occulationary
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a spoonful of sugar (helps the medicine go down) by occulationary for FlamingoQueen
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)
23 Oct 2021
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There is a man with a halo of blond hair and a very soft voice and very tidy hands. He is here to rescue you.
The man says: "I can’t believe they would just leave you here like this, subject. This is terrible. A terrible oversight."
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“Where’ve you gone, man?” Marty won’t let go of him. He can feel himself digging his fingers into jawbone, won’t let up until he can squeeze the apathy out.
Rust says, “Same place, Marty,” and Marty grips hard enough to bruise.
Rust’s hand reaches up slowly and folds over the hand on his face. He pulls Marty off him finger by finger, and when he opens the door Marty thinks he’s going to walk out into the threat of oncoming traffic. Instead, he curves over- more legroom, fresh air- and starts unbuckling Marty’s belt.
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21 Aug 2026
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1995 - rust after ledoux's. sick on the comedown, marty as witness
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12 Jun 2026
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Rust — Rust a fool — allows himself to imagine a world in which he turns. A world in which they solve this together, they grind it out and start thinking, really thinking, pavements and hard man-hours, answer to nobody but themselves, they solve it. Marty turns. Let this be that world — it’s the world of shit-all else, it’s the world where Rust wakes up wishing he hadn’t every fucking morning, the world in which he knows the sound a child’s bones, still soft, make under the wheels of an ‘84 Mercedes 230CE — let him have this, just this. Only this.
Marty doesn’t turn. Marty mutters under his breath, “Sanctimonious prick,” and Marty leaves.
They arrest Rust twenty-one days later.
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29 Apr 2026
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"He’s just trying to ruin Christmas. Again."
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25 Apr 2026
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Rust can feel Macie's eyes like a songbird’s wingtips along the side of his face as she slides back onto the seat next to him, curling one bare foot up under her like she might need it for leverage to leap up and spring away.
“Can I play with your hair?” she asks, and at first Rust thinks he heard her wrong, wonders if his ears are going to start pulling the rug out from under him now in cohorts with his eyes, whispering things in a toddler’s voice that he’d have to bash clean from his skull to escape. But neither the fine sheen of sweat that breaks out on his forehead or the shyness in her small voice belies the fact, and he blinks at her once and again before he can force the half-hoarse word out of his throat in a gentle rasp.
“What?”
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25 Apr 2026