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kayecorral · 3 years

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Freight Car

Chapter One of the Brown Book Series

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence, PTSD (!), swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Summary: Nine years ago, The Winter Soldier murdered your friend in front of you. Nine years later, Bucky Barnes shows up at your door with the hope of making amends.

⭑⭑⭑

⭑⭑

⭑

You wake up on the floor again.

In the crossfade between dreaming to waking, the hardwood is concrete against your cheek. The sweat in your hair is the slick of blood. You fade in and out, and awareness comes back slowly. A siren descends, moving closer and closer, then recedes into the quiet. You don’t know if you imagined it.

You do know that your alarm isn’t blaring. Your ringtone isn’t sounding. The birds chattering and chirping at your window are real. The steady knocking of your heart against your ribs is real. Maybe that’s enough.

You open your eyes. A sliver of light from the parted curtains cuts across the floor. Above it, dust dances in the still air. All is calm. If you had woken up in your bed, this would be a good morning.

But you didn’t wake up in your bed. So, you peel yourself off the floor and half-walk, half-limp to the bathroom. As you cross the threshold and flick on the light, a face flashes before you. Before your mind can work to discern its features, you slam the door shut and flip the switch. You cry in the dark.

⭑⭑⭑

You call into work again.

You’re tempted to stay where you are—curled in on yourself under the covers—but Dr. Kaplan’s gentle voice prods from inside your skull. “Trauma changes over time,” it says. “You have to face it as it comes. You’ll feel worse if you put off dealing with it.”

She picks up on the second ring. Judging by the sound of clinking silverware, she’s on her lunch break. You promise to keep this impromptu session short.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. That’s why it hit me so hard, I think.” You begin. Your eyes fill with tears. You don’t know why. The nightmare is so distant now — just bits of feeling. Your brain is scrubbing away the memory like a mounted defense.

You’re quiet for what feels like minutes, and Dr. Kaplan just waits. She doesn’t pose a question or make a suggestion: in other words, she doesn’t offer an out. She never does. At first, her silence and seemingly unending patience unnerved you. You would later understand the value of having the space to organize your thoughts before speaking them.

“I thought I was doing better,” you eventually say. “But now, it’s like I’m back where I started.”

“You are not back where you started,” she says. “We haven’t talked about your night terrors in months when we used to talk about them every session. That’s incredible progress. You should be proud of how far you’ve come.”

You hold the phone away so she can’t hear the tears in your voice. “But what does it mean? ”

“Well,” she pauses. “Have you been thinking about Jean lately?”

“Kind of,” you start to say, then remember Dr. Kaplan’s rule about specifics. “I’ve probably thought about her… twice in the past week. Marie, she, uh, she sent me a Facebook request.”

“Did you accept it?” She asks, with just a hint of amusement.

“I haven’t. I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?” Dr. Kaplan asks. She knows the answer, of course. You haven’t spoken to Marie since the funeral nearly a decade ago. You know she resents you. You saw it in the tightness of her smiles and the way her eyes turned to stone as you stood before Jean’s casket. You’re alive and her sister isn’t. You understand that. What you don’t understand is why she would reach out to you after so many years.

“I’m afraid of what she’ll say,” you admit.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Dr. Kaplan says. You shift on the couch. “She knows that. Maybe she’s been thinking about Jean, too.”

“Yeah,” you respond simply. Your head is light from dehydration, and you should probably take a nap at some point.

“I’d recommend you take easy today…”

“But?”

“But next week, I’d like to hear about your Facebook convo.”

You smile. The tears have dried on your face.

⭑⭑⭑

Snippets of dialogue filter through your thoughts. A woman is talking about a missing child, and a detective is asking the “who, what, where”s. It’s an episode you’ve already seen, but it makes for good background noise: the dramatic stings, the fast-talking, the screech of tires as the driver peels off. You don’t know why you gravitate towards crime shows. It might be a bit morbid, but until now, you’ve never thought to mention it to Dr. Kaplan.

You’re almost done with the cake batter. It’s looking a little watery, though. You really should have followed the recipe instead of improvising.

You reach for the flour bag on the counter, and just as you raise it to the mixing bowl, someone knocks at your door. You jolt and the bag slips from your hands. You narrowly dodge as it plummets to the ground. It lands with a thump and now, your feet and pants and floor are covered in a film of white powder.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

There’s another knock, a bit louder this time.

“Give me — give me just a minute!” You call out, voice frayed.

You step over your mess and towards the door. You notice how slick your hand is on the doorknob, so you wipe your hands on your pants and try again. You forget your ritual of checking and re-checking the peephole. You unlock the door, already anxious at the idea of keeping anyone waiting.

When you finally swing the door open, a tall, dark-haired white guy is staring at the carpeted hallway floor. He’s not looking at you, but you feel exposed in your flimsy tank top and flour-splattered pajama pants.

Meanwhile, his look is carefully nondescript: a leather jacket, a dark shirt, and jeans. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looks like someone who doesn’t want to be seen, but here he is, standing at your door.

Maybe he’s just a neighbor on a reluctant mission to convince you to turn your volume down. Maybe he’s a dealer at the wrong address. Maybe he —

Your stomach drops. The shadows had been obscuring his face, but now that he’s tilting his chin up to look at you… the broadness of his forehead, the color of his hair, his height, all these things pull together. They pull tighter and tighter around your heart, and you realize that you’ve seen this man before. You’ve seen him a thousand times.

Your hand flies up to your neck. Fear hits like a punch to your gut. He looks normal — so normal that you could convince yourself that it’s not him. It’s not him.

But now, his eyes — a startling shade of blue— meet yours. Cold washes over you as every sensation in your body amplifies. You feel small and weak. Your vision starts trembling at the edges. You can’t move — not even to release your breath.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. His voice sounds so different from the one in your memories. It’s not as coarse and low, it’s gentler and higher-pitched. “I just wanna talk.”

“Talk.” The word escapes you, but you hadn’t meant to speak. Hearing your own voice makes this real.

He clears his throat. “My name is James Barnes, and I’m no longer The Winter Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier. You suppose it doesn’t matter now what that means. If these are your last moments, you’re not going to spend them deciphering code. Instead, you think of your life and all the things you’ve done and all that you haven’t done. In the span of moments, you try to make peace with your death.

“If you’re going to kill me...” you can’t keep your voice from shaking, “do it.”

His eyes widen. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m — ”

“Hydra wants to know what I know. Is that it?” Your mind reels with the new theory.

His eyebrows tick up. “Hydra doesn’t exist anymore,” he says with a measured tone. “Not really.”

You don’t know how to respond to that divulgence. You don’t even know if you can trust it.

“I’m here because you,” he adds your name — your real name, “are part of my efforts to make amends.”

Your thoughts catch on how he knows your name. It’s a small thing, really. He knows where you live, after all.

“I know you’re confused, and I know you have questions.” He reaches up to scratch his neck. “And if you’re not, ah...” he glances from your face to your body, as if he were just now noticing your state of dress, “comfortable talking here, we can talk somewhere public. I guess what I’m asking is: can I buy you lunch or, uh, dinner? ”

You consider, seriously, that this man may be clinically insane. You have no other rational explanation for his showing up at your door on a Thursday afternoon, let alone his proposition. But you allow yourself to imagine it: you and him, sitting across a table with Jean’s ghost between and behind you. Your stomach turns at the thought.

“You murdered my friend,” you say slowly, “right in front of me.”

He nods. A pained look crosses his face, and that expression spurs your anger. It hadn’t occurred to you earlier that you should call the police. This man is a murderer, and he’s walking free.

“You shouldn’t even be here — you should be in a prison somewhere!” You choke out as your throat tightens with impending tears.

“I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill her!” He says forcefully. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I — ”

“But you did kill her!” You can’t hold them back anymore, and now, you’re crying in front of the man who killed Jean. Humiliation heats your cheeks.

“You did kill her,” you repeat quietly. You turn your watery gaze away.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He says.

In your peripheral, you watch him step closer. When you flinch, he bobs back.

You should step back, shut the door, and call the police. Not that a slab of wood could stop him if he wanted to get to you. You’ve seen his silver arm. You’ve felt the grip of its fingers at the base of your neck. But, maybe you could manage a dial ‘9-1-1’ before —

“Look, I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he interrupts your line of thought and, against your will, you look at him again, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I do want to offer you answers. Maybe it can…” He waves his hand as he searches for what he thinks are the right words. “Maybe it can give you some closure. And then, you’ll never see me again.”

You consider the furrow of his eyebrows. Over the years, you’ve tried reconstructing his face from its missing half. Now that you have the full picture, it makes perfect sense: the upper edges of the mask aligned with the cut of his cheekbones, the thin bridge really did conform to his nose, and the wideness of his jaw was merely accentuated. But his features are such a striking contrast to the severity of that mask and that metal arm. He looks so much leaner than you remember. He looks like a man, not a machine.

“Stay here,” you say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He nods and his brow softens. You shut the door and press your forehead against it.

After a few beats, you rest your hand on the base of your neck and suck in a few deep breaths. It’s a calming technique Dr. Kaplan taught you. But without meaning to, you flex your fingers. Just as your heart was beginning to slow, you’re pulled into the memory of him raising you by the throat. You gasp for air.

That man is behind this door. That man is behind this door.

You race around the couch to snatch your phone off the coffee table. You unlock it with shaking hands and now, your thumb hovers over the number pad.

“Fuck,” you whisper as you press ‘9’.

It’s true. You do want answers. You want to know why he killed her. You want to know about Hydra and his role in it. You want to know why he left you alive.

So you’ll get your answers, then call the cops.

You pull on some real pants and cover up with a sweatshirt. But at the door, you hesitate to step out again. If you’ve imagined that whole encounter, if it was some vivid manifestation of your survivor’s guilt, then you wouldn’t have to go.

You press your ear against the door, and, as if your doubts had broadcasted through the wood, he coughs. You sigh and grab the doorknob. Your hand isn’t sweaty this time.

At the sound of the hinges creaking, his gaze snaps to you. You meet his eyes without meaning to. There’s no recognizable emotion in them. The creases in his forehead and the furrow in his brow are gone. Now, his face gives nothing away.

“There’s a place about two blocks from here,” you say simply.

He nods and looks to you as if for direction. If he were anyone else, you would start heading for the elevator without further ado, but the thought of Jean’s killer trailing behind you makes your stomach flip.

“I’d prefer you walk ahead,” you utter. His eyebrows raise slightly, but he gives no other visible reaction.

“Alright,” he says.

He moves down the hallway, and you follow. Your eyes stay trained on his back. Aside from your occasional direction, it’s a silent walk.

⭑⭑⭑

Sully’s is a dive, but it’s always busy, and this evening is no exception. The people who frequent this place are the kind of people who get loud after a few drinks and don’t give two shits about you unless you’re bleeding out on the floor. That’s perfect. God forbid anyone overhears your questions about murder and secret organizations.

“You want anything?” He asks after you choose a corner booth and tuck in. His casual tone bothers you, but he keeps his distance, at the very least.

“No,” you deadpan.

He nods and starts for the bar. A few people graze him as he passes, and it’s so crowded that you’ve already lost sight of him.

You place your phone face-up on the sticky, varnished wood table. Absentmindedly, you nudge the pedal base with your foot. You try to hone in on any particular voice, but all you hear is a buzz of conversation. It’s a comfort. It means that you’re not alone and he can’t hurt you here.

“I know you didn’t ask for anything, but…” Fuck. Your knee knocks on the bottom of the table. His voice is so sudden at your side.

He places a water glass in front of you, and you stop yourself before you can say “thanks”. He drops into the chair in front of you, a beer bottle tucked between his gloved palms. Gloves. He’s wearing gloves. You hadn’t noticed until now.

There’s an awkward pause. He watches you intently. Your stomach is churning, but you steadily meet his gaze. You have so many questions. Some of the things he’s said don’t make sense. One thing, in particular, though, is nagging at you.

“Back there, you said you didn’t have a choice,” you say dubiously, “what did you mean?”

He takes a drag of beer and sets the bottle down carefully before he speaks. “They brainwashed me.” He replies bluntly. “Hydra, I mean.”

Brainwashing? It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Aliens exist, as do superheroes and Norse gods and Mad Titans. What was once science-fiction is now very real and devastating.

He gives you a few beats to process, then continues. “For seventy years, I operated as The Winter Soldier.”

“Wait. Seventy years?”

“I just turned 106 in March,” he says with a sardonic smile.

“How is that possible?”

“I was on ice.” He sighs. “They only took me out when they needed me.”

“And Hydra… what happened to them?”

His jaw tightens. It’s the most reaction you’ve gotten so far. “They used to have this saying: cut off one head, two more take its place… Maybe they’ll come back, but right now, they’re gone.”

“So they aren’t after me,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

“If Hydra wanted you out of the way, they wouldn’t’ve sent me.” He grimaces, even as his voice mocks a shrug.

You get it now: you’re not a threat, and you never were.

“But I was a loose end, wasn’t I? Why didn’t you kill me?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he finishes off his bottle and shifts his gaze to the table.

After a minute or two, you consider moving on, but something about his expression, both vacant and pensive, implores you to wait. In the interim, you glance from the people knocking shoulders at the bar to the couple in front of you.

“It was that look on your face,” he says, and you find his gaze is fixed on you again. “It was rage. And grief. And that-that grief almost overtook everything else, but I saw it.” He leans towards you, his eyebrows knitting close. “That part of you that… that part of you that wanted me to kill you, too.”

He glances at his hand on the table and releases a shaky breath. “I understood that,” he says. “I know what it’s like.”

Like a clenched fist releasing, the tightness in your chest eases. You understand something else, now, too. This is meant to be an exchange. He wants answers as much as you do, no matter how much pain they carry.

“Do you wanna know what I saw? On your face?” You ask after a few beats. He hesitantly nods. “Nothing. There was nothing,” you say. “You didn’t even look human. It was like you were an animal. And you were looking at me like I was prey.”

You look away. The intensity of his eyes threatens to pull you into that memory. “I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life.”

“I’m so sorry,” you hear him say.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you say quietly, chancing a glance up.

His face twists into something like shame. If he were a different person, you might try to comfort him. But he’s not a different person. He’s a stranger wearing the face that’s haunted you for nine years.

“So why now?”

“Well, I was…” He mimics a snap with his right hand. “And after that, I… started going to therapy.”

He pulls a small, brown book from his jacket pocket. “My, uh, shrink told me to make a list of people I’ve wronged,” he says as he flips it open to a page in the middle and places it in front of you. “You’re one of the last.”

You find your name third-to-bottom. The ones above are crossed through. He glances from your face to your fingers as they trace his careful scrawl.

“You don’t let people look at this, do you?” You ask.

He half-smiles and shakes his head.

“So why are you letting me?”

“I, uh,” he flexes his hand. “I don’t know. I just… thought I owed it to you.”

You briefly consider asking about the other names, but he doesn’t owe you those. He owes you answers about the life he can’t return. Just as another question bubbles up your throat, a ringtone sounds. You glance at your phone’s black screen, then back to his furrowed brow. He reaches into his back pocket to fish out a flip phone. A flip phone. You haven’t seen one in years.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He looks up from the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says as he squeezes out of the booth. He disappears as quickly as before.

⭑⭑⭑

You finally take a sip of water. The sweat of the glass bleeds onto your fingertips, so you wipe your hand off on your pant leg before touching your phone. 6:15, it says, which means you've been sitting on this hard, plastic seat for over forty minutes. He's been gone for about ten of them.

Before you can seriously consider just leaving, his form comes into view.

"I've gotta go, but..." He says as he pulls the brown book out of his pocket again. When he opens it, he tears a small piece from the page corner, then scribbles something with a pen.

He places the piece of paper next to the perspiration ring on the table. Stealing one last glance at you, he turns and leaves for the third and final time.

On it is a phone number and a name:

Bucky

#tfatws spoilers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the birdman and the winter warrior #brown book

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huearmy · 4 years

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The Smell of Truth - I

Summary: After years being forced to fight in clandestine hybrid ring, Jungkook is now living in shelter, but life remains bad, the place is abusive, and nobody seems to want adopt him. Until one night a pro-hybrid activist group invades the shelter, and a woman in black smelling like truth promises that things will get better, and he decides to follow her wherever she goes.

Pairing: pitbull!Jungkook x human!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut maybe.

Words: 3090

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Light descriptions of violence, nothing much. For now. Jungkook is just a cute pie here ok dont touch me.

Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

gif is not mine

The gray walls of the silent shelter were cold as it were since day one, the bed was small and the blanket could be softer, from the window a yellow light of a light pole bringing the sensation of isolation. Not so different of the last home of Jungkook.

There were two main differences, though. First and more important, now he didn't need to fight to not die in the rings. And - he was thinking if it is good or not - for the first time in so long he could have a prospect of hope, after all, some people seemed interested in adopting him.

But all of them feared him too.

Some days he spend all his time thinking about how to improve his own image so that someone may want to take him home - trying the hardest to look good in his padronized white clothes, fixing is hair, and maintaining a good posture always. Other days he is just a damn pessimist, knowing that anyone will want a pitbull hybrid. But okay, so if they can't acept him with his disturbed past, he won't acept them neither. He want to be loved after all, high standars... Thats what he tells himself often.

Tonight he don't really care.

Like in his previous home he was going to bed feeling like trash, bones hurting like hell and taste of blood in his mouth. In the reflection on the window he could see the cut and swell in his lips and the hematoma below his left eye. Earlier he got beat up by the shelter's guards. They were four against one, and they had batons to hit and electrocute him. All of this just because he wanted to be alone in his corner and growled for another dog who was annoying him by pulling his tail, maybe they thought he was going to do something violent, but he wasn't. Despite his past, Jungkook hate fighting. And then he just tried to defend himself.

Hours passed and he couldn't sleep, something in his gut telling him he should be alert. The night watchman should've passed by his door ten minutes ago. But he heard nothing. He waited to hear the now familiar sound of the watchman's steps... But instead when the sound came it was of a lot more of feet hitting the ground, coming in his direction, and fast.

Suddenly the door of his room opened with a bang, a tall figure in all black and with a gun in it's belt looking at him from the door frame.

Jungkook hate guns. More than he hate fights. So before he knows it, he is against the wall, protecting himself.

The man said something taking a slow step closer, but Jungkook couldn't hear it clearly - he was too afraid to. Only two types of pople use guns: Cops and the bad guys, sometimes the person is both, like his past owner. He don't like it. Other hybrids were leaving with more people in black in the corridor, and he couldn't understand why. The man reached out for him, and he growled, his ears flat against his head, tail between his legs. So the man steped back, calling for someone.

Poor thing. A million things were crossing Jungkook's mind, all of them horrible... They found me... my old owners found me... They will kill me... They will make me kill... I need to scape...

He was ready to fight his way free, to jump against the tall man and run the faster he could. He was ready to fly through the window even if it was a fall of three floors. Anything but going back to that hell...

His thoughts got cut by a smaller person appering from behind the man. You were all in black too, with tactical boots and all. But no gun.

"Go help with the others..." Your voice came demanding but soft. When the man disappeared, you tried to approach Jungkook. He growled again. "It's ok..." You said pulling down your mask, revelling your face, and a soft smille. "My name is Y/N. I'mma friend, we are here to help.". You took a step closer, and Jungkook let you. You saw it as a hint to continue, crouching down to stay on the same level as him - he hadn't even realized he was huddled in the corner - and reaching out so he can smell you. "We know this place is no good... So we came to rescue.".

He sniffed you once. In the next second Jungkook was all over you. Practically jumping around you, wagging his tail and smelling you. You smell like truth to him, also something sweet, so he'd follow you anywhere.

"Hey, easy boy." You laugh. Automatically Jungkook got embarrassed for being so excited, a little bit more and he would've crushed you in a hug. "What's your name?"

"Jungkook."

"Well, Jungkook... Nice to meet ya." You reach out to greet him, and he took your hand in his. But before he could say anything back, the man appeared in the door frame again, now caring a little cat hybrid girl.

"Y/N, all the bombs are in place. We need to go."

Bombs? Jungkook ears lifted in alert. Like bombs that explode? He looked to you waiting some reaction.

"Oh crap. Is everyone out?" You casually answered.

"We are the last ones I think..." He said as if it was about the weather, carefully accommodating the sleepy girl in his arms.

Maybe bombs are not that big of a deal. Jungkook thought to himself, accepting the odd perspective of both of you.

"Ok, Jungkook, this place is going down. If it there is anything you want to take with you..."

Before you finish the sentence he was putting a tiny wallet in his pocket, and wearing a old cap from the nightstand.

"Ready." Jungkook said with a nod.

You smiled, pulling your mask back up in place. "Let's go then.". You took his hand and ran through the door, Jungkook close behind.

Out side almost all the other hybrids were already safe in the couple of vans of your group, approximately twenty people in black escorting them. You lead Jungkook to one of them following the orientation of another woman with mask and high ponytail. "You go with Youngjae, Y/N.".

"Ok, thanks."

A lot of the hybrids were totally ok with the action, others, mostly the youngers, were sleeping or half asleep. Despite that, a rabbit girl were crying to not enter the van you were supposed to go in.

"You are not understanding... I was going to be adopted on Monday, I need to be here when they came to get me... " she sobbed.

"We know, it's ok... " Youngjae rubbed her arms to comfort her. "We read your file, and I promise you will be with your new owners soon. Okay?"

The girl entered in the van, still a little reluctant, sitting in the passenger's seat - where you were supposed to sit. You didn't think much about it though. You made Jungkook enter and sit in one of the only two available sits, and even if it were more options for you, he didn't let go of your hand, practically pulling you down. He wouldn't make eye contact with you, preferring to keep his gaze down, and wouldn't initiate a conversation, but he would not let go of you neither...

Actually he was holding your hand for dear life.

This is good. You through to yourself.

Hybrids need to feel safe, and if he feels this way right now... It's good. You read all the files of all hybrids days before this of invasion, to know how bad the situation was. Not all of the poor creatures had a sad past before the shelter - all of them were suffering abuse in the shelter - but you remember specifically of Jungkook file, and his violent precedence in rings. When you saw the pictures of how he arrived at the shelter, bruised and curled up in the corner you felt sick and sad. Employee reports said he didn’t allow proximity and showed passive aggression, save for one of the vets, so you - experienced in hybrid behavior - volunteered to be responsible for him. Definitely you didn't expect him to be so easily trusty of you. And that's really good.

"You ok?" You murmure to him just in case. He just nodded, still staring his feet.

A whimper caught the attention of both of you. The dog hybrid that was beside Jungkook, that must've be sixteen, was shrinking up against the window and holding a bunch of stuffed animals as a shield, apparently afraid him. Jungkook scoffed it with a low growl, turning his eyes back to his shabby shoes, choosing to ignore the boy. This kid was the one invading his space earlier that morning. You got alert to intervene in case of a fight, tensing up.

But Jungkook hate fights. Even more if it happens in tight places like a van. He wouldn't do anything even if he wanted to, and it wasn't the case. There is no one who can force him to fight again.

"Everyone is here? Ok. LET'S GO!" That other woman closed the van's door that started moving. In the shelter's external wall, Jungkook saw the enormous words 'SET US FREE' written in red. Just after the last van passed through the gate the building they all were just a few meters before exploded.

"Wooow!" You cheered along Youngjae and some hybrids.

Jungkook turned on his sit to see the flames through the back window, flames red and high likng the black sky of the night, illuminating all around. You observed the look of amazement in his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. Well, the shelter is what saved Jungkook from his old life. In the shelter he could eat three full meal a day, have his own things and shower every day - his favorite part. But he was always surrounded by crowds what make him anxious most of time, and always getting scolded by the shelter employees that clearly didn't really cared for him, getting beaten up more than once. So he couldn't name the feeling in his chest. He could be sad... Or it could be satisfaction... A mix of both maybe. He just imagined the face of the guys that beat him up seeing the ruins and that written wall next morning and chuckled.

"Jungkook sit straight and put the seat belt, please." You squished his hand lightly.

Another feeling that he couldn't name... "Oh. Ok."

A silence settled in the vehicle, cutting trough the night city at high speed. Most of the hybrids were falling asleep, feeling the euphoria of getting free of the shelter going away, long night after all - and it didn't even ended yet - you couldn't blame them to be tired. You knew that in the moment the job ended and the adrenaline lowered, you would be dead tired yourself, ready to sleep till next year. Unfortunately you must keep your image intact and free suspicions, what means going to work normally next day. But in the moment you needed to be alert and ready to protect. Or at least awake.

Just like Jungkook. This boy was wide awake, looking through the window, paying attention in how the Youngjae drives super fast, and gazing you by the corner of his eyes. If he had more space he would be jumping around, his dog excitement exploding out of control. Or he would get shy and only imagine it while looking trough nothing. Something in his mind was, where were you all going? That girl apparently was going to be adopted soon, do that mean he would be adopted too? What kind of owner he would get? But can he trust it would happen? Or trust in these people in black? He didn't know you or your group. What if you were the bad guys, kidnapping hybrids to do bad things...? Jungkook stared suspiciously to you, who was talking quietly with the driver. You didn't seen bad, or mean, or evil. Quite the opposite, you look cute and sweet and beautiful, almost too good to be real. He could say you look totally harmless too if it were not for the shock weapon in your waist and tactical boots ... or the whole situation in general. You're just like every ordinary people that usually look at him fear and mistrust.

"Is everything ok?" You asked again. He just made 'no' with his head. You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Jungkook's face. "This bruises... What happened?"

The poor boy considered what to say, fearing that you would not believe him if he said that he got unjustly beaten, which is true, but obviously you would think he deserved it. Maybe he should stay quiet, so you wouldn't hate him. He should at least look like a good boy to impress. Before Jungkook decided between truth or silence - lying was out of question, he was horrorible in it - a voice besides him awnsered.

"The guards were bored and attacked him for no reason." You both looked to the young boy who had a guilty expression. "I'm sorry, it was my fault, I just wanted to play..."

"Oh". Both you and Jungkook cooed. He didn't expected do recieve a out side help, much less a apologise, the feeling was unprecedented.

"And well, you were the only one who didn't know about the rescue, I wanted to tell you."

Jungkook was confused. "Everybody knew?"

"All the hybrids..." The boy said, suddenly super comfortable around Jungkook.

"And some employes who helped us from within." You added, pulling Jungkook's face for you to see again. "Did someone treated this cut?" You questioned.

Jungkook made 'no' with his head once more and than completed with a low voice.

"The doctor who likes me wasn't working today.".

You sighed in understanding.

"She was one who helped us, we got her an alibi away from here." You leaned forward, talking to the driver through the rear view mirror. "Youngjae, do we have a first aid kit?"

"Under my seat."

The boy stared at the stuffed animals for a good time and then extended one to Jungkook. “Keep him.”

Jungkook looked at the stuffed bunny closely and smiled. “Thank you.”

With the white suitcase open on your lap and letting go of Jungkook's hand - for his dislike - you puted some hydrogen peroxide in a piece of gauze and faced him. "Can I?" You asked permission with a smile. Just like the sweet doctor did when the shelter welcomed him you took care of him - with a little less skill, but lovelly still, making him feel safe. Ok, he absolutelly trust you now.

___________________________________________________

Durig the next hour you received on the radio news of the vans that took different paths arriving at the meeting place, yours being one of the last ones. Gladly no one had any unwanted encounters or problems on the way. The place in question was a freight train station, the secondthe van stoped, Youngjae was out to open the lateral door and you waking the hybrids up. "Lets go my sweet things. You can go back to sleep in a little while." You picked up a sleepy little hybrid, and along Youngjae helped all of them to get aou of the van, to follow the group to two big wagons open for them. Outside, those who saw would see only a common freight train, but inside the cars were adapted to take those hybridos in comfort and safety to a farm, one of the places where your organization guarantees a dignified life for hybrids, especially those who have not had an easy past, whether living there or going to good owners - whatever they choose. Jungkook tried to accompany you in the crowd by holding your hand, but he lost you by a few meter, almost not being able to see you between so many heads and the low light, just following your voice, biting his lip anxiously. For a moment his focus leaved you to the rabbit hybrid girl, she got separated from the group, having time to just quickly say goodbye to another girl, before she run to a car where a couple was waiting for her, the three of then huged, the man took her bag and putted in the trunk. She was really being adopted. Oh man, Jungkook want this so bad. If he is a good boy will he be adopted soon too? "Please, get in." A man in black putted a hand in Jungkook shouder, making him came back daydream. He got surprised for a momente, this man had dog ears to, the men in black have hybrid in their crew. "Please, get i the train." "Wait. No... Y/N..." Apparently he was the only one disturbing, all the other hybrids obeying quietly or already inside the car, looking at him as if he was a weirdo - at least Jungkook felt this way. "Y/N?" "I'm here." You emerged from the crowd. "It's okay, Jungkook, you can get in." "Ok." He smiled to you taking your hand again. He trust you so... But he stoped midstep when he noticed you didn't move. "Aren't you coming too?" You seemed surpresided when responding. "No." He thought for half a second and decided, setting his feet on the ground. "So I'm not getting in neither." "Jungkook..." you tried to argument but he interrupted you. "I'll go where you go." You both held each other's gaze for a moment. All the hybrids were now accommodated in the train wich was about to leave. That women from before came to hurry you, but you wheren't listenning at all. "Does it mean you want to go home with me?" You firmily asked. Without a second thought he vigorously nodded. "Yes." You released a sigh of relief and smiled. "They can close the doors. This one I'll take with me." You say to the woman, making Jungkook jump in his spot from excitement. "Are you sure?" She questioned. "Yep" You guided a super happy Jungkook to the oposite direction the train started to move to, the sound of the locomotive and loud honk blinding the little sounds of joy coming out of his mouth as he takes your hand again, swinging it back and forth. Your organization companions looking at you with knowing eyes. Never before you even consider adopting any of the rescued hybrids.

______________________________________________________________

this gonna be a series too. pls give love to it.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts hybrid fic #hybrid bts #hybrid jungkook #dog jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #bangtanshadowfamily

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a-pretty-nerd · 4 years

Text

Rebellion

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 1

Premise:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 2551

Warnings: Themes of depression, emotional abuse, and violence.

A/N: I'm kinda obsessed with Shigaraki.

I think he's just a wonderfully well written character that not even I can get my head around 100%. He's like Kylo Ren...but way better and with actual values, not good values, but values. Anyways, I'm super excited to be writing this because the last series I wrote was also a villiany character thing but it was less work to work out the characters because one was an actualy psychopath were as Shigaraki isn't even a sociopath, he's just a survivor of truama and grooming and his own hate so I'm really excited to play with it! DON'T FORGET! I have a Patreon acc if you wanna support me there, you can make requests and vote for new content and join my discord! Thanks for reading!💕

Support Me On Patreon!

Prologue Chapter 2

"So, how do you like teaching?"

You asked as you played with the small bowl of Udon in your hand. All Might looked up from his bowl. The past month had been uneventful and lousy. There were little opportunities to spend time together and when you did, it was awkward and hopeless. It was hard to open up, apart of you just couldn’t bring yourself to get personal with him. You still had a little time left, you were hoping it would just a slow and gradual change, but a change none-the-less.

“I enjoy it more than I thought I would.”

“You miss hero work?”

“It’s more frustrating than anything. Not being able to really do anything anymore. I was used to be the symbol of peace and now I’m just...”

“Normal?” You asked. The insinuation clearly made him uncomfortable, his shoulders relaxed and let out a sad sigh.

“As normal as a retired hero can be.” You felt bad for his, really, he looked so sad and defeated.

“What is it they say back home? Teachers are the real heroes. They define and build the future by teaching future generations. Right? So really, you’re still a hero. Just in a different way, right?” He looked up at you with a small twinkle in his eyes. His lips slowly curled into a reluctant smile.

“I guess you’re right.” The apartment fell silent again as you ate your meal. Finally, he broke it again. “So, two majors. That must have been a lot of work, what made you get two?”

“The deal was if I could get scholarships for both, I could study what I wanted. Just as long as I got a law degree too. As a , quote, ‘backup’.”

“A backup? I though forensic science is a pretty stable thing anyways.”

“Forensic psychology, and yeah, it is. She told me she wouldn’t support me if I didn’t get the law degree.”

“Wouldn’t support you? That’s a little harsh, but I thought you got a lot of scholarships to pay for it all.” You sighed at his ignorance. Apart of you had forgotten how little he really knew about you. It stung to even think about.

“Well, I had a bit of an incident freshmen year and I lost them.”

“An incident?”

“Yeah. I had a bit of a breakdown. I’m fine now. I just lost everything and I had to take a lot of makeup courses so I could graduate on time.” You tried to avoid eye contact by looking out the window and onto the city at night.

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped. Money’s no object, you could have-”

“It’s fine. It’s not like she couldn’t afford it. Besides, it’s all done now and I have more opportunities. I have a job lined up as soon as I get home anyways. Everything’s fine now.” You brushed it off.

“You can come to me for things, y’ know. I know I wasn’t around much when you were a kid but I’m here now. I was hoping this trip would help us reconnect.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“How is your mom doing, by the way?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She got married again recently. Nice gal.”

“Oh yeah? What happened to the last wife?” You shrugged.

“I don’t know, it’s always something with her. Sucks, I really liked Sandra.”

“Yeah, they seemed really good together. Do you at least keep in contact with Sandra? You guys were close, right?”

“Yeah, she was there at my graduation. I miss her a lot.”

“Do you not like the new girl?”

“I don’t know her enough to know really. I didn’t even know mom was dating someone. She’s not much older than me though.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, y’ know people expect this kind of thing from a Dad but I guess Mom’s always been the type to break stereotypes. I don’t get what you ever saw in her.” All Might chuckled as she scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It was a long time ago, we were different people back then.”

“Yeah, I know.” The conversation fizzled out from there. “Are you done?” You asked him as you finished your bowl. He looked down at the empty thing.

“Oh, yeah.”

“I got it.” You took it from his hand and got up to toss the little bowls of takeout away. He stood and cleaned up the rest of the table before dropping dishes in the sink and walking over to the couch.

“What do you want to watch tonight?” He asked as he sat down and turned on the TV.

“Um, I was gonna go to the gym for a little if that’s okay.” You said as you shuffled your coat over your shoulders and adjusted it. He looked up at you, a little surprised, or was that disappointment?

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” You waved as you threw your backpack over your shoulder and headed out the door. You locked the door behind you with the spare key and shoved it into your bag before going on your way. Usually, the gym would be empty at this time of night. You were a little disappointed to find you weren’t alone. Another man was running on a treadmill across the gym. You continued with your routine regardless. Pretty soon you were left alone to go about your business.

You didn’t love to workout, it wasn’t the physical aspect that you enjoyed so much. You just liked the peace, being left alone to your own devices, and having people respect your privacy. You could plug in with your headphones and zone out for a while in the name of exercise. Sure, the strong body you’d acquired was nice and all, but you didn’t work out for appearances, not anymore.

Sometimes you pushed yourself a little too hard, it was easy to. It was easy to ignore yourself at this rate. Easy to brush yourself aside, your wants, your needs, your desires, it was too easy to push aside and give in. It was so ingrained in your being to ignore yourself, that you barely even noticed how badly you were hurting. The constriction of your chest, the struggle to breathe properly was normal now. You hardly even noticed how dehydrated you were until your vision began to darken and your body started to crumble. You came out of your train of thought panting and sweating profusely. You reached for your water bottle and began to huff as you drank desperately from it.

You gave yourself a long moment before the heavy feeling overcame you and you shuffled helplessly to the bathroom before hunching over, and spilling your guts in the toilet. You cursed at yourself, scolding yourself for working yourself sick. You stood in the cold shower for longer than you probably should have, your body shaking under the water as it ran smoothly over your form. You closed your eyes and tried to relax the best you could.

Then you heard footsteps. What time was it? There usually isn’t anyone there at this hour. You turned off the shower to dry yourself off and to listen to the sound. The footsteps came around the corner to the showers before stopping abruptly. Weird. This is a little too weird. The silence felt wrong, felt suspicious. Then you heard the breathing, louder and louder until you knew it was right outside your shower stall. Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest and you began to panic. Normally, you could manage in a fight, but you had overworked yourself now. Your stomach was empty, your muscle ached, and your head was pounding. You felt sick.

The silence was broken with the harsh sound of the shower curtain flying open. On the other side, a girl with a big bright, twisted smile lunged at you. She held a knife over her head and swung. You threw yourself to the shower wall, missing the blade as it came down. You pushed yourself out of the small space, clinging to your towel to cover yourself. You ran to the bathroom door, only to find a man standing in your way. The man lurking in the gym before. Your stomach dropped with fear as you gawked up at him. Now you could see him, a scar carved into his forehead. You watched him as you back away from his advancements, he pulled a mask over his head to complete his costume before he spoke.

“Hold still now-Sorry about this!” He shouted at you before reaching out to grab ahold of you.

“I got her!” The girl declared as she came from behind and grabbed ahold of you by your arm. She held the knife to your throat and tucked her chin in between your neck and shoulder.

“Let me go!” You struggled against her, unable to push her off, unable to think of what to do. Unable to lift a finger at this rate. Your body cried out in defiance of your movements, the sick feeling rushed through your body and into your vision. Everything went blurry, and then everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself clothed. Everything was still black, you realized there was a blindfold over your eyes and bindings on your wrists and ankles. You took deep breathes as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Pressure, you felt pressure on either side of you. You were sitting.

“She’s waking up.” The girl’s voice came from your right side.

“Man, she really took a tumble!” The man’s voice came from your left.

“I didn’t think it’d be that easy to grab her. You’d think the daughter of the number 1 hero would be a better fight.” The girl.

“Doesn’t look like she has a quirk either, otherwise she would have used it, right?” Another man’s voice spoke from farther away. A car, you were in a car. It was moving, taking left and right turns. The voice now must be the driver.

“She looks sick-She looks fine!” The man’s voice to your left spoke.

“We’re close.” The driver spoke. The car turned another corner and pulled into a secluded garage before parking.

“Come on, girly. He’ll be so happy to see you!” The girl giggled as she pulled you by the elbow out of the car. You still felt sick, hardly able to walk, especially with the ropes around your ankles.

“Up ya go!” The man’s voice came from behind before you felt large hands grab ahold of you. They picked you up and held you like a baby as the man’s torso leaned back to properly carry you. He walked with you in his arms through a door and into a building. It was much warmed inside.

“That the kid?” Another man spoke.

“You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to nab her!” The girl cheered as she followed. You heard a lot of shuffling before he finally sat you down into a chair. From there, you were restrained further.

“Not what I expected.” A raspy voice spoke from far away in the room. The blindfold was finally removed and light-flooded your view. It took you a second to make out figures, then the details of those figures, then the details of the room. It appeared to be the living space for an abandoned home.

“You sure you got the right kid? I thought they’d be younger.” A man from the back of the room spoke. He held his arms tightly across his chest. His patchwork face starring you down in distaste.

“100%!-Not sure!”

“It’s All Might’s own flesh and blood alright! We’ve been watching them for weeks!” You shook in your seat as you looked up at the girl who boasted. A man with a face covered by a single hand stood from his seat across the room. He lurked closer and closer until he loomed over you. One red eye stared down at you as you stared back at it.

“Are you really All Might’s daughter?” The raspy voice asked. You watched him for a moment before responding.

“What do you want?” You croaked. He paused and stood up straight before looking back at the others.

“Why is her hair wet?” He asked the girl.

“We caught her off guard! Got her in the shower. She just passed out too, poor thing. Her body just gave out. Had to dress her myself.” Your face went hot with embarrassment and fear.

“What’s her quirk?”

“Doesn’t look like she has one.” The lizard-man spoke as he entered the room from the back door you came through. Red-eye looked back down at you.

“What do you want?” You repeated.

“You look pale. You sick or something?” He ignored you and changed the subject.

“No. What do you want?” You insisted.

“She looks sick, get her some water or something.” He groaned before walking away and sitting back down on a couch nearby.

“What do you want with me?”

“Should we tell her?” Patchwork asked Red-eye.

“What? That’ll ruin the surprise!” The girl said with a face of glee.

“I don’t know anything about the Heroes if you’re looking for information.” You spat helplessly.

“Oh, we don’t need information.” Patchwork lulled.

“Your accent, it’s American, isn’t it?” The girl smiled at you.

“She’s American?”

“That’s right, she flew in ‘bout a month ago to visit Daddy. And judging by her Japanese, she doesn’t visit much.”

“She doesn’t know who we are, does she?” Patchwork spoke as he approached your chair. You stared up at him before he leaned over.

“I don’t know names, but I have a pretty good idea who I’m dealing with.” You spoke softly.

“And who do you think we are?” He purred.

“The League of Villians.” Suddenly a sharp, raspy laugh rattled the room. Red-eye was hunched over giggling to himself on the couch before he stood and walked back over to you. He shoed patchwork away and knelt down to look up at you. He looked you in the eyes.

“Bingo.” He smiled under the hand that covered his face.

“What do you want with me? Clearly you know where All Might lives, why not hit him there? I can’t give you any information about UA either.”

“I’m no low-life murderer, Y/L/N. I have bigger plans for you.”

“You’re not trying to recruit me, are you?” He let out another chuckle at you.

“No. You see, it would be easy to take All Might out now that he’s retired, that’s not the point. The symbol of peace is done for, people know that. What they can’t seem to understand is that its not just All Might that’s done for. It’s all heroes. They’ll see that when not even the world’s best heroes can get you back.”

“So you’re going to kill me.” You murmured. He reached up and removed the hand from his face. He scared face peeking out from behind his shaggy hair.

“Why would I kill my most valuable player? We’re not going to hurt you, we’re just going to keep you for as long as we need until the show is over.” He stood up finally and looked down at you once again. His face was almost, handsome.

Taglist:

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

#mha #bnha #Tomura Shigaraki #Tomura Shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #Tomura Shigaraki x All Might!Daughter!Reader #LoV #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki smut

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Paradiso. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM] AU

a/n: au takes place in the early 1900s. tw for descriptions of cults, religious themes, and descriptions of violence.

From the moment you read Elle’s first letter, you were skeptical.

All of this high praise for a hidden community that accepted anyone regardless of their background. She speaks of the people, forgiving and helpful in every conceivable way. That even when she first arrived, not once did she feel like an outsider; everyone welcomed her with open and loving arms. It’s not that you don’t want to believe such a perfect place exists -- you wish it is, for her sake -- but it has to be too good to be true.

If there’s anything you know from firsthand experience, it’s people. Inherently selfish, always in pursuit of their own goals and agenda. There is undoubtedly a catch behind this, you know it in your gut. Elle’s descriptions are too biased, words written blindly behind rose-colored glasses. She isn’t able to see the truth anymore, too far into her own delusions of a flawlessly crafted world.

For a time, you were able to grin and bear it despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth. Responding with forced enthusiasm over her supposed healing, expressing how happy for her you are. It was the letter from the end of her first month, that you felt unparalleled dread overwhelm your entire person.

Words such as “blood” and “ritual” stuck out like a sore thumb, nausea overtaking you and concern soon after. The worst part of it all, is how she posed it as a wonderful thing! She spoke of how it brought healing and an abundance of crops, that it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever witnessed in her life.

No longer could you enable this detrimental behavior. Your dearest friend is in the jaws of a predator, and you’ll do anything to pry her out; even if it requires force. This conviction is what you hold tightly to, fastening yourself against the oncoming horrors.

“Is this it?” you yell over to your guide, loud purr of the motorboat’s engine deafening your ears. He nods his head in affirmation, attention remaining on steering in the right direction. Looking forward towards this utopia, doubts continue to cloud your mind. It didn’t help that the process to get here is beyond tedious, this fisherman the only one willing to take you out to this remote location.

No alarm bells are ringing from your initial glance over, but looks can be deceiving. With each passing moment the secluded island grows closer, looming over you with dubious intent. White sandy beaches line it, the only hint of civilization being an old wooden dock. Thick and lush green trees encompass the island, engulfing it in nature. It’s larger than you initially thought it would be from Elle’s complimentary descriptions.

For privacy, and to keep away suspicious eyes you imagine, the heart of the village is a trek from the beach. Elle justified it by a need to stay hidden, citing how many of the island’s inhabitants are reformed criminals or people who are rejected from society. All you can see in her reasoning are blatant excuses. Nothing good comes from having no accountability from others, it’s a wide open gate for madness and abuse of power.

Splashes of salt water sprinkle against your face, moistening your hair in the process. The peaceful experience does little to soothe you, your mind focused solely on how you’ll go about your investigation undetected. You’re arriving under the pretense of staying permanently, the only possible way to “earn” an invitation. It feels dirty to lie to your good friend, but this is all for the greater good.

The motor sputters down as the fisherman stops next to the dock, a sign of the unknown journey ahead of you finally starting. He begins the process of tying a rope against the dock to steady it, leaving you to sit on the rocking boat. Bobbing up and down with the waves, you close your eyes to fend off a wave of nausea the ocean brings with it.

“[First]!” A cheerful, nostalgic voice calls over to you; breaking you from your stupor. Elle waves eagerly from the shore, running against the sand with a wide grin. Once the rope has been tied successfully, you grab your bags and shakily step onto solid land. She’s wearing a simple white dress, that cuts off below her knees, adorned with sandals and a large straw hat.

Her skin is tanner than when you saw her last, likely from the hours spent in the sun. Light brunette hair secured in her signature high ponytail, and amber eyes shining brightly. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen her so giddy, the sight bittersweet and conflicting you further. Raking over her figure for any signs of foul play, she doesn’t have a single bruise or scratch on her person.

If anything, you’d say she looks to be in perfect health. No longer does her skin cling tightly to her bones, face full and evident that she’s been eating well. It doesn’t deter you for long, as you’re certain there’s still underlying malice in this supposed community.

Arms wrap around your waist in a suffocatingly tight hug, her face settles against your neck. Returning her affections to the best of your ability while holding your luggage, she carries on the embrace for a few more seconds. You can’t help but return her enthusiasm with a laugh of your own, recalling how she’s always been affectionate. Elle has an ability to make you melt within her hands.

“It looks like somebody missed me.” you tease with a short snicker, earning a low hum of affirmation.

“It just feels so good to finally see you again,” she admits with a dreamy sigh, hands moving down the skin of your arm to the handle of your bags. “I’ve missed you more than you could imagine. Here, hand me your bags. I’m sure you’re tired after all that travelling. But it’ll be well worth it, I promise!”

Elle sets off towards the intimidating looking woodland, turning back to you inquisitively when you don't follow right after her. You still don’t see any obvious signs of problems, eyes scouring every crevice of the area before you. With a reluctant sigh, you follow after your good friend into the unknown.

She leads you through thickets of trees and shrubbery, skillfully weaving throughout nature with practiced precision. “I have so much to tell you. I don’t want to overwhelm you right away though, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“Give me just a general overview of how things work around here,” you respond while ducking under an imposing branch. “Is it all this… uninhabited?”

Waving off your poorly hidden concern, she shakes her head. “Not in the slightest. This is just to keep out anyone who’d do us harm. We’re getting closer to the central area, that’s where you’ll be staying with me. Don’t worry about chores or anything the first few days, I want you to focus on getting used to life here! It can take some adjusting.”

So inundated by the information you’re currently taking in, you fail to notice a vine rising ever so slightly from the ground. Your foot snags against it, sending you tumbling onto the ground and warm pain radiating from your knees from the impact. Elle whips her head back to you at the sound, immediately coming to your side with potent concern.

“A-are you okay? I forgot to mention how many things there are to trip on around here, I can’t even begin to recall how many times I’ve fallen…” she trails off, soothingly rubbing a hand against your shoulder while you catch your breath. You look down at your knees, the source of the stinging pain, to see they’re scraped up. Great, just great.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you grimace through the ebbing ache while standing up. “It’s just a few scratches, nothing serious. I think I’ll live.”

She inspects the wound further despite your insistence of being alright, you finding the circumstances of tripping like a klutz to be mildly embarrassing. The insignificant injury means little to you, you’ve experienced far worse in the past. It’s only an added nuisance since living here will require a lot of movement. That, and you’ve always wanted Elle to view you in a cool, “knows what she’s doing” type of way.

“Still, it’d be best if you got it looked at and disinfected to be on the safe side. We have a healer here who will help you out, no questions asked.”

This catches your attention. The word “healer” being used instead of a doctor or nurse is suspicious to say the least, but it will be a good opportunity to see firsthand what the practices are around here. Although you’re wary of accepting any medicine from these people, there’s no harm in letting this guy look at it.

“Alright, as long as it’s not too much trouble. It really is just a small scratch after all.” you respond nonchalantly while dusting dirt off your shorts. Ignoring the slight sting that reemerges with every step, Elle leads you in a slightly different direction than before.

Even with your reservations, there’s no denying how beautiful the nature surrounding you is. Wild life scurries about at every corner, trees tall and hanging over to protect from the harsh rays of sunlight. Various plant life of almost every color dot along the ground, flowers you’ve never seen before in full bloom.

After a few more minutes of walking, a small and wooden college appears before you. The first signs of this area actually being occupied, you note. There’s a large garden of herbs surrounding it, the structure impressively built with a few signs of weathering on the roof. Elle waves you over, knocking on the door.

“Giorno! Giorno, are you there?” she beckons with insistence, knocking increasing in volume from the lack of an immediate response. Before she can call out once more, the door opens to reveal a young man who looks to be around your age.

You feel an unexplainable draw to him, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His skin is very fair, without a single imperfection or blemish present. Golden hair as fine as silk, placed into a unique style consisting of three large curls for bangs and a braid. His eyes are piercing yet not unfriendly, color reminiscent to that of luminous emeralds. There’s no denying his beauty.

“You must be [First],” he greets with a welcoming smile, attention solely set upon you. “Your friend has spoken highly of you.”

Your cheeks flush at this, Elle looking similarly flustered. She speaks up for you, much to your internal relief. “[First] hurt her knees a bit on the trek here. Would you mind taking a look at it, if you’re not too busy?”

Giorno glances down at the aforementioned injury, placing a hand to his chin and narrowing his eyes in inspection. “I would treat it now, but I was about to deliver this medicine Fugo requested earlier.”

“It’s fine, really, Ellie,” you reassure her with her favorite nickname, throwing your hands up in mock defense. “I’d hate to impose on my first day here, this seems important.”

“Would you make the delivery for me, Elle? That way I can treat [First] right away.” Giorno proposes, lifting his hand up to reveal a small bag that must contain whatever this Fugo person needs. You snap your attention over to your friend who is thoughtfully considering Giorno’s request. Hoping she can get the hint from your tense body language that you’d rather not be left with a stranger from a weird reclusive village, you all but deflate as she gladly nods her head.

She’s always been too nice for her own good. And yours.

“Sure thing, anything to be of help! I’ll run this straight over to Fugo and be back in a jiffy.” Elle grabs the bag from Giorno’s hand, walking off without further thought. She gives you a wink and a wave, before scurrying off into the direction from before. You swallow thickly in her absence, feeling awkward as silence settles in over you and Giorno.

He steps aside from the door frame, waving you in with a single, graceful motion. You take the wordless invitation in stride, walking in and warily eyeing your surroundings. This area must double as Giorno’s living space and workplace, carefully arranged wooden furniture giving a sense of domesticity. Shelves line the walls, covered to the brim in a variety of small glass bottles full of things ranging from liquids to powders. It brings with it a nice, earthy scent.

An assortment of flora make up for most of the decoration within, different leafy plants and flowers sitting atop every counter. Nothing incriminating so far, but you didn’t think Giorno would display anything potentially off putting that blatantly. It still isn’t enough to lull your thumping heartbeat, wishing that Elle hadn’t left your side.

“Please, take a seat here.” Giorno nods to an empty chair in the furthest side of the room. You follow through with his request, grateful for the chance to rest your exhausted body. Hand hovering as he examines the bottles in front of him, he eventually gets the contents within. Mixing it together in a bowl with some other unidentified greenery, he walks over to you.

“So… should I be anticipating an amputation in the near future?” you attempt to joke to ease the stifling air, earning a small quirk of the lips. He looks nice when he’s smiling, you note.

“No, nothing like that,” Giorno calmly reassures, kneeling down and inspecting your knees closer. “May I?”

You can appreciate how polite he is, nodding to offer permission for him to touch you. Giorno wastes no time, skillfully running the unknown combination against your scraped skin. Inhaling sharply in anticipation, you’re for a loop by the immediate dulling of pain. At the very least, you were expecting a sting from the initial application of this homemade remedy.

Giorno reaches for a gauze from his pocket, wrapping it around the wounded area with perfect efficiency. The entire process was faster than any you’ve experienced, not that you’ve ever been able to afford a nice doctor. Maybe this Giorno character isn’t so bad after all? He has a soothing presence, being well mannered and not speaking more than necessary.

Your cheeks redden once more, the subsiding of the pain allowing you to realize how close he is to you. Giorno gives your skin a final glance over, but doesn’t stand back up immediately. Clearing your throat, you attempt to initiate a conversation.

“So… Giorno, was it? Have you lived here your entire life?” you question, hoping it seems natural and without a hidden agenda. He doesn’t appear to interpret it in a negative light, going into deep thought at your prompting.

“In a way, yes,” he concludes aloud, standing from his kneeling position and cleaning off his hands. “It’s somewhat difficult to explain.”

At this, you decide to stop yourself from prying further. Having quite the past yourself, you can sympathize with not wanting to put it all on display. Still, there are further questions that refuse to leave your mind. Giorno speaks up before you get the opportunity to ask him anything else.

“You’ll need to reapply this remedy once a day until it shows further signs of healing. I’d give you it to do yourself, but it's less effective the longer it's been exposed to air. It’ll work best if being applied after I make it fresh.”

You have mixed feelings, lips pursing at the extra steps your little tumble gave you. Nodding your head in agreement, you carefully test the waters by extending your leg forward. “Thank you, Giorno. Elle really wasn’t exaggerating when she said everyone here is beyond helpful.”

“You’re one of us now,” Giorno places the bottles he took down earlier back to their original position, then turns his head to you. “I’ll take care of anything you need. And remember to stop by tomorrow.”

A nagging feeling pinches at your side, one comparable to guilt. It doesn’t make logical sense why you’d feel bad for deceiving Giorno, who you have just met. Due to his unabashed kindness and trustworthy visage, you find yourself feeling bad for your dishonesty. Looking away from his watchful gaze, you relent.

“Y-yeah, I will.”

---

When you start to doubt yourself, it’s never a good sign.

Whether it’s because of the pride of admitting that you were wrong, or the shame for suspecting Elle’s testimony in the first place. For months you’ve stayed here, living out the simple yet satisfying life you once scrutinized. Nothing of questionable intent has caught your attention. What originally was meant to be a short visit became extended, each day carrying out with welcome familiarity.

Life has been good. Better than it was before, in some regards. No longer do you have to worry about where your next meal will come from, what you’ll do if you’re unable to make rent by the end of the month. You still pull your weight, of course, but expectations that society bestowed upon you before are now nonexistent.

“I think I forgot my bag at the beach. Dammit…” you trail off with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. Elle laughs at your misfortune, looking out the window of your shared cabin to see that the sun is long set.

“I’d say to leave it until morning, but who knows if the tides will come wash it away. Want me to walk with you to get it?” she offers with a smile, already standing up to come help. You shake your head, not wanting to trouble her. She’s never been a night person, always one to wake up bright and early.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

Even when the path is only lit by moonlight, you’re able to maneuver through the area with ease. You often would find yourself spending time on this section of the shore, joined either by Elle or Giorno. Elle isn’t capable of sitting still for long, normally bringing you a snack before running off to find something new to do. Giorno’s a different story. He’ll sit next to you for hours at a time. The two of you having conversations ranging from light topics about plants, to deep philosophical musings over human nature.

The thought puts an extra spring in your step, beige bag thrown against the sand now being picked up. While walking back to your shared residence, you’re thrown off by a shrieking noise coming from your left.

It’s eerie, unquestionably a human scream. A variety of thoughts flood your mind, but you know you’ll need to investigate it. Before you can call out to see if anyone needs help, you overhear two male voices talking with one another.

“--Need to do something about this traitor now.”

“Gag him.”

Narrowing your eyes, you source the noise to one of the fishing cabins on the outskirts. Only a single light shines within, dull and flickering; yet undeniable. No one is out this late under normal conditions, much less a group of people. Holding your breath, you sneak alongside the building to get a better spot to listen.

A bag rustles within, a voice you recognize as Abbachio’s picking up with tangible displeasure. “Bucciarati, get a look at this. He didn’t just steal supplies, he wrote down firsthand accounts too.”

“We’ll burn them later,” Bucciarati replies without hesitation. “For now, we need to learn if he was alone or working with others.”

Abbacchio sighs at the extra workload, floorboards creaking as he walks along them. You hear a distinct noise of flesh being hit repeatedly, a body thumping across the floor with muffled screams. “Who do you think you are, making us do all this? What a pain…”

More kicks. It feels like there’s a vice grip constricting your chest, breathing growing more strained. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, urging you to flee the scene and seek safety elsewhere. The more logical side of you prevents this, feeling a need to come up with a solid plan first.

With all the sticks and rocks littered across the ground, it’s possible they might be alerted if you make any sudden movements. Creeping alongside the house slowly towards the back, you swallow thickly as your heart pounds violently. Never have you felt so warm, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of your face.

Cautiously, you’re able to put some distance between yourself and the incriminating scene. It isn’t enough to lull you into a false sense of security, all your senses dialed to the max. You didn’t realize how harshly you’ve been gripping your bag, knuckles white and feeling numb.

Questions flood your mind that you doubt you’ll ever find the answers to. What was it that this person did to earn such a cruel fate? Abbachio and Bucciarati are revered here, Bucciarati even more so. They spoke of firsthand accounts being written down... he must’ve seen something he shouldn’t have.

It’s too dangerous here. You need to get back to Elle, and you need to go the hell out of here. Creeping along in the night, you feel like something or someone is watching you. Looking around sporadically for any signs of this, you frown at the lack of confirmation.

‘Is it just my imagination...?’

Your mental state is fragile now, having witnessed a gruesome scene unfolding. Shaking your head, you silently chastise yourself. There’s no time for this jittery, you need to get a hold of yourself to make it out of this alive. Lightly smacking your face in hopes it’ll bring you back to reality, you think of more hurdles that’ll need to be overcome.

A daring idea pops into your mind. Telling Elle now what you just saw would be a recipe for disaster, she’ll be an anxious mess incapable of the resolve to escape. That leaves incapacitating her in some way, as much as it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It’s all for the greater good, you remind yourself. Once you’re in safety you’ll explain all the details to her.

She’s never been able to handle alcohol well.

It might not be enough to keep her asleep. That’s when you realize Giorno will likely have some kind of medicine that makes you tired. The thought of him, and never seeing him again, twists your heart in a strange manner. Perhaps you can say your goodbyes to him, or even ask him to come with you.

Similar to the way you first met him, you knock on the door to his home.

‘Please be awake, please be awake...’

Great relief washes over you as he opens the door, eyes widening at the sight of you this late at night. Before he gets the opportunity to question you about it, you walk inside; closing the door and looking around for signs of anyone else. It’s only him, you realize.

“[First]? Are you alright? You look terribly pale.” His concern is palpable, likely thinking that you’re injured in some way.

“I-I’m fine. Giorno, do you have any medicine to help with sleeping by chance? Or anything similar?” you inquire frantically, to which he slowly nods his head; still trying to gauge the situation. Letting out a sigh of immense relief, you run your hands through your hair.

He hands you a bottle full of unrecognizable herbs, not loosening his grip when you go to take it from him. Blinking in confusion at this, you realize he must have a few questions of his own over your disheveled appearance. It’d be rude not to offer some form of explanation, no matter how messy it may be.

“What is this really about? Please remember that you can always tell me anything.” he pries further, voice unwavering and eyes hopeful. His sympathy touches your heart. Licking your lips, you manage to rush out an explanation.

“Listen, Giorno. It isn’t safe here. I-I saw something, something bad. I can’t stay here, we can’t stay here anymore. I think... they were torturing someone. Someone who saw something they shouldn’t have. I don’t even want to know,” you rush out, finally managing to grasp the bottle from his hands. “Please, for your own good, consider leaving.”

At this influx of information he doesn’t seem shaken, only more curious. “I think you should sit down. You’re clearly not thinking straight. If you’ve been having trouble sleeping, that could--”

“No! It’s not that,” you cut off in frustration, furrowing your eyebrows and clenching your fists. “You’re not listening to me. Giorno, I know what I saw. I-I need to go. Now.”

Not waiting for his response, you rush towards the door. Giorno grabs your wrist from behind, your heart sinking in the process. His grasp isn’t as tight as it could be, more for show than anything. He can feel your brisk pulse with his fingers, head lowering.

“You’ll regret it. Don’t.”

The words are whispered so lowly, you wonder if you even heard them in the first place. With a lackluster tug, you break free without further dilemma. His chin dips to his chest, letdown evident. It pulls at your heartstrings, still not being enough to deter you further.

Holding your hands to your chest, you keep an eye on him as you back up towards the door. “I’m sorry.”

When you feel the handle underneath your hand, no time is wasted rushing back to Elle. Giorno doesn’t stop you as you leave, and you don’t want to look back to see him now.

It doesn’t make any sense why he’d try to stop you, why he didn’t even flinch at the mention of a person being tortured. A cloud of dread hangs over your head, combination of negative emotions stirring within. His eyes, so melancholic and hurt--

No, it does nothing to think about it. All that matters is escape.

Returning to your house, your shaky hands miraculously manage to pour a touch of herbal concoction into Elle’s drink. You’re grateful that she’s in bed, too preoccupied to see what it is you’re doing. Wiping the sweat from your brows and straightening out your posture, you enter her room with a facade of calm.

“I wanted to celebrate the three month mark of my stay.” you explain while opening the door with your back, then handing her a glass. She looks up from her book, grabbing it without another thought. The liquid within your cup rattles from your jittery hands.

“Kinda outta nowhere, but it is a good cause to celebrate!” Elle lifts her glass into the air in a mock toast, which you mimic with less enthusiasm. You watch her throat move as she gulps down the liquid, wiping at her mouth. To avoid suspicion, you do the same, but taking in less.

She stretches in a way that reminds you of a cat, making a loud noise and going to stand by your side sluggishly. With the scent of alcohol on her breath, she lazily brings you into a hug. Is the concoction working this fast? You weren’t able to ask Giorno what to expect, too rushed.

“I felt so lonely without you.” she begins to slur her words, eyelids growing heavier and leaning her weight against you. Your muscles go taut at the sudden declaration, steadying her against your shoulders as she begins to sway. Whatever that stuff is, it’s fast acting. Hopefully you didn’t pour too much.

Her cheeks have a rosy tint, eyes growing further from this reality. She refuses to let go of you, wanting to be by your side.

“So... so lonely... mn... don’t leave me alone again... okay?”

Elle sniffles, burying her face in your neck. “Promise?”

You press your lips against her forehead gently, her eyes fluttering shut in the process. Tightening your grip around her, you nod your head; though you doubt she’s coherent enough to understand the action.

“I promise. Everything will be okay soon.”

A few more moments pass, and she’s entirely slack against you.

Testing the waters, you call her name calmly. No response. A nudge. Still nothing. Gentle breaths fan out against your flushed skin, Elle lulled into the depths of unassuming slumber. If it weren’t for the dire situation, you’d admire how her eyelashes look so pretty against her skin, how here brunette hair frames her face when it’s let down--

Shaking your head at the intrusive thoughts, you grunt while picking her up into your arms. There are some rowboats used for fishing alongside the coast, and that’s where you’ll make the final step of your escape. It isn’t the easiest task to haul her along, despite not being too heavy.

It doesn’t matter. You’re close, so palpably close. You can hear the seagulls cawing in the air, the sound of the ocean crashing against the sand. Just a few more minutes, and then you’ll be free of this nightmare. Keeping her secured against your chest, you trudge along some tricky vines.

‘Was this area always like this? It’s feels more like a jungle than a forest.’

Kicking yourself loose, your frustration grows as the vines seemingly begin to wrap around your ankles. Eyes widening at the unbelievable sight, you frantically begin to struggle against the restraints. It wouldn’t be too difficult, if not for the fact you were carrying a person in your arms.

Your body feels weighed down from exhaustion, but you push down any complaints. Cursing underneath your breath, the vines finally are warded off by another tug. Beyond a few more trees, you’re welcomed by the inviting sight of the moonlit ocean. Its beauty takes your breath away.

The ground underneath your feet now feels soft, dirt replaced by sand. It makes it more tedious to walk. Your ticket to freedom is but a couple feet away, the rowboats bobbing up and down in time with the waves. Not the most ideal escape, yet it’ll still work.

‘Please, just give me the strength to make it to land.’

Finally at the boat, you feel your shoulders and body growing weaker by the second. Your movement has grown considerably more sluggish since arriving at the beach, the sinking of the sand underneath you all but sapping the remainders of your strength.

With utmost delicateness, you gingerly lay Elle down inside of the boat. Now all that’s left is untying it from the dock. The rope isn’t in too complicated a knot, a small amount of luck. Hurriedly working at it, you notice the texture of it changing before your very eyes.

It grows scaly instead of rough, color morphing into a dark green; beady eyes now peering at you. Jumping back in surprise, a snake in place of the rope hisses at you, tongue flickering out of its mouth. It slithers against your arm, causing you to yelp and tumble backwards.

‘This place is fucking cursed!’

“Over here! We found them!”

Looking back to the trees where you came from, you see a few shrouded figures emerging. It’s unfair, safety just tauntingly within your reach. There’s too many than you could hope to fend off, even if you were at your full strength. The snake coils around your forearm, stopping just short of biting you.

‘Is there anyway out of this...?’

Elle’s peaceful face is blissfully ignorant to the chaotic events unfolding around her, and you can’t stop the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. Failing her hurt more than any physical pain this world could throw at you. Will this be the last time you’ll see her?

A hand presses against your shoulder.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

Of course.

That lamenting voice belongs to no one other than Giorno. He must’ve betrayed your trust by seeking you out and alerting the others. So this is what betrayal feels like. You wouldn’t have known until now, having always been too skittish to get close to others. It was Elle who broke your tough shell, inviting herself into your life like a ray of sunshine.

‘God protect her in my stead.’

Adamantly refusing to give him the time of day, you swat away at the hand he extends towards you, stupid as it is.

Giorno sighs in a mix of disappointment and minor frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose at your petty actions.

“She had nothing to do with this,” you struggle to get the words out, throat tightening with the threat of crying. “Do whatever you want with me... just don’t hurt her.”

Giorno walks in front of you, kneeling without any signs of fear towards the snake who remains still against your arm. Placing his hands on it, it returns to its original form of a rope, falling off of you.

He looks back at your drained, hunched over form. You must look pathetic, mustering up your best attempt at a glare.

“Please don’t make this difficult. Come back with me willingly and she won’t be touched, you have my word.”

There’s no reason to trust him, his request leading you to grit your teeth. For her sake, you’ll cease any signs of resistance. No other options present themselves to you, prayers remaining unanswered. Reality is cruel, twisting you at its own discretion.

Resigning yourself to this fate, you get up and following after him without a word. Abbacchio and a few other men look at you, Giorno placing a hand up to stop them from approaching. Does that mean he’s their leader?

You recognize the path Giorno’s taken on, having gone to his home too many times to count. Tree branches move out of his way, the sight reminding you of a fairy tale. It still remains one of the least shocking events you’ve seen tonight, you humorlessly think to yourself.

Biting your tongue has never been your forte, awe and dread too staggering to push back any longer. “What is all this? W-what are you? That snake... and these trees, was that you?”

Giorno waits before entertaining you with a response, voice low and devoid of emotion as if he was speaking about the weather. “It’s my doing, yes.”

“Is anyone here human?” you ask without further thought, before shutting your mouth. He remains quiet for a painful moment, giving you a response that makes you lightheaded.

“Everyone aside from me.”

Not a single word in the dictionary could form a decent response to a confession like that. Elle had mentioned to you a divine being that blesses this island, watching over it and offering abundant blessings to those who were deemed worthy of it. This is how their harvests were so abundant, she explained, but you disregarded it as a hoax at first.

There’s no denying it any longer. How could you have been so foolish, to get yourself into this situation? The same tenacity that you arrived here with would’ve protected you, had you only continued to listen to it.

Giorno comes to an abrupt stop, turning on his heel to get a good look at you. Not wanting to cause more trouble in the face of the supernatural, you stay firmly planted. He saunters towards you, leaves crunching underneath his feet. Raising a hand to your face, his thumb rubs small circles against your cheek.

He’s close to you, too close for comfort. The skin of his hands are icy cold, eyes softening with unidentifiable flurries of emotion. Tenderness is unwelcome from him, yet you’re far too entranced to pull away.

Giorno’s mystical eyes are all you can look at.

“Under normal conditions, you’d be punished harshly,” Giorno presses his forehead against yours, considering you. “Yet I can’t bring myself to do it. I had hoped you’d turn around of your own will.”

Lips trembling and jaw agape, your tongue is incapable of forming words, mouth painfully dry. Whoever -- or whatever -- that’s in front of you has whisked away all forms of rational thought, leaving you a shivering mess. You’re at his mercy, if he has any to offer.

“I only want to be honest with you, now that there’s no reason to hide it any longer. From the moment you first stepped on my island, I finally knew what I wanted, for the first time in centuries.”

“I wanted to be your god. But now, I feel that’s far too impersonal to sate me,” he pauses his movements, eyes shut in deep thought. “What I want... is something far more. Will you give me that, [First]?”

He poses the question as if it’s a choice for you to make. Patiently, he awaits your answer, already knowing what it’ll be by the gratification in his smile. Giorno’s serene, the battle already having been won.

“I will.”

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #god au #my stuff #commissions #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #yandere giorno x reader

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whoisbxcky · 4 years

Text

Little Stark, Big Trouble.

request: Do you take requests? If so, would you mind writing one where the reader is Tony’s daughter and fighting on Steve’s side in the civil war and she gets hurt and it brings Tony to his senses to talk it out? Your writing is amazing!

pairing: dad!tony x daughter!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: well it’s me, so naturally angst for days, descriptions of fighting and violence, death (fleeting and temporary mind you), a lil parental wholesomeness at the end there, possibly bad language if u squint, maybe even a dad joke if u reeaally squint

author’s note: My first ever request and I am SOBBING. Thank you so much kind anon, not only for the request, but for the faith in my writing to act out your vision.

I DO accept requests and am definitely accepting them right now!! I’ll write for any character, so long as the fic content isn’t anything inappropriate (i.e. no Peter Parker smut. None. Period.).

So please, feel free to hit me up with suggestions, requests, and (hopefully) enjoy my first ever non-Bucky romance orientated fic!

Chaos. Absolute chaos, all around you.

It was all out warfare.

You were hazy on the finer details regarding how exactly the Avengers had come to be two opposing forces. You knew it was because of Bucky. His actions, or rather, the actions of someone rather distastefully sporting his face, had coincided with the creation of the Accords, which had called for Bucky’s arrest, which Steve didn’t agree with, which had pissed your dad off…

Dad…

You let out a sigh as an explosion went off to your left, ducking for cover behind a storage container as your mind whirled.

Not exactly the time or place for an existential crisis, but you’d make do.

The decision to support Steve over Tony, your father, had not been an easy one.

One the one hand, after hearing Steve and Bucky out and reviewing the evidence, it was painfully obvious that Barnes was innocent.

On the other hand, your dad was your dad. You loved him, and having to look him in the eye and tell him you would stand against him, go to war with him, if needs be, had almost torn you in two.

Why? Why couldn’t he have just listened to you? Trusted your judgement, if not the facts Steve had ready to present to him?

Your father had babied you from the moment you’d been recruited by Fury and made a part of the Avengers. Always trying to sideline you from missions, always hovering over you and scolding you for literally doing your job.

You knew it was because he cared. He loved you and he didn’t want to see you get hurt. You knew that.

But gosh darn-it, you were an Avenger.

Getting hurt, putting your life on the line, doing the right thing: all part of the job description.

The sound of your name being called over the intercom roused you from your thoughts, and you cringed inwardly, you weren’t exactly being a valuable asset to Steve’s team like this.

“Stark, you alright?”

Bucky’s worried tone crackled in your ear, and you cleared your throat, doing your best to mask the waiver in your voice as you responded.

“Yeah, Buck. I’m fine, heading to you guys now.”

After a quick glance at the mayhem before you, you slipped out from behind the container, jogging briskly across the airport tarmac towards Bucky and Steve, who were fighting alongside an obnoxiously large Ant-man.

You came up short, staring in confusion at the oversized figure in front of you.

Another explosion to your left, the sound of Steve’s voice calling out over the intercom in your right ear. There was so much going on around you, you hardly noticed the lithe black figure barrelling towards you from behind.

“Y/N!”

A familiar voice called out to you from afar, a voice that only ever brought comfort, familiarity, love. Or at least, it used to.

Your eyes met your father’s for a split second, the agony in his battling with the reluctance in your own, until an unseen force took you down from behind, your body becoming airborne for a moment at the sheer force of the impact.

“Y/N! Dammit, T’Challa, take it easy!”

Tony’s haggard tone rung out across the airport, and as you easily rolled out of your free fall, you looked up just in time to see the fear and concern in his eyes, before a well-aimed truck launched by Wanda took his attention elsewhere.

“Dad…”

You cursed under your breath, moving to check on your father’s condition, but T’Challa’s looming form materialised in front of you, blocking your path.

You grimaced.

“Your highness, it’s a real pleasure, but would you do me the Kingly honour of getting the hell out of my way?”

You offered him a sickly-sweet smile, before removing the extendable staff from your utility belt and snapping it open to its full length.

T’Challa let out a noise of indignation, his vibranium claws appearing at his fingertips. The ringing of the rare metal sent a shiver down your spine, and you readied yourself to strike.

There was a pause, as you and the Wakandan King stared each other down, then chaos.

T’Challa landed the first hit, straight to your jaw. You responded with an elbow to the ribs, ducking to avoid his swinging fist. He kicked out at your knee, causing you to stumble, but your staff allowed you to steady yourself before you spun, bringing the hilt of the staff around to strike his neck.

You struck again, lashing out with a feint strike to his temple, before redirecting your hit to take his knee out from under him. Your opponent gave a grunt of surprise, and you grinned, spinning on your heal to drive the full force of your staff into his face.

He was thrown backwards, a few inches away from you, and you took the opportunity to turn and make a break for Steve.

Big mistake.

Within milliseconds, his hand had snaked out and grasped your ankle in a vice-like grip that made you yelp. A quick yank on his end, and you found yourself flying through the air once more, your head colliding rather ungracefully with the concrete below as you landed.

You groaned, moving to get back on your feet, when suddenly T’Challa’s weight landed on top of you, launching your skull back into the ground.

You snarled up at him, firing obscenities at him in abundance as you both grappled on the ground.

One minute you were pinned, then him. Next you were in a choke hold, then he in an arm lock.

The two of you were at a rather aggressive stalemate, so engrossed in trying to take the other out, that neither of you noticed the concrete slab that was hurtling through the air, heading straight for where T’Challa now had you pinned on your front, arms stuck behind your back.

Above you, you heard the Wakandan curse, before his weight disappeared as quickly as it had landed so unceremoniously on top of you.

You flipped onto your back, eyes locking onto the debris that was now seconds away from impact.

With a start, you moved to roll out of its way, but your tactical gear had snagged on a protruding metal bar by your thigh.

You were trapped.

Everything seemed to happen all at once then, but at an agonisingly slow pace.

You heard T’Challa yell.

Steve’s voice screaming at you over the coms.

A flash of red one way.

Yellow coming from the other.

The final thing you heard was the gut-wrenching sound of your father’s voice, screaming in desperation for you from far away.

Then, there was only blackness.

…

“Y/N? Y/N!?”

You were vaguely aware of the sound of a familiar voice calling out to you. It was so far away, though, and you were so comfortably warm down here… In the darkness…

“Y/N, sweetheart you need to open your eyes. Come on, kiddo!”

Now the voice was louder, it shook the world around you, trying to make you leave the welcome blackness that you were floating in. But you wouldn’t go… Couldn’t make you…

“Y/N! Dammit, wake up!”

You heard a high-pitched whirring somewhere above you, and as you moved to settle deeper in the darkness, the force of a freight train struck you in your chest.

Your eyes burst open.

“Dad!”

You half screamed; half wheezed for your father. Frantically grasping at the air, your chest, anything. Willing oxygen to return to you.

The familiar sensation of a sturdy metal hand gripping your own almost made you cry out in relief. Your father’s face swam into focus above you, he was here.

“Hey, kiddo. Take it easy, alright? Don’t try to move…”

You registered the swollen redness of his eyes, the track marks through the dirt and dust on his face, the ragged breaths he took as he spoke in a frantic, low tone to FRIDAY.

He’d been crying? But why?

“Damage report, FRIDAY, what are we looking at here?”

His weary eyes found your own as one of his hands came up to gently brush stray hairs from your face. He hadn’t done that since you were a little girl.

“A medical nightmare.”

FRIDAY’s matter-of-fact tone cut through the moment, and your heart practically stuttered in your chest.

“Multiple contusions to the skull, including a fracture. The entire left side of her body is shattered, the hip… Well let’s just say a future in samba dancing is out of the question. Five ribs snapped, one of which is precariously close to puncturing the lung. She’ll need a knee replacement…”

You allowed FRIDAY’s gruesomely detailed report on your broken form to fade into the background, as your bleary gaze took in the array of faces above you.

Behind your father, Peter looked ashen. Rhodey eyed you with obvious concern, but kept his demeanour calm, probably for Tony’s sake more than his own.

To your left, Steve knelt within arm’s reach, his glassy eyes fixated on you and obvious horror in his expression. Bucky stood just behind him, steely gaze set on the ground, a single tear drop rolling down his cheek. Sam stood next to him, offering you a sorrowful expression as he rubbed his neck anxiously.

Nat and Wanda were knelt at your head, both offering you reassuring smiles that were only betrayed by the terror in their eyes.

You were in a bad way, that much was obvious.

“Where… T’Challa…?”

You mumbled through the blood pooling in your mouth. That couldn’t be a good sign.

Sam spoke up, trying for a smile as he did.

“He’s around, Scott and Vision took him to try and find a first aid kid, give you and your pops some space.”

You nodded, understandable.

It wasn’t T’Challa’s fault, of course. But you doubted your father saw it that way right now.

“What… Happened…?”

It was Steve who spoke this time, his voice cracking with emotion.

“The concrete slab… None of us could get to it in time. Tony… Your dad and Wanda got it off within seconds… But…”

Bucky took over for him as Steve, overcome with emotion, trailed off.

“But the damage was done, Stark. You weren’t breathing when we got to you…”

The world tilted around you as oxygen became harder to take in.

You stopped breathing?

You were dead?

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Your father’s voice cut through your panic; the cold metal of his suit hand replaced with warm, comforting flesh.

“You’re going to be just fine, sweetheart. Okay? Nat’s calling in a medevac as we speak, we’re going to get you back to Stark Tower, fix you up good as new, you got it?”

The pain, worry and exhaustion in Tony’s voice was unmistakable.

But you felt comforted all the same.

Your dad would fix you up, just like he said. Fixing things was what he did best, after all.

You gave him a weak smile, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

After a moment’s pause, you cleared your throat, your voice a barely-there whisper.

“Hey… Dad…?”

Tony scooted closer to you, his eyes flashing with renewed concern as his grip on your hand tightened slightly.

“What is it, kiddo?”

You took in a shaky breath, glancing around the group before your distant gaze came to meet your father’s one of terror.

“I was just… Wondering… You think now maybe… Maybe…”

You trailed off, a small coughing fit racking your wounded form.

“Maybe what, sweetheart?”

Tony gripped your shoulder, trying to steady you, fear undeniable in his expression.

“Maybe… Maybe... Maybe you and Steve could just talk this out like grown ass men so I can get patched up and we can all go for shawarma and call it a day…?”

A mischievous glint flashed in your eyes, and you offered your father a sharp toothed grin, which came across somewhat comical given your missing tooth.

Your father stared down at you, an ensemble of emotions crossing his face one after the other.

Shock, confusion, exasperation, anger, more exasperation, before finally his face split into a tired grin, and he chuckled.

Around you, you heard the chuckles and snorts of your fellow Avengers, the tension practically evaporating from everyone’s shoulders as you glanced around, wheezing through your own giggle.

Tony eyed you suspiciously, before looking up at Cap with a sigh, then back to you.

“Yeah, kiddo. I guess we could talk this out… Civilly…”

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crmsfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Second Chances-Chapter 7

Author’s Note: I should have posted this number a couple chapters ago, but this is the number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). If you or anyone you know need help please contact this number.

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Chapter 7: Picking Up The Pieces

The next morning found Willa checking out of the hotel after applying some make-up to try and minimize the bruises around her eyes and nose. She had sent Sebastian down to go get the car and wait for her a couple blocks away. She was not about to have him photographed by a fan with her looking like she did. That would not be a good look for his career, to be labeled an abuser. He had taken the rest of the pizza with him, they would give it to Becca and David for lunch, while she packed and he waited.

“You’re still here? I figured you’d be gone by now. Did your replacement not show up?.” Willa said to the poor girl behind the counter. She looked dead on her feet.

“No. Someone is coming in a couple more hours to relieve me, but until then it is just me.” the girl said wearily.

“I’m sorry, but I want to say thank you for not making a fuss over my appearance last night. I know I looked awful.” Willa said as she sent a quick text to Baz to go grab breakfast and coffee for the girl.

“No thanks necessary. I looked the same the night I left my abuser. I was thankful no one asked me about it then either. If you need resources here is a number to call. They can help. They helped me.” the girl said as she slid a card over with a number on it. Willa smiled and took it. She wasn’t sure she would need it, but she’d keep it. Her phone buzzed as Baz texted her letting her know he had the food.

“Thank you. I’m glad you are safe now. Have a good day.” Willa said as she walked away and out the door. She met Sebastian and grabbed the food. “Be right back.” She said as she walked back to the hotel and handed the girl the coffee and donuts. “It’s the least we could do. Hopefully this helps keep you going until your replacement get here.”

Willa left the hotel again and walked back to Sebastian’s rental car and slid into the passenger seat. He knew how to get to Becca and David’s house. They had gone to their housewarming when they bought the place in 2005. They had just started dating and it was his first time meeting her friends. Smiling Willa sunk into the memory.

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November 2005

“Come on Baz! It will be fun. You’ll love my friends. They will love you.” Willa said as she stood in front of her boyfriend of two months. Luckily they had the weekend off, so it was perfect timing for Becca and David’s house warming. They’d called her and asked her to come if she could. It was a small get together with some old friends from high school and college. Willa promised to try and be there. When she found out they had the weekend off from filming, she had convinced Baz into coming with her to Ohio.

He had been reluctant to come, but she was pretty damn convincing and he found himself in a hotel room in downtown Columbus two weeks later. “I don’t know. We haven’t been dating long. Are you sure we should do this?”

“We aren’t getting married Baz! We are going to a house warming party with my friends, who will all love you.” Willa said with a laugh. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I’ll make you a deal, come and if you hate it we will leave in an hour. Give me an hour please?” she turned her face up to his, pleading clear in her eyes. He sighed and dropped a kiss on her lips. He knew he was doomed. “Deal. Let’s finish getting ready.”

Willa grinned and pulled him in for a longer kiss before heading for the bathroom to finish putting on her make-up and shoes. It was a nice day in Ohio for being nearly winter. They headed downstairs and out to the parking lot to get into their rental car. Willa typed in the address into their GPS and sat back as Baz navigated traffic.

_____________________________________________________________

“Remember the first time we came here?” Willa asked as she looked over at Sebastian. He grinned back at her. “I sure do. I was nervous to meet your friends, but turns out they were just like you and I loved them all.”

“I told you. I remember having a deal of only staying an hour if you hated it. That was a fun night. We got drunk that night.” Willa said wistfully as Sebastian pulled into the driveway. Becca ran out of the house as soon as the car was parked and pulled open Willa’s door and engulfed her into a hug. Willa winced, but hugged her friend back just as tightly. Becca needed the physical proof she was OK and alive and Willa needed it just as much. David shook Sebastian’s hand as they walked back into the house leaving the women outside hugging and crying.

“Hey Seb. It’s good to see you again. I wondered if it was you that she called. Glad to see you guys are talking again.” David said as he lead Seb into the kitchen. He gestured to a stool at the kitchen island and pulled out two more coffee cups and poured Seb a cup. He slid it over to him and took a sip from his own. Seb nodded and took a sip.

“So what are we doing about Tony?” Seb asked David. He knew the look in David’s eyes matched his own. David grinned and told Seb exactly what they were going to do to him while the girls were packing up. Seb nodded in agreement and felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t protect Willa from it happening, but he’d be damned if he didn’t prevent it from happening to her or any other women again. It was also nice to know that Willa’s friends didn’t hate his guts for what he did.

Becca and Willa walked into the kitchen a short while later as Seb and David were chatting about their lives over the past few years. Becca gave Seb a smile as she headed to stand next to her husband and Willa sat next to Sebastian. “When does your plane leave?” Becca asked as she picked up her coffee cup and took a drink.

“5 pm.” Seb said as he looked at his phone. He had several missed calls and texts from Margarita. Sighing he texted her to let her know he’d call her in a little bit. He put his phone back in his pocket as Willa and Becca headed for the spare room to get packing. David gestured to the outside and Seb nodded and stood up. “Becca I’m taking Seb to the store with me. We need a few things. This way you girls can talk without us around.” David called up the stairs to his wife. They called back to be safe and they would see them later.

David and Seb left in David’s car to not draw attention to Sebastian. They drove over to Willa’s old house and parked a couple blocks down and headed for the back door. David knew Willa kept a spare key outside in a fake brick. He grabbed it and they let themselves into the house. They headed for the second floor and the master bedroom. They noticed the door was open, so they looked inside to see Tony sleeping with two blondes sleeping next to him.

Seb looked at David and shook his head. They would love to kick the shit of out him, but not with two witnesses. They left the way they came and drove to the store to grab what David really did need back at the house. “Too bad he wasn’t alone.” Seb said as they walked back outside after buying what they needed.

“I know, but he can’t be surrounded 24/7. I’ll keep and eye out and let you know what happens. He won’t get away with hurting Willa. She deserves so much better than that.” David said as they drove up to his house. They got out and headed back inside as Becca and Willa were putting the last suitcase by the door. Willa headed back to the spare room to grab her final small carry-on bag that had her passport and other important papers in it. She didn’t want to leave them behind. Looking around the room once more She spotted the black box she’d asked Becca to get for her. She closed the door to the bedroom and pulled the box towards her. She hadn’t looked in it since Baz left her. The day after he’d left is the last time she’d seen what was inside.

She opened the lid and riffled through it pushing past the pictures and movie tickets and letters and notes until her fingers wrapped around a small velvet box. She pulled it out and opened it up. It was still a beautiful as the last time she’d seen it. Pulling out the necklace Willa held it up to her neck. It was a beautiful pink moonstone, which was totally her style all those years ago. If she was honest it still was. She put it back into the box and closed the lid. She could still remember when she’d found it after he’d left.

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November 2006

Willa was still in shock as she packed her stuff up to leave. There was no way he’d said what he’d said. He couldn’t have just stopped loving her. He was supposed to be her forever. Now her forever was shattered and broken, like her heart. She packed up all the clothes she’d left at his place and her personal products. She’d went around and grabbed all the photos of their time together that she could find. While it hurt to much to look at them now, maybe someday she’d look back and smile. She pulled down a box that he’d given her for valentines day that year. She’d put odd and end in it. Movie tickets and notes from him and letters. Opening it she put in all the pictures and her hand brushed against a velvet box. She pulled it out swallowing hard. It couldn’t be what she thought it was. He wouldn’t have brought her a ring this soon into their relationship.

Shaking as she lifted the box from it’s resting place she slowly opened it and nearly cried in relief. It was a beautiful pink moonstone on a silver chain. Just a necklace. Not a ring. Pulling it out of the box she held it up to her neck and admired it for a minute. She placed it back in it’s box and nearly set it back down on the bed, but changed her mind as she put it back in the bigger box and closed the lid. She’d never wear it, but she would keep it as a reminder of him.

______________________________________________________________

Willa put the black box back into the closet and closed the door. She wasn’t about to open up those memories again. It was too painful still. Especially seeing Baz again and being in his life as a friend. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do this. It was still hard to not want to slip right back into being his girlfriend and loving him. She’d heard someone once refer to him as a puppy and she agreed wholeheartedly with the description. He was like a puppy. Happy, eager to please, and loved to snuggle. She missed snuggling with him, but that could never happen again. She still needed to pick up the broken pieces of her and glue herself back together.

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syntaxeme · 4 years

Text

Nowhere to Go But Up ch. 1

Chapter word count: 3859 Rating: T Pairing: Angel/Val Read on AO3: [x] Next chapter: [coming soon!] Story summary: Angel's history of drugs, gangs, and porn isn't quite as glamorous as most people think. This is the story of how a scrawny, lonely dead boy named Anthony moved up (or down) in the world and became Hell's #1 sex symbol, Angel Dust. The only way to the top is to claw your way up from the bottom.

— — –

When Anthony got to Hell, it didn’t surprise him to find that his old man was already there. Where the fuck else would he have gone? As ‘religious’ as their Catholic family had always been, his father was a piece of shit by all accounts, a sinner through and through. It took a couple weeks for him to figure it out, since people called him ‘Henroin’ down here—but even that made sense. Smack was always his drug of choice in life, so why should death be any different?

It took some doing, some seducing of guards and general sexual favors for his advisors (even though Anthony’s body wasn’t exactly how he remembered it, he still got used to it quickly), but Anthony eventually got an audience with him. And again, unsurprisingly, Henroin wasn’t happy to see him.

“Shit, Anton, you died even faster than I expected,” the boss—even a boss in Hell, apparently—growled, unimpressed. He looked every bit as spidery as Anthony had become, maybe even more so. “Just when I thought you couldn’t disappoint me more.”

“Thanks, Pop, good to see you too,” Anthony said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well? What do you want?” Henroin asked flatly.

“What do you fucking think? I’m your son. Shouldn’t I be involved in your business down here?”

His father let out a cold laugh. “When have you ever been useful to my business? If your brother was here, or even Molly, they might be useful. You? You’re worthless. Always have been. I dunno what you expected to change now you’re dead.”

That was a fair point. His father had never appreciated anything about who he was or how he felt, and vice-versa. Why would he care what happened to Anthony’s soul for the rest of his immortal life? It was Hell. Nobody cared about anybody, as Anthony was soon to learn.

He spent his next few months (assuming he was even perceiving time right in this weird, fucked-up realm) on the streets, whoring around, doing whatever it took to survive. He got ripped off more than once, some demon fucking him all night then beating the shit out of him when he mentioned payment. He figured out pretty quick that drugs were every bit as big in Hell as they were on Earth, so that was where most of his money went. Just to not be conscious. Just to forget for a minute.

It was supposed to be a punishment, wasn’t it? What little he remembered of church was that Hell was where Bad People went because they’d done Bad Things and deserved to Feel Bad. Well, he was, he had, and he did. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like anything other than absolute shit. It might’ve stayed that way forever—or at least until the next extermination—if he hadn’t met Cherri.

That morning, he was slumped against a gutted storefront, his eyes clouded, his head foggy as he was still coming off a high from two days ago. Some woman strolled up to him and nudged his leg with a booted foot. “Hey,” she said flatly. “Get off my street, skid, you’re making me look bad.”

“Get out of my face, bitch,” Anthony grumbled, turning away, covering his eyes to hide from the sunrise’s glaring light.

“Ha!” The demoness bent at the waist, grasped a handful of his hair, and forced his head up. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said fuck off!” Anthony snapped, jerking away from her hand. “Are you fucking deaf? Get away from me.”

The girl laughed again and gestured at a couple of big demons standing at her back. “Bring him.” Although he didn’t want to be taken who-knew where for who-knew what reason, Anthony really didn’t have the energy to fight. They took him across Pentagram City in a banged-up towncar driven by the girl-boss herself, then dragged him inside what he recognized as a shitty little gang complex.

“You’re tweaked out of your fucking head, aren’t you?” When she grabbed his hair again and forced him to look at her, his eyes were clear enough to realize that she only had one above her sharp-toothed grin. He sneered and tried to escape her grasp, but she just laughed as she released him. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Put his ass to bed.”

Despite Anthony’s attempts to tempt them with his body—probably pretty sloppy attempts, considering how fucked up he was—the guys working for her ignored him and dragged him off to a sort of cell, a bare room with a bed and a barred window, then locked him up alone. What’s-her-tits appeared in a slot in the cell door and told him once he calmed down, maybe they could try talking again. Considering how bad he was coming down, how miserable and unhinged he was, he screamed, he fought, he clawed at his own skin, but nothing did him any good. He tore the room apart. He shouted until his throat shredded and bled. He dissolved into sobbing and hyperventilating in a corner of the room. God, everything, everything felt so fucking bad, and now that he didn’t have some kind of distraction, drugs or sex or booze, whatever, he was being forced to feel every bit of it.

Sometime while he was passed out, they put water inside the room for him, and he savored every drop on his damaged throat. They delivered food, and he ate for the first time in who-knew how long. There was a period, he didn’t have any idea how long, where he was barely even aware of what was going on around him, too angry and scared and agonized to keep track. This wasn’t any better. He wished he could just fucking die to escape it, like he had on Earth, but that wasn’t an option here. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he had done enough wrong in life to belong in this shithole for the rest of eternity.

Days, maybe weeks passed in this cycle of misery and pain and eventual, merciful oblivion once he passed out. Finally, the girl-boss came back by his room and opened the door to stroll inside, apparently not worried about him trying to escape. Which he didn’t. Dropping to sit in front of the mattress that had been serving as his bed, she rested her chin in one hand. “So?” she prompted. “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” Anthony said quietly, having gotten past all his anger and violence to the point that he was just exhausted and depressed now.

The demoness, his captor, rolled her eye. “Anyway, I’m Cherri. And you are…?”

Despite his reluctance, he huffed out, “Anthony.”

“Great. I’m gonna call you Tony,” she said with a grin, leaning forward to watch him curiously. “What’s your story? How’d you end up on my side of town?”

“What do you care? You saw me before. You’ve seen how pathetic I am all this time,” he muttered, unable to even look at her. “I’m nothing. I’m nobody. If you’re gonna kill me or whatever, just fucking do it.”

“God, you’re depressing,” she said. “Well if you ain’t gonna tell me, you got anybody you know down here? Friends? Family? Some gang I can get you back to?”

“No. I mean, there’s my dad, but he doesn’t give a shit about me. People call him Henroin.”

“Holy fuck!” Cherri crowed, her eye growing wide. “You’re Henroin’s kid? I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said he doesn’t care,” Anthony snapped. “It’s not like you can ransom me to him or whatever, because he won’t pay.” He knew that for a fact, having experienced something similar in life.

“Huh. Can’t really say I’m surprised. I’ve always heard he’s an asshole.” Refusing to let the subject go, refusing to leave him to suffer alone, she suggested, “So answer me yourself.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point is I wanna know. Look, I know you’re in the middle of some bad withdrawal right now. Like, I can tell, I’ve been there, I see it on you. It fucking sucks. Makes you wish you were deader than you already are. But this place ain’t something you get out of by losing your will to live, and eternity is a long time to keep feeling like that or drugging yourself stupid, you know?” She started bouncing one leg, apparently a little restless but keeping her attention on him. “If you quit being so mopey about it, I bet I can help.”

“Why? Why bother with my mopey ass?” Anthony demanded, and Cherri grinned back.

“I dunno, you were kind of a bitch that first time we talked, and I kind of liked it,” she confessed. “Plus, most everybody around here knows better than to fuck with me, so maybe I like the change of pace.”

“Look, if you think I’m gonna be all grateful you ‘saved my life’ and we’re gonna be best pals, you’ve got another thing coming,” Anthony argued, finally managing to muster a little irritation. “I ain’t here to entertain you, and I ain’t fucking you either. If that’s what you—”

Cherri dropped her head back and let out a loud, grating laugh. “I’m not into dudes, you stuck-up prick,” she snickered, though she sounded more amused than offended. “So ditto. How about you take a few more days to chill the fuck out and then we’ll talk about you maybe joining my crew?”

***

It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t easy, but Anthony eventually got used to his role at Cherri’s place. Every day or so, maybe a couple times a day, she would come by his room and they would chat about whatever—his life before all this, her life, her new life, and the shitty excuse for ‘living’ he’d been doing ever since his dad kicked him out. After all, he had nothing better to do with his time, and he found talking with her worked to distract him from all the shit his body was still going through.

She told him more about the gang and her role in it, about how satisfying it was to kick some douchey demon’s ass when he was trying to horn in on her turf. She was shocked that he was a mobster’s son in life and still didn’t know how to use a damn gun, which she said was a crime in itself. When he mentioned the demons who had taken advantage of him before they met, Cherri was absolutely livid and swore on the spot that she was going to teach him how to defend himself.

“You can’t let them get away with that shit,” she growled. “If they think you’re too weak to stop them, fuckers down here will eat you alive. You gotta show ‘em you ain’t somebody they want to mess with.”

Considering how totally opposed it was to the rest of his experience in Hell so far, it kind of threw him off to be around someone who gave a shit about other people again. Maybe not all other people, but Cherri took care of her own gang, at least, and now she was asking him to be part of it. It wasn’t like he had any better options to pursue. So once he had finally gotten all the crystal and cravings out of his system, once he was himself enough to care where his future was going, he left his cell (which hadn’t been locked for some time) and found Cherri to accept her offer.

It turned out that when you weren’t trying to take on everything by yourself, Hell really wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t 24/7 misery, at least, now that Anthony wasn’t completely alone and struggling for life on the street. True to her word, Cherri trained him with guns. And knives. And bombs. And poisons. She even helped him figure out how to use his own spindly, lanky body to his advantage in a fight; it turned out he was a lot more flexible and agile than he’d realized. The inherent violence of Hell was obviously her favorite part of the whole deal, and with her encouragement, Anthony started enjoying it too. It was nice to not feel powerless for once. And even in the moments when he was overwhelmed, it was nice to know there were people on his side. Cherri’s gang was made up of junkies and criminals, but this group of sinners stuck together and looked out for each other. Good to have a family that actually wanted him for once.

***

About ten years after his death, there was a big turf war between their gang and some bird-looking asshole who took himself way too seriously. Called himself Bedlam. If he had been upfront about his whole hostile takeover bullshit, Cherri’s gang would’ve wiped his, easy. But he decided to come at them sideways with a ‘sneak attack’ and took out a third of their guys overnight. Cherri was furious but a little panicked over the sudden decrease in their forces. As far as Anthony could tell, she’d never been in a fight this big, this serious, and it was really getting to her.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked, more laidback than her, as usual. “It’s not like we don’t have way more muscle regardless. He can throw his ‘cultured’ fuckwads at us all day and we’ll gut every one of ‘em.”

“Muscle ain’t gonna win a fucking war, Tony,” she argued, holed up in her ‘office’ and trying to figure out how to approach this. “If he’s smart enough and he pulls another sneaky trick like this, we can kiss our cozy setup here good-bye. Goddamn it!” She grabbed up her desk chair and slung it out the window behind her, not flinching in the slightest at the sound of shattering glass. She had a point Anthony couldn’t argue with; he’d seen enough of his dad’s business to know brains beat brawn nine times out of ten.

“We need guys who are a little bit of both,” he mused, tapping his foot idly from his seat by the wall. “Like, you got your baseline soldiers and your advisors. You got your bruisers and your assassins. You need more of those guys. Specialists, you know? Precision killers. Right?”

“Yeah,” Cherri said thoughtfully, nodding slowly as she considered what he was saying. “Yeah, I think you’re right, babe. But people like that don’t come cheap. I’d have to…I might have to… Ah, fuck.” With a defeated growl, she shoved away from her desk and marched toward the door.

“Hey, where we going?” Anthony asked, hopping up to follow after her.

“Not we. Just me. I’m going to get some help. I don’t wanna do it, but we ain’t got much choice,” she told him as she strode through the complex without once looking back.

“Hey, why can’t I help? You know I can be persuasive, bitch. Let me—”

“Tony.” She rounded on him, her sneer less vicious and more nervous. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll be back and I’ll talk the whole deal out with you. The only way I’m gonna get this done is if I do it on my own. Okay?”

Seeing how shaken up she was and not wanting to make it worse, he heaved a sigh and threw his hands up. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Try not to die.”

He watched her car drive off, both pairs of arms crossed in irritation. But Cherri had been doing this boss thing for a while. He had to trust she knew how to do it. But getting excluded from the plan like this, being told “just stay at home and trust me to take care of it”? It was too reminiscent of his father and brother excluding him from family work. He hated that shit.

It took hours for Cherri to get back. Anthony stalked around the complex, waiting for a call, a sign, the sound of the car’s engine, anything. It was past midnight when she finally trudged inside, dragging her feet, looking exhausted. Anthony was lounging in her room, half-asleep in her bed when the door slammed open.

“Hey,” he said groggily, forcing himself up to look her in the face. “You look like shit. Where you been?”

“Not now.” She wandered unsteadily over to the bed and collapsed, dropping her face against her pillow. “Just. Lemme sleep. I’ll explain tomorrow.” Anthony watched her for a few seconds, realizing she was already mostly unconscious, and let out a defeated sigh. Dragging a blanket over her still form, he lay down and draped one arm over her shoulders.

“All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow came, and he didn’t get his explanation. The next few days were so busy that he and Cherri hardly had time to sit down and talk; they spent too much time fighting or planning to fight or getting ambushed and then defending themselves. And even though Anthony wasn’t sure how she’d pulled it off, the boss had definitely brought in some skilled help, the kind of vicious, calculating bastards who kept cool in a fight but each did just as much damage as a team of ten amateur muscleheads.

“Shit, Cherri!” Anthony laughed during another street brawl, watching wave after wave of Bedlam’s henchmen get cut down by their reinforcements. “Where’d you find these guys? They’re brutal!”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of it?” she asked with a grin, lobbing another bomb and cackling gleefully as it went off. “Nobody fucks with my people and walks away from it.”

After that point, the ‘war’ didn’t last much longer; with the new demons she’d brought in, Cherri’s gang was pretty much unstoppable, even spreading out further to take over the opposing gang’s turf. When she cornered Bedlam, it turned out he wasn’t much of a fighter himself and had to rely on his bodyguards—who had all abandoned ship when they realized they were on the losing side. Loyalty was a foreign concept to most demons, after all.

Cherri beat the absolute shit out of the guy, even shoved a bomb down his throat in her blind fury. The whole thing was real messy, and nobody walked away from it smiling. But at least it was over.

Sort of.

Sometime later in the week, as things were getting back to normal and Cherri was figuring out how to run shit now that her territory was twice as big, Anthony came to meet her in her office, only to find the door locked.

“Look, I don’t have the time right now,” he heard from inside. Cherri’s voice. He got closer and pressed his ear to the door to listen. What kind of conversation could she be having that she’d lock him out of it? “My gang still needs me directing them while we clean up this fucking mess. Tell him I’ll be there when I’m ready.”

“You better not keep him waiting too long, sweetheart,” an unfamiliar voice responded. “Val ain’t the most patient guy, and you wouldn’t want him having to collect your debt by force.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, coming into my place and making threats? I don’t care who your boss is; if you don’t get—” Her voice cut off with what was unmistakably a slap and a cry of pain, sending Anthony’s heart rate through the roof. Without thinking, he took a step back and broke the door in with a single powerful kick, already drawing three different guns to aim at whoever was hurting his friend.

Cherri struggled to her feet behind her desk, jaws clenched in an unyielding snarl. The guy she was arguing with was huge and dressed in a suit, totally out of place among their ragtag gang. “Get the fuck away from her,” Anthony hissed. The guy looked him coldly up and down, then turned away to speak to Cherri again.

“You’ve got a week to get your ass to the studio and hold up your end of the deal. After that, there’ll be consequences.” He left the room without another glance in Anthony’s direction.

“You broke my door, you bitch,” Cherri muttered once he was gone.

“Forget that. What the fuck just happened?” Anthony demanded, putting his guns away and coming over to her desk to check on her. Her head was down, but he could still see a red mark growing on her swollen cheek. He tried to reach out, to see if there was anything he could do to help, but she swatted his hands away.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you kidding? That guy just knocked you on your ass. You wouldn’t’ve let him walk away without a good reason.” What was the name he had used? “Val. Who’s Val?”

Cherri was silent for a few more seconds, curling her hands into tight fists and pressing them against the desktop. Eventually, quietly, she explained, “His name’s Valentino. He’s a bigshot Overlord from the North Side. Tons of money, tons of people, tons of ‘friends in high places.’ He loaned me a bunch of his guys for the turf war, so now I…owe him.”

“Owe him what?” Anthony asked despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely Cherri wouldn’t agree to what he was imagining. The longer she waited to answer, though, the worse his fears got.

“He runs Porn Studios. He’s been trying to get me to shoot with him for years, so I told him if he helped us out with Bedlam…” She trailed off with a shrug, unwilling to even say the words out loud. “We were out of options, babe. I couldn’t let the whole gang get murdered because I couldn’t lead them right. So it is what it is. I’ll go do whatever gross shit Val wants from me and we’ll move on like it didn’t happen.” Even as she was saying it, though, she seemed unsure, which was a very rare state to see her in.

Anthony wasn’t sure how to respond. Whatever Valentino was asking her to do, it was obviously something she was dreading, and he’d seen plenty of times how heated she got about anyone being pressured or forced into sex. Him, on the other hand… Well, sex just wasn’t that big a deal to him. Never had been.

Cherri had done so much for him. She was always the one backing him up in a fight, always the one who made him talk about the shit that bothered him. If it weren’t for her taking him in all those years ago, he would almost definitely be double-dead already, totally wiped from existence. There was really no way to pay her back for all that. But if she was finally in a position she couldn’t handle alone, if this was something that genuinely scared her or made her nervous, he was going to do whatever it took to help her out of it.

He would just have to convince Valentino to let him pay her debt instead.

#Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Valentino #Angel Dust x Valentino #do they have a proper pairing name? abusive ships don't really get that I guess. >.>#Hazbin Cherri Bomb #to those of you looking for ch. 5 of One Good Turn: I'm sorry but I swear it's in the works!#my writing #fanfiction #NtGBU #ValAngel #ValxAngel

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areallyyellowmango · 6 years

Note

Ey yoooo! You're art is amazeballs! I'm in AWE of your mad skillz, &hello my fellow TWDG!DuckLives AU fan?!? I'm not the only one who wishes that?!? Also, wild concept but, what do you think an AU where Both Duck & Sarah survive to continue traveling with Clem &AJ would be like? Sarah in S3? S4? How would things change or stay the same d'ya think?

Hey there, anon! Thank you so much! ♥ I’m glad you like my AU!

That’s a really good question actually. I hadn’t thought into it very much, but now that you’ve mentioned it, Sarah would be a very interesting character to see develop and grow, especially with both Duck and Clem around.

Here’s some headcanons for you! ♥(I got kinda carried away with this so there’s quite a lot, I hope you don’t mind fuhishfufhs)

By the end of season 2, Clementine’s relationship with both Sarah and Duck would change drastically based on whether she shoot Kenny or let him kill Jane, and so would their character developments from them on.

They’re both appalled if you choose to shoot Kenny. Since Sarah had developed a good bond with him, and Jane always regarded her as a liability, she would be taken aback by Clementine choosing to save Jane out of the two, especially after what she’d done to AJ. The scene would also bring her back the traumatic memory of what happened to her father, giving her an anxiety attack, as Duck mourns over his father’s dead body and confronts Clem about what she’d done. In this scenario, Duck and Clem’s relationship is greatly damaged for the time being, but can be restored later as Duck gets older and understands why Clementine made that call.

If you chose to let Kenny kill Jane, Duck is relieved, albeit shocked by what his father had done. Sarah is frightened of Kenny’s ruthlessness, and is distrustful of him from then on. You aren’t given the opportunity to leave Kenny behind, but you can still go into Wellington without him later.

A while later, into season 3, Clementine cuts some of Sarah’s hair for safety, like Lee taught her to.

Sarah lost her glasses while fleeing from a pack of walkers, so her vision isn’t as good as it used to be and she’s struck with dizziness constantly, another factor to keep her away from fights most of the time.

If Clem and the others stayed with Kenny instead of going into Wellington, he not only teaches Clementine how to drive, but also teaches Duck how to properly handle a rifle, which he picks up surprisingly fast. Before dying, he also teaches him how to hunt.

As age comes to him, Duck quickly abandons his loud, childish ways, and becomes a strong survivor and a cunning marksman. Kenny jokes that his little duckling is now flying off the water.

Kenny also teaches all of them how to properly handle a baby and all the care needed to keep AJ healthy and happy. Even though it takes a while for her to pick up on everything - and to be able to even carry AJ without getting a bit panicky -, Sarah loves looking out for him once she gets the hang of it. It takes her mind off of everything else going on around her, and they can all agree she looks like a complete different person when she allows herself to relax, picks AJ up in her arms and gives him cute baby talks.

Being older than Clem, Sarah is the first one she could possibly confide to when she ‘starts bleeding’. Sarah is a little (and by a little I mean utterly) embarrassed to talk about that, since she wasn’t ever given a proper explanation on why that happened to her either, but she tries her best to convince Clem that it’s not a big deal - it’s just a bit gross and painful.

When they tried to scavenge the New Frontier’s medicine for AJ, Sarah didn’t take part in it. Despite how much she loved AJ, the thought of going against their rules was beyond her. Of course, she wouldn’t tell on them, but she wouldn’t go along with their plans either.

Sarah was reluctant to leave The New Frontier after Clementine and Duck were kicked out for stealing their medicine. She didn’t want to live out in the woods anymore; without food, or water, or safety, and wanted a place to call home - and to stay with AJ in his final moments. She tried to convince them to take them back, but of course they wouldn’t listen.

Sarah attempts to escape with AJ once she realizes he’s alive and well, and that the illness is gone. The New Frontier catches her in act, and questions her for her treachery. They’re both left at the McCaroll Ranch, not long after.

When Clementine and Duck meet the Garcias, Duck gets to experience what it feels like to be jealous for the first time in his life, as he can’t get over Clem and Gabe’s strangely close bond and tries to step in the middle of it at every given opportunity. He blames it on protective sibling instinct, since he didn’t see Clem under a romantic light.

Come season 4, Clem and Duck have reunited with both AJ and Sarah at the ranch. Duck’s hunting has managed to keep them alive for a good while, even though they need to raction their food very strictly in order to stay alive.

Sarah is nearing young adulthood, and is now more secure of herself and can manage her emotions better, even if anxiety still strikes her more often than not. She can now kill walkers with more ease when necessary, and has a small knife as a weapon of choice; sharp enough to kill, but compact enough to not feel like a killer’s weapon.

She has developed good cooking and nursing skills, and even though they rarely have any medicine, she can improvise stitches and patches with very little material, one of the very few things she got out of The New Frontier, as she sometimes watched Dr. Lingard work when he was not drugged.

Sarah and Duck become polar opposite influences on AJ. Duck would be in favor of teaching him to preserve his own life at all costs, never hesitate, and justify his actions. Sarah, on the other hand, has never been supportive of violence and would stand by thinking before acting, and only resorting to killing when absolutely necessary. This polar dynamic would affect either of them after AJ pulled the trigger on Marlon at the school’s yard, depending on Clementine’s choice to teach AJ to justify or regret his actions.

At Ericson, Sarah wouldn’t talk much to the rest of the kids, and would rather stay on her own as she usually did. She would be very interested in bonding with Ruby, as she also shared the passion for nursing, but would be very intimidated by her attitude at first. Clementine would help her befriend Ruby, who she soon realizes to be really nice and sweet.

Duck wouldn’t get along with anyone at first, mostly because he’s very cold and shut to anyone else except Sarah, Clem and AJ. Clem could also help him make friends, even though it wouldn’t work out well at first. He’d be very dismissive of others’ attempts to befriend him, for the most part.

Duck would absolutely hate Louis at first glance. From the moment he started serenating Clementine, he knew he’d hate that guy’s guts.

Louis does his best to earn Duck’s respect. They’re eventually sent on a hunting party together, and Louis compliments his skills with the rifle, dissing Aasim’s “old fashioned grandma bow” and telling him to grade up. Duck chuckles and compliments him in return on the traps he’d built around the forest, but trying to keep it very lowkey. They eventually become good friends, after a short while.

He’d be very fond of Mitch and Willy. Willy reminded him of himself when he was young. and Mitch’s knife skills catched his eyes almost instantly.

Duck would love Rosie. He had a dog a little before the apocalypse started, which he loved beyond belief. Seeing a friendly dog again after so long made him instantly love her.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg duck #twdg sarah #the walking dead game #twdg season 2 #twdg season 3 #twdg season 4 #headcanons #long post #VERY long post #i'm sorry i went overboard with this #i'm gonna use these as a ref in case i want to build a little more into this AU later sdhiosfhisfh

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kenzieam · 6 years

Text

Druid - Chapter Three

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt @iammarylastar @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @notimetoblog @captain-ariel-barnes @jaamesbbarnes @lancefvcker @bitsandbobsandstuff @softlybarnes @lovelybbarnes @buckitybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes @moonbeambucky @badassbaker @citylights221 @empress-of-boujee @shynara51 @diinofayce @casestudy-mw @jewels2876 @damnaged-princess @everythingisoverrated @allmyfanficfaves @melgoodwin @clarabella960 @curvybihufflepuff @angryschnauzer @wowspideyholland @sergeantwhitewolf @smilexcaptainx @plaidcat4815 @shirukitsune @chook007

Thank you, my lovelies, for your kind words and support XOXO

*******************************************************************************************

Alright…. here’s another Bucky AU with my OFC, Levi.

Bucky is the President of the Druids MC and Levi is back in town to take care of her dying father. They meet through mutual friends and Bucky is immediately (still) taken with the girl he secretly fantasized about in high school, but he’s an outlaw biker and she has a life halfway across the country, will Bucky have a chance to make her his???

*******************************************************************************************

LEV

We make love one more time, slow and sweet before I give in and acknowledge that I have to get back home. I want to spend the night, so goddamn bad, but I can’t. I’m not here for a fricking vacation, I need to keep reminding myself, I’m here for my dying father.

Thor’s reluctant to let me go, keeping me snuggled close to his massive body, his giant hand stroking my sweaty hair.

“I need to go. I have to get back to my dad.”

He sighs, but not in frustration. “I’m sorry that’s the reason you had to come back here, but I’m so happy you did.”

I nod, feeling warmth spread through me. “Me too. When was the last time you went home?”

He shrugs. “Few years ago.” Thor didn’t move out here until after I graduated and left town, but I’ve caught myself wondering more than once what would have happened if he’d been here during school.

Thor sighs once more, a hard sound this time. He pushes up and swings his legs out of bed. “Let’s go.” He wants me to stay with him, but I can’t, and I’m relieved he doesn’t push it.

One person is conspicuously absent as we descend the stairs and walk past the couches towards the door. The remaining brothers call out goodbyes to me and I wave, grinning. None of these guys are nearly as scary as you’d think, but I sure wouldn’t want to be on their bad side. If Thor notices Bucky’s absence, he doesn’t comment.

I snuggle close on the ride home, wrapping my arms and pressing close to Thor’s back. I could get used to this. Too soon, we’re back at my place.

I hand him back my helmet and Thor tenderly cups the back of my head, pulling me close for a goodnight kiss. I melt against him before forcing myself to pull away.

“Goodnight.” I whisper, lips tingling.

“Goodnight, my lady.” Thor murmurs, his voice husky. “I’ll wait until you go inside.”

I nod and turn, rummaging for my keys. I wave once more to Thor as I open the door and shiver at his delighted answering smile. As I shut and lock the door, I hear his bike start and roar away.

I’m in serious trouble of falling for this man.

BUCKY

Steve’s the only one still sitting on the couches when I return. I plan on bypassing his determined stare and heading directly to my room but he calls out to me.

“How much longer are you going to do this?”

“Do what?” Maybe he’ll leave me alone if I act like a dense fuck.

“Don’t fucking play with me. Get over here.” Rogers doesn’t command very often, but his road name isn’t Captain for nothing. Knowing full well if I ignore him, he’ll just follow me and bust down my door, I sigh dramatically and wander over, flopping exaggeratedly onto the couch beside him, making the big bastard bounce a little.

He waits until I’m tempted to start squirming uncomfortably before speaking again. “You can’t keep doing this.”

I sigh roughly and sit forwards, scrubbing my hands over my face. Prick isn’t saying anything I haven’t already told myself a million times.

“You had your chance to tell Levi, you had years to tell her.”

“I know-”

“You gotta make a decision fast, brother. Either tell Levi how you feel or leave it the fuck alone.” He rubs his hands on his thighs, making the denim rasp. “You don’t, and how are you going to feel if Thor claims her? When you gotta see her all the time, wearing another man’s patch?”

I grimace, that thought hadn’t occurred to me. The answer though? It’ll be fucking hell, torture every goddamn day, I’d rather give up riding.

“Yeah, and I spill my guts and she tells me to fuck off?”

“Then at least you told her. You know one way or the other. You leave this too long and it’s going to start getting in the way of the club, it’s going to start affecting the brotherhood. We need to trust each other, 100 fucking percent.”

He’s such a bastard. I tell him so and he snickers, slapping my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but someone’s gotta say it. I can’t stand seeing you like this, and I sure as fuck don’t want the club affected either.”

He’s still a bastard, but he’s right.

LEV

“Dad? Supper’s almost ready, come sit down.”

It’s been six days since Thor and I first slept together, and we aren’t slowing down. I still come up to the clubhouse and share his bed, every night, but Dad’s been pretty quiet about it. Bucky’s been pretty scarce too, and it bothers me more than I’m willing to admit. I’m not ready right now to get to the bottom of that any time soon though.

“Dad?” I set aside the salad in my hands and walk into the living room.

“Dad?”

But I already know it’s pointless. Tears spring to my eyes. Dad’s sitting comfortably in his favorite chair, the TV playing quietly, but he’s no longer watching it. He looks peaceful and far too still. He’s gone to sleep, and he’s not going to wake up.

I turn away and dial 911.

*******************************************************************************************

Thor arrives just as the ambulance is taking Dad away, their lights extinguished, the sirens silent. He moves rapidly to my side, chains clinking on his boots and hips and pulls me into a tight hug.

“Aw darlin’, I’m sorry.” He drawls as I let go, finally breaking down and starting to really cry, burying my face in his broad chest. His hand moves soothingly on my back while his other one threads gently into my hair.

“Do you need to call anyone?” He asks gently.

I shake my head, voice muffled. “No, I already called the funeral home. Everything was set up before.”

“Come back with me, Levi. I don’t want you here alone.”

I nod, breaking down harder. I couldn’t stand to stay here right now, especially not by myself, but I was afraid to ask and am relieved beyond words that Thor offered. “Thank you. Just let me pack a bag.” I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t clean up the kitchen-”

“I’ll do it, go pack.” Thor replies, his deep voice soothing.

I almost make it through stuffing some clothes into a backpack before I start crying again, then I feel Thor behind me. He wraps his powerful arms around me and I lean back into his strength. He lets me cry, chin resting on the top of my head. When I’m down to sniffles, he reaches over and finishes my packing, zipping the bag closed. He follows me as I walk through the house, making sure things are turned off, windows shut and doors locked. I won’t be gone long, but I can’t stay here tonight. Hopefully I can stay over at the clubhouse until the funeral, then... I guess I have to decide if I’m going back to Houston or not.

Thor cups my face as he hands me my helmet, gifting me with a hesitant, beautiful smile then waits until I’m seated and gripping his sides before firing up the bike and pulling away. I close my eyes and let the motion of the bike, the warmth of the man in front of me soothe me almost to sleep.

Steve is there when we arrive, just about ready to climb on his own bike and head home for the night. He pauses to speak to us before leaving; surprise and concern filling his eyes as I dismount and pull off my helmet and he sees my reddened eyes.

“Levi? Are you okay?” His voice is so gentle and deep, so full of concern that I fight not to break down again. Dad was wrong, this isn’t a gang, these are good people who sometimes do bad things. It’s a grey area, but isn’t that what life is? It’s never just black and white, good and bad, there’s always shades.

“I-” I try to answer him and just end up hiccupping with sobs again. Thor pulls me to his chest, even seated he’s still taller than me and rubs my back.

“Her dad.” He replies quietly. I feel a hand rest on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Levi. Can I do anything?”

I shake my head, rubbing my nose against Thor’s shoulder.

“You want Nat to come up?”

I consider it, but I can’t be selfish. She has little kids to take care of. “No, thank you. Maybe tomorrow?”

I hear Steve smirk sadly. “I doubt I’ll be able to keep her away.” He pauses and I think he and Thor are having a wordless conversation. “I’m sorry again Levi, try and get some sleep. Nat and I will be up in the morning. Call if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you, Steve.” I manage and close my eyes against Thor’s shoulder as I hear his bike fire up. I don’t raise my head until the sound fades away down the road.

Holding me away slightly, Thor manages a surprisingly graceful dismount while still holding me and guides me to the clubhouse. It’s another quiet night inside, only one of the brothers, I think his name is Barney, is on the couch, half-asleep in front of ‘Gone with the Wind’ of all things and if I was in a better mood, I might tease him.

“You hungry?” Thor whispers in my ear.

I consider refusing but my stomach answers and Thor leads me silently into the kitchen. I wait, seated at the counter while he roots around in the fridge and, despite myself, my mouth waters at the sandwich he places in front of me. He’s made one for himself too, and for a long moment, we are quiet, chewing reflectively.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay for a few days?”

Thor nods. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’.”

But I can’t let it go. “What about Cannon?”

“What about him?” Thor asks, laying the rest of his sandwich down on his plate. He turns to look at me and I regret saying anything. “He’s just moody. I’ll admit it’s been worse lately, but I don’t think it’s you. It’s just the way Prez is.”

I nod, not really convinced. I have the oddest feeling that Bucky’s moodiness towards me is personal, something I’ve done to provoke him, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what.

“Either way, darlin’; you’re my guest, you’re welcome here. Don’t even worry about it.”

Thor stands, taking my plate and tipping the remains of our sandwiches into the garbage; then he takes my hand and leads me upstairs.

*******************************************************************************************

The next few days are a blur. There’s nothing to do for Dad’s funeral plans, and he’d gone through the house in the last few months and disposed of most of his possessions. I have an appointment with his lawyer today for the reading of Dad’s will but, unless his will explicitly states otherwise, I think I’m going to sell the house. What I’m doing after that is a big fat question mark, but Thor hasn’t asked. I can tell he wants to know, but is giving me space, which I appreciate.

He’s giving me a ride down to the lawyer’s office and I’m in his room, mindlessly fiddling with my clothes when he appears in the doorway, tapping on the frame to get my attention. This is his room, he doesn’t need to knock to enter and I tell him so.

He only chuckles under his breath and pulls me close. Thor’s been amazing since Dad’s death, seeming to instinctively understand when I need space and when I need him close.

“Ready to go?”

I snort. “No, not at all.”

The only time the lawyer was free was this morning, which is also the day of Dad’s funeral itself, so we’ll be heading to the service right after. Dad was cremated, and the service is going to be small, but Thor and Steve surprised me this morning by asking if it was alright for them to attend as well. To be honest, I’m surprised they care; I doubt Dad would have attended either of theirs, but the support chokes me up nonetheless.

I’m silent as Thor leads me downstairs and to the door. Steve meets us halfway and gives me a squeeze on the shoulder, and a few more brothers surprise me with kind words. Even Bucky manages not to glower quite so darkly from the corner, but he doesn’t approach and I’m secretly grateful. There’s a strange feeling in the air between us, like a low-level static charge that bothers me; probably just his hatred of me made tangible.

Whatever.

I was all ready to take Thor’s bike, but he pulls me to his truck, his cage, instead. Like the man itself, it’s big and bulky and shiny; barely-leashed testosterone on big knobby wheels and I squeak as Thor helps me into the passenger side, pinching my ass in the process.

The ride to the lawyer’s office is silent, swamp rock playing quietly on the radio. Thor reaches over and takes my hand, resting them on the console between us and I squeeze it gratefully.

He's about to sit out in the waiting room but I pull him with me and he follows wordlessly; waiting until I’m seated before sitting himself.

The lawyer, an old fuddy-duddy if I’ve ever seen one, eyes him a moment before clearing his throat and getting down to business.

It doesn’t take long.

I’m left the house, and there’s no clause against selling, so it’s going. There’s more in Dad’s investments than I knew or cared about, but the real surprise is the envelope the lawyer says Dad came down to the office and handed to him himself the day before he died. It remains sealed, as Dad specified it was for me only and I consider shoving it into my bag and reading it later, but something tells me to do it now.

Dear Levi;

I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to say these words to you myself, please forgive me for taking the easy way out.

My words to you over breakfast continue to haunt me. You know as well as anyone how little I’ve uttered these words in my life, but... I was wrong.

I had no right to dictate your life choices, and to be honest; beyond you surprising your mother and I with your decision to become a tattooist, you’ve always shown maturity and wisdom beyond your years. Although initially a shock, you choosing to become an artist was the right choice.

Life is too short to do anything but what you love.

My opinion of The Druids is just that, my opinion; and as I stated before, I was wrong. Although it is true there are far more opportunities in a large city than here, your mother and I have always just wanted you to be happy.

That was always our goal for you, not to be more... but to be happy.

Please don’t think too harshly of me, my dear daughter; I’ve always loved you and wanted you to have the best life I could give you. Whatever you decide to do from here on out, you have my blessing.

I will always love and watch over you, your mother and I both;

Dad.

Holy shit.

I can’t deal and I feel Thor pull me to his chest as I break down. Dimly I register the lawyer huffing in discomfort and leaving, but Thor stays still, letting me cry. After a long beat I manage to sniffle and snort silent and a thick, strong finger raises my chin. Thor’s watching me carefully, sympathetically and I give him a watery smile.

He doesn’t ask what’s in the letter and, after a few more minutes, I stand, Thor standing quickly with me. He hands me a large brown envelope, the will, and leads me gently back out. The lawyer is nowhere to be seen, but his secretary eyes me with a mix of curiosity and sympathy as we pass.

After I crawl back into the truck, and Thor climbs in his side, he sits quietly, watching me and waiting until I’m ready to go. His thoughtfulness is staggering and I almost start bawling again, but we have to get going.

“I’m okay.” I whisper and he starts the truck.

*******************************************************************************************

I’m exhausted.

The service was short and sweet. There’s a decent turnout, but I’m saved from regulating the festivities by Dad’s sister. She’s a whirlwind of motion, the type of person that mourns by staying almost manically busy and I leave her to it. She has responsibilities at home that kept her from staying with Dad at the end, but she’s here today and determined to lead the charge. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I haven’t seen her in years, and we’ve never had the closest relationship, so we’ll both go back to our respective corners after this.

Once back at the clubhouse, I retired upstairs and promptly fell asleep in Thor’s bed. By the time I wake up, it’s past midnight and Thor is asleep beside me, one arm flung over my waist, face buried in the nape of my neck. I’m starving but don’t want to disturb him, so I wriggle carefully and manage to squirm my way out from his embrace. He grumbles in his sleep but doesn’t wake and I pull on his hoodie to cover my tank top and capri bottoms before heading downstairs.

The clubhouse is silent, but I catch a few snores as I pass closed doors. No one is still awake and it’s weird to not hear the background noise I’ve come to expect from a pack of bikers. Usually both the TV and stereo are blaring, and noisy conversations and games of pool are happening; and someone, usually a prospect, is behind the bar handing out drinks, but it’s dead silent now and I suppress a shiver.

I enter the kitchen and freeze. I’m not as alone as I thought.

Moonlight shining through the window illuminates someone standing at the sink. Their hands are braced on the counter and their head is lowered, hair hanging in a curtain over their face. Whoever it is, they are powerfully muscled, chest bare, clad only in sleep pants, their skin like velvet in the moonlight. I reach over and turn on a small overhead light.

The figure snaps away from the sink, whirling to face me; so lost in their thoughts that they didn’t hear me approach and I bite back a gasp.

Bucky.

I’m transfixed by the sight of him for a moment. His muscle definition is stunning, thicker and more corded than Thor’s but what draws my attention instead is his left arm. It’s metal, sleekly beautiful, a sinuous design of sliding plates that whir quietly with each movement. The flesh of his chest and shoulder where the arm is attached looks angry and red, heavily scarred and I wonder fleetingly if it pains him. I know now why he always wears gloves.

For a long moment we just stare at each other and I wait for the inevitable sneer but it doesn’t come. Instead, something breaks in Bucky’s face, emotion contorting it and he strides to me, clasping my face in his hands. I barely have time to register the warmth and chill of his opposing hands before his lips capture mine and all thoughts disappear.

His kiss is rough; claiming, an edge of desperation darkening it. He groans against me, swallowing my breathy moan. Something deep inside of me snaps awake, blinking in surprise and my heart threatens to gallop right out of my chest. I’m instantly, almost painfully aroused, my body crying out for more. His tongue licks the seam of my lips and I open, whimpering as he starts to fuck his tongue into my mouth. My knees go weak and I grab desperately at Bucky’s forearms for balance.

Abruptly, he pulls away, resting his forehead to mine. His chest is heaving, lips parted and his breath rasps hot on my face. I’m still reeling as he tilts his head back to look into my eyes. He’s panting with emotion and desire, his eyes blown black but I’m still too stunned to react. A beseeching look crosses his face, a desperate plea for me but I don’t know how to answer, don’t know what he’s trying to ask me and, after another heartbeat, he lets go of my face and rushes from the room. Dimly, over the pounding of my heart, I hear him running upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, then his door slamming shut.

BUCKY

Stupid, stupid stupid!!!

What the FUCK was I thinking????

I finally couldn’t hold myself back anymore, finally gave into my desire to taste Levi’s sweet lips and it was even better than I ever could have imagined.

I was wrecked, exhausted, leaning over the sink, trying to steady my racing thoughts. I’d stared at the moon for a time, begging it for answers, then dropped my head in mingled shame and sorrow. I coveted my brother’s woman, I dreamed of her every night, I came in my hand with her sweet name on my lips and it was WRONG.

Having Levi stay in the clubhouse after her father’s death was agony. She was here, all the time now, no escape. I knew perfectly well when she was upstairs in Thor’s bed, knew by the languid flush of her skin every time he took her, pushed inside her sweet warmth and felt her come apart around him.

I feel physically sick by the tension and emotion she elicits in me, and I can’t say a word. Every day Steve’s glare becomes more pointed, more exasperated, but I turn into a mute around Levi, my tongue paralyzed as all blood and sense rushes south. I’m constantly, painfully hard around her all the time and have taken to escaping to the garage or out on my bike to deal.

Tonight, I was begging the darkness for strength; strength to either confess my love to Levi or, painful as it would be, cut that part out of me forever. I’m not sure I could survive the loss, nor the rejection. This anguish, at least, is known.

Then, she was there, behind me; like a dark angel. My heart clenched painfully. She wears Thor’s hoodie, but it has the Druids MC logo on it and, for an instant, it’s like she’s wearing my patch, my colors. Her eyes find my metal arm, and rather than disgust, I see appreciation, gentle curiosity.

Looking at her, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful; I doubt Levi realizes how simply, perfectly beautiful she is.

Before I can stop myself, I’m right in front of her, clasping her face in my mismatched hands and claiming her mouth. A tsunami erupts in me as my mind, body and soul practically combust. Her lips taste sweeter than I ever imagined, her breathy moan intoxicating nectar to my ears.

Fuck, fuck this is too much, I can’t handle what I’ve set free in my body by giving in.

I pull away, begging Levi to save me, to spare me this anguish; to kiss me back, to acknowledge in some way that she feels this too, feels my love for her, my absolute misery at trying to fight it.

I don’t see what I need to see. Desire, sure; but not answering love.

I’m broken, shamed. I can’t stand here in front of her anymore, knowing what I know now.

I fucked up... so, so badly.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky and lev #bucky barnes angst

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limey-blue-arty-do · 6 years

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Going Through The Stages

a lil ficlet inspired by my Angor Rot shitpost of how he deals with humans (in turn inspired by my OC and Angor interactions)

this is very heavily a canon divergence AU, features OCs, and is an Angor angst-free zone. enjoy~

Stage 1: Do not fucking touch me

“Angor Rot, this is your new assistant.”

The young woman that Strickler gestured to bristled furiously, as she muttered, “We’ve already met.” Angor was very much content to glare and bare a slight growl in her direction.

Strickler felt a sinking sensation in his gut as he recalled the state that the Order’s new witch had been found in – bruised and exhausted in the care of the Trollhunter.

“So, you might have gotten off on the wrong foot”, he started, an attempt to placate the two. Twin glares suggested placating would not work. “But remember that you are here under the watch of the Order-” The witch scowled, something horribly bitter and yet sad in her eyes. “-and you are under my strict orders.” Another of Angor’s slight warning growls was uttered, this time in Strickler’s direction. Strickler held up the ring, and the gentle hum of golden power silenced Angor’s snarling.

“You two will be working together to stop the Trollhunter”, Strickler told them. “And as such any inconveniences-“

“That’s one way to describe murder”, the witch mumbled.

“…Any inconveniences will not be allowed. I’m sure the two of you will manage to figure out a working plan.” Satisfied, Strickler gave them both temperamental smile. The witch responded with a roll of the eyes and a heavy sigh, before glancing at Angor.

“At least you’re not allowed to try and kill me now”, she commented, reaching out a hand to the troll. He recoiled, his knife still in grip from his usual golem carving, spitting at her, “I’m sure I could manage to maim you, witchling!”

Strickler’s sinking sensation did not abate.

Stage 2: Gestures of comfort are going get snapped at

There was something about having one’s soul used against oneself that left a painful ache even stronger than emptiness.

Angor watched Strickler’s back as the changeling walked away from the night scattered woodland clearing, feeling the urge to leap at his unprotected back and sink a stone dagger into the softness. But his limbs would not obey. Not now. Not until that ring was in his hands.

“Not gonna lie, that guy is kinda an asshole”, the witch commented. She was sitting nearby. Almost casual, but her shoulders rose when Angor glared at her as if she too would pounce.

As Angor rumbled a foul phrase in Trollish, the witch stood, unwrapping each leg with a wince and brushing off whatever foliage stuck to her coat.

“I uh….I feel you though”, she muttered. “I get that this sucks, having something taken, and-”

“Do not presume to know my thoughts!”, Angor snapped at her, his voice edging on a brutal roar.

“And don’t you try to judge me in return!” Silence. Inhale, exhale. A shaking breath. Soft fleshing movements. Such weakness.

Stage 3: You can steady yourself if needed but I will push you away if touch lingers for more than 1 second

They’d been traversing these tunnels for about an hour. Angor had been expecting the young witch to make some complaints or tire, but she’d been keeping reasonably good pace to his hidden surprise. Sure she’d attempted to make some conversation, but seeing as Angor was either short or reluctant on responses, she’d eventually lapsed into silence.

Well, for long enough periods of time.

“Do you know other kinds of magic?”, she asked. “Apart from tracking and stasis and projection? Granted that’s a strange combination to have on hand..” Again she trailed off. Angor glanced back over his shoulder, checking again she had not fallen behind. The human face was vaguely illuminated by the grey-white orb of light she had summoned to her hand, face pinched in that common manner that suggested she was thinking about something, or otherwise not in the moment.

“Keep your wits around you”, Angor rumbled, and her eyes snapped back up to him. “We will not be alone for much longer.”

“Right”, the witch said, and she took two steps into a hidden crack or crevice. Stumbling, she muffled a sound of distress, her path sending her falling against Angor. He braced himself not to step back, an arm adjusting to keep her upright.

A second passed, and he shoved her back onto solid ground.

“…Thanks”, she said.

“Watch your step, next time I may not assist”, Angor replied, continuing to lead the way.

Stage 4: If you hit me during a fight I’m going be a little bit proud

The woodlands surrounding Arcadia were widespread, with trunks and leaves that could swallow sound like a hole.

It was a suitable hiding place and training ground.

Shadows warped and coalesced across the dappled grass, forming a solid object that the witch plucked from the ground. Her hands forced the shape into a spear that turned and blocked Angor’s downward swing, stone and shadow hitting together with a muted metallic noise. Leaping back, Angor tossed the dagger to his other hand and came running in again. The witch turned the spear to the incoming attack and didn’t see the claw stretched toward her unprotected side. Sure the dagger was blocked again, but she was still bodily flung across the clearing. Turning in the air, she landed, rolled with the continuing motion, and came to a halt in a crouching position.

“When facing a greater opponent, they can always flank you”, Angor called across at her. “Maintain awareness of all your surroundings, and you may withstand a chance of survival.”

“I get it, I’m small, I’m more likely to die”, the witch said, standing with a sigh and slack posture.

Unguarded.

Angor kicked off from the ground, dagger in one hand and a spell manifesting in the other. Something to stun, to sting, to drive the lesson in-

Wait.

Her posture shifted even as he moved, the spear splintering into a dozen shards of black magic, her eyes watching him and prepared, she’d planned this and she was ready.

He struck low, moving to avoid the shards, as she leapt high and planted her foot into his face.

A small explosion of black cloud pushed the witch forward and Angor backward, hitting the ground and rolling uncontrolled, coming to rest on his side with a growing pain across his jaw. The witch didn’t fare much better, launched across the clearing by her own magic and falling in a cacophony of limbs and smoke. For a brief while, the two opponents lay dazed.

Angor let out a laugh, distant and grating as he slowly pushed himself back to his feet. The witch eyed him with an expression of nervousness.

“You are learning”, Angor said. “There may be some worth in you yet.”

“….Did you just compliment me?”

“I stated the facts.”

“You complimented me. Wow.”

Angor nudged the witch in the ribs with his foot and she wheezed.

“Up. This lesson is not yet complete.”

They took position once more.

Stage 5: Tapping my arm to get my attention is allowed but causes irritated glaring

The Trollhunter and his allies were wary now. They’d encountered Angor enough times to keep an eye out and to travel in groups. Now Angor no longer held the Shadowstaff, this led to some slight difficulties in keep track of the group. No major issues at least.

From the thicket (annoying brambles jabbed uselessly against stone), Angor watched the fleshling children walk together down a lit street and talk amongst themselves.

No Triumbric stone, but a magical implement gained. What to do now? How long until Angor Rot returned from wherever the portal had sent him? How to retrieve the stone? Where to find the next?

Angor listened. To know the plans of your enemy was to be able to fool him. To know where the prey would flee would be to set the trap in his path. He followed the three, moving silently from the thicket to thicket, another shadow in the darkness.

He felt a hand tap his arm and it was only the fact that the gesture brought no threat that stopped him from immediately turning his dagger on the person. Even so, he still brought up in a threatening movement, an annoyed snarl curling across his face. Tapping a finger to her lips, the witch pointed behind them. Angor turned his head too, and heard bushes move, the thud of heavy stone feet and limbs as one ungainly troll and one large troll moved towards the group.

Time to disappear somewhere else.

Angor pushed the witch ahead of him, and she in turn moved the shadows around them, the night enveloping the two and turning them into dappled shapes against moonlight and street lamps.

Stage 6: Comfort gestures are met with grumbling as opposed to violence

“Do you miss your home?”

Angor cracked an eye open. The witch was sitting across from where he’d taken up his own seat, floating wisps of black magic above her open palms.

She’d spoken enough of her own home in the same pained longing that Angor had felt when he’d been tired enough to recall his past, when Strickler had described Angor’s rise to the Pale Lady’s champion.

He felt the wisps of golden magic in his hands flutter, glowing in strength. Was it at the thought of the Pale Lady? Or was it at the thought of his home, long left to dust and ruin?

“There is nothing to miss”, Angor eventually responded, and he spoke truth and it seemed to ache even more than his emptiness.

Damn this witch for making him remember what had been taken. So much had been taken.

It took a moment for Angor to realise the witch had just said that.

“It’s not fair for you to loose so much”, she continued, almost muttering to herself.

“Do not loose focus. Empty your mind to concentrate on the power”, Angor warned her. He didn’t say she was wrong.

The black wisps curled, fluctuated and then dissipated. Letting out a sigh, Angor went back to focus on his own magic, only to see nothing but the fading glow on his hands. So much for a successful lesson.

The witch watched him, eyes narrowed. Angor couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her wariness, her spite. He couldn’t recall when he’d last felt that sickly hate, like when he sensed the presence of a witch and thought of what had been stolen from him.

She stood up, walked across to him (even with him sat down she only stood higher than his head from the torso up), and asked him, “You said once that trolls comfort each other by pressing foreheads together, right?”

Angor could tell where this was going. He curled his lip, let out a dull, “You should not bother to care”, followed it with a, “I could still try to kill you.” But still he felt contact against his forehead and he closed his eyes.

“The Impure will not know about this.”

“My lips are sealed if yours are too.”

Stage 7: You are fucking small get on my shoulder to get a better view

He needed that ring.

He was going to get that ring.

And damned by any that got between him and his soul.

The rooftops of Arcadia had become second-nature, much like the sewers, and Angor travelled across them quickly in the dim light of nighttime. Behind him, blurring shadow in footsteps and muffling sound, the witch kept well enough pace.

As they neared the museum, somewhere Angor knew Strickler frequented, Angor swung and clambered his way across a gap between the buildings, vaulting up the side of a billboard before leaping across the next gap. An easy path.

For a troll at least.

Looking behind him, Angor saw the witch try to peer between the billboard and metal vents, muttering angry words before trying to clamber up the billboard. Angor watched her progress for maybe a minute before deciding it simply wasn’t going to cut it. Back across he leapt, dropping down beside her.

“Stay still”, he said, and picked her off the ground. The witch wriggled briefly, as she usually did when carried. Reaching around, Angor held her up to the aging branches that grew across his spine and shoulder.

“Hold on”, he ordered and she did, he felt her weight across his back and a foot accidentally kick his side.

Up the wall, digging claws into the metal structure and up to the top of the billboard, Angor crept across before leaping the gap across the buildings again. He heard the witch inhale sharply, felt another accidental kick before that foot shoved into a nook somewhere in his back.

Landing gracefully, Angor shook himself and the witch dislodged herself without much other word, clambering down his arm to terra firma.

“Keep going”, Angor said.

“Of course”, the witch replied, following his lead.

Stage 8: Comfort gestures don’t cause grumbling

Angor Rot felt like his cracked core of a heart had been squeezed in a clamp. One moment that ring, his soul, had been in the clutches of the Trollhunter. The next, the witch was holding it and looking like it was a death sentence.

“Please, give it to me!”, the Trollhunter shouted from beneath Angor’s clutches.

“Do not”, Angor growled, and lo there was the spite, the bile, again a traitorous witch had taken his soul and how dare she, how dare she-

“Angor”, she said, her voice shaking and he couldn’t understand, he’d watched her change from bitter to capable at his side. “Please, come here.”

He moved. Close until she was right before him.

“Angor Rot, I return to you your soul.”

Reaching up, the witch placed the ring into his hand. There was a brief moment of stillness, and suddenly warmth flooded into him. Joy, freedom, a weight lifted with the removal of manacles. Angor exhaled for the first time.

He was free.

“You did not have to do this”, he said to the witch. “You shouldn’t have. I could kill you now, kill you and the Impure and the Trollhunter.”

“I…I trust you not to”, the witch replied, confidence leaking back into her voice and posture. “Do you really want to? Now that you have the choice.”

Angor looked at the witch and saw his village.

“No. No, I do not.”

The smile of relief on the witch was shaking but genuine. Reaching up, she placed a cold hand on his arm, and he leaned down in response to press his forehead against hers.

“Does someone want to explain what’s going on?” Ah, he’d almost forgotten the fleshbag Trollhunter. Stepping aside to face the confused young boy, Angor gave him a menacing grin.

“My leash has been removed”, he replied. “The Impure and his Order, nor the Pale Lady, no longer have a grasp on my actions. Angor Rot is loose, Trollhunter. And next to be broken is the leash of my ally.”

Gesturing to the witch, he was gladdened to see a look of surprised glee on her face. Both were especially surprised though by the Trollhunter’s next words:

“So, where do we start?”

Stage 9: I’ve gotten so used to you starting to climb up me now because you’re small that we have a damn code-word during fights

Given a month ago Angor had been raised from his chains to a world changed and marred, leashed by an Impure and forced to work alongside a witch fleshbag, he would not have expected to come to this. Standing in the shadows of a building alongside a dock of hulking steel and crates, and not being forced to work, not any more.

“It is clear”, he rumbled, and the witch ran ahead of him, taking shelter behind the first set of huge metallic crates. She crept ahead under she reached another opening, then gestured. Angor ran and leapt up onto the crate, flowing across the top to leap to the next before motioning for the witch for follow him. Turn by turn, they navigated the space between the line of buildings and the ship before them.

Angor heard them first. A sour chittering, and claws across metal. He dropped down to the witch’s level, motioned for her to stop. She stepped up to his side, hands instinctively drawing a weapon from the dark shadows around them.

The first goblin was taken out by a simple punch. The next fell to a spear. More and more, about a couple dozen, they swarmed the pair and it was a good fight. Sure, not a difficult one for Angor Rot and his witch, but a good one nonetheless.

Several goblins came in from behind them, from atop the crates, and Angor just about managed to turn and cut them apart into green ooze as they jumped at them.

“Midnight”, the witch called over and she grabbed for the now outstretched arm, clambering up and settling into place with a hand on those aching fossilised branches and a swinging glaive knocking back any other goblin that dared to try and claw at Angor’s back.

When the last goblin turned away with a frightened howl, there was a pause to breath. To take in the scene once again.

Again, the skittering of claws on concrete and metal. But this time something else was breathing, heavier and larger than a goblin.

“It’s them, it’s the Order”, the witch murmured, and to hear fear for the first time in a long time made Angor snarl at the oncoming foes.

“They will not stop us this time”, he growled, as the shapes of humanoid (but not, stone skin and claws and hooves and spines) figures came into view from around.

They would not stop him.

Damned be the Pale Lady, she would not take his village from him again.

#writing stuff #trollhunters #angor rot #OC #self insert #I mean the OC is based offa my personality so idk

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sickfic-with-kiko · 7 years

Text

Lev’s Troublesone Time

Yakuza/Gang AU where Lev is abducted by an enemy group and gets poisoned.

Warning: Violence and mistreatment of Lev, also vomiting described in really gross detail.

READ THE WARNING PLEASE

READ THE WARNING

Five hours.

That was the time limit given to Nekoma-gumi in the form of a simple text.

The root cause of everything had been a dispute going on between two illegal yakuza groups, namely Nekoma-gumi and Hatoba-gumi.

They loathed each other with every fibre of their being, fighting in the alleyways, abandoned clubs and anywhere they saw fit to do so.

Duels sometimes even resulted in death, which both parties saw as a reason to hate the other group all the more.

The members of Nekoma-gumi gathered round Kuroo’s phone in a semi-circle. The number was unfamiliar, but nobody needed to be told who it was that had sent them the ominous message concering their time limit.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Kuroo typed away furiously, slamming the table to attract the attention of those who weren’t already there beside him.

Taketora was swearing under his breath, while Kai was staring at Kuroo’s phone wordlessly, a dark glare in his eyes. Yaku called for Lev over and over, yelling out the new yakuza member’s name while pacing up and down.

“Yaku-san, isn’t Lev upstairs?” Inuoka suggested meekly, picking up on the short male’s fury. Shibayama stared at him in silent awe for even daring to say a word to an irritated Yaku. Both could tell that Yaku was more worried than actually angry, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Kuroo’s phone buzzed, the notification tone ripping through the tense atmosphere. “Kuro,” Kenma leaned into the table to have a better look. “Let me see,”

“Who’s missing?” The message read. A photo attachment of Lev was sent along with the text before anybody could speak up, answering everybody’s question that they were too reluctant to ask.

Kenma and Fukunaga let out an uncomfortable sigh, not letting the sick feeling in the pits of their stomach show. “I’m going to try and identify where they are. Send me the picture,” Kenma requested, deciding to get on with looking for a solution to the problem rather than getting too emotionally involved.

“Dammit, how did we miss this?!” Yaku shouted, clenching his fists as he stared at the ground. Lev didn’t deserve to be abducted, out of all of them.

The tall member was whiny, couldn’t do close range combat to save his life, air-headed, but he was loyal. He would die for the greater good in a heartbeat, even if it scared the shit out of him.

“What do you want from us?” Kuroo gritted his teeth, watching the dots appearn on his phone screen. A photo of a small bottle filled with clear liquid in between two fingers was shown.

“This is a vial of water mixed with poison. For every hour you fail to find Lev, he will ingest 10ml of this liquid.”

A video call started up as soon as a frightened gasp came from one of the younger members.

___________

“You won’t get anything out of me, whatever you do!” Lev shouted indignantly as he was pulled up by his messed up sliver hair. A swift punch was delivered to his side, knocking the wind out of him. He hissed in pain, tears of pain pricking his eyes as he took shallow, ragged breaths.

Lev’s assailant had restrained his hands to the wall, allowing him little mobility. He squirmed against the uncomfortable metal clutches, but his attempts were futile. The man had video called Kuroo and the others, which became apparent for Lev as soon as he heard everyone’s voices, calling for him.

“Hey, everyone, be quiet!” Kuroo’s voice bellowed from the speaker. Lev’s assailant stepped over to him and captured his figure with the camera for all to see, grabbing Lev’s face and twisting it so that he was facing the screen.

The tall male could see Kuroo and half of Yaku’s face squeezed into the small camera frame, both with a look of horror in their eyes. “Kuroo-san, Yaku-san! I- I’m fine for now-” Lev’s shaky sentence was interrupted by his head being slammed into the grey wall with paint peeling from it.

A shockwave of pain erupted in his temple and spread down to under his eyes, but Lev kept his expression determined. Surely even Yaku would be proud of him for not crying like a baby. “Lev, we’re going to get you out of there soon. We promise,” Yaku’s tone was hushed, almost as if he were delivering bad news.

“T-that’s great! Thank you!” Lev grinned, but Kuroo and Yaku’s expressions remained unchanging. His neck was held in a painful position so that his bleeding face could be displayed to his teammates. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped Kuroo’s lips.

Kuroo’s expression darkened. “I’m presuming it’s not ransom you’re looking for,” he muttered bitterly, presumably to Lev’s assailant. The man shook his head, and Lev could only guess that he must have been smirking at his chagrin.

“We’re just looking for ways to decrease the population of your kittens,” Lev had no idea what the man meant by that, but he could pick up the fact that he was in grave danger. It seemed as if he was the only one being left in the dark, but he had little choice over what was going to become of him.

“Good luck, little kittens.” Sickeningly honeyed words were uttered by the man before the call ended as abruptly as it had started. “You better hope your friends will be true to their words,” he lifted up Lev’s chin with the tip of his finger.

Lev glared helplessly at the man, who dug his nails into his pale skin, until it started to peel. He kept his mouth shut in order to prevent anything slipping out that might anger him.

To Lev’s surprise, the man hadn’t tried to torture him, apart from kicking him occasionally when he moved around in his restraints to get into a more comfortable position. His height in comparison to how high the cuffs were attached to the wall forced him on his knees after a while.

After a while, when Lev had lost track of how long he had been kept inside the greyish room, the man walked over to him and grabbed his face again. Lev recoiled from the touch, expecting violence.

To his surprise, the man only proceeded to take a photo of his face. “It’s been an hour, tough guy. Time for a drink,” he cooed, slipping two fingers into Lev’s mouth and forcibly parting his lips before the taller male had a chance to react.

Lev let out a squeak, intending to say “What are you doing?!”, which came out strangely due to the unwanted intrusion in his mouth. The man held a small bottle and uncapped it, bringing it closer to Lev, who struggled to clamp his mouth shut upon realising that if anything, he didn’t want to swallow the contents of that bottle.

The man took his fingers away from Lev’s mouth and measured out an amount of liquid from the bottle with a pipette, while Lev tried to get the unpleasant feeling in his mouth to go away.

“Open your mouth,” Lev’s assailant ordered him, but Lev refused to cooperate. His retaliation was met by a hand grabbing his nose, forcing him to open his mouth to take in air for a split second.

The man didn’t miss his opportunity and placed the pipette down Lev’s throat, squeezing the top of it to allow the liquid to travel into his system. A sudden hand slapping over his mouth made Lev gulp, preventing him from spitting it out.

Lev blinked back tears as he waited for something horrible to happen. He could tell that his assailant was used to torturing people, and his throat was scraped from the pipette.

Lev had expected the liquid to burn its way down his oesophagus, but surprisingly, it was as if he had just ingested regular water. However, he knew that something was coming for him. The anticipation made his heart leap to his throat.

For what felt like hours, Lev waited for something to happen to his body. He almost wished that he could feel something- anything take place in his body, but as soon as he felt a stabbing pain rip its way across his entire stomach, his mind went blank.

The man only smiled at Lev’s anguish, clearly knowing more about the situation than he did. Lev had a couple of seconds to take a desperate, fearful breath before the pain, that could be likened to someone stabbing his gut and digging into his insides, came back stronger.

Lev’s vision clouded with his tears as waves of extreme pain came and went. His heart pounded inside his head as the room began to shake and spin around. Squeezing his eyes shut, Lev waited for the pain to pass.

Leaning his head onto the cold, grey wall soothed the pulsing ache in his head, which also helped the room come back into focus. It was all right, he told himself repeatedly. The pain was temporary, and everyone in Nekoma-gumi would get him out if he endured long enough.

Lev’s breath got caught in his throat as he struggled to take in air. He forced himself to smile, remembering how Kuroo always grinned when the going got tough. Maybe he had what it takes to be a gang member, after all. He wasn’t a scared kitten in the streets anymore.

His courage was short-lived. A familiar rhythm sounded from the assailant’s phone, which prompted him to get over to Lev again, after typing something on it. He had the pipette in his hand again, and Lev already knew what was coming.

There was no way he was ingesting any more of that poisoned liquid. Lev closed his mouth and glared at the man, wincing as another cramp tore its way deep into the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t have the time or patience to deal with your pathetic efforts,” Lev sucked in a deep breath and prepared himself for his nose being pinched again, but that moment never came. Instead, a fist slammed under his chin without warning.

The man forced the liquid down Lev’s throat again, kicking the taller male into the wall by his stomach. A dry cough escaped his lips as he realised that things were only going to get worse. He had swallowed that poison.

This time, it required less waiting around for the increased amount of poison to kick in. The ache that had come in waves was now persistently attacking Lev’s stomach, eliciting a whimper from him. He felt a strange warm sensation travel from his gut to around his body.

Sour-tasting saliva began to fill Lev’s mouth before a particularly strong blow of pain twisted its way deep inside his stomach. He wanted to beg his assailant to make it all stop, but his pride prevented him from doing so.

By the time the fifth wave of intense pain had hit him full-on, Lev was in tears. His first dose of the poison had left him writhing, but after having the liquid forced into him a second time, everything was taken to a whole new level.

He couldn’t stay upright with the dizziness controlling the scenery that he saw, and on top of everything that ached inside him, he also felt increasingly nauseous after each ripple of pain in his abdomen.

Even sucking in a breath jarred Lev’s body, and it had been the final tipping point for his stomach to decide that its contents wanted out, right now. A harsh gag forced him on his knees once again as a rush of warm vomit poured from his mouth. It splattered on the floor beneath him, as well as onto his shoes. Fear overtook Lev as he felt himself lose control, completely at his body’s mercy.

A sound that could have been a whimper or a sob escaped his lips before Lev felt another twist in his stomach tell him that he wasn’t done yet. In a split second he was heaving up more partly-digested food, struggling to catch his breath as he felt his stomach clench. He continued to bring up his stomach contents for what felt like hours, each gag turning more painful than the one before.

When the vomiting had finally subsided, Lev had lost the energy to even hold himself in an upright position, his restraints the only thing preventing him from collapsing onto the ground. Bitter-tasting saliva dripped from his mouth as he shivered violently.

Lev didn’t feel any better after he had thrown up. The stomach contractions left his whole midsection sore, and the slightest of movements sent a jolt of pain through his gut. Sweat clung to his hair as a repressed sob escaped him.

He needed relief, something to ease the pain before he couldn’t take it. He would have slammed his pounding head against the wall in an attempt to knock himself out, if he wasn’t feeling so weak and dizzy.

His mouth tasted absolutely disgusting, and tears were welling up in his eyes as the stabbing sensation started to attack his stomach again. He had long forgotten what time it was, or why he was being treated like this. He could only concentrate on squeezing his eyes shut to at least try and forget about throwing up.

Lev started to cry to himself, his tears dripping down and joining his stomach contents on the ground. Where had he gone wrong? Would this have been prevented if he had stayed close to Yaku? Was it his fault for not being careful enough?

He shivered, freezing with terror as he heard footsteps approaching him again. No, no, it couldn’t be time for him to drink the poison again. Lev knew what the liquid could do to him after his horrible experience. His stomach still felt like millions of needles were trying to tear holes in it, and he wasn’t prepared for more pain.

“Look this way,” The man grabbed Lev’s face stained with tears, taking a photo of him. The flash of light aggrevated something inside him, causing him to flinch away. “You’ll open your mouth if you know what’s best for you,” his assailant tilted his face sideways, knowing that Lev had hardly enough energy to fight back.

Lev shook his head sideways, terrified. The idea of getting another drink of the liquid terrified him. “Stop! Get away from me!” He protested, but the brute had forced his mouth open.

The poison was poured straight into his throat, making him choke. Lev coughed out some of the liquid onto the ground, but the man didn’t seem to care. He must have swallowed enough for it to wreak havoc in his digestive system.

As soon as the liquid hit his tortured stomach, it felt wrong. The churning in his middle resurfaced, and Lev knew it was now a matter of when it was coming back up. The man walked away from him with a disdainful smirk, pleased at his suffering.

Lev felt an all-too-familiar stab in his gut, far sooner than he had expected. Standing up suddenly seemed like a chore to him, now that the immediate threat of the man wasn’t beside him. Staring down at his soiled shoes didn’t help him, and his mouth started to water.

A series of ragged breaths escaped Lev’s mouth as cramps gripped him. His stomach felt like it was being torn to shreds, and the pain made him want to scream. When his mouth opened, what came out wasn’t a scream, though. Instead, a painful gag escaped him as he vomited the liquid he had ingested earlier.

Lev didn’t feel better after getting some of the poison out of his system. If anything, he felt himself become more nauseous, and within a second he was bending over again, bringing up bitter-tasting bile that burned its way through his throat.

The squeezing sensation in his stomach became stronger, leaving him sweating and shaking. He was sure that he had nothing left inside of him to throw up, at this point. The pain that had plagued him now seemed to burn his entire digestive tract.

Lev sobbed as dry heaves racked his body, until a splash of liquid that tasted like iron rose up to his throat. Upon spitting it out, the ground beneath his face turned a dark red, making his heart skip a beat. He didn’t know where the blood had come from exactly, but it had never happened to him before. Was it a sign that the poison was finally killing him?

The anxiety mixed with the intense aching in Lev’s body horribly, and soon enough more blood was being forefully ejected out of his mouth, onto the floor. His mouth was filled with a metallic taste, which he attempted to get rid of by spitting it out. His action only caused him to vomit more blood, which dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

He began to feel light-headed after he was finally finished. Blood dried on the corners of his lips, flaking a little. He had never anticipated to die like this, poisoned by an enemy gang member until he was sitting in a puddle of his own vomit and tears. Keeping his eyes open seemed harder and harder. He didn’t care if he lost consciousness; at least he would die without begging for mercy.

“Hey, where the fuck is he?! Kenma, have you figured out which room he’s in?”

“I think I’ve found his location, but we have to hurry. The poison’s probably left him in horrible condition. Follow me,”

Familiar voices filled Lev’s head as he felt himself losing touch with reality. He hoped that Nekoma-gumi would at least remember him, even if he had done nothing remarkable. He didn’t expect to be cared for that much, since it was a gang he was in, after all. Even so, it was a place he belonged.

“He’s here!”

Two firm hands grabbed Lev as his restraints were suddenly taken off him. There was a crash and yells from a few different men to indicate that things had gotten violent with Lev’s assailant and the members of Nekoma-gumi. Lev’s shoulders were gently shaken by the pair of hands that held him up and lifted him out of his mess.

“Hey, Lev, can you hear me? It’s Kai. You’re going to be okay.” The warm voice coming from the older gang member forced Lev to lift his heavy eyelids. Kai’s relieved face came into view, and Lev suddenly felt a warmth in his chest. Everyone had come looking for someone as mediocre as him.

A lump formed in Lev’s throat, which he was too exhausted to swallow. Tears started to roll down his paled cheeks as Kai wrapped his arms around his abused body, comforting him as Kuroo and Yaku took care of his assailant; Shibayama called a medic that would transport him to a safe hospital without giving their names up to the police.

Lev felt like he was at home again, even in his moment of extreme pain and fear. In a moment, Yaku was also by his side, whispering soft, encouraging words to him. “You’re one tough guy, you know that? You’ll feel better soon, I promise. We’re all proud of you,” those words were the last thing Lev heard before he drifted off to sleep. The pain that was destroying him a moment ago dulled, and he lost consciousness with a small smile on his lips.

#lev haiba #emeto #tw vomit #vomiting #violence #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #ish?? idk #gang au #yakuza au #i forgot the source of the trope i'm sorry #whump #poison #kuroo tetsurou #yaku morisuke

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cagedbycravings · 7 years

Text

Of Blood and Fire

Word Count: 3,120

Characters: Ignis Scientia, OC

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, and topless tackling.

Summary: With the threat of invasion looming over the horizon, Lucis sends their best strategist to strike an alliance with the Infernians who have only just ended their Isolation period. When plans go awry, Ignis learns first hand of why the Rogues thrive on blood and fire…

Special thanks to @itshaejinju, @xnoctits, @atarostarling for your support. You guys make writing so much easier to share.

Of Blood and Fire

Chapter Two

A twisting in his gut was his only warning before feeling searing pain in his back. Just before he could scream, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. Muffled voices reached his ears as he struggled to deduce whether it spoke kindly or cruelly whenever a pinch caused his eyes to flutter close.

Mint green eyes shot open as nausea overwhelmed his senses. The blur of a trashcan entered his sight as he lurched forward, allowing the metallic taste to escape. He could feel a burning desperation in his stomach as his vision spun. The vague touch of hands on him made him panic as he materialized his daggers, stabbing in blind directions.

“Please calm down…” A voice urged. “Take a breath.” A light touch to his bicep was all he needed to target his strength, plunging the dagger forward. He’d caught skin, as droplets of blood landed on his face. Mint green eyes sharpened as he saw a weak spot, aiming directly for the heart of the person standing above him. A painful pinch stopped him as pressure to the back of his neck froze his movements. An unsettling chill seeped into his bones as he felt his arms fall to his sides. Eyes wide in shock.

A pair of legs bent to his level as he felt something cold on his forehead. “I will not hurt you.” The accent was heavy, the words spoken without complete confidence as Ignis locked eyes with violet. “Please, get back into bed.”

As Ignis tried to remember the events leading up to this moment, a draft entered the room as his vision sharpened long enough glance down at his naked form. Feeling blood rush to his cheeks, he grabbed the first item available. Tearing the fluffy white blanket from the bed behind him, he stood unsteadily, eyes searching for an exit. “Tell me where I am!” His demand made Emniya flinch as she cautiously stood. Holding the blanket with one hand, and materializing a dagger with the other, he realized how much height he had on her smaller frame. Not taller than 5’6, with an untrained posture, he deduced that she would be easy to take down if necessary. He instinctively squared his shoulders, ready to strike whenever a round of dizziness caused him to collapse.

The sun’s final rays heated his flesh as Ignis eyes fluttered open. He sat up gently this time, preventing another vomiting episode. In search of his spectacles, he noticed a steaming egg dish in front of him. Without thinking he hungrily scooped the food into his mouth with the foreign utensil. Even in his haste, he could taste the various spices and herbs as he finished with a satisfactory look in his eyes. Gaining a bit of strength, he looked towards the end of the bed where his clothes were neatly folded. Dressing himself in all but his shirt, he took a moment to analyze his surroundings. He’d been resting in a sleeping nook with a wooden side table next to it. Books, journals, and an old picture frame lined the table as Ignis lifted the of photo Emniya and Kostya embracing each other. Her lips pressing a kiss to his cheek. Kostya’s smile spread from ear to ear.

His eyes drifted to the Ifrit statue surrounded by candles and incense as Ignis recalled what he’d read about the Infernian’s current ideology clash. At the very end of the hall was a room divider and a bookshelf closing in on what he assumed was Kostya’s space. A makeshift bed consisted of fluffy colorful pillows and blankets as images of the boy sliding open the grate flashed in his memory. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he continued to search for his glasses.

His body began to ache, stiff from not moving as he slowly walked towards the stairs. From where he stood, he could see a living area connected by a table leading to the confines of an old country kitchen. Entering he took comfort amongst the rustic dishware, the window garden lining from the kitchen window to the small table in front of the face of the clocktower. Freshly harvested lavender dried in the sun as he noticed the mortar and pestle holding a bright orange spice inside. The stove was still warm as he deduced that whomever saved him had only recently left him to his own devices.

Entering the living area, he found a fireplace draped with a blanket of greyed soot. He’d stepped on a pile of wanted posters as they revealed Emniya with bold lettering attached:

Wanted for Distributing Illegal Substances. Reward: 5000 gil.

Scanning the other wanted posters, he glimpsed many accused of several crimes ranging from drug trafficking, to theft, to murder. Casting doubt on the integrity of his saviors, Ignis all but limped towards the clocktower’s face. His vision wasn’t quite strong enough to make out exactly what was transpiring in the enclosed courtyard but from what he could tell, it wasn’t good.

>>>>

The enclosed courtyard used to serve as a place of comfort in her childhood. The smell of incense blended well with the summer blossoms that caressed the smooth stones beneath her bare feet. Emniya had often felt lulled into the embrace of the environment as the weight of isolation faded from mind. Tonight however, under the light of the full moon, Emniya could feel something was off. In the center of the courtyard, a great fire burned with a growing crowd surrounding it. Nearly everyone in the family was present, a rare and borderline reckless decision unheard of for the Matriarch. Mother was wearing her ruby and gold arm cuff. A forbidden item that could lead to her hand being removed by the current Commander. In her hand was a long, lapis blue pipe filled with poppy powder. Another offense that could lead to her missing a limb. Both only appeared when something terrible was about to happen as Emniya swallowed her fear.

A fist connected with what remained of Zedd’s face. The middle-aged man and his wife were of the select few permitted to live outside the blood walls. He had previously implored Mother for more protection against the daemons that plagued their farm. Such a request would only be granted if the famer was able to afford it.

Judging by the amount of blood splatter and missing skin, he wasn’t.

Mother, her hair in silvery twists running along her back, gazed with astute azures at the man being beaten to a pulp by the muscly Rogues. She inhaled another puff of poppy powder, unfazed by Zedd’s pleas. It wasn’t until Mother caught Emniya in her peripherals did she raise her hand, halting the oncoming punch.

Emniya felt the eyes of the others on her as time seemed to slow to a glacial pace. Over the years, she’d learned the truths that all Rogues were bound to. The fealty to the Matriarch was comprised in three parts.

No withholding of tithe went unpunished.

Her ambergine eyes glanced towards Zedd. His arms were tied to the chair behind him, his head nodding as he choked on his blood.

Her eyes widened, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She bit her lower lip seeing Kostya next to the one person she’d hope he never meet. Avarice. She didn’t fault the boy, ever. She’d chided herself into thinking that she had more time to protect him from the Rogues. He was so young, still so naïve, still so damn impulsive.

Avarice was the one in charge of recruiting from the orphanage, a sickening sixth sense of who would be able to handle Initiation.

No one became a Rogue without bloodshed.

Pushing away the images of her own Initiation, Emniya felt her eyes flicker towards the ground, submitting, before leaning down to press a reluctant kiss to Mother’s wrinkled cheek.

And above all, no secret was worth keeping from the Matriarch.

Her eyes locked with icy azures as time resumed its natural speed. Emniya kneeled before the Matriarch.

“You called, mama?”

“Take a seat, daughter.” Her voice, deep and velvety, had always unnerved Emniya. Sitting crossed legged, Emniya did her best to prevent any emotion to cross her features, watching as Mother signaled for the beating to continue.

Desperate to focus on anything other than the light fading from the farmer’s eyes, Emniya glanced around the courtyard. Their numbers had grown to over a thousand in the past couple of years as she recognized former blood guards now enlisted in the ranks of the Rogues. Still, none of that explained why Mother had gathered so many of them together at once. Her eyes returned to where Kostya and Avarice had been standing, her nerves stricken with panic when she didn’t see them.

“You seem troubled, daughter. What concerns you?”

Emniya nodded towards the growing crowd. “This many people in this heat is making me queasy.” It was not a complete lie, Emniya disliked large crowds as she felt the energy of too many people.

In any case, Mother seemed content with her answer. “Patience. My announcement will have been worth the discomfort.”

Emniya watched with a pained expression as Mother motioned for Zedd’s beating to cease. Two of the Rogues dragging his body away. She stood from her throne as the courtyard fell silent.

“My dearest family. Today marks a victory for our people. The Commander in a rare moment of clarity has brought an end to Isolation.”

Allowing a moment of applause, Mother smiled before holding her hand up. “But this does not mean our bellum sacrum is over. We cannot rest until the Infernian has been restored to his rightful glory! For it is through his bloodshed, that we are here. And it is through his wisdom and mercy that each generation be gifted with a Daughter of Ifrit. ” Once again feeling the many stares on her, Emniya tensed as she rose to grab the Matriarch’s hand. “We will need your sacrifice, all of your sacrifices in these trials we face. For it is by the blood, his fire is restored.”

“By the blood, his fire is restored.” The chants echoed in the crowd as grey eyes filled with disdain.

Like a contagion. Avarice propped herself against the wall, her eyes sharpening on Emniya. Mother, in all her power held together the constellate of Rogues. And had done so single handedly since Isolation had begun. In her perspective, Emniya wasted her potential on irrelevant rituals to Gods who had long since abandoned them. The time squandered using her own blood to create crystals, mixing incense, was already enough to send fire into her veins. But perhaps even more infuriating was the most incessant waste time. Prayer. Mother was aging, and would soon be passing on her title of Matriarch to one of them sooner than later. Avarice, while highly adroit in combat and interrogation was without her gifts of the Infernian. Unlike Emniya however, she would not have wasted such precious energy on creating tonics for the poor and sickly. She wouldn’t waste her clairsentience skills on petty matters such as gaining empathy for those who opposed her. Avarice would seek to build the Rogue’s strength. Creating a far more brutal, efficient force to overtake the state from the Commander. And she’d do it without the blessing of the Gods.

>>>>

Emniya still felt the warmth from Mother’s kiss on her forehead. A rare spectacle of affection, Emniya couldn’t resist the smile tugging at her lips. Mother had been withholding, shutting down any physical connection since Emniya could remember. And yet the mere touch of someone else brought comfort in a way she hadn’t realized she was missing.

It was late, as even the moon had tucked itself beneath the thick clouds. She allowed her mind to wander as she made her way home. The moon’s rays extended across the desert city as she gazed with curiosity at what lied outside the blood walls. Were the whispers true? That in the east existed an entire city of light? That in the west lie the gravesite where the Glacian finally rested? Only read about in books, Emniya had spent her childhood imagining what the other Gods must have been like. How did they treat their children on Eos? Did all of them require blood to receive their gifts? Her questions were an endless distraction until the night she and Kostya saved that man. A flicker of hope burned in her heart as Emniya dared to wonder what kind of life she and Kostya could have outside the blood walls.

Her moment of respite was interrupted by a hand clamped over her mouth, tearing her from her thoughts. She squirmed feeling her body lifted from the ground before being thrust against a stone wall. Adrenaline had just coursed through her veins as she unconsciously grasped for her blade. Plunging the knife forward, she felt a vice grip threatening to crack her wrist. An unsettling laugh rose from the darkness as ambergine eyes locked with glimmering grey. Prying the knife from Emniya’s hand, Avarice used her other arm to pin Emniya’s neck.

“Release me, Avarice!” Emniya hissed as she thrust forward, almost loosening the grip at her neck.

“Why? Do you have somewhere to be? I’m surprised you aren’t sticking around to see if anyone needs healing…” Her voice was raspy, just barely above a whisper whenever she leaned closer, grey eyes just inches from violet. “Or rescuing…”

The was a flash of dread in Emniya’s eyes before she blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were always a shit liar.” Avarice slipped her free hand down Emniya’s uniform, snaking downward between their legs as the raven haired Rogue placed her hand dangerously close to an area she was already too familiar with. Emniya struggled, writhing under Avarice’s lustful gaze. “Why don’t you visit my bed anymore?” Emniya looked past her towards the oncoming flashlight from one of the blood guards patrols.

“Let go! If one of the blood guards see this …” Dread filled her eyes as a dark laugh fell from Avarice’s lips.

“If you’re quiet, they won’t notice us…It’s worked before, right?” Avarice’s hand worked in small circles against Emniya’s taut uniform as she continued to squirm.

“You have to stop.”

“Is that what you truly want?” Avarice removed her arm from Emniya’s neck watching as she inhaled sharply.

Releasing herself from Avarice’s grip, Emniya wasted no time in scaling the stone wall before vanishing from sight.

An amused smirk crossed her features as Avarice licked her finger tips. Guard your precious secret while you can, dear Emi. Everything in the dark comes to light eventually.

>>>>>

His time as advisor the future king of Lucis had provided the strategist an abundance of patience. However, sitting in a dark apartment alone in a foreign territory was enough to test his limits. His eyes were strained, causing a headache as he massaged his temple. His eyes on the doorknob, he tensed as it turned. The front door opened quietly as a shadow crept inside. Materializing his daggers, he tackled the unsuspecting figure.

Their bodies collapsed, as Emniya cried out. Her head smacked against the ground dizzying her. Twice now she was pinned, her face just inches from someone else’s in the dark.

“Get off.” She growled.

“Provide me one reason why.” Ignis demanded.

“Because…” She squirmed against him. “You cannot be seen.”

Ignis reluctantly lifted himself from her Emniya stood quickly to close the door. Latching the deadbolt as she ignored his gaze. She slid her hand across the wall, in search of the light switch. A dim light flickered to life as she stood before him.

For the first time he was able to analyze the person who rescued him. Her dark red cowl removed to reveal her short, messy curls. The same color of the calla lilles at his family’s estate. Her deep-set violet eyes were striking against her topaz flesh. She was not traditionally beautiful. Not like he’d seen in Lucis. Her presence louder as if demanding to be heard. A look of uneasiness settled into her eyes as Ignis realized his daggers were still in hand.

“Who are you?” His tone was harsher than he intended as she tensed. “Emniya. And you are?”

“Scientia.”

“Sci-en-ti-a.” She sounded out his name as he nodded. She muttered something in Infernian as he narrowed his eyes. A blend of melodic with soft, deep undertones reached his ear as he waited for a translation she didn’t provide as she turned hesitantly towards the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?”

The sincerity of the question caught him off guard. Regaining his composure, he nodded allowing the daggers to dematerialize.

“Did you…”Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the word. “en..joy the dish from this morning?”

He nodded again, as he wondered how to better deal with the language barrier. The room fell silent as Ignis couldn’t resist standing at the edge of the counter watching her prepare the meal. He deduced she was partial to using mostly vegetables with an array of spices which he couldn’t help but appreciate.

Splitting the dish evenly amongst their plates she looked at him curiously, her mouth turned inward as she set a plate in front of them. There was a pause before she returned to the kitchen bringing over a clay teapot and two cups.

“How do you say…” She pointed at the clay pot.

“Teapot?”

She shook her head, eyebrows knitted. Eyes downcast at her frustration.

“Tea?” Ignis eyed her finger tapping gently the teapot as he watched her eyes flicker with encouragement.

“Tea!” She beamed before catching herself. Her smile faded from her face as she looked away, embarrassed.

Ignis placed his hand near hers, watching as she curled her fingers into a fist. “Emniya,” He began, studying her body language. She seemed anxious, a stark contrast to the enthusiasm he’d witnessed just a moment ago. “If you would like, I will teach you the language we speak in Lucis in exchange for your teachings in Infernian. Deal?” Extending his hand across the space between their cups, he watched as she began to lift her hand towards him. Her violet eyes were cautious as if she worried he was materialize a dagger through her palm. He offered a reassuring smile as she placed her hand in his.

“Good. Now shall we start with what we’re eating?” He lifted his utensil with his other hand pointing at the dish before them. In his peripherals he caught a smile tugged at her lips, her eyes containing a glimmer of…hope? He was eager to find out.

Bellum sacrum: Religious war.

Next Chapter

#ffxv fanfiction #ignis scientia #oc #umniya #Of Blood and Fire #Chapter Two

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attackonmulti-anime · 4 years

Text

Levi x Reader: I hate you, dont leave me

If you can read on my wattpad, I’d appreciate it :)

Prologue:

TW Abuse & violence

I wish he never left. I wish they never left me on my own again. I was abandoned once and now I have been abandoned again. It all started by bumping into him while taking care of that cat all those years ago.

I looked at the underweight kitten, shaking helplessly in my presence. Unwanted. Pathetic. Not true, I will love it and take it in.

I just need to avoid the beatings.

See this is why I love stray animals because I see myself in them. I look at these poor creatures on the dirty streets of the underground practically crying out "need love, take me home", as I cried that out to myself before going to sleep every single night, yearning for love and to be treated with it, drowned in it. The only love I have ever known is being ignored by my parents and them taking the day off not beating me or inflicting some type of abuse. When I see these men on the streets degrading the animals, the children beat them, I save the animals as I wish to save myself.

I embrace the ginger kitten in my hands, feeling its bones against its soft dirty fur. He meows as he licks my finger.

"Look at her" I hear a group of men talking amongst themselves.

"Why would she want to touch a dirty thing like that?"

Dirty? Ha, this kitten alone has more purity and love than all of you combined.

I rush towards my house as I try to hide the kitten in the pocket of my dress before entering. I wasn't looking at where I was going so I accidentally bump into someone. I look up and see a boy older than me looking down at me, with confusion in his eyes.

"Sorry" I respond. He notices the kitten that I am trying to hide.

"Tch. Dirty thing." I had enough, I had enough of people judging me.

"It's just a baby, it's not his fault he wasn't taken care of. I'm going to wash him up and feed him and make him happy" I respond hopefully, giving myself an intention to make my life a little less dull.

"You can't even take care of yourself, you don't look like you have been cared for. You sure those bruises on your arms won't get worse if you bring that thing to your house?"

I looked up at him and then my arms, noticing I forgot to wear my long sleeves. Tears filled up my eyes, my parents will kill me if they found out I didn't cover up, let alone bringing home a stray.

"Look, where do you live?" the peculiar boy asked.

"Just down the road over there" I replied, pointing the direction I was meant to walk down, walking slowly into hell. Looking down that direction I could feel the walls closing in, and living underground didn't make the atmosphere any easier.

"Go home, kid" he insisted. Kid, I hated that. I know I just turned 7, but I had a name, an identity.

"What's your name?" I look up at those cold eyes looking at me, did he read my mind or something?

"Y/n" I replied proudly.

"Levi" he responded. Immediately I see his arm coming towards me and his hand approaching my body. I panic and block my face while crouching down.

"Huh?" I hear his voice. I didn't receive a hit. I'm confused, so I look up and notice he had his arm stuck out. He must have wanted to shake my hand. Not wanting to look like the idiot that I am, I quickly got back up and shook his hand with a firm handshake. I felt the blood heating up my face in embarrassment, so I ran home and left him behind.

As I creek open the doors to my house, I quickly make sure the coast is clear, sweeping my feet along the floor to avoid the sound of footsteps. I enter my room and hide the kitten under my bed, and give him some water.

I hear glass breaking and I jump, terrified. I hear my stepfather screaming drunken obscenities, and I listen carefully to attempt to hear my mother's voice in between the shouts.

"Y/N!" I put the cover over my bed, hanging a bit to hide the kitten as I rush towards the sound of my mother.

My stepfather sits on the sofa, rolling a cigarette, as my mother sits on the kitchen table. I dare not to speak, not to answer back, even now I am holding my breath. "Y/n" my mother repeats, but in a less patient way. I reluctantly walk up to her, scared to answer back, just in case I get it.

I look up into her eyes, but the eye contact was cut short as I felt a slap across my face.

"Did I raise a retarded daughter who is unable to utilize her own voice to respond to her mother?"

I put my hand to my cheek avoiding eye contact until I feel a pair of dry hands grabbing my jaw to force me to look into her eyes while I feel her long unkept nails dig into my skin causing sharp pain. I try to hold my tears back.

"Oh for fuck's sake, crying again? That's all you do. Cry. You are way too sensitive" as she finishes her sentence she pushes me against the floor. As I try to recover from the fall, I hear footsteps approaching, the heavy footsteps of my stepfather. "I'll give you something to cry about you little shit" here we go again.

I go back to my coping mechanisms, as I try to remember the animals I picked up in the past to calm me down.

One slap across the face. The elderly dog that didn't last long.

A punch into the stomach. The mother cat with kittens.

A strong grab on my arm, as his hands twist my wrists. The bird with a broken wing.

A direct punch into the face. Another bird, but I didn't take them in, I just gave them my leftovers.

I keep getting beaten, I need to keep distracting myself. What did I name them again? I named the dog nana because she was elderly. The mother cat with kittens, I called her Doll, and I numbered her kittens from one to four. I wonder how those kittens are doing now. Did they go on to make more kittens? Did the street kids abuse them? Or were they taken in by a humble family? Can someone take me in? I'll make myself small and fit into a box and cry until someone takes me in. I promise I'll do anything.

I open my eyes as they finish, and enter my room crying. I take the kitten from under my bed.

"Sorry, you had to hear that" I apologized to the kitten as I tried to breathe through the tears. The kitten meowed.

"No, don't worry, they won't ever touch you, you are safe with me" I try to think of a name, as it licks my pinky finger. That's it. "Pinky!" I smile through the tears.

As night approaches, I feel the hunger in my stomach. I need to feed myself and Pinky too, I only went two days without food this week except for half a bread roll I found on the road today, I didn't know how much Pinky ate. I look out my window daydreaming of running around on the streets with the other kids, picking up strays together.

I wonder if Pinky is sleeping. I get up and look under the bed to not find him there. I feel my throat drop to my gut. I frantically look around my room for him, noticing my door had a small creek.

No. He couldn't have.

I slowly open my door and make my way to the dark living room.

"Looking for this?" I see my stepfather hold Pinky. I couldn't see properly, the candle wasn't burning bright. He puts Pinky on the floor and I run towards him, except I feel wetness. I turn towards the candle and see his eyes are missing, and the bone of his head almost disconnected from his body. I feel unwell.

"I told you no more fucking strays" my mum shouted in the corner.

I cry again, as I lean over to the side, nauseated. I vomit up the leftovers of water and bread.

"God damn it, y/n. Always so sensitive. It's just a stray cat, it's not like its a person, its useless."

My stepfather's cold words flow right past me, I couldn't save Pinky. I was too busy daydreaming, my parents are right. I am retarded, useless, stupid. All of those.

"I can't stand your ugly voice." My mother approaches me, as I sniffle while crying. She starts dramatically screaming imitating my crying in a baby-like way mocking me.

Is that what I really sound like? Is that what Pinky sounded like before you both killed him?

She pulls me by my hair and spits in my face. "Greedy little y/n, where would you find food to chuck back up? Since you want to eat so much-"

She forces my head towards the leftover puke as I resist against her. As soon as my nose just about reaches the sick, I hear a knock on the door.

"Military Police! Open the door! We have questions to ask about a missing boy."

My mother lets go of me as she tucks her hair back, and my stepdad rushes to open the door. Thank you police, you just saved my dignity.

"You aren't-" I hear my stepdad and the sound of his scream. A man enters the house with two other people. His hand is bleeding.

"You little shit" my stepdad tried to hit him, but the man blocked the punch with his knife, as the blade goes straight through his hand.

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands"

The group of three come towards me. "Hold on what do you think-"

"I don't hit women" the male voice turned over to his friend.

"Isabel, if you may" the figure of a girl goes towards my mother. My mother tries to kick her down, but she grabs my mother's leg and pulls as my mother falls over to the floor.

"How can a mother, do this to her own. I will never understand. You lay a finger on another child again and my onii-chan will fuck you all up!" the girl screamed.

"Onii-chan, I told her good, didn't I?" She looks at the main guy for approval. As he crouches towards me, the candle illuminates his face. Its that Levi guy from the streets!

"Come with me, y/n, and you won't have to face this ever again."

I am reluctant. "The girl is Isabel, and the guy next to me is Farlan. Come with us, and you will never have to suffer this life ever again.

I nod and get up, as the girl scoops me up like a baby in her arms. "You are such a cutie! So skinny though"

"Come on, Isabel lets go home, we have some back there."

----

I enter the house, it's so clean, it smells like soap and bleach, everything is well organized.

"She is filthy, she is covered in dirt and blood. Clean it off before she eats."

Isabel takes me to the bathroom runs a hot kettle to put in the bucket that could fit my small frame.

"Ok, get in the tub and I'll get you a spare change of clothes." I nod, still scared to speak. I get undressed and get in the tub, hugging my knees. I hear a gasp. Isabel walks in with a towel and soap. "God, you are too skinny. Don't worry we will take care of you."

She starts bathing me and washing my hair, humming to calm me down and giving me hugs in between. Giggling as she plays with my hair. "So long! It goes below your tailbone! I can't wait to give you all these cute hairstyles!" She has been more of a mother to me in these few minutes than mine has been my whole life

---

They could not find anything to fit me, so I am wearing an old top from Farlan's childhood. It goes below my knees and droops off my shoulder a bit. Revealing my bones. Levi turns around to see me, his expression looks pitiful.

"She looks like how I did before I was found. Except she had parents to feed her. Why didn't they? Tch. Fucking dumbasses. People should get a license to reproduce."

He mutters to Farlan, I pretend not to hear. I sit on the table and look at my plate, stew with a roll of bread.

I pretty much inhaled the food as Isabel was next to me catching up on her meal that she skipped in order to clean me up. As I finish, Levi sits next to me on the table and hands me a circular looking object. I look at it with confusion.

"Just eat it, I know you'll like it" I take it and take a bite. I feel my pupils dilate and my mouth water at the sweet taste of this soft yet crunchy food. I finish it in a heartbeat.

"You like them?" I nod smiling. "Good," he replied. He lowered his voice as he went to Farlan "we are taking more tomorrow".

Farlan gets up and pulls Levi to the side. "Levi, these cookies are a delicacy from the bakery, we can't afford them, and if we steal more then it could lead the military police on our tail."

"We are getting more." he insisted.

Farlan looks at me with the softest smile. "Anything to make this cutie happy, am I right?" he ruffles my hair. Positive comments, towards me? People are caring? Could this be? Have I manifested my daydream? Cookies, is that what I ate?

"That's what good girls need, cookies to make them happy, you won't go hungry again" Farlan spoke.

"YAHOOO" Isabel screams in excitement to the news of getting more treats.

I start laughing for the first time in a while with Isabel. I look over at Levi doing the dishes. He looks back at me with a smile on his face.

How I wish this moment lasted forever. How I wish they never left. How I wish they didn't leave me to this chaos of a life.

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mycasandstarrs · 6 years

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SPN 8x12: “As Time Goes By”

THEN: The family motto. Hunting runs in the family. John and Mary Winchester getting together was a big deal. Hunting and saving people was important to John; now it’s important to Sam and Dean.

Normal, Illinois. 1958.

John’s last encounter with his father.

The music box. Whatever happened to it? I figured John might’ve wanted to keep it to pass down to his kids. That would’ve been nice.

Our introduction to Josie and the Men of Letters.

(Though I’m now remembering, this isn’t really her. She’d been possessed at this point.)

Abaddon.

RIP Men of Letters. Killed by Abaddon.

Our first look at the time travel spell.

“Which of you is John Winchester?”

“Gentlemen, in the absence of any and all other explanations, I'm afraid this has been a marvelous, tragic misunderstanding. I'll be on my way.” Henry’s so well spoken.

WHAT A MOVE

“2013. My God. Guess the Mayans were wrong.” haha

Damn.

“I'm quite certain this is all beyond your understanding, my alpha-male-monkey friend. And violence will not help you comprehend this any easier.” How goddamn rude, jeez.

LEAVE RIGHT NOW.

“Josie. I know you're still in there. You must fight this.” Very much like his grandson, Dean.

The knife fails.

RIP hotel guy. Killed by Abaddon.

Oh dear. Poor Henry. At least he didn’t vomit in the car; Dean would’ve been even more pissed.

“I've told you that's not gonna happen.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s dead!”

“What’s it to you?”

“Everything.”

Boys, meet your Grandpappy.

“Dad hated the son of a bitch.”

“And Dad made up for that how? By being father of the year?”

Exactly.

“Look, Dad had his issues, okay, but he was always there for us.” ...do I even want to argue with that?

“How you doing?”

“I'll be fine. After all, despite everything, I've just met my grandsons, haven't I? Henry Winchester. It's a pleasure.”

Henry’s a better grandfather than Samuel already.

OH COME ON DEAN. Shake your grandfather’s hand, ffs.

“My blood, an angel feather, tears of a dragon, a pinch of the sands of time – I – I would need those and... at least a week for my soul to recharge, but, yes, it's possible.”

“You tapped the power of your soul to get here? I thought only angels could do that.”

Sam’s already intrigued.

“Our father taught us how to be hunters.”

“You're not. Are you? Hunters? Well, hunters are... Hunters are apes.”

Okay, let’s watch the vocabulary.

“What do you have against us [hunters]?”

“Aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-to-ask-questions-later part, not much, really.”

Henry ain’t entirely wrong.

“We're preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters – the very elite. They do the rest.” Huh, exactly what the British Men of Letters intended to do in the U.S.

"Surf's Up America" by Bodega Girls feat. Anthony Rossomando. Cool song.

Okay, y’all need to stop him.

Albert Magnus.

The Aquarian Star, “representing great magic and power.”

“I like your top.” I like it too! I wish I had it.

“Cover this up. Let's be on our way.” Thanks for the help, Henry.

“Your father saw ‘Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy’ at the drive-in one night. It scared the beeswax out of him. So I got him this little music box that played that song to help him sleep at night. It worked like a charm.”

I love hearing little details of a character like that.

Abaddon is a Knight of Hell. (One of them, at least.)

John’s journal becomes a centering point for another member of the Winchester family.

“I sent away for one the day before my initiation. As a matter of fact, judging by my initials here, this one, I believe.” AWW.

“Surviving a lonely childhood, a stinking war... only to get married and have his wife taken by a demon... and later killed by one himself. That man got a bum rap around every turn. But you know what? He kept going. And in the end, he did a hell of a lot more good than he did bad.”

“I'm sorry. I wish I had been there for him.”

“Yeah, it's a little late for that now, don't you think?”

“It's the price we pay for upholding great responsibility. We know that.”

“Your responsibility was to your family, not some glorified book club!”

OKAY HOW BOUT WE CALM DOWN

Ha, Sam knew exactly what kind of reaction “I had no choice” was gonna get from Dean.

Dean is deadass asleep.

“Henry – he's gone.”

“Where is he?”

“Well, no idea. He just left a note saying he was gonna fix everything.”

Aww, Henry.

“I understand. You don't know me, so you're reluctant to sell to me. Fine.”

Ha, Henry reading the shopkeeper well.

Nice of him to only put her to sleep.

Oh! Dean was gonna call Garth.

I can now officially say it: RIP comic store girl. Killed by Abaddon.

“In the box is the key to every object, scroll, spell ever collected for thousands of years under one roof. It is the supernatural mother lode...”

DEAN, STOP HIM.

“Oh, I think I can. See, I've read that thing more times than you can imagine, and it hurts every time.”

“Maybe so, but you didn't let him down! I did! Just like you said!”

Aww, my heart just broke. Do you know who you’re saying that to?

“If this works the way I planned, there will never be an Apocalypse to stop.”...is that possible? If Henry had made the jump, and he changes the timeline to where Sam and Dean were never born, then there would’ve been an apocalypse and it would’ve been catastrophic.

“If you know where the key is, then take it to these coordinates. Throw it in. Shut the door forever. And walk away.”

“Wait, w-why would I do that?”

Sam already lamenting at the possibility of losing such grand knowledge. Me too, hon.

“You do... have the key, don't you?”

“I don't, um... but, uh…my brother...my brother does.”

Shouldn’t have said that!!!

RIP Larry. Killed by Abaddon.

RIP Larry’s wife. Also killed by Abaddon.

Sweet new outfit.

pfft. Sleeper choke your grandfather, Dean.

“That's the problem with you hunters. You're all short-sighted.”

“Yeah, at least we're not extinct.”

What an act these two were putting on.

Sam, who had no idea of their plan, sincerely apologized to Henry.

How is Henry still standing after being gutted?? What a legend.

Devil’s trap on a bullet. How clever.

“You're gonna have to get close. And ‘close’ means it could get ugly.”

“I know. But you do that for blood.”

Bye for now, Abaddon.

Aww.

“I'm sorry I judged you two so harshly for being hunters. I should have known better.”

“About?”

“You're also Winchesters. As long as we're alive, there's always hope. I didn't know my son as a man, but having met you two...I know I would have been proud of him.”

Henry’s last words.

RIP Henry Winchester. Killed by Abaddon.

(Sam and Dean couldn’t keep this grandfather around??)

Brains and brawn combined are Sam and Dean.

“Hey, I, uh... found this in Henry's wallet.” The photo of Henry and John, AWW COME ON, I’VE CRIED ENOUGH.

“You think it would have made a difference?”

“What?”

“Dad. If he'd had his own father around.”

“What, in how he raised us? Sammy, he did the best he could.”

“I know that. I – I do. They all did.”

I know I’m hard on John...but now I’m just sad for him.

“What are the chances that place is still standing?” 100%.

Ending with the titular song: “As Time Goes By”.

#supernatural #spn summer rewatch #spn liveblog #spn 8x12

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