#rape for own good to rescue all that come here - even though they never left

[squarerankinsigniasacramento]

SIGNAL BASED TIME TRAVEL: IF YOU HAVE MILITARY COMPUTERS THAT ENABLE YOU TO TRAVEL TO A FOREIGN PLANET AND DISGUISE YOURSELF AS A MEMBER OF THE CIVILIAN POPULATION, AN ILLEGAL SPY IN TERMS OF LAWS RELATED TO WAR, YOU CAN USE THOSE COMPUTERS TO SEARCH OUR COMPUTER NETWORK, WHICH WE CALL THE INTERNET. CAN YOU SAY IT WITH ME? IN TER NET. LET ME REALLY SLOW IT DOWN BECAUSE YOU SEEM TO BE HARD OF HEARING OR FUNCTIONALLY DEFICIENT IN TERMS OF COGNITION OR COMPREHENSION

In tur net

Iiiiiiiiiiiiin teeeeeeeer neeet

[ms-rampage]

Hello. You must be tired of me, no I really like the way you write. Can I ask imagine for Supernatural? Y/n is the sister of the archangels and Chuck's favorite daughter. After being captured and tortured by Asmodeus, y/n is broken, and Chuck tries to support his daughter. Please. I really like the kind Chuck who takes care of his children)

The Broken Archangel

No its fine! I don't mine 😁😊

Summary: Y/n is kidnapped and tortured by Asmodeus for several years. She’s rescued by Arthur Ketch, and is taken to the Winchesters, where God makes the discovery of his youngest Archangel. 

Warnings: Some language, mentions of torture and rape. I apologize in advance. This might be a little bit dark.

______________________

Y/n was captured by the Prince of Hell, Asmodeus while she was protecting her older brother Gabriel.

She was taken to Hell where she was tortured and completely drained of her grace. Torturing her in ways, for her to give him the locations of her elder brothers Gabriel and as well as Lucifer either one of them.

She spent 8 years in Hell, being drained of her grace, making her a broken Archangel with little no no powers. 

He was feeding off her grace, keeping her locked up in the deepest parts of Hell. Sewing her mouth shut. 

Locking her in a cage inside a dark room, keeping her in solitary confinement. 

She was basically his “little pet”. He drained her dry of her grace to make himself powerful and be ruler of Hell. Other than him torturing you, taking away your grace, he did other unspeakable acts to you, that you wished to never speak of, or even think of. With him weakening you, he knew you wouldn’t be able to fight back or defeat yourself. 

Making you feel dirty, disgusted and making you want to kill every demon in Hell. Wanting to kill that white suit, KFC dickhole. 

“So Y/n?” he asks, holding a sharp blade in hand wiping it with a hand towel “Where are those two brothers of yours?”. 

You say nothing, sitting on the floor staring down at it, with a metal collar around your neck, attached to a chain on the wall. 

You knew he was asking about Lucifer and Gabriel because Michael and Raphael are dead. He knew your grace wasn’t as strong as theirs.

“I asked you a question doll” he says, kneeling in front of you. You don’t dare to look at his face because you’d want to bitch slap him, and you would. 

He straightens his posture, and grabs you by your hair, pulling it to make you look up at him. 

You cry out, you try to hit him back but the chains around your wrists prevent that. 

“I asked you a question, and you will obey it!” he growls, “I know your grace isn’t as strong as your brothers. I’m nearly done with you, a good 60% done with you. So where is Lucifer, and/or Gabriel?!?”. 

You didn’t know the locations of Lucifer and your “twin”. Even if you did you weren’t gonna give them up. Finally being able to speak. 

“Fuck off” you wince out. Knowing that response wasn’t gonna go well with this demon. 

He clicks his tongue, kneeling in front of you again. “You know I’ll break ya, and when I do I’ll just dump out like the angel trash you are”. 

Fast forward to several years later, and still under the torture of Asmodeus.

You are rescued by the British Men of Letters. Arthur Ketch because him and the Winchesters needed the grace of an Archangel to keep a rift open to go into the Alpocalypse world.

Since Lucifer and Gabriel were nowhere to be found, AU Michael is a douchebag, but Team Free Will weren’t the only ones looking for an Archangel.

Chuck spent the last several years searching for his youngest Archangel, his favorite daughter. Going from one world to another searching for her. Every universe he had created to find her since she left Heaven. 

When Ketch brought her to the bunker, to the Winchesters, Chuck was able to track her down. On Earth in Kansas. 

Him, and along with his two sons went to her location. 

“Wait, wait” Ketch says to the two brothers aiming their pistols at him, he lifts his arms up to show that he means no harm ”I come bearing a gift”. He pulls you from behind the wall by your arm, showing you to Sam and Dean. 

They put their guns down, looking at you and Arthur confused. 

“Uhhh who is that??” Dean asks, pointing to you. 

“This is Y/n” he tells them, sitting you down on a chair in the library, “Archangel Y/n”. 

They look at each other, still confused. “Archangel??” Sam asks him. 

He clears his throat, putting his bag on the table “Yes Archangel”. 

“I thought there were 4 Archangels??” Dean asks, glaring at him. 

Shaking his head, “Nope, there are 5. Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel and her” he tells them, pointing to you.  

You sit there, staring off into space. Your lips sewn shut, your all bloody and beaten after years of torture. Zero grace left in you. 

Stammering, and not knowing what to say “I don’t-. Where did you-” Sam not knowing what words to use. 

“Where did you get her??” Dean asks Ketch for Sam. 

He sighs, “From Hell, she’s a feisty, stubborn one. She’s low on grace but enough to open the rift”. 

You’re still in a trance, zoning out when it’s broken by another celestial energy in the room. 

“Y/n!” a familiar voice shouts, Sam and Dean turn around, and see Chuck, a worried and scared look on his face. Seeing you for the first time in several years, possibly centuries. 

You look up, and see your father. Eyes widened, even though you look, and are broken. Can only express one facial reaction, he can tell you wanted to cry.  

You look up and down at him, as he cautiously approaches you. Thinking that this is all some game Asmodeus is playing with you, when he reaches to move your hair away from you face, you wince away from his hand. 

Scared for anyone to even touch you. When Ketch rescued you, you were terrified, you had no idea who this British man was. So you didn’t trust him, even if you couldn’t tell him. He knew you didn’t trust him. 

“I’ve been searching for you” Chuck mutters to you, “For centuries, I’ve been looking for you. I thought I would never find you”. Almost in tears, his voice starts to break, looking at what has become of you. How weak and broken you’ve become. 

Dean clears his throat, getting his attention, “I don’t mean to interrupt. But why didn’t we, or the whole world know about a 5th Archangel??”. 

He turns around to face the two brothers, “Because I never wrote about her in the Bible or in any of my stories. I wrote about the other 4, my 4 boys but her” he motions back to you, still sitting on the chair, “I never wrote about her because she was always my favorite. My favorite daughter, she’s the last of the Archangels and the only girl out of them. I needed to protect her”. 

“Well looks like you did a great job” Dean sarcastically mutters. 

Later that evening, they put you in Sam’s room. You sat on the bed while Sam removed the stitching from your lips. The pinching feeling of the threads being removed hurt more now than when they were put on. 

Castiel enters the room, just as Sam finishes up with removing the stitching on your lips. 

He looks at you in shock, you look up and see your little brother. 

“Sam” he says in a soft voice, “She shouldn’t be here”. He looks at him confused. 

“Why?! What’s wrong?!” he asks. 

He looks over at you and says, “Because she is wanted, not only by Hell, but Heaven as well”.  

He looks at Cas, eyebrows raised, “Why is she wanted by Heaven??”. 

Castiel sighs, “I’m not sure, but if she’s wanted it's not good”. 

“Can’t you heal her?” he asks, “Is there anyway you can do that??”. 

He sighs, approaches you and puts his hand on your forehead. The second he does he hears your voice, in your own mind say. 

“I must reiterate”. 

“It’s not possible for an Angel to heal an Archangel” he tells Sam. 

They both leave the room to give you some privacy, and alone time. Feeling free that you’re no longer chained to the wall or to the floor, and not being tortured every minute of every day. 

The door opens, and Chuck steps in. Making you look away from the open door. Pressing your knees up to your chest, pressing yourself against the headboard. 

“Y/n?” he mutters, slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed, “Y/n, please I want to help you”. 

Being too scared to even look at your father, he sighs in disappointment. 

“Y/n, I want to help you. What happened to you?, please tell me”. While Chuck is talking to you. The bunker gets two more surprise visitors. 

Word got around Heaven that you were there at the Winchester’s bunker, and word got around to Lucifer and Gabriel as well. 

The two Archangels made their way to the bunker even though they weren’t together, arriving at the exact same time. Separately. Startling Sam and Dean, making them have their guard up. 

“What the hell do you want??” Dean asks, pistol ready in hand. 

Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Calm down Deano, I heard a little rumor about a long lost sister” he tells them. 

Gabriel appears right after he says that, “Where’s Y/n?!” he asks, frantically looking for his “twin”. 

“Why are you here?!?” Sam asks him. 

He rolls his eyes in annoyance, “It’s quite obvious! Isn’t it?!”. He goes down the hall towards Sam’s room, where you’re at, Lucifer follows behind him. 

The two brothers follow behind them, and the two Archangels burst into the room. Startling you, making you fall out of bed onto the floor. Trembling out of fear.

Chuck tries to reassure you, “Y/n, Y/n, it’s okay. It’s your brothers”. You look up and see your older brothers. 

“Y/n?!” Gabriel mutters, slowly approaching you. Chuck helps you up, back onto the bed. You look at him wide eyed, seeing your “twin” again. 

“Why are you two here?” Chuck asks the other 2 Archangels in the room. 

“We heard about Y/n” Lucifer finally speaks up. 

Their normal conversation starts to turn into a heated argument between a father and two sons. 

You on the other hand, you feel yourself grow angrier and angrier. Not at your father and brothers, but at the fact that they’re fighting about something that doesn’t even matter anymore. For the first time in several years you finally speak up. Loudly, very loudly that the whole building shakes. 

“Stop!!!!” you scream loudly, causing the entire bunker to shake, making the lights flicker on and off. Making a few light bulbs burst into sparks. 

Sam and Dean cover their ears, shielding their hearing from the ear piercing screech you’re producing, while the other 3 look over at you. You look up at your father and brothers. Slowly standing up from the bed. 

“Asmodeus” you mutter before speaking slightly louder, “I was sold off to Asmodeus by those Pagan fuckers. I was tortured, I was abused, I had my grace stolen from me. He weakened me, he did things to me that should never happen to anyone!”. 

Trying to hold back tears, “He used me for his own little affairs, he abused me. He violated me!” you scream, causing the walls to shake again. Making your lips sting from the stitch wounds around them.

You cry out these words, and they hurt even more explaining to them to your own family. The looks on all these men's faces soften, looks of empathy, looks of despair. Gabriel automatically knowing who did this to his little sister, to his twin. 

“You don’t forgive those who did nothing but put you through constant pain, and torture. What he did to me you don't forget, nor do you ever forgive!. He made me feel vulnerable, live in constant fear. I was betrayed, I was backstabbed. I was protecting you two!”. 

Your older brothers look at you with sadden eyes. “I was protecting you two from that Colonel Sanders demon prick!” you cry out, shouting through the pain. 

Chuck trying to hold back tears. He knew deep down you're broken, and so did your brothers. Feeling horrible that their little sister, their youngest daughter went through a lot of pain and abuse just to protect her family. Knowing that she may not fully recover from the pain she endured for the last 8 years. 

[systlinsideblog]

Part 3

The Great Crimes are as follows;

There are three Great Crimes, for which the punishment is death.

The first of the Great Crimes when, in cold blood, a person murders another who has offered no offence. The punishment for murder shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the loved ones of the murdered or by one they give the right to in their stead.

The second of the Great Crimes is rape. The punishment for rape of another shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the victim or by one the victim gives the right to in their stead.

The third of the Great Crimes is to enslave another, and hold them in bondage. The punishment for holding another in slavery shall be death…

-The New Laws, or The Change in the Laws of Gor, The Great Ubara Systlin Stellas, on the new laws of the land, speech given in the Throne Room of Turia, 0 AGU. Chiseled on a pillar before the Law Rooms of Ar in its entirety

 Kutaituchik, the Ubar of the Tuchuks, was dead. 

It had been a very brutal and confusing few hours. The strange woman had refused to show courtesy or deference. She had made no apology for killing Tuchuk warriors. She had not relinquished the slave girl clinging tight to her side, the one whose master she had killed when he moved to chastise his slave.

She had stood before the Ubar of the Tuchuks like a queen before her court, and had demanded. 

I pulled at the slave collar around my throat, and found it quite secure. 

I have seen many things in my day. Many horrors, and many wonders. But I have never before in all my days seen a horror like the one that the woman Systlin had brought to the wagons of the Tuchuk. 

I looked to the wagons of the Ubar. There was light within them, bosk-dung fires in braziers. The woman Systlin had claimed it for her own, and gathered all the haruspexes and soothsayers to confer with them. 

My leg throbbed. It had been set and bound skillfully, but the bone would take some weeks to knit. Until then, I could scarce walk, hobbling with the aid of a cane. 

The woman had not even touched me to break it.

Sorceress, I thought. I had not believed in such things, and would have attributed such powers only to the Priest-Kings. But I had seen it now, with my own eyes, the terrible power that woman held, the power to shatter bone and steel with will alone. 

The corpses of some of the Tuchuks who had risen in rage against her after she had slain their Ubar were still lying where they had fallen. I tried not to look at them, but found my eyes drawn. 

Shapeless things they were, only scarce resembling men. The bones, I gathered, were nothing more any longer but needle-like splinters. Those splinters had driven through flesh and vital organs, and once-proud warriors lay where they had fallen, shapeless piles of bloody meat. 

I had been fortunate that it was only my leg that had been broken. 

I shivered. My leg throbbed. And I wondered, what terrible force had set a terror like this woman loose upon Gor.

 The water was cold. 

Systlin hated cold baths. Cold in general, really. But it was, in this situation, useful. 

Her Power screamed and fought inside her, eager to be used again, and she wanted to. Oh, but she wanted to, and that was the danger of it. The cold water was a good distraction. 

She didn't know how many men she'd killed. Some with sword. More, many more, with her power for Breaking. And it had been good, it had been so good, to stand there untouchable and terrible, hearing their screams and seeing their terror, to walk among them like a terrible, unstoppable, untouchable goddess, tearing down everything in her path...

She shivered, and ducked under the surface of the stream. 

It was always...hard, after, and she'd let herself go further than usual this time, in her rage. She always felt brittle after, hollow, the desire to kill and kill until nothing remained clawing to be let out again. She'd be short now with people, she knew, and snappish. Easily irritated, even over trivial matters. Once you started to kill with the Breaking gift, it was so very easy to continue.

Breaking was a terrible gift. The seduction of the sheer power it gave, the delight in using it, were as dangerously addictive as poppy milk. 

To look upon a Breaker is to look upon a madman. She remembered hearing that as a child, reading it in books. 

Under the water, sounds were muffled. But she still heard the sound of footsteps on the stream bank, muted and distorted. She came out of the water in a rush, her hand landing on Ice's hilt, and the sword was half drawn before she realized that the intruder was the girl she'd rescued from being beaten. 

The girl cringed back, falling to her knees and prostrating herself in what was clearly ingrained habit. "Mast...mistress! I am sorry! I did not mean..."

A little of the brittle anger ebbed out of her. Systlin sheathed her sword. "It's all right. I've spent too much of my life with people trying to kill me, is all. You did nothing wrong." She stepped out of the stream, wringing out her hair and shivering in the chilly air. 

The girl looked up at her, eyes wide. It was...unnerving. Systlin was used to people bowing, but bowing and the groveling the girl was doing were two different things entirely. "I have not displeased you, mistress?"

Oh, tits. 

"No. And you needn't call me that." Systlin pulled her trousers back on, and the quilted silk gambeson that went under her scale armor. "My Lady' will work quite well. I'm not your mistress. You're a free woman. I've no interest in owning anyone." 

"My lady?"

"Please stand up." Irritation flared, but Systlin tamped it down hard; it was a bleed-over from the cold joy of destroying, nothing more. It was not her, and she would not acknowledge it. She reached a hand out. After a moment, the girl took it hesitantly, and Systlin pulled her to her feet. "There. That's much better." 

The girl blinked at her, eyes still wide, and Systlin saw a hint of awe there. 

The girl had, she noticed, fashioned herself rough trousers of hide, patterned much like Systlin's own. 

"What's your name?" She asked. 

"I am Sabra." The girl was still staring, eyes moving up and down as she took everything in. "You...you are very strong. I have never seen...I did not know a woman could swing a sword like a man." 

Systlin tugged her armor over her head and hopped a bit until it settled into place. "Swords don't weigh that much. Anyone can swing a sword with practice. The strength to do it well will come with time and training." 

Sabra's head came up a little at that. "Anyone?" There was a thin thread of timid hope in her voice.

Systlin smiled. "Yes. Anyone. You included. Would you like to learn?"

There was a long pause, and then a long, slow, genuine smile from the former slave.

“I….think so, Mi…my lady.”

“Well. Then you shall. You’re a free woman, and free women do as they like.”

“Free.” The woman echoed, as if the word wasn’t real. “Free.”

“Unless of course you wish to go elsewhere.” Systlin shrugged as they walked. “Have you a family anywhere? A home you were taken from?”

“I…a long time ago, I did. If I wished…”

“I would give you gold, supplies, anything you needed, and take you there, and wish you well.”

The look the other woman gave her was naked astonishment, and something like awe. For a moment she looked wistful, but then… “No. If I returned home, I could quickly be made a slave again.” She touched her upper thigh; Systlin had noted that many of the freed slaves bore brands of various types there. “I am branded as a slave; any man could take me and sell me or keep me and be within the law.”

Systlin saw red for an instant. “Then you will stay.” She ground out. “Until we pay a visit to your former home, and teach them the error of such ways.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Sabra breathed. “You would…you would do this? Free other places as you’ve freed us in this camp?”

“If the men of this world insist on being awful,” Systlin growled. “I will do as I must. Slavery is among the greatest crimes, and rape another. I will not abide either.”

“You were sent.” Sabra breathed. “I begged the Mother for aid, though I was beaten for worshiping false gods. Other women also begged the old gods for aid, I know it. We begged for mercy and help and here you are.”

For mercy.

Systlin tilted her head back and stared at the sky. There were three moons here, which seemed to fly across the sky quite rapidly. She picked out the largest nearly by instinct, and glared.

Mercy. Lady’s mercy. Fucking pits. Now it made sense.

Gods. Gods and their machinations. She scowled.

Well. At least she knew how she’d ended up in this shithole.

  Morning brought no greater comfort. 

The slave collar around my neck had been forged for a woman, and though it was the Turian style on me it was too tight, and bit into my flesh. I could breathe, but it was uncomfortable

Between the throbbing of my leg, the pinch of the collar, and the chill of the night, I got but little sleep. Inside the wagon, under warm furs, slept slave girls. Their collars had been removed, and many of the surviving Tuchuk men wore them as did I, bound wrist and ankle and neck. 

I wondered what had become of Kamchak. I had not seen him since the furor had begun outside the Ubar's wagon. 

My wrists were securely chained behind me. Bells jangled with my every move. The ground was hard, and cold. I wondered, for the first time, how slave girls could sleep this way. 

The night passed in interminable slowness and misery. There was movement, among the wagons, and the sound of men's angry voices and chiming bells from other poor souls so humiliatingly bound as myself. There were the voices of women, hushed, and often with a tone of disbelief. 

I heard women laughing. There was rather more of it than I was accustomed to. 

Twice slave girls had come to see me. They seemed to find the sight of a warrior in slave chains novel. 

"You must let me free," I had said, my voice stern and commanding. "You are slaves; you must obey." 

They had giggled, ignoring my words, and left. They were, I noted, no longer attired properly; their hair was bound back in plaits, and they wore leather blouses and had fashioned trousers, hastily made but quite obviously patterned after those of the vicious she-sleen that had brought this ruin and humiliation down upon us. 

At dawn food was brought, dried bosk-meat. I was fed, given water, and then left alone again. 

The chain that connected the rings on my wrists and ankles and neck was quite securely linked to the axle of the wagon. I had tried to loosen it with some vigor the day before, without luck. 

Some time passed. I pulled at my chains, for all the good it would do me; my leg was quite broken, and I could not flee even should I get loose. 

As dawn broke, the scent of charring meat reached me, and south of the camp I saw great plumes of smoke begin to rise. 

I had smelled enough corpses burn to know that the dead of the slaughter the night before were being burnt. 

As the sun rose towards mid-morning, I was approached. 

The she-sleen had chosen herself a fine black kaiila. She rode well; I could see that she was not quite used to the sleen, as she rode as one would an ordinary horse. But she sat well, and when she dismounted it was gracefully and with ease. 

She had shed her leather tunic. Instead, glittering in the sun, was armor formed from what looked like scales, each perhaps two inches long and half as wide. They were of many different colors, each iridescent and gleaming brilliantly in the sun. 

She looked me over. I met her eyes steadily; I was a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba, and I would not be cowed before a woman. 

"Hm." She made a noncommittal noise at last. "You are not of these people."

I said nothing.

"No matter." She shrugged, and turned. A group of slave-girls were following her. All were collarless and had plaited their hair, and wore clothing of various types; some skirts, some trousers. All wore blouses or vests of leather or cloth that sadly covered their charms. "Take him." 

"Am I to be a slave, then?" I glowered at her. 

She turned her head to look at me again. It occurred to me again that had she been less mannish and muscular, she could have been a beauty. 

"I've no interest in keeping anyone as property." She said. "You are to be judged." 

"By what authority?" A girl wearing the long skirt and leather vest of a Tuchuk woman moved to loose me from the wagon. Her hair was plaited. I remembered, not two days ago, seeing her dancing in pleasure silks and bells for her master around his fire. 

I thought of breaking loose and overpowering the girl. But the woman Systlin was still watching me, and I saw her, as the girl chose a key and unlocked my chain from the wagon, curl her hand around the hilt of the long dagger on her belt. 

I am ashamed to admit, but it stayed me. I had seen flashes of the woman fighting, and though it pain me I would be forced to compare her favorably with the greatest warriors of Ko-Ro-Ba. In my current state, I had no chance. My hope for flight lay in my recovering and stealing a fleet kaiila, I knew. So, as the chain was loosed, I gave no resistance. 

"Mine." The she-sleen's voice was crisp. "Can you walk?"

Pride demanded no less of me. I am a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba. By leaning on the cart, I managed to get to my feet. 

"Help him." She told the girl who held my chain. The girl nodded.

She did not say what would happen to me if I resisted. She did not need to. 

I was taken to the tent of the Ubar. Before it was piled many fine carpets, and cushions of silk and leather. On top of it all was spread a worn gray robe; it was this, I supposed, this simple garment that was the grey robe of the Ubar. 

There were other men, chained as I was, chained to the palatal wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks. I tried to estimate their number; a hundred and a half, perhaps two. 

This was all that remained of the proud warrior men of the Tuchuk. 

I am no stranger to death. But upon seeing this, and realizing the full scale of the disaster which had befallen the Tuchuk, I must admit that I felt a flicker of fear. 

What terrible creature was this woman, to slay three thousand strong men in a night? 

The she-sleen walked past the men chained to the wagon. Her back was straight, and her stride purposeful. 

I could not help but notice that, despite her too-strong build, she had what appeared to be marvelously shapely hindquarters. 

She did not hesitate for even a moment; she went directly to the gray robe, the throne of the Ubar, and seated herself upon it with all the air of one born to it. 

I heard a groan rise from the captive men, myself included. She sat cross-legged, a man’s stance, not a woman’s proper kneeling stance. Women who sit so are often ridiculed as wishing to be men, but everything about this woman was unnatural and wrong.

One man started up, and my heart leapt; it was Kamchak! 

His arm was splinted, as was a leg, much like mine, and his eye was black and swollen. He spit in the direction of the she-sleen on the throne of the Ubar, and cursed her. 

"You! Sleen! You say you wish to judge us? What right have you?"

Her head turned, very slowly, to regard him. Then she smiled, and turned back to look out at the gathered crowd. 

Around the throne of the Ubar of the Tuchuks, women thronged. Tuchuk women, some grim-faced and some smiling. Slave girls, by the hundreds. Many wore trousers. Most had braided their hair. 

Mothers were holding their children. Babies fussed, and were soothed. Some of the older boys looked angry. Some of the girl-children cried too. The elder of the girls, however, were smiling. 

There were many more smiling women than scowling women in the gathered crowd. 

"Tuchuk," said the she-sleen, voice unconcerned and even. "Who is Ubara here?"

The roar of voices was near-deafening. "SYS-TAL-IN!" The women, freewomen and slave girls alike, screamed it. Only a few of the dour Tuchuk free women refrained. "SYS-TAL-IN! SYS-TAL-IN!" 

Systlin looked back at Kamchak, and her smile was an unpleasant thing. 

"There you have it." Her voice, again, was mild, deceptively so.

"You cannot..."

"I did." Her voice rose above Kamchaks'. "By your own laws, it seems, might makes right. The strong triumph, am I wrong?" Her eyes glittered. "It appears, warrior, that I am stronger than you, for I sit here on comfortable rugs and you are defeated and chained to a wagon."

"You used sorcery!"

"Yes." She agreed easily. "Though your warriors were easy enough to defeat without it." A horrible grin. "But yes. I used sorcery, and however I did it one woman, alone, brought every one of your great warriors to their knees. The pyres for those I killed burn still. And now, you will be silent, until it is your turn to be judged." 

"WE HAVE COMMITTED NO CRIMES!" Kamchack's outraged roar drew cries of approval from the other shamefully chained warriors. 

Systlin's mouth...it was a full mouth, and could have been pretty, were it smiling...compressed into a thin line. She nodded to one of the girls standing near the throne of the Ubar, in a grotesque imitation of the honor guard of an Ubar. 

"Gag him," she said simply. 

To my astonishment and horror, the girl moved promptly to do so, with a cheerful and almost gleeful demeanor. 

Kamchak surged to his feet as best he could as the girl approached with a strip of leather; several of the bound warriors gave cries of encouragement. Systlin's head snapped around, fast as a striking sleen, and she was on her feet in a moment and at the girl's side in a moment more, that vicious sword of hers drawn. 

The tip of that blade was pressed close against Kamchak's groin, and the she-sleen kept smiling, even as he drew a breath, naturally alarmed by the sharp steel near his male parts. 

"Sleen." Kamchak hissed this, proud even in chains. "You cannot always be there, woman. Your unnatural sorcery cannot protect you forever."

Systlin laughed. A little huff of a chuckle, even as the slave girl bound the gag around Kamchak's mouth and head with every sign of enjoyment, which disturbed me. 

"I have had," Systlin said, "Far better men than you try to kill me." A wide grin, with all of her teeth bared. "Now be quiet, and wait your turn." 

She returned to the seat of the Ubar. 

"Bring forth the first prisoner," she commanded. 

It was done. A warrior was dragged, bound hands and feet so that he could not even stand, before the grotesque display, and forced up on his knees. He spit at the she-sleen on the Ubar's seat; she did not turn a hair at this. 

"Your name." She asked. 

"Sleen!"

"Your name." The same patient tone. 

Silence. 

She sighed, lifted her eyes. "Can anyone tell me the name of this man?"

"Braltak." A woman's voice. I did not see who spoke. 

"Braltak. Have you, Braltak, in your life, held women or men as property?"

Silence. Braltak looked down his nose at her, and spit again. 

"He has." The same voice. Female. There was a quaver to it now. 

Braltak spun, as best he could. "Kala!" His voice was furious. "Kala, be silent!"

"Come forward, if you would." The she-sleen's voice speaking to me and the warrior had been curt, cold, commanding. But to the girl Kala, it was softer, and gentler.

Timidly, looking always at Braltek, a girl stepped through to stand before the self-proclaimed Ubara. 

She was a lovely girl. Turian, I was certain, with golden hair and eyes as green as summer grass. Her figure was delicate and trim, though it was difficult to tell through the long leather skirt and baggy blouse she wore. 

"Your name is Kala?" Again, the softer, gentler voice, encouraging. 

"Yes, Ubara." The girl was still glancing nervously at Braltek. "And...before you freed us...I was his slave." 

The idea was hard to swallow, at first; every slave in the Tuchuk camp, free!

But she had, I had to admit, the right. She sleen she may be, but she had defeated the warriors, by sorcery or not. She had taken their slaves for her own, and had done with them as she liked. 

I did not like it, but it was fact. 

"He kept you as property." Systlin's voice was hard; her eyes were back on Braltek. "Did he, Kala, ever place hands on you against your will? Did he ever force you to pleasure him?"

"She is a slave! That is her purpose!" Braltek roared. 

"Ah. I have my answer." Systlin nodded her head, once. "By the law of my lands, such a crime carries the penalty of death. As the victim, you have the right to seek mercy. Do you desire mercy for this man?"

Kala's lovely green eyes fixed on Braltek. 

"You are mine, Kala." Braltek's voice went lower. "You are mine. I am your master, you know it."

The lovely girl turned back to the she-sleen on the robe of the Ubar. 

"I do not." Her voice was almost inaudible, but then she spoke again, more strongly. "I do not! I do not seek mercy for him!"

My mouth hung open. 

Kala was slave. A slave loves her master. It is what they are trained for. 

"I do not seek mercy for him!" Kala's voice rose, almost a scream. 

"Then I, Systlin Stellas, Queen of the Northern Lands and Ubara of the Tuchuk, proclaim this man Braltek guilty of the crimes of rape and slaving, and sentence him to die." The she-sleen stood, graceful, and picked up a quiva from among the rugs she had sat upon. She flipped the blade, catching it easily by the tip without looking, the motion smooth, automatic, and practiced. She offered the hilt over to the girl. "It is your right, as offended party, to carry out the sentence yourself, if you so wish." 

To my incredible shock, the girl Kala reached out a hand, almost tentatively, and took the hilt of the quiva. 

She could not do it, of course. She was a slave, and a slave belongs to her master, utterly. 

The slender fingers tightened on the hilt. She did not seem to know how to hold the quiva properly, holding it as if she were about to slice bosk meat for the spit. 

Her eyes turned to Braltek, and in them burned something like hate. 

No. She was slave! A slave serves her master!

"Kala." Braltek's voice sounded suddenly uncertain. "Kala, I have treated you well, better than most would..."

Kala screamed then, high and furious and long,  and flew at him. The quiva rose and fell. 

She was inexpert with the weapon. The blade hit Braltek's shoulder, and slid down, slicing a long cut into his arm. Blood flowed, and Braltek yelled in shock. 

The quiva rose and fell again. Again, again, again the girl struck, inexpert, but the wounds adding up one by one until Braltek lay in a pool of red-stained grass. 

Kala dropped the quiva, and fell to her knees. She was sobbing, great wracking sobs that shook her small frame. 

The she-sleen came down from her throne, went down to her knees beside the girl, and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"It is all right." Her voice was soft, and Kala leaned into her blindly, as a child might seek comfort from its mother. "He cannot hurt you again." 

Some other girls came forward then; Kala was taken away with much patting of hair and comforting. 

The she-sleen returned to her throne of rugs, sitting down once more. She smiled then, as if nothing had happened. 

I, and the men chained as I, were silent. The shock had not yet sunk in. 

"Had he a wife, or any children?" Systlin asked. 

No one responded. 

"Then it is my order that all the worldly possessions of Braltek now go to Kala. They are hers, to do with as she will. Bring forward the next prisoner." The she-sleen commanded. 

[castleshadows]

A Deeper Form of Hunger

The scene where Casteel goes crazy from blood deprivation from his perspective.

18+ Content: Smut, Non-Consensual

Written March 23, 2021

“Here take him, just spare me!” Shea shoved my weak body towards the Ascended, and in that moment I knew that she wasn’t here to rescue me. It may have started out that way, but first they took Malik because of her, and now I was going to be taken back to that cage, where I would be cut and raped and mocked until the end of my days.

I knew that this woman behind me no longer loved me, maybe never loved me at all. I could feel my heart breaking, which was absolutely ridiculous, because a heart could be squashed, a heart could be torn out, a heart could even be ripped into pieces. But, a heart couldn’t break, not like a bone could. However, looking at Shea behind me, feeling my limbs starting to give out, seeing the Ascended reach for me with bloodthirsty eyes as the woman I loved prepared to run, something in me snapped, and I was pretty damn sure it was my heart.

I heard screams, wild, roaring screams that may have been coming from me. Something feral in me came to life, something that had been present for five decades, but never consumed me in this way. Everything darkened as I leaped for my fiance's throat —

There was movement, jerking me from the dream, and into a brighter, more colorful world. One I did not know. The movement happened again, more sure this time, and I rolled on instinct, pinning the wriggling creature beneath me. I gave a growl of warning. The woman under me yelled something, her eyes wide with surprise. Some deep part of me recognized the word. Some part of me tried to struggle to the front at that sound. I knew this woman. I didn’t care.

My hand moved to her neck, pressing down and causing her to let out a woosh of air. She swung her arm at me, trying to break my hold, but I easily pinned it down by the wrist, holding her down even as she strained against my grip.

I could smell her. I could feel the blood pumping through her veins. I wanted that blood. I wanted to sink my teeth into her neck. I wanted to drink her blood until it filled my veins. I was hungry. No, I was starving. And here was my meal.

The woman said something again, the same word. Less hostile this time, and again that deep part of me tried to push to the front. I shoved it down once again, snarling.

She stilled, and I felt her heartbeat slow beneath my fingers. I still wanted her. I could still smell the blood in her veins, waiting there for me to take, but the feeling was less consuming.

There were more words that I didn’t care to listen to.

I trailed my gaze down her body, and a different scent hit my nose, something I hadn’t noticed before. It was strong, and sweet, and utterly enchanting. It smelled like… honeydew. I inhaled it, letting the scent fill my mind and body until I felt something twitch to life in my pants.

I shifted my hand, removing it from the woman’s neck, and towards the source of that intoxicating smell.

She moved as well, reaching her hand behind her to grab something. I paid no attention, too distracted by the way her robe was parted revealing her beautiful leg, and the crease that pointed right to where I wanted my mouth.

The honeydew smell was growing stronger by the second, and I lowered my head, my chin brushing her stomach. I needed this, I needed her. I needed to taste her until she screamed. I needed to devour her until there was nothing else but honeydew, and this curvy, beautiful, woman, with red hair like fire, and a scent that consumed me.

I lowered my head further, prepared to do just that.

Something cold and sharp pressed against my neck. I ignored it. It pressed in harder.

I couldn’t stop now. I wouldn’t. I needed this. She needed this. The scent was too strong, and something primal in me kept me moving. I moved the robe out of the way to look between the woman’s legs. I growled in appreciation, the scent growing stronger the close I got. My breath ghosted over her thighs, and she seemed to clench, her breathing growing heavier.

She started to say something again. That word I knew was in there, but it was easier to ignore with my face so close to her.

“Or we will find out what happens to an Atlantian when their throat gets cut.”

The sharp thing pressed in closer, and it took everything in me to drag my gaze away from between her thighs.

I stared at her, her eyes wide and a beautiful shade of green that was almost as captivating as her scent.

She said something else, that I wasn’t able to pay attention to. The moment of clear-headedness was gone.

My all-consuming hunger had taken hold of me again. It was a different kind of hunger this time however. Less for her blood, and more for her.

This woman was everything I wanted. Even in my fuzzy state of mind, I knew she wanted this as much as I did. I could still smell her, and each moment that my mouth wasn’t between her legs, devouring her flesh, each moment I couldn’t bury my face in her neck, biting and sucking until her blood flowed into my mouth was torment. Pure torment.

The hunger wasn’t just in my stomach, it was flowing through my body. I felt it in every nerve and bone, every piece of me, wanted her. In more ways than one.

The woman was still looking at me, her gaze wide and searching, as if looking for something that didn’t exist.

I didn’t feel anything except the pain and hunger. I didn’t know anything other than this woman and her scent. I needed her. Badly.

She tugged on her arm, the one that I still had pinned beneath my hand, and I let go, my thoughts more on what was emitting from between her thighs than whether or not she was pinned down.

My head moved almost of its own accord. My chin grazed the crease of her thigh, the scars that I didn’t bother to pay attention to.

There was that blood scent again, though it didn’t overpower the honeydew I was so focused on. I knew a major artery waited just beside my jaw. Just a small tip of the head, and I could have satisfied my hunger right there and then. But, I didn’t. I didn’t sink my fangs into her leg, no matter how much I wanted to. There was something else that demanded my attention right now. Something else that so utterly… utterly intrigued me.

The honeydew scent was going stronger, refilling my senses, after the momentary distraction. The sharpness at my neck trembled, and I growled again, a primal sound that I hadn’t even realized had come from me until seconds later.

I dipped my head, instinct taking over.

The sharpness left my neck, freeing me to lift the woman’s hips, and spread her thighs.

Moments later my mouth was on her, and I forgot all about my hunger.

My tongue sliced between her legs, and I found that this woman tasted just as good as she smelled. Even better. I slid my lips across her folds, devouring her, savoring the sweet taste of her on my tongue.

Each stroke, stoked the fire inside of me even more, and I found myself pressing in harder, spreading her legs further apart to allow for better access. The taste of honeydew invaded my senses, and I knew nothing except for this woman. This woman that I could feast on for the rest of eternity, and never grow tired of her taste and smell and the moans I could hear coming from her mouth.

She tried to move, to thrust her hips against my tongue, but I held her in place, pressing down on her legs to keep her from interrupting my ministrations. Her legs shook, and I felt her hands beside my head, gripping the sheets like a life-line. Some part of me felt almost smug. I could make her feel like this. I could give her pleasure, and make her scream, and only me. This perfect woman.

Her wetness coated my lips and mouth, and I knew that her flavor would be stuck on my tongue for many hours. I didn’t know how I had ever survived without this, how I had gone even a few moments since waking up without devouring this beautiful creature.

I could feel her hips stuttering, and I knew she felt pleasure from this. I knew that she was moments from coming apart, and sure enough, several seconds later, a loud scream when up, filling the room. I continued to lap at her, lightly grazing my teeth across the little bundle of nerves to prolong her pleasure. I never wanted this to stop. I never wanted this feast to end, but I lifted my head, catching sight of this glorious creature. Her hair, even messier, her face pink, her mouth open and chest heaving.

She blinked open her eyes, locking them with mine.

My hunger was sated. At least one part of it.

I parted my lips, moving forward, reading to sink my teeth into her pretty little neck—

There was someone else in the room.

A door had been opened to my right and a gust of wind was flowing through the room, cooling my heated skin. Footsteps, and then an abrupt stop.

I was going to kill them.

They spoke, and I shook with anger.

Swinging my head around I snarled, the noise promising death. Whoever had barged in, had just offered themselves up as dinner.

It was a man. Tawny-skinned with dark hair, that was long and coiled on the top, and trimmed close on the sides. His ice-blue eyes tugged at my memory, but I was too far-gone in my rage at being interrupted to pay much attention to it. The walls were about to run red with blood, whether I knew this man or not.

The woman was still lying beneath me, and I knew that this man would try to take her from me. That would not happen.

“Shit,” the man said, stepping forward, “Cas, my brother, I warned you this would happen.”

That world sounded familiar. Cas. The first part of what the woman said to me.

The woman repeated it

I ignored her, snarling at the man, and baring my fangs. Dead. That was what he was.

There was an exchange between the two. The man and the woman, talking as if they knew each other. I didn’t like it. She was mine.

But, something he said made me pause for a split second.

“...Poppy…”

I recognized that.

“Casteel.”

That… I recognized that too. I didn’t want to recognize either of them.

The woman reached out and placed a hand on my arm. I didn’t think much of it, not until the feelings started.

One moment there was only the hunger and rage, the next an onslaught of love. With each wave, the monster receded just a little bit. Every second I became more me.

Casteel. My name.

Poppy. The woman I was hopelessly in love with.

The man across from me was Kieran. Worried for me. Worried for his best friend.

The monster still held on a little. Still had it’s claws dug into my shoulders.

The woman, what was her name?

“It’s okay Hawke.”

Hawke.

My mother called me that.

The woman used to call me that.

I missed it.

I wished she would call me that more.

My entire body jerked, and it was like I had been set free.

Poppy removed her hand from my arm, sitting back. I looked down to see that the robe was still parted, and I saw the place where her legs met, still completely exposed.

I looked up, embarrassed, scared at what I would see in her face. Scared of what she now thought of me. How could I do that? How could I have let it get like that? This was all my fault. She would never trust me again, and for good reasons.

Poppy’s eyes were wide, her gaze filled with surprise and… and fear. I looked down, unable to stand it any longer.

She was still exposed, in front of both me and Kieran. She was probably uncomfortable. Ok, after what had just happened, she was definitely uncomfortable.

I tugged the two halves of her robe together, covering her upper legs and between them. The taste of honeydew was still on my tongue, still covered my lips.

“Honeydew,” I whispered, unable to stop myself. “I’m sorry.”

I was sorry. Gods I was so sorry.

I walked past Kieran, not strong enough to look at the expression on his face, and did the only thing I knew how to. I ran. As soon as I exited the terrace doors, I broke into a run, past servants, past those I had traveled to Solis with, sparing none of them a passing glance.

I turned a corner, my mind set on finding the nearest bucket of water to clean myself up. Poppy would probably be embarrassed if she knew I was running around with her release all over my mouth. Thankfully, one of the servants was walking up a flight of stairs to my left, carefully carrying a bucket of water and a sponge.

I nodded politely towards her, asking if I could use the water. She bowed leaving me with the bucket and sponge to clean myself up.

I stepped into the nearest empty room, striding towards the bathing chamber with the water. Making quick work of my face, I shaved as well, using the complementary razor left in a shelf by the sink.

I avoided looking in the mirror, knowing that what I would see, was not something I currently wanted to be seeing.

It didn’t take long for me to find my clothes and boots from last night, which had been washed and set out to dry the evening before. The boots had apparently been washed on the inside as well and still slightly damp. I cringed as I pulled them on, ignoring the way they squelched.

I knew breakfast was just starting, and I should probably go eat some real food, but I couldn’t make myself face either Poppy or Kieran, who would probably be there by now.

There was another kind of hunger, one that consumed me like it had this morning. I hadn’t taken any blood in a long time. Not since we were in Masadonia, and Naill had offered me his wrist. I was starving for it, and I knew that if I went to any Atlantian here, they would be more than happy to give me their blood, but the thought disgusted me.

I couldn’t possibly take blood from someone else, when my mind was so utterly focused on Poppy. It was too intimate a gesture to even consider doing it with someone else. But I knew damn well I couldn’t take Poppy’s blood either. I was too close to the edge, and I could hurt her. No, I wouldn’t ask her to do that. I wouldn’t add her blood to the ever growing list of things I’d taken from her.

Instead I headed towards where I knew Alistir waited. I would talk with him, find out how many would be traveling with us to Saion’s Cove, and in how many days we would leave. I would distract my mind from Poppy, and ignore my hunger. Because that was the only thing I could do, if I was going to keep from breaking apart.

My dream from earlier came back to me. I had never told Poppy about Shea, though she knew that I had been in love before. I didn’t want to talk about her, ever. I shoved those thoughts to the back of my mind, and stood up, preparing myself for yet another day.

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[bondsmagii]

I haven’t been keeping up enough on your posts about the wretched thing but what sort of potential propaganda does it contain? I didn’t think it could get any worse after the butt plug that remained in there for days but this seems like it is

this was the exact thought I had when I started reading it. I knew it was badly written. I knew it was full of fake woke points. I knew it had terrible sex scenes in it, though I didn't anticipate things like the Finger Locking Butt Plug or the Great Houdini Butt Plug (maybe they are one and the same? terrifying). I knew I was in for a wild ride.

what I didn't expect was the undertones and the complete lack of thought that went into the implications of everything, which somehow manages to be racist and homophobic and in some areas apparently pro-capitalist. this got me making a few jokes here and there about how it was a CIA plant trying to inject propaganda into a book the left would eat up uncritically (which is exactly what they've done), but then the more I read the more I became worried that this was perhaps the case. even if it's not intentional, the messages I'm getting are... concerning.

basically, in this book there's an activist group called Empower Maryland. they seek out the slaves (called Dociles in the books) and try to help them; they also do a lot of community work and fundraising to help people living in poverty. the way that they protest and the way that they organise is very reminiscent of BLM, and the book was published in 2020, so BLM is very much at the front of everyone's minds. the links are pretty clear to see, is what I'm saying.

and Empower Maryland is shat upon at every available opportunity.

I mean, it's hated by everyone -- even Elisha, the slave that should have absolutely no loyalty to the trillionaires at all. from the very first mention, Elisha rags on them, and this is before any excuse about Alex indoctrinating him can come into play. he literally sees a banner by the organisation and pops off about how they've never done anything for his town, but in the sentence immediately before he mentions how they donated clothes and blankets and bikes every couple of years. from there, it's more of the same. every mention of Empower Maryland comes with some comment about how they're incompetent or useless, and quite quickly -- after activists are introduced as characters -- they're made out to be dangerously incompetent. the running message is "these activists are doing more harm than good". they're almost villainised -- in fact, they are. the narrative treats Empower Maryland as more of a threat than the trillionaire characters who are owning slaves and raping them so often that sexually abusing Dociles (many of whom are drugged) is seen as so normal that it's the centrepiece of a party. I'm not joking. one of the trillionaires hosts a huge socialite party and in the middle of the floor is a pit filled with drugged slaves being forced to have sex with one another for the entertainment of the rich.

Empower Maryland is out there trying to stop this -- they're trying to rescue the slaves, they're trying to give impoverished communities resources for food and education and clothing to try and stop them from having to indenture themselves, their goals are good and it's a cause everyone should clearly be able to get behind, but the book constantly tries to make you hate them. the constant underlying message is "activism is bad! activism is useless! activism is dangerous! doing activism harms the people you're trying to help! they hate you for it! don't do it!". considering the fact that Empower Maryland is so, so reminiscent of BLM, I really do have to wonder. like, massive 🤔 here.

[antigonick]

FIVE CHARACTER TROPES

RULES: List five tropes applicable to your character, then tag others to do the same. (Tropes Wiki), repost / do not reblog.

(okay apparently it’s a Una day today, let’s do this). 

tagged by @forestcreatures​ and @impossible-rat-babies​ ♡ thank you, I’ve been losing my mind on TV tropes for a full hour. Tagging @ace-of-kings @mihqorio @heartbrreak and @ardellian​ if you want to!

Una.

FALLEN HERO / ANTI-HERO / FACE-HEEL TURN Not all villains are born. Some are made, and none are more tragic than the Fallen Hero. As the name implies, the Fallen Hero used to be a hero before doing a Face–Heel Turn. They may even have been an Ideal Hero or another equally optimistic archetype, up until the moment when they suffered something bad enough for them to lose all faith in good and idealism, be it the loss of a loved one, too many good deeds coming back to bite them hard, betrayal by someone they trusted the most, too much distrust from those who should have been allies, or some other faith-shattering event. It might even be a drawn out process of seduction to The Dark Side or fall from grace. Some Evil Old Folks happened to be this type in their younger days.

What they choose to do about it determines what they become:

If they retreat into themselves and fight evil mercilessly to dull the pain, they become an Anti-Hero, though if this fight is motivated by vengeance, they may run the risk of becoming like the very monsters they have sworn to destroy.

DETERMINATOR

A character — good or evil, male or female, young or old — who never gives up. Ever. No matter what.

There is no stopping the Determinator. They do not understand tact. They do not Know When to Fold 'Em, and it's a waste of time to tell them the odds. No one can reason with them. They'll do whatever they have to without question. No price is too great to pay for success, up to and including their own life. Do not expect them to realize they might be better off letting it go, even if they can barely stand. If you're ever kidnapped or lost with no hope of rescue, they'll be the one who will find you. Their adversaries will shout, in exasperated rage, "Why Won't You Die?!". For them, there is no line between "perseverance" and "insanity."

The nobility of their goal is not necessarily proportionate to their persistence. This is just as often an obsessive rival with a grudge as it is a hero on a chivalrous quest, and where their willpower ultimately leads them will depend both on their role and on where the work stands on the Sliding Scale of Idealism vs. Cynicism.

TELL ME HOW YOU FIGHT

and I will tell you what you are. You can tell a lot about a person by the way he fights. This is when a character's fighting style reflects his personality or methodology. Similar to Weapon of Choice except here, it's not so much what you use as how you use it.

• Suicidal Tactics: Character launches forward, not caring about leaving himself wide open to attack. It is a style appropriate for Blood Knight, a Death Seeker, a Leeroy Jenkins or a Berserker. Could be an Action Bomb.

• Self-Imposed Challenge: Character eschews weapons when everyone else uses them, or otherwise limits his power (and it may not be by choice); appropriate for a Proud Warrior Race Guy or variety of Martial Pacifist or "smiling, wrinkly old man" types. May be used by Blood Knights or Worthy Opponentswho can't get a satisfying fight any other way, which shows deserved overconfidence. May be fond of saying I Am Not Left-Handed.

• Fights Like a Normal: If a superpowered character prefers good old martial arts, then either he is too arrogant (villain) or afraid (hero) to use his powers, or he might simply find "normal" skills more enjoyable (either hero or villain).

• Close-Range Combatant: The character in this case is strong, confident and/or reckless, shining on hand-to-hand combat and often overlapping with the suicidal tactics described above, but with an emphasis on this character's lack of reach being a potentially crippling weakness.

ENEMY WITHIN

A specific form of Split Personality. Maybe the Body Horror became a bit too fused with someone. Maybe the Unstoppable Rage is getting... too unstoppable. Perhaps The Atoner's past is taking on a life of its own. Either way, the enemy is behind the hero's eyes, and its time is coming when it can take over. Until then, it'll do all it can to control him and get him to give in to its Horror Hunger. The thing to stress most is that the Enemy Within is the hero. He or she cannot simply exorcise it out. Often the Enemy Within is the cause of the powers that the hero has that allows them to do what they do. With Great Power Comes Great Insanity, remember?Often, since Evil Is Cool and Evil Feels Good, other characters may realize the danger before the hero and need to convince him.

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS

Usually, not quite a villain, but they act antagonistically enough that they're little better. Something has happened to our Fallen Hero: his village was destroyed, his friends killed, his puppy roasted on an open spit, his bike stolen, whatever. All that matters is that It's Personal, and he feels that the law just isn't suitable enough (or has become too corrupt and ignorant) to be of any use to him in settling the matter. He may justify his actions by claiming that it's Justice he's after, not vengeance, but anyone with half a brain can easily see that he's out for Revenge... unfortunately, we can also see that the more he hunts the cause of his woes, the more he takes on the villain's personality and mannerisms—something that our "hero" is too blinded by his single-minded goal to realize.

Our avenger may have good intentions—the fiend may well be too dangerous to be kept alive—but ultimately, his obsession with dealing out due punishment (or worse) and his refusal to think about what he's doing twists him into a monster just as bad as, or even worse than, the one he's hunting. And even before he gets to that point, it's nigh-impossible to turn him away; calling him out on it will be ignored or retaliated against. The Power of Friendship and The Power of Love were lost to him the moment the atrocity that sent him on his wild goose chasehappened; he feels that Team Spirit is just a hindrance, and that Love Is a Weakness that he can't afford to have.

Also includes, but not limited to (can you tell I’m cheating yet?): What You Are In The Dark, Beneath The Mask / Becoming The Mask, Escaped From the Lab / Become a Real Boy, Unreliable Narrator, No-Holds-Barred Beatdown, Berserk Button, Blood Knight / Knight Templar / Death Seeker / in Harm’s Way, Don’t You Dare Pity Me!, Heroic Sacrifice, Cute Bruiser, Mugging The Monster, Jerk With a Heart of Gold, Sir Swears-A-Lot, Telepathy, Love is a Weakness, Mind Rape, Roaring Rampage of Revenge, Humans Are the Real Monsters, The Power of Hate, and, indulgently, Birds of a Feather, Interplay of Sex and Violence, In Love With Your Carnage, Undying Loyalty, The Only One Allowed to Defeat You, I Know Your True Name. 

[runabout-river]

It's the Jet is secretly a Firebender AU but when Katara has him pinned to the tree with ice and calls him a monster he snaps, frees himself with his fire and starts accusing her of aiding the enemy, ALL OF THEM, and blaming their victims for the abuse they had to suffer through.

Jet starts throwing fire at her but not really to attack, just to show her his anger and all the things that are wrong with him and the world. He should have grown up in a happy Earth Kingdom family in a happy community but that was nearly an impossibility for him because the man who should have been his father was NOT and he didn't come about because his mother cheated on her loving husband.

And everybody knew about his dark conception, so even despite his parents efforts he always felt wrong about himself, always felt the disdain of the other townspeople directed at him. He was made to feel bad, to feel inferior and as a burden to the community. Everything that was wrong in society and every atrocity that was done in the name of the Fire Nation culminated in HIM.

And all of that was before they even knew he was a firebender.

His parents always taught him that the Fire Nation was the enemy but it weren't Fire Nation soldiers who attacked, belittled, abused and tormented him and his parents when he was little. So what if an Earth Kingdom town had to be sacrificed to free the land of the Fire Nation? They are collaborators! They refused the help the Freedom Fighters offered them despite all the things they did for them, for the freedom of the town, for nearly two years.

Katara feels his pain but she doesn't let it sway her from what she knows is right. He was willing to kill innocents and he is poisoning the minds of his Freedom Fighters, to which Jet has nothing to say at first than just to laugh.

Aang is there and Sokka comes back to tell everyone how the town and it's citizens were saved by him. Jet gets angry at him because how dare he just appear out of nowhere and sabotage his resistance efforts! Where does he think he gets the right to do that? He, who doesn't even fight in this war!?

Sokka has his arguments ready and he is sure that the other Freedom Fighters will side with him when they realize just how deranged Jet's plan and reasoning for his actions are...

But they are not on his side. At all.

Sokka tries to understand. He can't. Why where they all just so ready to sacrifice a town full of their own countrymen? "Are they," Pipsqueak asks. "The Fire Nation is so brutal and overwhelming that you can't just half ass a response to them," Smellerbea adds.

"The Earth Kingdom is sometimes just as bad as the Fire Nation," comes from Snears and for the first time Katara realizes... "You are like Jet!" and it isn't just Snears with the stony expression that gazes in her direction, nearly every Freedom Fighter present there is looking like that... Her, Aang's and Sokka's hearts just fall to the bottom of their stomachs.

If they thought, Jet starts to say, that him being a firebender is news to his crew, than they just have no idea how much suffering they share with each other because if there is one group of people as universally hated by both Fire and Earth...

It's War Children.

Nobody wants the Fire and Earth bastards. The Nation doesn't want them because they dirty the Fire blood. The Kingdom doesn't want them because they represent their utter failure at fighting against the enemy and how much rape and pillage they had to endure.

And nearly all of his Freedom Fighters had it worse than Jet ever had.

Snears was left with huge scars all over his body from his Earth family. At the start of winter when he was ten they just left him on the streets while traveling and they explicitly told him to never come back to them again or they would do worse things to him. The Freedom Fighters were the first community who ever embraced him with open arms.

Pipsqueak was held in a cage, just skin and bones, and forced to work day in and day out carving wood in a former refugee camp now ruled by Earth soldiers, till Jet one night broke his cage and his chains and physically pulled him out of there.

Longshot was in a Fire training camp for delinquent and "mixed" children after his mother sold him there at a young age. Those camps were not known for treating the children well and punishments and deaths were common. He started speaking less and less over the years and he didn't, couldn't, make any friends at all... till they threw a young Earth Kingdom firebender in there as well who became Longshot's first and only friend for years and later became his leader.

Smellerbea was forced to be a servant to a wealthy Fire family in the colonies, just like her parents before her. One day she attacked one their children in self defense and the injury inflicted by her was deemed so severe that they put her on death row despite being only 13. When she needed it the most it wasn't the Earth Kingdom army who came to her rescue but children like her.

And all those tragic stories only ever happened if the newborn infants weren't immediately thrown into a river, buried under earth or left in a forest like the Duke when he was little.

The firebending bastards of course were treated in an extra special way by the Earth Kingdom populace, this special way most often included a bath out of which the children didn't come out again. 'The child accidentally drowned' became code for 'they were a firebender' in the border regions of the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation colonies. If the parents were unwilling to do it themselves then there were always helpful family members or neighbors there to lend a hand.

Even when the parents didn't want any help.

"The Fire Nation only has one law in regards to the bastards they have produced in the last 100 years, and that's that any firebender of earth blood has to attend their special schools and become a soldier or they get executed if they refuse."

"And so the town I grew up in wanted me dead immediately or at least out of there after they found out I was a firebender. My parents refused both and you know what?" Jet's smile isn't the least bit friendly, it's also sad and tragic to look at but Jet is not there to inspire pity, he is there to air out his anger against the world and to justify is extreme actions against the Fire Nation.

"The townspeople, they were not wrong! It was dangerous to have a firebender child in their midst because the Fire Nation would have an excuse to come to town and extract that child - to the detriment of the town - and that's exactly what happened! They burned everything! Just to get to me!"

The last part was screamed at the Gaang, but Jet had mostly shifted his attention from Katara and Sokka to Aang at that point and for the first time he directly addresses the Avatar in front of him: "Where were you this entire time!? How could you let all of this happen the last 100 years? And why are you here right now fighting against me instead of the Fire Nation soldiers down at that camp?!"

There is not much of an answer Aang could give, while Sokka tries to make them see just how far out of reason their attack on the town was. And for the first time Jet gives in and admits that maybe it was too extreme, but he does not give in about being somewhat justified.

"If by some miracle you all manage to defeat the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation, then it's going to be all good for you. But for us!" he swings his arms around the forest to all the assembled Fire Fighters around them: "It will be just a small victory to be celebrated before the Earth army starts marching down this forest to attack us and drive us away from their land because we don't belong to them despite fighting the same fight with them!"

Not long after all the things that needed to be said were out in the open, the Gaang left the forest and Jet behind. "It won't be like Jet said. We'll make sure of it." Katara promises and both Aang and Sokka agree though they are all low on spirits at the moment.

[fossntwriter]

You’re Safe

Jay Halstead x Reader

(not my gif)

You thought it was going to be a fun night out on the town with your girls. You hadn’t seen them in what felt like years, but in reality, was only a couple of weeks. You had all been so caught up in your jobs and hectic schedules that you hadn’t had time to even have lunch together on a Saturday. Not even grab a cup of coffee in the mornings on your ways to work because you all worked in separate ends of the city.

You worked at Chicago MED. Of course your schedule was going to be hectic. You were 22 and new at the job- which means you don’t get your pick of shift, unfortunately leaving you with the third shift. You worked nights into the early hours of morning and slept during the days. Fortunately, you got 2 days off, which happened to match up with all of your friends days off- finally.

You and your 4 other friends, decided to meet up on the rare night that you all shared a day off on. You all caught up and talked about jobs, your bosses, cute co-workers and old memories. It was stress-relieving and the most fun you’ve had in a long while. Your job was great, but there was always a scare- especially when you worked in Chicago.

Many people came in that had been shot or abused or even harassed. You’ve seen your fare share of death and heartbreak already in your short time on the job. You’ve yet to witness a miracle, but have no doubt that someday, it will happen. You try your best to help those who need help, to save those who need saving and to care for those who need caring. You’re a nurse- it’s your job. That’s why you wanted to become a nurse. To take care of people who needed to be taken care of. You helped people- it’s like it was written in your DNA. You’ve always felt the overwhelming urge to put others before yourself. To even risk your safety at times. You just want to help others- and there’s nothing wrong with that.

You’ve met others like you. For instance, Jay Halstead. The cop from Chicago PD. The cute cop- at that. He’s also your coworkers brother. You liked Will from the start. He was nice and easy to talk to. It’s no wonder you liked his brother as well. Apparently, to all of your other coworkers- it was obvious you liked Jay. You brushed it off and told them things like “I do not” or “Definetly not.” They didn’t believe you, but they brought it up less. In reality though, you did like the cute brown haired man. Who wouldn’t? He was tall and handsome. He was in good shape and sported a cute smile whenever he was around. He was easy to talk to and cared about helping people just as much as you did. Of course you fell for him.

And he fell for you too.

It was something Will teases him about a lot. He made comments to Jay like, “You like the new girl, eh?”, “she’s a cutie, ain’t she?” and “stop staring at her.” In reality, Will liked the idea of you two together. You were genuinely kind and good at your job. You were funny and nice. Too nice for your own good. Which is why Will thought Jay was a good match for you. He would be able to protect you. You were a smart girl, but unbearably naïve and oblivious at times. There were times where he was worried about you- after all, you did happen to be one of his closest friends even if you just started your job at the local hospital. He was worried somebody would take advantage of how kind you were and use it against you- or even take you. You probably couldn’t defend yourself. You weren’t very strong if he was going to tell the truth. He was terrified of losing one of his friends. He knew your kindness would be used against you. And he was right.

It was supposed to be a fun and harmless night in the bar with your friends. You wanted to enjoy your night off. This was the way to do that. Or so you thought.

It started off simple. He just offered to buy you a drink but you politely turned him down remembering Jay’s advice to never accept a drink from a guy you didn’t know- no matter how nice he seemed.

Then, when you were dancing with your friends he got in the middle of your group and tried to dance with just you by blocking you from them. You slowly moved away to go back to your friends.

From them on, you were cautious. Constantly steeling glances around the room to see if he was near you. Often times, he was just on the other side of the bar- watching you. It scared you. Typically when a guy stares at you, it should make you feel flattered. But this was different. His look made you feel dirty. You felt gross.

He tried to offer you drinks several more times that night. You kindly declined each time, and then shyly went back to your conversation with your friends at the table you all occupied.

He interrupted your friends and yours conversations multiple times and tried to just strike up one with you, but you quietly and shyly turned away. You wanted to tell him to back off and leave you alone, but you didn’t want to come across as rude or full of yourself- so you didn’t. Maybe you should have?

Your friends gave you worried looks all night about the mysterious- and seemingly obsessive- guy all night. You knew you should leave or call for help but you didn’t want to ruin the one time in ages that you got to spend time with your beloved friends again.

So you stayed.

It was when your friends were starting to leave and the bar was starting to clear out that you thought you would finally head home too. You put your jacket on and said your good-byes to your longtime BFF’s. As soon as they left, you glanced around the room one more time and you saw his eyes on you. Again.

You were scared and panicked. You didn’t want to walk home to your apartment by yourself at this time of night when there was a creepy guy hitting on you all night and still staring at you.

So you called Jay.

The only guy you trusted to get you home safe. You felt protected when he was around and it made you feel good. Maybe it was his muscular figure or the gun he carried at all times- maybe both, but you knew he would help you. Because that’s what he does. He helps people in need. He protects people who need protecting. Like you.

So you pulled out your phone and called him even though it was past 1 o’clock in the morning. You felt bad as soon as you heard his groggy voice.

“(Y/n)?” He asked in a tired but still concerned tone. “What’s wrong?”

You could hear shuffling on the other end of the line, and you assumed it was from him sitting up in bed after you called him at an ungodly hour.

“I need help.” You barely whispered into the phone. Jay heard your voice whisper in a panicky way and he was immediately jolted away by the unexpected sound of urgency in your voice.

“Where are you? What’s happening?” He asked rapidly, and you could hear him walking around his room and you assumed he was getting ready to come to your aid.

“I’m at a bar a couple blocks away from my apartment. I walked here and now I have to walk home but there’s this guy here who has been watching me all night and trying to buy me drinks or take me away from my friends and it’s creepy. He won’t take no for an answer. He’s still here and I’m alone. I’m afraid to walk home by myself.”

“I’m on my way. Stay where people can see you and don’t get off the phone with me. I’ll be there in no time. I’m leaving now.”

“Okay.” You whimpered into the phone. “I’m scared, Jay.”

“I know. I know, it’s going to be okay. Just take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay?” He said, his voice breaking with a dying need to get to you in case the guy was planning on doing anything to you.

You listened to him and took a deep breath in. You counted to four and let it out, before taking in another one.

You kept taking deep breaths. It was like your lifeline. It was your way of keeping calm in a situation that was scarier than one you’ve ever been in so far in your life. You were thankful for Jay. You knew what happened in Chicago. You weren’t stupid. You worked in the medical field. People get kidnapped. People get raped. Especially at night or early in the morning.

You feel weak and helpless. Like you can’t protect yourself. You’re defenseless. You don’t like it. But for now, it was okay. You had Jay. Maybe he would even teach you some self-defense.

“You there?” Jay asked.

“Yeah.” You breathes out.

“I’m right here.” He said. You didn’t know how he knew your exact location, but you didn’t question it since he was a cop and also coming to your rescue at the moment. “I’m coming in and I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, feeling a wave of relief wash over you at the fact that Jay was here and would protect you.

The phone call ended and you saw Jay practically run in the door and looked around the practically empty bar before his eyes landed on you, sitting at a stool by one of many empty tables. By the time you stood up, he was already where you were- engulfing you in a giant hug. You never felt more safe- considering the situation you had just been in.

The feeling of Jay’s arms around you make you feel warm and happy. You felt at ease and protected. You hugged him back tightly.

After a couple of seconds he pulled away and looked you over for signs of injury or anything that could make him want to strangle the creepy guy more than he already wanted to.

After he scanned you over and concluded that you were physically alright, he swiftly pulled you into another tight hug. You face pressed against his chest as his chin rested atop your head.

He held you to him by pressing one of his hands to the small of your back while the other soothingly ran over the back of your head and tour hair.

“It’s okay.” He said. “You’re safe now. You’re safe with me. I’ll always protect you.”

“Thank you.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Leithian Reread - Canto X (The Attack by Celegorm and Curufin)

This canto splits into two stories: Lúthien and Beren having a rather circular argument about what to do next, and Celegorm and Curufin facing the fallout from their actions in Nargothrond.

Beren and Lúthien bury Finrod before departing from the isle of Tol Sirion. [Very slightly edited by me to update names.]

The isle in Sirion they left behind

but there on hill-top one might find

a green grave, and a stone set,

and there there lie the white bones yet

of Felagund, Finarfin’s son -

unless that land is changed and gone,

or foundered in unfathomed seas,

while Felagund laughs beneath the trees

in Valinor, and comes no more

to this grey world of tears and war.

Many of Sauron’s captives from Tol-in-Gaurhoth return to Nargothrond, as does Huan (Huan most likely with them and looking after them, as post-Bragollach Beleriand is a dangerous place and I can’t imagine they’re in very good shape).

The reaction in Nargothrond stands out because nothing has fundamentally changed about Celegorm and Curufin’s actions. It was obvious before (Canto VIII) that Celegorm and Curufin were deliberately abandoning Finrod to die, and it’s still obvious now. Finrod’s death is an entirely foreseeable action of the Nargothrondrim’s choices. The main point that’s new is the realization that defeating Sauron was possible - possible for one elf-maid and a dog, no less. They really are, as the narrative itself calls them, fickle. It’s even more striking in the Silmarillion, where no one will go with Celegorm and Curufin, not even their own people (for all perceived that the curse lay heavily upon the brothers, and that evil followed them) in contrast with the Leithian ([they] took their horses and such folk as still them followed). The Silmarillion version works better in terms of narrative consistency, as no one else is with the brothers when they attack Beren and Lúthien.

I’m very interested in what’s going on in the heads of Celegorm and Curufin’s followers - the ones who stay in Nargothrond - at this point. They’ve backed the brothers all through their coup, all through the brothers threatening the Nargothrondim with a second Kinslaying, all through the imprisonment and attempted rape of Lúthien, and done nothing to impede these profoundly un-Elvish actions. And now, suddenly, they all turn away and decide that they’d rather stay with a group of Nargothrondim who are probably more than a little angry and hostile to them. Is it repentance? A belated attack of conscience? Pure self-interest - Nargothrond’s one of the most secure places in Beleriand at the moment, and in that respect preferable to the northeastern front of the war?

Orodreth, in pretty much the only documented moment where he takes a stand and sticks to it, forbids the killing of Celegorm and Curufin, and exiles them instead. I think he’s a fundamentally good person, just one without any strong leadership qualities who’s been placed in a position for which he is fundamentally unsuited.

They’ve accomplished nothing with all their treachery except alienating the two largest elf-kingdoms in Beleriand. They are entirely unrepentant, and are instead furious (went away in anger dire) despite, or pethaps because of, being treated more mercifully than they deserve. This is the state of mind they will remain in through the rest of their lives, from the attack on Beren and Lúthien through to the Second Kinslaying: a determined and ever-worsening hatred towards, and need for vengeance against, anyone they have wronged. Mercy is the worst offense to pride, as in Saruman’s words to Frodo at the end of the Scouring of the Shire (You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to you mercy. I hate it and you!) It is, in fact, hard not to draw parallels between the scenes: Saruman attempts and fails to kill Frodo in reaction to being offered mercy, even as Celegorm (in the Leithian) or Curufin (in the Silm) attempts to kill Lúthien for the same reason.

Perhaps, on some entirely unacknowledged level, they realize what they’ve become - but rather then recognizing it as a vonsequence of their own actions, they blame the people they have harmed for being the cause of their fall.

Beren and Lúthien, in the meantime, are arguing on the borders of Doriath: Beren wants to go alone on a hopeless quest to Angband, while Lúthien is all for either ignoring the Quest altogether and eloping (perfectly legit, albeit rude, by elven standards) or going with Beren if he insists on going to Angband, whether he likes it or not: And if she may not by thee go, against thy will they desperate feet she will pursue, until they meet, Beren and Lúthien, love once more, on earth or on the shadowy shore.

At this moment Celegorm and Curufin attack. It’s entirely unprovoked, and driven by nothing but hate and - given the attempt to kidnap Lúthien - lust. One of the clear patterns of the Leithian is that Lúthien, formidable against supernatural threats, is less successful against mundane ones; in tbis sequence it is Beren who rescues her, twice. I’m sure there is deliberate symbolism in this, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on it. It’s as though the purpose of her powers is to stand agai st the forces of darkness, not to fight other elves, even ones who are behaving evilly. And having lived all her life in Doriath, she has no experience with elves acting in that way; she is fundamentally a good and compassionate person (see her sparing of Curufin, and later how she deals with Carcharoth), and this sort of evil is alien to her.

It’s worth pointing out how impressive Beren’s accomplishment here is. Unarmed and on foot, he defeats a mounted Calaquendi who is armed with one of the most dangerous knives ever to exist. He jumps full onto Curufin’s horse, tackles him off it, and then strangles him before Curufin can get to any weapon. This is also another instance of evil deeds resulting in good by accident: without Angrist, Beren and Lúthien would never have bern able to retrieve the Silmaril,from the Iron Crown, so the attack by Celegorm and Curufin becomes essential to the Quest’s success.

As the brothers ride away, they shot twice at Lúthien, not at Beren, in what is thus quite clearly deliberate revenge for her showing mercy. Huan brings an herb that is likely athelas, and Lúthien heals Beren, building a fire and caring for him through the night. Beren, very frustratingly, immediately upon waking returns to his original theme of telling Lúthien to wait in Doriath while he goes to Angband, as if mortal peril was just an inconvenient distraction. She is still having none of it: Why turn we not from fear and woe, beneath the trees to walk and roam, roofless, with all the world as home, over mountains, beside the seas, in the sunlight, in the breeze? It’s interesting to entertain the idea of what would have happened if they had simply set aside the Quest. They ultimately go to live in Ossiriand after returning from death, and there’s nothing stopping them from doing so now. In the long run, Beleriand would have been worse off for it - there would be no Voyage of Eärendil and no War of Wrath - making their quest no less important to the First Age than Frodo’s was to the Third.

Beren remains obdurate, and after they reach the borders of Doriath and have been there some days, he leaves her sleeping and sets off for Angband.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Plain Sight: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

"Don't forget that I cannot see myself -- that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror." - Jacques Rigaut

Being the youngest one on the team not only made you feel like you needed to work extra hard to prove you were worthy of your place on the team, but it made you feel like an outcast because everyone was so close and tight-knit. The only person you really knew was Gideon, but he was more closer to Hotch than anyone else since they were closer in age than the rest. The person closest to your age is Spencer which is why you feel like you connect more with him than anyone else.

It’s his birthday today, and everyone is celebrating at his desk with cake and trick candles. They seemed to be having a good time, and you didn’t want to join them and ruin their fun. It didn’t feel like you were part of this family just yet since you were fairly new with abilities they’ve never seen before. However, even if you weren’t celebrating with them, you still got Spencer a present. It’s special since you knew he would hold it dear to his heart. You were pretty proud of yourself for finding the exact item you wanted even though you were at the point of ripping your own hair out.

Hotch and Gideon were off to the side to watch the rest of the team celebrate, and you stood by them with your arms crossed shyly.

“Make a wish!” Elle grinned.

“Come on man! Blow, baby blow!” Derek teased when Spencer kept blowing at his candles despite them not going out.

“I thought you are full of hot air, Reid,” Elle joked.

“Come on, Reid.”

“They're trick candles, Spence, okay? They gonna come back on every time,” JJ caved in after seeing him try so hard to blow them out.

Derek grabbed the ends of Spencer’s big blue birthday hat and shoved it further down on his head with a huge smile.

“Oh, mommy to rescue you!”

“Mommy?” Spencer scoffed, shaking off his friend.

“Is it amazing he knows what he knows and he's only 24?” Hotch asked his friend with a shocked smile.

“Imagine what he’ll know by fifty.”

“I’m twenty-two,” you spoke up, causing both heads to turn to you.

“Why aren’t you over there with them?” Gideon asked.

“I don’t feel like I’m part of the family just yet. I mean, I’m the youngest, so I feel like they think I’m a kid or something. I don’t know. I’m weird,” you chuckled nervously.

“Hey, lil’ mama,” Derek called out for you when he noticed you off to the side. “Come on.”

“Yeah, come over here,” Spencer smiled.

Once he chimed in, the rest of the team wanted you to join them. Blushing, you hesitantly walked over to the group, and Derek wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“You’re part of this team now. You’ve proven yourself,” he grinned.

“Thanks, Derek,” you smiled right back.

“You blew wax on the cake, man,” Derek scoffed playfully, taking his arm away to help cut the cake.

Spencer got up to replace your spot next to Gideon since Hotch needed to take a call.

“Is this homemade or store bought?” you asked.

“I made it,” JJ smiled widely.

“Wow, this looks amazing and I bet it tastes amazing too,” you chuckled.

She put the first piece of cake on the plate, turned to Spencer, and called out to him.

“Hey Spence, first piece for the birthday boy,” she smiled.

Spencer looked from her to you, and you gave him a shy smile with a wave. He said something to Gideon before heading over, and he took the plate.

“Thank you.”

“Birthday boy,” you sang, taking a piece of cake that JJ handed you.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Not long after yours. Mine’s in February. I’ll be twenty-three. Sometimes I feel like I’m too young to be here.”

“I know that feeling,” he chuckled.

“Sorry, guys,” Hotch interrupted as he set the phone down with a sigh, “the party's over.”

The team knew what that meant, so they packed everything they could as fast as they could so they could discuss the case you knew was waiting for you in the briefing room. Each team member started for the stairs, but you grabbed Spencer’s arm to hold him back for a second.

“Sorry, I just, um… I know I haven’t known you for very long, but I got you something. A birthday present.”

“You did? You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but, um, you’ll have to wait until the end of the case to get it.”

“Why?”

“It gives you something to look forward to, yeah? Plus, we usually end cases at night, and I know you were born at night so why not make it memorable.”

“You remembered what time I was born?” he asked, shocked you took the time to do so.

“Reid, Y/N, let’s go,” Hotch announced from the conference room.

“Why wouldn’t I remember that?” you asked, brushing past him to rush to the conference room.

Spencer looked at you as you left, and he couldn’t help but give a hint of a smile at that piece of information. The files were already passed out, and you and Spencer took your seats so that everyone else could begin. There was no need to apologize since Hotch just jumped right into this one.

“We're going to San Diego.”

“Not for the surfing, huh?” Derek commented.

“They're calling him the Tommy killer. Six women raped and murdered in their homes in the last three weeks,” JJ shared.

“Six in three weeks? That's a short fuse,” you whistled.

“And getting shorter. The first two were eight days apart then the next four in two weeks.”

“Rapid escalation. Do you think he's regressing to a psychopathic frenzy?” Spencer asked.

“No, he's too controlled for that. See you on the plane,” Hotch answered, getting up to leave the room. However, before he could, Derek stopped him with a question.

“Why the Tommy killer?”

“You know the rock opera? This unsub glues the victims' eyes wide open.”

“He wants them to see him,” Spencer noted.

“And feel him,” you added.

“Brenda Samms was found yesterday by her children when they got home from school. She had been strangled with a thin ligature, possibly a wire. No weapon was left at the scene,” Hotch ran over the details of the case once everyone was on the plane.

Since it was one of the smaller jets, everyone was in close proximity of each other with you and Spencer seated next to each other, JJ, Gideon, and Elle in the middle, Hotch across from you and Spencer, and Derek all by his lonesome towards the front.

“The residue on the wrist and mouth indicate that duct tape was used and then removed. Also not found at the scene,” Spencer remarked. “Brought it with him, took it with him.”

“He also started leaving messages at the fourth scene,” Hotch explained, reading from one of the quotes left on the mirror at the latest victim’s house. “This was on the mirrors. ‘Fair lady, throw those costly robes aside. No longer may you glory in your pride. Take leave of all your carnal, vain delight’.”

“I’ve come to summon you away this night,” Spencer finished. “It's a ballad from the late 1600s. A dialogue betwixt death and a lady.”

“A 17th century ballad?” you thought.

“Essentially, a woman begging death to live.”

“What kind of person knows this ballad? Are we looking for a literature professor?” Elle wondered.

“Anyone with an internet connection, actually. You should see what comes up when you type the word ‘death’ into a search engine,” Spencer chuckled.

“Reid, no wonder you can't get a date,” Derek teased, but it wiped the smile off the young doctor’s face. 

Leaning over the small space, you got close enough to his ear so that only he could hear you.

“Don’t listen to him, Spencer. You’re a catch,” you patted him on the shoulder before sliding back into your normal position.

“Reid, you stay on the messages. See if there's a deeper meaning,” Hotch ordered.

“It definitely looks like he ransacked the crime scene pretty well. A lot of damage, but nothing seems to be taken,” you observed.

“The eyes are the thing, the signature. The behavior that isn't necessary for the murder, but necessary for the emotional release. That's what he's there for,” Gideon stated.

“There used to be a widely held belief that the eyes record a snapshot of the last thing a person sees before they die.”

“Yeah, that's right. People used to write poems about talking to death,” Derek commented.

“Ballads,” Spencer corrected him.

“Whatever.”

“You think they'll ever run out of new things to do with their victims?” Elle asked.

“Well, finding new ways to hurt each other is what we're good at,” Gideon sighed.

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[generallynerdy]

Through Hell & Back (Daryl Dixon X F!Grimes!Reader)

Summary: (Y/N) Grimes and Daryl Dixon would go through hell and back for their big brothers. But something they realise along the way is that they might just be willing to do the same for each other.

Key: (Y/N) - your name Warnings: Shane Walsh & Andrea existing, cursing, badly written accents, injuries, fights (physical & verbal), badly written reunions, attempted rape, death mentions, mentions of Rick ripping someone’s throat out with his teeth, Emotions Word Count: 5,261 (yeah wow it’s a doozy)

Note: i am in love with this fic pls request more grimes!reader shit when requests are open i am begging you

      “You need to get your priorities straight--”

    “My priorities are straight! My brother comes before anything else-- anyone else, do you understand me?”

    (Y/N) had been arguing with Shane since dawn. After screaming at him and nearly ripping his head off when he admitted he hadn’t watched Rick die, she was still going. She could do it all day.

    “You would risk the lives of everyone here for him?” Shane whispered harshly.

    She met his gaze with stubborn defiance. “In a heartbeat.”

    “Even Carl?”

    “Carl needs his father,” she spat, shoving him back. “And you don’t get to say anything else about this. You left him to die! I’m gonna find my brother and when I get back I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you taste leather.”

    She stormed across camp to her tent. Still fuming, she packed her things as fast as she possibly could, ignoring the footsteps approaching her tent.

    At first, (Y/N) figured they belonged to Shane, still wanting to argue with her, but when they paused outside, she knew it wouldn’t be him. He would’ve entered without hesitation, as would Lori, so it had to be--

    Daryl cleared his throat as he came in.

    "What do you want, Daryl?" (Y/N) muttered, shoving her supplies into a single duffel bag.

She didn't need a lot, especially if she was just going to drop into King County and see if her brother was still there. If he wasn't, it would be a whole different story.

"I'm comin' with ya," he said firmly.

She turned sharply on her hell. "Scuse me?"

"I said I'm comin' with ya," he repeated, his tone possibly more stubborn than hers. "You ain't goin' all the way to King by yerself."

She scoffed and turned back around, ignoring him in favor of packing her things. "Daryl Dixon, I never thought I'd see the day." Rolling her eyes, she continued. "I have to find Rick and nobody's changin' my mind."

"Didn't say I was tryin' to."

"I'm not taking you with me," she decided, swinging her back over her shoulder and looking back at him.

"Can't stop me," he glared.

She almost laughed. "The group needs you here more than I do. I won't be long and hopefully I'll have the dumbass with me when I get back."

"They can go without me," he suggested.

(Y/N) shook her head. "We both know they need the food you get from hunting. Stay here."

She went to leave the tent, but was stopped when he grabbed her arm. The smallest gasp left her lips. He'd never touched her before, not in the slightest. He'd never touched anybody except maybe Merle, who he'd smacked on the arm last week.

Since bringing Daryl and Merle Dixon into this group, (Y/N) was a lot less busy than she had been at the start. They brought in a good amount of food from the woods and she couldn't thank them enough for that. They were irritating as hell, mostly Merle, who nobody in their right mind liked. Daryl, on the other hand, was perfectly tolerable. 

(Y/N) found herself hunting with him more often than not, actually. He was quiet, but so was she. His company was preferable to Shane's, that bastard.

"You would go through hell for Merle, wouldn't you?" She asked him suddenly, meeting his gaze evenly.

Though Daryl paused, he nodded. "And back."

"Then you know why I have to do this," she said, pulling his hand off her arm.

"That's why I'm goin with ya," he said again. "Nobody should go through hell alone."

Now that had her hesitating. She'd never taken him for the sweet type. By the look on his face, though, even he was shocked by his own words. He almost looked like he wanted to take them back.

"I'll be back soon. You stay here with Merle and the others," she said again. "If I'm not back in three days, then you can come after me."

"And you won't be pissed?"

She snorted. "Didn't say that." She bit her lip a little, sighing. "Just stay, okay? I need someone to be here that isn't Shane."

"Don't trust him?"

"Not anymore," she almost growled. "Sick fuck left my brother to die. Who knows what he'll do if we don't keep an eye on him?"

Daryl nodded at that. "I'll watch him."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice surprisingly genuine.

After Shane told her that he hadn't, in fact, watched Rick die with his own two eyes, (Y/N)'s list of people she could trust was getting shorter. She always had Lori and Carl, that was for sure, but it wasn't like they would be much use except for emotional comfort.

At least now she could depend on Daryl and maybe even Merle if he was willing to help his little brother out. The others in the camp were trustworthy, too, she supposed, but not when it came to Shane. They listened to him. That was dangerous.

(Y/N) had hoped she could trust her brother's best friend since childhood in the wake of the apocalypse, but that plan had fallen out from under her feet. People in this camp trusted her, they listened to her, but they listened to him more. And after what he admitted to doing, she wasn't sure if she could do that anymore. It was better for her to leave, to go searching for her brother. Daryl would keep an eye on Carl and Lori and there wouldn't be any leadership disputes, at least not until she returned.

"You should tell the kid what's goin' on," Daryl suggested after a quiet moment. "He'll wanna know why his Aunt (Y/N) and Uncle Shane are shoutin'."

(Y/N) sighed deeply. "I know. I wish he hadn't seen that."

Daryl shrugged. "Might be better if he knows you and Shane ain't gettin' along. More likely to listen to ya."

"Maybe. Doesn't mean it won't hurt," she admitted. Shaking her head, she took a step out of the tent, Daryl following her. "Just do me a favor and keep an eye on 'em, Dixon."

"Yeah, well, you do me a favor and don't die out there," he shot back.

She laughed a little despite herself. "I'll try not to." Then, she turned to him, her tone serious. "Three days," she repeated. "Three days before you come lookin', okay?"

"Okay."

“I’ll hold you to it, too, Dixon. Don’t be late.”

He snorted as she went to leave, or at least find Carl so she could say goodbye.

I'm on my way, Rick, she thought as she left. I'm on my way.

  That was four days ago.

Daryl had it in his head to leave yesterday, but then Officer Friendly informed him of Merle being missing and suddenly it was a double rescue mission. Of course, Daryl would probably regret trying to beat Rick up when (Y/N) came back, but in the moment, he'd wanted to make him pay for leaving his brother.

To be honest, part of his fury came from the fact that he would never have done that to Rick's sister. So how come he did it to Merle? Well...Merle could be a jackass. Fair enough.

The day the group was going to leave, Daryl overheard Rick and Shane.

"This ain't a good idea. Merle ain't worth it," Shane was trying to say-- again.

Daryl scoffed as he passed. "Sure, Merle ain't worth it. But (Y/N)'s been gone three days. Oughta start lookin' for her down there."

Rick's eyes widened. "(Y/N)?"

That was when it hit Daryl-- Shane's guilty face, Rick's absolute horror.

"He's been here two days and you didn't say shit!?" Daryl accused instantly. He turned to Rick then. "Yer little sister's been lookin' for ya by herself. She said she'd be back four damn days ago. I was s'posed to look for her after three."

So, a rescue mission it was.

Shane was shocked that Daryl was meaning to go after (Y/N), as was...pretty much everyone else. But he ignored them. As soon as they were in the city and found Merle's hand, Daryl was pretty sure they were going to move on to (Y/N).

They were searching the building where they left Merle. Daryl split from the others when he heard movement down a hallway. He paused by the corner and took a deep breath.

He swung around the corner, coming face to face with a loaded pistol.

"Jesus, Daryl," came (Y/N)'s breath of relief. "Might've warned me."

He dropped his crossbow instantly. "Yer an idiot."

"Thanks, missed you, too," she sassed. "After yesterday I didn't actually expect you to find me."

Daryl frowned. "Shit happened. Run into Atlanta went wrong-- your bitchass brother handcuffed mine to a roof."

(Y/N)'s face lit up immediately. "Rick? Rick's with you?"

Daryl almost smiled at her joy, but shoved it aside when he was reminded of his own brother. Sure, they found hers, but his was missing. Talk about a trade off.

He led her down the hall where he left the others and as soon as they turned the corner, she was sprinting at the turned back of her brother. Rick turned right at the last second and caught a massive, tearful hug from her. She clutched the back of his shirt fiercely and buried her head in the crook of his neck.

"Jackass," she muttered.

Rick, voice breaking somewhat, replied: "Dumbass. What were you doing-- looking for me by yourself? What about Carl and Lori?"

"Daryl said he'd watch 'em for me," she said, pulling out of the hug.

"You could've at least taken Shane."

(Y/N) scoffed. "Yeah, right. After what he did?" She shook her head and punched his arm fondly. "Whatever. I'm glad you're okay, loser."

Rick rolled his eyes and reached forward to ruffle her hair, but she shoved him away.

Daryl watched in bitter, spiteful silence, gripping his crossbow tightly. He would have given anything in that moment to have his brother back. And when (Y/N) looked back at him, nodding, he knew she understood.

Through hell, she’d expressed silently.

And back, he’d replied.

  Days-- maybe weeks-- later, Daryl was pulling away. He went out nearly every day searching for Sophia. It was an unspoken agreement between him and (Y/N) that she would let him do it. She understood why.

"It's because you didn't go after your brother, isn't it?" She asked him one day.

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "You search for Sophia to make up for not going to look for your brother. You wouldn't leave us to go look for him and now it's eating at you."

"Maybe," he muttered, mostly trying to ignore her. "What's it matter?"

"You stayed to take care of the group. You're not a bad brother for not looking for Merle," she tried to reassure. "There's nothing you could have done."

That was when he stopped replying, grabbing one of the Greene's horses from the stables. He intended to go out again that day, to spend hours looking for a little girl who was probably dead. (Y/N) would let him, like she always did.

"One day," she said, making him stop.

"Huh?"

She smiled a little. "One day. You don't come back, I'm gonna come looking for your ugly ass."

He snorted, mounting the horse. "Yeah, good luck with that."

He rode off, leaving (Y/N) to worry about his return. Every hour that he didn't come back was another hour spent worrying. As it began to get later, she was completely on edge. Rick asked her what was wrong, but she couldn't find the words to tell him. He already had enough on his plate as it was.

When she and the others ran toward the walker on the edge of the field and she recognised it as a person, she nearly collapsed with relief.

And then the gunshot rang out.

(Y/N) was on Andrea as soon as Daryl was in the house. She got in a nasty right hook before Rick ripped her off the woman, yelling at her to calm down.

"I oughta kill you!" (Y/N) spat.

Okay, so leadership wasn't going so great these days, at least with Andrea and Shane. Everybody else looked to her for a neutral point of view in the wake of the Shane v. Rick thing going on. Punching Andrea might not have ended up changing that, either. Most would probably be on (Y/N)'s side in that.

"You just HAD to pull the trigger, huh?"

"I thought he was a walker!" Andrea tried to say. "I was protecting the camp!"

(Y/N) scoffed. "Oh, yeah, shoot the walker even though there's a whole group of us staring it in the face. It wasn't trying to eat us and even if it was, we could have handled it. You just had to play hero, didn't you?" With that said, she stalked off, spitting on Andrea's boot as she went.

"Jesus," she heard Shane mutter.

"Oh, shut the hell up," she snapped at him as she went. "I'll slug you next."

Okay, maybe Daryl was bringing out a little more vicious side of her. But to be completely fair, somebody had to be vicious with those assholes. She was just giving them what they deserved.

(Y/N) made her way to Daryl's room, pulling a chair up to his bed. "How are you?" She asked.

"Fine," he mumbled.

"I know you're not," she sniffed. "What happened out there?"

He was silent for a while. It took him a good hour to open up, to admit he'd found the doll but that the horse had thrown him. (Y/N) listened the whole time, just waiting for him to admit to what was really bothering him.

"Thought I saw Merle," he finally sighed.

Her gaze softened. "We'll find him, Daryl. I promised you we would."

"Ain't happenin' anytime soon."

"Maybe not. But it'll happen eventually," she said.

She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. She wanted to go for his hand, but decided against it at the last second. Despite stiffening at first, Daryl eased into her touch, basking in the silence that surrounded them.

When he found out about Andrea, he laughed about it for days. He'd never let her live that one down. Sure, she was willing to do anything for Rick, but was Rick willing to go through Andrea for her? Because it seemed like the bitch was holding a grudge.

Rick brought it up to Daryl, who shrugged him off. "I'll deal with Andrea" he said. "You just focus on the rest of it."

Rick, of course, had no idea what he meant. But (Y/N) did.

  When Daryl came back from searching for Merle alone, (Y/N) knew something had happened. He shoved past everyone to get to a guard tower and be alone. Everyone left him that way, for the most part. (Y/N), of course, dared to lean in the doorway of the guard tower he had chosen, staring at him thoughtfully.

"Hey," she greeted simply.

"Go away."

She shook her head and moved inside just slightly. "What happened out there?"

"Nothin'," he spat. "Can't ya leave it alone?"

"I'm not leaving you alone, not like this," was her instant reply. "Are you okay?"

His voice cracked when he said: "Piss off."

"Where's Merle?"

With that question, he let out a small sob. (Y/N)'s heart broke as she heard it. She'd never meant to push. For a second, she was sure he was just pissed, but now she realised that he was hurting. Something had happened to Merle and he was in immense pain.

She crossed the room and sat on his cot beside him. "Oh God, Daryl, I'm so sorry."

He cried harder, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook and (Y/N) drew him into a hug despite her initial instinct to run. She couldn't let him go through this-- not alone.

After a hesitant moment, he hugged her back, drowning his tears in her jacket. She held him tightly, running a hand through his hair.

"I know it's rough," she said quietly. "I know it hurts and right now it feels like it won't ever stop. It might not. But you're gonna be okay. Merle went through hell and back for you, just like you would have for him. He did it so you could be here right now."

"Bastard," he spat just loud enough that she could hear.

(Y/N) snorted and nodded. "Yeah, you'll feel like that, too." She paused. "This is what it was like when Rick got shot. I know it's not the same, Daryl, but I understand what you're feeling right now."

He hesitated to speak, the words catching in his throat when he finally came up with them. Well, it. It was one word, one question.

"Stay?"

(Y/N) knew that Daryl was hating himself right now, hating how pitiful that sounded. It nearly broke her heart to hear from him, something so soft and so broken. She hugged him tight, vowing to herself not to let go until he was ready.

"I'm gonna be here until you get sick of me. I promise."

  The prison fell. Of course it did. They could never have anything good for longer than a few months. That was how the world was.

Daryl, (Y/N), and Beth managed to stay together, to stay afloat for a while. But then they lost Beth. God, that almost killed Daryl. (Y/N) was dragging him along more often than not, trying to convince him to keep going. When she mentioned that Rick was still out there, that Carl and Judith were still out there, he picked up the pace.

The Claimers almost killed her when they ran into them. Somehow, though, their leader was convinced she could be useful. Daryl and (Y/N) joined their ranks, though regretfully. They both detested the way they looked at (Y/N), like she was a piece of meat. It made her skin crawl and Daryl glared at everyone who even dared to glance her way. 

They kept calling him her boyfriend. He didn't correct them, maybe thinking it would be safer for her if they thought so. Maybe he just wanted them to.

"Look," Daryl was telling her one night when the others were asleep, "we're gonna find 'em. Bound to run into 'em sometime."

"You don't know that," she muttered.

It had been days and she was losing hope by the minute. Her brother, her nephew, and her niece were out there and she couldn't find them. God knew if they were even alive. The only thing she could be sure of was Daryl, sitting thigh-to-thigh on the ground next to her.

Daryl's presence had grounded her lately, especially on the more difficult days. But at some point she'd need more than just him, she thought. The longer they were out on the road, though, the more she started to consider that maybe he was it. Maybe he was the only family she had left. She wanted her family more than anything, but if they couldn't find them, if it was just her and Daryl, maybe she could still survive.

"You'd go through hell and back for Rick," Daryl said suddenly, breaking her thoughts. "That's what you said when you went to go find him."

(Y/N) nodded hesitantly. "I still would-- hell, I have."

"I would, too," he admitted. "He ain't my brother, not like he is yours, but I'd go through hell for him. We ain't gonna stop until we find him, I swear."

She soaked in his words like they were the only thing keeping her alive. In the silence of the Claimers' home for the night, she leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder. Reminded of that day so many weeks ago when he'd lost Merle, she was sure he would tense up. But he didn't react. He didn't even flinch.

Daryl let (Y/N) lean on him that night and every night after that, no matter the looks they got from the Claimers. She needed it, that he knew. But what she didn't know was that he needed it a little, too.

He kept his promise when they found Rick.

The Claimers turned on them faster than they'd welcomed them, that was for sure. Before (Y/N) could process, she was being pulled to the ground by a man twice her size.

They circled Daryl, beating the hell out of him. She screamed and screamed, shoving at her captor, but he wouldn’t budge. The horror that ran cold through her blood when the man held her down almost killed her instantly. Her shirt was ripped off and she could hear Rick, Michonne, and Daryl yelling at them to stop. Daryl almost broke through the circle trying to get to her.

His hands went to her jeans while she kicked and screamed. (Y/N) risked a glance at Carl across the road. His eyes met hers, terrified.

Goosebumps pelted her arms. She couldn't let him see this-- couldn't let him experience it. Oh god, anything but that. Anything but that, please.

(Y/N) didn't know when Rick bit the man's throat out, nor when Daryl found the strength to overpower the mob. All she knew was that the man above her was dragged off her and stabbed through the face by her pissed off older brother, who was practically bathed in blood.

Daryl ran to her side while Michonne helped Carl, who was still shaking. He pulled off his shirt and gave it to her. Unable to speak, it was all she could do to keep sane, putting that thing on.

"Carl--" she stammered. "Is Carl okay?"

"He's okay, they're all okay," Daryl told her quickly.

She looked behind him, where Michonne had the boy. With a nod at each other, the woman with the katana took Carl to the car, where he was out of sight from (Y/N).

The moment he was gone, (Y/N) burst into tears.

It was like her worst nightmare had almost come true. She was moments away from being violated in the most despicable way she could imagine-- and in front of her nephew. In front of the boy she held so dear, the boy she'd spent so long protecting. He almost had to watch that happen.

She'd barely held the tears back in front of him, but her inner motherly instinct told her that she shouldn't. It had kicked in ever since Lori died. She was one of the only women Carl had to take care of him. Thank god for Michonne.

Daryl shocked himself, Rick, and (Y/N) when he hugged her. (Y/N) expected to flinch away, but instead found herself sinking into his arms.

She was shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop her tears. He held her, rubbing her back like it was second nature. He couldn't understand her terror, not entirely, but he knew that she was terrified. The best thing he could do was be there.

"Are you okay?" She asked suddenly, her voice breaking. She looked up and put a hand on his face, examining his wounds. "They hurt you."

He shook his head. "It ain't bad. He touch you?"

(Y/N) swallowed hard and shook her head. "Didn't get far."

He hugged her again, tighter this time. If Rick hadn't kill that son of a bitch, Daryl sure as hell would have. He would have given him worse than death. Far worse.

They took a while to recuperate. Daryl stole one of the dead guy's shirts and (Y/N) kept his. Their reunion with the others was long awaited, but it wasn't as joyful as they had imagined. (Y/N) didn't care. At least they were all together-- well, some of them. It hurt that the rest of their family was still missing.

That night, (Y/N) passed out in the car with Carl long before the others.

Outside, Rick and Daryl had a heart to heart.

"You're my brother," Rick told him, shocking him. "In more ways than one."

Daryl turned bright red at that and looked away, daring a glance toward the car. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

"I think you know," Rick teased. He went serious after that. “I get why you did it now.”

Daryl frowned. "Did what?"

"All of it. Why you went lookin' for her in Atlanta, why you didn't leave after Merle went missing," he continued. He looked over at him with a stricken expression, finally completely understanding. "You love her."

The words hit Daryl like a brick wall.

Okay, maybe he had feelings for (y/N), but love? That was a little strong. A lot strong. Hearing it out of her brother's mouth almost made him want to run into the woods.

He looked down at his feet, mind running at a million miles a minute.

Love her? He didn't know.

Sure, he would do anything for her, that he'd already established. She was different from the others, warmer and more familiar. She had been since day one, when she was the only one who didn't pretend like he didn't exist. (Y/N) was different and he had feelings for her. That he understood.

Did he love her?

He was starting to think he did. He'd done everything in his power to keep her with him, to keep her alive. He'd done that for everyone in their little family. But with her, he wanted her at his side all the time. He wanted her right there with him through everything and she was almost always there, regardless of whether he voiced that one.

Daryl Dixon did love (Y/N) Grimes, he was starting to realise.

"She loves you, too," Rick said, breaking him from his thoughts.

His eyes widened. "She tell ya that?"

He laughed. "No, man, my sister hardly tells me anything anymore. But I can see it in both of you. She's never leaned on anybody as much as she has you, not since we were kids."

"I--" Daryl hesitated for a moment. "I lean on her, too. She's different."

"You're damn right she is. And you better treat her like that, too," Rick warned, lifting an accusing finger.

He raised his hands defensively. "Alright, alright. Enough with the big brother talk. I won't hurt 'er. You know I won't."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Still had to tell you. Part of my job."

Daryl took a deep breath. "Seriously, ya think she--?" he left it unspoken, not sure how he felt in asking her older brother about it.

"Pretty damn sure," he laughed. "Heard her tellin' Carl the other day that if you took your shirt off to dig graves anymore she was gonna die."

He groaned immediately and buried his head in his hands, making his best friend laugh. "So, everybody knows but me?"

"Pretty much," Rick admitted. "Cept maybe (Y/N). She doesn't know how you feel. You're both a little oblivious. We had bets goin' for a while, but you both took so long that we all lost."

Daryl shook his head. "Y'all are assholes."

"Oh, we know."

When they got moving the next day, Daryl kept his pace equal with (Y/N)'s, staying at her side all day. He couldn't bear to leave her alone for a moment, not after that night. They watched with amusement as the others bantered on the way to TERMINUS. They joined in occasionally, but (Y/N) was pretty quiet. She was still recovering from the shock, so no one pushed her.

As they walked through a particularly rough patch of woods, staying off the railroad tracks directly, Daryl got a little bit of a dumb thought.

Walking beside (Y/N), he tentatively reached out for her hand. She almost jumped when she felt him take it, but smiled and let him. Daryl felt like a teenager, beyond red in the face. Luckily, they were walking behind the others, so they didn't notice.

That night, the other three were asleep long before Daryl and (Y/N).

"Don't wanna sleep," she admitted to him after a while. "Scared I'll see it again, last night. It just keeps playin' over and over in my head. What if he'd gotten what he wanted?"

"He didn't. I wouldn't let him," Daryl said firmly.

(Y/N) inhaled shakily. "I know, I just-- it still freaks me out. Can't hardly sleep."

He motioned for her to move closer and she did. He let her lean on his shoulder, as they'd done when they were with the Claimers. He knew it would calm her down, at least a little. It would help her breathe at most. Daryl did notice that Rick, who was definitely pretending to be asleep, opened an eye at the movement. Daryl glared at him and he went back to his pretending.

"Through hell and back," he muttered.

"Hm?" (Y/N) asked drowsily from his side.

"I'd go through hell and back for anyone we know," he admitted. "Been that way since Merle."

"They'd all do the same for you," she said in a quiet reassurance, not quite understanding his point.

He hadn't gotten to his point yet, but he was pretty sure it would kill him.

"I'd do it for any of 'em," he said again, but continued. "But I'd do it twice for you."

Daryl didn't dare look down at (Y/N) after he said it, but he could feel her sit and up and search his face for any sign of amusement or lies.

"I'd do it as many times as I had to," he finished.

"Daryl Dixon, did you go all soft on me?" She asked gently.

He shook his head with a sigh. "Shut up."

(Y/N0 reached up and moved his head to face her, her touch gentler than ever. "I would go through hell and back if you asked me to," she agreed.

"I wouldn't ask ya," he shot back.

She shook her head. "You wouldn't have to."

Leaning forward, (Y/N) Grimes gave Daryl Dixon the most valuable thing she had to give-- her affection. She kissed him soft and slow, letting herself sink into his hold. Daryl was almost breathless. She had her hands in his hair while his arms were wrapped tightly around her.

“Yes!” A quiet voice cheered. “Michonne, you owe me two candy bars.”

“Goddammit, you couldn’t have waited two days?” Michonne hissed at the kissing pair.

They pulled apart instantly and Daryl looked more embarrassed than he ever had been. Rick and Michonne were beaming and Carl was giggling, especially at his dad and Michonne’s bet.

“Carl Grimes, you go to bed right this minute,” (Y/N) instructed.

He laughed but curled. “Okay. ‘Night, Aunt (Y/N). Night, Uncle Daryl.”

‘Uncle Daryl’ mumbled something incoherent and the group burst into another set of giggles, unable to help themselves. Despite themselves, even (Y/N) and Daryl smiled a little.

They had already gone through hell and back for their big brothers. They'd both go through hell again for Rick, in fact, it was almost guaranteed they would have to one day.

But for each other? They'd go through anything and everything without question.

Through hell, they promised each other. Through hell and back.

Masterlist

[jinmukangwrites]

Number 15 for Jason and Dick?

Ficlets, I say through tears, as it once again goes over 1k words... Let's just say, 2 asks for the same promt... Double the words???

Warnings for kidnapping, noncon touching, non-explicit noncon nudity, implied threats of noncon/rape, captivity, basically Dick’s kidnapped by a total creep and Jason comes to rescue him okay???? No actual noncon/rape is in this ficlet. But be aware!!!

---

Jason finding Dick happened completely by chance. He was only searching the run down home because it was in the Narrows and because reports of "strange noises" have been going ignored from local authorities.

When he broke into the home, all he found was a man drinking piss smelling beer from a moth-eaten sofa, who immediately jumped up and grabbed a 12gauge shotgun, aiming to kill. Of course Jason took him down, then checked over the gun to find it definitely short barreled, it's serial number scratched out. There's no way it was purchased legally... Which makes it at least a little worth it for Jason to have snuck in here.

He used that as an excuse to check the rest of the home, searching for what those strange noises could possibly be.

H finds a hidden room under a rug conveniently placed in the master bedroom... he finds Dick laying with his hands and feet handcuffed to the four corners of a threadbare, metal framed bed.

When he finds that hidden room and finds Dick... he almost wishes he hadn't. That way, he could still believe that Dick was off somewhere, fighting his captors with everything he's got, practically in the middle of his own escape by the time rescue shows up.

That way, he wouldn't see Dick as he is now, laying limply, completely naked, his body splattered with grime, blood, and other bodily fluids that Jason's sure if he takes off his hood, the smell would be horrid.

It's been close to five days since Dick's gone missing, practically dropping off the face of the earth, and by the looks of it, he'd been attached to this bed the entire time.

"Dick," he breathes, rushing forward. To Dick's credit, the guy only flinches a little, closing his eyes and cringing the second Jason's within the corners of his sight. For a horrifying second, Jason's almost afraid Dick's too out of it to realize it's Jason and not his captor, but Dick blinks sluggishly, and focuses on Jason with hopeful recognition.

"Jay," he croaks, "you came."

Jason nods, trying not to think about that he's only found Dick by pure happenstance. That, in reality, they were at dead-ends so deep you couldn't see the bottom of. He pushes the begging shards of guilt out from his stomach and leans forward with lockpicks in his hands. He releases Dick's hands first, and then almost goes down to his ankles, but trembling, grime covered hands stop him.

"Please," Dick says, sounding so close to shattering. "Let me."

Jason lets him. He gives Dick the picks and backs off to give him privacy as he bends forward to unlock his own legs. As Dick works, Jason slips his leather jacket, knowing it's at least two sizes too big on Dick and will cover most of his exposed body. It's also warm. Definitely warmer than the room. Jason still has his under-armor, he doesn't need the jacket.

Once Dick lets out a weak sound of victory, both cuffs off his ankles, Jason steps forward to help Dick slide to the edge of the mattress. He wordlessly hands Dick his jacket, and Dick takes it gratefully, sliding his thin arms through the sleeves and zipping it all the way up. His legs are still exposed, but the jacket falls far enough to cover everything else.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Jason asks, mentally hitting himself for not asking that sooner.

Dick flashes a smile, one that looks so fake, and shrugs. "Few scrapes and bruises... Nothing to worry about."

Jason frowns. Five days of captivity and nothing besides scrapes and bruises? "What did he want with you?"

Dick's entire posture tenses. He releases a shaky breath. "J-just touching... Mostly. Looking."

Jason feels something tighten in his chest. "Did he-?"

Dick immediately shakes his head. "No. He- talked about it... But never... He might have soon if you hadn't... But I'm fine. None... None of that."

Dick sounds shaken, which Jason understands. He wishes he could go back upstairs and beat the man a little harder, but right now... He just needs to get Dick home. He takes a deep breath to cool his anger, and then slumps down slowly to make himself less big. Less threatening. He finally takes off his helmet as well.

"Can you walk?" Jason asks.

Dick suddenly looks unsure, but he smiles and curls his fists above his thighs. "Of course, little wing, I've got this."

In Jason's opinion, it looks like Dick's about to blow over. Jason can tell when someone's trying to take control when he sees it, and while he's not sure if Dick's doing this to keep up his big strong older brother appearance... or if it's for himself.

Either way, Jason let’s Dick slowly work himself up to his feet. Jason… wants nothing more than to rush forward and grab Dick and steady him as he quite visibly struggles to balance on his own two feet, but he holds back, resisting biting his lip as Dick takes a deep breath along with a first step.

Dick stumbles, and Jason rushes forward before he can think about it, grabbing Dick by the shoulders and attempting to steady him. Dick… flinches in Jason’s grasp and Jason immediately stills. He looks up with a swallow, watching as Dick stares at his feet and breaths so deeply the leather jacket he’s swimming in rustles. 

“Can… can I help you?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s not going to make it up the ladder to the bedroom, let alone across the entirety of the house to the outside. Dick takes a second to calm himself, then he nods with a stiff neck. “Yeah… yeah I might… I just wanted…”

“It’s okay,” Jason says, slowly moving Dick’s arm so he’s more fully supported. “I understand. Can ya get on my back? I’ll need both hands to climb the ladder. Just hold on tight.”

Dick nods, then shifts against Jason so his chest is against Jason’s back, arms wrapping around his neck and weakly holding on with probably everything he has. He manages to stay on though as Jason climbs up the ladder and into the bedroom. The second he’s on solid ground, Dick practically scrambles back and grabs onto a nearby dresser, chest heaving and eyes screwed shut. Jason stands there and watches helplessly and pathetically as Dick slowly gets a hold of himself… he’s never seen Dick like this before. He’s on the brink of panic, and for once in his life he doesn’t want to be touched. 

“I sent a ping B’s way… he should be here soon,” Jason says softly when it looks like Dick’s back enough to himself to process words. “If you want… we can wait here until-”

Dick shakes his head. “I want… I want out of this fucking house.”

Dick stubbornly lifts an arm, and before either of them could hesitate Jason grabs it and wraps the limb around his neck. Dick feels tense like a viper, and Jason can tell he’s fighting to keep his breathing even, so Jason moves as quickly as he can.

If Dick closes his eyes when they pass the unconscious man Jason stupidly left in the middle of the front room, Jason doesn’t say anything. He just continues to support Dick and help him out the front door and down the three steps leading up to it. Thankfully, by that time, the Batmobile is screeching to a halt and Bruce is jumping out in full regalia. Jason steps back the second Bruce is close enough to gather Dick into his arms. 

Jason watches with an odd sense of detachment as Dick immediately melts into Bruce's arms; tears bursting from his eyes and a sob breaking out of his throat. Now… Jason really has no idea what to do as Dick falls apart and Bruce lifts Dick up, carefully keeping him covered with the leather jacket. Jason’s seen Dick cry before… sure, but never like this. And he only seems to cry harder when Bruce mutters it’s okay chum, before looking up and meeting Jason’s eyes. 

“Thank you.”

And wow, lots of strange things today.

Jason clears his throat. “I have to um… get my helmet.” He points at the house behind him and takes a step back, feeling like he’s intruding on Dick being so vulnerable. “I’ll… I’ll call Gordon too. So you can take him home…”

Bruce regards him for a second, shifts Dick in his arms, whose sobbings have turned into soft and sleepy whimpers, then slowly nods. 

Jason nods as well. Swallows; takes a deep breath. “Will he… will he be okay?”

Bruce grunts then turns to the Batmobile. “In time…” he says, like if he says it, it will become true. “Once we have him settled… I’m sure he’d love to see you. There’s roast leftovers in the fridge if you-”

“Sure, B.” 

Jason says it before he can convince himself out of it. Bruce looks at him for a moment longer, then takes the practically passed out Dick Grayson to the Batmobile and drives away. Jason stands there for a moment until he can no longer see the taillights. He then pulls out his phone and calls the police, leaving an anonymous tip for the kidnapper.

He takes a deep breath, then returns to the house, telling himself everything will be okay and that Dick will recover and things will be good again.

He steps on the man’s hand as he walks past. It’s not like anyone’s here to tell him not to do so. 

[whump-town]

Too Close

I’m ending my super shitty day on a positive note: Hotchniss

Retirement was supposed to mean that the danger is gone.

“This is SSA Emily Prentiss.” She’s trying to wrap up her paperwork for the afternoon. Not that anything thus far is going according to plan. She’s about thirty minutes from just texting her husband and telling him that there’s no way she’s making it home in time for hot passionate sex and Jurassic Park when she gets a call. It’s to her office phone so she’s assuming it’s not Aaron calling to whine that she hasn’t left yet.

The voice on the other line is unfamiliar. “Hi, ma’am,” the voice greets. “I’m calling in regards to your husband, Aaron Hotchner.” That immediately strikes Emily as strange. Hotch hasn’t worked for the better part of the last year. Calls have pretty much stopped coming for him and even the ones that do don’t connect her to him in regards to their marriage. 

“Your husband suffered a cardiac arrest this afternoon--”

Shock factor aside, she doesn’t drop the phone. She’s gotten all kinds of awful news over the phone. Stories about babies being mutilated and killed. Women being raped and tortured. This is… They can’t be compared. They’re not at all the same. Hearing those awful harrowing things does nothing to dull the way her throat gets tight. 

The voice drones on and Emily’s barely, if at all, able to keep herself together.

“Saint Sebastian,” she repeats back to the woman on the other end. The same hospital Foyet left him at. 

The other woman on the line hums an affirmation. She keeps talking. Something about the ICU and visiting hours but Emily already knows she’s going into that hospital, guns blazing with her badge for everyone to see. Aaron was FBI and all it takes is one phone call to the right people and she can get anything she wants.

And right now all she wants is her husband.

“Bella--” she looks up, blinking away tears she hadn’t realized were falling. Dave is standing in her doorway, pulling his hands out of his pockets as he gets a full view of her shaking body. “Emily, what’s wrong?” Whatever it is that he’d wanted it thrown out the door as he moves to her side.

She stares down at the phone in her hands. 

Retirement was supposed to mean he’s safe.

“Aaron had a heart attack.”

Matt and Luke only know Aaron from brief interactions. 

Given that the couple has lunch together frequently, an easy way to make up the time they’ve spent apart and a good excuse for Hotch to get out of the house, the team sees a lot of him. He rarely speaks once he hits the doors, offering friendly nods to Tara, Reid, JJ, Garcia, or Dave. Matt had only just found himself on the receiving end of one of those nods. After the two men spent an afternoon at Dave’s bonding over chaotic sons. 

Luke just gets a flat look. It brings Garcia deep joy that Luke is willing to do just about anything to get a nod from Hotch and her old boss won’t give him the time of day. 

They don’t really know Hotch but they understand how important he is to the others.

It takes Emily a moment to find the nerve to speak the words. To tell the other’s what has happened. Her hands are trembling at her sides and tears are threatening to fall. She won’t let them, not yet. It’s no surprise that the other’s don’t hold back. 

They don’t really know Hotch but they know how important he is to Emily. They’ve all heard his voice on the other end of a line, comforting Emily as she sits as far as she can from the others on the jet. They’ve come home to find him standing in the bullpen, standing silent and still for as long as Emily wants in a bearhug. 

Matt is the first person to make a noise other than stifling sobs or muffled gasps. He offers her a small, comfortable smile, “I can drive you.” 

Emily nods and forces herself to swallow against the panic bubbling up her chest. “Uhm okay,” she can work with that. “Pen?” Garcia looks up. “I need you and Luke to go to my house and get Jack and a bag for Aaron.” Emily spaces for a moment… What else do they need? How long will he even be in the hospital? She doesn’t even know how bad he is--

“Hotch still keeps a go-bag,” Dave continues. “It’ll be right by the door.” He waits for the nods that mean they understand. “Good,” he surmises. “Reid, JJ, Tara-- stay here. Hold the fort down.” He takes Emily around the shoulders, guiding her to the elevator. He can feel her tension, can see her fear. 

He can’t find it within himself to put aside his own fear to comfort her.

That’s his kid. 

These are his kids.

The pair are stopped before they get too far in the cardiac ward.

Matt’s waiting in the parking lot, waiting for a text from Dave.

They only allow her back. His condition is critical and it’s borne out of the admission that his cardiac output is worrisome. It’s not severe but it needs to be steadily monitored for the next day, maybe longer. For now, they don’t even want Emily back there but badges and the tears streaming down her face buy her one ticket back.

He’s sleeping. 

Out of habit, she draws the blankets around his waist to his chin. He gets cold when he’s sleeping. His body heats everything around him like a furnace but he likes the feeling of the weight of the blanket across his chest. Without it, he shivers. She can’t be certain if he’s actually cold but what she does know is that he won’t rest well if he’s not able to wrap his lean body around her own like a cat. 

Docile. 

He sleeps for hours and she does her best to distract herself as best as she can. It works, more or less.

“I was wondering when you’d get here.”

She looks up from her book to find him staring back at her. She moves closer to him, book forgotten. It’s fine, she wasn’t really reading it anyway. She could get as far as a paragraph before she became distracted by nearly anything in the room. Her thoughts just kept drifting back to him. To what it would mean to lose him. 

And she nearly did. 

For a moment she’s struck as to which personality she’s to show. The doting wife who warned him? She did. Over and over, more a mantra than a proper warning, but every day they had this conversation. Not so much coffee. Go to be bed earlier. Stop worrying over small things. 

The partner? They haven’t been to that level in some time. It’s a shield they’d worn during Foyet and Doyle. Partners. Much more of a, “I told you” than a proper “I almost lost you”. It allowed them the proximity they craved from one another while keeping up a friendly rouse for the others. Besides the notion that neither were prepared to admit their feelings.

Or can she just be scared?

A terrified wife. Not a unit chief. Not the work equivalent of a best friend. Just a wife.

“Em,” his hand trembles on the bed where he lays it. Palm up and waiting for her to take it. She does. Her own hand much softer than his and for a moment, she just sits and rubs her hand against his. Thinking about what it would mean to slowly forget the way it feels to hold his hand. 

She collects herself slowly. Just having him close is doing the job pretty well. She has to stand up to reach him but she presses her hips against the guardrail and leans down, cupping his cheek in her hand as she kisses him. Despite her best efforts, she starts to cry. 

Their lips are still pressed together when the first tear falls, Hotch feels it hit his face. “Em,” it’s all he can do remain where he is. The pain he feels in his chest the moment he lifts his shoulders is overwhelming. A strangled sound leaves his mouth, his body tensing. It’s overwhelming for a moment too long and as the black clouds in his vision fade away he realizes he’s simply made it worse.

The feeling of her cold hand in his.. nearly lost forever.

“You have to take it easy,” she admonishes gently. She simply doesn’t have the heart or the energy to fuss with him right now. Not when all she wants is to hold him in her arms. And how long will she have to wait for that? Before he can lay on his stomach and rest across her chest. To be held and loved within her arms. 

The bags under his eyes are worse than they ever were when he was an agent but the smile on his face comes easily. They can deny and fight it all they want but retirement has been kind to him. It’s made him happier. “Emily,” he whispers her name the same way he always has. His chest caving in like he’s in shock that a name like hers can be spoken by a man like him. “Can’t a husband fake a cardiac arrest so that his gorgeous wife can come to rescue him? Huh?”

She tuts, shaking her head and looking away from him. She hates his stupid humor and more than that she hates that he’s joking. That he’s trying to cheer her up.

“You haven’t been paying me any attention,” he pouts and she’s amazed to find that’s where Jack gets it from. “What was I to do, my love?”

My love. 

That bastard.

She leans back against the guard rail, the metal digging into her hips painfully. “Well,” she returns, “how about you try asking your gorgeous wife to lunch, hmm?” She strokes back a strand of his peppered hair. He’s going to make a very good silver fox. “Or,” she adds, “you can take me to dinner. No more cardiac arrests, though, okay? Dramatic flares have never really been my thing.”

He reaches between them and rests a trembling palm against her cheek, his eyes darting between hers. “Promise,” he whispers and they both know that it’s not that simple but it’s a start.

“Do you,” she leans down and kisses him, pulling back so that their lips still brush as she speaks. “Do you, also, promise to behave for the physical therapist, nutritionist, and cardiologist?”

He groans.

“Aaron,” she warns.

He grumbles, rolls his eyes, but nods. “I’ll behave.”

She kisses him, “good.” She runs a finger over his cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[alirhi]

chapter 7 (the end? I'm not sure yet)

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 7/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: m/m, reference to rape Notes: since I don't read comic books and am a huge Loki (mythology) nerd, I'm pulling on some actual Norse mythology in this one. I've referenced Loki's shapeshifting/gender-bending abilities before, but here I go into something a bit more specific, and take a teensy bit of creative license in the process. so if you're reading and are like "wtf that didn't happen in the movies/comics!" that's because that's not the source material I was using.

The Bifrost was his last resort. The Destroyer had failed to even keep Thor in line or take out the bumbling idiots who didn't even know they were harboring HYDRA within their ranks. Loki had some power, but no allies, and it would take too long for him to ferret out every HYDRA operative hiding on Midgard, but if he could simply wipe SHIELD off the map, that seemed like a good start. But first he needed to know just how destructive the Bifrost really was. Could it be used for a surgical strike? Could he take out one building at a time, or would it truly destroy an entire planet?

Bucky would never forgive him if he destroyed his entire home world just to ensure that his captors were dead.

The obvious solution was, of course, a practice run. It was a good thing he had the perfect target in mind. He would destroy Jotunheim entirely, ensure there was no one left to avenge Laufey, and see how long it took to erase the planet from the cosmos. If the destruction took a while, if he could center it on one thing and have the damage radiate out from there, then after his cursed birthplace was eradicated, he could turn the Bifrost on SHIELD's headquarters. Then, all that remained was to go down, grab Bucky, and then come back and destroy the bunker in Siberia. There would be no more torture, no more Winter Soldiers. No more trauma for the man he loved.

Oh, who let bloody Thor out of his desert cell? The meathead always had to complicate everything. Loki lacked the time, and frankly the patience, to deal with his self-righteous adoptive brother's newfound life purpose, which seemed to be 'annoy Loki by any means necessary.' Not so new, then, he supposed. Simply a new method.

I don't have time for this, you oaf! "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to destroy Jotunheim!"

For all that it lacked delicacy, he really felt this plan was a perfect win-win. His father would wake to find his oldest enemies eradicated, his heir apparent revealed as the reckless idiot Loki had always known him to be, and a new heir standing proud and ready to take his place. Bucky would be safe and sound, and since all of his friends and family were likely dead by now, there would be nothing to tie him to Midgard any longer. Perhaps he could be convinced, finally, to come home with him to Asgard and rule by his side. With Loki's shapeshifting power, they could even have a family. Hopefully Odin would stop keeping Loki's children as pets. Truth be told, he was still a little bitter about Sleipnir; unintentional though his conception had been, he was still Loki's son.

Even if Odin didn't see reason when it came to Thor, now that the idiot had fallen in love with a human of his own – after a weekend – that could at least pave the way for Loki to come forward about his own star-crossed love, and maybe be accepted at last. At the end of the day, he had no real interest in ruling Asgard, only stepping out of his brother's shadow and not facing ridicule for who his heart chose. He didn't even know anymore what he was more afraid of; Odin finding out he'd fallen for another man, or Odin finding out he'd fallen for a human.

"Loki, you can't kill an entire race!"

"Why not?" He laughed, though he was more confused than anything else. Since when did Thor care? "Oh, what is this newfound love for the Frost Giants? You could have killed them all with your bare hands!"

"I've changed."

In three days? He doubted it, but he supposed stranger things had happened. It didn't really matter; all he wanted in that moment was to prove to Thor, and to himself, that all his years of practice had meant something; that he was truly every bit the warrior his brother was. Mostly, though, he wanted to kill time and keep Thor from breaking through the ice barrier to stop the Bifrost. It was taking its sweet time tearing Jotunheim apart; that was frustrating with Thor there waiting to muck things up, but encouraging for his true purpose.

"Loki, this is madness!"

"Is it madness? Is it?!" You have no idea! "Come on, what happened on Earth that's turned you so soft?! Don't tell me it was that woman!" I've spent years mourning a love I built and cherished and could tell no one about, and you get to parade around proud as a peacock after spending three days with her?! That is madness!

The look on Thor's face told him everything he needed to know, and he almost vomited. It wasn't just the ridiculously brief time he'd spent with her; Thor could do no wrong in their father's eyes. Even if he marched right up to Odin and announced that he intended to marry this woman and make her his Queen, he would suffer no consequences. No one would dare to speak against the heir apparent; the witless wonder could have anything and everything he wanted! Meanwhile Loki was raped in the service of one of Odin's pettier schemes, and he was ridiculed as weak and a pitiful clown, the son he bore taken from him to be ridden into battle like he was little more than another expendable tool for Odin to use and discard.

The more he thought about how differently their father treated them, the more embarrassed he felt for having been surprised to learn he was adopted. Stolen, really; like everything else Odin thought might one day prove useful. And still, Loki loved him. Still, he looked up to Odin as a father and wanted his love and acceptance. Odin had tormented and humiliated him for most of his life, and Loki still wanted to make him proud. How pathetic.

He was too distracted; too lost in his own spiraling thoughts. Thor kept getting the upper hand, and it was only thanks to Loki's talent for illusion and duplicate-casting that he hadn't outright lost yet. At least he did have those things going for him.

"Enough!"

Damn. Too stunned by how hard he'd landed to move, he could only watch helplessly as his adoptive brother approached, certain Thor would kill him. Instead, he sat Mjolnir on Loki's chest. The blasted thing weighed a ton! He could feel it crushing his chest, preventing him from moving and making it harder and harder to breathe. The painful weight of it was too much to bear, but he refused to suffer in silence.

"Look at you," he taunted with what little breath he could muster. "The mighty Thor! With all your strength... And what good does it do you now, huh?!" He could swear the stupid hammer was getting heavier by the second. He could feel the weight of it cracking his ribs, and he winced, gasping for air.

"Do you hear me, brother? There's nothing you can do!"

And suddenly it was gone, and the bridge was shaking. Stunned, he lifted his head to look, and saw Mjolnir back in Thor's hand. "What are you doing?" No, no, NO! He sat up, horrified as he watched his brother smash his hammer down over and over again. "If you destroy the bridge, you'll never see her again!" I'll never see him again!

No, he couldn't let this happen! Never mind all his desperate half-thought-out plans to save Bucky and destroy HYDRA... He couldn't bear the thought of losing him forever! It'd been hard enough to go on living when he'd thought his beloved was dead; knowing he lived but was a helpless slave, alone with no one to protect him, to rescue him? Loki would rather die.

It hurt to move, but he had to get up. He had to stop Thor! If he destroyed the Bifrost, Bucky would be left alone in the clutches of his enemies forever!

The world was a blur for a moment. He was running at his brother, the bridge was shuddering beneath their feet, there was a blinding flash, and then suddenly Loki was dangling over an empty void, his only tether to solid ground his grip on the end of Odin's staff. Thor held the other end for dear life, though he, too, dangled precariously over open air. How had they not both fallen yet?

Odin. Odin was holding onto Thor to keep both of his sons from flying off into oblivion. Did he know what Loki had done? What he'd tried to do? Was he finally proud?

"I could have done it, Father! I could've done it! For you!" For Bucky... "For all of us!"

"No, Loki."

He didn't care. No matter what he did, Loki would never be good enough; would never be Thor's equal in their father's eyes. And worse, now his only link to Midgard and to the man he loved was gone. Now Loki didn't care. To Hell with them all.

A strange sense of peace, of surrender, came over him and, without a single thought nor care for what might happen, he let go. The sensation of falling with nowhere to land was strangely comforting. Perhaps the next life would be kinder to him than this one had been.

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[jettingtothemoon]

Save You; chapter 8

➳ pairing: hector x witch|reader ➳ genre: fantasy, angst, fluff ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut, mentions of rape, past slavery, spoilers for seasons 1 thorough 3. ➳ word count: 2572 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n and Hector continue to flee from the council of sisters, finding refuge among an unlikely acquaintance with fresh scars and a cold personality. ➳ Part two of, ’Rescue You’. ➳ tags: @afierayeehaww​

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09,

Feeling Things

When Alucard awoke, he went into a panic. Feeling the two bodies lying either side of him dug something up that he had been trying to bury for quite some time now and, as he looked at you and Hector, all he saw were the bodies of Sumi and Taka.

Then, those faces changed back to your own, only blood was gushing from your necks as you lied there with your eyes open, completely unmoving. It had happened again. He was alone again. Or so he thought as he began to hyperventilate, clutching his heaving chest and feeling as though he were about to die.

Then, there was the feeling of a gentle hand on his back, pulling him back to reality.

"Alucard? Look at me, calm down. Please." You begged, trying to keep your voice calm in hopes of calming him.

When his eyes finally focused and his erratic breathing began to slow down, you let out a sigh of relief. His shaky eyes flitted to you, the icy fear within them melting the moment they saw you. You were okay. Then, his head snapped to Hector who was sitting to the other side of him, looking just as worried as you.

"What happened?" He asked, bringing a hand up to delicately brush stray strands of hair away from Alucard's face.

Alucard looked forwards once again, catching his breath as he calmed himself down only to feel tears building up all over again. As they began to roll down his cheeks, he lied back down and covered his face with his hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He mumbled.

You and Hector exchanged a glance and lied back down beside him, both facing him from only inches away.

"It's alright." Hector soothed, placing a hand over Alucard's arm.

Then, it was your turn to reassure him, "You don't have anything you need to apologise for."

After a moment, Alucard moved his hands away from his face but still couldn't seem to bring himself to look either of you in the eye.

"If you're not ready to tell us then you don't have to, but know that we are here to listen when you are." Hector sighed, this thumb gently rubbing over the skin of Alucard's arm.

A silent moment passed while you all lied there until Alucard finally spoke, "It happened a few months before the two of you arrived."

You and Hector focused your full attention on him, ready to hear what he had to say but he paused again. He looked up at the ceiling, face looking somehow both full of sorrow but also void of emotion. Then, he took in a deep breath and continued.

"Their names were Sumi and Taka. They came here hoping to learn to hunt and kill the vampires who took their home... They were kind and full of hope. Their passion to take back their lives was admirable... but they grew impatient and had their trust in me faltered."

He went quiet again, his voice breaking ever so slightly as yet another tear dripped down the side of his face.

"They came to my bed and, when I was at my most vulnerable, they tried to kill me."

Silence yet again as you and Hector took in the trauma he spoke of, finally understanding why he found it so difficult to trust you when you first arrived. You just wanted to hug him again, to hold him and tell him everything was alright but, instead, you reached out and wiped his tears away with your thumb.

"Is that how you got the scars on your arm? From them? I- I'm sorry, I saw them before but I didn't want to ask in case you didn't want to talk about it." Your voice was careful, hesitant, you were unsure of whether you should have asked about them or even brought them up.

He turned his head to you, his golden hair bunching on the pillow beside you as he nodded, "They're not just on my arms. They're everywhere. My arms, legs, chest, back. The scars that haunt me are on every inch of my body just reminding me what they did... and what I did to them."

Hector tenderly turned Alucard's face towards him and tried to offer him a reassuring smile, "It wasn't your fault. None of it was. They hurt you, they tried to kill you. You did what you had to Alucard. You're not the one to blame."

"I- I just wish it could have turned out differently. Maybe if I hadn't tried to delay their teaching then they might have believed me and returned to their home safely. I... I just didn't want to be alone anymore..." He broke down all over again, his hands once again coming up to catch his tears.

"You're not alone, Alucard. You never will be again, I promise you." With your words, he turned back to you with a sad smile.

Hector wrapped an arm around him and hugged him tight, "We're not going anywhere."

You too leaned closer, resting your head on Alucard's shoulder. The three of you sat in silence for a moment until Alucard's tears stopped falling. Then, Hector decided it was his turn.

"I went through something similar... when I was being held prisoner at Carmilla's castle. There was a woman, a vampire. Lenore. She tricked me, manipulated me into thinking she cared about me when all she wanted was my loyalty."

It surprised you to hear Hector speak her name, especially when you knew the sheer mention of her made him feel sick to his stomach. Alucard too seemed surprised that Hector was sharing his experience with him. He didn't know what exactly had happened before you wound up at his castle but he knew it was bad, he could see the pain reflecting in both of your eyes, especially Hector's. A pain that mirrored his own. It was one of the reasons he let you stay and the main reason he gave Hector a chance in the first place.

"She tricked me into sleeping with her and turned me into a slave. A pet." Hector spat and you could hear the bitterness in his voice.

"I'm sorry." Alucard sighed but nonetheless sounded grateful that Hector also trusted him enough to confide in him as he had just moments before.

Hector shook his head and sat up, climbing out of the bed, "It doesn't matter now. What happened, happened. What matters right now is that we're safe and we're away from there. No to mention, we have each other and Alexander. None of us are alone, not anymore."

You climbed out of the bed just after, following Hector in getting dressed. Alucard smiled, knowing that you were not like Sumi and Taka but more like Trevor and Sypha. You were his friends, his companions, and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Adrian."

When he spoke, both you and Hector turned to him looking confused and so, he explained, "It's my name. My birth name. I think- I think I want to use it again."

You both smiled and nodded before going back to getting dressed. Adrian left to give you some privacy, although neither of you minded his presence there. When you were done, he was already dressed and making breakfast for everyone, including a little bowl for Cezar.

By the time Alexander and Cezar came down to the kitchen, seemingly following the smell of a deliciously cooked breakfast, everything was neatly laid out on the table just waiting for you to eat it. The boy smiled and sat down at the table, noticing the brighter atmosphere surrounding the rest of you.

Once you had all eaten, Adrian went fishing for dinner. He took Alexander with him as the boy seemed eager to lend a hand and go on an outing. Not that you could blame him, being cooped up inside this castle, no matter how large it is, can be a bit much. He will surely enjoy the trip and you had no doubt that they'd come home with enough fish for dinner.

When they left, you and Hector went to the study. Cezar followed at Hector's heels, happy to follow his master around once again after looking after Alexander for so long.

Hector used the magic you had taught him to light the fire, warming away the draft that had crept in over the night, while you browsed the shelves for a good book to read.

"I'm glad Alu- Adrian is doing better. Last night and this morning seemed to help." Hector stated, pulling his shoes off to warm his feet by the fire.

You smiled, "Me too. I'm glad we could provide at least some comfort to him."

When you found a book that piqued your interest, you walked over and sat on the floor by Hector. Cezar was already in his lap, tail wagging happily as Hector scratched behind his ears.

"y/n."

Sensing the seriousness in Hector's voice when he said your name, you closed the book you had only just opened and turned to him. Your eyes alone beckoned him to continue and so, with a sigh, he did.

"I think... I think I'm feeling things I shouldn't be."

Your brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

He looked away from you, almost as if he was afraid to look you in the eyes, "I love you, you know that but-"

Another pause as he sucked in a breath.

"Nothing is going to make me think you love me any less, nor will anything you're about to say change how I feel about you." You reassured and, although his tense muscles relaxed a little, he still seemed somewhat uneasy.

He hung his head, curtains of silver hair covering his honeyed face, "I think I'm feeling things- something- for Alucard... I know it's completely wrong and I shouldn't be. I mean, he's a man and a vampire and- and just a friend but-"

"I know what you mean." You sighed, leaning your head onto his shoulder.

He looked down at you, somewhat startled, "Y- You do?"

You nodded and reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his as you continued, "He's charming and broken... just like us. Handsome, we're both jealous of his hair, not to mention he's the sweetest little vampire I've ever met."

"S- So you feel it too?"

Hector seemed to feel less guilty about his straying thoughts and feelings when you admitted to being in the same boat as him. Even going as far as to listing the reasons you too were feeling something for the vampire.

"I don't love him. Not like I do you, not yet. But... I won't deny that even I've noticed this thing between the three of us."

Hector breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank God. I thought you were going to think I was going insane."

You chuckled and reached for your book, turning your body so that you were sitting with your back against Hector, "It's not insane to care about someone, Hector."

The two of you sat quietly for a while. You just read your book, enjoying the tales about dragons and knights. Hector seemed more at ease but it was clear he still had a lot to think about. He wasn't, it seemed, as open to these things he was feeling. It was clear he wanted to at least try and make sense of things or perhaps he was simply allowing his thoughts a rest as he watched the crackling fire.

Not long after lunch, Adrian and the boy had returned with plenty of fish for dinner.

"You should have seen him, Alexander is a natural." Adrian beamed, ruffling the boy's hair as he placed the fish down on the table.

Of course, Alexander just grinned and, unexpectedly ran over to hug you. It wasn't so strange for him to hug you but it was strange for him to hug you seemingly without reason. Perhaps it was his new way of greeting you upon his return as he couldn't do it verbally. Whatever the reason, he soon also eagerly hugged Hector and then ran off to play with Cezar.

"He seems happy." Hector stated with a smile as he pulled out a chair to sit down.

You took the fish and put them into the sink in order to wash them before you would prepare them for dinner.

"He liked it. Going out, doing something new. It's good for him." Adrian stated, wiping down the table with a cloth to clean up the mess he had made by initially putting the fish there.

Once you finished cleaning the fish, you decided to leave them in the sink for a moment to talk to the two men who sat chatting around the table. You pulled out a chair and sat with them, turning to Adrian with your arms resting on the table.

He just looked at you for a moment, seemingly questioning what you were looking at him for but, before he could ask, you turned to Hector.

"I have a proposal." You declared, looking back at Adrian and then from him to Hector once more.

They both looked confused, looking at each other to see if the other knew what you were going on about but, when clearly neither of them had a clue, they looked back at you.

"Um... What is it?" Adrian asked, tilting his head curiously towards you.

"Well, a proposal and a confession." You admitted, although they both simply looked at you with the same blank expressions as before whilst waiting for you to elaborate.

You sighed and turned to Hector, "You know what we talked about earlier? In the study?"

He nodded slowly, eyes almost worriedly snapping to Adrian and then back to you.

"I have an idea," Your head then turned to Adrian, "How do you feel about sharing our bed again tonight?"

He furrowed his brows but answered nonetheless, "Well, I wouldn't hate it. Sleeping beside the two of you last night was probably the best sleep I've had in months. It was... comforting."

"I'm glad it was nice for you," You smiled sincerely, "But this time I was thinking maybe we could... make things more intimate?"

It seemed to take him a moment to catch on to what you were implying, the cogs turning in his brain until finally, something clicked.

"O- Of course, if you don't want to then we don't have to. I know you probably don't have anything good to associate with that kind of thing after what you went through and- God, maybe it was a terrible idea to suggest it. It's just that Hector and I like you, we really like you, and we want to understand just how far those feelings go." You rambled, suddenly worried that it was not a good idea to bring this idea up. You didn't want to make Adrian or Hector uncomfortable but you wanted to at least explore this, especially after hearing Hector's own feelings earlier on.

Adrian's hands settled on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently against you as if to soothe you, "It's alright."

Then, he looked at Hector, their eyes met for a moment before he lifted his hands from you and looked back into yours, "I- I trust you. Both of you. So, if this is something you both want, then I won't reject the offer. Anyway, I also have some things I want to confirm."

The two of you turned to Hector, waiting for his input on the matter with expecting eyes.

He breathed in, then out, before smiling softly at the two of you with a slight nod of his head, "I want to as well."

Just like that, the three of you had made your decision. Whether you would go through with it or not was another matter.

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09,