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fitzs-trained-monkey · 2 years ago

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🗒️ Vandal 🗒️

Word Count: 16,000+ (And nobody asked for any of it!)

Summary: A quiet high school student looks a little too closely at the tragic events afflicting their hometown. Can you uncover the truth while keeping your own secrets hidden? Or will a lapse in judgment expose you to a world of hurt? || Kol x disabled!reader || Here lies my Masterlist

Warnings: Some language, references to blood and gore, Kol being a psycho, and some dubious consent but nothing violent or graphic. This turned out a little more Yandere than I intended. Just expect ya gal's general tomfoolery.

A/N: Howdy-doo, this is your captain speaking. I know I promised a lot of you that I would have the sequel to Run for Your Life finished last week, but it's still not done and I'm really sorry. I wrote this instead. Please forgive me. I hate letting y'all down but inspiration has been really low as of late and, as some of you know, I've been facing some very serious struggles with people in my life. My sense of self-worth has been suffering, but writing this fic has been my best escape. So again, I'm really sorry to those who were expecting the Klaus fic, but I hope you like this one nonetheless.

🗒️ Story Begins Below 🗒️

When Niklaus Mikaelson confined himself to his studio, it was common knowledge among all parties of blood relation to the original hybrid that any sibling who valued their breathing privileges should promptly vacate the premises until such a time as that tortured artist ceased muttering his internal monologue aloud.

Kol, for one, was quite fond of his breathing privileges, thank you very much.

Ugh, breathing.

The one thing he’d never thought would require adjusting to through the centuries was now yet another factor among a dozen others that required getting used to.

The air of this new age he’d found himself in was thick and hazy with chemicals and other nonsense he didn’t care to think about. Drawing the filthy mixture into his lungs required significantly more effort from him than it used to. He wondered vaguely how the humans surrounding his seat at the bar of this stodgy town’s only decent restaurant did it with such ease. It must’ve been tiring. Perhaps that was why so many of the patrons around him seemed content to spend their morning religiously devoted to quaffing down as much of that - oh, what had Mary-Alice called it? - caffeine stuff as they could possibly contain.

Though the name would suggest otherwise, Kol figured the only way the Mystic Grill, as the place was called, could remain in business was to serve breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks. Hence why the place was packed with half-conscious teenagers at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, stopping off for something to eat on their way to school. How did Rebekah enjoy this? Though she’d accompanied him to the grill, Kol’s sister had been quick to grab her coffee and ditch him. She wanted to arrive to school early so she could “talk”. (The notion tempted Kol to impale himself on a billiard cue.)

Rebekah was also rather upset with him, or more specifically, his newfound enrollment in her high school. There was nothing he could do about that, however. If it was up to him, Kol would choose to spend his time literally any place else. Unfortunately for him, after that little incident with Rebekah’s date, mother dearest had been contemplating ways to keep him in line. High school was evidently what she’d come up with. It was Finn’s idea actually. Kol’s eldest brother - dull lout that he was - had suggested that perhaps attending high school with his sister would provide a convenient way for Kol to catch up on recent history, as well as assist him in developing some control over his appetite seeing as each family member had given their word not to shed the blood of any locals. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Esther had done more than just readily agree. She’d also cast a tracking spell on him. If he strayed beyond the town’s limits, she would know.

Rest assured, he would find a way to weasel out of it - that was certain. But for now, Kol was stumped. This resurrected version of his mother wasn’t quite so dismissive of him as she’d been in Kol’s human life. He should have liked that - should have reveled in it. Yet, having her attention this time around came with a cold harshness he wasn’t so fond of. For now though, he would have to endure his punishment. Thanks to Klaus, he couldn’t even skip out.

Thus Kol found himself in an overly crowded restaurant, at six in the morning on his first day of school, surrounded by teenagers.

Kol desperately wished he could eat one or two of them.

They were so rowdy and obnoxious. The whole world it seemed had grown significantly louder since he’d been daggered in nineteen fourteen. So much information assaulting his senses constantly. It was maddening. Being surrounded by thirty or so warm bodies didn’t exactly help. The chorus of their heartbeats fell on his sensitive ears like the cresting of ocean waves and like a riptide, he would surely be carried away if he allowed himself to listen much longer.

The boy’s throat burned. He was hungry. Always hungry. He could practically taste the relief on his tongue. The high he could get from just one little cheerleader…

Kol got up from his seat, grabbed his bag, and shoved his way out the door, cursing Finn’s name to Hel and back. He reached the end of the street and stopped. Raking his fingers through his hair, Kol rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Wrong move.

A gentle autumn breeze swept past and carried with it a hint of something sweet. No, that was too tame. That scent on the air was like pure sugar and spring water, something like berries and roses and cotton candy all rolled into one supremely tempting aroma so overpowering he nearly choked. White hot pain shot through him and his mouth watered. He was standing in the midst of town square before he even realized he’d moved.

There, kneeling hunched over on the ground, all alone in the early morning, was a young woman who looked about the same age as he did. Any view of her face was obscured by the curtain of her hair as it fell around her in something of an untamed mess. Her clothes, nothing fancier than a t-shirt and shorts, were rumpled and irreparably stained with just about every color one could imagine as she focused intently on whatever she was doing. Scattered all around her were about a dozen cans of paint and at least a hundred individual sticks of chalk in a variety of shades. She was decorating the walkways, Kol realized as he watched her dip her hand directly into one of the cans of paint before slathering the color over the flagstones she was working on. Once satisfied that the area was evenly covered, she sat up.

The girl paused to wipe her hand on a wet rag before shuffling back around to a different section where the paint looked a little drier.

Kol had just enough time to register the pattern of scrapes that decorated her hands and knees before that delicious scent washed over him again. It was stronger now that he was so close and like a punch to the gut, just a whiff of it knocked the wind out of him. His throat seared and his fangs ached. She was right there in front of him, trickles of blood seeping from her hands and knees - rivers of temptation. Whatever ichor was rushing through that girl’s veins would certainly be divine. Kol wanted it. He wanted to taste her warm human skin - wanted to lick the scarlet from those teasing little scrapes she’d made. No one was around. He could have that sweet, sweet crimson ambrosia all to himself.

There was just one problem. This girl was a local. Her residence was clear from the tags dangling from her backpack which she’d tossed a few feet away. Kol couldn’t eat any of the locals, he’d given his word on it.

Unfortunately for him, that boy’s sense of honor apparently wasn’t enough to keep his legs from moving. He was standing over her shoulder in a matter of seconds. His looming shadow must have caught her attention because the girl paused her work (she was rubbing lines of chalk into the paint now) and twisted around to look up at him, squinting against the rising sun at his back. Her cheeks were twinged with a delicious shade of pink, likely due to the warm, humid morning, and she smiled in a friendly, albeit slightly confused way.

“Hey!” She greeted - voice practically a chirp. The girl lifted a hand to her face in an effort to further block out the sun, but the offensive light couldn’t dampen her smile. Kol fought the urge to roll his eyes at her sunny disposition.

“Good morning, darling.” He flashed her a grin - the crooked one that made girls like her faint. Kol gestured to the swirling mix of hues currently stinging his eyes. “What’s this going to be?”

The girl blinked and tilted her head. “Could you say that a little louder?” She asked. Her voice was soft but rich with a delicate, wispy quality to it like a warm caramel stretched apart. He supposed it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to listen to.

“Are you painting something specific or is it more abstract?” He wondered, raising his voice a little. Abstract was certainly the most polite term for eyesore, he thought.

“Oh, uh, yeah! It’s Mystic Falls,” She said brightly. Then she paused. Her face scrunched up a bit and even Kol could admit it was a little endearing. “Um, I mean, not the town, but like, the falls as in the waterfalls… yeah.” Her voice tapered off into a whisper at the end and she cast her eyes away.

Kol hummed. “I see.” He didn't actually care, however. He’d seen enough. This girl, tantalizing as her blood might be, wasn’t worth his time - nor his mother’s wrath should he break his oath. There was no thrill in chasing someone like that, girls like her gave in too easily.

Without warning, the little artist stiffened and whipped her head back up to face him, drawing Kol from his thoughts.

“Say, what’s the time?” She wondered, biting her lip anxiously. Her lips looked rather tasty when she did that.

Kol raised a brow and checked his watch. “Ten to seven,” He answered.

She cocked her head again. “Sorry, what?”

“Ten to seven,” He repeated a little louder.

“Huh?”

“Bloody hell!” The boy huffed. “It’s six-fifty! Are you Deaf?”

She snorted. “Uh, huh. Yeah.” Kol’s eyes narrowed but the girl only turned her head, shoving a lock of hair back to reveal some technological array perched over her ear. The artist shrugged and faced him again. “It’s the accent, I think. Plus, it ain’t my fault you mumble. What time did you say it was again? I forgot.”

It wasn’t the disability that annoyed him, he wasn’t that shallow. It was her attitude he couldn’t stand.

“Six. Fifty. One,” He ground out through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widened. “CRAP!”

The annoying little artist sprang to her feet, scooped her bag from where she’d flung it, and dashed off just like that. He huffed at her lack of tact - not so much as a word of thanks. It was probably best for both of them if they never saw each other again. That mouth-watering ray of sunshine was unlikely to survive another encounter with him.

As he debated whether or not to just wander around aimlessly for the remainder of the day, Kol caught sight of an object that must have tumbled out of the artist’s bag. Only the slightest bit curious, he bent down to pick it up. Upon taking a closer look at it, Kol raised a brow. Well worn and faded, the sketchbook in his hands was nothing special - almost every artist had one, that was no surprise. What caught his attention, however, was the design on the cover, or more accurately, what had been made of it. Whereas the front of the sketchbook had once depicted a quaint scene from what he recognized to be the story Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, with little Alice looking up at the Cheshire Cat perched lazily in a tree, the girl had turned it into something far more sinister.

For one thing, she’d given Alice a broadsword. Her dress had been redecorated with dirt stains and blood. As for the Cheshire Cat, the artist had transformed the feline into a marionette with blood-stained teeth and dreadful claws. The background had been scribbled out with a black marker. All save for a grinning silhouette, tugging at the strings of its Cheshire Cat puppet, and a line of bold, bloody letters spelling out the phrase: “We’re All Mad Here.”

It was a delightfully grotesque perversion of a story Kol had rather enjoyed reading when it was first published. Perhaps that girl wasn’t quite so boring after all.

Kol smirked and slipped the sketchbook into his own school bag. Serves her right for being so disrespectful. Besides, the book was steeped in that exquisite aroma of hers, and if he couldn’t devour the poor thing then keeping a little memento was his next best option. If she wanted it back, she’d simply have to prove herself deserving of it. Until then, that little book of horrors was all his.

Who knows what he might do with it?

No matter what, this was bound to be… entertaining.

***

You’d never liked cheerleaders. They’d always seemed so shallowly chipper - the sort of nice that giggles behind a person’s back. Most people said you were just jealous, wishing you could have their beauty, body, or popularity. They were wrong, of course, cheerleading simply wasn’t your thing. As for appearances, at least you were confident enough in your looks that you didn’t require validation from fellow minors. You never corrected the masses though. You let them think whatever they want. (After all, you had other, more important things on your mind.)

All feelings about cheerleaders aside, they were excellent subjects for drawing poses. It was them or the football team and you couldn’t be paid enough to go anywhere near them. Besides, you had already obtained permission from the members of the cheer squad to sit in on their practices. They figured you must have been lonely and seeking their approval. You didn’t correct them either. The girls on the squad were nice enough, though you didn’t know any of them very well. Just some first names.

Caroline, Bonnie, Amber, Laura, Rebekah.

Now that Rebekah was an odd one. She sort of unnerved you. Like the rest, the British blonde was nice enough, but something about her wasn’t quite right. She’d just dropped off the map for a month and a half and then showed up today as if she’d never been gone. Then there was her relationship with the other cheerleaders. Half of them avoided her like the plague and the other half worshiped the ground she walked on. It wasn’t normal.

Life isn’t like the drama shows all over tv. Kids in the real world don’t act that way.

You hadn’t grown up in Mystic Falls. Your parents moved your family into town one year ago. Though you were just a sophomore then, you knew enough to understand that something about this whole town and everything that had been happening within the last year just wasn’t right. Within your sophomore and junior years alone, no less than twenty-six kids were reported missing. At least six were later confirmed dead.

Was it really any wonder you kept to yourself?

You were fine with being alone. It didn’t bother you.

What bothered you was that you had somehow lost track of your sketchbook. That bundle of pages hardly ever left your person. You never went anywhere without it, and yet when you had sat on the bleachers and reached into your backpack to pull it out, lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found. Who knew what small-town hic had gotten their grubby little hands on it?

Alright, that was mean. You just wanted your book back. The idea of someone else flipping through your sketches irked you to no end.

“Well hello again, darling!” A semi-familiar voice rang out from behind you on the bleachers and you twisted around to face him. Had that kid been up there all this time? The boy grinned down at you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You offered him a tight smile.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “Fancy that.”

The boy was pretty, that was for sure. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong brow, and a sharp jawline. Not to mention that smile, you’d sooner light yourself on fire than call it “dazzling” but you would like to draw it sometime. All in all, he was probably the closest thing to masculine perfection you would ever lay eyes upon. But you weren’t dumb enough to judge a person off of looks alone.

Though you had nothing to go off of aside from your brief meeting that morning, you didn’t quite like that kid. On the surface, he seemed alright. A little impatient but still pretty normal. It was the way he looked at you… it reminded you of the feeling you got back in your old town whenever you noticed that your best friend's pet boa constrictor was watching you from inside its tank - how its eyes would follow you no matter what you did. It wasn’t an exactly pleasant sensation. Those onyx eyes of his - when you looked into them, you couldn’t see much of a person looking back. His eyes sparkled when he smiled but behind them… behind them there was nothing. A charming grin without a person inside.

The boy’s odd smile only broadened.

“You know, I-I didn’t take you for the cheerleading type,” He said. You tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear, squinting against the sun in your eyes. Did he always have to position himself so you had to blind yourself to look at him?

“I’m… not.”

He chuckled. “Obviously.” Climbing to his feet, the boy hopped up onto the seat in front of him and walked gracefully down to your level - at least, as gracefully as one can while walking on bleachers. You should probably warn him about the-

“Careful, that next one wobbles,” You spoke up. Your voice never seemed to come out as loud as you intended, yet he didn’t seem to have a problem catching it.

“Ah-” He tested the next row with his foot and stepped over it lightly. “Thank you very much.” He grinned again as he jumped down beside you.

The boy was much too close for your liking.

“You’re welcome,” You mumbled, shuffling away slightly. He only leaned in closer.

“So, if you’re with the cheerleaders, but you’re not one of them, then what does that make you?” He wondered, oblivious or insensitive to your discomfort. You couldn’t tell which. “Unrequited lover or wannabe?”

He raised a brow, smirking in a way that appeared bemused but you could sense its condescending edge. You just shrugged. He could think whatever he wanted.

He was baiting you, that you were sure of. The dark-haired senior wanted you to answer. He waited for you to answer. But his was a lure you weren't going to bite. You just kept on drawing - filling in lines, and fine-tuning expressions. You were sure he would give up eventually, kids like him always did.

“Are those your chemistry notes?” He asked finally.

You hummed and nodded. You’d never been too much of a talker. It had nothing to do with your hearing loss, or maybe it did. That was just who you were either way.

“And you’re sketching in them?”

You shrugged. “Lost my sketchbook.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” At least he had the decency to sound sympathetic. “Did you have it this morning?” You nodded. This boy was persistent, you would give him that. He kept talking. “I see… Well, I'm sorry to hear that, darling. I would have loved to see it,” He said.

Your lips twitched up in a smile. You wouldn’t have shown him anyway, but that didn’t matter.

“Thanks,” You whispered.

"You never answered my question," He pointed out. He was trying to get to you - get closer to you - and while any other girl would do backflips for the attention of a boy like him, you weren't any other girl. If he wanted to know you, then you couldn't let that happen. If you did, he might figure out your secret. Then you could lose everything - your education, your clean record, and the only money-making opportunity you were likely to get in this tiny, provincial town.

"I know." You sighed and closed your substitute sketchbook, just a little fed up. Maybe it was time to let the sunny, shy-girl facade drop. Perhaps a quick glimpse of who you really were would deter him. "But you're here too. So which are you? Unrequited lover or wannabe?"

The boy threw his head back and laughed, loud and clear. His laugh sounded like a stone splashing into a calm pond. Sudden and unique - one of a kind. When his gaze returned to you, he seemed to look you over as if reevaluating his previous judgment of your character. After a moment, he gave a slight nod and shrugged.

"That's a fair point you make there, darling. I'll have to disappoint you, however, as I am merely here to pick up my sister." He gestured to the girls practicing on the field and then shot you a smirk. The boy held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, darling. I'm Kol, Kol Mikaelson.”

Your eyes flicked to his outstretched hand, weary.

"I…"

Glancing up, you met the endless black pits that were his eyes. Your stomach felt queasy. Better to be safe than sorry.

You pushed his hand away. "I… don't particularly care."

Without another word, you packed up your things and skipped down the bleachers. Exiting left of the football field.

Perhaps you'd left him stunned. You didn't bother looking back to check.

You started seeing Kol quite often after that, which wouldn't have been weird had he not been a year above you. If it wasn't coincidence that saw you sharing both lunch period and study hall with him, then you didn't want to think about what it was. He kept his distance, which you appreciated. Kol didn't approach you for a while, but whenever you were in the same room with him you couldn't seem to shake a feeling that you were being watched. Closely.

The day that pattern changed was the day you walked down the hall and found yourself greeted by photocopies of your art taped to every locker. A chill ran down your spine as your eyes landed on that first row of metal doors. The papers fluttered in the wind generated by passing students but you would recognize your art anywhere.

It was one of the pages from your sketchbook - one of the sketches no one was supposed to see.

This one depicted the football team, gathered on the field for practice. The sky above was dark and they had their helmets off. Each player's complexion was ghostly pale and their glowing red eyes all stared soullessly at the viewer. Their expressions displayed no emotion, but together they stood in a threatening formation. You had taken inspiration from both classic zombie movies and The Matrix for that sketch. In the top left corner, you had etched the title. You called it "The Hive."

The only problem was, you hadn't exactly obtained the team's permission to draw it.

To make matters worse, someone had added an inscription to the image that read: "Members of The Hive possess no individual thought or personality. Furthermore, they acknowledge only other facets of their collective consciousness." The words were scrawled across a crumpled sticky note attached to the top right-hand corner of the page. You hadn't written those words, but it sure looked like your handwriting. Your name was even signed at the bottom.

Someone had stolen and altered your sketchbook, and now they were using it against you.

Panic and paranoia welled up inside you. Clutching your books to your chest, you quickened your pace, catching glimpses of more and more hallways decorated with your sketch. Whispers followed you as you rushed down the hall to your locker, hoping to escape and find solace in your first class of the day, but you had no such luck. Reaching your destination, you gasped at the sight before you, recoiling in shame and confusion. It was like a shot taken straight from a television drama. This thief - whoever they were - had covered your locker with copies of that picture.

Who would do something like this? You had only been in town a year - you wouldn't have thought that long enough to garner this degree of animosity from anyone.

"What the actual hell, Y/N?" A student exclaimed from down the hall.

Your mouth hung, gaping in shock and you floundered for something - anything to say. There was nothing. No defense.

"Yeah, Y/L/N! What did Matt and the team ever do to you?"

Your eyes widened. "What?" You shook your head, blinking rapidly as you tried to explain, but your voice refused to rise over the commotion, accusations, and judgment. "N-no, they didn't. I mean, I wasn't trying to-to…"

"You realize how sick this is, right?" Another kid demanded, closer to you this time. "Like, seriously. Judgy much?"

"No, it's not like that," You insisted. It felt like your whole world had been tossed upside down. "I-I just-" You stammered, hapless. For once, it was the people around you who couldn't seem to hear.

"What a creep," Muttered someone else as they passed close enough for your hearing aids to register. Was that what everyone thought of you?

"No! Y-you don't understand! I-I didn't mean it like that. I-" Your heart sank. Shame overwhelmed you and you buried your face in your hands, sliding down the wall to the floor.

Your heart felt like a voodoo doll, impaled with all sorts of pins. You'd never felt impressed to explain yourself to anyone. You had never cared what anyone else thought of you. But when you had imagined all the ways your life might fall apart, this wasn't one of the ways you had envisioned. That drawing and the dozens of others like it - they were yours.

You wished you'd never made them in the first place.

Shaking your head, you switched off your hearing aids and hugged your arms around yourself, perfectly content to stew in your own misery. A dull roar met your ears as students passed by. None stopped to address you. A few of them tossed crumpled-up photocopies of your sketch at your head but you ignored them.

Then a hand settled itself on your knee.

Startled, you peeked between your fingers, expecting someone like the assistant principal or guidance counselor to be kneeling in front of you. Instead, you were met with the concerned countenance of none other than Kol Mikaelson.

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes.

He proffered a gentle smile and said something, but his words were lost to the prattling hum that encompassed your world without hearing aids. You preferred it this way. It was your natural state. You saw instead of listened, it was what made you such a good artist. Or so you'd thought.

You shook your head at him weakly, pointing to your ears, and mouthed, "I can't hear you."

Why was he here? Was he just going to tease you as he had a few weeks ago on the football stands?

Kol nodded. "I know," He signed. His movements were small and lax - nonthreatening.

Unsure how to interpret his sudden kindness and understanding, you shifted to sit up a little straighter, eyeing him. Kol's lips pressed into a thin line that tried to look like a smile. Without warning, he removed the textbooks resting in your lap and stood.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" He sighed, offering you his hand. Hesitantly, you reached out and took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You stiffened as the boy let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you swiftly against his side, shielding you from the view of others in the hallway as he hastily but gently herded you down crowded hallways and out the heavy steel front doors.

Just outside the school, there were picnic tables set up where students could sit to study or eat lunch. Those were deserted by now as first period was speedily approaching. Kol guided you to one of them and dropped your books on the table, gesturing for you to sit. You weren't overly fond of being told what to do, but you figured this was probably Kol's best effort to be nice so you obliged. He sat down in front of you and cupped your jaw in his hand. With his brows furrowed and expression drawn the boy seemed to be inspecting your face, though for what you couldn't be sure.

Absently, you noticed that his hands were very warm despite the changing season. (Why that thought made your stomach queasy was a question for another time.)

Kol's thumb brushed over your cheek and you wanted to look away to hide the flare of heat that consumed your cheeks, but he wouldn't let you.

"Well, you're not panicking," He observed after what felt like an eternity. "That's good."

His words were muffled without your hearing aids but now, away from the commotion of the bustling hallways, you could understand him well enough.

You gave a small nod and, refusing to meet his eyes, focused instead on the grass beneath your feet.

"I'm fine," You whispered. Your voice was a little hoarse but he didn't know you well enough to recognize that.

"Are you sure?"

The question was inevitable, yet you found yourself scowling anyway.

Of course you were fine. You were always fine.

You wanted to tell him that you didn't want his pity, that you weren't some distressing damsel and that he needed to mind his own business. You weren't some charity case he could use to prove to all the senior girls that he could be a sensitive boyfriend. (You'd been there once. You weren't going through it again.) But, as always, the boldness in your head could never seem to leave your lips.

"It's not your responsibility to take care of me," You told him instead. In your lap, your hands fiddled and tugged on the too-long sleeves of your sweater. You'd gotten chalk on your jeans again.

He let his hand drop and the swirling autumn winds cooled your cheeks. You sort of missed the warmth.

"I know that." Kol's concern morphed into a smirk. This was it. You prepared for the incoming ridicule. It never came. "You don't like anyone getting close, do you?" He guessed, casually leaning back as though he already knew the answer. (And respected it.) "Makes you uncomfortable, I'd imagine."

You shrugged and picked at the loose threads on your sleeve. Honestly, he was right - you were just a bucket of trust issues in a Technicolor wrapper. But was that any of his business? No.

"Why are you here?" You wondered in lieu of an answer.

Kol raised a brow. "Apologies, darling. I was unaware that it's illegal for a bloke to be a good friend 'this side of the pond."

"It's not illegal," You said. Your eyes narrowed. "But we're not friends."

You'd made a handful of friends since moving to this town. None of them had come to your aid. Then again, none of them knew about your sketchbook.

Kol smirked. "Consider this an application then!" He surmised, eyes glinting. Those unnerving tar pits seemed a little less dead today than they had before. What changed? He chuckled, amused at your loss for words, and continued. "Besides, I get the feeling I'm just about the only one who knows that sketchbook of yours was stolen from you. The only thing I want to know is, what made you draw that picture?"

Maybe… if you told him the truth about the sketches, he wouldn't look any closer.

"I don't like Stefan Salvatore," Came your quiet answer.

That didn't seem to be what he was expecting, but he didn't look disappointed. Kol's lips twitched and he wet his lips in a way that betrayed a certain excitement.

"Go on."

You took a breath.

"He and I were the only two new kids last year," You began. If you said this, you were going to sound like a lunatic, that was why you'd always opted to draw it out instead. "Strange things happen in this town, and they happen around him. No town has as many "animal attacks" as this one and those only started when he showed up. People started going missing. Some were found dead. Mr. Saltzman is our history teacher because the guy before him got ripped up right over there in the parking lot just before Stefan's first game as part of team. The police said it was a mountain lion, but I was there; I saw the body and there were no scratches. Then there's the way some of his friends a-and Mr. Saltzman look at him sometimes - I've seen them do it - like he's about to murder everyone in the room and they don't know how to stop him."

Kol stared at you. His expression had grown increasingly weary the longer you kept on rambling. When you finally closed your mouth, he nodded slowly, brows furrowed. You bit your lip, awaiting his response.

"That is…" He trailed off. To your great surprise, however, he nodded as if he actually believed you. "Deeply disturbing, darling." Kol's eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer. "You say you saw your teacher's corpse?" He asked.

You nodded. "The "bite" on his neck looked a lot more like buck-shot to me."

His eyes widened. "You think someone killed him?" He hissed.

"And the police covered it up."

"So why draw the football team?"

You hugged your arms around yourself. "Because Matt Donovan is in on it. It's him, Tyler Lockwood, and Stefan Salvatore - they've been acting so weird. Two months ago, Tyler and Stefan started acting really mean all of a sudden and the rest of the football team just started acting like zombies, doing anything they said. It was really freaky."

"And you drew it so you wouldn't have to be afraid." Kol nodded, smiling softly. "Put all the horrors in a little book and out of your head."

This kid had you dead to rights.

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater. "I never meant to hurt anyone," You sighed.

"I know," He said. "For the record, I quite liked your little interpretation."

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I'm not sure yet," The dark-haired boy admitted with a shrug. "Honestly, I've never known another town to have as many functions as this one."

"Right?!" You exclaimed. Finally, someone else saw it! "Smells like organized crime to me…"

"Or cult activity."

"Or that."

"Or maybe you're just a little paranoid," Kol surmised. "But if that's the case, then who am I to judge?"

For the first time in a while, your shoulders shook with a genuine laugh.

"Thanks Kol."

"Anytime, love."

And that boy lived up to his word. Over the span of the next several weeks, more of your sketches were spread about the school. It wasn't long before your so-called friends had all cut contact. Kol became the only person in town willing to talk to you. Every time a drawing was leaked, no matter how dark, twisted, or gruesome the image, Kol was always there to comfort you and compliment your art style.

Each drawing that circulated the school was more damaging to your reputation than the last. Anyone you thought was in on the secret of Mystic Falls' suspicious deaths, you turned into a monster in the pages of your sketchbook.

Jeremy Gilbert became a tortured Voodoo doll.

("Well, there's an odd comparison," Kol commented idly, inspecting the array of pages that had overtaken your locker. "I quite like it."

A student shoved past you on their way to class, ramming painfully into your shoulder. You winced, aware that the action was purposeful, but you didn't say anything. Kol, however, glared at the kid - a cold, chilling sort of glare.

You shrugged, readjusting your backpack.

"He just always seems so pained lately. 'Looks at everyone like they're gonna kill 'em.")

Elena, his sister, you portrayed as a prim, psychotic puppet master.

("I'm sorry, but have I done something to you?" The popular and gorgeous former cheerleader asked when she confronted you about the sketch she clutched in her hand. Seniors Stefan Salvatore and Matt Donovan stood with their arms crossed, flanking her on both sides. The sight only served to reinforce the role your imagination had given her - the girl wore her ex's around her like accessories. They were always there to cover for her strange behavior.

"N-no, it's not like that. I-I-I swear!" You stammered, eyes flicking between her broad-shouldered bodyguards. You swallowed thickly.

"Look, Y/N," Elena sighed. "I'm not mad at you, but whatever is going on in your life, you can't take it out on me. Or anyone else."

"That's not what I'm doing," You mumbled, shuffling your feet. She didn't seem to hear you.

"You know, if there's something bothering you, then you need to tell someone about it," Elena said. You were only a few months younger than her, yet she talked down to you as though you were a toddler. You wished the anger that flared and frothed inside you, didn't look like shame as it stained your cheeks. "I know we're not close, but you can always tell me if something's happening, okay?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

"Y/N, it's okay to let someone in." The girl pressed.

You gritted your teeth, wishing she would just go. "I-"

"Pretty sure she doesn't have to tell you anything, sweetheart," A melodiously snide voice hummed from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Kol a relieved smile. He dropped a quick wink in return before focusing on his fellow seniors. Elena and her posse seemed to tense up around him for some reason.

"What's it to you, Kol?" Stefan demanded.

"Oh, I dunno. Basic human decency? Nothing much," He replied. The dark-haired senior shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked, smug as a bug.

"How 'bout you mind your own damn business for a change," Matt snapped. He almost made a move toward your friend but Elena stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Kol snorted at their reactions. "Why so defensive? 'Weren't expecting this lovely young lady to have some back-up?" He slung an arm around your shoulder and began twisting a lock of your hair around and around his finger. You sort of liked him tugging on it the way he did.

"We were just a little concerned," Elena claimed.

"Right." Kol smiled thinly. Releasing his fingers from your hair, he took a threatening step forward. You hadn't realized before just how tall that boy was. "Well, as Y/N said, she doesn't need your concern. So why don't you run along and take your puppets with you."

The three seniors reluctantly surrendered under the force of Kol's steely glare and you watched them go, hugging your arms around yourself and shivering. Kol turned back to you. His hands found their way to your shoulders and he stopped down a little to look you in the eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked. His eyes were still dark, but not the pits of tar they'd been before. They were more like soft dirt now, holding the promise of future life.

Kol gently smoothed his hands over your arms, spreading a gooey, molten warmth everywhere his skin touched. There was something bubbly in your lungs and the shudder that ran down your spine this time wasn't from nerves.

You took a breath and tried to ignore how his touch made you want to melt.

"I'm fine," You lied. You were fine. You were always fine.

The boy smiled as though he didn't quite believe you. "That's good." He tilted his head in the direction Elena and the others had disappeared to. "You were right about them, though. There's definitely something strange going on there."

You nodded. "Thanks."

"Of course, darling.")

Bonnie Bennett, by the grace of your overactive imagination, had been transformed into a wicked witch. Ancient runes glowed in the air, surrounding her dark ritual. Oddly enough, the thief had changed a few of them, though you weren't sure why.

("If I might ask, why a witch for that one?" Kol asked as the girl herself scowled venomously at you from the other side of the gym.

He sat with his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, leaning in close so you would hear him though he spoke softly, having stayed a little longer after school to help you with your chemistry homework now that no one else would. You could smell cinnamon and something tangy on his breath as his lips brushed over your ear and you tried not to shiver. The whole school probably thought you were a couple, but you knew that wasn't the case.

"There's some weird looking stuff in that girl's locker," You whispered back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the daggers she was glaring at your head. If you didn't know better, you would have sworn the temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. "At the fundraiser we had last year, there was this car that just caught fire outta nowhere. The thing wasn't even running and it just exploded. Everybody was freaking out and running but Bonnie just stood there, staring at it like she was possessed."

Kol glanced up at the Bennett girl again. "You know what?" He decided, tilting his head. "I can see it." He sent Bonnie a little wave and turned back to your homework. "I loved the runes you included in that drawing, though," The boy added.

"Yeah?" You couldn't help but smile.

"Absolutely. Most of them were even correct," He shot you a crooked grin. "It was impressive."

You raised a brow. "Can you… read Runic?"

"Mmhm," He hummed, checking off another problem on your homework. "Remind me and I'll teach you sometime."

You were about to ask where and when he would have learned something like that, but the question was plucked from your brain before you got the chance.

You drew in a sharp breath as his hand, which had previously rested like a ghost's on your hip, slipped deftly under your shirt. Unsure whether you liked it or not, you couldn't decide as your brain had simply quit functioning properly. All you could seem to register was that Kol was touching you and it wasn't a "just friends" sort of touch. Your cheeks felt like they'd caught fire as you glanced up at him, blinking owlishly, only to find that he was already watching you with an unexpectedly sweet smile. He studied your expression, waiting for you to protest - to say no.

When you remained silent, that sweet smile twisted into a smirk. Leaning down, you felt a soft, tender kiss to your cheek just as Kol pressed his fingers firmly into your skin, wasting no time before he began to explore. His hand was warm, gentle, and soft as he stroked and petted your stomach. Something warm and jittery built up in your chest. It climbed up your throat, threatening to spill out. You whimpered quietly, unable to hold it back. Yet, that only seemed to encourage him. Kol hummed and slid his hand lower with another kiss to your cheek. What was that boy doing to you? Your whole body burned as he continued to fondle and caress you shamelessly. Shuddering, you bit back a moan and curled yourself closer to him, fisting his jacket as though he could hide you from the world. Kol just smirked and continued going over your homework.

He didn't let go of you - didn't stop touching you - until the bell rang. Then he just got up, shot you a wink, and left without another word.)

Slowly, that boy earned your trust because, though you didn't know exactly how to define your relationship with him, he was always there for you. It was nice to have someone who knew why you had drawn those pictures. Not because you were self-righteous and judgemental, but because there was something very real and very disturbing going on and you needed a way to purge the constant fear from your mind.

Kol believed you. There was something wrong with this town. You weren't crazy.

But no one else could see that.

The day a sketch of Sheriff Forbes - Caroline's mother - made its way around the student body was the day you were called to the principal's office. The picture displayed Sheriff Forbes as a creature like the Other Mother from Coraline, dutifully sewing shut the mouths of townspeople and stitching buttons over their eyes. The Sheriff was a kind woman. She didn't deserve to be depicted that way. But at the same time, you knew she was hiding something.

So there you sat on the wrong side of the principal's desk, eyes locked firmly on your lap as the graying woman watched you with a disappointed frown.

"Y/N, this is not acceptable," She said, tight-lipped with tired eyes.

"I know," You mumbled.

"Then why did you draw these pictures in the first place?" The woman demanded.

You shrugged haplessly. She wouldn't believe you if you told the truth. She'd probably recommend you to a mental health institution.

The principal sighed. "Y/N, it's not my business what you do in your free time, but this has to stop. You need to stop."

"It's not me!" You protested. "Someone stole my sketchbook."

"Well, then you had better find a way to get it back, and once you do I highly recommend you burn it. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to suspend you," She said, folding her hands atop the desk. "The mayor has also been made aware of these sketches and she asked me to warn you that, should another one of these offensive images appear, you can consider her commission canceled."

Your heart stuttered and sank.

You wanted to scream and cry and tell the world it was all so unfair but all that came out of your mouth was, "Okay."

The principal nodded. "Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N."

That was your cue to leave.

You exited her office and shut the door behind you, letting go of a long sigh. Kol was sitting outside, waiting for you. He was always there for you. Upon seeing your distraught expression, the boy got up and wound his arms around you, holding you close. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut and grinding your teeth as you buried your face in his chest.

Kol pressed a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked, just as he always did.

You took a deep breath-

(You were fine. You were always fine.)

-and let out a string of cuss words so foul they’d make a sailor blush.

He hissed in sympathy and hugged you tighter. “I take it that’s a no.”

Kol was a good friend. True, his words sometimes carried a sting to them and some of his touches lingered a little too long to be just friendly. But he was good. The two of you had come a long way since you'd first met him. When he pulled away, he probably should have rested his hands on your waist but Kol grabbed you by your hips instead. His hands were very warm and you found yourself blushing. But if you were being honest, you liked the way he was touching you - the way he had been for a while now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, hesitantly watching your face though you refused to meet his eyes.

"No," You answered.

Kol offered you a strained smile and tugged you back into that tight hug. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He said, gently.

Kol had been such a good friend to you. The least you could do was show him some trust.

"I'd rather show you."

***

Her hand slid down his arm to his hand which Kol reluctantly lifted off her hip. Then, without another word - because she didn’t talk all that much - she led him off down the hallway. He allowed her to pull him along, amused (and two other things he was trying really hard to ignore.)

There was this funny feeling he got when he looked at that girl sometimes, with her chalk and paint-stained clothes, messy hair, and tired eyes. It was warm and pleasant and it reminded him of how he felt after a really big feed, except not like that at all. He felt satisfied, content… full, but there was nothing sinister about it. Kol found himself unsure how to label that sensation seeing has he’d so rarely felt it and when he had it was fleeting - gone before he could enjoy it.

This time, however, when it came, that feeling lingered.

And not because he’d killed anyone recently! Kol Mikaelson had not rubbed out a single soul in that miserable little town. (A surprise to all, certainly.) That odd feeling stayed with him day to day, and he tried to ignore how pleasant it was because surly it would disappear any day now… But it never did. Kol knew it had something to do with his little artist but, honestly, that just confused him further. More baffling still was the notion that, over the past few weeks, he hadn’t found himself craving the high that exacting death always afforded him. Sure, he felt a little… hungry (that didn’t seem like the right term) on the weekends, but then he’d see her in the hallways and he felt content again. It wasn’t the sort of satisfaction he took from any of his games either.

That’s what this whole thing had started as - what it was. (Just that he had to remind himself of that fact was unsettling.) It was just a game. He’d played it hundreds of times before with hundreds of girls like her. It was the game where he came into their lives from out of the blue, stripped away every single thing they cared about - robbed them of their friends, their reputation, their comforts, their dreams - and did that all while making them love him for it. Then, once he got them into his bed, he shattered their illusions right before he killed them.

He was so close to winning this one too. Her friends had all abandoned her, half the town was convinced she was schizophrenic, and her dreams were one little sketchbook page away from being crushed. There was just one problem.

This time, he didn’t want the game to end.

This time, he felt an uncomfortable stabbing sensation in his chest (not unlike the point of a dagger) every time she flinched. Every time she switched off her hearing aids, every time she hugged herself and sighed, every time she pursed her lips on the verge of tears - Kol felt something he hadn’t felt in well over nine hundred years. Guilt. Because he was the one spreading that girl’s naughty little pictures through the halls just so she would want him around.

Kol simply didn’t understand what made her different. She was human. She wasn’t strong or powerful or even witty. The girl was shy, she hardly said a word to anyone but him, and when some kid shouted abuse in her face she just stood there and took it. She was so plain and boring that Kol often found himself wondering why he hadn’t eaten her yet.

Sometimes though, she surprised him.

She surprised him when she shoved her way though the front doors in the middle of the school day. Previously, Kol was convinced that girl had never broken a rule in her life.

She surprised him when she cussed like a sailor and didn’t apologize one bit. Was a girl like that even allowed to say those words? Legally?

But most of all, she surprised him when she tugged him along by the hand in the drizzling rain through the backwoods of Virginia, off the hiking trails, and down into a ravine where she only stopped in front of a looming chain-link fence. That fence had a big, red “No Trespassing” sign attached to it.

She suprised him when she was always fine. That girl accepted his hugs, his touch, his comfort - but she didn’t need it.

Thus, Kol was well and truly floored when his tiny sweet, delicious little artist dropped his hand and scrambled up and over that fence like a monkey scales a tree. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She had absolutely, positively, and without a doubt just broken a law. That couldn’t be right. She was too shy to break the law. This was the same girl that apologized when she broke her bloody pencil.

"You coming or not?" She challenged. And then... Then, she smiled.

The sight of it took Kol's breath away.

That smile. He didn't understand it. Y/N was no witch - he knew that for certain. But somehow there was something magical about that smile.

There were moments - only a handful of them - like the one he was in right then. Those times were so rare but when they occurred, Kol's tiny, sweet, piquant little artist would look back at him, usually over her shoulder, and send him this... this smile. The twist of her lips he'd seen her wear when he'd first met her, the one she passed out to her so-called friends, was a fake he came to realize.

This real one was so much prettier.

Words had so rarely failed him, but there was no language Kol knew that could quite describe just what that smile looked like - what it made him feel or why. That smile of her's was just so real - so deeply heartfelt - that it always made him want to smile back. Her's was never never a silly or obnoxious grin that she gave to him. It was this tiny quirk of her lips that made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow a subtle, appetizing pink. Her beauty wasn't like that of the models in those magazines Bekah liked - she wasn't spectacularly eye-catching. That girl's smile didn't light up a room, but it lit a fire in his chest the likes of which he'd never known. It twisted his stomach and Kol felt so hungry every time he got to witness that smile. Except that hunger wasn't the sinister kind he was so familiar with. When she smiled at him, he didn't want to hurt that girl.

He just wanted to pin her against a tree and kiss those beautifully curled lips until the taste of his extraordinary artist was seared into his infallible mind for all eternity.

It wasn't just lust either. It was more than that. Kol didn't want her just because she had a pretty smile. He needed her because that smile only appeared for him - no one else. Kol could make that girl smile and it had nothing to do with his physical appearance. His little artist's smile was reserved just for him simply because he was there to see it. She smiled because he existed and that idea was one he couldn't help but revel in. After all, when was the last time he got something all to himself without having to fight tooth and nail for it?

“Say, love, are we getting close to the bridge?” He wondered. It was the bridge or the falls, but he couldn’t be sure. Y/N didn’t reply. Her lovely, perfect, scrumptious little laugh was all he got in response. After a few more minutes of walking in silence - which he found he liked better than all the other girls he’d ever played with who always felt a need to fill the gap with meaningless prattle - they reached their destination.

So, Kol grinned. That was his real smile too. Only she could bring it out. "Of couse, darling."

He jumped and scaled the fence with the same ease as his quiet companion who took off again as soon as his feet hit the ground. It wasn't long before his enhanced hearing caught the sound of water rushing nearby.

Once free of the tree line, Kol glimpsed the dreary silhouette of Wickery Bridge breaking through the haze of rain and gloom. His little artist glanced back at him with something wild and ferocious gleaming in her eyes. For a moment, he was taken aback by the sight. But that moment was swiftly overtaken by sheer, lucidious excitement. He returned her smile and she bounded off down toward the water. He followed, enraptured and curious as she came to a stop underneath the bridge.

“Alright, my sweet, I think I’ve let you go on long enough,” He said upon catching up with her, not that doing so was any struggle. “What’s so important that you brought me all the way out here?”

The girl didn’t say anything. Instead, she began climbing up the mess of rocks and driftwood that had collected on the banks of the river, making her way up to the crevice where the bridge split from the shoreline. As she did, her hand slipped on one of the rocks and she spat out another string of cuss words that would peel the scales off a snake. Normally, Kol would have been impressed; however, he was a little too busy focusing on the minuscule part of him that didn’t want to rip out her throat.

She’d cut her hand on those rocks and it wasn’t just a little scrape, like the ones he’d grown accustomed to. This was a long, jagged slit across her palm and her all-too-tempting blood was spilling down her arm in beautiful crimson rivers.

And terrible, awful, horrid reality came crashing back in on him.

For a while there, Kol had almost forgotten the two of them weren’t the same. Somehow he’d felt full enough - full of something, full of her - for long enough that he’d forgotten he wasn’t who and what he was pretending to be. He’d forgotten about what he was doing and why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing with her. He’d forgotten that he was the predator and she was the prey.

He was there solely to charm her into surrendering her blood and her body. That was it.

THAT. WAS. IT.

Kol hurt people. That was what he did. He screwed up, and he hurt people, and he laughed about it.

So why did the thought of sinking his teeth into that artist’s pretty little neck seem to tear his lungs to shreds? No - not his lungs - that thing between them. That thing he ignored. That thing he didn’t have. Most people call it a heart.

What was that about? Kol was a monster. He hadn’t felt anything in years, aside from rage, hunger, and the occasional apathy. One thousand years of never giving a damn about the value of human life. And now what? His heart suddenly decided to garner affection for one lonely, miserable, pathetic, perfect, baffling, innocent, gorgeous, plush, soft, disillusioned little artist? Now?

Why now? Why her?

(It had been so long. And he’d had no one.)

She was the only one who ever smiled just for him. The only one who ever trusted him enough to let him see how terrified she truly was. She was scared, so scared all the time that something would spring from the shadows that lurked around every corner to snuff out her soul. She should be, he knew. She was right to be scared. Because Kol was right next to her and he was the only person not in her sketchbook. Sure, she’d never had the chance to put him in there but he’d asked her once what he would look like if she were to draw him like she did everyone else, and his tantalizing little artist had told him she didn’t see Kol that way - that he was her friend. She didn’t know it, and he didn’t want her to know it, but she should be scared of him.

Kol wanted to kill her - needed to kill her. He craved so desperately to ravish that appetizing girl right where they stood. Bloody hell, she should be terrified!

Yet, he didn’t want to scare her - didn’t mean to. He was just hungry - that was all. No one was around. No one could stop him. She didn’t need to be afraid. He could make her feel good. She might like it. Kol was just hungry - he didn’t want to hurt her. One taste wouldn’t hurt her so bad, would it? She would forgive him. One bite would be enough and then he’d stop. Except he wouldn’t and Kol knew that. He would drain every last drop of scarlet from her body and he knew she would be the most exhilarating high he’d ever get. But he didn’t have to feel bad about it. He could dump her body in the river and he’d never see her again.

Oh.

That was it.

He’d never see her again.

No. No, he wanted to see her smile again. Wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to listen to all of her secrets and wanted that girl to let him touch her for real. No. No, no, no, nonononononononononono.

And all this ran through his head before his artist had even finished cussing.

Y/N waved her hand in the air, displaying her cut. “God hates me!” She called down to him cheerfully. That sunny demeanor that had once annoyed him so now brought him a laugh.

“That’s on you, darling. Perhaps if you were to tell me what it is that you’re trying to achieve, I might be able to assist,” He pointed out, still chuckling to himself. The girl shrugged and reached into the crevice, feeling around for something. “If you get bit by a snake, I’m going to laugh,” Kol mused. She twisted her other hand around and flipped him the bird. After another moment of watching her grope around in a dark hole, his little artist let out an exclamation of success and retrieved her arm which was now attached to a large, black duffle bag. Carefully, she climbed down and tossed the bag on the ground.

“Ta da!” She grinned at him. It was an odd expression - like her face didn’t quite know how to express her current joy to another being.

Kol raised a brow. “Wow,” He deadpanned. “Color me impressed.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“The council just finished renovating this bridge,” She said as though that explained everything.

“And?”

Instead of answering, she simply bent down and unzipped the bag at her feet. Meanwhile, ever the gentleman, Kol forced himself to turn away from admiring the exquisite view of her cleavage this action presented him. He wanted her, yes. Kol delighted in reducing his little artist into a blushing puddle when he touched her. But if he was going to have that girl, he was going to have her everything. Her smile, her heart, her mind, her body, and her respect. Everything. Not just empty lust.

From out of the bag, Y/N drew a pair of gloves, a mask, and two cans of what Kol now recognized to be spray paint. Then, donning the gloves and mask, she marched down to the concrete trusses of Wickery Bridge and got to work. The giant concrete slabs were practically one perfectly untouched canvas for her to exploit.

Suddenly, all those strange behaviors made a whole lot of sense.

“Bloody hell, the girl’s a vandal!” Kol barked a laugh. "I wondered what it was you were so desperate to keep me away from,” He said, shaking his head. “I had my suspicions but this… was not one of them.”

“Oh really,” His artist scoffed. She started out her mural with layers of red. “And what were those suspicions?”

“Abusive parents was number one,” He listed, stretching out casually on the ground, back against a rock. Not the most uncomfortable position he’d ever held. “Self-harm was number two, and number three was a sordid drug habit.”

“Do I really come off that pathetic?” She wondered blithely.

“Most of the time, yeah.”

The girl snorted. “Good for me!”

“That desperate to hide your little crimes, are you?” He chuckled.

“Yep!”

“Why?”

“Well, mostly-” She paused to switch colors, going with black now. “-because if Mayor Lockwood ever found out I was the one painting her little town red, I’d lose my commission to paint town square and uh… I like money.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I sense an “and” coming.”

“And,” She continued with a slight laugh. “I might have possibly tagged a few properties worth a lot more than a bridge.” She hesitated. “Or a town… or a castle.”

That last remark was enough to have Kol sitting up straight. “So you were the miscreant who wrote out “Blood Money” on the side of my house!” He exclaimed, wide-eyed. It was impressive as no one in his family had heard anyone approach the house that night, yet the message had been there in bright red the next morning. How had she pulled that off?

The girl froze in her painting. “That was your house?”

“Indeed it was.”

“Whoops.”

Kol waved a hand. “Eh. No harm done.”

“So… not a mafia base then?”

He wished she was wrong. Kol really wished he wasn’t everything that terrified his precious artist. But he was. And that wouldn’t change.

So he laughed.

“Well, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” He joked. Except it wasn’t a joke. But he could let her think it was. He could pretend he believed that too. He could pretend he was just a normal kid, enjoying the company of a beautiful girl. He could pretend that.

She threw her head back and laughed.

What a beautiful thing.

“Okay! I’m done talking now!” She announced without providing any segue whatsoever. He liked that about her though, that she was blunt and direct. It amused him.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He protested. He wasn’t all that broken up about it. Just being around that girl was enough to sate his hunger for her. That's what his little game had turned into.

She shrugged and flipped her hearing aids off, so he supposed that was the end of it.

“You know, I’m actually a vampire,” He told her. Kol knew she couldn’t hear him and his words fell on deaf ears. He figured he should tell her the truth though. Even if it was only this once. At least then he could say he had.

“I’ve murdered hundreds of thousands of people - plenty of them for no reason at all. As for you…

“Well, I’ll probably kill you one day. Hell, I almost did just now. I’m not all that great at self-control, you see.” He let go of a bitter laugh and scooped a pebble off the ground, laying back he tossed it over his head and caught it again and again. “But I’m really great at screwing things up!”

“I stole your sketchbook,” He admitted, a little quieter. “It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, but it’s not fun anymore. I-I don’t like to see you hurting. I could stop. That bloody school would never see another picture.”

He lifted his head, watching her back as she continued painting.

“But would you still love me if I did?” Kol sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t think you would. You don’t need me.”

This time, when he tossed the rock, he didn’t catch it. The stone flew and landed in the river, lost to the moving water.

“Nobody does.”

He was glad she couldn’t hear him. He could talk to her and she would never know. Blissfully ignorant, he could watch with a lazy smile as she swung her hips and just kept on painting, without a care in the world. His horribly lovely artist sang quietly to herself as the light of the setting sun bounded off the water and carded through her hair, casting an ephemeral glow all around her. He wondered if her quiet verse might be meant for him. He knew that wasn’t the case. For someone so observant and suspicious, she could be quite blind. He doubted she could be in love with him or that she understood how he felt for her. But like with the rest of this bittersweet scene, Kol could pretend.

“Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together

Brighter than a lucky penny

When you're near the rain goes, disappears, dear

And I feel so fine

Just to know that you are mine…”

***

Robert Frost had been right, you decided the day your world fell apart. You would have preferred your world had been destroyed in one giant, raging fire. Of course, you didn't get to choose. Your world froze over slowly. The cold strangled your opportunities and relationships one by one until you were left entirely alone.

You stood in front of your locker that day, staring at the final nail in the coffin of your reputation and future. This was how it was to end. In ice. You felt like ice as you stared at that final drawing - cold and despondent.

That sketch was of Alaric Saltzman, your kindhearted history teacher who believed in infinite chances for a student's grades. He always wore a pained smile - it was a smile for everyone else because he was still hurting but wanted the kids he taught to look forward to the rest of their lives as he no longer did.

You had drawn him differently.

No smile. Just the pain. Pain that had morphed into bitterness and bitterness into hate. He was sitting in his desk chair, facing towards the door - toward the viewer - with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and a gun in the other. Smoke rose from the barrel of that gun, and the viewer's perception was tinted red.

You had drawn your history teacher murdering you in cold blood.

Who does that?

"So…" The silky lilt of Kol's gentle accent tugged you from your thoughts and brought just a little relief. Even if you had nothing, you had Kol. "Do I want to know what inspired this one? Or would I rather sleep tonight?"

You shrugged, apathetic. The weight of the moment yet to sink in.

"I saw a gun in his desk," You answered tonelessly.

"No shit?"

"Uh, huh." You nodded. "Right next to the colored pencils."

The boy whistled. "I'm regretting some of the things I put in my essay now," He said.

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. "As if you did it."

"Ouch, darling. That hurts." He chuckled lightly and you felt his arms encircle your waist from behind. He tugged you close, resting his head on your shoulder. "You don't know everything about me."

He was trying to joke, for your sake. But nothing could make this better.

"What do I do now?" You asked with a sigh. Kol pressed a kiss to your cheek - light as a feather. For whatever reason, it felt like an apology.

"Well, if I were you," He said. "I'd go out with a bang."

You nodded and shrugged - indifferent. "A bang sounds good."

Kol released you as you slipped your backpack off your shoulders. Eyeing you with a mix of confusion and anticipation, your best friend's eyes flew wide as he watched you wander over to the nearest window, arms reeling back.

With all your might, you flung your back through the window.

It shattered into a million tiny pieces.

The raucous hallway fell silent and a few dozen pairs of eyes locked on you.

"One of you bastards stole my sketchbook," You told them, not bothering to raise your voice in the slightest. "Is that what you wanted? To see me fall apart?"

No one answered of course as you glanced between stunned expressions.

"Well, I hope you're happy now," You rasped. Shoving a few kids out of your way with the harshness that had been building inside you for months now, you left that school behind you and didn't look back.

The only sound to be heard was Kol's low whistle as the heavy steel doors swung shut. The tears streaming down your face were silent.

You sprinted home through the driving rain, the sky dark and close, almost like a blanket. Perhaps the whole world was crying with you. After all, it always seemed to rain when you were sad.

To your relief, your parents were still at work. You had the comfort of crying in peace. Slamming the door shut, you pressed your back against it, slid to the floor… and screamed.

This was your life and it was crumbling in your hands. What else were you supposed to do?

A light knock tapped against the door. So quiet you wouldn't have heard it if the vibrations weren't centered right next to your ear.

"Y/N?" Kol's voice called from the other side of the wood. You didn't say anything, though your ragged breathing was far from quiet. "Y/N, I know you're in there. I can hear you crying." He laid his hand flat. You could hear that ring he always wore scraping against the wooden surface. "Please let me in?"

You shook your head. "I'm not some charity case," You choked out, throat raw.

"Perhaps to someone else you are," Kol said. He must have been kneeling on your front porch. "But not me. I don't have charity, darling. I'm rather selfish actually."

You huffed a laugh. It was humorless.

"Then why come?"

"Because I'm selfish," He replied. Then quieter. "I don't like to see you cry." His ring tapped against the door a few times. "Darling, please let me in? I want to help."

Your teeth clenched like a vice.

"I don't need you."

For years you'd longed to say those words. Finally, in this haze of fury and anguish, they weren't so hard to speak.

"I know." He sighed. "I know you don't, darling. It's part of why I like you so much."

Well as long as he understood, perhaps it was alright

You scraped yourself off the floor and opened the door. Kol stood outside, drenched to the bone, same as you. His eyes weren't dead anymore - not the distant black holes they'd once been. No, his eyes were warm chocolate now, melting with something sad. He really did care.

"Come in," You signed, too worn out to speak.

Kol's brows furrowed. He seemed worried for a moment, though you couldn't guess why. Then he took a tentative step through the door, smiled, and stepped closer, closing the door behind him.

You watched him take his shoes and coat off through the dim light. Your house was dark. You hadn't bothered with any lights. Once he'd finished, Kol glanced up at you questioningly. You regarded him for a moment. After all, these sorts of situations never seemed to turn out well in the books you'd read and the shows you'd watched. The characters in those stories always seemed to end up doing something they'd regret.

Or maybe they didn't regret it.

You thought you would though.

So, contrary to what Kol was likely expecting, you didn't throw yourself into his arms. You just turned and shuffled into the kitchen. You finally switched on some lights. After a moment, he followed you, watching intently. Milling about in science, you collected the supplies required to make the two of you a cup of tea. Your quiet nature combined with your parent's distrust of humanity meant you'd never really had a friend like Kol before - someone you brought to your house and shared food with.

"You hungry?" You asked, waiting for the water to boil. Your hands shook a little, but you didn't feel like speaking. He leaned against the counter opposite you and offered a thin smile you felt you didn't quite understand.

"I'll be okay," He signed back after a moment. He took a deep breath. "I'm more worried about you."

You grimaced involuntarily, eyes shifting to the kettle on the stove. Inside, the pressure would be building until it all rushed out.

"I'm not broken, Kol," You whispered, voice hoarse and thick with more emotion than you'd ever known how to say.

"I know that-" He began, lifting his hands defensively.

"Then why do you look at me like I am?"

Kol's lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. You'd caught onto his ways a long time ago. That boy had been eyeing you like no one you'd ever known since you'd first met him. The only difference was now you were brave enough to call him out on it. So what if he saw you for who you really were? He'd seen enough of it by now. You were sick of hiding anyway.

Kol sighed and pushed off the counter. He made his way toward you with soft eyes and tentative steps until he stood just inches away, boxing you in. You met his dark chocolate eyes and refused to back down even though you knew your cheeks were stained pink. You'd never let anyone this close before.

Pursing his lips, the boy glanced down at the space between you and lifted his hand. He trailed his knuckles hesitantly over your side, then met your eyes again as if to ask permission. You swallowed thickly, but didn't tell him no. With a ghost of a smile, Kol laid his hands on your hips and squeezed firmly. You couldn’t withhold a shudder. His thumbs slipped under your shirt and rubbed your skin softly as he'd done for you a few times before, knowing how much you liked it. His hands seemed to fit perfectly over your hips as though he'd been made to hold you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you relaxed into his touch, letting go of a sigh. His searing hands felt nice when the whole world felt so cold. You needed him closer.

Reaching up, you fisted the collar of his shirt rather harshly and dragged him toward you, pressing your whole body against his. He flinched slightly, surprised by your newfound eagerness, but he quickly reciprocated. Kol chuckled softly and you felt his lips graze your temple before he clinched your hips tighter and lifted you to sit atop the counter. Your heart stuttered and raced in your chest and you gasped sharply, drawing back enough to catch the smirk dancing on his lips. Your cheeks reddened further as he urged you to spread your legs so he could stand between them. His arms circled around your back and you hesitated.

So what if he was a senior? So what if you were a couple of months younger than he was? He'd been a good friend to you.

Shaking your doubts away, you wrapped your legs around him and rested your head on his chest. Kol hummed quietly and pressed another soft kiss to the crown of your hair.

"I know you're not broken, darling," He said. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging a blazing heat into your bones. "I'm just trying to figure out what it is that you really are."

Your hands on his shirt clenched tighter.

"I'm angry,” You admitted.

“Why?”

His question prompted your lips to twist into a scowl as a hysterical laugh bubbled past your lips.

“Really? You’re asking me why?” You huffed, shaking your head. “How ‘bout why not? I’m sick of it, Kol. All of it. The lies, the expectations - nothing is right in this town and I hate it! I’m seventeen! I should get to feel safe but I see people and they’re dropping like flies. And you’d think I’d at least get the luxury of being terrified, but no! I have to act like nothing is wrong!” You looked up at him, tears returning to sting your eyes. “I tried to. I really did. But it was too much and I couldn’t and I had to put it all somewhere. Now some idiot who thinks they’re funny just up and ruined my whole future. I’ll never get a job here now, not like it matters because mom and dad are shipping me off to some mental institution-”

“What?!” Kol cut your rambling off suddenly. Reeling back, he stared at you with wide eyes. You just shrugged. “Your parents are sending you away over this?” He demanded.

You raised a brow. “Kol, this is kind of a big thing.”

“How?!” He exclaimed. His grip on your hips tightened. He seemed agitated - more than you would expect. “You drew some creepy pictures. So what?! Who cares?!”

“A lot of people care,” You deadpanned. “I drew the likeness of people around me without their consent. That's a big no-no. My parents are worried I’m overstressed, narcissistic, and paranoid. They say I need help.”

“No, that’s not-” He cut himself off this time, teeth grinding. He wouldn’t look at you, just squeezed his eyes shut tight. You waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“They can’t take you away from me.”

Finally, he looked up. Smoldering black eyes met your own with a determination that couldn’t possibly have belonged to an eighteen year old boy. It was etherial - hard to capture and even harder to understand. His eyes seemed darker all of a sudden. An odd trick of the light.

“That’s a nice sentiment,” You said quietly. “But unless you’ve got some hard-core magic up your sleeve, it’s not gonna change anything.”

Kol nodded stiffly. “Magic, eh?” His voice was dry - strained almost. He let go of you and took a step back, bracing his hands on the counter. The breaths he drew were long and deep - shaking. His eyes flicked back to yours, blazing with something needy. He cursed.

“Screw it.”

The boy surged forward and his lips caught yours before you could even blink. His arms wound around you again and held you tight and close. One hand wove itself into your hair, tugging on the strands greedily. You couldn’t seem to focus enough to keep your eyes open, they fluttered closed as Kol pressed closer to you. You weren’t sure what to do or how to react, so you just tentatively kissed him back.

Kol flinched. Actually flinched, like he hadn’t expected his affection to be returned.

He pulled away, chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths.

Had you done the right thing? Would you regret this tomorrow? Would he?

“Kol, wha-”

His lips on yours shut your doubts up pretty quickly.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” That boy whispered into your mouth. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m going to fix everything, darling. I promise.”

He left you no time to think. He just pressed you closer - as close as he possibly could and you felt warm. Warm and safe and wanted. His fervent kisses grew increasingly heated and desperate by the second. It was like you were in a haze, possessed almost. There was a sweetness and hunger to him that you were entirely unaccustomed to. Holding the back of your head with a gentle hand, Kol was tender and patient yet determined as he licked at the seam of your mouth. You gasped, flinching as you felt his arm around your waist constrict almost painfully. Seizing the opportunity, Kol swiftly deepened the kiss with a hum of satisfaction. He wasn’t harsh or forceful about it. You just weren’t sure. A tiny whimper escaped your throat but he just swallowed it eagerly. Did you really want this? Were you ready?

You felt suffocated, trapped, and unable to breathe. You pulled back, trembling. But Kol wouldn’t let you go. He broke away, shaking his head.

“No, no. Darling, shhhhhh.” He combed your hair back with his fingers. It was comforting. “You’re alright. I’m not doing anything.”

“Kol, please-”

“No, you’re fine. Everything is going to be alright. Just trust me,” He promised. The boy smiled and settled his lips on yours again. You didn’t fight him. All you could seem to do was shudder as he captured your lower lip and bit down. On his shirt, your hands relaxed. It was almost as if he’d drugged you. Something about that was disturbing, yet you clenched your thighs around him nonetheless.

“See?” Kol flashed you a soft grin as he broke away this time, pressing a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth. “You’re okay, love. This isn’t me hurting you.”

Then what was?

Kol’s hands slid beneath your shirt and they were so warm as he ran them over your waist and higher onto your ribcage. You had half a mind to let him do anything he wanted, but something wasn’t right. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks at terminal velocity.

On the stovetop, the tea kettle screamed a warning.

Magic was your first clue. That and he’d said he’d fix things.

What if he already had?

You stilled. All the warmth in his touch faded in an instant and you let go of him. You didn’t cry out or shove him back. You just quit moving.

Kol’s mouth slowed soon enough. He pulled his hands away and stepped back. The boy eyed you for a moment, but you wouldn’t look at him. Then he cursed.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened.” Throwing his head back, he scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have pushed you. That was a disgusting thing to do. Please forgive me?”

You didn’t. You just drew your knees up to your chest, curling into a ball. The tears came back. Your ribcage shook with your pained breaths.

“Y/N?” His voice was faint and far away. “Y/N, please look at me?”

You hardly heard the words that left his lips. You were too busy processing his greater sin.

The declaration came out as hardly a whisper.

“It was you.”

Kol blinked. Then he frowned.

“Darling… what are you talking about?”

You shook your head. Tears streamed down your face.

“Why?” You seethed. “Why would you do it?!”

He took a step back, seeming hurt. “Sweetheart… I’m sorry but you’re not making any sense.”

You weren’t going to play that game. Wordlessly, you hopped off the counter and strode over to the kitchen doorway. Kol had dropped his backpack there. You tore it open and rummaged around until you found it. A little book covered in black Sharpie.

“How many high school students do you think know Nordic Runes?” You challenged softly.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Probably quite a few. I suspect it’s a relatively common niche interest.”

You hummed. “Let me rephrase then: How many high school students in Mystic Falls do you think are fluent enough in runic languages to correct it when they see a mistranslation?” You whipped around, displaying your oh-so-precious stolen sketchbook in your hands.

The color drained from Kol’s face.

“Darling… I can explain that,” He tried, voice raw - desperate for you to believe him. You wouldn’t.

You offered him a smile. That same fake, hateful smile you offered to all the people in this town who lied to you.

“Leave.”

Kol looked as though he’d been shot.

“Y/N, please. Just let me explain.”

You shook your head.

“I won’t say it twice,” You spat. Then, switching off your hearing aids, you turned away and started for the stairs. “You know where the door is,” You called over your shoulder, half growling the words. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out… bastard.”

Upstairs in your room, you locked the door and cried. This time you didn’t make a sound.

***

Kol had screwed up. Royally.

In fact, he was convinced that this was even worse than that time he’d accidentally played god on the continent now known as Australia. (Mammals shouldn’t lay eggs and none would if not for his hubris and an escaped lab rat. Or in this case, a lab platypus.) However, this time, Kol couldn’t just run away. Of course, there was mother dearest’s spell to consider but, that wasn’t the only thing keeping him from leaving that girl and her stupid precious tears behind. For whatever reason, he couldn’t stand what he’d done. He knew this for a fact because he’d had all night to think about it.

Her face, sparkling with fresh tears, was an image burned into his memory. Kol couldn’t seem to forget the tremble in her voice as she’d pulled that bloody sketchbook out of his bag. He could still hear her crying on the other side of her bedroom door. No matter how long he’d begged her to let him in, that door had remained locked.

This wasn’t how things were meant to go - not when he’d been so close. He couldn’t stand it.

She’d almost been his. Kol had finally held his sweet little artist in his arms and nothing, nothing - no drug nor blood-induced high he’d ever experienced - could ever compare to finally getting to touch her. He could have had more. He could have won his prize - could have kept her forever.

But he’d screwed up. Now, she loathed him.

He could stand losing a game every now and again. That was what kept things fun. But this wasn’t a game anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. He couldn’t lose. Kol refused to lose.

Luckily, his delicious little artist was very, very human.

He would go to her one more time, he resolved, to try to explain things. Truthfully, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done, but that couldn’t change the facts. Kol needed her. He wouldn’t give her up just because he’d been dumb enough to let her snatch that sketchbook from his satchel. It wasn’t her fault. Had their roles been reversed, he wouldn’t forgive himself either. But luckily, his steel-spined artist was human. Luckily, Kol could erase his little mistake.

Perhaps he could grab a quick bite from her too before he wiped her memory. A little taste might aid his patience for her - he didn’t fancy slipping up again like he had the night before. If he hurt her without realizing what he was doing, Kol knew he would kill his little artist far too soon.

He’d made his decision. The only thing that gave him pause was the wrinkled sheet of paper Bekah found that morning.

“Kol?” Her voice rang through their brother’s mansion carrying confusion and worry. “I think you might want to see this…”

He’d been at her side in a split second, snatching the paper from her hands. It was a drawing, and Kol recognized its style of it instantly. Her lines were intimately familiar to him now, even as harsh and erratic as they were in the sketch he held.

His beloved artist had finally drawn him.

The twisted image was startlingly and horrifically accurate. Something clenched in his chest at the sight. She’d drawn his countenance pale, his hair was a wild mess and his eyes were black, empty holes. A vicious snarl warped his lips, accompanying razor-sharp fangs that looked all too real. In the picture, he knelt in the driving rain, cradling a limp corpse. His lips were coated in thick, crimson blood. Enamored as he was with his nightmarish likeness, Kol’s eyes were drawn to the most lifeless part of the image. He would have recognized those paint-stained clothes anywhere.

Now, Kol had added little notes to the drawings he’d stolen from his sweet artist’s sketchbook. This time, she had included her own.

The harsh, hate-filled words read: “Vampire - a creature that feeds off the misery of others.”

At the bottom of the page, his artist had left him one more note.

“I hope you’re satisfied.”

Rebekah, peering over his shoulder now, whistled lowly.

“That’s not Nik’s work,” She noted.

“No.” His voice came out sharp, clipped. “No, its not.”

“So who’d you piss off this time?”

Kol shrugged and tucked the drawing in his pocket. “No one important,” He lied.

Shortly after that, he arrived beneath the trusses of Wickery Bridge. He knew where that girl would be - knew his artist couldn’t leave a piece unfinished. If she noticed him coming from a far ways off, she gave no inclination. Kol, however, noticed quite a few things. The tremor in her hands as she moved a can of paint back and forth in front of her. A used sleeping bag laid out among the rocks. A banana peel displaying the only proof she’d eaten any sort of meager breakfast. He noticed. He always noticed.

His feet crunched on the gravel as he approached but he doubted the girl heard it - more than likely she had her hearing aids powered off. He could see the appeal in it. After all, it got quite loud in his head sometimes. Turning off the sounds of the world might be nice, but such was not his curse.

Kol wound his arms around her waist from behind and leaned down. Her skin was so smooth and perfect, it was hard to resist simply biting down and taking her all to himself, but instead of piercing her throat he opted to kiss her a few times, gently. He knew how she would react by now. Y/N wouldn’t fight or squirm, she wouldn’t even scream.

She just relaxed.

Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn.

A spitfire when angered, she could be quite impressive; however, when confronted she would always resort to that last option.

He could scent her fresh tears as they slipped down her face, while in his arms her body shuddered, though not quite the way he would prefer. Only one word could seem to manifest through her pain.

"Why?" She didn't say it out loud, just signed it. Kol held her tighter, shrugging.

"Because I'm an attention whore," He answered simply. It was the truth too. "And I don't know when to stop."

He would always need that artist more than she needed him. From the first moment he'd met her, that was how their story had gone.

If it was even possible, that girl melted further into his embrace. Her head rested against his collarbone and she sighed.

"So you think I'm crazy too, huh?" She smiled and it was a miserable thing.

"I never thought you were crazy, love," He admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I just didn't care for a while at first."

"What changed?" She wondered, brows furrowing.

"You smiled at me."

The girl barked a laugh. "Oh, well that's nice." She rolled her eyes.

Kol pulled her closer to him, as though he could make her feel the emotions he couldn't explain. "Don't believe me?"

"Nope." And she never minced words.

"It does sound rather cliche, doesn't it?"

"Ya think?" She scoffed. Her chest still shook with sobs she tried to suppress. He twisted her body around to pull her into a proper hug. Again, she didn't resist. She'd completely given up.

Kol didn't like this hopeless, hysterical version of the strong, dagger-sharp artist he'd come to adore. He'd seen this sort of apathy before and typically it bored him. In her, it only seemed to hurt. It impressed him to hold her close until she finally understood that he was bloody sorry!

"Can you ever forgive me?" Kol found himself asking. Funny, he couldn't seem to remember another time he'd wondered such a thing.

Y/N snorted humorlessly.

"Maybe in a million years," She replied sourly. "Or maybe when the nut-house straightens me out - whichever comes last."

Those words stung like poison. It had been so, so long since he'd made a mistake he couldn't fix with a snap of his fingers. Accountability was a nasty, uncomfortable thing.

A voice in the back of his mind reminded Kol that he could always compel his pretty little artist. But… he'd rather hoped her affection for him might be real. He didn't want to ruin that just yet.

Kol groaned quietly and tucked his face into the crook of her neck, fixing his lips over that girl's pulse again. The effect was somewhat calming despite making his fangs ache like nothing else.

"I care about you, darling," He mumbled into her skin.

"And I trusted you."

He understood. That girl didn't trust anyone. Now he was just another reason why.

A police siren flared to life in the distance, drawing closer. The artist in his arms chuckled dryly.

"Sounds like my ride's here," She observed, void of all life or emotion. The wheels of a police cruiser pulled to a stop not far off. She'd be caught in the act and Kol happened to know the police force had been set on vervain.

"I won't let them take you," He swore, tightening his grip on his little artist. A car door slammed shut. Footsteps began approaching.

"And what are you gonna-"

Kol picked her up and ran. Consequences be damned. That girl was his.

He stopped on the pretentious front porch of his brother's mansion and allowed her to absorb her new surroundings. She trembled in his arms, eyes round as saucers as she glanced around.

Her eyes met his and she shook her head, taking a step back. "Kol?" Her voice was thick with dread. "What… just-"

"You're okay," He assured her in lieu of an answer. He spoke calmingly, but she wouldn’t allow him to step any nearer. "You're safe now."

"No." Her voice was bold and firm. She held out a hand, increasing the space between them. “Tha-that wasn’t right. We-we-we were, uh… We were there… a-and now we’re here. What happened? Tell me. Tell me what you did!”

“Relax darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” He lied. The boy smiled disarmingly, voice a honeyed guise - it had worked before, back before she’d trusted him. “It’s just me.”

“No… No, y-you’re not-” She bit her lip and retreated further, blinking rapidly.

He took another step closer, shushing her disoriented protests. “You’re alright, love. It’s. Just. Me.”

“NO!” The girl cried out with a tone forged from steel, but Kol watched as her resolve warped and cracked. He could see it rise to the surface - that all-consuming fear in his delectable little artist that he so relished and despised. “No… Kol, stop. Please.” Her sweet melody of a voice came out as a hoarse whisper now. “Y-you were my friend, and… I-I still want you, I do. But you need to stop. You’re not supposed to be like everyone else. Stop lying.”

Kol sighed heavily. His artist had been betrayed, time and time again. He couldn’t be like the rest of this godforsaken town - not if he wanted her. Yet… If he told her the truth - if he revealed himself to be everything that terrified her so - how would she possibly stand his presence?

“Do you truly wish to know?” He asked, unable to meet her gorgeous, all-too-perceptive eyes.

"I have to,” She whispered, almost to herself. “I’m not crazy. I-I didn't just imagine that!"

“You’re right.” He nodded and offered her a slight, halfhearted smirk. "You see too much for your own good, sweet thing. But please remember, you asked to be shown this part."

Kol thought about her - about his gorgeous, perfect artist. He inhaled deeply, taking in her mouth-watering scent. He focused on her heartbeat - wet and strong - let it lull him. He pictured that adorable, appetizing blush that always spread across her cheeks when he touched her. Kol allowed himself to imagine just how sweet, how lush, how devastatingly succulent that girl would taste just beneath her soft, warm human skin.

Then, welcoming that corrupt temptation, surrendering to it, he opened his eyes.

His little artist screamed.

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the-bloody-sadist · 4 months ago

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Hello! Fellow yanagihara hater here. Please share more of your views on a little life i beg because that book was so promising with its themes goddamn but then the writer had to fuck it up -

OH NOOOOO THE CHANCE TO BE A HATER WHATEVER WILL I DO.....

THANKS FOR ASKING.

I'm really glad to hear from someone who was also angry at the book and its author! I tend to be more bothered than usual when any form of media is popular for so-called "trauma representation", held up as a classic, etc., and then when I consume that media, I find out that the way it's written is more of a pretentious normie's view of "suffering", which, in my opinion, is disgusting. NOW. PLEASE BE REMINDED THAT I HAVE STRONG OPINIONS, AND ALSO TAKE THEM WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, AS I'M PARTICULARLY TRIGGERED BY WHAT I FEEL IS HORRIBLE TRAUMA REP. And a second grain of salt, too, since I did NOT read all of A Little Life (because I got too angry, knew exactly where it was going, and said FUCK YOU YANAGIHARA, I'm going to watch a video essay breakdown of the plot instead so I don't kill myself), and also watched behind the scenes interviews that made me hate Yanagihara even more.

If you're curious what video I watched that broke down the plot and confirmed all of my expectations on this book, it's here! I remember not agreeing with a lot of what that YouTuber said, because some things are silly to complain about in fiction and I don't believe in the whole "sexual abuse should not be shown in graphic detail", which I think was part of his discussion?? Bad memory, sorry. What I think is ugly about the book is the pile-on of RIDICULOUS amounts of trauma for Jude, to a degree that makes it a parody, almost comedically, of real trauma. From a writer's perspective, I'm furious at the way she used it and the way it succeeded at it's one job--NOT to help people understand the effects of trauma and CSA--but to make them cry. It's cheap, it's gross, and it casts all of Jude's trauma (for me) in the light of "this author was proud of herself for how much she could stuff into one boy just to make SURE you were devastated, while paying no special attention to make sure these traumas were handled with care". It's enraging to see how low the standard is for professional books that A Little Life is held up the way it is.

Now, don't get me wrong, her prose, while bogged down by excruciating and needless detail a lot of times, is very engaging. It's part of why I was so mad that it failed in the most important areas. I wanted it to be good! I really did! And I loved Jude, he would've been a wonderful character if not for her amateur decisions. Had she picked one or two traumas to focus on, created a realistic background for him, and had his death make for better impact and purpose to the plot, I'd probably have the book on my shelf as a top ten. But instead, I listened to her speak about how she did ZERO RESEARCH ON TRAUMA for Jude, apparently doesn't have trauma of her own that she's referencing (because then, no matter how much I disliked it, I would be more forgiving if she's pulling from her own experiences), and just...is so FLIPPANT about how she wrote it. Plus, in my personal opinion, I don't like her attitude in general. She comes off like a cringe edgelord for the slop she wrote, and I know so many authors who aren't even professionals that write trauma WORLDS better than she ever could.

Also, I'm so sorry, but the COVER??? What a perfect representation for the book, honestly. That old photo of the dude making an expression of pain that looks fake as fuck to me, just...eugh.

You know those gacha life cringe videos where the characters are all gory and talk about fucked up shit that happened to them, but it's extreme and ridiculous? That's what this book felt like once it dove into Jude.

When I write my own characters, I try to pick a single trauma for them and a couple coping mechanisms. It's important to me that one trauma isn't just tossed in there without regard for how much it changes someone's life, behaviors, and thought processes. Other traumas exist, of course, but they fit within the theme for what the character will represent. And I think it's important to have characters around them that will balance that trauma, a caretaker, a friend, and some sort of hope. Even if it might be true in real life that some people do have out-of-this-world experiences of trauma, there's not a lot of ways to correctly convey that in fiction without coming off as silly or over-imaginative. It quickly feels like the author is jerking themselves off in how "good" they are at making characters suffer, when for me, it's about how good they are at portraying how even a "small" trauma can affect the character deeply. I respect it more when media explores the subtle aspects of trauma, incorporating multiple side-effects instead of just one. Again, I know not everyone is as picky as I am. I'm trying to have more grace for what others think is realistic, but A Little Life is WAY over that line. Whenever I read or watch something that has overdone, overdramatic, or unrealistic depictions of trauma, it's intensely triggering, and sometimes I've become suicidal for like a whole week afterwards LMFAO, so I'm super passionate about this subject, and I think it's because I'm both a writer and a trauma survivor. Having CPTSD and watching shit like Bungou Stray Dogs get praised for "good PTSD rep" with ATSUSHI????? Straying a bit from the topic, but I lose respect for anyone who expresses that opinion.

Anyway, as a closing opinion, Yanagihara just sounds like a teen fanfic writer who crams their story full of misery and thinks she's done a great job just because there was a lot of it and people went “aww, so sad”. It just felt like trauma is a spectacle for her, not a crushing psychological experience.

I already feel misunderstood enough, as is. I already feel like my trauma has been disregarded by anybody who hasn't shared the same type of trauma. The last thing I need is confirmation that it'll continue to be misunderstood because of media depictions like A Little Life.

THANKS FOR LETTING ME RANT, ANON! I hope I shared a lot of the same things you felt about the book!! I don't think I said everything as well as I wanted to, but I pushed the book out of my mind as much as possible after getting triggered by it, so I can't recall all of the details in full clarity. LMAO...

MUCH LOVE TO YOU!! And to leave on a positive note, I recently watched Room (with Brie Larson) and it was one of the BEST realistic representations of trauma I've seen in a LONG TIME. So that was nice!! It's in my favorites list now and I recommend it to everyone so you don't have to think about A Little Life anymore 🫵😡

#sadist’s answered asks #there are a lot of fictional works I feel this way about #idk why I'm so worried about being hateful on this one #but maybe it's because I didn't read it all for myself #so if you think my opinion is invalid #I get it

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late-to-the-party-81 · 10 months ago

Text

Sunshine and Gunsmoke

Chapter 3 - A new dawn, a new day

AN: Here we are, the third chapter. Thank you for joining me so far on this wild ride and thank you for all your comments - they mean a lot. Also, the chapter count has gone up. I just could resist adding an extra chapter/epilogue for these two. I wouldn’t have got here without my cheer-reader @kahey2804, and my ever wonderful beta @zenaidamacrouras1 .

Catch up on Chapter 2 here

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Summary: WIth the imminent threat removed, Bucky needs to make a decision about Steve’s welfare, knowing neither option is ideal. How will Steve feel when he comes back to himself? Will he understand the choice Bucky made? Will he forgive Bucky for lying about who he was? Will either of them be able to recover from this trauma and move forwards?

Relationships: Platonic Alpha Bucky & Beta Clint, past Omega Steve x Alpha Stephen, FWB Omega Steve x Alpha Bucky

Chapter WC: 9k

Chapter CW: Omegaverse, Shrinkyclinks, Strip club AU, references to past abusive relationship, references to misogyny, inferred Mafia elements, Alternating POV, Panic attack,Trauma response, unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, angst, vomiting, therapy, healthy communication, feelings reveal, forgiveness.

Steve’s head was spinning. His body was ready, pleading for relief, but there wasn’t any. It hurt so much. He needed an Alpha’s knot - Bucky’s knot! Why wasn’t Bucky giving him what he needed? Had he done something wrong? He must be a bad Omega. Bad.

Steve let out a tortured wail, and felt himself being pulled even firmer against Bucky’s body. His fingers tugged at Bucky’s clothes and he rubbed his face all over the scent gland in Bucky’s neck. For a moment he felt some relief, but it was like throwing an ice-cube into a raging inferno.

When he couldn’t access Bucky’s cock, Steve grabbed at the Alpha’s hand, hoping he might get some kind of relief from being fingered, but Bucky wouldn’t let him. Steve could hear the words, “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I really am,” but they made no sense and he let out another cry.

Beneath him, Bucky shifted, and a rumble in his chest alerted Steve to the fact that his Alpha was talking to someone.

There was someone in the room.

Near his nest.

Steve’s head shot up, his top lip curled and he let out a warning growl.

“It’s alright, Stevie. It’s just the doc.” Bucky’s voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater. “She’s here to help, I promise. And she’s a Beta. She’s not gonna hurt you.”

Steve turned his head and peered out from under hooded eyelids. The doctor was a woman with glasses, a kind looking face and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Hi, Steve,” she said in a low, melodious voice. “I’m Dr. Cho, and I’m going to help you feel better. Can I put this blood pressure cuff on you?” She held up the grey piece of equipment in front of her so he could see it. Steve cocked his head, confused. He didn’t understand how this would help him get Bucky’s knot.

A set of strong fingers gently took hold of his chin and steered his head so that he was looking up into Bucky’s misty blue eyes. “Please, sweetheart. Let Dr. Cho check you out. I promise I’ll give you everything you need soon.”

With that guarantee, Steve gave a small nod and extended his arm. The doctor wrapped the inflation cuff around him and pressed the button on the unit. It whirred into life, pumping up to an almost painful point, before it suddenly deflated. With a pencil in hand, the Beta woman copied out whatever it was that had been recorded.

“Thank you, Steve. You just relax for a moment, while I talk to Bucky, yes?”

Steve nodded again, and buried his head back in Bucky’s neck and continued to rock his hips back and forth.

It had felt as though he’d been waiting for the doc for hours, but in reality it had turned out to be about thirty minutes. But for Bucky, each whimper, each cry that had broken from Steve’s throat shattered his heart.

However, she was here now and Bucky watched, almost with a sense of pride, as Steve allowed his vitals to be recorded, before curling back up against him and starting to hump against him once more. Dr Cho, ever the professional, averted her gaze.

“You said he’d been drugged,” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “Check the trash can.” He jerked his head in its direction.

While waiting for her to investigate, he rested one of his hands against the small of Steve’s back, trying to slow down his movements, not because he was embarrassed or wanted him to stop, but mainly because he didn’t want Steve to rub himself raw. His jeans were soaked to the skin with Steve’s slick, the scent of aroused Omega making the air thick, but strangely, Bucky’s own initial reaction to the smell had worn off. At least for the most part. His cock was no longer straining against his zipper, so he guessed that his concern had overridden his natural instincts to mate.

“You’re right, Mr Barnes.” Bucky turned his head at the doctor’s statement, to find her holding a spent hypodermic in her gloved fingers. “He’s been injected with synthetic hormones to induce heat.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “So now there are two options. Either we let his heat run its course and you - an Alpha - provide whatever is necessary, or I can administer heat suppressants to counteract it, but he would need to be carefully weaned off them over the course of a month or so.” There was an apologetic expression on her face. She knew that she’d given him two less than ideal options. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think it over, but we need to decide soon. He can’t carry on in this limbo state for much longer.”

She was right. Steve was visibly tiring, and who knows what long term damage would be caused if he delayed making a decision much longer. Bucky screwed his eyes up, as if blocking out the light would mean that making a choice between effectively raping Steve or drugging him further would be easier.

“Drugs,” he croaked out. “Give him the suppressants. I can’t…” He tailed off, knowing that he didn’t need to explain further. His eyes blurred with tears as he held Steve still in his arms while Dr. Cho gave him the initial injection, the frightened Omega just crying out for him, over and over.

“He should drop off to sleep soon. When he wakes, he’ll need to take one of these tablets,” she held up a pill bottle. “And one every day for the foreseeable future. Give him my number so he can call me and we can sort out a regime for weaning him off them.” She gave him a wan smile. “He should be okay, Mr Barnes. At least physically. You’ve done the best you could.” With that, she packed up her equipment and supplies and Bucky and Steve were left in peace.

“Alpha,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky dropped a kiss to the top of his sweaty head. Steve’s rutting had already started to slow, but he supposed that could be from exhaustion as much as from the suppressants.

“Yeah, Sunshine? How can I help?”

“Feel strange, Alpha. Do I get your knot soon?”

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll start to feel better shortly. Then, I promise, you can have anything you want.”

He watched as Steve smiled sleepily and snuggled impossibly further into his chest. Then, as his hips finally - finally - stilled, Steve started to purr. His eyelids drooped and his body relaxed, and Bucky felt a wave of relief wash over himself. He eased them both into a lying down position and covered Steve’s naked body with a loose corner of blanket.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Sunshine. I hope you can forgive me.”

His whole body ached, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

Steve blinked his eyes open, noting the bright sun shining through his bedroom window. Shifting slightly he became aware of an arm around his waist.

Stephen!

He sat up, panicked, twisting around to see Bucky sleepily blinking his eyes at him. A Bucky who was fully clothed, while he was entirely naked. What was going on? He searched his memory and it came back in horrifying Technicolor. His hand flew up to his neck expecting to feel a fresh wound as he gulped in lungfuls of air. And why wasn’t he still in heat? His head felt light, and the room was tilting sideways and…

“Stevie! Breathe!” Bucky’s hands had curled around Steve’s upper arms, stopping him from falling over and off of the bed. Bucky’s eyes bored into his, preventing him from looking away. “You’re safe. Just breathe in with me now, two-three… and out, two-three.” Steve followed Bucky’s directions, breathing in and out with him, and slowly the world stopped spinning.

Bucky’s hands fell away and he gave Steve a soft smile. “I’m just gonna go and get you a drink and a snack, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Still not feeling capable of speech, Steve just nodded and watched Bucky walk out of his bedroom. He looked around his private space, feeling terribly exposed. Stephen’s scent still lingered in the air, along with those of a few other people Steve didn’t know, and he launched himself up, crossing to the window and throwing it open with all his strength. He pulled some boxers, sweats and an oversized hoodie from his dresser, fighting his way into them, feeling as though he needed the protective layer they provided. Then, on wobbly legs, he returned to the bed, pulling all of the blankets and sheets from it.

As each piece of fabric was thrown to the floor, Steve could feel the anger and humiliation building in his gut. Stripping his bed wasn’t enough. He picked up his favourite nesting blanket, one of the first things he’d bought after moving here after escaping Stephen the first time, and ripped it down the middle. He did the same with the next, his vision blurring with tears, and when Bucky returned a few minutes later, he was kneeling on the floor in a pile of remnants, sobbing his heart out.

In a heartbeat, Bucky was beside him, his arms wrapped around him, and Steve cried into his chest. “It’s gonna be alright, Stevie. It’ll be okay. I promise. He can’t hurt you again.”

Bucky’s words flowed over him and eventually his sobs subsided, turning to small hiccups, until he self-consciously extricated himself from Bucky’s embrace. He swiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“What happened,” he asked. “I mean, I remember bits of it, but a lot of it’s still a blur. I remember-” His head shot up with a gasp and he turned his head towards the back wall, where the bullet hole, surrounded by chipped plaster, taunted him. “You shot at him! You shot at Stephen with a gun!” He stared back at Bucky. “And you - you’re… you’re.” He shuffled backwards, putting some distance between them. Bucky returned his wide-eyed gaze with a sad smile and a small open armed shrug.

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t really know.” Bucky said. “Maybe it’s because I’m selfish? Maybe because I didn’t want to frighten you away. Why didn’t you tell me?” He gestured at the bed and the ruined blankets.

Steve wrapped his arms around his own waist, but raised his chin. “I thought I could handle it. I didn’t want to have to have somebody - an Alpha - help me out. I never thought he’d take it this far.” He stopped for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip as a thought came to him. “Where is he?” Steve asked guardedly. “Is he - you know - dead?”

“Not yet.” There was a chilly rumble to Bucky’s voice that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. He wasn’t sure if he was scared by it, or aroused. “My men have him. They’re waiting for me, but I had to make sure you were okay first. You were my priority, Stevie.” Bucky’s tone softened and for a moment Steve’s heart fluttered, but Bucky’s words reminded him of his other query.

“And how am I okay, Bucky? How has the heat gone already?” There was a soreness between his thighs, but it wasn’t what he normally felt after having sex. And it didn’t escape him how Bucky turned his head away at the question and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You gotta understand… you were outta your head from the drugs he’d given you. You weren’t in your right mind to agree to anything, so I had to make a choice. I coulda knotted you, but… I just couldn’t… it wouldn’t’ve been right. So I took the other option… and I’m sorry.”

Steve felt a sense of foreboding grow inside his gut. “What other option? Bucky, what did you do?”

With an apology in his eyes, Bucky pulled a small plastic bottle from his back pocket, along with a business card. “Call my doc, Dr Cho. She was here. She’ll go through everything with you. It’s all paid for.” He held them out tentatively, and Steve plucked them from his fingers, knowing what he was going to see, but hoping against hope he was going to be wrong.

He wasn’t.

He let out a sigh. “Suppressants. Of course.” Tears prickled behind his eyes, and all of his emotions - fear, anger, frustration, disappointment - tangled around each other within him. “You knew how I felt about these! About how he’d made me go on them. And here you are…”

Bucky reached out a hand towards him. “Stevie, I-”

Steve knew deep down that he was being unreasonable, but his logical mind was not in control right now. “Don’t touch me!” he bit out as he jumped backwards, throwing his hands up in the air.

Bucky huffed. “I just did what I thought was best.”

“Best for who?” Steve shrieked. “For you, definitely. You don’t have a bunch of chemicals rampaging around your system, suppressing what you are. Who you are! God, I don’t even want to look at you right now.” He turned his back, emphasising his point, but he heard Bucky shuffling behind him. His inner Omega was telling him to turn back around and go to Bucky - get lost in the security of his embrace, but Steve was mad - mad with the world - and Bucky was the only person available to take it out on.

“Maybe I should go then?” Bucky mumbled from behind him.

Now it was Steve’s turn to huff. He shrugged his shoulders for good measure as well, feigning nonchalance. “Whatever you think is best, Buck. You’re good at making decisions for both of us. Do me a favour though. Don’t kill Stephen. He’ll be missed if he disappears without a trace.”

He heard a resigned sigh. “I promise not to kill him if you promise me you’ll call Dr Cho. Be safe Stevie and I’ll tell Clint that you won’t be in for a while” A heartbeat’s silence, then “‘bye, Sunshine.” Bucky’s feet padded across Steve’s threadbare carpet getting quieter as he walked away, until Steve couldn’t hear them any longer.

Steve sank back to his knees and the tears flowed again.

Bucky slumped into the office chair, holding the open bottle of whisky.

“Fuck!”

He took a swig and slammed the bottle on the table. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers against his face. Never had he envisaged that things with Steve would play out like this. He almost regretted his promise not to kill Steve’s piece of shit ex.

After leaving Steve’s apartment, Bucky had headed straight to where his men had taken the deluded Alpha. It had been cathartic to take out his frustrations on the sick fuck, but he’d stopped short of finishing him off. He had broken - no, shattered - the guy’s hands though. He wouldn’t be doing any surgery for a long time, if ever again. His men had then dragged the good doctor out, having instructions to make it look as though the Alpha had had a drink fueled car crash. That should explain away his injuries and he’d definitely think twice before harassing Steve again.

However, as satisfying as it had been, it didn’t solve the issue of the chasm between the pair of them. Bucky had known that Steve was going to be upset about the heat suppressants, but he hadn’t imagined such an extreme reaction. He’d wanted so badly to take Steve in his arms and tell him that he’d do anything for him - that he loved him. But Steve had been disgusted by him - by what he’d done and by who he was.

Bucky slumped further in the chair, his feet up on the desk and picked up the whisky bottle again, taking another large gulp. The burn was his just deserts for hurting the man he loved, but that pain would soon be dulled by the alcohol. It was a vicious circle and no less than he deserved.

A knock at the door had him lifting his head. “Yes?” he bit out with more force than was strictly necessary. Clint opened the door and walked through, warily.

“Hey, boss. I was wondering, are you gonna work tonight?”

Bucky took another drink. “Yes, but not behind the bar.”

“Okay,” Clint replied with a nod. “Cool. Cool. And Steve? He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“Physically? Better than he could have been - nothing debilitating. Mentally? A wreck. I wish I still had that knot-head fuck in front of me.” As he took another mouthful he thought that maybe he heard Clint mutter ‘that would make two of you’, under his breath, but chose to ignore it. “Make sure Steve’s pay and an average tip amount is deposited in his account until he comes back.”

Clint gave him ‘a look’ before shuffling out, but Bucky just pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Hi Dad. Yeah - I got my problem sorted. I was just wondering, cos I’m at a loose end, whether you had any jobs you needed me to do.”

Numb.

That’s all Steve could describe his current state as. It had been that way from the moment that Bucky had walked away from him. He’d held the bottle of heat suppressants in his hand, and had seriously considered flushing them down the toilet, but deep down he’d known that he’d end up in a worse way if he did that. Bucky had said that it was all paid for, and he couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he ended up in hospital there’s no way he’d be able to afford it, even with his co-pay.

It had been four weeks now since Stephen’s assault, and Steve had taken the tablets religiously. He had an appointment in two weeks to discuss the withdrawal regime. Dr Cho was kind and understanding, and Steve almost couldn’t believe that she was mob affiliated.

He also hoped that he’d get some of his mojo back as he came off the drugs, although that might be a false hope. While they were almost definitely affecting his mood, he hadn’t been like this last time, with Stephen, so he knew that his emotional state was being impacted by the trauma. Maybe he should take Dr. Cho up on the offer of connecting him with a therapist. She’d hinted that Bucky would cover that as well.

He continued to muse upon it as he walked home from his diner shift. He’d been lucky that they’d held the job open for him for the week he’d taken off to get his head in some kind of order. As he reached his front door, he couldn’t help but place his hand flat against the wood of it. To anyone else, it looked exactly the same as every other front door in this block, but he knew it was different, and on some level reminded him of how he himself felt. Identical on the outside, but still changed.

The afternoon of that day, a few hours after Bucky had left, there had been a tentative knock against the damaged door. Upon careful - and baseball bat protected - investigation, it had turned out to be a crew of workers, again, all paid for. They’d replaced his door and installed more secure locks on both it and all of the windows in the apartment - even the window in his bedroom that only someone who could climb like a spider would be able to get through.

He knew it should make him feel better, knowing that it was almost impossible for anyone to break in now, but his confidence was still shot, and he jumped at every strange noise. On top of that every so often he caught a whiff of gunsmoke in the air, despite how long it had been. Steve couldn’t decide if it was residue from the actual gun Bucky had used to scare Stephen, or whether it was Bucky’s own Alpha scent still lingering in the remaining fabrics of his nest, no matter how much he’d washed them. Every time it wafted through the air, he felt his heart lurch.

He hated how he was caught in this limbo, missing Bucky like crazy, but also feeling sick at the thought of actually seeing him. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t been back to The Alpha Barne - he didn’t know if he was going to go running into Bucky’s arms or start shouting at him, letting out all the hurt and pain he knew was bubbling just under his skin. Because Bucky had lied. Hidden who and what he was, and it made Steve sick, just to think about it, although he wasn’t sure whether he felt that way because he didn’t like what Bucky did, or because he felt so foolish for not working it out. Whichever way it was though, everything, Bucky, the Barne, dancing, the lies, were all intrinsically linked to the assault and he couldn’t separate them as hard as he tried.

Steve had been listening to the radio only last week, when one of the songs he’d danced to came on. It had all been fine when he’d been dancing along subconsciously, but as soon as he realised what he was doing, all his emotions had come crashing in. In his mind’s eye he saw Stephen leering at him from the audience, saw Bucky flirting and kissing other Omega’s. He’d felt himself pinned down and begging for something he didn’t want. He’d dropped to the floor of his kitchen, his arms around himself as he’d sobbed.

Frustratingly, it wasn’t as though Bucky didn’t care. He obviously did if the flurry of texts and voicemails Steve had received was any indication, but Steve couldn’t find it within himself to answer with more than a bland ‘Busy, speak soon’. He just didn’t know what to say - how to articulate how he felt. Hell, he didn’t even know how he felt, other than it was too soon to even think about going back to his other job, no matter how much he’d grown to love and enjoy it. For the time being he’d just have to be frugal and take every single diner shift he could. He’d plaster on his best customer service mask, despite how he felt inside, and hope for tips.

Ditching his work gear and toe-ing off his shoes, Steve shuffled to his kitchen cabinet, pulling out another pack of 50 cent ramen noodles. Hopefully when he went to see Dr. Cho she’d have that fruit bowl on her desk again. He was certain that the oranges he pilfered from her were the only reason he hadn’t developed scurvy.

He slumped onto the sofa, bowl of noodles in hand and idly turned on the TV for background noise. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening on the British cookery programme he was watching, but it was entertaining nonetheless. The one bright spot in the past few weeks is that he hadn’t heard anything from Stephen. Not a peep, not a sniff. No more break-ins. No more feeling of being followed. Bucky had promised him that Stephen was still alive, so whatever Bucky had threatened his ex with seemed to have worked in making him stay away. If only he could relax though. Logically he knew he was safe, but he’d let down his guard before and look what had happened.

Steve whiled away the next few hours with mindless TV shows and an action movie, before dragging himself to have a shower and then collapsing into bed. The morning came all too soon, and Steve felt as though he hadn’t slept, despite not feeling as though he’d woken up during the night. He poured coffee down his throat to support the matchsticks holding his eyes open, and headed off for another day at the diner. He felt as though he was trapped in Groundhog Day.

A few hours in though, and something different happened. Or rather someone different walked through the door. Steve was having a chat during a lull with Stan, the line cook, when the bell over the door rang and Steve picked up the muted Beta scent of Clint.

He turned and flashed his old manager and -almost?- friend a sad smile.

“Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, Steve. Thought I’d come and see how you were doing. And from the looks of it, you’re not so great.” Clint slid into an empty booth and Steve took a seat opposite him. “So, tell me. What’s eating you, kid?”

Steve let out a sigh. “What’s not eating me? It’s all fucked up, Clint. I’m fucked up.”

Clint let out a snort. “I hate to tell you this, but life, in general is fucked up. I don’t think I know anyone who isn’t off kilter at least a little bit. And we miss you. Me, the girls. Bucky. Heck, I think even the patrons miss you.”

Steve’s lips twitched up at that. “I can’t dance, Clint. Not yet at least. It’s all too raw. I don’t know how much you know, but I have nightmares. And when I do sleep I don’t wake up rested. I want to reach out, I really do, but I just can’t.” He sighed again. “I thought I had something good. With Bucky. I was starting to think that maybe… But he was lying to me the whole time. I thought I knew who he was, but it turned out he was this whole other person after all.”

It was Clint’s turn to smile wanly.

“I know you’re hurt by it all, and I take some of the blame - I didn’t know you didn’t know - but tell me this; how was one different from the other?”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together as he tried to understand Clint’s question. “What do you mean?”

“When Bucky came to your apartment that night, when he ‘became’ this other person, as you put it, what did he do that was so different? Did he treat you any differently to how he had before?”

Steve sat, looking at Clint wide-eyed as realisation washed over him. Through all the hurt and all the pain, he’d never really broken down what Bucky had done that night, what lengths he’d gone to. He felt a lump form in his throat and tears form in his eyes as he answered.

“No. He didn’t treat me any different. In fact, he saved me.”

Maybe it was time to meet that therapist.

The rear door of the club banged on its hinges as Bucky shouldered his way through it. It was not in the mood for, well, anything. He stomped down the hall and into the office. His office. It was no longer just a place to do the odd deal, it was now the centre of the operations that his father had handed over to him.

Stalking across to the desk he yanked open the bottom drawer and pulled out the first aid kit and a part full bottle of whisky. He took a healthy swig of the latter before opening up the former. Ripping open an alcohol wipe, Bucky let out a restrained hiss as he swiped it across the bloody knuckles of his right hand.

It was strange how so much had changed in the past few weeks. While he had never shied away from the physical aspects of the business - knowing that sometimes it was the only way to deliver a message - he’d never actively sought out participation, quite happy for his father’s enforcers to do the majority of the dirty work. However, it now seemed that his mind was only ever quiet when he was beating seven shades of hell out of some snitch or rival punk. Or when he was deep in the bottle. Sometimes both.

George Barnes had been thrilled when Bucky had requested more involvement and responsibility, clapping his son on the shoulder and immediately drawing him into his traditional study and getting out his books. His mother, Winnifred, has known something was wrong though. Bucky could see it in her expression when she looked at him. He knew she was worried about what had prompted this change of heart regarding the business, but every time she looked as though she was about to start probing, he’d brush her off. Part of him wanted to pour his heart out to her, just as he had when he’d been a child, but another part of him told him that it was just life and he had to suck it up. Things got damaged and broken in their world, so he might as well get used to it.

Dropping the wipe, Bucky picked the bottle up again, tipping it up and just letting it burn down his throat. He didn’t even move when the office door opened and Clint walked through. Bucky did his best to ignore his friend, because if it wasn’t his mother trying to get him to talk, it was the stubborn Beta. Of course, Clint immediately noticed Bucky’s wounds.

“Sit down, Boss,” Clint said with a resigned note. “Who better to fix you up than the man who’s been there and had the blood splattered over his t-shirt?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but did as asked, although he didn’t relinquish the grip he had his bottle. Clint pulled out another alcohol wipe and got to work cleaning Bucky up. However, with Bucky now captive to him, it gave him a chance to start up on his new favourite topic of conversation.

“You haven’t gone to speak to him yet.” A statement, not a question. “You need to get a grip, man. Tell him how you feel.”

“He knows where I am,” Bucky snapped back. “I’ve texted him, but he’s barely responded. I’ve said all I need to say.”

“Have you?” Clint scoffed. “Have you really? Because if you had then I doubt you would be sitting here bloody and drunk, and Steve wouldn’t be sleep-walking through life as though he’s an emotionless automaton.”

Bucky tipped back the bottle again. “Butt out, Clint. It’s not your life. It’s mine. I’m just doing what I gotta do.”

“Yeah, and what you’re doing is ruining it.” He grabbed the gauze and started to wrap a bandage around Bucky’s knuckles. “Come on, Bucky. You were so happy before. You and Steve. But now you’re on the path to self-destruction. There’s a big difference between getting more involved with the family business and using it to block out your pain. Steve cares for you, I know he does, but he’s confused and traumatised. I’m thinking that maybe you are as well.”

Bucky let out a derisive laugh. “Me? I wasn’t the one who was attacked.”

“Yeah, but the Omega - the person - that you love was,” Clint countered. “You only just got there in time to stop it and then you had to deal with the aftermath. Had to watch him distraught and in pain. However, you only helped him through part of it. As soon as feelings on both sides got involved you ran away.”

“He asked me to leave, Barton.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Did he say ‘I want you to leave’?”

Bucky’s brain whirred, sorting through his memories of the last time he’d seen Steve. Had he asked Bucky to go, or had Bucky said that he was going to and Steve just went along with it? His head started to pound with it.

“You know what, Clint? Fuck off. I don’t need you trying to analyse me. I’ve got a shrink if I need to do that.” Bucky pushed himself up from the chair, knowing he shouldn’t be talking to his friend like this, but feeling just so full of frustration he couldn’t stop it from spilling over. He took a last drink and threw the now empty bottle into the trash. “Call Kate. She’s working tonight to cover my shift. In fact, she can cover them all until further notice.”

Without even looking at Clint, unable to meet his eyes, Bucky strode out of the office and onto the main floor of the club. He kept his gaze fixed forwards, not wanting to see the pity-filled expressions of the people he knew. When he reached the bar he stopped at it long enough to grab another bottle, tequila this time, before heading out of the main doors.

He wasn’t really thinking about where he was going, just knowing he needed a walk to clear his head. A little voice inside commented that it was difficult to do that if he was going to continue to drink while he crossed town, but he told it to shut up. He was aware that he was receiving concerned and cautious glances from other pedestrians, and even noticed a few folk going out of their way to avoid him, but he didn’t care.

His world had gone to shit. He loved Steve. His Stevie. His Sunshine. But he’d been stupid and selfish. Through his own actions and ineptitude he’d broken Steve’s trust in him and allowed him to get hurt. How different would the present be if he’d been straight with Steve from the beginning? Would Steve have still wanted to know him - have a relationship with him? Would Bucky have been brave enough to declare his feelings? Could they have avoided the whole Stephen thing altogether?

Finding himself in familiar surroundings, Bucky wasn’t even surprised to realise that he’d walked all the way to Steve’s apartment. He was even less surprised to note that it had started raining, and from the state of his clothes, had been for sometime. On top of that, dusk was falling and the street lights were turning on. Time always seemed to pass quickly these days, stuck in his own head as he so often was, and both his parents and Clint had called him out on a few occasions for blanking them when they were talking to him.

He crossed the street and made his way down the alley at the side of the building. Although he couldn’t see in from here, he could see Steve’s living room lit up at the top of the fire escape, and could make out shadows flitting around inside. Cautiously, tucking the tequila bottle into his pants, he began to climb up. As drunk as he was, he somehow managed to scale the metal rungs quietly, and he crouched on the platform outside Steve’s window, looking in through a crack in the curtains.

Bucky could hear music playing from Steve’s speakers and he shifted slightly so he could see where Steve was jigging along in his little kitchenette, cooking something up on the stove. God, Steve was so fucking beautiful it hurt. What he wouldn’t give to be inside with him right now. Dancing and singing along, cooking together. He imagined how after a simple meal for two, he’d pull Steve close, whisper sweet nothings in his ear and then take him to the bedroom and take him apart in the most beautiful way. His eyes burned with unshed tears and he pulled the bottle from his pants and took a drink. It was only as he righted it that he realised that he’d gotten down to the bottom.

He stared at it for a moment, his heart beating wildly in his chest, thoughts swirling and realisation starting to crystallise in his mind. He looked up at Steve again, seemingly happy or at least on his way to being so, and then back down at himself. His clothes were rumpled and smeared with dirt, blood and alcohol.

What the actual fuck was he doing?

He was acting just like Stephen - mooning over Steve and making it all about how he felt. God, he was even creeping like the deranged Alpha, watching Steve from the shadows. He felt bile rise in his throat and retched, his stomach emptying the alcohol over the side of the fire escape and onto the concrete below. When no more came up, he scrambled down the ladder as fast his legs could safely take him and leant against the wall.

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. And if he stood any chance of rebuilding his relationship with Steve he had to fix whatever the hell was wrong with him. He caught sight of a dumpster a few feet away, and threw the empty bottle overhand into it, listening to the tinkle of glass as it smashed upon impact.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialled a number he hadn’t called in months. As it rang he took one more look up at the windows of Steve’s apartment, before turning on his heel and heading towards the nearest taxi rank. When the phone connected, he had no time for pleasantries.

“Banner? Yeah, it’s Barnes. I need my head shrunk and I need your soonest appointment. Tomorrow at 10am? Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Steve let out a sigh and stretched his arms over his head. He’d been lucky enough to score a lucrative night shift for once. Unluckily, it came as part of a double shift because one of the other servers had called in sick. Still, it would help to bolster his bank account and he could live with that, even if it came at the expense of feet ache, back ache and sleep deprivation.

There had been a rush on around midnight, when all the local clubs had kicked out, and Steve had kept his head down as much as he was able when he recognised some patrons from the Alpha Barne, but since then it had been fairly quiet. The only patrons they’d really had were a few of the local homeless who used their meagre scraped together coins to buy bottomless coffee and use the diner as a place to stay warm and safe overnight. Steve couldn’t begrudge them that, especially as he considered how close he’d been to being their shoes. However, it was now nearing 5am, and the night shift cook had told him to start expecting the early risers. They often got a lot of construction workers looking for a cheap and filling meal on their way to their job sites.

It was now two months since the attack, and he’d been seeing the psychiatrist, Dr Banner, who Dr Cho had put him in touch with. With a kindly face, and a soft spoken voice, the older Alpha had listened patiently to Steve’s story, his fears and feelings of betrayal, and while he knew he still had a long way to go, Steve knew that he was on the right path. He was looking forward to coming off the suppressants in the next few weeks, hoping it would make him feel even more like himself.

At Dr Banner’s insistence, he’d tried to dance at home again. “You shouldn’t let these incidents rob you of what brings you joy, Steve,” he’d said, and Steve had vowed to try again. Without a proper pole in his house, he’d tried to replicate his dance from that first night, and while he’d struggled to get through it, had finished in a puddle of tears, he had done it. Maybe some of the tears had been down to relief? But still, it gave him hope. If he could regain his confidence with dancing he might be able to find the confidence and strength to go back to the Alpha Barne - work there again and face Bucky. As he considered it all, Steve stretched out his legs, rotating his ankles to ease the ache, unconsciously going into a dancer’s pose.

The bell above the door rang and he grabbed his notepad. He turned to face his new customer with a smile which froze on his face. There, with the door closing behind him was Bucky. But this wasn’t the Bucky that Steve remembered.

His Bucky had worn jeans and either plain black t-shirts or maroon or navy Henleys, his long hair casually tied up in a bun. This Bucky was an altogether different beast. He wore a suit; black with a subtle pinstripe check. His hair was still tied up, but it had been slicked back and tamed - something which caused a pang of disappointment to dart through him. This Bucky also had hollow looking eyes and bandaged hands.

Bucky stepped forward. “Hi, Stevie.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “Hi, Buck- I mean, James.”

Bucky’s lips turned up, but there was no joyful smile in his eyes. “I’m still Bucky. Buck. That hasn’t changed. I was wondering if we could talk?”

Steve pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he looked around. There were two homeless guys sitting in a booth on the far side, doing yesterday’s crossword puzzle between them. They’d already been here two hours and were unlikely to order anything, but he didn’t know who was going to work through the doors before then.

“The next shift comes in at 6am, so I am sort of working until then. Do you want to wait?”

“Of course I’ll wait,” Bucky replied and this time his eyes did reflect his smile, albeit shyly. “But could I trouble you for a cup of coffee? I’m not used to seeing the day from this end.”

Steve couldn’t help but flash his own smile. “Take a seat. I’ll bring it over. And it’s bottomless.”

“Even better.”

Steve made his way behind the counter, finding the cleanest and most un-chipped mug he could, and filled it up with steaming coffee from the jug. Automatically he added a small spoon of sugar and dollop of cream, his hands remembering how Bucky liked to drink his joe.

When he turned back around, he found Bucky sitting in the opposite corner to the other two customers, and he was looking at something on his phone. Steve’s heart jumped in his chest as he took this opportunity to quietly study the Alpha who produced such conflicting feelings within him. He was so glad to see him, and his inner Omega longed to curl up in Bucky’s lap and trade lazy kisses until he was purring with contentment. However, he knew that to do so without clearing the air and saying what he needed to say would lead to disaster in the long term. The pair of them needed to be on the same page.

Squaring his shoulders, Steve walked over to Bucky’s table and placed the cup in front of him. Bucky tilted his head up, his eyes shining with emotion, and Steve opened his mouth to start to say his piece when the bell rang again. Looking over his shoulder, Steve saw a group of labourers, hats in hand and hi-vis vests tucked into their pants, crowd through the door.

“Go do your job, Stevie. I said I’d wait, and I mean it.”

Over the next hour Steve served the customers who came in for early breakfasts, a mixture of labourers, early-rising office workers and first responders coming off shift. In between orders, he’d glance over a Bucky, who asked for a refill twice, but was more often than not still reading and typing on his phone. Eventually though Carol, who was scheduled to do the early shift, came through the door. After handing over to her, Steve returned to Bucky’s booth.

“So I’m done. You said you wanted to talk?”

“I do. I think we have a lot to say to each other, but if you’re anything like me, you’re famished. Would you mind getting me some pancakes? Maybe a double stack and you can eat too?”

Steve felt a blush make its way up his neck. Bucky remembered how much he liked pancakes. He’d eat them at every meal if he could.

“Sure, Buck. I’ll be right back.”

[Image description: A moodboard. The background is a cityscape at dawn, the background different shades of orange. There are five picture frames. The first is the interior of a diner. The second is an external view of a diner in the morning. The large sign is turned off. The third is of a lit up, bent arrow sign at night, declaring a Diner, with the word “eat” underneath. The fourth is a quote - “Create the life you can’t wait to wake up to.” The fifth picture is of a stack of pancakes with a jug of syrup and a cup of coffee on a diner table.]

He returned a little over five minutes later, carrying a massive plate, groaning with buttered pancakes, and with a jug of syrup in his other hand. Placing it down, he slid onto the bench seat opposite Bucky.

They looked at each other and as Steve opened his mouth to speak, Bucky did the same.

“How’ve you been?” Steve asked as Bucky said “I hope you’ve been doing okay.”

They both stopped and Steve was pleased to note he wasn’t the only one blushing. Bucky gestured with his hand and Steve answered first.

“Not badly, all things considered. I mean, it was rough at the beginning, but Dr Cho has been great - explaining to me why I need to stay on the suppressants for so long before coming off them. I actually start the process of weaning off them next week, which I’m looking forward to. And I’ve started therapy. It’s probably something I should have done when I got away from Stephen that first time, but better late than never, I suppose. My psychiatrist is really good at helping me deal with all the anger I’ve been feeling. What about you?”

Bucky laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table in front of him. His thumbs fidgeted against each other and his gaze was cast down.

“I’ve - umm - been working. With my father. Not behind the bar.”

It seemed to Steve that Bucky was worried how he’d react to the news. To be honest, Steve wasn’t actually sure how he felt. He didn’t want to make a spur of the minute judgement. “And do you enjoy that more than bar-tending?” he probed gently.

Bucky did look up at that, cocking his head with a snort. “I don’t know if enjoying it is the right word. I mean, it’s good to get more involved in the running of everything. Working on logistics and planning. Although I can’t say that I don’t enjoy some aspects of ‘taking out the trash’.” He glanced briefly at his knuckles and Steve couldn’t help but follow his gaze. “But I do miss the club. Clint. The girls. It felt like a big family, you know?”

“Are you going to continue with it?” Steve asked

“Will my answer make a difference to what happens next?”

Steve gave a little shrug. “Possibly. I don’t know. I think I need to get my head around it.”

“That’s fair,” Bucky agreed with a nod. “But I think this change was inevitable. I couldn’t keep myself out of it forever. It is a family business after all.”

Silence fell between them and in order to stop feeling awkward, Steve grabbed his cutlery and cut off a wedge of pancake, dunking it in the jug of syrup.

“Heathen,” Bucky hissed in amusement, and Steve felt himself grin, unbidden, around his mouthful. For a few minutes they both ate, but the silence grew heavy again and when he finished a mouthful, Steve blurted out, “I never thanked you. So ‘thank you’. For saving me.”

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky sighed out. “You don’t have to do that. Not at all. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t get there sooner. I’m sorry he even had the chance to hurt you again.”

Without thinking, Steve reached out across the table and took Bucky’s hand loosely in his own. “It’s not your fault, Buck. None of it. I should have told you. I trusted you more than anyone, but I still didn’t say anything.”

Bucky smiled back at him, gently squeezing his hand back.

“I remember,” Steve continued, “when you came in, and you were facing off against Stephen, talking about how I got to choose who to fuck and love and trust. I remember you saying that you hit two out of the three.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose up towards his hair. “You remember that? You were pretty out of it. I’m sorry that I don’t check any of your boxes now. I doubt you trust me any more, but I wouldn’t blame you. I lied about who I was.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “You did. I made assumptions and you didn’t correct them. Numerous times. And I am cross about it, but I still trust you. And when it comes down to it, you only lied about who you are, not what you are.”

“What do you mean ‘what I am’?” Bucky asked, obviously puzzled.

“You, James Buchanan Barnes, are a good man. You’re a good Alpha and a good friend. You are my lover and my hero. And you’re the man that I love. You don’t tick only two of my boxes, Bucky. You tick all of them. All three of them.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Y-you love me? You never said anything, Steve, other than wanting to be friends.”

“How could I not love you? From the moment you took me home before my heat I was a goner. You looked after me. Cared for me. You weren’t disgusted…” unbidden memories of Stephen’s treatment of him came flooding into his mind and Steve stuttered to a halt, pulling his hand back from Bucky’s. He didn’t dare look at Bucky, and instead stared at the drips of syrup that were domed atop the melamine table top. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I was worthy of love, especially yours. So I kept telling myself that you wouldn’t want more than friends with benefits. Every time I said it out loud I think I was trying to convince myself more than anything. Anyway, I wanted you to know. It seemed only right. I don’t want to have any secrets from you anymore.”

In the following silence, Steve was sure he heard crickets chirping, and despite how awkward and embarrassed he felt, eventually he peered up from under his eyelashes. Bucky looked like he’d stopped working. His mouth was still open like a fish and he was blinking like he was trying desperately to process what Steve had just said. Worried about what he might say when he did get his wits about him, Steve pressed on.

“The therapy is really working though. I’m feeling a lot more myself. Better than in a long time, even though I know there’s still a long way to–”

“I love you too.” The words tumbled from Bucky’s lips, stopping Steve mid-flow as surely as the way that Bucky reclaimed his hand did. “And, fuck. Of course you’re worthy of love, Stevie. You’re worthy of everything. If anything, it’s me that isn’t.” He pulled Steve’s hand up to his face and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I lied to you, over and over again. I knew I should tell you, but I was so scared that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. You seemed so against this whole ‘family business’ thing, and while I desperately wanted something more, I wanted to respect the fact that you only wanted friendship.”

Steve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “What a pair we are, Buck. And as for how I spoke about what you did, what your family does, I don’t know anything about that world outside of newspaper clippings and over the top films. For the most part I was just being silly - winding you up to watch you smile.” He shifted his hand within Bucky’s grasp so that their fingers were entwined. “I love watching you smile. Watching you blush. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes, but as I said earlier, no more secrets, yeah?”

“Yeah, no more secrets, Sunshine.” Bucky reached up his hand and swiped his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “I promise that whatever I do will have as little impact upon you as possible. You can know whatever you want to know.”

Steve nuzzled into Bucky’s hand, feeling a purr build in his chest at the closeness. “I don’t think I’m gonna be feeling some kinda way for a while, but I wondered, after we’ve finished here, if you wanted to come and doze in my nest with me. Maybe watch a movie or two?”

Bucky smiled at him adoringly. “Sunshine, I'm happy to do whatever you want.”

It was difficult for the pair of them to finish off the pancake stack with only one hand each, but Steve wasn’t willing to let Bucky go, and it seemed as though Bucky felt the same.

He knew they both had a way to go yet, but it was a new day and they were going to face it together.

Chapter 4

Tag list:@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

Bingo and Challenge fills:

For the whole fic: @Buckybarnesevents Into and alternate June-iverse - Strip Club | April Babb - Pet names

For the Chapter: @Stuckybingo -Pancakes | @steverogersbingo - Worthy Steve | @Stuckygeekevents - “How could I not love you?” | Alpha Bucky April - Purring

#shrinkyclinks #steve x bucky #stucky au #omegaverse #connect 4 #stuckybingo #steve rogers bingo #stucky geek events #Alpha Bucky April #alpha bucky barnes #omega steve rogers

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povfirst · 1 year ago

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What is Maya?

Maya is a software in which it is also named as 'Autodesk maya'. It is a 3D graphics application. Maya has various animation tools that can be used for: simulation, animations and modelling. It can be used in VR (Virtual Reality), motion graphics, low poly, UV maps and character formation.

youtube

#Youtube

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subukunojess · 1 year ago

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SNJ's Yuletide 2023 Letter

Dear Yuletide Writer,

Hello!

From one busy writer to another, thank you for writing something for me whether I am your main assignment or an extra treat. Your hard work and time is appreciated. I will also do my best to write something for my person, I'm the type of person who loves anything that is given to me as long as you enjoy it and you have read my Do Not Wants. I hope this letter would serve as a guide.

Please forgive me since this is my first year attending such a gift exchange and I am unsure whether I will do it again next year; I would like to try it and see where it takes me. Before we begin, here are some things about me that might help you under the cut:

I am SubukuNoJess at Archive of Our Own (AO3). I am an autistic asexual currently studying for a Master's degree in Professional and Creative Writing. I write fluff/humor/dark fanfiction and I'm known to like obscure fandoms/monsters. Even in a fic exchange dedicated to the rare and obscure, I am most likely the odd one out again. Haha, we'll see! I dive into multiple fandoms and I am willing to try new things most of the time. If you want to know more about me, you can visit my AO3 or Tumblr page to get an idea of what I write about and like.

Speaking of trying new things, I usually go with the flow and if I come across something I do not like, I will stop and mostly say so. Due to this being a surprise exchange, here is a Do Not Want list that I hope would help:

General DNW's: No explicit smut/sex: With NSFW in general, I am more tolerant in writing than art. If I do read it, it's under certain conditions and moods. Having said that, I generally do not like reading graphically detailed scenes of the actual act or the body parts involved. If anything, I would prefer it if it fades to black or after the fact. No PWP/PWC: Concerning with above, I would like to add that for the NSFW sexual pieces I do like, it's usually because I like the writing, interactions, and the characters. Having said that, Porn Without Plot is not my cup of tea. I don't know if PWC is a term (please correct me if I'm wrong), but I mean it by Porn Without Character. I do not want to read smut for the sake of smut and in the rare chance that I actually do, I want to do so with characterization at least. No Sexual Assault/Rape. Instant turn off. Squick. No Non-Con or Dub-Con. No Pedophilia. No incest. No excessive gore or violence. I do not mind blood or violence, but I do not want too much of it.

Next, here are my general likes. I would like anything that you can come up with, but here are some ideas to get you started: Found Family Friendship Humor/Comedy Exploration of platonic and romantic relationships Intimacy & Emotions Fluff Dark Angst Headcanons Autistic Representation LGBTQ+ OCs, AUs, Reader-inserts, Canon-Divergence, etc. Anything Creative!

And here are some specific interests/kinks I have that are completely optional/bonus points! I put them separate just in case and I'll put some of myself out there: Giants, Tinies, Sizeshifters, Height Difference (G/T) Monsters Giant monsters Hivemind Possession/Hypnotism Monster/Human relationships (whether platonic or romantic) People getting Eaten/Vore (Whether it is used as horror/fear or safe/oral) Fusions (ala Steven Universe) Anything describing voice, especially if it's deep, low, loud or multiple at once

Finally, I want to go over my requests that I would like to propose for this year including the characters I have in mind, why I like the fandom, and some ideas:

Moana (2016) - Movie Where To Find It: Disney (DVD/Blu-Ray)/Disney Plus Characters I Have In Mind: Maui, Moana, and Tamatoa Must Haves: Any About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Moana has made a big impact on me in my adult life so far. As I started college and my place in the fandom/creative world changed drastically, it was that I watched Moana and fell in love with it. Moana is the Disney Princess I relate to the most, my mom adores the film, and I grew interested in one of the antagonists, Tamatoa. It was Tamatoa that I made an account on Tumblr and helped me create again. For a year or two, I've been active in the Moana community especially on the Tamatoa side of things. Currently I still am and I have wips in the back burner. Moana is the story about a girl who is the daughter of a chief in the island of Motunui. Taking place in Polynesia and the age of Wayfinding, Moana goes on a journey to find the demi-god of the wind and sea, Maui, and restore the Heart of Te Fiti while overcoming obstacles along the way. Ideas and Prompts: I pick Moana, Maui, and Tamatoa because I love those three so much. You can either have one of them, a combo of two, or all three. I do not mind which one you use. I like prequels, mid-scenes, sequels, what if's, etc. I like anything incorporating Polynesian mythology/folklore respectfully. Moana ideas: Her interacting with the Ocean and her people, becoming a chief, telling her adventure to the children, going on a journey with Pua the Pig and Heihei the Rooster, discovering a new island, becoming immortal Maui ideas: Maui shapeshifting for the first time, him and Mini Maui having an adventure, maybe a look at his feats (pulling up islands, lassoing the sun, etc.) that are well-known or not, shapeshifting into a completely different form not shown in the movie, him interacting with the humans Tamatoa ideas: How did Tamatoa get Maui's fish hook? How did he became the unspoken ruler of Lalotai, the realm of the monsters? Hunting with bioluminesence. Tamatoa interacting with other monsters. Giant Monster Rampage. Tamatoa/Reader fics. Human!Tamatoa. Tamatoa being bigger than canon (50 feet) like maybe 100 feet. Anything having to do with his voice and teeth. And his colors. Tamatoa in the modern world. An AU where Modern Human Tamatoa somehow transforms into his giant crab form like a werewolf thing. Moana and Maui ideas: The two reuniting and going on adventures together, sailing and hanging out Tamatoa and Maui ideas: Them meeting for the first time, their friendship/relationship before the events of the film, the scene where Maui cuts off one of Tamatoa's legs, them meeting post-film, and how do things go from there, Tamatoa hypnotizing Maui to do something (angst) Tamataoa and Moana ideas: They meet after the film and slow-burn reconciling, friendship bonding, Tamatoa hypnotizing Moana (not angst) Moana, Maui, and Tamatoa ideas: The two help Tamatoa get off his back, the three go on a journey/treasure hunt, the au where Tamatoa starts off small but grows bigger over time as he interacts with Moana and Maui on the surface, the three fighting a monstrous foe

Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King (Theater) Where to Find It: On National Tour, the Album on Spotify, what clips you find on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Lydia and Beetlejuice Must Haves: Lydia and/or Beetlejuice About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Inspired by the 80's film of the same name, Beetlejuice the Musical is a horror/comedy story of life and death when a mourning Lydia Deetz who moved to the Maitland house and thinks about death meets a demonic ghost named Beetlejuice who thinks about life and wants to be seen. I am surprised this made it on the tag list and I'm not going to question it. I love the music and the aesthetic of this. At first, I thought it was just some random thing I saw a commercial for, but I got obsessed with the album around 2019 and I managed to watch it at the Winter Garden theatre on January 7th 2020. The actors are amazing in their roles, the dynamics the characters have for each other make my day, and the themes really get to me. Ideas and Prompts: I thought about it and when I think of Beetlejuice, I think of the friendship/chaotic sibling energy that Lydia and Beetlejuice have. You can write about either of them or both. Lydia ideas: Anything with her and her mother Emily Deetz would be like. I headcanon that her middle name is Chrysanthemum, but that's optional. Anything post-musical. What are the new changes she has made with her new extended family? Does she go to school and make friends? I know that Worldbuilding was not nominated for this fandom, so this is completely optional, but I would love to see how Lydia thinks about Winter River, Connecticut through her eyes. Lydia bonding with Delia or the Maitlands. Lydia and Charles slowly healing from their trauma. Lydia has supernatural abilities! Beetlejuice ideas: What happened with Beetlejuice after the musical ended? Did he find his father? How does he reunite with the Deetz/Maitland family? Any headcanons/lore you have of him especially demon/ghost related. Favorite pairings with Beej: Beej/Adam/Barbara, Beetlejuice/Reader or OC, and in a different universe Beej/Emily/Charles. Beej interacting with his star namesake Betelgeuse. Beetlejuice's job of a guide to the recently deceased. Giant Beetlejuice, Giant Beetlejuice, Giant Beetlejuice. Lydia and Beetlejuice ideas: What happened between acts 1 and 2? How did Lydia survive three days without adult supervision in a haunted house? Lydia and Beetlejuice explore the town for supernatural discoveries. Beetlejuice being a big brother figure to Lydia. Neurodivergent headcanons. The two take over a holiday (whether Halloween, Christmas, or whatever!).

Little Shop of Horrors - Menken/Ashman (Theater) Where To Find It: Clips on YouTube, Off-Broadway Show in New York, and plenty of albums on Spotify Characters I Have In Mind: Audrey Fulquard, Audrey II, Mr. Mushnik, Seymour Krelborn Must Haves: Audrey II About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Little Shop of Horrors is a horror/comedy musical written by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman about a man named Seymour who discovers a strange and interesting plant he nicknames Audrey II who can talk, sing, and feeds on blood. The musical was based on the 1960s film "The Little Shop of Horrors", has a 1986 film version with different endings, and is currently Off-Broadway. Again, I am surprised that the musical and the movie are here, but I'm not going to question it. I decided to go with the play version of Little Shop since I think it doesn't get enough love like the movie. While I was a teenager, I remember seeing a crossover art with Oogie Boogie (Nightmare Before Christmas) shaped like Audrey II and I got curious. Ever since then, I have become obsessed with Little Shop of Horrors. I go flowing into the fandom when the mood hits. I love the songs and characters, especially the plant so much. I have introduced my friends to Little Shop in the past and it makes me smile to this day. Ideas and Prompts: For this fandom, this is going to be one of my advanced requests. My requirement is that Audrey II, the man-eating plant must be in the piece. Whether by themselves or with any character of your choice. You can have Audrey, Seymour, Mushnik, a combination, or all three as well, but Twoey must be present in the fic. As for general random ideas to inspire: Audrey II as a species and their home planet. Human or Gijinka Audrey II. Audrey II crossbred with another plant/flower of your choice. A creative new outlook for Audrey II based on different play versions (Twoey having multiple heads, Twoey being a different carnivorous plant, hivemind Audrey II, Twoey's voice being the last person they consumed, etc.). Audrey II having hypnotism/siren-like powers. What does the plant apocalypse look like? Rampage. Giant Audrey II. Giant Audrey II. Giant Audrey II. Twoey interacts with humans in different stages of life. Twoey bonding with either Seymour, Audrey, or Mr. Mushnik. Twoey discovering human music. Audrey II in a modern AU/setting. Any Twoey/Reader. Anything else is fair game.

Disney Dreamlight Valley (Video Game) Where To Find It: Switch, PC, and other Game Consoles as well as Playthroughs on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Player Character, The Forgotten Must Haves: Player and Forgotten About the Fandom and Why I Like It: There's just something about cozy games where you meet and live next door to your favorite Disney characters that just get to me. When I got my Switch this year, I immediately wanted to get Disney Dreamlight Valley and I am so glad I did. This magic decorating, fishing, and cooking game has you as a Dreaming Ruler who wakes up in a mysterious valley overrun with Night Thorns and beloved Disney Characters such as Merlin, Mickey Mouse, Donald, and Goofy living together, but slowly forgetting their memories. As you go restoring the village and getting new villagers along the way, you uncover secrets and memories that shake your core and have you reminiscing… and that's just the first act. Ideas and Prompts: For this request, you must use a version of the player character and the Forgotten. I did not sign up for worldbuilding because I'm more interested in character development and relationships. Please note that the Forgotten does have feelings of anxiety, depression, and negativity but by the end is slowly recovering. So definite angst and hurt/comfort here. I do love the notion of the Forgotten being the child side of the player character. The one who has teenage angst and has a realistic point of view of the world, but feels alone and forgotten about. For the angst side of things, you could focus on how the Forgotten feels about being betrayed and ignored as well as how they feel about the player character prior to the game. For fluff/humor/comfort, you can have the Player trying their best to make the Forgotten comfortable. Maybe they go on a picnic or they go treasure hunting together or they stay indoors and read books. Or they help the villagers together. Since this is a Disney game, you can put whatever Disney references/cameos you would like. It's entirely optional for you. Bonus option: I associate the Forgotten with the song "Once Upon A December" from the animated Anastasia film. Since this is Yuletide, I thought it would fit but again, optional for you.

Mario + Rabbids Series (Video Games) Where To Find It: Nintendo Switch and Gameplay on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Beep-0, Phantom of the Bwahpera, Rabbid Mario, and Rabbi Must Haves: Phantom of the Bwahpera/Tom Phan About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Honestly, I do not know how I got hyperfixated with this fandom until recently. This series is somewhat of a crossover that stands alone, combining the world of the Mushroom Kingdom (Mario) with chaotic characters known as the Rabbids. It resulted in a new and funny combo of the Mario characters interacting with Rabbid versions of themselves first in Kingdom Battle, and then four new original adventures with the sequel Sparks of Hope and the three DLCs. At first, I was neutral about this. I liked Mario first and I didn't know what to think about the Rabbids since I did not grow up with them. I just knew they existed. It wasn't until one of the boss fights that I took interest and that's the Phantom of the Bwahpera. I love the music, the concept of a giant ghost rabbid with a phonograph in his body, and the voice. At first, I thought it was a one-time interest. I could see how some of my friends were fans of the character and I enjoyed how in Sparks of Hope, the Rabbids not only had voices and personalities, but a brand new story and characters. It came and went… until last month when the third DLC came out: Rayman in the Phantom Show. And I am currently obsessed with this. I love love love the dynamic between the five main cast of characters: Rayman, Rabbid Mario, Rabbid Peach, Beep-0, and the Phantom as they run the Space Opera Network together. Unfortunately, I could only nominate four characters I do not know if Rayman would be allowed, so you get the other four to work with. Ideas and Prompts: This is my other advanced request. You can use any character you would like (Rabbid Mario, Rabbid Peach, Beep-0, or any combo), however, The Phantom of the Bwahpera must be in the fic. He's one of my villain blorbo's and he's only in three fics on AO3 so far. Here are some random suggestions: What happened with the Phantom after Spooky Trails? Did he turn it into a theater? How did he get started traveling across the galaxy? Pairings that I like with Phantom: Phantom/Woodrow, Phantom/OC, Phantom/Reader. What happened between Phantom and Bea? Phantom partakes in different music genres and how that genre gives him new powers. During a time when he lost his voice, what did he do to fix it? How did he heal? Did he study sign language to communicate? How did he meet with the Space Opera Network? Phantom roasts your favorite character! And how do they react? Phantom actually wins and takes over, having ultimate power. What would that be like? Phantom uses sound powers, including luring people/Rabbids to their doom. Phantom interacting with his own acting troupe. Chaotic adventures of the Phantom filming a scene with Rabbid Mario and Rabbid Peach. The Phantom and Beep-0 teasing each other. Oh no! Either Rabbid Mario or Rabbid Peach used Mayhem the Spark to hypnotize the Phantom. What will he do? Giant Phantom, Giant Phantom, Giant Phantom. A battle scene with the Phantom. Phantom duets with the love interest.

Sackboy: A Big Adventure (Video Game) Where To Find It: Playstation 4 and 5, Microsoft Windows, and Gameplay on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Sackboy, Scarlet, and Vex Must Haves: Any About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Sackboy: A Big Adventure is a stand-alone Little Big Planet game about Sackboy trying to save the Imagisphere from a chaotic being named Vex from taking it over using the Uproar. Sackboy is guided by a Knitted Knight named Scarlet during this quest. This was another instance where I saw the villain first on a random post and immediately obsessed over the game after I looked it up. I love the art style, gameplay, and the voice-acting. I got it for myself on the PS4 and I suck at it, but luckily, my brother plays with me sometimes and I get through the levels. Ideas and Prompts: For this, you can choose any character and combination for the piece. I would love to read a piece with any of them and I'll be happy. Here are some random ideas: What are the Knitted Knights like? Did Scarlet and Vex meet in the past? Scarlet and Sackboy found family! Sackboy interacting with other knights (Co-Op) or the people of his village. Intense interactions between Sackboy and Vex. Giant Vex, Giant Vex, Giant Vex. I do like Vex/Reader fics. Vex taking Sackboy in as an apprentice. Sackboy trying to stay alive. Sackboy trying on different outfits and becoming comfortable with his new look.

I hope this all helps somehow. Thank you and happy writing!

SNJ

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would-holden-caulfield-like-nge · 6 months ago

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Bully Design Time!

I admit, I mostly made this drawing because I re-watched Heathers yesterday and I really liked the colors. So I wanted to colorpick a screenshot and see how it would go.

(Forgive the low quality, this is screenshotted form Dailymotion haha)

I didn't get the effect perfectly, obviously, mostly because my background is just a gradient, meanwhile, the screenshot has the blue wall broken up by the warm brown props. But I do think I managed to gain something from this.

One thing that I thought about while watching Heathers was, that the movie has this beautiful and ethereal feeling to it, yet the colors are often surprisingly dark. Obviously, this can easily be explained with color values and saturation and such, not that strange. But it's good to keep in mind, that in real life (and on video), skin can look much darker than you might go for when trying to draw it from memory. I think a part of this might be the fact, that in digital art, you start out with a pure white canvas, which feels as the "default". When I first put down those colorpicked skin tones, it really did feel too dark, but as I put the other colors around it, it felt right.

I do think the skin turned out nice and natural looking. Usually, I would go for a bit more stylized, sickly yellow look for this Shut In Gary, but it's nice to try something else.

What I also noticed when looking at this screenshot (and Heathers in general) is that often, there are these warm neutrals and then a few bright pops of colour. Again, I realized, that this movie is much less colorful, than I remembered it. This is also a good thing to remember, as it's a pretty simple and effective way to place colours. It's a pretty simple idea - I read a bit about this on John K.'s blog. And these pops of colour don't even have to be so bright on their own! Again, color context. I'm sure you're all sophisticated individuals who have heard of it, it's a classic.

Now, about the props on the table. There's a graphic tablet with the pen, a big laptop (I tried to go for a more bulky 2000s design, though it might not be obvious, since it's so simplified). There are also these two opened cans of an energy drink. My first instinct was to make it a Monster, but then I wanted to be more creative and so I went with an energy drink from my country, Semtex.

(It's named after an explosive!)

I asked myself "Wait, why would this american boy drink energy drinks from Central Europe?" but I just concluded, that he's drank so many of them, that he's become a connoisseur and orders energy drinks from all over the world, trying to find the best one. That's a bit of lore for you!

There's also a drawing of a silly little Jimmy inspired rabbit, inspired by someone on the tags of the first post, who suggested, that Gary draws cartoons featuring a little rabbit named "Rabid Jim". 10/10, no notes.

There are also papers with... things written on them. I had to flip the image upside down to write these. If you don't want to flip the image yourself, one of them is just... scribbles resembling cursive handwriting, signed by Peter "Petey" Kowalski.

Another one reads "I am an artist, please god forgive me". Just a funny little song reference. And the paper underneath it just has "Ha!Ha!Ha!" written on it over and over again to show off how crayzeeee Gary is and stuff.

So yeah, that's about it! Cool stuff, right?

20 year old Gary, totally epically eviscerating someone on the internet with his genius. Ain't he cool?

#bullydesign

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littlesniggy · 3 years ago

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That demon admiral headcanon got me thinking, IF they happened to fall in love with a human even though they see humans as lesser creatures. This human just some how makes them tick, how will it go down ?!

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for requesting! I actually can't believe how many requests regarding the admirals I've received! But I can't complain 😂 But I hate to break it to you, admiral demons will NEVER fall in love. I know I crushed your and my fragile little heart but that's just how it is. I hope you can forgive me.

Warnings: a little suggestive maybe, nothing graphic I think, unrequited love

Demon! Admirals 'falling in love' headcanons (but not really lol)

Sakazuki

Well, as I said before, he sees humans as less than demons and he will NOT fall in love with one. That’s maybe also due to the fact that I picture demons not feeling any ‘positive’ emotions that humans feel like empathy, sympathy, love, compassion, etc. They do, however, feel or rather depict all those things that are considered sinful like greed, lust, envy, wrath, etc.

SOO, the closest Sakazuki, or any of the demon admirals for that matter, will come to ‘loving’ someone will be the feeling of lust towards you. I know, it hurts but Sakazuki will not fall for you. You should be grateful that he even takes a second look at you and considers even engaging with you in the first place.

His interest will probably manifest in the way that he will actually talk to you more than one-worded answers. Don’t get me wrong, he won’t have a full on conversation with you but he will find out more about you, mostly things he can use to against you in the future (and it won’t take him long to figure things out. He’s a demon, he knows the deepest and darkest desires of them).

If he notices that he might be interested in a lowly human he will be disgusted with himself, for sure. He can’t except that he stooped so low as to even consider using one of your dirty holes to please himself. If he can (and this demon has a lot of self-control) he will stay away from you and won’t even think twice about you from then on. He will send his underlings to deal with your shit and will eventually collect your debt to him.

I can see it being slightly different if you try and seduce him if you’re really brave enough. And you won’t even know if he’s interested in you so it’s a shot in the dark. And even if you try and seduce him and he actually is somewhat intrigued it won’t necessarily lead to anything steamy. As I said before, this demon has a lot of self-control so you need to be really convincing to actually get anything out of this other than being scared to death by his reaction.

So, all I’m saying is that it’s highly unlikely for anything to happen between the two of you. You can say good bye to the thought of him falling in love with you simply because he can’t feel love and in his eyes you’re nothing better than a cockroach, maybe a sexy cockroach if there’s something special about you. Sorry.

Borsalino

Like Sakazuki, this demon does not feel love and quite frankly, even if he could he doesn’t see the need to spend the limited amount of time you have left on earth being all lovey-dovey. He has the mindset that humans are disposable and all of them are the same so why should he invest more time into something that isn’t beneficial to him like love. He has lots and lots of other humans who can give him the same/more attention than you can.

He does, however, engages with humans when he finds them amusing and some way. He can never pin point as to what peaks his interest because it’s always something different but it only takes him a split second to find out if you’re worth it or not. If you are, be prepared for a lot of manipulation and mind-games. If he notices that you might be interested in him he will take advantage of this fact all he wants. If he feels like it, he can even pretend to care about you but don’t be fooled – as I said, he is just pretending.

Borsalino will much rather see you as his little monkey he can train to act and behave the way he wants to. The funniest thing for him to do will make you do things you actually don’t want to. As a reward, he will give you what you want; attention, sex, affection, whatever you want. This way, he can figure out more things about you and it will be an even bigger pleasure when he breaks it to you that he has fulfilled his end of the contract and now it’s time for you to pay your end.

But let’s just assume for a moment that he is interested in you, maybe not necessarily in an affectionate way but he doesn’t despise you. He can spoil you in a way that he won’t require payment from you (at least not for small things). To be honest, the darker your requests for him, the more likely he is to fulfill them without payment.

He is a demon, so he enjoys sex. It’s ironic, but he’s a God when it comes to sex and it’s one of the few pleasures he actually enjoys doing with humans (other than taunting). So, consider yourself ‘lucky’ if he’s maybe a little nicer to you and engages with you more than once or twice. It means that he’s not loathing you entirely. That’s the closest he’ll get to ‘falling in love’ with you.

Kuzan

No ‘falling in love’ here either for this demon. He’s not really interested in humans so you need to have something really special about yourself to even catch his attention. He’s not too different from Sakazuki in that matter but for a different reason. Sakazuki sees humans as nothing more than trash (or cockroaches) and Kuzan feels like they’re simply wasting his time so he’s rather annoyed by them.

So, when you catch his attention in any way (doesn’t matter if in a good or a bad way) he will notice you. It’s on you to decide what you want to do with his attention because, even though I might didn’t make this point in my last post, he has no qualms about destroying you either; his demeanor can fool you easily. He’s a demon, after all, so you need to think really hard how you would like things to go from here on.

Assuming you caught his attention in a good way, he will try to figure out (and succeed) your deepest desires and maybe, just maybe, will fulfill one or two of them ‘free of charge’. He will talk to you a little more, try and get to know you better but, then again, don’t be fooled by him. His laid-back manner makes him easy to talk to and you might actually see him as some kind of ‘friend’ or even ‘lover’ if you got him to get intimate with you (and believe me, you want to get intimate with this demon!). But deep down he is as rotten as the other two.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he will pretend to be in love with you but for his own amusement he will engage with you a little more than he usually would with others. If he feels like it, he might even tell you something about himself but you need to be really lucky (or unlucky) for this to happen. I mean, why would he tell you something about himself/hell in the first place when he will most likely see you there eventually again and he can simply show you around, explain all the hellish tortures you will endure during your stay there. So, why spoil the fun? On the other hand, he can’t deny that it might kind of turn him on to see the disturbed look on your face if he tells you about all the abhorrent things in hell that will be done to you.

One sign that he might actually considers you less annoying than other humans and convinced him to sleep fuck with you is when he lets you stay by his side for a moment after sex, have you curl up next to him, maybe even letting your head rest on his chest but this rarely happens.

So yeah, I’m sorry these probably weren’t the headcanons you wanted to read but I don’t see any of them ever falling in love simply because I don’t think that demons can fall in love. Your chances at getting fucked by one (even Sakazuki once in a blue moon) is much more likely. But don’t worry, anyone who made a contract with a demon (and you need to make one in order for them to actually notice you) will eventually end up in hell and can spend their time with them forever 💕

#one piece #op #op admirals #sakazuki #borsalino #kuzan #akainu #kizaru #aokiji #Akainu headcanons #aokiji headcanons #kizaru headcanons #op headcanons #Sakazuki headcanons #kuzan headcanons #borsalino headcanons #demon au #op demon au

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therealjammy · 4 years ago

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The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3.

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One”

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!)

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

“What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

“Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

“The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

“You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

“Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

“In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

“The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

“Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

“Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

“Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

“Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

“You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

“Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

“And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”

“Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

“You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

“No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

“You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

“Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

“Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

“Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

“Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

“Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

“No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

#resident evil #resident evil village #fanfic #mother miranda #mother miranda x oc #mother miranda x reader

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