#i was laying in bed immobilized by pain and my brain was like

[suffersinfandom]

So there’s a lot of debate over who’s responsible for Ed’s turn to the Kraken (or, as I like to call it, “the Krakening”), and I think that’s partly because no one person can be blamed. Ed is a deeply hurt and traumatized individual thanks to his life pre-canon, and that hurt can be attributed to a lot of things -- his father, Hornigold, the society he grew up in, the culture of piracy, toxic masculinity.

But there are three key events that we actually see happen between the dock and Ed pushing Lucius overboard, and these three events in combination are the lead-up to the Krakening:

Event one: Stede running away. Stede doesn’t show up at the dock and Ed, convinced that he’s unlovable and of course Stede wouldn’t come for him, accepts abandonment and heartbreak.

Event two: Izzy. “I should’ve let the English kill you.” “This, whatever it is that you’ve become, is a fate worse than death.” “This! This is Blackbeard, not some namby pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend!” “I serve Blackbeard, not Edward. Edward better watch his fucking step.”

Event three: the crew’s chanting. After Izzy leaves, Ed faintly hears the crew laughing and asking for another song. This is the last time we see Ed before he pushes Lucius overboard.

Okay.

After Stede panics and runs and Ed returns to the Revenge alone, he cries and eats marmalade in a blanket fort. He’s heartbroken and sad, not smearing on the eyeliner and hitting the rhino horn. Lucius gets through to Ed with “maybe life just begins again,” Ed sings his little song in front of the crew, and then he starts cleaning up. 

I’ve seen this scene in S1 compared to the scene in S2 where Ed is tidying his cabin up on the day he’s decided to die. While we should absolutely read these scenes as parallels, I think it’s a mistake to say that they’re the same thing -- that is, scenes of Ed cleaning his depression mess, cheered up by what he thinks is his impending death. 

In fact, I think that the S2 scene is sadder when we have these two contrasting Eds. Ed in S1 is newly hopeful. He’s still sad, but he has a community that cares about him and the hope that he can be different. He doesn’t have to be the dread pirate Blackbeard; he can just be Ed in the space that Stede created, even if Stede himself is gone. Ed doesn’t have the same dark energy in S1 that he has in S2 after he has firmly rejected hope for change and anything beyond Blackbeard. S1 is life beginning again; S2 is life coming to an end. 

See above: S1 Ed (bright-eyed, a little manic, open, hopeful that life can begin again)

See below: S2 Ed (dull-eyed, very manic, vaguely menacing, only hope is death)

So event one -- Stede leaving -- isn’t responsible for the Krakening. We can’t know what might have happened if Izzy had, say, been tossed overboard in a mutiny, but it wouldn’t have been the season two we got. In my opinion, every indication points to Ed recovering in the company of the crew. 

Next we have the confrontation with Izzy. This, I think, is the real turn. 

Izzy is cruel here. He hates Ed being soft so much that he tells Ed he’d be better off dead. His wording is an implication that Ed is alive at Izzy’s pleasure (“I should have let the English kill you”) as well as a warning that Izzy’s loyalty to Blackbeard does not extend to Edward. 

I don’t think that Ed interprets Izzy as a direct threat, but Izzy is -- as always -- acting as a manifestation of toxic masculinity. This scene is the world saying that Ed can’t be soft and gentle if he wants to survive. He can’t mourn lost love. He doesn’t have the luxury of healing in a community.

Ed, still raw and sad, is being reminded that he’s not allowed to be just Ed. Just Ed has been told his entire life that he’s not meant for fine things, and whenever he reaches for a fine thing -- friendship, love, community -- he’s told that pirates don’t have friends, he’s unlovable, and he’d better watch his fucking step. Just Ed wasn’t enough for Stede, so how can he be enough for anyone else? For the crew? For Izzy and everyone else in a world that seems to want Blackbeard?

After event two, Ed is on the precipice. He’s unbalanced and uncertain. He isn’t sure that life can begin again after all. And then he hears the crew.

Offscreen and far away, the crew asks “Eddie” for another song. We know that there’s no maliciousness in that because the crew likes the Ed they’ve seen, but Ed is vulnerable. He doesn’t hear friends; he’s not used to having friends. He’s used to Jack and Izzy, who both betrayed him. He’s used to the people on the party boat who pretended to like him and then turned on him. If Ed isn’t valuable, lovable, or even worth liking, then why would the crew genuinely want him to come back? They must be mocking him. 

Lucius gave Ed hope that he could have fine things. Izzy yanked that hope away and, in this moment of doubt, Ed can only hear further confirmation that he was wrong to want better than the violence of Blackbeard.

It’s not a coincidence that the first things Ed purges are his red silk and Lucius. The silk is now a warning against reaching for fine things, and Lucius is the one who encouraged him to be soft and vulnerable in front of the crew -- something that he thinks the crew rejected. Ed moves to protect himself by abandoning all hope for things that he has been told aren’t for people like him.

In conclusion: a lot of things contributed to the Krakening and the main villain here, as it often is in this show, is toxic masculinity and a bit of racism.

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 12

1922 words

CW: implied noncon, forced to listen, gun violence, bombings

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~~~

Tao woke suddenly, blinking up at the underside of a bed. The only thing he could think about was the pain in his leg. The kind of pain that made his brain go holy shit holy shit holy shit are we dying?

Until he remembered how it happened.

He rolled his eyes around. He lay on the lower of a pair of bunk beds, in a tiny cinderblock room with a toilet-sink combo in the back corner. The door was metal, with a small safety-glass window.

He pushed himself up on his elbows with a grunt, and took stock of his knee. It was covered by loose orange pants – he wore a shirt that matched – but when he reached down to feel it, it seemed to be immobilized by some sort of slim-fitting cast underneath that stretched from mid-thigh to mid-shin.

Exhausted by even that small amount of movement, Tao dropped back onto the threadbare pillow with a sigh. The bunk above him shifted.

“Tao? You awake?”

Vic dropped down from the upper bunk, and crouched at Tao’s side.

“Hey,” he said when he saw Tao’s open eyes, “How’re you feeling?”

Tao took a breath and turned his face away.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Vic,” he said slowly, “But fuck you.”

“Woah, what?” Vic laughed nervously.

“I know about you and Lark,” Tao hissed.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh!’” Tao looked back at Vic, suddenly filled with rage. “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

Vic sat back on his heels, the guilt clear on his face.

“He begged me to, Josh,” he said quietly, “I didn’t understand what… I just didn’t understand.”

Tao fumed in silence for a minute.

“If it weren’t for my leg,” he said eventually, “I’d kick your ass, right now.”

“Yeah, that – that’s fair,” Vic yielded.

“And now Lark is… fuck!” Tao pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push away the visions of Lark, lying like a broken doll on the stone stage. But it wasn’t just Lark – it was all the rebels who had died that night. Tao’s friends, his comrades. And who knew how many more had fought to the death rather than be captured. The sense of loss threatened to overwhelm Tao, clawing at the inside of his chest and stealing his breath.

“I’m so sorry, Tao,” said Vic, his voice hollow with unshed tears, “I’m so sorry.”

Tao didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what would happen to them. He didn’t know what would happen to what once was the United States, now that the Commander was dead.

Somehow, he felt that it would be bad.

~~~

Marina was inconsolable when they reached the rendezvous point and Karlo and Tao weren’t there.

Faye had revealed a rare human side, and held her tightly as she screamed and cried.

They set up camp in the penultimate level of a parking garage, the only structure left of an otherwise leveled town. It gave them good visibility of the surrounding area, and a long radio reach.

They listened to coms chatter all night. The news that the Commander was dead was met with solemn silence – as was the announcement that a group of captured rebels were being taken to the Capital prison.

Marina started looking at maps.

In the weak light of early morning, Marina approached Becca.

“Is it possible to make bombs out of car batteries?”

Becca didn’t reply. But when Hannah said, “Oh hell yeah you can!” Becca didn’t exactly say no, either.

~~~

Being trapped in the prison cell was torture. Tao was provided no pain medication, so he sweated, and groaned, and writhed. The lights never turned off, so he slept in fits and starts, daydreams seeping into nightmares spilling into daydreams. The axe coming down. The deathmasks of his friends. A car in flames.

Food was delivered to them through a slot in the door at odd hours and in inconsistent portions, as if to keep them confused. Or perhaps, with the Commander gone, his systems were falling apart. Who knew.

It felt like days before their monotony was finally interrupted by the door flinging open with a bang, startling Tao and Vic out of their restless dozing.

General Gordon stood in the doorway, a wild smile on his face.

“Tao, right?”

Tao kept his mouth shut, watching the General warily, but Gordon shrugged.

“Don’t bother lying, Lark told us everything.”

“He’s alive?” gasped Tao, pushing himself upright.

“Of course he’s alive, why would I waste an ass like that?”

Tao gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

Gordon’s eyes glinted above his smug grin.

“I want to make a trade.” He stepped further into the cell, and a soldier moved to take his place in the doorway. The soldier held a pair of crutches.

“You get these,” the General proposed, “As long as you listen very nicely, very politely, to this recording that I have.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket.

It would be nice to not need Vic’s help to use the toilet, Tao thought, but there was no way this was that simple.

Gordon didn’t wait for an answer, however. He continued on.

“Yes, Lark’s been a very good boy for us. After we patched him up, I decided the boys in the barracks deserved a treat. They’ve been so loyal. I stop by every once in a while, and Lark makes… just the prettiest noises.”

He hit a button on the recorder. Wordless, rhythmic, painful cries, high and plaintive, came through tinny and small from the recorder’s meager speaker.

Tao felt every muscle in his body tense. The pain in his leg pulsed as his heart rate picked up. Horror and rage flooded his system.

“What the fuck?” he hissed.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Gordon scolded him cheerfully, “You have to listen quietly if you want-”

“Fuck your crutches!” With nothing else at hand, Tao threw his pillow at the General. It hit him in the face, and when it fell harmlessly away he was no longer smiling.

“Fine.” He clicked the recording off, just as a voice was asking, “You like that, don’t you, you dirty-” “Have it your way.” Clearly pissed that his mind-games hadn’t gone according to plan, he turned on his heel to leave. But as he was passing through the doorway the whole building shook with an unholy, cacophonous crash. It sent Gordon stumbling, and reverberated through Tao’s bones.

“What the hell is that?” the General shouted over the continuing rumbles, then, seeing something off to the side exclaimed, “Oh shit!” He took off, slamming the cell door behind him.

Vic jumped down from the upper bunk and pressed his face to the little window in the door.

“Oh shit indeed!” he echoed the General, “Tao, you’re never going to believe this!” He grinned over his shoulder.

“What?” Tao demanded, his hopes rising.

“It’s the Watch, they blew the fucking wall open! And…” Vic took a step back and tried the door. It opened. “Yes!”

Tao, grunting with pain, heaved his injured leg off the bed to rest on the floor. “Come help me!”

“Hang on!” Vic ducked through the door out of sight for a moment before returning, bearing the crutches. “They left something behind!”

He helped Tao to his feet and situated the crutches under his arms. Outside their cell, the building continued to rumble and shouts echoed as orange-suited prisoners ran past their door. Tao followed Vic out of their cell into the chaos.

The prison block, Tao could now see, was a two-story structure of cells encircling an empty, open space in a U-shape. The side with no cells, to their left, was blown open, with clouds of dust yet to settle over scattered rubble. Through the hole in the wall was another chamber, but it obviously reach the exterior somewhere beyond that – the prisoners, who had all at this point realized this was their chance at freedom, were making a collective mad dash for the open wound in the building. Standing within the tide, but letting them through, was a group of Watchmen; kitted out with stolen and scavenged weapons and tactical gear, blacked out with spraypaint. One of them held two prison guards on their knees at gunpoint off the to side; looking around, Tao couldn’t see any other guards.

“Let’s go!” Vic started across the atrium towards the Watch, waving an arm, “Over here!”

“Wait!” Tao shouted, “Where did that rat-fuck General go? He knows where Lark is!”

Two of the Watchmen had spotted them and run over. It was Hannah with a rifle, and someone else with a pistol, who shouted, “Where’s Karlo!”

Tao did a double take. “Marina?!”

Indeed, it was Marina’s face peeking out from under an oversized helmet. Her angrily determined expression was a familiar comfort.

“Where’s Karlo? Is he here with you?” she demanded.

“No, but a man was just here…” Tao scanned the room, and almost dropped a crutch when he pointed, “There!” A face flashed in one of the cell door windows before ducking down. “He knows where Lark is!”

Hannah unslung an extra rifle from her shoulder and handed it to Vic. “Let’s get the bastard!”

They charged towards the cell where General Gordon was hiding, Tao taking a second to figure it out before finding he could swing himself along fairly fast on the crutches.

“How the hell’d you get here?” he asked as they moved.

“It’s fuckin’ wild out there, boss!” Hannah replied, “Everything’s falling apart now that the Commander’s dead, soldiers are abandoning the Capital or holing themselves up in barracks, Capital civilians are rioting, this prison was being run by a skeleton crew!” They reached the cell door. “Once we started blowing shit up, motherfuckers ran.”

Vic looked into the cell through the little window.

“There are more of us than there are of you!” he shouted, “Drop your weapons, now!” There was a pause, then he looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Fuckin’ cowards!” He flung open the door and lifted his rifle. Inside stood Gordon and the soldier who had been carrying the crutches, their arms raised and their pistols on the floor. Gordon’s face was a twist of fear attempting to hide behind rage.

“Kick ‘em to me!” Vic ordered, and they had no choice but to scuff their guns across the floor to the rebels. Hannah scooped them up, sticking one in her own belt and handing the other to Tao. Tao tucked it into his waistband, and stepped forward.

“You’re going to take us to Lark now,” he said, “You got that?”

Gordon was breathing hard, trying to sneer but failing as his chest heaved and his hands shook.

“Fine,” he hissed.

Vic gestured with his gun for the General to walk forward. Then he swung his weapon towards the soldier.

“Eh. We don’t need you.” He aimed down and shot the soldier in the foot.

“Vic!” someone shouted over the solder’s scream, “Geneva convention!”

Tao turned to see Becca and the rest of the Watch had joined them, along with the surviving captured rebels and what looked like a few new volunteers, in their orange prison uniforms.

Vic beamed at her. “Sue me later?”

“Quit fucking around!” Tao shouted, and turned on Gordon, “Take us to Lark, now!”

Gordon slowly walked forward, keeping his arms raised. He was doing less to hide his fear, now, and watched them all warily.

Becca stepped aside to let him through.

“Lead the way, fucker.”

~~~

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[liminalpebble]

The Refugee: Chapter 31

Masterlist link

Heavy...everything felt heavy. 

She dreamed again of her body, cold and rigid as a marble slab, laying at the bottom of an inky black ocean, buried in her grave under miles of water. The liquid flooded her mouth, her lungs; saturated and stained her, inside and out. Was it water? No, it was salty like tears, metallic like copper. Blood she realized, I'm drowning in his blood. She saw it again as the marine pressure crushed upon her, the white skin and the inky blood. But it wasn't real, she reminded herself, ...just an illusion. He's alive...but he killed me and this is my hell... what about Magnus?

“Magnus!” she sat up and shouted, causing several of the medics to jump away from the stasis bed and its glowing recuperative force field. Their patient, immobile and unconscious for three months had startled them badly. Sitting up abruptly from her nightmare had smacked Lea with a pervasive blunt pain, something like the cramp of a stiff neck but a thousand times worse, distributed through her entire body, especially in her back. The medics were yelling at her to lay back down, but she didn't need to be told. She wasn't able to do anything else. Several pairs of hands glowing with magic were running over her body. Blue medical uniforms blurred around the room as they roused into action. In her silent still eye of the storm, she found herself anticipating Magnus' appearance in the fog of robin's egg hue. Lea longed for Magnus' hands to heal her with the others, but he wasn't there to patch her up this time. Searing panic cut into her again as her addled brain remembered.

She croaked out from a dry throat, “Magnus...where's Magnus? Please!”

Most of the medics looked at each other awkwardly and sadly as they did their work, clearly knowing something they weren't permitted to tell her, and every silent look sliced into her heart with worry. Mercifully, an older medic with rosy cheeks and gray hair came beside her and held her hand as she gave her sips of water. “My dear, His Highness has been told you're awake and he's on his way to speak with you. He'll give you all the information you need. Just a little patience, dearie, alright?”

She didn't want to accept that but she was too weak to do anything else. As the healers worked over her, the cripplingly stiff ache subsided. They helped her bathe and change into a fresh patient's gown. Tiny bits of food were presented to her and she was encourage eat, but she couldn't bring herself to. They were at least permitted to tell her how long she had been in recuperative sleep as they helped her.

“Three months,” she whispered to herself over and over, hoping that at some magic number of repetitions it would make sense to her through this fog in her mind. She was able to stand again with only a moderate amount of pain, and as she did, she noticed the medics all quietly shuffling out. Lea tried to thank them but they only looked at her with a sad kind of pity, which confused her. Then it all made sense as she heard murmurs of “Sire” and “Highness” from the exiting physicians. They were pitying her because they anticipated a terrible punishment was in store. Lea gulped hard, knowing that it was.

The emperor entered the now deserted room with a deceptively easy smile and stride; cocky, she thought, not happy. He was dressed in imposing royal garb. He towered, somehow looking taller than before. If he was looking for a spat or spar as they were used to, he wouldn't get it today. She was too desperate and didn't care about her pride. “Please! Please tell me he's alive.”

Loki sighed. He wanted to drag it out more but he was unexpectedly shocked to see her like this, and had pity. “Yes, he's alive and well.”

“Then where...”

“Silence!,” he said in a voice so commanding it made her shiver with fear. “and I will tell you everything.”

She nodded. He circled around her, gripping his hands on her shoulders, which trembled with fear and cold. His mouth hovered closely to the shell of her ear. “Magnus has been exiled to Midgard, to live forever among the humans. Would you like to see him, darling, I can show you?”

She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. Loki drew a circle in the air and a glowing viewing portal opened before them. She saw him, sitting on a bench in what seemed to be a garden or park, looking out over the sea. He wore strange loose blue clothes, and a small badge with his name on it. Magnus Roed and underneath Medical Assistant. He had a paper bag next to him and seemed to be waiting for something. Loki took on the tone of a lecturing professor as he circled around to face her, and continued his explanation in an easy, unbothered, tone. “Now, I'm sure I don't need to remind you, Lenora, knowledgeable as you are, that time moves differently between realms.” He said those last five worlds staring directly at her, emphasizing each one with his clear deep voice.

“No...” she gasped under her breath and her face fell in despair, just as he thought it would.

He smiled cruelly. “Oh yes. I'm afraid so. Well, of course there are magical protections to counteract this,” he said with a nonchalant gesture, “however, our dear Magnus was given no such protections.”

She gasped out quietly, breath fighting around the lump in her throat. “How long has it been for him, Loki?”

“He's settled in nicely though. You know him...always making the best of a bad situation.”

“HOW LONG, LOKI!” She screamed at him. He jumped. He'd never heard her yell like this. Her desperation excited and saddened him all at once.

“Six years,” he said, finally.

“Six..years...” she whispered back, fighting to believe it, walking closer to the viewing portal, as if in a trance.

He gestured to the screen. “But don't worry, Lenora. He's made quite a nice life for himself. As you can see he's come back to his passion for healing. The good doctor is learning Midgardian medicine now. Using that oh-so-good heart of his to help others. Of course, he's had a great deal of help from another small group of Asgardian expatriates who live on Earth. Oh look, here comes one such friend now.”

A tall blonde woman in the same strange blue clothes and name tag, came to join Magnus. His face lit up as he saw her, giving her an exuberant hug and kiss. They sat together on the bench then. He opened the little paper bag and passed her a sandwich and a hot cup of tea, before taking his own. Lea felt something inside of her wither and die as comprehension dawned on her.

“That's Astrid,” said Loki, “lovely, isn't she? A fellow Asgardian healer, settled on earth. She was so compassionate with him going through his difficult transition. Holding his hand for years as he cried over you, over his exile, over everything he's lost. She was quite taken with his hopeful and kind nature. Such a good, sweet, man...so easy to fall in love with.” He turned to Lea now, saying lightly, conversationally, “Oh you know, of course. I'm sure you can relate. Anyway, that beautiful friendship became something more...much more. As you can see they're quite happy together.”

Lea noticed the held hands, the rings on their fingers, and beneath Astrid's other graceful hand she stroked the bump forming in her stomach. She smiled to him with adoration, beaming with contentment in her rosy cheeks. Lenora felt her heart shatter, not only breaking, but being ground into a sandy powder and blown away in a great gust of wind until she felt an all-consuming nothingness where it had once been.

She croaked out, “You...did this...”

Loki, peaked his eyebrows in mock surprise, “I did this? No, little dancer. He did this..willingly. And you did this. You challenged me after all.”

“You knew I had to...you forced my hand.”

“Did I? You ran away. I gave you the option to come home instead of challenging me. I didn't tell Magnus to find love and happy life.”

Lea said, a little more confidently, “I did. We agreed. I begged him to find a happy life...to let me go if something like this happened. I'm glad for him. I'm proud of him for being strong enough to fulfill his promise.”

Her grace about this seemed to surprise Loki, but he only said, “You always have been so practical...so prepared for eventualities. I commend you as a strategist, Lady Lenora. Some day you might even rival me.”

He could see, to his delight, that she bristled at that, but she ignored the bait. “What did you tell him about me?”

“I told him you were dead.”

She scoffed, “he knows better than to believe you.”

“True, but he could never be sure, of course, and I can be awfully convincing. Six years is far too long to hold out hope, don't you think? Even for our Magnus. You're welcome to send word to him yourself. Let him know you're alive. I won't stop you.”

She bowed her heavy head, in immense silent suffering and anger. Loki knew, dammit! He had controlled it all, giving the mere illusion of choice to the pawns he moved around. Trying to redirect his actions would have been no more effective than trying to steer the course of an avalanche.

“Well?” he asked.

She glared at him, furious at the impossibly cruel situation he had set before her. “No. Let me stay dead to him. I refuse to cause anymore pain in his life than I already have. Let me stay dead, and let him stay happy.”

That's exactly what I said to myself, sweet Lenora, he thought with secret sincerity and compassion for her, because he had made the same impossible choice.

Externally, however, the king only clapped mockingly. “Oh how relentlessly noble you are, Lea! What a heroine!”

It hit her like a slap across the face, and she closed her eyes, hung her head, feeling herself become very far away. The woman standing there in the gray patient's gown, the wet hair, the sunken eyes, and freezing skin was like an image on the view screen, and she watched herself, empty and broken from a numb distance.

Loki came up behind her again, this time wrapping his arms around her, lightly kissing her cheek. She was too far away, too absent, to fight his touch away. It didn't matter. Nothing did now. He could do whatever he wanted to her and she wouldn't care. He whispered into her ear. “And now, darling, I am all you have.”

She asked one last question. She wasn't even sure why, since it hardly mattered now, “Did you intend to kill me?”

He paused a moment. “No, darling. I knew exactly where to cut.”

He called the guards in with a shuffling of armor. It was silly, she thought, to have so many burly men guarding her. Where exactly did they think she could go? She didn't feel the shackles meet her skin, nor the movement of her feet towards the dungeon, nor the swish of the force field walls locking her in and the sizzle of them becoming dark and opaque. Lenora simply sat on the floor, in the dark of her cell and the weight of her shackles; empty, heavy, drowning in the darkness.

(Thanks for reading, my loves!) @unlucky-number-13 @gigglingtigger @goblingirlsarah @lokisgoodgirl @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @peaches1958

[conceptsformyowner]

PTJ9: Pet for a day, and being immobilized tortured and photographed.

Public Toy Journal 9 - 2022 08 14

This week, we started Pain Training, we applied some of Merciless Chance, did some pet play, I got very sadistically immobilized tortured and photographed, and then had my brain broken at my birthday party. This is an eventful one!

Monday

On Monday, my Owner started applying the Pain Training. Every night before clocking in, we will follow that schedule, increasing the number of spankings and changing the implements towards more painful ones throughout the following months.

We began this week with just 5 spanks with their hand, on each buttcheek.

I’ve done very little impact play, and am quite sensitive, so I can feel them even if it’s just that. For now I’m doing perfectly alright. A couple times we forgot to do it and compensated by doubling it the following night, which was a bit more intense.

I’m really happy to be doing this for a couple reasons.

I’m happy to be trained to be their toy and adjust to whatever they want, and this does exactly that by allowing them to inflict pain on me.

I’m happy to have it as a small nightly ritual. It’s an amazing reminder of what the dynamic is, it gives us an excuse to have a tiny session at the end of the day, even when the day was too busy for us to do anything else. It let’s us connect through our dynamic, through the pain of the stings and the kindness of the caressing and the massaging inbetween them.

I love it.

Tuesday afternoon

On Tuesday, following our current established routine, the time of the day came when I had nothing to do. As agreed upon, my Owner took out the dice and the spreadsheet, and proceded to allow chance to dictate what my fate would be for the rest of the day, like in Merciless Chance.

The dice landed on 61. They entered ‘61’ into the spreadsheet I’d made that assigns number ranges to different predicaments according to odds determined and editable by my Owner, and saw the result come up.

Pet

Toy must be gagged.

Toy must have mittens locked on.

Toy must be at it’s Owner’s feet and/or chained to a fixed point.

Toy must not stand up (or be able to stand up, maybe).

Toy must only walk on all fours.

Toy may not use furniture meant for humans.

Toy must not speak, sign, or gesture like a human. Exception may apply if it’s to ask permission to do one of the things forbidden here, like using the toilet (furniture).

Half excited and half scared, I was immediately made to get down on the floor and crawl on all fours towards Owner’s bedroom. I was instructed to place the tape, the mittens, chain, locks, keys, and links on the bed and then stay kneeling next to it. Once I was done, my Owner placed mittens (my “real toy hands”) around my hands and locked them, and then carefully wrapped the lower half of my head in bondage tape, sealing my mouth shut compeletely.

They threw a blanket down towards me from the closet and threaded my everyday chain through my collar chain. I then crawled on all fours (which, btw, being naked on a dirty wooden floor in winter with very thin skin and my ankles linked together is painful) back towards the living room, pushing the small blanket as I could on the way.

I was then made to lie on top of the blanket, now spread out next to the couch and covering about half a square meter of floor with a thin but at least ever so slightly cushined and soft-ish dirty dark red cloth. My owner sat on the couch next to me and attached the chain to the feet of it, tightly enough to forbid me from standing or going really anywhere at all.

I was then kept there, securely chained on a small blanket on the floor, laying my head on and huddling up to my Owner’s feet.

After a while, they took their feet off the floor and lied down on the couch to watch a show. Sad about this, I tried sitting up and putting my head on the couch and against their legs. Luckily, I was caught and luckily allowed to continue to stay on that position.

Minutes passed (presumably; it was pretty hard to keep track of time even if I had actually been trying to, which I wasn’t) and my legs started hurting incresingly badly from keeping them folded beneath me to allow me to stay like that. When it got kinda bad, I tried getting on the couch, to communicate that I wanted to ask permission to.

I was allowed to!

I got on the couch after fumbling around a bit with the now-pulled-much-tighter-bc-i’m-further-away chain. I stayed like that for a long time, cuddled, gagged, collared, cuffed, chained, and mittened up. At one point my Owner caught me catching a glimpse of the computer screen while they watched a show on it, but no further repercussions were met so I assume they decided it was alright.

A couple hours and a half after we began the whole thing, they told me “Alright, off the couch. Good toy! Now, you’ll take off your tape gag. Yes, with the mittens still on.”

I stared confused and surprised. They they insisted “Come on, get to work. Otherwise I’m not releasing you until it’s absolutely necessary, tomorrow evenin. You’ll spend the whole night like this, I won’t give you a blanket and I’ll make the chain tighter so you stay off the couch. Understood?”

aodwuibuadibuif damn

fuck

That was extremely hot, I wanted that but not really. I wanted that in the sense that I’d give no resistance to the beginning but would be genuinely begging for forgiveness after enough time. Damn.

I obeyed and luckily it wasn’t as hard as I thought. Really many things have revealed themselves to be easier than we thought with the mittens locked on, since I can still bend my finger and grab things like some kind of lego figure, because they’re large and for long-term, not those spherical or really small tight ones where the hand inside is kept in a fist.

I loved the whole thing, felt really helpless and cold and uncomfortable and theirs. Just their pet. And I adored not being able to speak, it takes away such power so effectively.

Tuesday night

Only about an hour later, my Owner caught me looking at a half-empty bottle of wine in the kitchen. After confirming that yeah, that’s wine I like, they immediately made me chug the remaining half-full bottle of red wine that was left.

Damn that was kind of hard, and immediately I got incredibly turned on and started kissing them non-stop.

Happy about making me a bit of a mess so easily and so quickly, they spent all diner making sure I drank lots of water, and a bunch of vodka until my belly started complaining.

Compeletely drunk and in their hands, I was helpless.

However, what happenned was that we actually spent the rest of the night simply…talking about our feelings and our dynamic. It was very nice. I’m happy about it.

Tuesday bedtime

That night, when chaining me up for sleeping, my Owner made the bondage extra tight, assuring I could barely move and was made to stay compeletely stretched out. They also attached my wrists directly to my collar chain, forcing my elbows to remain bent.

“If that gets too painful or you can’t sleep, you can unlink your wrists from your collar. You will get punished for it still of course. Good night toy.”

They kissed me and then turned around.

It was kind of tought but eventually I was able to fall asleep, only being able to basically wiggle around a bit.

At 4 a.m. I released my wrists from my collar because the pain had woken me up and was keeping me that way. Next day, I of course reported it and was due for a punishment later.

Thursday

On Thursday, you decided to do an item from Merciless Chance when it was time to, but you wanted to pick it today.

Sadistic Immobilization The toy will be kept by its Owner helplessly immobilized in tight tortuous painful uncomfortable and/or predicament bondage. The toy will signal when a limit is reached or a limb starts losing circulation so that the bondage may be changed but not removed. Suffering will end whenever Owner wishes or toy safewords.

Ah, yes, fuck, I’d been fearing this for a while. Very exciting.

They locked my mittens on me and tightened a collar around my neck as tight as they could. They pulled my hands above my head and then bending my elbows upwards locked them to the back of the collar.

Already quite uncomfortable and with no possibility of releasing myself, I whined at them when they took hold of my ankles and, making me lie on my belly on the bed, chained the already linked together anklecuffs also to the back of my collar. They pulled on the chain, narrowing the space between my feet and the back of my head until I had to bend my back a little in order to not choke myself with the collar. Once satisfied with it, they finished attaching the chain, and then lied down next to me.

I was compeletely immobilized, and in a very unfriendly way. My back, knees and elbows were bent by the pull of chains, which allowed for no give. My fingers were trapped in the faux-leather mittens, locked with padlocks to which only my Owner had keys, and even if I had the keys, with my wrists together behind my head I would never be able to unlock anything.

I suffered for a few minutes while switched between using their phone and watching me. At one point I believe they simply got bored, so they asked “Where are the clothespins?”

“Uh on the drawer I think, if not, they should be on my backpack.”

They checked the drawer, and then left me there with the door closed and the light off while they searched for my backpack.

They came back and said “They’re not there.”

“Um…I…they should.”

“Yes, they should.” they dictated, such that I would understand how this was a failure in my duties.

“I’m sorry.” I whined, knowing that this wouldn’t go unpunished and feeling how my body started aching all over, specially my shoulders.

They shut the door again and after a minute they came back holding a frightening amount of clothespins. Fuck.

They laid down next to my stretched and whining body, and staring right into my eyes, ordered me to put my tongue out.

Scared, I stared back in fear but kept my tongue in and my mouth closed.

“Out, now.” They ordered, and gripped my jaw strongly in their hand.

I obeyed and slowly put out my tongue. They smiled and carefully started placing the clothespins.

“This one is for not opening right away.” They placed one to the side of the back of my tongue, leaving plenty of room for more.

“This one is for not keeping the clothespins stored properly.” They closed another one next to it.

I’d forgotten a bit how bad it was, to force my mouth open like this and to press on my tongue this exhasperatingly.

“This one is for tuesday night: you released yourself, which was allowed, but this is the price.” They let go of a third one, now near the tip, leaving a whole other half of the tongue free.

“This one is because you’re mine. You’re my toy and I do whatever I want with you.” They placed a fourth one, and then grabbed two more. “These…are just for fun.”

Six clothespins now holding my tongue tortured and out, keeping my mouth opened lest I make matters worse by pressing on the clothespins with my teeth, they watched me whine and breathe. They watched their bound up toy suffer for them. My Owner showed me their love in the way only a sadist who entrusts you compeletely can show love.

I struggled to keep my head pointing up, which, if I haven’t yet confused you too much with the description you might realize was quite hard. Luckily they did provide a pillow behind my head to help me, since they really didn’t want me drooling on their bedsheets.

After placing two extra clothespins on my top lip, just for fun, they checked if I was okay with them taking pictures and they spent some time positioning me and photographing my tortured mouth, playing with the light and the framing.

They tried to photograph my whole body but said they weren’t really satisfied with how it looked.

The pictures looked so special, like they captured the beauty of this suffering, this affection, this powerlessness and complete submission to them, this ownership. I got emotional from looking at them, when they showed them to me just after taking them, without changing anything about my predicament.

They recorded my predicament, which was now making me consistently whine in pain from my elbows and my mouth, and sent the video to @musingsformyowner, to cheer them up I think. I love that.

Not long after that, they dettached a wrist from my collar since it was on the verge of starting to lose circulation. Unbending my elbow was painful as fuck, I was made to stretch it and bend it a few times to make sure everything was alright and to regain muscle activity and make blood flow, before attaching it to the chain pulling my feet and neck back.

Didn’t take long to do the same thing with my other arm, and then it was time to release my mouth from its plastic and wire torture device.

Putting on clothespins can be pretty bad, keeping them for a while can be torture, and if it’s been a while, taking them off can sometimes be the worst part. So when they took the…8 clothespins? off of me one by one, it was a series of pain stings that struck my tongue and top lip making me cry out, making them smile.

After making sure I was alright, they had to go prepare dinner. As they were leaving, I started trying to get off the bed. Bear in mind, my feet were still very closely attached to my neck, bending my back a bit. But now that my wrists were free (even though my finger weren’t), I started trying to shift and wriggle my way down out of the bed and then trying to follow them.

And I succeded!

This was possible because I was able to turn my feet towards my front, making me able to bend forwards instead of backwards. I’d been using this to relieve my back and stretch and move different parts of my body for the last hour or so, so I had already gotten the knack of it.

I got off, and then I was able to…”””walk””” towards the kitchen following right behind them. What this really looked like was that I had my knees on my chest, my head low, and was using my mittened hands to swing myself forward by putting them down at the same time, lifting my whole body and swinging it forward while pushing back with my arms, and then landing my feet and raising my mittens off the ground to start again.

This basically looked like a small egg trying to move itself forwards with two arms. They found it absolutely hilarious and I started saying I was a gENDER GREMLIN and that I was going to eat all their genders.

Yes this is the cute part of the story I’m sorry if you were horny.

My Owner filmed me walking like that and sent it to @musingsformyowner to cheer them up. It was a success.

Eventually my chain was dettached from my ankles and to the bedpost, and I ate some vegan cheddar-ed noodles using my face, since my hands were trapped in the mittens.

Then they took off my mittens to allow me to write that day’s concept and we went to sleep.

I was not reliefed of the collar or the chain attaching me to the bedpost.

Saturday

On Saturday, I was to have the final part of my birthday: the Party! This was an actually quite vanilla setting, since not all my friends are from the BDSM community (though the percentage is getting higher every day), but most people still looked pretty gay* so I think you’ll forgive me.

** that is to say, looked such that they might be hatecrimed as a lesbo or a queer*

My Owner supported me a lot while I organized it and helped a lot with my anxiety, which I’m very grateful for. Then at the actual party, they brought out two wine bottles exclusively for me, and made me fill up the largest glass up to the brim with red wine.

They would tell me I needed to finish the glass by a certain time, and if I hadn’t, I’d have to chug the remaining of it. After that, I’d refill the glass and get a new expiration time. Damn.

It didn’t seem that bad at first, but damn was I wrong. The times kept getting shorter and shorter and by the time I finished the bottle my stomach started seeming unhappy with the ordeal, which luckily made my Owner order me to stop.

Alongside it of course I had to constantly drink water, so the next day I’d still be useful and not a hangovered mess of a toy.

*** warning: small tangent about bondage and restraints and control and intox play ahead ***

I was very drunk, incredibly dizzy, and everyone seemed to be amused with it which is nice. I find intox play incredibly hot. I’ve come to find that I usually find the abilty to control things in three levels:

Physically, which is to say I’m quite nibble and not at all particularly athletic but definitely energetic. I’ve done quite a lot of dancing and swimming, and have done a lot of physical acting.

Verbally, through talking my way through things (and out of/into things heh). I have a long history of literary studies and was raised surrounded by pretentious very heterocis books.

Mentally, which is actually simply how to use the other things to my advantage to get out of situations.

Which is to say, the ways to lose control are exactly those. I lose physical control with inescapable restraints so I can’t physically get out, then verbal control through gags so I can’t talk my way out, and then mental control so I can’t figure out anything else.

This is why intox play is so powerful for me. They’re in charge of my mind, can compeletely mold it and bend it and break it and turn it off at will. I’m theirs.

a n y w a y s, where were we? Yes, the party. Sorry my ADHD meds are wearing off.

*** tangent over ***

By the time @musingsformyowner got there, my brain was already quite messy.

I knew Mel (musings) had planned something out with my Owner, so I was quite intrigued. There had been a misunderstanding where I was blamed for stating something without my Owner’s ok, which is compeletely untrue but my Owner and Mel don’t seem to care >:| so they came to the party prepared to punish me for it. Or as they call it, to give me my little gift.

After they’d settled in and spent some time at the party, my Owner and Mel took me up to my bedroom. With my Owner’s very enthusiastic consent, Mel tied my hair with some rope and attached it to a high point…I think, and then I remember getting untied.

That’s the thing about alcohol, everything I’m saying is very fuzzy and missing bits.

I was starting to feel nauseaus so we stopped and rescheduled for Wednesday (as in, two days from now as of writing). They both then spent some time cuddling and I was told to stay at their feet, where I laid down and gave them leg mimitos. It was really nice.

Mel had brought as a gift for my birthday to my Owner (since I can’t have possessions of my own) a small soft paddle with three hearts on it.

Our first paddle!

And right on time for the Pain Training, it’s perfect and I love it. But most importantly, my Owner really loved it a lot and that makes me super happy.

I got very sad later when I realized I don’t have a single picture of the whole thing. Good to know for next time, but it also means I had a really nice time uwu.

Sunday

On Sunday I spent pretty much the whole waking day cleaning up after the party, with my Owner supporting me by my side. Afterwards we came back home; they allowed me to take a warm shower, massaged my legs and took great care of me.

I’ve never felt safer and more taken care of.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Tethered- Fred x Reader

‘Don’t ever scare me like that again’ kiss with Fred where he lives (I’ve been crying about it lately) xoxo @starofthedawn

Your chest was tied up in knots, eyes burning and bile rising in your throat. The dust that permeated the air felt like gravel in your airways and you couldn’t help the wet cough that slipped past cracked lips. Even as you blinked away the tears that were running out, the world remained blurry and unfocused. 

After all, how could anything make sense when Fred was face down on the cobblestone. Pieces of the castle you two had called home burying him. 

“Lost in my eyes again, Y/N?” Fred asked, a playful tilt to his mouth. You were in the library, head buried in a book and not at all gazing into Fred’s honeyed eyes. You must’ve not heard him come in so when you looked up and saw him you couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in your chest. 

You liked the way his lips were pulled up by an invisible thread as you finally took notice of him.  It wasn’t quite a smile, but a familiar expression that you held dear to your heart. It was understated, especially for Fred Weasley, but the expression was one of his most sincere. 

“Can’t help the fact you’ve got dreamy eyes, George,” 

“Sod off,” Fred said with no real venom, sitting in the chair beside yours and kicking his feet up onto the table. He was lucky Madam Pince didn’t often come to this corner of the library, otherwise she’d have his head.

You stuck your tongue out at him, even daring to toss a quill at his head- but before you could he caught your hand and held on tight. Your bright grin wavered at the edges but that joy was still blooming in your chest. Suffocation was a sure thing. 

“Everything okay, Freddie?” Voice soft, slow. You understood sometimes he just needed a hand to hold and you wouldn’t let yourself believe it was more than that. What it was, was Fred trusting you and needing you as a friend and that was more than enough. 

He nodded, his eyelids heavy and his demeanor sluggish. He almost seemed like a sleepy cat but you could see the way his shoulders dipped as you posed your question. 

Fred squeezed your hand as he sank down into his chair, knees now drawn to his chest in a protective ball. “Course I am, nothing could ever be wrong when I’ve got you to tether me to what’s good,” 

--

Your knees buckled as you stumbled the last foot to where Fred lay. Unmoving, broken, probably not breathing- You shook your head wildly even as the tears burned and your brain ached. Just like every other wizard, every other soldier at Hogwarts today, you had your fair share of injuries but you felt the pain dull to nothing; Your vision tunneled to the familiar hand that stuck out from the rubble, the feather soft shock of red hair that was visible under all the grey, lifeless stone. 

With a flick of your hand, some of the rubble broke loose and found themselves discarded on the burned and torn up grass ten feet from you. The panic pounding at your ribcage was only eased by the determination you felt to get Fred out of there, alive. There was no other option. 

Waves would stand still without the moon, plants would dry up without water, and you would cease to be anything but a shell without Fred Weasley. 

--

It had been an honest mistake at the time, George had tugged you away after class one day to an empty corridor and nearly begged you to ask Fred and put the both of you out of your “self sabotaging misery”. Problem was, all Katie Bell saw was George whisking you away somewhere private a week before the ball was to commence, both of you dateless. 

By the time you had both gone to the great hall for lunch, your group of friends were deep into speculations. 

“Going to the ball with Y/N then?” Fred fixed George with a look you couldn’t quite decipher but the shock of him thinking such a thing had you missing that usual twitch of his eye when he was aggravated. 

George whipped his head to you in confusion but it went unnoticed when Lee said, “Great! Of course you two got dates before me,” gesturing wildly to the twins. 

All of the confusion had your head spinning but hearing that Fred had a date to the ball made you steady again, the lead pit in your stomach anchoring you. Anyone would be a fool to not want to go with Fred. 

“You’ve got a date?” You said a bit too loudly, eyes narrowed at Fred. 

“Asked Angie,” 

“Yeah, two minutes ago,” She snorted. “Guess he didn’t want George to beat him by too much of a landslide,”  

George let out a too-loud laugh and tossed his arm back over your shoulders. “Take that Lee, we got two of the hottest girls in school to be our dates,” 

“Go with me instead and I’ll buy you as many sugar quills as your heart desires, Y/N” Lee bargained and George swatted him on the back of a head with a faux glare. 

You couldn’t help but snort at Lee’s antics, looking at George with gratitude. You could tell he was trying to talk you up, keep your heart from falling too far. However, his efforts couldn’t completely ease the ache in your chest. You were tethered to Fred and you didn’t think anything could change that. 

--

You’d done your best to completely immobilize Fred when most of the rubble was removed, only some of the smaller chunks of wall now littered over his legs and back. The immobulus charm had to be enough to keep him stable. If he was still alive. 

It was the uncertainty that kept you going in this moment. If there was even a slim chance Fred could be alive, you would do all you could to save him. You refused to lose him and that was that. You wished you could see his chest moving, or any sign of life but he was still too buried and the dust that settled over the battlefield made your eyes unfocused. 

Even though the final battle had ended an hour or more ago, how long had it been since you’d found Fred?, you were shut off from any of the joy that the win could have brought you. If Fred wasn’t going to be there to celebrate then how could you? 

“We’ve got to fix up the shop a-and get butterbeers,” You sniffled, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you worked your way through the rubble. You kept speaking as if holding Fred to his promises would bring him over the threshold and into your waiting arms. 

“You’ve got to give me that birthday present you’ve been bragging about for months, and you’ve got to help me prank Lee for singeing my favorite sweater with one of your fireworks,”

And on and on you went, all of the promises Fred had ever made you falling from your lips as you pulled the last of the rubble from his body. One of his legs and all of the fingers on his right hand were bent at grotesque angles. There was a line of blood that started somewhere behind his hairline and trailed down his temple, dripping off of his jaw and onto the ruins he had nearly become a permanent part of. 

You wouldn’t permit your legs to shake as you stood, the sun being further down in the sky than you remembered. The wave of your wand was light and methodical even as every step towards help weighed you down. 

Time passed you without you taking note, the sun sank beneath the horizon and you stumbled your way through the dark. Eventually, you were taken off guard by the light of someone’s wand. Time caught up to you then as you stared with bleary eyes, trying to recognize the face before you but having a hard time sorting anything in your over exhausted brain. 

“Help him,” Was all you had energy for, before darkness took over. 

--

“...understand how she did it,” 

“...miracle, really,” 

“Poor girl must’ve....” 

Conversations floated around your head as you lay cemented underneath the sheets that you had been securely wrapped in. You wanted nothing more than to swat them away like pesky flies, the voices weren’t loud but to you it was as if someone had put a speaker in the empty space of your skull and turned the volume up as high as it could go. Everything ached. 

“Am I dead?” You croaked, eyelids still too heavy to even attempt opening. 

Immediately, a woman nearly screamed and a cacophony of other voices rose up- both familiar and not. 

“You look like you wish you were,” Someone joked to your left and your eyes snapped open so quickly you became dizzy. You felt frozen in place as honey eyes swept over you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Despite being covered from the chin down you felt as if you were being looked through. A shiver ran down your spine and it was followed by a deep ache that had you groaning despite the emotions bubbling up within you. 

“Damn you Fred,” Was all you had to say before everyone else around you was clearing out. For a split second you felt guilt when you realized your parents as well as the Weasleys had come to stand beside you as you healed. 

“I’ve come back from the brink of death and that’s what you have to say to me?” He teased but his voice was torn to shreds and you had the terrible image in your mind of him screaming for help until he lost consciousness. The blood drained from your face. 

Fred seemed to take notice as he shuffled out of his bed that was right next to yours. He paused at the edge, fumbling for the crutches that were at his bedside. It felt like years the time it took for him to fall into the chair nearest you, his hand stretching for yours. 

You moved pathetically against the sheets but in your weakened state you couldn’t grasp his hand. “Freddie,” You croaked, eyes filling with tears in frustration. You’d thought him dead and now you couldn’t even move a damn blanket to touch him, to make sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“I’m here,” He reassured, moving the sheets on your side gently until your hand was free and you could tangle your fingers with his non-broken hand. 

“How?” 

“I’ve been telling you for years now, you’re my tether. Just when I thought I was going to cross over, I heard you. All the promises we made, and all the chaos we have yet to make, all the things I haven’t said,” Fred’s bottom lip trembled as he brushed his thumb over your scabbed knuckles. You were faintly aware of a needle in your forearm, attached to an IV but all that mattered was the warmth you felt from Fred. 

“You could break them all and I’d still be counting my lucky stars that you’re here,” You cried, falling into a coughing fit. Fred was quick to press a still cold glass of water into your hands and help you sit up even from his place on his chair. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” He promised, hand remaining at the back of your neck as he settled you against your pillows. That genuine not-smile was back and you chewed on your lip to keep from crying again. You still weren’t sure he was here so any reminder that it was really him had you at a breaking point. 

“Can you make me one more promise then?” You caught his gaze but found you couldn’t hold it, the intensity making your stomach swoop and your heart pound against your rattled ribcage. 

Fred had yet to move, his hand steady behind you and his face close. Your noses were nearly touching as he said, “Anything.” 

“Don’t scare me like that ever again,” 

You chanced one more look at him, eyes wide and pleading. You were going to make him promise on everything in him but the rest of your words were lost when you stumbled over the loud adoration in his eyes. As if on autopilot, you removed your hand from his to brush your fingertips against a gash on his cheek. 

“Never again,” He whispered, frozen in place. He didn’t dare move when you let your movements wander over his lips, taking your time before you let your hand fall against the junction of where his shoulder met his neck. Beneath the collar of the hospital gown you could see garish bruising that only served as another reminder you’d almost lost him. 

That was enough to remind you that there was much unsaid between you and the man you loved. You could feel his shaky breath, his hand squeezing yours just enough that you felt the reassuring pressure. When you took your third look at those eyes, you knew. 

You moved at the same time, in tune to one another in a way you always have been. It was with a sigh that your lips met, frightened and curious and wonderful. You were careful of his head would as you played with the hair at the back of his neck and he made sure not to move you anymore than tilting your head to slot your lips against his at a better angle. 

Fred pulled away when his smile dared to take over his face but you couldn’t complain about the loss when you could feel his pulse beating strongly against your fingers, his chest moving steadily with life. 

“I’m just as tied to you as you are to me,” You laughed softly, in disbelief. 

Fred looked surprised for all but a second before he was placing his lips against yours, cautious but deliriously happy. 

Waves swayed with the moon, plants flourished with water, and you were never far from Fred Weasley. Each were tethered to their counterpart and nothing could change it. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language and mild medical drama Warnings: Brief depictions of medical treatments for blood loss and its symptoms Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Bela has always wondered who her soulmate was, the person she was connected to by red string. When she finally meets them, she's devastated to find them hanging in her basement, being drained of blood. But her soulmate won't die- not if she can do something about it. Notes: Soulmate AU in which people have a red thread tied to their left ring finger (or elsewhere if missing the finger/hand), which connects to their soulmate. By default the string is taut/tight, only getting loose when the pair is relatively close to each other.

1: Stem The Flow

How long had she waited for this day? How long had Bela monitored the red string tied to her hand, waiting for it to be anything other than taut? A decade, at the least, if not two or more. For so long she had dreamt of her soulmate, albeit discreetly, wondering about every facet of their being. Entire days had been spent imagining them, and how they would come into her life. Sometimes, on those days, she would gently tug her end of the thread. Every single time, without fail, her soulmate had returned the motion. It warmed her heart more than she’d ever admit, to know that her excitement was not one-sided.

At times, it did worry her, the feelings in her chest reminding her of her youngest sister. Daniela was obsessed with love, dangerously so, to the point of being downright delusional. More than once her “affections” had gotten their family into some sort of trouble. No matter how mature Bela considered herself to be, there was a part of her that worried about repeating her sister’s mistakes. What if her excitement about her partner led her to overlook something crucial? What if the person in question posed a threat to her family? How easy would it be, then, for her to cut them off?...

Today, perhaps, she would find out.

The sun had set over the Romanian landscape, and with the moon rose the Dimitrescu household. First out of bed, as always, Bela wasted no time in getting dressed. Hazy visions of her fading dreams clouded her mind, tugging on her thoughts as always. Most days they felt more like memories than anything else. Today, they are quieter than usual, easily fading into the background. When the last traces of her grogginess disperse, Bela finds herself glancing at her left hand. It’s a daily habit, although discreet, that always leaves her with bittersweet feelings.

“Wait…” Bela whispered, as her eyes took in the unexpected sight: The red string of fate, tied to her left ring finger, loose as can be. It trails to the ground, coiled a single time, before heading underneath her door. “Am I dreaming?” She does not bother to pinch herself to check. Instead she practically jumps into her shoes, dashing out of her room with unfamiliar glee. Maidens in the hallways have to leap aside to avoid her, but she does not care, for once ignoring the standards her mother had instilled in her. If her sisters could be chaotic, we couldn’t she?

So she follows the thread, eagerly, without even wondering why it was so loose. No, she didn’t think about the implications of the situation. In her mind, it did not matter why her soulmate was finally within her reach, it simply mattered that they were. Soon enough they would be in her arms, safe, with nothing else to bother them. And then she’d be happy, finally having someone she was on equal terms with. Finally having someone to confide in, to cherish, to whisper sweet nothings to in the dead of the night.

She doesn’t hesitate until she finds the string wrapped around the door to the basement. At last the signs click together in her mind, like a conspiracy board bound with crimson ties. Instantly panic replaces whatever excitement she had been feeling. Then she’s abandoning all sense of caution, throwing open the door and rushing forward, dispersing into a swarm to cover more ground. Even if she could no longer see the thread in this form, she was certain that she’d know exactly who her soulmate was when she saw them.

And, well, she does. Something calls her to the far corner of the main room, where a body was suspended from the ceiling by its hands. An all-too-familiar needle was sticking out of the person’s arm, leading down to a large glass container, which was slowly filling with blood. The scent made Bela’s nostrils flare, and her eyes go wide, but she did her best to fight against her instincts. Quickly she gets to her knees, examining the jar to see how full it was. Most of the measurement lines were faded, having been worn out over time, making it harder to estimate the volume. In the end, Bela guessed that the container could fit just over six liters inside. Which meant that the person had lost close to… two and a half. That was bad- behind bad, really. Horrible, actually. Immediately life threatening to the point of having been life threatening before Bela had even woken up.

“Don’t die on me, please,” she half cried half shouted, jumping into action as best as she knew how. Not even bothering to turn the nozzle on the device, she pulls the needle out of her soulmate’s arm, cursing when more blood rushes out of the hole. Then she’s applying pressure, hard as she can, beyond glad that they weren’t awake for this. One hand goes to tear a piece of fabric off of their shirt. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind, all things considered. Next, Bela ties the cloth around the collection point, making less of a tourniquet and more of a generic bandage. “Shit, you need a transfusion, don’t you?... Fuck, fuck, what’s your blood type?”

Knowing that she wouldn’t be getting a verbal answer any time soon, Bela settled for dipping a finger into the jar, bringing it to her lips, and licking. The difference in taste among blood types was subtle, but she was nothing if not a professional at this point. Still, the type is not immediately clear to her, and she knows that she might have to go around licking more blood from other prisoners. Unless… could someone receive a transfusion of their own blood? Such a thing had never happened at the castle before, but there was a first time for everything.

“Hold on, I’ll figure this out, somehow, I promise,” Bela said, gently taking her patient’s hand in her own. Taking your hand.

When you wake, you find yourself among the softest sheets you have ever felt, as if laying on clouds themselves. But your vision is blurred, and your head is besieged by waves of pain. A whimper makes its way past your lips. For a moment all you can do is tense up, unsure of any detail of your situation, unable to discern anything around you. Then you feel a hand on your own, squeezing gently. Something about it sends a rush of comfort throughout your entire body. Still, you are more confused than anything, and you find yourself trying to sit up out of instinct.

Without warning the hand lets you go, only for the owner to shift their weight, climbing on top of you in an instant. They’re holding you down, saying words that don’t quite reach your ears. For how light they are, they manage to put an impressive amount of pressure on you, easily rendering you immobile. Unfortunately, this position does little to ease your anxiety. The last thing you could remember was a very, very tall lady sticking a needle in your arm with a cruel laugh. Based on how you felt, there was still a needle in your arm. But you had been standing, or hanging, before, and now you were on your back.

“Whathe… wha the ‘ell… can’t 'hink,” you muttered, stumbling over your own tongue. Whoever sits on top of you tries to comfort you, running a hand through your hair. “Who are you?” You asked, even though you couldn’t understand a word this person said. Their voice might as well have been in another language, with the way your addled brain processed it. Had you lost too much blood? Or maybe you had a concussion? “I just. I just wanted to meet them. Please, I jus… I just wanna see my soulmate.”

Again, you cannot understand what the person says in response, but they finally seem to understand this. One of their hands reaches out and grabs your left one, slowly tapping your fingers, one by one. When they reach your ring finger, they pause, gently holding it. For a few moments you’re left even more confused. Then, with a surge of warmth in your chest, the dots are connected. Whoever is with you quietly grabs the thread attached to your finger, before tugging gently. In order for them to do that… well, there was only one explanation. They were your soulmate. They were the one you had gone to this accursed castle to meet. Somehow they had saved you, and everything was finally looking up.

Mind clearing slowly, you’re finally able to understand something they- or she, as far as you can tell- say.

“Rest now, my beloved. You are safe in my care, this I promise.”

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 11 (Final Chapter)

The following morning, Kelly woke up after a horrible sleep trapped in Loki’s arms, it had been laden with nightmares. But when she woke, she wished she had been back in one of those nightmares, as the one she was living was much worse.

Loki had kept her prisoner in his bed for a while that morning, petting her and toying with her body. He made her cum a few times and then took her again. Now he was just chatting away to her as if nothing was wrong while he got dressed, she lay shaking in his bed still. Curled up.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he had raped her or the fact he was acting as if it was all normal, that they were a happy couple. It made her feel sick to think about either way.

Loki turned to face her and frowned. ‘Come on, get up. I’ve got a job I need to do, to let the world know exactly who is in charge. And you are coming with me.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently.

When she got out of bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and stood there awkwardly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. Loki opened the door, then looked at her expectantly.

‘Let’s go. Don’t think you’re getting clothes, if that’s what you’re waiting for.’ He said firmly, making her stomach drop.

Kelly knew there was no point fighting or trying to get away, so she submissively followed Loki to his throne room as he called it.

‘Get under my desk and use that pretty mouth of yours to keep me satisfied.’ Loki pointed towards said desk that was on front of his throne-like-chair. The desk was pretty big, so Kelly was a little relieved that at least she wouldn’t be too cramped.

She was resigning herself to being Loki’s slave. It was her own fault, after all. She blamed herself, and would every single day.

Before Kelly went over to the desk, Loki gripped her chin and had her look at him for a moment. He studied her closely, then smirked and brushed his thumb up over her lower lip.

‘Mmm, yes. You are going to make this job much more exciting.’ He purred, his smirk growing larger. ‘Now be a good girl and get into position.’

Kelly meekly crossed the room and crawled underneath the desk. Loki sat down on his throne, legs spread wide and he looked down, grinning at the sight of her down there.

‘Get started, darling. I have some business to attend to.’ He urged her.

Wanting to get it over and done with, Kelly began the difficult task of getting his cock free. It wasn’t easy with his armour that he was so adamant on wearing all the time. But she eventually got his cock out and reluctantly started stroking him.

‘Use that mouth of yours, pet. Don’t disappoint me.’ He growled with a quick glance under to her.

She really didn’t want to, but she knew she had no option. So she leaned in closer, hands on his thighs and she wrapped her lips around the tip of him, then slowly began sucking.

Loki let out a sigh of pleasure, but he was still able to focus. Only just. Her mouth felt so warm and lovely around him. He cleared his throat and clicked his fingers, a screen appeared up on front of him. It was recording him, broadcasting to every single TV in the world and appearing on everyone’s smartphone in an emergency video.

Kelly paused when she realised what was happening, Loki began a big speech about being ruler of the world. How many countries he had and which ones were under threat if they didn’t yield to him soon.

She carried on sucking his cock when she felt a sharp pain in her neck, it was Loki using his seidr as it felt like a collar was wrapped around her neck again. Hollowing her cheeks, she tried to work harder to get him to cum sooner than later, to get it over and done with. But Loki seemed to be lasting quite a while…

Then she felt dread run through her veins.

‘But of course, I wouldn’t have been able to be in this position if it wasn’t for this lovely little thing… Let me introduce you all to her.’ He said wickedly and tugged on her invisible collar, dragging her up out from under the desk.

Of course she tried to flee, but Loki kept a tight hold of her and hauled her onto his lap. Forcing her to face the screen, he had her sit over his cock and she felt him at her entrance as he leaned round and gripped her chin, keeping her head in place so she couldn’t look away.

‘Smile for the camera, darling.’ Loki hissed harshly into her ear and he then pulled her down onto him so his cock pressed painfully into her, forcing her body to accommodate him once again. She was mortified to find she was a little bit aroused, enough to make it less painful than last night’s first time.

The entire world could see her naked upper body, and most of them were able to know what was going on from the way her body flushed red in embarrassment and Loki’s breathing deepened.

‘That’s it, my pet. You belong to me just as much as your whole world does now.’ He growled and then winked at the screen before it cut out.

‘Mmm, such a good girl. MY good girl. And now the whole world knows it.’ Loki purred and began toying with her nipples as he thrust up into her, making her mewl.

His praise was making her wetter, Loki could feel her contracting around him hard. He grinned and bit down on her shoulder, chuckling against her.

‘You can deny it all you want, pet. But we both know you’re my good girl and always will be.’

-

That same evening, while Kelly was still reeling after everything that had been happening, she finally had some alone time when Loki went for a bath.  

When Loki disappeared out of the room, she waited a few minutes until she heard the bath water running enough, then she grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself, as there was no sign of her clothes anywhere.

She scurried to the door, but it was still locked as she had expected. So she ran to the large window and felt such relief when it opened and she stepped outside onto the balcony. But then she realised she didn’t know what to do next, it was really high up and all that was down below was the concrete roads and pavements, there was no way she could jump.

‘Come on, think. Use your brain, Kelly!’ She hissed at herself as she stepped back inside.

Looking up, she spotted the smoke alarm. If Loki hadn’t changed much of the initial security system in the building, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. So, with a quick glance around the room, she came up with a plan.

Grabbing one of the pillows off the bed she ran to the fire place and put it in enough to set it alight. She then went underneath where the alarm was and held the pillow up towards it, just as she had hoped, the smoke was enough to go up to the alarm and set it off.

Normally, when the smoke alarms went off in the tower it was set up so all the doors would unlock for people to get out safely, and it would set the sprinklers off.

But not this time. While the sprinklers did go off, wetting everything in the room, when she ran to the door it was still locked. She let out a sob as she banged hard against it in frustration and fear.

A dark chuckle came from behind her, making her jump out of her skin. ‘Did you really think that little plan would work?’

Kelly shook in fear as she slowly turned around to face Loki. She was a little surprised for a moment because he only had a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair was still wet too and dripping down his chest. He smirked when he saw her checking him out, but her eyes quickly shot back up to his face.

‘How stupid do you think I am, pet? That I would allow you to escape so easily? I don’t know whether to be angry that you tried to run away from me, or angry that you thought I’d be so stupid. Not to mention the state of my room now.’ He growled as he started walking towards her formidably.

She attempted to run to the other side of the room, but Loki grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back into him, making her cry out in pain. He put his arm around her middle and held her tightly to his body as he snarled into her ear. ‘You are going nowhere, pet. You belong to me, like the rest of the world does. And you only have yourself to thank.’

He dragged her back towards the bed and when she was thrown onto it, invisible restraints instantly trapped her, making her immobile and sending her panic levels sky high again.

Loki could clearly see she was distressed and panicky, but he was about to make her worse. He stood at the side of the bed and held his hand out, palm up. A jar formed in his hand and Kelly let out a gasp in horror at what was inside it. It was Thor, but he had been turned into a frog. He was jumping at the glass, trying to escape.

‘If you aren’t careful, I will get you your very own jar.’ He snarled in warning. ‘No more stupid escape stunts. You do as you’re told. Do I make myself clear?’

Tears fell down Kelly’s face as she shook from head to toe. She nodded quickly, feeling a horrible stabbing feeling deep within her at the sight of Thor like that. Though she had thought he was dead too, with the others. Even though there had been no sign of his body.

Loki had the jar with frog Thor vanish, then he prowled onto the bed over the top of her and grinned. ‘Now, now. There’s no need to look so scared, pet.’ He cooed and stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand. ‘If you’re my good girl, which I know you can be, you will have absolutely nothing to worry about ever again.’

He leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips.

[wendimydarling]

Weakness

Title: Weakness

Summary: Syverson and his wife get into an argument, and he shows her bratty ass how to mind.

Pairing: Syverson x First Person Reader

Word Count: 2017

Warnings: nudity, manhandling, penetrative sex, tickling.

A/N: Last request of the year, folks... I’ve got a full plate!

Could you please do a tickle fic with syverson where u guys have a fight, but then when he comes to bed late at night you tickle him to get him to talk. But then he gets annoyed at you and ends up tying you up and tickling you as a punishment, though it ends in fluff and giggles at the end? Love ur fics!

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How many times we gonna have this argument?”

I had zero desire to do this tonight but I stood there anyway, arms crossed, nostrils flaring. Everyone in the bar was cowering away from Syverson’s intimidating hulk of a stance, but not me. I’d been with him for too long.

The guy that hit on me was far in retreat but once again, I’d been embarrassed in front of everyone by Sy taking it too seriously. He was so protective and for the most part, I didn’t mind. But I consider myself a woman that can defend herself without the aid of a man, and when said man comes in and threatens to maul any man within a ten foot radius of me, my intimidation factor gets undercut by about fifty percent.

Syverson also had his arms crossed, his legs regulation width apart and back ramrod straight. His size alone was enough to terrify most women, and even some men, but not me. I was far too pissed. Sy furrowed his brow.

“I’ll not have anyone hittin’ on my woman, especially not while I’m there to defend her,” he stated firmly. I rolled my eyes and threw my hands in the air.

“We’re goin’ in circles, and I ain’t doin’ this in public, especially not tonight,” I snapped. I grabbed my clutch and walked out the door, hailing a passing taxi and getting in before I could change my mind. As I gave the driver my address, I looked out the window and saw Syverson standing there, his mouth set in a stern line. A pang of excited fear shot into my belly; I had just left my husband at a bar. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Syverson made it home about twenty long minutes after I did. They had to have been the most agonizing minutes of my life, and that included the time he suddenly lost phone reception once when he was on tour. I got ready for bed while I waited for him to come home, but I knew sleep would evade me. Back and forth I paced, straightening the décor on our shelves and brushing my hair before finally coming to rest on the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest. 

I heard a car door outside and adrenaline coursed through my veins; the front door slamming shut near made me jump out of my skin. My body was rooted to the mattress, fingers fidgeting with the lacey hem of my cotton nightgown nervously. Sy entered our room, glanced at me briefly, then tore off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper as he barricaded himself in our bathroom without a word. I was in so much trouble, and my heart sank down into my stomach. Why of all nights did we have to do this tonight?

It wasn’t long before Syverson came back into the room, scowl still stubbornly etched on his face as he removed the rest of his clothes. He caught my eye and held it in silent warning; I didn’t dare look away. His belt was drawn out of its fabric station slowly and my ass clenched in apprehensive dread, but Sy just dropped it to the floor. My annoyance catapulted over my fear.

“Ya just not gonna talk to me then?” I snapped, shooting him my own glare. Syverson still didn’t speak, simply shucked his legs out of his pants and boxers and climbed under the covers, rolling over so that his back was facing me. That was the last straw.

“Sy…” I drawled, dragging a fingernail down his spine. He rotated his shoulder and huffed, but didn’t turn over. Determined, I tried again, spidering my fingers over the back of his ribs. Syverson spun around with surprising agility for a man so large and in a flash my wrist was seized. 

“Best not start somethin’ ya can’t finish, little lady,” he warned, shoving my hand away. He closed his eyes and settled back into the bed. Anyone else would have heeded Sy’s warning, but not me. I needed to talk about it. 

“Come on Sy, talk to me,” I pleaded. He just grunted. I assessed the situation, surveying his body for my plan of attack. His big arms protected most of his torso but the blanket had ridden down when he flipped over, and I could see the sharp point of his hip bone cresting through the waves of hair that graced his skin. Bingo.

I crawled on the bed carefully, sneaking a hand beneath the blanket to where Syverson’s warm girth lay nestled between his thighs. He grunted again but shifted to grant me more access; he never could say no to a blow job, no matter how mad he was. I straddled his chest and palmed him softly, smirking as he fell straight into my trap. Instead of leaning over though, I drilled my fingers into the deep pockets of his hips, relishing the way he immediately started huffing and throwing curses my way.

“If ya ain’t gonna talk to me then I’m just gonna tickle ya,” I drawled, scribbling my nails over his sensitive flesh. Sy grunted and jerked but he couldn’t quite get his hands around my torso to reach, the tickles confusing his brain and causing him to lose focus.

“Hmmm… still don’t wanna talk?” I teased, “Fine then, perhaps I should move to yer feet.”

In a flash my ankles were yanked out from under me and I was rolled underneath Sy’s heavy frame, his nimble fingers finding purchase beneath him on my sensitive ribs. I squealed and scrambled for his hands, kicking at him as I tried to stop the tickles. He just climbed on top of me and flipped around to straddle my hips, instantly immobilizing me and removing any notion I had of making it out of this alive.

“Ya think ya can just leave?” Syverson growled, pinning my arms above my head with one hand and returned to digging his fingers into my rib cage. I squealed again and fought to escape, but his thighs were an iron vice around my hips and his rough hand effortlessly held my wrists, locking me in place so that he had all the room in the world to punish me for my behavior.

“Ya thought this was over just cause you were done with it?” His fingers drilled faster, their ferocity matching the scowl on his face as I laughed helplessly.

“Try again, little lady... we ain’t over ‘til I say so.”

With that, he reverted back to his silence. I screamed and pleaded with him but he ignored me, tickling any skin he could find. When he ran out of skin to tickle he simply created more, rucking up my nightgown to gain access to my belly and navel. I laughed and wailed but my cries met a stone wall; I was too ticklish for my own good, and Syverson was mad. 

He tore my nightgown completely off me and grabbed my wrists, and I took the brief moment to gasp for air. My respite was short lived however as I noticed his intentions; he was pinning my arms beneath his knees.

“No, Sy NO, PLEASE!!” I protested, pulling uselessly against his brute strength. I knew his game, I knew where he was headed and I didn’t want it. 

“I’m sorry,” I begged him. Sy stared at me, hands on his knees, glare still firmly lodged on his face.

“I told ya not to start something ya couldn’t finish,” he said coldly. His hands travelled slowly behind him, resting along the supple flesh on my thighs.

“I know, I--KNOW,” I gasped, kicking at him. Syverson shuffled my body as I spoke, spreading my legs and trapping them between his folded knees.

“Ya just... ya wouldn’t talk to me, Sy. I didn’t want to go to bed upset, not tonight,” I admitted, gazing up at him with round eyes. I struggled under his weight, trembling as his fingertips grazed along the inner tendons that connected my legs to the rest of my body. Sy gave me a look that said I better keep talking, so I continued to explain.

“I don’t need ya to defend me all the time,” I said softly, not wanting to look at him. I knew his face would show that he was hurt, and I was right.

“That’s what I’m here for, bug,” He whispered, staring at my heaving chest as he traced circles along my sensitive loins. I shivered. God, I wanted to reach out and hold him.

“But what about when ya aren’t here?” 

Syverson’s head snapped up to look at me, fire and pain flaring in his eyes. I could see that it hadn’t occurred to him that I still got hit on when he was overseas. Remorse and understanding fell over his features, and he nodded in submission.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Still, ya need to pay fer leavin’ the bar without me.”

His fingers picked up their pace and my face scrunched up in agony. I wasn’t gonna get out of this by distracting him, and I was left with no choice but to accept my punishment. Still, I had to try.

“Sy, no don’t--” I managed to get out before he was squeezing those tendons between his thumbs and fingers, pinching every last ticklish nerve along my thighs. I thrashed and screamed, the highest-pitched squeals tumbling from my lips as he laid waste to my secret weakness, fluttering his fingers all over my mound. Time lost all meaning; had it been five minutes? Ten? I didn’t know, all I knew was that instead of tickles, my tortured pussy desired nothing more than for him to split me open and fuck me into the next century.

“NO MORE!” I begged, “SY PLEEEHEHEASE!! NO MOOOHOHORE!!”

His fingers froze and Syverson cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Ya gonna try and fight back?” he questioned, positioning his elbows on either side of my head.

“No sir,” I breathed.

“Who do you belong to?” he growled. My eyes softened and I gazed at his face, desperate to touch him, to comfort him.

“I belong to you.”

“Good girl.”

Sy released my arms and I wrapped them around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as he did the same to me, thrusting into me to be as close as he could. He was hard as a rock, it took no more than five seconds before he was bottomed out and we two had become one flesh. It was an old song and dance and yet every time still felt like the first.

 Syverson held me close as I clung to him fiercely, my tears weaving a wet trail into my hair as his embrace coiled around me, suffocating me in the best of ways.

“I’ll be back before you know it, bug,” He crooned against my cheek, but I could hear how choked up he was and I lost it. I would never get used to him leaving.

“You better be,” I sobbed, never wanting this night to end. Tomorrow brought pain, and separation.

“Now now, no tears,” Sy shushed, cradling my face in his hands and wiping the salt that threatened to stain my face. He thrust into me, hard and wanting and I gasped, pitching my hips to meet his. My cervix was on fire, the slightest movement would send me barreling over the edge into bliss. I saw a glint in Sy’s eye, one that told me he was about to be devilishly mischievous and my arms were brought to rest above my head, fingers interlocked with mine, and kisses alighted on my nose and neck as his lips found their way to my ear. 

“Keep your arms up, bug,” he ordered, his fingertips spidering softly down my arms. No, I thought, squirming my hips and then gasping in shock as pleasure rocked through my center. Not this. Anything but this. His voice came searing into my mind, sealing my fate with one phrase.

“Yer gonna learn not to start somethin’ ya can’t finish.”

[imagine-loki]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 11 (Final Chapter)

TITLE: Tear You To Pieces CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 11 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was sent to make up for his deeds by helping out The Avengers at the tower. Everyone thinks he’s changed, but he is just biding his time. He manipulates and uses someone who works there, who has a crush on him, to get exactly what he wants.  RATING: M

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: DARK LOKI, RAPE/NON-CON, MANIPULATION, MURDER, VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, KIDNAPPING

  The following morning, Kelly woke up after a horrible sleep trapped in Loki’s arms, it had been laden with nightmares. But when she woke, she wished she had been back in one of those nightmares, as the one she was living was much worse.

Loki had kept her prisoner in his bed for a while that morning, petting her and toying with her body. He made her cum a few times and then took her again. Now he was just chatting away to her as if nothing was wrong while he got dressed, she lay shaking in his bed still. Curled up.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he had raped her or the fact he was acting as if it was all normal, that they were a happy couple. It made her feel sick to think about either way.

Loki turned to face her and frowned. ‘Come on, get up. I’ve got a job I need to do, to let the world know exactly who is in charge. And you are coming with me.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently.

When she got out of bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and stood there awkwardly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. Loki opened the door, then looked at her expectantly.

‘Let’s go. Don’t think you’re getting clothes, if that’s what you’re waiting for.’ He said firmly, making her stomach drop.

Kelly knew there was no point fighting or trying to get away, so she submissively followed Loki to his throne room as he called it.

‘Get under my desk and use that pretty mouth of yours to keep me satisfied.’ Loki pointed towards said desk that was on front of his throne-like-chair. The desk was pretty big, so Kelly was a little relieved that at least she wouldn’t be too cramped.

She was resigning herself to being Loki’s slave. It was her own fault, after all. She blamed herself, and would every single day.

Before Kelly went over to the desk, Loki gripped her chin and had her look at him for a moment. He studied her closely, then smirked and brushed his thumb up over her lower lip.

‘Mmm, yes. You are going to make this job much more exciting.’ He purred, his smirk growing larger. ‘Now be a good girl and get into position.’

Kelly meekly crossed the room and crawled underneath the desk. Loki sat down on his throne, legs spread wide and he looked down, grinning at the sight of her down there.

‘Get started, darling. I have some business to attend to.’ He urged her.

Wanting to get it over and done with, Kelly began the difficult task of getting his cock free. It wasn’t easy with his armour that he was so adamant on wearing all the time. But she eventually got his cock out and reluctantly started stroking him.

‘Use that mouth of yours, pet. Don’t disappoint me.’ He growled with a quick glance under to her.

She really didn’t want to, but she knew she had no option. So she leaned in closer, hands on his thighs and she wrapped her lips around the tip of him, then slowly began sucking.

Loki let out a sigh of pleasure, but he was still able to focus. Only just. Her mouth felt so warm and lovely around him. He cleared his throat and clicked his fingers, a screen appeared up on front of him. It was recording him, broadcasting to every single TV in the world and appearing on everyone’s smartphone in an emergency video.

Kelly paused when she realised what was happening, Loki began a big speech about being ruler of the world. How many countries he had and which ones were under threat if they didn’t yield to him soon.

She carried on sucking his cock when she felt a sharp pain in her neck, it was Loki using his seidr as it felt like a collar was wrapped around her neck again. Hollowing her cheeks, she tried to work harder to get him to cum sooner than later, to get it over and done with. But Loki seemed to be lasting quite a while…

Then she felt dread run through her veins.

‘But of course, I wouldn’t have been able to be in this position if it wasn’t for this lovely little thing… Let me introduce you all to her.’ He said wickedly and tugged on her invisible collar, dragging her up out from under the desk.

Of course she tried to flee, but Loki kept a tight hold of her and hauled her onto his lap. Forcing her to face the screen, he had her sit over his cock and she felt him at her entrance as he leaned round and gripped her chin, keeping her head in place so she couldn’t look away.

‘Smile for the camera, darling.’ Loki hissed harshly into her ear and he then pulled her down onto him so his cock pressed painfully into her, forcing her body to accommodate him once again. She was mortified to find she was a little bit aroused, enough to make it less painful than last night’s first time.

The entire world could see her naked upper body, and most of them were able to know what was going on from the way her body flushed red in embarrassment and Loki’s breathing deepened.

‘That’s it, my pet. You belong to me just as much as your whole world does now.’ He growled and then winked at the screen before it cut out.

‘Mmm, such a good girl. MY good girl. And now the whole world knows it.’ Loki purred and began toying with her nipples as he thrust up into her, making her mewl.

His praise was making her wetter, Loki could feel her contracting around him hard. He grinned and bit down on her shoulder, chuckling against her.

‘You can deny it all you want, pet. But we both know you’re my good girl and always will be.’

-

That same evening, while Kelly was still reeling after everything that had been happening, she finally had some alone time when Loki went for a bath.  

When Loki disappeared out of the room, she waited a few minutes until she heard the bath water running enough, then she grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself, as there was no sign of her clothes anywhere.

She scurried to the door, but it was still locked as she had expected. So she ran to the large window and felt such relief when it opened and she stepped outside onto the balcony. But then she realised she didn’t know what to do next, it was really high up and all that was down below was the concrete roads and pavements, there was no way she could jump.

‘Come on, think. Use your brain, Kelly!’ She hissed at herself as she stepped back inside.

Looking up, she spotted the smoke alarm. If Loki hadn’t changed much of the initial security system in the building, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. So, with a quick glance around the room, she came up with a plan.

Grabbing one of the pillows off the bed she ran to the fire place and put it in enough to set it alight. She then went underneath where the alarm was and held the pillow up towards it, just as she had hoped, the smoke was enough to go up to the alarm and set it off.

Normally, when the smoke alarms went off in the tower it was set up so all the doors would unlock for people to get out safely, and it would set the sprinklers off.

But not this time. While the sprinklers did go off, wetting everything in the room, when she ran to the door it was still locked. She let out a sob as she banged hard against it in frustration and fear.

A dark chuckle came from behind her, making her jump out of her skin. ‘Did you really think that little plan would work?’

Kelly shook in fear as she slowly turned around to face Loki. She was a little surprised for a moment because he only had a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair was still wet too and dripping down his chest. He smirked when he saw her checking him out, but her eyes quickly shot back up to his face.

‘How stupid do you think I am, pet? That I would allow you to escape so easily? I don’t know whether to be angry that you tried to run away from me, or angry that you thought I’d be so stupid. Not to mention the state of my room now.’ He growled as he started walking towards her formidably.

She attempted to run to the other side of the room, but Loki grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back into him, making her cry out in pain. He put his arm around her middle and held her tightly to his body as he snarled into her ear. ‘You are going nowhere, pet. You belong to me, like the rest of the world does. And you only have yourself to thank.’

He dragged her back towards the bed and when she was thrown onto it, invisible restraints instantly trapped her, making her immobile and sending her panic levels sky high again.

Loki could clearly see she was distressed and panicky, but he was about to make her worse. He stood at the side of the bed and held his hand out, palm up. A jar formed in his hand and Kelly let out a gasp in horror at what was inside it. It was Thor, but he had been turned into a frog. He was jumping at the glass, trying to escape.

‘If you aren’t careful, I will get you your very own jar.’ He snarled in warning. ‘No more stupid escape stunts. You do as you’re told. Do I make myself clear?’

Tears fell down Kelly’s face as she shook from head to toe. She nodded quickly, feeling a horrible stabbing feeling deep within her at the sight of Thor like that. Though she had thought he was dead too, with the others. Even though there had been no sign of his body.

Loki had the jar with frog Thor vanish, then he prowled onto the bed over the top of her and grinned. ‘Now, now. There’s no need to look so scared, pet.’ He cooed and stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand. ‘If you’re my good girl, which I know you can be, you will have absolutely nothing to worry about ever again.’

He leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips.

[clefairymuke]

regrets | chapter five

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairings: levi ackerman x reader / eren jaeger x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2028

Erwin had made an announcement at breakfast, and it took a few hours to settle into your bones. At first, you were excited -- you all were before the reality of the next few days really set in. Finally, something different, you had thought, knowing your friends shared the sentiment. Now, as you laid out your uniform for the events of tomorrow morning, fear infected your brain. There would be a scouting expedition outside the walls tomorrow.

You had just returned from another stables rendezvous with Eren. Today made a week of meeting him every night. You had one more week of bliss ahead of you, and this had to fuck it all up. You were angry, and afraid, and exhausted. Everyone was fast asleep around you, making you envious. You doubted you would be able to sleep much that night. You dropped into your bed, letting out a soft groan. You loved being a Scout, and you weren't necessarily afraid of titans, either. You were mostly afraid of losing someone. Before every mission, you thought about your friends. Sometimes you felt like you were the only one in the group that wondered if you would all make it back alive.

You tried to distract yourself by thinking about Eren, but it didn't work. He was nothing but excited about tomorrow's expedition. He had talked about it all night while you nodded your head in agreement, not wanting to ruin his mood. You knew you would be riding alongside him and your friends the next day, led by Levi. Having Sasha, Connie, and Jean near you would ease your mind a bit, you hoped. It was hard to be upset that you were on Levi's squad, despite hating him. At least you knew your friends would be well protected.

After what felt like hours of laying there in frightening thought, you finally drifted off to sleep. Instead of terrifying memories in your dreams, you saw your friends being eaten right in front of you. It's safe to say you didn't sleep for long.

---

You could feel your horse breathing underneath you. His breaths were slow and calm. You wished you could share his collected nature. Your breaths, on the other hand, were shallow and quick. You could feel your heartbeat in your skull; it seemed to block out all the noise around you. You started forward, kicking your heel into your horse's side as your eyes focused on the back of Levi's head. Jean was next to you, then Eren and Mikasa. Connie, Sasha, and Armin were behind. You thought Jean might have said something before he smiled over at you, but you couldn't hear him. As the walls grew further behind you, your heart sunk to your stomach.

You could see red flares shot along the edges of the formation every few minutes. It was morbid, but you couldn't help but be glad that you and your friends were positioned in the middle. You worried for Historia and Ymir, but you knew they wouldn't allow anything to happen to the other if they could help it. They were likely safer with each other than they would be with Erwin himself.

It was unlikely that you and your friends would encounter a titan on this mission until it was time to complete your objective. The goal was to capture an abnormal titan; it was mostly to satisfy Hange's insatiable curiosity, but there was no denying that any information would be valuable to the people of Paradis.

You saw it. A mix of "finally" and anxiety settled into your bones as the black flare shot into the sky, seemingly straight into the sun. It was on the edge of the formation, too far for you to actually lay your eyes on the titan. Then, less than a minute later, another column of black erupted -- closer this time. You winced at the thought of your dead comrades on the edge. Another erupted, even closer to the middle.

"This titan is moving impossibly fast," Jean commented, his voice strained in worry. Levi did not look back, or at the flares.

"Stay focused on the objective," he said flatly, not allowing his eyes to falter even as the flares grew closer.

You could see the titan now, just barely. The top of its head was covered in dull brown hair. It seemed to be a quadriped titan; it ran like an animal, the ground exploding around each step. You tried to ignore the blood and limbs mixed with it. It wasn't easy. It and the black smoke grew so close you couldn't stand it.

"Levi," you called, your voice unwavering despite your stomach being in knots. "What do we do?"

"Focus on your mission."

"Do you see how many people are dead?" you asked, anger filling your chest. "We cannot capture this titan."

"What did you expect to happen? Did you think the abnormal we captured would be The Peaceful Titan? Don't act dense. You are a soldier. Focus on your orders," the ice in his voice fueled the fire in yours.

"So we're to wait around while our comrades die?"

"Yes."

You could see it clearly now. The titan bounded toward the middle. You were nowhere near where you needed to be to successfully capture it. There were no trees, nothing to grab onto. The plan was absolutely meaningless. It was like you were blinded when you saw its horrifying face. You were sure this would be the moment you experienced your friends meeting their end. Connie shot his flare as it edged closer.

"Push forward," Levi stated coldly. "It will chase."

"Our horses can't move that fast," Armin spoke up. "We'll be dead before we reach the forest." You could feel the ground shake. Fellow scouts approached it in waves, five to ten of them fighting to protect Levi Squad at a time, and all of them dying one by one before your eyes.

It happened so quickly you knew you'd be completely unable to recall any of the events unfolding in front of you. Like time skipped, the titan was gripping Jean in its hand, so large it nearly covered him entirely as it lifted him to its open mouth. You weren't sure what happened between witnessing your worst fear and your ODM gear penetrating the titan's shoulder, but you were hurdling toward the titan without any plans.

Your instincts kicked in as you ripped out of its shoulder and connected your gear to its legs instead, slicing the wrist that held Jean on your way down. You went for its ankles in an attempt to render it immobile, but you knew it could continue to drag itself forward with its hands if need be. It fell, unable to catch itself because of the deep slice in its wrist. You watched, almost allowing yourself to smile, as Jean wiggled free and climbed atop Connie's horse. Your celebration was cut short, however, when the titan's knee fell onto your leg, pinning you to the ground.

Everything was blurry for a moment after your head slammed to the ground. It was almost enough to keep you from feeling the excruciating pain in your left leg as the bone snapped. But not quite. You laid there in absolute agony, unsure of what exactly was going on around you. You could feel the heat as the titan healed above you, but you couldn't focus enough to consider what would happen when it healed completely.

One second you were still on the ground, hearing the shouts of your friends as slurred-together, entirely meaningless words. The next, you were in the titan's hand, your body completely enveloped. The pressure on your leg was not doing you any favors. The only coherent thought in your head was that you were absolutely going to die.

In your next conscious moment, you were laid across a pair of arms -- a touch you didn't recognize. Your vision was blurred as you tried to see the face above you, slowly coming into focus. The head was backlit by the sun, like a halo. You felt your lips turn up a bit, woozy and dreamy. Your smile dropped as your eyes focused and the pain set back in.

Levi was holding you. The titan lay dead behind him.

---

You were getting tired of blurry vision. You awoke in an infirmary bed, your leg elevated in the air by some sort of sling. Your eyes started to flutter closed again, though you fought your hardest. The only thing able to keep you from returning to peaceful and painless sleep was the voice piping up at your side.

"Are you a fucking idiot?"

Levi. Again. You were absolutely exhausted from his seemingly constant presence.

"Sometimes. Why?" you managed to get out of your aching, dry throat. You looked around for water and saw some on the table next to you. You started to sit up and reach for it, but he knocked your hand back to your side with his own and grabbed it quickly. He handed it to you, almost gently. You took it from him, brow furrowed, and lifted it to your mouth.

"Do you realize how completely stupid your stunt out there was? You nearly died," he told you, leaning back in his chair.

"Was I supposed to just let it eat Jean?" you asked him, anger in your voice. "I would've rather died."

"No, you were supposed to let me handle it. You had no orders to attack."

"I didn't need orders. My friend was about to die. You weren't handling it."

"I ended up handling it anyway, didn't I? If you would've stood down in the first place, I could've done it without any injuries on my squad. But, because you had to protect your boyfriend and couldn't trust your commanding officer, I'm left with one of my best soldiers stuck in bed for no fucking reason. Can you see how frustrating that is?"

"He's not my boyfriend," you told him. It felt stupid that that was the first thing that came from your mouth.

"Ah, yes," he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "There's the boyfriend situation as well."

"What boyfriend situation?"

"Eren came to sit with you last night. He felt inclined to recount certain events in the stables," He said flatly, his grey eyes piercing yours with strange anger.

You were mortified. Your hand clenched around the glass of water so tightly you were sure it would break. You struggled to maintain eye contact, the last thing you wanted being showing weakness to the insufferable man sat beside you.

"He's already aware that I know, and is awaiting punishment. I haven't yet decided what would best suit this situation. I'm sure your fellow soldiers know, as well. I wasn't exactly secretive in my scolding," he smirked, so small you were sure you wouldn't have noticed it it your eyes weren't focused so solely on his expression.

You finally gained the courage to speak as his words sent rage flooding through your veins. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Well, you broke explicit rules, to start with. Secondly, what if you were to fall pregnant? Do you realize how dangerous that could be for yourself? Not to mention that Eren is not entirely safe to be around; we do not know all that there is to know about his titan. He is dangerous."

"He's not dangerous, Levi."

"Perhaps he isn't. But I can assure you that I am. If there's one thing you will learn before you are healed enough to fight again, it's respect. I'm tired of you acting stupid, brat. Grow up a bit."

You huffed, taking a gulp from your glass of water. You refused to look at him.

"I'll be back to monitor your progress. For now, I have to leave. I'm sure your friends would like to discuss your secret meetings with Eren, anyway. I think I saw Jean waiting in the hall."

With that, he rose, took the glass from your hand and set it on the table, turned, and left.

You promptly decided that you were fucked.

[shreddedparchment]

Pt.32 A Hulk’s Smashing Consequences (Pt.2)

06/26/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,568

Warnings: violence, blood, pregnancy, labor, seriously...lots of violence

A/N: I’ll let this one speak for itself. Enjoy! xoxo If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work!

“Oh…” You whimper, afraid to move as you try to assess the state of your body.

“Why Queen Flowers pee?” Hulk demands, standing up and pointing at your feet.

“I-I think my waters have broken.” You whisper, straining to feel the pain that you were told would come but nothing.

“Baby come now?!” Hulk asks, his voice a little higher than it was before.

You realize he’s nervous and look up to meet his eyes. He’s shifting from one large foot to the other, hands clenched into fists as he stares at the small puddle at your feet while his movements shake the room.

Watching him chew on his large lower lip looks strange considering the barbaric look of him.

“I think so.” You nod, getting a hold of yourself to keep the massive Hulk at ease. “Hulk?”

He turns frenzied and surprisingly understanding eyes on you. He’s definitely not stupid. You weren’t sure how much of Doctor Banner’s intellect transferred over.

One thing you can see in his eyes…a sweetness you hadn’t know you would find there. Fear of what’s to come, but true concern for you in this situation.

“All I need is to change into a simpler dress.” You’re still in your evening dinner gown. Heavy thick white fabric with golden thread embroidered along every surface in a carefully patterned damask design. “And then I’ll lay down, and we’ll wait. Grandmother will be back soon and-”

Oh, no…Grandmother…

Whatever expression your face takes—fear and panic probably from the way you’re feeling—makes hulk thump towards you, stopping two feet away.

“What wrong?” He worries, voice still higher than normal as his nerves get the better of him.

“How is she going to get back into the castle?” You wonder aloud. “She’s…she went into the village to fetch supplies for when I give birth and…and now I’m giving birth and she’s not here and with all the fighting there’s no way she can get back into the castle! Hulk…”

Oh yeah, panic most definitely begins to set in. You shift closer to your bed and carefully sit yourself down as your breathing speeds up. You can feel the wet from your underdress and it’s slightly uncomfortable but nothing you care to notice now.

“Queen Flower no worry. Hulk go get witch lady.” He promises then moves for the door. “Hulk be right back.”

“No wait, Hulk don’t-!” But he’s already gone, barreling through the castle making the ceiling rain dust. “Don’t leave me alone…”

Your whimper fades into silence as your panic begins to steal your resolve to face this night with courage.

Still you feel no pain yet and you relax a little though your mind is attuned to your body more than it ever has been before. When the time comes, you’ll feel it, won’t you? You’ll know when it’s really time?

“It’s too soon.” You cry, not realizing that tears have begun to trail along your cheeks. “You’re too soon.”

Caressing your bump, you sit there for a long time. You hear Hulk’s words again, his assurance and his calling Grandmother a witch which is nothing new—most of the village folk in Bright Rise had called her so—but it’s strange to hear it tumble from Hulk’s lips as if it were true.

Other worries cross your mind. Worries that you’d spoken to Steve about in the quiet hours of cold naked mornings spent with him in bed. Whispered concerns about the possibilities of giving birth. Things that could happen. Might happen. Things that you try not to dwell on right now when Hydra is attacking the castle.

You can feel the rumbles of what feels like castle walls being smashed. Strange sputterings of whizzing magic like that of Father’s energy that propels him through the sky. You hear that strange buzzing of the red magics you’d seen through the window.

There’s thunder and you’re glad that Thor is out there to help. His power is great, and you feel better with him helping in the fight.

It’s endless, their fighting. Although you can’t see it, hearing it you could almost imagine the carnage. The blood and the sweat of your loved ones, trying to protect you. Time too feels endless. Like the night is stretching out forever and only when the sky begins to shift from black tar to starlit indigo do you realize how much time has passed.

Hulk, where are you?

When you can’t stand the waiting any longer you get up and double over as your back splits with pain.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath as you feel the shift in your belly and finally the pain begins to show.

You push through the first wave and move to the large wardrobe where you know you’ll find your clothes. It’s laid out for you at the very front, a long and white nightdress, soft linen with a ruffled and rounded neckline.

It takes what feels like forever to get the cords around your waist undone. Your skirt falls. You unclasp the bodice and let that fall away too.

Your corset is the hardest. You strain to reach the strings that hold you together and as each pull through a loop loosens its grip, you feel a wave of relief to your back.

Stopping to relish in the ability to breathe deep, you stand there, eyes shut.

As another wave of pressure hits your lower back, you grit your teeth as the pain escalates a little more and your hands are temporarily clenched into fists and immobilized to removing your clothes.

You’re almost yelling in silence, mouth open as you struggle through the pain that forces you to stoop over and cling to the door of your wardrobe.

Only after it passes do you remember that Grandmother had told you to count the seconds of your pains, but you’re so wrapped up in it, your mind has only one mission: Endure.

With shaking hands, you manage to pull away from your clothes and stand naked in your room just as the pressure builds again.

“F-five…” You say to yourself, trying to remember that it has only been five minutes is your best guess.

You can’t concentrate enough to count in your head and focus on those sweet and worrying conversations with Steve about this very moment that you’re now living.

As this pain subsides, you breathe out one shaky breath before you concentrate on moving your arms and pulling your birthing dress on.

You feel a little better in clean clothing and waddle as best you can to your bed but reach the post at the foot before you’re seized by another pain. This one is sooner.

“Four…” You guess. “Ahhh…”

You groan with agony as the pressure rips through you once more. Your hand finds and fists the heavy curtains of the canopy on your bed. The strain pulls against the post and you hear a subtle creak as you rely on it with all your might.

The pain is fading when you find your voice again, and you whimper a tearless sob as you wait for your legs to be strong again.

“Steve…” You call for him, knowing he cannot come.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve crashes painfully with a cart covered in hay. It falls to pieces around him as his body does its damage.

“Ugh…” He groans before shaking his head once to rid himself of the daze and gets to his feet.

He turns to look at his opponent, Rumlow wearing a strange black metal armor. Over his helmet is painted what looks to be a smudged white skull. He can see Rumlow’s dark angry eyes surrounded by charred flesh. A result of the attack on Bright Rise, Steve would guess.

“I didn’t do that to you, which I am most grieved about.” Steve admits to him, rubbing salt in his wounds.

“You die today.” Rumlow promises. “As does that peasant slut you call a Queen.”

Steve’s blood boils and he sees nothing but Rumlow and the death he will gladly dispense.

“You first.”

In his peripheral, though he does not focus on it, he can see a streak of silver blur behind Rumlow across to a group of Hydra guard attacking the Scarlet Witch. She manages to fend them off however and waves her brother along who runs to a lithe figure in black with bright red hair. Natasha leaps onto the shoulders of a guard, twists her hips and brings him to the ground before she unsheathes the daggers along her thighs and throws them at two more guards that had been approaching from behind. The bodies are sent reeling back with the force of her throw, blades in skulls.

Just as the bodies hit the ground, a dark metallic arm reaches down and retrieves a dagger, and sickening squelch as the blade slides through brain and bone. Dressed in a worn but tough navy leather tunic with dark metal armor welded into the fabric to protect his most vital areas, Bucky tosses her dagger back to her before allowing the momentum of his throw to turn him around and catch a leaping guard by the throat. He slams him into the ground with a deep and guttural growl.

Another leaps onto his back and he reaches back, dark hair flying in the scuffle as he grunts and throws the attacker over his head.

The attacker flies through the air and topples into a grouping of five others that suddenly explode back up into the air and in their place is Scott getting larger by the moment. He grows and grows until he’s as tall as the Southern tower and he stomps his way towards the now crumbling and smoking castle gate shaking the ground as he goes. A few of the Hydra guard attack his large feet—a weak attempt considering they cannot even penetrate the thickened hide of his boot—but Scott ignores them and reaches for his target. He grips the flaming battering ram with one hand, lifts it, and with a squeeze of his fist he crushes it easily. As he drops the splintered wood and broken metal to the ground, he finally notices the guard at his feet.

They run, but Scott’s grip is large, and he takes a handful of them before throwing them over his shoulder.

Their bodies soar through the sky, past the Southern tower where Clint nocks an arrow and sends it flying to strike the flying targets. One, two, three bodies shot down, one after the other as the fly past the tower. He misses one and it nearly soars through an open window when Hope appears almost out of thin air to punch the guard. She disappears but the guard is knocked up into the air and then back down to the ground where he falls in a crumpled heap as Hope reappears over his body only to disappear again into the mass of black that pools around a stooped form that seems to be getting overwhelmed with the amount of bodies being piled on top.

There’s a subtle rumble from the sky before it cracks open and lightning rains down to strike the center of the pile just as Thor’s booming battle cry fills the air and those touching him fall down to the ground as the lightning burns them from within.

Thor’s arm is thrust into the air as he pushes up from the ground and flies up only six feet, lightning connecting with his hammer and sizzling with charge as he moves upwards and it follows him back down as falls and slams his hammer down onto the ground sending more Hydra guard up into the air.

They are caught by a streak of red and gold as the Iron Man flies by along with another streak of white and black steel. They throw the guards they’ve caught at each other to collide painfully, before Iron Man catches two more and sends them zooming towards the castle with a blast from his hand.

A shining gleam of silver cuts through the sky as two large wings slice into one of the guards then catches the second. Samuel holds onto the struggling form until they’re nearly at the peak of the tower then he releases the body and dives back down into the fray with an impressive sweeping wind.

The body nearly hits the stone of the parapet when a distinctive whip fills the air and web is wrapped around the body’s waist and swung up into the air and released. The Spider-Man, in a bright blue and red tunic with trousers to match, swings forward as Steve goes flying back once more, a small puff of smoke left where he’d been standing.

As Steve lands, the Spider-Man plants himself behind him and catches him, helping him stand before pulling Steve’s shield off his back.

“Lose something?” He asks, tossing it to Steve.

“Thank you.” Steve says, nodding at Peter before he shakes his head. “Why are you still down here? You’re supposed to be with her Majesty.”

“Hulk is with her.” Peter assures him.

“Hulk?!” Steve gasps, ducking as a guard dives towards him. He swings up with his shield and knocks him out.

“I got sidetracked. There are so many of them.” Peter gasps, jumping easily over a knocked-out guard that rolls by his feet.

“Well, at least I know she’s safe.” Steve sighs, turning back to Rumlow who is busy fighting a few of Tony’s own personal guards while Steve recovers quickly.

“GUHRAWRRHGGG!”

The animal-like cry is familiar and all too close.

Steve, Peter, and half of those fighting turn towards the terrifying sound of an angry Hulk as he comes barreling around the corner of the castle, trampling enemies as he goes while he simultaneously grabs hold of the ones he doesn’t step on, crushing them in his massive grip or throwing them into walls and dirt.

“HULK!” Steve shouts, desperate to get his attention.

The green mass seems to hear him as he turns to look at Steve and then jumps high up taking with him two bodies, before landing only a few feet away, crushing three others and dropping the two that he holds now lifeless.

As he walks over, Steve can see that he’s dirty, hands dripping with blood and mud as if he’s been fighting for a while.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks before Steve has the chance. “You’re supposed to be with her Majesty!”

Hulk stops, thumping his chest importantly before he points at the cart rolling in from where he’d just come.

“Hulk go get witch lady for Queen flowers.” He says, voice proud. “Queen have baby now. Queen flower peed on floor.”

All of the blood in Steve’s body rushes up to his head and he can hear nothing but Hulk’s last few words.

“Hulk…is-is Y/N in labor?!” Peter asks, voice shocked and full of worry.

“Mm.” Hulk says simply, then points to the cart where Grandmother is dismounting amongst a large violent scuffle.

Steve is numb, and for this moment at least, his mind travels back to a cold winter morning that he will never forget.

You’re nestled in his arms, naked chest pressed against his own as you rest against him. You’ve got one hand up on the back of his neck, your fingers twirling through his hair. The other is resting against his side and he’s trying not to focus on how it tickles when you move your soft fingers in little circles against his skin.

“May I ask you for something? A gift?” You say, voice clear as a bell and full of hesitation but excitement.

Steve smiles, happy that you’ve become so open with him. He can’t believe you’re actually asking him for things now.

“Whatever you want my petal, it’s yours.” He says, pulling you closer as he wraps his arm around you more tightly.

He can feel the heat of your cheek as his words have some strange effect on you. A pleasing one.

You turn to look at him, resting your chin on his chest as gently as you can.

He turns to meet your eyes, admiring the way your hair is all over the place, messier in the back from how much he’s had you on yours.

There’s a glow to your skin, a sticky goodness that gives him such pride to know that he’s spent so much time giving you the pleasure you’d so rightfully deserved. He will never finish making all of it up to you. But this is as good as it will probably get.

“Tell me.” He urges you when you don’t speak.

“Promise me that you’ll be by my side.” You tell him, voice more confident. “When our child is born, I-I know that women die from giving birth and if those are to be my last moments-”

“No.” Steve protests, stroking your arm and shoulders. “No, don’t say that my flower.”

“Please, Steve, I must say it. I need you to hear me and I need to know that you’ll do as I wish.” You sigh. “If giving birth to our son is to be the last thing I do, I would very much like to have you at my side. I love you but more importantly, I want to see him in your arms.

“I want to know that if I should be gone from his life, that you will be there for him. That he will have his father’s protection and love, forever.” You tell him desperately, voice tight and intense.

“Of course, I’ll be there for him. There is no question about my being there for our son. I will always be there for him.” Steve declares, but he knows that you won’t be satisfied with only this. “And I promise, I will be by your side when you give birth to our son.”

It’s odd, sure, for the father to be in the birthing room but if it’s your wish, Steve will fight anyone who gets in his way to be there.

“I-” Steve begins, looking around at the fighting as Hulk disappears into the battle once more.

Beside him, he can see, hear, and feel Peter blocking blows and shielding him from an interruption to his sudden frozen thoughts.

“Your Majesty?” Peter says, trying to bring him around as he incapacitates two guards with his webs. He flings them away where they crash into more Hydra then flips back towards Steve, stopping to place his hand on his King’s shoulder. “Steve…”

Steve looks at him, swallowing hard as he wars with himself to rationalize this decision.

Before he can, two more figures fight their way into their small tense circle.

“What’s the matter?” Natasha asks, red hair whipping back and forth as she blocks a sword and kicks the attack in the gut with a grunt.

Beside her Bucky takes his fist and slams it into the ground hard creating a localized tremor that unbalances a few more guards that Natasha takes out with smaller daggers from around her hip.

“Has something happen?” Bucky asks, breathing hard, skin smudged with blood and dirt.

Steve still can’t speak so Peter does. “It seems Y/N is having the Prince. Now.”

Natasha’s face whitens as she takes a step closer to them both. “What?!”

Steve meets her gaze and Natasha shakes her head.

“You must go, Steve. Go.” Natasha insists.

“What about the fight?” He hesitates, wanting to run to you but knowing that he’s needed here. What if one of them should die because he leaves? He can’t just go.

“We will make do.” She says.

“She’s right.” Peter chimes in. “Y/N needs you more than we do.”

“But-” Steve begins, already decided on giving in.

“STEVE!” Sam shouts from the top of the crumbling gate, pointing towards the Southern forest where a literal cavalry is breaking through the trees.

At the very front, sitting tall and proud with one eye obscured by a black metal mask that covers only that side of his face, Fury leads a troop of guards dressed in blue and gray armor.

There is a deafening crack as the sky splits open once more and through the inky clouds of the coming morning a streak of blinding golden light rips through. At the head of this light is a figure, body covered in a slender armor of gold, blue, and red. Through the helmet is a slit along the top through which long golden hair spills out in what looks like a mane.

The figure stops midair, seems to float there as if the action require no more effort than breathing, then with her fist leading the way, she dives down and cuts through the throng of black until she reaches Rumlow and lands with a small thud.

“Shall we dance?” She asks him, voice cool and amused. Rumlow slams his heavily armored fists together, a reverberating clang filling the air, before he launches himself at the stranger who appears to be on their side.

Steve’s chest is filled with relief as he spots the reinforcements and turns to give in to his own and Nat’s desires when he sees a glimmering blade moving too fast for him to block, aimed right at the center of Natasha’s back.

Steve blinks and when he opens his eyes, he sees Bucky with his metal hand wrapped around the tip of the blade, the back of his hand resting right up against Natasha’s back.

The fury and loathing that blackens Bucky’s eyes worry Steve for a moment that they might not have seen the last of the Winter Soldier but Bucky breaks the blade, knocks the sword from the guard’s hand, and grabs him by the throat.

“I’m going to knock your brain into the soles of your feet.” He promises before punching the man so hard he falls to the ground, motionless with a dribble of blood flowing from his ears.

As he turns to check on Natasha, he has no chance to worry as she throws her arms around him and kisses him so hard his lips turn bright red.

Bucky is quick to wrap his arms around her and crush her to his chest as he returns her affections wholeheartedly.

When she pulls away, they’re both breathing hard.

“We’re getting married tomorrow morning.” Natasha declares.

Bucky swoons and kisses her again.

Steve turns to Peter who nods, and runs with him, helping him clear a path to the nearest entry.

“Tell her we’re all with her.” Peter says, and once Steve is through, he shuts and blocks the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re nearly completely folded over, clutching your stomach and back and your legs and everything hurts, and you think you might die from this but then it passes and you’re counting in your head.

“Th-Three.” Three minutes. It should be time? Isn’t that what Grandmother said?

No. Wait longer. The pains must be so close together that you won’t be able to tell them apart. Laying down would be beset right now however, and you edge your way closer to your bed again.

You’re sweating and straining, breathing heavily, and also not breathing enough. It feels like you can’t take a breath. Every other sound that comes from your mouth is a whine or a groan or a moan as pain engulfs you once again.

You manage to sit this time, hands fisting the sheets of your bed as you grit your teeth and then remember to try and breath but it’s too much. It’s too hard. You’re sobbing by the time the pain passes, rubbing your stomach in the hopes that this is the way it should be and the pain is not a sign of some distress your baby must be in but you’re too stupid, too uneducated to know.

Most women don’t know these things right away. You attempt to console yourself, knowing that only a midwife would know. A doctor would know. A peasant turned princess turned queen would not know. It wasn’t in your studies.

Still, the feeling of helplessness takes hold and you hate yourself for not doing better.

“I’m s-so sorry.” You grieve with your little one, scared and unsure of the fate you will both suffer.

You lay yourself down as the pain subsides and it doesn’t help but you don’t want to stand so you lay there for only half a minute before the bedroom door is thrust open.

“Grandmother?” You squeak, turning to look at the door for what you hope is reinforcements but instead find all of the blood in your body turning into ice at the ashy blonde hair and the wrinkled skin and the thin and slightly parted mouth of a desperate Lord Pierce.

You sit up more quickly than you thought would be possible, eyes taking in his slightly hunched stance as he moves towards you with careful steps. His hands are wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword.

He’s sweaty, breathing just as hard as you.

You realize that he’s had to fight his way up here. There’s a cut along his cheek and another gash on his leg. Not big enough to matter but proof of the battle.

“You should have just stayed with the Asgardian in the woods.” Pierce says, voice strong and resolute. “You should have never come back. Then I wouldn’t have to kill you and that brat inside your stomach.”

You raise one hand, a plea for him to stop as you go numb to everything but his movements and your free hand searching underneath the pillows behind you as discreetly as you can manage.

“Please.” You beg. “Please…”

“You really shouldn’t have come back.” He says, almost truly sounding remorseful but really he’s only irritated that he has to get his own hands dirty.

He raises his sword and swings it down to cut off your head just as your fingers make purchase around the solid hilt of Steve’s hidden sword.

You raise the heavy thing with a strength you didn’t know you had and block Pierce’s strike with a metallic clang.

The two of you struggle for a few seconds, struggling against each other’s solid grips until finally you push yourself onto your feet and nearly scream as you muster up all the strength you can to push his sword away from you.

It frees you up and knocks him off balance but he’s recovering quickly and you know that you will not survive a battle of swords with this man so you do the only thing you can do. You reach for the pitcher of water beside your bed, chuck it at his head, and run.

You can hear him sputtering and the break of the china as you sweep from the room, moving as fast as your baby heavy body will allow. Your bare feet slap against the floor as you turn the corner and race down the hallway towards the war room, but there are two floors and six hallways between you and you’ll never make it.

Pain bites into you, compelling your feet to stop moving as you turn another corner and cling with one arm to the peach limestone of your father’s hallways. The sword drags along the floor, scraping and making noise as you groan and try to hold yourself together as you’re robbed of your breath once more.

“Bitch!” Pierce screams and his voice rounds the corner behind you.

Forgetting your pain, you push yourself forward, terrified that he will catch you. You can’t let him kill your son.

You move faster, urging your body to keep moving despite the crippling pain that threatens to bring you to your knees.

It isn’t fast enough. As you round another corner and the stairs are in sight, Pierce’s hand wraps around your hair and he pulls you back hard.

You scream, knowing that no one will come because every man is down on the grounds, fighting with the Avengers.

He manages to wrap his hand around the back of your neck, but you twist in his grip and he adjusts it so that he’s almost choking you. Drawing your sword again, you can’t swing it from this angle so you raise the hilt up as fast as you can and hit your mark.

Pierce’s nose gushes blood as he stumbles back. The chain of your necklace is wrapped around hit thumb and it rips as he falls, releasing you from his grip.

The run down the stairs is terrifying, with every step a threat to you and your prince. You nearly fall on the last two but catch yourself along the banister before you’re racing forward once more.

You turn the corner and can hear Pierce barreling along the steps. In one horrible moment, you realize that you cannot outrun him. Slipping into the first door on your right, you rush in and urge your breathing to slow as the quiet of the room makes every noise you make that much louder.

You have never been in this room before and find yourself in a room with towering shelves. Each shelf is filled with books and strange knickknacks. Statues and pieces of artwork carefully organize and lined up.

Although the silence is unbearable, you’re grateful for the winding and maze-like bends and turns of the shelves and bookcases.

As silently as you can, you weave through them, stopping only when you feel you are deep enough and go still so that you can listen.

Your heartbeat is in your ears. Your breathing is still too labored.

Was that the door?

No. You cry in silence as the pain strikes again. In your back, in your lower body, your pelvis, it’s all on fire.

You raise your hand to your mouth and bite down hard. You can feel the skin break as the pain becomes unbearable, but you cannot utter a single sound or it’s all over.

Not my baby. You grieve.

The pain begins to pass, and you realize that it has only been a minute since the last one and you have to get out of here if your child is going to survive.

With all the remaining courage in your heart mustered you turn around to sneak out once more only to feel the sting of a powerful hit on the left side of your face.

The strength of it sends you falling onto your back and you gasp, struggling to catch your breath as your bones protest the fall.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” Pierce asks angrily.

Looking up you see the sword flying towards your stomach.

You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around it, trying to cover as much of your baby as you can before the blow lands. You hear the terrible squish of blade piercing flesh and sob once because you know you’re dead…only there’s no pain.

You hear a groan, Pierce’s groan, and urge your eyes open only to find him standing over you with a shining silver blade peeking out of the center of his gut.

Blood dribbles from his mouth onto your nightdress as the light in his eyes fades. The sword is withdrawn and with a shuddering breath, you begin to cry.

“Are you alright?!” She asks, all beauty and enviable strength in her form hugging tunic of blue and black. Her long blonde hair is gathered up on her head, swept out of the way so that she can fight without struggle.

She sheathes her sword and kneels down beside you, her hands moving along your arms as you let your head fall back, happier to see Lady Sharon Carter than you ever thought you’d be in your life.

New pain fills your body as it struggles through the shock of what just happened and the urging of your son to come into this world.

You groan and moan and Sharon’s eyes fill with panic as she realizes that you’re about to give birth.

“Oh my-” She gasps.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Another shout fills the castle halls, moving closer and closer as he no doubt follows the trail of your fearful flight.

“Here!” Sharon rises to her feet and disappears from your sight, but you hear the door open again. “Steve, she’s here! Quick!”

Despite the pain your body is in, your mind begins to fuzz over and as you lay there between two large bookcases, Pierce’s lifeless stare gazing right at you, you begin to feel numb again.

“Y/N!” Steve’s voice is closer. “Where?!”

“Here.” Sharon says, leading him to you.

You know when he has you in his sights because his voice breaks as he speaks.

“No.” He cries. “I’m here. My flower, I’m here.”

He kneels beside you and you eagerly turn to meet his gaze.

He’s got cuts along his neck and forehead.

You frown, reaching for them in clear disapproval of any injury he’s gained. Storm blue eyes filling with tears, he’s careful to touch you but places his hand over yours as you touch him.

“Steve…” You try to smile. “I-I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Stay with me, love.” He whispers, tracing the shape of your arm from wrist to shoulder and back. “Stay awake.”

Your eyes close and Steve screams. “NO!”

[whump-town]

Prof of Law Aaron Hotchner

Warning for violence, stabbing, nightmares, an anxiety attack, and drugs (the prescribed kind)

Aaron Hotchner is a retired Federal Persecutor-- just an AU where Hotch is a law professor for fun and angst!!

Bouncing Jack on his hip, Hotch smiles as he stands over Haley’s shoulder. He pulls his hand back from the cake, wincing when Haley smacks his hand away. She’s a perfectionist and having the smear of his finger through this cake is going to heavily disrupt her otherwise perfect spreading. 

“Oh come on,” he pouts, he turns his body so she can see Jack. “We just want a little,” he attempts. Rousing his son, he jogs the boy up a little more in his arms. “Tell her Jack, tell Mommy, say only a little.” Despite being very much daddy’s little boy, Jack smirks and turns his head away. Giggling and babbling nonsense into his father’s shoulder. Wiping his face on Hotch’s shirt. 

Hotch plays along. “See,” he offers, “just like he said. We only want just a little bit.” 

Haley rolls her eyes, smiling at his antics. She reaches around the cake to the mostly empty tub the icing had come in. “Go,” she instructs, handing it to him. “Get out of my kitchen Aaron Hotchner before I beat you with this spoon.” She searches across the counter for the wooden spoon she’d used to keep the green beans on the oven stirred. 

He smiles and kisses her head, avoiding the spoon when she tries to jab at his side with it. 

As he’s walking away, egging Jack on in his triumph of obtaining the icing, there’s a knock at the door. He’s still talking to the baby, so stepping away from the cake she moves so she can see down the hall from the kitchen. To see if he’s getting the door. “Aaron--”

He steps into the hall and winks at her, “I’ve got the door.” He curses softly, pulling his hand away from Jack’s mouth. He’s swiped a finger into the container before coming to the door. Jack mercilessly chumps down on his fingers and regardless of his absent teeth it still hurts. 

“Hey--” 

Hotch lands flat on his back. The world a dark haze and a strange eerily painful chill in his side. Pain like he’s never felt before. Touching his side, he lifts his head off of the floor and stairs in shock at his hand. The dark, thick crimson of his blood. So much blood. 

“Aaron!? Oh my God!”

 Choking, Hotch tries to move. Mouth open and back arching, he kicks out blindly. The pain creating a black haze around his vision. Coughing and turning his head as he wheezes around the obstruction in his airway, his own blood, he can hear more gunshots.  Jack screams, wailing, and sobbing on in distress. There is one final gunshot and the crying stops. The house falls silent. 

“Jack,” he tries to move but his arms won’t hold his weight. “Jack,” he calls again, panic rising. “Come on, buddy,” he cries. “Where--” blinking the blood from his eyes he looks up and into the face of someone he hasn’t seen in a decade. George Foyet. 

Leaning down, Foyet places his foot against Hotch’s throat. He presses down just enough to cut off the rest of his oxygen, smiling when Hotch uselessly tries to push him away. “Remember me, Aaron? Aaron? Aaron! Aaron--”

“Aaron! Easy, easy.”

He’s in bed. His grey t-shirt slick with his sweat and practically glued to his back. He’s safe. Looking around he can slowly start to piece together where he is. Dave’s house. Well, his house too but it’s Dave’s house.

“Woah,” perched on the corner of his bed is David Rossi. As silly as the older man looks in his matching pajama set (from probably the eighties) Hotch can’t spare the breath to do much more than lean into his embrace. “You’re alright,” Dave assures him, rubbing his back and cupping the back of his head. “Just breath for me kid,” Dave keeps Hotch pulled close, glad that he’s not trying to wrangle away just yet.

“Dave?” Hotch can feel himself shaking, his eyes pinched shut. He’s terrified, honestly. The nightmare had felt so real. So much like the real day. George Foyet had come into his home and-- “I need… Jack?” Hotch pulls away just enough to catch his old mentor’s eyes. Waiting to find the truth there. Because he can’t remember. His brain is split. Had he buried his son that day too? Is Jack… Is Jack dead too?

Dave smiles, it’s sad but it’s not mournful. “He’s sleeping in his bed,” Dave promises. “I checked on him before I came in here.”

Hotch can feel the hitch in his chest as he lets out a relieved breath. “He’s okay?” Hotch asks, he needs the clarification.

Dave nods, “perfectly content.” That’s the easy part about being a baby when the world goes to shit. Jack will never know his mother but he’ll also never have to wake, like his father, in cold sweats shaking from nightmares. Terrified and alone.

“Okay,” Hotch pulls back, scooting back in the bed so he can cross his legs and rest his head in his hands.

Watching him with an air of concern Dave sighs. He looks at the clock and shakes his head. It’s four in the morning and there’s no way that Aaron’s going back to sleep now. “You good,” he asks. As much as he’d like to stick around and make sure Hotch gets back to sleep… that’s futile.

For the last few years, they’ve been working on getting Aaron through the night. Whether it’s nightmares or insomnia he can’t seem to get a break.

Hotch nods with his face covered by his hands.

Dave stands and looks back over his shoulder one more time. “Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“Try and get some more sleep, alright? You can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Hotch doesn’t look up but hums in agreeance. Already he can feel the low throb at the back of his skull. If he starts drinking coffee now maybe he’ll make it through his first few classes without passing out. In the vending machines outside his office, they sell these little bottles of five-hour energy.

He’s a little too old to go chugging those but he’s not going to go canceling his class over a little missed sleep.

It’s been a long time since he even thought about consuming this much coffee.

By six a.m. he’s consumed four cups.

“How long have you been up?”

Hotch blinks sluggishly despite the warm fifth mug of coffee in his hands. “Hmm,” he asks, rubbing at his eyes.

Directing Jack down the hall, hand over the boy’s head like a claw, Dave looks Hotch down. His posture is awful, bent over himself, with dark rings under his eyes. “I asked how many cups of coffee you’ve had but I’m afraid I don’t want the answer.” Pushing Jack along, the boy scurries into the kitchen. Buzzing past his father to make a B line for the milk and cereal.

“Don’t spill the milk,” Hotch mumbles, watching Jack fumble with the carton.

It’s been nearly three years since George Foyet’s attack.

The man was released from prison for “good behavior” as young, white men tend to get off. It seemed as if the two young women he’d killed were brought to justice in the ten years he spent in prison. How easy it must have been for the justice system to see the opportunity in a man like him, while ignoring the ones he’d taken. A misguided youth and a tragic backstory only adding to their empathy.

The atrocities he’d committed were not of his own accord, of course not. It’s always so much easier to blame those young women or perhaps his mother. If those girls had not been out so late at night, if they hadn’t worn skirts and frilly tops then he would have never noticed them to begin with. If his birth mother had loved him more...

None of that matters now.

They considered Geroge Foyet “cured” and released him back into society.

Where his first stop was to a library, where he found the address of the man who put in prison. Federal Prosecutor Aaron Hotchner.

This is the part the dreams never get right. Foyet didn’t have a gun. He had a knife. A single pocket knife that he stole from a junkie in an alley. It had been late and Haley had answered the door. Hotch hadn’t even heard her cry out for him. He’d been wrangling Jack out of the tub, the little boy a mess of squirming limbs and very upset with his father for making him take a bath.

They’d been in Jack’s room when Foyet found them.

He’d had his back turned to the door, shushing the crying baby as best as he could while trying to get a diaper around his kicking legs. The first stab had been so quick… by the third he was on his knees and unable to do anything besides keep falling.

On that floor, George Foyet stabbed him six more times. Jack had screamed and cried the entire time. He’d been too young to understand, not even a full year old, but he knew something wasn’t right.

In the dreams, Foyet always kills Jack too. The harsh, overwhelming sound of silence those little cries silenced. There one moment and gone the very next.

He can’t remember much of what happened.

Foyet had moved to Jack, picking the boy up and shushing him. Hotch had watched, immobilized and too weak to even beg for his son to be spared. So he’d watched, choking on his blood, and slowly losing his battle with consciousness as Foyet settled down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and rocked his son. Soothed him.

A neighbor would walk by and see Haley laying in the hall. The blood…

Hotch had died on the operating table, a fact that Dave would later inform him of. He can’t remember recovery all that well. Clouded with drugs and grief, he… There was once, he remembers this clearly because it had only been a short time after he’d woken up, they’d brought Jack in. Dave and the nurses had been trying everything to calm him but he wasn’t sleeping or eating. He’d cry and cry and cry until he made himself puke or passed out.

The moment they placed Jack in Hotch’s arms, the baby had stilled. His pained cries dying to whimpers as he looked up at his father.

Hotch had been propped up with pillows. Too weak to even lift his own head but they’d stacked pillows around his sides and arms. He couldn’t fight the exhaustion weighing his body down but he clung to Jack. Waking from his sleep in a panic each time, watching the room’s other occupants in case they might try to take Jack from him.

After all the time he’d been nearly unresponsive to them, if having Jack around would keep his heart rate up and his oxygen intake steadily improving no one was going to complain. Several times he woke to his gown being moved so they could place Jack against him. Skin on skin therapy does wonders on humans of all ages. Recovery had been easier with Jack there. The baby stripped to his diaper and nestled against his chest. Little fingers grasping onto him.

It’s been three years and George Foyet follows him everywhere he goes.

“Professor?”

He makes his own lesson plans. He knows which cases come up when. “Who--” he makes the mistake of looking at the screen and his heart stills in his chest. Swallowing thickly around the obstruction in his throat, he looks down to the floor forcing himself to take in a steadying breath. “Who, um, can explain why this case can’t be dismissed on the grounds of Gamble v United States?”

He doesn’t need to call on a student. There’s only about ten kids in the class and it's a ridiculously easy question.

“It’s two separate accounts,” someone speaks up. “Same thing, sure, same crime even but that’s not how double jeopardy works. Besides, you’d want to look more into United States v Felix. Um--” The hard sound of one of the automatically folding chairs shutting in on itself sounds out through the room. “Sir?”

“Sir, are you okay?”

Hotch grips the edge of the desk tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “I’m--” his knees buckle but he forces his weight to his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. “I’m okay,” he manages.

A student, he can’t tell which one, cautiously approaches his side. “Sir,” he calls. The student, Carter one of his more extroverted and adventurous students, squats down by his side, hand on his back just above his belt. “Not to alarm you,” Carter says, “but I think you’re having an anxiety attack. Do you have any medicine? Is there something we can do?”

Hotch squeezes his eyes shut, trying to work against the tears rapidly falling down his cheek. “My--” he grabs frantically for his tie. The knot against his throat tightening steadily to a noose until he can’t stand it. His hands are too weak to pull the material away but graciously, his useless fingers are pushed aside. Carter undoes the knot quickly and Hotch is suddenly very thankful that Carter’s pompous, cocky agenda brings a tie into his little aesthetic.

“In my office,” Hotch rasps, his hand twisted around his dress shirt. “It’s--” he sinks to the floor, head between his knees. “... a few,” he manages, “in my office.”

Carter turns over his shoulder. “Billy!”

Hotch looks up and watches Billy meagerly rise from where she’s called. Billy, while a great student, is riddled with social anxiety. Despite having taught the young woman all three years he’s been employed at the university she can’t meet his eye when they talk. And she always makes great haste in avoiding him. He’s never bothered to figure out if she’s got issues with authority, a problem with her father, or if she just hates him that much.

Carter turns back to Hotch, surprised by the startlingly vacant look in the man’s eyes. His eyes just watch Billy where she stands anxiously waiting to find out what awful thing she’s going to be asked to do.

“Sir,” Carter shakes Hotch a little. Smiling reassuringly when Hotch’s bloodshot eyes meet his. “I’m going to send Billy to get Professor Prentiss, is that okay? Billy is going to get the professor and we’re going to head to your office, alright?”

Hotch nods.

“Can-Can’t someone else go?”

Carter helps Hotch to his feet, graciously nodding his head to another student who slides under Hotch’s other arm. “No, Billy. Now go.”

Professor Prentiss is a notorious hardass. Her students love her but everyone else is terrified to even cross her path. She’s like a black cat, bound to be bad luck. It did not help Hotch’s already scary demeanor to befriend her. To spot the two of them coming across campus, Emily always professionally dressed in slacks and a dress shirt and Hotch in his standard suit and tie, they’d built a good rapport for being scarily mysterious.

Despite how frequently they could be spotted in the campus café laughing over a cup of coffee. Their human moments always outweigh their harsh ones. In fact, Emily Prentiss has only ever come down on a few students. The ones dumb enough to try and fool her. Hotch has never raised his voice to a student and is surprisingly lenient for a law professor or even just a professor in general.

For goodness sake, Emily stops to talk to the campus cats.

Hotch wears a little beanie with a red knot at the top Professor Garcia made him two Christmas’ ago and spends the spring semester chasing his son around the quad. (Garcia made him the beanie so she could recognize him easier in public. There are way too many tall men in suits around but the red little knot makes him easily detectable)

That’s not to say they’re still not intimidating.

“Pr-Professor Prentiss?”

Turning slowly from her chalkboard, Emily faces the weary voice. First of all, this is a senior advanced level Arabic class so there are only five students present and she knows each and everyone one of them. Well enough to know that whoever just called out her name is not one of her own. Nevermind they never break from Arabic during class time. Under her breath, in Arabic, Emily mumbles, “freshman.”

Yet, the young woman is dressed surprisingly professional.

“What is it,” Emily asks, crossing her arms. She pushes her glasses down her nose, moving the reading frame out of her sight. Looking down the length of her nose, raising an eyebrow at the girl. As if interrupting her class wasn’t bad enough, she’s not trying to waste instruction time on some undergraduate student roaming where she shouldn’t be.

The student steps in a little more, chest heaving, breathless, and looking anywhere but at Emily, stammers her way through an explanation. “Uh,” she wets her lips. “Um, Prof--Professor Hotchner he, um, he was-- he was taking us through, um, a criminal law case and he was…”

The half-amused smirk on Emily’s lips placed there in the humor of what she thought was going to be some silly mistake or a prank from a coworker is wiped away. Penelope has sent mischievous students her way in the past, to knock them down a few pegs or remind them who's in-charge here. Derek’s sent way too many kids over, a whole class once, instead of doing his job. It’s becoming very clear this is not a joke.

Tossing her glasses on her desk, she demands, “where is he?”

The girl takes two steps back, not liking Emily’s shift. “He, um, Carter took him to his office, ma’am. He--”

Emily turns to her students, “class is canceled. I’ll send you a text this afternoon to make up for class.” Then with a nod, takes off up the catwalk, shoes sounding sharply against the tile. “We’ll facetime!” Motioning the girls to follow, “you, with me. Let’s go.”

She sends Dave a text, nothing complex just “Aaron, SOS”.

Hotch’s office is down the same hall as his favorite auditorium to lecture in. She’d bullied him pretty hard upon finding this fact out. It sounded very, very nerdy. And it is. What kind of normal person has a favorite lecture hall? Let alone a favorite room? Just as promised, that’s where he is.

He’s on the floor, stripped of his jacket and his shirt thrown open to reveal his white-shirt. His head is in between his knees and a young man, Carter, Emily presumes, is struggling to open the orange bottle of Valium. People go broke buying the stuff from drug dealers and Hotch will refuse one up until he’s breathless and shaking.

“Get out.”

The boy stops, “what?”

Emily nods her head out the door, “both of you, out.”

They share a look but neither student puts up a fight.

Emily cracks the bottle open with a single twist, pouring a pill out into her hand. The only thing she has around to drink is what looks like either tea or coffee from (nothing him) days ago. He doesn’t use creamer but there’s still probably something toxic in their brewing. “Here,” she kneels down beside him.

He looks up, face broken out in sweat and cheeks flushed, and takes the pill from her palm.

“You okay,” she asks, rubbing his back. She watches her friend carefully, studying him.

He takes a deep breath and holds it, ticking the seconds away in his head. Nodding, he closes his eyes and hangs his head back limply between his knees. He lasts only a moment, eyes flying open she finds nothing but pure terror in his dark eyes.

“Hotch,” she calls, unsure if he’s even here with her right now. “Hotch, calm down. What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, “hard to breathe…” His hand comes to his shirt, gripping the white material tightly. “Can’t-- Can’t get enough… not enough air.”

She nods her head, sounds about right. “You’re okay,” she promises. “You’re completely safe right here with me, okay? We’re in your office and you’ve taken a Valium.”

He nods. Right. His office. He can feel the rough mug and smell the old books.

It’s hot. “Off,” he rasps, tugging harshly on his shirt. “Off. I want it--” Too hot and too tight and all over him and--

“Okay,” Emily stops his frantic movements, his hands tearing at his dress shirt. “Okay,” she grabs his left hand by the wrist, easily pulling the shirt off his shoulder and moving his arm out of the fabric. He’s already calming back down, sinking forward as she works his right arm out.

He’d been trapped. Hot and trapped and his brain isn’t working right.

“That’s better,” Emily whispers. She moves closer to him, sitting between his legs and hesitantly pulls him into a hug. He goes where he’s pulled, letting her guide his head to her shoulder.

He sniffles, unable to stop his tears. “He was there,” he whispers. “I saw him.”

She soothes him but she has no idea who or what he’s talking about it. All she knows is that three years ago Dave dragged Hotch here and had a look around. He’d been a mess then. Hair windswept or maybe just unkept and leaning heavily on a cane while Jack had circled them excitedly. She’d shaken his hand and greeted him because Dave is her friend; he'd introduced Aaron as an old friend. He’d looked haggard and disheveled but that hadn’t bothered Emily too much. He’d intrigued her.

Aaron started in an introductory course that fall. Predictably, Dave had allowed him into their trusted group of friends. He’d been removed, at first. Distant and didn’t speak much. Not that he speaks all that much now but it was so much worse back then. Whatever he’d needed that cane for, whatever had driven him from prosecution, whatever had made him a widower and single father that remained his secret. A part of him so guarded only Dave knew and, as she suspected, he would be the only one to ever know.

“Good Lord,” Dave appears in the doorway, shaking his head at the sight before him. “You look like hell.” He leans against the frame of the door, arms crossed. “You know,” he informs them casually. “The two of you have officially ruined your image around here. How’s anyone going to be afraid of you if they walk past this door and see the two of you cuddling on the floor?”

Emily scoffs but doesn’t move away. She keeps moving her hand up and down his back. His breathing has calmed back down but his heart is still racing. “Shut up,” she grumbles. “At least, my reputation isn't being a sleaze bag.”

Dave sucks his teeth, frowning at her. “I am not a sleaze bag,” he defends. He’s not. His reputation for sleeping with the faculty does preside him but it’s horribly honorable that he stays away from the students. They all know coworkers not upholding that standard.

“You okay,” Emily directs her attention back to Hotch. He squirms out of her hold, shakily forcing his feet back under his body and standing.

“Hey,” Garcia knocks on the door and squeezes in beside Rossi. “Everything okay in here?”

Hotch turns his body away from her, scrubbing his face with hands.

“Yeah,” Emily assures her with a smile. It’s obviously not the truth. Hotch is standing in his white undershirt, dress shirt and suit jacket on the floor. His tie not even on the same half of the room. There’s a pill bottle knocked over on his desk and his hair, from what can be seen from the back, is crazy. “We’re good, Pen.”

Garcia nods her head, skeptically. “Okay,” she smiles, eyeing Hotch. He glances over his shoulder at her and she can see his red rimmed eyes and wet face. It’s okay if he doesn’t trust her with this kind of stuff just yet. She understands. “I’ll see you guys at lunch?”

Hotch nods, “we’ll see you there.” His voice is surprisingly rough but she leaves without comment.

Emily reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here, alright?” He’s still shaking and looks rather awful. “I’m going to send your class home. Take a nap or something, you look like a train wreck.”

Hotch just hums, lifting his his hands to his face. The feeling of his body is yet to return. His arms don’t even feel connected to his body. Rubbing his hands across his face he can hear Emily and Dave whispering behind him. 

“See you at lunch, Hotch.” Emily says as she steps out of the room. 

Leaving Dave and Hotch. 

“Are you ever going to talk about it?” Dave asks.

Hotch sighs but doesn’t turn to face the man.

“Come on,” Dave sighs. “It’s been years. If you don’t get it out, it’s going to kill you.” 

George Foyet going to kill Aaron. Maybe not today but it’s a matter of time. 

“Not now,” Hotch mumbles, turning his attention to his desk. He brushes the spilled pills into the bottle. Ignoring the careful way Dave regards him. He knows he has to eventually work out these stupid nightmares. It’s one thing to find himself trapped there in that house at night. It’s another when the nightmares work their way into the light. 

“One day then, hmm?”

Hotch freezes, his anxiety sky rockets just thinking about it. They’ll have to institutionalize him first. Drug him up and throw away the key before he finds the words to describe what happened that day. Mentally, he’s not even sure he’s strong enough to think about it for too long. 

Clearing his throat Hotch nods, “right.” He takes a deep breath. Lawyers are blood sucking liars, right? Well, he hopes this once Dave believes his bluff. “One day.”

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back ch. 2

First chapter  -  Read on AO3!

This chapter is a lot longer than I thought it was that’s my bad

cw: blood, intense depictions of injuries, food, flashbacks

~

When Crutchie woke, it was with a heaviness in the pit of his stomach. He knew that while he was not waking up from a nightmare, he would be waking into one. Another day either working hard for nothing or locked in a tiny closet, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Something was different, though. For one thing, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. He was on something soft, which couldn’t count as any surface in the Refuge. Not only that, but he didn’t feel squished or anything. There wasn’t anyone else near him, which crossed off the idea that he’d been dragged back to the room full of boys, but there was plenty of room to stretch out, so definitely not in a closet.

Maybe he had died.

As he became more aware of his body, though, he still felt pained--so probably not dead. He used to visit a church when he’d been on the streets by himself, less for concern of his mortal soul and more for the communion wafers and occasional Sunday afternoon luncheons, but he’d listened to what had been taught there. Apparently, if he died and went to Heaven he’d be healed. He had to be going to Heaven, right? He’d been baptized as a baby, after all. He didn’t really believe in it these days, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person.

He would’ve continued wondering about the fate of his soul had he not tried to flex his fingers and found both hands immobile--not because of the pain in them, but because his fingers were all wrapped up. So was his left arm, actually, which was distantly throbbing.

Reluctantly, Crutchie forced his eyes to open, grimacing at how crusty they felt. Light flooded his vision and he closed them almost immediately, then opened them a pinch.

He had no clue where he was. All he could see was a wooden ceiling. How was that supposed to help him?

It smelled sort of familiar, but it was also silent, aside from a bird chirping outside the window--which was right beside him. Actually, as he took a bigger breath (not too big, his chest was all tight and achy), he recognized something small--and then so many things, all in the scent of the air.

This was the lodging house, and with it, the smell of the soap they all used, Race’s cigar, newspapers, coffee, sweat, and that weird cologne that Jack and Romeo sometimes spent a few pennies on. He was home.

Crutchie let out a sigh. He was exhausted. Maybe he could just go back to sleep.

“Crutchie?”

So much for that idea. Crutchie shifted his vision a little, wincing as his neck cramped. Jack was sat there beside him, charcoal pencil frozen where it was poised on a paper. He looked okay, aside from a black eye. He also looked scared, for some reason, almost guilty. What had happened? Why was Crutchie at the lodging house? Why did Jack look like he was hiding something?

Crutchie decided to not bring it up at the moment, but couldn’t stop wondering. He didn’t remember all of what had happened since he’d been awoken the other morning by the Refuge kids with a cup of water, but he had vague recollections of beatings and closets and being trapped under the floor. He could also remember seeing Katherine, but that part might have been a hallucination. More importantly, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here and what had made Snyder let him go. If Jack had traded someone--

“How’re ya feeling?” Jack asked, and Crutchie could hear his words dripping with fatigue. He wondered how long he’d been out, that Jack had been sitting at his side for.

Crutchie opened his mouth, lips cracking, and paused at the pain that came when he tried to make his voice work. Something was up--Synder, chokin’ you, his brain reminded him. Also no water, dummy. They does that to a voice.

As if Jack knew what he was thinking, he shot up, the paper falling and pencil rolling away. “Gotcha some water waitin’,” he said, taking a few steps out of Crutchie’s line of sight and returning with a tin cup and a bowl. “Also had one o’ the fellas grab some soup from the sistas, so you can has somethin’ ta eat.” He frowned down at the bowl. “It ain’t too warm now, but it should still taste all right.”

Crutchie had the feeling that he ought to smile in thanks, but just couldn’t. He couldn’t even fathom lifting his cheeks that much--they felt oddly large and heavy. His head was pretty cloudy, anyway. It probably wouldn’t even be able to send the instructions to his mouth. Jack held the cup to his lips and he drank--the water was a bit warm, but far better than nothing--begrudgingly, wishing he could hold it himself.

As soon as all the water was gone, Jack was digging a spoon out of his pocket, preparing to feed him. If he had the energy, Crutchie would’ve sputtered in indignation. He could feed himself, thank you very much! He hadn’t let no one feed him except his mother, and that was too long ago for him to remember (he casually shoved down the image of Harley feeding him bites of sandwich, back at the Refuge).

“I can feeds myself,” he croaked out, feeling just that small movement of his mouth stretch his cheeks farther than normal. They must’ve been pretty swollen. Some of the anxious creases around Jack's eyes smoothed out.

“I know ya can,” Jack said, relief evident in his voice. “Lemme help ya sit up, then.”

Crutchie wanted to sit up himself, but he conceded this to Jack. He had to pick his battles, especially when he was so tired.

He gasped when Jack buried his arm under his back, the lashes and memories of them barraging him with agony. Jack pulled away as if he was the one who had been whipped, watching him warily. Crutchie scrunched his eyes closed, trying to stop a tear that was threatening to slip out. He wasn’t weak. He had to show Jack that he could do this.

“Want--want me to, uh, pull ya up by the arm?” Jack offered, and Crutchie nodded jerkily. That sounded bearable; his right arm wasn’t hurt all that bad.

As soon as Jack touched him, though, fear stole Crutchie’s breath. Images of thugs gripping his wrist and dragging him along on dirty floors filled his mind, and he cowered, pulling his body as close together as he could.

Someone was speaking, and Crutchie was about to ignore it until he realized the price he might pay for not following orders. His eyes shot open, his heart racing with a frenzy that seemed to pound on his broken ribs.

“--okay? Kath said your ribs got beat pretty bad, an’ it might be hard for you ta sit up. You good, Crutch?”

That was Jack. That was Jack speaking, and he wasn’t in the Refuge, he was at the lodging house. He just sat up to eat some soup. He was safe.

No matter how many times Crutchie repeated those words to himself, he couldn’t let go of the dark halls of the Refuge, the stink of the guards’ cigars, the pain that was coming at any moment.

“I’s fine,” he gritted out, forcing himself to meet Jack’s eyes. “Jus’, yeah, little bit o’ pain.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so just let it hang in the air between them.

Eventually, Jack helped him form his right hand around the bowl as steady as possible, then stabilized it as he brought it to his lips and drank. It bumped against his cheeks uncomfortably. It was little more than broth, and lukewarm, but Crutchie was grateful for it all the same. The taste of it alone nearly made him sob--the flavor was just so much--but he held it in.

Jack made him drink over half of the bowl before letting him lay back down, which was a much quicker operation than sitting up had been. When he was settled back in the bed, full to bursting and a little more clear on what was happening, he finally asked one of the questions that had been on his mind since he woke.

“Jack? What happened?”

Jack shifted from foot to foot. “With what?”

Crutchie sighed, pulling down his shirt a little to see what was under it. A lot of bandages and some bruises was the answer. “The strike, I s’pose.”

“Right, the strike.” Jack sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “Uh, well, we won.”

Crutchie’s heart leaped. They won? Against Pulitzer, and Wiesel, and the Delanceys, and Snyder, and all the police officers? Once again, he felt that he should smile, but just couldn’t find the energy. “Wow,” he said instead, swallowing around the pain in his throat. They had won. “How’d you get me out?”

There wasn’t an answer from Jack for a long time, and after a moment Crutchie looked over at him. He was looking down, cap in his hands, twisting it around anxiously.

“Governor Roosevelt,” he said, not looking up. His voice was unreadable. “Kath got him ta shut down the Refuge, for good. Ain’t nobody goin’ back there.”

Wow. They really won. How had that even happened? Crutchie couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that there would be no more Snyder chasing kids on the street. There had to be someone, right? Someone else who wanted to hurt kids for the fun of it?

“Y-you awake, buddy?”

Crutchie blinked, realizing his eyes had closed. “Yeah,” he whispered. Jack was watching him again, his eyes red. “Jus’ . . . jus’ tired.” And he was. He felt like if he didn’t sleep soon, he might just fade away. Even now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a week straight. He was so tired.

“Sleep, nitwit. Ya gots the time.”

Crutchie gladly accepted the invitation.

-

“Shh! Ya don’t want ‘im wakin’ up, do ya?”

“A little bit, yeah!”

“We wants to see ‘im!”

Crutchie groaned. The voices quieted down for a second with a few hushed gasps and shushes, then started up again when he made no effort to move. This bed was almost unbearably comfortable.

“C’mon, Jack! He’s practic’ly a’ready awake.”

“Yeah, but he ain’t. He’s restin’, he don’t need you lot tirin’ him out.”

“It’s our room too.”

“Yeah! You has to let us in, who put you in charge?”

“. . . You’s all did, Romeo.”

Crutchie snorted through his nose, then opened his eyes. He still felt bone tired, but a little like he could function. He turned his head, slowly this time, to see Jack a few feet away, holding back a good dozen newsies. Once they saw him moving, their faces lit up excitedly. Elmer pointed, hopping a little bit, and Jack looked over his shoulder to meet Crutchie’s eyes.

Immediately, he dropped his defenses and rushed to Crutchie’s side. He produced a tin cup from nowhere--and a different one from earlier?--and pushed it to his lips. “Hey, Crutch. How ya feelin’?”

Crutchie sipped and rolled his eyes, coughing a little when that sent a headache pounding. “Bit better,” he managed through his swollen jaw, pulling away from the drink. “Why’s my arm not workin’?”

Jack’s face flashed guiltily. “‘S broken,” he said, brushing hair out of Crutchie’s face. “Katherine said you’ll be wrapped up in it about three weeks, maybe more.”

Crutchie frowned. How was he supposed to sell? His right arm needed to hold his crutch, so what was supposed to be waving around the papers? His thoughts were interrupted by Jack making him drink some more water.

“I gots more food here, for ya,” Jack began. “Don’t want ya goin’ hungry. And then--”

“Jack?”

Jack went silent instantly, looking so intensely at Crutchie that he started to wonder if Jack thought he was dying. Maybe he was dying. He certainly felt like it. He shook himself. “Can I see the fellas?”

Jack turned around. The newsies, still standing in the middle of the room, waved.

“Yeah, why not,” he said, pulling his hat off and running a hand through his hair. “One at a time, though,” he added when they all began to rush forward. “You’s gonna give him a heart attack, all o’ you’s at once.”, during which Crutchie propped himself up into almost a sitting position. His bad leg was almost completely deadweight, and it hurt like he’d stuck it in a bonfire. Still, he dragged it up a little bit, trying to make room for another boy to sit on the bed. Breathing sitting up made his chest burn and back smart, but he could deal with it for right now. He just wanted to see his friends.

Specs sat down first, smiling in that gentle way of his. “Hey, Crutch,” he said. “Lookin’ a bit worse than last time I seen ya, huh? Feelin’ any better?”

“Jus’ a bit, and okay, I guess,” Crutchie admitted, once again finding smiling to be too much effort. “Jack says we won, I think. How’s it feel?”

Specs sighed happily. “Feels free. Can’t wait to get ya outta bed and into the streets, see how ‘cited the boys are ‘bout sellin’.”

“Me neither,” Crutchie said. Specs nodded, then patted him awkwardly on the knee before standing up. He was almost immediately replaced by Race and Albert, Race falling onto the bed with flourish, Albert standing beside it with his thumbs in his suspenders.

“Feelin’ any better, Crutchie?” Albert asked. Crutchie waved his arm.

“Loads,” he said, trying to not make any sounds as Race jostled him. “Bet I’ll be up sellin’ papes with you’s in no time.”

Albert guffawed; Race smiled a little piteously. “Glad to see that Crutchie spirit,” Race said, poking him in the side. Crutchie couldn’t help a gasp, bit his tongue too late to hide it. The smile completely dropped from both of their faces.

“Hey, uh,” Albert said, quieter than usual, “Race an’ I--we’s been there. Well, not there ‘xactly, but . . . that place. So we knows it’s hard to get better, an’ it takes time.”

They really didn’t know, Crutchie thought to himself as they stepped away. They didn’t have a public connection to Jack Kelly when they were in there, nor did they have a crippled leg. He was sure it was rough for them, but their experiences were not the same, and he didn’t much appreciate them comparing the two.

“Hey Crutchie! Feelin’ any better?” Elmer.

“I’d feel better if people would stop askin’ me that,” Crutchie grumbled. Elmer laughed, his eyes lighting up.

“Les an’ Davey an’ me made you this,” he said, holding something out. He dropped it in Crutchie’s lap, who stiffly picked it up with bandaged fingers and examined it closely. It was a loop of yarns, braided together in blue, green, and brown to make a bracelet.

“You don’t gotta put it on your wrist now,” Elmer said, obviously proud. “But we all made it! You can sees where I started braidin’ after Les, ‘cuz it gets better there.”

Crutchie felt tears pricking at his eyes as he looked, and yep--there was a section where it went from messy to a little less so. “Thanks, Elmer. I’m . . . I’m touched.” he glanced up into his face, seeing it split into a huge smile. “You wanna put it on my wrist? My fingers ain’t workin’ so well.”

Elmer did so with care, not even hopping back when Crutchie flinched at the touch. Then he gave a little bow and a wave, and darted off.

Next up were Romeo and Henry, who awkwardly told him about their day and asked about his. Seeing as how Crutchie had been unconscious for the majority of the day, there wasn’t much conversation to be made on his end. It was nice to hear about what they’d been doing, though. Crutchie could usually see Romeo from his selling spot, and they sometimes sold together.

“Some o’ the regulars is askin’ after you,” Romeo told him with a pat on the shoulder. Crutchie didn’t have the energy to hide his wince. “Told ‘em they oughtta be proud o’ you, you took on the Delanceys and won!”

Crutchie choked. “I ain’t done anything of the sort!” he sputtered. Romeo chuckled.

“I’m a newsie, what can I say?” he shrugged and patted his shoulder again, then wandered off with a bit of a dazed look on his face. Henry gave him a quick goodbye and followed.

Tommy Boy was just saying hello when Jack began to usher them out, saying something about how they needed to go run off their energy somewhere not here. For once, Crutchie was grateful for Jack’s motherhenning. He felt like he was going to shake right out of his body. The newsies were a tactile bunch, and normally Crutchie had no problem with that, but today it made his skin crawl and his brain go bleary. He’d also never been troubled by crowds of any size, but the room was beginning to feel unbearably full and loud.

When he looked up again, everyone but Jack was gone--and Katherine? When had she come in?

Not another person, Crutchie thought, then immediately felt bad. Jack had mentioned her a few times, and he inferred that she was sort of the person who got him out. He could have the civility to talk to her.

“Crutchie, how are you feeling?” Katherine asked, hurrying over. Crutchie bit his tongue to keep from responding rudely.

Katherine looked him over, the smile in her words slowly fading as she took him in. Finally, she met his eyes, and nodded. “Jack was right, you’re looking a lot better than yesterday.”

“Thanks, I think?” Crutchie said, something catching in his sore throat and causing him to cough violently. His chest seized up, his body wracked with agony at the pain that came from the shuddering coughs. When he recovered enough to open his eyes, Jack was holding the cup of water right under his nose.

“Don’ be gettin’ sick on me, Crutchie,” Jack said, sounding more worried than teasing. Crutchie swallowed down the last of the water and coughed one more time.

“I’s gettin’ sick just ta spite you, now,” Crutchie said weakly. Katherine and Jack both laughed, a little wildly, a little wrong. That bothered him, in ways that he couldn’t quite put together. Why didn’t they sound normal?

Something in the smell of the room was starting to make him feel sick. Had he eaten anything since the scraps that one morning? He had, hadn’t he? Jack had given him something earlier. Well, at least he knew there was something in his stomach to be tossed up if it came to that. That had to be easier on his throat than dry heaves.

“Crutchie, you heard that the Refuge has been shut down for good, haven’t you?” asked Katherine, trying to find somewhere to pat him kindly. She settled on the edge of the mattress.

Wait, what?

The Refuge? Shut down--for good? That wasn’t possible, was it? Snyder had a perfect reputation with the city. They’d never shut down a place that worked so well because a few teenage boys told them to.

“It what?” he said out loud, looking between Jack and Katherine, hoping to see some sign of humor. They had to be pulling his leg. Katherine only nodded, though, and Jack gave him a concerned glance.

“I told ya that already,” Jack said. “Remember? This mornin’?”

Crutchie thought back. Maybe? He remembered pieces of their conversation, but it was pretty blurry. He also remembered seeing a lizard crawl up the windowpane. He’d assumed it was a dream, but maybe it had actually happened. That was pretty cool.

“Anyway, I showed Governor Roosevelt some of Jack’s drawings,” Katherine pushed on. “He investigated it immediately, and went personally to shut it down and arrest that awful man!”

“The governor,” Crutchie repeated, dumbfounded. Jack had ridden in the back of his carriage once. Had he met the governor and not even been conscious?

Now that he thought about it, though, he had vague flashes . . . a man with a mustache saying something to someone out of sight . . . the same man holding water for him to drink . . . had he met the governor and let the man baby him?

“The doctor said he doesn’t know what your recovery will look like, but he thinks you’ll make a full one if nothing gets infected,” Katherine told him, and Crutchie was torn from his mortification to incredulation.

“A doctor?” He couldn’t afford a doctor! He didn’t even have enough money saved to miss more than a few days of work, how would he--

“Don’t worry,” Katherine said, waving him off with a little laugh, “Governor Roosevelt handled the cost. You were concerned about it when it happened, too.”

Crutchie made himself relax a little bit. He couldn’t turn down a free handout in his condition, especially not from the governor. The governor.

“And, speaking of. . . .” Katherine trailed off, looking uncomfortable. Jack took her hand and gave her a strained smile. Crutchie looked at the two of them. Were they together?! Why had no one told him?

“I sort of need to change your bandages,” Katherine said apologetically. Crutchie blanched, and she hurried to add, “It’ll be quick! Just clean wrappings--” she waved a bag-- “and some soap and water, then you can rest.”

Yeah, sure, but there was a huge problem. Katherine was a girl. It wasn’t that she was weak for being a girl or anything, but Crutchie really didn’t want to subject a lady to the mess that was his body right now. Or anyone, for that matter. In fact, if they could both just leave the room and give him the bandages and stinging stuff, he’d get it done himself.

When he tried to tell Katherine just that, she snorted. “Crutchie, no offense, but I don’t think you could beat a toddler with pneumonia in a fight right now. There’s no way you could do this yourself, or any way you could stop me or one of the others doing it for you.”

Crutchie’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t stop them. She was right. They could do anything they wanted to him, and he was powerless to do anything. They wouldn’t even need to hold him down.

Crutchie only nodded when she asked him if she could change his bandages, his throat completely dry. Jack watched him for a moment, and Crutchie tried to not look back. He didn’t want Jack to see how petrified he was. After a moment, Jack made up some nonsense excuse about checking on the other boys and left.

Left to get them, probably. Or maybe something to hit him with. Or both. After all, he was a pretty easy target right about now, who wouldn’t want a go? He could barely move, let alone fight back. Crutchie’s stomach turned as an image of Race taking bets on how long he’d be conscious forced itself into his head.

“Can you sit up all the way, Crutchie?” Katherine asked, and he cringed. They were going to make him sit up? Were they going to make him move from this bed, too? It was Jack’s, he’d realized earlier. Jack probably wanted it back.

He pushed himself up, slowly, agonizingly. His head pounded and his back throbbed and his stomach wouldn’t stop sloshing around the water in it, but he sat up anyway, slowly adjusting so that his legs hung off the bed. By the time he was fully sitting up (hunching over like he wanted to made it harder to breathe) Crutchie had broken a light sweat, his hair sticking a little to the back of his neck. Katherine wouldn’t hurt him, right? She was a girl, and she was upper-class. They made other people do that for them.

“I’m going to start with this cut on your cheek, okay? It looks like it’s fine, I just want to make sure it’s clean.”

Crutchie braced himself, closing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep for a little bit longer. Couldn’t it go back to Jack softly giving him water and drawing while he dozed? That was nice. That was safe. Couldn’t they do that for just a little bit longer before they got to all the bad stuff?

Katherine’s touch on his face made him flinch back, but that was all it was. A touch. A piece of wet cloth, rubbed on his cheek. It wasn’t too bad, so far. It was almost a little nice.

“Your forehead’s pretty warm,” he heard her say, distantly. He didn’t respond. It was taking all his effort to stay still and upright.

Crutchie tried to retreat to the back of his mind as he felt Katherine undoing the buttons on his shirt, but he couldn’t get out of here. He was straining his ears to hear something, anything--the boys bounding upstairs, or cheering, or something like that that would give him time to prepare for what was to come.

He was broken out of it, though, when his already aching chest burst into flames. He cried out, opened his eyes--Katherine was holding a red-stained cloth, looking apologetic.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, “but one of your cuts is infected. It’s going to hurt a bit. Do you think you can focus on me?”

Crutchie would’ve laughed if he wasn’t busy taking as shallow breaths as possible. He could barely focus on anything. He looked down to see the patchwork of bruises and scrapes that was his chest, and saw that yes, the largest one looked irritated and weepy. That one had been giving him trouble from the first day.

Something touched his hand and he started, then stared down at it. Katherine was holding his hand. Why?

“We can wait until you’re ready,” she said, and Crutchie wasn’t sure that he would ever be ready, but nodded as a go-ahead.

He watched now as Katherine gently and carefully cleaned each wound, calming more with each reassuring squeeze of her hand when the liquid stung. Something about her hand in his was comforting, almost grounding. It was as if his perception had been blurred with panic, and her hand cleared the mist enough that he could ground himself against the contact and the quiet openness of the room. He was alive.

Instead of making him move, Katherine climbed over the bed in a very unladylike manner and dressed the marks on his back. This was worse. With no one to hold onto and no way to see what was happening, Crutchie dug the sore fingers of his right hand into his left upper arm. It gave him a sensation to focus on that wasn’t the painful touches on his back, something that he could control. That helped, a little bit. What didn’t help was the fact that Crutchie couldn’t stop staring at the door, waiting for it to burst open at any minute.

Katherine wrapped his torso and helped him get his shirt back on before moving down to his legs, which made Crutchie even more uncomfortable. He tried to shift away, even told her he could do this part, despite knowing full well that he was about two minutes from passing out. She was a lady, it was improper.

Katherine was sympathetic. “I can go get Jack,” she offered. “Or one of the other boys, if you’re more comfortable with that.”

No. No no no no no no no. Couldn’t they do this for a little while longer first? Just Katherine holding his hand and cleaning his chest. She seemed to see his panic, because she immediately softened.

“How about this,” she said. “I’ll only do from the knees down, and then I’ll turn around while you clean the rest, okay?” Crutchie nodded. That sounded okay. Embarrassing, of course, but so much better than the alternative.

Katherine pulled one of the blankets from where it was tucked in and draped it over his legs. With her steadying him, Crutchie managed to get his pants down to his ankles, then let her take over, his face burning. She was a girl, after all. It felt so wrong, to let her clean his legs.

She made quick work of it though, and handed Crutchie the brown bottle of what seemed to be soapy water and the cloth before turning around. He watched her for a moment, making sure she wasn’t going to peek, then quickly yet haltingly rubbed the cloth along his thighs. There luckily was nothing more than bruises and a single cut there, and he was done in a few minutes. By that point, he could barely hold his head up. Instead of pulling his pants back on, he just fell back against the bed, groaning.

Katherine tucked him back in, resting a hand on his forehead again. “Do you think you have a fever?”

That would make a bit of sense, wouldn’t it? It was the middle of summer, it had to be sweltering out, and here he was under three blankets with the window closed. He was sure he had other symptoms too, but he didn’t really remember, so he just shrugged and closed his eyes.

Katherine sighed, rubbing his fingers. “Crutchie, I need you to stay awake for a few minutes. Jack’s bringing you something to eat.”

Crutchie forced his eyes back open. He didn’t want to be awake. He’d been tired this whole time and now his body felt like it was going to fall apart. As if summoned, though, the door at the other end of the room creaked open, and in came Jack, holding a bowl in one hand and some bread in the other.

“I sent Sniper down ta Jacobi’s,” he said by way of introduction. Crutchie tried to move his arms, but they felt weighed down. He didn’t really want to eat, he wanted to sleep. He really wanted to sleep, actually, so badly that he felt his eyes begin to burn with tears. Why weren’t they letting him sleep?

There was bread in front of him and Crutchie stared at it uncomprehendingly. What was he supposed to do with that? He couldn’t take it, his arms weren’t moving. 

He blinked and it had been replaced by a bowl of something, which gradually came closer as he watched. Someone wormed a hand underneath his neck to prop his head up, making him shiver and twitch. He didn’t like that at all, but there was nothing he could do. Maybe now they were going to beat him. At least he’d probably be too out of it to notice.

The bowl pressed against his lips and Crutchie opened his mouth, choking as some of its liquid slipped down his throat. That was far more warm than he’d been expecting, not quite searing his tongue, but coming close to it. It drew back again, then more spilled into his mouth. This time, Crutchie drank, paying no mind to the flavor or temperature. He just hoped they would let him sleep after this.

Sure enough, with a few last drops of broth, the bowl was empty and the hand under his neck pulled away, leaving Crutchie to fall back against the pillow. Before his eyes were even closed, he was pulled into darkness.

[darkeninganon]

(I told you all I was going to write more Dream torment. Again the design of Dream is based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream design! Warnings for: general angst, violence, blood, gore, torture, bodily fluids, descriptions of injuries, death mentioned, cursing, and dismemberment (a tail). You have been warned.)

Dream jolted awake as the redstone clicked. To anyone from the outside, it would be impossible to hear, but he had been here so long... The popping of the lava was more like static or wind than an actual noise. He was pressed against the back of his cell, muscles sore and stiff; knees swollen and in more pain than they were yesterday, at least Dream thought they were much worse. They were still broken, rendering him immobile. The left side of his face burned even worse too, and each slight movement brought with it the weirdly loud crackling of dried blood. It pulled at his fur and made him feel gross. Then he looked to his hand.

Bones exposed, fingers cut of and a massive amount of blood clotting the wound as best as it could, but it wasn't enough to keep it from bleeding, small rivulets of much brighter blood popping up and he flexed his wrist. He was concerned, but surely Quackity would get bored and stop sooner rather than later. Hopefully before Dream got an infection and succumbed to it.

Dream glared at Quackity as he entered the cell, removing a pair of shears from his picket and swinging them casually. "So, Dream, are you we going to behave today and share what we know with the class?"

Dream growled, showing his undamaged hand just enough to flip off Quackity. The man just chuckled, shaking his head.

"Come on Dream, you'll have to give in some time." He smiled, tapping the shears against his hand as he approached the prisoner. "Don't make me do this, I was nice last time."

"Nice....?" Dream's voice had grown coarse, a growl bubbling up from his chest. "Nice would have been not breaking my knees." Dream wanted to stand, his good hand digging into the wall as he was forced to stay on the ground. "Nice would have been letting me keep my fingers.... You could never be nice, Quackity."

Dream screeched in agony as Quackity's foot connected with his broken knee, causing the prisoner to practically throw himself back and try to crawl away. Quackity planted his foot on Dream's knee again, putting as much pressure on it as he could. "Really Dream? I'm not nice? You aren't nice. You tortured Tommy. You fucking killed him and then brought him back. I know full well Tommy only wants you alive so you can bring back Wilbur." Quackity sighed, ignoring Dream's screaming and attempts to claw his way out from under Quackity. Letting out a disgruntled groan, Quackity sat down on Dream's back, tangling his fist in the literal mane of hair and fur Dream had, retching his head back as far as it would go, waving the shears in front of Dream's face. "Come on Dream~. I'm getting impatient here, and considering that you're never getting out of here, your nails are looking just a little too sharp."

Dream hissed, curling his good hand into a fist. He had to save one hand, after all, he would very much have to repay Quackity after he got out.

Quackity just hummed, taking the shears out of Dream's face as he ran his hand through the mane of white fur. No one but George and maybe Sapnap had ever gotten close enough to actually touch Dream without it breaking into a fight. Now that Quackity was able to though, he realized how soft it was. It felt so nice, even after at least a month of not having been washed or brushed or taken care of... Quackity lost himself a little, just sitting there feeling the soft fur.

Dream lay there, eyes wide as Quackity kept petting him. As nice as it could have been, Dream knew there wasn't any way this could end other than Dream suffering. There was a definitive reason he only let a couple of trusted people touch his fur.

"Damn... This would be a nice coat." Quackity mused, twirling a clump between his fingers before looking back towards Dream's legs. Quackity stopped his petting, reaching out and playing with his tail, which had been thrashing about just moments before. It had the same, soft fur all over it, just much shorter, until it got to the tip where it exploded into a huge, fluffy cloud of hair-like fur. "Hmm... You aren't ever going to walk again... Why do you have this?" Dream tried to look at the man sitting on his back, forgetting that he was missing one eye; "What?! Quackity, don't you dare-" Quackity planted his feet on both of Dream's thighs, pulling his tail taut as he aligned the scissors with the base of Dream's tail. "Quackity, no! Stop!" Dream screamed, his voice ringing off the obsidian walls as he once again tried to crawl out from under the other man. "You can't do this to me! I'll kill you! You WILL regret this you washed-up has-been!" Quackity ignored Dream's rambling. It didn't sound like English or any human language at this point, but that was fine. Maybe this and taking those claws would make Dream want to talk about the book. Quackity couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he finally cut through the tough muscles and skin that protected the bones. Now that he was to them though, he knew the shears wouldn't be strong enough to cut through them, he'd have to cut between them. Quackity let out a disappointed hum, pulling harder on Dream's tail in an effort to see where the vertebrae separated and he could get at the softer cartilage. The blood only made things much more complicated, and Quackity growled as he was forced to continually wipe away the red liquid.

Tears were once again burning Dream's cheeks, the nails on his good hand shattering and breaking uselessly against the obsidian; while the irritated scars on his other hand opened once again, leaving smears of blood across the floor. It was only made worse by Quackity repeatedly rubbing his fingers against the bones, swiping away the blood and literally adding salt to the wound.

Quackity smiled once more as he finally found what he was looking for, driving the tip of the shears in between the bones. Dream's scream took a turn, sounding more monster than human; and outside the cell, Sam curled in on himself, crying behind his mask. Quackity ignored the continued crying of a monster in pain, ignored the stain that was once again growing down the legs of the prison garb; Quackity's sole focus was on separating this tail from its owner. He continued to cut and tear at the spot, prying the bones apart to get and the bundle of nerves at the very center, once that was cut, taking the tail would be so much easier. He finally caught sight of the little bundle, oblivious to the silence that now weighed heavy in the cell; until he nicked the nerves with the shears.

To say Dream screamed would be an understatement. His whole body convulsed in such a way that he nearly threw Quackity off, a slew of strange, non-words flying from his mouth as he continued to convulse, attempting to spin around in pseudo-death-roll. Quackity hung on, still hacking at the spot with the shears until he heard more cracking than cutting, and the tail finally tore free, blood spattering all over as the new wound became fully exposed.

Dream finally stopped rolling around, gasping as he tried to stand. Where? Run. get out. need to leave need to leave need to leave cannot leave?? Saliva filled Dream's mouth, spilling out as he gasped and tried to speak. He watched in horror as he suddenly vomited, spouting nonsense to calm himself down. A hand tangled in his mane, yanking him away from the puddle of vomit and throwing him on his back, eliciting more cries from the prisoner.

Quackity slammed his foot down on Dream's chest, grabbing his good hand as he brought the shears back up. Dream was forced to watch as Quackity pried his nails from their bedding, taking the time to pry them off each finger with the utmost care so as to not cut them or damage Dream's fingers in any other way.

Sam began rocking back and forth, breathing heavily. He needed to calm down before he let Quackity out, he couldn't let Dream see that his yelling was getting to the warden. His mask hung in his hands, torn from his face in an effort to make sure the lenses did not become clouded by tears. "Hey Sam! We're done here!" Sam jumped, realizing it was silent now. He fainted again, thanks to you. He ignored that part of his mind, pulling his mask on and lowering the lava. Sure enough, Dream was on the floor, convulsing; Quackity held a long white thing in his hands, and there were a number of more puddles all over the cell now. Sam suppressed a shiver, letting Quackity out. That's Dream's tail he's holding. Sam couldn't remove his eyes from it. Aside from the blood at the cut point, the tails was still a pristine white fur. Sam knew Dream cared about his fur, to a point that it could be considered narcissistic. Only Sapnap and George had ever felt if though, at least in detail, and now, seeing his tail removed from his body, a war broke out in Sam's brain. You let this happen, he needs that. He's never leaving, and it looks so nice. You are just as bad as Quackity, you should be in a cell right now. Even after all that you did, his fur still looks beautiful; touch it, touch it now! You are going to get Dream killed, and Tommy will hate you more. You never went this far, it's not your fault Quackity is doing this. Sam let Quackity out without a word, leaving the prison after him. Sam could only wonder what Quackity planned to do with the souvenirs he took.

[drxwsyni]

Headcanons for yandere Bakugou Katsuki, Tamaki Amajiki and Denki Kaminari with a darling who doesn’t feel pain

Anonymous said: “You know what I've always thought would be interesting. A yandere's darling with a quirk that makes them unable to feel physical pain. Do you know how crazy that would drive a yandere? Especially if that darling has like no family or friends. They would basically have a darling who would mangle their own body just to get away from them. Their punishments also wouldn't do a thing to them since they can't feel a thing. I think that would be a yandere's worst nightmare lol”

warnings: violence, torture, drugging, nsfw

_____

Now this is what I’m talking about. It would be the worst case scenario for sadistic type yanderes who instantly resort to harsh physical punishment whenever their darling slips up. Take someone like Bakugou, who I personally feel would act like this, and this very well would be his worst nightmare. His temper doesn’t allow for him to devise a proper, more humane plan for reprimanding his darling. There would never be an option for ‘talking it out.’ Just pure, unbridled pain in hopes of his darling learning their lesson.

But in this case, oh boy. It would really put him through the wringer. Bakugou wouldn’t understand how to correct their behaviour without using violence. So when he finds out they just...don’t feel pain? That alone would be enough to destroy almost all his plans for making them behave. To make things worse, he can’t even threaten them with hurting their loved ones. His brain might just short circuit trying to comprehend the situation. He’s got a darling that refuses to behave and is immune to anything he could use against them.

It’s safe to say that this particular situation would leave him at a loss for words for quite some time. Hell, he might just hurt them to let out his anger for a while even though he knows it does nothing. He’d just be so frustrated, dealing with a disobedient darling that just couldn’t care less what happens to their body if it means they have a chance of escaping.

Realistically though his darling probably still wouldn’t have a good chance at escaping either way. After finding out about their quirk the restraints would be increased tenfold. And once he comes to terms with it, the lockdown they’d be under would be suffocating. If he couldn’t hurt them he certainly wouldn’t let them hurt themselves. Even if they couldn’t feel it, the sight of them broken and bloody on their own accord would start to get to him. The whole point he had them locked up is to keep them safe, but he couldn’t even keep them safe from themselves? The whole ordeal would just be a mess, but eventually he would have to learn some other methods of punishment.

Technically, you don’t need to be in physical pain to hurt someone. You could just make them extremely uncomfortable―even damage them mentally.

I said this in my post about how Bakugou would deal with a bratty s/o, but there’s options like leaving them in a cold room to freeze for a while. There’s other things like drowning, sleep deprivation, shock collars. If we’re throwing all the hypotheticals out there then things like orgasm denial, overstimulation, and the use of aphrodisiacs aren’t off the table either. If anything, those punishments might just be worse as it would mortify his darling by being forced to enjoy the treatment to a certain extent. None of these puts his darling in pain, but my god it might just make them wish they didn’t have their quirk so less humiliating methods were used.

In this case, the sadistic type of yandere that I can see Bakugou being would work around this situation.

However, if we were looking at a protective type of yandere, say Tamaki, this would be ten times worse. He’d never threaten them with violence, but the reality that they’d tear up their own flesh to get away from him would be extremely disturbing.

It wouldn’t matter if it hurt them or not, seeing his darling deliberately harm themselves would not sit well. He’s already the type of person to treat his darling very gently in the first place. Luxuriously padded cuffs, the softest clothing imaginable, even personally bathing them to make sure they were taking care of themselves while using the most expensive products that he thought would best suit their physique. Now bring highly self-destructive behaviour into the mix and you’d never get any semblance of privacy ever again.

The side effects of them being strapped to a bed all day wouldn’t matter to him. In his mind it would be the only option to keeping his darling safe from themselves. Nothing would stress him out more than having to leave them alone to go out. There’d be cameras everywhere along with security systems to let him know if they ever leave the house.

Frankly, Tamaki would be too afraid to do much about the situation other than immobilize his darling. He wouldn’t want to yell at them because that might scare them, and he also doesn’t exactly have the will to do that in the first place. Instead he’d likely resort to simply begging them to behave.

With all the isolation his darling would be put through, their resolve to stay strong would deteriorate in favour of hoping for any kind of stimulation. Tamaki wouldn’t lay a finger on them, and he wouldn’t allow them any freedoms either. It would be extremely mentally taxing, and in this situation his approach would likely result in his darling’s mind breaking. There’d be absolutely no chance of them escaping, so their reformation would be solely done to get even a sliver of stimulus, even if it’s just to stretch their legs every now and then.

The only other way this scenario could go with the biggest difference in approach in my opinion would be with a delusional yandere, like Kaminari. While he’s also got attributes of a protective, the situation is still generally applicable. It would be a matter of him not being able to comprehend that they’re doing it because they hate him, and are rather just too scared because of the situational whiplash they’re experiencing. It’s mentioned in the ask that here the darling doesn’t have any friends or family, so it may turn into the mindset where he thinks they simply don’t understand what it’s like to be loved unconditionally.

Either way, he wouldn’t be violent when it came to trying to get them to stop. It would be more like amping up the love he’d normally dish out in hopes of gently coaxing them to stop. As far as Kaminari would be concerned his darling simply didn’t know any better. It wasn’t their fault, but he can’t just watch as they destroy themselves doing what they think is right.

It’d be more like taming a wild animal than anything else. He’d hold them until they calmed down and stopped yanking at their restraints, all the while gently cooing at them, saying that they’re safe with him and there’s nothing to be afraid of. For their own sake he’d slip some sedatives into their drink or meals just so they couldn’t hurt themselves in their weakened state. If the issue persisted they’d pretty much be drugged 24/7, especially if he had to leave them alone to take care of something outside of the house. He’d patiently bandage any injury they received for however long it took, knowing they wouldn’t be able to hold out forever. If they didn’t exhaust themselves fighting back then he’d do that for them.

It’d all be for their own good, and eventually they would understand that. It would be kind of hard not to with all the affection he’d show them.

(this was much longer than i intended but i hope this is what u had in mind anon)

[vvitchering]

cw for heavy angst, this isn’t a happy one! But @justhereforeskel got me thinking about this yesterday and I needed to get it out of my brain :’) 

--

Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. But he’s alive. He survived. And more importantly, so did Geralt. They went through the Trial of the Grasses at the same time and were at least given the small blessing of being able to recover together as well. Eskel feels raw all over; hollowed out and refilled with something that burns. He sweats and shivers with fever as his body slowly adapts to its new form and purpose. And he watches over Geralt, who no one expected to survive at all. 

They put them in separate beds. That never stopped them when they were still human and it certainly doesn’t stop them now that they’re witchers. But now its Eskel sneaking into Geralt’s bed rather than the other way around. The smaller boy has only been awake once or twice since they were moved to the recovery rooms and he lays still and pale on the small bed like a corpse. Eskel’s newly enhanced hearing tells him Geralt’s heart still beats, though much more slowly now. It matches his own, a witcher’s slow regulated pulse pushing fresh mutagens throughout both their bodies. 

He curls around Geralt in the too-small bed and takes comfort in the other boy’s warmth. He’s alive. He’ll recover. They made it. 

It’s over. 

It’s only their second day when the mages return for Geralt. Eskel growls at them, snaps his sharp new teeth, and tucks Geralt closer to himself. They want to take him away again. There’s only supposed to be one Trial of the Grasses and they both passed. Geralt is still so sick. They call him unusually resilient, a special case, worthy of further study. 

They can’t take him again, he won’t let them. 

In the end, there isn’t a choice. There’s never been a choice, really, Eskel has been telling himself he could keep Geralt from harm if he tried hard enough. He could protect the other boy from as much pain and suffering as he could and when they were both witchers, strong enough to survive in the world, they could finally turn their backs on this place, this life, and choose for themselves. 

But they’ve come to take Geralt away. They failed to kill him the first time and now they’re back to try again.

When Eskel successfully bites one of the mages, making her shriek in pain and lash out at him with a slap that he barely feels through his rage, they call for reinforcements. Another witcher, an older one, a stronger one, wrestles Eskel away from Geralt. He isn’t used to his new strength, still isn’t fully recovered, and he can’t break the older witcher’s hold on him. 

He pleads with them to have mercy. 

Geralt is so small, he barely survived this first time, please, leave him alone. Take me instead. 

They carry Geralt away. Eskel howls. 

The older witcher casts Axii and Eskel’s screams fade into whimpers as it takes effect. He’s placed back into his sick bed, immobile and barely conscious, but aware enough to know he’s failed again to protect his friend from destiny’s cruel hand.