#styling my own hair for hours and hours on end is still kinda Agony for me

[nightseeye]

Twist outs r so nice but unfortunately mean i need to twist hair Back In (<- unpracticed in self hairstyling and not very interested in doing so) so i never wear them. But. Super nice

#i love having relatively long hair i love having nice hairstyle #unfortunately i didnt get into haircare when i was younger n while im better abt it now #styling my own hair for hours and hours on end is still kinda Agony for me #thankful for hairstylists extra thankful for having the same hairstylist for abt 8 years straight #ma'am you have saved my life 1 million times over i owe you everythang #nighty chatter #i know theyre different practices but. insane how i can bang out a drawing or painting for a few hours little issue #but styling. like actual braiding n such not just warsh n dry. can drive me up a wall after 15 min #ig its a matter of a. cant rlly put that shit down or sleep on it cus then it'll be Worse #b. unused to it. unpracticed #c. giant patch of Tender Scalp in the middle of my hair Isnt fun #d. hair products feel so so bad. grease/oil textures awful and they smear on EVERYTHING #hairstylist hairstylist i love you so much thank you ma'am. if it twerent for covid i woulda invited u to my graduation maybe #...spent a lot more time talkin in the tags than i meant to. oh well !

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

GNSJGJJSK 😳😳😳 THE ASK SENT ON ITS OWN IM SO SORRY LET ME TRY AGAIN HDFJKDGKK THIS IS EMBARRASSING THE PROMPT WAS THIS: Eldritch au where young human Virgil (16-18) or Patton is running (kinda like (Un)Wanted but different idk) from an unnamed unsympathetic eldritch being (not a side) and gets caught up by ANOTHER eldritch being, this time it IS a side AND sympathetic. This sounds a lot like (Un)Wanted but I couldn’t get out of my head how cool an eldritch au would sound in ur writing style

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Thanks for the request, babe!

Embrace of Darkness

Pairings: Royality, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: some torture, nothing super graphic, and no unsympathetic anyone

Word Count: 4,074

Humans are such...fascinating. And so emotional, aren't they? Unfortunately for Patton, some creatures that don't understand emotions want to...experiment.

Humans can be so fragile.

...and capable of a kind of strength those creatures could only dream of.

“…oh, my pet, you should not have done that.”

The figure in the bonds winces as another bolt of energy hits his chest. He arches his back, suppressing a yelp as it twists, twists, and pinches.

“St-stop,” he pants, his hair hanging in limp, bedraggled curls around his head, soaked with sweat, “stop, please.”

“Begging already? Well, I must make a note of that, that was quicker than last time.”

The pain stops. The figure slumps in relief as the shadow moves away. His eyes fall shut, taking advantage of the momentary reprieve he has before it starts again.

How could he have been so stupid?

He was told not to mess with Eldritch power, he was told not to go into the restricted section, he was told not to use the Summoning Grounds. And yet, by some stupid decision—arrogance? Curiosity? Or that stupid compassion—he did.

And now…

Now he was here, subject to the whims of a being that did not yet understand the human capacity for emotion and was hell-bent on figuring that out.

The days—weeks? Months? Hours?—they spent on smiling were agony. His cheeks had ached by the end of the first few rounds and his lips had dried and cracked, blood spilling down his chin. Then the being had wanted to count his teeth and had pried his mouth open wider still, holding it agape with some awful magic that tasted of capsaicin. His tongue had begun to bleed too.

If smiling had been agony, then laughing had been torture.

Laughter is a fear response, he remembered having read that somewhere, and only here had he understood that. Something had reached deep into him, into his gut as the being’s hand phased through his stomach and clenched, drawing forth laughs upon laughs upon laughs and oh it had hurt. His throat had screamed and his lungs had begged for release.

Now, it appears, they were on to crying.

“You humans,” the being muses as it runs an icy cold finger over his cheek, “so…squishy. And soft. You’re absolutely covered in this squishy soft stuff…I wonder how it would feel on my own bones…”

He whimpers in fear but dares not move. The energy that crackles around his bonds, poised to strike, is enough of a deterrent on their own.

“Oh, why so scared, little human,” the being mocks, seizing his chin and forcing his gaze up, “I did promise not to kill you, as you requested.”

He has never regretted anything more than that.

What was he supposed to do? When a being older then time itself and infinitely crueler had appeared in front of him, he’d blurted the first thing that came to his mind. Please don’t kill me.

Death, it seems, is not a mercy he’ll be granted.

“You stay put,” the being laughs, throwing him back into his bonds, “I’ll be right back. Someone else is summoning me now. Perhaps I’ll have another plaything to add to my collection.”

The figure whimpers again as a rush of cold energy fills the room. Then a void. The being is gone.

He slumps, his breathing haggard, panting for any sort of release. The corners of his eyes hurt, when had the corner of his eyes ever been a source of hurt? The skin feels like it’s been rubbed raw; salt pressed into the wound. His wrists ache, his throat aches, everywhere aches, but all he can feel is the burn at the corners of his eyes.

The light flickers. His head jerks up. Are they—are they back already?

He squints. N-no, no…something…

Something’s wrong.

The energy that holds him still is flickering, not the overhead light. His eyes widen as he tugs experimentally at the binds and finds them…loose.

His heart jumps into his throat. He holds his breath.

It flickers again.

Clenching his jaw tightly, he yanks.

He almost collapses to the ground, knees wobbling terribly, but he’s free. There’s a door. Run, run, run.

He stumbles over himself, floundering through some mist that tastes of pure darkness until he sees the door and falls through it.

Falling. Falling. He’s falling. It’s dark, it’s so dark…the darkness is tangible, he can feel it pressing in around him, down, down, down, down, he’s being sucked into it, drawn into an uncontrollable vortex with an insatiable hunger. He’s being eaten.

And as the fear swirls in his gut, as it fills his mind, adrenaline roaring in his ears, as the tips of his fingers go numb, a dark, primal satisfaction burns in some demented corner of his heart because he knows he tastes good.

The darkness hurts to look at. So he won’t. He shuts his eyes, squeezes them tight, drowns in a familiar darkness, not the scary one, and lets himself fall.

It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop.

Something buzzes in the corner of Roman’s mind and he frowns, waving his hand through the mist, through his many limbs stretched across his realm. Is someone here? Has his brother come to visit?

He peers closer, looking through the many threads holding this reality together. Oh. Oh, something’s falling through. He must get his roof fixed. He sighs, reaching out to disintegrate the pesky bit of debris.

Right before he makes contact, he stops. What…what is that?

A quick flick of one of his threads slows time, allowing his attention to zoom in and squint at the little thing falling through his reality. Is that…is that a human?

What is a human doing here?

Roman reaches out, concentrates his threads, tangling the human in little golden strings and pulling, pulling slowly, carefully, to lay them delicately at the center. He frowns, looking closer. This human looks…smaller than most. Is it one of the younger ones? It looks independent, at least independent-capable, even though mortal dependency is not one of his strong suits, but then why is it here?

Is it a sacrifice? He’s not had a sacrifice in millennia. And no demands came with it…

The age of sacrifice for appeasement’s sake is long over for mortals. Plus, tormenting little things loses its appeal after a while, wouldn’t you agree?

Roman sighs, resigning himself to figuring out what to do with this little human. It hangs there, tangled up in the golden threads, and looks so terribly, terribly small. Are all humans this small? Roman’s quite forgotten.

The buzzing hasn’t stopped. Normally, when the problem has been located, and Roman’s aware of it, it stops. It hasn’t stopped. Is something else wrong?

He feels around a little, just to figure out where it’s coming from, only to discover not only is it still happening, it’s increased. And it’s coming from this little thing, tangled up in his threads.

Roman braces himself and looks.

The threads spin elegantly outwards, creating a small circle plinth in the swirling chaos. The human lies on it gently, still held lightly just to make sure it doesn’t roll off. Roman concentrates, wills the human to show him what’s wrong.

Small golden lights being to glow from directly under the human.

The human twitches on the plinth. The lights’ glow begins to spread along the grooves, working its way outward to the rim of the circle, then back in, each pass growing bright and brighter. The human lets out a small sound. Its hands splay out, fingers digging into the grooves it can reach. Across the circle, Roman closes his eyes, threads twitching softly.

The lights run back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Roman growls low in his throat, focuses.

Back and forth. It hurts to look directly at the stone now.

Roman whines, his threads growing taut.

He reaches out, pulling more threads to hold the reality together around this little human, waving frantically back and forth. It seems to help, they all sway in unison. What kind of things must the human be experiencing if it’s making them react like this?

The human whimpers.

It’s almost drowned out by the lights, now, the only parts of it visible are the brief, shuddering motions of their tiny body, a tiny respite in the blazing light. It pulses unevenly. Its fingers are swallowed by the shine from the ground, hands barely there. It whines again, a high pitch that penetrates into his head and lodges in some soft part, burrowing like a mouse into its den.

The lights flare up so brilliantly it staggers him, throwing energy in front of his face to shield it from the light, the others racing to shield his reality from the rest of it. A moment later it dims slightly, enough for him to blink a few times before looking back at the circle.

The circle is now a sphere, the lights from inside the circle having thrown themselves upwards, arcing over the stone to form a golden ball, twinkling against the green wetland. It isn’t solid; through the small gaps in between the lights he can still make out the threads on the other side, still holding tightly, and if he peers towards the center, he can still see the human.

The human made a shield…it is…defending?

Roman’s heart clenches as he looks closer. It’s not a shield, the formation is wrong. The human is defending, yes, but not itself. It’s made a cage.

His suspicion is right. Upon closer inspection, the lights protrude slightly inwards along the inside of the sphere, creating a cruelly jagged interior. This isn’t designed to keep out an enemy, it’s designed to keep the human contained.

The human is defending him…from itself.

Then he hears it.

The sobs punch through, ripping the still place to shreds, yanking the air back and forth violently, echoing around and around the circle. The rawness of it never wavers, the wave keeps building and building, an open wound, never yielding for a single moment. Every hitch, every crack lands like a solid weight, threatening to collapse the circle deep into the earth. It’s the cry of a child, the last child, a terrified, angry, desperate child, coming out like an uproar from its throat. It’s more than crying, it’s the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a patient sadness, one without hope.

It’s pain.

It twists, ripping its way through layers and layers of carefully crafted defenses, a wave of anger wrapping around internal organs and knotting them together, a fear sending stabs and shakes throughout limbs, an ache yanking a still-beating heart into the bitterly frigid air.

Roman’s threads are itching before he fully realizes what’s happening, desperate for something, anything to do to make it stop. It hurts, the human hurts, and he can’t do anything. There is no enemy he can fight, no words he can say, nothing.

He hovers there, helpless, as the human shatters.

Whatever he thought before about pain, about hiding it, about its weight, is wrong. There’s so much, so much he wishes to say, to do, to…how does it have so much?

And how did he not sense it?

He had felt pain before, through mortals, knew of their capacity to feel…but not like this. He knew that they could hide it, but not like this. His kind was not meant to feel pain, to hold it, to carry it with them, to hold it still, so still, wrapped in their bodies.

Humans…this little human can.

The lights glimmer in their sphere, slow currents wrapping orbits around the orb, carried along by the tides of the sounds waves.

They pause.

With a whoosh, they fall back to the ground, retreating slowly back along the grooves to the center.

The human lies curled up, limbs thrown haphazardly over itself, drawn and clutched tight around her body. It doesn’t move for long, baited seconds, drawing shuddering breath after breath. Every now and then they hitch and his heart jumps with them, hands clenched.

Then it draws a longer breath and holds it, letting it out slowly over eight counts.

It shifts.

Roman breathes a sigh of relief as it slumps, the buzzing slowly fading. Unconsciously, the threads wrap themselves tightly around the plinth, turning it into something softer, something more delicate, that cradles the little human as it sleeps.

It hurts still, lingering in some ache that Roman can’t scratch, until he realizes it’s his own. He is in pain, just from bearing witness to how much pain his little human has held. If this…if just this is enough to make him want to purge it from his reality, he cannot conceive of how much this poor little thing must hurt.

Not again. Never again. This little thing will not hurt and will not be hurt ever again.

It’s been so long…so long since Roman kept a human, kept anything. He’s got to figure it out…well, let’s start simple.

Holding his power at bay, he leans closer, examines the little mortal and concentrates, starts to pull and shape the ether until he has another body, another little form, standing next to the little human on the plinth. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he stares down at the human’s sleeping face from a very similar pair of eyes.

He runs a hand—hand? Is that the right word?—over himself, checking that everything’s right. It’s not a completely…uncomfortable existence, but there are a few things he wonders about. Perhaps he can ask…later.

For now, he crouches down next to the human—not so little anymore, now that they’re the same size—and reaches out to run his hand over their cheek. Oh…oh, it’s damp. There’s liquid leaking from their eyes. Right, they’d been crying.

“You poor thing,” Roman murmurs, his voice sounding a little strange coming out of a human mouth, so he alters it, softens it, makes it easier to hear, “poor…poor thing, little thing, little one, sweet thing, soft thing…”

They’re so soft, so soft, under his hand. He falls into a rhythm of stroking their cheek, running his fingers through their hair, reaching down to lightly squeeze their own hand in his. As he does so, that ache in his chest slowly fades, replaced by another, warmer one, another beast that almost purrs in contentment as the human turns their head towards him in their sleep, letting him scratch his fingers across their scalp.

“I’ll look after you, little human,” he promises, his threads already getting to work, “I’ll look after you.”

His eyes blink open.

Hadn’t…hadn’t he been falling? Why…why is he lying on something soft? Is—is he hallucinating? Is this another trick? What’s going on?

He moves slowly, carefully, trying not to alert anything else to his presence, only to realize he’s—

He’s in a bed.

He paws at the soft comforter in disbelief, how…he’s been tucked in and everything. And this isn’t a small bed, it’s massive. The pillow behind his head is easily the size of his torso and so soft…

Part of him wants to nuzzle back into the comforter, into the soft pillow, fall asleep and never wake again.

Part of him wants to know what’s going on.

As he gets out of the bed, his feet come to rest on the floor and he winces, bracing for a creak or something to give him away. But no. In fact, he’s barely louder than a whisper as he creeps his way to the door, opening it and slipping through.

It’s…a garden?

Well, not so much a garden as it is one single grove of trees, a small bench in the middle. He glances behind him and blinks. The room he came from definitely had four walls, and yet as he looks, he can only see the doorframe, floating in the middle of golden light. There is not sky, no ground other than a soft dusting of grass and petals that have drifted down from a tree next to the bench. What is going on?

He remembers falling. He remembers being so tired, so worn, closing his eyes and letting himself fall.

He remembers being…caught? He remembers something winding around him, something that cradled him, not bound him. He remembers something pulling him somewhere else, through the swirling mist.

He remembers being laid on something soft. He remembers a hand stroking his cheek. He remembers a voice, a low voice, saying it would look after him.

“Oh. You’re awake?”

That voice. He whirls around to see—another human? A figure, at any rate, standing next to the doorframe. The figure tilts his head, walking forward, only to stop when he flinches backward.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises in that same low voice, “I didn’t know you’d be awake so quick.”

“What do you want?” He winces when his voice sounds absolutely wrecked.

“Want? Nothing, at least not right now.” The figure reaches for him. “You look scared.”

“I—“ he gulps— “I am, please don’t touch me.”

The figure blinks. “Don’t mortals need physical contact to be reassured?”

Oh no, not another one.

“Oh,” the figure murmurs when he stumbles even further away, “oh dear, no, little one, it’s alright, I won’t touch you.”

“S-stay away,” he gasps, “please, don’t—don’t hurt me, stay back.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, little one, I promise, I’ll stay back here, just—just calm down, please.”

Something in the figure’s voice gives him pause. He keeps his arms up, ready to defend himself, but it…the way the figure’s looking at him…

“…you won’t hurt me?”

The figure shakes his head emphatically. “Never, little one, I’d never hurt you, you’ve—you’ve been hurt enough already.”

“W-what?”

“When you fell,” the figure says softly, his fingers still twitching, “I—I could feel your pain, everything, I could feel it, and I’m so, so, sorry that this happened to you, oh, little one, no one should have to hurt like that…”

His eyes widen when the figure starts to weep. He…his pain is enough to make…whatever this is cry for him?

“What happened,” the figure says in a strangled whisper, “who hurt you, little one?”

And suddenly the whole sorry story is spilling out of him, about the summoning, about the experiments, the torture, the escape. The figure sobs with him as he tightens his arms around himself, trying to stop the phantom pain from sending him to his knees.

“You mean to tell me—“ the figure gulps in a breath— “that one of my kind did that to you?”

He flinches slightly at the mention of ‘my kind’ but as he looks at the distraught expression on the figure’s face, something warm burrows its way into his chest and flutters.

“I’m so sorry, little one,” the figure mumbles, oblivious to his dilemma, “I—I would destroy them if it didn’t mean leaving you alone.”

“…you don’t want to leave me alone?”

The figure tilts his head. “No, little one, I don’t. I want to look after you, I want to keep you safe so you never have to go through that again.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He’s…he’s serious. He wants to look after—he wants to—

“You want to…protect me?”

The figure nods, reaching out for him again. This time, he lets the figure take a step closer.

“You have been so strong,” the figure mumbles, “so strong, little one, and you’re hurting so much because of it, I want to help you.”

“…but why?”

“You hurt,” the figure emphasizes, “and if—if I hurt at just the memory of your hurt, then I—you must hurt so much.”

Despite everything, a spark of hope begins to bloom in his chest. He edges a step closer, trying to deny the way the spark flares brighter at the encouraging smile he gets.

“Isn’t that…” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “…isn’t that weakness?”

The figure’s mouth drops open, his hand clenching into a fist. “No, little one, it isn’t a weakness. Feeling—the ability to—a heart is not a weakness, little one.”

“…it isn’t?”

“No, little one, listen to me, you—“

The figure takes a breath and the certainty in his eyes blazes.

“You are not weak,” he says firmly, “you are gifted with the ability of heightened intuition. You do not have anything to be ashamed of, it is a reminder that you have the gift of empathy. Not many beings possess this rare trait because it takes a special kind of being to be genuinely compassionate.”

He pauses, taking another tiny step closer, his eyes pleading.

“Your kindness is not your weakness,” he whispers, “it is your strength. Own who you are. You have a beautiful, brave soul.”

He can’t.

The figure lets out a wounded noise as he collapses, racing to his side and catching in arms that are impossibly warm, pulling him into a lap that wraps around him and holds him close, murmuring words in that wonderful, wonderful voice that makes him feel like the air itself is trying to calm him down.

“I have you, brave one, I have you,” the figure whispers, “you stay right here with me. Won’t you stay, brave one, and let me protect you?”

He wants to. Oh, he aches to.

“…can I stay?”

“Of course,” comes the instant reply, “of course you can, brave one, I would be so happy if you stayed.”

“Y-you would?”

The figure smiles ruefully as he pulls back just enough so they can see each other’s faces. “Would you believe me if I said I got lonely every now and then?”

Millennia, alone in the darkness…he can’t imagine.

The figure lets out a soft gasp of surprise when he tightens his grip. “Does that make you upset, brave one? Thinking of me alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, brave one, you’re so strong,” the figure murmurs, running one hand through his hair, “I can’t imagine how much it must be to feel. All the time.”

“It’s tiring,” he manages to slur out. Speaking of which…

“I’m sure.” The hand in his hair is doing wonders. “Will you tell me your name, brave one, so I know what to call you?”

Somewhere in his sleep-fogged brain, he thinks he remembers something about not giving your name out to creatures who ask for it.

“That’s the fair folk, brave one,” the figure says gently, “but also a good practice. Here, if you like, I will give you mine first, and then you can decide, hmm?”

“Okay.”

“My…well, my name isn’t something that mortal tongues can pronounce, I don’t think, but you can call me Roman.”

Roman. Roman. That’s easy enough.

He raises his head just a little, if only to let it flop onto Roman’s shoulder.

“Patton.”

“Patton?” He nods. “That’s a lovely name, brave one, thank you for telling me.”

Patton should say something, thank Roman in return, say he’s thankful for the protection Roman is giving him, something, but oh, Roman is warm, Roman is soft, and he’s so, so, tired.

“…sleep.”

“You need to sleep, Patton?” Patton nods clumsily into Roman’s neck. “Do you want me to take you back to the bed? Those—those are good for sleep, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t really remember being lifted up and carried. He remembers being laid down in something soft again, something warm, but not as warm as Roman.

He doesn’t remember being tucked in, the soft comforter around him again. He remembers a warm voice promising something.

He doesn’t remember asking Roman to stay, reaching out clumsily for him as he pulls away.

He remembers another body tucked up next to him, wrapping around him gently, as the darkness takes him again.

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[antiquechampagne]

Antique Champagne - Chapter 35 - Reaction

The more time she spent in her new room, even with how small it was, the more comfortable and lived in it became. After a while, it started to feel like home.

“It’s still a waste of caps,” growled Fahr.

Payne had shown up for work, right in the middle of an argument between Hancock and Fahr.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already given the guy the go ahead.”

Fahrenheit gave a frustrated grunt while running her pointer finger roughly across her temple. Shifting her glare to Payne she pleaded, “Please talk some sense into this ghoul.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“You should appreciate this, Payne.” He turned to her with a look that landed somewhere between smug and cheeky. “I found a traveling engineer who says he can install a system that can supply hot water to the State House!” He gave a wide smile. “Then Diamond City won’t have the market cornered on hot showers anymore!”

Payne had a hard time hiding her surprise. Hot water on demand was incredibly rare. It had been such a long time since she even thought about a warm bath on demand or hot shower, she had forgotten how much she missed them.

“Well… if it works here, then maybe it would work at the Rexford too. It might bring some more business in.” Fahr fiery glared leveled itself full force at her. “What? You saying improving the average resident’s hygiene isn’t a good thing for the town?”

“This whole thing is a waste of time and caps!” Fahr nearly growled as she left the room, no doubt to go nurse her bruised ego.

Hancock gave Payne a playful jab on the shoulder. “I knew you’d have my back! Let’s celebrate!” Hancock grabbed a couple of bottles from the bar.

The evening progressed just as Payne had anticipated. She had ‘celebrated’ quite a few of Hancock and Fahr’s disagreements. She found it easier to curb his benders when he stayed in; thankfully, that appeared to be his intention for the night. As the moon was well overhead, Hancock had settled on the couch. Payne had leaned lazily against the bar. He had been talking about his plans for upgrading the neon signs just outside the walls when he circled back around to the day’s previous argument.

“It’s a real maze out there, especially if you’re new to downtown. I think maybe a few more signs could help out with that.” He twirled an empty jet container in his palm. “But that new water tank, I think it could really elevate the town… take some of the stuffing out of the Great Green Jewel.” His words dripped with sarcasm. He let out a little huff. “I do kinda miss them, ya know? I never appreciated that warm and clean feeling until it was just out of reach.” Hancock turned to her. “Anything you miss?”

“Miss? Miss about what?”

“About out west. Maybe something that isn’t around anymore.” He stared absentmindedly at the cracked ceiling. “I dunno.”

Payne leaned back, shuffling through her memories. After a moment, all she could do was shrug. “Guess if I could, I would bring back proper ice cream. I could kill for a half way decent float.”

“Float?”

“Yeah. If you can find some half-decent vanilla ice cream, put a big scoop into a chilled glass. Fill it with an ice-cold Nuka-Cola. A lot of people preferred Sunset Sarsaparilla, but I never liked that stuff. Oh man, on a summer day it just hits the spot…or hit the spot.”

Hancock started tossing the Jet canister idly in the air, repeatedly catching it one handed. “What do you think you’d be doing if the world didn’t go to shit?”

“Easy,” Payne smirked. “I’d be dead.”

“Bah, that’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He playful tossed the canister at her. “I mean… did you have plans for the whole white picket fence, husband, 2.5 kids, apple pies… that pre-apocalypse whole shtick?”

She snorted. “Are you kidding me? No guy in their right mind would try and get hitched to me! I was the daughter of an ex-call girl-turned-independent brothel owner. The only men burning down my door were the ‘get the milk for free’ kind.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “Beside, that whole scene wasn’t really my style. Too much commitment for my taste.” She smiled. “Not that marriage vows meant a whole lot to the people frequenting our establishment. Many were men in loveless marriages trying to relive their glory bachelor days. No thanks.”

Hancock raised an imaginary glass and toasted her. “But you surely must have had your eye on someone!”

What was with this sudden interest in her prewar love life? “I had a few exes over the years, but nothing stuck. I’ve got a pretty open with the whole relationship thing. Most people don’t know how to handle that, even if they say their okay with it.” She shrugged.

“Amen, sister!”

Before she could start needling Hancock over his own proclivities, Fahrenheit appeared in the doorway.

“Turn on the radio,” she ordered.

Perplexed, Payne walked over to the relic sitting on an end table and turned the knob. The sounds of gun shots and a struggle.

“Oh my god, what’s happening?” Kent’s voice shook with fright.

A woman’s voice cut in. “On your knees, dirt bag!”

“Wha..What are you doing?” Kent let out a pained grunt.

“Sinjin, all clear.”

Another voice came over the radio. Sinjin. “This is the Shroud’s headquarters… so you must be the Silver Shroud’s little friend”

Kent stammered a muffled “Yes” in reply.

“If you want to see your friend alive, Shroud, meet me at Milton General Hospital.”

“Don’t do it, Shroud!” Kent yelled. “It’s a trap! Save yourself!”

BANG!

Kent cried out in agony. “Oh my god! Do it, Shroud! Do it! Oh, my knee!”

“Tick tock, Shroud,” Sinjin warned. “don’t keep me waiting. We’ve got business that needs finishing.”

“It just keeps repeating,” Fahr said.

Numb, Payne turned off the radio. The shock hit her like a 2 by 4 to the forehead. “What the fuck?” Payne turned to Hancock, who was now bolted upright.

“That gangster-wannabe asshole. Sinjin is going to pay for this with his blood.”

Recovering Payne asked Hancock, “How did Sinjin get Kent out of town? Did anyone see anything?” She turned to Fahrenheit.

“Irma’s beside herself with regret. She tried to stop them, but there were too many. I’ll find out who let this happen, how they got in.”

“Good. Fahr, send out runners, too.” A deadly kind of determination suffused Hancock’s words. “Find Nate. Make sure he is here as fast as possible.”

Fahr turned on her heels, already barking orders to the Watchmen nearby.

Payne could see dread seep into Hancock’s steely expression as the gravity of the situation hit her as well. Both of them feared for their dear friend’s life.

By early morning, every Watchman had been severely interrogated by not only Fahrenheit, but Hancock as well. The only thing anyone noticed was hearing a commotion in one of the alleys in town. When the guard went to investigate, no one was there.

The trio quickly converged on the alley with a gaggle of haggard looking Watchmen. They combed through the cluttered dirty back street.

They were nearly to the dead end when Hancock stooped down. He picked something up from a pile of rotting rags that had been pushed aside by what had been Bobbi No-Nose’s secret door. He rubbed his fingers over it, cleaning the grime of the small enamel pin.

Payne recognized it immediately. “That’s Kent’s. I gave it to him the first time we met.”

Hancock’s eyes narrowed.

They all turned as the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps echoed off brick walls of the alley. An out of breath runner quickly turned the corner.

“The Shroud…” she huffed, “was about a half an hour north. He’s on his way.”

With a nod and wave, Hancock dismissed her. Turning back to Fahr he issued an order. “Check the warehouse and move all supplies still housed there to the backup storeroom. Brick this whole building up. Look for any other exploitable gaps in the security of our walls. Plug everything.”

Payne followed Hancock out of the alley, leaving Fahr organize the Watch and start securing the town.

Back in the Old State House, Hancock and Payne shoved extra ammo and meds into their pockets and pouches. In her room, she happened upon the veil she had worn the night she danced with Kent dressed as the Mistress of Mystery. Carefully, she pulled her hair back and tied it with securely with the veil’s strings before fitting her helmet over her head. Dread started to build up in the back of Payne’s mind like a backed-up pipe, looming on the edge of her thoughts. As she returned upstairs, Nate burst through the doors followed by a hovering rusted white robot.

“Hancock!” He called.

The mayor motioned him in. “We need to leave now, Nate, and we need to travel fast.” He looked to the Vault Dweller’s new companion. “Find an upgrade while you were out scavving?”

“Hancock, this is Curie. She’s quite the special Miss Nanny robot.”

“This must be Monsieur Hancock, I presume.” The robot wave one of its three arms in his direction. “Monsieur Nate has told me so much about you. It is a pleasure to meet such a fascinating specimen at last.”

Hancock seemed a bit taken by surprise by her flowery speech. “Um, thank you.” He shook his head. “As much as I would love to make your acquaintance, we really need to get going.” He turned to Nate. “I think it might be best if you leave your robot here.”

Curie’s arms whirled in annoyance. “I am the top of the line of RobCo technology. I assure you I am capable of this.”

“No offense, but if Milton General is like the rest of the hospitals around, there are a lot of tight corridors, dead ends and bottlenecks just screaming for traps full of Psycho-filled raiders. In my experience, your model’s jet engine a bit conspicuous and,” he pointed to the large circular sawblade attached to the end of one of her three arms. “I don’t fancy my coat, or any body part, getting on the wrong arm of that accidentally.”

Nate put a hand on Curie’s floating round chassis. “He has a point, Curie. I think I am going to ask you to stay here while we take care of this.”

Curie’s arms drooped as she sagged a bit closer to the floor in disappointment. “But there is so much left for me to see in this new world…”

“I know.” Nate gave her a little pat. “When I come back, we can head back out on the road. In the meantime, why don’t you see if you and Dr. Amari in the Memory Den have any research you can share. I’m sure the two of you can find some common ground.”

“As you wish.” Her eyestalks focused on Nate. “Please be careful out there, Monsieur. Until we meet again.”

#antique champagne #ao3 #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #fallout #fallout 4 #payne #sosu #fahrenheit #hancock #kent #sinjin

[scaryscarecrows]

Put on My Skin by Candlelight

Jason’s intention is to just quietly stay awake all night. It’s better that way, and tomorrow he can aim for his five hours or so.

It’s not healthy. He knows that, God, he knows that. But he can’t sleep, not for long and not well, and more often than not he wakes up tangled in blankets or on the floor-having screamed himself raw. There’s been more than one occasion that he’d scratched himself up, but that’s not…common.

The first week, after…after, he’d slept like, well, like the dead. Remnants of trauma or somethin,’ probably. But since then, not so much. Nightmares, vivid, horrifying nightmares, of laughter and darkness and agony, that’s what’s waiting for him behind closed eyelids.

And they’re better off dealt with alone. He’s already given everyone a bad fright today, one’s enough.

That’s the plan.

The plan goes sideways when his head hits the pillow. He remembers this room, remembers being safe and warm because Dick was (is?) a Siamese Twin and Tim ran (runs?) cold and therefore always sought out the closest source of heat, which was usually him. It’s two minutes at best before he’s unconscious, pulled down the river of peaceful oblivion.

It really is a river, calming blue like one’a Penguin’s maybe-stolen paintings. They don’t have rivers like this in Gotham, big curves and clear water with colorful fish and frogs in it. There’s sunlight, too, warm like he would’ve killed, or at least maimed, for at eight years old.

He’s on a raft, Tom Sawyer-style, and he’s alone but that’s all right, he can stretch out and close his eyes and just bob along towards…anythin’, really. Dreams are funny that way. S’not about the destination, s’bout the journey. And this journey is just fine.

Well. Until he turns his head and sees a white face with a wide, wide red slit for a mouth, speckled with yellow fangs and topped with yellow eyes and a shock of unnatural green hair.

And he can’t move.

The clown laughs, and laughs, and laughs and draws a harpoon out of the (red it’s so red and thick and no no please no-) water, raises it so it glints in the sun. There’s a fish on it, wiggling and jerking and he blinks and he’s the fish, convulsing and unable to even scream--

--and he’s in the coffin. Dirt’s raining down on him from above, and he can hear muffled voices, but he can’t scream now, either, can’t let them know that he’s not dead, he shouldn’t be here.

It’s only when the last slivers of light are gone and the shovels are patting the earth flat that his throat decides to work and he starts screaming, begging for somebody, anybody, please-!

“-son. Jay! Wake up, Jason, c’mon, baby, please--”

Hard wood gives way to soft sheets and things strike him like

The crowbar coming down down down

lightning. Not pitch-black, there’s a candle flickering and turning his eyelids red. There’s hands on his shoulders, barely missing the top of the…of it, and his back’s arched and his head’s thrown back, hair tangled in his face and mouth stretched wide. His throat hurts. His hands are clenched around the sheet below, crinkling the silk and tight enough that his nails are still digging into his palms.

He’s not dead. He’s not underground, he’s in Penguin’s house. Penguin. Penguin who’s outta town and his big goons with him so--

His mouth clicks shut and he sinks down to the mattress, gulping for air and forcing his hands to go flat. Nightmare. Jus’ a nightmare.

Dove’s the one who’s got her hands on him. She looks scared half to death, even in the poor light. There’s a candle on the nightstand and he can just see a big shadow-Olga, probably-in the doorway. And right now, he doesn’t want Olga’s firm-but-oddly-reassuring ‘you are fine, sleep’. He wants Dick, a little, but Dick’s not here a-and…

“M-Maman?”

He doesn’t mean to. He’s not even sure he still has the right to use that old nickname anymore, after all this time. But he can’t breathe and he’s still laughing and the candle’s making monsters dance on the walls.

“There you are.” One of Dove’s hands leaves his shoulder, shakily combs sweaty strands of hair into some semblance of neatness. “Okay, Jay, you’re okay, it was just a--”

One of the wall-monsters has too many teeth and he scrambles upright, flings himself at her like he’s twelve years old again.

“I couldn’t breathe.” And yeah, that’s the least of his problems but it’s the easiest to explain. “I woke up an’ it was dark an’ I couldn’t breathe--”

“Sh-sh-sh.” He’s rocked back and forth and the shadow in the doorway leaves. “You’re all right, Jay, you’re all right, it was just a dream.”

He has no idea when he started crying, but now he can’t stop. He presses his head against her shoulder and tries to just breathe, to remind himself that he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s not underground or pinned down like a butterfly on a board. If he wants to take a deep breath, or get up, he can, just as soon as he gets himself under control.

“Okay, Jay, just breathe with me, c’mon.”

He’s trying. He’s trying, honest, s’just that his lungs are filled with dirt and blood. He can taste that, can taste the worms and spiders that crawled inside him to eat him from the inside out and God please no please he’s not dead he’s not--

“Shh, petit rouge, shh, you’re just fine, it was just a dream. Come on, honey, breathe.”

Okay. Okay.

Dove’s got one hand pressed flat between his shoulders and the other cupping his neck, fingers making deep circles just under his skull. He’s somewhat aware that Olga comes into the room, and then there’s the thunk of a heavy glass against wood, and then she’s gone. He’s grateful.

Eventually, Dove makes him sit up and reaches over to pick up the glass. The liquid inside is yellow-tinged.

“Wha’s tha?”

“Honey water, so you don’t lose your voice.” Oh. “I want you to drink it all down.”

If he pukes, he’s sorry.

He takes the glass, though, downs it in two swallows. He thinks there might be something else in there, but it doesn’t matter-it feels good against his throat, warm and kinda gummy, and it helps. Wipes out the taste of dirt and blood and moving things.

“There we go, that’s a good boy.” She pulls him back down, fingers tight against his shirt. “You’re all right, Jay, you’re all right.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean…I-I just woke up. I just woke up an’ it was dark an’ I couldn’t breathe an’--”

“Shh.” He shuts up and ducks his head against her neck. S’warm. Safe. “You lost me, honey, start over.”

He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, it’s a goddamn horror story, but it’s like someone else has taken over his voice, because he can’t stop talking.

“I remember. I remember dying.” Laughter and pain and utter confusion because what did he do to-- “It hurt. It hurt but it stopped, it was over, an’ I woke up. I didn’t mean ta wake up, I didn’t.” He swallows and closes his eyes, sees red lips and yellow eyes. “I didn’t. I didn’t.”

“Jay--”

“I-it was dark. An’ I couldn’t breathe, an’ no one was coming an’ it wouldn’t break.” God, he can still taste the dead air, the wood and legs and corpses, a sour weight at the back of his tongue. “It wouldn’t break-Maman--”

“Shh, baby, shh.” Her voice is shaking and she’s gripping him like he’s going to vanish if her arms slip. “You’re all right, honey, you got…you got out.”

Maybe. If this isn’t all some last hallucination before he suffocates in the dirt. He’s never sure, he can’t prove anything.

For now, though, it’s real enough and he’s happy to stay here and try to calm down. He can breathe, he keeps reminding himself, he can breathe and he can feel his heart thudding in his chest. He’s all right, he’s not…he’s not dead, he’s not buried, he’s fine.

There was something in that drink, there had to have been; all of a sudden it’s impossible to keep his eyes open and everything’s just so heavy. Dove, at some point, gets him to lie down again and tucks him back in with a soft, “Try to sleep, Jay.”

But…

“C’n you leave the light?” And wow, he really does feel twelve again but he can’t bring himself to care. “Please? I…i-it was dark n’ I could hear things. Moving. B-but I couldn’t see anything ‘n…please.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, all right? With something so the house doesn’t burn down.”

“T’anks.”

“Shh. Just try to calm down.”

He nods and then she’s gone. The candle stays and he passes a finger through it a few times before dropping his hand back to the quilt. God, he’s just so tired…

It’s windy. It had been windy when he…when he got out, but not before. It had been heavy and humid and still. He remembers that, remembers the weight of the air, how he could smell the blood (his own and that had made everything worse) and, later, when he’d lain there with a harpoon through his chest, that he’d wished for a breeze. Just a little one.

There hadn’t been one and he’s still not convinced he didn’t suffocate with the weight of the dead air.

He’s staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind bang a tree against the house, when Dove comes back. She’s got a…s’a glass thing, tha’s all he knows. It’s heavy-looking and square and there’s a gouge in the bottom corner like it’s fallen. Or been used to hit someone over the head. Penguin’s an opportunist that way. She transfers the candle into it and the gouge disappears.

“There,” she says, “now the house won’t burn down.”

Good. He doesn’t…dying in a fire sounds like a horrible way to go. When Mom was still alive, the place across the street went up in smoke. He still remembers the faces at the upper windows, the ones that wouldn’t open.

When he dies again, he doesn’t want to go like that.

Dove leans down to kiss his forehead and murmurs, “Get some sleep, sweetheart, it’s late and you look exhausted.”

“G’night.”

She leaves and he rolls over to look at the candle, now still inside its glass box. It’s a friendly light, now. Maybe it’ll help and he can sleep tonight, if only for a little while.

Maybe…

Please…

Zzz.

THE END

#gaslights 'verse #Jason Todd #Dove Marquis #Jason is understandably traumatized by being #y'know #horribly murdered #and THEN having to dig out of his own grave #nightmares

[omgilostmyshoe]

Sabriel Week 2019. Day Four: Free Day

Can You Withstand The Heat

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sabriel, implied/mentioned established Destiel.

Wordcount: 3,740

Tags and Warnings: AU, A/B/O, Omega Sam Winchester, Alpha Gabriel, Heat Sex, Sex position 69, Curses, Angst with Happy ending, Fluff, PWP.  

@sabrielevents

What if the all-fandom joke about Sam being cursed was not a joke at all? What if, being a teenager, Sam pisses off a witch, who curses him? Now, everyone he ever sleeps with will die in some horrible fashion. So, he suffers all his heats alone, that keep getting more and more painful, but he hardly has a choice in the matter. He will not become a killer for his own pleasure. That is until he meets a mysterious Alpha, who is immune to the curse, and brings a lot more surprises with him, than just mind-blowing sex skills. 

Sam hates the heats. 

He hates them so much, that he's been long living "in between". 

The Times when it hits - he is not living. 

He is in agony, he is a ball of need, lust and pain. But he's not living. 

It was easier, when he had Dean. 

Of course, he still has him, but Dean now has Cas. 

Now, instead of suffering together, Dean smells of satisfaction and pleasure after each and every heat. 

Sam is happy for his brother, of course... But he’s... 

's still suffering. 

And all because of some crazy alpha bitch-witch, whom he refused so long ago. And she cursed him. With "If I can't have you, nobody can." 

Because really, what is it with his life being an over dramatic soap opera? 

No... It is his life, and it's coming to a swift end, as another heat is closing in on Sam.

He’s hurrying to the local clinic to get a heat room--alone, of course--but he can feel it already. 

Creeping in on the edges of his senses, quickening his heart and breathing, racking up his pheromones higher and higher. 

He has half an hour at best, and he floors it, not caring for the speed limit or angry honking of the cars he flies past. 

There is the familiar hunger creeping in, and he’s almost in hell already. 

And of course, as fate would have it, there are cops nearby. And of course, there is now a police car after him, blaring its sirens and demanding he stop. 

He checks the time, feeling a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead. 

Just five minutes to the clinic. 

Sirens blare, and he swears, coming to a screeching stop at the nearest sidewalk, praying to all Gods that the cop is anything but an Alpha. Another Omega, or Beta even, anything, but...

"Hi there, I'm Officer Novak. ID and registration please?" 

...that. 

An Alpha. 

Short, but cocky, confidence and dominance rolling off of him in waves, along with the absolutely delicious scent, which had Sam's mouth watering in seconds. His asshole too, he feels--acutely--as the blob of slick, a big one, slides down in his underwear. He was never more thankful for that person who thought about Omega's needs enough to engineer a special kind of underwear that can absorb large amounts of slick without leaving stains on actual clothing. 

But as Sam gets more and more lost in his own thoughts and the approaching heat, the cop takes a whiff of him too. 

And what finally captures Sam attention is a growl. 

Low, rumbling, going straight through all of his desperate being, forcing another rush of slick and a quiet moan in return. 

"Please... Officer. I'm just trying to get to the clinic. You can... see, that it is... an emergency." 

Talking is hard, especially when the Alpha's eyes are raking all over him, head to toe, crimson of his irises blinking with shining gold. Sam barely holds in another moan, but he can't allow himself to just give up. 

Even if all he wants is to present to this Alpha, of which he knows nothing of but the surname. He wants to present his neck, ass, anything, everything he would want...

Sam moans again, first pangs of pain gripping his stomach, demanding, and shuts his eyes, riding the wave. 

He doesn't notice the Alpha moving, until he himself is moved. Carried, actually, bridal style, and the power that take, the power that Alpha possesses, lifting him with such ease... It does things to Sam's heat-addled mind and body. 

The cop growls again, short, disapproving, and Sam knows it's to make him release the death grip he got on Alpha's shoulders. Alpha who carried him effortlessly to his own car, settling Sam on the backseat with as much care as possible and goes to lock up Sam's car. 

Sam though, he just plops himself on the seats, drowning in the scent of the Alpha that permeates the car. 

His cock is hard and his underwear is barely holding on against the waves of slick gushing out of him. 

The cop returns just as another wave of cramps hits, and Sam curls into himself, groaning in pain and arousal, both ricocheting through his nerves. 

"Shhh, pretty thing... Hang in there just a little longer, I'll get you what you need." 

The pain leaves as sudden as it appeared. Instead, there is pleasure, comfort... Sam relaxes before he knows it, time is bending in his altered state. 

But he feels a steady hand carding through his damp hair, and he hears a soothing voice. 

The Alpha. 

Sam heard that their touch is practically miraculous for Omegas during heats, but to experience that... Again. After all this time. 

He sobs quietly at the hollow pain that originates in his heart, that even the Alpha's gentle hands can't cure. 

The Alpha who is now back in the driver seat, sirens blaring, and he's speeding off, even faster than Sam was going. They make it to the clinic in three minutes, the cop, (Novak, he said?) carrying Sam in. 

The nurse at the reception--beta, thank fuck--fusses over them both and directs them to the side corridor immediately. 

Clean walls, a row of identical scent-proofed doors. 

Yes, this is where he needs to be. 

But where he wants to be is in this Alpha's arms, on his cock, below his body. He moans, nuzzling in the Alpha's neck, practically melting at the quiet purr of approval he hears in return. 

"So, partners, I believe? I'll get your paperwork after, of course, but we have to check."

Nurse talks, asks, prods him even, but all he concentrated on is the scent. He wants more of it and licks above the collar of cop's uniform. For the first time he feels Alpha shudder, arms holding him up trembling a little, but squeezing tighter too. 

"Nope... Sadly, that beauty is not mine. But I am registered in the network as an approved Urgent Heat Care Provider, Gabriel Novak, do check." 

The Nurse nods and with a worried glance at Sam--he thinks, he's kinda distracted--runs away, to check the paperwork or whatever. 

But as his hormones and the heat come in stronger and stronger, there is still something nagging at Sam's horny mind. Something important. Very. 

Pain is what reminds him, another wave, so strong, Gabriel--such a beautiful name--has to sink on his knees with Sam, cradling him closer, rubbing circles in his back and lower belly, trying to chase away the cramps. 

"Damn, dude... That feels serious. Have you never had a partner before?" 

The Alpha mumbles, concentrated on helping, but Sam can’t hold on any longer, heat making him not only horny, but emotional as hell too. 

He starts to cry openly, terrifying the Alpha, who is apologies again and again, mumbling about being an idiot, and that he shouldn’t have said it... 

"I'm cursed... Whoever I sleep with, dies." Sam hiccups out between sobs, crumbling completely, hiding his wet face on the Alpha's chest and taking every shred of comfort he can take. Knowing they would probably be the last ones. 

Too soon he will be left alone, in the room that he hates, with the toys that don't help, and the pain that doesn't go away, with a desire that cannot be satisfied. 

He lifts his head when he hears a delighted laughter. 

The alpha is laughing, loud and infectious, his joy as easy as his smile, which was beautiful. 

"Cursed, hey? By a Witch, I take it?" He giggles quietly as Sam nods, figuring that the guy is probably crazy. Or suicidal. Maybe both. 

"Well then, baby, you hit the jackpot today. I'm immortal and immune to most curses, so I can help you out, if you'll allow me, Omega?" 

 is an official proposal. 

Sam can't believe his ears, but somehow... He actually believes Gabriel. 

There is not a whiff of deceit from him, just a steady current of lust, amazement and worry.  

The nurse returns, paperwork in her hands that she quickly forgets, seeing them on the floor. 

"Are you okay, darling? Do you need something?"

Sam shakes his head "no", still lost in the crimson of Alpha's eyes. He is so torn, and he so wants to believe, to surrender. Just this once. 

"Just, em... I'm Sam Winchester, and I accept this Alpha to be my Emergency Heat Partner." 

Gabriel smiles again, and leans in, kissing him in the corner of the mouth. 

He smells like candy and Sam wants more. 

The nurse is talking again, but Sam doesn't hear anything, every sense and nerve in his body trained on the Alpha. 

Who is very soon will be fucking him throughout the heat. 

The whine he makes is impossible to contain and Gabriel shushes him, hand carding through the hair again, face close...

"Can I kiss you?" He whispers, even though he already did. Sam doesn't nod, just surges forward, licking into the Alpha's mouth. He tastes strawberries, chocolate and power and whines again, needy and as horny as he's ever been in his life. 

Gabriel kisses expertly, guiding him gently but firmly, nips of his teeth mingling with caresses of the tongue. Sam's melting under such attention, his body moving of its own volition, and soon they full on making out, with Sam straddling Gabriel and grinding down his erection into the prominent bulge in Alpha's pants. 

Who doesn't seem to mind, no, the barely heard steady growl in his throat is approving, encouraging. 

Sam mewls when Alpha's hands slide down his back and squeeze his ass. His underwear is ruined, his jeans too, but he couldn't care less. 

"Damn... So wet for me already, Sammy..." Alpha breaks the kiss to stand up, hand right where they were, supporting Sam's weight easily as before. "How about we go inside and get to business, ha?" 

That does sound good, so Sam nods his assent to Alpha's neck, nuzzling again. 

His scent intensified, dizzying, strong but sweet, and Sam licks at it, licks it off the Alpha's skin, bites down on it, reveling in the hungry growly moan. 

Sam likes the sounds so he keeps up with the kisses, licking, sucking. Hands on his ass dig in deeper, and his moan in interrupted as he's thrown on the bed - careful, but decisive.

"Clothes - off. Now."

Gabriel's voice is full-on Alpha now, as are his eyes, dark red, shining under the too bright lights of the sterile room. 

Sam in hypnotized by them, but his body already scrambling to obey the order, tearing the clothes away. 

It is a very good idea, fabrics scratchy and restrictive on his sensitive skin. But what's better, is that Gabriel undresses too, from the bottom to the top. 

His radio, fixed to the shoulder, crackles to life as he unbuttons the uniform shirt. 

"This is dispatch. Unit one-forty-six, respond, what's your status?"

Sam licks his lips, taking off his last sock, totally naked, splayed out on the bed before the Alpha. Who's looking at him as a meal that he's about to devour. But before that, he does click the button to answer the call. 

"This is unit one-forty-six, I'm at the clinic on Third, caught a 69." 

He smirks, when the person on the other end of the radio heaves a sigh. 

"Gabe, you know that is not the proper code. But accepted, I'll mark you as on Emergency Mode for the next few days." 

"Thanks, darling... Though you are right. 69 might not be an option. He's a tall one." 

Alpha smirks, salacious and lewd, watching with clear approval as Sam spreads his legs wider. As he arches on the bed, imagining, wanting, new wave of heat washing over him. 

It's still mixed with pain and he whines, gripping his stomach, but this time, this time it's different. 

This time he's not alone. 

This time there is a hungry mouth showering kisses and bites all along his exposed chest, taking the pain away. 

This time he has an Alpha, who will not perish from some horrible and gruesome death. 

Somebody, who can survive him...

Sam's train of thought is interrupted when there is a couple of fingers circling his drenched with slick hole. 

"Mmm, so open already, but we need to prepare you before all the fun begins, darling. Is that okay with you?" 

Gentle tone clashes with teasing touches, but Sam is already nodding, thrusting his hips back, into the fingers, into the contact he craves. 

He's lucky, and the movement forces those fingers inside, muscles of his ass already working itself open to get ready for the knot. 

Sam moans in delight, finally filled with something that is not a toy or his own hands. Alpha chuckles in his ear before adding a third finger and fucking him open, steadily, torturously slow. 

"Please, please, I'm ready, just fuck me, please..."

There's a fourth finger instead inside of him, stretching. Sam moans, mind getting lost in lust and heat, but he hears the cautioning growl. 

He also feels the very considerable length of the Alpha's cock pressing into his thigh. Big, fat cock, and yes, he will need stretching for that, but Gods, Sam wants it. 

So he keeps asking, with whispers and moans, and everything he has. 

Soon, he begs. 

Soon, he is arranged on his back, pillows all around, legs spread wide, all open for the Alpha's lustful gaze. 

He gets a chance to look too, a little moment of clarity between the waves of the heat. 

As his body gives him a second of respite, preparing for the main event, he looks. The Alpha is short, as he remembers, probably at least a head lower than Sam. But he's strong, lithe muscles rolling under tanned skin. His face is handsome, not in the canonical sense, perhaps, but all his features exist is harmony, giving Gabriel a seductive, mischievous look. Sam likes it, likes as thin lips of the Alpha are pink from their kisses, likes that his brown locks are disheveled from his own hands. Likes that there is a hickey already forming on his neck that Sam left. 

"Well, hang onto something, Sammy, because I'm gonna fuck you so hard you forget all about not only the curse, but the world itself." 

That is an enticing promise, and Sam is so ready for the fulfillment of it. 

He screams in pleasure, sharp, almost too much, so anticipated it almost breaks him, when Alpha pushes in--finally. 

But he holds on, as he was told, holds onto Gabriel's shoulders, taking in his cock, moaning and shivering with long awaited sensation of being so full. 

It's never ending, it seems, as Gabriel just keeps going. And by the time he bottoms out, breathing harshly, gripping Sam's hips to keep him in place, Sam is already riding the waves of bliss. 

Gabriel is perfect. Big and thick, and alive, and Sam just wants more.

What's even better, after a moment of adjustment, he gets exactly that. 

The fucking of his life, with dirty words and gentle kisses. With the rhythm of the thrusts so strong, they shove him up the bed, and soon he has to grip the headboard just to stay in place. 

He meets each and every one, ecstasy flooding his body. 

He can't believe that it can be better, but it does. 

It does, when with a sharp growl Gabriel thrusts once more, stronger even than before, and Sam feels it. 

The knot, inside his stretched to the limit body, expanding still, locking them together. 

Gabriel is coming, hugging him tight, still trying to get deeper inside Sam's body with little abortive pushes in. As Sam feels the hot cum filling him, Alpha's knot and dick pulsing inside... That is all he can take. All he needs. 

With a blissed out moan he comes too, untouched, and probably passes out for a hot second from all the delightful sensations flowing through him. 

He comes to whispered praises, indistinguishable, but intent clear, and reaches for a kiss. Gabriel grants it, tender this time, them both still locked together, but the urgency of the heat abated at the moment. 

Sam opens his bleary eyes and this is where he notices it again. 

Gabriel's crimson Alpha irises blinking in and out, but not to the usual human color, no. To the shimmering gold, too powerful, too distinct to be anything but what it is. 

"I knew it!" 

Sam's jerks, hissing at the soreness, that grips his limbs and sated, fucked out sluggishness that forces him to stay lying down. 

Gabriel smirks again, but there is vulnerability and caution behind it. He stops hiding, eyes shining pure gold now, pulsing with power that leaves Sam shivering from witnessing just a sliver of it. 

In fascination he watches, as the ugly mark of the curse, that always appears on his partners, right where the mating bite would go, disappears. Just fades away, as if burned out by the gold, and Alpha's shoulder is clean, unmarred again. Only tense flesh, only a scattering of moles, only the web of veins pumping blood inside, that he can see through that creamy skin. 

"Beauty 

 brains... Seems like it was me who hit the jackpot today." 

Gabriel mutters, withdrawing slightly, as if expecting for Sam to recoil from him, no matter that they are still tied together. 

Sam doesn't let him. 

He already set his mind, already decided everything. 

"Show them to me." 

He sees the evident surprise on Alpha's face, but it melts into the pleased smile as Sam rubs his hand along Gabe's forearm. Reassuring. 

This time as Gabriel sits up, Sam allows it, moaning softly as it changes the angle of the cock inside him, hitting all the still sensitive spots. 

"Please" He begs, hips moving in slow circles, unable to stop, even though his stare is glued to Gabriel, or rather, his shoulders. 

Alpha laughs, shaking his head in pleased disbelief, but then...

Then it all falls away. 

Because Alpha was right, Sam hit the jackpot today, alright. 

Because behind Gabriel's back are wings, opening up, unfurling, manifesting in all their shining glory. 

Shimmering gold, just as his eyes, two, four, six! Six pairs of them, strong and long, crowding the little white room, as Sam's breath catches from the sight of that beauty. 

"Amazing..." 

He reaches out, and one of the wings leans to him two, golden feathers incredibly soft to the touch, almost tickling, but not quite. 

Sam wants more, wants them everywhere. 

He announces as such just as he feels Gabriel's knot deflating slightly, promising a soon release. 

Promising the next round. 

Heat and wonder hit him again, but this time Sam is not afraid. 

He found his Alpha, and as he cocooned in the cascade of gold and softness and power, and kissed by the literal angel, he is, for the first time in years, is glad for his heat. 

That is until he remembers something. 

"SHIT! Shit! Contraceptives, Gabe, where are they?!" 

They stay in that room for three days, riding each and every one of the waves of Sam's heat. 

Gabriel didn't lie, the curse has seemingly no effect on him, marks disappearing each and every time they appear. 

So Sam allows himself to relax. To enjoy it. 

They end up trying 69 too, and no, he is not too tall for that. 

Just perfect, actually. 

He is on top, sucking onto the Alpha's cock like the best candy in history. He can barely fit the half of it in his mouth, strokes the rest with his hands, reveling in the moans he can get out of his lover. 

He's hardly silent himself, because Gabriel apparently doesn't have a gag reflex at all. Or the need to breath. 

He just accepts it as Sam fucks down in his throat, growls approvingly, sucks and licks. Sam is in heaven, for sure. He ascends to some higher plane of existence as Gabe adds fingers in the mix. Actually it's his whole fist, just fucking into Sam's stretched whole, as he keeps sucking onto his cock. 

Sam explodes with a keen, almost choking on Alpha's dick. It takes him awhile to return the favor, because Gabe keeps sucking and fucking into him, rubbing into his prostate mercilessly, milking him till the last drop. 

Sam officially loves the heats. 

  On the fourth day, when they both finally emerge from the heat room, Sam finds his brother waiting just on the other side of the door. 

He reeks of worry, and as soon as he sees Gabriel, perfectly alive and in cop's uniform no less, anger, disbelief and confusion mix in with his scent. 

But what is more curious, is the exchange of the Alphas. 

Because Dean did not come alone. Castiel stands just behind his shoulder, a silent guardian, ready to jump in if needed, or to calm down his mate. 

Instead, he stares at Gabriel with shocked recognition. Gabriel rolls from the hills of his feet to his tiptoes, whistling nervously. 

"Well. That's unexpected. Hi there, bro." 

He gives Castiel a short wave, and now it's Sam's turn to glare at his brother's mate. Who is apparently is also an angel. Who hasn't told him shit about that. 

"Gabriel. What, pray tell, are you doing here? With Sam? And... What's with the uniform?" 

Dean's anger deflates, as the situation grows more and more confusing for both humans. Angels, however, quickly find their feet, being family and all. Apparently. 

"Ah, that. Work, of course, I'm a cop right now. Undercover." 

He leans in, whispering conspiratorially, as Castiel groans exasperated. 

"Gabe, that is not what undercover cop means and you know it! What is going on?!" 

"Well, nothing much... Just those annoying boys in blue getting too close again. Had to see what they have on us, throw a few false trails, while I finish the transition." 

Castiel glares, clearly unimpressed. 

Sam just sighs, somehow already accepting all the craziness that probably follows Gabriel like a royal entourage. 

Dean is quietly fuming, not understanding, and Sam can see that he's soon to explode with yelling and questions. 

All in all, Sam still loves his heats. 

Especially when Gabriel defending himself against the yelling and the interrogation, sneaks a gentle hold around Sam's wrist. Alpha's fingers rub at his pulse point, scent-marking and comforting. 

Promising that he’s not alone. 

#sabrielweek2019 #my writing #sabriel #sabriel fic #a/b/o dynamics #alpha Gabriel #omega Sam Winchester

[deepseawanderer-blog]

Because of You

Summary: Roselyn Parks was once in a loving relationship with Steve Rogers, but once things end, HYDRA takes her. Years later she’s back. Is she still the same Rose Steve once knew? Or did HYDRA turn her into something else entirely?

Warnings: Mentions of torture, cancer, heartbreak, angst, lots and lots of angst, Steve being kind of a douche, language, death, talk about death

Word Count ~ 6.4k

Authors Note: Ok, so this is my first time posting anything I’ve ever written and I’m honestly scared out of my mind. Let me know what you think, I have a few ideas about turning this into a series but I haven’t decided yet. Also, this fic kinda follows my own timeline from the Avengers universe. In it, Thanos was defeated, there was no snap, and everyone survived. Oh and this was slightly inspired by the song Missing by Evanescence (About 6 months after Loki’s attack on New York) 2012

     “Why?” I sounded so pathetic, so broken with one simple word.

     “Why? Rose, you’re joking right? You’ve completely pulled away the last six weeks. You avoid me almost entirely and you’re holding so many secrets Natasha would be impressed.” Steve ended his rant with a long sigh. “I can’t be with someone so closed off. It’s distracting me from the job I need to be doing. I can’t be worrying about you and if we’re ok when I should be focusing on missions and my teammates.”

     ‘So I was a distraction. I was a burden and putting people’s lives, Steve’s life, at stake. If I’m all of that now, there’s no way I can tell him.’ I thought to myself.

     “We need this break Roselyn.” he kneeled down so that we were face to face. I couldn’t help but flinch when he used my full name. “Look, I have another mission I have to go on, it’ll take me about a week. Take your time, there’s no reason to get everything out in one day.” He didn’t say anything else as he left, I didn’t either. There was nothing else to say. I couldn’t be a burden any longer and if I had said anything, it would have just prolonged the torture.

     I don’t know how many hours I sat at the edge of the bed. I expected to be heart broken, maybe even a little upset, but I didn’t expect to be numb. It was as if my brain was simply running on autopilot. I walked around the living space that Steve and I had shared for the last year. I picked up my favorite CD that Nat’s been begging me to borrow, I wrote down the recipe to my famous macaroni and cheese that Rhodey absolutely loves, and for Tony, I pulled out my stash of dried fruits that he would probably finish off within a day or two. “JARVIS, can you please send for a moving company to pack and have all my stuff put into storage?”

     “Yes Ms. Parks, the earliest they can manage is 9 A.M. tomorrow morning. Is that sufficient?”

     “Yes, that’ll be perfect. Thank you.” I packed a few suitcases of clothes, grabbed my miniature presents and headed to the communal kitchen. I placed everything on the center island and took a final look around. I guess everyone had been called away for this mission because there was no one here. I could feel the numbness cracking so I knew it was time to leave. I made it to my car and was able to drive away without any incidents, until my phone rang. My heart immediately jumped in my chest. ‘Was he calling to apologize? Did he think this was a mistake to break up? Does he still love me?’ These questions and a million more were running through my head. “Hello?” I finally answered shakily.

     “Hi, my name is Brenda, I’m calling from Dr. Wilson's office,” my heart sank, “is this Roselyn Parks?”

     “Yes.”

     “I’m calling to confirm your chemotherapy this Thursday at 2 o’clock. My records are showing that this will be your first treatment so we recommend not to eat anything starting from midnight the night before but to try and drink plenty of fluids. I’m sure Dr. Wilson has gone over what to expect but just in case--”

     “I--I understand, I’ll be there. Thank you.” I hadn’t meant to cut her off. I just didn’t want to hear everything all over again. I hung up the phone and everything seemed hit me, the damn completely crumbled and I finally broke down.

~*~

     “Alright Rose, that’s it for today. How are you feeling?” Dr. Wilson was a nice man. It was obvious he cared for his patients.

     “I’m doing ok, I sleep a lot and the nausea is still pretty bad, but I’ve been able to keep down some broth today. No hair loss just yet.” My lame version of a joke.

     “Well with the treatments we’ve been doing these past weeks, that might change.” He made a couple of notes while the nurse unhooked from the IV. “So we will see you again, same time next week. Are you sure there is no one we can call for you? You really shouldn’t be going through this alone.” Yes, Dr. Wilson definitely cared for his patients.

      “I’ll be fine Wilson, but thank you. My taxi should already be waiting for me.” I tried to smile but it probably looked more like a grimace. The last few weeks I’ve been living out of a suitcase in a hotel that was just a couple blocks away from the clinic but in those few weeks I hadn’t heard a thing from anyone. Steve I could understand keeping his distance, however, I at least thought Nat would call or text. It was total radio silence. They were probably busy saving the world and I didn’t want to distract them by calling and making a scene.

     I became lost in my thoughts as I climbed into the cab and rattled off the address. I was so out of it that I didn’t notice that the man driving the cab looked nothing like the man on the license. I didn’t notice him turning right instead of left, I didn’t even notice when he slipped on a gas mask and his metal hand glistened in the sun. I only noticed when a thick white smoke started seeping out of the air vents. Before I could even ask what the hell was going on, everything went black.

~*~

     My body weighed a ton. Moving was impossible, as if I was trudging through mud while trying to pull an elephant. I attempted to open my eyes but I don’t know if I succeeded or not, everything was pitch black. I could hear the squeaking of mice nearby, footsteps coming and fading away, and in the distance, if I really strained, I could hear someone screaming in agony. I really didn’t want to think about what was happening to that poor man because I knew that as soon as I started thinking about what was happening to him, I would start thinking about what they had in store for me. Whoever the hell ‘they’ were. That thought alone brought on a whole slew of questions. I was no one special, I had no money or power, I had no family to ransom, and I barely had any friends. Even my job wasn’t that exciting, I was a simple Sous Chef at a restaurant downtown, the only people who would benefit from me leaving were the ones gunning for my position and I highly doubt they’d go to these lengths to get it.

     I was alone with my thoughts for what seemed like days, but was probably only a few hours, before someone came. They threw the door open and I was immediately blinded by the bright lights. It didn’t bother me long though, they helped me out by throwing a disgusting sack over my head. A pair of hands each grabbed one of my arms and yanked me to my feet, I had no strength in my body to fight, let alone in my legs to walk, so they ended up dragging me to wherever they needed me to be. The screaming I had heard earlier was getting closer and it caused a cold sweat to break across my skin. ‘Is that where they’re taking me?’ I asked myself. Thankfully we passed the screaming man just as he stopped screaming. “The wipes complete, put him on ice until we need him again.” I heard a man order. ‘On ice? What the hell does that mean?’ I didn’t get to question it for long because I was soon lead through what I assumed to be a seperate room. I heard a door behind me slam shut and was promptly thrown on and strapped down to an ice cold, metal table. I could feel all types of electrodes being stuck to every part of my body, my blood pressure being taken, and needles poking and prodding me to set up IV drips. I could feel all of this, but for some reason I still could not find my voice to say or protest anything.

     “My Liebling, you’re behaving very well, maybe our time together does not have to be so bad, no?” his voice sent a shiver through my body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the table. Suddenly the bag was ripped from my head and I was blinded by a bright light shining directly at me. More electrodes were placed on my head as I attempted to blink away the blindness. “It is sad that we must meet on these types of situations, cancer is such a hard thing to fight and Dr. Wilson was right, you should not be doing it alone. We will be taking great care of you here, do not fret.”

     “Why,” my voice caught in my throat making me almost cough out a lung, “why am I here.” I croaked out. “What do you want with me?”

     “Sweet Liebling, did no one tell you?” He tisked. “You mean a great deal to a certain Captain and we need to be able to expose that. I believe I can make you into someone that will completely destroy him, if not physically, then mentally.” My vision was finally starting to clear up and I could finally make out my surroundings. The man talking to me had light brown hair that was neatly styled, blue eyes, and a pleasant looking face for someone so evil. The room I was in was a mix between concrete and metal, but all of it seemed to be sucking the life out of the very air. It was almost suffocating. There were other people milling around in white coats taking notes from the readings on the machines they had hooked me up to.

     “Hate to break it to you asswipe, me and the Captain broke up almost two months ago. He’s completely taken me out of his life and all of the Avenger’s lives.” I don’t know where my confidence came from, but I was going to hold onto it with everything I had while I could. “You just wasted all of this time and effort on someone that the Amazing Captain America could give zero fucks about.” I let out a nice chuckle without coughing, that’s progress in my book. However, when I took a look at the man’s face, all of my confidence drained away. He looked happy, but a sick and twisted kind of happy, a dark happy that I knew meant that horrible things were now in my future.

     “Now that is some great news Liebling.” he turned to a metal tray that was beside me and pulled up this bag that was filled with a weird blue-green looking mixture. He hung it up and fed it into one of the IV lines that was attached to me. “That tells me that I do not have to worry about killing you.” his smile seemed to grow sickenly bigger. “If you die, I will simply dump your body on his front door letting him know that this was all his fault. If you survive, you will be one of the strongest assets in our arsenal.” It was then that I felt the blue-green liquid entering my body. Everything was burning, my body was burning away from the inside out. I was boiling and melting all at once. It was the most intense pain I had ever felt and I couldn’t help the scream that ripped from me.

     I screamed for hours, they kept replacing the bags because for some reason, my body was just soaking the damn things up. People were huddled around the room taking notes and keeping track of my vitals but I didn’t care, I just wanted the pain to stop. I had almost passed out from the pain during the second bag but they quickly shot me up with something horrible to keep me conscious. The sick bastards wanted me awake and aware of everything that they would be doing to me. “Now I want you to remember, through all of this, everything you will go through while you are with us,” the sick man playing doctor sneered at me, “it is all Captain America’s fault.”

    After the 5th bag they decided they were done flooding my body with that poison and dumped me in a new room. This one was blindingly white, it reminded me of one of those rooms where they throw crazy people at insane asylums, except this one had an entire wall that was glass and none of the padding. These “doctors” wanted to be able to see what their poison would do to me. There was no bed so I made no effort to move from where they had thrown me, my body was still burning from the inside out but something else was happening. I couldn’t tell what it was, but something inside me was changing. I wasn’t necessarily feeling stronger or smarter. It was more like I felt deadly, no that’s not right either, I felt like death, as if I was turning into Death itself.

     ‘I am a burden,’ I thought to myself, ‘Steve was right. I am a burden and a distraction. I couldn’t even keep myself from getting kidnapped. I isolated myself and made it easy for them. I should’ve known better. Our relationship wasn’t secret by any means, I should’ve known that even with it over I would still be a target. Nat and them have to know I was taken by now and they’re going to save me and prove everything Steve said. The Doctor is wrong, it’s not Steve’s fault. It’s mine. I should’ve been stronger, I should’ve taken those self defense lessons Clint offered, I should’ve made myself better so that he wouldn’t have to worry about me. I should’ve been better at acting like everything was ok. I should’ve been better. He was right, I am a burden. I am a distraction.’

     I felt something building up in my chest, something big. I took a deep breath and released everything that had been going on for the last few months, my diagnosis, the break-up, the chemo and radiation, and all this torture. I let it all out with  a scream that pulled my already strained vocal cords. As I screamed, a pulse of power shot out of me turning my once pristine, white room into a rusted wasteland, the crystal clear glass was yellowed with age and covered in spider-web cracks, the doctors behind the glass were on the floor, horrible blisters and sores covering their skin. I passed out staring into their dead, bloodshot eyes, and a smile on my face.

♛

(About three years after Infinity War where Thanos was defeated and no one died) 2021

Please, please forgive me,

But I won’t be home again,

Maybe someday you’ll have woke up,

And, barely conscious, you’ll say to no one;

“Isn’t something missing?”

     The music was barely a whisper in my headphones but I could hear it perfectly. I could hear everything, even with all the people crammed into the open courtyard. If I wanted to, I could listen in on any conversation that was happening in a two mile radius, but that would have to wait. There was only one conversation I was interested in eavesdropping on and it was between the two super soldiers standing up on the center stage waiting for this farce of a “peace treaty” to begin. “Come on punk, why do I have to be here? The world still views me as an evil assassin, I’m the last one that should be at a peace signing.”

     “Buck, we’ve been over this, ever since Thanos, the world has realized that everyone needs to set aside their differences and work together to keep Earth safe. You are a perfect example of that, plus, you are a part of the team and we’ve all been invited to attend. Also, if I have to stand up here and do this, you bet your ass you do too.” he finished with a light laugh and big smile on his face.

You won’t cry for my absence, I know

You forgot me long ago.

Am I that unimportant?

Am I so insignificant?

Isn’t something missing?

Isn’t someone missing me?

     A red faced dignitary walked up to the podium, signalling the start of the conference and the crowd began to calm down. I turned my music off and started walking towards one of the many exits, getting into position. This courtyard was actually a horrible place to be hosting a signing, too much exposure, too open. The stage for all the foreign dignitaries and the Avengers had no protection from the crowd. Sure, the courtyard was in the middle of a castle-like building, but there were too many windows to be covered. The security was a joke; they barely had a metal detector. It was child’s play to get everyone inside, if anything, these foreign dignitaries deserved what was about to happen. Just because it’s a peace treaty, doesn’t mean everyone is going to be ‘peaceful’.

     I waited until he was a few minutes into his speech about finally taking the first steps towards world peace before I pulled the mirror out of my pocket and flashed it to the roof behind the stage. My men started making a small comotion, drawing the attention of everyone on stage. Everyone except for Sergeant Barnes, he had been looking my direction since I signaled with the mirror. He nudged Captain America to help him scan the area. The commotion was getting louder. The Avengers were starting to draw their weapons and herd the dignitaries to safety inside the walls. I signaled with the mirror again. Sergeant Barnes’ eyes immediately zeroed in on me as well as Captain America’s. ‘Good,’ I thought to myself, ‘he needs to see that this is all his fault.’ I kept my eyes locked with his as I descretley pulled out my handgun from my purse. I could see the gears turning in his head, he knew me somehow. Right then a shot rang out from the other side of the courtyard, people immediately dropped to the floor and screamed. Sergeant Barnes and Captain America whipped around to face where the shots came from, leaving me a perfect shot. I raised my gun and took aim. “Oh Captain, I’m disappointed,” I spoke normally but I know he heard me, his back stiffened and he turned to face me, “I thought someone would have taught you to never turn your back on a threat.” His eyes widened at the sight of the gun but it was too late, I squeezed the trigger and braced for the minimal kick back. Captain America reacted by bringing up his shield to protect his chest and head but it did no good, I wasn’t aiming that high. Yelling out in pain, he hit the floor grabbing his leg. Blood was already beginning to pool around his knee where the bullet had shattered. He would heal eventually, but until then he’d be in a lot of pain and he’ll be in even more when they have to open the wound back up to try and dig out all the shards of the hollow point bullet.

     I was able to slip out just as easily as I had slipped in, all it took was some fake tears and pretending to hyperventilate and security waved me through with the rest of the crowd. I was able to branch away and sneak down a hallway towards the room they had huddled all the dignitaries into. There was one last thing I had to do before I could leave. There were no guards outside the stupidly open door but the Falcon had placed one of his drones right above it. Lucky for me, I had full view of my intended target. The red faced dignitary from the opening speech was looking a little more worse for wear. He was about the shade of a tomato, a few boils and blisters were starting to cover his face and hands, sweat was drenching his clothing, and his eyes were starting to turn a little yellow. But though the outward physical symptoms were great, there was one I had to zero in on, I strained my hearing and listened closely, blocking out every noise around me until I found the one I was looking for. It was the stuttering and faltering heartbeat of the dignitary that brought a smile to my face and confirmed that today was a success. By the time the medics made it to him, he was long dead and I was in my car speeding away with my music blasting and happily singing along.

Even though I’m the sacrifice,

You won’t try for me, not now.

Though I’d die to know you love me,

I’m all alone.

Isn’t someone missing me.

~*~

     “I want a full break down of what the hell happened today. How did so many hostiles manage to get in without so much as a blimp on the security? Tony! What good are your scanners if they can’t even pick up hand guns?” Bucky was barking out as they rushed Steve’s gurney into the med wing.

     “Buck, calm down.” Steve managed to groan out. “I’m fine, everyone is fine.”

     “Not everyone Cap,” Natasha matched Bucky’s long strides, “Ambassador Berkley is dead, official ruling is a stroke.”

     “And the non-official?” he asked. His stomach dropped slightly at the thought of someone dying on his watch.

     “Poison. They’re running a tox screen now to figure out exactly what type but it may take a day or two.”

     “Perfect,” Bucky cut in, “the punk here can use that time to explain to me how he knew the broad that literally blew out his knee.” Much to Steve’s relief, Dr. Cho came through the doors right as Bucky was crossing his arms, expecting an answer, and shooed them all away so that they could work on getting all the shrapnel out.

     The procedure was only two hours but Steve was in hell the entire time. His body kept burning through any sedative they gave him, no matter how strong they made it. Dr. Cho didn’t want to risk an overdose, so Steve insisted on continuing without one. So when the screaming finally stopped, nothing was going to keep Bucky out of that hospital room. Steve had been there for him countless times, it was Bucky’s turn to be there for him. He just had to get some answers first.

     “I thought I was supposed to be the heartbreaker punk. You were supposed to be America’s ‘Golden Boy’.” Steve tried to bury himself further into the bed in hopes of disappearing. “Yet here you are, broke some gal’s heart so bad that she put a bullet through your knee.” When he didn’t get any response Bucky sighed and sat at the edge of the bed. “Just give me a name to start with. We need to know who she is and what kind of contacts she has to be able to pull something like this off.”

     “She wouldn’t do this Buck. She was a simple chef, we never even should have--”

     “I don’t need the whole story yet, we can do that later. Right now I just need her name.”

     “Roselyn Marie Parks.” Steve answered in a defeated sigh. “But I swear to you Buck, you’re not going to find anything.”

     “I know you have more experience with it, but I wouldn’t count FRIDAY out just yet.” They settled into a somewhat comfortable silence, at least on Bucky’s end. He was reading an old book, the pages worn from use, the corners dog eared over and over again, simply enjoying the quiet. Steve on the other hand, he was lost. Lost in his own whirlwind of thoughts. What was she doing there? Was she really with that group of thugs? She had hated guns and yet shot him without hesitation. What had happened to change all that? Could the breakup really be what made her dark? He didn’t think it was possible, there was no way someone as innocent as Rose could’ve gone dark with just a breakup.

     “Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, Ms. Romanoff has requested your immediate presence at the labs.” FRIDAY interrupted the silence, startling Steve and Bucky so much that he dropped his book.

     “Jeeze FRIDAY, med wing is supposed to be quiet. You’re going to give someone a heart attack.” Bucky grumbled. “Steve can’t go anywhere, he just had surgery. If Natasha wants us, she can come up.”

     “Barnes, Captain,” Nat almost sneered his title, “if you don’t come down here, I will drag you down myself.” it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

     “Nat, come on, Steve just--”

     “Barnes, the Captain is going to come down here. If his leg is still an issue I’d be happy to cut it off for him.” her tone made no room for arguments. Whatever she needed them for was big and Steve had a rotten feeling in his gut he knew exactly what it was about.

     They made it down to the labs with minimal hardships. Steve was only slightly limping because he absolutely refused to use the cane Bucky and Dr. Cho handed him. Part of it was Sam and Clint would never let him hear the end of it if they saw him walking around with a cane and the other part of it was because he walked slower without the cane and he wanted to do everything in his power to  stall what he knew was about to happen. As they turned the corner and the labs came into view, Steve’s heart hit the floor. Their looks said it all, they knew. Tony was almost red with fury and Nat was trying to hide her pain through a mask of rage, but the hurt was easily seen in her eyes. The others looked on, confused to why they were so upset. Tony pointed to a chair that was situated in front of everyone and a bunch of screens. Rose’s smiling face was plastered everywhere. Her hazel eyes shining with glee as she was captured mid laugh, her wavy chocolate hair was thrown in a messy bun and her face had speckles of flour everywhere. Steve remembered that day, she had tried to teach him how to bake and it had somehow turned into a miniature food fight. They had made a huge mess, but the cookies they had made were some of the best ones he had ever had. “Let’s get everyone on the same page here Cap.” Tony finally spoke. “How do you know our shooter, Roselyn Parks?”

     “We dated. We were together for almost two years. She had just finished moving in with me when New York happened. After a few months she started pulling away from me so I broke it off. I haven’t seen her since. Not until the assembly. But you all have to understand--” Tony cut him off.

     “Tell Nat why she wasn’t able to contact Rose. Tell me why none of us were able to at least call her and make sure she was ok. She wasn’t actually ignoring any of the calls or messages, was she?” he felt Bucky stiffen up behind him, probably not liking the way Tony was interrogating him right now but he deserved their hostility.

     “No, I had JARVIS reroute all incoming and outgoing messages. She never knew. I had thought it would be easier for her if we were all out of her life for good.” he was barely speaking above a whisper, after all this time he was finally able to see how stupid that had been. “JARVIS would alert me whenever she would call. I never had the nerve to listen to the voicemails.”

     “You still have them?” Nat was beyond shocked. What kind of spy was she if she never questioned Rose’s sudden disappearance. She had thought they were friends. She thought that Rose was actively trying to avoid them. She should have tried harder to talk to her. At Nat’s question, Steve nodded and dropped his head. Yes, he had kept all the voicemails, emails, text messages, everything she had tried to contact them was tucked away in a flash drive hidden in his room.

      “We’ll get to that in a minute Cap, right now let’s do a little reading exercise shall we? I’m going to bring up a page and you’re going to read it. Every. Single. Word.” Tony didn’t wait for a response, instead he brought up a couple documents on one of the screens and expanded it so that everyone could see it. “Go ahead Cap, tell us what you see.”

      “The first one is a general bio about Rose. Born July 20th, 1989. Lived in Texas, California, Arizona, Florida, and New York. Job history, every kitchen she’s worked at.”

     “Keep going.”

     “The next page is…” his heart shattered, “No, this can’t be right.” Steve looked around the room. This had to be a joke of some kind. A cruel and horrible joke. “It’s a missing persons report? But that’s not right, this was filed around two months after the break up. I was still getting notified about calls years after that.”

     “I said, keep going.” Tony’s voice was harsh and unforgiving. Steve paled and choked on his words when he saw the next page.

     “She was presumed dead?” Bucky asked instead. “What the hell’s goin on? Steve said he was getting calls years afterwards. How is that possible?”

     “I’m going to ignore that question based on the soul fact that we have two people in this room that were presumed dead for 70 years and are still alive and kicking. One of ‘em may not be for much longer though. Instead I’m going to ask you to focus on a certain name. Look who filed the missing person’s report and signed her death certificate.” Two boxes on the screens highlighted the area Tony was talking about and zoomed in on them. “A Dr. James Wilson. Do you know Dr. Wilson Cap? Do you know what he specializes in? No? He’s an oncologist. She had cancer, a brain tumor actually.” he waved his hands around the screen and a bunch of medical files popped up. “She had been seeing him for about 4 months before she was reported missing. Doc said there was no way she’d survive 6 months without treatment so when she stopped showing up for appointments, he knew something was wrong. He knew. A stranger knew something was wrong. But her friends? Her supposed friends that could have actually done something to help her? We had no damn clue.” His eyes were beginning to water.

     “Boss, the decryptions and translations are completed.” FRIDAY’s announcement stopped Tony from continuing.

     “Bring it all up.” He turned to Steve. “FRIDAY found some files talking about Rose, files from HYDRA.” Bucky visibly stiffened at the name. It had been years since he’d been under their control, but the nightmares and scars from what they did would never go away.

      “They wanted to use her to destroy Steve.” Nat grabbed a tablet and started going through all the information. “They figured he wouldn’t be able to fight against the woman he loved. Once they learned about the break up they went a different route.” She swiped around, none of the pictures were of her. They were all of dead bodies, bodies covered in lumps and sores, eyes bloodshot, and faces frozen in terror. “These people look exactly like Ambassador Berkley when he was pronounced. Rose did all of this?” What had they done to her? She continued to swipe through the information.  “They have videos.” her hand froze above the tablet. Did they want to see what they did to her? Could they handle it? Tony didn’t wait for an invitation, he brought up the first clip and played it. It showed Rose in a rusted over, metal looking cell. Her ankle was shackled to the wall, there was a dingy mattress on the floor, a bucket in the opposite corner, and her and her clothes were covered in cuts and dirt. A man walked into the room, handed Rose a cell phone, careful not to touch her, and walked back out. Rose looked dumbfounded at the phone. She repeatedly looked between the phone, the door, and back. After a few seconds she quickly unlocked the phone and brought it up to her ear. The look on her face was pure hope, at least it was for a few seconds.

     “S-Steve, it’s me.” her voice was almost a whisper and sounded so broken. “I don’t know what happened, but HYDRA got to me. You have to listen to me when I say this, don’t come and get me. I don’t know what they’re playing at, they gave me my phone back and just walked away. It has to be a trap. Please, don’t do anything stupid, I’m not worth it.” At this point she was crying. “You were right, I was a distraction, I should’ve been better. I’ll be ok though, I know I won’t last long in here, I never had much time to begin with. Take care of yourself ok? Tell Nat to let Clint win a spar every now and again and tell Rhodey that he better not share my recipe with anyone ok? And talk to Tony, he’s struggling, I know he is. He’s just acting like he’s fine but please try and talk to him. Goodbye.” As soon as she hung up the phone, the door burst open and four men rushed in. One took the phone away, two pinned her down, and the last one secured her hands in a metal box before unlocking her ankle. They dragged her out kicking and screaming.

     The video cut out and the room was surrounded in silence. Sam was about to tell Tony to stop, there was no need to see all the videos, it would just torture them, but Nat played the next one before he could even finish his thought. It started the same way as the first one, the only difference was that Rose’s hair was a few inches longer. They couldn’t get a good look at her face though and were slightly thankful for that. “Steve.” her voice was strained this time, as if she had been screaming. “I don’t know why they keep making me do this. I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t want to be here, the things they’re making me do, the things they’re doing to me…” she took the phone away from her for a second, took a deep breath, and continued on, “I want to be selfish and ask you to come save me but I won’t. Stay away from here, wherever here is, but don’t come. Don’t send the team. Don’t put anyone in danger trying to get me out. I won’t last much longer, I know it. Hopefully this  is actually goodbye this time.”

      This time it was Rhodes who played the next video. “What did I do wrong Steve? What did I do to deserve this? You’ve abandoned me and I want to know why!” Rose was crying and screaming in hysterics. “Please get me out, please, please. I can’t take this anymore. I wasn’t supposed to still be alive. They did something to me. I was supposed to be dead by now. Please Steve, I can’t do it anymore. Please.” she was so broken. When the men came to drag her away, she didn’t put up a fight at all.

      The next video played. “You fucking asshole! This is all your fault! How could you think-No, screw that. You didn’t! You don’t think about anyone besides yourself and your fucking Avenging bullshit. I’m in here being tortured on a daily basis, experimented on all damn day, being turned into who knows what and you’re fucking ignoring my pleas for help!” Rose took the phone and threw it against one of the cell walls. When the doors slammed open, she let loose a rage filled yell and shoved her hand into the face of the first man through the door. Smoke immediately started raising from the contact, his face started breaking out in sores, and within a few seconds he dropped to the floor, most likely dead, his bloodshot eyes and face were frozen in terror. Before she could get her hands on one of the other guards, she was hit with a cattle prod, effectively electrocuting her and incapacitated her long enough to get her hands back in the metal box and dragged out of the room.

     “No more, please don’t make me watch anymore.” Steve hadn’t even tried to keep the tears back once the first video started playing. He could only pray that they would take some type of mercy on him and not play anymore. Sam took the tablet from Nat, she was too shell shocked to put up a fight. He swiped through the videos and landed on the last one.

     “I know why they’ve been forcing me to make these calls.” her voice was even, cold, calculated. “Did you know that my phone has been on this entire time? GPS enabled and everything. You could’ve found me the second they took me. But you didn’t, they were right. They said no one cared about me, no one would notice I was gone, no one would miss me. They’ve been trying to break me for two years now, I don’t know how I held out this long.” there was a long stretch of silence. “I killed 8 people today. I didn’t even have to touch them. I wish I could say that I feel some kind of remorse but I don’t feel much of anything anymore. I know I’ve said this before, but now I mean it, this will be my final goodbye. They don’t need to prove their point anymore. I’m forgotten, alone. They finally won.” Rose hung up the phone and held it out towards the door. This time only one man came in, he gingerly took the phone and motioned her towards the door. With a defeated sigh, she walked through them willingly.

♛

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