had to believe that before you could get anywhere. Your lips quirked up into a tiny sardonic smile. “I also find it a little hard to believe that you don’t already at least suspect who we are. We know who you are, after all.”

“Is that a threat?” Murdock responded instantly, and you kicked yourself for your poor phrasing and timing.

Bucky frowned and you could tell it was taking all of his attention to appear as anything but an aggressor. “No, but it is why we’re here.”

You reached into your pocket and froze when Murdock practically teleported out of his chair and lunged toward you. Bucky’s hand shot out and stopped his hand midair and you stared at the two of them, tension coiling your muscles tightly. “Please, it’s not a weapon. It’s a device I created for you to use.”

Murdock didn’t back down and you could tell he was straining against Bucky’s cybernetic arm. Bucky was far stronger, but he’d stayed in his seat and, as such, had to work harder than he otherwise would have had to keep Murdock at bay. “What kind of device?” he spat, just quietly enough that you knew Karen and his associate- Nelson- wouldn’t hear.

“I call it RAR: Responsive Archive Reader. It will allow you to access every file we’ve managed to collect on ourselves. On... our past. On what we’ve done. What was done to us,” you nearly trailed off, but being able to talk about your tech brought you back. “Everything is sorted and tagged by date, organization, place, and just about anything else you could think of. It can either read it out to you or its surface can change to spell it out in braille. You can even ask it to look up certain information,” you said, voice regaining some of its confidence the longer you talked.

At that, Murdock finally stopped trying to get at you and took a half step back. “Your files. So you are...” he trailed off, as though he was unwilling to say those cursed names.

“The Winter Soldiers” hung unspoken in the air.

You weren’t willing to say them, either. Even after sweeping the building for bugs as you came in, it was too dangerous. “Yes,” Bucky confirmed quietly.

There was a long pause where Murdock didn’t move. If you didn’t watch his chest closely you would have questioned if he was even breathing. “Why come to me?” he asked finally, still not sitting back down.

You gripped the cell phone-sized piece of tech in your hand and frowned, finally unable to look at him.

“Because we’re hoping you’ll help us,” Bucky said after a long pause.

Murdock frowned and canted his head ever so slightly to the side, which immediately piqued your interest, but you kept your mouth shut. “Before I decide what I want to do, you have to answer some questions for me.”

You and Bucky glanced at each other and he nodded imperceptibly. You both looked back and Murdock, but it was you who spoke up. “That’s fair. Go ahead.”

“Are you a danger to my friends and clients?”

Ah, shit. One of the toughest questions right out the gate.

But if your suspicions were correct, lying would get you nowhere. “Yes. We’re a danger to everyone, including ourselves.”

“But we don’t want to be,” Bucky added. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning or that he was reaching for your hand. Your hands met halfway and your fingers laced together. It was Bucky’s left hand and, as you suspected, Murdock seemed able to track the movement more easily than he had any right to.

Murdock’s frown stayed firmly in place. “You know who I am? What I do?”

“Yes,” you responded instantly.

“Do you intend to blackmail me using that information?” he asked just as quickly.

“No,” Bucky rasped.

“Why me?”

“Because of what you do,” you said quietly.

“You mean being an attorney?” he asked, brow creasing just a little more.

You winced, knowing what he was hedging around. “Both.”

“Taking this case will put me in danger.”

It wasn’t a question, but you took it like one. “Almost indefinitely.”

He took a moment to consider that, then, “Do you regret everything you’ve done the last seventy years?”

“Yes,” Bucky responded instantly, just as you said-

“No.”

Bucky turned to stare at you and Murdock tilted his ear a little more in your direction. “Care to elaborate?” he said just a bit flatly, menace creeping back into his voice.

“I don’t regret fighting against the people who tried to control me whenever I got the chance. I don’t regret trying to escape. I don’t regret forming a bond with Natalia Romanoff, or trying to save Mila Hitzvig and Ran Shen. I don’t regret stopping Hydra’s takeover of SHIELD or saving people in Sokovia. There’s more, but...” you frowned as your brain tried to conjure up more examples and failed. “I can’t... my brain doesn’t always cooperate. I’m sorry.” Bucky’s hand squeezed yours gently.

“I spoke without thinkin’. She’s right. There are things I don’t regret doin’ these last seventy years, though they’re by ‘n’ large the outliers,” Bucky agreed quietly, giving you a fond look before he turned a hard gaze on Murdock, who you knew Bucky still saw as a threat.

He gave you and Bucky a moment before forging onward. “Why not contact Rogers or Romanoff? Surely they’d be willing to help.”

You grimaced and knew Bucky’s face had probably done something similar. “Lotsa reasons,” Bucky began in a wary voice. “Some’a which will be answered if you listen to my girl’s device. The main reason is that contacting them brings in the rest of the Avengers...”

“And we’re poised to ruin everything Steve and Tasha have built for themselves,” you finished.

“Are you protecting them or yourselves?” Murdock asked shrewdly.

You and Bucky both had to fight back a wince. “Honestly? Probably both,” you admitted quietly.

He nodded as though that had answered a very pressing question. “And what are you hoping to gain from hiring me?”

You and Bucky exchanged a look. “We’re hopin’ it won’t come to you havin’ to do anything,” Bucky said quietly.

Murdock stared at him as though waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you explained, “This is a doomsday protocol, of sorts. It’s our hope to just... hide. From everyone. Everything. Your services would only be needed if someone finally captures us. That someone being a government.”

“And if I decide I don’t want to help admitted murderers?” Murdock asked after a second. He shifted to his other foot, obviously ready for a fight.

You shrugged. “Then you throw RAR into the Hudson and pretend you never saw us.”

“That’s it?” he asked skeptically.

“That’s it,” Bucky confirmed.

A longer pause this time, then, “And if I try to bring you in? Alert the authorities?”

“We incapacitate you and anyone else who tries to stop us, then escape,” you said stonily. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

But Murdock only nodded again, looking a little grim. “I’m going to be honest- I don’t feel comfortable taking this case unless I know more.”

You tried to smile, but you knew it was a grimace. “All yours, Mister Murdock,” you said as you slid RAR across his desk. You took it as a good sign that he picked it up without hesitation. “You can tell it to turn on and off by saying ‘RAR’ and then ‘on’ and ‘off’ and tell it to look for specific tags by saying ‘RAR conduct search’ and then tell it what you want it to search. Switch between reading modes by saying ‘braille’ and ‘voice’. It’s quite intuitive, really.”

He palmed the device carefully as though searching for hidden traps or weapons but seemed to ultimately decide it was safe because he pocketed it a second later, still looking serious. “And how do I contact you if I decide to take the case?”

You blinked dumbly at him and it was Bucky who recovered first. “You can’t contact us, Murdock. It’s too dangerous. For all of us.”

Murdock raised an eyebrow at that. “Then how will you know if I’ll take your case?”

“We won’t,” you answered quietly.

“But we hope that you do,” Bucky added just as quietly but with an earnestness that had you squeezing his hand.

Murdock leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. You expected him to say something, but he remained quiet for a long time- long enough for both you and Bucky to have to fight the urge to shift in your seats. “Why me?” he asked finally and just a little accusatorially.

Bucky blew out a long breath at that and sank back in his chair, having already thrown in the towel on this particular question. He did, however, give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Because you’re our best option.”

Murdock only frowned deeper and leaned forward. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You sighed and took a moment to collect your thoughts, annoyed at how long it took you to find the right words. Being out and in the open like this was really getting to you. “You’re good. As in, a good person. One of the best. Could give Rogers a run for his money. I looked into your work. Your hobby, too.” Murdock’s face darkened a bit at the allusion to his other identity, but you barreled on. “Our situation isn’t normal. Neither is yours. If your heart is even half as big as I think it is- or if you care about the truth at all- then you’re the only person in the world that will give us a chance... without Steve Rogers backing us up or Natasha Romanoff threatening you.”

It was a weak attempt at a joke and, as expected, Murdock’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. He did, however, seem to find your answer acceptable. “So what? I’m just supposed to build a case? Without talking to either of you? And that’s assuming I take the case to begin with.”

You nodded to his pocket, forgetting he couldn’t see you (though you had a feeling he “saw” more than he let on). “It’s all on that archive. Everything we can remember. Everything we’ve scrapped together from files and data. It’s a more reliable source than we are most days. Things- the memories- they fade in and out.”

“But the things on that drive- they’re things we’ve looked into. Things we both remember. Should be the most complete and accurate file on us anywhere. I’d recommend keepin’ it close,” Bucky said gravely.

Murdock nodded at that, hand making an aborted motion to his chest pocket before he returned his hands to his desk and fiddled idly with a pen (that you had no doubt he’d use as a weapon the moment the need arose). “I’ll review the file as soon as I can. Is there... anything else?” he seemed slightly off kilter, not that you could blame him. Two world renowned assassins had just sauntered into his office and asked him to defend them in court, after all.

“No, that’s ever-” you froze when Bucky gave your hand an urgent squeeze. You glanced over at him and he gave you an expectant look that sent you thinking. Then it hit you. “Oh!” you said quietly, lips twitching up at Bucky’s smitten half smile. “You just received a large anonymous donation to your firm. I suggest using it to fix this place up a little bit... or perhaps getting an air conditioning unit. It’s going to get hot soon.”

That, however, made Murdock prickle like a porcupine, but Bucky was already heading him off at the pass. “It’s clean money, Murdock. My girl made it from patenting some crazy energy efficient electric engine or something like that.”

“But I don’t even know if I’ll take your case yet,” he argued stubbornly.

You peered at him, gaze too old for your face. “No, but you and your partner do good work here. I’ve read about your cases. It’s a worthy investment of my money.”

Murdock still looked dubious, but he decided to let the subject drop. “Then our business is concluded?”

You and Bucky stood at the same time, as slowly and non-threateningly as you could, but Murdock still practically jumped to his feet. “Yes, Mister Murdock. We’ll be on our way.” You stared at him, hawk-like, for any sign that he’d try to stop you. He hesitated briefly before walking past both of you to open the door. Bucky tugged you close to his side as you walked out. You paused to give the secretary- who was looking at you and Bucky with a little bit of confusion- a wave which she returned with barely concealed surprise and a tentative smile.

You were almost out of their small office when the door opposite Murdock’s opened and a man with shaggy blond hair and an infectious smile (which almost immediately turned into something more professional upon seeing you and Bucky) walked out.

“Oh! You must be Matt’s two o’clock,” he said brightly, though you could see the small flash of greed in his eyes. “I trust your meeting went well and you’ll be using our services mister and misses...?” he trailed off, looking between you, Murdock, and Karen inquisitively.

Foggy Nelson. Murdock’s business partner. Good heart, but perhaps more practical than Murdock, which often comes off as unsavory priorities... namely, making money.

A quick glance behind you told you Murdock was as tightly wound as a spring. You turned what you hoped was a melancholy smile on Nelson. “I’m afraid Mister Murdock declined our case. We... didn’t see eye to eye on some issues,” you said softly. It was better this way- his coworkers wouldn’t pester him about your case.

But Nelson looked at Murdock with such disbelief and exasperation that you wondered if you’d made a mistake.

“We can’t pay anyway,” Bucky added smoothly.

At that, Nelson’s face turned the kind of fake polite that was usually only mastered by the most obnoxious, self-absorbed people.

“I see. Well then I’m very sorry Nelson and Murdock won’t be able to assist you. Please have a nice day.”

The secretary was looking between the four of you with confusion, but Murdock finally relaxed ever so slightly as Nelson herded you out.

“Have a nice day!” Nelson called. Just before the door shut you looked over your shoulder and saw Murdock facing in your direction, head turned slightly to the side.

You smiled and waited until you were a few steps away before saying softly, “Thank you for your time, Mister Murdock. Take care,” knowing full well he’d hear you.

It wasn’t until you were a few blocks away that Bucky spoke. “Think it’s done yet?” he asked as you turned the corner and ghosted between other New Yorkers going about their busy days.

You frowned as you thought about it. “Probably.” Admitting it made anxiety coil low and deadly in your stomach. As if sensing the shift in your thoughts, Bucky threw his arm around your shoulder and drew you close to his side, taking his eyes off his surroundings only long enough to press a kiss to your temple.

“Better hurry back, then. I’m... eager to know the truth, either way. Y’know?” he murmured.

You smiled up at him and your breath caught in your throat. He looked... good. Two years since you both escaped Hydra. Two years out of cryo. Two years together, healing. Eating actual food. Sleeping on a real mattress.

The change had been so gradual that you hadn’t noticed. It had taken being in New York again for you to really look at him.

Your smile was more genuine than it had been in a long time as you leaned up and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, Buck. I do.”

Next Chapter

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musicboxbunny · 6 years

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tl;dr Don't shoot IV drugs into your taint.

aka; the Swamps of Dagobah patient horror story, submitted to reddit by banzaipanda in 2013.

OR Nurse here. This is kind of a long one...

I was taking call one night, and woke up at two in the morning for a "general surgery" call. Pretty vague, but at the time, I lived in a town that had large populations of young military guys and avid meth users, so late-night emergencies were common.

Got to the hospital, where a few more details awaited me -- "Perirectal abscess." For the uninitiated, this means that somewhere in the immediate vicinity of the asshole, there was a pocket of pus that needed draining. Needless to say our entire crew was less than thrilled.

I went down to the Emergency Room to transport the patient, and the only thing the ER nurse said as she handed me the chart was "Have fun with this one." Amongst healthcare professionals, vague statements like that are a bad sign.

My patient was a 314lb Native American woman who barely fit on the stretcher I was transporting her on. She was rolling frantically side to side and moaning in pain, pulling at her clothes and muttering Hail Mary's. I could barely get her name out of her after a few minutes of questioning, so after I confirmed her identity and what we were working on, I figured it was best just to get her to the anesthesiologist so we could knock her out and get this circus started.

She continued her theatrics the entire ten-minute ride to the O.R., nearly falling off the surgical table as we were trying to put her under anesthetic. We see patients like this a lot, though, chronic drug abusers who don't handle pain well and who have used so many drugs that even increased levels of pain medication don't touch simply because of high tolerance levels.

It should be noted, tonight's surgical team was not exactly wet behind the ears. I'd been working in healthcare for several years already, mostly psych and medical settings. I've watched an 88-year-old man tear a 1"-diameter catheter balloon out of his penis while screaming "You'll never make me talk!". I've been attacked by an HIV-positive neo-Nazi. I've seen some shit. The other nurse had been in the OR as a trauma specialist for over ten years; the anesthesiologist had done residency at a Level 1 trauma center, or as we call them, "Knife and Gun Clubs". The surgeon was ex-Army, and averaged about eight words and two facial expressions a week. None of us expected what was about to happen next.

We got the lady off to sleep, put her into the stirrups, and I began washing off the rectal area. It was red and inflamed, a little bit of pus was seeping through, but it was all pretty standard. Her chart had noted that she'd been injecting IV drugs through her perineum, so this was obviously an infection from dirty needles or bad drugs, but overall, it didn't seem to warrant her repeated cries of "Oh Jesus, kill me now."

The surgeon steps up with a scalpel, sinks just the tip in, and at the exact same moment, the patient had a muscle twitch in her diaphragm, and just like that, all hell broke loose.

Unbeknownst to us, the infection had actually tunneled nearly a foot into her abdomen, creating a vast cavern full of pus, rotten tissue, and fecal matter that had seeped outside of her colon. This godforsaken mixture came rocketing out of that little incision like we were recreating the funeral scene from Jane Austen's "Mafia!".

We all wear waterproof gowns, face masks, gloves, hats, the works -- all of which were as helpful was rainboots against a firehose. The bed was in the middle of the room, an easy seven feet from the nearest wall, but by the time we were done, I was still finding bits of rotten flesh pasted against the back wall. As the surgeon continued to advance his blade, the torrent just continued. The patient kept seizing against the ventilator (not uncommon in surgery), and with every muscle contraction, she shot more of this brackish gray-brown fluid out onto the floor until, within minutes, it was seeping into the other nurse's shoes.

I was nearly twelve feet away, jaw dropped open within my surgical mask, watching the second nurse dry-heaving and the surgeon standing on tip-toes to keep this stuff from soaking his socks any further. The smell hit them first. "Oh god, I just threw up in my mask!" The other nurse was out, she tore off her mask and sprinted out of the room, shoulders still heaving. Then it hit me, mouth still wide open, not able to believe the volume of fluid this woman's body contained. It was like getting a great big bite of the despair and apathy that permeated this woman's life. I couldn't fucking breath, my lungs simply refused to pull anymore of that stuff in. The anesthesiologist went down next, an ex-NCAA D1 tailback, his six-foot-two frame shaking as he threw open the door to the OR suite in an attempt to get more air in, letting me glimpse the second nurse still throwing up in the sinks outside the door. Another geyser of pus splashed across the front of the surgeon. The YouTube clip of "David at the dentist" keeps playing in my head -- "Is this real life?"

In all operating rooms, everywhere in the world, regardless of socialized or privatized, secular or religious, big or small, there is one thing the same: Somewhere, there is a bottle of peppermint concentrate. Everyone in the department knows where it is, everyone knows what it is for, and everyone prays to their gods they never have to use it. In times like this, we rub it on the inside of our masks to keep the outside smells at bay long enough to finish the procedure and shower off.

I sprinted to the our central supply, ripping open the drawer where this vial of ambrosia was kept, and was greeted by -- an empty fucking box. The bottle had been emptied and not replaced. Somewhere out there was a godless bastard who had used the last of the peppermint oil, and not replaced a single fucking drop of it. To this day, if I figure out who it was, I'll kill them with my bare hands, but not before cramming their head up the colon of every last meth user I can find, just so we're even.

I darted back into the room with the next best thing I can find -- a vial of Mastisol, which is an adhesive rub we use sometimes for bandaging. It's not as good as peppermint, but considering that over one-third of the floor was now thoroughly coated in what could easily be mistaken for a combination of bovine after-birth and maple syrup, we were out of options.

I started rubbing as much of the Mastisol as I could get on the inside of my mask, just glad to be smelling anything except whatever slimy demon spawn we'd just cut out of this woman. The anesthesiologist grabbed the vial next, dowsing the front of his mask in it so he could stand next to his machines long enough to make sure this woman didn't die on the table. It wasn't until later that we realized that Mastisol can give you a mild high from huffing it like this, but in retrospect, that's probably what got us through.

By this time, the smell had permeated out of our OR suite, and down the forty-foot hallway to the front desk, where the other nurse still sat, eyes bloodshot and watery, clenching her stomach desperately. Our suite looked like the underground river of ooze from Ghostbusters II, except dirty. Oh so dirty.

I stepped back into the OR suite, not wanting to leave the surgeon by himself in case he genuinely needed help. It was like one of those overly-artistic representations of a zombie apocalypse you see on fan-forums. Here's this one guy, in blue surgical garb, standing nearly ankle deep in lumps of dead tissue, fecal matter, and several liters of syrupy infection. He was performing surgery in the swamps of Dagobah, except the swamps had just come out of this woman's ass and there was no Yoda. He and I didn't say a word for the next ten minutes as he scraped the inside of the abscess until all the dead tissue was out, the front of his gown a gruesome mixture of brown and red, his eyes squinted against the stinging vapors originating directly in front of him. I finished my required paperwork as quickly as I could, helped him stuff the recently-vacated opening full of gauze, taped this woman's buttocks closed to hold the dressing for as long as possible, woke her up, and immediately shipped off to the recovery ward.

Until then, I'd only heard of "alcohol showers." Turns out 70% isopropyl alcohol is about the only thing that can even touch a scent like that once its soaked into your skin. It takes four or five bottles to get really clean, but it's worth it. It's probably the only scenario I can honestly endorse drinking a little of it, too.

As we left the locker room, the surgeon and I looked at each other, and he said the only negative sentence I heard him utter in two and a half years of working together:

"That was bad."

The next morning the entire department (a fairly large floor within the hospital) still smelled. The housekeepers told me later that it took them nearly an hour to suction up all of the fluid and debris left behind. The OR suite itself was closed off and quarantined for two more days just to let the smell finally clear out.

I laugh now when I hear new recruits to healthcare talk about the worst thing they've seen. You ain't seen shit, kid.

#banzaipanda #swamps of dagobah #patient horror story #ask reddit #my favorite thing

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dailynewswebsite · 4 years

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Fantasy Football Week 7 Rankings: Russell Wilson vs. Kyler Murray highlights matchups to prep for

The Guardian

Ryan Fitzpatrick is main the happiest march to obsolescence in NFL historical past

The Dolphins quarterback is preserving the starter’s spot heat for Tua Tagovailoa in Miami. However like a lot of his profession, he’s doing so with fashion and skillWhen Miami Dolphins rookie quarterback Tua Tagovailoa made his NFL debut through the remaining drive of Sunday’s 24-Zero annihilation of the New York Jets, nobody appeared happier than the person he’ll at some point exchange, Ryan Fitzpatrick. The 37-year-old led the sparse house crowd in an ovation with a smile so massive it nearly outdid his magnificent beard. And why not? Fitzpatrick is aware of that is his group solely briefly. He accepts and embraces it. However within the meantime, he’s balling. Fitzpatrick is seventh within the league in QBR and will stay in that territory after tossing three touchdowns towards the Jets. (He additionally threw two interceptions, certainly one of which was the 0-6 Jets’ few highlights of the season.) His 70% completion charge is the best of his profession and he’s helming a scrappy group coming off back-to-back blowout wins. The Dolphins are a pleasure to observe nowadays with a lot of the enjoyment rooted in Fitzpatrick. After Miami topped Jacksonville in Week 3’s bonanza of facial hair quarterbacks, Fitzpatrick was elated. “I really feel just like the luckiest man on this planet typically, attending to go outdoors and play soccer with my mates,” he informed reporters. Fitzpatrick has a refreshing happy-to-be-here side to his profession however he’s additionally sensible, robust and helpful sufficient to be an ideal cease hole for any franchise. Simply ask the Rams, Bengals, Invoice, Titans, Texans, Jets, Bucs and now Dolphins. Fitzpatrick won’t ever be the tallest or quickest in a quarterback room, however nobody will prime his willpower. Fitzpatrick’s journey was detailed by Yahoo this this summer season, a journey that concerned battling to win beginning quarterback job at Highland Excessive in Gilbert, Arizona, then transferring up the depth chart at Harvard, earlier than consistently having to reprove his price to a litany of NFL franchises. Some quarterbacks are branded as starters, some as backups. Fitzpatrick is in his personal distinctive class the place he so generally emerges because the starter that you just lose monitor of whether or not or not it was by design.Fitzpatrick is a wonderment not due to his stronger-than-you-think arm, his escapability, and even his endless beard. It’s his self-awareness. It’s his skill to know that he’s a placeholder but take the sector like he owns the group. It’s his skill to encourage his teammates. “Fitz is only a healthful particular person. The way in which he’s out on the sector is identical means he’s off the sector,” Tagovailoa informed ESPN this week. “I don’t suppose there’s actually a definite change in who he’s. I imply, what you see out there’s actually who Fitz is. He’s a coach. He’s a mentor on and off the sector. However he’s additionally a really, very family-oriented particular person. Very loving. Very caring for guys. And he’s humorous, too. He’s actually humorous.”It’s uncertain that Aaron Rodgers will likely be leaping for pleasure when Jordan Love takes the sector nor would most quarterbacks once they can see their current turn into their previous within the flesh. However Fitzpatrick is a unique breed. His pleasure for Tagovailoa’s entrance illuminated his objective as each a bridge and a mentor. Like Patrick Mahomes with Alex Smith, Tagovailoa entered the NFL in an idyllic state of affairs. In Fitzpatrick, he acquired a mentor that not solely leads by instance however who genuinely needs the child to succeed. It’s one factor to look at how a lot time a teammate places into movie research, it’s one other when that teammate additionally cares about you as a human and needs to information you thru the whole thorny panorama that’s the NFL. That’s Fitz. Each every so often, it seems like Fitzpatrick is destined to be the man underneath middle. However the baton will likely be handed off, and probably quickly. Till then, Fitzpatrick will hold partaking in a quarterback arc that’s charmed and uniquely his. Stat of the weekThe Patriots are underneath .500 this late within the season for the primary time since 2002. For many groups a 2-Three file wouldn’t be trigger for panic. It would even be trigger for celebration when you reside within the NFC East. However this season has been a serious pivot for the Patriots who had a reserved seat within the playoffs for the final 20 years. The Pats had been sloppy on each side of the ball in a 18-12 house loss to the Broncos. Cam Newton, now recovered from Covid-19, was sacked 4 instances and had no offensive weaponry or safety. There may be the apparent excuse of little to no follow time given the ability’s Covid-19 closure over a lot of the previous two weeks. However in contrast to the Titans, who overcame the identical hurdles and crushed the Payments final Thursday, the Pats don’t look like a group with a lot depth or overwhelming expertise at this level. MVP of the week> THAT’S ROYALTY!

> > 94-yard TD run for @KingHenry_2 > >

: Watch HOUvsTEN on CBS pic.twitter.com/44iVQKCwVR> > — Tennessee Titans (@Titans) October 18, 2020Derrick Henry, RB, Tennessee Titans. All hail King Henry who placed on a clinic in Tennessee’s scintillating 42-36 additional time win towards the Texans. When JJ Watt strip-sacked Ryan Tannehill, a turnover that resulted in a landing and Houston taking the lead, it appeared like a serious momentum shift. However Henry answered with a jaw-dropping-how-does-a-man-that-big-have-those-jets 94 yard landing. Henry was additionally instrumental in additional time, barreling upfield on a 53-yard display screen after which scoring the game-winner on a direct snap. Henry ended with 212 dashing yards and have become the primary participant in NFL historical past with 200-yard video games in three consecutive seasons. May he be probably the most harmful rusher since Adrian Peterson in his prime? Video of the week> Aaron Rodgers took a tough hit ultimately zone, then he instantly obtained up and hit them with a “double pump.” Absolute savage

pic.twitter.com/fjDOyKSnrz> > — FOX Sports activities: NFL (@NFLonFOX) October 18, 2020 Aaron Jones ran in a one-yard landing within the first quarter for Inexperienced Bay but it surely was the opposite Aaron who actually felt the second. Sure, Aaron Rodgers carried out the Hingle McCringleberry extreme celebration sketch, a fictional soccer participant made well-known from Key and Peele. Quote of the week“We’re one of the best protection on this league” – Bears inside linebacker Danny Trevathan.It’s laborious to argue with Trevathan after the Bears’ protection turned in one other dominating, opportunistic defensive efficiency, topping Carolina 23-16. They had been flat out stifling as the sport progressed, particularly the run stuffers. As Kevin Fishbain of the Athletic factors out the Bears allowed Panthers rusher Mike Davis to gather 40 yards on eight carries. However after that they held him to 12 yards on 10 carries. The Bears now sit at a really wholesome 5-1 and the protection saving the offense appears to be a theme for Chicago this season – and nearly all of their seasons. Elsewhere across the league– The arrival of Tom Brady put a whole lot of deal with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers offense however their protection is among the finest within the league. They made Rodgers look unusual, whereas they harassed him all afternoon because the Bucs inflicted the Inexperienced Bay Packers’ first lack of the season. Certainly, the Bucs protection was so dominant that Rodgers was pulled within the fourth-quarter to guard him from additional punishment.– After accidents to the Jags’ first 4 kickers this season, they reached deep into the pile and pulled out … somebody who had by no means tried a subject aim at any stage. Jon Brown was a soccer participant at Louisville earlier than transferring to Kentucky to play soccer the place he grew to become a kickoff specialist. However even with out the expertise, Brown drilled his first-ever try like a seasoned vet, although he did miss a 32-yarder later in Jacksonville’s 34-16 loss to the Lions.– Steelers-Browns didn’t fairly reside as much as its Sport of the Week billing. Pittsburgh clobbered Cleveland 38-7, once more showcasing their elite wideout scouting with James Washington becoming a member of Chase Claypool as a pressure. The Steelers protection, aided by a key Minkah Fitzpatrick interception, regarded much more stout than final week. Steelers-Ravens in Week eight must be on everybody’s calendars.– Interim Texans head coach Romeo Crennel had the controversial teaching transfer of the week. The Texans scored with 1:50 left and took a seven-point lead. As an alternative of kicking it to place Houston up eight, Crennel rolled the cube and tried to go for a win with a two-point conversion.– The NFL woke to nice information in Sunday, when zero Covid-19 checks got here again optimistic.– Presumptive No1 total choose Trevor Lawrence carried out his newest masterpiece Saturday, his ridiculous arm and determination making guiding Clemson to an historic 73-7 rout of Georgia Tech. Already up 52-7 on the half, Lawrence left the sport after one second-half sequence with 5 touchdowns, 405 yards, and all quarterback-deficient NFL groups salivating.– Vikings followers, how are you feeling about Kirk Cousins’ $66m assured contract extension? Yikes. He threw three touchdowns in Minnesota’s loss to the Atlanta Falcons … and in addition three interceptions. “The truth is that if the tempo I’m on when it comes to the interceptions, if that had been to proceed, I received’t end the season,” Cousins stated. He’s proper.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/fantasy-football-week-7-rankings-russell-wilson-vs-kyler-murray-highlights-matchups-to-prep-for/ via https://growthnews.in

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formallyfreya · 7 years

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Over Exposure

I bought a camera five weeks ago. An old one.

Not like one of those obscura ones that you have to develop yourself. It’s a polaroid. A Polaroid Presto SX-70, to be exact. In good condition with minimal aging made in ‘73 or ‘74. I’m not completely sure since some of the numbers have been rubbed off.

There was an estate sale when Robert Argento passed, this reclusive old man who lived down the street. He wasn’t a mean man or anything, just quiet. At one time he was a popular guy throughout the neighborhood, threw some great block parties back in the early 60s. But then Vietnam happened and when he came back he was a lot quieter, a lot of people were I guess. I mean, I was born in ‘85 so I’m just going off what the older folk say.

He used to be so friendly and loved having gatherings. His wife made the best pecan pie south of Mason Dixon Line, the old folks like to say. I’ll have to take their word for it since she died long before I was born, sometime after the war. She’d make great southern goodies and he’d decorate the house, buy fireworks for the neighborhood kids--sparklers and stuff-- and take lots of pictures.

Photography was a hobby of his before he was sent off to war, which explained all the cameras he owned.

There were about a dozen laid out on a table with price tags on them. I wasn’t even interested in getting a camera. I was looking at some of the antique storage chests, the ones southern ladies always put quilts in when it’s too hot. I thought this small one looked perfect for a jewelry box, the right size for my mother’s necklaces and rings. She loves that southern charm stuff so I thought I’d grab it up before someone else got their hand on it.

It was locked and didn’t come with a key but I bought it anyway. Had a locksmith jimmy it open.Took the guy nearly an hour to get the thing to cooperate but finally it popped to reveal the camera inside.

It was nice looking, but it was empty. No film. I gave the box to my mother after the smith made me a key for it and took the camera home for myself.

For a while, it just sat on a shelf in the living room, like one of the many knick-knacks that didn’t serve a purpose other than to be a conversation piece. And it was one. More than a few people asked about it and passed it between their hands while asking me if it worked. Eventually, I went online to get some film to see if it did. To satisfy my curiosity as well as theirs.

Film wasn’t too expensive. Luckily you can find just about anything on ebay nowadays. The original was phased out years ago but there were a couple of off brand films that were compatible with it. After a few tutorials, I figured out how to pop in the film. Then it was time to take a few photos.

I took a few of the house first since my wife was at work. Random things like our garden flowers and backyard. I even took one of our mailbox--it was hand painted by a cousin of mine as a wedding present a year ago. Then I took one of our dog sleeping in the window seat.

They all turned out fine except the dog. Something was...very wrong with it.

We have a pretty young black lab so when the picture showed a much older dog I was a little confused. The fur around his muzzle was grey and white, his eyes clouded over. I figured it was an exposure error. Bad film or something. But it still shook me so I threw the photo out and put the camera back on the shelf.

The next dinner I had some friends over. One of them, James, asked me to take a photo with the camera since I mentioned it had film now. So after we ate he sat in his shiny red mustang with tan interior, posed like he was a suave debonair movie star, and I took his photo with a laugh. I had forgotten about the strange photo of my dog but remembered it soon enough after the film popped out of the camera.

It was all wrong again. The car was warped, bent into strange shapes. And the interior…it was just as bright and red as the exterior. My friend was still in the vehicle but his head certainly wasn’t. It was nowhere in the photograph at all--just a stump of flesh and vertebrae where his head should have been.

He laughed and hopped out of the car to see the pic but I crumpled it immediately. Said the film had been overexposed or damaged. That we’d have to take another after getting some new film.

I never got another chance to retake James’ picture.

A week later he got into a car accident. It was bad. Slick roads and he was going too fast for conditions. He ran a red and plowed right into the side of a semi. The mustang was nothing but shredded metal and shattered glass. And James was nothing but splintered bone and splattered blood. Or so the news reported. His funeral was closed casket. And though I cried for James among all the other mourners, all I could think about was the crumpled photo.

Was it cursed? Could I have prevented it?

So I took more photos with the camera. I didn’t think anything it had to show me could be worse but I was wrong. I took a picture of a homeless man downtown. It revealed him frozen to death in the alley. I tried to get him to go to a shelter, told him he was going to die if he didn’t listen, but he didn’t care. He even called me crazy.

When the little girl down the street biked past the house and I snapped a picture of her. Dead on the sidewalk, her brain matter splattered across the pavement. To avoid the risk of sounding nuts I sent her family an anonymous gift of a new bike helmet in the hopes that it would help. She still was hit by a car a month later but she survived. Broken legs beats the hell out of a shattered skull.

But it wasn’t enough. I took another picture of her when her friend pushed her wheelchair to the park.

She was older. A teenager. Still, in a wheelchair, a needle sticking out of her arm, vomit dripping from her mouth and into her lap. An overdose.

I didn’t know what to do. Would just end up making it worse for her? I could see her smiling and laughing with her friend as she went down the street but she didn’t know yet what was in store for her. What pain I was bringing her.

The more photos I took the worse it got.

People who looked charred from a fire. Others with their throats ripped out from some wild animal. Most of them were just pictures of people lying on the floor in their sixties, clutching desperately at their chest and reaching in vain for a phone.

And I could do nothing that wouldn’t make it worse.

Laura next door was a cutter. I saw her death. She goes just a little too deep and can’t stop the bleeding.

I told her she needed to stop. She claimed she didn’t know what I was talking about. When I pointed at the location of her cuts underneath the sleeves of her blouse she turned red. I told her to stop cutting or I’d tell her boyfriend so that she could get some help. She ran away crying and that night she killed herself.

That’s when I stopped trying to fix things. I was just fulfilling the Polaroid prophecies myself. I stopped talking to my neighbors, my friends, and even my wife. Nothing had any meaning anymore. I decided I wouldn’t take any more pictures.

Well, that wasn’t true. I planned on taking only one more.

I’m going to turn the lens on myself. And just in case it ends poorly for me, I’m writing this all down.

Okay. I’m doing it right now. Just waiting for it the picture to come into focus.

Oh. So that’s how it is. Ha. Figures. No one could see all that I did, do all that I’d done, and not expect this. Maybe it’s for the best though. At least...then I’d be free of this curse.

I think I’ll just sit here and wait for the inevitable.

And in local news the bizarre death of Randalf Dreier.

The young accountant was murdered today in his home by none other than his wife. When asked why she committed this act she had this to say:

“Something was wrong with him. He was taking pictures of little kids in the neighborhood. Acting weird around them at the block parties. A little too interested in them. Then I found his--snuff photography--I had to stop him before he hurt someone else.”

A hidden stash of polaroids was collected from the scene. Warning: some of this content may be too graphic for those with a weak disposition.

The photos detailed many crime scenes in the tri-county area including the auto fatality of James Mason, the hit and run of Sharon Atwater, and the suicide of Angelique Smith. Those are just a few. All incidents are now being re-investigated to determine if foul play was involved.

What is most bizarre in this case is that moments before he died Mr. Dreier took a photo of his wife sneaking up behind him with the knife, yet did not turn to confront her.

“I don’t know when he took that picture, I never saw a flash,” she explained. “He was just sitting at his desk. Staring at it. And right when I stabbed--he said ‘thank god’.”

What a strange thing to say. What’s more is there were no defensive wounds. No struggle. Almost as if he knew death was the unavoidable price for his misdeeds. It couldn’t be worse than what would have happened to him in prison.

And now Reese with the weather.

#Freya's Spooky Stories #Horror stories #spooky stories #creepy stories #haunted object #cursed object #tw suicide

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carolightpenvenys · 7 years

Text

doctors a penvenys au chapter 8

I am so sad I missed AU day of fic week! I was working! But this would’ve been my contribution! Enjoy and don’t forget to leave feedback x

Mondays were always the worst for Dr Enys.

Especially since he’d had the weekend off. But today was a Monday like no other.

Well at least it was until around midday where he was opening his Kinder Bueno and there was a knock at his door.

“Come in.” He said through a mouthful, not even bothering to sit up.

The door creaked open but Dwight didn’t even turn round, he was midway through paperwork.

“Ah, Dr Enys.” The voice he heard made his eyes instantly roll back into his head, before he slowly turned his chair round with a shit eating grin.

“George Warleggan. How can I help?” There was just something about the hospital’s regional manager and local council member that made his skin crawl. But he’d never show it. Dwight was a professional.

“Bad news I’m afraid.” He said this with an almost glee and Dwight reminded himself why he would vote for the many, not the few next election. “It’s that time of year.”

“What time?”

“Cuts time.” George winced but in such a way that it seemed mocking. “So I’m just coming around to tell you all that you’re under observation.”

Dwight smiled politely. “That’s good of you George. Not sure we need cuts though, we have been struggling recently for staff.”

“But there’s just not enough money.” George shrugged casually. “My hands are tied.”

Dwight’s passive aggressive brain was on full power. Really? That’s funny considering I know for the fact your wages bought you a manor house and a holiday home in Barbados whilst the staff at this hospital are striking every two weeks because our wages can’t even afford to get people out of food banks.

But ok.

“Oh right.” Was what came out. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be on my best behaviour.” He smiled through gritted teeth and waved George out of the office, who was almost strutting as he left.

“What an arsehole.” He said to himself as he turned back around, professional as ever.

He looked at the time. It was coming up to half past twelve and he thought to take his lunch break officially, maybe snooping around the hospital for Caroline Penvenen.

Not that he would ever admit that but i freely will.

It was about a ten minute walk to the physiotherapy wing but Dwight made it last fifteen by kicking a vending machine until a seven up came out. He had taken his white coat off otherwise people would think he was on duty and make him do work, but he loosened his tie a little.

It was lunch time after all.

He shoved the door to the wing open after crossing a road outside. He’d just go for a walk, a walk around the building, have a little snoop around and then go back to his office. Yeah.

He looked through the first window but it was a full on hospital room with a body inside sleeping. The body was also a 70 year old man.

He walked along the corridor and it was just more of the same. He felt very lost in this particular area of the hospital, slightly befuddled.

He threw his seven up in a perfect shot towards the bin.

Or so he would have you think.

I can tell you for sure it bounced off the rim and onto the floor and he had to humbly pick it up, rubbing the back of his neck slightly.

He continued to trudge up to the upper floor, telling himself if he saw nothing of interest here, he would just give up and go eat his sandwich alone with some milky tea.

Just then he came across a small window in a door and he manically found a way to stand by it without the people inside seeing.

Because inside was, in his opinion, the best physiotherapist and Ross’s ex girlfriend Elizabeth Chynoweth and her patient- Caroline Penvenen.

“Sorry I’m late!” Caroline was sat in the wheelchair with a kind of comfort that Dwight hadn’t encountered in their park adventure the other day which begged the question, did he make her feel uncomfortable. “Sarah needed her nappy changing. When it’s just me and her you can assume I will be a lot later!”

“It’s alright for today Caroline.” Elizabeth smiled warmly. You need a lot of patience to be a physio, you know. “But you need to be signed off from physio before you get Sarah full time.”

He saw Caroline’s smile falter, even from a distance as if this was new information. “Well that just makes me more determined.” She replied and Dwight couldn’t help but appreciate her strength. “Plus there’s a guy I really like and I want to be able to get my strut on when I ask him out.”

Dwight’s heart dropped. Not two days ago had she told him that they should just be friends but now she had already moved on to another? Dwight knew he shouldn’t have come, he knew this was an invasion of privacy but he couldn’t stay away.

Elizabeth stood away from her computer and held up her hand to help Caroline up. “Ok Caroline.” She laughed. “Are you ready to go for the bars?”

“Of course.” Caroline smiled.

But Dwight was in no way ready for what was to come.

She gripped the bars with a firm unsteadiness and it looked to be an absolute effort. Her brain was working a mile a minute but she just couldn’t get her legs to do the same.

“Caroline.” Elizabeth was at the other end of the bars, leaning down to look at her. “Slow down.”

But Caroline persisted. “No. I have to get better, you don’t understand.”

“You’re not going to get better straight away!” Elizabeth persisted, approaching the bars to try and get her to slow down. “Walk slower, it’s a process.”

But Caroline was in the zone. What Dwight liked to call a negative zone. A zone where you put your physical health at risk for personal gain.

And that, readers, is when she fell.

She collapsed onto the floor, her legs crumbling and Dwight could only imagine the pain from her burns on top of this.

She howled. She howled so loud as Elizabeth came to her side and hoisted her back into the wheelchair, trying to sedate her with calming words.

“Hey.” Elizabeth smiled. “Not to worry, you’ve just got yourself into a tizz. It happens to all of us.”

Dwight stepped away from the door, ashamed to have walked in on a private moment. He shook his head and continued down the corridor, acknowledging other doctors walking the other way. He found a hot drinks machine and made the milkiest tea he’d ever seen but spent a good twenty minutes sat back down on the lower floor just staring at it. His lunch was nearly over and he may as well just trudge back to his office with a new fear instilled in his heart. He may as well-

“Doctor Dwight Enys?” Wow. Maybe this was the worst day of his life as he looked into the questioning eyes of Elizabeth.

“Dr Chynoweth.” He stumbled a little on his words. “It's been a while. I haven't seen you since-”

“Since Ross and I broke up?” Dwight’s face paled but she just laughed. “Come, have lunch with me. You look very depressing.”

Dwight mutely followed her into her office upstairs but his mind was elsewhere. He had so many unresolved questions as he popped his lunchbox (yes he owned a lunchbox) onto the table.

He sat opposite Elizabeth in her patient’s chair and stared at some of the equipment, fallen onto the floor. “Tough patient?” He asked.

“Ah, a doctor’s work is confidential.” But she was smiling. “But yes. Unintentionally difficult.”

Dwight knew that he shouldn't probe, especially when he knew it was Caroline and he knew that she wouldn't want this but, “How so?”

Curiosity got the better of him.

“It's really not her fault.” Elizabeth sighed.“She’s just in a completely different reality to everyone else.” “I don’t think I follow.” Dwight sipped his drink. “Who are you talking about?”

He really hated himself now. This was completely against everything they taught him at doctor school. Medical school. The medical book of ethics.

“Caroline Penvenen.” Elizabeth stated, matter-of-factly. “I’m only telling you because you’re not one of her listed doctors, so you probably don’t know her.”

Haha.

“I know of her.” Dwight smiled wryly. “I heard she’s something pretty special.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s lovely.” Elizabeth held her hand out to emphasise her point. “But I’m a pretty experienced therapist, as you well know. And it’s quite often in therapy that people just expect things to get better straight away.” She sighed. “But it’s called therapy for a reason you know? She’s talking about getting custody of her kid back really soon.” Elizabeth shook her head. “But she has some intensive physical and mental counselling to even get a hearing. My cousin is her social worker and says the child is already living in less than ideal circumstances with the godmother, but it’s the best they can do without putting the baby into care. Sad really.”

“Yeah.” Dwight’s mouth was dry. “So sad.”

This situation was more serious than he expected and he really hoped Caroline wasn’t putting herself at risk for this new guy she liked.

“Sorry. It seems I just emotionally unloaded on you.” Elizabeth laughed.

“It’s fine, it’s just been a rough morning, cuts and all.”

“Yeah I heard.” Elizabeth winced. “They’re naming physio as non essential so they can make cuts.”

Dwight decided it was best to go on an anti capitalist rant, but if you want to hear it, ask your humble narrator. It was long and boring but Elizabeth just nodded and nodded.

Until they were rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” One could say Elizabeth was grateful for this interruption but her face drained of colour when she saw who it was.

It was George Warleggan no less, with his Porsche carkeys in hand. “Do you need a lift home today Elizabeth?” He acknowledged Dwight. “Dr Enys.”

“George.” Dwight lacked any understanding.

“I will be quite alright George.” Elizabeth smiled awkwardly. “I will see you at home.”

Dwight’s eyes widened and George winked (I know) before shutting the door.

Dwight turned back to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth...”

Elizabeth looked mildly angry and looked at her computer. “Says here, your lunch finished five minutes ago. I will see you Dwight. Goodbye.”

“I better be going then.” Dwight smiled awkwardly but knew whilst he was in the rehab area of the hospital, he had one more stop to make.

His walking was a little shuffly and weighed down with thoughts, thoughts of how he had been so selfish, he’d not even thought of how Caroline might be recovering. Also thoughts of Elizabeth and George Warleggan? Hopefully it wasn’t what it looked like.

He opened the door to the psychological rehabilitation building. He would just make sure Caroline had booked an appointment. That’s all. That’s all he’d do.

“Hi.” He addressed the receptionist. “I was just making sure my patient had booked an appointment here. I wasn’t sure that she would.” He showed her his ID and hoped to God she wouldn’t check he wasn’t one of Caroline’s listed doctors.

“Patient name?” She asked.

“Um.” Dwight stuttered. “Caroline Penvenen.”

She typed vigorously into the keyboard before smiling. “She’s booked in for next Tuesday.”

For some reason, this answer didn’t satisfy him. “Could I give some papers to her doctor?”

He felt like a twat because he literally had no paper, he was just going for a snoop. He was pretty sure the receptionist knew this. However, he noticed his medical bag hung over his shoulder which, for all she knew contained paper; Thank God.

“Sure, he’s free. Upstairs first door on the right.” He realised as he walked towards the elevator, he didn’t even know the doctor’s name. Regardless he stepped out onto the first floor and knocked on the door of this psychiatrist.

A Dr Sam Carne.

“Come in!” A highly accented voice called from inside and Dwight stepped in to see a man almost too young to be a doctor (remember you have to go to school for seven years).

“Hi.” Dwight waved awkwardly. Kill me.

Dr Sam Carne looked him straight in the eye and said. “How may I save your soul today?”

“Oh no.” Dwight’s eyes widened. “I’m a doctor.”

“I know I got the alert.” Dr Carne looked at his computer, running a hand through his hair. “But I feel your soul must still need saving.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “See, ye is not on Miss Penvenen’s list of doctors… Which begs the question.” He looked intensely at Dwight. “What is ye doing here?”

Dwight was taken aback. This was by far the most perceptive member of staff he’d encountered so far. “Do you know what? I’m just gonna g-”

“Wait.” Dr Carne’s went wide. “I knows ye. You’re a friend a my sister’s. Demelza Carne.”

So Demelza had never spoken of any brothers ever. For all Dwight knew she could have seven. “Yeah I guess.” He realised now that both Demelza and Sam had different levels of the same accent and shared many features in common.

“Everything is lining up for me.” He shook his head. “She was ‘avin a right go about ye other day on the sibling group chat. She say ye’s obsessed with a girl- it must be Caroline Penvenen.”

Dwight just stood there like a deer in headlights, not even trying to defend himself.

“Well I have some advice for ye- don’t do it. Once upon a long time ago, I did feel like ye- fell in love with a patient I did and I nearly got fired. ‘Twas horrible and she left me because she doesn’t love Jesus like I do.”

“I don’t blame her.” Dwight said under his breath as he stared at the crucifixes on every wall. “Thanks for the advice, I guess.”

“Now scram outta here before I tell Demelza ye came.” He got up from his desk and ushered Dwight out. “Just don’t do it, alright?”

Dwight just smiled weakly. He seemed to do that a lot recently. But just as he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, he turned around to George Warleggan already waiting.

“Don’t do what?”

#doctorscarolightpenvenys #poldark #fic #au #caroline penvenen #dwight enys #dwight x caroline #demelza carne #elizabeth warleggan #george warleggan #sam carne

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