#ive gotten some submissions that are like 'hi its me again' WHO. ARE YOU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

desired-victim · 3 years

Note

Helloo! I wanted to request hisoka with corruption kink. Just write however you want to lolol i dont mind any freaky🏃

Ha *wipes sweat off forehead* I hope this hard work pays off. I put every ounce of effort in writing this 😮‍💨. I didn’t do any bullet points on this one but it does have about four thousand words! Please ignore the possible grammar mistakes, I do have trouble writing dialogue. I worked on yours all night long and I’m exhausted. My fingers sure are. I kept your request deeply in mind. You can see poor, little (Y/N)’s innocence melt right off her like ice cream ;). Anyway, here’s your request, my love 💕

I wanted to honor the divine feminine so you will see my appreciation for the female body below 👇

💕TW: The content below contains: degradation, domination kink, submission kink, dub con, threat of forced anal intercourse, pure smut, corruption kink, possible bad grammar, loss of virginity, dirty talk, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, corruption of innocence, Oh, and Hisoka is a TW itself.

Enjoy…

He’s tall.

God, he is so tall. Such long, strong legs - slender yet thick with muscle. Despite being erotically pleasant, his legs weren’t the best part of him. The best part of him was what your eyes followed. From his shins, to his knees, to his thighs, to his hips, to that beautifully sculpted torso of his, to his neck, and then you reached his eyes.

Those eyes. Those sharp, golden eyes of his.

His eyes unsettled most people. It was as though they could pierce your very soul, and see how weak and worthless you truly are. He's a predator - always keen, always aware, and always watching for a reason for you to be his next target.

Hisoka… how did you get those eyes?

She wondered how she caught his attention. He was the type of man to overlook girls like her. A blushing, doe eyed dolt, who could barely speak to strangers without stuttering a storm.

Why? Why would someone like Hisoka find her worthy of even being near him? Of being in his bed, of being by his side, of being between his legs. He is so very special, and I'm…

“My Little Slice, you look delightful when your down there~”

His voice shook her out of her thoughts. She looked at his teasing gaze and meekly lowered her sight to his lips. There, she saw them curl up into a grin. She tensed up and covered her naked chest with her arms. Just then, she realized how unbelievably exposed she was to his scrutiny.

“Oh, nervous now~,” he laughed out, sitting up from the headboard and closer to her face, “isn’t that sweet…”

More red than ever, she turned her face from Hisoka and leaned back. Instead of letting her move away, his hand wrapped around her wrist and thrusted her towards him. She yelped out as her cheek pressed against his hard chest, her face embarrassingly hotter than his cool skin. His chest rumbled as he let out a chuckle.

She put her hands against his chest and attempted to pull away, but his arm wrapped itself around her. She struggled to shove herself away and her efforts were all for nothing; he hadn’t moved an inch.

Perhaps it was foolish to pursue a 200th floor fighter. Where was her older brother to protect her now? He had lectured her beforehand about the dangerous people here and she laughed him off and teased him about being some sort of guard dog. Now, she needed him more than ever. She had never been in a situation like this before.

“No boys allowed, Y/N!” he usually shouted out, a vein practically popping out of his forehead. It almost seemed like he loved saying that as it was repeated over and over throughout her life.

All she wanted to do was explore a place she never ventured to. To seek the thrill that felt so curious and good, yet hidden like the inside of a flower that hasn't bloomed yet. A buzzing heartbeat that formed when she laid alone at night and gently ran her fingers up her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and shivers.

Please help me, B/N…

Her struggles came to an end as she huffed, breathlessly. Hisoka’s hand trailed down her shoulders to her waist and to her hips. His hand was met with the pleasant plumpness of her bottom. She squeaked out in shock as his hand roughly squeezed her ass and kneaded it like dough. A loud crack reverated across the room as he slapped it, leaving a red blur behind. She gasped and her face converted into an embarrassed cringe. Frustrated tears pricked in her eyes as her fingernails dug deeply into his skin.

Once again, she attempted to wiggle away. Instead of his arm wrapping around her shoulders once again, she was swept over and under him. He was hovering over her and there was no way to escape. Her previous attempts at fighting back were a failure, and she no longer wanted to fight, only to flee.

Her eyes shot out towards Hisoka’s face only to find him smiling down at her. His warm breath fanning her face and his hips between her thighs.

The glint in his eyes shook her to the core. His facial expression was teasing and playful, but his eyes told a completely different story. She’s seen that look on his face before. The same expression on his face as he killed his opponents. He looked like an apex predator who was about to break the neck of his prey with his jaws.

“You’ve never been fucked before, haven’t you?” he asked, his finger trailing down her cheek, rubbing off a tear she hadn’t noticed fell.

Her face scrunched up at his vulgar language.

“No, I’ve never been f-�� she paused, hesitating before quickly spitting out, “no, ive never been f… fucked before.” Another tear came out of her eye. She never cursed - She wasn’t allowed to.

Hisoka giggled, his smile twisting even further. He looked down at her precious expression and felt his arousal rise.

“You're utterly adorable, you know that? I almost feel a little bad about this. Almost. But you wanted to play, and don’t be a spoiled brat when the other player is better at the game than you.” He mocked, his sardonic gaze on her. It made her want to shrink into the mattress and never come out.

“Now, now,” he said, sitting up, “I’ll make it as comfortable as I can.”

He spread her thighs and examined her high waisted shorts. He grabbed the zipper at the top and unzipped it. Down and down it went, until her underwear was revealed to him.

“After all, the first cut into the cake has to be perfect.”

Her shorts were suddenly off her and on the ground. She was only in her underwear now, more exposed than ever. Most naked she’d been since that time she went to the beach. She’d gotten sunburnt that day. At least then she had a top, now her whole body was on display to him.

Hisoka hummed as he tugged his own bottoms off, revealing the thick length of his cock. His cock looked magnificent combined with the rest of his body. That sexy v-cut of his looked like two arrows directing me to look at his big dick, so large it almost dangled under its own weight. It held its own though, refusing to droop over.

How is that thing going to fit inside of me? she thought.

He spread her legs wide open and examined the thin material of her underwear as the form of her vulva showed through. The flimsy material was practically invisible.

Hisoka’s big hands grabbed her behind her knees, pushing her legs up while also spreading them even further. The bed squeaked out as Hisoka crawled on his knees over to her, placing himself over her.

Hisoka’s claws clenched themselves around her legs, indenting the soft flesh, “You have such a soft, innocent face,” he said, his face hovering over menacingly. “But I know a hungry little whore lies beneath the surface… let me feed that little whore~❤️.”

Hisoka let go of one of her legs and let it fall against the bed. Her loose leg was between his two thighs and her other leg was still being held. The top half of her body was still on the bed. Hisoka’s strength was maintained as he carried half of her body weight into the air.

He’s so strong… of course he is, that’s to be expected of a top floor fighter.

The bed let out a groan as Hisoka pushed himself onto her covered cunt, rubbing his dick between her labia majora. His cock stroked the sensitive heat over and over again, he could feel her hotness tightening and then softening as her pussy throbbed to the beat of her heartbeat. The head of his cock stroked her hard clit over and over again, the little bump riddled with sensitive nerves. Her underwear was sopping as her pussy leaked out sweet nectar. The tip of Hisoka’s cock was also leaking with precum, mixing in with her own sweetness and creating an erotic cocktail.

“Yes, don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop - I want to cum so bad. Please let me cum, please!”

Hisoka let out a breathy laugh. “If you want to cum so bad, you need to beg for it. Only good girls get to cum. Are you a good girl~?”

“Yes! I’m a good girl! I’m your good girl, Hisoka!”

“Aw, you're so cute when you beg. But I don’t think you're a good girl. No, I think you're a naughty, little slut. Little sluts only get to cum when they're being fucked.”

The sensitive head of Hisoka’s cock pulsated with pleasure as he rubbed it against the soaked underwear. If he kept doing it, he was going to cum way too fast. He couldn’t let that happen. Not before he stretched her virgin pussy with his cock. He’d be damned if he let himself orgasm before biting into her innocence.

His nails dug into her thigh as he pushed himself further into her, making sure there wasn’t an inch of space between their heats. He was going to blow and If he didn’t stop, he wasn’t gonna see that shocked expression of hers when came in her for the first time. The longer he waited, the better.

(Y/N)’s pussy clenched and her breathing sped up. She was going to cum.

I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to-

Hisoka pulled back.

“No!” She yelled, kicking her leg in frustration. She let out another yell as her leg didn’t even move an inch in Hisoka’s grip. His grip was too strong. There was no way she could force her way to freedom.

“I was so close!” she shouted, a tear threatening to fall from her eyes. “Why did you stop! I felt so good!”

Hisoka threw his head back and let out a loud, sadistic laugh.

“Haha, you're so cute when you're feisty! I’m glad I’m the first who gets to fuck you.”

He let go of her leg after getting over his giggling attack. She found herself embarrassed as she blew out strings of her own hair out of her own mouth.

As she was pulling strings of hair out of her mouth, she was suddenly pulled back onto the bed by Hisoka’s hands around her hips. She gulped as she saw Hisoka’s face hovering over her crotch.

The part of her underwear that directly covered over her cunt was a darker shade than the rest of her underwear from when they grounded against each other like animals in heat.

She watched nervously as he adjusted his position. She let out a whole body shiver as both of his thumbs opened her lips like a little book.

Hisoka licked the side of her cunt - not directly stimulating her but gently teasing her. While not directly pleasuring her, the motion relaxed her from her last intense session. A little between-the-main-courses snack, if you will.

She sat up on her elbows and watched as Hisoka lapped at both sides of her lips. She felt a swell of affection begin to grow in her chest as she watched Hisoka’s cheek press itself onto the inside of her thigh. She realized how bold she’s gotten since they began to play with each other. In such a short while, Hisoka had corrupted her - denting that once-perfect surface with his perverted nature. To think ten minutes ago she was so shy she could barely even curse. In such a short time, she’d cursed more than she had in a year. A pang of guilt filled her as she thought about how her older brother would react. But he wasn’t here, and he never had to know.

In her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Hisoka’s face twist into a mischievous smile. Her eyes widened in terror as she felt his tongue on her covered asshole.

“Hisoka!” She shouted out.

How can someone be so vulgar?

“Oh, I’m sorry, my Little Slice~. I just love it when your sweet, angelic face turns into one of horror. It turn me on so badly~❤️”

Hisoka only smiled and slid his tongue upwards towards her pussy. He pushed the tip of his tongue against the entrance of her vagina and wiggled it there. If it wasn’t for her underwear, his tongue would have been inside her pussy.

The nerves around her hole were ablaze and her legs were shaking - with fear, excitement or pleasure? Perhaps all three, she did not know. All she wanted was to be pounded by him; she didn’t care how big and thick he was (from what she saw earlier, his cock had to be as thick as her forearm). Though she was unexperienced and naive to the acts of sex, this feeling was primal and indispensable. She needed it, she needed it like a runner needs water.

His tongue dragged itself from her entrance to her clit.

“Yes, yes,” she moaned out and spread her legs wider without an ounce of shame.

It was overwhelming in the best way possible. It was the most electrifying thing she’d ever experienced and she never wanted it to end. She wanted to be there forever - in that limbo of titillation and erotic reality that was unlike anything she could recreate with her imagination.

Hisoka rapidly moved his tongue against her clit. She squealed out loud and attempted to move her hips but his hands grabbed her hips and pushed them to the bed and continued to flick her covered clit with his tongue.

She lifted herself up to her elbows and looked down at him. A hint of fear aroused in her as she made direct eye contact with him. She was so caught up in her own pleasure she didn’t realize how deeply she was looking into his eyes.

As she continued to lock her eyes with his, her pussy began to relax, getting ready to tighten and cum on his tongue. Her heavy breathing paused and she caught that expression in her eyes.

Then her panties were ripped in half and her bare cunt was revealed to him. In a split second, his entire tongue was inside of her.

She screamed as her virgin cunny squeezed itself around his long, wicked tongue. Hisoka laughed out and wiggled his tongue - messaging and caressing her inner walls as she cummed.

The wetness of her aroused cunt seeped out and dripped down to her asshole, to which Hisoka slurped up and continued his assault on her cunny again. He did this over and over again until I couldn’t handle it anymore. My hands tried to push him away but he didn’t even budge. It wasn’t until my legs began to kick out in panic did he pull away.

“Ah, ah,” she panted, body completely limp. Hisoka observed her body. Her soft stomach was gleaming with sweat and the inside of her thighs were also gleaming.

“You might be the sweetest candy I’ve had since I first tried Bungee Gum all those years ago. I knew the moment I popped it into my mouth it would never leave me, marking me with its sweet syrupy taste just like a Scarlet Letter. Would it be a bold thing to say that you're just like Bungee Gum? You get so pink when you're played with. The pink on your cheeks is almost the same shade as my favorite snack.”

Hisoka let out a sudden dramatic sigh that startled (Y/N) for a second. “Unfortunately, the company who used to make Bungee Gum went bankrupt so now I have to search far and wide just to get a taste. Luckily for me, something similar is always nearby for me to stretch and pull at.”

He paused, looking directly into (Y/N)’s eyes with his own yellow ones. “You are, my sweet little slice~”

Hisoka grabbed her ankles and slapped her legs together. The loud smack of her thighs' sudden connection reverated across the room.

Hisoka wrapped his big hand over both of her ankles and grabbed his cock, stroking back the foreskin to reveal the pink, sensitive tip and a pearl of precum forming. He placed the tip of his cock on her clit, rubbing it in little circles before sliding it down her slit until it reached her entrance at the very bottom. He felt tempted to slip it into her ass before deciding it wasn’t worth the screeching. Even though he could easily cover her mouth and sodomize her tight little ass, he couldn’t just jump into completely breaking her; It would be a better idea to slowly lower her into the fire. A slow burn would be ten times more satisfying.

Putting both of my legs onto one side of his shoulders, he used his weight to push his entire cock into her pussy until his ballsack was resting against her ass.

She hissed through her teeth and threw her head back. She was filled with his cock. So full. So, so full.

She was bursting with new sensations. A new type of pain, a new type of pleasure. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt yet so primal and familiar. It was an instinct she never realized she had.

Bending over her with her legs still on her shoulder, Hisoka connected their lips for the first time that night. She could taste her own saltiness on his lips. It wasn’t the type of kiss she’d seen on romance shows (the ones her brother decided were appropriate enough to watch). No, this kiss was the complete opposite of those. This kiss was rough, unlike anything else.

She felt a burst of bravery as she slipped her tongue out and shyly lapped at his bottom lip. Hisoka let out a sardonic chuckle.

“Feeling brave now, are we?”

(Y/N) yelped as Hisoka slid his entire tongue inside her mouth, licking every corner of her mouth. Nothing was left untouched.

After completely violating her mouth with his tongue, Hisoka pulled away, smiling down at her.

“Are you ready?” He whispered. (Y/N) let out a shuddering breath and nodded. She braced herself by meekly grabbing onto the shoulder that didn’t have her legs with one hand, the other gripping onto the sheets.

Hisoka pulled back until only the tip of his cock remained in her, then he slammed into her with great strength. Her breath completely left her body with the slam of his hips. His hips smashing against her buttocks made a filthy sound that made her want to cum. The plop, plop sound that her pussy was also doing things to her.

Hisoka grunted with every hard thrust. She fit him just like a glove. It was almost like she was made for him. While the male penis did not have as many nerve endings as female genitals, a man can augment his sensations and cause it to heighten by being caressed just right. By holding her against himself, fucking her in a salacious dance, the more sensation builds up in his penis just like when a woman’s clitoris is tapped just so…

The friction of his cock pulling on her inner walls before being pushed inside once again left (Y/N) in a concoction of emotions. First, complete and utter pleasure. As he slammed his cock into her, dopamine bursted in her mind like an explosion of drugs. Second, regret. If her brother ever found out, how would he react to his own little sister getting fucked by the murderous Magician, Hisoka? She knew he’d feel like all his work to keep her safe were a waste of time and energy. Like all those years of pampering and protecting went right down the drain. She couldn’t let him find out. And thirdly, a rebellious energy. She was tired of being locked down by her own innocence. She wanted to explore the world. There had to be more to this world than just what she knew. There had to be.

From head to toe, she felt a symphony of pleasure as she came. Her toes clenched until they cramped. But she didn’t care, the pleasure outweighed the pain. Her fingers dug into his shoulder. She was sure there would be a five fingered mark there the next day. It would be a reminder of his clawed reach and her deflowering.

She screeched out as Hisoka went faster, overwhelming her. She hadn’t even gotten over her orgasm before he began to thrust into her twice as hard. She could feel his cock rub itself against the entrance of her womb.

It was primal to push into her beautiful, soft female body and pull back, only to push himself back. He could feel himself building up the height of his pleasure. The more he pumped, the higher the tower built, just ready to topple over and leave a big mess.

He looked at her closer than ever. Watching as her breast bounced and her lips glowed from their mixed saliva. He saw her eyes as she looked up at him, red from crying in complete pleasure. Her appearance increased his desire to come.

“Ahhhh,” he moaned out, feeling his orgasm in his very bones. It was a sensation he was familiar with. After defeating a powerful enemy, he sometimes glowed with the aftertaste of their fight and his victory. This was very similar - yet so different. More intimate, of course. His prey was still alive and he was still inside their body.

(Y/N) closed her eyes in bliss as Hisoka’s cum finally rested inside of her. Her breathing slowed down and the blush on her cheeks faded into softer shades of pink. The sun was coming down. Its orange tones highlighted her sweaty body like a canvas. It almost seemed like she was a freshly painted portrait. Divine Feminine tamed at last.

Both of them laid on their backs, observing the plain ceiling. It was relaxing to lay down after such an exhausting task. All she wanted to do was shut her eyes and rest.

Rest, rest, rest…

My brother! His fight is over!

(Y/N) shot up from the bed, practically tripping over herself as she gathered her things - putting them on. She didn’t even notice her bra was inside-out. More shockingly, she didn’t even notice cum was dripping down her legs.

Hisoka watched amusingly from the sidelines at her scattering around the room.

(Y/N) scanned the room for one final time. She groaned as she saw her wet panties on the bed, right next to Hisoka. She jumped onto the bed and reached for her underwear. As she pulled back, Hisoka grabbed her wrist.

“Tell me, (Y/N), how would your older brother react to hearing about how I ruined his little sister's innocence? How I fucked her and she enjoyed every second of it? I bet he’d try to kill me~.”

(Y/N)’s mouth opened and closed, not a single word leaving her starstruck mouth. Her body was paralyzed with fear. She forgot who she was dealing with in her panic.

“What's the matter? You want to keep our little secret just between us two? Fine. However, come to my room tomorrow at the same time you did today and we’ll have some more fun. If not…”

She didn’t need to ask - She knew. She imagined the consequences in her mind, thinking about the outcome of her moment of weakness.

Hisoka wasn’t done with her; this was just the appetizer.

—-

“Hey, (Y/N), where were you during my fight? I didn’t see you in the crowd at all.”

“Oh, I was just getting some snacks.”

“Ah, alright. Next time just tell me beforehand. I wouldn’t want a stranger taking advantage of my little sister. Right, sis?”

“Haha, yeah…”

#hxh imagines #hxh headcanons #hxh hisoka #hxh x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka #hisoka imagine #hunter x hunter #hisoka x y/n

279 notes · View notes

izzyliker · 4 years

Note

hey - this is one of the mods of the bi jon project. we don't actually dislike or disagree with pan jon at all, we just want to make a project focused on and celebrating bisexuality. our carrd is a bit rambling, but frankly we were trying our best/overcompensating to try and make sure people didn't misunderstand us and do - well, this. our intentions are good, and it's really kind of disenheartening to see all the hate we've gotten for what was meant to be a positive project. (1)

you're under no obligation to answer these, but i saw some of your posts in the tag and felt like reaching out because you did give us even the tiniest bit of slack in good faith. honestly, if you have any advice about what in our carrd is so overwhelmingly bad, we'd be happy to hear it. we've been trying to respond to the overwhelming amount of criticism we've got in a positive way, and take peoples' suggestions. (2)

as for why 'no anti-antis' was at the bottom of our rules list, it's legitimately bc we were trying so hard to be preventative about this negativity that we forgot to add it when we first posted the blog, and just remembered later. again, you're under no obligation to answer these, i just feel like no one's really actually letting us defend ourselves/are taking things in as bad faith a way as possible. (3)

im not exactly sure how the posts showed up in the tag bc ive been very purposefully not tagging them, also ive blocked all of you back (not sure why you blocked me if you actually want feedback, so it seems more like you just want free positive pr and not actual feedback) so its unlikely youll see whatever it is that i reply to this but whatever.

the issues have all been repeatedly brought up to you so i dont really see how me repeating all of them once again could help. when i last looked at the cardd the things that stood out immediately included.

pitting ace & bi identities and people against each other REPEATEDLY,

starting off with a guilt trippy tone and maintaining it throughout (in my experience this is the #1 best way to receive backlash because people do not want to participate in events where you feel like youre being guilted into it, which going into scrutinizing detail over there not being enough content and passing judgement onto authors or artists over it is something that comes across as guilt trippy.),

repeatedly equating asexuality with sex repulsion (not to get into the misleading information about modteam aspec identity breakdowns, since you claimed that 3/4 of the team are aspec, which is technically correct, but what you didnt say was that only one is acespec. surely you know that [allosexual] aro and [alloromantic] ace are not interchangeable) and calling using biromantic over bisexual a “misunderstanding” of the identity as if how to define romantic vs sexual attraction (how to divide, if or if not to divide, use interchangeably different labels) isnt a deeply personal choice ace people who experience romantic attraction make,

claiming that bisexual jon is canon (he isn’t. this is why people are suspicious of anti-other mspec identities sentiments. which theyre right, if youll be so kind as to stick around til the last paragraph) and repeatedly implying that the reason there isnt “enough” content centering bi jon because the aces are simply unable to not fixate on his asexuality (again, pitting identities against each other),

making the banned ship list way needlessly confusing and including ships that dont even include jon to it, which simply comes across as some kind of a list of bad ships, idk. a way to bypass this would simply be to say “we are looking for portrayals of healthy relationships!” and that couldve just been it. if you felt that that wouldnt exclude specific ships (eg. jondaisy that a lot of people write as a relationship between trauma survivors who have done very bad things trying to get better and learning to trust each other) it is possible to simply say “the modteam is squicked[/triggered] by ships with daisy/elias/peter and we’d like to read all of the works submitted so we’re asking not to receive submissions with those ships.” hating ships is literally completely normal but making rules hard to parse is going to attract questions, especially when the implication is that ships are excluded on the grounds of morality, and a blatant power difference ship (jonelias) is equated with jondaisy, which is from what ive seen almost exclusively shown to be a relationship between equals. that makes people EXTREMELY confused about where the line is. thats why youre getting so many questions about this.

in general the carrd was spotty, guilt trippy, and needlessly moralizing where it definitely did not need to be. the key to getting people to engage without getting backlash is to make the event seem fun. when your carrd is filled with stuff about unrelated negative stuff people are not going to think it’s a fun event at all.

and none of this even gets into the fact that at least one of the mods has a history of open hostility against pan people. i heard through the grapevine that he has since made a fauxpology about it, but frankly it already shone through in the language used in the event descriptions. its extremely hard to take any of this is good faith when it is easy to see that one of the organizers is quite fucking clear about thinking pansexuality is biphobic and the carrd is or at least used to be full of anti-pan (and other mspec identity) dogwhistles, and is notorious in some of the tma fic author circles for being extremely fucking nasty about trans men writing fic he doesn’t like to the point of pretending that we’re all cis people (in case youre not keeping track that is misgendering us by implication) because he doesn’t like it. i think some of you (or maybe all of you? idk) in general could stand to examine whether your engagements and participations in the fandom have been at all about having fun or adding positivity to anything, or simply making posts about what other people are doing wrong. it seems that every post i see from anyone in this group is guilt trippy and authoritative, and sadly this translated directly into the event.

when youre, say, a trans man whose first touch to one of the mods was a post about how fic where trans men have piv sex with cis men is hurting him personally and making it a moral issue and not a matter of a simple preference to the point where he feels comfortable making claims about the trans men (and transmasc nonbinary people) writing fic about trans characters re: their gender or whether theyre fetishizing trans men, your willingness to engage in good faith with an event hosted by him that features numerous red flags is not going to be unconditional.

im sorry to hear that it has been bad for your mental health, and idk whats fucking going on with this event anymore, but my good faith interpretations have diminished significantly since i saw the shit tmc specifically has been saying about pansexual people and pansexuality as an identity label. i have no clue where the rest of you stand but tmc has repeatedly, consistently shown himself to be unable to act in good faith towards anyone other than people who agree with him.

#disk horse #long post #Anonymous

74 notes · View notes

blackgirlblues · 5 years

Text

Being A Black Girl: And Chasing Your Dreams.. Yikes.

Hi,

It’s me, your resident black girl back with some new shit to rant about. I’ve been posting a few screenshots of short poems and paragraphs I’ve been writing on my phone as a way to heal and get over Capricorn boy from my last post on here and I see you guys like and reblog. Thank you for showing love, although it makes me sad that so many of you seem to be going through the same range of emotions I am. I’m sorry.

I know it’s a lonely place to be in.

But, on the bright side, I’ve got a lot of new followers joining the diary/manual/rant page that is blackgirlology and it’s nice cause I think it’s becoming a little bit of a community. So, in a way, were never really going through any of these emotions alone. If you’ve found this page-you’re part of a community. Bask in it.

Anyways, that aside, a lot has happened since I last spoke to you. I don’t know if any of you may remember, and for some new people this will be a surprise. But I’m actually a singer songwriter from Ireland. Moved to London a year and a half ago to pursue my music dream and that’s how I met Capricorn boy whos been the source of all my poems.

Throughout this time in between, I’ve been trying to chase my dreams, and chase them relentlessly. and this summer i did just that, let me tell you, what im about to tell you guys, is to put it simply, wild. I’ll just cut to the chase.

It all started in July. I’d been in London for quite a long time now, over a year and now have a manager who’s my best friend first and foremost. We’ll call her Maya. I met her in my first week of moving to London in the student halls I was staying at and we became best friends pretty quick. She studies music business, so it made sense and she just naturally ended up taking up the role as my music manager. Shes seen everything. The songs I wrote about Capricorn boy, the tears, everything. And she saw everything this summer.

I saw an ad for a record label opportunity in London. It was advertised on my university facebook page; a new indie label, looking for demo submissions for a competition they were setting up to find their new signee. I sent a screenshot to Maya who agreed I should send my stuff in. I did, they liked it, I got a meeting, we were sent terms and conditions for the competition. We signed it, the rest was supposed to be history.

Big yikes.

There’s so many layers to this story that I will be shortening it, just because it can get very draining for me to talk about or even write about. I’ve healed from it i think, but I still want to put it here and write it about to finally close that chapter and be done with my feelings about what happened to me and my music.

Basically, the whole competition, the record label, the dickhead CEO, it was all a scam. I had accidentally signed away the master rights to my new song to a record label started by a fake CEO who was committing fraud and known for tricking young artists into handing over their master rights so he could profit off of them, for power.

It was a mess. Another contestant told me and Maya when we were outside of their office. Just minutes before we were under the impression that I was doing an interview for Billboard Magazine. Honestly, I never truly believed it. Shit was too good to be true.

But she told us everything. How he was actually a run away from Spain, where he was caught and exposed for doing the exact same thing to artists there, how he didn’t have any money to fund the competition he had somehow roped all of us into, how he was illegally avoiding paying his team, how none of the creatives we had collaborated with for photoshoots etc were paid, how everything was a lie, how he didnt have any connections, and how he was trying to convince me specifically to sign a 360 deal with his label.

Which, guys, I’m not stupid. After the first week of being with the label for the competition and letting my song live through their disastrous marketing campaign, Maya and I long decided that regardless of what they said, I would not under any circumstances be signing anything with any entity of their company.

After being told the truth, I had to sit down. You see, when I came across this opportunity, I thought this was finally the life I’d been manifesting coming true. I had begun to grow in my spirituality and start journaling, writing down my manifestations, and getting to work with a record label who would later offer me a fair contract before I turn 20 was one of the manifestations I had written down every night before I went to bed. However, what I’d gotten was the exact opposite.

I remember, me, Maya, and 2 of the girls from the competition all stood around in a circle outside of their new office that the CEO also hadnt paid for wondering what our next move would be with this new information. There was still 2 other contestants inside who had no idea what was really going on was an elaborate scam. One of them wanted to go in and expose them on the spot. I said no, we had to go in and pretend like everything was normal until we figured out what to do afterwards.

So in I went, plastering the fakest smile on my face and pretended like I still thought I was about to be speaking with Billboard Magazine. Once I got out, I broke down in Maya’s arms.

I went home to my flatmates, Ellie and Bea and cried for hours before I had to go work a 7 hour shift at a pizza place.

I stayed in bed, and cried, and cried. and cried again. I didn’t get out of bed unless I needed too. The only people I talked too were my flatmates E and B and Maya.

Everything was sorted out eventually, a lot more happened, but as I’ve been writing this article for you guys, I realised that all of that stuff is no longer relevant to my journey and isnt something I want to bring back into my energetic circle because I’ve made peace with the fact that a lot of people who betrayed me when I was at my lowest, peace with the fact that these contestants who wanted to “work together” to get out of this mess, actually wanted to save their own asses and leave me in the cold.

But I still got out of it and I’m still here.

I nearly got sued by a man with less than 20 pound to his company account online, but hey, I’m here.

I guess why I’m telling you guys this really short account of my summer is to both record it for myself but also to say its okay to flop, its okay to fail. I did both this summer. and thank god i did. it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

following your dreams is scary, doing it as a black girl is terrifying because society has already kind of set you up to fail. there’s already misconceptions about what you do, who you are, where you come from and how good you’re going to be at what you do. its almost like we cant fail and we need to work 10 times harder to obtain half of what the average white person will get. and sometimes it can feel like we dont have any space to fail or make mistakes because of this but let me tell you thats not true.

if anything, the universe will put you in places that will force you to grow through the mistakes you make. and thats exactly what happened to me this summer.

i chased my dream so relentlessly i ended up in an environment i thought i manifested, i thought was good for me, only for the universe to show me that that specific environment i’d been wishing to be in is the furthest from what i need right now in my life.

this so called failure showed me that not everybody who smiles can be trusted, and that people can be way more deceiving than i ever thought, especially when push comes to shove and they need to save themselves. you start to see the real them when it starts to get tense. the people who seem to be around you when you’re doing good will most likely dissapear when things start to go south, including some of your oldest friends. you will get radio silence on their end. be upset. cry. but after that be glad that this situation revealed their true colours.

and then never put any more energy into them again.

this failure showed me how fucking strong i am. how resilient and kind i am even in the face of disrespect and actual evil. it showed me how much i can care for someone who i believe is at a risk of losing it all, and showed me that this will not always be reciprocated. and for a while i thought that meant that i had to harden myself up and grow a shell. but i dont think so. i will not allow the things ive been through to make me into a hard person when i was born soft. i mean now, im a little rough around the edges, jagged enough to cut anyone who comes too close with some of that bad energy, but soft enough to hold myself tight and glue myself back together when i need to. soft enough to hold the people who held me this summer. soft enough to help people who i know deserve it.

im a good person in a shitty world, i don’t need to match the world and become a shitty person to survive.

after all of this happened, i stopped writing music.

i haven’t written anything properly or produced anything in months and sometimes i get worried that ive completely lost my talent. but thats another thing that this failure taught me, i can never truly lose whats meant to be mine. i know that i was put on this earth to create change, to inspire, to be an activist and a voice for people who dont have one. i know i was put here to do it through a creative medium and right now i still think that is music.

i think i just need to stop being so scared to start again, to learn my craft again.

i used to be so scared of failure but now i am so thankful for it and the lessons its taught me. i had so much hurt and pain and hatred in my heart for the universe for, in my head, doing this to me. but then i realised that the universe never does anything to you, it does it for you. all of this happened in my best interest and while i definitely didnt understand at the time, i get it now.

thank you universe for the worst summer of my life.

and my black ass will be continuing to chase my dreams relentlessly, failing, tripping and falling on my ass until i get to the very top.

besides, if everything had just gone right, that wouldnt have been very interesting, would it?

#blackgirlology #black girl #black power #black love #black blogger #Black Blogs #music #blog #blogger #journal #journaling #diary entry #diary of a black girl #diary #dear diary #tumblr diary #dreams

12 notes · View notes

mrswhozeewhatsis · 5 years

Text

2019 Jason Manns FanFic FanArt Project

This project is finished!

See the completed book online HERE.

Jason was sweet about the book, as always, and was sad that this will be the last one. I think he’s finally gotten into the idea, but he understands that we can’t keep doing these forever. No matter what, though, I’m proud of what we’ve done! We rock!

Rules for the project, and links to the original posts with the stories and art are below the cut!

As I’ve done for Louden Swain in the past, so shall I do for Jason Manns! But only with your help!

Jason Manns has been an adjacent part of our show for over a decade, now. His music has been featured on the show, and he’s close friends with many of the cast, as well as a frequent collaborator with them, which has brought us so many projects with our favorites! In order to thank him for everything he does for us, I want us to do for him what we’ve done for Louden Swain.

If you’re new to this type of thing, check out previous Louden Swain projects:

2016 - Masterpost - Finished book

2017 - Masterpost - Finished book

2018 - Masterpost - Finished book

This is just like the Louden Swain Projects of the past, so if you’re familiar with them, this will be old hat for you.

This will NOT include any of his covers albums! This is for his original music, only!

I’m looking for BOTH writers and artists for this! For the Louden Swain projects, we’ve had art/aesthetics/edits for every story and I’d love to do the same with this. Whether you’re drawing or making aesthetics or doing something else, WE WANT YOU. All art and stories will be put together, printed, put in a snazzy binder, and presented to Jason in DC!

Everything you need to know is below the cut!

Here’s the schedule:

6/22/19 5:00PM EDT - I will post the rules and regs and open the projects up so you guys can start claiming songs. Only one song request at a time (though you can list a backup song or two if your first request is already taken). Once you have finished and posted your first request, then you may make a second request. (Note: Due to a mistake on my part last year, the fic for She Waits has already been written, so this song is not available this year.)

9/2/19 Midnight EDT - Deadline for writers. This gives writers 10 weeks, plus the US Labor Day holiday.

9/29/19 Midnight EDT - Deadline for artists. This give artists 4 extra weeks after the writing is done.

This schedule then gives me about three weeks to put everything together and prep for the con.

Here are the rules (below the cut):

Deadlines are final. NO LATE ENTRIES! If you find you need more time, let me know and we can try to work something out. I’m not going to make a deadline to sign up, but if you sign up the week before the end, you will only have a week to complete your part. If you want to do two, you must finish your first before you will be allowed to reserve a second song.

Artists: - You will be expected to work with writers so the art reflects the story. Whether you pick a song you like and get together with the writer, or pick a writer you like and get together on a song, it doesn’t matter to me. - If you’d like me to pair you with a writer, let me know, and I will match you up with someone. Most times, I have more writers than artists. If you are willing to work for multiple writers, I would be most grateful!!! In the past, I’ve had a pool of artists, and I tried to divvy up assignments as fairly as possible so no one artist gets all the work. - SEND ME AN ASK or an IM or whatever and let me know what you want to do. Whether you’re working with a writer on one, or willing to be part of a pool that works on multiple, just let me know! - When you’re making your art, keep in mind that it will be pasted into a Word document, printed on letter-sized paper, and put into a sheet protector in a binder. You might want to print out what you make to see how it looks on the page. (You can check out the finished projects above for reference.) - You can post your art in your own post and tag me and #2019 Jason Manns FanFic FanArt Project or submit it to me through my blog or send it to me via carrier pigeon (please don’t send it via carrier pigeon, they poop a lot and I have cats) or drop me a line and I’ll give you an email address to send it to. - I would love some original cover art! If you are an artist and are interested in doing something, send me a message and we can talk concepts!!

Writers: - Can be any pairing or ship, reader-insert or OC, or even no pairing, whatever floats your boat. Please no RPF. - Please no smut. Anything else is up for grabs. Or maybe just a headcanon kind of thing. - Pick a song and SEND ME AN ASK with the song you have picked to sign up. I will update a masterpost on my blog with the songs taken. Songs will be assigned on a first come, first serve basis. - You can’t write for the same song you wrote about in previous projects. This is to ensure variety in the stories from project to project. - Tag me in your fic, plus use the tag #2019 Jason Manns FanFic FanArt Project. You can also submit your fic to me through my blog, or send me a message and we can discuss the pigeon and email options. (Really prefer no pigeons.) - You must use a Keep Reading feature if your fic is posted to Tumblr and over 500 words. - Your fic can either be a story based on the song or just have it somehow highlight the song. Since Jason will get to read these, I’d rather the fics be more relevant than just a song playing on the radio in the background, but do what you can. - Your fic can also be a part of another challenge, BUT make your fic relevant to the song you choose, please! (Basically, please do more for this challenge than having a Jason Manns song playing in the background.) - If I haven’t liked or reblogged your post within a couple days, let me know I missed it! - I will give your work a basic grammar/spelling proofreading before adding it to the project. If you would like, I can beta read your story for you before you post it, too. Just let me know!

Everyone: - If you would like to include a short summary of why you like the song you picked, especially if the song has some special meaning to you, I will add that to your submission in the final project. If you look at the previous projects (links are at the top of this post), you can see the kind of thing I’m talking about at the top of some of the stories. Please keep these brief, though.

And now, for something completely different: If you are interested in doing something completely different than a Supernatural-related story or art/edit, talk to me about it, and I’ll figure out a way to include it. Letters to the band or stories that are not SPN-related can be printed out and presented separately, and a list of links to posted audio or video submissions can be added.

I’m so excited to see what everyone does!! As songs are claimed, this list will be updated!

Song List:

Album - Jason Manns Vision Another Number Perfect Spot Journey I Remember Your Song The Same Reminders All I Ask Without You - @andromytta (fic) @brothersinsync (art)

Album - Soul Soul Never Let You Go Hold On Me Real World Rooftop Rendevous - @wingedcatninja (fic and art) Vagabond Blues You Take My Blues Away - @winchestergirl-13 (fic) (art) He’ll Walk Away Breathe In Two Pictures

Album - Move Move Down Never Let You Leave Me (Again) Weary Man Let Loose Need My Muse To Dance Put the Past Behind - @robbenedictandco (fic) @espada-iv (art) The One Who Lifts Me Up - @winchestergirl-13 (fic) (art) Let It Go

Single - When Did I Stop Believing

Cover art by @alaskanartist

Tagging past participants and other possibly interested people: @a-winchester-fairtytale @adriellej @alangel1895 @andromytta @anotherwinchesterfangirl @archangel-with-a-shotgun @archangelsanonymous @atc74 @brothersinsync @castiels-forbidden-angel @crashdevlin @curliesallovertheplace @deansleather @dont-hate-relate-pls @ellen-reincarnated1967 @enchantedstarfleet @take-my-crookedwheel @growningupgeek @hideyourdemoneyes @i-cant-believe-its-not-satan @i-dont-understand-that-url @icecream-and-gadreel @iwantthedean @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @jpadjackles-mishamark @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @lifeonsarz @littlegreenplasticsoldier @loudenswainfangirl @manawhaat @mandilion76 @multi-fan-dom-madness @mysupernaturalfics @narrettwist @notnaturalanahi @oriona75 @padamooseandgrasshopper @pastelspn @personal-boogeyman @purgatoan @robbenedictandco @roxy-davenport @samanddeanwinchester67 @sams-little-toy @samsexualdeancurious @saritaa-chan @scorpiongirl1 @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @smmywinchester45 @stunt-idjit-number-two @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @toastiel @tricia-16 @trollhunter94 @waywardnerd67 @wideawakeandwriting @winchestergirl-13 @writingfromkitchenator @ilostmyshoe-79 @wingedcatninja @desiraelovesdestiel @impala-dreamer

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #2019 jason manns fanfic fanart project #Jason Manns #the station breaks

48 notes · View notes

pinkykitten · 6 years

Text

The best date ever

Arthur Curry x female! reader

Warning: curse words

Specifics: fluff, romance, comedy, one-shot, pictures, gifs, race-neutral reader

People: arthur curry, you, diana prince

Words: 2,620

Requested: By @divaanya Hi!!! So about that sequel to The Old Man's Tale.. 😍😂 I'm not sure if you wanted specifics here or in submissions, so I'll put them here... I was thinking simply about them having that dinner, maybe Arthur picking her up in the morning, showing her around the town, then them eating and talking about her drawings and just fluff...😍😍😍 And I'd love to read anyting you feel like writing about them... And any other aquaman fics you come up with!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Authors Note: srry fam for not posting in a while, ive just been rlly stressed out lately with some personal things like my plate is so full. so pls fam be patient i am still writing just at a slow pace, i need to find a good time to write so im still working that out rn. i hope u guys like this, again srry my peeps! <3<3<3

“Oh my god,” you shouted as you quickly rose up from your slumber, remembering today was the day. “Crap! I have that date with,” you sigh. “My sexy hunk of a hero.”

At the speed of light you got ready, making sure you looked beautiful and glamorous for this date.

“Perfect,” you chuckled as you looked at yourself in the mirror, posing and modeling to yourself.

All of a sudden you heard a car’s horn beep from outside. You grabbed your things such as your sketchbook, your phone, the same things Arthur had saved. You open the door and there is standing Arthur with a bouquet of flowers.

“I found these and thought ‘hey they are beautiful’, and then I thought for a while ‘who could I give this to,’ and then I thought of you.” Arthur grinned from ear to ear, his personality seemed to beam and make the world a better place.

“Awww these are for me? Arthur they are extremely beautiful,” you stand on your tippy toes and give him a peck on his cheek. “Thank you! Let me find a vase for these.”

While you are putting the flowers away, Arthur stares at you from afar. You are truly a beauty. He can’t help but linger longer in looking at your curves, your body. The way the dress hugged you tightly, the curve of your butt. Your legs that to him looked better than even Diana Prince. The way you moved yourself about made Arthur like you more, made him want to understand you and get to know you more.

“You look really, really, really, pretty today y/n.”

You turn around, bashful and place the vase on a nearby table, “oh stop you! But thank you, you always look handsome yourself Curry. Whelp are you ready to go?”

“Ready as ready can get sweetheart,” Arthur opened the door for you. “But before we eat, how about I show you the best places around town?”

“I would really like that,” you smile as you take Arthur’s hand that he offered you and go to his car.

As Arthur’s driving a sweet melody of a tune is playing on the radio, making the morning relaxing.

“I can’t wait to see where you live! All the stuff you do daily, things that make you happy, stuff like that,” you smile as you wrap your tiny arm around his strong, muscled one. Arthur grins seeing how adorable you are and how interested you look at knowing about his home.

(ok but i love this gif because his smile is the bomb and the scrunchie is my life; sometimes i ask myself, how r we the same species?)

He gently holds your small hand and laces his thick fingers with yours. You peer up at him and see he is speaking about something the opposite way. Your heart beats vigorously, you are bashful and try to hear what he is talking about but you just stare at your two hands together, his and yours. They looked perfect as one, this meant something right?

“So what do you think, onto another sight?” Arthur asked, now his focus was on you. You fanned yourself and breathed harshly, “ooh is it me or is it extremely hot in here? Wooo, woah, ok, wow.”

“Y/n, its colder than an igloo in here, how in god’s name are you hot?”

“...menopause?”

Arthur chuckled, knowing exactly why you were like this. He knew it was about him holding your hand. He felt the way you tensed up when he did that, it made him for some reason happy. Happy to know that you were nervous around him because then you care about how he sees you, you care about his feelings.

“You look beautiful by the way sweetheart. You know what I don’t think there has ever been a day for you when you didn’t look beautiful.”

You swatted his way as you chuckled while rolling your eyes, “you’re too much Arthur Curry. Do you flirt with all your girls like this?”

“No...just you.”

Your eyes bugged wide open and you tried to change the subject. “What’s that place over there?”

“Oh that, that’s the ice skating rink. Its been there for like forever, its really fun. It may not look much but that’s where people just enjoy each others company, love birds, kids, teenagers, you name it, they go there.”

“That sounds so nice. Lovebirds you say though?” You raise your brow as your arm rests on the center console of the car. Arthur turns his head from the window to you and his head moves closer to yours. In a sultry, raspy, deep voice he says, “yeah many, many lovebirds go there. They dance around each other and sometimes get to touch.” Arthur comes closer and his lips almost go to yours, but then he stops. He smiles, “that means then we should go!” He gets out of the car so quickly you didn’t have a chance to think about what just happened.

“What!?!”

One minute you thought you were going to kiss this hunk of a merman and now he’s wanting to go ice skating, and you don’t even know how to ice skate! Then you realized, he was trying to play hard to get. He flirts and tries to kiss you and then he doesn’t! “Well, two can play it that game!” You thought in your head.

“Okay I should of told you this but Arthur...I can’t skate!” Your holding onto Arthur for dear life as you stand on the ice with the skates on.

“Well lets just practice a little, I’m gonna let go-

“No Arthur don’t you let go I swear if you let go I’m gonna punch you in the balls so hard that you’re gonna wish you were a woman, don’t you let go!”

“And when I let go y/n, lets see if you can skate on your own. Okay 1, 2, 3.” Arthur lets you go and pushes you forward to bring speed to you. You slide forward with a shriek as you can’t stop. As you’re about to fall to your death Arthur comes to the rescue and picks you up with ease. “Man, sweetheart I’ve already saved your life twice. I should get a reward.”

Arthur holds your hand as he practically guides you through on the ice. “Yeah you want to see your reward?” You smack his torso and shoulders but unfortunately with your size compared to his you didn’t really do much damage.

“Ouch what was that for?”

“What was that for? Arthur I nearly almost died...again! You pushed me you hot, idiot, jerk, stupid, guy!” You look straight up into his eyes with an angry face.

“So you think I’m hot?” Arthur comes closer to you.

You try to slide back but you trip and that makes Arthur strong hands go to your back, near your butt and bring you closer to his body. “I never said a thing like that.”

Arthur’s handsome face gets closer with yours and his body is touching your body, tightly pressed together. “I think you did, I know you did.”

You look away as you put your hands up. His lips go to your ear, “don’t worry y/n, I think I’m hot as well.”

Your face becomes annoyed as you shove his face away from you and roll your eyes. “Haha, good one.” You say sarcastically as his laughter booms loudly. He laughed so hard he had to wipe a tear. “Was it really that funny Arthur?”

Arthur nods, “oh yeah definitely. You should of seen your face!”

“HAHAHAHAHA WELL YOU SHOULD OF FELT YOUR JUNK, CUZ IT WAS GIVING A STANDING OVATION!” You then laugh really hard at your joke and pretend to wipe a tear. You see Arthur’s face as he gives you a death glare. You chuckle some more as he skates towards you. He wraps his hand in yours and you two skate like normal people do, or how the lovebirds do.

It was actually really romantic.

“There you go sweetheart, just like that.” You actually were skating correctly, of course holding for dear life onto Arthur, but still you did it. You were skating smoothly, almost perfectly.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m doing it!” You smiled up at Arthur, your smile beaming. This made Arthur happy and his heart pound. He couldn’t focus on anything except you, the way you looked up at him. You looked like a goddess, like his whole life revolved around you. Like you were meant to be his, and he was meant to be yours.

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur! We’re gonna crash!”

As soon as you said that you and him crashed into the wall. Before your body could hit the cold, harsh ice, Arthur fell on his back but caught you just in time.

“Oh my! Arthur are you okay?” You felt yourself being carried and laid, on your stomach, on his chest. His eyes were shut, so you shook him and tried to get him to wake up. “Arthur please wake up! Are you okay?”

You were starting to get worried that he hurt himself badly until he woke up. “Did I scare you?”

You smacked his face a couple of times, “Are you serious? Yes you scared me Arthur! I thought you were hurt. C’mon lets go somewhere to eat because I am starving.”

Arthur got up with your help and placed his hand on your hip as you two walked to the car. “Hey, thanks for worrying about me.” Arthur bent down and kissed your cheek, then he walked to his car leaving you all bashful.

“I swear this boy,” you muttered.

You two ended up deciding to go to a pizza restaurant. (if u dont like pizza then u r cursed and have sinned because pizza is a gift from god)

As you walked in the smell was good! It smelled delicious! Your stomach growled at the thought of fresh, hot pizza.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. We could of gotten food sooner.” Arthur looked at the menu by the cashier. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder. If no one knew it, it looked as if you two were a couple.

Suddenly Arthur stomach growls. “Well if you were hungry Arthur, we could of gotten some food.”

Arthur puts his hair in a man bun with his light pink scrunchie, you could tell he was embarrassed. “I didn’t want to interrupt you having fun on the ice.”

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed Arthur’s cheek, “thank you, that was really sweet of you.”

After you two bought the pizza, you guys sat at the booth by the window.

“This looks so good! I’m starving!”

“Well y/n, bon appetit!”

You ate like you haven’t eaten in years, the pizza was so perfect and so delicious in your mouth. The atmosphere was perfect. Jazz music was playing in the background, there were not too many people there but enough to hear talking. It was gloomy looking outside since it was so cold. You took your coat off and placed it next to you.

“So I saw your sketchbook, what do you draw?” Arthur asked, taking a gigantic bite out of his Hawaiian pizza.

“Oh pretty much everything. Yeah, I like to draw animals, settings, but mostly people. I mean I love art but sketching and drawing is my passion, it lets me vent as much as possible. I just think about life when I draw. Think about how I want to better my life, how to better me.” You find yourself getting off the discussion. “Sorry, I’m talking too much aren’t I?”

Arthur placed his hand on yours and smiled, “not at all. Please continue.”

“I wanted to get away from my day to day life. Sometimes doing the same thing over and over, day by day can be such a bore and honestly tiresome. That’s why I needed to come here. I wanted to experience a place like never before, and also encourage myself to draw more.”

“Well I’m glad you made that decision to come here, if you hand’t then I would not have met you.”

“Thank you Arthur.”

“Can I see your drawings?”

You started choking on your piece of pizza, “what? You mean like mine, my drawing as in my own, like mine?”

“I’m pretty sure mine means that.”

You chuckled and scratched the back of your head, “I don’t know Arthur, they’re not that good.”

Arthur gave you a wink, “c’mon y/n, I know they’ll look amazing.”

You pull out your sketchbook from your bag and hand it to him.

“Wow y/n,” was all he said as he was mesmerized, captivated by your art. “You are incredible y/n, just incredible! I’m speechless with how you draw.”

“Thanks, it feels good to have someone important say such great things about them.”

Arthur almost turns to the page you don’t want him to see. “Um don’t see that drawing.”

Arthur raises his brow, “why not?”

“Because it has something personal on there.” You try to grab it but Arthur is too quick and moves it away from you. “Give it back Arthur!”

“Wait! I want to see what it is.” As he says this he turns the page to show a drawing of him.

You feel hot and so embarrassed. Your hands become so sweaty and your heart pounds. Will he think your drawing is weird or stupid?

“Y/n, this is so beautiful. I can’t believe you drew me.” Arthur was baffled at your gift. Just from seeing him in a short time you sketched him out like you knew him for many years. You got each curve and each detail of his face and body.

“I studied your face long and hard when you picked me up. I had to draw out my hero.”

Arthur’s smile made you fall more in love with him. “I’m sorry if me drawing you was weird. I can just get rid of it when I go back to my cabin.”

“No! Please y/n, don’t. Please don’t get rid of this amazing drawing. Hel* I wish I could draw you, but not even a dam* drawing would show and describe how beautiful you are, not words not art, nothing. You are so frickin gorgeous and sweet y/n, you really are.” Next thing you knew Arthur got up and sat next to you in the booth. Feeling shy you backed away in the booth but this just made Arthur get extremely closer to you. His wild blue eyes were half lidded as he was overpowered with love and lust for you, and to be honest so were you. Arthur came closer and closer to you until his huge body trapped your tiny, fragile one against the wall. “I so wanna kiss you right now,” breathed out Arthur, rubbing delicately your cheek.

“I wanna kiss you so bad too,” you said in a whisper, looking directly at Arthur’s plump lips. Without no hesitation Arthur’s lips crashed on yours. You two didn’t care who was watching or who was there. This kiss was needed. Arthur’s tongue slipped in your mouth in one swift movement, but just as quick as it went in it went out. He was teasing you! He was showing you what was to come if you two spent the night in a sexual escapade. You two made out a few more seconds until you and him separated to catch your breaths. He leaned his forehead against yours, “boy am I glad you decided to come here for your vacation.”

You chuckled and touched Arthur’s facial hair, “me too Arthur. Me too.”

Tag List: @harrington-lover, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @dreamsofwhiteandblack, @hyehoney, @wtfisalltherandoms, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag) , @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @polyglot-t, @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @collectiveyou, @divaanya

wanna be tagged in my crap? comment!

259 notes · View notes

your-iron-lung · 5 years

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 10

aka ‘The House That Dripped Blood’; available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7927

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Next Chapter: 11

Notes: if you follow me you may have noticed i havent posted in a while- this is bc i spend all my time playing ffxiv instead of setting aside determined amounts of time to spend on writing/drawing and i have a bunch of artist alleys coming up that im ill prepared for and im terrible at budgeting UH YEP bad excuse but WHAT CAN YA DO here we are

(ive also set up a ko-fi account if you want to give drop me some tippy tips if u enjoy the word things i do) ((no pressure tho))

"Bigfoot."

Hopper leaned back in his chair; let it creak and groan under his weight until he knew it was at its limit, and then pushed it a little more. He studied the no-nonsense expression on the hunter before him, and intrinsically knew that the man was speaking truth.

"Bigfoot," the old man said again, speaking a little sterner than he had before once he recognized Hopper's amiable expression of disbelief. "I seen't him out in the woods just the other day."

The aging man had lumbered into the police station almost immediately after Hopper came in, bundled in some worn hunting gear that looked almost as old as he was. The deputies had offered to speak with him after hearing his initial claim, but they'd been refused when Callahan couldn't stop smirking. The old hunter had insisted on speaking with Hopper, who leaned forward now, taking the stress off of his chair to take a sip of the coffee Florence had brought in for him. He didn't look at the old man as he drank.

"So let me get this straight," Hopper began, setting his coffee aside to rub at his forehead, "you came in first thing in the morning worried about a missing friend of yours, but now you're telling me you're worried about Bigfoot."

"You know me, Jim," the hunter said, a slight hint of pleading desperation edging out of his voice. "You know I ain't some crazy old coot. I ain't seen Lamm in a long while, and yessir I'm worried 'bout him, but when I went out to his cabin to check on him I seen it: I seen Bigfoot!"

As incredulous as the claim was, Hopper believed him- not about it being Bigfoot, exactly, but he believed that the man had seen something out there in the woods, and it had the possibility of being that something he'd spent the last two weeks fruitlessly searching for.

Regardless, he didn't want to let the old hunter know he was taking him seriously. The last thing he needed was for his community to think he believed in this sort of nonsense, but people in town were going missing, and people he knew were getting hurt: if his only lead should turn up in the form of an old man believing he'd caught sight of an urban legend, then so be it. He'd follow it through, but he'd be subtle about it.

"You sure it wasn't just a trick of the light or something, Wes? You know your eyes aren't what they used to be," Hopper remarked casually, softening his voice to let him down easy. "And this isn't the first time Lamm's gone missing; you know he's one of those types of shut ins. Remember those weeks he was gone hunting 'vampires'? He's the kind of guy who lives in his own head more than he lives out here, he'll turn up again on his own time."

The hunter's lips twitched into a frown. "Alright, maybe Lamm is a little off kilter," he relented, averting his eyes for a second, "and maybe it weren't Bigfoot, but the tracks it left were huge 'n mighty, by God, and I ain't seen nothin' else like it before. If it weren't Bigfoot, then at the very least it had big feet, Jim, and I ain't never seen feet quite like 'em."

Interest piqued, Hopper became more attentive. "How's that?"

"Well, they was stretched out lookin', for one." The hunter paused, tilting his head slightly as he tried to recall the details of what he'd seen out in the woods. He held his hands up, spaced apart in an approximation of how long the prints he'd found had been. "Human lookin', almost, which is what had me thinkin' it coulda been Bigfoot. They weren't the tracks of somethin' native 'round here, and I only caught but the barest glimpse of it, but it was tall, Jim; taller'n you or I."

That sounded right; the prints he'd found and unsuccessfully tracked were, as the hunter said, 'huge 'n mighty' and matched the description of what he'd just been told. It didn't take an expert's opinion (though he had consulted one) to discern that the markings just weren't natural. Hopper set his mug of coffee aside and pulled out a notepad from one of his desk drawers. He uncapped a pen and held it to the page for a moment before writing down a few preliminary notes for himself on the top line.

The hunter cocked his head and leaned forward to look at what he was writing and said, "That don't look official."

"Because it's not; this one's just gonna be between us, alright?" Hopper said, looking up to meet Wesley's blue, watery eyes. He held the stare long enough to get his point across, waiting for a sign of affirmation before looking back to the notepad and pressing the tip of the pen to the paper. "Tell me where and when exactly you saw this 'Bigfoot' of yours."

The day was cold and grey at its start, with harsh, biting winds ushering in thick clouds that blocked out any hope of the sun ever making an appearance. Steve eyed the sky apprehensively as he made his way back to his car, wary of the way the clouds looked as though they might start dropping hail on him at a moment's notice. Billy feigned disinterest as Steve opened the rear passenger door and leaned in to shove the box of things he'd bought at the Hunting & Camping store into the backseat. Even with his vision obscured in part by the sunglasses he'd elected to wear, he didn't miss the strong look of annoyance that graced Steve's features when he came around to the driver's seat and entered the car with a pout.

"That guy give you a hard time or something?" Billy asked as Steve buckled in and put the BMW into reverse, turning in his seat to hastily jerk the car out of the parking lot. "Why do you look like someone shit in your cereal?"

Steve clicked his tongue. "He just kept asking what a 'kid like me' needed with a bunch of chains and rope and shit. My god, he just would not let it go, like he thought I was trying to build my own sex dungeon or something. Fucking annoying."

"You mean that's not what we're doing?" Billy asked, grinning a bit at the way Steve's face pinched up in disgust. "What'd you say?"

"I told him the truth; said it was to tie up a werewolf. 'It's a full moon tonight, y'know? Gotta tie 'em down or they go all crazy on you', I said to him, and you know what he said to me then?" Steve asked, speeding out of the little downtown shopping area Hawkins played host to and sounding every bit as gossipy as Carol did when she caught wind of a scandal.

"How the fuck would I?" Billy drawled, turning away from the conversation to watch the scenery pass by disinterestedly.

"He said, 'Damn fool kids will never learn'," Steve said, ignoring him. "'Damn fool kids will never learn', like, what the hell does that mean?"

Billy shrugged. "Who knows? As long as he accepted daddy's plastic then what does it matter?"

Steve clicked his tongue again in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Billy declined to retort. They rode on in silence, the chains in the box Steve had bought clinking together softly in the backseat before the radio was finally turned on to mask the sound.

Regardless of whether or not Steve actually believed something was going to happen to Billy that night, he couldn't deny that the whole day leading up to that evening just felt… off. From meeting up with Billy earlier that afternoon to go by the camping store, to grabbing lunch together before heading over to the Henderson's house, it all felt wrong.

It was something Steve had difficulty pinpointing the origins of, but as they began work on clearing out enough space in the cellar for Billy to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do, he soon came to realize that the feeling of wrongness seemed to stem from Billy himself.

Few words could better describe Billy than 'annoying' or 'smart-mouthed', but he'd been uncharacteristically tight-lipped all day. He'd become a remarkably dull version of himself, and Steve wasn't sure quite how to handle that.

Usually one to argue and bite back at everything Steve said, when he'd begun dishing out instructions on how best to clear out some floor space in the cellar, Billy hadn't talked back to him a single time; merely lit a cigarette and blinked at him slowly, silently acknowledging what had been asked of him before getting on with it.

It was unsettling. Steve could almost say that he hated how submissive Billy was because of how used he'd gotten to the back-talk and smart-ass remarks Billy usually had ready for him, and though, yes, there were times he had wished for this kind of attitude from him, the silence and absolute subordination coupled with all of the other behavioral changes Billy was exhibiting were enough to set Steve on edge.

Billy kept tonguing the gaps in his teeth where they'd fallen out over the course of the week, and he never seemed to realize he wasn't alone. Sometimes he'd jump at the sound of Steve's voice, or shake his head and crease his brow in confusion when he turned around to see Steve moving stuff somewhere behind him, but arguably the worst part of it all was that he stank.

He'd tried to mask it with an overabundance of cologne that had nearly suffocated Steve when they began working in closer quarters, but buried beneath that was a hint of something that smelled awfully rotten. If he had to, Steve could liken it to the stench of the monster they'd encountered in the woods, but he chose not to, instead chalking it up to a severe case of nervous b.o. or something. The implications that the scents could be related bothered him too deeply to believe, and even then he wasn't sure he really wanted to know what the source of the smell was.

The stench of decay emanating from Billy's person was worrisome enough on its own, but with so much to do in order to get ready before sunset, Steve had a hard time figuring out where to primarily apply his focus: there were simply too many things going on for him to worry about one thing more than another.

The giant hole in the wall that Dart made to tunnel out of the cellar was his immediate concern, but Dustin had done a good job of hiding it from his mother by placing a tall shelf in front of it, essentially blocking it off. That didn't mean it wasn't entirely inaccessible, but Steve wasn't sure what more he could do about it. In all honesty, he'd forgotten about it until he'd tried to move the shelf aside and then found himself peeking into the eerie tunnel. He'd knocked over several things in his haste to put the shelf back in place, but Billy hadn't seemed to notice it, and if he didn't, maybe he wouldn't think to use it if- or when- he lost himself to whatever supernatural effects he was experiencing.

"Big if, though," Steve muttered aloud to himself. Turning away from the shelf, he looked over to where Billy was inspecting some old power tools, turning a nail gun over in his hands before setting it back in the box he'd pulled it out of. "So, are we good or what? This baby-proofed enough for you?" Steve asked, startling Billy out of whatever ruminations he'd been lost to.

Billy looked at Steve blankly, face impassive and emotionless. He frowned, and then looked around himself as though he'd forgotten where he was. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and devoid of his usual arrogance as he said, "I don't know, Harrington; is it?"

"You tell me, man, this was your idea." Steve watched as Billy returned his focus on the box of tools he'd originally been rummaging through. Picking up a hammer, Billy balanced its weight in his hands before gripping the handle tightly. Steve distrusted the look in Billy's eye as he held it. "What are you, a child? Quit rifling through their shit, put it back," he said.

Billy didn't reply or even acknowledge that he'd heard him. Ignoring Steve's demand, he stepped up to the abandoned work bench to splay his left hand out over the wood and lifted the ballpeen up.

"What the fuck are you doing? Put it down," Steve said again, his voice rising slightly in pitch when he understood what Billy was doing. He started towards him in an effort to stop him, but halted when the hammer was brought crashing down.

It missed his hand, but the force of the impact splintered the wooden table's surface. Steve gaped as Billy turned around, a cocky little smile turning up his lips.

"Someone could get hurt real bad down here if they weren't careful, huh, Harrington?" he said, a fierceness that Steve hated to admit he'd missed charging his voice. "But we've been real careful cleaning this shithole out, haven't we, pally?"

"You sick piece of shit, give me that," Steve snapped, snatching the hammer away from Billy's pliant grip. "Fuck you, Hargrove; you could've just said you wanted to move this shit out of here."

"Had you pegged as being more of a visual learner," Billy sneered as Steve threw the hammer back into the box of tools. "Your concern was touching, though, really."

"You're the one who came asking me for help, fuckface. Begged me, almost, if I'm remembering right. 'Oh, Steve, help me, I'm so scared of fake movie monsters!'"

Steve hadn't meant to rise to the taunt, but Billy's insufferable attitude had him stooping to his level as he hoisted the hefty box of tools in his arms and lugged them over to the stairway. Billy laughed dryly at Steve's mocking tone.

"We both wish that fucking thing had been fake," he said as Steve placed the box on the ground at the foot of the stairs beside the box of supplies he'd bought earlier. They were both quiet for a moment, their attempt at a conversation dying as quickly as it had been brought on.

"Only one thing left to do then," Steve said morosely.

Billy blinked and turned to face the stairway, eyes rising slowly up to where the cellar doors were propped open wide. Steve felt the guilt of having to lock him in prematurely and had to remind himself that he wanted to be locked in.

"Better hop to it then, Harrington," Billy said lowly, lips curling back into a familiar grin, but without all his teeth in place to flesh it out, Steve found the display to be more unsettling than annoying. "Let's get this sex dungeon set up."

Steve grimaced. "Not even in your wildest dreams, Hargrove."

"Nothing's off the table in my dreams, pretty boy." Billy breathed out a small laugh at the disgusted look on Steve's face, but the grin he'd been displaying slowly fell away. "Is it getting dark yet?"

"Uh, kind of, but the sun hasn't set yet," Steve replied, stepping up into the stairwell to check the status of the sky. It was as dull and grey as it had been all day, the overcast weather acting as a harbinger for the snowfall the local meteorologist had foretold was coming. "If you took off those fucking sunglasses you'd be able to tell."

"These are for your benefit as much as mine," Billy snapped, frowning suddenly.

"Yeah, okay, whatever that means," Steve said dismissively as he began to fish out the cords of rope from the box, letting them spool out onto the ground before gathering them into his hands. "How do you uh, how do you want to do this?"

"Aw, is this kitten's first time tying someone up?" Billy purred, not moving from where he stood in the middle of the cellar, directly under the light. "Who knew 'King' Steve's favourite flavor was vanilla."

Steve rolled his eyes as he brought the ropes over, wrinkling his nose at the mixed smell of rot and cologne that got stronger with proximity. "I've dated girls kinkier than you'd know what to do with," he retorted as he gestured for Billy to hold out his hands.

"Oh please," Billy said with a snort, "there are no kinky girls in Hawkins or I would've found them by now."

"You're obviously not looking hard enough," Steve muttered in response, gesturing again for Billy to hold out his hands.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it over the work table he'd splintered, Billy held his hands up obediently and watched stoically as Steve wound the rope around his wrists, binding his hands together roughly.

"What's should our safe word be?" Billy teased, smirking as Steve wound another, longer length of rope over the original knot.

"There is no safe word because this isn't a sex thing!" Steve insisted angrily.

Flustered, he sighed irritably as he wound the long part of the rope around Billy's waist, hating how close he had to get in order to make sure the rope was tight enough, though Billy seemed to be enjoying how close he'd gotten. He kept shifting his weight around, trying, it seemed, to get Steve into a more compromising position. Annoyed, but determined to finish, Steve did his best to ignore Billy's constant movement and the disgusting, rotten musk that was wafting off of his person to finish tying him up.

"Why do you fucking stink so goddamn badly?" Steve finally asked with a scowl, repressing the urge to gag as he tied the ropes off into a clumsy knot. He stumbled away from Billy, reaching up to pinch his nostrils shut so he wouldn't have to smell the rot anymore, but the rancid scent seemed to have lodged itself deep into his nose. "You smell like a dead Calvin Klein model or something, holy shit, did you use a whole fucking bottle?"

The amusement Billy had held while taunting Steve left his face. His smirk shrunk into an awkward grimace as he looked away in embarrassment.

"I don't know, alright?" he admitted bitterly. "It doesn't matter how much I bathe, and between that and my eyes I have no idea what the fuck's going on with me."

"What about your eyes?" Steve asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the reasoning behind why Billy had insisted on wearing sunglasses all day.

Billy faltered for a moment, hesitating briefly before reaching up and plucking the sunglasses off his face. With both hands bound together, he awkwardly folded the legs against the lenses and tucked them into the collar of his button up. He turned his gaze to Steve, who couldn't help but suck in a slight breath of surprise.

His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to start bleeding straight out of the sockets. There were hardly any whites left in the sclera to be seen as Billy winked at him, looking immensely uncomfortable at the way Steve was gaping openly at him.

"Do they- hurt? Or whatever?" Steve asked, unconsciously taking a few steps forward to get a better look. In the dim lighting of the basement, even the blues of Billy's eyes looked reddish.

"What's it to you if they do?" Billy snapped, suddenly irritable. He squared his jaw and looked away, unable to face the amount of concern Steve was showing him.

The worry Steve felt for the both of them in that moment grew stronger as he backed off, letting the matter of the changes in Billy's physicality drop, despite how alarming they were. "If I don't hear anything an hour after the sun goes down, I'll let you out," Steve said abruptly as he walked backwards towards the stairwell, grasping for the hand rail behind him blindly, unsure why he was so reluctant now to let Billy out of his sight. It was what they'd agreed upon earlier, and he said it meaning for it to sound reassuring, but the way Billy's lips twitched made it apparent he didn't interpret it that way.

Billy didn't respond.

"Well, uh, I guess that's it then," Steve said as he bent down, placing his box of chains atop the box of tools Billy had been messing around with before lifting them up together to carry them up and out of their man-made dungeon.

The cellar doors shrieked loudly as they were closed, a high pitched agony that erupted when the metal grinded against itself uncooperatively. Steve didn't mind that so much as he hated the sound the chains made as he wove them through the door handles, reminding him of what he was doing and who he was imprisoning as the steel rattled sharply against the doors. He winced at the commotion, but continued to loop them through the small door handles until no more could be fit between them. He tested their sturdiness by attempting to pull them open, and to his pleasure, they remained shut. The doors were secured; the cellar, as far as he was concerned, was now a suitable prison. All that was left of him now was to play the role of the jailor appropriately.

He stared down at his handiwork for a moment before the cold, blowing winds prompted him to seek shelter. Already a few snowflakes were fluttering out of the sky, flying into his cheeks as he turned away, re-gathering the box of tools in his arms and headed for the door Dustin promised he'd leave a key for.

Searching under the backdoor mat, Steve found the promised key, and true to the rest of Dustin's word, the entire home was empty, save for the cat that chirped a greeting for him from atop the kitchen counter. With a deep intake of breath Steve glanced at his watch, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him, wondering if he really was prepared for the worst. In the trunk of his car his bat waited for him, ready to be put to use just in case shit really did hit the fan, but he found himself questioning if he'd really be able to use it; bludgeoning monsters to death was one thing, but turning it on a boy he knew was only a monster figuratively was something else entirely.

For both his and Billy's sakes, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Shrugging out of his thick coat, Steve set it down beside him as he took a seat on the Henderson's couch. He glanced at his watch again, dismayed by the fact that time wasn't progressing as fast as he wished it was and sat in anxious worry about what the rest of the night might have in store.

But at least he was comfortable and warm.

The cellar was not.

It wasn't the cold that Billy minded, so much as it was the anticipation: when would the transformation start? Exactly at sundown? A little before? A little after? Would he actually end up transforming? And why the fuck did the word 'transform' make him so damn uncomfortable? The unknown factors surrounding his circumstances were almost worse than any of the physical symptoms he'd been experiencing as of late, and he'd been experiencing a lot.

Anxiety wasn't something Billy had a lot of experience with, but it was the only thing he could think of that explained why his heart had been beating oddly all day. It was running at a notably higher rate, as though he'd been playing basketball or working out extraneously, and brought on palpitations he wasn't used to dealing with at the elevated speed.

In short he felt terrible. His whole body ached like it was going through puberty again. Both his arms and legs were sore in ways that mimicked the aches that came with growing pains when he'd had them, but he couldn't understand why he would begin to hurt in that way again. He hadn't had the energy to work out in two days despite eating practically anything he could get his hands on, so the soreness in his limbs was unwarranted. Either his body was preparing itself for the coming night, or he was having an incredibly drawn-out heart attack.

Standing at the foot of the stairwell, Billy felt the cold permeating in through the closed opening and moved away to find a better spot to wait. He wanted rub his arms to bring some warmth into them, but couldn't with the way they were bound. Already the ropes were beginning to dig into his wrists, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin as he realized he wasn't actually that cold anyway, despite the frigid weather; his body temperature had been on a steady incline leading up to now, leaving him with a rosy complexion and a near constant fever, the long-term effects of which left him feeling severely disoriented.

He could barely remember meeting up at Steve's house only a few hours ago to carpool to his kid friend's house, riding with the windows down in spite of the severe wind-chill as they went into town to get lunch and buy rope. Even though they'd ridden together, he couldn't remember now if they'd actually talked about anything or not. All he could remember were the low tones of the radio and the resonating throbs of the wind as it swooped in through the open windows, rushing to fill the audial space between them. It was as though his mind had been steeped in a fog, and he couldn't accurately think through it: everything was clouded over, incomprehensible, like waking up the morning after a bender and being unable to remember everything he'd done the night before, but knowing all the same that he'd taken part in some memorable shit.

Would there be pain, he wondered, and would it come on as suddenly as it had to the character in the movie he'd made Steve watch? Even though 'American Werewolf' was just a movie, stories like that had to spawn from some sort of truth, didn't they?

The dim little lightbulb that hung overhead flickered briefly, drawing Billy's attention to it as he took a seat at the work table's bench, wishing his eyes weren't a dry and sore as they were.

Coming from above, he could hear the muffled sounds of a TV show permeating through the cellar's ceiling. He couldn't help but think ill of Steve in that moment, but if their situations had been reversed, he probably would have been doing the same thing; he couldn't fault Harrington for finding a way to pass the time, though he wished he had something similar to do for himself. There was nothing interesting to hold his attention, and time passed at a dreadfully slow rate.

Stretching out on the bench, he laid himself down slowly, mindful of which parts of his back hurt the most, and gazed up at the cement overhead disinterestedly. He listened to the muffled sounds of the distant television, trying to conjure an image in his mind that corresponded with what little dialogue he could hear, but the rapid beating of his heart overpowered the noises coming from the TV. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing in an attempt to lower his heart rate, but it just kept going, pounding in a determined rhythm that seemed to be quickening with each passing minute. A bead of sweat trickled down from his scalp and over his ear as he wondered if the tingling he felt in the tips of his fingers was because of the cold or from the ropes being tied too tight.

He flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands into a fist to try and bring sensation back into his fingertips, but to no avail. They remained numb, and the cause of which eluded him.

Frowning, Billy stiffly sat up and began to pinch at his skin, belatedly realizing that the numbness was spreading slowly down the lengths of his fingers, a sensation that sent a chill running down the length of his spine.

"Oh," he said. "Oh shit."

The pain, when he finally did begin to feel it, started in his feet. There were still thirty minutes before the sun went down.

Billy licked his lips nervously as he tried to get his boots off, his numb fingers and bound hands fumbling uselessly with the laces as the pain centralized in his toes and grew in sudden intensity. He was no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything he'd ever felt before: it was sharp and stabbing, with each throb of pain stemming from the bones in his toes, as though they were growing more pointed in an attempt to pierce their way through his skin as they elongated. He could feel them cracking; each joint slowly popping free of itself as the bones began to push themselves forward.

"Oh, shit," he repeated, and could hear the muffled sounds of a laugh track from whatever sitcom Steve had turned on upstairs roaring in delight as he struggled to finally pull his boots off.

The stabbing sensation didn't relent, even once his shoes lay discarded by his feet. He peeled away his socks with shaking hands and stared down at his toes.

They'd turned a bright, beet red and were bulging like they might burst apart, his skin bubbling up around toenails that were already starting to peel off. He couldn't help the whimper as he tentatively felt them, a pain like touching a freshly popped, skinless blister causing him to draw his fingers back.

It was real. It was happening.

Sweating freely now, he reached away from his feet to brush his dampened hair away from his forehead as sweat rolled down the sides of his face. He paused when he felt his hair pull free from his scalp, clinging to the back of his hand stubbornly. Billy stared at the loose, curly strands with a horrified expression and reached up with a shaking hand to grab more. When he pulled, a handful of his hair came away easily, eliciting another whimper from deep within his throat. Disgusted and frightened, he threw his hair away to the floor.

Breathing quickly, he hastily rubbed his hands free of the loose strands in a panic and tried to calm himself. His whole body trembled as he breathed in deeply through his nose, wondering if he should try to call out to Steve to alert him that the worst case scenario was indeed unfolding. Another laugh track from upstairs came through the ceiling as he felt a sharp, sudden stab of pain in his ribs, prompting him to gasp loudly and curl forward over himself. He could actually feel some part of his ribcage shifting inside his torso as he tucked his arms in to his sides. Any lingering thoughts of trying to remain calm left him as he transitioned from panic to full on fear.

He stood up not knowing what he was going to do, but regretted it instantly: as soon as he put weight on his foot, his ankle collapsed in on itself and brought him to the floor. A shout almost came out with his fall, but he managed to internalize the pain as he was used to doing and grit his teeth as his foot essentially broke itself in half.

The central part of his foot that arched snapped without warning. Billy swore loudly and reached for his foot instinctively, wanting to hold the break in place, but he couldn't bear the agony that came with the contact. Warm tears leaked from his eyes, and when his other lateral arch also split in half, he couldn't help but cry out.

From up above, the noises coming from the television ceased. Steve must have heard him and was listening for him now, trying to gauge whether or not he should intervene. Billy clenched his jaw tighter, determined to keep quiet, but gasped loudly when two of his molars gave out under the pressure, snapping to the side and coming loose of his gumline. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth as he spat the teeth out, shuddering uncontrollably when he felt the vertebrae in his spine begin to pop, one by one, pushing up against his skin that was quickly beginning to feel too tight.

Huffing in great breaths of air, he panted heavily as the bones of his tones finally pierced through his skin, causing most of the flesh surrounding them to burst open like little balloons. Blood splattered across the floor in gruesome, miniature arcs and Billy finally, finally became undone. He shrieked, unable to keep silent any longer as new appendages could be seen inside the flayed bits of bloody skin, slowly growing outward, already a part of him.

Warm tears of pain streaked down his face in thick lines as the skin of his feet continued to be ripped apart, making way for more muscle, new flesh. He wiped at his eyes helplessly and thought he could hear Steve's voice distantly calling out his name, asking if everything was alright.

He blinked, his vision blurred by the tears that would not clear away as he pulled himself over to the stairway.

Shaking wildly all over, Billy stretched out on the floor, realizing belatedly that the waistband of his jeans was growing tighter and tighter. Hissing sharply, he cursed himself for not having the foresight to undress himself as he hastily tried to undo his belt. A pain similar to the initial agony he'd felt in his toes was beginning to manifest itself in his fingers as both of his hands slowly began to turn red, swelling up under the bonds of the rope as he fumbled with the buckle, desperately trying to get it to come free.

"Fuck!" he shouted in frustration, his clothing growing ever tighter as his body continued to bloat. He felt like he was being pinched in half with his belt acting as an unneeded tourniquet. "Fuck! Fuck!"

"Hey! Talk to me Hargrove, what's going on?"

Steve's worried voice trilled down through the cellar doors as he continued vocalizing his frustrations. Billy felt an organ in his abdomen shift out of place before popping, prompting him to groan and curl in on himself before he threw up. His couldn't undo his belt as his vision began to darken.

"Hargrove!" Steve shouted, banging a fist against the steel door. "What the hell's going on? Talk to me!"

"Fuck you!" Billy screamed, unable to articulate anything else as he tried to rub the blackness out of his eyes, but the more he pressed his fingers to them, they more they began to hurt.

A pressure was building up behind them the more he rubbed, and as it increased, his vision grew ever darker. He kept blinking, over and over, feeling his eyes bulge out of their sockets and against his eyelids, trying now to keep his eyeballs in place. He was hyperventilating when he finally went blind, the pressure behind his eyes becoming intolerable eyes before it finally came too much, and his eyes popped free.

He felt them slide out onto over his checks and onto the floor, the slimy, blood-slick nerves leaving tracks of blood on his face as he became totally and completely blind.

"No," he whispered to himself, retching again on the floor as he scrambled across the cement, trying to find the stairs, unable to see. "No, no! This isn't real!"

Beyond the cellar doors, Steve had his ear pressed against the slight crack between the panels, desperately trying to understand what was going on. He wasn't sure what to make of the noises he was hearing, unable to determine if Billy was just trying to mess with him or if he was in actual distress.

"Hargrove," he said impatiently, turning his head to try and peak in through the crack to get a glimpse of what was going on, "you gotta start talking to me, man; what the hell's going on down there?"

"I'm fucking blind," he heard Billy shout, his voice rife with fear. "I can't see anything!"

His voice was shaking as he spoke, and Steve knew then that whatever was happening was legitimate; Billy wasn't one to openly show weakness.

"Okay, stay calm," Steve stammered, but he wasn't sure if that was actually sound advice or not. "It's- it's going to be okay, okay?"

Billy howled, and Steve understood that the pain that carried with his voice must have been terrible to get him to shriek like that. He licked his lips anxiously, not knowing what support he could possibly offer him. He continuously opened and shut his mouth, words of encouragement dying on his tongue before he could manage to speak them.

And then, all at once, the cacophony of agony ceased.

Steve couldn't hear anything over the rapid sound of his breathing for a moment before he finally spoke: "Hargrove? Is… are you okay?"

"Hurts." Billy's voice, quiet, strained, and barely audible over the sounds of things (flesh, fabric) slowly tearing, sounded disconcertingly like he was speaking with a throat full of water. It was gargling and grotesque; completely unlike the smooth, honeyed voice he'd become known for.

"Okay, what, uh, what… what hurts?" Steve whispered in response, fear quieting his previously urgent tone.

"Everything."

"Shit," Steve said to himself, backing away from the cellar door panels as the sounds of something large and heavy being knocked over made him jump. "Just, uh, stay calm," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or Billy. From down below, he heard Billy groan loudly before going silent again.

Steve's heart was pounding as he hesitated, unsure of what to do. All the details of Billy's haphazardly concocted plan fled his mind as he tried to think back on what they'd agreed to do if something ended up happening, and his first instinct was to open the doors to go down and check on him. He looked at the chains wrapped tightly around the door handles and bit his lip before crouching down and pressing his eye to the crack.

The overhead light wasn't bright enough to reveal much, but at the base of the stairwell there was a small circle of illumination. Steve squinted, ignoring the cold of the steel as he pressed his face against the door, trying to see all that he could.

Blood stains. Torn bits of… something he couldn't quite make out. Dark masses on the stairwell; lots of evidence that pointed towards Billy transforming, but no trace of Billy himself.

"Hargrove," Steve whispered, and then shook his head to clear himself of his cowardice. "Hargrove," he said again, louder and with more emphasis, "dude, you have to talk me through what's happening down there."

He waited, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for a reply. It was steadily growing darker as the sun slowly sank, making it all the harder to see into the cellar from the tiny slit. Frowning and unable to see anything, Steve turned his head and pressed his ear against the door. From somewhere in the depths of the cellar he could hear something breathing heavily. It was moving, too; he could hear something shuffling, moving around the floor space cautiously.

When he turned his head again to see through the crack, he caught a glimpse of... something large and hulking cross under the light, tall enough to set the lightbulb swinging. He couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath of air, his lungs and throat burning with the sting of the cold weather. The thing- whatever Billy had become- halted just outside the rim of light. Entranced, Steve found he couldn't move as it emitted a low, threatening growl that sounded more like a man impersonating a dog than an actual beast.

From his limited viewpoint, he couldn't see the way the muscles in its legs were tightening, or how it had begun to crouch; he didn't have time to react as it sprang forward, jumping up the stairs in a single leap to ram itself against the doors.

The chains held the doors shut, but the sudden impact smashed the metal against Steve's nose and soon all he could smell was blood as it drained out of his nostrils. He fell backwards, holding his nose as the Billy-creature growled again. Horrified, Steve could only sit in the snow and watch as the doors lurched forward when Billy rammed against them again, trying to escape. The second impact loosened the restraints, and all Steve could do in that moment was watch as they rattled uselessly in place, beginning to slip through the handles as they hadn't been properly locked into place.

Cursing to himself, staggered to his feet and rushed to grab the chains, but as Billy threw his body against the doors again it soon became obvious that even if the doors stayed shut, they were about to pop free of their hinges entirely. Blood dripped down over his lips and onto the metal panels as he tried to think of what he could possibly do to counteract the damage Billy had done. In an act of desperation, he threw himself against the steel and hoped that his added bodyweight would be enough to keep them in place.

If it managed to do anything, he couldn't tell. Almost immediately Billy was throwing himself against the doors again, nearly bucking Steve off.

"Stop!" Steve cried out, grasping for the chains to hold them in place. His fingers scrabbled against the cold steel links even as Billy let out another deep, throaty growl. With the doors as loose as they were, Steve was almost certain the doors wouldn't survive another body-slam. "Give it up, Hargrove!" Steve said again, desperately. "Just- fuck, Billy, stop!"

He braced himself for another impact, but it never came. Eyes closed in anticipation, Steve blinked them open and exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he let the chains go. Crystalized air puffed out in front of his face over and over as he rolled off the doors and stood up unsteadily, trying to wipe away the blood that had already frozen over and turned to crust on his upper lip. Somehow, miraculously, his pleading had worked, but before he could take comfort in that fact, other disturbing sounds began to creep back up to him from down below.

Things were being tossed around; the metallic clang of old paint cans being bounced off the floors and walls mixed with the hoarse, angry vocalizations of the creature Billy had become made his blood run colder than the air currently was. The noises Billy was making were at once both animalistic and human, deep and throaty and more akin to the bellows of a moose than a man or wolf.

Steve stood in front of the cellar doors not knowing what to do. Already their plan was falling apart, and he was quickly becoming aware of how vastly unprepared he was to handle the situation. He wanted the security of the bat in his trunk, but didn't trust himself to leave the doors unattended for the length of time it would take him to run back inside and grab his keys to get it, but he felt so weak without it.

Another loud, crashing noise came from within and Steve stilled, listening intently. Faintly, he could hear Billy snuffling about, and after the sun finally completely descended, all was quiet. His nose was throbbing as he stood attentively, but when nothing more could be heard, his stomach sank.

With trembling hands and his mind screaming at him to stop, he knelt by the doors and slowly unwound the chains from the handles. The fact that he couldn't hear anything coming from within didn't sit well with him; he had to make sure Billy was still down there.

He tried to shift the chains as quietly as possible, but with how nervous he was, he had a hard time keeping his hands steady. They rattled noisily against the door, grating on his already frazzled nerves as they slid free. Heart pounding madly, Steve carefully pulled the doors open and took the first step down into the cellar.

It was silent. He couldn't hear anything as he hesitantly took a second step, mentally berating himself over and over for being stupid enough to walk defenseless into the lion's mouth. He had no idea what Billy was capable of now, or if he'd even recognize him enough to (hopefully) have enough sense to not harm him. The lightbulb that dangled freely from the ceiling was swaying, throwing its light around erratically, showing him glimpses of the gore that lined the steps.

Eyes wide, Steve gagged at the sight of the flayed strips of bloodied skin that were splattered near everywhere. He had to avert his eyes as he took another step, making slow progress as he was careful not to step in any of the mess. At the bottom of the stairs he warily peered around the walls, hoping he'd only stuck his head into the lion's mouth figuratively. To his immediate relief, but long-term dismay, there was no trace of Billy to be seen in the space of the cellar.

Exhaling deeply, Steve tried to even out his breathing as he came to stand in the middle of the room, looking around to assess the damage. As the swinging lightbulb steadied, he turned towards where the shelf that was hiding the tunnel had been and found it on the ground, knocked to its side and several feet away from where it had originally been positioned. His shoulders drooped at the realization of Billy's escape.

He went and stood before the opening of the tunnel and felt all hope of remedying the situation vanish. A numbness overtook him as he recognized his responsibilities of keeping Billy captive had changed; he was the only one who knew about Billy's circumstances, and he was the only one who could do anything about it now. Distantly, and much further away then he would've liked, he could hear the muted, labored sounds of Billy's breathing as he escaped confinement through the underground system.

The burden of his responsibilities threatened to overwhelm him in that instant, but instead of letting himself be overtaken by despair, Steve took a deep, steadying breath and rolled his shoulders back. He hesitated for only a minute before he took charge and ran in after him, disregarding his urgent need to turn back and get his bat out of the car. There was no time, he thought; no time to get a weapon, no time to get a flashlight. If Billy was now as the werewolf in the woods was, then he was capable of speeds greater than Steve could muster, and every second mattered. If he lost his trail now, then it would be lost to him entirely. There was no time; he had to go now or he wouldn't go at all.

Alone and unarmed Steve ran, chasing after Billy into the dark, cold tunnel, hoping he would be able to catch him in time, and dreading the repercussions that would come if he couldn't.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy/steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #werewolf!billy #slow burn #long fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

29 notes · View notes

greyias · 7 years

Note

So how exactly did Theron get a black eye from doc? 👀

Coruscant was nearing it’s fifth month in the blockade, supplies had started to run short, tempers were starting to run high, and not even the Dealer’s Den Cantina was immune to the planet-wide cabin fever. Alcohol tended to exaggerate the mood of the crowd, and tonight it just seemed to fuel the general feeling of unrest of the whole populace. Theron had just gotten his third glass of the evening, ignoring the frown that Jonas was shooting him across the room. If his fellow SIS Agent didn’t want to drink, then he shouldn’t have kept dragging Theron away from the Heorem Complex. But he did, in the misguided efforts of whatever these male bonding outings were supposed to be.

It was crowded tonight — a lot of people attempting to find some temporary escape and respite from reality after further rationing had been announced. Authorities struggled to get supplies of every type in. Agriculture was practically non-existent on the ecumenopolis, and it was difficult to keep a trillion mouths fed without their normal routes of commerce. It was only a matter of time before they were starved into submission, but no one seemed to be ready to face that reality yet.

Navigating the crowd was difficult with a full glass, and Theron probably shouldn’t have been attempting to drink it while shouldering people out of the way, then again, he shouldn’t have done a lot of things in general. He hadn’t even made it halfway back to his and Jonas’s normal booth when he collided with another solid mass, wasting a perfectly good pour of whisky on some drunken idiot’s shirt.

“Hey, buddy,” the joviality of the other man’s voice was forced, “you really ought to drink that instead of—”

The witty retort died on the other man’s lips as he got a good look at who had just spilled his drink. Theron had already taken in the dark hair, rogueish grin, and mustache, and even two drinks in, he recognized him right away.

“Doc,” he said, not exactly dumbfounded, but a little numb.

“You,” the reply was nearly a snarl.

Theron had last spoken to the medic’s flickering holo image nearly six months prior, but he hadn’t seen Doc in-person since they were all on Yavin IV. That moon was filled with memories that Theron was actively trying to forget. They used to be good memories, but now were closer to an open wound than anything comforting.

“The hell are you doing here?”

“Drinking,” Theron said flatly. “And now I have to get a new one. Thanks for that.”

“You ran into me!”

“Watch where you’re going then.”

Theron turned on his heel back in the direction of a bar, but felt a vice-like grip land on his bicep. He looked down at it, then back at its owner. Even on his third drink, it would still be easy to break that hand in three places and be out the door in about ten seconds. A small, familiar voice in the back of his mind told him he was being ridiculous, and that he should just see what the other man had to say.

He just stared unblinkingly at Doc. “Yes?”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Right now, some drunk asshole won’t let me get a refill.”

“You ruined my shirt.”

“I did it a favor.” Theron yanked his arm free and began to shoulder his way back through the crowd. “Now leave me alone.”

“So you’re just going to walk away then?” From the slur to the medic’s words, Theron’s assessment on his state of inebriation wasn’t far off. “Guess that’s your specialty.”

Theron paused mid-step, feeling a hot feeling of anger boil up from is gut. He shoved it back down, way down with everything else. This wasn’t a back alley in Blacksun Territory and Doc wasn’t some random thug that Theron could pummel into submission. He just needed to get another drink and get back to his booth. The less he talked to Doc, the less he would be reminded of what he no longer had. Not that he needed any extra reminders, those managed to rise up in the back of his mind all on their own.

Unfortunately, it would have been easier to ignore Doc if the medic didn’t decide to hound Theron’s every footstep. “That is what you do, isn’t it?”

“Stop trying to pick a fight.”

“You just ruin things and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces.”

“It’s a shirt, just launder it.”

“I’m not talking about the shirt and you know it!”

Theron’s steps slowed to a halt and he slowly turned to glare at the other man. If Doc hadn’t been three sheets to the wind, he might have seen the dangerous glint in the spy’s eye, and the clear warning to back off. “You need to leave.”

“I warned you back on Rishi what would happen if you ever broke her heart.”

Theron flinched, almost as if he’d been slapped. “I didn’t… she was fine when I left her. We were fine. She didn’t say anything…”

“Does she ever? Anytime I asked what happened all she would say is that ‘everyone’ needed space. But I know that look, caused it enough times on enough faces to recognize it anywhere.“

“I wasn’t trying to…” How had she even thought that? After everything they’d gone through? He’d thought that nothing else could feel like a punch to the gut, and it shouldn’t have mattered what a dead woman had thought of him or his intentions. “But I called. You were supposed to tell her—“

“Tell her what? To call you back? So that once you eased your conscience, then Kira, me, and everyone else could start right back over to pick up whatever pieces fell after you said your peace?”

“Me? I wasn’t the one that took her back to Ziost!”

“You think any of us wanted to go there? She wouldn’t leave it alone, kept saying that she had to do something. And there you were, just sitting on your thumbs on Coruscant.”

“Exactly what was I supposed to do? Smuggle myself into Imperial space, charter a shuttle to go back to a dead world that no spacer would go near? And to do what? I had no clearance to leave the planet anyway — and if I had tried it would have been the end of what was left of my career.”

“Oh, wouldn’t want you to get fired would we?” Doc poked him in the chest as if to emphasize his point.

The nerve in Theron’s jaw twitched as his mouth shut with a loud click, a fist balling up at his side. A dark haze of anger was descending over him, and it took every ounce of willpower for him not to punch the drunken medic in the throat. It was only the quiet voice in the back of his mind, reminding him what her reaction would have been to him doing that to a member of her crew. The people that were the closest thing to a family she’d had. They were just as entitled to their grief and their anger as Theron. Probably more so. He of all people understood the need to lash out the nearest and most convenient target.

“Guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Theron finally ground out.

Something flashed in Doc’s expression, whatever final bit of restraint of not making the first move broke. Theron could have easily dodged the drunken fist, flattened the other man to the ground, but he didn’t bother moving. The pain that exploded across his vision was the closest thing he’d come to feeling anything that day. He lightly traced his eye, which was already beginning to swell shut. Doc heaved in deep breaths in front of him, nostrils flaring as he glared at the SIS Agent with utter contempt.

“Feel better?” Theron snapped.

“No,” Doc snarled, and made another swing.

Theron caught it easily, twisting the other man’s wrist until he let out a small gasp of pain. “You only get one, Kimble.”

“You damn bastard—”

“You’re drunk.” Theron let him go, taking a step back. “Go home.”

“I don’t have a home anymore—it’s gone. They’re all gone.”

The stirrings of something, maybe it was guilt, maybe it was pity, began to flutter somewhere in Theron, but there was nothing he could do. They were all broken. Fighting a war on two fronts had cost them countless lives, both military and civilian. They’d lost the Jedi. They were blockaded, cut off from all supplies, and slowly starving. They had already lost everything. They were just waiting for Saresh to come to her senses and admit it.

“You made her smile,” Doc said quietly. “I hadn’t seen that smile in years… it was a beautiful. Special.”

Unbidden, a bright sunny face filled his mind’s eye and for a moment chased away all the dark shadows that had gathered. Theron turned away, blunt fingernails biting into his palm. Blood pounded in his ears in time to the throbbing behind his eye. He needed a drink. Now.

“And there you go again—just walking away. It’s like you don’t even care about her—”

Theron hadn’t even realized he’d started moving. Didn’t even notice the red haze descend across his vision. It was only after someone had grabbed his entire upperbody and pulled him back mid-tackle, shouting in his ear the whole time did anything register. And only then he saw the wide-eyed startled look on Doc’s face as Theron continued to try and wrestle free.

“Damn it, Shan, stop!” Theron had never heard Jonas that serious in all of the years they’d worked together.

The red tint to his vision faded slowly, but the blood still pounded in his ear, drowning out half of the noise of the rest of the place. The altercation hadn’t attracted any attention other than Theron’s fellow agent, which was probably for the best considering that he was still on probation. Getting into a fistfight in a cantina probably wouldn’t help in the long run. And the damn job was all he had left at this point.

“You need to leave,” Jonas told Doc sternly.

“But he—”

“Now.”

Jonas didn’t loosen his grip as he forcibly maneuvered his friend back to the booth they’d claimed in the back. He muttered an angry diatribe the entire way about reckless and idiotic behavior. Theron tuned him out, watching as Doc slipped out the door without so much as another look in their direction.

At the time, with his head pounding between Jonas’s well-meaning lecture and the eye that was starting to swell shut, Theron had been glad to see him go. One more reminder of her was gone, and maybe, just maybe he’d find some peace.

He didn’t, of course.

By the time Theron had thought to look, several years had past, and the trail to one Archiban Froderick Kimble had gone cold somewhere in the depths of the Outer Rim where he’d disappeared to. He tried not to let his regret show whenever the name of her old friend cropped up in conversation, and he never mentioned the incident to her either. It was best to leave some things unsaid. It left less bruises that way.

#swtor fanfiction #fanfic #Theron Shan #archiban frodrick kimble #theron shan x jedi knight #more kotfe timeskip angst #swtor #Anonymous #greyfic

63 notes · View notes

wheres-mulder · 7 years

Text

Alien Baby Daddy Part I

by @haywarde37; Part II + Part III + Part IV + Part V

Another beautiful submission from @haywarde37. A fairly angsty, while wonderfully written first part of a wonderful, sweet, domestic MSR fic <3

TRIGGER WARNING for miscarriage. THIS FIC CONTAINS A MISCARRIAGE! So do not read more if that’s something you wish to avoid!

In Mulder’s opinion, there is no better way to celebrate your first birthday than with your first sugar-induced coma. Amidst the ruins of wrapping paper and empty gift boxes, his son is stretched out on his stomach, dead to the world. He’s still wearing the green alien party hat he put on him. The alien’s black eyes stare back at Mulder as he lifts William off the floor.

All the guests are gone and Scully and Maggie are slowly cleaning up the carnage. They put Mulder on William duty because he’s the reason the house is such a mess. It’s a task Mulder loves because they get along in a way even Bill Scully Jr. is jealous of.

William curls against Mulder’s chest, yawning contently. He lost his shorts sometime during the party so he’s just in his diaper and a t-shirt that reads Birthday Boy.

“Have either of you seen Party Animal’s pants?”

Scully looks up from the trash bag she’s stuffing with plastic cups and plates and shakes her head. “No. How did he lose his pants?”

“Beats me. He’s a little young to be dropping his pants though, don’t you think?”

William makes a gurgling noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter as Scully glares at him and points to her mother who just emerged from behind the couch with a pair of bright green shorts.

“I found them, Fox.”

Mulder kisses her cheek. “What would we do without you?” It’s an actual question. They’d be lost without Maggie. She’s a saint, taking care of William on the odd days Mulder can’t. He’s a stay-at-home dad now, but on occasion he attends local conventions hosted by believers and that’s not really a place his son, a skeptic, needs to be.

Scully helps Mulder put on the shorts. She’s been glowing all afternoon but she seems to beam a little brighter when she has her baby back in her arms. He knows she loves having her family fawn over William but she loves holding him even more.

“Can you believe it’s been a year since you were air-vacced out of Democrat Hot Springs with this little man? How the time flies.” He pinches William’s doughy cheek. “I still remember the moment I first held you. I was young and fit and you didn’t hurt my back.”

Scully smiles like she knows something Mulder doesn’t. She stands on her tiptoes to reach his ear and whisper, “You have seven months to get your back in shape again.”

He shivers at the feel of her hot breath against his skin. He can’t process her words for a good minute as he tells his dick to stand the hell down but when he does, both Scully and Maggie are laughing.

“Oh, Fox,” Maggie says, wiping away a tear. “I’m surprised it took you this long to make a second one.”

They lose the baby a week later. It happens on an early Sunday morning. Mulder was in the kitchen, trying to soothe a teething William. He’d woken up at three, screaming. Scully was in the bathroom and would stay there for the next two hours.

At five, Mulder had finally gotten William back to sleep. He knocked on the bathroom door to tell Scully.

“You can stop hiding. The monster went back to bed.”

When she didn’t answer, he listened for the sound of dry heaving, thinking morning sickness had finally caught up with her. All he heard was sobbing.

Not being the most rational when it came to his family, Mulder kicked open the door and found Scully hunched over a bloodied pair of underwear. On closer inspection, when he threw the underwear away, he’d find clotting and tissue too. A sight worse than any monster he’d ever encountered.

And that’s why Mulder is now fixing the bathroom door with William in his pack-and-play behind him and Scully nowhere to be found. He assumes she went to see the OBGYN but she didn’t tell him and he didn’t ask.

The rationale part of Mulder’s brain knows miscarriages happen, that the baby wouldn’t have survived on its own because of some chromosomal abnormality, but he just cleaned his child off the floor. He feels sick. He’s already thrown up twice at the memory.

His hands shake as he screws in the new door knob he bought from Home Depot. It’s tarnished silver, a stark contrast from the bronze one he broke. He hopes Scully won’t hate it when she comes homes.

But she doesn’t come home. Three days after she leaves, her side of the bed is still empty so he starts sleeps in William’s room. It’s space themed with asteroids and planets on the walls and mobile of stars over his crib. Painting it was the first thing Mulder did when they moved into the Unremarkable House.

“Your mother will be back soon,” he promises William through the bars of his crib. His son stares at him then holds out a fat fist which Mulder takes between his thumb and forefinger.

“I love you too.” He dozes off, still holding William’s hand. When he wakes up, he assumes it’s because William is fussy, but finds Scully curled against him on the floor. She’s wearing different clothes, a plain t-shirt and jeans that smell new and still have price tags from Wal-Mart yet to be cut off.

“Hey,” she breathes.

“Hey.”

She looks at William, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry.” He lets go of William’s hand to hold Scully. He smooths her greasy, unwashed hair and kisses her forehead.

“It’s not your fault, Scully. These things happen.”

“But I left. I left you and William.”

“Scully–”

She presses a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Shhh. Let me talk.” After he nods, she continues.

“I left you and I shouldn’t have. This hurt you too but it reminded me of losing Emily and I just…had to leave.”

Emily. Mulder hasn’t heard that name in years. They only knew her for a brief moment but Scully mourned the loss of her to this day. She lit a candle for her when they went to Christmas Eve Mass and put flowers on her sand-filled grave. It’s only natural that the miscarriage would have brought up the tragedy of losing the child she never had.

He touches her cheek. “Scully, it’s okay. I’m just glad you came back.”

“We’ll get through this, right? We’ve been through worse.”

“Considering you buried me, I think we can survive anything.”

After the miscarriage they see a therapist together. Scully promises it’s a one time thing but the therapist takes an interest in Mulder and he’s soon prescribed twenty milligrams of sertraline. Now he sees a different therapist who specializes in treating PTSD from the loss of a sibling every week.

It’s weird. He’s not used to talking about Samantha to anyone but Scully. The therapist assumes his childhood mind crafted the aliens to deal with the trauma of Samantha’s abduction, saying it’s easier to hate monsters than people and suggest a psychotherapy treatment called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. He only agrees to it because he’s afraid he’ll be forced to leave William and Scully again if he doesn’t.

But to Mulder’s surprise, it helps. He still believes aliens took his sister (a fact his therapist has learned to accept) but he can think back to the memory without feeling sick. Soon, they work on memories of his father, then his mother and then his time from coming back from the dead to find life had moved on without him.

“It’s amazing what you people of science are capable of,” he tells William while he feeds him Cheerios. “You can find how to take the pain away from the most tragic of memories but you can’t fathom the idea that we might not be alone in the universe.”

William only gurgles and makes grabby-hands at the bowl of Cheerios.

#alien baby daddy #haywarde37 #submission #fic #the link was broken so I'm reposting

31 notes · View notes

cassiopeiassky · 8 years

Text

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 35

Hi everyone! You know how I’ve had the warning of getting pretty dark? We’re here, folks.

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 3792

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mention of dogs/mauling, implied threats of assault/rape, brief mention of suicide, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, mentions of parent/child separation If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie. I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests. Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

Mikhail stands as you walk past, striding toward the dresser so you can put your necklace on; it makes you feel like Bucky’s somehow with you. “Please, lisich… um… miss… Mr. Krakken would like for you to eat and drink.”

“Why?” You don’t bother hiding the resentment leaking from your voice. What’s the point?

“It’s been days! You’ve been supplemented by IV, but you need to eat. Please!” He almost sounds panicked.

You’re almost afraid to ask, but you have to know. “What’s the date?”

“It is the third of January.”

Oh God. You’ve been gone for a full week.

You take a deep breath to quell your panic at the loss of days, but you can’t help the way your eyes dart around the room, looking for something, anything, to make you feel sane and safe. It’s only then that you notice the dull glint of another black metal choker; it’s mostly hidden behind the collar of his button-down shirt, but from what you can see, it’s identical to the one around your neck. “Mikhail…” you murmur as you gesture to your throat, all hostility now gone from your voice, “you’re not here by choice either, are you?”

He looks down for a long moment before meeting your eyes. “No. My father is a Bratva Pakhan, and made some unwise business decisions that negatively impacted Mr. Krakken. As recompense, Mr. Krakken told my father that either his life was forfeit, or that of one of his sons. My father decided that I would be the sacrificial lamb, as it were.”

Mikhail’s confession takes you by surprise.

“I thought I was going to die; I really was not expecting that this would be the outcome. I suppose it turned out this way because Mr. Krakken realized that my father wouldn’t be all that upset over my death; he would actually be much more distressed about the thought of one of his sons working for Mr. Krakken. So here I am.” He pauses for a moment before fixing his eyes on something behind you. “It is my greatest privilege and pleasure to serve the Krakken brothers.” There’s nothing at all convincing about his declaration. There’s no inflection in his voice at all – in fact, it sounds rehearsed. Did he just say that for the benefit of those watching through the camera?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur after a long moment.

He lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “It is not so bad.”

You feel an unexpected surge of compassion for Mikhail. How could it be ‘not so bad?’ What has he been through that makes it seem like this is okay?

“Please,” he gestures again to the food and effectively changes the subject, “eat.”

You plop down on the chair with a heavy sigh. “You’ll be hurt if I don’t, won’t you.” You don’t bother framing it as a question; it doesn’t take much imagination to know it’s possible with these men.

He avoids your eyes as he almost imperceptibly nods. “I, uh, I have been assigned as your personal attendant. It is my responsibility to make sure you are well.”

“Okay. I’ll eat,” you softly concede. Despite how long it’s been, you have no appetite but there’s no need for anyone to be hurt on your behalf, especially if it’s something you can control. Lifting the lids, you find thin oatmeal and buttered toast. There are small containers of peanut butter, jelly, milk, raisins, and brown sugar as well.

“I know it does not seem like much, but it has been a while since you last ate, so you should start slowly.”

With another sigh, you begin mixing the peanut butter and brown sugar into the oatmeal.

“So, um, how would you like to be addressed?” he asks softly, almost as if he’s afraid to disturb you. It’s right then that you make the decision to treat him with as much kindness as you can muster; based on his extremely submissive behavior, it’s quite clear to you that he hasn’t been treated well. At all. Besides, he’s just as much a prisoner as you are, and absolutely none of this is his fault.

“Why can’t you just call me by my name?” you gently ask in return.

Mikhail swallows hard before answering, “Mr. Krakken wishes for you to be reminded that you are his pet, and that who you were before no longer matters.”

“So the purpose is to dehumanize me.” Anatoliy wasn’t bluffing in the car – he’d meant every word of what he said. Un. Fucking. Believable.

“More or less, yes, I am sorry,” he whispers as he looks down at his shoes.

“What an ass.” God, you’re just pissed. Who does this??

“SHHHHH!!! Please, do not say such things! They can hear you!!” He’s thoroughly panicked, but the only think you can think of is Nicolai telling Anatoliy that he wasn’t allowed to hurt you. Well okay then, let’s see how far that goes.

You look directly into the camera. “What. An. Ass.” You speak deliberately and clearly.

Mikhail’s eyes grow wide with disbelief.

You lift one shoulder in a shrug and begin to slowly eat your oatmeal. Apparently the cure took care of Metzger’s infection but didn’t touch the case of the fuck-its you’d developed on the way here.

“Address me however you’d like, I guess. Just don’t call me whatever it is that they call me.”

You pensively stare out the window as you slowly eat. Anatoliy had mentioned that it’s cold in Siberia, so you assume that you’re in Siberia now. It’s…surprisingly pretty. It looks like Krakken’s estate is in the middle of nowhere because all you can see are trees and maybe some mountains in the distance – it’s hard to tell for sure with the hazy clouds – but you’re also well aware that looks can be deceiving. For all you know, there’s a road less than fifty yards away – not that it would do you any good. This goddamn collar will keep you right here.

The next spoonful of oatmeal goes down hard due to the surge of hopelessness that hits you. Even if – no, when – even when Bucky comes for you, because he will, what is he going to do about the collar? You can only assume that it will detonate if tampered with, and if they can blow you up at the press of a button it isn’t as if Bucky can just whisk you away.

Tony. Tony can figure something out, right? But how? He’s good, but he probably needs to know what he’s dealing with before he can create a fix. So how the hell is that going to happen? Is he going to sneak in to inspect it and then hide in your closet while he builds a miracle? Fuck, you don’t even have a closet, just a few dressers and an armoire…

Your mind keeps finding all the impossibilities in your situation and it’s making it difficult to breathe.

Mikhail suddenly breaks into your brooding. “How about solnishko? It is what I used to call my sister.” He smiles sadly. You don’t have the heart to smile back.

|Solnishko – little sun

***

The rest of the day slowly passes, as do the next three. Anxiety has become your constant companion, and you’ve had more panic attacks than you can count; Mikhail does his best to help you, but it really does no good.

You need Bucky.

You stiffen every time you hear someone in the hallway, but no one enters your room except for Mikhail, who tends to come and go throughout the day. He brings your meals, makes sure you’re comfortable, and closely monitors your recovery. He even brings you some books and puzzles, but they don’t capture your attention. How could they? You’re a prisoner for fuck’s sake. This isn’t a goddamn vacation.

The days are awful, of course, but the nights? The nights are absolute hell.

If you really think about it, you can probably estimate the total amount of sleep you've gotten since you woke up after the treatment at roughly six hours, and most of this is obtained during the day in the form of naps when Mikhail is in the room. You can't sleep at night – you’re terrified that someone will come in while you’re unaware. Not that they can't do that during the day, but at least then the room will be brightly lit by the natural light streaming in through the windows; at least then you’d see them coming.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that not thinking about Artie and Jimmy is almost impossible as you lie alone in the dark. There’s nothing else to take your mind off them, especially when Mikhail retires to his own room for the night, but you do your best not to cry. Crying almost always leads to migraines, and you’re fairly certain that Nicolai and Company don’t give a shit, so you try to focus on happy memories instead of the ache of separation.

Plus, you yearn for Bucky – desperately. Without his warmth or the weight of his arm draped over your body, sleep just won't come. You miss him every minute of every day, but it it's sharper at night.

Nicolai is doing this on purpose. You know he’s doing this on purpose – making you wait in this creepy room for something to happen. Making you wait while you miss your kids, imagine worst case scenarios, wonder what he’s got planned for you, wonder why the hell he cares if you’re eating or clean (seriously, what’s up with the department store selection of beauty products?) Making you wait so you have nothing to do but think of Bucky while you fear the worst. It’s a power play – you know this – and you hate the fact that it’s working. You grow more restless and anxious with every passing second, and your only comforts are your necklace and the hoodie that is slowly losing Bucky’s scent.

It’s late afternoon and you are ready to combust when Mikhail enters your room again, looking thoroughly stressed and carrying several large bags.

“I am so sorry solnishko, but you need to begin to get ready. We do not have much time.” He heaves the bags down onto the bed and starts rummaging through them.

“Ready for what?” Sitting around some more?

“Dinner with Mr. Krakken, Kapitan...Anatoliy,” he clarifies at your look of confusion, “and Dr. Metzger.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “Dinner? With those fucks? You’re kidding, right?”

Mikhail regards you sadly for a long moment. “I wish I were,” he murmurs quietly. He removes a plastic covering from one of the bundles and reveals a small collection of emerald green cocktail dresses, then turns to hang them in the armoire.

The look of confusion on your face must be clear, because he goes on to explain, “Mr. Krakken insists on formality for dinner, and he wants to present you to the rest of the household. I have been instructed to make sure you look your absolute best.”

Present you to…What. The. Fuck.

“We should start with your hair; it would be best if we straightened it.”

You want to scream with frustration – what the fuck is going on?? Why do they want to present you to anyone and what’s with the dresses? And you have to do your fucking hair?! Why? What is the fucking point?? You’re a goddamn hostage, what does it matter what you look like?

He motions for you to come over to the seated vanity; you shake your head in disbelief but comply with his request. He turns the chair at the last moment, making you walk around both him and it before you can take a seat. He removes your ponytail elastic, and runs his fingers through your hair. “Good, still damp from your shower this morning,” he mutters.

Did you fall down the fucking rabbit hole? You give up on trying to make anything make sense.

He retrieves a blow dryer from the bathroom; he looks…nervous? He plugs it in and takes his position behind you as he begins the process of blow drying your hair. Good luck, Buddy, we’re gonna be here for a while. Your hair does NOT dry quickly.

“Solnishko, can you hear me?” He’s barely audible over the sound of the small appliance in his hand. Not entirely sure if you really heard him speak or if you were just imagining it, you just nod your head slightly. “Good. If we keep quiet, they shouldn’t be able to hear us speaking; the white noise should drown out our words.”

It’s just now that you realize he’s positioned you both so that your backs are to the camera.

“I…overheard some things today. You are to be presented because Mr. Krakken and Kapitan want their men to get a good look at you – they say they want to show off their new pet but really it is to frighten you and to let you know that your fate rests with those men should things go wrong. Please watch what you say; they are very unpredictable.” He speaks in a hushed tone, and if you weren’t intently focusing on his words you wouldn’t be able to make them out. “I…I do not know what this means, exactly, but they say they are going to activate the Soldier. Do you know what this means?”

Damn right you do, but you’re not about to admit it. Besides, Bucky told you that the triggers had been removed, but these men do not need to know that, so you’re better off playing dumb.

He continues when you shake your head slightly; you don’t feel bad about the lie. “Well, they are going to activate him, whatever that means, and as long as he does as they say, you should be safe. I think. But the Doctor said something about the triggers eventually wearing off, and that is when you will need to worry, solnishko, because if he begins to resist, they will use you to ensure his compliance.”

“How?” You don’t really want to know, but you’ll probably be better off if you know what to expect.

“Mr. Krakken will release his Hounds on you.” The horror in Mikhail’s voice is palpable. The Krakkens are going to sic their dogs on you?

“What?” You hope to God that you misheard him.

“The Hounds. Mr. Krakken and Kapitan like to call their men their Hounds; it amuses them. It is also why they call you ‘lisichka.’ It means little fox.”

Oh God.

You’d prefer to be mauled by dogs.

“If the Soldier resists orders, they will make him watch what the Hounds do to you. There will be nothing he can do for you with that collar around your neck.”

“Oh, God…” If you’d had any doubt you were being held by sadists, it would be long gone.

Your heart is pounding in your ears as your mind begins to race. This can’t happen…this can’t happen to Bucky. He’ll never forgive himself; not for whatever happens to you, even though it’s not his fault, and not for whatever atrocities they make him do to keep you away from harm. But what can you do? If you remove yourself from the equation by killing yourself, then they will go after your kids – and you know that there’s no way you’ll be able to convince Bucky to refuse their orders.

How are you going to get out of this shit show?!?

Mikail begins softly speaking once more. “Your friends want proof that you are alive; he will use you to control them, as well. They are also planning another video conference with the Avengers, which will happen tonight. Mr. Krakken and his men will be watching you closely for any reaction – anything you give them will be used against you.”

Your heart starts beating violently at the thought of seeing Bucky, even if it’s just by video chat; you miss him so, so much. You’re going to need to be extremely careful.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Does he have some sort of motive? Is Mikhail playing mind games with you? He’d seemed so kind to you over the past few days, but collar or no, you don’t trust him. You don’t trust anyone here.

You aren’t sure if he hears you because it takes a while for him to answer.

“What they do is not right. It is not right that they play with human lives as if they are nothing but inconsequential pawns in their game of power. It is not right that they enjoy watching others suffer the consequences of their actions. It is not right that they enjoy what they do. I cannot do anything for myself, but if I can prepare you by telling you what to expect, then perhaps you can avoid unnecessary pain. Solnishko, please, please do not underestimate the Krakken brothers’ penchant for cruelty. They will hurt you just because they can; do not give them any additional incentive.”

Despite the hot air of the dryer blowing on your hair, his comments freeze you from the inside out.

Mikhail abruptly turns off the hair dryer and turns your chair to face the mirror. “I think we will need to put some of your hair up; it will not dry fast enough.”

Apparently the informational segment of your little conversation is over.

He deftly begins twisting small sections of your hair up into a partial updo; it seems like he knows what he’s doing. Catching your questioning expression in the mirror, he begins to explain, “My sister used to run a beauty salon of sorts; I worked for her. We were very close.” Again, the sad smile. “Even from a young age I did not like the violence of the Bratva, so I went into what we used to call the ‘other’ family business. It is likely why my father chose to forfeit my life over those of my brothers.”

It is completely unfathomable to you, as a parent, to not automatically choose to give your own life for that of your child…and your heart breaks for him. It seems like he was close to his sister, so you try to steer the conversation to something that might be a little less painful for Mikhail. “You must miss her terribly. Do they ever let you visit her?” You’re sure the answer is no, but for Mikhail’s sake you hope they surprise you.

He shakes his head sadly, and speaks quietly. “No, she is not there to visit. Kapitan used her and then executed her for my father’s crimes after he collared me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror. Fuck. “I’m so sorry, Mikhail.”

He nods in acknowledgement and turns his focus to your hair. Several long minutes go by before he speaks again. “I know you have lost a lot, solnishko, and I know that you may feel like you have nothing left to lose since you will never see your children again or be with the one you love, but you do. You do. You need to show them the respect they demand. Do not allow your grief and anxiety make you even more reckless with your words than you already have been. They can and will take things from you that you never considered. Your dignity, your humanity, your virtue, your spirit; if you defy them, they will take it as a challenge and you will become something to conquer, and they will cheerfully do so with any means necessary until you are nothing but a broken and empty shell.”

You swallow hard and bite your lip; you know with an incapacitating surety that he’s not wrong. You also know why he feels free to speak openly about this – both Krakkens would be more than happy to know that Mikhail is doing his best to ensure your compliance.

“Please do not test them, solnishko. It will not end well for you.” He briefly leaves to retrieve the makeup products that are still sitting in the bathroom, unopened.

Fear clenches once again around your heart, and you have to close your eyes and take a deep breath to fight off the panic now fighting its way up your throat.

Mikhail places the makeup on the vanity in front of you, and you stare it as he begins using a flatiron on the loose portion of your hair.

“I don’t want to do this, Mikhail.” Trying to hide the terror in your voice is pointless, but you attempt it anyway.

You also fail.

“I am so sorry, but you do not have a choice in the matter. These are direct orders from Mr. Krakken. You can resist, but one way or another, he will get what he wants. It is better, solnishko, to bend so you do not break.”

You swallow your fear and begin to sort through the makeup. Instead of focusing on how you will be shown off in front of a bunch of men that are waiting for their chance to hurt you, you try to keep in mind that you’ll see Bucky when the Krakkens have their video call. You can get made up for Bucky, even if he’s not really here. Right? Right. He’s more than worth the effort. Yes, you will try to look at it this way – it’s the only way you’ll get through the prep.

***

An hour later you’re finally finished. You ended up trying on a few different dresses, and thankfully found one that fit and wasn’t too revealing. It’s a deep but vibrant shade of green, and under other circumstances you would probably think that it’s a gorgeous dress. It’s a satin wrap with a moderately full skirt that hits just above your knees, and it has a delicate lace overlay. The satin part of the dress is sleeveless, but the lace extends to an elbow length sleeve. The sash is long enough to wrap around your waist twice, and it is the only part of the satin that isn’t covered with lace.

Mikhail also brought a few pairs of black heels; you choose the most comfortable shoes…just in case.

“Solnishko…you may want to remove your necklace. Mr. Krakken may not like the way it competes with the collar.” He sounds regretful, and you appreciate that.

“I suppose that wearing it would be incentive for them to take it, wouldn’t it?” You take his silence as affirmation, and remove Bucky’s gift, placing it in a drawer on the vanity.

“The final touch,” he murmurs as he presents a bottle of perfume, “A gift from the Kapitan.” He says it with a fair amount of disgust, and you’re surprised that he allowed that emotion to leak through considering how paranoid he’s been about the cameras.

“Oh…oh no,” you push the offending bottle away after just one small sniff, “No no no. That – that is a powerful smell. I can’t wear that, it gave me an immediate headache! I’m sorry, Mikhail, but I can’t…”

“But solnishko –“

“It is fine, Mikhail, if lisichka is sensitive to smells, we will not make her wear it. My brother and I are not unreasonable.” Nicolai sweeps into the room – you hadn’t even heard the door open.

Tagging: @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @beccaanne814-blog @howdoesoneadult @potterandbucky @musichowler @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231 @the-hidden-seeker @denialanderror @nea90sweetie @candyrogers @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld @k-nighttt @almightyunnie @srgtjamesbarnes107 @kimistry27 @maryvmassakre @mghtiestheroes @givemethatgold @manders2487 @fvckingbuckyandsteve @themistsofmyavalon @movingonto-betterthings @katherinem1996 @buckyappreciationsociety @stacyscarlet04 @saffreelove @afangirlrambles @buckysmetallicstump @wpleiades @buckybarnesbestbabe

***If your name is in bold I couldn’t get your tag to work***

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky imagine #my work #when everything's made to be broken (I just want you to know who i am)#WEMtbB #Part 35

160 notes · View notes

petersaysthings · 7 years

Text

Prelude: A Brief History of Viktorium (Part I of V)

by Benoit Laurent IT BEGAN WITH THE DREAM of a young boy, as all things must. An innocent childhood fancy imbued with the spark of imagination. Throughout the course of his life, this spark would be heavily nurtured. His parents indulged him, this boy, as most born to affluence would—with immediate response to every demand and a condescending attitude toward his peers. This of course would leave him unprepared for the devastation that was to follow in his personal life as he dealt with its natural lessons such as death, betrayal, and above all, failure. ‘But what if one did not have to learn such things?’ he thought. This question, more than any other, became the primary driving force behind his life pursuits as he reached the age of adulthood.

Thus, the unchecked spark of indulgence was permitted to grow unto its logical conclusion; a dream so grandiose and decadent, its creator would soon realize there was no room left for it in the real world. And once he discovered Viktorium, that was it. The only reason this man ever needed, as it provided an excuse for everything from his narcissistic behavior to his mad scientist tendencies. The fact that it was a literal escape from the real world was perhaps the icing on the cake. ‘Ah, so one does not have to die after all! How might I exploit this?’

Have you all eaten your fill yet?

The man I am referring to of course is Charles DuPont, ‘First King of Viktorium’ as he no doubt likes to be known. By no coincidence, today so happens to be his birthday. I for one certainly hope he is enjoying it where he belongs—in exile!

Unfortunately for Viktorium—and in particular, our fine capital of Cavarice as it stands today—exile was not quite enough to repair the damage that was already done from fifteen long years of his leadership. We still have our share of problems to clean up, and that’s exactly where we lack guidance. Who is responsible enough to lead us into the next era as a Futuristic society? Mayor La Cour and the Republican Council certainly aren’t cutting it. The fact that everyone on both sides of the political sphere fancies themselves the next supreme is not the least of such concerns; they ousted DuPont with no clear backup plan in mind, yet they refuse to take responsibility.

And that is the very crux of the issue. Our current politicians in power were among the first to arrive here. No one in their rational, living, thinking intelligent minds could ever have conceived of the idea of having major responsibilities in the afterlife. Indeed how could they, when the very man who founded this place was just as irresponsible and naïve as they, so much so to have marketed it as a vacation destination? After all, death is the great respite. If you wish to escape death, you must take responsibility for the technological power that permits you to do so. But as is death, so is life! In Viktorium, you must work to earn your fill.

And to that end, I feel I must issue a sincere apology to all new arrivals. Many of you were duped into believing this to be a vacation destination, whilst those of you who came long after perhaps thought you were entering Heaven. Even the criminals recently executed that arrive here are those whom you must now consider your brothers, a rather Marxist law which has been upheld with disastrous results. Article IV of the Constitution of Cavarice which states “Thou shalt not judge new citizens for Earth crimes” was the worst of DuPont’s edicts left over as a relic of his former cabinet. But not to worry, you’ve got our fine upstanding Dispatchers for that, another organization that is not without its share of problems, and certainly not free of corruption either. So where did this all start, you ask?

The Man, The Machine, & The Movie Star

FIRST CROSSOVER, 1906. A man enters a poor rural village claiming he has recently developed a very special vacation destination which has yet to be used. All he needs are enough willing families of the general public to test it out for a couple weeks, which he will allow them to do for free. He uses all sorts of scientific words to describe the location, which you wouldn’t listen to anyway because he keeps pointing at his scantily-dressed assistant. All of your attention is focused on her. You trust him not because he smiles, but because the girl smiles. He goes at the men first.

“If you gentleman bring your wives to Viktorium for some much deserved relaxation, I can promise you they won’t soon forget it!” The girl captures your attention with all sorts of flashy poses as he displays a map of the area. “This is the most sophisticated restaurant in town, just off the waterfront. They serve only the best aged wines, delectable dishes of seafood including the finest caviar, and the best chocolate cakes for the lady here, if it so happens to be your wife’s birthday.” He smiles and pats her behind as she caresses her neck and coos in submissive adoration.

Now any intelligent man from the city could see through such a ridiculous act, but the town of Bezonvaux unfortunately had little experience with carnival marketing tactics. They were simply happy to escape their troubled lives through any means necessary. Then again, that is precisely why Charles DuPont had chosen them to test his machine. Also chosen as part of his marketing act was a then twenty-five year old model and actress by the name of Constance Renou, now the Director of Viktorium-France Transit. Charles’ relationship with her, as well as her role in the deception, remains unclear to this day.

What is most clear, however, is what occurred one month later at a date now known as First Crossover. The very mention of it in Viktorium is enough to make one shudder in abject terror, and rightly so. The Viktoria I machine was the biggest technological disaster of our age. Not that Charles cared. He got what he needed most out of the deal in the end—test subjects. Because for all of his credit as a scientist and innovator, DuPont was still the same ruthless, conniving human being he had been as a child. He had to have his way no matter what, and he would go to any means necessary to get it.

On the night of First Crossover, two hundred and thirteen people entered the Viktoria I never to be seen again, either in Viktorium or anywhere else for that matter. According to Charles himself as he stood trial, the crowd formed an orderly line and talked of their excitement. One by one they stepped into the chamber, each accompanied by a green flash that grew ever brighter. The last lit up the entire sky even ten kilometers away. And just like that, the peaceful village of Bezonvaux was gone forever. The following is from DuPont’s court statement before he was exiled:

I tried to stop it. I had noticed earlier that the matter density array was misaligned to a variance of a few degrees. At first, I thought it was within acceptable limits. When they began entering, everything seemed fine. But the flashes got brighter as time went on, and I realized the phase emitter was failing to compensate as it should have. There was a critical overload and I couldn’t be sure the rest would materialize on the other side. After the first fifty people, I told them we had to stop. But they kept pressuring me to continue firing the switch. ‘You promised us!’ they said. I had never seen a crowd of farmers so upset and angry. Some of them were carrying pistols, others rifles. I was certain more were carrying knives. Despite the fact I had my own pistol, I was outnumbered. Viktorium was no assurance for me either. I knew if I died, I would come here and the ones who had crossed might make further attempts on my life. We’re still not yet certain what happens if you are killed in Viktorium. Where would I go? But I thought they might have gotten through. How is this all my fault again? Surely they must be alive somewhere! We just have to keep looking.

But of course nobody wanted to look, and they won’t bother. There is far too much power at stake. The fact that Charles’ machine was an eventual success is all that matters to Viktorium’s current politicians now. They just needed the right scapegoat to exile him, because even that was difficult enough. He is a most intelligent man, but I digress. The machine must keep running at all costs, even if it should send us to the Reapers!

That was Charles DuPont’s philosophy, and it is that of our current Parliament. So does it not seem strange to you that the parts are still defective, even if the body has changed? Are we truly expecting a different outcome in this world, and will we also expect one in the next, so long as the same tired cranks are still in power? Of course not! These little power plays they make every damned election year are blatant misdirection, folks! The corporate wheels are still turning, and this is the very essence of The Man, The Machine, and The Movie Star.

Because while The Man hides in a magic box somewhere no doubt holding the secret to his miraculous return in his bloody hands, The Movie Star is still here to draw our attention, operating The Machine to the horrid detriment of our society.

God Save Viktorium! God Save Us All!

If you liked this, you can read more of my web serial Adventures In Viktorium here!

#writerblr #steampunk #dystopia #scifi #spilled ink #prose #web serial #web series #webfic #writing #amwriting #Viktorium #articles #creative writing #authors #dystopianfiction #dystopian novel

0 notes