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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.

Not that you’d let them know.

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.

“Y/n! Thank God.”

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.

So, you told him as much.

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.

No one until Bucky.

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

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heisenbergsmetalboobie · 3 years

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Here's some headcannons no one asked for, for the lords since I can't get a single one of them out of my head.

Please be aware this is only how I see each character! If you have different hcs, cool these are just mine :)

Alcina Dimitrescu

She's a lesbian or well, she likes female presenting people. In my opinion, there's no denying that she hates men. For goodness sake she calls Ethan 'stupid manthing.'

'Why does she hate men?' You ask well, i believe that the men of the village caused her to hate men. It's clear that Alcina is extremely attractive, but maybe some of the men in the village took it too far: Cat-calling her and eventually her daughters. Their comments overtime annoyed her, especially when if came to her daughters. She fixed it by bringing the men to castle dimitrescu and, as heisenberg puts it, the man's dick is cut off in the castle.

When castle dimitrescu was more lively, Alcina had a couple flings with some of her maids. Though all of her maids end up dead one way or the other, I think she turned the ones she liked the most into Moroaică. The rest obviously were turned into dinner for her and her daughters

Speaking of daughters, Alcina is definitely a better mother than mother Miranda. Seeing as Miranda saw her and the rest of her siblings as monsters, I'm sure Alcina was kind to her daughters. I don't think she'd want them to feel like monsters themselves, so their childhoods were filled with many positive affirmations. Maybe, too many seeing as all three girls have very large egos.

Alcina's opinions on the other lords are very clear. She has hatred for all of them, though it varies depending on each one. The one she hates the least is probably Donna, she enjoys their company somewhat. That is, as long as Angie isn't around. Alcina hates that stupid doll, honestly she hates all the dolls. They oddly make her unsettled, as if Donna wasn't unsettling anyways.

Moreau is hated by Alcina due to him thinking that Miranda is actually his mother. Well, he may not say it out loud but the way he addresses her and looks at her makes Alcina sick. His looks are only the cherry on top, in her mind how could she be family with something that looks like that?

Lastly is Heisenberg. At first, she didn't mind his presence. He didn't look like an abomination and could hold decent conversation, that was until she saw how much Mother Miranda favored him. This pissed her off to no end, after learning that she began to see more flaws in him. From the way he speaks to his manners, almost every part of him infuriates her. How could Mother Miranda favor such a man child? How could she pick Heisenberg over her? Now even being around him for meer minutes makes her want to shred him to bits.

Donna Beneviento

When it comes to sexuality and gender, Donna can't really express it though Angie can I don't think they would be willing to tell their 'family' their identity. If Donna were to express it, I'd feel she'd use she/they pronouns or identity as nonbinary. I can't really explain it, I just get nonbinary vibes from them. As for sexuality, I'm unsure of their romantic attraction but she's definitely asexual. Once again, I can't explain it but they have the vibes.

Aside from Angie, Donna has built every single one of her dolls from scratch. Seriously they even carve the wood and hand paint each one. Creating these dolls is one of the few things that bring Donna peace. Honestly, she sees these dolls as more of a family than Mother Miranda's 'family.'

Another one of Donna's hobbies includes tending to their plants. Seriously, in the spring and summer months her home is covered in beautiful greenery. They are just fascinated with how plants can be used for other purposes, like with the fungal-infected plants. Almost all the books within her estate are about different plants and their properties and the lab they have is used to test those abilities. Though their test subjects are never well behaved due to being lycans.

When it comes to the other members in Miranda's 'family', Donna doesn't seem to care for them. She doesn't enjoy any of their company, especially Moreau. Though they don't express it themselves, Donna makes sure to let the others know her opinion them via Angie. The one she can stand the most is probably Alcina, mostly due to her being alot quieter than the others.

Salvatore Moreau

This poor poor fish man. Moreau is physically the most unpleasant lord and he knows it. He's insecure. How could he not when the rest of his family call him horrible names? He's constantly put down by the people he truley feels closest to. This includes the woman who he truly sees as his mother.

Though he doesn't enjoy his family's comments, he desperately wants their approval. Especially Heisenberg. Moreau looks up to his as if Karl is his older brother, even though Moreau a great deal older than him. If the metal bender will allow it, he does his best to help out. Sadly, it doesn't last long since the factory is so dry and his vomit causes the metal to rust.

When he's not conducting experiments, he's watching sappy romance movies on his TV. Though Moreau doesn't believe he'll ever find love, he likes seeing others be happy. Sadly, once Heisenberg found out about Moreau's hobby he make fun of him to no end. So now, he's ashamed of watching something that makes him happy

Look, I love all of the lords but when it comes to them being mean to Moreau I wanna punch them.

Karl Heisenberg

This man is 1000 percent bisexual/pansexual. The way he flirts with Ethan is undeniable. The only thing keeping me from saying that he's gay is the pure fact that I simp for him.

Karl is alot smarter than he looks, seriously he built a whole army of machine people. Though he is smart, he likes to play the role of the stupid redneck. He'd rather someone underestimate him in a fight rather than overestimate him.

In his free time, I like to think that Karl prank calls the other lords. He did set up their phone lines after all. His constant prank calling has made Alcina miss a couple of important calls from Mother Miranda and made Donna completely take apart her phone line. Moreau on the other hand is so gullible, that he believe everything Karl says during his prank calls:

Moreau, innocently answer his phone: Hello?

Heisenberg, snickering: hey, is your refrigerator running?

Moreau: um..I think so-

Heisenberg: then you better go catch it!

Moreau, on the verge of tears: No! Ny fridge!!

Karl gets very bored easily. So bored in fact that he goes and explores the village and surrounding forest. During one of these explorations, he stumbled upon Miranda's lab. This caused him to find documents on him and the other lords. After reading them, it gave him a better reason to build up his army and take down Mother Miranda once and for all.

This man definitely has his own personal lycan that he treats like a dog. He has a comfy bed and treats for this thing. Karl knows that the lycan was once a human, but he doesn't give a damn. So what it use to be a person! It looks like a dog now and dammit he wants a dog.

#lady dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #salvator moreau #moreau #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil village head cannons #hc #resident evil 8

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wandsandwheezes · 3 years

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Wild Child | F.W

Wild Child x Harry Potter AU // 3k words // this is all thanks to @starlightweasley for making it happen and giving me the inspiration + plot to do it!!

this whole fic is dedicated to her because she deserves it sfm!!!

taglist ; @weasleysflowr @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @hufflepuffgirly @whiz-bangs78 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @cappsikle @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @vogueweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke

Two months ago the worst day of your life happened. Two months ago your father dragged you, kicking and screaming, to a portkey- ready to ship you off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “Y/N, this is the last straw! I have had it up to here with your pranks.” you screamed back at him, pulling your hand from his grip, “You ship me off to England for what? To replace me like you replaced mom? Real jerk move dad.” The second you laid eyes on the overbearing castle you already knew you hated it.

You were now laid back against your uncomfortable bed, rolling your eyes, “FYI this place sucks, I can’t even breathe properly with how stuffy these uniforms are and don’t even get me started on the lack of fun and opportunities for pranks. It’s H-E-double L here.” Hermione, pulls a chair up next to your poster bed, resting against one of the posts. “You could at least try and have fun, you know. It’s not all that bad when you forget about the lack of sun and abundant rain.” Ginny looks up from her book, swinging her legs so they’re dangled off the windowsill, “If you’re so desperate to leave, you’ll just have to get yourself expelled - simple pranks and mischief isn’t enough to do it, think bigger.” you sigh pushing yourself to sit up, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head on your knees.”

A debate ensued as the evening grew, Hermione taking herself away from the conversation and to the common room to avoid any chance of getting roped into expulsion with your antics. “If we’re going big with pranks, there’s nobody better to go to than Fred and George.” Parvati suggests, “Even better you could try snogging one of them, It would send Umbridge mad.” Padma adds, Ginny retches at the idea, turning up her nose with disgust but laughing a little “The thought of anyone snogging any one of my brothers is ghastly, but It’s not a bad Idea, from what I’ve heard they’re not looking to stick around with the pink devil here.” You smile softly, looking up at Ginny as she continues, “Let’s get you your ticket home for Christmas!”

Sure you had played quidditch back home but you were only ever a reserve, so when ginny flew down to you, yelling that you had to take her place, not only was your heart beating out of your chest, but you suddenly questioned any and all experience you had on a quidditch pitch. Maybe you didn’t know how to play, maybe your Ilvermorny friends were lying when they said you had talent. Before you knew it, you were whizzing around the pitch, quaffle in hand, ready to score. Gryffindor were ahead 40 points by the time Harry had caught the golden snitch, meaning that not only had you helped in scoring goals, but you were on the winning team!

“Not bad, Y/L/N, I didn’t know they taught good sports across the pond,” you scoff with a laugh, walking next to the tall, red haired boy as he pushes his sweat soaked hair back and you couldn’t help but think of how attractive he was, he looked down at you, stopping you from waking, wiping a stray bit of mud from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, licking his other finger to move back in to wipe the rest away, causing you to push him away with a laugh, “I don’t want your spit anywhere near me, Weasley�� he smiles, “hmm, are you sure about that?” he grabs your wrist, locking eyes for a moment - you swear you could feel the tension surrounding the both of you, so thick that it could be cut with a knife, only being broken away by the sound of a high pitched scream, causing you both to spin to look in the direction of the noise. “I take it Draco found my nice little gift, I always knew he was a proud slytherin.” Fred’s eyes widen, a smirk cracking across his lips. “You didn’t.” you nodded, starting to make your way to the Gryffindor changing rooms, “Oh, I did, just a little harmless charmed shampoo,” you shrug, he follows after you, shaking his head with a small laugh “You’re trouble, you are.”

Seeing Draco walk into the great Hall for dinner that evening was a sight to see, his bright green hair and eyebrows were unmissable, it was truly a look that turned heads, You, Ginny and the rest of the team were filling your boots on the feast before the victory party continued in Gryffindor Tower. “God, if Umbridge doesn’t punish you for that on her lap dog's plea, you’re crazy, Y/N” There were laughs between mouthfuls and cheers, “She’s only learning from the best, isn’t that right?” you shake your head, taking a sip of juice “Freddie, you of all people should know I was trouble before I’d even met you.”

If there was one thing you’d learned, the English love to party and when they party, they party hard. Bottles of firewhisky were cracked open, music blaring from god knows where, there was laughter, shouting, dancing, games and kissing or, as they call it, snogging everywhere you looked. You were high off the win alone, feeling happy for one of the first times in your few months here, you had supportive friends and most of all you had a piece of your home. Your mum was a brilliant Chaser in her time, or so your father had told you. You had lost your mum in the aftermath of the first wizarding war, a death eater seeking her out all the way across the pond and killing her in front of your father. You were only three and although you don’t remember much of her, you do remember the songs she used to sing and just how magical she made your young childhood, much to the dismay of your father. You felt your chest tighten and tears prick the back of your eyes, causing you to run from the wild party.

Fred caught you fleeing the party, even the small glimpse of your sad face breaking his heart a little, never had he seen a girl as beautiful as you cry. He felt compelled to follow you and over some consolation, he was drawn to you like you were tethered by a piece of string, following your every step till he found you crouched in a corner on the floor, staring out across the black lake. He joined you on the cold stone floor, sitting across from you. “It’s not like the wild child to not be out there as the life and soul of the party,” Fred jokes, punching your arm lightly, causing you to look up at him with a puffy eyed scowl, “okay, no jokes then.” he sighs, pulling you into his side, rubbing his hand up and down your arm comfortingly. You open up to him about losing your mother and how you feel absolutely alienated by your dad, listening intently, not daring to interrupt. “I’ll make you a deal,” he speaks up after a long sigh from you, “No more head-fry behaviour, though, I sense it may be your forte” you smile a little, the corner of your mouth turning up into a smile, “I won’t fry your head if you don’t poach my heart.” he smiles tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “an eggcellent deal.”

As you’re walking through the halls on your way to divination, a pep in your step from a good night’s sleep and a new focus, finally you’re starting to actually feel as if Hogwarts was the place to be and you feel yourself growing happier and happier with every day you spend here. You’re distracted from your thoughts when you feel yourself being pulled hurriedly into a side corridor by your hand, Fred was staring down at you, his hand pressed against the wall by your head as he traps you between the stone and his own body, “How would you feel about a going to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks quietly, “Why all the secrecy Freddie? Don’t want to be caught fraternising with the enemy?” he laughs pressing a kiss to your cheek, “No, I just don’t want Umbridge finding out I’ve broken her six inch rule, but if you’re happy to risk it we can head to divination hand in hand now.” he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together, you giggle shaking your head, “We had a deal, no head frying.” he looks behind his shoulder before giving you some space, allowing you to continue your walk, “You didn’t answer me about the weekend.” you spin on your heel to look at him, continuing to walk backwards, “I think it would be eggciting, Freddie.” you spin back around to follow on with your journey, leaving the tall boy blushing and laughing to himself.

Freddie Weasley was a dime away from being a whole gentleman, he picked you up from the great hall and walked with you side by side to the small wizarding town, “I didn’t put you as a girl who enjoyed walking.” he joked, nudging you with his shoulder, you roll your eyes, “Well, I didn’t expect a flying car or anything,” he smiles, scratching the back of his neck, “well actually, my dad used to own one of those,” your jaw dropped, gasping a little, “As if!” He pushes open the door to the three broomsticks, sitting you down at a table as he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the chair, leaving to head over to the bar, he returns with a tray carrying two drinks and a plate. “Here you go, trouble.” he puts the drink in front of you, with you now being able to spot the contents of the plate, “Bread and fries, that's my treat?” he laughs, placing a few of the chips inside the slice of buttered bread, handing you the foreign looking sandwich “If I affect your life in no other way, then allow me this honour, the humble chip butty and a butterbeer ” You gingerly take the food into your hands, looking at it cautiously before directing your attention to the drink, scanning it for a few moments, “Here we go.” you take a small bite, the softness of the bread clashed with the hot chips which had melted the butter ever so slightly, it wasn’t unpleasant but it was definitely weird, “Kind of gross, but I like it.” you pop down the sandwich, taking a sip of the butterbeer.

After a few moments of talking, you found yourself staring into Fred’s eyes deeper and for longer, as if it no longer mattered what the two of you were saying, as long as you were with each other. “There’s something about you, Y/N,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear “Every moment I’m with you I catch my breath.” your hand presses gently against his chest, balling up the material of his t-shirt in your hand to pull him in closer. Before you knew it, your lips had connected in a soft, gentle kiss and you felt yourself melting into his touch. You were slowly coming to realise that the thing that could aid your leaving may actually be enticing you to stay. The kiss didn’t last long but it left your head spinning.

You had made your way towards the black lake, sitting on the verge just by the water, a blanket wrapped over both your shoulders, sat talking and watching the sunset as it changed and faded the colours in the sky. You were enamoured by him. Why did you have to fall so hard for him? “I need to tell you something.” he confessed, you lift your head from where it was resting on his shoulder, “What is it?” you shift a little so that you can look into his eyes but he averts your gaze. “George and I, we’re leaving here, to set up a shop down In London, I feel guilty for not telling you sooner but I didn’t think I’d fall for you as hard as I have.” He takes a deep breath, you’re stunned for words. “I’m sorry.” he breathes out finally. You grab his face, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “Don’t ever be sorry for following your dreams, Freddie.”

In the week or so after your date with Fred, you noticed you hadn’t seen him as much and you wondered If there had been something you’d done wrong. Surely not, he must’ve just been busy planning the perfect exit, so you left him to it, until a whole two weeks had passed. You spotted him turning down a side hall, unmistakable tall, lanky, ginger - it must be him. You hurried down the corridor, yelling after the boy, “Freddie, wait!” hearing your voice made him walk a little faster, your shorter legs struggling to make a gain on him, you stop and shout once more, “Why do you keep avoiding me?” he stops bolt in his tracks, giving you an opportunity to catch up on him. “I’m surprised you want anything to do with such a plain English boy, collecting me like a trophy to brag to your Ilvermorny friends about how easy I was, or was that just another one of your cruel pranks to finally get yourself expelled?” you look up at him, brow furrowed In confusion. “Where did you get that from, Fred? I care about you, I really do.” he rolls his eyes, pushing past you, muttering under his breath, yet still audible enough for you to hear “bullshit.” You run back after him, “Freddie, you’re right, I was trying to get myself expelled, and I knew that being associated with you would do it with how much Umbridge despises you and Gorge, you have to believe that it was a horrible to do that to you at the start but- i've fallen for you.” he sighs, rubbing his temples, “It’s too late, Umbridge is already looking for you, Looks like you’ll get your wish after all.” A tear rolls down your cheek, “Freddie, I-” he cuts you off by pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I’m sorry, trouble.”

The full flood gates open, as you make your way back to Gryffindor tower, tears streaming down your cheeks but your sobs are silent. How had you managed to lose the best thing to happen to you and get yourself expelled? You admire every inch of the castle grounds as you walk, fearing it’s the last time you may see it, when a picture catches your eye, locked in a cabinet full of trophies, medals and awards, you see a reflection of yourself staring back, “mom?” you whisper, pulling out your wand to unlock it with an ‘alohomora’, you grab the picture off the shelf, locking the cabinet again. McGonagall finds you wandering aimlessly, guiding you to Dumbledore’s office, “I have a feeling you will want to speak to him before your Father arrives,” she explains “Don’t worry, he’s expecting you.”

“Ah, Miss Y/N, I see you have found your way into my office,” He speaks quickly, as you come into his view, “I remember when your mother stood not too far from where you are stood before me now; a bright young student, a star quidditch player and not to mention a true hero against all odds. I take you found the photo of her in the cabinet, as you are clutching it so tightly.” you were at a loss for words, “You knew my mom?” you questioned, “Very well indeed, She was one of the best in her year, when word arrived of her death I sent all the help I could give to your father, I told him you would always find a home here at Hogwarts.” you sighed, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “Then why am I being expelled?” you query, Dumbledore pauses for a moment, “You will learn a great many things here in your time, and already I see a change, you have gained knowledge, strength, integrity, good-will and determination. You have proven that you have the capacity to do well here and as I said Hogwarts will always be your home.” you smile, “Then I can stay, can I, Professor?” The old man chuckles “You have a quidditch game to get ready for, go out there and make your mother proud.” he smiles at you, you smile back at him gratefully. “Thank you, Professor.”

You run out, standing next to Fred, breathless from changing so quickly, “I thought you were getting expelled,” he joked, “As did I, I thought you hated me.” he sighed, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze, “Never. It’s good to have you back, trouble, even though you backed out of our deal.” you laughed, “What deal, Freddie?” you lace your fingers together, “that you won’t fry my head.” you bring his hand up to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Yeah, but you poached my heart.” He smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good luck out there, trouble.” your heart flutters, “Good luck to you too, Freddie.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred and george #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter fic #wild child #au #writing

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ohwaitimthewriter · 4 years

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Ner naak (My peace)

Pairing : Din Djarin x earthling!reader

Warning : none.

Summarize : Din Djarin meets you, an earthling, who has no idea of the existence of an outer space.

Words : 2633

A/n : This is probably the longest story I had to translate but I hope it really worths it! You can find the previous chapters in the Ner naak Masterlist link just below. Enjoy your reading!!

Masterlist. // Ner naak Masterlist.

Life, could manifest itself in some particularly strange ways. And there were many things you had not expected to experience, the first of which was to host two beings from the space under your roof. The second was probably having to justify the presence of a man in full armor sitting in the passenger seat of your car.

You had managed to convince Mando to leave the child at home, under the watchful eye of your dog. In fact, you had even hoped that he too would remain out of sight, but trying to convince a Mandalorian was a long shot.

Mando insisted on coming with you. You were going to look for the mechanical parts needed to get the ship back up and running, and he wanted to make sure you had the right materials. Even though you had explained to him that in any case, the parts you collected would be transformed to fit the ship, he didn't want to hear anything.

Din was actually curious. He had heard so much about the Earth and its people. And to him, you were like an alien, it was a whole world to discover, and he didn't want to miss it for anything in the world. It might even have been the first time he could take the time to discover a planet without getting shot.

But it didn't make it any easier for you.

You looked at your neighbor, leaning against your car door, with the most natural smile you could offer. Your hands were clenched on your steering wheel and your neurons were already wriggling to find a logical explanation for Mando's armor.

"Anton! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, I saw you get in the car with... huh, your friend, I thought I'd say hi." He said, staring at Mando indiscreetly. "Is there a carnival in town or something?" He asked for you.

Anton wouldn't take his eyes off Mando and it was getting embarrassing. You couldn't tell how Mando felt, but if you were in his shoes, you probably would have hated that look. You could see from the corner of your eye that Mando was holding his gaze. So you came up with the best excuse you could think of.

"Actually, it's a birthday party for a friend's daughter. She's turning six, and you know how little girls that age are, they dream of having their knight in shining armor." You say. "So, huh, my friend here has kindly offered to play along."

You clear your throat. You prayed silently for this lie to work, and when your neighbor suddenly appeared to understand a math class, you refrained from crying out for relief.

"Ah! Like the knights of the Round Table! What an impressive armor, don't change a thing buddy!" Anton enthused over.

Mando stared at him silently. Poor Mando, he probably didn't understand anything about this knight story, but at least it was a decent explanation for the moment.

You didn't want to linger there any longer, you thanked Anton and ended up on the road to your mechanic.

"A knight in shining armor?" Mando asked you.

" Well, it's a long story. But to make it short, the novels are full of romantic stories involving medieval knights. I could lend you a book on the legends of King Arthur, if you like to read, of course." You said.

"I don't know if I like reading."

You took your eyes off the road to look at Mando. How could someone not know whether or not they liked to read? And you suddenly wondered what that man had done in his life to not be able to know.

"I never had a chance to read."

Din felt he had to justify himself. You had been so surprised by his answer that he wondered if reading was not an integral part of being an earthling. And then you nodded, giving him a warm smile. How could so much kindness slumber in a single being?

"Well, since you're going to be stuck here for a little while, maybe this is your chance to find out?"

Mando didn't answer anything. Only a hesitant nod indicated that he agreed, and your smile only got bigger.

Din watched you focus on the road again. He took the opportunity to take a look at the machine that was driving you both to your chosen destination. It was a strange passenger compartment. He had quickly figured out that it was thanks to the pedals that you were sending the necessary impulse to the machine to move forward, but he was still amazed by the lack of controls and instruments for piloting. He put his arm on the armrest of the car door, but because of his gauntlet, the button to open the window went off.

The third thing that was particularly unexpected for you was to see a Mandalorian getting startled by a window opening itself. You had to admit it, Mando was a strange bird, but watching him discover the little earthly things was surprisingly entertaining. You closed the window on your side calmly as Mando settled back onto his seat, almost embarrassed to have been surprised.

"At least I know I'm not the only one who's taken aback by new things." You said. "Wait, you're gonna love this!" You excitedly said as you pressed the button to turn on the radio.

The music spread around the car and Mando suddenly stared at the radio. There were probably more controls to monitor this little box than there were to drive the vehicle. The music playing was rather rhythmic, Din noticed that you were tapping your steering wheel with your fingers in sync with the song and you seemed to particularly enjoy the song. It was weird by the way. It didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard before, but as strange as it sounded, it wasn't unpleasant at all.

"You can change if you don't like it, just press this button. " you told him.

Din was curious, he pressed it and suddenly several voices rose up to narrate he didn't know what about he didn't know who. He pressed again and this time a much softer song was played. He liked it. He let it end and changed the radio station again until you recognized the first notes of a band that you had fully intended to introduce to the Mandalorian.

"This one! That's them!" you exclaimed.

"Them?"

"Daft Punk, that's them!"

You couldn't see it, but Din frowned as he listened to Get Lucky playing on the radio. He was focused on whether or not he liked those "Daft Punk" with whom you had compared him. His finger barely touched the button, ready to change the station and after a few seconds of listening, he didn't feel particularly flattered by the music. He changed it without any further ado.

"You don't like it?"

"Not really." he replied.

"It would have been funny, you guys look alike, you'd have made a great trio. " You teased.

"Why?"

You didn't say anything. You checked to see if there were any police officers around before you took out your phone, looking on the internet for a picture of the Daft Punk. Then you handed your phone to Mando, who silently observed the picture of the two men in helmets.

"It's not beskar, it won't even stop a blaster shot, these helmets are useless." He stated suddenly, putting the phone back where you took it.

You couldn't help but giggle. You shook your head in disbelief, looking at him.

"Beskar doesn't exist here and these helmets aren't made for..." And then you realized what he just said. "Wait, a shot of... of what?"

"Blaster. " he said.

"What the... no. Actually, I'd rather not know." You changed your mind. "These helmets are like, let's say, a symbol. It's just, for appearance's sake."

Din didn't really understand the point behind it, so he didn't answer. Maybe there was some logic in it, but in this case, it was beyond his knowledge.

Then you park the car at a small parking lot. There was a building in corrugated iron across the street, and several dented cars were stored under a shed.

" Here we are. This is where I hope to find most of the pieces for your ship. This auto shop belongs to my father's old friend. He shouldn't ask too many questions. " You said, more to reassure yourself than to reassure Mando.

"If he does, I'm still a knight in shining armor. "He said, and you could hear the grin that Din had on his face.

He didn't get out of the car until you stepped outside. You had made a list so that you wouldn't waste too much time here.

" The only thing you're missing is your trusty steed. " you joked.

As soon as you'd finished your sentence, your father's friend was already coming to meet the two of you.

"Y/n! It's good to see you!"

"Hello Henry, it's been a long time. "You said.

"I know you've been working a lot, but you should tell your students to leave you alone for an hour or two and come see me! "He called out.

"You're right, they'll probably be happy about that actually. "You said.

"And who are you bringing me?"

Henry turned to Mando, offering his hand to shake it. Mando seemed to hesitate for a moment, but when you nodded gently, he shook Henry's hand.

"Henry, this is Mando."

"Nice to meet you, Mando, so tell me, what can I do for you?" Henry just went on.

You handed him your list, mentally thanking him for not dwelling on Mando's appearance. Henry stared at it, rubbing his beard.

"Well, it's a big restoration you got there. "He noticed.

"Ah, that's a hell of a slog, you could say. "You said.

"What type?"

"Never been seen before. " You answered and you couldn't be more exact. " It belongs to Mando. It's a real gem. You wouldn't believe it."

You would've given yourself an Award for acting. Henry glanced enviously at Mando, probably imagining a real gem in the automobile world.

"Any self-respecting man gives his marvel a name, so what's the name of this beauty?"

You rolled your eyes. Only a man like Henry could have said such a thing. But, to your surprise, Mando replied.

"The Razor Crest."

"You'll have to show me that car!"

"Once we get it up and running. " Mando said.

You were stunned to see Mando getting into your game, but you were happy about it. Henry nodded and sneaked into his workshop with your list.

"The Razor Crest?" You repeated. "So you really give names to ships?"

"It's more like..." Mando looked around before he showed you the license plate of a car in the parking lot. "something like that."

"License plate? Ships are identified in space?"

He nodded when Henry appeared again, making a sign to follow him. After joining him to the workshop, Henry pushed a wagon towards you and Mando.

"I don't have everything, but take what you can. " he said.

"Thank you, Henry. Let me know the bill. "You said.

He nodded and left the two of you to gather the pieces.

You'd already stuck your nose in the high shelves, scrutinizing every piece of metal you encountered.

"It's nice of you to offer, but unfortunately, whatever money you have is probably worthless here. That's one of the consequences of not knowing the true extent of the universe. " You said, grabbing an alternator in your hand.

You looked at it from every angle and decided it would do the trick. You put several in the cart. You took a step back, trying to find out where Henry stored his spark plugs.

"So how can I thank you? " Mando asked.

"Well... if you've got a way to get to the top of that shelf, I'm in."

You showed him the position of the spark plugs and sighed looking for a stepladder, but Mando had another idea in mind.

"I've got one. " he simply said.

You frowned, not understanding what he wanted to do when he pushed his cloak to one side, revealing a dorsal reactor. You would have been speechless if he hadn't suddenly left the ground and risen three feet in the air, grabbing a few spark plugs before reaching the ground again.

You lost your words as Mando handed you the pieces. You didn't want to stare at him, but it wasn't very common to see a human being flying with a jet pack either.

"People don't do that around here?" Mando said.

It was more of a statement than a question, but you shook your head, telling him that they didn't. But you couldn't stop smiling either.

"It's just, amazing. "You said as you picked up the spark plugs. " But, uh... " You moved closer to Mando to put his cloak back over the jet pack. "As much as I'd love to try that someday, you' d better hide this. »

You felt sad about having to tuck away Mando's appearance like that. Though, you smiled at him kindly as you kept selecting useful mechanical components for the ship.

"Earthlings really don't like anything that doesn't look like them. " Mando said suddenly.

It couldn't be more true. You were watching Mando. His helmet, his armor, the equipment that girdled him, and now his jetpack. You weren't really concerned about the "normal" people, you were concerned about the authorities. You were worried about the government, the scientists, NASA, all those people who would make sure that no one would find out about a faraway place. You were worried about these people and their scientific experiments. You were gradually realizing that you were probably the only person on Earth who had living proof that the universe was much wider than people were willing to admit. And somehow that was frightening and it put you in a dangerous position. Because people don't like those who know too much.

"I wish I could tell you that it's not true, that everyone can proudly show their culture and their differences, but in fact it is not the case. If you're not within the framework, you become a target. And there are so many crazy people in this world that some would be able to kill you for being different. I really wish I could proudly announce that you're living proof that we're not alone in the universe, but that would be like sentencing us to death... both of us. " You concluded.

Din had paid attention to your words. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't as safe on this planet as he thought he was. He was becoming more and more aware that leaving the Earthlings behind in the universe had done more harm than good. And then, your last sentence caught his attention. Sentencing you both to death. Why would she be? He understood why he would, but y/n? He didn't realize he could endanger you just by knowing he existed.

Din stopped you suddenly, putting his hand on your shoulder for the first time. It may even have been the very first time he had ever initiated physical contact with an almost stranger. And it felt like a pact he was signing with you.

"I can promise you this will never happen. " Mando said.

"You don't know about the doggedness of our leaders. " You said.

"And they don't know about the Mandalorians."

His statement sounded like a promise, and the anxiety that Din had noticed in your eyes had evaporated. Yes, if necessary, he would protect you.

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #star wars #ner naak series #mandalorian x reader

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rpsocsandcanonohmy · 3 years

Text

Hunter’s Instincts

This is part of an ongoing story that can be read on AO3 here. This story is part of a larger ongoing series that can be read here. It’s not necessary but I would reccomend reading the beginning of the story for context purposes. This chapter is being published here for Whumptober 2021 @whumptober-archive

Day 7: My Spidey Senses are Tingling

“Got the coffee.” Hoyt entered the motel room and set out everyone’s orders in the few spare spaces on the table. “How’s it going?”

“Still haven’t found anything,” Sam murmured. “I’ve looked through just about every record in the digital archive. There are a few things that are close to it but not exact.”

“Can’t find anything in Dad’s journal either,” Dean said, closing the journal with a huff. “Maybe this isn’t even a case. Maybe some fucked up person did this and we’re wasting our time.”

“Aww, don’t say that. We barely started.” Hoyt took a look over Sam’s shoulder. “Do you think maybe the symbol we have is a kind of variant or combination of some other symbols?”

“It’s certainly possible,” Sam said. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen too often though. And I’m not sure what that would mean if it was. I mean, most of these symbols are attached to some kind of spell or ritual and there are some pretty powerful ones in here. If we’re looking at a combination...it could spell big trouble. Trouble we might not be able to handle.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Hoyt gently gripped his shoulder. “If half the stories I’ve heard are true, you’re more than capable of handling whatever this is.”

Dean glared at Hoyt even as he let go of Sam’s shoulder and picked up one of the books to do his own research. Whatever Sam said about them needing help, he didn’t trust this guy. What were the odds they just randomly ran into one of Walker’s friends a mere few days after the shit at the ranch? A friend with a history of hunting no less? How did that make sense? Dean wasn’t one to “throw shade” as the kids say, but if Hoyt was really Cordell’s friend, he would’ve been told about hunting way before he met Sam and Dean. And how much did they really know about Hoyt? Why was Sam just okay with him being in their space and bringing them coffee and being all touchy feely? Why the fuck was Sam getting that smiley look on his face? All Hoyt did was touch his shoulder and tell him there was some small hope.

He hated it here.

“So,” he said, probably a little louder than necessary. “How much hunting experience do you have, Hoyt?”

Hoyt shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t call myself an expert but I know enough to not get myself killed. Dad used to take me out, back when he could tell me what to do anyway."

Figures. He didn't even respect the craft. Why was he even here? He probably just showed up because he was bored. Didn't he have other things to do? Like rob a bank? He was about to ask their new “companion” just that when Sam let out a whoop of victory.

“I found it!”

Hoyt grinned. “I told you you could do it.”

Any elation Dean might’ve felt at whatever Sam’s discovery disappeared after that. Of course Sammy could do it. He didn’t need some lowlife cheering him on and giving him encouragement; that’s what Dean was for. Idiot. He maintained his Unpleased Glare while Sam rattled off facts about the symbol and what it meant. He wasn’t listening to the rambling; he didn’t need to. He could just ask Sam about it later. Whenever he stopped being focused on Hoty and his stupidly proud-looking smile and twinkling eyes that were wandering places!!! that they should not be wandering!!!! when Sammy was talking!!!!

Rude bitch.

---------

“Does he have to come with us?”

Sam groaned. “For the last time, Dean, yes. We need Hoyt as backup because we don’t entirely know what we’re walking into and it’s going to be a challenge.” Dean had been acting like a petulant child all day about Hoyt and it was really starting to grate on his nerves. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”

“Who says I have a problem with him?”

“Literally fucking verything you’ve said and done with him since we ran into him at the house.” He loved Dean but the drama queen act was a bit much. “Look, whatever you feel about him is gonna have to take a backseat right now. We have a demon running around looking to complete a very powerful spell that’s gonna cause a lot of panic and put a lot of people in danger. Hoyt can help. Just...be professional?”

“I am professional. Do you know a more professional and experienced hunter than me?” Dean said incredulously. “No. The answer is, no, you don’t.”

Sure, Mr. Dead-Guy-Robe-and-Hot-Dog-Underwear. “Well, act like it, okay? He’s just trying to help.”

Sam glanced out of his window and caught Hoyt waving at them. He waved back and watched as Hoyt sped ahead of them, weaving in between the traffic. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped when Dean growled.

“Fuckin’ show off,” he muttered. He smacked Sam’s arm. “You wanna talk about being unprofessional? He’s showin’ off how fast his janky truck is. How the fuck is that professional?”

Sam shook his head. “Just drive, Dean.”

“I’m just saying, he should be waiting for his superiors. That’s professionalism.” Dean then turned on the heavy rock station and cranked the volume so Sam couldn’t respond.

How professional.

-------

Hoyt got out of his truck and paused, looking around the area. The space was empty but the air felt charged, like something was just waiting in the shadows. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he could practically feel the goosebumps forming. He reached into the backseat and grabbed the shotgun with salt rounds that he borrowed from the brothers Winchester and made sure it was ready to shoot.

He just had that feeling. That same feeling that always kicked in when the monster was near. Werewolf, vamp, demon, whatever, it never mattered. His dad called it a natural Hunter's instinct, It’ll save your life one day, son.

Whatever. He followed that instinct right out of the life and into the military with his best friend twenty years ago. Now here he was, for some fucking reason, ignoring that instinct and waiting for his new companions to join him. If his spidey sense was right, they might be in for more trouble than they thought. That was never a good thing.

Where the hell were Sam and Dean? He wasn’t too far ahead of them and he knew Dean was a good driver. They should be here by now, shouldn’t they? Maybe he was being paranoid but being here alone seemed like a very, very bad idea.

As if on cue, a spirit flickered to life in front of him, wild eyes and a bloody smile just for him. “A strong candidate for the big finale. Mistress will be pleased.” Then it glowed and he felt a crushing force on his chest, causing him to black out.

Good ol’ Hunter’s instinct. Never fails….

#whumptober2021 #no.7 #my spidey senses are tingling #walker #supernatural #fic #ghosts #kidnapping #jealousy #hoyt rawlins #sam winchester #dean winchester

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magicmastered · 5 years

Text

Evidence that Loki was Tortured

There’s plenty of evidence that Thanos tortured Loki between Thor (2011) and Avengers (2012), and there are lots of posts about it. But I’ve never seen all the evidence (gifs, movie quotes, and interviews) gathered in one place, so I made this for reference and convenient linking. Additions are welcome. (I’ll reblog my own addition because only ten images per post. Ugh.)

(That was really short....I hate writing introductions.)

Gifs:

(Gifs by @tomhiddleston-loki)

Loki holds himself very still while the Other raised (his? its?) hand to his head. His eyes are visibly watering, he blinks rapidly, and he swallows hard in the first gif. He’s terrified, he knows it’s going to hurt, but he doesn’t fight back. He knows better. He’s learned better.

It looks like his face is burned or bruised here (credits scene for Thor (2011)). Given how much you have to do to leave a mark on his skin, that’s...pretty frightening. (I will add evidence for this in my self-reblog; only ten images per post.)

(Gifs by @cannonballonfire)

(Gif by @tomhiddleston-gifs)

Note how much worse he looks here than he does at the end of Thor (2011). (I’ll also address this in the self-reblog.) He’s very pale. There are dark circles under his eyes as well, most notably in this last gif, but visible in the previous three as well. He’s really sweaty, which you can see most clearly in the top two gifs. And then....

(I have no idea who made this gif; if anyone recognizes it, please let me know and I will add credit)

(I got these from @nikkoliferous)

He doubles over when he’s walking out of the lab with his mind-controlled people. And then his back gives out on him when he’s climbing into the Hummer, and he looks desperate, tired, and scared when he looks up, shivering. None of which makes sense unless he was previously injured.

Gifs 4-10 (of all gifs on this post) speak of heat exhaustion/heat stroke, considering....

The most common signs and symptoms of heat exhaustion include:

Confusion (will include a gif of this in my addition)

Dark-colored urine

Dizziness (cause of doubling over)

Fainting (cause of doubling over)

Fatigue

Headache

Muscle or abdominal cramps (cause of doubling over/back giving out/trembling)

Nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea (cause of doubling over)

Pale skin

Profuse sweating

Rapid heartbeat

(From https://www.webmd.com/fitness-exercise/heat-exhaustion#1-2 )

Consider, now, that Loki is a Frost Giant. Consider how much worse that’d make either of those already serious conditions.

Quote(s) from the Movies:

“You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain.” —the Other

“You think you know pain?” The Other knows that Loki knows what pain is. How would he know exactly how much pain Loki’d been in? How would he know that he can make it worse than any pain Loki’s felt before unless he’d been there, maybe even caused it?

And Thanos doesn’t shy away from torture; actually, it’s more or less his M.O. when it comes to indoctrinating recruits/his “children”:

“He tortured me, turned me into a weapon.”—Gamora

“Thanos pulled my eye from my head, my brain from my skull, and my arm from my body....”—Nebula (I omitted the rest of the quote because it wasn’t strictly relevant)

“As a child my father would have Gamora and me battle one another in ‘training.’ Every time my sister prevailed my father would replace a piece of me with machinery, claiming he wanted me to be her equal. But she won, again and again and again. Never once refraining. Because of them, I am this. So after I murder my sister, I will buy a warship with every conceivable instrument of death. I will hunt my father like a dog and I will tear him apart slowly, piece by piece, until he knows some semblance of the profound and unceasing pain I know every single day."—Nebula

While we’re on the subject of Thanos’ children...recall Ebony Maw’s speech:

“Hear me and rejoice. You have had the privilege of being saved by the great Thanos. You may think this is suffering, no. It is salvation. The universal scale tips toward balance because of your sacrifice. Smile. For even in death, you have become children of Thanos.”

Doesn’t that sound sort of like Loki’s speech....

(After demanding that a crowd kneels) “Is this not simpler? Is this not your natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity....You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel.”

Both have similar undertones of “you think this is bad for you; no, it’s actually good. It’s what you really want.”

Incidentally, Ebony Maw also happens to be a master torturer (as is evident when he tortures Doctor Strange, which I can’t include a gif of until the reblog).

How convenient.

Links to Interviews + Relevant Quotes:

From http://collider.com/the-avengers-tom-hiddleston-interview/ :

“I think somewhere between the end of Thor and the beginning of The Avengers, Loki has been to the Marvel equivalent of the 7th circle of hell.”

From https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=VdfobYiZsVk&t=1050 (it’s at around 17:35 if the link doesn’t take you there):

“I think he went, like with everything else to—Joss Whedon and I discussed it...[...]—it was just, like, the worst place imaginable. I think he went to sort of all the darkest recesses of the universe. I’m sure he had a brush with—several brushes with death. I think he ran into the shadiest characters you can find in the Nine Realms. I think he had to rely on his wits to protect himself. It was really, really, really unpleasant, I think. I don’t have any frame of reference for that except for imagining what it might be like to be kidnapped by a terrorist cell or something and have to survive a very, very frightening and precarious existence. But whatever it was, it was important that when Loki came back for the Avengers that whatever compassion he had left was absolutely shriveled to a minimum because of the experience that he had. Harrowing, I think, and scarring for life—in a way that Thor and Odin and Frigga find very, very difficult to understand.”

(Please don’t reblog without my reblog immediately below; it’s important!)

#marvel #mcu loki #loki meta #loki was tortured #nebula #thanos #my post #my meta #tw: torture #gamora #the other #my posts

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whisker-biscuit · 4 years

Text

In the Name of Science: Chapter 2

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture

Summary: Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik. Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.

Note: things are going to start getting really unpleasant from here on out. This chapter is still pretty tame, but proceed with caution.

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Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 2

Subject regained consciousness at 10:12 MST during initial quill examination, and was verbally hostile upon contact with lead scientist (Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D., PhDx5). Subject placed in temporary holding enclosure for injury recovery as well as spoken interview, which was conducted at 10:30 MST. Transcript attached below.

…….

Sonic is brought into a much larger room than the one he’d woken up in. From his position between the two floating egg-robots, he can see that this one is set up with a lot of strange machines and tables and equipment that he couldn’t possibly hope to recognize, much less name. It almost looks like a secret evil lab from one of Tom and Maddie’s movies.

This association is what really makes the reality of the situation sink in.

“Hey, uh, what’s that?” He stares at a giant tube-looking thing in the corner, trying to distract himself from darker thoughts.

Robotnik ignores him, fiddling with his recording equipment, but Agent Stone follows his gaze.

“That’s an MRI machine.”

“Oh. What’s that do?”

“It’s a –”

“I know you’re having a splendid time fraternizing with the alien lifeform, Stone, but the most important homo sapiens in your life would very much enjoy your full attention.”

“Of course Doctor, sorry!” The assistant practically prances to his boss’ side, a goofy smile on his face. Sonic doesn’t understand any of it.

Turns out it doesn’t matter either way, because the hedgehog is suddenly carried above a large metal container with an open top. With another flick of the scientist’s wrist, the robots drop Sonic and he hits the inside of the pen, hissing as all his bruises are aggravated. The ceiling door closes automatically with a whoosh.

The teen makes a few pained noises while he tries to reorient himself. He’s always healed pretty quickly but this hasn’t been nearly enough time since the fight, and his entire body is revolting. He picks himself up into a sitting position as best he can to get a better look at his situation.

He’s in a cage large enough for him to lay down and stretch in any angle, but it’s not much bigger than that. Most of the walls barring one are thick mesh with thick metal reinforcing them from behind, and half the floor is the same. The other half is covered in something that looks suspiciously like a dog bed. The ceiling is just solid metal with no mesh, and it’s roughly the same proportion as the length and width.

Sonic scoots to the front of the cage so he can watch his human captors through the single “open” wall, if bars he can only stick one finger between counts as open. His restraints are weird – they sort of resemble his rings, circled around each individual wrist and ankle and keeping them together in a way he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He tries to pull them apart without much luck.

Robotnik seems to notice the attempt, because he waves a hand in the air without turning towards the hedgehog.

“Don’t bother! Those are highly magnetic and in tune only with each other.”

“….What’s ‘magnetic’?”

“Ugh, never mind.” The scientist does a little whirl to face the cage, holding a microphone connected to the machine behind him. He taps the mic and nods in satisfaction when it echoes. “Agent Stone, start the recording procedure please.”

The assistant gives affirmation as he flips a switch. Mechanical humming fills the air. Robotnik clears his throat.

“Log date: May 14th, 2020, 10:30 am MST. First official verbal interview with extraterrestrial subject, serial designation 06231991. It is unknown whether subject will be verbally hostile, so any redacted statements during this recording will be result of vulgarity and/or dialogue irrelevant to scientific development.”

He steps up to the cage, which sits just below his eyelevel, and observes Sonic a moment. The teen stares warily back.

“Subject, do you have a title you refer to yourself as?”

“Um…”

The man heaves a giant, put-upon sigh. “A name?”

“Oh. S-Sonic. I’m Sonic.” He kicks himself for tripping over his own name. This is just talking, why is it making him nervous?

“Sonic.” Robotnik says the word like he’s about to rip it to shreds. “So, Sonic, what would you say you are?”

“A hedgehog.”

“Did you base that name on the Earth creature sharing similar features?”

“No? I’ve always been a hedgehog.” Sonic lets himself relax a little bit. It really is just talking; he can do that just fine. “S’not my fault you guys named something after me.”

“I see. How long have you been on Earth?”

“Ten years.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen, I think.”

The scientist pauses at that, tilting his head down a little bit in a way that’s hard to read. “Really? You’ve been on Earth for most of your life?”

“Yeah…”

“Remarkable. Living here all this time right under our noses.” He strokes his mustache with a glint in his eye. “If only I’d discovered your presence sooner, everything would have been so much cleaner.”

Sonic’s fingers curl together.

“Oh well, no need to dwell on what could’ve been, until I finally unravel the science behind time travel at least.” Robotnik lets out an arrogant laugh. Stone mirrors him from behind. “So my elusive little subject, what’s the maturation rate of your kind?”

“What?”

“Hmm. You really don’t know much of anything, do you?”

It’s said with such a belittling sneer that the teen averts his eyes for a moment, feeling his face flush.

“Least I don’t dress like a bad guy from the Matrix,” he can’t help but mumble. His captor’s eyebrow twitches.

“My aesthetic is downright prodigious, thank you very much. But we’re getting off-topic! I asked about your maturation rate, you’re not smart enough to figure out what that means from the context clues, and frankly I’m getting bored by all this hands-off interaction for the sake of formal procedure. Would you say you’re closer in relative age to a child, adolescent, or adult?”

“I don’t – I don’t know, maybe teenager? Maybe?” Sonic hates that he doesn’t know, that he has no reference for knowing. He doesn’t even have the confidence to pretend that he does.

“Oh, really. That’s very interesting.”

The hedgehog feels every quill stand up on end at Robotnik’s suddenly subdued voice. He watches as the man’s expression morphs into manic contemplation. Agent Stone seems to sense the change, because he turns off the machine that’s recording their conversation.

“You’re an adolescent then. Thirteen years old, hiding here on this planet for whatever reason, honestly I don’t really care what sort of sob story you’re peddling but I have no doubt it exists. It’s no wonder you’re so ignorant.”

“I’m not ignorant!” He raises his voice like that will help prove his point.

“Oh, but you are. An obtuse, uneducated little creature that exists in a place it does not belong. Tell me, how many humans have you made direct contact with? Let someone see the real you, had a two-way conversation on equal footing…given physical contact.”

Robotnik lifts his hand and presses one finger against the bars, as if pretending he’s petting Sonic’s head again. The teen inches away towards the back of the cage, practically baring his teeth.

“Stop it.”

“Answer the question, hedgehog.”

“No! It’s none of your beeswax anyway, so back off!”

The scientist throws back his head and cackles. He comes down from his mirth fairly quickly and wipes a tear from his eye. “Everything about you is my ‘beeswax’, my pokey little fellow. I own you. I own your powers, your thoughts, your feelings, all of it. I’m astounded it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Cause it’s not true, Eggman! I’m me, and that’s it!”

The air around Sonic starts crackling. Robotnik places a hand in his pocket.

“Is that what your flatfoot nursemaid told you? Thank god I got you away from such fictitious foolishness, who knows what other absurdities he was filling your spiky little head with.”

“I told you not to talk about him like that!”

Full of angry energy, Sonic launches off of his heel and rams into the front bars in the same moment Robotnik pulls out a remote and presses a single button. Electricity that doesn’t belong to the hedgehog lights up the entire cage, leaving Sonic to experience the full brunt of it with his whole body pressed against metal. He stiffens up with a wordless cry and loses both his momentum and the power coursing through him.

It discharges outward and short-circuits whatever was generating the voltage running through the pen, saving the convulsing teen from further pain. He’s twitching so much that he doesn’t even notice the ceiling door open up again, nor the floating robot that drops inside to pull away several more quills. They’re still pulsing with energy.

Robotnik closes the door behind the robot as it leaves, then turns to regard his subject who’s making little mewling noises as his muscles seize against his will. He rolls his eyes at the display because really, the voltage was not that high. It didn’t even last more than a few seconds because of the creature’s rude outburst creating that blackout in his beautiful container.

He signals to Agent Stone, who is quick to turn on the recorder again.

“Note: next question involved reasons for subject’s existence on Earth and opinion on humans, at which time subject became hostile and attempted assault. No harm came to present researchers due to precautionary measures, and subject has been successfully and safely contained. Verbal interview will be postponed for later date until subject recovers and is more willing to discuss reasons for coming here without becoming violent.”

The man shuts off his mic and passes it to his assistant, yawning with a hand pressed to his mouth.

“Walk with me, Stone. I do believe it’s a fine time for sleep, now that all the immediate excitement is over.”

“Yes, sir!”

They leave the quivering hedgehog alone with the hum of a million machines and state-of-the-art security. Halfway down the hallway, Robotnik stops.

“Oh, just a moment.” He taps his gloves a few times and something whirrs to life back in the room. “There we go!”

“Sir?”

“Almost forgot to set up a sustenance bot for the little thing. I’m so used to wonderful, unfeeling robots with no need for constant nourishment, it’s easy to forgot that these fragile organic bodies require food and water, ha!”

“Uh…but Doctor, you’re also –”

“Don’t remind me of things I don’t like being reminded of, Stone!” The scientist snaps. He runs a careful hand through his hair and straightens his jacket rather prissily. “Anyway, you said something earlier about dinner being Argentina-inspired?”

Stone beams and his shoulders lift with pride. “Yep! Milanesa a la napolitana with a sprinkling of oregano and curry powder. Should be done within an hour.”

“God, that sounds lovely. In the mean time I’ll be setting up some analysis programs for the blood and quill samples and making another written log report. Do not disturb me unless I either call you directly or dinner’s done.”

“Of course, sir.” Stone hustles down the hall and makes a right turn. Robotnik turns left.

“Now then,” he says gleefully to himself, rubbing his hands together as he plops down in his Important Analysis Chair. “Let’s get this spiky ball rolling!”

…….

Additional quill samples taken after verbal interview to compare dormant and active power input of subject. It is predicted that while the active quills contain infinitely higher levels of energy, dormant quills are still capable of significant power.

After full physical recovery is reached, more thorough examinations of anatomy will be administered as well as analysis of speed, endurance, and power production. In the interim, behavioral training will begin in earnest. Subject has demonstrated capability to defer to proper authority with enough prompting.

Goal by end of week is to not need prompting.

End log

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A/N: Sorry for the wait, I’ve been SUPER busy this week. Hope the longer chapter made up for it though! As stated above, things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, so just make sure you’re aware of that going in.

Also, originally I was going to have a side-by-side of Tom and Maddie working to find Sonic, but then I realized I have no idea how to make that work. If anyone has suggestions feel free to let me know, otherwise it’s going to be solely Sonic and Robotnik focus until (if) he’s rescued.

Thanks for reading, and have a good one!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic movie #sonic movie spoilers #dr robotnik #agent stone

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fc5holidayexchange · 4 years

Text

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 [FIC]

‘come things only happy and whole’

Original Character/Sharky Boshaw -Pre Relationship. Deputy Rook, Sharky Boshaw, Earl Whitehorse, Original Characters

@ask-chibi-rook

This was a really fun experience with a really cool character concept! I think I scrapped like five ideas, which almost never happens. TYSM and I hope you enjoy!

Notes: general warning for Jacob Seed who is Sir-Not-Appearing but still felt, brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage, gentle flirting, as close as I get to fluff.

–

The circumstances are specific.

Eden’s Gate has a now unusually large population of pregnant women. The Resistance has few in the family way and explicitly no children in or around the compounds. So colour Pastor Jerome Jefferies and Father Joseph Seed surprised when they received identical messages asking them to parley a little north of Dutch in a zone they’d been habitually calling Bear Trap. Because of the bears. Twelve women who had been friends on Facebook before the Reaping started had kept to the agreement they’d made to meet up at Sally Sue’s old cabin and stay the days or weeks it took for all of them to give birth. This would have been a ridiculous thing to organise if a) every single woman involved hadn’t been previously part of a larger prepper group before making a smaller, more intimate one and b) that smaller group hadn’t been specifically for women who’d survived multiple miscarriages.

“They’re ah, not coming down.” Some poor son of a gun has to tell Whitehorse at two am on a Thursday. They’re out in the chill, on the porch of a little house. “They’ve got four doula’s and a bunch of equipment they’d set up beforehand as well as a doctor. Marcie, that’s, uh, Walter Whit’s Marcie, says that we can shove it up out be-hinds if we want them to come down. It’s between them and God now.”

“She tell Seed that too?”

“She told Walt that.” The boy sighs. “She told Seed that he should have kept that prize winning show dog of his brother under better control as he stressed Wendy and Carlie something awful with their atonements. And that keeping any pregnant women near Faith, who she did have something unpleasant to say about as per her use of Bliss, was just about his greatest crime.”

Whitehorse snorts. “Has she seen the bodies?”

The boy holds up his fingers to make quotation marks. “That’s killing folk, not killing babies, and Seed was coming awful close to asking them to kill babies.”

“That explains the Peggies. When it came right down to it they picked their kids over the Father.” Whitehorse muses. “Would’ve been nice if they’d stood up for us. No, don’t relay that Jimmy, that’s me being an old grump. If those girls need things from us, you get it to them, alright?”

“Yessir.”

“And you,” he turns to point at Rook, tucked under a blanket on the front step with him, “go get some sleep.”

Rook points at herself, flips to the page in her small notebook that says me?

“Yeah, you. Relax Rook. Ain’t nobody around here going to need you to fix this.”

She probably should have figured that Whitehorse would catch on. It’s been a week, maybe two, since Jess took an all terrain bike and an exhausted, largely non-responsive Rook back to the Henbane. She has marks she doesn’t remember and bigger, scarier blanks in her memory, left to white knuckle it through whatever recovery is possible. Rook spends a lot of her life kind of tired. When it’s hard to communicate you have to be quick and clear about what to say. She’s gotten it right down to essentials by now but that leaves out everything complex. There’s a lot of things sitting just behind her teeth, just behind her gums, that she’ll never have time to tell anyone. Certainly not if Joseph gets his way.

From what she understands they are at a critical junction in Joseph’s plan. Months at most from his intended end of the world and he has been reacting with his expected fanaticism. A bunch of women trekking off into the woods should be a minor concern. All of this would be a minor concern, solved by Jacob, who had no one among the Prosperity Prepper Pregnancy Yarning Circle, but for one Miriam Lee, of John’s faithful, who led security. She’d changed the locks on any number of critical supplies and literally taken John’s secret stash of solar panels with her, leaving John to explain why he had solar panels in Joseph’s unreasonable and unlikely future, and why Miriam Lee was the only person who knew how to change all the passwords. This still wouldn’t have stopped Jacob but for Joseph, who had decided he’d had a vision and his eldest brother would be cast from paradise should he take arms against the innocent. The absurdity of that statement about that particular redhead aside it seemed the Father was dead serious.

For all his numerous faults it seemed Joseph Seed was unwilling to harm a child.

(Ha)

So the circumstances? Very specific.

Rook takes his advice and heads in to sleep. In her dreams places red and deadly pass and prosper, knives sharpen and music plays, a familiar voice sweet and betraying. It’s further away than usual, buffered in her dreams by smaller, stronger feelings currently unsaid. Her mind is dark, not quite unpleasant. When she wakes in the morning, just a few hours later, the Montana morning is fiercely pleasant. The weather is beginning to suggest it’s turning but it hasn’t done more than throw up some surprising afternoon wind changes. Enough that a light jacket and a scarf stashed somewhere is enough for almost any day.

Someone knocks on the door of the small space she’s been allotted. Rook pulls on her clothes. Soft flannel, thick socks. Two shirts for those aforementioned wind changes. She makes sure she has a small notebook and pen on her. There’s a small box of blue ones under her bed here, liberated from John, so she never feels quite bad enough about how often they get snapped. The door knocks again and she rushes to open it.

On the other side Sharky Boshaw has a chipped mug of tea and a little bit of a nervous look.

The soft feelings from her dreams return in daylight’s full glory. She waves hello, takes the mug and invites him in. Sharky takes in her messy nest of blankets, the pens scattered on the floor from her dash to answer the door and how, apart from her bed, there isn’t anywhere to sit. She can see him thinking, her own embarrassment flooding her face with colour, before Sharky kneels down and starts picking up her pens.

“I heard from Isaiah -that prepper with all the grenades? The one the Peggies stopped going near because he set landmines attached to flamethrowers, well he’s been rehabbing a Judge. Found her ripping through Jacob’s territory baiting his people into traps. Clever as hell. He invited me up there ‘cause I brought him some beer a week or two ago and I made a bet against Hurk about it. Says she’s nearly ready to get the hell off his property on account of how she keeps activating his traps to scare the wildlife.” He pauses, glances at the ceiling while he scratches his chin. “Also I owe Hurk money.”

Rook hears all that and as usual has specific questions. She opens her book. Sharky hands her a pen. She writes: You brought a man surrounded by landmines beer?

Sharky looked faintly offended. “I ain’t afraid of fire.”

But the landmines? She asks with genuine concern.

“Landmines are fine if they’re attached to flamethrowers.” He waits a moment to see if she has anything to say to that, then adds, “Obviously I just figured out how those worked and went backwards. Easy.”

Easy, obviously.

Sharky rubs the back of his neck. “So, wanna pet a dog?”

–

Whitehorse is a paternal combination of pleased and worried that Rook is leaving the relative safety of the Prison to pet a dog with a pyromaniac. On one hand, she’s been a mess since she came back from the Whitetails -the Whitetails that want her back pretty badly, not including Jacob- and a strong interest in doing things that involve walking outside in a relative state of peace is indicative of the good mental health she never exactly had. On the other hand Sharky Boshaw is taking her through woods not quite Resistance and not quite Peggie to pet a wolf that kills people.

“Kills Peggies.” Sharky corrects when Whitehorse manages to stop grumbling long enough to state his problem. “And Boomer does that too.”

“Boomer is a good dog.” Someone Rook doesn’t know says from their left. “Let the girl pet a dog, Earl. It’s not the most dangerous thing she’s done for us.”

Whitehorse makes a face she dimly recognises from her early days, when she stayed at the station all hours and didn’t so much as a glance at forming a relationship outside of work. At her one month review he’d said that he hoped that she’d one day find people here she could trust, that he hoped to be one of them, but until then he’d do his best to at least be a soft place to land. It’s months later, and there’s a war on, and his face still says that. Rook spends all her time trying to be what the Resistance needs, the person it needs. There’s not much room for being soft.

Whitehorse relents, settles on take the shovel and gives Sharky back the rocket launcher and the nun-chucks that Whitehorse personally took out of his trailer about three months before all of this started. Sharky treats both of these gifts with a reverence that they have all learned to tolerate while living in close quarters. He also gifts Sharky with a ten minute long lecture while Rook goes and resupplies her day pack. There’s no explicit mention of her but she gets the feeling Whitehorse has been telling everyone to just be nicer, try to get her out of her shell.

They take a car part of the way and leave it tucked in an overhang that the Peggies have yet to figure out. The way requires crossing the river and taking a circuitous route through some unallied areas. The trees are just sparse enough to let the sun bite her on the neck. The dirt is coming up off the ground at a rate that’s alarming covering them to their knees in grime and debris. The greenery sings with the sounds of small animals, cautious bird calls and absolutely no gunfire. Silence will fall all across the county for a few moments every now and then, as if the whole world is being as cautious as the birds.

Sharky just talks and talks and talks. But he’s Sharky enough, whatever weird thing in the Drubman-Boshaw family makes them simultaneously caricatures and decent folk, to look back at her every so often and make sure she’s okay with him. Maybe it’s that he’s used to sound without answer, even if it’s from the opposite side. Maybe he’s just a guy who needs social skills and less access to nitroglycerine.

“Whaddaya think?”

Rook hasn’t actually been listening.

“Ah well, not important anyway.” He holds his hands out to her, baffling, before she realises he means to help her up into the knot of a tree. “Oh shit. Come look at this. Haven’t been back here in ages.” He plants himself and all but throws her up into a curvature of branches. “Man I got a twisted twunkle in this tree once.”

Rook takes his hands. He guides her carefully among the brown bark and the sparing leaves.

The tree itself is huge and old. It might once have been several different ones that melded together as trees sometimes do. Under her hands the bark feels warm and dry, aged away and tough. It feels alive but waiting, like it’s been here before and will be here again long after. She tries to take that feeling inside herself. Being steady and rooted instead of the constant swaying that digs deeper and deeper after every nightmare. Sharky helps, first by literally pulling her further in until they can sit on a thick branch together, and then by telling her all about the things he knows about this place. She’s not sure how much is true but it’s nice all the same. From the height, and the little raised hill the tree sits on, they can see a little bit of the space around them. The occasional smoke of a fire, or a plane flying in circles. She pulls out her radio, more habit than need, idly flicking it on and off, frequency to frequency, in case someone needs help.

The radio speaks for a moment: -coming off the mountain-zzzt-no sign yet-zzzt-heads on a swivel A-Team, targets tricky and lean- Jacob hunting Whitetails, even in so-called peacetime.

Sharky turns it off, not soon enough to stop her sense of self crumbling at Jacob Seed’s voice, but soon enough that when he gives her a quick hug she clings to it. Sharky smells like a heavy mixture of adult male body odour, what was left of the laundry powder and wet ash. It’s pungent enough to clear her head. Sharky holds onto her for a moment or two past appropriate then slides away not quite smooth enough to be cool.

“Hey, Rook, look at that.” He points straight out, and she assumes it’s just to change the subject, but soon enough a small dance of butterflies flies across the sky. They twirl in a circle and pass the tree close enough for Rook to see that they’re spotted with blue and bright green, creatures of the Bliss for certain. They dip down intending to take a pass right through the tree Rook and Sharky are sitting in. Sharky says oh shit just before they’re hit-

The butterflies fly around them, the whole world the colour of wings and white, before it’s the clear Montana sky again. One lands on Sharky’s nose and he pulls a face of intense disgust.

She can’t help it, she laughs at him.

He looks at her for a moment trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with her face. When she’s done she begins to climb down, the small bubble of mirth still sitting high, right behind her teeth.

–

It’s just past dusk when they get there. All of the Resistance keeps odd hours. Isaiah’s house involves a hike that’s near vertical. They see signs of Peggie work as they circle closer -spray cans next to symbols on trees, a copy of Joseph’s Bible, the occasional item of clothing for some reason- but those signs thin as they get closer to the house. Instead scorch marks and gun holes pepper the land like confetti at a wedding. Rook pulls out her shovel.

Eventually Sharky takes a sharp turn, ducks behind a thick crop of trees and leads her to a neatly kept front yard in front of a shabby barnhouse-cum-fortress. There’s even an American flag hanging from the roof of the added-on porch. Sharky whistles loud and clear across the space. After five minutes or so a man emerges.

His thick beard and scarred hands tell a story all their own. He shuffles across the porch with a bag under his arm and a cane in his other hand. His leg acts like dead weight across the wood, scraping and scratching along. He makes an unhappy groan low in his throat. Acid burns. Isaiah never had a last name. Or if he did, he refused to give it.

“Hey, buddy.” Sharky hops over some line only he sees turns and holds out his huge hands for her small ones. Like before she hands him her trust and no small amount of affection and amusement and then they do the world’s silliest looking dance:

“Over here -that’s a trip wire, don’t hit that, good-”

“-now this’ll sound strange, two inches left with your bum or you’re gonna lose a bunch, and you’re small enough, ow, from your leg Po-Po-”

“-did you just trip? Dep, this is a real hotzone, come on-”

“-look, I know what it means when a woman makes that face at me, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to grope you, but they’re nice, so-”

“-Good, great, no, nope, that way goes Sharky’s testy festy and he needs ‘em for the Testy Festy seed swap, so come over here-

Finally they come up to the porch. Isaiah sits on his rocking chair under a blanket with ice tea next to him. His chest keeps expanding in little giggles. Both Rook and Sharky are sweaty and breathing hard. Rook’s hair is stuck to her neck and she’s sure she’s never been this embarrassed before. No wonder the Peggies stopped trying. Sharky stops her with a solemn hand. “Okay now we’re gonna hop twice.”

She abruptly realises he’s fucking with her. Gently, with good humor, but still teasing her. She kicks a clod of dirt at him now that they’re close to the porch and reasonably unlikely to die in a fire. Isaiah makes this noise, like a cat yarking up a bird, his whole upper body moving. He’s laughing. Sharky laughs as well and proclaims he’s going to see if there’s any beer. With nothing else to do Rook climbs up onto the porch and takes a seat against the railing of his porch. Isaiah passes her a glass of the tea. He taps his own throat, the angle revealing its scars and warps, then pulls out a pen and a board. With unpracticed fingers he writes on his own whiteboard: I heard you speak like this.

Rook nods. Isaiah nods back and returns his writing implements to their bag. Within reach but out of the way. The tea is blessedly cool against her forehead when she presses it in.

“He-ey girl!” Sharky calls from inside the house. “Guess who found beer! You don’t have to guess, it’s me.” He sticks his head out, probably to ask if she needs something, so she holds up her half full glass.

The Judge trots onto the porch. Her coat has been shaved down, patches still that bone terrifying white where the hair is longest, but all over are swathes of grey brindling. Her sharp blue eyes are clear as water in a face returned all the way from the Bliss. Around her foreleg a bandage is slowly turning pink from the injury beneath. She comes to rest her huge body near Isaiah but with her sightline out to the world.

Sharky pats her cautiously then fits himself down next to Rook. “What’s her name?”

Isaiah considers. Then he opens his throat. “Boudica. Queen stayed free.” His voice isn’t clear. It’s pained and filled with the feel of disuse. He names the wolf anyway.

Boudica rolls on her back and shows her fluffy, scarred belly.

Rook stands and shuffles closer. Her hand shakes as she brings it down, firm, on her upper chest. Boudica wriggles but stays still. Rook keeps patting. Her skin is scarred all the way up to a sharp cut right across her throat. She didn’t die. She can see it: Jacob’s knife, his music and his soldiers. Running as far and fast as you can because you can never be free but you can be away. Boudica defies that, though. Her fur is turning back from the Bliss and there’s not a hint of madness in her eyes.

Rook returns to her seat. Isaiah gives her more tea.

Boudica snuffles, rubs her nose with a huge paw. She picks herself up and trots through the front yard they had to dance through. Her path is noticeably straightforward.

“What the fuck?” Sharky says.

Isaiah laughs again. “Bad leg. Don’t have time.” He flings his hand towards Rook, the yard and possibly the entire concept of the war beyond it.

“‘t’s not fair.” Sharky whines. “When I brought you stuff you made me strap it on my back and crawl!”

Isaiah slaps his knee, giggling again, points at Rook and then back at Sharky. “You danced.” Isaiah rubs his throat, as if it pains him. Then as if it would pain him more not to tease, “Fair.”

“I- Well-” Sharky chugs his beer instead of talking. Isaiah refills her glass to the top and bullies Sharky into pulling out Boudica’s bespoke sleeping pen, giving lie to the idea that she’d ever be coming back down with them.

Night falls properly. They eat together. Isaiah has no room for them inside but Rook’s slept rougher and he brings out a little heater and a bottle of bourbon. Sharky unearths a pile of excellent quality sleeping bags in a shed hidden on the side. Rook watches him whine his way through the whole thing since they don’t actually know there aren’t landmines. The bourbon makes Sharky feel better, though.

He’s talking about…something, honestly she’s not sure how he transitions from topic to topic. She pulls out her notebook. She wrote it earlier in the day, never said it. Thank you, Sharky.

He smiles, face lit by what little ambient light there is. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, Rook.”

Rook stays sober under a pile of blankets. Sharky has long since collapsed into snoring. The night is starry and silent. If she sleeps now she’ll have nightmares: falling through red rooms, black blood dripping down her mouth, her tongue returned but unable to make human noise, another layer between her and other people. Another place for someone to slide a knife. The night is starry and silent and in Hope County that will have to be enough.

Boudica comes back in the early hours. Rook is still awake. Her muzzle is a little bloody but mostly she seems tired and pleased with herself. She comes over for a very quick pat but returns to the nest of hand sewn blankets and repurposed pillowing that she calls a bed. She tunnels in, turns and wiggles her body, huffs, sleeps.

Not his wolf, she thinks, and goes to sleep herself. She was right about the dreams. But between terror and noiseless pain is her own feet under her running like she thinks Boudica would.

#sharky boshaw/deputy #sharky boshaw #deputy oc #earl whitehorse #oc #brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage #gentle flirting #mild fluff #gift: fic #fc5holidayexchange #ask-chibi-rook #submission

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aedyre · 4 years

Text

Shilaren is keenly aware of the boy watching him, though at least it's the Prince and not one of the other bra-- one of the others. He's not going to call them brats again. He's not sure their mother won't know, somehow, even if he doesn't say it out loud and he's also not sure she won't rip his head off over it. Or something equally unpleasant.

Parents these days really need to calm down.

It's not like it is his fault they'd run around his lab -- which he had repeatedly warned them not to! -- and then knocked over an experiment several weeks in the making, ruining it completely. At least they haven't done it since, which means his yelling must have helped and really, it was for their own good, because it could have been something dangerous. What if they had spilled acid over themselves? Has she even considered that? (Admittedly, putting anything overtly dangerous out of reach had been one of the first things he'd done when their new guests arrived. If the Vestige's great great great great niece or nephew were to end up dead for knocking over the wrong vial, he would, genuinely, feel a little bad. But that's not the point. The point is, this is a lab, not a playground.)

The Prince, at least, is both quiet and still and more interested in watching than joining the other children in their games. Which is a little odd -- you'd think Altmer would be more studious than a Colovian, though there are exceptions to every rule, he supposes. And while Olivier seems a bit concerned that the boy might be struggling with his recent experiences (which is a very euphemistic way of saying "I think being kidnapped, threatened with death and dismemberment and having his face cut open might have traumatized him", Shilaren thinks), he's just happy he doesn't have a third word-he-can't-use breaking his things.

But still. The boy is rather noticeable anyway, because Shilaren doesn't usually have people sitting in his lab and watching him. He's not sure he cares much for it. He could throw the boy out, of course, but who knows how the kid will take it, and if he starts crying Olivier will most certainly be mad at Shilaren. Not to mention the Emperor, if he ever hears the big bad Dunmer made his son cry. Not that he’s worried about an Emperor’s anger -- the buggers come and die faster than he can keep track off -- he’d just rather not be bothered even more, is the issue.

The Vestige better appreciate the things he does at her family’s request.

He’s not even sure how they got saddled with the Prince in addition to her actual family. Maybe Olivier had just been so charming the Emperor decided he would make a good caretaker for his own child as well. Which makes some amount of sense, since Olivier is indeed very charming. It’s one reason -- among many -- Shilaren married him, after all. Olivier had blamed it on Telandil instead -- well, maybe not blamed. ‘Said it had been at Telandil’s suggestion’ is, perhaps, a little more accurate. Which would mean the Emperor trusted a man who had only recently defected on where to send his child while he took back the Imperial City and negotiated a peace treaty, which seems strange.

Then again, Telandil had apparently just slaughtered an entire group of assassins that tried to kill both the Emperor and the Prince. After succeeding in saving the City from being consumed by a daedric ritual. A mission he’d gone on right after bringing the boy safely back to his father in the first place... After saving him from Thalmor captivity.

Hm. Maybe not that strange. Certainly takes after his great great great aunt, there.

At least the Thalmor won’t bother them, all the way out here. Probably. They could try, he supposes, but they’re in the middle of High Rock, not anywhere near the frontlines. In a castle guarded by centuries old magic wards. And dogs. Many, many, many dogs, which makes sneaking almost impossible, he knows from experience. He can’t even go to their bedroom without making much noise, because at least one of the dogs will always be awake and in need of either pets, a treat, or a nice game of fetch. Or all three, and unable to decide which comes first.

Not that he minds. If he did, he wouldn’t still be married to Olivier after more than nine centuries.

“How do you do that?” the boy asks and startles Shilaren out of his thoughts after all. He blinks.

“Do what?” he says and puts down the pestle.

“Make things float,” the boy clarifies and points at a glass full of void salt Shilaren had levitated to his work bench.

He plucks the glass out of the air and pours a bit of salt into the concoction simmering quietly next to him. “It’s a levitation spell.”

“And how do you do that?” the boy asks and Shilaren frowns. He could throw him out and have his peace and quiet. He could.

It’s just… It’s not a stupid question, exactly.

So instead he mixes the now thoroughly crushed mushrooms into the pot and turns his stool towards the boy. “I dislike repeating myself,” he says. “So listen well.”

To his credit, the boy does listen, and Shilaren tries to keep his explanation as layman -- and child -- friendly as possible. He isn’t interrupted once and it’s only when he’s finished that the boy asks for clarifications. He’s really rather well behaved, for a six years old.

Once he’s done he turns back to his work. Does he need a bit more void salt? He thinks he might. He’ll have to restock that sometime soon, which most likely means having one of the servants buy it, because he really can’t be bothered getting it from atronachs directly, because Oliver always makes him leave the castle grounds for that just in case one of the many, many, many dogs might get hurt--

There’s a sudden crash behind him.

He turns, slowly. The boy looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or at least how Shilaren imagines that might look, and his gaze flickers between Shilaren and a small candle tray on the ground.

“I’m sorry--” he starts but Shilaren raises his hand.

“Did you throw it?” he asks. The boy shakes his head.

“Did you try the spell?”

A nod.

“And it floated,” he says, a statement, not a question, because the tray clearly moved.

“A little,” the boy answers anyway.

He really should have noticed someone trying to use magic right behind him, he thinks, but the lab is full of magical energies and so is the castle, something enchanted in every room, wards layered over wards.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” the boy mumbles and looks crestfallen. Perhaps he thinks Shilaren is angry at him. Probably, even.

“Come here,” Shilaren says instead. “And bring the tray. Let’s try again.”

#the elder scrolls #tes fic #tes ocs #the dragonborn #skyrim #it's more legends era but it involves my db as a kid so dfghjk #shilaren vesaril #regulus mede #jules.txt

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butlegendsneverdie · 5 years

Text

Scared Of Dogs (b.h)

A/N: Didn’t quite turn out how I wanted it to. But I think it’s okay. Enjoy. Like Comment Reblog

And yes this is partly based on my fear of dogs (though the reasoning I give in the drabble is not my reason for being afraid) (but that too is based off something that happened in my town to a neighbor)

Pairing: Ben x Reader

Warnings: none really

Dogs scared you. You had the unpleasant experience of being terrified because a dog was chasing you trying to bite you. You had been on a walk with your mother when a neighbor’s unruly dog came up and angrily bit you unprovoked. It drew blood and you still have a scar.

So when Ben asked if you wanted to meet Frankie, you were more than a little hesitant. You had never mentioned your fear of dogs to him. You didn’t think it was really something of importance, until he said something about his little pooch.

You were nervously quiet on the way back to his flat. You wanted to meet the pup who was practically his child, but at the same time you wanted to jump ship and head for the hills. You knew by the way Ben was talking about her how sweet she was. But what if you were the one person she didn’t like. What if she barked and growled at you. What if she accidentally bit you. What if there was blood.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked looking you over as the two of your approached his home. He could tell there was a tension about you that he had never seen before. That worried him.

“Nothing’s wrong, love.” You bit your lip holding back the truth. You look anywhere but at Ben or the door to the place.

“Something’s wrong.” Ben fully turned towards you. He lightly cocked his head to one side and furrowed his brows. He wasn’t going to continue until you told him what exactly was on your mind. “Tell me. Please?”

You couldn’t resist the pleading look he was giving you. What you were about to tell was most likely going to be a deal breaker. You weren’t sure if could handle that right now. You really liked him.

“I’m.” You paused for a moment. A lump was starting to form in the back of your throat. This was terrifying. “I’m afraid of dogs.”

“What?” Ben looked at you is disbelief. He looked angry, like he was about to break it off with you. “How could you never have mentioned this before? I mean I’m taking you to meet my dog and you don’t like them.”

“That’s not what I said Ben.” You crossed your arms. “I never said I didn’t like them. I said I’m afraid of them.”

“Is there a difference?” He pursed his lips looking away. “You know. Maybe this isn’t go-”

“There is a difference.” You cut him off. He needed to hear you out before he made a decision “Please, just listen to me before you say anything you might regret later.”

“Fine. Explain to me why.” He pursed his lips in a thin straight line.

“When I was five I was bit by a rottweiler. I have a scar on the side of calf. And I’ve been terrified of them ever since.” You twist your hands about in worry. “I like dogs. I know not every dog is like the one that bit me. I know Frankie isn’t like that. But I’m still afraid. What if something happens and I get bit again?” You start to tremble as you finish.

“I can understand that.” Ben’s face started to soften. “I’m sorry I made that assumption. It was wrong of me.”

“It’s okay Benny. You aren’t the first and you certainly won’t be the last to assume that.” You shrugged uncrossing your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Ben took a second to take a hold of your hands, kissing your palms ever so slightly.

“Do you still want to meet Frankie? I’ll be there the whole time and I won’t leave her alone with you.”

You took a deep breath and nodded yes. Your lover gave you a soft smile, pulling you along towards his flat. Once inside he instructed you sit on the floor and get comfy. He was going to get his child.

Ben came back a few minutes later with the pup in hand. “Y/N, this is Frankie. Frankie, this is Y/N.” He sat next to you, placing the pup on the ground.

Frankie looked you over, unsure of what to make of you. She took a hesitant step towards your hand, and ultimately started trying to nuzzle herself underneath it. She wanted you to pet her.

You froze, not knowing what to do. A dog had never done this before.

“Everything okay?” Ben worried over you.

“Yeah. I think it will be.” You let go of the breath you were holding in. Your hand moved instinctively petting Frankie. Baby steps.

Tags: @har-rison-s @dreamerofzaldrizes

Want to be Tagged in stuff? Let me know! :)

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy one shot #ben hardy imagine #scared of dogs #ben hardy drabble

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eb-byestelle · 5 years

Note

:3 2 5 6 9 13 14 17 22 23 24 28 29 30 34 35 37 38 40 41 43 44 47 48 50 54 55 56 57 59 60 61 63 64 67 68 70 72 73 74 76 79 80 81 82 84 87 88 90 97 98 100

Hi there !! ❤️

Oh lord……….. 😵😅 There is a lot of it! But in some way it flatters me 😂💖

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

I do. It seems to be sth unpleasant but I like that tbh. It’s a very refreshing feeling.

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

Ofc I’m 😂

6: do you keep plants?

Generally no. I prefer to have an ornamentation which are long-term like a paintings or various types of souvenirs. But every now and then I love to buy some roses or lilies.

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

Sometimes.

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

A few things for sure ^^ For example some new epizode on the channel of one of my favrite youtubers. I usually don’t care about youtubers, but there is few guys who I really like. He is one of them. Besides of reviewing and mocking of a bad movies, he started to make a program when he laughs of his inept cooking skills and in a funny way he tries to do the various dishes. It was the epizode when he tried to do some dish created by Gordon Ramsey. With his brilliant joke and a chill style of being, as usual it was great. Another thing which comes to my mind is a very tasty breakfast 😋

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

I guess it would be like in case of a lot of roommates. A separate rooms for each of us. Each one would be the own part of the fridge. The bills would be divided in half for each.

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

Right now I have a color I like (dark chocolate).

22: are you a morning person?

Not exactly xD I love mornings! It’s my favorite part of the day. But at the same time I love to spend all night without sleeping xD At night we have the best ideas and the biggest inspiration ❤️ sometimes I call myself „a night animal”. But I still love mornings, this fresh air, very pleasant atmosphere. But because of my love to being „a night animals” my morning is only sometimes in the correct part of the day (like 7.00 – 8.00 am).

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

Like today xD Eg. replying to messages (like right now xD), cleaning, some activities like a cycling, trips or swimming, watching a movies, finding an interesting things or creating sth like a new poem or taking a new photos to my albums.

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

Yes, she is ❤️ She knows more than anybody.

28: sunrise or sunset?

Sunrise ❤️

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

Eg. when there is my birthday time and some my friend always gives me the gifts which perfectly suits to my interests and my personality ❤️ It’s the sign for me that someone knows my well and I’m important for him/her.

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

I think I have… But I’m not sure when exactly. It was a long time ago…

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

You mean a mascot, right? I still have my dear bunny ❤️ Its name is Niunia (a girl name). I got it for my fourth birthday. It was one of my biggest inspiration for the next 10 years xD Thanks to this bunny I created my first tales, comics, novels, and arts. It was like an one big inspiration bomb xD

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

Yeah, I like it. I use it very often.

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

Rather clean.

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

It would be probably when someone is too sarcastic. Many people love sarcasms. Some are funny, when don’t laugh of somebodies in some mean way, but generally when it’s sth too personal, directed directly to me, then it’s sth very painful.

I also really don’t like when someone is a religious fanatic. I’m not an atheist and I totally respect all religiouses but some part of them are just insane… Some of them even try to say, that the homosexuality is a disease and that the contraception is a killing. Maybe we should claim that the religious fanatics is a disease xD 💀😂

Oh! And I hate this obsession with diet and exercise. It’s great to feel attractive and healthy but it started to be the one large international persecution mania 😅💀💀

40: think of a piece of jewelery you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

Ahh, ofc! I have a lot of jewelery, many of them remind me of some memories. My the most precious thing is my ring which I bought from my first scholarship (the scholarship I got in 2015, while I bought it in 2016). I wear it everyday. Later I went to the some steep hill and at the top of this hill I’ve done a kind of oath to myself that I will never make some mistakes once again, i.e. that I will always respect and love myself and I will always be faithful to myself (Sth a bit like a self-wedding xD There was even the cross xD).

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

Generally I read book quite rarely, I choose much more the watching the movies/anime, but when I think about a books like this, eg. now I’m reading some really great book. It’s called „Sophie’s World”. It’s about a teenage girl which one day came back from school and inside of her letter-box found a letter addressed to her, where it was one question „Who you are?”. Later, after she started think about who could give it to her and wonder about that question, another anonymous letters with philosophical questions began to be put into her letter-box. After a short time, after stimulating her curiosity towards philosophy, still without knowing the identity of the mysterious philosopher, the girl started a philosophy course, this time receiving a lot of long sheets full of new knowledge. More and more she began to delve into the world of philosophy, while at the same time trying to find out who is that mysterious teacher. At the same time, every now and then for some reason in various places, she found some things for the another girl she had never met. So far, I’m halfway through, history is getting more and more interesting. This is not a romance, as might be suggested by that “mysterious man” xD is a novel which is a kind of textbook of philosophy inserted into the story of the main character, written in a style that is one of the best literary styles I have ever read ❤️

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

With my music xD 🎵🎇

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

It was some time ago, on my last ride by bicycle.

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

The meat from the dogs 😱😭😭👎

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

In case of this, I’ve really changed. As a kid I was scared by a storm, altitude, public appearances, spiders, darkness, although at the same time since childhood I’ve liked to challenge myself. Then there was a time when there were many strong negative experiences in my life, after which I came up with some simple thought: “Once I was afraid of a storm, but then I found out that there are more terrible things than a storm.” Now I’m afraid of only few things. I was able to go in the middle of the night through a dark forest, perform in front of a hundred people or run away from a stranger who chased me with a log in hand and even then I didn’t feel a fear. But there is still something I’m scared. It’s a bad people. I divide bad people into “culprits” and “intruders”. These first ones are people aware of their faults who have made mistakes, but they have a goodness within them that helps them to be better. Those second ones are totally evil. They are persuasive. People love them and follow them. They’re often completely unaware of the quantity of evil that is within them. Their boundless ruthlessness, combined with their eternal state of repression and alleged innocence, make them worse than the most dangerous lion.

I’m also afraid of losing humanity. I have the view that human is a creation between an animal and a device. I don’t want to get lost totally in lusts and instincts, like an animal, I don’t want to lose myself in logical cold action, like a device. It’s important to not forget about the instincts and the logical thinking, both skills are very valuable. But the extreme transition to one of these parties is bad. And very simple in a present times. While there is still humanity in the middle, specifically this what is metaphorically called “the soul” (feelings, weaknesses, sensibility). I don’t want the present world to deprive me of this.

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

I guess I don’t collect any things like this.

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

Some my friend from studies. She has a very hard time right now…

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

It’s hard to say… But I guess it was some „skill” I had to learn, ie. more „sharp” kind of speaking and behaving, more agressive. Ofc not as a kind of speaking everyday, but it were a situation which forced me to be cruel to someone who hurt me. It was my final attempt to prove that this person very hurts me and deserves my contempt. It worked. Now this person is completely different to me. But I don’t hide that it was difficult. In a way, I had to move my scruple and find within me something what I call “wildness”.

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

When someone still has inside sth from a child. Specifically, I mean a children’s sensitivity, curiosity about the world, the ability to dreaming, child’s innocence and a kind of enjoying something like a child. Imo it’s very important to cultivate everything this within us, at the same time having sth of an adult, like eg. an emotional maturity (there are ofc also children who can do it ;3). I like when someone is not afraid of being themselves. I also value a tenderness. I also like when someone gets involved in something with a passion, in some of their interest, or even in the anime episode xD

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

I can to listen to this AGAIN AND AGAIN 💖🎵🎵

59: what’s your favorite myth?

I don’t have any.

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

I like ^^ My fave poets are Adam Mickiewicz and Jan Lechoń. From my poetry my fave poem is called „The Shine” about how to recognize the true great love and not to confuse it with sth worse, some fake. It resembles a dialogue by a man with a personified „Mrs Love/Goddess of love Venus” (there is even sth mentioned about Venus). The man falls in love with someone, but he hesitates, doesn’t know if she’s this only one. Love tells him that yes, this is the only one. Love also tells him what he should to do to not lose her and how to realize the enormity of his feelings and distinguish the “first place / podium” from the others ones.

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

I gave one day for one my friend a cup with picture of Rei from Free! in a butterfly costume. Have I received some stupid gift? Maybe that bright green headphones for music in the shape of little monkeys that looked terribly and worked even more terribly XD

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

I think that to some level I’m fussy, but not very much. I love the most to listen sth what it evokes some feelings me and emotions inside me or inspires me to sth. When it doesn’t do it, it’s not a big deal but on the first place I put a kind of music like above.

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

Black (We have a 2:15 am so .. xD).

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

It’s not sth what makes me feel worse. I just try to accept any weather and to be above it. But sometimes there are a moments when I feel sleepy.

68: what’s winter like where you live?

It depends. Sometimes it’s light and warm, about 0oC, sometimes we get even -20oC O.O … The snow is every year but not during all winter.

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

So far I have not.

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

Some things yes. I love to create a lists concerning various things. Thanks to this some stuffs and things to do are orderly in my head. But not everything. There must be a place for being spontaneous lol xD without this we don’t live xD

73: what are some of your worst habits?

No comments XD

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

Friendly, kind, tender, open-minded, full of passion and amazing ideas, funny, inteligent, positive, shy, sensitive, as much pervert as me (or more xD), with a golden heart 💖💖💖

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

Yhm, Sleeping? (2:40 am while tomorrow morning I go to work xD sometimes I have to turn off my inner „night animal” xD)

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

Eg. when one my friend gave me on my birthday ALL collection of „X/1999”, all 19 volumes which cost a lot of money and which are also very hard to find. I’m truly grateful for that, it’s one of my favorites manga serieses ever! In case of guys, eg. one kissed my hand only in a winter glove, claiming that he’s not worthy to do it without this. From myself (I do for myself A LOT of sweet things xD) I’ve gotten a gold statuette for happy birthday with an engraved wishes 😄🏆🥇

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

The walls of my bedroom are in a creamy color. I didn’t chose it but creemy it’s for me very neutral color so it’s alright. In my future dreamy bedroom the walls would be white or in a powder pink color.

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

Yeah, this is perfect xD

82: are/were you good in school?

In those subjects I liked. That was my rule xD About the rest I didn’t care.

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

I guess not.

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

The scientific movie “Journey to the Edge of the Universe” (2008) It’s one of the most beautiful and profound movie from this kind, I’ve ever seen ❤️❤️ „100 girls” when the main guy has absolutely brillant reflections about a women and men, everyone should to listen to him! :D And „Lucy”, about the potential of our brain. And perhaps also „The Devil’s Advocate”, it’s a food for thought.

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

Music for sure and a bit the painting world.

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

Let my own photos and those from the Internet will tell instead of me.

Yeah… That’s Wroclaw 💖

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

INFJ/ENFJ, pisces/aries , none of hogwarts houses.

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

Last week, It was very nice. I really like this kind of spending time.

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

I think that none of them. I don’t want t change a past, I like the state of things which is now and love some special memories which could to not happen If I would go back 5 years. I also don’t want to jump up the 5 years which can bring something special.

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

It reminds me some trend which we were in the primary school, called “The golden thoughts” where some person created a 100 question, wrote in a notebook and later others answered her question in that notebook. It looks exactly the same ❤️

Thank you for your message! 😘

#tag game #ask #answer #E.B. - by Estelle

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mahkaria · 5 years

Text

Of novelists and strays dogs - Chapter one

The angel at the top of the bridge :

In Yokohama’s dark streets walked a man. None of his physical traits particularly caught attention. Curly chocolate hair and a symmetrical face. Some could have called him handsome if not for the almost sadistic grin he carried.

No one could have guessed this young was actually one of the most feared executive of the Port Mafia coming back from a mission.

His day had been exhausting and as it was often the case after this kind of day, a thick oppressive mist had invaded his mind. Without thinking, his steps led him to a bridge.

Under the moonlight, the streaming water had the appearance of melted silver. It shifted and slidded as if under the influence of a snake charmer.

“How beautiful.” He whispered, mesmerised by this spectacle.

Without thinking anymore, he let his feets leave the ground. The last thing he saw before hitting the liquid were two golden eyes.

Nakajima Atsushi had been spending a perfectly nice evening. After finishing his work for today, he had decided to go out in order to refresh his mind and seek inspiration for the next day.

It would be days before the moon show the entirety of its pale beauty. No reason to worry about any furry problems…

A few months before, he could have barely imagined life could be so pleasant. No physical or verbal abuse and the possibility to do what he liked most.

As he strolled in the streets, he often wondered if he truly deserved what had happened to him. Sometimes, during the night, he barely managed to keep the cruel voice out.

Those nights, Kunikida-senpai always answered his phone and talked to him until sleep claimed him.

He sighed softly and focused once again on what was around him.

Students were coming back from the university and employees were going out from bars. They emitted happiness like the sun emits light. Sometimes, Atsushi liked imagining how their life went.

However, this time, he needed a calm place in order to progress on his work. He still remembered the bridge, the first place of Yokohama he had seen. That’s where he decided to go.

His apartment wasn’t so far from his goal and a few minutes were sufficient to reach it.

He sat on the border, took out his notebook and started writing.

Or at least he tried.

Footsteps caught his attention. He lifted his head.

A man stood there, a bit older than Atsushi himself.

He then proceeded to jump into the river…

Wait what?

Atsushi stood up like a spring as a splashing sound made itself heard.

What’s just happened?

Then :

This man needs help.

He jumped.

Water cradled him like a loving mother. He felt himself drown slowly.

Goodbye, oxygen, you’ll no longer burn my lungs.

Gravity pushed him toward the river’s bed which would soon also be his if things went his way. How ironic for gravity to be one of the cause of his death. Chuuya would be proud.

I don’t want to think about the hatrack during my lovely suicide, Dazai decided quickly.

Breathing became more difficult. His body froze and burnt at the same time.

It would soon be over.

Soon.

Until it no longer was.

Slim yet strong arms caught him and took him away from Death’s soft lips, carrying him back to the riverbank and life.

A kid ? was his first thought.

Then : Damn, I was so close this time.

He allowed himself to fall asleep.

Atsushi didn’t know anything about medicine and first aid techniques, yet he could say with almost total certainty that the man was alive. His chest rose slowly as if he was only taking a nap. In his relief, he barely cared about all the bandages which covered the man.

What am I supposed to do ? Maybe I should call Kunikida-senpai ? He might know what to do…

Just as those thoughts formed, the man (teenager? Did teenagers wear obviously very expensive suits?) opened his eyes. He blinked slowly and rose.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“I am… still alive? Why?”

“What- What do you mean “why”?”

Cinnamon coloured eyes turned their attention to him.

“Are you the one who saved me boy?”

Atsushi’s whole body hurt. Holding someone bigger than him had stolen a good part of his stamina. His clothes stuck to him in quite an unpleasant manner. He nodded softly.

“Aren’t you quite a little annoying stray?”

His tone was soft and calm but Atsushi felt ice bite his skin. This man, he…

Just as frost appeared, it melted away. Instead of the cold cruelty his eyes had carried, they now held a genuine curiosity.

“What were you doing here ? Were you also trying to commit suicide?”

“What, no ! Wait - suicide?”

“Quite eloquent, I see… Anyway, boy, shouldn’t you be home at this hour? Something unpleasant could happen to you.”

He barely bit back his comment “Are you going to hurt me?” and didn’t say anything. Shivers ran through his body. If he hadn’t been afraid of the consequences, he would have run away. For a moment, they both stared at each other like two statues.

After a while, the man smiled.

“It was quite rude of myself, wasn’t it? Insulting you after you bothered rescuing me. Can I pay you back in any way?”

Being polite had always been an obligation to Atsushi. A consequence of his often timid nature and of the orphanage.

The other part of himself still yelled at him to escape. All his predatory instincts deserting in front of someone who hadn’t even reached adulthood.

“There is no need, sir.”

A bright grin settled on the other’s face. Like a cat who just caught a bird, Atsushi couldn’t help but think.

“Are you sure?”

As he was about to agree, his stomach betrayed him and growled. They both were silent.

“May I buy something to eat?”

“You don’t need to.”

“Don’t be like that, boy, I’m going to think you’re scared of me. You’re not, aren’t you?” He smirked.

Now, he looked at him like a scientist curious to see how his experiment would turn out. In front of his hesitation, his smile (if it was possible) grew wider.

“Of course not, sir, I just need to go get my bag at the top of the bridge.”

“I’ll wait. Don’t run away, okay?”

“O-of course !”

The kid was funny, Dazai decided. A jumpy little thing who tried to appear brave. He liked it. A good person who didn’t want to hurt anyone, be it physically or emotionally.

This kind of person was rare to come upon, even in the world of light. He hadn’t exactly planned to torture him (the word was a tad too strong to describe his behaviour) but come on - he had failed his suicide and had nothing else to do to purge his mind of everything.

What should he have done ?

Behave ?

Boring ~

He led the kid toward Lupin’s and used this time to watch him. Silver - almost white - hair which fell on his shoulders and golden eyes. Puberty still hadn’t hit him. How young was he exactly? Dazai had never been good at determining someone’s age. He only dubbed people in two categories “useful” and “useless”.

He still wasn’t sure in which category he was going to put the kid.

Shivers and sneezes shook Atsushi. That’s not how he had expected to spend his evening. Following a stranger in an area of the city he had never explored wasn’t exactly a part of his plan.

“Excuse me, s-sir -”

“Name is Dazai.”

“Dazai-san, where are we going ?”

“Somewhere I like spending times to. Don’t worry I’m not going to kidnap you.”

Saying it aloud wasn’t really reassuring but it was too late to go back. He had the intuition running away from Dazai wouldn’t be possible as long as the teen focused on him.

They arrived to a dark alley and went into it. Things didn’t seem to improve.

In front of him, a sign where Lupin’s was written. It had been washed away by time and rain and thus had adopted a upsetting yellowish colour.

“Let’s go inside, then !” Dazai announced cheerfully.

They started walking downstairs. Muffled voices could be heard but some in particular seemed to increase Dazai’s already excited mood.

“So they are here tonight ! This night is getting more and more interesting.”

They arrived to a poorly lit room where few people were chatting. However, only those at the counter seemed to interest the strange man he had just met. Next to them stood a calico cat, busy cleaning itself.

“Odasaku ! Ango ! I brought us a new drinking buddy.”

This is not going to happen, Atsushi quickly decided. Maybe if he slipped away now that Dazai no longer looked at him… However, the cat didn’t want to stop playing with his prey. A bandaged arm encircled his shoulders and brought him in front of the two men.

The first one, a severe almost austere man with round glasses stared at him.

“Dazai-kun, he is a child. He can’t drink alcohol.”

“Nonsense ! I had already started drinking at his age !”

This time a mischievous smile had settled. He didn’t really believe what he was saying, he only wanted to provoc the other. A new mask had appeared. Atsushi wondered how many of those he had.

Ravenous, mirthful and playful. How many facets did his personality have?

Maybe thinking about it would only end up in an headache. Some people were like water, no matter how long you spent you’d never be able to totally get them.

As lost as he was in his thoughts, he took quite a while to really see the other man. Wine coloured hair and an almost aloof expression.

“Good evening, sir.” He stuttered.

“Call me, Odasaku.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Atsushi bowed.

“Not fair, Odasaku has already activated his overprotective mother hen mode.” Dazai winced.

“What’s your name?” Oda continued, obviously used to Dazai’s antics.

“So that’s what I forgot to ask him !”

“You brought him here without asking his name, Dazai-kun !”

“Ango is scary when he wants to be. ~”

“I’m Nakajima Atsushi.”

Odasaku smiled softly. His blue eyes shone gently.

“Do you want to eat something? This bar doesn’t have a wide variety of food, maybe we should go to a restaurant... “

He often forgot to eat, still not quite used to have access to food. The fact his deadline was approaching didn’t help.

“Odasaku ! Don’t steal him away, I’m the one who said I’d buy him something to eat.”

He had for Dazai the kind of strong affection and tolerance a person would have for a younger sibling.

“Nakajima-kun, won’t your parents worry if you don’t get home soon?”

He didn’t know how much he should tell them but in reaction to Oda’s encouraging expression he found himself saying :

“There are no risks. I don’t have parents.”

Moment of silence.

“Well, Odasaku sure is going to adopt him now.”

“Are you living with relatives, then?”

“No, I- I have no idea who my family is. I’m living in a small apartment.”

“Really, how are you paying for it?”

His answers had revived Dazai’s curiosity or maybe it had just been put on hold for a moment.

“I have a job.”

“Aren’t you a bit too young?”

“I-”

“No, don’t say anything, I’m sure I can guess what you do, Atsushi-kun.”

Why had such a joyful person tried to take his own life?

Don’t be an idiot. Do you really think depressed people wear a distinctive sign?

Depressed? Could he be ?

“You probably can.” Oda agreed. Then to Atsushi : “You should sit, no point in staying up.”

“I definitely can’t fail if Odasaku has faith in me. Well then, let’s get started, you’re quite a scrawny kid so probably not a physical job. Not a governmental job, no matter how hypocritical they are, they wouldn’t appoint someone underage. So, something linked to entertainment, isn’t it ?”

“You’re right.”

Him, being smart was hardly surprising. Someone who had played him as if he was a mere musical instrument couldn’t be totally stupid.

“It’s legal, I presume ?”

“Dazai-kun…” Ango warned him.

The fact he even had to ask told him more than he wanted to know about Dazai’s line of work.

“Can you sing, Atsushi-kun?”

“I’m a writer, or at least that’s the closest word to describe what I do.”

He wrote books, they seemed to be successful but he didn’t know why, so yes, it was a pretty good way to describe it.

“Really?”

This time, it was Odasaku, not Dazai who had spoken.

“Do you like reading, Oda-san?”

“Yes, I’d also like to write if I can, one day.”

“I’m sorry if it comes out as rude, but, why don’t you do it now?”

“I don’t deserve to write about life, not for the moment.”

“Writing isn’t about deserving something. I would never have been able to if it had been the case.”

A new staring contest was his answer. Maybe, he should have kept quiet.

“I’m sorry, I should take my leave.”

He stood up but as he was going to walk away, his feet came into contact with soft fur.

The ground met his face far too quickly for him to react.

Hurg.

Could this situation even worsen?

“Are you alright, Nakajima?”

“Yes, Ango-san. Thank you.”

“Should we go outside ? A bit of fresh air will help.”

“Please, don’t bother. I’m perfectly fine.”

The cat softly purred against his legs, unaware of the stir he had just caused. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

“I’m the one who invited him. Don’t steal him away.” Dazai pouted once again.

“Then, we should go somewhere where you can buy him something.”

“There is a good restaurant two streets away.” Ango said.

As he was busy listening to them, he didn’t notice the cat playing with his bag. Only when what it contained fell loudly on the ground did he realize it.

“Is that Tsukishiro Ren’s novel? Did you take inspiration from his work?” Oda asked.

“O ! Odasaku went into his fanboy mode.”

“His stories are good.” The older explained.

“I read a few of his short stories. It can be a bit hard to read per moment but it’s really interesting.”

Atsushi felt his cheeks burn. Getting praises hadn’t become any easier.

He inhaled deeply but it helped as much as pouring oil on a wildfire. A part of him hoped they hadn’t noticed his reaction. Yet, even after such a short amount of time, he had the strong impression nothing could escape Dazai.

“Interesting.” Dazai merely said.

“What do you mean?”

“It seems you finally got to meet one of your favorite authors, Odasaku.”

Fa- favorite author? I’ve only published two short stories collections !

“You’re Tsukishiro-sensei, Atsushi-kun?”

“Please don’t call me “sensei”.” He blushed.

If Ango still seemed doubtful, it wasn’t Oda’s case. He had merely accepted the fact that a well known author happened to be a twelve years old child.

It must be nearly impossible to shock him, Atsushi concluded.

“If Dazai says he is, it’s probably true.” Oda added.

“Still, he is far too young, how old are you exactly?”

“I’m twelve.”

“That’s what I mean, how could he- Are you some kind of genius?”

“I’m really not.”

He’d always remember. Those lonely days he’d spend, doing nothing but chores and how imagining stories had been the only way to live. To go further away than survival.

How it had helped him to keep his already severely wounded humanity. To remain sane.

You couldn’t spend your days doing one activity and not at least get a little good at it.

Oda-san nodded softly and led them outside.

“So what do you want to eat?”

“Anything is fine.”

“Come on ! You must have a favorite kind of food.” Dazai pushed him, putting back his arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry about money.”

“I-I wou- wouldn’t mind ochazuke.”

A soft chuckle escaped Dazai.

“Ochazuke it is ! I hope you both don’t mind.”

“Not really.” Ango answered.

“I don’t really care.”

“Let’s go then, it would be a shame if such an interesting kid died of hunger after all.”

Interesting?

Why did this word seem to foreshadow awful things?

Before this moment, Dazai had barely paid attention to Tsukishiro Ren. He had heard about him from the slug and Ane-san but hadn’t cared. Why would a novice novelist interest him? He would probably disappear in a few months as it was often the case. The entertainment world could sometimes be as merciless as the mafia’s.

Yet, he had to admit his surprise. For such a young and bland person to be an emerging celebrity. It definitely deserved a place in the “useful” category.

He looked at him, at Nakajima Atsushi and how he tried to convince Odasaku he didn’t need a fifth bowl of ochazuke. A useless battle really, his slimness had condemned him to be taken care of by the assassin.

Ane-san liked describing his short stories as “bittersweet”, how they captured the darkness of the world without removing hope. Despite her so-called hatred for this feeling, the woman would always have a romantic heart and be sensible to the subject.

The dwarf liked them for how dynamic and epic they could be. He couldn’t hide his enthusiasm when a new story was published.

Maybe he could advantage of it.

“Atsushi-kun, would you mind signing me one of your book?”

“Of course not, Dazai-san.”

Ango sneaked a suspicious glance. He must have guessed what he wanted.

“I only have this exemplar, though, and it isn’t in its best shape.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a problem !”

The boy took out his fountain pen and quickly wrote in it before giving it to Dazai.

“I hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will !”

After this, the meal quickly came to an end.

As Atsushi was about to walk home, Oda interrupted him. In his hand stood a paper with number on it.

“If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Oda-san.”

“And I’d like to thank you for what you said sooner.”

“It’s nothing. I look forward to the day I’ll be able to read one of your story, Oda-san.”

An almost shy smile bloomed on the man’s face.

“Maybe I’ll send you one of my draft. If they can be given this name.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure of reading it.”

“Have a good night, Nakajima. Please be careful on your way home.”

“I will. Good night.”

Dazai stood on his bed, wide awake. Once again, sleep had deserted him. How pleasant it would be to fall asleep forever. To finally get away from this overwhelming exhaustion…

He closed his eyes but still nothing. How he loved insomnia... Well, better not waste time on this endeavor.

He stared for a moment at the book he had brought back. Why not after all? He was bored and at least, he’d learn more about the kid.

He opened it and started reading

#bungou stray dogs #atsushi nakajima #dazai osamu #dazatsu #but not now #They are still far too young #trying to create diversity on this blog #you can find it on AO3

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 6 years

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cw pet death but this is mostly behind a cut because I’m rambling again trying to process some things and figure out some other things, and it got long

the thing that's getting me the most about grieving Scully--and again, I know I'm not breaking any new ground here, and I know I’ve been very lucky compared to people who have already lost pets or even friends or family members, but it's new and unpleasant for me--is how damn inconsistent it is, sometimes on an hourly basis. like, I'll be kind of okay, mostly thinking about good memories, focusing on the good life I gave him, remembering the love more than the pain, thinking about getting another dog so I can spread that love to another fur baby who needs it. and then sometimes there's nothing okay about it at all, and I want to cry again, and all I can think about is that it wasn't fair, we were managing his kidney disease well and he could have stayed happy and healthy for a lot longer if this stupid random other thing hadn't come up (but at the same time, it's kind of good that it was something sudden and definitive, instead of a long, slow decline where we'd keep having to ask ourselves whether he still had a good quality of life or if we were just being selfish), and I miss him and I want him back so much and it's just wrong that this little guy who was such a big part of my life doesn't exist in the world anymore, and sometimes it feels like if I just do the right thing or make the right bargain the universe will give him back to me, and I don’t know how to reconcile myself to the reality that that isn’t possible.

and part of what's so frustrating about that, just aside from the fact that it hurts, is that it also makes it really hard to know how best to move forward. specifically: should I get another dog, and if so, when? I mean, I do want one, because dogs are so good, and I love them, and I want to give another dog a good home, and I've already been looking online at adoptable dogs and falling a little bit in love with some of them--but at the same time can I really deal with doing this again? it would be so much easier and less painful to just not give my heart to another dog child that I'll inevitably lose. do the positive effects on my mental health outweigh the negatives, especially at the end of a dog's life but during it as well? there's an aspect of relief to everything being over with Scully, because his health was slowly declining for at least the past couple years, more so in the last several months, and I was always worrying about him on some level--and even when he was healthy, there was always that awful awareness at the back of my mind when I'd hold him or look at him, going "you're going to lose this someday". but then, if I could go back and make a different choice about adopting Scully to save myself the pain of losing him, I'd never do it. I can't always say the pain was worth it, at least not yet, but I still wouldn't give up the years I had with him for anything. so don't I want that with another dog? it seems...masochistic and ridiculous, making a deliberate choice that I KNOW will eventually lead to a lot of pain. but that's...inevitable with everything, right? everything ends. that's pretty much the one constant. the only way you can protect yourself from the pain of losing things is to refuse to care about anything and then, well, what's the point of life in the first place?

on a more practical level, it is sort of nice that I don't have to structure my schedule around a doggo's need to be walked, for the first time in almost 10 years; mostly it means my weekends and evenings are a little freer, and also I don't have to go out and get wet and/or cold when the weather's not ideal. but I mean...I would happily give back that convenience if it meant having Scully alive and healthy again, so...it's really not a major consideration. although it might be an argument for waiting until winter's over. except that means like...AT LEAST six more dogless months.

which of course is another important question! if most parts of my brain are agreed that yes, getting another dog is worth it even for the parts that will hurt, what's the right timing? is there, in fact, a way to know in advance what the right timing is? like...maybe it would be better if I waited, because maybe then I would be able to get all of this straightened out for myself, and even my subconscious would accept that Scully’s really gone, and I could heal and focus on the good stuff and welcome a new doggo for all the right reasons, instead of only sometimes feeling like the joy is worth the pain. buuuuut if I put it off, will I just keep doing that because it's easier? how will I know, anyway, when or whether I've healed enough? there's a pretty strong argument to be made that finding a new dog would actually be the best way to heal, because then the new furry friend would be a positive presence demanding my attention, instead of the Scully-shaped absence almost constantly making itself felt currently. (I'm making it sound like I don't have a cat either and I feel a little bad about that because I do love him too, but...it's really not the same. he's a great cat! and for various reasons he's just not going to fill the Scully-shaped absence. he doesn't like being held, for one thing, and...y'all, I need a furry little friend to cuddle.) this is actually backed up by personal experience because when my previous cat died, it was nowhere near as bad as this but I was still pretty upset, and what helped most was a week or so later when the universe dropped another cat into our laps. we didn't even have plans of getting a new cat at that point--it just sort of happened.

BUT given that in this case I'm seeking out new dogs, it's an active choice rather than a reaction to a new kiddo wandering into my life (unless I took my sister's dog, which...wouldn't work out that well because he's bigger than Scully and even worse about being underfoot, and our place is already crowded), so is it the right choice to be making? am I more likely to make a wrong choice because I'm kind of in a hurry? (but also there's no guarantee that I'll find The Perfect Dog if I wait, it's hardly even possible to find The Perfect Car and this is pretty different. but still. I didn't even choose Scully in the first place--my sister did that--so I actually have no experience choosing a dog, and y'all know I have a real problem with decision paralysis at the best of times. when it's an important long-term commitment...well.) is it fair to the potential new dog, when I know it would be a rebound to one extent or another? I mean that's kind of a silly question because I would be making the same commitment no matter what, and a dog who doesn't have a home of their own will almost definitely care more about getting a home than about whether it takes a little while for them to transition from "rebound dog" to "second love of my life" or whatever. but--is it fair, still? especially if, I don't know, I find a new dog who needs a little extra love and patience and maybe I don't have that in me yet? would I just end up trying to find Scully 2.0, inevitably failing, and then unfavorably comparing New Dog to him, instead of being able to welcome New Dog as an individual little fur person in their own right? (there is also personal precedent for this, in the other direction! I loved my previous cat, I really did, but when we got our current cat, I mostly just found myself noticing how many things about him I liked better because he was so much friendlier!) is it disrespectful to Scully's memory to get a new dog soon? that's also kind of a silly question but...is it? or at least, will it feel that way to me and make me feel too guilty to bond properly with New Dog?

and then I was also thinking, would it be better in some respects to deliberately go for a senior dog because in some ways it would be less of a long-term commitment, and I'd be able to provide a good home for a dog who otherwise might have trouble getting adopted while maybe not getting quite so deeply attached because they wouldn't be with me as long (and if they were old enough, they'd probably spend most of their time sleeping anyway) and then maybe it wouldn't hurt as much at the end? or would that be even worse, because I'd probably fall in love anyway? for that matter, should I focus on giving a home to a dog who's been without one for a long time, which would probably mean one of several funny-looking Chihuahua mixes that I wouldn't necessarily find cute even if I'm sure I could find one whose personality I love? or is it okay to hold out for what I actually want on a superficial level, which generally just means "cute face, soft fur, not quite as small or short-haired as your typical Chihuahua mix"? similarly, should I focus on shelter dogs who currently have sadder lives and greater need for a home, or is it okay to look mostly at rescue groups that generally have dogs in foster homes and are more likely to have the kind of dog I'm looking for? (this might not even be relevant because I don't think the local shelter actually has any small dogs available for adoption right now, but. still.)

obviously the other relevant question is "am I overthinking everything" and the answer is "almost definitely yes, because that's how the Kyra do"...and unfortunately it's all stuff I have to work out for myself, one way or another, because nobody else can really figure it out for me. but I guess if anyone who’s been through this has advice on how to untangle the mess, that probably couldn’t hurt. >_<

#pet death cw

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agentdagonet · 5 years

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Echoes, Ch. 18

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Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

NaNoWriMo brings good tidings and UPDATES!

For all that he’d intended to immediately get his answers, Harry was at heart a vain man. He’d stopped briefly in his bedroom, where things were definitely cleaner than he’d left them. But they were all there, and he eagerly showered and changed out of the appalling tracksuit (hopefully the neighbours hadn’t seen. Neighbours- why did he care more about their seeing him in a tracksuit than his unexpected resurrection? Had they even known one way or another? How many of them had been lost in the tragedy?) and into his own clothing. It all smelled laundered- though some time before, not freshly. The kind of smell that comes from new clothing out of the packaging. Stagnant, but not unpleasant.

How off-kilter he must be, Harry thought to himself, to allow his mind to go in so many different directions when he had an actual goal in mind. He did, however, pull open the loose floorboard to access the secret storage he’d put into his headboard. He was a spy, and spies didn’t reach the age he had without being paranoid and having at least a handful of backup plans. Even in one’s own home. Maybe especially there.

Getting into Kingsman’s archives was incredibly easy- both because he never truly disconnected his computer from the servers, and because Merlin had already managed to change everything in his accounts to the Arthur accesses. No hacking necessary, so he’d have to give Merlin a headache through other means. The next step was to figure out what, precisely, he was looking for.

HQ was obviously under constant surveillance, cameras ran and filed their footage automatically every hour. Which meant there was an ungodly amount of files to sift through- even once sorted by date and such, which had been a headache all its own because of time zones but, eventually, he managed to narrow it down. He found the footage of the dog test first- something he hadn’t had access to before. He’d simply gotten notice that Eggsy was not Lancelot from Arthur, who had taken the moment to gloat despite his own candidate washing out much earlier.

How different would things have been if he’d been able to actually see what had happened? Harry wanted to scream; he’d been awful to Eggsy under the assumption that he’d been given the same test he had- which was not the case. Eggsy hadn't even been given the same test that Roxanne had been administered- and it made all the difference in the world. Roxanne was given bald facts- the weapon is live, shoot the dog- by the man who had been leading them. Eggsy was sat more intimately with a man he had seen maybe twice in the duration of his candidacy, made to think of the dog emotionally, and only then was he told to shoot it.

That was not how it was done with Lee and James. Or when he took the test himself. This was new, and obviously done to make Arthur feel righteously correct in his assumptions about those of the lower class. To show Harry evidence that he’d been right all along, and likely convince him to stop trying to break the mould of their organisation.

Harry had never wanted to strike a dead man so badly. How dare he be so petty. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty himself- he’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him with Eggsy that day. Had been cruel and callous not due to Eggsy’s actions or inactions- he’d never intended to drop out of his life if he hadn’t gotten the Knighthood- but because of Arthur. He’d allowed himself to be emotionally manipulated, as easily as Eggsy had before his test. What kind of a Knight was he?

As Eggsy lifted the gun to Arthur, shaking far less than he had while pointing it at JB, Harry wanted to cheer. He could see Arthur’s surprise in the twitch at his jaw, the way his finger twitched, and Eggsy had only ever intended to scare him- his finger was not even near the trigger. The sound of a gun going off echoed into the room- Roxanne had done it- and Eggsy went off in a huff. And rightfully so, Harry could admit to himself; he even felt mildly annoyed at himself for preventing Eggsy from beating up his stepfather. Eggsy had been set up to fail, though he had no idea since he didn’t have access to these files, but only viewed it as him having failed where the person who belonged had done it- and Harry hadn’t helped with that.

He had to remind himself that it was in the past, things had worked out in the end- the specifics of which was why he was in these files in the first place.

Harry bypassed the hours dedicated to Kentucky- he both had no want or need to relive the experience- but wished briefly that he had footage from his own home, then. He had to make choices when installing the holograms, and had prioritised them over having idle recordings of his home taking up memory space.

Eggsy walked into the Dining room, looking defeated. Arthur claimed to have just given a toast- which he had not, the glasses were still dry- and brushed off Eggsy’s concerns. Passed on to the proper authorities what kind of authorities could information such as that be passed to that quickly? But Eggsy followed Arthur’s instructions, sitting in Harry’s seat, and looked to Arthur as he explained the brandy. And froze briefly, eyes narrowed for an instant.

Harry couldn’t see what had caused Eggsy to pause, but did see that he was watching Arthur pour the glasses, a calculating look in his eyes. Arthur spoke about bending the rules and Harry’s eyebrows met his hairline- something was definitely amiss. Eggsy leant forward, asked about the portraits, and Harry watched as he nimbly switched the glasses while Arthur was turned away.

Eggsy picked up the glass that was passed to him, eyes dark and mouth pursed, but swallowed the brandy in one gulp.

‘Harry said you don’t like to break rules, Arthur. Why now?’

‘You’re very good, Eggsy. Perhaps I will make you my proposal for Galahad’s position- provided, of course, that we can see eye to eye on certain… political matters?’ Arthur paused before reaching for the pen Harry hadn’t noticed on the drink tray. ‘Do you know what this is?’ He flipped the switch, and Harry saw red. The snake had poisoned the glasses.

‘ I don't have to; Harry showed me. You click it, I die. I thought that brandy tasted a bit shit.’ Eggsy had figured it out, somehow; that’s why he’d paused. That’s why he switched the glasses. Oh, Eggsy, you clever man.

‘Bravo.’ Harry listened in horror as Arthur explained Valentine’s grand scheme, as he veritably admitted to having sent Harry on a suicide mission as he was the agent on the Valentine case. The selfish bastard had secured his survival, he likely had one of those head-exploding chips, and then had the gall to use Harry as some kind of bargaining chip with Eggsy.

‘I’d rather be with Harry. Thanks.’ Oh, Eggsy. Harry’s chest felt tight, watching the determined-yet-aloof way Eggsy witnessed his first kill as a Kingsman (for that was what he’d done, there. He’d taken on the Galahad mantle with not so much as a by-your-leave) and got to work. Harry watched as Eggsy used the pen to pull free the chip from his neck, as Eggsy brought Arthur’s corpse through the empty shop to use his still-warm hand on the mirror.

As Roxanne pulled her gun on him, unwavering, waiting for Merlin to give the okay. She was an excellent Agent, not giving in to sentiment in a tough moment with a face she knew, but it still made Harry angry that she’d been given an unfair advantage simply because she was well-connected and wealthy. Without things working out as they had, without Eggsy in his home and having seen Kentucky, Valentine’s scheme very likely would have succeeded. What a strange set of circumstances led to humanity’s continued survival.

He had a lot to think about.

Eggsy waited until he heard water running (who doesn’t like a shower after a long time away from home?) to give in. He slumped over the kitchen table, one hand holding up his head as the other curled around his glass. So much had changed in such a short time. He’d gone from someone in denial to being right; from living with digital ghosts to the real thing. Harry Hart back at home, a little worse for wear (the slight delay in decision making, the obvious way his vision was impaired) but home. Where Eggsy was currently squatting, he guessed. It was not as if he’d changed much- the things missing here and there were more Merlin’s fault than his own- he confined his chaos to his room, and kind of maintained the rest.

He’d had Harry’s things laundered a few times by a service, unable to bring himself to going through all of his clothes himself. He settled on stealing the dressing gown (hidden for the moment in a kitchen cupboard, he’d switched it out once for an apron and had decided that was an excellent place for it in the long run) and tried to put the thought of everything else from his mind. Which worked, before, but now…

Eggsy let his head thump against the wood. He heard shuffling about a moment later, and made himself get back to pulling together dinner. Spagbol was easy enough, and filling enough, to be pulled together without fuss or a lot of thought. He didn’t think either of them would be up for much conversation tonight, but the important thing was to make sure they both ate- stress and change did things to appetites, and there was an excess of both between them. He began pulling things from the cabinet- all he’d managed before Harry went upstairs was setting a pot to boil, which was the most time consuming portion, but there was loads left to do.

Which was how Harry had found him, puttering about the kitchen in the apron he’d worn to teach Eggsy about etiquette. It was something he could see himself growing used to, having someone else consistently in his space and sharing his life in the mundane ways Kingsman Agents could never really think about. To have significance in another’s life was as much a weakness as it could be a strength, and Harry was ready to share that with someone.

‘Well you’re certainly comfortable in the kitchen.’ Eggsy whirled about at the unexpected sound from behind him, brandishing a wooden spoon covered in tomato sauce as one would a sword. ‘Though apparently easily spooked,’ Harry wiped idly at the spots of sauce that had ended up on the wall near him, and stuck a finger of the stuff in his mouth.

‘Careful what you say, I made that with my own fair hands.’

‘Well I’ll keep quiet, then- wouldn’t want to offend your fragile sensibilities.’ They shared a chuckle, and Harry thought to himself that this was exactly the way he wanted his life to continue on. With laughter, and light, and a fair bit of danger.

#dagonet writes #kingsman fic #fanfiction #echoes #kingsman fanfiction

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