#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.

[counselor-elijah]

…I don’t think he thought of either of us as people

[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

[stickyy]

I loved what you wrote about student! college! aizawa,if it's not too much trouble,I would like to read a second part but it contains a sub!aizawa,dom!reader,mommy kink and pegging please. I have to take advantage of the fact that you are the first blog with dark content that I see that accepts pegging,an opportunity that I will not miss,but if it gets complicated for you oh you don't like it,you can reject my request.

DISCLAIMER: always ask for consent first!

warnings: DUBCON, sub!aizawa, edging, verbal abuse, bondage, pegging, gn!reader but light mommy kink is used in reference to, praise kink if you squint?, slightly unrealistic depictions of pegging, reader is fed up but that doesnt excuse their actions :P

word count: 3489

notes: sorry for the delay, i hope u like anon! :D there should always be more pegging fic out there

part 1 here

EXAM SEASON

Finals season is quickly approaching, sending the entire campus into a frenzy, students scrambling like displaced ants trying to finish last minute assignments, novel-esque essays, merciful extra credit projects. The workload takes its toll on everyone, even the star students. You found Aizawa in even worse moods more frequently; a schedule consisting of all nighters spent studying old material followed by early classes and a job on the side, he was absolutely exhausted. You sometimes sneak a peek over at him during class to see his head bobbing slightly, bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open as he fights sleep. A small part of you feels bad for him; he’s a diligent student, and you were sympathetic to his exhaustion.

You still hate the asshole, though.

You found yourself snagged in a twisted sort of arrangement with Aizawa after midterms. There was always a half-assed attempt at tutoring you before giving up and cramming his cock down your throat or deep inside your cunt, leaving you sore and dripping with his cum, all the while spewing insults targeted at your intelligence (or lack thereof). In exchange, he’d complete your assignments and allow you to copy his answers on exam days. Ignoring the situation is where you make peace with yourself; you feel used, but you also have no other option if you want to pass this class.

What you hate the most is the way you roll over and take it. You’re more than just a hole to fuck, you know that, but you’re helpless against his searing abuse and venomous scowls. Even when you try to be nice, it only makes him crueler, your soft pleas and offers of peace an invitation to tear you down and make you cry. You want to fight, to claw and tear into him out of spite. You don’t want to feel so weak anymore.

So, you decide to do something about it.

It’s late, campus illuminated by street lamps and headlights of cars passing by as you make your way into the dorms. After your first encounter, Aizawa began inviting you back to his room instead of the library, deciding to “study” in his personal space as opposed to possibly getting caught in the library with his cock down your throat. You didn’t complain, but it’s especially convenient today, with what you have planned. Knocking on the door softly, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, anxious for what’s to come.

“Open,” he calls out from inside, prompting you to enter. You pass through the messy common room he shares with his roommate and enter his bedroom, opening the door quietly. Aizawa’s room is tidy compared to the outside, bed made, tousled only where he sits with his laptop, typing.

“You’re late,” he squints at you from behind the screen, shutting the device. “Not surprising.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, placing your book bag on the floor and taking out the very heavy law textbook (that you hadn’t bothered to open since midterms). You take your seat next to him and open to the most recent chapter you read over. He’s silent, only speaking to answer your questions as you focus on the text. You can tell he’s sleepy, his responses slurred and delayed, and you glance over to see him dozing off. Late study sessions and Aizawa’s recent exhaustion meant more often than not that he fell asleep before tormenting you. The first time was startling, but you learned that it was a regular occurrence. 

You prefer Aizawa when he’s drowsy. His usually hard features were softened, quiet snores rumbling from his chest. His dark hair messily framing his face as he leans back against the headboard of his bed, arms folded over his chest. He’s good-looking, no doubt. If his personality matched, you could see yourself falling for him.

His eyes open, shooting you a questioning look, and you duck your head back into your textbook, embarrassed at being caught staring.

You keep quiet for another 20 or so minutes, waiting until he’s truthfully asleep and not just resting. You have to be careful not to wake him, as you aren’t keen on being reprimanded for what you're about to do.

Once you’ve deemed it safe, you stealthily open your bag and retrieve the small plastic bag stored inside. With the help of online shopping, you bought some handcuffs, lube, a dildo, and a harness. You aren’t all into pegging, but this was less about the sex and more about proving yourself, forcing him to respect you, in some perverse way. You retrieve the cuffs, gripping them carefully as to not make any sounds. This is the most crucial part; as long as you could get him restrained, you’d could dish out any revenge you desire. You slip off of the bed and tip-toe, almost comically, around the other side of the bed. You test the waters, snapping your fingers near Aizawa. He doesn’t stir, chest rising and falling with his deep breathing.

You steel yourself with a deep breath; this was your chance. You make quick work with the handcuffs, gently yet hastily clicking the metal around one wrist and looping the cuffs through the headboard before securing his other wrist. A grin spreads across your face; you’re thankful he’s such a deep sleeper.

Now that you had him where you wanted him, you were paralyzed by the sheer amount of possibilities. You climb over him apprehensively, hovering over the unconscious man, who only shifts minutely. The peaceful look on his face puts a small pit in your stomach; this was wrong… right? Technically, this was assault. You frown, a small chill running down your spine. Is this what you had become? It was almost enough to convince you to stop, but you force yourself to remember the first time Aizawa had his way with you, the way you choked and gagged and had to hide your face until you could find a bathroom to wipe off the dried cum that adhered to your skin.

This was his fault; he made you like this.

“Fuck it,” you say aloud, bracing yourself before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking, hard. He awakes with a surprised gasp, wrenching his head away from the assault.

“The fuck?” He bites, eyes drowsily scouring the situation. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just waking you up,” you smile, releasing your grip. “It’s kind of boring watching you sleep. I thought we were supposed to be studying.”

Aizawa gives you an agitated look, disoriented as he tries to move, only to find his range of motion limited. “You fucking handcuffed me?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t wake up,” you chuckle, sliding your hands under his shirt and running your hands over his taut stomach. He keeps his eyes on you with an expectant expression, waiting for an explanation.

“You know, I like you so much more when you're asleep,” you continue, idly tracing patterns on the skin of his abdomen. “No insults, no curses, no glaring. You’re pretty handsome when you’re not being a total douchebag.”

“Let me go,” he ignores you, yanking the handcuffs. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny, actually. You’ve spent all semester treating me like shit, and for what? All I’ve done is be nice to you, even after you call me names and abuse me. It hurts my feelings, you know? It’s not like I’m trying to fail this class, I just needed a little extra help, and you take advantage of that every week. So I do think this is pretty fucking hilarious. Maybe you’ll see just how great I feel when you bully me.”

If looks could kill, your heart would have stopped right then and there. Rage burns behind his glare when he meets your eyes, still struggling to break the cuffs. You’d never seen him like this; at his worst, he seems moderately annoyed in your day to day. Despite being an insufferable asshole, he always manages to keep a cool air about him. Never giving anyone much of a reaction, he’s only nasty when he desires. Watching his face take a red tint and his eyes narrow in frustration send waves of satisfaction rippling through your chest. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he grits out, “If you let me go now, I’ll forget all about this. I promise that you don’t want what’s coming for you once I get out of these cuffs.”

He did have a point; you had no idea what you were doing. That wasn’t going to stop you, though.

“Aw, it’s not so fun now, isn’t it?” You coo at him in a demeaning tone, pouting dramatically. Your wandering hands slid to his crotch, where you could feel his length stirring curiously. You bark out a laugh.

Pulling down his sweats and boxers, your mouth waters at his hardening length. Normally, your stomach would drop at the sight in anticipation for physical abuse you were about to receive. But this? This was different; knowing that you’re the one in control is absolutely captivating. You take his cock in your hands, slowly working your hand up and down. He stays silent in defiance, steady in his glare in an attempt to intimidate you. It would work, usually, but with his hands bound there was nothing he could do to you. He’s betrayed by a pleased noise that slips from his throat.

“Don’t tell me you like this? You want to be taken advantage of, is that it?” you taunt, basking in his agitation as you speed your hand up, thumbing the pre gathering on the slit.

“Watch it,” is his only response, voice dangerously low. He keeps quiet, not willing to surrender to the reactions you’re trying to draw from him. It’s a challenge, if anything, and you weren’t going to back down..

He’s fully erect in no time- you’ve spent enough time as his cocksleeve to know exactly what he likes and responds to. His eyes fall shut as you squeeze tighter, hips canting up into your hand, chasing his own release. You keep it up until he gets a little louder, close to release, and you pull your hand away, watching his dick twitch helplessly.

“Fuck- why’d you stop?” he asks groggily, opening his eyes.

“You didn’t think that I was just going to let you cum that easily, did you? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” you shuffle off of the bed, smiling over your shoulder as you hook your thumbs in the band of your leggings. You make a show of sliding the material down over your ass, purposefully leaning over and arching your back. You hear a pleased growl from the bed, causing you to giggle as you pull your underwear down as well.

“You could still let me go,” he offers, giving you a once over as you climb back over him, “I could forget about this if you let me fuck you.”

“Nice try, but I’ll be the one doing the fucking tonight,” you grab your bag from the floor, retrieving the lube but leaving the dildo and harness obscured in the bag. You squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers, causing Aizawa to give you a puzzled look.

“You don’t need lube, you’re always so wet for me,” it’s more of a question than an observation, since your previous trysts never included anything but his spit and your own juices. You just give him a smile before nudging his thighs open with your own, trailing your hand slowly beneath his balls, settling in between his ass and your lubed fingers circle the muscle there. The look on his face is priceless, absolutely shocked at the prospect of you inside of him. He thrashes in protest but you’re steadfast, pinning his hips down with your other hand.

“You can’t be serious,” his voice is alarmed, almost erring on the side of anxious, “you’re dumber than I thought if you think you’re just going to get away with any of this shit.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you sing-song, using your dry hand to tug playfully on the cuffs, “You’re a little tied up at the moment.”

“I’m going to beat your cunt up when I get out of these,” it’s a threat, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the words, eyes trained on his as you push two fingers inside.

He grunts, his face scrunching up, almost cutely, at the burn of the stretch. You expected him to be tight, but given how tense he is, it’s difficult to push all the way inside. You take it slow, savoring the pained expression on his face; it’s a stark contrast to his cocky demeanor when you’re being subjugated to his abuse. His chest is heaving, a lovely red flush spreading across his skin, eyebrows knit tight, lips bitten red- you’re obsessed. You move your fingers in and out slowly, scissoring just gently enough not to seriously hurt him, but enough to watch him writhe. His dick twitches despite (or maybe due to?) the pain, still red and dripping.

“This is priceless,” you laugh, “if you wanted to get fucked so badly, all you had to do was ask, you know? Mommy would’ve taken care of it for you.”

“Mommy?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you’re insane.”

Any further insult is cut off with a sharp gasp, eyes shooting open in shock, and you know you’ve found it.

You stroke his prostate with a heavy hand, grinding your fingers into the spongy spot inside of him as he struggles to breathe, back arching deliciously. You can’t help but smirk; you kind of get it now. If this is how tormenting you makes Aizawa feel, then you understand why he was so cruel.

“Fuck,” he chokes on a whine that sends heat down your spine, . Your wrist is beginning to strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s cute; he’s writhing, his hips seeking the stimulation he was previously avoiding as he moans openly, loudly. His cock is an angry purple, pre pooling on his stomach from where it’s leaking. He looks like he’s close, eyes beginning to roll back when you pull your fingers out, laughing as you ruin his orgasm for the second time.

“Please,” he’s breathless, a betrayed look on his face as his hips rock on nothing, desperate to cum.

“Begging already? We haven’t even gotten started yet!”

You reach over into the plastic bag, pulling out the dildo and harness. You can clearly see the fear on his face this time as he moves to sit up, the fog of pleasure clearing quickly.

“Wait,” panic sets in his voice yet again. If you were him, you would be scared too; the toy is thicker than the two fingers you used, something you chose purposefully. You stand and slip on the harness, ignoring his attempts to reason with you.

“What’s wrong? I thought I didn’t know what I was doing?” you ask innocently, forcing your hips between his legs and drizzling some lube on the toy, warming it up with your palm.

“That’s the fucking problem, you idiot, you don’t,” he seethes, pulling on the restraints again, “It won’t fit, and you’re not sending me to the hospital.”

“Exactly, I won’t send you to the hospital. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you,” you coo, settling between his legs.

“Just let me go,” it’s the first genuine plea you’ve heard from him, the sincerity pulling your attention to his eyes where you see a look you can’t quite place. He looks… afraid? Remorseful? It’s enough to give you pause, equal parts consideration and schadenfreude. You settle for leaning forward and placing an uncharacteristically saccharine kiss on his forehead, your humanity getting the best of you.

“All you have to do is relax, okay?” you whisper, resting the tip of the toy against his entrance. He shuts his eyes in anticipation, resigned to his fate, and you push in gently, watching his hole swallow the silicone. The way Aizawa contorts, back bowed to scoot away from the pressure of the toy is salacious, drawing a moan from deep within your chest. He can’t get far due to the restraints, and he lets out a soft sob at the stretch of the toy, face scrunched tight. You push slowly until you bottom out, your hips pressed firmly against his, grinding in small circles to alleviate your own ache. He exhales shakily, unaware that he was holding his breath.

“See, it’s not so bad right?” you soothe, rubbing your thumb against his hip soothingly. “You should be grateful; I’m so much nicer than you are.”

“Fuck you,” it comes out weaker than intended, his voice strained as he tries to adjust to the girth of the toy. 

You pull out slowly, experimentally, watching his stomach clench from the sensation of silicone caressing his insides. His dick gives an interested twitch, despite his demeanor, and that’s the invitation you need to start moving. It’s a little awkward at first, but your enthusiasm combined with the size of the toy more than makes up for your inexperience. He’s breathless, still uncomfortable, but you can see his body slowly relax as he tries to make sense of the sensations coursing through his body.

“You like this, don’t you?” you dig, eyes transfixed on his face, “Is that why you're so mean to me? You strut around like an asshole, just to hide the fact that you’re just a little bitch?”

You focus on angling your hips, searching for his prostate again, and when you find it, you commit to fucking him. He’s loud, stray tears sliding down his face as his body struggles to comprehend both the pain of the stretch and pleasure of the abuse.

“Fuck, you’re cute like this,” you sigh, “you’re meant for this, aren’t you? Meant to get your ass bred by your Mommy? You’d be so much more tolerable if you were sweet like this all of the time.”

His dick jerks violently but he shakes his head with a weak ‘no’, too lost in the sensation to retort any further. You’re soaked by now, the pressure of the toy on your end combined with the power trip pushing you to the edge. It takes all of your self-control, but you suddenly stop, unwilling to let yourself finish so quickly; there’s still unfinished business here.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” it comes out before you can even really think about it, but the words hang heavily in the air.

“Huh?”

“You’re never nice to me, so if you want me to even consider letting you cum, you better start kissing up.”

He hesitates, but when you shift slightly and the blunt head of the toy rubs against his prostate, he changes his tune very quickly.

“Fuck- you’re cute, ‘s the reason why I’m mean to you. So cute when you’re about to cry-” you give him a particularly hard slap on his ass and he winces, muttering a quick apology.

“You’re pretty even when I’m not fucking you, too,” is all you get, but it’s the first genuine compliment you’ve gotten out of the asshole since you’ve met him, and your heart soars. He’s awful and mean and evil but the simple statement is enough for you.

“I’ll let you cum if you beg for it,” you grunt, rutting your hips enthusiastically. You’re close, but you refuse to finish first. He’s needy, thanks to being edged twice, and he’s unable to resist your promise.

“Please, fuck, please let me cum,” he whimpers, voice wet and eyes watery.

“Please what?”

“Mommy! Fuck, please mommy, just let me cum, it hurts, fuck, please,” he babbles, and it’s enough for you. You wrap your hand around his cock and stroke it firmly, hips speeding up as you chase your own release. It’s quick- he finishes almost embarrassingly fast, and the whorish wail that rips from his throat sends you right over the edge, your vision blurring at the corners as you stay trained on his face, obscene and submissive.

It’s quiet after you stop, both of you catching your breath. You pull out slowly, watching the way his hole flutters and you giggle, your body and ego fully satiated. You look back to his face; he looks more fucked out than you’ve ever seen him, almost like he’s about to fall back asleep.

“Can we call it a truce?” You break the silence, grinning as he cracks open an eye to give you a scalding look.

“Fuck. You.”

[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

[stanislawkowalski]

Nastka hung suspended, caught between the realm of pain and pleasure, as Sloan’s power lashed around him like a storm unleashed. Each collision with the walls, each violent toss, was a symphony of brutality, a cacophony that reverberated through his bones. Yet Nastka’s expression remained a mask of dark delight, his lips curving into a wicked smile that spoke of a perverse satisfaction, an intimacy with the darkness that enveloped him.

The sensation of Sloan’s power, raw and unrestrained, was like a caress of ice and fire against his skin. It tightened around him with a relentless grip, a coil of energy that felt both imprisoning and exhilarating. Nastka revelled in the sensation, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light, a reflection of the storm raging within Sloan. The thrill of resistance, the taste of primal fury—it was a dance he had longed for, a game he delighted in.

“There it is…” Nastka’s voice, though strained, slid through the tempest like velvet, dark and sultry. “The hesitation, the reluctance… You’ve already begun, Sloan. The moment you questioned, the moment you pushed back, you stepped into the hunt.”

As Nastka’s body was tossed about, he felt the rush of it all—the wild, untamed force that Sloan wielded with a newfound intensity. The pain was a distant echo compared to the pleasure of watching Sloan’s inner beast emerge, the beast that had been held captive beneath layers of discipline and restraint. Nastka’s eyes followed Sloan’s every move, a predator delighting in the sight of its prey unmasked.

The pressure around his chest was a vice of exquisite torment, but Nastka’s smile only deepened, dark and knowing. His gaze, unyielding and intense, bore into Sloan’s with an unsettling familiarity, a challenge wrapped in cruel fascination. His voice, though barely more than a whisper, was a seductive murmur that seemed to caress the edges of Sloan’s turmoil.

“There’s no need for a point, Sloan,” he continued, his voice like a phantom’s whisper in the storm. “The point is that there isn’t one. The point is to see what happens when the leash is tested—when you’re given the chance to do something… irrational. To see if the beast beneath the training can still feel, still want.”

Nastka straightened slightly, his eyes locked with Sloan’s, the predatory gleam in them a relentless force. The storm of power around him was a reflection of the storm within, each swirl and twist a testament to the darkness that Sloan had allowed to surface. Nastka’s voice was a dark caress, a whisper of temptation that wrapped around Sloan like a lover’s embrace.

“You’ve already started, moja laleczko,” he repeated, his words a shadowy seduction. “But if you’re unsure how to proceed… let me help.”

A pause, heavy with the weight of unspoken promises, stretched between them. Nastka’s gaze was unflinching, his eyes narrowing with a mix of challenge and invitation. His next words were a breathless murmur, a suggestion that was both dark and tantalising.

“Start by imagining what it would feel like to hurt me,” he said, his tone barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of command. “Let the thought linger. Let it grow. Think of how satisfying it would be to break free, to sink your teeth into the hand that holds the leash. Let that darkness simmer inside you, until it’s too much to contain.”

As Nastka took a step back, his body remained caught in the grip of Sloan’s power, a puppet on invisible strings. The air between them was thick with the weight of his challenge, the promise of what might come. Nastka’s smile, cruel and knowing, was a reflection of his twisted pleasure in this game, a game that had only just begun.

“So tell me, moja laleczko… will you kill me? Or will you learn to control the beast you’ve set free?”

The silence that followed was pregnant with possibilities, each moment a delicate dance between control and chaos. Nastka waited, his eyes burning with dark curiosity, eager to see how Sloan would navigate the storm he had so artfully conjured.

There needn’t be a point , he tells it and that only makes things far more c o m p l i c a t e d to rationalize , to understand.  Sloan scowls at his nonchalance ( something it has come to find rather commonplace with him , the way he thinks to handle pressing complexities with an air of practiced ease which makes it twitchy ) , torn between respect and retaliation.  His offer continues to loom between them , propagated by the way he taunts its proximity , upsetting its composure even further and mocking its trained resilience with a cloying , almost coquettish tone as if f l i r t i n g , as if making to t e m p t forth the dormant beast laid beneath the veneer of its obedience.

Likely a TEST , Sloan realizes.  Yet unlike the ones from former masters , Nastka’s is just as he says : to see if it can still seize control , to see if there be more to it than another mindlessly loyal hound heeding the hand whom holds its leash.  Never , not once , has any afore granted Sloan such a chance ( perhaps for good reason ) .  Yet even with the proverbial path laid open , with opportunity ripe for the taking , still Sloan h e s i t a t e s .  Wary , it wonders ( rightfully ) if there could be an unspoken loophole to such an arrangement , a reprimand awaiting around the bend should it push too far and too hard.

But perhaps , just maybe , it can take the bait for FREEDOM .  If only the once.

Sloan watches the man for a moment longer , the silence between them tense and heavy.  At last it begins to move , motions slow and precise , deft fingers plucking off its tinted glasses and folding them into the collar of its pressed shirt.  With that , its hands tuck behind , folded and still , posture right and rigid.  ❝ Yessir , ❞  Force of habit , ❝ You’re right.  I just hope … The lesson’s worth learning at all. ❞

Visualizing a master all mangled and maimed is EASY , it is the acting upon such desires which is DIFFICULT .  Sloan struggles , internally , to dissociate from its training and to simply d o without restriction nor inhibition.  Some part of them is surprised that it’s so h a r d .  But then , the air pressure increases , punctured by a piercing shrill as power activates and seizes down upon Nastka’s shape ; like hands , almost , clawed grip taking hold of his energy and beginning to PULL & TEAR , hoisting him up and flinging him about , beating him into wall and floor like weightless little d o l l ( like a starving dog with a meaty bone ) .

Breathing turns ragged , eyes agleam.  No command comes save for the one it has impressed into itself , just in case : YIELD .  So it does , suspending master’s body midair in a constriction of powered pressure , crushing and vice-like but not enough to BREAK .  Not yet , anyways.  It awaits an o r d e r .

[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?

[whumpeeblog]

TW: Slavery, Torture Mention, Death Mention, Pain, etc.

K, away on a decently long journey with A, chose to let N look after his estate and slaves for a period.

S shivered in her cell, sore from a recent beating. The vase had crashed with a menacing promise of punishment. But it had been an accident. Not only had the whip sliced her back, but the blades of knives and the threatening chokes of torture had harmed her feeble body. Weakened from the pain, S’s brain played pranks of mirages and lethargic daydreams.

Footsteps outside her cell. No. Please no. She had been certain that K was on a journey and she just wanted to be left to suffer alone. Perhaps it was a trick and now he would torture her again. Jingling keys toyed with the brass lock, and flickering light, too bright compared to the heavy darkness, crept into the cell.

K had instructed N, a close friend and distant relative, as to what each individual slave and prisoner would get for meals and work, as well as for torture. Burning hatred of cruelty towards any living creature stabbed at his heart. K had demanded the torture and work of the wretch in this cell, however, and he had to follow orders.

K had assumed S was too mangled to be recognized, and she knew the rules of speaking out of turn. N would never know it was her. He hadn’t seen her in nearly three years, and her rebellious spirit ran much more wild then.

Soft light dripped onto the figure shaking like a leaf in the corner of her cell. She was unrecognizable to him, just another slave. K had destroyed her, breaking her into something she was never meant to be.

N stepped into the cell, keys ringing in his fingers and a lit torch in the other. He set the flaming stick into a holder in the wall, then took another step. With each thump of his leather boots against the floor, the pain filled whimpers and sobs of the captive grew more desperate.

N crouched closer, and the girl sunk herself further into the wall, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

Hardly a face, covered in bruises and crimson gashes, hung towards the floor. A mangled, broken body melted its way into the stone walls behind it. Muffled wails quietly rung in the dungeon.

N knelt towards the girl, preparing to lift her off of the floor. As his lean figure came nearer, S’s whimpers became more and more horrified.

S’s heart ached to scream for mercy, but there were punishments for that. She remained as silent as possible while failing to hide her trembling tears.

N’s kind heart stung for the child on the floor, her form crushed and shattered by her master. The last thing N wished was to hurt this poor creature, and the last thing she wanted was for him to touch her.

Gentle fingers softly caressed the abused face, feeling the pale skin shiver in fear beneath them.

“Look at me,” N whispered. Something about this prisoner was familiar.

S’s ivy eyes rose hesitantly, but the moment they struck N, his own eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Those eyes were familiar. He had seen the tortured face many times before, but... it wasn’t possible. K had murdered her years ago. She had been tortured, then her head cut off, or at least, that’s what everyone had been led to believe. Couldn’t be. She was dead.

Dew drops clung to the long lashes that framed the eyes staring into his soul.

“S?”

The syllables startled the wretch and she grimaced and pinned herself even harder against the wall. All she wished was to hide away, to be ignored.

N’s soul broke with the realization that she didn’t remember him just yet. This had to be her, and he couldn’t hurt her, no matter what K threatened.

“Child, I’m not going to hurt you.” N cautiously brushed through her matted hair with his fingers in an attempt to gain trust.

S gradually recognized the man. N. The last time she had seen him failed to reappear in her mind. Perhaps he had changed. Surely this was a trap. Either way, K would return and N would give him a report on her, so she best remember her place.

Chains rattled as N removed the rusty collar tethering S to the wall. The chains connecting her ankles dropped. Tears fell throughout the entire process and she internally begged N not to hurt her.

She must obey him, and prove that she was a good slave, to avoid more pain. He couldn’t possibly be the same N who saved her life five years ago, or the same man who convinced D not to hurt her countless times.

A soft jolt singed S’s cut covered body, and whines escaped her as N lifted her body into his arms. Even his soft skin sent agonizing torment through her when he touched any of her wounds.

“Shh..” N cooed, almost fooling the girl with his gentle tone and soft eyes.

Whatever he was going to do to her, it would end in pain. He was just like K now, S was sure of it. K had been soft with her at times too, but he always seemed to run back to the realization of what a lowly wretch she was. She deserved the pain. She would beg for punishment, then perhaps N would tell K what a good prisoner she had been.

Although N attempted his best to lightly carry the girl, each step threw painful pressure on S’s injuries. She groaned. Groans transformed into sobs.

N couldn’t handle seeing the child in such torment. He set her down against a wall, then used his knowledge of the human body to provoke a pressure point, sending S into unconsciousness.

Unfamiliar sheets burned against bloodied skin as S shifted in her ending sleep. Eyes flushed open in shock. Green pupils stared into the crinkling brown ones above her, almost immediately shifting back down.

Oh god I made eye contact. I should ask for punishment. If I do, he won’t tell K and he’ll know I didn’t mean to. But if I talk, he’ll punish me.

The grieving child flinched in preparation for the sting that never came. Her skin jolted when tender fingers dragged themselves through her damp- wait damp?

Puzzled, S’s hand shakily lifted to slip through her slick roots. Had he- bathed her? Surely he must know she didn’t deserve such generosity. The sore wounds had been wrapped and cleansed as well. This tactic was familiar to her. He would show her mock kindness, healing her wounds, only to torture her again when her body was strong enough.

What if K hadn’t actually left, and he had simply sold her? This was a different castle after all... actually... she knew this place. D’s castle. These walls had distanced themselves for three years. And now she was back. The memory of her first visit haunted her. Her body flung to the floor. Her defiant screams of fear and pain. Before K broke her. Before she became what she was meant to be.

N’s words interrupted her thoughts.

“How are we feeling, lass?”

“Better, Master. Thank you. I don’t deserve your kindness.” The raspy voice barely croaked.

His tone tricked S into almost believing he wasn’t angry for the unwanted eye contact. Surely she wouldn’t remain unpunished.

“Dinna think ye were still alive after all these years. K w’d have us believe he’d tortured ya and killed ye. I can see he’s had his fair share of fun wit ya, hasn’t he?”

N’s velvet voice calmed S and she nodded, a saltwater drop searing a gash on her cheek. N’s hand drove towards her face, and his thumb wiped her tears as his palm cupped her trembling cheek.

“Hush, darling.”

“I’m sorry, Master. Forgive me. It’s not my place to cry.”

“No, no, you’re alright,” N cooed.

“I should be punished, sir. Please. I shouldn’t have cried before and I shouldn’t now. Please discipline me and teach me my place,” S’s whines for authority grew frantic. She had to be taught. If she wasn’t, she would forget what she was. They would have to break her all over again.

“No, love. Hush now.”

N grappled a chilly wet cloth. Frosty shudders danced through S when N dabbed her forehead with the rag. Her voice broke into a moaning tremor. All she wanted was to be punished. Sparing the pain now would create more torture later. Disdain blended with agony laced her high pitched whimpers when N’s soft hand guided the cloth against her face.

“I’ll make us supper. What’d ya like, lass?”

Utter confusion clogged S’s brain. He couldn’t have just asked her that. It must be a trap. She wasn’t allowed to eat unless specifically ordered to, hence the ribs that popped out with every intake of breath. She was merely a skeleton, hidden beneath a paper thin blanket of marred skin. S’s stomach was only given barely enough sustenance to pump her heart for a bit longer each day.

The few times that she had attempted to sneak food, S had been punished mercilessly, then given the opportunity to eat as a test of obedience. This must be another quiz of compliance. Although the punches of starvation beat her insides, S understood that the pain resulting from gluttony would be much worse.

Her new master’s patient gaze saturated her with concern.

“What do you want to eat, girl?”

“I’m ok, Master. I don’t eat a lot.”

That’s it. Perhaps he was testing her to see how much she required to continue breathing. If she showed she didn’t eat a lot or need much to survive, he would let her live. If she didn’t take much from him, he would keep her alive and let her serve him.

N stared through her pale body sorrowfully, a pang of guilt and pity trampling him like the wheels of a speeding train. The poor child. Someone had to help her. What had K done to her? What had become of his little lass? Where was the defiant young child who would have fought tirelessly for her innocent life? Was she dead, or was she simply hiding behind a submissive mask of the years of torture she had been subjected to? Patience for K was thinning. S belonged to him though. There was nothing to be done except show mercy to the captive while she was under his care.

K had ordered her torture when she was healed enough. N refused. Even if he did antagonize her, who knew how long her frail body could handle it?

“Come along, lass,” N softly demanded, whispering so as not to startle the girl. He gently settled his arm around S’s back, and she whimpered when his skin brushed against her freshly bandaged tissue. His strength assisted in hoisting her body upright, then he placed out both of his arms for S to use as leverage.

The hint wasn’t immediately taken.

“Place your hands on my forearms.”

Finally, an instruction. S’s sliced wrists snaked onto N’s tan arms, and with a groan, she lifted herself to stand.

“Go wait in the kitchen for me.”

S lowered her head and obeyed the order, limping out the door and down the halls. As she leaned against the walls for support, her delirious brain began to recognize the place. She had not seen these walls in forever, but they remained the same as they were two years ago. Her suffering body hobbled past K’s old suite, as well as D’s, and the years of torment came thrashing back. Pushing the tears in her mind aside, S slowly tripped down the stairs and into the main kitchen. The layout was similar, if not almost identical, to the entertainment, living, and kitchen area of K’s home.

Rather than hop towards the fridge and pick out a meal, S launched herself to her knees, and waited, head down and body prepared for any punishment or mere entertainment N wanted. The impending footsteps thumped down the staircase.

“What’re ye doing?” N’s bewilderment intertwined into his tone. “Git yerself up off da floor.”

S clamored to stand as tall as her crackling spine would allow her, but a slight slump in her body bent her like a weathered tree. Her right hand crossed in front of her to grasp her left wrist, a sign of submission and preparedness to be bound, if her master saw fit. Her head sank. She was do careful not to look her superiors in the eye. If she proved she was a good slave, maybe N would let her live, or at least make her death quick and painless.

Whether N’s intentions were to execute or torture S hid themselves. She had skimmed kindness and humaneness in his amber gaze, but she had witnessed the same thing from K before. He had shown her leniency many times, and she had even seen a tear shed once or twice, but he always ended up afflicting her again. She couldn’t trust those eyes, regardless of how promising and honest they seemed. Proving her worth would save her life, so she thought. She was a terrible slave. A wretch. An enemy who had been shown mercy. She deserved whatever awaited her in the dungeons; whatever waited behind N’s reassuring hand.

[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.

[laurore-stormwitch]

we will fight for you -  part one

Post KoS: a fight ensues between Nikolai and Zoya after weeks of tension. The one person I could see helping in this is of course our beloved Genya. Second part is how I imagine the interaction between Nikolai and Genya going down. Thinkin of adding a third part displaying Zoya and Nikolai confrontation. Please note this is my first fan-fiction ever (so yeah slightly terrified about this). And also English is not my first language, so every advice counts!! I'd really appreaciate every feedback you'd wanna give. KoS has a special place in my heart. I'm just hoping to ease the anxiety until RoW comes out!

It’s also posted in full in AO3: we will fight for you

 “Your Highness”

He was absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the table. The voice came from far away, meddling in the storm of thoughts that was plaguing his mind.

“Nikolai, is everything okay?”

The voice was sharper now, more urgent and the tone slightly higher. He blinked twice, realizing he was looking at Zoya, her eyes trained on the maps scattered on the table, her hands scribbling something on a piece of paper. Someone cleared their throat from his right. He shook his head and turned to the sound, finding Genya staring at him with a severe expression. She was the one who was trying to catch his attention.

“Yes Genya, I’m sorry. I guess these war meetings are getting to me. What were you saying?” He pinched his nose with two fingers, catching back his confident attire. He hoped the others would just believe he was exhausted. Which, to be fair, he was. But there was something else rendering his nights sleepless.  

“What are we going do with the Inferni stationed at the Fjerdan border?”

Genya asked, sorting through the coded letters they got from Ravkan spies. Nikolai’s eyes turned traitor again, slipping toward his general. She was standing straight at the other side of the room, her spine like steel, as silent as she had been for the past weeks since the Fold. Her look was focused, directed everywhere and to everyone but him.

It was driving him crazy.

They’ve been going on like this for weeks: the brilliant, smart, too-clever fox Nikolai Lantsov was clueless as to why she was acting in such an irritating way around him. Or what to do about this. It hadn’t been clear, at first, or maybe he was just too distracted to grasp the severity of the situation. Since they’ve been back from the Fold, she had been unusually nervous around him, snapping at every remark, staying away from him as if his touch was electrifying, avoiding the moments of peace they were used to sharing. Then she had begun to slowly put some distance between them: she had started finding excuses not to be alone with him too long; whenever he searched her out to have her opinion on something, she somehow slipped away. Or she would give him her thoughts, politely, without their usual banter or inside jokes, and then close him off. She wasn’t exactly ignoring him: it was as if they were just a King and his General, keeping their relationship affection-less and professional.  

He had the distinct sensation she was trying to sever the bond they shared, forget the intimacy they had. After a while he had started to feel her drifting away from him, growing more distant by the day, putting up the same walls she had before the Fold.

And she wasn’t looking at him. Not really looking at him.  Not once in the past two weeks.

He had tried everything. To provoke her, to catch her off guard, to get her stuck in meetings with him. Well, to be honest he had tried everything except talking to her. He had been steering away from a direct confrontation too. Was he afraid of what she might say? Of losing for good whatever they had found in the Fold, whatever spark of something he felt flickering between them? Or maybe finding out that the spark was all his doing? Her feelings were carefully hidden behind her armour, as usual. Was she running from them, distancing herself from him, or did they never exist in the first place? Maybe he was alone in this. The shadow of those feelings tormented his nights: loneliness, longing, despair at what he was losing. At the fact that he didn’t know how to stop this loss from happening. Realizing that maybe he wanted her, and maybe she didn’t, not in the same way. And that even if she did, there was a whole country standing in the way. Was the great Son of Ravka a coward? Too much was happening. He felt like he was losing his mind, his feelings screaming at him, tearing him up from the inside. The war, Ravka, the marriage, his duty, his wretched heart. He didn’t have a clue on how to face this. On how to face her.

And he missed her terribly. He was aching at not having her near on those long nights by the fire. He searched for her look, for a nod of her head, for the touch of her hand. He missed his general, the one who kept him marching, who steadied him, his strength and his friend. He also knew that those weren’t the only things he was missing: that the warmth in his heart and the crushing pain he felt whenever she was near was not at all the longing you felt for a friend.

He was angry. At himself, for what he was being forced to do, for running away from this. At her, for not giving him the chance to explain, for being so stubborn and ruthless in her behaviour.

“That’s a question for General Nazyalensky, if she’d be so nice to answer.”

His tone was sharper than he intended. His expression remained calm, unreadable, but the frustration in his voice was clear enough. He looked at her. She sat back on her chair, waving a hand lazily through her hair, taking her time. This was bound to kill him. How could she be so arrogant? She held her chin high, moving her eyes for a split second to him, and then to the windows and the sky beyond.

“You didn’t seem to agree with the course I suggested. So, I guess we’re stuck with your decision after all, Your Highness.”

She indulged while using his title, in a mocking tone. He knew they didn’t agree much on using so many Grisha spies on the border, and he knew she was frustrated too from being held behind the palace doors and not on the field with her soldiers. But they still needed to choose a course of action. He tried to maintain the grip on his emotions.

“You’re in charge of the Second Army soldiers. We need your opinion on this.”

“I gave you my opinion on this on the last meeting. I was under the impression you ignored it. Too busy trying to charm the princess into submission to actually discuss war’s strategies with you generals?”

That was a low blow. Especially considered the ruthlessness of her tone, sarcastic and gutting as a blade, and her eyes still refusing to meet his gaze. He knew she was just trying to test his patience: she had no problem holding a look while tearing someone down with her words, she never had a problem holding his look. She was purposely ignoring him, as if he was a commoner disturbing her quiet. Nikolai’s patience had been too strained, and the reference to Ehri was too much to take: it was not like he was too caught up on having fun to take care of his army. And it was not like charming Ehri was a task he took happily.  He coud’ve ignored her snarky remark. He would have done it, if the situation was different. But all the anger built up in the last weeks, all the pain and confusion slipped its leash and his temper was lost before he could assess how to properly react. He slammed his hands on the table, standing up straight, his hazel eyes darkening, lit up by fire.

“For Saints sake Zoya, look at me!”

There was a slight tremble in his voice, but he managed to keep it low, which was even more dangerous. The air in the room froze instantly. The fact that he also used her first name didn’t go unnoticed. Genya looked worried, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. Tamar and Tolya were avoiding his eyes, their heads awkwardly trained on the floor. David cleared his throat a little. Everyone seemed to sit back and drew away from the table, leaving a clear path from Zoya to Nikolai.

She took a deep breath in, getting up and turning to face him at last. She had the decency to appear startled for a couple of seconds, at least. It wasn’t common to see Nikolai lose his composure like this.

But of course, Zoya was Zoya after all: she kept a fiery look, not willing to give up her icy demeanour or to let any emotion through. Her eyes slitted silver for a moment, then they turned deep blue again, shining with rage at her prickled pride. A cold breeze made the table tremble. The room was crackling with electricity. Time seemed to slow down, everyone waiting for something to happen. Possibly for Zoya to strangle her King.

At least if she kills me, I’ll get a reaction from her, thought sourly Nikolai.

“What is it? You can’t decide on your own? Do you need me to coddle you?” Her words were meant to hurt him, and they found their mark. Nikolai felt his throat burning. He might have been already regretting his reaction, but he was not going to back up now. If this is the game she wanted to play, she surely had found a worthy contestant.

“Maybe I need a General who will listen and aide his King instead of disrespecting him. And who’s able to go through a war without her pride clouding her judgment.”

She lost her balance a little, struck at the words, taking a step back. Her voice when she spoke was slightly trembling too, now.

“I’ve done nothing but listen and aide my King. Nothing but be at your service. Maybe that’s where I was wrong.” He felt a wave of remorse and renewed anger. He wanted to hold her close to his heart and tell her everything was going to be okay. He wanted to hurt her like she hurt him. A new mask slipped on him.

“Do not make the mistake to think you can act like this and still be irreplaceable. I need soldiers, and if you’re not able to be one, you can walk through that door.”

He squared his shoulders, holding her gaze. His tone was cold, every word calculated and spoken like a ruler. That was Nikolai The King. That was someone he usually wasn’t around her, a persona he didn’t care to use with his friends. He heard the air crackle again around them, felt a freezing unforgiving wind rise against him. She had her fists clenched at her sides; utter shock written on her face. The dragon was clearly rumbling inside her, and for a second it looked like she was considering burning Nikolai alive. Even now, her deep blue gaze filled with rage, her silk black hair hovering around her, he managed to think of how insanely beautiful she was, and that he would have probably marched happily to his execution. The others had fallen silent, perfectly still, not knowing how to interfere with this. Genya leaned forward in a hesitant way, seemingly wanting to do or say something to release the tension. But she didn’t have the time to follow through: Zoya eventually hissed another breath in, unclenching her fists. The wind ceased to flow; she regained her posture, ruthless as ever. He didn’t really know what to expect: maybe her screaming at him, maybe being hit with a lightning. He didn’t expect the storm to stop; she cast him a pained look that tore his heart in two. Without saying so much as a word, she turned her back on him, leaving the room and slamming the door shut. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply.

“The meeting is dismissed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t know how he managed to keep a steady voice. The anger was all gone, replaced by a searing pain in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He remembered Zoya stealing the air from her opponents’ lungs; maybe that’s how they felt. He watched as the others all silently got out, without daring to say anything. Genya turned to him with a weary expression, but eventually slipped away without speaking. He watched the door close behind them, with the heavy feeling that all the light in the world had been sucked out and he was left alone, in darkness.