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anyoneseenadam · 4 years ago

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Home: Chapter three

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also some for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing

word count: 4.2k

a/n: I’m not entirely happy with this chapter but I wanted to get it done so I apologise if its shit and pls comment and let me know :))))

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When Azriel woke up, the sun was just beginning to rise although it appeared you had been awake for hours, you had stitched together cups, bowls, plates and had even sewn his Illyrian leathers back together, his top folded carefully next to him. He looked for you, not seeing you straight away and instead seeing a blanket you had stitched crumpled on the ground and a trail of footprints leading to the water’s edge, blushing bright red when he saw your clothes on the side of the bank. He looked and saw you standing facing away from him, watching the sun rise, with the water pooling around your waist. You were shivering slightly, running your hands over your skin in an attempt to clean away the dirt and sweat that had built up. He watched as you kneeled and tilted your head back tentatively, wetting your hair and massaging your scalp gently for a few minutes, he watched entranced as you stood back up, lifting your hair, and gently squeezing the excess water from it, basking in the sun as it slowly dried and heated your skin, unknowingly revealing the whole expanse of your back to Azriel who was staring with a sick feeling building up in his stomach. Who did that to her? Unimaginable levels of anger built up at the sight and Azriel was overcome with a burning desire to destroy anything and everything that brought you pain, but soon you began to turn around to come back to shore, and he forced himself to lie back down and close his eyes, falling asleep once again as he thought of revenge and your scars.

When he woke up again, the sun was much higher in the sky, and from what he could tell it appeared to be around nine in the morning. (y/n) was dressed again and her hair had dried due to the heat from the sun. She had pulled it out of her face and was frowning at her cup.

“Are your cups leaking?” he asked, voice deeper from sleep, trying to not feel smug at her sharp intake of breath.

“No, I’m a genius don’t worry. This water just tastes like shit,”

“Well did you get it from upstream?” She raised her eyebrows at his question,

“I’m not stupid.”

“I was just asking,”

“Still.”

“It’s probably just still got dirt in it, you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure,”

“Hmpf,” he laughed at her as she forced the water down with a shudder, before passing him a full cup. He took a tentative sip and frowned at her.

“This tastes normal.”

“Do you often drink river water?”

“Well…”

“Ew.” She laughed moving away from him as he stuck his middle finger up at her, making her laugh again, before chucking an apple at him, which he caught just before it hit him in the head.

“I thought you said I would feel horribly ill this morning.” He pointed out, he didn’t feel that bad, perhaps a little sick but he had been stabbed the day before.

“Oh you will, don’t worry,” She smiled at him, “I’d say you probably have about an hour, so I’m going to make us a treehouse.”

“A treehouse?” He furrowed his brows at the unknown phrase, she just laughed, pushing on her knees to stand up.

“You’ll see.”

He sat up fully and grabbed his top, pulling it over his head as she walked away, presumably looking for a good place to put her ‘treehouse’. The sight of her clothed back made the sick feeling in his stomach come back, he desperately wanted to ask her about it, but she was young, and they looked relatively new. It had been centuries since his hands had been scarred and he doubted it had been much more than a year for hers, and those weren’t wounds you moved past quickly, he still felt uncomfortable when people stared for too long. She stopped roughly a hundred feet away from where he sat and cracked her neck and knuckles.

“I’m going to need lots of water after this, cause I’m going to be drained, do you mind?” she asked, gesturing to the river. He started taking his shoes off as she held her hands up in front of her, he moved, wading ankle-deep into the river and filled the cups with relatively clean water, walking back and moving to stand near her, watching in awe as one of the thicker trees started to warp, lower branches forming a floor, and higher forming the roof, then more branches from other trees joined, creating walls and a small ladder leading up to an outside deck. Soon enough there was a small hut in the trees, and he smiled, turning to look at her. She was standing swaying slightly, all the colour drained from her face and he moved to hold her up, passing her one of the cups. She drank from it greedily, leaning heavily on his side, making him grimace at the pain and pass her the second cup, which she drank with as much vigour.

“That was incredible,” he whispered, tearing his eyes of the structure to look down at her, she was gazing up at him with an unreadable expression. He was struck by her beauty as he stared at her gentle eyes that held too much pain for such a young girl, his eyes flashing down to her soft lips which were beckoning him in. Without thinking he started to lean in slightly, before quickly tearing away from her, vomiting all over the ground behind him. He flushed bright red as she started laughing behind him, but soon let out a chuckle at her contagious laugh.

“Okay maybe an hour was pushing it, c’mon let’s get you sorted,” she said, moving to reach down into the river, filling one of the cups with water, slowly walking back over to him, kneeling next to him, and helping him drink as he was overcome with weakness. “told you so,” she smiled cheekily at him as he spat the water back out.

“Okay really, let’s get you inside, I’ll clean this up later.” She hooked a shoulder under his arm and helped him stand, walking him over to the ladder, moving to climb up but he just held tightly onto her and flew to the small porch she had made them, laughing silently when she squealed at the sudden flight.

“Asshole.” She muttered, practically forcing him through the hole in the wall and to sit down before she was turning around and leaving. As he waited for her to return he thought of his family who must be getting worried as he had sent word that he would be returning and now two days later he was in the middle of nowhere, in a completely different world with no way of contacting home. He wished Rhysand was here, then at least he could maybe winnow home. But the thought of leaving you felt wrong. You had already done so much for him and at least deserved to have him get you home.

He heard you struggling outside, but when he tried to stand to help you bring the small stash of appliances up, he was overcome by another bout of nausea and had to sit back down. Eventually their appliances, wrapped carefully in the blanket you had stitched the night before, were thrown over the balcony, Azriel’s’ heart warming at the cheer he heard from below, laughing as she appeared over the ledge with a pout.

“Stop laughing at me, I was going through something,” She scolded, picking up her bundle and bringing it over to him, arranging the cups and bowls on a ledge jutting out of the tree trunk then turning and throwing the blanket over the ground, motioning for him to move to it. He sat on it, groaning at the slightest of movements as she set about stitching something else.

“I thought you were going to nullify me, so I didn’t have to spew.”

“I said I would try. And even if it works it will take a while and you’ll definitely be spewing between now and then.”

“What happens if you can’t?”

“Worse case scenario I need you to get enough strength to take us back home, I have something that I’m 99% sure will work there.” He sat silently after she spoke, the word ‘home’ clanging through him. His shadows were crowding around him, growing thicker as he thought. He still wasn’t sure whether to trust her. She was nice, sure. And easy to talk to but there was something hidden in her eyes, he didn’t know what she had seen, or what she had done, to get a scarred back like that. He thought back over their previous conversations and realised he had practically told her his life story.

As he thought, he felt the walls that the pain in his side had begun to bring down slam back up. She was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear her over the roaring in his head, only lifting his eyes again, when she stood suddenly and left. He would observe her first, that’s what he should’ve done. This girl wasn’t his family, she wasn’t Mor, and she wasn’t Elain, no matter how many flowers she grew. He didn’t know her, and he certainly couldn’t trust her.

You didn’t know what you did wrong, but something had changed in Azriel. As you explained how the chemical you kept at home worked, his eyes had glazed over, his facing hardening into an unreadable expression. You stopped talking when you realised he wasn’t listening, shame coursing through your chest and settling in your gut, your hands aching as anxiety ran through you. You had stood quickly and left, practically running from the room to avoid him seeing your shaking hands.

You knew what he was doing of course. The expression that slid over his face wasn’t new, it was practiced the same way you had practiced lifting your chin and straightening your back when men didn’t take you seriously. Practiced the same way your scowl was when people made a few too many jokes about your fall. Practiced the same way your steps had been, moving silently around your house, around camp, around town, since you got out. Always afraid that someone would find you, wake you, force you back.

You had left and instead sat on the riverbank, slowing your breathing in an attempt to settle the embarrassment coursing through you. Of course he didn’t want to be friendly with you, he probably had all the friend he needed back home. You were just the stupid girl he got stuck with. You had let your desperate wish for a friend get the best of you. All you wanted was someone to scare the nightmares away, so you didn’t have to. You started stitching again, your thoughts moving to quickly for you to keep up, tears welling in your eyes as you over thought every interaction, every word. You needed something that would silence your thoughts, and you let out a choked laugh as you started quietly singing one of your favourite songs, horribly off-key, and choked due to your tears, but noise all the same. You wished for your home, your headphones, your stuffed toys, your bed, anything familiar. The weight of the situation that you were in finally catching up to you. You looked back down to the basin you were making, rushing to finish it, needing to move or do something, anything.

Once you had finished it you schooled your features, hiding all traces of your emotions, letting the mask slip back on and cover your pain. Climbing back up to Azriel, he was still sat of the blanket you had laid out when you laid the basin beside him.

“I’m going to go explore, yell if you need anything.” You said, hating how curt your voice sounded, adding a smile at the end, knowing he wouldn’t be manipulated that easily. He didn’t reply, just kept staring, the same way he had when you had first arrived. You opened your mouth to say something else, but your anxieties bubbled into your throat before you could, forcing you to instead simply turn and leave.

You made your way east, sticking to the riverbank, smiling when you met a white cockatoo, having a quiet conversation with it. You continued that way for at least an hour, before finally turning back and following the same route, singing stupid songs you had learned on quests to yourself when it got to quiet outside, and too loud inside. When you got back you checked on Azriel, cleaning out his basin without a word and helping him lay down. He thanked you quietly, but you just smiled, hating how quickly things had severed between you. You tried to convince yourself that he was probably just tired as you set to making a fire and growing vegetables that you could easily cook for lunch and dinner, then refilling the jug of water for Azriel.

You remained outside for the rest of the day.

Azriel felt like pure shit. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so sick he threw up, but he didn’t want to make it a tradition. He also felt horrible for severing the bond you two had sort of made. He had to give you credit, you were observant, and good at adapting. Just as quickly as his walls slid up, a mask came over your face, he couldn’t even read your eyes, your extremely expressive eyes.

You stayed outside practically all day. He heard you singing at one point and smiled through his wince. It was horribly off-key but made his chest tighten inexplicitly again.

He contemplated making conversation again when you came up, and handed him a plate of food, but you were unresponsive. He silently cursed himself for his untrusting nature. Cassian probably would have already wooed his way into your bed. Mor too for that matter. Feyre and Rhysand would’ve become fast friends with you, probably talking you through whatever trauma you had. But he didn’t have his family’s gifts when it came to new people and he was pretty sure whatever relationship you had was gone now, in such a short time. So instead he just let his tired limbs take charge and laid back again, wings and shadows wrapping around him, falling into a light sleep. You didn’t come up into the shelter that night, and he tried not to feel guilty about it.

The next morning you awoke early again, a long night of nightmares and freezing cold getting to you. You stood slowly, stretching out your limbs, and looking around your makeshift campsite. You didn’t have enough energy to grow the soft plants you needed to make another blanket last night, so you just pulled your jacket tighter around your frame and shivered your way through the night. You had hoped that the blistering heat during the day would help in some way, but all you had gained was tender, red tinted skin and dry, cracking hands.

You plucked four apples from the tree you had grown and moved to climb up to Azriel. He was also already awake, bent over the basin. You moved over to him instinctively, rubbing the space between his wings on his back. He was gasping for breath for a moment before hastily leaning back over and you cooed softly at him, pulling his hair away from his face the same way you had when your friends drank too much, or when they were brought to throw up due to nightmares. When he finally finished, you kept rubbing his back smiling slightly when he moved back into your gentle touch, still gasping for breath. After he calmed down, slumping back you passed him some water, holding his glass as he spat it back into the basin, before grabbing it and going to rinse it off in the river.

When you got back he was slowly eating one of the apples you brought up and taking tiny sips of water. You gave him a sympathetic look and went to sit in front of him. Downing a glass of water in preparation for the task you had at hand. Your hand tentatively moved to his side, where his wound remained unhealed, the tissue turning black from the poison, keenly aware of his eyes watching your movements. As you began to feel out the poison in his body you slowed your breathing and straightened your back.

“I’m not a healer, so this might not work at all.” You whispered, “So I’m sorry in advance.”

“Don’t apologise for trying.” He whispered back, voice hoarse. You closed your eyes, focusing on a small patch of the poison in his stomach. The poison was carbon-based, you could tell, and so you put your energy into turning it into food particles that could be broken down naturally. The two of you sat in silence like that for an hour as you focused all your energy into that small patch of poison, you could feel a sweat building up on your forehead, both from the heat and from the exertion. Eventually you withdrew, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, oblivious to Azriel’s keen gaze on your face, eyes filled with wonder and affection. He had felt your power coursing through him and became greedy for more, his shadows curling around both of you as you worked, oblivious to the world around you. He had to put serious effort into pulling them back to him when you had moved away, his shadows seeking to bring you back to him, to hold him like you did when he threw up, the caring affectionate touches so foreign yet welcome to him that he almost didn’t mind the horrible feeling of spewing.

After downing three cups of water and eating both your apples you looked back at Azriel. “Feel any better?” He did, but not the way you meant so he just shrugged.

“A bit, it was nice.” You smiled at him. A rare, soft, tired smile that made him want to hold you to his chest and protect you from this cruel world.

“I’ll let you rest then, shout if you need anything.”

“Actually, could you maybe help me down, I need to stretch my legs.” He requested.

“Of course, c’mon.” you slung an arm around his waist, careful to avoid his wings, and helped him stand, and walk to the ladder, moving through the doorway first in order to give him the space to tuck his wings in. You climbed down the ladder as he all but floated down, before standing back, turning away when you realised he was going to piss. You went back to where you had slept and started pottering, tending to the mini vegetable patch you had made. He came back soon after and sat across from you on a log. Unlike yesterday, the silence that followed wasn’t too uncomfortable.

That’s how the next three days went. You would sleep outside, while he stayed inside. Helping him through his sickness and taking a few hours each day to nullify the poison coursing through his system. You were making polite conversation, but the long talks like the ones you had when you first arrived were gone, and you almost mourned the hateful relationship you started with. You just wanted something to fill the silence, even if it was yelling and hateful words. But Azriel remained quiet and reserved and you remained oblivious to the shadows that moved towards you when you looked away.

One day however, when you were sat next to him and talking about his home, the world you had begged him to tell you about, a red bird had landed on the porch outside. Azriel had noticed instantly due to the way you had stilled, the colour draining from your face and he followed your gaze to the red bird.

“(y/n).” he uttered quietly, desperate to get that distant look off your face, he had never realised how much energy your soft smiles gave him, the way your sarcastic comments added to his stories, making him genuinely laugh. He repeated your name again, but when he got no response his shadows acted, surrounding you and pulling you to him. You turned and looked at him, eyes terrified and before he could think about it he was pulling you into his arms, holding you head to his chest as soft sobs filled the room.

You pulled away after a few minutes, breathing deeply and counting under your breath, he continued running his hand up and down your back and cooing in the way you did when he threw up.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “Gods this is so embarrassing.”

“No! Don’t be embarrassed, it happens to everyone,”

“I just- I thought I was past this stage, I thought I was improving,”

“Do you mind me asking why you can’t look at anything red?” He was speaking slowly, afraid he would say the wrong thing, tensing when you drew in a shaky breath, eyes still trained on the floor. You stayed silent for a couple minutes, focusing on your breathing before finally speaking.

“Have you heard of Tartarus?” you asked, and he shook his head slightly, “Well as you saw when you kill monsters they don’t leave bodies, and that’s because they reform. They go to Tartarus, which is basically the underworld for monsters.” You paused wiping the stray tears from your face and he tentatively reached out to grab your hand.

“One day, I had been injured in a fight- broke a rib or something- and I was leaning on my friend Annabeth, she had just completed a quest and we were about to get back on our ship. She had fought a big spider or something, the details are fuzzy sometimes.” You shook your head, “the spider had fallen into Tartarus but before it fell it had wrapped its silk around Annabeth, and when it fell, so did we. Percy- Annabeth’s boyfriend- fell too when he tried to grab us. Nearing the end of the fall, a fury had grabbed me, taking me away from them. And then, until they got back to me, Tartarus took on a human body and he… y’know. The one thing that always stuck out down there was the colour red. The ground was red, the rivers were red, the sky was dark, but red all the same. And Tartarus, his eyes were red. I haven’t been able to look at it since.”

You finished explaining, eyes focused on the random shapes you were tracing on the wood, not wanting to look up as Azriel remained silent.

“How long were you there?” he eventually asked, voice filled with rage.

“I’m not sure, I didn’t have much of a hold on time down there,” you whispered and Azriel had to work hard to reel in his magic, the siphons on his hands starting to glow as he got angrier. But he looked at her again and found his heart shattering at the pained look in her eyes, and he went against everything he was.

“When I was a boy I spent all my days locked in a room without windows. For eleven years I was kept in that room. My father was a Lord, but I was bastard born, so I was kept in a cell, only allowed to go outside for an hour each day and to meet my mother for about an hour each week. They didn’t let me fly either, even as all my instincts begged to. Eventually they dumped me at an Illyrian camp, where I discovered I was a shadow-singer and learned how to fly.” You were staring at him in horror, hand clutching his tighter.

“How did you recover from that kind of pain?” you asked voice wobbling,

“I met people I loved, people that wouldn’t give up on me. I met my true brothers, brothers that would treat me like real family should,” You smiled softly at the way he spoke of his brothers,

“I’m shit with people.” You admitted,

“Well I’m also very old, sometimes it just takes time.”

“How old?”

“537…”

“You fucking WHAT?” he laughed at your expression, smiling widely when you laughed too. You leant back against the wall again, resting your head on his shoulder, your panic attack and sharing of emotions catching up on you, but happy that Azriel was opening up again.

“You know if I ever meet your biological family, they may find that they’ll lose some precious parts.” You whispered, cutting through the silence. His shoulders shook as they laughed, and he rested his head on top of yours.

“Now that, I would like to see.”

#Azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #acomaf #acofs #acofas #rhysand #feyre #pjo #hoo

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years ago

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Branded - Chapter 44

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: I won't give specific chapter warnings because it would spoil it. Just... brace yourselves. I mean that, truly. The entire fic has been leading up to this moment, so... take a deep breath. It's going to be okay.

AO3

Demonic claws striking vibranium metal reverberated painfully around the room, like a gong being struck directly next to your head. You couldn’t cover your ears because your hands were occupied with clutching your shirt, helpless to do nothing but watch as Rogers tried to fight off the Winter Soldier.

And he was losing. Each slash kept Rogers on the defensive, holding up his shield to ward off the next brutal attack. Bucky was ruthless and far faster than Rogers was equipped to handle.

It wasn’t long before Bucky managed to land some blows. Talons left trails of bleeding scarlet, whether from his hands or feet, and even his wings had managed to buffet Rogers more than once.

Bucky’s tail, fast as a whip, grabbed for something at Rogers’ hip. A pistol, yanked out of its holster and deposited into Bucky’s grip, he fired several shots at Rogers who barely managed to get his shield up in time. When the clip was emptied, Rogers bashed it out of Bucky’s hands, following it through with his first solid punch.

Bucky didn’t so much as stumble. Instead, he ripped Rogers’ shield out of his hands, threw a pointed, ridged elbow into his face, and sent him rolling backwards across the floor.

Zemo had remained quiet for the fight, but now he moved closer, a glittering hunger in his eyes.

“It seems you have met your match, Captain. And it turns out, even you can bleed. How nice to find a flaw.”

Rogers rose to his hands and knees, glaring up at Zemo as he wiped blood from his mouth. He gained his feet and held his hands into fists like a pugilist.

“I can do this all day,” he quipped, giving a bloodied smile that was all sharp and no humor. He looked exactly like Bucky had in the HYDRA torture video.

That’s what finally snapped you out of it and got you moving.

Bucky was also on the move, striding toward his friend like a hunter stalking prey, and then he delivered a savage kick to Rogers’ face.

Rogers crashed against the wall behind him, hitting it hard enough to slightly bounce off before collapsing onto his knees. He wasn’t going to win this, and from the pained expression, he knew it, too.

Bucky descended on him. You got there first.

Placing yourself squarely between them, you braced your hands in front of you as if to physically stop Bucky.

Surprisingly, he did, head slightly tilted like a curious animal.

“Bucky. Bucky, please, listen to me.” Your hands shook but somehow your voice was steady. “I know you can hear me. I know, because I’ve been there, with you, in your head when you’re him. The Soldier. He’s just another part of you, Bucky. You’re still in there.”

He simply stood there, immobile as a stature except for his tail. It twitched, restless and agitated, different from its controlled, languid movements during the fight.

But he wasn’t moving. He was listening. There was a chance.

“You can feel it, can’t you? Here.” You touched one hand to the middle of your chest. “Zemo tried to break the bond, but it’s there. Faint and dim, but I can feel it. You must feel it, too. Please, Bucky. Fight him!”

Tears flooded your vision and your throat burned.

“Come back to us.”

Eyes as cold as eyes didn’t so much as blink. If Bucky heard you, he gave no sign of it.

“You gotta get out of here,” Rogers said from behind you. He could barely speak, and a glance over your shoulder told you he was holding a particularly large gash across his stomach. “Go! I can take care of myself!”

You ignored him and faced the demon standing before you. You weren’t leaving Bucky to face his worst nightmare all alone. You weren’t leaving him to be someone’s pawn again. And you definitely weren’t leaving him so he could kill the only other person he loved.

All you could hope was that the animus still tied you to Bucky, and that he wouldn’t harm the human he was bound to.

It was a huge gamble, but there were no other cards to play. Everything depended on whether you could reach Bucky. Not a human slave reaching out to its master.

You needed Bucky.

“You belong to me, Barnes,” you whispered.

You somehow got your legs moving and walked forward until you were standing right in front of him.

“And I belong to you.”

Bucky said nothing, his eyes gaze on you in their entirety. Meanwhile, Zemo appraised you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Kill her.”

Bucky raised his demonic arm, claws extended. You didn’t move.

Even as your heart raced and your limbs trembled, you didn’t move.

The arm didn’t come down. Bucky stayed like that, poised to strike while you braced for the killing blow.

But his eyes. The icy blue searched your face, brows pulled into a confused line, and there was a faint glimmer of something within their depths.

He slowly lowered his arm.

“Sergeant, what are you doing?” Zemo glanced between you and Bucky, his expression darkening. “Obey my command! Kill her!”

Bucky’s ears twitched but his focus was completely on you, eyes narrowed and blinking, as if on the verge of remembering.

It was enough for hope to surge through your limbs, and you couldn’t help but give a small, timid smile.

Studying your expression, Bucky seemed dazed, his eyes widening, and his lips parted as he said your name, raw with roughness.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

Zemo clicked his tongue.

“Pity.”

You didn’t understand; Zemo sounded more annoyed than angry. Bucky also frowned, and began to turn to face the man who had enslaved him.

It was when Bucky turned just far enough that his left arm was no longer shielding you that Zemo pulled the pistol from his holster.

You didn’t hear the shots. You didn’t see the flash of a muzzle, either. But you were still knocked backwards by a brutal force ripping through your stomach, and then next thing you were looking at was the vaulted ceiling and the lights glittering above you.

They were oddly beautiful.

You expected the floor to be as cold as the table, but you were wrapped in something warm and strong. A familiar silhouette leaned over you, blocking out the lights with a pair of curved horns and brown hair, and you had an eerie case of déjà vu.

Had it all been a dream? A hallucination? Had you imagined the whole thing and was Bucky only now rescuing you?

No. It wasn’t a dream. Bucky’s face was etched in unimaginable horror. He gripped one hand tightly with his armored claws, the other pressed against your stomach. You could barely feel it, feel any of it, past the cold wetness, as if you’d tumbled into a frozen pond and you couldn’t get warm again.

You opened your mouth to say his name, but nothing came out. Bucky shook his head frantically, and looked somewhere over his right shoulder as he yelled for Rogers to find the fucking sorcerers.

You tried once more, but only a gurgling noise came out. Your mouth filled with iron. It was getting harder to breathe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay—“

He repeated the mantra but the tears in his eyes alarmed you. It was bad. It had to be for Bucky to look at you that way.

You tried to lift your head to look down, but Bucky told you not to, his large hand still pressed to your stomach as he pulled you close. He was so warm, his scent earthy and alive, but it wasn’t enough. The world was beginning to fade at the edges. You were so tired.

“No, no, don’t close your eyes, don’t—please, please look at me.”

You wanted to obey him, if only to show him you were fine and he had nothing to cry about, but your eyelids were like iron weights.

Trapped in darkness, the cold numbness was winning, robbing you of your connection to Bucky. All that was left were the sounds of his muffled sobs. It was agony to listen to, but you couldn’t find him in the dark.

All that was left was the fading golden thread, and the slowing beat of your heart.

And then, that too, was gone.

***

You were immediately assailed by heat and stinging wind.

You shielded your face as you sat upright, drawing your shirt up to cover your mouth on instinct. The air was so dry and hot it hurt to breath, and when you opened your eyes, you immediately wished you hadn’t.

There was nothing beyond the endless dune of red.

Next Chapter

#branded #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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connorandersons-blog · 4 years ago

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Prompt: Hanging from the wrists + Rescue

This was a prompt challenge for the DBH Whump discord server I’m in (and a mod in), you should totally join if you enjoy dbh whump!

Summary: Connor gets kidnapped by a man determined to get information out of him, but Connor will not budge. Will Keir be able to break Connor down before he's saved?

Warnings: graphic descriptions of torture, but a happy ending. Also, RK1k

Hope you enjoy!

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Awareness comes to him gradually, his systems slowly starting to reboot. He felt like he was floating, but that couldn't be right. What had happened?

Oh. His eyes widened as the cold seeped into his bare skin, only wearing pants now. He's not floating, but instead is being tied up by his wrists from the ceiling. If he points his toes his feet just barely scrape along the ground.

His breathing quickens but he tries to reason with himself. The criminals he was hunting wanted information. Information he couldn't give, but that gave him a chance. They'd keep him alive to get to that information, if he gave it away, no matter what they'd say, they'd kill him. So he just had to withstand whatever torture they had planned.

Wonderful.

Surrounded by four dark walls, there was nothing else to do but stare at them. To look at the paint that had started to chip off as time passed or the blood that still stained it. His communications were shut off, but that was relatively easy to do. He still had access to his forensic equipment, and it didn't seem like they could get into his memory files. He kept them heavily encrypted for this very reason.

The prison cell was a hollow cube, one way in, no windows. In there he'd have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind. The perfect place to torture someone. To break them down. Connor would not be broken easily.

People would be looking for him. Hank wouldn't stop until he was found, not after they had grown so close over the years.

Markus would tear the city apart looking for him. Markus would do that for any of his friends but Connor didn't want him to get so distracted that he forgot he had to lead their people.

Hell, even Gavin would help look. If you asked Connor if he would a few years ago he would have laughed in your face. Now? Well, they had formed an odd friendship. One where they bickered and sassed each other but at the end of the day would have each other's backs.

So he had the two best detectives in Detroit looking for him along with the leader of the deviants. He would be saved and he'd be fine. They'd find him.

The door swung open and a smaller man came in. Connor didn't underestimate him, he knew there could be hidden strength or he'd even have smarter ways to torture.

"My name is Keir Reid, I'll be looking over you for your stay." The man walked up, his hands clasped behind his back. "I assume you will not give the information away easily?"

"I am Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." He stared straight at the man, no emotions on his face.

Keir hummed then slowly nodded. "Very well. We'll start small and work our way up. I've been informed you have pain sensors, that will come in handy." He walked back to the door and gave one solid knock before walking back over. "The sooner you tell us the information, the sooner the pain will stop."

At least he didn't try to say he'd let Connor live. "Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317."

The door opened again and a large man wheeled in a cart. This would be the type of man you'd expect to torture someone. Yet he still looked to Keir.

"Start small." He grabbed a chair before sitting down and crossing his legs. It seems he really would be watching Connor for the whole thing.

He steeled himself before the first small flick of a blade sliced through his skin. It stung and burned but this would be nothing compared to what would eventually come.

When Connor said nothing more cuts came before Keir decided to step it up. The other man, Connor was mentally calling him Chuck just because he could, knelt and opened a small fridge, pulling out an ice cube. He pressed it to one of his open wounds.

Connor's eyes scrunched up tightly, trying not to let out even a single whimper. The pain is so intense but he grits his teeth through it.

"Still nothing?" Keir asks.

"Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." He sneers at Keir.

"This will be fun." He muses before nodding at Chuck to continue.

Each cut burns into but he keeps thinking of Markus. He'd come and save him. He'd know Connor was missing even if no one else noticed. Connor knew he would. They were so close, close enough that Connor would almost call it love. But neither had voiced it or even mentioned liking the other.

But Markus felt the same, right? The signs were there, Connor watched him closely enough for that. They spent almost all of their free time together even if it was just to sit next to one another as they did their own thing. They were always touching, seeking out the other. So Markus would be looking for him.

"Perhaps he should leave him with a permanent mark. One everyone will be able to see." Keir interrupts, standing up. He knocks on the door three times before it opens and a man hands him a long stick. "Thank you."

Chuck lights up a welding torch and holds it to the end of the metal stick.

No, no, no, fuck this wasn't good. He tried to move away but it only caused the chains to dig into his wrist deeper. Yet Kier smiles as he walks over.

The brand pushed to his chest, his mind screamed out as the pain drove through his chest.

Connor's eyes swam with unshed tears that finally spill out accompanied by a scream from his throat as the torture goes on for too long, he couldn't hold it in any longer. Keir grinned ferally, walking up to Connor. “Scream for me again…” he purrs, gripping Connor's bloodstained chin. “Your voice is so pretty when it breaks.”

His synthetic skin melted away, and Keir kept it pressed there until he knew Connor could never get rid of the brand. His skin didn't even try to cover it as Keir pulled back.

He let out a whimper as the pains started to spread. "Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." God, it hurt so bad but he wouldn't give in. He had to protect those poor people, he wouldn't let them get hurt or killed because he was weak.

"Not bad. We will be back. For now, why don't you just stay here." Keir said, handing the branding iron to Chuck. It wasn't like Connor could go any way, but he didn't say anything, instead, he closed his eyes.

If they were giving him a break then he'd take it. He knew it had been a few hours since they started, but it all started to burr as unconsciousness pulled him under.

Connor's scream of agony finally breaks as the electrocution stops. Body aching and burning, he slumped forward and gasped for breath. He didn't even have the strength to shudder as Keir runs a deceivingly gentle hand through his hair and whispers.

“This doesn’t have to continue. You know what I want.”

His mind is so clouded with pain as he pants. But slowly he raises his eyes to meet Keir's. "Fuck… you." He spits at the man and grins when it hits him almost directly on his eye.

It had to be three days now, but he couldn't tell anymore. Hours felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. He could have been there for only a day and he wouldn't know it.

Keir finally showed emotion, his face twisting into anger. Connor sees the slap coming and bites his tongue as it hits. His cheek stings but he doesn't flinch.

"Oh, we'll make you hurt," Keir promises and steps back. Connor rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. He was already in pain, enough pain that he wanted it all to stop but he wouldn't give in.

He blinked and his blood turned cold. He was in the garden, on the boat. But this couldn't be right. He had gotten rid of Amanda, made sure she was gone for good.

"Connor, what's got you so distracted?" Markus asks and Connors eyes snap to him. He's sitting across from Connor in a t-shirt, looking as comfortable as ever.

"Markus? What are you doing here? It's not safe!" Not just because of Amanda but because of Keir.

"You and I both know I'm not actually here. You're using this to cope with the pain, so here I am. I must say, I'm definitely flattered." Markus leaned forward, a small smirk on his face.

Connor whimpered as he felt something hit on his stomach, but Markus reached out and took his hand. "Sorry, God this hurts."

Markus gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's not your fault. Take a few deep breaths, I'm here."

Connor nodded and tried not to curl into himself. But the slow gentle circles Markus was doing on his hand definitely helped. "Thank you."

He blinked again and was back in the cell, but now completely alone. He looked down and winced as he saw the burn down his chest. There were other burns, how long had he dissociated? It was only a minute or so in the garden, but obviously, it had been longer than that. He trusted himself enough to know he wouldn't have accidentally given any information away.

The dissociation happens more and more now. It's not just Markus either, both Hank and Gavin show up but always separately. Each had words to calm him down as his body went through unimaginable pain.

He was so tired, he just wanted the pain to stop, he'd never give up the people, though.

Connor so broken down and exhausted by the torture that he can’t bring themselves to show any more fear when the Keir threatens him; when the knife is pressed into his throat, he rested his chin against it and close his eyes, accepting that the Keir could kill them for it. In this one moment, he just can’t care.

"Have you really given up?" Keir asks, the knife knicking Connor's neck but not enough to be of any real danger. Still, the feeling of his blue blood dripping onto the knife made him shiver.

"Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." He mumbled, eyes closing. "Just do it. I'm not going to tell you anything."

Keir frowned and moved the knife away. "How can you be this stubborn? I'll kill you quickly if you just tell me, you don't have to suffer." Keir almost seemed sympathetic towards Connor. "Please, just tell me."

"Why do you care? Either way, I die." It must have been a week now, and still, no one was coming. Maybe they were thankful he was gone. He really thought he and Markus had a thing but he could be wrong. Maybe no one was even looking for him.

Keir pursed his lips but didn't move the knife away. "You're strong, I can admire that. If you weren't caught up in this then I would never have hurt you."

Connor shook his head, then glanced up at his hands. His wrists were caked with dried blood along with new blood every time he moved. His arms were numb, and he knew he'd have scars, so many scars. "Well, I'll never give any information up, no matter what you do to me. I don't care if I'm never saved, I don't care if you keep me alive, I don't care anymore." It was true. He couldn't hold onto the hope any longer, it made wounds deeper than any physical weapon.

"That's pathetic. Though I am impressed. Take him down!" Keir calls out and two large men come in and release him. He crumpled to the ground, letting out a long whimper. His arms hurt more than ever and all he could do was let himself be dragged out of the room.

He knew he should fight back, he has the opportunity, but he just couldn't. His legs were weak and they were dragging him by his aching arms.

"I will show you mercy for your bravery and determination," Keir said, walking in front. He's dragged out of a mansion, and into snowy woods. At least his blood would leave a mark, who knew what they'd do with his body.

It's bitterly cold with snow piled on the ground and on the bare trees. Every surface, every blade of grass and twig is growing long ice crystals ten or more millimeters in length. Even with his impending death, he took in the almost magical sight. He wished he got to see it with more than pants on and a gun not pressed to his head, but at least this would be the last thing he saw.

The cold numbed him almost completely, the biting cold chilled his fingers into clumsy numbness, cold seeped into his toes and spread painfully throughout his feet. His lips turned a more blueish hue and his teeth chattered like a pneumatic drill. The frigid wind poked him like icy fingers and wrapped around him like a shawl woven from the snow itself.

He took in a deep breath and looked up. The sky seemed to be just as white as the world around him. "Thank you." It was stupid and silly to say but he'd finally get released.

He felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his head as he sat in the snow. Keir was the one holding the gun, no doubt. He was almost glad of that. Let him finally have blood on his hands. "It's my pleasure and my honor."

Connor closed his eyes as he heard the safety being switched off. This was it. He heard the sound of a pop then the echo. Wait. Echo? That was the sound of a gunshot far away, not up close and he wasn't dead.

He heard a thump then the sound of more gunshots. "Connor!" He heard and his head whipped around. That was Markus' voice?! What was he doing here?!

Keir and the two men were slumped onto the snow, their red blood staining the ground. It was oddly beautiful but also gruesome.

Markus runs at him, but Connor sees Hank and Gavin, both of their guns still raised. "Shit, Connor! Baby, are you ok?"

They're here? They came for him? "Markus." He whimpered, going limp in his arms. Markus easily held him, pulling him to his chest and letting his own body heat warm Connor up. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's ok. You did so well. We're gonna get you home now. Just stay with me." Markus took the jacket Hank handed over and wrapped Connor in it tightly before picking him up. "There we go. You're safe now."

"You came. You all came?" He looked at each with half-lidded eyes. He was so tired and just wanted to sleep.

"Course we did. Can't let anyone else kill your robo ass." Gavin says, still not holstering his gun. Connor grins at him and weakly flips him off which gets a laugh out of all of them.

"I love you guys." He sighs, burying his face in Markus's warm chest. He loved them so much it hurt in the best way. This was the good kind of pain.

"Love you too, son," Hank reached over and very gently ruffled his hair. Connor leaned into it, trying not to let his eyes fall closed.

"Yeah, love you or whatever. Dipshit." Gavin muttered, face flushing red. Connor could tease him but decided to hold back, it was rare Gavin showed this much affection willingly.

Markus pressed a kiss to Connor's head, then tilted his head up. "I love you." Then pressed a gentle quick kiss to his lips. Connor melted into it, leaning up to try to get more but his body ached too much. "Now let's get you home."

He was already home, in Markus' arms with Hank and Gavin with him. He finally let himself sleep, knowing that when he woke up there would be no one there to hurt him again.

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rons-hermiones · 3 years ago

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Eight

Pain.

That’s all Hermione feels.

No words she’s ever read in books, no expression, no description could even begin to cover the insufferable, burning, all consuming sensation.

At this point she isn’t even sure if it’s from whatever Bellatrix was dealing out day after day along with the rest of them. Or maybe this pain, the terrible, indescribable kind, was emotional.

Almost like everything she’s endured clawing at the heels of her ankles, slowly creeping its way into the forefront of her mind.

Her parents- oh god…

The thought of them alone makes her burn, makes her ache. The only other time she’s ever felt that kind of sensation was whenever Greyback would claw his way up her body. His dirty nails burying themselves in the pits of her stomach while he did unimaginable things.

Maybe that was the word: unimaginable.

The pain she was feeling was unimaginable. Unfathomable to even a mind as brilliant as hers, one that could best Albus Dumbledore himself.

But the pain won’t go away.

No matter how many times she closes her eyes or tries to take her mind elsewhere, it’s still there.

She doesn’t have to imagine something so clear, so fresh.

She almost wishes the tingling itching at her body would just consume her whole. She knows it's the cruciatus doing its worst and maybe it would be easier if it did.

Maybe it would be easier if her mind was as empty as the Longbottom’s. If she could live in a world where her parents were okay, where her purity was intact, where whenever she closed her eye’s she didn’t see unruly brown curls, noseless demons, and hungry werewolves.

The only action she could possibly place with releasing some of it, is screaming.

She wants nothing more than to let out a gut wrenching, throat scratching, ear piercing scream.

Maybe then they’d understand a fraction of her pain.

Maybe then, she’d feel a bit lighter. Unlike how she feels now, almost like she swallowed dozens of anvils.

Hermione knows deep down things were meant to be this way. Well- not meant to- no, not all. She just means, that this was part of the ongoing torture.

All her life she said what she thought.

That very notion got her into the predicament in muggle elementary and for a brief time, made her friendless at Hogwarts. However, she soon realized voicing her knowledge was one of her greatest gifts.

Telling Harry a solution to his newest problem, one that could very well save the wizarding world. Telling her professors the correct answer. Telling her friends the correct answers to homework. Telling Ron that since she’s so brilliant, she knows he is too.

And it's more than that.

Before she could tell someone thank you, she could tell her parents she loved them.

Now she can’t do any of that.

She can’t thank the nice healers taking care of her. She can’t tell Harry she missed him. She can’t tell Mrs. Weasley that she needs a mothers love right now. She can’t tell The Order about what happened and about how Narcissa Malfoy was her savior in that wretched place. She can’t even tell Ron everything she’s been holding onto for so long.

She can’t tell anyone anything.

She’s realizing now, she’s having a hard time even telling herself anything.

So instead she listens, because from her experience that was one of the only things that kept her alive.

‘Listen here Muddy…’

‘Listen to the Dark Lord filth!’

‘Listen to Bellatrix and stop fighting me! We always know I get what I want.’

‘Listen to me Hermione, I’m going to get you out of here.’

‘Listen to me love, you’re going to be okay.’

She’s broken from her thoughts when her ears are able to catch something familiar.

The creaking of a door.

Unconsciously she mumbles Cissy’s name, like a reflex she can’t help.

Next, she swears she hears the whispers of familiar voices.

“-the door.” Someone who sounds like Arthur Weasley says quietly.

Then Hermione can’t shake the feeling that eyes are burning into her and she just needs to make sure one of those penetrating gazes isn’t someone who stands with the Dark Lord.

Mustering the little strength she has left, she lets her lids flutter open.

And before she can take in anything else her eyes hone in on the slim piece of wood between someone’s fingernails.

The unmistakable sight of the very wand that got her out of there.

The very one that belongs to, “Cissy.” She barely grumbles before she can realize it.

“Put it away Tonks.” She hears Ron bark at the auror, making Hermione flinch at the sudden noise, one that brings her back to memories of screams directed at her, curses, demands-

“Ronnie.” Mr. Weasley scolds, sensing her discomfort.

The man's voice breaks her unwanted interruption as she vigorously shakes her head.

She wants- no needs the wand. It’s a reminder that she’s gone, that she got out. It gives her purpose too.

The incessant need to return it to its rightful owner and to thank her for all she’s done.

Shakily, Hermione holds out a hand, fighting the terrible pain in order to grab the wand from Tonks.

The purple haired woman looks confused on what to do. Ron is about to snatch it away when Arthur stops him, letting Hermione grab it.

“Dad-” Ron’s voice fades.

Hermione can’t focus on that. Just the cool sensation of the sleek wood in her palm.

She imagines another version of herself, a stronger version, that twirled the wand and got her to safety.

God where was that girl now?

“Ap…” The word died in her throat.

Her brown eyes fell on Ron’s silently pleading for him to understand.

He senses the urgency and pushes past the other two to cover her hand with his own. Aiding her in holding the wand.

“What is it Mione?” He whispers tenderly.

So tenderly it almost makes her melt, Almost makes her forget all the bad.

Almost.

“App-” It dies again, the word almost painful on her tongue.

And she isn’t one for foul language, but fuck Bellatrix Lestrange. If only Ron could hear her now.

Looking into his concerned- but dare she say, loving eyes, she wants to do this for him.

Slowly and painfully she pries his hand off and begins to mimic a twirling motion, ignoring the daggers the action sends through her wrist.

“Ap…” She tries to no avail.

And like Hermione just told Ron he’s won all the gold in Gringotts, his eyes light up as he beams at her.

“You apparated out of there?” He asks hopefully.

Almost excitedly, the most excited Hermione’s felt in a long time, she nods.

At this, Ron let’s out a boisterous laugh as nothing but pride consumes his features.

Gently, he pulls her into a hug, mindful of her injuries.

“Brilliant. You’re so brilliant darling.” He whispers so only she can hear.

All she can do in response is try and squeeze him tighter.

This feeling is one that used to be nothing but a dream.

However, the feeling is soon cut short when her decent arm presses a little too hard against his back, making her feel like tiny daggers were being poked into it.

Then like a tidal wave, memories came rushing back to her.

The very pain from when Bellatrix carved her was happening again, all over again.

With a sharp cry she fought the pain in her other hand and clunked the heavy cast over her forearm and frantically began rubbing at it.

She wanted it gone.

All of it.

The words. The feeling. The memory.

She didn’t want to ever have to look or think about it again. She didn’t want Ron to see it either.

The last thing she needed was a reminder to herself and everyone else of exactly what she is.

A mudblood.

‘That ought to teach you your place, now you shall never forget! Wait till the Dark Lord sees you!’ Bellatrix had praised her handywork, even going far enough to brand the wound with a proud kiss.

God her stomach was flipping at the very thought.

Hermione would’ve been sick had she eaten something. Instead, her attempts turned to painful heaves as she began scratching at her arm with the plaster thing, ignoring the pain, uncomfortable sensation, and red blood staining her cast.

And while Hermione was ignoring these things, Ron couldn’t.

“What is she- What’s going on?” Tonks had said to Arthur from behind.

“We must get the healer.” The old man said, as calm as he could manage before they split up to find Jamison. Arthur didn’t need to tell Ron to take care of Hermione in the meantime, without a doubt his son would.

“Mione, hey, hey.” He tried calling to her softly at first, worried if she was in a state that physical contact may set her off to thinking he was someone he wasn’t.

However, when his pleas didn’t work and Tonks nor his father turned up with help, he knew he had to do something.

Then, he saw tiny streaks of red along Hermione’s arm.

Yeah, fuck waiting.

He’d done enough of that.

Lightly, but with enough force to stop it, he grabbed at the large cast wrapped around her arm. Setting it back into the sling before she could protest.

After the limb was settled comfortably back into its support, she seemed to break her daze.

Quickly Hermione tugged at the scratchy hospital sheets and buried her arm under them, so embarrassed and ashamed.

“What are you doing, love?” He asked steadily, not wanting to let his own fear scare her anymore than she already seemed to be.

In response all the brunette did was shake her head frantically.

Ron leaned forward to inspect, causing Hermione to shift uncomfortably to semi block his path. And sure, he could have easily still torn away the sheets, but he wanted to respect her and not take advantage of her weak state.

“What are you hiding? Please don’t hide from me.” He begged, finally catching her eyes as she stopped shaking her head.

Behind the pools of brown Ron could sense the conflict. He knew her well enough to know that she was so badly aching to show him whatever it was, but for some reason she couldn’t.

When his gaze flicked back to her covered arm, he noticed the sheets pooling with a crimson red.

Instinctively, he stood up and grabbed some gauze from the counter before rounding to her other side. He crouched next to the bed and put his hand gently next to hers, making Hermione jump.

“N-no.” She cried.

“Darling, I have to lift the sheet. I can’t let you be in pain like this, alright?” He approached gently.

Hermione’s chin continued to quiver but he noticed her hold loosen considerably as she turned her head away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

Thanking Merlin that his Hermione wasn’t feeling stubborn at that moment, he peeled the sheet back.

As he moved the fabric, he felt hesitant, like maybe she was right and he shouldn’t see whatever this is, knowing it’ll cause him more pain.

No, he told himself quickly. This isn’t about you, this is about her, you can take suffering, imagine how she feels, he told himself.

There was red all over her arm, but he could see where it was coming from. Clear as day.

His left hand, the one not attending to her, twitched near his back pocket.

His body at its own accord was itching to dissapparte and murder Bellatrix.

How dare she do this. What a sick fuck. Twisted, maniacal, horrid, scum of the-

Ron’s thoughts are cut off when he feels something on him.

Two eyes, round as saucers boring into him, gaging his reaction.

“U-ugly.” She whimpered in shame, trying to pull her arm away, but found herself too weak.

In response, his own eyes bulged. He shoved his fury aside best he could, not wanting Hermione to think his reaction was because of her.

Sure, he would never want that on her skin, but it was because she didn’t deserve it. It didn’t make her any less beautiful or any less magical. He just hated the pain and story behind it. He hated that awful word.

Hermione Granger was the Brightest Witch of her Age, she was beautiful, she was brilliant, brave, and he loved her. He never wanted her to be associated with anything else.

“No, no, no.” He said, bringing up the hand from his back pocket to cup her cheek.

Tears fell out of her eyes.

“Come on Mione please, look at me, hey.” He tried.

Slowly, her watery eyes found his.

He pulled away momentarily, to roll up the sleeve of his jumper revealing the swirls the brain left him.

“Look, me too, I’ve got some too, okay?” He knew it wasn’t the same. Not at all. But he was desperate to make her feel alone.

‘Miss Granger is just as sane as you and I, she just has less to be sane about.’

Dumbledore’s words rang true at this moment. He couldn’t afford to let his Mione get lost again, never again.

This seemed to work a little as her breathing slowed, “You’re still gorgeous, please believe me. I’ve got them, Bill, Harry-”

At the last name she whimpered.

“Harry?” He repeats.

She nods, “O-okay?” Hermione questioned worriedly.

If her blood wasn’t staining his hands and if he wasn’t so determined on killing Bellatrix, he’d smile at how big her heart is.

“He’s fine, I promise. How about when the healer comes I get him, alright? Would you like that?” He coaxes her.

Slowly she nods, but her eyes are still trained away from him in embarrassment.

“Please Hermione, I promise you that-”

“I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could!” Jamison called from the door, “What seems to be the problem?” He asked, stepping closer.

Hermione visibly shrunk at the sight of yet another person, a stranger at that.

“Hey, you’re safe. I promise.” Ron whispered, leaning in close so his lips brushed her ear.

It made her shiver.

The most wonderful, lively sensation she’s felt in months.

And she believed his every word.

Ron was explaining to the healer something, but she didn’t listen, too focused on the pain now registering in her arm as the old man pressed onto it.

“I’m gonna get Harry, I’ll be right back.” He told her softly as he subtly flicked his eyes to where his father was standing, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

She wasn’t sure how long the healer stood there wrapping her wound. He must’ve sensed she wasn’t feeling conversational and thankfully did so in silence, nodding to her with a small smile and promise to be back as he left the room.

Some more time ticked on. What was only really an additional two minutes had felt like hours to Hermione when she was alone with her thoughts.

There was so much to think about. So much that went wrong. So much that could still go wrong. Maybe if I had just-

The sound of nearby footsteps broke her trail of thoughts, but she attributed it to the sound of the returning healer, as he never shut the door.

But it was Ron who called to her, “Mione.” His tender voice called.

Her eyes snapped up to see blue ones and then green.

A green she knew so well. One she had missed dearly.

“Hermione.” Harry practically whimpered as he took long strides to the bed, pulling her into his arms none too gently.

Ron nearly interjected to tell his best mate to be careful, but he didn’t have the heart once he saw the trail of tears falling from beneath the lenses of Harry’s glasses.

“I’m sorry Hermione. I’m so sorry.” He sobbed.

Hermione ignored it. She just figured it was something to say. Something she was guilty of saying to Harry after all the tragedies he’s endured. As to say ‘I’m sorry this happened to you.”

But that wasn’t what he meant.

“I’m sorry I ran after her that day. I’m sorry it wasn’t me.”

Vigorously Hermione shook her aching head on his shoulder, letting him know his words were not to be tolerated. She even heard Ron say Harry’s name as if warning him.

She pulled back and gently ran one of his fingers over the scar on his forehead. Feeling the rough patch of silvery pink skin.

He sat still in confusion as Ron watched with pain in his eyes, knowing where the action was stemming from.

Harry’s scar was a terrible reminder of a horrible night, left by the mark of a horrible man. However, it was also imprinted with the reminder of the love his mother shared for him. The protection it provided.

Ron’s scars were a mark of bravery. One’s he could tell someone he donned during a battle trying to protect his friend.

And the awful word branded on Hermione represented cowaridice. There was no elaborate story of throwing curses and being a hero. There was no trace of love to be found in the pitiful thing. Instead it was a disgusting act used against her as she finally succumbed to her captors.

“Are you okay?” Harry’s asked raspily, immediately feeling stupid for asking such a thing after.

Hermione deserved a break. Everyone in that room and outside in that hallway knew it.

Except her.

Needing to be strong to sooth Harry’s guilt and Ron’s evident worry she pulls back and places one shaky hand on the Chosen One’s shoulder, making sure his misty green eyes are trained on her.

What she does next shocks them all, especially herself.

By some strength from within she attempts to stretch a smile on her dry cracked lips, ignoring the pulling it does on her cuts and bruises.

She feels it falter and shake in its place but she knows to keep it on long enough to hopefully convince Harry and maybe even herself.

Ron however saw right through it. Her eyes weren’t lit up like he knew them to be. Her lips were quivering and her hand was shaking on Harry’s shoulder. Almost like it was painful to keep up with the facade.

The black haired boy seemed too transfixed to notice, letting out a wet chuckler and pulling her back to him.

“You’re brilliant Hermione. You’ll always be brilliant.” He whispers into the depths of her hair, practically overcome with relief at her feeble attempt to indicate she was okay.

Harry loved Hermione. Not at all in the same way that Ron did, but he loved her nonetheless. She was the sister his mother never had the chance to give him, she was his best friend, his support system. She was his family.

So no, he didn’t believe her phony smile, but what he did know now was that Hermione was still in there. The Hermione he knew and loved would always put everyone before herself. And while the notion wasn’t comforting, it assured his aching heart that there was hope.

With that thought he mindlessly moved his hand and gave her another squeeze being not thinking twice about her sore body and countless injuries. As his hand absently roams, she jumps as he hits a particularly tender wound.

She groans loudly, making him jump away and Ron lurch closer to the pair. ,

“Hermione, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

He stops when he notices what her eyes are focused on. A thick white bandage on her arm.

His green eyes turn to Ron who watches the scene in anguish, a pained look across his face at her reaction.

Soon Hermione lifts her casted hand and Ron fears she may pick at it again.

“Mione.” He begins softly.

Instead, she nudges one of Harry’s hands from where it’s pulled fearfully in his chest. Briefly exchanging a look with Ron, he complies and lets her lead his fingers to graze the edge of her bandaid.

“L-look.” She chokes.

“What?” Harry splutters.

She nods to him, reaffirming her words.

As his shaking fingers begin to peel away the gauze, Hermione looks at Ron longingly, imploring him to come over.

Thankfully he understands and walks over and sits himself next to her, diagonal from Harry, placing a gentle hand on where her neck and shoulder meet, rubbing it gently.

When she feels the cold air hit her open wound, she gasps, and so does Harry. She never feels Ron’s blue eyes stray from hers, not wanting to be reminded of her pain anymore than he already has been today. Instead, just be there for her.

A tear escapes Harry’s green eyes and drips its way down his nose. At the sight Hermione begins to shutter beneath his hold as multiple tears stream her face.

Broken at the sight of her and at what they did, Harry thinks back to a moment they shared just minutes ago, now having an entirely new understanding of it.

Lifting her scarred arm gently, he pulls at her fingers and places them over the jagged lightning bolt on his forehead. Next, he rolls up the sleeve of Ron’s jumper and places her casted hand over his arm, making sure her revealed finger tips graze the swirls running along the length of his best mates freckled skin.

Seeming to understand what he was doing, Ron then moves his own hand to rest along Hermione’s free wrist as he scoots up so her head can rest along his shoulder.

She complies and drops her head in the crook of his neck, eyes flicking between Harry and Ron as more tears find their way down her face. Her vision is so blurred that she barely notices the boys are crying now too.

They sit like that until the sun goes down.

And no words were passed, there didn’t need to be any.

This moment was one for understanding.

In this moment between the only family she has left, Hermione realizes who she is now.

As long as she’s known Harry, he’s been the very thing she’s become upon waking up in St. Mungo’s.

Scarred orphans lucky enough to have been saved by Ron.

#Ron and Hermione #Ron Weasley #ron x hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #Hermione Granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

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chocolate-parfait · 4 years ago

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"Paranormal night? I don't think so!" - Ikemen Vampire (Isaac)

TW ; vomit , mature language

@sciamchyafterdusk requested:

I saw your post with the halloween propts also i dont really know if im requesting this right i just got tumblr but Mc and isaac from ikemen vampire for 21 and 26 🥺🍁 I just think it would be really funny because I doubt isaac would believe in ghost probably just a prank from dazzi and arthur but, I think he’d deny it but secretly not so secretly be a scaredy-cat (also male reader but ik most people have female mcs so you dont have to write it if you dont feel comfortable with that!)

Sassy!Male!MC because I'm kinda tired of writing for beautiful perfect ladies that go STOP TEASING ME TEEHEE, blush over nothing and sing like disney princesses. (watch me do exactly that in the next piece I write)

+it's not a negative thing or anything as I'm the first one who likes to write for that type of trope but,, variety is very much needed every once in a while

21. “Oh my gaud, I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass.”

26. “I dare you to go down there.”

Isaac had no idea why he ever thought this could have been a good idea in the first place. Sitting by a candlelit round table, Dazai, Arthur, you and your lover were staring at a crystal ball placed in the middle of the wooden surface, hands ceremoniously joined together to form a circle.

The room was growing colder by the minute, as the local paranormal enthusiast decided that a fire would scare the spirits away. Despite the polar temperatures, you managed to keep your hand warm enough to try and offer some kind of support to your partner, Isaac, whose left hand was as cold as ice and even slightly trembling, though you kept any type of comment to yourself as you knew he wouldn't be pleased to have a third bully team up against him.

Unfortunately for both of you, the two writers' analyzing eyes were vigilant even in the darkness of the room, and they simultaneously decided to poke fun at the scientist as they waited for something to happen.

"Ai-chan, are you scared?" The Japanese teasingly inquired. "C'mon old Newt! Shouldn't you believe in numbers and science a little bit more? I'm sure your gravitational equation will come to save you if a ghost tries strangling you!~" The other man said, obviously aware of the hypocrisy of his statement. "Would you look at that..! You're shaking like a leaf and your expression is quite the amusing one..." Arthur added, slightly leaning forward to get a better look at his face. "C'mon, stop bullying him, you two." You whispered with a scolding tone.

You didn't exactly believe in these things, and yet the slight creepiness of the whole atmosphere couldn't quite let your heart remain completely unmoved. Just as you turned your eyes back on the transparent sphere, Arthur straightened like a board and with utmost earnestness exclaimed:"I can feel a presence... Dear Lord, look behind you Isaac!!"

"W-WHAT IS IT-?!" The fragile man half screamed, throwing himself to your side and squeezing your arm tightly, as if scared a supernatural entity would grab him from behind and drag him to Hell. The moment the exclamation left your lover's lips your eyes flew to the back of the room, noting with your own two pupils that there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary there.

"Haa... you really are an impossible one Arthur." You said with a sigh while pinching the bridge of your nose. "I'm utterly serious when it comes to these things!" Said the English man with a slight pout marking his features. Then, an idea came to your mind.

The blue haired flirt always found an excuse to either tease you or your man, and a payback was the least you could do.

"Wait! Look at the sphere- no way... that's impossible..." You mumbled with an incredulous tone, making the best shocked expression you could manage. Three other pair of eyes moved to the crystal ball, focusing with all their might to try and see what you were talking about. "Do you see something??" Arthur's voice came out in a whisper, hushed and grave.

"Oh my gaud, I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass!"

"O-of course you didn't see anything- ghosts don't exist anyways..." Isaac whispered to himself, finally letting go of your arm and huffing in relief.

"MC!!! Take this seriously!!" Seeing the playboy so offended pleased you, and you responded with a hearty laugh. "Yeah well, I'm not really the biggest believer of these type of things. I'm still shocked the author of Sherlock Holmes is a fan of the occult, though!"

"Don't you dare mention that piece of trash in front of me!" Ah, there was his weakness. Whenever someone mentioned the detective, he'd lose his temper in the blink of an eye, becoming vulnerable to every type of teasing remark thrown his way. This was a tactic you had started using quite often whenever you wanted to help Isaac with all the mocking gibberish thrown his way.

"Now, now, let us not fight!" Dazai cut off your thoughts with his signature smile. "If we make too much noise, the oni might hear us and come our way"

"A what? ...can't you guys just stop with all the demon talk?" Isaac complained. "They clearly don't exist." He concluded.

"And even if they found us, would they stand a chance against three vampires? You should be scared of yourselves, not some stinky heap of darkness and evil. You can probably snap their necks like a twig with your superhuman strength." You added, looking at the two people sitting in front of you with narrowed eyes.

"Your words bring me an unimaginable amount of disapproval, MC" Did Arthur always need to have the last word on everything? "So do you." You remarked, finally standing up to make your way to the door, clearly done with the conversation.

Barely seconds after you stepped out in the hallway, you heard the sound of a chair sliding against the floor, followed by the familiar sound of shoes you had learnt to recognize anywhere.

"There's no way I'm staying in that room with those two tortures." Isaac scoffed. "I-I'd rather spend my time with you." His tone was shy, but when reaching for your hand, his touch was bold and yet gentle. At this display of cuteness, you couldn't help but softly press a kiss to his cheek before squeezing his hand in yours. "Shall we head back to your room then?" And as your question was answered with a nod, you two started walking down the dark hallway, hand in hand.

Newton's room was quite far from the small lounge you had borrowed for your spooky night, and minutes passed as a comfortable silence hung between the two of you, steps muffled by the red carpet of the hallway filling resonating softly in the empty corridor.

Letting your mind wander freely during the small walk, you went over the events of the day and the evening in particular. The firm words of scepticism you had thrown at Arthur's way suddenly tumbled on you all at once.

What if... what if something were to happen now? Wouldn't it be funny? How ironic would it be! It was a thought that made your heart race; the possibility of witnessing something uncommon, out of this world and probably life-threatening was something that had always attracted the human heart, and you certainly weren't an exception despite your earlier contradicting statement. Sure, you weighed rationalism way more than matters from the supernatural sphere, and yet you had already been proved wrong once when you arrived to the mansion. So maybe nothing was impossible, right..?

You unconsciously slowed your pace, as if wanting to increase the chances of seeing some kind of paranormal activity, and fortunately enough your twisted prayers were met in the strangest of ways.

Passing by the access to the staircase that took downstairs to the cellar, you heard the most curious of sounds. It wasn't perfectly audible from your position, but you could make out incoherent mumbling and sounds that were human but not quite. Seeing how you had stopped walking, Isaac called out to you. "MC..?" After a few seconds of unresponsiveness, you turned to him, curiosity and a hint of mischief in your excited orbs. "Isaac, I dare you to go down there.” His eyes widened in surprise, and before he knew what what happening, you were pushing his back down the steps, adding in a reassuring whisper:"Don't worry. I'm right behind you." But the way you gripped his shoulder didn't go unnoticed, and it reminded him of when he had done the same thing to you minutes prior. Perhaps, those words of encouragement served to placate your quivering spirits, now slaves to your immense curiosity. The scientist certainly couldn't blame you when it came to that, so he gulped down his fear and, in an spur of bold courage, made his way down the dark, old staircase.

What was driving him was possibly either the wish to appear a bit cooler in your eyes or his innate spirit of in inquiry, maybe both. Meanwhile the weird murmurs and rustles got stronger as you approached the end of the stairs, and with a heart thundering wildly in both of your chests, you peeked into the cold basement. What you saw was...

"What in God's name aRE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Theo, slumped against the floor next to Vincent and a pool of...liquids. The angel was whispering words in his brother's ear while drawing soothing circles with his hand on the man's back. Just as you and your lover stepped into the room a pair of blue eyes flew to your figures in a surprised manner, and the blonde's soft voice found its way to your ears.

"Can you guys... help me out?" He said, slipping his arm under Theo's armpit to try and raise him up while offering you an apologetic smile. "We went to the pub to celebrate my newest painting but I'm afraid he exaggerated a bit... He... Theo is so drunk he fell down the stairs"

At this phrase you burst out laughing and Isaac stifled a giggle at the idea of the gruff man tumbling down like a sack of potatoes, then nodded and moved to help the eldest Van Gogh. The moment your lover got next to to the now half standing drunk vampire, Theo emitted a guttural noise and painted his usual grey vest in a terrifying yellow-ish color that would've looked breathtaking on Vincent's canvas. If it hadn't been... vomit, that is.

As you saw the pink haired vampire stiffen up in disgust, you started laughing even harder, calming down ever so slightly once you remembered how horrible your loudness must feel to someone so hungover. After recovering some much needed air, you went to help the two porters who were struggling to open the door as Theo's wobbly legs threatened to make them all fly down the steps, a smile on your face.

The whole situation took a turn you certainly had never expected, but it satisfied you nonetheless. In such a big house, no moment was to be left to boredom, and you had learned to appreciate and love all these grownup babies so it now felt completely natural to spend a night like this. (One of them had captured your whole heart in particular)

...though you figured someone wasn't going to be equally happy with all the cleaning the next day.

#ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp imagines #ikevamp headcanons #ikemen vampire #ikevamp isaac #isaac newton #answered #my writing

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haikyuu-scenarios-box · 5 years ago

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Haikyuu Horrors — Week 2🔪

Demon — DemonKing!Oikawa Tooru x FallenAngel!Reader

Previous Week: Wendigo — Kuroo Tetsurou x GenderNeutral!Reader

TW: fire, mentions of torture, religious references, blasphemy i mean seriously demon!oikawa is in love with u ofc it’s gonna be blasphemous

Word count: 2,370

UNDER THE CUT

__________

One of the many debates in Heaven was why the number of demon contracts skyrocketed as centuries passed. As [y/n] poured the hot tea from the pot into their cup, they recalled their answer - mortals were simply hollow without greed. Koushi’s healing wasn’t enough, Azumane’s protection wasn’t enough, Kiyoko’s beauty wasn’t enough and Daichi’s wisdom wasn’t enough.

But the demons... their services fully relieved whatever emotional or superficial famine mortals were undergoing. They went beyond what a mortal desired and for that, they gained their soul in exchange for temporary pleasures. [Y/n] figured that Tooru - the king that oversaw the sixth circle of Hell - was relishing in the torture he subjected those that were damned to reside in his realm for entirety.

The tea coated [y/n]’s mildly inflamed throat with a comforting warmth. When they caught a glimpse of the woods from the front window, a bitterness akin to a melting pill on their tongue bloomed within their chest. Keiji just dropped them in the middle of nowhere and by sheer chance, [y/n] eventually found a one-room cabin that’d been abandoned for years. It had barely been a month and [y/n] was already inflated with frustration. How the fuck did mortals live like this? They felt like a goddamn farmer every time they watered the empty vegetable patch and collected leaves from a nearby tea shrub.

Their jumbled thoughts ceased once their ears began picked up on distant sprinting. [Y/n] would be lying if they said that their paranoia didn’t exponentially increase the moment they fell. After all, most of their powers had been taken, besides a small bit of their healing ability and heightened senses. No strength. No agility. No exorcism. Nothing.

At first, [y/n] dismissed the sounds as paranoia - a camper or hiker, perhaps? Despite their attempt at composing a logical justification, a bout of nausea grew within their gut and the muscles along their jaw ached with tension. The sweat that slowly sweeped from [y/n]’s pores pricked their skin as they hurriedly reached for the door, locking the four locks along it.

It couldn’t have been a human. Those sprinting footsteps were far too fast.

It couldn’t have been an angel. They were forbidden from contacting all of them, including fallen ones.

It could only belong to a demon that donned a human body.

[Y/n]’s hands shivered with a numbing, glacial dampness. They no longer possessed defensive abilities, nor were there any weapons in the cabin that would be effective against a demon. As the sprinting got louder within their ears, a dry knot formed itself within their throat and the intensity of [y/n]’s heartbeat weighed their head down, almost sending them to the floor. They were simply frozen. There was nothing that could be done.

A great force shattered the wooden door into splinters and boards. The locks might as well had been a layer of chiffon.

‘W-what...’ they backed away slowly, the sharpness of a spike buried within their sternum. He appeared human, but [y/n] could very clearly see his real form. ‘How... Azumane s-sealed you away, I-I don’t...’

‘I didn’t think that this form would leave you speechless,’ Tooru said with pride, flashing a charming smile, ‘I wanted to wear something nice for you.��

‘Wear something?’ [y/n] repeated with disgust, ‘You’ve possessed an innocent man!’ they yelled, riddled with spite, ‘Who is he? A father? A son? A—’

‘I’m offended that you’d accuse me of such a thing,’ Tooru feigned hurt as he approached them, ‘I made all of this’⁠—he gestured in a downwards motion to his body as he grinned—‘on my own. It took a decent amount of energy to make a form this appealing. You could at least appreciate it.’

‘Well that energy has gone to waste because I can already see how hideous you look underneath it,’ [y/n] scowled, ‘get out or I’ll send you back to where you belong,’ they bluffed, stretching out their right hand towards him. They wished that the archangels could hear them curse for taking away the only ability that would’ve kept them safe.

The smirk that Tooru’s lips curled into denoted scepticism and cockiness. The last time a substantial number angels fell was eras ago when they fought alongside the Devil (which, as most knew, ended with a victory for Archangel Azumane when he managed to seal him away within the deepest layer of Hell). Despite that, Tooru didn’t forget that those angels that fell to Earth had almost entirely lost their powers.

‘Come closer and do so then,’ he beckoned, ‘or are you scared that I’ll be the one who sends you to where you should’ve fell?’

[Y/n] opened their mouth to respond, but Tooru’s strides towards them caused that sentence ceased before it even began. In the three centuries they’d been imprisoned in Tartarus, they’d almost forgotten how ugly and twisted a demon’s real form was, even more so when it was the king of a circle. It was such a sharp contrast to the human face that Tooru currently hid behind; a smokey, pitch-black void that dripped with a various shades of a deep crimson. The blurry features of a substantial number of agonised human faces littered his form, their hands either pounding or scratching. He had the skull of a horse for what would be a face and his limbs were thrice as long as that of a normal human; the decaying shreds of muscle sizzling around the cobalt traces of fire lining them.

At the same time, though, [y/n] couldn’t deny that Tooru’s mortal form was captivating. It was mesmerising enough to render them blind to what lied beneath it.

‘As if dumping you in the middle of rural Japan like a bag of trash wasn’t bad enough, your powers were taken away as well,’ Tooru stared right into them, ‘a bit excessive for throwing a tantrum about serving ungrateful humans, don’t you think?’

Long ago, prior to when [y/n] began to develop an intense loathing towards the archangels, they would’ve sent the bastard right back to Hell so that he’d go back to trapping every damned human within a flaming tomb, or whatever other punishment that the sadist came up with throughout his reign.

Certain affirmations simply could not be forced, and this was one of them. In a way, [y/n] was starved - they always sought more control, more freedom and much more power. Tooru stole the words right out of their larynx. If Father had truly loved them equally, he would have granted every angel unimaginable power. Equality and bias were opposites and restricting such power to the Archangels was on the far end of that spectrum. The fact that all [y/n] could do was do mortals’ bidding filled them with resentment, so much to the point where they were surprised that none of the other angels sensed it.

‘I can still feel it so clearly,’ Tooru inhaled deeply with a pleased smile, ‘that pure hatred in you,’ he said, ‘I remember it all the way back from when you fought alongside Azumane when he was trying to seal me away. You were the only being that abandoned the battle,’ his features softened, ‘and for that, you were damned.’

[Y/n]’s eyes and nostrils grew warm, lower lip quivering. ‘How did you break the seal?’ they muttered after a short silence, changing the topic and neglecting his earlier statement.

‘I’m glad you asked!’ Tooru clasped his hands together, ‘All it takes is fire created by an archangel.’

‘W-when I fell...’ [y/n]’s heart pounded within their cranium upon realisation, ‘... the embers from Keiji’s fire...’

‘Correct,’ he beamed, ‘That reminds me, I should probably thank Makki and Mattsun for taking their hellhounds on regular walks. Those hounds smelled messenger boy’s fire from towns away.’

They merely stood there, watching Tooru walk around the cabin curiously. The entire encounter caused an harsh headache to throb along their temples. [Y/n] could sense their eyeballs slowly rolling to the back of their skull and they wanted nothing more than to lay down.

‘This place is depressing. And I’m saying that as someone who lives in Hell,’ he remarked, his back facing them as he glanced at the patches of dust on the kitchen counter.

‘Did you come here take me to your realm or to judge my decor?’ [y/n] sarcastically asked, overwhelmed with emotions they couldn’t even describe (divine beings were crafted to be pragmatic, not emotional). ‘If you’re planning on torturing me for intel on the archangels, let me just tell you in advance that they’re still sitting up there doing nothing.’

‘Torture?’ Tooru chuckled. When he turned around, [y/n] watched ebony slowly pool into his eyes, starting from his waterline and eventually blending into his pupils. The smirk he wore only amplified his unsettling aura. ‘If that was my plan, I would’ve just asked the kings of the eight circle to take care of you. Tetsurou, Bokuto and Kei would have got you talking in no time.’

The mention of those names drove a shudder to travel through every bone in [y/n]’s body. A sudden heat enveloped them, leading sweat to become a disgusting adhesive between their clothes and skin. The wooden walls snapped and crackled, whereas their lungs felt as though they were on the verge of collapsing into themselves. When their vision grew distorted with heat stronger than that of Tartarus’, [y/n] realised that it was far too late to keep stalling.

‘What I want is to propose an offer.’

With a single blink, cobalt flames erupted from the floor in the form of a dome around them. The intense heat against their skin was excruciating enough to make [y/n] howl and whimper, a first degree burn already flourishing onto their skin. The smoke compressed and stung every one of their internal organs; despite that, they refused to sink to their knees.

‘God’s love isn’t unconditional, [y/n],’ Tooru began, walking through the wall of fire without a flinch, ‘he made me too, yet he doesn’t love me. And he certainly doesn’t love you either. Not anymore.’

Several wooden planks clattered to the dusty floorboard from the ceiling, a thick blackened sheen enveloping them almost immediately. [Y/n] could barely breathe, their gasps and wheezes sharp enough to bear a similarity to skewers impaling them. Yet, terror was no longer within them; merely because they were in the presence of someone who understood. As Tooru cupped [y/n]’s face and stroked their cheekbones with his thumb, the flames began to slowly dwindle into ash.

‘But me? I love you.’

‘What?’ [y/n] questioned, confused beyond measure. Demons were incapable of love - this was either lust or pure manipulation.

‘I love you,’ Tooru repeated, an unnerving Cheshire grin drawn along his lips. ‘Without you, your rebelliousness, your disobedience, your hatred, I never would have been able to return here,’ he slightly tightened his grip on their face, ensuring that their gaze remained fixated on him, ‘Fallen angels gain great power when they’ve suffered in Hell long enough. Much greater than your father could ever give you. Return with me and suffer, and then... it’ll be yours.’

His fingers ran through [y/n]’s hair, brushing away stray strands off their forehead. The gesture was so tender, so human; a complete contradiction to his nature and position. They weren’t sure that angels themselves were capable of carrying out an act that delicate.

‘I want more than that,’ [y/n] scowled, placing their hands flat against his chest. ‘I want the archangels to suffer. I want every human in Hell. I want the entire fucking earth,’ they curled their fingers into Tooru’s shirt, aggressively pulling him towards them to press their lips against his. They were infuriated by their own thoughts and transfixed by the demon in front of them; it was as though [y/n] believed acting on their blind instincts would somehow enrage the archangels. Their lids slowly sunk closed as he placed one hand at the back of their neck and the other on their lower back, tugging them even closer to his body.

‘There’s only one way to gain that kind of power,’ Tooru smirked as he pulled away, raising their head by the chin with his knuckle to stare right into their irises.

‘I know,’ [y/n] solemnly said, gently stroking his cheeks, ‘Take us home.’

__________

It would have been logical for one to assume that Hell would be even more unbearable for a being that resided in Heaven for centuries, but [y/n] was an anomaly. They stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring their formal attire and mortal form. A while ago, Tooru had refurbished the castle entirely while [y/n] underwent the transformation. Although it’d been eras since an angel was turned into a demon, he recalled how lengthy and agonising the process was and of course, he wanted his darling to return to a home they’d adore prior to even entering.

‘Your highness,’ a voice rang from behind them, ‘we await your arrival.’

It wasn’t just Tooru and [y/n] that donned their mortal form today. They’d made everyone in the realm do so as well. Demons accepted their appearance, yes, but no one could deny that they were repulsive (after all, [y/n] themselves couldn’t persuade their mind to view their new self as acceptable). Neither of them wanted to stare down at their subjects in their monstrous forms from the castle’s balcony.

When [y/n] headed towards the balcony, their groom finally came within their sight. ‘My love,’ they cooed, prompting Tooru to turn around. Hajime, his personal advisor, was already delivering a speech about the significance of the day; though [y/n] wasn’t listening, really.

Tooru took their hands within his, kissing their knuckles with a genuine grin.

‘The overseer of the City of Dis’—Hajime began his introduction—‘the punisher of heresy, the ruler of the sixth circle of Hell, King Tooru!’

Excited yells, hollers and claps erupted as Tooru left their side to appear on the balcony. He stood proudly with a captivating smile, giving a wave to the demons he ruled over. Almost everyone in the realm attended - a “short vacation”, they all called it.

‘And the angel that abandoned the battle against the sixth circle now roams it, not as a fallen angel, but as one of us!’ Hajime announced with a loud, confident voice That was [y/n]’s cue to appear.

‘King Tooru’s [bride/groom], [y/n]!’

The buoyant cheers grew once more as [y/n] stopped beside Tooru; yet the attendees might as well have remained completely silent, for all their focus was on him. He wrapped his arms around [y/n]’s waist as they cupped the sides of his face, tenderly placing his lips against theirs and relishing in their warmth and softness. They both currently appeared so humane; however, they knew that they shared an intense ugliness within them.

‘We will soon dominate the Earth and the Heavens, darling,’ Tooru whispered.

They wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru #demon!oikawa tooru #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines blog #haikyuu x reader #gender neutral reader #writing #scenario #haikyuu horrors #tw: fire #tw: blasphemy #tw: religious themes #tw: torture mention

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wolffishgrin · 5 years ago

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Long Time No See

Pairing: Choi Seunghyun x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1427

A/N:

Didn’t proofread.

Posting this from my mobile so the spacings are really messed up.

Also, if you’re wondering why am I posting this so late. Well let’s just say i procrastinated, a lot because I wanted it to post the very next day of his military discharge.

And, I should just declare myself an angst writer. (Ofcourse, if that’s even a thing lmao)

I’ll add the read more tag when I open it on my laptop. It’s really late here so bye for now.

Special mention to @apotatomashedbybts who constantly kept motivating me. Thank you friend <3

Backspace. Typing. Backspace. Uggh.

You were not well and decided to work from home. It wasn’t exactly going as you had planned. This was literally your 8th attempt at trying to frame a sentence and yet you couldn’t recall what exactly was the intent of this email that you were typing out. Your boss had asked you to write something for someone but you couldn’t get your head around it because your mind was too busy creating scenarios of your boyfriend’s military discharge.

How you wished you were there, waiting for him but unfortunately you couldn’t. You have had this discussion with him after the news of his prolonged military enlistment and it was decided that it’d be better if you were out of the scene; completely. You didn’t say anything and neither did he. To say that it hurt would probably be an understatement but things were the way they were. He had already been through much and you didn’t want to be a burden by imposing more on him.

Being a celebrity was tough, that too a member of the world famous Big Bang at that. The pressure was unimaginable but Seunghyun, or T.O.P as the world called him, was a man who had the reins of his life in his own hands, and that’s what had made you fall for him. He was unpredictable, carefree but most importantly he was himself.

Taking a deep sigh you tried to push these sour thoughts aside and went back to attempting to concentrate on the work at hand. Today was going to be a long day.

Throughout the day you kept scrolling through your instagram feed to check for updates. After hours of struggling with your work you decided to scroll again and that’s when you saw a video, of him. It was uploaded an hour ago. He was walking away from his car escorted by security on all sides, and towards his patiently waiting fans. He was in a crisp black suit, hair gelled away from his face exposing his glowing face. He looked healthy. He looked..clean except for a tiny cut near his mouth. He bowed to his fans and then proceeded to shake their hands one by one. They crying, smiling, too glad to see him, just like you.

And then you just gave up, frustrated beyond limits, tears making their way to the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks, you shut your laptop, left a message on your work group and switched off your cellphone. You just couldn’t take it anymore. As if the torture of being away from him for these years wasn’t enough that you had to go through this too.

You missed him, missed his smell, his touch, his presence. This place that you both had bought together lacked his warmth. He had left only a month after moving into this house and his memories were barely there. When you started this journey with him you thought you’ll make it through with him, waiting on the other side of the line and you would’ve if not for the scandal that followed and shattered your hopes completely.

You rolled in your bed closing your eyes in response to the splitting headache. You laid there for don’t know how long only to be pulled out of your trance by the sound of the door bell.

You got up, heart racing, butterflies in your stomach and just ran towards the door. You twisted the knob slowly with trembling fingers really not ready to face whatever was behind the wooden barrier but the devil completed the deed by pushing it all the way through. You got the wind knocked out of you when your eyes met. His eyes were boring into you, analysing you, his expression not giving a clue.

And then he did the honours accompanied with his dimpled smile, “Long time no see, y/n.”

But you just stood there, frozen to the ground.

“How... are you here?”

“I mean why?”

“What?”

You kept mumbling those nonsense question with tears streaming down you cheeks. Putting you out of your misery he just engulfed you in his strong arms not caring about answering at all and that was more than what you needed.

His touch that you had missed was more than enough to break you into uncontrollable sobs. You poured all your struggles, loneliness in it and heaved into his chest while he just silently brushed your hair with his fingers and kept kissing the top of your head now and then.

When you relaxed after a while he pushed you away from his chest cupping your face into his big hands. He brought his lips to yours and you obliged, welcoming his gesture. This kiss wasn’t to satiate either of your needs, it was a confirmation that he was there for you now.

He still didn’t utter a word instead pulled you towards your bedroom. Once inside he made you sit on the bed and then disappeared out of the room, god knows to do what. You just waited there for him tapping your feet on the floor, nervously.

He returned with a glass of water and a tablet that looked like aspirin. “Take it” he ordered and you took the medicine from his palm. But how did he get to know about your headache which you had clearly forgotten about as soon as you saw him.

“You always get a headache after you cry and you obviously have one now since this is the most I’ve ever seen you cry.” He answered reading the unspoken question in your eyes and a tear slipped again.

“Y/N”, he whispered, kneeling in front of you and wiping the lone tear with the pad of his thumb. “I’m here now.”

“I know but I just..” You let that trail off facing too much difficulty in speaking fearing that you might end up turning on full mode crying. He understood and just gave on of his heart warming smiles.

You both just ended up cuddling together in the warmth of the blanket, his back against the heardboard and your head on his chest, fingers clutching his shirt and his playing with your hair.

“You know I wouldn’t have left if I knew I’ll have to come back to this.” Hearing this made your heart swell and you thought you might just end yo crying again until he said “I mean how much did that evil boss of yours made you work?” He laughed and you pulled away to hit him playfully.

“What?” He asked and you just bowed you head and mumbled an “I missed you” which was barely audible but he somehow listened.

“Come here.” He pulled you to him again and said “Y/N, you’re a strong woman. I know that and I also know my decisions must’ve hurt you a lot for you to cry like that. But the things that happened in the past year I didn’t want you to be dragged into it, at all and that’s why I kept you away from everything, good or bad.”

He paused and took a deep breath to compose himself. You could feel the pain in his words. “When I ordered them to exclude you from everything, I knew I was driving you away from me and there was a chance you might even leave me, I mean why would a woman like you would ever wait for a man like me? But it was a risk I had to take.”

“And here you are waiting for me, shedding those precious tears for me and I’ll be forever grateful for that. Thank you, Y/N. And I love you.”

You got up from his hold and straddled him, wiping your tears with the sleeves of your tshirt. “I love you too” and kissed him with all your might and he reciprocated. Soon the kiss turned heated, lips against lips, tongue fighting for dominance and hands running down everywhere. Stopping abruptly you both pulled back, eyes burning with passion and panting, gulping air to make up for the loss. That’s when you noticed something silver shining around his neck. You pulled the chain from underneath his shirt. It didn’t take you long to recognise that it was the same pendant that you had gifted him on his first birthday away with both your initials engraved on it.

“You wore this?” You asked feeling the engravings with your thumb. Surprise clear in your voice.

“Everyday.”

———————-

My ask box is open. Feel free to drop in requests.

#bigbang #t.o.p #choi seunghyun #tabi #big bang fic #big bang top #big bang #seunghyun

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yoursassyunicorn · 5 years ago

Text

Only You (Only Her)

This is dedicated to @doodwrites and @seedlingsinner, their kindness and support helped me get to this point. Thank you!❤️

Warnings: Swearing, Violence and (hints) of Sexual Violence

If you like, you can also read on ao3 here:

The preparation for the Collapse was starting to take its toll on all of them. In their own ways, it bled through.

With Joseph, it was the strained smiles he wore for his flock when they greeted him and the bags under his eyes that appeared, no matter how much sleep he obtained, although with the Voice speaking to him more frequently, urging him to finish his tasks and the countless sermons to gain as many followers as possible with whatever time they had left, it was not much.

For Jacob, it showed through his Wrath, the impatient gruffs with Joseph, the harsh remarks towards John, and beatings and unnecessary trials for any follower that would push him over the edge. A bomb ready to explode.

John never let it show in front of his brothers, but it showed none the less. Those who needed to confess and reach the atonement faced unimaginable pain and torment. His methods turning more cruel and unwarranted by the day.

Something had to change, someone had to do something. Who better to take that matter into his own blood stained hands then John. He had somehow convinced his brothers to take one night off, no confessions, no sermons and no trials. Granted it was not easy, Jacob had almost laughed at the idea and Joseph expressed his concerns of course, but this was John, using his old school, yet effective lawyer skills, here they were. A small bar on the outskirts of Montana.

Jacob was ready to leave when he saw the sign, ‘50s themed karaoke night.’ Although it was John who convinced his brothers to come, it was Joseph that convinced him to stay.

Going on about how it was important for the family, their family. When they were little, Jacob was the protector, the one to keep John and Joseph safe. So when he saw the sliver of excitement in Johns eyes that came not from something that was torture or confessions, but quality time with his older brothers, Jacob could not bring himself to walk away.

That’s how the infamous Seed brothers found themselves in a corner booth at the back of a scrawny classic all American karaoke bar. The bar was to their left with the exit to their right and a small, raised stage across from them. The air was thick with the smell of booze and cigarettes as the brothers tried to keep a low profile, tonight was about spending quality time with each other that didn’t involve the Project, not drawing attention.

They shared what fond memories they had, but Jacob had to admit it was definitely awkward at first, happy memories was not something the brothers shared. Since Joseph was with him, he couldn't even enjoy a drink, unless he wanted to deal with his younger brother's disappointed look over his shoulder all night. Jacob couldn’t think how it could get any worse.

“All right folks, the karaoke machine is officially open. Don’t be shy!” An overweight middle aged man blared into a microphone on a raised stage, across the room from the brothers.

“Fuck this.” Jacob huffed, completely done playing his little brothers game.

Jacob stood up but Joseph stopped him with a hand on his arm, his eyes silently pleading with Jacob to stay, for John’s sake or his own it didn’t matter, Jacob hesitated for a moment and that’s all it took. Because a heartbeat later he saw her, standing on stage. Microphone in hand and a confident look in her eyes, the woman stared out into the crowd. The familiar sound of guitar hit him like a tidal wave, and the words she started to sing caused Jacob to lower himself back into his seat.

“Only you…”

Her voice was smooth and warm as she sang that damn song that Jacob has become all too familiar with. He could do nothing but stare up at her from across the room. From what Jacob could see from his position, she was average height with a surprisingly strong, medium build. Her small face framed by long dark brunette waves that shined under the stage lights and naturally sun kissed skin.

Jacob didn’t dare say a word, none of his brothers did, the moment too extraordinary to shatter with words of bewilderment. What would he even say? The tension between the brothers could be cut with a knife.

“For its true, you are my destiny…”

Jacob could proudly say the times in his life where he had been speechless, out of breath or caught completely off guard were rare, but when she looked at him as she sang those words that's exactly what happened. She drew him in, a pull he couldn’t explain or ignore. His eyes never left her as she continued to sing and look at the crowd in front of her.

Pull yourself together, soldier! She is just a pretty siren with tits.

Nice ones too…

Jacob forcedly shook his head to shake himself free of his thoughts, but his eyes found their way back to her.

Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, a sparkle to them. It only fascinated him more. His mind swarming with questions.

Who was she?

Why this song?

She did not look like a fifties fan, she wasn't even dressed up for the theme, unless skinny jeans and red flannel somehow managed to sneak their way into the decade.

He doubted it.

His mind kept swarming with scenarios that resulted in his fists clenched on the table in front of him, white knuckles on display. How would she react if he played it for her back at the compound and make her go through the trials? When he asked himself that question something clicked into place inside him, a need...a desire to bring her back with them. With him. It made him feel like he was drowning.

Do not be weak. Stay strong, stay on the path-

Jacob was pulled from his thoughts as the woman locked eyes with him again the breath knocked out of him one last time and all previous thoughts lost, like mist on the wind, as she sang the last and most intimate line of the song. To him.

“You’re my dream come true, my one and only you.” She held that last note as if she was aware it was the last breath her lungs would ever hold.

The world stopped, no one made a sound and seemed like they did not even dare to breathe as she held her gaze with Jacob. Then it shattered, the moment gone as the crowd erupted in cheers, claps and whistles. For the first time since she got on stage Jacob looked around and the feeling of perplexity, and curiosity and need, was snuffed out and replaced with disgust and a primal rage as he saw two men sitting at the bar, both of them eyeing the woman hungrily with half finished beers in their hands, a darkness that practically radiated off them that screamed trouble.

“Jacob.” A gentle hand on his shoulder made him turn to Joseph, his eyes were full of concern for his older brother for what they had just witnessed.

“What the fuck was that?” John finally addressing the elephant in the room, speaking in a harsh whisper, even though it was pointless since the crowd had gone back to loud banter.

“Language, John,” Joseph gently reprehended, not even bothering to look in his direction and causing John to feel guilt and look ashamed as he sunk back into his seat.

Although, Jacob had to agree, what the fuck.

With her voice and beauty no longer drawing him into a daze, Jacob could finally ask himself that exact question.

What the fuck.

He wanted to go over there and ask her that question himself but when he looked back towards the stage, she was gone. Jacob didn’t know what to feel, was disappointment even the right word? He didn’t allow him himself to dwell on it a second more.

Weakness.

But as his eyes scanned the room and found the bar acquire an extra two empty seats he knew what he felt. Rage and panic set in as he shot from his seat and ran towards the exit. His mind and body on auto-pilot, not bothering to check to see if his brothers were following.

He aggressively pushed the door open into the cold night air as it nipped his skin, causing his exposed scarred skin to itch. He didn’t care, nor could he even feel it as he heard his brothers behind him open the door and join him and a blood-curdling scream cut through the air, cut short. He ran towards the source, turning right and sprinting for a few moments until he turned into an ally.

Before he saw red, he saw them, one holding a knife to her throat, his other hand covering her mouth and his friend starting to unbuckle his pants.

Then he saw her. Pushed against the brick wall, hair messy and a bloody nose. The blood dripping onto her captives hand that was still covering her mouth, as he whispered how she would stay there, take them both...and enjoy it.

Jacob didn’t wait a second longer, did not wait for his brothers and did not give the man a chance to see what was happening as he grabbed his hunting knife attached to his side thigh holster, and threw it into the side of the man's skull.

Kill the weak.

“What the fuck?!”

Jacob didn’t even allow the second to draw another breath, as he turned to face his friends motionless body, Jacob snapped his neck with his bare hands.

Cull the herd.

Jacob stared down at his lifeless body, his hand still in his pants, lying face down in the wet concrete. The raging storm inside him calmed, his mission complete.

When he looked up, he did not know what he was expecting, the woman crying, frozen in shock maybe but definitely not her pulling his hunting knife from the man's head, using his shirt to clean the blood off. She started approaching Jacob with the knife outstretched, handing it over. Not a hint of fear on her face.

“Think this belongs to you,” her voice still shaky and raw from screaming, but a sense of relief and calm surrounded her, entrancing Jacob once more.

He took the knife wordlessly, keeping an unreadable expression on his face, finally getting a better look at her. She was still short (to be fair, everyone was compared to Jacob), coming up to his diaphragm. But now he could see the details on her face, full lips, a small nose adorned with a generous amount of freckles which Jacob did not find cute in any way, shape or form and a pair of round eye-doe like eyes accommodating the most striking shade of green Jacob had ever seen.

He had to admit she was beautiful, but the fact that she just pulled his knife from her attackers head and didn't bat an eyelash?

That just turned him on.

A hunger ignited, and it wasn't going away anytime soon. Jacob heard his brothers footsteps behind him, alerting him that they just arrived. His younger brothers stood at the mouth of the alley and waited, knowing that their big brother could handle this.

“Thanks for that. Although I could have taken them,” she said, lazily kicking the body with the snapped neck between them.

Jacob wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not, although he was sure she could handle herself, when he found her it didn’t look like it. Another primal instinct kicked in and it overtook all control as Jacob slowly lifted his hand and used his thumb to wipe her cheek, wiping at the now drying blood smeared on her face. Besides the bloody nose, which he was sure wasn’t broken and had stopped bleeding, there wasn’t much else he could see. But that didn’t calm the quiet rage still sitting in his chest. She jumped from the contact, but didn’t pull away, just made eye contact with the man who had just killed two men with such ease it should have scared her, and held his stare.

“Didn’t look like you had it under control, pup,” his voice dangerously low.

Her head snapped up to lock eyes with him, a look of anger and hint of amusement flashed across her eyes as she pulled away from his touch, Jacob lowered his hand back to his side, the feeling of her warmth still lingering.

“The name is Rook, not pup,” she quipped.

Although she pulled away from his touch, they still stood close enough to be aware of how little distance was between them.

He had to admit, even he was caught off guard with the nickname, he was not sure where it came from or why he even said it but she did remind him of his Judges, a strong warrior that could make the kill look like a thing of beauty. He didn’t understand how she was like a siren singing one minute, and a badass that didn’t have a problem pulling a five-inch hunting knife from a man’s head the next.

For the second time that evening, Jacob wondered just how well she might do in his trials.

A clearing of her throat pulled him from his thoughts.

“Well thanks for that anyway. What will you do with-”

“You should go home.” Jacob didn’t want her thinking about what they would do with the bodies. Joseph and John had finally made their way over, greeting her in a friendly manner.

“We will take care of matters here, go and try to enjoy the rest of your night.” Joseph spoke softly from Jacobs side, a gentle smile on his lips.

Rook didn’t know exactly what that meant but didn't want to dwell on it either. So as she looked at the three imposing men in front of her, she gave them a nod and grabbed her bag that was on the floor. As she made her way towards them again, she stopped to give a hard kick to the man who now had a 5inch hole in his head, the one who had held a knife to her throat and spoke filth in her ear, while letting a few curse words leave her lips.

“Fuck-face,” she spat as she made her way out of the dark alley, causing an unconscious smirk of amusement to pull at Jacobs lips.

Jacob knew her name, knew that there was something that drew him to her but there was still one thing that bothered him, one thing that kept tugging at him, something he had wondered since he heard those first words leave those kissable lips of hers.

“Why that song. Back at the bar, why did you sing that song.” Jacob couldn’t help but call after her, she turned to face him.

At that moment, for a split second, Jacob did not care if it was weakness that gave him the need to call out to her.

John held his breath, Joseph tensed next to Jacob, as his hand clenched hard around the hunting knife he was still holding, his knuckles turning white. All of them watching, waiting for her answer. As if these words were the most important they would ever hear.

“I don’t know,” she started, looking at the ground, her face thoughtful, then looked back up at the brothers, back at Jacob. Looking him dead in the eye, with the hint of a cheeky smirk on her lips, she continued,

“...but there's something almost captivating about it, don’t you think?”

She didn’t wait for their response, they didn’t have one, as she turned and walked out of the ally and down the street. Like she didn’t know the full weight of that sentence, was oblivious to how much her world was about to change.

“Joseph-” Jacob started, his voice taking on a low dangerous edge.

“I know, Jacob,” was all Joseph said. It was all Jacob needed. He had just given Jacob what he wanted, what he needed, what he could only get from Joseph.

Permission.

Permission to go after her, to bring her back with him, to make her a part of the Project, to bring her home. By his side.

That was her purpose.

Let the hunt begin.

#my writing #fc5 #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 fic #Jacob Seed #female deputy #its my first fic so please be kind?#swearing #some violence #some polyseed

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velathetanager · 5 years ago

Text

Child’s Play

Chapter 11: Cover of Darkness

Soldine dropping by the chapel almost never happened. When it did, everyone stood at attention. "Where is Chaos Kin? I have to speak with her."

“She left to explore. Why? What’s up?” Pancakes asked.

"We have discovered what may be a Freak lair and we want her to investigate." Soldine turned on a projector, showing a video of a volcano. "We've narrowed down the location to this volcano, and since Chaos has pyrokinesis and dragon based powers, we decided she would be best suited for the job."

Hero, who had glamoured herself into invisibility, crawled out of an open window to go get Chaos.

Who was in big city, walking around without a care.

"Top of the afternoon to ya, lass," came Hero's voice.

“Hey Hero, what’s up?” She turned to greet her.

"You're needed back at the chapel. That Soldine said there was a-" A brownie hit Hero square in the chest, turning her eyes red. She held up the middle finger at the person responsible. "Underling, I swear-"

Underling laughed. "Heard you fairies weren't too fond of weed. That right?"

Chaos caught the brownie. "So you bought some from the Undead Stoner Scouts just to throw it at her? Waste of brownie and weed,"

"Made her mad. Worth every second," the Freak grinned.

"So what's this I hear about the Tin Can?" "He needs Chaos for a mission."

"Wasn't because you were supposed to go register with HECU?"

"Nope." Hero smirked. "They haven't come for me yet."

"Enjoy that while it lasts," Underling said. Then he opened Hero's helmet and shoved a brownie in her mouth.

Hero's wings turned blood red and she scowled. "You've gotta go without me," she told Chaos, drawing her sword and taking off after the laughing Underling.

"Dang, i was gonna eat that." She headed off to the chapel.

Soldine briefed her on the scenario. "Recently there was a huge storm that wiped out an HECU base populated by our robot division. We were able to track one of the two sources of the energy that formed this storm to a volcano, and we want you to go check it out."

"What's in it for me?" Chaos asked leaning against the wall.

Soldine handed her a slip of paper with an amount of money written on it.

She needed that money. "How soon?"

"As soon as possible. This Freak destroyed one of our bases just by fighting another one. And he wasn't even that close to the base, the storm was just that strong. The sooner we know who he is, the better."

"Alright, I'm off then." With that, she teleported away.

The volcano was draped in a thick black cloud of what was probably soot.The heat was searing and there was an ever-sounding growl around Chaos.

"Whoever this guy is, he wants to be left alone." Chaos said to herself as she started up the volcano, the heat gave her an attack and speed boost.

A pair of red eyes shone in front of Chaos. "Who are you?"

Chaos observed it, trying to see if she could make out a body. "Depends, who's asking?"

"You can consider me a representative of the guy who owns this place."

She couldn't see anything. "Alright. I'm one of the new Freaks. They call me Chaos Kin."

"Chaos? Hmm. He's not sure about that name."

"Well I choose it. If he wants to fight me about it, I'll happily oblige." She pulled out her sword, clearly offended.

"Eh, alright," the voice said, and the clouds took the form of a giant serpent.

Chaos got ready to fight.

The serpent lunged at Chaos, jaws open wide.

She teleported behind it, but it turned before she could strike, spewing lava from its mouth.She teleported right outside its range. Thank goodness for speed boosts.

The serpent seemed to grin. "Not bad. Not bad at all," it said, hissing and attacking again.

She summoned blue and purple flames to show off her dragon power, and the serpent scoffed.

"Two can play at that game," it said, shapeshifting into a terrifying dragon.

She kept her eyes locked on it.

The dragon swiped at Chaos with its claw. She grabbed the claw and hopped onto the dragon’s back, and it grinned and turned back into smoke, letting her fall.

"Smooth." She teleported herself to the ground after seeing the castle up ahead. "Well, I've seen enough. besides I said he could fight me, not an extension of himself." She teleported herself to the gates. "So what's it going to be? Continue to be a coward or fight me yourself?"

Fire burst from where she was, searing her as the gates opened. "Put down that too-big sword before someone gets hurt."

"What? Too afraid you can't handle its power?"

The person stepped out of the cave, and Chaos could faintly see a grin on his face. "Not exactly."

As the person came face to face with her, he frowned.

"You remind me of someone," he declared as the area darkened. "Someone connected to this guy I can't stand."

Chaos held her sword and kept her ground. She wouldn’t let the fear take over.

When it cleared, a huge robot with a red halo around its head appeared in front of her.

“Coward.”

"For shapeshifting?"

She paused. “Hold up... you’re not hiding in that thing. YOU ARE THAT THING?!”

"Yep.”

And with that word, her chances of victory dropped immensely. “F***,” she whispered to herself.

Meanwhile, Hero had chased Underling to a forest. "GET BACK HERE, YOU SPAWN OF A ZTASRE!""Where am I, Hero? Come on, find me!" Hero blasted a tree, turning it to ash. "I WILL COME OVER THERE AND-"

Underling saw something watching from a distance, stalking the two.

Hero saw it, too. "Underling, what are you doing?"

"Wait, that isn't you?!?"

A pause, and then... "We should go."

"Right behind you.

“I see you two have finally stopped your bickering,” the person called out.

Hero shuddered, as if the voice carried enough authority to physically affect her. "Y-yes, we have."

“Good. Now, would you mind telling me why you two have been causing property damage?”

"Underling here decided it was a good idea to put in my mouth a substance that causes me dramatic changes in behavior," Hero bit out, and Underling glared. "You told your archnemesis what a weakness of yours was. What did you think would happen?"

Hero opened her mouth, then closed it. "Fair."

Underling was already calling up smoke to get out of the forest.

“Arch enemies? But you’re both so young.”

"We are involved in the superhero realm. He is the Joker to my Batman."

"I see... I could offer a way for you to to continue your battles without causing trouble for the rest of the world. A place where you," he looked to Underling, "could cause as much mischief as you wanted, while your arch nemesis could stop you."

Hero frowned. "I mean no offense, but I would prefer to know who I am doing business with."

Underling nodded, still constructing a way out. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"My name is how i do my work. By the Book."

"Perhaps you could come closer?" Hero asked, ignoring Underling's whispered protests.

He did as she asked, then realized it: the missing King of a rival faction of fairies was standing before her.

Hero stared, then dropped to one knee, plunging her sword into the ground. "Your Majesty."

"Now now, no need for that overly formal business," he helped her back up.

Underling went white. "You know him, Hero?" "A King among my people," came the reply. Underling tilted his head, then bowed awkwardly.

"Now, what do you say. Would you like your fame and glory?" A wave of trust washed over the two.

Back at the volcano Chaos was still fighting, trying her best to get a way to defeat the titanium titan she stood on the shoulder of.

The titan stuck out a long tongue and swiped at Chaos with it.

She tried to jump over it. she was running out of steam.

The titan was grinning. "Out of fight already?"

"Not until my final breath is drawn!" She huffed and puffed. That's when he realized something, his minion was in danger.He had to wrap up this fight and soon.

He sighed and blasted her with a shadow, knocking her out, then placed her in a room in his castle before setting out.

He finally got to notice what damage she did cause, scratches and small bruises. She had fight, but not enough to take down a god. A smile crossed his face. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."

Meanwhile, Hero was trying to keep some semblance of a presence of mind. "What do you want in return?"

"Something only you can give me." Another wave of trust as he held over the contracts to give him possession of their souls.

Hero clenched her teeth. "What would you do with it?"

"Care and nurture it of course."

Hero frowned. "I don't suppose you are kind enough to explain?"

"You see, I need souls in order to maintain a human form ever since those insufferable Unseelies cursed me. However, purchasing a soul connects me to that person in a paternal manner,"

"Wait, the Unseelie Court? I thought you were their king."

"No. They kidnapped me, told be I would be their king, and subjected me to torture and unimaginable pain,"

Underling winced at the accompanying wave of emotion. "Ouch. That sucks."

"Indeed," Book answered.

Underling, against his better judgement, asked, "What was the form, even?"

"A horrible spider creature," The form started to reveal itself in his shadow, and Mal could sense Underlings fear.

Underling almost paled. "Interesting," he said, looking around to run.

"Please, allow me to better control it and I will give you anything you want." A wave of greed went over the pair after that phrase, and a strong wave at that.

Hero, as a Seelie, was less affected than Underling. "His master is a god, Your Majesty. He's pretty set."

"Can your master give you your own world to rule over or would he hog it for himself?"

"He doesn't want to," Underling admitted.

"He exists to cause chaos." Hero frowned. "To my dismay." She grabbed Underling's hand, wings stretching.

"I could give you that world. You could surpass your master,"

Underling scoffed. "I don't want to, though. I'm content messing with Hero."

"I could leave you here," the mentioned Freak threatened.

"But you wouldn't."

"I would prefer it if you two stayed," crooned Book, and Hero found herself unable to leave.

"D-did you just pull rank on me?"

"Possibly."

Underling frowned. "He can do that?"

"He is a King. I am a disgraced bodyguard. Yes, he can do that." The area around the three began to darken, but nobody noticed.

"Disgraced?" Underling asked.

"By a lousy scrap of scum on the Earth known as-"

"Hustler? Yes I heard."

"How did you find out?"

“He told me himself,”

Underling stared. "Did you steal his soul, too?"

“No. He managed to get away.”

Hero looked into Book's mind to check what he wanted with the three and if he was telling the truth. Her wings turned white when she saw something. "Karde..."

The second the order time ran out, she picked up Underling and threw him in the air. Then she spread her wings to follow.

“Stay,” the order went back into place.

Hero watched Underling fly off and the darkness around her disappear as she responded, "Yes, Your Majesty."

The titan brought Underling to the castle just as Chaos was waking up. "Imagine her shock when she realizes it's almost nighttime down there," Underling grinned.

"Try not to tell her," came the response, and then the figure approached Chaos. "Pleasant rest?"

"Why am I not dead?" She couldn't see to well at the moment.

"I didn't want to kill you. Where's the fun in that?"

She raised an eyebrow slightly.

A RED Demo with an Ethereal Hood, Horseman's Hand-Me-Down, and Dark Age Defender stood in front of her. "You provided a decent workout. Call me Mal, kid. Short for the Malevolence."

She nodded then tried to stand up.

"So what brings you here? I don't get many visitors."

"HECU sent me here after you and another freak destroyed one of their robot operated Bases.

"Oh. My fights with my brother. They always start up storms."Mal shrugged. "We didn't sense life down there."

"There was none, but there was a lot of technology destroyed. They hate losing tech."

"That stuff didn't seem to do any good against that one guy." Mal sat down at a small desk. "What's the use of having it if it doesn't work?"

"They did work, until you and your 'brother' showed up,"

"Fat lot of good they did against that punk eyeball."

She tilted her head slightly. "Monoculus?"

"No, the one in the house. That wrecked the HECU guys when they tried to raid the place."

"Oh yeah.. Writhe.. The thing that could have wiped us all out. If not thanks to this," She summoned a purple flame in her hand.

"Heh. Fire always disagreed with it. That was a treat to watch."

"So you have all this power and you did nothing with it?"

"It was a demon. I am a god. I am so far beyond it that intervention is silly. Besides, those matters I'm supposed to leave to you mortals to figure out. Supposed to, anyway. I would have intervened if I'd decided you guys couldn't handle it."

"So... does that mean you know about..."

"Your episodes? Yes. For help with that, you would need to go to my boring, goody two shoes brother." Mal hissed once he mentioned his brother.

“The one you fight with to cause storms?

"Yep." Mal opened a portal to an immensely beautiful ice castle. "Showoff," he bit out. "More than the eye's human vessel." Then he stood. "Underling was quite the help in that fight, wasn't he?"

“What do you mean? I didn’t meet him until after the fight,”

Mal grinned. "That's for me to know and you to wonder about,” he laughed. "You need a ride home?"

“Probably.. I can’t think clearly enough at the moment to teleport.”

Mal smiled and turned into a dragon. "Hop on."

She didn’t seem to trust Mal, but he rolled his eye.

"Look, if I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. Get. On."

She sighed and hopped on. No use fighting it while injured.

#Child's Play #Chaos Kin #Malevolence #Underling #Hero #Benevolence (mentioned)

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pearlll09 · 5 years ago

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@whumptober2019 Day 6, dragged away!

As usual: Ineffable husbands, cw blood and kinda torture. Fic under cut.

Aziraphale kneels on the ground, tear marks staining his cheeks as he stares at the charred mark on the ground before him. The day had started so nice, too.

He and Crowley met early that morning in the park, having a lovely day planned out. First, they stood by the pond and fed the ducks upon Aziraphale’s insistence. When he found out that bread was actually bad for ducks, and thought back to how many times he has fed them bread, he felt it was his duty to make things right. Crowley pointed out that feeding them the right food now wasn’t going to change feeding them bread in the past, but Aziraphale didn’t quite understand, so Crowley let it go.

Once they had emptied their bag of mixed vegetables and Aziraphale saw that it was properly disposed of, they went for a nice walk. This was Crowley’s suggestion because he wanted to see if anyone in the park had fallen for his pranks. Spreading chaos might not be necessary for him anymore, but it was still enjoyable. Even Aziraphale had a few chuckles as Crowley fell for some of the pranks.

They had planned a picnic for after that, but now the food lay scattered on the ground around them, the shattered wine bottle giving the grass its first taste of alcohol, and the food slowly becoming victims to the bugs and animals in the area.

Hell came back for them.

It was hard to tell who exactly they had tried to grab, to be honest, for they caused quite the scuffle when the demons arrived. In the end, it was Crowley they had managed to drag away, taking him back to Hell and leaving behind only the scorch mark on the sidewalk. Now, he could be suffering unimaginable tortures, or, even worse – they might be trying to kill him again. Permanently.

Aziraphale’s expression grows hard. He steels himself and stands, hands clenched tightly as he makes up his mind. If Hell wanted a fight, they’d get one. He was going to do whatever he needed to do to get Crowley back.

The bookshop is his first stop. It might seem unnecessary, but he can’t go unarmed. Crowley isn’t the only one hiding things in secret compartments behind paintings. It had to be hidden - he couldn’t risk anyone getting their hands on it. He pries the frame from the wall, revealing the gleaming sword he’s kept secret for all these years. He gave away his flaming sword, yes, but he was tasked with guarding the gate of Eden; protecting the oasis and all those living inside. God made sure he had more than one weapon on hand.

Pulling it out, he tests its weight, getting a feel for its familiar grip in his hand. He gives it a few test swings to make sure it’s still okay before replacing the picture on the wall. If the bookshop were left in disarray when Crowley returns, he’d fret over Aziraphale, which is definitely not something he wants. What he does want, however, is to get Crowley back, or die trying. And if he’s going to go, he may as well go with style.

He uses the front door. It would be hard to disguise his angelic presence once he got down there, so he might as well face the problem head-on. The escalator carries the scent of smoke and sulfur as it takes him down, reminding him that Hell is a dangerous place lurking behind the facade of a dingy office basement.

There’s an ethereal glow around him as he encounters the first few demons, his sword hanging casually at his side, but still pointed up enough to be threatening. “Hello,” he greets with a smile he’s picked up from Crowley – more threatening than anything. “I’m looking for Crowley. Have you seen him?”

The demons were wise enough to point him in the right direction and leave him well enough alone. Lower demons would never stand a chance against him. The convoluting hallways eventually lead to a shriek ringing in Aziraphale’s ears; one that is unmistakably familiar and one he never wants to hear again.

The door is cracked open, allowing him easy access as he bursts through, temporarily blinding the demons inside as he assesses the situation.

“Angel?” Crowley croaks, tears running down his face and deep, black blood running down his arms from slashes near the top. His wrists are rubbed raw from trying to get free of the ropes tying him to the chair.

Aziraphale’s vision goes red. He vaguely remembers the movements, the thrusts and jabs, the parries, the dodging to and fro, but he doesn’t remember much else. All he knows is there had been several demons in the room when he first entered, a few he vaguely recognized, and the next thing, he was huffing and panting, and the only demon with him was Crowley.

He drops the sword and quickly falls to Crowley’s side, untying the ropes binding him to the chair.

“Angel,” he croaks again, trying to stand but falling into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he stands as well. Aziraphale catches him, holding him steady. “You – you’re here.”

“Of course I am, my dear,” he mutters. “Let’s get you out of here before they come back, and we can address those wounds.”

Crowley nods silently, letting Aziraphale put an arm around his shoulders after he picks the sword up. He does the same to Aziraphale, getting the support he needs to walk as Aziraphale brandishes the sword threateningly in front of him to get through the demons and back to Earth.

Fic here on Ao3 for the others!

#whumptober2019 #no.6 #good omens #whump #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #blood #torture #my fic #ao3

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teamatsumu · 7 years ago

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Remembering Him

Summary: The reader can play with minds and memories. She gets hired by Tony Stark to restore a certain super soldier’s memories.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,433

Warnings: None.

A/N: This one came to after a bout of insp. within 1 hour. Tell me what yall think pls!

You had always looked at your accident as more of a curse than a gift.

The current that went through your body had caused major permanent changes, and suddenly you heard voices, so many and all at once. It took only minutes to figure out you were hearing people’s thoughts, and the revelation had shocked you to your core.

For the next two months, you had worked on trying to manage your….. situation. Overtime, you learned that not only could you read thoughts, you could manipulate them as well. It had taken a lot of willpower that you didn’t even know you possessed, to build up a wall that separated your mind from everyone else’s. You kept everything happening to you on the down low. You were too afraid of what would happen if anyone found out. You had no doubt that if the wrong people got to you, they would use you for unimaginable things.

So when Tony Stark had showed up at your apartment door, you nearly had a heart attack. He hadn’t even started speaking before you knew what he was there for. Self defence kicked in, and before you knew it, you had scanned his brain for what he wanted.

You still acted all surprised when he told you about it. He knew what you could do, and he wanted you to restore a certain super soldier’s memories.

“You can manipulate.” He had said. “And as far as my study goes, you can also push and pull whatever memories you want. So come help him. I’m offering you a job. Name your price.”

So here you were, two days later, staring up at the huge sparkling building above you as people moved around you, getting your luggage out of the car Stark had sent you and into the building. Speaking of Stark, he was right there at the entrance, the sun reflecting off his shades. He was wearing casual clothing, a band tee and jeans. A man stood next to him, built heavily with bulging muscles, but with soft blond hair and blue eyes. It was Captain America, you recognized him immediately.

Greetings were slightly stiff, and you could understand why. You were here to go through his best friend’s head, scourge around his brain and set his mind right. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable with the idea, and it was Stark who was giving you a chance.

The building was just as pristine on the outside as it was on the inside. Beautiful indoor plants, white marble floors and floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Stark led you to your room and told you to freshen up.

“No reason to delay what you’re here for.” he said.

You were well aware of what you were dealing with. You had spent the last 48 hours researching every nook and cranny of Bucky Barnes’ story. You had scanned inside out everything Stark had sent you. You knew as much as you could about him. He had been brainwashed and wiped, tortured and used and wiped again to an unbelievable degree. It would take a lot of effort to restore him back to who he was before what HYDRA did to him, but you were willing to try.

Bucky Barnes’ story broke your heart, and if you could do something to help him get back even a semblance of his sanity, you would try it.

“We had to keep him in isolation after the whole showdown with HYDRA,” Steve told you as he ushered you down a long corridor. Your footsteps echoed against the marble floor. “He’s jumpy, scared. I don’t think he realizes just how much he has done, and who he was before he did all that he did.”

The end of the corridor bore two doors. Steve pointed to one.

“Me, Tony and Natasha will be watching from there. The minute he tries something, someone will be there to get you out unharmed. He’s in that room.” He pointed to the other door.

You blinked. “So, I’m just supposed to walk in there?” You stared at Steve. “And say what? ‘Hey I’m here to completely invade your privacy, aka go through your head like it’s my own personal museum.’ Great conversation starter, really.”

Steve sighed. “Then don’t tell him what you’re doing. Just do it. Look, we're really out of options here. ”

But he’ll know. You wanted to protest. He’ll feel me in his head.

Instead, you merely nodded, knowing you had to get to the brain search at some point. Why not start it from the get go?

The room was completely white, large and fairly empty. There was a bed against one wall, a small table next to it with two water bottles, both empty. Two chairs stood against the wall next to the door. A table stood opposite to the bed, stacked with books. Your quick scan caught the title ‘World War II’ on one of the books.

Bucky sat on neither the bed or any of the chairs. He sat against the wall opposite to the door, on the floor. One leg was bent with his arm resting on the knee, the other was stretched forward. His metal arm was resting on his side, seemingly relaxed

His eyes were the only thing that moved when you opened to door. You thought for less than a second before taking a seat on the chair next to the door, directly opposite to him. He stared at you in what was supposed to be an intimidating way, but you strangely didn't feel scared. Maybe it was the reassurance of someone watching through the window over the bed.

He had to know it was a two way glass. He wasn't stupid. He wouldn't try anything.

It was a good five minutes later that he finally spoke.

“Who are you?” His voice was just loud enough for you to hear.

“My name is Y/N,” you were slowly bringing the barrier around your head down, preparing to let his thoughts enter your brain.

“Why are you here?”

The walls lowered completely and you shrugged. “To talk.”

You waited for the voices to come in, hushed but clear. Instead you got….. nothing.

“Talk about what?”

You didn't reply, too confused about what was happening.

“I…. I can't hear you.”

Bucky lifted his head up slightly, repeating what he had said, but louder. “Talk about what?”

“No,” you shook your head and got off the chair, walking towards him. You couldn't believe it. Was it because he was a super soldier? Was that it? Was that why you couldn't hear his thoughts? You crouched down right in front of him. His entire body was tense, eyeing you warily.

You leaned forward to look him straight in the eyes, squinting slightly in effort to hear something. Anything.

“What are you doing?” he bit out, voice strained. You knew he wouldn't hurt you. Not unless you gave him a very good reason to. You shook your head again, standing and abruptly turning to walk out of the room.

Steve and Tony walked out of the next room at the same time as you, both with confusion on their faces.

“I can't hear him,” you stated, still slightly out of sorts. “Not a word. Not even a whisper.”

Tony sighed. “I suspected that.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “Barnes has had his brain be the main center of attack for about 70 years now. It's bound to be a bombsite in there. His thoughts are there, just not as easily accessible as the rest of ours.”

“What- what does that mean?”

Tony sighed, eyes glancing at Steve and then back at you. “You're gonna need his permission to go through his head.”

“No.”

His tone made it clear that there was no room for discussion.

“No. No way. Not a chance.”

Steve sighed. “Buck-”

“I had HYDRA nitpick every part of my brain for over half a century. If you think I'm going to let someone else do the same, you're wrong.”

“That's the thing. I won't manipulate. I won't change anything. I'll just move things around. All your memories, they're locked up in a box somewhere in there. We just have to find that box and unlock it. I can't do that if you won't let me in.”

Silence took over after that. Bucky’s eyes were wide in thought. He knew there was more to him than what HYDRA had last out in there. If he had been alive for over 70 years, like Steve said, then there was so much more to him than just the last two weeks, which was currently all he remembered.

He nodded his head slightly, it was clear from his tense posture that he felt dread creep into him, and you let out a breath.

“You can trust me.” You sat down on the floor a few paces away from him.

“That's the thing.” he replied. “I don't know if I can.”

You didn't know what else to say, so you just took a breath and started to lower your walls.

“The minute it gets too uncomfortable, you have to let me know.”

Steve left the room along with Tony. Before the door shut, you heard Tony speak.

“Alright, Day One. Let's see how this goes.”

You smiled at Bucky as he took a deep breath, wind ruffling through his hair and giving it a carefree tousled look. There were bags under his eyes that most likely resembled yours, but despite their presence, a serene expression prevailed on his face.

“How does it feel?”

He looked at you then, eyes half-closed in exhaustion. He was worse off than you, he had gotten almost no sleep in the past week. Between your sessions you'd sneak a half hour in here and there while he processed some new information you were able to dig out and bring to the forefront. He had too much to deal with to even think about resting.

“You need to sleep on it Buck. You're about to drop.”

He seemed different now, like he had aged in just a week. His eyes weren't hollow anymore. They held stories, memories. It was a refreshing sight to see.

He nodded at your words and shuffled back from the railing, moving inside. He had wanted to take in some fresh air, saying the room suffocated him now. You asked Tony to give a new room, that looked more like a bedroom and less like an asylum room. He had agreed. You and him headed inside then, and you led him to his new room. His eyes fell shut as soon as his body hit the bed. You smiled and started to leave.

His hand caught your wrist and you turned around to see him looking at you.

“Thank you.” His voice was a mere whisper, but you heard it clear as day.

You nodded and shot him one last smile before heading out of the room and into yours. You knocked out before you formed another coherent thought.

Watching Bucky slowly sink into who he used to be was fascinating, and it brought you an extreme amount of pride.

Just a month ago, he had been this broken shell of a human being who couldn't remember his own name. Now he could tell you stories of the ‘good old days’ as he called it, and enjoy what he had lived through. You would listen to every word, not having the heart to stop him whenever he started a story with ‘back in the day’, even though you knew every detail of it. After all, you had lived in Bucky’s head for a full week. Every memory he had now was a result of you digging into his mind.

Every now and then, he would collapse under the weight of what he had done as the Winter Soldier, but you knew that on the inside, he knew it wasn't his fault. The whole point of the growing process was to help him accept that fact and learn to live with it. To create a new life for himself where he could know everything he had done, yet still make peace with it and not let it halt his life.

“Why did you do it?”

You blinked away your thoughts and turned to look at Bucky. Laughter echoed through your ears, people were talking and laughing, enjoying the breeze and the after rain smell. Bucky had his eyes closed, back against the bench, body relaxed.

“What?”

“Why'd you help me?” He elaborated. “Your pay wasn't that great. I asked Tony. It was good, but it wasn't worth hearing me scream and shake and cry for a week straight. Anyone else would have gone up and left within a day of it. You didn't even know me that well.”

You sighed and looked back at the park. A group of kids had decided to hold hands and spin around. A guy was playing a guitar under a tree.

“Walk with me?” You asked, standing up. Bucky complied.

You were silent for a while, thinking about how to answer Bucky’s question. He waited for your reply, knowing it was coming. There was this harmonious connection between you two now. You had lived a full 70 years with him. It didn't get any more intimate than that.

“I don't know why I stayed at first,” you began. “But then, I saw you grasp memory after memory like it was air and you couldn't breathe. I watched you drink everything in. And I just knew I couldn't leave. You needed this. Who was I to snatch that away from you?”

You stopped walking, causing him to follow suit and look at you.

“I saw you Bucky. The real you. In that one week, I learned about you inside out, and I…. I was hooked.”

Bucky’s eyes darted between yours, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Is that your way of saying that you like me?”

You laughed and shrugged, grinning. “I suppose it is.”

He grinned to match yours, and then his lips were pressed against yours too, moving slowly, ever so softly. His hands caressed your skin in a way the wind around you couldn't, and you shivered, kissing him harder.

The laughter, the voices, the talking, it was all far far away. Here, it was just you and him alone in your own little world.

He pulled away and rested his forehead to yours, bodies pressed together.

“That was my way of telling you I like you back.”

Permanent Tags:

@gobletofweasley @rhiisnotawitch @fandomnerdsarecool @embrace-themagic @shuriismyqueen @just-saying-26

Bucky Barnes Tags: -

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #avengers #marvel imagine #ca:tws #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic

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the-fangirl-lorax · 7 years ago

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Bewitched: The Before.

The seven boys sat around the table in the kitchen of an elder of the largest pack in their area, an older woman who been entrusted with the secrets of the generations past. Seven pairs of eyes focused intently on the older woman as she let out a shaky breath before beginning the tale.

It was a world away from ours, long before our time. A group of misfits bound together in their suffering. Bound by their longing to break free from the life forced upon them by their parents. Co-existing despite their differences. But those differences were what ultimately made them stronger and brought them closer together. They became a family, a tight-knit group that genuinely cared for one another.

When their fathers eventually tracked down the group of runaways after they’d gotten sloppy and attended a dance. not thinking they still needed to hide. Little did they know, they’d walked right into the grasp of their former families.

***

They ran. The pounding of their feet on the pavement matched the pounding of their hearts. No one spoke a word, not one dared to glance back as they ran. Their eyes were fixated on the horizon, their minds filled with the gruesome thoughts of what may happen if their caught. The pack they had fled were notorious for the cruel punishments that were administered to those who attempted to escape. The rumours were enough to cause nightmares, the evidence too brutal and cruel to explain. The need to be free spurred the group on and they kept running until one of them couldn’t run anymore.

The legs of the second oldest gave way and he collapsed to the ground. They all came to a halt, their hopes of freedom from the suffocating grip of that disgusting pack surrounding them was slowly slipping from their fingers. Their leader launched into action almost immediately, leaning down to pull his friend from the ground. The youngest joined his hyung and slung the other arm over his shoulder. They got moving again but they were too late, much too slow. The breath of the youngest caught in his throat as his terrified eyes met his father’s blazing glare. The tension between the opposing sides swirled and collided in the air with every breath, it was to dense it was almost visible to the keen eyes of the werewolves. The leader of the seven selflessly stepped forward. He was fully prepared to offer himself up in place of his brothers in hopes they may stand a chance of escaping.

Before he could move closer to the snarling elders, a weary hand gripped his shoulder and held him in place. He glanced to the side and locked eyes with the second oldest. Although he was past the point of exhaustion, there was no way Yoongi was leaving Namjoon to fend for himself like this. The pair were soon joined by Taehyung, Seokjin, Jimin, Jungkook and Hoseok. Namjoon mentally warned the others that the war had been lost for them, that they should run while they still could. His thoughts were met by vicious protests from the others.

“We stand together or not at all Namjoon. We’re not leaving,” Yoongi growled, having forced himself to stir up all his remaining drive and energy. There was a chorus of agreement, the decision made. They would fight.

***

“The whole ordeal was brutal, those poor boys were beaten half to death by their families then dragged back to the den of the pack. They were brought before a warlock, who lay a curse on the young men. He bound them to eternal re-birth. In each life they’d be fiercely driven by an incessant need for revenge, never getting to truly experience life until their final one. They were forced to endure unimaginable methods of torture before they passed on,” the woman explained, her eyes raising to the faces of the boys around the table, scanning their reactions. Only one of the seven seemed suspicious of the reasoning behind her explanation.

“It was thought, for some time actually, that those poor souls had finally passed on but then we got word of the seven of you. You seven are currently living the final life, suffering due to what occurred centuries ago.” Her words hung in the air like smoke, those who sat before her were shocked into silence. Namjoon shakily cleared his throat before leaning on the table, his worried eyes glancing up at her.

“What does this have to do with our partners?” he asked and the others nodded, each curious as to how their girlfriends fit into this tale.

“The warlock took pity on you and decided to aid your happiness in your last lives. He knew you’d need protection, someone to make sure you truly pass on correctly this time. So, he granted each of you a witch. Someone who’s purpose would be loving each of you for who you are as individuals,” she explained and they all nodded in unison. No wonder it was considered so rare, because it had never happened before. The seven exchanged looks then made an agreement.

They needed to know more.

A/N: Here’s a bit of background on the boys and how they all managed to fall for witches. If I didn’t make this clear enough or you have any questions feel free to ask and I’ll gladly answer them. I hope this helps make their world a little clearer. ~the-fangirl-lorax.

Masterlist //FAQ //Request

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saferincages · 7 years ago

Photo

a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me.

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that.

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating.

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.”

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

#does this even make sense idk but here it is anyway #anakin skywalker #love can ignite the stars #encouraged to love #star wars #luminous beings are we #look what a *toy* caused me #i am a ridiculous person #bubble wrap around my heart #spirituality #the little girl who was always tired #chronic illness #it took me three hours from start to finish to actually get this posted sigh #but it was important to me even if nobody reads it #you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it #sw meta #it's not really but i'll file it there

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colethewolf · 7 years ago

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ravewulf(.)tumblr(.)com/post/163778147780/hi-i-saw-that-you-were-one-of-the-few-that what you think?

I definitely got a headache from reading all of that. Ravewulf really loves to pretend that Jeff Davis is just an average, everyday, completely harmless & lovable showrunner that acts like every other showrunner in existence. He acts like Jeff doesn’t maliciously do things to provoke & antagonize people. And he pretends as though Jeff Davis isn’t a compulsive liar.

The first thing he does is proclaim that Jeff twists the truth & misleads people to keep important plot details from getting spoilers. In reality, we know that’s a lie, because Jeff Davis has blatantly lied to fans about a variety of things. He has kept his own cast members & fellow co-workers in the dark about things. And has continuously gone on to pretend that something in the show is more important than originally perceived, not because it actually is, but because he’s too lazy to fix his own plot holes.

Next, he goes onto say that one of the reasons people hate Jeff is because fan expectation corrupted what fans want the show to be VS. what the show actually is. He says that fans have gotten it into their heads that Teen Wolf was a light & happy show, instead of it actually being a dark & intelligently written show... which is why it doesn’t make sense when fans complain about fan favorites being tortured, not being happy, out of character moments, & plot holes.

First off, the show did use to be a funny, somewhat light-hearted, & ridiculously campy show. Sure, there was violence, emotion, blood, guts, mystery, darkness, etc. But the main difference is that the show didn’t take itself too seriously. You had main characters that were high-schoolers, that tried to live as normal high schoolers whilst dealing w/ the supernatural. There was humor. There were light moments that balanced out all of the serious moments.

The show doesn’t do that anymore. It hasn’t honestly done that since season two. The show takes itself way too seriously now & tries too hard to be clever & shocking. Jeff tries so fucking hard to move in a direction that fans won’t see coming, that in the end, it just doesn’t make fucking sense. I mean... a werelion Nazi? Are you fucking serious? Stealing plotlines from Sterek fanfic? Really? Kate coming back from the dead as some sort of werejaguar bonewoman La Loba because she drank rainwater out of a paw print? Literally....fuck off.

Also, completely disregarding plot holes, continuous & unnecessary abuse of certain characters (ahem...Derek), and total out of character-ness (Derek being completely chill & zen for no fucking reason) & (Stiles not even showing signs of PTSD after being possessed)...ugh. This isn’t cleverness. This is just lazy, unimaginative writing. This is just Jeff Davis throwing bullshit at the wall, hoping that it sticks, and hoping that fans will be too tired to point out how it all doesn’t make sense.

Teen Wolf derailed the entire show the moment Jeff & the writers fell into the whole, “darker & scarier equals better” formula. Which isn’t an exaggeration. Literally, each new season is promo’d as being “this is going to be the scariest season ever”, “looool, we’re going to go darker than ever this time”. And guess what...it’s nonsense. But the writers are completely aware of their absolute failure at keeping the show popular, so they continue their attempt to infuse new seasons with season 1-2 nostalgia... things like lacrosse, carbon copied characters for the show’s new generation, Mason’s out of place, watered-down, completely dry impression of Stiles’ S2 happy-go-lucky humor...ugh.

Okay, so then ravewulf decides to say that the PR is to blame for most of the shit that went down with the show & the mistreatment of fans, and that people blame Jeff Davis for everything when they shouldn’t. Not true. Ex-fans blame Jeff, the writers, & the PR department as a collective, because they all played their hand in destroying the show & tormenting the fans.

Jeff does, in fact, take the brunt of the fandom’s anger. As he should. And why’s that? Well, it’s because he’s the showrunner. It is his job to lead the show & it’s his job to speak out when things go wrong. Thus far, he has completely ignored his duties as a showrunner & the fans aren’t going to play games with him. Every other showrunner will take to social media or release some sort of interview or statement to help ease fandom unrest for any sort of reason, but Jeff has been silent since 2012 because he can’t handle critique, criticism, & simple trolls. Other showrunners also try to improve their weaknesses & fix errors within their show. Jeff ignores everything and has barreled forward through multiple seasons with the hope that fans will forget...we didn’t.

Not only that, but Jeff has prided himself as the showrunner multiple times. He has openly bragged about being not weighed down by MTV executives & that they typically don’t cast shadows over whatever creative vision he wants to implement into the show. And he has boasted to fans that he is the one that makes the decisions, that fans have no say in what happens, & that he’s going to do whatever he wants whether people like it or not. That’s not how you make a show...that’s how you get your show knocked down from scoring 2+ million views per episode, right down to barely scraping by with 400k views.

So....Jeff’s going to take every bit of shit that fans decide to give him. This is clearly the way that he wanted things to pan out for himself, because if he wanted things to be different, he would have built a better relationship between himself & fans. He would have course-corrected, listened to fandom noise, listened to his cast, analyzed all of the signs that he was sinking deeper into failure, & he wouldn’t have laughed himself out of the chance to stay beloved by fans.

Ravewulf does say that Jeff Davis is the figurehead & scapegoat for the fandom’s negative experience with what happened on & around the show. And that’s very true. But you know what, it’s his show. It’s his brand. It’s his vision. It’s his choices. He shouldn’t have been so smug & childish when it came down to mending the dissolving relations with the fans that supported his show from the beginning. He doesn’t get to complain about the price he now has to pay.

At the end of the day, I truly believe that Sterek was the make it or break it element for Teen Wolf. The show’s decision to use Sterek shippers as a tool to gain viewers & recognition, followed by the show’s decision to completely shut Sterek fans out & remove all Sterek from the show was their breaking point. Jeff’s decision to purposely shut out fans & write against/ignore everything fans wanted (even small things: like learning Derek’s age, or Sheriff’s name, or seeing Allison’s funeral, or Stiles dealing w/ PTSD, or Stiles’ bisexuality, etc.) broke the show.

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dontshootmespence · 8 years ago

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No Answer

A/N: An anon request for a fic with the season 4-7 team where an unsub is stalking the team, so he knows about Spencer’s relationship with the reader, which they’ve kept secret. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn

----

For the last week and a half, the unsub had been sending live video feeds straight into the BAU as he tortured his victims. He kept them for no longer than a couple days and during that time, they experienced unimaginable pain. The other thing? They were all connected to one of the members of the BAU in some way. Former victims, a family friend of JJ’s, liaisons. Every victim was connected to a member of the BAU for maximum psychological torture. This was about the team, not the actual victims.

The team was close, with Garcia getting closer and closer to tracking his location with each video. She had to narrow down proxies every time, and this guy was good, going through dozens, if not hundreds of proxies every time he sent out a feed.

As they searched and scoured through the files they had thus far, comparing notes with the profile, another video came up on the screen. The mask they’d come to know popped up. It was like a bad horror movie. “I’ve got another victim,” the distorted voice claimed, stepping out of the frame and revealing a young woman in her lingerie, strung up by chains and bleeding from small cuts on her arms and legs.

No one could recognize her. She had a blindfold over her eyes. But the second Spencer walked back into the round table room with his cup of coffee, it dropped out of his hand and to the floor. “No!” In an instant, the tears welled up in his eyes, unable to peel his gaze away from the screen. This couldn’t be happening. How did he even know? No one knew...

“Who is she?” Hotch asked. Unfortunately, by the look on Reid’s face, he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

“She’s...she’s my girlfriend,” he said through shaky breaths. “We’ve been dating for eight months...Hotch, we have to find her. I c-can’t lose her. I can’t.” He felt his breath catch in his throat as he began to hyperventilate. His lungs were on fire. He’d just seen her this morning. Less than three hours ago, he’d kissed her goodbye and told her to have a good day at work.

Everyone gathered around him, trying to make sense of the fact that he even had someone who he was hiding from the team, no less that she was now in danger. “We’ll find her, kid,” Morgan said confidently. “I promise.” It was a good thing Reid wasn’t looking at him, because his eyes were fixed in horror on the screen. Reid’s girlfriend was dangling from chains and doing her best to remain calm.

“Do you want to hear her voice?” the man asked, walking up to Y/N’s side and grazing it slightly with the tip of his knife. “Say hello to your boyfriend, love.” Spencer watched, the anger curling his hands into fists, as this man caressed his girlfriend’s cheek and ran his hand running through her hair. “Say hello.”

His voice was more insistent this time and she gasped against the cool metal. “Spencer don’t come here!” she screamed. “He just wants to fuck with you all, don’t give him what he wants.” Just before he cut the feed, Spencer watched Y/N wince, the tip of the knife cutting into her side. Her muscles spasmed as she tried to pull away, but the chains kept her from going to far. And then he couldn’t see either of them anymore.

Immediately, Spencer spun around in anger, picking up a container of pens from off the table and hurling them toward the window. “When I get my hands on him-”

“We’ll do whatever the circumstances dictate,” Hotch finished.

But Spencer wasn’t having it. “You better hope you get to him first, Hotch.”

Garcia had seen everything from her place in the office, so apparently, he not only knew how to gain access to the Bureau, he knew that Garcia wasn’t with them at the time. “How is she connected?” she asked, before glancing at Reid.

“My girlfriend.” He didn’t even look up as Garcia scurried back to her lair to grab her laptop and bring it into the conference room.

The moment she came back, she sat at the table and started her run down. “I have it narrowed down to this 10 square mile location, but the second I zero in past here, he’s going to notified and whoever he has...” She couldn’t finish the sentence. With Reid right behind her, she couldn’t say that the second she started narrowing the location down further, his girlfriend was probably dead.

She said nothing. So far, they’d narrowed down the suspect pool to a white man in his 40s or 50s with money. With the amount of research that had been done on the members of the team, he had to have a lot of time on his hands, which presumably meant that he had money to take care of himself while he continued his crime spree. Due to the depravity of his crimes and the fact that having a live video feed was of the utmost importance, they also concluded that he likely had no personal connection to the team; the part of the crime that got him off was the psychological torture he inflicted on the team. “Do it, Garcia,” Hotch said. “We’re not giving him the chance to get away.”

Doing as she was told, Garcia typed away at the keyboard, narrowing down the location in a matter of about 30 seconds. “Sending it to your phones now.”

Without a word, Spencer turned around, grabbed his vest and ran down to the car as the rest of the team followed closely behind.

----

It had been approximately 5 hours since Y/N had been taken, and as they drove, Spencer couldn’t help but imagine the pain she’d gone through. Being taken by a killer himself, he knew the physical pain she’d endured, but psychological torture seemed to be this unsub’s MO, and he understood that all too well. “We go in first,” Morgan said, turning toward Reid and noting the fire in his eyes. “We’re gonna get her out of there.”

The building was small, but isolated, which is why it hadn’t been found. There was a car outside, so at least, as far as they knew, he, and in turn, Y/N, were still here.

As they walked the musty halls of the building, Spencer heard a scream, hurrying passed Morgan and pushing the door open. “Back away!” he screamed, his throat raw with anger.

“Spence, don’t,” she whispered, grunting as the unsub let her chains down. She collapsed like a paper doll on the floor, exhausted and in pain. Without a thought for anything but his own anger, Spencer lunged toward the unsub, knocking the knife out of his hand. He reeled back over and over again, hitting him in the jaw and reveling in the way his bones crunched under his hands.

A mass of screams filled his ears as he hit the man over and over again. “Kid, enough!” Morgan pulled him off, Reid’s strength taking him by surprise. “It’s over.”

The unsub was no longer moving, though he was still alive. JJ peeled his mask off, and as they’d figured, none of them had any idea who he was. Pulling away from Morgan, Spencer collapsed to the floor by his girlfriend’s side. “Baby, it’s me,” he breathed. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

With every ounce of strength she had, she crawled into his lap, sobbing silently. “Who is he?” she asked. “Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “That’s the problem with this job. Sometimes...you just don’t know.”

#spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #david rossi #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #dontshootmespence #no answer

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