hi. looking for a fic where betty arrives home one day and i believe alice was kidnapped. then the serpents take in betty to protect her. thanks!
Hiya. I’m thinking that you are looking for this one. Enjoy! <3 Jandy
get lost (I'd die for you in a heartbeat) by @riverdalenerdlol (3/10 - M)
Summary: “Mom?” Betty calls into the house, peering around the corner.No response. As she makes her way into the kitchen and dining room area, Betty sees the door to the backyard has been haphazardly left wide open. The curtain attached to the inward side blows in the evening breeze. Before doing much else, Betty secures that door, shutting it and locking it. When she’s finished she faces the kitchen. It’s vacant… except for something unfamiliar left on the kitchen island. Betty walks over, her head tilting in concern. There’s a piece of paper taped to a rock and… blood pooled under it. She rips the note off of the stone, still confused. "Your mother says hi."--OR: When Alice gets kidnapped, Betty's taken into protection by the Southside Serpents. She meets Jughead Jones. They do not get along. An enemies to lovers, investigative, slow burn AU
This is a very late addition to @dreamwritesimagines Writer’s Block Challenge. I’m amazed that I managed to get anything out at all, so suck it.
11. Just give me the name and I will give you the directions to their grave
The Garrison was bursting at the seams, smoke blurring the air, the smell of it mixing with the stench of tabaco and alcohol. The blend penetrated the pub's every pore, not one poor, damned soul in the building was spared. The employees had given up hope to ever be clear of it, for it clung to their hair and skin and every fibre of their clothes.
The barmaids, if they hadn't already, started smoking themselves; even shared with some customers, as it pulled even more money out of the poor fools pockets. Men were easy. A little smile here, a little slip of skin there, a cigarette dangling from sinfully red painted lips and they were goners.
Elise found herself amidst the wild crowd. She only had come to pick up her brother Ben, but he was buried under a pretty blonde and tried to eat her face. Elise wasn't prude - by god, no, the amount of times she'd been caught fooling around with a guy in some dark alley...
But she'd rather not see her baby brother loose his virginity in this dump of a bar.
She had to grin at herself. "Better not let the Peakies hear."
Arthur would probably throw a bottle at her, like he had done with the last person who'd misspoken.
"Lass, aren't ye a bit lost?"
She turned to see a tall, obviously drunk man lean against the bar where she stood. He needed it to keep upright, otherwise he'd keel over any moment now.
"I am not, but thank you for your concern.", she answered, not sure if she should just scream for her brother or keep quiet. Drunk men were not her forte, she didn't like the smell, didn't like how they forgot how to behave, didn't like how it lowered their already exceptionally questionable inhibitions.
He took a step closer, reached for her cheek to pinch it. "A sweet lookin' lass like ye shouldna be in such a dark place, eh?"
"I'm fine, thank you." Elise took a step back, out of his reach. The man followed, but stumbled, fell. His hand caught her shoulder and pulled her down with him. Her shriek slashed through the thick air like a whip; caught everyone’s attention.
Her brother's, most importantly. Ben looked up, and murder crossed his face as he laid eyes upon the situation at the bar. He peeled himself from the blonde and hastily came over. The drunk giggled and squeezed her cheeks with one hand. „Yeh soft in all the right places, lassie.“
Just a second later, he was gone. Ben had hauled him up by the back of his shirt and more or less threw him to the side. The look on his face softened as he helped his sister up.
"You okay, El?" Her brother grabbed her by the arms, eyes flitting down her body.
"Yeah, he just caught me off guard."
"Ye have a nice scream, lassie. Ye always like that?"
He didn't get to add another word, because Arthur came and hauled him up. "If ye can't be a gentleman around the ladies, I'll have ye kicked out, bastard."
He shoved him over to some of his subordinates, kicked his arse and gestured them to bring him outside. "I'll have no sweetheart in here harmed, make him remember."
Elise shuddered at the thought of 'making him remember' That was Peaky-code for 'make him choke on his own tongue'. He'd barely remember his name tomorrow. She already opened her mouth to protest - it was really not necessary-, when her brother shushed her, and then turned towards Arthur.
"He better remembers not to get piss drunk around my sister."
The eldest Shelby grinned under his moustache and slapped the younger man‘s cheek in a brotherly gesture. "He will, if he knows what good for him, eh?"
Elise sighed. Sometimes even she forgot. Ben wasn't officially part of the Peakies, but he did know the Shelbys rather well. He'd been to war with them, stationed in that hellhole and barely survived. And even though her brother was sunshine and cheekiness personified, he surely had his dark days. The Shelby brothers were his go-to address then. The times she'd woken up to one of the Peakies pounding on her door, delivering her unconscious brother, or to a couple of men sleeping in her living room, surprising her in the morning when she went to make breakfast – she’d stopped counting.
"Thanks, Mr. Shelby.", she said, her hands folded in front of her. She didn't always call him that, but in public she wanted to draw a line.
His eyes went soft, but the twinkle didn't cease. "Love, I've slept on ye fuckin' floor, don' ye think it's a bit weird to call me Mister?"
"She's fucking proper, what ya think?" John appeared by their side, his arm thrown over Ben’s shoulder and his head turned to look at Elise over his head.
"Has manners, and all that fucking shit."
He then looked down at Ben, smirk pulling at his lips. "I sometimes wonder if ye are actually related.“
He pulled the toothpick from his lips and gestured between the siblings with his hand. „There you got a fucking lady, and here you got a fucking rabid, horny dog."
Elise had to laugh. John and Ben were so alike, always teasing and cheeky. They'd gotten on like a roof on fire from the very beginning. If they'd met earlier, before the war, they'd have annihilated the whole neighbourhood.
"I'm going home, Ben.", Elise said. "Will you come?"
He didn't get to answer, Arthur was faster. "I'll take ye home, sweetheart. Let the youngin' live a bit."
"Don't talk like yer fuckin 50.", John laughed, whirled Ben around so he could get to Elise and give her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Good night, sister I wished was mine."
Yeah, well. There goes the line. John really didn’t just step over it, he pulled out a machine gun, targeted her carefully crafted wall and then shot it down while laughing like a maniac.
Their banter was helping her relax though, therefore it was easier not to be mad at him.
„Oi, dickhead! You got a sister! Leave mine alone, or I’ll piss on your grave!“
„Ye’ll do that no matter what, I know ye.“
**
It’s been a couple quiet days. As quiet as Small heath could ever be, at least. There haven’t been any fights, no drunk escapades that escalated into mass brawls, no gang business handled on open street. It was like the calm before a storm, it was treacherous.
It made Elise itchy. She stood in her kitchen, hands dusted up to her elbows with flour. Their parents birthday came up, and as always she’d serve her father’s favourite pie and pour her mother’s favourite wine. It was hard to get, but she had her ways.
A knock at the kitchen door interrupted her work, forced her out of her headspace. With a deep sigh, she called out to whoever it was. “Come in!”
It squeaked horribly, like a slaughtered pig, as it opened. The sound of dress shoes on her kitchen tiles caught her attention. Ben’s army boots made a softer noise, duller. She glanced at her guest and had to swallow a snort.
“You really shouldn’t just let anyone in, Elise.”
Tommy fucking Shelby. Right in her kitchen. There was the storm she had been waiting for.
“I wasn’t aware you Shelbys were ‘just anyone’?”
The corner of his mouth lifted at that. Just a tiny bit.
“I stand corrected. You shouldn’t let anyone in, but us Shelbys and your brother.”
Elise finally looked up, took him in properly. He carried a big bouquet of flowers, white roses and greenery and whatnot.
“Who are those for?”
“You.”
Elise froze, just a second, before she tilted her head and repeated it back at him in the most bewildered tone.
“Your mother, to be precise.” He looked down at the flowers, pulled out one or two wilting leaves before he sat the flowers down on the table. “I heard she liked them.”
Who and when, Elise wondered. And then she remembered who she was talking to. He probably knew the size of her bustier.
She held her hands up in apology. “I'd put them in a vase, but I'm in a bit of a bound.”
“It's fine, just tell me where you keep them.”
Alright. This was a weird day.
“Cupboard to your right.”
She watched Tommy roam through her cupboard. It felt surreal. Maybe she was just dreaming.
He wore his signature cap. The razors sewn into the edge of it were reflecting the light of the sun falling into her kitchen.
How often did they cut themselves with those things? Surely there'd been a finger or two lost.
While she was staring at his cap, wondering about potential accidents, Tommy had found a vase suitable for his needs and put the flowers in. “There. May they keep long enough to delight your mum.”
When he got no reaction, he looked up at Elise.
She was staring at him, through him, more accurately. Her eyes were blank, focused on something else entirely. It gave him a moment to take her in. Elise was a proper beau. She had the same soft, light hair as her brother, long lashes that made her eyes seem bigger- and those freckles. They were all over her face, her neck, and he bet they reached much farther than that.
Tommy scowled at himself. He had to keep her safe, not rope her into his dirty, dark world, much too dangerous for such a precious ray of light as Elise. Ben survived it, could cope with it, but Tommy wasn’t willing to risk infecting her.
„Elise?“
His voice ripped her out of her daydream and she immediately focused on the man in her kitchen. Her eyes were piercing, and Tommy had trouble breathing for a second. He almost felt naked, as if she was looking right into his soul, stripped layer after layer off him and read all his little sick secrets. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he had to fight the urge to take a step back.
„Sorry, I-„ she stopped, then smiled bashfully. “I was just wondering how many times you guys cut yourself by accident.“
She was pointing at his hat, smile slipping when he simply kept looking at her, not reacting.
But he did have to supress a grin at her comment. Finn almost cut off a finger just a couple weeks before, the little munchkin.
Elise raised her hands when he didn’t answer. „Never mind, forget it, it’s fine.“
She turned around, back to her dough, and dug her hands into it.
No, he couldn’t just leave it at that. He didn’t want to have her feel upset or embarrassed. He took off his cap, shrugged off his coat and jacket. He hung them over the back of one of the stools at the kitchen table and started folding his sleeves.
Elise didn’t notice any of that, she was too focused on scolding herself for asking such stupid, invading questions. She was mumbling to herself.
Adorable. She was so. adorable.
Tommy walked over to her, leaned his hip against the counter, not caring about the flour ending up on the fabric of his pants.
„Here.“
Elise startled at the sudden proximity. Her kneading stopped, her eyes were big with surprise, as she looked from his face to his outstretched hands.
He presented the palms of his hands, blue eyes fixed to her face. She didn’t understand at first, but then he started talking again.
„I was seven.“ He rubbed the thumb of his right hand along a scar spanning from his pointer finger to his ring finger. „Dad had left his cap on a chair in the living room. Arthur almost pissed his pants when he saw all the blood.“
Elise’s eyes trailed over his hands, taking in every single scar and crease, every little dip and dry spot on his skin. The mental picture of little Tommy scaring his brother with a bleeding hand made her chuckle.
He turned the very same hand, now showing her a small nick right on his wrist bone. „Freak accident was trying to keep Arthur from bashing some poor fellows face in.“
He wanted to turn his hand over again, when Elise reached out, completely ignoring her sticky, flour dusted hands. Her fingertips smoothed over his roughed-up knuckles and the long, thin scar across the back of his hand.
„What happened here?“
Her voice was soft, like a lovers caress.
„Brawl back in the war.“
She hummed at him, understanding. Her gaze was soft, but inquiring, and Tommy found himself relaxing under her actions. She knew about the occasional mild brutality in his life, no need to lie to her about it.
She switched to his other hand, inspecting it. She asked about his other, various nicks and scars, and he all too willingly answered. He sometimes omitted some of the more gory details, but he rather enjoyed the softness of her hands on his. This is all he’d allow himself, this is enough. It had to be.
Elise laughed at a story about pre-puberty John climbing a fence to get on a horse that was labelled dangerous. It had ended in John taking a dive into the mud and Tommy acting a shield between a very angry horse and his brother. He had fallen into the fence and presented the perfect target for a nail.
„You were a bunch of mischievous little shits, weren’t you.“
It wasn’t a question, not really.
„I feel like we probably still are.“
It made her snort, which resulted in her going red and raise the back to her hand to hide her giggles.
Tommy couldn’t stop watching her. He felt light with her, younger. He could forget his problems, murder and violence looming just out of his sight. Almost.
Elise suddenly remembered the state of her hands, and quickly let go of his. It was too late already, but he didn’t mind. His hands, usually dipped in blood, could use a new reason to be sticky.
„Oh, I’m so sorry.“ She looked up at him, and froze. Tommy was barely a hand width away, his face close enough to count his freckles. They had migrated toward each other, invaded each other’s personal bubble, and neither ever noticed.
A pleasant tingle spread down Tommy’s back. His hand snaked around her left wrist, needed to pull her closer, needed to –
The screeching backdoor caused them to jump apart.
Elise’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest, her face took a colour similar to fresh, ripe tomatoes. Tommy was more subtle. He straightened, clenched his jaw and raised his eyes to the opening door.
„Love, is the pie done? I have a craving!“
Arthur stepped in, followed by Ben and John, and suddenly her kitchen was crawling with Peaky Blinders. Ben squinted at the pair in the kitchen, before he was almost barrelled over by his friend, who attempted to greet Elise like an overly excited puppy.
At the sight of his brother however, John stopped. He looked from his bare arms to the jacket on the chair, and back to Tommy, and then to the mass of dough still on the counter.
„Were you fucking baking?“
His voice was squeaky, his face a mask of surprise and wonder. Elise had to bite her lip to not laugh at him.
For the first time since she knew them, she saw Tommy not having an immediate answer. Instead, she jumped in. „He did, actually. I seem to have hurt my wrist, back when-” She gestured, knew they’d not need her to elaborate. Arthur simply grinned at her, her brother looked less than pleased to be reminded of that particular incident.
John nodded veeery slow, then he grinned. „Wait till Alfie hears about that.“
The rest of the day consisted of the brothers moaning about pie, drinking the wine she had to grease a few palms to get, and whining about having to go outside to smoke.
„I will not have the smell of these in my house, I told you all before.“
„El, yer fucking bossy.“
„I’d call it opinionated.“
Laughter erupted, and Arthur raised his hands in defence and quickly got up, lest she threw something at him.
Ben came to stand next to where she was leaning against the kitchen counter, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. „They would have loved this.“
„Gangsters in our kitchen?“
„We’d never have told mum that, she’d have chased them away with a frying pan.“
Elise slung an arm around his waist and snuggled into her brother.
„You’re right. Dad would have been right in there, giving them all sorts of stupid ideas.“
Tommy watched the two of them. The siblings were so alike, and so different at the same time. But both were cheerful and witty, which they definitely got from their parents. They must have been terrific people, to raise such amazing humans.
Elise‘s laugh made his skin tingle, his fingers twitch. She was happiness and sunshine and smiles, she was pure, unblemished.
He feared the day this would change.
**
The weather was grey, the streets wet, the wind relentless. It felt like a message, telling of doom, announcing the end of the world. Tommy was itchy, anxious. He had a bad feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how often he checked up on their operations, their plans, his family. Something was not right, and he wouldn’t know before it happened.
When Polly stormed through his door, worry edged into her face, it felt like someone ripped out his spine with an ice-cold grip.
He was up in an instant, followed his aunt through the door, thundered down the stairs and had only a second to wonder about the open front door, before his ears caught the angry voices and the much quieter, softer pleas.
Elise.
The moment he saw her, curled up in an armchair, his fear gave away to fury. He couldn’t-
„Tommy-„
And that was about all she could get out, before he was upon her, hands on her face, eyes cataloguing every little cut, angry red skin, every piece of her, that wasn’t as it was supposed to be, as he last had left her.
She was crying, cheeks were wet, both from blood and tears. He knew his brothers were around, Ben too, but Elise was all he could focus on.
Her lip was cut, her left cheekbone swollen to the point of bursting. Half of her face seemed to be swollen, hot to the touch, already shimmering in three different colours.
Blood was crusted in her hair, which was matted to her head. Her hands were cut up, as were her knees.
„What happened?“
Elise clawed at his shirt, clutched at it with all her might and didn’t seem willing to let go. „They,-“
She wheezed, fought to get air into her lungs, but she couldn’t. It was like something blocked her airway. Her eyes swam in a sea of tears, and the state of her agitated him to the point of mindless screaming. But he wouldn’t. Now was not the time.
Tommy barked at Polly to get water, at his brothers to shut the fuck up.
„Elise, breathe. You’re safe.“
Ben was by her side, stroked her hair out of her face. He shared her hurt, evident in the pain on his face as he looked at the wounds.
He shushed her, pressed a kiss to the side of her head that was not mottled by violence.
„It’s okay, El, it’s okay.“
Arthur was pacing behind them, John was leaning against the window sill, almost biting through his toothpick.
Polly came back with a glass, gave it to Tommy, who raised it to Elise’s lips and silently urged her to drink. The cool wet felt like a blessing to her parched mouth, but it hurt to swallow. They’d gotten her good.
Tommy and her brother were still hovering, keeping contact, telling her she was safe in words as well as actions. She tried to breathe, and it was easier. Her hands were still clenched in Tommy’s dress shirt, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go.
He noticed her staring and covered her hands with one of his. He didn’t say anything, but the warm pressure on her shaking hands helped.
She pulled air into her lungs, braced for the words. “I was on my way home.”
The buttons of Tommy’s shirt were black, matte. Some had little scratches, some were alright. One was going to come loose soon, judging by the way the yarn was sticking out.
“Some men grabbed me, pulled me into a car.”
Hands on her, grabbing, pinching, leaving bruises where they touched.
“They told me to bring you a message, Tommy.”
Throat closed up once more, swallowing hurt.
“But they never gave me one.”
The chest under her hands heaved, strained. Tommy was trying to keep calm around her, not to scare her. He exchanged a look with Ben. Behind him, Arthur and John cursed, something clattered. Polly looked heavenward, probably working on an excuse for dead bodies found in their vicinity.
They knew exactly what the message was.
Tommy was fighting the anger inside him. His heart quickened, his face looked like he was short of having a stroke.
Until he regained control. Elise hadn’t seen him this way, not ever. The transition was terrifying. He went from tortured by her pain to cold and calculating. He used the white rage in his chest to focus.
Ben looked from Tommy to Arthur, disbelieving. “My sister got beaten up, because of you?”
He was brooding, like a volcano. One wrong word and he’d explode into their faces, probably break some noses. He focused on Tommy, eyes sharp and harsh.
“Why would they use my sister, Tommy?” He stood, Thomas followed. Elise curled into herself, before Polly came to sit on the armrest of the chair, hugging the woman to her side.
“Why would they be sure that the message would reach you?”
Ben’s whole posture was as cold and close to feral as the Shelby’s was.
“Huh? Fucking why, Thomas?”
Arthur was just about to intercept – imagine that – when Thomas gave a wry laugh.
“From the fucking way you’re asking me, I’m guessing you already fucking know.”
“Apparently you haven’t been overly subtle about it, haven’t you?”
Elise’s brother was spitting the words into the elder’s face, clearly challenging him.
“I thought I was.”
Elise couldn’t decide who to look at. Her brother, who so boldly accused Tommy of something she couldn’t fully wrap her mind around, or Thomas, who was barely holding it together and looked like he wanted to run his fist through a wall. Or a skull, maybe.
“Uhm, what-“
Ben raised his voice even more, completely ignoring anyone else in the room.
“Shit, look what happened!” He gestured at his sister. “She looks awful, she’s hurt, and --“ He poked Tommy’s chest with every word. “It’s. your. fault.”
Elise wanted to protest, but Tommy finally snapped.
“I goddamn know it is. I fucking know that I should have stayed away, that I should have kept her save, but fuck me, Ben, it’s not that easy when she’s right fucking there all. the. fucking. time!”
He gestured wildly, rage spilling over, emotions running high. “I fucking despise myself for bringing your sister into this situation, that she has to suffer just to convey a fucking message, for fucks sake!”
He was breathing hard, his eyes were bluer than ever, nailed Ben to where he was standing.
“But damn me, if I won’t do everything in my power to find them and make them pay. Just give me the name and I’ll give you the directions to their gave.”
**
Which is precisely what happened. Elise could give them a name, from when they had a particularly stupid moment, and then they were off like madmen.
She was still holed up at the Shelby residence, didn’t dare to go against Tommy’s order to not move even an inch. The armchair was too comfy to leave anyway.
Polly was tending to her injuries, while she spent the time staring at the door.
The water in the bowl to Polly’s feet went from clear to pink, then to a dusty red. A bath would help her feel better, cleaner, but she wasn’t so sure if her legs would carry her. Another reason for staying right where she was.
Ben and Tommy decided it was better to focus their rage elsewhere and not rip each other apart right there in the living room. But what had come to light before they managed to rein themselves in, was… interesting.
Elise had been replaying it in her head, again and again, until she doubted whether it was words, or an alien language spoken.
“Why did they decide to hurt me, Polly?”
At first, she thought she hadn’t been heard. But when Polly let the rag fall into the bowl and sat straighter, she was smiling in a very unsettling way. “Because they figured out how to hurt Thomas. Their first and last taste of intelligence.”
Elise played with the hem of her skirt; her forehead creased. It was hard to think in an orderly fashion. Her head felt foggy, like someone stuffed wool into it.
Polly’s lips curled at the corners, then she helped the younger up. “C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”
**
The bed dipped, warm fingers stroked over her cheek, pushed hair back behind her ear. Elise was fast asleep in Tommy’s bed. And he didn’t mind one bit.
It was a nice sight to come home to.
She stirred under his fingertips, winced when she moved, and shot upright as she realized someone was sitting in her bed.
It took her a moment to come to, and then she sagged into herself, suddenly exhausted and weary.
“How are you?”
She had laid back, and now gave him a stinky side eye for his rather dumb question. “What does it look like?”
Her tone was snappy, almost back to her ‘opinionated’ self.
“You look rather cosy to me. How’s my bed?”
“Like a cloud.” She gathered the comforter closer, squinted at him. “And I was beaten up because of you, so you can have the sofa. I won’t give up the bed.”
Tommy smiled at her. “You’re alright.”
He moved to get up, when she curled her fingers around his wrist.
“Thomas.”
Uh oh.
“Why me?”
Maybe not so alright then.
He sat back down, took a deep breath, or two. Her hand didn’t leave his arm, but he wound his fingers between hers to hold her hand instead.
“You’re my weakness.”
Her brow furrowed, and she sat up once again.
“What?”
“You hold my heart in your hands and I can’t have anyone know, because they will use you to destroy me, as they tried today.” He looked up, watched her watch him.
“If anything happens to you, I will go mad. And your brother with me.”
Elise didn’t understand. Until she did.
“So, you… like me?”
Very eloquent, Elise. Well done.
Tommy huffed in amusement. “Yes, Elise. I like you.”
He opened his mouth to say something, probably something stupid about him being at fault for today and Ben being right to almost jump at his throat and whatever else his bonkers brain would fabricate – But he never got to say any of that.
Soft lips met his instead, a small hand grabbed the back of his neck to keep him there. Instinctively, his free hand came to lie on her hip, then wandered around until he had wrapped an arm around her waist and could pull her close, out of her comfy nest of feather-stuffed blankets.
Elise tasted sweet, like everything he’d ever dreamt of, and he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t.
A clumsy nip of his teeth made her hiss and pull back, her fingers untangled from his and came up to press to her lower lip, which was now bleeding again.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine. I was aware of the risks.”
His hand mirrored her move from earlier, fingers curling around her wrist. He pulled her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“I will keep you save. I will end anyone who has a single thought of hurting you. I promise.”
“First you have to survive my baby brother, Thomas.”
He groaned, but it was good natured. “I’ll take him on, he’ll go easy on his beloved sister’s man.”
“Oh, you’re my man now?”
“Have been since the very beginning.” He grinned, bumped his nose against hers before dragging it across her uninjured cheekbone down to her jawline. “Since the day you picked up your brother from recovery and verbally obliterated him for running into that German bunker.”
He pulled her even closer, felt her body against his, pressed his face against her neck and took a deep breath. He was home, she felt like home.
“Good to know you like a verbal lashing. Maybe I’ll find it in me to scold you both for almost fighting each other.”
Tommy hummed, left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her neck. “How about we go to sleep first? You’ll need your strength for that.”
Elise simply nodded, pressed a sweet little kiss to his lips and slid off his lap, back into the bed. She arranged the pillows and blankets to her liking, while Tommy got up and shed his shirt and shoes. He just had unbuttoned his pants, when she said: “You don’t even have to sleep on the sofa.”
The grin on his face was boyish, careless; it lit up his whole face and made him seem years younger. “Didn’t think so.”
Something had gone wrong. There were members flooding back to the Estate - many in a state of shock. A woman’s cry echoed through Severus’ ears as lower level members and affiliates were being brought to him in batches for healing. These missions always ended with chaos, but nothing quite like he was witnessing. All for that bloody orb that kept bringing upheaval to The Order, civilians, and both the magical and non-magical world. The same orb that slaughtered Muggles because of his mistakes. The same mistakes that had him ending up back at the Estate - helping heal others rather than go on the mission. However, Severus took it in stride. He had to prove himself capable. He had to make up for the devastation he caused.
With steady hands and a focused mind, Severus worked quite skillfully with the other healers. His resolve was solid - only concentrating on the tasks at hand. The only cries he truly listened to were the ones telling him the spells used or where the pain was. All others were muddled with confusing sobs about what had happened at that damn wedding. Severus tuned them out, keeping hard at work, when he suddenly heard a familiar call of one of his favorite nicknames. Turning to see Dorcas, Severus finished the task at hand before asking, “What happened out there?”
Era como se ela tivesse 12 anos de novo. Se fechasse os olhos, ainda conseguiria sentir as mãos dele apertando-se contra seus braços. Infelizmente, o toque era familiar. Mesmo depois de tantos anos, a epiderme ainda reconhecia a agressividade dos dedos daquele que, um dia e apenas em tese, havia sido o pai de Dolores. Desde que ele havia saído daquele quarto de hotel, no qual ela ainda se encontrava, já podia ter se passado apenas alguns minutos, como também várias horas. Ela não sabia. Havia perdido a noção do tempo assim que seus olhos haviam se encontrado com os dele.
E pensando agora, ela não precisava fechar os olhos… Ah, é. As marcas. Só reparou nelas quando o olhar desprendeu-se do ponto fixo que até então encarava – uma mancha preta no papel de parede daquele hotel barato e terrivelmente mal cuidado –, e voltou-se para o próprio corpo. Ali estavam elas. O molde dos dedos finos que apertaram sua pele há pouco, que, de tão clara e fina, facilmente ficava marcada.
“Então, você fugiu de casa pra se tornar a porcaria de uma puta?!” As palavras ainda ricocheteavam nos cantos de sua mente, mesmo que ela tentasse se convencer que não se importava com elas. Lola jamais imaginaria que terminaria sua semana daquele jeito.
Ok, mas vamos começar do começo.
Foi na segunda feira que seu celular vibrou, logo nos primeiros raios da manhã. Ela estranhou o número desconhecido. Mas, nem em um milhão de anos, ela achou que o remetente da mensagem que havia chegado para si era realmente quem dizia ser. Quando leu na tela aquele pedido de encontro, com aquela despedida no final do texto… Torceu para que fosse apenas uma brincadeira. Uma de muito, mas muito mau gosto. Ainda assim, estava lá. “Beijos, Papai”. Duas palavras. Duas balas. Uma única ferida aberta. Cutucada repetidas vezes, durante todo aquele dia, onde ela se auto sabotava e relia a mensagem de novo e de novo.
O que vinha antes não era muito maior. Apenas um endereço, um número de quarto, uma data e uma indicação para que ela fosse sozinha. Ela sabia que não iria. Bem, pelo menos, durante as primeiras horas, ela sabia. Depois, ficou um pouco incerta.
Depois que a segunda mensagem chegou, Lola chorou. Na terceira, passou perto de ter uma crise de ansiedade. E na quarta, decidiu que iria, sim.
O endereço ficava em um subúrbio muito pobre da cidade, que a lembrava do bairro onde ela havia passado sua infância. Havia deixado o carro em um beco mais afastado, decidindo fazer o resto do caminho a pé, para tentar, nos últimos passos, respirar ar fresco e puxar com ele um pouco de coragem. Não deu certo. Ela ainda tremia enquanto aproximava-se do hotel indicado, que tinha três letras queimadas em seu letreiro e um estacionamento que só abrigava dois carros. Quando bateu na porta do quarto indicado, ela ainda torcia para ser uma brincadeira.
Mas não era.
Soube assim que a porta fora aberta, e ela encarou a face a sua frente. Pelo menos três palmos mais alto, e com uma aparência muito pior do que ela se lembrava de ter visto da última vez. Mais magro, mais sujo, com as pupilas mais dilatas, com um cheiro mais forte de álcool, com mais resquícios de pó branco em suas narinas. Ainda assim, Polo. Ainda assim, seu pai.
Ele havia falado alguma coisa naqueles primeiros segundos, ela sabia disso, mas não fazia ideia do que. Estava paralisada. A única coisa que se lembrava era dos dedos dele, fechando-se contra seu pulso e puxando-a violentamente para dentro. Lembrava daquilo porque havia quase vomitado no momento, assim que o toque se concretizou. Reparou que seus dedos tremiam um pouco, e depois de alguns minutos na presença do mais velho, pode concluir que era algo constante dele. Possivelmente sinais de abstinência de alguns dias – ou horas? – sem droga. Não era tão surpreendente, vendo que ela se lembrava disso já ser uma característica que ele carregava quando ela ainda morava na casa dos pais.
Mas bem, voltando. Paralisada. Lola continuou dessa forma enquanto era empurrada para a cama, optando por continuar sentada ali enquanto encarava o pai, por suspeitar que as pernas não suportariam o peso do próprio corpo se ela tentasse levantar. Ela perguntou-se, só por um momento, como estava a vida dele. Não parecia muito boa, a julgar apenas por sua aparência física. Em uma breve análise, notou que seu cabelo e barba estavam muito grandes, e as calças jeans que ele usava, muito pequenas. Deixavam as canelas de fora, evidenciando os chinelos surrados que ele usava, que de nada tinham a ver com a estação em que se encontravam. Não teve tempo de continuar observando-o por muito tempo, porque, o que aconteceu em seguida… Foi tudo muito confuso.
“Dolores.” Ela se lembrava de ter ouvido. Muitas vezes, na verdade. Polo repetiu seu nome muitas vezes. “Me falaram da boate.” Outra frase solta. “Você fode com homens por dinheiro?” Essa indagação, por sua vez, assim como seu nome, fora repetida com frequência. “Me responda!” Essa, em especial, fora gritada contra seu rosto cinco vezes seguida, quando as outras perguntas não foram respondidas. Coagida a responder, Lola apenas assentiu com a cabeça. Uma vez. E foi o suficiente para o inferno começar.
A primeira coisa que se sucedeu, foi uma gargalhada dele que, curiosamente, não carregava humor nenhum. Era um som rouco e falhado, que sucedeu algumas tosses da garganta afetada do homem. Em seguida, ela não saberia nunca descrever aquele som emitido pelo pai, mas foi algo que se localizava exatamente entre um grito e um urro. De qualquer forma, foi carregado de raiva. A mais pura que ela já havia sentido. Depois, ele canalizou essa raiva para os objetos mais próximos, e a única coisa que fez Lola se mover foi quando as mãos de Polo jogaram no chão os dois abajures que estavam em uma mesa próxima, estraçalhando-os em milhares de pedaços e fazendo alguns deles voarem em direção as pernas de Lola. Ela se lembrava de ter sentido dor, mas, até então, não havia parado para conferir se tinha cortado-a.
Ela levantou na cama naquele minuto, se arrependendo, finalmente, de ter ido até ali, e preparada para caminhar para a porta. Mas, claro, não seria tão fácil. As mãos de Polo, as mesmas que quebraram os abajures, seguraram-na no meio de seu caminho. Empurrara-a violentamente contra a parede, e quando ela tentou gritar, logo seus dedos a calaram. Sem dar tempo de uma reação, o homem trouxe-a para frente uma vez, apenas para empurrá-la novamente contra o concreto, o que fez com que a base da cabeça da loira ricocheteasse contra a parede. Ela grunhiu contra os dedos em seus lábios, por conta da dor.
No meio de tudo aquilo, ele lançava algumas indagações frustradas contra a mais nova. Ela não conseguiu se atentar a nenhuma em específico, mas sabia que todas tinham a ver com o quanto ele tinha nojo de ter uma filha que era puta. Ali, também, ela não sabe quanto tempo se passou. Sua cabeça doía tanto. Seus braços doíam tanto. Ela estava com tanto nojo.
Depois de um tempo esbravejando, ele segurou o rosto dela por entre as mãos. Pediu atenção, e por entre o choro que já havia soltado há algum tempo, Lola obrigou-se a encará-lo. “Sempre que eu precisar, você vai me encontrar aqui. Vai me trazer a quantia que eu precisar… A que eu quiser, Dolores! Você me ouviu?!” Nada em seu tom de voz ou em seus atos era mais gentil do que ele estava sendo anteriormente. Ele continuava balançando-a arduamente, como se aquilo fosse fazê-la reagir ao que ele falava. “Ou eu te mato. Você sabe que eu te mato.”
Numa tentativa desesperada de fazê-lo parar, de fazê-lo simplesmente tirar aquelas mãos imundas de cima dela, Lola assentiu. Veemente. Concordou várias vezes com a cabeça, enquanto continuava chorando. Ali, Polo tremia muito mais do que antes, e a loira se perguntava até onde era seu pai falando com ela, e até onde era um viciado agindo movido por seu desespero.
Depois daquilo, ele a soltou, e saiu pela porta com tamanha pressa que Lola suspeitou que, subitamente, ele tivesse ficado com medo de alguém ter ouvido alguma coisa daquilo, no final das contas.
Mas não, ninguém havia ouvido. Ela sabia disso porque, desde que ele fechara a porta e fora embora, ela se encolhera no chão. Abraçara os próprios joelhos e chorara por horas. Sozinha. Nenhuma ajuda havia chegado.
Depois de tempo suficiente naquela posição para ela ter notado que o sol já não brilhava mais do lado de fora, a Casillas limpou o rosto e decidiu que estava na hora de ir embora também. Não menos enjoada do que estava do que quando havia chegado, mas com certeza, muito mais amedrontada do que antes.
Promptnumber: 2 ‘Just follow me, I know the area,”
Fandom: MCU
Characters: reader, Sam and Bucky
Warnings: Minimal cursing, violence and mentions of it.
Words: 1127
Summary: you and Bucky set out to retrieve a hostage
Hostage
Hiding in the shadows of the tall building behind you, you glanced ahead to where your partner was standing. He moved so effortlessly, keeping to the shadows, becoming one with them. His steps were light and silent, as he took quietly took out a guard. The third already. They obviously knew you were coming, or they wouldn’t have upped the security so much. Of course, you shouldn’t be surprised. They took one of your team, an avenger, hostage and that was a sure way to get you to come looking.
Before today, you had not teamed up with Bucky before. Though there were no set teams, it was a given that Bucky and Sam were together. Until now. The handsome man before you exuded an immense confidence and it threw you off your game. You weren’t entirely sure why and if definitely wasn’t convenient to feel like that. But the man moved like the wind and it made your footsteps, light as they were, sound loud against the pavement.
You tried to keep up with him, but threading lightly was more important than being fast right now, you needed the element of surprise. And when he slipped around a corner, you were too late to get there. He was out of your sight. It wasn’t exactly appropriate to call out now and you took a moment to catch your breath and devise a plan. Slinking into the shadows of the alley, you tapped a beat against the microphone that was connected to the earpieces that you and Bucky had in. Since there was little team building beforehand, you weren’t sure if he even knew morse-code, but for someone who fought in world war 2, it did seem a safe bet.
“Guess out teamwork needs some fine-tuning,” Bucky’s whispered, suddenly very close to your ears and you nearly jumped out of your skin. You had not heard him coming and were just lucky that he was on your side. You just nodded in response, not trusting your shocked self to speak soft enough.
“I was able to scout the perimeter,” Bucky continued, his voice barely audible as he leaned in even closer, “We can enter through the south entrance.”
The property you were about to breach was like a fort. It was paramount that the two of you worked well together and you wished that you had shaken up the teams a bit more often. Wanda was your usual go-to girl and she didn’t need words to understand you. It had made you lazy, you realised.
“Are you sure?” Before you would walk into the lions den, you needed him to tell you he was sure.
Risking your life wasn’t new territory for you, not at all, but you usually did your own scouting beforehand. There was no denying that the super soldier standing next to you had done it in record time, but you did have some control issues. You needed his confidence and feeling of control over this situation to convince you.
“Just follow me, I know the area like the back of my hand,” Bucky offered and though you took a split second to mull it over, you finally nodded.
His words sparked your memory again. He had been here before. That was why he wanted to go in the first place. It was so easy to forget these days, that Bucky had been a part of hydra. He was so well-adjusted now, in control of himself and his actions. Though you could still remember his struggles. You shook your head, scolding yourself for letting his confidence take yours down a notch. Instead of wavering, you should be celebrating his success. Pushing the thoughts from your mind, you nodded again and signalled for him to start moving.
Just like he had said, the south entrance was a weak spot that gave easy excess to the grounds. Sticking to the shadows once more, you moved along the other walls towards the main building at the back. Inside these walls there weren’t too many guards walking by and you were glad for their arrogance. They thought they had it covered with the ones outside, the ones Bucky had knocked unconscious.
As you got closer to the large converted manor, loud voices rang through the air out of an open window. Crouching underneath it, you tried to catch some of the argument as the voices kept getting more heated. As soon as you understood the reason for their anger, you could not help but smirk. You winked at Bucky and he returned your gaze with a smirk of his won. Perhaps this super important mission hadn’t been as necessary as everyone had envisioned. You could just wait it out, let the prisoner annoy them long enough until they let him go. Of course, knowing hydra they could also kill him, so you weren’t taking any chances.
Sticking to the shadows, the two of you moved along the building, carefully glancing into ever window until you found the object of your mission. Your missing teammate, and current bane of hydra’s existence if the arguments were enough to go by, Sam Wilson. His smiling face could be seen through the half opened curtains. He was obviously beaten, possibly tortured, but he was still talking animatedly to whoever was in the room with him. You didn’t need to see his captors faces to know that he was doing a wonderful job at annoying the hell out of them.
Suppressing a chuckle, you looked at Bucky and without using words you agreed on a plan of action. Bucky whistled loudly, alerting Sam of your presence. He was smart enough to through himself down to the floor, chair and all, just as you threw a smoke bomb into the room through the window you were next to. Pulling on a mask, you quickly jumped over the windowsill and into the room, Bucky close behind you. While you rushed to Sam and placed a mask on his face before releasing him from his restraints, Bucky took out the two operatives that were still standing.
They bravely tried to fight back, but they had not been equipped to handle the smoke and they had been gasping for air. Easy pickings. The attack had taken them by surprise, which showed you that this was not a well organised cell. And before they really knew what hit them, all three of you were out the door. Bucky jumped up on the wall, much like a cat and pulled both you and Sam up there as well.
All you had to do now was reach the concealed plane that had flown you and Bucky out here. Retrieving a hostage had never been this easy.
Mickaaay! You-you come when I call you boy. You good for nothing piece of shit.
Hank was on his nightly bender, and by the looks of it, he had reached his peak. Michael had no intention of participating in Hank's version of punching bags. Instead, he grabbed his bag, and filled it with the first shirt he found, along with his wallet. There were files he was certain were at the clerk’s office that could reveal where he really came from. Maybe if he found those answers, he could get off this god forsaken planet, and be with his people. Heck, he might even have a family. A family that gave a crap about him. Anything was better than what he had.
Michael took a cab to a nearby convenience store, and bought a bunch of chocolates. It would be the perfect excuse in case he got caught. Excuse or...even bribe. Either way, they wouldn’t question too much if he had a good enough story that didn’t have anything to do with him.
He went to the county’s office, and low and behold, the plan had worked. Michael made up some sappy story about how the kids needed donations at the orphanage, and the deputy ate it up. He was able to sneak past him enough to go through a few files but nothing. Just when he thought it was all for naught, he saw a key. Picking it up, he was hit with a vision of a dome that seemed familiar to him.
The next morning he climbed through Max's window, pleading him to help him go through more things. Perhaps there were answers to where they came from. Max insisted not to, and it only infuriated him more. All he could do was think of that vision, and here was Max dismissing the urgency. It was almost like Max had no intention of finding out the truth about their lives, and why they were here. He was much too content on his perfect human life.
For Michael, this mission to find out about their meaning was what kept him safe, what kept going day to day. He had no one, until he met Isabel and Max again. They were lucky to have great parents but he had not been, as lucky. Needing to keep his thoughts at bay, he reasoned a bit distraction like school would at least crowd his mind. Heading to Art class, and ignoring his teachers sarcastic remark of his return, he sat down with the other classmates. He hastily got a canvas and started at work re-creating the image he had in his mind since had touched the key.
Without intending to, he had almost perfectly replicated his vision. It was enough for the teacher to comment how good it was and called it a geodesic dome. He was taken a back there was a name for it. After class, he researched and found that it was in the book among us. A book that was lent to Max. When he got the location he tried one more time to get Isabel and Max to come. He knew before his words sounded like a goose chase. But surely now that he had done research and found something credible they would budge.
It was a big disappointment when again for the second time he was turned down. It didn't matter that he had proven them wrong, it was reckless. It was dangerous and that was all they could see. But that wasn't enough to scare Michael. This could be a way to prove himself capable. He was gonna find a way to drive there.
He went to the crash-down cafe, trying to think of his next move, when it was almost like destiny had reigned upon him. He overheard Maria saying she had to make a delivery for her mother. Didn’t he avoid her earlier when they were partnered up for that stupid project they gave them to find out the person’s history, or some crap like that? He got up from the booth, and leaned over the counter. “I could help, you know. I could give you some answers to that bullshit questionnaire. But you shouldn’t expect much.”
Michael figured he’d stick through whatever it was she was arguing with her mom about, and when she was caught off guard, he’d take the car. He’d of course return it afterwards, so it wouldn’t be that big a deal. This Maria girl was always neurotic that he couldn’t consider her tagging along. She’d ruin all of it, and this was important.
It wasn’t often that Anne and Nix were separated while at the wall, but occasionally the situation called for it. The former Queen did not enjoy being alone, for she felt the men’s eyes upon her - gazing at her as though she was a delicious piece of meat they longed to enjoy. With Nix beside her side, they barely dared to look past her feet. But, despite their unwanted gazes, they had never made any unwanted advances...until now.
An arm abruptly wrapped around her waist from behind, and pushed her up against the wall so quickly that all the breath left her body. Frozen in shock for a long moment, it wasn’t until a hand began to tug up her skirts that she managed to kick back into action - and she slammed her elbow into his face.
“NIX!” she screamed, using her long nails to tear into his arms. “HELP ME!”
