#the doll is no longer a vessel it is now a form he can take

[fatedroses]

A Judge and his Bodyguard - A Reaper, and his Voidsent.

[monicahar]

if he was the puppet soldier in the tale, then what if you were the ballerina? spoilers for scaramouche's teaser!

he felt something.

a tug on his chest, a swirl of conflicting emotions forming inside his tempestuous mind as something foreign inside him is desperately wanting to reach out to you—to claim you as his and no one else's.

what is this feeling? he'd wonder as he silently admired you dancing amidst the moonlight glow—basking in its light as you put your heart into your graceful movement, effectively entrapping him into a trance.

he had never felt this way before with any of his other former companions.

very much like the soldier doll in the tale, it was love. romantic, to be exact. this smoldering emotion that created an unnecessary yet deep desire to be with you for eternity.

but is it really love?

he didn't have a heart. he doesn't posses the bare minimum for what it takes to feel. he is but a hollow vessel abandoned by its creator. he shouldn't feel. he is not capable of such things.

so what was this longing he held for you? where was it coming from?

as time went on with him progressing into his grand birth as a god—he eventually brushed this whole predicament off. this was probably the result of some witchcraft you meddled with. he wouldn't put it past you. after all, you were incredibly mischievous, so it's highly possible. it'd be impossible otherwise. that's what he used to think.

but now that he's been reborn after the wires snapped, the scorching feeling of being smothered by burning hot flames in every inch of his body as he's falling to his inevitable defeat against the traveler and buer—he thinks back to the old tale the child had told him once.

a silver heart amidst from ashes of the burnt doll.

after the fire consumed him and he came to the point where he had nothing left to call his own did he finally realize—that he had a heart all along. long has it been buried underneath all his pain and suffering, now resurfaced once more as he meets clarity and is now slowly embracing his past.

the shell that encased and hid his heart was now broken—thus his pent up emotions over the course of multiple centuries are now loose. he's now a lot more open with his feelings,“but that doesn't mean they're always positive.”—the traveler commented once, irking him greatly as he gave them a slap to the back of their head. but it remained true.

call it a god complex or just plain sadism, but he still liked seeing living beings suffer. but the good thing is that it was a lot more milder than before, no longer doing it to humans “unless absolutely necessary”—nahida quoted, knowing that there will be times where he encounters unforgiving foes throughout his wandering.

he scoffed at her nagging mothering, funnily enough.

you would be proud. he thinks. he's now finally doing something for himself instead of his enraged pursuit of becoming one with divinity—all while still being himself.

dragging his thumb along the smooth and intricate ridges of his newfound anemo vision attached on a sash over his shoulder, he subconsciously lets out a small smile at his own new heart and new purpose as he stares at the world before him.

he'll wander and discover new things, then wander even more after—for him to continue doing so until he finds you once more,

so now that this time,

with his heart to act upon—he can love you all over again without anything in his way, his beloved ballerina.

[king-of-better]

Final.???: King J-Der: The Burning Phoenix

A surprise release to promote Amakuni's King J-Der figure, the newest piece of GaoGaiGar media by a large margin, it fills in a gap for the Red Planet Warriors between GaoGaiGar and FINAL.

Part 1

After the sacrifice to destroy the Heart Primeval, King J-Der survived, but was thrown 90,000,000 light years away by THE POWER. Kaidou, J and Tomoro regroup, as J-Ark returns to form, repairs taking place while J tells Arma he can return to the Blue Planet and his Mother, though Arma still considers himself a weapon. J tells him to live now.

Tomoro has detected that the universe is contracting rapidly, though they cannot know yet who is responsible, but determined to investigate, they launch towards the centre of the phenomenon. J again presses Arma to choose his own life.

The J-Ark is attacked by a similar vessel, the J-Battler, and J-019 is aboard, their previous battle is recalled.

They think it must be a different survivor of the 31 Soldatos, but J-019 declares he was reborn in the fires of the sun, he is also no longer a Zonderian.

J-019 wants to commandeer the J-Ark and rebuild the Red Planet, and when they try to point out how futile this would be, he decides he'll take it by force.

J-Der and Battler start fighting, but someone tells Battler it is taking too long, they think it is the Doll Arma, as Battler decides to show his full power, forming King Battler.

King J-Der forms in turn, and they start fighting. 

Part 2

King Battler is overpowering King J-Der, who is shocked he can achieve so much without an Arma or Tomoro, but he has something better, the leader of the Red Planet, Abel.

Both use J-Quath, but King J-Der can feel King Battler will win the struggle, who tells him to pledge himself to Abel and the Red Planet.

King J-Der argues that both King Battler isn't superior in all aspects, and that Abel no in longer exists. As a feint, King J-Der uses a full volley, while King Battler intercepts, Arma rides on one and enters King Battler, informing J-019 there is no Abel on the throne.

King J-Der uses J-Quath to steal King Battler's, then performs a Double J-Quath, with the additional benefit of Arma having disabled King Battler's Generating Armour.

As J-019 lies dying, Arma and J-002 ask him why he did this, and he says to ask Abel, still seeing her in the throne, and starts convulsing, Tomoro reporting he had been infected with a Chemical Bolt, which was causing him to see illusions.

J-Battler an J-019 both fall apart, Arma and J-002 escape back to J-Ark, and they resolve to face a new battle.

It will eventually be discovered J-019 and J-Battler was a replica, being used by the new enemy to plunder the J-Ark. Tomoro used analysis of J-Battler to make repairs and enhancements to J-Ark, which will become important in the coming battle, Repli-J-019's sacrifice will give J and Renais the Key to Victory.

[kafkaoftherubbles]

Crack-ass Hypotheses Record #1/ 致命脑洞记录 (一） 

Eko has her clay pot. I have my crackpot.

This is where I gather my current To Your Eternity hypotheses and speculations that are wild (low probability) and have minimal-to-no concrete in-lore evidence or arguments per what the story currently shows. Over time, some might get promoted to formal hypotheses (IPA pronounciation: ˈram-bəl) if the evidence pools to its favor, but for now, take 'em with the same copious amount of salt as needed to make marinated Nokkers to serve unsuspecting Human Nokkers. Yum! 

Dolly has 32's brainwaves, including a copy of her consciousness/personality (at the time of her copying), uploaded into its AI module. It is still loading in the background. 

Dolly has 32's brainwaves and some bits of Left Hand Nokker's consciousness. Ironically making it the latest Hayase "rebirth." 

Dolly has 32's brainwaves because she is (forcefully) uploaded into the doll to leave her actual vessel for Left Hand Nokker to completely dominate. Dolly is 32's last-ditch attempt to remain "human." 

Dolly is a hybrid of 32 and Left Hand Nokker's consciousness as the Left Hand Nokker's latest attempt to "be human." Hence the panel "I've become human." 

Dolly is the Beholder's Orb (a rather popular one in the fandom as it stands, but it's personally placed rather low on my probability scale) 

AD and 32 (+ other Mizuha clones) had a very important relationship. 

AD was one of the Mizuha executors. 

 All Kaibara's most dirty-working executors have no stars. 

AD is frequently depicted as wearing goggles because (1) he has soft expressive eyes which, despite the intimidating physique, can easily betray his emotions. (2) his eyes are distinctive enough that revealing it will make readers recognize his lineage or connection to past characters. (3) a fashion statement. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. 

The Mizuha Massacre was conducted because Left Hand Nokker has finally perfected its vessel and it no longer needs these "Hayase's rebirths" anymore.  

Left Hand Nokker's perfect vessel is constructed or engineered from scratch the way designer babies like Andy are, but with materials from the Left Hand Nokker itself such that for the first time, it can say this is its body. This is its first time as an independent human being, "free" from Hayase and her "incarnations."

There could be a grand revelation of the true nature of Hayase's rebirths, which the Left Hand Nokker recounts to taunt/spite Fushi. Perhaps the revelation that the rebirths have always been arbitrary and socially constructed and that only the Left Hand Nokker is the constant. In other words, Kahaku could have just been a normal Yanome boy without all that baggage—and self-hatred—all along.  (very wild if true; for now, very low on the probability scale despite how much I like this one)

There will be a World Tour of sorts, with each immortal warrior's personal theme and life story coming to full circle and perhaps even dying. It will make this part of the Wish Era mirror the Previous Era's emotional gut punches.  

The tundra will return (whether it's still the tundra or not... well, climate change might beg to differ). The NAMELESS BOY (ooh, didn't need to capitalize that) and Joann both will return to the story in some form.  

As they are Fushi's earliest memories and life impetus, to the point of being pre-Hayase, they are the ones most connected to the Beholder's Orb. 

Nameless Boy is (or the base of) Fushi all along. It doesn't change the fact that Fushi is "everyone", though, but in some philosophical-spiritual-scientific-whatever-sticks way, Nameless Boy and Fushi are "one person."  (Also very wild if true, but also very low on the probability scale despite how much I like this one to bits)

Fushi would make do with what they promised Left Hand Nokker back in the Present Era and "become its vessel."  

That's it this time! I wonder what everyone's crackpot theories are as of now?  

Thank you for reading my ramble.  

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[starshipsofstarlord]

Not on my boat

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst helping Sam fix his boat, during the midst of its progression, Bucky corners you within the old Wilson heirloom, leaving your friend and future captain, rather disgusted in the both of you.

Warnings | tfatws spoilers, mentions of death, some angst, smut, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bit of choking, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Hearing the waves crash against the side of the boat brought a smile upon your face, as you felt the breeze brush against your face. It was peaceful, fixing something rather than leaving it broken in order to save lives. If you weren’t swarmed with the government on your tail about how you were not allowed to use your powers, you’d be living out a free and happy life with the man you loved.

You were enduring a break from your assistance on the old Wilson vessel, your legs plodded around its platform, as you surveyed every piece that was in progress. Soon it would be in tip top shape, and when Sam and Bucky’s relationship was on par with that, that was when the two of you had planned to leave. There were plenty of things the two of you had to make up for before you could reside in peace; one of those things was that list of his.

It was a ledger of the amends that he had to make, a reminder of all the lives that had either taunted his own, or he had stolen from whilst he was not himself. James did not deserve the grievance that he was pardoned with, he was struggling, that much was clear. He had lost Steve, and then he was forced to watch as the shield had been handed off to some wanna be cap. To say he had been furious at Sam was a deep understatement, but as said, he was making amends.

Sam was a good man, you had learnt that much from the time that you had spent avenging to him. You had yet to tell him, but you weren’t planning on going back to that life after Karli was stopped, you wanted to continue working in the small shot bar slash grill, where Bucky and Youri would visit during your hours for lunch, and remain in that partition of worlds. Having Bucky and normalcy was a fine balance, which was a deep seated structure that you deeply needed.

If you did not have that then you were sure you’d explode, and hurt someone, or break something. That was no longer your duty, the fighting that you had spent most of your life giving into was coming to an end, and you were more than fine with that. A civilian life sounded good enough, and something that you could definitely settle for, though, you weren’t sure that Bucky would do the same, you hoped that he would.

That gleam in his eye was far too noticeable every time that he looked at that star striped shield. It had brought him much pain, but it had been there in the corner of his sight everywhere he had went. And now, Sam Wilson, the man that his best friend had entrusted with it, finally accepted the mantle, holding it in his firm grasp, ready to become the next captain to walk the earth, and both you and him knew that he would do far better than Walker could.

He was already a hero, he’d been fighting the Sam foes as Steve for some time, that was enough to know that he was ready. His hesitancy had been understandable, more so after listening to Isiah, though, it was nice to see Sam take his own path on this one. There were pictures of his younger self assembled upon the wooden walls, he was with his sister Sarah. She seemed like a nice woman, a part of you wished that you get to know her better, but she wasn’t a buyer into the whole superhero get advantages agenda, and nor were you.

From what you could tell, Sam had his advantage right here; his family. Sarah was supportive of him, always aiding him necessary, whilst she simultaneously raised to young boys, that looked admirably up to their uncle, and feeding the kids that they went to school with because their parents had no intention to. If you could, you’d buy a replica of her life, her head was above water, although the boat almost wasn’t.

The boat. It was an heirloom, something that you did not have of your own family. Everyone was gone, the only person you had was Bucky, and thinking of him caused a light chuckle to fall from your lips, he made you endlessly happy. But neither of you could have the picture perfect life, and that was why the pair of you worked, you were each well aware of the restrictions that taunted you both, and had both been down dark roads on more than one occasion.

Things were turning brighter though, as the sun glared through the old glass, casting luminosity to stroke the high points of your face. A gently creak had your head diverting to the door way, where no other than James Barnes was leant up against, his metal arm pressed to the frame as he adoringly swept his oceanic pools over your form, slowly stepping closer.

“What are you thinking about doll?” He asked you, his tone genuine, as you sighed from his words, rubbing your eyelid as you felt a small itch. You puffed your cheeks, as you placed your hands on the super soldier’s waist, rubbing small and vigilant circles through his grey shirt.

“Too much.” It was an honest answer, everything was rattling around like pins in your mind, sinking in and letting loose to their own will. They could not be organised, they would only tumble about again, until the box was empty, though, for now, you had nowhere else to put them.

“Sarah said we could spend the night.” At his words, you hummed, taking note once more of how generous the woman indeed was. “We get the couch, so you best be on your best behaviour baby girl, nothing dirty goes on inside.” A small smirk crept its way onto his handsome face as you gasped at his spoken intention, lightly hitting the vibranium of his arm.

“Why do you blame me for not keeping it in my pants?” You interrogated him, glaring up at the man with a furrow between your brows. “You’re the one that corners me, a lot like this actually, so that you can get your own way and fuck m- oh, that’s exactly what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” You scoffed, crossing your arms and stepping away due to the man’s hormonal impulses. “Why am in not surprised?” You asked yourself, shaking your head at the behaviour of your partner.

“Hey, I’m doing us both a favour. Sex in someone else’s house is not exactly appreciated, and there’s kids, that i would rather not risk getting caught by.” He moved towards you, grabbing an ass cheek in each hand, as he pulled you closer by his grip. “At least then, there’s a chance I can survive the night, without being woken up by you sucking me off, or riding me.”

He was pushing your buttons, and he far well knew that, almost too well. It was his technique to get you riled up, that way, there’d be no dismissal of his current proposal, though, you continued to wear that adorable frown that he loved so much, and so, he gave your ass another firm squeeze, causing you to gasp against his chest. “Fucking on their dead parents’ boat isn’t exactly respectful either.”

“We’re helping fix it, may as well take our break on board, let loose a little, release all that’s clouding your mind.” He shrugged, knowing that his words were tempting you into complying with his lustrous whim, and so, to put another step in to helping his cause, he stepped back, reaching behind him to pull his shirt over the back of his neck, leaving his muscular torso bare, and free for your eyes to roam.

“That’s not fair.” You whined at him, not stopping yourself as you moved closer, and smoothed your hands down his stomach. “You’re such a tease Barnes, why couldn’t you have just fingered me in the public bathroom and waited until tomorrow?” A groan slipped from your mouth, as you peppered kisses over his warm flesh, tasting the sweat on his skin as your tongue swiped over the ridges of his six pack.

“Where would the fun have been in that?” He watched you roll your eyes, but continue to work your way down to his navel, stroking his v line with your fingertips. “We’ve had sex on a plane, might as well add a boat to the list.” Bucky remarked, groaning as you put your weight down onto your knees, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, as you palmed him through the denim of his jeans.

He could feel his cock stirring beneath the material, wanting more, eager to breach the layers that were keeping your tongue from rotating around him. But he remained still, as you swept your hair out from your face, the noise of your pulling down his zipper audible, as you sent him a naughty grin. The man above you licked his lips, breathing a sigh of relief when you tugged his jeans and boxers down, his erection swiftly bouncing up, the leaking tip pointing rudely at your face.

With a quick hand, you grasped his length, rubbing over his veins as you pumped him, spreading the moisture of his precum over his rigid skin, aiding you in your movements. As you proceeded to jerk him within your grip, your mouth moved forwards, your breath fanning over his balls before your tongue slipped out to stroke them, swiping up the droopy skin, as you suckled one into your mouth, contently moaning from the flavour of his skin.

Your eyes had shut as Bucky opened his own, watching you through a hooded gaze as you happily assisted his genitals, sending him into a crusade of pleasure as you used your well adversed skill set upon him. Your bottom lip ran up his shaft, slowly dragging along his reddened skin, until your reached the tip, your hands fleeing down to fondle with his sack, as your mouth stuffed itself full of his cock.

“Baby girl.” He breathed, his chest feeling tight as he stood there, practically naked aboard your friend’s boat. James gritted his teeth, watching as you effortlessly bobbed your head up and down half of him, lazily grinning as gagging sounds eventually emitted from your throat as you had him down the back of your throat, saliva slipping down your chin as you shook your head from side to side with him choking you with his dick.

Though he worried not for your struggle, not as you moaned against him, your lashes fluttering though your eyes were shut. He reached his vibranium hand down, stroking the side of your face with the cool metal, a high whine whistling it’s way out of your nose. Your spare hand reached up, cupping it against you, as you hollowed your cheeks, steadily breathing your nostrils.

A light frown covered your face as you focused on smoothing your tongue on his underside, causing Bucky to throw back his head, his stomach sternly clenching as he felt his balls twitch; and then, before he could fathom it, he was filling your mouth, cumming down your throat, as he pulled out, the last of his seed falling upon your tongue as he manhandled himself, feeling sensitive as he watched you fumble your tongue around your mouth, swallowing the mix of your spittle and his cum.

“Taste so fucking good.” You spoke, laughing lightly as you stared up and saw his dazed expression. Bucky pulled you up, his hand cupping your ass again, as he backed you up against the dash, your back lightly hitting against the window as he pulled at your shorts, whisking then down your legs, rubbing you through your underwear. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting himself as he located your clit, your arms grabbing at his shoulders to push him down, to which he complied.

His noises echoed through your mouth, as he pressed kissed along the top of your thighs, his fingers surpassing the seams of your panties, swiping at your entrance, until his prodding ceased, and he sunk his middle finger into your pussy, feeling you clench around him instantaneously. His teeth bit into your skin, emitting a squeal out of you as you harshly tugged his hair, making him rut his loose cock against nothing but the air.

“So wet.” He mumbled against your skin, as his vibranium snapped the sides of your underwear, letting the damp material fall to the floor, as he licked circles around your clit with his tongue, pulley airy sounds of pleasure of of your lungs. He slipped in another finger, his nose being pressed against your mound as you tugged him even closer, feeling as though you were almost there. Then you came, his fingers quickly exiting you as his tongue plunged in your entrance, cleaning up all your juices.

“Need you to fuck me Buck, please honey”. The man stood, stroking his hard cock as he teased your entrance. He swiped it through your slit a couple of times, before slapping his head against your clit, making your mewl against his lips, as you licked your essence from around his mouth. “James...” His cocky demeanour returned, as he watched you glance down at his cock, pressing your lips together in desire.

“Thought you didn’t want to fuck me on the boat.” He sneered dominantly, gripping your throat with his vibranium fist, giving it a tough squeeze, finding it endlessly hot as needy tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. Your lips pouted as you sputtered to speak, but you were just so hungry for him. “Guess I’m just gonna have to take pity on you doll, aren’t I?”

With that,he wedged his way through your folds, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out, gently releasing your throat to paw at your tits through your shirt. “Move baby, move.” You mumbled, your head feeling dizzy as your nails dug into the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that you could place tender and supple kisses across the front of his shoulders.

And so, he began to thrust into you, keeping a grip on your hips as he raised your leg around his waist, driving into you deeper, your head tiredly lulling as you chanted his name in soft and delirious pants. “So damn tight angel.” The soldier muttered, biting down onto your chin as he kissed his way up to your lips, abusing the swollen flesh a little more. The kisses were sloppy and downright needy, his vibranium hand held your chin up so that it would tip in rhythm with his movements, making access to the inside of your mouth easier.

“Buck.” You mumbled against his lips as your eyes rolled, your own hand circling your clit as you jutted against his exceeding administrations, one hand crawling up into his scalp as you let our small screams. You were indefinitely close, and as Bucky swerved his head around your own, moving his lips to nip at your earlobe, you came, coating his cock in your wetness, as he continued to hit his hips against your own.

It wasn’t long until he followed after, your clumsy hands trailing down to roll his balls in your palms being the last thing to push him over the edge. Bucky remained standing between your legs, each of your heads resting over each other’s shoulders as you felt each other, eyes closed, and smelling how the aroma of your sex wafted around you, like a personalised perfume.

“Hell no.” And the peace was broke, as Sam’s voice broke it. He had his hands on his hips as he shifted his gaze away from the two of you, unimpressed by what had happened. “The two of you get a break and you - not on my boat!” He practically screeched like a falcon at the pair of you, his arms flailing about like a bird’s flapping wings.

Although he was maddened, it didn’t settle well with you. You were too far out of it to acknowledge what he must have thought about the on deck dick that you had gotten, you were too lost in Bucky, the feeling of him still inside of you, and the falling of his cum out from beneath you both. “You know what, I’m outta here.” Sam left, quite glad to do so.

“You alright doll face?” Bucky asked as he pulled out, making you wince from the feeling of emptiness. You nodded as he reached for your underwear , leaving them be when he registered he had torn them, and instead opted to picking up just you’d shorts, pulling them onto your legs, redressing himself afterwards.

“I love you Buck.” You smiled tiredly, humming as he pecked your lips a few more times, combing his hands through your sex hair, as he returned the facial expression, seemingly calm. It looked good on him, the pair of you had momentarily forgotten your traumas, and it was bliss.

“Love you too darling.” He pecked your nose, staring lovingly into your eyes as he helped you down, and abled you with support to stand. “Unfortunately I think our breaks over beautiful.” He spoke, his hand upon your waist as the pair of you walked from the scene, going to fetch a bottle of water from Sarah, whom you hoped had not learn of your oversea adventure .

[thefanbasewhore]

Retirement.

Summary: Blood is something Bucky has grown used to but when he's covered in yours, he's sick. Don't worry, happy ending!!

Warning/Content: almost death, getting shot in the head, Bucky cries but finally gets everything he deserves 😅

Paring: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Bucky Barnes tag list and master list

"Buck -" The rasp comes from the piece in his ear, he barely hears it as bullets that wiz past the surface of his head and bounce off the ground. He's out of breath, gasping as he find shelter behind an abandoned car, pressing the piece closer.

"What is it? Did you get in?" He pauses, "We need those files."

"Buck, he has a gun, he has me. Compromised." His heart is already unsteady and those words only make it beat faster. A pit forming in his stomach instead, he hears a male voice in the background.

"Who has a gun?" The silence makes his brows crease, heart drop as his voice cracks. "Answer me!"

"He wants to know where you are and what files you want." Bucky let's out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding at the sound of your voice.

"Tell him, give him the drive." There's no hesitation in his voice. There nothing in this world he wouldn't do to save you, nothing else mattered. Not the mission and definitely not the data.

But you know this, he's hard headed but instead of listening to Bucky you decide to test the waters. Looking up at the man which isn't hard, he has you on your knees, hands out in front of you but a gun inches from your head. "He said fuck off, if you shoot me you'll never know."

"What are you doing? Give him the drive, now." The growl that emphasizes the last word would usually be enough to have you shaking, but you don't give. Despite how rough he sounds, he tries to soften it "That's an order, give it to him sweetheart."

"Oh, he said fuck off again."

Bucky body runs hot, adrenaline pumping through his veins, warming his entire body as makes a b-line for the building you disappeared into a short while ago. "Give him the fucking drive."

It's useless, he hears rustling and talking but nothing he can understand but that's until he hears you talk to fast he can barely understand. "Office, we are in the first office second floor."

It's music to his ears, a second of relief but he feels dizzy as the found of a gun going off through the comlink almost paralyzes him.

"Fuck!" He yells, as he calls your name repetitively but there is no answer.

Nothing can stop him, he's running so fast he can barely register. It's all a blur, up the stairs through the main office until the stench of blood greets him.

There you are, lifeless and surrounded by your own blood.

His hands grasp gently grasping your head, blood seeping through his gapped fingers as good heart drops. "No..no." he mumbles to himself, managing to turn you over. It's hard to breath, he can't even think, see over the tears that blue his vision. A large lump forming in his mouth, it seals his throat.

There's too much blood to see anything, it soaks your scalp and mats into the hair around it. His fingers blindly look around for an exit wound but nothing is there, instead his focus falls to the rise and fall of your chest, still breathing.

Eyelashes flicker again cheekbones, disoriented and confused as Bucky let's out a sign of relief while you crunch your nose together in pain. He takes a second, just one to lay his head on top of yours and thank anything - anyone.

"Where does it hurt? I can't see, your bleeding too much baby.." Bucky watches as your eyes flicker from his steel blues and your hand reaches up to run a knuckle again his jaw, feeling the course fine hairs there. "Hey, listen to me, where does it hurt?"

Following the path of your shaky fingers he lets out a sigh of relief, the bullet managed to just graze the side of your head. The spot is hot under his trembling plam, beginning to scab and the hair is ripped away but he feels so thankful in that moment.

"He missed." It's not funny but both of you can't help but laugh as your sense of mind is returning. Hues of yellow and blue already forming under both of your eyes, no doubt from the head trauma.Bucky feels one of your hands push against his chest which he responds by tightening his core.

"Get off, I'm fine."

The look he gives you is filled with annoyance, eyes widening as if he can't believe the words that came out of your mouth, especially since his pants are wet and sticky seeing he is actually kneeling in a pool of blood.

"Are you crazy? You will bleed out." Bucky is quick to rip a piece of material from a nearby blanket, wrapping it tightly around your head but keeps pressure with his palm. "You need to get stitched up before you bleed out."

"I'm fine." Trying to push him away again but the look he gives is warning enough so you don't fight him as one arm slip underneath your knees, and then other supports your head against his chest.

"Scared me." Is all he manages to mumble as he starts his ascend towards stairs, a small kiss pressed against the uninjured part of your head. It's gentle, filled with so many words as his lips linger there, more so to reinsure that the skin is warm, full of color and lively. "Don't ever do that again, please."

"Bucky I couldn't just give it to them." Something is placed into his coat pocket while you tap it with a small smile. Hooded eyes weak, threatening to close with every passing second. "So I didn't, it's safe, the morons didn't even bother to search me."

Great, the mission is still ago but he's frowning. "I don't care about the mission. I care about you risking your life for some file, you disobeyed my orders I told you to give it to them and to tell them. If that bullet was an inch closer you would have died."

Silence feel over the pair, nothing else to be said because Bucky was right. The agreement was Bucky was in charge, in order for you to come everything would be up to him, especially because you weren't supposed to be there in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Guilt creeping over, pressing a small kiss to the underside of his jaw. Small tears beginning to blur vision but you're not sure if it's from the look of disappointed and fear that line his handsome features or that fact that you were that close to death and blood is soaking threw the make shift bandage and trailing down the side of your head. "I should have listened."

"I need a medic." Bucky brings his wrist to his lips before laying his cheek against the top of your own. The heavy, swish of air from the helicopter does little to him, he still stands confident and strong as he speaks.

"Don't cry, doll. I'm not mad, I promise." He pauses but you can feel his hands trembling, heart pounding inside of his chest. "Just scared, I'm covered in your blood and i hate it."

***

He was right, from head to toe, smeared across his face and dying his hands pink even after scrubbing them effortlessly in the shower does little to get it off. The smell of your blood is still fresh, enough to crinkle his nose with distaste. Every time he looks down it's a reminder that he almost lost you.

When he enters the bedroom with a towel around his waist you look up, head still spinning but now the wound is stitched up, white bandages knotted behind your head. After the initial shock left your system you notice the side affects, right below where the bullet grazed, your right ear is ringing. You can hear anything and honestly, the doctors couldn't give a definite answer if it will ever come back.

"How your head, did the medicine start working yet?" Bucky asks, throwing on a pair on underwear and doesn't bother with anything else.

With a defeat huff you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as the bright light of the bathroom hurts. Bucky notices and shuts it off before curling up into the bed, legs entangling with your own as he presses a soft kiss against your neck.

A few more soft ones pressed against your cheeks, the warmth gathering the few tears that slip from your eyes. A hand runs through the soft strands of the involved side of your head, a soft hum of comfort vibrates against it. "Shhhh, it's going to be okay sweetheart."

As the underside of his hand comes back up to comfort you the pink hue catches his attention once again and a frown fills his features.

"I don't want to say this..." his words are rushed and desperate but he can't keep it in any longer. "Every time I close my eyes I see you there, in your own blood. I can't shake the feeling of your blood oozing through my fingers."

Bucky is never one to hold his partner back and to be honest he thinks you're one of the best agents he's ever met, skilled and smart but none of that will matter if you are dead. "I don't want you going on active missions anymore."

"You don't get to decide that." You argue, he fears the worse as your head moves from his hand, no longer seeking the comfort. "You can't do that."

"I need piece of mind, you're the only person I have left." He argues. The bright moon creates just enough light to illuminate one side of your face through the window. Eyes are black and blue and red shot, a popped vessel on the corner of your right eyes almost swells it shit. They're also puffy, no doubt from the wound and all the crying. In pain, agonizing pain, who knew getting shot in the head would give you such a bad headache? His soft hands find you again, pulling you close and gently for you face him.

One hand slides over the skin of the back of your arm, squeezing the muscle there as he presses an experimental kiss against your lips in fear you'll pull away. You couldn't if you tried, pull away that is. The smell of his soap overrides any other sense, his skin is soft and warm, his lips gentle as he strokes your hairline, pushing the hair away from your forehead. "I didn't say you have to stop, just be more careful about it, no more active missions but you can go after, make the arrests, still get in on the action."

"So let everyone else do the hard work while I sit on the sidelines? That not who I am."

"Please." He sounds desperate, blue eyes roaming over the soft features of your face, the wrinkle of irritation pinching lines between your forehead, the curve of your nose to the fullness of your lips. Beautiful, breathtaking, he's never loved something so much before. The fact that you're still laying next to him, breathing makes him want to cry.

So he does, unwanted tears fall in a messy, zig-zagged pattern as he hiccups. A soft, small hand finds his head, the buzz cut smooth under finger-tips.

"Bucky, baby.."

"I have lost everyone. My parents, my friends... Steve. I don't want to loose you either." A sound so sad, choked up and stuttering jumps his chest as he cries into your neck.

It's long over due, he refuses to speak about it. The last year of his life as been challenging to say the least, he's trying to adapt but struggling. Coming to terms of what he's done over the last 70 years but also learning how to love again, how to become human again.

Steve still haunts his dreams, his best friend, the man who saved him from Hydra, from everything is now gone. The one person who has been constant, his backbone but now he's finding that in you and honestly, his heart cant take much more.

"It's alright Buck, I'm not leaving you. I promise, I'm right here." It doesn't help, his heart his burning, chest crushing under the pressure of tears. The ball of emotion and growing and growing in the back of his throat, making it hard to speak. "You can't leave me.. you can't."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."

"You're not okay, you can barely keep your eyes open. You have a gun shot wound in the side of your head! I felt it, your blood stains my hands. It's all I can smell. I thought you were dead... I can't take it."

What If he didn't miss? If Bucky had found you lifeless and cold?

"It's okay." You rub soothing circles to the middle of back, letting him cry it out. He needs it, he needs to talk about his problems, grow from them.

"What If we both stop?" Bucky's words silence you, "No more missions, we find a home, settle down. Just me and you."

The thought had crossed your mind more than once, a peaceful place to call your own with the man you love. Who knows what would happen? There's no doubt the pair of you would be bored out of your minds but can also gets jobs to fill the void, teach self defense classes.. start a family.

The thought alone makes your heart pound, so filled with love. "I want a normal life.. it's all I ever wanted. I can't imagine it with anyone else but I also need you safe. We can...." He's hesitant, not sure if they're the right words. "We can get married, get a home.. leave all this behind."

It's all so much, his words mix with the ache in the side of your skull but you don't need to think twice. The promise of Bucky forever is impossible to pass up on. "Yes."

"Yes to what?" Bucky's breathing is normal now, a few stray tears soaking your skin but his chest doesn't move. Like he's not breathing because he'll miss the words you say.

"All of it, to being your wife, to starting a normal life with you." After everything Bucky has been through, it's the least he deserves and you're going to give it to him. As his smile grows against your skin, you're breathless. Heart beating rapidly against his own and you swear you fall in love all over again.

[scrawnytreedemon]

if you've got any, talk abt your headcanon for hollow and affection!?

Ohohohooooo!!!! You have UNLEASHED ME!!!

I'll try and put my own spin on this, as I feel everyone and their mum has largely the same idea of how Hollow expresses affection(which is to say, Baby Need And Want Hug)

As sweet as it is, I don't think Hollow would take to affection right away. To say they've been neglected all their life would be an understatement. Maybe they got some coddling as a very little child, but in the same way one would play with a doll. Learning that certain gestures aren't just Very Unusual Threats and that they're genuinely safe would take a good while, especially with the other healing needed from being a vessel for a dying Light god.

I absolutely ADORE the headcanon that vessels purr n shit, but not too long ago I saw a post suggesting that their "noises" would actually be a lack of sound??? And I thought that was???? The tightest shit??? But also we're going post!Infection Hollow, and for that I headcanon they were given Her voice-- Either way! Some form of purring and chirruping, voiced or un-voiced!

Once they get used to it, I think Hollow would be big on hugs and other tactile forms of affections-- Perhaps a little too much so, collapsing on people they've barely methddkjkjhdfjkhfdkjdfkjdkj

While I'm not sure if this is very in-character, I'm absolutely weak for the idea that Hollow clutches Knight close anytime they can because they're scared of losing them again-- Which leads to many scenarios where Hollow's just slumped on top of them and Knight is squirming wildly because they're a Dignified Preteen Saviour of Hallownest who wants to run petty errands Very Important Business. The guilt and shame they feel for leaving them behind is overwhelming, and so they overcompensate-- That, and they themselves have just been through something horrific --So it swings both ways, in that sense.

Both them and Hornet would be wary, at first. We have everything aformentioned for Hollow, and the fact that Hornet grew up During The Apocalypse And The Hellscape After and that part of her duty was cutting down any of the vessels that made it out of the Abyss. That, and the long-buried memories. Just... vague, blurry splotches of colour flared with soft white light racing in slow motion down halls No Longer There. Did they even meet? Once things warm up, though, and after the initial fussing is over-with, I think Hollow would be someone Hornet could genuinely settle down with and be on equal footing-- Be the Slightly Older Sibling they both fancy they might've been, had things been different.

Hollow would get along quite nicely with Elderbug :) It'd be a love-language of gifts between neighbours, and words of advice. He may not be close to them like their family and loved ones, but he's near, and they're always glad to pop by and chat. Their garden's brimming with the buds born from that one, glowing white bloom he gifted them, long agao when they first arrived.

It isn't long before Bretta realises she has butterflies again-- Or lumaflies, of whatever it is she wants over and done with! She's not ready for any of this. Everything's gone by too quick and she wants her heart to still. But it doesn't; and it doesn't help that Hollow is keen on escorting her home after their walks. Agh... No, no, no, no, they don't mean it like that-- And even if they did, Bretta would tell them now's not the time! And yet... the flowers they gifted her the other day sit so sweetly in the vase by the windowsill; glowing. Maybe she'll try, one more time.

They dream of Her. She's long dead, but they dream of Her. Hornet was scared shitless and so was everyone else until someone more reasonable less broken came by and told them it was normal for things like these to linger even when they're long gone. They dream of Her. She's radiant as ever. She's awful-- So worthy of worship and every ounce of their attention. They can't help but stare; even as their eyes burn like acid's been thrown in. She's glorious. Glorious. And it's awful. She's awful. They're awful. Their mind is theirs now but it's so empty; like She'd moved out and taken all Her things with Her. She was awful. They're glad it's over. Glad it's over but aching so much because She was the one thing glueing them together this whole time.

(Thank you as always, Thrill, for chipping in <3 always glad to see you :))

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Idk whats with me and angst but male (or if you want gender neutral) sole dying in romanced compainions + skinny malone arms?

(There are quite a few characters I didn't do..so anyone can request those individual and I'll see about writing them at a later date..just..wow. Ummm..major trigger warnings btw)

It was inevitable..wasn't it? Deep down, this truth was just one of those that was inescapable. The fearsome Sole Survivor was many things; they were determined, they were skilled, they were adaptable..they were amazing in every way- a paragon of a person..however there is one thing they were not.

Indestructible.

No one was. Shit, the Wasteland loved to remind people of that- be it in the forms of ghouls, hellish monsters or whatever- so perhaps this day shouldn't have came as such a surprise. Nevertheless, there was no comfort found within this knowledge.

The day was too pretty of one for something like this to happen. The sunshine was bright, not a cloud in the sky- a gentle breeze passing the pair by as they scavenged the archaic ruins for copper of all things- fucking copper.

Raiders were common in these kinds of areas, but that was no issue. Sole had no issue handling raiders, or anything else for that matter. Well, or so they thought.

Soon the peacefulness of that lovely day was interrupted by the whizzing of bullets and the shouts of obscenities as a small band of raiders made their presence known- effectively ambushing the pair. It was sort of funny in a fucked up way. The fight itself lasted barely ten minutes, just a blue of adrenaline and silent prayers, and the warmth of that beautiful sunshine beating on their back.

They hadn't noticed the blue of that infamous jump suit staining red until it was far too late, not until the wearer collapsed down to their knees as though they were about to beg for the life slowly fading either such rivet of blood being spilled.

Now it was even quicker.

Of course, they rushed to their precious Sole Survivor, horrified, yet still hopeful. They'd try so hard to lift them up, dread filling their veins whenever their loved one cried out in pain from the movement. However they still thought that somehow their dear would make it. Maybe it was foolish naivety.

Then there it was, a certain look within the Sole Survivor's eyes that held a promise. This was it. This was it and all they could do was watch as they died, the lovely sunlight and peaceful breeze serving as the only witness to this atrocity.

This wasn't right. Why did the world not reflect the way this scene was playing out? This was no time for sunshine and happiness, not when the only person they've loved so profoundly could only give them a watery smile..not as they slowly lost the strength to hold their hand to their cheek...

Not as the light finally dimmed and the world as they knew it was consumed by the darkness their former light now took away.

~~~~~~

Cait:

"Son of a bitch..sweetheart, you can't just..you can't just leave me like this- it's..it's not right! You come back, fuck! Please! Come come back.."

•Cait wasn't one to cry, always being more predispositions for rage than tears...however despite how hard she tried all she could do was wail until all that came out was dry tears and hoarse yells.

•After this, Cait would isolate herself from others save for sparking up terrjbke brawls where she knew she was outmatched.

•She just hoped she would finally lose the fight.

Curie:

"Please hang on, I-I can fix you! Please, mon amour, don't leave Curie just yet!"

•She's completely in shock, frantically trying to administer Med-x, Stimpacks, Jet- anything! All it does is worsen your condition unfortunately, the chems overwhelming you and eating at what remained of your life that much faster.

•A piece of her knew this, deep down at least.

•Let's just say, Curie wouldn't quite be the same after this. Not just in the "I lost someone I loved kind of way", no, more in the "I've seen far too much and can't quite cope" kind of way. Her eyes would forever be scarred with the image of your own becoming red from the busted blood vessels and your horrified, sweet face.

Danse:

"I'm truly sorry..damn it..I'm sorry I couldn't protect you either."

•In Danse's mind, you were yet another person he cared for that got killed because of his negligence. Only your death was much more profound- yes. With the death of his other brothers and sisters, he could still soldier through..but with you? The person he could only regard with love? He might've as well died with you.

•The only thing Danse can think of to do to hopefully bring you peace is bury you right outside your little home himself, hysterically crying and drunk out of his mind.

•It wouldn't be very long after this that Danse could no longer handle the pain of loss- no amount of liquor taking the vision of your smiling face at your once shared bedside from his mind.

•At least your friends would have the decency to bury him at your side after they got over the shock of finding him.

Hancock:

"Hey sunshine..don't worry, we..we won't be apart for too long. Heh, it's gonna be okay..it's all gonna be alright."

•The small window of time it takes for your life to leave you, Hancock comes to the horrific realization that he was soon to be doomed to a tragically long life without the one person at his side that made him feel worthy of living..

•Without giving it much more thought than that, he'd just simply stroke your cheek- pressing a soft kiss to your head whenever he was certain you had bled out completely, your blood throughly coating his chest and thighs. After the kiss, he'd take a deep breath before drawing his own pistol and..bang.

Maxson:

"P..please..don't leave..no,no,..please don't leave me.."

•If Sarah's death hurt Arthur, your's was devastating.

•Even after he knew full well that you were dead and gone, he still tries his best to keep you "alive". He'd rush you into a vertibird and call for you aid, having to face the fact you were truly gone when Captain Cade clasped him over the shoulder and gave him a solemn look.

•Arthur cried then, and then later into the night until all that came out were pathetic sobs.

•The only thing that keeps him going is his obligation to duty..but..sometimes he considers leaning just a little too close to the gage of the forecastle..maybe fly like some sort of mythical being before finally being able to hold you once more.

Skinny Malone:

"Oh come on doll face, it's..it's gonna between alright. Shhh, I'm right here..just..god..just relax."

•How did this even happen? He knew better than to indulge your need to scavenge..there wasn't even any need with his connections..why..why did this happen?

•He'd try so hard to keep it together, clenching the fabric of your vault suit until eventually his men come to him..then he can't contain the terrible cries that result.

X6-88:

"(Y/n), don't. You..you can't..oh..I..I don't know what to do without you.."

•As someone who knew death so well, he knew from the second you fell, the way that you fell, you were dead.

•Just for you, he'd try to keep that cold exterior he was once so good at portraying..but it lasts a mere second before tears start rolling down his face and spilling onto your's.

•He'd sit there, cradling your cooling body well into the setting of the gloriously shining sun, wondering just what he was going to do from here.

•Nothing. He no longer knew what to do

[henoda4]

--Just a little ficlet I had rolling around in my brain after the latest manga chapter. Can be read as platonic or romantic bkdk. Hopefully not too OOC, and probably some grammatical errors. Enjoy!--

* Manga spoilers- for those not caught up to chapter 317, ye' be warned!*

Finding that which is Lost:

It's been days, multiple infuriating days of searching, flying over rooftops and zigzagging through desolate alley ways and getting mostly useless information from the occasional civilian. Bakugou was pissed, hell he'd been pissed since he'd woken up in a hospital only to find out Deku was still unconscious, and then later to a goddamn letter and a nerd who'd gone off to fuck-knows-where. Uraraka had tried to tell him that he was probably just scared more so than angry, that they all were. Naturally he told her to shove it. But more than anything he'd been pissed from the moment that All Might walked right back into the UA dorms, fucking months later, looking absolutely miserable and terrified. The former Pro Hero had barely gotten the explanation out of what he and Deku had been up to before he'd straight up slugged the man. Deku left All Might behind? Deku's pushing everyone away? What the fuck does that even mean? Godammit, didn't he warn the damn nerd not to do this shit?! All Might at least had the decency to look apologetic, as if he knew he deserved the hit.

As he moves the buildings start to blur a bit and he recalls a memory from the recesses of his mind. He and Deku had been very little, he doesn't recall how old exactly, he just knew it was at some point before he had driven a wedge between their friendship, and it was the first time both of their families had gone on a camping trip. The two children had wandered away from the campsite for a bit to explore. He recalls several minutes passing and him and Deku getting separated, and even though /he/ wasn't scared of anything in the woods, he wanted to keep Deku close, you know, just in case, poor nerd would probably bawl his eyes out without him. Sure enough after a few minutes of searching he heard loud sobs and found the green haired boy crouched underneath a tree, his knees all scratched up from taking a tumble. Deku's green eyes lit up in relief upon seeing him and his little heart swelled at the reaction.

"Kacchan!"

 "Stupid Izuku! I told you to stay with me!"

"I know, I'm sorry Kacchan, I guess I got lost."

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah-"

"Well, come on then!"

He grabbed Deku's hand and yanked him upright, then practically pulled him along behind him.

He put on his best All Might voice impression, "It's okay now, ya' know why? Because I'm here so you're not lost anymore. Let's go back Izuku!"

 

If he'd turned behind him, he'd have seen the beaming smile aimed his way.

But all he heard was the small, "Thanks, Kacchan."

 

Back in the present moment, Bakugou was snapped out of his memory by a blur of green, and he abruptly came to a halt on a rooftop. Looking over the edge, he saw down to the street below where there was another flash of green and just as suddenly a figure stepped out, their silhouette half covered in shadows. His eyes widened, he was far away, so he couldn't be sure. But that lightning, the black-green tendrils that trailed the figure, it had to be...it couldn't be. He leapt ahead to the next building over making sure never to lose sight of the ground below, and then jumped down the side to stay out of the figure's line of vision. He silently thanked Hatsume for the upgrades to his gauntlets that rendered them way quieter than usual. As he peaked around the corner he saw the figure walk close to the sides of the building heading his direction. Suddenly their head came under a direct beam of light from a street lamp, and he felt his whole body freeze from the inside out.

The person in front of him, was unmistakably Deku. The teal jumpsuit, worn and disgustingly dirty and covered in various degrees of drying blood, his leg bracers ripped to shreds, those ridiculous bunny ears frayed, and those red shoes that he would recognize anywhere. It was Deku, but not Deku as he had named him, a useless person, incapable of doing anything, and not Deku as the boy himself had taken the meaning, a person capable of anything, full of unlimited promise. No this was Deku as in a doll, a mere foreboding vessel of power and purpose. There was nothing in those green eyes, glowing but soulless. It was Deku, but it was no longer the Deku he knew, and it definitely wasn't Midoriya Izuku.

"I know you're there. Although if you're not here to attack me, then what is your purpose?"

Bakugou flinched at the voice, momentarily having forgotten about "Danger sense", All Might had tried to explain before, but he'd been a little too preoccupied planning how to get around the security at UA to go after Deku to pay close attention to the details.

He figured to hell with it and stepped out into Deku's line of view.

"What the hell do you think I'm here for Deku?"

Now Deku froze, his head raising slightly. His voice came out quiet and hesitant, completely unfitting the ominous aura his appearance gave off.

"Kacchan? Is that really you?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?"

To his surprise Deku started approaching him again, the tendrils of black whip receding and the lightning dimming to nothing. When he was close enough he yanked his hood down, and Bakugou got an up close look at the grime and blood caked on his face, the sunken eyes and black bags of sleep deprivation.

"What the fuck happened to you Deku?"

The green haired boy seemed nearly ready to collapse, as if he was standing upright on sheer willpower and adrenaline alone. Bakugou fought the urge to grab him and throttle him, as fragile as he seemed at the moment, like a breathe would knock him over. Instead it was Deku who grabbed him by the arm as if he couldn't believe his eyes alone, and needed the physical confirmation of his presence.

"I'm glad you're okay. I was worried... after you, you know."

Bakugou felt his anger boil back to the surface.

"Worried about me?! What the fuck?! Worry about yourself for fucking once! Do you have any idea how upset everyone was when you took off after nearly dying, and then left only a fucking letter! How worried sick your mom is?! How scared your fucking shitty friends are?!"

He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Deku's hand slide down his arm slightly.

"I'm sorry Kacchan, I know I should've talked to you in person. But I had to go, and if I had waited, you would have tried to stop me."

"DAMN RIGHT I WOULD HAVE!"

Silence.

"I told you not to do this shit on your own Deku, I told you not to play the hero on your own. Do you not think I'm strong enough to help you?! Are you actually fucking looking down on me this time?!"

"No, of course not! I told you I've never looked down on you. I just....I can't see you get hurt for me again. I can't risk anyone getting hurt again because of me, because I couldn't do anything to protect them....I can't let that happen! I have to do this on my own. OFA was given to me so I could-"

"You're such a fucking idiot. You think you can take down every fucking villain on your own? Take down AFO on your own?"

The little shit had the nerve to smile awkwardly at him, "I've managed fine so far."

Bakugou yanked his arm out of Deku's grasp, and gestured at his whole body.

"This! This is not fine! You're barely standing, you're covered in blood and you look like you haven't slept in weeks. When's the last time you fucking ate? You can't keep this up Deku, even in his prime All Might didn't handle shit like this. And I know I said some real shitty stuff in the past about you being quirkless, but you are more than just OFA's vessel. You were the one to fucking get that through my head.. that we are more than just our quirks. So what the hell?"

"I-"

"Just let me help you Deku."

"But Kacc-"

"Dammit! It took me years to understand that you genuinely wanted to help me not because you thought I was weak, but just because you're a natural born hero and you care about me or some shit. Just..just let me return the favor for once. You don't have to do this alone."

He turned his head away uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of how inept he was at expressing himself in these delicate situations.  How was he supposed to get through to Deku? Would this be enough? The nerd always seemed to be able to read him like a book, he hoped that proved to be the case now.

"Ka-"

He felt his eyes sting with unshed tears. He was running out of options, aside from pummeling the nerd into submission. But for once he wanted to chose a different option.

"Please Izuku." He lifted his gaze to meet his child hood friend's. A silent plea hanging in the air.

In the span of seconds that felt like an eternity they kept eye contact and Deku seemed like he was trying to find something in that contact, like a promise, or a confirmation, whatever it was, he finally sighed and lowered his gaze to the ground.

It was barely a whisper.

"Okay."

Bakugou let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Can you walk nerd?" He extended his hand out to the green haired teen who took it right away. He tightened his grip immediately.

"Yeah, but I'm a little sleepy-"

Before Deku could finish, and without a word Bakugou yanked the other teen towards himself and lifted him up. The teen seemed surprisingly small and light in his arms, a far cry from the monstrous visage he painted when they first crossed paths several minutes ago.

As he walked down the blocks and could feel the tension leave Deku's body as his form went slack, he gazed down to see the nerd's eyes slowly closing, he must be exhausted. He kept walking down the vacant streets, on alert for any potential threats, the nerd's weight a comforting presence in his arms.  He assumed the other teen was already unconscious .

 He briefly gazed up and saw the stars through the gaps between the building silhouettes, he thought back again to that time in the forest as kids.

He whispered in the dark, "It's okay now, ya' know why? Because I'm here so you're not lost anymore. Let's go back."

If he had looked down a second time he would have seen the subtle but content smile aimed at him. But all he heard was the small, "Thanks, Kacchan." before the teen fell asleep in his arms.

[imagine-loki]

Toxic

TITLE: Toxic

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki loves telling everyone that he fears nothing and no one. Tony asks him to check in on Character, who has been in a pissy mood all week. Loki chuckles. “Oh, I fear no one, but I’m not suicidal.”

+

The first sign that Loki was a soft boy wasn’t anything big or particularly mushy. He stopped on the street and got down on one knee to help a boy whose laces had come undone and was struggling to do them up himself.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I entirely forgot about this one-shot in my drafts. I kinda lost steam with it and I decided to post it kind of unedited, so there should be errors and boring valleys galore! Language! Reference to suicide.

SUMMARY: Lily is usually a sweetheart, but there’s a bit of poison flowing through her veins, right now. Meanwhile, Loki has a short bout of good conscience. 

=

“Where are you going?”

Lily jumped, startled, immediately grimacing as her left shoulder smarted. Her arm was in a sling, having crash-landed onto it during a mission last week. The medic had said that she had likely torn one of the tendons in her rotator cuff, but that they would not be able to do anything about it until the swelling came down. Now, her whole arm lay useless in its cloth cradle while the other side bore the weight of bags and baskets.

“Um…,” she hesitated in her place, unsure as to why she was feeling a little like a schoolgirl caught out doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Well, maybe it was the fact that Stark had told her I don’t want you doing anything for the next month… “I was just going to the bodega. I’m out of snacks.”

“No.”

For a second, they stood in silence, staring each other down while she waited to see if there was going to be anything added to his sentiment. “That’s it?” He nodded, looking bored. “Yeah, I’m not a child. I’m going to the bodega.”

Loki groaned. “Lilian…”

“Not my name, dude.” She made the mistake of bumping into his shoulder with her injured side. On any other occasion, with any other human, it would have been no issue. Loki, however, seemed to be as dense as the center of a collapsing star, and though he barely swayed from his spot, she let out a sharp hiss and gritted her teeth painfully.

“You humans are so pathetically feeble, I swear,” he remarked, bending at the knees to gently prod at her shoulder. “Give me the list, I’ll collect your supplies.”

“No,” she replied, instantly, imitating his haughty tone, perfectly.

“Don’t be a child. I can go there and back faster than you can.”

Baby blues shot up and hardened at him. “What do you need? What leverage are you trying to get?” Loki frowned, tilting his head minutely to explore her incensed semblance. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t need to be coddled. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“I didn't–”

“Leave me alone!” With the last shouted syllable, her veins glowed bright green and thorns seemed to sprout from every bit of her skin. Loki held his hands up in surrender, and took a step back for good measure.

With one last withering look, she skirted past his imposing form, and pressed the elevator call button. The doors opened almost instantly, and she slipped in, pressing the button for the ground floor. She did not expect, however, for the elevator to dip slightly under the weight of another person. Despite the fact that she had not seen Loki follow her to the hallway, he was standing there, silently, a few feet between them as they rode the elevator down in silence.

At the lobby, he waited for her to exit the car first, following like a spectre right after. They had made it half a block before Lily could no longer resist the urge to scream, and she turned on her heel to face a calm Loki.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Loki fought the smile creeping onto his lips for a bare minute. “Accompanying you. I thought that much was obvious.”

“I don’t. Need. A babysitter.”

“Never said you did, flower,” he riposted, off-handedly before he gestured her ahead.

Letting out a barely restrained groan, she stomped her way back down the street towards the bodega. Loki, for the most part, followed silently, gently fetching things from the top shelf that he knew she was trying to get to, crowding her side when other people got a little too close, generally treating her like she was a porcelain doll about to shatter.

It was annoying the shit out of her.

The bodega owner had barely reacted when she slammed her basket down and unpacked her groceries to pay for them. Her usually charming, chummy demeanor was extinct and replaced by a surly, snarled lip. Why would he be doing this? Was it just to drive home the point that he thought she was incompetent? Weak? Whatever it was, it was gnawing at her very soul and all she wanted to do was to go back to the tower and hide in her room until her shoulder had recovered.

Snatching her receipt from the bodega owner, she turned away from the counter. “Let’s get moving, Snakeb… Loki?” She glanced left and right, not finding him there, nor could she feel the heaviness of his presence anywhere around her. She glanced out the glass doors and found her missing demigod on the sidewalk. A child of about five or six, who was clearly waiting for his mother to get through with her transaction at the bodega, stood still with a gentle smile. Loki was down on one knee, equally easy grin on his face with a shoelace in either hand.

“I’ll show you again. Pay close attention, alright?” He pulled the strings up taut and made two loops. “Around the trunk of Yggdrasil, the little rabbits go, they twine around the knitted roots and sink deep down below. After they have had their fun they jump up to spring free, but every part of their spirit’s tied to the Great Tree,” he singsonged, knotting the laces easily. “Got that?”

The child nodded, giggling before going off with his mother who was looking at Loki a little too hard to be comfortable.

Loki glanced up, sensing Lily staring and offered her a smile she didn’t return. “Are you ready?”

“You taught him how to tie his shoes.”

He brushed aside her prickly tone, unbothered. “Yes… is that a crime, now?”

“Why?”

“He didn’t know how.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought you didn’t like weak things.”

“You know, at some point you’re going to have to tell me why you’re so cross at me.” He snapped, finally, though he didn’t look angry. Disappointed, maybe? Sometimes it was damn near impossible to place any emotion on his face that wasn’t blind rage.

“I heard you talking to Tony, OK? When I was taken to the medbay, she snapped back with double the fervor.

Loki sighed, counting backwards from ten. He was fond of the mutant and he didn’t want to frighten her by barking at her, as he would anyone else. "Despite what you might think, that doesn’t help explain anything.”

“You told Tony I was weak and didn’t belong in the field!” She shrieked, pushing her index finger into his chest. It hurt her more than it did him, but it was a matter of principle.

“No. I told him it was stupid to send you out to the field to somewhere you’d become weak. Foot-thick steel walls zap your energy and I warned him repeatedly about the repercussions. You got hurt because of it.”

Her anger sputtered and idled at the clarification. “You were looking out for me…?”

Loki laughed, a little mirthlessly. “Imagine that,” he replied, sarcastically. He reached out for her basket, carrying the snack-laden vessel himself to give his hands something to do as he marched stoically down the street. People seemed to sense his mood, as they all parted like the Red Sea for him, though they barely allowed her enough space to squeeze through. Glancing backwards, he caught her eye, slowing his pace considerably to allow her to catch up.

“But… you hate me.”

A little notch formed between his brows as he considered her closely. “When have I ever said that? You’re my friend. I don’t make friends with people I hate… Or people… Or make friends, in general, so you should count yourself very bloody lucky.”

Lily shuffled uncomfortably where she stood, and Loki could have sworn there was a flash of a shadow over features, but it was gone a moment after.

“Can we go back or are you going to stand here and glare at me some more?” He joked easily, gesturing down the street with his chin. The mood seemed to lighten, instantly. He didn’t pay her transient anger any mind.

Perhaps he should have.

The Tower was tense, to put it simply. Laughter, which was commonplace whenever the team was home, was nothing more than a distant memory. It seemed like every little noise and movement set off a chain reaction of unpleasantness from what was usually their most pleasant resident. No one had really expected this side effect. After all, when the mutant decided to tell Tony her secret after having worked for him for five years, she assured that she had it well under control. And it was. Her abilities were second nature at this point. Of course, the pressures of battle are something else, entirely, and little quirks popped up just as little quirks are wont to do.

And pop up, they did.

The first time it happened, the team had come back from mission somewhere in the South Pacific. They were all tired and sun-baked enough that if they never saw the great wide ocean ever again, it would be too soon. Heroes all piled into the kitchen with far too many containers of Chinese food, chatting in quiet hushed tones to give their raw throats and over-sensitive ears a chance to rest.

In the far end of the kitchen, Lily stood on her tip toes. Her small frame strained to reach a mug at the very top of the cabinet so she could make herself some tea. Steve, helpful and gentlemanly as ever, rested a hand on the small of her back to signal her that he was there. Reaching above her, he easily grasped the mug, offering her the handle with a dazzling smile.

Usually, she would beam up at the soldier and give his hand a squeeze. Today, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What, do you think I can’t fucking get a mug now, Rogers?” She snapped, and the soft murmur of the room cut out immediately.

As if in slow motion, they whole team craned their necks over to where the pair stood. Steve had frozen in well-placed shock, mouth opening and closing to grasp for an appropriate apology that he couldn’t understand why he owed. Guilt flashed for but a second across Lily’s features before she cracked her neck awkwardly. Her veins, which would glow a bright green only when using her abilities, pulsed a sludgy brown. She had barely mumbled an apology before going off to hide in her bedroom.

That first encounter had been the mildest, by far.

No one had any idea how to remedy the situation. After all, Lily was usually such a bundle of bright, brilliant energy. She was the one who would always wake up to make breakfast for the group, leave them flowers, bake cookies when one of them seemed sad–she was not a dark, angry entity that yelled at her fellow teammates. Or snarled at anyone for entirely arbitrary reasons (that was Loki’s job, after all). The attitude usually waned after a few days and she’d be back to her bubbly self, which was all the more terrifying.

Right now, however, they were in a dark period.

“Are you truly using a children’s game as a selection tool for whom has to go disturb the plant witch from her self-imposed exile?” Loki asked, a little smugly as he happened upon Natasha and Tony playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to take Lily her new uniform. “You’re pathetic.”

“Don’t act like the sudden goth girl phase isn’t weird. I can tell she scares you,” Nat quipped, rolling her eyes.

Loki gave her a withering stare, looking smug as he circled her in a predatory manner that annoyed the hell out of her. “I fear no one and nothing, Miss Romanov.”

Tony snorted, before a glimmer in his eye sparked and left Loki looking weary. “OK, great. How about you go take this to her, then?” Tony held the bundle for Loki to take.

Loki chuckled, knowing full well the terror that the woman could inflict if provoked. “I said I feared nothing. I didn’t say I was suicidal.” He considered a little longer. “Well, not anymore, anyway.” Tony frowned, making a mental note to follow up at a later date.

“Come on! You two seem to be all buddy-buddy the rest of the time, anyway. Why don’t you just look in on her?”

The god rolled his eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you idiots that perhaps she’s protecting us and not herself when she locks herself away?”

“You are absolutely no help. Fine, Nat–” Tony turned around, sweeping his gaze left and right. “Nat? Where the hell did Nat go?” Frowning, he turned back around to glance at Loki and, instead, found himself alone. “Yeah! Great! Let's… er… regroup later! Good… talk…”

=

Loki sat at the kitchen table, poking at the, frankly disgusting, plate of eggs and bacon that Bruce had genuinely put all his effort into making for the crew. Glancing around the table, he found a sea of faces with the same sad expression. They all definitely longed for Lily’s pancakes and bacon breakfasts right about then. Loki was the only one who wasn’t even making an effort to be polite and put down some of the meal down his gullet. He had eaten some pretty grim things in his life, but he was not about to make that conscious decision when he wasn’t under any type of duress.

“It’s been two weeks, Tony,” Clint quipped, oddly undisturbed by the state of breakfast and munching full speed ahead. “She’s never been dark for this long.”

“I know. Is this you volunteering?”

“Last time I volunteered, I nearly got impaled on barbed thorns the size of my arm. I barely made it out without looking like Swiss cheese.”

“Barbs?” Loki asked, tilting his head curiously.

Clint nodded, eyes widening. “Yep. Big ones.”

Tony caught the whiff of an idea brewing in Loki’s mind. “Why? What are you thinking, Reindeer Games?”

Loki frowned, waving off the interest. “Nothing. Making a rather satisfying image in my head,” he replied, earning him a dark look from Clint and an annoyed sigh from the rest of the table. It wouldn’t do well to get their hopes up, after all.

After breakfast, Loki found himself pacing the corridor of their living quarters. Lily was only a few doors down and had not seen much of anyone in the whole two weeks since they had gotten back from mission. His brain continually told him that there was nothing he could do, no way for him to remedy this situation. That whatever this state of being was, he would only make it worse. It was better if he just went back to his room and waited for her to seek him out.

And yet, there was a small little voice in the back of his mind, his conscience, he would begrudgingly admit, that urged him to knock on her door.

She would go to the ends of the earth for you, if you needed it, it soothed.

The thought sparked images of the annoyingly sweet woman keeping his handful of secrets and being genuinely interested in his life. He could admit that his conscience was speaking the truth, but only because he knew the imp had little in the way of common sense and self-preservation. This was not the creature hissing at them all from across the threshold, though. And, why would he willingly put himself in the line of fire?

Out of the corner of his eye, a figure caught his attention. A vase of flowers on the windowsill, one of her creations. They were no longer the fresh white daisies they had been when they were placed there. Now they looked like some sort of Nightshade and he was certain they were not the nice kind.

“Oh, you fucking bleeding heart,” he ground out with a groan just as his conscience won out. Without allowing himself time to think or change his mind, he pounded his fist on her door. “Open up or I’ll break it down, Lilian.”

“Fuck off, popsicle!” Her voice was rough and shuddering, like she was trying very hard to keep everything out–or herself in.

Loki swallowed at the venomous retort that brewed at the tip of his tongue on its own accord. Being the bigger person was never quite his forte (nor did it ever get him good results), but he was able to reign himself back in. Rolling his eyes, Loki placed his hand on the door, letting the golden glow of magic envelop it before a satisfactory click let him know that it was open. He had barely crossed the threshold when he jumped back with a yelp.

On the floor, where flowers usually formed a dense, soft carpet, were twisting brambles and thorns. Flytraps and pitcher plants lined the walls, all too large to be considered just houseplants, and blooms burst open, letting out plumes of pollen that Loki dared not to breathe.

This was definitely worse than what he was expecting.

His eyes tore away from the dark forest with a little effort. “Lily,” he tutted softly, watching the woman tucked into a tight ball, tears leaking from her tightly lidded eyes.

It should have been obvious to him. Every living creature had a defense mechanism. Predators had their teeth, prey had their speed, and plants had adapted in similar fashion. Thorns, barbs, poison, giant vats of acid–they had made sure that their lineages survived. It stood to reason that Lily’s mutation, tired of the fighting and the constant worry of missions would also develop some dark effect. Since she wasn’t allowing herself to be dry and acerbic to her friends, her biology had found an alternate solution.

He should have thought of it before.

“Gods, how much pain are you in?” He asked, kneeling beside her on the bed. He ignored the spines digging into his trousers from where he walked through some cacti. There was no response, but rather a whimper and a sigh. “Flower, look at me.”

“Leave me alone, you self-aggrandizing asshole,” she growled, not bothering to open her eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched, even as he pushed her hair out of her scowling face. It had gone from a bright silver to a dark, smoky grey. “You forgot self-serving and maddeningly good looking.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Agree to disagree.” At his touch her skin erupted in prickers as though they were goosebumps. He swallowed the hiss at getting his fingers skewered, blood pooling at the tips.

Lily’s fists flew in his direction, though he easily caught them in one hand. This time the groan of pain wasn’t silent and blood trickled down his wrists from his palms. “Stop it! Don’t touch me! FRIDAY, he’s hurting me!”

“Disregard that, FRIDAY. Lily, I swear–” She struggled in his grasp, eyes opening and flashing pitch black at him. He was shocked enough that he released her wrists. Her nails grew into sharp wooden talons and just as she reared back to swipe at him, Loki had enough sense to lay his hand on her temple and command, “Sleep.” Her body stiffened and slumped down a second later. “That bloody stings,” he complained, letting her rest back on the bed and bringing the covers over her oddly cool skin.

Loki couldn’t help but compulsively stroke his fingers through her hair, eyebrows pulled together in concern. For all his knowledge of magic and aliens and different realms, he could not figure out for the life of him how to soothe the poison threatening to consume her. In her slumber, she whimpered, shuffling closer to the gentle heat that radiated off of him in waves. Loki convinced himself that he was allowed to dote on her, so long as she wasn’t conscious to remember it. The sludgy brown lines going up and down her exposed skin lightened somewhat under his careful evaluation. Enough that he did not feel threatened when he tapped at her temple and took the sleeping spell off.

He offered a small smile when her eyes blinked up at him in confusion. They were back to their normal baby blue, though her hair still resembled plumes of smoke. “Easy,” he whispered as she jerked away from his touch, all at once. Instead of a hiss or an insult, she frowned, settling back to rest against the pillows, body barely brushing against his. “You’re safe.”

Lily nodded, breathing deeply. This time she didn’t hesitate when he brushed his fingers over her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Tending the garden.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’m not a garden.”

“Yeah, you are. A few brambles and prickles here and there. Nothing a good prune and a hug won’t fix.” He used his index finger to lift her chin, having essentially buried herself into one of her pillows, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to keep us safe, flower. Sometimes, you’ll need to vent all that ill will and it is not up to you to avoid that.”

“Says the frost giant masquerading as an Asgardian.”

Loki let out a bark of laughter. “I think I liked you more unconscious.” Sadness flashed through her features, eyes downcast. “I was joking. You know I was.”

Lily nodded and the two fell into a tense silence for a long while. The mutant had sat up, fidgeting with her hands on her lap while Loki watched her, expectantly. He wouldn’t press her, of course, but he could tell that there was something on her mind that she wanted to get out in the open. When she didn’t say anything, he simply placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m scared,” she blurted out.

“Well, you’re very scary so that makes sense.” The look she gave him told him that was not the answer she wanted and before she could look even more dejected, he added. “And that’s good. You’re powerful. You should be scary. Scary keeps you safe. Fear is a great motivator.”

Loki was starting to panic. It didn’t seem like any of what he was saying was helping her, though it was possibly the most honest and candid he had ever been. If anything, the quickly gathering tears in her eyes told him that he was making it leaps and bounds worse. Shouldn’t she be ecstatic that she could make anyone bend to their will by looking a little ominous? She certainly had the whole of the Avengers acting like she was some sort of displeased deity.

Except she wasn’t. She was gentle and giving and cared. It was becoming very apparent that this was her own personal hell.

“I don’t fear you,” he muttered, brushing hair away from her face. This time there were no barbs to prick him. “And honestly, the rest of these idiots don’t, either. They’re just worried for you.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe because there’s nothing to fix. I’m guessing that with a little training you can learn to use… whatever the hell this is to your advantage.” His mouth twitched in a small smile. “Sometimes you must learn to embrace the darkness, dear.”

Lily was quiet for another long while, picking at her nails while she thought hard. “Loki?”

“Yes, pet?”

“Can I have a hug if I promise not to tell anyone?”

Loki barked out a laugh, pulling Lily into his arms and squeezing her tightly. “I don’t give a shit if you tell anyone. They probably won’t believe you, anyway,” he murmured into her hair, noting the soot-like material that clung to his fingers as he stroked her hair, turning it back to silver. “Don’t suppose you know if this is dangerous or not?” Lily shook her head against his chest. “Of course you don’t. Why would you?” The mutant giggled against him when he squeezed her a little tighter.

“Loki?” The Prince hummed his recognition against her crown. “Thank you for being a good friend.”

It took Loki supreme effort to blink away the tears that for some reason had sparked to his eyes, unbidden, at the sentiment. “It is my distinct honor, flower.” Comfortable silence filled the room for a moment longer. “I also couldn’t take Bruce’s cooking for another day.”

Lily scoffed, pushing away from his chest with a glare. “Why? Why do you ruin it?”

“Have you met me? Come on!”

“I hate you. Next time I’m poisoning you,” she whined, pulling Loki after her.

“Where are we going?”

“I can tell you haven’t eaten because you’re a child. We’re going to the kitchen.”

Loki grinned, following dutifully after her, as if the imp had any physical means to drag him anywhere. “Do I get pancakes?”

“No!”

“Please?”

“…fine.”

[thelovelyghostwriter]

KuraNeon Short Fic

Okay, this is one of my longer tumblr short fics, it’s 1000+ words. 

Rated M because of lemon. Pairing: Kurapika/Neon

This is not the full length of the fic, the full version will be completed and posted on AO3 when I have the time. 

Before anyone starts complaining about their age, Kurapika and Neon are born in the same year. In the current arc, Kurapika is technically 19 years old. I have had people complain about Neon being underaged (people deadass think she’s 12 to 16 tf), but then they go ahead and sexualise Kurapika because “he is an adult because he’s 19”. You can check it here. 

Anyway, it’s fiction. Don’t take it seriously. I will just block anyone who tries to start a drama over drawings and fanfics.   

Warning: sexual content, hate-sex, angry sex, angst, mentions of daddy issues

Here we go: 

Kurapika wanted to stop this... Whatever they were doing. Yet his reasoning flies out of the window whenever he sees Neon in a flattering night attire.

Here he was, shirtless, with the woman sitting on his lap. Her spaghetti-strapped blouse was pushed down, her breasts exposed to him.

"I told you not to tempt me," he said. He licked her nipple and bit it lightly. Neon let out a small groan.

Kurapika had attempted to tell her that this dirty affair they had was inappropriate and unbecoming of them. Yet, for the past week, Neon had been giving him subtle flirtations and wearing clothes that showed off her skin (as compared to the baggy ones she normally wears).

The last straw was her talking about his Scarlet Eyes... while fondling the chains on his hand.

No.

That had to stop. For one, she was teasing him. Secondly, she recently found out about his Kurta identity - she was pissing him off on purpose to get "punished".

That woman should know her place, objectifying his clan's eyes like that.

He placed small kisses on her neck, then back again to her breasts. She shivered - it felt good.

"Are you happy now? You spoiled girl," he muttered against her breath sternly. She yelped when he slapped her ass.

Huh? That's weird.

His hands got underneath her skirt. Fuck. This girl wasn't even wearing a pair of underwear. She really wanted to get hate-fucked. By him. Again.

His fingers found her sex, all dripping in her arousal for him.

"So good," she mewled. She quivered under his touch.

Of course, she was satisfied, but never happy. There was a difference.

He inserted another finger.

Neon had always been like him - an empty vessel. Perhaps, even lonelier than him.

"M-more!" she moaned, demanding to be satisfied.

"Always wanting to be pampered," he huffed. What a greedy girl.

A father who exploited her fortune-telling, for fame and power; in exchange, he'd buy her all the things she wanted. The endless indulgence of material goods that she filled her heart with, yet it can never be full.

Ever since the Lovely Ghostwriter was stolen from her, the one thing that made her useful to her father... It was gone.

"You can never be satisfied, Neon," he said.

"Yet, you still do this with me," she countered, playing with his blond hair. She gripped Kurapika's hair and looked at his now-reddened eyes. Those eyes were beautiful... that held so much wrath and danger.

She had loved them when they were on a set of casing...but to see them on a deranged man when he takes her... it was... strangely exciting.

Kurapika said nothing, only kissing her in response.

Shut the hell up - he thought. He didn't like when she played mind games while they were doing this.

The kiss tasted sweet - so much turmoil in him, that he wished that a kiss could wash it all away. Wash away all his painful memories.

She snaked her hand into his pants. He hissed at the contact. Fuck. He needed this.

She giggled at his reaction, seemingly pleased, but her eyes said otherwise. Her father no longer paid attention to her, and it was obvious that she was trying to replace this by letting her head bodyguard (who was the same age as her) fill her.

She inserted his penis into her, squealing. God, Kurapika disliked her high-pitched voice whenever she complained. Yet, the noise that she makes during sex was what rubbed his ego - pleading, squealing, mewling, moaning as he rammed into her.

He halted for a moment, to lay her back against the bed. Then slammed himself again. Neon screamed, then covered her mouth alarmingly. He was enraged, she could tell. She really got onto his nerves, with her callous comment.

That disgusting hobby of hers. Collecting dead body parts that reflected her lack of sympathy towards the dead. Again, to fill that empty husk of her beautiful body. To treat people like objects because people see her as a predictive tool. A mere object.

She was her father's cash cow, the mafioso's crystal ball, another name in Chrollo's book and now, Kurapika's personal sex doll.

He removed her mouth. He wanted to hear her. She bit her lip, attempting to be quiet as possible.

He knew this. He wrapped her arms around her lower back, giving a new angle to ride her further. She yelped, in both surprise and ecstasy.

"Slow... Down..." she pleaded, her fingernails digged his shoulders. He said nothing.

"Papa... Papa might - ah!- hear us," she reasoned to him.

But he did not listen.

"I think - ah fuck!- he already... He knows," he said.

It was an open secret around the Nostrade mansion. It was not far-fetched for the young pair, who were equally lonely, to get caught into some odd agreement. She did expect her father to have some sort of reaction, though?

Neon's eyes watered slightly. Whether it was due to her being upset with her father's nonchalance, or Kurapika's roughness - Kurapika was unsure.

Kurapika did help Light recover from their financial slump by redirecting their mafioso business into something else. Perhaps it was some sort of sick reward Kurapika has earned when he chose to help them.

He brushed away the mascara-stained tears from her face. "Stop crying," he commanded, and gave a deep thrust that caused her to yell.

He did know she was going through a tough issue. But it can never be compared to him, his loss. The eyes of his clan gouged out just for people like her to enjoy them as displays. He should be the one crying, but there were no more tears left for him to shed.

He then remembered her hobby - why he was here in the first place. He began to incorporate his resentful energy into the form of pulsating desire, pounding into her mercilessly.

"Give it to me..." she begged, holding him tightly while her toes curled.

Her whole body started to shake.

So close...

Just a little more...

Then he stopped.

Neon immediately glared at him. It was one of his punishments again. To give her all the pleasures into a peak then abruptly crashing it into such a non-climatic disaster.

He laid on her side, brushing her messy hair off her face. They were both sticky, perspiring from their intimacy.

"Don't cry," he comforted and kissed her forehead.

Or I will give you something real to cry about, flesh collector.

She nodded. "Good girl," he said. He stood up.

He gripped her thighs, dragging her until her lower body was out of the bed. "Turn around," he commanded, and she obeyed him.

"Wait..." she protested, looking back slightly, "I want to see your eyes while you-" He gripped her hair. The audacity of this girl to still treat his eyes like a commodity... but in her eyes, he is the same. Another man in her life that sees her as an instrument.

"No. Not tonight, Neon. Look in front," he instructed.

If I catch you looking back, you're going to get it - he thought while he inserted his dick inside her again.

"I- ah!" she heaved, "I - hah - hate you..."

She managed to blurt out. He frowned. He didn't like that, be it she truly meant it or it was out of not getting what she wanted.

Because he couldn't resent her. He disliked her attitude, sheltered personality, her hobby... and worst of all, how she makes him desire her.

But it was never hatred. That was a feeling meant for the Phantom Troupe. She wasn't special enough for that.

He found her clitoris and rubbed it, all swollen and wet from arousal.

He noticed how she opened her legs slightly further to give him better access. Such hatred, huh.

"Yet... You're here," he replied. All he got was a repetition of her breathless curses and whimpers.

“Just… mmph! Turn me around…” she mumbled in the midst of the coitus. 

“No-”

“P-please?”

No response. He only did her harder. 

“I’ll… do anything,” she said. She looked back, rebelling against his rule. She kissed him before he could scold her. Neon stared at the glowing eyes, completely bewitched by them. 

“Anything?” he questioned, and he withdrew himself out of her. 

“Yes, daddy, anything-” 

She pouted for an added-effect. She knew that was one of his weaknesses. Kurapika sighed. 

“Okay-”

It was going to be a long night: he wasn’t done with her yet.  

[A/N: I did not proofread this, so pardon the grammatical errors]

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 11

Beside me, I could sense Aone's pure fretfulness. His exterior exerted his usual stoic presence, yet the smallest draft of a broken child drifted through the cracks in his skin. Second after second, those cracks grew larger and larger until he seemed frail enough to snap. But we were outside, in the blatant view of the rest of the world - from what I knew - Aone wasn't a person to let his guard down in front of just anyone, somehow I felt the exact same way. But I was certain that the reason behind him was something entirely opposed to mine, perhaps it was something even darker.

I tried to shake myself out of my deep pondering, it was selfish to think about myself in a time where Aone was trekking through the furnaces of hell - and he needed me to accompany him on that adventure. I was certain that he couldn't do it alone, he'd break. There wasn't a more eloquent way of putting that statement, nor could you sugar-coat it. 

Roaring skies bellowed up above us, winds howled in agony - all of their lamentations lashing and tearing through the atmosphere; almost biting at our skin, shredding our outwards protection into ribbons of devastation. Those deafening bellows closed off my hearing almost entirely, I couldn't hear anything - let alone my own thoughts.

Throughout the whole journey, the winds kept us separated, no matter how valiantly I quested to ameliorate his feelings... I just couldn't reach them. Normally, a trip to the vet shouldn't have caused Aone's level of anxiety, so maybe... It was so much more than just a trip to the vet. 

Hesitantly, my fingers gingerly edged the door open, shrouding us both in a whole new light of apprehension. The ring of the entrance bell almost seemed deafening - breaking the agonisingly tumultuous silence. Everything was unreal. No, I didn't understand the situation to the fullest extent; but somehow, deep inside of me - I just knew. Soon, we were welcomingly ushered into the establishment by a woman in a lab coat. Her hazel eyes oozed with the highest volume of empathy that I had ever witnessed, somehow she knew to be gentle with Aone, as if she knew him well.

Almost in a chain of reactions, we were now sat down in the waiting area - side by side in silence. A gargantuan urging churned inside of me to console him, in any way possible; a pat on the shoulder; some words of sympathy or maybe simply the warmth of another human against him, so that he knew he had at least one shoulder to weep upon. Almost identical to the situation beforehand - Aone began quivering, but ever so slightly. And as always, I was the only person in the nearby vicinity that could notice exactly how he felt. As if on instinct, my arm shot upwards to wrap it around Aone's shivering shoulders, but at least the the farthest that I could reach. 

His whole body jolted at my touch, almost as if he had recently been snapped back into the current reality. Quicker than a blink of an eye, his eyes snapped over to rest upon me, their unnatural glossiness glimmering underneath the light - searching for the slightest scrap of comfort to latch onto.

Never before had I gazed upon his face in a manner such as that, to me, he seemed a new person entirely. Not a single aspect on his face had been altered, however, there was just something inside of me that didn't recognise him. My eyes darted around until they latched straight onto his. At that point - I had the slightest inkling to avert my gaze, but I just couldn't, - there was something inside of him, scraping and pleading for just that one moment of comfort. And that was when he had located that source of comfort, in me, no less. His whole figure softened as if he had lost his skeleton. He was but an empty vessel of what he was before.

---

The amount of time that flew past us was unfathomable, almost immeasurable. Time was always supposed to sprint forwards when you were enjoying yourself, and at that moment, both of those aspects were completely averse to the latter. The pure trepidation we were both enduring stretched out the time to the extent where a second was a terribly drawn out eternity.

"Mr. Aone Takanobu." The same woman that had greeted us spoke into the drab atmosphere. Within her eyes, I could sense something close to pity, all beneath the surface of empathy.

Gingerly, I rose from the chair, my legs almost buckling underneath me - but I knew, that I was the one who couldn't show any weakness, I was Aone's pillar of reassurance. If I toppled over, so would he; but his crash to the earth would be much more crushing. A faint tug rippled through the sleeve of my coat - Aone was gripping onto the fabric as if it was some sort of a lifeline for him. It was almost as if he was a terrified child cowering behind their mother. Even though he stood inches above myself, he didn't appear that way - his aura omitted that of a child, but not just any child, a scarred child, apprehending the worst.

As we were led to the veterinarian's office, sounds of weeping animals and humans echoed through the air, nothing was normal, nothing felt... right. The lady beckoned for us to take a seat, and the whole manner in which she conversed with us in simply unnerved me. Nothing was typically out of the ordinary - but it was at the same time.

Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, as if she was bracing for the impact of something intense. She began, "We have examined Shiro to the best of our abilities, however there was little to do for him. The symptoms he has displayed cannot match up with any diagnoses that we could offer you. To put it in simple terms, there is nothing much that we can do to help him."

Everything froze.

Everything froze, all except Aone and I. We were the only people in the world.

Almost instantly, Aone's eyes cascaded tears of sorrow, there was nothing to stop them from doing so. 

In the adjacent second, his body collapsed upon me for support, now was the time for his pillar to be there for him. Full instinct loomed over all my emotions, and I didn't even need to think of what to do next, I just simply... Knew... My one arm that wasn't already around his shoulders shot straight up to his hair - ruffling the tiny tufts gently. Twisting and curling a few of his ashen locks around the tip of my finger. The other presence in the room didn't matter to me as Aone's sturdy figure spluttered and choked inside of my arms. The amount of pain I was feeling due to the news that had recently been bestowed upon us was immense. But I couldn't even begin to imagine the sheer dosage of agony that he was going through, he had easily been close to Shiro for years and years at that point. Shiro seemed like the only living thing that Aone felt truly comfortable around, and now he was going to lose him.

Stinging slightly, my eyes began to be tickled by tears, threatening to surge over my eyelids - but a pillar can't crash. Aone's sobs rang out through the room, and then - not only was the news agonising, but so were the sounds of his fretfulness, perhaps even more so. Both our chests quivered in a calamitous rhythm, creating a song of desolation.

Breaking us out of our own little world, the lady almost whispered, "I'm guessing that you understand what I've said... I am extremely sorry to tell you this but, I don't think Shiro can last any more than a week living on this earth. However, we will supply him with some antibiotics to make his passing easier... Once again, I am so sorry."

What she said couldn't register with either of us, both of us being too occupied by the other's embrace.

I endeavoured to try and find Aone's eyes inside my own, only to see a harsh reddish hue emblazoned across them. He was a broken doll. I couldn't bear seeing him just so... hopeless. Therefore, in an effort to calm his lamentation, my hands hesitantly cupped themselves around his damp and blotchy cheeks, caressing my thumbs over them - wiping away his tears as I did so. He sank into them, using my hands as his only source of support.

"Aone... I can't imagine the amount of pain you're feeling right now: I know that Shiro is your best friend. I can't fathom losing someone close to me, especially if they're as close as you two are. You're inseparable. But, Aone... Please don't weep so. Shiro would want you to be happy, as he is still here with you... Even if not for much longer. I'm just so... sorry" I smiled hopelessly at him, trying to offer him the smallest shard of contentment that I could. Jittering, his palm cupped over one of mine, gyrating uncontrollably. I knew, in turn, he was attempting valiantly to comfort me too.

Nodding shakily, he spoke up for the first time since we had been at my house, "T-thank you, (Y/N)." His whole body jittered up and down with each one of his breaths - if you could call them that. Each one was so breathy, as if he was gasping for air. He was already drowning though. And I didn't know if I could save him.

---

After at least a quarter of an hour of consoling Aone, we were finally allowed to see Shiro again, finally allowed to set our eyes upon that perfect life form that only had a small cache of days left on this Earth. His little body scampered down the hallway - and straight into Aone's arms, placing his paws upon his shoulders; wagging his tail at a breakneck speed. It was as if they hadn't seen each other for months... maybe years. Pure longing laced itself into Aone's expression, exuberating immense levels of elation - yet still exerting a hidden sense of dejection. 

With a snap of the fingers; his tears had miraculously evaporated, freeing him - but not completely - from his lamentation. Every hair on his body stood on end, smiling an unfiltered grin from ear to ear, babying Shiro with his words.

That sight was truly gorgeous, the two clutched onto each other as if the world was about to end, and it was about to. But only for him.

Overwhelming joy flushed through me - making my heart skip several beats. Dropping to my knees, I positioned myself adjacent to Aone, beckoning for Shiro to come over to me. And even though Shiro and myself had hardly known each other for a week, he still leapt into my arms all the same. His hazel eyes glimmered in the artificial light, outputting something childlike and innocent. Running my hands up and down his fur, I noticed how soft it was, not a single strand was the littlest bit coarse.

I began to laugh under my breath, but I couldn't understand why. Was it grief? Was it apprehension? Or was it happiness? A single tear rolled down my left cheek, and once again - I didn't understand why.

Cheery howling flew through the air, ebbing out from Shiro's mouth; and all of a sudden he had cranked up his volume of giddiness to a whole other level. Jumping up and down on his two hind legs, he gathered enough force to knock me over - and abruptly I laid on the laminate floor of the veterinarian's with Shiro bounding around over and on top of me. Almost winding me at one point.

Every ounce of lamentation had disappeared from the establishment - replaced by an aura of pure joyousness. Very soon, we were beginning to overstay our welcome - therefore we hooked him up to his lead and set out, once again, out into the outside world.

[welanabananaworld]

Ouija, Origin of Evil and the profane voice - Part I

Though extremely shocking and disturbing, children happen to be at the core of major horror films. Samara in The Ring (2002), Dalton in Insidious (2010), Dany and the Grady twins in The Shining (1980), the children in Sinister (2012), Thomas in The Orphanage (2007) are among many other examples that prove the existence of an entire branch of horror cinema built on the mythology of the malevolent child. Why is the figure of the child so prevalent? Why should the most innocent and purest human beings be the main characters of films that are  gruesome, violent and whose public age is strictly restricted? Precisely because their vulnerability and purity of soul make them easily influenced and manipulated by external forces. Besides, children are known to have an overwhelming imagination and a propensity to trust which are necessary to open the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead in accordance with the codes of the genre. 

In addition to this, the more the prey is opposite to our expectations and subverts our beliefs of what is proper and what is not, the more the fright and fascination are potent. To consider a child as a monster, a killer or a possessed body is beyond our general understanding, hence the uncanny appeal of creepy children. 

As pointed out by Alison Nastasi in her article published online on Hopes&Fears, this devious appeal for corrupted and murderous children portrayed in horror films might echo to « real-world fears about parenting, gender and social responsibility. »; a theory supported by Joe Dante’s comments about the subject : « Could it be connected to the fact that more and more parents have difficulty balancing work responsibilities [and] child-rearing (not to speak of nurturing their own relationships, personal and career aspirations) and are squeezed financially by the costs of raising children […]? Therefore, is it any wonder that children in genre movies are portrayed as powerful, disruptive, and uncontrollable? Perhaps these menacing moppet movies reflect the fears inherent in helicopter parenting—that the minute you take your eyes off your child, something dreadful will happen. » In any case, the films in question use the creepy kid trope in order to suggest that something is wrong, that the natural order of things is being shattered. 

The corruption of innocence can take many forms but the most interesting one to study in relation to the narrative role of the voice in cinema is the threat of an invasion from the Beyond. In Ouija: Origin of Evil (2016), supernatural forces hold a young girl hostage by inhabiting her body and making it go through such transformations (vocal and physical) as to change it beyond recognition.

Taking place in 1967 in Los Angeles, Ouija: Origin of Evil tells the story of the Danzer family. Alice, a spiritual medium, is striving to make ends meet after the loss of her husband and father of her two children by hosting readings in her own house with the help of her daughters, Lina (15) and Doris (9). Running a declining scam business, in which Alice pretends to talk to the dead to bring closure to people and the girls help her out with tricks intended to make it all real, Lina suggests her mother to add a ouija board as a new prop to modernise her readings. The factitious dimension of the ritual which unfolds through the display of ingenious devices (stretchable table, a cupboard big enough to hide Doris, extinguishable candles…) is both an ironical comment on how fake spiritism is going to beat the family at their own game by revealing its true power and also a cleverly designed introduction to set the tone and build the tension. 

All the ingredients are here to turn the ouija experience into a nightmare. The bereaved family is craving for a contact whatsoever with their loved one, little Doris first. She wishes she could talk to her father at a seance like other people do when they come and see her mother for help, that is why she does not talk to god directly but instead send prayers to her dad every night before going to bed. Contrary to Lina who is a teenager in complete denial and pushes down her feelings, Alice and Doris seek communication and are open to it, hence the evil befalling on them. 

Portrayed as an angelic but lonely and bullied girl who is deeply grieving her father and believes in the blurry frontiers between the worlds of the living and the dead, Doris becomes the perfect human and tangible vessel through which supernatural forces can express themselves. All starts with the introduction of the ouija board as a prop into the house and with Alice breaking the three rules which are to never play alone, in a graveyard and never forget to say goodbye. At this very moment, Doris becomes inhabited by Marcus’s spirit whose identity is yet to be defined. How does this possession first transpire? Through speaking. Marcus uses Doris’s voice to start materializing and, as soon as she touches the board, the voices appear all around her, thus enabling the world of the Beyond to let in. 

Doris is progressively attracted by the ouija board which makes her believe she is talking to her father, Roger. They are deceitful spirits who do everything to earn her trust to better trap her, hence the hint at the money buried in the cellar. Contrary to Lina who is far from being fooled, Alice thinks her youngest child is gifted and asks her for help. As the readings follow one another, the trap is closing in around Doris who starts feeling pain in her neck at the same time she excels in the occult. She can now reproduce the voice of the deceased summoned during the seance. 

Once she is fully possessed, Doris first goes through a radical physical and behavior transformation by becoming lethargic, stolid, her eyes often turned white when no one is watching her. Besides, her vocal abilities also go through creepy changes. In addition to mimic the deceased’s voice during the readings, adults’ voices, Doris keeps whispering in people’s ears in a demonic way when the evil entity starts spreading its malevolent influence on the whole family. 

When the film reaches its climax and Doris fully assumes the devil’s voice, which is guttural, otherworldly and distorted by hatred, she no longer is a young innocent child. Marcus’s spirit corrupts and perverts Doris to achieve revenge by desecrating her body and soul and making her utter bloodcurdling things. The scene which most epitomizes the figure of the violated child is when Doris explains step by step to Lina’s boyfriend how it feels like to be strangled to death. The most uncomfortable thing about it is to witness the contrast between what she says and the sweet voice in which she says it with an angelic smile on her face. The mise-en-scène that keeps stressing Doris’s vocal changes, by shooting her facing the camera (or the fourth wall) as if she was already part of the Beyond, is meant to emphasize the element through which she is channelling these powers and forces : the mouth.

The mouth as an organic element  stands as a kind of leitmotiv throughout the film inasmuch as the possession of Doris’s body and soul by the demonic entity is made complete through that means. One night, Doris is awakened by her pain in the neck and gets assaulted by a dark creature who thrusts his devilish arm into her throat. This shadowy creature, one can notice, has no mouth or rather a distorted sewed one, similar to Lina’s mouth when she looks at herself in the mirror one night. At the light of these elements, what was supposed to be a nightmare was in fact real and prophetic.

But what can be the meaning of the recurring imagery of the sealed mouth (see  also Lina’s doll)? Who is Marcus? Why is he portrayed as an evil spirit? What does he want from Doris and her family? He clearly states his purpose when trying to possess Lina’s soul : to snatch her voice.

Father Tom Hogan, a friend of the family, is the one who uncovers the ugly truth behind Doris’s pretended benevolent gift of clairvoyance. She is not channelling good forces but Marcus’s spirit, a man who happened to have been mutilated and murdered in this house a few decades ago. After the second world war, a twisted nazi doctor, called the devil’s doctor in the camps, escaped to America where he succeeded to get hired in a mental institution. He went on practicing his sadistic experiments on patients in the basement of his house. In order to do it, he cut out their tongues, severed their vocal cords and sewed their mouths so that no one could hear them from above. However, Marcus’s story does not end with his death. Violently murdered, he never rested in peace but instead was doomed to wander in the cold darkness of the underworld among other desperate, voiceless souls and malevolent creatures who must have been summoned by the doctor who was into the occult. 

In the end, Marcus, who has been silenced by force, deprived of his own voice and overtaken by the surrounding evil influence in the Beyond, seeks revenge against god and people who have the ability to express themselves, eaten away as he is by hatred, frustration and pain. The only way for him to exorcise the horrible things he has been through is to communicate and hurt others, but for that a voice and a body are needed, hence his attempts to snatch the family’s voices. That is the only way to be heard and to have an influence outside his doomed world. Helped by her father’s good spirit, Lina grabs needle and thread and silences her sister for ever,  thus fighting hard against the entity who strives to engulf her.

Ouija, Origin of Evil, like many other horror films, uses the voice and its communicative powers as narrative tools to address issues and challenge notions such as grief, loss, family unity, parenting, revenge, alternative beliefs, suffering, innocence, corruption, violation and religion. Religion…such a crucial theme whose set of practices and beliefs makes it the most cherished subject of the genre. Any idea which emblematic film is yet to be analyzed in the perspective of the profane voice and corruption of innocence?

[morsking]

sometimes i think ufotable made a really big mistake making shinji a butt monkey in the unlimited blade works anime because turning him into a joke about how much of a weak whiny incel makes him seem harmless by having him be undercut by men who are far stronger than he is (gilgamesh, lancer, berserker). those men will always be there to give him his just desserts in a humorous manner, instead of how nasu dealt with him in the vn. nasu made shinji feel like a very personal and intimate villain. shinji might not be physically strong in comparison to a servant or to his heroic and human counterpart shirou, but he’s still very scary in a different sense. he’s scary in the way he thinks of other people and how he expresses those thoughts in his actions. 

the vn gives us an insight to how shinji’s mind works for the very first time when he meets gilgamesh in the matou worm basement. shinji ponders about how useless rider was and that it’s her fault he failed the first time. then his thoughts shift towards the unnamed “thief” (revealed to be sakura in heaven’s feel) who stole his place, and then naturally that logic train trails into thoughts about his mother. the fact shinji makes a connection between all of these individuals denotes a heinous misogynistic streak that’s been instilled within him by zouken’s teachings. and that manifests in the way he blames the women in his life for his situation, failings, and neglect rather than attempt to peer into himself and sift through his behavior and beliefs and hold zouken accountable for his own abusive upbringing of both shinji himself and sakura. 

the thing to understand here is that as zouken’s abuse victim shinji is also terrified of blaming zouken for anything or challenging him in any manner. but there’s also the fact that shinji seems incapable of understanding zouken really is at fault for everything that is happening. the patriarchal values of the matou family naturally teach the idea that the patriarch is always right, and as zouken has been the sole permanent patriarch for centuries, with other men being his subordinates, it’s clear that zouken devised that system for his own benefit. but because shinji sees himself as the rightful heir of the matou name, rather than sakura thanks to those very same teachings, he is the future undisputed and incontestable patriarch in his mind. he can never be wrong, and the very idea that he is at fault is not just insulting but patronizing to the most humiliating degree. if that isn’t worrying enough, there is the logical flip side to consider: if the patriarch is always right, and if the patriarch is always flawless, then the women must be wrong. and we can see that in the way the women in shinji’s life were treated, which is why we find ourselves in the matou worm basement when shinji meets gilgamesh for the first time. 

it’s in the matou basement where shinji’s mother died. after learning shinji was born with atrophied magical circuits, zouken wasted no time throwing her in there as food for the worms as punishment for failing to gestate a proper heir. zouken did not stop to consider whether he really was the last magus of his line, and because it’s not a doubt zouken would ever have about himself, it’s not a doubt shinji would ever have either. after all, his grandfather is flawless. the fault would never be pinned on zouken, nor would byakuya, shinji’s father, ever be blamed for also giving defective genetic material. with these standards, the only culprit they could ever find is shinji’s mother. take a look at how i phrased it the first time. “shinji’s mother failed to gestate a proper heir.” “failed to gestate.”  the implications here could not be more clear, and could not be more disturbing. shinji considers women having worth in only a single dimension: women exist to be objects. that is all they have ever been to the matous, single-use broodmares who don’t have a place in the formal matters of matou magecraft. they are unworthy of that involvement as if it was sheer biological fact. so when sakura, a girl, is named heir rather than him, he justifies that as sakura being a thief who stole shinji’s rightful position from him on purpose, rather than an abused, scared, injured girl who didn’t want any of the terrible things inflicted upon her. moreover, shinji doesn’t see the matou training as something horrific. if anything, he’s jealous of sakura’s treatment. he blames her for his neglect because she is a woman, who full of fault must also be full of selfishness and malice towards him. shinji is incapable of understanding sakura’s condition is appalling and inhumane, namely because he doesn’t understand what it actually feels like, nor does he want to. 

that then leads to the more difficult things to explore in the visual novel: his rape of sakura. because shinji only understands women as sexual objects, he develops violent vindictive tendencies towards sakura in the form of rape. to shinji, inflicting sexual abuse is his way of declaring superiority over sakura. in his mind, because she is a woman, she must be put in her place and answer to him and his demands. shinji rationalizes it as because he is a man, he is a rightful heir who deserves power, and because sakura is a woman, she is what power is meant to be used upon. shinji is capable of twisting the narrative between him and sakura in any number of ways to preserve that dynamic. in public, because she is his younger sister then he has control over her activities and social life. in private, she isn’t his younger sister. she’s his property, or how he puts it, a doll. it isn’t difficult to see why he would think of rin the same way he thinks of sakura. the same feelings of jealousy and entitlement he directs towards sakura are the same exact feelings he directs to rin, and inevitably any and every other women he interacts with. 

when shinji is running away from the einzbern castle, we get one final look at what goes on in his head before meeting gilgamesh again. shinji is furious, violent, obsessively thinking to himself that every single person other than himself is lowly, beneath him, and getting in his way. when he runs into gilgamesh, shinji berates him for allowing him to get hurt by lancer. shinji calls him useless, and rages on about how they can’t win now that there is no vessel for the lesser grail... until gilgamesh stabs a hole in shinji’s stomach with his bare hands and implants it within him. gilgamesh had made it clear to shinji in the matou basement. gilgamesh thinks of the humans of this era as vermin to be exterminated. either a few worthy will survive the grail’s apocalypse, or mankind will be judged to be wholly superfluous and ruinous if no one does. in his arrogance, shinji never considered that he would be part of the sacrifices. that is a palpable irony, that shinji would be betrayed by his own selfish and misanthropic worldview, and grotesquely to boot. 

knowing all of this, there’s nothing funny or harmless about shinji’s character or his internal logic. because with what we find out in heaven’s feel, the case is no longer that he intends to do bad things but is so incompetent there is no feasible way he could ever do them so long as stronger more virtuous men are there to stop him. the question is that he’s already done terrible things, and has been getting away with them for years. not just him, mind you, but zouken, the person whose approval he desires and the person he emulates the most. There is a final observation to be made with that in mind. That shinji seeks approval and validation from men other than zouken. He seeks approval and validation from shirou. but paradoxically, he also seeks shirou’s complete obedience as well. shinji wants to consider shirou a friend, but is incapable of treating him as such, because you cannot be friends if you always put a degree of separation between “patriarch” and “rabble”. the misogynistic double standard falls apart here, because not only is gender concerned, but class is as well. 

going back to an earlier point though, it’s important to remember that even if shinji hadn’t already abused sakura, he’d be no less dangerous for wanting to abuse rin. predatory intent is signifying of predatory thought, and potential predatory action. the very notion that harmful thoughts exist is in and of itself a breach of human safety. and a lack of safety is in itself violent and in need of serious preventive action. which is why shinji cannot be a joke in one anime adaptation and be depicted more seriously and threatening in another.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Without Question (Epilogue)

Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Content: fluffy conclusion and maybe...mayyyyybe a future fic idea

Warnings: …none? Um...except for that one lady in there.

Word Count: Hot water does not quench my thirst no matter how good it might be for my body...which in itself is such a disaster of a thing.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The life of a parasite is not that complex of an affair. It is born to live inside a host, gather its nutrients from the said host- more than often at the host's expense- live till it can breed more or find a better host. Its entire life is based on the expense of another creature; its survival in the flesh of someone who can contain it. Therefore, it is no wonder she does not like it when someone calls her a parasite. For she is not one. Her kind lives in codependency, finding a host it is compatible with and helping it flourish in return for nourishment.

Her species was known to have always gone for the living, looking for hosts they could control, be the dominant party of the two sitting in the conference room inside the mind of the body they inhabited, the foreboding controllers that they were. However, inhabiting a dead host- or someone near to it- was never talked about for carcasses were beneath them and their Titan-like ego.

But she isn't like them. She wants to be different. To finally have the freedom she has craved for her entire existence; she wants to live it. And so, she has decided to throw all the laws of the dead empire outside the window and try her theory of inhabiting a body nearly at its deathbed.

The woman- strolled into the emergency room with fatal blows to her body in some accident- is covered in blood and bruises when the doctors try to rush into the process of saving her, measuring her heart rate, blood pressure and respiration rate. It is pure chaos for her to watch it all from the ceiling. Humans. Such soft creatures. She can sense that woman's vitals weakening with every passing moment, something the machines tell the medical professionals by a few seconds' delay. No amount of effort is going to repair that internal bleeding and shock accelerating that human's chances of death slithering right by the corner. And just at that second, she knows that flesh is no longer the resident to the soul it has been harbouring since the beginning of its time, she jumps discreetly into the body when the doctors are focusing at the screen that shows the patient is flatlining. One shock to through the defibrillator is enough for her to let the chemicals be catalysed to become one with neurons; her presence gradually gelling with the body to become one with it. And before any other human in the room can debate on it being a medical miracle, a sign of higher power or simply the inadequacy of the machines, she opens her eyes in her new form, seeing the world through an independent pair of windows for the first time.

Free.

.

"You know, when we both silently agreed on staying together, I wasn't really expecting you to spoil my life like this."

Steve's chuckle reverberates through the kitchen and dining hall. His honey-laced laugh reaches you in the living room to make you smile as you gather the whiteboard, a few markers, the portable speaker, and a couple of other knick-knacks for the small gathering you are about to have.

"If making breakfast every day is spoiling you then I am not even halfway to showing you how much more I can spoil your life, doll," he announces over the sound of something sizzling over the stove.

You bite your lips to stop the overflow of these gushing emotions all inside you. "Oh, let's not forget giving Stace the freedom to do whatever she wants, okay?" You state, getting up and moving towards the hall, "And you making that entire front yard-"

"That's our back yard."

Our back yard.

...Fuck. Why is he like this?

"Making our entire back yard into this freaking perfect garden with all those fancy fairy lights and a freaking gazebo!"

"You liked it," he stresses. You peak in from the entrance of the kitchen, watching him carefully place the omelettes in two plates along with the toasts- yours extra crispy with thinly spread butter on them- before pouring orange juice in two glasses.

"That doesn't matter," you retort, watching him being caught off guard, your heart instantly melting when his eyes light up on seeing you stand there. "I'm not gonna maintain that luxurious green patch when the time comes."

He stands facing you, his hands on his hips and oh heavens! that customised blue apron with chibi Captain America blessing its front gives you all the right feels in your stomach. "No problem," he affirms, picking the plates and moving them to the tiny breakfast table by the French window before coming back for the juice, "I'll take care of it. I'm pretty sure all of these are positive spoil-"

"Oh I'm not done yet," you interject, sauntering towards a slightly confused and faintly excited Steve, "you have me utterly spoiled-" you move your hands around his waist, earning an arched brow from him- "with all-" your hands go beyond his back, moving lower till they land over his butt cheeks- "of that-" and give them a tight squeeze, forcing a delightful hum out of Steve as you push him closer to you- "sex!"

"Hmm," Steve growls, planting his one hand on your waist under your t-shirt, while the other goes up to tease your lower lip with his thumb. "If you don't like being spoiled," he whispers, bringing his lips closer to you but never close enough for you to get a taste of him, "we can always stop."

"Or," you begin to propose through a moan by letting your hands run along the hem of his track pants, creating a wave of disturbance wherever your fingers touch him before stopping at the trail of hair going down, "we could make it a healthy habit so it doesn't seem like I'm being spoiled." 

Your fingers run down that soft golden trail, stirring something inside the Captain, his light eyes feeling a dark edge of mischief being added to them. His finger traces a path down from your lips to your neck, going further down your chest. "Everyone'll arrive in an hour," Steve sighs, giving a light shrug.

"Oh," you turn to look at the clock and realise he's not wrong, letting go of the waistband of his track pants, "then we should-"

Your sentence ends up a light shriek from Steve lifting you by your ass, making your reflexes wrap your legs around him. "That means," he grunts, balancing you effortlessly in those buff arms while his lust-filled eyes have yours locked in place, his voice a shade huskier as he starts moving to the bedroom, "I have a lot of time to make you question all that I do for you. And to you. And more."

Oooh yes!

.

"How do I use this thing?"

Wasn't working with a human vessel not enough? Did they really have to invent these cheap electronic devices?

She looks down at the device that seems to keep buzzing with different messages for some reason as she tries to find her way through the street.

Getting out of the hospital had been easy (and so was getting a fresh set of clothes). Give the docs and nurses another pile of flesh and bones to worry about and they run like scared animals to help their flock. Now, she is out exploring, trying to work with this new suit, find out the perks and non-perks, questioning her idea of travelling solo when having another conscience to talk to and gnaw at would have been easier. Now it's just her with her voice speaking from some uncharted void walking down into a farmer's market, already having discovered how much of gross unwanted attention this sex of the human species is given on the street.

There is a huge variety of delectables lines up that the humans seemingly prefer. Different shapes, colours and sizes. Some smell sweet, some sour, and some smell like they would sting your tongue before leaving a sweetness behind. Strange edibles. She watches another human- a man as far as the scent of the hormones off him goes- politely asking for some fresh oranges while telling the man behind the counter the ones he is trying to pack do not smell fresh. The sweet nectar of curiosity seems to send a reaction to her brain, making her step towards the box of citrus fruits displayed for the customers. Quickly picking half a dozen from down the different boxes, she brings them forward to the man who is nearly losing his patience. "These are fresh."

The man turns to see her. And she gets a good look at him for the first time. Hypnotising blue eyes look at her in a flurry of confusion and gratuitous delight, the beard hiding pink lips and flushed cheeks.

After a short considerable second, he takes the oranges from her. "Thank you," he mentions without blinking, taking a little time to turn back to make the payment. And in that turn is a microscopic moment, he watches, from the corner of his eye, a stranger try to touch her ass for barely a second.

She, of course, feels it too well. The man turns to get hold of that pervert and kick some respect into him only to find her punching the daylights out of him.

And he just stands there, full body in pause, mind in awe of the woman who has knocked that excuse of a man out in one blow, looking at her once again- this time from his heart. She looks back at him too; though with visible shades of uncertainty before looking down at the guy.

"Was I not supposed to do that?" She asks the man who by now has his mouth agape, still looking at her.

He blinks. "Huh?" Looks down at the man and raises his brows and chuckles. "What? No. I mean yes. You are absolutely supposed to do that."

"Oh-" she nods, and he watches her beam and be proud of herself, "okay."

"Um," he tries to catch her attention.  "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She looks down at the hand she used, feeling nothing more than minute tickles. "Yeah, I think I'm good." She turns her gaze back to him with a smile.

He melts inside.

"Do you know where is this place?" She asks him, taking out a card she found in her- the dead woman's- pocket.

"This," he hums, reading the card, "was a few blocks down the road the last I saw it."

"Oh," she scrunches her nose and feels a tired groan come out of her, "how far?"

"I can drop you there if you want," he blurts out, "I'm going that way myself."

She looks at him again. Watching him run his hands through his long lush hair, wondering if she'd seen him somewhere before shaking that thought off, knowing full well that she would remember a pretty face like this. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Great," he chirps. "Oh, I'm James," he addresses, drawing forward his hand, "my friends call me Bucky."

"Bucky," she tastes the name on her tongue and feels all the black mush inside her do a little dance for some unknown reason.

"And you are?"

She licks her lips and feels them stretch involuntary, drawing her own hand forward to meet his, saying her name to bring herself- her true self- into existence, letting the air carry her name for whatever future it is to bring for her.