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Drabble/Fic idea based on The Apparition by Sleep Token I will probably never write in the tags 😋👍🏼
#so it’s a soulmate AND reincarnation AU#I assume Bakugo bc I’m on that bkg brain rot#but you were soul mates in your past life#maybe pro heroes together??#and you die together in an attack#you both get reincarnated but bkg is born several years before you#maybe you’re born with a birth mark where you/he was fatally injured in your past lives?#somehow bkg dies before you ever meet him in your new life#and he politely starts haunting you bc he’s not ready to move on and he knows you have something to do with it#reincarnation amnesia y’know?#god I should have just made this into the post lmao#too late now#so you start seeing flashes of blonde hair and red eyes when you KNOW no one else is around#and your birthmark hurts like an old wound#idk I’m rambling but if you’ve heard the song it would make some sense lol#fanfic ideas#drabble ideas
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Pt. 11 epilogue
1987
It took weeks to process their grief. They held a memorial service in Steve's backyard. There was no body to bury. It had faded before them. Something about the rules of time, they weren't listening. They didn't care. She slipped through their fingers forever.
They miss her so much.
----
1989
Robin is standing in front of him and Eddie with a pregnancy test. Her mouth is open, her hands shaking.
Eddie is pacing in a circle.
"Well?! What is Buckley spit it out!" He rips the test out of her hands and stares at it. He wordlessly passes it to Steve.
Steve looks down at the little pink plus sign. A ghost of a smile takes over his face. He looks back up at them.
"Lydia," he whispers.
-----
1990
She crying. She hasn't stopped crying. Steve has never been so happy to hear a little voice. One week old and she's the best thing that's ever happened to him.
He's rocking her in the chair Joyce got him. His parents completely disowning him when he came out gave him the opportunity to get new parental figures. She has a birthmark where the puncture wounds were. Little freckles in the places she bled the most. A reminder from another life. It wasn't all a dream.
"Hey," Eddie's watching him from the doorway, a tired smile on his face.
"You wanna switch over?" He asks.
"No, not yet." Steve says shaking his head. "I finally get to see her grow up, I know I get to live to see her grow." His breathing quickens.
"We got her back Eds, we finally got her again."
Eddie walks to him, running his hand through Lydia's baby hairs.
"I know Stevie, we're parents." He looks over at Steve.
"I love her so much it hurts. She's never leaving us again. "
-----
2005
"What do you mean you're leaving us!?"
"C'mon Pa it's just summer camp! Plus Uncle Dustin's the main counselor you know he basically runs that camp. Besides whats the worst that can happen?"
----
1 month later
Eddie and Steve rush into the hospital room.
"Oh my god what're you guys doing here?!" Lydia shouts.
"What do you mean! We're your parents! You got hurt. You're in the hospital!"
Lydia rolls her eyes.
"I broke my arm. It's not a big deal kids break bones all the time, plus John's been helping me." She points somewhere behind them. The two spin around, noticing the shy boy sitting in the corner.
Immediately they don't like him.
"Oh?" Eddie's eyebrows raise. A snarl on his face. "And who is this?"
"Well sir I-I'm John...I go to camp with Lydia-"
"Oh!" Steve throws his hands in the air. "And you're the reason our daughter's here??!"
"Dad!"
"What?!"
"No-o sir I-"
"Dad leave him alone! He's just a teenager!"
"Yes Lydia! I was a teenage boy too!"
Eddie gives him a flirtatious grin.
"Yeah you were quite the teenage boy weren't you sweetheart."
"Oh yuck!" Lydia groans. "I'm fine, can you guys leave yet? I'm literally supposed to leave camp in a week. You couldn't wait that long?"
"Of course not!" Both of them grab her cheeks pulling at them. "You're our precious baaaaabbbyyy~"
"Ok! Ok! I love you too!" She giggles. "I'll see you soon."
"See you munchkin, I'm just gonna have John here walk us out so we don't get lost."
She rolls her eyes, "whatever."
When they leave the room the two corner John.
"You will not go near our daughter again you understand?"
"Y-yes sir."
----
2015
"It's the same dress." Steve says staring at Lydia. "The same dress I met her in."
"Should we ever tell her?"
"No, no. El said to keep the lives separate. She's been having dreams though. The other day she remembered you face-planting at the bowling alley. We're supposed to keep the scars a secret too. We got lucky she hasn't really questioned ours too much."
"Well...there's no upside down for her to worry about and that's what's important."
"Do you think she even realizes that she saved millions of lives." They look over at her giggling with her bridesmaids. A smile on their faces.
"I hope she gets everything in this world and more."
"What are you two yapping about?" Lydia's laughing at them.
"Just making fun of John."
She cackles. "How many years has it been? Give him a break, after today he'll be my husbaaannnnd."
"Yuck," Eddie sticks out his tongue disgusted. "That twerp? Still want him huh? Not too late to change your mind munchkin."
She shoves him.
"You think he's ok?" She's biting her lip in worry.
"Sweetie, he loves you, he literally ignored every threat we gave him to love you. This was meant to be."
"You believe all that?" Lydia asks, "fate?"
Steve takes one arm while Eddie takes the other.
"I believe in it all and most of all, I believe in us, in you."
She smiles at them.
"Ok then...let's go"
Together they walk her down the aisle, as a family.
---
THE END :D
I hope you didn't cry too much. I got attached to these little suckers.
Whooooo it's been a whole week since I started writing this and now it's done!
Let me know your thoughts! I'll be putting it on ao3 tonight.
My ao3 is pinned in my profile <3
Please comment!!
Thank you for the support:)
Tag list:
@tinyplanet95 @jaytriesstrangerthings @bookworm0690
#steddie#strangerthings#eddie munson#kid fic#kinda#steve harrington#time travel#ficlet#oc#robin buckley#nancy wheeler#stranger things#steddie fic#domestic steddie#steve x eddie#steddie ficlet#holdtheline
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To deny Godhood Pt3
Part 2 here
———
Shamat: *sleeping dreamlessly for the first time in his life despite his awkward position, dagoth ur finally silenced in his mind, the heart of lorkhan no longer pounding in his head, nor the heat from red mountain boiling his blood*
???: Voryn… it’s time to wake up…
Shamat: *blearly blinks awake to see hes still tied to the bed post, left there to stand all night as a further punishment for his behaviour, the sting in his arms from holding his weight was almost as bad as the one on his back from the lashing he received* … *looks up slowly to see nerevar looking at him with pity* … *looks away*
Nerevar: *gently places a hand on his cheek turning his head to face him* You look just like him, your voice is his, why do you deny who you are?… why must you make me hurt you like this?…
Shamat: *too tired and too weak to reply, simply leans into his touch hoping submissiveness will please him in anyway* …
Nerevar: *feeling his heart hurt for a moment at the gesture, thinking there’s still some hope to bring his friend back* …oh Voryn… *unties him and swiftly scoops him up carrying him to the wash room*
*a few moments later*
Shamat: *staring around the room with all 3 eyes trying to get used to his new sense of vision as nerevar finishes bathing him*
Nerevar: Beyond your cries of pain during the punishment, you didn’t so much as wince as I cleaned the wounds I left you…
Shamat: …you’ve seen the scars on my legs and the ones already on my back before you took the whip to it… My imprisonment was far worse than anything you can put me through… and yet here, makes me feel just as trapped as I did then…
Nerevar: You say that as if I am keeping you in a cell. As if I haven’t gone through great lengths to make this space for you. Do you really not recognise any of this?…
Shamat: *shakes his head slightly* I was never allowed inside the temple. I was born to no house. They only allowed me to sleep in the courtyard…
Nerevar: you don’t recognise your robes? Your books? Your old armour?… nothing?…
Shamat: the only thing I recognise in here is you… *looks over to his robes to see the mask of dagoth ur staring at him* and that horrible thing…
Nerevar: …you truely don’t remember do you… *sighs*
Shamat: the only memory I have of you before we met in whiterun was of the day you spared my life…
Nerevar: what?…
Shamat: you killed the dealer who used to give me skooma. I’d come to get a fix, only to see you running him through…
Nerevar: *remembering seeing him then, a near skeletal young dunmer, filthy and covered in fleas from sleeping in the dirt, cowering at his feet begging for mercy only to run away in fear upon receiving it* How long, were you on the skooma, before I found you that day?…
Shamat: Years, maybe a decade… it helped numb the pain of existing… if you’re implying it’s done something to my brain to make me forget ‘who I am’ then don’t… I was Shamat then and I’m Shamat now…
Nerevar: *sighs* why do you wish to be named an insult? A word play on the title of Sharmat? When I’ve worked so hard to repair your name in the eyes of our people, when I’ve worked so hard to allow your house back into the temple. Your people, they’re allowed to exist without shame now that you’ve returned… why deny them that?… why deny your house name?…
Shamat: why was I denied a childhood?… why did my own mother abandon me at birth claiming I was cursed? All because of this? *points to the third eye where his birthmark once was* why did I have to steal to survive? Why did I have to sleep with whoever would have me? Why did those men force feed me skooma? Why was I arrested for nearly a hundred years of my life over a murder I didn’t commit. Why should I give them anything? When all the people of this land have done is hurt me… Why should I care shout any of them? The people I love are back in skyrim… there’s nobody in this land who holds any love for me…
Nerevar: that’s not true…
Shamat: prove it…
Nerevar: … *gently pulls his head back planting a kiss just above his third eye*
Shamat: *pulls away and climbs out of the water covering himself with a towel, staring at him in a mix of confusion and insult* Only my husbands allowed to do that. You are not him.
Nerevar: I- HUSBAND?!
#Nerevars about to find out about Kaidan the haaard way#shamat the sharmat#Shamat dragonborn#Dunmer dragonborn#indoril nerevar#nerevar#Skyrim#dagoth ur#Voryn dagoth
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JJBA: Rockabye Starboy (Jole's story, a tainted love sequel).
I made a fic about Jole, it's going to be about 5 maybe 10 episodes long (depends), I hope yall enjoy.
Also here is a pic of Jole.
Episode 1: My Last Resort, The Animal I have Become.
In the year 1984…
“JOLE!” my foster dad, Halen, screamed, he sounded drunk again.
I was in my room hiding under my bed, I kept quiet so he wouldn't find me and beat me for what I did again, “JOLE YOU MISERABLE LITTLE SHIT, YOU ATE MY SANDWICH!” he howled, “yhea I did eat it but that's only because you lock the fridge and you don’t bother to feed me” I silently shook.
My bedroom door burst off its hinges “QUIT LOCKING THIS FUCKING DOOR!” he bellowed “WHERE ARE YOU!?”, I watched him shuffle around drunkenly. He destroyed my room and eventually ripped my mattress off its frame and found me, “THERE YOU ARE YOU LITTLE SHIT!” he hissed.
I was beaten with a belt, the old leather accessory breaking after ten strikes, that made him even more mad “y-you… YOU LITTLE FUCK YOU BROKE MY FAVORITE BELT!” he snarled, he dragged me by my hair to the basement door and threw me down the steps “I’ll let you out when I get a new belt to finish your beating boy” he growled as he slammed and locked the door.
The basement was dark and the concrete floor was cold, I layed there in the fetal position, crying.
I eventually found enough strength to get to my feet, I saw in the darkness as if it were in dim light and I scoured the shelves for what I needed.
I found a bottle of vodka, a torn old blanket and my teddy that I kept hidden here, Kesha. I made some makeshift bandages and sterilized my wounds with the booze, I snuggled with Kesha for comfort, she was all I had left of my mom.
I took a few swigs of the vodka and slumped down beneath the basement window sobbing.
Eventually Halen returned and let me out, he made good on his promise to finish my punishment with a new belt, one with a thick sharp buckle.
That night as I lay in bed I came up with a plan to run away. I had always wanted to see the redwoods of California so I’d go there.
I packed my clothes and some other things in my backpack and snuck down into the kitchen. I saw Halen asleep at the table in a drunken stupor, I quietly creped past him and took a few cans of food, one of his swiss army knives, I got Kesha from the basement and the money he had stashed away in a coffee can in the pantry.
Just as I was leaving, Halen woke up. I booked it out the door and he chased me down the street, he grabbed me by my hair and started to drag me back to the house…
That's when I snapped.
I don’t really remember what happened, one moment I was screaming for him to let me go and then the next…his head was..gone.
Nothing but a bloody stump remained.
I ran like hell…
I ran to a local park and hid in the public bathroom, I could hardly breathe “OH GOD, OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?!” I cried…
I could taste something on my tongue, something sweet and warm like hot fudge topping on a sundae, it stained my mouth, neck and shirt.
I looked in the mirror and I nearly threw up, the sweet taste…was blood.
I frantically washed it off of me in the sink, I washed it out of my hair too along with the dye and makeup Halen forced me to wear inorder to cover up my natural pink hair and bizarre eyeshadow-like markings on my eyelids.
For the first time in days I saw myself…the real me.
I saw the horns clipped short to hide them, the strange inhuman fangs…
I had always been a monster…hadn't I?
That’s why Halen hid me from the world…but now he’s dead…I killed him and now I’am…
I sighed and looked at myself in the mirror, really looked at myself.
I looked down at my birthmark, a big star on my shoulder and pondered “I have to go somewhere I won’t hurt anyone”.
I thought about it “the redwoods of California” . I had never been there but I had always wanted to go ever since I saw a picture of one in a book I once read.
I changed out of my old bloody clothes and into a new outfit, I buried the old ones under a big heavy rock and proceeded to walk.
After walking for a few miles I got tired, I set up my blanket under a bridge and cuddled with Kesha.
Even after all these years, she still smelled like her, like mom.
That night I dreamt of her again, of her soft smile and gentle eyes. I saw her again briefly and blurry, I wanted to ask her why she left, I wanted to know why she abandoned me but I never got to, those dreams were always bittersweet.
Joseph Jostar, a housing agent by day and a hammon warrior by night…that sounded like a bad joke but it was true.
Joseph had to keep up his training…and train the next generation.
Holly didn’t half to know he was teaching Jotaro how to fight vampires, who knows maybe it would prove useful in the future!
Joseph was enjoying his coffee break after training with little Joot when he got an urgent call from a Speedwagon Foundation agent.
“Hello yes, what's the matter?”, “Mr Jostar, I must inform you there has been a report of a bizarre murder in Walla Walla Washington, the crime scene is gruesome”, “and you are telling me this why?...”, “because eye witness accounts say it was some sort of harpy monster that did it and we analyzed feathers found at the crime screen”, “y-you…you don’t think?”.
“The dna is a match to Holly’s sir, we found him”.
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hey! this is chance & here’s week 3’s prompt. share an excerpt that you’re very proud of from any of your wips.
Here's a lil excerpt from the first draft of The Liar, The Witch, and the Nimrod with more of it under the cut because I can't stop myself lol:
His thoughts were interrupted by the (unfortunately) familiar scent of citrus and seabreeze. Annalise stood frozen before him, eyes crinkled in mirth. Behind her, James was standing, gently prodding the banana plant. Lucas bristled.
“What in the goddamned Hell are you—”
“Doing here?” James answered for him, grinning with his too many teeth. “Nothing really, just passing through.”
“Like hell you are!”
James pouted in mock hurt, hands clasped over his chest.
“Oh you wound me, Tobias,” he said. From where his hands were clasped, a cascade of color seemed to bleed out against his shirt. Lucas stared, uncomprehending, as the colors coalesced into a deep burgundy before settling on pitch black. It began to drip to the floor. James grinned.
“Literally.”
Rather than be horrified, Lucas watched the blood drip, drip, drip down with impassive eyes before he found himself sneering.
“Good,” he bit out, “Now what the hell do you want?”
James rolled his eyes and stood up straight once more before he removed his hands. His chest continued to bleed.
“Well for starters, for you to come up with a better repertoire of expletives,” he said, the continued before Lucas would interrupt him, “But really, I was just passing through. When I saw our dear old witch and her ex-familiar were moving house I thought great! It’s got good craftsmanship; it would make a wonderful place to live.”
James’ blood had slowly coated the forest floor and Lucas felt bile rise up his throat when he realized they were all ankle deep in it. If it was an illusion, it was a damned good one. Did he necessarily feel threatened by it? No…but just because he didn’t feel threatened by the dogshit he stepped in didn’t mean he liked it.
“Aint you got a realm of your own?”
“Well yes, but I do like to have a physical base of operations too, you know,” James replied. He once again grinned with his too many teeth. “Besides, humans don’t tend to do well in my realm long term, and I don’t want my end of the bargain to expire that quickly…especially considering how well you have been fairing.”
“The hell—” Lucas cut himself off when he saw James’ shiteating grin. He ground his teeth, cleared his throat, and tried again: “What on God’s green earth are you yappin’ about?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” James huffed as an overly enthusiastic splurt of blood shot out from his wound, “He and I have a very…complicated relationship at the moment.”
“Can’t see why,” Lucas replied, sarcastically. “Now don’t change the subject.”
James rolled his eyes. “You’ll be curious about that later, Tobias, I know it. Nevertheless, did I forget to mention? The longer you’re out of my realm, the harder it is for you humans to remember what transpired in there.”
“I remember things just fine,” Lucas countered. “Crystal clear, in fact.”
“Oh do you now?”
“Yep.”
“Alright then,” James smiled and waded over to Lucas, his legs sloshing through the jet black ichor. Lucas instinctively tried to take a step back, but he seemed to lack the same freedom of movement in the rising tar that James had. The creature wove his way around Annalise picking up Lucas’ hand as he did so, and held it up to Lucas’ face. The muck dripped down, revealing his birthmark—his brand, Lucas reminded himself. James pointed to it.
“Tell me: what is this?”
“That’s my birth—I mean that’s a brand,” he corrected. Damn, hadn’t he just reminded himself? James laughed.
“Okay, so it is, but what is it. What do you see? What does it look like?”
“What do you mean, ‘What’s it look like?’ I saw it clear as day! It’s a…It was a…”
Lucas squinted at the offensive mark. He remembered seeing it in James’ realm, remembered how stark it appeared next to his skin, but now…
Now it was as nebulous as it had ever been. Even when he tried to recall the memory of what it was, all that came to mind was what it had always been: some strange birthmark that made itself at home on the center of his hand. Lucas shook his head.
Brand, brand, not birthmark, but a brand.
“Mmhmm,” James confirmed to himself, “And do you even remember what we bargained for?”
“Uhhh…Information and…and breaking their contract,” Lucas muttered, panic slowly beginning to form as he realized…he couldn’t remember what he had given up.
By now, the blood had risen until it was up to Lucas’ chin, further muddying his thoughts. Somehow, he still managed to see James perfectly clearly, as though his blood carved a space around him just for Lucas’ viewing displeasure.
“Hmm, you don’t, do you?” James laughed and pat Lucas on the cheek, leaving a sticky residue behind.
“Well, better hop to it then! Remember: You’ve got seven years to fulfill, Tobias, or I come and collect my collateral,” James warned. Before Lucas would ask how he was supposed to fulfill his end of the trade if he couldn’t even remember what he traded, James had placed a finger to Lucas’ lips.
“A good question there, my friend. And I, of course, am legally bound to oblige: Either figure shit out yourself, or come pay me a visit sometime in Seraetia. It will all come flooding back to you, then,” James said, then removed his finger from Lucas’ lips. The tar kept his mouth sealed. He was even so gracious as to puppeteer Lucas’ hand back to the boxes so they wouldn’t fall.
How. Nice.
“Well with that, I best get going. Lots of redecorating to do!”
“Lucas?”
At the sound of Annalise’s voice, James, along with all the corruption he had spewed out, vanished without a trace.
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Goddamn, I hate that thing,” he muttered. He took Annalise’s hand and brought it up to his lips. She blushed at the kiss, but absolutely preened at the sheer romanticism of it.
“You certainly know how to make a witch feel young again, Charmer,” she said. Lucas gave her a halfhearted grin. It quickly morphed into a fully bashful one when she took out her handkerchief and began rubbing at his cheek.
“Hold still, dear, you have a stain right here.”
“Well gee, thanks. Didn’t realize you were my Ma,” Lucas joked. Annalise gave him a playful pinch on the cheek, then took her handkerchief out and examined it. She frowned. Lucas, curious now, leaned over and looked at the stain, too. A black, sticky thing that he knew would not wash out anytime soon, slick as motor grease.
Carefully, Annalise folded her handkerchief into a small square. She drew a rune on it with her fingernail, and dropped it. It burst into flames and was ash by the time it hit the ground.
“I assume Chaos was here?” she asked, coolly. Lucas nodded.
“Yep.”
“And he spoke to you?”
“Yep.”
She frowned more.
“He can’t leave very well alone, can he?”
“Nope.
She sighed.
“Well then, enough thinking of that thing. Let’s be on,” she stated, finally.
#ask#digital-chance#seraetia#james nigel kirkland#lucas wren dahmere#annalise is there 2 bc i lov her#writing#my writing#wip#excerpt#short story
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some playlists i’ve curated
lotus in bloom: homemade ice cream, wet grass, the sun is out, big dreams, familiarity, learning handshakes, a walk in the gardens, bright colors, hopscotch games, the radio is blasting, growing, picking tangerines, the aroma of baked cinnamon rolls, seashells, blushed faces, taking it day by day
i could stare at ur back all day: tracing the birthmark on your lover’s arm, scattered flower petals, sharing laughs and lollipops, comparing hand sizes, no one else in the world exists, holding on, pink skies, timeless, beauty, reciting poetry, fulfilled promises, pure sweetness, feeling whole
the motherland: golden lanterns, loving, a sunny afternoon, grammar books, cut-up slices of fruits, rivers, open arms, nostalgia, pine trees, belonging, people-watching, first encounters, train rides, playing chess
andromeda: nothing is quite real, the moon on your mind, cold wind, small voices, a mystery, the world is heavy, distractions, a fire, long white dress, spinning, torn sheet music, illusions, apologetic yet brilliant, swords, closed eyes, floating, you are reborn
braking softly: sparkling waters, peace, beautiful innocence, a matcha iced coffee, dried flowers, longing, butterflies, intertwined fingers, a lover’s hair tie, you just turned nineteen, the calm wind, the windows are down, writing in diaries, blowing kisses, bakeries
on some strange angel’s porch: staring into space, surrendering into your own loneliness, why can’t i cry? just let it all out?, home is nowhere on earth, lamp lights, dreading silence, a ghost, poison, everything is enough, the winged nike of samothrace, falling away, decaying
closing distance: a soft kiss on the chest, touching skin, desire, sweet perfume lingers, empty wine bottles, warm breath, whispers, candlelit flames, honey, nurturing, cherishing, a little bit lightheaded, love in one place, stained lipstick
i feel like running: green neon lights, 24 hour motels, pulling up at the mcdonald’s drive-thru at 3am, empty streets, searching, deserted valleys, chaos, a serpent, it was so cold but it’s burning, melancholic, lost memories, echoes, fast cars, faded wounds
backseat luvrs: hands clasped, milk chocolates, the sudden tingling feeling in your stomach when you make eye contact, nicknames, everything is in the shape of a heart, first love, illuminated, letting them in your heart, candied cherries, confessions in letters, endless gazes, the world stops
i’m over it (she’s not): puffy eyes, fragile, sick of trying, holding hope, breaking, explosion, broken fragments of your heart, pouring november rain, emptiness, ruins, infinitely wondering “why”, sorrow and anger, betrayal, gone
i was not ready: another heartbreak, darkness, eating dinner alone once again, words left unsaid, old dreams, bad timing, empty fields, running mascara, a hurt that lasts, feeling selfish, the person they once were, a stranger, the end
one jop this time: a kpop playlist full of my personalised top-tier bangers
ヽ( >∀< ☆ )ノ: kpop again but just the girlies!!!
yumeji’s theme: inspired by wong kar wai’s in the mood for love
love you for 10,000 years: inspired by wong kar wai’s chungking express
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Head Full Of Demons (Part 4)
Summary: The reader meets up with Dean and her family but Dean’s more injured she realized and gains a new patient...
Masterlist
Pairing: Surgeon!Dean x surgeon!reader
Word Count: 4,300ish
Warnings: language, briefly mentioned child abuse, mention of kidnapping/deaths, injury
A/N: Dean loves fluffernutter sandwiches and no one will convince me otherwise...
______
You parked next to your mom’s car at the warehouse half an hour later, Bobby’s there along with one you didn’t recognize. You slipped into the open door, looking around and hearing a groan. You went right and down a short hallway, Dean laying back on an old worn couch holding his ribs.
“Hey De-” He shouted, your mom and Bobby rushing out of the room next door with guns out.
“It’s me!” you said, ducking down, both of them taking deep breaths. You held up your medical bag and looked to Dean again, watching him force himself to sit up. “I have another patient it seems.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah well you look like shit to me. You bruise or break…” you trailed off, spotting the dried blood on his shirt over his ribs. “Mom, I’ll check up with you guys in a minute. I need to treat Dean.”
“Do you need help?” she asked as you set the bag on the table and started to dig through for an antiseptic.
“I’ll call if I need anything,” you said. “And stay out if you hear him shouting.”
“Why would…” You shook your head and she held up her hands. She pulled the door shut and you turned back to Dean, taking a deep breath. “My gut said to pick up some clean scrubs for some reason. Glad I did.”
“Please tell me you brought anesthesia in there,” he said. “Even a local.”
“I didn’t expect you to be all cut up,” you said, using the emergency shears and cutting through his shirt until it fell off of him. Dean held his wadded up flannel to his side and winced. You did a quick glance, only seeing one wound that needed stitches so far. “Where are your parents?”
“Probably covered in their kidnapped son’s dried blood and disappointed they aren’t dead,” he said, pointing to a slice on his leg. “This one’s bad. Not deadly. But it needs a stitch.”
“I gotta see your ribs Dean,” you said, snapping a pair of gloves on. He inhaled and moved the shirt away, a trickle of blood rushing out of the knife wound. His eyes caught yours and he shut his eyes. “I can fix it here.”
“We both know what artery that hit. How the hell are you going to get in there to stitch with only two hands?”
“I’ll think of something,” you said. “Let’s start with the ribs. On the positive the pain has a chance of making you pass out so you won’t feel the other two.”
“That’s not a good thing!” he said. You went back to the bag and found a large folded up medical sheet, laying it over the table. “Fuck.”
He got up and lay on his good side, swallowing before moving his right arm up and in front of himself, leaving the flannel and his rib exposed.
“You want to bite down on something?” you asked.
“No,” he said. “You really don’t have a sedative in there? Nothing?”
“Dean you’re not going to die from any of these wounds if we stitch them. It’ll hurt but-”
“I’m not afraid of the pain Y/N,” he said, looking up at you. “I might hurt you is all.”
You cocked your head before you spotted the scars on his back. Small, barely there, but there were many of them, enough to appear almost as if it was a birthmark and not something else.
“Are those…” you trailed off. He nodded and shut his eyes.
“If you start poking me with a needle…I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“These were stitched,” you said, examining his back more closely. “...all of them. Jesus Dean. What the fuck happened? What-”
“Okay. Okay. You just gotta make me pass out then. That’s all,” he said. You dug through your bag, finding nothing but supplies meant to clean and stop small wounds. “Wait. Don’t you have a prescription for insomnia?”
“Mom! Can you check my purse in my car for a bottle of pills please!” you shouted, cleaning his other cuts and starting to bandage them. There was a flurry of feet and the door was open not long after, your mom holding up two bottles. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone,” she said, setting the bottle of birth control pills down along with the other one.
“I’m not but I’m an adult and adults have safe sex and I like to be prepared,” you said, Dean hissing when you pressed too hard. “I was actually going to date this guy potentially.”
“Him? He’s…” she trailed off. “Y/N-”
“Mom no offense but I wasn’t asking permission,” you said. “He’s a good guy, just got a crappy hand.” You reached over Dean’s side and picked up the sleeping pills, taking out double the dosage. You handed them to Dean and he popped them in his mouth, reaching for the bottle of water on the table as you handed it to him.
“Give me fifteen minutes to fall asleep,” he said. You nodded, stepping out of the room and into next door, your mom shutting the door.
“Y/N you cannot see that guy. I won’t allow it. Look at what he’s done to you, brought you into,” she said as you sat down in an old office chair. “Y/N-”
“What’s your job mom?” you said, crossing your arms.
“What-”
“What is your job?”
“I catch criminals of which he is a borderline-”
“That’s the difference between us mom. You could have answered that same question with to help people. But you didn’t. My job? I help people. I save them. I haven’t worked my ass off my entire life to suddenly stop wanting to help people. He’s my friend and he needs someone looking out for him.”
“Well why the hell does it have to be you!” she said, raising her voice.
“Because the man is fucking thirty five years old and it’s about damn time! His brother almost died last night. Do you have any idea what I just did in surgery to save him? The man should be dead but he’s not. Because I gave a shit and tried anything I could think of. Your job is to help people. Start fucking doing it.”
You stormed out and went next door, kicking the door shut, Dean chuckling dryly on the table.
“Sorry. Try to sleep,” you said quietly.
“Well, I am pretty out of it. Might as well just go for it,” he said.
“If that’s what you want,” you said.
“I have the sneaking suspicion your mother doesn’t approve of me,” he said, closing his eyes, breathing slowly. You disinfected your hands and needle, laying them out on the tarp. “I can’t say I blame her.”
“She doesn’t control what I do,” you said, plucking a pair of clamps out of the bag. “Dean. I can use a clamp to peel back the skin so I can get inside.”
“I’ll hold it,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m kinda super high right now I’m pretty sure so why the fuck not,” he said.
“You ever been high before?” you asked, cleaning the clamp before placing it near the wound. “Can you hold a flashlight actually? Just let gravity do the work on the clamp.”
“Whatever you say doc,” he said, eyes still shut when you fished out the small flashlight and clicked it on, shoving it in his hand. He held it up with his left, turning it down so you could see in the wound. “Before you ask I don’t have any weird ass diseases.”
“Any normal ass ones?”
“Just mental,” he said. “Did you ask me something?”
“Yeah, you ever been high?” you asked, taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the wound, letting the weight of the clamp pull it back.
“You have no idea how much that hurts,” he breathed out. “Oh I’m so happy I’m drugged up right now and don’t care about it.”
“I’m pretty sure you’d be screaming,” you said, taking hold of the needle and thread.
“To answer your question, no. Only thing I’ve ever taken were caffeine pills in med school and sleeping pills every once in a while. I don’t imagine a goody two shoes like you would have,” he said, hissing when you pulled the needle through the first time.
“My mom is a cop, my dad is a lawyer and my uncle works for the FBI. I’d be the one with the murdering parents if I’d done any of that shit. I just threw a rager when I was in highschool and got so drunk I don’t remember half of it.”
“Don’t you have younger siblings? How’d you get away with that?”
“Oh well I had a very important study group that night you see and my own car at the time so I told my parents I’d drive up Saturday to my grandparents and join them. You know, I was very focused on getting into a good college for med school at the time.”
“Ah so you’ve always been devious,” he said, not doing much squirming as you worked on making tight laces, the bleeding all but gone now. “Makes sense why you didn’t freak the fuck out.”
“I freaked out. Just didn’t buy the bullshit, not after I thought about it. I mean you had me, you could have killed me right there and dumped me in the laundry and I’d be in the hospital incinerator in the basement like that. But you didn’t want to hurt me. I could tell something was wrong and I was right.”
“Y/N,” he said as you finished with the interior stitching, waiting a moment and searching around before you took off the clamp and starting to stitch him shut. “Your mom is right. You shouldn’t date me. You don’t know how lucky you are to have a mom that gives a shit.”
“You have a mom out there somewhere Dean and I know she gives a shit.”
“Y/N my parents are dead. John and Mary would not let them be alive.”
“Did you see them be killed?” you asked.
“No,” sighed Dean, wincing when you poked the skin a bit too hard. “But…they have to be. I mean…they have to be.”
“Do you remember what happened when you were little?”
“I know we were on a road trip and we were in Texas. I think we were supposed to be going to the beach. Then Sammy and I were in the back of this dirty tiny car and things changed.”
“How old were you?” You tied off the stitch, Dean’s body lax now and you saw him flop his hand down when you took away the flashlight.
“Um. Seven. Yeah seven. Long time ago.”
“Roll on your back for me please,” you said, helping him a bit. You walked to his other side and worked on his thigh, Dean breathing deeply.
“I’m sorry you’re in this mess. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“You’re gonna make it through this and go back to being a surgeon, a nice one, and you’ll have as normal as a life as everyone else.”
“I thought I was the crazy one,” he chuckled.
“Dean.”
“Y/N I know for a fact I exhibit signs of Stockholm Syndrome. So does Sam. My head is fucked. If, if they caught John and Mary and put them away in some fantasy prison where they never get out…I lose my medical license. Sam will be barred from practicing law. We will both got locked away in institutions and never see each other again and they’ll drug us up so we don’t even feel anything and-”
“That’s your dad talking. That’s your mom. That’s not you and you don’t have a speciality in psychology so you don’t know what you have. You can undo what they did. Doctors and lawyers are allowed to have mental struggles like everyone else.”
He laughed, doing it more and more as you finished with the leg and moved to his chest.
“Maybe you’re the crazy one if you think that’s true,” he laughed, his whole body shaking with it. You sighed, waiting for him to stop so you could stitch. You rolled your eyes when he kept going but quickly watching it switch something in him, his face going rigid and cold, whole body stilling.
“You wanna know something barely anyone does?” you asked, working on his chest fast, Dean turning his head away. “My dad, the lawyer? He’s awesome. But he’s actually not my bio dad. See that guy, bio dad, he was a piece of shit that liked to shove around his wife and kid. He broke my arm when I was three. On purpose. He’s not a good guy but-”
“But it all worked out wonderfully in the end, didn’t it.”
“Oh no. My dad? The awesome one? He met my mom cause bio dad was trying to kill her. I ran away and ran up to the first man I saw on the street. Awesome dad ended up in a fight with bio dad and he killed him. That’s how my parents got together. A whole lot of fucking violence and problems and abuse and he is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And he killed a man. So don’t fucking tell me you’re a lost cause. I’m supposed to be dead, more than once in my life. If you couldn’t escape your parents hold I’d be dead or still in that cabin. So I’ll have some fucking faith for the both of us until you get your ass in line.”
You tossed the needle in the trash, picking up bandages and starting to cover him up. He forced his eyes open, tired green orbs staring up.
“Y/N. How does what I did stay a secret? My parents will flip on me like that. They’ll probably pin everything on me.”
“Normal cops, maybe.” He raised an eyebrow and you smiled, sticking a butterfly bandage on his cheek. “The FBI…we can skirt some lines there I’m pretty sure, avoid the publicity. All the general public will ever have to know is that you two were kidnapped and you never knew. That’s all anyone ever has to know. If I even believe that you did anything, which I don’t.”
“Maybe,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna crash any second.”
“Get some sleep Dean,” you said, pretty sure he was out cold before you finished talking. You finished cleaning him, finding a space blanket in the bag and covering most of him up until he was awake enough to get dressed.
With a huff you sat down on the couch, lumpy and uncomfortable, covered in dried blood. You kicked up your feet and lay back, shutting your own eyes and letting sleep overtake you.
It was dark when you woke, a peak out the window showing a rainstorm. Dean was sat in a chair at the table now, munching on a fluffernutter sandwich. You wearily sat up, Dean smiling wide as he ate.
“Look what your mom made me!” he said with his mouthful. You nodded, stretching out and standing. “This is so yummy.”
“My brother is obsessed with them. I’m not a big fan,” you said. “Is there any other food?”
“She went to get some,” he said, holding out what was left of his. “Sure you don’t want it?”
“You have it,” you said, standing with a stretch. “What time is it?”
“Around two. They said on the news that Sammy’s going to make a full recovery. They’re guarding him pretty good.” You nodded, watching the rain fall outside. “Y/N.”
“You doing alright?” you asked.
“Yeah. I’m okay. I was…I was talking to your uncle Bobby not long ago. He doesn’t seem to hate me as much as your mom but…I think the easiest way to solve this…” he trailed off as Bobby walked inside with his computer under his arm.
“I already told you kid. You giving yourself to your parents doesn’t guarantee she or your brother are safe. I’ve pulled some strings and gotten her family into protective custody for the time being. You do what we tell you to and not a damn thing else, understand?”
Dean was quiet, eating the rest of his sandwich as Bobby set the computer down at the table.
“My boss isn’t too thrilled on this whole cutting corners thing and letting you walk around scot free,” said Bobby. “But your parents for lack of a better term killed a governor’s son about twenty years back according to what you told me early. He still pokes us about the cold case time to time. We can keep this quiet and leave you and your brother out of this, if we can catch your parents.”
“How does that work in court though?” you asked. “Wouldn’t Dean have to testify?”
“In a federal case like this, no. Very quiet, very quick. These people still have their rights but it’s a slam dunk case. Dean has been stowing away evidence against these people for years it seems with everything he knows,” said Bobby.
“Then what are we waiting for? Put out a warrant for their arrest,” you said.
“Wait. You never told me Y/N’s family was in protective custody,” said Dean. He rubbed his eyes, looking tired again. He looked at you, squeezing them shut. “Fuck, they drugged me. Y/N he’s lying.”
“What?” you said, Bobby taking a deep breath. “What are-”
“Y/N. Let’s go,” said Bobby. “Help Dean up.”
“What the-”
“Do you have any idea who these people are? What they’re involved in? DNA tied to over fifty murders, well over. These people are not right and all they want is Dean back. We give him back, they’ll leave you alone. No one is going to believe you.”
“Yes they will! They-” you trailed off when a pair of footsteps were outside the hall, the door opening, John and Mary walking in along with your mom. “Mom what is-”
“Sometimes you make deals,” said your mom, holding out a hand for you. “You have a family to think about and Dean, all he did was drag you into trouble. We’re leaving Y/N. Now.”
“No I’m not,” you said, hoisting Dean up to his feet, his arm over your shoulders.
“Dean. Let’s go,” said Mary. “Sam will be left alone as long as you come with us.”
“You can’t get to-”
“Not today but eventually we will. Listen to your mother and come with us,” said John.
“She’s not my mother. You people kidnapped me and Sam,” Dean spat out. He looked to Bobby and your mom, swallowing thickly. “You’re supposed to help me.”
“You’re a killer and you put my daughter’s life in danger. I don’t have to help shit,” said your mom. She looked to John and Mary and sighed. “Take him out of the state. I don’t want to hear a word about him again.”
“Oh Dean lost his free will privileges. Now come or your little girlfriend and Sam are back on the table,” said John. You could feel the slight tremble in Dean’s body, wincing before he got sick on the floor. “Pull yourself together. It’s pathetic.”
“Oh shit!” you said, pointing back at the open door behind them. All of them turned their heads and you grabbed the medical bag along with Dean, dragging him behind you and out through the side door to the open courtyard.
“Are you insane?” shouted Dean, running along with you, albeit a little slow.
“I’m banking on the fact that they’re all older and can’t keep up,” you said, rushing through another pair of doors with him and making a hard left, Dean grunting as you yanked him along and made your way back to your car out front.
“Y/N…” said Dean when you saw your mom out front, her gun in her hand by her side.
“Just keep running and get in the car,” you said.
“Y/N stop!” she shouted as you got closer.
“I’m sorry mom,” you said, dropping Dean’s hand to run straight at her and push her aside. You kicked her gun away, Dean jumping into the backseat of your car. You ripped open your car door, your mom grabbing your arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” she said.
“What the hell are you doing? They’re psychos and you want to throw away an innocent person’s life. Get away from me and stay away,” you said, shoving her back. You got behind the wheel and took off, Dean climbing into the front seat and groaning. “Are you okay? You said you were drugged.”
“Yeah but I don’t think it’s enough to knock me out. Probably were worried they’d kill me with those earlier pills still in my system. Plus I threw up so that helped,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone following us. Jesus Y/N. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’m thinking my mom and uncle have guns and are safe. If they’re not idiots they’ll take your parents into custody,” you said.
“...and what about me and Sam?”
“Sam didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a victim. He’ll be okay and likely they’ll find your real parents and reunite them.”
“And I’ll be a wanted criminal that’ll never see my brother again or practice medicine,” he said. He took a deep breath, taking another and another. “When we get closer to town you gotta let me take the car. I have to run.”
“No.”
“Y/N no one is going to ever help me except for you. You…just tell the truth. I’m the bad guy. Take care of yourself.”
“In case you forgot I’m driving, you’re not in the right state to even drive and that’s so stupid. I’m not leaving you behind. And honestly, I don’t even know if you’ve done what you claim to have. You know the truth but you’re scared to say it.”
“Y/N-“
“We stop at an ATM, I take out a bunch of money and then we lay low in a motel room very far away from here until we figure out what to do.”
“Y/N. Why would you help me?”
“Because I help people Dean. That’s my job and right now I’m helping you.”
“But I’m bad.”
“You were kidnapped and abused and I’m not so sure you even committed a murder.”
“I…I-“
“When I reviewed your old case files with the deaths, those men you supposedly murdered? All of them died post-op. After surgery, not during. And all of those days they happened, traveling nurses were in. Guess who happens to be a traveling nurse? Mary. I think she did it post op and those two have manipulated you so much they made you think it was your fault and that it must have been you or else they hurt Sam.”
“But the other day-“
“You didn’t slice shit. It was just chance your hand was near the rupture. You lied about it because you’re so scared of them. I checked the body in the morgue after Sam’s surgery Dean. It was a rupture, not a slice. I know you didn’t touch him. I don’t think you even killed that first guy from the alley. You want to know how? He’s currently in county lock up on a larceny charge. Your parents manipulated you and manipulated you and manipulated you into believing them. You never hurt those people and you know it. You’re not a killer and you deserve to have a normal life with your real parents out there just like Sam. Tell me the truth. Have you ever killed anyone? Tell me right now.”
Dean looked out the window, resting his head against the glass.
“Dean-“
“Your mom makes you sandwiches. Mine doesn’t. I know you’re mad at her and your uncle but they were just trying to protect you. You don’t understand how much I’d kill for a mother like yours.”
“Dean have you ever-“
“No! I’ve never killed anyone. But if they tell me something is my fault enough I’ll start to say it too, even if I know different. It’s the way it is. It’s the only way to keep Sammy safe.”
“Dean you have to be honest with me here on out. They don’t control you. They’ll never touch you or Sam again.”
“You don’t know them,” he said quietly as you got on the highway. You sighed, tapping the wheel for a moment.
“At least put on your seatbelt for me,” you said. You heard it click and took a deep inhale.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re my friend and I care about you. If we can prove it was Mary that killed those people, you’re in the clear too.”
“But they’ll wonder why I never said anything about what they did to me and Sam. They’ll take away my medical license.”
“Dean. No one is going to blame you or Sam for not speaking up sooner. You were children that were hurt. So many doctors have their own scars like that and have never told a soul I’m sure of it.”
“Like your bio dad?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said quietly.
“What you said before…did that really happen or was it bull?”
“It happened. I barely remember it but it happened.” He was quiet as you drove, Dean breathing softly. You thought he’d fallen asleep when he sat upright and stretched.
“You know I’m gonna try and ditch you the second I’m not exhausted,” he said, a tease in his voice.
“Nah. I’m a better kidnapper than you. You’re not going anywhere.” He scoffed and you let out a laugh. “I so am.”
“Am not. I’m way better than you.”
“Right. That’s why you let me go,” you said. “You know that’s kinda the opposite of what you’re supposed to do.”
“Well if I’m kidnapped I wouldn’t mind getting some food along the way,” he said, your own stomach rumbling.
“I second that. Let’s get some distance first, then we can lay low and figure out where to go from there.”
_______
A/N: Read part 5 here!
#spn#supernatural#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester#spn fanfic#dean#dean x you#dean winchester x you
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I love your headcanons pls tell me you have some more about Avalance
Always. lol.
-When Sara gets back and has a new body, there are little things both she and Ava have to get used. It's especially hard and strange not having the scars she used to.
(*Note: I'm aware that most of Sara's scars were already erased by the Lazarus Pit long before she even met Ava, but I'm choosing to ignore that in service of the angst lol).
Ava once had to go deal with an anachronism in 2008-ish Lian Yu, and saw early 20s Sara there, pretty much abandoned in a cell when she'd just gotten a wound across the side of her torso; no one had treated it so Sara was sick and delirious and feverish. Ava of course couldn't intervene and it really, really screwed her up to go against every instinct in her body and just leave the love of her life there to suffer. In present time, that scar still gets irritated throughout the day sometimes, so Ava would put lotion/oil/balm on it every night for Sara; it was just a quiet way to make up for the time she couldn't help her. But since she was abducted, it's just…gone. And leaves Ava feeling oddly helpless again.
Some of the scars on Sara's body were like little touchpoints for Ava, little bits of her that she loved--there was patch of raised cuts on her shoulder that Ava always used to move a thumb over when she laid her arm across Sara while they fell asleep. There was a really bad one on her leg, that still always gave Ava a twinge of protective anger because she knows how it got there and she hates thinking of 20-ish-year-old Sara being tortured the way she was.
There are three scars--on her chest, under her rib and at the top of her thigh--that Ava just absently always kisses on her way down Sara's body when they're having sex, and even though they're gone, Ava knows exactly where they were, and does as she always has, but she misses them.
Sara always had to choose her pants carefully to avoid aggravating the burn scar on her hip. It's nice to not factor that in anymore, but she feels like she's missing something.
She had a nagging shoulder injury that acted up if they'd been especially active that day, and Ava would always dig her thumbs into it to clear away the knots and pain. Sara doesn't miss it hurting, but she misses Ava being the one to make it stop hurting.
She misses the birthmark on her arm; it's like looking at a stranger's arm sometimes and might be the outward physical loss that unsettles her the most. One night though, they're watching a movie, and Sara realizes that Ava is watching the screen, not paying attention to what she's doing, but she's unconsciously tracing the outline of where the mark was because her hands just know it by heart.
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Scars
I needed me a Jaskel Soulmate AU where Jaskier knows his soulmate’s a witcher, but he also knows it’s not Geralt. After wondering how that would happen, I finally came up w/ this!!
__
Imagine a world where soulmarks exist. While not exactly rare, they’re still fairly uncommon.
Little Jaskier’s soulmark is on the inside crook of his elbow. The face of a fierce silver wolf. For as unrealistic and stylized as it is, it’s still undeniably a wolf. His parents sneer at it. The servants and teachers are all uncomfortable when they see it. Little Jaskier, though? Oh how he loves it. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know its significance. But he loves it nonetheless.
Jaskier’s only five years old when he learns what a Witcher is. He’s only five years old when he’s taught to fear Witchers.
Jaskier’s twelve and he’s being held down as he begs and pleads and screams. He screams as the other boys bring a knife to his soulmark, laughing all the while. Because, what soulmate could a monster have than another monster?
Jaskier’s twelve when he makes the connection between his soulmark and Witchers.
He runs away less than a week later, wound still fresh, and ends up somewhere outside Oxenfurt. He decides to stay there, study there. The injury scars. He keeps it covered at all times with black cloth. Sometimes, it’s so tight it hurts. He never shows anyone his mark ever again.
–
Jaskier’s twenty-three when he meets Geralt, and he immediately recognizes the medallion. It’s the spitting image of what his soulmark looked like. He feels some residual anxiety from meeting a Witcher, but has learned humans can be just as monstrous as they claim Witchers to be. The black strip of cloth on his arm is proof enough.
So he takes a gamble and follows Geralt. And he continues to follow Geralt for years to come. He learns everything he was taught was a lie (something he’s suspected since the moment that knife touched his mark). He makes it his goal to change the world’s mind about Witchers. And if he hopes, deep down, that if he continues to follow Geralt he’ll meet his soulmate? Well, that’s his secret fantasy.
–
Years pass and eventually Geralt invites him up to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Jaskier says yes in a heartbeat. He’s as giddy as he is nervous and babbles the whole trip up.
When they get there, Eskel’s the one to greet them at the gate, not that Jaskier notices. He’s too busy still babbling nervously about nothing at all and removing his packs from his horse. He struggles to hold everything as he goes over to the two, intent on introducing himself to this new witcher. Except when he finally looks at Eskel, his breath catches and he drops everything he’s holding. He can do nothing but stare, pale and shaky, at the scarred face in front of him.
He doesn’t register how the man shifts so he stands with his scars less on display. He doesn’t register Geralt’s defensive and angry tone. He doesn’t register the third, angry, man who threatens him for making his brother uncomfortable in his own home. All Jaskier can think about is the shape of those scars.
Lambert’s outright hostile to him, not that Jaskier blames him. Geralt’s also cagey and defensive. Even Vesemir, despite keeping the peace between the wolves and the bard, makes his disappointment of Jaskier clear.
It takes another two weeks before Jaskier manages to catch Eskel alone and apologizes. He wants to explain himself, but every time he tries, his throat tightens and the words die on his lips. So instead, he works to befriend Eskel in earnest.
The first time Eskel smiles at him, really smiles at him (an entire month later), Jaskier feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. The way Eskel’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his lips curl awkwardly, the way his whole demeanor seems to light up. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. He can’t keep the dopey smile off his own face the whole day.
Eskel smiles more after that, and it seems to be enough for the others. Lambert’s no longer actively hostile and Geralt’s back to himself. Vesemir no longer looks at Jaskier with disappointment either. And if Jaskier scratches at the crook of his arm, that’s no ones business but his own.
Until, one night when Jaskier has long since stumbled off to bed, Lambert asks. It's just the three of them, Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel, still drinking in the kitchen.
“So what’s,” Lambert pauses to hiccup, “what’s with the bard’s arm?” He asks.
“Hmm?” Geralt grunts squinting at the cards in his hand.
“That damn bandage of his,” he continues motioning at the crook of his own elbow. “Wears it when he– when he fucken bathes too.”
“Maybe it’s covering a scar,” Eskel offers, “or a weird birthmark.”
Lambert scowls. “He’s got plenty other scars.”
Geralt snorts. “And weird birthmarks too,” he adds thinking about the vaguely cock shaped birthmark Jaskier has on his shoulder.
Lambert grumbles as Geralt and Eskel continue playing their game of gwent.
“What if it’s a soulmark?” He eventually asks.
“Humans don’t present them as easily as we do,” Eskel says at the same moment Geralt says:
“Not a chance.”
The two stare at him, clearly wanting an explanation.
Geralt grumbles and downs what’s left in his mug. “Jaskier’s a hopeless romantic,” he explains. “Wouldn’t shut up for weeks when he saw mine. And then he wouldn’t shut up for the better part of a godsdamned year after we finally met Yen,” he pours himself another drink and downs that too with a shudder. “Believe me, if he had one, we’d know.”
A few hours later, when Geralt’s fighting to stay awake, Lambert slams his mug on the table. It startles Eskel and Geralt enough that they’re more awake than they were an hour ago.
“I wanna know,” Lambert growls.
“Then ask him,” Eskel says.
Geralt yawns. “He always changes the subject.”
Lambert nods vigorously as Eskel frowns. “Then leave it.”
“But I wanna know!” Lambert complains.
Eskel gets up. “I’m not doing this,” he groans. “I’m going to bed.”
Lambert calls him a bitch as he leaves and grumbles into his drink. He and Geralt continue drinking for a few minutes before Lambert asks, “You grab him and I pull that damn cloth off?”
Geralt, too drunk and too tired to think about all the times Jaskier’s flinched when grabbed by the elbow, nods.
It surprisingly takes them a few days to catch Jaskier alone. He’s confused when Geralt grabs him but otherwise doesn’t struggle. It’s not until Lambert pulls at his sleeve that he panics.
Jaskier thrashes in their grip the moment he realizes what they’re doing. Decades old panic grips him as he screams and begs for them not to hurt him.
Lambert and Geralt stay frozen as Jaskier fleas down the hall. Vesemir is there demanding to know what happened while Eskel runs past them to catch up with Jaskier. Lambert and Geralt can only stare in the direction Jaskier fled, the stench of his fear hangs heavy in the air around them.
Geralt knows what Jaskier’s fear smells like. It’s hard not to when Jaskier often gets too close to a monster, but he has never smelled of fear because of a Witcher before. Not when he’d first seen Eskel. Not when Lambert threatened to gut him right after. And not even when the snow had finally blocked off the path down the mountain and he was subsequently trapped in the keep with four unwelcoming witchers.
They don’t see Jaskier for a solid week after that. They know he’s still in the keep, they can smell him in the kitchen, in the baths, through the halls, but they don’t actually see him. Lambert’s on edge, quicker to anger, and Geralt’s quieter, more prone to get lost in thought.
They both try to apologize, in their own way, standing outside Jaskier’s door. Jaskier doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a sound. The only reason they know he’s in there is because his heart’s racing and he smells of anxiety and residual panic.
Eventually Eskel’s able to coax him out and he tentatively resettles into the routine he’s established for himself. Jaskier now has a constant underlying scent of anxiety to him. He smells of panic whenever someone focuses on his arm too long.
It all comes to a head one evening. Vesemir reaches to touch Jaskier’s elbow to get his attention. Jaskier flinches so hard he nearly throws himself into the hearth they’re sitting around. He doesn’t smell of fear, but his panic is palpable. Vesemir apologizes but Jaskier assures him it’s fine, even as Lambert storms away shouting abuse and Geralt slinks away miserably.
Eskel cracks that night. It’s late, the others have all gone to their rooms in their attempts to avoid Jaskier, and it’s just Eskel and Jaskier in the library. Jaskier’s leaning against him, fighting to stay awake as Eskel simply enjoys his company.
“What…” Eskel asks tentatively. “Happened to your arm?”
Jaskier tenses against him, heart rate picking up as his hand goes to cover the spot. He sits up slowly, stiffly, and Eskel immediately kicks himself. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
But Jaskier shakes his head. “No it’s okay,” he says weakly. “It’s stupid really. It happened so long ago, almost thirty years,” he laughs shakily, voice impossibly quiet. “But I guess I still get scared someone’s gonna finish carving off my soulmark at times.”
Eskel feels like he’s been punched in the throat. Soulmarks are special. They’re Destiny’s will. All Witchers have soulmarks. Something about the trials make them emerge, almost like Destiny herself is desperately trying to preserve their humanity. Eskel knows his own soulmark all too well. Four little yellow flowers floating down a stream painted on his ribs. At times, if he just focuses on the general shape, they look like music notes. He knows the mark ties him to Jaskier. It’s why Jaskier’s initial reaction to him hurt so much.
“I’m sorry,” Eskel says lamely, because what else can he say? He could demand the name of the people that hurt Jaskier, but that won’t repair the damage. He could go after Geralt and Lambert again for their stupid stunt, but they’re suffering enough as it is and Jaskier doesn’t really hold it against them.
Jaskier barely shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’ve… actually wanted to show it to you for some time,” he admits quietly. His hands shake as he rolls up his tunic sleeve.
Eskel catches his wrist, stills the movement. “Stop,” he breathes. “You don’t have to.”
Jaskier leans towards him, his forehead coming to rest against Eskel’s. “Please,” he whispers.
Eskel reluctantly lets go. He watches as Jaskier halting works the black cloth off. There’s red marks across Jaskier’s skin where the edge of the cloth dug in too tightly. But Eskel’s breath and attention is immediately stolen by the mark. He feels fury and an unimaginable sadness wash over him in equal measures.
It looks exactly like the wolf school medallion. Or it would were it not for the angry scars distorting the right side of its face.
Eskel runs a thumb over it before he even realizes what he’s doing. Jaskier shivers at the touch and Eskel can smell the tears the bard is desperately trying to hold back. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to upset you when I saw you. It’s just…”
“The scars,” Eskel murmurs. “They’re identical.” He has a sick feeling that Jaskier’s mark was defiled the same day his face was slashed.
Jaskier explains himself fully that night, as he cries in Eskel’s arms. It feels strange to finally show his mark again after almost thirty years. He’s not sure if he’s scared or relieved or if its even good or bad. It just is.
The following morning, he’s understandably exhausted and spends breakfast tucked against Eskel’s side. Lambert and Geralt get to the kitchen and try to leave before the even enter it. Jaskier reeks of tears and misery and Eskel. Eskel asks them to at least stay for breakfast. Lambert still wants to run but seeing as how Geralt pitifully sits down, he refuses to be the only one that runs and sits down too. Breakfast is awkward with how exhausted Jaskier looks and smells, they’re both happy to go off and do their chores for once.
Jaskier spends most of the morning sleeping in Eskel’s room. When he emerges for dinner, it’s almost like nothing’s happened. He’s back to his loud and carefree self. The smell of anxiety is almost unnoticeable now. Vesemir claps him on the shoulder and Geralt’s less quiet.
Lambert’s still unsettled, though, still easy to anger and prone to snapping. He doesn’t believe the bard’s act for a second. That level of fear can’t just be forgiven that easily. It has nothing to do with the fact that it was his plan that caused that reaction and made his brothers upset.
His brothers and Vesemir tell him the bard’s fine. Even Jaskier himself assures him that it’s okay. He doesn’t believe it for a second. No amount of chattering with Geralt, or helping Vesemir in the library, or spending nights with Eskel will convince him.
But maybe seeing how Jaskier lets Eskel settle a hand over his arm helps. Seeing how Jaskier smiles all shy and happy when it happens helps. Seeing how Eskel returns the looks helps. Seeing how Eskel doesn’t shy away when Jaskier touches his scars helps.
Maybe seeing and smelling how happy the two are helps ease the guilt. Because what else could be under that black cloth than a scarred over soulmark?
#the witcher#jaskier#eskel#jaskel#jaskier x eskel#eskel x jaskier#so i'm in jaskel hell atm and I couldn't just NOT contribute smth
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‘Till We Bleed Out - 3.
Vampire!bucky x reader AU
Part 3 of this series.
Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real.
Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst
“Calm down, sweetheart.”
He must’ve noticed you were on the verge of losing your mind. How could you not? You had so many questions. So many things you couldn’t wrap your brain around. What was the meaning of all this?
“What is this?” you pointed at the painting; scared, nervous and baffled.
Bucky walked further in, careful as to not make any sudden movement which would make you even more of a nervous wreck than you already were. “I’ll tell you everything, doll. Just calm down, alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m right here with you.”
You looked up at him in surprise. “Nothing to be scared of? There’s a painting of me and you dating back to 1872. That was almost a hundred and fifty years ago. But I met you just two days ago. None of this makes sense, none of it adds up. And that doesn’t bother you?” you sounded more sad and confused than scared. This isn’t normal. None of this is. “Who are you?”
Despite knowing that someone else in your shoes would be screaming bloody murder and running for their lives by now, you stayed put. Despite the confusion, you felt protected. Something inside you knew no harm would come to you while Bucky’s around. But the rational side of you couldn’t afford listening to that side of you right now. Right now your brain needed concrete answers, not reassurance.
“No. It doesn’t bother me.” He walked over and held you gently by the shoulders. “And if you let me explain, it won’t bother you either.” One look into his eyes and you felt yourself calming down already.
“Make this make sense.”
After he got you to sit down, in that very room, he began explaining.
“I’m not exactly human, Y/N.” His first few words earned him a nod from you.
“I figured that out a few minutes ago.”
He continued. “And neither were you, in your previous lifetime.” That sentence shocked you. You didn’t know what was more surprising, learning that there was indeed a lifetime before this one or the fact that in the previous one, you and Bucky knew each other. “We were both vampires.”
“Oh my God…”
He paused for a while, trying to be as slow and as careful as he could be with his words. “We were married, you and I. And we were happy.” He said so and waited for your reaction.
Your eyes watered and he noticed. “I’m… I was your wife?” you asked and he nodded. You thought back on all the things he told you about his wife; those were all about you. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two. “And I died.” he nodded again. “How did I die?”
He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to the dark carpet beneath his feet, that memory was always the hardest to revisit. “Our families were not exactly… friendly. Yours hated mine, and vice versa so our marriage was not something they could bear.” He let out a dry chuckle. He continued, a strange fire in his eyes; burning hot hatred. “They kept trying to break us apart,” he smiled, sadly, “but we were strong. Together.” He looked back up at you. “Until one day…”
He stopped talking. He ran his fingers through his hair, he was hurting. You felt the intense need to just get up from the couch you were sat on, and walk over to where he sat and just comfort him. Maybe hug him and tell him it’s all okay now. But you remained seated, you couldn’t move.
“Bucky… I need to know.” You figured it was a delicate subject but you needed to piece it all together. You were a mess at the moment.
“We were returning home and we were attacked. By hunters.”
You sat up straighter. “Hunters?”
“Vampire hunters. Two different parties. Each anonymously hired and sent by our own families, ordered to have each of us killed. But you know, back then hunters had rivalry against each other as well. And ironically, the groups of hunters our family hired were not exactly seeing eye to eye with each other.” He let out another dry chuckle. “Upon reaching our home, they all forgot their initial purpose for a moment and began butchering one another instead, in the name of looming enmity. And you and I got caught in the crossfire. ”
He paused. If it were physically possible he would’ve shivered at the memory; so tragically vivid in his mind. You waited for him to continue. “But some of them also remembered that they had been ordered to kill us both, so our front yard quickly became a battlefield.” He sounded bitter, angry. “We fought them off for a while but we were terribly outnumbered. I was wounded, so were you, and I tried to reach you but…” he trailed off, took a deep breath and continued, “they got to you first.”
You tried to find the right thing to say but got nothing. Bucky spoke up again. “I was helpless. I couldn’t move. I had to watch as they… took you away from me.” He finally looked up at you and you were in shock. “Those sent by your family, what was left of them after the massacre at least, fled. Those sent by mine finished their job.” The look of hurt on his face was unbearable. “And I begged them. I begged them to kill me too but they just left me there.”
You felt a weight on your chest. That was brutal.
“You died at our doorstep.” He still remembered the last few moments he held you before you left…
-
He somehow managed to get up and stumbled on his way to you, bullets and sharp stakes pierced all over his body as well as yours. You weren’t gonna make it, and he knew but he still begged you to stay.
“You can’t leave me. You promised.” He cried, cradling your head on his lap. “Don’t leave me.”
He watched how you used the little bit of energy left to choke out a few words. “I’ll find you again. Someday. I promise…” your body was getting heavier and heavier. Bucky felt like he was dying too. “I love you, Buck.”
And with that, you closed your eyes forever. He sat there, your lifeless body in his arms and he screamed and yelled and cursed the universe. He was wounded, he would be healed by dawn. But you wouldn’t. He survived the attack that day, but part of him died along with you too.
-
You cleared your throat. “How do you… how did you know it’s me? How can you be sure? What if I just look like her?” you looked up at the painting and he did too.
He gave you a soft smile. “Chamomile and lavender tea is your favorite. You like red roses. You have a fear of deep water but you love the beach. You have this weird obsession with snakes. You love red wine. You could practically live in a library. Thunderstorms comfort you. You get a lot of déjà-vu, more than anyone you know. Also, you surely have a birthmark on your back, below your left shoulder. It perhaps hurts sometimes and you don’t know why, because regular birthmarks don’t hurt.”
Your eyes widened more and more as he spoke, but you gasped when he mentioned the birthmark. “How do you know that?” Very few people knew of your rather strange birthmark which tingled, burned and hurt sometimes.
“You were staked through the heart from the back. It left a mark on you.” He answered. “Forever.”
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to soak all this new information in. This was a lot to take in.
You cleared your throat again. “I was a vampire.” You stated. Bucky nodded. “I married you.” He nodded again. “I can’t- how do I-,”
“Hey, it’s a lot to take in. Take your time. Go to bed if you wish to.” His voice sounded so soft.
Oh you couldn’t sleep, not with all this. You shook your head no, you had questions. “How long were we married for?”
“Almost a century.” His answer made your jaw drop.
“How old are you?”
He chuckled. “250. Give or take a few years.”
“Oh my God,” you sighed, genuinely surprised. You thought back on all that he said earlier, about your families, and asked, “You said our families were against our relationship.” He nodded. “Well, where are they now?”
“Gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “After you left, I was unhinged. My memories of the couple of decades after your death is a little blurry. Apparently I went seeking revenge. But our friends found me and brought me back to sanity before I was gone completely and they told me that I had destroyed each and every last member of both our families.”
“You killed them.” It wasn’t a question.
“They deserved it. They took you away from me.” He sounded so broken, and hurt that you could feel your heart burn inside your ribcage.
“When you say ‘our friends’ you mean…” you trailed off not knowing how to put it.
He nodded. “Other vampires, yes. Most of them at least.”
“This is so crazy.” You mumbled, looking down at your lap. This was too much to handle all at once. Bucky got up from his seat and walked cautiously over to you.
He sat down on the edge of the wooden coffee table right in front of you and held his hand out. You placed your hand in his without a second thought. “You always had faith in the universe you know. You used to tell me that one single lifetime isn’t going to be enough for all the love that you and I have for each other. You used to always tell me that you’ll find me in the next one as well. And you did. You kept your promise. You’re home now, to me.”
You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Those words sounded so familiar. Bucky reached out and wiped the tear away. “I… I don’t remember. I mean, I’ve lived a whole life not knowing you were until just a few days ago and now… all this?”
He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. “It’s almost dawn. You haven’t slept well. Get some rest, we’ll figure it out. We always did.”
You couldn’t argue. You needed to not think for a while, so you just nodded and got up. He didn’t follow you as you made your way to the bedroom and threw yourself down on the bed. You closed your eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.
The next day, you spent most of your morning in the room; unable to leave the bed. Each time you thought back on all that was revealed to you last night, your head hurt. Wanda was kind enough to come in and leave you your meals. She didn’t say a word, just polite smiles. Bucky came by as well, each hour or so to check up on you. You weren’t ready to talk yet. He understood.
You spent the rest of the day looking out of the window, into the vast backyard. The weather was still gloomy, much like your mood.
After dinner, Bucky came by again. With tea this time. You gladly accepted the cup, remembering how it helped you sleep better the other night. Bucky was about to walk out but you stopped him.
“Stay. Please.” You said, your voice a little strained because you had cried earlier, unable to understand the wave of emotion which washed over you. He rushed to sit next to you, on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been having dreams.” you confessed.
“What kind of dreams?”
“About you. About us, together. About ballrooms I’ve never been in, about people I haven’t met. And this house, ever since I got here it feels like I’ve... “ you trailed off, unable to find the right words. Or maybe the words were too crazy for you to utter them out loud.
He finished your sentence. “Like you’ve lived here before?”
“Yes.” You nodded.
He smiled. “It’s because you have. This is your home, our home. Those aren’t dreams, they’re your memories.”
Another tear fell down your cheek. Well, that made sense now. That would explain why your ‘dreams’ were so detailed.
Bucky stayed and talked to you until you felt sleepy. He kissed you on the forehead, whispering a ‘goodnight’ once you got under the covers and was about to walk out of the room but you stopped him, yet again.
“There’s something else.” you said.
He stopped right at the door and turned around to face you, “Yes?”
“The day I got here, when you opened the door, I…” you reminded yourself that he deserves to know, “I felt this pressing need to tell you that I finally found you. I didn’t understand what that meant then.”
For the first time in a long time, Bucky genuinely smiled. And it was breathtaking. His smile was gorgeous, contagious. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left.
You fell asleep rather quickly. And dreamt, again...
Kisses under a grand chandelier. Blue eyes, laughter and wine. Pure bliss.
“We should get going, sweetheart. It’s late.” Bucky whispered, holding you close. “And I can’t share you any longer. I need you all to myself now.” He kissed along your jaw, making you giggle.
Home. At last. Only just as you got down from the carriage, you realized something was wrong. Pain, pain everywhere.
Bullets, stakes, sticks, stones - everything hurt. You heard someone screaming as you were being dragged away from Bucky. It was you. You begged for mercy, but you didn’t receive any. Then suddenly, a spot on your back burned. It hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. You realized you were being staked through the heart, and it was too late. You couldn’t fight back.
The pain, although excruciating, was replaced by fear. Fear of having to leave Bucky behind. Bucky… where was he?
Your vision got blurry, you fell to the ground. You tried to call out for him but no sound came out of your mouth. You were fading away. But then you saw a pair of dark eyes which slowly turned blue and teary.
“Don’t leave me…”
“I’ll find you, I promise.” All the years you spent with him flashed in front of your eyes. Your wedding, and the decades of pure happiness which followed. “I’ll find you…”
You woke up gasping again, covered in goosebumps. You had a terrible headache as it all came to you at once; memories of a forgotten lifetime. You struggled to breathe; it felt like being hit by a violent wave and being pushed deeper beneath the surface. Your birthmark burned hot. And your lungs felt like they were on fire.
You sat there in bed, breathing hard and fast as you remembered everything. You realized you had tears streaming down your face. It was all too much, but you kept searching for more. And the more you looked the more you found. You felt like you were about to pass out.
1802, when you first met Bucky. Married in 1808. You died about 90 years after that. You remembered. You remembered it all now. Your cruel family, and his. The bloodshed of that night. And how you died at the doorstep of this mansion. This mansion… your home. You knew this place like the back of your hand. This is your home.
You’re home.
You called out, not too loud, knowing he would hear you still. “Bucky!” you held back sob. How did you survive all these years? Without him?
“Bucky!” you called out again, crying out loud this time. You heard his footsteps running down the hall. And your heart raced.
You had been so close to your home this whole time, so close to Bucky, in the same town. You just didn’t know.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#vampire!bucky#bucky smut#marvel au#sebastian stan#bucky barnes x you
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Harry Potter AU
Listen.
One day I ended up on the Harry Potter side of Ao3 and I consumed every Bellatrix is Hermione's mum fic that I could find.
So, have this.
Essentially, Wilbur and George are dark lords (Voldemort and Bellatrix, respectively) except George is passive and cold unlike Bellatrix who is crazy and Wilbur is somehow more successful than Voldemort. Dream is Harry, Fundy is Hermione, and Sapnap is Ron.
Beware, this had dark themes considering George is Bellatrix and uh... we all know what Bellatrix did to Hermione. Also blood purity, since Wilbur and George are the dark lords and still have the whole death eats thing going on for them.
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31985884/chapters/81863542
“Are you okay?”
“Does he look okay to you, Dream?” Sapnap huffed, inspecting Fundy’s arm like the scar would somehow appear once more. Fundy couldn’t even try to answer, his throat unnaturally dry, or maybe he was too scared to speak. He remembered the taste of blood on his lips, as it clogged its throat and stole the air from his lungs. While Dream and Sapnap spoke quietly to one another, he reached up a hand to the scar on his neck. He could still feel the wand against his skin, digging deep until blood began to pour. “This is so fucked. I’m going to kill that asshole once I see him.”
“Well, you only have to survive the hoards of death eaters to be able to do that, no big deal.” Dream rolled his eyes, pacing at the foot of the bed where they’d placed Fundy in. “Fundy—”
“I’m not okay. But I’m not abandoning both of you either.”
“But it’s safer in the muggle world. Think of your parents!”
“Please, like you two would survive without me.”
His hands curled around the blankets, taking a deep breath before standing up. A hand immediately reached for his arm, and he didn’t need to look over to know that it was Sapnap. Usually, Sapnap would let him fall. Fundy chuckled, shaking his head. “I can walk, Sapnap.”
“Yeah, but… after… you know.” It was Fundy’s turn to huff, but he patted Sapnap’s hand instead. It was horrific for both of them too, to see their friend bleeding out. “You should rest.”
“It’s worse if I sit around doing nothing. It gives me more time to think about…”
Dream was already handing him a book, “You go… read.”
A hand hesitantly patted him on the shoulder, forest green eyes wincing in fear that he’d cause Fundy harm. The bruises and wounds were gone, but that didn’t mean the scars were gone. He forced a weary smile on his face, and eventually, Sapnap let his arm go. They both gave him worried glances, but they let him walk out of the tent and into the fresh night air. He grabbed a wand on his way out, knowing that it wasn’t his, nor was it Sapnap or Dream’s. He knew whose wand it was, but he dared not to remember those heterochromatic eyes. The chill in their glare.
Fundy shook his head, hugging the book against his chest.
“Lumos…” He expected the wand to backfire instantly, to scorch his hand as punishment for a… mudblood daring to use it. Instead, the wand merely accomplished the spell, a bright white light breaking through the dark. He sighed, opening the book to the first page, but the words would not come to him like they used to. Instead, they danced in front of him, his mind going back to the memory of that man. He had never met anyone so cold and ruthless. How could any human torture a person while still holding a passive look on their face? No, George Soot was not human.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced over to see Sapnap. His cheeks felt cold.
He didn’t even realize that he’d been crying.
---
“I thought he was dead.”
George pressed the bloodied torn cloth closer to his chest.
Wilbur watched him from across the table, eyes creased in concern, but he made no move to walk closer to him. Perhaps he thought George to be mad, he wouldn’t blame his husband for the assumption, George had been in Azkaban after all. He’d been apathetic since the day he broke out, but that didn’t mean Wilbur wasn’t worried that he would snap. Anytime, he might snap.
“I saw the fox birthmark, it was there. It was the same birthmark our child had. He’s alive, Wil. He’s alive.” But George wasn’t mad, no, he’d never been so sure of something in all his life.
“George, I miss our child. There hasn’t been a day where I don’t think of… Are you sure?”
“I am. The… I thought he was a mudblood. I didn’t know who he really was. I didn’t know!”
He thought back to the boy, shorter than what a child his age should be. He’d dragged him from the cells, his blood burning with anger then. Mudbloods and Halfbloods had no place in the wizarding world, and George had been irked to find a mere mudblood within their home. He’d left the Taken child and the Halo child in the dungeon, choosing to hurt the mudblood first. He could still hear the screams, the pleas, the begging cries. He could still feel the heat of the petrificus totalus spell that had hit him, the Taken child and the Halo child bursting into the room to save their unconscious friend. They had torn off a sleeve of his shirt to stop the bleeding.
That’s when George saw the birthmark, but he couldn’t do anything but watch as they escaped.
“I nearly killed him… I don’t… Did I kill him?” There was blood on one of the window sills. Their son’s blood. He could feel his breath come out in huge gasps, and that was when Wilbur came near, resting a hand against his shoulder. Their son was alive… but did he survive the blood loss? “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. If I had known then I wouldn’t have hurt him, Wilbur.”
“I know, love.” Wilbur gave him a reassuring smile, “He’s alive, I know it in my heart.”
“We’ll get him back… won’t we?”
Everything they were doing, it was for the child they’d lost. George wanted him back.
He remembered the day it all fell apart. News of his husband’s death had reached him, but it had been too late. The Order was already at their front door. They had arrested him on the spot for his “crimes” against the Wizarding World. He had hoped that they’d leave their child alone, but the headmaster - that Dumbledore - had taken the child into his arms. George had screamed, louder than he’s ever had before, but the Order had no mercy for him. The Order had stolen their crying and upset baby right from the crib, telling him coldly that the child could not live in their world.
Wizarding World… Muggle World… those fucking bastards.
“We’ll get him back, George. And nothing, nothing, will stop us this time.”
---
“What’s your plan? You know… after the war and all.”
They were both out of breath, the empty room providing them safety from the raging battle outside. Death eaters had been after them, but they’d managed to hide away, but it wouldn’t be long before they would be on the run again. Fundy glanced at the cracked stone walls, his heart heavy in his chest. When he’d been younger, Hogwarts felt like a dream, a place of fairytale and magic. If only his eleven-year-old self had known the bloodshed and carnage that hid behind the veil of fantasy. This was why he’d wanted to stay with his mum and dad. He never wanted this.
“You know what I’d do? For starters, I’m going to burn a big tree down.” His attention moved back to Sapnap, his best friend having laid down on a broken wooden table that was somehow still standing despite its three legs. There was a relaxed smirk on Sapnap’s face, “Then… huh…”
They’d miss their last year at Hogwarts. If anything, the three of them were drop outs. Fundy leaned against the wall, going through what he planned to do. Well, he definitely knew one thing.
“I’m going home.” Dark blue eyes looked up at him, Sapnap’s mouth open in shock. Fundy scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “I never wanted to be a wizard, remember? I just want to go home to my parents. Maybe go to college and get a real job in the real world. That’s my plan.”
“A real job? What does that mean? But come on, Fundy. You’d make a great professor. You’re like the smartest guy here.” Sapnap sat up, crossing his legs together. “You could even have a position in the Ministry if you wanted to, I’d support you… But seriously, you’re not gonna let Innit work in the ministry before you do, right? You can totally beat him! You just have to stay.”
“I don’t want to be a minister. I want to go home. I want to be back in the Muggle World.”
“Now why would anyone wish to be in the Muggle World.” A voice broke through their conversation, one that sent chills down Fundy’s spine. His breath quickened, his hand raising for his wand as George Soot appeared at the doorway. Sapnap jumped from the table, putting himself in between Fundy and George. The man looked at Sapnap coldly. “You’re a Halo.”
“Do you have a problem with that?” Sapnap scowled, pulling out his wand. They both knew that George was wandless, after all, Fundy was currently in possession of George’s wand. “You—”
“I’m not here for you. You’re a Halo, go back to that hole of a house your family comes from.” Even though he could barely see Sapnap’s face, he knew that had struck a nerve. George’s cold gaze moved from Sapnap to him, a kind smile appearing on the dark lord’s face. “Hello, Fundy.”
“Hey! Eyes here, asshole!” Sapnap moved until Fundy was hidden right behind him, it helped that Sapnap was taller. Despite his friend’s bravado, Fundy couldn’t stop the tremors that raced through his fingers. George was right in front of them. The man who haunted his nightmares and every second he closed his eyes. He swallowed down the cry that was rising in his throat. He couldn’t leave Sapnap to battle George on his own. His fear begged for him to stay behind Sapnap, but he couldn’t do that. He moved to stand beside his friend. “Fundy, get behind me.”
“We’re fighting him together.” His hand curled around his wand. George couldn’t possibly beat them. They both had wands, and he was wandless. For the first time, Fundy saw George smirk.
They woke up a few minutes later. Fundy groaned, holding his head in his hands. Surprisingly, his body didn’t hurt, and they were still in the room where George had cornered them in. He glanced around the room, following the string of loud curses that could only belong to Sapnap. He found his friend at the far corner of the room, Sapnap curled around himself, his face creased with pain. George had somehow bested them, even without his wand. He reached out a hand towards Sapnap’s shoulders, flinching when his friend let out a pained shout. Sapnap caught his eye, a weary smile appearing on his face. “Crucio… He took his wand back after you fainted.”
He leaned on the wall next to Sapnap, wishing he could do something to help his friend. Sapnap hadn’t pulled out his wand to heal himself yet, and Fundy didn’t need to ask to know that George had probably broken Sapnap’s wand. He let Sapnap relax for a bit, his poor friend still weak from the curse. He reached out to hold Sapnap’s hand, rubbing his knuckles for a bit. Sapnap weakly smiled, his eyes turning down towards Fundy’s neck, a puzzled look crossing his face.
“Where’d you get that scarf?”
---
The door clicked open behind him.
He pulled the knitted scarf closer to his face. He knew why they were in his room.
A pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from the window that he’d been glaring out of for the past few hours. They mocked him with the blue sky, like he could be free when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Wilbur carried him towards the sofa, placing him among the soft cushions that Fundy couldn’t help but sink into. He refused to look at either of them, his vow of silence holding his tongue from cursing out at them. After a moment, he heard George sigh, the scarf pulled down so that he had no choice but to glare at them. He wouldn’t give them anything but his silent anger. They’d killed Dream, and they wouldn’t tell him of Sapnap’s fate.
“You can’t stay angry forever.” Couldn’t he? Fundy scowled, turning around on the couch so that he wouldn’t have to look at them. It only lasted a second before George had a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him around to face them again. He didn’t know what game they were playing at, this whole, pretending he was their son. How long would this game of pretend stop? He wasn’t their son. To him, George would always be the man who tortured him without mercy and Wilbur would always be the man who’d killed his best friend. “Please, talk to us, sweetie.”
If he could, he’d have a string of curses waiting for him. And no, not the spells. But if he could…
“You won’t talk to us. You won’t even look at us unless we force you to. You insist on escaping every few days.” Wilbur crouched down beside the couch, and despite Fundy’s hatred for them, he couldn’t help but shudder anyway. Perhaps today would be the day they’d finally stop toying with him. They were dark lords, they were the monsters that brought both the Wizarding World and the Muggle World to their knees. Wilbur could kill him immediately with a spell, but George would make his death slow and painful. “You hate us. Will you not forgive your dear old dads?”
Fundy rolled his eyes, keeping his mouth shut.
Wilbur sighed, casting George a disappointed look. “I told you. There’s only one choice left.”
He scooted away as George sat down beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Wilbur sat on the other end of the sofa, pulling out his wand. “Fundy, my son… we’ll have to obliviate you—”
“No.” His voice was tired and rough, unrecognizable even to his own ears. George’s hold on him seemed to only tighten, resting his chin against the top of Fundy’s head. He scowled, trying to pry himself away from the man’s grasp, but George held on too tightly, like he didn’t wish to let go. It only served to spike his rising anger. “You two are insane. Let fucking go of me. Kill me. Torture me. Stop playing this fucking game with me. You killed Dream! You hurt Sapnap! You’re killing muggles, muggleborns, halfbloods, and squibs. I don’t give a damn about what you do to me! I hate both of you! I hate you and I’d rather fucking die than let you obliviate me!”
“You don’t mean that.” He flinched, George’s voice was too close to his ears. He still had nightmares of their first encounter. How could he forget when the scar on his neck served as a reminder. Which is why… George adjusted the scarf around his neck. “You don’t wish to die.”
“You don’t understand, Fundy. The Order took you away from us. We just want our son back, but you hate us. You won’t even give us a chance.” Maybe he would if they weren’t murderers and tyrants. A hand cupped his cheek, Wilbur’s kind gaze made Fundy sick. This was the last face Dream had seen… but it had been creased with anger. “You’ll be happy with us. We promise.”
“That’s because I wouldn’t even be me. I’ll be happy because I wouldn’t be me!”
He struggled fruitlessly in George’s hold, but it was useless. George was rubbing gentle circles on his arms, whispering words of “comfort” into his ear. He shook his head, hot tears streaming past his cheeks. This was worse than death. He didn’t want to forget. He wanted to remember his parents, even if they weren’t really his parents. He wanted to remember his best friends. He wanted to remember who he was. Wilbur shushed him, wiping away his tears. He cried louder. He’d be a blank slate the next time he was aware. He wouldn’t remember… He wouldn’t remember anything at all. “It won’t hurt, I promise.” Wilbur pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Obliviate!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unfortunately, Georgebur won and Fundy got obliviated
And yeah George knitted Fundy a scarf <3
Also, ah yes, the names:
Dark Lord Wilbur Soot Dark Lord George Soot (Lore) Dream Taken Fundy Salmon (Soot, actually) Sapnap Halo
(Also don't ask why Dumbledore is still Dumbledore here XDDD, I don't want to put any character in his role XDDD)
#fundy#dreamwastaken dsmp#sapnap#georgenotfound dsmp#wilbur soot#georgebur#dream smp fanfiction#dsmp#harry potter au
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MK storytime! *Warning: intense content*
For @theprinceofchocobos since you loved my last story. Now some complimentary angst!
“Nighty night little partner.” Erron told his son. The infant protested quietly as he places the little boy in his crib. He was sure to keep a pistol by the bed for in case of emergency since he was still anxious about leaving Kotal Kahn’s aid. He knew that someone would send the Kahn’s lackeys to find and kill him, or anyone who gets in the way. His wife greeted him,
“Erron, the baby will be fine. Besides, the Kahn’s goons won’t be able to find us out here.”
Erron nodded and pulled the thin hood of black satin over the bassinet. He felt uneasy leaving his newborn unattended. He gathers his wife into his embrace,
“Babydoll…its just…I…I don’t want anything to happen to our son, that’s all…call me paranoid but…”
His wife silenced him with putting her finger to his lips.
“Erron you are paranoid. He’ll be okay to sleep in here. Besides, if he starts crying, we’ll hear him.”
Erron nodded looking down at the bullet pendant he gave her. The way it bounced to her pulse slightly made him slightly calmer placing a kiss on her forehead.
“I love you darlin’. You stayed strong giving birth and that’s is an incredible feat.”
She hugged him softly, as he returned the hug tightly. Erron continues,
“Babydoll now that we have our son, you can bet I’ll be home more and don’t go too far.”
“I know, Erron. Now, let’s come to bed. You look exhausted.”
Erron took his wife’s hand, eager to get some welcome respite from the long, exciting, yet tiring and fulfilling day.
****************
In the other side of the house, the Zaterran, Reptile, crawled in through the kitchen window, following Erron’s scent. Knocking over the apple pie set to cool there, it landed on the floor smashed to goo. To a human, the cottage smelled of whiskey, tobacco and sweat with cinnamon but to the Saurian it smelled atrocious. His orders were to capture and kill the mercenary, but he was worth more dead than alive. The reptilian humanoid creature climbed through the counter onto the linoleum floor.
Suddenly, his nose was brought to another point of interest; the smell of afterbirth.
“So the traitor has offspring? How curious…”
He gets up onto his feet, following the scent to a trash bag he tore open. Inside the bag was blood covered towels, blankets and an umbilical cord in a plastic bag tightly tied. The Saurian hissed at himself finding the waste products as he picked up another pair of scents: a female and a child.
“So he has a mate as well? I shall kill her and the traitor!”
Making his way to the last room in the small house, he pushes the door open to find a bassinet, a small dresser made of old wood, and moonlight coming in through the window.
“Hello wretched spawn…” Reptile hissed. The small baby boy lay sleeping peacefully as the Saurian attempted to lift the sheet over the crib.
He studied the small creature: it resembled Erron almost entirely. Petal pink skin, soft brown hair, and a small chubby nose with a birthmark on the baby’s neck shaped like a bullet. Reptile bent down to smell the infant: a sweet and chalky scent with the faintest smell of afterbirth and flowers.
The child’s eyes flutter open seeing the creature. He remained silent as Reptile licked the baby’s cheek.
“Disgusting…” The saurian hissed once more.
He reaches down into the crib, and almost immediately, the baby boy wailed and cried feeling Reptile’s sharp claws digging into his flesh.
In the other bedroom, Erron flew out of bed hearing his son’s cries. They sounded painful and it hurt his ears.
His wife heard their son’s cries and she followed her husband to the nursery.
“I’m coming!” Erron called to his baby.
What they saw was horrifying: Reptile greeted Erron with a claw to the baby’s delicate chest. Erron cocked and aimed when Reptile dug his claw into the baby’s flesh by a centimeter. The cowboy’s heart leapt into his throat hearing the Zatteran’s threat.
“There you are, traitor! You will submit and the Kahn will have your head.”
Erron pleaded with Reptile, his voice trembling but firm.
“Please don’t hurt my son…Please, Reptile leave him out of this.”
Reptile flicked his long green tongue as green acidic saliva dripped from his teeth.
“Your pathetic spawn is helpless and frail.”
A drop of acid fell onto his son’s arm causing a blister to appear.
“DON’T YOU DARE HURT MY BOY!” Erron screamed. The baby cried even harder from fear and pain.
His wife clung to his side as he saw Reptile’s tongue taste the bit of blood on his claw. He chuckled,
“I never thought an Earthrealmer’s child could be so tempting…”
“You put him down you slimy, cold blooded sonofabitch…”
Erron growled. He aimed for the Zaterran’s head as he could feel his heart begin to race with fear for his child.
Reptile’s threat made his fear intensify as his wife began to cry.
“Please put him down! Don’t kill our baby!”
Reptile’s eyes gave her an expression of hate,
“Be quiet harlot!”
The Saurian stares at Erron with a malicious grin,
“This child will be further proof of how you betrayed the Kahn.”
Without another word, the mercenary gathers every ounce of courage he could muster. Erron shoots Reptile in the head, the loud gunshot echoing in the nursery. He quickly reaches for the baby and catches the infant landing on Reptile’s corpse. He swaddled his baby boy, crying and wailing, bleeding from the scratch on his chest.
“It’s okay buddy, I’m here, papa’s here. Shhh it’s okay.”
He held his son close as he tried desperately to quiet his baby. Patting his son’s back and kissing his head, Erron was relieved his newborn was alive. He held his son’s wound to slow the bleeding as his wife knelt down to him,
“Oh my god, is he all right, oh dear god…”
Erron was panting and pale as he tried embracing his wife. The nightmare was over but he had more than enough proof that his fears came into fruition.
“Babydoll, I think we should keep our son in our room from now on…” Erron choked out.
His wife nodded and replied with a glassy look in her eyes,
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. You’re right…”
Placing a kiss on his wife’s head he forgave her. Looking down at Reptile’s corpse, he spat on it and looked down at his baby boy. His son was quiet now but the wound on his chest was enough to leave a nasty scar.
“Kotal will pay for this…” Erron muttered to himself.
“You’re saying…?” His wife began.
Erron nodded,
“Tomorrow morn’ get Kano and Kabal on the horn. We have some work to do.”
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Eternal Love of Dream - Chapter Next 5
(Image Source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/131730357839252427/)
It was the most exciting time of the year in Quinqui. It was time for harvest festival. This was a 7 day long festival with parades, performances from acrobats and a grand fair. Every year anyone related to Quinqui, no matter how far from home he might be, would make it a point to come. Even visitors from all over would gather here.
Bai Xian, the crown prince Ye Hua and their little son Ah-Li had also come to the fox den for this celebration. Ah-Li and Gungun were both super excited to go to the fair. Chong Lin was trying to keep them interested in other things long enough so that they could go only after the sun would go down a little. Bai Xian was so not wanting to walk around in the hot sun and had tasked Chong Lin with this duty.
She herself had come to Xiaobai's room and was helping her bathe and get dressed. Xiaobai had recovered quite a lot, but her wound still hurt if she tried to move quickly or even tried to comb her long hair. So Bai Xian had taken it upon herself to look after her favorite niece.
Dijun had ventured to the kitchen asking his mother-in-law's help to cook something tasty and nutritious for his wife. His mother-in-law was only too happy to oblige. Finding not much else to do by himself Ye Hua had joined in too. They all chatted and cooked away a whole feast with sweet and sour fish, noodle soup, congee and various types of cakes. All of them were feeling very accomplished. Dijun and Ye Hua loaded two trays with all the food and decided to go to Xiaobai's room so they all could eat together.
When the two reached Xiaobai's room, she had finished bathing and getting dressed. Bai Xian was combing her hair and they were chatting. "Please don't tell whatever I am about to say, to Dijun. I don't want him to feel any more guilty than what he is already feeling.", Fengjiu was saying. Dijun signalled to Ye Hua to stop and not enter the room. They both placed the food trays on a nearby table and waited. Ye Hua signalled to Dijun that he will be back soon and left in search of their sons.
"Ye Hua is a true gentleman!", mused Dijun and continued to eavesdrop. His wife was about to tell something to her aunt that she thought would make him feel guilty. So? It wasn't going to be pretty. But he was quite thick skinned and he could handle it. At least that's what he told himself at that time.
Fengjiu continued reminiscing and talking to her aunt. She was talking about some of the hardest days of her life and it wasn't easy for her. But this was her aunt and she was one person Fengjiu did not mind being herself with.
"I waited for Dijun for 73 days. Each day was harder than the one before, but I waited. Everyone told me he had chosen to go to demon realm with Ji Heng. I chose not to believe them. I went to demon realm with Chong Lin to look for Dijun. There they told me he had been with Ji Heng. I was heartbroken.
I returned home here and was crying inconsolably in my room when medicine god Zhe Yan walked in. He sensed something off with me, checked my pulse and told me that I was pregnant. That moment! It changed my whole life.
I remember that night I did not sleep at all. But by the time morning came, I had made up my mind. God Zhe Yan had left me two pills - one that would abort and another that would preserve the baby. He also left a note saying he would support me no matter what I picked.
This was my baby. Mine and Dijun's. The only man I have ever loved. This baby was symbol of my unconditional love for Dijun. I knew he had loved me sincerely too. May be after seeing Ji Heng in trouble, he had decided to spend the rest of his life with her. But I knew when he had told me he loved me, he had meant it. I would keep this baby and live for the baby. This baby would be my whole universe from then on. I ate the pill that would preserve my baby.
Then I packed a few clothes, supplies to hide my birthmark, dress up as a man etc and left Quinqui. First I went to Sky Kingdom. Something in my heart was still not ready to let him go. I hoped to see him one last time. If he wanted to be with Ji Heng, all he had to do was tell me. I would get out of his way. But I didn't find him there. I knew I needed to be strong for this baby. Especially since I would be his only parent. So I let go of everything and left sky kingdom.
From there I went to Nether world, and checked up on Ye Quingti. I knew I would pay his debt no matter what. I left a trinket with Lord Xie Gu so he could reach me when he needed me to wake Quingti up. And then i went to mortal realm and stayed there until... "
"Why mortal realm? Didn't you know you would be all alone and you wouldn't be able to use your magic either? How could you have acted so foolishly, Fengjiu?", scolded Bai Xian.
"Aunt, I chose mortal realm because I did not want anyone to find me. I knew if any of you had learned that I was pregnant, you would confront Dijun and make him take responsibility for me and the baby. I knew what it was like, to stay away from the one I loved, I could never wish that for him.", Fengjiu explained.
Bai Xian rolled her eyes indignantly and continued with the questions. "How did you manage your pregnancy? Going into labor? The delivery? Did you take care of yourself properly at all?". She was seriously concerned.
"I did the best I could. I went to mortal realm and worked as a cook in a restaurant at that time. It was really hard work all day long. My body ached all the time and I was exhausted. But at least the owner who was an old lady, was kind to me. She let me eat leftovers and also let me take breaks often in my last month of pregnancy. She even revived me when I passed out from 3 days of labor pains and she helped me deliver Gungun safely. I am so grateful to her.
I was really sad when her son showed up 3 months later and wanted to force himself on me. I fought him, made him unconscious and ran away with Gungun. I did suffer physically and I was also very sad to leave the old lady to look after herself. But, I had no choice, so I did what I could.", Fengju tried in vain to make light of it. Bai Xian was appalled at what she heard.
And so was Dijun. He felt he had been too naive in thinking he could handle whatever he heard about her days in mortal realm. He had really underestimated her hardships.
Her days had been hard. When she had given him up, she had also given up her family and friends. All because of him. He knew he could never repay her for the things he had put her through.
"You are a Princess of Quinqui. You are the Monarch of this kingdom. You are the Empress of one of the most prestigious, powerful and revered god in the Sky Kingdom. Yet you had to work in restaurant and pass out from labor pains with no one to look after you. That's just so ...... ", Bai Xian was so furious, so flabbergasted that she could not find the right words at all.
"How can you love someone so much? How can you love him so much?", she asked incredulously to Fengjiu.
"Love is mysterious in its ways.", Fengjiu replied with a faint smile.
She knew her aunt was very angry. So Fengjiu reached for her aunt's hand. She hugged her aunt and wiped her aunt’s tears smilingly. Bai Xian's anger melted away. No one could stay angry at Fengjiu for long. With more tears in her eyes, Bai Xian planted a kiss on Fengjiu's head and held her close.
Dijun decided it was about time the ladies were interrupted. He wasn't sure he could bear to know any more of the hardships this delicate woman had toughed out because of him. He wasn't that thick skinned after all. He picked up the tray of food that had gone cold and heated everything back up with magic. He saw Ye Hua return with both the kids and together they walked in.
They sat in a circle and ate together. Both guys were pretty happy seeing their wives eat and praise the food they had prepared.
Dijun kept stealing weird glances at Xiaobai. She could sense something off about him. Was he worried about something? Was he about to go away soon and leave her for long time again? That thought scared her and made her very sad. But watching him smile at Gungun, she reasoned with herself that that must not be the case. She would have to ask him later when they were alone, she decided.
And she did get a chance to be alone with him soon. After the food was all gobbled up, Ah-Li reminded everyone that they had to go to the fair after lunch. So Gungun, Ah-Li, Bai Xian and Ye Hua all got ready to go.
“I will bring you sugar paintings, mom. Tell me what kind you want?”, Gungun said.
“Bring me back one dragon and one fox.”, she replied and exchanged a meaningful look with Dijun. That did bring back fond memories and a smile to Dijun’s face. She was happy to see her trick had worked to lighten his mood.
After they were all gone, Dijun closed the door behind them. He came back to her and helped her walk to the window. Although it was quite bright and sunny outside, the glorious willow tree in the yard provided just enough shade on the window seat. They both sat there with Dijun wrapping his arms around Xiaobai.
“What’s going on, Dijun? What’s been worrying you? Please tell me. And please be completely honest with me, ok? No matter how bad whatever that is, I want to know. And I want to work together with you to make it better. So tell me why you are so sad, so worried?” Xiaobai said looking into his eyes with sincerity.
“Xiaobai, I overheard what you were telling your aunt about the time of Gungun’s birth. I am feeling so guilty about that. As a husband I have failed you. Miserably failed you. I am so very sorry.”, Dijun’s voice cracked.
Xiaobai let out a long sigh and took his hands in hers. She looked at him, quite relieved that the worry wasn't anything about their future. She began to talk. “Dijun, what has passed is gone by. No matter what, we can never change it. So please let it all go. I do feel guilty about misunderstanding you, about talking to you coldly last time we met in the Sky Kingdom and keeping your son away from you for so long. But I am learning from it and learning to let it go. Let’s promise to always be completely honest with each other. Let’s start over, ok?”
A deep sigh left Dijun’s mouth as relief washed over him. His Xiaobai was still willing to give him another chance. She was asking to start afresh with him.
“When did my silly little fox become so wise?”, he chuckled and petted her nose. Hugging her, he let out a long sigh. She shifted to be more closer to him.
He pulled her close and said, “Are you tired, Xiaobai? Sleep a little if you are tired.” He planted a soft kiss on her hair, “Be a good girl and take rest for a while. We can take a small walk outside later if you feel better.”
“Hhmm..”, she said. Then she sunk her head on his chest and closed her eyes contentedly.
#three lives three worlds the pillow book#eternal love of dream#pillow book#bai feng jiu#dong hua#donghua dijun#xiao bai#cdrama
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To This Day
by Shane Koyczan
When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops and because my grandmother thought it was cute and because they were my favourite she let me keep doing it
not really a big deal
one day before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree and bruised the right side of my body
I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it because I was afraid I’d get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been
a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal’s office from there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home
I saw no reason to lie as far as I was concerned life was pretty good I told her “whenever I’m sad my grandmother gives me karate chops”
this led to a full scale investigation and I was removed from the house for three days until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises
news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school and I earned my first nickname
pork chop
to this day I hate pork chops
I’m not the only kid who grew up this way surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called and we got called them all so we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us that we’d be lonely forever that we’d never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed so broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone that an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away that there’s no way for it to metastasize
it does
she was eight years old our first day of grade three when she got called ugly we both got moved to the back of the class so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls but the school halls were a battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day we used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse outside we’d have to rehearse running away or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there in grade five they taped a sign to her desk that read beware of dog
to this day despite a loving husband she doesn’t think she’s beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn’t quite get the job done and they’ll never understand that she’s raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word mom because they see her heart before they see her skin that she’s only ever always been amazing
he was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree adopted but not because his parents opted for a different destiny he was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy started therapy in 8th grade had a personality made up of tests and pills lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs four fifths suicidal a tidal wave of anti depressants and an adolescence of being called popper one part because of the pills and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty he tried to kill himself in grade ten when a kid who still had his mom and dad had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit
to this day he is a stick on TNT lit from both ends could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moments before it’s about to fall and despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration he remains a conversation piece between people who can’t understand sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction and more to do with sanity
we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way to this day kids are still being called names the classics were hey stupid hey spaz seems like each school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year and if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear do they make a sound? are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like kids can be cruel? every school was a big top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers from clowns to carnies all of these were miles ahead of who we were we were freaks lobster claw boys and bearded ladies oddities juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal but at night while the others slept we kept walking the tightrope it was practice and yeah some of us fell
but I want to tell them that all of this shit is just debris leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself get a better mirror look a little closer stare a little longer because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit you built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself you signed it “they were wrong” because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it you have to believe that they were wrong
they have to be wrong
why else would we still be here? we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them we stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway and if in some way we are don’t worry we only got out to walk and get gas we are graduating members from the class of fuck off we made it not the faded echoes of voices crying out names will never hurt me
of course they did
but our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain
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Family Birthmark
Ch. 6, A Glint of Beskar
18+ eventual smut, violence, gore, trauma flashbacks, TW: blood, 1.7k words
It takes about 45 minutes to cauterize the wound on his thigh because he keeps jerking and trying to buck you off. In other circumstances, maybe you’d find it funny. Eventually, the bleeding stops and he’s left with a ragged scar about six inches long on the inside of his thigh, but you don’t even have time to gawk, you just turn around on his hips and remove the wadded up shirt from his abdomen. You thought he passed out a few minutes ago, so the slight twitch you feel below your groin and his hands slowly moving back up your thighs takes you by surprise.
You yelp, lifting your hips off of him and bracing one hand on his sternum while the other goes to work with the machine. This wound is smaller, but still deep and oozing blood. He did a piss poor job of applying pressure. He groans the minute the hot tip touches his skin, bucking slightly and digging his fingers into your ass this time. You bite down on your lip, hard. Concentrating on the task, you do your best to ignore the heat welling up inside you. He’s a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake, and a hurt one at that. Are you really thinking about that right now? You scold yourself as you drag the tip across his skin. As you get closer to the muscles that form a deep V right above his waistband, you hear his breathing hitch through the modulator. Oh for fuck’s sake, he is not doing this right now.
He is, you feel him, and as much as you try to ignore it, you can’t. Instead you lift your hips higher, trying to keep your mind focused on the task at hand.
Though he jerks a few more times, his death grip on your ass helps him stay still enough to speed up this wound’s cauterization. Proud of your work and the fact you at least kept him from dying, you roll off him and reach back over him to pull his cape across his body. He keeps one hand on you, but you slowly remove it, whispering incoherently to him while you get up to find towels and a bucket to fill with warm water. As much as you’d like to just pull him into the fresher, you have no idea how that would work for two reasons: the helmet and the tiny size of the shower. Instead, this will have to do. Using towels would at least remove enough of the blood to make sure he’s not bleeding anywhere else.
After some digging around, and making sure the kid is still sleeping so as not to traumatize him with his dad lying half lifeless on the ground, you make your way back over to Mando. By some luck, you found multiple blankets shoved in a cabinet, so you grabbed those too but did your best to keep them out of the carnage. Kneeling next to him, you dip one of the small towels you found into hot water and wring it out before slowly wiping at his shoulders and chest.
He’s calm now, his breathing still shallow but coming faster, which you know means he’ll panic as soon as he’s able to find his bearings. You have to work quickly, but in this position, you can’t help but admire the man in front of you.
His smooth skin is evenly tanned, even though it probably hasn’t seen the sun in ages. His hair, that you can see, is dark brown, almost black and a trail leads down -
You shake your head, “This is ridiculous.” Your murmur is so soft you doubt he could hear you even if he was conscious. You can’t help but notice his muscles as you continue cleaning the blood off him, though. He’s strong and chiseled, but not large, though his size dwarfs you when he’s standing. As you drag the towel lower down his chest, you think you see a slight tremble under your touch, but you do your best to ignore it.
You move to his legs, doing your best to clean up the wound that is now a glaring scare. Being this close to-
Nevermind. You push those thoughts out of your mind again and again When you’re satisfied, you discard the towel and grab another one, dipping it in the water and wringing it out again. Realizing this next part is going to be tough, you decide the best way to do this is to support Mando with your knee. Moving back to his side, you throw one leg over his middle and gently pull him into a sitting position, your other leg coming up to support his back. Straddling him from the side allows you to reach around clean his back and sides better.
His helmet rolls lazily against your shoulder - probably still out cold.
You notice a few scratches after wiping most of the blood away, but nothing too serious. What catches your eye, though, is a dark mark just below his collar bone. You wipe at a little more, thinking it’s dirt, but when it doesn’t budge, you squint your eyes, trying to distinguish it.
The realization hits you like a train.
You’re running over the barren landscape of Nevarro, trailing after a bunch of boys around your age. Their shrill laughter echoes off the caves formed by lava rivers that are on either side of your path. You stop to stare at one of them, entranced by the heat that billows out, knowing if you stand in front of it for too long that you might get burned.
The one thing your parents always tell you is to not hold your hand to close, or you’ll lose it. Hearing your dad’s voice in your head, you turn away just in time to see one of the boys in front of you fall.
His hands, thrown out in front of his body to protect him, land on a cracking piece of black ground, just before molten lava spews out and onto them.
His scream will be forever burned into your brain.
One of the boys next to him, your best and fiercest friend, tears his cloak and shirt off, trying to hit the flames and stop them from destroying your companion’s hands. As you run forward to try to help, the ground splits more and those brown eyes look up at you just before he jumps and rams into you. Both of you roll back just as your playmate is taken by the heat.
He doesn’t let go of you though, his 8 year old body shielding your smaller, 6 year old one. As you open your eyes against his shoulder, you see the Djarin family birthmark -
You’re pulled back to the present when a strong hand grasps your tricep, clinging to you as his body trembles from shock. Still struck by the coincidence, you try to compose yourself enough to support his weight as you scotch back against the wall to hold him. His breath comes in racking sobs, and you wonder if he’s crying underneath the helmet or if he’s panicking.
“M-mando, it’s okay. You’re okay,” you try to comfort him but the modulator rasps underneath his heavy breathing. He’s trembling harder now and you reach for the blankets near you, stretching to grab them. Stretching so far you can almost hear the groan of your joints, but finally you catch a corner and yank it over to you, shaking it out to cover him. “Mando-”
Cradled in your arms, his helmet uncomfortably pressed into your neck, he murmurs, but the modulator doesn’t pick it up as he’s racked by another round of sobs. You realize that he’s not crying, he’s hurting because…
“Maker! The Bacta! Mando h-hold on.” Luckily this is closer to you, and you don’t strain yourself to grab it, “This is going to hurt, only for second.” You hear him take in a deep breath right before you stab the needle into his arm, pushing down on the plunger and watching the liquid as it disappears into his bloodstream. He jolts a little, but almost instantly relaxes into you again.
After what feels like an eternity of holding him and making sure he’s still breathing, you realize there’s a quarry that needs to be retrieved. You start to shimmy out from under him, and lay him down, rolling one of the blankets up for underneath his helmet. Wondering how comfortable that is, you lay a blanket over him and walk to the back of the hull, slamming your palm into the control board to lower the ramp. The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, making you realize that you’ve been with him all night.
The quarry is definitely dead, and when you get closer you suck in a sharp breath, leaning down next to her, “Red.” She looks like a blaster shot went straight through her chest and you untie the rope around her legs, leaving her and leading the Blurg back to its enclosure. Luckily it doesn’t resist, and almost looks grateful to be away from the corpse.
Red is much lighter compared to Mando, and you quickly drag her inside the hull, propping her limp form against a chamber and investigating the panel to your right. Finally deciding on what to press, you punch in the buttons and wait for the hiss of gas. Within seconds, the quarry is in carbonite and hanging in the anti-gravity hold area.
You hesitate a moment before walking back to the hut and leaving a note for Kuiil, explaining the situation in short and thanking him for his hospitality. By the time you get back to Mando, the kid is trying to climb onto his lap and making grabby hands.
“Hey kiddo,” you scoop him up, “leave him alone for awhile. He’s hurt, so we’re gonna get out of here.” He coos back at you incoherently. After closing the door and checking to see if you can hear the modulated breath sounds, you make your way up to the cockpit.
Mando’s pucks all give last known locations of quarries, so you find the nearest one and punch it into the navigation as you start the engines and lift off the ground. You hope the small lurches as you leave the planet’s atmosphere don’t bother Mando too much, and soon as the Crest enters hyperspace, you’re heading back down the ladder with the kid.
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Santi (Part 2)
Pairing: Bucky X Reader
Words: 4430
Warnings: Fluff, flirt,
Summary: The team leaves for a mission leaving you and Bucky alone at the tower.
Santi Masterlist
After bidding the team goodbye the next morning you and Bucky head to the kitchen for breakfast.
"How was your first night in the new place?"
"Good. Slept okay. How'd you sleep?"
"I have a hard time getting to sleep any given day but once I did last night I was good."
In the kitchen you pull out a frozen breakfast burrito to heat and grab an apple and peanut butter. Bucky fixes a huge bowl of cereal.
"Why aren't you on the mission?" Bucky asks.
"You want the official answer or the truth?" You ask.
"The truth, always."
"Steve didn't want you to be alone so he asked me to stay."
"You were okay with that?"
"Well, you know, my 'particular skills are not needed for this mission'" You say imitating Steve.
"You don't mind being my babysitter?"
"Well, first, I'm not your babysitter. You're a big boy and can wipe your butt all by yourself. Second, I don't mind having some time to take it easy. It's usually hard to come by. And, lastly, the rest of the team has worked with you before. I like that it gives me the chance to get to know you. Not the file or news reports or rumors, but you as a person." Bucky seems taken aback by your answer. "You said you wanted the truth, always." You smile and Bucky seems to relax a bit.
"Thanks." He pauses for a minute but then smirks, "Wipe my own butt? You always had that mouth on ya?"
"All my life." You smile at him.
"Apple and peanut butter?" Bucky asks as he watches you eat.
"It's delicious!" You pick up a fresh slice, scoop some peanut butter onto it. Leaning over the table you hold it up for Bucky to take a bite. "Try it." He eyes you as he bites into the slice you are holding out to him.
"Okay. Weird but good "
You giggle at his expression and pop the other half into your mouth.
"Are you always happy like this? You always seem to be on the verge of laughing." He asks suddenly.
"No. But, I don't know, I guess I've had the privilege of living my life unlike you and Steve. It's given me the time to work through things, figure out what makes me happy. I guess I've just lived long enough to learn contentment. And I think that's the basis of happiness."
"Lived long enough? You're what? 25? 30?"
Your face falls. "You haven't read my file."
"No."
"Have you read any of them?"
"No. It feels... invasive. Like I'm prying."
"It's not. It's just basics. Nothing overly personal. Abilities. Skills. Things you need to know in the field." You say emphatically. "For example, let's say we're on a mission. I get shot. Femoral artery hit. Bleeding out. What do you do?"
"Apply a tourniquet. Determine if I can complete the mission without you dying."
"Wrong. You just wasted time and possibly cost us the mission. You do nothing. I don't need medical attention." You take a deep breath, "I'm a Gifted. I have healing abilities. My body will force out the bullet and the wound will be repaired within 90 seconds. Blood supply restored in minutes. You and Steve heal fast but I put your abilities to shame there."
"Do you have any other abilities?"
"Additional strength, not your level but decent. Increased metabolism. Slow aging." You pause and look directly into his eyes, "And empathic telepathy."
"Like Wanda?"
"Wanda's a little different. She's more telepathic in the sense of reading minds and forcing waking dreams. My ability allows me, if I choose to, read people's emotions. And I can imbue people with emotions."
"Force them to feel things?"
"Ye...yes." You say hesitantly and then look him directly in the eyes, "Look, I have read your file and I know you've had your mind messed with enough. I will never, NEVER do that to you without your consent. Never."
You stare at each other for a moment before Bucky gives a slight nod.
"Is it helpful?"
"My specialty was deep cover. Being able to force trust, calm, caring. It makes getting to the inner circles easier. But after doing it for so long I had to get out. I was other people so much I started to lose myself. So, I told Fury that I wanted out. And then the world blew up and I ended up right back in the middle of it. I think I'm where I'm supposed to be now."
"How do you do it?"
"I just think it and I kinda push it to the other person. It's even easier when I'm touching them. If a person can somehow resist me mentally, once I touch them the resistance fades."
"What all can you make them feel?"
"Any emotion. Several if needed."
"Fear? Panic?"
"Yes."
"Pain?"
"Emotional pain, yes."
"Love?"
"Yes."
"Pleasure?"
You look at Bucky and raise an eyebrow at that one before replying in a low voice, "Yes."
"Have you done it to me?"
Voice strong again, "No. Never without your permission."
"Our teammates?"
"Only with their consent. Most people want to try it at least once."
"I have nightmares sometimes." Bucky says quietly.
"Yeah." Your tone softens.
"Could you calm me if that was happening?"
"I can, yes. I can also help you sleep. Do you want me to?"
Bucky stares into his bowl of cereal for a moment. When his eyes flicker up to you there is a tinge of red to them. He gives a slight nod. Reaching over you curl your hand around his wrist. "You're my teammate, my friend. I'll do anything I can to help you. Anything, okay?"
Bucky gives a small nod.
"Okay. Time to get some training in. Don't want Steve to think I'm slacking the first day without him." You start clearing your breakfast dishes.
"He's a real drill sergeant, huh?"
"Sometimes."
"Wait, how old are you? I take it, older than 25."
You laugh, "That's sweet, Buck. I'm 62."
"So Sam was including you in his geriatric patients?"
"I think you have to be over 65 to be in that category. You and Steve are still the geezers of the place." You smirk at him. "I'll catch up with you later."
"I'll see you in the training room in a bit."
"Sounds good." You say as you walk to the elevator. Your heart hurts a little for Bucky knowing it had to be hard for him to ask for help. You hope he knows how strong he is, how brave to ask.
Before Bucky heads to the training room he detours to his room. Going to the desk he pulls out the stack of files Steve had given him and quickly located Santi's. Flipping it open he read:
Name: Bella Santi Delarosa
Last known address: Stark Tower
Date of Birth: November 1, 1957
Place of Birth: Mobile, Alabama
Status: Active
Title: Agent
Aliases: The Saint, Lucia Roman, Marie Frances, Eve Lastra, Elana Romano.
Document Citizenship: United States
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 140 lbs
Gender: Female
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Languages: English, Spanish, French, Italian, Russian, Portuguese, German.
Identifiable Markings: Triangle shaped birthmark right shoulder.
Family: Parents, Marco and Giulia Delarosa, deceased. Brother, Luca Delarosa, deceased.
Classification: Gifted
Abilities: Healing. Increased strength, stamina, reflexes, balance, and accuracy. Decreased aging. Empathic telepathy.
Skills: Multiple forms of Martial arts, acrobatics, expert marksmanship, espionage, infiltration, tactical coordination.
Bucky closes the file and heads to the training room. He spots Santi lifting weights and joins her. "So, 'The Saint', huh?"
You laugh, "You read my file?"
"Yeah."
"That's what you took away from it? My code name?"
"Bella Santi Delarosa. Beautiful Saint of the Rose?"
"I was born on All Saints Day. My parents were Catholic." You shrug. "Any other questions?"
"I noticed the slight southern accent so Alabama made sense. Did you grow up there?"
"Until I was 13."
He wanted to ask what happened but knew it wasn't the right time to get into it. Deciding on a subject change, "Expert marksman?"
"You bet your ass."
"I was gonna bet lunch, actually."
"Knives or guns?"
"Knives."
"Yay!" You clap your hands as you move to the weapons cage to pull out knives. "Let's start with a target and we'll see if we need to get to trick shots to determine a winner."
Bucky glances at the body shaped training target at the end of the range, picks up a knife, and says "Right eye." The blade finds its mark with barely a glance.
"Left eye." Hit.
"Left shoulder." Hit.
"Right shoulder." Hit
"Center mass." Hit.
"Same." Hit within millimeters of his knife.
"Nose." Hit.
"Mouth." Hit.
Getting an idea you move in a bit closer as he says "Forehead" and aims. As he's preparing to throw you reach on tiptoe and blow in his ear. The knife hits the target's groin.
"I'm sorry. Did you say forehead or foreskin? If it was forehead, you were a little low on that one, weren't you?" You say still right next to Bucky's ear. Bucky turns eyes wide and swallows hard. You smile innocently up at him.
"Wouldn't you call that cheating?" Bucky's voice is gravelly as he stared down at you.
"I'd call it winning. After all, out in the field there's all kinds of distractions. You have to get used to them." You say in mock innocence with a sweet smile.
Bucky tries to keep a straight face but a chuckle slips through. "Fine. I'll give you this one, Doll."
"I accept your defeat. There is this great diner right by the Museum of Natural History. They have phenomenal burgers and then we can go to the museum."
"I thought the bet was for lunch."
"Well, I figured I'd take you to the museum as a consolation prize. After all, I did cheat."
"I'm not taking you away from any plans?"
"Those were my plans. Now, you get to pay for lunch though."
Bucky laughed and his heart warmed a little at the thought that you had planned out the day with him.
"Let's finish training and then we can get ready to head out." You say heading back to the weights.
Three hours later, you arrive at the diner and both order burgers and fries.
"Can I ask you something? Personal?" Bucky asks, glancing at you nervously.
"Anything. I'm kind of an open book. Which is unusual in this group."
"Yeah." Bucky says on a short laugh "What happened to your family?"
You knew it was coming at some point. "You want the short or long version?"
"Long if you're comfortable with telling it."
"Yeah." You pause to collect your thoughts. "You read my file so you know I grew up in Mobile, Alabama. My parents were Marco and Guilia and I had a brother named Luca. He was two years younger than me. My parents wanted more kids but it just didn't happen. We were a big Italian family. Steve always says he knows I'm Italian because I'm loud, always eating, and am touchy-feely."
Bucky laughs "Sounds right. You've never shied away from touching me."
"Sorry." You say feeling a slight blush creep up. "Please let me know if I make you uncomfortable. I just don't think about it much."
"No, I like it. Most people don't get very close to me. Keep going"
You smile blushing a little more but continue with the story. "My grandparents, my dad's parents, had a bakery. Most of the family worked there. I loved it. I had 8 aunts and uncles, a million cousins. Big, big family. Nice life, ya know. Lots of love and lots of drama. Then when I was thirteen, we were driving home from my cousin's birthday party and our car was hit by an 18-wheeler. My parents died on impact. Luca…" you pause and swallow hard willing the tears away. Clearing your throat you continued, "Luca died while they were trying to get us out of the car. He was such a sweet kid. Tender-hearted and quiet. I should have died too. My injuries were severe but that's when my mutation kicked in. Before they even got me out of the car my injuries healed. I didn't understand what happened. The doctor explained the mutant gene while I was in the hospital. I was so wracked with guilt that I lived. I didn't want to hear anything about it. Then my family… they were scared of me. I could feel it. They turned me over to the state. They didn't want anything to do with me. I was put in a group home and first chance I got I ran. Ran for nine years before SHIELD found me. They took me in. Taught me that my mutation was a calling not a curse."
The food came at that point and you both dug in hungrily. Bucky looked up after a few bites. "What'd you do the nine years you were running?"
"Petty theft, lot of trespassing, might have been a grand theft auto somewhere in there, and then I joined the circus."
Bucky laughed, "Serious?"
"Yeah. I got a job helping set up and take down for a circus and when they left I kinda stowed away and they let me stay. I grew up dancing and doing gymnastics, so they taught me aerial silks and rope tricks. I ran errands, took care of the animals, cooked, and eventually even performed."
Bucky narrows his eyes at you, "You're pulling my leg."
"No. It was the 70s. I'll show you some pictures when we get back."
"What exactly are aerial silks?"
"They're sheets of silk you use to perform contortions while kinda flying in the air. I'll show you one day. I still love doing it." Bucky still looked skeptical. "What?" You finally ask when his face was still scrunched up.
"You really have pictures?"
"Yes. Tell me about when you and Steve were kids." Trying to get the subject off of you for a minute.
You looked across at Bucky and saw a genuine smile on his face for a moment. He launched into a story and was more animated than you had seen before. It was endearing the way his face lit up talking about pre-serum Steve and their antics. He looked young and happy for a few minutes.
The spell was broken when the waiter delivered the check. Staying true to the bet, Bucky paid and then you walked to the museum a block away. You had already purchased the tickets online and went right in. It was only 12:30 and it seemed to be a slow Tuesday as you were nearly alone in every exhibit. Bucky was enthralled. He went from display to display pointing out observations, wondering at the discoveries, and fascinated with the history. Sometimes even grabbing your hand to follow him. You were enthralled by him. It seemed like for a few hours the weight lifted from his shoulders.
You stay at the museum until closing and then head back to the tower. Bucky talks nearly the entire way back about the museum exhibits. You thought your heart would burst that your outing made him so happy.
Heading to the kitchen you look in the fridge. "What do you want for dinner?"
"You pick."
"If I pick, we're ordering pizza."
"Sounds good to me. What movie do you want to watch?"
"You're not sick of me yet?" You smile, amazed that he wanted to spend more time with you.
"No! I mean, you don't have to watch a movie with me. I just thought, ya know, pizza and a movie. You had, uh, mentioned the Star Trek movie yesterday, so I thought maybe..." He trailed off.
"Sounds good to me." You echoed his earlier sentiment and he smiled at you.
You sat on the couch eating pizza and watching the movie. After a while you ended up shifting to lean into Bucky and rest your head on his shoulder.
"You okay?" He asks.
"A little cold. I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?" You say, moving away a little. He doesn't answer. Instead he grabs his hoodie and drapes it and his arm over you giving a little squeeze. You snuggle into him. It's a little harder to concentrate on the movie enveloped by his warmth and smell.
After the movie was over, Bucky looked over at you, "Tired?"
"No, not really. You?"
"No."
"What'd you think of the movie?"
"It was interesting. I'd like to see the next one. Right now, I'm interested in seeing some pictures someone told me they have."
"Oh, yeah. Let's go to my room and I'll find them." You stand and stretch your arms over your head bowing your back. When you look at Bucky still sitting on the couch his eyes aren't quite on your face. You clear your throat ostensibly and his eyes snap up to yours while his cheeks gain a little pink tinge. "Come on, Buck." You turn away smiling to yourself.
You get to your room and find the photo album with pictures from the Seventies in it. Placing it on the bed in front of both of you, you skip the first few pages and flip until you find pictures from the circus. They're starting to fade with age, but there you are riding an elephant, another showing you contorted in the silks, one where you are surrounded by clowns, cooking in a tent, and a few more showing your circus life.
"You weren't kidding!"
"Of course not! It was actually a pretty fun time in my life. It was easier being accepted there. Once I got past being first of May."
"First of May?"
"Green. New. Takes awhile for circus folk to warm up but they're good to you once they do. They were like a big family."
"Why'd you decide to leave?"
"SHIELD. They could help me learn to control my powers. And to be able to use them for something good."
"What are these other pictures?" Bucky asks as he flips back to the beginning of the album.
"Oh!" You say in surprise. You reach for the album but Bucky is already looking at the pictures. Resignedly, you explain, "That was the last family portrait we took."
Bucky looks up at you sorrowfully, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." He goes to hand you back the album.
"No, it's okay. It's been a long time since I looked at them." You point to the next photo. "That was my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary."
"Is that the entire town of Mobile?
"No, that's just my grandparents, their kids, and all my first cousins."
"First cousins?!?"
"Yeah, they were prolific. What can I say? My parents were picked on because they only had two of us."
"How old are you here?" He points to a picture of you holding a stuffed bunny.
"Three, I think." The next picture is you holding a baby Luca. You reach out and touch his little cherub cheeks but only feel the cold plastic covering the photo.
"You miss him?"
"Yeah. I guess you never stop. Losing a sibling sucks, ya know? They're the ones that are supposed to be with you through it all. You expect grandparents and parents to die, but your siblings are supposed to be there. Do you?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I miss Rebecca."
"Sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up."
"No, it's okay. But I probably should get some sleep."
"Yeah."
Bucky gets up and puts the album back on your shelf. "Night, Santi."
"Night, Bucky." You say in a small voice.
"Hey." He waits until you look up at him. "You okay?"
You force a smile, "Yeah, I'm good."
He hesitates, studying you.
Finally, you give in to yourself. "Actually, can I have a hug?"
"Absolutely!" He walks over to you taking your hand and pulling you up before wrapping his arms around you. You put your arms around his waist and your head on his shoulder. After a minute you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead. "Sweet dreams, Doll."
"You, too." You say as you reluctantly let go. You change into a sleepshirt and get ready for bed. Knowing sleep won't come for a while you pick up a book.
A couple of hours later you feel your stomach twist in knots and a loud grunt issues through the wall followed by "NO!" Getting up quickly you knock on Bucky's door, "Bucky, are you okay?" You listen for a second but only hear another grunt. You knock again, "Bucky?" You say a little louder.
"Стоп!" Hearing the Russian word from Bucky made your decision. You turn the knob and walk in. Bucky is thrashing a bit on the bed. His right hand is clenched around the sheets.
"Bucky, wake up. Hey. Come on, Buck." You put a knee on the bed and lean over to shake Bucky. The moment you touch his shoulder he sits up. The knife in his left hand lands with a thunk in your side. You hiss at the pain but stay still. "Buck. Bucky, hey." His eyes are far away and you know he hasn't come out of it yet. You put your right hand over his hand gripping the knife and your left on his shoulder suffusing calm into him. "Buck, I'm calming you. You said it was okay. Look at me, darlin'. Hey, hey." You see his eyes begin to focus. Finally, he looks at you. "Good. Hey, love, I need you to let go, okay?" You gently nudge his left hand which is still firmly holding the knife in you. You see him glance down and panic blanches his face. Suffusing calm again you take your left hand and touch his face drawing his attention to yours. "I'm okay. I just need you to let go. Bucky, talk to me."
"I'm so sorry!" Comes out in a panicked whisper as he lets go.
"Bucky, I'm fine. Healing ability, remember?" You gather the ends of your shirt and brace to pull out the knife. "Mmmm...had to be a serrated one, huh?" You press the shirt to the wound to staunch the blood flow and look at Bucky. He looks shattered. "Bucky, everything's okay."
"I stabbed you." He whispers.
"Better me than anyone else." You give a humorless little laugh. You wipe the knife on part of your shirt and set it down on the nightstand.
"I stabbed you."
"90 seconds, Bucky. 90 seconds and I'll be healed. No harm, no foul."
"I stabbed you and you're laughing." He looks at you incredulously.
"What's a little stab wound between friends?" You smile but he still looks lost. "Bucky, another empathic part is I can let you feel how I'm feeling. Can I show you?"
He nods and you put a hand on his. "What do you feel?"
He looks in your eyes finally, "Calm. Caring. Worry for me."
"Exactly. I'm fine. Now, are you okay? You were having a nightmare."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You pull him into a hug keeping your bloody side away from him. He puts his right arm around you and runs his left hand up your arm to your neck. Pulling away he looks into your eyes, glances down to your lips, and then back with an almost questioning look. It doesn't take empathic ability to know what he's feeling and your heart twists a little. You raise up a bit and kiss his forehead like he did for you earlier that night.
"I'm gonna get cleaned up. Can I borrow a shirt?" You stand up and that's when Bucky notices you had bunched your shirt up to stem the wound exposing your legs and a pair of peach colored panties.
Tearing his eyes away he stands up quickly and pulls open a drawer. "Yeah, here, Doll."
You look in the drawer and pull out a black ribbed tank from the top. "This will work." You say as you head into his bathroom.
Bucky watches you walk away thinking with the peach colored underwear it almost looked like you weren't wearing anything down below. He shook the thought away. Nice, Buck, you stab her and then ogle her, he thinks to himself.
You take off the shirt you are wearing and grab a cloth to clean off the blood. After washing your hands you slip on the tank. It comes down just past your butt and almost looks like a dress on you. A very short dress. Staring at yourself in the mirror for a second you can't deny the feelings developing in you. Bucky is...you can't even describe it. Beautiful inside and out. But too often your empathic abilities had interfered with real feelings. You had wanted to kiss him in that moment but the emotional charge was too much. What if that's all it was? The heat of the moment? It was too soon. You'd known him for less than 48 hours. Sighing, you shake off your thoughts and walk back out. Bucky eyes you from where he is sitting on the bed.
"You okay?" He asks.
"Yes. See? No harm, no foul." You lift the tank up to show him.
He raises his left arm and touches your side. The cool touch from his metal hand breaks your skin into goosebumps. You cover his hands with yours and for a moment get lost in his eyes when he looks up at you.
Breaking eye contact you pull the shirt back down, saying softly "It's late. You should go back to sleep."
"I don't think I can." He says.
You sit next to him on the bed. "Lay down. Get comfortable. I'll help you."
He lays on his side and hugs his pillow. Running your hands through his hair, you suffuse calm and see the tension slip away a bit. Giving him a minute before suffusing lethargy, you watch as his muscles start to relax. Finally, you suffuse a sleepy feeling. You can't force sleep but have found that when these three feelings combine they make a fairly good sleep cocktail. Bucky's form slowly relaxes and you continue to run your hands through his hair suffusing the sleepy feeling until his breathing evens out. You retrieve your ruined shirt and bloody cloth from the bathroom and the knife from the nightstand. You don't want him to have any reminders when he wakes. Switching off his lamp, you reluctantly head to your own bed.
Part 3
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