#there’s a little supernatural element to that story if you squint but it’s also rooted more in the psyche of what an attack like that could

[novelconcepts]

Might be a dumb question but are feral/wolf queen vans injuries worse than canons? Because the way you describe them make it sound like they are but im not sure

It’s less that her injuries are worse and more that she doesn’t heal as cleanly. There’s a bit of suspension of disbelief to how canon Van’s scars work, which makes a lot of sense from a television perspective. There’s an actor to take into consideration, and really leaning into how gnarly those wounds would be—how they’d fuck up Van’s face permanently—would mess with Hewson’s performance for the rest of the show. I’ll never begrudge them the surprisingly solid healing process Van manages in the middle of the woods with no real medical help, cuz…television. (Also, it really works with Van’s whole immortality thing.)

But in that story, there’s no such consideration to be made. The injuries are about the same, but I chose to have them take a greater toll. She hasn’t been held down for a stitching process, she’s violently flailing around the whole time, so the scars are going to be a little more grievous. Her left eye doesn’t function anymore. She’s not necessarily more injured, she’s just more permanently devastated by those injuries.

Beyond all of that, the thing I really wanted to play with in that story was less the physical transformation and more…how far having just a little faith goes, in canon, for Van’s well-being. In that story, I took it away. I took away the necklace, I took away her belief in Lottie. Her injuries are really messing with her, but so is her mental state. Even when she heals on the surface as best she can, what’s going on inside is what really counts.

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Butsuma, Senju Hashirama, Senju Itama Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Supernatural Elements, Warring States Period (Naruto), Child Neglect, Child Abandonment, Tobirama doesn't die in this one, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have other stories I should be working on, Why Did I Write This? Series: Part 3 of Tobirama in Mythology

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Itama crouched low on the soft earth, shifting his weight as the moss pressed down at his feet. The plant he examined was small, much smaller than expected, but had the right shape and color to its leaves. He pulled out a kunai, cutting off a swatch and pushing himself back up. It may or may not be what he’s looking for, but it’s been the closest so far.

Sunlight filtered in through the towering oaks and pines, making it easy enough to find his way. The root networks this far west stayed mostly underground as well, unlike the trees that grew nearest the compound - Hashirama had mentioned once that it was on purpose, meant to make ground travel more difficult. Itama was just glad to not stub his toe so much out here.

Sensei hadn’t moved from his spot, too busy gathering his own herbs to follow his student, filling the leather satchel hanging at his side with various roots and snipped stems.

“What did you find?” He picked up a stem, dull eyes unfocused as he brought it close to his nose, pinching the leaves to release its scent. Yasuo-sensei didn’t glance at him once, only shoved the stem into his satchel before moving on, expecting him to follow.

“Rue, sensei.” Having yet to have a decent growth spurt, Itama had to trot to keep up. Working quick was always safer when outside the compound. Even teaching had to be done with haste when at war. Besides, Itama was used to people brushing him off, not giving him much time to learn or speak. Most days, it didn’t even bother him anymore.

Sensei snapped his fingers at him while they walked, his footfalls quiet next to Itama’s own rustling feet. He fiddled with his own small pouch, handing the swatch over as he ducked away from a reaching bush.

“And what do we use rue for?”

Itama had expected the question, just as he had expected the uninterested tone. One sprawling root caught his sandal, making him trip and catch himself on the rough bark of an oak, scratching his palms. He dashed to catch back up, not so much as a hitch in his sensei’s stride at his delay.

“We make an antidote, for snake bites.” Tobirama wouldn’t have tripped. He also wouldn’t be making so much noise as he walked. Itama scowled at himself, wiping his stinging palms on his hakama. Walking silent - like a real shinobi - shouldn’t be this difficult. Everyone else could do it.

His sensei hummed, sounding more bored than anything else. “You are correct, on both accounts. But tell me, Itama-kun,” he stopped once more, squinting at a winding vine cutting into greyed-out bark. The tree looked smothered, as if the vine was choking all life out of it. “What do we pair rue with to cure the poison?”

The clan had only a handful of texts dealing with medicinal herbs. Most were part of Hashirama’s personal collection, and contained detailed diagrams, sketches, details on how to care for and grow each species, alongside the typical uses of the plants in question. Some were admittedly outdated, but Itama had read them all anyway, going so far as to borrow his mother’s candles to read into the late evening.

He didn’t know the answer. Even after all of that, hours spent scouring the scrolls, begging Hashirama to help him for just a minute or two, taking notes until his fingers cramped from the effort - even after all of that, his mind drew a blank.

“I don’t know, sensei.” The words tasted foul. Fouler still when he thought of his eldest brother, how he had such a knack for all things that grew from the soil. Hashirama would’ve known the answer.

Sensei glanced in his direction for a moment, patting his head. It made him feel small. He hated it. “Oleander. We mix rue with oleander. You’ll know it by its sweet scent.” His sensei continued on, flicking his wrist to get Itama to follow. “Always be sure to pair the two together. On its own, oleander is lethal.”

“Yes, sensei.” They pushed through a patch of saplings, reaching the meet-up location agreed upon before beginning their herb search. Hiro was waiting for them already, inspecting the last trap on her patrol, being sure the wind hadn’t messed with the camouflage.

She was their guard. Itama knew enough to recognize that. His father refused to let him out of the compound without several other shinobi watching over him, as if he knew his son couldn’t protect himself. He also knew his brothers left the compound frequently, on patrols with no guards or bored sensei along with them. No one having to slow their stride so his siblings could keep up.

“We need to head back, sensei.” His glorified babysitter stood back up, dusting the dirt from her hands, flicking a wary gaze westward. The forest’s edge stood a dozen or so meters away, marking the border between Senju territory and no man’s land. A few miles of neutral ground was all that separated them from Uchiha land now; Itama shuddered at the thought, moving closer to his sensei. Somewhere out that direction, the savages that stole little Kawarama from him lived. He didn’t like thinking of them.

Yasuo walked right past the shinobi, inspecting a bit of foliage that Itama couldn’t tell apart from the rest around it. “The herb harvest is almost done, Hiro-san. I don’t need long.” He pulled out a kunai, using it to dig at some roots. Hiro scowled at his back, though Itama wasn’t sure if for his words or the gross misuse of the weapon. Her hand fell to her side as she scanned the area, resting on the handle of her wakizashi - or was that a katana?

Great. Something else he didn’t know. Itama kicked at a patch of wildflowers, wanting nothing more than to act like a child and cry. But he couldn’t be a child anymore; he scrubbed at his eyes, peeking over at his sensei and the shinobi. At least they hadn’t seen him get upset.

“Taicho.” Another shinobi dropped from the trees, startling Itama enough to knock him over. Neither Yasuo or Hiro had so much as blinked at the newcomer, though they both spared a moment to look his way. He flushed, beyond relieved when Hiro looked away to address her subordinate.

“Report, Eiko.”

Eiko took a moment to kneel, straightening up to address her captain. She barely stood up to the shinobi’s shoulder, and couldn’t have been more than a year older than Hashirama. But she held herself like a soldier, and Itama was certain she’d seen battle. Even her armor seemed a bit used, though it wasn’t like the full sets he’d seen his parents wear.

“The northern border is secure. All traps are still set, with no signs of disturbance.”

“And the eastern border?”

The younger shinobi shook her head, high ponytail swaying behind her. “He’s yet to check in. Should I offer assistance, taicho?”

“No need. He’s not been gone long.” Hiro nodded in his direction, a deep frown stretching at the scar running down her cheek. “We’ll see him home first. If he’s not reported back by then, we’ll head-”

Hiro jumped back, blade drawn. Clinking metal echoed off the trees, five kunai deflected before Itama even knew they were under attack. He saw Yasuo move as well, blocking the projectiles and dodging another, a thick gash sliced on his cheek.

Eiko wasn’t so lucky. One shuriken hit her neck, and she fell lifeless.

Seven shinobi fell upon them. Sensei pulled him back, intent on protecting him at all costs, but did not last long. Itama scrambled back, kunai gripped too tight in his hand, blood rushing in his ears.

Sensei was dead. Eiko-san was dead. They died just like Yoai had, right in front of him, falling, bleeding.

His back hit a tree, weapon lost to the brush around him. Bark rough at his fingertips. He had to hide. They would kill him.

One step, and the twang of breaking wire. It cut into his skin, wrapping his arms to his sides. Twigs cut his face as he fell, a rock sharp in his temple, and his vision blurred.

The fighting died down, crashes of metal and tearing flesh still echoing in his ears but not fresh in the air. Footsteps disturbed the grass near him, the shinobi no longer caring if they were heard.

A harsh kick to his side, pain spreading like wildfire from his ribs, and he was on his back. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering, daring to open his eyes and look at the man towering over him.

“Huh, looks like I caught one.” He had no pupils, just dark purple pits for eyes. His hair was blood red, and he grinned down at Itama, crouching next to him.

“Hurry up. We need to go.”

Itama tried to lift his head at the voice, to see how many there were, but he was stopped by metal on his cheek. The blade of a kunai, tip splitting his skin. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“Are you gonna cry, boy? Piss yourself?” The man mocked him, pressing the weapon deeper his skin. Watched the blood well there, trickle warm down his cheek. Laughed when Itama whimpered, eyes lit with a dark interest he didn’t understand.

“Mai.” The name had the man’s head snapping to the side, dark eyes narrowed and a sneer at his lips. “Either finish the boy, or I will.”

Itama could only see the man above him, shadowed by the trees. A breeze ruffled the blood-red hair, for a moment making him seem almost human. But his muscles were tensed, jaw tight, eyes focused and burning with irritation.

He withdrew the kunai in a flash, making sure to cut Itama’s cheek deep as he did, drawing a hiss from him. “Ruining my fun.” His tone was almost playful as he pushed himself up, disappearing from his line of sight.

There was a heavy thud. A body hit the ground, followed by curses and drawn weapons. Itama’s eyes widened, and he squirmed, trying to roll onto his side despite his body’s pained protests.

He hadn’t seen Hiro fall. Hadn’t heard her die. Was she still alive?

Something snarled, the sound feral and wild. Agonized screams followed the sound of flesh being rent from flesh. The smell of blood, the sounds of terrified curses and slick tearing of skin.

Itama stopped moving, and held his breath. The men who attacked him were being slaughtered only a few meters away. He shut his eyes tight, feeling hot tears prickle at the corners.

All he’d wanted to do was make Father proud. To see his brothers happy again. And now he was going to die for sure, eaten alive by whatever monster had just delayed his death.

The stench of copper and blood overwhelmed him, something wet touching the gash on his cheek. A sob tore out of him, uncontrollable and weak. He had tried. Tried so hard to be strong and brave, just like his brothers.

“Itama?” A gentle hand cupped his cheek, and his eyes shot open.

His armor was splattered in blood, exposed cloth soaked through and sticking to his skin. Thick streaks of red across his face, hair beginning to matt, stained pink and scarlet. His eyes were wide, breaths shallow, hands shaking.

“Tobira-” He choked on the name, a storm of relief and fear and confusion overtaking him. The wire fell from him, cut loose, and Tobirama clutched him tight in his arms, his grip near painful in his desperation.

On some level, he knew they had started moving, his brother picking him up and carrying him with ease. By the time Itama had finally calmed himself, they had arrived back at the compound. From what he could see over his brother's shoulder, they were in a bedroom, tucked into the corner furthest from the door. He squirmed a bit, trying to look around to properly see where they were, but Tobirama's grip tightened with each twitch, as if determined to not let him move even an inch away.

That was how Akamu found them, huddled in a corner, covered in blood. Itama heard her gasp, his mother rushing over to see him - he tried to break free of Tobirama's iron grip, knowing it was childish to want his mother so badly, but part of his brain reminded him that he was a child, and he needed his mother, needed to feel her arms around him to feel safe again.

Her attempts to gather him were met with snarls, and Itama stilled, feeling his brother shaking from the noise ripping out of his chest. It sounded feral, sounded like the monster that had slaughtered the enemy shinobi - he refused to connect the two, to let the image of his doting, loving brother be tainted with the blood drying on both their skins, staining their hair and clothes.

It took an hour to calm him, to loosen the hold he had on Itama. By then, Butsuma had come rushing in as well, hearing reports of an attack and falling to his knees in front of them. It was Father that calmed his brother, hushing his fury and fear, gently removing Itama and placing him in his mother's arms, where he buried himself in the crook of her neck.

That night, after the blood was washed from both of them, Itama wanted nothing more than to crawl into his parent's futon. But one look at his brother, at how close he stuck himself to his side, how Tobirama could barely tear his eyes away from him for more than a moment - and he took his nii-san's hand, leading him down the hall and crawling under the covers next to him, drifting off to the steady beat of his heart and brushed fingers through the white half of his hair.

They both woke up only an hour later, to a sobbing Hashirama. But he had always swung between moods easily, and calmed after only a few minutes, laying himself across his two little brothers and keeping them warmer than any blanket ever could (and snoring loudly in their ears the entire night).

[thejamesoldier]

Heyooo. I absolutely adore your writing and look up to it so much, and I just wanted to put a request through if you don't mind. I was thinking about a Bucky or Seb x reader, where he's some sort of a dark angel king, or a dark immortal of sorts (not vampire though), and he develops a strange fascination with the reader, and the rest is up to you. ☺

Hi anon, I hope you enjoy this!! I know you said you didn’t want Seb/Bucky to be a vampire, and he’s not, but I hope you don’t mind that I included them in the story as other characters? (If you don’t like it then I can rewrite this to your liking :D xx) Anyway on to the story!

(oh and one of my favorite hoes and wife Kumi aka @mellifluous-melodramas wrote a fic about Unseelie!Seb first, so GO READ IT HERE!! It’s amazing and also completely different from this story so don’t worry xx)

No Faith, Trust or Faerie Fucks

Pairing: Unseelie Fae King!Bucky x Y/n (as Tony & Pepper’s daughter)

Summary: Y/n Stark is in the wrong place at the wrong time as unsavory characters come out to play.

Overall Tags: lots of lore and shit I hope its not too confusing, ANGST (sorry i cant help it), smut, fluff to make sure I don’t murder yall’s hearts, and the usual humor

Tagged Lovlies: @captain-chimichanga, @creideamhgradochas, @evilmermaidsinc, @buckyandsebsinbin, @simplyme8308, @notsoprettykitty, @ryverpenrad, @whintersoldiers, @mini-muffin-mountain, @the-one-and-only-vampcake, @james-bionic-barnes, @badassbaker, @kenobi-and-barnes, @fangasms101, @almondbuttercup, @mar-gega, @vacam79, @nenyakj, @angryschnauzer, @rosegoldarmour, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @takemetoneverland91, @jenairedale, @musichowler, @seargantbcky, @mllx-anazra, @amrita31199, @jenna-luke

Chapter 1 - Just a Spoonful of Y/n

Your feet ache like the Devil himself kissed them.

Uneven roots, spiteful twigs, and bitterly sharp rocks take turns stabbing against the thin worn down leather souls of your shoes as you run. The gnarled forest canopy sneers down at you as you tear through prickled bushes and low-bearing branches, the dark leaves hiding you from the worried stars twinkling frantically above them. The constellations sprint across the moonless map of black sky trying to keep up with you as you move with silent terror through the smirking chessboard of tree trunks.

You are filled with an inescapable sense of dread, knowing that no matter how far you run he’ll always be a breath behind you.

Sensing the chase, ancient life that has lived in this forest for centuries awakens with an elemental inhale; it goes unnaturally quiet (you swear even your own breath and pounding footfalls became muted) before a loud breeze rises seemingly out of the grave of the forest floor and howls as it gathers body and slithers its way through the bark maze, weaving – hunting – ominously like a snake in grass until it finds you. Your throbbing lungs heave against the burden of the unforgiving pace you have set for yourself when the wind finally slices past you. It scrapes its sharp chilled fingers across your cheeks, like claws of ice digging in and actually breaking the skin, leaving your face stinging, numb, and wet. Whether or not the wet was from your terrified tears or drawn blood you wouldn’t ever know. You would have cried out in pain and fear had you any air to spare.

With your instincts leaving you no choice you continue ripping through the evil growth around you praying to any higher power who may be listening to please deliver you to safety. The long, heavy material of your skirts betray you by getting caught under your already unsure footing, listening to the sick spell this dark wind is whispering into the quality winter wool. Those same ice claws snag and pluck at the hem of your dress as well, the hissing breeze fluttering and galloping along the forest floor by your feet. With a wheezing grunt you fist your hands in your thick skirts and lift up the material and continue running, ignoring the branches snapping at your now unprotected face and the shrubbery that takes bites out of your exposed ankles as you rush by.

After what seems like an hour of running you begin to feel yourself being herded by the wind at your ankles, at your back, at your sides; if that’s even possible. The constellations are loosing sight of you as you start veering away from the thinning edge of the forest you were desperately making your way towards, and unknowingly begin slowly arching back to the middle and thickest part of the forest. Under the influence of the ancient darkness that lives in every cell of life here, you start to lose sanity and sense, forgetting the original direction you were going in.

He’s coming, Your mind shrieks at you in full fledged panic when you still haven’t reached the forest line, I can feel him!

The wind nips at your heels like loyal hunting hounds as you start stumbling. Your body is weak and shaky and you are lost. You can feel that fear in your body spreading like a chill down your spine – inevitable and inexorable. Cool mercury inks through your veins, smooth and silver and fatal.

A fated root finally gets the better of your frantic footing and you crash to the ground with a surprised huff knocked out of your chest. The tears flow silently and endlessly down your cheeks, but you are much too frightened to notice as you spit dirt out of your mouth and struggle to breathe. The flight instinct slowly transitions to fight as the chill in your veins and heart starts to petrify your limbs to a solid stand still. The loose dirt under your hands starts to – impossibly – turn to sinking mud, working to shackle you in a prison of wet cold earth and sure death.

The wind bellows with rage as it tries to push you back down when you attempt to rip yourself free, drawing its icy fingers into fists and punching holes in your determination. Once you allow your body to fully release the instinct to run a switch flips, and in one deep esoteric breath your soul absorbs the only other option left to it. Your heart beats thunderously under your ribs as you grit your teeth and stand.

You find that fighting is a much less frighting instinct to embody. Instead of fear souring your stomach and pumping poison into your heart, clean pure merciful fury replaces it. This fury gifts you strength, a clear mind freed from the trap of ethereal darkness surrounding you, a clarity to see the full chessboard in front of you. You see the entire spider’s web now and instead of fearing death you can see the spider.

It’s just a forest.

It’s just wind.

It’s just dirt.

It’s just a spider.

It’s just a man –

“I am no man.”

The wind suddenly dies down and stops whipping around you like a flock of angry vultures. A cold foreign sensation ripples through your body as you swivel on your newly recovered feet and see the spider – him, the man who you were running from. Or not a man…

You try to frantically squint through the shadows where this, this creature hides in, not daring to move from your spot and holding your ground this time instead of running. That fury reignites in your chest as silence stretches between you two, and spreads hot and powerful throughout the rest of you, lending energy to your exhausted muscles and air to your throbbing lungs and burning throat. Your fists clench at your sides and your lip snarls up to expose your teeth.

“You sound like a man.” You speak with a clear cut voice, the rage you feel exposing itself through the violent wobble in your tone.

The anger hides your lie. He did not in fact sound like any man you have ever heard. His voice seems to be made up of the howl of the wind that had chased you all this way, the rustle of dead leaves in the trees, the creak of ancient roots in the earth; a dark melody manifested by nature itself weaving into a baritone so delicately sinister it made the small hairs all over your body stand up, and your skin prickle like you had been dipped in a boiling pot of ants.

“Step into the light you coward!” Comes your growled demand as the largely uncomfortable feeling that he can see you and you can’t see him gets the better of you.

The man-creature says nothing in response and doesn’t make to move out from the thick convenient shadows veiling him from you of everything but his silhouette. His tall frightening black shadow remains a few strides away and only cocks his head to the side a tick.

“I am no coward.”

That fear from earlier batters at the high walls of your fury now, begging to be let back in. Let me in! Let me in! Run I say! RUN!

You swallow stiffly but don’t let yourself falter. If you run again you have a feeling that you will end up in the same place you are now. Until you face this man-creature you weren’t leaving this forest. The trees seem to bow towards him, the leaves fluttering to graze him in worship, the branches arching protectively over him, the bushes fluffing at his feet. With a start you realize he is almost part of the forest itself, a personification of the nature around him.

Having never encountered a supernatural creature before you were a little at loss for what to do, but you have heard many stories from the people of the village and at Court. Tales of vampires, shifters, werewolves, kitsune, and if you’re lucky: Fae.

You did not in anyway gather a goodness from the being before you, so that cancels out Fae-folk. The only tales you have ever heard people recount about Fae were ones of hope and protection and hard-learned lessons that always ended up exposing you to truths. With a shaky breath you readjust your footing below you, bracing yourself,

“Are you a vampire then? Hunting me for my blood?” You question the darkness in front of you, his silhouette murky in the ever present black fog that mists and blurs the strict lines of the shadows.

A scoff emits gently from the blackness, “I am no vampire.”

A part of you relaxes but then you stiffen again,

“A werewolf? Are you hungry for my flesh?”

Something akin to a bored, exasperated sigh whispers out from the shadows this time.

“Humans never cease to disgust me with their base, vulgar minds.”

You’re stumped at what to say or do. The rage is starting to simmer out of your system as this stalemate un-nerves you further with each second. Your fury gave you strength but each moment you spend talking the more that shakiness begins to re-settle in your bones. With a desperate attempt to reclaim your weakening strength you try another tactic.

“Vulgar I may be, but a coward you still remain sir,” You hesitate before pushing yourself forward and charging right at the darkness, “Afraid a base human will see you? Cowering in the shadows like a deer before a cougar–,”

Before you can take an official step into the shadows a hand as pale and hard as marble, and as cold as packed glacial ice comes out of nowhere, securing fingers of granite around your neck.

You make a tiny choked sound of surprise and it takes you a shocked second to realize that this hand isn’t coming from the shadows, but beside it. There are two beings here not just one. Out of reflex your hands come up to grasp the forearm of the offending hand at your neck as the hand lifts your feet easily off the ground and your mind scrambles to adjust to this new frightening information.

You didn’t even know – didn’t sense – that there was more than one creature. The panic breaks the damn of your anger in an overwhelming avalanche as you frantically scour the trees and darkness around you wondering if there were more hidden creatures. The face and body that belongs to the hand around your neck appears out from beside the shadows after a moment of you dangling. When it comes into full view your throat clogs as you try to gasp against his tight fingers.

It – he – is beautiful.

He wears a quality navy tunic with a cream undershirt that sprouts frothy lace at his neck-collar and wrists; his pants a deep calico to abruptly stop above bare feet. No shoes. The skin you can see is as bright as a full moon, flawless, like milk being poured into a cobalt glass goblet. His eyes seem carved directly from the horizon of a crisp winter sky – a blue so bright and unearthly it has to have been stolen directly from the Gods’ own minds. His features are too perfect: high proud cheekbones bordering a straight long nose that points down to full, impossibly soft looking lips that are framed by a sharp chin and chiseled granite jaw. His hair is short and shines gold like wisps of sun atop his head, hair so fine it looks like it would feel as soft as a sun ray’s kiss. He isn’t real.

He isn’t human, Your mind corrects.

Before you can think of how to respond to everything that is happening, the fingers at your neck tighten just a hair more,

“My Master is no coward.” This impossible blonde creature somehow hisses down at you even as he raises you above his head. His frame is so tall and packed with dangerous muscle you fight the urge to faint with fear.

You instead stare wide eyed at him, eyes ready to pop out of your skull, hands futility clutching at the white marble skin trying to breathe as pressure builds steadily in your face from lack of air.

The silhouette of the man-creature still shroud in the shadows whispers something in some ancient tongue, the words almost caressing the very air around you like they’re alive.  

Immediately the supernatural blonde releases your neck and you drop to your knees and fall forward onto your hands, swallowing thirsty gulps of air down and coughing harshly when your throat fails to adjust. Your hands subconsciously fist the dirt below your hands as you frantically try to gain bearing on what’s going on. One anonymous supernatural creature you could maybe escape from, but two?

Not a chance in hell.

And the fact that you pissed them off?

Yeah, double no. You’re dead meat…literally.

The fact that you are going to die starts to steadily push down on your shoulders, coaxing you to just lay down on the ground and give up. Your ears are mute to the hushed old-world words being exchanged by the two man-creatures who are calmly discussing your fate.

You barely have the energy to be startled as the same cold stone hand grabs the skin at the back of your neck and lifts you to your feet like you are a runt of a pup litter. You hadn’t even noticed the beautiful blonde had moved behind you while you heaved on the ground. With a fearful spark in your gut you realize the first man-creature still hasn’t moved out from the shadows and you still can’t see him – it, whatever the male-creature is. You wonder after a dazed moment if maybe he can’t step out of the shadows, like its a cage, but you quickly shove that note aside because its the middle of the night and there is no moon tonight. If light was his concern there isn’t any to hide from at the moment, only concerned stars peeping down through the dark canopy trying to catch a glimpse of how you’re fairing.

“My Master desires you to live,” The blonde practically hisses behind you, his hand still unnervingly gripping the back of your neck, once you gather your balance atop your shaking legs and the quiet has set in for a nice long uncomfortable stretch of heart beats. These supernatural creatures wield silence like a knight does his sword. “In return for sparing your life, My Master requires payment.”

What is left of the warmth in your body drains and seems sucked out by the ice touch at your neck.

“He will require a…” The pale male-creature trails off a tad frustrated, murmuring more ancient words seemingly to himself rather than to his ‘Master’, almost like he’s trying to find the right translation.

As he struggles for the words you shake violently under his hand and stare petrified at the shadows in front of you, trying to make out eyes or a hand or a shoulder while simultaneously hoping you aren’t successful in your search for a physical presence. Seeing the creature would only make you even more scared but a sick curiosity keeps twisting out of your attempts to catch it. You knew that whoever is behind the shadows is most definitely watching you though, his gaze feels like a branding iron against your soul but instead of unbearable heat it feels so cold that it burns. Another wave of renewed never ending unease shimmies down your spine when the beautiful creature behind you gives a soft ‘ah’ of triumph.

“My Master requires a, a slice of your soul.”

Your heart gallops through the resulting field of silence as what the blonde says sinks in, and then the muscle within your chests freezes solid.

“A s-slice of my soul?” Comes your whisper of naked horror.  

The shadows in front of you somehow grin.

The blonde man-creature behind you does not respond, doesn’t even sound like he’s breathing. Your mind scatters into chaos trying uselessly to find a way out of this situation. You have never heard of a creature who eats souls other than the Devil himself and his creations.

You jump out of your own skin when you feel the lips of the creature behind you brush the shell of your ear,

“Do not fear. To be owned by My Master is not painful or meant as a punishment,” With disgust you try to wrench yourself free of the hand but to no avail. “It is only rightful payment.”

“I’ll die first!” You cry at the two of them as you continue to struggle knowing you won’t get away but it feels good to try anyway. Before you can register anything else the shadows waft swiftly away from the black silhouette and your vision suddenly goes dark.

James steps up to this human woman with slight distaste and mild irritation. He grips the sides of your cheeks with his hand hard and tilts your face up at him, watching your open eyes dart around with rising panic.

“Why can’t I see?!” You shriek as your face burns under the freezing touch of a new hand at your jaw, the one at your neck still and unmoving.

A bored snarl curls James’ upper lip as he looks down at you.

Humans, he thinks.

He glances up at Steve behind you and nods in warning. The blonde vampire closes his eyes and braces himself, he never did like this part.

James lowers his lips to yours, just barely allowing the skin to touch, not wanting to contaminate himself with the filth of humans more than he has to. But he’s hungry and you’re right here. And since he cannot possess a soul without that soul’s permission, your life force will have to do. For now.

You jump helpless and pathetic under the unyielding pressure of two deathly cold hands as you feel a sensation against your lips. In your blindness you at first can’t fathom what it is, because its too cold to be skin and too soft to be anything but the wind.

James connects his gaze with your blind milky one and he inhales.

White hot flames suddenly lick at every vein, muscle, cell in your body. You try to scream but find your lungs incapable of breathing in any air, like you have a feather down pillow being pressed over your face. You’re being suffocated then.

What an odd method of killing, considering they’re supernatural creatures, A strange disconnected part of your mind notes.

Your insides feel like they’re being turned inside out, like a hook dragging your guts out through your mouth. The muscle of your heart beats in a wild un-synchronized symphony of panicked thuds. James remains perfectly calm if not a little grossed out at having to be so close to you. But as he gets the first real taste of your life force – your energy �� pulsing into him like liquid sun pouring into his hollow black-hole of a soul, he realizes he can’t get enough. Its not enough.  

James can sense Steve’s rising unease as he continues inhaling from you longer than he planned to. Aside from the usual sweet flavor of fear, there’s an undeniable spice to you that brings James to life in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries. Like a finger curling at him, urging him to take more, to take it all.

“Brother, please,” Steve hushes to him in their mother tongue over the top of your head, an ancient Celtic language long since deceased. “You promised me.”

At this James abruptly stops inhaling and glances away from your eyes to meet Steve’s, his azure irises true and just as bold as they were when he was a human. The Unseelie Fae King let’s go of your face, steps back, and gives Steve a small but reverent bow. A show of the highest respect, especially coming from him who bows to no one and nothing.

Steve nods back in acceptance of this silent but profound apology and slowly lowers you to the ground. You have long since passed out by this point.

“She still owes me a part of her soul.” James states not really at anybody but just a promise for the forest to remember and hold you to. The trees rustle above them and eagerly accept the honor.

“Yes Master, perhaps we should take her back to her family so she may recover.” Steve agrees, suggesting the gentlest option for you as they both stare down at your limp body curled on the forest floor at their feet.

A sage expression gathers on James’ face, “I shall claim my debt after, then.”

The blonde vampire bows his head in acknowledgment and is about to scoop you up to return you to your home when James holds up his hand. Steve freezes in submissive patience, waiting to hear what his Master – his Sire, his Bond Brother – wants. James only steps forward and picks you up bridal style himself. Steve furrows his eyebrows at this, knowing James despises humans most of all among the creatures on this earth, but his expression stutters into grateful reverence when James adjusts you so your head drops to hang back, exposing the elegant line of your neck.

The Unseelie King handles you like a chef would a tenderly prepared meal.

“I fed, and so will you Bond Brother.” James hushes in that gorgeous ancient tongue as he takes one grand stride to stand right in front of Steve.

James arranges you so your feet touch back to the ground and your back rests against his broad chest, your dead weight no more of a burden than carrying a feather would be. He wraps a hesitant arm around your middle and cups the side of your face as your head falls to one side with an impossibly smooth palm. Steve’s eyes glow impossibly bluer as he stares ravenously at your neck, veins pulsing under the strain of your heartbeat trying to recover from the events of the evening.  

“Devour.” James whispers knowing Steve waits for his permission.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to smooth a cool hand down your neck before licking over the skin thinnly shielding his favorite artery, like a doctor would wipe with a towelette of alcohol before sticking a needle in. The vampire snaps his fangs out while opening his mouth. As Steve is one of the original vampires his fangs are so long they are near the length of a human child’s pinky. James holds you steady, watching his Bond Brother fondly, before Steve hunches down over you. He opens his jaw wider and sinks his teeth into you like steel through warm butter.

The second your blood spurts against his lips Steve groans in absolute ecstasy as his eyes roll up into he back of his skull. He makes sure no blood gets on your clothes or his, having had much practice with this, and sucks from you like a man dying of thirst at a fresh cool spring. James leans forward and presses a brief but caring kiss to Steve’s forehead while his vampire continues to drink, lost to everything but the taste of your blood.

James smiles as the familiar feeling of intimacy at having a human’s essence pulse through their bond starts to come to life like rivers of mercury slowly weaving their way into a sea of blue. He can feel you inside himself and coursing through Steve, he can feel your leftover fear and fury, feel your subconscious panic even though you’re not awake. He can sense it all, like you’re part of him. Of course this connection will fade, not his bond with Steve but the bond you have temporarily formed with the both of them.

From the look on Steve’s face, he’s not tasted a human as delicious as you in a while. James mulls over this fact. His desire to possess you only grows as he casually strokes some of Steve’s hair out of his face when the golden strands fall over his closed eyes.  

You will be his, and by extension Steve’s as well (when James feels like sharing). Though as you begin to pale in James’s arms he feels a strange urge to be selfish, to have you all to himself. Usually him and Steve share all their meals but as your eyelashes flutter in pain and the echo of your heart beat in James’ own hollow chest starts to weaken considerably, he shoves Steve off you.

Albeit gently but still a shove. Steve looks a little shook as he stumbles back from you, fangs red and dripping, but regains himself quickly from the frenzy of blood-food-meal-warm-life.

James looks down at you limp in his arms and before he knows what he’s doing, ever so lightly touches the tips of his free fingers to the assaulted skin of your neck, watching with foreign satisfaction as the skin heals instantly. Steve stares at James for a second consumed by a wave of shock. A shock that, when James looks up and sees, speaks of a side to the Unseelie King long since forgotten.

James hasn’t healed anybody (and never once a human) in centuries.

With monumental self disgust James sneers and chucks you to the ground, shivering like your touch revolted him. Before you can crash to the ground Steve catches you with unnatural speed and holds you bridal style tight to his chest, gently licking up the leftover blood on your neck under the careful eye of his Bond Brother. Steve always has been a compassionate drinker, feeling the urge to be tender to the human who’s blood courses through his dead veins.

James visibly relaxes when Steve pulls his lips away from your neck. Steve notices and sees right through him.

“Get this blood bag out of my sight.” James scoffs with regal distaste when he catches Steve staring at him with suspicious wonder.

Steve only bows obediently and takes off at a sprint, following your scent trail out of the forest and all the way to your grand home estate. You weren’t royalty, but your family’s money made you the closest thing to it apart from having actual royal blood. He easily picks across the vast gardens and grounds and jumps in through an open window that permeates your scent once he reaches the main house. Steve quickly gathers that you are a wealthy young lady of status by the grandeur of your family’s estate and the magnificence of your chambers. Steve lays you down on the silk sheets of your large four poster bed, hearing several heartbeats thudding out of sync to their own master’s rhythm throughout the house.

As he arranges your head to lay at a comfortable angle against your multiple feather pillows he can’t help but brush his fingers over the spot on your neck where his Master healed you. Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels a distinct tug in his chest.

James is calling him.

Steve sighs internally (as he doesn’t actually breathe) before jumping back out the open window as silent as an owl with the moon on its wings. Just before Steve turns to sprint unseen back to the cover of the ancient forest he catches the name ‘Stark’ carved in a flourish on a stone crest sitting atop the stone wall boarding the estate’s main house.

Stark, Steve thinks as his body whispers through the night, No wonder she tastes so good.

Okay!!! So there you have it, the first chapter to my unseelie!bucky fic! Lemme know what you think pretty please? xxx

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