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soniaxdixon · 4 years ago

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New Girl

Okay so I actually started writing this one based off of a prompt but got way to invested so ended up turning into a one shot.

Words count: 2470

Summary: Reader has been in love with Daryl from the beginning but never told him so when he comes back to the prison injured and with a new girl by his side, her heart shatters.

Warnings: Swearing, some gore, angst and fluff.

You paced the gates of the prison, impaling the heads of walkers that stalked the living on the inside. Worry swelled in the pits of your stomach as you waited for the familiar sound of his bike, but they didn’t come.

You made your way up to the prison for dinner, grabbing a bowl from Carol and sitting next to Rick.

“He’s not back yet?” Worry obviously etched his face too.

“No. Rick it’s almost been a week. He’s never gone this long.”

“If he’s not back by tomorrow we’ll head out and find him, okay?”

“Okay.”

Seconds later the doors busted open, Glenn ran in. “Where’s Hershel? We need Hershel!” Both you and Rick shot up from your seats and ran over to Glenn.

“I’ll go get him.” Rick ran off in search of the old man

“What’s happening?” You searched Glenn’s face for a sign of anything, he looked into your eyes.

“It’s Daryl.”

“Where is he?”

“Infirmary.”

The pit in your stomach grew as you pushed passed Glenn and ran towards the infirmary. Your stomach dropped when you saw him laying still on the table, blood soaked beneath him, dripping down onto the floor.

“Oh my God.” Your voice was barely audible. Your feet felt cemented to the ground, you couldn’t move.

“Excuse me.” A girl pushed passed you, sitting next to Daryl’s bed and grabbed his hand.

“Who are you?” You found your voice and walked to stand next to Daryl on the opposite side. You ran your hand threw his hair and the girl shot you a look that sent shivers down your spine.

“I’m Bella. Daryl found me a few days back.”

Your eyes were locked where she held his hand and your heart felt like it was being squeezed. You took a step back from his body.

Rick and Glenn suddenly burst into the room with Hershel following behind them

“What happened?” Rick’s voice was barely below yelling, obviously panicking as his best friend laid still on the table.

“He found me in the woods, saved me from a group of walkers. We found a cabin and he took care of me there for a few days.” She looked at you suddenly, “nursed me back to health, kept me warm.” Your brain was frazzled as you tried to piece together what she was saying. “When I felt better we started to make our way back here but we were pinned by another herd. A few pushed Daryl up against a wall and he was impaled on a pipe. I found a car and got us here as quickly as possible. Please tell me you can save him.”

“I can.” Hershel was examining Daryl’s body while she spoke. “But I need space. Rick, Glenn, you stay, y/n, take Bella to get a plate of food, she seems quite shaken.”

You glanced at Daryl one more time before guiding the new girl out of the room and towards the kitchen.

You suddenly spoke “Where’s his bike?”

“What?”

“His bike, where is it?”

“Oh, um, I guess it’s still back at the cabin.”

You went up to your cell and shuffled through your things, pulling out a map and a marker and walking back towards Bella.

“Show me where it is. Can I walk there?”

She looked at you in disbelief. “It’s just a bike.”

“Just show me where.” Your tone was harsh. You didn’t understand why but you grew frustrated with her very quickly, like your fuse was cut short and the slightest thing she did would set you off.

She grabbed the marker from your hand and circled a space in the woods about 5 miles out.

You grabbed the map and marker from her and walked over to Carol. “This is Bella, she needs something to eat.” You stormed up the prison stairs and pulled the curtain over your cell as you packed your bag for your trip the next day.

The next morning, you woke early and got dressed quickly. You scurried down the stairs with your bag on your back. You walked hastily over to the infirmary slowing your pace as you got closer, walking in quietly. His breathing had steadied and you sat next to him for a few minutes.

“Daryl. It’s y/n. I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m gonna talk anyway.” You searched his face for any signs that he was listening but he showed none. “I was so worried about you, I thought I was going to lose you and I think that made me realise that I care about you a lot more than I thought I did. Daryl please be okay. I need you to wake up. I need you to know how much I lo-”

You heard someone coming towards the infirmary and you stood up suddenly from your seat, wiping the tears you didn’t realise had fallen and placing the most gentle kiss on Daryl’s forehead. As you went to walk away you saw the figure who was walking into the infirmary. Bella squeezed past you without saying a word, sitting in the seat you were in just moments ago and entangling her fingers with Daryl’s. The sight sent you into overdrive as you stormed away, down towards the gates of the prison. Maggie was on watch as you walked down towards her.

“Hey, where are you going?” She stepped in front of you.

“To find Daryl’s bike.”

“Alone?”

“I’ll be fine, that girl Bella circled where they stayed and it's only about 5 miles out.”

“Show me, just so I know where to find you if you’re not back soon.”

You pulled out the map and showed Maggie. She pulled you into a hug, releasing you soon after and opening the gate. Your hand remained fixed on your knife as you began your trek towards the cabin. It took you a couple of hours but you found the place she had circled. You made your way inside, scouting the place for anything you could take home. Daryl’s crossbow laid on the table, you swung it over your shoulder as you thought about the time he had taught you to use it.

——

“Okay now put your foot here to hold the bow down and pull the string back. Put the bolt here and-”

“Daryl, I got it. I know what to do.”

“Yeah alright Hawkeye, show me what ya got.”

You aimed the crossbow at the makeshift target that Daryl had set up, you took a deep breath and readied yourself for the kickback. You squeezed the trigger as the bolt flew threw the air and pierced the centre of the target. “Oh my God, did you see that!?” You jumped for joy before placing the crossbow on the floor and running to stand next to the target. Pointing at it with the look of awe on your face.

“Yeah yeah, I saw it. It’s cause ya had a good teacher.” He said, walking over to the target and pulling the bolt out. “Do it 1000 more times, then I’ll trust ya with my crossbow.”

You could see the visible smirk on his face. “Next you have to teach me how to ride your bike.”

——

You smiled at the memory, it felt like a lifetime ago. You secured the crossbow on your shoulder as you continued to search the house, scooping everything you needed into your bag before walking out the front door and looking for Daryl’s bike. You found where he had leaned it near the side of the house. You swung your right leg over and pulled it into the upright position. Gripping the right hand brake you kicked up the stand and started the engine. Rolling it forwards a bit until you were steady enough to begin riding, just like Daryl had taught you.

Maggie heard the bike as she ran down to the gate. “She’s back!” She yelled out to the rest of your group. Everyone started walking down to greet you, including Daryl who had managed to wake up and stand. Bella gripped tightly to his arm. The sight of you on his bike sent his mind whirling. You were so beautiful. You rode through the gate and up a bit to where your group was standing. You turned the bike off and pushed the kick stand down, climbing off it as you locked eyes with Daryl.

“Thank god you’re okay.” You threw your arms around Daryl’s neck pulling him into a hug, he pulled his arm away from Bella and wrapped them both around you, gently but enough that you could feel him holding you. You pulled away suddenly and began searching his body. “What are you doing up, you should still be resting? Come on, get back to bed.”

“y/n I’m fine. When I woke up Rick came and told me that ya went to look for my bike.”

“I had to hold him down when he found out you had gone alone.” Rick said smiling at the two of you.

Daryl chuckled at the thought. “Bella calmed me down but when I heard Maggie yell out I had to come and see ya.”

He obviously hadn’t heard when you spoke to him this morning, but that could have been a good thing. “I was so worried about you, D.”

“Yeah well then you went and made me worry about ya.”

“I brought your bike back didn’t I, both me and the bike still in one piece clearly.” You motioned towards yourself and the bike.

“Thanks.”

“I know how much the bike means to you…Oh and I found this.” You pulled the crossbow off your shoulder and handed it to him but Bella reached out and pulled it over her shoulder.

“I’ll hold onto this until you’re better, you gotta teach me how to shoot it remember.”

Your stomach twisted in knots as your walls came crashing back down.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” You spoke barely above a whisper and rolled your eyes. You pushed passed Bella making sure to bump her slightly on your way up to the prison. Rick chased after you, noticing your sudden mood change.

“y/n, y/n wait!”

You finally stopped when you got inside the main cell block. “What, Rick?”

“Are you okay? What was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You turned to face him.

“Your little outburst back there.”

“That was hardly an outburst, Rick.”

“Yeah well you seem pretty hostile towards Bella.”

“We don’t know a thing about her and now she’s sleeping under the same roof as us, already making plans for Daryl to teach her how to use the crossbow. Are you kidding me?”

“Daryl says he trusts her.”

“Yeah well I’m sure he does. I wonder how many times he’s fucked her already.”

“Y/n where the hell is this coming from!?”

“I’ve been in love with him for as long as I can remember Rick, and not once has he looked at me the way he looks at her and that hurts so much because I’m the one who constantly puts my life on the line for him. I’m the one who takes care of him when he’s hurt. I’m the one who knows how to stop his nightmares. I’m the one who loves him. Not her.” Tears were steadily flowing down your face as you finally broke eye contact with Rick.

“Tell him.”

“What?”

“Tell. Him. Because you know what. He doesn’t look at you that way, no, he has a look that is set aside specifically for you. It looks like he is seeing stars when he looks at you, like you are his entire world. That bracelet on your wrist, he almost got ripped apart for that bracelet but because it says your name, he refused to leave without it. The fact that he taught how to ride his bike, how many people does he let even touch the damn thing? His crossbow. Do you really think he’s gonna teach her how to use it. The second you stormed off he ripped it off her shoulder and walked away. You might think he likes her and who knows, maybe he does, but he loves you.”

You stood there frozen as Rick poured everything out into the open. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

With his confession playing over and over again in your head you raced outside the prison, into the yard where you last saw Daryl but he wasn’t there. You ran into the infirmary, he wasn’t there either. Your heart began to race as you looked everywhere for him, running in and out of the cell’s searching for any sign of him until you found him, sitting on your bed.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet.

“Daryl I-”

“Stop.” He stood up off the bed and walked over to you, he pushed away the hair that had fallen in front of your face in your frantic search to find him. “Ya know I’m not good with words, especially the way Rick is, but everything he said, is true.”

You struggled to grasp at the words that were fleeting from your mind.

“How much did you hear?”

“Everything.”

“Does that mean that you heard…”

“I heard everything. I followed you and Rick back up to the prison. I heard what you said. I went to find Bella to tell her that there was nothing between her and I and when I got back to the main cellblock, you had disappeared.”

“Daryl. I tried to tell you this morning, when you were still asleep.”

“I heard that too. I felt you kiss my forehead but I couldn’t move.”

“I was trying to tell you that…” You looked up into his eyes and placed your hand carefully on his chest, above his heart. Taking a deep breath in, you spoke. “Daryl Dixon, I love you.”

He leaned down and closed the space between the two of you, his lips pressed against yours as you melted together. Your hands wrapped around his neck pulling him in closer to you as his hands found your waist.

You finally pulled away slowly, your eyes opening and looking up into his. He looked down bashfully before speaking. “I love you too. Always have and I always will.”

You spent the rest of the day wrapped in each others arms, laying on the bed and talking about everything and anything. Rick came up into your cell to let you know that dinner was ready and at the sight of you entangled with Daryl he let out a hearty laugh.

“I was right, I was so right. You do love each other.”

You just smiled and nodded at him.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x you #you x daryl dixon #you x daryl #daryl x you #y/n x daryl #y/n x daryl dixon #y/n #reader x daryl #twd #twd fic #twd series #twd fic series #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fic #the walking dead imagine

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

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Inseparable

Summary: Clementine heads out to hunt with AJ looking forward to spend some time with the one she loves most.

Word Count: 3138

Read on AO3:

Clementine glanced down at the worn-out map of Ericson and gave a long sigh. Things were really starting to come together around here. It had taken a lot of work and time to process all that had happened but after what felt like countless months they had finally reached it. A new normal.

Clementine’s eyes studied the map once more, her fingers tracing the different markers until they paused on the marker for the traps. Today was the day. She’d finally go out and get to help with hunting again instead of being stuck with indoor chores. She knew exactly which partner she wanted to take with her. Clementine smiled softly to herself then folded up the map and tucked it away in the headmaster's desk.

With a deep breath Clementine turned sharply on her heel and opened the door. Her fingertips brushed against the hallway wall as she moved forward. For some reason she was swept up in a feeling of nostalgia; maybe it was because things were finally truly looking up. She had been cleared to help out on all chores now. She had gone hunting a handful of times already. Louis had always jumped to volunteer to go with her and each time they went out he’d been extra protective of her, making sure that the coast was clear each step of the way.

But today she wanted to give Louis a break, let him focus on other things and go with the person who was the nearest and dearest to her heart. All she had to do was find AJ. He wouldn’t be hard to spot with his afro and never-ending energy and determination to help protect the school.

Clementine moved down the stairway carefully since she was still getting used to the newest prosthetic that Willy had made her and headed toward the door. With a strong push she opened it and was greeted immediately by Rosie. The pitbull happily wagged her tail and moseyed over to Clementine, giving her hand plentiful licks.

“Hey, girl,” Clementine laughed and wiped the dog's saliva off her left hand before giving Rosie some much needed head scratches. The pitbull soaked up the love and happily panted, her tongue drooped out of the right side of her mouth as she enjoyed this simple bliss. Clementine chuckled once more then looked up. Her eyes scanned the courtyard and noticed that Aasim was helping carry some fertilizer over with Ruby, their joined hands lazily swaying back and forth as he whispered sweet words into Ruby’s ear. The redhead’s rosy cheeks turned rosier as she stopped for a moment and got up on her tiptoes to surprise Aasim with a tender kiss. Aasim was shocked for a moment but immediately deepened the kiss before leading the way towards the greenhouse to store away the fertilizer. Omar waved towards the pair from the watchtower and exchanged a few words then resumed his lookout duty.

“That's bullshit!” Violet’s voice made Clementine glance over to see her friend crossing her arms as Louis gave a shrug.

“The game is the game,” Louis offered his best friend a playful smile as he shuffled the cards with a bit of a flamboyant flair.

“The only reason you're winning is because I’m fucking blind,” Violet grumbled and leaned her arms on the table. Her eyes tried to follow Louis’ movement as he started to deal the cards.

“Partially blind, and no, I’m winning because I’m the best at card games,” Louis’ statement made Violet roll her eyes. “In fact you might say I am the greatest card player to ever live! I-”

“Just deal the damn cards,” Violet groaned and waited until all the cards had been dealt before picking them up. She was acting like this game wasn’t fair and that she was just doing this for Louis’ sake but the small smile on her lips showed her real feelings. Based on the grin on Louis’ face, he had picked up on that too.

Clementine’s eyes moved away from the pair and over towards the loud laughter nearby. Willy was happily chasing AJ who kept bobbing and weaving through the courtyard to avoid his friend. Stretching his arm out, AJ grabbed the flagpole and spun around to dodge Willy as he tried to tag him.

“Gotta be faster, dummy!” AJ smiled back at Willy who frowned for a second before a confident smile appeared on his face.

“You’re gonna be the dummy when I finally tag you!” Willy sprinted forward and began to close the distance between the two of them. AJ’s eyes grew large and he quickly sidestepped to avoid Willy, laughing smugly when he was successful.

AJ was about to run off again but he stopped when he noticed Clementine. His eyes immediately shone with joy and he scampered forward. “Time out!” AJ yelled as he ran up the steps of the admin building, jumping over steps to reach Clementine faster. His arms stretched foward and he tackled Clementine in a loving hug. He had put so much force into it that it caused Clementine to stumble back a bit.

“Whoa there, kiddo! You gotta give me some warning next time,” Clementine teased as she ruffled AJ’s afro fondly. AJ looked up with a big smile, only a flicker of apology in his eyes.

“Sorry. Oh! You wanna play tag with me and Willy?” AJ asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

“Not now, goofball. I was going to go out hunting and I was hoping I’d find you because I needed to ask you something,”

That statement made AJ’s nose scrunch up. “What?”

Clementine knelt down in front of AJ to be more at his level, a warm smile on her lips. “Want to be my hunting buddy today?”

AJ’s eyes grew large and he nodded excitedly. “Yes! Are we going now?”

“Yep, just gonna grab my bow and I’ll be all set,” Clementine smiled when she saw AJ’s little happy dance. She loved whenever he got excited enough to do that.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep you safe,” AJ’s expression turned serious and he met Clementine’s eyes. “I’ve been working hard.” He patted his hip which had a sheath with his knife in it, a gift that Clementine and Louis had bartered for with a caravan not long ago. Clementine had wanted to make sure that AJ had a weapon all his own so he wouldn’t have to rely on shivs anymore.

“I know you will,” Clementine pulled AJ in for another hug then started to walk towards the targets where the bows were kept while AJ went to explain to Willy that their game of tag would have to wait.

Clementine’s eyes searched the pile of bows and landed upon Marlon’s old bow. Her hand grasped it and she examined it closely, her mind being drawn back to the day it had been fished up from the stream by the fishing shack. Even though Clementine had mixed feelings about Marlon and what had transpired she still found it fitting that his bow would continue to protect the school.

“I heard you’re heading out,” Louis’ voice shook Clementine from her inner thoughts and she looked over at her boyfriend whose eyes held love and concern for her.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Clementine took one of Louis’ hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. “AJ and I will be safe. I promise.”

Louis still seemed worried but he nodded. “Okay, you better be because if anything happened to you or that little dude-” Louis’ throat became tight and he took a deep breath. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with? Because I totally can.” “No, it's okay. I think it's good for you to have some down time. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard lately and besides I think some one on one time with AJ will be good for me too,”

Louis nodded and gave Clementine a quick, warm kiss that soon turned into many before he wrapped her up in a hug.

“Be safe,” he whispered into Clementine’s ear and she immediately returned the hug.

“Always,” Clementine held on tight then slipped her hands free and gave Louis one final goodbye kiss.

“Clem! I’m ready!” AJ declared proudly as he barreled forward with Rosie in tow. “Rosie wanted to come too. Is that okay?”

“Sure, I think that's a great idea.” Clementine ruffled AJ’s afro once more then started to head over towards the gate. Giving their final goodbye waves, the trio set out towards the traps.

“So, you gonna be my eyes and ears to make sure no walkers get near me?” Clementine smiled over at AJ who nodded determinedly.

“Yeah, those monsters won’t get near you,” AJ’s grip on his knife tightened and Rosie gave a small bark in agreement.

Clementine smiled at that; she really was lucky to have AJ beside her. He had kept her going throughout all those hellish years on the road, had always been by her side and had kept her safe just like she did for him. Now they’d continue to be the inseparable duo they always were excect now they had a forever home to come back to. After all those years of searching they had finally found their home. The thought made Clementine’s heart swell with pure happiness as she notched an arrow to prepare to snag any rabbits that came their way.

The two walked side by side down the trail, the leaves and twigs crunching and snapping underfoot as they were on the lookout for both walkers and rabbits. An unnerving groan to Clementine’s left drew her attention and she pulled back the drawstring, releasing the arrow and hitting a walker right in between the eyes. Walking over, she pulled out the used arrow and brushed the blood off on the side of her pant leg.

“I get the next one,” AJ commented as he jogged over to Clementine, Rosie right on his tail.

“Alright,” Clementine nodded, then led the way forward. It wasn’t long before another walker was spotted. “Okay, AJ, now remember-”

“Kick out the leg then aim for the head,” AJ finished Clementine’s instruction then moved forward to take down the walker.

“Hey, stupidhead!” AJ yelled, getting the walker’s attention. The walker roamed forward, its milky eyes staring blankly at AJ as it extended its arms to grab its next meal. AJ easily dodged its attempt to grab him though and kicked out its leg. The walker fell with a groan and AJ lifted up his knife and plunged it into the walker’s skull. His blade became slick with blood and brain matter as he yanked it out, causing the walker to fall over dead. AJ took a deep breath then looked back at Clementine with a smile.

Clementine returned the smile, her eyes shining with pride as AJ ran back towards her. “That was great, AJ. You’ve really gotten better with the knife,” Clementine knelt down. “You’ve definitely grown.” “I’ve always been this tough, Clem,” AJ corrected and Clementine gave a small laugh.

“Yeah, you have. Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?” Clementine asked as she led the way once more.

“Yeah, all the time,” AJ jogged forward along with Rosie, his eyes peeled for any signs of threats.

“Well, I’m gonna tell you again. I’m super proud of you, AJ.” Clementine smiled over at AJ who beamed at her praise. After a moment of them sharing a smile both focused back on the trail, making sure the path was clear. Soon the two got into a rhythm along with Rosie, clearing out walkers. There weren’t that many today which was nice and with how capable all three of them were it was easy to clear the way.

“Do you need a break, Clem? Is your leg hurting?” AJ stopped and looked at Clementine, his hands on his hips. “You gotta make sure you don’t push it.”

“I’m not. My leg is okay for now. I promise that as soon as it's too much I’ll tell you,”

AJ thought about Clementine’s words for a moment then gave a nod. “Okay, promise?” He held out his pinky.

“Promise,” Clementine intertwined her pinky with his. The two shared a smile then continued forward.

After a minute they had reached the traps and then began to undo the ones that had been triggered, taking the game and then resetting them once more. It seemed like a fairly good haul today. They didn’t need to gather as much as before now that they had the rabbit pen but still it was good not to abuse that and grow cocky in thinking it was unlimited.

Clementine handed over some more of the rabbits to AJ who had offered to carry some more then began to walk towards the next trap, careful to avoid setting off another. Suddenly though her balance shifted due to her still getting used to this newest prototype and her foot gave out, leading it to get snagged in the trap. A small, startled yell left her lips as she immediately flipped upside down as the trap pulled her up into the air.

“Clem!” AJ’s voice was frantic as he ran forward with Rosie who gave a worried bark.

“I’m fine, kiddo. Just lost my footing for a second there. Mind helping me get down? I-” Clementine froze when she saw a group of four walkers roam forward. Low, gurling moans left their hollow throats as they approached. “AJ! Behind you!”

AJ spun around, his knife drawn as his eyes grew big. Rosie growled protectively and got ready to take down the walkers before her.

“Don’t worry, Clem, I’ve got this,” AJ took a deep breath and tossed the rabbits to the ground then shuffled over to the right to take down the walker that was furthest away from the others. Picking up a rock, AJ tossed it against a tree to draw over the walker.

The walker’s head tilted as its jaw flapped due to it being loose and decayed. Stumbling forward, the walker went for its new target. AJ used that to his advantage and harshly kicked out its leg before embedding his knife into its head. He grunted as he struggled to pull out the knife. His sounds of struggle drew one of the other walker’s attention who wandered towards the child.

Clementine felt her fear rising and she tried to lift herself up to cut the rope and get free. Unsheathing her knife, she leaned up and was nearly at the rope when her knife dropped. “Shit! Fuck!” Clementine whacked against the tree due to the force of her swaying. Her eyes immediately went back to AJ who had successfully gotten the knife out of the first walker’s skull but the other walker was nearly upon him now.

Suddenly Rosie dashed forward and jumped onto the walker, pushing it down. The walker groaned, its arms flailing about until Rosie’s maw pierced into its skull and crushed it into a bloody pulp. Brain matter and blood coated the pitbull’s mouth as she moved to attack another walker, her teeth ending its existence in mere seconds.

AJ took a deep breath and picked up the rock. Using the same tactic again, he guided the last walker over to a secluded spot and kicked out its knee. With a sharp jab AJ’s knife ended the walker’s hollow life and soon the monster was on the ground, limpless and lifeless. AJ let out a shaky sigh and gave Rosie some head pats then ran over towards Clementine. “I did it!” He smiled proudly and Clementine returned it, her heart relieved that he was okay.

“You did. Good job, AJ!”

AJ’s smile grew at that praise before he turned his attention towards helping get Clementine down. Studying the tree for a moment, AJ proceeded to climb it carefully while holding the handle of the knife in his mouth. He’d have to cut the trap, destroying it in the process, but he’d make up for it by helping Willy whenever he came out with Louis to replace the trap. Holding onto the tree with one hand, AJ spat out his knife into his other hand and worked to cut down Clementine. The edge of his blade slid back and forth on the rope, slowly cutting through each thread until finally it snapped and Clementine came crashing down. Clementine gave a pained groan as she landed, causing AJ’s eyes to widen with worry.

“Clem!” AJ hastily climbed down the tree and placed away his knife before running over to check on her. “Are you okay? I was trying to help and- Did I do a bad?” AJ had a guilty pout as his sight turned to Clementine.

Clementine took a shaky breath and got up then kneeled in front of AJ. Without a word she wrapped him in a hug. “No, you did good. You helped make sure I was okay. You and Rosie both,”

The pitbull barked happily at the mention of her name, her stub tail wagging back and forth.

AJ held tightly onto the hug. “Told ya I’d keep you safe,”

“You did,” Clementine pulled back and gave AJ a smile. “Now how about we take what we caught for the day and head back home.”

“Okay,” AJ ran over to pick up the game and separated it evenly while Clementine retrieved her knife and bow, glad that both weapons were still in good condition. She paused for a moment and looked at AJ.

AJ felt her staring and his sight turned towards her. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad I have you, that's all.”

Clementine’s words made AJ’s heart warm with happiness. “Me too!” He smiled as Clementine wrapped her arm around him and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Bleh, a kiss!” “Hey now! That was to show that I love you,” Clementine defended her gesture as AJ walked forward.

“I already know you love me,” AJ looked back at Clementine, waiting for her to catch up. Clementine sighed and ran forward to catch up with AJ before the two wandered back down the path with Rosie in tow.

“Well, even if you know it, I’m gonna keep showing you that I do and keep saying it. I love you, AJ.” Clementine’s eyes locked with his.

“I love you too,” AJ smiled brightly up at Clementine and he led the way forward. His heart was warm with those words and his pulse had settled now that Clementine was safe. As AJ walked forward through the woods towards his home he knew that no matter what they’d always look out for each other and would always be together. They were inseparable.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg ruby #twdg aasim #twdg willy #twdg rosie #twdg omar #clem aj brotp #clouis #rusim #louis violet brotp #willy aj brotp #clem rosie brotp #aj rosie brotp #fanfic

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years ago

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A love that never leaves (10)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. SMUT, 18+ please.

A/N: Bucky’s reaction surprises her, Sam Wilson might bitch slap Steve Rogers, Bucky makes my favorite sandwich in the entire world because he is a skilled chef, and they have a memorable night together (please stop by if you would like a smut free recap).

But of course, you guys know me, so…I am sorry...

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

She mourns for Henry and the tragedy of his fate. Loving a soldier was one thing she never expected and the experience nearly killed her. The war trudges on, and sometimes soldiers pass through the village; while she always puts her nursing skills to good use, she keeps her distance.

Sometimes she sits by the creek, washing clothes in the cold water and thinking. She wishes she had the power to scrub her own brain clean, but no.

This is her penance, the one she will pay from now until the end of time.

To remember.

*****

MISSION REPORT

BOTH TARGETS UNEXPECTEDLY INFILTRATED BASE. UNABLE TO SEPARATE AND ADDRESS INDIVIDUALLY. WILL CONTINUE HOLDING PATTERN UNTIL OPPORTUNITY ARISES.

What did they find? Sweat beads along his scalp, freezing drips wetting pale hair. He needs to know, he searched that base from top to bottom, but he knows they found something. The Soldier was skittish, and her - well.

Something happened.

They will tell him. That he can promise.

All in due time.

*****

No one knows this, but sometimes when Bucky can’t sleep, he likes to draw.

Between the two of them, Steve is the real artist, no contest there. For Bucky, it’s not about drawing well, it’s about drawing something that helps him connect with his past.

So occasionally, when the nightmares are really riding his ass, he wanders to the roof of the tower with three things: his pink notebook of “Bucky Facts”, a blank pad of paper, and Steve’s Prismacolor colored pencils. He flips through his notebook and finds something he’s struggling with - and he draws it. For some reason, when he can transpose the memories from a bundle of echoes into a colorful sketch, it cements the idea in his head.

A paint by number puzzle. Words and colors swirled together to reimagine the past he's so desperate to remember.

Now, he sits on the coffee table in front of a woman who has no need to ever remind herself of the past. No need for clumsy outlines and careful colors; the endless infinity of memories locked behind her haunted eyes speaks of every color in the universe and Bucky wonders if he had to paint her memories, what colors could ever convey the horrors of her past.

He thinks she and the Soldier would have a remarkably similar color palette.

God, he hates that fact.

Her voice is hoarse from talking and she keeps swallowing, stubbornly pushing down the lump of tears threatening to melt in her throat. He understands why she was reluctant to tell him, why she said those ridiculous words.

I don’t think you’ll like me very much, when you know.

Everything about her seems so much clearer now. The hesitancy to reveal her past; the strange collection of items he found stashed around her home; her fear he would be angry when he knew her ability. Bucky gets it, he really truly does, but here’s the thing.

It makes no god damn difference.

He loves her. Nothing will change that.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” he hears her whisper and that’s it.

Scooting forward, he drops from the coffee table to kneel before her. Wiggling himself between her legs, he wraps his arms around her waist and gazes into her miserable expression.

“Listen to me. Do you remember when you told me not to apologize for what happened to me? That is wasn’t my fault? It took me years to even start believing that, but the moment I heard it from you, it finally made sense. You did that for me. So right now, I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me, alright?”

“I can’t -”

“You can,” he says firmly. “What happened there, what you did - it was not your fault. Do you understand that? It was not your fault. Say it back to me.”

The words are lead in her mouth. It takes several stumbling attempts, but Bucky is patient.

“It wasn’t - it wasn’t my fault,” she finally says, her cold fingers clutching his forearms. Bucky rewards her with a huge smile and buries his face against her belly. He hugs her tighter.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, his voice muffled in her sweater.

"It wasn't my fault," she says one more time. Threading her fingers through his hair, she drags her nails lightly over his scalp and Bucky leans contentedly into the touch. They sit in silence and let the minutes drift along until he finally feels her tension subside.

A peculiar thought occurs to him, then.

“The base in Poland, where you were held. I think I know it,” he says cautiously. “Awhile back, we got a distress signal from there. I saw that chair, the one you mean. I, um, sort of broke it. Went kinda nuts and tore it apart. They stuck me in rehab after that, but - totally fuckin’ worth it.”

“Good,” she says fervently, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. Bucky reaches up and catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and trying to lighten the mood.

“Well hey, so - you met Carter then,” he says with a grin. Her lip trembles slightly, but she tries to smile.

“I did,” she confirms.

“Wish you could’ve met under better circumstances, you would’ve had a lot in common. Steve loves telling people how often she’d bust my balls.”

Bucky tickles her and she huffs out a breathless laugh and squirms away. He feels a thousand times lighter when he hears a playful note return to her voice.

“Something tells me you probably deserved it Sergeant.”

“Won’t argue there,” Bucky agrees and stretches up to plant a firm kiss on her lips.

*****

The sun is setting when she asks if she can have some time alone. Bucky can see the struggle in her face - reliving nightmares is exhausting.

“I’ll just be outside,” she says quietly, shrugging into her coat. “Need a few minutes to - think, I guess.”

“Hang on,” he says. Going into the kitchen, he flips on her electric kettle, pulls her favorite purple mug from the cupboard, and plops a teabag inside. Grabbing her biggest quilt, he fluffs it open and wraps it tight around her shoulders; once the kettle sings, he hands her the steaming mug of Earl Grey and drops a kiss on her nose. “There, now you’ll be warm.”

For a long moment, she stares at him. Bucky watches her bite her lip, steeling her nerves to speak. He waits expectantly, his hands running lightly up and down her arms to warm her, but nothing happens. Whatever she wanted to say disappears and she looks down.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Anytime,” he says softly and opens the door for her. She steps onto the cold porch and sinks onto the top step, tipping her face toward the setting sun. Bucky shuts the door with a click.

Everything changes.

Stalking to the kitchen counter, white-hot rage fills his chest. Snarling at the offending photos, he snatches his phone and dials Steve, and before the phone finishes the first ring, a blond head appears.

“Whaddaya got?” Steve asks, as he rummages through the fridge.

“Are you ever not eating,” Bucky scowls and Steve grunts.

“I’m a growing boy. So?”

Rubbing his forehead, Bucky tries to organize his thoughts and figure out where to begin. The clink and clatter of silverware keeps coming through the phone and then Steve’s piling leftover containers in his arms and dumping them on the counter and out of nowhere, Bucky loses his shit.

“Steve, can you - can you just - I need you to - god fucking dammit Rogers, sit the fuck down!”

Steve jerks to a stop when Bucky’s voice scales up. Considering him for all of three seconds, Steve dumps the mess of leftovers - which all have THESE ARE SAM’S DON’T TOUCH written on them in black marker - without a word and walks away, sinking into an armchair.

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

The whole thing is insane and Bucky has no clue how to begin.

So he just starts talking.

About the woman who saved his life when he was bleeding out in a blizzard; how she called him Soldier and brought him to her home and sewed him up. How he shoved a butcher knife to her throat in thanks, before she told him the story of how she met him years ago. How her words helped him remember that bloody night in Paris.

He tells Steve about deciding to stay, about her potato soup, about how he remembered Steve telling him about the letters he got from his girl during the war, and how it felt when Bucky realized he was the Jimmy she wanted that night. He relays the story of how they met during the war and Steve sucks in a shocked breath. Bucky tells him she kept all his letters and how she let him read them again and how he asked her to marry him the last time they were in the village and if he sees tears fill Steve’s eyes, he forces himself to ignore it.

He keeps talking.

About discovering the information at the base, photos and information about the original soldier trials and how there must be someone who fired up the signal, because Bucky found recent blood and a clean black glove. He tells Steve about her ability and what Hydra did to her all those years ago and he can hear Steve’s teeth clack together, can see the furious tick in his jaw.

It smooths away for a moment, when Bucky recounts the story with Peggy. Steve always was a sap.

Bucky tells him almost everything, but saves some things for himself; he figures he deserves to have a few memories that are all his own.

Well, not just his. Theirs.

When he finishes, Steve is silent. Bucky can see the thoughts swing dancing through his brain as he works it out. Finally, Steve clears his throat.

“Okay, that’s a lot to unravel. I’m gonna have some questions, but for now I’m just gonna go with it. Sounds great.” Bucky snorts and Steve just shrugs. “What can I say? It’s fuckin’ weird, but we’ve seen weirder. I trust your judgement. Tell me what you need.”

Yes, Steve Rogers can be a massive pain in the ass, but Bucky sure fucking loves him.

“Alright. The first distress signal we got was that base near Krakow, where she was kept,” Bucky says. “They were testing soldiers there and I found more evidence here - it can’t be a coincidence. I think there’s something or someone connected, I just haven’t found the link.”

“Let’s assume you’re right,” Steve says. “What next?”

“I’m going back into town tomorrow to see if I can dig up anything else. Can you look into that Hydra fuck who was chasing her? See if there’s something we’re not seeing?”

“Got it,” Steve answers. “Say the name again?”

“First name Wilhelm, last name Richter, Romeo-India-Charlie-Hotel-Tango-Echo-Romeo,” he rattles off. “I vaguely recognize his face, but I was still new when he disappeared, and those early memories are shit. I think the story was that he deserted, but that’s all I got.”

“Going to the lab now,” Steve heaves himself to his feet and walks swiftly toward the elevators. Smashing the button, he waits impatiently and then looks down at the phone, his expression softening. “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?” Bucky says distractedly, craning his neck to see out the window. He can still see her sitting on the steps, gazing pensively into the coming night.

“You got your girl back. I’m - hey. I’m really fuckin’ happy for you.” Surprised, Bucky looks down at the phone and sees Steve giving him a crooked grin. “You deserve this. Don’t forget that.”

Bucky nods, feels his face grow warm. “Yeah. Thanks man.”

“I’m coming out to see you both, soon as we get this sorted,” Steve warns. The elevator in front of him dings and Bucky barks out a happy laugh. The idea of his best friend staying at their house like they’re an ordinary couple, with a boring life and annoying friends who crash on their couch - it sends cozy domestic tingles skittering up his spine and he can’t fight the idiotic grin.

“You got it.”

Steve gives him a goodbye salute and the elevator ends the call.

*****

“I was thinking,” Bucky says an hour later.

Dressed in his old sweatpants and ratty Captain America t-shirt, he’s slouched against the arm of the couch. Curled tight against him, her head is tucked into his shoulder. She musters a tiny smile when she looks up. “Should I be nervous?”

“Hey,” he pouts. “It’s like you assume I’d have crazy ideas or something.”

“When the shoe fits,” she murmurs, poking him.

“Very true.” Placing a finger under her chin, he tips her face up and gives her an exaggerated kiss. “But it’s not that crazy. How about I make you supper?”

She perks up at the suggestion, her strained smile morphing into something real. “I’d love that.”

Scrambling from the couch, Bucky grabs her hands and lifts her up. “Come keep me company,” he urges, guiding her to the kitchen counter. Tugging a blanket tight around her shoulders, she shuffles with him and hops up on a barstool. Even through the layers of sadness, he sees a glimmer of happiness spark in her eyes, and honestly?

That’s all he wanted.

Digging through her drawer of kitchen towels, he finds a green polka-dot apron and ties it around his waist with a flourish. Pulling a hair tie off his wrist, he coaxes the strands into a messy bun, and then cracks his knuckles for good measure.

“You definitely look the part,” she compliments and Bucky winks.

“Alright, so this is a Bucky specialty,” he says confidentially. Rifling through the cabinets, he sets a skillet on the stovetop and starts assembling the ingredients: bread, butter, honey, peanut butter, and three bananas. “I make excellent cereal, exceptional frozen pizza, and this - fried peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches.”

She wrinkles her nose skeptically. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing.”

“Darlin’,” he says, reaching over and tapping her on the nose with a spatula, “where’s the trust?”

Finally. Finally, he gets the sound he wanted.

A small laugh escapes.

“You’re right. Sorry Buck,” she says, and when he sees the adoration in her eyes, he thinks his heart might explode.

Ten minutes later, he slides the gooey sandwich onto her plate and if she still looks skeptical, she gives him the benefit of the doubt. Taking a small bite, she chews for a moment and looks up in surprise.

“This is fantastic!” she exclaims. Bucky grins and takes a huge, messy bite; peanut butter drips onto the plate, a bit of honey gets stuck in his beard, and a few bananas tumble out.

“Got lots of hidden talents, just you wait and see.”

*****

One bottle of wine, and four sandwiches later, Bucky sees her stifling a yawn and proclaims himself exhausted and ready for bed.

“You go on up,” he tells her, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

While she makes her way upstairs, Bucky does a methodical loop around the small cabin. He checks, double checks, and then triple checks every single lock; every window and every door, even the fireplace flue, gets a thorough review. Once he’s satisfied, he flips the lights off and stands at the living room window, letting his eyes adjust. Feathery snowflakes are swirling again and as he glares into the moonlit night, he finds threats lurking everywhere.

The wind whistling through the trees beyond the front door. The shadows beside the weatherworn walls of the woodshed. The meandering flow of the icy creek down the slope. Before it felt peaceful and idyllic - now it seems harsh and sinister.

It infuriates him.

What does he have to do to have a normal god damn life with her? Why is there always something standing in their way?

“Whoever you are,” he mutters, “and whatever you want, you stay the fuck away from her.”

But the night keeps it’s dark secrets. With a vicious sneer, Bucky heads upstairs.

*****

Flickers of blue and orange dance merrily in the fireplace, casting a warm glow around the dark bedroom. Padding silently to the doorway, he stops.

And he drinks up the image hungrily, slotting it into his newly built box of favorite memories.

Huddled on the bed, her knees are drawn up to her chest and she gazes thoughtfully into the flames, her chin cupped in her palm. When he clears his throat, she looks over with the ghost of a smile.

“Hey, you,” Bucky says quietly. Walking to the foot of the bed, he waits nervously. For what, he doesn’t know, but it feels like the right thing to do.

Sitting up on her knees, she leans forward and skims her hands lightly up his chest, circling his broad shoulders and trailing down his arms. When her fingers brush over his hands, one a little sweaty, one always cold, she picks both of them up together and drops a kiss on his knuckles.

It nearly makes him cry.

Instead, he curls a wide hand behind her neck and finds her lips. The kiss is deep, his tongue rubbing gently against hers and it feels like heaven, sizzling hot and full of fire. God, her kiss could bring him to his knees.

But rather unexpectedly, she breaks away.

And Bucky feels his entire world tilt when she sheds her t-shirt, before eagerly meeting his lips again. Frozen in surprise, he feels her guiding his hands over her body, until his fingers are splayed across her bare skin and this time he breaks the kiss with a strangled groan.

“Are you sure?” he says hoarsely, staring intently while he struggles to keep his hands from roaming. “We don’t have to do anything, I don’t expect - “

“Please, Bucky” she interrupts softly, her cool hands skimming down his chest and he tightens his abs reflexively. “Please?”

There’s no way on earth, he’s telling her no.

Cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples, Bucky moves in for another kiss. Metal and human, his fingers circle her breasts, pinching and rolling the sensitive skin until she’s panting into his mouth and he drinks down the sweet sounds. He feels her bunching up the fabric of his shirt, wordlessly asking him to remove it, and he wants to feel her skin on his more than anything, but then his stupid head gets in the way again.

“My - my scars and everything, they’re not - it ain’t pretty,” he warns. “I know you saw them when you fixed me up, but this is different. I know that, you don’t have to - I mean, I can leave the shirt on, if you - you know, if you want.”

“No,” she says fiercely. “I want you, Bucky. All of you.”

The words are magic and Bucky sags with relief. Taking a deep breath, he crosses his arms and and he shakes only a little when he pulls the shirt off. It drops from numb fingers, and the web of thick scars looks surreal in the firelight, smooth and dark pink. He watches her eyes find the pattern carved into his skin, five ropes of raised tissue clearly outlining his attempt to claw the damn thing off in some past life.

Fucking Christ, he hates this part of himself, he really fucking does.

But of course, it doesn’t faze her.

Bringing her mouth to the joint of his shoulder, she presses her lips to his scars, and each line Bucky unwittingly scratched into his body, she memorizes with her tongue. On and on, her mouth moves against him and when she finally stops, the puckered skin feels warm for the first time in his entire life.

In disbelief, he stares at the unfiltered love in her face and he feels the faint burn of tears pricking his eyes.

How the hell did he ever got so god damn lucky?

With a rush, he slants his mouth back over hers, and pushes her back into the fluffy blankets. Crawling hurriedly over her, he settles between her legs, never breaking the kiss, while he reacquaints himself with everything. The tiny noises she makes, the feel of her body beneath him, the insistent way she rolls her hips against him. Every bit feels perfect and Bucky loses himself in her, time immaterial as he does his best to take her apart.

Because if she really does have to remember everything, well - Bucky's damn well going to give her something incredible to remember.

When her fingers trail down and hook in the waistband of his sweats, desire zings straight to his dick and he’s so close to just going with it, he really is, but god dammit, he’s a moron who’s unable to let himself be happy, so once again, he breaks the kiss with a reluctant hiss.

“Fucking hell. Wait, wait, before we do anything, I’m sorry, but I need - I have to tell you, I gotta be honest,” he rasps urgently, cursing himself in every language he knows. “There are - there were - there have been others. Through the years, I’ve been with other people. During - when I was with them. And then a couple others since I came back.”

Okay, maybe Steve Rogers isn’t a cockblock after all.

Maybe Bucky Barnes is his own god damn idiot cockblock.

Shame wells up and he tries to look away, but she immediately turns him back.

“Bucky, no. Don’t. I assumed. It was seventy years. Of course, there were other people,” she gives him a crooked little smile. “There were others for me too, sometimes. When I needed to - to cope. With the loneliness.”

There’s a wild flash of anger at her words, not directed at her, not even directed at the nameless lovers in her bed, but directed at the circumstances that put them on this path; they deserved better than this. But regardless, he needs her to understand something.

Something that shapes everything they are together.

“It was only ever you though,” he promises heatedly. “Deep down inside, it was only you. It’s only ever been you. I need you to know that.”

“I know,” she says, and she tugs him down for another toe-curling kiss.

This time, finally - he goes with it.

“I want to memorize every single inch of your body,” he murmurs. “Don’t want to ever forget again.”

So he starts at the top.

He kisses the curve of her shoulders, the delicate skin over her collarbone; he licks and sucks at her nipples until her skin feels chaffed from his rough beard. He pulls down her sleep shorts as he moves lower, fumbling awkwardly with his own sweats and tossing them both over his shoulder. At first he skips what he really wants, and instead searches out the fragile bones at her ankles, traces the smooth muscle in her calves, nips the skin behind her knee.

He holds himself back until he can’t take it any more.

And then he buries his face between her legs with a groan.

She tastes like heaven. Fuck, how did he live this long without having her on his tongue every single day? He feels her knees tip inward self-consciously and he gently pushes them open, keeping them pinned to the bed because he’s planning to stay here forever if she'll let him.

Looking down, she finds him watching intently. His dark hair tickles her thighs, his bright blue eyes burn her from the inside out, and her entire body begins to tingle. Fingers flex, toes curl, her breath comes fast and rough, and then Bucky sucks her clit hard and pushes two thick fingers into her.

Strung out and floating, she grab fistfuls of his hair and moans.

Bucky grips her leg tight and breaks away for a split second to speak.

“Come on honey, let go for me,” his voice is a low growl and she glances down to see him grinding his hips into the bed, searching for his own relief, and it’s that flex and roll, the way his muscles bunch so beautifully, that tips her over the edge. With a cry, she comes hard, clutching his face to her as the orgasm shivers through every cell of her body.

“Oh god,” she rasps, “oh god, Bucky.”

It thrills him beyond anything, the sound of his name like a prayer on her lips.

“So good,” he murmurs, still continuing the light strokes of his tongue. “You taste so fucking good.”

“That was - that was - god, Bucky” she mumbles, tripping over the words. Mouthing at the curve of her hip, he hums delightedly.

“Just getting started. Can you turn over for me?” he asks gently, and she blinks slowly, before her smile follows. Rolling to her stomach, she stretches languidly, wrapping her arms around a pillow. “I hope you have another one in you,” Bucky says lowly, giving her bottom a playful squeeze.

“I think I can manage,” she says, her voice muffled, and Bucky huffs a laugh. Planting a kiss at the base of her spine, he works his way north, his tongue tracing every bump along the way. Up, up, up, his lips cover the knobs up her back and his fingers follow, warm flesh and cool metal walking up her ribcage, until he reaches the back of her neck. Licking a slow line up, he mouths at the smooth skin behind her ear and her body twitches at the feel.

Nudging her legs open further, he shifts his hips and reaches a hand down to grip himself tight. Willing himself to stop shaking, he rubs himself between her legs, and finds her so wet and so slick from the orgasm he gave her just moments before. With his lips at her ear, he whispers his favorite words in a low rush.

“I love you,” he tells her, before he pushes himself inside.

At the feel, he goes utterly still.

It rattles him down to his god damn bones, this love he has for her - she can feel him trembling above her and she glances over her shoulder to meet his wide-eyed stare.

“I love you too,” she breathes, and her voice is the anchor he needs. Blinking rapidly, he dips down to kiss her cheek.

And he starts to move.

All Bucky knows in this moment, is her. The tight feel of her on his cock. The way her skin holds a hint of salt. The way she shudders every time he bottoms out. Every nuance of her body that he must have memorized in his past life.

Sliding his hand beneath her, his fingers find their way between her legs and he strokes her clit with every slow rock of his hips. Against the backdrop of dim light from the crackling fire, the room fills with the delicious sounds of pleasure, quiet grunts and the sharp catch of breath and the rustle of fabric as a body slides over silky sheets.

Dropping his mouth to the pulse at her neck, he sucks gently, insatiable for the thrumming feel of her heartbeat laid bare on his tongue. When he hears her breathing harder, sees her hands gripping the bedsheets tighter, feels her body beginning that faint tremble again, he abruptly changes his mind.

“Wait, please wait,” he begs, pulling himself carefully from her body and rolling her onto her back. Wide eyes meet his and time stops.

Spread out beneath him, she is sheer perfection.

Before she can speak, Bucky captures her lips again and shoves himself back into her.

And maybe it’s the strangest thing, but even without the memories to guide him, that muscle memory branded into his heart knows what to do. Just like their first time together, Bucky pulls her leg up and hitches it around his waist, thrusting into her harder. Unable to speak, unable to even look away, they watch each other, both devouring the small bits they find, in case god forbid, they ever lose each other again.

When her fingers curl around his neck, drawing him closer, he rests his forehead against hers.

“Bucky,” she whispers, his name catching in her throat, “Bucky.”

“I’m here,” he pants above her. Every thrust comes faster and his control begins to slip. “I’m here, I lo-love you, god I love you so fu-fucking much, never leaving you again, not ev-ever,” he grits out.

Anchoring his knees to the mattress, he slams himself into her again and again, hitting every nerve ending just right and suddenly she finds a universe of stars. Clutching his shoulders, she clings tight to him as her body tenses and she comes one more time.

Bucky stutters out a wrecked groan when he feels her body gripping him, and that familiar tingle hits his belly. Burying his face in her neck, he gives one last, hard thrust and then grinds himself against her, a strangled growl ripping from his throat when he follows her into that blissful oblivion.

Breathing hard, he keeps his eyes shut tight against her, willing his heart to slow. Against her neck, he sucks a wet line up her throat, back to her lips. Warm, lazy kisses ease them both back to reality and their racing hearts find a new rhythm.

One that beats together.

Muscle memory, in the purest sense.

When you cut to the heart of their story, there’s a simple truth: they’re so different from who they were together in 1944. Both have lived multiple lifetimes, filled with all the tragedy and heartbreak the world could dish out; it shaped each of them in ways the other has yet to discover.

But even though time has reshaped them into something new, there are some things that will never change.

Each touch buzzes with forgotten familiarity, the way she trails her fingers up his sweat-slick bicep, like something he remembers from a hazy dream; the way his breath catches with every slow thrust of his hips is a sound she could follow in her sleep; the way their bodies fall easily into a rhythm together, an unconscious muscle memory.

Bucky wants to run into the snowy night, wants to shout his happiness to the heavens. This right here, this is what the poets sing about. Every line, every song, every beat of a lovestruck heart. Here in her arms, he finds everything he ever hoped to have and in the fading firelight, he holds fast to the one truth he knows above all else.

Love like this, is worth any cost.

“You’re the love of my life,” he whispers, and she lays her cheek against his chest and kisses the sweaty skin above his heart.

Right there, Bucky knows he’s the luckiest man on Earth.

*****

The sun is just beginning to creep into the eastern horizon, but he’s been awake for hours.

Laying between her legs, his head is pillowed on her stomach. The sleep shirt she wears is tissue thin and satiny smooth; it smells just like her and keeps taking deep, cleansing breaths, trying to embed that scent into his memory. Bit creepy maybe, but oh well.

Dim rays of light begin to slip into the room, filtering through the tall pine trees flanking the window, and as the world begins to wake, she follows. Like a touch-starved kitten, Bucky nuzzles into her, wordlessly asking for affection and when she scratches her nails along his scalp, it feels so damn good, he gives a blissful little groan.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and she hums.

“I love you,” she mumbles sleepily and there’s a pleased rumble in his chest at her reply.

“Won’t ever get tired of hearing that,” he sighs happily.

“I’ll never get tired of saying it,” she answers with a yawn.

Still half asleep, he feels her relaxing, the comforting strokes of her fingers getting slower, heavier, and he knows she’s drifting back to sleep. Maybe he should let her, but there are these words he’s been practicing under his breath all night long and he’s getting anxious and he just wants to say them, before he loses the nerve.

“Darlin’?” he asks quietly, folding his hands across her chest and resting his chin on them.

“Hmmm?” she says, her voice a bit slurry as she opens her eyes. Bucky fleetingly thinks every bit of light in the world must be concentrated on her, because she’s the only thing he can see.

Heart racing, he tamps down the nervousness and wets his lips. He wants to do this right, wants to make sure it’s perfect.

“Would you do something for me?” he says carefully, choosing those words, borrowing that phrase he gave her back in 1944 and god, he hopes he’s returning them in the way she remembers.

At first, she doesn’t catch it, simply running her fingers down his arm, but her words are so naturally reminiscent of the past.

“I’d do anything for you.” Bucky says nothing, simply waiting. She’s confused by his silence, until he tilts his head and a slow smile curves his lips. Her eyes widen and she blinks slowly. “Bucky -“

The staccato thrum of her heartbeat is suddenly flying against his hands and his blue eyes are so bright, overflowing with emotion when he completes the question.

“Would you marry me?”

Time, normally an unending commodity, freezes. They stare at each other, Bucky holding his breath as he waits, desperate for the same answer she gave him in 1945, knowing it’s a risk, he’s taking a huge leap here, but unable to do anything except go for it.

“I want to marry you Bucky, I do, I want - I want it so - god, I want it so much. You’re all I ever - this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted - “

Blowing out a huge breath, Bucky starts to laugh. Bouncing up, he cuts her off, peppering her face with happy kisses, sloppy wet trails down her forehead, over her cheeks, on her nose, up her neck. Every inch of skin he can find he marks with excited lips.

“Shit, thank god, ugh thank god! I mean it this time, I’m getting you that ring. Soon as I get back to New York I’ll get it, you come with me, we’ll pick it out together, anything you want. Hell, I got decades of back-pay from the army, and I mean, I hate to brag, but I’m sorta rich now.”

“Bucky -“

“Whatever you want for a wedding, I’m game. If you want something big, that’s great. Something small, even better. Only thing I need is to have the team there, and Steve’ll flat out murder me if he doesn’t get to stand up with us, he’s a real bitch for attention sometimes.”

“Bucky -“

“And we can live wherever you want, doesn’t matter to me. I’d love to just stay here if that’s okay, if you don’t mind, I mean it really feels like home and I ain’t had one of those for so damn long, but if you wanna live in New York or hell, anywhere, I can make it work, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Bucky, I’m - “

“And I’m done with work, that’s it,” he laughs exuberantly “Stark’ll be pissed, he just made me this new arm, but I don’t fuckin’ care, I got you now, I’m staying put unless they get really desperate and -“

“Bucky, stop!”

The panic in her voice is like a wave of ice water. It shuts him down instantly. Silence hangs heavy in the room before he blows out a long breath.

“Shit,” he says softly, embarrassment pinking his cheeks. “Dammit, that was - was that too much? M’sorry, I got carried away, I just - shit, I’m sorry.”

Sitting up on her knees to face him, she reaches up and tucks his messy hair behind his ears and cups his flushed face in her palms. “No, it wasn’t too much, it was - it was perfect, that’s not it.”

“Okay. Okay, so - was it something else I said?”

She says nothing, but instead she searches his face, her eyes slowly roaming over every feature and Bucky thinks for a moment that she’s memorizing him. Licking her lips, she rubs her thumbs lightly over his sharp cheekbones and she swallows hard.

“Shit,” she says under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck.”

“Hey now, thought I was the one with the potty mouth here,” he jokes weakly. She doesn’t crack a smile and Bucky feels his stomach swoop uncertainly. “Darlin’, what - what’s the matter?”

Still, she says nothing. Longing is so heartbreakingly clear in her face and Bucky can’t reconcile it. Suddenly, she surges forward, pressing her lips to his and he catches her, folding her up in his arms. She kisses him desperately, twining her arms around his neck and Bucky still has no idea what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. All he wants, is to soothe whatever terrible thought is upsetting her, because this is his job, this is what he does.

He loves her, no matter what.

When she finally breaks the kiss, he tries to smile. “What was that for?”

Breathing hard, she closes her eyes.

“Just in case.”

With those words, she extricates herself from his arms and climbs from the bed. Walking to the fireplace, she slots her fingers into a tiny groove on the bottom of the third stone above the mantle. It takes no more than a gentle tug, and the stone comes away easily. Setting it carefully on the floor, she reaches into the black space it reveals.

Another hiding spot.

Whatever she collects, she stares at it for a full minute, before clasping it to her chest. Turning slowly, fearful eyes lock on his face and for a fleeting moment, Bucky conjures the morbid image of someone walking to their own execution. Climbing back onto the bed, she sits back on her heels and he sees her clutching a small silver box.

“I want to marry you Bucky Barnes. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, because I’ve loved you every single day since the moment we met, and I hope - I need you to know that.”

“I know, honey,” he says in absolute confusion.

“You’re the love of my life. Please remember that,” she whispers, and she sets the silver box on the bed. The lock has five numbers, and she spins each dial until it pops open. Fingers shaking, she picks up the small piece of fabric inside and holds it out for him to see.

It’s the strangest thing.

In her hand, is a ripped piece of faded blue cloth, with a familiar gray patch sewn into it; smudgy rust-red splotches color the edges like fingerprints.

Wings. Gray wings. Nostalgically familiar, because back in the war, each of the Howling Commandos wore one on their left sleeve, a mirror image tribute to the one painted on Steve’s helmet.

Including Bucky. Who wore one on the left sleeve of his coat.

The left sleeve of his blue coat.

Now, he stares uncomprehendingly at the piece of cloth. “What - “ he starts, but his voice fades. Small shivers are running through her body as she watches him, her face filled with dread. Taking a shaky breath, she whispers.

“There was one other time we met.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #altnl

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years ago

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Echo pt1

A very happy birthday to Kat @kthomas325 I hope you enjoy this little Modern/fantasy tale.

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

---

Echo part 1

The move had been hectic. Boxes everywhere stacked high in her office like some sort of interactive Tetris game. When they got the word that they were to relocate and join forces with another team she had hoped for a bit more time. Still, missions to be undertaken at a moment’s notice with frustratingly tight time frames that had required superhuman capabilities to accomplish were nothing new to her. Thank god she could handle high levels of stress in the workplace because otherwise, she was a likely candidate to be sent off to the looney farm.

Pretty much all of her team had already managed to settle in, she was the last. The trouble with being a partly freelance brain for hire was you tended to get sent tasks on the side that took up valuable time. This is exactly what happened the day she received the orders to move.

It had been a normal boring day pouring over the latest data from some tests on the guys that had just come back from overseas and her internal email pinged.

Notice for the attention of Dr K response required ASAP

If she hadn’t been bored out of her proverbial tree, she might have groaned a little more when she saw the familiar sender’s address. It wouldn’t be the first time her friend in the Met had abused his powers of friendship in calling for her help, but these little cases of his had a way of snowballing.

Clicking the attachment on the email her eyes scanned the words like a barcode. It was meticulous and read exactly as she was expecting it too, except for one little detail.

Undetectable traces of blood.

She reread it to make sure she hadn’t missed something before reaching for her Cell phone and searching her contacts. Fingers gliding over the screen she dialled the number for her friend. The line didn’t even manage to ring two times before it was answered a bright voice on the other end speaking.

“That was faster than I thought. Slow news day or were you just that desperate to speak to me?” There was the sound of rustling papers in the background which told her she wasn’t the only one burning the midnight oil.

“Right the first time. You sent me the complete report, right?” She asked in a way that sounded like she was accusing him of trying to pull a bad practical joke on her. Her brow creased as she looked again at the text illuminated on her monitor.

“After the lecture you gave me last time where you chewed me out over lack of information? Course I sent it all.” His adamant reply just seemed to add to the rising tension she felt.

“What does it mean where you wrote the bodies had no traces of blood? You mean at the scene or…”

“Scene and autopsy. I mean there was nothing. Not a damn drop. Bodies were fresh as far as the guys in the coroner’s office could tell. They weren’t marked in any way and yet they were as empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.” He chuckled at his own bad joke.

“And that was seriously it? Nothing else?” She clicked at the attachments but they were only the basic preliminary photos the police took of the scene.

“Why are you asking like it’s obvious there should be?”

“Because this is all like a bad dream.” It was strange, she was logical and rational to the point of being accused of being almost robotic at times. And here she was looking at something that probably has a totally scientific explanation for it, feeling like she was being targeted. Something that was lying in the back of her mind dormant was setting off alarms.

“… Hey. Are you ok there? You know I hate it when you go quiet.” She had zoned out and the concern in the man’s voice as he spoke reminded her of the fact he was still on the line.

“Yeah. Let me know the minute you find anything else. And I want to see the full report from the medical examiner, toxicology and photos.” She knew he was making a note on something because she heard him cuss under his breath about how he could never find a pen when he needed one.

“So, you’re taking the case?”

“What do you think?”

Hanging up the phone the silence that was once comforting in her office was suddenly oppressive. The shadows felt like they were cold and creeping, prowling around her. It had been a long time since she had felt this. Getting up from behind her desk she went in search of coffee to try to distract herself with a warm drink.

There was a ringing in her ears that was low like a buzz from a hive. Her head started to pound behind her eyes at the contrast between the soft lighting in her office and the phosphorescent lighting in the building’s corridors that was harsh and bright. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to acclimatise herself as she walked to the break room.

Time had no place here, at least not the kind of time that other realms had. The twin suns had set long ago allowing the triple moons to rise high into the indigo velvet sky. The crimson rock gleamed deep and dark with a foreboding subliminal idea that it was rich with blood. The rocks here always looked fluid; the veins of magical deposits threaded their way through them giving the land underfoot a pulse.

Moving swiftly with soundless ease a single figure clad in a white cloak slipped out of a dense tree line and continued forward to a crossroads. The marker there pointed them in the direction of tonight’s meeting place, a symbol visible only to those who carried the sigil to reveal it. After following its direction for a time, a fracture in the bedrock of the Mesa that ran along the border.

The veins in the deep red rock glowed as the figure entered illuminating their journey into the flat-topped hill better than any lantern. Voices began to bounce around them, the glow becoming brighter before the walls of the narrow pathway disappeared.

A void in the rock created a natural cathedral. The stone couldn’t have followed a more structured path if it had been carved by hand. The ceiling was vaulted and appeared almost black as it was so far away from them. In the centre of this space sat the heads of some of the largest households in the known lands. With the arrival of the figure in white that made six.

“You kept us waiting.” A strong imperial voice from a black-haired man carried over the group setting a heavy silence in the air. His red-trimmed robes wrapped around his figure as it sat on a rock by the fire in the same way he would perch on his own throne.

“My apologies. It took slightly longer than planned to leave the castle.” The cloaked figure made a theatrical bow after speaking.

“You weren’t followed?” The man sitting to the left of the regal one had a slightly less polished appearance. His sandy brown hair looked a little frazzled, no doubt a result of running their fingers through it in moments of agitation as was their habit.

The cloaked figure was more than aware of the eyes of the gathering being focused on them but they showed no sign of reacting to it.

“Naturally. If I hadn’t, I would have been disappointed. But I was able to give them the slip, otherwise I would not be here at all.”

“What is the news?” A rather impatient man sporting a different style of dress and an eye patch interjected. The loose-fitting clothing was clearly easier to move around in which allowed for a better range of motion in a fight. Something the man was renowned for in the realms. The wild chestnut brown hair on his head seemed to reflect the spark of energy in his singular blue eye.

“The throne remains unchallenged. In fact, it would appear that the dear Queen is in possession of new strength.”

“What?” Their collective outcry reverberated for a moment before falling flat again.

“How could she get that?” One of the younger men gathered grumbled his question. His emerald eyes flashed for a moment with worry.

“I can only think of one way in which she might find such a thing now. With supplies into the land limited from each of ours…” The silver-haired Lord produced a ledger from inside one of his pockets and began talking as he flicked through the pages checking details of something written in an almost indecipherable font.

“She’s found a fault line.” The black-haired Lord leaned back elegantly, an amused wicked smile on his face and his crimson eyes flashed. He looked entertained but the atmosphere around him told a different tale.

“But there were no fault lines. She searched before and turned up empty it was why she arranged for trade negotiations to start with.” The concerned Lord to his left dragged his hand through his hair leaving it to settle on his neck. He had every right to be worried as they all were but it was his land that bordered closer to the Queen.

“What we gain from our harvesting in our own territory is always greater than what we would gain by trade. We are attuned to the land after all.” The young lord with emerald eyes tossed out his words factually with a sigh.

“Yes, but for her to gain such a noticeable increase that is should be sensed by others…” a crystal tipped quill scratched over a page on the notebook the ink appeared magically on the paper filling the space quickly making it appear almost completely black.

“She isn’t just feeding.”

“Keep a close eye on her. Depending on what you find our plans may change.”

“Of course.” The figure in the white cloak bowed once more before turning on heel and leaving as they had come.

No one said this was going to be easy. They had all known what they were signing up for, but the development of the Queen’s new hunting ground after the loss of the King was not one they could have foreseen.

---

After unlocking her front door, she pushed it open with her hip before entering with a large box in her arms and closed it with her foot. The box made a heavy thud sound on the coffee table the files, documents and other office records had a layer of dust on top of them that she failed to remove before tossing them in and bringing them back with her.

The dates on the files were all from around nearly 30 years ago. It had been a little shocking how many there were given the few cases there had been but that is what happens when several governing bodies investigate at once. Each department has its own methods and documents them eventually you have them accumulated together by one department into a file that could be used in court if you were at a point of prosecution for the offence.

She wasn’t interested in combined facts abbreviated for a jury and judge she wanted complete records, which was how she came to raid the archives on-site before leaving work. Dumping her bag next to the box she went straight into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboards there looking for the ground coffee.

The kitchen was a room every house had but here it seemed a little bit of a waste. She wasn’t home enough to cook meals so there was typically next to no food in the place. There was a microwave and coffeemaker on the countertop and that was all. The rest of the property suffered the same neglected fate. There were enough furnishings to be comfortable but it was not what you could call a warm environment.

This was what happens when you spend more time at work than you do at home. She sighed a little as she listened to the water boil in the coffee maker. The buzzing in her head hadn’t gone away and had brought with it a tingling sensation she could feel in her bones.

She glanced up and caught sight of herself in the reflection of the window. Something about it looked different but she couldn’t place it. A nagging feeling of something she had missed was gnawing at the back of her mind. Abandoning the coffee maker, she went over and grabbed a file hoping that the answer she wanted was somewhere in all this mess.

---

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thesethingsofours · 5 years ago

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Take Your Time

During lockdown, our individual perspectives of time were shaken. If time is subjective, what do we do with it?

Time and space are modes by which we think not conditions in which we live. — Albert Einstein.

The defining feature of work as a commercial lawyer is not the suit, the intellectual discussion, the clients, the office politics, or the sloshing around of money. It’s something they never show in Suits or The Good Fight: the stopwatch. On every lawyer’s computer, a piece of software (unironically named Carpe Diem) provides rolling timers to be clicked on and off when moving from one task to another. Every moment is accounted for.

At the end of each day, the minutes and hours are shovelled into a database, where the lawyer writes a detailed narrative for every block of time. The information is then used to build an accurate bill for the clients and to assess how hard each lawyer is working. In an industry where work is charged for by the hour, every minute has an exact, predetermined value; both financially, and how each lawyer is viewed as an employee. Time is quite literally money.

As a lawyer, sometimes, I wished the clock would speed up, desperate for my hours to increase towards my monthly billing target. On other occasions, it whizzed past unstoppably as I strained to meet an imminent deadline or demonstrate my efficiency. Time was rarely a neutral experience. Recording every minute of every day for analysis by my superiors made me extremely sensitive to how I perceived time. Maintaining a balanced temporal mindset in these conditions was a battle; a battle against time — the constantly conspicuous overlord I could never overcome.

Until I did. Sick of stopwatches, after four years I left to follow my passions of photography and writing. Now, when I am freely roaming the streets photographing a new city or pressing pen to paper, I typically lose all concern for time. It still requires my consideration — to finish photographing before nightfall, or ensure I still eat at reasonable intervals in the day — but I am no longer forced to attribute an arbitrary numerical value to it, financial or otherwise. I acknowledge it exists but tend not to think about it. In doing so, my levels of day-to-day contentment have dramatically increased.

In the lockdown spring, this sensitivity towards time was laid bare for all of us — how it passes through us in wildly different ways, how we scrabble for a method to gauge it, and the enormous effect it can have on our emotions. But what can we do about it?

I barely know what day it is. — Everyone, 2020

Through every lockdown conversation, the above sentiment became a running joke. Days were long, weeks were short, or vice versa. For some, April went extremely quickly, while for others, it felt like an age. In any case, the unifying feature was a sudden discombobulation in the way we perceived time. Under the pandemic’s grasp, our familiar time-markers disintegrated, replaced by an erratic Covid-clock. Outside of Italy, you may have followed how many weeks behind the boot-shaped island your country was from getting a kicking (“Two weeks ’til we reach 1500 deaths a day”). Perhaps your measurement was a lament of absent activities (“This would have been our third day in Istanbul”; “Next Saturday would have been our wedding day”). Alternatively, you may have watched the kilos emerge around your waist like tree rings as you ate yourself towards comfort.

No matter how you compiled your days, the confines of our own, limited perception mean we construct time on the basis of both the individual — how it feels, and the collective — the metronomic hands of the clock. The clock is physics-driven — an objectively agreed approximation of an extremely strenuous concept, variously comprising of the big bang, Einstein, gravity, the speed of light, black holes, entropy, the multiverse and Back to the Future. This idea of time and its relativity to space is difficult to get one’s head around. Perhaps it’s so difficult because arguably, both spiritually and scientifically, time doesn’t exist at all. Instead, there are only sequential events and tangible atomic changes, which we consciously witness and translate into “time”. In that case, “time” is a primitive form of expression — a language for something we have waived our need to fundamentally understand.

Given the challenge of understanding time on that level, most of us simply live based on Earth’s rotation. Other than for a handful of space-travellers, whose time has theoretically bent and slowed, we experience time only as far as it visibly appears in our day-to-day lives: day turns to night, trees grow and shed leaves, skin loosens from taught to wrinkly (unless you’re Rob Lowe). For this reason, we speak of time in the comprehensible terms of three-dimensional, physical space — “the party is after lunch”; “I’ll be there in 10 minutes”. Even then, language and culture have a meaningful effect on how we perceive that spatial construct. Do you characterise time in terms of volume, like the Spaniards (“a full day”); or distance, like the Swedes (“a long day”); or dispense with the linguistic concept entirely, like the Amazonian Amondawa tribe?

Time as a Feeling

Regardless of our rudimentary attempts to describe time, how it feels remains unique to each of us. Our memories, emotions, habits; body and brain function all play a role in how we perceive it. The feeling of minutes, say, from waiting for a train; hours, from hunger between meals; days, from waking up every morning; months (I daresay) from menstrual cycles; or years, from marking birthdays. In any given moment, a near-innate, biological “pacemaker” and measuring tools honed from our experiences combine to determine how long or short a period of time feels. These sensitive mechanics make our time perception deeply susceptible to external forces:

Time perception, just like vision, is a construction of the brain and is shockingly easy to manipulate experimentally… as subject to illusion as the sense of color is.

Brain Time, David M Egelman, 2009

To this end, it is well understood that when the brain processes a large amount of information in a short period, such as absorbing a new experience or enduring a traumatic event, we later recall time as having passed more slowly. As children, for whom everything is new, a two-week summer holiday feels endless. For adults, such a break can feel achingly short.

That said, these psychological mechanisms are still subject to each individual’s unique personality and circumstances. For example, loneliness has proved to be a significant factor in slowing people’s sense of time during lockdown, while a greater use of digital devices is likely to have sped it up.

In the latter case, technology disrupts our internal pacemaker and increases our stress levels: if you have an hour to complete a task and it feels like 50 minutes, you’re subconsciously pressurising yourself to do things 20% faster. Even without the ubiquity of digital clocks in the corner of every eye, it stands to reason that our Pavlovian response to bombardment by notifications changes how we digest time. And that’s before you consider how much we outsource memory (a crucial aspect of time perception) to our phones, without understanding the cognitive consequences.

Between Zoom calls, smartphone scrolling, working on a laptop, binging Netflix, repetitive tasks, adaptation to new circumstances and unusual social occurrences, any given lockdown day was liable to speed up or slow down by the hour; further assembling into weeks, which would slip through our fingers or linger indefinitely. Disorientating, yes, but also a valuable reminder that our perception of time is subjective, and therefore something we have a degree of control over.

Take Your Time

While compliance with the clock helps us interact with others and make a living, we should be wary of allowing it too great an influence over how we enjoy or endure our experiences. Frustration from waiting, pressure from deadlines, habitually arriving late or early — all these arise from the way we process time. Finding ways to free yourself from its yoke can be useful, not only in an uncertain era where another challenging lockdown might be just around the corner, but also as we return to more conventional ways of living. A warped perception of time — whether too fast or slow — has been linked to stress, anxiety and depression. Insulating yourself from a fluctuating perception of time serves towards a consistent mental state.

In practical terms, it helps to do any fulfilling or challenging activity with no incantation of time attached: distance yourself from technology, wander aimlessly outdoors, read from a page rather than a screen, thin out your schedule, study something new, write down your thoughts. When you cannot control your activities, mindfulness has been shown to help. Focussing on the present moment hypothetically minimises stimulation of your internal pacemaker; slowing your sense of time and allowing you to relax into whatever you find yourself doing.

Whatever your circumstances or interests, the key is to take your time, to the fullest extent possible. Take life at your own pace, whatever that might be. Avoid the agitation of scoring life based on time achieved or missed. Wind your own clock and be sensitive to what makes it tick. As an ex-stopwatch jockey, I attest to its benefits.

youtube

#wellness #coronavirus #Mindfulness #health #lifestyle #time

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jarienn972 · 8 years ago

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Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter Five

Since I finally managed to get Chapter Four posted (after forgetting all about Tumblr when I was updating earlier this month), I now give you Chapter Five! In this installment, Emma and Killian are finally rescued from the mountain cabin and find some allies, but they’ve got a long way to go before they’ll be able to get home.

I’m taking a guess here that one of @killian-whump ‘s tags might be #bested by medicinal tea...? You’ll see what I mean...

AO3 FF.net Tumblr: Chap One Chap Two Chap Three Chap Four

Emma had been prepared for a barrage of questions as the SUV snaked its was down the twisting path toward Highway 60. Most of the terrain they covered barely met the definition of a road, some merely parallel ruts through the dirt and there were a few places where flash flooding created by the earlier intense storm had washed away significant portions of the gravel leaving only mud in its wake just as the Ranger had warned. Killian had lost consciousness about halfway, blacking out when the intense pain of being jostled around finally became too much. She tried as best she could to hold tightly to him while her brain worked to come up with answers to those inevitable questions, struggling to think up with something that would actually made sense – especially when the reality of the situation was far too fantastical to divulge.

"Can I ask you a question?" The first question finally came after they'd traversed the arroyo and made a right turn onto an unpaved service road. "That summit trail isn't the most accessible out here and honestly, neither of you look like you're dressed for a morning hike so what were you doing out there?"

"We weren't out there by choice," Emma replied rather cryptically, trying to be honest without sounding like she'd just escaped an asylum. "We got dumped out there – that's why I'm so concerned that the person who stabbed my husband might still be looking for us. We don't know if we managed to get away…"

"So, you got abducted and taken out to an isolated trail in the middle of a National Forest by someone who simply dropped you out in the wilderness, but left you armed? I mean, I'm assuming that you know how to handle that weapon as evidenced by our blown apart padlock, yet you seem really afraid of this person."

"It's a long story, Ranger Littlecreek, but let's just say that he caught us off guard once and I can't allow that to happen again."

"Any idea why this person targeted you and your husband in the first place?"

"I don't really know," she fibbed, adding a deep, contemplative sigh in attempt to better sell it. "Maybe it had something to do with us taking down his partner or maybe he just has something against the Sheriff's department…"

"Sheriff's department?" now she had the poor Ranger completely baffled.

"I'm sorry – I guess I didn't introduce myself earlier. My name is Emma Jones. I'm Sheriff of the town of Storybrooke, Maine. My husband, Killian, serves officially as my deputy."

"You're a long way from home, Sheriff… What the hell are you doing in Arizona?"

"I wish I knew," she sighed, trying to come up with a response as she ran her fingers through Killian's dark, sweat dampened hair as his head rested against her chest. She would have tugged off the blanket, but she wasn't ready to deal with inquiries about her husband's disability so she'd left him covered up and now he was drenched in his own perspiration even with the SUV's air conditioning running.

"Your husband – he's not looking too good," the Ranger stated, able to see his passenger's slumping form in his rearview mirror. "How did he get stabbed?"

"We were fighting with this guy and his partner – a woman – who were making a scene in the middle of town. I had the woman nearly in custody and Killian was gaining the upper hand on the man until something distracted him. The guy pulled out a knife and stabbed him and when I went over to try to help Killian, the next thing I knew, we woke up out here. No idea how we got here…"

"That has got to be the strangest story I've ever heard," Ranger Littlecreek laughed, almost believing her just out of the sheer ridiculousness of her tale.

"Imagine living it," Emma retorted a little defensively as she couldn't be sure if he was mocking her or if he believed what she'd explained. "I can't explain it any other way…"

"Well, it sure sounds like you've had one hack of a day. Do you think you were drugged or something?"

"One heck of a day is certainly the polite way to put it…" She responded snidely as she clutched her husband's torso closer to her as the SUV maneuvered around a large pothole. "I don't think we were drugged but we were incapacitated somehow."

"Wow – well, as soon as we reach the highway, I'll pull over for a minute and let Grandmother know we're coming to her for help."

"Grandmother?" Now Emma was confused.

"Yes – that Navajo herbalist happens to be my grandmother. She's adapted some of the traditional methods in her work as a healer and just to let you know, she's also a Seer. You can thank her for sending me out to that way station today. She insisted that someone would be up there in need of assistance."

"So, wait – you're telling me that your grandmother knew that we'd be up at that way station?" Now it was Emma who'd become skeptical of a difficult to believe story.

"She insisted I had to head up to the Summit Trail – told me she'd had a vision that someone would be in danger – and sure enough, I find the two of you."

"I think I like your grandmother already," she responded with a tepid smile. "I just hope she'll be able to help Killian…"

They reached the town of Apache Junction a few minutes later and not long after, Ranger Littlecreek made the turn west onto Highway 60 toward the Phoenix metroplex. Just seeing the city's name on the mileage marker had her stomach in knots. There undeniably weren't many pleasant memories from this place...

Neal abandoning her to face nearly a year in jail for his stolen goods.

Giving birth to the son she'd been forced to then give away.

She'd been so young and so stupid, promising herself she'd never return to this cursed city – yet here she was. She could feel her own hands trembling as she clutched her wounded husband's shoulders. The reaction was mostly involuntary as so many miserable memories flooded her mind, but she had to prove she was stronger – had to push away the past because the last thing she wanted Killian to see right now was her weakness. She didn't dare let him see past those painful cracks in her façade because he needed her to be strong for both of them. Couldn't let him get a glimpse of the insecurity below – the fear of failure and the helplessness she felt at not being able to heal him.

For someone who'd spent the majority of her life not even knowing about magic, she sure felt lost without it.

Killian had barely stirred since they reached the paved roads. She knew he was breathing – she held him so tightly she could feel every inhale and exhale, gradually becoming increasingly labored. Her fingers fanned out across his chest, comforted by the pulsation of his heart. Part of her being wanted to tell Ranger Littlecreek she'd changed her mind and wanted Killian taken to the nearest Emergency room, but uncertainty had her in its grip. There was a dangerous man who might be stalking them - a man who was probably already visiting every hospital in the area searching for a gravely wounded one-handed man from out of town traveling with a blonde woman. She didn't dare admit how much this unknown man had her spooked, but then maybe it wasn't just him she was so afraid of…

She wished that she knew more about this mysterious adversary and his magical partner who'd started all of this mess in the first place, hoping that her family back home had been able to get some answers. She needed to contact them as soon as Killian was stable, provided her cell battery wasn't already dead. It wasn't as though she'd had the foresight to grab a charging cable before getting drawn into yet another villain showdown in the middle of Main Street.

"We're almost there," the Ranger announced. "I'm going to pull off up here in this shopping center and let her know we're on the way. It's only a few more miles – on the other side of Apache Junction just on the outskirts of Mesa." As stated, he turned into the parking lot of a large grocery store, pulling into a space nearest to the highway next to what must have been a long abandoned gas station. He put the SUV in Park but left the engine running as he stepped out of the vehicle to place the call, keeping the air conditioner running as the outside temperature here in the valley was several degrees higher than the mountains. She wasn't sure if he'd climbed out to get privacy as she could still hear the majority of his side of the conversation. "It's Carlos… Yes, Grandmother, you were right… Yes, but it was a couple. The husband is hurt but the wife is afraid to go to a hospital right now… I'll try to explain later, but it's a stab wound – looks pretty bad… I'm not sure… No – he's barely conscious right now… Okay, we'll be there in a few minutes. Hopefully we won't hit all of the lights red on Superstition… No, Baseline isn't usually any better… See you soon, Grandmother."

Ranger Littlecreek tucked his phone away into the shirt pocket of his uniform as he returned to the driver's seat, wasting little time finding an opening in traffic to get back onto the busy highway.

"Will she be able to help us?" Emma asked nervously.

"She's been waiting for me to call and yes, she'll do what she can to help. She's starting to prepare her medicinal concoctions as we speak."

"We really appreciate this, Ranger Littlecreek," Emma insisted. "I honestly don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come along…"

"I don't usually get a lot of excitement in my job and it certainly isn't every day that I stumble onto a predicament like yours. It's typically tourists who wandered off the trails and got lost or have sprained an ankle or things like that. You are a total enigma and as strange as this may sound, I'm intrigued by the mystery. I was the moment Grandmother sent me up to that trail…"

"Honestly, there are times that I'd give just about anything for a little less excitement…" Emma lamented.

"I wouldn't have thought that life would be so exciting back in Maine. Not a place I hear much about…"

"For a small town, things are always happening that keep us quite busy. We just try to do our best to keep the mess contained within our town limits – for everyone's good."

"Sounds like quite the interesting little town," the Ranger chuckled. "Maybe I'll have to come visit some day?"

"It's not exactly on most tourist maps. You'd probably find it to be a little boring. Just a lot of small town folks and trees – lots and lots of trees…"

Fifteen minutes and what felt like a thousand traffic lights later, Ranger Littlecreek turned into an older mobile home park somewhere near the Mesa city limits. The place wasn't run down by any means but it was abundantly clear that this was an impoverished neighborhood. They made a few zigzagging turns through the narrow streets before the Ranger pulled into the carport next to a weather-beaten single wide home that had at one time been a sunny saffron yellow but now was faded to the point it was more of a dull, pale mustard hue.

"Hang here for a moment," he instructed as he climbed out of the SUV leaving the engine running. "I'll be right back." He sprinted up the cinder block steps and vanished inside the already wide open doorway while Emma tried to wake Killian. Gently pushing him upright, she listened to him groaning at the discomfort the change of position brought. He wasn't fully conscious when his eyes flickered open but he attempted to focus on his wife's face even though it was clear that the poor pirate was struggling not to pass out again.

"You've got to wake up," she urged him. "We're going to have to get you inside…" She unbuckled his seatbelt as he slumped toward the door which allowed her to pull her right hand free - just as her foot nudged the heap of multi colored leather and Killian's blood-stained clothing on the floorboard allowing a glint of steel hook to peek out. Cursing, she speedily scooped up the pile, untangled her own red jacket and tugged it on over what was left of her blouse, tucking Killian's hook away into a pocket as best she could before anyone saw it.

The Ranger returned seconds later followed by a petite elderly woman whose nearly hip length snow white hair was plaited into a neat braid. Her ruddy skin was as weathered as the siding on her home but her stance was solid and her deep burnt umber eyes were warm and welcoming. She studied the couple for a moment from the bottom step, then barked out her instructions.

"If the man is able to walk, help him to the corner bedroom. If not, call Joseph to help you carry him," she ordered. Ranger Littlecreek carefully tugged open the rear door of his vehicle, mindful that his semi-conscious passenger might tumble out if he wasn't paying full attention.

"Is he awake?" Littlecreek asked Emma, eyeing her with a note of confusion that she was now sporting a leather jacket in 85 degree Fahrenheit heat.

"Partially," she answered him, ignoring the odd look he'd just given her as she gently nudged her husband's shoulder. "Killian? How are you holding up?"

Groggy, yet alert enough to reply, he managed to mumble "I'm okay… Just very tired, Love…"

"I know. Think you'll be able to walk a bit to get inside of the house? This woman is going to try to help you…" He didn't verbalize a response this time, but a slight nod indicated he was going to try. "Okay – hang on a minute… Let me come around to your side…" Ranger Littlecreek took a step back, allowing room for Emma as she clambered out of the back seat and made her way to the passenger side. She leaned in toward her husband and took hold of his left arm just above his elbow as he turned toward her, bracing his hand against the doorframe. He lowered his feet to the gravel driveway as the blanket slipped off his shoulders, falling onto the seat. "Hang on to me…" Emma insisted, keeping her green eyes locked onto his as she guided him to his feet, unconcerned that the fallen blanket now meant that Ranger Littlecreek and his grandmother would now be able to see Killian's shortened, leather brace-clad left forearm.

Killian nearly toppled over as balance failed him, but his wife immediately caught him and wrapped his left arm around her shoulder while the Ranger moved to the pirate's right side to provide some additional support, momentarily sidetracked as he spotted exactly what the blanket had been concealing. Littlecreek didn't comment, but it was clear that he was surprised that this wounded man he'd been told was a Sheriff's deputy was missing his left hand. He almost opened his mouth to ask, but decided to hold his tongue as he didn't want any questions to sound offensive but that didn't stop him from wondering if the man's disability had anything to do with his injuries or whether it was a factor in why the woman had refused to go to a hospital.

He'd barely known this couple for an hour but their story was growing more intriguing by the minute. He just had a gut feeling that discovering the real story was going to be an elusive challenge.

Killian was near collapse by the time Emma and the uniformed man they'd just met helped him to the small bedroom at the end of the mobile home's short hallway. The room was small, barely wide enough to hold the full-sized bed, two inexpensive white particle board nightstands and a five drawer matching dresser so there was little room to maneuver. They'd had to turn sideways to get through the doorway, Emma entering the room first so that Killian's back would be toward the bed but as she tried to turn around in the tight confines, Killian's arm slipped from her shoulder, dropping her husband unceremoniously onto the bed despite the Ranger's attempt to slow gravity's pull. Killian didn't even really care at this point as he was far too fatigued and in too much pain to complain. He also made no attempt to conceal his disabled arm anymore either, shifting his hips so he could raise his feet up onto the bed while trying not to slip back into unconsciousness – at least not yet.

And he barely noticed when the white-haired woman entered the room and began doling out orders once again.

"Carlos – go get the kettle from the stove and a mug from the cupboard. And tell Joseph to bring me my medicine box."

"Of course, Grandmother," the Ranger replied, politely bowing out of the tiny bedroom while the petite woman worked her way around Emma to attend to her unscheduled patient. Every one of her motions were swift and deliberate as she immediately assessed the wound, causing Killian to flinch and mutter something unintelligible under his breath as she removed Emma's bandaging – the tape taking a layer of tender skin and likely a few dark hairs with it. Emma couldn't read the elder woman's expressions as she examined the irritated skin around the puncture, tenderly pressing her fingertips to the surrounding flesh.

"How long ago did this occur?" she asked Emma who had made her way to the other side of the bed and climbed up next to her husband, her right hand entwined with his and her left resting upon his shoulder.

"This morning – around 9AM, I guess, but that was in our time zone… I don't really know exactly. It was hard to keep track of time when we were wandering the mountainside, then waiting out the storm in that little cabin until your grandson got there…" Emma realized she was rambling and cut herself off before she accidentally revealed too much.

"I see," was the woman's only reply as her Park Ranger grandson returned with a steaming copper tea kettle and a white coffee mug that sported a bright yellow image of a smiling sun painted on the outside. She didn't look up to see that he had returned, but acknowledged his presence with another instruction. "Good. Now, please fill the cup for me – at least half full with the tea…"

Carlos nodded and poured a generous amount of the foul-smelling liquid into the sunshine mug, passing it to his grandmother who directed him to give it to Emma instead, not wanting to contaminate her clean hands until she was finished. The Ranger stepped back into the hall once again, returning the kettle to the kitchen stove as he nearly collided with his younger cousin, Joseph, who'd arrived carrying what looked like a fisherman's tackle box. The tall, lanky teen placed the box on the floor at his grandmother's feet and unlatched it for her, allowing the sides to fall open to reveal its contents as he'd obviously done before.

"Is there anything else you need, Grandmother?" the boy asked, pushing his shoulder length jet black hair back off his face as he stood.

"No, child. Thank you," she informed the teen, waving him out of the room with a flourish of her left hand as she lowered herself to her knees to take inventory of her supplies. She began removing several small bottles, plastic baggies and paper envelopes containing a varied assortment of dried flowers, herbs, seeds and potions. A few of them were ones Emma recognized from Regina's collection but many were items she wasn't familiar with. The old woman placed her selected items on the carpeted floor beside her before removing an ancient mortar and pestle and purely from memory, began to combine ingredients into the stone container, measuring by sight and feel until she was satisfied with the recipe. She slowly and deliberately ground the contents into a thick, amber colored paste and once the concoction was thoroughly mixed, she scooped up a generous portion using her index and middle fingers and applied it directly into Killian's knife wound.

Instantly, Emma felt the vice grip of his fingers tighten around her own as he gasped and hissed from what must have been agonizing pain. His breath hitched, his abdominal muscles clenching for what felt like an eternity before he was able to exhale. The elderly woman pressed on with her tasks, ignoring his reaction as she prepped several strips of crisp white cotton cloth folding them into multi-layered squares to re-bandage the wound which was now covered in partially congealed blood and the slimy amber paste.

"Hold this here, please," she instructed Emma, directing the younger woman's hand toward the square folded cloth she'd placed atop the puncture. Emma did as she was asked while the older woman removed a roll of surgical tape from her tackle box. She could feel Killian's heart racing beneath her fingertips, his blue eyes appearing darker as he stared up at her, his grip on consciousness fading quickly. The Navajo woman recognized this as well as she secured the bandages in place and asked yet another favor of Emma. "We need to get him to sit up before he loses consciousness. Can you help him to sit upright?" Emma gently slid her left arm behind his back, giving his shoulders a push forward as she nudged her shoulder behind his to provide support. Once his head and chest were raised to a sufficient height so he wouldn't choke on the tea, the old woman picked up the sunshine mug from the nightstand and brought it to her patient's lips. "Please – drink."

Her tone had been polite but direct and even in his weakened state, the pirate captain recognized an order when he heard one. This wasn't intended to be a choice but the malodorous liquid offending his nostrils was hardly appealing. It was no more or less noxious than some of the potions Emma and Regina had brewed up and hardly compared to the foul substance he and David had once prepared, but then no one had been forced to ingest that one. He crinkled his nose in disgust but gave a weak dip of his chin to indicate that he'd understood the command. Her wrinkled hands tipped the mug toward his mouth slowly until he was able to take the first sip – one he instantly regretted.

"Bloody hell…," he frowned, nearly gagging on the horrid brew. "What the devil is that foul substance?"

"Medicine," the old woman insisted, unfazed by his reaction.

"Medicine?" he complained. "I've tasted bilge water that wasn't as horrific as that…" Emma tried to stifle a giggle, momentarily enjoying the simple fact that Killian's bitching and moaning over the medicinal tea allowed her to forget for a few minutes how grave his injury was. With few options available to them right now, they needed to do whatever was necessary to help him heal – even if it meant drinking nasty potions.

"You need the medicine to try to keep the fever away. It also contains bitter lettuce extract to help ease the pain," the elderly woman pressed, unimpressed by his tirade - her hands not moving the mug away from his lips until he drank more. "Drink."

"Killian, please…," Emma urged. "I know it's awful, but if it will help you get healed, it'll help us get home sooner." His nose scrunched yet again – pouting like a petulant child, but he finally consented to another mouthful of the offered brew, eventually managing a third before he could hold his head up no longer.

"Enough for now," the old woman stated, returning the mug to the nightstand as Emma slid out of the way so Killian could lower his head and shoulders back down to the pillows, his eyelids growing increasingly heavy as Emma draped a faded but still colorful chevron patterned blanket over her husband. Sleep claimed him rapidly, even before she could climb off the bed to tug off his boots which she tossed carefully onto the floor. "You know, it's fine to remove your own coat and boots, child," the elder woman advised. "It's much warmer here than wherever you were dressed for. Please – for the next few days, my home is your home."

"Thank you," Emma responded, smiling as she met the old woman's eyes for the first time, finding them both welcoming and intense at the same time – reflecting a soul that had clearly experienced quite a lifetime. "I don't know how we'll ever be able to repay your kindness."

"That is not for now," the woman assured her, clasping her weathered hands around Emma's. "Now, come – I have lamb stew and bread in the kitchen. You look famished."

"I guess I am," Emma replied with a pang of guilt as she glanced back at her slumbering husband, certain he was just as hungry.

As if reading the younger woman's thoughts, the Navajo woman replied, "He will be fine. He needs to rest and get his strength back first. He has far more concerning things to deal with than hunger."

"Yeah, I guess so," Emma sighed, stooping over Killian to give him a quick peck on the cheek before the elder woman ushered her out of the room to allow him to sleep peacefully. Emma thought for a moment about the woman's comment regarding removing her jacket, but was reminded by the weight of a steel hook pressing against her rib cage that she couldn't do that just yet, so she decided to make small talk until she had a moment alone. "Not only do I not know how to thank you for all you've done, I don't even know your name. Mine's Emma – Emma Jones."

"I have many names. My Navajo name might be a little difficult to pronounce, but my given English name is Sarah Bending Willow. Most people usually just call me Grandmother though. You're welcome to use whichever you are comfortable with."

"Sarah Bending Willow is a lovely name," Emma responded as she stepped into the hallway with the white-haired woman right on her heels. She had no idea how old the Navajo woman actually was, but she was certainly spry for her age. Of course age wasn't exactly relevant when she recalled that her husband had been alive several centuries.

"Come now – get something to eat," the old woman insisted, urging her guest toward the kitchen with a gentle push.

"Thank you," Emma smiled. "Do you mind if I freshen up and check in with my family quickly so they know we're somewhere safe?"

"Of course. The bathroom is the first door to the left here and if you're using a wireless phone, you'll want to go outside. Signal will be better. There are towels and wash rags on the shelf next to the bathtub."

"Much appreciated. I'll be back in just a few minutes," Emma assured her, excusing herself politely as she ducked into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash her hands before assessing her own appearance. She noticed the cut on her cheek had scabbed over. She probably should have bandaged it, but that was of little concern now. She located a hunter green washcloth on the shelf and worked up a good lather of jasmine scented soap to scrub away the sweat, blood and grime from her face and neck, immediately yelping at the sting when she cleaned around the cut. It was a far cry from the misery her husband was suffering through, but it still hurt. She just wouldn't let him know that.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fan fiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #only a little superstitious

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jsmulligan · 8 years ago

Text

A Not So Simple Patrol

I don’t think I will ever understand the Hive. Quite frankly, I don’t think I want to. The Fallen, I can understand. I could even sympathize with them a little bit, if they weren’t always trying to shoot me in the face. Having once been blessed by the Traveler, then being left behind; yeah, I can see trying to track it back down. The Cabal are warriors; I can respect that. I hear the Vex are trying to find a timeline in which they survive. Again, fair enough, so long as that doesn’t involve taking potshots at me. The Hive though… Biting, clawing, shrieking undead things, ancient and dark, seeking to blot out the Light? I’ll pass.

Before you ask, I can see the irony in a Guardian being weirded out by things that should be dead but aren’t. Contrary to whatever a Warlock might tell you, Titans do have brains. Irony doesn’t count for much when something is leaping out of the shadows at you, and my brain is currently thankful that my helm was tougher than that Thrall’s claws and that it’s still inside my skull. For now, at any rate.

The Thrall had thrown themselves at me almost as soon as I’d set foot in the tunnel. They had come so quickly out of the shadows that they were on me before I had time to react. I punched the first one as her claws raked my helmet, the stored void energy in my fist disintegrating her on contact as a force barrier sprang up around me. Bringing my shotgun to bear, the others crumbled to dust and ash, the buckshot tearing through them. I was on the move again before all the flakes had settled to the ground. I reloaded my weapon, the New Monarchy red glinting in the light provided by my Ghost. The Burden of Proof might not kick as hard as some other models, but it was quick and steady, and the solar rounds were a nice bonus.

The tracker in my HUD was not registering any movement near me, though it had somehow missed the Thrall, so I was not putting a lot of faith in that. My Ghost, Elgan, and I travelled cautiously through the tunnel of dust and moon rock. This crevice was one of many that had yet to be marked or explored, and Elgan seemed to enjoy that fact. Every now and again, the path before me would go dark as he would get distracted by a mark or stone formation and turn to investigate. A flick to his new olive green shell would bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

The lack of resistance was curious. Maybe the Hive knew we hadn’t found this opening yet, so guarding it hadn’t seemed a priority, or maybe they didn’t even know about all the cracks they’d causes in the lunar surface with their burrowing. A few hundred meters in, the surface beneath my feet changed. The natural rock gave way to manufactured structure, and I found myself entering a Hive construct. Something in the rock must have been disrupting my sensors, because I was suddenly detecting a lot of movement. Thankfully, none of it was moving toward me yet.

“I am picking up a lot of activity,” my Ghost chimed, stating the obvious.

“Thanks for pointing that out. Any idea where should start looking?”

The Ghost floated away from my shoulder, his shell expanding as he did a quick sweep of the area. Ever since Luna had been reopened for Guardian activities there had been a growing interest in locating anything related to The Great Disaster, the ill-fated attempt to drive the Hive from the moon. Guardians on strike or patrol had come across broken weapons, shattered Ghost shells, and scraps of armor, much of which found its way back to the Tower for memorialization. Rumors of phantom signals and material signatures kept popping up, hinting at greater finds waiting to be brought to the surface. We were following one of those rumors now at the request of the Vanguard.

“I am not currently detecting anything unusual at the moment, but the previously recorded sensor readings came from… this direction.”

A white waypoint marker appeared on my HUD. I turned my head from side to side, watching it slide across my vision, making sure it was locked on target.

“Got it. Let’s move.”

I stuck near the wall as best I could, hoping to avoid detection. That became less of an option when we rounded a curve and the wall suddenly gave way to open space. The Hive had hollowed out a huge section here, the bottom of which was lost to sight.

“This goes down a very long way,” Mr. Obvious chimed in again. “What were the Hive doing here?”

“Never stopped to ask them. I usually just punch them or shoot them. You’d be more than welcome to try if you’d like. I could toss you at the next knight we find, you could have a private conversation behind his shield.”

“What is it you like to say? ‘I’ll pass.’”

“Suit yourself.”

Leaning out over the edge and looking down, I could see several more levels like the one we were on that were open to the abyss. The marker seemed to indicate that previous signals had been detected lower than our current position. There would be a lot of Hive along the way. If we were to start a little lower, though…

“Think I could make that jump?”

“What?”

“There are two more levels here. The walls curves out slightly. I think I could jump down from here, save myself a whole lot of walking.”

“If you miss, I’m not flying all the way down that hole to revive you.”

“Fair enough.”

Taking a moment to gauge the distance, I put a hand on the ledge and vaulted over. Almost immediately, I realized I’d put a little too much force into the jump. Thank the Traveler for Lift. Using the Light to defy gravity and physics, I slowed my descent and pushed myself back toward the wall. I noticed an unwary Acolyte standing in the walkway. Angling myself toward her, I braced for impact and lowered my shoulder, crashing into her just as she started to turn. My momentum slammed us both into the opposite wall, and a quick punch was all it took to finish her off. Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed the others to the left.

There were two of them, and they opened fire immediately, energy rounds from their Shredders pelting the wall and floor near me before one caught me, lowering my shields. I leaped backwards, rolling behind a column that jutted from the floor. Needing a little more range than my shotgun provided I switched to my Haakon’s Hatchet, looking from cover to let loose a stream of armor piercing rounds. The first Acolyte went down in a pile of ash, but the second had taken cover. A lot of movement on the tracker now. Apparently the firefight had caught someone’s attention.

Darting from cover, I charged the Acolyte’s position, catching her off guard. Pulling the trigger, I stitched a line of bullets from her chest up to her head, causing yet another burst of ash as she fell apart. Screams echoed down the hallway as a line of red dots tracked their way toward me on my HUD. More Thrall. Focusing on the approaching mass, I missed the other shrieking sound mixed with their cries and didn’t see the ball of starfire coming at me until the Boomer round crashed into the ground at my feet, sending me flying backward to slam into the short wall separating me from the abyss. Arc energy sparked where I’d been standing and coursed over my armor, standing in stark contrast to the darkness closing in on me.

I shook my head, trying to clear cobwebs, and scrambled to my feet. It had been a while since I’ve had my bell rung like that. I didn’t have much time to recover, however, as the Thrall were on me. I’d dropped my Hatchet when I’d taken the shot from the Knight, and didn’t have time to grab my shotgun. Fists it would have to be.

I swung as hard as I could at the Thrall as they swarmed all over me, a writhing ball of teeth and claws. Warnings sounded as my shields fell and I felt their claws trying to dig into my armor. My fists connected with one and then another, beating them back and pushing them off of me, until the last one crumbled. A loud shriek pierced the air again, but this time I was ready. Tapping into the void energy, I thrust my arms outward, placing a Ward of Dawn around me just in time to watch the arc bolt slam harmlessly against its impenetrable shell.

The Light inside the shield invigorated me, giving me a moment to gain my bearings. I picked up my Hatchet and gave it a quick once-over. Sloppy, letting that first shot rattle me that badly. I was just lucky no one was around to see it happen, I would never hear the end of it. No sooner had I thought it than a voice sounded in my coms.

“You could try not getting shot. It would be better for the both of us.” Smart-aleck Ghost.

“Yeah, well, maybe after I throw you at him one of your points of conversation can be not killing me.”

The Knight stomped into view, lowering his arms and roaring out a challenge. I decided to be friendly and wave. That seemed to irritate him and he pulled up his Boomer, firing off another shot that splattered harmlessly again, though this time my Ward flickered a bit.

“Looks like it might be time to make a proper introduction.”

Charging out of my bubble, I peppered him with a quick burst of auto rifle fire before dropping my left hand and drawing on the Void again. Predictably, the Knight raised his arms to bring up his shield, but it wasn’t quick enough to stop the grenade I flung at him. It connected to his chest and attached as the wall materialized in front of him, the grenade exploding twice in rapid succession. ��He staggered, and another few rounds from my Hatchet brought him down. Time to move before anyone else came to see what was causing all the noise.

Something didn’t feel right about those last few shots, so I took a moment to have Elgan transmat my Hatchet back to the ship and bring me down my Inward Lamp. Tuned for full auto, the scout rifle would get the job done with anymore rushing mobs of Thrall. We hadn’t made it far down the corridor when my Ghost suddenly materialized in front of me.

“I’m detecting something,” he stated, a tint of excitement in his voice. Opening up to initiate a more active scan, he darted back and forth searching for the elusive trace of whatever he had noticed. After several moments, he let out a whispered, “I don’t believe it,” then darted suddenly down a path leading away from the main hallway we were in. I stood in shock for a moment, completely surprised, then sprinted after him.

He was flying too fast for me to catch on foot, so I leapt, using Lift to power myself down the hallway quickly. I caromed off a wall as the hallway curved, spinning away from it and landing in a full sprint before rocketing forward again. I finally gained enough ground to lunge forward and grab the Ghost, pulling him to me as we fell to the ground. He instantly dematerialized, then reappeared above me and tried to take off again.

“Would you stop, you little idiot, you’re going to get us both killed,” I shouted, catching him again. He pulled the dematerialization trick again, but this time, hovered above me, his optic sensor opened wide.

“We have to hurry,” he said, “it’s Ghosts.”

“What do you mean?”

“The phantom signal. It’s Ghosts. Dozens of them. Their light is very faint, so very faint…”

“Then let’s go,” I replied, climbing to my feet. Elgan disappeared into my armor, and a new target point appeared on my HUD. Throwing caution to the wind, I ran down the hallway, trying to get to the Ghosts before we lost the signal again. Red pinpoints began showing up as well, showing several Hive near our destination.

I prepared a grenade and then burst into the room, glancing around quickly. The room was circular, with two large columns on either side of the door. On the opposite side of the room, there were at least four Wizards gathered around an unfamiliar construct, seemingly performing some sort of ritual. I heaved my grenade in their direction just as one of the Wizards turned toward me. I ducked behind the left column, the explosion drawing a scream of pain and anger from the Wizards. A blast of darkness pummeled the pillar behind me and I leaned out to the left to fire off a few shots before darting to the right and taking cover behind the other column, taking a few more shots with my scout rifle.

The Wizard I’d caught with the grenade floated behind the other two, trying to use them as a shield. A few well-placed shots dropped her solar shield, and another turned her to ash. The three remaining enemies spread out then, seeking clear lanes of fire from multiple directions. Switching to my shotgun, I charged the one to my right, sliding underneath her and firing upward, the solar rounds ripping through her shields and killing her quickly. Two down, two to go. Unfortunately, that move left me exposed.

Something hit me from behind, and suddenly everything became hazy. My movements became sluggish, and it felt as if something was draining me. I pressed forward, seeking shelter, and cleared the poisonous cloud just as both Wizards unleashed more darkness, wiping my shields and staggering me.

Finally getting one of the columns between us, I let my shields recharge and decided to change tactics. I switched to my WF47 machine gun, the “Zombie Apocalypse”. Stepping back into the open, I let loose a torrent of solar skip rounds, the bullets tearing through the Wizards and bringing a quick end to the fight. No sooner were they dead than my Ghost appeared, darting quickly to the Hive machine. I set the heavy weapon down and followed.

“The signal was coming from here,” he said, zipping toward the back of the room. “I’m not detecting any activity any longer, though there is a very unusual light signature coming from inside.”

The Wizards had been gathered around what looked like a large, concave table. Hanging above it was a machine I had never seen before. It was rectangular in shape, attached to the ceiling with wire, with four nasty looking needle-like points coming from each corner. Scattered in the depression of the table were weapons, armor pieces, and a pile of Ghosts. None showed any sign of life.

“No, no, no,” Elgan whispered, moving to scan them, frantic for any sign of activity. “They were alive; I know they were alive…”

Gently, I lifted one of the shells and looked it over. On a hunch, I held it toward the dangling machine. A strange glow lit a side panel, and light flickered in the Ghosts optic for a moment before shutting down again. The starburst shape shuddered in my palm. I pulled my hand back, then repeated the gesture with the same response.

“I don’t think they were alive. I think the Hive were trying to reanimate them somehow with this device. Maybe to extract information. Or try to taint the light in some way.”

“How could they do that? The Ghosts came from the Traveler, there is no other Light…,” my Ghost trailed off for a moment before coming to a sudden realization. “The strange light signature. In the machine. Claney, rip this thing apart, find it!”

“With pleasure,” I replied, setting the dead Ghost down before grabbing the device and yanking it from the ceiling. I hammered it with my fists until a crack appeared, then put a hand to both sides and split it open. The machine fizzled and sparked, and something hard and white fell out of it.

My Ghost swooped down to scan it and gasped.

“It’s a piece of the Traveler!”

“How is that possible?” I asked, kneeling down to look at the object.

“Checking,” he replied. “Not too long ago, the Speaker had sent out an alert that it was suspected the Hive had a piece of the Traveler. It was reported that a Guardian had assaulted a Hive coven and discovered that they had been syphoning the Light. The Guardian stopped them, and the shard was restored, but it would seem that at least a small piece remained. They could have small pieces like this all over the moon. Maybe that is why the Traveler hasn’t recovered?”

“Maybe. We should definitely get this to the Speaker, and the Vanguard will want to look at the rest of this. Let’s get it back to the shi…”

I was interrupted by the sound of a bullet ricocheting off the ground beside me. Grabbing my rifle, I whirled toward the door to the room. At first, I could see nothing, then a Hunter de-cloaked and stepped forward, a sniper rifle resting against his shoulder. He was glad in red and white with a glowing yellow-orange sash across his chest. The letters that blazed across his faceplate and the garish cloak he wore both marked him as an adherent of the Future War Cult.

“Easy, Titan. If I just wanted to kill you, I could have. I would prefer to end this amicably. It would be a shame for all your hard work to end in easily avoided tragedy.”

“Hide,” I instructed my Ghost over a private comm channel, then addressed the Hunter. “How thoughtful of you. Call me crazy, though, I don’t tend to be on great terms with people who shoot at me unless we’re in the Crucible. Even then, I tend to shoot back.”

The Hunter laughed and took a couple steps forward, hanging the sniper rifle on his back. I shifted a little, tightening my grip on my weapon. That stopped him.

“Fair enough. Let me state things plainly. I want what you have, and I am going to take it. By force, if necessary. I had been trying to track down the source of those phantom signals as well and saw you blundering your way through the Hive warrens. Figured I would let you clear the path, and I do appreciate your effort, but I will be relieving you of your prize.”

“This belongs with the Vanguard.”

“And it will find its way there, after the War Cult has a look at it,” he stated, his tone of voice changing. His posture shifted subtly as well, preparing to make his move.

“No. Elgan, prepare for transmat.”

“So be it,” the Hunter replied.

With that, he lunged forward, pulling out knives as arc energy coursed over his body. I barely managed to dodge the first strike, which left a smoking gash in the table holding the artifacts. I peppered him with shots from my Inward Lamp, vaulting myself up into the air with Lift, trying to keep out of his reach. He leapt after me quicker than I had anticipated, striking me across the chest. I landed hard, staggered, my shields depleted. Regaining my footing, I readied a grenade and threw it at him, sticking him as he charged in again. The resulting explosion threw us both backward.

For the second time today I slammed hard against a wall, my vision going dark again. Maybe my brain would prefer to not be in my skull after all, if this was how I was going to treat it. Staggering to my feet as quickly as I could, I saw my Ghost racing over to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, giving me a quick scan.

“I’ll live. What are you doing? You were supposed to transmat that stuff out of here.”

“I…”

“Where’s the Hunter?” I demanded, cutting off whatever reply he was going to make. I scrambled to my feet just in time to see a mocking salute from the Bladedancer as he and all the remains disappeared.

“No! Why didn’t you get that stuff out of here?”

“Well,” the Ghost replied, sounding more than a little snippy, “as I was going to say before you interrupted me, I sent up the fragment of the Traveler and most of the Ghosts. I was having to recharge the transmat when I saw you take that hit.”

“Oh,” I responded sheepishly. “In that case… Nice work. Can you get us out of here? We need to get that stuff to the Tower, and I am going to need to repair or replace this chest-plate. Then we can see about tracking down a certain Hunter.”

“Of course it was ��nice work’. I did it. And yes, I can. Prepare for transmat.”

“I’m ready. Let’s go home.”

Back aboard my Comitatus class ship, Invictus, I removed my helm and chest-plate. Elgan plotted a course back to the Tower while I took stock of the damage. I’d been lucky. The arc blade had cut completely through the armor, another centimeter and it would have been in my chest. Nothing but scrap now, I it aside and had a replacement piece sent to me from storage. Elgan flitted over to me, giving the discarded armor a quick scan and then breaking it down into its component materials.

“What do you think the War Cult wants with the remains?”

“Hard to say,” he responded, turning to me, the points of his shell whirling around. “They have been commissioning Guardians to check old files and bring back various items for a while now. The different bits of alien hardware make sense. The Ghosts that we found might have had some valuable information. The different foundries have been producing items of such a higher quality than just about anything that would have been left from the Great Disaster that I can’t see what use they would have for the old armor and weapons.”

“And our friend? Figure out who he was yet?”

“I am still working on that as well. I’ve got it narrowed down to a few suspects. Unfortunately, Faction gear makes visual identifiers a little more difficult.”

“Keep on it. I’m going to close my eyes for a moment. If I nod off, wake me when we get to the Tower.”

...

This is the first chapter to my longer fiction. Don’t know if I’ll share more of it here. I was originally written as a stand alone piece,but the next idea I had immediately followed up on it, so I just continued it instead. This is one of my favorite bits of writing. I wish I could say the rest of it was as strong as the start, but the quality varies a bit. Link for the whole thing if you are so enclined: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11990180/1/A-Not-So-Simple-Patrol

#Destiny #Destiny the game #fanfiction #OC's #Claney #the hive

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sending-the-message · 8 years ago

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There's a Fine Line Between Sanity and Madness... by TheBigSp00k

There’s a point in each of our lives where we question our sanity. The internal battle between logical reasoning, the voice in your head, and what your eyes are projecting to your brain. When you put it simply, it seems like such a straight forward answer, but there’s always that lingering doubt in the back of your mind that will conflict with your sense of assurance. It takes one small thought, one toxic thought that slowly spreads like a malignant tumor throughout your mind that forces you to question everything you once thought was reality.

This it what drives one into madness. Once the battle has begun, it doesn’t seem to end. You may be able to keep its malicious endeavors at bay, but that is only temporary. Once insanity has you in its crosshairs, you are forever a target, and like a hungry predator, it waits until a moment of weakness for its chance to strike. You aren’t always aware that you are fighting for your sanity, some never knew until it was too late.

I pressed the button to ascend to the 9th floor. The elevator dinged with the awareness of my demand and the sliding metal doors slowly shut in front of me. The overhead light flickered a bit, but this was a usual occurrence as the hospital I worked in was ancient and the elevator maintenance was long overdue. The elevator creaked and groaned as it struggled to rise only a few feet. Suddenly the room went black. I was instantly thrown into a panic when a dim red light illuminated the room with a sinister glow.

I lunged towards the control panel, rapidly smashing the emergency button. I yielded no response from the call box after repeatedly trying to gain contact with anyone on the outside. This was not a pleasant experience as I have always had a slight fear of small places. Each time I entered this place, I’d have to convince myself that I wasn’t going to die.

I circled the small 8x8 room for what felt like hours. I tried several more times to communicate with anyone through the speaker box. Nothing but silence.

This was where I began to panic. I ran my palms up and down the control panel, pressing every button. I tried prying the doors open with my bare hands but they didn’t budge an inch. All I could do was wait. Suddenly the elevator began to move. The ominous red light overhead continued to glow menacingly. It was unusual how the elevator didn’t any sound as it ascended.

The elevator stopped on the next floor. 2nd floor was the psych ward. When the doors slid open, I wasn’t greeted by the usual poorly lit hallway I had become so familiar with. It was darkness. When I started to step towards the exit, deciding to take the stairs instead, a feeling of terror washed over me. It felt like a warning, as if there were a presence telling me to stay away. The same feeling you would get when you were about to enter a place you didn’t belong. This suddenly made me feel anxious, the elevator I had once feared then felt like a sanctuary compared to that what might’ve been on the other side of the door.

I reached to press the button that manually would close the doors, but was interrupted by a young man entering the elevator. He was wearing a patient’s gown and had stitches that vertically stretched across each side of his face. He looked at me and smiled, revealing 2 rows of rotten yellow teeth. I only stared back at him. When he entered and the doors closed behind him, he didn’t press a button. He just stood there, smiling at me.

When the elevator began to ascend once again, he took a step closer. I took a step away and pressed my back up against the wall. I was at a loss for words, something about this man deeply disturbed me. No matter what floor we ended up on, I was going to get as far away from him as I possibly could. But the elevator seemed to be going on forever. There was no marker above the door that told us what floor we were passing, just that horrifying red light.

I slowly edged my way towards the controls, keeping my back against the wall while maintaining as much distance from him as I possibly could. He just turned his body, following me with his head with each side-step I took. The man began to play with the stitches on his face, picking at them. I did my best to avoid making eye contact but his eyes were locked onto me. I was terrified. With his free hand he reached underneath his gown and started to fondle himself. My assumption was that this was a mental patient who managed to slip away during the power outage. I only could pray that he was just mentally ill and didn’t have any violent intent.

The man began prying at his stitches and blood started run down the sides of his face. He continued pulling at his wounds, tearing his skin apart with his long fingernails. Soon he was now peeling back the skin on his face. I could see exposed muscle and bone between waves of gushing blood as he proceeded to tear his skin back as if he were peeling the skin from an onion. The man now had half of his face ripped off, his expression never. His other hand had transitioned from fondling his genitals to full on masturbation and I could see a trail of blood running down his inner thigh.

I turned my back to him and started frantically pounding on the door. I screamed and cried for help as he moaned in pleasure behind me. I could hear his feet splash in the puddle of blood below as he slowly started to approach me. I didn’t dare to turn back and look as I was mortified by what he had done to his own face. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists. Warm air pressed against the back of my neck as I could tell that he was just inches away from me. I was prepared to turn around and defend myself when the air suddenly went cold. The elevator became silent. When I turned my head to see what had happened, I was shocked to find that the man had vanished into thin air. Him, the of blood that was at my feet, everything. It was gone.

This is when I began to sob uncontrollably.I fell to my knees and curled into a ball as I felt all hope exit my mind. I thought I was going to be trapped inside that elevator forever. Was I going mad? Did claustrophobia create these illusions? I didn’t have answers. I didn’t even have a guess. All I could do was wait for the nightmare to end.

In the midst of my sorrows, I didn’t even notice that the elevator had stopped. The doors slid open and I could hear footsteps entering the room.. A nurse pressed the button marked “8” and patiently stood just a foot away from the doors as the elevator began to ascend. She was humming a familiar tune to herself, completely unaware of what was going on around her. I just sat there and watched, up until the elevator arrived at its designated floor.

When the doors slid open, flames burst through the threshold, filling the elevator with thick black smoke. It became unbearably hot. I struggled to even obtain one lung full of air. The nurse casually stepped out the door, but before they closed behind her, she turned around and looked at me. Her face had been melted off. There was nothing left but a skull with long blonde hair hanging behind it. Her free-hanging jaw chattered as if she was trying to speak but no words came from it.

I jumped back from my hands and knees onto my ass and scurried back towards the far wall of the elevator. Charred hands came out from the flames. They grabbed at the air, trying to get a hold of me. I pushed my back against the wall and tucked my legs into my chest. Finally, the hands retreated back into the flames as the doors began to close. Before the doors sealed the room, I caught a glimpse of the name tag on the breast of the nurse’s scrubs. It read “Mary”.

The glow of the red light above faded out and I was shrouded in darkness once again. Suddenly, the elevator became illuminated by the white fluorescent bulbs above. The sounds of grinding metal and worn out gears never sound so relieving as they did at that moment as power had resumed and the elevator began to ascend.

The elevator arrived at the 9th floor and I was greeted by 2 angry looking men in black uniforms. They came at me, attempting to snatch me up by my arms. One of them grabbed me by the left arm. I managed to slip out of his grasp before the other got a hold of me.

I bolted down the hall. The uniformed men followed me in pursuit. I Ran into an office door and locked it shut behind me, knocking over a bookshelf to barricade the door. I dug through the office desk drawer to find a cell phone. I tried to dial 911 but before I could put the receiver to my ear, the door burst open. My pursuers managed to break through the door and get past the barricade. One of them grabbed me by the shoulders and I sunk my teeth deep into his forearm. The man screamed in pain as I turned towards the other, ready to defend myself.

The other man was wielding some sort of syringe. I tried to go for his legs but he managed to stab the sharp steel needle into my neck. My vision started to blur and my whole body became weak. Soon enough I was on the floor, looking up at the 2 figures towering over me. I blacked out.

I woke to the sound of a woman’s voice humming a familiar tune. I looked around the room to see that I was in a hospital bed. Both of my arms and legs were strapped down, forbidding movement of any kind. I panicked as I saw the familiar blonde hair of the nurse from the elevator. When she turned around I was surprised to see that the skin on her face had returned. She was beautiful. That’s when I started to recognize her, I knew I had seen this woman’s face before. Not just once but several times. She approached me with a slight smile on her face.

“Mr. Wright, I know you have had a hard couple of hours but that doesn’t mean you can go wandering around the hospital unsupervised.” She said in a soft yet scolding tone.

I was going to demand for her to let me out at once but something stopped me. I looked down at what I had been wearing… it was a hospital gown. I wondered how I had gotten into it in the first place. I tried to tell her that I was an employee, I told her I was her superior, but she didn’t respond.

That’s when it all sank in. Exactly when did I get to this hospital? What floor did I enter the elevator on? Why didn’t anyone recognize me as their fellow associate? The voice in my head screamed in frustration as I thrashed against my bindings. It tore at my skin and I could feel the warm red liquid soak the sheets of the bed.

I managed to break free and ran for the door. Locked. On the counter beside my door was a medical chart, I saw that my name was written at the top so I made the mistake of getting a closer look.

“Henry F. Wright,

Severe schizophrenia, Amnesia, Violent Tantrums.

Repeating episodes, violent tendencies, admitted July 2nd 2013. Patient has history of delirium and hysteria. At times he is coherent and understanding. When not, patient creates a fictional persona. Do not encourage this behavior.

Has frequent episodes in which he believes he is a hospital employee, as well as vivid hallucinations. Patient must be restrained during examination and transport due to his instability.

Tests have ruled out any possible triggers for his ‘episodes’ other than the east wing elevator. Patient has a history of escape attempts. Use caution when treating. Others have been several injured while attempting to treat patient.”

I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t a fucking patient, I fucking work here! I don’t know where I am, and it feels as if my memories are slowly slipping away. I refused to believe any of it. There’s something going that they’re trying to hide. Maybe I had discovered something that they were trying to cover up.

I hid behind the closed door and waited for the nurse to return. When she did, I hit her over the head with a stethoscope and snatched her security card as well as her cell phone. When I entered the hallway, the lights cut out and were replaced by the red glow of the emergency lights. I ran to the elevator and hit the button to bring me back to the ground floor.

I’m hoping that writing the events that occurred will help me keep the memories of them. Otherwise, who knows what will happen to me.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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