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that-one-random-writer · 1 year

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Chasing you Chapter 1 {Complete}

Summary: Jake retires from the military honorably. He steps into a new roll, ready to settle down in his hometown of Texas. He is placed on your shift. Your current relationship is stable until the dust settles, revealing cracks in the foundation.

Warnings: Cursing, violence, police experiences based on truth, accurate on most accounts of law enforcement, it might get gory at times. Be aware of blood, drugs, and all things law enforcement. Smut eventually. A/N may have my true experience attached if you're interested. All real names redacted. Y/n used once.

Next chapter || Masterlist

Whispers went around the department. There was a new guy starting today. The women in the office were saying he was fine as hell, and the men were saying he was just a pretty boy who thought he could handle this.

You sat back in your seat. You texted James, your boyfriend. 'Can you get milk and eggs on your way home? We're out.' James agreed with a thumbs up emoji.

You had just started your shift. It was opposite to your boyfriends now. You were on the night shift, twelve hours of complete bullshit. The dark night hid some of the worst people. The FNG, fucking new guy, didn't know what he was getting himself into.

On queue, the FNG walked into the squad room. He sat in the squad room next to Grant, the corporal that had been there for a while now. Everyone quieted down, looking at the new guy. "What's up, man? How'd you like that OC spray?" Grant had been the first to speak up. He volunteered some at the law enforcement academy, and he was supervising the pepper spray training to make sure no one got injured. You swore up and down, and the man just enjoyed them withering in pain.

"Man, fuck that shit. I took a shower that night, and it started back up." The gorgeous man chuckled. Clapping his hand to grants in a shake. He leaned back in his seat.

You remember the OC spray. You've used it a small handful of times. You opted for the taser more often. Electric currents were much less likely to blow back onto you. The spray had thirty seconds of calm, then the fire would set in burning your eyes, nose, mouth, throat, neck, anything it came in contact with would be in a constant state of hell burning through your soul. Water tended to reactivate it after it wore off. There was a twenty-four period of chance it would reactivate, dragging you through hell all over again. You'd rather have your toenails ripped off than ever go through that again.

All the men in the room laughed at the man's misfortune. "Yeah the sadistic fucks don't warn you about the water..." Rastley, a fellow officer, chimed in.

Everyone settled into their seats as the sergeant walked in. "Im sure everyone has noticed the new officer on duty." He paused, pulling out papers that were for the new payroll. He passed them around the room for everyone to fill out. "This is Seresin. Jacob is your first name, right, and your badge number?" Sergeant Valley looked up at Seresin. "Just Jake, sir. Number 267"

Sgt. Valley nodded and looked back around the room. "Jake Seresin 267." He wrote down the new information on a notebook page with his shifts names and numbers. "Everyone go around the room and introduced yourself"

"Norman Grant 298, I'm your corporal." Grant was an older man with dark chocolate skin. His hair had been shaved completely bald. He was in the army before settling back a few towns over from his hometown. His body was still in great shape for his age.

"Walt Rastley 245" He was a younger man. He was in his mid twenties. His hair was a bright blonde in a neat gel combed style. His body was in top physical performance.

You sat up slightly as the attention turned to you. "Y/F/N Monroe 251" You nodded at Seresin. His eyes met yours with a nod and a smile in your direction. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of green. They looked familiar. You were in a relationship, but that didn't mean you couldn't appreciate a nice-looking man for what he was, and he was definitely something worth looking at.

His attention turned to the next man to speak. "She's my 'Marilyn'." You rolled your eyes playfully at the next officers comment. Everyone chuckled at the statement.

"He tries to make everyone believe he's my Kennedy. Right, Mr. President?" You added jokingly, pressing your lips together in a mocking smile.

"Hey, a man can dream." He puts his hands up in defense, then relaxes back in his seat. "Liam Kennedy 232" Liam was a Kennedy looking man. His hair was also perfectly gelled but had a chocolate brown color. Your relationship was platonic and playful, and you would call him one of your best friends on the shift. He turned his face back to you and wiggled his brows playfully at you.

The other officers on shift introduced themselves. Twelve officers in total were on the shift, including you. You were the only female on shift. That was normal. Every shift had one female, and because of short staffing, most couldn't afford to have more than that.

"Seresin, you will be riding with Mr. President Kennedy here." Sgt rolled out a big barrel laugh.

"That name doesn't sound as sweet coming off your lips, sarge." Kennedy matched the laugh. Leaning into the side of his chair.

"You will be riding with him for the next couple shifts. He will be your FTO for now. I will let you know when that changes. Everyone else, same positions as yesterday." Sgt valley walked around and placed his on Kennedy's shoulder, squeezing. This wasn't the military. Law enforcement was much more smooth and less formal. There was more under the wire talking. Kennedy knew what Sgt was telling him. He was saying without words. 'Give the new guy a warm welcome to hell'

"Yes, sir" Seresin nodded and grabbed his bag. Everyone else watched the clock tick.

"Eh, if we release early, then maybe they will pay it back, and we can get an early breakfast. Dismissed." The officers walked out to their cars five minutes earlier than normal. Settling in the seats of the patrol cas, starting up and testing the sirens, lights, and all the bells and whistles.

You sat down in your seat. You were parked next to Kennedy. Once you both finished testing, you looked over at Kennedy. "I'm going past Churchill Road." You were in the same zone as Kennedy.

You backed up and started driving to your post. Once you made it, you drove around the area. "251 to dispatch I'm 10-8." You heard chatters confirming and marking you as in service from dispatch, then the officer you took over from called back he was 10-7. Leaving his location and out of service in the area.

You drove around watching cars slow down when they saw you. It was funny to watch people get flustered without even seeing their body movements.

Your tag reader started signaling you to a car. You shifted behind the car and turned on your siren and lights. The car started speeding up. You groaned. "So it's gonna be that kind of night." You clicked your radio. "251 to all units. I'm 10-80 with a white accord. Be advised that he is heading east bound on Oak Thorn towards you 232. Dispatch can you run the plate number Charlie, Romeo, India, Victor, 347" You were currently chasing the accord as it sped through the highway.

Dispatch ran the plate through the system and found a frequent flyers name. "Dispatch to 251. It's under Jordan Barn." You groaned even louder. This isn't his first time by any means, and he tended to get aggressive. "232 can you 25. Requesting back up east bound of Oak Thorn." You called for assistance through the radio.

Kennedy watched your location and turned in your direction, hitting his radio. "Im en route to you, eta four minutes." Kennedy turned on his lights and rushed to your side of the zone. "Did you catch all that?" He asked his rookie passenger.

Seresin nodded. His heart started to pump a burst of adrenaline through his limbs. "Your Marilyn found trouble..." He started. Kennedy chuckled swiftly making turns and weaving through traffic. Seresin continues, "She's chasing a white accord east bound on Oak Thorn. The tag is registered to a Jordan Barn."

Kennedy was about a minute out from the chase. "You're gonna catch on quick. Watch out for Barn, he is a firecracker. Man's a drug dealer with an attitude problem."

"Noted." Seresin watched ahead seeing lights in the distance.

"I'm behind you 251." Kennedy called out over the radio to you.

You had been devising a plan while he took his four minutes to get to you. "251 to 298." You paused, waiting for Cpl Grant's go-ahead to be called over the radio. You then continued. "The accord isn't going to stop. It doesn't look like anyone else is in the vehicle. Requesting to do a pit maneuver."

Grant was on the other side of town pulling over a mini van that had a taillight out. He waited before exiting his vehicle, calling back over the radio. "If you have back up, then go ahead and run it. 245, go ahead and head over that way if you're not 10-6. They may need the backup." Grant exited his vehicle and walked to the window. "Did you know your light is out in the back, ma'am?"

Rastley called over the radio. "10-4 I'm en route 251. Eta eight minutes."

You started back your radio traffic. "10-4 298" you paused briefly, acknowledging Rastley. "232, you ready."

Kennedy confirmed over the radio. "10-4" Kennedy looked over to Seresin. "When we get out, you make sure you have your gun ready. If it's Jordan, he is normally armed he hasnt fired yet, but if he sees an opportunity, he's going to take it."

You grabbed the wheel of your car and accelerated pushing just past his back bumper. You nipped at it. His car spun around to a stop. You ripped your car around, pushing into the back tailgate, blocking his exit. Kennedy pulled into the front. Blocking his exit the other way. All three officers exited the patrol cars. "Get on the ground! Get on the ground!" Kennedy yelled out to the suspect. His gun was drawn.

Jordan Barn pulled his gun out and waved it around at the officers. "I ain't going back. You ain't taking me no damn where."

You held your ground with your gun drawn, not pulling any closer to him. "Jordan put the gun down."

Jordan spun his eyes around. "You ain't going to take me you stupid bitch." Jordan had his weapon pointed towards you but then dropped it by his side still holding it. He couldn't admit defeat but knew he was cornered.

That's it. Keep talking. Your mind racing with the adrenaline. Jordan had his back to Seresin and Kennedy. You kept your eyes on Jordan but could see them move in to disarm him. You had to keep his attention on you. "Jordan, I'm hurt by that. I thought you got clean." Kennedy glanced into the truck not seeing anyone else in the car hiding.

Before Jordan could respond, he was disarmed and tackled by Seresin. Kennedy pulled out his cuffs, pinning them tightly behind his back. Kennedy started patting him down, checking for more weapons, but being careful of needles. The instant the gun was thrown from his hand, you ran to the tossed weapon and secured it.

"I got it." You placed the weapon on the hood of Kennedy's car. Seresin and Kennedy picked up the man and pushed him in the back of their car when they knew he was clear.

"We're going to take him to the jail, gotta show the rookie. First, you owe me one. Second, search the car, and if you find anything, call me. I'll add it to the charges." Kennedy walked to the driver's side door and got in. Seresin got in his side, and they took off after you picked the gun back up.

Rastley pulled up right as the pair took off. He stepped out if the vehicle. "Shows over?"

You nodded. "He had a gun. It's Jordan so you know somethings in here. You can help me search if you want."

Rastley nodded. "You know I love a search." You both opened the doors a stench filled your nose. "Damn something died in here." His nose scrunched up.

You sifted through the items both of you were careful about needles. "I got about ten needles over here. Nothings in them" You collected them in an evidence bag knowing there was remainders still in the bottom.

"Nothing over here." You pulled back the carpet and found a box. "I think I got it." You opened the box to find heroin. "Yup I got it. That's a trafficking charge. Jesus, go grab your scale."

A/N: Some radio traffic may not be 100 percent accurate. I worked in the jail, so we didn't use ETA(estimated time of arrival) or a lot of the 10 codes.

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 8 months

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It's the little things (5)

Previous / Next

Queuing with the food tray in their hands, Gaz was talking Ghost's ear off, telling him all about the ... he didn't even fucking know, but from time to time he grunted or nodded. The fucking queue was slow as hell that day.

Gaz knew Ghost was barely listening, but he still kept talking. Long ago he had adopted as one of his goals making the Lieutenant feel more human, by being around him and interacting with him, even if it had been one-sided at first.

When Sgt. Garrick was recruited by Captain Price, he could barely exchange greetings with Ghost. Most days he didn't even hear his voice. Of course he didn't know the details, but for the tiny, sparce clues mentioned while chatting with Price, and seeing Simon's face in Las Almas, Kyle knew something bad had to have happened to make Ghost... Ghost.

Given Ghost's gear choice, one would think he'd be a cold-hearted bastard. And he was, but also... kinda not. Gaz had seen him carry another wounded soldier on his back without a single grunt for hours until they got to exfil. If Ghost noticed the sentry was tired, he'd send them to bed and take over the watch. He was always there, silent, stoic, reliable.

So the first time Ghost sat down with him at the mess hall, unprompted, after seeking him out, Gaz felt fucking good. And when it kept happening, he felt even better.

The queue advanced slowly, and Gaz laughed when he heard the grunt coming from behind the balaclava. They could see from there that Price and Soap were already at their usual table, and Riot was standing near them, chatting with a couple of privates.

"Man, I wish my girlfriend had those tits" A Corporal queuing in front of them commented to his fellow officer.

"Whose tits?"

"Vega's. Saw her the other morning in the swimming pool"

Oh man.

Gaz tried as hard as he could to not burst into laughter, seeing Ghost silently glaring at the back of the Corporals' heads.

"It's a shame about her face though"

"Yeah, but you really don't have to look at her face"

Oh boy. Gaz kept looking at Ghost, whose eyes were narrowed to barely two slits. He could almost imagine the following day's news. Murder at the mess hall. At least that would get the queue moving.

"She trains every morning with a group of the privates. Today they were doing squats"

"Bet that's why her ass is that big"

Yep, there was about to be murder. Gaz giggled when Ghost leaned in, his head looming over the Corporals.

"We could find out"

The two Corporals yelped and looked up, turning pale at seeing the towering Lieutenant behind them, clearly pissed.

"Sir... sorry, sir..."

"We were just..."

"Meet me in the gym in one hour and we'll see if it's true. You're going to do squats until your arse grows bigger or you pass out" Ghost growled, his accent thicker than ever. "Don't make me hunt you down"

The rest of the time in the queue was awkward, with the Corporals shuffling their feet and the Lieutenant right at their backs, murdering them with his eyes alone. Gaz enjoyed it greatly.

And to top it off, by the time they got to the food, they had run out of custard. Fucking hell.

Gaz and Ghost made their way to the table where the rest of the team was waiting, Price and Soap engrossed in something about explosives, and sat down, the Sergeant was beaming, the Lieutenant moody.

Sitting next to him, Riot moved her custard to Ghost's tray, and he looked at her, confused. She shrugged.

"Saw there were just a few left and saved you mine"

Gaz smiled knowingly when Ghost's whole demeanor softened. He wondered how much longer would it take. Maybe he should make a bet with Soap, given how invested he was.

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uncaaj · 9 months

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Fanfic: Diesel's Petrols (Bluey)

READ NOW ON AO3!

The door to his dimly lit office opened, and Dr. Bernard, the Australian Army counselor, looked up. “Thanks for coming, Sergeant Kelpie,” he greeted.

Diesel Kelpie took a seat in the cushy leather seat opposite him and held out his hand. “No worries, Dr. Bernard.”

After shaking his hand, Dr. Bernard grabbed his tablet and pushed his glasses up. “So let’s get right into it. How have you been since discharge?”

“Well, it was great to see my family again, let’s say that first. Everything I do, I do for them. It was all I could think about on the flight home.” Diesel leaned back and recalled the whirlwind of a month he’d had.

+++

Fresh from a 12-hour flight, I felt light as a feather despite the jet lag fuzzing the edges of my sight. It never fails, I try to catch up on sleep on the flight and somehow stay up the whole time, idling the time away with the same crummy puzzle games and the same five movies. Even still when I landed, I couldn’t help but jog from the gate straight to border control, hopping like, well, an excited dog in the queue.

Once I finally made it to the luggage claim, there they were, big smiles all over. My pack, my troop. My family. I probably looked like hell with my stained fatigues and baggy eyes, but I knew it didn’t matter one bit to them.

“Dad!” Rusty shouted, bolting over and jumping into my arms. I could hear the others catching up to him as I gave my little recruit a good squeeze before setting him down and letting them all in.

“Aw, missed me, eh?” I joked.

“Yeah,” said Digger, the oldest.

“Missed you lots!” said Rusty.

“Thiiiiis much!” said me youngest Dusty, stretching her little arms as far as they’d go.

Then it was Pepper’s turn. “Welcome home, honey.”

I felt all my worries vanish with my sigh as I kissed my loving wife. “Good to be home.”

“How long are you staying for?” Rusty asked.

Dusty bounced up and down. “Will you be here for my birthday?”

I gave Pepper a quick smooch then turned to the kids. “Oh yeah, I didn’t mention that, did I?”

“Tell ‘em, babe,” said Pepper.

I knelt down to meet my kids’ eyes as they all bunched together. “Well, I have a little surprise for you all. I’m here this time…for good.”

“You mean…your service is done?” Rusty asked, almost pleading for it to be true.

“Yup,” I confirmed. “Done and dusted.”

We all met in a big hug in the middle of the baggage claim, and for the first time since hearing the news I was headed home at last, I felt like transitioning back to civilian life wouldn’t be so bad.

+++

DIESEL: This episode of Bandit is called “Diesel’s Petrols.”

+++

“How have you been filling your time over the past month?” asked Dr. Bernard.

“Well, that army schedule’s a part of me, so I’m still up bright and early every day. The kids keep me active with cricket, footie, the works.” He chuckled and slung a leg over the other. “But that’s not what you’re asking, is it?”

Dr. Bernard laughed. “No, it isn’t.”

“For my career after service, it was a no-brainer for me. All that time fixing Jeeps, I knew I was gonna open my own garage when I got home. And bless Pepper, she was gracious enough to come on as my business partner. Signing the lease on that space was the fulfillment of a dream, so I was psyched.”

“Fantastic,” said Dr. Bernard. “How about friendships?”

“Oh, I’ve kept in touch with my troop online. Couldn’t do that when I was a tyke. But I promised myself something on the way home. I see Rusty talk so highly of his schoolmates on the ride home from school, so I really wanted to get to know their parents. Thought they could be my new troop. And in a way, my garage helped me do that. It started while I was out promoting the venture…”

+++

I was taking my new shop truck on her maiden voyage with Rusty by my side. Figured it’d get the word out and drum up some customers since we were gonna open any day. We’re puttering along in Paddington and suddenly, Rusty points out the window and says, “Dad, look! It’s Mackenzie!”

I saw a couple o’ border collies standing by the side of the road, their ute smoking. “Looks like they’re broken down, kiddo,” I said.

“Can we help them, Dad?” Rusty asked.

“Well, if he’s your friend, let’s see what’s up.” We parked nearby and got out. Rusty greeted Mackenzie happily while I went over to his dad.

“You’re Rusty’s dad, right? Don’t see you around much,” he said.

“Yeah, discharged recently. Diesel.”

“Sorry, Josh,” a guy shouted, “my mechanic’s booked solid today.” A blue heeler and his pup walked toward us from a couple houses down.

“Biscuits,” Josh muttered. “Thanks for trying, Bandit.”

The Heeler pup waved at us. “Hi, Rusty!”

“Bluey!” said Rusty. “Me and Dad are spreading the word about his new garage.” He pointed at the logo on my truck that Pepper designed.

“Diesel’s Petrols,” read Bluey. “Hee-hee! I like that name!”

“You work on cars, eh?” said Josh.

“Yeah, cars, Jeeps, copters, you name it, it’s my toast and jam. I could take a look if you don’t mind.”

Josh shrugged and led me to the wide-open bonnet. I felt the heat on my fur immediately and recoiled back. “Poor thing’s overheated,” I said, waving some smoke away. Now time to sniff out the problem. The army taught me that well. Let everything fall away and focus on what needs to be done.

I took a deep whiff through my nose and exhaled sickly sweet aromas, like burnt caramel. It was coolant, alright, almost like the radiator blew or a hose had popped loose and covered the engine in it. For Josh’s sake, luckily it was the latter I spied immediately.

“I don’t understand it. It was all right yesterday,” said Josh once I regained my awareness.

“A hose popped off your rad here,” I said, pointing to the dangling pipe near the main gears. “Reckon you’ve lost all your coolant, mate.”

“Wow,” said Josh. “That’ll do it.”

“You know, I think I have a proper clamp and some coolant in me Ute. I can have you right as rain in a tick.”

Josh looked shocked. “Really? R-right now?”

I smiled. “I always like to come prepared for anything.”

Josh pumped his fist, his bummed expression washing out to giddiness. “Well, thanks a bunch!”

“No worries.”

It was simple to refit the hose and tighten it down properly. Then once his engine came back down to as normal a temperature as could be on the eve of summer, I topped up the coolant and gave him the go to start up. The engine tumbled for a second as the coolant recirculated but then kicked right into life. “Gotta love a rock-solid Toyota,” I smirked. Hardy and excitable, just like he was.

I waited a moment to see if the hose would pop off, but it held. I shut the bonnet and gave Josh the thumbs up. He called his son over and they loaded up.

“Thanks a bunch, mate!” said Josh as I approached the cab. “What do I owe ya?”

I glanced quickly at the temperature meter. A-OK. “Ah, twernt nothin’, mate,” I scoffed. “All in a day’s work.”

I felt a tug on my arm, and I crouched down. “Yeah, mate?” I said to Rusty.

“Dad, remember what mum said? ‘If you fix some stranger’s car like I know you will, make sure you’re paid.’”

I gulped and stood up again. Both Mackenzie and Josh were laughing. I grinned embarrassingly.

“Your mum’s a smart cookie,” Bandit said with a wink.

“Thanks, Mr. Heeler!” said Rusty.

I shook my head and fished a business card out of my wallet. “Okay, how’s $30 sound? And you gimme a ring if your Ute ever packs in again?

“Done deal!” said Josh, quickly exchanging it for a banknote from his.

“Much obliged,” I said, shaking his paw. With a wave, he was off down the road with his pup.

+++

Not long after, I’d just finished installing the new ramp in the garage when in wheels this sturdy little Subaru. My first real walk-in. I head over and a Jack Russel steps out of it.

“G’day, mate,” I said, “thanks for droppin’ by. what can I do ya for?”

“Do you do suspension work here?” he asked.

“Whatever’s ailing your car, I can put it right.”

“Oh, great!” he said, relieved.

I wondered what brought that on, but I didn’t have to wonder long. The Jack Russel pushed down on his wheel arch and it didn’t budge an inch. “The ride’s been really rough,” he continued. “My tail aches every time I drive it longer than a grocery run.”

“That ain’t fair dinkum. Let’s put ‘er on my new ramp and I’ll take a look.”

I helped him position the car and once it was safely in the air, I could see straight away what the problem was. “Great day in the morning, your shocks are toast! Covered in oil and stiff as stone. What on earth did you do to ‘em?”

The terrier rubbed his arm, looking guilty with himself. “It’s a funny story, I suppose. I took a shortcut picking my son Jack up from school-“

“Wait, you’re Jack’s dad?” I exclaimed. “My son Rusty talks about a Russel named Jack all the time.”

“Ha! Likewise! Good to meet you, er…”

“Diesel.” I held out my hand and he shook it.

“Blake.”

“So what happened exactly?” I said, motioning him toward my tool bench.

“So my battery died leaving me without SatNav. This bloke called Maynard showed me a shortcut through the bush, but a sign just before said it was for 4-wheel-drive cars.”

“Hmm…” I suddenly had an inkling. I went back to the car and shone my torch around the wheels. I grimaced even more. “Yeah, this is an all-wheel-drive car.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t they the same thing? It’s got four wheels.”

I almost laughed but I didn’t want to do that to the poor guy. “Rookie mistake, mate. See, all-wheel-drive shifts power to all the wheels to help with traction on muddy or wet road. 4-wheel-drive is for serious off-roading like what you did on that shortcut, it looks like.”

Blake sighed. “Yeah, I…had an adventurous moment. But when I came home from the markets the other day with busted eggs, my wife said I’d better bring it in. She heard about you from Josh Border-Collie.”

“Issat so?” Small world. “Well, tell ya what- I have the parts here that I need. I can have you back up and running by day’s end for…how’s $400 and a promise to not take your car where it’s not meant to go?”

Blake perked up. “Really? That’d be fantastic!”

I nodded. “All in a day’s work, mate.”

+++

“Two new civilian friends, that’s a good start,” said Dr. Bernard.

“Thanks,” said Diesel. “But it’s funny.” He scratched his chin and tried to gather his thoughts. “I…didn’t think I was making friends at first.”

“How so?”

“I guess it felt like just doing what I had to do and sending ‘em on their way, nothing more, like in the army. The troop and I would bond for hours on end every day because we were together for that long. We slept on smelly cots together. I could know everything about them. I barely got to know Josh and Blake before their cars were fixed and they were off.”

Diesel paused, wondering if he should even say what he was about to.

“Do you need to confide about something, Sergeant Kelpie?” Dr. Bernard asked gently, without judgment.

“Sometimes I feel…like an outsider, ya know? It used to be I was barely home before I was back overseas. The army was my world more than here and suddenly, this is my world now. I wasn’t sure if Josh and Blake would remember me with how little we were able to talk. I wasn’t sure I could make my place here.”

“It doesn’t make your interactions any less meaningful,” Dr Bernard reassured. “It takes time and effort but it’s very possible.”

Diesel nodded. “Oh, I’m realizing that now. And what helped me change my view was that Heeler Bandit I mentioned earlier…”

+++

As it happens, it was the day after I expressed this to Pepper and we were discussing my rates in the garage.

“The prices I’m giving aren’t too low, are they, Pepper?” I said, my head hurting seeing her spreadsheets.

Pepper shook her head. “Don’t worry, love, you’re covering all our expenses. I just want to make sure you’re charging what you’re worth.”

“It’s never a big deal. I’m just glad I get to do this at all.”

Pepper took my hand and squeezed it. “Okay, well, I think you’re worth more.”

“Yeah, and I know you always will.”

How did I find someone so perfect, in partnership and…well, partnership? We moved in closer for a kiss until we heard someone nearby clearing their throat.

We turned to see that Heeler Bandit from the other day with his daughters, Bluey and an orange one whose name I didn’t recall. “Sooooo does Rusty run off screaming when he sees smoochy-kisses?” asked Bandit.

“Dad, you were kissing Mum’s stinky fish breath!” laughed Bluey.

I stood up straight and saluted. “Sir!”

Pepper rolled her eyes and pushed me away. “Welcome to Diesel’s Petrols. How can we help?”

“I was just passing by and I wondered if you’d give my Jeep a once-over. I’m taking the family dune racing next month and I figure you’re the Jeep expert.”

I chuckled. “It’s a stereotype for a reason. I’ll make sure you can handle everything out there. Pepper’ll show you to the waiting room.”

“We’ve got toys!” she said to the Heeler kids, and they cheered and dashed off toward the lobby, their dad following.

The hum of the lift had become music to my ears by this point and I could operate it in my sleep. Wrangler, a good rugged vehicle, could literally take you anywhere. That once-over was probably the quickest one I’d ever done, even on an army vehicle. Bandit maintained it really well.

I wiped my brow with a rag and headed to the lobby. Bandit was in the middle of keeling over, clutching his chest. His kids had their hands out, wiggling their fingers at him and laughing maniacally.

I sniggered. “What’s all this then?”

“Hi, Rusty’s dad!” said Bluey. “Bingo and I overwhelmed him with our magic!”

Bandit looked at me. “Yeah, powerful stuff,” he whispered.

“Dad,” said Bingo, “you’re supposed to be asleep!”

Bandit slowly came to his feet. No doubt it took longer these days with those two scamps running him ragged. I certainly knew the feeling. “Let’s just call it a cliffhanger,” he declared. “Am I asleep? We’ll find out when we get home.”

Rugged, adaptable, and fun. Just like his car.

“All good?” he asked me.

“Good to go,” I said.

“Good job, there, mate.”

I smiled. “All in a day’s work.”

I held out my hand and he shook it vigorously. Of all the blokes I shook with, his was the best so far. “Make quick work like that and I might be calling you from now on,” he said.

What a compliment, especially since he already had a guy. “M-much obliged,” I said before I led him over to the computer to do his invoice.

“Only seen you at drop-off a couple of times. When’d you get back?” he asked.

“Not too long ago. It’s good to be home at last. Feels like I’ve missed too much outta my kids’ lives.”

“Yeah, I feel that way when I have to be on a dig site. I’m not gone nearly as long but it’s still too long.”

“Truth. And it’s good to really talk to someone outside of that whole world. Makes it easier to get back…to the swing of it, you know?”

“Hey, you oughta come and have a drink with me and some friends. Josh’ll be there. And Blake’s thankful you got his Subaru running again.”

“Oh yeah, I remember them.” But did they really remember me? “Well, I dunno-“

Bandit slung an arm over the counter. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

I gave it a rummage in my mind. Sounded like the perfect proposition, and so quickly after getting back. I’d hopefully have a new friend group to make reintegration easier. But it still almost felt like I was intruding on somewhere I didn’t quite belong yet. I wasn’t sure if I should step in.

I looked away for a moment. Bluey and Bingo had slid right into another game, involving the footy in the toy box. I laughed. “These kids make it look so easy.” So easy to get along, I thought.

“Yeah, we can take a cue from them every once in a while, eh?” said Bandit.

I nodded. I’d take that step. “Sure, gimme the deets and I’ll be there.”

+++

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Kelpie, but we’re out of time for today,” said Dr. Bernard, rising up. “But it sounds like you’re making great progress with reintegration. I’m proud of ya!”

Diesel stood up. “Thanks, doc. After opening my garage and meeting Bandit and Blake and the others, it really feels like I have another troop. I know I’ve only just started my new life and there’s so much I want to do yet, but…” He shrugged. “It’s like I always say, even in the field.”

“All in a day’s work?” asked Dr. Bernard.

“Yeah, all in a day’s work.”

+++

Diesel opened the door to the pub and cased the joint for the table where Bandit and his friends were. Catching waving hands out of the corner of his eye, he saw they were all smiling and waving at him.

“There’s the dog of the hour,” said Bandit, filling a glass and handing it to Diesel.

“For putting us all back on the road,” said Blake.

“And for being a stand-up bloke altogether,” said Josh.

“Good to know ya, mate,” said a yellow Labrador. “Congrats on the new venture.”

Diesel sat down and rose his glass, gulping down the lump in his throat. “Thanks for making an army dog feel welcomed home.”

“CHEERS!” Glasses clinked and mirth and merriment took him over as Diesel joined a conversation about an upcoming cricket game. The garage had always been a goal of his, but now he felt like he accomplished something far more difficult-making a place in a third troop, a group of guys he was proud to call his new friends.

#bluey #fanfiction #aj tries to write #bandit heeler #bluey heeler #bingo heeler #rusty's dad #diesel kelpie #rusty kelpie #rusty #digger kelpie #dusty kelpie #rusty's mum #pat #lucky's dad #jack's dad #mackenzie border collie #mackenzie's dad #slice of life

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

Summary: Your first meeting with Sergeant Barnes wasn't exactly charming, hell, it was a disaster. And the only adjectives that came to your mind when you thought about him were words like prick, bastard and a jackass. He made your life hell, and you lived to make sure you made him suffer. And neither of you realized, how your sole mission of tormenting each other became the most important part of your life.

Warning: Language, implied sexual innuendos, reference and non descriptive sex // A hattrick by Bucky Barnes in being a dick // Sexual tension begins

Coffee Stains - Masterlist

A bright hue of orange yellow filled your room, a ray of sunlight seeping through a crevice in your curtains. It was too bright to keep sleeping soundly any longer, and besides, you had an alarm set up for 7 in the morning, so you could go out for your morning run, and get back in time to get yourself a nice breakfast.

You sat up in bed, grumbling and groaning at the soreness you were now feeling where you had felt Steve's hard blow. Your eyes moved down, as you rolled up your t-shirt, and stared at the bluish bruise that had seemed to form over your abs. It was only then when you realized, when your eyes fell on the clock, that you had slept in, and it was already ten minutes past 9. You hopped out of bed, almost managing to fall face first to the floor, as your foot was still entangled in the sheets.

Dressed in your PJs, without even bothering to run your hands through your hair, you slid your glasses over the bridge of nose and walked out of your apartment. You needed coffee, and you needed food; you were starving, and your stomach was rumbling loud enough for the entire towers to hear.

When you entered the recreation room, a wafting aroma of waffles and bacon filled your nostrils, making you almost lick your lips.

"Morning, Y/N," Wanda greeted in a chirpy voice, causing your head to snap towards her. She was sitting on the dining table, her plate of food kept in front of her, her fingers curled against a glass of grape juice as she brought it up to her lips and took a sip, her eyes fixed on you. "Good sleep?"

"Not really. I feel like shit. I need an effing coffee first."

Wanda hummed in agreement and went back to relishing her breakfast while you lazily tumbled into the kitchen, where Tony was already brewing himself one.

"Morning, junior. Had a good sleep?"

"Junior? I'm no one's junior, Stark." You hissed at him, almost ready to snatch the coffee that he had made for himself but he was swift, he pulled it off the slab before you could grab it.

"Well, you've replaced Wanda as our new junior, until our next recruit decides to join us," he chuckled, reaching out and ruffling your hair, ending up making you even more grumpier than you had been before. You kept watching him with a scowl as he walked out, leaving you alone to brew yourself your mug of coffee.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Bucky stormed through the seventh floor hallway, having just stepped out of his apartment that happened to be next to yours but you still had no clue about that. He was angry, his shoulders were tense and his mind was occupied; he kept playing the events of yesterday like a movie at the back of his mind. You stepped closer, splashed him with chilled water and he could do nothing, rather, although he could have done a lot of things, he just kept watching you until you had left.

A war was waging at the back of his mind, and he was already working on ways he could get back at you, after what you did.

He ran his calloused hands through his loose strands, as he made his way towards the gym to work out and get this damn thoughts out of his mind. But this definitely wasn't going to happen for his eyes fell on you the minute he entered the gym.

You hadn't seen him yet, for you had your ear pods on, and you were running on the treadmill, with Sam lifting weights a few steps away from you. Bucky cleared his throat, causing Sam to look up into the mirror and then towards you, wondering if you had seen him yet.

By now, probably the entire Stark Towers knew that you were on a cold war with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

You had seen him through the mirror, but you were ignoring him. As long as you had your music on, he couldn't invade your privacy and make your life hell so you decided to ignore him, and continue running on the treadmill, although you kept following his movements, with your eyes. You watched him as he made his way to the bench press and sat down on the bench. You could see his lips moving, which you assumed that he was either speaking to Sam, or to Friday, to get the song changed, which was actually the latter one. Finally, he laid down flat on his back on the bench press, gripping the bar, his fingers coiling securely around it.

He slowly brought the bar down to his chest, as he breathed in. You didn't realise you were gawking at him for some reason through the mirrors, and wondering how effortless this whole thing looked on him. You also didn't realize that Sam was staring at you staring at Bucky in the mirror, giving you a side smirk until you abruptly removed the gaze from Bucky and slowly started unwinding yourself to get off the treadmill. You stepped off the treadmill when it finally came to a halt, and made your way to where the dumbbells were. Fixing yourself in front of the mirror, you started working on your arms.

Bucky had by now moved to the cross trainer, and you were waiting for Sam to get done with the deadlifts so you could get a chance. While you were waiting, you decided you would go get yourself a quick drink.

"Sam, don't let anyone take over. It's my turn next." You visibly said it out aloud, noticing Bucky almost roll his eyes at you through the mirror.

"Sure, I'm almost done anyway. What weights do you want? I'll do it for you while you're gone."

Your workout routine comprised of two twenty five kg bumper plates and the fifteen kg bar. You told Sam the same, not noticing that Bucky was also listening in on the conversation. You then turned away, your shoes flapping against the wooden floorboards until you had disappeared.

This was Bucky's queue. He quickly hopped off the cross trainer, tossing a plain white towel over his shoulder and round his neck. He walked up to Sam who was placing the twenty five kg bumper plate on the left side of the bar. Giving him one quick glance, he walked towards a cabinet, pulling out the tiny sticky notes and a marker, roughly scribbling the words 15 kg on two of them.

He walked back again, and bent down next to Sam, who raised an eyebrow, giving him a suspicious look.

"What on earth are you upto?"

"Just wait, and watch the fun."

Bucky placed the sticky notes on top of the 25 kg, changing it now to 15 kg, repeating the same for the other bumper plate as well.

"Hey! That's not right! Why you doing that for?" Sam pointed out, trying to reach for the sticker but Bucky just swatted his arm away.

"Shut the hell up, and dare you open your mouth when she comes back."

"This is dangerous, Bucky. She can break her back," Sam mumbled.

"10 kgs more ain't gonna break her damn back, Wilson. Besides, if she can't lift another twenty, she really doesn't deserve to be here." Bucky stood up finally, and slapped his hands together, moving away from it and towards the bench where he had now lowered himself and was waiting, his elbows resting on his knees, as he started scrolling through his phone. He only looked up when he heard footsteps approaching the gym, and he glared at Sam, eyeing him, and warning him not to open his mouth.

You stepped back in, ignoring Bucky as you twisted the cap of the energy drink and took a few sips before closing it again and letting it rest next to the weights.

"Thanks Sam," you winked at him, and watched him look at you, with a weird look on his face that you couldn't decipher. However, when you noticed the stickers on the bumper plates, a frown creased on your forehead, "Sam, you forgot, I had asked for a twenty five, not fifteen."

Sam almost opened his mouth to speak, but Bucky gave him such a glare, he just sheepishly ran his palm through the back of his head, and gave you a nervous chuckle, "I might have forgotten."

"Nevermind," you gave him a tight lipped smile and bent to grab two bumper plates of ten kgs each, quickly rolling them over the bar. You took a deep breath, and slid your ear pods back on into your ears, positioning yourself next to the deadlifts. You sat back, pushing your bum out, as though you were going to sit on an invisible stool, your knees and hips bent as you reached down to grab the barbell.

A loose grunt escaped your lips, and Sam's eyes widened while Bucky almost snorted, but tried to cover it up with a cough. Your hands were fiercely gripping the barbell but you could feel a bead of sweat trickle down against your forehead. You had been lifting 75 kgs for a long time now and today you were feeling that something wasn't right.

Yet, you took a deep breath, and steadied your stance once again, finally grunting and puffing up your cheeks, you stood up, bringing the bar up with you, the bar dragging along your shins on the way up. It was difficult, but you were able to do it.

A sharp exhale shot out of Sam's mouth, causing Bucky's attention to snap from your form, that he didn't know he was literally now staring at. He had wanted you to fail, but now, he didn't know anymore. He was actually enjoying watching you like this. He didn't realize he was staring, at the same time, moistening his dry lips with his tongue when Sam distracted him. When his eyes fell on Sam, for some weird reason, his eyebrow twitched. Sam was watching you, his eyes trained to your ass, as he was watching you work out.

"Sam. I thought you were done?" Bucky's voice suddenly filled the room; at the same time, you let the barbell drop to the mat with a loud thud, gasping for air as you moved away from it.

"What?" You asked, eyeing both Sam and Bucky as they were looking at you, and the both of them just shrugged so you ignored them and grabbing your energy drink , propped yourself on the bench where Bucky was sitting at and started chilling.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Bucky stared at the blonde in front of his eyes; she was one of the agents that worked here, but all she did was the paperwork. She had been throwing these glances towards him recently and he had been rolling his eyes at her, annoyed to be even getting that attention from her. He didn't consider them his type but for some reason, he licked his lips this time, when his eyes raked over her slender frame, causing him to let out a soft gush or air from his lips.

Clearing his throat, he walked up to where the agent was standing, hunched over a desk, until she heard his voice, and a scarlet hue took over her cheeks.

"Sergeant Barnes–"

"Uh, I just wanted to check if –" Bucky mumbled, but his brain froze, and he couldn't come up with a good excuse. He frowned at himself, mentally cursing himself at how great he used to be in picking up girls back in the 1940s.

"–If, uh, Natasha Romanoff is back from her mission?"

Yeah, how pathetic was that? He thought to himself.

"Miss Romanoff isn't coming back for another week now," Bucky could note the way she was curling her index finger around a loose strand of her hair, which was a clear indication that she wanted him to ask her out. Who was he kidding, he was literally fighting an urge to grab her with his metal arm and pin her against the wall, tearing her clothes apart.

"Uh, I also wanted to ask you if you wanted to –" Bucky couldn't say it out loud, and he had no idea why.

It was only when the girl suddenly threw herself on him, her lips slamming ferociously on his, did he finally wrap his metal arm around her waist to hold her securely.

"Let's take this to my apartment, doll."

After your workout, you had retired to your apartment, snuggled up under your covers, with your favourite book in your hand. You didn't have the training for another five hours now, and you had the time to chill. You didn't realize when, while reading, your eyes fluttered shut, and you dozed off into a deep slumber, snoring lightly until a sudden thump from the other side of the wall woke you up.

You felt dizzy and disoriented, but you crept out from underneath your covers and stood up, stretching into a wide yawn when a high pitched moan reached your ears. Your nose scrunched up in annoyance, and since you had no idea who stayed in the apartment next to you, you shook your head wondering who this person was, who couldn't even wait for the night to actually have a little time of fun.

Maybe out of spite, and out of jealousy at the lack of an active sex life; hell you didn't date anyone ever since your nasty divorce almost two years back with Wallis, you strode up to the wall and banged your palm hard against the wall, screaming at the top of your lungs, "Hey, can you bloody keep it down there? I'm trying to take a nap."

You had only stepped away now, and were making your way towards the bathroom, smirking to yourself in victory, that the noises had died down when suddenly, the voices were back again, and this time, they were even louder than what you had heard the last time.

Frustrated, you huffed in defeat, slamming the bathroom shut.

Almost half an hour later, you stepped out of your apartment, having decided to go out and explore the city a little, maybe meet a few of your friends and have a drink when at the same time, the door to the next apartment opened and your eyes widened, when you saw Bucky step out, his hair disheveled, and his slacks hanging loosely from his hips. He didn't have a tshirt on, and the metal on his arm was looking even more prominent, because of which you couldn't help but let yourself take a good quick glance of his body.

He was an arrogant bastard, a cocky motherfucker, but he was really sexy, you couldn't deny it.

You couldn't deny that you had thought about him, while working out at times, imagining yourself positioned underneath him, as he did his push ups on top of you.

You groaned due to your thoughts, a little too loudly, and Bucky turned your way. The edge of lip was slightly shot upwards as though he had been smirking, and you swear you saw a hickey just at the nape of his neck. Just then, a strikingly beautiful blonde stepped out of his apartment straightening her outfit, giving you a quick, nervous glance before he darted away.

"That was fun, doll. See you soon." Bucky called out, his voice barging through the hallway, before he shot you a quick glance and disappeared into his apartment, his door slamming shut.

(Please feel free to leave a feedback.💗)

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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otp-holic · 2 years

Text

I posted 4,402 times in 2021

366 posts created (8%)

4036 posts reblogged (92%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 11.0 posts.

I added 6,246 tags in 2021

#stucky - 2314 posts

#pretty art - 927 posts

#i’m tagging my queue now - 492 posts

#this is amazing - 479 posts

#i see no lies on this post - 413 posts

#soft - 378 posts

#steve rogers - 338 posts

#bucky barnes - 335 posts

#fanfiction forever - 304 posts

#pretty gifs - 266 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i honestly think for what i’ve seen so far that they went and traced some of the iconic scenes because this goes beyond parallels & homages

My Top Posts in 2021

Remember when Steve first saw Bucky after he suited up for the first time with his new (not exactly regulation) uniform? How he just couldn't help himself and cornered him only to have Peggy discover them kissing like teenagers?

It's one of my top Scenes on The First Avenger. And I loved how Peggy almost stole the spotlight by setting up the definition of being a true ally when she said "I'm not exactly surprised, but we have a war to win. Please get over yourselves and get to work now."

And don't get me started on that “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-I'm-not-really-sorry” little smile from Bucky. He regrets nothing, and it's my favorite part.

See the full post

512 notes • Posted 2021-07-23 19:17:22 GMT

Favorite blink and you'll miss it moment

I was rewatching The Winter Soldier and couldn't stop thinking about the aftermath of the “Who the hell is Bucky?" moment.

I just LOVE how Bucky goes from "Angry Killing Machine"...

…to just like eight frames of doubt: hearing Steve saying his name for the first time is enough to make the smallest dent to The Winter Soldier conditioning... and that's HUGE.

Look at his face!

See the full post

528 notes • Posted 2021-05-30 21:00:36 GMT

Captain Steven Grant Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 1943. "Remember all those times you told me I couldn't be a bigger punk? Well, Buck, clearly you were wrong."

(or the one where Steve makes Bucky giggle while posing for a picture where they tried to cover their impending need to hold hands and touch each other by manly posing as (not quite) literal brothers in arms.)

For @stuckybingo 045 B4:"Punk"

(I'm sorry for the rushed quality, but I couldn't stop, those new pictures, omg... Im probably revisiting in the future, but this is it for the time being)

Original pic credit

535 notes • Posted 2021-10-23 18:27:28 GMT

See that sign there??? The missing words behind the yellow sign are “Bucky Barnes” making it the truest most romantic musical ever in Broadway:

“BUCKY BARNES CAPTURES THE HEART OF A HERO”

Yes, that’s it, I have x-ray stucky vision, trust me. I cannot wait to see the greatest love story ever sung.

665 notes • Posted 2021-09-13 14:08:55 GMT

This has been on my mind for a long time...

Steve having a flashback to the past during a half of a second as The Winter Soldier turns. In that blink of an eye he can see Bucky as it was (as he remembers him), before The Winter Soldier looks at him with Bucky's eyes. Steve is now in an impossible present; all the foundations of what he knows and what he feels, shattered.

And we know how it goes after that.

But also, from Bucky's character point of view? How he is hidden in there below the surface, dormant because of the words but condemned to “wake up” and remember it all as if it was indeed him behind the wheel? I cannot. i just cannot.

In reality he’s still barely more than a child sent to war who deserves better, who deserves total recognition of his lack of agency, who deserves total recognition of his trauma,... who deserves Steve, too.

Thanks for coming to my stream of consciousness Ted Talk: This went really fast from my traumatizing head-canon to Bucky!Avenging, tbh.

Anyway, sorry for the heartbreak and for the quality... War!Bucky video source is horrible, but i needed it done.

924 notes • Posted 2021-07-16 11:44:53 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #2021 #long post

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feedmecookiesnow · 4 years

Text

Just Like A Circus

Short fic based on @midnightwinterhawk‘s headcanon about Clint running SHIELD’s obstacle courses to Britney Spears. Thanks for the inspiration (and the excuse to listen to Britney all day)!

***

Bucky decides to give up on sleep after waking up in a cold sweat from his third nightmare. He throws back the covers with more force than is really necessary and stares up at the ceiling. “JARVIS,” he says tentatively, still unused to talking to an unseeing, all-knowing entity. Or at least, one that actually talks back.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“What time is it?”

“It is 2AM.”

“Fuck.” Bucky rolls over and looks at the soft light of the city as it comes in through the window. He can still feel the pull of the nightmare, hear the whine of a bone saw, see the unbridled glee on Zola’s face as he detailed exactly what they were going to do to Bucky---

Bucky gets up, goes into the bathroom, and sticks his head under the faucet. The cold water is a shock to his system but it grounds him, wakes him up a little more. Helps chase away the lights and voices and pain that still echo in his head so many years in the future.

“You’re out,” he tells himself, looking up in the mirror. “You made it out.”

He looks like hell, honestly. There’s dark circles under his eyes, and a few days worth of stubble on his face, and his whole face just has a sunken, haunted look to it. Bucky turns his head away and flips the light off, then makes his way out into the dark of his room.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, not sure who exactly he’s talking to, or why he’s even saying it out loud. “I can’t---I don’t want to see that anymore.”

JARVIS makes a sympathetic sound, eerily human. Bucky’s not sure what to make of it. “If I may make a suggestion, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Agent Barton appears to be having the same issues as you are. He is currently running the obstacle course in the gym. I suspect he would appreciate the company.”

Bucky considers this. Clint’s a decent guy. Not as abrasive as Stark, not as clingy as Steve. Certainly not as scary as Natasha. Bucky likes him well enough. Could be worth checking out. The obstacle course part gives him pause, but he’s pretty sure it won’t be anything like Hydra’s used to be. He doubts Clint will be waiting at the end to punish him for any mistakes made.

Bucky looks at his bed, which promises more nightmares, and shudders. “Okay. I’ll go.”

He pulls on some clothes and pads down the hallway barefoot to the elevator. The gym is towards the bottom of the Tower, on the levels where the Avengers and SHIELD start to blend together. He punches the button and leans against the wall. “JARVIS, how long has he been down there?”

“Not long,” JARVIS says. “No more than an hour.”

Bucky nods and taps his fingers on the wall, curious as to what exactly drove Clint to go run an obstacle course at two in the morning.

Agent Barton appears to be having the same issues as you are.

He wonders briefly what Clint’s nightmares look like, if they’re as skin-crawling and horrible as his own, if they make him wake up screaming and---

The doors open into the gym, and he loses his train of thought.

The first thing he notes is the music, blasting loud enough to make him wince. It’s some kind of pop song, nothing he knows. Bucky shakes his head and moves away from the speakers, looking around to see where Clint is.

After a moment, he spots him, hanging upside down in the cargo net. There’s three knives in his right hand, a bow hooked over his right arm, and a quiver strapped to his back. As Bucky watches, he holds one of the knives up to his mouth. For one insane moment, Bucky thinks he’s going to stab himself, and he surges forward, arm already extended to climb---

But no. His mouth is moving, and his head is nodding along to the song, and after a second, Bucky realizes that he’s singing. Singing, and holding the knife hilt-up like it’s a microphone. He’s really into it, gesturing and waving his other arm to the point where he almost loses the bow.

Bucky stares at him incredulously. Clint finishes the song and launches all three knives at the same time, sending them tumbling across the room to lodge into the projected target on the wall. Then as the next song starts, he flips himself upright, detangles his legs from the cargo net, and starts climbing up. At the top of the net, he rolls onto the platform and nocks a couple arrows. He draws the bow back to his ear, then freezes as he finally notices Bucky.

They stare at each other, frozen in an awkward moment. Then Clint says something that Bucky can’t hear. Around them, silence descends as the music shuts off. Clint unstrings the bow and sticks the arrows back in the quiver. Then he slings the bow over his shoulder and jumps off the platform, easily catching a nearby cable and sliding down.

“Hey,” he says at the bottom, pulling the bow off his shoulder. “What’s up? Something going on?”

Bucky has a lot of questions about what’s going on, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “I can’t sleep.”

Clint studies him for a moment, then says, “Nightmares again?”

Again?

Bucky stares at him. Clint shrugs. “I’ve heard you. You scream sometimes.” He gestures to the course. “Wanna run a couple laps? That usually helps me.”

“Is that why you’re here? Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, honest and open. He shrugs. “You know about the New York battle, right? With Loki and the wormhole?”

“I know.” He’s gotten the story in bits and pieces, mostly from Tony, who he expects exaggerates a little bit. But he knows the gist of it. “Loki...he brainwashed you, right?”

Clint nods. “Weird magic shit. Nat knocked me out of it but every once in a blue moon I still get nightmares about it. So I come down here and run a couple laps with Britney. Helps me think. Or not think, really.”

Bucky rubs his forehead, sure he’s going to regret asking this. “Who’s Britney?”

“The music.” He points at the ceiling. “Britney Spears. I always start with Toxic, but then I let JARVIS pick after that. I think you came in around...” He stops. “Wait, how long were you in here?”

“You were singing,” Bucky says. “In the cargo net. With the knife.”

Clint doesn’t look embarrassed about this at all. “Ah, so you heard the end of Womanizer. Alright.”

Bucky is fairly sure that Clint is speaking English, but it’s not anything he understands. Clint sighs. “Really? No one’s introduced you to Britney Spears yet?” When Bucky shakes his head, he sighs again. “Alright. Let me educate you.”

“No, wait,” Bucky protests, because every time Clint says that, Bucky ends up being forced to do something that inevitably confuses him. The whole concept of modern pop culture is just not something that he grasps well.

Not that that ever deters Clint, though. “You’ll like it,” he says, which is what he always says. Sometimes he’s right, but Bucky’ll never admit it. “You liked that other playlist I made for you, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Well, Britney’s the queen of that list. She’s my go-to for running this thing.”

“Why?”

“Why not? High energy, good voice, sets a kicking beat.” He points at the course. “You should try it.”

Bucky looks over at the obstacle course. It doesn’t look too hard. Certainly not anything worse than Hydra ever had him do. “You first,” he says, eyeing some of the pieces he’s not sure about. “I haven’t seen this set-up.”

“Sure,” Clint says easily. He picks up a couple knives from the table nearby the door and restocks his quiver.

“How long does it take?” Bucky asks.

“Not long,” Clint says, adjusting one of his hearing aids. “A little under seven minutes for just the basic run through, give or take a few seconds. Depends on the songs.”

“Depends on the songs?”

“JARVIS,” he calls up. “Queue up...oh, let’s do 3 and then Circus for me, will you? And reset the course to basic.”

“Certainly, Agent Barton.” There’s some grinding as the floor shifts, and various obstacles unfold and refold themselves.

Clint grins at him and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Ready to watch the magic?”

Bucky makes some kind of helpless go on motion with his metal hand. Clint has this odd talent for knocking him off-balance at every turn, and at this point Bucky’s given up trying to understand him. He’s not entirely sure he wants to, anyway. There’s something inherently charming about the layers of oddness and mystery to Clint. He’s some kind of undefinable puzzle that both fascinates and annoys Bucky in equal measure.

“Sure,” he says, because Clint is apparently waiting for an answer. “I think.”

Clint picks up one of the knives and grips it in his hand, testing the heft of it. “Alright. Hit it, JARVIS.”

A woman’s voice fills the room, loud and...computerized, almost. Clint sings into the knife handle, perfectly in sync, other hand flipping up fingers in time with the words.

One, two, three

Not only you and me

Got one eighty degrees

And I'm caught in between

Bucky stares at him, vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open. Clint finishes the opening of the song, winks, then backflips onto the raised platform behind him, throwing the knife at the same time. It lands on the target, and he moves on without missing a beat.

The course itself is relatively simple. Lots of climbing and jumping, rolling and ducking. Bucky has a very dim memory of doing something similar in basic training so many years ago. Except, in basic training, he’s pretty sure they weren’t allowed to dance while on the course.

And Clint is dancing. There’s no other word for it. He’s intently focused, never missing a step, but he’s also pretty clearly moving to the music, twisting his body and moving his feet in time with the song. It’s hypnotizing, in a way. Bucky can’t take his eyes off him as he darts around the course, effortlessly climbing obstacles and shooting arrows.

Six and a half minutes later, Clint lands in front of him. His feet touch the floor just as the last note of the second song plays. “Ta-da,” he says, breathing hard, and does an overly dramatic bow.

“Jesus,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “That...”

“I know,” Clint says with a grin. “I’m amazing.”

“You’re something,” Bucky says, but Clint’s smile is infectious, and he can’t help but return it. “You know you’d be faster if you weren’t dancing.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.” He gestures to the course. “You wanna try? It really does help.”

Bucky turns to look. “I’m not dancing,” he says.

“We can work up to that.” He points to the weapons locker. “There’s guns over there, if you want to shoot the targets. Otherwise you can just ignore them.”

Bucky goes over and picks out a gun. “I suppose the music is required.”

“Of course.” Clint pulls a water bottle out from his bag and takes a drink. “Any preferences?”

“You’re the one who knows them. You can pick.”

Clint rubs his hands together. “Aw, yeah.”

Bucky has a distinct feeling he’s going to regret that, judging by the sudden gleeful look on Clint’s face, but he also kind of likes that look. So he just sighs and heads to the starting point. “I’m not singing, either.”

“We can work up to that too.” Clint looks up. “JARVIS, start him off with Toxic, as per tradition, and we’ll collaborate from there.”

“As you wish,” JARVIS says, polite as always. “Sergeant Barnes, are you ready?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and he jumps up to the platform.

It is calming, he realizes as he moves through it. Despite the blaring music, and the adrenaline thrumming through him, he does feel significantly more relaxed by the time his feet land on the ground at the finish line. Or at least, less keyed up than he did a few minutes ago.

Clint is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. He bursts into applause as soon as Bucky straightens up. “Good work.”

Bucky wipes the sweat off his head and catches the water bottle tossed at him. “Okay, you’re right. That helps.”

“Told you so.” Clint pats the ground next to him. “I used to get up and run, but once we all moved in here, I figured out this was better. More engaging. It’s hard to focus on nightmares when you’re trying to sing and shoot arrows and backflip off shit at the same time.”

“You don’t have to sing,” Bucky points out.

“Yes I do,” Clint says, looking scandalized at the very thought. “It’s Britney, bitch.”

Bucky snorts. “So which songs should I learn? Since you’re the expert and all.”

Clint’s eyes light up. “You serious?”

“Sure.” Bucky can’t really explain why, but he’s interested. Not necessarily in the music itself, but more in having another glimpse into the weird and wonderful mess that is Clint Barton.

“I’ll send you a playlist,” Clint promises. He reaches for his bag and pulls it over, then digs out his phone and starts swiping at it. “I’ll do it right now, I’ve already got one.”

“My phone’s upstairs,” Bucky says. “I’ll look at it later.” He tilts his head towards the course. “Want to race?”

“Definitely,” Clint says, engrossed in whatever he’s doing. He taps a couple more times, then drops the phone into his bag and gets up. “Sure you can keep up?”

“Pretty sure, twinkletoes,” Bucky says, holding out a hand.

Clint laughs as he pulls him up. “You’re on, old man.”

They run the course together three more times. Clint wins two of them---definitely by cheating, despite his protests otherwise. Bucky doesn’t really care, honestly. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun doing anything, and watching Clint pull off some ridiculous acrobatic moves while singing along just makes it better.

After the third round, they both collapse on the floor. “Okay,” Clint says, wheezing a little. “Two out of three, I win, which means you’re buying the donuts.”

“I don’t remember anything about donuts,” Bucky says, rolling his head to look at him. “When did donuts ever enter this conversation?”

“Two seconds ago.” Clint looks at his watch. “It’s three-thirty, I know a shop that’ll be open.”

“Right now?”

“You got a better idea?”

“I was going to go shower,” Bucky says. “And then maybe try to sleep.”

Clint waves a hand. “Sleep is for the weak. Come get donuts with me.” He looks at his sweat-soaked shirt, and then says, “We can shower first.”

Bucky means to turn him down, honestly. He’s tired, and he thinks he might be able to sleep without nightmares for a bit. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Okay.”

“Yay,” Clint says, rolling up to his feet. He offers a hand down, and Bucky takes it. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in an hour?”

“Sure.” Bucky tosses him his bag, and they both head to the elevator.

They get off at their respective floors. Bucky immediately goes for his bathroom. “JARVIS,” he says as he strips off his clothes. “Can you play the...whatever he sent me?”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS replies, which is how Bucky ends up showering to the dulcet tones of Britney Spears. He’s still not entirely sure what to think of her music, but he can’t deny that they’re catchy songs. He’s still humming one of them when he goes into the kitchen, and finds Clint already perched on the counter, drinking coffee and drumming his heels against the cabinets.

Natasha is there too, and she raises an eyebrow as Bucky walks in. “Oh, no.”

Bucky stops humming. “What?”

She looks at Clint. “Are you making him listen to Britney Spears?”

“Hey,” Clint protests. “She’s fabulous. Don’t hate.”

“She is kind of catchy,” Bucky admits, noting the way Clint smiles.

Natasha rolls her eyes.“I will never understand your thing with her,” she says, dropping her own coffee mug in the sink.

“Your judgement is unnecessary and unwelcome,” Clint tells her.

She blows him a kiss before leaving the kitchen. “Let me know if you want good music,” she says to Bucky. “I have some songs you’d probably like.”

“Rude,” Clint calls after her, then turns his attention to Bucky. “Donuts and coffee?”

“You’re drinking coffee,” Bucky points out.

He slams the rest of it back like a shot and sets the purple mug on the counter “Your point?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re so goddamn weird, you know that?”

Clint throws his arms out wide. “There’s two types of people in the world, Barnes. The ones that entertain, and the ones that observe.”

“And you’re a put-on-a-show kind of girl?”

He can see the exact moment when Clint registers what he said, because Bucky’s just about blinded by the brilliant smile that follows. “Exactly,” Clint says, and he hops off the counter. Bucky can’t help but smile back. “Come on, then. I’m calling the shots, and I say it’s time for donuts.”

“I’m in,” Bucky says, and he follows Clint out the door.

#winterhawk #cookiewrites #fanfic #marvel fanfic #clint barton #bucky barnes

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varls · 4 years

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Title: About Courage Chapter: Two Characters: Reader and Blake Pairing: Blake x female Reader Request: Find it here. Summary: Two of your brothers already died during the Great War and you could see your mother getting sadder and more desperate every day. When your youngest brother is referred to as missing, you make the decision to go to France as well, to find him and bring him back home. But when you arrive, you soon realise you may have not thought it through. Acting like a man isn’t as easy as it sounds and Lance Corporal Blake is a lot smarter than most other men. Chapter Summary: After taking your cousin’s place you finally reach France and until now nobody realised you’re actually a girl. You decide it’s best to talk as little as possible. Unfortunately, there’s one young soldier who notices your silence and decides it’d be a good idea to keep you company, so you wouldn’t end up feeling alone. Warnings: none Word Count: 3.373 Special Thanks To @rubinstein1798

France looked like a place straight out of a nightmare. You already expected it to be bad, but this was far worse than you imagined. Your mind could run wild with thoughts about what the war looked like. You could make up the most horrifying pictures in your head and yet, as someone who had never walked through an actual war zone, you could never understand it’s true impact. It wasn’t really about what you’ve seen while you were led through the country, sitting in the back of a truck between two boys who looked just as dejected as you. You could tell they were expecting something different, though you couldn’t tell exactly what it was since none of you spoke a single word. And that was exactly what was awful. Not walking or driving past a meadow with dead cows lying in the grass, or houses which were destroyed or simply just abandoned, or even the corpses of men scattered around your feet. What really made you feel quite frightful was the strange feeling in your chest. It was very hard to explain, but it sure was tormenting. It was like a combination of every bad feeling you ever experienced — fear, uncertainty, blame and an odd kind of queasiness. But they all blended together at once, making you feel something inexplicably new. And you sure weren’t the only one going through this painful process of puzzling together thoughts and feelings. It was so very quiet around you.

On the other hand, that was good for you. You needed the others to believe you were a boy and to this point, everything was going well. Besides the fact that right now everybody was still too busy with their own minds, they still believed you were Private Charlie Thompson. The first time someone called out your cousin’s name to reach out to you, you found yourself reacting just a little too late. You were lucky the Sergeant just assumed you were just deep in thought. He only gave you a quick warning to stay attentive and walked on. You had to be careful here, more than anybody else. The boys surrounding you at least had a little training at the barracks before they were sent here, but you? You were scared to accidentally shoot someone with that rifle in your hand, which was a lot heavier than you had imagined. You knew your idea was foolish from the start, but dear lord, you really had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into when you stepped into Charlie’s uniform. And your poor mother, what was she doing right now? Were they going to tell anybody? No, they couldn’t. They must’ve known how much trouble the truth would cause you. There was no going back. You were in France now. And you were going to stay. But to keep up your cover you decided it was best if you talk as little as possible. You weren’t sure if you could make your voice sound deep enough to make it sound like a man’s. Though most boys you’ve met until this point were so young, they didn’t even have their change of voice yet. Still, you decided to keep quiet. Better safe than sorry. And you had a lot to lose.

It was six in the morning. You and the other new soldiers had reached the camp the day before. All you did yesterday was to grab some food and find a comfortable spot to sleep — neither proved to have been easy. It took you some time to find a nice place underneath a tree near the camp. Another Private came along a few minutes later, asking you if he could lay down next to you. He didn’t seem comfortable as he looked back to the camp, so you agreed and he lied down at the other side of the tree. “You’re Charlie, aye? My name’s Henry.” Those were the only words spoken between the two of you. Neither of you were very eager to start a proper conversation. Now it was time for you to get up. You didn’t wake up by yourself. It was Henry who leaned over you, softly touching your arm. He was probably afraid you might get angry at him for waking you up. “Charlie, c’mon, get up. You forgot our command for this morning?” Of course, you didn’t. The General wanted to greet the recruits and he seemed to have more than one appointment today given the fact that you and the others seemed to be his first stop today. “We’ll be late, mate. Now c’mon.” Henry’s hand appeared in front of your face and you took it. He pulled you up and you grabbed your helmet. It was the first time you took a moment to eye up the boy who was now walking next to you. He seemed to be terribly young. You knew he was probably eighteen, but he looked closer to fourteen. It was scary. His eyes were bright blue and there was a little mud on his rosy cheeks, but he didn’t seem to care. A smile appeared on his lips as he turned to look at you. “I saw you actually slept tonight,” he said before laughing softly. “I wanted to talk to you, ‘cause I didn’t sleep at all. But I thought it’d be better to not wake you up.”

“SELLARS, THOMPSON! YOU’RE LATE!” The booming voice of your Captain made you jump. “Shit,” you heard Henry say before he sped up a little. You followed and nearly bumped into him as he stopped at the end of the perfectly ordered queue of soldiers, who were already waiting for the two of you. Great. There were other soldiers around you, who were just grabbing food or having quiet conversations. But some of them were watching you and you could hear them giggle. Good job, (y/n), you thought to yourself as you stood up straight, finally joining the others in their routine. Your Captain seemed to be angry as he stepped closer to you and Henry. “This is your first day,” he raised his voice. “So I’m letting this slip. But next time your tardiness will have consequences. Understood?” “Yes, Sir!” you spoke in unison with Henry. This was your first day and it already felt like a nightmare. You would probably still be asleep if it wouldn’t be for Henry’s courtesy. If you didn’t want to attract any further attention, you needed to put much more effort into it. Right now you studied your fellow recruits to make sure your posture was according to the specifications.

General Erinmore’s visit was short. He gave you a speech about how thankful he was that you’re all here to serve your country, but also to warn you about the dangers and painful sides of war which were ahead of you. He was also talking to some of you personally, but you tried to avoid him as best as possible. Which meant you looked away. Anywhere but in his direction. You should have known better. If there’s one thing that’ll attract attention, it’s trying to avoid it. The older man stepped to the end of the line where you stood and still looked ahead of you, focusing on two boys who were playing chess. But you know you couldn’t just ignore your General, at the latest when he started to speak: “You seem to be nervous, Private. What’s your name?” You gulped. “Thompson, Sir. Charlie Thompson.” Your voice was as low as possible and it seemed to be enough. Well, at least you hoped so. Erinmore showed little reaction to your words. “Well, Thompson, let me give you some advice: you should always look at your superiors. Just like you should always look at your enemies. To look away always makes you seem weak in one way or the other. And you don’t want that, do you? Especially in front of the enemy.” He waited until you shook your head, mumbling a quiet “No, Sir,” under your breath. “Find your courage and find your tongue. You have to be stronger if you want to make it through this hell.” “Of course, General,” you answered fully and finally looked at him. He took your helmet off and sighed. “Those things are likely not going to save you from bullets. This uniform is not going to save you. It’s just you who can keep you safe. The others are counting on you to do that. They need you just as much as you need them. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” Stay alive. Keep others alive as well. Have courage. “Yes, General.” “Good.” Erinmore gave back your helmet, but his gaze wandered to your hair and you couldn’t help but look a little confused as a soft laugh escaped his lips. “Who cut your hair, boy?” he asked, but again you didn’t answer. It didn’t seem to bother him. “I can’t let you walk around like this. Your next command is to go to the hairdresser, alright?” You nodded. Did it really look that bad? You thought you had done quite a good job, but you heard a giggle from Henry which meant he agreed with Erinmore. Damn. The General left and you were searching for your Sergeant’s eyes. As you met them he gave you a slight nod. “Go follow your order, Thompson. Come back to me when you’re done. There are sandbags which have to be filled.” Filling sandbags didn’t sound like an exciting task, but you weren’t complaining. You wouldn’t even if you could. You still had no idea how to use a gun and definitely had to learn it before it was too late. The General told you to stay alive. That’d be an even harder task if you didn’t know how to defend yourself. And just asking the Germans to stop shooting at you for sure wouldn’t do you any good.

You had no idea where to find a hairdresser, so you spend the next minutes aimlessly walking around the camp. You were ready to just give up and ask someone for the way when you finally found the open tend you were searching for. There were three seats. One of them was taken already. Sitting on the right side was a boy who looked like he was close to falling asleep while the older man behind him was cutting his hair with a more than bored expression on his face. You sighed, pretty sure that both of them wouldn’t try to talk to you as long as they didn’t have to. “Sit down, son. I’ll take care of you when I’m done with this one,” was the only thing the hairdresser would probably say to you. You followed his instruction, took off your helmet, your bag and the heavy leather equipment before sitting down on the seat next to the other boy, who didn’t even look at you. Just like you assumed, none of you spoke a word. You let your mind wander as your eyes were scouting the camp. Most people here seemed to be so young. Those weren’t the great and strong men as shown by the advertisement at home. Those were boys. Like the ones from your neighbourhood, the kids you used to play with before the war started. They didn’t belong here. Finley didn’t belong here. You didn’t belong here. You had no idea how you should ever find your brother. All you could do was keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe, just maybe, you would find some clues which would lead you to Finley. Or at least to the truth about his whereabouts.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the other boy who entered the tent, although he tossed his things right next to yours. It wasn’t until he sat down on the chair next to you that you finally looked at him. You were looking him straight in the eye. It was as if he wanted you to look at him the moment he sat down. Or even before, when he entered the tent. There was a huge grin on his lips. One which irritated you. It looked like he was up to something. But what could he possibly want other than getting his hair done? He surely didn’t come here for you. Perhaps he always looked at others like this. He looked like the only one in the entire camp to be in a good mood. It was probably not easy to keep that up. “Hello,” he finally said while leaning over to you just a little. You backed away. Did he have to come this close? “You were the one coming too late to the General’s visit today, right?” Ah, great. So he did come here to make fun of you. “Sellars or Thompson?” “Thompson,” you answered quietly. He seemed to notice you felt a little uneasy because he leaned back again and nodded. “Happened to me, too, on my first day,” he admitted. “At least you weren’t alone. I was the only one late and I was running through the camp like a madman, I’m telling you. You should have seen. I probably looked like a fool.” “You did.” It was the boy on your left who finally raised his voice. You turned to him and found a slight smile on his face. His eyes were still closed. “Thanks, Dolan. I was just trying to cheer our new friend up. Didn’t need your consent.” “You’re gettin’ it anyway. And for free, Blake.” You couldn’t help but smile. This whole conversation reminded you of your brothers. Blake shook his head, but he was laughing. He didn’t take Dolan’s raillery too seriously. Instead, he leaned back, relaxing his body and finally looked away from you. “Was I right, though?” It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you. “Uhm… what?” “Was I right? Assuming you need someone to cheer you up?” You kept quiet for a moment. He wasn’t wrong, but he also wasn’t right. You didn’t need anybody to cheer you up. What you did need whatsoever was someone to help you. Someone who could teach you how to use a gun and all that. There was so much more to being a soldier than you thought. But you couldn’t be honest about it now, could you? You were afraid this might blow your cover. You couldn’t be honest. Especially now, while two other people were listening. “You’re done”, you heard the older man speak. Silently you watched Dolan getting up and leaving the tent with a quick ‘thank you’. He didn’t bother looking into the mirror. Why would he? The hairdresser cleaned his seat a little before moving on to you. He clicked his tongue while his fingers ran through your hair. “What kind of idiot cut your hair, boy?” You felt your cheeks heating up. Me. I’m the idiot. But you didn’t tell him. You didn’t even bother to lie about it. You could have said it was your mother, but you didn’t. You kept quiet again.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” It was Blake who raised his voice again. You would’ve looked at him, but the older men behind you stopped your head from moving before you even tried. You could feel Blake was looking at you. “Is it because you’re afraid? Because you don’t feel comfortable? Or are you just shy?” He seemed genuinely curious, but he was asking way too many questions. You thought if you didn’t speak you would stay unnoticed, but it seemed it was your silence which attracted Blake’s attention. “I just don’t like talking,” you finally answered. “But that’s not good, you know?” Blake leaned in closer again. This guy didn’t seem to care about personal space too much. It made you nervous. “I mean, maybe this whole thing works out for you at home, but it won’t help you here. You need friends and you won’t find them if you don’t talk to anybody.” You had the chance to shoot him one sceptical look before your head got turned again by the strong hand working on your hair. “What are you? The camp’s motivational coach?” Blake laughed and you could hear a soft snicker from behind you as well. “No. I’m just trying to help,” he stated, suddenly sounding very serious. But it was just for a short moment before he loosened up again. “But I’d be a good motivational coach, don’t you think?” The hairdresser walked around you, now standing right in front of you. You tried to look at Blake and he must have noticed because he leaned forward to appear in your field of vision. His cheeky grin was back again and this time you began to smile as well. “You’re probably a little too intrusive for this job.” “What?!” His voice sounded sorely shocked and it fulfilled his purpose in making you laugh, although you were trying to hide it. “I’m sorry,” you said, still with a bright smile on your face. He narrowed his eyes, watching you closely. Suddenly you felt uneasy again. You didn’t like him looking at you like this. What if he sees? He already noticed you being too quiet. You could tell he was very smart, even though he wasn’t bragging with it. “Well, okay,” he finally spoke as he disappeared out of sight. “I trust your honest opinion, mate. Though I don’t even know your full name.” “It’s Charlie. Charlie Thompson.” “Is it really Charlie? Or is it Charles?” You honestly had to think about his question for a second. “It’s Charles. But nobody calls me that.” “Okay, Charlie. Well, my name’s Tom. Actually, it’s Thomas. But nobody calls me that.” You knew he was grinning again without having to look at him. You could hear it in his voice. “Except for my mom when she’s angry at me.” You smiled, softly shaking your head. It was at this moment, the hairdresser stepped back and took a long look at you. “We’re done as well. Looking much better now, son.” “Thank you very much, Sir,” you said as you got up from your seat. You could feel Tom’s eyes follow your every movement. Was it possible he already figured out the truth? Either way he made you very nervous, even though he probably didn’t even mean to make you feel this way. He was just trying to be nice. To make you feel less alone perhaps? You grabbed your things, taking on your leather equipment as the hairdresser stepped over to Blake. But the boy stood up, waving his hand in refusal. “You know what, Steven? I changed my mind. My hair is perfectly fine.” “No, it isn’t,” Steven stated. “It’s way too long.” Blake’s hair wasn’t actually too long. Not in your opinion at least. You had no idea about army standards, but you could imagine him always walking around looking like this when he was at home. “What? You don’t like my curls?” he asked Steven with a smirk. Said curls were falling onto his forehead. He actually looked kind of cute. You nearly jumped when Tom turned to look at you. Oh God, you were staring. A little too fast you grabbed your back and threw it over your shoulder. Blake stepped closer to take his things as well. “Where are you going now?” “Going to look for the Sarge. Seems like my duty for today is filling sandbags.” “Mine, too!” he exclaimed in excitement. You raised your brows, not sure if he was telling the truth or just said that so he could join you to… Whatever his intentions were. You could not read this boy at all. “No, it’s not the most interesting job. But there are worse, believe me. You’ll know soon enough.” You didn’t react to his words. It seemed like you were not getting rid of this boy so easily. All you could do was to hope he wouldn’t find out about you. You weren’t sure how he’d react and you couldn’t risk getting into trouble just because he couldn’t keep a secret.

#about courage #*#writing #1917 fic #tom blake x reader #1917 #1917 writing #tom blake imagine #tom blake fic #tom blake #there seems to be missing a cut on mobile #whops

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keoghans · 4 years

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Bradycardia / Grant!Davis series

Here we have yet another part of the series of my beloved new character Hannah Davis and my bOI Chuck Grant. This one is kinda lame but I still like it.

Warnings: idk medical condition?

Bastogne. Frozen hell on earth, located in Belgium.

The cold seemed to never end, like Belgium only had one season. And the paratroopers were unprotected, underfed and almost under constant attack.

Chuck held it in most of the time, except when Penkala, Muck and Malarkey were near. Those three always brought smiles and fun anecdotes for them to fill the down time.

But the NCO spent the majority of his time alone in a foxhole, until he was told by Lipton to move, so Shifty and Malarkey would be in his.

“Go with Hannah, she has been alone most days,” Lip said, “she needs some company, we all deserve some”.

He sighed, already feeling the dread of awkward conversations between him and Shifty’s friend. Hannah had always seemed like a nice woman, very tough for fighting for her place in the Forces, but they never exchanged that many words.

But orders are orders and there is no place for questions.

As he got closer to her foxhole, he noticed the brunette brushing her hair with her fingers, her helmet hanging in her knee, reminding him of the times he had seen his mother brush her hair with her fingers after swimming in the local pool, where she took him and his brother for many summers.

“Finally, some stinking ass shit called food for our bellies!” exclaimed Luz, filled with cynicism, as the men formed a queue with their tin cups in hand.

“You would eat anything you can find that is slightly edible, Luz,” Skip joked, earning a push from the aforementioned paratrooper, the men laughing around them.

Chuck stood between Christenson and Perconte, in complete silence, thinking about the meals he used to enjoy back in his house in Los Angeles. The onion salted beef with peas and potatoes his mother made, pulled chicken with the secret sauce his brother did, and those amazing burgers served at Old Rick’s in downtown.

His stomach grumbled as the rest of his body shook from the cold. His face felt still as a rock, even though his head was covered with a scarf like a hiyab, he could feel the sharp teeth of Winter biting down his skin. Chuck wondered how the hell did they land in such place, without winter gear, without proper food, without a good amount of ammunition.

He felt frustrated for the men he commanded, being Staff Sergeant, and he couldn’t protect them properly. Though he knew how the chain of command left even Winters unprotected, he wanted to scalate and yell at everyone who was supposed to send the men into war properly armed and prepared.

“Medic! Roe!” a loud voice yelling came into notice, shaking him from his thoughts. McClung was running towards them, and silence fell upon the group of soldiers waiting for their dinner.

“What’s going on? Are they attacking? I don’t hear anything!” Malarkey exclaimed, just a few feet from the group.

“No, it’s Davis, I saw her in her foxhole. I—I thought she was asleep, so I shook her to wake her up and she just felt limp to the side… I think she’s—,” he stopped talking abruptly, his eyes wide open and shook.

Without another word, Doc Roe, Winters, Shifty and Chuck ran towards her foxhole.

Chuck shook with fear as he saw two other paratroopers around her body, sprawled across the snow.

“I—I thought she was asleep, sir, I swear, I—Jesus,” Chuck said to Winters, as he fell to his knees to hold her head while Roe worked on her.

Doc Roe opened her shirt up, revealing her chest and placed his ear in the middle of her breasts, asking everyone for silence, while Winters held her hand from the other side.

“There’s a very faint sound, she’s probably in Bradycardia, I’m gonna try rubbing her chest. Chuck, talk to her, try to wake her up,” Eugene commanded, forming a fist with his right hand, and pressing up and down her chest.

“Hannah? Hannah, wake up, come on. It’s Chuck, I’m here, we have food, come on, please, wake up,” Chuck started, his voice dripping with worry.

“Hannah, please, you need to wake up. It’s Shifty. Winters, Eugene and Chuck are here! Come on, we still have to fight, let’s go, Davis, come on!” Shifty added, applying pressure to her legs.

“It’s not working, and she could lose it… there’s only one thing I can do right now,” Doc Roe said, and without waiting another second he made a tight fist with his right hand, charged it up and slammed it against the left side of her chest.

Hannah suddenly woke up, taking a big breath in like she just came from underwater. She was panting, her hands were shaking as she took notice of the men around her.

Chuck felt like his heart just came down from his throat, as one of her hands found his around her face.

“Hannah? Listen to me, you were in syncope. Your pulse went so low from the cold, you passed out. I are you drinking enough water? Eating?” Eugene asked her, holding her hand as he took her pulse.

She nodded silently, looking only at him.

“Well, we barely have food, Doc, I’m sure she’s eating as much as any of us, which isn’t much,” Shifty added.

“I’m sorry that I have to ask this but, are you menstruating by any chance?” Eugene asked.

Another nod.

“That could also explain what happened to you…”

“Doc, take her to the Aid Station, get a hot meal, get her hydrated and get back here tomorrow. That’s an order, Davis, don’t come back until you’re fully recharged,” Winters ordered, somehow managing to balance firm and genuine concern in his voice.

When the jeep came, Shifty lifted her up and placed her on the front, while Doc Roe took a seat next to the wheel, still holding onto one of her hands.

“Wait! Sir, can I go in Eugene’s place? Shifty can cover my place, or Penkala, he’s nearby with Luz and Muck,” Chuck asked Dick, taking off his helmet.

“Grant, we—,”

“Sir, I should’ve checked on her better, she could be dead right now because I didn’t look out for her as I should’ve… and we all do that with each other. I want to be there now, please… sir,” Chuck insisted. Winters stared at him for a moment, noticing the worry in his eyes and his tone of voice.

“Tell the nurses there exactly what the Doc said, and never leave her side. Find food for both and don’t come back, like I said, until she has at least some colour in her skin,” Dick said, signaling Eugene to get off the jeep.

“Thank you, Sir, thank you,” the NCO replied, taking Eugene’s place.

“Ask for Renee, tell her I sent you, she’ll help you,” Eugene said before the jeep drove away.

“Here, hot meals like Winters said,” Chuck said. He came back with Renee, placing a small battered plate in front of Hannah, who looked exhausted, but with some color back in her skin.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting up against the wall. Both were sitting in the back of the church, where the soldiers with minor injuries stayed. “So, bradycardia, bleeding and dehydration… and I almost died?”

“Bradycardia isn’t that bad, just… it’s like your body went into hibernation, and the bleeding from your period didn’t help. Which brings me to this,” Renee replied, and pulled a few pads made from fabric that look like the bandages Roe used to cover wounds, “They’re sanitary serviettes. I managed to find a few and cleansed them in hot water, for you,” she explained, placing them in the pocket of her jacket.

“Thank you, Renee, really,” Hannah said, finding some comfort in another woman who understood her problem. Renee squeezed her arm with a warm smile and left to keep helping the other soldiers.

“You look better…” Chuck started, sitting next to her, “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t notice at first, I… I really thought you were deep asleep and since you haven’t been sleeping well in the last few days, I just thought I’d get food for both and come back to the hole, and well—,”

“Chuck, it’s okay, really. You’re not a medic, you’re not supposed to know this shit can happen…” Hannah said, taking a bite of her food. She noticed the concern in his eyes before, but wasn’t strong enough to speak. “You think I can snatch a purple heart for this?” she joked, making Chuck snort.

“I’m sure Gordon can spare another one, or we’ll just steal it from his stuff,” he replied, smiling at her.

Chuck took notice of her smile, suddenly. How some of her teeth were slightly crooked, how her nose crinkles and the corner of her lips twitches while she laughs.

But he promptly caught himself, clearing his throat and pulled his attention back to the conversation and his food.

“God, I miss my grandma’s cooking so much right now,” Hannah said, looking down at the plate.

“I miss my mother’s. But at least we didn’t have to eat those disgusting beans we get served on the field,” Chuck replied, passing her a bit of bread.

“Would it be bad to reveal that I had a syncope on purpose so we would have a better meal?” Hannah joked, earning a small push from Chuck.

“Don’t even joke about it, I was scared shitless… don’t tell anyone I just said that,” Chuck said, looking at her a tad sternly. Hannah smiled to ease up his worry.

“Sergeant, you did help me wake up, and came here with me. If something ever happens to you, I’ll be there too. Just… try not to get bradycardia or shot, okay, you’re probably a lot heavier than me and I don’t wanna have to carry you,” she responded, chuckling.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Well, you’re no Skinny Sisk”.

“Anyways, if anything happens to me, I’ll be sure to be near someone that can carry me; like Lt. Speirs or Doc Roe,” Chuck said, and kept eating with Hannah, cracking jokes every now and again.

#chuck grant #chuck grant imagine #chuck grant x oc #chuck grant one shot #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers one shot #my work #nolan hemmings #damian lewis #peter youngblood hills #rocky marshall #shane taylor #fanfic #fanfiction #hbo war #hbo #hbo war fanfiction

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an-unknown-writers-world · 4 years

Text

The Whiny Soldier

Day Fourteen: Company Holiday Party

Part of @panicfob 25 Days of Christmas Challenge

Warnings: Angst, Bad jokes,

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (First Person, nameless)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts, Maria Hill, Thor, Mentions of Rhodey, and Happy

Word Count: 1694

A/N: Sorry, this is out a little later than normal. Some personal stuff came up preventing me from getting this queued like normal. As always thank you for reading. The previous parts of this series can be found on my Masterlist.

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

Standing in front of the full-length mirror I examined myself from head to toe, I had never seen this dress before, apparently, while Bucky and I were “stranded” at the cabin Pepper had outfits for the Stark Gala sent over to the compound. It was a black cocktail dress with the top being a silver metallic fabric, it was tight and came to just above my knee and left little to the imagination. I spent extra time on my makeup and curled my hair into a half-up french roll.

“You look beautiful,” Bucky said rounding the corner into my in-suite bathroom.

He was dressed in a three-piece suit, all black except a silver vest and tie. I smiled at him in the mirror as he came to stand behind me.

“I wish Nat was here,” I whined.

Bucky laughed, “She would agree that you look amazing in that dress.”

I rolled my eyes. “I do like that Pepper picked out matching outfits.” Turning around in his arms I wrapped my hand behind his neck gently pulling him down to kiss me; his hands resting on my lower back pulling me flush against his core.

“If you’re trying to distract me,” He said breaking the kiss, “it’s not going to work.”

Groaning resting my forehead against his shoulder. “I hope you’re prepared to carry me home tonight.”

“I’d carry you anywhere.”

*** A Few Hours Later ***

Bucky, Sam, and Maria were off swapping battle stories when I had returned from the bathroom. I was standing at the bar waiting for my drink when I felt a hand softly lay across my lower back and kiss to the side of my head, it wasn’t Bucky though. I turned and immediately recognized Thor. Squealing with excitement I threw my hands around his neck as he twirled me with a laugh.

“I didn’t think you’d be here!” I exclaimed.

“I thought it’d be a happy surprise.” He pulled back from the hug.

The bartender pushed my drink to me. “Anything for you sir?”

“No, thank you,” Thor replied.

“Come with me,” I said grabbing my drink.

We walked away from the thick of the crowd to chat and catch up. The last time we saw each other was Tony’s funeral, now he’s lost a hundred pounds and back to looking like the Nordic God that I met once upon a time. He shared some of his adventures with the Guardians and explained how he uninvited them to the party.

The two of us talked and laughed so hard that I lost track of time, I thought for sure that Bucky would come to find me when he was ready; after all, it wasn’t too often he got to socialize with others who understand him besides Sam. I saw both Maria and Sam make separate trips to the bar over the time we were together, but never did I see Bucky.

“What has you troubled?” Thor questioned.

“I haven’t seen Bucky for a while, it makes me a little nervous in these settings.” I was truthful.

“Do you fear his programming is not broke?”

“Not at all, I know that’s not the issue. It’s his people skills I worry about. Like you when you first visited earth.”

He laughed, “I was great.”

I shook my head with a laugh, “Tell Darcy that.”

“Why is that you worry about Sergeant Barnes? Is he not someone else’s responsibility?”

Before I could answer Sam appeared in front of us, “So your Winter Soldier has become Whiny Soldier and has run off sulking.”

“What did you say to him?” I questioned.

“Why do you assumed I said something,”

“Well, both of you have a pretty shitty track record.”

“I’ll admit to that, but it wasn’t me, it was Maria,” Sam informed.

“What the hell did Maria say?” I was flabbergasted.

“She may or may not have made a joke about you leaving him for Thor.”

“Ah!” Thor exclaimed, “That is why you worry, you and the Sergeant are together.”

“You do realize he hasn’t been a Sergeant in about eight years?” Sam asked Thor.

“Where is he, Sam?” I asked, “Sorry, Thor I have to go find him.”

“Last I saw he went towards the balcony.”

“Of course, he would,” I muttered, “it’s thirty degrees outside so it’s a perfectly normal place to go hang out.”

Abandoning my wine glass, I stormed past Sam and headed towards the balcony. The mass of people made it a little harder than I had hoped, having to weave through people a lot of which were drunk and stumbly. I smiled and waved at everyone who I recognized as I passed trying to avoid having to stop and talk to most of them. Bucky and I had already made our required rounds through the people we knew and those he didn’t.

I caught a glimpse of Pepper, Happy and Maria standing together and talking, I thought about derailing from my mission briefly to ask Maria what happened. Sam hadn’t been forthcoming with information and I wanted to know what I was walking into, but I decided it would be better to make it straight to Bucky. Finally making it through the sea of people I finally found a door to the balcony, pushing it open I saw Bucky sitting on a concrete bench looking over the railing at the lake.

“Bucky,” I spoke softly to not startle him, it was pointless he knew I was coming the second the door closed, enhanced abilities and all.

“Doll you shouldn’t be out here. Go back to the party.” He said not turning to look at me.

I guess the conversation was going to happen out here, I thought to myself. Making my way towards him I sat down on the bench, immediately regretting my lace undergarments with the thin dress material.

“What are you doing out here babe? The party is inside.”

“Nothing, just thinking. Too many people inside.” He replied.

“And it has nothing to do with what Maria said to you?”

“No,” He snapped.

“Good because I would hope that you already know that nothing in this universe could take me from you.”

“That’s not true and we both know it.” He sighed, “You were there the day that Shuri told everyone that this may not be permanent, the mental block she built could deteriorate over time. My own mind could take you from me.”

“Bucky you’re letting that happen right now. I’m not worried about it and neither should you. That isn’t new knowledge to any of us, the only new thing is the comment Maria made." I hesitated for a moment, "Are you trying to blame your jealousy on some far-off futuristic fear?”

“Maybe,” He sighed, “probably.”

I groaned, “Well, stop it, I love you and I thought I had made that pretty clear.”

We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us attempting to speak. I was freezing and this moment all I wanted was a cup of tea and my warm bed.

“Did you just tell me you love me?” Bucky spoke barely above a whisper.

“I did, Bucky I’ve been in love with you since the day Pepper introduced us at Tony’s memorial.”

He smiled, “that was the day I swore I’d never be friends with you,” He chuckled. “You were too nice to me, it was unnatural.”

I laughed.

“I swore I’d never be friends with you because I knew I would fall in love with you.” He took my hand in his. “And I did, the first night you moved into the compound. I was a jerk to you and when I interrupt your late-night movie you didn’t turn me away.”

Closing the distance between us I kissed him; it was a loving and gentle kiss, one that sealed our emotions.

“You’re shaking,” Bucky observed.

“That’s because it’s like five degrees and I have barely any clothes on.”

His face fell in disappointment, “I shouldn’t have made you come out here.”

“It’s fine, but can’t we go inside. This is the second time this week that I’ve felt like I was going to lose a limb to hypothermia.”

Bucky laughed and wrapped his arm around me to pull me into his side, “Sorry doll, both are my fault.”

Making it in the doors I shivered at the sudden warmth.

“How did you know I was out there?” Bucky asked.

“Sam,” I stated. “He called you the ‘Whiny Soldier’.” I laughed.

“Fucking bird,” He grumbled.

“Pay up, Wilson.” I heard Maria say from the bar.

We walked towards them and Pepper.

“Oh, dear God,” I groaned. “What did you guys bet on?”

“You would leave Barnes because of his whining,” Sam admitted.

“I didn’t.” Pepper claimed proudly.

I laughed at her, “as hard as you tried to push the two of us together, I would hope you had more faith in us than that.”

“Hill, how did you bet?” Bucky asked.

“I love you, but you’re a sap.” She directed at me. “And you’ve been ogling her since Steve left.”

“I was never ogling.”

“Yes, you were.” Sam and Pepper replied.

I laughed, “I was clearly the only one who didn’t see it.”

“Pepper and I were planning an intervention,” Sam confessed.

“I offered to send you guys on some remote pointless mission.” Maria laughed.

“But I’m not a field agent,” I replied.

“That’s why it would be pointless.” Maria explained, “Fury probably would have been pissed. But that’s a great joy in my life these days.”

“Hey, where is Rhodey?” I asked, “I haven’t seen him all night.”

“Wakanda,” Pepper explained. “Shuri had a Christmas present for him.”

We all stared at her waiting for an explanation.

“Scientific babble, basically she found a way to create an implant of some kind to possibly fix his spine.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Sam replied. He would never admit it, but it was clear he still had some residual guilt over the situation.

I leaned against Bucky getting tired, the alcohol buzz was wearing off leaving me exhausted. A yawn escaped.

“I think that’s my queue to take her home.” Bucky laughed.

#panic's 25 days of christmas #25 days of christmas #A Very Marvel Christmas #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #sam wilson #falcon and the winter soldier #maria hill #pepper potts #happy hogan #thor #An Unknown Writers World writes #An Unknown Writers World

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littlemarvelfics · 5 years

Text

Guard You: The Rescue (3/4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: about 1.5k

Warnings: nothing

Square Filled: Rescue Mission for @star-spangled-bingo

A/N: We’re almost at the end! Don’t be afraid to drop me a line with your thoughts!

You opened your eyes slowly, your head pounding and an ache in your neck. You tried to raise your arms to rub the drowsiness from your eyes but the wouldn’t move for their position behind your back. You looked around the room, it was bare except the metal chair you were tied to and the lightbulb hanging above you. You were seemingly alone but you couldn’t be sure, the fuzziness in your head affecting your senses. You didn’t know how long you’d been gone but you could only hope Bucky had realized you were gone.

++++++++++

Bucky woke up the next morning with a sinking feeling in his gut. He had left you alone the previous night, he knew he had made a mistake by kissing you. When you kissed him back, he was over the moon but when you pushed him away, reality came crashing down on him. You were clearly into Steve, why did he think kissing you was a good idea? He left you alone that night and most of the following morning, knowing you were upset with him. Bucky had just gotten word that the team would be back in a few hours so he went to your room to let you know and maybe even try to talk to you about the night before.

Bucky walked up to your room and knocked on the door gently, saying your name quietly. When no answer came, he tried again with a little more force but there was still no answer.

“FRIDAY?” he asked the air around him.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” the AI quickly answered.

“Is Y/N in her room?”

“Yes, she’s been in her room since she arrived back at 10:42pm last night,” FRIDAY confirmed.

Bucky turned his attention back to your door.

“I know you’re mad, but I have to talk to you. Please just say something,” he said, leaning his ear against the door and waiting for any sound to come through. When nothing happened, he spoke to the AI again.

“FRIDAY, unlock the door,” he demanded.

When he heard the lock click, he opened the door slightly.

“I’m coming in okay? I’m worried about you,” he said as he stepped through the threshold of your room.

Bucky looked around and didn’t see you anywhere. He checked the bed, the bathroom, he even went so far as to check under the bed and in the closet. But you were nowhere to be found.

“FRIDAY, you said she was in here,” Bucky said.

“My reading indicated she is, she’s laying on her bed.”

“I’m looking at her bed and she’s not there,” he grumbled to himself, knowing something was wrong. Bucky quickly took the elevator to the security room, asking FRIDAY to queue up the video from when you returned to your room last night. He watched the video closely. You had barely come into your room when someone came up behind you and drugged you with something, causing you to slump over quickly. You never even had a chance to use any of the moves Bucky had taught you earlier.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bucky mumbled to himself as he pulled out his phone, dialing Steve.

“Hello?” he answered.

“We have a problem, Y/N is gone,” Bucky said quickly.

“WHAT? How the hell is she gone?!” Steve demanded.

“Someone did an override of FRIDAY’s system. She didn’t send any break-in alerts and when I was in Y/N’s empty room, she was reading Y/N as in her bed.”

“Dammit, we’ll be there in an hour Bucky. Start searching,” Steve said before hanging up.

Bucky sighed and started with what he knew, searching for traces of anyone related to why you were at the compound in the first place. The team was back before Bucky had a chance to call with any updates.

“You had one job Buck! To protect her. But you couldn’t do that?” Steve said as he stormed into the security room where Bucky had been working. “Maybe if you could have put whatever bullshit you have with her aside, you would have been able to do your job and I wouldn’t be the only cleaning up your messes!”

Steve expected Bucky to fight back but to his surprise, Bucky just nodded.

“I know, I should have checked on her in person more instead of relying on FRIDAY. But I think I found where they’re keeping her,” he said, pointing to the monitor.

Steve rushed over and listened to Bucky explain his reasoning, nodding along as he absorbed the information. Bucky had found everything he could, down to the number of guards they probably had on the place.

“Alright, it’ll take us an hour to get there. I’m not taking any chances here, she’s a civilian and she’s our number one priority. Wheels up in 20,” he said, exiting the room without another glance at Bucky.

++++++++

Bucky put on his uniform mechanically, the guilt eating at him slowly. When Steve had stormed in yelling at him, he couldn’t even put up a fight. Steve was right, it was all his fault that you were gone. The idea that you weren’t safe was killing him. He knew his only redemption would be to get you back safe.

+++++++

Steve went through the plan one last time; Sam and Tony were on air support, taking out the surrounding guards quickly and quietly so the ground team consisting of Steve, Natasha, Bucky, and Wanda could get into the building and split up, searching the abandoned office building for you.

Everyone nodded their understanding, the plan was simple and logical, nothing they hadn’t done before. But for the two super-soldiers, the stakes felt higher than ever before. Once everyone had settled in again for the flight, Steve pulled Bucky aside.

“Why didn’t you check on her?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know,” Bucky mumbled, attempting to end the conversation but Steve wasn’t giving up.

“Yes, you do. What was going on? You’ve been all over her since she got here but when it mattered-”

“I kissed her!” Bucky said, interrupting his friend’s speech. “I kissed her all right? And then we both panicked. She ran off to her room and asked to be left alone. I felt guilty so I did and that’s when they took her. So yes, this is entirely my fault. I get it. Can we drop it and focus on getting her back?”

“You kissed her?” Steve questioned quietly.

“Yeah, I did. But she clearly wasn’t into it, so can we drop it?”

Steve nodded quickly and left Bucky alone, taking a seat next to Sam.

++++++++++

Everything was going according to plan, the perimeter guards had been taken out and the ground team was doing their sweep. It didn’t take long for them to find the floor where they had you, it was the only heavily armed area. Bucky nodded at Natasha when she looked at him, signaling she was ready when he was. Bucky pulled his knife out of its sheath and charged at the same time Natasha did. He barely registered taking down the guards, his only focus was to get you out of there. Natasha called the other to the floor they were on before quietly and slowly entering the area where they could hear a man talking.

The first thing Bucky saw was you, stripped of most of your clothes, tied to a chair with your head hanging forward limply. He saw the slight rise and fall of your chest, reassuring him that you weren’t dead. But based on the amount of blood pooling around you, he didn’t have long to get you out of there. The man holding you must have sensed the movement behind him, quickly crouching behind you, blocking any shot Bucky or Natasha could have taken. Bucky recognized his face instantly- Congressman Murray, the man you had turned in as a HYDRA operative.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her,” he said quickly.

Bucky saw movement behind him, the flash of red, white and blue that he knew so well. Steve’s shield flew through the air, missing you but hitting the Congressman straight in the back. The force was enough to cause him to fall slightly, Steve moving in to restrain him before he could get back up.

Bucky ran over to you quickly, taking his knife and cutting the binds that held you to the metal chair. Without anything supporting you, you fell limply forward into Bucky’s arms.

“Bucky?” you mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s me doll. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’m gonna get you outta here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve coming over and Natasha calling for an emergency evac.

“Bucky, ‘m sorry,” you slurred. “It all happened too fast.”

“I know, it’s okay. Just stay with me.”

“Tell Steve I’m sorry too,” you said quietly, not realizing he was right there.

“You can tell him yourself when we get you fixed up,” Bucky said frantically.

Bucky heard the boots of the paramedics running into the room.

“They’re here, Y/N. You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky reaffirmed.

There was no response from you, just deafening silence.

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rao-misland · 4 years

Photo

https://www.artofthetitle.com/title/good-omens/

---

Good Omens title sequence:

I quite like this title sequence, as it is packed full of little details and easter eggs from the actual show. (sort of spoiler warning?) For example, it includes such things as; the bookshop burning down, the nuns (from the cult thing), the hellhound, the kraken, the little ball dragon demon thing and many more.

It almost works like a sort of storyline of the show, as it starts of with Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and Crowley (David Tennant) in a dark void (before the earth was created), then it goes onto the garden of eden (represented by the the tree and the apple); then it shows the nuns from the first episode, and moves through different settings and scenes that appear throughout the show, until it ends with a sort of hellish landscape and people being raptured and ascending to heaven, or descending to hell (or in Crowley’s case, “sauntering vaguely downwards...”).

Another cool detail is that the Queue-esque line that continues to get bigger and longer throughout the title sequence actually includes quite a few people and/or creatures that are in the series, such as; the nuns, a space alien, Crowley in his victorian outfit, Death (and eventually the rest of the horseman), the little ball dragon demon thing, a nuclear power plant worker in a hazmat suit, Witchfinder sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy on a moped, the hellhound, Aziraphale in his wartime outfit, and rather a lot of extras/background characters ( who quite a few of them have had their faces replace by either Sheens or Tennants).

The amount of detail put into it is rather refreshing, as it seems to blend in rather a lot of different styles and techniques, and is rather entertaining when watching, as you seem to find a multitude of different gubbins throughout different viewings.

Also the show is quite good so i would watch it if you haven't already.

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kelpiesedge · 5 years

Photo

Calling all YA fans! We have a special early Christmas present for you! Award-winning author Claire McFall has written a brand new chapter in the Ferryman saga! Read on to find out what exactly happened at Dylan’s Christmas Dance.

Look out for the series finale, Outcasts, in March 2019!

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

It was snowing. Not the beautiful, pristine blanket of white that glistened in Christmas movies; this was more wet, slushy, gross snow, churned up and muddied by cars on the road and then spat onto the pavement. Which was why Dylan was wearing a glittering, purple party dress… and wellingtons.

She had her shoes in a plastic bag, though, her fingers clinging to the handles and slowly going numb thanks to the cold night air. Her other hand was toasty warm, tucked into Tristan’s. Dylan peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. She’d tried to talk him into hiring a kilt for the dance, but he’d balked at the idea of donning “a skirt” and instead was dressed in his black school trousers and a dark blue shirt that made his eyes seem to glow in an unearthly way. He’d hacked at his long hair the week before, instructing a barber to cut it tight to the sides of his head, leaving a deliberate disarray of spikes on top. Dylan had been horrified as she’d sat in the waiting area of the hairdressers – she loved running her fingers through his hair – but Tristan said he was sick of it getting in the way. It had been a shock at first, but now that Dylan had grown accustomed to his new shorn look, she had to admit it suited him. It emphasised the angles of his face, gave him a leaner, fiercer look.

She grinned, shaking her head at him when he eyed her quizzically. She wanted to pinch herself. She, Dylan McKenzie, was heading to a Christmas dance, hand in hand with the best-looking boy at school; the best-looking boy in Glasgow (or anywhere, really). Loving that fact was shallow, and she’d never admit it out loud – she pressed her lips together tightly and just smiled when Tristan followed up his look with a questioning squeeze of her hand – but she did love it. A year ago she’d never have dreamt she could experience this kind of happiness.

The only thing marring her evening was she couldn’t tell anyone the boy beside her was all hers. To everyone else at Kaithshall Academy, she and Tristan were cousins.

As they got close to the school, she gently disengaged their fingers. And felt the loss immediately – not just because it was cold. Tristan tried to regain her hand, but she dodged his searching fingers.

“People will see,” she murmured.

“So?” Tristan replied, though she knew he wasn’t serious. They’d had this discussion several times before.

There was a queue to get into the school, tickets once again being carefully checked – and rechecked – by the industrious McManus. He glowered indiscriminately, Scrooge standing in the way of all the Christmas fun.

“What’s in the bag?” he demanded when it was Dylan and Tristan’s turn to present their tickets. “Are you trying to sneak alcohol into a school event, young lady?”

“It’s my shoes,” Dylan answered, holding the bag open for him to inspect.

He peered in, like the contents might jump out and attack him, pursing his lips disapprovingly at the pair of spike-heeled sandals that Dylan had bought in a moment of madness and was now dreading having to dance in.

“Hmmm. And you?” He scowled at Tristan, who was wearing a thin jacket over his shirt. Tristan just stared back at him, refusing to be cowed – or searched – and to Dylan’s delight McManus backed down first, raising a disgruntled arm towards the entrance. Dylan suppressed her smile as they hurried inside. She had the feeling the bad-tempered history teacher considered every pupil he was forced to admit a personal affront.

A giant Christmas tree dominated the school’s reception area. It stood at a slightly drunken angle, and the baubles and tinsel had been thrown on in a haphazard, uneven fashion, but the lights twinkled merrily. Along with the jaunty Christmas music filtering in from the assembly hall, it gave Dylan a sparkly, festive feeling.

Or maybe that was the glass of very spiked eggnog that her dad had slipped into both their hands while her mum tried to organise pictures in front of the fireplace.

“Come on,” Dylan said, grabbing Tristan’s arm and tugging him along towards the cloakroom. They both ditched their jackets and Dylan yanked off her wellingtons with relief. Hanging on to Tristan for balance, she slipped her shoes on and stood up in them experimentally. They’d been fine in the confines of her bedroom and she thought she’d be okay – so long as she stayed in this exact spot and didn’t try to make any sudden movements.

“These may have been a mistake,” she admitted to Tristan.

“It’s all right,” he grinned back at her. “I’ll stay close by, so that if you fall, it’ll be straight into my arms.”

Dylan snorted. “That’s an awful line,” she grimaced.

“Sorry.” Tristan’s eyes twinkled, completely unrepentant. “I blame your dad’s eggnog. What the hell was in that?”

“Brandy,” Dylan told him. “Eggs and cream… but mostly brandy. Come on, let’s go check out the hall.”

The music got louder as they entered, belted-out Slade lyrics competing with the din of several-hundred teenagers crammed into the space.

“I thought you said this would be country dancing?” Tristan shouted.

Though most of the young people in the hall were crowded around the chairs that lined the room, a fair few – mostly girls – were in the middle, moving, well, more accurately, gyrating to the music. The headteacher, standing by the refreshments table like a bouncer, was looking distinctly pale, probably at the thought of wading into the middle of the scantily clad group and trying to enforce school-appropriate dance moves. Good luck with that, Dylan thought.

“It is,” Dylan shouted back, taking wicked delight in crushing the relief on Tristan’s face. “See?” she pointed, “The ceilidh band’s setting up. It’ll start in a minute.”

“Great,” Tristan monotoned, and Dylan laughed.

“Say it like you mean it!” she told him, amused.

They’d had several country dancing lessons in PE over the last few weeks. For Dylan, who’d been forced to practise the set pieces since primary school, it was nothing new, or special. She was just delighted to have someone to dance with – the people who couldn’t find a partner had to pair up with a teacher. Tristan, on the other hand, hated it.

It was strange. Normally, he moved confidently, gracefully; he was at ease with his body. At the Halloween dance, he’d burled Dylan around like he’d spent every day doing it. But apparently, doing a pas de basque was completely beyond him, and the progressive dances – where you had to keep changing partners – utterly baffled him. Dylan found it endearing – and hilarious. For once, she was the leader and not the klutz.

“Promise me I’ll only have to dance with you,” Tristan pleaded.

“I promise,” Dylan replied, “I don’t think it would be right to inflict you on anyone else anyway!”

She certainly didn’t want him dancing with Cheryl, or Steph, or any of their moronic friends. The whole bunch of them were, of course, in the thick of the writhing, dancing bodies.

The song ended and, instead of the thumping bass of another pop song, the screech of fiddles and an accordion pierced the sudden quiet.

“All right!” Mrs Peters, the Head of PE, clambered up onto the stage, microphone in hand. “Pairs on the dance floor for a Gay Gordon!”

“You know this one!” Dylan exclaimed.

“Yippee!” Tristan deadpanned.

Feeling light and happy enough that she was all but bouncing on her overly high heels, Dylan hauled Tristan onto the dance floor. Positioning herself in front of him, she grabbed his hands, placing one down by her side and the other over her shoulder.

“Just watch everybody else and do what they do,” she instructed. “You’ll be fine.”

Tristan nodded, expression grim. He looked like a prisoner about to face the walk to the executioner’s chair.

“I love you,” she told him, unable to contain her smile in the face of his misery.

“Humph,” he said.

If they weren’t surrounded by half the school – and if they weren’t supposedly cousins – she’d have kissed him.

The music changed into the rhythm for the dance and they started forwards.

“Forward two, three, four.” She twisted, tugging Tristan’s hands to make him do the same. “Back two, three, four. Forward two, three, four.” Twist. “Back two, three, four. Now,” she dropped one of his hands, “just walk.” Putting all of her weight on the ball of her foot, she spun beneath Tristan’s arm. “Okay, waltz! Round and round and round we go, ready to start again!”

By the third time through, Tristan had it, and Dylan was able to stop her muttered instructions and just enjoy the flow of dancing with him. His warm hands, the strength of his body when he held her, his martyred expression…

“See?” she commented when the music stopped. “You can do it!”

“Great. Please tell me we can spend the rest of the night sitting on one of those lovely comfy chairs over there. Or better yet, find some quiet, dark corner where we can—”

“Right folks, next up is a Strip the Willow. Everybody into sets of eight, please.”

Strip the Willow – Dylan’s absolute favourite. Spinning, twirling and burling – and if your feet didn’t leave the floor you weren’t doing it right. She bit her lip and eyed Tristan hopefully. He looked at her, then at the chairs, then at the dance floor. Heaving a sigh, he turned and wordlessly led her towards the chaos of pupils trying to get into position.

Dylan got Tristan through a Strip the Willow, a Canadian Barn Dance and even a Dashing White Sergeant, though he was clearly unimpressed that he had to share her with Robbie Muldoon from their science class for that one.

The next dance, a quickstep, was a progressive and Dylan gave in to the horrified (and terrified) look on Tristan’s face and let him drag her out of the hall. They bypassed the queue for the toilets and Tristan tugged her a little way up the technical corridor. This was out of bounds, the lights off, but he shouldered through the double doors until they were encased in near-night darkness.

“Tristan! What are we doing here?”

“Guess,” Tristan replied, nudging Dylan over until her back was to the wall and he was towering over her. “I want to collect my reward.”

Dylan smiled, her hands finding Tristan’s in the dark. That was how she’d enticed him here in the first place, promising a kiss for every dance he survived.

“If we get caught—”

“We won’t,” he promised. “Now, by my count that was four dances, and I think I deserve double for that last one.”

“Hmmm. Maybe…” Dylan lifted herself up until her nose was level with his chin – Tristan was too tall for her to get any higher.

“Will this convince you?” He pulled something out of his pocket and dangled it above Dylan’s head.

“What on earth is it?” Dylan peered in the dark.

“Mistletoe,” Tristan said, looking pleased with himself.

“Where did you get mistletoe?” Dylan snatched it out of the air, felt the hard, unyielding shape of it. “This is plastic! It totally doesn’t count!”

“Use your imagination,” Tristan insisted. He plucked it out of her hand and held it once more over her head, his expression aggrieved.

“You’re adorable,” Dylan told him, grinning. She kissed his jaw, all she could reach until he dropped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her until she ran out of breath and was forced to pull away.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered. “Your first Christmas,” a bubble of laughter, “and your first Christmas dance.”

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered back. “My first Christmas… and hopefully my last Christmas dance!”

“We’ll see,” Dylan hedged. “I’ll sneak you more eggnog when we get home.”

“I’ll need it,” he grumbled.

The soft strains of music changed and Dylan turned her head.

“Tristan!” she said. “It’s the Flying Scotsman. Come on, we have to do this one! Please!”

He groaned, burying his face in her neck, but he let her lead him back down to the hall and out onto the floor where they joined the throng preparing for the dance.

Her heart lifted at the whirling to come. Standing opposite Tristan, waiting to start, Dylan felt her throat tighten and her eyes glisten. He looked stoic, resigned… and pretty miserable. And he was doing it for her, because he loved her. It was a gift beyond measure.

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

Hungry for more? Both Trespassers and Ferryman are available to buy now! Get your copy for Christmas here!

(And look out for the series finale, Outcasts, in March 2019!

#trespassers ferryman clairemcfall YA YALit teenreads teenbooks YAbooks weheartYA weheartbooks dylanschristmasdance

2 notes · View notes

olaluwe · 7 years

Link

Nudge by doubts fears carefree attitudes,

Instead of being led by their dream boldly,

With few exemptions,

Many of my contemporaries and I

were ruined and nearly ruined by letting themselves

be drown indecisive in the sweeping showers

of their splashy dawn,

energeticyoungsters fresh out of school clueless

fleetfooting themselves through countywide

streets highways &alleyways too

looking instead for ridiculous quick fix menial

jobs sites when they should have charted

a career course,

who caught napping supine on the faeces

of unprofitable endeavours sheer drudgery

&were flapped silly by ugly humongous flies of

absolute ridicule undone inevitably crashed-in,

who sleepy eyed early birds daily converge

on Tarmacs U-turn or Fagba for hopeful pick

by kind familiar unfamiliar operators,

buoyant industrialists or stayed back

with spin of Shovels sprouting

fields of concrete bricks,

and daily went home with Hell

trapped in their bodies and famished and insatiate

with heavy ploughman meals and thirsty for

cold water buckets all day,

who funnelled into the streets from Lagos to

Abeokuta to Ibadan to Oshogbo to Akure

violently protesting the voided 1993 presidential election

Watershed with mournful elegies, with songs daring

soldiers to shoot they’re a multitude, with

borne-fires, with stone projectiles, with Molotov

cocktail through twisted regiments of tyres&

woods &irons barricades until the mob wear itself

out or were put down namely by whip

of the grape shots apologies to Napoleon de

Bonaparte,

who rightly thought the Feds is a scam

doing nothing to change their condition and

did nothing themselves,

who repeatedly fatally faltered

trying to walk before crawling,

who idle talk from bed to bathroom to streets

to peeps bunks of big money hit

yet despised the day of little beginning,

who went away pregnant with disobedience

defying the grandfather summon advisories

caution suffering cathartic miscarriage luckily

in the lonesome night of repentant self flagellation

or returned prodigal with gaunt babies of

lamentations fed on humble pie,

who sweetened a gifted lady first time in Calabar

who was a gifted lady from the Carpenter

without protective socks on his foreskin

on a scorching sunny afternoon tabooed

in the sloppy ground yonder wooden quarters

on matted floor with peeled painful kneecaps

to the bargain &icing on the trauma-cake Gonorrhoea

from the mournful sober strumpet intimated

who perfectly mimic the shade of a sweet homely

girl met a striking deserted Hospital

on Sunday& later found succour

at a street corner Apothecary with the lady

in tow leaving her still without a broken heart,

who was given a weighted round of applause

in real life scenario at Crusher prompted by the

Red neck Director visiting for convincing moving

speech tagged Cicero the future assembly man

without any business whatsoever being a

ploughman wasting away,

who lone it through Kubwa& had the

longest night of his life barred from re-entering

the estate PHS by the Gorgon faced officious guard

accused of disrespecting hisses unfairly pleaded

to no avail wounding up with insomnia in a wooden

church erect on the cliff edge feted on

by an army of hungry mosquitoes

with ruthless abandon,

who hungry out-of-pocket threw needless

tantrums with a BLLB to hell with a project

long delayed angrily returned to no tranquillity

base Lagos cramped into overloaded 1414bus on

a night trip with a role of mat strapped under

his armpit for goody bag,

who rude to the stocky supervising major

on site& was rewarded instantaneous with

thunderous slaps by his aide-de-camp corporal

with accompanying blurry starry vision,

who picked on by the grumpy aggressive

sergeant demoted & felled tripped with a deep cut

to his pelvic pursued & was given a clean suture

&analgesic at the MRS,

who was evicted now from a different site

by same stocky major for combativeness irreconcilable

disputes &picketing &symbolic poison

to site harmony,

and left high spirited with the older loquacious

Edo man now lost unforgotten

in the maddening Lagos crowd,

who were welcome ecstatic by the old comrades

at abattoir where LSDPC was piloting a new

set of project,

who bereaved grieving hollow eyed

starting their teary sojourn from afar largely ignored,

Who idle descended on News stand from

from dawn to dusk &went home without any

significant takeaway but heated disagreeable

cacophonies of intellectual supremacists tribalise

voices &dusty eyed severe figure heads

rowdy in turn at the forum of the street,

who were indefatigable fanatic supporters

either queueing behind remember the Star crooner

who sang ‘whirling hipped ladies have usurped the

microphone from his hand’ or the bare-chested

street fighter pugilist Moon crooner in a never ending

superiority tussle bearing on their bloody heads

burdensome migraine of the duo

with soaring away success paying lip service to theirs,

who were chronic bachelors repeatedly stabbed

in the heart by loveless ravishing angels

roaring at dawn in their hunt

of still waters greener pastures,

who jumped at every chanced discussion

on who the best player in the world is

or the richest- Messi or Ronaldo,

an over flogged debate,

who took to crime pickpocket in crowded bus stops

pedestrian walks on rickety Molues plying shallow

highway routes one-chance in smaller buses Varagons

ripping their victims off valuables

pushed off on motion to their bruises deaths

crushed by the unfortunate hit and run drivers,

who metamorphosis into superhighway bank vault

dynamite armed robbers to protest poverty ravaging

the land perceived injustices to their regions

lopsided federalism non implementation of fiscal

federalism hopelessly,

a mass of rueful sobbing scapegoats

held by the wrists in lawman Hulux trucks

driven through the elephant gate

behind wailing walls of lion building remand jails

&were never seen again,

who were disagreeable dagger-drawn

in crowded football Viewing centre at Bori camp

and escaped through the low walls

into the creeks without a trace

leaving somebody dripping in stanch,

who anticipatory painted a live cow in blue

on mainland Lagos to be butchered

for barbecue cocktail because Chelsea

they instinctively violently believe will win

for the first time UEFA champions

league &they did &hell was let loose

with scores dead benighted by marijuana haze

alcoholic binge from reckless joyride

honking motorcade through shallow streets

dark under perpetual swathe

of power outage,

who went through universities with morale

high flown struggled not for lack of intellectual

abilities but material comfort pull it off

below the class and still celebrated,

who mandatory were posted to the North east

the hot bed of murderous insurrectionists

Boko haram hole up in the Sambisa forest

picked a pocketful of pellets on the streets

riding on the Bicycle and still had

a resourceful Atipo,

who gambled away their tuition fees

gathered all night in empty apartment

of a Canadian trained aeronautic engineer

deportee and so dropped out of college

wondering where next to go but went nowhere

pass self destruct crack smoking

street urchins,

who were bosom friends and loyal comrades

hustling in tattered clothes hooded disguised

undisguised eating bread the scalp of their

unshaven heads unknown,

who were the secret heroes and super heroes

of this poem now lost permanently non-permanently

from Denis to Sam to Roger in specs not the

real name- sorrow to the memory of a gallant

hustler lost in his sleep lording it over

work and academics up in the centre of unity,

let heavens calm its impatient loom for our total

homely recall for we are all speedily tracking towards

our fated sunsets bound to the threesome old

mileage of Time divided,

who groaned in repeated interface

with the visionary Celestian shepherds

who were visionary sexy eyed Celestian prophetesses

trying to unravel the mystery behind

their multitude of woes,

and went through bath rituals ringed

by three elders screaming Jah jah jah

with seven candle sticks sponge scent oil eggs coconut

to be exhausted in running water

or Blackstone stationary

in the churchyard mercy land,

who slept for ten years on Boxguitars

Boxguitars Boxguitars with total indifference

woke up one morning with drear sting

of penitential paroxysm its scandalous to sojourn

in a music house without some love&

a baggage of note,

presented himself before the familiar bedfellow

instructor maestro seated at the piano

among a sea of nodding heads with a deluge

of request imperative ambitious learner&

was given a crash lesson in

jazz fantasia,

but despair his maturation is slow

gave up midway and took a

night bus to Calabar to feed on his old vomit,

who was twice rendered homeless squatting

with childhood friends practically wooed in

& still keep their contacts and no ill feelings,

who after thought tried enlisting in the great army

but forgotten to doctor their particulars

to reflect the new reality,

who peeped through keyhole night after night

for months on the master trembling pleading

for more in coitus with the sweet first snatch of girlfriend

I think from childhood and tiptoed to the furniture

wishing they could swap roles,

who in stunning dramatic fashion repeatedly lose

their caps instead to deathly probes

that should have taken them to the cleaner,

who hurriedly taxied home from the peninsula

desperately sick dismounted at a crossroad

sidewalk befuddled crossed the highway

into gas station Sweet sensation round table

with a cold bottle of orange crush,

standing on their heels glad to inform all agonizing

well-wishers that the condition of the labouring mountains

is expectedly painful but stable and promises to

usher in the Visionary babies new dawns,

for fireplace intended for the vulture will only

end up consuming other birds so unfortunate!

Note :

BLLB stands for acronym of a Yoruba phrase- Bose Lo,

Lo Sebo; meaning to come home empty handed after a period of sojourn.

Atipo is a Yoruba word which generically qualifies anybody or the act of serving

one’s fatherland especially after university education.

.... For Denis Ojadeni

#IFTTT #Blogger

0 notes

olaluwe · 7 years

Link

Nudge by doubts fears carefree attitudes,

Instead of being led by their dream boldly,

With few exemptions,

Many of my contemporaries and I

were ruined and nearly ruined by letting themselves

be drown indecisive in the sweeping showers

of their splashy dawn,

energeticyoungsters fresh out of school clueless

fleetfooting themselves through countywide

streets highways &alleyways too

looking instead for ridiculous quick fix menial

jobs sites when they should have charted

a career course,

who caught napping supine on the faeces

of unprofitable endeavours sheer drudgery

&were flapped silly by ugly humongous flies of

absolute ridicule undone inevitably crashed-in,

who sleepy eyed early birds daily converge

on Tarmacs U-turn or Fagba for hopeful pick

by kind familiar unfamiliar operators,

buoyant industrialists or stayed back

with spin of Shovels sprouting

fields of concrete bricks,

and daily went home with Hell

trapped in their bodies and famished and insatiate

with heavy ploughman meals and thirsty for

cold water buckets all day,

who funnelled into the streets from Lagos to

Abeokuta to Ibadan to Oshogbo to Akure

violently protesting the voided 1993 presidential election

Watershed with mournful elegies, with songs daring

soldiers to shoot they’re a multitude, with

borne-fires, with stone projectiles, with Molotov

cocktail through twisted regiments of tyres&

woods &irons barricades until the mob wear itself

out or were put down namely by whip

of the grape shots apologies to Napoleon de

Bonaparte,

who rightly thought the Feds is a scam

doing nothing to change their condition and

did nothing themselves,

who repeatedly fatally faltered

trying to walk before crawling,

who idle talk from bed to bathroom to streets

to peeps bunks of big money hit

yet despised the day of little beginning,

who went away pregnant with disobedience

defying the grandfather summon advisories

caution suffering cathartic miscarriage luckily

in the lonesome night of repentant self flagellation

or returned prodigal with gaunt babies of

lamentations fed on humble pie,

who sweetened a gifted lady first time in Calabar

who was a gifted lady from the Carpenter

without protective socks on his foreskin

on a scorching sunny afternoon tabooed

in the sloppy ground yonder wooden quarters

on matted floor with peeled painful kneecaps

to the bargain &icing on the trauma-cake Gonorrhoea

from the mournful sober strumpet intimated

who perfectly mimic the shade of a sweet homely

girl met a striking deserted Hospital

on Sunday& later found succour

at a street corner Apothecary with the lady

in tow leaving her still without a broken heart,

who was given a weighted round of applause

in real life scenario at Crusher prompted by the

Red neck Director visiting for convincing moving

speech tagged Cicero the future assembly man

without any business whatsoever being a

ploughman wasting away,

who lone it through Kubwa& had the

longest night of his life barred from re-entering

the estate PHS by the Gorgon faced officious guard

accused of disrespecting hisses unfairly pleaded

to no avail wounding up with insomnia in a wooden

church erect on the cliff edge feted on

by an army of hungry mosquitoes

with ruthless abandon,

who hungry out-of-pocket threw needless

tantrums with a BLLB to hell with a project

long delayed angrily returned to no tranquillity

base Lagos cramped into overloaded 1414bus on

a night trip with a role of mat strapped under

his armpit for goody bag,

who rude to the stocky supervising major

on site& was rewarded instantaneous with

thunderous slaps by his aide-de-camp corporal

with accompanying blurry starry vision,

who picked on by the grumpy aggressive

sergeant demoted & felled tripped with a deep cut

to his pelvic pursued & was given a clean suture

&analgesic at the MRS,

who was evicted now from a different site

by same stocky major for combativeness irreconcilable

disputes &picketing &symbolic poison

to site harmony,

and left high spirited with the older loquacious

Edo man now lost unforgotten

in the maddening Lagos crowd,

who were welcome ecstatic by the old comrades

at abattoir where LSDPC was piloting a new

set of project,

who bereaved grieving hollow eyed

starting their teary sojourn from afar largely ignored,

Who idle descended on News stand from

from dawn to dusk &went home without any

significant takeaway but heated disagreeable

cacophonies of intellectual supremacists tribalise

voices &dusty eyed severe figure heads

rowdy in turn at the forum of the street,

who were indefatigable fanatic supporters

either queueing behind remember the Star crooner

who sang ‘whirling hipped ladies have usurped the

microphone from his hand’ or the bare-chested

street fighter pugilist Moon crooner in a never ending

superiority tussle bearing on their bloody heads

burdensome migraine of the duo

with soaring away success paying lip service to theirs,

who were chronic bachelors repeatedly stabbed

in the heart by loveless ravishing angels

roaring at dawn in their hunt

of still waters greener pastures,

who jumped at every chanced discussion

on who the best player in the world is

or the richest- Messi or Ronaldo,

an over flogged debate,

who took to crime pickpocket in crowded bus stops

pedestrian walks on rickety Molues plying shallow

highway routes one-chance in smaller buses Varagons

ripping their victims off valuables

pushed off on motion to their bruises deaths

crushed by the unfortunate hit and run drivers,

who metamorphosis into superhighway bank vault

dynamite armed robbers to protest poverty ravaging

the land perceived injustices to their regions

lopsided federalism non implementation of fiscal

federalism hopelessly,

a mass of rueful sobbing scapegoats

held by the wrists in lawman Hulux trucks

driven through the elephant gate

behind wailing walls of lion building remand jails

&were never seen again,

who were disagreeable dagger-drawn

in crowded football Viewing centre at Bori camp

and escaped through the low walls

into the creeks without a trace

leaving somebody dripping in stanch,

who anticipatory painted a live cow in blue

on mainland Lagos to be butchered

for barbecue cocktail because Chelsea

they instinctively violently believe will win

for the first time UEFA champions

league &they did &hell was let loose

with scores dead benighted by marijuana haze

alcoholic binge from reckless joyride

honking motorcade through shallow streets

dark under perpetual swathe

of power outage,

who went through universities with morale

high flown struggled not for lack of intellectual

abilities but material comfort pull it off

below the class and still celebrated,

who mandatory were posted to the North east

the hot bed of murderous insurrectionists

Boko haram hole up in the Sambisa forest

picked a pocketful of pellets on the streets

riding on the Bicycle and still had

a resourceful Atipo,

who gambled away their tuition fees

gathered all night in empty apartment

of a Canadian trained aeronautic engineer

deportee and so dropped out of college

wondering where next to go but went nowhere

pass self destruct crack smoking

street urchins,

who were bosom friends and loyal comrades

hustling in tattered clothes hooded disguised

undisguised eating bread the scalp of their

unshaven heads unknown,

who were the secret heroes and super heroes

of this poem now lost permanently non-permanently

from Denis to Sam to Roger in specs not the

real name- sorrow to the memory of a gallant

hustler lost in his sleep lording it over

work and academics up in the centre of unity,

let heavens calm its impatient loom for our total

homely recall for we are all speedily tracking towards

our fated sunsets bound to the threesome old

mileage of Time divided,

who groaned in repeated interface

with the visionary Celestian shepherds

who were visionary sexy eyed Celestian prophetesses

trying to unravel the mystery behind

their multitude of woes,

and went through bath rituals ringed

by three elders screaming Jah jah jah

with seven candle sticks sponge scent oil eggs coconut

to be exhausted in running water

or Blackstone stationary

in the churchyard mercy land,

who slept for ten years on Boxguitars

Boxguitars Boxguitars with total indifference

woke up one morning with drear sting

of penitential paroxysm its scandalous to sojourn

in a music house without some love&

a baggage of note,

presented himself before the familiar bedfellow

instructor maestro seated at the piano

among a sea of nodding heads with a deluge

of request imperative ambitious learner&

was given a crash lesson in

jazz fantasia,

but despair his maturation is slow

gave up midway and took a

night bus to Calabar to feed on his old vomit,

who was twice rendered homeless squatting

with childhood friends practically wooed in

& still keep their contacts and no ill feelings,

who after thought tried enlisting in the great army

but forgotten to doctor their particulars

to reflect the new reality,

who peeped through keyhole night after night

for months on the master trembling pleading

for more in coitus with the sweet first snatch of girlfriend

I think from childhood and tiptoed to the furniture

wishing they could swap roles,

who in stunning dramatic fashion repeatedly lose

their caps instead to deathly probes

that should have taken them to the cleaner,

who hurriedly taxied home from the peninsula

desperately sick dismounted at a crossroad

sidewalk befuddled crossed the highway

into gas station Sweet sensation round table

with a cold bottle of orange crush,

standing on their heels glad to inform all agonizing

well-wishers that the condition of the labouring mountains

is expectedly painful but stable and promises to

usher in the Visionary babies new dawns,

for fireplace intended for the vulture will only

end up consuming other birds so unfortunate!

Note :

BLLB stands for acronym of a Yoruba phrase- Bose Lo,

Lo Sebo; meaning to come home empty handed after a period of sojourn.

Atipo is a Yoruba word which generically qualifies anybody or the act of serving

one’s fatherland especially after university education.

.... For Denis Ojadeni

#IFTTT #Blogger

0 notes

olaluwe · 7 years

Link

Nudge by doubts fears carefree attitudes,

Instead of being led by their dream boldly,

With few exemptions,

Many of my contemporaries and I

were ruined and nearly ruined by letting themselves

be drown indecisive in the sweeping showers

of their splashy dawn,

energeticyoungsters fresh out of school clueless

fleetfooting themselves through countywide

streets highways &alleyways too

looking instead for ridiculous quick fix menial

jobs sites when they should have charted

a career course,

who caught napping supine on the faeces

of unprofitable endeavours sheer drudgery

&were flapped silly by ugly humongous flies of

absolute ridicule undone inevitably crashed-in,

who sleepy eyed early birds daily converge

on Tarmacs U-turn or Fagba for hopeful pick

by kind familiar unfamiliar operators,

buoyant industrialists or stayed back

with spin of Shovels sprouting

fields of concrete bricks,

and daily went home with Hell

trapped in their bodies and famished and insatiate

with heavy ploughman meals and thirsty for

cold water buckets all day,

who funnelled into the streets from Lagos to

Abeokuta to Ibadan to Oshogbo to Akure

violently protesting the voided 1993 presidential election

Watershed with mournful elegies, with songs daring

soldiers to shoot they’re a multitude, with

borne-fires, with stone projectiles, with Molotov

cocktail through twisted regiments of tyres&

woods &irons barricades until the mob wear itself

out or were put down namely by whip

of the grape shots apologies to Napoleon de

Bonaparte,

who rightly thought the Feds is a scam

doing nothing to change their condition and

did nothing themselves,

who repeatedly fatally faltered

trying to walk before crawling,

who idle talk from bed to bathroom to streets

to peeps bunks of big money hit

yet despised the day of little beginning,

who went away pregnant with disobedience

defying the grandfather summon advisories

caution suffering cathartic miscarriage luckily

in the lonesome night of repentant self flagellation

or returned prodigal with gaunt babies of

lamentations fed on humble pie,

who sweetened a gifted lady first time in Calabar

who was a gifted lady from the Carpenter

without protective socks on his foreskin

on a scorching sunny afternoon tabooed

in the sloppy ground yonder wooden quarters

on matted floor with peeled painful kneecaps

to the bargain &icing on the trauma-cake Gonorrhoea

from the mournful sober strumpet intimated

who perfectly mimic the shade of a sweet homely

girl met a striking deserted Hospital

on Sunday& later found succour

at a street corner Apothecary with the lady

in tow leaving her still without a broken heart,

who was given a weighted round of applause

in real life scenario at Crusher prompted by the

Red neck Director visiting for convincing moving

speech tagged Cicero the future assembly man

without any business whatsoever being a

ploughman wasting away,

who lone it through Kubwa& had the

longest night of his life barred from re-entering

the estate PHS by the Gorgon faced officious guard

accused of disrespecting hisses unfairly pleaded

to no avail wounding up with insomnia in a wooden

church erect on the cliff edge feted on

by an army of hungry mosquitoes

with ruthless abandon,

who hungry out-of-pocket threw needless

tantrums with a BLLB to hell with a project

long delayed angrily returned to no tranquillity

base Lagos cramped into overloaded 1414bus on

a night trip with a role of mat strapped under

his armpit for goody bag,

who rude to the stocky supervising major

on site& was rewarded instantaneous with

thunderous slaps by his aide-de-camp corporal

with accompanying blurry starry vision,

who picked on by the grumpy aggressive

sergeant demoted & felled tripped with a deep cut

to his pelvic pursued & was given a clean suture

&analgesic at the MRS,

who was evicted now from a different site

by same stocky major for combativeness irreconcilable

disputes &picketing &symbolic poison

to site harmony,

and left high spirited with the older loquacious

Edo man now lost unforgotten

in the maddening Lagos crowd,

who were welcome ecstatic by the old comrades

at abattoir where LSDPC was piloting a new

set of project,

who bereaved grieving hollow eyed

starting their teary sojourn from afar largely ignored,

Who idle descended on News stand from

from dawn to dusk &went home without any

significant takeaway but heated disagreeable

cacophonies of intellectual supremacists tribalise

voices &dusty eyed severe figure heads

rowdy in turn at the forum of the street,

who were indefatigable fanatic supporters

either queueing behind remember the Star crooner

who sang ‘whirling hipped ladies have usurped the

microphone from his hand’ or the bare-chested

street fighter pugilist Moon crooner in a never ending

superiority tussle bearing on their bloody heads

burdensome migraine of the duo

with soaring away success paying lip service to theirs,

who were chronic bachelors repeatedly stabbed

in the heart by loveless ravishing angels

roaring at dawn in their hunt

of still waters greener pastures,

who jumped at every chanced discussion

on who the best player in the world is

or the richest- Messi or Ronaldo,

an over flogged debate,

who took to crime pickpocket in crowded bus stops

pedestrian walks on rickety Molues plying shallow

highway routes one-chance in smaller buses Varagons

ripping their victims off valuables

pushed off on motion to their bruises deaths

crushed by the unfortunate hit and run drivers,

who metamorphosis into superhighway bank vault

dynamite armed robbers to protest poverty ravaging

the land perceived injustices to their regions

lopsided federalism non implementation of fiscal

federalism hopelessly,

a mass of rueful sobbing scapegoats

held by the wrists in lawman Hulux trucks

driven through the elephant gate

behind wailing walls of lion building remand jails

&were never seen again,

who were disagreeable dagger-drawn

in crowded football Viewing centre at Bori camp

and escaped through the low walls

into the creeks without a trace

leaving somebody dripping in stanch,

who anticipatory painted a live cow in blue

on mainland Lagos to be butchered

for barbecue cocktail because Chelsea

they instinctively violently believe will win

for the first time UEFA champions

league &they did &hell was let loose

with scores dead benighted by marijuana haze

alcoholic binge from reckless joyride

honking motorcade through shallow streets

dark under perpetual swathe

of power outage,

who went through universities with morale

high flown struggled not for lack of intellectual

abilities but material comfort pull it off

below the class and still celebrated,

who mandatory were posted to the North east

the hot bed of murderous insurrectionists

Boko haram hole up in the Sambisa forest

picked a pocketful of pellets on the streets

riding on the Bicycle and still had

a resourceful Atipo,

who gambled away their tuition fees

gathered all night in empty apartment

of a Canadian trained aeronautic engineer

deportee and so dropped out of college

wondering where next to go but went nowhere

pass self destruct crack smoking

street urchins,

who were bosom friends and loyal comrades

hustling in tattered clothes hooded disguised

undisguised eating bread the scalp of their

unshaven heads unknown,

who were the secret heroes and super heroes

of this poem now lost permanently non-permanently

from Denis to Sam to Roger in specs not the

real name- sorrow to the memory of a gallant

hustler lost in his sleep lording it over

work and academics up in the centre of unity,

let heavens calm its impatient loom for our total

homely recall for we are all speedily tracking towards

our fated sunsets bound to the threesome old

mileage of Time divided,

who groaned in repeated interface

with the visionary Celestian shepherds

who were visionary sexy eyed Celestian prophetesses

trying to unravel the mystery behind

their multitude of woes,

and went through bath rituals ringed

by three elders screaming Jah jah jah

with seven candle sticks sponge scent oil eggs coconut

to be exhausted in running water

or Blackstone stationary

in the churchyard mercy land,

who slept for ten years on Boxguitars

Boxguitars Boxguitars with total indifference

woke up one morning with drear sting

of penitential paroxysm its scandalous to sojourn

in a music house without some love&

a baggage of note,

presented himself before the familiar bedfellow

instructor maestro seated at the piano

among a sea of nodding heads with a deluge

of request imperative ambitious learner&

was given a crash lesson in

jazz fantasia,

but despair his maturation is slow

gave up midway and took a

night bus to Calabar to feed on his old vomit,

who was twice rendered homeless squatting

with childhood friends practically wooed in

& still keep their contacts and no ill feelings,

who after thought tried enlisting in the great army

but forgotten to doctor their particulars

to reflect the new reality,

who peeped through keyhole night after night

for months on the master trembling pleading

for more in coitus with the sweet first snatch of girlfriend

I think from childhood and tiptoed to the furniture

wishing they could swap roles,

who in stunning dramatic fashion repeatedly lose

their caps instead to deathly probes

that should have taken them to the cleaner,

who hurriedly taxied home from the peninsula

desperately sick dismounted at a crossroad

sidewalk befuddled crossed the highway

into gas station Sweet sensation round table

with a cold bottle of orange crush,

standing on their heels glad to inform all agonizing

well-wishers that the condition of the labouring mountains

is expectedly painful but stable and promises to

usher in the Visionary babies new dawns,

for fireplace intended for the vulture will only

end up consuming other birds so unfortunate!

Note :

BLLB stands for acronym of a Yoruba phrase- Bose Lo,

Lo Sebo; meaning to come home empty handed after a period of sojourn.

Atipo is a Yoruba word which generically qualifies anybody or the act of serving

one’s fatherland especially after university education.

.... For Denis Ojadeni

#IFTTT #Blogger

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