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bibliocratic · 4 years

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litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

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Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE!

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.”

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice.

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve.

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her.

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation.

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue.

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them.

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far.

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of.

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.

Just what was going on?

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve.

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question.

But she was still losing blood.

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain.

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat.

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue.

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

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subverbaldreams · 3 years

Text

Asylum in Winter

Chapter 9: Sir

(smut)

Pairing: Bucky x Steve in this chapter. (storyline also contains Bucky x Venom and Bucky x Rumlow)

Overall Synopsis: Venom and Rumlow help Bucky escape Hydra to go find the man from the bridge. Mayhem ensues. And sex…lots of sex.

This chapter: loving, dominant Steve, Bucky’s memory loss, Bucky waking up after having his trigger words spoken, jealous Steve & Rumlow, 1.7k words

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

Steve’s stomach is in knots. Every time Bucky’s breathing changes he leans forward in his chair, hopeful yet terrified to see those eyes open. It’s not fear of another attack, but fear of the emptiness. Fear that nothing remains inside the body of the man he’d loved except Hydra’s killing machine. No compassion, no conscience, no heart.

Calm down, he tells himself for the hundredth time. He escaped from Hydra for a reason.

Unless, his mind whispers, that reason was Rumlow.

Bucky is laid out on a plush leather couch, towels underneath him to keep blood and dirt off the furniture. The scratches on his throat have all vanished, but there’s a suspicious row of bruises still tattooed into his skin that look like—they can’t be—hickeys.

Outside, birds wheel joyously around fir trees and sunlight reflects up from the water below. He’d had to call in a favor to get access to this lake house, but he trusts Tony Stark at least enough to stay out of this one. He may have told a slightly skewed version of the truth to get here, but for Bucky’s sake he’d do a lot worse.

Bucky’s been out cold for the last four hours, after being put down twice more by whatever that black stuff is; Rumlow refuses to tell him. The scumbag finally, finally got out of Steve’s hair to go shower a few minutes ago; he’d been hovering over Bucky like a vulture protecting its meal.

A sharp intake of breath. Steve leans in. Bucky’s eyelashes flutter, then his eyes slit open.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes.

Bucky’s face contorts as if in pain. Steve reaches out to touch his shoulder, but Bucky jerks back from him, eyes flying wide open.

***

Blue eyes. Blond hair. A voice. A name.

“Bucky,” the man murmurs, and the sound itself means nothing but the voice—that voice. A flood of longing roars through the soldier’s chest, so barbed with the edges of forgotten dreams that he’s lost in it for a second.

Only a second. Then he realizes where he’d been only a moment before, on the field of battle, and there had been a voice in his head, changing him, owning him. Everything after that is a blur like spilled paint. All he knows for certain is that Hydra had taken him back, at least for a time.

He jumps up, rolls off the furniture while reaching for his knife (it’s gone) and then his gun (also gone) while doing a quick sweep of the room. They’re alone.

His agent should be here. The soldier can think of only one reason why he isn’t.

“Did I kill him?” he blurts out, his voice cracking over the word “kill.”

“Who? Rumlow?” The man’s voice goes hard as he says the name. The soldier tries to remember if that name fits the right person.

Yes, Venom interjects. Brock Rumlow is the name of our agent. The soldier nods and the man answers, “No. He’s fine,” in a voice cold as ice.

Have to find him, the soldier thinks, but Venom responds: He is here. He and the Cap have been antagonizing each other for hours and he went to a different room. Finally, it adds in a grumble.

The cap? the soldier repeats, confused all over again. But the blond man has stood up and is walking toward him, one hand slightly lifted as if to touch him. The soldier backs up warily. His mission is complete, it seems; he’s found the man from the bridge, but nothing is any clearer. The pictures in his head are just as elusive and disjointed as ever.

“Hey, easy, Buck. D’you remember me at all?”

The soldier shakes his head. One backward step after another. “I don’t know you.”

But I knew him.

He draws in a hiss of breath.

He is here, inside of your mind, Venom affirms. You know him.

“No,” the soldier says out loud. His heel hits the edge of the wall, forcing him to stop his retreat. He should raise his arms. Protect himself. But he’s utterly still as the man’s hand closes the gap between them and lightly brushes against his jaw. The man’s face shows no aggression. His eyes are soft—and, the soldier realizes with a strange, giddy swirl, full of tears.

“You know me. You do,” he insists when the soldier shakes his head. “That’s why you left Hydra, isn’t it?”

That, the soldier can’t answer. Because it’s true, he had left Hydra to find this man, but now that he’s got him, the soldier doesn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t planned beyond the search. There is no plan beyond any search, except to eliminate the target.

Everything has changed.

“My name’s Steve. Remember? You used to call me Stevie.”

He shakes his head again. The man’s fingers have traced behind his ear now and it makes the skin tingle all the way down his neck on that side.

“And your name is Bucky Barnes, and you know me.”

“No, I don’t!” The soldier shoves the other man with both hands, sending him skidding back six feet. Venom whirls through him, forcing calm into limbs which feel electrified with adrenaline. He’s shaking all over. “That’s not my name. I don’t know you.”

He is our mission. We came to find him.

“Shut up,” the soldier hisses between his teeth. He feels weightless, like he’s stepped out onto a tightrope and it’s fallen suddenly out from underneath him. Like he’s falling and falling and he doesn’t know what’s down below. He takes no defensive measures as the man closes back in on him. Line of heat across the front of his body, heavy weight pushing him back against the wall. The man is breathing as heavily as he is, though there’s no reason for it. He isn’t afraid, isn’t angry—not exactly—nothing about his behavior makes sense.

His knee wedges between the soldier’s legs. The soldier knows he should move, should block that leg and make space between them, but there’s this scent, along with the weight and the position. It smells like crawling under barbed wire and drinking arm in arm at night. It smells like being held, and being held down, but not in the ways he’s known with Hydra.

Something deep and old inside his chest rips open and comes out of his mouth in a strange, whimpering moan.

“Tell me you don’t remember this,” the man growls in his ear, then his thick thigh rises between the soldier’s legs, a kick against his instep lifts one of his feet off the ground and a hand on his ass guides his hips so he’s riding that thigh, cock grinding against the junction of the man’s thigh and hip. Another hand on his throat; the grip is firm, bordering on cruel. The man takes nearly all of the soldier's weight onto his thigh and moves the hand from his ass to fist in his hair and jerk his head back. Another whimper wrenches out of him as the man’s mouth crashes down onto his, not to kiss but to bite, painful and wet, pulling his lip away from his teeth. He grabs wildly at the man’s shoulders, starts to twist away but he can’t make himself do it; that grinding leg has him pushing right back like a dog humping its master and something about that…about all of this…

The man’s tongue dives into his mouth and any coherent ideas fly from his mind. There is nothing but sensation. Head forced into a sideways bend to open him for the man’s ravaging mouth. Fingertips and thumb clamped around his throat, making his head light. Fist pulling his hair back, controlling him. Five o’clock shadow scraping his lips raw, the man’s heavy, insistent weight, that scent which is everything he never knew, never thought he needed to know and it’s all so much, it’s cresting, it’s crashing over him—

“Aaah!! Aaaaaahhh!!!”

The man eats the screams out of his mouth as the orgasm takes his whole body in a hurricane blast. He ruts helplessly into the man’s thigh, grinding out every last shudder.

“There’s my boy,” the man grunts, face rooting into the hair behind his ear and thick body pushing him even harder into the wall, panting like he’s just run for miles. The soldier feels the man’s huge, hard cock pressed up against him through their pants. He’s locked into that eternal moment between one breath and another when the man’s voice, rough with hunger, growls against his neck:

“Sir is very happy with you.”

The soldier’s next breath doesn’t come. His eyes fly wide open. Venom, swimming drunkenly inside him on the waves of their orgasm, freezes as well and it’s as though they’ve become no more animated than a photograph. A snapshot in time. Something like warm sleet, if there were such a thing, rains through the soldier’s body from head to toes and turns his legs to water. He can’t hold himself up and the man doesn’t try to help him do it, either; the man controls his fall, putting him on his knees, and this is RIGHT. He BELONGS here. It’s better than a memory; his entire being knows this. He looks up into a face that’s flushed and panting. The man’s eyes have turned wild and dark: an endless ocean filled with starving predators. His rigid, clothed cock is just inches from the soldier’s mouth. The man cradles his face in both hands to gaze down at him, one angled to cup his throat in a gentle reminder of a crueler grip, and the soldier reaches up to hold the backs of the man’s hands with a reverence that shivers down to his very core. The smell of him, his touch, his voice, what he’d said—

Sir. The title dances just behind his tongue.

He doesn’t know what will happen if he says it out loud, only that it will be different than any other time he’s said it; to this man, to the two of them, it means something different.

And I KNOW him.

The soldier’s mouth opens.

Click-clack of metal against metal. The soldier reacts instinctively, twisting into a crouch, ready to spring in any direction as he and the man both swivel toward the sound.

His agent stands there, gun pointed at the man (at Steve) in a two handed grip. He’s shirtless, belt off and his hair dripping wet.

“Back the fuck up, Cap. NOW.”

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

The rest of the story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950409/chapters/79128799

#stucky #bucky x steve #bucky barnes x steve rogers #dom/sub #dominant!steve Rogers #dom steve #sub bucky barnes #nff

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

The Lions Den

Mafia!Jimin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Mafia!AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Chapter 7.

Warnings: Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Excessive Cursing, Excessive Alcohol Intake, Smoking (Cigarettes and Cigars), Mental Health Issues

TagList- @ayyyocee, @mysugabear03, @wisebtsgot7prune, @imaforeigner, @yeonkiminnie, @stories1907, @ppersonna, @brilee64, @gooplibrary, @vivpurple7, @xjoonchildx, @brightwingr5, @yaniposts22, @rjsmochii, @taeslittletiger, @pjmcth, @bts-chub, @kpoppingthempills, @kim-ji-hyeons-world, @jikooksgirl19, @yoong-i, @ruinsofangels, @absolutefantrash, @chiminies-noona, @eclectically-esoteric, @itsbreeeeeeee, @septembersjoon

Sequel to The Bird Cage

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. Hoseok gave very little information over the phone to Yoongi apart from the fact that during the Ims encounter with Jeongguk at the warehouse he had bitten off his own tongue during their scuffle. So there was very little chance that the Im would have been able to tell the mafia family anything at all. Hoseok had found him on the side of the road in a thicket of bushes, bleeding out of his mouth.

Upon arriving home, Jimin was pacing in the sitting room. Hands over his face before hearing the door slam shut. He picks his head up before narrowing his eyes at you, “And where were you three?” He questions as your nephew, Jisuk runs through the sitting room with Jin hot on his trail.

“At the Bird Cage, handing over the reins to Rina.” You tell your husband as you step down the entryway stairs. He hums before opening his arms for you like a small child. You can see his anxiousness quite clearly, his aura was exuding this sort of tenseness that makes your heart sink. You hug him tightly, feeling his soft lips against your forehead before he’s burying his face into your hair. “Are you tired? Do you and the baby want to nap?” He whispers gently as he rubs the muscles on the back of your neck with his fingertips.

“I’m okay. No tiredness, yet.” You whisper, relishing in the warmth he gives you. “It’s a girl.” He mutters before looking over at the two men in the entryway.

“Hoseok is up in the playroom with Im Gyujin. We have to dispose of his body. Quietly.” Yoongi pulls out a cigarette before nodding. Namjoon takes off his hoodie before following Yoongi up the second staircase. You look up at your husband, chin to the middle of his chest. He was the most handsome man in the entire universe. Even now, after all these years your heart still swells at the sight of him. He looks down at you before kissing the tip of your nose. “I love you, Kitten.”

“I love you, too.” You whisper before hugging him tightly. He chuckles gently before exhaling a long breath. “We don’t think he got far enough to tell the Ims anything at all. Which is good. He was bleeding out on the side of the road from his mouth. Passed out from blood loss.” He mumbles to you before running his hand over your back.

“Well that’s good at least.” You reply before small arms are wrapping around your leg. You hum questionably before looking down at Jisuk as he squeezes your leg. Jimin steps back before chuckling gently, “Aunt Y/N?” Jisuk whispers quietly.

You look over at Jin as he sits down on the couch, “What’s the matter, babe?” You ask before crouching down to his height and pushing some of his hair off of his forehead.

“Mommy and Daddy are going to take me to the zoo!” Jisuk says happily and you giggle as he jumps up and down. “Are they?! That’s so much fun! You’re going to get to go see elephants! Your favorite!” He nods fervently before Jin sits up on the couch. “We’re going to take Hawon and Minseok if that’s okay. I know you guys have a lot going on right now and I don’t want the kids here when the playroom gets emptied… y’know?” Jin pipes up from the couch.

“That’s a great idea. Thanks Jin.” Jimin says gratefully before your phone begins to ring. Jimin raises an eyebrow before laughing. “Rina already is feeling the pressure?”

You dig into your leather jacket before widening your eyes. “No actually, it’s Im Ryu.” You whisper before showing your husband the phone. Jin stands up quickly before picking Jisuk up and nodding towards the kitchen. “I’ll give you both some privacy.”

The ringer is loud as you both stare at each other. Nervousness encroaching upon your mind before Jimin grabs your hand. He clears his throat awkwardly before nodding to the phone. “Answer it.”

You swipe your thumb over the call button before putting the phone on speaker, “Ryu! Hey!”

You hear a giggle before she speaks, “Vixen! Good afternoon! Did you eat yet?”

You squint your eyes at your husband before he’s shaking his head slowly. “No! I haven’t eaten yet. You?” He looks at his Rolex before pushing some hair behind your ear.

“Nope! You know what that means!” Her voice sounds carefree and as light as air. It’s almost relaxing before you’re holding up your phone to your mouth.

“Gaudio’s?” You ask before hearing a laugh. “My treat, Vixen. See you in an hour?”

Jimin nods slowly before closing his eyes. “An hour is perfect.” You reply before the line goes dead. He exhales through his nose before wrapping his hand around your wrist and pulling you up the stairs.

“I want Yoongi and Namjoon to go with you. She might not know anything and she might know everything.” Jimin mutters as he riffles through his desk drawers. His eyes light up before pulling out a long thin wire with a small microphone attached to it. “You’re bugging me?” You ask your husband before folding your arms. He nods quickly before curling his hand to have you walk over to him.

“Jimin, no. You’re not fucking bugging me and making me wear this stup-” He silences you with a kiss before putting his forehead to yours. “You’re going to wear this so I can be with you. I need to hear if she knows anything or alludes to anything. Plus, you have my baby inside you and I need this for my peace of mind.” He shakes his hand, the thin wire shaking gently before stilling. Your eyes meet his, pupils flickering between both of his eyes as he stares at you with steely determination.

Now was certainly not the time to be a brat. “Okay.” You whisper before stepping back. You could be unreasonable at any given time, but today with the stakes raised so high, you would give in to your husband. Countless times before you’re denied him simple things to get a rise from him but you couldn’t bring yourself to today.

“I want you to bring a gun with you just in case. And, your knife.” You nod to him as he pulls down the straps of your dress to attach the microphone. “Don’t trust anything she says. Analyze everything and don’t walk into a trap with your free speaking mouth.” He instructs you before kissing your lips.

You giggle before staring at the new picture above the desk, it used to be just the seven men and now it was them plus the new additions to your family. If this lunch could somehow bring to light if the Im’s knew you took one of their family members, you needed to go through with it.

You didn’t hate Ryu or Haeun, nor their children for what the Im brothers did to your parents. But, they would end up suffering without their husbands. It’s unfortunate that they had to be the ones to do such a thing, but you feel no remorse for your payback. You feel remorse that their families would suffer. This lunch can bring you one step closer to your revenge, whether Jimin tries to hold you back from it or not.

Stepping into the restaurant, you can already feel your palms begin to sweat. Having Yoongi and Namjoon with you was nice but feeling the knife on your thigh gives you a steadiness you need as your heels clack against the marble floor. “Park.” You say to the waiter before taking off your sunglasses.

This part that you play so easily, the carefree Vixen of Seoul with a steeled brain and a venomous tongue usually dissipates around Ryu and Haeun. You had considered them friends for years before finding out their husbands had murdered your parents. Shortly after finding out this information, your free time that was spent with them was few and far between. You didn’t want to see their faces, didn’t want to feel unwarranted anger rise within you because of something their significant others had done and not them.

Jimin had told you countless times not to look at them in such a way if you wanted to continue to be their friend. But, how could you not look at them with anger? You were unsure if they knew what their husbands had done or even if Junggoo and Jungin knew who they killed. Regardless, revenge was coming their way and there would be major fallout.

The private dining room doors swing open and you take in Ryu as she sips her wine. She was wearing the Oh Hyungshil necklace you had bought off a patron in the restaurant many years ago and you clear your throat before entering with Yoongi and Namjoon behind you. Ryu only had one Im man with her today. You’re unsure if she knows anything but without more men behind her, you feel yourself falling into a false sense of security which is something Jimin explicitly today you not to do.

She looks up at you, a large smile spreading on her face before looking at both of the guys behind you. “Are you in danger?!” She asks quickly, putting down her glass of wine.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly before taking your seat across from her. She widens her eyes at you before watching as you place your hand over your flat stomach. She reaches over the table before grabbing the glass of champagne she ordered for you. “I’ll take that. Thank you preggo.” She mumbles before sipping the champagne.

This is usually so easy between the both of you, more so then when Haeun is around. Ryu was a genuinely nice person, she was funny and fierce quite like yourself and it tugs at your heartstrings that you’ve kept her so far away because of something her husband did. “Congratulations by the way, I know you were having a hard time trying to get pregnant." She congratulates you and you give her a small smile.

“Thanks, we just found out yesterday.” Her smile widens before looking at the two members behind you. She points to the chairs beside you before nodding to the men. “Sit down, it’s not every day I get to see two Lions in one room.”

They both sit before looking at each other with a raised eyebrow. The Ims never ask for other men to sit down, they don’t want them to be completely comfortable and so you could imagine how off putting it might be for them. Your eyes find Ryus before she’s sitting back in her chair. “I asked you to come eat with me because I got this.” She whispers before digging into her purse and handing you a letter.

You watch as she hands it to you, fingers shaking delicately before she runs her hands over the top of her tight bun. “Junggoo wanted to know if you’ve gotten anything like this.” She whispers over the table before chugging the champagne.

You pull the note out delicately, the stock card rustling before the bold words in black are presented to you.

You widen your eyes at the note before passing it to Yoongi who sits beside you. “No sender, no nothing.” You mumble to him as Namjoon peers over his shoulder.

“You haven’t received anything like that?” Ryu asks, her tone filled with fright and nervousness.

“No, we haven’t.” Yoongi mumbles before narrowing his eyes at the inked page. You peek down the front of your dress before feeling relaxed knowing Jimin was listening. This was odd, there was really nothing about the Im’s, apart from the knowledge that they murdered your parents, that they really have done wrong. They run illegal cock fighting, guns and own a casino quite like yours. They really aren’t in the business of doing things ridiculously out there. “This is handwritten.” Namjoon notifies you all before taking the letter from Yoongi’s hands with his sleeve.

“If you don’t mind I’d actually like to get some tests run on this.” Namjoon asks Ryu before sliding it back into the envelope without touching it, “We should run some tests on it. For fingerprints and stuff.” He says to her.

She nods enthusiastically, “Please! Anything would help. I’m so nervous, Y/N. What if my kids get taken or something?!” She whimpers before putting her hand to her forehead. Now this was something any mother would take seriously. “No one is fucking taking your children. Do you hear me?” You grab her hand over the table before narrowing your eyes at her.

“As a mother, you would never allow anything to happen to them and I know you very well. Your children and both you and Haeun are going to be just fine.” You aren’t promising anything else, that would be a lie and you’re too bold to do anything but tell the truth. She nods, eyes becoming glassy before Namjoon puts the letter inside of his suit jacket.

“Now let's eat.” You tell her as the waiters enter with food, before you can cross your legs you feel a piece of paper land on your knees and you shift before looking into Ryu’s eyes and grabbing it.

Jimin greets you at the door, arms open for you before enveloping you in a hug. “Kitten, you did phenomenal as always.” His tone was full of glee and you find yourself snorting as you hug him back.

“Are the kids at the zoo with Jin?” You ask quietly, Jimin hums in agreement. You wrap your hand around his wrist before pulling him up the stairs. He raises an eyebrow before following you willingly. Your hand digs into your dress before pulling out the microphone and putting it into your husband's hand.

Wordlessly you climb the sets of stairs, lips pressing into a tight line. “I didn’t read it. I waited to open it.” You notify your husband before finally ascending to the third floor.

“Read what, baby?” He asks confused as you pull a letter out of your purse and handing it to him over your shoulder as you walk towards your bedroom. He groans gently as you open up the lion carved doors before slamming it shut behind him.

His fingers rip open the letter before pulling out the piece of stock card within it. He hugs you tightly, running his hand over your stomach before cursing quietly.

“This can go one of two ways.” Jimin says before throwing the note onto the bed. His lips begin to dance over your shoulder.

“They find out it was us who had him or they think the person who sent the letter has taken him.” You whisper to him. He replies with a nod before closing his eyes. “I’m praying for the latter.”

#the lions den #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswritingcafe #the bird cage bts fluff #bts angst #mafia!au #mafia!jimin #mafia!bts #mafia!jimin x reader #mafia!jimin x you

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absoluteyoongit · 4 years

Text

the morning routine.

you add a cute new neighbor too your morning routine // neighbors!au // Jungkook x reader // fluff // wc: 1.6k // warnings: i think someone swears once // barely edited // hope you enjoy :)

You never talked to your quiet neighbor, despite the fact that you saw him every single day.

It seemed like your work schedules were similar because, like clockwork, the two of you would exit your apartment doors at the exact same time.

It startled you at first when he moved in. You always had early mornings. You loved waking up with the sounds of birds singing and the rays of first light peeking through your blinds. With the ease of morning, the opening shift of the day at your work was an easy commitment.

Because of these early mornings, you normally woke up alone, walked out of the apartment complex alone, rode the subway on a nearly empty train, and made it to your job before your boss even opened the store.

This had been your routine since you moved into the city almost a full year ago and you were content spending the mornings alone. It was peaceful and calming.

That was until your neighbor moved in a few weeks ago.

He was cute with curly long hair and a mole below his lips. The thing that drew you in the most about him was his large doe eyes that seemed anxious the first time you made contact with him.

It had been the first Monday after you noticed movers dropping off boxes inside the apartment next door. You had gone through your normal routine, waking up with the birds and making some coffee to go, when you exited your apartment. The loud slam of a door broke you out of your meditative routine.

You snapped your eyes up to the noise and they widened when they came in contact with those nervous doe eyes.

The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, his hand still gripping the doorknob, before he sped off past you and took the stairs down. You lived on the 9th floor.

Every day after that first encounter was the same. You would wake up, follow your routine, and have an awkward staring contest with your cute neighbor for 30 seconds before he ran past you to take the stairs down. He must have an athlete's stamina or something.

The inevitable morning staring contest that your neighbor would always start and then lose happened every day for a whole month. The whole interaction made you feel very weird and invasive at first but you were here first and this was your morning routine. You were not going to change and if he felt that uncomfortable he would have to change his routine.

Even with your resignation to ignore your nervous neighbor, you couldn't help to look forward to the new part of your routine. He was just another new constant in your life, even if you didn't know his name.

After another month of eye contact, you had grown fond of this barely there-stranger. The more you stared the more you noticed things about him.

The way he looked like a deer stuck in headlights but always seemed to wear all black clothing with big chunky boots. Or the way he would slam his door shut every morning but never made a sound as he sped past you. Or how his soft facial features contrasted with the lean muscle that would sometimes peek out from his clothing .

He was an enigma, your neighbor and now you wished you knew his name.

Today marked the three month anniversary of your first encounter, not that you were keeping track, and you felt particularly extra positive this morning. There was a bounce in your step as you got dressed and made your usual coffee. You felt it in your bones: today was going to be a great day.

Right on schedule, you exited your apartment ready to continue with your favorite part of your morning routine.

Slam. With a beaming smile, you turned your head to meet his gaze only for it to immediately drop into a concerned frown.

It seemed as if someone was having the exact opposite morning as you.

Your eyes opted to scan his figure then lock onto his gaze. His curly hair was unkempt, dark circles rested under his eyes, the last few buttons of his shirt were undone, and one sleeve was cuffed while the other wasn't. Papers and wires spilled out of his work bag as he held a coffee mug to go. He still had those large doe eyes.

You felt the need to say something, anything but your voice caught in your throat as he darted past you, faster and clumsier than usual. He bumped into you as he moved passed and without so much as a sorry, he disappeared down the flight of stairs again.

That was unusual.

It slightly worried you, his disheveled state, but you barely knew him so it felt weird to dwell on it too much. You're sure he will be okay.

You were ready to head down the elevator when you noticed something small and brown on the floor. Crouching down to take a closer look you realized it was a wallet. Your neighbor's wallet.

You picked it up, carefully turning it over in your hands. He was definitely long gone by now. Hopefully, he didn't need it right now. You placed it in your own bag for safekeeping. You felt bad just leaving it on the floor.

Your little distraction only made you a few minutes late in your morning routine. You had made it to work on time versus early.

"Really Y/n? Out of all my employee's I never thought you would be the one to let me down. I can't believe you've done this."

Your boss's words made you roll your eyes, "C'mon Jin, I am really hurt. How can you say this about your favorite employee? Who else would do the morning shift with you? Yoongi? As if."

"Yah, just get to work," Jin snickered.

With that you got to work, attempting to forget about the wallet begging you to take a peek inside. You itched to even just know what his name was, surely he would have an ID, right?

On your lunch break, you stared at the worn leather wallet in your hand, smoothing over some of its cracks. "Oh fuck it."

With one final huff, you opened the wallet, eyes immediately landing on the ID in the clear pocket.

The same doe eyes looked back at you, stifling a giggle. He even looks surprised in photos. A warm feeling grew in your chest staring at your adorable neighbor.

You sighed and tore your eyes to look at more of the ID. Mouth twitching at the sight of his name finally revealed. Jeon Jungkook. Cute.

Feeling satisfied that you finally knew your shy neighbor's name, a just a little bit guilty you move to close the wallet. You hesitate, something colorful peeking out from one of the corners of the pockets.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you paused deciding whether or not to keep snooping around Jungkook's personal info. You knew his name now, he would know that you opened his wallet to see whose it was so what's the harm in poking around some more.

Excited, you flip open the wallet again and took the glittering card out of its slot. A shiny Charizard Pokémon card? You let out a huff in amusement, shaking your head. This guy was getting more and more interesting.

One thing led to another and you found more things that made you intrigued: a lone penny— which you could guess was lucky— a dried flower petal and a picture of him with two other guys. Their arms were around each other as they laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners.

The items made you smile, there was more to your shy neighbor and you definitely wanted to get to know Jeon Jungkook now.

The rest of your shift lasted forever. It was the first time you were racing to get home, rather than taking the usual pretty way back. You had something waiting for you at home, hopefully.

"Hey, Jungkook!"

Jungkook froze in the middle of unlocking his door as he slowly turned his head towards you. You smirk, waving his wallet back and forth in front of your face.

The tension in his face immediately disappeared. "Oh my god, thank you. I have been panicking all-day."

If at all possible, he looked worse than he did this morning. His hair was still unkempt and the dark circles were present. His shirt was buttoned now but a large stain near the collar suggested all the coffee he brought with him this morning didn't end up in his mouth. Still, the smile on his face now as you handed back his wallet was the best thing you have ever seen. You wanted more.

"Seriously– thank you again...uh?"

"Y/n," you fill in for him, "The neighbor that wakes up at the crack of dawn with you every morning. It's nice to meet you Jungkook." You reach out your hand.

His smile grew even wider, showing off his cute large front teeth, as he grasped your hand and shook. "Nice to meet you too."

The two of you kept holding on as another staring contest ensued. This time the crinkles in your eyes overshadowed the months of wide unsure ones.

Jungkook coughed, letting go of your hand to scratch his head. "Uhm– sorry for acting weird. I am just shy, I guess."

"That's okay. We aren't strangers anymore so hopefully, you won't get all big eyed and nervous meeting me in the morning, right?"

"Right," he exhaled.

"Anyway, I should get going. I'll see you tomorrow morning?" you wiggle your eyebrows.

He chuckles, "Yea, I'll see you tomorrow."

It was a comfortable silence as the two of you unlocked your doors. "Oh and Jungkook?

"Uh huh?"

You smirked, "Blastoise would crush Charizard any day," and with that, you closed the door of your apartment, chuckling as you heard his indignant cry.

You definitely wanted more of Jeon Jungkook.

#btsghostie #thehouseofbangtan #bts drabble #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #bts fluff

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myaekingheart · 3 years

Text

138. Rock and Roru

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

TW for eating disorder talk. *flings fluff at you* ENJOY THE CAVITIES BECAUSE THESE TWO ARE JUST TOO DAMN CUTE. A little detour to expand on Roru and her team, based on what Sekkachi mentioned to Rei in the previous chapter. I promise all of this is going to come back around and tie into Rei and Kakashi's story, so just bear with me for a second haha

Roru Fumeiyo swung her legs back and forth idly as she gripped the edge of the bench in the hospital courtyard. The sun was far too bright and the birds were too loud. She heard the footsteps of a young couple down the hallway, laughing in disbelief as they swooned over their baby’s first ultrasound. Sick. How could anyone be happy on a day like this?

Roru tilted her head back against the back of the bench and huffed. She couldn’t comprehend how something could turn so sour so quickly. She almost scorned herself for having woken up that morning feeling optimistic. She should have known better. Now everything was ruined, and it was all Suisen Unohana’s fault.

Team Tekuno had been working hard to prepare for the chunin exams. With two weeks left before the written exam, they were really getting down to the wire.

“How about I take you girls out for some ramen after this?” Tekuno had asked during a brief respite. His students sprawled out across the grass, guzzling water and fanning their faces. It may have been hot, but they knew this would be nothing compared to the unforgiving summers in Sunagakure.

To say that Tekuno had been proud of his students was understatement. He had never expected these girls, so whiny and weak in the beginning, to become so strong and capable. They each had their own merits that, when combined, forged an indomitable alliance. Roru was agile and determined, Hoseki captivating and clever, and Suisen was smart and skilled. Tekuno couldn’t help but laugh, likening them to the famed Dorimuchimu led by Chikara-sensei. Tekuno had never paid much mind to the original all-girl squad in his youth, rolling his eyes at their sense of feminism, but now that he was in a similar position, he had garnered a newfound admiration for the old team. Especially with Roru under his wing, the younger cousin of Dorimuchimu’s Sekkachi Fumeiyo.

Leaping to her feet, Hoseki brushed the little blades of grass from her puffy pigtails and shot her sensei a sharp smile. “Just one more sparring match first” she insisted. “I want to feel like I’ve really earned it.”

A gleaming smile touched Roru’s lips as she nodded in agreement. Suisen rose slowly, cautiously. She was outnumbered and therefore had no room to protest. Chuckling, Tekuno took great pride in his student’s determination and agreed to let them have one more match. The girls crouched into their battle positions, awaited Tekuno’s signal, and then they were off.

A sharp smiel touched Roru’s face as she lunged for Suisen, not unkindly. Suisen’s violet eyes bugged in and out and she began to rock back and forth on her heels until suddenly, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she crumpled onto the ground. Roru froze. This was not her doing. After a split-second of initial shock, she whipped around to glare at Hoseki. “What did you do?!” she shouted.

Hoseki narrowed her eyes, offended at the insinuation. “Don’t look at me! I did nothing!”

Meanwhile, Tekuno raced in to intervene. Deep down, he knew that something was very, very wrong. He brushed Suisen’s long, dark hair out of her face, pressed a hand to her pale forehead, checked her pulse, frowned. “Go get a medic-nin! Now!” he insisted.

Hoseki gave a single nod before racing off, not an ounce of hesitation in her limbs. Roru watched her disappear and the weight of the situation slowly descended upon her young shoulders. Suddenly Suisen looked so weak, so helpless. What have I done?

She stood there completely paralyzed as Tekuno propped Suisen up in his arms, pulled a scroll from his utility belt, summoned a first aid kit, worked steadily to support her until the medics came. When they did, the quickly transferred Suisen’s limp body onto a stretcher and rushed her away.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hoseki shouted at her, whacking her comrade on the shoulder. She grabbed Roru’s hand, tugged her onward. “Let’s go!”

The waiting felt endless as Roru and Hoseki sat slumped in the waiting room, watching Tekuno pace back and forth. And then Suisen’s parents arrived, her sweet mother hysterical and her father’s face stony with concern. Tekuno explained the situation to them and Shirayuki Unohana immediately broke down, her hands shaking and knees faltering. Without even a diagnosis, she was already hysterical. Her husband wrapped an arm around her in support and guided her to a seat by the window, assuring her that everything would be fine even though he wasn’t very convinced of it himself.

None of it made much sense to Roru. Suisen was fine, wasn’t she? It wasn’t like she was diseased. Perhaps it was just heat exhaustion, or exhaustion in general. They had been working extremely hard lately. Tekuno pursed his lips and wondered if this was his fault, if he had taken things too far. But the girls wanted to work hard. They were the ones setting the schedules, pushing themselves. Perhaps he should have regulated their training better, forced them to take a step back when they were on the verge of going overboard. Either way, he felt as if he, too, was to blame.

After nearly an hour, the doctor finally emerged from the emergency room. He was a rather tall and skinny man with angular features and taut lips. Nothing about him was very reassuring—he had the type of face from which you would expect to hear that you only had three weeks to live. A shiver ran down Roru’s spine.

The verdict? Anorexia.

A cold chill unanimously rushed through the lot of them. Suddenly it was as if the room was completely empty save for themselves, the walls closing in and the air ice cold. Dr. Gon explained that once Suisen had come to, they conducted various physical and pscyological examinations on her, and that was their conclusion. Anorexia.

Words like underweight, malnourished, anemia, and treatment all circulated through Roru’s head. It just didn’t make any sense. What reason did Suisen have to be anorexic, anyway? She had a happy home life with parents who loved her. She was smart and skilled and capable as a shinobi. She wasn’t even fat. It didn’t make any sense.

Dr. Gon continued to explain that due to how severe a case she was, they would have no choice but to admit her to their inpatient program for treatment. He then turned to Tekuno-sensei, muttering, “Which means your involvement in the chunin exams is now null and void.” Roru’s body went cold. She gripped the edge of her seat and suddenly the room began to spin.

After all her hard work, all her blood and sweat and tears, this was how it was going to end? No. Absolutely unacceptable. Roru cursed Suisen under her breath. How dare she do this to her. It just didn’t make any sense.

And what the hell was an inpatient program? Roru’s mind immediately flickered back to ghost stories told at the academy, of strait jackets and large needles and tranquilizers and the shrieks of the mentally insane. She couldn’t fathom picturing sweet, shy Suisen in a place like that.

“It’s really not that big of a deal” Hoseki said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “My cousin is up there in the same place as we speak.”

“You mean Kagami?” Roru asked. She had only met Kagami Kenshin a handful of times and each time she had, he gave her the creeps. He was a quiet, fidgety guy with mismatched eyes and a nasally voice. He constantly looked displeased with the world, so much so that he decided to spend all his time in others—that is, the worlds housed within books.

Hoseki nodded disdainfully. “That idiot’s head got all out of whack to the point where he tried to kill himself” she explained. “Mama found him passed out on the floor with a bottle of pills. And now he’s laid up in the same place that Suisen is. It’s just what happens when people are messed up in the head.”

Roru pursed her lips. She didn’t particularly appreciate Hoseki’s bluntness, but Roru knew that she did not know much better herself. After all, in the back of her mind all she could think about was how Suisen had ruined everything. None of them would be making chunin this year.

As Suisen’s parents struggled to comprehend this new information, and Tekuno attempted to console them, Roru took the opportunity to slip away from the chaos. She needed fresh air and distance. She needed to sit with her bare feet in the courtyard grass and implode in on herself, completely alone and defeated. She should have done something. She should have paid closer attention. She should’ve seen the signs. Roru pressed a hand to her anxious stomach and reminded herself that she was not much better.

No wonder she couldn’t realize that Suisen had a problem. Roru’s relationship with food wasn’t exactly perfect, either. But Roru was different. She didn’t restrict on purpose. She thought of her family, of the curse laid upon them, the hereditary stomach ailments that they all faced. Restriction was merely a precaution. She was intolerant, defective, diseased. Her actions were for the sake of her own health. And still, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was partially to blame. If Suisen saw the way she avoided food and followed suit. Girls their age were so easily influenced anyway. But Suisen was smarter than that. She could tell the difference, couldn’t she? Roru hoped that was the case. If not, then Suisen was a damned fool.

Roru paid no mind when the door from the hospital lobby creaked open. If it was Hoseki coming to nag her about sulking, she didn’t want to hear it. If it was Tekuno-sensei coming to explain things to her delicately, like she was a dumb child, she didn’t want anything to do with that, either. Instead, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a bizarre green blur. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating and therefore had no other choice but to turn and view her interruptor fully.

“Hello! What are you doing out here all alone?” he asked. Standing before her was a boy, tall and lanky with his shiny black hair cut in the most ridiculous bowl cut she had ever seen. Even more ridiculous was the green lycra jumpsuit he wore, complete with vivid orange legwarmers. He looked straight out of an 80’s aerobics video. No doubt about it, this was Might Guy’s protégé.

Roru had nothing against Might Guy, truthfully. In fact, she was rather fond of him. He was bright and enthusiastic and got along splendidly with her family. She was sure Uncle Hakai had hoped at some point that he and Sekkachi would get together, but they all knew Sekkachi was not the type. Still, to see them together was always bizarre. Sekkachi was so blunt and cynical, whereas Might Guy was everything she was not. Roru wondered if the boy standing before her now was much the same.

Unfortunately, Roru was not in the proper headspace to show him the kindness he deserved. “What do you care?” she asked flatly, turning her gaze away from him.

“Because you look like you are upset! I know it is hard not to be upset in a hospital, but you are like a beautiful angel who deserves to be happy and smile!” the boy replied. Roru cocked a brow in confusion, though deep down she hated to admit that she was flattered. No one had ever said such kind things to her before. At a time like this, it felt especially nice. The boy then sat down on the empty seat beside her and continued, “Now please, tell me what is wrong so I might be able to make you feel better!”

“Y-you…would really do that for me?” Roru asked. “But I don’t even know you.”

The boy paused then, blinked despondently, and then bowed his head in deep apology. For a moment, Roru was certain that heavy tears were flowing down his cheeks. “Where are my manners?! I am so sorry, Guy-sensei! I have failed you in the art of introduction! My name is Rock Lee! It is an honor to meet you!” He quickly took hold of Roru’s hand then and planted a polite kiss on the back.

“Um, nice to meet you…Rock” Roru muttered, uncertain. All the while, she willed the blood away from her cheeks.

“Oh, no, you can just call me Lee!” he corrected.

“So…is your first name Rock or is your first name Lee?” she asked.

Rock Lee paused for a moment before replying, “My first name is Rock, and my last name is Lee! I can see how that would be confusing! But I prefer to just be called Lee!”

Who the hell names their kid ‘Rock’? Roru thought to herself. Looking at him now, though, she couldn’t say she was entirely surprised. The kid exuded bizarre. With a slight nod, she muttered, “I’m Roru. Roru Fumeiyo.”

“What a beautiful name!” Lee gushed. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl! There is nothing more fitting! Now, please, tell me why you are so sad!”

Roru pursed her lips, considered him. Why was he being so nice to her? Was he just vying for her affection, or did he truly, genuinely care about her feelings? At this rate, it didn’t matter. The fact that he was even expressing concern for her was enough to open the floodgates. Eyes locked on the ground, she explained the situation as best as she could to him. She could sense Lee’s face soften at her words, her tone weaving between concern and disappointment and anger. Once she was finished, there was a moment of silence and then Rock Lee spoke.

“Do not get down on yourself!” he exclaimed. “I know it is hard, and you may feel like you will never make chunin, but Guy-sensei has always told me that if you want something badly enough, then it is never out of your reach!” He clenched his fist at his chest and grinned proudly, his eyes glossy with passionate tears.

“That’s easy for you to say” Roru snarked. “I bet climbing the ranks has been a breeze for you.” If Might Guy’s work ethic was any indication, she was certain that Lee had inherited the same vigor and determination.

Lee, however, shook his head. “Do not be so quick to judge!” he reminded her. “Roru, do you know why I am at the hospital today?” Roru shook her head. She presumed he was visiting a sick friend or something. He certainly did not look sick himself, but then again neither did she. “A year ago, I took the chunin exams. I fought against Gaara of the Sand, who has since become the Kazekage. He was a very strong opponent, and we fought long and hard. I did my best to prove that I am worthy as a shinobi, even though I cannot use ninjutsu or genjutsu! But I pushed myself too far and suffered serious injuries. If it was not for Lady Tsunade and her amazing medical ninjutsu, I may never have been able to walk or fight again! I am at the hospital today because I had a follow-up appointment for the surgery, to make sure that everything is still healing properly. I am happy to say that my body is recovering very well!”

Roru dropped her gaze to the ground, took a moment to absorb everything that Rock Lee had told her. It was hard to believe that not so long ago, he had faced such incredible odds himself. He seemed so optimistic, so upbeat and bright. Where did he find the energy to be so hopeful? And on a related note, his story made her feel almost pathetic for being angry. Other people had faced much larger obstacles than she did. Who gave her the right to be pissed off about something so petty? Not to say that her disappointment had not been erased because it hadn’t—not in the slightest. She only felt even worse about it now.

“Roru” Lee then said, and she snapped her head up, her heart leaping into her chest at the way he spoke her name. “I am sorry that you have been met with a terrible setback. I am sorry that you are disappointed in what has happened. But I hope you do not blame yourself for what has happened to your friend.”

Sighing, Roru shook her head and asked, “What am I supposed to do, though?” She swept her thick bangs back out of her face, careful not to disturb the little white bow fixed at the base of the swoop. “I feel so helpless. I can’t wrap my brain around any of this, it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Lee frowned, and there was something so unnatural about it. “I do not know” he admitted. “I am sure that your friend is fighting a battle right now that we may never be able to understand. All we can do is give her our youthful support!”

“Our youthful support?” Roru repeated.

Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Guy-sensei told me that when people are in a dark place, they need as much light and love as possible to find their way out. And that is what we must do for your friend! We must shower her with all of our passionate support and let her know that we are here for her and want her to get better!”

Roru couldn’t help but laugh. The way Lee approached life, it was so innocent and straightforward. She had to admit, she appreciated that about him. And while she still was struggling to come to terms with Suisen’s situation, and the consequences of it all, Lee made her feel at least a little bit better.

“Hey, Lee?” she said after a stretch of silence. He raised his bushy brows as if to silently show he was paying attention. “Thank you.”

“Is it no problem at all!” Lee replied with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Let me make it up to you” she said. Turning to him, a small smile spread across her lips and finally, she was no longer able to restrain the blush touching her cheeks. “Do you like dango? My treat. We can share fighting techniques if you want. I can’t use ninjutsu or genjutsu either.” A small, sheepish giggle bubbled up from her chest and she couldn’t believe how nervous she had become around him. How anxious she was for him to say yes.

A wide grin spread across Lee’s face then as he leapt to his feet, took her hand in his, and together they departed from the hospital. And while the day had gone so bitter so quickly, as Roru walked alongside this strange and upbeat boy, she began to take comfort in knowing that maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of sweetness in it after all.

#kakashi x oc #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

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wienerbarnes · 5 years

Text

Cheek to Cheek (2/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Criminal!Reader

Word Count: 1,320

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and unsafe kidnapped-related conditions

SERIES MASTERLIST

“This Hydra facility showed to be more blistering and tortuous than the last, only having a handful of survivors left! Look! There’s one! It’s a girl! It’s a girl! She’s smiling! She’s smiling! That’s clearly a smile!”

Bucky watches the frantic news reporter yell over your rescue and feels the hair on the back of his neck raise as he watches a wide grin stretch across your face. The video is shaky and chaotic but he can clearly make out the ragged and ripped up tactical gear on your body, large stars on the sleeves and the infamous skull and tentacles on the chest. Your body is drenched in blood and there’s even blood in the cracks of your teeth of your smile.

“They tried to find her family or at least someone who knows her, but nothing came of it. Once she was cleared from a hospital they advised intense therapy and later sent her off to a psychiatric ward. She killed three people there before they relocated her to a more military grade psych ward. She then killed a guard which put her on death row.” Sharon explains to Bucky once he pauses the video.

She has F.R.I.D.A.Y display multiple images as she speaks; holograms of you once you were cleaned up the hospital, pictures of your victims, crime scene photos, and more.

“What makes you think she knows anything about where these missing kids are? Besides the fact that she used to be Hydra?” Bucky asks.

“About a year ago there was another missing child case that the FBI was handling; a detective had a similar idea when they connected the dots to Hydra and they contacted her. She claimed that she could feel the child’s pain and then described the surroundings of where the child was later found in full detail. Some said it was luck, others said she was somehow connected with somebody on the outside, others said she was psychic and could truly see and feel these things.” Sharon finishes that last part with a small smirk on her face. Bucky sees Sam roll his eyes in his peripheries.

“I mean, after all the shit we’ve seen, I’m not surprised…” Bucky trails off as he glances back down at the laptop in front of him, the screen paused on your face; your creepy smile disturbing him and making him feel uneasy.

“I set up a time to talk to her tomorrow morning. The ward warned us that… she’s not exactly stable. They said not to expect much.” Sam clarifies and Bucky assumes he’s going through with this because it was Sharon’s idea.

“Tell me about the missing teenagers.”

“James Summers and Elizabeth Hawley - both 19, both students at Columbia University, both studying biophysics with concentrations in genetics. Summers is leaning towards molecular enhancements while Hawley’s leaning towards changes in future evolution. Sound familiar?” Sharon teases.

“Hydra’s favorite meal. What did the FBI figure out before handing it over to us?”

“They made a connection to another couple of students kidnapped a year ago, to the day. They were found murdered about 8 days after their abduction; except this happened at Duke University.” Sam interrupts.

“...So five days? That’s a grim deadline.” Bucky’s brow twitches at the thought of these kids being killed for their knowledge.

Sharon and Sam don’t audibly answer but Bucky’s throat goes dry as he understands their silence.

…

“Let’s deal, shall we?”

Bucky, Sam, and Sharon sit across from you in the interrogation room of the psych ward. Your wrists are cuffed, but not to the table, and your ankles are shackled; the metal clanking against the metal chair you sit in every couple of minutes. Your orange jumpsuit is bright against your otherwise depressed skin; it’s obvious it’s been awhile since it’s gotten any care.

Bucky notes that you’re a small little thing. Short, strong build but definitely not big enough to take down anyone too much larger than you. The only other color on your body besides your jumpsuit is a baby blue string bracelet on your left wrist and a small tattoo on your neck; a Japanese style Hannya mask with bright red skin and teal eyes. Your fingers are skinny as they twitch against each other and Bucky can only imagine when it was the last time you had a fulfilling meal. He wonders how much he really has in common with you.

“My life… for the kids.” You smile brightly. Although your features are exaggerated as you speak, Bucky can hardly see any emotion in your face; you feel absolutely nothing.

“You’re gonna have to do a little more for me first.” Sam says as he stands, taking a small clear bag out of the backpack Sharon brought. Inside the bag sits a small square of blue fabric.

Bucky glances at Sharon for clarification but she stares straight ahead at you. I’m sure Bird Brain has a reason.

Sam removes the fabric from the bag and places it in your hands. You immediately grip it tightly and close your eyes.

The longer you hold onto the fabric, the tighter your grip is and the more laboured your breathing becomes. Suddenly you gasp loudly and Bucky flinches a bit.

“Pain! I feel pain… It’s dark. Dark and cold, so cold,” Your eyes open wide and Bucky can see tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Your knuckles are turning white from how hard you’re holding onto the fabric.

“The-the boy. His-his hands are- they’re tied with twine… packing twine. A-and a hanger. They whip him with a coat hanger. A wire coat hanger... “ You trail off as tears begin to fall down your cheeks and your hands begin to shake.

“A cellar… Warehouse, condemned. An angel of stone. Waterfall. W-water falling. N-not water. They’re there.” You gasp.

Bucky scribbles down what you’re saying just in case, but he feels Sam’s annoyance from where he’s sitting and assumes they won’t be coming back here.

Bucky knows Hydra experimented, but people who can see things like this? From touching fabric? It unlikely; Hydra wanted soldiers, not mind readers. Perhaps the other case she helped solve was pure luck.

“Oh, God… oh, God…” You mumble as Sam finally approaches you and crouches down to meet your eyes.

He plucks the fabric from your fingers roughly, “I tore this off the back of my New York Knicks T-shirt.” He whispers, “It has nothing to do with the crime.”

Sam stands as a buzzer is sounded, signaling the unlocking of the door and he walks out as Sharon follows. Bucky stands and gathers his notebook and slides the cap on his pen, putting both in Sharon’s backpack and heads towards the open door.

“Heaven, I’m in heaven… And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak…”

Bucky freezes at the doorway as he hears your voice singing softly.

“And I seem to find the happiness that I seek… When we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek…” You trail off.

Bucky slowly turns around to face you and sees Steve sitting in your spot smiling at him and he quickly shuts his eyes. One… Two… Three… Bucky counts in his head before slowly opening his eyes to see you staring at him, small innocent smile on your face, eyes staring at him with almost a hint of love and adoration.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.” You speak to him, voice soft and inviting. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat and he feels like he’s about to throw up. He quickly turns and catches up with his partners, accidentally brushing past Sharon with a bit of force.

“You okay, Bucky? Did she say something to you?” Sharon asks, resting a gentle hand on his upper arm.

“Uh, n-no. She didn’t. I just, uh, I gotta get home.” Bucky spits out.

Sam and Sharon don’t question it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x criminal!reader #criminal!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #x files au #crime au #bucky barnes series #series

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vegetacide · 5 years

Text

Whump prompt#4 - part III

Veg-notables - I noticed in some of my older stuff that I tend to write a lot of internal dialogue and thoughts so I decided to push myself to write more about the surroundings and such..for this part I actually looked up the picture of an old, wood mill and I attempted to draw a picture of it with words.. Not sure if I was successful but I think it was good practice.. Let me know what you think.

Thank you to @gumnut-logic for hashing out plot points with me.

Proofed by me..mistakes.. Blah blah blah .. be nice.

Likes, shares and comments are my motivational fuel and all that jazz

Rating: M for suggestions of torture.

Characters: Kayo, Scott and John is floating about

Prompt snippet - no title yet ‘cause I am still lazy and haven’t thought of one

Part I can be found HERE and Part II HERE

Enjoy….

oOo

Part III

Kayo approached the ramshackled grouping of buildings on silent feet. The red rust of the corrugated siding staining its rocky footing as if the dilapidated structure had met its end by exsanguination. Chunks of decaying metal sat like the curled husk of a dreadful creature across the marred vacant yard that was nestled between the forsaken mill and her bricked siblings. The bracket space between, a parody of some sick graveyard that lay ragged and open to the sky littered with the fossils of rotten wooden pallets and tipped over oil drums.

Pressing her back to an ash coloured brickwork of the stubbier of the two outbuildings, Kayo held her breath and listened. Her eyes ever moving over the landscape of disuse before her, scanning the skeletal remains for any sign of life. The gaping holes in the main structure absorbing the dying light of the summer sun and obscuring her gaze from seeing anything more than pitted cross beams and the ragged teeth the massive head rig.

Hearing nothing but the sound of wind through the four and a half story mill and the distant sound of the GDF patrol flyers that had been called in, Kayo allowed her lungs to once again expand. Alighting along the building’s perimeter she kept the scarred brickwork close to her back, her fingers dragging along its craggy surface as she continued her reconnaissance of the abandoned facility.

Coming to a wide opening, she halted her forward motion. Shuffling along to the very edge of it, she carefully peered around the broken framework of what was once a large, framed window. The mullions broken or missing in the absence of what would have been a rather hefty sheet of glass, the remains of which crunched under foot and glinted dully in the tapering light of day.

The dimly lit mottled interior was in utter ruin, particles of dust dancing about in the shafts of sunlight that filtered in from the ceiling, parts of which had caved in decades ago. Bits of old roofing tiles lay scattered across the moss covered floor along with support beams and metal fittings.

Across the large space of what she could only perceive was the main room, hung two heavy insulated doors. The once pristine polish of their surface now scuffed and tarnished. One sat open, its maw revealing nothing by darkness beyond. If she could guess this was a kiln house. A building that housed the large industrial ovens used to dry out and season newly milled wood.

Stepping out from behind the safety of her cover, Kayo gripped the edge of the decaying sill and made quick work hoisting herself in. The fact that the large machinery that made up the kiln hadn’t yet fallen through the floor, telling her that the structural integrity was most likely sound enough to support her weight.

Once within the confines of what was surprising a very large space, she tapped her comms twice, signalling to John that she was on site and triggered her camera. Recording everything she saw in case reference was needed later to correctly recall a poignant detail.

Stepping gingerly around the detritus of wood shavings, mouse escarpment and bird dropping Kayo began her search. The tracks she found at the further part of the mining camp some five clicks away had pointed her in this direction. They’d been hastily and haphazardly concealed and she’d picked up the trail easily after going another 30 feet or so into the underbrush. The snapped saplings and disturbed soil standing out is stark contrast to her well practiced eye.

After a quick call up to 5, John had provided her with an overview scan of the surrounding area and it hadn’t taken her long to stumble upon the old mill even though the likelihood of this actually leading anywhere was slim but she had to check. Only an idiot would use something so obvious as a…

A glint of something out of place brought Kayo up short and she stilled, eyes tracking back and forth along the floor boards. Something had caught the light as she’d been panning her vision around the space in her inspection.Tilting her head, she crouched as the change in angle caused something to catch the light again and her slender browns dipped downwards in concentration.

Four inches from the floor a fine, silver filament stretched across the expanse of a large archway at the head of a back hallway that appeared to run the length of the building. A tripwire. It was old tech but given the environment very practical and very skillfully applied.

Stretching her body out carefully alongside it, her eyes traced it length to it terminus, looking for any sort of trigger or devise hidden under the stacks of broken factory paraphernalia pushed off with little care at the base of the archways wooden support pillars.

Hidden just out of sight and strapped to what appeared to be a heavy old canister of some sort was a small, blinking red light. Definitely a trigger, though whether it was for a security system or an explosive she couldn’t tell and she couldn’t risk disturbing it to figure it out. Someone was definitely here if the trip was live..

Tapping her insignia, Kay opened an audio only channel to 5. As per protocol for Kayo, John would only be able to communicate with her verbally over the line, no visual holo-cast. He kept it short and professional, falling back on old CB radio codes on the small chance someone was piggy backing their secure line and eavesdropping. “10-2,” a short pause followed by “10-18?”

It was old school but it worked and kept chatter on the line to a minimal. With two short transmissions, John had verified that her channel was securely receiving her communication and had asked if she had anything to report. That last part she knew John would usually leave out as she wouldn’t have made contact otherwise so that meant that Scott was on the line too and chomping at the bit for anything he could get on his missing brother.

“Possible contact, have the GDF stand by”

“Message received. Alerting GDF to hold at perimeter.”

“10-4” Kayo heard a click over the comms as John change over to the GDF frequency but the quiet was short lived as he once again patched back over to her. Shaking her head as she lightly got back up to her feet and stepped over the tripwire, she should have known with the Defense Force so close they couldn’t sit still.

She had enough experience with Rigby to know there was good reason for the Colonel to call on her expertise for the more delicate operations. The man was good at his job in the guns blazing, hit them first sort of way that marked his and a lot of the other GDF personnel main character traits.

“GDF strongly advising use of backup before proceeding.”

“Negative.” Came her blunt, clipped reply. The GDF were not known for the ability to be stealthy and in this situation that was exactly what was needed. There was no telling what else she was going to find around here and the last thing she needed was their big boots stomping about the place tripping god knows what. Virgil’s life could very well be in the balance and that was a risk she just would not take.

The line went silent again after that and Kayo let out a breath. John would pass the information on and he wouldn’t bug her about it again. The GDF would be either mollified by that or not, she didn’t really care at the moment.

Scott on was another matter altogether though, she would prefer to handle this on her own but she knew that despite her hard no on the GDF joining that it wouldn’t forestall the commander of iR from racing over from where he was reconning. She just hoped she could clear the scene before he got there.

Pausing a moment to mark the hazard on the digital layout her wrist comm was compiling so Scott wouldn’t trip the thing when he inevitable got there, Kayo pulled a small pen light from her pocket and flashed it up the dark hallway. Light back here was poor with only a small 12 by 8 window every 10 feet or so making the long length a veritable minefield of hazards. A sprained ankle was the last thing she needed or worse if she happened to come across another surprise like the one she’d just found.

Picking her way cautiously down the hall, eyes alert and ears straining for any sound out of the ordinary she continued on.

Coming to a blind corner, Kayo glanced back up the hallway and assessed what she’d already seen and heard. With the skill needed to trick John with a false call, getting the upper hand on Virgil, left barely a trace and the set up with the trip wire, she knew that whoever was responsible was skilled, very skilled. She suspicions made her think that whoever it behind it was a pro

Hearing the tell tale sound of a jet pack, Kayo did her best to keep her internal mental tirade of courses just where they were and double tapped her comm.

“Sorry Kayo, Scott is en route.”

No shit, she thought to herself. “Be advised, area is not secure. Hold position until further notice.” If she could have, she would have added I will beat Scott’s ass if he doesn’t listen but she left it unvoiced. She hoped that her tone would be sufficient enough to pass that little ditty along.

“Understood, message has been relayed.” Guess it had.

Grumbling at the delay, she carried on until she came to a section of wall that looked like it had been removed with a sledge hammer, the jagged edges of which appeared fairly new and revealed a wooden stairway that descended into the earth.

Hugging the wall, Kayo took them with care, mindful to place her foot as close to the stringer as possible. Settling her feet on the first tread she gave a sigh of relief when the stairs didn’t just outright collapse under her weight. They looked study enough but looks could be deceiving.

Shifting back and forth she tested the next one down and so on and so forth until she reached the landing and the stairs made a 90 degree turn. Taking it as a sign when there was no creaking of loose boards or anything else that might result in her broken bones she alighted down the final flight with a bit more haste.

The tunnel that she found at the bottom was not what she expected. It was roughly constructed and lined with concrete, the ceiling being held in place by rough cut wood beams intersected by a newer spattering of electrical cords that ran off and disappeared behind a sealed door at the far end Pocked marked between the beams was an errant placement of naked light fixtures, the bulbs of which flickered and swayed.

It was damp and water had accumulated in several spots along the uneven rocky flooring. The dampness not only felt with a chill up her spine but smelt. It was earthy and metallic and clung to the inside of her sinuses.

Listening, she could hear the muted pitch of a motor. The faint scent of fuel and exhaust carried along with the wet soil that permeated the air had her picturing a generator, something easy to procure and set up. Her suspicions peaked again that this was anything but a random attack on her family. They were too well prepared for this to have been a spur of the moment, which meant organized and more proof that the perpetrator was not just some run of the mill kidnapper.

The click of her comm activating, had her cursing under her breath. Now was not the time. She quickly shut it off again. Scott could damn well stay upstairs and wait where she knew he would be safe. She couldn’t worry about him on top of all this.

Ducking into a shadowed alcove, Kayo parked behind a large crate, ears keenly tuned to pick up on any sounds that indicated her infiltration was a bust Back pressed to the tunnel wall she could just make out the first door. It was unlatched and moving slightly, caught up in a mild breeze that seemed to originate further down the tunnel.

The gap was just wide enough that Kayo could catch a glimpse of what lay beyond. There was a flickering light but by its random movements she guess a gas lamp of some sort was burning. Crates seemed to line a wall.. They appeared new and from the markings on the side possibly army surplus supplies. So who ever this one, they had been here a while.

Holding her breath as she waited a beat for some sort of reaction from the other side. A voice, a shifting of shoes, anything to forewarn her that she had been discovered. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickling with sensation as her adrenaline spiked a notch.

When nothing changed or came charging out, she plucked a small device from her the pouch at her waist and dropped it. Automatically a duel set of miniature rotors unfolded from it and it began to hover in the air. A little something that Brains had supplied her for just this situation.

The small device carried a micro camera and was easily controlled from her wrist comm. The magnetic rotors were virtually silent and their independent movement allowed the tiny bot the agility to move about basically anywhere that Kayo required.

There were some downsides to the tech, like heat sensitive and its range capabilities and battery life were limited due to its size but overall it was perfect for Kayo’s uses. It had a few other handy add-ons though that more than made of its for what it was lacking.

With a flick of her daft fingers, her wrist unit sparked to life and an image of herself from the little flyer sprang up on the screen. With easy, she maneuvered the craft out and around her hiding place. It hugged the ceiling, its onboard sensory preventing it from crashing into any obstructions and zipped easily over to the open door way. With a quick title on its axis, it breached the gap and entered the room beyond.

Automatically, data and floor blueprints popped up on Kayo’s display. Geological information followed, GPS locations and the general makeup of the room, ambient temperature. Everything that one could possibly need to know about a 10 x 12 space. It was as she had guessed, a storage room of some sort and from the tiny screen, she could make out an empty rustic seating area, remnants of food containers and even a small cooker. No bio reading or heat signatures indicative of a person though and a quick glance at the composition of the wall told her she would have to go room by room.

The little flyer made quick work of the tunnel and in a matter of minutes Kay had a good read of the layout of the place. Four rooms total, and no trace of any occupants. The place had been deserted and deserted in a rush by the looks of things.

Leaving the alcove, Kay stepped out into the middle of the tunnel and hit her comms. “Scott, you can stop your pacing. John, let the GDF know the place is a ghost town and that they can send in their team now.. Give em a heads up about the trip on the first floor and they should watch out for more.”

“Roger that”

Within seconds, the tall brunette leader of iR was striding down the stairs towards her. The scowl in place not impressed at being caged upstairs while she did her initial scans.

“Report?” His voice was blunt with barely contained anger.

“Nothing so far, but the place has been cleared out. No trace of any electronic signatures that could signal additional defenses but watch your step and stay behind me. If I had a choice you would be back at the island..”

“Tough shit.”

The made their way through each room. The storage room was first and proved Kayo’s theory that the facility had been set up for the long run. The next room was a bunkie with a couple of pallets for sleeping and little else. There was a generator room, that had makeshift ventilation system that vented exhausted into the mill above, it was heavily padded to reduce noise and the door was actually steel reinforced.

That left door number four. Pausing outside it, Kayo looked to Scott and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The little flyer hadn’t picked up on anything living down here but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find something else.

When his blue gaze met hers, he gave a single nod and Kayo put her shoulder into the door.

The room was dark and barren. The only light source the signal bar bulb at her back which swayed lightly, illuminating briefly first one side of the room and then the other as its light cast about in the breeze.

Like the rest of the tunnel system the flooring was dirt covered but the walls appeared damp with water run off from some unknown source. It was colder in this room compared to the others as well and the creepy feeling she’d experienced out in the alcove returned, sending shuddered up Kayo’s spine.

Pulling her penlight out once more she flashed it around the room. There was a metal chair to one side of the room and discarded lashings strewn about the floor at its base. Walking over to it, Kayo did a cursory scan of the floor and didn't like what she found.

“The chair is fastened to the ground.” She pointed out, crouching to examine the bolts holding it down. Picking up one of the lengths of rope she tried her best to push down the fear at the sight of blood that darkened the strong twine, her light once more sweeping over the room.

She could trust Scott to stay out of the way, he knew how she worked and he kept himself over by the door so she could do her job. “What’s that over there?” He nodded, squinting his eyes as he tried to make out what it was from across the room.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she pushed up to her feet aiming her light at what Scott had indicated. “Not sure..” Walking over to it, she bent down to take a look and stilled.

“Kayo?”

Proof. “They had him here.” Turning back to Scott as he finally stepped further into the room she held the torn remains of a soft, grey shirt, one she knew that Virgil had put on some sixteen hours earlier.

In the early hours of the morning she’d been lazing in a tangled mess of bed sheets, languid and completely sated. Happy for the first time in ...she had no idea how long and oh so relaxed. She’d raked her gaze over his fine physique and with a smile watched him pull the soft cotton down over his finger tousled hair before he’d turned and cupped her cheek for a good morning kiss that had once again led to other things..

Clenching her eyes shut she pushed the image from her mind. The shirt in her hand that smelt of his aftershave (the one she’d bought him last Christmas), the irony tang of blood and fear sweat, held tight as she tried to make sense of all of this and couldn’t.

Drawing in her breath, she gathered her bearing and returned to the task at hand. Peridot eyes swept around the earthen room that for lack of a better word it was what amounted to a cell. Archaic as it was, the place looked like something out of one of the many old war movies she had seen and it was hard to believe that in this day in age people still resorted to them.

Eyes narrowing as something caught her attention across the room behind Scott, she canted her head slightly trying to make out what it was. “Scott, behind you on the table.” She directed with a head nod towards the far corner.

Sitting on a small utility table amidst various discoloured rags and a roll of duct tape rested a folded note address to Scott and a holo-recorder. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Picking up the note, Scott examined both sides of it. His name graced one side of it with thick block letters but other than that it was blank. Furrowing his brows he turned his attention to the recorder and powered it up, the small piece of tech casting odd shadows about the cell walls as it started to play some pre-recorded video.

Within seconds Scott’s face went from confusion to a look of abject terror that found Kayo instantly at his side having no idea she’d even made a conscious decision to move. The look in his eyes had her heart stuttering and relocating somewhere North of her chest.

“Scott…?”

Instantly everything else in the room suddenly dissolved, like someone had hit the dimmer switch on the rest of the world. Sound took on a tinny quality and faded into nothingness. Her panic breath and what she was looking at now the only things that seemed to registered in the vacuum.

There on the screen was an image of Virgil, bound to a chair and bereft of his uniform. He was blindfolded, the dark material obscuring part of his face but she knew it was him. She knew intimately that slumped form and the filthy cloth did little to mask the angry bruises and sluggishly oozing blood.

Off screen a modulated voice spoke and Kayo heard it as if it was distorted by some great distance. Movement in the back of the recording drew her eyes as a darkly dressed form came into frame behind the battered pilot. The camera at such an angle that the body of the person was cut off above the shoulders masking their identity.

Virgil’s limp head was yanked painfully back by his matted hair, putting his face in the camera lens as a glint of finely honed steel pressed into the soft skin at his throat. A small nick with the blade let forth a small trickle of blood but by the lack of response and the lax, bloody mouth it was obvious he was unconscious.

Biting back a growl at the mistreatment Kayo didn’t dare blink or look away as she prayed for Virgil to show some sign of life. Anything to set the world in motion again. The poor quality of the holo hampering the search but than the faintest of movements caught her eye and made her breath hitch and her heart gave a mighty kick in her chest.

There, under the ruddy skin along his stubbled jaw, straining awkwardly due to the thrust of his head was a laggy pulse of life at his jugular

“He’s alive.” She thought she heard herself say, not realizing as she began to shiver just how worried she’d been that she would have found something else down here.

The brother beside her cursed and sagged back against her. “Oh god…”

And just like that everything came into sharp focus again and sound returned. Along with it like the rush of a burst dam a surge of anger coursed through her and immediately she registered what the digitally obscured voice was saying.

The robotic cadence crackled through the little speaker of the recorder. “Tracy, meet my demands and your Brother will live. No security, no GDF..if not...” The voice trailed off as another unidentifiable figure came into frame and with a rough hand bared down on Virgil’s shoulder. The scream that the action ripped from Virgil’s split, bloody lips and his body’s shuttered contortion of pain had Kayo nails biting into her palm in anger.

The warped laugh that followed the torturous sound was sinister and laced with an edge of madness, “We’ll be in contact.” A chuckle and the screen went dark.

TBC

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbird two #Virgil Tracy #kayo kyrano #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil/kayo #gdf

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spaceiplier · 6 years

Text

Birthday Boy

(Thank you for 1000 followers! For me this au just started out as something cool and interesting. It got me excited about writing stories, and now I’m helping work on this amazing thing with some amazing people. Preesh you all, thank you so much, and enjoy the story!)

“You want to go where?” Mark asked. He staggering a bit as Amy added another piece of metal to the steadily growing pile in his arms.

“Dyrehage!” Ethan said, showing Mark the pamphlet he had picked up. “It’s the galaxies largest zoo!”

The crew was scattered around the small market, picking up supplies and knickknacks. The dogs sat patiently at the door, their leashes attached to the picket out front. Tyler and Kathryn stood at the opposite side of the shop, bickering over prices with the shopkeeper. Bing was chatting up a storm with the shop’s robot, the two swapping stories that were getting increasingly more and more ridiculous. Amy had spotted a pile of what most would consider junk, and was piling pieces into Mark’s arms to take back. She had that gleam in her eye that said she had ideas.

Those ideas usually ended up decorating their living quarters.

Ethan had spotted a stack of fliers by the door. One had caught his eye: Come See the Galaxies Largest Zoo! The inside was filled with pictures of diverse and amazing creatures. Several tag lines proclaimed its high recovery rate of endangered animals, and recovery of hurt creatures.

Ethan snatched it up. He had to see this place.

“Dyrehage?” Mark repeated. “That’s over by the Dyr System, right? That’s four days of travel out of our way. We have a schedule to keep to, Ethan.”

“But we have an opening!” Ethan tapped his head. “My birthday is in a few days. Remember? I’m turning six! This is what I want for my birthday.”

“Why do you want to go—” He was cut off as Amy added one more piece. The top trembled… and with a crash the whole thing fell around Mark.

“Oh fuck!” Amy yelped. “Mark, are you okay?”

A hand appeared from under the pile, thumbs up.

“Hey Mark,” Ethan leaned over the pile, grinning. “If I let you out, can we go to the zoo?”

“I was going to say yes anyways, you conniving idiot,” Mark grumbled from the pile. “Now help me out.”

Ethan and Amy dug him out, the three of them gathering all of Amy’s pieces. Kathryn and Tyler appeared, carrying the rest of their supplies. Bing grabbed the dog’s leashes, and they all headed back to the Barrel.

The android couldn’t stop smiling. They were going to the zoo!

“Welcome to Dyrehage!” The robot standing at the entrance greeted them. They looked like a typical Snill, with wide white eyes and long gangly limbs, but their wires and joints were exposed, showing that they were robotic. “Please enjoy yourselves!”

“Oh, I will,” Ethan said, leading the group inside.

It was beautiful inside. The entrance opened up on several grassy fields, separated by natural cliffs. The ceiling stretched up so far that they could barely see it. Light came from everywhere, no light source in sight. A few birds flew about freely. Paths twisted along the ridges of the cliffs, letting the patrons view the animals below.

Along the walls next to the entrance were several shops, selling stuffed plushies and other merchandise. A few robots were waving at patrons walking by, either offering them directions or attempting to sell them something. Tyler – ever the responsible one – had bought a map and was looking it over.

“This place is huge,” He said. “Says here it would take sixteen måneder to get through this whole thing which is…” He calculated in his head. “Three months.”

“Three months!” Mark exclaimed in shock.

“We only have time to see a few exhibits,” Tyler continued, ignoring Mark. “We have a meeting on Snike later tonight”

“Let’s get going,” Amy pointed towards the opposite end of the plains. I think there is a transport over there.”

Ethan was practically bouncing. This place was amazing! The wide-open room looked almost natural, instead of being constructed by the Snill. A few of the before mentioned aliens were out in the fields, caring for the deer-like creatures.

From what Ethan knew, the Snill were a species that devoted their lives to helping and caring. They were incredibly empathic, along with having a strong sense of selflessness. Along with running this zoo – meant to care and breed endangered creatures – they also ran the largest hospital and housed several refugee camps for aliens attempting to escape bad situations.

The Dyrehage had been running for almost a millennium now. Creatures that hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years on their home planets thrived in this zoo. Animals from planets that were destroyed – like Earth – lived here. It was amazing how they managed to care for so many animals.

Ethan glanced back at Mark and Amy. Neither of them had been to Earth, he knew that. It wasn’t like either of them wanted to go. Earth was garbage. Completely ruined by greedy people running the planet dry of all of its resources and natural beauty. Only Earth Elitists lived there now, and most humans out in space viewed them with disgust.

Still, Ethan could see how excited they were to see Earth animals. He didn’t think that either of them had ever seen a real Earth animal before.

The walk to the end of the fields took forever, but every sight along the way was amazing. Once they reached the end, another robot greeted them.

“Hello!” They said. “Where would you like to go?”

“Uh, what?” Mark asked.

“Beyond this point is the tubes!” The robot said. “To ensure that our visitors reach their destination, we have provided suitable transportation so that you may arrive at the various sights without spending to much trouble walking from exhibit to exhibit. May I know where you would like to see next?”

They all looked at each other.

“Uh, how about the Stort Vann exhibit?” Mark asked, randomly reading a location off their map.

“An excellent choice!” The robot grinned. Their teeth were exactly like Snill teeth; blunt and huge. “And would you like fast travel or regular?”

“Fast travel?” Amy asked, but the robot took that as her decision.

“Excellent! Right this way!”

The group was ushered onto a roller-coaster looking contraption that sat in a tube. Ethan hopped into his seat next to Kathryn.

“Please keep your limbs, and/or other prehensile attachments inside the cart. Enjoy your day!”

The tube closed with a hiss and the coaster started moving forwards slowly.

“This isn’t so bad,” Tyler said.

Then the cart shot forwards. Screams filled the tube as the coaster twisted and fell, everything outside of the clear tube blurring together. As they adjusted to the speed, some of the screams turned to laugher. Ethan was laughing and grinning, twisting around in his seat to see Tyler grabbing the bar in front of him with a death grip.

“Having fun?” He screamed.

Tyler shook his head. The bar crunched slightly under his hands.

The cart slowly pulled into another station. Another robot let them out, smiling at them and wishing them a good day. Tyler shook his head at Amy.

“Never pick fast travel again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark laughed. “That was great.” They walked into the next room and Mark suddenly stopped laughing.

They were in the center of an ocean.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Mark said.

“Welcome to Stort Vann! Please enter the bubble!” Another robot ushered them into a clear sphere lined with seats. Ethan instantly ran to the opposite end, staring with wonder at the ocean out there. The water was slightly obscured, but he could still see some fish nearby.

Mark grabbed Amy and made them sit together. She smiled and rolled her eyes, but sat with him. Tyler and Kathryn joined Ethan, ooing and awing at all the sights. As soon as they were all in the bubble, it closed off and began moving.

Swaying through the water, they slowly grew closer to the fish that – Ethan was quickly realizing – wasn’t close by. They were just gigantic. Fish, larger than the Barrel, lazily swam past them. Hums echoed through the water, shaking their bubble.

“They’re singing,” Kathryn said in awe.

Fish, the size of Ethan’s hand, enveloped the bubble in a swarm. Mark shrieked as the bubble was jostled. The fish quickly passed by, and soon they were out in open water again. A few other fish passed them, but soon they were at the next docking port.

The robot let them out, directing them to the travel tube. They talked Tyler into fast travel again, and they were off. Zooming to their next destination. They pulled into the next station. The entrance was covered in vines and leaves. As they pushed through, the group gasped.

It was a jungle. Covered in colorful flowers, and trees that they couldn’t see the top of, the sound of distant water running and birds chirping filled the air. A few Snill moved through the trees, waving when they saw the guests. Water dripped from everything, the air insanely humid.

“Please take these,” The robot at the entrance handed them each a rain-jacket.

Ethan pulled on the bright yellow jacket and started down the path, Kathryn right behind him. She started pointing out several birds and small animals that bounded around the in the brush that were from her home planet. A creature that looked like a rabbit, but with wings landed near the path. It stared up at Ethan with wide, dark eyes.

“Aww,” He said, crouching down and extending his hand to pet it. As soon as his hand crossed the edge of the path it ran against an invisible force field.

“There’s a barrier to protect the animals,” Tyler said, reading off their map. “This is still a zoo, after all.”

“Fine,” Ethan grumbled.

Mark and Tyler started narrating a monkey with four arms as it swung around the barrier, watching the walk. Kathryn and Amy cooed over the rabbit/bird creatures. Ethan was still a little bummed out that he couldn’t pet them, but hey: the monkeys were funny.

Once they reached the end of the path, the robot approached Ethan.

“Hello!” They greeted him. “We noticed that you seemed to want to touch the animals.”

“Sorry!” Ethan backtracked. “I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to.”

“We have a petting zoo if you would like to pet the animals!” They continued on as if they hadn’t heard him. “Please, this way!”

They didn’t even have to take the tube. It was the next room over. The place was separated with fences with Snill everywhere, showing the visitor the creatures. A few of the animals roamed free, like a cat/peacock hybrid looking creature that sat on the fence next to Ethan. It meowed at him, letting Ethan rub behind its ears.

“Would you like to feed the animals?”

Ethan turned to see a Snill carrying a fuzzy little creature that squeaked. He nodded, and the Snill smiled. God, their teeth were huge. They lead him to another section of the room where a bunch of small children were gathered around a six-legged creature with huge curled horns and long, curved fangs. Each of the children approached the animal, offering it a piece of meat that it snatched up.

“Here,” The Snill gave Ethan a piece of meat. “The Kjøttgutt is gentle. Go on.”

He approached it, hesitantly handing over the meat. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the Snill that it was gentle… it was just those teeth were big and sharp. It turned to him, slotted eyes narrowing in on him. Ethan offered the food. It sniffed his hand, and then gingerly lifted the meat from his hand and swallowed it whole.

“Holy fuck,” Ethan muttered.

Several of the parents standing with their children shot him a dirty look.

He turned around to see the rest of his friends scattered around the petting zoo. Amy was feeding pellets to a bunch of rabbit/birds, while Kathryn took pictures. Tyler and Mark were covered in fluffy dog looking creatures whose paws were the size of Mark’s head. Ethan ran over to join the guys. He was instantly tackled by a giant dog who started purring into his chest.

Best day ever.

They spent a while longer petting the animals. Eventually the others with actual stomachs started to get hungry. A quick trip through the tubes lead them to a cafeteria area where many themed restaurants were sitting in a semi-circle around a large fountain. The crew all decided on one where feline animals roamed around. They lounged on little platforms set up for them, and you could play with them if they came up to you.

“Where to next?” Ethan asked, watching his friends eat.

Mark checked his watch, “We need to get back to the Barrel soon. Despite how fun this is, we do have to make it to Snike within their sun cycle. We probably have time to see one more exhibit.”

“Then the Earth animals!” Ethan decided. “We need to see them!”

Tyler checked the map. “If we take the tube towards Jord then we should make it in time.”

They finished eating and took the tube to Jord. Tyler was finally starting to loosen up, but there were still dents in the coaster when they stepped off. Amy and Mark stared with wide eyes around the exhibit.

“Hello!” The robot greeted them. “I see that two of you are human. Well…” They looked closer at Mark. “Mostly human.”

Mark glared at the robot.

“We have recreated this area to look like Earth would have during it’s prime,” The robot handed Amy and Mark pamphlets. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. We are proud to say that we have many animals from Earth that are extinct on their home world. Feel free to look around.”

There were so many different animals here. Giant creatures, like elephants, grazed in their fields, or tiny creatures like mice ran through tunnels and on wheels. Mark and Amy went to a holo-screen that talked about how the Snill were sorry that many races of animals from Earth were decimated before they could rescue them. Kathryn grabbed Ethan’s arm, a sparkle in her eye.

“I think I know of an animal you’re going to love.”

She led him towards a center attraction. It was a forested area with several little huts inside. As they drew closer, several little animals popped their heads out. They looked like pandas, but with hands and large spotted eyes. Ethan’s face broke out into a grin as they all tumbled out.

“These are raccoons,” Kathryn said. “They were one of the first species on Earth to be rescued, since the Snill loved their tiny hands and mischievous personalities.”

“I love them,” Ethan pressed up against the barrier. “Oh my god, that one is scratching his butt.”

The raccoon in question lifted his head at Ethan’s statement, continuing to scratch his very round butt.

“Would you like to hold one?” A Snill appeared next to Ethan.

“Yes!” Ethan eagerly agreed. The Snill smiled and stepped inside the exhibit. The raccoons crowded around the alien, chattering and holding their hands up like children wanting to be picked up. The Snill selected a rather round raccoon and brought them back out.

“This is Winston,” The Snill gently handed the raccoon over to Ethan. “He is a friendly little guy.”

“Hi Winston,” Ethan couldn’t stop smiling. The raccoon took Ethan’s face in his hands, looking it all over like he was trying to figure out how he worked.

“Here,” The Snill handed Ethan some jello. “It is his favorite snack.”

Ethan handed it over to the raccoon. Winston took it, stuffing it into his mouth and then patting Ethan’s cheek in thanks.

“Ethan!” Kathryn said. “Look this way.” He did, grinning as Kathryn snapped a picture.

They spent the rest of their time wandering around the exhibits, but Ethan – with the permission and continued observation of the Snill – wandered around with Winston. The fat raccoon loved being held, or sometimes he sat on Ethan’ shoulder as they looked at the other animals. The Snill continued to feed Ethan’s facts about raccoons, which he stored away.

“Raccoons communicate with each other using over two hundred different sounds and twelve to fifteen different calls.” The Snill smiled at them. “That chittering purring noise he is making? That means that Winston feels comfortable around you.”

“That is the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Ethan said, scratching behind Winston’s ear. The raccoon increased the noises, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the attention.

But as with all things, the day had to end. The Snill offered Amy and Mark several tokens from Earth, but they both refused. Earth wasn’t their home. The others started to leave and Ethan said goodbye to Winston. The raccoon patted his cheek in farewell, and the crew went back to the Barrel.

“Did you have a good day?” Amy asked Ethan, who was looking at the picture of him and Winston.

“It was perfect,” Ethan answered.

#official story #crankgameplays #markiplier #amy nelson #tyler scheid #kathryn knutsen #birthday boy #thanks for 1000 followers y'all #admin eli #raccoons

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scaryscarecrows · 6 years

Text

Harley Quinn

Oh, you wanted to be happy today? TOO DAMN BAD.

Jason’s asleep.

Or. He was asleep, in that blessed blacked-out place where nothing hurts.

But then the fire alarm went off.

At least, that was his initial thought when he was startled back to consciousness, jerking and being reminded that DON’T PUT WEIGHT ON THAT ANKLE and GIVE YOUR SHOULDERS A BREAK. He can’t do either and he ends up slumped forward, trying to keep his balance on his good ankle and barely able to care, anymore, that his shoulders are screaming.

Plik. Plik. Plik.

Blood, half-watered down with sweat, drips off his hair and onto the tiles below. And then it clicks that hey, he can see the tiles. And that’s not a fire alarm, that’s…

Oh.

It’s one of those days, the ones where Harley’s…in a good mood. She never feels bad enough for him to help him, not really, but sometimes, usually when Joker’s been a real dick to her, she comes down here and sends the guards away and gets him cleaned up. Well, as best she can, anyway.

He hates these days.

“Good mornin’, sunshine!” Yeah, no amount of makeup can cover that bruise on her cheek, but she’s tried her best. And he hates himself for it, because of what she’s done and what she continues to do,

(“YOU’RE TAKIN’ MISTAH J AWAY FROM ME!”)

but he feels sorry for her anyway.

Not sorry enough to play along, though.

“Fuck off.”

He regrets his timing if nothing else-she’s stripping off her gloves and the black one snaps across his cheek, reopening a cut there and falling away with blood dripping off the fingertips.

“Don’t you take that tone with Mama.” She tosses the glove away and sets the unsullied red one down gently on the cart. “Drop ‘im, boys.”

Dumb and Dumber appear out of nowhere and one of ‘em-Dumb, feels like-gets up behind him. There’s a clinking noise and then he’s falling, landing hard on the tiles and jarring ribs that haven’t healed right. His wrists are still zip-tied and honestly, it doesn’t matter anyway-he can barely move, let alone make an escape attempt.

He tries to straighten himself out, at least, and Dumber looms over him, baseball bat in hand-

“Beat it, boys.”

“But-”

“I’ll call ya if I need ya!” Harley skips over to give Dumber a kiss on the cheek. “Pinky promise.”

They leave, tantalizing ray of light vanishing as they slam the door, and he’s still here, with the single bulb shining down and everything hurts.

Now that they’re gone, Harley’s smile drops like a melting snowman and she crouches down, pulling a bucket of suds over. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this, it only keeps him alive longer and he wants this all to stop.

“No-”

“I’m just gonna clean ya up!” she says, and she’s not smiling but she still sounds…happy…and it’s wrong, it’s all so wrong. “Hold still, baby bird.”

No. No, no, no, he can’t do this, he doesn’t want to do this anymore-

He scrambles backwards, or tries to-with one leg out of commission and his shoulders barely working, he gets maybe six inches before he drops. Harley shakes her head, drags the bucket closer, and fishes a sponge out of it. He barely has time to squeeze his eyes shut before it squelches against his hair, soap creeping down his face and catching in stinging cuts. One, a gash across his nose, burns like fire and he clenches his teeth and tries to scrunch his face up to get some relief.

“Aww, this doesn’t hurt! Hold still.”

She’s too close. She’s too close, she’s touching him and everything hurts. His nerves are sanded down to the point that air hurts, sometimes, and he doesn’t want this, he just wants this all to stop.

It does not stop. Once his hair’s sopping wet, she tosses the sponge back in the bucket with a heavy SPLOP! and digs her fingers against his scalp. They’re cold and sharp and he tries, once more, to pull away. All that gets him is a flick behind the ear.

“Stop that. Doncha wanna be less of a mess for when Mistah J comes back?”

‘No.”

“Aww, yeah, ya do, you just don’t know it yet!” She hums a few bars of some children’s song (‘Wheels on the Bus’, maybe?) and keeps rubbing her fingers around his head. The soap suds, or at least the ones that drip by his eyes, are reddish-black and speckled with who knows what. Grime. Bits of scabs. Both, probably.

He doesn’t realize how fast he’s breathing until Harley says, unexpectedly gentle, “In on seven, hold for five, out for six.”

He doesn’t want to. He wants to just stop breathing altogether, but now that she’s put the words in his head he can’t not do it.

He hates her for this. She won’t help him, she says she’s sorry, but then she turns back around and tries to force a bleach smoothie down his throat for takin’ Joker’s attention from her an’-

“Hush, hush, baby, don’t you cry, Mama’s gonna sing you a lullabye,” she croons, and then there’s a lukewarm washcloth scrubbing gently across his face. He realizes a minute later that he’s crying, sort of-tears are slipping under swollen lids and joining the suds in their journey down his face.

Alfred.

Alfred used to do this. He remembers, hazy as a dream, comin’ out of a brutal beating from some freak called Crazy Quilt, and Alfred had been there, fingers rubbing little circles through the terrycloth, and it’d felt so good.

If he keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t breathe, he can think, for a minute, that that’s the case here. That the last few months have been an awful dream and that he’s home, safe and cared for and going to be all right.

And then Harley ruins it.

“Now I can see your smilin’ face!” she says brightly, voice just this side of strained. “But you’re not smilin’! C’mon, Robin, you’re s’posed ta. Batsy don’t smile ever, so you gotta do it for him.”

No.

There’s a different kind of pain at the mention of Bruce. Bruce, who should have come by now, unless-no. No, he’ll come. He’ll come, somebody’ll crack and spill the beans or he’ll find his way down here.

He has to. He does it for everyone else, he’ll come for Jason.

Won’t he?

The washcloth digs into the barbed wire marks at his neck and he whines, tries to lift his arms in defense. They stay stubbornly against his stomach, muscles twitching when he tries to get them to move.

“Shh, baby birdie. I gotta getcha cleaned up so’s ya don’t die! You don’t wanna die, do ya?”

Better than this.

Unfortunately, Harley takes his non-response as the yes that it was and the washcloth gets flung into the bucket. Before he can…do anything, really…, she’s dragged him up

OWOWOWOWOWPLEASE

and shaken him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

“You don’t get ta die!” she shrieks, sudden and angry, and when he forces his eyes open, she’s clearly distraught. “You don’t get ta die just ‘cause you wanna! Robins don’t die!”

She’s working herself up to something, he can tell, and he’s struck with the sudden mental picture of her slamming his head against the floor until it cracks open like a coconut.

And right then, he realizes that he doesn’t want to die. Not yet, not down here, not like this.

He tries to jerk away from her and succeeds, only to promptly collapse back to the tiles. Then she’s on him, hauling him back up and-

-into a. A hug?

A hug. His arms are now pinned against his torso and her fingers are digging into tears in the suit and pressing into cuts ‘n bruises. Struggling only makes her hold on tighter and he settles for staying as still and silent as possible.

“Ya gotta keep smilin’ for Mistah J, Robin,” she whispers, greasy lipstick smearing against his ear. “Ya gotta. He don’t like frowny faces unless it’s B-man.”

She lets him go, props him against the nearest wall, and brings the bucket over. When she plunks it down, water sloshes out of the sides. It’s already red.

He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see anything anymore and this time, Harley doesn’t try to chit-chat. Just crouches in front of him and continues scrubbing him off. When he risks peeking, she’s got tears running down her cheeks too, smudging her makeup and revealing how purple that bruise really is.

And he hates himself for feeling sorry for her.

THE END

#Jason Todd #Harley Quinn #Arkhamverse #Jason is Robin #and in Arkham #nobody's having a good time #Joker's an asshole

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existence-overwhelming · 6 years

Text

Sublime Life, Insufferable Life

Chapter II : A Day in the Life of Mr. Soldier

Words : 9,145

A day in the life of Damian Adam Ohne, known as Flippy to some, was one fraught with paranoia, stress and depression, all kept at bay with an unhealthy diet of medication. Something which proved less effective as the quaint joys of suburban life gave way to the gray and cold concrete of urban day-to-day. The clear or sometimes cloudy azure sky became mottled by the general smog and pollution outputted by sprawling cityscapes such as these, and what'd once been close to nothing but familiar faces was now an onrush of strangers. But with this shift in scenery, a sense of relief replaced the constant anxiety looming over his psyche whilst being around his once friends.

Now, at least, he could lay his head down at night without the constant worry of losing control of himself and hurting those closest to him. This wasn't entirely true, however, considering he lived in an apartment complex (see: dingy and cheap) with at least four people he could consider to be neighbors. He could never find true relief from his constant vigil against his more destructive side, not so long as he found himself in close proximity to even a single other human being. These thoughts did give him pause to consider the merits of living out in the middle of the woods surrounding the Happy Tree region, but the lack of access to medicinal remedies beyond herbal was enough to dissuade him.

Besides, the city boasting a substantial law enforcement presence offered him some margin of reassurance in the knowledge that, should he ever flip out, there'd be more than enough people around to ensure he didn't hurt anyone.

The wail of a siren jolted him out of bed, eyes wide and body tense as the world rumbled under the thunder of artillery pounding the dirt. Were they outbound or inbound? He couldn't tell, didn't have the time, he needed to get his rifle and knife. Where were they? Silly question, right next to him: rifle propped up next to his bed and the knife tucked away, up under his pillow. Snapping to attention, the man's hand shot out to the side whilst he flipped over onto his stomach and slipped the other hand under the pillow. However, he was only met with the sudden anguish of both mitts smacking into things that were definitively not weapons.

In fact, following the impact, the siren cut out not long after the sound of a crash and the scattering of many pieces of something.

The roar of metal birds and thunder of artillery were quick to follow suit.

Now nursing either hand against his chest, Flippy's eyes finally adjusted to the dimly lit interior of his bedroom-not his barracks, not back in Nitevam, still in Happy Tree City.

His heartbeat slowed but both his body remained stiff and breathing kept at a panicked pant.

Surveying the room, he spotted nary a single Nitevam Tiger lurking in the shadows to strike when he least expected it: no telltale glints of metal, no hushed breath in the pervasive quietude, no bizarre murkier-than-normal spot of darkness, and certainly no scent of wet plant material or brackish water drying along dirt-caked skin.

Reaching up, the veteran caused the pillow to fold upon itself before running his aching fingers through grassy green hair whilst trying to steady himself. Just remember your breathing exercises, he told himself. He even began pawing around his nightstand in a vain attempt to locate a stress ball.

Flipping out this early in the morning was definitely not on his list of desired starts to a day.

Whilst feeling around the plywood top of the nightstand, he noticed the distinct lack of clutter that'd once taken up the majority of the surface area. Glancing over, he could make out the remnants of an alarm clock, a palm-sized bottle and a square picture frame scattered across the wood floor.

Flippy heaved a sigh before dragging his fingers to the back of his scalp and then off onto the edge of the bed. "Great... no deposit on that," he mumbled.

Shifting out of the thin covers he'd already half tossed off, the veteran stood up and took but two steps forward before crouching down to inspect the damage.

He leaned forward and fingered through the debris.

Sharp bits of broken plastic and the patchwork bits held together by wire or what have you greeted the tips of his fingers. But, really, the examination was naught but a formality. Anyone with half a mind could deduce the riddle of whether the device was beyond repair.

After a moment of fingering, a tight frown creased his lips and his eyes squinted as he pinched the bridge of his nose; he did not have the cash on hand to afford a replacement, even if it were cheap. Maybe he'd be able to convince the guy who'd sold it to him that it got broken in transit and he wanted a replacement? But, no, trying to take advantage of someone kind enough to cut down the price of a product was out of the question. Just thinking about it left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

Even still, though, he couldn't simply go without a means of ensuring he wakes up on time--military life or not, you could never be certain when you woke up in the morning. And given it took the majority of four months of pay (see: sergeant's salary) to fund the, not so, sudden move, he needed to always be punctual when attending the numerous side jobs he worked from day to day.

He pondered the dilemma before him whilst staying low to the floor, the aforementioned hand wiping down and sliding off his face to then hang limp off the corresponding thigh.

"Maybe..." he wondered aloud "maybe I can... get him to give one on loan?" It was close to the end of the month's second week, after all, so it wouldn't be too long until he'd be able to pay the man? Perhaps even enough to cover the other amount cut out of the first clock's price tag? That'd at least make up for the fact he managed to shatter it in the very short amount of time he'd procured it.

"Yeah... yeah! That should be good." He paused. "God, I need to stop talking to myself before I go fully insane."

And with that, Flippy took a trash can and began tossing the bits in before heading down and outside.

The first step out of the apartment complex was rife with sensations Flippy had yet to acclimate himself to.

Unlike the quaint town he'd grown up in, the urban environment of Happy Tree's expansion as a county had already become a hub of activity. Since no one could truly perish, there'd been far more people than homes--this was the prime reason for the city's development. As such, the noise pollution of vehicles making use of brand new streets and pedestrians milling up and down sidewalks was anything but lacking. Walking out into such an urban symphony left his ears throbbing ever so faintly. But the sound was the least of the differences. For example, the light level and air quality were palpably worse than in the old town. It smelt of gasoline with whiffs of coal fumes, carried down into the valley it'd been erected in, and the ever-present odor of garbage and bustling crowds. Having only learned this recently in the years he'd been off-duty, the rapid urbanization of the countryside resulted in numerous oversights regarding the environmental practices of the region's expanding industry.

Life in the military, though, and especially the decade he'd spent on tour in the Tiger War hardened him to such sensory overload.

What city chatter could compare to the deafening beat of M109 howitzers pulverizing entire warzones?

What could rival the broth of gunpowder, blood; fresh and drying, the diesel belched from machines of war, the corpses of your fellows laying at your feet in the field, charred plant matter and up-turned soil, and the napalm-seared flesh of friend and foe alike?

Despite all of this, though, Flippy found the lack of country comforts almost as disheartening as the first time a friend bled out in his arms.

Rubbing rough palms into tired eyes and inhaling as deep as he could, the veteran sighed and adjusted the strap of his backpack before filing his way into the stream of people.

Something he hadn't fully taken into consideration at the time of contemplating moving, of which he'd been considering a while before writing the letters to his friends, into the city-being in large masses of bodies unnerved him to no end.

Now, he wouldn't go so far as to say he had claustrophobia (see: lying in wait in a log). But the sheer proximity of so many bodies dredged up rather awful memories he preferred remained buried. And while his breathing techniques took off some of the edge, it couldn't alleviate the warmth wafting off each person. And it still being in the throes of summer didn't make matters any better, its warmth further compounding an already stressful situation. There were no worse moments than when he had to wait at a traffic light with a bunch of others, however.

As if to spite the skyscrapers impeding the brightening rays of sunshine, the sun baked them in an onerous heat similar to an oven's temperature. Nay, not an oven, not with the shoulder-to-shoulder lack of space. It'd probably be fairer to compare it to a pressure cooker, to an unopen can of sardines shoved into a microwave set on high. The longer they stood there, the harder it was to breathe. Would anyone even notice if they all collapsed into one mound of bodies, would anyone even care?

Eyes darted up to see the red hand still present, the vehicles still crossing over the crosswalk.

"Come on you fucking... turn red-!"

On and on time dragged on, nothing ever changing save for the mounting heat and stagnating air.

He tried to move up from the center--when did he get to the middle?--where he could click the button until it broke and remained on Walk permanently. But any attempt to push his way through was met with a push back and irritated glares. Why didn't it change? Why didn't the people up front press the button again? Why was sweat mingling with ichor and decay to choke him? Each breath came out faster than the last, more ragged, as beads of cold perspiration joined that of its kin.

He could feel their weight pressing down on him, squishing him from all sides.

A pile of desecration hellbent on silencing him, turning him into another forgotten casualty.

Faces of friends and comrades revealed by what slivers of red-tinted radiance managed to slip through the amassed bodies, corpses, bags of meat and suffocating heat.

Oh god, oh god oh god oh god-he isn't dead, he isn't dead!

He isn't just another casualty, another sack of fat and flesh to fuel the pyre!

He is alive, alive dammit!

He won't stay beneath all the bodies and wither away for all etern- then the cars stopped and the light changed, prompting the people around him to start crossing over.

Flippy shook his head, blinking and taking in deep breaths to keep his strides from wobbling; warmth suffused his palms and burning liquid trickled from his fingertips. Whatever reactions this begot from those around him didn't matter, all that did was getting as far away from that intersection as possible. He made a note to take a different route on the way back.

Regardless, it was going to be a long day.

"Thank you again, Mr. Kedar," Flippy called back to the storekeeper.

"Don't mention it--jus' remember, end of the week!"

"You know it!" And just before the automatic doors slid shut, he popped dual finger guns at the middle-aged man.

Turning around anew, Flippy took hold of the bag with both hands before stretched it open to peer inside.

His 'purchase' was a used black digital clock roughly about the size of the last one, wrapped up in the thin matching wire you'd plug into an outlet. Nothing too fancy, nothing painfully simple or barebones. And underneath it, a slip of paper showing proof of the loan as well as the receipt for the item itself. The latter was paired with a receipt for the one he broke. All contained in a helpful little paper bag provided by Mr. Kedar.

A guttural huff and he slipped an arm through the handholds on either side to let it rest in the crook of his elbow whilst he folded both limbs over his chest.

Now that he had the assurance of waking up on time, he needed to contemplate what part-time job(s) he could take from the small list he'd printed up from the library several blocks away the other day. Unlike the ones he'd worked before, he hadn't the luxury of relying on knowing the employer to guarantee the position. That and he wanted to make sure the one he takes had as little risk of triggers as possible; working in that carnival hadn't been the smartest of decisions. However, he felt like city life was going to need more than a part-timer could make to live on his own.

Of the options, he recalled seeing and writing down an opening as an electrician when he was perusing with a question mark next to it.

War-Mur Electric, if he remembered right.

Maybe he could give that a try?

Messing around with electrical wires didn't seem too flip-out hazardous, and it was certainly better than being a librarian again.

He was still ashamed of losing his temper as he did with Mime.

At the very least, it was worth a shot.

Rotating his shoulder, he let the backpack slip down to his elbow and hang there before going to undo the first zipper. Once open, he placed the bag inside and closed it back up. Then he opened and rifled through one of the front compartments, retrieving a series of papers he'd also printed from the library: a resume, a general cover letter and a copy of his CO's written permission to procure civilian employment. Everything was present and accounted for save for an actual application-that is if they even require one.

Flippy glanced over the documents for a moment to make sure everything was in order, then grinned and neatly folded them before readjusting his bag onto his back.

War-Mur Electric was rather new to the electrical maintenance game, but the sudden and rapid urbanization meant their business opportunities exploded in direct correlation to the city's growing needs. As such, they had a few buildings spread throughout the urban sprawl. The one Flippy knew about was smaller than the buildings flanking either side of it, perhaps even a tad smaller than his old house.

Gray walls mostly devoid of features save for blocky letters on the front and the occasional window on the two floors composed the entirety of the structure. The door had a sign hanging on the inside that read, "Open," in big blocky green letters. There was also space left between the buildings on its flanks so as to allow the company cars access to whatever laid behind it. And he had to duck through the door on the way in.

Inside was more of the same function-over-form aesthetic with the only difference being the presence of personal items left by employees.

The room you entered upon walking in could be described as a studio apartment deprived of living amenities and furnished with several plain metal desks pushed together with simple swivel nameplates plates propped up on the corners, some personal paraphernalia and the stray paper or folder. There were also some bulletin boards and even a few lockers too. Deviating from this trend, though, was one corner in the back left which had an oaken coffee table and large couch pressed up against the wall. Connecting to this clerical lounging hybrid space was a room filled with more single-person lockers, all lined up in rows with a bench of sorts acting as a dividing line.

Few people were inside at this time of day since Flippy woke up and set out rather early in the morning, but those that were took note of the towering man for a moment before glancing over to one in particular and then returning to whatever work was at hand. Said individual leaned back in his chair for a moment, closing the laptop in front of him and then getting up to approach him.

A portly uniformed man of middle age and balding head with clear laugh lines, warm eyes and bushy eyebrows that compliment his bushy mustache, he placed his hands on his love handles and set arms akimbo whilst looking up into his emerald eyes.

"So, what's yer story kid?" he inquired, voice a rich baritone.

"Hiring, right? I saw the uh... the ad and thought I'd come and apply?"

He smacked his lips once, twice, thrice, and then proceeded to look Flippy up and down.

"'ve got a bit'a time before my shift takes all mah attention... sure, why not? C'mon, pop a squat across from me."

Doing as instructed, the veteran left his bag on the couch and unfolded his papers to place on the desktop, thus prompting a raised brow from the portly man.

"See ya came prepared? That's good, saves me a bit'a time--hand 'em here and lemme check 'em over real quick."

There was only the clacking of keyboards and ticking of the wall clock to fill the silence ushered in by the portly man's perusing and crinkling of the papers.

Why did he feel so tense?

After a moment, the man reached down and pulled a drawer out to retrieve an empty file folder to place the papers in. Then he set it aside before procuring yet another folder. Only this one was full of sheets Flippy could only assume to be application forms.

That was a good sign, right?

He took a pen and clipboard out from his desk to hold the several pages he selected from the top of the folder.

"Name?"

"Wha- oh! Damian Adam Ohne, sir."

"Damian...Adam...Ohne-peculiar name ya got." He then turned it around to show him the first page, even going so far as to hand Flippy the pen. But not before pointing to several blank spaces at the top of page one. "Fill out your address, cell phone and home phone number, email, ZIP, all of that right here."

The veteran did as he was told, refraining from looking further down past the indicated area. And then he passed it back.

"Okay, 'm assuming yer a born resident of the country?"

"Yessir."

"Current employer?"

"No civilian one, no sir."

"Years of work experience directly related to this line of work?"

"Nothing beyond what I learned in basic and beyond, sir."

"'kay... education level?"

"High school diploma, sir."

"No college, technical school, anything?"

"No, sir."

"Uh huh..."

The rest of the interview proceeded in a very similar manner, only some questions required more than a mere no or yes answer.

Those were few and far in-between, however.

Towards the end, the portly man took the note of permission out again and looked it over anew to ensure its validity, although, from the look on his face, it seemed more like he was trying to confirm it really existed given the circumstances of the county. He also confirmed whether or not Flippy had access to his own vehicle and if he had internet wherever he lived (see: yes and no).

"So, lemme ask ya something," the portly man said after a while.

"Yes, sir?"

"The whole next slew of pages are boxes asking what yer familiar with, and Imma go out on a limb here and say ya ain't too familiar with what electricians do, 'm I right?"

"Well, I learned a bit about how to handle electrical stuff back in basic, as well as what I had to learn and pick up on the field, but no, no real official study at a school or anything. Will that be a problem, sir...?" He felt a dry wad get caught in the back of his throat as sweat moistened his palms.

"Not 'less ya wanna get higher than an apprenticeship..." The man scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly, before looking up from the clipboard for the first time since getting it out. "Ya free for the next few days?"

"Yessir."

"'kay... well, think I gotta guy that can help ya out a bit if yer willing to put in the hours to go through a lil crash course." And with that, he took all the pages from the board and placed them into the same folder as before. Then stashed both away back in the same drawer. "Come in at eight tomorrow morning, I'll introduce ya to him, and, for now, welcome to War-Mur Electric, name's Wilber, glad to have you on board, Damian." Flippy grinned as Wilber extended a chubby hand towards him, standing up and taking said mitt to give a firm shake.

"Thank you for your time, sir--I won't let you down."

"Yea, yea..."

And with a wave to the others who weren't paying attention, Flippy left to continue on with his day.

Said day was a blur of familiarizing himself with the surroundings, trying to find people sociable enough to give him directions; mostly unsuccessfully, and acquainting himself with the lifestyle he'd need to assimilate into for the foreseeable future. He also made a note to notify his CO about his address change, since he forgot to do so the day before. But it wasn't until close to six in the evening did he recall needing to do so, and since he was already going to be on his way home, decided to settle the matter as soon as he got back.

Getting back wasn't easy, though, especially considering how off the beaten trail he'd gotten during his trek around the city.

At least, it'd of been difficult for anyone else-not a man who'd already navigated more confusing urban layouts back in Nitevam.

That being said, Flippy's refusal to wait at or even approach any intersection crossing with more than ten people did hamper his progress. As well as avoiding crowds in general on his way. Oh, and not to mention taking detours whenever he came across construction sites for fear of having an episode, of which there was quite a few spread throughout the urban center.

Night had already snuffed out the last ray of sunlight by the time he entered his apartment complex.

Once inside his place, Flippy pressed his back against the front door and huffed.

"What a day..." he murmured.

Pushing off the door, he began the sluggish process of stripping down whilst approaching a lone chair positioned in front of a TV. A thunk resounded as heavy combat boots impacted the floor, followed by the groan of the cushion as he collapsed back into the chair's soft embrace. It was strange, the softness--ever since coming back, soft things never really felt right anymore. Cool fabric felt foreign against his bare skin which had grown accustomed to rough leather upholstery and hard plastics and metals. Those felt like the only things he was meant to touch, the only things he deserved to feel.

He pressed his head into the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, mouth cracked ajar and head full of white noise.

It was too late to call his CO now, although this didn't stop him from having fished his phone out from his back pocket when he was undressing. Now it hung limply in his hand, dangling below the armrests where his arms rested idly.

The quiet pressed in on him like a hydraulic press, squeezing his head in a vice-like grip of static.

Busy, he needed to be a busybody.

Phone, he had a phone in hand, what could he do with it?

Up, rest the back of his hand against the armrest and turn the phone on.

The screen lights up like a beacon in the night, piercing through the dark interior like a truck's high beams.

One tap, two taps, each resonant like the beat of a drum.

Now at his contacts.

Glassy eyes glaze over at numerous names and faces and profiles, friends he'd scared off and inspired fright in.

Did anyone get his letters?

Perhaps he should call them to make sure, let them know he moved? Where he moved even?

His thumb hovers over a name and face, blonde hair and cool demeanor-Cuddles.

There it remains and there he stares.

Tap, the information is pulled up.

The screen reflects in the emerald pools of his eyes.

A breath through his nose after a moment longer before tapping the button at the bottom, then once again on the confirmation popup.

Then, like if he'd never been there, Cuddles was gone.

"...better this way..."

And thus began the purge of his contacts, erasing each number and each face of people he only terrified.

Pink, gone.

Purple, gone.

Blue, gone.

Orange, gone.

Maroon, gone.

Green, gone.

Cyan, gone.

Red, hesitation.

For once during the whole process, his eyes lost their dull glaze and glimmered with apprehension as his final phonebook contact was displayed before him. Her hair a wild mane of scarlet and skin like freshly fallen snow. Anxious eyes like rubies set downcast from the camera taking the photo, face equal parts nervous and elated. A familiar arm around her shoulder leading to someone that's cut out of the profile icon on her right.

A snapshot from happier times.

He moved his thumb to delete her as well but stopped short of it. Then, after a second, forced himself to only to then hesitate yet again when the confirmation window popped up. Moments elapsed and he still couldn't bring himself to so much as hover his digit over the confirm button. So he canceled the action and resumed staring at Evangeline's picture. Was she smiling in it? Yes, she was--it was the faintest of grins only she could muster.

He felt a grin try to creep up on him himself.

But he caught himself and returned to the neutral expression from before, resuming his one-sided staring contest.

Then his thumb reached over and tapped the rectangle containing her number, thus prompting the phone to commence a call to Flaky, before hesitantly holding it up to his ear.

He blinked once, twice, thrice, "What...?"

It rang and rang, the icon of Flaky present above the symbol of a phone.

"Why'd I..."

There was a brief pause after a while, followed by the sound of a fan in the background and a familiar voice.

"H-hello...?"

Hearing her voice stopped his heart for a whole moment, far too caught off guard to have been prepared to hear any of his friends again--especially her. For this reason, he could find no voice inside his chest to muster a response.

"H-hello? Who is this...?"

Why did he dial her number? All he had to do was press a single button to remove her contact information.

"I-I... don't recognize this n-number..."

She still had the same stutter as always; his fingers tighten around the phone.

"...L-Lifty, S-Shifty, is this you? Are you-"

"Wrong number, sorry," he interrupted.

"F-Flippy? Wai-" She was cut off by a curt tap of his finger, then, still in a daze, Flippy tucked the device under the seat cushion just as it began to vibrate and ring.

His posture slouched farther as the sound repeated again and again.

'Lord,' he thought, 'I'm such a fucking idiot.'

The next week passed by in a haze of activity and busy work, although that's how Flippy spent a majority of his days even back in the suburbs. Now, though, there was a louder background noise of anxiety about experiencing an episode, but immersing himself in learning the ropes as a maintenance electrician kept it from becoming too grating. Keeping his head down and trying to remain out of the public eye was even therapeutic, though he knew not how or why it felt as such. But nowhere near as much as learning the ins and out of working with electricity, grids, wires and so on.

Having always enjoyed working with his hands, the veteran found comfort in familiarizing himself with tools he hadn't seen since basic training--the moments when he wasn't working with guns or other weapons were actually quite enjoyable. Though he had to be careful and not reminisce too much on the time he'd spent with similar tools for fear of recalling unpleasant things.

Even still!

And to converse with someone again, in general, without the obvious undertones of fear was a breath of fresh air.

You never really realized just how much you craved social interaction when you go without or with very little for five consecutive years. Though this did have the consequent of the silent pauses being quite unbearable.

Despite that, though, he found himself smiling and enjoying life more bit by bit every day--so long as he didn't dwell on the past, then he could grin again even if it was only slightly.

But come the following week's first day, a funk of sorts pressed down on him: it was an arduous task to pull himself out of bed; the cup of coffee and microwave dinner breakfast tasted bland and unappetizing; the sun shone dimmer than days past; the footsteps and chatter of the people he passed by were both too loud and muted at the same time; and the sensation of his lined gloves and electrician's uniform felt incredibly uncomfortable against his skin. He was distracted without anything but white noise to tug at his attention. And increasing frustration muddled his state of mind at his inability to place the cause for such a spontaneous slump, especially with how great things had been leading up to it.

"Tighten the bolts here."

Maybe that's why the wrench slipped out from between his fingers?

A soft gasp as all the acknowledgment he gave to the loss of grip, as well as a look down to watch the tool plummet to the cement far below.

"God-!"

Its clatter was like a gunshot ricocheting off metal.

"Dammit, be careful!"

His partner and mentor's chastisement sounded far off, vague, as if Flippy had dunked his head in a bowl of water.

"What if someone had been down there, huh? What if it'd been someone you cared about?"

Looking up to the source of the voice, the soldier saw a slit-eyed man wearing gray-tinted blue combat gear, goggles and a gray-blue pointed helmet with a yellow military symbol on the front. He was gripping the handle of a bowie knife in one hand whilst the other held him up on the pole, face twisted in malevolent bloodlust that evinced itself through the layers of gray, black and blue face paint.

Without a moment's hesitation, the soldier lunged forward to clasp either hand on its shoulders before jerking back at an angle to ram the other's right eye into one the many sharp bits jutting out from where they both resided. Crimson and clear ichor like shiny resin burst out of the socket, now rendered to a mere bowl to hold and spill chunky white-and-red salsa. But there wasn't a scream of agony, the soldier didn't give the bastard the chance. For immediately after, the soldier reached back to yank out what he thought to be his knife and slammed it against the squamous of its temporal bone. Thus whatever voice it'd been mustering to alert its allies died in its throat as a soft breath.

Surveying the situation, the soldier concluded no other Nitevam Tigers caught on to their fellow's expiration. Had they managed to capture him and bring him into the heart of one of their cities? Where happened to the village he was posted in? He'd need to get back in order to get a sitrep of the situation.

He took hold of what he thought to be his knife's handle and drug it out from the corpse, only to find what he'd plunged into the Tiger to be a simple screwdriver.

That's why its handle felt all wrong.

Curiosity piqued, he took the chance to examine himself and took note of his missing gear and uniform-had the Tigers taken off with it? But what perplexed the soldier more was how what he wore now resembled that of an engineer's outfit, only if it was de-militarized and meant for a civilian to wear.

There wasn't time to ponder the matter, though, as it wouldn't be long before another Tiger passed by and noticed the corpse.

No time to dispose of the body, either.

So he settled for propping it up in what the soldier assumed to be its working position and began climbing down.

Once on the ground, he discarded the rope that'd been helping him keep from falling and took off the heavy gloves he had on.

Why was he dressed like a civilian technician? Had the brass assigned him an infiltration op?

No, they'd of allowed him at least his knife if not even a small sidearm.

Glancing back, he took note of the vehicle parked not far from where he and the Tiger had been. It was a civilian truck, too, one meant for some electrician company judging from the logo on the side. Had he come here with the Tiger in this? A quick rifle through his pockets produced a set of keys on a small iron keyring.

'Can't afford to use this vehicle anymore,' the soldier concluded before tossing the keys.

The soldier looked around once more to identify the best possible route out of the open, locating one and making a note of the crowds of Nitevam Tigers marching by at the two ends of the sectioned off street he was on. With this many Tigers, he had to of been in Huế gathering intel for a future assault.

A malicious grin crept up the sides of the soldier's face.

If he was here to perform reconnaissance, why not show some initiative and add sabotage to his to-do list?

He'd have to be quick about it now, though, given the recent casualty.

The soldier flicked his wrist, splattering the ground with blood, bits of bone and grey matter, before then running his hand down the screw's shaft.

"Let's make it easier on them, eh, coward?"

Off the hat he wore came, screwdriver placed in his mouth, and dash away he did into the nearest alley he'd spotted before.

It was as dingy as you'd expect a secluded path to be, only different from the ones he'd grown familiar with in Nitevam. Whereas there'd be debris from the numerous shellings WAR conducted on the city or trash clutter from the Tigers' disregard for hygiene, the animals, there were broken bottle fragments and the occasional dumpster pressed against the wall of a building. There weren't even any corpses of WAR soldiers or hapless civilians that'd been summarily executed, nor the stench of feces or urine. Traces of alcohol were present in the odor of garbage, though.

This wasn't how the higher-ups painted Huế as in the slightest.

But the soldier didn't let that distract him from the task at hand; it was just something he'd make a note of asking his CO about when he got back.

He turned the different surroundings to his advantage by using trashcans, dumpsters and what not to cover his advance up the alley. Each footstep was like a mouse darting from one furniture leg to the next, a nonexistent sound heralding shadowy death. The screwdriver he claimed as an improvised shiv pointed down in his hand from how he held it, glinting whenever a stray shaft of light hit it as he kept it ready to use at a moment's notice.

Crouching down behind a set of trash cans, the soldier's bulking frame all but remained visible.

He peaked his head out for a half second, scrutinized the area ahead, then moved up to a dumpster that'd been placed under a fire escape. If he looked, he'd probably see visible lines trailing up from the opening pushed into the lid by its brimming contents. Yet another oddity he seldom saw in Nitevam cities. Then he repeated the process before shifting and hugging the front of the dumpster whilst he crept up to the opposite end.

A glance around revealed nothing waiting to ambush him.

He took this as an opportunity to rush forward and roll into position behind a large pile of cardboard boxes not but five or so meters away from an opening to what looked and sounded like a plaza. Tigers passed by every so often on their patrols, yet none seemed keen enough to check the alleyway-good. The soldier adjusted his grip on the screwdriver, stealing a look down at it for all of a moment. If he waited, he'd likely find one that was off on their own or lagging behind. Then he could take that one out to steal his uniform and ditch the one he had on. But he'd have to get closer to the mouth of the alley first.

So he inched forward to the edge of the boxes and prepared himself to time his advance.

Then something clanged behind him, little feet scurrying in his direction.

The soldier whipped around, shifting his grip to hold onto the tip of the screwdriver, and flung it end over end.

It whistled through the air for a second before metal screamed in pain alongside a tiny voice-he'd pierced through the dumpster's side and pinned one of several rats that'd jumped out of the overflowing receptacle.

He swore at himself under his breath.

Something heavier rustled in the boxes next to him--a disheveled Tiger was rising up out of the cardboard.

"Waaa...?" It was the last thing it'd ever utter.

Wasting no time, the soldier lunged forward and smashed it into the brick behind him.

There was something of a dry wheeze as the air was forced out of the Tiger who couldn't even begin to catch his breath due to the jarring impact against the wall. He could feel the grime of its soiled clothes, even wet spots here and there. And at this proximity, the stale alcohol on its breath was clear as day. But it wasn't immediately apparent given the rank odor wafting off its entire person.

What jar-headed mongoloid of a commanding officer allowed such a slovenly soldier to exist?

A wicked grin creased the soldier's lips as a hand darted out to grab a handful of the Tiger's hair, then jerked to crack the back of its head against the wall once more. The copper tang of blood greeted his nostrils with its acrid embrace. It wasn't enough, though, for the Tiger hadn't collapsed into an unconscious pile at his feet. He spotted motion out the corner of his eye on the right. No time to enjoy the moment, it had to die.

He clasped a hand around the side of the Tiger's head before spiking it toward the ground.

His knee was digging into its sternum the moment it hit the ground, and he was knelt down in the deteriorating cover of cardboard in a second.

Either hand seized hold of the neck like a stress toy, nearly encompassing its entirety with how frail the bastard's throat was. It'd be like snuffing a baby in its crib; that thought put a frown on the soldier's face. He shook his head and pressed down on the Tiger, jerking an inch lower as something audibly cracked beneath his knee. The Tiger's hands came up to paw meekly at his, trying to work its fingers beneath his palms whilst his thumbs pressed into its larynx. But it was pointless, nothing alive had ever managed to wrench his hands off of his prey when he got his hands on it.

Warm essence suffused his fingertips as their nails bit through dirty flesh, his digits ever tightening like a vice around his throat.

Blocking the airway would take too long, he needed to compress the jugular veins and carotid arteries and stop the flow supplying the brain with oxygen.

The Tiger seemed to realize this as its efforts shifted to the sides where said vessels were, or perhaps it was starting to feel the effects?

Its whole face grew increasingly red and spotted-looking, and it started to thrash around and kick its legs in a vain attempt to prolong its life. That malicious smile returned to him. 'Does it hurt,' he thought, 'does it? Does it hurt as much as it did when my squaddies died in your fucking rice fields?' He pressed down ever harder, leaning into it as the Tiger's increasingly frantic visage began to swell around the eyes and lips. The soldier watched as red blotches cropped up in its sclera and spit foamed up at the corners of its mouth. Snot bubbled and oozed from either nostril. And tears streaked down the corners of its slanted eyes. Yet the light remained, so he kept his gaze anchored there. Nothing else could enthrall him as much as watching the life drain from the Tiger's eyes.

He felt hot pinpricks along the sides of his hands as the Tiger's nails dug into them, trailing down where they then raked across his knuckles and the backside of his palms. Flecks of spit sprayed his face as the foam slipped down its cheeks.

An amused chortle breezed past his lips.

Soon the frenetic zeal of the Tiger's spasmodic thrashing waned as, bit by bit, the color of its face was tinted blue.

Snot pooled in the upper lip's dip whilst runnels trailed off down the side, some even cresting the edge and dripping into its filthy mouth.

It arched its back to try and throw him off but only expended the last ounce of strength it had in doing so.

Then, at last, the Tiger's body fell limp and eyes rolled back.

At this, the soldier smirked and rose up from the corpse, flexing his fingers and removing his knee from the Tiger's now concaved chest.

Upon full inspection, though, the soldier couldn't help but cock his head at the downright bizarre dress of the Tiger soldier. It wasn't wearing a uniform or any military hardware whatsoever, instead covered by what could best be described as the rags of a man down on his luck and drowning in the drink. Someone who was definitively not of Nitevamese ethnicity. Maybe it was just a trick of the light? Or the rush from ending its pathetic life making him see things? But, no, it seemed less and less insubstantial the longer he observed the corpse.

No time to make sure.

"Freeze!"

The soldier's head drifted upward to regard an armed Tiger pointing its pistol at him, flashlight held in its opposite hand to illuminate the dark alleyway.

But, no, was it a Tiger? The uniform and helmet were off--more of a royal blue while resembling that of an MP, only less militarized. And the symbol that'd been emblazoned upon each Tiger helmet was replaced by the acronym HTCPD.

Whoever they were, they inched forward several steps before glancing over to the corpse left in the disturbed pile of cardboard. Or, rather, the groaning and shifting body.

'What?'

"Sir! Step away from the man and put your hands where I can see them!" they barked.

The soldier's eyes narrowed, head turning away from the miraculously living Tiger(?) to regard the armed individual once more.

Their hands were trembling, and their eyes were extra wide.

They were unsure, uncertain if they could pull the trigger.

Uncertain if they could take a life...?

He blinked and stepped forward, spooking the individual back a step.

The way she went with her left leg was telling.

There were at least six stories to the building on his right and three to his left, but the left has no means of quickly scaling it.

"FREEZE!"

There was something wrong going on here, but the soldier could never figure it out if a fledgling like them was hounding him with a gun.

So he'd make sure they couldn't.

"SIR, IF YOU DO NOT COMP-"

In an instant, the soldier had crossed the distance between them and laid a hand on the firearm. Their finger twitched on instinct, discharging a round into the right side wall of the alley as he smacked the gun to the side. Fourteen. His fingers curled around the barrel, locking it in a death grip that resulted in the woman jerking forward into his fist. There was a resounding crack as his knuckles connected with her nose and upper lip, staggering her back. And upon her backpedal, he wrenched his hand back and to the side at an angle to tear it free of her hand. Then, for good measure, he planted a swift boot to her gut before aiming and unloading a round into her left knee.

The proceeding scream confirmed the hit, but it also alerted everyone who'd not already stopped and been staring--the droves of Tigers were replaced by civilians? All of whom, having heard the gunshot, immediately began to scream and flee from the soldier.

He backed away from the woman as she writhed on the ground, clutching at her bleeding knee, and backed into the alley just as several other voices began shouting above the chorus, all seemingly directed at him.

No time to stick around, he could ponder this matter when things were quieter.

The soldier dashed away from the opening, clutching the pistol till his knuckles turned white, towards the dumpster and fire escape.

He leaped and tucked his legs before slamming both feet down onto the lid, using what little rebound it offered as a springboard to then jump and grasp the first rung of the ladder with his free hand. This, in turn, caused the dumpster to roll several feet out of place beneath the bottom-most platform.

"YOU!"

"HALT!"

"CEASE AND DESIST OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE!"

Letting the butt of the gun drop into and rest in his mouth, the soldier swung around to plant either foot against the wall and secure himself by grabbing onto the rung with his other hand. Then he dug the toes of his boots into one of the white runnels between each individual brick for purchase, promptly deadlifting himself up to the fifth rung. When he did, he snapped his legs up so as to smack against the back of his thighs, so then his heels caught on the first. That's when he started climbing up to the first landing, to which three of the four, similarly outfitted to the first he'd shot, didn't take kindly to and started putting rounds down the way.

The fourth was preoccupied with taking care of their wounded comrade--the soldier respected that.

He'd refrain from offing her first should she come back around to help her fellows.

Bullets ricocheted off the railing and grated platforms of the fire escape three at a time, four managing to find their mark over the course of three volleys. Two were grazing shots that'd nicked his hip and the corner of his left ear, but the other two went straight through his left calf and the palm of his left hand. Warmth oozed from the new orifices, but he paid them no mind as he continued to ascend one flight of grated stairs at a time. Suffice to say, the windows he passed by had a few people staring out from behind them in stark shock.

After several more volleys and several more grazing shots, he reached the final landing of the fire escape--it didn't reach up to the roof as he'd hoped, or even high enough for him to cover the rest of the distance himself.

This was something he expected, though, and had a heavy tool from the belt pouch around his waist pulled out just in case.

Reeling back, he launched it through the window closest to where the stairs came up to before diving through the shower of glass himself.

The room he found himself tucking and rolling into was small, no more than 140 to 160 square feet yet still far larger than any he'd seen in the larger buildings erected in Nitevam. Its walls were painted seafoam green with deep blue waves along the bottom where the occasional sailboat crested the highest ones. There were pint-sized pieces of colorful plastic furniture along with wooden furnishing, their childish nature complimenting a rather childlike puzzle piece patterned carpet. There were even crude crayon drawings taped to the wall here and there. And then he saw the frail-looking boy bundled up in a brown blanket with a picture book and box of crayons in front of him, who stared back at him with what could only be described as petrification. Yet despite his frailty, he didn't have the emaciated appearance so many children the soldier saw in Nitevam had.

Wordlessly they stared at one another until the click and whoosh of a door interrupted the moment.

"Jackson g-" It was all the man managed to get out before the soldier whipped around, leveled the gun and painted the doorway with cranial gore.

Thirteen.

"DADDY!" the child cried.

His nose wrinkled and he drew the gun back.

"SHOTS FIRED, SHOTS FIRED! GET UP THERE DAMMIT!"

No time.

"Sorry kid."

Without another word, the soldier leaned over and took hold of the large plastic table pressed up into the corner nearest the window he came through so as to wedge it into the window frame. It didn't fit smoothly and the frame didn't come out intact, but he made it fit. Then he dashed past the corpse, son now crying over it, and through a quaint living space where he made a B-line to the front door.

He didn't even bother with the handle, just braced his arm and rammed his shoulder against it.

Cheap wood buckled like a rotten tree trunk after a forest fire and sent a spray of splinters out into the hallway of the apartment complex. Lights lined the walls and illuminated the modest interior, there being no real indication of which end went where aside from the number plates on the face of each door. Footsteps and shouting came from behind, motivating him to sprint down the right end where the numbers counted down from whatever one he just burst from.

He could feel the eyes of other residents on him, some more obvious and bold than others, as he rushed by.

At the end of the hall, the stairs connecting all six floors to each other evinced themselves when he heard rapid footfalls coming up from the floor below.

They'd of called in backup by now, the route to the bottom was no longer an option.

The soldier leaned over the edge of the railing and took aim at where the bottom landing rounded out of view. He countered the steps, counting down from ten. And once he hit zero, he pulled the trigger.

Twelve.

It shrieked through the air and plunged into the gut of a familiar armed man that rounded the corner.

Once he collapsed to the ground in agony, the soldier ran up to the fourth, fifth, sixth and then rooftop two steps at a time.

He rammed a door open for the second time that day, stumbling out onto the roof due to the difference between a metal door and wooden one. The light was blinding for all of a second before being able to make out detail again. To his credit, the cover he'd hoped to find on the roof was present in the form of ventilation systems jutting out from the ceiling. Behind him, there was another pair of footsteps and coming from far below was the sound of sirens.

What was his plan?

Why, if he stirred up enough trouble, then they'd call in something capable of aerial support in order to render his cover on the rooftop null. And when that happens, if it happened, he'd hijack it and use it to find an LZ away from whatever city he'd found himself in where he could sit down and have a moment to ponder recent events. And if that didn't pan out? Well, he had other escape routes in mind. Here's to hoping those sent up to their death had ammunition to spare.

So the soldier ran over and crouched behind the ventilation, Glock 19 at the ready, and waited for the first fool to pop their head out from the cover of the staircase.

Next thing Flippy remembered was waking up on the banks of the river that flowed through the center of Happy Tree City in the middle of a forest.

#⚠️ Warning : Possible Triggers Within ⚠️#⚠️ Graphic Description ⚠️#⚠️ Disturbing Imagery ⚠️#⚠️ Graphic Depictions of Violence ⚠️#⚠️ Graphic Descriptions of Gore ⚠️#⚠️ References to Death ⚠️#⚠️ Death ⚠️#⚠️ Gore ⚠️#⚠️ Blood ⚠️#⚠️ Firearms ⚠️#⚠️ Soft Racism ⚠️#✍️ Drabble ✍️#⚠️ Personal Project ⚠️#Fanfiction #Happy Tree Friends #Flippy #Flaky #FlippyxFlaky #Flippy x Flaky

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surrounded-by-superheroes · 6 years

Text

Queen Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER ELEVEN HERE.

Summary; A shape-shifting girl with a bad past is recruited by Nick Fury into the Avengers. It’s there that she finally starts learning to let people in again and she’s especially intrigued by a blond haired and blue eyed Captain America. Will she learn to let him in? Will her past actually stay in the past?

A/N; Uhhhhh, sorry.

Warnings; This is a dark chapter, guys. Flashbacks, blood, torture, language.

Words; 2,961

Chapter Twelve

Little Dory

“No.” Voltage runs through me and I spasm in the chair, my back arching and a scream tearing its way out of my throat.

“We were kind to you before, dear Victoria, because you were our one success. That’s changed. Although, we’re even being kind to you now by offering you a choice. Now, either you kill them now, or, we remove your memories and you kill them then. Either way, they die. Either way, you kill them. Choose, or we will choose for you.” My mother says in her creepily smooth voice. She lays her hand on my forehead and I turn my head away in disgust. Her hand rescinds and I feel the bigger, rougher hand of my father’s replace it.

“V, we made you who you are. We can unmake you.” He sighs, his deep voice almost makes the chair I’m in vibrate because of the resonance. “We’d rather not because there’s a risk you’ll lose all physical memory as well, meaning we’d have to retrain you, but we are willing to make that sacrifice.” He says, resigned. “That is the choice that will be made for you, if you do not follow our orders. Your memories will be taken from you.” I am now biting my tongue to keep myself from crying. I turn back and look at him. I have always hated how I still look like my parents. I have my father’s curly hair and his skin tone. I have my mother’s nose and uneven lips. My eyes are the both of theirs combined; my mother’s brown and my father’s green. Unlike them, I have small lines beside my eyes from smiling while my father has lines in his forehead from squinting at petri dishes. My mother has deeper, curved lines around her mouth that appear when she frowns, telling others that she frowns often. I meet my father’s eyes with determination and shake my head again.

“No.” I decline their ‘kind’ offer once again, knowing that it’s the last time. Both of my parents sigh, but my mother waves over an orderly of sorts who rushes over with a tray of tools. She pulls on her gloves and exchanges places with my father, both of them looking grim.

“Now, this is going to be different than all the other times. We have made a new surgery!” Some excitement tints my mother’s voice and I do my best not to cringe away from her. She holds up a thin metal looking wire that can’t be more than two feet long. “I’ll insert this directly into your brain via your nose and put both ends against your hippocampus. That’s where your memories are. Then, we’ll channel volts of electricity through the wire and into your brain. Thus, erasing your memories, but hopefully not your physical responses.” She explains with glee, and I shut my eyes and think of Tony saying I’m not a monster. How can I not be, with parents like these? God, what I wouldn’t give to see his smirk or Steve’s blue eyes. I was an idiot to come here alone. My eyes snap open when I feel a strap being fastened over my forehead and then over my chin.

“Wait, wait, wait. I have a question.” I beg for them to pause, and they do, surprisingly. I glance between my parents and ask them something I’ve been wondering for a long time. “Why did you do this to me? Why couldn’t you just…just love me?” I clench my teeth afterwards to prevent my tears from leaking out and wait for their answer. My father puts his arm around my mother and she glances up at him with a smile as he answers for them both.

“V, we do this because we love you. Can’t you see? We’re making you more than you are! A true marvel of science.” He says with a smile, and I can no longer withhold my tears. They spill out at a rapid pace, even more when my mother begins slowly inserting the thin wire in my nostrils. But I know it’s only discomfort compared to what they’re about to do. I pull against the restraints on my wrists and ankles and briefly think of shifting, but know the restraints have heat sensors in them. I’m sure the voltage they contain would knock an elephant on its ass, it definitely wouldn’t have a problem frying me. I shut my eyes and go over all my memories while I still can as I hear the familiar hum of electricity as the machine heats up. I go through each face of the team, leaving Nat, Tony, and…Steve last. I regret that I never got to fight Natasha. I’m sure it would have been thrilling. I remember her arms around me when she surprised me with a hug, her brilliant red hair that I’m slightly jealous of, and the secret smile she gave me when I became a tiger. I think of Tony putting his arm around me, his hugs, his scruffy kisses on my forehead, his stupid teasing and the way he broke down all my emotional walls with simply holding my hand and kissing my knuckles. I almost smile when I think of his unique smell; new cars, oil, and Axe deodorant. Finally, I think of Steve, my Steve. Those killer blue eyes and the fact that he never wanted to kill anyone. His hands squeezing my thighs, then my hand, then my waist. Our first kiss in that crowded club after dancing for two nights in a row. How our lips fit together and danced better than our bodies ever could. Me singing to him. His quiet voice singing to me on our first date, showing his vulnerability before he even knew I didn’t deserve it. His voice is the last thing I hear before the searing pain starts and all thought is whisked away by agony. After a while, I can’t even recall anything for me to hold on to anyway. Not even my own name. All that’s left is a man’s voice, soft and pleasing, singing a song I’ve never heard.

“And like an echo from far away, the nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…”

I wake up suddenly, covered in sweat. My eyes snap open to find myself not in my cage, but in a bed. I take a deep breath to calm myself and find that Tony’s scent swirls inside my nose, comforting me more than a dozen deep breaths could. As quietly as possible, I sit up and look around. Tony is at my side, reclining in a brown leather armchair. Captain America sits in another chair, but one that definitely doesn’t look as comfortable as Tony’s. I move to the side to get off the bed, but find Natasha sitting Indian style in the floor, her head resting on her hand that’s resting on her knee. All of them are asleep, watching me, I assume. It’s tempting to wake up Tony. Just so I can talk to him, hug him, hear his voice, but I resist. He probably needs his rest. I glance back at Natasha as I hear her sigh. As soon as I see her head of red hair, images flash through my head all of her. With them is a stinging pain inside my head, so intense I freeze and shut my eyes. Once my memories of Nat are restored I open my eyes and a couple tears slip out. I wiggle out from under the covers and crouch on the bed. I shift into a blue-bird, wanting not to wake them. I fly to the door, then shift into a ladybug to slip through the crack. I do so then shift back into myself once I’m outside. I need some space to think. I walk briskly to the left, looking for an empty room to just sit and think in. When I see the reflection of water on the ceiling inside a room, I burst into the room and grin at the sight of water. Surveying the room, I spot a closet door and run over to it, yanking open the door. I change into one of the dozens of suits within and slip quietly into the pool. Gills appear on my neck as I sink to the bottom of the deep end. I take a deep breath as peace settles within me, but my mind is anything but peaceful.

I sort through my jumbled-up mind. Since yesterday, everything seems like it’s been misplaced. I go back to yesterday first. I remember everything that happened, including remembering Tony. But everything is conflicting with each other. I remember my sweet Tony, the one who loves to put his arm around me, give me scruffy forehead kisses, and lets me sleep in his bed when I’m scared. I also remember being shown pictures of Tony and the firm feeling of enemy, target, and danger. The same with Natasha. Slowly, I lean back until I’m lying on the floor of the pool, staring up at the barely moving surface. I’m sure if I weren’t underwater, I’d be crying. Instead, I scream under the water as frustration engulfs me. My nightmare is fresh in my mind as well, although my consciousness had forgotten it before reliving it. Who to trust? The supe-my parents? Or Tony and the others who seem to know me? The answer seems obvious, but with my mind like this; coherent thought seems too good to be true. Slight movement draws my eyes to the side of the pool, beyond the surface. I rise to the top immediately, curious to see who it is. My head breaks the surface and I smile; Tony.

“I thought this is where you might be, little Dory.” He says, smiling sleepily. I lift myself out of the pool on the side opposite of him, not wanting to get him wet. I hold out a hand as if I can hold him there by sheer force of will.

“Don’t go anywhere, please.” I beg him. He nods once.

“I won’t leave. I promise.” I consider his eyes and find them trustworthy. I run to the closet and dry off as quickly as possible, wrapping my hair in a towel after wiping myself down. Frowning, I stare at the clothes I’ve had on since leaving the compound. A gentle knock at the door has me almost jumping into a new skin, but I relax when I hear Tony’s voice on the other side of the door. “Queen?” I grin at the nickname. “I brought you some new clothes. Yes, I know I broke the rules by leaving, but I thought you’d appreciate it anyway.” I open the door while hiding behind it and watch Tony take in my towel-hair. “Sexy.” He says simply and I laugh. His face lights up at the sound as he hands me my clothes.

“Thank you.” I take them and shut the door, changing quickly. The clothes are simple. A black tank-top and red plaid pajama pants. Along with underwear and a bra of course. I shake my head as I put them on. I still remember that shopping trip we took, although some parts are fuzzier than others. After changing I jump out and immediately look for Tony. He’s still there, lounging on a laid back beach chair. I sigh in relief and head over to him.

“I’m thinking it’s a safe assumption to say you remember me?” He asks. I sit beside him so we’re squished together on the chair and my head is on his shoulder.

“Duh, Lord M. Your pungent smell is enough to bring someone back from death, bringing back some memories was no problem.” I tease and I can hear him smile. He wiggles a bit and wraps an arm around me, then pulls my head towards him for a scruffy forehead kiss. I turn on my side, giving both of us more room. I wrap an arm around his waist and lay my other arm on his chest, my hand on his heart. I shut my eyes, feeling more at home than I have in weeks.

““You know, you have a nice smell too.” He mumbles quietly. “There’s something wild about it, like you carry the smell of a rainforest or mountains or something. Then, you smell like sweat, but not like B.O., somehow your sweat smells like sunshine.” I stare at his closed eyes in shock, touched, but he isn’t finished. “And of course, you smell like home. Your clothes smell like my drawers and your hair smells like my detergent from sleeping in my sheets.”

“Thank you, Tony. I…I consider this home too. I’m sorry I ever left.” I finish quietly. As we sit in the silence, I interrupt it by humming the first song that comes to mind. A slow song with drawn out words and a haunting melody. I don’t know all the words, so I just settle for humming the tune. Tony interrupts me with his words, and I stop the tune, sadly.

“Do you want to talk about it, kiddo?” He asks me gently. My hand on his shirt turns into a fist and I turn my face towards his armpit; it smells very Tony there. After a couple deep breaths, I turn my face back out, Tony’s chin reflexively resting on my head.

“Everything is still so mixed-up in my head. I mean, I remember you and all my memories with you, but I also remember seeing pictures of you and the intense feeling that you were bad.” I move back to look at his face. “Which you aren’t, obviously.” I assure him and he pulls me back to him.

“Damn. They must have rewired your brain. It’s actually not as advanced as one might think. Lobotomies did basically the same thing, but in this instance, they seem to have refined it and made it specific to us. They erased us from your mind and replaced us with others to suit their own desires.” Tony thinks aloud and I cringe slightly at the mention of lobotomies.

“Well, electricity definitely had a hand in it.” I say sarcastically, remembering the pain. Tony’s arm tightens around me as if he knows what I’m thinking. “Geez, I don’t even know the date. What’s the date?” I ask him, irritated with myself.

“September twenty-eighth. I’m assuming you don’t need to know the year?” Tony teases and I smack his chest.

“The twenty-eighth, huh? You know, the thirtieth is my birthday.” I muse, happy to be thinking about things as harmless as birthdays.

“Really? Your twenty-first, right?” Tony asks, his voice already telling me the gears in his brain are turning a mile a minute.

“Tony, don’t even think about doing anything. Just let it pass.” I tell him, but he scoffs. I sigh and roll my eyes. He won’t be forgetting that anytime soon. We sit quietly, peaceably, until it’s shattered.

“What did they do?” Tony asks tentatively, afraid of the answer. I shut my eyes as I sigh.

“They…put metal through my nose and attached it to my hippocampus,” I explain, remembering the explanation clearly, “then administered various levels of electricity to it so that I’d forget my memories.” I finish.

“My God. I’m so sorry, Queen.” He tugs me ever closer and wraps both of his arms around me. I do the same and sniffle quietly.

“That isn’t why I get upset. I’m upset because those people up there, I know them, don’t I? But I can’t remember them for who they are, I just have my false memories of them. That’s what kills me. I don’t even know my own life.” I say sadly.

“Oh, honey. You’ll get your life back, alright? You already remember me, so it won’t be long until you remember the others too. Don’t worry.” Tony comforts me and I let myself believe his words.

“I’m happy to have you, Tony.” I tell him quietly. He makes a sound of acknowledgement, sounding a little sleepy. “And I want you to know…I love you Tony.” I say hesitantly. Those words carry a lot of weight for me. When I receive a scruffy kiss, I relax again, although I didn’t realize I’d gone stiff.

“I love you too, kiddo. Obviously.” Tony responds before just resting his lips on my hair. I giggle slightly and move away from him a little to look at his face.

“And it’s because I love you that I’m going to tell you that you’re looking a little rough.” I tell him and stroke my chin where a beard would be if I had one. He shrugs and smiles, copying my gesture with a spare hand.

“Ah, yeah. I haven’t really felt like shaving. I haven’t even slept since, God knows when.” He meets my eyes and shrugs. “Probably a month.” I frown at him as I lay by head back on his shoulder.

“Tony. You should take care of yourself better.” I scold him. He huffs.

“Gee, sorry I didn’t feel like shaving while you were missing for a month, Victoria.” He sasses and I sigh.

“Tony, I can smell the alcohol on your breath.” I tell him quietly. He doesn’t respond. “That isn’t who you are, Tony. My memories may be fuzzy, but you’re Iron Man. You’re a hero. Stay that way.” I tell him firmly. His chest shakes slightly and I realize he’s laughing.

“Oh, Queen. I missed you.” He says. I shut my eyes and nod.

“I missed you too, Tony. You have no idea.” I tell him and sigh, too comfortable for words. Sleep comes to take me and I give in, wholeheartedly.

Chapter Thirteen found HERE.

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