#he doesn’t expect anyone to be able to handle his ferocity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

husbandomail-archive · 4 years ago

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i would like to request for some afterl!fe hurt/comfort with either youssef or mori because SCREW NHN for killing such a good game 😔

man I was surprised by that announcement, bc apparently it had only been running for a year?? and it was only in English for a few months too, so that felt totally outta nowhere rip. the goodbye messages made me tear up ahaha

I just kinda rolled with the first thing that came to mind, so hope this is okay!

—

Your Reapers have always worked hard for you. Constantly throwing themselves into danger to protect you and everyone around them— even though you’re not one for fieldwork, that overflowing ferocity sparks something in you, echoing deep in your chest and driving you to be better too, in any way you can.

That’s why you’re awake at two in the morning yet again, hunched over your office desk, skimming through mountains of paperwork with only the harsh light of your computer screen illuminating the room. Lately, you’ve given up attempting to sleep— nightmare after nightmare seeps through your unconscious mind like an unchallenged poison, conjuring up scenes of your dearest friends slipping from your grasp, and you, helpless, could only watch. These dreams have scared you awake far too often lately— and why bother going to bed when you know what’s waiting for you.

You might not be able to handle a weapon, but your pen works just as well.

The words across the page in your hand are a bit fuzzy, vibrating and shimmering; you let out a yawn and shake your head, and that seems to settle them back into place for just a moment. Report after report have all melded together in your mind— it’s probably not a good idea to work with sensitive materials while you’re on the verge of passing out, but it will help your men, so it’s the least you can do.

A knock on your office door startles you from your thoughts. You mutter a quiet “come in,” and the door gently swings open; Youssef peers into the room, confusion clear on his face, though he tries to hide it behind his neutral smile. He flicks the lights on and you wince briefly as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Is there a reason you’re still up, manager?” he asks, shutting the door behind him and leaning up against it. He’s in his pajamas and slippers, but has his familiar uniform coat draped over his shoulders— had he gotten out of bed just to come find you?

“Just trying to catch up on some things,” you shrug. “A lot of the younger ones have trouble with their forms— I figured I could go over incorrect ones and fix them, or preemptively fill in a few things that are always the same.”

Youssef hums and takes a seat in one of your spare office chairs. His eyes have always been unnerving on some level— you’d never seen that shade of gray on anyone, while you were alive— but here and now, alone together at two in the morning, it feels like he can see right through you.

He doesn’t pry, doesn’t pester you to bed like you’d been expecting; instead, Youssef sits there, scrutinizing you under the ticking clock for what feels like hours on end— but when you yawn again and glance at the time, it’s barely been a few minutes. Your tired, blurry gaze flickers up and meets his steady one. He doesn’t look away.

“I’m really worried about all of you,” you whisper. “I hate knowing that, if something happens, I won’t be able to help.”

Youssef tilts his head, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes as he studies you. “I hope you know we’re immortal, manager.”

“I know, I know, you won’t pass on until you get the chance t—”

“No, I mean,” he pauses, and you can see the gears in his mind turning as he thinks his next words through. “Once you’ve met someone, no matter how much or how little time you spend together, you’re never the same person afterwards.”

He shifts in his seat, one hand finding its way to play with the decorative fastenings on his coat, and then keeps going. “We’ve spent time together, and grown and changed together— now pieces of myself are embedded in you, and pieces of you are embedded in me. No matter what happens to any of us now, even if our memories of each other fade, we will always have shaped each other. And that is how we will live on.”

Youssef’s voice trails off and his gaze wanders— he seems embarrassed now. You watch him carefully for a moment before yet another yawn breaks the silence.

“You used to be a writer, didn’t you?” Your words are slow— piecing a sentence together right now is more difficult than it should be. Youssef just smiles gently and stands, crossing the small room to drape his warm jacket over your shoulders.

“Take a rest, manager. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#Afterlife #afterlife youssef #scenarios #imagines #anon

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miraculous-ladybec · 6 years ago

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Strong Girl Bong-Soon AU

In which Marinette, as Ladybug, is hired to protect Adrien with her superpowers.

Being the son of a world famous fashion designer was tough enough, but becomes dangerous when cryptic letters arrive at the Agreste mansion threatening Adrien’s life if his father doesn’t comply with their wishes.

Even though he hates to, Gabe figures hiring the local superheroine was his best bet at keeping his only family left alive. Plus maybe an opportunity to learn her identity for Hawkmoth purposes.

Adrien already has a huge crush on Ladybug so he’s more than okay with having a personal bodyguard for once

Marinette agrees, of course, because she “must protect all parisians”, at least that’s what she tells Tikki. We all know she wants more time with Adrien, and keeping him safe is top priority.

Adrien is allowed to be at school without protection because he’s in public and under the surveillance of his teachers and school security, so he has time to talk to Nino about how excited he is to see Ladybug all the time now (at least, more than he sees her as Chat)

Marinette figures this is a good way to learn more about her crush, even though she’ll have to be careful not to reveal too much about herself

She tells her parents she’s gotten an after-school job babysitting for one of her teachers for the next few weeks, in hopes that the authorities will find the people who are threatening Adrien by then

She goes after school to the Agreste Manor where the place is practically on lockdown mode. Adrien isn’t allowed to do photo shoots for the time being, and he’s definitely not allowed out of his father, Nathalie, or Ladybug’s sight.

She and Adrien are left alone in his room since Gabriel is always working, and he doesn’t handle stress very well (clearly)

At first, both parties are super awkward and giggly with each other. Mari is a little more confident behind her mask, but still blushes fervently if Adrien even looks at her for too long.

They find they can pass the time by playing through all of the games Adrien has in his arcade of a bedroom. Some of them multiplayer, some of them not. When they play single player games, they make a combination of their names for the playable character to be called. They trade off control while munching on snacks and making strategies in game.

Once Marinette calms down around him, she learns that Adrien has a lot of dorky interests that she finds rather endearing. She browses his collection of Shojo Manga and they even watch some anime together.

Of course, Adrien has to be careful not to make too many jokes or be flirty with his Bug. He can’t have her figuring out that he’s Chat Noir, and she’d be furious if she learned she was hired to protect someone who truly could protect himself.

The days go by and no more suspicious notes are left by the manor, so Adrien is cleared to go back to photoshoots, so long as Ladybug goes with him to keep watch. Luckily during this time, there haven’t been many Akuma attacks

Marinette doesnt complain about being toted along on photoshoots because she could watch Adrien all day, and she’s also super interested in seeing all of the designs being modeled.

The photographer instantly notices how “Senior Adrien is looking exceptionally happy these days” to which Adrien blushes, knowing full well that he shouldn’t be enjoying having a full time private bodyguard so much, given the circumstances

But honestly, he’s just happy that for the first time since his mother passed, he can come home and know he’ll have someone to talk to and spend time with who will smile genuinely around him and listen to his problems

Marinette notices Adrien looking happier in class and can’t help but hope she’s the reason why

That day after school, Marinette rushes to the manor to find Adrien asleep on his bed when she gets there. She sits on the edge of his bed with a manga to read, while she watches over him, but he reaches out in his slumber and pulls her over to him.

Blushinette

Mari let’s him spoon her while he naps and she finds herself drifting off being smothered by the smell of his sheets and cologne around her

ALARMS

There’s a break in at the manor, the power has been shut down internally.

Both teens wake up at once, not having enough time to process the position they had both been in, before Mari is in protect mode.

She curses under her breath about not having night vision like Chat, but Adrien supplies his cell phone flashlight

Full emergency shutdown goes into effect and all of the manor doors lock automatically with the backup generator, locking Ladybug and Adrien in his room, and hopefully anyone else out.

Ladybug decides it’d be safer for Adrien, and everyone else, to try to evacuate the manor and let the authorities swarm in to catch the intruders.

She uses her lucky charm to bust open Adrien’s bathroom window, and carries him bridal style to the safest place she can think of on the spot, her family’s bakery where he can hide in the back.

(Mari quickly detransforms and recharges Tikki)

She goes back to get Gabriel and Nathalie to find the perpetrator tearing apart Adrien’s room

“Looking for something?” Sassinette

She apprehends the intruder rather easily, since she’s used to fighting superpowered Akuma victims, and goes into full interrogation mode

She manages to learn that it’s an underground mafia trying to scam Gabriel out of money, by threatening at first, but that this mission was to actually capture and try to ransom Adrien off.

And she’d played right into their hands

In the case that she left with him, several men were waiting outside to follow her to wherever she hid Adrien, and they found him right where she left him

Of course her parents tried to protect the boy, but backed down when faced with real weapons

She hands the scumbag over to the authorities, now in full rage mode. If there’s anything Marinette hates more than liars, it’s people who put her friends and family in danger.

She steals the guys phone and manages to track it back to the headquarters of the mob, finding that they’d prepared for her to possibly come, but not expecting the level of ferocity to come out of such a usually peaceful heroine

Ladybug hands their asses to them for touching Adrien and even THINKING about harming her parents, and leaves them all bloodied on the floor when she calls the cops to come get them

Adrien is beaten up slightly from fighting back against them to the best of his abilities. He’s strong for a young teen, especially with his fencing training, but he’s no match for multiple full grown men with guns.

Ladybug takes him to the hospital to be checked over, he took a knife to the gut at one point in his struggle and she can’t help but feel like it’s all her fault, letting maybe a little too much Marinette show through while she kneels next to his hospital bed crying. Assuming he’s asleep, she detransforms to let Tikki rest after all the fighting.

He’s not asleep

She quickly passes out in the chair next to his bed

Of course Adrien is really injured, but it’s not nearly as bad as she perceived it to be. It’s not a deep cut, and it didn’t puncture any organs. He bled out a little and needed stitches, but it’s definitely not life threatening.

He suddenly finds it so easy to connect the dots between his lady and his princess now that he knows the two are the same.

Plagg makes an appearance finally to say “I told you so” as Adrien realizes he’s had feelings for his classmate and friend all along, pushing them down to maintain his love for Ladybug. But now that he knows they’re the same, he’s never letting her go again, so long as she wants him too.

He eventually doses off and has sweet dreams where Ladybug and Marinette are interchangeable in the most romantic of settings

Mari wakes up around 4 am and transforms back, heading home, unaware that Adrien discovered her secret.

The news the next morning show that Ladybug uncovered a major terrorist group that was behind all of the mob violence and the threatening of local celebrities and politicians

Mari feels awful and decides to fake sick to stay in bed, she manages to turn into ladybug around 3 pm to go to the hospital to see Adrien.

He’d actually been sent home that morning, so she swings by the manor where Mr. Agreste thanks her for her help and let’s her know she can go since it’s all been taken care of. She sees Adrien and that he’s doing fine and feels much better learning he’ll be able to return to school the next day provided that he doesn’t develop any symptoms around his injury.

Mari goes home, unable to sleep, she stays up making a new shirt for Adrien since “his old one must have a hole in it now”

This new shirt is a very soft sky blue material with a chest pocket with his initials embroidered on the inside. She stitches her signature on the internal hemline of the shirt after adding some final tweaks to make sure the striping across the chest is the same as his old shirt was.

She finally passes out with three hours left before class

Marinette wakes up late again and runs to school with her present for Adrien in hand

Just as predicted, he’s in his seat when she gets there. His eyes are glued to her from the moment she trips through the door.

He even tries to bolt from his chair to catch her, but the pain in his abdomen keeps him from getting up completely.

Mari waits until everyone has asked Adrien how he’s doing at lunch before approaching him with her gift.

She stutters way less than usual given that she’s spent the better part of two weeks getting to know him more

He opens the gift and starts tearing up at how thoughtful this girl is and “when did she have the time to do this?”

Unable to control himself, Adrien pulls a very stunned Marinette into a hug and whispers “How did I get so lucky as to have an angel like you in my life?”

Later at patrol, Chat decides he’s going to reveal himself to LB

They’re sitting on a roof together when he tells her how much he admired what she did to take down that mob group by herself and that he wishes he could have helped

She jokes about how he really should have been there to help, but she managed on her own

He gets serious, then tells her how much he appreciates what she does

LB brushes it off since it’s “Chat flattery”

But he looks her dead in the eyes, holds her hands and finally

FINALLY

Detransforms

“Do you get it now? Everything you did for me is more than I could have asked. You risked so much for me and singlehandedly saved my life.”

She’s stunned

“I love you, Marinette.”

She’s MORE stunned

“I-I love you too, Adrien.”

“BUT IF YOU EVER PUT YOURSELF IN HARMS WAY AGAIN WITHOUT TELLING ME YOU’RE CHAT NOIR FIRST—“

#this went on for longer than it should have #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir #marinette dupain cheng #marichat #adrienette #ladybug #adrinette #miraculous AU #adrien agreste #strong girl bong soon

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rithalie-art · 5 years ago

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I my Scass AU (maybe ScassTale? It’s more of a new storyline for them than normal AU’s) these are Blasters

Sans’s DNA consists of some of Gaster’s and various other animals monsters had in archives. There was a limited access to them in the royal lab so he could not make unlimited copies. He did his best.

Sans’s DNA (some i will explain):

Gaster

Red Lionfish - see it’s skeleton! - Tail

African Lion

Bongo antelope - Horns

Dragon (yes, there were dragons once)

Wolf

Papyrus’s DNA:

Gaster

Wolf

Dragon (exctinct now)

Gastornis Bird (exctinct species) - Pap’s feet

Capra aegagrus hircus (A goat - just google it XD) - Horns

And That’s it.

Sans was made first. Gaster wanted to have something with lion’s ferocity and Lionfish’s poison packed into dragon’s body. Also a wolf’s instinct to work in packs. It did not work cause he got a creature with cat’s grumpy attitude, and no desire to please anyone. He bonded as a pack but to only one existing blaster (and way more than he ever did with Gaster - wonder why if he never treated him fair).

Sans as a Blaster is way more active than his regular self. Think more like a cat laying down and observing it’s prey, he looks lazy but is ready to jump anytime. Extremely mobile and quick on his feet but rarely wants to use that much energy for anything. For the record, he IS faster than Papyrus but just more lazy.

(Plus, once Gaster suprised him while he was laying under his desk and poor baby Sans got stuck on the underside of it because of his jump and pointy skeleton)

Papyrus was made about a few months after Sans. They were the only ones to survive infancy and to be honest, Gaster took a risk with Pap. He was younger and expected to stay in incubation tank longer but after Sans’s HP started to deteriorate, the scientist speeded up the process. He wanted to see the expected “pack behaviour” from them both and later see if Pap was better suited to travel through Void. But Papyrus never went because Sans decided to volunteer for the work.

Papyrus was made From Gaster’s, Wolf’s and Dragon’s DNA as a basic recipe but also Gastornis Bird to make his legs more powerful (and from the hope that these genes would work better with dragons’). Also, a goat to be more ...manageable. Too bad his brother seemed to corrupt him all the time. :)

Papyrus is bigger than Sans and his body is more square-like. He doesn’t have half as many spikes as his brother and only stumps. His bones’ structure makes him heavier than Sans but with his powerful strides he’s usually able to keep up. (Especially when Sans feels lazy)

He is stronger than Sans by a mile but his reaction time is a little longer. Due to his sped up maturing he tends to be clingy and his desire to form or belong to a pack never really went away. (Sans is way more reclusive but the one person he could make a pack for is Pap.)

Both brothers could, in theory, transform back and forth between humanoid and Animalistic forms from the beginning (dragons were shape-shifters which came as an unwelcome surprise to Gaster)

But Gaster was treating them like animals. They were handled like a wild animals. Pups, Cubs they were, but to the laboratory staff it was like taking care of a baby crocodile. All funny until he is big enough to chop your head off.

They did have souls but they were not visible in their forms. Considered soulles and monstrous they were not popular. Asgore saw them only once. On an animalistic wild spree caused by chemicals when Sans tore down into a human toy with the ferocity of a lion. King was impressed... but also really scared.

Brothers were not given names but they saw an old textbook written by different scientists and created names for themselves from their scribbling.

They changed only after escaping the lab and finding yourself among a lot of bipedal monsters, they transformed overnight. Suprised that monsters treat them nicely now, they decided to never turn back, if able.

They changed every now and then when agitated or feeling threatened but seemed to keep it under control. No one seemed to catch on, miraculously.

#undertale #oc #sans #papyrus #scassers #scassAU

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laurens-lil-fics · 6 years ago

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Love to Hate you - Matt Murdock x powered!Reader

Summary: Jealous Matt is hottest Matt

Word Count:1787

Warnings: Jealousy

Author’s note: I just needed to write some Daredevil, I love this trio so much

“No no no no no no no...” Matt bounded through the dimly lit apartment building, grateful no one had been wandering the halls. Otherwise they would have been severely confused about how a blind man was able to navigate through the building with such ease.

“You better be in there, dammit...” He growled to himself, unable to focus on her apartment through his own breathing. Usually that was no problem for him, but this particular woman had a habit of throwing off his heightened senses.

It drove him crazy.

He stopped right in front of her door, struggling to catch his breath and quiet himself enough to be able to hear through the walls. The first thing he noticed was that smell. His smell.

That unmistakable smell of gun power, leather and smoke.

Matt’s jaw clenched when he heard no sign of her heartbeat. He inhaled, searching for the familiar smell of her “uniform.” It was the same material as his, something he could pick up on quickly if it was in its usual spot in her bedroom closet.

“Dammit...”

“Got anything, girl?”

(Y/n) grunted in response, adjusting the pair of binoculars in her gloved hands before handing them off to the man beside her.

“Kinda hard to concentrate on patrol when you ask every five minutes if I see anything, Frank.”

Frank scoffed at her, looking through the binoculars in the same spot she had, enjoying the feeling of her staring daggers into the side of his head. “Kinda hard to concentrate on patrol when you’re sittin right there, lookin the way you do. So how bout we call it even, sweetheart?”

It was (Y/n)’s turn to scoff, ignoring the compliment and opting to glance around the cluster of buildings around them.

She and Frank had been following the last of the Russian syndicate in New York for the past week and a half. They were trying to rebuild, and though (Y/n) wasn’t one to kill criminals, she had the most intel on the Russians.

She also, as Frank put it, “didn’t have a stick as far up her ass as Red did,” so she was the obvious choice to help with this job. Someone who could give him information, help him in a couple fights, and for the most part keep quiet if he killed anyone.

“Hey, lookit what the cat dragged in.” Frank said, catching (Y/n)’s attention and directing it towards a lone, black van parking behind the warehouse they were scoping out.

“No telling how many there are.” (Y/n) commented, earning a nod and a grunt from Frank, “Could be a trap-”

“There’s 7 of them coming out of the van, more camped out in the warehouse.” (Y/n) jumped at the voice, instantly recognizing it and refusing to turn around.

Frank turned, smirking slightly when he saw Daredevil standing at the opposite edge of the roof, arms crossed and his jaw tight.

“And yeah,” he paused, slowly walking towards the two, stopping just behind (Y/n), “it’s a trap.”

(Y/n) slowly looked up at him, not bothering to offer an apologetic smile since her mask would cover it anyway.

“Can I have a word with you?” Daredevil asked, hearing her heart rate quicken at his tone.

“Nah, Red, can’t you see we’re on a date? You’re being very rude interrupting like this.” Frank teased, standing up and allowing his trench coat to fall from his shoulders.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Frank-”

“Jesus, Red!” (Y/n) interrupted, stopping the two from butting heads as they had one too many times in the past. She stood up and shrugged off her jacket as well. “You need to cool it, we got a job to do. You can either watch us take care of the Russians or you could help.”

She was met with silence. She brushed past Daredevil, hearing Frank’s heavy boots following behind her, but not Daredevil’s.

“What’s the deal with you two, huh? He know you outside of work?” Frank asked, fully aware their guest could hear them.

“Enough to think he’s gotta babysit me.”

Matt scoffed before sitting at the edge of the roof, allowing his feet to dangle off the ledge. If she wanted to blow him off then he didn’t have to help.

He told himself exactly that over and over again, ignoring the sounds of Frank and (Y/n) struggling with the ambush. His warning gave them a slight upper hand, but they were still in a tight spot.

He heard Frank go down, taking one too many hits for (Y/n), and finally falling to the ground. The sound (Y/n) made when she saw Frank down made Matt snap out of it. What the hell was he doing? He should have gone in there, even if he thought (Y/n) and Frank could handle themselves.

Now with Frank on the ground and the Russians keeping him down, there was no one to protect (Y/n).

(Y/n) was anything but bullet proof, and that suit could only do so much to protect her. It wasn’t surprising when a familiar blur of red took down one of the goons that was charging her.

Soon enough, (Y/n) and Daredevil had taken down the rest of the Russians. (Y/n) took hold of Frank’s hand and helped him back onto his feet with ease, catching him as the struggled to stay upright.

The three very awkwardly made their way out of the warehouse; Frank and (Y/n) knew they ran into the fight too eagerly just to prove a point to Daredevil. Daredevil knew he should have helped them regardless of his anger.

The only issue was no one wanted to admit they were wrong.

Once Frank collected his gear from the rooftop, he left the two alone, mumbling something about “puppy love bullshit makin me sick” just loud enough for the Devil to hear.

(Y/n) slipped on her jacket, feeling her friend’s face on her before turning to him. “You gonna tell me why you’re mad at me?”

Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose through his helmet. “(Y/n), I’ve been calling your burner phone all day. I didn’t know if something had happened, if someone finally got to you or what... Then I get to your apartment just to smell him all over the place.”

(Y/n) scoffed crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh god! You thought I was with him!”

“You were with him!” Matt said incredulously.

“Nah nah nah, you thought I was with him!” (Y/n) shouted. “That’s why you’re mad!”

“Oh please! Gimme a break!” He snorted, moving past (Y/n) and getting ready to leave her on that rooftop.

“No, that’s exactly what happened!” (Y/n) continued, following after him. “I was MIA for hours, then when you get to my place you catch a whiff of him and think I’ve been fooling around with him all day, huh?”

“He’s going to get you killed, (Y/n).” Matt groaned, turning back to her. “I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

“I trust him, Red! Maybe you’re just pissed cuz I trust him more than I trust you!”

That caught him off guard, he didn’t have a response to that. So she continued.

“We’ve been doing this for what? A year? Two years? You’ve seen my face, but not once have you bothered to show me yours...”

Matt bit his lip, a sense of dread eating at his core. The two were close sure.... they spent countless nights in the dark together, tending to each other’s wounds. After about 6 months (Y/n) finally trusted him enough to take off her mask. But Matt never had.

“With Frank, there’s no secrets. He’s honest with me...”

When Matt continued to stay silent (Y/n) sighed softly, pushing past him and mumbling for him to forget it.

“Just cuz he’s honest with you doesn’t make you any safer... with him it’ll just get you killed quicker...” Matt sighed, feeling (Y/n) stop in place and glare at him over her shoulder.

“I hate you...” she hissed.

He quickly looked up at her, the only visible sign of his anger being his tight jaw.

She stepped towards him and pushed against his chest, repeating her previous words. She moved to push him once more, only for Matt to grab her wrists and hold her close as she squirmed against him.

(Y/n) was strong enough to throw him off the building and clear across Hell’s Kitchen, they both knew that, and Matt was even had expecting her to. But she didn’t even try using half her strength to get him off.

“Say that one more time and I swear to God, (Y/n)...” he growled, hearing her heart skip a beat.

“I. Hate. You.” she spat back.

Without warning, he let go of her wrists and went for his helmet, taking it off and letting it fall to the floor. (Y/n) stared up at him in shock before letting him grab hold of her once again.

He could feel her body going warm, his pride swelling knowing just his unmasked appearance was enough to have her weak before him. He pushed her mask off her lips, holding her flush against his body.

“Good.”

Matt smashed his lips against hers, hungry for everything she had to offer him.

She moaned against his lips, the action unexpected but not unwelcome, and began to meet his movements with just as much ferocity. He let go of her wrists and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her as close as humanly possible as she gripped at his back.

Just as Daredevil’s tongue prodded against (Y/n)’s, a scream erupted from a nearby bodega, causing him to pull back.

(Y/n) didn’t need superhearing to know something was up, and she immediately began to protest as he retrieved his helmet from the floor.

“Uh-uh, no way. You’re not gonna go and do that then just up and leave me here!” she said, stepping in front of him and shielding him from the edge of the roof.

One flash of that devilish smile and she felt herself ready to collapse against him again. He teasingly brushed his lips over hers before taking her mask and lifting it back into place, covering the lower half of her face.

“No one said you couldn’t come with me, angel.” he smirked, turning and leaping off the edge of the roof and towards the nearby robbery.

“Besides!” he called back, “I like to watch that ass in action!”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, following after him once she had composed herself.

“Damn, I love to hate him...” Matt heard her mumble under her breath. With a smirk, he leapt before the bodega, feeling like he could take on all of New York after that kiss.

#Matt Murdock #Matthew Murdock #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader #Daredevil #daredevil x reader #drabble #oneshot

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undonesarc · 5 years ago

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▌real name: griffith angelo d’aquino. ▌single or taken: single but.. we’re working on it. ▌abilities or powers: gun handling, knife combat, self defense (trained in standard boxing, wrestling, and has undergone courses that are essentially ripped straight from marine corps martial arts training programs), basic survival skills (desert-based, primarily, as that’s where the majority of his merc work took place), ▌eye color: a brown so dark it’s nearly black. ▌hair color: black. ▌family members: parents are sebastian d’aquino sr. and sheila d’aquino (nee walsh); six siblings, hugo (58), giorgia and emily (twins, 53), mia (49), lucas (47), and sebastian (44); one maternal uncle, max, and two fraternal, arthur and daniel (both deceased). ▌pets: n/a. has considered getting a dog, but doesn’t feel like he’d be able to actually be there for it as much as he should be, but if he ever considers retirement/a more permanent living situation then he’d probably get one. ▌something they don’t like: when people try to be all buddy-buddy with him, especially on jobs, especially if he barely knows them. he doesn’t like that sense of fake camaraderie, it makes him deeply uncomfortable. ▌hobbies/activities: crime, obviously, primarily bank robbery but he doesn’t mind getting involved in other things; more mundane hobbies include hiking, rock climbing, camping, boxing, playing video games, reading; at the home he keeps in new york, he has a library, and there’s an extensive collection of books there. ▌ever hurt anyone before: yes. frequently. as griff is fond of saying, you can’t be in crime without being a little criminal; he’s dealt out plenty of pain in his years, both professionally and on the side. his brief stint in the world of underground boxing was bloody. he’s picked more than a handful of fights in bars -- and not just yelling and some halfhearted punches. he’s thrown chairs, broken tables by slamming people into them, broken fingers and skulls and noses. he doesn’t flinch from violence, though that isn’t to say he revels in it, either; he’s not exactly apathetic, just doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions in any other way (but he doesn’t ever hurt the people cares about, i.e. his family/etc. he either deals with it by fighting or getting out the anger through work, or by going to a gym and taking it out on a punching bag/working it out through exercise). ▌ever killed anyone before: yes. 11 years of his life has been spent as a mercenary, seven with private military then four as a freelance killer in europe; his confirmed body count in europe was 13. outside of work, griff has only killed 3 people: his first was at the age of 16, when the eldest son of a “rival” family decided to send griff’s father a message by beating on griff (sebastian had refused to work with their family, and this was the retaliation for insulting them). griff fought back, unintentionally breaking his neck, then finishing the job by stabbing him in the throat. the other two kills were purely victims of circumstance; one was a man griff fought in the underground boxing he participated in (he didn’t die in the ring, but a few days later from injuries sustained); the second, a civilian who tried to be a hero during a robbery and earned a shotgun blast to the head for his trouble. ▌animal that represents them: a snake. ▌worst habits: the inability to own up to his feelings is the biggest one. this definitely extends beyond his sexuality; he’s not very good at showing his family (or the very rare friend that he has) that he cares for them. he’s not good at voicing his emotions, choosing instead to isolate (he camps by himself a lot) or something stupid like fighting (as mentioned above). he’s just very childish when it comes to emotions, and it’s goddamn annoying, and definitely makes it difficult to be friends with him. ▌role models: during their time together as mercs, jason became a sot-of role model for griff, with the impression he left continuing to influence griff into adulthood. his brother seb is also someone griff has constantly looked up to; because he’s only two years older, he’s the sibling griff was closest to. he helped griff deal with the body after his first murder; he’s the one who encouraged him to pursue theatre, then to leave home/the family when he saw how unhappy and uncomfortable griff was with them (seb has always known griff is gay, and hoped that by encouraging him to leave, he’d be helping him get to a place where he could learn to come to terms with who he is). griff has always admired the ferocity with which seb loves, and envies how easy-going he is. he’s tried to imitate it, but has never been able to perfect it. ▌sexual orientation: gay. ▌thoughts on marriage/kids: he doesn’t want kids, and doesn’t care for marriage in a traditional sense; he doesn’t believe in the ceremony and the paperwork. that’s not to say he wouldn’t flat-out deny a guy if it came to it, but he definitely wouldn’t want anything big. he thinks the commitment of saying i love you and then proving it by coming home every day is enough. ▌fears: being outed, and as an extension, coming to terms with being out; the reaction from his family; the act of actually being with a man again, though i think it’s less about actually being gay these days (because.. he understands it’s okay/natural, he’s really gotten over that fear and left it in his youth) and more of a fear of learning to love again, afraid he would lose it/ruin it like he did in the past. ▌style preferences: basic.. but like.. still kinda stylish? yeah he wears that ugly shirt with a cross on it in the movie, but that’s just how he dresses on jobs, primarily to throw people off and not let them get too familiar with who he really is. when he’s camping, of course he favors hiking boots and henleys. his style is dictated by what personality he’s presenting; in atlanta, he’s a hardened criminal, and dresses kinda corny to fit the part. in new york, he’s just another face in a crowd, but he wants to look good and feels more comfortable presenting closer to the look he likes in such a big city; he likes expensive dress shirts (and leans towards pastel colors) or designer shirts (he likes floral patterns like this) when he’s in new york, though sometimes he favors a more punk look (leather jacket, etc) when wearing more stylish and designer clothing makes him feel too exposed. he feels like there’s certain things expected from a guy who lives a life like him, who looks like he does, and sometimes he ends up falling prey to those stereotypes, because he’s too scared to let himself be who he really is. ▌someone they love: honestly.. to be honest....... he still has a little bit of love for jason and that’s never going to change. he also loves his brother seb a lot, and of course his other siblings as well -- they were all incredibly close growing up, and while he’s chosen to isolate, it isn’t because he hates them. he loves his family, he just needs to find his way back to them. ▌approach to friendships: he keeps anyone at arm’s length, though he does have some tentative friendships, all built on a mutual interest in crime, though the word friend is rarely ever used. griff tends to avoid “normal” people, not wanting to get them entangled in the life he lives; he doesn’t really have any genuine friends, people he goes out to coffee with or to the movies with or whatever, or people to talk to, actually, but god he needs it. ▌thoughts on pie: he’d kill you for pumpkin pie probably, ▌favorite drink: alcohol-wise, he loves strawberry cream tequila, and whiskey. liquor aside, he just drinks water and orange juice. ▌favorite place to spend time at: he loves the wilderness honestly! he goes camping every other weekend. he goes to the gym daily and really finds comfort in that routine. he doesn’t really like being at his atlanta apartment much, which is why he doesn’t spend too much money on it, or time in it. ▌swim in the lake or in the ocean: lakes; he developed a slight fear of the open water after working on fishing boats off of the west coast. ▌their type: we’ll have to revisit this........ i need more interactions w/ him before i say either way what he likes

tagged by: @armsdealing tagging: @armsdealing do this for buddy if you haven’t already, @exorsista, @exhauest

#long post #ask to tag #GRIFF.#GRIFF: META.

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houserosaire · 6 years ago

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Pros and Cons of Dating: Silvaineaux Rosaire

Pros:

Rich: While not obscenely rich Silvaineaux is wealthy enough to readily afford the finer things in life. Money problems don't have to be problems because if he likes you he'll be happy to handle those sorts of things on your behalf. The occasional nice gift can definitely be expected.

Cultured: He always knows which fork to use, and how to be polite. (Whether he will if someone provokes him enough is another matter.) He can ballroom dance. While he is not necessarily the best at starting conversations, or the most comfortable in the social arena he does know how to behave so you never need to worry about him embarrassing you with his manners.

Extremely fit: If you like them tall, well-muscled, and extremely physically active Silvaineaux has these traits in spades. If you've ever wanted that partner that makes you feel small and delicate look no further.

Protective: Silvaineaux is extremely protective of those he cares about. He would die to protect those he cares about from harm. And he will retaliate with incredible ferocity to anyone who hurts or upsets them. Need a knight in shining armor? He was born for that.

Deep feelings: If Silvaineaux opens up to you and develops feelings for you they will be deep and strong. He does not easily give up attachments once he's formed them and he loves with the entirety of his heart once he does.

Dominant: If you like someone to take charge you will find him both able and extremely willing to offer what you need. When it comes to that particular arena he has a wide variety of tricks.

Cons:

Hard to read: He was raised from an early age not to show too much emotion in public. If you like PDA you won't find it here. If you want to know what he thinks about you or anything else (unless it is something he finds extremely irritating) you may find it hard to know.

Reserved: Silvaineaux is very guarded with his emotions for a variety of reasons. Getting him to warm up and open up is not easy. He has a lot of walls and sieges take time.

Dominant Personality: If you don't like someone who wants to take charge in the bedroom Silvaineaux is not the person for you. Outside that if you don't like someone who will insist firmly and in no uncertain terms on a few things (like you taking care of yourself) you will definitely find an unpleasant sort of friction. He doesn't know how to turn this off.

Hot Tempered: Though he is never violent toward people he cares for his temper can flare very easily and is the one thing that tends to slip through his reserve. He's usually more prone to cold and cutting words than lashing out, but if someone does something to you he doesn't like his displeasure will be very decidedly apparent.

Jealous: Silvaineaux is not easily secure in another person's affections and when he doubts it jealousy very easily rears its ugly head. Despite his best attempts to hide or control it this is often at least somewhat noticeable.

Self Sacrificing: Silvaineaux does not place any particularly great value on his own life or wellbeing. A knight lives to serve after all, and title or not he is a knight in his heart of hearts. He will without second thought put his life on the line time and again. He will throw himself headlong even into battles he has no capability of winning if he thinks it is called for. So if he thinks he needs to die for you he will, whether you want him to or not.

Tagged by: @kalaisgreen (thank you!)

Tagging: @wherethewildwoodare, @rinrin-rinalys, @kalaisgreen (do another one!), @gorgagne-viperidae (bring out your alts) @louvel-roche and whoever else sees this and wants to since I am not sure who else already got tagged. Take a tag and @ me so I can read it!

#tagged #Silvaineaux #Silvaineaux Rosaire #ffxiv rp #Silvaineaux things

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deputyscreed · 6 years ago

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29 - the one where your soulmate’s ghost haunts you when they die. (Yes I’m terrible)

@thefcther // ( soulmate prompts || always accepting )

29. the one where your soulmate’s ghost haunts you when they die.

*Also under a read more because I have no sense of control or when to stop.

There was little way of knowing who your soulmate was until it was too late. Rook heardplenty of stories about it from other people. Some had gotten lucky, had foundtheir soulmate before they died and then when they did pass it was hard but they at least had been able tolive a life together and knew it was their destiny to be together once more. She sometimes wondered if she’d already mether soulmate, but never pursued them because she was a guarded person. The typeto make friends, and get along with people, but never pursue anything behind aone-night stand or friends with benefits type of situation. Not that she evenallowed much of those either. Whenshe gets to Hope County there’s a small part of her that wonders if the personshe was meant to be with was here, in Montana.

It’s a little easier, for that reason, to get alongwith the locals. There are a few that she wants nothing to do with. Drubman Seniorcomes to mind, but overall she falls in easily with the locals and they arehappy to have someone from the city to tease. Though as one mournfully pointedout at the Spread Eagle one night, “You’renothing like what I would’ve figured.” Which she took as a compliment andan insult all rolled into one. There were plenty of outdoors-types in the city,especially in Washington and Oregon and she just happened to be one of them.She easily adapted to the lack of GPS, to spotty cell-service. She’d need tomemorize the routes for working with the sheriff’s department and the ambulancecrew as well. Creed kept active and would often pass early morning fishermen onher runs who got used to seeing her sprinting through the countryside.

A soulmate wasn’t at the top of her to-find list –– to do,her mind supplied in a helpful inner joke, but even if she wanted one then she’d have been hard pressed to locate them afterthe Reaping. Now, more than ever, she’s locked herself away behind the title ofthe Deputy, of Rook who was going to do what she could to help whoever shecould along the way. It’s not long before she gets to Eli’s region and meetsthe Whitetail militia –– introduced by way of Eli cutting her free from Jacob’schair. She’s too disoriented from the bliss, from the music and windinghallways that she was forced to run through over and over again to notice it.The way she so easily leaned into him, let a stranger take on her nearlydead-weight. When she wakes up on a couch, there are a few people talking overher but she remembers his face. More clearly than she did the kid who had foundher lying on her side in a pool of blood.

He tells her to get some rest, and for the first timesince the helicopter crash, she trustssomeone enough to close her eyes and sleep. After learning more about Eli andhis militia, she lingers in the mountains –– it’s the last place she wants tobe after Jacob scrambled her brains around, but she can’t abandon him when he’dhelped her. They get along and work well together with Eli telling her where togo and who needed help the most. She followed his lead, and of course Jacob Seed noticed it. Teased herabout it when he next got her stuck behind bars. Rook tried not to let him knowhow much it scared her –– the idea of Eli being used against her. When Stacibroke her out and showed her the corkboard with Eli’s picture and her namebeneath it with red ink scrawled over it, her heart had plummeted.

She should warn him, should tell him that she can’t betrusted, and she does. Not that Eli listens. He believes in her, has more faithin her than any other person has in her entire life and it makes this all theharder to deal with. Rook ––– Sam –––had never been driven to tears in her life, not that she could remember. Notsince she was a kid, but the thought of Jacob puppeting her like a marionette tokill someone she cared about was enough to make her eyes burn. Only at night,when she was curled up in her sleeping bag, but it was bad enough knowing howmuch he meant to her and how powerless she felt in the wake of Jacob Seed. Soshe fights him, fights the Soldier more than she’s fought anything or anyoneelse in her entire life. Rook struggles against the conditioning and thetrials, but none of it matters. Just like Staci had described. She does it, shecounts out the kills and it ends with a bullet through Eli’s head. There may bea small mercy in knowing it was fast, in that there wasn’t any suffering butshe can’t forget his last words –– the panic in his eyes, but the faith that she wouldn’t pull the trigger.

Then she did anyway.

Samantha Creed might have had a chance, at living, atbeing herself before killing the oneman that had reminded her of the fact. The moment Eli collapses, blood haloing hishead behind him, she feels a profound sense of loss. He’d been important toher, still was, but this went deeper than friendship –– than what might’ve beensomething more. She’s struck mute bythe pain of losing him, her . . . Wheaty’s in her face with a gun, shouting,crying out. Rook won’t stop him from shooting her. Where he is loud, overt withhis pain, she’s silent. Her tears leave tracks down the sides of her face, andTammy is telling her to go to leaveand kill Jacob or else they’d finish the job. Watery eyes dart towards Eli, lyingon the ground, with Wheaty crouched above him and holding his hand. Her mouthdrops open, but Tammy shoves her towards the hatch.

It’s unlike anything she’d have expected to feel. Wasit worse because she was the one to kill him? Did that mean her suffering was goingto be compounded? What sort of hell awaited the person who murdered their soulmate? She has yet to see him, but it may be the song interfering. The red haze thatpaints her surroundings with fire and pain. Jacob Seed coos at her, into herthoughts that she should’ve killed herself –– saved her friends the trouble.Tells her he doesn’t care about dying, but she pushes through. When the lastgenerator is destroyed, the music cut off abruptly, she staggers forward, intofamiliar surroundings and she sees him.Eli is standing there, a heartbroken look on his face and Rook can’t handlethis right now. She can’t. She runspast the specter of Eli and makes her way to the mountain where Jacob takesshots at her from. He’s good, manages to clip her shoulder once and then gets agood shot at her leg. It makes climbing the rockface difficult, but shemanages.

Eli’s at the top, standing behind Jacob and watchingher, brow creased with worry as she lunges at Jacob –– all teeth and feral energy.She’s running on empty and Jacob knows it, easily countering her and pinningher to the ground. “Did you really thinkyou were free?” He asks, “That you wouldn’tmake your sacrifice?” Rookscreams at him then, “Fuck you!” It’s the first time she’s beenso aggressive with him and he blinks, surprised by the sudden ferocity and herdecision to finally speak. Her eyes flick towards Eli who walks towards them,kneeling down and gesturing towards the knife at Jacob’s side. It’s withinreach.

Jacob sees the way her eyes track something that isn’tthere and his lips twitch into a grim smile for a moment. “Oh I get it now. There’s no turning back now deputy, you can try andrun from it, can even kill me, but you know what?” He leans closer and Elinods once. “I’ll always be there insideyour head, and he’ll always be here, haunting you where I don’t.” And shegrabs the handle of the knife, sliding it free before she slams it into Jacob’sside, just below his ribcage. He wheezes out a harsh laugh, doesn’t fight it ––like he expected it and when hestaggers backwards, he looks happy.Or as happy as a man like Jacob Seed could be. Rook sits up, breathing heavily,her own blood soaked into the dirt from where he’d shot her and now mixing withthe red dripping from his side. Jacob might be able to survive the knife wound,if he had left the blade there but he yanks it out and drops it.

Rook watches as the life bleeds from him, and only whenit’s her and the ghost of Eli on the mountaintop does she curl up and cry intothe tops of her knees. Hope County had taken everything from her. Even that which she didn’t know she alreadyhad.

“I’m sorry.” Sheapologizes to the air, to the ghost of a man who deserved better than her. Rookapologizes over and over again, the word mixed up with her sobbing as sheignores the radio call from Tammy asking about what had happened, about Jacob ––the bunker.

#eliwhitetail #MAIL –– ( filled )#FILED UNDER –– ( drabbles )#// why do these prompts get away from me #idk just have this #ALSO YOU MONSTER #also this would make the bunker with joseph #six thousand times worse thanks #eli-whitetail

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rahirah · 6 years ago

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via Barb's Place OK, guys, normally I try not to publish things which are this rough, but fuck it, it has been YEARS and I feel like I owe the six of you who are still hoping to read the rest of POM someday something. So here is the crappy first draft of Ch. 14, scene 1. (If you feel like leaving critical comments, please do. It needs savaging.) As Tara collapsed into Willow's arms, the silver cross, still straining at the end of its chain towards the stone, collapsed with her. Only a necklace again, and not the needle of Angel's moral compass. Buffy snatched it and held it tight, till her palms ached where the metal dug into the flesh. She could almost imagine the cross burning her hand, as if she were the vampire. Angel wouldn't, couldn't be doing the things Spike had described if he still had a soul. He might be infuriatingly high-handed sometimes, but he wasn't some kind of undead Don Corleone. Okay, fine, he'd basically put out a hit on Spike last year, and there'd been that whole episode with Resurrected Darla – she was certain she didn't know all the details there, and was even more certain she didn't want to – and that thing with the submarine, though Spike wasn't the world's most reliable narrator where Angel was concerned, and that had been forever ago and Angel had been really depressed back then and it shouldn't count, should it? And anyway, he'd said he'd had an epiphany, hadn't he? Buffy forced herself to take a breath and relax. Or to take a breath, at least. Damn Angel anyway. There was a corner of her heart that would always be his, just as she suspected that a corner of Spike's heart would always belong to Drusilla, so why couldn't they both just stay in their respective corners, safely cocooned in nostalgia? It would make life so much simpler. Everyone else was still arguing. Giles, bless him, had intercepted Kennedy and the Finns, but Dawn pounced on Spike with the speed and ferocity of Miss Kitty hunting the wily laser pointer. "Come on, spill! What plan?" "Doesn't bloody matter what plan, because it's bugfuck insane, and we're not having it." He really wasn't at a hundred percent yet. Insane plans were the last thing that was likely to put Dawn off. Her sister folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that this is the twenty-first century, and I can just, like, phone Cordy and ask her what it is?" Spike's jaw worked, and he glanced up at the ceiling and then over at her, as if imploring the heavens and the Slayer in order of importance. Buffy sighed. "We kinda used her for First Evil bait last year, Spike. The protect-poor-innocent-Dawnie ship has sailed, lost radio contact, and disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle." "I miss the days when a bloke could cut a sodding phone line," Spike muttered. "All bloody right, here's the gist. Chase had the idea this Burkle chit can use Dawn to pop into another dimension, where we'll conveniently run into no slavering monsters whatsoever, traipse across the landscape without falling into any inconvenient pits of molten lava, and pop back into this world in the Hyperion's safe. Then she fancies we can drag this Gunn bloke back the in same manner as whence we came, no doubt scattering sodding rose petals in our wake. I told her — " "But I can do that!" Dawn exclaimed, whirling on Buffy. "You know I can. I got us to Pylea and back last summer! We could drive close to the Hyperion as we can, cross over into the other dimension, hike to the spot where the Hyperion would be, cross back into our world, rescue the prisoners, and cross back to the World of No Slavering Monsters to get back to the car, and then cross back into our world again." At Spike's dubious expression, her own grew obstinate. "Seriously, how is this worse than you sneaking in and out of Angel's hotel through the sewers, which are definitely full of slavering monsters?" You had to admit Spike was giving it the old college try. "And supposing we miss the safe? Pop out in the middle of the lobby? Or the middle of a wall?" "You said Mr. Tanner's with them, right?" Dawn replied, smug. "He's a geomancer, remember? He specializes in topographic magic. I'll bet he can come up with something to get us to the right spot. I'm not dumb. I know this is going to be dangerous, but you need me. It's not like I'm going on some solo mission here. I'll be with you and Buffy, and Faith might even get here by then. All I'm going to do is stand around and exude Key vibes while you guys make with the punchy-kicky." She looked Spike in the eye. "I did fine in Pylea, didn't I? If this was some random nest of vampires..." "But it's not." Buffy hated the brittleness in her voice. "If Angel's really... it took everything I had to beat him last time." More. "You have a lot more now than you had then," Dawn said, her voice softening. "You're only alone if you want to be, Buffy. Let me help. Please." She'd had help last time, too. How could she explain to Dawn that the memory which haunted her nightmares even now was the result of that help: the look of stunned betrayal on Angel's face as she plunged the sword into his heart? If Willow had called his soul back five minutes later, or half an hour sooner... Dawn had never known that particular flavor of heartbreak. She took her sister's hand. "Thanks, Dawnie. But – " "No buts. I get it," Dawn said with the certainty of someone who didn't. "You have all this romantic baggage, and Spike has all these weird-ass vampire daddy issues – " "Oi!" "Well, you do! But you guys have fought demons, and wizards, and gods. I'm not saying Angel isn't a badass, but repeat after me: He's only a vampire." Spike's lips twitched in a rueful smile. "Bit might have a point, love." Rats. She did. Buffy grimaced. "You're not supposed to be the insightful sister." "I've always been the insightful sister." Dawn let her go and bounced back with a grin. "So I'm coming with you, right?" "You're coming." Buffy straightened. "OK, people. Spike and I leave for L.A. tomorrow morning. Kennedy, Willow, Tara, Giles, you're all with us – we'll take two cars if we have to. Riley, do whatever you need to to get your people there, and let me know when you'll arrive. And make sure they know not to randomly stake anything with fangs. Spike's called in some favors from the local vamps, and while I'm not gonna cry bitter tears if some of them come home in a Dust Buster, I don't want to waste troops. We won't know how many of them will keep their word till they actually show up in L.A., so Xander, can you and Anya stay here and coordinate things with David, and let us know how many are coming and when they'll meet up with us?" Xander nodded; if he was disappointed not to be tagged for combat duty, he didn't show it. "Anya and I can pack up the weapons and supplies tonight, if you want to get some rest, Buff." Buffy shot him a grateful look. "That would be great. We'll talk to Cordy in the morning about someplace to stash any allied vamps. Riley?" Riley exchanged a look with Sam. "We've got some fast talking to do with Headquarters. I'll keep you updated." Team Finn rose in tandem and headed for the door. Giles, having assessed the population of Casa Summers and deemed it excessive, was phoning a hotel. Willow was fussing around with Tara, and – "What are we going to do with Grandpa when we get there, Slayer?" And Spike was looking at her like he expected her to have an answer for that. Maybe she did. "After we catch him? We can enroll him in Riley's chiphead program if we have to. At least until we find out what's going on." Spike frowned. "You think a chip in the head's gonna be enough? For Angel?" How was this even a question? "It was enough for you. And it's only temporary." "It was an excuse to hang about in your general vicinity. Not that I'd have admitted as much at the time." His tone was serious; Spike wasn't even trying to pick a fight, damn him, and she really wanted to punch something in the nose right now. "Angel, he won't put up with it, not for the pleasure of anyone's company." Buffy choked back a bitter sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "'A more permanent solution,' huh? Maybe everyone's right. It took me... so long, last time. To... do what I had to. And people died for it. I can't let that happen again. But I can't..." The words dried up in her throat, too painful to force out. "All of you want me to kill him, don't you?" She was shaking. "So easy for all of you to say, because he's not your friend or your lover. Well, you know what? Screw that! Drusilla's up there with him, and I haven't once questioned that you'll be able to handle her!" Spike's eyes flashed yellow for a second, but he didn't rise to the bait. Maybe his L.A. adventure had really knocked some restraint into him after all. "Yeah, well, maybe you should. I promised you Dru's ashes once, if ever you gave me a crumb. P'raps you've noticed that she's not actually a big pile of dust yet, for all I've gotten the whole sodding cake by now." His shoulders drooped. "Fuck it all, pet, I don't want you to kill him. I hate his sodding guts, but he's family. It's just... you keep talking as if you can fix him. What if there's nothing to fix? What if he really has just stopped trying?" "Then we convince him to start trying again. We didn't give up on Willow when the First had her, did we?" Spike stood silent for a moment, his bright head bowed. Then he sighed. "Fair do's," he said. Whatever that meant. "You know I'll back you, Slayer. I've got no doubts you'll do as you have to. Whatever that turns out to be. Just needed to have my say first." The unshakable confidence in his voice was... not cheering, exactly, but something. She laid her forehead against his shoulder, saying with touch what couldn't be said with words. After a moment his arm snaked around her shoulders, and she felt the uneven rise and fall of his chest gradually match the rhythm of her own breathing. She wondered if he even realized that he did that. "I've got to get some sleep. You coming up?" He glanced across the room. "Up in a mo.' Want a word with Tara. Bird's had a rough night of it," Join the club. "OK. See you in a bit." It occurred to her, as she climbed the stairs, that if the worst ever happened between the two of them, Spike would see that final stroke from her hands as an affirmation rather than a betrayal: a little gesture to show that she cared. Which was weird and sick and vampirey, and also... strangely comforting. No wonder Angel was convinced she'd come back from heaven wrong. TBD comments

#IFTTT #Barb's Place

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berserkermagnus · 6 years ago

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A Most Unwelcome Visitor

OOC: This is the chatzy log of the interaction between Magnus, Ophelia and an NPC named Barca who is the Emissary for the Berserker Council. Due to technical difficulties, the very beginning of the chatzy has been lost to the ether of the internet but a summary has been included so as not to confuse the reader.

Triggers: Blood, graphic and excessive violence

@opheliaxazarel

Summary: Perched on the arm of the chair, Ophelia idly tugged at one of her curly pigtails with one hand while the other toyed with Magnus' hair, her feet in his lap as he sat back in his big chair. She was chattering on about something or the other, trying to pass the time as they waited for their guest to arrive. Magnus had informed her that he was expecting someone, an old friend or acquaintance or something of the sort, it did not make much of a difference to her. She was just excited at the prospect of a guest in their home, of making a new friend. Impatient creature that she was, she must have asked Magnus a dozen times in the past ten minutes when the man would show up, and in that ever patient way that he always handled her, he gave her the same answer each time. Ophelia could tell that something was amiss with Magnus, he seemed to be tense, and part of her wondered if that had something to do with this friend who was due to arrive any minute. Before she could ponder more on the subject, the doorbell rang and Ophelia was jetting off to the door at light speed, nearly skidding right into the damn thing before she threw it open. "Hello! You made it, Mister! Come in, come in!" Ophelia ushered the man inside exuberantly, grinning from ear to ear, and the grin did not even falter when, aside from a lascivious once over, the newcomer ignored her completely as he stalked inside.

Magnus: Magnus recognized the man at the door, both by sight and reputation. His grandfather had told him all about the feud that Asher had with his family. Barca was a vicious bastard, prone to torturing his kills before finishing them off. That in itself would have been enough for Magnus, but the fact that Barca was Asher's toady just cemented his opinion of the man. He growled as Barca leered at Ophelia, fighting the urge to call the man out for his behavior but even he had a part to play today. Propping his hand on his fist, Magnus allowed a bored expression to come over his face even though he was ready to beat Barca unconscious for his disrespect. "Be welcome in my house Barca. Emissaries of the Council are always welcome here. What request do you bring that couldn't be delivered via courier?" If Asher wanted to disrespect Magnus he would find out just how difficult he could be.

Ophelia: Ophelia poked her tongue out of her mouth as the man walked right by her, but it was easily shrugged off as she closed the door and turned to skip back into the room. She had to admit, the man was truly a sight to behold, draped in animal skins, shiny weapons strapped to his large form. It was only Magnus' request that she behave that kept her from bombarding the newcomer with questions and curious prodding. None the wiser to any looks he might have sent her way, Ophelia came to stand near the couch Magnus was seated on, her eyes dancing back and forth between the two. The tension seemed to build between the two men, even though they spoke calmly enough. Ophelia decided of course that it was her duty to break said tension. "Juice?" She asked a moment later, looking between the two men. "We've got apple, orange, fruit punch and pineapple, I personally like the apple very much. Or we have Da- Master Magnus' special mead? If you'd like?"

Barca: Barca sneered at Magnus and his reply, subtly shifting his hands until they rested on the hilts of the daggers that Asher had given him from the Council's vault. He knew that if Magnus caught on to what they were made of this meeting would come to a screeching halt and the blood shedding would begin. He was fine with that but Asher had stressed the importance of winning Magnus to their side. "Asher demands that you return to the Council at once to take up your vacant seat and answer the disturbing rumors that have come our way about you taking another personal Cause." He ignored Magnus' slave for now, though if Magnus didn't correct her for speaking out of turn, he would.

Magnus: Magnus settled more firmly into his seat, a move that looked like he was relaxing but was really setting himself up to launch himself out of the chair if necessary. His laughter boomed out as Barca relayed Asher's 'orders'. "Asher is in no position to make any demands of me, and neither are you. That seat is mine and will remain so until I decide to take it, not him and certainly not you." His gaze narrowed at the mention of his Cause. "You and I both know that Causes are solely between the Berserker and Odin himself. Letting the Council know anything is merely a courtesy and one that I don;t feel they've earned at the moment. Particularly with you as their spokesman."

Ophelia: Ophelia idly tugged at one of the two curly pigtails that sat atop her head and looked back and forth between both men. It did not bother her in the slightest that neither responded to her, some things did not change over the centuries, but when did give her a little pause was the way things seemed to be slowly but surely escalating between the two. A peacekeeper by more than nature, by creation, literally, it did not sit well with her. "So will that be apple juice then?" She questioned, still with that ever present smile of hers, though her eyes lingered on the newcomer. "I could go get you a glass, Mister, maybe it'll make you feel better!"

Barca: Barca growled at Magnus' response to the demands he carried. Asher had warned him that Magnus was unlikely to follow orders, which was why he had a secondary set of instructions. Despite the implied insult however, Barca couldn't call Magnus out, he had to push the man to do it for him. He was trying to work through just how to do that when the other Berserker's slave spoke up again. Turning toward her, he glared daggers at her while his voice practically dripped with disdain. "How dare you speak when your betters are talking slave. You are nothing more than a sleeve to keep your Master's cock warm. Now be quiet before I decide to punish you in ways your current Master has obviously failed to do."

Magnus: The quiet arrogance with which Magnus sat in his chair to receive Barca was gone as he bolted upright, like a lightning bolt had just struck his spine. His hands clenched white knuckled at the arms of the chair as he glared at the other man, his voice a quiet growl, barely audible other the other's words. "You will not lay a hand on any member of my household. The gods themselves will not be able to protect you from my wrath if you do."

Ophelia: Ophelia squeaked in surprise when Barca suddenly turned on her, his eyes very angry as he looked down at her in more ways than just the literal. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mister. Really and truly, I didn't mean to interrupt you or anything, I just wanted to know if you wanted a drink or something? You're looking a little parched is all - and a couple drinks between friends sounds nice, doesn't it?" She looked from Barca to Magnus, falling silent for a moment at the threat posed by her master, the power and promise all but crackling around him. "It's okay, Daddy." She 'whispered' to Magnus, leaning over to the side and shielding her mouth with her hand as if that would dampen her words. Straightening up once more, Ophelia flashed Barca a sunny smile, unruffled by is own harsh words. "I'll just go get that drink now, Mister, okie dokie?"

Barca: Magnus' response to his threatening his slave gave Barca all the information he needed to know in order to get Magnus to challenge him to the holmgang. As an Emissary, Barca couldn't be the challenger, but he could and would most definitely accept. He sneered at Magnus' threat, clearly believing the man had gone soft in his time away from his brothers. Magnus didn't deserve that Council seat, and Barca would be the one to help strip it away. Hearing the little slave girl call Magnus 'Daddy' just made what he was going to do to her all the more sweet. Turning to look at Ophelia with a false smile on his lips, he nodded. When Ophelia turned to fetch him the drink she had offered, Barca struck with the sudden ferocity and violence that could only come from a Berserker. He wasn't pulling any punches as he darted forward, grabbing the woman by the pigtails and spinning in a circle, whipping her face first into the wall. He wasted no time in following up his initial blow, crashing his elbow into her head, her skull making a sickening cracking sound as the force of the blow imbedded it into the drywall. Spinning her free, Barca slammed his knee into her ribs, laughing at the sounds of them cracking before repeated driving his fist into her face again and again until she slumped to the floor.

Magnus: Magnus leapt to his feet with a roar, launching himself at Barca but it was too late. He hadn't expected the Emissary to actually attack anyone, let alone Ophelia. It was so far outside the bounds of what he had expected that the attack had caught him flat footed. Snatching Barca by the vest, Magnus smashed the other Berserker into the wall, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. He could feel the binding the Institute had put on his powers clamping down over his skin in response to his overflowing rage. "The only reason I'm not ripping your spinal column out through your sternum is that I still hold to the old ways you sniveling, boot licking cunt. I know our laws Emissary, but you have crossed a line. I revoke your guest right and challenge you to the holmgang. Tomorrow at sunrise, down by the beach in front of my home. You will pay for what you've done with your life and may the gods send you to Hel where you and your cowardly boss belong."

Ophelia: Finally, progress! Ophelia flashed Barca an even brighter smile when he nodded and then turned to give Magnus a dimpled grin and a thumbs up, thinking of course that her plan to ease the tension was a success. She had not even taken two bouncy steps in the direction of the kitchen before she felt someone tugging on one of her pigtails. "What - oof!" Ophelia let out a startled gasp when she was slammed face first into the wall. She felt her nose crunch, blood spilling down her face, and her hands quickly lifted to try and staunch the flow. Before she could turn to face Barca, her face was smashed into the wall a second time, this one with even more force as the drywall gave away beneath her. She felt the warmth of blood trickling down the back of her neck, staining the back of the teddy bear print shirt she wore under her overalls. There was a buzzing in her head, her hearing seemed to have given out, her vision slowly following suit. She could not see through one eye, whether that was because of the blood or something else, she did not know, but she used her good eye to look down at herself, at her blood stained hands, at the reddening floor. "Daddy?" She sounded almost confused, searching for Magnus, she could not see him, she could not feel his presence, even despite the noise he was surely making. The knee to the ribs had her falling into the wall and coughing, blood splattering from her lips. She looked up at Barca through her one good eye and had enough time to catch the sneer on his face before his fist connected with her jaw. Over and over until Ophelia could not hold herself up, slumping to the floor in a puddle of her own blood, her face nearly unrecognizable. Finding enough energy to curl into herself, Ophelia tried to blink the blood out of her eye, just long enough to find Magnus, but all she saw was Barca looming over her. And for a split second, the present merged with her past and the man standing above her with evil in his eyes was not Barca but rather Seth. Perhaps it was Seth, had he found her? Before she could do anything more, the man's fist came down on her face again, and this time, she could not fight the blanket of darkness that surrounded her as she fell into unconsciousness.

Magnus: Magnus' hands dropped from Barca, letting the man flee his home, knowing that he would be there in the morning. He dropped to his knees and crawled through her pooling blood, completely heedless of how the liquid clung to him, staining his clothes and skin. All he could think about was how he had failed to protect her, how his love for her had caused her to experience this assault. "Oh gods baby girl," he wailed as he pulled her into his lap, cradling her head in his arms as he pressed a shaking kiss to her forehead, his hands trembling as they tried to push her hair from her face. "I'm so sorry princess, I'm so so sorry." All he could do was rock back and forth, tears cutting clean lines through her blood streaked on his face from where he scrubbed his eyes. "I can't lose you, not like this. Not ever like this." He knew he needed to move, to get her help, but all he could bring himself to do was rock her, his gravelly voice singing an ancient Norwegian lullabye as he cradled her broken body to his chest. "I'll make this right baby girl. He won't get away with it, none of them will. I'll make them pay. I'll make all of them pay." Rage fueled despair driving his leaden limbs, Magnus climbed to his feet and turned from his home, stumbling down the path to the clinic and the promise of medical care for his beloved.

#opheliaxazarel #Magnus/Ophelia #A Most Unwelcome Visitor #chatzy #tw:blood #tw:torture #tw:excessive violence #tw:graphic violence

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wonderlandmind4 · 7 years ago

Text

Delicate Stages Chp 49

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Summary: Bucky Barnes agrees to participate in Deprogramming Sessions. What he gets is not anything like he expected.

Warnings: Language. Violence. Blood. Fighting.

Words: 3.5k+ @justreadingfics @nerdyandproud9 @buffy-morgendorffer-01

He slams her against the wall, knocking the gun out of her hand. Ana kicks his knee cap with her left foot, Erik shouting out in pain. She breaks away from his hold, taking the chance to go for the gun.

She stops short. The metal of the gun gleams against the crimson light, barrel pointing straight at her held by Bucky. There's a split moment where time stands still as they stare at each other.

Then, the Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

***

Gun fire echoes loudly throughout the room, ringing in Ana's ears. Time freezes for one long moment. She exhales. When no pain comes, Ana slowly turns around. Erik Woods is on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest. The wound looks fatal, but she isn’t sure that’s enough to keep him down.

Footsteps behind Ana draws her attention back to Bucky. He’s inches away from her, holding the gun at an angle, still pointing at her. He flicks his thumb and the chamber of bullets fall to the ground, quickly followed by the gun itself. Bucky reaches his hand out, cupping the back of Ana’s head and drags her forward, searing their lips together.

She gasps into his mouth, practically melting into his arms. "You scared the fucking hell out of me!"

"I'm so fucking sorry." Bucky mumbles against her lips. He gently pushes stray hairs back from her face, damp from sweat.

"You came back to me, Bucky." She whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. She kisses his lips harder, ignoring the stinging cut on her own.

Bucky pulls back and the soft, relieved smile only last two seconds. He frowns, moving his thumb to the left corner of her mouth. Ana does the same to his, wiping away a smear of blood. It should be gross, and completely unsanitary, but she doesn't give a damn at this moment. She’s just happy to have her Bucky in her arms.

“Gotta get you out of here.” He tells her urgently, dragging his hands down her face, to her tender neck and down her arms; tracing the developing bruises. "Give me one second."

Ana watches as Bucky steps on the chair, ripping one of the guns from the machine. He hands it to Ana to hold. Then he bends down, gently hooking the back of her knees over his left arm and wrapping his right around her back. Ana secures her arm over his neck, awkwardly holding the large gun against her body as he picks her up and hurries out of the room.

“What about dickless over there?” Ana questions darkly, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder. Erik is motionless.

“I’ll deal with him later.” He growls, his voice low; malicious. “Need to get you to safety first.”

Ana turns her gaze to Bucky. She can sense unadulterated loathing radiating off him, can nearly see it tainting is aura. His expression is murderous, and she briefly wonders if he isn’t fully broken out of his Winter Soldier mode. The blue of his eyes are darkened with ferocity, the muscle at his jaw twitching, his mouth set into a firm line.

Bucky is enraged. She has never seen him this angry before. It should frighten her, but not once has she been scared of him since he came into her life. Ana knows, believe with every ounce of her heart, that she is the safest with him no matter what.

“Bucky.” She murmurs, bringing her right hand up to his face, brushing her fingers against his bearded jaw. “I’m alright.”

His nostrils flare, his mouth twitches, his forehead glistens with sweat. He tightens his arms around her, practically running down the hall. "I will make him pay for ever fucking touching you. For everything they’ve done to you."

Ana kisses the joint of his jaw, hair soft beneath her lips. She tightly cradles the gun against her torso, and places her hand gently on his chest. His heart is flying. Though she can't figure out if it’s because he's anxious to get out of the building, is still feeling the affects of being triggered, or has to do with Ana herself.

"Are you okay?" She inquires, rubbing her thumb over his shirt.

"I'm fine, love." Bucky answers softly, so unlike the tone he just used. He pauses as he picks up on voices. He presses a quick kiss to her temple. "You're safe now."

He makes a decision and turns down another path, quickly checking around the corner before jogging down the hallway. Ana winces as the movement jolts her knee. She glances at it, a dark spot that trails down her ripped jeans, soaked with her own blood. She removes her hand from Bucky's chest, gingerly pressing her fingers on the out side of her knee. She hisses in pain.

"Will you be able to run if need be?" Bucky checks, slowing his pace.

"Not sure." Ana exhales, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment.

She’s beginning to feel every aching pain throughout her body; her throat sill sore, her lips and cheeks stinging, her knee throbbing. Exhaustion seeps heavily in her bones. Her eyes flutter shut.

"Adrenaline is slowing down." Ana barely murmurs.

Bucky is saying something, but she hardly pays attention, yearning to sleep. She thinks she may have blacked out briefly, for the next moment loud voices echo up ahead, causing Ana to jerk to awareness. Her burst of powers she used earlier has caught up to her. Bucky stops at an intersection of four hallways.

"I have to put you down, darlin’. Wait here."

He carefully lowers her. His hands are tight on her hips as Ana steadies herself, keeping the majority of her weight on her left leg. Bucky takes the gun, cocking it and pulling the lever, adjusting it in her hands. He glances over his shoulder as the voices grow closer. He turns back, hooking his finger under her chin, tenderly pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Keep it poised, and the second you see it's anyone but me, you shoot." He instructs firmly, his blue eyes burning with protectiveness. "Do not hesitate."

"Buck-"

"You're hurt and exhausted, Ana. I need you to protect yourself. Shoot first, ask questions later." Bucky pecks her forehead, gripping her shoulders. "Promise?"

Ana nods.

"I'll be right back."

"Be careful." She rasps, as he lets her go and runs quietly down the hall.

Ana stares after his retreating back, leaning against the wall next to her. She takes a moment to just breathe, to revel the fact that her and Bucky had escaped that room, despite knowing it might be premature. It takes several seconds, but suddenly the voices get louder, someone is shouting.

She hears a quick scuffle, loud thuds, and a few gun shots. She tries to keep her heart calm, knows that Bucky is highly capable of handling more than one person at a time. It doesn't stop her worry though.

Running footsteps race towards her. Ana locks her arms, placing her index finger on the trigger. She pushes herself off the wall, shifting her weight on her left leg. The footsteps grow closer and closer, then Bucky rounds the corner, holding another semi-automatic rifle, and a Glock. A knife gleams in the lights, tucked into the belt of his jeans. Ana lowers her gun with relief. He reaches her, an intrigued smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. He pulls the knife from his belt, tucking it carefully into her own.

"Ya know," Bucky begins, a hint of mirth in his voice. "You look hot holding that gun."

"Are you honestly flirting with me right now, after we've been kidnapped, nearly tortured and mind wiped, and probably going to be fighting for our lives?"

He pauses. "Yes."

"Well, okay then." Ana smiles at him.

"C'mere." Bucky pulls her closer to his body, being careful of her injured knee. He kisses the uninjured corner of her mouth. "I love you, Annie."

Ana leans against him, inhaling his scent. The fading smell of woods, sweat and something a little metallic- given that some of the blood from her knee has stained his shirt- oddly comforts her. She loves every bit of him. She kisses the center of his chest, over his beating heart.

"Love you too." She mutters.

"Lets go." He pulls back, makes to carry her again.

"I can walk. Promise." Ana tells him, but she grabs onto the hem of his shirt anyway.

Bucky seems like he's going to protest, but they don't have any more time to waste before Erik decides to find them again, if he hasn't died yet. He nods, then leads the way down the hallway to their right.

Ana is limping, each step sending a sharp jolt of pain through her knee. She grinds her teeth a few times, forcing steady breaths through her nose. Several times, Bucky stops to check around corners, to scan hallways for any doors or exits. Each time he does, he checks on Ana, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. Each time, Ana nods, masking her pain.

After walking for a few minutes, they hear sounds of fighting several yards ahead. A door opens and two men run out of a room. They spot Ana and Bucky, quickly pulling out their guns. Bucky already had his gun up, taking aim and fires, hitting the men in the stomachs and legs. They fall to the ground shouting in pain, blood spirting from the wounds.

"You only nicked their arteries." Ana notes, staying behind Bucky as he approaches the men.

"A quick death is too good for them. They’ll likely bleed out." Bucky responds with a dangerously low tone. He kicks their guns out of reach. Abruptly, his cold gaze morphs into a grin.

"Would you like to do the honors, babe?"

His smile looks just a tad off. Ana doesn’t blame him, in fact, she’d rather leave the men as they are in the hallway. She places a comforting hand on his cheek for a moment, Bucky’s eyes fluttering. He kisses her palm before she drops her hand.

Ana turns her attention to the men. She recognizes one of the them as the guard she fought in the Lab. Erik’s confession of Hydra having a hand in her parents death repeats in her mind. Anger surges up her spine, radiates from her body causing the overhead lights to spark and pop. The section of the hallway darkens, dimly light by an emergency light. Instead of knocking them out, she aims the gun at them.

Her finger teases the trigger. A delicate loving touch brushes her elbow, a silent reminder that Bucky is right behind her. Comforting, supporting, understanding, all conveyed through his energy.

“I understand your anger, sweetheart,” Bucky speaks kindly. “But you aren’t a killer, Ana. I am, but you aren’t.”

Swallowing thickly, Ana turns the gun around, thrusting the blunt end against the side of his head, hard, knocking him out. She does the same for the other agent. She spots another knife, and pulls it off the man, twirling it expertly between her fingers before sliding it into her left boot.

Bucky has the decency to roll his eyes before beckoning her along. Ana stops him, grabbing his had, squeezing as hard as she can.

“You aren’t a killer,” Ana reprimands. “Not to me.”

They’re aware they don't have time to argue this topic, so Bucky just lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “Let’s go.”

They hear more fighting, more shouting. Bucky holds his arm out before they reach a set of metal doors, checking back at her once more. Ana nods, determine to fucking leave this place. Guns at the ready, Bucky kicks the doors open. They come face to face with Hawkeye.

There's a moment of relieved surprise washing over Ana, before Clint pulls his bow back and releases. The arrow flies over her shoulder, hitting someone behind her. When she turns to look, another guard had been sneaking up behind them. Bucky turns, slamming the doors shut, then roughly kicks off the handle.

"Sorry it took so long." Clint quips, jerking his head for them to follow him. "That GPS in your arm was on the level of Map Quest."

"Tony's going to kill you for that." Ana responds, smiling despite the situation. She surveys around the room, a large open area that looks more like a hanger for planes than anything else.

Bucky inform Clint of what happened, or at least the shortened version of it. Up ahead, Ana spots more guards fighting, and it suddenly dawns on her that this is a unknown Hydra facility. A flash of red and gold whizzes through the air, Ana's heart soaring in her chest; Tony. Next she watches as Natasha takes down four Hydra agents without breaking a sweat.

"Is everyone here?" Ana questions, her heart swelling with the notion. She stumbles reaching out to the nearest thing, which happens to be Clint's forearm.

"Of course." He scoffs, gripping her elbow. “Did us think we wouldn’t all come for you both?” His expression morphs into concern. "You alright? How injured are you?"

"Woods shoved a fucking five pronged disk in her knee. Disabled the rods.” Bucky tells him, his tone murderous again. "We need to get her out of here, now."

Clint helps Ana straighten up, only to pass her over to Bucky. "The Quin-jet is hovering just above the roof access there. We'll clear a path as much as we can." He presses two fingers to his ear. "Do guys copy that?"

Ana grips Bucky's arm. "I want to help."

He shoots her a hard look, his blue eyes blazing. "Abso-fucking-lutely not!”

"Bucky."

He tucks one of the guns under his arm, placing his hand on her face. "Ana, please. For once, just protect yourself. I'm getting you out of here."

His point is made when bullets suddenly fly towards the three of them. Bucky drops the one gun, shielding Ana away with his left arm. They tinker off his arm as they hurry behind a stack of metal crates. Once they're out of the way and the bullets stop, both of them pop out from behind their cover, firing their weapons.

Ana quickly runs out of ammo, cursing the stupid guard who was too lazy to put in a new magazine. Clint fires an arrow across the room, exploding into a small group of Hydra agents. Ana feels her skin prickling, can feel the surge of energy racing up her spine. It's everywhere. Kinetic, negative and positive, charged and burning, radiating off of people and their weapons. Her fingertips tingle with it, so palpable she can almost grab it.

Inhaling through her nose, she gathers the energy around her, until she can feel it burning in her hands. The agents found their hiding spot, ten of them quickly advancing. Ana smirks, then channels the kinetic energy into the metal creates. Three of them go flying ahead, taking out all ten guards.

"I did not know you could do that." Clint sounds impressed, shooting another arrow without looking. It lands in a guards shoulder, taking him down.

Bucky looks curious, yet proud of her. Ana shrugs, it's a new discovery herself. Something heavy lands onto of the top remaining creates. When Ana looks up she waves at Steve, dressed in his Captain's uniform, his shield hooked on his arm. He gives her an exasperated look, before he waves back, his gaze shifting over to Bucky.

"Causing trouble, pal?" He teases.

"Was starting to get bored, I guess." Bucky quips back, shrugging.

Steve chuckles, then jumps down, landing light on his feet. He places his free hand on Ana's shoulder, blue eyes filled with worry. He quickly does a scan of her body. From her busted lip, to her cheek where a bruise is probably beginning to form, as well as her neck, to her knee, and frowns. There's the same fire of anger sparking in his eyes, though no where near as murderous as Bucky's.

“Okay?” Steve checks quietly.

The sincerity in his voice, the angry set of his jaw, the comforting hand squeezing her shoulder, nearly overwhelms Ana. Her bottom lips trembles for a moment, before she regains her emotions. She nods shakily. Steve sees right through her but returns her nod after a short pause. He lifts his eyes to meet with Bucky, who responds with a slight tilt of his head forward; their own silent communication.

"Vision and Wanda are clearing path right now." Steve informs them. "Just fifty yards ahead and up the stairs. There's a ladder leading to the roof access where the jet is. Sharon and Agent Hill are there. But you need to go now."

Bucky doesn't hesitate as he tugs Ana along. She tries to run at full sped, but she hisses when something in her knee snaps. She grips Bucky's shirt as he shoots a stray guard down. He turns to help her, when something flies past them.

"Sam!" He shouts, wrapping his metal arm around her waist. He hoists her up a bit, so all her weight is off her right leg. Sam circles back around, landing next to them. He quickly goes to her other side grabbing her arm to place around his neck.

"Take her to the second level close to the roof." Bucky instructs. To Ana he says, "I'll meet you up there."

"Be careful." Ana tells him. Sam carefully picks her up as Bucky did earlier.

Bucky smiles and nods, then takes off. He turns for a moment. "Wilson!"

"I've got her!" Sam yells back. "Hold on tight, honey."

Ana tightens her arm around his neck, gripping his shirt. The wings of his pack shoot open then Sam is taking off into the air. The sensation of flying Ana will never get used to. She yelps when Sam has to twirl and maneuver out of the way of gunfire. It only takes thirty seconds before he lands again, gently setting her down.

"Take this." He instructs, pulling a small gun from his holster and shoving it in her hands. "He's right behind you. I'll see you later."

"Thanks Sam." Ana sighs out, readying the gun.

He points a finger at her. "Don't you scare me like that again, Ana. I mean it." Then he takes off.

Ana spots Bucky running up the stairs, a Hydra guard following after him. She aims the gun and shoots, hitting the guard in the leg twice. He goes down hard, as Bucky takes the rest of the stairs two at a time. He reaches her, quickly wrapping his arm around her lower back and helping her along. The majority of the fighting is now several yards behind them. She tucks the gun away.

When they reach the ladder, Bucky carefully shift his hold to her hips as Ana wraps her hands around the thin bars. He gently pushes her up as far as he can. She painfully makes it up seven steps, before gunfire rings out. Ana yelps, slipping down the steps.

She falls backwards but Bucky catches her, cursing loudly. A new pain blooms in her left shoulder, and when she looks, a bleeding bullet hole is the cause. Bucky blocks her from of the line of fire with his left arm, when abruptly the firing ceases.

When they look below, Erik Woods is there, gun in hand. Unfortunately, it's not the only weapon he has. His right arm is shoved into a device that looks like a blaster of some kind. A malicious grin spreads across his mouth as the weapon makes a winding noise, the end of it glowing yellow. Ana realizes with horror it's an energy laser gun, aimed directly at them both.

"I don't need you alive, Rios!" Erik yells, a manic look on his face.

Ana yanks Bucky aside, the blast missing him by a foot. He grabs the gun from his belt, shooting at Erik, but he dodges the bullets. Ignoring her throbbing, bleeding shoulder, Ana takes out Sam's gun and fires, blood swirling down her arm.

She's able to nick Erik's leg, the size of the blaster blocking his chest. Bucky aims for his hand, hitting dead on, the hand gun falls to the ground. Bucky shoots again, hitting his shoulder, leg, and stomach before Erik dives behind a create. Briefly, Ana wonders how Erik hasn’t died yet, if there's a possibly he has his own form of knock off serum.

Ana drops the gun once it's out of bullets. Instead, she quickly pulls the kinetic energy from the air. As she does so, Erik pops out from the other side of the crate. He aims the blaster, shooting it directly at Ana. Bucky lunges to protect her.

There's a flash of light, a crunching sound and they're both sent flying to the floor from the force of the attack. Shaking her head to clear her vision, Ana sits up the as Bucky pushes himself up. She gasps in horror, a shaky hand flies over her mouth, the sight of in font of her nearly makes her vomit.

Bucky's metal arm has been completely shot off. Nothing left but a stump of broken, glowing red scorched wires, chords and scrapped metal. He is slow to get to his knees, wobbles dangerously. He glances to his side, just to see nothing there. His expression is one of absolute anguish. He looks like he's going into shock, like his body is shutting down from the trauma. Then he passes out, falling heavily to the ground.

"Bucky!" Ana screams.

All her senses come back to her, but the only thing she feels is the utter terror in her heart. She crawls over to him, bleeding and dizzy and panicked, just as another blast is sent her way.

Ana spins, catching the energy beam in her hands. The force shoves her back, slams her against a metal pillar. Slowly she stands, but doesn't feel any pain, just a white hot sensation in her hands. It surges throughout her body, ignites very vein, every fiber of her being down to her core. She concentrates on the glowing light, keeps it contained between her palms as the beam comes to an end. She vaguely hears another gunshot as something pierces her stomach. All she focuses on is the blazing energy in her hands, conforming it to her will.

She inhales slowly, shuts her eyes, inches her hands closer and closer until the light begins to fade. She clenches her fist, lowering her arms. Ana adsorbs the energy, containing it in her body, her arms trembling. When her eyes snap open, she feels them burning. Her skin on fire, her blood boiling, her fingertips sizzling. Through the searing white light of her eyes, stands a dark silhouette.

Raising her hands, Ana thrusts them forward. The watts of energy leaves her body, rushes out like water breaking open a dam, sent directly towards the silhouette. She wraps it around the figure, clenching her hands and tugs. A new sensation crashes over her body, tugging and pulling until the other source of energy starts to fade away. She continues to pull and pull, until she begins to feel every drop drain from her body, a slow weakness left behind. She refuses to stop, yearns to drain the figures force of energy to nothing.

There's a soft graze to her calf, the gentlest of touches. Abruptly, the energy halts. All bright lights dissipates. Ana can hardly see through distorted vision, smoke and electrical currents racing along the ceiling. Her heart pumps weakly in her chest before she crumples to the ground. Something touches her lips, tender and trembling, but when she cracks her eyes open, she can't see anything other than blurred shapes.

"Stay with me..."

The words are a whispered panic; a begging request. She can't place the voice, barely registers the words. Her heart flutters once more then stops. The world goes black.

***

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#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes #delicate stages #coming to an end!#my fic

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smashbuddies · 6 years ago

Text

Do it for Them: Pt. 9

Daniel flew through the air, back colliding painfully with the ground. His gem ached painfully, but thankfully no damage was done. Though he was given quite the scare when his sword was stabbed into the ground right next to his head. His eyes trailed up the blade and finally met with the golden gaze that always taunted him.

He’d come to hate it in the short time they’d been training together.

“That all ya got?” Mortar taunted with a sneer, his hands dirtying up the hilt of Daniel’s sword. The one he had specially made to replicate His Diamond’s. “Shame. Thought ya’d have more fight, what with ya always hanging around Purple Diamond. Should’ve known better, though. Pearls ain’t much.”

“I’m not just a Pearl,” he muttered as he slowly sat up. “I’m…”

A jolt went through him, and he could feel parts of his body jitter out of existence. Maybe that fall shook his gem up more than he thought.

Another gem joined the fray with a worried cry, hooves placed onto Daniel’s back as a soothing pink aura radiated through him. Cookie was always so nice. Of course, that was expected, he was formed to emulate the softer forms of life found on Earth. Sheep, they were called. Fluffy and meek.

Made Daniel wonder how the hell he ended up with Mortar.

“Maybe you should go a little easier on him, Michael,” Cookie suggested, voice soft and almost hesitant. “This doesn’t seem to be working…”

“He asked me to teach him to fight,” Mortar scoffed out, nose stuck up as he glanced off to the side. “If he can’t handle it, maybe he shouldn’t be leading the rebellion. It’s not my fault he’s weak. He’s been sittin’ pretty on the arm of a throne since he was made!”

“That isn’t true,” Daniel muttered once he had the energy to. That pink glow slowly faded from around him. “I did just as much for this rebellion as Purple Diamond, and you know it!”

A knife was suddenly at his throat, sharp teeth gleaming as Mortar snarled out, “And you did it from where?”

His Diamond’s side. But he didn’t dare day that. The last thing he wanted was to prove this brute right.

“That’s what I thought.”

Mortar turned and began to walk away. But something in Daniel raged. Leaping to his feet, he pulled his sword from the ground and swung with every ounce of righteous anger within him

It was a clean cut, right through Mortar’s stomach. His form retained shaped for just a second as he stopped, hands shaking as he looked down.

Poof.

“Michael!”

Mortar’s golden gem fell to the ground. Cookie picked it up and cradled it to his chest, but not even a second after his aura radiated did Mortar appear once more- knife in hand, with a wicked smirk on his face.

“Is that how ya wanna play, Pearl?” he asked dangerously, eyes gleaming as a dark wave of foreboding washed over Daniel. “Think ya got what it takes to fight?”

Daniel bristled and readied his sword. “I know I do.”

That smirk fell, and with a strangled yell, Mortar pounced. His knife collided directly with one of Daniel's stars, and Daniel used it to push him up into the air, sword ready to swing and strike him down.

But then Mortar was gone, and he felt a sharp pain right below his gem.

“Shoulda just given up.”

And darkness took over. Inside the recesses of his gem, he could feel Cookie's aura. But he didn't come out. Not when he was such a failure. A defect in every sense. He couldn't live up to His Diamond’s expectations. Couldn’t be the leader they were.

Even the words of encouragement he so desperately held onto provided little comfort.

Slowly, he formed back into the world, kneeling next to Cookie, head hung. His sword laid on his lap, and he felt sick looking at it. The blade was too dull, the designs etched too deep. Even the colors seemed dull.

“I’m sorry about that,” Cookie whispered, with a hoof on Daniel’s shoulder. “Michael, he… He’s just a little rough around the edges…”

“He’s psychotic,” Daniel muttered as he got to his feet and brushed his skirt off. “In a world where we can get away from our assigned roles, he’s just living up to everything he was made to be. A senseless, bloodthirsty soldier. Does he even care about anything else but putting others down?”

Cookie didn’t answer. In fact, he looked pretty uncomfortable, hugging himself with his eyes downcast. But Daniel had more important matters to deal with. Planning, strategies, relaying information to the generals scattered about.

“Tell him I’m not giving up,” he said after a long moment. “I want him back here tomorrow, same time. That’s a direct order.”

“O-Okay…”

Daniel stood in the throne room, sword in hand. If he had any hope of learning to fight, he’d need to practice. The stances, the movements, everything he’d remembered from the times he would watch His Diamond. They always moved with such power, such ferocity, it was entrancing…

His face grew hot. Now wasn’t the time to be smitten.

Step, swing, leap back. It was simple. So he summoned up a star to act as his target, and got ready.

A moment passed. Then he took a deep breath and went for it. But the weight of the sword pulled him out of his stance, knocking him over with its uncontrollable momentum. Even with the replica made for his size, it was too big. Too unwieldy for him.

Again, he tried. And again, he failed. This time he had the mind to let go of the sword before he fell, and it launched into the wall, only to fall with a pitiful clang.

He had to keep trying. No giving up until he at least made a dent.

Swing, miss. Swing, fall. Swing, miss and fall.

It was a cycle, and every restart only made him more and more frustrated. What was he doing wrong? He tried to follow everything perfectly, he had the motions ingrained into his mind. In theory, he could do it. Should be able to do it.

But theory wasn’t practice.

On his last attempt, he fell to his knees, sword swinging just short of his target. A frustrated sob escaped him, and he looked up at the star, now projecting the image of His Diamond onto it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hands shaking as they clutched too tightly onto his sword. “I can’t do it. I can’t be like you. I know you had so much faith in me, but… This just isn’t working. And I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Like always, His Diamond’s eyes were so kind. Warm and sweet. Too understanding of his shortcomings.

He glanced over at their sword, hung up above the throne, waiting for its owner. A symbol of their strength. Perfectly crafted for them.

But Daniel wasn’t strong.

Slowly, he got to his feet and tossed his sword to the side. The smiling face of his beloved Diamond was replaced by the cruel sneer of Mortar. If he couldn’t defeat a Pyrite, what made him think he could take on the Diamonds?

Daniel took on a stance. One hand raised, the other poised in front of himself. Like he was going to dance for His Diamond.

Leap, spin, land. Three simple steps. But he knew there was more to it.

Deep breaths. Concentrate.

His movements were fluid and natural. A leap that launched him into the air, a spin that he had done so many times before, he could focus on something else while his instincts puppeted his body.

Stars, stars, summons stars, sharp and strong, like His Diamond’s blade, ready to cut down his enemies, ready to cut down Mortar, the Diamonds, anyone who stood in his way!

He landed gracefully, bowed low at the waist, head hung because he couldn’t face the results of this test quite yet. What if he’d failed again? He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself. This was his last hope.

Swallowing down his fear, he finally looked up.

There was a dent.

“Where’s your sword, Pearl?” Mortar taunted from across the arena, tossing his knife up and around, catching it expertly.

Daniel pressed his lips into a thin line. “I don’t need it.”

That made Mortar snort. “Uh-huh, okay. Cookie, get ready. I’m sure this won’t take long.”

As soon as Mortar stepped forward, Daniel took on his stance, eyes narrowed as he made sure no tricks would get pulled again. But Mortar cocked his head as he stalked closer, a sinister grin on his face.

“What, ya gonna dance?” he asked. “Wow, you are pathetic. What’re you even tryin’ for?”

“My Diamond,” he answered without missing a beat, coiled up and ready to strike. “Everything I do is for them.”

Mortar made a face. Then it was like Daniel blinked. Mortar was gone, and his body acted. He leapt forward and spun, two stars forming in the process. One stopped Mortar’s knife dead in its tracks, and the other swung around to slice through him. Daniel landed, eyes meeting Mortar’s, and reveled in the few seconds of shock on his face before he poofed.

With a gasp, Cookie raced over and tended to Mortar’s gem. He bit down on his lip as Mortar took form, and even tried to get a word in, but was cut off.

“You're fighting for ‘Your Diamond’, huh?” Mortar sneered, still nestled in Cookie’s arms. “You're not special. We're all fighting for them. But some of us are fighting for more.”

Daniel could only stare, wide-eyed, as Mortar grabbed Cookie and dipped him low. There was only the slightest squeak of “M-Michael!” before it was silenced by Mortar’s lips. Cookie immediately melted in his arms. Then lights surrounded them, black and pink, merging together, almost blinding while it settled into a navy blue.

Where the two of them had stood was now one figure. Features that looked like a mix between both Mortar and Cookie, strips of cloth wrapped all over, even around half their face, letting only one, golden eye be shown.

“Awww, not what you expected, huh?” they said with a huge grin, head tilted as they brought a knife up to their face. “That’s right! We fuse! Because we love each other more than anything in the whole universe! And that’s why we fight! So the two of us can keep loving each other, without those mean ol’ Diamonds getting in the way!”

The cutesy way they talked grated on Daniel’s nerves. He positioned himself again, ready to fight the fusion and prove his worth.

Until he felt a sharp pain in his thigh.

A knife. They’d thrown a knife at him, and it stuck. He gritted his teeth and pulled it out. But the pain didn’t go away. In fact, it only spread, creeping up and dulling, but still very much present.

“Poor little Pearl,” they teased with a high-pitched giggle, knife back in hand. “You just don’t know what a fusion can do, huh? That’s okay! We’ll show you.”

Another knife got stuck in his other leg, and he dropped to his knees with a yelp. It felt like something terrible was coursing through him. A corrosive power that he couldn’t stop. But he pulled the knife out before more of it could be pumped into him. A pained whimper escaped him, and he just barely managed to block the next knife with a star.

“You don’t understand…” he huffed out, voice cracking. It hurt so much. “I-”

“No, I do understand,” they interrupted, voice sounding deeper for just a moment. They skipped around him in a circle, and he felt too vulnerable under their keen eye. “You’re just a Pearl, after all! Made to live a life of luxury with whoever you serve! And you got lucky enough to be given to a Diamond.” They stopped and leaned forward, an almost pout on their face. “While other gems are forced to fight and fight and fight so they don’t get shattered. Even with this little rebellion, you’re getting the best deal! You don’t have to fight for anything! You can just sit back and watch everyone else do it!”

They were wrong.

“Listen, I-”

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it!”

Another knife came for him, and he just barely managed to block it. He tried to get back to his feet but his legs weren’t cooperating. At least he still had his arms.

Hand held out, he clenched his fist and formed a star right underneath it. Then he launched it forward, nearly throwing himself to the ground while that star flew right for the fusion. They just barely managed to dodge it- his star still knicked their arm.

“Ouchie!” they cried out, tears welling up in their eyes, but their lips pulled into a snarl. One hand over the damage, a red aura radiated from them and the sliver that had been cut stitched back together almost perfectly.

The pain dulled his instincts, and he bit down on his lip when a knife hit the arm he’d used to attack them. His whole body shook. And his form quivered, the light of his body bending and refracting, begging to retreat. But he couldn’t. He still had one arm at his disposal, and he was going to fight until he had nothing left.

He lifted his hand. It shook, and the star he formed showed it. Dull and with too few points. But it was enough.

A storm of knives flew at him, from each and every direction. He swung the star to shield himself, every which way, almost flawlessly even with his strength being sapped from him. On the other side of the barrage, he could see the fusion flickering in and out of sight. All with that eager grin on their face.

“It’s kinda cute that you’re still trying so hard,” the fusion cooed, letting him have a break. “Don’t know why, though. You’re still kinda pathetic.”

“My Diamond,” he hissed out. It was all he could manage. Every ounce of his will was put into his star. Survive. Do it for them.

A strange look crossed their face. “Yeah, you already said that, silly! Wow, they sure do program you pearls to be devoted, huh?”

“No…” His vision blurred, and he could feel himself trying to retreat into safety. “I… L-Love… Sna...”

Shock. Then light, and suddenly Cookie was at his side, aura encompassing Daniel, a warmth he so desperately needed to counteract the numbness. He finally let go, and felt so much better now that he wasn’t tensed for an assault.

“Michael, apologize.”

Daniel lazily looked over at Mortar. He had his lips drawn into a thin line, a weird mix of shame and fury on his face.

“But I-”

“Michael.”

Mortar said nothing for a long moment. Then he sighed and crossed his arms. “Look… Maybe I was a little, I dunno… I just, I don’t get it. You’re a Pearl. You could be sittin’ in the lap of luxury right now! So why do all this?”

“I have to find My Diamond,” he said, voice hoarse and low. “They’re all I have.”

For a quick second, Mortar’s eyes flickered up to Cookie. “...I get that.”

“Good,” he breathed out, and finally felt his strength returning to him. “So will you actually teach me to fight now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mortar waved him off. “I’ll do it. But I still don’t like you.”

Daniel huffed. “I could say the same.”

#snailbitch #do it for them #my diamond au #fic #mod cantolope

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ishipbullshitso · 7 years ago

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So, beginning off, I have another tumblr account, but I use that for more private reasons (it also hoards another ship of mine), so I am using this one to post my crap. With all of that said and done, enjoy.

The King watched with amused eyes as his cousin sparred. It had been a year and a half since he reclaimed his throne in the final battle. It had been a year since T’Challa trusted N’Jakada-Erik-to roam Wakanda without burning everything to the ground. And lastly, it had been a week since T’Challa realized, with the horrific truth spoken by his sister, that he was undeniably in love with the man.

Erik looked up briefly at him, and T’Challa coughed and looked away. He was not supposed to be watching his cousin in this fashion, eyes clinging to the flex of his muscles or the perspiration of his back. T’Challa glanced over to see Erik’s famous smirk sent in his direction. T’Challa messed with his beads until something that looked important pulled up and he directed his focus to that instead of the man who is making his mind go blank.

Bast help him-that the person that he has fallen in love with has to be Erik Stevens,

“Sup, Cuz?” N’Jadaka called from the door. He doesn’t ask to come in or if he is doing anything important before plopping down on the couch of the room. T’Challa looks up from the book he is reading and sighs.

“Hello, N’Jadaka,” and he gets an eye roll.

“Y’know, I would kill anyone else who calls me that.” And T’Challa knows that he is kidding, but cannot help the way that his body tenses up at the image of the man killing...again. There is more than enough proof that his cousin is perfectly able to take someone out without much effort. T’Challa still has the scars to prove it, as well.

“Then why am I an exception?”

“Dunno, must like you or something,” and that horrid warmth in the pit of his stomach reveals itself. How can something so simple and probably not true make him feel such a way? Before he can answer, Erik is changing the subject, removing himself from the couch and towards the bed where T’Challa lays.

“Sooo I heard Nakia is back from her mission. Aren’t you gonna go see her and freeze? Something around the sorts.” And T’Challa snorts behind his book, still pretending to read.

“Nakia and I are not together. We have not been for a long time. And I never freeze.” The lie comes easy on his tongue, but his throat closes up with the way Erik gives him an unsurprised face with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Sure, T,” the King winces at the shortening of his name, “Y’all may not be together, but you still have feelings for-”

“Do not shorten my name like that. I have no felt anything in that sense for her in a long time, for your information.” Erik raises his hands defensively and scoots closer to see what he is reading. Their arms touch and T’Challa feels like he is on fire, but takes no initiative to move.

“Have you felt anything in that sense recently, my King?” The title is in perfect mother language and his mind goes blank immediately. Yes, it’s you, almost falls from his lips, but instead he is staring at his cousin with an expression he wishes he could wipe off.

“You lied, T’Challa, you said you never freeze.” N’Jadaka smiles, full and pretty. The gold of his teeth reflects the sunlight in the room and his mouth goes dry. He takes two more seconds to compose yourself before answering.

“I do not freeze.” His cousin laughs, full and hearty. Heart flutters get repressed as he rolls his eyes.

“You’re funny. But imma be real with you for a second. We all know I am good at taking what I want,” and yes, the images cross his mind. N’Jadaka in the yellow and black suit, nearly killing his sister, and the words of “I want the throne.” They all return. “But you are not. You’ve had everything given to you with little to no effort.” His cousin gets off of the couch-T’Challa craves for that heat again- and stalks towards the door. Erik opens it and gives one more look to him.

“Maybe it’s time that you take what you want for once.” And he is gone. T’Challa places the book gently on the nightstand and groans loudly.

“Brother, you are an idiot.” Shuri rolls her eyes in the lab, working on yet another upgrade.

“How so? He is his own man and I am not making that sort of decision for him.” Shuri mentioned just kissing Erik, just to see how he would react. He is obviously against such idea.

“I’ve known you to freeze, but I’ve never known you to be so blind.”

“What in Bast name does that mean?”Shuri shrugged her shoulders, but he knew she was lying.

“Have you thought of returning the gold suit to N’Jadaka?”

“He would kill you if he overheard you saying his real name and why would I do that?” Shuri wraps the necklace around his neck again, telling him to turn it back on again. He complies and the suit wraps his body smoothly.

“Say his name,” is all Shuri says.

“What?”

“Just say it!” T’Challa rolls his eyes but says N’Jadaka nonetheless. Almost instantly, the gold necklace on the other side of the room transforms around the mannequin into the gold suit.

“I figured that perhaps you would want him on your missions. It’s a work in progress, but if you two become synced via suits then the coherence between you two will ensure the safety of you both.” T’Challa never thought about bringing Erik with him, but now he can see it. He can imagine Erik cracking a joke in the middle of it and T’Challa begging him to stay focused while they both handle their groups of people. He can see Erik wearing that necklace with so much pride.

“I may have to change the activation word, though. It appears you may be saying it a lot more soon and I would prefer if I didn’t see the gold suit every day or so.” T’Challa nods wordlessly and repeats the word again, deactivating the other suit before deactivating his.

“Thank you,” he says instead because everything else fails him. Shuri winks at him, patting his back and pushing him out of the lab to fix the kinks.

“Go talk to him about it. Do more than that if you ever get any balls!”

T’Challa walks to the one place he knows his cousin would be. He hears the slice of the air and the grunt of one man. The spear spins through Erik’s fingers was a ferocity and he, undoubtedly, has been practicing since his previous loss to Okoye. Erik notices his presence as soon as he entered the room and he smiles wickedly. He pauses to grab another spear and throws it in T’Challa’s directions. The King catches it with ease, removing his royal robes in the process. N’Jadaka moves into an offensive position and T’Challa spins the spear fluidly then snaps it downward, using two fingers to beckon the first attack. Predictably, Erik moves first, aiming for his side, which is countered easily.

“Talk to Shuri recently?” T’Challa asks mid-counter, breathless from the action. His cousin rolls away from the attack easily. He raises his eyebrows in surprise for the spark of conversation.

“No, should I?” Erik attacks again, aiming for the sweep of his legs. He jumps out of the way, but gets hit in the side because he knew that Erik expected the dodge. The hit makes him moves a few paces away, but he shakes his head in an answer.

“No. We have been discussing what to do with the gold necklace. You’re going to receive it back on some conditions.” Erik’s face lights up in interest.

“Like what? I don’t use it to take over the world again?” T’Challa furrows his eyebrows in the seriousness of the question. He knows his cousin would not do that again.

“I guess, but moreof that you use it for conventional reasons, such as accompanying me on missions.”

“You’re going to take me with you on your missions? As what, your second in command?” The hopeful look on his face made him smile and the spar was forgotten.

“If you want it, of course. You would not be my second in command, no one could replace Okoye’s position. You would be more of,” T’Challa pauses, “my equal.”

Instead of responding verbally, N’Jadaka smiles wider and positions himself again to attack. He blows a kiss to him and T’Challa almost gets pierced, thrown off guard.

“This is horrible, “ N’Jadaka complains as he looks on the holographic projection. The two had been working for hours on simulations on how the two are going to work together in a fight situation. “But there is worse,”

Both of them are sore beyond belief, but does not pause the simulation as more enemies approach them. Erik takes out the person to the right of T’Challa and he returns the favor by killing the man behind Erik that Erik almost failed to notice. They both know that Shuri is tracking their movements and their coherence as a team.

It doesn’t go over the King’s head as to how well they truly work together. The first time was sloppy with frustrated cries and a definite overkill. Now they move almost like they’ve remembered each other’s exact moves.

“Behind you,” Erik comments conversationally, flipping the man and punching him one good time, knocking him out. T’Challa huffs and turns around in time to catch the knife going towards his abdomen, throwing the man to another one approaching Erik. The two guys fall and Erik looks briefly at him in a silent thanks.

They finish off the final 50 and the hologram immediately shuts off to send the information to Shuri in the lab. Their pants fill the room now and Erik is the first to deactivate the suit.

“Damn,” Erik says as he chugs a whole bottle in one go. T’Challa tries not to watch. They do not talk for a few minutes, undecided on what to say.

“So how has your new thing been going?”

“What?” Erik shrugs, moving to grab another bottle from the almost endless supply.

“Shuri accidentally blurted out that you was in love and that you’re an idiot, “ T’Challa pauses, fear arising in his veins, “sucks that you wouldn’t tell me. I’m hurt, cuz.”

“W-no, no, no. I am not-”

“Bullshit, T.” A fire burns in the middle of T’Challa’s chest.

“I told you not to shorten my name like that.” He hopes it comes off as a warning, but it doesn’t seem to affect his cousin, who shrugs.

“Black Panther who acts like a kitten, oh the irony.” Then he has Erik against the wall, breathing heavily as he stares into his eyes. Erik looks defiant and it screws with him more.

“Do not make mockery of my name or my title, N’Jadaka.” His cousin struggles a bit, the strength of the Black Panther running through his veins and his emotions flared.

“Then stop being such a bitc-” T’Challa brings his head forward in a bruising kiss, and it was nothing like he first imagined it (perhaps it was better than the whole “I think I am in love with you” conversation). Nevertheless, the deed is done and his cousin is kissing him back with as much ferocity, hands gripping the back of his neck in a way that’ll definitely leave bruises. T’Challa doesn’t care at the moment, nibbling at N’Jadaka’s bottom lip, receiving a moan in response.

The temperature rose ten degrees as T’Challa pushed himself all of the way against his lover, hands roaming to the back of Erik’s thighs. As if he knew what he wanted, Erik hoisted himself up, wrapping his legs around T’Challa’s waist, never breaking away from the kiss.

He never wants this to stop, but he pulls away with one final kiss, but doesn’t let N’Jadaka down. Instead he places his forehead against his love’s, catching his breath.

“It was always you.” In his head, he had a whole speech about his eyes and what he does to his head and how he doesn’t freeze, but Erik makes him completely crystallized, but that seems like enough from the way N’Jadaka chuckles from under him.

“God, you are an idiot.” T’Challa begins to pull away but hands are right there, pulling him back for another kiss. “I’ve been waiting for you to do something for months. I wasn’t going to do anything, you might throw me back in a cell.”

“Never,” T’Challa replies with finality, but smiles because he truly is an idiot. The share a laugh briefly before a call comes on his beads. He places Erik down and accepts the call.

“HELLO! I think you two forgot your necklaces can track your heart rates and other stuff. I would prefer it if you don’t have sex in the training room please!” T’Challa chokes on words, his face flushing in embarrassment. Beside of him, N’Jadaka laughs loudly, reverberating around the room.

“My King, it is almost time for you to drop,” Okoye says from the pilot’s seat. He stands immediately and the side doors open in preparation. He peers at the ground below him. He feels arms wrap around him and a kiss to his cheek. A smile naturally reaches his features as he turns around to N’Jadaka.

“Are you ready?” But T’Challa knows the two have done this a numerous amount of times. All his lover does is wink. Their suits are activated, with exception of their helmet-which it will activate when they so choose to. The signal to jump is given and T’Challa turns back to the outside of the plane. T’Challa holds his hand out for his best friend to take, but instead he is tackled out of the plane.

“Really, Erik, this is serious!” But all he gets back is a laugh. The King smiles nonetheless and finds his lover midair and kisses him. Erik kisses back for about two seconds, then breaks it.

“Ndiyakuthanda,” and Erik disappears in the midnight sky to cover his flank. T’Challa stops thinking for a solid five seconds, still freefalling. He smiles wide and beyond happy, already excited to see his lover again.

“Bast, help me,” he says as he reaches the ground.

#t'cherik

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thewriterscreed · 7 years ago

Text

Jealousy (Edward, Arno, Jacob)

2489 Words

When Edward gets jealous, he doesn’t act in the way that everyone would expect. This is Captain Kenway we’re talking about after all! If he sees someone flirting with you in a way that he doesn’t like he should just be able to saunter on over and wrap you up in his arms, playing the shinning knight to your darling princess, right?

Wrong.

Edward’s had some trouble with relationships in the past (i.e. Caroline), and he knows he’s not always World’s Best Boyfriend. So when he sees someone else capturing your attention his first instinct isn’t to storm over all big and bravado. He’s not really secure enough in his relationships to do that. Instead he withdraws, retreating in on himself as he finds a quiet corner to stew with drink in hand.

He’ll let you sit and talk with whatever strange man has decided to chat you up, watching how you smile for him and laugh at his jokes. Edward feels jealous because he should be the one making you giggle and blush so effortlessly. If anyone could get that reaction from you, what made him so special? What more should he be doing to make sure you glowed like that only for him?

These thoughts, no matter how ridiculous or ill-supported, linger in Edward’s head all night and half the time he just gets up and leaves. Goes to distract himself with something else like taking a late-night stroll or betting away a few coins in a round of Fanorona.

The problem then comes when Edward’s simmering jealousy boils over and he gets into a fight.

You’ll be sitting quietly at the bar--maybe still chatting with the lonely sailor that had complimented your eyes, maybe not--and you’ll hear a commotion in the distance. A crash, a thud, a chorus of raucous yelling, and you’ll know even before you stand and make your way over to the noise that Edward’s the cause. You’ve seen him get in enough fights by now to not be surprised when you turn the corner and see him in a drunken fist fight with five other men, swinging wildly as blood runs from his nose and down his chin.

There’s something different about this fight in particular, though. There’s too much fire in Edward’s eyes and too much ferocity in his punches for this fight to be a matter of a simple misunderstanding. This wasn’t a battle of ‘my ship is bigger than your ship’ or ‘I bet I can drink you under the table, no problem’. This was personal. This time Edward wasn’t fighting for himself, he was fighting for you and it put an unmistakable violence in his every move that made him even more deadly than usual.

You pushed to the front of the crowd that had gathered and loudly called out Edward’s name, but he only stopped fighting when you ran out in front of him and wrapped your arms around him, forcing him to be still. He growled and pouted and spat out curses at his now retreating opponents, but eventually he grew silent and let you drag him back to the ship.

It was only when you were safely back in the Captain’s quarters with a now clean and bandaged Edward that you realized what was going on. He didn’t even have to say anything--you could tell just by the way he moved.

He never let you out of his sight for one thing, even turning completely round so he could keep you in view when you walked behind him and momentarily ducked behind his desk. Then, as soon as you were back within reach, Edward wrapped his arms around you and didn’t seem to want to let you go. He held fast to your hand and all but dragged you into bed with him where he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you tight against his chest.

After several silent moments you turned and looked at Edward face on, shaking your head just slightly as you looked at the blue and purple bruises forming on his cheekbones.

“I love you like crazy, you know,” you finally whispered to him, dragging a hand carefully down his cheek. “You and only you. I’m not going anywhere, Captain Kenway.”

It was exactly what he needed to hear and the both of you knew it. With your words Edward’s jealousy slowly faded away, and he melted into your touch as you placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and burrowed deeper into his chest.

Jealous Arno is quite the sight to behold. Looking at him pouting, brow furrowed and arms crossed tight over his chest, it’s not altogether dissimilar from a child upset because someone else is playing with their favorite toy. Not to say that Arno looks upon you as an object in any particularly unhealthy way, but the parallels to a childlike tantrum that come with his jealousy are incredibly had to dismiss.

There’s the tapping foot, the rolling eyes, the lips turned down into a pout. He’s even been known to collapse dramatically into a seat with an overacted sigh in an effort to get your attention directed back at him.

If none of that works however, Arno is definitely not above marching across the room to put himself directly between you and this senseless stranger that dares to think they’re allowed to caress your arm like that.

For Arno physical displays of affection are so important and to see someone else take your hand and kiss your fingertips absolutely shatters his heart. Only he should be able to touch you so casually, to cross those physical boundaries and watch that perfect blush rush forwards to tinge your cheeks.

So on more than one occasion when someone has approached you at the cafe (perhaps mistaking you for a barista or an actor instead of the Lady of the House), you’ve tried to politely turn them down only for Arno to come crashing across the room before you can come to your own defense. He’ll wrap his arms around your waist and pull you tight against him while staring down the other man with a look more deadly than any of the weapons he has tucked away in his pockets. Then as soon as the other man has sheepishly turned away, Arno will plant a kiss on every bit of you he can reach, keeping you close for the remainder of the night to ensure that his lips remain the only ones to taste your skin.

And if that weren’t enough, Arno’s jealousy tends to linger. He has an innate need to ensure that you’re not going to disappear on him like everyone else he’s ever loved, so even hours afterwards Arno likes to pile on the affection from his end; hugging you, kissing you, and keeping you in the bedroom for as long as absolutely possible.

One instance in particular--just a few months into your relationship--you were getting yourself a coffee from the cafe on a busy summer morning while Arno watched you happily from across the room. He was busy admiring the glow to your skin and the soft curves hidden beneath your clothing when another man collapsed loudly into the chair opposite him, clearly not knowing who Arno was.

Obviously still hungover from drinking last night, the newcomer pointed in your direction and began making some rather lewd comments about you. How pretty he thought you were, how soft your skin must be, and how wonderful you would look down on your knees in front of him.

At this point, Arno was just seconds away from pulling a punch. His face was dark and downcast as he pursed his lips and looked in your direction, not able to handle even imagining this man getting to touch you.

Then when you turned and smiled in Arno’s direction, the man beside him let loose in the most disgusting moan and had to make some rather obvious adjustments as he rearranged himself in his seat.

“Look at that,” he’d mumbled, nudging Arno in the side. “She wants me, too. I wonder what those pretty lips are going to look like around my--”

But before the revolting excuse of a man got to finish, Arno had turned and sent a Phantom blade into the man’s throat, knocking him out instantly.

Standing roughly, Arno turned and marched across the room--running by Charlotte and demanding she deal with the drunkard in the far booth--before coming to your side and grabbing your arm in a strong hold. He’d all but dragged you into the storage room in the corner (your coffee abandoned at the counter) and was kissing at your neck even before the door had shut all the way behind him.

Arno needed to chase away the image of that stranger’s lips on yours, and the taste of your skin was the perfect antidote to the jealousy turning dangerously in the pit of his stomach.

Jacob doesn’t get jealous about your relationship per se. The both of you are too used to using your charm and your wit to get what you want from targets that nothing much phases Jacob when it comes to you. Seeing a man smile in your direction or reach out to drag a hand down your arm was a good thing. It meant that you had him wrapped round your little finger and were one step closer to getting whatever information you needed out of him.

Even outside of a mission whenever Jacob saw someone else looking you up and down in that way, he would only smugly smirk and throw a knowing glance in your direction. Other men could look all they wanted--you were his and he had no reason to ever doubt that.

So secure in your affection for each other then, Jacob’s jealousy sprang about in other much more childish ways. (Because of course it does, it’s Jacob fucking Frye).

One night while out on a mission, you and Jacob were chasing after a pair of particularly troublesome Blighters. They’d already led you on a wild carriage chase though the Strand and you were now running after them on foot, leaving a trail of confusion and destruction in your wake. You finally caught up to them however, corning the Blighters between two buildings with nowhere for them to escape.

Or so you thought.

As you and Jacob drew closer the Blighters turned and ran up the building behind them, climbing so quickly that even as you and Jacob used your rope launchers to scale the wall, the Blighters were long gone by the time you reached the rooftops. Completely shocked, you’d made some off-hand comment about it, saying that you’d never seen anyone--not even Jacob or Evie--move with that much agility.

And boy did that rub Jacob the wrong way. You hadn’t meant it as an attack on Jacob’s own abilities but that was how he took it all the same, turning to you and scoffing with his characteristic eye roll.

He wouldn’t let the matter drop either. For days afterwards he made a point of climbing up buildings as fast as he could and jumping from rooftop to rooftop with unnecessary flips and twists. He even avoided driving carriages to get around London, opting instead to jump from carriage room to carriage room and doing more to slow down traffic than anything else in the process.

Eventually though you’d had to pull Jacob aside and apologize, repeating again that you hadn’t meant your words as an attack on his abilities. You knew he could run and climb and all that other crazy stuff better than anyone else in all of London. The Blighters had just moved so quickly. It surprised you was all. And that was what the rope launcher was for in the first place, right? It wasn’t that Jacob didn’t have the strength to climb on his own, the launcher was just faster. More convenient.

But Jacob still wasn’t convinced.

Turning on his heel, he pointed at the tallest building he could see (which happened to be St. Paul’s Cathedral) and declared that he could climb to the very top in less than a minute without using the rope launcher at all. Try getting a Blighter to do that.

He’d run off before you had a chance to protest and all you could do was stand at the Cathedral’s base and watch as Jacob forced his way up the gleaming stone facade. Jealousy and spite seemed pretty good motivators you found as you watched Jacob climb higher and higher at--you admit--a remarkable, break-neck speed. For one shining moment, it genuinely seemed like he was going to make it, too.

He was nearly at the top, putting on quite a show with his impossible jumps and dizzying displays of strength, when the inevitable happened. With wide eyes you watched as Jacob stumbled, missed a foothold, and began to fall. There was no grace about it now either. One moment he was fine and the next he was tumbling downwards, scrabbling for purchase that was nowhere to be found.

He landed with a thump you swore you could hear all the way from the street, and you were up and after him before your heart could take another beat. (Using the rope launcher as time, not jealousy, was of the essence).

Thankfully, Jacob was okay. Falling to land in a miraculously well-placed bale of hay, he’d had the wind knocked out of him but was otherwise unharmed. Still, you’d pulled him to his feet and into a crushing embrace before he could so much as say a word in his defense. You’d then turned, hit him hard on the back of the head, and told him that if he didn’t start using the rope launcher again you were going to make him sleep on the roof of the train car for the next month.

Bonus: Despite your threats, Jacob continued to try and improve his climbing behind your back, dangerously leaping around buildings when you weren’t around to catch him in the act. You didn’t find out until Evie told you over dinner a few weeks later, casually mentioning that Jacob had broken three ribs in a fall earlier that day. You were so annoyed that in retaliation (once Jacob had healed) you stole every one of his hats and put them on the top spires of the tallest buildings around town. You tore the rope launcher off his gauntlet too so that he had no choice but to make the dozens of strenuous climbs by himself. By the end of the hectic night, Jacob was so tired (and his hair so impossibly wind-blown) that he begged to have the rope launcher back, promising to use it as intended lest you try to ruin his wardrobe again.

#the boys #edward kenway #arno dorian #jacob frye #assassins creed #assassins creed preferences

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fy-soukoku · 7 years ago

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Random Soukoku prompt: Holding hands under the table ♡

The first time it happens, he can’t stop shaking.

The first meeting Chuuya has been in since using Corruption for the first time, since he rose in the sky and tore his enemies apart limb by limb. Mori is congratulating the mafia on the discovery of a new, valuable weapon for their organization, while Kouyou watches with a piercing gaze, rubbing her hand over her protege’s back.

Dazai tries to focus on the meeting, but all he can see in the corner of his eyes is the shaking form of Chuuya, so delicate and breakable even though he is still streaked with blood. But what really catches his attention are his eyes - glassy, soft, framed by dark red lashes. Dazai knows that Chuuya had a very different future ahead of him before his abilities were discovered - but of course, what other future would there be for a boy with such a pretty face and those gentle blue eyes? He wasn’t cut out for this life, Dazai knew that too well. He was too soft, too kind, too gentle to handle a life that would paint his fingers black, stain them with crimson blood that got stuck in your clothes no matter how much bleach you rubbed on them. (And Dazai had tried, but at this point it was in his veins.)

Kouyou’s hand stops massaging his back in careful motions when Mori makes the suggestion that Chuuya officially join the Mafia. She rises, a wave of fury emitting from every pore, and protests against it, claiming that he’s too young to be exposed to such violence.

“He did just create that violence.” Dazai points out, and finds himself under the woman’s scrutinizing gaze. Next to him, Chuuya grabs her by the sleeve, tugging with pale fingers that shine against the pink of her kimono.

“Please, nee-san.” He says, “It’s a better future than I had planned.”

Kouyou’s eyes soften at the boy’s words, and she lets herself sit, gesturing at Mori to continue.

Dazai watches Chuuya from the corner of his eye. He’s watching the interaction, but not adding anything. Observing, absorbing, studying. His blue eyes flit to every new source of sound, as if terrified to miss anything.

He’s smarter than I thought, Dazai thinks. He knows pitching in will do no good.

Not for the first time, Dazai wonders where this kid came from.

What does worry him, however, is that Chuuya continues to pick at his fingernails. They’re well-trimmed, as Kouyou has probably ensured, and filed to an appropriate length. But there’s the dark traces of dried blood glued to the bottom, which Chuuya continues to pick at, scratching the surface of his skin with such ferocity that it’s sure to begin bleeding again. Dazai reaches forward, and grabs his hand, yanking it down, under the table. He doesn’t know why, but the idea of Chuuya being in more pain makes him uncomfortable.

“You’ll hurt yourself more.” He murmurs in explanation, though he does allow Chuuya to turn his palm up and press the pad of their hands together.

Gradually, Chuuya relaxes.

—-

While Dazai has his own talents, things that make him irreplaceable within the dynamics of the Port Mafia, it’s fairly obvious that fighting is not his strong suit.

With a quick mind, a silver tongue, and well-developed reflexes, Dazai tends to avoid conflicts. It’s easier that way, he has found, than doing something as pointless as throwing fists to see who went the hardest. There were other people to do that. Besides, nobody looked good smashing someone’s face into a wall.

Except Chuuya apparently.

Dazai wasn’t expecting the delicate redhead with baby doll eyes to be able to smash someone’s skull in without his ability, but even at sixteen, Chuuya is proving to be one of the best martial artists in the Mafia.

He looks born for it - sculpted from clay and forged in fires to fight. When he lands a kick, there’s a dangerous flickering in his eyes, a spark of pride that lights up the whole room. When he knocks someone to the ground his lips curl up in a satisfied smile, pressing the heel of his boot to their neck.

Dazai walks out into the training room, where Tachihara is gripping his side and grimacing. Chuuya leans down, splays out a hand for him to hold.

“Sorry. I should have been more gentle.” Chuuya smiles, and Tachihara’s hazel eyes soften, a glint in his eyes showing his affection all too clear. Either Chuuya is more oblivious than Dazai thought, or he’s just that concerned about other people’s feelings, because he seems to take Tachihara’s lingering gaze as a symbol of friendship.

“Can I talk to Chuuya, Tachihara-kun?” Dazai flashes the redhead a smile as he stabilizes his stance, watches his eyes widen in fear.

“O-of course!” Tachihara nodded, and bowed to Chuuya. “Thank you for sparring with me , Chuuya-san!”

“Absolutely!” Chuuya responds, and watches the boy run out the door. He turns back to watch Dazai. “What did you need?”

His gaze is too trusting, it almost worries Dazai. He’s fairly certain Chuuya is the only member of the Mafia who looks at him like that, with no sign of hesitancy or distrust. Dazai reckons that he could ask Chuuya to jump off a cliff and the boy would do so. (Though his ability would probably prevent anything awful from happening.) Which simultaneously thrills and frustrates him.

“Fight me.” Dazai says, grinning.

“What?”

He tips his head, holds his hands out. “Fight me, Chuuya. I want first-hand experience of your legendary strength.” He drags out the syllables of the words, taunting him.

“Alright, but I’m not going easy on you.” Chuuya says, and throws the first punch.

Dazai steps to the side, watches Chuuya stumble past him. His hair falls in his eyes, he stares down at his fist, his eyes wide with shock.

“That was fast.” Chuuya mutters. “Very fast.”

“I’ve been watching you.” Dazai smirks. “I’ve been studying your fighting style. You’re very talented.”

Chuuya glares at him, “Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all.” Dazai says, reaching over and winding a strand of Chuuya’s hair around his finger.

“So, what, you wanted to see if you could dodge me.”

Dazai grins. His hand falls onto the dip of Chuuya’s collarbone, traces the shape with feathery touches. Chuuya reaches up, slides his hand to press against Dazai’s palm. His skin is sweaty from training all day, but Dazai can already feel callouses building up along his fingers, rough but soothing against his own.

Dazai squeezes his hand. “Sometimes I wonder if you can just read my mind.”

Chuuya shrugs. “Or maybe I just know you.”

They stand there, under dim lights, sweaty hands pressed against one another, and Dazai’s heart hammers because it’s true. And that’s a little terrifying.

—-

Their very first mission together ends with Chuuya curled on the road, arms around his knees, blood matting his hair to the side of his face.

Dazai steps among the rubble, tries not to watch Chuuya’s shaking form too carefully. He curls his hands into fists and sniffs at the subtle smoke that soaks in the air.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks. Chuuya sniffs, glares up at him, his cheeks covered in a trail of tears, his eyes pink from the smoke around them.

“Am I…” He shakes his head, rests his forehead in his hands. “I don’t know. Okay. I just killed people, Dazai. I just lost control and there was nothing I could do.”

Dazai nods. “Your ability will take some time getting used to-”

“What the hell do you mean by that!” Chuuya springs up, stumbling as he approaches Dazai. “I thought I told you that if it looked like I was going to kill somebody, than that you should stop me!”

Dazai crosses his arms. “Chuuya, we’re part of the Port Mafia. We kill. It’s our job.”

Chuuya stares at the dark gray gravel, where lines of rain seep into the cracks. His eyes are darker than usual, reflecting the cloudy sky.

“I can’t… I can’t kill people, Dazai.” Chuuya whispers at the ground, as if the worms will be able to hear and sympathize. “It… hurts when I do.”

Dazai doesn’t feel any empathy for him. He’s been killing since the tender age of nine, taught that in this world, it’s kill or be killed. Ending a life was as simple as snuffing out an unnecessary flame.

But this is hard for Chuuya, he thinks, as he watches the fragility of his pretty blue eyes glisten in the light. They could shatter and break - even though the holder is so fierce, so strong.

He reaches out his hand, and folds their fingers against each other. Chuuya freezes up.

“I know, Chuuya.” He murmurs, and runs his thumb over his cheek.

—-

They’re laying in bed, the moonlight is folding like origami on the ceiling, and Dazai can’t take his eyes off of Chuuya.

The redhead is angelic with his eyes closed, head tilted back against the clean pillow case. His hair is like a splatter of vibrant paint over white canvas. Dazai almost wants to wake him up to see the shiny sapphire blue of his eyes, but he also knows that Chuuya hasn’t been sleeping much.

Chuuya is curled up on his side, gauzy white button-up slung loosely over his frame. It’s on of Dazai’s, and the thought of Chuuya in his clothing sharpens a protective instinct he hadn’t known existed. And, with the redhead curled up in ball, his tiny nose crinkling as he dreams, Dazai feels more protective than ever - even in sleep, Chuuya is still pure.

Chuuya is pure in general, he thinks, remembering his idealistic views and his soft smiles to subordinates. He’s the kind of guy who helps old women across the street, and brings bowls of soup to the orphans who live along the streets. He’s the kind of guy who cries when someone innocent is murdered, but will not hesitate to snap the neck of anyone who hurts his family.

Dazai has never really felt these things. Old women don’t need his help, subordinates should be run by fear, and anyone who died brought it upon themselves. He thinks it’s the way Mori raised him. Maybe he’d be different if someone else had been in charge of him.

Either way, Chuuya looks like an angel right now, and Dazai can’t look away. He sometimes wonders if the heavens will realize they’ve accidentally cast such an amazing being into this world, and maybe one day they’ll take him away. Away from the filthy world. Away from Dazai.

He sighs, and reaches out a hand to fold around the limp arm laying by Chuuya’s side.

Clutching his hand, he vows to enjoy the time he has.

—

I’VE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR A WEEK AND I HATE IT BUT OH WELL I’M TIRED

#soukoku #nakahara chuuya #osamu dazai #bungou stray dogs #my writing

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cezulian · 7 years ago

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@logelocktte I don't know. I think that Henry was more than anything insecure about the fact that he got hard from another dude and, like most other things in his life, internalizes that to the point that he's still angry about it when he's like 40 years old like it just happened yesterday. Also you gotta think I mean Henry's whole journey is him feeling like he has absolutely no agency over any aspect of his life and keeps getting humiliated over and over again by the kids he used to have such power over the stronger their friendship gets, and that push into a deeper and deeper isolation is what makes it so easy for It to get to him. And if you remember, in the book it says that it was after "he allowed Patrick Hockstetter to caress him" that Henry went from just declining in mental stability to basically fucking snapped. I feel like that can be read into multiple ways: either a.) He has some serious repressed homosexual urgings that he refuses to believe were awakened (its not clear if he was actually actively turned on by what Patrick was doing or if it was just a response to sexual stimuli) or b.) felt like he'd been played by ever allowing Patrick or anyone to have any kind of control over him, especially when he was the one who decided to let Patrick hang out with him in the first place and also since Patrick, for the time he was part of their friend group, was mirroring Henry's behaviors and pretty much served as his yes-man once Belch and Victor started to outgrow his bullshit (plus it was Patrick who suggested they go to the junkyard in the first place, and Patrick being someone who doesn't do anything without an agenda, doesn't mind playing a long game, and derives gratification from being in charge, its likely that Henry in hindsight realized that Patrick was trying to get him alone that day or at least slowly take over Henry's authority with that suggestion and Henry felt like a fool because of it) and was maybe upset too because he was just starting to think he'd had a friend who would honestly stick around without expecting anything from him or, from Henry's point of view, act like he was too good for whatever Henry wanted to do or c.) a little from column a. and a little from column b. Henry and Patrick, for what little time they have together, have a really interesting dynamic and are just as similar as they are different, I feel. Henry's character is all about the dangers of being forced to bottle up one's feelings and Patrick's is all about the dangers of not keeping one's every whim in check. Henry came from a household so horribly abusive that it made him feel powerless and feel the need to express his anger towards that fact by seeking power over those he perceived as weaker than him. Patrick, alternatively, came from a neglectful household that by nature didn't push him towards seeking out power—it just didn't stop him when it could have. Henry was glowing more and more with a horrid fire that raged with a slowly increasing ferocity inside of him with each passing day to the point where one couldn't help but be afraid of him, whereas Patrick was fading away, not so much being forced into obscurity by his family but rather being groomed for the day when he would simply no longer exist to them and that was their mistake, and the mistake of every adult who ignored his behavior no matter how disturbing the implications of it seemed: failing to recognize a danger doesn't stop it from being dangerous. Stories about two people who are so alike that they could have gotten along if it weren't for the people that raised them or the society they were brought up in utterly breaks my heart, especially when its kids. Anyway, my point is, I don't know about a boy-crush. At least not in the book universe, anyway. In Fukunaga's original script, Henry seems really shaken about Patrick's death and is actually the one that reports him missing, not Patrick's family, and when Butch tells him to relay what happened to the other authorities Henry doesn't even know where to start and can't seem to be able to say anything. In the book, who knows? They were twelve, so there were a lot of hormones going on there and King kind of leaves Henry's actual feelings about that incident ambiguous. Then again, I've always thought that Henry and Patrick were written together as direct foils to Eddie and Richie (I can elaborate on that in another post if you want), who I and a lot of other people believe were written as having feelings for one another, so in that context it would make sense for the way they handle it to be in direct contrast to a healthy relationship like Eddie and Richie had, but yeah dude. I dunno.

#it 2017 #it stephen king #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #abuse mention tw

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