#on her left calf she has stab wound

[aaandbackstabbed]

It is so important to me that you all understand how many scars Goldie has.

[eat-limes-bitches]

Coming Home

PAIRING: Female Avenger! Reader x  Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY:  “Falling for you was like nothing I imagined.” Her voice started to give out as the door to the safe house burst open, “It was coming home.”

WARNINGS: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST! but it has a happy ending, mentions of death, dying, blood, stab wounds, violence, Sad! Bucky, nausea

Word Count: 1913

A/N: Hi! Here is another installment of my febuwhump series! Like I said, completely out of order but I couldn't wait it share this one with you guys!

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

Y/n knew when they left for this mission that something wasn’t right. It was too clean, the information was too good. Despite the many reassurances from Bucky when they landed, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Now, as she ran, she made a mental note to shout, ‘I told you so’ at her partner as soon as they reached the safe house, that was, if she could get out of the collapsing building. Skidding around a turn she pushed herself harder, desperate to reach the exit. She was almost there when there was an excruciating pain thrumming up her left leg. Whipping her head around, she saw a knife embedded in her calf and a trapped HYDRA soldier holding onto the handle. 

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me, sweetheart.” the soldier grimaced as he twisted the knife. Y/n glanced at the fast-approaching collapse of the ceiling before looking at the trapped man.

“You fucking wish,” she growled before shooting the man. His hand, now lifeless, released the handle so she continued her rapid sprint to the exit, somehow stumbling out the doorway and collapsing in the grass just as the rest of the building fell into a pile of rubble. 

“Y/N! Are you alright?!” Bucky's worried voice shouted in her ear, causing her to wince.

“Just fucking peachy.” She grumbled, closing her eyes as a headache started to form in the back of her head. She re-opened them, however, as she heard rapid footsteps approaching, looking over just in time to see Bucky’s approaching form. He slid to a stop and took in her battered form on the ground.

“Are you hurt darlin’?” Has questioned, as he leaned down to help Y/n back to her feet. S he winced as her left leg started supporting weight again. 

“Yeah some bugger got me in the calf on the way out, but it's not bleeding too badly, we can take care of it at the safe house I think.” She groaned, putting more weight on Bucky's shoulder. He glanced over her shoulder to observe the wound in question and nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, I think so too but let's get you to that safe house faster.” Bucky led her to the bike that was hidden in the tree line and gracefully set her down on the back seat before hopping on the bike himself and speeding off down the dirt road. 

The longer the pair drove, the worse Y/n felt. Her head started spinning and her stomach churned. By the time they reached the safe house, she all but flung herself off the bike and hurled what was left of her breakfast that morning into the bushes. 

“Shit, you ok doll?” Bucky asked, crouching down next to her, running a hand up and down her back. Y/n let out a groan.

“Been better I’m not gonna lie.” As Bucky wrapped an arm around her frame and pulled her up to move her into the house, she couldn’t decide if the butterflies in her stomach were from being this close to him or the nausea. Once inside the small safe house, Bucky placed Y/n on the kitchen table and dashed off to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. 

She tried to get an idea of what was around her in the room but the more she tried to focus on one thing, the more it spun around in her vision. Unable to prop herself up any longer, she lay flat on the table trying to stop the world from moving around her. Bucky returned moments later and placed a wet rag on her forehead, causing her eyes to flutter open. 

“I’m gonna get this knife out now, ok doll?” Bucky said as he rounded the table. All Y/n could do was make a soft ‘mhm’ and groan as he pulled the knife out. 

The first sign that something was wrong was the orange tinge to the blood that came pouring out of the wound. The next hint was the remnants of a yellow powder on the blade. The more strange orange liquid oozed out of the wound, the faster Bucky’s heart sped up.

“Y/n? You feeling ok darlin’?” He called out, looking up from the wound when he heard no response. Y/n’s head was limply lying to one side. He cursed under his breath as he tightened the tunicate and dashed around the table to place a hand on her face.

“Y/n? Open your eyes for me darlin’.” Bucky called out desperately, his thumb brushing over her cheek, taking notice of how cold it was to the touch. Her eyes fluttered open and her blown-out pupils focused on Bucky’s face. A wistful smile decorated her features.

‘Hey Buck, when did you get here?” Bucky’s heart sank, he knew the signs all too well from his time in the war. The faraway look, the disorientation, she was dying, but she couldn’t be, not yet.

“I’ve been here the whole time doll. Can you keep your eyes open for me?” He pleaded as he started to back away to try and return to her wound to keep patching it up. He was stopped by her hand coming up holding his hand to her face, keeping him in place. 

“You know I always knew that this was going to happen.” She mumbled, locking her gaze on his face. Bucky riffled through his pocket looking for his emergency transponder.

“W-what are you talking about, baby? You’re gonna be fine!” He stated, fumbling over his words as he pulled out the little remote and pressed the button. Y/n shook her head.

“No, I’m not and you know that just as much as I do.” Her voice was becoming airy the more she tried to talk. Bucky felt the hard knot in his throat starting to form as he shook his head, willing the tears to go back into his eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about doll. I’m gonna get you patched up a-and we are going to go home and you are gonna take me to that noodle shop you promised me right?” Y/n shook her head softly, not having a lot of energy to move at this point.

“You know I won’t. But please know, none of this is your fault”. Her voice was light and airy as she spoke. Bucky shook his head wildly.

“No, not like this, Y/n, please not like this!” He cried, bringing his other hand up to cup her face, trying to keep her gaze locked on him. She soothed him, bringing her other hand up to place it on top of his head, burying her finger into the dirty chestnut locks. 

“It’s gonna be ok, Buck.” She whispered, a smile still decorating her face. Bucky decided that even as she lay there dying on the table, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

“Don’t be sad, the stars are going to shine tonight.” Bucky took a shaky breath, letting his eyes slip close to savor the feeling of her fingers in his hair one last time.

“A-and when you see them, know I am watching over you.” Y/n gasped as her body began shutting down causing Bucky’s eyes to flash open in alarm. Y/n shook her head a bit, a breathy laugh dancing off her lips.

“There is so much to say, so many wonderful things I have to tell you, but with so little time left.” Her voice was only a whisper now, but even as quiet as her words were, she couldn’t hear the jet engine roaring in the background. 

“Like what darlin’?” Bucky whimpered as he watched her eyes grow dull the closer the footsteps got to the door.

“Falling for you was like nothing I imagined.” Her voice started to give out as the door to the safe house burst open, revealing a disheveled Steve and Bruce barreling in, with the rest not far behind. With a final breath, she looked Bucky right in the eye.

“It was coming home.”

       ~~~~~~happy ending after the cut but if you want to be sad stop here~~~~~~~~

The cry that left Bucky as her hands went limp and her eyes slid closed was going to haunt the team for the rest of their lives. Bruce, who had been tending to the wound the first chance he got, looked to the rest of the team.

“She still has a pulse, all be it faint. I know what's wrong with her, we can save her.” 

To Bucky, everything after that was a blur. Steve pulled Bucky away from Y/n and Tony scooped her up, rushing her back to the jet as the rest rushed after him. Back at the compound, Y/n was placed in the med wing as Bruce began treatment. Bucky didn’t understand much other than “Radiation sickness. Uranium on the knife. Nothing he could have done.”

Nothing he could have done? He watched the love of his life basically die in his arms, in his care and there was nothing he could have done? After being forcibly made to shower and change clothes to rid himself of the Uranium on his clothes was he then allowed into her room. He resumed the position he held at the safe house, clutching her hand and waiting for any signs of life, other than the beeping from the monitor. 

Bucky moved his gaze from her face to the window. The light danced off the windows of the other building unfiltered by the cloudless sky. It was beautiful, but he couldn’t appreciate it, it looked dull in comparison to the woman on the bed.

“I thought I told you to not be sad.” Her voice was so soft that Bucky thought he imagined it but when he snapped his gaze to her face, he saw her bright eyes staring right back at him. Bucky choked on a sob and rested his head on the bed. The relief flooding through his system was too much for him to handle. Her nimble fingers took their rightful place on top of his head, brushing through the now silky hair strands.

After a moment, Bucky lifted his head and captured Y/n’s hand as it fell from his head, pressing a kiss into her palm before holding it in his hands. 

“It’s hard not to be sad when the one person who brought life into the darkest parts of my life was dying in my arms.” He returned his gaze to lock onto Y/ns. For a moment the pair sat in silence before Bucky spoke again.

“I thought I lost you.” Y/n just smiled softly, not saying a word. Bucky just stared at her, trying to bask in the warmth of her gaze as long as he could. The more he basked, the more the nightmarish pain of losing her was becoming just that, a nightmare. 

“But I’m still here.” Bucky’s grip increased slightly, fearful that he may hurt her, but needing to feel her to keep himself grounded, keep himself from falling off the edge of reality in the abyss of ‘what ifs’. Bucky had so many things he wanted to tell her, so many different things he could and should say but the only thing that managed to slip out was, “Yeah. Yeah you are.”

[rx-wr]

🏕️~•Bad Timing•~🏕️

Part 1

Ticci Toby x reader

Tw- blood, killing, torture, death, mention of sex.

•~•~•~

I lay looking up at the ceiling of the cabin I’m staying in for the week. First day of this camp and it’s exactly how I thought it was going to be…shitty. All the campers here are annoying and the counselors I swear to god they’re all having sex at any point they can. I walked in on two the first day of camp.

I sit up and look at the people I’m rooming with. They’re all asleep. I get up and quietly walk over to the door my shoes in hand. I open the door quietly and close it. I walk down the hall and out the doors of the building.

I walk around the perimeter of the camp when I hear a sound. It sounds like giggling. I walk in the direction of the sound stopping when I catch a glimpse of something. I kneel down, in the distance is one of the campers from the cabin across from me.

She’s wearing a revealing outfitand a shit ton of makeup. She talking with a guy, I don’t recognize him, he looks around the age of me maybe a few years older.

I look over him, his back is towards me so a can’t see him that well. He has on a tan hoodie, the hood blue and the sleeves striped. The hood is off his head reviling dark brown fluffy hair. The most notable thing though is the hatchets hanging from his belt. I quirk an eyebrow at that.

He’s twitching as well. I sigh and I’m about to get up when in my peripheral vision I see him reach for one of his hatchets. With one swift movement and a scream that quickly cut off with the sound of the hatchet sinking into the girls skull. My eyes widen and I fall back. I grab my mouth to stop myself from making any noises.

Shes still moving…she alive. The guy removes the hatchet out of her skull and starts to hit her head repeatedly with it. Tears weld in my eyes as I watch him. My hand still on my mouth, flinching every time the sound of her skull cracking hits my ears.

I start to crawl away trying to be quiet. As I crawl I turn around and see the man stand up. My hand hits a pile of leaves crunching under my palm. I stop and look back. The guy is staring at me now, a mask covering the bottom part of his face.

“No! Please!” I yell out as he walks towards me. I start to crawl back but stopped when a knife sinks into my left calf. I scream and fall on my stomach. I turn my head and look. The blade if fully submerged into my skin. I look up and see the man standing over me. “Please, I won’t tell just let me go…” you beg. He seems unfazed as he lifts the butt end of his hatchet and hits me over the head with it.

~•time skip•~

When I awake again my head is pounding and my hands are chained up to a wall. I fit my head. The room I’m in is cold and dark. There a loud creek noice that comes from the other end of the room, and a light flickers on. The man from earlier walks in mask still on.

“What do you want with me?” I ask as I look at him. He says nothing as he walks up to me. He grabs my left ankle and lifts it up. On my calf is a bandage where the man had stabbed me. He removes it reaviling stitches. He cleans it and i wince as the alcohol touches the wound. “If you won’t answer that then, who are you?”

He looks at me and sigh. “T-Toby…Toby r-Rodgers…” he speaks and looks back to the wound and continues to wrap it. When he’s done he stands up. He’s about to leave but looks at you. “And t-t-to answer that question, i-i-i-I can’t have you telli-ing people what you saw…a-a-and something in me is t-t-telling me not to k-kill you. So y-you’ll be here with me for a w-w-while…” he says then leaves closing the door behind him with a thud. The lights go out shortly after. Great…I’m stuck in this room for god knows how long…with a axe murder walking upstairs

……

What could go wrong…?

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: November 11, 2024

Reworked Character #4: Fio Germi

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, alcoholism, and SA.

Real name: Fiolina Hortensia Germi

Alias: Teatime in the Battlefield

Occupation: Master Sergeant of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. and the lead medical technician of the Regular Army’s special forces

Retirement plans: Become a sports doctor and astrophysicist, open up a bakery, and start a family

Special skills: Chiropractic and massage therapy, knowledge in military medicine, housework, acupuncture, and astronomy

Hobbies: All types of sewing (hand sewing, machine sewing, embroidery, and quilting), ballroom dancing, giving her friends massages, cooking delicious meals and enjoying it on a picnic outside, and frequenting petting zoos, nature reserves, and art and outer space museums

Likes: Peppino, being in Tarma’s arms, the beauty of nature, baking cakes and other sweet treats, and reading books on stories centred around the stars and constellations

Dislikes: Scolding hot and freezing cold baths, people cheating at card games, the time she had to wear orthodontic braces, insects and creepy crawlies, and sneezing on the battlefield

Favourite food: Homemade sandwiches and gelato

Favourite drink: Ice tea (preferably Queen Mary)

Sexuality: Heteroromantic demisexual

Gender: Female

Age: 15 (in 2022), 21 (in 2028), 23 (in 2030), 25 (in 2032), 27 (in 2034), 34 (in 2041), 36 (in 2043), 37 (in 2044), and 40 (in 2047)

Blood type: O+

Weight: 145 lbs. (66 kg)

Design: She’s a 5’ 2” (157.48 cm) Italian mesomorph with sloping shoulders, upper arms that carry some of her weight, a bit of belly fat, voluptuous breasts and hips, and prominent thighs. She has olive skin, droopy blue-grey eyes, and brownish freckles scattered across her face and neck. Fio has straight, slightly messy orangish-brown hair that falls just above the middle of her upper back, framed by blunt bangs and chin-length, layered sides. However, she typically wears it tied up in a ponytail. Her fingernails are painted an English lavender hue, and she wears thick, winged dark brown eyeliner, a soft rosy red blush on her cheeks and nose, and cherry blossom pink lip gloss. As a result of battle injuries and her own clumsiness, she bears a bullet wound near the centre of her left calf and numerous cut marks, stab scars, and scrapes on her arms and legs.

Her military gear consists of polarised, silver-plated transition lens eyeglasses, a metal dog tag necklace with her name, and a cordovan Eisenhower jacket. She wears a pink lavender T-shirt with a dogwood rose stripe running along the front and a carmine bra underneath. She wears carmine gloves and a gold-buckled leather belt to secure her ebony army cargo shorts, which fall just above her knees. She also wears ebony paratrooper boots, dogwood rose knee and elbow pads, and over-the-calf bittersweet shimmer socks. She has a khaki waist pack attached to the front of her belt, which carries her nail polish, lip gloss, eyeliner, two makeup brushes (a large one and a small one), a makeup sponge, and a powder blush palette.

She wears a leather sheath for her hatchet, a gun holster for her handgun, and a holder for her tonfa. The pockets of Fio's Eisenhower jacket carry around Peppino, her beloved greyish-brown teddy bear with a pearlescent blue bowtie, a red wooden maneki-neko figurine with its right arm raised and its left paw holding a koban coin (a gift from Eri), and a deck of cards. The pockets of her army cargo shorts carry a canister of pepper spray, a Ventolin inhaler, a bottle of azithromycin pills, and a bottle of specialised prescription supplements specifically designed to manage her cystic fibrosis.

Over her T-shirt, she dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries her walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. Her black ammunition bandolier is slung over her right shoulder, and the back of her Eisenhower jacket features an embroidered S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. logo. Fio carries an ebony load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, fire bombs, stones, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, and a picnic basket filled with prepared sandwiches. She also carries her latest sewing project and its accompanying supplies, a Hexagon Arms M-3685, a cat o' nine tails whip, medical supplies, and a scientific telescope.

She always wears a pair of teardrop-shaped pink opal earrings and a gold chain necklace featuring a red coral cornicello amulet, believed to ward off bad luck and bring good fortune. She wears a khaki army cap, once worn by her father during his military service, with the Regular Army insignia emblazoned on the front. Additionally, she wears a rosy pink armband on her left arm, featuring an European bee-eater perched on an olive branch at its centre.

Character summary: She's initially reserved and timid around strangers but warms up and opens up once she becomes familiar with new people. She's a compassionate, considerate, and overly cautious listener who's really good with children and lends everyone a generous helping hand. She's sensitive and unafraid to show her true emotions, often engaging in introspective thought. She possesses a steadfast commitment to justice, having no tolerance for individuals who seek to stir up strife, and is slow to forgive those who inflict harm on others for their own selfish purposes. Despite her quiet and calm demeanour, she's surprisingly prone to stress and anxiety, particularly when confronted with obnoxious noises, unwanted physical contact or situations where she can't escape. Even though she's a seasoned warrior, she harbours an intense fear of insects and creepy crawlies, often resorting to hiding behind Tarma, Marco or Eri and insisting they handle the situation. On occasion, she displays an almost childlike naivety and exuberance, typically after completing a mission or while off duty.

She's a very friendly and gentle clean freak who'll do anything to help out her family, friends, comrades, and those in need. She prepares all her meals with love and dedication, considering others' likes and dislikes, hoping they'll enjoy what she's made. When talking to others, she often uses lively hand gestures and animated facial expressions to emphasise certain ideas. She gets easily flustered by compliments and flirtatious advances, blushing deeply and becoming nearly speechless. She's a somewhat superstitious person, believing in things like placing one's hat on a bed being a sign of bad luck for homeowners and spilling salt being a harbinger of financial troubles. She's a nature-loving girl who's incredibly clever and always thinks optimistically. She's a great strategist who excels in keep-away tactics. However, she often pushes people away due to fear and isn't the most skilled fighter, but can fight when necessary.

Whenever she's faced with the death of a child, a comrade or friend being severely injured, being touched inappropriately or being rudely insulted, her face darkens. She becomes cold-hearted and deadly serious, and her tactical prowess shines through most. She's quite curious around strangers, nervously trailing them and asking a few questions to get to know them. Despite cherishing the importance of friendship, she sometimes feels isolated by her exceptional intelligence, privileged upbringing, and cystic fibrosis. She values maintaining a healthy work-life balance and prioritising her time with loved ones, holding both in higher regard than success. She believes that living in or exploring beautiful places helps her become a better person by gaining a deeper appreciation of the world around her.

She originally harboured romantic feelings for Marco, but they dissipated after he disclosed that he isn't interested in romantic and sexual relationships. Her affections eventually shifted to Tarma, whom she found charming due to his silliness, emotional intelligence, Hokkaido dialect, the soothing sound of his voice, pleasant smile, and knack for building professional motorcycles. She finds immense comfort in Tarma's presence and often offers him solace when he's having a rough day or struggling with self-doubt.

After her romantic relationship with him fully blossoms, she forms an exceptionally close physical and emotional bond with him. However, her tendency to become overly attached manifests at times, especially when feelings of fear or loneliness arise. Despite being in a romantic relationship with Tarma, she maintains a non-possessive attitude, unconcerned if he flirts or sleeps with other women and men, considering it his personal freedom. However, she does prefer openness and honesty, ensuring that he communicates with her about his actions.

She eventually enters into a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship with Marco and Tarma, which she deeply cherishes and further satisfies her craving for emotional intimacy. She's displeased when Nadia takes advantage of her kindness to avoid responsibilities. However, she appreciates Nadia's help with dessert-making, although Fio often has to bribe her by offering something equally sweet or letting her have the largest share of a batch to persuade her to lend a hand. She's frustrated by Eri's overprotectiveness, especially when it comes to Tarma, as it reminds her of her father's behaviour and makes her feel like she's being treated like a child. She finds Red Eye to be an incredibly intimidating person, despite their relatively friendly relationship, which occasionally involves sharing a cup of tea together.

When she's reached her limit, feels threatened or needs to express her authentic feelings about something that gets under her skin, she's capable of standing up for herself and making her voice heard. She rarely swears, but when someone's pushed her too far, she'll unleash a stern reprimand, peppered with profanities in Italian. She's unconcerned by Marco's and others' opinions that carrying Peppino is childish because the teddy bear provides her with personal comfort and solace, particularly when she's anxious or sad. Ever since meeting Ralf, who encouraged her to try new things, she has mustered the courage to pursue thrilling experiences and enjoy them to the fullest, even if they carry some risk.

She's not fond of drinking alcohol due to its bitter taste and intoxicating effects, which make her feel nauseous and slightly nervous. However, on rare occasions, she’ll let loose and indulge in alcohol with her friends, especially after a challenging mission. When intoxicated, she starts to act playful, flirtatious and sexually teasing towards Tarma, obnoxiously loud, agitated, and bluntly honest.

She harbours private reservations about the Regular Army's methods, particularly when it comes to neutralising perceived threats, including journalists and enemy-affiliated personnel. She acknowledges that not everyone in these groups is malicious, but rather, many are innocent individuals caught in complex circumstances. Moreover, she struggles with the nagging feeling that those closest to her have been conditioned to uncritically accept the Regular Army's moral stance, never questioning its motivations or ethics. However, she's deeply afraid to express these thoughts aloud, fearing deadly repercussions and unwilling to risk stirring up trouble or jeopardising the relationships she values. She often pushes these thoughts aside by focusing on becoming a better fighter and drawing inspiration from high-ranking individuals like Marco and Clark, whom she greatly admires.

She has a tendency to fall asleep extremely quickly at bedtime or naptime, and her loud snoring can be disruptive to others who are trying to rest or focus on important tasks in the same room. She would be heartbroken if Peppino were lost, destroyed or stolen forever, as the teddy bear has been her constant companion since birth. However, she would be overjoyed to be reunited with the original Peppino or receive a new teddy bear that's an exact replica. She believes that war serves no purpose other than to be destructive, resulting from conflicts that escalate beyond the control of free will. In her view, war profoundly alters the moral fabric of society, while accelerating the advancement of weaponry and technology used in conflict. She’s a firm believer in virtue ethics who holds that life is more powerful than death, as it continually finds innovative ways to adapt and flourish.

Backstory: Fiolina Hortensia Germi was born on October 2, 2007 in Genoa, Italy. The Germi family is renowned for their vast wealth, military service, and philanthropic endeavours. Originally merchants and nobles, they amassed their fortune in the Mediterranean region during the Age of Exploration and have since maintained their wealth, now managing various corporations and philanthropic organisations. True to their militaristic heritage, the Germis have participated in numerous conflicts, including the Napoleonic Wars of the 1800s, the Italian Unification Wars of the 19th century, and modern-day wars against terrorism worldwide. Sadly, many Germi warriors lost their lives, leading to an important family custom where the chosen heir of the Germi family must serve in the military.

Alessandro Germi, Fio's father, was a fearsome soldier in the Regular Army in his earlier years, serving alongside Fabriclus Roving. However, he was forced to leave military service after being severely injured during a shootout, which left him crippled and suffering from debilitating post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). His body bore the scars of countless battles, a testament to the wounds he had endured and the bloodshed he had witnessed on the front lines. After returning to civilian life and receiving proper support, Alessandro successfully restored his family's struggling business. He also started a family with his beloved wife, Giulietta, a talented seamstress and manager of a luxurious art museum.

Alessandro's wish was to have a healthy son as he feared that sending a daughter onto the battlefield would be a perilous ordeal. To his surprise and dismay, Giulietta gave birth to a daughter, and due to health complications, she couldn't bear any more children. Fio's mother would also experience postpartum depression after childbirth and passed down a disease that runs deep within her heritage: cystic fibrosis. Alessandro's deep-seated fears for Fio's safety often led him to become overly protective, causing tension with Giulietta, who found his helicopter parenting suffocating.

Despite her parents' mental health struggles, they went above and beyond to care for her, providing unwavering love and support. For half of her elementary school years, she was homeschooled and her parents taught her a diverse range of subjects, including mathematics. They encouraged Fio’s appreciation for friendships, the outdoors, and the finer things in life. They even fostered her love of astronomy, gifting her a scientific telescope on her 10th birthday, which she still has to this day.

Giulietta often took her on enriching outings to nature reserves and art museums, where she learned about biology and art history. Her mother also taught her the importance of domestic duties, showing her how to do her chores and clean the house. On special occasions, her mother would dress her up in pretty dresses and give her adorable animal plushies, which she still keeps.

She was bullied and exploited by the other children because of her wealthy status and overt politeness, but her father and teachers consistently intervened. As she grew, she discovered her own voice, learning to assert herself with courage and conviction. Standing up to her bullies with firm yet gentle confidence, she effectively silenced their taunts and earned respect. Like Marco, Fio excelled in all her classes, demonstrating exceptional academic prowess and a deep appreciation for effort and lifelong learning.

However, her life took a devastating turn near the end of her secondary school days. A sudden and tragic terrorist airstrike, attributed to the Ptolemaic Army, struck Genoa, Italy, claiming Giulietta among its many victims. Her father was the most affected by this loss, turning to a life of alcoholism and self-isolation. Although Alessandro still cared about Fio and tried his best to support her, his alcoholism and newfound self-isolating behaviour made it challenging for him to do so. As a result, the butler and maids who worked in the mansion frequently took care of her.

It took time for Fio and Alessandro to heal from this loss, but they remained resilient. To cope with the loss of her mother, she turned to sewing, baking, and reading books on ancient and modern medical practices. Eventually, Alessandro sought help and went to rehab and therapy to address his issues with Fio's support and encouragement. After graduation, Fio was awarded multiple awards and scholarships, which enabled her to attend university. There, she pursued an interdisciplinary course of study, exploring chiropractics, acupuncture, physics, and astronomy.

Fio would eventually express her interest in joining the military after coming across a persuasive flyer to serve in the Regular Army. This revelation horrified Alessandro, as he didn't want to send his only child off to the battlefield, risking her life. He wanted to disregard the Germi's military traditions, believing that war is repugnant and a never-ending cycle of hate and violence. Alessandro tried to deter Fio from joining, but she persisted, driven by her desire to join the fight against terrorism and protect the lives of innocent people. He reluctantly agreed and sent her off to the military at the age of 19, but attempted to minimise her risk by using his connections and friends from his own military days to secure her a desk job, hoping to keep her out of harm's way and away from the front lines.

However, everything changed when a paperwork mistake caused by militant bureaucracy resulted in Fio's transfer to the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., a special operations branch of the Regular Army's Intelligence Agency known for carrying out high-risk missions. Surprisingly, Fio was ecstatic to hear the news as she had been eager to be deployed on the battlefield and make a real difference. In contrast, her father was furious and stormed into military headquarters, threatening officers in an attempt to prevent his daughter from being shipped to the front lines.

He would often try to extract Fio from the battlefield via a private jet, but she consistently resisted. Eventually, she had enough of his overprotectiveness and bravely told him that this was what she wanted—to fight on the battlefield and provide medical aid. She assured him that she was capable of handling herself. Alessandro finally understood and let her pursue her life as a military woman. In return, she promised to keep in touch with him after each mission, providing him with reassurance and comfort.

Like Eri, she played a crucial role in the Great Morden War by providing Marco's team with useful intel on Rebel Army positions. She even went so far as to provide them with sustenance, mainly in the form of homemade sandwiches. She also dedicated herself to providing medical support for Marco's team, which led to her being recognized as the lead medical technician of the Regular Army’s special forces.

During the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash in Hong Kong, she was seized by a ruthless group of fanatic land troops and bikers who intended to exploit her for their twisted desires. One of the deranged fanatic land troops subjected her to unwanted physical contact, leaving her severely traumatised and more prone to anxiety. This horrific experience intensified her resentment towards the Rebel Army and those who seek to spread chaos and harm. Fortunately, Tarma intervened just in time, eliminating the Rebel Infantrymen with the SV-001. Eri quickly freed her from the ropes that bound her arms and ankles.

Her countless battles against worldwide criminality, terrorism, and corruption enabled her to rapidly rise through the ranks, becoming the Master Sergeant of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces unit. However, her time in the military has taught her a harsh reality: even the good guys can't always protect the innocent or save their friends and comrades. She has witnessed many deaths and severe injuries that left people crippled and traumatised in each battle. Nevertheless, with the emotional support of friends like Eri and Tarma, she has persevered and continues fighting to this day.

[vacantgodling]

worthless war

You never learn his name.

Your thoughts have already devolved into the most basic of actions to sustain you along. Eat. Sleep. Forward. Retreat. Swing. Parry. Kill.

There is a reason generals do not wear helmets. Their matted, blood soaked hair used to be windswept and glorious. They bark orders and their pawns follow; the matted grass of stinking, rotting corpses, the board of a most convoluted game of chess. In the beginning, how foolish your company thought, should you make it behind enemy lines that you would become kings. It didn’t take long to realize it didn’t work that way. That eyes cast up to the heavens stayed that way, glassy and unseeing in their swift death.

Your eyes weren’t adept at seeing anymore. Your helmet made the world dark and despairing, a fitful mirror to the fruitlessness of this Worthless War. It was a war of pride, not a war of glory. By the time you entered the fray, any semblance of morality had long fled; back to the homeland where praises were sung of a warrior’s valor and the duty of the sword. There was no honor in this place.

Except.

You met him when a stab to the side, under the chink of your chain mail made you kneel. In the centre of the battlefield, you knelt there, statuesque and unseeing. Was it your time to die? Maybe. You were so tired. This war has taken everything from you. You could still see the face of your dear sweet Lucasta*, rosy faced and bright, cheerful and kind. You had not kissed for she was chaste, but you held her hands tender as a newborn babe and bid her farewell.

I will return a hero! You said—what a fool you had been! Young and suckling like a calf to a teat; you knew not what awaited you, young lamb to the slaughter. You knew not of how this war would betray you.

But you felt an arm raise you up.

No words were spoken, only the gleam of his sword in his hand in the sunlight. His helmet was impasse, but his arm that held you felt like warmth, felt like summer, felt like the joy of a child. You leant heavily into him, and he supported you, and took you far away from the battlefield.

It was the first thought you’d had since your mind fell away some time ago. Where are we going? You could ask. Are we advancing? Retreating? How else would you know your place in line? Are you God? If perhaps, you were religious. You weren’t. But maybe you were—if only for the way he sat you squarely down on a rock in some remote and desolate field in some forgotten daydream. Even if the war raged, the clashes of swords and armor not too far off on the horizon, it was a muted murmur this far away. The war but a distant night terror. Your body felt lighter than air, your head clear yet clouded, perhaps it was the dizziness from blood loss.

He didn’t speak, but his hands were verbose. He left your helmet fast to your skull, but pulled you out of your armor, piece by piece. What an intimate ritual—you oft used to think of undressing Lucasta when the two of you were finally wed should you make it back from this war. From her corset and over skirts, to her chemise, her stockings; to unearth what bounty lay beneath cotton coverings, just the same as he unlatched your breastplate. Cool hands spread across your collar and chest, then came to the side just underneath your arm where blood, thick and viscous, stuck like molasses to your skin.

Where he retrieved water when rations were low, you didn’t know. For so long you have just been some spectral floating thing; only manifesting as a sword for your general to wield. But now you felt horribly human; your mouth dry with thirst and caked with dirt and grime and the sins of taking life after life. Heaven knew no prayers would wash you clean, but he did. He washed your wound and dressed it as best he could. He ripped pieces and pieces of his own spare shirt and wrapped them round and round your body, pressing until the blood stopped. Until the blood rushed from your head south at the novelty of another’s touch, never mind the touch was a man. This was the touch of your savior; your holiness, your shining grace given from Lucasta’s Lord above.

“W…” You managed to croak, and he stopped his ministrations. If you had hydration enough for tears, perhaps you would’ve shed them. Don’t stop. You wanted to say. Those glorious touches that reminded you that you were alive and a soul and part of this world. “Why…” Your voice was no louder than a field mouse.

Behind his helmet, he didn’t say a thing. Not a grunt, not a hum, not a word. He only kept dressing your wound. Round and round he twirled those makeshift bandages, and you imagined Lucasta on your long awaited wedding day, twirling in your arms as the blushing bride she ought to be. But here, and bare, and carnal, you felt you ought to be the bride. Why shouldn’t you receive such tenderness of a strong hand to your lips or touch to your brow? Why shouldn’t you linger in this comforting daydream where you were just a man, and the knight dressing you was another, and in the hay of this little barn of innocence you sullied it with passions that Lucasta’s God would blush at?

You gripped his hands, hissing as he bade you stand. It was always easier to suit standing. When he returned the chinks of your breastplate and tightened it fast, it was every deceleration of love you could ever hear. It was a proposal, a wedding, devotion divine. You took his hand. He gave you your sword. He led you back to the battlefield. Your thoughts returned lifeless, but when he took his place next to you in formation, your mind bloomed with flowers; roses and daffodils and forget-me-nots; an endless springtime where he knew your scars and perhaps, you knew his.

And as all evils do, the Worthless War drew to a close.

There was no grand finale. No heroes of lore or legend were born out of this war. You stood at the foothills of your hometown, with nothing but a small ration, and a few bits of coins for the trouble of it all.

You returned to Lucasta. She knew the light in your eyes dimmed. She spoke to you of the wedding, of babies, of summertime—but your life was paused; ever stuck and transfixed at that moment he took you aside to patch your wound. Suspended in that one shred of humanity that you felt in that moment, and the lingering warmth that you felt after, for the days and weeks until the war came to an end. He never spoke, but he was always by your side, and you fastly to his.

Your head was bare, but your soul never took off its helmet. At night, you lay awake with Lucasta’s head pressed delicately to your chest, dreaming of the metallic hiss of his breath in and out as he undressed your soul.

some footnotes:

* = the name Lucasta i lifted from the 17th century poet Richard Lovelace as the meaning is “pure light”. in this piece Lucasta serves two roles: as the bride to be the protagonist has waiting back home, but also represents his innocence that the war has taken from him. how even though he’s returned home and has his former life waiting for him how he can never truly regain that innocence.

[razrogue]

The smell was always the worst part. Not the fluids themselves staining her hands or the amount of cleaning that would need to be done, it was always the smells of everything that escaped throughout. When the contract called for torture or the worst pain imaginable, she always rolled her eyes. She already used some of the deadliest poisons and coatings. Their last moments would undoubtedly be the worst of the short remainder of their lives. But some clients paid extra for off menu items so who was she to question. Usually she'd charge extra on top of that, knowing everything from the event would likely be incinerated too.

The elven man was suspended on the wall, his shoulders supporting all of his weight. His torso was covered in stab wounds and star shaped burns. His right eye has long been swollen shut. His left was black and bloodshot. Blood, sweat, and piss soaked his smalls. The cuts on his thighs had been some of the most effective though. The wailing as she slowly pushed thin metal rods deep into the flesh were some of the most exquisite sounds. The elf had lost consciousness a few times but Gan always jolted him back awake with a zap from a lightning rod. There would be no rest for either of them until he was finally allowed to rest for good.

There was a certain symphony that arose from the wells of torture. Screaming, wailing, crying, whimpering, they'd all mix together in a cacophony of sounds that would eventually weave their way into a vicious melody after so long. Gan hadn't heard the song in at least a decade so she was almost eager to take this one on.

"Make it last, make him wish he'd never materialized on this plane."

She didn't know what the older elf had done to have such a hefty contract taken out and didn't care. The target was named, the gold exchanged, and Gan set out to research and execute. She was being paid to make the last moments as excruciating as possible before ending their pitiful existence.

He'd screamed for help, begged for them to release him on the condition he'd never tell anyone what happened, even attempted bargaining for his life with some pittance of gold that wasn't nearly enough to buy his survival. He'd even mistakenly tried to relate to her, lamenting that his family wouldn't see him again, as if that mattered. 

Gan had long forgotten the concept of family. It was as foreign to her as if she'd been raised an orphan. She had walked away from them over 30 years ago by this point and hadn't looked back. In this life, they were attachments and those could be deadly to have as an assassin. Attachments could cloud your judgment and make you sloppy and soft. Attachments gave enemies something to lord over you. Gan didn't like having attachments so she cut them loose. She'd written each of them a letter before she filled a satchel and left in the middle of the night. Sohon was a damn good hunter who taught her everything she knew so she had to hide her tracks well. If she hadn't, he would have found her before she could clear the forest edge. Once she was clear of the trees, she pulled her hood down further and walked away, never looking back at the loving parents and siblings who were now attachments she couldn't afford to have.

Back in that dingy basement with the elf clinging to the last shreds of his life, Gan sat on a stool across from him pondering where she'd go next. What else could she pull from her bag of tricks to fulfill this contract. She grabbed the bottle of water from the table, popping the cork before dousing the elf in half its contents. He whined pitifully as it ran down his body, washing away some stuff and simply shifting around others. She grabbed the icy rod from her sack on the floor, deciding to go cold now that she'd used the water. She watched as the ice began crusting over the foot and up his calf, removing it just before it reached his hip. Foggily from his barely open eye, he watched her grab a chisel and with the little energy he could muster tried in vain to move away despite having nowhere to go. Gan nestled the thin chisel against the joint of his big toe and with one solid crack, the frozen appendage dropped unceremoniously to the filthy brick floor beneath him. The scream that erupted from him was the loudest by far today. Gan smiled wickedly beneath the mask covering her mouth. She noted this action as a successful one to use in the future if another contract called for such measures. She chiseled the remaining toes off and plopped them all into a jar and sealed it with a ward. The client wanted a "trinket" from the work. Usually she would have plucked an eye out for it but with the overenthusiastic way she'd treated his face, it was going to be too much work to get one now. His head hung low, the last of his energy fizzled out, as Gan pondered if there was anything else she wanted to do. It'd been long enough she decided; three days in that dank basement in an abandoned shack had been long enough. She hopped off the stool, dagger in hand, and raised the elf's head for the last time. He looked into her eyes, well the eyes of the human man she was disguised as, and begged for mercy for the last time. Without a single word, the dagger was quickly drawn across his throat.

Gan felt the tiniest bit of sadness. Not sadness for the hanging body with blood oozing down its chest. Not sadness for the family and friends that would never see him again and would be left wondering where he disappeared to. Her sadness was not so deep and profound, not anymore. Today's sadness was for the work she'd have to do to remove all traces of their stay in this basement, for the amount of cleaning that would need to take place. Sadness over attachments and over actions, those were long gone from her.

The only sadness that existed now was relegated to gold pouches getting light, messes having to be cleaned up, tankards going empty, and favorites at brothels not being available to keep her company.

[greypetrel]

hiya! canvas, hair, favourite for all your gals? c:

Hullo! :D

But of course! (also thank you for sending the question about scars, I remembered I forgot a scar on the last piece up, jkasfneaksaf)

Tis the prompt list

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Alyra: Sylaise vallaslin in blue, three long scratches on her left jaw and cheek, reaching to her clavicle thanks to the Archdemon, quite the set of scars around her body. She proudly displays everything, as a reminder for other people of what she is and what she did. Whether it intimidates them or fill them with respect is not her problem. Raina: Free Mages tattoo on her left bicep, in red. The widest set of scar of all around her body. She was never properly trained with daggers and things were messy at the start. The biggest one is the one from the Arishok on her belly. She doesn't really care about hiding them, she's self conscious on other things.

Aisling: Ghilan'nain vallaslin in teal, it spreads all over her body and she's very proud of it. She started hiding it in Haven, because it labelled her instantly as "different" and she wanted to blend in. It took her a while, but she's not afraid of showing it. Some scars all around, the more notable are one on the right bust, right below her ribcage. She got stabbed in Crestwood and she doesn't like it because it cut her tattoo. She minds scar because they disturb the tattoos, LOL. In the Whale AU she has a big one on her left calf: a shark bit her. As a form of greeting, of course, she found it cute. Radha: Dirthamen vallaslin, in purple. Broken nose if it counts as a scar. Long scars running on the bent betwen her first and second phalanges, and in the middle of her palm. She grabbed a knife from the wrong end trying to set herself free. She managed! Unfortunately getting rid of the knife owner and his friends took a while, and she reached the healer too late for the tendons to heal properly. "It's just a flesh wound". cit.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Alyra: She's for practicality and cleanliness: she started growing her hair long in Amaranthine, when it was comfortable to do so and she had the environment and time to take care of it. She's proud of her hair, wears it braided. Appearance is another form of armour, she likes the handiwork. Raina: Short pixie/boyish cut. If it reaches her chin she chopped it off. She hates herself with long hair, doesn't feel like herself with long hair, it's impractical and she hates spending so much time taking care of it. So short? A piece of soap, some oil, ten minutes in the bathtub and she'd good to go. Aisling: She loves to braid her own hair and the ones of people she loves, she's pretty good at it. She expresses love in touch, and it's another version of it. It's tied to sweet memories: Deshanna used to praise her hair colour, and would most often braid her hair for her when she was a child, she learnt from that that braiding and combing hair is a treat, for yourself and others. Radha: Her hair is curly, and requires more care than she's comfortable about. She can be vain, but her hair gets in the way, and she doesn't like how she can't untangle it if not wet. She's the one that experiments the most with her hair: She had it long, braided, mid-lenght, tried five different undercuts. Going on in life, she'll just shave it off and go for a buzz cut, she can't be bothered anymore.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

Alyra: A golden necklace with roses and a raven feather as a pendant. It's Morrigan's of course, we can assure no witch-bird was harmed to pluck the feather, she lost it on her own and Alyra picked it from the ground and refused to let it go. She wears it at every formal event when some statement jewelry is required. Raina: Malcolm's old gauntlets. She and the others split the armour, she got the gauntlets. it's her pair of armour gauntlets, she's not that careful in mantaining her things, but those gloves. They are always oiled and well kept. They were a little too big but she padded them on the inside not to alter them too much. Aisling: Cullen's coin, which she had Dagna mount as a necklace, with an enchanted harness and an enchanted strip of silk that can't be broken. She takes it off to sleep and bathe. She was pretty fond of a pendant Deshanna gifted her when she was adopted, it was enchanted and a good luck charm. She lost it in the Conclave. Radha: A pair of amethyst earrings that was the bonding gift her father gave to her mother. She rarely takes her earrings off, and that too. She took one off as a very unfortunate bonding gift to allegedly the wrong person, the earring had a little adventure in the Dreadwolf's pocket before it got back home.

[sgcairo]

Babytorre AU Physical Headcanons

Note: I recently saw a post with physical headcanons for Genshin characters and decided to throw out my own, as I was quite inspired. Enjoy!

Dottore: Long (and by that I mean 6'2"-3"). He's huge, towers over everyone (it's terrifying in the dark), and he's very bony. No muscle or fat there, he refuses to sleep or eat on a normal or even necessary level. He has a pretty bad scar across the top of his face from a mechanical accident, and a lot of burns/cuts on his fingertips and palms from the occasional injuries he gets while working. He's pretty gaunt, but he seems to be getting along just fine.

Pantalone: Shorter than Dottore (give or take 5'11", maybe 6'), with a lot more roundness to his face. He's clearly eating well, even if he forgets sometimes, though he also lacks muscle on his figure. He has several lashing scars on his back and palms from his days of thievery and more than enough stab wounds from opportunistic bastards. His body is mostly pristine otherwise, as a banker does need to keep up appearances to be respected.

Babytorre/Anastasiy (BABY): Very few scars, and very underweight and small for his age. A small needle scar on the back of his neck from his time in the pod is his main injury, and he does have a barely visible sprinkle of freckles across his nose (which disappear as he grows up). He does have a few scars around his chest and arms, but none that don't fade with time.

Babytorre/Anastasiy (ADULT): Very few large scars, but a few small ones from accidentally injuring himself one way or another. He's a teensy bit shorter than Dottore, but definitely with a considerable bit of muscle from hauling around ruin guards and sparring with the other Harbingers. His hands have a few burns from making his signature explosives, and there's a large cut down the center of his chest where his heart was replaced by Dottore, but he's otherwise unharmed.

Scapino/Sveta: Short, muscled, but plenty bulked up to hide it. If you can think of a body part, she probably has a scar there. Lashes on her back, stab wounds (especially the big one on the back of her right calf), abyssal corruption all up the insides of her wrists and forearms, and plenty of slashing scars across her biceps, stomach, and thighs. Burns, scars from electricity being applied to the skin, you name it, she's probably got it. Because of the deep laceration on her right leg, she sometimes limps on bad days, but no one cares to mention it to keep their heads.

Irnes: Dottore's physicality, but the whole left (straight on) side of his body is burned. Think fourth-degree burns, his fingertips on his hand are completely black, crooked, and no longer work (he has serious tremors in that hand too). He has a cane to support his left leg, and has several cuts and burns on his other hand from digging around in ruin guards without proper protection. He really carries the same gaunt figure as Dottore, if not more so from when he gets so absorbed in his work that he forgets to eat.

Earl: He looks very similar to Pantalone, however he has an extra inch of height and has a distinct sickly appearance. He has a bit of a hunch when he walks, too exhausted to maintain proper posture, and has scars on the inside of his elbows and forearms from needles being repeatedly inserted. He also has a small hole on the back of his neck similar to Danya and Irnes from incubation, except his is more prominent from being prodded at and opened again for "research purposes.

Misha: Short but fairly muscled, he does haul around bodies and cut into them all day, after all. He's a smidge taller than Pantalone, but he still calls himself short despite it. He has a few scars on his fingers and forearms from combative patients and accidental slips with the scalpel, but otherwise seems fairly intact, minus the deep cut across his cheek from a fight with Beta.

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 2, Alex and Ari have been living together a little while

Alex Stabbed, pt1 [ First | Prev | Next ]

Alex has been thinking of survival. Of how they'll earn the money to make sure Ariadne has a hot meal, a place to sleep. Easier, that. Easier than the way he feels like a shadow, ripped from its attached human, when he thinks of how he won't see Taryn again. Easier than thinking about the Resistance. The government. Two evils ripping humanity apart at the seams. 

If the Resistance is evil, if they're torturers, too, then it's not too bad, is it, that he gave up a safehouse? 

Maybe he's thinking about Taryn when he's assaulted. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t pay enough attention to the drunk-looking stranger who shouts insults at the pair as they pick their way through the parking garage. Not until the man is already up in his face, yelling “fucking warlock,” because they can always see it, always smell it on him, like blood he can't scrub clean. 

---

It's over in seconds. 

Ariadne knew she should have put herself between Alex and the stranger, but somehow she doesn’t move until she sees the flash of the knife and the drunk man is suddenly classified hostile. She's not close enough, not quick enough to intervene. 

He has a hand on Alex's shoulder by the time she closes, bodies so close together that she's almost certain the knife must have gone in. Her left arm goes round the man's throat, jerking backwards and down, while her right goes for his knife arm, trying to pin it to his side. Her leading foot scrapes down the inside of his calf as she slams into his back. 

Maybe he's been in a fight or two before, because he doesn't lose his cool. He twists towards her, using his body weight to break her hold. As he shoves her weight onto her back foot, she brings the other knee up between his legs. It's enough to weaken his grip on the knife and she wrenches it out of his fingers and slams it into his gut -- barely aiming, just the closest target. As he doubles forwards, she yanks the weapon back. Her left hand grabs his hair, shoving his head further down. The knife spins in her hand, and she aims for the back of the neck. 

She steps back as he goes down, adrenaline crawling across her skin. Just in time to half-catch a pale-faced, wide-eyed Alex as his legs give out and he crumples. He falls against her and she lets her own legs fold, sitting down hard so that he lands on her instead of on the concrete. 

Oh shit that's a lot of blood. 

"Shit. Where did he get you?" She's manhandling the warlock, dragging him further into her lap so she can reach the wounds. Training provides pattern without needing thought. One hand over each wound, and she pushes down hard.

---

There's blood before there's pain. 

Suffocation, too, before the pain. Feels like drowning. Alex is intimately familiar with the sensation of drowning in his own blood, filling his lungs, but this time he hasn't used any magic. It's the knife, in his lung, and another in his gut, and she's asking him about it, isn't she, his torturer, his goddess, the one he might still redeem --- 

--- she is merely a blurry light in front of him. Her lips move in slow motion, her words echo against his skull. 

Is she the light he sees as he dies? 

He tries to gasp out the word lung but his voice, too, is drowned in blood. 

The pain comes, then, arcing through his body as a warning far too late, the pain is from her hands, she's causing it, isn't she, her hands are twin pillars of fire into his body, and with the pain comes the awareness that he's on her lap, and it's the first time anyone's held him, isn't it? since he left the Resistance. 

His eyes flutter. 

He's so terribly tired.

---

She hopes desperately that there aren't any more holes she hasn't spotted, more than she has hands to cover. It was so quick, surely the knife can't have gone in more than twice, please. She can stop the blood leaving the body but she can't stop it flooding his lungs and for a moment there is panic as she is certain that he's going to die because she wasn't fast enough, didn't lash out soon enough, wasn't careful enough and there's nothing she can do. 

But she's still moving. Even as she watches herself from behind her eyes and thinks she has no idea what to do, she is doing. 

"Stay awake," she orders urgently. "Focus on me, don't you dare pass out! Heal yourself. Use your magic." He's floppy in her arms, not moving, so she risks taking her hand off his chest long enough to grab his wrist and slap his limp hand over the wound. Her own goes straight back over the top, applying the pressure that he's too absent to exert. "Right there," she's still talking, "Heal yourself. Stay awake and heal!" She doesn't know if he can. But he is his own best hope of survival. Her best hope of not losing him. 

Her other hand repeats the manoeuvre, though she winces at how much blood spills from his body in the seconds it takes her to find his other wrist and put his hand in place. A person can survive a lot of blood loss, she reminds herself frantically. This is survivable. It has to be. "Alex! Don't fucking die on me!"

---

Stay awake.... 

...He doesn't want to. The pain is gone. 

Stay awake and heal... 

... heal... 

...don't you dare... 

Tare. They'll hurt Tare. 

He has to bring the magic back. He can't sleep, not yet. 

A blue light flickers into his hands as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth opens, lips red with his blood. His magic can feel it even when he can't see it, even when his brain is threatening to shut down. The wounds his hands cover, they're deep, they're serious, they're life-threatening. A pierce through a collapsed lung, re-inflated. A major vessel punctured, life force flooding out with every thud-thud-thud of his heart. Sewn back together with a press of magic out through hands that tingle. 

The tingling is the only thing he feels, at first, and then he starts to feel more. Starts to feel pain. Unsure why. 

He takes a breath, thick with blood, but he can breathe. Perhaps he has more to give this person. He forces more magic out. Another vessel, closed shut. 

He's cold. So cold. He can't. Not anymore. He's so tired. 

He wonders if he healed enough. He wonders if she'll whip him, if they'll whip him, it doesn't matter the antagonist, all he knows is heal or else whip. 

"P-please," he moans into her lap, and his best guess as to what he's begging for is to not be whipped, but truly he's just begging, for some sort of mercy, into the abyss.

---

He's going cold. Going cold in her arms as he bleeds out his life and heat and she's sticky with his blood and he's dying, dying, like Cae's ghost got inside him and dragged him down to the same death and she is breaking inside. She wants to scream but her chest is so tight that she can't even breathe. 

It's the dream, she tells herself desperately. Don't panic, it's just the dream, it's not real. Just have to wake up...! 

This is always what happens in the dream. He dies, because she isn't fast enough, isn't strong enough, isn't bold enough. Alex, or Cae, or whoever it is tonight. He will always die, because she will never be good enough. She only needs to wake up, but the grief feels real. 

He's cold in her arms. See, it can't be real, real bodies don't cool that fast. Cae was still warm when she got to him. He’s only cold in her dreams. 

"P-please..." 

For a moment, the world stands still. Nothing makes sense. The pieces don't fit together. What new nightmare...? 

Dead people don't cool that fast. But maybe spent warlocks do? She barely knows anything about magical exhaustion, only that it makes them weak, that it makes Alex cough and feel terrible, that it's an opening to be exploited. But she remembers shockingly cold hands pressed against her fevered skin. Remembers skinny bodies shivering - how much Alex shivers, sometimes... 

He's... not dead? 

She doesn't know how to process that either. 

But thankfully, some better part of herself is still ready to take the wheel while higher thought stumbles and stalls. 

"Good," she tells him on autopilot, like she has so many times before. Has he healed himself? Has he done enough to save himself? She can't tell, but panicking won't help either way, and if he has, he has a chance. "Well done. You're doing great. Heal yourself, Alex. No dying on me."

Hospital. He needs an ambulance. No, he's a warlock. Will they know? Can she risk it? She can't move him until the blood will stay inside his body without constant pressure. "Are you awake? Are you with me, Alex?" 

When the magic gutters out a final time and doesn't return, she dares to ease the pressure off and check. Blood doesn't gush at the rate she fears, but she still presses down again quickly, scared to stop. 

"Alex, I need to move you. I'm going to pick you up and carry you back to our room. It's going to hurt, I'm sorry, but you're doing just great.”

---

The pain rushes in as he claws his way back into the light, and he almost wishes he didn't. He's losing the will to moan please. He'll, he'll tell her, he'll tell her what she wants to know, if the pain doesn't stop, if she whips him again now. No, he has told her, he's already told her, he's already lost... 

"P-hhhnnn, please..."

---

“Can you apply pressure for me? Can you push down, like this?" Her hands still over his, over the wounds. "Focus, Alex. Can you apply pressure, if I let go?"

She knows what she's doing. A terrible thing. She told herself she never would again, back when she started to see the way he still freezes when she speaks too firmly. She told herself she never would, but she needs that absolute obedience now, in the face of shock and pain. She needs his everything, lest she lose everything. 

---

She's instructing him. Orders. Push down. He's too cold, too weak. He'll try, he does try, but his hands fall off the wounds, limp and cold, a carved-ice statue of Alex covered in blood. "Sorry -- can't --- please --- please don't hurt me, I --- I don't know ---" 

---

"Okay," she tells him firmly, "That's okay. I believe you. You're doing well." I'm not going to hurt you, she wants to say. But it's a lie. This is going to hurt. She is hurting him, and she feels sick with the knowledge of it. 

She expected worse, when his hands wouldn't stay in place, but there isn't so very much blood this time. No longer pumping. Please, please let that be from healing, and not because he has run out... Is it safe to move him yet? She doesn't want to let him bleed even a little more. But they can't stay here. 

For a moment she feels paralysed, helpless. 

But she makes the decision before she really knows it. She gathers Alex into her arms. He gasps his distress into her shoulder as he's moved. She ignores the little, desperately familiar sound. "You're doing great. I'm just moving you. Just moving you, no torture." 

Minutes ago their room was close. Now the distance feels interminable, with Alex corpse-cold and whimpering in her arms. She jogs, knowing that it will make the pain worse. "Not long," she tells him. "This won't take long. You're good. You don't have to do anything, shh." 

Please let no one see them, stop them, call the police. Please let Alex survive the trip. Please let the supplies she has be enough. Please let the door not stick today, not while she has to half drop Alex, leaning both their weights against the wall while she fumbles with the key.

Even when she's finally able to lay him down on the bed, she can't stop. She's fervently glad she bought the first aid kit despite living with a magic fucking healer. Scissors. Iodine. Steri-strips. Chest seal. What the hell does she do about the blood in his lung? It's been a while since she's needed these skills…

[Next]

[cevans-is-classic]

First Aid

For Anon Request: I read both your fics with the Black Widow!Reader and I wanted to request a part 2 to Soldat where Bucky is stitching her up (honestly poor girl is a mess) and they banter? “Take off your shirt” “Ask me out for dinner first and maybe later you’ll see the goods” Type of banter.

I'm not going to lie, this took me a while to create and I apologize for it being so short. I hope everyone enjoys it.

18+ Only, please. The main warning is mentions of rough medical care and bad banter.

Request are open!

Want more head to My Masterlist

More Marvel? My Marvel Masterlist. (Link to be updated)

She sat down, head dropping as she took a shuddering breath in, and Bucky watched the blood dripping from the wound on her head. Her shoulders were shaking. A rip in her jeans showed the stab wound Karli had caused along her thigh.

“Here,” Sam nudged his shoulder, “Since she won’t let me touch her-” The first aid kit dropped on the table next to him, the thunk echoed through the room, “I’m going to make a call. I’ll be back.”

Bucky could see her watching Sam as he left, eyes tracking his every movement until he disappeared. Her shoulders were still shaking, but the tightened hold of her body had loosened.

“I saw the stab to your side,” Bucky opened up the kit, pulling out stitches, bandages, and saline, “Shirt off.”

She snorted, “At least take me to dinner first.”

Bucky raised a brow, crouching down in front of her and tilting the injured leg to the side, “Pants next.”

Her own brow lifted but, carefully, she stands and starts slipping her pants off, her fingers brushing the wound, and Bucky watches her stave off a wince as she sits back down. The bruising around her leg was dark, wrapping around her calf and up her thigh where he’d watched Walker grab and throw her. He reached forward, sliding his fingers over the area to make sure she had broken nothing. She stays silent as his fingers trace the wound, cleaning as he goes until he can see it easier.

“Seriously,” She hisses, “Wooing is a thing.”

He tilted her leg once more to get a better angle, causing her to curse at him, “I’m sure you’d kill me before the appetizers.”

Her skin was cold, but the wound wasn’t as deep as he’d feared, bandaging it up was easy. She twitched as he applied the ointment and wrapped her up before moving on to her side. This one was deep, crusted over, but once they’d cleaned the blood away, it wasn’t as bad as he’d assumed. Bucky carefully examined it, “Just stitch me up, Soldat.” She muttered head falling onto her arm as she twisted into a better position.

“I don’t prick without consent.” There was some numbing salve in the kit, he’d never seen it before but he hoped it helped as he cleaned the wound once more than spread the surrounding slave, “Lift your arm, it’ll give me better access.”

“So domineering.” She lifts her arm, reaching for the table as Bucky stabs the needle into her skin.

On and on he went examining bruises and cuts, cleaning dried blood, and applying the ointment to a few scraps until he reaches her head, “I don’t know if you have a concussion,” He moves her hair out of the way, cleaning the clotted blood until the cut itself was visible, “Headache?”

“Yeah,” Her eyes closed, “It has a metal arm and took a hit for me.”

It was Bucky’s turn to huff as he stitches the wound, ���Did you name it?”

“I only name things I like.”

“Ouch,” He carefully spreads the ointment over the stitches before bandaging it, “Guess I’ll cancel the honeymoon.”

She snorts, waiting until he leans away before reaching for her shirt, “Wait-” Bucky turns back to the table rifling through the duffle he’d brought with them, “I think there is some extra in here.”

She stayed silent as she changed, wincing here and there until she had settled back in the chair and rested her head against the wall. Bucky watched her again, eyes traveling from wound to wound over and over until she opened her eyes again and leveled a look at him, “Stop doing that.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor, “I think I busted my shoulder.” She admitted slowly he looked back up and watched her try to move her arm before settling it back into her side.

“Don’t know if we have anything for that, but I know some people that can patch you up better.”

She chews at her bottom lip for a beat, “Guess that means you have a tag-along, Soldat.”

Bucky has to hide the smile at the corner of his mouth, “I’ve had worse.”

He could hear Sam making his way back into the room, his footsteps heavy even as far away as he is.

“James,” She stared at him until he finally looked up again, her mouth opening then closing until she seemed to settle, “Tell no one you’ve seen me half-naked. Don’t need any new rumors, after all.”

The teasing felt familiar somehow, more so than the pained jabs from earlier. Bucky finally smiles, “You wish, Doll.”

***

I haven't been in the best headspace and work sort of kicked my ass, but I have works for Moments coming as well as a Chris bit I'm working on.

I hope the anon who requested this enjoys it!!!

[streetlight11]

Dystopia pt 8 (FINALE)

Summary: You were an Amity born. You were taught to value kindness and harmony. But you also valued bravery and knowledge. After the test to see which faction best suited you, you were given the choice to either stay in your faction or leave. When you chose to leave your faction for another, your whole life changed and you wondered if it was the right decision. You pondered over it at first, all until you met him.

Theme: Divergent au, strangers to lovers

Genre: mild action [I tried], angst, fluff, slowburn

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence

WC: 3.6k

Pairing: Trainer!Jungkook x Initiate!FemReader

Tips: In this whole series, Y/N is a few years younger than JK. Those who were initiates like Y/N that just ended the Choosing Ceremony, are all the same age. None of these characters portray who the mentioned people are in real life whatsoever! It's just a fictional character!

a/n: Hello! Guess what? You made it to the end! I know this is a short series but I'm more than thankful if you have made it this far. Although it's quite short for a finale, I hope I didn't disappoint you too much! But anyways, here's the final part for this series :) Enjoyyy

~~~

With hurried steps, all three of them quickly hollered their way through the facility in hopes that they would reach the dorms in time. Jungkook’s heart was beating so fast against his chest, unsure if he could even calm himself down knowing something bad had happened to you. That was the last thing he wanted. From the day he saw you a few weeks back, he knew he would like you.

He knew there was something about you that leaves him being all clammy and nervous despite his amazing skill at hiding his emotions. Jungkook never knew he would manage to get close to you, thinking it was impossible considering he was a trainer and you were an initiate.

However, it looks like fate has a different plan for you and him when he saw you training by yourself in the middle of the night. That was when he first got to have a close interaction with you.

Even though it was just him teaching you basic tips on how to improve your skills for each of the different skill sets, he still got to talk to you and also earn your trust after a while. And as the days gradually went by, it was needless to say that Jungkook had grown so fond of you and even had a crush on you.

Yes, a Dauntless Trainer having a crush on a Dauntless Initiate.

How cute.

Ultimately, it all goes downhill for him as he finally arrives at the shared dormitory, only to find the rest of the initiates crowding around at one spot. The minute Jungkook and Changkyun pushed through the crowd, their hearts stopped for a millisecond upon seeing what the fuss was about.

There you were, cradled in Hyunjae’s arms as Gahyeon was crying with her hands desperately pressing what looks to be a completely blood soaked towel against your throat.

Your throat has been slit, not too deep to kill you but just enough to render you voiceless.

You were just turning around on your bed when you peeked your eyes open out of instinct, feeling as though you were being watched. Except, you weren’t expecting for it to be legit. Because the minute you opened your eyes, there was a hooded figure looming over you with a hand raised to their head level with what looks to be a knife from the Training Room.

Fuck!

Before your mind could react, your body seemed to move faster as your arms swiveled to a cross position over your face right when the person launched his attack to your head.

With the tip of its blade just barely missing your right eye socket.

You used all your energy to shove their hand away using your arms, only to kick their stomach harshly. They stumbled back a little before lunging back at you. However, you quickly rolled out of bed to your left, falling to the ground with a soft thud just as they plunged the blade into the mattress right where your chest would’ve been.

You rushed to your feet, making a break for it to the open toilet but your steps faltered when you felt a sharp stab to your calf.

“Ah! Fuck!” You loudly hissed to yourself.

The blade got pulled out of your leg harshly, only for you to flip around on the ground.

The person kneeled over you as they tried to stab you in the face again but you managed to grab their wrist with both hands. They were strong. A little too strong if you say so yourself. However, for some reason, you felt like you knew this person.

You were struggling. You were struggling hard to push their hand away. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you used all your power to push them back.

For a moment, you were glad that they nearly fell off you.

However, you weren’t mentally and physically ready for what he was about to do next. And that was for him to make one swift swing of his arm. It all happened so fast, you didn’t even realize what he did until you felt something wet trickle down your neck. You tried to curse at them but instead you were shocked when nothing came out of your mouth.

That wasn’t until one of your hands reached up for your throat and you felt it.

The open slit, the feeling of wet liquid, your nostrils filling with the strong smell of copper, and finally, bringing your fingers up to see your fingers coated in your own red crimson blood.

Your mouth hung agape as you tried to speak but there was nothing. Tears welled up in your eyes as the person got up and smirked down at you.

“Goodnight loser. I hope you rot in hell.”

They soon took off running, leaving you there helpless with no voice to scream for help, to tell people who did it. But of course, you weren’t stupid. Despite the lack of light, only an idiot couldn’t catch on easily. For there is only one person who calls you ‘Loser’ right from the start. Your doubts were confirmed the minute that nickname left their lips.

Dumb move Yeonjun.

Since you couldn’t scream for help, you slowly began to drag yourself across the room, leaving a long trail of blood behind your leg where you got stabbed only to reach the end of Gahyeon’s bed.

With one swift grasp, you managed to hold onto her shirt and that was enough to wake her.

It took her a second to realize what happened until she saw the trail of blood on the floor and your bleeding throat that you were desperately putting pressure on. She let out a shrilling scream before yelling for help from the others. Everyone began to panic at the gruesome scene, making Hyunjae cradle you while Yunho rushed out to get help.

Jungkook carried you to the hospital wing, with Gahyeon, Hyunjae, Yunho and Changkyun tagging along. One of the nurses inspected your injury, seeing that you’ve lost quite a bit of blood. She mentioned that they had to give you some blood in order to save you and they have to be the same blood type as yours. After much inspection, it was clear that only Jungkook and Hyunjae shared the same blood type as you.

Both of them offered to donate some of their blood to you to save your life. While the two were being drawn of their blood, Changkyun went ahead and brought the other two back to their dormitory to rest. You were already laying there on the medical bed unconscious which means you couldn’t feel the way Gahyeon gently gave your blood coated hands a small squeeze.

“Please be okay, Y/N.” She whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek. Yunho comforted the girl before they both left with Changkyun.

A few minutes later, the nurse managed to collect as much blood as you probably needed after losing them quite a bit. She placed a bandaid over the spots where she injected the tube in their arms. After she was done, she dismissed the two boys but Jungkook asked if he could stay.

She nodded, setting up the equipment so that the blood she collected from the two gentlemen could be transferred into your body through the IV in your hand.

Hyunjae left after caressing the top of your head, wishing you a speedy recovery.

The nurse went ahead and disinfected your wounds before suturing the open cuts and wrapping them with bandages. Once she was done, she excused herself, leaving you alone with Jungkook as the male went over to scoot his chair closer to your side. Jungkook carefully reaches for your hand that didn’t have the needle attached. He brings it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry this happened to you Y/N. You truly don’t deserve this…” Jungkook whispered as he stood up to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

He felt sorry. He felt sick. He felt confused. But more importantly, he felt furious at whoever did this to you. Of course he didn’t know who but you knew.

You woke up to a sharp pain in your throat, feeling it get itchy like an unusual sore throat. The prickling pain in your right calf made your leg jolt as you shot your tired eyes open. The morning sun filled the room. You carefully looked around to find you alone in the room which looks to be the hospital wing.

Memories from last night suddenly came flashing into your mind like a tsunami, and yet, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around it.

Did that really happen?

Was it all a dream?

You almost didn’t want to believe it until your hands reached up to your throat and you felt the soft material of the bandage taped onto your neck. Of course, your stubbornness was trying to make you think otherwise so you opened your mouth to speak.

Truth be told, nothing comes out of your mouth. Absolutely nothing. Not even a sound.

Your thoughts were swirling, a million things running across your head at that very moment. From the incident last night to the final evaluation test you were supposed to have today. The test was supposed to determine your final results of your initiation. It was supposed to determine whether you get to stay in Dauntless or you get kicked out and become Factionless.

Of course, there are two ways of getting that second option. First is by failing Stage 3, and second is of course by not attending the final test at all.

How wonderful.

As your mind was swirling with these complications, you completely missed the figure that was making their way to you. It wasn’t until they were a few feet from you that you looked up only to lock eyes with Jungkook.

Immediately, a whole swarm of emotions came rushing through you as you began to cry. Jungkook rushed over to you, only to hush you.

“Shh… Shh… Don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re fine. I’m here.” Jungkook cooed as he held you in his arms, feeling the way your arms wrapped around his waist tightly like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. His heart swelled upon feeling his shirt get soaked from your tears.

Your silent cries only made his heart drop even more. Jungkook caressed the back of your head lovingly, making sure to give you small reassuring kisses to the side of your head as a way to hopefully calm you down.

You both stayed like that for a bit before he sang you a sweet song in your ear.

Jungkook felt your body relax in his touch, happy that his singing made you calmer. After a while, he pulled away slowly to look you in the eye. How is it possible that you are just sitting there crying your eyes out and yet you still looked beautiful? Or maybe it’s just him.

Who knows.

Nevertheless, he wipes your tears with his thumbs and soon smiles down at you.

“You’re so strong. You’re a strong girl Y/N. And I really admire you for that.” He whispered. You couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile when you felt him boop your nose with his own. You had so much to say to him. So much you wanted to share with him. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side today. Just then, Jungkook’s smile faltered and it made you curious.

You reached for his wrist where his hand was just cupping your face softly, to catch his attention. You silently asked him what’s wrong through your worried eyes, hoping he could read your mind.

Thankfully, he did.

“The final stage… It starts in 5 minutes. I talked to the leaders about your current condition. I tried my best to change their mind, Changkyun did try too… Unfortunately, the leaders made an agreement to… disqualify you, which means… y-you…” Jungkook paused as he struggled to convey the message to you but you already knew what it meant.

You violently shook your head at him. You had to redeem yourself. You didn’t plan for this to happen. You were forced to be in this damn medical bed out of your own will. Oh if only they saw who did this to you, would they gladly throw him to the Factionless.

“Decision has been made. Since you can’t physically be there, you’re immediately disqualified.” Jungkook said as you shook your head again. There must be something about the way you were staring at him because at that very moment, it was as though you sent him a message through telepathy.

“Wait a minute… For the final test, you don’t need to talk. You… just need to be physically there for the simulation.” Jungkook said in realization as your eyes lit up.

“Does that mean… she’s immediately disqualified?” Gahyeon asked sadly, only for Hyunjae to nod.

“I mean, technically according to the rules, you are supposed to be here physically for the final test… So, I guess that’s true then…” Hyunjae said.

The rest of them who were gathered by the side of the hall where the final stage would take place, shared mostly the same emotions about you not being able to join them which would render you as Factionless by default even after all your hard work.

However, it looks like someone couldn’t care less about you not making it.

“Who cares? She doesn't belong in Dauntless anyway.” Yeonjun rolls his eyes as he walks to the front, leaning against one of the pillars. Your friends exchanged a few glances to one another, not feeling good about the way he said that. A few minutes passed, and they had just finished the test with the third person on the list. All the initiates were anxious as they waited for their turn. Soon enough, the Dauntless leader calls out the next name to be on stage.

“Y/F/N.”

With that, the room fell silent as the initiates looked at each other with deep frowns on their faces. A few beats of silences went by, not a single sign of you anywhere. Meanwhile, Yeonjun had that devilish smirk on his face as he felt satisfied with your lack of presence.

Unfortunately, just as the leader was about to call out the next person on the list, Jungkook’s voice echoed around the hall from the opposite end of where the initiates were gathered. That’s when Jungkook emerged through the double doors with you beside him.

He had one arm wrapped around your waist as you limped your way to the platform where the chair was waiting for you. Your friends cheered for your arrival as they shouted a string of goodlucks to you. Yeonjun growled, totally not expecting to find you still alive.

Maybe he didn’t cut you deep enough.

You immediately recognized the lady who was prepping the tools to put you into simulation, to be the same lady you met on your Initiation test.

After you sat down, Jungkook gave your waist a little squeeze before he smiled down at you and whispered, “Goodluck.”

He soon left your side as the lady asked you if you were ready. You gave her a small nod, letting her inject the needle into your neck right below your ear.

Once the serum had been injected into your system, it took effect right away, bringing you to your first simulation. It was the same simulations you went through during your Stage 2. They were all of your fears connecting one simulation to the other. You managed to remember what Jungkook taught you during the past few weeks and how to properly handle each situation like a fellow Dauntless.

The minute your last simulation ended, you woke up calmly only for the lady to smile.

“You did well.” She complimented you as she helped you sit up. Jungkook came to your side and very gently led you off the platform.

“Good job. Looks like my tips worked huh?” Jungkook asked, to which you smiled, feeling shy all of a sudden. He guided you to the side only for your friends to rush over to you.

“Sweetie! You’re okay! How are you?” Gahyeon asked as she hugged you, making you return her hug. You showed an ‘okay’ sign with your hand before Yunho ruffled your hair. “Of course you are, you’re a beast Y/N.” His comment made some of them laugh, including you. Just then, your eyes drifted to your left only to meet Yeonjun’s fiery eyes.

All you wanted to do was throw him in The Pit. The last thing you wanted was to see his competitive ass everyday from now on.

However, you weren’t going to kill him despite all the pain he’s caused you.

After letting you meet up with your friends, Jungkook brought you back to his penthouse to let you rest. He carefully laid you down on his bed, pulling his blanket up to your chest while you snuggled into his side with your head resting on his chest. Jungkook chuckled as he caressed your hair, tucking them behind your ear, making sure to let his fingers softly trace the side of your face as he did so.

“No matter what the results are, I’m never leaving your side. That, I can promise you.” Jungkook said softly as you tilted your head up to look at him. You wished you could speak. You wished you could verbally say this to him outloud. Unfortunately you couldn’t.

In the end, you opted for the saying ‘Actions speak louder than words’ and so, with that being said, you lifted your head up and used your left elbow to prop your body up on the mattress.

Jungkook watched you carefully as you slowly leaned in only to press your lips softly on his. Almost instantly, he wrapped one arm around your waist while the other allowed his fingers to tangle into your soft locks. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek, letting your thumb trace the scar he had on his left cheekbone. You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled away for a breath.

His eyes fluttered open to find your cute ones staring back at him. Jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle as he gently massaged your scalp in a calming manner.

“If that is your way of telling me what I think it is, then I’ll be the one to confirm verbally that I feel the same way too…” Jungkook’s voice was smooth and sultry in your ears, it almost made you melt into a puddle. Almost.

So with one more kiss from him, your heart raced in your chest as he pulled away to let his lips hover over yours before he said the words you’ve been meaning to tell him.

“I love you Y/N.”

Prologue

6 months had passed, you ended up staying in Dauntless together with Gahyeon, Hyunjae and Yunho. Right after the final stage, you gave Jungkook the weapon Yeonjun used to attack you the night before the final stage. After investigating the weapon and finding evidence that confirms Yeonjun was indeed the attacker, he was immediately thrown out of Dauntless. Rendering him Factionless.

Yes, that jerk deserved it.

Yunho was given the role of a guard due to his unfortunate ranking but hey, at least he wasn’t Factionless.

Gahyeon was a trainer for Dauntless-born initiates while you and Hyunjae were trainers for faction transfers. Although, you only started becoming one after the 3rd month when you were starting to be able to talk again.

And how was your relationship with Jungkook, might I ask?

Well, just splendid.

Your relationship with him only grew stronger each day as he took care of you during the first few months when you still had difficulties to talk. He was always there for you when you needed someone to back you up in heated arguments.

Jungkook took you to visit your parents the day after the final stage. No doubt your parents got upset over what happened to their daughter, they were more than thankful that you were still alive and that Jungkook was there to keep you sane. As the months go by, Jungkook’s feelings for you bloomed.

Today was another day of training for you and your initiates where you managed to guide the new initiates along with Hyunjae’s help.

You were just standing off to the side, letting Hyunjae take over for the knife throwing session when you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms wrapping itself around your waist. You giggled as you turned your head to find Jungkook’s face just mere inches away from yours.

“Not here, love… We’re in the middle of training.” You whispered, earning a soft chuckle from him before he peppered your cheek with kisses.

“Can’t I just give my beautiful girlfriend some loving kisses before I go to my meeting?” Jungkook teased, making you giggle.

“Aren’t you being needy?” You laughed.

“Only when I miss you…”

“We literally saw each other an hour ago, Kook.”

“I know.” Jungkook grinned cutely at you only for you to push his face away gently while you laughed.

“Hmm, needy indeed.”

“Hey…” He pouted at you. Of course your heart couldn’t bear to see his sad pout so you turned to face him completely. Reaching up with both hands to hold his face, you pressed your lips on his before pulling away to see his silly smile on his face.

“I love you.” You whispered as you felt him hug you.

“I love you more.”

That was the last thing you heard as Changkyun’s voice beckons your boyfriend over from a few feet behind Jungkook. “Come on lovebird, we gotta go… See you later Y/N.” Changkyun chuckled as he wiggled his index finger towards Jungkook. Your boyfriend gives you one last kiss before he jogs over to his older friend.

Maybe joining Dauntless wasn’t as bad as you thought after all.

~~~

Previous

a/n: Thank you for reading this series! Do check out my other fics if you're interested to read more of my writings! ❤️

Main Masterlist

Taglist: @moonchild1 @danyxthirstae01 @helenazbmrskai @jenna-posts @pimentelssmile

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Prime Time,Bitch!

Tagged: @spnquotebingo the keep reading function is messing up for me

Sam said he was locked up tight in the dungeon. He was never locked in with her. She was locked in with him. The hunter becomes the hunted with no where to run.

Warning: Mature Language,Blood,Gore,Character Death?

-"Thoughts"- (they are red for those who can see)"Quotes" 'Reading'

"I'll be right back. This demon side is fighting to stay in control. I just need a few more pints of blood." Sam said as he slung a bag on his shoulder. "Yeah I got it get some food to!" Y/n said with a smile as she walked him to the impala. The roar of the engine rumbled as she waved him off going back inside what she didn't know was Dean knew that Sam just left and a chilling smile grew on his face.

Y/n popped popcorn as she sat in her room a horror movies playing as she got comfortable. A scream came from the movie drowning out the sound of the dungeon door opening up. The youngest Winchester laughed as a girl tripped over nothing her and Dean always make fun of them they had no real reason to hit the ground so they should get right up. This made her slightly sad. Was Sam going to fix Dean or was it already to late for him? Shaking off the thought the killer was about to crush the women's skull when the power cut out,but the red emergency lights didn't cut on yet which was weird. "God damnit." She grumbled getting up and grabbed a flashlight and went to the breaker to fix it walking right past the open door. Flipping the switch the normal lights don't turn on only the red ones and she turned around to get her phone to call Sam when she dropped her flashlight. Y/n gazed at the empty chair in the center of a devils trap she took off running to her room,but paused he knew she would run there for her phone and Dean or the demon he's become won't let her get help. She changed course to Sam's panic room to hide.

"Oh N/n where are you? I miss my little sister don't you miss me?" A metal sound of something dragging on the floor made her tense. Thinking of all possible things it could be of how she's going to die.–'It could be a bat,but we don't have any metal ones in the bunker. Maybe a sledgehammer,but that would have ment he when into the garage and the power going out would have locked everything.''– Her eyes widen as she released what it was he must have been carrying around she was sharpening it with the rest of the blades earlier that day."Have you figured it out yet? I know how you think when a horror movie is playing you see ever scenario before the movie can catch up. No wonder Sammy says you cheat at Clue!" Dean laughed as he seemed to wander to each room. The sound of wood splitting as he yelled "Here's Johnny!!!" It seemed so much worse that Dean was the evil this time a normal demon would know her so personally this seemed almost cruel him quoting films they watched together. "What to clichés? I admit the axe is old school."

The panic room the size of a cubbie it was so small,but just big enough I could calm down and think properly. Looking up another version of myself sat in front of me...my conscience. I could speak,but she could she's in my head after all. –"You can't run. There's nowhere to go doors locked down the moment the lights went."– I saw a illusion of myself running through the halls just to hit a corner and get a axe to the chest before it faded away. –"Can't go for your phone or your laptop he probably broke it the moment he noticed you weren't in your room."– I saw myself creep into my room just to see a shattered phone and my laptop with a cracked screen buffering to open instant messenger to text Sam. The laptop was slammed shut on my fingers causing some to break and get sliced by the glass looking up the sick grin of the Demon caught my eye before the axe ended that path. –"The burner. The one in your dresser Dean doesn't know about it so neither would the demon.Get it and get back here as quickly as possible. "– It was settled call for help. Listening for any foot steps I creep out of the hiding space a faint whistle going off down one of the many halls way from my room. Sneaking down the hallway staying low I get to my room where the door is torn to shreds as I open my drawer and fish out the phone. Going back down the hallway I get back to Sam's room and immediately call him.

"This call has been forwarded to a automatic voice message at the tone ples–" Hanging up I call again and again with no answer. At this point help was no longer a option. The whistling seemed to get closer and I rushed to the panic room until I paused. –"A enclosed space in a closet. There's not much space to move around if he finds you there your done for."– I back away slightly. –"Behind the door offers a easy place to hide and get out,but if he does the same to Sammy's door he did to yours it's not much of a hiding spot then."– A axe goes through the door creating a massive hole and Dean peaks inside and sees the white of you tank top in your (f/n) flannel. The door was whole again as I looked around the sound of metal getting louder running out of time. –"Under the bed allows you to see him without him seeing you,but like the panic cubbie not a lot of wiggle room if he hears you your done."– It was too late running to the metal door of the panic room she slams it shut not to loud to sound like she's trying to hide it,but just loud enough for the demon to register it. Sealing it shut I slip under the bed and wait for the time to get out and hopefully find a weapon.

Boots walked into the room turning to the closed closet. "Oh N/n!~ There's only so many places to hide in such a small room. Did you really think I wouldn't hear that heavy ass door close?" He chuckled darkly as he opened the closet and went to the small door. Dean tried turning the wheel to unsealed it,but it seemed to dawn on him that it could only be opened from the inside. With a huff anger he began pulling the brick of the wall started to bend outwards and crack. I was glad I wasn't in there. Going to slip out from under the bed while he's distracted the burner phone rang its annoying ringtone. Not even bothering to stop it I rush to get out faster,but a firm grip caught my ankle and dragged me out. Turning onto my back Dean stood their his apple green eyes staring at me. "Found you." He lifted up the axe having let go of my ankle lifting up my feet I put as much strength as possible into kicking his stomach. The demon was knocked back into the closest hitting the ground. Unfortunately axe still in hand. Stanfing up I ran leaving the phone behind. -"Sam took Baby so the trunk armory is out of the question. The garage has so pretty handy tools too bad that it was sealed along with the front and only entrance. Kitchen has knifes none that can hurt him,but just enough to slow him down. Library demon blade was in there last you checked,but Sam could have grabbed and put it on a high shelf."– Too many options and the kitchen was closer so that was the first stop grabbing a knife I held it tightly as a stalked slowly to the Library to see if there were any supernatural weapons.

The library was dark and the red lighting barely lit up the large room. "Would you like to play a game?" Dean mocked in a deep voice as he went around the bunker his voice echoing no real pinpointing where he is. I can't call Sam and prying to Cas hasn't worked meaning Dean made angel banishing symbols in most of the rooms. Y/n was getting desprit the bunkers massive size most of it was unexplored by them so being lost in a underground maze b wasn't the best option. "Are you scared yet Y/n? Well be afraid. Be very afraid. I'm what goes bump in the night sweetheart! Never thought the Winchester’s downfall will be by the hands of the oldest. What a twist!!! Right?" Dean yelled turning to the table I saw the supplies I cleaned with,but the weapons were gone and a note was left on in their place. 'Hey Y/n I put the weapons back into the trunk for tomorrow's hunt so you wouldn't have to...you're welcome and your blade was just sitting on the table so I put it up. ~Love Sam' I wanted to cry oh chuck nothing can save me in this buncker Bobby was sending us gallons of holy water next week because we were low...all rooms were demon proof,but he seemed to be a exception now,so no calling Crowley either.

Turning around the library doors open and I duck behind one of the many shelves. "Welcome to my nightmare!~" He said with a chuckle that bounced from every wall. Dean knocked down books and destroyed anything in his way while he looked around. Crawling on the ground I go to leave when the sound of something whooshing in the arm made me drop like a bag of rocks. The axe meet the shelf and I gazed at the red illuminated face of my brother eyes now black and demented. Laughter bubbled out of his chest as he mumbled. "Carful dear wouldn't want to lose you head." Yanking the axe free many books tumbled down. Taking the kitchen knife in hand I slash his calf and go for his thigh when the knife is flung out of my hands. "You little bitch!!!" He hissed now holding the knife and showing it into my stomach. A silent cry came from my lips bot to give him the satisfaction of my screams just yet. I look up at him and just past his head where I couldn't normally reach was the handle of my blade peeking over the shelf.

I begin to giggle and it turns into fits of laughter. Black eyes flicker back to confused green ones. "What's so funny?" I catch my breath as I lean up slightly. "You picked the wrong place to corner me. Wanna play?" Grabbing his knee and pulling it buckled under him causing Dean to hit the shelf letting the blade fall freely. Reaching out I catch it "Let’s play." Stabbing upward into his stomach the same place the knife was lodged in my own stomach. He howled in pain as I removed the blade and ran keeping pressure on the knife wound as I turned corners just to get away. -'He played with your head play with his. The intercomes...a good distraction can lead him away and let you get the jump.'- I hurry to the intercoms not before making a pit stop.

Demon!Dean POV

I growl at the wound on my body the little shit stabbed me. This makes killing her so much easier then she can be just like me. Grabbing the axe I stomp through the bunker. "What a excellent day for an exorcism." Her voice sounded through the speakers now I know were she is. "Would you like that?" I said aloud with a grin. "Intensely." Y/n said trying to make her voice horse before the clipping sound of the intercom stopping rang out before being replaced with a creepy melody that always scared her. "There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." My ear drums almost burst at the loud deep voiced scream ears still ringing I didn't register the blade being driving into my sholder flinging her back I turn around as she's running down the narrow hallway taking the axe with both hands throw it straight and the axe hit her almost dead center in the spine. The audio cut off after the song and I stood over her. Y/n had her face turned coughing up blood I definitely hit her lung. "Thanks for catching it for me." I smile as I heavily put my foot on the small of her back pulling the axe out. She screamed out it was mildly gurgle from the blood. Turning her over my little sisters eyes shined with unshed tears. "Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." I said with a small whipping the few that slipped by she whimpered Sam's name and I grew frustrated. Lifting the axe again. "Looks like you couldn't make the cut,N/n. Just another extra that stuck around for too long." Dropping the axe down it went into her chest the creaking of her collar bone and sternum were whispers compared to the blood curdling cry. They soon died out as her skin paled and her breathing stopped she'llmake a strong demon. "See you soon." Taking the axe out I begin to drag her body.

The lights in the bunker cut back on meaning Sammy was home. Having placed her perfectly in the chair I was tied to I wait until he finds her standing next to the door. "Y/n?! Y/n!?" He yelled most likely having gone to her room rushing the the dungeon his heavy foot steps abruptly stopped. "Oh God! Y/n come on!" The moose of a man rushed in the room cradling her face in his hand. "You were too late, Sammy. She called your name before she went,but I guess five missed calls wasn't enough for you to rush home. N/n fought for so long waiting it out just for you to never show." I said closing the door as he turned to me standing infront of her corpse. "You didn't make things easy on her. I mean you took all the weapons and put the only thing to defend herself on the top shelf...like keeping the cookie jar way from a child. In some way you killed her before I could." Lifting the demon blade that had his own blood on it. I stalked towards him cornering him in the room. "Sure you won't give me a good chase,but woah she wore me out." Holding the blade to his throat when a gun shot fired and a sting hit my arm causing me to drop the knife.

Y/n stood colt in her left hand the axe keeping her up in her left. "Demons always so sure that what's dead is dead and can't be undead. Ever heard of a pulse jackass. " so distracted that she was alive Sam was able to restrain and she held a handful of bags of blood. "Let's get this over with." She bagan to inject me and I felt myself become mire human and I started thrashing hard. With the last vile in hand she looked into my eyes. "You should be dead." I hissed as she pushed the needle in. "Sorry. I'm into survival."

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

A/n This is the last one in round one of the Spnquotebingo and I ended with a dozen quotes.

Title: "Prime Time,Bitch!" Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

"Here's Johnny!" -The shinning

"Would you like to play a game?" - Saw

"...be afraid. Be very afraid"- The fly

"Welcome to my nightmare."- Nightmare on Elm Street

"..lose your head." Alice in Wonderland

"Wanna play?"- Child's Play

"What a excellent day for an exorcism...Would you like that?....Intensely." - The Exorcist

"There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." - The Conjuring 2

"Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." - Hellraiser

"See you soon." - Coraline

"She called your name before she went,but I guess..." -Hadestown

"...what's dead is dead and can not me undead." -Jacksepticeye (DBD playthrough)

"I'm into survival." ‐Nightmare on Elm Street

[afraidofchange]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖙.

𝖇𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖘  .

full name. Natalia “Nikita” Antonovna  nicknames / aliases.  Nikita is her main alias, only goes by that in America. Niki. That bitch. size. 5′9′’. age. 43. zodiac. Scorpio  spoken languages. Russian, passable English

𝖕𝖍𝖞𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘  .

hair colour. dark brown, grows in thick. growing out her bangs.  eye colour. light blue skin tone.  pale white, tends to burn in too much sunlight.  body type. tall, lean, smaller chest with more curve to her hips and thighs than one might expect. Not super strong, but for a smoker she can run pretty fast. dominant hand. right.  posture. decent, but almost always seems like she’s ready to bolt (she is) scars. scars on her hands and arms from working in the labour camp prison; has at least 2 stab wound scars.  tattoos. Many. She has a Russian orthodox cathedral on her chest and cross with a woman crucified on her back,  both received in prison. She has many others, on her knuckles, a gun on her calf. Some have meaning, some don’t. She likes the sting of the tattoo needle. birthmarks. A mole on her left hip.  most noticeable features. she’s really pretty even if she looks really rough around the edges; smokes enough that she has nicotine stained fingers. Wears bright cheap red lipstick constantly. Wears thrifted clothing.

𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖉  .

place of birth. Saint Petersburg, Russia siblings. Her two eldest brothers died in a car accident. 2 younger siblings: Anatoli and Nadia.  parents. Her mother and father are still alive, but she has been disowned. 

𝖆𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊  .

occupation. arms dealer; part-time waitress at a shitty 50s style diner.  residence(s). shitty NYC apartment within walking distance of said diner, as well as her rented storage locker. close friends. she doesn’t trust people lol. relationship status. considers herself single til she catches feelings.  criminal record.  charged with possession and trafficking, served 8 years in a prison labour camp in Russia; has yet to be ~caught~ in the US. 

𝖘𝖊𝖝 & 𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊  .

sexual orientation. “bisexual” but she doesn’t really use the label. men are easier to get with, but she likes women the same - she finds women aren’t as disappointing, usually.  preferred sexual role. in charge libido. high turn-ons. hairy masculine men, pretty women, praise, getting handsy turn-offs. bad smelling, overconfidence, selfish lovers love language. Touch / gifts.  relationship tendencies. Usually doesn’t let people get close with her line of work / distrusting personality; but she tends to fall hard once she does trust them and lives in the moment. She’s had a broken heart before, but that’s life. 

𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖔𝖚𝖘  .  

hobbies to pass time. knife play :’) (5 finger filet); darts; billiards; drinking, smoking, fucking.  mental illnesses. she definitely dealt with Depression(tm) when she was in prison but it doesn’t impact her so much now that she’s out. self-confidence level.  she knows she’s good at what she does, but sometimes falters socially.

Tagged by: @sleazygoing​ thank u !!! <3 Tagging:  @suresaint​ @archeolgst​ @heincus​ @hayvani​ ! anyone else, steal it and tag me!

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 10

thank you all for your patience. these updates will probably because fortnightly rather than weekly since im swamped with uni work now, but i still love my boys dearly and i love YOU all for reading!

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley (please ask to be added or removed!

CW: pet whumpee, hospitals, dehumanisation, burning

-

It would have been a great mercy for Rowe to drift slowly awake, pulled towards lucidity by his aching legs. Instead, in an instant he was wide awake and screaming as unfamiliar hands touched and gripped and pulled. Rowe weakly pushed them away before he realised what was going on. How could I- I was trained to never resist. How can this happen? What is wrong with me?

‘’See how far non-compliance gets you,’’ came a voice. Rowe squinted against the light to see two people in elbow-length gloves, with masks and cold eyes looking back at him. One of them- the taller of the two- reached to either side of him to click open what looked like handcuffs. ‘’In. If you don’t make a fuss I won’t clip your legs. You wouldn’t want that with the state they’re in, would you?’’

Rowe shook his head desperately. He could barely listen through the terrible pain, but he was programmed to understand commands, and had learned to understand threats. The tall one gave a little grunt and spread Rowe’s arms wide, locking them in place on either side of the thin mattress he was laying on. Rowe vaguely considered that Master Tomas had given him an especially nice mattress at home.

His bed at home. His room. The nice carpet soaked with his blood while he lay there, helpless, Kasia swinging the hammer down again and again, and Rowe able to feel his hatred with every impact. Master had found him, Rowe remembered. He had taken him here. Was he being put down?

He felt something trickling down his temples. Tears. When did I start crying?

He shook his head, trying to push all these questions out of his head. Pets don’t cry. I don’t cry- I shouldn’t cry. I’m just a thing that feels pain and serves. I can lie here and take this. Master left me here; this is what he wants.

‘’Right…’’ The tall one said. Rowe blinked quickly and saw her inspecting his wounds. ‘‘When did you get these?’’

‘’Th-this afternoon, I-‘’

Rowe’s voice died away when he saw the look she was giving the short doctor, who bent to grab something from the compartment strapped to the end of the bedframe.

‘’Oh dear. I don’t remember you having permission to speak. Muzzle, if you please, Dr Clerval.’’

The shorter doctor- Clerval- handed it to her and Rowe went limp reflexively. This muzzle looked sharp, and cruel, and as the taller doctor fastened it to Rowe’s face he felt it cut into the skin around his ears and the corners of his mouth. The bit was cold, keeping his tongue pinned down.  

‘’Now,’’ she said, ‘’you’re going to be a good Pet, aren’t you? We’re doing you a kindness, after all.’’

Rowe nodded, lowering his eyes. The tall doctor smiled, and Rowe saw her push some sort of sharp instrument into him, and then he started screaming.

-

The woman who had summoned Tomas introduced herself as Gwen. Her Mary Janes echoed through the corridor as they spoke.

‘’Can I see him?’’

‘’Your Pet? I’m sorry, sir, he won’t be out for a while.’’

‘’Then… what did you want me for?’’

‘’We actually had a few issues with your paperwork and just need a few signatures off you, if you don’t mind. Right in here, please.’’

They entered a warm office and Gwen gestured for Tomas to sit in a plush, deep buttoned chair.  

‘’Okay. I have here your Pet’s file, but it seems you’re not the official owner.’’

‘’Huh?’’

‘’When you received your Pet, did you sign any paperwork?’’

‘’No… I didn’t.’’

‘’Well, your P-‘’

‘’His name is Rowe. Sorry- for interrupting, but he has a name. If that’s easier.’’

Gwen gave him the gentle smile of a vet explaining to a child why their sweet pet had to be put down. ‘’Of course, Mr Grz- may I call you Tomas? Great. Currently Rowe is listed as unclaimed, under the legal ownership of a Pet rehoming organisation. Is this where you got him from?’’

‘’Yeah. I have a friend who works there.’’

‘’I see. Well your friend has forgotten to give you the appropriate paperwork. What this means is that Rowe is not officially your property yet- you can’t take people to court if they damage or steal him.’’

‘’Right. Shit. How do I get this paperwork?’’

‘’I have it here, since you need to be the legal owner to submit him for medical treatment. This will establish that you are Rowe’s acting owner, but you need to get your friend to sign too, okay?’’

Gwen handed Tomas a single sheet of paper and a pen. So simple, Tomas thought. One bit of A4 for the right to Rowe’s life.

‘’Thank you,’’ he said as he signed, printing his name below it in his delicate script. 

‘’Great,’’ beamed Gwen. ‘’And now we can discuss your payment.’’

‘’Payment? Isn’t this… isn’t this on the NHS?’’

‘’No,’’ she said patiently, ‘’just as animals aren’t covered, neither are Pets.’’

Tomas’s goodwill towards Gwen was dissipating quickly. He would pay, of course. But for Rowe- his Rowe- to be considered closer to an animal than a human made him stiffen. Gwen seemed to notice this and pressed on.

‘’Oh, but don’t worry, it’s not going to be expensive. Pet treatment is far simpler than treating a human.’’

Gwen didn’t elaborate, and Tomas didn’t enquire, if only to preserve his own sanity. The floor, he noticed, was the same shade of cream as Rowe’s room. He looked away quickly. He could still smell the blood- could still hear the way Rowe had screamed and moaned when he lifted him up. Tomas didn’t even know how conscious he had been then. Did he think Tomas was hurting him more on purpose? Would he think Tomas was angry? Probably. Tomas would have to be very, very patient when Rowe was discharged and started begging for forgiveness for wasting his Master’s time.

-

The muzzle only hurt when Rowe shifted, now. It had sunk into his flesh and stayed there, and Rowe could ignore the pain up until a movement made it flare. In a way, he was happy that he couldn’t speak- he always made things worse by speaking, and although he did his best to make Master Tomas happy, he sometimes wished he would be granted a muzzle and the safety of silence.

He had stopped screaming, mostly. The bit had sliced his tongue so badly he wondered if he would even be able to speak once it was taken off. As Dr Clerval and the other doctor, whose name was Easton, dug into his calves, he just moaned and spasmed involuntarily. His chest, still brightly lined with Kasia’s cuts, strained and lifted with every new jolt of pain.

The pain was awful- acute pain- different to the wide, messy whacks of the hammer. Rowe could feel every stab of the instrument, a million precise cuts, sinking into his skin and then leaving just as quickly. He hoped he wouldn’t throw up. He tried to focus on the fact that he wasn’t being put down, at least.

He had never been to hospital before. When his old master had whipped him, or poured boiling water on him, or beaten him unconscious, he had always had the night to recover and then it was back to work. If he couldn’t do that, he was given the morning off and forced to sleep outside for the next week as penance. He was always so grateful when old master allowed him that.

Anaesthetic wasn’t wasted on Pets, Rowe knew that. Master Tomas knew that too, undoubtedly. Don’t worry sir, no need to punish your Pet yourself. After all, you’ve already wasted enough time on it. We’ll make sure it suffers so it knows not to bother you again.

More stabbings in his legs. It felt like he was being stitched up. That made sense, at least. Rowe’s old master was kind, far kinder than Rowe deserved, and would always tell him why he was being hurt. He felt the same amount of comfort here. He was being hurt for a reason. Kasia’s beating had been made all the more unbearable because he hadn’t cited any insolence, any misstep. He had barely said anything at all.

On either side of him were dark green curtains, but beyond them he could hear screams, and wails. He wondered how many injured Pets were in here with him, just out of sight. He had never met another Pet before.

Another jolt of pain brought him back to the present. Dr Easton was looming over him with a- a- Rowe’s head went dizzy with fear. Dr Easton had a thick metal rod in one gloved hand, and the end was white-hot and smouldering. She held it near Rowe’s face and he pulled away as far as he could against his restraints, the whites of his eyes glinting in the sterile light. He could tell that underneath her mask was a wicked smile.

‘’We’ve got one or two pesky wounds that might get infected. But we’ll see to that. Do you know what cauterisation is?’’

Rowe nodded, and this seemed to be the right answer, because the rod was taken away from his face. Before he could relax, though, Easton pressed the burning end into Rowe’s calf.

His eyes rolled into his head as he bucked and thrashed, his screams mixed with desperate, anguished sobs. His thoughts were running wild with helpless pleas- not this not this not this, I���ll do anything to make the pain stop, please Master I’m so sorry, please I’ll do anything, just not this, not this.

It didn’t calm down when the rod lifted from his leg, after the longest few seconds of Rowe’s life. No sooner had he even registered the change was the pain was transferred to another wound, further up the same leg. He felt like a wild animal, screaming in a way he had never screamed before, guttural and horribly altered due to the muzzle. Rowe didn’t even recognise the sounds. The pain was worse, so much worse than the boiling water or the whip, he couldn’t even form coherent thoughts anymore, he couldn’t see, everything he knew in that moment was pure, awful pain.

Eventually, the cauterisation was done. Rowe felt exhausted, and more than anything, he felt scared. He missed Master Tomas so, so badly. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he dreamed of being back in Master’s living room. His legs worked, and he wasn’t damaged goods. He was pretty. He was a good Pet and Master ruffled his hair. Good boy.

Master never said that to him. He told him he was good, but no more. He had ruffled Rowe’s hair, and hugged him once when he was drunk, but he never ordered Rowe to kneel at his feet and let himself be pet. For all that he was terrified of his old master, Rowe cherished the days where he was good and allowed to lay his head on old master’s thigh and feel his rough hands card through his hair.

Rowe knew it was still early- he hadn’t been Master Tomas’s property for even a fortnight yet- but he couldn’t help wondering sometimes what he was doing wrong. He fucked up so much, but Master never got mad, and told him he was good, but never went further than that.

But right now, in the space between awake and asleep, Rowe indulged in his most gentle fantasy. He felt Master stroke his hair, a million miles away from the blood-stained mattress and his calves wrinkled with stitches like seaweed on the ocean floor.  

[deansmom]

this is a draft from some time in s12 with background established deancas, tattooed!dean and mary getting to know dean. (ao3)

The first time Mary patches Dean up after a hunt, he tries not to squirm. 

He’s sitting on the motel bed in Cas’ running shorts and nothing else because he’s got a huge gash across his chest and twenty minutes ago he had a knife sticking out of his shin. Vonnegut is staring up at him from his thigh. 

Dean’s had worse. Hell, he’s stitched up worse on his own - but this time his mom was there.

Mary comes out of the bathroom and freezes in the doorway, blinking at him.

He offers her and awkward wave and winces at the movement.

It seems to snap Mary out of it because she shakes her head a little and walks over, “Sorry, I just...” 

She makes a noise that Dean thinks is supposed to be a laugh.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos.”

Dean smiles a little bit to himself, amused, “You’ve seen the protection sigil.”

Mary rolls her eyes and sets the first aid kit on the bed next to him, “Yeah, I’ve seen the protection sigil but I didn’t know that you had Vonnegut on your thigh.”

Something in Dean’s chest clenches and melts all at once and the sudden rush of emotion knocks all the wind out of him.

He licks his lips and has to clear his throat to get any words to come out. His voice cracks, “You like Vonnegut?”

Mary laughs quietly as she pours the vodka from the trunk over the stab wound. Dean sucks in a breath and grips the mattress, biting his tongue to keep from yelping. 

“He was one of my favorite authors,” she explains, dabbing the wound with some gauze. “Slaughterhouse-Five is one of the only books I read after graduating.”

Dean hisses, not sure what to say.

Mary finishes cleaning the wound up and out and sits back against the other bed while she gets the bandage, gauze and tape together. 

“It’s... beautiful.” 

Dean looks up, surprised and a little embarrassed. It’s nothing special. It’s old and faded now and it needs to be touched up soon. Some random kid the year he dropped out of high school threw a party and his older brother had a tattoo gun. Dean gave the kid his last twenty bucks and got a pretty solid, but still shit tattoo at sixteen.

John wanted to kill him.

He tells Mary as much as he leans back on the bed, “He didn’t see it until we were on a hunt when I was eighteen. I thought he was gonna hand me over to the vampires we were hunting.”

She doesn’t say much, just lets Dean talk and tell her about how angry John was and all the awful stuff he said to their son.

Mary can see some other tattoos peeking out from under Dean’s shorts and on his lower calf. They’re all older and faded, and she feels like she’s stumbled onto something she’s not supposed to see. 

She finishes bandaging up his shin and pats the other knee gently, “Ok kiddo, you ready for me to clean up your chest?”

It takes her a moment to get off the floor, using Dean’s good knee as a brace to do so. He offers her a hand but she just waves him off, “I’m fine, you’re the one who looks like shit.”

Dean laughs, a genuine laugh, before moving to lay fully on the bed.

“Gee, thanks mom. That makes me feel better.”

Mary pokes his armpit as she sits next to him, reorganizing the first aid kit. She catches a glimpse of another tattoo near Dean’s armpit and spends half a second too long staring at it.

Dean shifts a little bit on the bed, “You’re gonna give a guy a complex.”

She shakes her head, laughing at herself, “Sorry, sorry, I just -”

Mary looks at him again, trying to broadcast acceptance with her expressions and body language. 

“I’ve been around you for a while now Dean and I had no idea you had tattoos.”

She smiles tiredly and looks away quickly, grabbing the vodka again. 

“Just seems like something a mom should know.”

The room goes quiet again while Mary works on cleaning Dean up. The tick tick ticking of the old clock in the kitchen fills the silence of the motel room.

In the room next to them the TV is blasting some infomercial. There’s a car in the parking lot that has their bass turned all the way up and if Dean closes his eyes, he can almost feel the bass.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, anything, and Cas opens up the motel door with dinner in hand. 

He lets out a breath and smiles, some of the tension in the room and most of the tension in Dean’s body dissipates.

“Burgers? You’re awesome.”

  Once the case is done and they make it back to the bunker, Dean finds Mary in the library. She’s flipping through one of the big tombs. 

Sometimes Dean thinks it’s funny just how much of his mom he sees in Sam. If Mary had brown hair and was freakishly tall, they’d look identical in this moment.

The air switches on and the clank of the old metal startles Mary, making her look up at Dean. “Oh, hey.”

Dean offers her a small smile, “Hey.”

He’s nervous. He hasn't’ been able to stop thinking about what Mary said in the hotel room - things that a mom should know about her son. 

It’s not a big deal, it really isn’t, but... it is. His tattoos are all small and objectively bad, but they’re little pieces of who he is. They represent all the different parts and important people of Dean’s life and they’re... personal. 

“I, um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a couple tattoos.”

If Mary’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Oh,” she says. “Ok.”

“The Vonnegut one, you saw...” Dean clears his throat and shifts on his feet, “And uh, I have dad’s dog tags - that’s what was by my armpit.”

He raises his arm just enough so that Mary can see the edge poking out of his sleeve. She lets out a small breath and gets out of the chair like she wants to walk over to Dean.

He interrupts her before she can say or do anything else, “And, uh, I have the opening chord progression from Hey Jude on the other thigh. Cause...” Dean shrugs kinda helplessly, “Y’know.”

Mary looks like she wants to cry.

Dean coughs, clearing his throat, “And, uh, Sam’s birth and death days on this side of my ribs.” He pauses for a beat, something occurring to him, “I should probably update that one.”

That startles a laugh out of Mary, “Yeah, probably.”

He hesitates for a moment, suddenly nervous to tell her what the other two are.

They’ve made a conscious decision to never hide their relationship, but they don’t go around parading it either. And for one terrifying moment, Dean wonders if his mom knows that he’s in love with his best friend who’s also an angel. 

“Um,” Dean clears his throat, his voice going deeper all of a sudden. “And uh - this one.”

He pulls his jeans down just about an inch on his left hip to reveal a line of enochian in white ink. It’s the newest one Dean has even though it’s already a couple years old. It’s beautiful small, fragile line work with some red outlining to make certain letters pop. 

Mary steps closer, about to lean down to look at it before realizing what she’s doing.

Dean laughs nervously and shrugs, “It’s fine.”

She smiles and gets close enough to just look at it, but not touch, “It’s beautiful.”

The compliment makes Dean’s heart swell a little bit, “Thanks. It’s my favorite one.”

Mary stands up fully, meeting his eyes with a kind smile, “What’s it say?”

The frankness of the question catches Dean off guard for a moment, but it shouldn’t. It also steals the wind out of him for a moment, because, well -

“It, uh,” Dean clears his throat, tucking his shirt back in. “It says beloved.”

Before Mary can say anything, Dean clears his throat again, trying to make himself sound normal and not like he’s freaking out. “And, uh, the last one is just... a C.”

It’s another white ink tattoo and it’s fading, always fading, but Dean loves it. It’s on the webbing of his ring finger.

The library is quiet for a moment, the only sound filling the room is Cas and Sam in the kitchen. The air kicks off, making Dean jump this time with the old metal settling.

“So,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at his mom. “Yeah. I just - I... y’know.”

Wanted you to know, he wants to say. Thought you might care, he thinks. 

Mary smiles and sets a hand on Dean’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Dean looks up again, meeting her eyes and smiles nervously, “S’no big deal.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, but is interrupted.

“Dean!” Castiel pokes his head in the doorway, smiling at them, “Hello, Mary. Dinner is ready if you’re hungry.”

Mary can’t help but notice the way all the tension leaves Dean’s body again, but she doesn’t dare say anything about it.

It’s not her place. It’s no more her place than if they were two strangers at a gas station.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean offers, a small private smile on his face. “We’ll be in there in a minute.”

Castiel nods and leaves without preamble.

Mary still doesn’t know what to make of him.

Dean clears his throat, the deeply awkward feeling settling in around them, “I, uh… I know that you’re, y’know.”

He cringes before he can stop himself, “Not entirely comfortable. But I just…” Dean harrumphs, his arms coming up to wrap around himself, “I don’t know. You’re… my mom.”

Even if he’s not her Dean, which he understands, he still wants her to know him.

And he thinks she wants that too. To know them as men, as people… to just be a friend.

Mary just squeezes his elbow gently, too scared to say something that will fuck up the moment.

Dean gets it.

“Come on.” He offers her a smile, his head inclined towards the kitchen, “Let’s get some food.”

[wonderful-writer]

14 - Mount Weather

Summary: Y/n finds herself in a new place, becoming suspicious of it and it’s motives very quickly. Clarke shares the same suspicion, and both become weary about the safety of the people that didn’t make it into the dropship.

Word Count: 3.90k

Based Off: 02x01, “The 48”

Your eyes fluttered open to an all white room, the brightness stinging your eyes. You closed them tightly again and put your hand over them to block out some of the light, adjusting your eyes to see what was in the room. You sat up in the bed, noticing that you were clean and no longer caked with dirt and blood. Your clothes had been changed, and there was no pain or knife protruding from your backside. 

The room was all white. The sheets, walls, floors, couch, and door were the same shade. However, the only thing that was different was the painting hung up on the wall. It was one of the paintings you recognized from art class as the very famous painting of Napoleon Crossing the Alps. You looked at the painting for a few seconds longer before moving to the door, which had a window showing you the hallway. 

The thing that had caught your attention was the sign on the opposite wall, which read “Mount Weather quarantine ward”. You looked at the door opposite to you to see the window was empty, but it looked like someone was in there because of the messed up pillows on the bed. 

As the memories of the previous night flooded back to you, you began to panic. Bellamy and Finn were gone, possibly dead, and whoever brought you here fixed your stab wound and possibly took the others as well. You couldn’t see any of the other 100, and the thought reached you that you were the only one left. 

If there really was no one from the Ark left alive and you were the only one, how was everything going to go after this? How were you going to get out of wherever you were and live without the grounders attempting to kill you at every turn? 

Everything blurred and you felt tears filling your eyes as you stumbled, pressing yourself against the nearest wall and sliding down it, gripping your hair, which was no longer in braids, and attempting to control this raging panic attack with no one to help you. Your breaths came out shakily and your eyes remained squeezed shut, forcing yourself to think the exact opposite of what you just were in order to get your mind to stop racing. 

You felt time slipping away as you stayed there, before the rage of being all alone and without information took over. You slammed your hands on the floor and pushed yourself up onto your feet, breathing heavily. 

You grabbed the first object you could, that being the IV drip, and throwing whatever bags were on it at the door, the saline spilling down it and pooling on the floor. Then you kicked the tray of medical supplies over, the instruments clattering to the floor loudly, and you made swift movements to the room separator, throwing it to the ground, listening to the loud clunk it made when it hit the linoleum floor.

In the small break of silence you faintly heard glass shattering, but chose to ignore it. You grabbed the pole that the IV bags were hanging off of and ran to the door, shattering the window as your feet stepped in the puddle of saline at the door. You hit the doorknob multiple times, to the point where both the metal rod and the doorknob were dented. 

You moved back, taking a running start at the door, trying to ram it open with the IV pole. You, however, slipped in the saline and glass puddle as you were running, causing you to knock all of the air out of your lungs when you fell over, and feel the familiar ripping of stitches; along with a brand new horizontal cut on your forearm, near the scar Murphy gave you, from a large shard of glass that you landed on.

The IV pole in your hands fell on top of you as you fell, hitting you on the forehead and blurring your vision, as well as sending a dull throb through your head. You watched the bright room grow dimmer, your vision fading back into black as you passed out. Again. 

You woke back up in a different room, one that wasn’t white. You tried to cover your eyes with your hand to block out the light as they adjusted, but your hands were restricted. 

“Y/n?” You heard Clarke’s voice.”Y/n wake up!”

You opened your eyes and saw that you couldn’t move your hands because they were tied down, one restraint just barely overlapping with a bandage they put on for your new cut. You looked to your left to see Clarke sitting on the bed next to you, also restrained, but sitting up.

You did the best you could to do the same, the restraints holding you back. You heard the door hiss open on your right, watching as two guards, a woman in a lab coat, an older man, and a girl came in, along with another guard. 

“Hello, Clarke,” The woman greeted. “How’s your arm?”

Clarke didn’t say anything in response. The woman took a glance at you to see you also awake. “Hello, Y/n, I see you’re awake, too. How are you feeling?”

You did the same as Clarke and just stared at the woman. 

“They’re not very talkative, are they?” She commented. 

“A skill they picked up from the savages, no doubt.” The elderly man said. “Maya has something to say to Clarke first anyway.”

The girl that came in with the rest of them looked up at Clarke, almost scared of her. “You were the next one to be cleared through quarantine. Another 10 minutes and you would’ve-” She was cut off by the older man clearing his throat.

“And then it was supposed to be her.” She looked at you for a second and then turned back to Clarke. “I’m not pressing charges.” “Thank you, Maya.” The old man said. “You can get your treatment now.”

The doctor directed Maya to a bed and the older man looked to the guards. “Restraints aren’t necessary. On either of them.” 

One guard came to untie you and the other went to Clarke. Once the restraints were off, you came to sit at the edge of the bed like Clarke. 

“Dante Wallace,” He introduced himself to Clarke, extending a hand for her to shake. She grabbed it to inspect the black smudges on his hand.

“Oil paint,” He said. “That’s right. You’re an artist too.”

Clarke stood up and asked him who told him that. 

“Your people.” He said. “They also said you and Y/n here were their leaders.” You stood up and went to stand beside Clarke.

“Looks like you two and I have a lot in common, kiddos.” You looked apprehensively to Clarke, who looked back at you the same way. 

“Where’s my watch?” Clarke asked. It was then that you noticed the cool metal of your locket wasn’t present on your chest. 

“And my locket?” You asked. “What did you do with it?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let contaminated items inside Mount Weather. We couldn’t risk it.” He told you. “Our protocol is very strict. We prioritize safety over sentimentality.”

“That was the only thing I had left of my mother! The only picture of her and my father are both in there you asshole!” You started to get angry again, but Clarke’s assuring yet sad eyes stopped you from going any further. 

“How many of us did you capture?” Clarke asked, pulling her eyes away from the machine that Maya was hooked up to. You kept your gaze on it, too, curious.

“48, including both of you. But, Clarke, you’ve got it wrong. You’re not prisoners. We saved you.” Dante assured her.

“Well, in that case, you won’t mind if we leave.” You said. “If there are 48 of us here, we still have people out there.”

“The patrol brought in everyone they could find,” Dante told you.  

“What about the Ark? I saw it come down last night.” Clarke asked.

“We saw it,” Dante said. “There were multiple crash sites over 100 square miles. If there were survivors, we will bring them in, too. You have my word.”

“We want to see our people.” Clarke decided. 

“Of course, you do. I would too.” Dante motioned for two guards behind him to roll forward a crate, opening it to reveal an array of clothing and jewellery. You and Clarke marvelled at the sight as Dante spoke again.

“Change and meet me in the hall.” He and the guards left the room, leaving you and Clarke to choose what clothing suited you. 

She chose a pink shirt with a turquoise sports jacket over it and some blue pants that didn’t quite reach the bottom of her calf, along with some simple sneakers. You, however, grabbed a white shirt and some black leggings, with a jacket that was similar to Clarke’s but was black instead of her turquoise and running shoes similar to hers.

She ran her fingers along the shoes before she put hers on, picking up a pair of heels and handing one to you. You followed her actions by snapping off the heel and slipping it underneath your jacket sleeve, ready to use when needed. 

You pushed open the door and saw Dante waiting for the both of you with about 4 guards standing by. The room was very noisy as you walked up to him. 

“Sorry about the noise!” He yelled as you started walking. “Hydroelectric power from the Philpott dam. Fresh water from our own underground reservoir.”

“Fresh food from our hydroponic farm,” He said.

“I don’t understand,” Clarke shook her head. “You’re on the ground, you know it’s survivable. Why would you stay here?”

“It’s not survivable for us,” Dante told you. 

“The grounders seem to have managed.” You said. 

“Natural selection works,” Dante replied. “The grounders who couldn’t survive in the radiation didn’t. Those who could passed on their DNA. For better or for worse, here, we never went through that process.”

“Well, neither did we,” Clarke said. “We’ve been on the ground now for…”

“Solar radiation.” You continued her sentence, coming to the same realization.

“Very good.” Dante smiled. “Your DNA ran the same gauntlet as the grounders. Only because radiation levels in space are even higher, your ability to metabolize that radiation is even stronger.”

You stopped at an elevator and waited for it to come up, Dante still speaking to you and Clarke. “Truth be told, our scientists were blown away with the efficiency of your systems. If not for that, your friends would still be upstairs in quarantine.”

“I have a question,” You said. Dante looked at you and nodded for you to continue. “I wasn’t with the others. I was near the front gate with a knife sticking out of my back. How did I end up here?”

“Well,” Dante responded. “Our patrol found you outside the gate not long after we got there and bought you in with them. And it was a good thing that we did, too. You were almost dead when you got here.”

You nodded and the elevator doors creaked open, Dante allowing you and Clarke to enter the elevator. You both entered hesitantly, watching Dante as the doors began to close. Dante stopped them and held out his hand.

“First, give me the heels.” You looked at Clarke in shock, but reluctantly pulled the heel from your sleeve, pressing it into Dante’s palm with Clarke.

“You’re not fighting for your life anymore, girls. You’ve made it. Welcome to Mount Weather.” The elevator doors closed and brought you both to level 5, the guards escorting you. Clarke began to walk towards the small crowd, where you heard a woman talking. 

“Your packet contains everything you need to know about Mount Weather, which I promise isn’t as confusing as the map on page one makes it out to look. You came from level 3, which houses our medical facility including…” 

The woman's voice was drowned by your Monty’s, saying yours and Clarke’s name. He ran towards you and enveloped Clarke in a hug, while Jasper came to you. 

“I thought you were dead,” He whispered. Once they both let go of you, you hugged Monty and Jasper hugged Clarke, the other delinquents coming to greet you. 

“Finn?” Clarke asked.

“And Bellamy?” You asked. 

“Y/n they uh… they didn’t make it.” Jasper whispered.

“We don’t know that,” Clarke assured everyone. “What about Raven?”

The silence was enough of an answer, the crowd breaking to let the woman you heard before come to meet you.

“Welcome Clarke, Y/n.” She greeted you. “If you have any questions, I’m Keenan.” 

She handed you both packets and walked away with a smile. Your head was spinning. You didn’t know what to think, what to do. Things felt weird around here and you just wanted to go back to the dropship. 

Clarke opened up the packet and looked at the map. You took a glance at it from her packet, not bothered to open your own, the map confusing you.

Later in the day, you were back in the dining hall for lunch, which was the best food you’d ever eaten. While the food was nice, you were still on edge about Mount Weather. Something seemed off. You sat next to Monty as he and Jasper ate dessert, Jasper offering his pie to Monty to try some. 

“My turn,” Jasper said, pointing to the cake on Monty’s plate.

“This? Nah. You won’t like it. The pie is way better.” Monty brushed Jasper off and you giggled under your breath, knowing he was keeping it to himself because he didn’t want Jasper to have any.  Jasper eyed Monty’s plate and tried to take it, but Monty was quicker. 

“Really?” He asked and Monty nodded, fighting a smile. 

They both stood up, dishes clattering, ready to fight for the chocolate cake. Monty moved to the left and Jasper copied, then they both moved to the right and stopped abruptly, seeing Clarke approach the table.

“Hey, Clarke,” Jasper greeted.

“Sit down and pretend you’re happy to see me.” She whispered, sitting down next to Jasper.

“We are happy to see you,” Monty told her, mouth full of chocolate cake.He offered some to Clarke and you laughed as your brother put on a look of fake betrayal.

“I’m not eating their food.” Clarke told him, her eyes on Dante at the head table. She pulled out her packet and showed the map to the three of you. 

“Look,” She said. “They gave us a map with no exits. I need you to tell me everything you’ve seen. Every room, every hallway, every way out.”

“Way out?” Jasper asked. “Look around you, Clarke. There’s no one hunting us here. First time in our lives we’re not hungry. Why would we want to leave?”

“Because we have friends out there who need our help.”

“They’re looking for survivors,” Monty assured her. “And they’re way better equipped to find them than we are.”

“I think she’s right,” You jumped in. “This place, it’s too good to be true. I don’t trust it.”

“You guys are bumming me out. I’m-- I’m gonna get more cake.” Jasper laughed lightly and took his plate as he stood up, making his way to the dessert table. 

You watched him interact with the girl that Clarke attacked earlier, a smile making its way to your face. Clarke watched him, too, an idea springing to her head. She took her packet and looked at you, motioning her head for you to follow her. You both stood up and walked over to Maya and Jasper. 

“Hey,” Clarke put her packet on the table. “It’s Maya, right? I just wanted to say sorry, for this morning. I was scared and worried about my friends; I hope you can understand that.” 

Maya smiled and nodded, still anxious to be around Clarke, who picked up her packet and walked away, the both of you smiling at Jasper and Maya beforehand. Clarke discreetly revealed that she had swiped Maya’s keycard when she left, slipping it in her pocket.

Not long after you left, alarms started blaring throughout the white hallway you were walking down, bright yellow lights flashing at the door behind you. 

“Not a prisoner, huh?” Clarke muttered as you both took off down the hall. 

You came to an intersection, looking to your left to see armed guards running towards you, and even more coming from your right. You kept running straight, zig zagging to throw off the guards, until you reached a rusty door. Clarke swiped Maya’s card on the keypad and you helped her pull open the door, slipping inside and pulling it shut.

You looked around and were met with stairs going up and down, you starting to go up as Clarke disabled the keypads and followed after you. You stopped at the first level, opening the door and coming to a stop at the beginning of a hallway. There was a large, round door at the end of it, and you and Clarke ran to it.

She tried pulling the lever beside it, but to no avail. She smacked the concrete wall in front of her and you looked at the door, seeing a hatch on it. You both moved to it and began to turn it, hearing a loud clunk after a few turns. 

Clarke moved back to the lever and you put a hand on it as well. Just as you were about to pull it and open the door, Jasper and Maya stopped you.

“Clarke, no!” Jasper yelled. “If you pull that lever, these people will die. Even a little radiation could kill them.” 

“Don’t make me shoot you,” Maya said, shakily holding a gun up to the both of you. 

“Wait,” Jasper said, standing in front of Maya with his hands out, walking up to you and Clarke. “Don’t do this.”

“I don’t believe them,” Clarke shook her head.

“Why would they lie?” Jasper asked. “Listen to me. We are safe here. Because of you guys, we’re safe.”

“Not all of us,” You said. 

“I’m the one that fired the rockets, should I not have done that?” Jasper asked. “Clarke, when you pulled that lever, you saved lives. Don’t throw that away by pulling this one.”

You and Clarke let go of the lever, sniffling and trying to prevent the tears from escaping your eyes. Bellamy was out there, he was out there with Finn, and you couldn’t get to him. The guards came barrelling in, Jasper raising his hands and moved to the side to let the guards through.

You put up no fight as they shoved you to the ground along with Clarke to handcuff you. Two guards guided Clarke down the halls, while another two guided you, a hand on each elbow as they brought you into Dante’s office. 

“Lose the handcuffs,” He instructed the guards as he painted. “There’s a blank canvas if you’d like,” He offered to Clarke, who shook her head. 

“I used to paint the ground, too.” Clarke told Dante.

“It’s not just the ground,” He said. “It’s a memory.”

“You’ve been outside?” You asked curiously.

“Yes. 56 years ago, for 5 minutes.” He said. “I was 7 when the first of what we call the outsiders appeared. Before that, we thought we were all there was. Imagine our surprise.” 

“We don’t have to imagine,” Clarke replied. 

“My father- this was his office at the time- believed it meant that the earth was survivable again, and so he opened the doors.” He recalled. “Within a week, 54 people were dead from the exposure. My mother and sister among them.”

He turned to put his paint brushes and pallet away, facing the both of you. “Loss… pain, regret. Time eases these things, girls, but the only time it’s ever truly gone is when I’m painting.”

He took off his jacket and placed it on the chair as Clarke looked around. “You didn’t bring us here to talk about painting, did you?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news.” He stopped on the other side of his paint cart. “Our patrols have swept the area and found no evidence of survivors, either at the camp or from the Ark.”

“How can they be sure?” You asked, shaking your head.

“They can’t,” Dante replied. “I’ve ordered them to keep searching.”

“We need to see for ourselves.” Clarke demanded.

“I’m sorry, I can’t allow that.” Dante denied. “I’m doing this for your own good, girls. It’s not safe out there.”

“Radiation has no effect on us. “ Clarke rebutted.

“It’s not the radiation I’m concerned about,” Dante motioned for the guards to come back in. “You need time to grieve. These men will show you to your room.”

“And if we try to leave?” You asked.

“Please don’t test me, girls.” Dante said.

Sighing, you turned and followed after Clarke, who left the room just before you. You tried not to think about the patrols not finding any survivors, but there was nothing you could do but that. The silent walk to the bedroom tore you apart on the inside as your thoughts collected and got worse and worse by the minute.

Soon after you were brought back to the room where the rest of the 48 were sleeping, you were brought back to the dining hall for dinner. Everyone stood at the table and joined hands, you between Clarke and Jasper as everyone said a prayer.

“For the past and the future we serve,” Dante said.

“We give thanks.” The room replied.

“Good health, good food, and good company. And the blessing of new friends.”

“We give thanks.” Everyone sat down to eat, digging into a wonderful beef stew. The thoughts of Bellamy and Finn loomed in the back of your mind, but you pushed it away and focused on talking with Jasper and eating. 

Afterwards, back in the shared room, you sat on a bunk with Harper, who talked about how amazing everything was in here. “They have actually tasteful food, here, Y/n! I mean, the clothes could be a little nicer but I’m not complaining.”

You nodded absentmindedly, and Harper caught on. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I am, it’s just…” You trailed off.

“Bellamy?” 

“Yeah. It’s worrying me that I don’t know where he is, or if he’s even alive, I just-- I need to know if he’s okay.” You ranted. “And these people haven’t found anything yet but I need to go look for myself but they won’t let me.” 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Harper put a hand on your arm. “He’s Bellamy, the guy can survive anything. You will see him again, Y/n. But for now, we need to get some sleep.”

You smiled at Harper and gave her a hug. “Thanks for that, Harper. I needed it.” 

You got up from her bottom bunk and climbed the ladder to the top one, slipping under the blanket as Harper did. Your hair splayed across the pillow and you tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep. 

“May we meet again,” You whispered into the air, tucking your hand under your cheek and closing your eyes, hoping for the day you reunite with Bellamy to come soon. 

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