#WHY MUST YOU GIVE THIS UNKNOWN PLAGUE TO ME

[mydarlingdahlia]

*writes off on checklist*

Okay, and that is the…8th time I have thrown up today! Alright folks, let’s see if we can schedule another “feeling shitty and wanting to jump onto a bed of nails while also getting rid of everything I’ve eat since last Tuesday with my mouth” session at 8:30 and maybe one more before we clock out!

[sgojoenthusiast]

ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ KINKTOBER 2023 ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

➸ DAY FIVE: MINE

✧.* suguru geto x reader

summary: After Geto leaves, he realises how much he misses you, and after a few months of secret messaging, you blocking his number and him going to lengths to contact you again, he finally asks to meet you.

c/w: breeding, possessive and toxic behaviour, fem reader, mentions of violence, post toji ruining everything, angst, geto says that reader is 'his', 'good girl', 'baby', slight marking, oral/ fingering, begging.

word count: 4.8k

masterlist.

-`♡´-

The buzz of your phone along with the slight illumination of your darkened room alerted you to a new message. You turned over in your bed. Annoyedly reaching over to grab the device, though you couldn’t sleep anyway.

Another unknown number, yet you knew exactly who it was. Cursing quietly, you placed your phone back down where it wasn’t and stared straight ahead at your ceiling in contemplation.

You had gotten a new phone, changed your number several times and completely removed yourself from any social media yet somehow, he always managed to find a way to contact you.

You tried so hard to ignore it. Every time, you would discard your phone to the side after seeing the notification or his name at the top of your phone but then, just the idea he’s messaged you would plague your thoughts until you succumbed to the overwhelming desire to message him back.

What does he want? Why is he up at this hour? Is he okay? Is it important? He knows contacting you puts you at risk, so it must be important, right?

Pointless questions conjured in your mind to the point where you thought you might lose your sanity if you didn’t pick up.

Squinting, you winced when the bright glare of your screen pierced through your eyes.

Unknown number:

hey, you up?

You wanted to punch yourself for losing sleep over him.

Slamming your phone back down where it was before, you sighed in frustration and buried your head into your pillow.

It wasn't uncommon for you to lay awake at night thinking about how things were only a couple of months ago and it was only made harder by the guilt of not being able to help your own boyfriend when he was at his lowest.

Everynight, flashes of smiles, movies, beaches, long walks, talking and laughter would replay in your mind until tears streamed down your face and you would pass out from the exhaustion.

And to make matters worse, whenever Geto would try and make contact with you, you couldn't help the swelling of your heart and the pounding of your head that screamed 'he still loves me' as you would fight every urge and every bone in your body to not message him back. In the end, your wants always conquered your needs.

Groaning frustratedly into your pillow, you heard the sound of vibrations go off by the side of your bed more than 5 times. Every part of your body that was familiar with him longed for his words in your ear and his touch on your skin again but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let yourself give into temptations. 

Before, it was so easy to look at Geto and think about all the good memories the two of you shared. The dates, the long nights, the fleeting touches and passionate kisses. Now, you couldn’t think about any of that without the prominent guilt of the people he has killed creeping up on you.

The hands that once touched you so delicately were now stained with the blood of an entire village and even his parents. 

Knowing all this, you still struggled not to look past it. You still struggled to restrain your mind from wandering to all the more secretive and romantic moments the two of you shared. 

After a futile battle with your mind, the outcome was always the same. Picking up your phone, you sighed in annoyance with yourself as you typed out a short ‘yes’ in response.

Every time this happened, you felt so weak. Shoko and Gojo were struggling just as much with the loss of their friend, yet they’d consistently put their morals before all the moments they replayed in their minds at late hours of the night. 

You paused for a second before hitting send. Was Geto even trying to communicate with either of them? You had assumed that he was trying to get a hold of all three of you, but it was such a sensitive topic none of you wanted to bring it up with each other so it was something you had all just acknowledged silently.

Not wanting to think about it any longer in case the guilt seeps further into your skin, you hit send and stared at your phone for another ten minutes waiting for his reply. 

All he did was send you an address.

You bit at your lip, then your nails, then tapped your hand against your thigh anxiously. Your heart beat erratically in your chest and you could feel every part of you shaking.

Sure, you’d messaged him a few times, yet this could be the first time you’d be seeing him since he said goodbye. But, you weren’t gonna say yes, right? Messaging him and the occasional phone call was bad enough, though it could be excused as a moment of weakness. Meeting him, however, was a completely different subject with completely different consequences.

The entire time you were getting ready, you mentally scolded yourself. Everything about the situation was so wrong, and to top it off, you had even gone so far to do your makeup in an attempt to look nice and not as though you struggled to get out of bed without him. 

The weather reflected your actions, rain pouring viciously from the sky and hitting the fabric of your coat as you pulled it tighter on your body. The streetlights illuminated the darkness of the streets and bounced off the rainy glow of the pavement, indicating even the weather’s distaste for your choices.

Looking up, you saw that in front of you the location Suguru had sent you, and in front of it, a tall figure leaned against the building. A fucking motel.

You had hoped he had more respect than yourself for the difference in your ideals. You had hoped he had more pride to stick to said ideals instead of fucking someone who thinks that they’re insane and psychotic. 

You understood that was hypocritical of you because, for starters, you had come out in a short skirt in the pouring rain for him - your legs were trembling and wet yet you thought about nothing other than what he would think when he saw you. Secondly, it should have been you with self-respect and pride, yet they meant nothing when standing in front of you was the man who had your heart and soul in his hands.

His hands were in his pocket and his head was down before he recognised the sound of approaching footsteps over the sound of raindrops hitting the floor at a brutal pace.

“You came.” His voice sounded better in person. It was different than before, he no longer sounded tired or sad and that gave you a brief feeling of contentment. His eyes scanned your figure, and you were no longer feeling bad about wearing the skirt.

You had no idea what to say or do but stare at his face, half covered by the hood shielding him from the rain. What you did see, was just as perfect as before. “You look… good.” You settled, but your voice could barely be heard over the rain.

Understanding this and not wanting you to get ill, Geto led you inside. “I already got us a room.” He said, walking upstairs.

“Why?” You asked. Your eyes were on the floor. You hadn’t been so nervous to see or speak to him since your first year, when Shoko and Gojo teased you for having a crush on him leading to your own realisation of your feelings. Back then, you had tried to avoid looking at or talking to him for about two weeks before he backed you into a corner and forced your confession. Back then, your choices were black and white and your issues were privileges to have even if it felt like the end of the world.

He looked back at you, as though the answer was obvious. “I wanted to see you.”

Turning back around, his voice was barely over a whisper.

“But why, Suguru?”

No answer, he simply kept leading you up the stairs and into the room he had paid for. You learnt long ago not to push for answers when it came to Suguru, as frustrating as it was.

He let you into the room first and shut the door as you looked around before turning to face him when you heard the lock click. Walking up to you, he began to unzip your drenched coat and hung it up for you whilst you muttered a small ‘thank you’.

“How have you been?” You cringed at his attempt at small talk, but engaged nevertheless. It was never so awkward between the two of you, but murdering an entire village does that to a relationship.

“Fine, I suppose. And you?” You sat down on the bed, smoothing out the sheets in order to look preoccupied and unbothered.

“Well enough,” He dismissed, turning away from you to face a drawer in front of the bed that you sat down on. “And your boyfriend?”

You paused, mind reeling back to try and think about who he might be on about. Your heart was racing, as though you’d been caught cheating. But, to your knowledge, you were broken-up and free to date whoever you pleased. There was also the fact that he knows about something, and that there really was a purpose for you meeting up even if it was to discuss a boyfriend you had no knowledge of having.

“I’m sorry?”

“Saw you with some guy from Kyoto the other day.” He grumbled lowly, trying not to come off as annoyed or mad but you saw directly through him. 

Yes, you had been on a few dates, trying to get over Suguru and back into dating and all that. Yet nothing stuck and you had yet to find someone you actually wanted to go on a second date with.

“Were you… following me?” You questioned. However, you were more annoyed at him for putting himself at risk by following you, than the fact that he was following you.. If the guy you were with had seen him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to report it. 

“Up until that point, I might have been.” He said casually. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at him for being petty and jealous. “He’s not my boyfriend, Geto. Even if he was, you have no right to be jealous.”

His face contorted into one of disgust and frustration as he muttered out something unclear under his breath which you paid no attention to. 

The air was thick with tension. You felt hot and suffocated, wanting nothing more than for him to say something. Something to distract you from everything like he would all those times before, when you would lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and talk about nothing in particular.

He turned to face you again, his eyes moving over your entire body yet again. His burning stare felt thrilling, you had longed to feel it on you again.

Tilting his head at you, he smirked and asked, “You wear this f’me?”

All you could do was nod as your eyes met his. He hummed in acknowledgement, and it became apparent to you that he was holding himself back from you.

“I don’t wanna see you with that Kyoto guy again, you hear me? If I do, neither you nor him will enjoy what happens.”

A part of you was enjoying the sight of his jealous glare and serious eyes as he threatened you. In fact, you only ended up bringing your legs together and squeezing, hoping he wouldn’t notice. However, the part of you that still resented him for leaving you was annoyed that he was jealous as though he had any right to be.

“You don’t get to ask that of me, Geto. It was you who left, you should’ve thought about the consequences of that.”

Taking your cheek in his hand and caressing it gently, a small smile crept up on his lips as he was met with no resistance. However, as though it was never even there, it disappeared within moments as his grip tightened and his voice lowered. “You don’t get to hold that against me.”

“Suguru, you left me behind to pursue a life of murdering innocent people, I’ll hold that against you until the day I die because I hate you for it.” 

He dropped his hand and pressed his lips into a tight line before bringing the same hand back up to play with your hair. “You hate me?” He asked, though it almost didn’t sound like a question, and more of a statement of disbelief, as it was followed by a short, humourless laugh before he continued. “If you hate me, why are you here? Why’d you dress up hoping to impress me? Why did you pick up the phone in the first place?”

“I still care for you Suguru. Up until a few months ago, I thought you were it for me.” Your voice broke but you refused to cry, closing your eyes tightly and tilting your head down.

Truthfully, Geto had thought the same. He still thinks you're the one for him, it’s why he hasn’t cut contact with you.

“Can I ask you a question Suguru?” He didn’t reply, but his eyes were on yours waiting for you to ask so he could decide whether he would answer. “Have you been talking to Shoko and Gojo?”

He dropped the piece of hair that he played with as he considered how honest his answer should be. “No, just you.” He replied truthfully. “They mean a lot to me, but I love you.”

You stood up, unable to take anymore as you went to grab your coat and leave. You couldn’t comprehend his words, only confusing Geto, and yourself, further.

He loves you. He says he loves you. Why don’t you believe him?

“If you love me, why haven’t you cut contact with me? You know how much danger this puts me in! If anyone finds out, I’m fucking screwed, Suguru. You don’t love me-”

Taking your coat from your hands, he threw it across the floor and took your arms in his hands, his touch gentle yet conveying his message.

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I feel for you, because trust me, I know. I also know that after everything I’ve done and everything I am doing it’s impossible for you to believe me but I need to be near you and I need you to understand that you are mine. No matter what, you are mine.”

Now, your back was against the door. He was towering over you and your faces were impossibly close. You felt each of his breaths hit your face and become one with your own. You felt your eyes go wide and your breathing go heavy as you struggled to find a response.

Instead, you just kissed him. He tasted the same as, if not even better than, before. Ever since the kiss you shared, you had felt as though your lips were made to meet his. 

One of his hands had moved from your arm to press against the door as he trapped you within his arms. Your own was brought up to his hair to thread your fingers through it and pull him closer. 

Pulling away, he used his other hand to move your hair back thoughtlessly. “Stay.” Was all he said, yet you didn’t need any more as you pulled him back in for another kiss, taking your shoes off with the heel of your other foot and trying desperately to help him take his own jacket off.

He picked you up and placed you gently in the centre of the bed. You lifted your arms up as you helped him take off your shirt before he littered kissed all over your chest.

“God, I missed this so much, baby.”

You couldn’t spare the effort for a passive aggressive comment or a harsh remark about him leaving you. All you could do was sigh heavily as he sucked bruises into your skin and left open mouthed kisses against your chest.

He fiddled with the hem of your skirt as a silent plea for you to spread your legs, to which you had no problem complying with. 

The way his lips trailed across your skin, pressing kisses and worshipping every crevice of your body had your heart thumping and your mind racing as you struggled to contain the whimpers that fell from your frowned lips.

You struggled to keep your eyes open yet you fought anyway as the sight of Geto between your legs was always a sight that you had adored.

His hands embraced your thighs as he held them apart from each other whilst he kissed down your legs before he reached your soaking cunt. 

His mouth was hot against your clothed pussy and he began to leave kisses onto your cunt through your panties, leaving you a desperate, aching mess.

Moaning out for him to touch you properly, he looked up at you with a devilish smirk plastered on his face before he continued to kiss you through your laced panties.

Impatiently, you bucked your hips up to meet his face to which he only tutted before dragging the lace down your thighs and tossing it to the side of the room before he began to tease your dripping pussy once more. “You’ve had no idea how much I’ve thought about this pussy - so fucking perfect.” He said, planting kisses around your core and sighing deeply between your legs.

“Sugu- please I need you to touch me.” You begged, growing tired of his infuriating teasing and just wanting to feel him against you again. 

Truthfully, you were torn between needing him now and wanting to take it at a slower pace in order to lengthen the amount of time you’d be with him. However, you were so overcome with pleasure that you decided to leave savouring every minute with him until he was actually pleasuring you.

“Whatever you want, Princess.” He joked, before his mouth attached to your pussy.

You gasped at the feeling, unable to contain the noises he withdrew from your lips. 

Geto played with your soaking pussy expertly, knowing every right flick of the tongue and his timing was almost godly - this had always been the case.

Often, he’d have you aching, heaving and moaning from just sitting you down on his tongue. 

The sound of slurping bounced off the walls and rang in your ears and if you didn’t know any better - if you didn’t feel the way he was using his tongue against you - you would have assumed he was a starved man drinking his first drink in days.

His tongue moved flawlessly before he added a singular finger inside of you and curled - then deciding to add another. His long, slender fingers reached places you hadn’t been able to in a while.

Your legs wrapped around his head, pulling him in desperately, yet he didn’t seem to mind, he simply just kept a large hand splayed out on your thigh as he squeezed and pawed at the flesh.

The combination of his tongue toying with your clit and his fingers scissoring and curling inside of you was enough to have you squirming in his hold and spewing out incoherent warnings about your oncoming release.

Geto seemed to understand however, to your soon-to-be dismay.

He pulled away, wiping away at his mouth politely as though he sat in a fancy dining hall eating a meal made by the best chefs and not in a cheap motel with his head buried in between your legs.

“Sorry, baby, want you to come on my dick first.” He said in such a casual manner it infuriated you.

You whined out his name, begging him to allow you your release because of how close you were, yet your pleas fell on deaf ears as he began to take off his own clothes, hinting at you to remove your skirt and top.

The minute you were both stripped off your clothing, you were back on each other instantly. He kissed you urgently as though you were close to slipping away as his hands travelled everywhere. They ran up your hips, up your stomach and across your chest, pawing at your breasts as his lips stayed connected to yours.

“Need you inside, Sugu-” You pleaded with wide, yearning eyes.

His dick throbbed at the sound of you sweet voice asking for him to fuck you as he complied instantly by aligning his aching dick with your hole.

The pain of his dick entering you slowly soon melted into the same pleasure you had longed to feel for months on end. The familiar feeling of his veiny, lengthy cock sliding against your walls at a torturous pace - helping you to warm up to the prominent stretch his cock provided.

There’s slick smeared along your thighs from how wet you were from all of the built up frustration and longing for his dick.

It was overwhelming, the way his hips were slowly picking up pace and force with every thrust. All that can leave your mouth are the pathetic whimpers he draws from you as he leaves you speechless. 

After a few moments of waiting for you to adjust, he loses all will to restrain himself and releases the same built up frustration that’s also been tormenting you. He’s borderline bullying his thick cock into your tight walls with little remorse, and if you didn’t know Suguru like you do, you would have assumed that every thrust was laced with selfish intent of getting himself to finish. However, the way his hand moved down your body and his thumb latched onto your clit, you knew he had nothing but your pleasure in his mind as though it was his own.

The sounds of slapping sped up within the fall walls of the rented room, along with the wet sounds of his dick dragging in and out of your pussy. However, your moans were competing to drown out the sounds. 

You were trying to keep quiet, aware somebody could be in the room next to you, but when his dick was repetitively hitting your sweet spot and his thumb would occasionally slip in between your sweating, hot bodies to rub at your clit harshly, it was impossible to keep any noises from slipping beyond your throat. 

Those thoughts were slipping away from your mind, along with all other thoughts and reasons as he fucked you dumb.

However, again, you knew Suguru well. From his harsh thrusts, he way his thumb rubbed viciously on your clit and how his spare hand had a possessive grip on your hip, you could tell he was fucking his feelings out into you. There was something bothering him, something he needed to resolve by fucking you - a point he needed to make.

His eyes, previously screwed shut with the scrunch of his concentrated face, opened lazily. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes yet you could feel the coldness that came through his stare - his gaze was bitter and angered.

Geto’s hair tickled the side of your face as he leaned in, causing your legs to stretch further upwards. When he whispered, his voice was soft yet laced with malice and vicious intent. “You think that Kyoto guy could fuck you like this? You think he could reach this deep inside of you?”

Oh. You should have known.

You shook your head profusely, unable to form an actual coherent response or a jab at him for still thinking about some guy you went on one date with. Though, if this was the reaction that was elicited every time from Geto, you had no problems with planning a second date - you’d think about that when your brain wasn’t turning into mush from his dick pummelling into you at a ruthless speed.

Perhaps that was his goal, to fuck you dumb and then ask you a question you’d have no strength or will power to contemplate.

“Good girl. Nobody can fuck you like this. You might think it’s unfair, you might think I’m being jealous and controlling, but if I catch you with that Kyoto guy again - or any guy as a matter of fact, I will fucking kill him. And don’t you dare think I won't. I’ll kill him - I’ll kill them all - and I'll make you watch. Then, I’ll fuck you right after. You hear me?”

You looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, yet your pussy only tightened around his cock and your head only nodded in understanding. 

He had a feeling he said the wrong thing, and that he might scare you off, yet there was every bit of truth to his words. You were his, not some no-named guy who wouldn’t even be able to give you a fraction of the pleasure he was giving you at the moment. Nevertheless, he had a deeper feeling within that his words would sink in more post-sex, considering you weren’t necessarily fond of his new lifestyle.

For now, he just kept thrusting his dick into your aching pussy and kissing your lips sweetly in contrast to the hard pace that he had set.

Your hands were clawing at whatever they could touch, grasping for some sort of control back as he had taken it all from you with just a few thrusts of his dick.

You could feel the low grunts and vibrations from his voice against your neck as he continued to pound into your pussy, strings of curse words falling from his lips which were your neck kissing desperately in between grunts, and words. Usually, this meant he was close as he grew less shy about the noises he made and more desperate for release.

“Shit- I’m gonna breed you, baby. Gonna knock you up and show all those other men that you’re mine. You okay with that? You gonna let me cum inside you ‘nd give you a baby ‘nd make you mine, hm?”

Slightly taken aback, you couldn’t help but nod and beg him to fill you up - wanting nothing more than all of him and unwilling to settle for anything less. “Yes - want it so bad Sugu, want you to fill me up and make me yours. Please, Suguru.”

“Fuck, you’re mine. You’re mine ‘nd everyone’s gonna know that when I knock you up. You’re gonna look so pretty filled with my cum, baby, and even better with my baby– Shit!”

His hips stuttered at the feeling of you squeezing around him, reaching your release as you moaned and cursed his name at the thought of him finishing inside of you. Keeping his promise, he followed through and came inside of you, his hand on your clit moving to squeeze your hip with a bruising strength.

He pulled out, watching his cum pour out of you. “Gonna have to go for a couple more rounds, sweetheart, if I wanna keep my promise and fill you up.” He smirked, his fingers shoving themselves inside of you in an attempt to keep you full. 

You kissed the smirk on his face, and before you could pull away to look at him, he captured your lips into a soft kiss once more and pressed his forehead against yours. Pulling away, you took your hand and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen free out of his face before resting your hand on his flushed cheek. 

“I could go a few more rounds.” You laughed. 

The sun filtered in through the curtains the very next morning. 

Turning over, you felt the familiar, yet recently unfamiliar, feeling of a muscled arm beneath your head, and you were met with the sight of a bare chest and eyes burning holes into your skin. You squint your eyes, aiming to relieve yourself from the sensation of exhaustion still buried in the back of your mind. 

For a moment, you had forgotten that this would be the last moment the two of you had, and was merely a goodbye - to you it was, at least.

Geto hadn’t been able to stop staring at you all morning, especially after his slipup last night about the whole Kyoto guy thing, he didn’t want to scare you and was worried about your unusual tolerance with what he had admitted was just a part of the post-sex haze. He really didn’t want to argue with you before you both separated ways - even though he didn’t plan for this to be the last time he sees you, unbeknownst to you.

For Geto, he’d be calling you unexpectedly a lot more often now he’s had a fresh taste of what he had left behind.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: i need to stop getting carried away and writing so much.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟsgojoenthusiast

[ewesie]

𝙲𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐

Words: 1260

cw: PTSD

Astarion/gn, 3rd POV

The images flashed through his mind. No matter how hard he tried to force them away, they were a persistent plague on his thoughts. He grimaced. Only twice had they indulged in the pleasures of his body. During both encounters, their expression had been one he’d seen countless times. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, sweat on their brow… His throat clenched.

He watched them from beneath the awning of his tent. His eyes scrutinizing their movements as they brought a spoonful of stew to their lips. Such a mundane and mortal activity and yet— why? Why was he so invested in them? There was a sinking pervasive feeling in his gut as they noticed and turned their attention towards him.

A wave. Just a little wave, so friendly and unguarded. That was the tipping point. Despite returning it with a practiced, friendly smile, Astarion shut the book in his hands. He set it down carefully on the small table he’d pilfered from one of the abandoned houses in Moonhaven, taking great care to stage it to be most appealing. With the outside of his tent carefully manicured, he slipped away into the shadow of the woods.

It wasn’t prey he was after, no, he couldn’t put a single shred of focus into hunting. Instead, Astarion wandered down game trails and across meadows dotted in vibrant little flowers. All that wandering however, couldn’t shake the images from his mind. Hells! Was this what madness felt like? …no. He knew madness, well acquainted with it actually. No, this was something else altogether.

With them, it had felt different. Those two nights stuck out like a beacon in an endless sea of silken linens and dusky taverns. They were guiding him towards some unknown place in the night, his mind battered by white tipped waves of seduction and manipulation. 

He stumbled, the toe of his shoe catching on a root and cursing to no god or goddess in particular. When his hand landed on the rough bark of a tree, bile rose in his stomach.

He retched.

Nothing but bile and saliva spattered the grass and rocks. It wasn’t long after that an overwhelming sense of hollow emptiness crashed over him. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees at the base of the tree. Only when his legs grew numb did he shift to lean his back against the strong, silent tree. How resilient it must have been, Astarion thought as he gazed, unseeing, at the overcast night.

Time was the least of his concern and he had the faintest idea of how much of it passed. Not even thoughts drifted through his mind. Only fleeting, hollow emotions as he was distant and unconnected to the vibrant night around him. At least the ground was comfortable enough.

A twig snapping sent a wave of goosebumps down his spine. On instinct, Astarion stood, his hand hovering near the handle of the ornate dagger at his side. Cautiously, he peeked around the tree and spotted a familiar outline. He dropped his hand to his side and relaxed his shoulders, then fixed a smile on his lips before stepping out from behind the tree.

“Darling, did you come looking for another romp in the woods?” he asked so casually, he could taste bile again.

They turned and squinted in his direction before they opened their mouth to say something.

Astarion didn’t want to hear it. He made his way over to them with all the grace he possessed. “Sh-shh, you don’t need to say a word. I already know how you feel, how your heart flutters and your cheeks flush. I know what you seek and I am more than happy to oblige. After all, we both know that you can get lost in the pleasure only I can give.”

Their brows knitted together and a frown twisted its way onto their lips. Despite his internal shock at their response, his visage remained unchanged, his smile plastered and honeyed as ever. After all, they couldn’t resist it.

“Are you alright?” they asked, ignoring his previous statement.

“Me? Of course, my sweet, never better. I was just out for an evening snack. All of your… eating, worked up my appetite as well.” His gaze wavered in his attempt to hold theirs.

Just as he had, they scrutinized every detail and every inch of him. Astarion felt bare beneath their gaze. It was as if they could see right through him… and perhaps they could— because as much as he tried to deny it, his act was slipping little by little. Those little looks, jests and sweet laughter when they’d speak had gotten to him and gotten under his skin.

The staring match went on for many long moments until finally they relented with an exasperated sigh. They ran a hand through their hair before they asked, “walk me back to camp?”

Astarion hesitated, his mask slipping for a moment.

It felt then that all his insecurities laid out for them to see in the space between them. He swore his fingers trembled, his hands growing colder and clammy as his brain tried to register the question. The only witnesses were the forest and the silvery moonlight just barely veiled behind a wisp of cloud.

His name fell from their lips. It was gentle, as if spoken by a lover— Astarion’s stomach clenched. He slipped back into his visage and felt his body relax to the comfortability of his role.

“Of course,” he replied. They held out a hand but he pretended it didn’t exist, instead, he fell into a comfortable step beside them.

The moonlight guided their path as the clouds melted away into the starry darkness. It took him a couple minutes to realize that it wasn’t the camp they were leading him to, but a cliff on a rise that overlooked the entirety of it.

A gentle wind ruffled his curls as he stepped out from behind a prickled evergreen shrub. The sap clung to his clothes but he paid it no mind. All of his focus was on them as their features were highlighted in silver. They flashed him a knowing smile before motioning for him to stand in the space beside them.

Astarion moved to their side and swept his eyes over the camp.

It was alive without their presence and it stung. Their traveling companions laughed and drank without them, as if they’d never existed in that space.

“I said we were going to spend some time alone and not to wait up,” they paused and bit their lip, “you can talk to me, you know.”

Astarion turned to them, his ruby eyes searching their own. There was a sadness within them that he too recognized. Something that they too didn’t know how to express-- just like him. Maybe it was then that his plan fell apart. Maybe it was back at the Tiefling's party or the second night that followed. Maybe he was just doomed from the start.

He sat down first and they followed. While they tucked their knees against their chest, Astarion leaned back, his eyes following the steady stream of smoke pouring into the endless star studded sky. There were no words, just a comfortable silence that settled between them.

There wasn’t any one word he could put to the things he felt as he sat on that rocky cliff. But he was alright with that. For now, he was content to sit beside them as they watched the camp below and the stars above. Talking could wait.

[cakexblankett]

Character

Larissa Weems

Rating

Green

Words

1.761

~•~

"Come in."

I gently pushed open the doors of Weems's office. I was called in for an "urgent, private matter". I hoped it was nothing too serious, I would have hated seeing principal Weems angry or disappointed in me, although I was sure I didn't do anything wrong.

I was in my last year at the Nevermore academy, and I tried doing everything perfectly. I wasn't always like this, a perfectionist and a "nerd", always doing my homework on time and spending my time studying. No, at first, I was carefree and I scarcely studied. My grades went up considerably, and all because of her. At first, I just thought she was a woman like any others, so I didn't even bother looking at or listening to her. But when I started spending more of my time with her- I had to because of my grades; she offered to help me and give me private lessons to help me get a grip on the studying situation, I started falling for her.

She was an angel; sweet, caring, a motherly figure. But as time passed, all I wanted was to feel more of her touch. She often squeezed my hand or touched my shoulder, but I found myself wanting more. And I wanted to hear more of her voice, her laughter, her hums of approval. I cherished every moment I got to spend with her, which were scarce now that my grades went up.

I wanted to be the top student, just to see that spark in her eyes, to make her proud. To hear her say "good girl" with that velvety voice of her.

"Did you call for me?"

I said, walking towards her desk. She was lost in thought, I could tell. Her lips pursed, her eyes fixed on the fire that lightened the place. She nodded, looking away, moving her hand as to say to come closer.

"Yes, my darling. Please, take a seat."

I did as I was told, making myself comfortable on one of the red couches in front of her. She gave me a weak smile. She was worried about something, I couldn't bare to see her like that. I wanted to take all of her worries and stress away from her, make her calm and soothe her into a peaceful bliss, away from all the problems that plagued the world. She deserved to be happy, and I wanted to be the one to give her that.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation as to why you're here."

I looked at her, listening closely.

"An outside source told me there's an... unidentified creature, scurrying freely in the woods that surround this academy."

I nodded, making her understand that I was listening. She sighed.

"This creature is giving us problems, attacking our students and my fellow colleagues. We can't have that."

She stopped for a second, once more fixing her gaze on the only source of light in the room.

"I understand. I'm sorry to hear that, how can I help?"

She smiled softly, looking at me once again.

"I knew you would be willing to help."

I smirked, blushing a bit. I would be willing to do anything for her. She could have asked me to kill and I would have done it.

"We must go and search for this beast, and make sure it won't bother us anymore."

I pondered for a second her affirmation.

"How can we find it? The woods go for miles and miles, it could be anywhere. We aren't even sure it's in there, it could be hiding somewhere else and only come here to haunt."

"That's my clever girl."

I blushed, and a smile creeped on my face. I loved when she complimented me, I lived for her pet names.

"An unknown source made sure to inform me that they saw this beast come out of a cave."

I remembered the cave. It was situated deep in the woods. It was at least an hour far away from the academy.

"When will we go?"

"Now."

I blinked. Now? But it was already late, almost night. It was dark outside, it could have been more dangerous than going in the day.

"I'm sorry but-"

"No buts. We have to take remedy to this matter as soon as possible, so we'll go now."

I nodded, thought swirling in my head. I had a bad feeling, like something tragic will happen. I tried not thinking about it.

"Go get a jacket and meet me at the entrance in fifteen minutes. Be sure to bring a flashlight as well."

I got up and left the room. Nothing bad will happen, Larissa was a skillful woman, she'll surely know how to defeat a beast. Nothing bad will happen.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I got to the entrance of the academy to see principal Weems waiting, looking in the dark distance. I quickly ran to her.

"Are you ready?"

I gulped. The feeling in my gut didn't leave. Something horrible is going to happen. I was tempted to tell her, to say to just go back inside and wait for the day, to ask more people to help her in her quest. But I just nodded.

"Let's haunt this monster then."

We made our way in the woods, the road dark and our feet unsure. The light of our flashlights didn't help one bit, the darkness too thick to see a thing.

My fear only grew stronger with each passing step we took.

"I was thinking..."

She hummed, making me continue my sentence.

"Maybe this is not a great idea. You know, going straight to the creature, offering it food- us."

Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes squinted.

"Too late for that now, darling."

Then she stopped in her tracks. I looked at her, then straight ahead. Before us, the cave.

My heart raced in my chest, but Larissa seemed completely fine. She didn't give off any emotion.

"Here we go."

She took my hand and squeezed it gently.

"We've got this."

I nodded, still unsure. We entered the cave, everything was pitch black. Darkness ungulfed us all, I couldn't even see my hands or my feet. Our flashlights failed us when we needed them the most. They started flickering, then nothing. I tried pressing the button to turn it on again but with no avail.

"Bloody Hell."

I heard the tall woman curse under her breath. I tried getting closer to her, maybe to feel more protected, maybe to not lose her, maybe because then I could protect her.

"Y/N, give me your hand."

I searched for her hand in the dark. When I found it, I squeezed it tightly, not planning to let go.

"There's nothing to worry about, I've got you now."

My eyes tried adjusting to my suroundings but I still couldn't see much. Then I saw them. Two yellow dots in front of us. I gulped, panick washing over me.

"Larissa..."

She pushed me behind her, our hands still intertwined.

"Hush."

We heard a growl coming from the depths of the cave. Fear was all I knew in that moment. Something horrible was going to happen. We had to escape, we had to run.

"Listen, I'm going to shapeshift, so you'll have to let go of my hand for a bit, ok?"

I didn't want to let go, but I did as I was told. I squinted me eyes, but all I could see were the two yellow dots looking at us. Then a scream.

I jumped in fright. That scream, was coming from a woman.

"Larissa?"

I whispered, stretching my arms in front of me, trying to grasp her.

"Larissa!"

I started shouting, walking more and more into the cave. After a while, my feet touched something. I crouched down, trying to understand what I stumbled upon.

Fright, worry, sadness. Those were the emotions I felt when I touched a familiar kind of fabric. The one Larissa's dresses were made of.

"Larissa!"

I took her under her armpits and dragged her out of the cave. Tears started running down my cheeks. That's not possible, she can't be... she can't be...

After some time, I felt chill air touching my wet cheeks. Panting and crying, I let her down slowly.

"Please... please, say something."

I gazed at her, trying to find a wound or anything that could indicate she was wounded. I took her face in my hands and looked at her closely. There were a few scratches here and there, but nothing too bad. Then I heard her laugh. I gazed at her in disbelief.

She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"You sure are strong."

I started crying, letting out a shaky breath.

"Larissa! Are you... are you alright? I heard a scream, did it-"

She put a hand on my shoulder, and slowly got up.

"I'm alright, darling. I've got a few scratches, but nothing to worry about."

"But... the scream! I thought-"

"Yes, the scream. It was indeed me who screamed, but it was my plan all along, to play dead after stealing this."

She took something from her pocket and showed me. It was grey hair.

"The monster we are searching for is not a monster after all."

I smiled, gazing at the hair. Then I looked up at her.

"I thought I lost you..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

I hugged her tightly, closing my eyes.

"Hush now, everything is alright, little one."

Tears still ran from my eyes, this time from relief.

She put a finger under my chin and made me look up at her.

"I hope you know that I won't ever ask you to do anything I would consider too dangerous."

"I know."

"I'm proud of you, Y/N."

She gave me a small smile.

"Come, we must go back to the academy."

"What about the werewolf? Isn't it dangerous?"

"I'm sure it's not. It probably transformed recently and doesn't know how to control itself. It will learn."

I nodded, following her. We made our way through the woods, all the way to the academy. I was happy the bad feeling turned out to be a false alarm.

"Go rest now, dove. I will see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, principle Weems."

She smiled, then turned around and left. I remained there for a bit, following her with my gaze. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost her, luckily we will never know. I smiled to myself, and left.

[becauseimanicequeen]

RANDOM THOUGHTS: Unknown ep. 10

I’m going into this episode hoping for further progress in Qian and Yuan’s relationship (especially after Qian’s moment of introspection at the end of the previous episode). We also saw in the preview that we’re getting more about Qian’s health status in this episode and that Yuan might get pissed at Qian for keeping that from him. And then, let’s see if they cut the episode before the kiss or not.

Shitless Qian! That’s a nice start (if we ignore the nosebleed, which, to be fair, isn’t that ignorable).

The way Yuan stared at shirtless Qian… I mean, 100% relatable.

I wouldn’t want to sleep alone after that Russian roulette shit either.

The way they’re fucking snuggling in bed! Qian’s leg over Yuan’s, Qian holding Yuan’s arm with both hands, and Qian brushing his thumb on Yuan’s arm in that comforting manner…

Wait, Le is worried Qian’s condition has worsened? So, he knows that Qian has a chronic condition? (I can’t remember if this has been mentioned before or not. My memory is hella fuzzy when there’s a whole week’s wait between episodes.) Perhaps that’s why Le’s been so adamant to keep Qian out of the gang and make sure they don’t cross paths again.

Nosebleed again…

”I’m fine.” The biggest lie ever told (and most used) in the history of humanity.

The way I cackled when the Doc suggested that San Pang should also get a neurological examination.

WTF! Nosebleed again… Please, Qian, get yourself checked out!

The whole ”don’t tell Yuan” will cause more trouble than actually telling him, though. I’m sure that’s why Yuan avoids Qian (the short snippet, in the preview of this episode, when Yuan walks into the house). I’ve been in Yuan’s shoes, and it fucking hurts when the truth comes out later than it needed to.

Yuan must’ve heard more than he let on. He practically tried to run away from the clinic. And the fact that Qian is lying to Yuan… Trouble, trouble.

I don’t mind that Yuan is getting bold (or, bolder). The talk about tying up Qian… I’m on board with that to a million percent!

Yuan definitely knows something serious is going on. But how much does he know about the whole truth? Most likely a lot more than he lets on. Like I wrote before, he must’ve heard what the Doc said. But he might not yet know how long it’s been serious. Qian has had issues for years, right?

Oh lord… Look at these idiots trying to cover up for Qian. I’ve got to love their loyalty to Qian, though. Even though I need someone to tell Yuan the truth (preferably Qian, but I don’t think that will happen…).

Seriously, I would fucking snap if I was in Yuan’s shoes. No way I would take part in this bullshit coverup. Either you tell me the truth (because that’s always easier to deal with) or I’ll avoid you like the fucking plague.

Lol, Yuan is really laying it on thick when he talks to San Pang. Emotional blackmail. But the situation clearly calls for it. Qian is more silent than a brick wall.

And then he uses the Lili-card. He knows exactly what to say to get San Pang to cave. I love him. So, please, someone tell him the truth, for fuck’s sake!

Just as I thought, Yuan heard everything at the clinic that day.

Finally! The truth is out. Thank you, San Pang.

Yuan: ”Do you still think this is just about you?” That FUCKING. BROKE. ME.

I’ve been sitting here, trying to get my eyes to stop leaking for the past 30-ish minutes so I can watch the rest of the episode. What is this series doing to me? They’re gunning for my emotions with Yuan’s reaction because it’s relatable to me.

Qian must know he fucked up, though. If he blames San Pang for telling Yuan, I’ll be fighting back an urge to kick his shin. (I know he’s fictional, but that also means I can give him a fictional kick, just for the fun of it.)

I can’t call that blaming San Pang. Not really. Okay, Qian, I won’t fictionally kick your shin. Not right now, at least…

Btw, San Pang not telling Lili about Qian’s condition… She’ll be just as pissed at him as Yuan is with Qian right now, right? I honestly can’t wait to see her lose it on San Pang and him begging for mercy and forgiveness. Is it weird that I want to see him on his knees as he begs? I wouldn’t mind him crawling either…

I get Qian’s fear of going to the hospital and perhaps never coming out again. BUT! If Yuan and Lili knew the truth, they could prepare themselves for the possibility that Qian might not make it. Qian just dropping dead isn’t going to help anyone, though. And how would they feel if they found out about his condition after that? And finding out that he knew about it?

I wonder how Qian would feel if their roles were reversed. As in, if he found out either Yuan or Lili (the two people who are most important to him) had kept something like this from him.

Am I the only one who loves that Yuan is avoiding Qian? Because I fucking LOVE IT! And he ignored Qian even though Qian had made Yuan’s favorite dishes. This is my shit! (I know, I need help…)

Oooh, Yuan is both bold and bossy in this episode. I didn’t know I could love him any more than I already do. I was wrong.

Is it weird that I’m excited to see the confrontation I know is coming within the next 10-ish minutes?

San Pang is saying all the right things and asking all the right questions. Now it’s up to Qian to figure it out on his own (perhaps with a bit of help from Yuan).

Qian getting emotional is making me emotional. What is this series doing to me?

San Pang: ”Do you want him to have a future without you?” My eyes are leaking again! What the fuck is this series doing to me?

I stopped mid-confrontation because Yuan’s calmness was killing me. But, also, some of the things Qian has said so far gave me the feeling that his approach to figuring out if his feelings for Yuan are brotherly love or something more is more about thinking/reflecting on it rather than feeling it. In my experience, thinking isn’t the best way to gain clarity when it comes to emotions. Clarity comes from feeling and experiencing the emotions. So, just shut up and kiss already… Perhaps it’s time for Yuan to give Qian a little nudge in the right direction, even though he’s been so cautious not to cross the line since he came back home.

Qian: ”All I know is I can’t live without you.” The fact that he’s admitting that, out loud, to Yuan… We’re making some progress.

Seriously, Yuan’s calmness is killing me. He still thinks it’s his problem that he fell for Qian. He still thinks it’s his shit to handle. He still doesn’t want to put that on Qian. Being calm is almost like his armor.

I fucking knew they would cut pre-kiss! That’s just mean.

This episode was great! I loved that Yuan finally found out the truth. I loved that he ignored Qian (again, it’s a me-thing). I loved all the emotions. Seriously, the amount of time I spent crying… I just realized it took me just a little less than 2 hours to watch this 30-ish minute episode…

What is this series doing to me?

[kit-williams]

Happy Baby

Hey... who wants more angst? In the Husbandry tag?

Zharth Erenor looked around the warband as he was hearing a baby cry. "Slax." His brother in question looked to him and hummed, "Is there a Night Lord with us?"

"No brother Zharth... Shall you go collect it or I?" Slax said boredly as the two looked to the now empty drug den as in the distance were screaming humans or their bodies laid littered at their feet.

"I'll go collect it. Or kill it... who knows?" He said as they both laughed at the whimsy in which Zharth said it.

He looked around as he walked up the steps and heading to a back room seeing a body looking quite blue most likely dead before they even arrived. The screaming infant was in here as they cried for a dead mother. Probably would be more merciful to put it out of its misery but this would be a fine sac-

Zharth blinked as he looked down at the baby and something inside of him shifted. His thoughts stopped and changed from how the baby would be a good offering to the dark gods to... why was his charge cold... Zharth didn't even register what had happened as he delicately picked up the small human and looked around. Slax would be outside...

"Zharth?" The Black Legionary called inside now worried. He moved with slow steps heading up the stairs and looked at Zharth's back as he could hear Zharth's unmodified voice trying to soothe the human baby. "Not you..." Slax said with his shoulders slumping.

It felt like losing a brother to the zombie plague... it just happened sometime but Zharth and Slax had been together since they were Sons of Horus. Zharth spun around bolter drawn. "Slax..."

Slax looked at Zharth and there was a strange look in his eyes a sudden ferocity... a feral like quality to them... a madness blessed by Khorne almost... a tenderness brought on by Nurgle... he had Bonded as the Prophet was calling the madness. "Brother... give me the mortal." He said softly holding out his hand.

Zharth backed away holding the baby close, having half wrapped the fur cloak around the infant. "Brother... leave me be."

"I can't do that Zharth... give me the mortal." He pleaded before Zharth fled smashing through the wall with ease and rushing out into the snowy night. Slax got on his vox to the rest of the warband, "It's Zharth! He bonded! Please try not to kill him!" Slax ordered pushing his weight around with the warband.

------

It was a long night for Zharth as he limped along the side of the road as black blood dripped onto the concrete below him. He had already snarled and postured himself enough but he was getting tired and he had no idea where he was going just he needed to keep his charge safe.

"Brother." A voice behind him bellowed and he looked over his shoulder at the approaching Black Legionary, "You look like you've seen better days." The unknown Legionary said as he was wary having heard a feral was suddenly in his territory. "Don't you know whose territory you are trespassing on? Which Warband holds these lands?" He approached with a click of his tongue until the infant started to scream again. Zharth snarled getting aggressive again but the other held up his hand. "Come with me brother my charge will know what to do."

Zharth followed the other coming to a home as some woman came out and she looked to Zharth concerned till his charge was pointed at and she rushed over and Zharth's instinct was to grab his bolter but the unknown Legionary stopped him. "My charge is a human medic. Your charge looks unhealthy and must be cold... tiny ones do not survive long... you don't want to lose your charge?"

Zharth was in such a daze as he shook his head and turned over his charge to the woman. Zharth was in such a daze he didn't notice how he was being guided after his charge by two apothecaries and the warlord was prying information from the dazed brother.

Zharth lifted his head, "My battle brother Slax... do not kill him."

"Hmmm?" The warlord tilted his head, "What makes you-"

"Do not play a Slannshi's game with me." Zharth hissed as his black and bronze armor was taken off of him.

The Warlord sighed, "Fine I shall retrieve your brother for you. Rest brother and pray to the dark gods your charge survives the coming days. The Apothecaries will take care of you."

[bat-gwuck]

lil red dead drabble inspired by the diagnosis scene (apologies in advance)

——————————————

"Like I said, I'm real sorry." Came the futile concern once more, offering words that did nothing to strengthen the world crumbling beneath Arthur's feet.

Tuberculosis, the Doctor had said. The White Plague. Consumption. A silent killer that, for once, Arthur couldn't scare away with brute force or a spitting gun. His death would be a slow one, lungs slowly rotting away. He felt that familiar-yet-unknown prickling static begin to pound in his mind, an amalgamation of emotions so tangled they became one. Sadness, anger, confusion, self-pity - they had no distinction in his mind. Questions rattled around his head like ricochets, why-me's and why-now's pinging back and forth, as if by bursting out of his mind they would find an answer. There were both too many and too few words to say.

"Yeah, well..." He mumbled instead, pushing himself off the chair with shaky arms. Just as he was about to leave, the doctor grabbed his arm, pushing him back down into the chair. He said something about giving him 'some more energy for the day', as if it would do any good. Despite this, he accepted the shot with a mumbled thank you, stumbling out of the door and into the street.

It was surprisingly empty and the world had taken on a hazy yellow hue. If Arthur didn't know any better he would've thought himself to be in the throes of a dream; though a nightmare seemed more appropriate. Chalking it up the the drugs, Arthur made his way down the street. His feet moved one way whilst his mind drifted the other, trying his damnest to figure out how the Hell he'd gotten himself into this mess.

And Lord, what a mess it was. It seemed unreal that the sturdy, supposedly unfailing foundation he'd built the past 20 years on had unraveled in mere months. But, what comes up must come down.

Arthur remembered the phrase from years gone by; from when Dutch was in the throes of an impassioned speech about civilisation, hands waving at a frantic pace as if trying to pluck back the wayward thoughts that had slipped out his brain. A time when Hosea was still breathing, albeit shakily, still giving Arthur that fondly exasperated look as Dutch prattled on. A time when Arthur wasn't worried about Dutch's scorn- much less at having it directed at him. That, Arthur supposed, was when his life was going up; now was the time for it to come crashing down. Rome wasn't built in a day but it sure did fall quick, Arthur mused with a solemn, half-amused huff.

There was no warning for it. Never was. Or perhaps Arthur was too blinded by loyalty to notice Micah's forked tongue morphing Dutch into something unrecognisable. Something that couldn't be the man who raised him, the man that Arthur devoted his life to. In Arthur's mind, Dutch was the same as always, if a bit more volatile than before. It was just easier to pretend that nothing had changed. To lie to himself.

Lying was second nature to Arthur, always had been. A habit woven into himself so deeply that it became nigh-impossible to remove the tainted threads. He found that the truth was often too frightening to face. Behind all the muscle and gunpowder still lay that eager-to-please child, burying reality under a carefully crafted fantasy. However, if Arthur had learned anything, it was that the world was apathetic towards such things. It had a nasty tendency to tear through fantasies like a bullet through flesh. Harsh, abrupt and often bloody.

Maybe it's a sign, Arthur. Try...try to do the good thing.

And he did – or at least, he thought he did. It was hard to know what the good thing was these days.

Good was such an intangible yet definite thing, simple yet complex. Arthur knew he wasn't a good man, despite what so many had said. But he wasn't a bad man either - he was just...Arthur. A not-quite-good but not-quite-bad man who'd dealt with the set of cards life had given him; a product of both his circumstances and his decisions. The only thing he could do was to try and amend his past mistakes, for whatever good it would do, and shepherd whoever he could down a safer, brighter path than his own.

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 48

Cw: Butcher’s Ball, childbirth complications, hallucinations, attempted murder

Gif by @daemonsdarksister

Taglist @mercedesdecorazon @alexandria-millie @watercolorskyy @darylandbethfanforever9 @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Their men were laid out as if they had been killed at a feast.

They have been like that in every village they have marched through these four days.

A grotesque thing Aemond is glad he isn’t walking through.

Because his mission is of great urgency, he attacks only if he must. House Darry folds at the sight of him and Lady Darry tearfully asks him to spare her infant son after Criston obliterated her husband and eldest sons in battle when they first marched out of Kingslanding.

Criston’s hand shook as if remembering an ill prophecy and agreed no harm will come to those who surrendered.

Something he hadn’t done when they set out. Had the chill of the Stranger in the air caught to him too?

Crossed Elms proves that nagging feeling right.

Their enemy had more men, fresh horses and every advantage they lacked.

Save for a dragon.

Archers attack them in woods unknown to them, Aemond is not spared as he tries to evade them in the air.

Vhagar’s too large and old to perform like a younger and sleeker dragon.

And they knew that.

So he and Cole call for a parley, just enough to buy them time.

“If I strike my banners, do you promise us our lives?” he asked the three of them.

Three seasoned and grizzly commanders, such men bore scars and dents in their armor enough to make Cole look green as grass.

Aemond felt like a squire pretending to be a man. Like the little boy who used to wear Daemon’s winged helm as he stand before Ser Garibald Grey, Pate of Longleaf ,now called Longleaf the Lionslayer, and Rodrick ‘Roddy the Ruin’ Dustin.

Men who won the Fishfeed with only their wits and skill.

They have no chance against them even with Vhagar.

“I made my promise to the dead,” Ser Garibald replied. “I told them I would build a sept for them out of traitors’ bones. I don’t have near enough bones yet, so…”

No.

They choose to fight on knowing their victory is assured.

If he dies he will die with Aemma’s name in his lips, like all the knights in the songs.

Ser Criston answered, “If there is to be battle here, many of your own will die as well.”

The Northman, Roderick Dustin, laughed at his words, saying, “That’s why we come. Winter’s here. Time for us to go. No better way to die than sword in hand.”

Ser Criston drew his longsword from its scabbard. “As you will it. We can begin here, the four of us. One of me against the three of you. Will that be enough to make a fight of it?”

It won’t, they won’t give in. They know better than to let them live.

So Aemond interrupts with the thing that may make them change their mind.

“The King is dying, our mother’s own cupbearer poisoned him after her brother failed to kill me. Queen Aemma, the queen you fight to liberate is nearing her time. If you let us go you have my word that her son will be named king and I will not move a finger to take what is hers by right.” The prince regent said hoping to make them change their minds.

“We know, we took down your ravens and your riders. The question is, how do you know that?” Red Robb Rivers and his sister, Alysanne Blackwood, asked coming down the ridge with their archers.

Oh, they were fucked.

“Dragon Dreams, I have been plagued by them for the past five nights. The king in his bed weak by the poison and the queen in hers as she brings forth her babe.” He lies. Better blame his Valyrian blood than tell them the witch is in his mother’s employ. “For all I know both my brother and his wife are already dead and the babe with them.”

The men are divided about it, but those of the north, especially the silver haired Crannogman with eyes as green as Vhagar’s flames seem to believe him.

“The First Men have Seers too. You may go, but only you.” Roddy the Ruin said, thank the gods for the Northman and their superstitions.

“Go, your brother needs you more than I.” Criston said as Aemond looked at him for the last time. “Godspeed, your highness.”

Vhagar is scarcely in the air when what’s left of their men and the Lord Commander are killed by a rain of arrows.

Garibald Grey would later call it Butcher’s Ball.

The babe is taking its sweet time to come.

The queen has been in labor for a day, and the midwives and maesters are close to giving up.

She has walked up and down the hall, she has been given castor oil, she has been moved by the midwives on the blanket and nothing is working.

“There is a way.” A maester suggested as Silverwing echoes her rider’s scream.

There is no real need for it, not yet.

But the queen knows the whore is the reason her son is half dead in his bed.

If she’s gone, Aegon will live and so would her two younger sons.

The only way her family is safe is if all of Rhaenyra’s family is dead.

They see will see you as you are, the dead princess whispers behind her as blood runs down Alicent’s hands.

Yes, they will, they will see a mother who would do anything for her children, the queen bites her tongue lest they think her mad.

Her aunt went mad, Denyse who was committed to the Motherhouse for fear of shaming them.

They would lock her up too ,if they knew.

“No. We cannot.” Gerardys and Orywle are of the same mind on this.

If she dies any chance for peace is gone.

If she dies like her namesake did, Aegon will be known as her killer.

But her family will be safe from her and that is all that matters.

Queen Alicent chooses to override them. “The king’s heir is at risk, if we wait longer both she and the babe will be lost.

If we must choose, we need to choose the king’s son over his mother.”

There is clear horror in their faces as she says this.

Even Alys cannot hide it in hers.

“Your grace, will you not reconsider it?” the aging midwife pleaded with her. The same woman who helped bring Aemma into the world now being told to help them take her out of it.

“If we do not decide now---” the queen pretended to care for her gooddaughter's wellbeing and yet she is interrupted by the all too familiar roar.

Aemond.

She had told Alys not to summon Aemond, why had she gone against her wishes?

If he is here he will choose her.

How can she save her family if they refuse to let her?

“Maester Orwyle, do what you must to save the prince.” The queen ordered and the man did as ordered.

He can hear screams, those of his men and Aemma’s in Silverwing’s roars ringing in his ears as he rides his coal black horse like a madman.

Aegon was weak but not dying, Aemma was having trouble delivering their babe.

His mother had ordered for them to save the babe at the cost of it’s mother.

This was the news he received the moment he arrived.

We have lost the Riverlands, was all he had to say in turn.

It would be a mercy if Aegon died now.

If Aemma died with their babe, Joffrey would be made king with his Lady of Runestone beside him. Nothing would stop Daemon from burning the city to the ground nor his men from sacking it.

If Aegon died, but Aemma lived, Aemond would be king and have the upperhand in negotiations.

There would be other children and even if she is left barren she had three brothers and two cousins to provide heirs for House Targaryen.

They would wed and all will be righted before winter sets in.

“Whatever you do, save the queen.” He orders as he raced against time.

It helped both were in the same suite of rooms saving him the trouble of having to choose which bedside he goes to.

Her screams bring a chill to his bones not unlike Criston’s and his men’s.

“If you fail to save the queen I will kill all of you myself.” Aemond runs to her instead of his brother.

Aemma cries out for him, covered in sweat, blood and tears.

They were going to cut her open. Mother had given the order.

The moment Aemma is safe, he will have her placed under custody.

His mother had very knowingly committed treason, but that look in her eyes speaks of madness.

Madness he’s never seen before.

“I’m here, Aemee, I’m here.” The prince takes her sweat covered hand and kissed it as if it would will her to keep fighting. “You can’t leave , not when I’ve only just returned, sweet girl.”

His reputation be damned, he won’t leave her and he won’t let his mother kill her.

[theia-eos]

Very obscure question but do we know how long Lillia lasted in captivity?

Also the fact we don't have anything in the Heron Queen saddens me to this day

Hi! Thank you for the ask and I hope you're having a nice new year so far!

There are some things left up in the air, like which month they happened in, but the timeline and games do give us some vague idea. It was anywhere from a few months to a little over a year.

Spoilers beneath the cut.

The timeline of the game states that the Serenes Massacre happens in Begnion Era 625, and the plague in Daein happens in the year 626 as well. Ashnard is crowned king in 627. The timeline from the Radiant Dawn Tellius Recollections book shows that Greil defects from Daein in 626, shortly after Lillia dies and Elena goes to her then fiancé Greil for help.

This does line up with the games. In the games, Almedha states that the plague starts when Ashnard meets a traveling sage.

Pelleas: …In the Begnion era, year 626, a terrible plague swept through Daein, killing over a thousand people. Tauroneo: I remember the horror of that disease. King Ashnard took the throne after the plague killed most of the royal family, including his father. The tragedy is still fresh in my mind. Pelleas: In truth… That was no disease. Almedha: Say no more, Pelleas… Micaiah: Queen Almedha? Pelleas: It was the curse of a blood pact. Tauroneo: What?! Pelleas: It was all plotted by my father in a bid to claim the throne of Daein. He used the curse… to steal the lives of his family and citizens… Tauroneo: King Ashnard…? My liege… killed his… own father… Pelleas: My father, he… always worried about the future of a world without equals. He was born an outstanding man, wise beyond his age, yet could never become king. Because of this… he tricked his father into signing a blood pact with a traveling wise man. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 3-F, "From Pain Awakening" Extended Script

This traveling sage is Sephiran/Lehran, who also leaves Lillia and medallion with Ashnard to uses the then prince to set into action a plan that would cause a war big enough to awaken the goddess and have her judge the world.

Sephiran: Lady Sanaki, your theory is half correct… and half incorrect. Sir Ike, I’m afraid your father’s death was an unfortunate result of Zelgius’s own personal agenda. I must admit that I did ask him to seize the medallion and hand it over to King Ashnard, but it was not to gain Ashnard’s trust. Sanaki: Then why? Sephiran: Because originally the medallion belonged with me. 23 years ago, I placed it with Princess Lillia of Serenes. Sanaki: … Come again?! Ike: You…! Sephiran: You see, everything was planned by me, Sir Ike. Attend and learn… Sephiran: My aim has always been to wake Ashera so that she might pass judgment on all the people of the world. What I needed was a war that would spread all across the continent. How could I achieve this? My attention turned to the young Daein prince… I could use the fiery Ashnard for my purposes. He was ambitious, a fierce warrior, and more than anything, he had an earnest desire to change the world. When I allowed him to know of the goddess sealed inside the medallion, he became determined to set her free. We could use heron galdrar or a massive, continent-spanning war to throw the world into chaos. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 4-F-4, "Rebirth" Extended Script

We know that Sephiran/Lehran stays in Begnion long enough to cause problems because he meets with Zelgius and refers to having a task he needs to accomplish that probably doesn't offer redemption, and that Zelgius agrees to travel with Sephiran/Lehran after he can no longer study with Greil

Unknown: I have a task that I must accomplish. With you at my side, I would feel more confident of my success. Zelgius: A task that you must accomplish? Unknown: Yes. Zelgius: If I join you, will I be redeemed? Unknown: I cannot say. At the very least, however, you will no longer be alone. And neither will I. Zelgius: That is enough, then. You have made my decision simple. When I leave here I will find you. Unknown: I will be waiting for you. Zelgius: I am a soldier in the Daein army. I serve under the command of General Gawain. My name is Zelgius. May I ask your name, my lord sage? Unknown: My name? Of course… Radiant Dawn, Chapter 4-F-2, "Rebirth" Extended Script

So in 625 the massacre happens, Lehran gives up on the world, goes to Daein and delivers Lillia and the medallion to Ashnard, who leaves her at Palmeni temple with clergy there. Elena befriends Lillia. And then in 626, Lillia dies and Elena flees Daein with Gawain who changes his name to Greil.

We also know this is around the time Soren was born because Almedha says specifically that she cannot remember who this traveling man was, because Ashnard had a revolving door of people parading in and out to help cure her from the "illness" she contracted after becoming pregnant (losing her ability to transform).

Almedha: I do not know the details, but… To cure my illness, that man gathered at Daein the most bizarre people on the continent… Izuka was one of those people. But, that dastard… From the very beginning, he only ever intended to betray my son! Radiant Dawn, Chapter 3-F, "From Pain Awakening" Extended Script Almedha: But all I ever was to him was a source of power. Once I became pregnant, I was useless to him. Bereft of my strength, he found my presence nothing more than an irritating distraction. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 4-2, "Silent World" Extended Script

But yeah. From 625 to 626 is how long Lillia lasted. Based on the scenery, I wanna say it's from Summer to winter, but it could really be anything. The CG art of Lehran during the masscre shows anywhere Spring/Summer could work for the start. And Elena's Keeper of the Medallion Cipher card where her quote is her promising Lillia that, "You have my word. I will find Altina and bring her your song… and this medallion," looks wintery but that is...the least canon fact here, so anything could go, really (Side note: Elena is so pretty).

Your ask reminded me of a gaffe from the English translation, where they referred to Lillia as "Heron Queen" instead of "Heron Princess" as she actually is lol

Tibarn: I don't know. Are we safe now? But I did always wonder why Heron Queen Lillia passed down the galdr of release. She must have left it behind for a good reason. I'm willing to bet my life on it. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 3-F, "From Pain Awakening"

But I do also wish we knew more about the mother of the herons. Or more about the herons. Or more lore, in general.

[naneun-no]

My (rainbow) Mura 🌈

Something must be wrong with me because I have tears in my eyes laughing this morning. To be very clear it’s NOT because JK’s poses are funny (except the bowling one b/c something about men bowling makes them inherently look like someone’s uncle), or because anyone’s sexuality is funny (although I gotta say there are kinks out there that are objectively hilarious but I digress) it’s because the goddamn heteronormativity and subconscious homophobia that plagues the minds of so many has compelled certain BTS fans, who are very likely perfectly clever and capable otherwise, into mentally forcing JK into a heterosexual box and yet again (because this is not the first time nor will it be the last) they have been made fools of by the very man himself.

Sheesh, that was wordy, here’s my point:

IMAGINE SWEARING UP DOWN AND SIDEWAYS THAT THIS MAN IS STRAIGHT AS AN ARROW BASED ON NOTHING BUT THE “VIBES” HE GIVES YOU (which like pffft okay 🥹) AND THEN HAVING TO CONTEND WITH THIS:

Sorry lemme just:

Our shrimp said LOOK AT ME BEING FANCY ON A ROOFTOP INFINITY POOL BISH.

He said 💅

He said 👑

LISTEN. He may very well be into women. I wouldn’t blame him. Have you seen women? I personally don’t know how everyone isn’t into them. He may be pansexual, or demisexual, or asexual.

But if you are one of those people who has made the conclusion that he is straight purely based on the “vibes” he gives off, and you go around saying that to anyone who will listen… then idk who you’ve been looking at all these years, but it ain’t him.

And if you are one of those people who has quietly made the conclusion that he is straight because you haven’t been told otherwise by him and you think that’s the polite thing to do, then I challenge you to ask yourself why straight is the default in your mind. Why people must be straight until proven gay, rather than unknown until otherwise?

You don’t know.

And it’s okay for queer people to perk up and raise an eyebrow and maybe even raise a little rainbow flag and wave it around excitedly when they notice hints (and, if I may, in this man’s case hints and hints and hints) of queerness popping up around their favorite stars.

It doesn’t always have to be a giggly, blushy, side eye, 🤭 omg-does-he-know-how-that-looks “misinterpretation.”

This man is 25 years old. He is not a child anymore. He is not naive. Read the lyrics of My Time and remind yourself that in fact he is likely more worldly and mature than most 25 year olds because he stepped into a cutthroat, grown up industry from a young age and spent the majority of his time around people who were his seniors. It is infantilizing to suggest that he has no idea how his online behaviors and choices could be interpreted, even by an international audience.

Yikes. This started out with me laughing and turned into me preaching, sorry. I know I sound serious and I’m not trying to put more meaning into a sassy little poolside pose than it warrants, but I’m tired of people accusing queer fans of reading too much into things while simultaneously concocting entire narratives about each member’s supposed sexuality that hinge on actively ignoring their words, actions and behaviors.

Alright, alright. Back to smiling at JK’s adorable ass. Here’s the rest, and Ghandi:

[dogicrimsonofficial]

Another day, another small mob chasing after Haurchefant's affections. It had gotten rather hilarious, even if Jason felt a small sense of insecurity every once in a while - but such was life when you were engaged to what was essentially a symbol of heroic sacrifice of doing the right thing.

Sure, Jason himself would've had a reputation - but the Miqo'te had done his utmost to keep others from knowing his name or achievements. Just another unknown, scarred up face with a passing resemblance to one of the many Warriors of Light that roamed the realm. And with how many white-haired Miqo'tes there were, 'twas not a miracle that so many were unaware of his true identity. One of many of them, really.

"Managed to get away from your adoring fans?" Jason chuckled quietly, as Haurchefant managed to find his way on the roof on his chocobo. "And this is why I avoid fame like the plague it is..."

"Fair enough, my song bird!" Haurchefant laughed, before sighing a little and sitting down next to the Miqo'te - wrapping one arm around him. "Now I understand why your parental credits their work to their ancestors... Please do not get too well known, I'd rather not fight off suitors off of you."

Jason leaned back - barking a laugh. "Oh worry not Dove - if anyone would get suitors, it'd be Lyra! At least until Beans crawls from the shadows and scares the living daylights out of everyone. Me however, I am not exactly everyone's taste."

There was a wicked grin, with more fangs than necessary and red eye glinting in the moon light - as if trying to emphasize what he had just said. "Too feral. Too unhinged. Too moody. Too short and scrunkly! That and my barn-door swings the wrong way if you ask the wider populous."

Haurchefant scoffed, pulling Jason closer - burying nose into those messy locks. "Need I point a line of suitors that came out of the wood work recently?"

"And yet you did not need to fight them!" Jason couldn't help but laugh - ears giving a quick wiggle in response. "And two or three people are hardly anything compared to the lovenotes you keep receiving on every outing - your poor saddlebags must be overflowing-"

Haurchefant gently nipped at one of Jason's ears in reprimand - a trait he had picked up from the smaller man. "You know I only have my eyes on you, my ever-bright North Star?"

"Yes yes! I know!" Jason laughed, rubbing the spot that got bit with his fingers. "Let me poke fun at the situation! Besides, I'm glad you're getting the recognition you deserve."

There was a pouty huff from the Elezen, before he laid his chin on top of Jason's head. "As delighted as I am of the positive attention I am getting, it is cutting into our time together."

"Well..." Jason mused, his gaze drifting upwards. "It did lead us up to this roof. And I dare say the view is beautiful."

Haurchefant didn't look up. "Mhm. Not as beautiful as you."

"Flirt!"

[carriedreamerxx]

30 prompt writing challenge : Romance

Prompt 1: "Holding Hands"

Fandom: Legend of Zelda - Tears of the Kingdom

Pairing: Zelink

****

Holding Hands 

"I don't believe it! Is that what I think it is- it is! Where is my camera- Link come on!"

Please be careful. 

He swallows back the instinctual wince as once again his Princess goes bounding over to another stone wall, to another great discovery and starts taking pictures wildly. 

His smile is ever constant. His duty remains clear. Even after all this time, Link of Hateno knows he is the Princess of Hyrule long past' s sworn champion and protector. 

Always. 

"Link are you seeing this?!" She gushes and again just barely avoids tripping over another damned piece of rubble that dares impugn her way from her discovery. 

He nods. He looks with some interest but he must remain alert. 

There is…. Evil here. 

The Gloom has begun seeping through the land and causing a plague of 'unknown cause and origin according to the doctors(!)'

Oh aye- unknown- ha! It doesn't take a wise sage to see the two are connected and had those fools listened to Link's Princess in the first place then maybe-! 

…. He is doing it again. Hyrule of now doesn't know- they don't remember - why even the Calamity that broke free and threatened to engulf the world into darkness a scant five years ago… 

It is now remembered as only a large…storm. A storm and… yes Lady Impa was right in that. Causing a panic would have done nothing. Best only for the Princess Zelda's miraculous return to be….a foregone conclusion after Link had stormed the castle and carried her out himself like anything from any wee child's story. 

Carried her? Ha. This Princess would never allow such a thing- Link would love to sweep her up right now in fact and carry her out of this damned tomb and far away from here before he comes back in, weapons in hand and purges it of whatever evil stain left over from the calamity has dared survive the destruction of its master. 

Then he will take the Princess by the hand, apologize for his crude behavior, be laughed at no doubt for his at least attempting the deference due to her and then….then she can take all the pictures of whatever stones she wants! 

Just.....

Please be careful my princess… 

"Link are you coming?" She is at the entryway to another crumbled door. Far away from him. The blade hums a scolding whisper and he snaps back to attention. 

"Aye, hold on Princess-." 

"Link. What is my name?" 

He stiffens but the tone is not playful but stern. Her eyes blaze with a righteous indignation. 

"Princess-." 

"No." 

"My lady-." 

"Link! My name!" 

He is beaten. She is after all greatest foe in all the land. His hand is seized and his heart skips a beat despite the foolishness of it. 

"....Zelda. Are you happy now?" 

Her eyes narrow, "For now, now come on we must investigate this Gloom once and for all!" 

She leads the way, pulling him behind her down these ancient worn steps as the crimson fog of sentient despair increases around them, deeper…deeper into the depths of Hyrule Castle… 

He tightens his grip with a stern look of his own.

"Watch your footing… Zelda, it's… dangerous we mustn't have you fall."

"You'd catch me wouldn't you Link?" Her voice is mirthful even as the ominous crack of crumbling stair echoes and he immediately steadies her. 

Her eyes are wide as she looks down at the churning darkness underneath them. Her cheeks are flushed and her grip on him has tightened. 

His own chest is tight again, his aged tunic is… worn even with the leather guards lent to him, he really does need a new one. Perhaps after this he'll go to the clothing shop and request some repairs but for now… 

" You would catch me right?" She whispers again and the Hero finally turns to her fully,

 "Always Zelda." 

Fin

*****

Well he does eventually 🥲

My brain is mush for these two. Don't mind me. 

And yes I give Link a slight northern European drawl - with a wee bit of a Scottish brr as his voice. He's from a northern mountain farming village after all.  Don't ask me why it just happens sometimes lol 

[shadowqueen402]

Prim And Proper Origins: Part 16

Part 11 is here:

Part 12 is here:

Part 13 is here:

Part 14 is here:

Part 15 is here:

Over the last four years, Primrose's 'love' for Roy grew. So did her hatred towards Esme. And so did her desire to be perfect. Because of this, Primrose had gained the reputation for being quite the nasty and spoiled girl. The students did their absolute best to avoid her like the plague.

But she didn't care about what others thought. All she cared about was having Roy to herself. But unfortunately for her, that was now proving a lot more difficult than it was before.

Why?

Recently, Roy and Esme had started dating. The students weren't surprised, but they were happy for the two couple. Primrose, on the other hand, was furious. How dare Esme date the one man that she wanted so badly!

Plus, it didn't help that now, Primrose was in a different homeroom away from the two lovers. This frustrated her a lot. How was she supposed to gaze at Roy now? However, this did not mean that she was going to stop 'punishing' Esme for 'stealing' her man.

But one particular day, Primrose received a message on her computer from an unknown person. Curious, she see what this mysterious person wanted:

Anonymous: Hello.

Blinking, Primrose replied back:

Primrose: Who is this?

Almost instantly, the person replied:

Anonymous: Don't worry about my identity. Rather, I simply wish to offer something to you.

Primrose wanted to know who this person was and what they were offering. So she had a conversation with this person. One that would later change her life:

Primrose: What do you wish to offer?

Anonymous: I am crafting up a project. One that is designed to change people. Make them absolutely perfect. This project, should it be deemed a success, will make the world a perfect place.

Primrose: A project that is designed for perfection!? Now, I'm interested. How will it function?

Anonymous: This project will cause a person to immediately be perfect. They will have the proper manners, always dress proper for every occasion, and become such sophisticated beings.

Primrose: Ooh! I love the sound of this! I desire to live a perfect life!

Anonymous: How about I make you a deal? I will give you a copy of the blueprints and you will test it on some random individuals. If it works, I will let you work with me. My boss could use someone that adores perfection.

Primrose: You have a deal. I won't let you down.

Anonymous: That said, there are three conditions you must follow.

Primrose: What are these conditions?

Anonymous: 1) If you wish for me to do something for you, you must pay me with actual cash. 2) This project must ONLY be used on those that need to be perfect such as delinquent or unruly individuals. 3) Don't. Disobey. My. Boss.

Primrose: Understood. I accept these conditions.

Anonymous: Good. Meet me at the corner store tomorrow. Don't be late.

Primrose: I will.

With that, Primrose logged out of her computer. She couldn't believe it. She had just agreed to work alongside with a stranger. Normally, she would prefer to accomplish her goals alone. But this person offered her a deal that she couldn't refuse.

With a smile on her face, Primrose went back to focusing on her homework. She was now one step closer to being absolutely perfect. Maybe then, just maybe, she could finally have Roy to herself.

I don't own Madame Prim.

Roy and Esme belong to me.

[thepitofjob]

Job 19: 23-27. "Mature Content."

The final process of a Gemara, a religious argument, is what is called Da'at, or understanding. For there to be Da'at, one must have evidence. Discussions, no matter how frequent or fervent about puffy clouds and love in the air and life over there are not sufficient to quality as a Gemara as there is no Da'at.

When the Laws were given to Moses, God used His Finger to write them in two plates of sapphire, the national color.

From Ki Tessa:

18 When the Lord finished speaking to Moses on Mount Sinai, he gave him the two tablets of the covenant law, the tablets of stone inscribed by the finger of God.

This is the foundation for concept of Gemara named below and its giving over to the people by Moses to define their limitations was to lead to the Da'at.

In Egypt, Moses and Aaron argued with Pharaoh why the Israelites needed to be free, and provided the basis. This along with the Ten Plagues was the Mishnah. The Gemara came down mountain. Freedom is contained within obeisance to certain laws. There is evidence of this.

God told the people they were to free themselves and observe the Shabbos. Immediately after that, Moses and Aaron told Pharaoh, "we wish to be free."

But Pharaoh said "oh you do, do you???"

Exodus 7:1-2

The Lord told Moses to make Aaron his prophet and tell Pharaoh to let the Israelites go. 

Exodus 5:1

Moses and Aaron told Pharaoh, "Let my people go, that they may hold a feast unto me in the wilderness". 

Moses and Aaron performed wonders before Pharaoh, but Pharaoh's heart remained hard and he did not let the Israelites go. 

The Israelites were then let go, but they were not free. The law is gurantee needed to prove one is free, AKA it is the evidence of liberation.

The kind of liberation one pursues in the Shule through the creation of Gemara follows the example in Ki Tessa, they are written in the mind on and brought down, all the way down, to the iron tool of lead.

Job worries he will not see God in himself, and doesn't want to be told about evidence of God on the exterior by someone else. Gemara is the only way to know the Spirit of God on one's own.

We read the Gemara of course to learn how to do it and understand the Mishnah, but Gemara is always done by oneself no matter how many others exist:

23 “Oh, that my words were recorded,     that they were written on a scroll, 24 that they were inscribed with an iron tool on[b] lead,     or engraved in rock forever! 25 I know that my redeemer[c] lives,     and that in the end he will stand on the earth.[d] 26 And after my skin has been destroyed,     yet[e] in[f] my flesh I will see God; 27 I myself will see him     with my own eyes—I, and not another.     How my heart yearns within me!

In spite of itself, the above seems to be a psalm of love which pines away after some unknown or more than likely, an unavalable anal invader. Religion is not going to help, try flowers and a box of candy first.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 23-24: Oh that my words were engraved in rock! Promises are not good enough. The product of the Shule is Shabbat, a life of ease. Promises are made to be broken, but an ethical man needn't make any, as he has no troubles at all bearing the trust of others.

The Number is 11965, יא‎טוה‎‎ ‎"It will be ironed."

Iron is common. A man must be able to mine the iron within himself and using the heat of Hor, make himself useful. If he wants to go so far as to be pure, he must forge himself out of gold.

God wrote the Decrees on sapphire because that is the only medium in which He can work. Sapphire blue is the infinite expanse of the blue sky which is apparent during the day, when the lights are one.

Otherwise, man's work is done by shaping his internal iron, using his willpower. A good Gemara will emphasize the connection between the iron will needed between the groin and the anus, and a clear head in the carrying out of the laws of God and man.

v. 25-26: I know my redeemer will stand on the earth. Do not let Christian horseshit infect these words. God is not going to send a wayward mankind a man in a white bathrobe to "redeem us". That is ridiculous. Redemption is the product of a complete reoutfitting of one's behavior.

The ego pig will struggle at the very sound of this because we think we can't have fun anymore once we grow up but that is the reason God created Shabbos and Shabbat. All arguments in Judaism must point out what is called "coiled driving power" by the Upanishads can be sprung, just not in an unethical way.

The Number is 8700, ףין, "My mouth is my penis."

To suggest the world automatically becomes a better place once we become conversant in the handling of the penis is naive. Nor is it groundbreaking to compare the power of speech to the creative power of God, or how it stands up and waves the boys adieu, goodbye. So we will fast track to the fact we are discussing Job, the manhole, the womb where the princes of Israel are made. This text is a foundry intended not to create redemption for the self so much as to found a generation of Jewish princes (and princesses) that will leave the Shule, enter the real world and turn the tide that is threatening to wash it away.

There is the expectation in tandem with this of a brand of sexuality that is exciting, interesting, and thrilling to the public but one that is not scandalous or filthy. The world needs this if it is to understand and embrace Shabbos and Shabbat and accept the yoke of the Mashiach.

v. 27: How my heart yearns.

Observe how I addressed the problems teenagers (and many adults) experience with the party in their pants, paved a way through obeisance to the rules and the law, and concluded society has a need to embrace an ethical, well informed adult entertainment medium that brings happiness rather than grief, and it is possible to do it.

The passage concludes: "I want to see it." Well, so you should!

The Number is 8420, ףד‎ך, "by you."

The world has become all too willing to stop in its tracks because of matters pertaining to human sexuality. The Jewish people long since have been fighting this. Every Jewish person who finds a tasteful way to express his or her attractions and tell a humorous story about their adventures brings light into a world that is rapidly descending into darkness.

The end of oppression related to matters of sex is an important horizon the human race must cross it is the one that is holding us back from giving our undivided attention to the rest. All Princes and Princesses of Israel are expected to carry this torch.

[wkemeup]

Ease My Mind

summary: When Bucky is drugged into a coma plagued with nightmares and his heart rate has risen to dangerous levels within his sleep, you are the last resort to wake him before his heart gives out. But you must enter his mind to do so; enter... his nightmares. pairing: bucky x psychic!reader word count: 11.4k warnings: canon level violence, a fun little memory lane down Bucky's trauma, mutual pining dummies in love a/n: the title for this fic comes from the song Ease My Mind by Ben Platt ✨

Help me leave these lonely thoughts behind When they pull me under, and I can feel my sanity start to unwind Darling, only you can ease my mind

The universe must have a sick sense of humor, Bucky decided. Cruel and vindictive and almost certainly biased against him. It was the only explanation for why he was currently strapped to a cold, unforgiving table at the heart of a Hydra base; arms restrained to his sides, bars pressed down over his chest, shackles on his ankles. Old, rusted metal cutting into his skin.

A faceless scientist casually slipped around the room, carrying a clipboard in hand as if he didn’t have the Winter Soldier himself rendered helpless on a table no different than the one Hydra had used to force the super soldier serum into his veins decades earlier.

An IV was embedded in Bucky’s right forearm, the tube slithering up a silver pole where a bag of pale blue dripped an unknown substance into his bloodstream. Bucky tried to stretch the aching pinch on the left of his neck from where the scientist sedated him, but found no relief. His eyes were growing heavier with every breath. His body working against him. Urging him to the comfort, the destruction, of his own mind.

“Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes,” the scientist hissed. He leaned over the edge of the table, intrigued by Bucky’s fight against his desperate need to slip to the unconscious. The mask over the man’s face gave no indicator of what lied beneath – whether his grin curved up as sinister and unnerving as the men who had ripped Bucky’s body to shreds and bore the scars on his shoulder that would never heal – but he could sense the evil lying in wait.

Where the hell is Steve? Bucky thought desperately, his gaze flickering to the open hallway. Begging for a shadow, a scuffle of footsteps, anything, but all that remained was silence. Cold, mocking silence.

“No one is coming for you,” the man snickered, catching Bucky’s hopeful glance at the door. “And I have such wonderful plans in store.”

The last remnants of hope fading from Bucky’s grip as the door sealed shut; locking him inside the room as his body betrayed him once again, as his mind sank deeper into the dark embrace of the unknown. As the scientist inched closer to him, holding a syringe high in the air while Bucky was helpless in its path.

Helpless. Helpless. Always so fucking helpless.

He didn’t even remember how he got caught. Didn’t remember the blow to the back of the head that knocked him out or the needle that sedated him long enough to be strapped to the hard press of a metal table. But he could feel the matted mess of blood at the nape of his neck, could feel the dull ache of a sedative in his bloodstream.

He knew Steve would come for him. The reckless kid from Brooklyn and Captain America himself – he'd come for his friend. Eventually. Bucky only hoped it wasn’t long after his body had grown cold and silent.

Because for once, Bucky had something he was hoping to get back to. A reason to come home. A cause to fight for each sunrise, to get through each tough day in search of a better one, to shut out the demons as they dug their claws into his chest in an attempt to drag him back to the shadows.

But his eyes were too heavy, the scientist snickering under his breath, and Bucky knew the second he gave in, he’d be done for. This man held no affection for the Winter Soldier. No interest in using Hydra’s greatest asset for his own gain. No – he sought to punish the man behind the soldier, to destroy what little was left of what Bucky had become in the wake of Hydra’s downfall. Bucky didn’t know whether it was vengeance or jealousy that motivated the scientist, but he knew it would spell his end.

There would be no mercy for the Winter Soldier. No forgiveness. No kindness in his death.

So, he held on as long as he could.

He held onto the memory of your face, of sunlight dancing over your features and the bright lines by your eyes while you smiled; to the gentle sweep of your hair over your nose and the slight huffed of an annoyed breath as you blew it away.

He clung to the first glimpse of a tender touch on his forearm, patient, asking, and how easily he’d accepted it, craved it, when it was your hand lingering so sweetly over him. Unafraid of the horrors his hands had caused, unafraid of him.

He drew on the comfort, the wash of relief, for each night he crept into your bedroom in the dead of night and you had simply pulled the covers down for him. No questions of the cold sweat on his skin or the skittish terror in his veins. You had allowed him to crawl in beside you without so much as a word and he’d count your breaths until sleep took him again. Safe. Always safe when he was with you.

He imagined a world where he might have told you how much he ached for you, how badly his heart beat when you walked in a room. He hoped that you might smile at him, that you might throw yourself to his arms and he might kiss you the way he’d so often dreamt of.

He held onto you as long as he could.

And then, Bucky fell prey to his nightmares.

***

You woke with a sharp breath – violent, painful, like the air had been ripped from your lungs. Sheets pooled around your waist, the cool touch of the air conditioner chilling the line of sweat on your skin. You set a shaking hand over your heart, nestling against the rapid pulsing underneath. Thunderous, aching beats. It was a struggle to draw in a full breath.

It hadn’t been this bad in a long time, not since Bucky had started seeing the therapist Sam had begged him to talk to, not since he’d learned to lean on his friends and the people who cared for him, not since he learned to sleep through the night from the comfort of your bed. Close enough to feel the dip of the mattress, but still – out of your reach.

You hadn’t even felt a glimmer of his nightmares in months, much less anything like this. It was like were on the verge of a panic attack, something worse than terror projecting under your skin. Not even in the early days of Bucky’s recovery before he’d learned to put up mental shields to spare you as much as he could from the demons in his sleep did they slither this deep into your psyche, grabbing such a vicious hold you could hardly tell the difference between his fear and your own.

But Bucky was supposed to be on a mission with Steve across the Atlantic. The lingering aftermath of his nightmares shouldn’t be able to reach you here. It shouldn’t be able to cross an ocean to you. Your power wasn’t strong enough for that.

It could always be someone else in the tower, you considered. Natasha, maybe. She always held such stoic grace in the face of her trauma, no one would be the wiser if she was plagued with nightmares when she slept.

But you could feel Bucky’s imprint in each shallow breath, could feel his presence in every shattered heartbeat. Too familiar. Too aching; infested with a terrible, devastating acceptance. Acknowledgement that this fear and this torture was deserved. This panic was his.

You’d spent enough nights restless with his nightmares, woken only by the stuttering pounding of your own heartbeat, to recognize Bucky’s pain when you felt it. You’d never managed a glimpse inside the horrors that plagued him, unwilling to cross a boundary he was not eager for you to witness. But you felt his fear within the dead of night worse than anyone else within the tower. Perhaps because he’d endured more than anyone else you knew. Or perhaps, because your connection to him ran deeper than either of you allowed yourselves to consider.

You swung your legs off the side of the mattress. If Bucky couldn’t find his way to you on his own, you’d go to him. All it would take would be a gentle coax of your hand along his spine, a glimmer of golden reflection under your palm to soothe the burden in his mind. Never seeking more than to ease the symptoms of the nightmare, to draw him into a gentle, dreamless sleep.

Just as your feet hit the ground, your bedroom door creaked open.

Steve appeared in the framing, a painstaking lack of surprise on his features to find you awake with the sheen of cold sweat on your skin and a trembling in your hands. Steve – with his pale blue eyes coated in ghosts of shame and remorse, with moonlight dripping over the lines of exposed muscle and open wounds where his tac suit had been shredded in combat. The aching question lingering within his silence.

“What happened?” you dared to ask, hands clutching to the edge of the bed. The thin straps of your nightgown slipped over your shoulders as your heart began to cleave in two. Blood dripped from the open cuts on Steve’s chest. “Where is he?”

“Here,” Steve was quick to respond, though it did nothing to lessen the panic rustling through your veins. There was no need to clarify who you spoke of. There was only one man who could cause such tremors in your grip, the slight waver of fear in your own that was entirely your own.

“He’s alive,” Steve added, brushing a tired hand through the short strands of unkempt blonde hair. There was no relief in his reassurance. His gaze fell to the damp stains of sweat on your gown, the sweat beaded on your forehead. “I know you can feel him, Y/n. The nightmares. I... I found him like this in Berlin. They put something in his blood; something to... induce it. He won’t wake up.”

Dread coiled deep into your stomach. “How long?”

“Hours. He should have woken up by now. His heart...” Steve exhaled a tense breath and whatever restraint, whatever energy held you paralyzed to stone upon your bed, shattered.

You lunged for your robe, wasting no time as you sprinted out into the hallway. Bare feet scrambling over the cold, hardwood floors as you raced to the med wing. You barely registered Steve following closely behind if not for the reflection of the shield still strapped to his back catching the florescent lights in the empty hallway. His shadow appeared on the wall beside yours.

When you got close enough to hear the faint echo of a whimper around the bend of the hallway, you nearly stumbled over your own feet. You caught yourself against the wall, devastation rattling deep into your bones. You’d nearly forgotten the sound – the cry that slipped past Bucky’s lips with nothing but the comfort of darkness surrounding him. It was worse than you remembered.

Steve set a hand on your shoulder, urging you to slow down, but your adrenaline was racing too much for that. You could hardly tell whether it was Bucky’s or your own.

You skidded to a stop in front of the only occupied room in the medical floor, hands catching on the hinges of the door.

Bucky was laid under the thin cover of cotton sheets, the fabric bunching around his waist with every movement. His hands were curled to fists, trembling. His legs shifting under the sheets, as if the stillness physically pained him. Muffled whimpers escaped his lips. The features that often rendered him years younger in his sleep were contorted – lower lip quivering, brows pinched tight, eyes squeezed shut. He tossed and turned; his breaths so shallow you were surprised he was able to draw in any air at all.

Your legs might have given out at the sight if you let them.

“We’ve tried everything.” You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, not having noticed him standing in the corner of the room, still dressed in his pajama pants and a faded white t-shirt. His arms were folded tight over his chest, his jaw clenched tight. He didn’t tear his eyes away from his friend as he spoke. “Super soldier or not, his heart’s gonna give out if he keeps going like this.”

It was a struggle to suffocate the lump building in your throat, to swallow back the stone that threatened nothing but tears and agony. Your fingertips grazed over Bucky’s hand, trying to relax his grip. He wouldn’t budge. Still, you let yourself slid a hand along his arm in long, soothing strokes. Gentle as you could manage.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you said, though it was barely a whisper. You glanced up to the heart monitor hanging over Bucky’s head, the frequent peaks of each beat pinched close together on the screen. You turned back to Steve. “I’ll do what I can.”

A warm, ambered glow lit under your palm as you eased your hand along Bucky’s tense muscles. It sank down deep into his body, soothed every piece of him from rapid course of adrenaline in his bloodstream to the restlessness in his limbs. Gentle and kind and soft in its path. It usually took a few seconds before the murmuring stopped, before his breathing evened out again, and he stilled into a dreamless sleep. Just a few seconds.

But those few seconds turned into a minute. And then two. Three, as Bucky shifted franticly under your touch, his shaking only worsening with each passing moment. You concentrated the energy around his chest, both hands pressed above his heart, desperately willing his mind to release the hold it had over his body, to allow him just a moment of rest. Just rest. An ounce of peace. Please.

A tear slipped down Bucky’s cheek and your heart lurched at the sight of it, trailing over flushed skin, dampening into the sweat in his pillow. The amber light faded from your palms and you brushed your fingertips along his cheek – so impossibly soft he would not have awoken even if he were able. The ends of your fingers were wet when you curled your hand back against your chest.

“I don’t understand...” you murmured, voice trembling. There hadn’t once been a time you were not able to draw him gently away from his demons, to ease him back to sleep. It was the gift of your power – the kinder side of a psychic ability you never asked for. This ability to soothe such dangerous emotion.

“Whatever they injected him with must be keeping him trapped inside his head,” Steve said, the heaviness laced in his tone sinking with confirmation he’d been hoping to avoid. “I brought Dr. Cho a sample of it when we returned, but it could take hours – days, even – to break it down enough to find a stabilizing agent. Bucky won’t last that long.”

Your gaze shifted to the heart monitor and the mountainous peaks inching closer and closer together. That terrible, bright green line pulsing across the pitch-black screen – mocking you. You were grateful only for the beeping to be silenced. Sam must have turned it off before you arrived. It would have been relentless.

“Y/n,” Steve called, an aching plea in his voice.

You turned to him, to Sam. They were both watching you, barely able to meet your eye. Guilt sank into their features, tugged into the lines on Steve’s forehead, wrung as Sam’s hands as he shoved them into his pockets.

You knew what they were asking – the silent desperation behind it.

“No,” you managed to choke out, wiping tears from your eyes. “I can’t. I—I promised him.”

Steve swallowed, giving a short nod as he looked to his friend. He chewed at the edge of his lips, rendering them a raw and swollen pink. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

“He’ll never forgive me,” you whispered, tears slipping over your jawline, spilling onto the edge of the mattress. You gripped at Bucky's wrist, unable to open his fist to hold his hand. This simple gesture of comfort and you could not even offer him that.

It would be a violation beyond trust – to enter Bucky’s mind like this. At his most vulnerable, plagued by the very nightmares he’d spent years shielding you from to keep his demons from spilling out from behind the shadows and stealing him from the light – unwilling to allow his burdens to touch the little good he’d managed to hold onto. It was unforgiveable to bear witness to his greatest fears, to expose the darkest parts of him.

“Maybe,” Sam sighed, “but he’ll be alive.”

It was all that mattered to you – that he was safe. You wondered if Bucky would feel the same way.

“Okay.”

Steve pulled the simple folding chair up along the side of Bucky’s bed and gently ushered you to take a seat. You gave him a graceful smile, one that did little to hide the guilt quickly seeping into your pores. Steve barely returned it at all.

Bucky whined in his sleep, his lower lip trembling with every hollow breath he was able to draw in. His hands shook against the thin sheets, sweat beading on his forehead. Shivering and burning warm. You leaned forward, gently laying your right hand along the side of his face. Your thumb centered on his temple, his ear in your palm. The ends of your fingertips brushed into the short strands of hair behind his head and between the pillow.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered quiet enough only he might be able to hear you, if he even could.

With a deep breath, you allowed the warm amber glow to circulate through your veins – brightening the lines under your skin as it traveled from your heart to the ends of your fingertips. Spider-lines sprang from where your thumb met Bucky’s temple. Golden webs glistened under his skin. You glanced briefly at Sam, who only settled himself into the chair at the edge of the room, waiting, and then to Steve, who stood with one hand rested on his hip, the other on the edge of the desk, his body tense.

Then, you closed your eyes and gave into the pull of Bucky’s nightmare. You followed the rush of adrenaline, the panic. You walked the pathways lined in fear and distress. They led you closer to him, deeper into his subconscious until slow, a picture began to form. The endless comfort of darkness molding into something new.

Voices echoed from the abyss in a language you did not speak. When you looked around the darkness had subsided in favor of a long stretch of hallway with beige wallpaper peeling from the corners and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

It had been years since you dared to step foot in someone else’s dreams. You didn’t care to use this side of your power for a reason – it was disorienting, unnerving. Because the hallway led to nowhere but the crushing cold void, the only other space within existence was the room to your left. A room, you noticed with horrific realization, held a long metal table and operating tools.

The voices were getting closer. Their quiet mumbling in what you believed to be German grew louder with every step. But there was a low, dragging sound at their feet you couldn’t place. It was only as the first of the men came into view – the short, round face of a scientist you'd seen a dozen times in the federal archives – that your stomach began to drop.

Arnim Zola led the soldiers behind him with a clipboard in hand and terribly smug look upon his face. He adjusted the brim of his glasses as he turned past you without so much as a glance. He couldn’t see you, couldn’t even acknowledge your existence. He was only a figment of Bucky’s memory, of his own imagination. It would have to be Bucky’s attention you gained and his only in order to wake him up.

The soldiers filed in line into the room, but the dragging sound remained. You knew – deep down – what it was. The only thing that could make that terrible sound and the low, pained sounds that followed. Tears were already in your eyes before you saw him.

Barely conscious, his head lulled to the side as two soldiers dragged him by the straps of his jacket along the floor, a Bucky decades-younger than the one you knew left a trail of blood in his wake. His arm was freshly severed from the fall, his skin still blue from the snow. Blood soaked into his jacket, his pants, and left behind an awful stream of glistening red. Thick and oozing. You could smell the metallic sheen from where you stood.

“Bucky,” you whimpered his name, hardly able to use your voice at all.

The soldiers dragged him into the operating room, giving little kindness to his body as his right shoulder caught on the doorframe. They yanked him onto the table as if he were little more than a ragdoll and strapped him down. What remained of his left arm hung over the edge of the table.

You were shaking in the doorway, forgetting briefly why you were bearing witness to such a horrific memory to begin with. But when Bucky’s pained cries broke through his unconscious haze, you snapped yourself out of your paralyzed trance.

You rushed to him, sprinting through the soldiers who broke apart to clouded mist before reforming again. Ghosts. Memories. Dreams. They weren’t real. As you glanced over at Arnim Zola, the man who caused Bucky so much pain throughout his long enough, it was difficult to remember that. He bore so many details upon his face from the wrinkle along his brow, to the sharp tug of pink on his cheeks. Even the brim of his glasses was slightly uneven, unbalanced over his nose. The tiniest details Bucky’s mind held onto – details that made his nightmares so impossibly real.

“Bucky,” you called, hovering over the side of the table. You reached out for him, trying to slide your hand over his hair – the short strands of a 1940s haircut – but your fingers slipped through him as if you were a ghost, as well.

“Bucky, can you hear me?” you tried again, hovering your hands along his cheeks. It was agonizing not being able to touch him, to ground him to something safe. His eyes were fluttering closed, the pain sinking him back into the cold comfort of unconsciousness.

Tears slipped over your eyes as the room began to fade as he did. Darkness swept in and before you could utter his name again, the scene changed.

When your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you found yourself now standing in a concrete room. Bucky was no longer laid upon the metal table, left arm exposed and bleeding into a bucket on the floor, but instead, sitting stiffly on the edge of a worn-down cot. His gaze was fixed on the wall, as if he was seeing straight through you. His eyes red and puffy, bruising marking much of his skin. His hair had grown out somewhat, the ends only brushing over the tips of his ears.

You looked up to find no ceiling hanging over you. Only darkness. You suspected more of the same beyond these walls. The dreamworld held no need for completed blueprints – only what was necessary. You shivered, struck with derealization.

“Bucky, listen to me,” you started, crossing the room to him. You knelt to his right, not allowing your gaze to slip over the stains of faded red on the floor or the loose springs in the mattress that likely cut his body as he slept. “You have to wake up, okay? You’re safe. You're home at the compound. I’m there with you. So is Steve and Sam. You’re safe, Bucky. It’s okay to wake up.”

He didn’t so much as glance at you. A lump burned in your throat.

“Don’t do this. Come on,” you said to yourself, desperate to keep from crying again. You tried to set your hand on his knee, to draw him any kind of comfort because footsteps were beginning to approach from down the non-existent hall and his hands curled into the edge of the mattress in anticipation. You hand slipped right through his thigh but this time, he narrowed his eyes, his gaze turning to where you had touched him.

He’d felt something.

You moved to try it again when suddenly the door to his cell slammed open. Bucky flinched as if he’d been struck and then quickly scrambled to his feet. He inched backward as the men approached carrying long batons in their hands, the ends flickering with electricity. They wore little more than malice and greedy excitement on their faces.

“Bucky, if you can hear me, I promise I’ll get you out of this,” you said to his ear. He didn’t acknowledge whether he could hear you, not over the pounding in his heart that seemed to echo throughout the room. You ran your hand down his right arm, if only to offer him a semblance of comfort amongst this horrific room though it could not touch him at all. Still, a shiver slid up his spine.

“You’re okay.” You eased your hand along his arm again. “You’re dreaming, Bucky. It’s only a memory, I promise. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

But Bucky was trembling despite his efforts, a frantic look at the men and then to the corner he was backing into. There was nowhere for him to go. No one that would come to save him. He knew what was going to happen – he'd lived it enough times. He still bore the burn marks on the sides of his face to prove it.

“It’s only a memory,” you told him more urgently as the men approached, the electric ends of their batons sparking to life. “It can’t hurt you. It can’t--”

You choked back a scream as they plunged the tasers directly into Bucky’s ribs. He collapsed to the ground, his knees giving out easily under his weight and the uneven balance of metal on his left side. He shook with violent tremors as the men began to laugh, snickering to one another as they jammed the tasers against his body again and again. Laughter echoed into the room and drowned away Bucky’s muffled whimpers.

“Stop,” you cried, though you knew it was no use. “Stop!”

But the nightmare did not yield to you. These men were not real. Nor were the tasers in their hands. Bucky’s pain was imagined. A memory. And you could not save him from it.

“Enough games gentlemen,” Zola smirked from the edge of the room. “It is time.”

“No,” you whimpered. You knew what was coming. You knew, as they grabbed Bucky by the arms and dragged him from the room, exactly where they were going. Blood and infection oozed from the edges of metal where Bucky’s left arm met his shoulder – big angry scars swollen under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He barely resisted as they threw him into the chair.

You’d never seen it before, never had the heart to imagine such a machine that stole away Bucky’s memories and his access to free will. Somehow, it was crueler than you’d expected. Cold. Unkind. As if a piece of machinery could have intention and feeling.

Bars strapped down over Bucky’s wrists and chest to hold him still. Zola approached slowly as if to corner a frightened animal. He held a mouthguard in his hand. Bucky tried to resist it at first but ultimately opened his mouth for his captor and bit down on the plastic. The shame coursing through the faded blue in his eyes was enough to shatter you.

You walked up to him, standing close enough that he would have felt the heat of your body beside him if it were not a dream. Setting a gentle hand along the side of his face, you moved to brush the hair from his eyes. Through your tears, you did not notice as a strand moved at the will of your thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you whispered, your heart cleaving down the center as Zola readied the machine. “I don’t know how to stop this. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay. I promise. I’m here.”

You gasped as the clamps lowered to the sides of his face, the machine moving straight through your translucent hands. You jumped back, startled with the loud whirring of the mechanisms. Sparks lit along the wiring, rushing through the cords until – Bucky began to scream.

It only lasted a few seconds before it faded into the darkness again. But those seconds would stay with you the rest of your life. You’d carry them for an eternity.

You could barely stand when the scene began to change.

Slowly, the familiar pale blue walls of a hallway came into view; a door with a slight squeak in the hinges and a photograph hanging on the wall from a reluctant team building activity at a rundown bowling alley that turned into one of your favorite memories.

You were back in the compound.

Bucky was pacing at the end of the hall, winging his hands with every step. A sheen of sweat lined his forehead, pink coated into his cheeks. His t-shirt was damp along his spine, his chest rising quickly with each breath.

His hair was longer than it was in the last memory, hanging loose over his shoulders and despite the panic nestled to his features, he looked healthier. Stronger. His body had filled out with proper nutrition and he walked with bare feet along the hardwood floors – no trace of a weapon tucked to his body. Despite his fear, he still felt safe enough to wander the compound halls in only his pajamas, unarmed.

He paused at your door, staring at the wood frame.

You followed him, trying to place the memory as he began to pace outside your room. You stood beside him, watching the nervous shaking in his hand as he rose to knock on the door. Before you could call his name, to try to draw him away from whatever nightmare laid in store, the door swung open.

It was disorienting to see yourself like this, from someone else’s gaze. It wasn’t like staring into a mirror. It was as if she was an entirely different person. Her hair was still messy with sleep, pillow marks on her cheeks as the dream-you looked at Bucky with narrowed eyes.

Could it only be a dream? Perhaps this was how you were going to wake him up, by interspersing kinder memories amongst the nightmares. You’d seen this play out a dozen times – Bucky standing reluctantly at your door, a quiet shamed request to sleep by your side. You’d draw him into your arms without question, rubbing your hands along his back until the tension began to fade. He’d start at the furthest edge of your bed until you carefully eased him into your arms and he found sleep resting over your heartbeat.

Relief swelled in your chest as you waited for the dream-you to do the same, to offer him her hand and tell him that he was safe in this room, that he was always safe with you. But instead, her lips curved to a tight frown.

“What is it, Bucky? It’s the middle of the night,” she sighed, impatience lingering in her tone as she tapped her fingers on the doorknob. Short nails clicked against the cold metal. Your heart began to pound in your chest – the sudden uncertainty crippling.

“I know. I’m sorry to wake you,” he murmured, his voice still hoarse as if he’d woken up screaming. He shifted in his stance, his right hand was growing red as he tugged and twisted at his fingers. “I... I couldn’t sleep and... I just needed to see you.”

The dream-you took a less than subtle glance over her shoulder to the clock sitting by the bed. The bright red numbers indicated it was close to three in the morning. When she turned back to Bucky her jaw was clenched tight, her nails still incessantly tapping on the doorknob as if to count away the offensive seconds.

“Okay, so you see me,” she replied flatly. “Is that all?”

You didn’t miss Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, not even as your stomach plunged to the depths of the compound; covered in cobwebs and dirt, sinking to the foundation below.

“I... um...” Bucky could barely string his words together.

Once, you’d gathered his shaking hands in your own and led him inside without him having to say anything at all. He’d simply tucked his face to the crook of your neck as you ran your nails gently along his spine in slow, deliberate strokes. The memory of his tears on your skin stayed with you long after he fell asleep, even months later.

You’d have taken him into your arms in a heartbeat. You’d have let him through the door before he so much as said a word.

But she hadn’t even offered her hand.

“Ask,” you encouraged him gently, watching as he drew the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bit. Perhaps it was blind hope – a desperate need to know that Bucky trusted you, that he didn’t have an underlying fear that plagued his dreams that you would reject him like this. He couldn’t.

“Just ask, sweetheart,” you pressed. “She’ll say yes. You know she will. I always have.”

Bucky nodded to himself, almost as if he might have heard your words. Slowly, he pulled in a heavy breath, enough to quell the shaking in his hands. His lifted his gaze. “Can I... Can I stay with you tonight?”

You smiled at him, moving to rub his back in gentle circles in exchange for the strength of his vulnerability. Your fingertips slipped through the soft fabric of his t-shirt as if you hadn’t touched him at all, but he straightened his back as your hand ran although his spine like it had drawn new energy to his bones.

The dream-you sighed, her lips puckering to a frown. “Look, I'm sorry that you get bad dreams, but I have an early morning tomorrow.”

The trembling returned to Bucky’s hands. “I can sleep on the floor,” he offered quickly. “You won’t know I’m there.”

“I need to be able to sleep, Bucky. I can’t do that if you’re waking up screaming every ten minutes,” she replied as though it wasn’t cleaving a knife through his chest, through yours too as you stared at a vision of your own reflection you hardly recognized at all.

“Please,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “The dream... it was about you. Something happened and I—” He swallowed though it looked near painful to do so. “I can’t convince myself you’re safe. I can’t get myself to calm down. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.” The cold metal of his left hand rubbed along his right forearm until the skin was worn and red. “I hate asking this of you. I know I shouldn’t put this on you but I... I can’t keep myself together on my own. I need you.”

While the dream-you stood there silently, you crept out in front of him, standing between you and the false mirror behind you. The gentle blue of Bucky’s eyes did not meet yours, staring straight through you unfocused, and still, you reached for the sides of his face, soothing your fingers along his cheeks. For a moment, you swore you felt the stubble on his jaw.

“You can always ask me, Bucky,” you told him sternly. “You don't have a say a single word and I will let you in the door. I will always let you in. You know that, don’t you? You know I’d do anything to take this burden off your shoulders?”

But your voice came from the ghosted figment of Bucky’s dream instead. “Then don’t put it on me, Barnes. We all have shit we’re dealing with. I can’t take on yours, too. You’ll drown me in it.”

You had never wanted to throttle someone more in your life. If your hands were corporal in this state, you would have strangled your mirror image without a second thought. Disbelief was not enough to quell the rage boiling inside of you, steam burning through your ears.

This was not a memory, not one that you’d ever had any part in. But it was still a nightmare, still a fear of his. Your heart cleaved in the knowledge that Bucky – on some level – feared you would turn him away like this, that he believed you could be cruel and unkind to him when he so desperately needed you.

“You’re right,” Bucky muttered defeatedly, taking a step back. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

No other words were exchanged before she closed the door. You could hear her steps back to the bed and the squeak of the mattress as she curled up under the blankets again, ambivalent to Bucky's panic standing just outside her door. He kept his gaze focused intently on the door, his nose only inches from the wood.

“Bucky,” you started as his hands began to curl into fists, his breathing picking up in pace, “this isn’t real. You know this isn’t real. You’re dreaming, sweetheart. You know me. You know I’d never turn you away. Don’t you?” Tears burned your eyes as you asked again, “don’t you?”

“Stop it,” Bucky whispered to himself, unable to hear you. “Come on, Barnes. Don’t fucking do this right now. Pull it together. Stop. Stop.”

He only made it a few steps before he sank to the floor. Bare feet on the hardwood floors, knees curled tight to his chest. He could hardly draw in a full breath, his gasps becoming shorter and shorter. Cheeks flushed pink, reflective marks just under his eyes. His hands were trembling so violently, he gripped into the excess fabric on his sweatpants for support.

“I’m here,” you soothed, kneeling down in front of him. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Just breathe, okay? That’s all you have to do. Just breathe for me."

You exaggerated your breaths, trying to get Bucky to follow in suit. He hadn’t been able to acknowledge you the entire time you’ve been in his dreams, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer like this. Even if the odds were stacked against you, you'd fight for him at every turn.

Slowly, Bucky’s breaths began to lift in time with yours.

“Good,” you soothed, setting your hand against his knee. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good. Keep breathing. Just like that. Deep breaths.”

Bucky paused for a moment then, his attention turning slowly to where your hand laid over his knee. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes struggling to focus, but you were certain his gaze had centered where your hand rested over his leg.

“Bucky?” you called, stunned. “Can you hear me?”

He narrowed his eyes as if he’d heard something muffled through the walls – distant, like a voice calling to him from above the water. Still, his eyes never met yours, never so much as looked in your direction. You were a ghost to him.

Carefully, Bucky stood and brushed the lingering dust from his pajamas, ridding himself the evidence of the panic attack that rendered him to the unforgiving floors. He wouldn’t attempt to sleep again for the rest of the night. No – he'd keep the lights on in his room and stare at the ceiling until his eyes burned. There would be no comfort in the silence. He’d flinch at every sound. It didn’t matter that the scene began to darken around you as he retreated back to his room, that he’d only be made to endure this particular brand of panic for a few seconds longer. It still broke your heart.

When the dreamworld pieced itself back together again, you were standing in the middle of a warzone.

Well, not a warzone per se – the middle of downtown Manhattan. Bullets were raining from all directions, the violent echo of gunfire rattling in your ears. The metal passed straight through your body, gold shimmering amongst the translucence as it moved through you without impasse.

To your left were those you recognized – your team, your family. To your right, was a faceless enemy you could not name; horrific in shape, with a vague blur where their facial features should be. Bucky’s mind was growing tired of inventing new enemies. You supposed these faceless creatures served the same purpose.

“Bucky!”

You recognized your own voice as it shouted through the chaos. Whipping your head around in search of the owner, you quickly caught sight of another dream induced version of you sprinting around the barriers, wielding a gun in her right hand, a machete in the other. She was racing in search of Bucky and you were determined to follow her.

“Dammit, Bucky! Where are you?” she screamed, desperation breaking the edges in her voice.

The scene around you was not one you recognized, was not a memory that Bucky was drawing off of. No – this must be another fear of his. Maybe, if you could somehow stop the nightmare before the crux began, you could wake him up. It was the only plan you had. Nothing else had worked this far.

“Here!” Bucky finally called back. He was limping as he made his way to the dream-you. Blood trailed down his forehead from where he’d taken a nasty hit and his pant leg was ripped along the thigh as if a knife had sliced directly through the fabric and several layers of skin and muscle. He was winded with every step.

Still, he did not stop the dream-you as she raced towards him – her arms thrown around his shoulders, face burrowed into the crook of his neck. The momentum knocked him back a few unsteady paces but he didn’t seem to mind, not as his right arm curled protectively around her waist and he held her tightly. Fingertips pressing into the small of her back, curling into the tough fabric of her suit.

It was a strange thing to watch from the outside – how you could recognize pieces of yourself in her, knowing you’d held him like that once, that’d he’d held you just as desperately, and to still feel a sliver of a jealous ache in response.

Bucky breathed her in, lingering in the embrace as long as he could even amongst the violence around them. “Are you okay?” he muttered quietly to her ear.

She nodded, pulling back only enough to hold the sides of his face, to brush her thumb against his eyebrow and steer the blood dripping from his hairline away from his eyes. She touched him so lovingly, with such unbridled affection. You longed to give that to him beyond the walls of your room, beyond the frantic relief in the middle of missions – to grant him this kindness, this love in the light of day where everyone could see how cherished he was. You wondered if perhaps that was what he wanted, too.

For a moment, you hesitated to try and wake him. Only a moment, because a smile gently lifted the edges of Bucky’s lips. Even amongst the crusted blood on his skin and the slash of an open wound against his cheekbone, Bucky Barnes was smiling.

He didn’t take his eyes off the dream version of you, not even as he lifted his rifle and shot down one of the faceless creatures jumping over the barricade.

“How much longer is she going to be in there?” a disembodied voice echoed softly behind you. Sam’s voice, you realized, back in the compound. “We’re running out of time.”

“Five minutes, Sam,” Steve pressed. You could hear his quiet steps as he paced the tile floors, could picture how tight his arms folded over his chest. “Give her five more minutes.”

“Then what?” Sam shot back, the concern in his voice pushing you another step forward. “We have no other options, Steve. Bucky’s heart is going to give out. He’s going to die if she can’t--”

“Stop it,” you warned, the vibration in your throat aching. “I can do this. Five minutes.”

Whether they heard you or not, you didn’t know. But you did not hear another word as you moved to close the distance between you and Bucky.

Before you could reach him, the nightmare reared its ugly head in the shape of a faceless man sprinting beyond SHIELD’s foreground, a rallying cry of “Hail Hydra!” shrieked from a horrific void where his mouth should have been. It pierced through the chaos – shattering the gunfire to muted silence.

The dream-you reacted before Bucky ever had a chance, shoving him hard enough in his injured thigh to push him from the line of fire. Even as Bucky lost his balance and collapsed to the pavement, disbelief wrung through his features – shock, betrayal, agony worse than you’d ever seen twisted to the beautiful lines of his face.

It happened in slow motion, as if the dream itself had warped time and space to dig its knife deeper into Bucky’s chest and twist the serrated blade until the muscle was little more than shredded tissue.

“No!”

His scream was worse than you could have imagined – raw and broken. Shattered. As if the entirety of his soul escape through his lips as the bullet tore through the chest of your mirror image, blood spewing from her back where the bullet passed clean through her lung. She collapsed – hard – onto the ground and you could hear the nauseating snap of bone as her wrist caught the wrong angle.

You gasped, halting firm in your place.

Bucky crawled toward her the moment she hit the pavement, his whole body shaking so violently he could hardly move himself at all. His leg dragged behind him, leaving a trail of blood in his path.

When you turned to look at the monster responsible, it had vanished. As had the rest of the warzone around you. All that remained was a stretch of pavement a few yards in every direction. The chaos dulled to a white noise until it was nothing at all. Bucky’s labored breathing was all that remained as the dream world began to close in around him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky soothed, his voice breaking on every word as he gathered the mirror image of you into his arms. Blood soaked through her suit, spilling onto his skin as he sat in the pool slowly expanding along the ground. Thick and crimson against the grey stone. Her eyes were already unfocused, lids barely able to stay open.

“You’re okay,” Bucky cried, a sob fracturing through his spine. Tears slid along his cheeks, cleaning uneven lines from the blood on his face. As gently as he could, he slid his left hand over her forehead, brushing the sweat-damp hair from her eyes. She hardly reacted at all. He pulled her tight to his chest, holding her though she could not return his embrace.

“You’re okay,” he said again, this time against her neck, against her hair. Breath hot to her chilling skin. He said it until his voice gave out completely and her hand had fallen still – limp as it laid against the pavement. Bucky’s breath hitched as he felt the small movement cease – so impossibly still as he held her, as he realized she’d already taken her last breath in his arms.

Horror drew to his features, panic unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“No...” he murmured so quietly you could hardly hear it at all. “No. No, please. Please, don’t... don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t...”

Darkness began to sink in from the sky, replacing the cool morning blue with the unsettling weight of the void. Behind you, you could no longer see the barricade or the swarm of faceless men beyond it. The dreamworld was falling to the emptiness again and you weren’t sure whether Bucky’s heart would make it through another nightmare.

“Bucky,” you called gently, kneeling down at his side. You tried not to look at the body in his arms, tried not to recognize your own face staring blankly through unseeing eyes. Bucky held her so tightly, you wondered if his strength might fracture one of her ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, rocking back and forth. He buried his face into her neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so—”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” you begged, tears blurring your eyes as Bucky kept repeating the same apology over and over again. It was an endless tape, a broken record stuck on the most heart wrenching notes. Guilt laced with shame and he could not rid himself from the words.

You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and he froze. “You’re dreaming, Bucky. Everything’s okay. You’re only dreaming.”

Slowly, Bucky began to pull back. The void had consumed the entirety of the world around you – leaving only you, Bucky, and the unmoving body in his arms behind. Darkness inched closer until there was little more than a few feet of pavement around you. He didn’t seem to notice, not as his gaze carefully lifted to yours. Confusion pressed onto his features, his brows knitting together.

Then, quicker than Bucky could prepare himself, the dream-you vanished from his arms. Weight lifted from his lap, a ghosted mist remaining until there was nothing at all. Bucky scrambled along the ground, panicked.

“It’s okay,” you rushed to assure him. “Bucky, it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s only a dream.”

He stilled, though his chest was rapidly rising with every breath. He looked down at his hands to find them coated in blood – oozing between the plates of metal and staining to his flesh. Dripping onto the floor.

“I don’t-- I don’t understand.” His voice was small, frightened – like a child’s. “What’s happening? What—What is this?”

You moved to step forward, but Bucky retreated a step back. A rock lodged in your chest, but you held still for him, watching the panic morph into fear.

“You were on a mission when you were captured,” you explained slowly, hands raising defensively in the air to show you did not mean him harm. “Steve and Sam found you like this – trapped inside your head. You’d been injected with something to induce an endless stream of nightmares. Your heart can’t take it, Bucky. But you’re safe, I promise. You’re back in the compound. You’re not alone.”

Blue eyes shifted to the darkness below as he began to put the pieces together. He moved to brush his hands through his hair but stopped abruptly as he remembered the fresh blood on his palms – your blood. He let out a shaky breath.

“You’re in my head.” It was not a question. He still had not looked at you.

You swallowed, cheeks burning hot with shame. “Yes. I— I didn’t have a choice. It was the only way. I’m... I’m sorry.”

Bucky drew the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bit. You were certain he could taste the blood of it as a muscle twitched on his lip.

“How do I—” He let out a pained sign, as though the words were too exhausting to speak. “How do I wake up?”

There was nothing he needed to do now. The rest would happen on its own; the simple acknowledgement enough to draw him consciousness back to the surface. His image had already begun to fade from the dreamscape, even as he waited on your answer.

“Just breathe, Bucky,” you told him gently, giving him something to focus on. He nodded, content with your answer. Neither of you said another word as he watched his own hands begin to fade.

You waited until he had disappeared from the dreamscape before you let go of his mind, unwilling to leave him on his own for even a moment longer than necessary. There was no relief as you allowed yourself to come back to your body.

***

You woke with sharp breath.

Steve rushed across the room to you, a steadying hand on your spine as you pulled back from your position draped against the bed. Your temple ached from where you had laid your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Your spine throbbed. A quick glance up at the heart monitor told you enough as the frantic line as soothed out to long, even peaks. Bucky was going to survive.

“He should wake up any second now,” you told Steve quietly, unable to say much more under the weight of your exhaustion. You could feel Sam’s eyes watching you as you stumbled out of Steve’s concerned hold.

Your legs were weak under your weight as you dragged yourself to the door. It was too far away – like the tiles has somehow stretched to an endless hallway and dumbbells had been strapped to your ankles. Tears threatened behind your eyes as you leaned against the wall for support, demanding your body to move.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, though there was a slight bite in his tone. It was only made of concern; you knew that. He’d seen the way you looked at his friend, how much you cared for him. And though Sam prided himself on how easily he could push Bucky’s buttons, he did not enjoy seeing him hurt. He believed Bucky would look for you when he woke up, would search for you as a means to ease his own fears. He was wrong.

“I told you, Sam. He won’t forgive me for invading his mind like that,” you said quietly, gaze fixated on the floor near his feet. “I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t be here when he wakes up. He won’t want to see me.”

Sam looked as though he was about to argue when Bucky began to shift on the bed, a low moan slipping through his lips. Steve eased a hand on Bucky’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him as his eyes fluttered open. Sam held his arms by his sides, fists curled, as if he was ready for Bucky to react defensively. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken from his nightmares and swung a right hook at his friends without realizing where he was.

Within their moment of distraction, you slipped from the room unnoticed.

***

Bucky was almost certain an anvil was sitting on his chest. He hadn’t seen Thor in quite some time, but perhaps the god of thunder had decided to pull a prank on him and leave that blasted hammer sitting over his heart. It was an effort to draw in a full breath.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, Steve and Sam were hanging over his bedside, staring at him as if he might snap at any second. Sam’s defensive stance did not go unnoticed, nor did Steve’s cautious glance at Bucky’s left arm as he began to stretch his sore shoulder.

“Shit,” he groaned, wincing under the pounding thumping in his head. “What happened?”

Sam’s hands relaxed, a tense laugh escaping. “You were a few feet away from the shiny light at end of the tunnel, buddy.”

Steve shot a glare in Sam’s direction, though Sam only offered a shrug in return. He was right, after all. Bucky could feel the truth of it in his chest, in the lingering ache left behind from the strained muscle. The cold touch of his left hand massaged at his chest, pressing deep into the throbbing though it did little to alleviate it.

“What do you remember?” Steve prompted carefully.

Bucky let his hand fall back to his side, his head sinking to the pillow. Fractured images flashed through his memory – the sharp pain at the back of his head that rendered him unconscious, the straps securing him to a table in that Hydra warehouse, the mask worn by the disgruntled Hydra doctor who injected something into his veins.

Then – the nightmares.

Bucky always remembered his dreams. It was part of his curse. The universe couldn’t allow him a moment of peace, couldn’t grant him the kindness of forgetting the horrific images the moment he opened his eyes. Of course, it couldn’t. There had been so little good in Bucky’s life since the day he was drafted. Why would he expect anything different?

But that wasn’t true completely true, was it? No – he found a family again after decades of torture and a resignation to the darkness. He’d escaped Hydra and started to make amends for all he’d done under the hand of vile men. He’d met you.

“Fuck.” Bucky jolted up on the bed, sheets falling to his waist. It was only then that he noticed the folding chair pulled up to the side of his bed, noticed the faint scent of a floral conditioner he’d grown to find comfort in through every breath.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked. There was no need to clarify who he spoke of, not when he could still feel the lingering trace of you in his mind – the gentle, comforting hold of your powers that had eased his nightmares for as long as he’d known you.

Sam and Steve exchanged a look, though neither said a word.

“I know she was here,” Bucky pressed. The image of you following him around in his dreams – his nightmares – left an awful feeling behind in his stomach, a stone threatening to pull him below the tiles of the floor.

It was a promise you’d sworn to uphold. A promise you'd made the first night Bucky had found himself in your arms, tears wet on his cheeks, his body shaking in your arms. He’d begged you to never look inside his mind, to not bear witness to the horrors he’d dreamt of.

You’d soothed his fears, taken his panic more times than he could count. He’d burdened you enough. He did not wish for you know of the trauma he’d endured under Hydra, of the fears he carried for his future, of his desperation to be loved by a woman he could never deserve.

You’d broken that promise. He could still feel your presence in his mind – soothing him. Lingering aftermath of your psychic abilities. He could still picture the shock in your eyes, the pain, as you watched all of his fears come to life. Bucky swallowed back the shame burning hot into his throat.

“She did it to save your life,” Sam said slowly as if to defend you, as if Bucky could be angry at you for even one second. As if he were capable of it.

Bucky nodded. He knew it would be the only reason you went back on your word to him. He knew you would not enter his mind for anything less, and still – the ache of it hurt worse than he thought.

How could you possibly look at him now? How could you ever want a man so irrevocably ruined by his past? A man, whose greatest fear is losing the woman he would give his life for?

It was too much; he was certain of it. Too much weight on your shoulders. Too much baggage for you to carry. It was the sole reason he begged to keep you from his mind – to shield you from realizing how truly broken he was.

“I have to go,” Bucky muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Before he could stand, Steve jolted out in front of him, pressing a cautious hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Buck,” Steve warned, the stern drop in his captain’s voice rising to the surface. “You’ve been out for hours. Your body has got to be exhausted. You need to rest.”

“What I need is to find Y/n.” To do what, he wasn’t sure. Apologize, maybe? Get on his knees and beg her to forget what she’d seen?

Bucky’s hands gripped into the edge of the mattress, sheets gathering in his grip. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Steve’s, who only shared a sad look of understanding upon his face. Then, he stepped out of Bucky’s way.

The entire walk to your room was nothing short of a marathon. Bucky could hardly remember the last time he struggled to catch his breath on the stairs, if he ever had at all. His body was screaming at him to rest; he’d practically been tachycardic for the last twelve hours. But there wasn’t a chance in hell Bucky was going to find sleep again. Not until he made things right with you.

A dim crack of light was visible through the small opening of your bedroom door. It slipped out into the dark of the living room, touching yellow light to the hallway. Bucky paused before he walked into the light, settling himself in the darkness. He could make out your figure pacing inside your bedroom, the constant gentle thump of footsteps his confirmation. You mumbled to yourself words he could not discern.

Bucky forced a breath to his lungs. The sooner he got this over with, the better. Maybe he could convince you his baggage wasn’t all that heavy, that Steve and Sam had started picking up some of the load. Maybe he could promise you he’d never put that weight on you again. Maybe, if he could just reverse time to before you saw all the ugly parts of him, you’d stay.

When he reached the edge of your door, your pacing stopped. You exhaled a heavy sigh and slumped onto your bed. Hands pressed over your eyes, your body sinking into the mattress.

Bucky tried not to notice the slight hitch in your breath as he knocked on the door. Surprise, perhaps. Dread? He couldn’t tell and it made his knees weak. Still, you sat up slowly and removed the heels of your palms from your eyes.

“Bucky?”

He shivered at the sound of your voice, of his name called so gently from your lips. It wrapped around him in such warmth, he might have mistaken it for an embrace. How your voice alone managed to soothe him like this, he wasn’t sure. But it was still a comfort.

He steadied himself on his breath and pushed open the door. There hadn’t been such weight there before – this resistance, as if he were willing a mountain to move. Bucky could not get himself to step past the frame, holding himself on the very edge of your room.

“How are you feeling?” you asked slowly. There was a nervousness in your voice Bucky didn’t recognize and he wondered whether you might be trying to find a kind way to cut him out of your life. His stomach sank – made of lead and metal heavier than his own arm.

“Better, I think,” he replied. A hand raked through his scalp, scratching painfully down into his neck. “I thought you’d be there when I woke up.”

Your gaze swiftly dropped to the floor. Hands wringing in your lap, breaths drawing in heavier within your chest. “I thought I was best if I wasn’t.”

“Right,” Bucky nodded, the bitter taste of copper on his tongue.

Of course, you wouldn’t want to be around him after witnessing what you did – the horrific memories of what he’d endured under Hydra, his pathetic desperation to hold you, how easily he crumbled at the thought of losing you. You were distancing yourself from him. This was the start of it. He could already feel you slipping from him, his fingertips barely clinging to yours as your hand pulled further from his reach.

“I know what I did was unforgivable,” you muttered quietly and Bucky’s heart nearly stopped beating entirely. His stunned eyes shot to yours, though you still had not managed the strength to look at him again. “I’m sure you must hate me for what I did, but... Bucky, you have to know I would never betray your trust like that willingly. You were going die. I—I was watching your heart give out. I couldn’t just stand there and wait for—for your heart to stop when I knew I could do something. I had to, Bucky. Please, believe that. Please believe I’d never intentionally cross that line with you unless I absolutely had to.”

Tears were in your eyes as you looked up at him – sliding down your cheeks and trailing down your neck. Your lower lip was trembling and you dug your teeth into it to keep yourself steady. He recognized the guilt as it sank into each line upon your face, burrowed into every crevice, because he’d seen it enough times in the mirror to know the demon by its name.

You thought he’d be angry at you for invading his mind, for violating a promise he’d begged you to swear years earlier. The thought alone that he could feel anything but relief around you burrowed hollowed shells into his stomach.

“Do you know why I asked you to never look inside my head?” Bucky started gently as he sat on the mattress beside you. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Y/n. It wasn’t because I was afraid of your power or because I was clinging to some desperate sense of control that had once been taken from me.”

He drew in a shallow breath – uneasy in the inhale, barely enough to fill his lungs. “I— I was trying to shield you from all the awful shit in my head. The things I’ve done, things I’ve been through... no one should have to see that. Especially you.”

Bucky didn’t dare to steal a glance at you, not as his cheeks started to warm under the shame of his confession. “You’ve done so much for me. More than I deserve. And it’s more than just easing my emotions when it feels like I’m drowning under the weight of them all. It’s you, Y/n. Just being near you is enough. Powers or not. I thought that if I could keep you from seeing just how incredibly fucked up I am, if you never saw the horrors inside my head, then maybe you... you wouldn’t leave.”

Bucky tried not to notice how incredibly still you’d become, how you’d hardly taken in another breath since he started speaking. He could feel your gaze on him – warm and comforting despite the adrenaline pumping through the veins.

Then, before he could prepare himself, your hands closed around his, drawing them gently into your lap. So impossibly gentle as you stroked his skin, as you grazed against metal and flesh– gingered touch on such violent history.

“I see you, Bucky,” you whispered, so soft it nestled deep into his chest. Slow enough he could have stopped them if he wanted, your hands slid up along his arms and nestled against his cheeks. Holding the Hydra-made assassin so tenderly in your arms, you stroked his cheekbone with your thumb until he found the courage to meet your eye.

“I see you and I’m not afraid. I see every piece of you, all the darkest corners and the light you carry. I see all of it and I’m still here with you. I’m still here.” You held him even as his jaw began to quicker, even as his body grew weak in your arms. You held him and told him sweetly, “I’m not going to leave you, sweetheart.”

Something cracked in Bucky’s chest; not his heart, but a wall he’d constructed decades earlier of all the broken pieces left behind over his many years. Born of necessity, to protect what Hydra sought to destroy, and it crumbled under your vow, shattered as your hands cupped the sides of his face, tears catching against your thumbs. His fragile, beating heart remained exposed beyond the rubble and for the first time in his life, he did not fear the hands that carried it.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙