#its the reeling back to punch yourself in the mirror when you stare back just a little too long and finding any excuse of worth in strength

[ophiotartarus]

something something season 2 Vi and her dark hair and stained clothes in the middle of mourning pieces of herself coming to terms with the irreparable meanwhile Gideon Nav starts from here and spends her life here and really only gets worse if only a bit less erratic about it . and where one is inevitably going to come out the other end with a stronger support system and clarity on the path for her life, the other digs herself deeper into her isolation because that’s how she’s had to grow and where she learned to fester and throws everything she has into being needed because she has never felt wanted blah blah blah

[jojoboisimagines]

Johnny Joestar x Reader :: Wait for It :: Chapter 7

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Summary: Gyro is hospitalized, and now Johnny has no one to turn to. That is, until a former female rider shows him a little compassion. 

..::..

The atmosphere out in this grassy field felt much better to say the least. Probably the most comfortable you’d been throughout this whole race. No fighting, no people, and plenty of roaming space for your horse.  

You and your riding partner, aka Johnny, had mostly eaten your leftovers in silence. He had devoured the meal a lot faster than you thought he would. He’s still growing, you guessed.

Laughing to yourself earned a side-eye from him, before wiping his hands of all the leftover crumbs. Johnny heaves a content sigh, staring at the empty to-go box. The man did a couple of arm stretches, seems like the food really wore him out. Or made him sleepy.

Now that you had a chance to unwind today, you couldn't help but realize how calm he was around you. He wasn’t wary or suspicious of you as far as you could tell, and he wasn’t really pushing you away when having conversations. He was just..doing his own thing.

Perhaps he was too busy missing his riding partner to even attempt to start any real conflict on his own. 

Before you knew it, Johnny was back on his wheelchair, wheeling himself towards Slow Dancer to mount again. You were pretty much done with your own food as well. It was good, but not nearly good enough to start a bar fight for. 

Standing on your feet, you dusted any excess grass from your pants. You knew you were probably gonna miss this spot, but it was better to go ahead and move on. There was still a lot you needed to learn, according to your ‘mentor’.

A cool, satisfying breeze passed by as you walked back up to your horse Soarin’. It really was a nice day out. You glanced over to Johnny, but he wasn’t on his horse yet. Actually, it looked like he was a bit angry. Furious even, if his face getting slightly red was any indication. 

You looked up to see a familiar face, yet one you haven't seen since the beginning of the race. 

What was his name again, you thought...DJ...Damon...oh, Diego.

You had practically no idea who this guy was, aside from the fact he was British and had stolen the lead for the majority of the race. You didn’t particularly know him because he was a foreign racer, you mainly focused on the popular riders in your own country.

Yet it seemed like Johnny had some prior business with him, evident by him almost literally seething in his seat.

"The hell do you want, Dio, leave us alone!" He pointed at the taller man, hoping itd emphasize how he wanted him to back off.

"Hmm..Where is the Italian idiot anyway? It's almost strange seeing you without being latched to his side like a Chihuahua." Diego said, dismissively of Johnny's threat.

The ex jockey gripped the handle of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles might turn white in a matter of minutes. Though his face said something different, like he was trying to keep his cool but his body couldn't help but demonstrate his frustration.

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"None of your business. Don't you have anything other to do than bother me?"

The Brit opened his mouth to say something else, before you caught his eye. The blue orbs quickly scanned you before looking back at Johnny.

"Oh? Having other racers aid you? Are you that desperate for help since you can't do anything alone?" 

Johnny sneered. Did this guy get off on confronting someone just to insult and degrade them? There was nothing stopping Johnny from punching Diego in the face (except for onlookers, which he could care less about honestly) so he wasn't sure where he thought his hubris would get him, but if Jojo has any say in it, it'll get him in the hospital.

He had been so far in his own mind after that remark that he hadn't even realized your presence beside him now. You had already spoken up before he got the chance to tell you it wasn't worth it.

"Actually, I'm not helping him, he's helping me." You corrected the arrogant man. 

Raising an eyebrow at you, he places a hand on his hip in a way that implies he really didn't care about what you said.

In that case, you wouldn't hold back either.

Dio puts his hand on his chest like a petty rich girl in high school.

"Who are you again? In all my time in this race I haven't seen you."

You knew that was a subtle jab about him being first and you being so far behind you were barely noticeable. Fists almost automatically balled up at that, but you'd control yourself for now.

"I'm sure you hardly look at anyone except your mirror. By now it's probably been splotched in horse manure by now, so really it's showing you what you've looked like all along."

Johnny snickers, and it's probably the cutest thing you've seen all day.

..in a friendly way of course.

His lip twitches, showing his teeth, a fang pointedly sticking out. Weird, you thought. You hadn't seen anyone with a fang in years.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dio tried to interrogate, but you weren't scared at all. In fact, you were just getting started on this guy.

"It means you look like horse shit, duh." Johnny answered, folding his arms. A small smirk still on his face.

“Watch it, Joestar.” Diego sneered. For someone who dished it out like second nature, he sure couldn’t take it. “One wrong move and I can ruin your standing in the race, AND your reputation--or at least, what’s left of it.”

You roll your (e/c) eyes. You’ve had enough of this guy, what was this, a playground?

“Dude shut up, if you want to prove anything then win the whole damn race and stop talking like you already have.” One more retort and you’ll fly off the handle at him.

Diego stays silent for a moment, before leaning in to your face, his nose inches from yours.

“I already have. You’re welcome to join me when you’re done playing in the mud with poor Jojo.” 

Before you could reply, he reeled back and turned on his heel. You wanted to punch him so bad, how dare he talk down to you and your friend like this..

“Don’t do it (y/n).” You hear Johnny behind you. “As much as I wanna see it happen, he’s not wrong about being able to sabotage both of us.” 

You grunted. “What could you possibly care about our ‘reputations’, Johnny? That was pure disrespect, and I can’t let it fly!”

“...”  He was looking at the ground now, seeming like he was trying to find whatever reason he could to prevent you from firing off. Johnny sighs.

“Look, I’ll be straightforward with you. I’m not in the race for money or status.”

You turned around at that, fairly confused.

“I’m in this race to..learn a technique from my friend, Gyro. I could care less about the stuff Diego desperately wants me to so he can have ammo to bug me with. However, you seem pretty set on trying to prove yourself that you can do this. I’ve seen it when we train.”

“..Seen what?”

Johnny pauses.

“Your determination. This is probably gonna sound dumb, but your eyes, they’ve been different. Like there’s some kind of fire in them now. Honestly, since joining this race, I can relate. Its part of why i’m still deciding to help you after you’ve..” His eyes become sarcastically half lidded. “Gotten me into almost two fights now.”

A scoff escapes your lips. What on Earth was this man saying anymore? Though you wouldn’t deny, it was a bit encouraging to hear.

The scoff was a bit off-putting to him, and he took another pause. He looked a little...flustered? You weren’t sure what that meant. Did you make him feel stupid on accident?

“That’s why...I’m not letting you take the chance to have Diego potentially ruin all your chances. This training would be for nothing.”

Something inside you suspected there was another reason, but you wouldn’t question it. Walking forward to him, you bent over to meet his eye level in his chair.

“Fine. I’ll beat up Diego after the race is over. Let’s get to our horses.” You take the wheelchair handles and starting walking towards Slow Dancer.

You couldn’t see it but, Johnny had a faint smile on his face.

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟖

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟏𝟖𝟏

𝐀 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐲

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟖:

She turned her head to you menacingly, her dull orbs fixated on you as she walked closer to the altar. In her hands was a bowl of fruits, one of a lifetime where she offered God more than simple fish bones or food waste. Perhaps she finally realized the best way to appease them was to show actual gratitude. You stared at the back of her head, glaring holes into it. You bit your lip when she pulled you from the corner and threw you in front of the altar, your head hitting the floor while she stood above you.

“God. . . Please accept this gift and finally release this spirit.” 

The sickening rush of disgust flowed through your body, the feeling of your worthlessness sinking into your bones made you utterly disgusted on the inside. You hated this feeling. You hated feeling this way.

You hated feeling so lonely because of her. 

It was all her fault that you felt this way.

You dug your nails into your hand before getting into your feet, you reeled your hand back and punched her in the face, her screams echoing in the room as you heard her skull hit the wall. She released an anguished cry while you picked up the bowl of fruit, smashing the ceramic by throwing it onto the floor. The shards covering the wooden surface and cutting parts of your skin.

You grit your teeth and clenched your fist tightly, your eyes glaring down at her in anger. You picked up the broken bowl, the longest shard being held in your hand as you kneeled next to her. The altar of God watching over you, looming over your childish figure as you raised the shard above your head.

“(L/n)-san?” You snapped your neck to the voice at the door, his grey hair and eyes staring at you in shock. “What are you doing. . . ?”

You dropped the shard, the piece shattering into even smaller pieces as you stared up at him in shock, his face was slightly blurred but you interpreted him as someone significant.

“M-Monster.” He turned his attention onto the bleeding woman, the red color of her blood staining the white walls as she clutched her skull. “Y-You’re a monster!”

“N-No. . . I’m not. . .” Your eyes began to weep as you held your hand out, trying to reach him, “don’t leave me! I-I’m not a monster!”

Before you could even make the effort to stand up, he had already run through the door, leaving you behind.

“Don’t leave me!”

Your eyes snapped wide open as you sat up. Your neck was sweating and your cheeks felt wet, you looked around your surroundings, seeing that you were still in Yuki’s room. You tilted your head over to see that he was still asleep and you sighed a breath of relief, but your heart was still pounding as if you just ran a marathon.

You pulled your legs over the bed and slipped out from under the sheets, doing it carefully as to not wake up Yuki. You tucked back the sheet neatly and made your way to the door, you picked up your belongings and almost opened the door until you decided to pull out a slip of paper. You turned to Yuki and quickly wrote a letter to thank him and his family for letting you stay the night. You placed the note next to his tissue box and quietly slipped through the door.

You wondered if it was rude to leave like this, but you couldn’t bear to think about having the Sohma family take care of you. All of this business of coming over to the Sohmas wasn’t like you, this wasn’t your lifestyle.

Having people in your home, seeing and talking to others, enjoying dinner with people, it wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t your life at all.

You didn’t belong here.

You belonged in the bleak apartment you pay rent for, cooking and cleaning for yourself, sleeping by yourself and studying alone. You didn’t want to get comfortable in someone else’s life.

You hurriedly put on your shoes and slid the front door open, it was the early morning and you made your way back home. You looked over your shoulder, seeing one of the windows open but no one being near the edge. You wondered which room that was, but you turned away and quickly left the Sohma family property. As you walked down the pathway, you almost felt as if you were being watched, but dismissed it as your own paranoia.

You set your bags down against the table as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You were still wearing one of Yuki’s shirts. Eventually, you’re going to have to clean it and return it back to him as fast as possible. You opened your closet and picked out a specific set of black clothes before heading towards your bathroom for a bath. 

Today was a special day in the week.

You turned the knob, the bath filling up with water as you brushed your teeth at the sink. It was still quite early in the morning, if you had left Yuki’s house later, you might not even have time to visit the local flower shop. You prepared a towel on the side and stripped your clothing, letting it drop onto the floor as you slipped into the bath. You breathed a sigh of content as you sunk deeper into the water, your body instantly relaxing.

The smell of flowers calmed you as you closed your eyes, feeling yourself drifting away in the water. Today was one of those days. The day where you visit the cemetery to see someone. You cracked your eyes open and raised your hand, the water pooling in the center of your palm and flowing back down to the giant mass. You wondered if she was truly dead as they say she was. You had visited her last week but cut your visit early in order to buy school supplies. For a moment you almost thought to quit your weird spending habits but it brought you a small gift of happiness which fades every month.

You sat and soaked in the bath before slipping away to drain the water. You wrapped the towel around your body as you stared at the mirror showing your reflection. Your (e/c) eyes looked intimidating as ever, a small frown plastered on your face. You dried your hair and quickly got dressed in your black outfit.

When leaving the house you grabbed onto your journal and wallet to make your way to the local flower shop. The woman gave you a small smile and asked you if you wanted the usual request, to which you nodded and she wrapped up the gift. You usually ordered the same types of flowers, lavender and camellia. Perhaps lavender could make her feel at ease and sleep well. Camellia was a type of flower you originally came across several years ago. You thought it’s meaning was touching, so you intended on buying various types of the flower in the form of perfume and various hygiene products to enforce the concept you learned.

Your coworker questioned you regarding the specific meaning of your perfume scent since you always seem to buy the same one, but you often gave her vague answer, not really one to let her pry into a personal part of your life. You checked the time on your phone, seeing that it was only 6:30 am, you made your way towards the cemetery.

You bowed in front of the priests before walking up the flight of stairs and seeing the many graves lined up next to each other. You trailed past each of the grey stones, remembering their names vaguely until you came upon the one you were looking for. It was old and recently cleaned, making you wonder who had come to visit. It wasn’t decorated that often, but this time it was much newer than you remembered it to be. Perhaps one of the priests decided to clean it as you never bothered to acknowledge the dirt and grim that formed.

You bent your knees down and placed the flowers in front of the stone, your hand outreached as you traced your hand over the characters of the name. The feeling of cold stone contrasting the warmth of your fingertips. 

“(L/n), (Y/n).”

Your eyes dulled as you stared at your name engraved in the stone. Your heart beginning to feel cold as you sat in front of your grave, one that your parents had done several years ago when you were a child. You marked this as the “former” you, a manifestation of your childhood. One thing that always seemed to haunt you every single night was staring at you in the face, mocking you by having your name on its body.

You clutched onto your shirt, placing it where your heart lies.

It’s almost as if she still lives within you, begging for release or a conclusion.

Or perhaps even acceptance?

“You come here every week, is this someone very special to you?” A male figure asked, his dark hair flowing with the wind as he walked towards your kneeling body.

He had pale skin, snow-white like Yuki’s. He was dressed in all black, a dress shirt and slacks with professionally looking shoes. His hand was buried in his pocket as he stood next to you. He looked fairly attractive, with a feminine face that reminded you of Yuki. 

“Oh. . . Yes, they are very important to me.” You responded, turning your attention back to the gravestone, your frown deepening. This was the first time someone other than a priest is coming to talk to you about the gravestone. 

“Mhmm. . . Have you ever wondered if God could bring them back?” He asked, smiling as he read the name on the stone.

“I don’t think they have the power to do that.” You replied.

“What makes you say that?”

“If God was able to bring someone back, they could have used that strength to make the Zodiacs happy.” The tips of his lips twitched as he remained smiling at your answer.

“Do you like the Zodiacs?” He questioned. 

You pressed your lips together, wondering where this conversation is supposed to be going. “I suppose so. . .”

“What year are you?”

“(Z/y) [Zodiac Year], but. . . I don’t really think I connect with them whatsoever.” You heard him hum in response. 

“Is that so? What animal would you like to be then?” He stared down at your choice of flowers, humming at the sight of them leaning against the grave. Camellias were also a way to display the concept of discretion, but it seems as if you specifically chose white camellias. A sign of purity, waiting, and the love between a mother and child. What an interesting flower. . . Reminds the man of a time when he was given a camellia as a gift from someone special. 

“An eagle.” You answered. 

He continued to further interrogate you in a casual manner, “why is that?” 

You fumbled with the edge of your clothes, questioning yourself about the mysterious man standing next to you, debating whether or not discussing philosophy in front of a gravestone was normal. 

“. . . Because they are strong. If anyone could talk to God, it would be them.” You continued, “the eagle would be closest to God, the eagle could be the Messenger of God if it meant revoking the Rat’s duties.”

“Would the eagle leave God’s side?” 

“No, if they did it would make them lonely as well. I don’t think the eagle wants anyone to feel as lonely as they do.” You tightened your fist, the knuckles turning white as you held it close to your body. “Being lonely. . . It hurts.” 

His eyes widened at your reason. The unknown male beside you began to laugh, your eyebrows crinkled as you pressed your lips together. He bent back slightly, his hand caressing his hair as he laughed contently. He seemed to have enjoyed your response greatly. Was your answer that foolish for him to laugh at it? Was he mocking you? You bit the bottom of your lip as his laughter slowly died down.

“You’re interesting.” He crouched down to your position, your eyes meeting each other for you to see his dark brown orbs. He reached out to you, his nails trailing against your skin as you felt his cold hands contrast the warmth of your body. “You have very special eyes. . .” He whispered ominously, inaudible to your ears.

“So, Messenger of God, what is your name?”

“. . . (L/n) (Y/n). . .” You replied, your mind feeling almost light as you continued to lose yourself within his eyes. Almost as if your body seemed to be possessed by some unknown entity, you had responded to him so easily. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you (L/n)-san, my name is Akito.”

[actor-mark]

Red Candles Pt 15

OOC: How to vote: Send your choice in an ask to this blog. Comments, reblogs and dms will not count as I do not get notifications for them nor do I want to screenshot from several places. I’ve spotted a couple of older choices coming through, please make sure to check by the blog to be up to date with the latest post! Thank you!

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Glitchy Arrow

You feel a little frazzleD, so many directions to go, so many ways to turn, at this point anything could be a sign. As much as you’d have liked to have left, you feel this need to follow the glitching arrOw and sigh heavily as you make your way to the elevator.  Out of Order.  Of course it is... Welp. Stairs it is!  There’s aNother flicker in the lights, then another, then another, leading down the stairs... Much like the arrow you feel the need to follow the hopefully faulty wiring and begin the descent downstairs. 

You watch the floor numbers. 1. G. LL. BL. Finally the stairs run out as things grow very cold down here. It’s dark and foreboding and the only thing down this low in a hospital is likely noT where you want to ever end up.  ɥⅎ ɯɹʅꝹ

Carefully you push the heavy fire door open into the icy cold room and the motion trigger lights flicker into life, one of them continuing to flicker in the corner and like before you venture over in that direction. It goes still once you reach the area but there doesn’t seem to be any other indication as to what you’ve been lead to. 

You cast a glance over the various cadaver fridges and their labels. No real indication to anything. Why are you here? 

“ZOMBIE!!! AAHH!!!” 

You nearly jump out of your skin as you reel around just in time to see a metal tray come swinging for your head. You quickly duck, then duck again as the tray comes back for another swing, quickly backing off with your hands up shaking your head.  The man pauses, looking you over then slowly lowers the tray “Wh- .. y-youre not a- D-DONT SCARE ME LIKE THAT! Yikes.... “ He ran a hand over his face and slowly set the tray back where it belonged.  “Sorry about that... You spend so long with a bunch of bodies not moving and suddenly see movement when you’ve been alone for hours it kinda-.. aheh... oh- uh... Are you alright? You don’t look so good? ... C-Come over here let me take a look at you” 

Now that the Doctor mentions it, you’ve felt really tired and exhausted, a little sluggish. Maybe you are sick? Still, maybe the doctor has some answers for you? You agree to head over to the stool and let him take a look at you.  “Hmm lets see here. Cold temperature? That’s not Good” It’s the room temperature but hey.  “Hmm frantic eyes” He shines a very bright light right in your face and instinctively you retract. That flash light could have burnt a hole in your face! Geez!  “hmm, sensitivity to light” No shit sherlock! The heck was that? A hand held sun? “Say ahhh” You open your mouth for him to see inside. “Ahhh” ...... “ahh- no?” He pauses to look at you again “hm... Not good”  The doctor scribbled a few things down before slowly taking off his head mirror and running a hand over his mouth “I-.... Im ... Im sorry-..... You’re dying” He spoke it so dramatically. Perfect for any sort of hospital drama on TV.  You lift an eyebrow at him. Dying? SurE. Besides the fatigue -which is most likely from all the rabbit holes you’ve been sent down and the fact that by now it’s probably close to 8am with how long you’ve been at this, you’ve not had any sleep or breakfast. You shake your head but he shakes his head back

“I’m sorry.. I can make iT quick for you, you wont have to suffer”  Whoa whoa whoa!  “Hold still”  HANG ON A SEC-

The deed was done before you even had a chance! This psycho doctor just up and smacked you around the head with the silver tray and out went the lights!  What the hell dude! Worst. Doctor. Ever.  The knock out certainly didn’t kill you, but the five or six whacks to your skull afterwards certainly did the trick to finish you off...  puǝᴉɹᖵ ʻǝɯoɔʅǝϺ

Death isn’t so bad though. Nice and dark, calming, peaceful. Like being asleep- or..well.. that’s what it should have been. As you slowly blink open your eyes to look around, you see your body being stuffed into one of the cadaver fridges and Dr. Iplier wander out muttering a song to himself. What a nut job...  Movement however catches your eye and you see someone trying to open one of the fridges. They weren’t there before.  You venture closer, tapping them on the shoulder, they turn to face you and you can’t help but stumble back in surprise. Faceless.  as you scramble back in shock you bump into someone else, whirl around, another faceless person! Your eyes quickly catch sight of the other 8 figures without faces in the room. 

This is some sort of nightmare surely? Another of Marks tricks!? You back away staring in horror but as you watch the group of faceless people they all begin to point in the direction of one fridge in particular. 

Slowly you realize they’re trying to help you, gather yourself enough to move again and wander over to the fridge.  Moving in death is ..hard. It’s like trying to wade through sludge. The air is thick and heady. Like trying to wade through neck deep swamp mud and the more you move the tighter in holds. After 2 steps you’re unable to move and end up holding still.  One of the faceless beings, wearing what appears to be prison cLothing, looks to you, then seems to glitch out before appearing by the fridge they pointed at. Another dressed in casual clothing and featuring multiple shark bite wOunds does the same, glitching out and reappearing by the fridge unit.  .sn ǝɹɐ no⅄ .noʎ ǝɹɐ ǝϺ

You get the idea, you’ve seen this before after all. Movement is hard, you have to will yourSelf over there instead. And you do. With a familiar flicker and glitch you appear at the fridge. You learnt from the best after all.  

Carefully you manage to glitch open the fridge to see the body inside or raTher what’s been stuffed inside with it.  A candelabra! 

Black sleek and exactly what you’ve been hunting own this entire time! There’s just one problem... No candles.  You take another look at the body inside. A mangled and rotten set of remains. Chewed to pieces by an alligator maybe. You recognize the grey suit...  Curiosity takes you and you cant help but start pulling open the other fridges.  Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark.  Mark. All of them. Death by falling, death by being eaten, death by hole to the chest, death by anchor, death by being punched through a prison wall, death by gunshot- the list goes on. 

Slowly you back away with the candelabra, a ghostly hand reaching to touch your shoulder and you whirl around. Suddenly you realize who these people are. They have no names.  Or rather. They have YOURS.  It’s a strange feeling but you understand these people are in the same situation as you. You nod to them and they nod back before pointing you to the work bench in the middle of the room.  Glitching over to it much like Darkiplier you get the drawer open. 

Before you lie the following objects:  - Scalpel - Syringe - Tweezers - Forceps  - Claw Hammer - Lighter - Empty Test Tube - Pen

You’re not sure why they pointed you here, its not like you can light that lighter in your current state, now you think of it youre not sure how you have this candelabra at all, but the way it’s glitching with you suggests it may not exist on the living side.  .ʞɔɐq noʎ puǝs uɐɔ ǝϺ

Youre a little stumped and not sure what to do here. 

Your choices are as follows: 

Offer the Candelabra to the Y/N’s Maybe they know where the candles are? But there’s still the task of trying to light them.. Is this even the right one? 

Is that a light? The door you came through is glowing in a weird way, it’s soothing, calling, you could go open the door and see friends again, family, you hear your name being called... You’re so tired.... A nap sounds great... 

.....

......

No. 

You shake your head. 

Your choice has been made for you. 

You Offer The Candelabra To The Y/N’s.... 

OOC: Tomorrows option has been made for you. You’re close to the end friends!  I ask that you take todays vote to send me your thoughts, feelings, what youve enjoyed and what youve disliked on this adventure! I as the writer have very much enjoyed seeing the reasons behind your votes and the theories others have worked on! I’m over the moon with how well this turned out and you can bet I’ll do another in future.  This CYOA has helped a lot with planning for ANWM2 (a discord based CYOA) and you can bet I’ll post the discord link here when its ready to go (itll be a while!)  thank you everyone for being on this journey!

[smp-live]

Man in the (Shattered) Mirror Ch. 3

AO3   First   Prev   Next

No TWs for this one!

Phil stared in shock at the child that stood in front of him, mind still reeling from the past, what, five minutes? Had everything really gone to shit in five minutes?

Yes, a part of him whispered, all too acutely aware of how quickly a world could be turned on its head. (It was never meant to be. Kill me, Phil, kill me.)

But he couldn’t give in to the shock now. Not when there was a kid, just standing there. His kid, because the boy, without a doubt, was Wilbur.

Wilbur, looking not a day over seven, bandage plastered on his cheek, hair mussed up as it always had been - the gremlin flat-out refused to brush it, Phil remembered fondly. Wilbur, who was staring up at him with wide eyes and a trembling lip, clearly seconds away from bursting into terrified tears.

Phil was struck with the sudden, parental urge to pull his kid into his arms and make sure nothing ever happened to make him look like this again. So he pushed down all his own anxieties and fears and dread and opened his arms wide for a hug.

“Wil,” he said, voice breaking, and all of a sudden, he had an armful of crying child.

“Dad, dad,” Wilbur sobbed into his shoulder, “I was so scared, dad. I had a nightmare and I know you said not to go anywhere without telling you but when I woke up I wasn’t in bed anymore and that scary man was yelling and, and-”

“Shh, s’okay,” Phil soothed into his son’s hair, rubbing circles on his back, falling into the role of father all-too-easily. The kid looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m here, Wil, you’re safe. Nobody’ll hurt you.”

Wilbur buried his head back in his shoulder, already over the strong burst of emotion in the way that only small children can be but still needing the relief of a hug. Phil looked up at the group surrounding him. They stared back in varying degrees of shock and discomfort.

“Is that Wilbur?” Tommy asked, incredulous. Phil nodded, and he scoffed.

“This is fuckin’ weird,” Fundy muttered, and Phil privately agreed before Wilbur shifted in his arms. He must have finally gathered his courage, because he pulled out from his arms and scowled at the people surrounding him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he accused, standing protectively between Phil and the others, and he felt his heart warm. Wilbur’s grip on his hand was tight, reassuring himself even as he tried to protect his dad.

“Wil, language,” he chided gently, and Wilbur looked back to stick his tongue out at him. He laughed, ignoring his son’s scowl as he went back to glaring at the others, and took a step forward to stand at his son’s side. “These are my friends.”

“Well I’ve never met them,” he said petulantly, wrenching his hand out of Phil’s and crossing his arms. “So they can’t be that good friends. Techno’s not even here.” His face lit up in excitement, and he gasped. “Can we go see him?”

Phil laughed again. Oh, how he’d missed his son, the one with the light of life and wonder in his eyes. Not the bitter, jaded thing he’d become somewhere along the line.

“We’ll see Techno later,” he reassured, smiling down at Wilbur, who bounced with excitement.

“This is fuckin’ weird, right? I’m not the only one who thinks this is absolutely insane?” Tommy said, breaking away from Ranboo’s side and turning to face the rest of the group.

It most definitely was fuckin’ weird, but Phil had long since learned to roll with the punches and push down his own opinions for the sake of others. And now, this young version of Wilbur (who should definitely not be here,) needed him to be a father, so a father he would be. His own feelings on the matter didn’t matter.

Besides, it was kind of nice to be a father, again. Wilbur had always been independent to an almost alarming degree, and so Phil hadn’t had nearly enough time as he wanted to be smothering and coddle him.

Eret had moved away from Ghostbur, walking gently towards Wilbur and Phil with hands slightly raised to show he meant no harm. He knelt down in front of them to be at eye level with the child, smiling friendlily.

“I’m Eret,” he introduced himself, “King of the Dream SMP.” Wilbur stared at his bejeweled crown in awe, mouth agape.

“Hi King Eret, sir,” he breathed out, all earlier apprehension gone. Still staring at the crown.

“Wanna see?” the King asked, pulling it off and holding it out. Wilbur gaped. “You can touch, it’s okay.”

Wilbur reached out hesitantly, running a hand over the shimmering jewels with a quiet “whoa.” He looked back up at Eret with the same light shining in his eyes and started literally bouncing as he word-vomited,

“You said you were King? What’s it like? How big’s your country? Who are your allies? Can I see-”

“Wilbur,” Phil said, putting a hand on his head as Eret laughed and stood back up, resting the crown back on their head, “manners.”

“Right,” he said, looking down. Then back up to the group, chest puffing out with the confidence of a child who knew exactly who he was. “My name’s Wilbur Minecraft, and I’m gonna change the world.”

Tommy snorted at that, and everybody turned to look at him. “You definitely could say that.”

Wilbur glared at him, studying, then turned to Phil. “I don’t like him.”

Phil laughed. “You don’t even know his name!” His son turned back to Tommy.

“What’s your name?”

“None of your business, bitch,” Tommy snarked, arms crossed.

“Tommy,” Phil sighed, “be nice.”

Tommy glared at him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “you’re not my fuckin’ dad,” under his breath, before sighing. “’s Tommy.”

“Tommy, I don’t like you,” Wilbur said cheerfully.

“Fuck you too, bitch.”

Wilbur gasped, mouth forming a tiny ‘o’. “Phil, how come he gets to swear but I don’t?” he pouted.

“Because he’s older than you, mate.”

Wilbur pondered that for a second before asking, “will I be able to swear when I’m older?”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, trust me, you will.” Wilbur must have been satisfied with that answer, because he stepped over to Ranboo with crossed arms.

“It’s rude not to introduce yourself, you know,” he said, clearly giving his best impression of a stern Phil.

“Oh!” Ranboo’s tail lashed, taken aback. “I’m Ranboo. Nice to meet you.”

Wilbur studied him for a few moments, during which Ranboo looked increasingly uncomfortable, starting to fidget with his grass block. Finally, apparently he was done with his evaluation, for he nodded.

“You’re okay,” he proclaimed.

“Oh come on!” Tommy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Thanks?” Ranboo sounded hesitant, but Wilbur had already turned to Fundy expectantly. But the fox didn’t acknowledge him, instead turning to Phil.

“Are we not gonna address,” Fundy trailed off, sending a pointed look towards Wilbur, “that?”

Phil sighed. “What are we supposed to do about him?”

“I don’t know!” Fundy threw his hands up. “Maybe, I don’t know, try and figure out what the fuck is happening?” Phil opened his mouth to argue, or maybe agree, but Eret stepped forward with an interjection.

“It’s been a long day,” they said with a smile. “How about we meet back up tomorrow to discuss?”

“Where?” Tommy asked, almost an accusation.

“My castle’s always open,” they suggested.

“Alright then,” Phil announced, flaring his wings for attention. “We meet tomorrow at Eret’s at midday. Go home and get some rest.”

Tommy took that as his immediate cue to leave, dragging Ranboo along behind him, who turned back to look at Fundy. Said fox muttered a quiet “see you tomorrow,” before heading off around the crater, ears pressed flat against his head.

That left Phil and his son, Eret, and Ghostbur. Ghostbur, who still looked absolutely terrible, somehow paler than normal. Eret walked up to him, murmuring a soft “Ghostbur?” He didn’t even react, glazed-over eyes staring into the distance.

“Who’s that?” Wilbur asked in awe, and Phil’s stomach clenched. “He’s all transparent-looking. Like a ghost!”

“I’ll explain later,” Phil murmured offhandedly. That wasn’t his son, wasn’t even a quite a person, in his eyes, but... He was concerned, sue him.

“I’ll take care of him,” Eret said quietly, looking up at Phil. He nodded, and they started guiding him towards the Greater SMP with a hand on the ghost’s back.

“C’mon,” Phil said, starting to walk towards the Nether portal with a hand outstretched for Wilbur to grab. When he didn’t feel anything, didn’t hear the pattering of little feet behind him, he turned, a question on his tongue.

Wilbur was staring at his back, hands clasped over his mouth and tears in his eyes. He looked absolutely devastated.

“Hey, hey Wil, what’s wrong, mate?” Phil asked gently, rushing over to him and taking his hands. They were dwarfed in his own.

“What,” Wilbur hiccuped, “what happened to your wings?” and oh.

“Oh, I...” Phil started. How did he explain this? He couldn’t exactly say ‘a future version of you went fucking insane and blew up a nation, my wings along with it,’ could he?

“I accidentally hurt them a while back,” he settled on, rustling them. Wilbur looked up with wide eyes. “It’s okay, though. They don’t even hurt anymore.” Most of the time, he amended.

“Promise?” Wilbur asked with wide eyes. Phil smiled reassuringly.

“Promise. Now, let’s get going, ‘kay?” The kid nodded and he stood up, keeping Wilbur’s hand in his own. “It’s a long way home.”

[adrrianraines]

can’t speak the language that you need • adrian x mc

sensory prompt #37: the tender ache when you press against bruises.   song inspiration: if i—ross copperman

disclaimer: i wanted angst in that controlled love interest scene. where is it??? where??? so here it is! here’s how i imagined it would have been!! deadass just kidding im crying

YOU STARED BLANKLY up ahead as you zoomed like a phantom of the night in the streets of new york. the sinister look of rheya mouthing confidently that she’ll see you again kept playing inside your head like a badly orchestrated taunt from a cliched horror flick villain on repeat in a broken dvd player.

your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as the unsuspecting city lights finally came to view. the illuminations and shadows the buildings emanated, the chatter and laughter of citizens going about their day, oblivious and ignorant to everything that’s happening felt nothing short of like a punch in the gut. it was too much that whenever your mind reels back towards the incident, you can feel your chest tighten, stomach churning and bile forming, the raw taste flooding your mouth.

you felt faint. you loathed how the trepidation just won’t go away. you wanted to cry out your frustration for the dire turn of the situation, wanting to desperately pin the blame on someone for the all the anger, fear, hopelessness and disappointment. whenever you blink, vivid images flashes, making you remember how rheya controlled your friends and commanded them against their will—the look of blood lust aimed right at you as bright as a neon paint being splattered on an empty canvas.

then after the rage, you felt nothing but exhaustion, hurt and apprehension as one face particularly struck you the most: adrian.

torment only consumed you further as you came to the most painful realization above everything else:

adrian almost killed you. without hesitation nor remorse.

you recall how terrifying it was to look at the face who showed you nothing but kindness slowly turn to a monster out for your demise. you recall how you stared into his eyes and not recognize the person who owns it. how he looked empty and hallow, like a puppet following its master’s strings. you recall the loss of hope that left a bitter pang when you tried calling out to him, trying to reason with the adrian that you knew, only for it to turn into a futile attempt of puny redemption.

the feeling of panic was lingering, wrapping your well-being like a blanket of breeze on a cold winter night. you blink and you remember the murderous look on his face, the way he bared his fangs at you, the way his hands wrapped around your neck, the sheer desire and craving to hurt you—of wanting your death.

you swallowed hard, millions of thoughts running rampant all at once as you trained your eyes on the road, shoulders tense and shaking. you quickly glanced towards your friends, all worn out and certainly out of it. realizing you drove far enough to be followed, you make a turn towards a dark and decrepit alley, parking the car on a curb. with the look of things, it was ideal to stop and collect yourselves first before proceeding blindly.

when the engine of the car died, you let out a sigh you realized you’ve been holding. you jumped in surprise when you felt someone’s hand on your thigh, the sensation goading a pleasantly unwelcome electric tingle on your skin. you turn to see adrian looking at you with regret and worry, mouth opening and closing at the same time, unable to find the right words to say. the visible flinch you showed because of his touch only made him remove his hand as quickly as it came, as if he just touched a burning flame.

realizing that you can’t look at him directly without remembering his murderous trance, you moved to get out of the vehicle for fresh air. maybe, just maybe, distancing yourself for a bit might be the most ideal thing to do that moment.

with a heavy heart, you marched towards the opposite side of the street as you unconsciously looked for anything to lean on, gaze frantic and unfocused. your breathing hitches and wild flashbacks of the day you died came back to haunt. it was the same amount of fear, a similar sensation, and yet entirely different at the same time.

you barely noticed your surroundings when your legs gave out, your sudden loss of momentum causing you to wobble. the world seemed to stop when you didn’t feel the hard concrete but instead a pair of strong arms wrapped around you, preventing your fall by catching you before you even hit the ground.

a familiar, calming scent wafted your senses which clouded your better judgment. the alluring lull of fierce security felt like loose threads tying itself again. you let out a shaky breath, feeling weak and drained to even struggle against his hold. adrian steadies you in front of him, arms holding you tight, the warmth of his presence both inviting and alarming.

you avoided his gaze as he tries to catch yours, the desperation on his features unparalleled. he remained quiet, as if he’s trying to assess things first before speaking. however, it didn’t take long until he finally got the answer that he was looking for. his eyes trailed your movement when you unconsciously touched your neck, precisely at the part where you felt his vice grip slowly snatching the life out of you.

you grunted at the tender ache that you felt, and he notices it—rather, he sees it vividly, the very product of his weakness. it was like watching a mirror slowly fall down and break to tiny pieces, each glass shattering to a thousand more. you did nothing but watch at how the weight of realization knocked the winds out of his sails with sheer terror washing over his countenance. the sadness and desperation on his face then turned to guilt and rage—not to you, but to himself, to what he did, to what he couldn’t do and to what he realized he was capable of doing. adrian couldn’t believe the depth of violence he caused.

his arms falls flat to his side, going limp and useless. he immediately took a step back, all signs of hope drifting further faster than a raging waterfall. yet under the faint glow of the streetlights, he still looked divine. if this was a normal situation, you would have laughed at yourself with how you’re still capable of such thoughts. however, you can’t even find your voice to speak, let alone bring yourself close to him. you wanted to badly touch him, to comfort him, to tell him it’s going to be okay. but you knew you’d be lying. you froze in place, unable to move, unable to do anything—your own fear becoming the burden you’re carrying.

“adrian... please...” you croaked out, wincing at how your voice was shaking. he shifted to his feet so he can step closer, his unsure movements an indication of his inner battles. his hands hang dead in the air, trying to reach you with words left unsaid. but he stopped midway when you instinctively took a step back. you didn’t know why, or how, but your body just moved. it’s as if it was protecting you from harm, as if it was on instinct, as if it recognized adrian as a threat.

“i did that... didn’t i?” his voice was quiet yet certain. he locked gazes with you before his eyes roamed to your cheeks, your lips, your jaw... and finally, towards your neck. and it was then that you witnessed how this was breaking him as much as it was breaking you as well. your chest clenched at how devastated he looked, how resignation reigned in his features. the color of life finally draining from his orbs—as if all of his nightmares finally came to life.

it shatters you to see how tired adrian looked and how exhausted he seemed, as if his age has finally caught up with him. he looked exposed. lost. vulnerable. helpless. like an empty shell of a man who touched many wars and took many lives. a warrior who was finally drowning from all the sins he committed in his entire lifetime.

“do i still deserve it? your heart...” he pauses and shakes his head. he let out a bitter laugh as his voice proceeds to quiver, then immediately breaks. “no... i... don’t... not anymore.”

and for the first time ever since you’ve met him, he looked defeated.

suffer with me laid ease!! @isabella-choices @dadrianraines @violinet

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Beauty and the Beast Ch.8 (Bucky x Reader)

We are getting closer and closer to the end, guys! I’m thinking I’m going to finish this one up since it’s so close, then focus on “His Shooting Star” and “The Prince and the Pauper”. 

Summary: It took the kingdom of Hydra five years to finally take advantage of the disappearance of the Stark Kingdom. It took Prince Brock two weeks to make the small, unprotected village of Marveline hate his existence. His ways left Captain Rogers to go looking for help, hoping to find a royal family that could protect the people. But what happens when he hasn’t come back? It’s up to Bucky to find out what happened to his best friend and the royal siblings, but he never expected what’s to come.

  Chapter 8 

"I love him." 

The words seemed to echo in Sam's mind as he tried to explain the situation to his friends and family. No one could grasp at the fact that Bucky was gone. Everyone thought it was going well and to hear the sound of Bucky leaving for the second time? They couldn't understand. The unspoken truth was that they were running out of time. And no one knew what to do. Fear was taking the lead.

 "Everybody, calm down," Rhodey shouted, voice carrying over the arguments already filling the halls. "Give Sam a chance to explain." 

All eyes were on him. He fidgeted slightly, knowing this would be a little difficult to explain. "She's...She's in love with him."

"Then the spell should be broken," a voice shouted, their face lost in the crowd. 

"No, it's not enough." Wanda this time. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when she appeared not too far away from him. "The curse isn't merely a Stark falling in love, but someone falling for her as well."

"Does it count if he doesn't even know who she is?" 

More murmurs and arguments arose, everyone wondering if that was true. Was that a legitimate fear? Were these secrets going to be what kept them in this cursed state forever?  

"Enough." The tin voice rattled through their minds, cutting thoughts and opinions short. No one expected to hear that voice. Tony creaked his way down the hall, ignoring the concerned look that Rhodey sent his way. This was certainly not about him. "I know that our family hasn't done the best by you. The curse wasn't right and we - I accept full responsibility for the mistakes of my father. If there was a way to turn you all back, you know we would take it in a heartbeat. You all have been good, loyal people. And I'm sorry." A pin drop could be heard, the silence was so deafening. No one had really seen Tony in years. It was as if a ghost had walked into their lives. He stood, armor glinting even in the low light. If he could give that smug smirk and enjoy being the center of attention again, he might've. But these circumstances caused a different set of emotions to dance in his stomach - anxiety, fear, worry. "Well, don't everyone talk at once."

Awkward laughter cracked through the tension. It seemed that there might be a chance that everyone would adjust to his sudden reappearance with little to no issue. "It's good to see you here, Your Highness," Scott spoke, earnings nods of agreement and a few smiles. 

The anxiety slowly melted away and Tony found himself feeling a little more at ease. It would all be fine. It would all be fine. "Well," he cleared his throat, the sound akin to a pebble dropped in a tin can. "Where is my favorite stable boy, huh?"  

Heads turned, eyes searching for the boy Tony had taken under his wing before the curse had struck. Peter had made himself comfortable aiding Wanda in the kitchens, but before he was the best stable boy the kingdom had ever seen. Tony was eager to train him to be a knight some day, making it his mission. However, the two hadn't crossed paths in quite some time. 

"He isn't here." The confusion laced in Maryjane's voice signaled that she hadn't expected that. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey immediately scanned the crowd, panic starting to set in when they realized the little teacup wasn't among their friends. 

Even so, their panic was no match for Tony's anger. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

 -------

 Arriving home wasn't something that sat well with Bucky. He didn't understand it, but he felt like he wasn't coming home. It felt like he was leaving it behind. Dismounting the mare he had borrowed from Y/N's stables, he stared at the small house before him. Steve had to be here. He wouldn't be foolish enough to confront Brock and his men over and over. Not without backup. Right?  

"Steve?" Bucky stepped through the doorway, gaze scanning and searching for any sign that his friend had been here recently. "Steve, please tell me you're here."  

Nothing. 

Making his way to the stairs, they creaked under his now foreign weight. He was hoping and silently praying that maybe, just maybe, Steve was sleeping hard enough that he didn't hear Bucky's arrival. But the sinking pit in his stomach reminded him that Steve had never been a light sleeper. 

 "Steve," he tried once more, opening the door that lead to his bedroom. It was empty, bed neatly made and fresh drawings hanging in the air to dry. Bucky clenched his jaw, trying not to let his fear bring up the worst possibilities. "Damn it..." His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as he tried to keep the tears at bay. His choosing to trade places with Steve was what brought this mess on. It was his fault.

 "Mister Bucky?" 

That...That wasn't Steve. Bucky looked down at the satchel attached to his hip. It had been where he had stored the mirror, but there wasn't anything else in there. Or so he believed. 

 Peter nudged the flap of the bag open, grinning up at the man who stared at him in complete shock. "Hi!"

 "What the hell are you doing here?" Bucky lifted Peter up, setting him on the bed and crouching before him. So many questions ran through his head. Did Y/N know? Were they looking for him? Why was he even here?

"I wanted to figure out why you left." 

Bucky frowned. "Peter, you shouldn't be here." 

"And neither should you. You should be with Y/N." 

"No, I should find Steve." He rose, his mind already listing the different places Steve could be. The best one to check would probably be the tavern.

 "You stay here."  

"But -"

"Peter, stop. I don't have time for this." Bucky walked around the bed, closing the satchel as Peter hopped across the thin mattress. "Just let me find Steve and I'll be right back." The door closed behind him, silencing Peter before he could develop any sort of argument. Rushing down the stairs, he came to the front room as the not-too-distant sound of horses met his ears. What was that? 

Opening the door, Bucky stumbled back when he came face to face with an unexpected guest. His hand instinctively grasped the leather at his side, his jaw clenching and shoulders tensing. "Brock." 

"Hello, Barnes." The Hydra officer leaned forward, arm propping itself against the doorway and revealing the sight just behind him. Steve was in chains, unconscious and head cast to the ground, a hollowness to his face. He'd lost weight and the injuries did nothing to help keep his strength. The sight made Bucky's heart stop. This was what happened to his best friend? This was what he had caused?

 "Steve..." He stepped forward, his mind instantly reeling and instinctively acting on all he could think of - instinct. He was stopped by Brock's hand pressing against his chest. His piercing gaze shifted to the officer before him. Oh, all Bucky wanted was to punch that smug grin off of his face. "Let him go." 

"No." His grin turned into a smirk as he added, "I think I have a better idea." 

The sound of shouting forced Peter to look away from the door and instead, to the window on the opposite side of the room. He hurriedly made his way across, struggling to finally reach the windowsill, but finding aid with the nearby chair. Breathing hot air against the cloudy glass, he squinted and struggled to make out the figures. "Bucky!" Hopping eagerly when he recognized his friend, Peter's brow scrunched when he noticed that someone was punching him. "No! No, stop it!" Peter spun around, looking around the room for some form of escape, but finding nothing that could be of any use. "Come on, there has to be something." 

Bucky's knees hit the ground, arm unable to dodge the foot that kicked the back of his head. His face greeted the mud and he grimaced. It tasted disgusting. He grunted when one soldier twisted his arms behind his back, another yanking his hair back and forcing him up. 

"So where were you, Barnes?" Rumlow asked, his voice closer to Steve. 

 Meeting Brock's gaze, Bucky sneered before spitting out grass and dirt. "Go fuck yourself."

 Brock scoffed before gesturing for one of his soldiers to throw Bucky's bag his way. He caught it with one arm. "Let's take a look, shall we?" He watched the way Bucky's eyes flashed, the emotion something he didn't care to think too much about. Instead, he flipped the satchel over and spilled out its only contents. The mirror.  

Bucky jerked, trying to free himself from the two soldiers. Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Be careful with that."

 Brock smirked, tossing the satchel to the side before picking up the mirror. He didn't pay much attention to the reflection, instead flipping it over. The smug expression, that pleased glint in his eyes, it vanished at the sight of the insignia on the back. He turned his attention back to Bucky. "Where did you get this?" 

Bucky grinned. "Bite me." 

"You can never make things easy, can you? Always having to turn me into some sort of bad guy." Brock rolled his eyes and turned away, taking strides towards Steve. Bucky tensed when he saw one of the soldiers pass him a sword. "Do I have to ask again?" Stepping behind Bucky's oldest friend, he held the sword to Steve's throat. The look in Bucky's eyes earned an amused grin. "Where did you get the mirror, Barnes?"

Bucky's gaze never wavered from his unconscious friend. He couldn't fail him again. "I - The castle.”

"The only castle around for miles is Hydra's and this," he flipped the mirror around, showing the back to Bucky. "Isn't the Hydra insignia."

Bucky bowed his head, strands of hair shielding his face as he tried to blink away tears. "No, it isn't."

"So care to share with the group?"

Clenching his jaw, Bucky refused to look his way. Steve was the stronger of the two. Always had been. He was a good man, a fighter. He didn't deserve this. But if Steve was awake, if he could fight, he wouldn't want Bucky to say a word. The idea of Hydra getting the upper hand was something Steve would never let happen. Shoulders slumping, he couldn't help but wonder - how did it get this bad?

"Alright, have it your way." Brock tossed the mirror to Bucky's feet, the reflection staring up at him, mocking him. Bucky blinked, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks and onto the glass. He glanced up, seeing the sword raise.  Steve might not want Hydra to win. But Bucky did not want Steve to die. His eyes grew as the sword came down, struggling to break out of the grip of his captors. "Wait!" The sword stopped only an inch away from Steve's neck. With his back to Bucky, Brock gave his soldiers a knowing smile. He turned to face Bucky, flipping the sword and striking it into the ground. "Yes?" Bucky's panicked gaze looked from Steve to the mirror and back. He could right this. He could help Y/N through whatever Brock had planned, but he couldn't save Steve if he was dead. Eyes never wavering from Steve, he said, "Show him. Show him everything." Brock's brow furrowed, confusion evident. It vanished as quickly as it appeared when he noticed the reflection in the mirror begin to change. Gone was Bucky's reflection, quickly replaced by the woods. It seemed to be traveling, showing the way to the castle that appeared just beyond the trees. Brock picked it up, eyeing the imagery carefully. It was dark, a looming structure he couldn't quite place the familiarity of. It wasn't until the image rippled again and showed a wild animal, a beast, that Brock dropped the mirror in disgust. "What the hell was that?" The sight of Brock's disgust made Bucky's stomach churn. Not so long ago, he would have reacted the exact same way. Now that he knew Y/N, the clear reaction only made Bucky angry. "She is a good person. Someone better than you could ever be." Brock laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have feelings for that creature." When Bucky's gaze never wavered, Brock laughed. "Are you in love with that thing? That beast?" Bucky jerked forward, fighting off the guards only long enough to rise to his feet. They pulled him back, a third soldier unsheathing his sword and pressing it to Bucky's neck. He didn't flinch, staring Brock down. "She's not a beast." "A 'she' is it?" Bucky growled. "Yes." "Careful, Barnes, you're sounding a little like a beast yourself." "She's good and kind. There's more humanity in her heart than you and your men combined." "She's a danger to your town's people." "No more than you, Rumlow," he spat. Something shifted in Brock's features. Bucky couldn't quite place it, but the sight sent a shudder down his spine. He clenched his jaw, flinching when Brock raised his hand, pressing the blade against Bucky's neck. It pricked the skin, allowing a slow trickle of blood to glide down his neck. "Let's see about that, hm?" Taking a couple steps back, he turned to his soldiers. "Let's pay this castle and its beast a visit!" Soldiers cheered, rising up with excitement and immediately going to their horses. Hand catching the shoulders of two nearby soldiers, Brock said, "Take care of these two. Make sure they can't follow us."

"Rumlow, I swear to whatever god there is that you will pay if you so much as touch her." Bucky tried to throw off the soldiers holding him back, ignoring the stinging pain that came from his neck. Brock looked his way and smirked. "You'll have to catch me first, Barnes." "Rumlow!" Bucky lunged, missing the sight of one of the soldiers raising the hilt of his sword. He was struck in the back of the head. Falling to his knees, the last thing he saw was Brock mounting his horse before everything went black. Peter's features were pressed to the glass to the best of his abilities. He fidgeted nervously. Bucky was unconscious like his friend. The soldiers were leaving to attack his home, his friends and family. And he was stuck here. "This isn't good. This is not good. Not good at all."

----

Tags:

Beauty and the Beast:

@learisa​ @xoxalwayschangingxox @cap-just-said-language​

All works:

@rinthehufflepuff​ @the-captain-bambooty 

[scriptingpenguin]

Family blood

A little nice short story about Sett dealing with some internal issues

With the everyday tension growing in Ionia, few find days of respite and luxury. Noxians were knocking at their door every few days or so. One would always hear of a village or town being torn from Ionia’s beautiful lands. The Noxians cared not for the destruction they left in their wake, their only care was to conquer and reap the lands for their own. 

Navori, a town where a crime lord is at the center. Anyone who dared challenge his word, would find their teeth on the ground. His reputation introduced him to anyone entering the town for the first time. Though there are some who think he is just some bastard child who is throwing a tantrum. In the crowds there were many hooded and cloaked citizens. Two whisper to each other as they keep their heads low, “I swear I saw her come this way…” 

“I cannot believe she slipped from under your nose!” The woman cried. 

“I swear she looked like you! She had all your features!” Her companion argued. 

While the two spoke and scurried through the crowd, there was a copy of the woman traveling in the opposite direction heading to a very dangerous part of town. 

In the pits, roaring and cheering can be heard coming from the stands. Skin on skin, bone on bone, thundering bodies hitting the floor as people fought for their glory or their lives. But under the pits there is a hideout one that was home to the infamous crime lord, Sett. The large half Vastayian wolverine like man slouched on his throne. A body dropped in front of him as the man whimpered and groaned. 

“You took from me something, and you have yet to pay it back. As per our agreement, you will work in the pits.” Sett gruffed staring down at the insect before him. He could almost taste the fear emanating from the lowlife.

“Take him away, his damn whimpering is giving me a headache.” He waved the man off as one of his subordinates gripped the man’s neck and dragged him out of the room. Sighing to himself, Sett looked over to his right hand, “Is that the last one? I need a break. It’s another one of those days.”

The woman nodded and put down the list in her hands, “Yes boss, that was the last one.”

With a groan the dark red headed man stood from his throne and walked out of the room with his hands deep in his pockets. He slowly paced through the hallways his head lost in thought. He sat on a bench and groaned with his head in his hands. 

“Same shit everyday. These Noxian fucks think they can run into my territory and try to take from me. You’d think with the few I send home packing with bruises and broken bones would tell their friends to keep away.” He huffed as he stared down at his feet, “And I keep getting reminded of the bad blood I have. Anytime I look at one of their faces.”

He would see feet approach him, “You sound like you need someone to talk to…” His eyes looked up to see a noxian woman in a cloak. As if a switch flipped in him, he stood up and swung his fists at the woman. 

“Fucking Noxian bitch how did you get in here?!” He growled.

The woman backed away and quickly her form changed into something more, her. The chameleon like girl looked over at him with her hands up, “W-wait, Neeko is not Noxian! She is just Vastayian! Well not really more Vastayashai'rei. But I am not a stinky Noxian!”

Sett’s demeanor completely changed from attack, to confusion. “Vataya-what? Sorry I am not really too intuned with my Vastayian side, though I should be. Question stands at how did you get here? And how did you do that?” 

Neeko transformed herself to look like Sett and giggled, “It’s magic! Neeko and her people can copy peoples Shoma! Oh that is another word you might not know… Um peoples auras I guess? Oh and Vastayashai'rei is what you might call the first of the Vastayians! My people are direct descendants!”

Sett looked at his mirror copy and tilted his head. “Wow, you really do look exactly like me… Even got my scar right. Huh, I needa shave a little… Wait do you copy everything?” He looks up and down his mirror. 

“What do you mean?” Neeko turned back into herself and looked up at the man.

“Well do you have… Actually nevermind. Also, no I don’t need to talk to anyone!” He growled.

Neeko sat down on the bench and smiled, “Its okay! We are like family! You can tell big sister Neeko all your problems and I can help in my own Neeko way!”

He raised a brow looking at her then shook his head, “We are not ‘family’ my only family is my ma who I love with all my heart.” 

“Not true! We are family! We share the same blood! Although your blood might have a lot more peoples in it. And aren’t these other people in this home your family?” 

Sett took a step back and let out an  exaggerated groan, “I mean, yea I guess? But calling me family is not a good thing. I am a damn Noxian bastard child who has the best and prettiest mom in the world.” 

Neeko’s ears perked up, “Pretty mom?! Neeko wanna see! Not as pretty as my Nidalee though!” 

Sett’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the chameleon, “No because you might turn into her. And that would be weird for me.”

“Sorry Neeko got off topic. But you are more than just that! Neeko can tell by your Shoma that you care deeply for mama! You may have bad things in your blood but that shouldn’t mean you are bad! You are you! You can be Vastayian, or Noxian, or even just Ionian if you want! You yourself defines you, not your blood! My tribe is my family, but Nidalee is also family! She helped Neeko when she was in trouble and Neeko is very happy for it!” 

Neeko hopped up and poked at the man’s chest, “Hating yourself just makes you wanna punch things! And if you are too busy hating yourself, where will your love for mama come from!” 

Sett looks at the girl in awe as she may talk funny but she is spitting out some major truth. Soon his right hand comes walking in with two cloaked Noxians being dragged by their collars, “Boss I found these two snooping around  and- wait who is she and how did she get here?”

The two Noxians pointed at Neeko, “There she is!”

Neeko ran behind Sett and hid, “Those two tried to capture Neeko. She ran from them both. That is how Neeko got here.”

Sett’s eyes threw fire at the two Noxians as he walked over to them. “Let me handle this.” His right hand dropped them both and walked off glaring over at Neeko. Neeko transformed into her and giggled at her, “Neeko thinks you are pretty…”

Cracking his knuckles he lifted one up by the scruff of his neck, “You Noxians never learn, Don’t Fuck With My People!” He reeled back and knocked out a few teeth from the man. He dropped his bloodied face on the floor and glared at the woman, “Get out of my town before I throw you both in the pits. I see either of your mugs again and I will do more than just take out a few teeth.”

 The two screamed out and ran out while Neeko smiled and tapped Sett’s shoulder, “Is Neeko your people?”

Sett smirked a little and nodded, “Yes she is. Thanks. Your a funny little one. You ever need help around here, let me know.”

“Well, Neeko could use a nice place to stay for the night, maybe next door to the pretty lady?”

[elmidol]

Masks Worn :: Weaknesses Shown

Three Blind Tooke Part One Resistance is Futile

Read on AO3

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment and assault

Three Blind Tooke Part One: Resistance is Futile Chapter Fifteen: Masks Worn :: Weaknesses Shown

A stranger in the corridor, one I knew once before. Not much time has passed since then; A shock to meet again.

The next time you saw Kylo Ren, he was in front of a different window. Staring out at the stars. His cowl was lowered, and you found yourself staring at the back of his helmet. Your stormtrooper escort did not appear to be comfortable, and so you moved on from the location whilst clutching your hands close to your stomach. When you turned down the next corner, a fist connected with your face. Black and red filtered through your vision, and you reeled backwards, colliding with your escort, who made a startled noise. Footsteps walking past you, a snort as though whoever it was had struck you was far from satisfied but would take what he could get, and you were being righted by the stormtrooper behind you. You reached up, touching your nose and feeling blood coating your fingers.

You cupped your nose, wincing when you touched it at a certain angle. The stormtrooper placed a hand on the middle of your back, steering you down a different path than the one you had been walking. Laughter in your ears when some of the officers and ‘troopers saw you. You felt rage bubble within you, the urge to strike out—yet you did not want your privileges revoked. You were under no misconception; while General Hux and you had a current understanding and respect for one another, you were still his prisoner. That wasn’t something the man would forget, no matter how much he planned on using you. And so you endured the mocking, the laughter, and even the couple of catcalls you received as you were led to medbay.

When it was announced that your nose wasn’t broken, you hardly felt any better. It hurt—a lot. Apparently your lip had also been busted from the blow, yet the pain from that had been less than the other. You were given a tissue while the physician tended to you, the woman ensuring that the bleeding ceased prior to telling the stormtrooper that you would remain there; for the purpose of preventing a second blow that would undoubtedly break your nose. Despite your nose not being broken, by the end of the day, you were sporting two black eyes.

Two boot steps, both familiar to you, entered medbay close to the start of sleep cycle. They both paused at the end of your bed. General Hux, however, stepped forward, turning you onto your back so that he could get a better look at your face. His lips were pinched together, his nose wrinkling at the sight of you. “This could well compromise our intentions for her,” the redhead spat, and you knew it was Kylo Ren who was his intended audience for the comment.

“The officer has been dealt with accordingly,” that modulated voice stated without any sense of passion. So indifferent. You glanced down at the Force user, finding that he was looking past you, at the First Order General. Said man’s gaze swept along you once more before he stepped away, walking out of medbay at a brisk pace that indicated his crew might endure his displeasure. Kylo Ren, too, took a step backwards with the intention of leaving.

You placed your palms flat against the mattress of the medbay bed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Your head spun a little, which had you swallowing down some bile. Kylo Ren paused in his movements. His chin dipped, his visor pointed at your face. Then he jerked his head up, as though he could not stand looking at you. It caused you a moment’s hesitation. When you recovered, however, you managed to speak up:

“It’s your fault.” He snorted, which sounded strange when it was filtered through his vocoder. Kylo Ren started to turn, stopping when you crawled down the length of the bed while speaking to him. “I’m confiding in my enemy because of you.” His fingers twitched, his hands becoming fists. “Being used…having to accept it… Looking for something normal when it’s not. It’s just us using one another, isn’t it?”

“The General?” You felt your lungs deflate when he spoke to you. Kylo Ren twisted back around, cocking his head to the side and stepping closer to you. Your bottom lip quivered, which made it sting. “I was using you as well, tooke.”

You closed your eyes when he said it, the term of endearment. Your breath left you again, this time more shakily. “I pretended it was different.” You swallowed thickly. “It is different. For him it isn’t sexual, it’s about power. I can respect that.”

“Yet you were on your knees. Desperate for something in your mouth.”

“You’re gross,” you hissed out, flinging yourself off the bed and towards him. He took a single step backwards, dodging your hand when you went to grab at him. You flinched at this action. “What are you—“

“Quite like the general, I am not interested in damaged goods.” Your head spun, your body swaying in a way that had you hitting into the bed frame. You collapsed onto it. Your eyes were wide in shock, your mouth open.

“B-bantha fodder,” you whispered when you recovered. Kylo Ren, who had started to walk away, paused midstep. “That’s bantha fodder! I… Everything with him is… I can see it in his eyes. It’s calculated. There isn’t anything…there’s no love between us. It’s all strategy, and I can accept that!” He began walking again, and you jumped off the bed a second time, feeling a spell of dizziness assaulting you so that you stumbled initially as you walked. “You never did that! It wasn’t like that… You… Ren!” You flung yourself at him for a second time, wrapping your arms around his midsection as he made to exit medbay. He tensed up at the contact, trembling. “You messed me up, and now you want to leave me, and that’s…that’s such—“

Kylo Ren turned around in your grasp, his thumb tracing over your lips, silencing you. “You have always been a mean’s to an end.” You drew one hand, your left, away from his waist and held onto his wrist. The thing was, you did not believe him; actions, to you, spoke louder than words. “The First Order will crush the Resistance.”

“…creature.” His entire body jerked when you called him that, his chest rising and falling as though he were suddenly holding back a storm of emotions, of anger and hurt. “I… Are you… It hurts you…that I kissed the General, doesn’t it?” He pulled his hand out of your grasp, away from your mouth, and pushed you away. In a flurry of black robes, the man exited medbay, leaving you standing there until one of the physicians came over and took you back to your bed.

You laid on your side, one arm curled up under the pillow. It had hit you the moment the officer had punched you in the face; the differences and similarities between General Hux and Kylo Ren. The similarities were that they both had never denied using you, had used their humanity to get you to open up. The difference was that you had rejected Kylo Ren, had found a use in temporarily humoring the redhead. The difference was that you had attempted to kill Kylo Ren and so he had reacted by harming you, as one would any prisoner. The difference was that he had had you first, which is why he had found your weakness, to be touched. Sex as a weapon—General Hux had already admitted that he had overseen such things as well. The difference was that Kylo Ren had brought you gifts. Had dropped his guard near you, had developed feelings for you.

General Hux had been present during the interrogation wherein you were used as a weakness against the other Resistance member. He had been passive about you then, uncaring. That you now had one another’s respect meant only that you could each act civilly in the presence of the other. Could enjoy certain aspects about one another.

You could not help but remember the way you had felt when you had believed you weren’t the only one Kylo Ren was having sex with. Cupping a hand over your mouth, you closed your eyes and felt a sob forming. He had reacted so hurt before getting control over himself when you had called him unlovable. He hadn’t hurt you when you had tried to kill him with the mirror shard.

And always, always him saying You’re mine, tooke.

“It’s war,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s war… It’s ugly… It’s war…” The sob at last broke through, causing your entire body to shudder with its intensity. You were crying because it had at last hit you, what you had done to him. He had let his guard down, as you had been waiting for, when you had attacked him that last time. But the thing was, you had up to that point been pretending it was Ben Solo fucking you. And that had been perhaps the closest he had ever been to returning to that man. “Fuck!” You gripped the pillow underneath your head. He hadn’t been mocking you at all that time. “Kriffkriffkriff…”

Your nose hurt, your lips as well, as you cried. Snot running down your face, tears, spittle when you coughed a few times. Aside from Resistance scum, he had never before resorted to name-calling. Yet he had referred to you as damaged goods. You remembered the way he had stared at your hand that day when you had grabbed onto General Hux. The way he had been gone from the cafeteria by the time you had grabbed your food.

You wondered if General Hux had lied to you when he said that Kylo Ren did not care if you lived or died. Or perhaps that was what Supreme Leader was telling his apprentice to feel.

The thing with General Hux, and he probably well knew, was that Kylo Ren had been right—you really did just need and want something to hold onto. Your mind flashed to the helmet of Darth Vader, the way Kylo Ren had allowed you to hold it. Something that meant so much to him…

You wrapped your hand around the tattoo of Kylo Ren on your finger, holding it close and crying yourself to sleep.

You were made to remain in medbay the entirety of the next day, until evening at which point General Hux escorted you to his personal quarters. You showered, played with Millicent as he also washed, and then snatched the bottle of brandy from him when he took it out. You worked it open, sealed your lips around the rim, and took a big gulp of it that caused your eyes to fill with tears and you to choke a bit. The redhead frowned, watching this behavior, yet said nothing. You snorted, raking your eyes along his frame.

“You’re terrible. Waiting for me to loosen up enough to spill things. It didn’t work with Ren, it won’t with you.” Millicent hit her head against your side, rubbing against you before finally settling down on the bed. You took another drink. “You just have to endure my moping, my complaints about sex.”

“And endure you rudely taking the entire bottle,” he drawled, causing you to smile grimly. General Hux reached forward and tugged away the aforementioned item. He lifted it to his mouth, drinking its contents. He climbed onto the bed with you, sitting in a way that showed he could easily spring up. A smile graced his face. “You’re always looking for openings to attack, even though you currently have no intention of doing so.”

“You’re doing the same—so what?” you murmured. You watched as Millicent stood, stretched, and pattered over to her master.

“I was informed of your interactions with Ren after I left.” You felt your legs twitch, the urge to flee the room growing within you. “Do you have a death wish?” You found that you could not answer him immediately. Ever since you had been caught, a part of you had wanted death. Living left you with the opportunity to assist the Resistance, even if in small ways. You sighed, and General Hux took another drink before handing you the bottle. You happily accepted it. “The bruising should fade by the time we are ready to leave…or at least enough that it can be easily concealed with a coat of foundation.”

“Oh, geez, I’m so relieved,” you bit out sarcastically.

The redhead’s lips curled back from his teeth. “You should be. If you are not presentable, you hold no benefit to the First Order and won’t be taken planet side. Thus you will have no opportunity to help your pathetic Resistance.” You felt rather deflated. Simpering, you took another drink of brandy.

“Supreme Leader has found that this is best.” His voice echoed in your thoughts with every drink you took. “You are…a fix. Your naivety serves as a reminder of how foolish it would be to listen to any calls from the light.”

As though Snoke had known Kylo Ren would let his guard down eventually, that you would still attempt to kill him. A lesson for his apprentice. You had been played. Kylo Ren as well. And here you were attempting to gain an advantage over a man just as devious as the Supreme Leader of the First Order.

“Did you kiss me to piss off Kylo Ren?” you asked, lowering the bottle at last and staring straight at the redhead.

He cocked a brow. “It was one of my motives. Yet you should remember: you first kissed me.”

“That’s why you won’t have sex with me though, isn’t it? Because he wouldn’t… I’ve seen his…heard him slashing through things with his lightsaber in a fit of rage.” General Hux grabbed up the bottle from you with one hand while with the other he patted Millicent’s head. “You’re all attempting to use me in your own way… It’ll blow up in your faces.”

“Doubtful.” You scowled, held out your hand for the brandy, and drank the rest of the bottle when it was given to you.

Before you were taken out of the man’s personal quarters by a stormtrooper, you were sent into the refresher to use the toilet. To say you had to pee a lot was an understatement. When at last you were finished, you stumbled out of the refresher, set a hand on the redhead’s chest, and sloppily kissed him goodnight. The man puckered his lips long enough to return the gesture, amusement openly displayed on his part. You waved over your shoulder, swaying as you walked to the stormtrooper when the door was opened. You slipped your arm into your escort’s. The stormtrooper tensed at first, obviously taken aback, yet relaxed when you rested your head against his arm. He seemed to catch on quickly to your inebriated state.

The two of you walked down the hallways of the Finalizer. Or, rather, he walked slowly and you stumbled along. Eyes darted in your direction, a few of the officers and stormtroopers straightening up as though they were ready to lunge at you. To attack. Then, however, they slunk back; they were likely discouraged by the knowledge of what had happened to the last person who had assaulted you.

A familiar blackness entered your vision, and you darted towards it. You stumbled, falling onto your knees and laughing a bit at your clumsiness, and pushed yourself back onto your feet. You were wobbly. The individual who had caught your attention did not move. You felt his gaze on you through that mask he always wore. Running a hand through your hair, you felt a trail of tears making its way down your face, though you weren’t exactly sure why it was that you were crying.

“Do you hate me, creature?” you asked, swaying and grabbing onto the edge of the wall to keep from falling again. Kylo Ren did not react to your taunting tone. “I tried to kill you. You hate me, right? You should really hate me—what I did. Do you hate me?”

“You’re…drunk,” he said after another moment, sighing and allowing himself to relax. He gestured to the stormtrooper, your escort. “Take her to her cell.”

“You’re loathsome. Unlovable. I don’t love you, creature. Only your parents could love you, and look what you did with that love,” you drunkenly shot out, slurring a number of your words. “I hate you, you know that? I hate you… Do you hate me?”

“You mean nothing to me,” he said, as though he had rehearsed the line countless times. “You’re not important enough to hate.”

You squeezed your hands into fists. General Hux’s voice echoed in your brain, asking if you had a death wish. Shaking your head, hardly sobered by his words though the impact of what Kylo Ren had said was harsh, you jerked your arm out of the stormtrooper’s grasp when he reached for you.

“You said I was yours—you put your fucking name on me!”

“I don’t want you, tooke. You’re unlovable. Broken. Resistance scum. The only purpose your life currently serves is to benefit the First Order. Return her to her cell.”

There was only minor hesitation on the ‘trooper’s part before he lifted you, throwing you over his shoulder. You clenched your hands, sobbing and beating your fists against the white of his armor. When you were thrown onto your bed, you rolled over and started to pound on the mattress. The cell door closed, and you tired yourself out with your fit as well as vomiting into the toilet.

The following morning, you remained in bed without eating breakfast. Your hangover left you feeling wretched. Memories of the previous night did nothing to help matters. You skipped lunch as well, and at dinner only picked at your food. You politely declined the offer to visit with General Hux, to take a shower. The cell door opened in the middle of the night, and you rolled over—and instantly froze up. He nearly blended in with the darkness of the cell. The door closed, and he lowered himself into a crouch in the middle of your cell. Watching you.

You toyed with the finger that held his current name, as you found yourself doing more and more each day. You rolled off the bed, slipping down to where you were on your knees with your hands in your lap. Still tracing the letters of the tattoo. When the man stood, your heart seemed to skip a beat. Rather than leave, however, he walked closer to you. Kylo Ren reached into his robes, withdrawing his hand a moment later with something there. You squinted your eyes in the darkness, attempting to discern what it was he held. Before you could figure it out, however, he opened his hand and let the object fall into your lap.

It rolled onto the ground, and while you were distracted with the task of retrieving it, the Force user exited your cell. Unable to see in the darkness, you clutched the object to your chest, tracing your fingers over it and blindly identifying it. The hairclip; the tooke hairclip he had put in your hair so long ago. You hadn’t known he had kept it.

You climbed back into bed, curled up and clutched desperately onto the small object. Something to hold. Something that was yours. As your lids grew heavier, you tucked the clip into your hair, securing it in place so that you did not lose it.

Though you ate breakfast in the cell, you allowed the stormtrooper to lead you to a refresher so that you could shower. You hated the entire experience; the way officers and stormtroopers alike would pull aside your shower curtain and gaze at your naked body. The way they would mock you, say obscene things to you. The way more than one exposed themselves to you. You stared at their cocks with distaste. The strange realization that Kylo Ren was well endowed made your head spin; you didn’t know what to think, how to nudge away the fact when it was presented to you. Yet it’s so small rang through your head at some of the flashes of flesh.

You dressed, assaulted only by minor gropings that made you feel rather sick to your stomach. You pulled on the fresh clothing, a jumpsuit instead of the tank top and shorts. That was fine with you. You wanted more of your skin hidden, especially from the leering eyes whose owners blew you kisses. You tucked the tooke clip back into your hair, fingering it while walking out of the refresher.

Along with your escort, you explored portions of the Finalizer that were open to you. General Hux paused in one of the corridors, his eyes on the hairclip. “Your men were…indecent.”

“In the refresher?” he questioned, at last removing his gaze from your hair. You nodded a single time. “I’ll see to it that in the future you are taken to a more secluded area. You plan on remaining on your best behavior, correct?”

“I plan on upholding our…agreement…mutual understanding. No… No more brandy.”

“Certainly not for you. That wasn’t the sort of slipup I was hoping for. It was of no benefit to me.” You felt yourself laughing at that, breathily through your nose and your lips stretching to the sides as you shook your head. His blunt nature was refreshing. “The planet we will be visiting holds some resources that would be of great value. They will not, however, provide us with them should we be deemed overtly hostile.”

“I’m to help put their minds at ease. Let you play at being kind, even to those who oppose you.”

“There will undoubtedly be a Resistance member or sympathizer… Seeing that you are alive aids the Resistance. I know that. You know that.”

“Win-win as well as lose-lose.”

“I have weighed the odds. It is an acceptable loss on my part. Given your current position, it’s a win you can afford.”

“Because they will also be aware that you are gaining the materials.”

“Precisely.”

“You are…such a formidable foe, General Hux.” He grunted, lifted a hand, and traced along the hairclip. The redhead took a step forward, leaned down, and caused more than simply the stormtrooper escort to release a noise of surprise or startlement when he pressed his lips to yours. It was a simple kiss, one that you returned. He broke the contact, however kept his face near yours. “It isn’t something I will forget,” you said, knowing full well that is what was meant by the kiss. A small pressure on your head as he undid the clip. You clenched your hands into fists when General Hux removed the clip from your hair. You waited for him to walk away with it, however he instead slipped it into your pocket prompting you to furrow your brow.

“It isn’t wise to openly display your weakness.”

He brushed past you, and you stared straight ahead. It was not only you he was referring to. Kylo Ren as well. You whipped around, knowing ahead of time what you would fine. That mask pointed at you. His tense body giving every indication that he had seen you kiss the General. Kylo Ren pressed tightly against the ground with his boot, so that when he turned there was released a sharp squeaking noise. He marched away, and you touched the exterior of your pocket wherein the tooke clip remained.

You were losing the game again, you realized with a feeling of sickness settling in the pit of your stomach. The First Order was gaining the upperhand. General Hux being successful in the same way Snoke had. You were a fighter for the Resistance. A tool to keep Kylo Ren in the darkness.

[Your mother laid on her side with you curled against her stomach. “Some monsters do not need to be killed—they’re looking to be saved.” You stared with confusion at the open page of your storybook. The monster was so cruel, you wanted to tell your mother. Instead you remained silent and did not argue.]

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“A Tease.” Low Honor!Arthur Morgan x Reader smut

I’ve been promising it and putting it off, but its finally here! Some wonderful smut with a Low Honor!Arthur! Enjoy, I certainly know I did!

Smutty smut smut!

Tonight is the night of the party at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. With Bill, Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch in tow, who knows what could happen!

Oh gave yourself one final look over in the mirror. Your pink dress fit your body like a glove, and you noticed with a sly smile how good your cleavage looked in the low neckline. You picked up a simple necklace from your night stand and added it to the ensemble as a final touch. Your curls were pinned tight to your head and your makeup was flawless. With a push up on your bosom and a wink in the mirror you were off. The sun was setting in Shady Belle, the camp was buzzing with excitement for the ball at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. When you opened the door, you couldn’t help but notice the eyes of a few of the men fell on you and lingered. You loved the attention you received at camp, as you were quite vain and flirting was one of your strong suits.

Arthur stood at the carriages with Bill, Hosea, and Dutch. “Damn,” Bill said, staring towards the house. Arthur looked up in time to see you coming towards them. The dress was tight over you abdomen, and flowed into a wide skirt. You were showing more chest than usual and Arthur noticed. He looked to Bill, and to his distaste Bill had noticed as well. He fought the urge to punch Bill right there, but a clever smile pulled at his lips. “Change of plans boys, Bill you can ride with Hosea and Dutch. I’ll take your spot with Y/N.”

Bill sputtered, “what why? That’s no fair Morgan!” Bill crosses his arms and huffed. “We already decided, I ride with Y/N while you discuss the plan with Dutch and Hosea.”

Arthur stepped forward, hand resting on his pistol. His voice dropped to a low deadly voice. “I know the plan inside and out, how about you big guy? You got the plan memorized completely?”

Bill was quiet, always a sore loser. “Fine!” He spat.

As you approached the three nicely dressed men, your eyes hung on Arthur. His hair was slicked back with pomade and his three piece suit made him look divine. When his eyes met yours, he gave you a devilish grin. Bill was standing between Hosea and Dutch looking pouty. You turned away from Arthur, “don’t you boys all look so nice! Even Bill can be a looker when he actually takes a bath!”

This caused a roaring laughter from Dutch and Bill blushed furiously as he looked to the ground. “Shuddup,” he muttered trying to hide his fluster.

Arthur felt his jaw clench. You were turned completely away from him and flirting with Bill of all people! He caught eyes with Dutch and Dutch had to stifle a laugh. He cleared his throat and put his hand on the small of your back, knowing how much it would annoy Arthur. “You look lovely, my dear! I think with a classy lady like this in our midst, we’ll be able to fool these city rats into thinking we’re high society!”

You laughed and put a hand on Dutch’s chest as he walked you past Arthur to your carriage. “Oh please, Dutch you are too kind!”

Dutch opened the door for you and moved his hand from your back to hold your hand “ladies first, Y/N will be riding with Arthur in the front and me, Hosea, and Bill will be trailing in the carriage behind you. Your job tonight will be to do what you do best.”

You gave Dutch a wink as he helped you into the carriage. “Why, you can count on lil ol’ me. Men love to spill their secrets over champagne with a little encouragement.”

Arthur’s fists were clenched tight at the sight of the small touches between you and Dutch, it was like throwing gasoline on a flame and Dutch gave him a knowing look as he passed. Arthur rolled his eyes, at least he would have you to himself in the carriage ride.

Dutch climbed up the stairs to the second carriage and turned to the other men, “okay boys, let’s load up!”

Arthur nodded and let himself into the carriage where you were already waiting. As he took a seat across from you his eyes lingered on your chest.

“My eyes are up here, Mr. Morgan.” You said playfully.

“Oh I know exactly where your eyes are,” he responds as he slowly moves his eyes down your body. “I may just have to keep you to myself tonight with you looking so tempting.”

Arthur’s bold flirting didn’t intimidate you, if anything it egged you on further. You leaned closer to him, “well Mr. Morgan how could I get any information off these rich fools with you clinging to my side?”

He chuckled and leaned back into the seat. You were the only woman in camp who could take his shit and throw it right back. Arthur grabbed the champagne bottle beside him and filled two glasses high. “You’re right, I guess I’ll let you off this time.” He handed you a glass.

You laughed, “like you’ve got a choice.” You say mockingly. You loved to remind Arthur he wasn’t the only one who had eyes for you and you weren’t the type to come easily. If he wanted you, he would have to put in the effort.

By the time you had crossed into Saint Denis, you were both on your third glass of champagne. You had moved to sit closer to him and at this point you were basically on top of each other.

Arthur was more than aware of your hand gently placed on his thigh, just as aware you were of his hand where the small of your back meets your butt. He could feel the heat of your skin under the thin layer of silk and it made him hungry. He ducked his head in close to yours and whispered in your ear, “you’re such a tease, you know that?” His breath was hot down your neck and he nipped your ear with his teeth. You moved your hand up his thigh slowly and pulled his face in close to yours. Your lips barely brushed his cheek as you brought your lips to his ear. “I know exactly how big of a tease I am, but don’t play innocent yourself. I feel that hand on my ass.”

Arthur’s voice was low and husky. “You like that little girl?”

This sent a shiver up your spine. Arthur’s other hand was now trailing slowly up your thigh. You began to respond, but the carriage slowed to a halt and you quickly jumped back to the seat across from Arthur. He cleared his throat and shifted his legs. You bit your finger as you noticed the bulge that had formed in his pants. Your eyes went up to meet his and there was a hunger behind his eyes. You gave him a wink and dropped your hand just in time for the door to swing open. A small man in a tuxedo took your hand and helped you out of the carriage. You stepped out in front of a huge mansion, men and women in their fanciest garb trailed into the house. You felt a big hand on your back and turned to see Arthur behind you. You shifted his hand off you and kept your eyes forward. “Hands to yourself, I can’t have anyone thinking I came with you.”

Arthur frowned. You were right of course, your biggest asset being your looks and flirtatious attitude for tonight. You needed to reel them in whole heartedly and couldn’t do that with Arthur clinging to you.

Dutch, Bill, and Hosea joined you. “Okay everyone,” Hosea said. “Time to do or die.”

You nodded and your group entered the mansion. You had already began working your charms quietly as you entered the house. As you caught the eye of the servants and guests as you passed you winked, smiled, and waved.

Arthur tried his damnest not to notice. Dutch pulled his attention. “Hosea, Bill, Y/N, I want you three to go ahead to the party and start mingling. Arthur and I will go and meet with our gracious host.”

As the two of you split ways, he noticed Bill trailing behind you, eyes dead set on your ass. “Come on Arthur!” Dutch called, and he turned away as he followed Dutch up the stairs.

Angelo Bronte and a few of his men were posted up on the balcony over looking the party. Arthur leaned against the railing and looked over the sea of people while Angelo and Dutch talked. Angelo pointed out figures in the crowd to Dutch and told him their name as he sneered and made fun of them.”

“Is that one yours?” He asked Dutch. He pointed at a pink spot in the crowd. “A beauty that one is, I may have to borrow her for myself tonight.” His voice was low growl.

Before he could control himself Arthur had already quickly straightened up from the balcony, turning quickly to Bronte. Dutch cleared his throat pulling Arthur from his angry daze. “She’s ours alright, but shes a woman all her own. Good luck wrangling that one in, my men have been trying to lasso that one in since day one.” Dutch shot Arthur a look that screamed calm the hell down.

Arthur turned back to his post on the railing and tried to relax. He didn’t know why his anger boiled so quickly but he had to reign it in before he blew the whole damn operation.

“A chase, eh?” Angelo laughed. “I could have half the tramps on that floor with so little as a glance. Who has time for mustangs anymore when there’s a stable on every corner now adays, eh?” He elbowed Dutch, pleased with his joke.

Dutch laughed nervously. “How right you are, Mr. Bronte. I’m more of a stable man myself, but there are some men out there who are still out for the chase.” Dutch’s eyes moved to Arthur and he quickly looked away. “If it’s okay with our esteemed guest, we really should be getting back to our friends.”

“Of course of course!” Angelo said as he took a puff off his cigar. “Enjoy the party, my friends!”

The two men thanked their host before turning and walking down the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Dutch smacked Arthur’s arm. “Control yourself, son. You almost got us shot back there! You’re lucky Angelo wasn’t payin’ enough attention to notice you shootin’ him daggers like that.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

Dutch opened the door to the main party. “Don’t play stupid, Arthur it’s unbecoming. Now, go talk to the mayor and see if you can get any information off him. I’m going to meet up with Bill and see if he found anything.” Arthur nodded, and made his way through the crowd. The people were packed in like sardines and he didn’t like being in such a large crowd. He pushed his way through until he finally made his way to the big fountain where the mayor was standing. As he approached, a man in a tuxedo offered him a flute of champagne. “Thanks partner.” He said as he took it.

The two native men who had been talking to him were finishing their conversation with the mayor and Arthur stood and looked around awkwardly. The crowd was more sparse here, so he could make out the individual people around him. A giddy laughter brought his eyes to you, clinging to a handsome man with a goatee and a handlebar mustache. One of your hands rested on his chest while the other held an empty flute of champagne. Anger rose in his stomach red hot as your hand moved to gently bring the tall man’s face closer to yours. You whispered something in his ear and Arthur noticed how your plump lips brushed the man’s skin as you spoke into his ear. Arthur’s grip on the champagne flute tightened as he watched you, only to be pulled from his angry trance by a small wiry man, “Hello sir, can I help you with something?” Arthur turned to face the mayor and he released his grip on the flute. He caught a glimpse at the crack that had formed in his glass and shook his head. He pushed you from his mind as he put on a charming smile to talk to the mayor.

The man beside you reeked of body odor and liquor. He was piss drunk, and you did your best to keep composure and hold your best smile as his hand trailed down your body. “You are sooo beautiful.” He slurred, into your ear. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. As a man with a platter of champagne flutes passed, you grabbed one and quickly downed it. I’m not drunk enough for this, you tell yourself. But you also knew being too drunk could indanger your ability to work your magic. You brought your hand up up behind his neck and craned the tall man down to you, “wanna take me upstairs?” You whispered in his ear. He inhaled sharply as your lips brushed against him. His grip on you tightened, and you knew you had him.

“I really shouldn’t.” The man said. “Guests aren’t allowed-“

You were alone in the shadows so you pressed your body to him and looked him in the eye, putting on your best pout. “You mean you don’t want me?”

His eyes widened, “no no I just-can’t I take you home with me? I just live down the street here.”

You shook your head and poured your lip slightly, “I came with a group of friends and they would be terribly upset if I left them. It won’t take long, I’m very good at what I do.” You say seductively as you run your hand down his chest and let it rest on his belt buckle. He cleared his throat and his face was red. “Well, if you promise we’ll be quick...” He looked up at the great house.

“Oh I promise, like I said I’m very...efficient.” You cupped him in your hand as you whispered your last word. He gulped and took your hand, quickly leading you to the house. Hook, line, and sinker.

Arthur tried to his eyes focused on the man in front of him, but you were directly behind him meters away. You had lured the man you were with to a dark corner and Arthur tried to compose himself as he watched you press yourself against him, the man greatly flustered. Arthur watched asyour hand trail down the man’s chest and stop on his belt. A small growl escaped his tight lips.

“Everything alright?” The small man asked.

Arthur’s eyes flicked back to the man in front of him. “Yeah, thought I saw someone I knew.”

The man laughed, “trust me, I do that sort of thing all the time! As mayor of such a large town I see a lot of people day to day as you imagine, so I constantly find myself reaching for familiarity with others.”

Arthur nodded along as the man kept talking. His eyes trailed you as the man led you to the mansion. He had to stop himself from following after, ripping you from that man’s grasp, and keeping a firm grip on your waist. He knew you were just doing what you were told but watching you flit and flirt around with other men was maddening. As you disappeared in the house, Arthur found it hard to pay attention to the words coming from the mayor’s mouth. His eyes remained locked on the doors from which you came.

The man drunkenly led you up the stairs. “There’s a bedroom just down the hall here, right beside Mr. Bronte’s office so we’ll have to be quiet.”

“Don’t know if I can promise that, sir.” Your boredom has began to leak into your voice, but the man was too drunk to notice.

“Here we are.” He said as he stopped in front of a large wooden door.

As he turned the knob, a young servant came around the corner. “Guests aren’t allowed upstairs.” The boy said, his voice was unsure.

You gave him your best smile and approached him slowly, “I know sweet pea, but me and this fine gentleman will only be a second.” You leaned down and whispered in his ear, “if you’re a good boy, I’ll come find you when we get done and maybe I can show you exactly what we plan on doing in there.”

The boy’s face turned bright red, “o-okay, just be quick about it.”

As he turned and left, he took one last glance at you before going down the stairs and you gave him a wink. He hurried down the stairs in a tissy.

When you joined the man in the room, he had already began unbuckling his pants and undressing. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.” The man said flatly.

You rolled your eyes in the darkness, charming. You slowly pulled the pistol from the layers of tule under your dress. And slowly approached the man. He was facing away from you. With a swift knock to the back of the head, the man fell to the ground. You lugged his body onto the bed and put it in as natural a position as you could manage. If you made it look like he drunkenly passed out it wouldn’t raise any alarm.

You poked your head out the door, and the coast was clear. You tiptoed to the office door and tried the knob, it was locked. “Shit,” you whispered. You gave one more look around the hall and pulled a pin from your hair to pick the lock.

With a soft click, you were able to open the door. You smiled to yourself as you slipped into the office and quietly shut the door behind you. The office was large with an impressive mahogany desk in the center. You took a seat in the big leather chair and began rummaging through the drawers. You didn’t find much other than a money clip until you hit the final drawer. You smiled as you inspected the documents, stuffed them in your dress, and headed back to the party.

Your heart was pounding as you searched the crowd for any familiar faces. Your eyes landed on Bill first, awkwardly making an attempt to speak to a couple ladies near a table of refreshments. He must’ve said something to offend them, because they huffed off right before you made it to them. “Awww come on!” He shouted in their direction. You came up behind him and looped an arm around him quickly, pulling him away from the refreshment table. He tensed as you grabbed him. You pushed yourself into your top toes to whisper in the big man’s ear. “I just found some very interesting documents, where’s Dutch?”

Bill stammered, “He regrouped with Arthur and Hosea not too long ago.”

“Good, let’s go.” Bill nodded and led you to a small gazebo at the edge of the party.

“Ah Bill, looks like you finally snagged a girl to bring home!” Hosea called.

Arthur looked up and saw your arm looped around Bill’s, that was not part of the plan. Bill looked down at Arthur boastfully and straightened his back with bravado. “Yeah, I think this one’s got it bad for me, can’t keep her hands off me!”

You laughed and unlooped yourself from Bill. You noticed Arthur’s eyes on you, burning intensely. It could’ve been the liquor, or it could’ve been how how hot it got you seeing Arthur like this. You looked him dead in the eye before turning and placing a small kiss on Bill’s cheek. “What can I say? I guess Ive got a thing for outlaws.”

Bill’s face turned bright red and when you turned away to join the other men he rubbed his cheek where you kissed it.

Dutch laughed and threw an arm around your shoulders, he caught on to your little trick you were playing on Arthur and wanted in on the fun. “Well well, someone’s been in the champagne tonight.”

You giggled and glanced at Arthur who wasnt even looking at you. “Maybe I have, but I can hold my liquor well enough to get the job done.”

You pulled the paperwork from your cleavage and Hosea laughed as you flattened the papers on the table. “I found these in Bronte’s office. Top secret, very confidencial, straight from Leviticus Cornwall.” You say quietly. “If you men got everything you needed, I would say the sooner we leave the better. The man I left upstairs could wake up any minute now and I don’t want to be here when he does.”

“I think we’ve got everything we needed. Let’s head home before Y/N’s knight in shining armor comes back to reclaim his prize.” Dutch said.

You laughed and nodded as you folded the papers and handed them to Dutch. “Sounds good boys, let’s get this show on the road!”

Arthur stood and took a step towards you, but Bill stepped in front of him and held out his arm, “My lady?” He said as he shot Arthur a look, feeling much bolder now.

You smiled wickedly, feeling Arthur’s gaze burning holes in your back. “Why Bill, whoever knew you were such a gentleman?”

Arthur’s eyebrows flew into his hair line as you looped your arm around his happily. This was certainly not part of the plan, and Arthur could feel his rage bubbling inside him again. Hosea put a hand on his shoulder, “you gonna let Bill show you up like that?”

Arthur huffed, “hell no.” Arthur sped his pace, but Bill noticed and sped up as well. Bill quickly led you to the carriage. As Arthur approached, Bill cleared his throat. “Mind if I take Mr. Morgan’s place on the way home?”

You caught Arthur’s gaze and smiled mischievously. “Why I don’t mind at all.” With that you stepped into the carriage, quite pleased with yourself.

Bill turned back to Arthur and gave him a low taunting laugh.

Arthur snapped, “what you laughin’ at Bill?”

“Oh nothin’, what’s got you so spittin’ mad Morgan?” Bill challenged.

Arthur grimaced. “Nothin’. Not a damn thing.”

Dutch put a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he watched Bill climb into the carriage. “Looks like you’re stuck with us on this one!”

Arthur shrugged it off, not in the mood for games. “Yeah, whatever.”

Dutch and Hosea exchanges glanced as Arthur entered the wagon.

Bill was quiet and fiddled with his thumbs nervously on the way home. It was cute how nervous he was, but boring. You found yourself thinking back to the ride into town with Arthur and regretted pulling Bill into the carriage with you. You closed your eyes as you thought about the way his hands slowly dragged across your body, he way his breath felt against you skin, and the way his teeth nipped at your ear. Oh yes, you found yourself deeply regretting letting Bill ride with you as your mind wandered as to what you would be doing if Arthur had joined you on the way home. But you also couldn’t help but notice the way those dark eyes looked at you when you flirted with Bill, something primal just beyond the surface.

When you got back to camp there were still people milling about an drinking around the fire. Bill stepped out first and took your hand to help you down. You smiled and nodded to him, “thank you Bill, you’ve been a real sweetheart tonight.”

He rubbed his neck nervously and turned away from you, hiding the blush covering his face. “Yeah, whatever just don’t go tellin’ nobody I’m nice er anything.”

You giggled, and turned to Dutch as the three men exited the carriage. “Take good care of them documents now, I worked real hard gettin’ em!”

Dutch slapped you on the back as he passed you, “dont you worry your pretty little head, they’ll be safe with me.”

You nodded and caught Arthur’s arm as he passed. “The night’s still young and I’ve got some moonshine if you still feel like drinking.”

Arthur couldn’t help himself, “sure, I can stay up a little longer.”

You smiled and gave him a wink, “Good, ain’t no one quite as fun to drink with as you are.”

Arthur leaned in close, “really, not even the poor feller you took to bed earlier tonight?”

You gave a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching. You hadn’t made it out of the shadows yet, so you shoved him against a tree , “that poor bastard couldn’t last a second with me and you know it. You jealous, Morgan?”

His hands wrapped around your wrists tightly as he pulled you closer. His voice was deep and gravelly, “You’d know jealous if you’d seen it.”

His grip on you loosened and you moved away from him quickly as footsteps approached. You gave him a wink, “join me at the fire for a drink, Morgan.” He nodded and followed behind you.

It seemed most the men were still up and to Arthur’s annoyance, we’re very happy to see you. Sean stood as you entered the light from the fire. “Oi, well if the princess hasn’t returned.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a shove, knocking him to the ground. You took a seat between Javier and John.

“You look lovely tonight,” Javier said in between strums of his guitar. Even Charles grunted a compliment as he passed. You even noticed John eyeing you when he thought you weren’t looking. You ate up the attention up as you took long swigs of your moonshine.

Arthur in turn, was being eaten alive watching the other men fawn over you. The skin over his knuckles was white from the how tight he was clenching his fists.

The more you drank, the louder and more flirtatious you got. One arm was looped around Javier’s neck as he played and Arthur couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood and walked away from the fire. He sat down on the steps leading into the threshold of the old abandoned house. He watched as you stumbled to the crate holding the camp’s liquor. You turned a bottle up and drank deeply. You may have your feminine charm, but you could hold your own and keep up with the men and this enticed Arthur. The frilly women that worked in hotels and the soft society women bored him to death. They weren’t even much fun to flirt with anymore. The way they would just blush and laugh and avert their eyes, he didn’t like meekness in a woman. He found himself thinking back to the way you flirted with him so effortlessly, and how bold you were. Not afraid to stare him dead in the eye as you ran your hands over his chest and up his thighs.

“...could do some wonderful things to a woman like you. I could make you feel real good.”

Arthur was pulled from his thoughts by Micah’s lewd words. He had you cornered and Arthur felt his vision turn red with outrage as Micah’s hand grabbed your ass. You tried to beat him off, but the more you back into the crate of liquor, the closer he pinned you in. Arthur was on his feet and his ears were ringing as Micah reached to put a hand on your cheek. You recoiled from his touch. “Get the hell off me, Micah!”

You were beginning to panic. You had left your gun by the fire and your head was spinning from the alcohol. You lifted a hand to slap him but he caught it, squeezing your arm tight. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”

A low laugh escaped his chest, “keep fighting me, I like em fiesty.” His grip tightened. “You think this hurts, you just wait-“

You didn’t even see Arthur barreling towards you. “Get your goddamned hands offa her!”

Arthur’s fist came down on Micah’s temple hard, knocking him out instantly. He looked at you. “You okay?”

You looked at him breathlessly, “yeah thanks.”

He grabbed your hand firmly, but not tight enough to hurt you and began dragging you to the tree line. “Arthur, what in the world are you doin’?”

He didn’t say anything as he dragged you, just growled under his breath. You kept your head towards the ground, careful not to trip.

When you got far enough from camp that you couldn’t see the lights, Arthur stopped. “Why’d ya bring me all the way out here?” You asked.

He turned quickly and caught you by the waist. He took advantage of your surprise and pinned you against a wide tree. His face was in your hair, lips brushing against your ear with every word. “I can’t take it anymore.” He growled into your ear.

His tongue slipped into your ear and you let out a low moan. “You’ve been teasing me all goddamn night, and I’m sick of it.” His voice was rough. “You think you’re something in that little dress with your hair all done up. Runnin’ around camp flirtin’ tryin’ to get a rouse out of me.”

“I ain’t did no such thing.” You challenged, but your voice was weak.

His hand shot up to your throat, “don’t you lie to me girl. You think I didn’t notice the looks you were givin’ me?” His thumb brushed your lips. “Rubin’ up and kissin’ on Bill like that. You really know how to get me goin’.”

You let out a small laugh and he sank his teeth into your neck, turning your laugh into a shaky moan. “Well, what can I say? After our alone time on the way to the party, you had me goin’ too.”

Arthur pulled back. “Well then why didn’t you let me finish what we started on the way home?”

You gave him a devilish grin and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Because I like seeing you squirm.” You whispered in his ear. “It gets me hot to see the look in your eye when another man touches me.” You took advantage of the break Arthur made in contact and pulled him quickly under you and you pressed yourself against him. You could already feel his bulge rubbing against you. You sucked his ear lobe and rested your hand on his belt buckle. Arthur let out a deep groan, grabbed your hand, and shoved it down his pants. His breathing became heavier as you stroked his length. “All I could think about on the way home was how much I wanted you.” You whispered in his ear. “I should’ve told Bill to piss off, but when I saw the look in your eye-“

“Shuddup.” Arthur growled. His lips hit yours hard and his hands immediately found the zipper to your dress. You slipped your tongue into his mouth as he unzipped the dress only half way and pulled it down, revealing your bare chest. He broke the kiss for a moment, only to look down at your body. You were both breathing heavy now and his mouth moved down your neck and chest, leaving kisses and bite marks as he went. His mouth found your breast, and he sucked and licked at your nipple sending chills down your spine. One of his hands caught your other breast and his fingers pinched and squeezed at your nipple hard. This pulled a loud moan from your throat. He looked up and watched your face as your moans escaped you. Your hands clumsily fummed with his belt buckle until you were able to get it unlatched. Arthur moved out from between you and the tree and pulled off his trousers. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt as you unzipped your dress all the way and let it fall into the dirt. He stroked himself as his eyes raked over your body. You slapped his hand out of the way and moved onto your knees. Arthur immediately tangled his fingers into your hair as your mouth took on his full length. He took on full control as he bobbed your head up and down. Grunts and moans escaped him as your tongue flickered across his cock as he pulled your head up and down. Your eyes watered as he pounded himself into your mouth, gagging you with his length. The feeling of his girth choking you only made you wetter and the vibrations of the noises you made as you choked on his cock sent waves of pleasure over his body. When he looked down and saw your face, a moan fell from his mouth. You looked so sexy with his cock in your mouth, tears rolling down your cheeks from the roughness at which he fucked your mouth. You gasped for air when he finally pulled your head back, a long trail of saliva from your tongue to the tip of his cock. “Lay down.” He demanded. His voice was heavy with lust, and you did as he said. He took your thighs between each arm, and his tongue came down hard on your clit. He ran his tongue up and down your clit sending waves of pleasure with every stroke. Another loud moan escaped your lips as he slid a finger inside of you. “As much as I love hearing you moan for me, you gotta keep it down darlin’. We aren’t too far from camp.”

“I couldn’t care less what they hear.” You whispered. “Let ‘em head us. They’ll know exactly who I belong to.”

Those words set fire to him. He came down upon you relentlessly. The thought of the other men hearing you and knowing he was the one causing you such pleasure made him even harder. He slipped a second finger in you and his tongue swirled in hard circles on your clit. Your breathing was hitching and your moans grew louder. You dug your fingernails into his skin. “Arthur please, not yet! I’m so close, please not yet.” You gasped. He looked at you and kept going. He was going to get you right on the edge before stopping. You were a shaking mess and right before you felt the peak of pleasure his mouth came off you quickly. He wiped his beard, grabbed you by the hips, and dragged you closer. He wrapped his arms tightly around your legs and thrust into you hard. “Fuck, Arthur!” You moaned loudly as he pushed his full length inside you. He smiled as his name escaped your lips. “Say my name again.” He growled as he began pumping into you. Your whole body was shaking in pleasure.

“God Arthur that feels amazing please don’t stop.” You gasped loudly. A hard slap fell against your face, and another loud moan. His hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. “Good girl.” He cooed softly. “Good girl, let them know who’s fucking you.”

You grabbed his hand and shoved his thumb into your mouth and sucked it feverishly. Arthur’s pace stumbled as he watched you suck at his fingers. “That’s so good.” He moaned. “You feel so good.”

You grabbed him and pulled him down to you, “you don’t even know how good I can be.”

You gave his chest a hard shove and he looked at you confused. You pull him under you and line yourself up with his cock. A soft moan falls from both of you as you bring yourself down onto his rock solid cock. You grind down on him and watch his face. “God Y/N, that feels amazing.” The way his hungry eyes watched you and the way his mouth moved to say your name had you dripping. He hands gripped your thighs as he pumped into you. You grabbed his hands from your thighs and pinned them above his head. He raised an eyebrow at you. You kissed him softly and whispered against his lips. “Let me do the work, I want to show you how good I can make you feel.”

Arthur felt himself melt under your touch. Never had he had a woman mount him like this before and watching you work him so effortlessly was quite possibly the hottest thing he had ever seen. He tucked his muscular arms behind his head and let you take over completely. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you rode him hard, sweat dripping down your temple.

As you grinded yourself into him, the friction against your clit was building as your moans grew you could feel yourself begin to climax.

Arthur felt your movements grow sporatic and he brought a heavy hand down onto your stomach. His thumb moved in circles around your clit and it sent you overboard. “Oh fuck Arthur, y-you’re gonna make me cum!” You cried.

He looked into your eyes, “Cum for me, babygirl. I want you to cum on me.” You fell apart right then and there. Arthur felt your walls clench around him and you drench his cock in your fluids. Before you can even bring your body to a stop, Arthur’s strong arms wrap around you and pull you back down to the ground on your hands and knees. “You aren’t done yet, pretty girl.” He says as he thrusts back into you. Your body shakes wildly as he pumps into you deeply. At this position he could go deeper and with every thrust a gasp escaped your lips. Your hand found your clit as you began to pleasure yourself for him. He watched pleased as you rubbed your clit and his thrusts became faster and more rampant. The pleasure began to build inside of you again, moans spewing from between your lips. Arthur gathered your hair into his large hand and pulled as his other hand held your hips in place. Every pump of his cock sent you seeing stars. “You like it when I pull your hair like that?” He groaned. “Yes Arthur,” you pleaded.

“I love the way you say my name while I fuck you.” He cooed. The softness of his voice mixed with the hardness of his thrusts was sending you to pieces. He slapped your ass hard. “You like that don’t you little girl?” He slapped your ass again. “Answer me!” His voice was hard and it sent shivers over your body.

“Yes sir!” You whined between loud moans. You could already feel the another climax coming. “Arthur please keep going, right there please.” You begged. “You’re gonna make me cum again.”

The way your voice pleaded for him got him close, and the way your walls were clenching again sent him into over drive. He pounded into you fiercely now, his moans now echoing yours. “Arthur I-Arthur you’re making me cum again!” You couldn’t help but yell it. If the others camp hadn’t heard anything yet, they certainly heard that. Your cry sent Arthur over the edge. His thrusts grew shaky and wild, after a few short bucks of his hips, he pulled himself out of you. He collapsed on the ground beside of you, trying to catch his breath. “Think the whole camp probably heard that last one.” He said shakily.

You looked at him, and saw something new in his eyes. His face softened and a small smile was on his lips. His eyes were full of adoration for you. “Good,” You whispered. “Maybe now Micah will leave me alone.”

Arthur laughed. “Ha! I highly doubt that.” The grass under you was soft and plush and the night air was warm. Arthur wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. He rested his head on your chest. You smiled down at him, your heart full. “Ya know, I never pegged you for a cuddler.”

He smiled and closed his eyes as he nuzzled his face deeper into your chest. “Guess there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

Your fingers twirled in his hair as you placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. “I’m always down for a few surprises.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 5

Grin and Bear It

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character(s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: The reader can no longer run and must pay the price for her life.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

When you pulled up to your building, you nearly slammed on your brakes. Somehow, you were still tempted to run. Stop the car, unbuckle your belt, and run! You repulsed the urged and pulled into your spot, removing your keys from the ignition. You glanced over at Bucky as he watched you and you pointed to the back. “I gotta get my bag.” He nodded and you twisted through the middle of the seats to retrieve your leather purse.

As you did, you were startled by a smack on your ass, bumping your head as you reeled back. When you looked to him, he was already halfway out of the car. He was taunting you. You got out and locked the car, leading him towards the door. You punched in the code and he followed you inside, motioning you up the stairs ahead of him. You realized, as the weight of his gaze lingered, that it allowed him to watch your ascent. He was like a carnivore observing its prey.

Six flights to your loft; key in the door; handle turned; the hallway lighting up as you flipped the switch. The door shut behind you, reminding you of your guest though you couldn’t really forget his presence. You kicked off your boots as he did the same, his jacket hung beside yours. It was as if you had invited him; as if this were a normal visit. It was anything but.

“Well,” He tilted his head, “I know you got my present.” You visibly winced at his reminder. “Go on and change and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” A smirk played at the corners of his lips and he slid the phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen, “Three minutes.”

“Okay,” It was little more than a whisper.You turned and walked numbly to the bedroom. You found the box on top of your dresser and carried it under your arm into the bathroom. Bucky watched until the washroom door closed between you. You undressed but the task seemed almost impossible as you were suddenly shaking. When you were entirely naked, you could barely stand. Pulling out the lingerie, you struggled to untangle it. Where did this strap go? Jesus Christ, that was the thong. Oh, fuck, don’t fall on your face now.

Finally dressed, your eye met its counterpart in the mirror. You could see just the top of your chest above the frame and you cringed. Nothing was concealed in this. If anything, it accentuated everything. You looked down. The rose-coloured lace tight to your flesh, the deep vee of the crotch offering little coverage and the underwires nearly useless as the thin lace of the cups were of minimal support.

“Twenty seconds,” Bucky called from outside the door. Your heart hammered in your chest and you kicked your clothes into a single pile. You were sure he didn’t care too much about your sloppiness.

You neared the door, your hand pausing on the knob as you urged yourself to continue. You had to do this. Don’t think, just do. Tonight meant tomorrow. You would live if you didn’t think. Breath and carry on. You turned the handle and marched out into the hallway, shoving your fear down until it was a tight knot deep your stomach.  You entered the bedroom, resisting the urge to cover yourself. Bucky sat on the edge of the bed. He had made himself comfortable. He wore no more than his briefs, his clothing neatly folded atop the seat of your chair. Just like the mercenary he was. Quick and concise. Get the job done and get out.

“I poured you a whiskey.” He gestured to the glass on your dresser. “Figured it would calm you down. I’m surprised actually that you didn’t finish the bottle.”

You looked to the drink and stared dumbly from the doorway. He cleared his throat pointedly. “Thanks.” You said stiffly, crossing to the dresser to grab the glass. It wasn’t a bad idea. Standing at the dresser, you had your back to him and you felt a tickle along your bare bottom. His fingertips brushed along your rear and you felt him rise and step nearer. You gulped back the whiskey and slammed the glass down.

“Good girl,” His hands were on your shoulders, massaging though they only set more tension in you. “Go on and turn around so I can have a good look.”  You were certain he had already looked you up and down when you entered but you thought back to his warning. You stiffly turned around and your eyes fluttered dangerously as they met his. You were suddenly lightheaded. His gaze didn’t linger on your face, devouring your body as his tongue slid across his lips.  “That’s a nice colour on you,” He rasped, reaching out to run his finger down the strap.

He traced the line of your breast, cupping both between his hands as he pushed them together. His hands moved lower, along the curve of your waist and hips. You noticed the twitch in his briefs and quickly looked away.  His hand slid down and rested on your sex, two fingers rubbing through the fabricas he tried to coax your body. You were ashamed when you responded, when the heat became a tingle, and you felt the familiar spark. No.He smirked as if he could sense the battle starting within you. He rescinded his hand and stepped back.

“You can remove my underwear,” He ordered. You swallowed and got closer, reaching to the thick elastic of his briefs. You hooked your thumbs under it, carefully tugging down, pulling it out to accommodate his erection. You almost released the elastic and snapped him with it when you saw his cock. You held on and continued to pull the fabric downward.  You let them fall down his legs and he sat back on the end of the bed, kicking them away from his feet. He motioned you closer with two fingers and you obeyed. His hands explored your body again, nudging you nearer as he guided you by your hips. As your legs met his, you were forced up onto his lap, straddling him as he spread his hands over your ass.

One hand strayed to the strap of your lingerie and he slid it down your shoulder, baring a single breast. He took your nipple in his mouth and began to toy with it, the sensation blooming across your chest and plucking at your core. You closed your eyes in shame. As much as you hated it, your body could not resist instinct. Finally, Bucky detached from your breast and smacked your ass. “Turn around.” You stood and did as he bid. He unhooked the back of your lingerie and tugged at it. You helped guide it over your curves, letting it fall to your feet and swiftly batted it away from you. His hands were on your ass again, kneading it as he groaned.

He gripped your waist and drew you back. When the back of your legs met your knees, you were forced to part them further, spread across Bucky’s lap. You felt his member poking you as your feet parted from the floor, your weight supported by his form as he sat beneath you. His hand wandered down your pelvis, nestling upon your sex as he rubbed your clit.   You were wet already. You could feel it and so could he. He drew circles over your clit, over and over until the muscles of your thighs tightened and you bit your lip to restrain your moans. He could feel your involuntary pleasure but you didn’t want him to hear it. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Your orgasm caught you by surprise, you muffled the unwanted gasp with your hand.

You felt him feeling around below you, rubbing the head of his cock around your opening. You wriggled as if to remove yourself but he held you in place, pressing his member against you, poking it just inside of you. When he spoke again, his voice was dusky; ravenous; thick with lust which could not be refused. “Now, now,” He warned, his metal hand pulling the tie from your hair. He wrapped your locks around his palm and wrenched your head back. “You’ve been so good. Don’t spoil it.”

“Please,” You begged, “Please, you can't do this.”

He ignored your plea and pushed you down, impaling you slowly. You whimpered and he groaned as if excited by the pathetic noise. He was thick, or maybe it had been too long. But with each inch, you were sure there couldn’t be more, but there was. When he had his full length inside of you, your palms were pressed on his thighs, trying to part from him. He held you down, moving his hips as if trying to loosen you.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He pulled your hair hard, bending your neck further and forcing your back to arch. His hand was on your hip and he guided you upward along his shaft, your legs your only support as they draped over his. “You feel like you need a good fucking.” You grunted again, trying to hide the sudden sensation which washed over you as his cock moved within you. When he thrust within you again, you had to hold your breath. “Work with me,” He said but his tone was in itself a threat. You used your upper legs to match his rhythm, working against him as he set his rhythm. He was slow at first, teasing even. You realized as your breath hitched that it was deliberate. He was using your body against you.

When his pace quickened, just a little, you held back the moans which were fighting to break forth. He let go of your hair and you hung your head forward, your neck sore from the angle. He moved his hands to your ass, guiding your motion as you gripped your knees. Faster, faster, faster. He was groaning as his thrusts came closer together and you felt your nerves coiling, tighter and tighter, until they snapped and the second orgasm took you.

You pressed your lips together as you spasmed, pathetic squeaks escaping despite your fight. “Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me.” You were shaking your head as Bucky’s hand found your clit and rubbed, drawing another orgasm within seconds of the last and you held your breath, your head aching as you kept yourself from crying out. But the shuddering of your body betrayed you.

Bucky wrapped his arm around your torso, lifting you as he stood. Your legs fell straight, though his cock remained within you. He turned and lowered you onto the mattress. He removed his arm from around you, straddling you as he thrust harder, holding you down as he fucked you. You were no longer human; you were a toy for him. His hand on the back of your head, forcing your face into the duvet.  You bounced as he pushed you into the mattress, thankful that the cushion muted your moans. You did not move, you just waited for it to end. You dreaded another orgasm, though you felt the familiar blooming in your loins.

“Fuck, fuck,” Bucky breathed, pulling himself from you suddenly. Warmth spurted across your back and you brought your hands up to further bury your face as you tried to sink into the bed. He smacked your ass one last time, his footsteps fading into the bathroom, leaving you to lay with his cum on your back.  You did not move. You were mortified. Ashamed. Disgusted with yourself. Your body had delighted in the mental torture of what had just been done to you. You were nauseous. You felt paralyzed. You heard Bucky return and the bed shifted as he sat beside you.

“Go clean yourself up,” He said, pulling your hands away from your face, “Now. We’re not done just yet.”

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Lights and Sounds

Happy 4th of July to all my US followers! I´ve read a bunch of great Tony vs. migraine stories recently and got inspired. Featuring Peter, Happy and Pepper. Tags for lots of pain, some emeto and a tiny bit anxiety.

“Kaboom!” Peter shouts after punching Tony hard into the ribs. “You didn´t see that coming, Mr Stark, did you?”

As a matter of fact, Tony didn´t, and that is part of the problem. The aura that has been obstructing his field of vision since the morning has spread to conceal most of what´s on his left in a white haze, and Peter´s fist has caught him completely off guard. Tony groans tiredly, resisting the urge to cover his aching eyes with a boxing glove.

“Could you stop accompanying each of your actions with graphic comic book expressions, that would be marvellous.” he spits into the kid´s direction.

Peter frowns at him. “Mr Stark, are you al-” but Tony silences him with an unexpected right hook that leaves both of them reeling.

He´d worked on his repulsor upgrades till three in the morning after sending the kid off to bed in the upstate Avengers facility where they are spending the weekend. Then he´d fallen asleep at his work bench just to wake up four hours later to a stiff neck and a pounding headache.

He´d skipped breakfast in favour of a hot shower and a bunch of painkillers that did nothing except making his stomach churn angrily. He knows exaclty that the only wise thing to do would be spending the day in bed, but he´d promised Peter a round of sparring before returning him to his aunt, and Tony Stark would not let something as petty as a migraine stop him from that.

Right now, however, he isn´t so sure how long he can keep up appearances before the kid will notice. Aura and a general feeling of lightheadedness are making his steps unstable and causing him to miss more punches than he lands.

The pain behind his eyes is already blinding, and he knows that the migraine is only in its beginning stages. He wishes that it will wait with kicking in full force until the kid is back at his aunt´s and he is back at his tower, but he doubts the universe will answer his prayers.

Another of Peter´s punches hits him in the stomach, making him bend reflexively, and for a frightening moment he is fighting to keep down the nausea that´s suddenly threatening to take over. God, he shouldn´t have taught the kid so well. When he straightens up, the world is spinning around him. Tony is stubborn, but not stupid. He knows when to make an exit.

“Happy, you take over”, he commands the bodyguard who had been watching their fight stoically, “I need a coffee.”

Tony is proud that he manages to climb out of the ring without toppling over, but the thought of getting to the kitchen is quickly dismissed when the gym starts swaying around him. He all but collapses onto the bench at the side of the room. Sparing a look at the Peter, he decides that the kid is too preoccupied with beating up Happy to notice, so he rests his head in his trembling hands, blocking out the burning lights.

A few hours, he tells himself, just a few hours and then he can shut himself off from the world in his bathroom and die alone. That is, until Pepper will expect him for their date night at six. He groans. Life was so easy back when all his personal commitments seemed to consist of training Dum-E and making a monthly donation to the boy scouts. But then again, whom is he kidding? He wouldn´t go back to that kind of life for anything in the world.

As if on clue, a hand lands on his shoulder. “Mr Stark, are you okay?”, Peter gasps, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear, apparently having won the recent episode with Happy. Tony squints up at him, the light from the artificial bulbs making his synapses protest in pain.

“I´m good, kid. Jeez, you smell like a soccer team´s been trapped in a sauna for a year.” He wrinkles his nose in feigned disgust. “Go, take a shower and make yourself presentable. I promised your super-hot aunt to drop you off by noon.”

“Hey, don´t talk about her like this!” Peter boxes him playfully into the shoulder, and Tony tries not to flinch. “And I beat you today, old man!” he shouts over his shoulder before running off to the changing area.

“I let you beat me”, Tony mumbles back. He takes a deep breath before straightening up and and grabbing the wall for support until the dizziness fades away. That´s gonna be a long day.

----

Tony gets into the driver´s seat before Happy even has a chance to. He hopes that driving will give him an excuse not to talk, and he also knows that he will make the way from upstate New York to Peter´s house twice as fast as Happy.  And, deep inside, he is absolutely aware that the true reason is simply his never-ending ambition to prove himself that he is stronger than a little bit of pain. It's just a migraine, after all. He's had them before, he´s survived all fine, and worse things have happened to him anyways.

Tony is wearing sunglasses although the sky is clouded, but the light still hurts in his eyes, as does about everything in his body right now. Happy dozes off after a few minutes. In the backseat, Peter starts to watch videos on his phone, a comedian talking too loud and too fast. Tony might find it amusing on any other day, but right now the artificial laughter from the audience feels like a hammer being smashed on his head.

“Pete, can you switch off that nonsense?” he demands, trying not to let his voice tremble.

The boy just gives him a look and plugs in headphones. He is uncharacteristically quiet for some time, until he finally asks, “Mr Stark, are you angry at me because of the boxing?”

“What?” Tony is so caught by surprise that he nearly drifts to the other side of the road. “God, what are you thinking, kid?”, he huffs, “I get it I´m kinda a show-off, but I wouldn´t get angry at you just because you land a few hits on a day I got a killer migrai-”

Shit, he wasn´t supposed to say that.

“You´ve got a migraine?” Peter bends closer to the front seat, immediately lowering his voice. “That´s why you were so out of it all day! Is it really bad? Why didn´t you say anything?”

“It´s okay, kid, not a big deal. Happens sometimes.” Tony reassures, trying to smile while swallowing down nausea.

Peter stares at him intensively. “I´m  - I´m so sorry, Mr Stark, I didn´t know. Is there anything I can do?”

“Na, I´m good. Just don´t be mad if I´m not up to fancy conversations today. And keep the volume down.”

Ten minutes later, Tony is sure that driving with a migraine was one of the worst ideas he´s ever had. He´s put the sunblinds down although it rains outside, but he still finds it hard to spot the outline of the road through the haze of pain and aura clouding his eyes. Every heartbeat reverberates like thunder in his ears. His whole body is oversensitive, the bumps in the pavement making him feel like he´s back in the boxing ring taking a beating and doing nothing to calm his rising nausea. God, he didn´t even know it was possible to get carsick while driving.

The stretch of road ahead of them is typically Sunday-morning quiet, until suddenly it isn´t anymore. The car seems to come out of nowhere, and all Tony can do is pull sharply to the emergency lane while the other vehicle´s side mirror rubs over their door with a screeching noise.

“What the hell was that?” Happy half-shouts at him, now wide-awake, “You nearly hit them!”

Tony doesn´t reply, he is busy bringing the car to a standstill with trembling hands. He can feel himself hyperventilating, pain from the migraine mixing with a surge of anxiety when he realizes that he barely avoided an accident. He nearly got Happy and the kid killed. Fuck. The nausea hits him full force, and he all but falls out of the door, bracing himself against the side of the car when he heaves. There´s not much to bring up, considering that he avoided breakfast today, but the stench of liquid and bile splashing on the ground assault his nerves and dials up the pain a few more degrees.

“Just let it out, okay?” The kid has jumped out behind him, hovering at his side. He tries to pat his shoulder, but Tony flinches away. Everything hurts. Holes are being drilled into his skull, but they do nothing to relieve the pressure. Instead it is just increasing with every retch, until he is sure that his head will burst open any moment. He can't see anymore, and he catches himself wishing he would pass out, just to make the pain stop.

When he is done he keeps on panting, not daring to move and cause the nausea to spike up again. For a moment he doesn´t know where he is, dark memories and panic pulling at him with luring fingers. He desperately tries to get himself under control. A hand tugs at his jacket, hesitantly. Someone comes from the other side and pulls him up. Tony´s overly sensible nose recognizes Happy´s aftershave and he nearly gags again.

When his vision clears, Peter and Happy have deposited him in the backseat. "I´m driving now”, the bodyguard states the obvious. Tony is miles from protesting.

----

The rest of the drive is agony. The nausea returns about two seconds after he's back in the car, but he vows to keep it down until the kid is gone. Tony leans his the head against his elbow in a crook of the window. He can feel Peter giving him worried looks from the side, but there's nothing he can do about it right now. Pain is tearing him apart from inside, eating his brain and spitting it out all upside down and scrambled up. He tries to distract himself with citing equations, but he can't remember a single one. For a moment, he´s irrationally afraid that he will never be able to.

It seems to take eternities until they reach Peter´s appartment building to drop him off. Tony gives him a tired thumbs-up and a very weak fake smile from under half-closed lids. “See you tomorrow”,  he croaks, swallowing heavily and hoping that he is not overconfident of his abilitiy to recover until then.

Happy stops at the sidewalk as soon as they are out of Peter´s view, and Tony heaves up air and acid for what seems like years. He can´t muster the energy to stop his former bodyguard when he hears him calling Pepper from his mobile.

When they finally reach the tower, she is waiting downstairs. He hadn't wanted her to know, god, he'd planned on throwing down the heaviest painkillers he can find together with a good amount of booze, getting a few hours of sleep and then showing up halfway presentable to make it through their date night. He didn't want to ruin it, again. But when her blurred form gets bigger through his squinting eyes, he's just incredibly glad to see her.

“Oh, Tony”, she whispers when he stumbles out of the car and into her.

“Come on, I expected a little more enthusiastic reaction. I'm still a very handsome guy who's come all the way to meet you.” he musters, trying not to slur.

"You look terrible", she replies, cool fingers wrapping around is aching neck and pulling it forward till his head rests in the blessedly dark curve above her collarbone. "And you smell like a sewer."

Tony doesn´t care. Pepper smells like home, which is finally something that doesn't make him more nauseous, and he decides that he never wants to move again. He holds her as tight as he can without breaking her. After a while, Pepper carefully leads him inside, taking on more of his weight than he'd like to admit. He allows himself a small moan when she bends to hit the elevator button and his balance is screwed up.

“Sorry for this,” he manages when they reach the bedroom.

“It´s okay, Tony. I´d rather have you here than somewhere in outer space fighting aliens”, she grins, gently lowering him onto the mattress.

Tony is sure he´d prefer any amount of aliens to the agony he is currently in, but he doesn´t say it out aloud. Instead, he shakily removes his pants and jacket while Pepper fetches a glass of water and deposits a trash can next to the bed. He crawls under the sheets and pulls the blanket over his head before she quietly slips in next to him.

“Jus´a few hours,” he mumbles as he curls up against the familiar warmth of her body. “Date night´s still on, gotta movie planned, you can look forward to it.”

“Yeah, of course, Iron Man”, she smirks with a hint of sarcasm. But her voice is all soft when she adds, “I always do.”

[taz-manic]

Fuzzy and Out of Balance (4/??)

You didn't sleep. You found it almost impossible with the idea of the boys out there without you beside them--of course, you knew they wouldn't die or lose anything themselves, but they might have been able to save Sloane and Hurley. You refused to exit your room the second you left Davenport that first night--you couldn't stand it. The boys were gone for mere days but the pressure on your heart, the constant thought of them being in the same peril that you knew of before, it was /painful/ and you didn't understand it as much as you thought you would. You refused company--Lucretia, Avi, Johann. You were worried and you were probably a fucking mess. Did it really matter, your presentation? Mayhaps not. But you, you didn't want to be a gross bother. So you didn't.

One day, though, a knock came from the door. You were about to shout to fuck off, but the door was opened and Merle Highchurch, again flanked by Magnus Burnsides and Taako Tacco, slipped inside. Quite literally, as they fell. You took a second to stare at them--injured but alive. Hurt but together. You get up and immediately sock Magnus in the gut with a yell of "STUPID!". He, however, is a level something or other Fighter, and you are a level one disgrace, so you do exactly nothing. But you got your point across. You shake and /fume/ at them with a fury as of yet unknown to you. You trust and maybe adore these boys--but how dense can one trio be?

"Heeey, ow. Why'd you do that? We're fine!" Magnus complained, rubbing his stomach with a laugh. You simply shake at them, fists curled at your sides. Taako gets up with a huff, and Merle is quick to rise aswell. You stand before three of the mightiest men you think you'll ever know, but they aren't /ready/ for what's next. They don't know. They're stupid and ignorant, they make jokes at the expense of death itself. They win, but at a cost you will /never/ let pass again. Not while you're here. Your vision flicks to each of them individually, and with a last shake, you say: "Train me. Teach me how to be a warrior."

---

You note that the break between Petals to the Metal and The Crystal Kingdom is longer than you thought. Maybe its because of the constant training with at least one of the trio--occasionally Avi and Lucretia too--or maybe because you're sleeping less. You grow stronger, you learn to wield a blade and call upon your chosen god--Istus, which thankfully no one notes--and cast spells. You jump to the rank of Paladin in weeks. You feel the strength you've never had before. The strength to not be a fucking useless amnesiac and be someone worthwhile. They think they can get rid of you? Hardly. You'll make yourself as useful as possible until you are the protector beyond what any of them have seen.

You stand in the open moonbase air with Magnus, in his hand a steel axe, and in yours a steel sword. You two fight, parrying and dodging, swords clashing on occasion. You aren't as strong as him, but you have learned to wield large shields and armour to protect yourself and others from blows. You bash him, he steps back and lunges. You roll to the side. A dance and a battle all wrapped up in one--but neither of you are exactly elegant. You knew he would.be one day.

As you two came to blows for the millionth time, you heard the sound of Lucretia over the overhead. News. Bad news. You fixate your eyes on Magnus, and he nods. You slip your shield and sword away and make a dash for Lucretias room. You two are the last to enter, and inside is Merle and Taako already. You huff loudly and lean on Merle, who pats your side as you kneel. Lucretia stands up and holds up a speaking stone, and you hear the voice of Lucas Miller. You are taken aback suddenly, and you grip Merle's arm hard. Your visions had been coming more now--but most have been of the past. The Stolen Century. Nothing of the future since the Temporal Chalice. Which is a blessing, you'd like to think. Alas, though, this one is of the future. And as used and lucid these visions are getting--you haven't attempted murder again so far!--it still makes you reel.

You stand on the Starblaster alone, but soon enough you turn to find Lucretia coming to stand next to you. She gives you a soft gaze and holds your hand as you stare out into infinity. She is younger, with tighter skin and longer hair. She seems somehow less tired. You didn't know she could be less tired. You say something that you can't quite hear and she laughs, which draws the attention of Lup and Taako, who roam over. Then Magnus, Merle, Davenport, Barry. The eight of you stand on the deck, staring out at the everlasting void. Then you look back at them with a gaze full of love, before your vision fizzles out.

You slam.back into reality with a loud cough and you double over. You felt like someone just socked you in the dick you may or may not have--either way you hurt. You wheeze on the floor, and within a second Lucretia gently pulls you up. You hear Lucas questioning the cough, but you pipe up and say you tripped and that we're on our way. Lucretia looks a bit stunned--but she nods at you after seeing the intense gaze you cast.

You grab your javelin and wink at the boys, before you're off. You aren't letting Lucas live this down. There will be no Legion. Merle will remain whole. Fuck this.

--

You hold up your holy-infused weapon to a crystal monster you know is housing the reaper Kravitz. You strike out with deadly aim and shatter the beast, which fells it. The spirit of Kravitz floats off, but at least your friends are less fucked up. You take charge and storm on ahead, taking the same path the boys had in your memory. You, however, freeze your approach as the first bit of the Crystal Kingdom song begins. You quake and collapse at it begins and... And you see a different vision. Thousands of visions. The most prominent of Lucas's mother, but also hundreds of other stories. Stories that make the lyrics of the song so fucking clear. This happens twice more, and when they do you falter and cry out. You feel what they're conveying through what means they can and you have never felt this before.

You smile at hugbears, you fight overgrown seamonkies in zero gravity. Then you fight Kravitz again--and you freeze. As Merle reaches to grab the crystal, you barrel into the stout dwarf and send him flying into the wall, and you take the damage he was supposed to. Your shoulder... Hurts. A lot. You wince, and bleed, but you stand. Does it matter? No. You'll be fine. Merle just... Can't lose his arm. While the man is knocked out, at least he's safe. You hear Magnus yell something just as you collapse instead.

You wake up with Lucas Miller adjusting what seems to be a metal shoulder. A metal shoulder attached to your body. The body you have. You stare at him with a pointed expression and you whisper his name. He looks up and you immediately sock him in the jaw with your uninjured hand. You see Merle cry out and Magnus stand up with a start as Lucas crumples to the ground. You act on blind instinct; you tie him up with bedsheets--he had thankfully finished your metal shoulder--so he's fucking stuck there. You kick him under a bed and begin to storm off. You royally tell Kravitz--by name!--to fuck off. The boys slowly trail after you as you plow through puzzles they have never seen. You storm into the room with Lucas's mom and stop. A vision hits you hard, but you don't crumple. You stand straighter if anything, and as the words ring in the crystal room, you are guided forward. You complete the ritual. You let the ghosts free. You recite each word of the entire Crystal Kingdom song over and over as Legion materializes above you, hulking and massive, slamming its hands into the ground as it pulls itself out. Magnus suddenly shatters the massive crystal above you, releasing Robomom, and you. You snap back into reality and stumble back, getting strong phantom pains from a shoulder you can't feel. A shoulder you don't have. You bark to N03ll3 to get Lucas--she drives off. You face down Legion with hate in your eyes and a furious word on your lips. Magnus and Merle come to stand beside you, with Taako just behind. You begin fighting. You convince Ms Miller the Robot Killer to fight with you to protect her son, however, she stops as the man of the hour comes out. He stares at you, and you stare back. You met him once before, in the Voidfish chambers, on a visit to Johann to tell him stories. You told Lucas you could see the future and to forgive you if you ever punched him in the face. This is that now and he looks at his mother and says sorry, and she gets back to fighting Legion.

You do not deal the final blow, mostly because you have toppled over, rolling death saving throws as you are bloodied. Ms Miller is the final blow that blasts Legion back inside. Kraavitz shows up almost seconds after she shatters the planar mirror and gives the Philosopher's Stone to Magnus. You stand up and face him in his true form, stand in front of your friends, even if you do have to be supported by N03ll3 as you face off with him.

"You haven't died." He says pensively. He looks around, then back at you. "But other sources say you've died too many times to count. What are you?" You are speechless and voice this by not speaking. After a second, the other boys strike up a deal. But before Kravitz fades away, you grab his hand.

"Am I real? Do I have a soul?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

He disappears. You crumple to the ground and scream.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 4,215 Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader Warnings: language A/N: This is the second part of a mini-series! Read Part 1 here!

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Cas arrived in the bunker in the late afternoon and first checked the library and the kitchen. There was no sign of you, so he rushed farther inside, calling your name and receiving only lonely silence in response.

”Y/N?” His footsteps echoed up the hallway. “Y/N!” Nothing. Finally he noticed the cold light beneath Sam’s door and he knocked hard. “Sam!”

Sam was laying on his bed, propped up on one elbow. His hair was disheveled, mirroring how Cas’s tie and trench coat were askew, which the younger Winchester found more alarming than the angel’s yelling had been a moment before. “What is it?”

Cas felt a knife to his heart at the heavy circles and haunted look on Sam’s face. ”When did you last see Y/N?” the angel asked desperately.

”Uhh, just before I went to sleep. Last night, when you were here,” Sam said, now sitting up on the edge of his bed. “What’s going on?”

Cas’s brow was heavy. “That was almost two days ago. You didn’t see her this morning? Or yesterday?”

Sam mouthed wordlessly and glanced at his phone on the nightstand, picking it up to look at the date and time. “I thought it was still morning now—I—Cas? What’s happening?” Now a sick feeling was growing in Sam’s stomach as Cas rubbed a hand over his mouth and paced in a quick, tight circle before settling himself again.

”I caught wind of something. I believe that Crowley has Y/N and is going to…” he trailed off.

Sam’s face was desperate and he hung with horror on the angel’s words. “Going to what? Cas. Tell me. What’s happening?”

”I think Crowley is trying to turn Y/N into a demon.”

The words hit Sam like a punch in the stomach and he felt the air rush from his lungs, leaving him winded and sick. He tried wrap his mind around what the words Cas had just said would actually mean. You. A demon. With Dean gone you were all he had—and now… His hazel eyes were wide and glistening as he looked up at Cas, dumbfounded. How could he possibly get both of you back when he couldn’t even save Dean? His mouth fell partially open and his eyes were unseeing. He felt his hands begin to shake and he smoothed them over his sweatpants, his palms sweaty.

Cas watched Sam spiraling with the news. “Sam,” he said, trying to call him back to the present and out of whatever reeling thoughts he was being consumed by. “Sam!”

Still Sam sat motionless on the edge of the bed, seemingly staring at nothing, his expression hopeless and vague.

”Sam!” Cas yelled, grasping the youngest Winchester firmly by his shoulders. It was enough to call him back to the present. “It is time to pull yourself up. Y/N has been here for you this whole time. She’s been there for me and for Dean more times than I can count. And now we need to be there for her.” He stared deeply into Sam’s hazel eyes, still a little wide, and nodded. “Can you do that?”

The silence stretched for a moment and Sam admitted to himself that what he was chiefly feeling wasn’t anger, though that was there too, it was fear; fear of another loss. He couldn’t withstand another loss. Sam’s fist tightened. “Okay.” He managed to nod.

”And perhaps we will be able to save Dean at the same time.”

Sam nodded again and stood, though a little shakily. And despite most of his muscles feeling weak, his heart began bounding in strength again. He had a job to do.

_ _ _ _ _ _

”You’ve reached the cell phone of Dean Winchester, demon extraordinaire and your #1 call for a good time. You know what to do.” “Oh for the sake of all demonkind—this is ridiculous.” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the beep to sound. “Dean! It’s Crowley. This is urgent so if you could please get over here at your earliest convenience it would be much appreciated.” He hung up the phone and his eyes found you still bound in the chair in the middle of the room. He checked the time and realized it was time for the next injection.

For a brief moment the King of Hell hesitated. He had never actually turned a human to a demon this way before—by injecting demon blood. The idea of course came from his own time in the church with Sam—when he acquired a specific craving for the humanity Sam’s blood had given him… There was a vague worry in his mind that you wouldn’t survive this transformation. After all, you had a human soul still and he wasn’t sure what the demon blood would do to that. It was risky. Generally he much preferred the old way of centuries of torture in Hell before the humanity was stripped from the victim, but frankly in the current political climate and with the pressing issues troubling him (read: rogue demon Winchester) he didn’t have the time to wait.

He approached you with a syringe ready. He was cautious. Your head was slumped forward and your hands were limp in their handcuffs. There were already numerous needle marks on your arms from your previous injections.

Crowley was hoping you would stay unconscious for this one. Each time he injected you so far you had exhibited more pain than the last. It wasn’t that he was concerned about you, he told himself, it was just that—well, he didn’t like the way you looked at him afterward, like you were imagining dismembering his meatsuit.

Unfortunately for Crowley, you roused as soon as he touched your arm and your head snapped up. You glared at him with a savage light in your eyes. For a moment he thought it faded… You would pull in a few steadying breaths and it seemed to withdraw, but the next instant it would rise again and he would have to snap his fingers to restrain you so you were still enough for him to give the injection.

You cringed as the demon blood surged into your arm. It took all you had to suppress a scream of pain as it began to travel through your veins. It burned like a shot of acid. You could track its progress through you from the heat and scalding of it, setting your nerves on fire. You shut your eyes tight, simply hoping that you would pass out from the pain again before you couldn’t hold in your agony. You didn’t want to give Crowley the chance of any sick satisfaction… You began to tremble violently from head to toe, your jaw locking, your teeth clenching down on one of your cheeks involuntarily. A little trickle of blood leaked from the corner of your mouth.

Crowley stood in the middle of the room watching with wide eyes, the empty syringe still in his hand. “Y/N—stop that,” he growled. He thought perhaps you were putting on a show in hopes that he would relent. “Y/N!” But as he watched, your eyes rolled back in your head and you seized more violently—once—twice—three times. The syringe fell from the King of Hell’s grip and clattered on the floor. A crimson droplet leaked from between your lips again and ran down your chin. More blood flowed from deep wounds on your wrists where your bindings had sliced into your flesh during your fit. “Son of a—“ Crowley rushed over to you and lifted your limp head, examining your face, any pretense that he was unconcerned gone like a puff of smoke vanishing into the empty space surrounding you both. “Y/N!” He slapped your cheek and shook you. Your skin was feverish to the touch. Crowley released your face and your chin slumped to your chest. He grasped your shoulders in a last effort to rouse you, yelling your name, shaking you, but there was no modicum of a response evident.

Crowley released you yet again and hesitated as he leaned over you. His heart was thundering away in his chest. A long moment stretched where he simply hovered there, partially bent, hanging over your still frame. Finally, he gulped at the annoying lump in his throat and pressed a finger into the side of your neck, just below the jaw.

After a careful pause he staggered back.

There wasn’t a pulse. Not that he could feel.

But what did that mean? Was this just a necessary step as you were transitioning from human to demon? Or had his whole plan been a complete and utterly failed experiment that had just resulted in your death?

Crowley straightened up with a somewhat panicked feeling rising in his chest, tightening a band around his lungs.

It was just then, possibly the absolute worst time, when the King of Hell’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of his suit coat pocket absently, still studying your silent and motionless form slumped in front of him before allowing himself to glance down at the screen.

Incoming call – D. Winchester

”Bollocks…” Crowley muttered. He paced away toward the door—he wasn’t sure why… you weren’t going to be making any sound in the background--and pressed his phone to his ear. “You’ve finally decided to respond to my twenty or so messages,” Crowley said, irritation easily audible in his voice in the sharp edge on his words.

There was noise in the background on Dean’s end. It sounded like a boisterous pub. “Yeah, well, what can I say? Curiosity finally got the best of me.” Dean belched loudly into the speaker. “What’s so urgent, el capitán?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the burp. “Nothing I will be divulging or discussing over the phone. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll sober up and get here as soon as you can.”

”Aww, come on, Crowley,” Dean threw back another shot of tequila. “It’s all work and no play with you lately. Is this about management of the lower level again? Because I gotta say, the case you make for me helping you run things is not compelling.”

Crowley’s patience was wearing thin, but it was also somewhat tempered now with a twinge of worry. He couldn’t predict how this new demon version of Dean was going to react to the news that you were dead… The old Dean? Generally consistent in angry and righteous responses. But this one—absolutely unpredictable. One minute he could be singing ‘Living la Vida Loca’ and the next he gave you a look that suggested he had a long list of ways to destroy you filed away for a rainy day. “Just get here!” Crowley snapped. He ended the call abruptly and spun around again to take a look at your crumpled form at the other end of the room.

There seemed to be no change. If anything, the color in your face was graying. With another heavy sigh, Crowley conjured himself a chair (gold and scarlet cushioned throne, of course) and a substantial glass of Scotch and seated himself, facing your direction.

All he could do now was wait. For whatever would come.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean tossed back another shot of tequila and slammed the glass down on the bar. A curvy girl with long, glossy black hair slid her hand into his back pocket and Dean partially turned to give her a boyish grin. “Hey,” he said. “Getting handsy now, are we?” he said.

”Why don’t we get out of here, cowboy?” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. She bit her bottom lip and gave him an unmistakable look of desire. “My place is close.”

Dean took in her expression and flashed another grin. “I’d love to but I just got word that I’m needed elsewhere.”

Her face dropped. “What? Now?” She scoffed, somewhat recoiling from his rejection. “You’re wasted. Don’t lie to me. There’s no way you’re going into work now.”

Dean straightened up, the grin sliding from his face now too. “Who said anything about work? Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m afraid tonight is over.”

”So, you just led me on all night, and now you’re just gonna leave?” she asked angrily.

Dean could feel his temper flaring. “I don’t remember making you any promises. It’s not like I agreed to pick out curtains,” he said dismissively. He turned back to the bar to pay his tab and dropped a healthy tip down just as a splash of cold liquid hit him in the neck and ran down his back and over his shoulders.

Dean froze, every muscle tensed, and his jaw clenched.

She’d thrown her drink on him.

He put his wallet back in his pocket and spun slowly on the spot to face her. She was standing there, looking pissed but self-satisfied, with her empty glass still in her hand.

Dean took a few measured steps toward her until he was close. She was breathing hard, presumably from anger at his dismissal of her. Dean peered down at her and she continued to scowl up at him.

But a blink and his eyes went from that deep and mesmerizing shade of green to solid black, and she gasped and stumbled backwards in fear.

The next moment when she looked back up, still off-balance, they were just as they had been all night; multi-faceted green irises.

The corners of Dean’s mouth flicked upwards in a smirk and he breezed out the door, leaving her wondering if she was just too drunk and had imagined it, or if what she had just thought she had seen had really happened.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Crowley’s phone began to buzz in his pocket and he shifted his glass of Scotch to the other hand so he could answer it. “Go,” he said. “Right. Of course. Send him down.” Crowley hung up hastily and downed the rest of his drink. He was on his feet in another instant, his throne disappearing with an absent wave of the hand, and he rushed to stand outside the door with one final glance at your form, now laid out on a metal table. You were no longer restrained—either you were actually, really, and truly dead, or you would awake as a demon, so Crowley didn’t see further need for shackles. Your hair fell away from your face exposing skin that was just too pale and too gray, and lips that normally had a warm blush to them were an unnatural blue.

Injection and track marks criss-crossed your arms, blemishes that remained as a result of Crowley’s perhaps ill-conceived plans.

But there was no taking them back now. There was only determining the next move.

The heavy door slammed behind him as faint footsteps echoed toward him from the long, dark hallway stretched out before the King of Hell’s feet. And Dean the Demon was the source.

He stopped when he reached Crowley, looking relaxed despite being summoned for some sort of urgent meeting. “You’re getting to be a real nuisance, you know that, Crowley?”

”Apologies,” Crowley replied. “But I think you’ll be glad you took time out of your busy schedule.”

”Well, what’s so important that you had to drag me away from my very full social calendar?” Dean inquired curiously. “And if this is another job pitch, I swear to Hell that I’m going to turn you inside out.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Noted. But there’s something you need to see,” he said. With that, Crowley led Dean back through the heavy door and into the room where you were laid out in the center.

Now Crowley’s nerves were requiring quite a bit of focus to ignore…

Dean didn’t seem to register just who the body was in the middle of the room at first and he only glanced at it, somewhat puzzled, and gave a measured glance over his shoulder at Crowley. But as he moved closer with curiosity he came to rest, frozen, about ten paces away.

Crowley lagged back by the door. There was a heavy and uncomfortable silence that stretched as Dean only continued to stare at the laden table.

Finally he began to close the distance to you, his steps deliberate and steady, but somehow resistant, as if he didn’t want to get close enough to confirm what he thought he was looking at.

Crowley looked on with apprehension tinged with curiosity as Dean finally stopped at your side.

Dean’s brow drew down darkly over his green eyes and they floated over every inch of you, finally settling on your face; eyes closed, lips slightly parted, skin sallow. He raised a hand and reached out until his fingertips barely brushed your cheek. He withdrew immediately after contact—your skin was cold and it threatened to send a shudder through his chest. Next his hand drifted down to your arm and his eyes settled on the strange marks there.

A shadow deepened on his face and his gruff voice broke the silence. “What the hell happened?” he demanded of Crowley. But his voice was controlled. His hand was closed gingerly around your wrist and rotating your arm so he could examine the marks marring your skin.

Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m not entirely sure—“ He had barely gotten the words out before Dean was on him, slamming his back into the wall behind him, a strong hand gripping his throat.

Dean’s eyes were black, and rage boiled in the darkness. “Don’t. Lie. To me,” he growled through clenched teeth.

Crowley struggled to talk through the compression on his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to happen—accident--!” he sputtered.

”You killed Y/N!? You KILLED Y/N!” Dean pressed the King of Hell harder against the wall. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!”

Crowley managed to come to his senses enough to disappear from Dean’s grip, leaving him gripping only air which he quickly crushed into his fist, and reappear behind him. He held one hand up and rubbed at his throat with the other, out of breath, before straightening his tie. “I promise you, Squirrel, that Y/N’s death was not what I had intended…”

Dean stalked toward him, a fierce fire burning in his eyes still. “What you intended?” His voice was a growl but it the stifled rage was almost more threatening than his blatant attack. “What the hell were you doing? Why did you even have her? What are those marks on her?” he demanded.

Crowley held his ground. “I was trying to turn her into a demon!”

Dean seemed frozen again, but his glare had lost none of it’s potent fire. “Why?”

Crowley hesitated. He hadn’t forgotten Dean’s warning that if this was about helping him with hell he’d gladly rearrange his meatsuit. He shrugged, trying hard to remain nonchalant and appear unconcerned. “I just thought, considering how the two of you got on at your last little meeting, that this warranted further exploration. With a few minor adjustments.”

”Minor adjustments,” Dean repeated. “Abducting Y/N and trying to turn her into a demon is not minor.” His face darkened again. “And I warned you once, Crowley. Don’t. Lie. To me.”

Crowley knew he needed to concede. “Well, I’ll admit that I was hoping that I could use Y/N to persuade you to assist me with—“

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I knew it. This was all to compel me to help you with your insignificant, pointless, selfish plans with Hell. It’s not my fault you have an inferiority complex and weigh your self-worth based on the number of minions willing to shine your shoes! You idiotic, pitiful little--I should gut you right now—“ Dean started menacingly toward the King of Hell but found that Crowley suddenly wasn’t there. “And if you had turned her? You can’t even handle Y/N as a human. How were you going to control her as a demon?”

Now Crowley’s anger flared. “Can’t handle Y/N as a human? Am I confused or did I BLOODY WELL KIDNAP HER TWICE?! Right from under the nose of that vegetable brother of yours, mind you, and your ex-boyfriend with wings!”

Dean’s eyes went black. “You’re the King of Hell. You make deals all the time. You use whatever demon voodoo you have to and bring her back. Now,” he said. His tone was unmistakably an order and there was no veil over the threatening tone.

Crowley stood silently glaring back at Dean.

”I’m not asking you, Crowley.”

Crowley resumed his usual business-like tone. “Ahh, yes… Do you really think I didn’t consider that option before I called you here? Believe me, I’d rather have undone what I’ve done without you ever knowing about it. Do you think I was looking forward to bringing you here and explaining this to you? But--there seems to be a bit of a complication with bringing her back…”

”I don’t care if there are a hundred complications, Crowley! YOU FIX IT!”

“Yes, you see, I would… But I’m not entirely sure where she is or even what is happening.”

Anger swelled in Dean’s chest again. “What’s happening? I think the dead body on that goddamn table is pretty clear!”

Crowley was losing his patience with Dean’s yelling and attempts to boss him around. “By the time most humans go demon, they don’t have anything resembling a soul left. Y/N still had a human soul when I started the process. I’m not sure what happened to it, or what that would mean… And there still remains the possibility that this is just—part of the process. Your own transformation took some extended measure of patience, if you remember.”

But Dean wasn’t receptive to his excuses or pro-offered possibilities. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of that. I don’t care if Y/N is in Heaven, or Hell, or Purgatory, or fucking who-knows-nowhere-land. I don’t care if she does wake up as a demon,” he began. He was slowly stepping toward Crowley and so far the King refused to yield, refused to step back in the face of his advance. “I don’t care if you find a magic potion that turns her back to a human as good as new with only happy memories… The fact is you fucked up. Big time. You dragged her into this. You dragged her into something she shouldn’t be a part of. And I perfectly intend to take you apart piece by piece until you’re begging to go back to being Lucifer’s little puppy dog. Got it?”

It struck Crowley despite the warning rising in his mind how unusual this was… Dean, a demon, who rarely showed any thought for anything that couldn’t be poured as a double or invited back to a motel room for a no-strings-attached romp, was actually pissed that Crowley had nabbed you… This suggested that despite being a demon, buried deep down, Dean still felt something for you. And the fact that Crowley had shrewdly perceived that that connection still existed gave him only the tiniest measure of gratification under the current circumstances. And it also scared him. Because it reminded him of his own weakness and craving for humanity…

But Crowley only cleared his throat and straightened his coat and tie again. “Well. I suppose that is my cue.” And he was gone.

”CROWLEY!” Dean roared, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Crowley had disappeared as he was want to do at the slightest hint that a fight may not go easily his way.

And Dean was alone now with your corpse. Hatred was boiling in his stomach. He couldn’t turn and look at you again. Not yet. Not now. Dean let out a violent yell and smashed his fist into the concrete wall, leaving a dent the size of his fist.

He would deal with Crowley.

And he now realized he would probably also have to deal with Sam and Cas sooner rather than later. Crowley had snatched you, and he was willing to bet that meant that they couldn’t be far behind…

_ _ _ _ _ _

”What is it?” Sam asked, urgently, his hands gripping the steering wheel far harder than was necessary.

Cas had just shut his eyes and looked vaguely ill. He shook his head. “I’m—I’m not sure. Something isn’t right.”

Worry grew on Sam’s face. “What?”

Cas shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling.”

Sam’s face was panicked. “You have to give me more of an explanation than that, Cas.”

”It’s difficult,” the angel said, pressing a hand to his forehead like he had a growing pain behind his eyes. “It’s almost as if—something has shifted.”

”What do you mean? Something? What?”

”I’m not entirely sure. Like, something has changed in the balance of power.”

Sam’s throat tightened. “What is it? Y/N? Dean?”

”I don’t know. I suppose we will find out,” Cas said.

Sam’s jaw tensed and he slammed his foot down, pressing the pedal to the floor.

[flakandforay]

HYYH: the Notes Theory

overall: i think it’s time to finally piece together all these HYYH: the Notes that were released as part of the new Love Yourself series

let’s start~

theory: so when we all thought that hey, this new series, there won't be anything linked to the 화양연화 series, boy, were we all wrong. so bighit decided to drop this hint in August on their official twitter, and then everyone was shocked because when we heard an upcoming comeback of a new series, we all thought that ‘hey maybe they would give it a rest but nope, its been 2 years and we are still on this HYYH series that leaves us many questions unanswered while creating more questions with no answers’.

but hey moving on, the hint finally showed us some new things to think about as bits and pieces fall into place - helping to connect scenes together while providing new ones to look at

so the first hint only shows us some parts of Seokjin’s life, specifically showing the year and a brief excerpt of what happened then.

Seokjin 13 June YEAR 22

We were all alone after returning from the sea.

We didn’t contact each other as if we planned it. We could only assume our existence by the graffiti left on the street, the brightly lit gas station and the sounds of the piano in the old building. That was when everything comes back to life. Taehyung’s eyes were ablaze, the way they looked at me as if they heard something unbelievable, Namjoon’s hand that tried to stop Taehyung, I couldn’t take it and threw a punch at taehyung.

We couldn’t find Taehyung after he dashed out, not even at the beach or guesthouse after I returned. broken glass cups, bloodstains that began to cling, smashed cookies that reminded me the incidents that happened a few hours before. A picture had fallen. We were laughing and smiling together in the picture with the sea as the background.

Today, I just passed by the gas station. There will be a day when we will meet again - the day when we were all laughing just like in that picture. There will be a day when I would be able to gather courage and confront myself. Whoever, now is not the time. Today, just like that day, The wind was blowing strongly. And in the next moment, just like a warning, my handphone rang. The picture that was hanging on my room mirror shook. hoseok’s name then appeared on my screen.

‘hyung, jungkook got into a car accident that night’

so here, several events have been cleared up. and actually, most of them could be released to the Wings Short films ( from Begin all the way to Awake ) and even inclusive of the Love Yourself: Highlight Reel and even in I Need U, the Prologue and Blood, Sweat, Tears JP. version.

clearly, some scenes were more evident inside the Blood, Sweat, Tears JP. version, with how Seokjin threw a punch to Taehyung and one could clearly tell that this might be the guesthouse that Seokjin was talking about here.

and in this translations, Seokjin mentions several familiar places - the gas station, sea, graffiti, sounds of a piano - clear symbolism that has been frequently used in bangtan’s themes. 

gas station - Namjoon in I Need U, the Prologue, BST JP. Version sea - bangtan in I Need U, Run, the Prologue, Love Yourself posters grafitti - Taehyung in Stigma, BST JP. Verison, Namjoon in Highlight Reel  piano - Yoongi and Jungkook in Highlight Reel, First Love 

even in these notes, it has been revealed that Jungkook has indeed gotten in a car accident, looks familiar? ( I Need U ) and that later on in the Highlight Reel, it has been revealed that Jungkook was at a hospital.

not to mention how in the Highlight Reel, Yoongi fell off the bed because he was shocked at what he read on his phone. 

interesting how Hoseok was the one reporting how Jungkook got into an accident when Hoseok himself seems to be in trouble with his overdosage of pills etc. 

and now, when the Love Yourself Her albums were released, it has been revealed that there were 4 versions of the HYYH: the Notes - L, O, V, and E that contained excepts of the members that were different than what bighit has posted. also, within these 4 versions, some of them having repeated excerpts but all members had 3 different excerpts in these 4 versions of the notes. 

what was interesting is that they all had at least 2 excepts of each member in each version and they all had the Years stated as well, some members being the same and some having different ones, depending.

but overall, one could see that the HYYH: the Notes gave input on each of the member’s lives while showing connections and the prominent pairings as seen inside. 

Seokjin by himself, Namjoon and Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook which could already be seen in the Love Yourself posters, the unit ones especially and later hinted again in the highlight reel films. 

so time to look at them in depth starting with Seokjin and then the pairings - Yoongi and Jungkook, Hoseok and Jimin, Namjoon and Taehyung

note: i won't be repeating the same excepts of the members. 

Seokjin

L version 15 August YEAR 22    

 After coming out of the busy intersection, I came to an abrupt stop as I was about to pick up speed. The car behind me blared its horn and someone spat out curses yet it went unheard in the noise of the city. I took a right turn to an alley corner to see a florist shop. The shop didn’t seem to be opened yet. It wasn’t that I suddenly saw the store but rather it was if I discovered it afterwards.   

Inside the florist shop, there was construction still being done and the owner was organizing his documents. At that time, I had no real expectations. I had already travelled to several places, but not one florist knew of the flower’s existence. I could see a flower that had similar colours. However, I wasn’t looking for a flower with similar colours. The flowers had to be real. The owner looked at me for quite a bit when he heard the name of the flower and said that the florist shop isn’t officially open but he could deliver it to me. “Why do you need this flower?”   

I thought about it again as I turned the handle and got back on the road. I have a reason for needing that flower. There is only one reason. I want to make the person I give it to happy. I want to make the person smile. I want to be seen as a good person. I want to be a good person.

interesting how the note start off with this, a clear resemblance to the whole Smeraldo flower blog, highlight reel and love yourself poster and i love how it is centred on Seokjin in the end. it seems as though Seokjin holds some regrets as he wants to be a good person and make the person he gives the flower to happy, but who exactly is he giving the Smeraldo to? could it be Taehyung?

L version 2 March YEAR 19    

I followed my father into the principal’s office where it smelt damp. it has been 10 days since I came back from America. Based on the different school system, I heard that I will be entering one year later. “Please take care of my son.” My father placed his hand on my shoulders to keep me from moving. “The school is a dangerous place. There is a need for regulations.” The principal looked straight at me. As he talked, the wrinkled flesh around his cheeks and mouth sagged, and the interior of his lips was dark red. “Don’t you think so, Seokjin?” I was startled at the abrupt question and my father put in more strength in his hand on my shoulder. The grip was strong enough to make the veins pop out on his neck. “I believe you will do well.” The principal looked at me with such tenacity while my father’s hand on my shoulder gradually increased in strength. My shoulder felt it would break from how tightly my father’s grip was on me. My body was trembling and I broke into cold sweat. “You must always talk to me. I think you will be a great student, Seokjin.” The principal looked at me with an unsmiling face. “Yes.” I could barely squeeze out an answer, I wanted to disappear at that moment. I could hear my father and principal’s laughter. I couldn’t lift my head. I just stared at my father’s brown shoes and the black shoes of the principal. I didn’t know where the shining light was coming from. I was scared of that light.

then the 2nd part of the excerpt of Seokjin’s life is seen here. it’s clear that the whole phase of the boys being youthful is them when they were in high school, clearly with Seokjin being transferred to one after being in America for awhile. also, given the fact with the difference of school systems, it seemed as though Seokjin could have actually met the boys considering the fact that he had to enter one year later, hence possibly being in the same grade as Yoongi despite the age difference etc or even Hoseok and Namjoon depending. 

and it’s interesting how Seokjin’s father mentioned that the school is a dangerous place, but never gave an explanation as to why, also how the principal is ensuring that Seokjin would talk to him no matter what etc. it seemed as though Seokjin has had a tough time with a strict father and an uncaring principal that only pays lip service to appeal to his father. i feel that Seokjin has this fear instilled in him from his father considering that his father’s grip on him tightened throughout the meeting with the principal - clearly dictating Seokjin’s life in-depth and family background which isn't off to a good start. 

E Version 11 April YEAR 22

I came to the sea alone. The blue, broad sea was one that could be opened whenever in the viewfinder as it always had. It was all the same, the light that sparkled from the water, the wind from the pine forest. The only difference was that I was here alone. As soon as I pressed the shutter, the scenery in front of my eyes flickered, that moment, on that day, 2 years and 10 months before seemed to appear and disappear. That day when we were all sitting in front of the sea. Though we were tired and times were rough, we were together.  

I turned the car and stepped on the accelerator. I entered the tunnel and passed by a rest stop. When I reached vicinity of the school that we all attended, I opened the car window. It was a night in spring. The air was warm and the cherry blossoms fluttered in the trees that lined the walls of the school. I left and passed several intersections, made several left and right turns. In the distance, I could see the lights of the gas station where Namjoon works.

this is where Seokjin then visits Namjoon at the gas station which could be seen in the BST JP. version after he reflects about the rest of them when we went to the sea. 

question is why were things rough and tough back then? what triggered it? was it the mere fact that Taehyung killed his father that set a downward spiral effect on everyone? was it school as implied by the principal that it was a dangerous place? 

Yoongi

L Version 8 June YEAR 22 

I took off my t-shirt again. I looked in the mirror and it was not like me at all. The cotton shirt that was not my type had the word ‘Dream’ on it. No matter how you look at it, the red colour, the word, dream, the shirt didn’t fit me at all. Out of frustration, I pulled a cigarette and looked for my lighter. Since it wasn’t in the back pocket of my jeans, I looked inside my bag. (They) took it away. (They) took it from my hands without any constraint. (They) threw back to me were candy bars and this t-shirt.  

I messed up my hair and stood up when I heard the sound of a message. My heart began to beat faster as at the moment, my hand phone screen lit up brightly with a name that was 3 syllabuses. I broke my cigarette to check the message. In the next moment, I was laughing at the mirror. Wearing the tight t-shirt that had ‘Dream’ written on it, the red colour, I must have looked like an idiot.

it’s interesting that Yoongi is being seen with his cigarette habit and it seems as though he must have been seen as a juvenile delinquent as his pack of cigarettes have been taken away to only replace it with candy and some positive-looking t-shirt with the word ‘dream’ on it. he must have thought that his life was a laughing stock right there and then. 

not to mention that throughout this series, Yoongi is commonly seen with a lighter, a cigarette or a fire, let alone with the piano etc and his reckless behaviour - one similar to Taehyung but of course of a different level. 

L version 25 June YEAR 20

I opened the door of the bottom drawer with a pop and firstly, took out the bag that was placed inside. I turned the bag inside out and a dusty piano key fell out. I threw the half-burned piano key in the trashcan and laid down on bed. The fire in my heart wouldn’t cool down and so my breathing was ragged, and at some point, soot was smeared over my fingers.

After the funeral, I went back alone to the house that was set ablaze on fire. I entered my mother’s room to see the piano that was burned so badly, the shape was unrecognizable. I hesitantly sat down. I sat there for some time until the sunlight that entered through the window died down. Several keys rolled around in the last of the light. What kind of sound could be heard if I played the keys? I thought about my mother playing these keys a lot. I put one of them in my pocket and left the room.

From that moment on, 4 years has passed. The house has been quiet. Just like it was meant to be quiet. It was past 10 and so my father would have been asleep, afterwards everything held its breath. That was the rule of the house. It was hard for me to endure the silence. it also wasn’t easy to keep up with the stipulated times, regulations and forms. No matter how you looked at it, it was hard to be patient. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stand living in this house. After receiving pocket money from my father, eating with him, I got scolded by him. Rather than not talking to my father and go astray, I lacked the courage to abandon him and the house, to make freedom into reality and not just in words. 

I suddenly rose up from bed. I pulled out the piano key from the desk with a tissue paper. I opened the window and the night air rushed in. The wind that came in slapped me with the strength of whatever happened today. I threw the piano key in the air. Today I haven’t gone to school for 3 or 4 days. I heard the news of getting expelled. Now, I don’t know if I want to be kicked out of the house. I listened hard but I couldn’t hear the keys hitting the ground. No matter how much I have been thinking about it, I couldn’t imagine the sound the piano key would have made. No matter how much time has passed, the piano key would never make a sound again. I will never play the piano again.

here now, it shows Yoongi’s family background, clearly an abusive one as his father was an alcoholic, probably gotten worse with the death of his mother. it was known that his mother was the one who taught Yoongi the piano and it seemed as though with all the events happening in his life, Yoongi refuses to play the piano anymore for it only brought him back memories that he wished to forget. 

also, the news of Yoongi getting expelled could later be seen in Jungkook’s notes, hence the notion of them being in high school etc. 

O Version 7 April YEAR 22

I came to a stop after hearing the sound of a piano. The only sound that could be heard at the empty construction site was someone popping an oil drum. I knew the sound of the song that I had just played, but why did I think of that? My drunken footsteps stumbled. I closed my eyes and walked even more carelessly. As the heat of the fire grew stronger, the piano sound, the night air, the drunkenness fading away.

I opened my eyes at the sound of horn as a car grazed dangerously past me. In the confusion of the blazing headlight, the wind of the car’s passing and my drunkenness, I stumbled helplessly. I could hear the curses of the driver. As I came to a stop to curse back, I could no longer hear the sound of the piano. In spite of the sound of the blazing fire, the wind and the silence left after the car, the piano sound was gone. It stopped. Why did it stop? Who was playing the piano?

The sparks from the fire picked up its pace towards the oil barrel with one sound together. I could only look at the scene blankly. My face became flushed. Bang, it was at that moment when I heard a fist slamming on the piano keys. Instinctively, I looked behind. For a moment, my blood rushed that my breathing became uneven. The nightmares that I had when I was young. That was where I heard the sound.   

The next moment, I was running. It wasn’t of my own will that I ran towards the music shop and instinctively looked behind. This was something like I had done numerous times. It was a feeling that I had forgotten something important.   

The music store had a broken window. In front of the piano, someone was sitting there. It had been a few years yet I still recognized the person. The person was crying, fists being clenched. I didn’t want to be concerned with anyone’s life. I didn’t want to comfort anyone who was lonely. I didn’t want to mean anything to someone. I couldn’t protect the person and I had no confidence. Until the end, I had no confidence. I didn’t want to give pain. I didn’t want to receive pain.   

I slowly moved. I wanted to go back but before I know it, I started approaching the person. Just then a wrong note was heard. Jungkook lifted his head and looked at me. “Hyung”. This had been our first meeting since quitting high school.

the first few paragraphs would have depicted the scenes from Yoongi’s short film, First Love clearly. 

but the last paragraph it shows how Yoongi didnt get expelled as what the rumours mentioned but instead he quit on his own accord and that he haven't met Jungkook ( or even probably the rest ) since he had quit high school.

so this would mean that all the times that bangtan were together was when they were all in high school then, considering afterwards, they didnt meet anymore and hence Seokjin wished that they did etc, even Namjoon too ( which would be seen in his notes. )

Jungkook

L Version 16 July YEAR 22

I stood at the window and sang a bit to the song playing in my earphones. It has already been a week. Now I don’t need to see the lyrics to sing along. I took out one side of my earphones so that I could practice listening to my own voice. (someone) said that they liked it because it was beautiful but it only made me scratch my head in embarrassment. The July sunshine entered the big window. The green leaves of the trees flew and shone in the wind and everytime it fell on my face, it felt different. I closed my eyes. I sang while looking at the yellow, blue and green colours behind my eyes. Whether it was the lyrics or the sunshine, something tickled and stung my heart.

this part sounds exactly like Jungkook in the Highlight Reel as he takes in the earpiece and watches someone perform.

i feel as though this was when he might have forgotten Yoongi at this point; most likely Jungkook was suffering from the repercussions of the accident, as if he'd remember Yoongi, his notes would have directed to him straight away instead of saying ‘something tickled and stung my heart’. 

then again, it might be possible that Jungkook might have suffered from some memory loss given his accident consequences but i won't consider it as to the extent of amnesia. 

hence this could explain why he couldn't remember Yoongi as clearly but only the faint memories he has with him - including the piano. 

L Version  11 April YEAR 22

In the end, it turned out just like I wanted. I deliberately ran into the thugs on the street and got beaten up till I was satisfied. I laughed while I was getting beaten up, and they called me a crazy maniac. I leaned against the shutter door and looked at the sky. It was already night. There was nothing in the pitch-black sky. I could only see a clump of grass in the distance. It was on the side of the wind. It was just like me. I felt like I was going to cry so I forced myself to laugh instead.

I closed my eyes and saw my stepfather clear his throat. My stepbrother kicked me and laughed. My stepbrother’s relatives looked elsewhere or began to talk useless things. It was as if I wasn’t there, like my existence didn’t matter. In front of them, my mother was at a loss. I tried to stand up but instead dust rose and I coughed. It hurt as if I had been stabbed at my solar plexus. I went up to the roof of the construction site. The night city stretched out in a terrible colour. I climbed up on the railing with both of my arms stretched out. I had one leg out and I almost lost my balance. I thought I could die with just one step. If I died, it will all end. No one would be sad without me.

this could clearly explain Jungkook’s predicament in I Need U.

he gets beaten up to a pulp, relishing in the feeling since there’s not much difference to when he’s at home with an abusive stepfather and an equally-abusive stepbrother and a mother who couldn't do anything to protect Jungkook from them. 

O Version 25 June YEAR 20

I stroked the piano keys and smeared the dust. I put some strength in the finger, but the sound was different than of Hyung’s playing. It has been 10 days since Hyung stopped coming to school. I heard the rumours of him getting expelled. Namjoon Hyung, Hoseok Hyung didn’t say anything, I was afraid to ask. Two weeks before, Hyung and I were the only ones in the hideaway classroom when the teacher opened the door. It was a day for the parents to visit. I didn’t want to be there, so I went into the hideaway one. Hyung didn’t bother to look at me and kept on playing the piano, I took 2 desks and lied down and closed my eyes. Hyung and the piano seemed different but yet they seemed like one. While listening to Hyung’s playing, I wanted to cry.

The tears threatened to fall then the sound of the door slammed open and the piano playing stopped. I was hit in the face, stumbled backwards and eventually fell. As I crouched to withstand the violence, the voice stopped. When I lifted my head, I saw Hyung standing in front of me and pushing the teacher’s shoulder. Over Hyung’s shoulder, I saw the teacher’s shocking expression.

I pushed the piano key. It was supposed to mimic Hyung’s playing. Was Hyung really expelled? Will he come back? Hyung said it was okay if he was beaten up a few times. What if I wasn’t there, would Hyung not stand up to the teacher? What if I wasn’t there, would I still hear Hyung playing the piano?

what’s interesting is that now it is revealed that the boys had met several times in the hideaway classroom but interesting to note that Yoongi and Jungkook were there on the day when parents would visit. 

of course, given their family backgrounds, it seemed unlikely that their parents would - Yoongi having an alcoholic father and Jungkook with a mother who was scared and an abusive stepfather.

so here it seems to show Jungkook’s regrets, thinking that he caused Yoongi to eventually quit high school, he blames himself for Yoongi not playing the piano anymore when actually Yoongi stopped playing for many reasons. 

and here, it shows that Jungkook was concerned with Yoongi possibly getting expelled from school etc and it also reveals Namjoon and Hoseok in this picture. it even explains how Yoongi has already stopped himself from going to school yet no one knows the reason for his absence, perhaps Namjoon and Hoseok might have an idea but Jungkook clearly doesn't. why did Yoongi stop coming to school? is it because of the funeral as mentioned in his notes? 

Hoseok

L Version 31 May YEAR 22

I reflexively turned my gaze away from the breathtaking wind. After dancing for a long time, often, I am out of breath but it is not that context. I thought I was similar to my mother. No, it wasn’t a thought or a perception, it couldn’t be described or explained. I couldn’t look at the face of my friend that I had known for 10 years already. We learned dance together, failed together, been frustrated and gained strength together. We slumped to the floor that was covered in sweat, we threw towels at each other and cracked jokes. It felt like a bothering sensation that I hadn’t felt in a while, and I hurriedly stood up. As soon as I reached the corner, I leaned back against the wall and stood there. I made an effort to calm my breathing. I could hear, “Where are you going, Hoseok-ah?” The voice. Nevertheless, I thought it could have been a voice. The voice calling, “Hoseok-ah”. A voice that I couldn’t recall now. It was a voice that brought me back to when I was nine years old.

here it reveals a bit of Hoseok and Jimin’s close relationship, being stuck together for some time as they shared memories for 10 years. 

it also showed as though Hoseok seemed to experience some form of anxiety or possibly an anxiety attack as he tries to calm his breathing after being triggered by something and it shows as though his memory came back to him - clearly a scene from the Highlight Reel, the first one to be exact. 

in which it shows his own mother abandoning him at the amusement park, but no one knows why his own mother did it. 

L Version 15 September YEAR 20

Jimin’s mother walked across back and forth in the emergency room. After checking the name of the headboard of the bed and the IV drip was in place, she placed a blade of grass on Jimin’s shoulder. I hesitantly approached her, feeling that I should tell her why Jimin was in the emergency room, due to a seizure at the bus stop. Jimin’s mother must have discovered my presence and gave a long gaze. Regardless, I didn’t know why I was hesitant. I heard Jimin’s mother thanking me and she turned back to him.

Jimin’s mother looked at my face again, the doctor and nurse began to move the bed and at that time, I followed. Jimin’s mother once again thanked me and pushed my shoulder. It wasn’t exactly a push but more of a gentle touch as she pulled her hand away. Yet suddenly, I could feel an invisible line being drawn between her and myself. The line was clear and solid. It was cold and sturdy. It was a line I could never climb over. It has been 10 years since I had been in an orphanage. I knew that much with my body, sight and air. In that moment, I took a step back and collapsed on the floor. She looked at me absentmindedly. She was a beautiful and small person yet her shadow was large and chilly. The shadow fell over me and collapsed on the emergency room floor. I couldn’t see that Jimin’s bed had been moved outside. I didn’t see Jimin come back to school anymore.

now in Hoseok’s HYYH notes, it is revealed that Jimin is now in the hospital emergency room. it seems as though Jimin has a condition that Hoseok is painfully aware about but somehow the frequency of Jimin’s condition occurring seems to go unnoticed by Jimin’s mother. 

it seemed weird as though Hoseok became emotionally attached to Jimin’s own mother, possibly because Hoseok didnt have his mother since she abandoned him at the age of 9, but whats interesting is that in these notes, Hoseok pays more attention to how Jimin’s mother reacts than to Jimin.

but note that in the end, Jimin stopped going to school as well, same as Yoongi but for different reasons. 

O Version 25 February YEAR 21

I danced without taking my eyes off my reflection in the mirror. The me in the mirror had his feet off the ground, lifted up and was free from the standards and looks of the world. My body moved in sync with the music, there was nothing important, nothing that made my heart beat in my chest.

The first time that I danced was when I was 12. It must have been a talent show incident. My friends were pulled onto stage. I could still remember that day when I heard the applause and cheers of joy, I have never felt so confident. Then again, that was when I moved my body to the music and had fun doing it. I would only learn much later that the joy was not a joy that came from the applause but from within me.

The me outside the mirror is weighed down by many things. The feet that have leave the ground for a seconds, when I hate, I laugh and when I cry, I smile. There was no need for me to take my medicine since I could collapse anywhere. And so, when I dance, I try not to take my eyes off the mirror. The moment I can be my truest self. The moment where I could throw away everything and I could fly, the moment where I believe I could be happy. I protect these moments.

now this explains Hoseok’s love for dancing, when he dances, he’s in his truest form of happiness. it seemed as though dancing became an outlet for him to relive stress but it also explained that his condition is already in a bad state since he could collapse anywhere even if he took medicine, which could have explained his collapse on the bridge in the I Need U video, that maybe he didnt collapse and die due to overdosage of his pills or medicine, but because he couldn't help but to collapse since it is due to his condition.

then this would mean that Hoseok is still alive after all. 

Jimin

L Version 3 July YEAR 22

In the end, I sprawled onto the floor. I turned off the music and my surroundings went quiet, all I could hear was the beating of my heart. I pulled out my hand phone and played the choreography dance video that I had learned in the morning. Hyung’s movements were so smooth and accurate in the video.  

That was the result of his countless hours and sweat of practicing, and now since I wasn’t anywhere near as him, I was jealous. However, understanding and hoping are different and so I sighed often. Again I stood up. I imitated the turn as he had done it but I kept twisting my steps. I kept on making mistakes at the parts where we have to match the flow. We decide to match again tomorrow but until then I wanted to be seen as serious. Rather that a playful phrase, I wanted to be complimented as ‘better than expected’, I wanted to be recognized as someone who was equal and serious, one that could match with Hyung.

Jimin’s notes again places emphasis on his pairing with Hoseok, especially when it comes to them dancing. it shows how Jimin is filled with envy as Hoseok’s dancing skills are undoubtedly better than Jimin, which could explain the highlight reel in which Jimin practices non-stop even as he gets injured by the nail. 

L Version 30 August YEAR 19

When Hoseok hyung was on the phone, I entertained myself by kicking the dirt on the floor. I could see hyung’s face as he giggled saying ‘Park Jimin has grown a lot’. Walking back from school to home would take 2 hours. If by bus, it would be 30 minutes and if we took the big road, it would only be 20 minutes. Yet, hyung insisted on taking a route through winding alleys, climbing over low hills and over pedestrian overpasses. Last year, I transferred schools after getting discharged from the hospital. School was far away from home and I didn’t know anyone. I thought it was alright. I had already transferred schools a few time and I didn’t know when I would be hospitalized again so I didn’t think it was anything special.

That’s when I met Hoseok hyung, it was a little while after the new semester had started. Hyung would make it a point to walk with me for those 2 hours together. I realized then that our houses aren’t in the same direction a long while afterwards. I couldn’t ask hyung why. i could only wished that with our shadows side by side for 2 hours and the sunshine above us would stretch the day a little longer.

Hyung was still on the phone, I kicked his shadow and ran away. Hyung ended his call and began to chase me. The hot sunshine melted our ice creams and the sound of cicadas stung my ears. Suddenly, I felt afraid. How many days are there left?

these notes explain Jimin’s backstory with Hoseok. how Jimin meets Hoseok at school, Hoseok taking his time to actually walk Jimin back home etc, even though it was long

one could see how unconventional Hoseok was as he walked with Jimin back home - choosing unfamiliar methods rather than the usual public transportation. nevertheless, Jimin expresses his comfort in Hoseok as he enjoys his company as they walk back. 

but at the last paragraph, why is Jimin counting down the days? is it the days till he gets back to the hospital or before he moves again?

i wouldn't be surprised if he does move considering he has transferred schools several times with his condition and eventually in Hoseok’s HYYH: the notes, he did mention that the time that Jimin was hospitalised, it was the last time he saw Jimin. could Jimin’s condition be so intense that he has to move places all the time? or could it be because his own mother thought that was for the best for him?

O Version 28 September YEAR 20

I stopped counting the days since I was hospitalized. Counting is something you would do when you want to get out or there is hope of getting out. The trees and leaves were far outside the window and based on the clothes of people, I think that not much time has passed. At most, a month tops. Sometimes I see myself wearing the uniform though it was nothing special.  Maybe it was because of the medicine, everything looked boring and dull.  But today was a special day. The kind of day you write in a diary. However, I didn’t have one and I didn’t want the problems that come with writing in one. Today was the first time I lied. I looked at the doctor’s eyes and pretended to be gloomy. “I don’t remember anything.”

here it tells that Jimin is now in the hospital for quite some time as he doesn't bother much about how long he has been inside. not to mention that this day was significant as he fakes his ‘amnesia’ or memory loss to the doctors. question is, why did he lie to the doctors? 

anyone would know how serious this lie could be because it could lead to false diagnosis by the doctors who would have to relay this to his family and/or friends and lead to detrimental consequences. could he possibly be guilt-tripping Hoseok then as revenge? but whatever for? why must Jimin lie? and what condition does he have to actually place him in the hospital for some time? 

Namjoon

L Version 30 June YEAR 22

I looked a bit strange as I pushed the open button of the door as if my own hands had a will of their own. There are these kind of moments. Moments that I felt have repeated for numerous times, though it was the first. The elevator door close before they opened again for people to push their way in. Among them, I looked for the person who tied her hair with a yellow rubber band. I didn’t press the button knowing that the person would be there, but I thought the person would certainly be there. I moved back, one step at a time. When my back hit the cold elevator wall, I looked up and saw the yellow rubber band.

A person’s back tells a lot of stories. I had known a few of them. There were some that I could guess yet there were some that were left alone after everything is over. I thought that you know someone when you can read everything just from his back. Then, wouldn’t there be someone who would know me just from reading my back? As I lifted my head, our gazes met in the mirror. In a flash, she avoided my eyes. This kind of thing happens often. When I lifted my head again, I only saw my face. I couldn’t see my back.

one could tell that these notes remind of the Highlight Reel as Namjoon follows this girl, leaving the yellow hair band as well which looks so damn familiar. 

i realise that Namjoon’s HYYH: the notes are very vague, broad if you would call it, his notes in this case dont really explain anything about whats been happening but it just explains what he thinks - his thoughts actually on how he sees things 

now I'm guessing that the lady he saw was someone he saw frequently but not enough to call a friend, let alone an acquaintance. i guess to Namjoon, people usually acknowledge his presence, but not enough to know his story enough.

that last line ‘I couldn't see my back’ to me signifies that he cant see his own story, hence he doesn't know whats going to happen in the next chapter in his life - the true unstableness and fragility of youth is what he is experiencing now.

L Version 15 May YEAR 20

As I walked across the storage classroom that became a hideout for those of us who had nowhere to go, I set a few chairs straight. I wiped away the dust off the fallen desk with my palm while I was at it. Endings make people emotional. Today is the last day I go to school. It has been decided 2 weeks earlier that we would move. I didn’t know if I could possibly return. I wasn’t sure if I could see my hyungs or younger brothers.

I folded a piece of paper in half and placed it on a desk, I even got a pencil out but I didn’t know what words to leave behind, and so I let time pass. While I was scribbling useless words, my pencil lead snapped with a sound. “You have to keep living” on the paper with the marks of the graphite lead that I had scribbled with realizing. In between the black dust powder and scribbles were stories of poverty, parents, dongsaengs and moving.

I crumpled the paper and placed it in my pocket and then I stood. I pushed the desk away and the dust rose. As I began to leave, I blew onto the dirty window and wrote three characters. No goodbye would ever be enough yet no matter what I say, it would be conveyed as ‘”Let’s see each other again”. More than it being a promise, it was just a wish.

now Namjoon’s notes makes more room for explanation - again a school setting here, most likely high school. it seems as though Namjoon is leaving them for good considering he is struggling to say his goodbyes. 

but whats interesting is that he didnt officially say his goodbye face to face to all of them but rather leaving a note behind in the storage classroom that became their hideout ( as seen in Jungkook’s notes - ‘Two weeks before, Hyung and I were the only ones in the hideaway classroom when the teacher opened the door. )

also, the fact that Namjoon wrote on a piece of paper ‘You have to keep living’ - similar to the one who wrote on the mirror in the Prologue ‘You have to survive’. Namjoon is begging them to stay alive, but question is, why do the boys not want to? 

of course, some of them have lost the will to live given their family backgrounds, but for the rest of them, why do not they not want to live? 

also, the fact that Namjoon mentions in his notes ‘No goodbye would ever be enough yet no matter what I say, it would be conveyed as ‘”Let’s see each other again”. More than it being a promise, it was just a wish.’ 

he seemed so sure that the boys won't meet again at all, what caused them to be so astray? could it be something that one of them had done eg. Taehyung that driven them all away? or was it due to multiple reasons and circumstances including family background that just led them all further away from each other? 

one by one, it is revealed that the boys indeed hadn't met each other for a while, Yoongi and Jungkook, in which Jungkook saw Yoongi for the first time since he had quit high school at the rundown music store, Hoseok didnt see Jimin anymore once he left the hospital, Namjoon left as well, Seokjin too and Taehyung too as he ran away from the guesthouse. 

why were they all leaving? 

V Version 11 April YEAR 22

I was looking for a t-shirt for a while until Taehyung reached for a t-shirt behind me. It was a shirt that had the same printed letters as the one that I was wearing right now. With an awkward laugh, he removed the ripped shirt. In the faint illumination of the lights that hung from the trailer ceiling, I momentarily caught a glimpse of his bruised back. Hoseok looked at me with a shocked expression. Taehyung put on my shirt and looked at his reflection in the dirty mirror. Then he laughed. 

“This punk. He arrived late after getting caught by the police for doing graffiti.” I pretended to hit Taehyung and he pretended to be sorry. Yoongi Hyung who had been sitting at the corner of the trailer, slowly approached Taehyung and smacked his shoulder.

again, Namjoon and Taehyung’s pairing is prominent here. but here one could tell, this looks like Stigma in which Taehyung was arrested by the police for doing graffiti - something that Taehyung was commonly doing throughout the whole series ever since the Prologue etc. 

even in Run, it could be seen that Namjoon used to partake in Taehyung’s reckless activities that got them arrested, but it seemed as though the rest of them were already used to what Taehyung does - even if it was illegal. 

Taehyung

L Version 25 June YEAR 22

I deliberately delayed my steps as I sensed to the small steps that was following me. This was the 3rd time already at the convenience store. If there was something different, it was that today they ran away when they saw me. They hung around a vacant spot behind the convenience store but as I turned up, they hid themselves again. They hid themselves well but their shadows were reaching to the front of the store. I let out a laugh. I pretended that I didn’t see but they began to follow me.

I entered a narrow alley. This is the the only place in the neighbourhood without a broken streetlamp. The alley was long and the streetlamp was somewhere in the middle with my shadow stretching. The shadow now stretches behind me. It could have been stretching all the way to the person who was following me with ragged breath. I started walking a little bit faster. As I passed the streetlamp, my shadow disappeared beneath my feet. Not long after, a shadow that wasn’t mine appeared on the cement floor. I stopped walking and so did the movements. The two shadows of different heights stopped side by side.

I said, “I’m going to wait until you come here.” The shadow behind me leaped out of shock. Then it became still as if it wasn’t here. “I can see everything.” I pointed to the shadow. The footsteps became nearer and deliberately were noisy. I laughed.

here it shows Taehyung is being followed but question is, who is the one following him? could it be the police which would then explain him getting arrested? but then again, looking at the dates, Taehyung was being followed, possibly this is when Taehyung ran away from the guesthouse since based on Seokjin’s notes - 13 June YEAR 22 ( ironically, bangtan’s debut date ), so technically, how long were they trying to find Taehyung? 

not to mention, it seemed as though Taehyung knew who was following him since he had the audacity to even provoke him. 

L Version 29 December YEAR 10

I took my shoes and threw my bag and went into the main room. My father was really there. I didn’t think of how long he was going to return or where he had been. I only raced recklessly into his embrace. I don’t remember clearly afterwards. Whether it was the smell of alcohol, the cursing or the slap to my cheek. I didn’t know what was going on. He reeked of alcohol and his pants were foul. His eyes were bloodshot and his beard was growing wildly. He hit my face with his large hand. He asked what I was looking at. He then lifted me in the air. His crimson eyes were frightening but I was so terrified that I couldn’t even cry. This wasn’t my father. No, this is my father. But then again, he wasn’t. My two feet shoot in the air. In the next moment, my head crashed hard into the wall and I slumped to the floor. It was as if my head exploded. My vision flickered and I blinked a few times. My head was filled with the sound of my father’s harsh breathing.

here it shows that Taehyung since young already had a broken family background with the father being abusive towards him since he was young. hence, to Taehyung, he might even have grown up thinking that violence is acceptable - or a way of love but of course in his notes, he mentions that he felt scared of his own father, his alcoholic and abusive father. 

V Version 22 May YEAR 22

I passed by a pine tree forest as Hyung picked up a phone call and started to lag behind. Nowadays, there were more times like this. He moved far away so that he could pick up the call where others couldn’t eavesdrop. I deliberately slowed down ad hid myself off towards the ocean. Hyung wouldn’t be able to see me when he passed by. “He’s only one year younger than me. No, I don’t really care. Anyway, I’m not going to be the one taking the responsibility, just do whatever is best.”

Something cold slithered down my spine. It felt as if everything in the world crumbled and crashed with a bang. It felt as if I was floating alone in the deep ocean. It was scary and frightening. I was miserable and insignificant. I was angry. I couldn’t contain my anger. I wanted to cause a scene. I wanted to smash something, to hit something, to wreck myself. I was always afraid. That my father’s blood would run in me. I thought that maybe his violence was what I inherited. It seemed that something was stabbing my tight defenses.

the thing about Taehyung’s notes here is that he doesn't specific which Hyung is he mentioning - of course the more probably answer is that it would be Namjoon but at the same time for some reason, it could also be Seokjin. if you haven't noticed but theres also a really subtle pairing of Taehyung and Seokjin as seen in Seokjin’s notes and confirmed by the BST JP. version. 

but of course, based on this notes, this happened before the whole guesthouse, considering the dates. but who exactly is this Hyung talking to, and why is it about Taehyung? could it be because of his juvenile delinquent actions and how Namjoon/Seokjin is trying to ail him out? but who is taking responsibility and for what action must the person take the responsibility ?

now looking at the notes and the dates and years, ( i doubt the years reflect their ages because it wouldn't make much sense considering the high school system, the highest age is 18 and not 19. ) 

Seokjin - 13 June YEAR 22,  15 August YEAR 22,  2 March YEAR 19,  11 April YEAR 22

Yoongi - 8 June YEAR 22, 25 June YEAR 20, 7 April YEAR 22

Jungkook - 16 July YEAR 22, 11 April YEAR 22, 25 June YEAR 20

Hoseok - 31 May YEAR 22, 15 September YEAR 20, 25 February YEAR 21

Jimin - 3 July YEAR 22, 30 August YEAR 19, 28 September YEAR 20

Namjoon - 30 June YEAR 22, 15 May Year 20, 11 April YEAR 22

Taehyung - 25 June YEAR 22, 29 December YEAR 10, 22 May YEAR 22

now, arranging them in a timeline 

29 December YEAR 10 - Taehyung 2 March YEAR 19 - Seokjin 30 August YEAR 19 - Jimin 15 May YEAR 20 - Namjoon 25 June YEAR 20 - Yoongi  25 June YEAR 20 - Jungkook 15 September YEAR 20 - Hoseok 28 September YEAR 20 - Jimin 25 February YEAR 21 - Hoseok 7 April YEAR 22 - Yoongi 11 April YEAR 22 - Seokjin 11 April YEAR 22 - Jungkook 11 April YEAR 22 - Namjoon 22 May YEAR 22 - Taehyung 31 May YEAR 22 - Hoseok 8 June YEAR 22 - Yoongi 13 June YEAR 22 - Seokjin 25 June YEAR 22 - Taehyung 30 June YEAR 22 - Namjoon 3 July YEAR 22 - Jimin 15 August YEAR 22 - Seokjin

so on 25 June YEAR 20, the incidents of Yoongi coming back from a funeral to him drinking and drowning his grief led him to the broken music store - to the sound of Jungkook trying to play the piano - the first time he has seen Yoongi since he quit high school 

then on 11 April YEAR 22, Seokjin has passed the gas station, the one that Namjoon used to work at, and he wishes for them to meet sometime soon as he gathers courage, as he returned from the sea and on the same day, Jungkook ran into the thugs to get beaten up, just as how he wanted it to be. also, on this day, Taehyung got himself arrested and was late to meeting Namjoon and Yoongi who both brushed off Taehyung’s earlier arrest. but later on 13 June YEAR 22, Seokjin found out from Hoseok that Jungkook has gotten into an accident and that the boys haven't met up with each other for some time already, much like when Taehyung ran out from the guesthouse. 

interesting that so much has happened in YEAR 22, but the rest of the details have yet to be filled out, and im still awaiting for bangtan’s upcoming albums who could then fill these gaps. 

[Photo Source] Bighit Entertainment  Credits: maxine ☕️ DO NOT REPOST ©

[inyri]

end of the line

a SWTOR story about Cipher Nine. a story about Umbara.

(spoilers for update 5.4 and for Equivalent Exchange after the jump. consider yourself warned.)

end of the line

On the day he breaks her heart they have been married for half a year, plus five days.

Nine likes to imagine in the days that follow that the extra week was deliberate, that Theron wouldn’t have been so cruel as to choose a date with so much meaning for both of them-

Well. It meant a great deal to her. She isn’t sure what it means to him any more, and it’s stupid of her, really, to parse it in degrees of cruelty. Like he didn’t mean to hurt her.

You won’t feel a thing.

She wishes that had been true. A knife in her heart would have hurt less than this.

***

He hadn’t been himself for months, but she’d assumed at first it was because of Jace.

Force knows Theron and his father hadn’t been close, not for a long time- she remembers that awful fight, when Theron had gone to Coruscant; later on they’d sent him an invitation to the wedding but he never replied, not even to send regrets- but when Jace died on Iokath any hope of reconciliation went to the pyre with him. Satele had vanished again, too, gone without a trace. (He tried to call her: you have to, she’d said, you have to tell her; I’m sure she already knows, he’d replied, but did it anyway because she’d asked. Satele didn’t answer the first time, or the second, or the tenth.) It was the two of them together against everything, just as it always was, but something had changed.  

On the nights when she’d wake to find him out of bed, sitting on the couch and staring, silent, into the dark of their quarters, she would slip in behind him and wrap her arms around his shoulders, pull him back against her body; they would sit there, her fingers stroking slow along his arms, his face, until he closed his eyes and finally slept.

I’m sorry. I never meant for him to-

I know, he’d murmur against her chest. I know.

***

Was it ever enough, what they had? She’d thought so once. She’d thought-

(She doesn’t want to think about him anymore.

She can’t not think about him.)

***

It’s funny when she thinks about it.

(It isn’t funny.)

Theron seemed more like himself that morning than he had in a long time. When she woke he was still beside her, his breath steady on her neck, and she turned in his arms to kiss him awake; he opened his eyes and pulled her close, covered her mouth with his and her body with his, laced his fingers through hers in the way he knew she always liked, when he was above her-

Good morning to you, too, she’d grinned when they finished, and they lay together, breathless, amid the rumpled sheets.

He’d looked down at her, kissed her forehead. I love you. You know that, right?

I know, she’d said. I love you, too.

***

(It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t. It wasn’t, it can’t have been, she would have seen it, would have known-

Theron, why?)

***

Umbara.

It was everything she hated about the Republic wrapped in a layer of darkness, a veneer of respectability covering over a culture built on machinations and murder, vicious as the worst Sith. What would the Republic possibly want with so many Adegan crystals? She thinks she knows.

Iokath should have been enough of a lesson for all of them. Jace spoke of the superweapon with a gleam in his eye, like a child dreaming of a new toy; he died for wanting it and she’d nearly died trying to stop it.

It never ends, does it?

For all the lies that he told her, perhaps Theron was right about that after all.

***

“Ever since you defeated Valkorion, everything I've done has been towards one goal... the total destruction of the Eternal Alliance.”

She reels just as surely as if he’d slapped her. “You don’t mean that. After everything we accomplished together, all the work we put into the Alliance-”

“I do.” Theron folds his arms across his chest, a barrier between them as physical as the forcefield glowing red across the doorway. “I had so much hope- but it turned out just like the Republic, rotting from the inside out, and you've become a symbol of oppression. So much for your dreams of peace.”

No. No, no-

Her voice trembles, her tongue tripping over the words, one hand pressed to Lana’s throat- still breathing, get up, Lana, come on. “We promised each other no more secrets. Why didn’t you tell me if you were so unhappy? We could have changed things. We still can.”

“I believed that, once.” He shakes his head, turning away. “But it’s too late now. I can’t stop what’s already happening.”

“Damn it, look at me!” This can’t be real. This can’t possibly be real. She must be dreaming. Wake up. Wake up. “Even if I fall here that doesn’t solve anything. If you topple the Alliance, millions of people are going to die.”

The train’s starting to break apart now, so close to the end of the line, and it’s hard to hear him. “If that’s the cost of peace, so be it.”

She couldn’t have thought of something that sounded less like him. “Then answer something for me before you kill me, Theron. You owe me that much.”

Was it her imagination, or did he flinch?

“You said everything you’ve done since Valkorion’s defeat has been leading to this. Did that include marrying me?”

He doesn't answer.

“Tell me!”

“I love you,” he says. “You know that. But this is bigger than us.” She stumbles as the train rocks, and when she’s steady enough to look up again he’s moving toward the door. “Thirty seconds to impact. Goodbye, Nyr- Commander.”

(A fragment of her name, a slip of the tongue at the end of the line.

He was the only one who she ever let call her by her name.

He is the only one who she ever will.)

She almost just doesn't move, almost lets herself stay and be blown apart in the impact- maybe that’ll be what it takes to finally wake her up. (Is it true that if one dies in one’s dreams, one dies in the waking world? She’s never been brave enough to find out.) But Lana’s staggering on her feet, shouting in her ear over the metal-on-metal screaming of the train and maybe this isn’t a nightmare after all. If it’s real-

oh, Theron-

She jumps into flame and darkness.

***

She might have been offended, once, that he thought a train crash would have been enough to end her. He should have killed her while she slept. It would have been a surer thing.

But her grief is keener than her anger, sharper than her pain, surpassing anything else she might have felt- her left wrist is broken and she only knows it by the harsh alarming of the medscanner, her body bruised and her skin blistered and her eyes swollen with unshed tears.

(Open a channel for wide broadcast, she tells Lana as soon as she can speak again, before you start the search. I want to send Theron a message.

Are you sure? You- she can feel her eyes flick over her face as Lana chooses her words with extraordinary caution- you should rest. It can wait until morning, if-

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting blood. No. I want him to see what he did.)

She cuts off her hair in the medical bay on the Gravestone; there’s no saving it, not like after the carbonite when she was careful and with time it recovered from its brittle delicacy. This time it crumbles into ash in her hands when she lets it down. (There is a metaphor there, probably, but she’s too tired to think about it. He always loved her hair). Trauma shears serve well enough for now, and she crops it short around her ears until she barely recognizes the face looking back at her in the mirror.

When she comes out of kolto for the first time afterward the shears are gone, along with her knives and her rifle and all her poisons and, from the room they’d shared, Theron’s duffel bag.

She doesn’t ask Lana where she put them.

It’s better if she doesn’t know.

After the first day someone moves a kolto bath into her quarters. That, at least, is a mercy. She doesn’t have to see the rest of the crew looking at her, every damn person on this whole fucking ship, with pity in their eyes. She wants to scream at them. She wants to howl her loss until her lungs give out.

I never asked for this, but I never got a choice. I never wanted any of this, never wanted the power or the title or the fleets, never wanted the Emperor inside my head, never wanted another war. I wanted one thing, only one, and now he’s gone-

But she doesn’t. She sits silent in her quarters, turning her wedding band around and around on her finger, until Lana brings her in a plate of food.

The morning’s plate sits untouched on the table in front of her- has she moved since morning? She can’t remember. When Lana bends to set down the one she’s holding, she sees it too.

“Commander?”

She looks up. “I don’t want to hear that title ever again.”

“Nine.” Lana sighs. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

She shrugs. It’s a good question. Kolto’s technically nutritive and the portable tub wouldn’t stop beeping until she’d spent the full six hours submerged in it last night, so- “Does it matter?”

Another sigh. “I know you’re-”

“You don’t.” She focuses back on the movement of her hands, the glint of the stones in the near-dark. “You don’t know. Get out.”

“I’m sorry,” Lana says after a moment. “I’m sorry that I failed you. I should have-”

Folding tighter in on herself- she can’t tuck her legs up against her chest, not with her arm still in a sling, so she slumps sideways against the pillows- she shakes her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You could have shown me every detail of his plan and I’d never have believed it.”

“And Theron knew that.”

Even hearing his name hurts, punching through the haze of the painkillers. “Of course he did. I loved-” (Past tense; the word sits in her mouth, dry as ashes on her tongue. Lying is in their blood, hers and Theron’s both, but there are lies and there are Lies. That is one of the latter, and she has had enough of those now to last a lifetime.) “I love him.” She shuts her eyes. “Even now. And I thought he loved me. Stars, I’m such an idiot.”

The couch shifts beneath her; when she opens her eyes again Lana’s seated, carefully avoiding touching her, at the edge of the cushion. “You’re not.”

“He wants me dead, if you hadn’t noticed. Maybe that passes for love among Sith, but-”

“He loves you,” Lana says quietly. “I don’t pretend to know what he’s thinking right now, but I can promise you that he loves you.”

“Don’t say that. He lied to me for months- years, maybe- he lied to my face-” her voice quavers. “He let me sit down in that chair on Iokath knowing it might kill me and then he kissed the burns when he changed my bandages. He- I-”

Hands balled into fists, she wants to hurt something so badly- but there’s no one here but Lana, hollow-eyed and pale beside her, and when, forgetful of her injuries, she lifts her hands to rub at her face, the sling tugs at her neck and a spike of anguish up her broken arm makes her whimper. She curls onto her side.

“I used to tease him,” she whispers into the pillow as Lana reaches toward her, one hand gentle against her back, “that I never knew how he managed all those years in the field. Even undercover, I could always look at him and tell exactly what he was thinking.” Her vision blurs, tears welling up despite herself; she shakes her head, trying to blink them away. “Now I know.”

She won’t cry, she won’t-

Her body is a traitor, too.

***

[That night she dreams of Hunter.

He stands over her- always he in her dreams, though she knows better in waking hours- flipping a vibroscalpel in one hand, up and down, up and down, blade glinting in the light of the swaying fluorescent lamp above them.

Well, Hunter says, I suppose we’d better get started. Hold out your hand.

She doesn’t.

Onomatophobia. Hold out your hand.

When she lifts her hand he presses the handle of the scalpel into it, folds her fingers closed. Raising her head, she shivers; the metal table beneath her’s cold against her back, straps pinning her left arm and tight across the width of her thighs, dark ink-lines on her skin tracing the lines of her collarbones, meeting between her breasts and then running lower, down along the saber scar and the flat expanse of her belly. A plastic tag, blank, circles one toe.

Oh.

I’m not dead, you know. Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?

You are, he says. It just hasn't sunk in yet. Don't worry. You won’t feel a thing.

His voice is-

She can still turn her head and when she looks Hunter’s face flickers, passing through a hundred permutations until it settles, finally, on one she knows as well as her own.

Onomatophobia. Theron bends down to kiss her forehead, his hands stroking her shorn hair, before he lifts her arm across her chest and lays the blade against her skin. We’ll begin, he says, with the heart.

He lied. It hurts. It hurts so much, and-]

She wakes up screaming.

Lana finds her a minute later, sitting in the ‘fresher beneath the running water, scrubbing invisible ink-lines from her body.

***

“I’ve diverted as many of our field operatives as I can,” Lana says, holding the datapad out toward her, “to looking for him. If we find Theron-”

“When.” There’s no room here for if. The only question she knows how to ask now is why.

“-when we find Theron, how would you like them to proceed?”

She reaches out toward it, scrawling her orders with one fingertip across the screen.

observe and report only all intel to be transmitted directly to Alliance Command DO NOT ENGAGE

(Despite everything he’s done, the only person she will let hurt him is her.)

***

The day before they return to Odessen, he sends her a message.

She almost deletes it. Whatever he has to say, part of her doesn’t want to hear it. Part of her doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say ever again.

Only a small part, though. Most of her needs to.

She opens it.

I saw your message on the Holonet, he writes. (Good. She imagines him watching it, wherever he is. Did it hurt, Theron?) I wish I could drop everything and leave with you, somewhere far from all this war and death. But that’s only a dream- reality is much harder.

It sounds more like him than any single word he said on Umbara. She keeps reading, even as the words blur together on the screen, until she reaches the end.

I don’t expect you to understand. However this ends, I need you to remember this: I loved you from the moment I saw you. I always will.

Another lie. A pretty lie, but a lie. How many times had they laughed about that moment? It was a good memory, bound up as it was with everything that happened afterward, all the way to Yavin and the scalding savage breathless want of those early days- but what they had wasn’t love, then. Love came after.

He knew that, too. Why make it into something false? She doesn’t understand.

(He doesn’t expect her to, he says. So generous of him.)

It ends there; she throws her datapad onto the bed in frustration, pacing back and forth along the floor of her quarters. They’ll be on Odessen soon enough. She’ll have to make a speech; despite their best efforts the news has gotten out already. If people were already doubting her leadership- Force, they’re going to lose allies over this.

She’s all the way across the room when the datapad chimes.

Decryption complete.

That’s odd. She runs decryption protocols on everything, ever since what happened to Keeper all those years ago, but Theron’s message wasn’t in any kind of code so far as she could tell. Unless-

Snatching it back up again, she scans through the message again, line by line. Nothing’s different, though, all the text the same with nothing changed until she reaches the very end and there’s a tiny fragment of an image embedded, hiding beneath-

Her hand shakes so violently that she drops the datapad.

Oh-

to be continued.