#to torment and hurt and possibly kill me just to test how much he can push someone until they perish. until their heart gives out fully.

[neversetyoufree]

Looking back, I wonder how much of Vanitas's choice in this scene is tied to the fact that he was given a choice in the first place.

So much of Vanitas's character is centered around the theme of self-determination (and the lack thereof). He is absolutely deprived of any control over his body and/or destiny at many of the key points in his life, and nowadays he's always desperately grasping at what few shards of self-determination he does have. This is why he freaks out when Roland talks about him being "under the vampires' power" in mémoire 15. It's why he's hung up on the idea of freedom as isolation from others' influence. It's why his main response to being triggered is to do something crazy and cause a scene; it puts him in control of the situation.

All that to say, when Luna destroys Moreau's lab and agrees to take Misha away, Vanitas must be desperate to feel some form of in-control, but I do not think he expects to be given any choice in what happens to him next. He's been conditioned not to expect that despite how much he wants it.

Vanitas certainly doesn't have much agency in how he lives his life as a child, as no kid gets to pick their parents or circumstances, and Vani has it especially rough with the death of his mother hanging over his head. Then his father dies protecting him, and he dies in a situation in which Vanitas is utterly powerless. Horror erupts into his life out of nowhere, and his dad throws himself in front of some fangs, and there's nothing Vanitas can do but watch it happen.

Next there's Vanitas's brief time training as a chasseur, which is one part of his history we know little about, so it's hard for me to say how free his choice was. He may have been pressured into joining, as we know the Chassuers aren't above pushy/manipulative recruitment of children (Astolfo), but I could also see his choice to hunt vampires made as a trauma response to the powerlessness of the vampire attack he survived. "I was powerless, so I'll claim the power to enact violence and make sure they can't hurt me or others again."

Then Vanitas is abducted by Doctor Moreau, which strips him of his agency just about as awfully as anything possibly could.

Vanitas the test subject has no bodily autonomy. He is poked and prodded and experimented on, because his body is an object of science to Moreau, not the vessel of a person with rights or self-determination. His only big active choices during his captivity are the choice to not run away for fear of somebody else suffering and the choice to volunteer in Mikhail's place. The only choices he can make are the choices to stay and throw himself even deeper into his own violation. Even his relationship with Misha is something that just kind of Happens to him. The kid is a force of nature that Moreau dumps on him without his say.

(This isn't Mikhail's fault, as Misha is just a child that wants affection, but having a needy, vulnerable little brother figure suddenly dropped on him in the midst of all that horror couldn't have made Vanitas feel less out of control).

Then Vanitas's torment by Moreau hits its climax, and Vanitas is told that not only has his body been violated by way of pain and torture—even his basic humanity has been and will be stripped from him. He now feels the disgust of having the blood of something he hates inside of him without his consent. And he's about to be killed, turned into a mindless husk of a "living key" instead of a person.

And that's when Luna shows up. This mysterious, incredibly powerful being appears and wreaks havoc on Moreau's lab like an avenging angel, and it agrees to Mikhail's request to take "us" along with it. Everything in Vanitas's life so far has taught him that he is powerless in the face of others' great power. Horrible shit just keeps happening to him forever, and this monstrous person sounds like they've just agreed to carry him off on Mikhail's request without a word of input from him. Of course he doesn't expect to be given a choice.

But he is.

Luna scoops up Mikhail, then they turn to Vanitas and ask if he would like to come along with them as well. After months or years of absolutely all of his autonomy and power being stripped away from him, the most powerful being Vanitas has ever encountered stops and gives him a choice about what he'd like to do next. They give him the option to go off on his own and decide his own fate rather than go along with them. And that's why Vanitas doesn't run away.

These are the images that flash through Vanitas's head right before he gets up and runs to Luna:

These moments are what inform Vanitas's choice. The memories of his father's death and Moreau's final experiment on him—his two most awful moments of abject helplessness.

When Vanitas runs to Luna and accepts their offer, these moments are what he's running from. He's fleeing from his inability to do anything or control his fate. He's running from a life of stolen agency. He's running toward the one adult who actually stopped and gave him a choice about what he'd like to do next.

Vanitas chooses Luna because they, despite having the power to kill or subdue him, give him the freedom to choose to accompany them in the first place. He's drawn to them not for protection, but as an escape to a life where he gets to keep making choices and grasp some agency.

Luna is the savior that gives Vanitas his freedom and autonomy back after it's stolen by Moreau. That's why it's so tragic that Vanitas carries their Mark in the present day. It's undeniable proof that, in their right mind or not, some version of Luna violated the fundamental trust and gift of autonomy that brought Vanitas into their family in the first place.

Luna's bite, both the physical violation and the transformation into inhumanity that it brings, is yet another way that Vanitas is stripped of all control of his body and fate.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The demon smirked, seeming to calm slightly at Norrington’s words. His control over John also calming, the pain ebbing.

Heh. So you did notice. And here I thought you’d assume that was all John. He was part of it, sure. But I was in the driver’s seat, so to speak. You are one tough little vampire, aren’t you, Corpse? Able to withstand such a hard fucking. Truth be told, I was curious to see how far I could push, testing to see if you would break easy. I was…impressed at how you managed to hold together.

The demon admitted with a raised brow, watching Norrington soothe John as if he were a child Blue eyes narrowed, the reflection shifting slightly, standing up straighter. It didn’t need comfort, not like it’s weaker half.

He doesn’t need a protector. He has me. And you won’t take me from him.

The demon growled lowly. A warning. Meanwhile John panted softly, finally gaining back control. Yet his other self was right there, as if waiting to strike. “James? How the fuck are you doing this? Ngh…no one knows about him. No one else can hear him but me.” He muttered, glancing between Norrington and the demon.

Norrington’s declaration was met with a curious glance from the demon. Head tilted, staring at the vampire. It’s brow was furrowed, looking over the man. Even as the hand was pressed to the glass, the demon remained still. Just…staring. For a flash of a second, it’s expression changed. Fear. It had been so used to protecting John all these years, it was scared to let others in. Scared that he would only get hurt, and after helping him through so much pain and torment growing up, the demon didn’t want to see John fall back down again.

John continued to glance between the two before his gaze settled on his reflection. “Please…I trust him. He’s good for us, you know he is. He’s loyal. He’s proved that time and time again. He’s not like the rest. He won’t hurt us.”

The demon scoffed and growled in frustration. Yet it was clear it was torn. It took a step forward, staring Norrington down. It’s expression was serious, tone firm.

If you hurt him, if you betray us, I will kill you. And I won’t hesitate. This isn’t over, Corpse. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You may have persuaded him easily enough, but it’ll take a lot more than that to persuade me.

With a quick glance at John, the demon relented and reached out to place a gloved hand against the glass, a bond and an agreement made between it and Norrington as they shook hands.

Don’t make me regret this, otherwise your death will be incredibly slow and excruciating.

It warned before easing back into the dark recesses of John’s mind, giving him full control. Though it was still there, lingering and snarling faintly at Norrington. Just as the vampire was territorial and protective over John, so too was the demon.

John shook his head and let out a deep breath, looking at the reflection in the mirror. It was entirely his own. “That was…very weird. Fuck.” He muttered, a gloved hand raising to the side of his head. “Don’t…don’t tell anyone, James. No one else knows.”

"Oh, I am very much aware when you took the reigns, and still quite thankful for it. Thats why I chose you, sir. No one else would have done so.. perhaps we could run that gambit again sometime, mm?" he mused having smirked a bit more. Though the pleasantries aside.

" Shh.. I'll explain later.. " he uttered to John as he asked how that was possible, since no one else could hear that voice that mirror image except him. But James was currently in damage control with Homelander and trying to smoothe things over.

And he could tell he was reaching the demon when he saw actual fear flash across his features. Because , just like the Commodore when the reason to stand tall and bark loud was not present, the Commodore lost it's reason for being and had to lay down for James.

It took a little nudge from John and he was proud of the bonde as he was the deciding factor for the demon to accept his hand, the shake firm. " Thank you, sir. Your trust will not be in vain. Consider me warned. " He shook the hand before releasing it.

And then .. they were alone again. The image in the mirror was John again and John was free of that momentary other personality. He placed a hand upon the blonde's cheek. " Are you alright, John? " Reverse of the moment where he fought Armand's thrall off for Homelander. "you've my word. " He smiles resting his forehead against the others now.

" You are not the only man here who has a demon to bear"

He tips his head away for a moment to show the mirror behind him, turning to glance at .. the Commodore looking back at them. Looking quite displeased in full royal navy garb, rolling his eyes.

The Deep stumbled forward, his legs giving way beneath him as he crashed to his knees before Homelander, gasping for breath and clutching at his throat. Panic etched across the fishy hero's face as he frantically tried to convey the horror he had just endured. His voice trembled as he managed to choke out the words, "Homelander, your stupid vampire attacked me again and this time he got me!"

@hom3land3r

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 10

Summary: Haunted by her own mind, Y/N isn’t sure what to do with the information she uncovered. On the other hand, the Darkling felt a growing distance between them, allowing himself to admit something he never thought he’d say.

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff, sexual innuendos 

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine   

=================================

A long time ago lived a young boy with the power of saints. He held the darkness at the tip of his fingers, capable of forcing the day into an eternal night. Back then, he made all the wrong choices for all the right reasons. To protect the ones he loves, he allowed the shadows to consume him. Cursed with immortality, he walked the earth ever since. Forever alone, hurt and betrayed, the Darkling's heart no longer beat as it turned to stone. No longer did he suffer, no longer did he feel pain or anything at all.

Until now.

There was no escape from emotions when he looked at her. Even in the darkness, she had the ability to set his world on fire.

A single badly made decision in a moment where everything feels more important than love can make your entire life feel like a failure. He would never make the same mistake again. 

This lifetime he gives to her – wholeheartedly.

When they stopped for the night, he had felt uneasy as Y/N conversed freely with everyone but him. It seemed like she’s on edge and not knowing why gnawed at him. Once night came and they settled in their tent, the Darkling couldn’t contain himself.

"I sense some...hostility."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes, "Oh, how observant of you."

"What happened?” He asked, “Did someone at the Palace do something to you? Was it Genya?"

"And what if she did?” Tilting her head ever so slightly, she neared him. “What would you do?"

Without thinking, he answered, "I'd protect you."

Inhaling sharply, she raised an eyebrow. "And what if it was you?"

Pausing, his eyebrows furrowed as he unclenched his jaw. "Is it me?"

"If it was you who upset me, would that bother you?" Y/N pushed further, genuinely wondering if he cares for her as much as she thinks. After all, who’d believe the Darkling has a heart? She was still trying to convince herself it’s real when he kisses her temple when he thinks she’s fast asleep.

"Immensely."

With her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. "So, how would you protect me from yourself?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Aleksander ran his hand through his hair. "I'd let you decide."

Closing her eyes in frustration, her lower lip curled inwards as her front teeth sunk into the flesh. A part of her wanted to ask him about being the creator of the fold, but it was an advantage that would be unwise to let go of. 

"Why are you being so agreeable? Is it because I spread my legs for you now?"

"I've never known you to be so crude." The muscles in his jaw tighten as he squints at her and it’s taking everything in her not to smile because she absolutely loved when he’d look at her like that. It felt more natural than the soft, wistful looks he’d send her way.

"And I never realized you could be so easily tamed”, she remarks, her voice louder than before.

Chuckling in disbelief, the Darkling shrugs off his kefta without breaking eye contact. "You believe that you've tamed me?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shut her eyes. Her face is flushed, her head spinning and she has nothing concrete to tell him. She can’t make sense of anything anymore, the image of him in her head changing with every passing minute.

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

In two strides, Aleksander found himself before her. Cupping her cheeks, he tilts her head up to face him and when she opens her eyes, she’s lost in the universe that’s captured in his eyes. She loved the night sky littered with stars, but she never truly knew what it means to stargaze until she met him.

“I’ve discovered I love you.”

Raising her eyebrows, her jaw slacked. “When have you discovered that?” Her voice is high, tone defensive, but his smile grows because it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t fight him even when he’s trying to admit to something he long forgot exists.

“When all my decisions started to revolve around keeping you safe.”

Shaking, her eyes widened. “That’s impossible! You hate me!”

Placing a hand over her mouth, he used his other to press his index finger to his lips. “Shh”, he chuckles, “You’ll wake the others.”

Rolling her eyes, she licked his hand.

“Really? I’ve touched you in a way that made you scream long into the night”, he deadpans, “Your tongue can’t possibly disgust me.” Smirking, he leans in, “On the contrary.”

Slapping his hand away, she turned away from him. Grabbing her head, she sat down with her thoughts running so fast, too fast for her to pick one out to decide what she thinks, feels, wants.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back flush against his chest. “I know you hate me now, but I’m a patient man. I won’t give up on you.”

He held her for a while, too long for either of them to realize the night had slowly trickled away from them and given way to dawn. Their journey wasn’t quite as long anymore. Soon enough, they’ll be at the fold and Y/N didn’t know what to do.

Should she tell him? Ask him for an explanation?

Would he kill her even if he said he loves her?

She still felt his kisses as he laid her down beside him. For the first time since they made love, they didn’t initiate any physical intimacy. Instead, they simply stared at one another.

She’s not for feeble minded people, there’s no doubt about it in his mind and if anything, Aleksander was more determined to love her because of it. She tested him in every way possible and while she was incredibly frustrating to argue with, Aleksander refused to give up on her. She’s difficult to understand to ordinary minds, but he isn’t ordinary.

His love will conquer in the end, he truly believed that. He could have continued on like nothing changed between them, but he could not be silent any longer. After all the time he’s spent in vein, all the years he wasted and lives he’s lived, Aleksander never found someone who gave him a reason to believe. Not until he met Y/N.

While she remained silent, stunned by his admission, he spoke of the day he first met Ivan and Fedyor. He spoke of their adventures, of their silly mistakes and she found herself smiling at first. Soon, she was laughing with him, and though she had no courage to admit it yet, she fell asleep thinking about him. Their knees were touching and her heart was racing, but the world never felt so right as it did when she was next to him.

Once on the road, she took the reins once again.

Kirigan ignored the whispers about her riding his horse, choosing to glare them into silence. No one dared to speak of it after.

Stopping a few miles short of their destination, Y/N drew a shuddered breath. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, a nightmare come alive. Swallowing thickly, a faint line formed between her eyebrows as they furrowed.

How could Aleksander be the Black Heretic? How is it possible for him to live so long?

“I’m here”, he whispers in her ear.

Goosebumps rise across the back of her neck as his warm breath dances across her skin. And there he is again, with her when she’s looking for solitude, offering his hand to hold and shoulder to lean on even when she least expects it. The worst thing is that she’s actually becoming dependent on his help and that scares her most of all, because what is she supposed to do when he decides he never did love her and all of it was simply an obsession fueled by her rejection. 

She’s still a novelty to him, that will wear off eventually.

“I’m not afraid”, she remarks, “I’m-“, she pauses in an attempt to find a better word, “Admiring it.”

“Admiring”, he repeats in surprise. “Most people find it absolutely terrifying.” 

She wondered if it frightened him. What would happen if he went in?

Turning her head to the side, she caught a glimpse of his parted lips. She felt ashamed how it caused her heartbeat to quicken, how it ached for a taste.

“I’m not most people”, she reminded him. And he knew that well. The Darkling would never fall for an ordinary woman.

“What I want to know is what went through his mind”, she grips the reigns tighter.

“Of the black heretic?”

Feeling his hands tighten around her waist, she nods. “I wish I knew what led to the creation of the fold. Why did he do it?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t help himself”, Aleksander’s voice is strained, “Maybe he’s just pure evil.”

Leaning the back of her head on his shoulder, she looked up at him. She longed for him, for an earnest conversation with their souls laid bare, but would she live long if she unveiled what her mind’s been tormented by?

“I don’t believe that”, she says softly.

Their eyes meet in an instant, the closeness forcing them both to hold their breath and look at each other silently. Looking at her, he touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand.

“Why give him the benefit of doubt?”

Aleksander’s free hand gently moves along her arm, finding its rightful place at the side of her neck, touching her skin so tenderly she felt blissful and it reminded her of that night where he unraveled her, made her scream in pleasure she never found before.

There was no denying it, Y/N had a weakness for his hand on her neck and his words in her heart, neither of which she had any willpower to refuse, especially not when she couldn’t breathe when he looked at her with such longing, shameful lust and indisputable passion and understanding.

It took everything in her to find the strength to speak again without her voice cracking under the pressure of her own emotions. 

“Because darkness doesn’t equate evil, just as light doesn’t equate good.”

Without a warning, he kissed her fiercely, violently, leaving her raw. She didn’t move away, she didn’t make a sound. All she did was close her eyes and part her lips and in that fraction of a second, she allowed herself to get lost in the beauty of a lover’s touch for when his lips claimed hers, nothing mattered anymore.  

When he broke away, she was breathless and undeniably his.

“What was that for?” She raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smile forming on her bruised lips.

She shuddered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip ruthlessly as Aleksander’s breath caressed her skin. It felt so right, too right to resist his advances. She lived for those long nights in their bed, those thick with lust and romance and naked kisses.

Aleksander shrugs, “I wanted to.”

Lips parted, she didn’t know what to do with that. He told her he loves her, that he’d wait for her to love him back and most women would fall at his feet. Something inside her refused to do so. To admit her feelings out loud would be the end of her. 

If she allows herself to love him fully, how could she possibly be the cause of his downfall? 

What would be left of her if she took his love and used it against him in the most cruel way possible?

She’s losing who she is around him, but it hurt so much more to reject his love. Hating him, pretending her heart isn’t a feeble muscle where he resides is exhausting.

Truth is, he doesn't make her feel safe or comfortable as she once believed a man should. He makes her feel like she's teetering at the edge of a cliff and she's getting addicted to that feeling. She’s getting addicted to him – his scent, his touch, his handsome smile and devilish smirk and most of all to the way his darkness drives away her demons.

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wreaks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss - abyss he created. 

She used to fear the dark, but now she found herself running into it.

In that moment, she smiled. 

Perhaps the darkness is not so bad if he’ll be there, holding her hand.

=============================

A/N - So, I literally wrote this in about two hours and I’m about to pass out. I wanna thank you for Eid Mubarak responses and especially for the feedback, I was just reading through them and they made my day so much better. I’m seeing some interesting theories too, some paragraphs you loved or just thoughts about the characters and IT GIVES ME LIFE. I’m so, so grateful for it all.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon  @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06  @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren  @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl​ 

PART 11

[slasherkisss]

Sometime ago i asked you for headcanons on dbd killers seeing their pre-entity s/o again in their trial. This time around, could I ask for oni, pyramid head, deathslinger, ghost face, pig, nurse and plague? Not too many characters i hope...

[THIS IS A LONG LIST SO ITS UNDER A READMORE]

Killers Seeing Their S/O During a Trial

Kazan Yamaoka/The Oni

Similar to his predecessor, he thinks you’re not real for a while. A hallucination meant to test him. Something he must get out of his way

When he realizes that it’s you he stops his attack and just stares down at you, awe on his face

“Y/N...”

“K...K-Kazan?”

Your hand would reach up to touch his face and - oh - how he missed your touch. He would lean into it, eyes closing as he accepts the feeling of feeling you again. 

He hugs you and bring you close, pleased that you’re here. Pleased he can see you again. That you can be near him so you can be protected by him.

Will not kill you this first round, though he knows he can’t avoid it forever, but leaves you to your own devices and knows you can get out yourself

Makes it very clear to other killers after the trial that you are not to be hurt or messed with in any way, unless they want to deal with him personally

Pyramid Head/The Executioner

He’s surprised to see you to say the least

When you’re tangled in his web of barbed wire, struggling and whimpering against it, he recognizes you from your face. From the smell of your blood

He frees you and holds you, tilting his head as he admires you and you gasp to see him, almost relieved that it was someone familiar

That is, until he drags you off to a hook and hooks you there

He won’t stop his job in the Entity’s realm for you. He has a duty that he has to uphold. A purpose he has to manage

You’ll understand.

He’s serious about it, but not before brushing his hand lovingly along the blade of your shoulder for the briefest of moments, tilting his head at you before going off to catch more of his prey

Usually hooks you first because you’ll die faster and it’ll be a mercy at least. You deserve that much

Caleb Quinn/The Deathslinger

He figures out it’s you after his gun sinks into your shoulder, dragging you back into him

When he sees you at the end of his gun his mouth parts into an ear splitting smirk

“Well, well, well. Fancy seein’ you here, Darlin.”

Teases you and keeps you on his hook, laughing as you try to struggle and smack him away with a pout

“What, not happy to see your ol’ partner? I know I’m happy to see you.”

Really is happy to! He kisses your neck and keeps you close for a long while before you feel his fingers dig into your flesh and his muscles tense as he grunts

“Still... I do gotta job to do.”

Hooks you at the end of the trial, admiring your bleeding and struggling form on the hook and tilting his head with a hum at you

“Ain’t nothin’ personal, lover, just business. Let’s catch up sometime after though~.”

He walks away and leaves you to be scarified, thinking about how he’s going to sneak into the survivor camp to make good on that request

Danny Johnson/The Ghostface

Oh this boy is gonna fuck with you so hard

The moment he realizes that it’s you his efforts to scare you and run you around the map are just the worst possible things

He’ll make sure you’re the last survivor, picking you up and dropping you, letting you crawl right to the trap door before slamming his boot into your spine and holding you there

He’ll lean in behind you and pull his mask up, making you feel his hot breath on your neck before licking a stripe up it and making you squirm

“You miss me, baby~?”

The second you recognize his voice you freeze and he chuckles darkly

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun here, sweetheart. I can’t wait to play with you, just like old times yeah?”

Carves his initial into your spine and shoves you down the trap door, making you wait for a lull in the trials or the next trial to see him

You’re his new favorite plaything now, get used to it!

Amanda Young/The Pig

Doesn’t believe its you at first. It takes her like 3 trials to accept that, hey, maybe it is my lover

When she finally realizes she’ll sneak up on you at some point and just tackle you into a hug

You’ll recognize her by her laughter behind you

She fucks with you in the trial but like. In funny ways. Making you trip or pantsing a nearby fellow survivor. She just wants to make you laugh.

She just wants to make sure you don’t realize the kind of place that you’re in with her. the kind of rules you two have to follow.

Won’t kill you if she can help it, and avoids the subject to other killers and the entity itself, she’s just happy to have you around honestly

It’s her business what you are to her and no one else’s, she’ll shank anyone who asks

Sally Smithson/The Nurse

Upset to see you. She doesn’t want you to be here!

She’ll touch your face with both her hands on the first trial, bringing you close and pressing her forehead to yours with a soft wail

“I’m... so sorry... you have to be here too....”

Straight up avoids you. She doesn’t want to have to acknowledge you or manage your existence

You’ll survive just because she’s keeping herself from you after the initial meet

She doesn’t want you to see her like this. She doesn’t want to hurt you again. 

It’s better for you both if she just stays away, if you seek her out though she gets kind of angry

May try to hook you and sacrifice you just to show you that you REALLY need to stay away from her. You need to run and be afraid like other survivors

You... can’t love her anymore, she’ll think, just look at her... why would you still love her?

Adiris/The Plague

Shocked when she fist sees you

Her entire body freezes and she lingers before you, as beautiful as she ever was, and her gaze is trying to find a sign

A sign that the deities are testing her. That she’s being tried. That this isn’t real.

When her name slips from your lips, though, she knows it’s truly you and her heart aches

“Oh, my dearest... Why were they so cruel as to bring you here?”

Her hand touches your cheek and she’s genuinely sad that you’re here

She would never want this life for you. Of fear and torment. It was fine for her but, oh, you were so much more than her at all times

Lets you go as often as she can for trials and, if she must murder you or hook you, it’s always as gentle as possible and with a look of pain on her own face

[fandom-scatteredthoughtsonpaper]

Hi hi! i think you said asks were open in your newest post? If not feel free to ignore this lol

I would love to see headcannons of an MC who, though acting brave, gets very scared of the brothers

example after lucifer and the grimoire and such? like MC slowly becomes MORE scared of them, and tries to hide it, but it's getting obvious that theyre scared if that makes sense lol 💖

Ahhhhh, sorry this took longer than it necessarily should have! I feel like I was much closer to what you wanted with this request than the other, so hopefully you'll enjoy it too ❤️

GN MC THAT PROGRESSIVELY FEARS THE BROTHERS

Living with demons is hard, especially when they're the rulers of hell, err, the Devildom.

Sure, there's the implication they're not supposed to hurt or do anything harmful to you, as you have the safety of being an exchange student, but that veil of ignorance was quickly lifted before even the two week mark of living with these brothers.

You've tried getting along with them, and for the most part you've been successful, but a few circumstances have arisen that have reminded you that these boys are dangerous demons... and you're the human that keeps poking the three-headed dog while it sleeps.

Mammon:

You're not so much scared of what Mammon could physically do, but you're paranoid that he goes into your room and rummages in your belongings and personal keepsakes. Your room is the only thing you have that you can claim as your own, and it's your sanctuary, despite it being in the brothers' house.

Of course, the brothers will periodically just barge in without alerting you by asking or knocking, but you've grown okay with that. You're at least in your room and able to see what they do in there. There are a few occasions Levi or Satan might mention going into your bedroom to retrieve a video game or book they had loaned you, but you make sure to put their item on the dresser by the entrance, so they don't have to venture too far in. You're okay with that.

You're not okay, however, with Mammon when he goes into your room unannounced. Hell, you're not totally comfortable with him being in your room unattended if he does give you a heads-up.

You know how kleptomaniac Mammon can be. You've heard enough complaints and stories to know how relentless Mammon can be in his search for anything that could give him a few Grimm from his brothers. You've talked with this greedy demon about items he's stolen, witnessed thefts a few times too.

So, you feel something akin to victimized when Mammon goes into your room without your permission or you being there. Your room emits this vibe of disturbance, and it bothers you because you don't know what might be missing or "borrowed". It troubles you more because now your room feels foreign again, like the atmosphere was plagued by essences that you know aren't yours. Your anxiety swells with paranoia, fear, and mistrust again.

Leviathan:

Oh, for the most part, you don't have much conflict with Levi anymore. Once you made a pact with the otaku demon he relaxed a lot more and invited you to hang out in his room to play games or fuss about animation qualities in animes or gush about his favorite manga characters.

It's just that after that contest of who was the bigger TSL fan and Levi, enveloped by jealousy and fury, came at you with the intent to seriously harm you, you've had this overly-suspicious fear in the back of your mind, itching your paranoia that it could happen again.

You've learned that Levi's demon form is easily triggered by extreme feelings, rather that's excitement, irritability, or the emotion he avatars over, and you can't help be irritationally cautious when that happens. It's a reflex from the panic that engraved itself into your psyche for self-preservation.

If you weren't so anxious about another envy-fueled incident involving your life you might find Levi's excitement for the stuff he loves more endearing and cute.

Beelzebub:

If you hadn't seen how destructive Beel's tantrums over food firsthand could be you might find it hard to believe this relaxed and mostly uninvolved brother would have such a temper... but you did experience it, so you do believe it.

It was a custard! They're so easy to get more of, but Beel immediately flew off the handle and wouldn't see reasoning, lashing out and destroying the kitchen. If Mammon hadn't pulled you down with him to the floor as Beel started his outraged tantrum you're positive you would have been collateral damage too, like your poor room that was unfortunately placed on the other side of the kitchen wall.

It was a terrifying sight to behold, seeing the kitchen torn asunder and reduced to broken walls, obliterated cabinets, and smashed counters, with kitchen utensils and ruined cookware being sent into flight and raining down, razor-sharp and shattered into broken edges that could easily pierce flesh.

That moment of destruction lingers, along with the intense emotion of fright, triggered whenever Beel complains about being hungry or when he meets your gaze at the table during times to eat. You immediately offer your unfinished plate to him, which he happily accepts and consumes in seconds, to appease the Avatar of Gluttony's temper.

Asmodeus:

Asmo's promiscuity and salaciousness are what unnerve you the most. He's the Avatar of Lust, so obviously you were already on your defense, but you've seen glimpses beyond the surface level to what Asmo can be like. That's what intrigues you about him, and you try to focus on those bits that slip past his perfectionistic lifestyle and narcissistic personality. At the same time, however, this is the cause of your near downfalls when Asmo tries to allure you with his physical prowess.

He's tried a few times to charm you, and you feel this invasive power trying to persuade you to give into your raw and sexual temptations, or this tugging sensation that tries to attract you beyond what you feel is comfortable. The repulsed response is usually what repels you from the power Asmo tries to flaunt over you.

He usually huffs after his failed attempt but quickly rebounds by placing his hands around you and trying to embrace you himself, which Mammon, prompted by his denied feelings and jealousy, usually intercepts in your honor.

There's a few times you've worried yourself nauseous Asmo will corner you, and you won't be able to save yourself from his lustful persuasion. There's also the couple of times he's mentioned eating your heart, so that's also worrisome.

Satan:

There's no questions that you secretly fear Satan, more specifically his wrath. You slighted him once before, and the threat he imposed upon you while you were trapped between his demonic form and an over-stuffed bookcase was enough to brand itself to your soul as a reminder.

As docile as Satan may appear with his affection for cats, deep interest for detective shows, and shared affinity of books he could and, possibly, would rip you apart and lavish in the blood that wept from your lacerated flesh and tension of your bones rebelling before snapping satisfactory in halves and thirds.

Other than that, Satan is much easier to hang out with compared to his brothers, except when he gets that cruel temperament to torment Lucifer, which you exempt yourself from if the pranks are too excessive.

Belphegor:

Terror has never seeped into your soul like this before. Your anxiety spikes to levels you've never experienced before when Belphie plops down next to you on the couch or tries to start up a conversation. Your fight, flight, freeze, or fawn system goes haywire, and you become petrified, unable to respond properly.

You either stay away from Belphie altogether or stay glued to one of the other brothers, Mammon or Beel preferably. Just in case.

Just in case Belphie's lament arises again in the form of murderous hate, gleeful contempt clouding his eyes, as his hands find their way to your neck that remembers the tight embrace his fingers engraved into the nerves of your throat, the ghostly suffocating that chokes you up sometimes if you become too immersed in the memory of a body that hadn't belonged to you.

You're also sure you remember an aching in your ribs and spine that causes you to shiver sometimes, but you're not sure if you experienced that in a dream or illusion of the timeline merging. It still bothers you all the same.

For such a sweet face and quiet voice, Belphie is a demon that decieves, and you're better off staying away from him until you're over your PTSD. If that's possible.

Lucifer:

How many times has he almost killed you? Twice or three times? Enough to be too many and to penetrate your core with panic and trepidation whenever you see that sly smile that forms on his lips. It doesn't have to be directed at you, but it's enough to launch you into a panic attack that you barely keep under control.

That safety guard of being a representative from the human world and exchange student mean nothing when you test it by being a busybody in affairs that definitely don't involve you over and over again, especially when it's the pride and dignity of Lucifer being tested.

You hear your lesson but never learn, and unconsciously you must be masochistic for how many times you've brushed death with Lucifer's anger, but you keep pushing the limits.

You can't help going to Mammon's defense when you feel Lucifer is only targeting him for personal reasons or standing up to his ego when you feel he's going over his limits. Your bravery is stupidity though, and you feel your courageous backbone turn into a central nerve system of adrenaline and fear. You're just too stubborn and self-righteous to let Lucifer do as he pleases, but that doesn't mean you're not scared out of your wits.

You've gained an intuition for when Lucifer is approaching or silently comes up from behind you, and it sends a shiver down your back almost every time you're alone together.

If you have any headcanons that you want me to write, please send them my way! I enjoy writing these out. NSFW is okay, but please know I might not do it if I don’t like it. ❤️

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 15

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: canon typical, discussion of injury

***

Sookie sat at the bar with a glass of whiskey and coke in front of her. That was as close as you got to consoling her over what she just saw. You didn’t want to make it better. In fact, you preferred her wanting to stay the hell away from Bill.

Eric stood behind you sipping at his own drink while he ran a finger up and down the back of your arm. You leaned into his chest savoring the contact. Finally, Bill emerged from the basement. Sookie refused to look at him even when he stood right beside her.

“I want to thank you for securing my release,” he said.

“Uh huh.” Sookie stood but still didn’t look at him. “Let’s go. I have to pack.”

“Pack?” His gaze darted from this blonde to the two of you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Compton,” you answered for her. You glanced at Eric and gestured toward Sookie with a nod of your head. “I think I better go with. Just to make sure everything stays on track. I’ll pack when I get back.”

He nodded once and kissed your temple. “Be safe.”

You walked backward away from him with a little smirk. “Just driving to Bon Temps, Eric. Think I’ll be just fine.”

***

You sat in the back while Sookie drove and Bill sat in the passenger seat. They’d been arguing almost since the drive started. Fortunately, you were nearing the little town.

“You killed him, probably both of them, and you don’t even care,” Sookie said for the fourth time.

Apparently, Bill was as tired of hearing it as you were. “I am a vampire, Sookie. I needed to feed. If you insist on associating with vampires, you need to grow up. And if you wish to blame someone for the deaths, blame Eric. If he had fed me during my incarceration, I wouldn’t have been so ravenous.”

“You’re seriously not going to take any responsibility? You know why you were in that basement. You would still be there if not for her, so watch your tone,” you snapped.

Bill snarled at you. “Just because you and Eric are fornicating, does not mean you have any authority over me. So, you would be wise to watch your tone.”

The car slid to a sudden stop causing you to rock forward. You glanced to Sookie with a frown.

“Get out,” she said.

“Pardon?” the vampire asked.

“You heard me, Bill Compton. Get the fuck out of my car. First, you insult me and then you threatened my friend.”

“I am not getting out of the car, Sookie. Just drive.”

“Fine,” she said before throwing off the seatbelt. She got out of the car, taking the keys with her and slamming the door.

Bill groaned and started to open the door until you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got this. I think you’ve done enough.” You followed after your friend without giving him a chance to respond. You were surprised to find she’d already put a good deal of distance between herself and the car. She apparently could get a move on when she was pissed. You jogged after her. “Sookie. Wait up.”

She slowed and turned to you with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Something was in the brush keeping pace with you but you didn’t even react. No sense in freaking out the telepath unless necessary. “Hey,” you said as you reached her.

“Hey,” she said as she turned to start walking again. You put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Stay still.”

She looked at you in confusion until another burst of sound came from the trees around you. She jumped a little. “What was that?”

You hummed to let her knew you heard, but you were too busy listening to give her more of an answer. You needed to pinpoint the origin of that noise so you could get Sookie the hell out of here. Suddenly, a figure stepped into the path and caught your attention. What the fuck was that? It was a thin figure with a bull’s head and large clawed hands. You pulled Sookie behind you so you were between her and the beast.

The only weapon you had was your knife and you certainly didn’t want to face this thing with just that. As the beast hunched forward in a charging pose, you pushed Sookie down the path. “Run, Sookie.”

“What?”

“Just run!” You yelled as the beast launched itself toward you. Shit it was fast. You might be able to outrun it, but Sookie couldn’t and you were keeping yourself between the two of them. Your only hope at the moment was that your vampire felt your terror and was on his way to perform a daring rescue. Or something like that.

You didn’t look back—looking back only slowed you down. You just kept running and pushing Sookie forward when necessary. Then white-hot pain raked across your back as claws tore through your clothes to rend the flesh. Fuck. You collapsed to the ground and curled in on yourself. Oh god, that hurt.

Sookie screamed at a rather impressive decibel then yelled for Bill before kneeling next to you. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” you said on a groan. “Fuck.” The wounds burned and you really wanted to what the hell had attacked you because this wasn’t an ordinary injury.

“Bill, do something,” Sookie ordered.

You chuckled though it was masked in another moan of pain. Compton wasn’t going to do shit for you.

“Eric will be here shortly. He would not appreciate my interference. We should go.”

“I’m not leaving her here.” Sookie sounded disgusted at the mere thought and you were certain you didn’t have to worry about her returning to Bill any time soon.

“I should hate think you were refusing to render aid to my mate, Bill,” Eric’s smooth voice flowed over you. Despite the implied threat, he barely spared the other vampire a glance as he crouched by your head. He brushed hair away from your face and ran his gaze over your face to see how you were handling the injury.

“Something’s wrong,” you forced out through clenched teeth.

He bit into his wrist and held it out for you to drink. You took a long swallow before jerking away with a cough. Then you heaved as you vomited up the blood. The motion made your back burn in fresh pain.

“Fuck,” Eric muttered. “What attacked her?”

“I don’t know what it was. A man with a bull’s head. It just stood in the dark then charged at us,” Sookie explained, still sounding terrified.

“Clawed hands. The wound burns. Like acid,” you added.

Eric gathered you up in his arms. “Bill escort Sookie to her car, then walk home. Miss Stackhouse can finish the drive without you I believe.”

He undoubtedly argued, or would have if Eric had given him the chance, but you two were already on your way back to Fangtasia.

You passed out on the trip and were awoken by someone poking at your wound. You were laying on your stomach on something soft in the middle of the club. You hissed and turned your head to see a very short woman in scrubs. Eric stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chest as he observed. Once he realized you were awake, he was by your side in an instant, kneeling by your head.

One hand brushed your hair away from your face and he grasped your hand with the other. “All will be fine, mitt allt.” He shifted his attention to the doctor. “What is it?”

“We don’t have a lot of choices. She’s been poisoned.” She paused to examine something on her glove. “You hear of Komodo dragons? Their mouths are teeming with bacteria. They bite you then follow you around until you succumb to the toxins and you are helpless. Then it will devour you alive.”

“This wasn’t a Komodo dragon,” Eric responded in annoyance.

“No. But the toxin is similar, only much more effective. I don’t think I’ve seen it before but it’s hard to tell without further testing and we don’t have that kind of time.” She pulled a blue bottle from her bag and looked at Eric. “You need to leave so I can remove her clothing.”

You squeezed his hand. You didn’t want him leaving you alone.

“She is my mate. I will stay.”

The woman’s gaze shifted to you and you gave a small nod.

She sighed. “Very well. You can help then.” They stripped your shirt, Eric doing his best to jostle you as little as possible. It still hurt like a bitch. “Hold her down.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. Your fears were validated when the doctor opened that blue bottle and poured it across the wounds on your back. Whatever was in that vial hurt far worse than the wound itself. You clenched your teeth against the pain before finally giving up and releasing a scream that left your throat raw. Just as the pain began to subside, the bitch of a doctor dug one of her fingers into the wound and dragged it the length. “Fucking fuck. Son of a bitch.”

You weren’t certain how long the torment went on. It could have been hours or minutes that simply felt like hours. Finally, she finished. You were exhausted and still hurt, but apparently you weren’t dying any longer. “You can give her your blood now. Her body should accept it. I’ll expect payment by the end of the week.”

Eric gave her a nod then bit into his wrist before offering it to you. You drank long and deep. When you finished, you remained still as you waited for the healing to kick in. Eric sat beside you, holding one of your hands in his own. Once the pain had mostly subsided, you opened an eye to peer at him. “A couple more decent injuries and I’ll have more of your blood in me than my own.”

He gave you a look that said you weren’t nearly as funny as you thought you were. “I sent Pam and Chow into the woods. They found nothing but a scent they couldn’t recognize.”

You huffed. “That’s helpful. Is it healed yet?”

“Nearly. Let me get you something to wear.” He released your hand and you closed your eyes as you waited for him to come back. You heard him sit but kept your eyes shut. “Do you recall the last time your father drank from you?”

You furrowed your brow. What an odd question. But it had been months at this point now that you thought about it. “Three months. Maybe four. Why?”

“Because he felt your panic almost as soon as I did. Not only have I drunk from you far more recently, but as you’ve said, you’ve had quite a bit of my blood. It should have diluted your connection with him.”

He was right but you had no answers for him so you simply shrugged.

He hummed then stood. “Come, mitt allt, let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

You called your father as Eric drove you home. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt from the bar and your panties. Everything else had probably been burnt by now.

“Y/N,” he answered. Oh, he was pissed.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Don’t you daddy me. What the fuck is going on over there? You quit working for me because you were tired of all this shit but here you are nearly dying for free. Is it worth it?” His tone was one you rarely heard directed at you and you didn’t like it. It immediately had you on the defensive.

“So are you pissed I was hurt or pissed I don’t work for you anymore? I’m having trouble telling.” Eric’s hand found your thigh and gave it a little squeeze. You laced your fingers together with his and held his hand.

“Don’t start that shit with me, Y/N Y/M/N. This is twice you’ve nearly died in as many days. I have every right to be furious. At least if you were still working for me, I’d know exactly where you were and what you were up against. I could send the entirety of the resources at my disposal to assist you.” He paused and sighed. You could picture him pacing his office as he spoke to you. “I want you to come home.”

Eric’s hold on your hand tightened.

“Eric is my mate. I am home.”

You heard something break on his side of the line. “You haven’t completed the ceremony yet. It’s not too late to back out.”

“I accepted his claim. That is enough and you know it. What is this? I thought you liked him?” You took your hand back to rake it through your hair.

“That was before he proved himself utterly incapable of protecting you,” your father snapped.

You swore you could almost feel the irritation and paid radiating off Eric. You took a breath to calm yourself before responding to Roman. “Eric doesn’t have to protect me because he has faith in me to protect myself. And when things went bad, he was there to pick me up and take care of me. How many times exactly did I nearly die running errands for the Authority? I lost count but I’m sure you have a tally somewhere. I don’t want to talk to you for a few days. Please don’t call me.” With that you hung up.

You were nearly home before Eric spoke. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. You?”

He chuckled. “He is not my father.”

You thought about saying he wasn’t yours either, but that would be a lie and you knew it. Biology be damned, Roman Zimojic was your father in every way that mattered. You simply sighed and turned to look at the window.  

[five-rivers]

Intervention

Prize for @reblogthegods!  This is a no one knows AU!

Enjoy!

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Danny touched down behind the school and leaned against the wall, one hand firmly over the gash in his hip.  He blinked at it, feeling bleary.  It wasn’t bleeding, exactly, ectoplasm was too viscous for that, and it tended to gel quickly, but…  Yeah. It didn’t feel good either, and it had been oozing before.  

He should get it cleaned out and put a bandage on it.  Fast. Before he missed even more classes.

Also, what would happen when he changed back to human?  Like, when he changed back, his wounds were usually less bad, but they were never completely gone, and he usually didn’t get anything quite this deep.  Or long.  

Mostly he just got bruises.  Or scratches.  One time he thought he’d broken a couple of fingers.  Which had motivated him to learn how to punch properly, but, well. Yeah.  

Cuts like this were new and terrifying territory. Why did that ghost have a sword?

Maybe he should just try and stay a ghost for as long as possible?  Would he heal faster like that?  He didn’t know.  

Between keeping everything secret from everyone, protecting everyone, and trying to live his life to whatever extent ‘live’ and ‘life’ still applied to him, he hadn’t any time to test the- the limitations of- of whatever he was now.  Maybe he could have made time, but he hated this so much.  

He just-

He just-

(He wanted to be a normal person in a normal town with a normal family.)

He took a deep breath, and trued not to notice how it didn’t make him feel refreshed, or that he hadn’t been breathing since he sat down against the wall.  

Right.  First aid.

And he still had classes.  

Slowly, he reached into the wall and pulled out the kit he had hidden there.  

.

He slouched into sixth period, avoiding Sam and Tucker’s eyes.  No one else really paid him any mind, although the teacher frowned at him.  It was still passing, though, and he didn’t get called up or told to go to the office.  So.  A win.

It didn’t feel like a win.  It felt like pain.  

Sam leaned forward.  “Where were you?” she hissed, through her teeth.  “You missed fifth period completely.”

Danny shrugged and regretted it instantly.  

It hurt.  

Tucker huffed and turned away.  “If you’re going to skip class,” he said, “you could at least tell us what you’re doing.”

“I’m just—” started Danny.  “I’m not doing anything.”

“Don’t lie to us, Danny.   We—”  She bit down on her lip.  “We are still friends, right?”

“Of course we are!”

Sam looked dubious.  Tucker, for all his staring as he came into the classroom, wouldn’t meet his eye.  

Then the teacher started class.  

.

“It has to be drugs,” said Sam to Tucker, sitting on the steps in front of the school.  “I don’t know how Danny could be that stupid, but it’s the only explanation.”

“Maybe the hospital gave him painkillers back in August and he couldn’t get off of them?” suggested Tucker.  “I think that happened to one of my aunts…  She got better, though.”

“Maybe,” said Sam.  Her face twisted up.  “But how is he paying for them?  Like, he doesn’t have an allowance.”

“Underground fighting ring?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Someone’s beating him up,” said Tucker, “and it isn’t Dash.”

“Dealer?”

Tucker shrugged, scowling at his PDA.  “I hate this,” he said.  “I hate – Why won’t he talk to us, Sam?  It isn’t like we’d throw him under the bus or rat him out. He knows that.”

“He should know that,” corrected Sam. “And I’m so mad at him, but…” She trailed off, staring down at the weathered concrete of the steps.  

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker.  “Do you think we should tell Jazz?”

“Heck, no,” said Sam, immediately.  “What is that going to do?  We need, like, an intervention or something.”

“Don’t you need someone’s whole family for something like that?”

“I’m going to intervene right in the face of whoever is selling Danny drugs.”

“Ah, the violence route,” said Tucker.  “How did we get here so quickly?”

“Shut up,” said Sam.  “Anything else we do is just going to get Danny in trouble, and I’m not doing that.  Even if he’s being a garbage friend right now.”

“Yeah…” said Tucker.  “So how are we doing this?”

“We?”

“I may not be the best friend in the whole wide world, but even crappy friends don’t let each other beat up drug dealers in alleyways on their own, even if they do have five years of self-defense classes under their belts.  What if this guy has a gun?  What if there’s more than one?”

Sam buried her head in her hands.  “Frick,” she said, very softly.  

“Would this count as vigilantism, by the way? That’s illegal, right?”

“Frick,” repeated Sam, more passionately.  

“Is this going to be our superhero origin story?” asked Tucker, turning his eyes skyward and making his voice waver dramatically.

“Don’t even joke about that.  The only superhero we know of is dead.”

Tucker turned to look up at Sam.  “I still can’t believe you believe that.  Something weird is going on, but… ghosts?  That sounds more like Danny’s parents than anything acquainted with reality.”

“You’d believe it, too, if you were there,” muttered Sam.  “If you—”  She shook herself.  “Whatever. You, me, tomorrow?”

“If I knew what you were asking me to do, I’d probably say yes.”

“Following Danny, duh.”

“Sure, but… Joking about punching drug dealers or whoever is beating Danny up aside, we should probably treat this as just recon. Because I don’t want to get shot by some crackhead in an alley.  Like, if I did become a ghost, my parents would kill me.”

“Not if the Fentons got you first.”

“Aw, Sam.  You wouldn’t let them hurt your bestest undead friend, now would you?”

“Best undead friend?  No.  You? Yes.”

Tucker snorted, choked, and started wheezing.  

“Anyway, I’m not getting into a fight with you anywhere near me.  If you didn’t take yourself out, you’d take me out.”

“Don’t say it.”

“Bad luck Tuck.”

“Ugh, you said it.”

Both of them sighed, staring across the street without really seeing anything.  

“Tomorrow, then,” said Sam, feeling vaguely relieved.

“Tomorrow,” agreed Tucker.

.

Whatever had decided to crawl out of the woodwork to torment Danny today hovered on the edge of his awareness, making him shiver intermittently as he played the most aggravating game of ‘hot and cold’ in the world.  Where was it?  He’d lost track of it after he chased it away from Mr. Quigley, the janitor.  

His breath came out blue, briefly, and green flashed in the corner of his eye before something checked him against the shoulder.  He stumbled, biting back curses (he was a superhero, now, technically, and he needed to be a good role model), and gripping his hip.  The cut from yesterday had healed a lot, but not completely.  

But- He knew the ghost was close, now.  Close and fast.  He’d been trying to save his energy by tracking the ghost down as human, but now…  He felt himself smile.  

It was not a particularly nice smile.  It was full of all the stress and nonsense he’d had to put up with since August.  

He was going to beat this little interloper into the ground, teach it better than to haunt his town, hurt his people and get away with it.

Bright white light swept over him, and he jumped into the air.  

.

“Holy—”

“No,” said Tucker.  “We did not just see that.  I refuse.”

“That was—” Sam made a large sweeping upwards motion. “He just flew off!  What the heck kind of drugs do that?  This is—This is—I don’t even know how to say it!”  She kicked a nearby garbage can and then sunk down into a crouch.  

(Even in this state of mind, she was not kneeling on the ground here.  It was gross.)

“We didn’t—It’s got to be something his parents made.  Like Fenton Ghost Steroids or something,” said Tucker, who was shaking.

“His parents,” said Sam.  “His parents.  They’ve been shooting at him, Tucker.”

“I mean…  Yeah.  I guess so. But we didn’t…  Sam,” he croaked.  “Did Danny die and not tell us?”

“No.  No. Just, no.  No way.  He—You were right, earlier.  It has to be ghost steroids or something, and his parents don’t know, so that means we still have to beat up his dealer, but they’re probably a ghost, how do we beat up a ghost?”

“We could ask Danny’s parents?”

“God, no!”  She shook her head violently.  “Did you miss the part where they’re shooting at him?”

Tucker shrugged, defensively.  “Well, who else could teach us how to fight ghost drug dealers?”  He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared up at the sky.  “Maybe it’s not drugs, though?  Like, in retrospect, if it isn’t painkillers, I can’t really see Danny taking drugs.  Even ghost drugs that give you superpowers.”

“I hate all the words that just came out of your mouth.  I must be having a psychotic break.”

“Hey, wait, that’s my line.  I’m the one in denial.  Give it back.”

“Find your own denial.”

“We can’t both be in denial.  Someone needs to drive this car.”

“Drive you right off a cliff, that’s what I’ll do. And I’m going to kill Danny for not telling us about whatever this is.”  Sam’s gestures grew progressively more violent.

“I don’t think you can kill a ghost.  They’re already—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”  

Tucker held up his hands in surrender.  “Do you think we should wait for him to come back?”

“He probably won’t,” said Sam.  “I mean… he can… fly… apparently.”

“Yeah.  Can’t believe he had his superhero origin story without us.”

“This isn’t a joke, Tucker,” snapped Sam.  

“Well, I’m sorry I have a coping mechanism, okay?” Tucker sighed.  “Should we go back to class?”

“I guess,” said Sam, kicking at the ground. “We’re jumping Danny at the first opportunity, though.”

“Duh,” said Tucker.  

.

Danny limped into seventh period, drained, and flinched away from Sam and Tucker’s glares.  He felt sick.

There wasn’t anything he could do about the ghost attacks except try to finish them faster, but he’d been a terrible friend lately. They probably were starting to hate him. They were going to leave him.  He could tell.  He couldn’t even blame them.  

If he told them—

No.  

They’d be in danger.  

Danger from what, at this point, wasn’t clear, because even if they knew, Danny wasn’t going to let them near any ghost fights, but danger was definitely involved.  A lot of it.  

But if they stopped being friends with him…

The cold thing that had taken up residence in his chest cringed, and he stumbled.  Dash laughed, made an inane comment about his coordination, and lobbed a ball of paper at the back of Danny’s head.  Danny barely noticed.

He didn’t want that.  He needed his friends.  

Sam and Tucker were having some kind of conversation with only their facial expressions by the time Danny sat down, effectively ignoring him.  Now the little ball of cold in his chest felt crushed.  

(Just barely, he resisted the urge to check his pulse.  Whatever had been added to him, he still had that.)

(He was still alive.)

Sam and Tucker were very studiously not looking at him.  

He sank lower in his chair.  

It hurt.  

.

As soon as they were able to, Sam and Tucker dragged Danny into a secluded nook formed by the intersection of two of the school’s exterior walls and shaded by a large bush.  It was unlikely that anyone would bother them there.  

Danny looked surprised, apprehensive, and oddly pleased at the same time.  

“Uh,” he said, very eloquently.  

He probably intended to say more than that, of course, but Sam didn’t give him the chance.  

“We followed you when you skipped today,” she said.

Immediately, all the blood in his face drained away, leaving him bone pale.  “What?”

“In our defense,” said Tucker, “we thought you were meeting a drug dealer.  Or going to fight in an underground club.”

“No, we didn’t,” said Sam.  “Well, we did with the drug dealer, but not the underground fighting ring.  That’s stupid.  Drugs make so much more sense.”

“You think I’m on drugs?” wailed Danny.  

“Thought,” emphasized Tucker.  “Past tense.”

“That’s not any better!”

“Au contraire!  Now we think you’re on ghost drugs!”

“I am not on ghost drugs!” hissed Danny. “Where would I even get ghost drugs?”

“Your parents?” suggested Sam.  

“Why would my parents have ghost drugs?”

“To drug ghosts with? I don’t know, man, your parents are weird.”                                                                                                                                        

“Why would ghost drugs even—Wait.  How much did you even see?” asked Danny, squinting suspiciously.  “Did you actually see anything, or are you just trying to get me to say something?”

“To be fair, we are trying to get you to say something.”

“We saw you turn into the ghost boy and fly off after a ghost,” said Sam, sharply.  

“Oh.  Heck.”  Danny leaned against the wall.  “You did see something, then.”

“Yeah, and we want to know, if it isn’t ghost drugs, how?  And why?” asked Sam.  “And why didn’t you tell us?”

“I just, um.  I didn’t—This is just—I’m freaked out, okay?  This is really freaking weird, and I—You’re not going to tell my parents, are you?”

“If you’re getting high off of ghost drugs,” said Tucker, “then, yeah, maybe.  Don’t think we haven’t noticed you looking like hell.  There’s got to be a bunch of side effects from ghost drugs.”

“Oh my gosh, Tucker, I’m not on ghost drugs.  There are no ghost drugs, and, considering everything, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t give my parents the idea of ghost drugs because that’s the absolute last thing I need.”

Danny finished the sentence in a rush and now he was breathing too much, which was just great, because apparently that was a thing that could happen to him, now.  Going from maybe not needing to breathe to breathing too much…  He was really having doubts about his humanity right now, and his friends were mad at him because they thought he was on ghost drugs.  Ghost drugs.  

“I’m not on ghost drugs,” he said, perfectly calm.

“Are you—Dude, I think you’re hyperventilating.”

Okay.  Maybe not perfectly calm.  He slid the rest of the way down the wall to the ground, which, wow, was a thing he was doing a lot, lately.  

“Danny?” asked Sam, hesitant.

“I’m fine,” he said.  “Mostly.  Just. Give me a minute, okay?”

They gave him a minute. The minute spiraled into five. Then ten.  Which was a really long time to spend in anxious, awkward silence.

“Okay,” said Danny.  “So.  Uh.  Accident.  In the lab. With the stupid ghost portal.  It kind of messed me up a bit.  Like.  And then I’ve been able to, uh, turn into a ghost.  Since then.”

“You can just… turn into a ghost?” ventured Sam.  

“Yeah.”

“Just, like, whenever?”

“Yeah.  Pretty much.  At the beginning I couldn’t control it at all, which was pretty, um…  Yeah.  And I can’t when I’m too tired.”

“So, you can die on command?”

“I’m not dead!” snapped Danny.

Tucker took a step back, hitting the bush.  “Sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this whole… thing”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam.  “I mean, you’re breathing and everything. That means you’re alive.  You’re not dead.”

“I’m not dead,” repeated Danny.  “I’ve just got, like, ghost powers, or something.”

“Yeah.  That makes sense.  Because you can’t be dead and alive at the same time.”  Sam laughed.  It sounded more than a little forced.  “That would be—That’s impossible!  Right?”

“Right.”  Danny took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He was alive.  Sam agreed.  

“And, uh, thanks,” said Sam.

Danny looked up, surprised. “What?”

“For saving me from that ghost,” explained Sam.  

“Oh.”  He blinked.  “You’re welcome?  It really—I mean, of course I saved you.  You’re my friend.”

Tucker leaned in.  “I think Sam has a crush on ghost you.”

“Tucker, if I kill you, they’ll never find the body,” said Sam.

“No murder, please,” said Danny.  He sniffed. “Are we—Are we okay, now?”

“No,” said Sam.  She poked him in the head.  “I still don’t get why you didn’t tell us.  And you have to tell us everything.  And let us help you.  Because you really do look like you’re on drugs.  That’s how crappy you look.”

“You can’t,” protested Danny, alarmed.  “I’ve got, you know, but you-!”  

“I don’t think she means actively fighting the ghosts, dude.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“Okay, maybe Sam wants to actively fight the undead, or whatever, but you need people to cover for you, at least.  Your skipping out of class thing is… not subtle.  Why do you do that, anyway?  Why not go after the ghosts when it isn’t school time?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” mumbled Danny.  “I can feel them, and it’s like, I don’t know…”  He looked up.  “Can we… talk about this somewhere else?  I don’t want to do this in the open.”

“Crud.  Yeah,” said Tucker.  “No superhero stuff where normal people can hear it.  Come on, we can camp out in my attic or something.”

“Are there even normal people in Amity Park?” asked Danny, pushing himself off the ground.  

“I don’t—Oh my god, Danny, what is that?”

“What is-?  Oh.  Yeah. So.  Ghosts are not gentle.  And some of them have swords.”

“You got stabbed?” wheezed Tucker, his voice squeaking.  “By a ghost?”

“More like slashed, but…” Danny raised his hands helplessly. “Yeah.”  He rubbed one of his eyes.  He was exhausted.  

“Are you… okay?”

Danny laughed.  “No.  No, I am not. Can we go, now?  Please?”

“I’m saying this as someone who hates hospitals, but you should get that looked at.  Really.”

“I’m ninety percent sure I have ectoplasm in my blood, so I’m going to take a hard pass on that one.”

.

“Ouch!” said Danny. His most recent fight with a ghost had been violent, and he’d yet again come away with injuries Sam and Tucker deemed ‘serious.’  “Are you sure you’re doing this right?”

“Look, Mr. No-Hospital, I had to learn first-aid from YouTube.  And I’ve only had a week to learn, because you didn’t tell us you decided to take up the family business.”

“Still more than what he did for himself,” said Tucker, peering over the back of Sam’s sofa.  “It’s just butterfly clips, anyway.  Not stitches.”

“Heh, butterfly clips,” said Danny.  “Makes me think of—Ouch!—barrettes.”

“Berets?” asked Tucker, adjusting his hat.

“Barrettes.  Hair barrettes.  Like, you know, the one Star wears all the time.  With the flower.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  No, I get what you mean.  But, yeah, you’re right about Danny’s medical skills.  Or should I say, the lack thereof.”

“Guys, I’m injured. Can you give it a rest?”

“Hm.  As you let yourself walk around with a mostly untreated stab wound, no.”

“It was more of a slash,” protested Danny.  Again. “A cut.  Not a stab.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Sam.  “Anyway, I’m done.  And you’re lucky whatever’s going on with your body keeps you from getting infections. I had to pick so much gravel out of your back it isn’t even funny.”

“Are we sure he can’t get infections?” mused Tucker.  “He could just be really lucky.”

“In no universe am I lucky,” groaned Danny.  “You’d think the freak lab accident would have shown you that.”  Danny sat up and stretched before pulling his shirt back on.

“Speaking of,” said Sam. “Are you ever going to tell us what actually happened?  You said it had to do with your parents’ portal, but…”

Danny had frozen.  “I…” he said, softly, not looking at either of them. “I will.  It’s just… not yet.  I’m not…  Just not yet.”

“It’s cool, man,” said Tucker.  “Take your time.  We’ll be there when you’re ready.”

Danny smiled.  “Thanks.”

[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Midnight Dip

Why the absolute fuck have I not written for more OctopusMerman!Tamaki??? How fucking dare I neglect the possibilities!

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋 

 You let out a soft whine as Tamaki pressed you against the hard, wet floor belonging to his little underwater cave hideout, perfect for your nightly visits with him since it was connected to a system of caves with steady airflow. Though the only way to get to the little slice of heaven was to hold onto Tamaki and have him swim down before you ran out of breath.

 “You’re eager tonight…” You moaned out as his mouth closed around your pert nipple, hot tongue flicking against it while his thick tentacles began wrapping around your body, spreading you as he wanted.

   “You took that trip; I haven’t seen you in a month”

   He trailed his mouth over your chest, licking and nipping over your skin before stealing your breath away with a desperate kiss, his hands gripping at your hips while he rubbed his aching cock up against your folds; groaning low into the kiss.

 “Mm, I know. I’m sorry” Your words of apology were swallowed by the greedy kiss, muffled moans and whines echoing off of the damp walls of the cave while Tamaki continued to grind himself up against you, tentacles roaming your vulnerable form, rubbing and squeezing wherever they could reach.

 Your head was spinning from all the attention he was showering you with, all your moans were being swallowed by the desperate man above you and you could do little more than enjoy the way he was treating you.

 His eagerness wasn’t common, usually he was nervous and hesitant, ever since he first met you; he would only treat you as a delicate, breakable creature. However, for the moment he seemed to have forgotten all about those restraints he had put on himself and had decided to just lose himself in the task of reuniting himself with your body.

   “…(Name)…”

   You panted as he pulled his head away from yours, a single trail of saliva still connecting you to one another while one of his tentacles moved into your line of sight, the tip brushing against your cheek tentatively, hinting at what he wanted from you.

 Without a word, you parted your lips, your face heating up as you felt the tentacle move towards your mouth, stretching your lips around the slippery appendage in his attempt at mimicking one of your favourite activities.

 Tamaki’s eyes remained glued to your face, watching you suck at the appendage as it thrust itself into your mouth at a slow and steady pace, only increasing in speed when you began to squirm and mumble muffled protests around the tentacle.

 Sometimes, he found it hard to believe that he had gotten such a human as a partner, one that would so readily accept him and allow him to try out these sorts of things on your welcoming body.

   “I want to fuck you so badly (Name)…”

   The soft whine that formed as he spoke had you squirming in place, eager for what was to come while he used your mouth with one of his tentacles, the action leaving you with a strange sense of content.

 “But I can’t, not yet…not yet” He trailed off quietly, mumbling to himself before your back arched, eyes widening as you felt the all too familiar sensation of tentacles rubbing against your slick-covered folds, nudging at you moments before they pushed inside of you simultaneously, stretching you around him more than you were accustomed to.

 Tamaki had never been so bold before but the fullness you felt in that moment was more than enough to make up for how much he had held back on you over the time you spent together.

 He had you moaning around the tentacle in your mouth the moment he started to move the two appendages inside of you, pushing them in deep, having them rub up against your spot mercilessly before slowly pulling them out and then repeating the process harder each time; it wasn’t long before you were trembling from the stimulation, twitching and clenching around him with an orgasm that would be shamefully fast if it were under any other circumstances.

 As it was, you couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t stop the oncoming orgasm, nor could you stop yourself from screaming out his name at the top of your lungs the moment he pulled the tentacle from your mouth, wanting to hear the pleasure he could bring you.

 “(Name)…” He paused, leaning down to stare deep into your eyes while the tentacles inside of you continued to thrust deeply, ignoring your soft pleas for him to give you a break, your walls still clenching down around the tentacles as if they would start filling you with his seed at any given moment.

 “(Name), I want you…all of you, I can, right? I can have you? You were gone too long, I hated it…you weren’t here” He frowned, cupping your cheek with one of his hands while the other continued to hold onto your hip, keeping you steady as he removed the tentacles from your body slowly, admiring the way your back arched from the action.

 The soft whimper of disappoint that fell from you lips though? That nearly killed him right then and there.

   “Y-Yes…yes, Tamaki, you can…I’m all yours”

   He didn’t hesitate and the next thing you knew, before you even had a chance to properly catch your breath, he was burying himself inside of you, groaning low at the way your body squeezed down around him.

 Tamaki brushed his lips against your own, pulling his head back to watch as the tentacle from before pushed past your lips once again and began to use your mouth; though it didn’t do anything for him physically, the aesthetic of watching you moan and choke on the appendage was one of the hottest things he had ever seen; he would never admit how often he wanted to just sit and watch you suck on the tentacle as if it was his dick.

 “You feel so good around me, (Name)” He whispered out praise to you as he thrust his hips roughly, each time tormenting the sweet spot inside of you, mercilessly rubbing against it while you whimpered out his name; though muffled by his tentacle, knowing it was his name you were mumbling had him aching for release.

 “Not yet, not yet…” He ignored your look of confusion, stroking your cheek lovingly while he continued to use your body as he needed, almost distracting you from the tentacles that were slowly rubbing your arse; almost.

 It was hard to ignore, however, the feeling of his tentacles sliding over your skin, the tips prodding at your hole, smearing your own slick over yourself as lubricant, cluing you in on what Tamaki wanted to do to you.

   “It’s okay?”

   He stared into your eyes worriedly, lips trembling as his tentacles continued to prod and rub against you. Tamaki didn’t dare go further until the moment you nodded your head, still moaning around the thick tentacle in your mouth; spurring him to push the tip of one tentacle into you, slowly testing to see if you were really comfortable with what he wanted.

 That had been the plan anyway, but the moment you squeezed down around him from the new stimulation, he found himself losing control, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest of moments while he thrust the wet tentacle inside of you as deep as he dared, not wanting to hurt you.

 Tamaki could barely wait for a few seconds before his hips started moving harder and faster than before, his tentacles matching his pace and completely overwhelming you, the sudden rush of pleasure already too much.

 Combined with the inarguable fullness you currently felt, it wasn’t possible to avoid the second orgasm of the night, your body jolting and arching beneath him as heat flooded through your body, a rush of pure pleasure causing your mind to go blank and your eyes to roll back.

   “(Name)…? (Name)?”

   His worried frown disappeared when you grasped at one of the tentacles closest to your hand, shaky grip weaker than he had expected but enough to allow him to relax, continuing on with his ministrations until he began to feel his own orgasm approaching.

 With just a few more thrusts, your name was on his lips, his hot, sticky seed filling you as he buried every inch he had to offer inside of you, tentacles finally pulling free of your body once the initial rush of pleasure wore off; giving you the chance you so desperately needed, to relax and catch your breath.

   “S-So…you get…jealous, huh? When I leave?”

   His face burned with embarrassment at your words, a nervous stutter so like the Tamaki you were used to experiencing, spilling free and making you laugh in amusement, though still breathless from the intensity of his love.

 “It’s okay…it was supposed to be a surprise; I was organising to buy the empty house by the beach…I’m not leaving again”

   “…W-Wait, you’re staying permanently now?”

[jordanstrophe]

Going One, Going Twice, Part 8

Calm Before the Storm

CW: Pet whump, Panic attacks, Some dehumanization, Whumpee considering themselves “property”, Then F L U F F 

Masterlist

Robert sat at the table, dozens of newspapers and magazines spread out before him. “What about this one?” Lukar pointed. “No, it’s smack in the city, I want someplace quiet.” Robert mumbled. “But not too quiet! I don’t want to make him ride in a car for an hour just so we can do something for thirty minutes. What if he wants to go to a restaurant, or coffee, maybe a picnic at the park?” Robert explained. 

Lukar couldn’t help but to let out a laugh. “You really thought this through, huh? I’m sad to see you go, so don’t move halfway across the state now. Who’s going to take me golfing.” He laughed. “How about my cousin? I’m sure she would love to take you” Robert smirked.

“Are... Are you trying to kill me?” Both men laughed, hardly paying attention to the magazines anymore. Robert glanced back at Peter, who stared at a blank canvas. He had been holding a brush with blue paint on it for ten minutes now, too scared to touch it to the canvas.  “Sweetheart the paint is drying on the brush.” Robert chuckled. “But.. What if I mess up? It’ll be permanent!” He cried. Robert stood up and sat behind him, talking his hand in his.

“Then that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be perfect.” He coaxed him to at least touch the brush to the canvas, as it finally made contact. “Good job, now have fun with it.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder before heading back to the table.

“So I heard your demon of a cousin is hosting a party.” Lukar said. “Yep. She doesn’t have time to return my calls, but she has time to throw a party.” He groaned. “What’s the occasion? Welcome to Hell?” Luke giggled. “Might as well be. It's-.. It’s a Pet party.” 

.........

“It’s... A what now?” He asked, setting his coffee cup down. “I don’t know, they all invite their fake friends to show off their status through their Pets. It’s disgusting, they treat them so horribly. Some even trade or borrow each other's Pets there.” He said. “Part of me wants to slip in the crowd to Nina, but you can’t even get in without a Pet. Because... It's a Pet Party.” He shrugged. 

“Why do you need to talk to her that badly? I’d avoid her like the plague if I were you.” He asked.  Robert let out a pained sigh, slinking further into his chair.

“In Aunt May’s will, there was something else that was supposed to go to me, but didn’t. Something that belonged to my mother.” Robert muttered.  

“What? Why didn’t you get it? That has to be really important to you!” Lukar yelled.  “Nina is why, she swears it’s missing, but I know she has it somewhere. She’s holding out on me because she’s angry about the inheritance. I’m hoping if I can talk to her face to face, or even buy it from her if that’s what it takes, I’m willing.”

Lukar ran his fingers through his hair with frustration, before glancing over at Peter who was as slowly as possible, streaking the brush around.

“Him.” He nodded. “He can get you to her.”

“No, That’s out of the question. I’m not bringing him an inch near that place!” 

“It’s a get in get out. You can be there for five minutes if you want to.”

“No! My decision is final! This conversation is over!” Robert yelled.

Both men fell silent. Robert crossed his arms and stared at the floor. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again. I need to head off to work soon, good luck at the house search.” Lukar sighed, setting his cup in the sink. Peter very quietly crept up, nervously holding the canvas in his arms, hiding it.

“Hey! What do you have there?” Robert asked, brushing off his sour mood and sitting up straight with a smile.  “It’s.. Not much. I didn't know what to do.” He muttered, nervously turning the canvas around and holding it up to cover his face. It was perfectly covered in one shade of blue, every brush stroke even across.

“Oh, it’s lovely! Is it... Uh.. The ocean?” He asked. Peter’s arms dropped the canvas to his knees. “No. It was the sky.” He muttered sadly. “Of course it’s the sky! It’s a beautiful sky.” He smiled.  “I’ll do better next time.” He sadly turned around.  “Hold up now.” Robert grabbed his arm before he could slink away and snatched the painting from his arms. He glanced around the room for a bit, before pulling off an old painting of a landscape, and replacing it with his. 

‘’There! Perfect.” He smiled, glancing over to Peter, whose face was red with blush. 

“M... Master?” He asked, giving him a tug on the sleeve. “We can go, if you want. I’ll be okay.” He muttered, pulling the coat up that was draped around his shoulder as if he could hide.

“Go? Go where?” He asked. A spike of excitement shot through his chest. Finally! He was coming out of his shell and wanted to go somewhere.

“T-t-to the party...” He mumbled.

“The.. Party?” He repeated... Trying to figure out wha- Oh.

Oh no.

He had overheard the conversation.

“No. No no no, we’re not going. It was a stupid suggestion. I would never take you somewhere like that, it’s not safe.” Robert said with a serious tone.

“But, it would help, wouldn’t it?” He pleaded. He felt so spoiled since he came here. No punishments, no neglect, no torment. This was the least he could do for his saint of a master. Robert sighed, mentally conflicted, but he had still made his decision. 

“Little one, you don’t know what Nina is like. She’ll use every opportunity to hurt me, and if you’re there, she will do it through you. She’s manipulative and cruel, nothing good will come from the trip.” He said. “B-but-!” -”No! No buts, I appreciate you trying to help, but we’re not going and that’s final.” 

Peter quickly shut his mouth, looking at the floor sadly, before nodding his head. 

“Do you want to help me make breakfast now?” Robert asked, trying to lighten the mood. It surprisingly worked, as Peter’s eyes lit up, as he enthusiastically nodded his head. Robert was nervous letting him handle any knives or stoves, so he mostly had him watch the pancakes. 

Robert came over to stand next to him, as Peter glanced over, this was the first time he felt comfortable around another person, and it’s a Master of all people. He almost felt like a normal person, not what he actually was...

Property.

He shakily glanced over at the man next to him, just realizing how high he had to look up just to see his face. He caught Robert’s eye, as he glanced down and gave him a comforting smile in acknowledgment. He jolted and shot back to his straight posture, pretending he wasn’t just noticed. His heart pounded in his chest, quite shaken that he wasn’t just slapped across the face like normal for being so skittish, but it gave him some confidence to test the waters a little bit.

He glanced back again, slowly inching his way closer, and slowly wrapped his arms around Robert’s arm. He moved so slowly Robert didn’t even notice. Well, he was here now, no turning back. He fully latched onto his arm in an instant, practically hugging his arm for what felt like dear life.

Robert jumped at the grip, looking down at the man who was trying to hold his arm, but looked petrified with fear, staring blank ahead, trembling. His heart fluttered, as he smiled and gently held his arm back. He was tempted to try and spike up a conversation and give his hair a pet, but he knew how much bravery doing just this probably took, so he gave him some breathing room.

After the pancakes were done, Peter awkwardly slid his hands off and held them shyly, as Robert set everything on the table. He nervously glanced at the tall stool, then back at Robert, who already knew he was asking for permission. He held his hand out for him, as he excitedly took it as he was pulled up into the chair. 

‘’So what do you think about this one?” Robert asked, handing him a magazine with a two story house.  He tilted his head a bit, why did master care about his opinion? He was just a house Pet, meant to do chores and be quiet. “I-I, It’s,-” He stuttered, trying to decipher what the man wanted. “It’s okay if you don’t like it, it’s for the both of us.” He smiled.  

“Master, why do we need a new place? What’s wrong with this one?” Peter asked. “Well, it’s a bit crammed, I got this place originally because it was just me, I didn’t need anything fancy. Also we only have one bedroom.” He chuckled.

We only have one bedroom... huh? 

Wait, we only have one bedroom!?

It finally clicked in his brain, as Peter shot to his feet.

“We only have one bedroom!?” He shrieked, his voice cracking. Robert jolted, almost spilling his drink.  “I-, Yes? That’s correct.” Robert stuttered. “All this time, you were sleeping in that chair because of me, isn’t it?!” He cried, he slid off the chair, and collapsed right onto his knees on the hard floor. “I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! T-That was the m-master bedroom, wasn’t it?” He broke down sobbing, covering his face. He felt something heavy thud right in front of him, as he sensed a looming presence. 

Two hands wrapped around his wrists and gently pulled them down, so Robert could dry the tears. “Honey, it’s alright, shh, quiet down now. It’s okay.” He soothed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you were sick and you needed rest, I don’t mind, plenty of nights I fell asleep on that chair in the past. I’m even bringing it with us too when we move, even though it’s awfully beat up.” He chuckled. 

“B-But... But it’s not right! I don’t deserve it! I’ll sleep on the floor, or in a cage! I don’t care!” He cried.  “Peter, look at me.” Robert said sternly, cupping both cheeks. He immediately stopped crying, slowly looked up. 

“I’m going to take care of you, okay? It doesn’t matter to me where you sleep, or what you eat, so long as you’re healthy and happy, okay?” He asked. Peter couldn’t quite understand why, if this was a trick, a test, maybe part of training? Maybe he was also testing the waters... But what if he wasn’t? 

That night, when Robert tried to tuck him in bed, he rebelled a bit. He squirmed out of his grasp, and kept slipping out from under him as soon as he tried to pick him up. “Honey, please, we talked about this! It’s okay.” He soothed. Peter only sat on the floor, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. Wait, was he playing with him? He chuckled, shaking his head as he picked him up and tossed him onto the bed before he could break his grasp. He immediately slithered off the bed back onto the floor, as Robert pushed him up again. 

“I feel like I’m trying to wrangle some wild animal.” Robert laughed, as Peter giggled, trying to evade his grasp. After about ten minutes, he got tired out and face-planted into the pillow, letting out a sigh of defeat. “Victory!” Robert cheered, throwing the blankets over him, and giving his hair a ruffle before turning out the lights. 

It was such an odd feeling, having someone else living with him that he was responsible for. But every part of his body only wanted him to be protected and cared for. He missed out on life a lot because of a cruel system that forced him to lose his freedom, his very soul, but he was determined to give it back as much of it as he could.

When he woke up that morning, he felt like there was a heavy blanket hugging him, but when he blinked his eyes open, Peter was happily snuggled up beside him on the chair with his head resting on his chest.

Well, he did say he could sleep wherever.

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @yet-another-heathen @sillypizzazineoperator @freefallingup13 @alien-octopus @unicornscotty @whumpzone  @penny-for-your-whump @girlwithnoballons242 @whumpingredroses  @rippedjeansandfadeddreams  @cupcakes-and-pain

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

It’s oouut! I was afraid this was going to be a bit boring, since it’s a set up for the next one, but I think I managed to salvage it?

[angellbarnes]

As Red as Snow

pairing: Bucky x reader

words: 2.3k

warnings: language, blood and injuries, character death, angst

A/N: sooo it’s been a while since my last post but I’m finally finding some more inspiration. Apologies in advance but this idea just came to me so hopefully you like this and as usual let me know what you think! 🤍 P.s. I changed my username (used to be thinkingofbuckybarnes)

If you were told to imagine yourself walking through crisp, white snow in the arms of the man you’d hopelessly fallen in love with, it would be a beautiful scene...

You’d leave behind two sets of footprints. The snow-tipped trees would climb high into the oranges and pinks of the drowsy sky and the chilled air would contrast from the warm body you were engulfed by. You would head to a small cabin in the forest, perfect for the two of you to spend the night in.

However, if you were told that one of you had been shot, and that one of you would die at the end of this, that would affect the story a bit, wouldn’t it?

You leave behind two sets of footprints, the pure white snow now stained with blood. The trees appear to loom over you now, casting shadows and darkness in torment as the biting winds seem to be testing the both of you. You stumble through the snow, towards a cabin that you can only hope you will reach alive. 

“Jesus, where the fuck is this place?” You breath out in frustration, which emits a slight chuckle from Bucky.

“Calm down doll, Steve said it’s only a short distance.”

“Yeah, well a short distance doesn't mean walking for over half an hour while it’s getting dark, with two cases of hypothermia, one knife wound and three bullet wounds between the two of us.” Your voice raises with every word and his thumb starts slowly rubbing your shoulder where his arm is around you.

“We don’t have hypothermia and the injuries aren’t that bad.” He tries to reassure you but you’re having none of it.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to your bleeding stomach and leg.” You take a few deep breaths as you make your way through the seemingly endless forest. “You’re lucky your dumb ass is a super soldier.” You mumble as you eye the blood that seeps from underneath his other arm, clutching his stomach.

“There, see it?” He points to a small wooden structure ahead. “Told you it wasn’t much further.” He smirks down at your and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever.” 

You step through the doorway and lead Bucky, holding onto him and wincing as he limps towards the sofa. He lets himself sink onto it and sighs as the weight is lifted off his feet. You realise you’re staring and quickly busy yourself, trying to find a medical kit.

“Steve says it’s in the cabinet on the right side of the bed.” You hear Bucky call through and you rush to the bedroom. Thank god this place is a bungalow, you think.

“Got it.” You call back once you’ve found it and you make your way back to Bucky and his wounded state.

“Mind getting me a towel as well? This stuff ain’t stopping.” He jokes and you grab a couple towels from the bathroom. White.

“Shit, Buck, it’s getting worse.” You apply pressure on his wounds with the towel, letting the blood soak into it, turning pure white red, just like the snow.

“I’ll be fine. How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine. Just a small cut.” You open the medical kit, pulling out a needle and thread, bandages and anything you think would be useful. “Okay, so I’ve never done this before and now I’m about to stitch up three bullet wounds for the first time. Sorry in advance.” Despite your attempt at a light-hearted comment, your tone and face remains serious, which Bucky picks up on.

“You’ll do great. Just stop the bleeding and don’t kill me.” He chuckles at himself but quite frankly you’re too concerned to reciprocate it.

Finally, many stitches, groans, curses and excessive apologies later, you’ve successfully stitched him up.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.” You say, visibly letting a lot of tension in your body go and falling back on your knees.

“Try being the one being sewn up.” Bucky retaliates. 

“Try being the one sewing up another person!” You can’t hide the faint smile that grows on your face. A silence, a comfortable silence, falls between the two of you for a moment, before Bucky snaps you out of your trance.

“Your turn.” He pushes himself so he’s sat upright, groaning as he does so. You’re quick to grab onto him, once again worried.

“I told you, it’s only a slight cut. I’m fine, Buck.” Bucky raises an eyebrow obstinately and you knew he wasn’t going to let you leave it.

“Come here.” He nods his head to the space next to him and you roll your eyes before taking a seat beside him, medical kit in your lap. “Let me see.”

You slowly push your shirt over your shoulder, revealing the bleeding gash from a knife. In all honesty, it’s slightly worse than you thought. You hiss as he begins to clean it but, as much as it stings, Bucky’s gentle hand takes away from the pain of your shoulder.

“It’s not too deep. Should heal easily enough. It’ll leave a scar though.” He finishes by putting a bandage over it, resting his hand atop for somewhat longer than necessary.

“What’s one more scar, right? Thank you.” You say, “Maybe I should cook us some dinner.” As you stand up a hand grabs yours, and you fall straight into his big blue eyes.

“You saved my life, you know.” 

With all your words suddenly caught in your throat, all you can do is lean down and press a delicate kiss to his cheek. But as you pull away from him he instantly pulls you onto his lips and the warmth of his against yours sends electricity through your veins. 

You can still feel him on your lips when you pull away and, without a word, you leave to the kitchen. Though it doesn't help much that it’s open plan, and about six feet away from the sofa.

“That was...” You begin, boiling some water and putting the pan on the stove.

“Something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now.” Bucky finishes. You keep your back to him and let your eyes widen in surprise, unsuccessfully hiding the smile creeping onto your lips.

“Oh?” You start rummaging through the fridge and cupboards for anything to cook, settling on pasta. Plain, due to the lack of anything else. “You’d think Tony would have more choice for food.”

“It’s just- I hope I haven’t ruined anything.”

“No, you haven’t. I... actually feel the same.” You turn back to him, rubbing the back of your neck.

“You do?” You nod in reply. Pouring the pasta into the pan and leaving it, you walk back over to Bucky. You take his face in both your hands and let your forehead fall on his.

“I was so scared earlier. So scared that I might’ve lost you. There was so much blood and I know that you’re a super soldier and everything but you can still die and I tried to stay calm but I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t help being scared and I-”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He wipes a fallen tear from your cheek and smiles, so softly, and you let yourself calm down.

“God, I’m sorry.” You get up to check the pasta, “I don’t know why I’m being so emotional. I just- when it comes to you, I don’t know, there’s something in me that wants to make sure you’re always okay.” You admit, “When you’re happy, I feel happy and when you’re sad, I want to make you feel better. Just ignore me.” You try to laugh the feelings off as you serve the pasta, suddenly feeling two grips on your waist. You spin around quickly to come face to face with him, towering over you in the least intimidating way possible. Only adoration is in his eyes.

“Careful, Bucky, your injuries-”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice, hearing how you feel about me. I was going to start off smaller and say that I think I’m falling for you but, goddamn it, I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His confession leaves you speechless with but a grin on your face and you lean up as he leans down, meeting halfway to share a deep, hungry, passionate kiss.

“We should eat. It’ll get cold.” You murmur into his lips, still in a daze from how utterly intoxicating he is.

Halfway through the blandest meal you’ve ever eaten, an uneasy feeling arises in you. You focus on your breathing, reassuring yourself that it’s just post-traumatic stress from the mission.

“You okay? You’ve stopped eating.” Bucky says and you nod reassuringly.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Not very hungry anymore.” He smiles and gets up to take your plate and his empty one to the sink. You start to zone out slightly before a sudden smashing of plates and cutlery startles you. You rush to where Bucky is on the floor, pieces of plate and pasta scattered in front.

“Oh my god, Bucky, what happened? Shit, you shouldn’t be moving around! I shouldn’t have let you take the plates. Screw that, I shouldn’t have let you get off the sofa.” You help him up, flinching with every grunt that comes from him, and lead him back to the sofa. You help him to lie down again and he screws his face, visibly in pain.

As you go to clear up the mess, a sudden cough erupts from your stomach, the kind that hurts your throat when you do.

“The cold out there really got to you, huh?” Bucky comments.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You reply, with a small laugh.

“Ow, agh, seems like a couple stitches have ripped.” He then says and you hurry back over to check, and then fix him. More blood and stitches later, you then finish clearing the kitchen and seat yourself down, giving yourself a breather, feeling rather heated up after all the rushing around.

“Hey you look a little pale, maybe you should lie down? You were injured too and you’ve been doing a lot since getting here.”

“I’m fine, and my injury isn’t even that bad, I promise.” You reassure, though you feel your eyelids become heavy.

“You should sleep; it’ll be good for you. I would come and join but I think it’s best if I stay and sleep here tonight.”

“Okay but shout if you need anything, okay? Don’t want you getting any worse.”

“I promise. Now come and kiss me goodnight.” You smirk and give him a tender, lingering kiss. 

“Goodnight, my love.” He coos.

“Goodnight. You’ll be okay.” You whisper back, as your throat feels abruptly tighter. Bucky smiles up at you, seeing yours back at him and he can’t help how lucky he feels.

What he doesn’t see, though, is how your face falters when you turn around, how you walk to the bedroom having to put all of your energy into each step. He doesn’t see the sheer terror in your face once you’re out of his sight, now struggling for each breath without trying to make a sound. You wipe the sweat from your forehead and the tears from your cheeks as you get out a pen and paper, unable to control your quivering hands.

‘I’m sorry. I love you.’

You get under the covers and try so hard to ignore the burning sensation that’s running through your blood, fighting back screams of agony that now sear the back of your throat. You cover your mouth with your hand, choking back sobs and letting your tears stream because you don’t want Bucky to walk in and see you struggling for your life.

Because he didn’t see you on that mission when the guard you thought was dead tackled you once more, sticking a needle in the side of your neck before you put him down for good. 

You know that he will find you, though, your cold, lifeless body awaiting him in the morning. He’ll call for you to see if you’re awake and after no answer he’ll stagger to the bedroom to make sure you’re all right. He’ll fall to his knees and grasp your hand in his, begging for this to be some horrible nightmare, sobbing on the phone to Steve, who can’t make out a single word of what he’s saying.

He’ll read the note and wonder what the hell happened to you. He’ll have to wait until Tony and Bruce run tests to analyse what caused it. He won’t know that you thought you were alright because the poison didn’t kick in straight away. He’ll blame himself for not realising or asking. He’ll hate himself for not starting a relationship with you sooner, for not protecting you enough, for not cherishing you enough.

And you spend your lasts moments wondering what could’ve happened if you weren't seconds from such a painful death; a future with Bucky. You would return back to the compound and take care of him until his wounds have healed. You would train together and end up making out instead. Your first date? Who knows, maybe he would propose one day, down on one knee with a hopeful smile and tears glossing over his eyes. You’d move in together and share so many amazing and intimate moments, from laughing over the smallest things, creating inside jokes, to each and every kiss you share, and comforting him when he wakes from his nightmares. Even the fights and arguments you would have. 

Somehow picturing him numbs the pain, and it starts to grow dull. Your heart rate begins to slow. Your hand gently falls from your mouth. Your struggling ceases and your tears gradually stop. As does your breathing, your heart, your body, and, finally, your thoughts of Bucky as they slowly fade into darkness.

[winter-soldier-vibes]

I swear, I’m fine

I swear, I’m fine

Bucky x reader 

Word count: 1604 

Warnings: Self harm, depression, anxiety, fluff, brief mention of suicide attempt at the start

Summary: Reader struggles mentally and has a hard time opening up to Bucky.

-------------------------------

You never thought it’d get this far. One night, you were just having a lot of overwhelming emotions. You had been for a few months. You were watching a movie with your family and someone tried to kill themselves by slitting their wrists. You were young, and the idea of cutting yourself had never crossed your mind, but this intrigued you. Later on that night you waited until everyone fell asleep and then wandered into the kitchen. You held the knife in your hands for a few minutes, going back and forth in your mind with whether or not you really wanted to try this. When you decided your answer was yes, you brought the knife to your arm and pressed lightly, dragging the blade across your skin. Sure, it hurt, and your first thought was “well what was the point in that?” but after the bleeding stopped you felt a pang in your stomach telling you to do it again. You thought it’d be a one time thing

That was 5 years ago. And boy...were you wrong.

Your family found out after a few days. You never were good at keeping a secret. They forced you into therapy, and you stopped. Cutting, that is. You found new ways. Different ways. Fail a test? Just hit your head a few times. Feeling on edge about whatever? Just scratch yourself until it subsides. It always made you feel better. But people just didn’t understand. The people you did tell would either judge you or use it to torment you. So you learned to keep it hidden. 

When you moved out into your own place, the cutting started again. You could find excuses for scratches and scrapes and bruises, but now you didn’t have to. This was 2 years ago. Now, your body was adorned with scars that kept you bound to long sleeves and pants. No exceptions. When you were recruited by the avengers around 6 months ago, you thought it would help. It did, but you still couldn’t help but feel...empty. You had mastered the art of faking a smile years ago, so it was nothing new to you. But little did you know that someone could see right through you

Bucky had quite the dark past himself. And he kept to himself as much as he could. He didn’t want to hurt people, or have people judging him. He did enough of that himself. But something about you peaked his curiosity. He never really felt the need to hide around you. Something about you made him feel like you understood. What, he didn’t know, but he did know that he felt more relaxed around you

You two became friends pretty quickly. And he would open up to you slowly, just because he felt safe enough to do so. He even told you more than he told Steve, which was a shock to all three of you. But you never really began to open up to him. He tried to get you to open up, but you would put up these walls almost instantly. 

He doesn't really care

He’s just being nice

If he knew, he’d just run away

That was what you told yourself all the time, regardless of who you were talking to. You trusted Bucky, just not with this. And so you would just play it off like you were fine. Laugh it off, or play dumb. He’d look at you with a concerned expression “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you don’t have to hide around me.” He’d say. You’d stare right back, smile on your face and reassure him, “Bucky, I’m fine, I swear.” He’d look at you a little longer and then drop it. Sometimes even you believed you were fine

But you weren’t

You were cutting almost every night, and if you wanted to during the day then you would just absentmindedly scratch or pick at your skin. You don’t remember the last time you smiled genuinely, and you spent most nights staring at the ceiling. It had gotten to the point where you had marks on your stomach, thighs, shins, arms, shoulders, and even some on your back. You thought you couldn’t tell anyone. You wanted to tell someone so badly though. But you knew if you told anyone they would leave. And you couldn’t take that risk. And so, you hid it. And you did a pretty good job

But Bucky still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on with you. And one night he couldn’t stop thinking about it. So he decided to go to your room to check on you. He stood in front of your doorway about to knock when he paused. He could’ve sworn he heard something. 

He heard crying

He heard you crying

And you never cry

He knocked softly on your door and immediately the crying stopped and he heard something drop. You were terrified and prayed you hadn’t heard a knock on your door. Which was answered with Bucky knocking again and his voice asking “(Y/N), are you alright?”

You looked at the scene in front of you. Your arm was bleeding and the knife you were using was bloody and a few inches in front of where you sat. You had dropped it when you heard a knock. 

“Yeah Bucky, I’m fine. Why are you up so late?” you asked, praying you could talk your way out of this conversation for the thousandth time, and that he couldn’t hear the waiver in your voice.

“I could ask you the same thing (Y/N). I heard you crying...Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Buck, I swear, I’m fine.”

He sighed, knowing full well that you weren’t. He tried again. “Fine, but I need you to come out here and say it to my face.” All the color drained from your face. The bleeding wasn’t stopping anytime soon and you were just wearing a tank top and shorts. You weren’t expecting company.

The silence told Bucky that he was right. He spoke again “(Y/N), please, can we just talk? I know something is eating away at you. I know what a fake smile looks like. You tense up every time I ask if you’re okay. (Y/N), I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know that something is bothering you. I swear, I just want to help you the same way you help me.”

At some point you had started to cry again. You whispered to yourself, “Please, just not tonight.”

Little did you know that his enhanced senses caused him to hear you. “(Y/N), please. Just tell me what’s wrong. Nothing you could possibly say would change anything.”

You started to nod your head. “Y-Yeah..okay...just give me a minute.” you say, trying to find a clean long sleeve and pair of pants so you could open the door and not completely freak him out. I’ll tell him about the sadness you thought. Not the self harm just yet

True to your word you open the door about a minute later to see Bucky standing there, looking as sleep deprived as you. It was something you both bonded over early on. He gave you a small smile and you stepped to the side, silently inviting him in. 

It took all of two seconds for him to stop dead in his tracks. He pointed to the ground and asked hesitantly “W-what’s that for?”

You followed his finger straight to the bloody knife you completely forgot about. 

“Shit…”

Bucky turned around with a confused and pained expression on his face. “Is this what’s wrong? Is this what’s been bothering you?”

You looked away and went to cross your arms. That told him what he needed to know. He stepped closer. “(Y/N)...”

You looked at him and started tearing up. “I’m fine, i swear”

His face saddened a little more. He brushed a piece of hair out of your face. He looked into your eyes. “It’s okay”

And you broke. 

He caught you before you fell to the ground, sobs wracking your body. He hugged you tightly, and you clung to his T-shirt like he was about to disappear. “I’m sorry” you kept saying over and over. “I’m so sorry….I’m sorry”

“What could you possibly be sorry for doll? You didn’t do anything” Bucky asked you.

You started fumbling with the buttons of your black button down shirt, and pulled back long enough to take it off. You couldn’t see his face, but you heard a sharp intake of breath as he took in the hundreds of scars on your arms from over the years. 

“I’m so sorry…”

He just wrapped his arms around you again, tighter than before which you didn’t think possible, like he was fearing you would disappear. You started to cry even harder

“Please, Bucky please...please don’t leave”

Bucky’s heart just about broke. Tears were streaming down his face too. “(Y/N), why on earth would I leave? Nothing could possibly ever make me want to leave. Not even HYDRA could force me to leave you, okay? I’m sorry doll, but you’re stuck with me.” he added with a small chuckle. “How long has this been going on?” he asked

“For the last 5 years. No one else knows. Please don’t tell anyone, please Bucky…”

He kissed the top of your head. “Not if you don’t want me to doll. Will you please at least talk to me about this?”

You let out a strained laugh. “What part?”

“All of it, (Y/N). I want to hear everything. We’ll get through this. You and me.”

[sleeplessincairo]

[ dating bucky barnes would include: ]

warnings: a somewhat vague sexual outline and a few cusses

///

Him walking around with a notebook everywhere. Bucky got the idea from Steve when he saw him writing new things to his modern day to-do-list, so Bucky decided to do the same except fill his notebook up with his old memories instead; anything he could remember from his life before being The Winter Soldier. At first, there were only a few pages filled but as his life starting to include domestic and mundane-as well as a healthy environment-activities, he started having spontaneous and soon-to-be-frequent flashbacks that, later on, contributed to dozens of notebooks filled with not The Winter Soldier, not Prisoner #56898, not White-Wolf, but James Buchanan Barnes.

You never mentioned the notebook to Bucky nor asked to read it-Bucky was a private person, and you understood and respected that-but you still started carrying a pen with you, just in case he ever needed one.

At first, the notebook(s) was/were filled with solely memories of his past-No matter how insignificant. Whether it was that time the toilet got clogged in his shabby little apartment and had to stay with Steve and Sarah Rogers for a week because he couldn't afford a plumber or that time he lost his shoe in bar brawl and some swanky chrome-dome gave him a few bucks to buy some shoes and a sock without a hole in it. He wrote everything his mind could clearly grasp. But as the two of you got closer, he started filling it with memories he had with/of you because-even if he would never admit it-you made him feel right at home.

You may or may not have stolen his dog tags from the Smithsonian museum just as a reminder that even after all the pain, despair, manipulation, and torture he still managed to be the good person he was all those years ago. He was still James Barnes, local heartthrob that volunteered at the soup kitchen during his free time, that fought a war and lost an arm during the process, that dreamt of flying cars and a future without all fights and wars, that had a soft spot for a certain trouble-attracting boy whose heart was too big for his body.

“Jesus doll, I didn’t know I was dating a thief.” “Oh James, I thought you’d already realized that when I stole your heart from right under your nose.”

Bucky’s not big on talking or directly verbally professing his love, but that’s okay; His eyes tell you everything. There was always something about Bucky’s eyes that were so mesmerizing, so captivating, you could instantly tell how he was feeling. Before you, his eyes resembled a pale arctic blue that were as cold as glaciers-His eyes were hollowed and empty, scratched raw from any emotion but your growing presence thawed them out, they warmed through the cold exterior of what was once The Winter Soldier and reminded you that the hottest fires burn blue.

He does, however, reference quite a few interesting slang choices from the 40′s, which is his own little way of demonstrating verbal affection, ranging from calling you ‘Doll’ & ‘Sweetheart’ to calling you ‘The Cat’s Meow’ & ‘Butter and Egg Fly’

He’s never been very invested in hygiene. It never really was something important for him since he was in the Army and BO was a pretty normal thing, and then he became The Winter Soldier and HYDRA never exactly gave him a bathtub-Not that he was in the right mindset to to care about it anyway-So you usually have to remind him to shower everyday-Not that you mind, it would usually end with the both of you showering together and you having the opportunity to wash his hair yourself.

Soon enough, Bucky gets real invested in hygiene, he starts reading about self-care routines, exfoliating, conditioning, and gets completely hooked. Secretly, he does it because he likes the routine, something mundane and fixed to do to keep him busy.

You’re the only one that gets to call him James. Something about the way you say it warms his heart, he’d focus completely on the way your mouth moves as you say it-It reminded him of the way his mother would say his full name before busting his chops about coming home all dirty but then later ruffling his thick hair and offering a plate of strawberry jam sandwhiches, or how the word was always lurking in the dark corners of his mind like the silhouette of a ghost he couldn’t seem to recognize until you brought it to life.

Him always reaching out for your hand when he feels out-of-place, outside, or honestly just all the time because it helps him feel secure and grounded.

Steve third wheeling the both of you all the time. No seriously, literally all the time. He spends more time in the apartment you and Bucky share more than his own to the point where you and Bucky wonder if he actually has one. 

Steve has a key to your place-Even though, the both of you never gave him a key in the first place-and has a habit of interrupting the both of you or walking in on the worst possible moments.

“Hey guys, what are ya doi-Oh...Sorry I didn't know-Buck, you don't need to throw-Jesus, okay, okay I’m going.”

“Who the hell does it look like I’m doing, Steve.”

Bucky being very insecure about his arm, he even refuses to touch you with that arm-Subconsciously, he’s afraid he’ll accidentally hurt you. At first, he only ever wears long-sleeved shirts and a glove even on the hottest days as if he’d somehow forget that there was a metallic limb under all the cotton, but slowly like molasses he starts accepting it. He starts wearing open finger gloves, then discarding the gloves, then wearing 3-quarter sleeves, then short-sleeved shirts, then sleeveless shirts, then finally feeling comfortable enough to take off his shirt in front of you which leads to a night filled with discarded clothing, the sounds of soft murmurs and reassurances, the rolling of each other’s names off each other tongues like a prayer, and the rustling of the blanket against the delicate movement of your intertwined bodies skin-on-skin, skin-on-metal as the both of you unravel thread by thread in each other’s arms.

Truth is, you love his metal arm, you love the way it’s cool against your warm cheek on hot summer nights, you love the splashes of light that kiss it every morning making it sparkle, you love the soft and soothing whirring noises it lets out breaking the silence in your room, you love it because it’s a part of him and God knows how much you love everything about this man.

Despite being the assassin that killed JFK, managed to get away with it, and mind boggle conspiracists for decades he’s a bit clumsy. He has a habit of accidentally breaking things and later on, not telling you about it.

"James Buchanan Barnes, I thought I developed super strength-and even asked Stark to do some tests on me, but apparently you just happened to forget to mention and explain why the fuck doors are falling off their hinges!"

Losing sleep with Bucky. He tends to have very frequent and graphic nightmares which leads to various panic attacks and the inability to sleep, and you're more than happy to stay up with him and comfort him. Sometimes you’d talk while he listened and watched the way your lips moved or the way the pony tail you had gone to bed with loosened and hundreds of strands escaped the grasp of the hair band or the way a yawn would escape your lips and your hand would momentarily rise to cover your mouth but get lazy halfway, other times you’d lay in each other’s arms in complete silence while you traced patterns on his chest and trail kisses across his skin.

You being his anchor. You holding him tightly and assuring him that he’s okay, that you're here, that you're real, that he’s out, that he’s safe, and many other tender 3-worded sentences uttered over and over again like a mantra until he’s murmuring them back into your chest. 

Sometimes, when he has really bad nightmares and panic attacks you grab his notebook and start reading the memories out loud while you lay his head on your lap and run your hand through his hair in a calming manner until he calms down. It soon becomes a regular thing where you read him a memory before he goes to bed like a bedtime story.

Bucky Barnes is a man who was tortured and tormented for years, a man whose life was ripped right from his very arms along with his very own arm, a man who has gone through a long and unforgettable journey where he has learned to cope, grow, accept, and embrace himself and now he’s made it his mission to encourage and help others to do the same, whether they're struggling with their sexuality, amputation, mental illness, gender, or general self-acceptance.

You educated him about women’s rights because things are a lot different then in the 1940s; women are no longer obligated to get married, cater to a man’s every whim, have children, and other traditional gender roles. At first, Bucky’s very confused and doesn't understand why feminism is so important-I mean, lets face it, Bucky was raised in a traditional society and was later on manipulated to being a bloodthirsty assassin and now suddenly, he can think on his own and his life has turned completely upside down from thinking his own thoughts without HYDRA around to thinking past social constructs and norms so its normal for him to be a bit weary. However, you're there to explain thoroughly about how unjust society still is and how women may have won a few battles but still have a war to fight in a society where they are hyper-sexualized, mistreated, and controlled, and Bucky immediately thinks of Peggy Carter and how the men used to catcall her, how they raked her body with inappropriate stares, how she was ignored and seen as a pretty face, and then he finally understands. 

Dozens of articles about mysterious beatings of assaulters around New York.

His metal arm is decorated with dozens of pins, magnets, and stickers of all the movements he supports. Oh man, you should see him during Women’s marches and Pride fairs, considering all the black he usually wears seeing him dressed in bright colors or a pink shirt that says ‘On Wednesdays, we destroy the patriarchy’. It’s a sight that truly belongs in the history books.

Bucky breaking hold of the toxic masculinity he was subjected to in the 1940s and advocating for men to be able to display their God-given emotions freely, to not feel obligated to put on a tough guy front, to telling boys its okay to cry, to feel, to act, to wear, and to be whomever they please to be. 

Bucky visiting youth centers and giving advice and support to the kids there. Every kid he meets reminds him of Steve, whether its in their stubbornness, taste for trouble, lostness, or the glimmer of potential he sees in every single one of them. He remembers every single name of the teenager he meets and later on, uses them as a mantra whenever he’s undergoing a panic or anxiety attack as well as use SHIELD’s equipment to check up on them every once in a while.

Bucky going to children’s hospitals every week to cheer up the little kids there. He ends up being quite the inspiration and their ‘Favorite Superhero’ for the kids with amputations there and they end up being one of the very few people who are allowed to touch his metal arm. Something about the way their eyes shine with hope and their hands melt at the feeling of the metal warms his heart and his insecurities.

[jacensolodjo]

I... honestly don’t know if I got into Shane’s mindset properly here but whatever. And I never feel like I fully grasp Jack but. Look. I wrote a Thing with them ok?? I tried lmao *Tony Stark I think I did okay.gif*

------------------------------------------

Jack had said she wanted at least 10 minutes of solo fight time. So Shane had no choice but to wait on the hill in prone, sniper rifle at the ready. She doubted she would actually fire a shot before Charging down the hill towards Jack. Patience was not at all Shepard’s strong suit and everyone knew it. Especially Jack. Shane was starting to wonder if Jack was teasing her, testing her. 

And showing off. She was showing off. They both did, they both cajoled each other into higher and higher kill counts. If they were going to kill something, let it be Cerberus fuckheads, had been the logic from the get go.

Shane watched, half-disbelieving, as Jack literally ripped the spine out of a Nemesis. As the other biotic was turning to look at the hill, Shane quickly pulled the trigger. Jack flinched, just a little, as the bolt slammed through a heavily armored Centurion that had been barely a foot away, right at the brain stem. Guess I gotta tell Anderson disconnecting the computer still works, Shane thought. 

“So your way was cleaner,” Jack shrugged as she spoke over the comms. 

“I’m hurt y’think that’s why I did it,” Shane remarked back, rolling her eyes even though there was no way Jack could see it. 

Shane really wasn’t the sniper of the crew. She could do it, but she hated it. And her original classification had always meant her CQC was top notch. And had only grown after Project Lazarus and finally getting the go-ahead to be called ‘Vanguard’ rather than ‘Adept’. 

“Yeah well, still got another minute solo,” Jack said dismissively before turning to walk back into the fray. She had lured a good number of them out of the building but Shane was sure there were quite a few waiting for them inside still. 

Shane tapped the side of her helmet, swapping frequencies. On her last mission she had managed to snag the frequency codes that most of the lower-level Cerberus troops used. It was far easier to eavesdrop on them that way than trying to get EDI to hack into their system. And at the moment, she didn’t even have the Normandy nearby. The two biotics had taken a simple shuttle to this simple planet for a simple kill Cerberus mission. 

“We need backup! Repeat: backup! Subject Zero and Commander Shepard are here!” a frantic voice was screaming. A little late, Shane mused, but she didn’t much care if they got backup or not. It would just put her on more even footing with the scoring. 

“No backup, you are ordered to evacuate. If you stay there you will be signing your own death warrant. Do not engage Subject Zero or Commander Shepard,” a calmer, cooler voice replied. Shane wracked her brain. trying to pin down where or if she had heard the voice before. 

“But we need backup to cover the escape! We’ve lost a quarter of our defenses already! Our troops are saying they haven’t even seen Shepard enter the fray yet!”

“Then enjoy dying.”

“Banes, you can’t--”

Banes?!?! That was it.

“Armistan, I’m a little offended. Why shouldn’t I have some fun on y’company’s dime?” Shane broke in, unable to stop herself even knowing it meant they’d realize she had their frequency and everything else. 

“Commander Shepard, this is not the first time you’ve interrupted my work,” Banes said coolly. 

“An’ the first time I did wasn’t the first time y’Cerberus fucks sicced a Thresher Maw on me.”

“Ah, so you did learn about Akuze. A shame that memorial didn’t turn out like it should have...” 

“Fuck you!” Shane instantly felt her biotics activate around her. “I’m going t’ fucking rip your head off your fucking body y’piece of scheiße!”

“Now, now no need to get nasty,” Banes chided, still cool as a damn cucumber. Why the hell were Cerberus men always like this? Always knowing exactly how to just make her even more mad!?

“Once I’m done here, you’ll see how fuckin’ nasty I can really be,” Shane growled, standing up. She surveyed the area in front of her. Jack had gone inside. Damn. She had gotten distracted yelling at Banes. Holding back a sigh, Shane instead Charged down the hill and past the carnage Jack was responsible for.

“I look forward to it. Troopers, change to frequency gamma. This has been a wonderful chat, Commander Shepard, but I’m afraid it ends now.” 

“I’m not done with you!” she didn’t care if the frequencies had already changed. She’d get him eventually. He had to know that. 

“You are for now,” Banes said before a very soft click. Shane growled again but then turned the frequency back to the one she shared with Jack.

“Where the fuck are you?” Shane demanded, a lot harsher than she meant. She was still riled by her conversation with Banes. Dammit. She thought of apologizing but knew Jack would likely just wave it off. 

“I could say the same damn thing, bitch! What, were you daydreaming out there?” at least Shane could count on Jack not much caring if Shane was a little curt. 

“I eavesdropped on them. They’re trying to evacuate instead of holding the area,” Shane explained, running at her max speed while following the trail that she knew would lead to Jack.

“Uh huh. You did way more than eavesdrop,” Jack said. Shane honestly didn’t know why she thought she could ever fool Jack. Jack knew what Shane was going to do before Shane even thought it. 

“You would too if you heard fucking Banes on the line using your number,” Shane returned before finally sprinting around a corner to find the meat of the action once more. 

“My nu-- oh, fuck that! That’s hardly--” but Jack stopped speaking to instead fling two Guardians at a wall, smashing them into pulp within their armor. 

“Hardly worth gettin’ pissy over?” Shane asked mildly, Charging right past Jack to fire off a short burst from her stolen Mattock into a line of troopers. 

“Well, kinda, yeah. But... thanks,” Jack admitted, before flinging a Phantom into the air. Shane smiled to herself before peppering the Phantom full of holes as it rotated in mid-air. 

In all honesty, Shane was glad to hear Jack wasn’t reacting as badly to ‘Subject Zero’. She was healing. But that wasn’t going to make Shane suddenly shrug about the use of the moniker. Especially from Cerberus. 

“Also, it was kinda half-selfish anyway. Banes was responsible for what happened to Kahoku’s men. He sicced a fuckin’ thresher on me when I went to look for the missing troops,” Shane continued, seeing no point in pretending it was all selfless caring of Jack’s ‘feelings’ 

“Ah, damn. S’e’here?” Jack asked as the pair finally reconnected to storm down a hallway. Jack had heard the tale of woe many times when it came to Akuze, but the Kahoku mission was new. Though Jack never really cared about learning new things about Shane, in that she didn’t actually go asking, it was only natural to learn more at ‘surprising’ times. They couldn’t possibly talk about each other’s 20+ years of life in the galaxy and still have time to kill some Cerberus fucks. It wasn’t hidden history, just history they hadn’t brought up yet. The reason they worked out so well is they had no expectations of such. Their histories had to come up organically, not after playing 20 questions. They bonded because their trauma was shared, the same people had caused them both a lot of pain and torment. In different ways, sure, but still the same people.

“Nah, I dunno where he is but he definitely isn’t here. The way he said things it seemed like he was already on a ship away from here,” Shane admitted. It was a disappointment but it would be rectified. 

“Well, you and I both know there’s no Cerberus fuck in the galaxy who can hide from us for very long. You wanna go after him, you know I’m fucking there,” Jack said, not even sounding out of breath yet. Shane had to admire her resilience. 

“Yeah, I know. Let’s finish up here then we’ll worry about Banes,” Shane said, offering a slight smile at the other biotic. Jack smirked back then as one they literally leaped into the next battle. 

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 9. ) “Acheron?” Beyond mere passing curiosity, it was the urgency supporting Bonnie’s need to understand the man sitting behind the wheel of his ridiculously expensive car that scalded her tongue. He was ever evasive, enigmatic and rarely straightforward where his past was concerned. But none of it quelled her demand to search for the truth. She didn’t seek it for personal gain either, she only sought to soothe the battle-weary hearts of her hunters. During the long weeks of bonding with each one of them, Bonnie convinced herself their inner peace was too valuable to be overlooked. Neither was the sharing type yet she was determined to help them heal wounds inflicted centuries ago, in a time innocence still characterised their human lives. And only the deepest betrayal could taint it. Riding in comfortable silence, Bonnie suspected the indecipherable Dark Hunter would resort to the infamous technique called feigned indifference where he pretended not to hear her while she would be forced into accepting his choice for silence. Stoic, and his features impassive, Acheron Parthenopaeus held all the charisma in the universe with full lips pressed against one another into a thin line. His gaze seemed focused on the road but behind that wall of opacity from his shades, Bonnie couldn’t be certain. And if her senses were correct, then he was, most definitely, eyeing her with the stealth of a predator. She felt the burn of his gaze on her. “Back at the comp—“ He sighed. As if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. “You want to know.” He interrupted her train of thought. “About the... incident from earlier.” The wilderness that rolled naturally from the contained storm of his voice offered her familiar security. A balm to her soul, she would never grow weary of it. It was almost as if he could read her innermost thoughts. And though she knew Dark Hunters possessed different gifts, Acheron seemed to be the rarity to that rule. The odd one out. Kyrian once told her he was the first one to be created. And she figured that was why he shared similar abilities to those of his brethren. Perhaps Kyrian and him were even more alike than her initial evaluation, conducted on the spot, back in Sanctuary when she first met Ash. Their personalities, however, differed significatively. “I—I probably can’t imagine...” she started but her words lost their direction when Acheron steered the Porsche into a new destination. No longer on their way toward the Garden District, it wouldn’t be long until Bonnie recognised St. Louis Cemetery’s aged iron gates. The car came to a stop near its old entrance. And without another word, he vacated the cramped space to welcome the fresh air of February. At first, Bonnie didn’t dare moving. She was paralysed in fear, mostly. The waters in which she swam were dangerous and treacherous, she knew of the promise navigating through the past and what it could potentially entail for the one taking a peek, even if brief, into that old chest of memories. She sensed barely contained pain, and worlds of sorrow and unrestrained grief. Outside, Acheron sat on the hood of his car. Alone. His chin slightly raised, it was obvious his gaze was lost to the skies already painted with the light tones of dawn. The night had come fast but the sun showed signs of similar elation for its return. It was now or never, she thought. As she opened the door on her side, left the car and took a seat next to him, Bonnie registered no movement from the embodiment of enigma himself. His shoulders slumped, his gaze finally sought refuge in wide-open doorway to her soul —those forest green eyes he had gotten lost in on multiple occasions before. But Bonnie wasn’t having any of it by allowing him to hide behind the comfort of his ever present shades. Hesitantly, and watching him from beneath curtains of thick lashes, her fingers took possession of his sunglasses as she slowly stripped his eyes naked. She knew what to expect but the gasp of appreciation still escaped. Liquid mercury swam quietly in his eyes as he watched her disarming him. Bonnie was the first and only one to accomplish that since his rebirth. And while he said nothing, a furious tic thrummed visibly along his jaw. She expected the momentary peak of anxiety after the bold exposure of him. A small grin stretching her lips, Bonnie folded his sunglasses and slid them inside her jeans pocket. For the time being, she was holding them hostage. Despite her calm facade, her heart suddenly became a professional gymnast as it did flips back and forth like there was no tomorrow. “It’s okay, Ash. If you prefer to keep your story to yourself,” she interrupted their silence at last. Besides panic and desperation, she was hit with a fathomless wave of grief the likes of which the young witch had never drowned in before. The raw intensity of these emotions flooring her, she was left breathless for several heartbeats. “I just... I hate seeing the torment of your past shadowing the light in your eyes.” Staggering from the onslaught of emotions, tears prickled her eyes. “You’ve been so hurt. I can sense it. I can.” Her chest rose and fell repeatedly. “You still bleed from your wounds. The past still holds you prisoner. And I don’t even know for how long! I can’t imagine the damage that’s caused on your soul.” Disturbed, Bonnie quickly wiped away the disgraceful tears that managed to escape her defences. The gates were now wide open. Beside her, her companion chose immediate silence. Frozen by the prejudice of his past, he walked trough the wastelands of memories without realising her fingers interlocked with his as she slid her palm on top of his massive hand. An earthquake-like tremor shook the whole of him. “It’s eleven thousand years.” He stated matter-of-factly. Surprise and shock registered on her face. It couldn’t be, her meagre knowledge of history told her it wasn’t possible. Yet, the exhaustion etched on his features spoke a whole different tale. “How is tha—?” She started. “That history lesson is too long and complex for tonight.” His gaze wandered to where their fingers stood united, Bonnie’s index finger stroking his knuckles. “And Bonnie? I’m soulless. All Dark Hunters are.” Promptly rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. Like a masochist, he smiled down at her. “Ow.” Acheron massaged his arm, successfully allowing them both a reprieve from the growing tension. “That ought to teach you not to smart-mouth me! You know what I meant. It may not inhabit your body, Ash, but it’s still yours. Still bleeds. I can see it, you know?” The soft, tangent urgency to secure his understanding clung to the breaths expelled. Since the moment she had been brought into their lives, Bonnie had been silently collecting data, studying and gathering every ounce of information about her warriors. Acheron and Kyrian, in particular, as both had been the ones she had spent the most time with. After careful analysis of her research, she was fairly confident Ash loathed the thought of having someone at his back. He even recoiled with the exaggerated proximity of another. With that thought in mind, and wanting to test her theory, Bonnie leaned closer. Purposely invading his personal space. Even though it was minimal and discreet, he drew back. Inside her chest, the thin walls of her beating heart cracked. The desolation mirrored in those pools of mercury laying waste to the fields of her weeping soul. ───Just how much misery has he been put through? Persisting, she tried again. “Back at the Mikaelson’s, before Klaus showed up, you…” With her insides twisting in oceans of anxiety, she lifted her gaze to his face. The urge to see him impossible to bypass. He was now peering right through her. “I know.” Serene but resigned, the direction of his gaze shifted so that he was staring at the horizon whilst pushing closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather coat. Soon, the first timid rays of sunshine broke free. Tearing the darkness apart. Had she been sharing this moment with Kyrian, they’d be on their phrenetic way home. As a norm, Dark Hunters were banished from sunlight, yet their leader stood as exception to that rule. Nothing about Acheron Parthenopaeus was ordinary. After several minutes spent in absolute silence, and with a defeated sigh, she rose from the hood of the car and handed him his shades, certain he had murdered the topic and buried its corpse. Her hands tied, Bonnie decided to respect his deafening silence and privacy. “Come on. Let’s face King Stubborn. I can almost hear his tirade from here.” It was her way of letting him know of her decision. “It was my nephew.” Halfway through her march to her side of the car, Bonnie froze. Her curls bounced back and forth with the abrupt movement of her head as she looked back at him. She almost doubted she heard him when he didn’t elaborate. His tone had been so low as well, as if afraid of the damage the words would deliver. Hesitantly, she approached him again. ─── Was Acheron Parthenopaeus finally allowing her to take a peek into the fortress of solitude of his soul? The sunglasses still caged between his fingers, calloused by countless battles, Bonnie found herself peering deeply into the oceans of mercury of his eyes. Saying nothing, the petite woman simply reached for his hand, securing it between her fingers as she gave him a nod of encouragement. “He was murdered while I lay in a drunken stupor in the room next door. His death and my sister’s, his mother, are on me, Bon. Their blood still stains my hands.” Without pretending she was privy to all the details of that tragic night, Bonnie shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. You would probably be killed too if you had gone into their room… And besides, something tells me you weren’t drunk because you felt like partying. You’re not that type. You were drowning. Weren’t you?” She lowered her chin while her thumb and index finger secured his. Turning his head her way, she then forced him to look back at her. “Weren’t you?” Again, she asked. “That’s no excuse, Bonnie.” Rising from his spot on the car hood, the Dark-Hunter swiftly made his way to his side of the car. “I let them die.” With a sense of finality, he tucked himself behind the wheel of his Porsche. But Bonnie couldn’t disregard the raw vulnerability drenching his words. The agony exuding enough to rob the air inside her lungs. Enough to inject her with a weakness capable of driving her to her knees. Leaning over the passenger’s seat, Acheron opened the door to welcome her inside. And without another word, she took her place beside him. A stirring of magic began tickling her senses then, like a foreshadowing of sorts. In the cramped space, Acheron touched her arm in the midst of shifting gears as he brought the engine to life. Taken by surprise, Bonnie gasped loudly. Not by the touch itself but the sudden flashes of ancient memories taking her brain hostage, without an ounce of mercy. Lying in a pool of his own blood, Acheron Parthenopaeus struggled to rise from the slippery floor of the grand palace. Lost to his anger and bloodlust, his attacker, a male figure of pure perfection with a golden aura, sank his knife into Acheron’s heart before slicing him open up to his navel like a hunted animal being gutted by a barbarous predator. The brutality of the scene alone successfully stealing the remaining air flowing through her lungs. “You died that night, too.” She stated in a whisper, haunted by the violence still burning behind her eyelids. This time around, he didn’t elaborate. But he watched her, from the corner of his eye with a strange light reflected on his gaze. The assertiveness supporting her revelation pushing him to put his every available resource to use, he was soon faced with a growing mystery Acheron couldn’t quite figure out yet. Still petrified by the sudden revelation on both parties, the pair rode in a rather strained silence for the remaining journey. At Kyrian’s antebellum mansion’s gate, the young witch finally dared a peek at the man sitting beside her. “Ash—“, she started only to be interrupted by him. “You don’t have to apologise, Bonnie.” He paused as if weighing the impact of his following words. “I wanted you to know. For some reason.” The air of mild astonishment clung to him furiously before quietly leaving her to her own thoughts as he braved the path toward the main entrance of Kyrian’s exuberant manor with regal superiority that bled from every pore without an ounce of vanity exuded. “One day, Ash. One day, you will tell me every secret you’ve buried deep in your soul. Then, I’ll set you free.” With that whispered vow, Bonnie vacated the car to follow him and, finally, confront her latest source of woe. Their gazes locked instantly as she stepped through the door. The cold morning’s timid breeze blowing, dragged her curls behind her shoulders as her fingers made haste to shield Kyrian from the invading sunlight. Even in darkness, the ancient Prince’s blonde curls glistened like an aura of mortal divinity. Incapable of staying unaffected, her heart quickened at the sight. And though his stance prevailed rigid and unfaltering, Kyrian stood silent. Almost defeated, and at a loss for words. In return, Bonnie’s demeanour evolved through different discharges of emotions as her thoughts raced through her mind. Neither willing to break the silence of discomfort. Drowning in conflict, she entertained their staring contest for a little longer just so she gave herself the time to examine the source of all her current heartache. Convinced her stubborn Dark-Hunter had recovered from most of the damage done to him the previous night, she finally mustered the courage to reveal her intentions of returning to Mystic Falls for a few days. “You look better already. That’s a relief.” Pause. Fidgeting fingers found temporary shelter in her jacket’s pockets. Then she cleared her throat. “Ash is taking me home for a couple of days.” ─── There. It’s done. Best to just blurt it out and take them both out of this misery. Unsure he had heard it right, he sought Acheron for clarification. Or any indication of the meaning behind her words. As the sole witness to their exchange, characterised by tension and uneasiness, Ash chose not to elaborate. Leaving that pleasant task to her. “I’m gonna find Nick. There’s something I need to discuss with him.” And just like that, he vanished toward the kitchen. Betrayal spoiled Kyrian’s patrician features. As a member of the male community, he had hoped his boss would join forces with him in solidarity. To dilute the growing tension building between him and Bonnie. But no, the old bastard slipped through the cracks at the first chance. “Why?” Defeated, he couldn’t even hide his dismay. It took him several heartbeats of aching silence to finally tear it apart. In his head, Kyrian had already demanded her all the answers but none were brought into the light. Only that broken whisper seemed to matter. “You know why.” She murmured back, without wasting a heartbeat. Though Bonnie wouldn’t admit it out loud, her poor bruised heart cracked even further. Pain oozed from it like poison as it continued to pump blood unknowingly of the destruction caused. Suddenly lightheaded, and with weakened knees, she sought swift support from the nearby sofa just to avoid worlds of embarrassment. His rejection had been enough. It stung like a viper’s attack and now she bled. She just wanted to bleed alone for a couple of days before raising her chin and throwing her misfortune over her shoulders as if nothing had transpired.

Guilt-ridden, at least he had the decency of showcasing remorse by fixing his stare anywhere but her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Can you, please, tell Acheron I’ll be ready in a few minutes?” Sighing in extreme desolation, she left him alone to his thoughts. The whole packing process didn’t take her even twenty minutes, she had been taken to New Orleans against her will after all. A bittersweet smile tugged at the ends of her lips as the memory of the first encounter with Kyrian invaded her thoughts like a Trojan’s horse. She nearly laughed reminiscing on their first exchange of words and how much he had feared her even though he had been the one kidnapping her. Instead, a choked sob escaped. Life had to have a grudge against her, she pondered. All her efforts to turn things around when nothing went right could never hold the walls that sustained any form of happiness. It took her a minute of sitting on the bed that had been hers for several weeks to pull herself together. Her emotions ran haywire and she was having some trouble taking their reigns. Once certain she wouldn’t break as easily in front of him, Bonnie grabbed the bag with her clothes. But as she was leaving her room, she felt the urge to leave a memento that would remind him of her. Aware of his instant appreciation for relics, Bonnie decided to gift him with one of her grandmother’s old necklaces, a witch’s talisman. Her favourite and most powerful. Hoping he would find it after her departure, Bonnie made her way downstairs to find both Kyrian and Acheron waiting for her in a silence that felt strange, thick with tension. “I’m ready to go.” She announced bravely while focusing her attention on the straps of her bag, avoiding Kyrian’s burning gaze. Sensing the unresolved tension between them, Acheron gave Kyrian a meaningful stare with a message only privy to them both before getting up and making his exit. “I’ll wait outside for you, Bonnie. Whenever you’re ready.” Emphasising that last sentence, Ash conveyed his belief the two of them should trade some parting words before her temporary departure. In silence, she nodded and waited until Acheron was outside. “I don’t want you to go, Bonnie.” Kyrian’s delivery almost like a plea took the young witch by surprise. She had expected to be one breaking the silence. “I can’t stay and pretend nothing happen. I’m not like that, Kyrian.” The anguish in her voice becoming more solid with each word. “If I’m coming back here to fight against this enemy alongside you then I need time to put my priorities in order.” Unable to withstand the sound of heartache in her voice, her fallen Prince closed the gap between them and took her face with both hands. Admiring the beauty of her strength, Kyrian closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he cursed his very existence. For the first time in over two thousand years of solitude and misery, his heart awakened from a long death. But they could never be, regardless of his feelings toward her. That would be a direct insult to his vow and the goddess he served. Resting his forehead on hers, temptation bit him hard as they stood on the verge of goodbye. ─── I love you, Bonnie. The words never came. Instead, he breathed in her perfume. “At least let me be the one to take you home...” With tears prickling her eyes, she attempted her escape but he wouldn’t let her. Kyrian remained frozen as if willing to extend their moment. “I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll just delay the inevitable. Better to just rip it off and hope for the best.” Inside, every wall crumbled to the ground. There was shards of glass everywhere. She was a wreck, bleeding and the ruins of what could be would become unfinished dreams. “I should go now, Kyrian.” Fighting off a sobbing session, she rubbed her eyes to dry unspent tears. After all, nothing would change even if she cried. Opposite from her, an ancient warrior stood deep in thought. Tormented by visions of a future he never meant to have or share with another, Kyrian remembered the tragedy of his human days, mostly marked by the betrayal that had murdered him. An inner voice had once convinced him he was not worthy of love but looking down at her, the infamous “what if” tormented him aggressively. Saying nothing, her Prince pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes to savour the bittersweet moment as he committed into memory every piece of her. “Be safe.” The softness of his whisper practically snuffed out Bonnie’s remaining strength as her knees buckled. With a tenderness that rivalled even her grandmother’s, Kyrian caressed her face one last time as if afraid he might not see her again. He was determined to make her departure the hardest one yet. Only by Bonnie’s perseverance did she manage to break them apart. “I will.” Finally turning around to leave, their fingers crossed paths in intimate touch and his self control flew out the window. Awakening from self-inflicted slumber, Kyrian closed his fingers around hers and pulled her back, drawing her into his body by surprise. He, then, stole her breath with a searing kiss, full of longing and unspoken promises her warrior vowed not to disclose in fear of what might befall her were he to defy the goddess he served. Bewildered, Bonnie gaped at him. Giving her half a smile, he knew he had to let her go but his fingers refused the separation by caressing her face while his midnight eyes dove deep into her soul. “You shouldn’t have done this.” The words came barely above a whisper as she enforced their physical distance by taking his hands hostage. “Goodbye, Kyrian.” Barely holding on, with the grip on her emotions fading with each heartbeat, she made a hasty retreat. The front door slammed, effectively shutting another chapter of her life as the weakened walls guarding her heart crumbled. She couldn’t breathe through the onslaught of heartache and agony. ─── Was this what she was destined for? Her gut-wrenching sobs, though quiet, didn’t go unnoticed by Acheron who waited for her by his Porsche. Rather unsure on how to approach her as Bonnie’s heart bled without restraint, he took calculated steps in her direction in hopes that she would note his presence. And she finally did. “I’m ready.” The strain she put on to have her voice sound remotely even through the remains of her shattered heart reinforced Acheron’s respect for her. Perturbed by her breakdown, the ever observant but quiet Dark Hunter offered her a modicum of solace by drawing her trembling frame into his chest, surrounding her with his strength through an unusual embrace. Massive hands stroked her hair with inimitable softness. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Bonnie Bennett.” The admiration reflected on his lilt administered a sense of temporary serenity. “Just remember it is not an obligation to be strong 24/7. Sometimes we have to drown before we can return to shore.” Struggling for words, she merely nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?” As if pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, Ash offered her his hand. “We aren’t taking your car?” She asked, perplexed. Tearing a rift in her skies of grief, Acheron Parthenopaeus conjured a disarming smile she felt particularly victimised by. “No. Not this time. Have you ever traveled through the time-space continuum, also commonly known as teleportation?” Openly gaping at him, she then glanced at his exposed palm, the tears making it a near impossible feat. A stirring of excitement unleashed a few wild butterflies in her stomach as her fingers touched Acheron’s calloused hand. “Should I be afraid? How does it work?” Like any other creature, she grew hesitant just as treaded these unknown waters. “For me, it’s like breathing. Do you trust me?” Assuming an almost defensive posture as if expecting the worst, he stared at her intently from behind his trusted sunglasses. Waves of relief rolled off of him when she nodded. “You know that I do.” His fingers had barely taken possession of hers when he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “You can open your eyes now, Bonnie. You’re home.” She did. One glance around them confirmed his claim. In fact, he even brought them to her grandmother’s unkept porch, once again proving her his powers far exceeded those of his brethren. Apart from the light discomfort in her stomach, she felt fairly confident on her competence to teleport. “It was easier than I expected…” She mumbled as realisation gutted her. She was back. Back in Mystic Falls, her so-called cursed birthplace.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Can you write BTS yandere reactions if you try to hurt them or even kill them to escape? Love your blog x 💜

ahaha thanks and here you go!! bc there’s seven of them and i wanted to do unique ones for each i kind of don’t stick exactly to the prompt, but i try to include at least one element of it in each thing, anyways i hope you like it 💞💞

Namjoon

“Really, Y/n?” Namjoon doesn’t even look up from the file he’s leafing through at his desk, despite the gun you’re pointing at his head. His tone is — as always — nonchalant, as if he’s almost disappointed in you for daring to challenge him. You feel regret curling its fingers into the back of your head, but you try to stay strong despite your trembling hands.

“Let me go.” You say, with a much weaker tone than you intended. He looks up this time, an eyebrow flicks upwards condescendingly.

“I have no intention of letting you go, Y/n. Does that mean you’re going to shoot me?” You whimper quietly, your finger loosening on the trigger guard. “I really thought you were more intelligent than that, but I guess you will have to be taught another lesson.”

Another lesson. Your mind flashes back to days spent alone, locked in a room so dark you couldn’t tell if it was night or day. Nothing around you, completely untethered and suffocated at the same time. No. Your muscles tense up and, without meaning to, you pull the trigger.

“No!” You scream, even as your finger tightens on the gun.

But the trigger has already been pulled. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see the bullet exit the chamber, not wanting to the man who’s tormented you splattered against the wall.

You hear a quiet chuckle, and the gun is gently tugged out of your loose grip.

“Silly baby, did you really think I was going to leave a loaded gun where you could find it? No, this was a test, and you’ve failed, Y/n. It doesn’t matter, though, I’ll just have to give you another lesson.”

Jin

“Jagiya,” Jin’s hurt voice caused you to whip around immediately, without realising the half-full vial was still in your tight grip. “W-What are you pouring in the pot?”

When you had volunteered to make dinner that night for the both of you, Jin had been ecstatic, content that you had finally settled into your place as his loving, doting wife. Little did he know that you had hatched a plan to poison him and run away. You had never been a particularly violent person, but you were desperate to escape. You had realised by now that Jin was never going to willingly let you go.

“U-Uh,” You stuttered, glancing down at the vial in your hand, “…it’s seasoning.” His expression instantly showed his disbelief and he stalked over to you, yanking the poison out of your grip and crowding you against the kitchen counter with his intimidating broad frame.

“Jagiya, when I trust you with these things I expect you to be worthy of that trust, not betray me like some common slut!”

The sting of the slap is the first thing that registers before the side of your face goes numb. He hits you again, making your head jerk to the other side. Hot tears track down your inflamed cheeks, exacerbating the stinging. Jin grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look up and into his manic, crazed eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Jagiya. If you betray me like this again, you will be the one who ends up dying. But it will not be by a quick and painless poison, no, it will be long and agonising. Is that what you want, huh?”

Yoongi

You slam him against the wall, hard enough to make the pictures rattle.

“Talk to me!” You scream, and your voice breaks on the last syllable, no longer able to choke down the sobs. But Yoongi just stares at you, silent as he had been ever since he discovered your plan to escape.

You had booked the plane tickets, you were so close to freedom you could practically taste it. But, on the morning of your getaway, you woke up in a completely different location. Yoongi had moved the two of you to a secluded safehouse while you slept. When you ran out of the door, he hadn’t stopped you, and soon you realised why.

The warehouse was literally in the middle of nowhere. You ran around for miles, screaming for help until your throat was hoarse. There was no one there to hear you. Eventually, night fell and you stumbled back to the only shelter for miles around, to Yoongi. For a while you were terrified you couldn’t find it, and it was hours before you were back and safe, for a loose definition of the word.

Yoongi has given you what you wanted. You wanted to get out of that house Yoongi had imprisoned you in, and now you were far away from it. You desired freedom, and now you could roam for miles, untethered. You wished to never speak to Yoongi again, and since the morning of your relocation he had not breathed a word to you, despite how much you begged him to.

He was, as far as you knew, the only living soul in the vicinity, and having him not even acknowledge you, especially after having his devoted attention for so long, was tearing you apart. And you had started to resort to any means possible to get him to talk.

“Yoongi!” You yell, wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing as tightly as you can. He doesn’t react beyond his face redening, and you can feel his pulse weaken beneath your fingertips. You could just kill him, right here, right now. There’s no one around to see it. And after all he’s done to you…

You let him go and he slumps against the wall, panting slightly. You raise a hand to brush away your tears, damp on your cheeks, but it’s useless. They’ll be replaced by fresh tracks soon enough.

“Please,” you beg, staring at his blank face, “Please just talk to me.”

His eyes meet yours for the first time in this new hellhole, and you realise what he wants.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Just- please,” You bury your sobs in your hands, body shaking with the force of it. A pair of warm arms encircle you, helping your body to still and relax.

“It’s okay, baby, I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, and you don’t have to worry anymore about your freedom, because I’ve taken us to a place where other people won’t even be able to touch us anymore. Do you feel better now, angel?”

Hoseok

“Y/n!” Hoseok bellows, and you feel that familiar helpless panic surge within you.

A man had approached you at your table when the two of you were at a restaurant while Hoseok was in the bathroom. You had immediately turned him down, telling him you were taken, and the man left disappointed. However, Hoseok saw the exchange and was convinced you were somehow cheating on him with that man. And now he was mad.

“Get back here!” He screams as you dart into the sitting room. You know running will only make it worse for yourself, but you can’t stop from trying to escape from him when he gets like this.

“Y/n! Stop this right now!” His enraged voice rattles through the walls and a second later, he bursts through the door. He sees you on the far side of the room, quivering in terror, and runs at you with his fist raised.

By pure instinct, you dodge his punch. Gaining awareness just in time to watch, horrified, as his knuckles crunch into the plaster. You think you can hear them break, and a second later, Hoseok has his hand clutched to his chest with a wail of agony.

“Oh no~” You whimper, immediately drawing close to him and reaching out to cradle his injured hand in your own. He hisses in pain and you look up to gauge his expression. It is full of discomfort, washing away all of his previous fury.

When you first started dating, it had been difficult to adjust to his constant mood swings, from loving boyfriend to violently jealous to depressed and insecure. Now, you were used to it enough to realise that you had to cherish moments like these when his anger had dissipated.

You lead him upstairs to the bathroom, whispering apologies whenever he made a noise of discomfort or pain. Soon, you have him sat on the edge of the bath as you dab a cotton bud of antiseptic onto his wounds. Three of the knuckles are broken, and all of them badly bruised. Your guilt is a heavy weight on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly as he hisses when you apply the badages.

“For what?” He snorts, despite the pain in his voice, “For talking to that guy, for causing me to get injured, or for wrapping my wounds too tightly?”

“I-I promise you, Hobi, I didn’t want to talk to him. He approached me but I immediately said I was taken, just like you told me to say. But I am sorry for the other things, Hobi. I’m really sorry.”

He sighs, then runs his uninjured hand through your hair, petting your head softly.

“I only do these things because I love you, Y/n. You’re the one that does this to me, and you make me suffer all the time. Are you going to be good now? And stop making me do all these crazy things for you, huh?”

Jimin

“Aww, baby, you’re so sweet!”

You pause, incredibly confused. When you told your possessive, ridiculously clingy boyfriend that you were leaving him, and had booked plane tickets to leave the country in order to avoid him, you hadn’t expected him to delightedly clap his hands together and coo.

“Jimin… d-did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, of course I did, Princess! Oh, you’re so cute. I can’t believe you got us plane tickets to France to visit Disneyland Paris!”

“Uh, what?” Your brow furrows, “Jimin, that’s not- I got plane tickets for myself so that I could leave the country. Because of you. And these tickets aren’t even to Fran-“”

“Baby,” Jimin interupts, and you can see the danger on the edge of his loving expression. “I know you’re joking, but don’t upset me now. And getting fake tickets just to prank me is going a bit far.” He reaches out and deftly snatches your plane ticket out of your hand, before you can even react.

“I mean, who knows? You might even confuse these with the real tickets for our trip, so I’ll just-” He rips up the ticket. “-get rid of them for you.” He giggles. “You’re welcome, babe.”

You watch in shock as your freedom flutters in fragmented pieces to the floor. Months of waiting, saving up, planning, all wasted.

“Well?” Jimin prods, and you look back up at him. “Aren’t you gonna say thank you?”

You just stand there stock still for a moment, before all of that longing, and pain, and anger washes over you and, without even processing it, you’re slapping Jimin as hard as you physically can.

He gasps, and then runs out of the room before you can react. You pause for a second before running after him. You find him in the kitchen, stooped over the sink. When he hears your footsteps, he turns around and you see his lip is cut, blood streaming over his chin and down his neck.

You gasp, and running over to him and taking his face in your hands, all thoughts of escaping replaced with bitter guilt. You are so distracted with him that you don’t notice the discarded knife resting behind Jimin’s hand, fresh drops of blood gleaming on the side of the blade.

“Ah, you hurt me really bad, Princess. I can’t believe my perfect angel would do something like this to me. You’re sorry, right? Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you love me, and I’ll feel better. Just tell me you love me and I won’t punish you, please?”

Taehyung

It has always been extremes with Taehyung. Either he was the most artistic, dorkiest, sweetest boyfriend in the world, or he could be violent, possessive to a ridiculous degree, and controlling over every aspect of your life.

You found yourself growing more frustrated each time he asks you about who your friends are, what they’re saying to you, when you’re talking to them. He doesn’t trust you, and whenever you confront him about it, he tells you that it’s because he loves you too much to lose you.

But that doesn’t make sense. You can’t have love without trust.

“Who is he?” Taehyung screams, and it’s midnight and you’ve had this conversation more times than you can count and you’re just so tired.

Your mom’s been calling, she hasn’t heard from you in a while thanks to Taehyung cutting you off from everyone you knew, including your family.

“It was my mom, asshole! I showed you the contact on my phone! It was my mom!” You spit back at him and he chuckles in fake amusement and you know you’re hurtling headfirst into dangerous territory but you just can’t stop yourself.

“Yeah? Well I don’t fucking believe you! Why won’t you let me call the number back, hmm? What are you trying to hide?”

“I just don’t want you calling my mom because you’re a creep and I don’t want you talking to her!”

He shoves you against the wall and your head swings back painfully. Before you can even register the pain, Taehyung’s lips are on yours, licking into your mouth harshly and biting so hard you taste blood.

It’s more of a fight for dominance than a kiss, and you’re determined not to lose this time.

You twist around and shove him against the wall, hard enough that his head makes a twin indent to yours, and you hope it gains him the same dizzying quality that’s leaking into your vision, so that you’re on more of an even playing field.

He smiles down at you lazily and you feel disgusted with yourself. What’s wrong with you? Deliberately exacerbating fights with your boyfriend just to chase the high of being fought over, the bittersweet pleasure of darkening bruises and words so painful they scream their way out. He smiles at you because you’re just like him, you enjoy the pain, and feel helplessly drawn to it. Maybe that’s why you just can’t leave him.

“Fuck, baby girl can give as good as she gets, is that it? You like a little bit of pain, huh? Well don’t worry baby, I’ll give it to you. Trust me.”

Jungkook

A snort is not the reaction you were hoping for, but it’s what you happens when you take a deep breath and point a dagger at Jungkook. The jewelled handle feels cold and heavy in your palm. It’s the dagger Jungkook keeps beneath his pillow each night in case of intruders, and judging my his little amused glance at it, he recognises his own weapon.

“So, what’s the plan, baby?” Jungkook asks you, remarkably calm for someone with a knife pointed at his chest. “You’re gonna stab me?” Absurdly, you nod when he asks you this. He laughs, then nods himself.

“Ok then, you’re just gonna commit a little murder then. Are you sure you’re capable of that?”

“…uh huh.” You reply dumbly. His eyes twinkle with mirth, and he continues his line of questioning.

“Alright then, you’ll murder me. I guess you’re not gonna clean up the body, considering you’re working alone?” He pauses for a response, and when he receives none he smiles to himself and keeps going.

“After that, where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? After all, it’s not like you know anyone in this area.”

“That’s not true!” You pipe up, “My uncle Minyoung! He’s helping me leave.”

“Oh, your Uncle Minyoung.” Jungkook gasps in realisation and you nod again. “You mean this Uncle Minyoung?” Jungkook takes a Polaroid out of his pocket and hands it to you. You attempt to take it with your right hand, remember you’re holding a dagger, and take the photo with the other hand instead.

The photo shows a broken corpse, its head detached and pointed towards the camera. Jungkook is posing next to it, winking at you. Right next to him is your Uncle Minyoung’s severed head.

“Oh.” You say, and drop the photo. It flutters gently to the floor.

“Oh,” Jungkook echoes, “Well, what’re you going to do now? Your uncle had all the travel information, right?”

“Right.” You repeat distantly.

“So… how are you going to escape?”

“…I guess I can’t.” You realise, and the corners of his mouth curl into a smug smile.

During your conversation, Jungkook has moved closer and now stands directly in front of you, so close that the dagger is pressed against his chest. You watch as the pointed tip distorts the expensive fibres of his shirt. You wonder how much give they have before it tears.

Jungkook takes the dagger from you delicately, and then sweeps you up in his arms.

“Little baby, trying to escape from me? When will you realise that you will never be able to? You’re just so dumb! You’re lucky I’m here to look after you, or you really wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You’re so lucky to have me around.”