#memories and embedded pain to just… move on. No longer touch me. Somewhere in the breeze and I’m moving past it. I do have additional help

[dadbots]

Had a pretty fun weekend. :)

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

~~

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

~~

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

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[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

*sings* here comes the angst trainnnnn

Warning: blood, death, violence, but nothing overly graphic. I think. I have no filter.

edit: there’s mood-setting music! click the link embedded when you spot it, and have the video play in the background as you read!

Masterlist ◈ Previous ◈ Next

Talia arrives to take the twins back, with an aged-up clone of Damian at her beck and call. It is a testament to how much Marinette really means to her mother that there is no clone of her.

Damian and Marinette refuse. They are done with the League’s ways. They don’t want to kill (not that Marinette ever did) and prefer their father’s methods. Their family stands by them, willing to fight if necessary.

It is full-out war.

Even when faced with assassins now trying to kill them (Marinette was disposable since she wasn’t a suitable heir, Damian was now disposable since Talia could make clones of him to be the heir instead. Why keep them alive when they’ve betrayed their purpose?), Starling finds herself using the non-lethal moves her family has taught her as she ducks and rolls and slashes with her fans, then switching to her katanas for a longer range.

More and more assassins are falling. Starling engages her mother in combat, and Black Bat joins in, which brings a tiny sliver of fear to Talia’s eyes. Cassandra Cain was groomed from birth to be the perfect assassin, and was unbeatable for even the top League members. She knows this, and she is rightfully scared. Good.

“Marinette. You are a disappointment.” Talia hisses as they fight. Once, in a time where Talia was the only one who believed in Marinette, in her own twisted way, those words would have hurt more than an injury ever could. Now, she is far beyond seeking her mother’s praise.

Starling’s eyes flare green for a moment. “You assume that I wish to be valued by the League, Talia. I would prefer to be a disappointment to you. It would mean that I am some semblance of a good person.”

They are pushing the assassins back, they are winning, and then Robin’s shriek of pain pierces the air.

Starling turns in time to see the Heretic, Damian’s adult clone, pull his blade out of her brother’s chest with a sickening grin. Robin is dead before he hits the ground, and she lets out a furious scream in tandem with her father and family before the Lazarus Pit takes over.

She launches herself at Heretic, picking up her twin’s fallen katana on the way and battling the clone with all the brutality of someone on the verge of madness. Everything is tinted that sickly shade of green, and she takes a satisfaction in every hit she lands on the Heretic’s body, until-

Shink.

Heretic’s head falls to the ground, severed from its body, which slumps to the floor a moment later.

Starling returns to herself standing over a headless body, holding her brother’s bloody blade. Somewhere deep down, her mind whispers that she broke her Father’s rule, that she killed a man for the first time in years. 

The rest of her doesn’t regret it. Damian is dead. Her twin brother is dead, and she would break all the rule in the world if it meant avenging his death.

Justice, not vengeance. That little corner of her mind reminds. What you just did was vengeance.

Seven people left the Batcave that day, alive. Only six return, the eldest carrying his son’s body, with shattered souls and broken hearts and crushing grief.

.o0o.

Marinette moves to a guest room that night, but she doesn’t sleep. When she walks into the kitchen, it is evident that nobody else has, either. Alfred hands her a mug of hot chocolate, and she sandwiches herself in between Cass and Tim. All of their eyes are red-rimmed, and Marinette wants to cry again, but her tear ducts have already been drained dry. 

It cannot be real, a part of her insists. Damian cannot be gone. He is too strong, too well-trained. But his absence from the table when the rest of the family is present says otherwise.

When the sun rises, and the city starts to awaken, Marinette gathers up her remaining strength and calls Jon.

He is there almost instantly, holding her as she breaks down all over again in a guest room instead of her own, because she thinks of him every time she passes. Jon cries his own tears, and they end up spending the entire day crying and mourning the loss of their shared best friend. 

That night, they have a sleepover, both wanting to bask in the comfort of each other’s presence. Twice, Marinette wakes up screaming, eyes flashing green. Both times, Jon is there. 

Eventually, he has to return to Metropolis, and she is left with the aching void in her heart once more.

.o0o.

She doesn’t remember much of the funeral. Only that it was raining, she was wearing a black dress he helped her design, and everyone was crying, but no one could tell their tears from the ones the sky shed.

.o0o.

Marinette isn’t sure how much longer she can stand to live in this home, this city, even. She is followed, haunted, by a ghost, finding evidence of Damian’s existence everywhere but never finding her brother himself. She promises herself to last until her thirteenth birthday. Damian died a week before it took place.

Marinette descends to the Cave, where Father is sitting at the Batcomputer, as he normally is now. Everyone in this family mourns by throwing themselves into work. She is no different.

“Father.” She says carefully. What she is about to propose may not be taken well.

Batman turns. “Marinette. How are you doing?” His costume is menacing, but his aura is gentle.

“I wish to leave Gotham.” Marinette is blunt and to the point. “This city holds too many memories. I would like to start over.”

“That is… understandable.” Father finally says. “Do you have anything in mind?” Everyone in the family agreed that Batman was emotionally constipated, but in this case, it is helpful. Marinette isn’t sure she could refrain from crying again if Richard had been here instead.

She hands him a file. “Sabine Cheng. Sister to Sandra Wu-San, otherwise known as Lady Shiva. Reformed assassin, currently married to Tom Dupain, a baker. Owns and lives above a popular bakery in Paris, the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, located right next to Collége et Lycée Francois Dupont, one of the top schools in the city. I have already contacted her, and she has agreed to host me for as long as I need, provided I help out in the bakery.”

Batman nods approvingly. “Civilian cover?”

“The name Marinette has French origins, so I will continue to go by that name while adopting the last name ‘Cheng’. Born in Gotham, but came to live with her aunt and uncle to study in Paris instead, because Paris is the fashion capital of the world and I would like to be a designer someday. I already have all the necessary paperwork forged and a flight booked for August 10th.”

Another reason she chose to keep her first name: Talia named her Marinette because it means ‘one who rises.’ She had been knocked down, hard, this time, but Marinette knows she will always rise up again, eventually. She always had, in the past. This blow was substantially larger, but she will mourn her brother, and one day, she will move on.

“If this is what you need, I won’t stop you.” Batman says. Marinette cracks a tiny smile for the first time since Damian’s death.

“Thank you, baba.”

Marinette exits the Cave feeling a little bit lighter, and knows she is on the path to getting up again.

.o0o.

Saying her goodbyes is the hardest part. 

Richard hugs her, sobbing, and nearly crushes her in his embrace. “You’ll keep in touch, right?”

Marinette gently pats his back. “Of course, frate. I promise.”

Jason ruffles her hair. “If any assholes bother you, punch ‘em in the balls.”

One side of her mouth quirks up in a smile. “Noted.”

Cass kisses her forehead, looking at her with sad brown eyes. “Be safe, meimei.”

“I will, jiejie.” Marinette smiles again.

Tim gies her a burner phone, with all the necessary contacts programmed in. “Just in case.”

She tucks it into her carry-on bag. “Thank you, frère.”

Alfred wishes her a safe flight, and then it is her father’s turn. They look at each other for a long moment before Marinette finally gathers up her courage to hug him.

“Thank you, Father. Be careful.”

“The same goes for you, Marinette. Just because you won’t be a vigilante doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt.” He replies.

“I will do my utmost to stay out of trouble.” Marinette promises.

Marinette Wayne enters the airport, but it is Marinette Cheng who boards a flight to Paris, France, and Marinette Cheng who lands in the fashion capital of the world seven and a half hours later.

Either way, her name is Marinette, and one day, she will rise.

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...you know, some people cry when writing sad scenes. I just smile and imagine the reactions of people reading them. I take great pride and joy in your suffering as readers. I have no soul like that. :)

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[king-finnigan]

Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)

What a Wonderful World Masterlist. Also on AO3!

Day 5 of Whumptober! On the menu today is: On the run.

~~~

A branch scratches his cheek, but he barely registers it. He’s already covered in scratches and bruises as it is already, a stab wound in his upper arm the most notable of his injuries, and he covers it with his hand as he runs, trying to get the incessant bleeding to stop.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running – could be minutes, could be hours – but his legs are burning, lungs heaving, every noise around him drowned out by his own footsteps, his frantic gasping, and his heartbeat, loud in his ears.

He still doesn’t know what happened, even now, even as he runs for his life from the man he loves most.

Geralt had gone on a hunt – a simple one, just Drowners, his love had told him – and he’d returned a few hours later with a feral glint in his eyes and his fangs bared. Jaskier barely had time to ask if Geralt was alright, before his love had lunged at him, drawing the knife from his belt.

He’d seen the glint of the campfire on the steel, and had turned away quickly, the stab that had been aimed at his heart landing in his left arm instead.

He’d crawled back, heart hammering as Geralt had advanced on him once again. And then his love’s hands had closed around his throat.

Jaskier had clawed at them, at Geralt’s arms and wrists and, when that proved fruitless, eventually his neck and face – he’d noticed, in the back of his mind, as oxygen slowly ran out, that Geralt wasn’t wearing his medallion anymore. Instead, he was wearing a simple, leather necklace, a glowing crystal dangling from it.

Magic. The word had flitted through his overwhelmed and panicked mind, as he’d gasped for air, desperately trying to tear the offending necklace away, hands weak and shaking. “G- Geralt,” he’d rasped. “Please.”

Nothing had changed in Geralt’s eyes – he was still looking at Jaskier with pure, unadulterated contempt and hatred, not a glint of mercy in that familiar amber. He’d been left with no choice.

He’d reached for the knife still sticking from his own arm, hoarsely screaming as he’d pulled it out, and he’d slashed with it, not sure what he was aiming for, his vision already nearly blacked out by then.

He’d heard Geralt grunt, and he’d felt the grip around his neck loosen, allowing him to take in a few breaths of cool night air. And then, he’d wrenched himself free, and he’d run.

He slows to a halt, now, pressing his back against a broad tree, trying to catch his breath. He’s too loud, he knows, and he clasps a hand over his mouth in an effort to stifle the noise of his laboured breathing. Not that it’ll help for long – he’s travelled with Geralt long enough to know that he can hear heartbeats, especially ones that are loud and panicked.

Like Jaskier’s is right now.

Not to mention that even if Jaskier runs for days or even weeks on end, he can’t outrun Geralt – the Witcher will simply follow his scent and pounce on him when he’s distracted or exhausted.

There is no outrunning Geralt. He knows it. Still, that doesn’t stop him from pushing away from the tree again, breaking out into a light jog, frantically looking around to see if he can spot that familiar head of white hair anywhere.

He’s tired, he’s exhausted and sore and all he wants is to bury his face in Geralt’s chest, to feel his love’s arms around him, to hear him say that everything’s going to be alright. But he can’t have that right now, so he keeps running, keeps buying time. Time, to figure out what’s going on, what happened to Geralt, and how to make it stop.

He saw the necklace around his love’s neck, saw the glowing crystal hanging from it, so he assumes it’s something magical – maybe a curse, maybe a simple spell with a bad outcome. Maybe Geralt ran into a mage instead of the Drowners he was promised. Maybe he accidentally touched this necklace and was put under its curse.

Jaskier doesn’t know. All he knows is that getting that necklace off Geralt is his last hope. Either he manages to do that and everything goes back to normal, or…

Or he dies trying.

He tenses his muscles, balls his fists, readying himself to turn the light jog into a full run again, if only so he can maybe devise a plan and outrun Geralt just that little longer.

But he doesn’t get the chance to, every thought and movement abruptly yanked to a halt when a strong hand closes in his hair and pulls him back. He yelps, hands scrabbling against Geralt’s wrists, feet kicking in the dirt, as Geralt pulls him flush against his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going, my lovely, little lark?” Geralt rumbles against his back, the cold edge of a blade pressing against Jaskier’s throat. He shudders, both from the threat of dying at the hands of the person he loves most and from the unfamiliar nickname – most of the time, Geralt calls him ‘Jask’ or ‘Jaskier’, and if he’s feeling particularly sappy, he uses ‘love’. But never ‘my lovely, little lark’.

“Geralt,” he gasps. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

Geralt snarls, and Jaskier’s head spins as he’s whirled around and pushed against the tree he was hiding behind just seconds ago, his love’s hand once again around his throat, the other holding a knife against his artery, a healing scratch along his cheek where Jaskier struck him with the knife, earlier. “Why? Because I’ve had enough of you.”

He frowns, trying to blink the tears away. “What?”

“You’re annoying, you’re loud, and all you do is get both of us into trouble. I’ve had to deal with you following me around for twenty years, bringing me nothing but bad luck. I’ve had enough of you.”

He knows it’s just the magic talking, knows Geralt would never say something like this – wouldn’t he, though? – but he can’t help the sting he feels at those words. “But- I love you, and- and you love me.” He remembers every single time Geralt has told him that he loves him in vivid detail.

He remembers the first time, whispered into his skin when they reunited after the mountain. He remembers that one time by the fire in the middle of the woods, sweat cooling on their skin, an owl hooting in the distance. He remembers that time in a busy market when Jaskier had been fawning over a pretty winter cloak and Geralt had suddenly leaned in, whispered those words in his ear, and had bought him the cloak immediately afterwards.

He remembers those and so many more, every single time his heart sang out in his chest, every time he’d been reassured that Geralt loves him, that he hadn’t meant those words said on the mountain. Every single time he’d felt happier than he’d ever had before.

“You love me,” he whispers, black spots dancing in front of his vision.

Geralt sneers at him. “No, I don’t. I tolerated you. But not any longer.”

Deep down, he knows that that’s not true, knows that none of this makes sense and that it’s the magic that’s making Geralt say this, but it still hurts. It still forces memories of that day on the mountain upon his mind. It still makes tears roll down his cheeks.

His blurry sight zeroes in on the green jewel hanging from Geralt’s neck, and a wave of anger washes over him. He has to get that damned thing away from his love, it’s his only hope.

“I’m sorry, Geralt,” he whispers, before kicking his love in the groin as hard as he can.

Geralt groans and loosens his grip on Jaskier’s neck, allowing him to slip under his arm and start running. He doesn’t want to run, doesn’t want to leave his love behind in the thralls of that necklace, but he still has no plan, no way to overpower Geralt long enough to get that thing off him – he’s still only human, after all.

So, he runs. Runs to buy himself time, runs from what he knows is coming, runs until his lungs are numb.

Branches scratch his cheeks, nettles rip at his clothes. He doesn’t hear anything, besides his own beating heart and gasping breath, doesn’t register anything but what’s right in front of him. He jumps over a branch blocking his way, ignores the sharp pain of his flailing hand hitting a tree next to him, cringes when his knees crack as he hits the ground again, gasps when he forces himself to move forward again. He doesn’t give himself a rest, doesn’t stop to catch his breath, but keeps going, his mind racing along with his legs.

He can’t overpower Geralt with brute force, can’t hide somewhere and jump him from behind – Geralt would smell him, would hear his heartbeat and breathing – can’t lay a trap for his love – he doesn’t have the time.

He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to get that necklace off Geralt, so he keeps running, running, running. Keeps going, no matter how much everything hurts, no matter how much blood trickles from the wound in his arm, no matter how many black spots dance in front of his eyes.

And then, in the distance, he sees something. It has to be some clearing in the woods, the sunlight so bright and his eyes so adjusted to the dim forest, he doesn’t really see anything beyond the edge of it. But maybe there’s something there that he can use, maybe not all is lost.

But when he reaches the edge of it, his heart sinks to his knees. It’s the rocky shore of a lake, spanning far and wide, the glittering reflection of the sunlight on its surface nearly blinding him. He keeps running, doesn’t slow down, as his head whips from side to side, trying to figure out which way to go – left or right or, gods forbid, forwards, into the water.

He doesn’t get the chance to choose.

Something hits him between his shoulder blades, the impact making him fall forwards, scratching his hands on the rocks on the shore of the lake, whatever little breath he still had left in his lungs leaving him in a sharp gasp. He reaches forward, trying to crawl away as he hears footsteps behind him, but screams when whatever hit him in the back shifts, still embedded in him.

A knife. There’s a knife sticking out between his shoulder blades, sharp pain thrumming through his body as he fruitlessly tries to escape his love.

The blade is yanked out and he cries out again, hot, bitter tears spiling down his cheeks. A distant splash tells him the knife’s been thrown into the lake. With his last remaining strength, he turns around; if he’s going to die at the hands of the person he loves most, he’d rather be able to look him in the eye.

Geralt’s quick to straddle him, strong hands once again wrapping around Jaskier’s throat in a merciless grip, a sneer on his oh so familiar face.

Jaskier tries to claw at Geralt’s wrists, though he knows it won’t help. Nothing will, at this point. His vision blackens out, his hands going limp and falling on the rocks painfully, feet softly kicking out – his body’s last attempt to try to survive, to no avail.

“I…” He tries to gasp in air, but the crushing pressure on his throat doesn’t release, doesn’t give him a second of respite. “I love you,” he rasps against the blue sky above him. Quite a poetic death, his deranged mind thinks, at the hands of the person I love most. Wish I could’ve had the time to write a song about it.

His hands curl into fists off their own accord, his muscles contracting and seizing as the oxygen slowly runs out. It won’t be long until he’s gone. And then what? Then Geralt will continue to walk around with that bloody necklace around his neck. Will it make him into a hateful person, still? Will it make him kill everyone who has the misfortune of running into him? Or was it just Jaskier it was aimed against? Just the person Geralt loves most?

He figures it doesn’t matter anymore. He won’t know.

Something sharp presses against his palm, and he realizes that his hand has curled around one of the rocks lying on the shore of the lake. And suddenly, he knows exactly what to do.

He grasps the rock more tightly, and with his last remaining strength, he throws his arm towards Geralt – though he can’t really see, by now, his vision completely taken over by the black spots. He hits something hard and hears Geralt grunt, the grip around his throat loosening ever so tightly, and he gasps in whatever air his abused trachea can handle.

His vision clears long enough to see a few things – hints of the blue sky above him, crimson mixing with familiar, white strands, and a green, shining gem hanging from a leather cord.

He drops the rock in favour of reaching out and clutching the gem into his palm. He yanks as hard as he can, and with a wave of relief, he hears the cord snap, the thing suddenly in his hand. He drops it next to him, the last bit of his strength leaving him, going limp on the rocks, the pain from his wounds slowly overtaking him.

Bit by bit, his vision becomes clearer, the majority of the darkness fading away, and he sees Geralt, still sitting on top of him, his hands still around Jaskier’s throat, though no longer squeezing, a small trickle of blood running from his temple where Jaskier struck him with the rock.

Slowly, the sneer on his face melts away, replaced by confusion and blank emptiness, and Jaskier’s wildly thumping heart calms down a bit at the sight, careful hope lifting away the panic and dread.

Then, Geralt blinks, his eyes suddenly clear and confused and flitting from Jaskier’s face to his neck, where Geralt’s own hands are still wrapped around him, bruises probably already starting to form beneath his fingers.

“Jaskier?”

[kiribaku-queen]

Home [8/10]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader, Kirishima x reader

Fluff, angst, werewolf!au

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Let me know what your predictions are for the end! 

Summary: Being called the beauty of the clan isn’t as nice as it sounds. The beauty of the clan is supposed to exude confidence, power, and well, beauty. You were quite the opposite, only possessing one of those traits. Yet, the older you got, the more you fit into the role you were given. After your brother and all the boys of age come back from their training period, it was time to find a mate. But who will steal your heart? Is it Bakugou, the rising leader of the pack, or is it Kirishima, the personal guard and the strongest in the pack?

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

17 year old Kirishima was ecstatic. It was his first time exploring the clan’s boarders. Usually, teenagers aren’t allowed to help patrol so early, but since Bakugou was going to be the next alpha and Kirishima was supposed to be his personal guard, this was an exception. Bakugou didn’t show it, but everyone could tell that he was just as excited. As they were all in their wolf forms, Kirishima couldn’t help but show how excited he was by his wagging tail. Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn’t. It was annoying Bakugou because his tail kept hitting him so he had to physically hold his tail down with his paw.

Patrolling the boarders was fascinating to Kirishima. He learned where not to cross and what parts were their territory. He learned different scents to look out for and what to do if you do see something. But going over boundaries once wasn’t enough for him. No, he needed to do multiple rounds so that the trail is embedded within his memory. So, he snuck out in the middle of the night to go over the tracks again.

The grass felt good under his paws, the cool, night breeze tickled his muzzle, and the view of the whole clan light up in his eyes. Now he could get used to this every day. All he had to do was train for two years, get a ripped body for all the ladies and he would live his dream out. Kirishima was so immersed and excited that he forgot all the basics that he learned earlier that day. He didn’t even notice or smell two others that were watching and following his every move. While he was too distracted by everything around him, the two mysterious strangers who were way bigger and way stronger than him attacked him from behind. They pounded on his back, making Kirishima unable to react properly. It all happened to fast. By the time that he knew what was going on, it was already too late. They were taking him far… far away. Farther way from the town. Far enough where the lights started to dim out and can no longer be seen. Far enough where even if he screamed, no one could hear him.

He was doomed, he thought. They were either going to cut him up and kill him, even worse eat him! Or they were going to sell his body to a slave trade and his friends and family would never see him again. The two strangers tied his hands behind his back and put a muzzle around his mouth to prevent him from attacking. Not like he could do much to them anyway. He didn’t know how to fight yet. At least not for serious occasions. There was a feeling of nervousness in the pit of his stomach that just would not go away. He was getting anxious and fidgety not knowing what was going to him. The strangers weren’t even talking. Just silently dragging him to wherever they wanted.

It wasn’t longer until Kirishima could spot lights up ahead. Hope started glimmer in his eyes. Perfect, they weren’t taking him somewhere shady or taking him somewhere to kill him. At least, he hoped. They were entering another clan. This clan had a whole different vibe compared to his. His clan was always bright with lights. No matter what time of day it was, buzz and chatter was always happening. Everyone was so friendly with one another and it was almost like the clan never sleeps. This clan was like the opposite. Although there were lights lit, it was very dim. No one was out and about. The aesthetics of this clan was more sophisticated than what he was used to back home. The strangers took him inside this gigantic building, bigger than Bakugou’s house. But how could anything be bigger than Bakugou’s house? His house was the biggest in all of the clan? And to know that someone here has an even more massive house, they must mean business.

The strangers took him to this room and pushed him forward, causing him to fall straight on his face. He was going to feel that in the morning. He got up and rested on his knees. He looked up to see a girl, probably around his age, sitting on a throne-like chair with her legs crossed and a bored expression on her face.

“Kirishima Eijirou?” she questioned. Kirishima cocked his eyebrow in confusion. She knew his name? How? He had never met or seen her in his life. He couldn’t speak due to the muzzle that was still on him. Without saying another word, the girl on the chair gestured with her finger to the two strangers. They went up to him and set him on his feet, taking the muzzle away but still keeping his hands tied together.

“Do I know you?” Kirishima questioned back once the muzzle was taken off.

“No,” she replied curtly. “But I know you. Upcoming personal guard of Bakugou Katsuki, son of the current alpha of your clan.” Shit, how did she know all of that? Before anything could makes sense, she continued. “I have a proposition for you.” Oh, he knows where this is going.

“I will not kill my best friend!” Kirishima screamed determinedly. He’s seen this in movies. The villain kidnaps the one closest to the main character and forces them to kill them or else they would do something horrible like kill their family, torture them or take their loved one! How pitiful. It was a shame that he had to go like this.

“Cute. But that’s not why I called you here,” Kirishima looked even more confused. And not gonna lie, a bit disappointed. Look like he wasn’t going to be a part of a real life movie. “I’m going to marry Bakugou Katsuki and I need your help.”

“Uh sorry to burst your bubble but Katsuki is taken.”

“Hmm,” the girl faked a pout and went to dig for something. She took out a picture of you and then Kirishima was on high alert. “I’m assuming by this? (y/n), was it? Yeah she’s going to get in the way, but that’s where you come into play. And it’s as easy as pie, make her fall in love with you.”  When she showed him that picture of you, panic and anger started to rise in him. But when she told him to make you fall in love with him, then he got flustered. What kind of demand was that? Sure he had a bit of a crush on you for like a 12 years but never in a million years would he backstab his friend to get the girl… right? And even if he did, you were head over heels over Bakugou so he didn’t even have a chance. She got sense how hesitant Kiri was by the slow response which ticker her off. Rolling her eyes, she threw your picture aimlessly on the floor.

“Well if you don’t, I’ll just have to kill her myself,” she smirked when Kirishima finally reacted in pure rage. He leaned forward but was pulled back by the same people who kidnapped him and served him a few punches to the face to calm him down.

“You’re going to kill her all for some guy?!” Kirishima yelled even though he was in pain. She laughed out loud, obnoxiously and over the top.

“Aw you don’t get the big picture. See, when I marry Bakugou, I’ll be the alpha’s wife and our two clans will be united. And all I have to do is get rid of him and I will dominate both clans and have all the power!” The brown haired girl laughed and smiled at her own, devilish plan. So no matter what he chose, one of the two people he cares most about is going to get hurt. “Help me and you’ll also get the girl. It’s a win-win situation really. But if you don’t, your precious little love will be dead by sunrise.” she made it seem like it was an obvious choice. She didn’t him much time to answer because she was already beckoning for those two guys to do the deed.

“Wait!” he managed to get out. This was all too much for him. All he wanted was to do his job to protect his people by going over the clan’s boarder but now he had to chose who he wanted to protect: the girl he likes or his best friend. Bros before hoes but it seemed like your life was in more serious danger at the moment. “Fuck…FUCK! Fine, I’ll help you. Just, don’t touch (y/n) alright?” he said, defeated. She smirked, having known she won and her plan was coming along.

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

 And so from then on, Kirishima worked on trying to make you fall in love with him. He knew you loved eye candy, no matter who it was. So throughout those two years off at training, he tried his hardest to have the best body at camp. It was easy to work out with a goal in mind but hard because he had to compete with Bakugou. Everything he did, he matched that or tried to one up him. And it never got noticed because Bakugou loved a challenge. It was also common for the two to do everything little thing together cause they were so close. Shredded body? Step 1 complete. Step 2? In progress.

If Kirishima wasn’t in this dilemma, he would still admire you from afar while Bakugou has you all for himself. Of course, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to flirt with you once in a while, but that’s as far as he could go. And if you fell for him on the way, then a plus for him. He wouldn’t intentionally try to steal you away from his best friend. Now this was a different story. Although his feelings towards you never changed, his intentions did. It didn’t feel right at first. But the more and more he purposely tried to make you fall in love with him, the more he wanted.

When you were crying when you first heard about the engagement to Uraraka, he comforted you like a friend. And only as a friend because he didn’t know how to flirt with someone who he had a major crush on. But he knew he couldn’t chicken out because if you were still in the picture by the time Uraraka and Bakugou were to be wed, then she would come after you herself. That’s the last thing that he wants. So he got more bold with his actions.

The first time, it was the promise. He pulled you in for a kiss to seal the deal, but backed off. Push and pull and they will always come running back to you. His heart jumped when you blushed at his actions. Did you really just get flustered with him? His confidence level surged. But he was going to go step by step to not scare you off. So he spent as much time as possible with you. He followed you around and did things together so that you could be comfortable around him. He would touch you here and there so that you could get comfortable with his touch. He sat on your bed and did your laundry so that he could leave his scent wherever you are. When he saw that your reactions were going to become a regular thing, he bumped it up a notch. Staring at you until you noticed and smirking when he got caught. He was told that really got the ladies. He tried it and what do you know? It worked like a charm. You stared at him right back. He got lucky that day too because he had the perfect opportunity for a kiss. He leaned in to kiss you because he knew that you would get flustered. But god, how he really wanted to kiss you. But he had to remember the push and pull method.

As days go on, he was falling for you deeper and deeper each day. Honestly, forget about the deal that he had with Uraraka. It really looked like you were forgetting Bakugou and started having feelings for him. Even if he was treated as a rebound, if it turns something pure then it would have been worth it. Hell, even if there was no deal, he would try to protect you at all costs. At the market, it was pure coincidence that they were there at the same time as Bakugou and Uraraka. Kirishima knew that Uraraka smelled them a mile away and wanted to take this opportunity to mess with them. But he avoided that to protect you.

When he goes to kiss you again in the kitchen, he wasn’t going to take advantage of you like that. He wanted to do this properly and wanted for you to make the first move. Because if his suspicions were right and you were falling for him, you kissing him first would confirm it. He get up boundaries and restrained himself. He was going to make you fall in love with him, with or without this mission.

 Back to present day, Kirishima has to sneak out once a week to meet with Uraraka to give her updates on his progress. It was dangerous and risky but if he didn’t comply, Uraraka always manages to threaten something. Not only did he almost get caught a few times by you sneaking out in the middle of the night, but Uraraka wanted to meet at Bakugou’s place. She was too lazy to meet him anywhere else and whatever she says, goes.

“Hes so easy to toy with,” Uraraka is satisfied that her plan is almost complete. “Tell me, have you made her fall in love with you yet?” she raises an eyebrow but Kirishima stands there tall, arms crossed behind his back.

“No,” very blunt and straight to the point. Uraraka knows that Kirishima isn’t very fond of her but who cares? He was hired for a job not to be friends.

“Still? I’ve given you enough time. How much long do I have to wait?” she massaged her temple with one hand. She was running out of patience and was getting more irritable by the second. “Where do you two stand?”

“Just a… just a kiss.” He was shy to admit it to someone who wanted to kill you.

“Well, speed up the process! Our time is coming to a close and you know what will happen if this wedding fails, right?” Kirishima gulped because he knew what was ahead of him if this mission didn’t succeed. You could die. Or Bakugou. Even worse, both of you could. Hell, he could too if he didn’t play his cards right. But it started to feel wrong. He was feeling guilty about forcing you to love him when he knew you were in a difficult position. But it was too late to back out now because they were already too far in.

It was hard sleeping that night. You were confused. You thought you were doing so well without him but then he shows up in your life again, telling you how much he missed you and that he still wanted you? Dumb feelings. You don’t even know what you want anymore.

You woke up feeling groggy. Even if you went to bed early, your mind was up all night. Thinking about the past, the future. What could have been. What would have been if you two were still together. But it broke your heart every time because you knew you couldn’t be together. He was engaged. You would just get in the way of his success and his bright future. There wasn’t a better match for him. Sighing, you finally got out of bed and the first thing in sight was a red rose sitting on your windowsill. You were surprised and all thoughts of Bakugou were gone. Your mind drifted off to Kirishima and the kiss you shared. Did he do this? How sweet of him. You blushed and pulled the rose to your nose to give it a good sniff. A smile grew even wider on your lips. How did he know that roses were your favorite? This didn’t just happen once. It happened day after day after day after day. Every day you woke up in the morning, a new rose would be sitting there, waiting for you. And every morning you would gush at how cute Kirishima was for doing such a romantic gesture. Day after day, your collection of roses was just getting bigger. You didn’t confront Kirishima about it because you knew he would get shy. And you were afraid that if you did, he would stop doing. So you secretly enjoyed it while going about your day like usual.

Kirishima was getting bolder ever since you gave him that little kiss on the lips. He was pulling you in closer and being more handsy but you didn’t stop him this time. You enjoyed it and actually flirted back. He was giving you more attention that ever but at the same time, he looked distracted. Like something was eating at him. But you were sure that was just your imagination. It’s been a long time since you felt comfortable around someone that made you feel like you were on top of the world. Like you were the only person who mattered. And it felt really good to be wanted again.

Your dad needed help with chopping up fire wood so of course, manly Kirishima comes in hand. You were setting out plates for dinner while your mother was finishing up the food and Sero was setting out napkins and utensils. Standing side by side with your brother while setting up the table, Sero nudges you with his elbow.

“Hey,” he whispers. Weird, why was he whispering. It’s only us that are listening. What did he not want people to hear? Pushing your initial thoughts out of the way, you elbowed him back because damn, his elbow poking hurts because of his stupid quirk. “Hey (y/n)! Are you and Kiri… you know,” he was making weird hand motions and you slapped him on the shoulder.

“Stop that. If you’re asking if we are together, no we’re not.” You firmly state.

“Yeah? Well do you like him?”

“Eh? Uhm… Yes? No? Maybe?” you side eyed your brother and he was just nodding his head slowly, a small frown could be seen on his face. “What’s with that look?” you asked, little concerned about that face he was giving you.

“Nothing,” he simply says but you know that’s a lie.

“No, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that?” Sero sighs and thinks a bit before speaking.

“Just… make sure you are 100% of your feelings for him before you guys are official, kay?” You tilt your head to the side, confused. “I don’t know! I just don’t want you using Kirishima as a rebound, you know?” he continues.

“I am not using him as a rebound,” you tried to defend yourself but Sero thinks otherwise.

“Not intentionally. But from what I see right now, you kind of are,” he admits and goes to put food on the table. Before you could retaliate or even think about it, Kirishima and your dad burst through the door ready to be fed.

“Who’s ready for food because I’m starving!” your dad erupts, kissing your mom on the cheek and sitting down at the table. Kirishima follows suit, glancing up at you, giving you a charming smile. You smile back. You weren’t using him as a rebound, were you?

 Bakugou made it his mission to get you back. After that night, he knew he approached it the wrong way. He was too forward and too aggressive. You didn’t like that. You like romantic things. Things that are seen in TV shows and movies. He was going to do just that.

Every morning, he would tag along with the morning pack to patrol boarders because that would give him an excuse to visit you. But from afar. On the way, he would pick up a rose and lay it on your windowsill while you were still sleeping. Then he would wait in a nearby tree, where he could see your room clearly, to see your reaction when you woke up to a rose waiting for you. He knew he scored the jackpot with that move because the way your face brightened up at the sight of something so romantic told all. So he continued to do that everyday until you physically couldn’t hold any more roses in your room. He was determined to make you his again and do anything to make you gain his trust again.

Tagged: @goodpop9 @superblyspeedydragon @tspice283 @marvelobsessedteen @rosetheshapeshifter @cabbagesquadfam @bnha-iamhere @theartsydoodler @taehyungbbe

[benhardyaf]

Proud People - Ben Hardy oneshot

Hi guys! This is a little (rough and barely edited) one shot I wrote about Ben Hardy and an OFC. 

Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: angst? language?

Willa had decided to leave. She wasn’t sad. She didn’t feel a lot of anything about the matter. All she felt was just empty. Inside her heart, where her blood should be pumping and love blooming, was only a cavernous wreck. Spiderwebs holding together a once colourful fervour. The aftermath of many ‘what ifs’ gone awry.  

Every “I love you” sent a wave of white noise through her head, her eyes not focusing and her heart slowing ever so slightly. It was the same emptiness she felt when she thought about her childhood dog who had passed. Finalisation. It was over. They were done. 

One night, she returned home from work to an empty house. The lights were off, the chill had set in from the weather outside and her breath hung out before her in puffs. It was unwelcoming and unloved and cold. What a pathetic excuse for a home she thought. Tossing her bag on the floor with her discarded shoes, she let out a sad laugh. Ben wouldn’t be home until early morning - he was on a night shoot. Willa rifled through the back of their neat cupboard to find a duffle bag. In it she placed some clothes and her laptop before brushing her teeth, without having her dinner, and collapsing into their bed. The crisp white sheets felt rough on her skin as she lay awake staring at the ceiling. Every move she made was so deafeningly loud compared to the faint bustle of the city outside her window.

At some point Willa must have drifted off to sleep. She was woken up in a daze to the voice of her boyfriend gently greeting her. He stood at the end of their bed, trackpants on and hair ruffled as though he’d combed his fingers through it too many times. 

He smiled softly. “Good morning, Princess.” She smiled back, her heart beat staying in a steady thrum against her ribcage.

She lifted her head off the mattress as he sat at her feet. He looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and his skin looked a slight shade of yellow. 

Willa sat up, looking at the clock on her bedside table. It was almost seven in the morning. Ben went into the bathroom and she heard the shower start running as she got dressed. Her duffel bag from the night before was sitting at the foot of the bed, Ben hadn’t noticed it. Willa wondered if she could pack a few things and leave before he finished his shower. She almost did, her fingers were itching to reach into her drawers and toss things in the duffle. But she didn’t. She stopped herself. Ben deserved something more than an empty bed and the ghost of a smile. 

Forcing patience she sat herself down again. The noise of the shower was giving her a headache, everything hurt. Her back ached from the bed she hated the second they bought it, her fingers felt rubbed raw from trying to hang a canvas of a movie poster on the study wall, her ears felt heavy from the earrings Ben got her for her birthday, her knee was bruised from their sparring session at the gym. But most of all, most of all, her head burned from thinking about everything that hurt. And maybe, she thought, her head hurt when she pushed it to it’s limit every time her heart thought it might begin to fracture. 

There it was. The shower was turning off. The last few drops of water hit the floor and with them new cracks appeared. Not in the wall, not in the floor, but in Willa herself. She told herself she wasn’t going to cry. If that was the last thing she could ever promise herself that would be enough. 

Ben stepped out of the bathroom and into the cold bedroom, his towel hanging loosely around his hips. A year ago the sight would’ve overjoyed her. She would’ve laughed and teased him and asked him if he could hang it any lower. And then he would’ve laughed back and told her she wasn’t wearing nearly enough clothes and that the true tragedy here was that she hadn’t joined him in the shower. And then they’d fuck, and then they’d laugh, sometimes they would fuck again and they’d just smile at each other. Because that’s what people in love did. They smiled and they laughed and they fucked and they teased and they made memories.

Willa and Ben hadn’t made memories for months. 

She didn’t know when things started going bad. Two very proud people can make a difficult situation even more difficult. Proud people like Willa and Ben don’t talk about their issues and they certainly don’t talk about their personal faults. Proud people like Willa and Ben let problems gradually slide under that hideous rug in the living room and whisper sharp insults at night and mutter churlish misdeeds on long work days and hiss bitter jealousies at turned backs. Proud people like Willa and Ben don’t notice when those problems creep out from under the rug and join them for breakfast. 

“What’s that for?” Ben asked Willa, indicating to the duffle bag at the end of the bed. He got dressed and Willa didn’t answer. Her back was turned to him, her hands in fists by her side, fingers digging so cruelly into herself that she could feel a sharp pain. It almost felt like relief, a relief that she could feel anything at all. Willa wasn’t used to feeling things, lately.

Ben moved to step in front of her, not coming closer than he needed to. 

“What’s that for?” He repeated, but he already knew. He knew the second her mind had been made up. For Ben had been feeling the same things - or more accurately - not feeling them. 

The space between their sleepless bodies never felt like enough, night calls always ending too soon, stifled sighs from another room begging to be heard. 

Ben had dreamed of this moment for months. And while it was right in front of him, craving his attention and asking him to accept, there was a small buzz behind his sternum. A buzz that grew into a drone, and expanded into a crackle. 

This wasn’t him. This unnatural feeling, piercing his chest as he breathed. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew it wasn’t him. He wanted this to be over. He wanted an end to this relationship. He needed it to be done. He was pleading for Willa to end it. 

But she didn’t. For, amazingly, she didn’t have the courage. She didn’t have the words, nor did she have the heart.

For minutes or hours or days they stayed like that, gazing into each other's eyes silently. An electricity both calm and manic surrounding them. 

How do you end a relationship after four years? Was it better to rip the band-aid off? Did it make more sense to talk it through logically? 

Ben could feel the crackle somewhere in his ribcage threatening to burst and break his bones. The panic in him erupted into shaky breaths and quivering hands. 

He remembered the phone call he had with his mother not long ago. The one where she asked him when he was going to propose. He hadn’t told her that he almost sold the ring. It was a brilliant white gold ring set with a teardrop diamond. He’d bought it almost two years ago, knowing that Willa was the person he wanted to marry. But things changed, and he left the ring in his bedside table, and then they got worse, and he moved it to his sock drawer, and then Willa didn’t call when he was away, and he can’t remember where he put it. 

Ben finally shook his head. He knew he was being childish. They both wanted this, he needed to put them out of their misery. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” He whispered. Not a trace of hesitation finding itself embedded where it should be. 

Willa nodded. She was going to stay with her sister for a while until she could get her own place. Willa didn’t get on with her sister, but she didn’t want to stay here any longer. 

She stood up, holding her head high, and picked up the bag she had roughly packed. Walking out the door, she softly touched Bens hand where it hung absently by his side. He barely felt it. 

Ben could hear her messing with things at the front door. She’d never admit it to anyone, but her fingers couldn’t grip anything for there was a violent tremor in them, and she thought she could feel tears pricking at the back of her skull. But that couldn’t be, because she had finally done the one thing she needed to do to be happy again. 

Willa dropped her keys. 

Like a gunshot in the dark rips life from its victims, an energy sprung into the apartment as if lit by a fire. 

Ben scurried out of the bedroom, clothed in nothing but a pair of jeans. He tripped on the living room rug in his haste to get to Willa, and the corner kicked up, a cloud of dust with it. 

He thought with that cloud of dust skewing his vision, he could see clearer than he had in months. 

He could see that crackling in his chest for what it was, he could hear the pumping of blood in his veins for what it meant, and he could see Willa, in his mind, the most beautiful thing in the world. 

When he caught up to her, she hadn’t moved. She was staring at her keys, eyes blank and frown on her features. 

Ben didn’t know what to say, or he didn’t know if his body would let him say it. His aching chest was worrying him and his heart was stammering against it, trying to escape. 

A metaphor he could aptly bind with Willa. His heart. 

“I have loved you for a very long time.” She said quietly. “I loved you before you even knew who I was. I was just your friend's younger sister. But you,” she took a deep breath, “you were everything.”

“Don’t go.” He said. 

Willa stared at him, not sure if she imagined him saying that. Behind him she could see the same dust motes in the air. There was a new sunlight in the room, and it was giving them kindling, a rainbow display of something she couldn’t understand just yet. 

“I don’t know what to do.” She admitted.

“Stay.” He said, a new emotion in his eyes, one she’d never seen before.

She looked at the light again, and back to his eyes. It was one in the same. A bright and animated light she wished she could look at all the time. 

Hope.

Willa hadn’t felt hope in what felt like years. Each breath she felt it seeping into her bones, passing through her blood and warming the tips of her fingers. 

She could hope if that’s what it felt like. 

She wasn’t sure why and she wasn’t sure how but she was pulling Ben close by the waistband of his pants and was kissing him. His lips sent a wave through her, it was heat, it was passion, and it was a feeling she wanted to keep forever. 

Love. Love. Love. Love.

She remembered it now. Like welcoming an old friend you’d missed dearly, it opened her eyes and her heart and her mind. 

Willa remembered what it was like loving Ben.

Early morning walks on Sundays. Playing games of scrabble late at night when the power was out. Tasting multiple bottles of wine before deciding on the right one, then taking it home and knowing the third was actually much better. Reminding the old lady downstairs that she kept taking their mail by accident. Eating too much cake at birthdays and regretting it later. 

Their kiss tasted like apples, and a second-tier merlot, and a vanilla chupa-chup, and a burnt marshmallow, and the words she couldn’t articulate. 

They were on the couch, in the living room. And Willa wasn’t holding her bag anymore, and she wasn’t looking for the door. She was holding Ben and she was looking for an excuse to stay there forever. 

The floor, and that rug. The ugly one, it taunted Ben whenever he looked at it. And he thought it would be good if they fucked on it once, even if it was the last time. Maybe that could teach it a lesson. 

It wasn’t cold anymore. Willa and Ben were hot, flushed cheeks and burning fingers. Touching. Touching. 

This was easy. Willa knew the feeling of Ben, knew what his hands could do and what his tongue could do and what he could make her feel. She trembled for that.

Fucking Ben was like something she’d done hundreds of times and something brand new altogether. It was frenzied and steady, passionate and calming, fierce and gentle. 

Neither knew how long it took, and neither cared. Panting and sweating and reeling on their backs, whispering nothing and everything between them.

This was Willa and Ben, but not like they’d known before. And it was exhilarating and terrifying and an opportunity they almost missed. 

Proud people like Willa and Ben throw out old musty rugs that remind them of worser times. Proud people like Willa and Ben get a new mattress after deciding their old one just isn’t right. Proud people like Willa and Ben find a new gym that has no preconceived pictures of them.

And proud people like Willa and Ben might just find a way to make it work, even when everything was telling them that it shouldn’t.

Willa had decided to stay. She wasn’t sad. All she felt was luck. Inside her heart, where her blood was pumping and love blooming, was a newfound appreciation for the little things in life. Spiderwebs no longer holding together a once colourful fervour, but ablaze with a reignited flame. The construction of many ‘what ifs’ gone just as necessary.  

Every “I love you” was a whispered promise. To be there today, tomorrow and forever, if that’s what they wished. 

Every “I love you” was a new beginning. It was hope.

[lunatictimekeeper]

Failure Reflected

WC: 1025 || Rating: T+ || Fandom: Fire Emblem

Characters: Alice (OC) x Lif/Alphonse

Summary: Two souls intertwined, both grieving from an event they feel they failed the other in. | I found some nice prompts and the stargazing prompt in your wishlist finally got me in gear haha.. I hope this is great for you! @avisteliterature

Lif knew.

It was selfish and cruel, but he hopelessly clung to the belief that it would bring them closer. Even Hel herself couldn't bring harm to his memories, no matter what manner of heinous things she tried to warp them with. He was loyal to her, he'd been broken thousands of times over. And ever break weighed so heavily on his person that the land of the dead was never pleasant. He clung to that one thing that reminded him of home. Of her.

Alice.. a soul whose hardship and anguish matched his own. How long had it been since Hel had damned her? She seemed adamant on staying away from him in the land of the dead. What did she see when she looked at him!

Alice knew.

It was selfish and cruel but she had hoped staying away would prevent her mind from wandering to every mistake that had led to this. Alphonse… she'd failed him, she had to have failed him else he wouldn't be here… Hel had succeeded, had broken her in ways she'd never thought of. Climbing the stairs back to her prison she didn't bother wiping away the tears staining her skin

She knew it was wrong. She avoided him like the plague, even though he was probably the one that understood her suffering the most. She just… when she looked at him all she saw was her failure to save him in his time of need.

However they were both feeling the sting of failure when they looked at one another.

When Lif remembered his Alice, he could tell that his… existence caused the Alice in Hel some turmoil. She always prided herself on her successes, but she handled failure and all its inconveniences harshly. And looking at her tear stained cheeks confirmed it. He was living proof of her failure, and she couldn't handle it.

Looking back on it, him having an orb that held such a memory was… concerning. That such a thing existed, that in itself was confusing. But he kept it, and he embedded the memory into the item he had moved to her prison room. He walked towards her as she turned her gaze away, stopping beside her as he spoke

"What do you see? Am I just a reminder of failure for you? Or is there something deeper that offends you..?"

He whispered something and with that his long strides carried him out of the room where Alice had broken down into tears, knees folded under her as she hugged her shoulders. She didn't know! She didn't know why it hurt so much! Looking at Lif, no, Alphonse now… she had to have gone wrong somewhere. She didn't want to know that! She didn't ask for the weight of her mistakes to crush her!

She didn't ask to be brought to Askr! It was impossible to sort the intelligible screaming inside her head, telling her of countless wrongs and crimes she'd committed. They told of memories and worlds she'd never seen, but felt drawn to. Hel made her see things, that was what she had decided. Hel was torturing her even in sleep to keep her chained.

Alice cried and cried, screamed and sobbed… but no one would help her, no one would sympathize with her. No one would understand outside of the person she was avoiding, the person who knew her at her best and her worst.

Looking up through tear blurred eyes, she squinted and stood. There was never a telescope in the room… her hand reached out but she hesitated, there was a certain hum of energy before her fingers connected to the wood and then she gasped.

In the one inhale, a vision hit her.

Alphonse heaved, Alice slung carefully across his back with his arms locked behind her knees and warmth from her stomach wound trickling down his back. "Just a little longer, Alice..! We're almost there, just hold on."

Her hands haphazardly wrapped around his neck. She couldn't fail him, she couldn't. Alphonse was just as injured as she was, she couldn't let him keep going. It was too late for her, but if he could turn back and let her go he could be saved.

"Y-you don't… y-you don't need to t-try so hard for my sake… I'm- I'm already," a groan of pain interrupted by a sharp gasp as Alphonse gripes a bit tighter than he meant.

"No! You're, you're going to love it… I want to be with you.. eve-even if for a while longer."

"A-alphonse you don't need to die with me…"

His legs tried to buckle but he'd made it so far… he couldn't stop. Alphonse knew there was no point. His body blood and tears refusing to slow. Everyone was gone, Commander Anna… S-Sherena. all the heroes had been sent back. And Alice… His dear Alice was dying on his back.

He made it.

He made it up the hill. The telescope was right there and the view was clear… he had wanted to see the stars with her, just once. Just tell her how he felt! He shifted her into his arms and sat on the hill, begging the still body in his arms to wake.

"Open your eyes Alice, isn't it pretty? Alice, it's so beautiful, much like you..!" He sobbed. His fingers tangling into her hair, peppering kisses on her pale forehead that was rapidly losing warmth. He rocked her, but she only managed to open her eyes and smile before she coughed, blood trailing down her lips. She touched his cheek, everything she wanted to say she hoped her expression would tell as she raised just enough to whisper.

"I love you, Alphonse."

His scream as she fell still echoed in her mind as she removed her hand from the telescope. The one Alphonse had tried to get her to. The one she in his arms under. She'd failed him. She'd failed him more than once. She hasn't realized she'd made her throat raw crying out her anguish. Lif's whispered words continued to echo in her mind.

"I see my failure in you as well."

[barnestruck]

her song

(gif creds to the owner)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader (musician!au)

summary: in which bucky and y/n move past a chapter in their life and find their new song.

word count: 2k

warnings: angst to fluff(ish?), sad bucky :(, suggestions of past alcoholism, mention of a breakup

a/n: hello! it’s been a while! this is my entry for @barnesrogersvstheworld ‘s 4k writing challenge! congrats on all the success attie! you deserve it :) my prompt is, “you’ll kill me if you stop” and i added some of elton john’s “your song” in this since i love the song and i’ve been listening to it a lot lately (p.s. the ending high-key sucks but i have to be somewhere in a few and my mom was rushing me. i was really excited to finally post again so i rushed the ending and sorta made things up as i went)

masterlist

-

Oh, how he wanted so badly to take a swig of the whiskey bottle staring him down from his liquor cabinet. He needed it, after the year he had endured. He needed it to numb the pain of months filled with tears, sad-eating, and almost phone calls. But no, even after it was over, he kept his promise to her that he would not resort to that amber liquid when he was feeling defeated. Not anymore. That promise was the last thing he had of her. Her voice could no longer be heard echoing through the halls; her belongings no longer made their presence known on his dresser; her scent had been long gone from his sheets. The promise Bucky made to Y/N was the last little scrap of her he had left, and there was no way in hell he was letting go of it.

When he was feeling particularly tempted by the bottle, he took out all of the pent up aggression on the piano. He expressed the pain he felt through his music; the music that had brought Y/N and Bucky together in the first place.

-

It was Bucky’s first time offering up his song to be recorded by a voice that wasn’t his. The thought did excite him to an extent; there were some things Bucky wanted to experiment with performance wise that he just couldn’t do with his vocal range, but now he had the opportunity to try those things with someone else’s voice.  The idea also made him nervous. Bucky wasn’t sure whether he was willing to give up some of his artistic visions in order to cooperatively work on the project. He treated every song he wrote like it was his baby; they were all manifestations of his memories and emotions after all. He wrote them to express what was going on in his life at the point in time at which he wrote it; he didn’t want to associate those memories with feelings that weren’t there if his vision was forced to morph into something else. But alas, Bucky realized that he would have to force himself to if the situation ever arose if he wanted to make it in this business. It was no longer only about self-expression through art; the music business had also become about numbers, sales, and sex appeal. Bucky would not have had to worry about those things if he had a backup plan, but he didn’t. He went after music with everything he had; he had nowhere to fall back on, so this had to work.

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was expecting going into the meeting with Y/N, but he certainly didn’t expect what she presented to him. She came in with an open mind; she didn’t have strict plans for their meeting and she was willing to go where the project would take her. She and Bucky had run into some instances in where they diverged in their interpretations but Bucky found himself surprised when he was glad to compromise with her.

The two of them found themselves seated at the piano, only really acknowledging the presence of the other person. There were no producers or managers in the sound booth monitoring what was being recorded; it was just Bucky and Y/N. Bucky was seated in front of the lower register of the piano; he set his hands on the keys and just began to play. Y/N joined in, playing the higher harmonies. In no time, they had created their own melody. Bucky closed his eyes and lost himself in the song; he began to sing:

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside I'm not one of those who can easily hide

Y/N took over the lyrics, putting her own spin on his words.

I don't have much money, but, boy, if I did I'd buy a big house where we both could live

They both began to really immerse themselves in each other and the music they were making as they passionately belted out the chorus.

And you can tell everybody this is your song It may be quite simple, but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is while you're in the world

Bucky carried on singing the melody as Y/N’s voice floated above his with the harmony. Their sounds seemed to find homes in each other, they blended together perfectly. When Bucky had written the song, he had done so with the first girl he ever loved in mind: Dot. She brought excitement to him, she made his heart come alive with everything she did. Dot didn’t even have to think and Bucky would always be there, wrapped around her finger. Their relationship ended when they went separate ways for college, they were both too devoted to their career goals to jeopardize them for a high school romance. They’d both been heartbroken. They ended things because they didn’t want to try the long-distance thing only for it to end up failing and them both resenting each other. Bucky had shelved the song for a long time out of respect for Dot, and well he still felt pain when he thought about it. He thought Dot was the one for him; he didn’t want to reopen old wounds by touching the song. But as Bucky sang the song with Y/N that one afternoon in May, he felt something revive inside him. He felt spirit flood back into his body again. Most of all, he finally experienced the butterflies associated with the words he sang after a long time of them staying dormant. He looked to Y/N when he sang those closing words.

I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words

How wonderful life is now you're in the world

-

As Bucky sat at the piano, 3 years after the first meeting with the love of his life, he found himself reluctantly setting his fingers upon the fateful keys that emitted the beginning chords to their song. The song itself had gone through so many evolutions. Joy with Dot to exhilaration with Y/N and now it was empty. Y/N wasn’t there anymore to play the higher harmonies. Bucky began to sing the song, his throat being strained due to its dryness from his cries in these past months. He wasn’t playing anymore, he was just pressing the keys, hard, forcing anything, any sliver of happiness to slip out of the notes. He was desperate. He just kept thinking of Y/N as he progressed through his soliloquy.

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Bucky was so engrossed in his anguish that he missed the sound of key jingles unlocking the door that had been untouched by the hands he so desperately craved for several months. She could hear the clashing of the piano’s softness and Bucky’s yells from outside. She could feel the pain in his words, cutting through her with every syllable he let slip past the lips she had missed feeling on hers, embedding love into her with every kiss. She kept her footsteps light as she made her way towards the music.

Bucky thought he was hallucinating when he had heard her voice join him for the chorus.

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it's done

He stopped abruptly. He turned toward the doorway of his—their—home studio to find her leaning against the doorframe, a flowy fabric adorning her body. She must’ve been a dream. She had to be. He was convinced his mind had just conjured up an image of her until she opened her mouth to speak.

“Don’t stop,” she said, her eyes glassy with tears threatening to run down her face. “You’ll kill me if you stop”.

Bucky’s face turned to stone, he didn’t want her to see how badly their separation had affected him.

“What are you doing here,” he snapped.

She knew he would not open up to her easily, not after the year of being apart. Her lips slightly turned up. “I found myself singing our song. I couldn’t get it out of my head and that just pushed me to come to see you.”

Bucky’s head tilted in confusion. “How did you—”

Y/N simply held up a set of keys. A set of keys that included the one he had given her to his home.

“You never asked for it back,” she replied.

Bucky stayed silent, he didn’t know what to say.

The weight of the situation was on her. She had to initiate.

“Bucky...I—” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish. Y/N had acted on impulse when she decided to see him. She didn’t plan what she was gonna say, she didn’t even know what she expected to come out of this. She just knew she had to see him again. At least once. And she told him that. Y/N told him that she didn’t know what she was doing there, standing in what used to be their home, their sanctuary. Y/N told him about how broken she had been the year they were apart.

“I miss you,” Y/N had mumbled. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself because I told I would be accepting that I was weak. That I was dependent on you.” She paused, collecting her thoughts.

“I thought that was a bad thing, depending on someone. Because for so long, I had been on my own. I convinced myself others couldn’t be trusted and that if I let myself do that with someone, I’d be damning myself to failure.”

Bucky seemed unmoved. He knew this already.

“But I was wrong. And I’m sorry things ended the way they did because of me. I didn’t fully appreciate how wonderful life was with you in it until I cut you out.”

Bucky’s face began to soften. He had only wanted her to be happy, and she told him that she would be if he left. So no matter how much it hurt him, he did it. He left. He was willing to live a life of pain if it meant she was happy. That’s what happened when people were in love.

Y/N continued laying her heart and soul out to him.

“I love you, Bucky. I told you then and I’ll tell you again now. I love you.” Another pause fell through their space. “And I understand if you’re done with me, I am. I put you through so much pain and I’m willing to take it off your shoulders if that’s what you want. If you don’t want me anymore, I’ll take the pain for both of us. That’s how much I love you.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He had wanted to hear these words for so long but he didn’t think he was ready yet to jump into their relationship as it was before everything. Not yet anyway, but someday, he wanted that again.

He spoke up, “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

A smile graced her tear-stained face. God, he missed that smile.

He had to let him know her terms before she got ahead of herself. “But, I’m not ready to jump back into things just yet. I still need to heal.”

Y/N nodded vigorously. “It’s okay, I do too. We’ll take things slow again,” she said. “Maybe start with another song,” she added hopefully.

At that, Bucky had let her see a smile that she hadn’t seen in a year. “I’d like that.”

They both felt the wings of the butterflies begin to flutter again inside of them as they sat at the piano together and began to work on their new song.

-

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Erin/Gerald Arc 2 Part 16

Next part! I really should be sleeping but I wanted to write so... oh well. 

Master post linked here. 

After making her discovery, Erin had sent a quick message to Catherine to let her know that the explosives had been disabled. She then had proceeded back to the castle, cutting off any further contact from the older girl. Gerald’s sister had wanted Erin to join her, to watch Gerald perform, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to see him just yet.

It would only make her choice that much harder.  

Erin sat in her room, listening to the sounds of the competition outside. The cheers of the crowd through her window contrasted starkly with the solemnness of the room. She stared silently down at her hands, two artifacts rolling in between her fingers, her thoughts running deep.

One was a silver artifact, with an embedded blue stone. Her restricting artifact. She had worn it only for a few months. It certainly was more convenient than the restriction spell she had once been under, although much less effective. Now it was simply a shield, something to protect her until she was ready to strike against her father. That was what she had suffered for all these years, why she had been hurt, over and over.

The second was a delicate golden chain, with a blood red stone attached. The locating artifact Gerald had given her. A sad smile crossed her face as Erin stroked it absentmindedly. She remembered when he gave it to her, back when they were facing Lady Belanna. She never told him, but sometimes she simply held it in her hand, just to know he was somewhere, to know he was alive. A tear ran down her face as her fist tightened around it.

This is worth it. HE is worth it.

With that thought, she replaced the golden chain around her neck, and placed the silver amulet within a jewelry box on the dresser.

She may lose her chance at revenge if she did this. After all, she knew she was powerful, but she would be facing an army. As the amulet left her fingers, she felt a surge within her, a comforting buzz of her restored powers. Again, a sad smile crossed her face.

This was her country at fault, breaking their treaty’s promise, distracting with terrorist attacks to invade a poorly defended border.

This was her personal monster, her father, lurking in the shadows, pulling strings to change the fate of nations. The memory of his cruel smile lingered in her mind, only replaced by the thought of Gerald’s happy grin when he talked about his love for his people and his country.

She had to fix this.

I want to see him again.

But she couldn’t. If she did he would want to come too. And she didn’t want to risk him. She couldn’t risk him.

When had it become like this? When she first met Gerald, she had only felt a tolerant amusement. Erin had thought he would quickly grow bored of his constant proposals and move on. But then, they had spent each day by each other’s side. Seeing him smile, seeing him care for others… his warmth, his kindness, his peculiar sense of humor… each part of him burrowed into her heart, integrating so deeply that she couldn’t separate from him even if she wanted to. There was no sudden realization, no epiphany of her feelings. Slowly, inevitably, she fell in love with him, and now it was far too late to back out now.

He meant everything to her. More than her hatred, her revenge.

More than her life.  

Knock. Knock.

At the sound of knocking on the door, Erin looked up, a sudden hope filling her despite her earlier determination.

Gerald?

The door opened without waiting for a response, startling her. She blinked with surprise, wondering for a moment if her tired mind had created what she wanted to see. But as the door opened further, and the person behind it revealed, her heart sank and her eyes grew cold.

Olivia’s brother.

Matthias.

“Erin?” His pale blue eyes stared intently at her, as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Her facial expression was blank, a careful mask to hide her emotions. Only her clenched fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms, gave an indication to the anger beneath the carefully polished surface.

Ever since the “Frederick incident” when he had called out both Olivia and Matthias, the other boy had avoided talking to Erin. He was still often in the same room, still watching her closely, but he no longer was constantly trying to touch her or talk to her. Erin had been relieved at the change, but it seemed as if he was hoping to break this stalemate.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Now is not a good time.” Her tone gave no room for argument, but he continued on as if he hadn’t heard her.

“We haven’t been on the same page, and it’s my fault.” He stared down at his feet, wringing his hands together, a picture of nervousness. “If I had just explained to you everything, you would understand and everything would be fine! You see, for most of my life… I was sick.”

“I know.”

“No, ‘sick’ isn’t the right word. People ‘get sick’ but they die or get better. I wasn’t sick… I was broken.” He took in a deep breath and looked back up at her, his pale eyes reflecting the light from her window.

“My freezing power was too powerful, it was taking over my body. I couldn’t move, could hardly breathe some days. I was trapped in my room, worried that if moved out that my powers would harm other people. My family did their best, got me treatments that would allow me to move around the house, function for a short amount of time… but nothing could fix me. Nothing could make me normal.”

“Matthias…” Erin sighed, trying to interrupt, but he pushed forward, his gaze growing more intense.

“My only friend was my sister. She would come visit me regularly, whether my powers were acting up or not. She would sit in that cold, frozen room, smile at me, and tell me stories. Stories about school, about her lessons, about news from the world outside.” He paused, as if gauging her reaction, “But mostly, she told me stories about you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“You were her best friend, the person she spent the most time with. But mostly, she realized that out of all the people she described to me, you were the one I wanted to hear about the most. You were smart, funny, and loyal to your friends. But you were broken too. “ He smiled. “Your powers didn’t work; they were stuck at level 1. Everyone around you laughed at you, called you names, hurt you… but still you kept moving forward, ignoring them.”

Erin shook her head. “It’s not nearly as impressive as you make it sound.”

“Oh it is impressive.” Matthias disagreed. “You stood against everyone despite being broken and forced your way through. I thought it was amazing. You were like a hero to me.” He inched closer. “I used to imagine meeting you. We would compare stories, you would encourage me, and we would help each other out. We would understand each other. Like soul mates.”

“I’m not…”

“And then… a miracle happened. Olivia came home, but this time she brought this:” He reached under his shirt and held a silver amulet in his hand. “A restriction artifact, something we never knew could exist. But now we had one, and it was all thanks to the girl I had always dreamt of meeting.” He replaced the silver amulet back under his shirt. “My soul mate and my savior, I couldn’t wait to come to St. Julienne’s, to finally meet you. But… somehow… everything was wrong.”

He frowned, a strange light in his eyes. “You had gained your powers back, you weren’t broken anymore. And even more, you had made other friends, and even had boys hanging around you.” He shook his head. “I wanted to explain to you the truth, that I was the only one who could truly understand you, support you, but whenever we spoke, you shied away!”

“Matthias…”

“Why wouldn’t you listen to me? Why did you hate it whenever I touched you. We’re soulmates! We’re meant to be together! Today proves it! I mean, you’re here in your room rather than watching the tournament, watching Gerald... You must realize on some level that he’s not right for you! That I…”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Erin stood up, her face pale with rage, magical flames sprouting up around the room, before being snuffed out in an instant. “You couldn’t get me to understand you, because you weren’t looking at ME Matthias. “

He shook his head. “But…”

“NO. Listen. You had built up a fantasy in your head. A perfect girl. One whose only conversations with you were made up in your mind, so of course they went smoothly. I am not an understanding person. I am not one to help you lick your wounds and feel better. You were never looking at me, Matthias. You were only looking at a reflection of yourself, and thinking it was me.”

“But the artifact…”

“I did give Olivia that artifact. But I did not make it. The only reason I gave it to her was because Olivia is my friend. I’m glad you are better, that you can leave your room and live your own life. But that does not make me your savior or your soul mate. We are classmates, teammates, nothing more.”

His eyes widened, his face pained. “You never cared about me?”

“I don’t know you. I feel sympathy for your situation, but nothing deeper, nothing more complex than that.”

“Maybe… maybe you just don’t recognize your own feelings…”

“I am in love with someone. With Gerald.”

“That prince?” Matthias face twisted into a sneer. “His life has been blessed, what problems has he ever faced? He could never understand you the way I can.”

“What gave you the right to determine the criteria for me to love someone?” Erin sighed, “It has nothing to do with how similar or different we are. Whether or not he is ‘broken enough’ doesn’t matter. I love him because he is Gerald.” She shrugged. “That’s a good enough reason for me.”

Matthias sank into a chair, his stare blank as he processed. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

“I love you!”

“Probably not. You love a delusion. You don’t know me.”

“I know what I feel!” Matthias’s eyes were rimmed with red, his body trembling with distress.

“That’s fine. No one can tell you who to like or not like, after all.” Erin’s smile was cold. “But I don’t have to return your feelings.”

“…”

“Now go, I need to be alone.”

Erin turned back to her desk, looking at the weapons she had lined up on it.

“… If you weren’t here to be away from Gerald… if you care about him… what are you doing here?” Matthias looked over the weapons, the combat clothing she had changed into. “Are you going to go fight someone?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m just worried…”

“Don’t.” With that, Erin pushed him out through the door, resting her back on it with a large sigh. She looked over the weapons, and glanced down at her clenched fists. She couldn’t delay any longer. The Sionelle army was likely already on its way.

She was out of time.

Gerald stepped off the stage, ignoring the cheers as he took first place in the magical control category. Instead, his eyes were searching the crowd, looking for a particular set of dark eyes.

Where was she?

Frederick stepped forward, clapping him on the back. “Not bad, prince.”

“Thanks.”

“Almost makes up for your crushing defeat at the hands of your brother yesterday.” He added cheerfully.

“…” Gerald rolled his eyes, and kept looking.

Olivia and Catherine joined them. His older sister gave him a big hug with a smile.

“Congrats, little brother.”

Gerald didn’t smile. “Where is she?”

Catherine’s face turned serious. “She’s fine.”

“Where is she?”

“She stopped a terrorist plot, but she sent me a message, saying she was safe.”

His face didn’t change. “Catherine, where. Is. Erin?”

“I- I don’t know. She stopped answering me after her last message.”

Gerald started towards the castle. “I need to find her.”

“Gerald!” A voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. He stared at the newcomer, slightly confused.

“Matthias, what is it?”

The pale boy stopped before him, leaning over to catch his breath. “I think… Erin’s about to do something big.”

Gerald stepped closer. “You saw her? Where?”

“In her room…” Matthias looked at him closely. “I went to tell her I loved her.”

“…” Gerald stared at him, “Okay.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I knew how you felt. You’re free to report it to her if you wish. Doesn’t change how I feel about her.”

Matthias’s face twisted into a dark expression. “I hate you. If you weren’t around maybe…” Then, with a long sigh, his expression cleared. “But none of that matters more than her. I think Erin’s in danger.”

Gerald felt a sense of panic rising within him. “What do you mean?”

“After we spoke, she kicked me out, but… I followed her after she left. She was carrying a lot of weapons, dressed for a fight. She’s leaving the capital.”

“What?” Gerald was bewildered. “Why would she…”

“She was muttering to herself. I heard her mention ‘border patrols’ and ‘Sionelle forces.’”

Catherine stared at Gerald, both of their faces pale. “An invasion.”

“The terrorist attacks were a diversion to weaken the border.” Gerald cursed, running forward.

“Where re you going?” Frederick asked. “The group competition is next, we need all of our teammates!”

“Gerald didn’t stop. “Erin is going to take on an army. She’s going to face her own country’s military force all by herself.” His voice cracked, his tone hopeless.

“Well, that seems… suicidal.” Frederick shrugged, and then started walking beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Why?”

Frederick grinned. “Hell if I know. I might hate her guts sometimes, but Erin… she’s… not the worst person in the world. “ 

“You mean she’s your friend, huh?”

Frederick groaned. “Whatever, let’s go save her.”

“We’re coming too.” Olivia and Matthias sped up to join them.

“We’ll be fighting your country’s military.” Gerald felt he had to point this out. “You could be branded as traitors.”

Frederick laughed. “Only if we’re caught.”

“Okay then.” Gerald nodded, his expression determined. “Let’s go help Erin stop an invasion.”

[katsitting]

“I am different now.” + harrymort?

AN: I...don’t think this was what you had in mind when you gave me this prompt. My imagination just sort of has a mind of its own. I hope you like it anyway c: There are likely typos.

Rating: E (Explicit)

Warnings: Dubious consent and Explicit Sexual Content.

-----------------------------

"I am different now." Voldemort stated, and Harry froze, unable to comprehend just what the man was saying at all.

I am different now? Harry wanted to scoff, his face twisting into a scowl as he struggled against his bonds. Harry knew the man was lying, there was simply no way that the most powerful sorcerer could erase the damage he had done--and would continue to do--Harry thought.

Harry had been confined for several months since his capture, but he still retained some sort of agency. He wasn't insane, and if Voldemort thought that he was stupid enough to believe any of the words he said, he was clearly not as intelligent as he thought.

Harry would never give in. This was merely another way to break Harry's own desire to resist, and he refused to be cowed by words wrapped in deceit and dulcet tones.

"Liar!" Harry shouted, jerking against the ropes biting harshly into his arms as Voldemort stepped further into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and vanishing it with a subtle wave of his arm. It reminded Harry then of just how grandiose the room was--of the decadence of the bed he currently lied on and of the tasteful decorations in the room.

It was easily the most lavish place Harry had stayed in in his entire life. Without a doubt, beating the opulence of Malfoy Manor's own rooms. Not that Harry had much opportunity to see those rooms, of course. His greatest concern at the time was getting himself and his friends out alive--leaving little room for Harry to contemplate the furniture.

But now, all Harry could really do was stare at these familiar four walls. The white walls melding perfectly with the emerald color of his sheets and the dark mahogany of the bed frame.

It was all perfectly paired--planned and executed. As if Voldemort himself had hired a designer to ensure that this room was nothing short of perfect.

And wasn't that funny? That Voldemort would hire a designer for a prisoner?

Harry was promptly cut off from his thoughts when Voldemort spoke again, his face lined with frustration.

"For what purpose would I lie to you, Harry?" Voldemort asked, and Harry strained in his bonds for a moment before sneering at the man. He didn't want to talk--content to be left to himself and the walls that sometimes whispered to him before he succumbed to slumber. It should have concerned him that he was hearing voices, but what did Harry care?

Voldemort had brought him the severed heads of his friends on a pike early on in his captivity. There was simply nothing left for him to fight for but for himself. For his own pride and peace of mind.

And perhaps, for the few that he hoped had managed to survive.

"I don't know, I don't think you really need a reason to be a monster." Harry mocked, and Voldemort froze for a second, his red eyes flashing with something Harry could identify as irritation before shuttering the emotion away quickly.

It made Harry grin.

"Did that offend you, Tom? To know that you are a shadow of who you once were? That you are nothing but a creature that preys on the innocent?" Harry laughed when Voldemort stepped further into the room, his magic cackling in the air alerting Harry at just how angered the man was.

"Do not force my ha--"

"Or what?" Harry interrupted, a smirk dancing along his lips when Voldemort stopped beside him on the bed, his stature imposing. But Harry was no longer intimidated. He was more than a bit accustomed to the man's scare tactics. "You're going to kill me? The horror."

Harry was laughing so hard that tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, his chest aching and his throat tight with the force of it.

Harry could admit that he sounded a little unhinged, but again, what did it matter now? The war had been lost and now, all that Harry really had was Voldemort's unwanted company and this room. The same four bloody walls that often whispered to both Harry's dismay and delight.

The monster didn't even allow him the peace of speaking to anyone else. Not even the house elves that conjured his three daily meals were allowed to appear before him.

He was all alone.

"There are things worse than death, Harry Potter." Voldemort began, and Harry could not repress a flinch when one of Voldemort's fingers pressed to the skin of his cheek. The contact no longer triggered their strange connection, but it elicited a strange pleasant feeling in his gut. It was unsettling in its intensity, the heat of it dancing across his skin and spreading through his body like some sort of infectious disease.

But Harry ignored that, knowing well that Voldemort was only doing that to disturb him. Nothing ever came out of such an innocent touch, and Voldemort, for all his monstrosity, never did more that smooth his fingers across his skin.

Curious, but never threatening.

It was the only reprieve Harry had in this world. He doubted he would have much left if the man had decided to do more than simply warn him with such a powerful connection at his command.

"You've already seen to that, My Lord." Harry mocked, before gasping when Voldemort's fingers ran along the curve of his cheek bone, and lower to dig his nails gently against his neck.

Harry faintly wondered if the man could feel just how rapidly his heart was beating--if he could hear the strange thoughts in the back of Harry's mind whispering for more with its strangely familiar lilt. The hissing sounding a lot like--

"No, I have not. I have granted you a better life than you would have lived should I have desired your suffering." Voldemort replied in turn, his touch questing when Harry unconsciously leaned into his prodding hands.

Harry hated this.

"You think this is mercy? That you're doing me a favor by locking me in some gilded cage and giving your little bird some attention?" Harry asked, and then sighing when Voldemort's slid his fingers lower down Harry's neck until it teased at his exposed collar bones--his shirt lying somewhere in the room, neglected.

Discarded by Harry earlier in the evening when he had tried, and ultimately failed, to fall asleep.

"More than you deserve. But I find that I am a changed man." Voldemort's tone was different then, a grin breaking out on his inhuman face setting Harry on edge. Since Harry's capture, the man had barely shown emotion aside from anger and displeasure.

Harry could not recall an instance where it had been anything but--his back bearing the weight of those memories. He had far too many scars on his back from the curses Voldemort had launched at him for mouthing off earlier in his captivity, and it seemed that Voldemort had somehow gained some other strange idea, guessing from the continued trace of Voldemort's nails on his skin.

He shuddered with both revulsion and pleasure when Voldemort moved them lower still, the nail biting into his nipple as it went.

"I cannot make the entire world my own with the same tactics I had employed here in Britain. Your role as the Boy-Who-Lived is far from finished, and you will see to it that my bid for power is successful." Voldemort continued and Harry gasped when the connection between them sprang to life once more--Voldemort's magic so thick in the air that Harry was afraid he might even choke on it.

"I have all the time in the world to make you yield, Harry Potter. I have already come this far in just a few months, imagine what would come of this in a few more years." Harry melted into Voldemort's touch, his body quivering with disgust and delight when sparks danced up his spine--his back arching further into Voldemort's touch the longer the man tapped at their connection.

Harry's body felt like a live wire--an exposed nerve that continued to coax violent reactions from his body. This was the worst sort of violation--the kind that Harry himself had never experienced before.

It was strange feeling oddly betrayed by this--thinking that this man would never stoop so low as to abuse this connection for gain. And he wanted to laugh at himself then for that silly thought because of course Voldemort would abuse it.

The man would never change--once a monster, always a monster.

And then Harry was crying out, the pleasure across his skin so overwhelming that he could hardly think past the thrumming of his heart, the shortness of his breath, and the texture of Voldemort's hands on his nipple.

The digits light--like feathers dancing across naked skin--but sufficient to allow Voldemort to manipulate their connection as he saw fit.

"Different now. More like you've evolved, Tom. Become more of a monster than you already wer--"

Harry groaned when Voldemort embedded his nails into his skin before slashing them down his chest--the sting and the heat enough to make him see white. The pain did little to ground him--the delicious way that it melded with the heat in his blood causing something in his stomach clench.

A pressure build.

Harry wanted to laugh and cry all at once, but he shoved those emotions back. Unwilling to shatter like glass beneath his gaze.

"Different is a matter of degree, and Lord Voldemort certainly knows this subtlety." Voldemort stated, his eyes dancing with amusement when Harry arched and writhed from the pleasant feelings overtaking his thoughts.

The man's touch stripping him bare and eating away at the hatred curled in Harry's gut.

"And you will be different too. A golden boy no more. The champion of light, erased."

The promise there was as heady as the ecstasy coursing through his veins, and Harry wondered then, with his spine bending and his mouth splitting open, if he would truly survive this unscathed. If he would remain unchanged as he hoped he would.

But those thoughts were overtaken by Voldemort's overwhelming magic--his nails sliding further along his exposed skin to tug at the edge of his checkered boxers.

The fingers both a threat and a promise.

"Is that what you truly think?" Harry began, shuddering when Voldemort's nails traced lightly against the thin material. "That you will break me?"

Harry jerked his hips into Voldemort's hand, unable to resist the way Voldemort's prodded and teased at his connection, the fingers shooting sparks up Harry's spine. Driven mad and near blind at just a simple press of those sharp nails through the thin barrier.

"Certainly. Just look at you." Voldemort explained, a smirk tugging at his lips when he slipped a finger beneath the waistband, and Harry jerked. A sharp breath escaping his lips, unable to repress just how affected he was by Voldemort's touch.

"I've barely touched you at all and you look as if you're about to come undone." Voldemort mocked, his red eyes trapping Harry's own.

"But would you want to? If you've changed as much as you say you have what success is there in breaking me in two? That's something a brute would do." Harry replied, groaning when Voldemort delved his hand further inside to play with the new skin, his fingers questing and his face thoughtful as he did.

"I-It's easy for someone to break someone down. But to make something out from what is already there. Is that not true mastery?" Harry looked away when Voldemort's fingers were suddenly on his cock, his nails scratching from the base down to his leaking head. Harry tried not to lose track of his thoughts--clinging to them as desperately as he could, knowing that he allowed himself to be overwhelmed he'd fail to steer Voldemort away from his dangerous goal.

"Oh? And what is it that you know of mastery, boy?" Voldemort sounded curious, and Harry swallowed first before answering, ignoring just how delicious Voldemort's fingers felt as they continued to play with his skin.

"I know that a true master can make one submit without the need to break their servants. That a Lord is only deserving of his title if he can inspire true loyalty." Harry sighed when Voldemort's touch grew firmer, his hand taking Harry's length entirely into his palm before giving his cock a squeeze. Harry felt like he was going to climax from that alone, his mouth snapping open into a silent scream when Voldemort's magic swelled at the same time.

His power settled into the crevices in Harry's own soul--coaxing at the dormant shard within his own body that wanted to reunite with Voldemort's sliver of a soul.

It drove Harry wild, his eyes fluttering closed for several seconds, before opening them to look up at Voldemort.

"Oh, don't worry. There will be plenty of time for me to show you how wrong you are." Voldemort whispered, the determination alight in his gaze causing Harry smirk internally.

Voldemort had taken the bait.

Good.

And then, before Harry could even properly protest, Voldemort's magic flared and his hand began to move--the friction of his dry palm and Harry's sensitive flesh enough to push Harry over the edge.

Harry came so hard he lost sense of the world around him. His body trembling with the force of his release, his thoughts jumbled.

"This is merely a taste of what I can provide if you should obey." Voldemort hissed, his hand still gripping tightly around Harry's softened cock.

"I thank you for such an...illuminating idea, Harry." Voldemort chuckled, before turning away with a dramatic flare of his robes. The bonds restraining Harry to the bed dissipating just as Voldemort flickered from existence--the only memory that he had even been there at all, the moisture pooling between Harry's thighs.

It was a dangerous game Harry was playing. But the Dark Lord was certainly right about one thing.

Voldemort had changed, and the desire Harry had glimpsed in his eyes was definitely evidence of that.

[ruleandruinrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, KAT!

You have been accepted for the role of SHONA YUL-JUN. Admin Em: Kat, I was so incredibly touched to read how moved you were by Shona’s bio, and it completely showed in your writing. He’s an incredibly complex character, perhaps one of the most complicated I’ve ever written, and you understand all of his nuances perfectly - I would paste all the lines I especially loved that illustrate this, but then I’d have to paste your application twice! But I think this line struck me most: “ While he’s not afraid to pick someone apart for their wrongdoings and missteps, their faults and troubles, he’s also not afraid to build them up if they deserve such a thing. This is perhaps another reason for the pressure he places on himself, if he can see the flaws in others, can they see those in him? What insecurities lie behind that sharp tongue sometimes bitten so hard the blood pools like silver liquid behind his lips?” Thank you so much for beautiful application and welcome to Rule&Ruin! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

                                                             OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: My name is Kat.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: My pronouns are she/her.

AGE: I am twenty-two years old.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST & I’m currently on vacation visiting family at the moment but I couldn’t wait to send this application in because I just got super antsy, but I’d say a solid 6-8. I should be able to get on every other day if not every day to do replies. Once I get home it should definitely be every day solid.

TRIGGERS: OMITTED.

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: http://grchcmisms.tumblr.com/ http://leeheir.tumblr.com/ http://halogenq.tumblr.com/ http://williamalderson.tumblr.com/

                                                             IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Shona Yul-Jun

SHONA Meaning: in the Grace of God

Shona’s parents were never particularly religious, but they have always believed in the power of the Saints. There was little thought to a proper name when their ‘Gods’ (due to definition I’ll be using that term simply for this section) graced them with another seemingly healthy child, because that’s what Shona had been in the eyes of mother and father upon birth despite their exhaustion; a blessing, a grace. In the first few years of his life, those fleeting moments of time before speech was learned and thoughts were shared, his mother found him truly an angel. Passive, quiet, and patient. He rarely ever cried and sleep came far too easily, but oh, if only his mother knew that the tears were always destined for her. Hands held up to the sky like a martyr, crucified by her own beliefs when she found her son changing almost as if overnight, screaming, demanding. Unpredictable and possibly even dangerous. ‘God’ had truly smiled upon her son, given birth to gifts that were shunned and abused by the society the child was brought into, but great power, nonetheless. Neglected and loved, treating his family with alternating endearment and aggression, childish mood swings, heartbreaking. Shona possessed a nature that was contradictory, and painful.

Shona, the gift of God, was not easy to love, but it never stopped those near from trying.

His mother tried her best, she showered her love as much as she could have but no matter how hard she loved him, she felt as if it would never be enough. His father, however, looked at his child with something near disdain. He didn’t hate him, not really, but he saw his wife, and his son, and all the things he knew he should feel towards him, and remained empty. How long can you truly try to get through to someone before you just give up? However, the void of feeling didn’t stop his father from mourning. The ‘Grace of God’ embedded in their son came to light and they treated him as if he had died in his sleep, because in some way, he had. His mother, the only person to have truly loved Shona in the purest, most honest of forms, sent him away to save the babe that never seemed to love her back.

“By the grace of God let this child be safe.”

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:  I’m going to be honest, I’ve looked at this group and Shona specifically far too many times. I kept coming back, I’d read him, and I’d sit back and think ‘I don’t know what to do with you, I just don’t know’ and I’d leave. The first few times I’d read other opens, but this time I didn’t. I seriously, most literally, just spent 30 minutes staring at his biography and reading, and re-reading, and re-reading, and thinking, pardon my French, ‘what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!’ Because I had no idea what to do because I just wanted him so bad but didn’t know what to do with him, what direction to take out of the thousands available, because while we all know that there’s a million ways to interpret a character, I personally believe there’s only one real right way for each individual writer, and I spent so much time trying to find that niche, that key factor I needed for him to truly come alive. And my God, I think I’ve found it. (At least my interpretation which quite hopefully aligns with yours.)

Quite simply, Shona makes my heart bleed.

Is it odd to relate to his mother as much as I relate to him? He’s so impossibly difficult to love with all his edges and superiorities but I found myself so enraptured to the point it was impossible not to. His complexities and detachments, his almost… levelheaded self-centeredness is purely intoxicating. He’s lost. He doesn’t understand human connections entirely, he’s not sold on it, he doesn’t get why someone would want to love someone else, would want to depend on them. He’s not necessarily insensitive or apathetic as much as he is confused and distracted. He’s caught up with himself, and he’s surface level indifferent, but always curious, even if only for a short time. There’s something about Shona that I haven’t quite seen or gotten to play before, he’s different, he’s thoughtful and pessimistic, and I like that. I like that a lot. He passively thinks he’s better than everyone, or he at least gives off that sort of vibe, and I find it almost comically insidious, because he really puts so much pressure on himself it’s a surprise his head doesn’t just explode. He wanted to be a good squaller, despite how disinterested and even occasionally bitter he may seem towards the gift. He didn’t so much as want to be useful as much as prove that he could be. Fighting alongside the First Army only made the weight he put on himself even heavier, it only made him want it that much more.

He hadn’t cried since he was a child, but that time spent battling on strange land was the closest he’d ever come, because it brought back the memories of being sent away from home, he was a child in adults clothing; alone, and undoubtedly scared. I think that whether or not he’s entirely aware of it, he definitely learned that his emotions were a big part of learning to control his ability, but despite that he continues to bottle everything up, decisive on that fact that emotions are just.. uncomfortable, unnecessary. He isn’t void of them in any sense, he isn’t sociopathic, instead he’s hardened, dismissive. He does all he can to avoid it, and his saying is basically ‘I’ll bottle all my emotions up right here in my chest, and then one day, I’ll die.’

Ah, but here we have arrived, the one thing my dearest Shona is known for, his tongue like a pair of brass knuckles tainted with that of poison and gold.

A misconception I feel a lot of people think about Shona is that he doesn’t know when to stop, to which I say false! He’s not unintelligent, in fact quite the contrary, he’s just sort of, for lack of a better word, an asshole. He knows when to stop, he just usually doesn’t. He takes truth and lays it across a table, pointing out the flaws and misdemeanors, probing and sometimes even manipulating through a strict regime of his own personal standards. He’s brash, a take no prisoners, hold nothing back, tell it like it is, man of his word, and somehow, he gets away with it. Shona’s filter is practically non-existent and should get him in more trouble than it does (though there’s still a fair amount of trouble, don’t get me wrong), but the positivity of his words, the way he believes what he says, paired with the charm, oh the charm, he seems to carry. Something about defenses just makes people all the more interesting, don’t they? Of course, this honesty goes both ways. While he’s not afraid to pick someone apart for their wrongdoings and missteps, their faults and troubles, he’s also not afraid to build them up if they deserve such a thing. This is perhaps another reason for the pressure he places on himself, if he can see the flaws in others, can they see those in him? What insecurities lie behind that sharp tongue sometimes bitten so hard the blood pools like silver liquid behind his lips?

My dear Shona, be honest, are you projecting?

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

·          Actions speak louder than words, but your silence is louder than both ↪

“Where’s Shona?” One person asks, and the other is immediately uneasy, almost uncomfortable as they hesitate and say, “Oh.. you know how he gets.”

Minutes, hours, day, sometimes weeks pass and Shona is nowhere to be seen. His voice goes unheard, and his sentiments, unshared. Sometimes his absence is hard to place despite being known, there’s silences that last just a moment too long and open spaces that are just a little too wide. Some may think he’s off wandering somewhere, getting his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Some may think he’s writing letters to a lover or friend, some think he’s spilled like colors over his art, practicing his squaller until the time of day is no longer relevant, but only those closest to him really know, even if they don’t understand. The light sometimes goes out. Shona gets defensive after the fact, he says it happens to everyone, he says he just needs a break sometimes. Just a break, which isn’t hard to believe when he comes back with a renewed vengeance, a little more energy than he had beforehand, but still, there’s just always something off. No one’s tired for that long, not if they aren’t sick. Of course, he begs to differ.

Episodes of sadness are bound to happen when you’ve lived such a confusing life, power is a scary thing, but it’s whispered in his mind that perhaps there’s a difference, perhaps something really is wrong. To Shona it seemed that no matter where he went, or how like him the people he surrounded himself with were, he would always have something wrong with him.

Highs and lows are a piece of life, but what separates Shona’s from the rest, and how does he cope when he doesn’t like the answer he finds?

·          Attachments make you human, dear. ↪

“What does the idea of losing them make you feel?” Teeth bit down on tongue, mouth not allowing anything too honest, too sentimental to slip past. He felt the emotions well in his throat, dripping off his teeth like snake venom before swallowing them down, eyes drawn neutral, not cold nor warm as the fabricated ideation slipped past his lips, echoing in the air then disappearing. Not everything to come from his mouth was true. “Nothing.”

Love, affection, attachment. Shona doesn’t fear many things anymore, at least not anything he’d make common knowledge, but his discomfort with not only his own but others personal endearments is almost obvious, his hesitation and disdain clear when particular situations arise. Despite this, there’s something hiding beneath the surface. There’s a heart under all the wit and venom, there’s a warmth somewhere in the pent-up emotions and internal power struggle. Somewhere inside of him, he yearns for what he once had, for a genuine connection, a love. He wants more than just sex or friendship, more than useless material things. Despite what he shows, sometimes attention like Farid’s can make his chest stutter, even if only an unnoticeable moment. Sometimes his dreams show him that of intimacy, of desire. These are things he isn’t even consciously aware of, not sure of why he’d want them.

Regardless he intends to keep such things at bay, but it raises a question that he’s not sure of the answer to.

·          Sate my hunger or we all starve. ↪

“What do you want from me?” Eyes shone liquid fire, a tongue swiping over sharpened teeth like a cat stalking a mouse, a smile equal parts intoxicating and intimidating. Hypnotizing. “I want everything.”

Greedy, gluttonous, hedonistic.

Those are all words that have been used to describe Shona, to describe his friends, too. Shona is his own definition of self-indulgent, not taking direct orders from anyone and living his life how he wants to as much as he’s able. He stuffed himself full of entertainment and curiosities, probing in people’s minds and lives before wandering away when he finds himself bored of them. Keeping his interest is difficult, but that’s perhaps a part of the charm and mystique of Shona Yul-Jun, it’s part of what draws people in, which pleases him immensely. Attention is a drug of choice as well as a burden, feeding into an ego and toxicity of internal demons and conflicts.

How much is too much? Such a thing doesn’t exist, my dear, at least not yet.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: OH, how my soul aches at the prospect, but I’m entirely understanding of the fact that sometimes.. characters die, and if the plot calls for it, I’d certainly be willing to let it happen.

                                                             IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

After the Shona fought with the First Army he thought he could never be cold again.

It didn’t just seem improbable, it felt impossible. The cold had dug into his skin, whipped it red until the freeze almost felt like fire, so cold it was burning hot, sweltering. Face shining, skin and eyes screaming as it was beaten into some form of submission. He’d never been so weak, not even as child, barely old enough to truly be considered a person, sitting on the back of a caravan by himself, confused. The one defining trait, what had truly made the battling worse, was that he couldn’t cry in the most literal sense. He’d tried to cry, he actually tried, he had rub his face ten folds more raw, pushed everything to the surface in his panic to try to find a moment of serenity, of peace. His frozen fingers had clutched nail into palm, trying to make it bleed, to feel something other than cold numbness. Confusion. Lost in his own body he hadn’t had any sense of control over his muscles. Maybe it was his own persistence coming to light, his own bitterness. He never did like to do as he was told, and subconsciously he liked to think that might’ve been a part of it, a power struggle. If his muscles couldn’t move he couldn’t keep fighting, he couldn’t do as he was told.

But then, of course, he had. Desperate and lost behind his own body, he’d struck lighting.

He thought of the day more often than he didn’t, to his own chagrin, but he never spoke of it, not even when questioned. He was almost embarrassed, haunted by his past self that held more power than he could muster under usual circumstances. While he was stronger than even before, he was still held at even higher standards, by others as well as himself, because of the instance that happened what felt like several lifetimes ago and the memory of his panic stayed burned into his everyday conversations.

Still, he was still cold.

Shona’s arms were wrapped around his shoulders, something resembling a scowl with a bit more contemplation covering his features. It had been getting late, he should’ve been on his way back to the Little Palace, and yet he wasn’t. Someone was bound to have been looking for him, but still he stayed, sat by himself near the lake, staring into the water and thinking as he sometimes would. He didn’t feel much like talking quite yet, and there was bound to be questions. He had always hated explaining himself, it made him feel much like a child being caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. He didn’t remember too much particularly about his mother, or what life was like before living in the Little Palace, but he remembered one sentence, his father’s favorite. “What do you think you’re doing?”

It was a nasty phrase if you asked Shona, not only was there the connotation of ‘explain yourself’ but there was also that underlying notion that simply said ‘stop.’ It was that phrase in particular that had caused his first outburst, that phrase had brought his power to life, it had made him Grisha. He very much liked having reason to blame his father, considering he’d been the one whom had shown the most disdain. He wasn’t just upset at the realization, he was disgusted, and it was all his fault.

Of course, there’s a certain truth, and a certain lie, that comes with that, he knew that logically it would’ve come to light sooner or later, whether under different circumstances or the very same it had, but there was still something about it that made him smug, sure of himself. He took responsibility in his own mind, and he accepted it, but he selfishly enjoyed the fact that he knew his father would live out his life blaming himself. Bitter is a word that Shona had perhaps become comfortable with over the years. He used to stick his nose up at the prospect, defensive nature claiming that he held no grudges but it was obvious that was a lie. Nobody could hold a grudge like Shona could, get on his bad side and you’ll be made to regret it. However, there was always a forgiving nature somewhere underneath those layers, apologize, repent for your wrongdoings and the bad can be forgotten. He was made protective of himself, but not cruel. He’d learned from a young age surrounded by brothers and sisters that no one could stand up from him quite like himself.

He had been focused, practicing subconsciously and making subtle winds with swishes of his fingers, mind busy with other affairs, goosebumps noticing the chill that was not of his own making. He was getting tired again.

He heard steps behind him, a slow crunch of underfoot and he paused his ministrations, snapped out of his mental prism but not turning to welcome them, instead keeping his eyes focused straight ahead at the water shining in the late afternoon, the last remnants of sun finding it’s hiding place and the moon taking over the sky. He waited.

“Yul-Jun?” A voice rang out, a high feminine one soaked with hesitation. “You’re out late tonight.”

He didn’t recognize the voice like he was sure he should, had no idea who it may be standing behind him, but it didn’t really matter as it was all the same to him. “Yes.” He said shortly, already edging on his defenses. “Why, are you here to try and send me off to bed?” He said, voice not necessarily aggressive but taunting, verging on a scoff.

“No, I just wanted to ask you something..” The nerves in her voice already made it clear it was a question he wasn’t going to answer. He didn’t like hesitation or people who weren’t sure what they wanted. “About last week?” She added, and his defenses were up.

“If you aren’t sure whether or not it’s an appropriate question, it probably isn’t.” He said, tone hard and cold, unforgiving. He could make assumptions about other people, but he hated when they made them about him, it was hypocritical, but as were most of the things he did. Besides, she’d caught him in a bad mood, a reminiscent one, at that. Last week hadn’t been a good one.

He could hear her shifting from foot to foot, the sound the grass was making, crunchy this time of year as opposed to springy. She couldn’t hide, even without looking at her, whoever she was, he was judging her, almost sizing her up. Who was she to ask him about anything? It was none of her business, hell, he didn’t even know who she was.

A long silence stretched, and she fidgeted the entire time. Eventually he stood up, finally turning to face her. He’d seen her face before but it didn’t answer any questions. He looked her up and down, judgmental and offended, before scoffing, unimpressed. “You don’t even believe you have a right to an answer, why should I?” He said, eyeing her for barely a moment more before stepping around her, back in the direction of the Little Palace. The night had lost it’s draw once his trance was broken, however, he did find himself rather impressed that the girl had enough confidence, or stupidity he supposed, to ask him at all. It took guts, something not many people seemed to have anymore.

He mentally noted to find out her name, stifling a yawn as his own feet matted the grass with each step in the direction of the place that was the closest thing he had to ‘home.’

Perhaps it was time to go to sleep after all.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

·          Shona struggles with Bipolar Disorder. Sometimes his energy is exceedingly high, and sometimes his gluttonous, impulsive nature can surpass even danger and lead to that of a highly problematic nature, and other times his energy is low, so low that he sleeps for days, disappears for stretches of time, remains extremely secluded. He doesn’t talk about the depressive episodes at all, in fact, after they’re over he ignores them entirely, blatantly ignoring any questions that could come from them. He doesn’t quite understand the cause of these mood swings and gets defensive if anyone says anything about them.

·          He has a relatively quick temper, but doesn’t get violent as much as agitated. He tends to snap at people verbally, but with a calm, yet increasingly rude, manner. He has a problem admitting when he’s said something too far and doesn’t apologize easily, which can cause conflict in his life.

·          Shona is generally a very organized person, he has an ability to keep things well put together and knows where to find what he’s looking for. However, he doesn’t feel any particular way about other people’s disorganization, as long as it doesn’t effect his own things.

·          Shona’s loyal to his friends almost to a fault. He’ll defend them in any circumstance, even if it requires playing devil’s advocate, and is very protective of those close to him, though he’d never tell them that.

·          Shona’s highly intelligent, but his firm beliefs sometimes get in the way of that. He’s a true debater at heart, and will defend his points to the grave, usually to the point of offending those with alternating opinions. He enjoys arguments, always overflowing with a sort of calm yet cocky confidence and an inability to admit when he’s wrong.

·          If you need emotional support, Shona might not be the person to go to, however, if you need real advice on how to overcome an issue, he might be your guy. Shona is much more of a realist than a shoulder to cry on, and he can get out of his own head long enough to help someone if they’re a friend or someone he cares about.

·          For someone with such a strongly compulsive nature, he craves a sense of stability. He likes to take others by surprise, do things that are unexpected, but if that’s turned on him he finds himself agitated and even anxious.

EXTRAS:

·         Star Sign: LEO

“People born under the sign of Leo are natural born leaders. They are dramatic, creative, self-confident, dominant and extremely difficult to resist, able to achieve anything they want to in any area of life they commit to. There is a specific strength to a Leo and their “king of the jungle” status. Leo often has many friends for they are generous and loyal. Self-confident and attractive, this is a Sun sign capable of uniting different groups of people and leading them as one towards a shared cause, and their healthy sense of humor makes collaboration with other people even easier.”

Attributes:

Positive:

1.       Creative

2.       Broad-minded

3.       Expansive

4.       Faithful

5.       Energetic

6.       Loyal

Negative:

1.       Pompous

2.       Patronizing

3.       Bossy

4.       Interfering

5.       Dogmatic

6.       Intolerant

·         Personality Type: DEBATER (ENTP-T)

“An odd juxtaposition arises with Debaters, as they are uncompromisingly honest, but will argue tirelessly for something they don’t actually believe in, stepping into another’s shoes to argue a truth from another perspective.”

“Debaters’ unwavering desire for self-improvement comes in most handy is in their emotional development, as they may actually be willing to work on areas such as sensitivity and emotional communication with their partners.”

“The epitome of Debaters’ friendships is when someone can hold their ground in these arbitrary debates with valid, rational arguments.”

Attributes:

Positive:

1.        Knowledgeable – Debaters rarely pass up a good opportunity to learn something new, especially abstract concepts. This information isn’t usually absorbed for any planned purpose as with dedicated studying, people with the Debater personality type just find it fascinating.

2.        Quick Thinkers – Debaters have tremendously flexible minds, and are able to shift from idea to idea without effort, drawing on their accumulated knowledge to prove their points, or their opponents’, as they see fit.

3.        Original – Having little attachment to tradition, Debater personalities are able to discard existing systems and methods and pull together disparate ideas from their extensive knowledge base, with a little raw creativity to hold them together, to formulate bold new ideas. If presented with chronic, systemic problems and given rein to solve them, Debaters respond with unabashed glee.

4.        Excellent Brainstormers – Nothing is quite as enjoyable to Debaters as analyzing problems from every angle to find the best solutions. Combining their knowledge and originality to splay out every aspect of the subject at hand, rejecting without remorse options that don’t work and presenting ever more possibilities, Debaters are irreplaceable in brainstorming sessions.

5.        Charismatic – People with the Debater personality type have a way with words and wit that others find intriguing. Their confidence, quick thought and ability to connect disparate ideas in novel ways create a style of communication that is charming, even entertaining, and informative at the same time.

6.        Energetic – When given a chance to combine these traits to examine an interesting problem, Debaters can be truly impressive in their enthusiasm and energy, having no qualms with putting in long days and nights to find a solution.

Negative:

1.       Very Argumentative – If there’s anything Debaters enjoy, it’s the mental exercise of debating an idea, and nothing is sacred. More consensus-oriented personality types rarely appreciate the vigor with which Debater personalities tear down their beliefs and methods, leading to a great deal of tension.

2.       Insensitive – Being so rational, Debaters often misjudge others feelings and push their debates well past others’ tolerance levels. People with this personality type don’t really consider emotional points to be valid in such debates either, which magnifies the issue tremendously.

3.       Intolerant – Unless people are able to back up their ideas in a round of mental sparring, Debaters are likely to dismiss not just the ideas but the people themselves. Either a suggestion can stand up to rational scrutiny or it’s not worth bothering with.

4.       Can Find It Difficult to Focus – The same flexibility that allows Debaters to come up with such original plans and ideas makes them readapt perfectly good ones far too often, or to even drop them entirely as the initial excitement wanes and newer thoughts come along. Boredom comes too easily for Debaters, and fresh thoughts are the solution, though not always a helpful one.

5.       Dislike Practical Matters – Debaters are interested in what could be – malleable concepts like ideas and plans that can be adapted and debated. When it comes to hard details and day-to-day execution where creative flair isn’t just unnecessary but actually counter-productive, Debater personalities lose interest, often with the consequence of their plans never seeing the light of day.

·         Temperament: CHLOERIC

“Your temperament is choleric. The choleric temperament is fundamentally ambitious and leader-like. They have a lot of aggression, energy, and/or passion, and try to instill it in others. They can dominate people of other temperaments, especially phlegmatic types. Many great charismatic military and political figures were choleric. They like to be in charge of everything. However, cholerics also tend to be either highly disorganized or highly organized. They do not have in-between setups, only one extreme to another. As well as being leader-like and assertive, cholerics also fall into deep and sudden depression. Essentially, they are very much prone to mood swings.”

·         Alignment: True Neutral

“A true neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. He doesn’t feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most true neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil after all, he would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, he’s not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. Some true neutral characters, on the other hand, commit themselves philosophically to neutrality. They see good, evil, law, and chaos as prejudices and dangerous extremes. They advocate the middle way of neutrality as the best, most balanced road in the long run. True neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion. However, true neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it represents apathy, indifference, and a lack of conviction.”

ANYTHING ELSE? My favorite book is actually Fight Club, which is probably a super basic ass answer, but the novel is just.. so good. Chuck Palahniuk is a force to be reckoned with. ANOTHER NOTE: In this application I did not direction mention or bring up the fact that he is trans but I AM 100% acknowledging and keeping that in, I’m not trying to erase it or ignore it in anyway possible, I can’t stress that enough, I just didn’t find a particular place to put too much information about that in this particular application, as it doesn’t really define him. While yes, he is trans, first and foremost he is a man and would like to be seen as such (as I’m sure many transgender people agree), and I felt that was the more important part to cover. I will, however, expand on the transgender piece in the future if given the opportunity. (I also have questions about how transitioning works in this universe which was a part of the reason I didn’t delve into it quite yet but I intend to talk all that through with you if I’m accepted!)

ANOTHER NOTE from Kat who spent approximately 36 full hours working on this and is now reading it over now:Okay, so, I had an epiphany. The thing is, the way I really see this character is that he’s a lot like who I was before this year. Self-indulgent, bitter, angry, overwhelmed, emotionally closed off, and way too hard on himself and people around him. It’s a hard place to be in, and even harder to get out of. Shona enraptures that perfectly, and it’s strange because the reason I think I was really so drawn to his character was because I looked at him and thought ‘I want to help, I can help.’ Weird, yeah? I don’t know, from the beginning I was just so extremely attached to his character it made my head hurt, the past three or four days since I finally decided to actually apply I’ve sat down at my computer from when I wake up to when I go to sleep, just writing this application. Of course, you’d assume it would be longer, but I mostly kept going back and erasing and re-writing until it all felt just right, at least to me. Even if I’m not accepted, which is entirely fair and just and I would genuinely have no hard feelings (I want to see him in the best hands as much as you guys do, I promise!) I just wanted to say that I had such an interesting and involved process when writing this whole thing, and I mostly just wanted to thank you for giving me the chance to do it at all! Your characters are all absolutely amazing, as someone who admined a group and tried writing that many biographies before, kudos for being able to do it so eloquently. Anyways, sorry, I’m babbling again, I hope you all have a great day and I’m excited to hear back from you!

[pietro-capimagines]

Battered and Bruised Ch. 3 (Bucky x reader)

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed chapter two because things are about to get intense for chapter three. I hope the cliff hangar was good enough. Just a reminder that I love you all and that you have a wonderful day. I posted a Masterlist last night and you can find all my other works on there :)

Chapter 1 2

Description:  Bucky sees all the damage he’s physically done to you because of what H.Y.D.R.A. did to his mind.

Warnings: Violence, cursing, angst.

“I love you F/N. I never thought I would be able to love somebody, but I love you. And I never want to lose you. Never.” 

“And I love you. I always have and always will.”

The Russian man threw the notebook down, smirking. From your chair in the corner, you could see the scowl on Bucky’s face, but his hands were shaking. He was trying to be brave, but he was terrified. Your tears were streaming down your cheeks and every breath hurt like hell. You had been screaming out for Bucky, trying to calm him down in anyway possible. The pain in your ribs was excruciating, and you began to choke on your sobs, your throat burning. 

“Soldier, welcome home.” The man’s accent was so thick you could barely understand what he was saying.

“I am not your soldier. And this- this is not my home, you fucking bastard.” Bucky thrashed against his restraints. A heated anger began to burn inside his chest. 

The agent just scoffed at him, then turned his full attention to you. 

“And I’m guessing your the American, scum agent that knocked out most of my men.” His back was to the light and his enormous shadow loomed over you, obscuring his features. “Hmm,” he tilted your head up towards him with his index finger, letting him see your flushed, tear-stained face, “but with your skills, you could be a wonderful soldier. for H.Y.D.R.A.” He chuckled lightly.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.” Bucky growled, his chest heaving.

The unknown man circled you, like a vulture. He began to twist a curl of your hair, suddenly grabbing a fistful, yanking your head back. You cried in pain; hot tears were stinging your eyes. 

“Stop it! Get away from her!” Bucky was thrashing against the table, screaming, but it wasn’t moving one inch. You realized this table was specialized to keep him restrained. 

“Ah, so I found your weakness, зимний солдат.” The man had a wide grin on his face. “You love her, don’t you?” He released your hair and walked back to the table in the middle of the room. The pain from your head began to subside, but the waves of pain every time you breathed were still prominently there.

“I swear to God, if you lay another hand on her I will kill you.” The words were seething between Bucky’s clenched teeth. 

By the way this was going, you didn’t know if you were going to be leaving alive or in a body bag. Or worse, you would sticking around as another one of their super soldiers. 

“Bucky, look at me,” you croaked. Every word burned your throat and sent screams on pain through your body. He turned his head to you, eyebrows stitched together with hurt and worry. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. I always have and always will.”

“F/N, don’t say it like this is goodbye. Don’t do this.” Tears were making streaks down Bucky’s beautiful face. You gave him the best smile you could despite the immense pain. You didn’t know what could happen next, you and him were completely helpless. They took all of your weapons, even the extendable blade that was embedded into your uniform. He had a better chance of making it out, he was a super soldier after all. Though, your luck was running thin. Your chances of getting out of there in one piece were slimmer than ever.

“Enough of this.” The man spoke clearly this time, his anger and annoyance was building in his voice. “Let’s get started now солдат. Shall we?” He motioned towards the leather notebook, the star matching the one that used the be on Bucky’s vibranium arm. The agent picked it up, his eyes boring holes into him. 

Taking his sweet time, he opened it, flipping through the pages. He was going to enjoy watching both of you suffer.

“Bucky. Baby. Stay strong. Fight it, I know you can. Focus on something. Focus on me or Steve or us.” Your words brought more tears to your eyes, it was breaking your heart. “I love you. It’s going to be alright.” 

As you were talking him down, Bucky listened to the sound of your voice and closed his eyes. 

“Catch me if you can!” You yelled, caught up in a fit of laughter. You were wearing a yellow sundress, weaving in and out of the trees. 

“I’m coming after you!” Bucky chuckled, a huge smile was plastered on his face. He finally caught up to you, hugging your waist from behind. You both were breathless, falling to the ground, laughing. 

He opened them. Worry was knitted on his face. He had to keep these memories. He had to hold onto them, and maybe, just maybe his mind wouldn’t succumb to the pain and brainwashing. 

“Тоска..” The agent bellowed, letting the word echo through the room. Bucky’s metal arm twitched. He had to fight this. He couldn’t leave you. You were the one person he had, the one person he loved. 

“Ржавый..” Something began to click in Bucky’s head. The world began to spin around him.

“Stop!” You were screaming as you saw the love of your life being ripped apart right in front of you. “Baby, no. Don’t forget me. Don’t forget us.” You were choking on air and tears, your vision blurry. 

The man wielding the notebook began to speak louder and faster, realizing that you could jeopardize the activation.

“Печь, рассвет, семнадцать.” Bucky was thrashing around, trying to stay grounded. It was becoming harder and harder with every second. He was going in and out of his own, controlled mind. He tried focusing on another memory.

He rolled over, seeing your beautiful body laying beside him. This was the first morning you ever woke up together. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you on the shoulder. A corner of your mouth curled up in reaction. 

“Good morning my love.” He spoke, breathing the words into your neck. 

“Good morning.” You groaned, placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

He smiled. “God, I love you so much F/N L/N.”

Thinking about you brought him back a little, making it easier to think clearly.

“Доброкачественный, девять, возвращение на родину.” The man was grinning from ear to ear as he saw you struggling against your restraints. 

You couldn’t run to him, bring him back down from this. Your croaked whispers were being drowned out by the echoing voice of the man who was torturing Bucky, right in front of you. 

“Один.” The room was booming with noise. Bucky’s screams gave you a sinking feeling and you felt yourself falling apart. 

He couldn’t fight it any longer. He kept recalling memories of you, repeating his name and your name in his head, hoping he wouldn’t forget it. Searing pain crept up to the front of his head, making his vision go blurry. Tears were streaming down his face, he was covered in sweat. 

He looked at you one last time, “F/N, forgive me.”

“грузовой вагон.” The agent stood still, waiting for a reaction from Bucky. His head was drooped forward, the long black strands covering his facial features. 

“Солдат?” He was eager for a response. 

Bucky’s head slowly drew up. “Готов выполнить.” 

The agent began to laugh hysterically. “Impressive, no?” He looked at you, the life drained out of you. 

“Солдат, kill her.” He smirked down at you, watching you as you remained stoic. The only thing that he could see were the silent tears rolling down your cheeks. He unlocked Bucky’s restraints and he immediantly got up, walking briskly towards you. 

“Bucky, I know you’re in there somewhere. I want you to know that I love you.” Your voice was scratchy and whispered. 

“Who the hell is that?” He asked you, pure evil was the only thing found in his once loving, blue eyes. Before you could say anything his metal fist came into contact with your jaw. An instant spike of pain emerged, you could taste blood in your mouth. 

“I don’t blame you for this. This isn’t you.” You whimpered, the pain in your jaw made it incredibly painful to speak. Were you afraid of him? No. What you were afraid that the real Bucky, your Bucky, would never come back. 

One, two, three punches landed in your other ribcage, gut, and face. 

You were spitting out blood. “It’s okay baby. I’m not afraid. I’ll always love you.” Your vision became spotty as pain coursed through every inch and every nerve of your body. 

“Shut up!” The Winter Soldier was all that was left standing in front of you. He began to deliver a series of punches all over you body, making your head spin. You didn’t scream or yell. You took it, every single punch. 

Blood was streaming down you face, arms, and it began to seep through your clothes on your stomach. You couldn’t focus on anything as your body became numb. He kept punching you, but you could no longer feel it. 

A blanket of white overtook your vision as you whispered, “I love you Bucky,” one last time before you collapsed in your chair, your world fading to black. 

How was it? Leave me some feedback! You can message me anything! Let me know what you thought, how it made you feel, what you think is going to happen next :) If you want to be notified when I post the next chapter, let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist 

Taglist:

@mcfuccfairy @floofypillow @ficarchive007

@kaitlynthehuman @pinkleopardss @sergeantsandscoundrels 

[aoi-midori]

Lucid Storm Chapter 4

geez, i’m on a roll here. anyway, before i post the links and the read more, i just want to make a quick note here. this chapter here is one of my personal all-time favorites i’ve ever written period, and seph is also one of my favorite characters to write (along with al and logan, who doesn’t show up until chapter 6). starting here, a lot of things start happening in-chapter, so it should definitely be more exciting. also i really hope you guys like this chapter as much as i do, because i am super proud of it! 

Chapter 0 (Prologue) | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter Four: Storm Warning [Seph Hirano]

Agreeing to work with the Chang-Los had been a huge mistake, and with me being the leader of Melisma, it was my responsibility to make sure that Heng’s plan for the Element Spheres failed. The only way to do that was to destroy the Quintessimal Sphere’s core, which we had just recently found. The problem was that so far, none of us had been able to do so. Not even Hans with his super strength could give the thing a scratch. This left me with one other option: get the core to Shuuhei, because he was the only other person I knew of who had a chance of destroying it.

My plan was simple. For the time being, everyone at Melisma was to keep up the facade that we were still working with the Chang-Los. Whenever Heng asked for progress on locating the core, we would tell him that we were still looking for it and hadn’t found it yet. In the meantime, I was going to go down to ETMA HQ myself and hand over the core to them. The thought of going back to the place I had deserted seven years ago and seeing everyone I had let down scared me, but none of that mattered now. Today, for once, I wanted to set things right.

I wanted to get down there as soon as I could, so I quickly towel-dried my hair after taking a shower and slipped on a plain white t-shirt and black soffes. I was about to brush my teeth when my cell phone rang. I picked it up off the counter by the sink and answered it. “Hello?”

“There you are!” I heard Derek’s voice on the other end. “Listen, we’ve got trouble.”

“Trouble? What happened?”

“ETMA is here.”

“Wh-What?! You mean they’re here in the building?”

“Yeah, Hans and I are fighting three of those new mage recruits right now!”

“Shit.” Given the current situation, I knew there could only be one reason they were there: they came for the core. “Okay, just hold them off until I can get down there with the core. Then we can just give it to them. Where are you right now?”

“We’re one floor below you,” he said as I turned off the light in the bathroom, “but listen. Someone else came with these guys, and they already made it upstairs where you are. Maybe you should wait until Hans and I can get there, because I don’t think you should be alone in there with them right now.”

“Derek, I can take care of myself!” I told him as I opened the door and stepped back into my room. “I mean, who could-”

Then I realized why Derek had sounded so anxious. The person in my room at that moment was someone I hadn’t seen or heard from in seven years, and Derek was worried for my emotional state. The phone slipped out of my hands as I stared back at Minami Cho.

“Hey. Hey! Seph! Are you there?” Derek was still on the other end of the line. “Ah dammit.” The call then ended.

“Well well,” Cho spoke in a menacing tone. “Long time, no see.”

“Y-yeah.” I gulped. “Umm…” I saw the core in her hand and nodded at it. “How did you know that was here?”

“None of your damn business.”

“O-okay then.” So many things could go wrong now that she and the ETMA agents were here. But if Cho already had the core… “Well, you have what you came for, so just get out of here, okay?”

“What, you’re not going to stop me? What gives?! You’re not going to give it to Heng? I thought you two were allies?”

“Not anymore. I’m done helping him.”

“Oh yeah?” She put the core into her pocket. “Why’s that?!”

“His plan for the Element Spheres. As soon as I found out, I wanted out. It crossed the line. And I don’t want Heng to know that you have it, so can you just leave before he gets here?” I took this chance to move towards the bedroom door; the sooner I could get back to Hans and Derek and get out of this situation, the better.

“Alright then, fine.” Then before I could reach the door, Cho blocked my escape and pointed her bazooka right into my face. “But first, you’re going to give me some answers.”

I didn’t like where this was going, but she wasn’t just going to let me walk away. So I stood there and folded my arms tightly. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“What do I want to know?” She let out a hollow laugh. “Well first things first! Why did you do it?”

I felt my insides churning. “What?”

“You heard me. Why did you do it? You know what I’m talking about.”

I did know; she didn’t need to say it twice. For seven years, I had done my best to put it behind me and push it all away. But now that she was bringing it up, all of those memories from the incident came flooding right back. Derek was right; I should have just waited for him and Hans in the bathroom, because this was becoming too much to handle.

“I didn’t mean it,” I finally said.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you right.”

My voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to do it, okay?!”

“Didn’t mean to do it, huh? That’s a hell of an excuse. Here you are, trying to avoid talking about it, so how about I refresh your memory for you?!”

“No…”

She kept the bazooka pointed at me. “First of all, you killed your mom, who was like a mother figure to me after my parents died. Which, by the way, Heng is trying to recreate the exact same incident that got them killed in the first place, what do you think about that?!”

“Please stop.”

“And then! You figured that wasn’t enough, so you decided to go after my little sister too! She was stuck in the hospital for an entire week because of what you did, she nearly died because of you!”

“I said stop!” I dropped down to my knees, my hands covering my face. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. “Please! Please stop! I- I can’t-”

“And then what do you do?! You just up and vanish! You fucking left! And I never heard back from you again! It’s like you never cared in the first place!”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”

“Oh don’t give me that shit! See, you’re still doing it! You keep trying to skirt your way around it! Well, I won’t let you! Not anymore! For once, you’re going to man up for what you did!”

Cho cocked the bazooka. “So say it! Just admit that you killed her! And that you put Tosh in danger!”

I sobbed silently for what seemed like forever. It was all too much for me to handle. But Cho did have a point. All this time, I had been running away from my past, trying to suppress it and leave it all behind. And now that she was here, I couldn’t do that anymore. I had to face my problems right then and there.

“You’re right,” I answered her as I lowered my hands from my face. I looked up at her. “I did it. I killed her. There aren’t any excuses I can make.”

“So you’re no longer denying it then?!”

“No, I’m not. I know there isn’t anything I can do to make up for it, but all I want to do now is set things right.”

I got to my feet and stared Cho straight in the eye. “So if you want to shoot me, then shoot me. I won’t run.”

I could at least do this much for Cho. If it would give her the closure she needed, then I was ready to die to atone for what I did.

Seconds passed where I just stood there, waiting for Cho to pull the trigger. Her breathing grew louder and faster, and her grip on the bazooka tightened. Any second now, she would do it.

Only, it never happened.

“Oh, to hell with this!” The bazooka fell to the floor, and seconds later, I felt a fist colliding with my face.

I stared at Cho. I was too shocked to do anything but that.

After the initial blow, she punched me again and again, with hardly any breaks between each hit. And I didn’t resist it either. I just let her do it. It got me thinking though. The fact that she didn’t kill me said plenty. It meant that despite the resentment she had towards me, somewhere deep down,  she still cared, and that alone gave me hope that I could get through to her somehow.

Eventually, she stopped. I nearly fell to the floor, but I kept my ground. My body ached all over, but I didn’t let the pain get the best of me.

Cho, meanwhile, was seething. “What are you just standing there for?! Fight me dammit!”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Did I stutter?! I said fight me!”

Then she stomped her foot. As soon as it touched the floor, a huge gust of wind was sent out, and it swept me backwards. I went crashing through the set of glass doors behind me and out onto the balcony, my back eventually slamming into the wall.

I cried out as I fell to the ground. Glass shards were embedded in my arms and legs, my lip had been cut, and on top of that, my shoulder was definitely dislocated. My collarbone might also have broken, but I couldn’t tell if it had or not. Either way, the pain was excruciating.

Cho stormed out onto the balcony, and as she did so, thunder and lightning crashed down all around us. There wasn’t any rain, but that was mainly because Cho didn’t seem to be in a crying mood at the moment. “Are you kidding me?!” She glared at me. “You’re not even defending yourself?! What the hell, Seph?! Attack me already!”

“No.”

“What?!”

“No.” I pushed myself up with my good arm and, wincing, slowly got into a sitting position. “I won’t fight you.”

“Why not?!”

“Because.” A wave of determination passed over me. Clutching my bad shoulder, I struggled up to my feet. I wiped the blood from my mouth and gave Cho a confident look. “Because you’re my best friend. And there’s nothing you can do or say that will change that. Not ever.”

It was all I could do just to remain standing. But I wasn’t going to let myself fall now. I would stay up no matter what it took. Nothing would knock me down.

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound somewhere back in the bedroom, and seconds later, three people slammed into the wall right next to me. One of them was a girl while the other two were boys, and I was positive that they were the three ETMA agents Derek had mentioned earlier. And if they were out there now, then that meant Hans and Derek were close by.

“Seph?!” Right on cue, I heard Hans’s voice from the bedroom. “Seph, where are you?!”

Soon enough, the two of them came out onto the balcony themselves, and we locked eyes. “Seph!”

They rushed over to me in an instant and flanked both my sides. Hans immediately freaked out. “Holy shit Seph, what happened?!”

Derek, meanwhile, rounded on Cho. “What the hell, Cho?! Was any of this really necessary?!”

“Oh, so you’re just going to take her side then?!” There was another crash of lightning, this time not too far away from the balcony itself. Then it started to rain. “All three of my former best friends ganging up on me, how fucking low is that, huh?!”

“Cho, come on!” Hans pleaded. “You know we care about you! We really do! It’s just that Seph-”

“I don’t want to hear it! And in any case, get lost!” She shot out gusts of wind from each hand and sent both Hans and Derek flying to the sides. “This is between me and her!”

“Wait, Cho! Don’t do it! She can’t even fight back!”

“She wasn’t fighting back in the first place!”

“Seph?!” Derek called out to me. “Is this true?!”

I nodded. “It is.”

“Yeah, see?! Now stay out of this dammit!”

Cho continued towards me, and I stayed exactly where I was. If this was her way of getting closure, then I would take anything she threw at me. I owed her that much.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, and when I opened them again, it had stopped raining. Or, to be more specific, the rain had stopped where I was standing. I found myself inside a large, hollow bubble of water, and it was absorbing the raindrops hitting it.

The bubble then vibrated, and I looked ahead of me to see Cho pounding her fists from the outside. Then I noticed the person inside the bubble, standing right in front of me with their back turned towards me. It was a boy with spiky black hair, and he had his hands out in front of him, which led me to believe that he was the one holding up the bubble. But he didn’t seem familiar at all to me.

And then it hit me. There was a reason why I didn’t recognize him. It was because today was the first time I’d seen him. One of the ETMA agents had gotten in between me and Cho.

“Move Al!” Cho yelled.

“No!”

“I said move!”

“No! You need to stop right now!”

“Excuse me?!” She punched the barrier, and the boy, Al, was struggling at this point to keep it up. “Do you even know who that is?! She’s the fucking enemy, now get out of the way!”

“I won’t!” He sounded very adamant. “And I don’t care who she is, she’s still a human being either way! Look at her, she can barely even stand at this point!”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. To think that one of them would go so far as to defend me, the enemy… It was the first time I’d seen anything like it. But even so, I had to let Cho get her closure. And if that meant me being beaten to a pulp, then I was okay with that.

I moved closer to Al. “It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m fine, I can take it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” He turned his head around slightly so he could see me. “Have you even seen yourself in the mirror lately?! You look terrible!”

“I don’t care. She needs this.”

“Like hell she does! No one deserves this!”

“Well she does!” Cho punched at us again. “Now don’t make me say it again and get out of the fucking way Al!”

“I’m not moving!” He turned back to face Cho and adjusted his footing. “If you want to get at her, you’re going to have to go through me first, and I never go back on my word!”

“Oh, so is it a fight you’re askin’ for then?!” She took one step back and coated her hands with lightning. “Bring it on then! Get ready, because I won’t go easy on you!”

“Fine by me!”

“No, please!” I grabbed Al’s shoulder with my free hand. “You don’t have to do this! If you fight her, you’ll only get hurt too!”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take! You can’t take anymore hits from her!”

“I said I’ll be fine! Please, just go!”

I tried to pull Al back as Cho readied to attack. But then the balcony shook heavily, and all of us lost our footing. The bubble barrier came apart, drenching everyone in the vicinity, as Cho, Al and I all fell to the ground.

Derek caught me before I even touched the floor. “You alright?”

I coughed as I clutched my bad shoulder again. “Y-yeah, I’ll be okay.”

He nodded. Then he shouted out to everyone else. “Alright, someone tell me what’s going on!”

“It’s the building!” The other male ETMA agent had peered over the edge of the balcony. “It’s coming down!”

“How?!” The female agent rushed over to his side and looked down as well. “It wasn’t because of our fight, was it?!”

“I don’t think so!” Hans answered her quickly. “We didn’t cause that much damage! Maybe it was an explosion or something?!”

“Well whatever the case, we can’t stay here!” Derek pointed back towards the bedroom. “See?! The balcony is giving way! If we don’t move now, we’re going to fall to our deaths!” I felt his head moving to the right. “Does anyone have a portal sphere on them?!”

“Ummm,” the male ETMA agent grimaced, “we just lost ours.”

“Well, that’s fantastic.”

“Wait!” Al ran over and knelt down beside us. “I have an idea!”

The two of us and Hans looked to him as he continued. “I’ll go on ahead and get down to the bottom.” He then turned to Hans. “You have super strength, right?”

“Yeah. But why-”

“Group everyone together as closely as possible. Then you can make the balcony break off before the building goes, and I’ll support you with water and get you guys safely to the bottom!”

Derek nodded. “Do it.”

Without any hesitation, Al swung himself over the edge and dropped down from the balcony. The other ETMA agents hurried over to us while Hans moved to the place the balcony was crumbling and went to work. Cho soon joined him with her bazooka in hand.

Eventually, the two of them turned back to us. “Okay, we’re all set over here,” Cho told us. “Just tell us when!”

The ETMA girl peered over the ledge again. “Okay, here comes the water! Go now!”

“Alright,” Hans shouted. “On three, Cho! One! Two!”

Cho aimed for the building. “Hang on tight you guys!”

“Three!”

Cho fired the bazooka at the same time as Hans pushed us away with his foot. We watched as the building collapsed on itself and fell into the ocean. But our section of the balcony was still intact. We weren’t falling. I wasn’t able to look down to see what was happening, but I could at least tell that we were slowly moving downwards.

About half a minute later, Hans ran over to me and Derek. “Okay, we made it down, but we’re going to have to jump!” He took me in his arms and then helped Derek to his feet. “I’ll take Seph, you go ahead and jump first!”

“Alright!”

At this point, I was finally able to see what was going on. We had made it to ground-level, and Al was holding us up with that water, but I didn’t think he’d be able to hold out for much longer. Hans knew it too. “Alright Seph, here we go!”

We jumped, and it seemed that we were the last to do so. As soon as we hit land, Al collapsed to the ground and threw down his arms. Then the balcony we used to be standing on sank into the ocean’s depths.

Hans looked down at me. “Are you alright?”

“Mmhmm, yeah.” I tried moving. “It’s okay, I can stand now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can do it.”

He did as I asked and let me down. I wobbled slightly as I touched the ground, but I was able to keep my balance.

Derek met back up with us again. “We should probably get going. If any of us are still here when the Chang-Los come by…”

“Right.” Then my eyes set on Al and the girl from ETMA. “Umm, could you guys give me a minute?”

“Okay, but make it quick.”

I nodded. I left the two of them and headed for the others. The girl had been saying something to him, but then she soon left and made her way over to Cho. This left Al by himself.

I finally reached him. “Hey, um… Al?” As soon as he turned and looked up at me, I continued. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know. For standing up for me. But you shouldn’t have had to do that. I didn’t deserve it.”

“Hey.” He stood up so that he could look at me head on. “I did that because I wanted to, not because of some obligation. That’s just who I am.”

I giggled a little. “Right. Well, thanks again. For everything. You saved all of us, you know.”

“Yeah, well it wouldn’t have been right to just leave you up there.” He looked over at Hans and Derek, and then back to me. “From what I’ve seen, you guys seem pretty cool.”

“Yeah, same with you. But anyway, I should probably get going now. You should leave too. Trust me, you don’t want to be here when Heng shows up.”

“Can I ask you something first?”

I looked at him curiously. “Okay, sure? What is it?”

“... Why did you team up with the Chang-Los in the first place?”

I let out a heavy sigh and looked down at my feet. “To be honest, I thought that maybe I could reform Heng. Like, if there was even a slight chance of getting him to change his ways, then I was going to take it. But his plan for the Element Spheres changed everything. He made things personal for me.”

“How so?”

I blinked several times as I looked back up at Al. “The last time someone tried to form the Quintessimal Sphere, Cho’s parents were killed. I don’t want to have any part in it this time either, for her sake and for Shuuhei’s.”

He seemed to understand in an instant. “Gotcha,” he nodded. “I don’t blame you. That’s some deep baggage.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I glanced at Hans and Derek for a second before looking back to Al. “Okay, now we should really be going now. Both of us.”

“Right, right, I’m going!” I turned away and started moving towards Hans and Derek, but Al still kept talking. “Thanks for the insight, umm…”

I stopped and turned back to him. “Seph! You can call me ‘Seph’!”

“Right. Seph. Thanks.”

“Yeah!” I smiled at him. “You too, Al.”

This time, we both parted ways. As I walked back to Hans and Derek, I felt a bit more confident about everything. I may not have been able to get through to Cho, but at least there was someone at ETMA who would listen to me.

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

FEEDBACK GUYS! i definitely want it for this one, so PLEASEEEE!!!

[becomingonewithourritual]

Saviour: Chapter 1: “The Cove”

Ashley’s Thoughts:

  “The beach… Very warm, sunny, and beautiful in the daytime. Cold, dark, and eerie during the night. Every step I took, every breath, every whisper was like a thousand needles piercing into the night. I always thought it was creepy how the beach is always so packed with people during the day but at night it is like an apocalyptic wasteland and I would be waiting for the zombies to come chasing after me any second.

  I used to hate the feeling of uneasiness I would get walking along the beach at night. Every sound I heard constantly had me looking over my shoulder to see if there was anything or anyone behind me. My eyes would convince my mind that there were deep shadows moving about. The beach was the only place I had to get away from it all though. But those feelings of uneasiness would change when I was with him. He was my protector, my saviour. The beach was no longer scary for me once he came into my life.

  I remember walking along this beach at night with him and no longer feeling uneasy. It was a liberating feeling but it wasn’t just because the scariness was gone, it was because at that moment in time I realized he meant more to me than I ever thought anyone could. We were standing inside of a cove hidden from the rest of the world. He was behind me resting his head on my shoulder and his hands on my waist. I was in love with him and told him so. I remember hoping that he would say it back or at least smile but he didn’t. Instead he pulled me around, crashed his lips onto mine, and made me forget what I told him, just like he always did.

  We slept in the cove that night. His arms were wrapped around me as I fell asleep sucking in his scent and the smell of the ocean. I woke up the next day watching him pull on his boots and I felt excited because I finally thought we were going somewhere. I was wrong. He left without saying a word just like he always did and I knew at that point that it was just another one night stand to him. To me, however, it was everything. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to the cove since that day. It was a painful reminder of the day my heart got broken for the first time.

  But now I am here again. In our spot, a spot I never thought I would, or could, go to again. I remember coming here with him. It was the one place we could go where nobody could see us and our "relationship” couldn’t be exposed. We came here all the time, whenever we had a break from touring or just a break in general. It was our cove, our sanctuary from the rest of the world. Of course, I don’t really consider what we had anything other than miserable one night stands thrown together. For me it was miserable, for him it was everything he wanted it to be. No strings attached in his eyes, unless you count the strings he used to drag my heart around with like a puppet master making me do whatever he wanted me to do. Still, though, this was the only place we were ever really alone so I accepted it gratefully.

  I have tried to stop this pain I’m feeling and move on but it’s impossible. It’s like trying to nail jelly to a tree. I have finally come to the conclusion that the tears aren’t going to stay behind my eyelids forever and so I let them fall. I want to move on but the thoughts of him holding me, whispering things to me, kissing me, touching me are things I will never forget. These memories will forever be embedded into my brain. I can’t take this…“

  Andrew Dennis Biersack. Perfect angel from heaven. My angel or at least he was once upon a time.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Once Upon A Time in a Shattered Mind Ch. 22

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 pt. 1 & pt. 2 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 pt. 1 & pt. 2 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19  | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21              

AO3 Link

Tony threw his metal hand up to block the branch hurtling toward his skull.

He caught the branch in his palm and snapped it in half. He lunged at his assailant, only having enough time to register her feminine figure and the red cloak that swathed around her.

The woman cried out in shock and used Tony’s momentum to throw him off her, or so she tried. Tony held on tight with his metal hand. He jerked as his balance faltered, but recovered.

However, that momentary imbalance was just enough for the woman to punch him in the eye.

Tony cursed. His head snapped aside. Hot pain washed over him. He strengthened his grip.

The woman shouted in pain.

“Stop struggling or I’ll lodge this dagger in your throat,” Bucky’s voice was icy as he spoke.

The woman froze.

Tony blinked against his own pain and tears.

Bucky had grabbed the woman from behind and had his dagger pressed to her throat, already drawing blood.

The red hood of the woman’s cloak covered most of her face but Tony could still detect her sneer.

“Why have you invaded my territory?” she demanded to know.

Tony paused. The woman’s voice was melodic and soft, yet strong and demanding. It was an interesting paradox of tones that intrigued Tony and made him want to see the face under the hood.

“I didn’t know you owned the title to this section of the woods,” Tony jibed.

“I don’t, but neither would anyone who believes in such a silly thing as a land title. It would be like saying someone owns the sun.”

“And I am sure there are people out there who feel that they do.” Tony touched his eye and hissed. It would be black for days. “But enough of that. We had no intention of invading your territory. We were looking for our friend who had gone off for a walk.”

Tony marched over to Rhodey. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll take him back and then be out of your-”

Bucky yelped.

Tony whirled as Rhodey yelled a warning.

An arrow whizzed past Tony, narrowingly missing him and embedding itself in the tree Rhodey was tied to.

Bucky had released the hooded woman and was clutching his shoulder where an arrow was lodged deep in his flesh.

The hooded woman had spun out of his hold and  unsheathed a dagger of her own. “Stand down, I can handle this,” she shouted into the woods.

“Perhaps if you were your other self you could,” a voice even more melodic than the hooded woman’s responded. A dark-haired woman stepped out from the trees, crossbow in hand and a holster of knives strung across her chest like a sash. The holster hugged the top half of her belly, which was heavy with child.

She quirked a thin eyebrow at Tony then glanced at Bucky. “Oh, it’s you two.” Her painted red lips quirked into a smirk. “I was wondering when you two would stumble upon our abode. Honestly, it took you two longer than I expected. I would have thought after Clint our true meeting would have been sooner.” The woman lowered her bow and shrugged. “Live and learn though.”

Tony’s memory gnawed at him. “I know you.”

“I'm sure you think that. I have a very common face.” The woman cocked her chin at the hooded one. “Pepper, be a dear and untie their friend. Oh, and if you have anything in that cloak of yours that can treat an arrow wound now would be a good time to use it.”

Pepper hesitated. Her head swiveled from the new arrival to Tony and Bucky then to Rhodey. She nodded and hurried to untie Rhodey.

In the meantime, Tony dropped to his knees and tried to examine Bucky’s wound. Bucky flinched at his touch and he pushed Tony away.

“I’m fine.”

“You literally have an arrow sticking out of you. You are not fine.” Tony winced at just the thought of how much damage had possibly been done to Bucky’s shoulder. He hoped that the arrowhead had not shattered upon impact. It would take a skilled medic to heal Bucky if such were the case, and Tony doubted there were any nearby.

Bucky squeezed Tony’s hand, locking gazes. “I’m not trying to murder anyone in vengeance, no matter how tempting. I consider that ‘fine.’” He groaned in pain as he rose to his feet, causing his muscles to shift and the arrow to move.  In a lower voice he said: “Worse case scenario: we summon Steve.”

And then Steve would probably go on a rampage and kill Tony for allowing Bucky to be injured.  

Tony would willing face Steve’s anger if it would save Bucky’s life though.

Tony attached himself to Bucky’s side, slinging Bucky’s arm over his shoulder. Tony looked over at Rhodey and saw that his friend was approaching, albeit warily eyeing Pepper who stalked him like a shadow.

Pepper’s hood had fallen to her shoulders and once again Tony found himself intrigued by her. Her hair was as orange as a pumpkin and her skin fair as snow. Her face was angular and thin, but not due to malnourishment.

Tony had a hard time picturing this woman capable of subduing Rhodey.

“Perhaps if you were your other self you could,” repeated in Tony’s head. He recalled the wolf prints that had followed Rhodey’s, much like how Pepper was following Rhodey now.

He’d heard of people who could take on animal form. Perhaps Pepper was one of them?

The dark-haired woman clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Hurry, hurry. I haven’t got all day.” She chuckled. “Actually I do. Really, the stories about danger in the woods are exaggerated. What I would give for some danger. It might make things so much more exciting.” The woman strutted through the woods. “Come along this way.”

“Right, because we’re going to follow the woman who had her friend attack us,” Rhodey said.

“We’re not friends,” Pepper stated.

Rhodey’s face scrunched at Pepper’s admission.

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes and pointed at the arrow in Bucky’s shoulder. “I assume you want that fixed. My husband does marvelous work. If you want his help though, then you must come with me. However, if you rather take care of it yourself then it’s no trouble for me. I’ll simply return home and let James here die of infection.”

The woman pivoted and took a step forward only to pivot again to face them. “Oh, and I was referring to the James who goes by Bucky. I would think that obvious, but the three of you strike me as idiotic so I felt it best to clarify.”

Tony felt Rhodey and Bucky inhale sharply beside him.

“How do you know their names?” Tony demanded to know.

The woman smiled. Whiteness covered the pupil and iris of her eyes. “There are many things I know, Anthony Edward Stark.” She chortled to herself, spun around, and sashayed away. Her confidence conveyed that she thought they would follow.

Then again, her eyes revealed her to be a seer, so perhaps it wasn’t so much that she thought they would follow, but that she knew they would.  

The three men shared glances with each other, each silently communicating their trepidation and curiosity. They soon followed though. Rhodey took the lead with Pepper directly behind him and Bucky and Tony took the rear.  Pepper glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, suspicion in her movements.

She probably would have prefered to have had the rear, but Tony and Bucky were moving purposefully slower than the rest of the group.

“It would be nice to know the name of the heavily armed woman taking us to her home,” Rhodey projected his voice so aforementioned woman would hear from on ahead.

She stopped and whirled her head around, sending her brown waves of ringlets bouncing around her. “Call me ‘Dottie.’”

Just as quickly as she had stopped, Dottie picked up her pace again.

In a few minutes, Dottie led them to a clearing where a hovel stood.

Outside of the small home a large man chopped wood. He’d rolled up his sleeves to revealing bulging arm muscles that flexed with each strike.

“Darling, I hope you did not put away the tools I had you set aside. It is time to use them now.”

The large man look up from chopping wood. He wiped his brow, sweeping black bangs out of his face in the same movement. A mustache decorated his face.

Tony blinked as his memory shouted at him again.

He knew this man and woman, or he’d at least seen them somewhere before.

Dottie touched her round stomach and smiled at Tony.

The answer hit Tony then, ramming into him like a bull.

“You’re the couple Clint was helping.”