#shit happens and outside forces are sometimes too much to withstand

[tobe-sogolden]

.

[legendaryoikawa]

ares / suna rintarou / masterlist

pairing: suna x female reader

word count: 2k

synopsis: your stalker must’ve adore you so so much, he intends to kill for you.

quote:  “If you're that obsessed with someone, why would you kill her? Humans are full of contradictions.” - Ai Yazawa

genre: stalker!au, caters mature themes such as manipulation, voyeurism, public masturbation, murder, violence coercion, borderline obsession. 

note: i do not condone these behavior in real life. this is just a work of fiction. 

minors dni

taglist: @boosyboo9206 @dokisaki (can’t tag) @godjo@flavostella02 @heykoutaro (can’t tag) @aleacarnin@licitix@katsukis-sad-angel@k-sakura @dokisuki (can’t tag) @black-water-78​@throughtheinterstices​ @iloverarepares @newfriendjen @aizawaslovebot @ratatouille407​ @midnightartist​ @ya-kkun​ @daicrie​ @mochipk​ @kanesshiiweeb​ @134340-cm​ @svgafresh​ @annexerca​ @neavil​ @paigypol (can’t tag) @aggressivelyshoutsokay​ thank you for the love and support!

BE PART OF MY TAGLIST HERE

Truly an ace of all fools. 

Ares, the god of war. As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals.

Name it, Suna knows every possible if not, unique ways to kill. He prefers the crowbar as it’s efficient and easy enough to send a person to their graves. For his very own pleasure. It fuels him especially when he sees those eyes that were once full of life drown down to darkness of death. 

Suna is known as one of the notorious lads at school. He never fails to leave an astonished look to every person he has passed by at school. People are stunned whenever he walks down the hallway with his school shirt unbuttoned and crumpled. His overall appearance is unruly with the noticeable scars that lingered on his face like ches. His disheveled jet black hair. Eyes that bore nothing but darkness. Chains dangling from each of his ears. His aura that is explainable and unassailable that could even strike the thunderbolt of the great god Zeus. 

Suna is handsome. He looks like bad news. Wild.

He wielded an enormous influence among girls. Some swoon at the mere sight of him; others even resorted to some chase yet ended up a crying mess. Boys even fall for his charms, but one sharp glance is enough to wave them off like flies. 

However, you on the other hand are not fazed by him nor his silhouette. Which made him to be drained by a pure soul like you. 

Suna is so private and closed like an abandoned establishment and that could be the sole reason why people want to pry into his life. He had everyone controlled on the palm of his hand but he can’t seem to play with you like he initially plans to. 

Suna has the patience of a boar. He shows signs of violence that it’s alarming. But people seem to be in love at his bad boy facade, no one dares to report him.

 He is a living contradiction. Suna is a ride, a deadly one.

He comes to school with his boisterous friends that look exactly like how he presents himself. You can always hear their uproarious banters about their lives, endless wolf-whistling. They are the group of boys you wouldn’t want to mess with. Especially the mysterious Suna. 

You made a promise to get the shit out of the tracks that had traces of the boisterous boy that is  Suna. 

Not just the boys that have brought out the never ending fiasco circulating around your highschool. There have been a high number of mysterious disappearances of students that you may have never heard of or slightly familiar to you that you cannot recall. Their skulls are cracked open with a brute force or a bullet to the head. Some are strangled, some are mutilated, and what makes it terrifying is that most of the victims are leading down to you.

You can still remember how Kang Hana spent her afternoon with you in the library for a philosophy project. You admit it yourself that Hana isn’t the preferable company. She’s too nosy, noisy and quite violent towards you as she keeps on hitting you on the arm whenever you spill something stupid. Nevertheless, you held no grudge towards the girl. And you were really stunned at the news of her sudden death. 

Oh, you didn’t know someone was watching from the windows of the library outside. Irritability bubbles inside his body like a brook. He allows no one to go near you, let alone to hit you like a ragged doll. He always had a thing for you, he didn’t know when it started but by the way you looked at him like you are almost something to be disregarded. He is drawn to you like a moth to the flame.

It is always in Suna’s system. His mind is a bully, gushing him to do things that would make him thrilled, something that could awaken his fantasies. 

He wants to kill. And he did. 

He stood in all his glory, wearing his uninterested look while scrutinizing the other students walking along the hall. There at the lockers he spots Kang Hana awkwardly fumbling with the entangled bag straps. 

His dark eyes bore into Hana’s figure. Eyeing her from head to toe. At this moment he is thinking of what he can possibly do with those limbs. Break it? Smash it? Mutilate it like how they do in the slaughterhouse? Suna approaches her figure, his switchblade ready in his windbreaker’s pockets. 

He breaths, trying to muster his oh-so-charming smile. “Hey.”

Hana raises up her gaze and she is surprised that the notorious Suna is approaching her. Only if she knew his real intentions. “Oh my god. Hey.”

Suna is charming. Quite egocentric. It doesn’t take him long to persuade someone to sp with him or to go out on a date with him. If there is something you should be afraid about Suna, it is his ability to deceive people without them knowing his real motives. He has a calm demeanor but sometimes his arrogance fuels him to be so wild-driven. 

He leads Hana to the abandoned establishment at the rundown part of the town. He made sure to give her a signal to meet him outside where no witnesses could see them. It’s always a step when considering crime, get rid of witnesses. 

At this moment, Hana starts to get excited because she has foreseen what could happen. For her it’s sex. For him, it’s blood. Suna draws his switchblade near her carotid artery. She widens her eyes but laughter resonates in the eerie place. 

She purrs. “I am a kinky person but I can try knife play.”

Suna doesn’t play. He draws the knife deeper to her neck until she realizes he is not joking at all. Kang Hana’s heart made a beeline for her throat and tried to make a f for her life but Suna had his strong hand gripping her hair. 

She struggles but after every move she dares, the knife further penetrates her neck. Beads of sweat are dropping down to her cheeks. A hot sticky liquid from where the knife is trickling down her neck, dampening her collarbones down to her bra. She cries loud. “What do you want?!”

Suna smirks. He misses the familiar scent of blood flooding in his nostrils. “Your life.” 

Her eyes widened in pure horror as the charming prince transformed quickly as a ruthless psychopath in just the blink of her eye. Hana tries to fight against his hold once again but Suna wants to finish off and not to take care of a wailing woman. 

He repeatedly lash out the knife through her neck. The impact of his pounds set out her blood gushing out, splashing his pale cheeks. His right hand is dripping with her hot blood. Suna’s chest rose as his breathing became ragged but overall he felt so alive and content. He stares at Hana’s figure sprawled on the floor bathing with the pool of her own blood. Suna felt so driven with just crimson clouding his vision. He runs his tongue on the rows of his pearly teeth, a sinister smile tugging the corners of his lips. He did it for you. 

The following days have been hell for you. No, you weren’t killed but you faced a frightening number of police interrogations for the victims were always drawing down to you. Like Hana, you were the last person she was with before her neck was slashed out like a cow in the slaughterhouse. The pulse of a blue and red strobe from the police mace being parked in the circular driveway. You stare at the officer's badge, his holstered Glock. The night air settles the eerie night, still, gauzy full of humidity. 

The interview lasts about a good hour but you are deemed innocent as Hana’s whereabouts where the crime took place didn’t match your activity. Her clothes are missing on the spot but the investigators found it drenched in this liquid they believed was an oxygen producing detergent didn’t match. Since the laboratory personnel couldn’t get any fingerprints from her body, it has been declared useless for the crime.

It has been weeks since you find yourself able to breathe again but it didn’t last long when you were bombarded with unknown and creepy messages that you couldn’t withstand at all. 

I know you. From everything you do, I know it all. 

You belong to me, your full name. 

I find it romantic to see how excited you look whenever I send these messages. Shall I start sending my pictures as well? Or the throne I made for you?

From morning you go to your mother’s flower shop to gather primrose to deliver to your grandfather that lives in the twenty second street downtown. 

Your favorite thing to do is to draw, my sweet. I am right, am I? I’m always right. 

I saw you talk to that small loser from class D. Now don’t ever talk to him again or you will see his head delivered right at your doorstep. I love you and I’m being the nice guy here. 

Do you perhaps like the idea of your friend's limbs personally delivered to you? Your pick. 

I am always watching you, your name.

Oh, you had a museum date with your friends? Don’t go, I am at your grandmother’s restaurant, she serves the ultimate broth soup. Too bad I can stop her from serving these delicacies. 

I know deep down, you love me too. Don’t you ever try to date behind my back without telling me. I did kill for you. 

Your parents aren’t home. Do you want me to visit?

So much love for you. Your long secret admirer :) 

I love you. I will kill for you. 

He isn’t joking. He knows everything about you. All the meticulous details no one knows but your family. Whenever you receive a message from him, your heart would pound against your rib cage. It terrifies you to the core that he exactly knows the precise details of your whereabouts.

 You immediately reported this matter to the police, to your parents but it didn’t settle the problem. The number isn’t traceable. They keep on insisting that the number used is from an unregistered sim. You fear for your life, your personal space, everything. 

You weren’t just experiencing the never ending terror of your stalker’s messages. But some of your things are now starting to disappear, from your bracelets, your baby pictures now, now, your white lacy underwear. 

You are blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes that follows every movement as you exit the school grounds. He looks down on his hand, gripping his favorite underwear of you. He had a picture when you wore the garment, and it was his favorite among all. 

He makes his way to his heavily tinted car, a smile never leaving Suna's face as he clutches the garment tightly on his hands. His soulless eyes stared back at him the moment he stared at the rear view mirror. And drives to the nearest convenience store. 

He keeps on fantasizing about you. The way your name rolls out of his tongue while jerking out never fails to send himself to ecstasy. He can’t wait to meet you, but one thing he is sure of, he will be watching you tonight. 

Suna is always a step ahead of his plans. He is meticulous and calculative. His plans never backfire for he knew what methods to use. For the days he has been killing he already knows how to get rid of evidence that could lead to him.  The boy’s got a sharp tongue as well, a serpent’s, he uses lies to cover up the real  Suna that hides behind the charming facade he puts front. 

He wore black. Black that is a mystery. Eerie. He wears a black bucket hat that covers his beautiful features that compliments his youth. Despite the dusk ebbing its way, his moles are always as alive as the constellation. He secures his mask tighter on both ears, as appealing as it sounds, he cannot show his face to you, just not yet. He had a thing to do, he had something to accomplish.

“Just in time” he breathed into the shadows. His eyes follow your figure marching down the dim lit streets. A smirk paints his lips as you still try to swat everything and thinking to yourself everything is still normal. But no, not until he is dead. He could have easily needle out your background from Kita but you were his and it gives him satisfaction whenever he discovers something about you. Things that aren’t open for others but just for him. 

He immediately hid behind a large tree, once you entered your home. He makes sure to secure a great and measurable distance from him to you, not so far yet so near. He clenches his fist, the idea of watching you undress from your windows sends him a big wave of pleasure. 

He begins to scramble up trying to get a hold of the strongest branch his forearm could manage. Some twigs tried to interrupt him midway but nothing can stop a hungry predator from lurking on his prey. He finds the perfect spot just parallel to your window.

“Fuck” he hiss as he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket. “What it is now  fucking Atsumu?”

“Lover boy, I forgot to place your camera in your bag, bye.” 

The camera is not his top most concern. He has his phone that is full of you. 

You were humming quietly. He follows your hands, removing your school blouse that left the boy’s mouth agape. His cock immediately hardens at the sight, and he cannot risk himself to jerk while on the tree. He scrambles immediately, carelessly fishing out for his phone to take a picture of you naked. 

Suna is always not satisfied with the bare minimum. He records you, doing your private thing in your room. He is biting hard on his lips, his erection sticking out painfully against his pants. He has to endure much longer till you have finished your routine applying lotion to your shiny long legs. Those legs that he can’t wait to touch. 

Suna left the place shortly. He’s astounded. You drive him wild and wild he is. You fuel the monster more. 

[demwhore]

Ares | L.JN

pairing┃lee jeno x female reader genre | stalker fic, thriller, horror, angst warnings | this is a problematic fic! please read at your own risk! there is no way jeno is like this in real life, this fic is purely fictional and shouldn’t be romanticized in any way, please report any activities of stalking!! mature scenes, profanities, murder, graphic violence, manipulation, coercion, borderline obsession !! Please, Jeno is not like this in real life, this is just a work of fiction !! word count | 2,431k synopsis | He’s not beautiful like how people see him. He’s wicked.  a/n | this is actually my very first planned fic and @neo-cult-ure​ knows about this haha love you!! and my love, @jungcity, for fixing my crap grammar xD taglist | @milkinqjungs, @nanasarea, @lovestrucked-again, @neoyoungho, @bumblebeenct, @haechaaaaaaanssi, @bedraggledsijeuni, @nakamotonikkoru muse | killing me softy, the manhwa :: killing stalking, a picture of jeno glaring :: every breath you take ( listen for maximum experience )

Truly an ace of all fools.

Ares, the god of war. As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals.

Name it, Jeno knows every possible if not, unique ways to kill. He prefers the crowbar as it’s efficient and easy enough to send a person to their graves. For his very own pleasure. It fuels him especially when he sees those eyes that were once full of life drown down to darkness of death.

Lee Jeno, is known as one of the notorious lads at school. He never fails to leave an astonished look to every person he has passed by at school. People are stunned whenever he walks down the hallway with his school shirt unbuttoned and crumpled. His overall appearance is unruly with the noticeable scars that lingered on his face like leeches. His disheveled jet black hair. Eyes that bore nothing but darkness. Chains dangling from each of his ears. His aura that is explainable and unassailable that could even strike the thunderbolt of the great god Zeus.

Jeno is handsome. He looks like bad news. Wild.

He wielded an enormous influence among girls. Some swoon at the mere sight of him; others even resorted to some chase yet ended up a crying mess. Boys even fall for his charms, but one sharp glance is enough to wave them off like flies.

However, you on the other hand are not fazed by him nor his silhouette. Which made him to be drained by a pure soul like you.

Lee Jeno is so private and closed like an abandoned establishment and that could be the sole reason why people want to pry into his life. He had everyone controlled on the palm of his hand but he can’t seem to play with you like he initially plans to.

Lee Jeno has the patience of a boar. He shows signs of violence that it’s alarming. But people seem to be in love at his bad boy facade, no one dares to report him.

He is a living contradiction. Lee Jeno is a ride, a deadly one.

He comes to school with his boisterous friends that look exactly like how he presents himself. You can always hear their uproarious banters about their lives, endless wolf-whistling. They are the group of boys you wouldn’t want to mess with. Especially the mysterious Lee Jeno.

You made a promise to get the shit out of the tracks that had traces of the boisterous boy that is Lee Jeno.

Not just the boys that have brought out the never ending fiasco circulating around your highschool. There have been a high number of mysterious disappearances of students that you may have never heard of or slightly familiar to you that you cannot recall. Their skulls are cracked open with a brute force or a bullet to the head. Some are strangled, some are mutilated, and what makes it terrifying is that most of the victims are leading down to you.

You can still remember how Kang Hana spent her afternoon with you in the library for a philosophy project. You admit it yourself that Hana isn’t the preferable company. She’s too nosy, noisy and quite violent towards you as she keeps on hitting you on the arm whenever you spill something stupid. Nevertheless, you held no grudge towards the girl. And you were really stunned at the news of her sudden death.

Oh, you didn’t know someone was watching from the windows of the library outside. Irritability bubbles inside his body like a brook. He allows no one to go near you, let alone to hit you like a ragged doll. He always had a thing for you, he didn’t know when it started but by the way you looked at him like you are almost something to be disregarded. He is drawn to you like a moth to the flame.

It is always in Jeno’s system. His mind is a bully, gushing him to do things that would make him thrilled, something that could awaken his fantasies.

He wants to kill. And he did.

He stood in all his glory, wearing his uninterested look while scrutinizing the other students walking along the hall. There at the lockers he spots Kang Hana awkwardly fumbling with the entangled bag straps.

His dark eyes bore into Hana’s figure. Eyeing her from head to toe. At this moment he is thinking of what he can possibly do with those limbs. Break it? Smash it? Mutilate it like how they do in the slaughterhouse? Jeno approaches her figure, his switchblade ready in his windbreaker’s pockets.

He breaths, trying to muster his oh-so-charming smile. “Hey.”

Hana raises up her gaze and she is surprised, that the notorious Lee Jeno is approaching her. Only if she knew his real intentions. “Oh my god. Hey.”

Jeno is charming. Quite egocentric. It doesn’t take him long to persuade someone to sleep with him or to go out on a date with him. If there is something you should be afraid about Jeno, it is his ability to deceive people without them knowing his real motives. He has a calm demeanor but sometimes his arrogance fuels him to be so wild-driven.

He leads Hana to the abandoned establishment at the rundown part of the town. He made sure to give her a signal to meet him outside where no witnesses could see them. It’s always a step when considering crime, get rid of witnesses.

At this moment, Hana starts to get excited because she has foreseen what could happen. For her it’s sex. For him, it’s blood. Jeno draws his switchblade near her carotid artery. She widens her eyes but laughter resonates in the eerie place.

She purrs. “I am a kinky person but I can try knife play.”

Jeno doesn’t play. He draws the knife deeper to her neck until she realizes he is not joking at all. Kang Hana’s heart made a beeline for her throat and tried to make a flee for her life but Jeno had his strong hand gripping her hair.

She struggles but after every move she dares, the knife further penetrates her neck. Beads of sweat are dropping down to her cheeks. A hot sticky liquid from where the knife is trickling down her neck, dampening her collarbones down to her bra. She cries loud. “What do you want?!”

Jeno smirks. He misses the familiar scent of blood flooding in his nostrils. “Your life.”

Her eyes widened in pure horror as the charming prince transformed quickly as a ruthless psychopath in just the blink of her eye. Hana tries to fight against his hold once again but Jeno wants to finish off and not to take care of a wailing woman.

He repeatedly lash out the knife through her neck. The impact of his pounds set out her blood gushing out, splashing his pale cheeks. His right hand is dripping with her hot blood. Jeno’s chest rises as his breathing became ragged but overall he felt so alive and content. He stares at Hana’s figure sprawled on the floor bathing with the pool of her own blood. Jeno felt so driven with just crimson clouding his vision. He runs his tongue on the rows of his pearly teeth, a sinister smile tugging the corners of his lips. He did it for you.

The following days have been hell for you. No, you weren’t killed but you faced a frightening number of police interrogations for the victims were always drawing down to you. Like Hana, you were the last person she was with before her neck was slashed out like a cow in the slaughterhouse. The pulse of a blue and red strobe from the police mace being parked in the circular driveway. You stare at the officer's badge, his holstered Glock. The night air settles the eerie night, still, gauzy full of humidity.

The interview lasts about a good hour but you are deemed innocent as Hana’s whereabouts where the crime took place didn’t match your activity. Her clothes are missing on the spot but the investigators found it drenched in this liquid they believed was an oxygen producing detergent. Since the laboratory personnel couldn’t get any fingerprints from her body, it has been declared useless for the crime.

It has been weeks since you find yourself able to breathe again but it didn’t last long when you were bombarded with unknown and creepy messages that you couldn’t withstand at all.

I know you. From everything you do, I know it all.

You belong to me, your full name.

I find it romantic to see how excited you look whenever I send these messages. Shall I start sending my pictures as well? Or the throne I made for you?

From morning you go to your mother’s flower shop to gather primrose to deliver to your grandfather that lives in the twenty second street downtown.

Your favorite thing to do is to draw, my sweet. I am right, am I? I’m always right.

I saw you talk to that small loser from class D. Now don’t ever talk to him again or you will see his head delivered right at your doorstep. I love you and I’m being the nice guy here.

Do you perhaps like the idea of your friend's limbs personally delivered to you? Your pick.

I am always watching you, your name.

Oh, you had a museum date with your friends? Don’t go, I am at your grandmother’s restaurant, she serves the ultimate broth soup. Too bad I can stop her from serving these delicacies.

I know deep down, you love me too. Don’t you ever try to date behind my back without telling me. I did kill for you.

Your parents aren’t home. Do you want me to visit?

So much love for you. Your long secret admirer :)

I love you. I will kill for you.

He isn’t joking. He knows everything about you. All the meticulous details no one knows but your family. Whenever you receive a message from him, your heart would pound against your rib cage. It terrifies you to the core that he exactly knows the precise details of your whereabouts.

You immediately reported this matter to the police, to your parents but it didn’t settle the problem. The number isn’t traceable. They keep on insisting that the number used is from an unregistered sim. You fear for your life, your personal space, everything.

You weren’t just experiencing the never ending terror of your stalker’s messages. But some of your things are now starting to disappear, from your bracelets, your baby pictures now, now, your white lacy underwear.

You are blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes that follows every movement as you exit the school grounds. He looks down on his hand, gripping his favorite underwear of you. He had a picture when you wore the garment, and it was his favorite among all.

He makes his way to his heavily tinted car, a smile never leaving Jeno's face as he clutches the garment tightly on his hands. His soulless eyes stared back at him the moment he stared at the rear view mirror. And drives to the nearest convenience store.

He keeps on fantasizing about you. The way your name rolls out of his tongue while jerking out never fails to send himself to ecstasy. He can’t wait to meet you, but one thing he is sure of, he will be watching you tonight.

Jeno is always a step ahead of his plans. He is meticulous and calculative. His plans never backfire for he knew what methods to use. For the days he has been killing he already knows how to get rid of evidence that could lead to him. The boy’s got a sharp tongue as well, a serpent’s, he uses lies to cover up the real Lee Jeno that hides behind the charming facade he puts front.

He wore black. Black that is a mystery. Eerie. He wears a black bucket hat that covers his beautiful features that compliments his youth. Despite the dusk ebbing its way, his moles are always as alive as the constellation. He secures his mask tighter on both ears, as appealing as it sounds, he cannot show his face to you, just not yet. He had a thing to do, he had something to accomplish.

“Just in time” he breathed into the shadows. His eyes follow your figure marching down the dim lit streets. A smirk paints his lips as you still try to swat everything and thinking to yourself everything is still normal. But no, not until he is dead. He could have easily needle out your background from Jaemin but you were his and it gives him satisfaction whenever he discovers something about you. Things that aren’t open for others but just for him.

He immediately hid behind a large tree, once you entered your home. He makes sure to secure a great and measurable distance from him to you, not so far yet so near. He clenches his fist, the idea of watching you undress from your windows sends him a big wave of pleasure.

He begins to scramble up trying to get a hold of the strongest branch his forearm could manage. Some twigs tried to interrupt him midway but nothing can stop a hungry predator from lurking on his prey. He finds the perfect spot just parallel to your window.

“Fuck” he hiss as he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket. “What it is now Lee fucking Donghyuck?”

“Lover boy, I forgot to place your camera in your bag, bye.”

The camera is not his top most concern. He has his phone that is full of you.

You were humming quietly. He follows your hands, removing your school blouse that left the boy’s mouth agape. His cock immediately hardens at the sight, and he cannot risk himself to jerk while on the tree. He scrambles immediately, carelessly fishing out for his phone to take a picture of you naked.

Lee Jeno is always not satisfied with the bare minimum. He records you, doing your private thing in your room. He is biting hard on his lips, his erection sticking out painfully against his pants. He has to endure much longer till you have finished your routine applying lotion to your shiny long legs. Those legs that he can’t wait to touch.

Jeno left the place shortly. He’s astounded. You drive him wild and wild he is. You fuel the monster more.

[mordoriscalling]

The Life (of) Surprise (2/4)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). This fic happens a little bit more than a year after Geralt returns home from his last deployment. Warnings: referenced alcoholism and trauma.

(Part 1)

II - A Surprise Is Uttered

The day begins with a sleepless night. For Geralt, not Jaskier. Jaskier is a heavy sleeper, so he has no idea about it until nature’s call wakes him up at half-past three in the morning. The bed is empty so, after relieving herself, Jaskier looks around the house and finds Geralt sitting by the kitchen table. His face is hidden in his hands and there’s an empty mug next to him. It’s the third night in a row that he hasn’t slept at all and Jaskier’s heart breaks for him a little.

They’re supposed to take a little trip to Brighton and return in the afternoon, before Yennefer drops Ciri off at Geralt’s after school. Now, Jaskier decides that the plan changes. In half an hour, they’re both ready to set out. Geralt drives because he already had coffee.

The drive passes in silence. Jaskier dozes off in his seat for some time but after the sun rises, it’s too bright outside for sleeping, and he wakes up slowly. They arrive in Brighton a few minutes after six. Save for occasional joggers and people walking their dogs, the streets are blissfully empty, and so is the beach.

It’s just a quiet, sunny morning like any other. In short: perfect. Jaskier doesn’t have to worry about someone photographing him, or anyone (quite) possibly seeing his proposal being rejected.

The air is slightly chilly as they stand at the shore, the waves almost touching their shoes. Geralt doesn’t say anything, only looks at the water. Jaskier watches him bask in the closeness of the sea. The delicate morning sunlight accentuates all his wrinkles in a stunning way and his white hair is lit up like a halo, gentle breeze ruffling it slightly. Jaskier takes in Geralt’s strong profile, his pretty stubble and his tired, tired eyes, and he thinks to himself that he loves this man so.

Jaskier can’t help but recall everything that happened since Geralt’s return, the good and the bad. All the times Jaskier pushed too far or Geralt was too gruff. The piano lessons with Ciri, and the adorable look on Geralt’s face when he concentrates on playing. The quiet weekends they sometimes manage to squeeze into their lives. Geralt chuckling at Yennefer’s disgusted expression after Jaskier asks her if she’s off to do “hot girl shit” again. (Jaskier knows she actually loves that phrase). How Geralt’s insecurities get better of him some days and he turns into a brooding idiot. The way the two of them are able to have a conversation without words, the way their bodies move against each other when they have sex. The smell of Geralt's sweat after he works out.

How, when they stay over at Geralt’s house, Geralt is always annoyed that Jaskier doesn’t wash the dishes right after using them. How, when they stay over at Jaskier’s house, Geralt always forgets to take his shoes off, much to Jaskier’s dismay. How Geralt is an annoyingly good cook but he’s also really shit at paying the bills on time. How he doesn’t allow Jaskier anywhere near kitchen appliances, which wounds Jaskier’s pride.

All of Geralt’s mannerisms. How he’s grumpy by default but then sees a dog. How Jaskier sometimes wants to talk very much but Geralt doesn’t. How Geralt delivers freaking sermons sometimes. That one time they managed to go out for a drink with Aiden, Eskel and Lambert, and Eskel started talking about his retirement plan involving goat yoga. Lambert nearly went batshit crazy, insisting that there was no way that something like goat yoga existed. Eskel and Jaskier tried to demonstrate how that would work, with Jaskier pretending to be a goat. Lambert, Geralt and Aiden almost pissed themselves laughing. The following day, Ciri woke Geralt and Jaskier by blasting a techno remix of Her Sweet Kiss so loud that the windows rattled. Then Yennefer made them go grocery shopping despite their killer hungover.

How Geralt holds him when unpleasant memories haunt him. How Geralt’s brutally honest when some of his songs suck. How he looks at Jaskier when he sings. His smothering gaze when he calls Jaskier his siren. How he makes sure that Jaskier eats and drinks when he forgets about it himself. How Geralt stands by him and supports him in his career, withstanding all the paparazzi nonsense even though he hates it with passion. How Geralt doesn’t want to know him for who he knows, how he’s always there for Jaskier and never asks for a thing in return.

All of this, and Jaskier suddenly doesn’t know where to start. He only knows that he wants to keep this man in his life so much that there’s hardly any air left in his lungs. His heart is hammering in his chest, his hands are sweating, and he decides to begin with what’s safe.

“Hey, Geralt,” he says, “I love you very, very much, you know that?”

Geralt hmms an affirmative and looks at him. There’s a smile on his face and warmth in his gaze as he answers, “I love you too.”

His golden eyes stand out against the blue of the cloudless sky. Jaskier slowly drowns in them, only the sound of the waves reaching his ears. It seems like only the two of them matter in the world and the reality is a safe distance away. In this state, almost hypnotized, Jaskier simply does what he has to do and gets down on one knee.

“What are you doing?” Geralt demands with a sowl.

His tone isn’t exactly a good sign. Jaskier flashes him a shaky smile and reaches for his hand. Then, he slides the buttercup ring halfway down Geralt’s finger. He didn’t buy a new ring; there’s no need for it really. He only needs to give their old rings new meaning on this seemingly meaningless April morning.

“Geralt, I-I,” he stutters out. His heart is beating so fast that he can’t breathe. He makes himself look up at Geralt, who stares down at him with a frown. Jaskier smiles nervously and forces the words out, “Will you... will you marry me?”

Geralt’s eyes widen and his mouth opens in shock. The silence drags on like eternity and Geralt doesn’t move a single muscle. When he finally does, his lips slowly quirk upwards and his whole face lights up with the tiniest, shiest joy. Jaskier is about to sigh in relief but then Geralt’s answer comes.

“Jaskier,” he grumbles, “get up, you’ll ruin your trousers.”

His trousers are white and it’s indeed a bad idea to kneel on the wet pebbles. As Jaskier gets up, his heart sinks and his head hangs low. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “This doesn’t have to mean anything, I just–”

He’s still holding on to Geralt’s hand and the ring, so he starts taking it off Geralt’s finger completely. Geralt stops him, though. Jaskier watches in amazement as Geralt’s muscular hands guide his own so that he slips the silver band back on Geralt’s finger.

When the realisation hits him, Jaskier gasps. He looks up at his fiancé, for real this time, and sees Geralt’s whole expression is alight with happiness. The sight takes his breath away. “Geralt...” he begins, but what Geralt does next takes away his ability to speak.

Geralt fucking kneels. Then, he takes Jaskier’s hand and slides the golden wolf signet off Jaskier’s finger. As Geralt looks up at him, he raises an eyebrow in silent question. Jaskier, still rendered speechless, only gives a jerky nod. Geralt grins like he almost never does, sharp teeth on display, and slides Jaskier’s ring back on.

The next moment is a blur. Jaskier, blinded by joy, wants to throw himself at Geralt. Geralt seems to want the same thing because he meets Jaskier halfway. Their bodies collide and they almost fall into the water but Geralt steadies them. Then, they’re standing up, and Geralt holds him tight, so tight that Jaskier may get bruises. Jaskier doesn’t care about that. He’s laughing and Geralt is smiling, truly smiling, and they pepper kisses all over each other’s faces.

“Please say it,” Jaskier whispers hoarsely, “just that one little word,”

Geralt huffs a laugh. He pecks Jaskier on the cheek, then murmurs into his ear, “Yes.”

It’s just one word but it’s said it the gravelly baritone Jaskier will never be tired of hearing, and his heart almost bursts with all he feels at that moment. The need to kiss Geralt stupid is stronger than ever, so he does exactly that. Burying his hands in Geralt’s hair, he brings their mouths together. Geralt lets out a pleased hum and sneaks his strong arms around Jaskier’s waist. The kiss resembles their very first one during the birthday party – it’s deep and slow, the best kind of passionate.

It takes them some time to break apart. When they do, they take off their shoes and take a walk along the shore, ankle-deep in the cold water, holding hands and talking. When Jaskier sees a little fish, he starts naming all the fish that he knows while Geralt laughs at him. Then Geralt wets his hand in the sea and puts it against Jaskier’s nape because he’s a bastard. They’re a moment away from splashing war when Jaskier’s stomach rumbles loudly. The two of them realise that they’re both hungry, so they embark on a search of some nice restaurant. Eventually, they find one and treat themselves to a big breakfast. Jaskier drinks coffee but forbids Geralt from having one, to Geralt’s immense displeasure. He steals a sausage from Jaskier’s plate as revenge but Jaskier physically can’t be mad at him today. His grumpy expression makes Jaskier melt.

The drive back passes in silence. Jaskier sits behind the wheel; the coffee Geralt had at night is wearing off and he’s too tired. Geralt sits in the front passenger seat with his eyes closed the whole way back but he’s not sleeping. His thoughts often don’t let him sleep, Jaskier knows.

They return before noon. Walking into Geralt’s house feels different somehow, now that they’re truly engaged. As soon as the front door closes behind them, Jaskier drags Geralt in for a kiss. Way too soon, Geralt breaks it... because he needs to yawn.

Jaskier laughs and says, “C’mon, my jolly sailor bold, you need a nap.”

Geralt grunts but doesn’t argue. They go to Geralt’s bedroom upstairs and change into comfortable sweats and "for home" t-shirts, stealing some kisses in the meantime. Geralt closes the thick curtains and they lay down in the bed, facing each other. Jaskier shifts closer until he can tuck Geralt's head under his chin and run his hands through Geralt’s hair while Geralt rubs his palms up and down Jaskier’s back.

It’s one of their favourite ways to cuddle. They say nothing for some time, simply enjoying the closeness. Jaskier’s lost in his head, picturing how Geralt’s family is going to react to the development in their relationship, but then he suddenly remembers what he said to his own family yesterday.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“What would you say about marrying next spring?”

Geralt opens his eyes and squints at him. “So soon?”

“I’ve always wanted to have a May wedding,” Jaskier answers. It’s not even a lie. After he and Geralt got together, he’s started fantasising about his own wedding for the first in his life and, in his mind, it always happens in May.

Geralt watches him closely, clearly sensing that there’s something he isn’t being told, and damn him for reading Jaskier so well. Jaskier tries not to squirm under the golden stare, as unforgiving as the sun, doing his best not to let his fear show. Jaskier will have to tell Geralt about the circumstances of their engagement one day, and when he does, Geralt may take it extremely the wrong way.

“I’ll think about it,” Geralt says finally.  

It’s not a no but it’s not a yes either. Jaskier can’t have that, so he brings out the big guns and innocently suggests, “We could marry at sea, you know.”

A pause.

“Hmm.”

It’s definitely an intrigued hmm. Jaskier presses on, “I could rent us a yacht. Or a boat. Or a big ship, even. Whatever you want.”

There’s a moment when Geralt doesn’t even breathe. Then, he heaves a long, resigned sigh, and Jaskier smiles in victory.

“Damn you, Jaskier,” Geralt mutters tiredly, “Damn you.”

Jaskier chuckles and kisses Geralt on the forehead, earning himself a happy hum. He keeps running his fingers through Geralt's hair and begins to sing softly. It's the first song Jaskier wrote for Geralt; Jaskier knows that his fiancé has a particular fondness for it. As he croons lyrics about woods and the Fae, Geralt's breathing starts slowing. After he finally falls asleep, Jaskier lets himself doze off too.

***

“Dad!”

Jaskier jerks awake, opening his eyes just in time to see Geralt do the same. There’s a moment when they stare at each other in confusion. Then, Cirilla’s wails reach their ears, and Jaskier’s blood runs cold. In an instant, there’s pure, unadulterated terror written all over Geralt’s face. He gets up lighting fast and rushes out of the bedroom. Jaskier follows right after him.

“Dad!” she shrieks again.

“Ciri!” Geralt shouts, completely frantic, as they run down the stairs.

Cirilla meets them at the bottom of the stairs. Her face is red from crying, her cheeks wet. She falls into his arms and buries her face in her father’s chest, sobs tearing through her frame.

“Ciri,” Geralt breathes out, running his shaking hands all over the girl’s body in search of any injuries.

Ciri appears physically unharmed but still, something is definitely very, very wrong. The girl keeps bawling her eyes in Geralt’s embrace while her father strokes her head soothingly. Jaskier finds it to be a truly gut-wrenching thing to witness, and he isn’t even Ciri’s relative. He can scarcely imagine what Geralt is feeling, though a good portion of his fear and worry shows on his face. Jaskier, in an attempt to comfort Ciri and Geralt, puts his arms around them both.

“What happened?” Geralt asks, his voice hushed and gentle.

Cirilla cries harder and Geralt’s face scrunches up in pain he feels for her. Jaskier’s heart breaks for them both.

“Dara,” Ciri finally chokes out, “He wasn’t at school today and didn’t text me back and... He called me just before I walked in and told me... “ Her body starts shivering. “There was a fire at his house, dad, only he...” She trails off and wails. “His parents and brother didn’t...”

Jaskier gasps and Geralt curses.

“He has nowhere to go, dad,” Ciri adds, “no relatives in the country, he has nothing....”

Ciri weeps on while Jaskier looks at Geralt helplessly. He silently asks Geralt what to do and Geralt answers with a slight shake of his head. Jaskier purses his lips and racks his brain while Ciri slowly begins to calm down. Finally, he gets an idea.  

“Sweetheart, did he tell you where he is now?”

“Yeah,” Ciri replies, her face still hidden in Geralt’s chest, “Why?”

“Well... My house has more than enough room for two.”

***

The day ends in a sleepless night. For Jaskier, not Geralt. Geralt, just like Ciri, collapsed from exhaustion around an hour ago in one of the bedrooms in Jaskier’s house. Jaskier, unfortunately, can’t say that about himself. Too much has happened for one day and he still hasn’t processed even half of it.

It’s almost midnight. Jaskier sits on the couch in his living room, strumming his acoustic guitar idly and trying not to think about the dead look Dara had in his eyes the whole day. When Jaskier pictures what kind of trauma the boy has just gone through, he wants to scream.

The sight of Dara himself snaps him back to reality. He acknowledges Jaskier with a nod and goes to the kitchen, which is open to the living room. Jaskier watches in the corner of his eye as Dara pours himself a glass of water and drinks. The air around is still, awfully so, and Jaskier itches to break the oppressive silence.

“You can’t sleep too?” he says.

“Yeah,” Dara answers quietly.

“You can sit here with me if you want.”

Dara hesitates for a moment but then comes over and sits down next to Jaskier awkwardly. He and Jaskier did meet before but they never talked much. Usually, Ciri would just say that the two of them are going somewhere before dragging Dara away. Jaskier’s aware that he’s a stranger to him and he certainly has no idea how to act around a person who’s currently experiencing the worst kind of nightmare that they can’t wake up from. Still, if there’s one thing he knows, it’s the fact that music can be a cure for many ailments.

“Any requests you’d like to make of this humble bard?” he asks, gesturing at himself theatrically.

“I like Metallica,” Dara replies with a shrug.

Jaskier smiles. “Ah, good taste!”

After a moment of thought, his fingers strum the strings and the first notes of The Unforgiven ring out in the air. Dara tenses but Jaskier decides to go on. When he sings, he pours all his emotions into it: how much his heart aches for the boy, how he wishes to ease his pain. His voice is mournful but strong and Dara listens to him carefully. During the second chorus, the boy’s eyes glaze over. Jaskier’s voice cracks. A tear rolls down Dara’s cheek, then another, and another. Jaskier plays on and Dara starts crying in earnest.  

The same couch that Ciri and Geralt sat on when Jaskier met them for the first time, the same couch that Jaskier and Geralt sat on when they exchanged their rings before the birthday party, now Dara sits and weeps, his face hidden in his hands.

Jaskier almost breaks down in tears himself but he fights it – he has to finish. His voice is loud and clear as he sings the last verses, openly but unapologetically raw because that’s how the song should be sung. That’s how this moment should feel.

After the last notes of the song die down, only the sound of Dara’s sobs can be heard. Jaskier’s looks at the mourning boy, only sixteen and left with nothing, and wants to help.

“Do you need a hug?” he asks hoarsely.

Dara nods and Jaskier moves closer, putting his arms around the boy’s shoulders. Dara leans against him and cries, and cries.

As they sit there, Jaskier thinks to himself that he has lived a life of immense privilege. There were times when it was bad, like his serious health problems in childhood. There were moments when it was even worse, like when his dad’s drinking spiralled out of control when he was a teenager. The memories of that time still make him shudder. Yet, all ended well in the end. Jaskier’s a healthy man, his dad is sober. Jaskier's career pays very well. He doesn’t have greater problems than pursuing his dreams, and he realises there are scarcely any people with similar lives in the world.

People like him, Jaskier muses, should learn to put their own wants and needs aside more than anyone.

“Hey, Dara,” he says, feeling shy possibly for the first time in his life. He swallows down the nervousness constricting his throat and says, “I know this can be a weird question, you don’t even know me, but... Would you like to stay? You could live here, at least until everything, well, settles down. ”

Dara doesn’t reply for a long time. When he does, his answer is just, “Okay.”

The single word is said so quietly that Jaskier almost misses it. When he does catch it, and it feels so monumental that his breath is taken away.

[probably-writing-x]

Just thought you should know (Prequel)

Request from my fave @bringmethehorizonandpizza : alright, but a super angsty prequel of just thought you should know, where they break up!! would you do it? pretty please? 💖💖💖💖

~~~

There had been an odd atmosphere around this place for the past few days - everyone seemed to be treading on eggshells around you and it constantly put you on edge. These boys were hiding something.

"Hey boys!" You smile as you waltz into your apartment where Harry and Sam had currently set up camp on the couch for the day, "What are you still doing here?"

"We thought we could have a movie day!" Sam calls back to you but you can see straight through his nonchalant nature.

"We had movie day yesterday," You roll your eyes, "And, anyway, Haz isn't even home yet s-"

You see both of them simultaneously wince at your words as soon as Harrison - your boyfriend of two years - was mentioned.

"What? What was that weird thing you just did?" You question, walking cautiously over to the twins.

"No... Nothing," Harry furiously shakes his head, curls spilling over his forehead wildly.

"Guys, come on. You've barely left this place all week and you're constantly checking up on me. What aren't you telling me?" You sigh, sitting down on the coffee table to face opposite them.

The boys exchange an uncomfortable look before Sam takes a big sigh.

"There's something we need to tell you, about Harrison," He admits, running a hand through his hair.

You sit in silence and let him proceed - a million possibilities running through your head.

"He's not exactly on a filming thing right now," Sam continues, "We told him to get away for a week or so,"

"What?" You laugh, "Why would you do that?"

Harry starts up again now, "Last week, all of us boys went out, right? Well... Harrison had a few too many to drink and ended up saying some things he definitely shouldn't have said,"

Your jaw clenches, "What did he say?"

The twins look between each other, mouths opening and closing but no words being expressed.

"What could he have said that was that bad?"

"He..." Sam takes a deep breath, "He said all of this stuff about how you two had been together for so much longer than he expected and that you made him wait so long for you two to... And that sometimes he wonders whether its worth the effort..."

The clench in your jaw changes to an overwhelming lump in your throat, one that has the power to make your bottom lip tremble a little.

"We're so sorry (Y/n/n)," Harry frowns, hand squeezing your knee in comfort, "We just thought you should know,"

"Yeah, yeah, no," You shake your head, forcing yourself to fake such confidence, "Hey, I'm glad you told me. And, you know, maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not worth the effort,"

"No, no, no," Both boys shake their head and come to sit either side of you, wrapping an arm around each shoulder and pulling you into a strong embrace.

"(Y/n) you're worth a thousand times the effort he gave you," Sam encourages, "Harrison, he just... He had too much to drink and he-"

"And he said what he felt," You mumble, finally letting the tears spill free down your cheeks - the kind of tears that wrack your body and make your shoulders shake like the whole world around you was clattering down.

~~~

The next day, Harry and Sam still hadn't left as they refused to leave you like this. You'd cried... A lot. You'd tried to eat but it all came back up pretty quickly and you hadn't got much sleep. But Harrison came home today, and it was your chance to face what you dreaded so much.

He knew something had happened. He knew the boys had told you and he was preparing for consequences... But not nearly this big.

With the twins opting to leave you two alone, it is just you and the boy you once promised you'd never stop loving.

"(Y/n) I-" Harrison begins, dropping his bag at the front door as he sees your state - cold, harsh, emotionless to him.

"Don't," You seethe, jaw clenching as you stand up from the couch to face him, "Don't start with an apology, start with a fucking explanation,"

"Baby I was drunk out of my mind!" He exclaims, "I don't even remember half of what I said and I sure as hell don't mean any of it, honestly,"

"Honestly?" You scoff, "You think I fucking trust you to be honest right now? And you don't remember what you said, then let me give you a little reminder.

"Babe please I-"

"How about telling the boys you wished you hadn't committed so much?" You step closer to him, "How about telling them you almost gave up just because I wouldn't give you the one thing you wanted? Or maybe the fact that you decided I'm not worth it?" Your words crack on that final part and you internally hit yourself for letting your emotions override this pure anger.

"Come on honey, you know that was all absolute bullshit!" He shakes his head, eyes following your every move as though he could decide your next response, "I was out of my mind and I was over thinking and I said some shit I didn't mean,"

You're close enough to him now that he can see the fury seeping from your moves, mixed with the worst feeling; disappointment.

"I thought," You begin, your voice calm and cautious, "I thought you could never, ever hurt me,"

Harrison clenches his jaw and fights back his building tears, "Don't say that," He's whispering now because the tears are threatening to spill and words will break the dam.

"I want you to leave. Just go and I'll pack up the things you've left here and get them to you soon," You sound so methodical that all emotion feels futile, "But I dont want to see you or hear from you, not for a while,"

"Darling, please," Harrison chokes and you watch as a tear falls down his cheek, still having to fight the desperate urge to wipe it away.

You look away and that's when he truly givea in to his feelings.

"No, no," He sounds angrier now, furious at himself for risking this, "I can't lose you. We can't give up on this,"

You feel cold, dried of all sympathy.

"I can't lose you," He repeats, "I can't lose you waking up and drawing silly imaginations in my chest," Harrison moves his hands to take yours, pressing a delicate kiss on each.

You watch his movements and stand rigid as he does.

"I can't lose you on Sundays when we've lost all our energy and we just want to cuddle until someone tells us we have to get up," His arms wrap around you and his face buries in the crook of your neck.

And for a moment, you really consider it. You think about being the forgiving one - telling him it's going to be okay and letting him kiss you, hold you, make love to you like everything is as it was. But every second takes you back to what he said. And you lose the possibility.

"It's time to go, Harrison," You pull his arms away from you and step back, arms retracting to cross over your chest as you realise you're now crying as well.

"Baby, please," He pleads once more, stepping forward to take your hands in his again, "I'll do anything, I'll make this better, I'll do whatever it takes to fix this mistake,"

You lift one hand away from his and cup the side of his face, thumb smoothing over his dampened cheek, "Maybe you're right," You pause and calculate your next words, "But actions don't take back what you said. And, Harrison, I can't afford to just be another one of your mistakes,"

And, with that, you drop your hands from his touch and walk away, retracting to your bedroom and crying endlessly against the closed door behind you. You don't know Harrison did the same outside of your apartment, slumped against the door like it was his last feeling of you.

What he didn't know was that, for the next six months, that really would be his last feeling of you...

~~~Four Months Later~~~

"Come on Tom you're playing like a rookie!" You exclaim, nudging him in the side to encourage him a bit more as the two of you competed in a Mario Kart team race.

His eyes are fixed on the screen but he doesn't seem aware as he drives straight off the edge.

"Dude!" You laugh, pausing the game, "Are you awake or?"

Tom shakes himself from his daze and looks at you, his eyes absent of their typical boyish joy.

"I-" He stops himself, "There's something I need to tell you, about Harrison,"

Oh damn. Those same words as his brother had spoken only months before. But what could possibly be worse than what you were told four months prior?

"What is it Tom?" You frown when he doesn't continue, "Wh- is he okay? Is he hurt?"

"Yeah, no, he's okay," Tom wipes his hands across his joggers, "He... Um, he got a girlfriend," He scratches at the back of his neck.

"Oh," You manage to respond, mentally kicking yourself for instantly worrying about Harrison instead of assuming something like this.

"It's only been for a couple of days but she's been at the apartment quite a bit. I thought I should tell you," He nods, hand reaching over to squeeze yours, "I'm sorry, (y/n/n),"

"What?" You scoff, with a gentle exasperated laugh, "You have nothing to apologise about. And, hey, I'm happy for him. He's moving on and that's a good thing. No need to keep thinking about something that's over, right?"

Your friend was evidently surprised by your strong response, "You don't need to-"

"No. No," You shake your head, "I'm good. I'm good, really. Let's carry on,"

He lets his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning back to the screen.

You were fine. Apart from the ache in your chest and the empty feeling remaining from feeling your repairing heart shatter once again. The temporary plasters you'd placed on it couldn't withstand something like this. You were fine. Apart from that feeling like you were falling, through this couch with the hopes that Harrison would be there to catch you. You were fine. Apart from the spilling tears.

"Oh, love!" Tom sighs when he sees you crying beside him, "Please don't cry," He throws his controller to the side and engulfs you in his arms, pulling you to his chest and letting you soak him in emotion.

"I've lost him, T," You sob, "I've really lost him,"

~~~

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @shamelessbookaddict @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee @darlingtholland @fanficparker

[vertigovaines]

The Doctor & The Punisher || Part One

summary: frank is experiencing side effects from the experimental drug vaines gave him. he’s not too pleased about it. but vaines is too smart to just be a sitting duck

trigger warnings: mentions of murder, violence, gore, weapons, etc. drugs, needles, and very vague science >>

featuring: @dogcfwar

FRANK: Frank knew Karen had a point. He knew Murdock, despite his many faults, was worth trusting when he told him about Vaines’ former ‘patients,’ how they had been fine at the beginning and found themselves hooked, desperate to get their next hit, the effects of Vydrate waning as the days went on. Frank’s serum was different. As time went on, he didn’t feel less powerful, didn’t feel as if the strength was draining slowly from his cells. Instead, it felt like they were growing, like he was twisting and turning inside out, and if he didn’t stop it soon, he’d grow too big for his own body.

Signing up to this shit hadn’t been a mistake, though. For all the dark, nagging uncertainty it brought, Frank knew he was better at what he did. He knew he was faster, stronger, smarter. He was himself only magnified, just like Vaines said -- but his hands still shook. His thoughts ran wild. He hadn’t slept in a week. And yeah, Karen was right. He needed to be there for this kid, needed to do the right thing.

When the hired thugs went for their shift change, Frank took advantage of the moment of weakness, choking them out and leaving them deposited in a pile outside the back entrance to Vortex. Vaines’ guards wouldn’t pose an issue to him, but that didn’t mean Frank wanted any interruptions, or someone informing Vaines he was there before he made his appearance. He walked down the hall, a little louder than he would’ve liked (this new Frank didn’t do subtlety the best, but neither had the old one) until he got to the door he knew the good doctor would be behind. Frank rapped the door with his knuckles, then stepped back, clasping his hands together as he waited.

VAINES: He had set up a lab within Vortex itself before Fish Mooney's untimely demise. And despite her protege's dislike of him, he saw no reason to discontinue its use. He made sure the guards were paid handsomely to keep his work protected and his presence a secret. It was useful, to have two labs to work from, and this basement room was far bigger than his other location.

Besides, given Frank Castle's past tendencies and the man's disposition towards him, Vaines thought it prudent to have certain security measures in place. He did not expect the decoy lab to work for very long, and he was proven right when he heard a knock on the door. Clients did not come to this location, and the guards knew better than to disturb him. He flicked on his security monitor and saw the men, slumped over by the back entrance. So the time had come, there was no doubt about it.

Vaines, however, was not frightened of the boogeyman at his door. He was always prepared, and Frank Castle would learn that soon enough. Vaines simply pressed a blue button by the door, and then the red one to open it. "Mr. Castle," he said, opening the door wide. "What can I do for you? Come back for another hit already?"

FRANK: A part of Frank had wondered whether Vaines would open the door or not, whether they would have to do this the difficult way. True to form, however, the man's arrogance had the door slide open, had him greeting Frank like they were business associates instead of what was really going down here. Frank was nothing but a lab rat to the man standing in front of him, just like Vaines was nothing but a means to an end, a way to get the results he was desperate for. After Fish Mooney went down, even more criminals were scrambling, trying to pick up the pieces. Frank had taken them all out, had made the city better, but his mission was far from over. Maybe it never would be.

"Shut the hell up," Frank muttered, purposefully knocking his shoulder against Vaines' on the way in, despite the fact that the door was opened wide enough to get a forklift through it. "Thought you said I wouldn't need another one? I'd be able to withstand it, or some shit?" That wasn't why Frank was here. He'd felt adrenaline before, he'd felt euphoria. He didn't get hooked. He maintained his focus -- that's what stopped him from becoming the psychopath the DA wanted him to be.

No, he was here for something else. He was here to kill this man, and he could do it right now, easily, but he wouldn't. Not yet. He needed a few answers, needed to secure his future, because goddamnit, the future actually mattered now where it hadn't before, not half as much. "I feel like I'm gonna crawl out of my fuckin' skin, Vaines," he said, looking over at him. "My goddamn hands, they're-" He cut himself off, holding his hands out to demonstrate how they shook. "Was that expected, huh? Just another screwed up side effect? What else is this shit gonna do, huh?" Frank got what he wanted, he knew there would be drawbacks, but he needed the truth. He could ask nicely, but he wasn't giving Vaines that satisfaction.

VAINES: "Impeccable manners as ever, Mr. Castle," Vaines quipped. His voice was cheerful, jovial even. He glanced at his watch. Yes, there was plenty of time to observe his experiment still. It was all about timing. So much of science was simply a matter of waiting for the right moment, the perfect opportunity, the exact right second. Vaines had plenty of patience, and he was masterful at seizing his opportunities.

"I also said I didn't know what the side effects could be," he said, saying the words slowly, like he was speaking to a very slow child. "The results are unpredictable. We are in uncharted waters, Mr. Castle, you knew that going in. Perhaps the effects will be permanent. Perhaps you'll crave more power. There's any number of reasons why you might be knocking on my doorstep tonight, but I assume whining about the side effects isn't one of them," he said, sneering a little.

He chuckled lightly, and casually stepped away, keeping the table between them. "Interesting," he noted, glancing over Frank's fingers. "I could prescribe something to counteract the shaking, but with your body chemistry changed, there's no telling how effective it might be. But it's only a small tremor, Mr. Castle," he said in a low voice. "You haven't lost your nerve have you?"

FRANK: Frank bit down on his automatic response - though fuck off would’ve been really goddamn satisfying - as he pushed past Vaines into the room. One door in, one door out. No windows, no areas of note that could mean some kind of escape route that wasn’t immediately visible. If Frank shot Vaines down in here, he doubted he would be found for hours, maybe even days, depending on how long it took his loyal customers to start feeling their withdrawal symptoms.

Vaines started speaking, and a muscle twitched in Frank’s jaw. “I was a marine. We don’t lose nerve,” Frank replied. For all that he was now, for all he had changed, that much was true. “It’s not just the tremor, Vaines. I’ve changed. I kill and I … I feel it for hours after. Adrenaline’s one thing, but this? This is something else.” Sometimes Frank sat down on Karen’s couch and felt as if his heart was going to bust out of his chest, like he was going into a coronary right there on the damn cushion. “I got stabbed in the neck the other night. Bled out, had to be litres, but it healed. I’m still here. You know what you did, so don’t give me this bullshit about not being able to control side effects, alright? You had to plan for this. You want to keep your lab rat alive, right?”

Both of them were profiting off this, but Frank knew it could only end one way. The second Vaines stopped speaking again, Frank took the gun from its holster, aiming it squarely between the man’s eyes. “Let’s make this really fuckin’ clear, alright?” Frank said, voice even, hand steady on the trigger -- this was the time it never shook, never had. “You ain’t in control here, Vaines. You never were. I asked for your shit, you didn’t pull me into it. So you’re gonna do what I ask, or you’re not. Piss me off, your precious brain is splattered against that wall. We understand each other?”

VAINES: "I'm sorry, do marines also whine about their hands shaking?" Vaines asked, a smug look on his face. He tutted under his breath. "What did you expect, Mr. Castle?" he asked, checking his watch again. He picked up a pen and scribbled down a few observations on his notepad before looking back up. "I didn't realize I would have to give you a history lesson," he said, smirking at the man.

"The original super-soldier serum was designed to enhance and amplify everything," he said slowly. "According to its creator, Dr. Abraham Erskine, the man, the test subject, was the most critical ingredient of the serum. He described it as 'good becomes great, bad becomes worse,'" Vaines said, in a choppy, dramatic German accent. "A bit poetic for my taste, but he wasn't wrong," he drawled. His eyes met Frank's, and they were shining with glee, with pride. "My serum does the same thing, only better. More effectively. Anything you're feeling, Mr. Castle, is not something I created in you, not something the serum put inside you. It's something that was already there, and now has been unleashed. I've unlocked your full potential, body and mind. You should be thanking me," he said.

But he was smart enough to know that would never happen. When Frank pulled the gun out, he was hardly surprised, just sighed and made another note on his pad. "Case in point, Mr. Castle," he murmured, glancing up at him. "You've always been a man who uses brute force to achieve his goals. You kill without compunction, without hesitation, so of course you think the best way to get me to do what you want is to wave a gun in my face. Has any of this really surprised you?" he asked, scoffing lightly. He set the pen down and folded his hands in front of him, smiling serenely.

"Tell me. What is it you expect me to do? I told you in the beginning there was no going back once we started. No backing out." He shrugged, spreading his arms wide. "So what if you feel your kills for hours? So what if your hand shakes and you heal better than ever before? Surely, given your profession, that's a bonus for you. Unless of course... There's some other reason you're feeling, shall we say, uneasy about the changes. Is there something you're not telling me, Mr. Castle?" he asked pointedly. "I can't help you without information, after all."

FRANK: Vaines started talking. As per usual, he started talking and he didn’t fucking stop. He just kept going, as if he was a lecturer in front of a class and Frank was the dumbass in the back row, not understanding a word he was saying -- a waste of time, a waste of resources, a waste of energy. Frank knew the opposite was the truth, that for all Vaines was talking to him like he was an idiot Frank had more than provided for him, and maybe that was what was pissing him off the most. Because yeah, Vaines did what Frank asked. He did exactly what Frank asked, even if he was irritating while he did it, even if he did have a small number of days left on this earth after this was over, after Frank was sure he was stabilised. But things had changed, since their first meeting in Vortex. Things would change even more before the year was out.

“Thanking you?” Frank repeated, the gun still firmly pointed at Vaines’ head, though his finger didn’t move on the trigger. “You should be thanking me. You want to peddle this shit out, you want to get other buyers, you think, what? You think they’ll be like me? Nah. You know that.” Frank knew himself he was the ideal candidate for this shit, even if his head left a little to be desired. “I don’t kill without hesitation,” Frank said, voice low. “I kill because there are people that will rape, murder, steal if I don’t. This -- this is my job, it ain’t my life.” Vaines’ eyes, then, seemed to cut through him, the same piercing intensity of the colour in that goddamn vial. Frank’s grip on the gun wavered, thoughts of Karen, of Amy, of the kid that hadn’t even been born coming through his mind. “I need to live,” he said finally. “I need to live, and if this shit is killing me, Vaines, you’re gonna tell me right now, you’re gonna fix it, and then I’m gonna kill you. We had a deal, asshole. That surprise you?”

VAINES: "Well, I certainly not going to tell you to shoot me, now am I?" Vaines said, a little wearily. He was growing tired of this game. But he figured he should determine whether this aggression and paranoia was normal for Frank, or an amplification from the serum. For posterity, so the next subject would be even more perfect. Because it was hard to deny how perfect Frank Castle was. How readily he took to the serum, how quickly it effected his mind and his body.

"That's true," he admitted finally. "But I'm sure I would manage. Science always finds a way," he quipped. It was the sort of thing his former colleagues would've put on a motivational poster, probably with a kitten in a lab coat. Vaines though, needed no such insipid reminders. He was confident in his own abilities, and he didn't need a man like Frank Castle to use them. "And I have given you the means to live your life very well, Mr. Castle," Vaines said, spreading his arms wide. "I fail to see the problem here."

There it was. The little waver, the hesitation, the need in Frank's eyes. "Of course I'm not surprised," Vaines replied, rolling his eyes. He sighed lightly, and checked his watch again. "A little disappointed, yes. As you said, you were a rather excellent test subject. But there are many rats in this city, and so many, many people looking for strength. Though none quite as predictable as you," he said, a smirk toying on his lips. "I always knew it would come to this. I had hoped you were telling the truth about not being compromised -- after a man who lives only to kill doesn't feel that... need to live, does he? A man who's life is killing, well, he isn't afraid to die."

Vaines laughed and stepped around the table, walking towards his door. He stood to one side, glancing at his watch once more. Any minute now. "It's a shame you aren't that man, Frank," he said, leaning against the wall and shrugging. "Luckily, I know exactly what kind of man you really are. I know you, Frank," he said, grin splitting his face. "And that's why I know, you won't be killing me tonight. Not unless, of course..." He glanced at the door as footsteps thundered down the hall. "You want to kill them, too."

The door burst open, and the first officers streamed inside. The boys in blue had arrived, just in the nick of time. It helped of course, that Vaines had alerted them the second Frank Castle arrived, warning them a few days earlier that the wanted man might make an appearance. And Vaines, at least, always kept to his word.

When he felt like it anyway.

FRANK: Vaines was good at putting on a show. If Frank didn’t believe wholeheartedly in the fact that the man was too arrogant for his own good, he might have thought that it was a front, a way to bluff Frank into thinking he had more firepower than he did -- but despite the wide gestures and the sweeping statements, he still had a tell. Everyone did, in the end. Frank wasn’t a spy, far from it, but he wasn’t an idiot, either. Vaines looked down at his watch for what had to be the third time in the past ten minutes, and Frank stayed silent, just tilted his head slightly as the other man continued to speak. He didn’t even get the chance to argue that Vaines had no idea what kind of man he was, because he could hear something above them. Footsteps, though it was clear from the way they were moving they were attempting for silence. Amateurs, then. No private army, or guns for hire. No, this was something else -- something that Vaines knew Frank wouldn’t be able to mow down with his bare hands, nevermind the guns on his belt.

“What the fuck did you do?” Frank said, cocking one of the guns, holding it so that he was exactly a beat away from blowing the little shit’s brains out over his precious laboratory -- but a beat wasn’t enough.

“Frank Castle!” an authoritative voice called out (at least, Frank guessed he was going for authoritative. It would be more believable if it didn’t waver). “NYPD! Put the gun on the floor, now!”

Frank’s lip twitched, and he didn’t drop his gaze from Vaines.

“I said, surrender, Castle! Now!”

He could see in the test tubes in front of him, and the dull monitors, that there were at least fifteen cops surrounding him, and from the sounds of it, there were more coming. If it was a year earlier, Frank would’ve pulled the trigger anyway. He would’ve taken Vaines out even if it meant he was shot dead at the same time. But now -- now he knew what Vaines was trying to accomplish here. He’d read Frank’s poker face, and called him on his bluff.

Frank let out a grunt, but bent over slowly, dropping the gun to the ground. The cops behind him let out a collective breath of relief.

“Hands up! Feet apart! Do not move, Castle!”

“I ain’t going anywhere, calm your tits,” Frank said, as one of the cops stood up. Her hands were shaking as she cuffed him, but when she read him his rights, her voice was perfectly smooth.

“Francis Castle, you are under arrest for murder in the first degree, murder in the second degree, manslaughter, aggravated assault, arson, perjury, conspiracy-”

“You son of a bitch,” Frank snapped, because it had been building and building and building and he couldn’t take it anymore, didn’t know how Vaines had wrangled it that Frank was the one getting taken away in cuffs -- but then again, Vaines had to be richer than God now, right, in money and in secrets? Two more cops stepped forward to grab him, but they found themselves taken an inch off their feet when Frank stepped up to Vaines.

Another two ran forward, and another two, and another, until eight were pulling him off him, and even at that it was a stretch to say they were succeeding. “I’ve been in jail before, Vaines,” Frank said, low. “You know how long it took me to get out. I’ll do the same this time.”

“Castle, pl-”

Frank spat on the ground in front of Vaines. “I’ll put my knife in your throat. I’m the last thing you’re ever gonna see, you piece of shit. Hope you enjoy your time as a dead man walking, Vaines.”

[tisfan]

Discover your Soul

Title: Discover your Soul Collaborator: @tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: I3 -- Character is a Soldier Ship: Tony/Bucky Rating: teen Major Tags: soulmate AU, red string AU, fix it fic, not Civil War compliant Summary: Magic exists. Ask anyone with a soul mate string and they’ll tell you.

Curses exist, too. Word Count: 2,220 Created for @mcukinkbingo

Before you find your soul mate, you must first discover your soul. – Charles F. Glassman

Magic exists.

Ask anyone with a soul mate string and they’ll tell you. Magic moved the world to give them their perfect match, their mate, the person for whom they will live and die, the person that completes them and fills them up with love.

Curses exist, too.

Ask Maria Stark, whose only son was brought in to the world, barely breathing. Anthony Edward Stark almost died in his first few minutes, choking and spluttering. He uttered one mournful wail, not a baby’s indignation of leaving the womb and entering the cold, cruel world, but an old soul’s dismay.

His string, bound to him as such things were, was broken.

Less than a foot below his hand, his string ended in a puff of broken threads.

And it was bleeding.

No one had ever seen such a thing before. On the rare, and tragic states of soulmates having died before they could meet, the string was still there, indicating the broken bond, but it was black and ashy. The remaining partner would wrap it around their finger as they aged and it would slowly shrivel up and die. In some cases, a new string formed later, as their mate was reborn in a younger body.

This one, Tony’s string, bleed. Constantly, at first.

The hospital kept the baby in the infant care ward for almost a month. The blood loss affected the baby; he was weak and small and didn’t cry.

Eventually, they let him go home with his parents.

The wound clotted, but it never closed, never scarred over. The string remained brilliant red, tracing the line from the heart directly out through his finger, just like it was supposed to. It didn’t always bleed, as he got older, but if he was sad, or upset, sometimes the cut would reopen and he’d find himself with blood on his jeans, or on his desk, or eventually in his workshop.

Tony never took very good care of his hands. What was the point? People always looked at him, looked down at that loose, dangling thread, and viewed him as some sort of pariah.

Someone, maybe, whose soulmate had rejected him, sight unseen? No one knew, and the speculation was wild and varied.

Hard to maintain friendships, when people wondered. Harder, when his father was ashamed of the bleeding string, and the fact that everyone knew about it.

Tony decided he didn’t care and he made friends with the robots he built from kits and from people he met on the internet, where no one knew about his famous father or his infamous bleeding soul string.

The first time he kissed a classmate, the string practically hemorrhaged, spraying the unfortunate crush with blood.

Tony didn’t get a lot of kisses, after that story spread around.

He changed schools constantly to get away from rumors and speculations.

It didn’t help.

(more below the cut)

The first person he met who didn’t care was an upperclassman, his first year at MIT, named James Rhodes.

Rhodes and Tony.

Who became Rhodey and Tones, swapping the last letters of their names in an affectionate gesture that warmed Tony profoundly. He’d never really known the affection of friends, so he cherished the one he’d made.

The string never bled when Rhodey was around, either.

“Maybe something’s just wrong with your mate,” Rhodey speculated, and his speculation wasn’t cruel or unkind, just curious. And in some manner, reassuring. “Maybe they’re sick, or they get hurt a lot. It ain’t like this sort of thing is well studied, or nothin’. It’s all about faith and fate, and those things don’t hold up under a microscope.”

Tony wondered what his string looked like under a microscope.

Nothing, as it turned out. The string didn’t exist in the same time/space as things like photography and microanalysis, and Tony ended up getting a second master’s thesis out of speculative fate physics, while he was putting in the effort for mechanical engineering anyway.

Tony combined the two projects for his first doctorate, theoretical fate physics, and actually invented an entirely new manner of photogenesis that captured the essences of fate strings. Just after his nineteenth birthday, Tony made the front cover of Time magazine for the first verifiable picture of a fate string.

He looked, he decided, like a baby in the picture and he started frantically cultivating a beard.

Beards were wise, right? Inscrutable. Certainly not an object of pity.

Also, hot. Beards were hot.

Later, much, much later, Tony will remember the only time his fate string didn’t hurt. It wasn’t a bad pain so much as just a constant ache. If he wasn’t paying attention, he’d find himself rubbing at his finger, massaging the joint. He stopped doing that after he developed a flesh colored band to hide the string and control the bleeding.

Mostly.

And then, not quite a week before Christmas, his hand stopped hurting.

He didn’t know what to do with that information. It had never not ached before. Sometimes he could ignore it, but whenever he was paying attention, the pain was right there.

And suddenly it wasn’t.

He ripped the band off to study the pathetic length of psychic ribbon. It was throbbing; the end curling like a snake. Twitching.

The end swelled, like it was filling with blood, and then dropped, added another ten, twelve, inches to the length, until it was resting on the ground, straining.

What the hell?

He watched it, fascinated. Petted the string, poked at it. Took a photograph with his special camera.

Four hours later, the police came to tell him his parents were dead.

Six hours after that, the string bled feverishly, a stomach-turning spray of arterial blood. Tony cleaned it up, wrapped his finger. Pretended it hadn’t happened.

What the hell was a mate supposed to do for him now, anyway?

Coincidence, he told himself with a shiver.

Mourning, terrified, alone, he deleted the picture.

The Soldier sat in the chair.

He didn’t struggle. He never struggled anymore.

The string was wrapped around his wrist, several times. It had leaked out of the metal arm shortly after the Soldier had been awakened from cryo.

He didn’t try to hide it. He never tried to hide things anymore.

“Good job, soldier,” his handler said.

The soldier didn’t answer, he just waited.

“Keep him up a few weeks, I want him around for the testing.”

“You got it, sir,” one of the techs said.

“And cauterize that thing, before it bleeds everywhere.”

There was pain, when they burned the string. There was always pain. But the Soldier didn’t care about that.

Tony’s string started growing again, in the year after the Fall of SHIELD.

He couldn’t figure out why.

His own ground breaking research aside, no one still really studied the fate threads, or soul mates, or the properties therin. He was, his critics said sometimes, killing the magic.

“Magic that can’t withstand a little examination might deserve to be killed,” he snarled in response to that.

It still didn’t lead to another person, trailing along behind him for several yards like a sad kite. Useless, and he was tripping over it. There was, however, too much on Iron Man’s docket for him to actually get really into detail with his soul string. He wrapped it tightly around his wrist and ignored it as best he could.

First, arrangements had to be made for world security. Without SHIELD, without Nick Fury, there was a lot of burdens falling around, uncaught.

Then there was Ultron.

And Sokovia.

And…

The string kept growing. Twined around Tony’s wrist, up to his elbow, he ended up bundling it around his chest just to keep it out of the way.

Why was it so damn disorderly, too? Other people’s strings sort of melted away into some ethereal plane when they weren’t directly connected to the soulmate. They didn’t tumble all over the floor like a sulky yo-yo.

In fact, most people’s strings were well nigh invisible unless the person was within grabbing distance of their mates. Or, at least, from an outsider’s appearance. For each individual, they could see their string, winding off into the distance, in the direction of their other half.

Nice thought, Tony snorted, tucking an extra bit of loop into his pocket.

Secretary Ross was breathing down Tony’s neck and while he was beginning to wonder if he could, actually, strangle the man to death it it, he decided not to risk it. Not today.

“Of course you can quote me,” Tony raged into the phone. “I’m saying it, aren’t I? There will be consequences.”

God damn it, Steve.

That had been a refrain for a while now, and Tony was tired of it.

Having to send out his best friend to arrest his old man’s best friend? Officially, Tony didn’t have anything like that sort of authority, which is why Rhodey was doing it. And because Tony really, really didn’t want to arrest Steve. Things were going to shit without it.

There was something oddly compelling about the video feed.

Cap’s old friend, Barnes, having done a stint in the Russian military, or whatever. Gorgeous, sulky, long tangled hair and unshaven face, he stared up at the hidden camera like he knew it was there.

“This is what I was saying about making it worse, Steve,” Nat was complaining to Cap as they were being processed.

“At least he’s alive,” Steve said, staring back at his old friend. “What’s going to happen to him now?”

“We’ll get him help, of course,” Tony said, because that was only fair. “He’s… uh. He’s bleeding.”

There was a wet, smacking sound from under Tony’s clothing, like he’d stepped on a ziplock bag and blown the seal.

A rush of heat and wet seeped down his side.

Son of a bitch, so am I.

Tony bunched his fist up, as if he could stop his fate string from bleeding from sheer force of will. Why now, he wondered. Totally, epically bad timing.

The string was squirming, writhing, wriggling against him like it was trying to get away.

Barnes’ gaze went from the camera, over to where he couldn’t possibly see Tony trying to tip his body away so that no one noticed the wet spot on his pants, or the way blood was gushing into his shoe.

Fuck. I need to get out of here.

“I need to get out of here,” Barnes echoed, his voice a dark tremor against the air. Tony whirled, took a few steps, heedless of the bloody footprint he was leaving behind.

Look at him, trapped like an animal, Tony thought, his chest squeezing in sudden sympathy. Barnes wasn’t struggling with the restraints, but he was leaning in Tony’s direction, like steel drawn to a powerful magnet.

“Trapped, like an animal,” Barnes agreed.

Can you hear me?

There was blood pooling at the base of the restraint room, brilliant and red. Someone should die from that much blood loss.

“I hear you.”

Holy fuck.

“Stark, what are you doing--”

Tony took another few steps, then another, and his string unraveled from his belly, slithered out from under the hem of his shirt.

Touched that pool of blood under Barnes.

The world exploded in light.

The Soldier was on guard.

No one had told him that, no one had given him orders. They didn’t need to. He knew it, bone deep, blood deep.

The puddle had turned into coils and coils of string, tangling between him and the man. From the line in his heart, through the artificial arm, down his wires and servos, out the finger, and into knots and tangles, draped all over him, and then reaching for… Tony.

He’d broken out of the holding cell; nothing like that could contain him for long unless he wanted to be contained. Tony, Tony, Tony. Tony was clinging to him, sobbing with broken-hearted relief.

The Soldier knew something about that, too.

“What’s going to happen now?”

That was Steve. The Soldier knew him. A little.

Not like he knew the sobbing man in his arms. That song, he’d been denied well and too long.

Tony wiped his face, presenting his red rimmed eyes unashamed.

“I expect I’m going to be writing a new paper of fate strings physics,” Tony said.

“I meant, to Bucky.”

The Soldier bared his teeth at that name; Bucky came with knives and poisons. That name was pain. It wasn’t… safe to say.

Bucky? Tony’s voice was in his head.

It was. Who he was.

“We’ll figure it out, Cap,” Tony said. “By the book.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna like that book, Tony,” Steve said.

“Well, I’ve rewritten the book before,” Tony said. “With less solid information to go on. So… sit back, and watch me work. Don’t worry. I’ll…”

Tony stared at Bucky, his entire heart in his eyes. “I’ll take care of him.”

“And what about you?”

Bucky didn’t have to say anything. He pulled Tony closer and glared. Unarmed, held at gunpoint, the Soldier radiated threat and everyone took a hesitant step back. Message received.

“I think we got it, snowflake,” Tony said. “You can just… relax now. We’re going to fix this mess.”

“I know.”

[largehearts]

still alive, who you love. || written for @madefate​

exhaustion is a heady thing, when it’s all you have.

it doesn’t take a full week after they leave on the mission for you to realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. it’s really – not that surprising of a revelation, in the end; you are a logical person, and when you really stop to think about it, it all makes sense. there is a reason why it didn’t even occur to you to at least put away the framed picture of the two of you from your nightstand, let alone throw it out. like every time before when takashi was in space, it is the last thing you look at before falling asleep, and consequentially, your last thought before falling asleep is him.

it’s about four days before you stop to take a moment, to realize that this is an ingrained, near-subconscious thing that may not have solid ground to stand on anymore. the comfort that let you sink into sleep was the thought that when you think of him, somewhere far away in outer space, there is a possibility that he, too, is thinking of you.

obviously, you’ve ruined that now, so why should you get the luxury of being allowed your half of the thought, the comfort?

you put the picture away.

(it doesn’t work; you still think about him every night, exactly the way you used to. you can’t make yourself stop it, even though you don’t deserve that comfort anymore. guilty, guilty, guilty. a terrible person.)

it’s the first time you have a panic attack in class when you hear the news. you are woefully underprepared for it, and it’s not like anyone else thinks to prepare you for it, either. some of the faculty knew you were together, but it wasn’t widespread knowledge (you are a private person, especially when it comes to keeping distance from your students, and your peers – takashi included – respect that), so of course the cadets would only know you taught keith, and he is suddenly missing from your class, so of course they fill you in. oh, you know what he’s like, griffin says dismissively. he probably lost his shit again when he learned that shiro’s gone missing.

your mind instantly puts the last three words on repeat like a broken record. scratchy bakelite noise included – what else could it be, that wasp-like buzzing in your ear? that bubble that tightens around you until everything outside of it is faded, frayed around the edges, muted in colour and sound. the pillow pressed against your mouth you suffocate into. the fingers around your neck, tightening, tightening.

the kids – bless them, you think later – take it fairly well. someone runs to get a glass of water. someone stands over you as you scramble into your chair and talks to you, though you can’t make out the words. curiously, you can still make out the background conversation. what’s the big deal? nobody liked keith. – he probably didn’t know about shiro, you asshole. (griffin and – mcclain? you can’t make out the voices clearly enough.)

vaguely, you think about continuing the lesson, when your head is a little clearer, but by the time the fog is starting to lift, someone has fetched ryu, and she tells you to go and rest, that she will find cover for the rest of your classes.

(ryu was always a little bit softer than anyone else you know at the garrison. you take her up on the offer anyway.)

you don’t know what you thought, really. neither people nor things die slowly all the time. sometimes it is sudden and violent. as the son of soldiers, you should know this.

it still leaves you breathless for months and months to come; you think you should know, by now, how to cope with grief – you’ve seen death before, you’ve lost people. it’s – not the same at all. you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong. all you know is it isn’t getting better. after a certain point the only time you aren’t feeling anxious is when you’re flying. you wonder how long you will be able to pretend otherwise.

it’s been over a year. you’re digging through your drawers, quietly praying you are not quite as out of medication as you think you are. instead, your fingers bump against the frame and you pull out the picture you stuffed away.

you don’t consciously realize your panic is melting away as you stare at it, sitting on the edge of the bed. but it does occur to you, vaguely and far removed from what this emotion truly could be, that this is actually, as inexplicable as that is, the first time you’ve cried for takashi since he left.

perhaps you could be self-conscious, but nobody else sees, so what’s the point? you resolutely put the picture back to its place of honour, and slowly but surely start to gain a handle on everything that’s been spiralling out of control. you don’t deserve the relief, but you are weary to the bone, and you can’t find it in yourself to care. the only person who has the right to deny you your daydreams and memories is the person you are mourning. you will take what you can get.

you don’t find out about takashi being briefly back on earth until years later.

sam’s broadcast doesn’t tell you much about what exactly happened, but you do learn that takashi survived, and that’s honestly worth the two years you’ve spent having dreams about it and nightmares about the opposite. it’s just the slightest bit awkward when you meet him to ask more questions, mostly because you haven’t seen colleen since before you broke up with takashi, but they are both far warmer and more welcoming people than you remember, and you leave with some second- and third-hand stories about the things the love of your life (and his brother) have done in deep space – and a tight ache in your chest that feels suspiciously like what you vaguely think (but aren’t sure) hope might be.

(have you seen it, is the first thing out of your mouth, and you’re almost surprised – but not really – at how you’re choking up in the middle of those four small words, because you’ve been doing fine until now. you know exactly why, though, as soon as you see camila’s smile and her watery gaze and you almost drop the bottle of wine you brought – like you always do for your regular monthly evenings together – when she throws her fierce arms around you.)

you know, somehow. it rattles you to the core, but it doesn’t matter. you know it’s a decision that shouldn’t have been made, you know what the consequences will be, you know, know, know. it doesn’t make a difference. you know you will do it anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done; it’s not your call, and honestly, that is fine. your parents taught you early what a soldier is. your dad would do the same. it stings, a little bit – not because you’ve lost hope, but exactly because you still have so much of it. it’s been six years since you last were happy, and you don’t remember what it felt like, but you know it with absolute certainty, that takashi will be back. just like you know you will die before he arrives. you don’t really mourn your own lost opportunity; you’ve done your mourning and then some. but you do think, at the back of your mind, how bitter and pointless this life is, how you’re glad you’re the one going and he will live (he has to), but now he will never get the apology he would deserve.

(objective. you used to be far more objective. you still are, but not about yourself. this is a wound you inflicted upon yourself, and did not let properly heal. it’s difficult, when the only person who could apply the salve is gone. still, these are the facts: you are going to die, and it does not occur to you that he will mourn you.)

everyone talks about your life flashing before your eyes when you’re dying. you feel cheated for it not happening to you. it’s your fault, probably; too practical of a person, you don’t have time for it when you work almost on instinct (it isn’t, though, it is something far more – skill), piloting a fighter with its comms dead, navigator dead, left wing on fire. you plummet towards the earth and you are sure of your demise because the enemy seems sure of it: they don’t follow you to finish the job.

of course the catapult doesn’t work. why would anything ever be easy? this aircraft is not built to withstand the crash. you have to time this well – jump when you’re close enough to earth to survive, but far enough not to be caught in the flames. you do the math in your head. for a brief second of madness, you wish you had a paper and a pencil, or a blackboard. you never did like using your phone for the equations.

you land on your arm and then on your stomach, and then a few more places as you are thrown back into the air by the force of impact, rolling around your axis like a badly thrown pebble across the pond. you have three seconds of respite – nowhere near enough to inventory your broken shoulder and arm and fractured pelvis and – punctured lung, maybe? no broken ribs, though, how did that – ?

the plane explodes behind you, showering its pieces everywhere. it is all you can do (and even that, barely) to curl in on yourself on the ground and hide your face in between your unbroken arm and a small rock formation right in front of you. you feel – you’re not sure what. it could either be tiny pinpricks or wide-bladed knife stabs across your back, wedging into your spine and not being pulled out. so close, you think, frustrated, as you feel the warmth of the blood spreading on your back and soaking your jacket. you had a better chance than most at survival, and yet.

and yet.

your fever dream of being carried, of wet towels against your face, of thick white scrolls of gauze, of pressure on your back that seems to push the knives even deeper – doesn’t feel much like the afterlife.

it doesn’t much feel like reality, either, though, nor anything that comes afterwards.

you are both very different. you are not sure why you ever thought anything could be like it was. you are irreparably damaged (you haven’t dared to confirm it yet, but what else could you be?), and takashi has been through more things than you think you could comprehend if he told you all at once.

except, the way he says your name is the same it’s always been, even if it’s choked, even if you almost feel like panicking again when he clings to you and begs you not to push him away.

as if you didn’t spend six years hating it that you ever did that in the first place.

you are so tired as to wonder if it’s really possible for this universe to be kind. it is undeniable, though – a gift, to the both of you, your lives, with your heart in your throat and takashi’s soft, colour-lost hair between your fingers. your lips on his cheek and his watery laugh and then yours.

it occurs to you, with takashi in your arms, that he is the one that taught you to hope. that the only real hopes you were able to hold onto were all thanks to him, about him. it’s impossible not to hope now, when he tells you he wants this, wants you, that you both want the same thing.

(belief may yet to come, but hope will do just fine for now.)

he picks up the picture from your nightstand. i didn’t dare think of you, your heart shatters with the impact of his words, and you pull him with you onto the bed. they might have taken it.

you can do that now. still a strange concept. a future.

(you already know you want all of it with him. whatever’s left, all of it. maybe eventually you’ll have the courage for it. among other things.)

he wraps around you as he falls asleep. you wake up with your bones hollow like a bird’s.

there is more than one way to take flight.

[pinktatertots99]

nanbaka Halloween week day 3: the jaws that bite, the claws that catch

Title: hot as hell. Author: pinktatertots99 (tates. taylor) Character(s): qi. Liang. Pairing(s): qi x Liang Rating: T. Warnings (if there are any): mentioned religion. language. Summary: it's a scorching hot day at church for father qi, and it can only get SO much better once his nuisance of a visitor comes by.

Qi slammed the door shut, exhausted. Today was not that great of a day. Not only was it blazing hot as hell outside, the church's forced air central system went out. Which meant he had to go through the entire ceremony sweating like a pig in his coat. Speaking of which, he took off his crucifix setting it on the coat hanger by the door, then taking off his outfit and setting it on the coat hanger.

Grabbing his crucifix and putting it back down he left to his desk and plopped down on the chair sighing. God he hoped the repairman would come soon or so help him! He had heard that they'd come tomorrow, which meant that he still have to suffer through a scorching day AND night.

“having problems, priest?~”

oh crap not this he thought, taking his arm off his eyes and sitting up to find his no good uninvited guest. Said guess wore a tight spandex like crop top with a square neck, a matching short pencil skirt, and black leather boot legs crossed over the other. With raven hair that was tied tight in a braid and split in half halfway down it and peach colored eyes that were filled with sin and lust, he glared at the familiar entity and it's tail swishing around casually.

Liang was it's name. And it was a demon, incubus to be more specific. He didn't know how or why but somehow he had summoned this demon and no matter what he did the pest wouldn't leave. Not unless he were to have sexual intercourse with him, which qi very clearly confirmed that THAT was never gonna happen. Unfortunately liang is unable to leave due to this and now harasses him daily. And it seemed that he was right on schedule.

“is something bothering you?” he asked in a condescending tone. Qi continued to scowl at him, and liang turned his head in mock curiosity. “hm? You don't look too well. Rough day?”

“as if you haven't noticed it's hotter than HADES!” he snapped at him. Liang was taken aback by the sudden outburst as he decided to look around. “hm actually I haven't noticed.” “...your kidding me right?”

“well, I am able to change not only my physical form but also change my form to fit comfortably into the environment i'm in. and if your saying it's hot out than that means I changed myself to where I'm able to withstand the heat and not be bothered by it.” he babbled. “so, therefore, I feel nothing.”

“great.” qi groaned. “good for you. Meanwhile, i'm getting first hand experience as to what hell's flames will feel like.”

“psh, oh please now don't be so over dramatic. Their actually much worse than this.” liang dismissed. Qi layed back on his chair and groaned in annoyance again, closing his eyes. God please spare him. Both from this heat AND this no good shitty demon.

His nerves though started to dwindle as he felt the relief of cold wind blowing on him...wait wind? He opened his eyes and looked up to see liang had turned his back on him and was fanning him with his wings, flapping back and forth. This was so...sudden to him.

“is this better?” he asked. Qi took a minute to process before nodding and then remembering liang's back was towards him. “uh, yeah. Thank you.” he replied. Liang nodded and continued to fan him. Despite him being the occasional little shit, qi had to admit he did have some nice moments. After a while he opened his eyes in realization of something.

“hey liang.” the demon looked over his shoulder to him. “you said you can change your body to fit with the environment right?” he asked. Liang nodded at him, trying to keep from the priest seeing his pink hued cheeks. “so that means you can change your skin to be cold or hot right?” liang raised a brow at this question. “i believe so yes-” he then gasped at the sudden hold around his waist, the stupid pink blush getting darker as he felt the rest of qi's body on him.

After a bit qi muttered “amazing.” and everything started to spin as liang was picked up from behind. Thankfully he made himself light but the priest was still pretty strong for someone of his species as liang put it. He then felt themselves lower onto the bed and roll over. Now the two were in bed with liang's back to qi as qi hugged him.

“wh-what are you-”

“ssshh it's fine.”

“why are you-”

“i'm hot and tired and it's my afternoon nap. And YOU are gonna help me with that.” qi stated as he took the time to take his glasses off and put them on the bed's nightstand. As he did so liang moved over to turn on his side. Now the two were to face to face with qi's arms going back to wrap around liang's waist.

“and don't try to take this the wrong way or something.”

“oh yes. Not take us laying down in bed with you hugging me the wrong way.”

“you know what I mean.”

liang rolled his eyes at him. He may have been a bit...handsy a couple times when invited to sleep with qi, but really as a sex demon with a 24/7 libido what WERE you supposed to do when you get invited to sleep in a bed with someone? Of course he didn't do this all the time, like right now and a couple times before. It was just his own way of teasing the old man. But it didn't mean he didn't mind these domesticated moments. Despite not getting their purpose they were pretty nice.

He soon realized the priest had already fallen asleep. Seemingly perfectly content. He blushed staring at him. His face was relaxed with no wrinkles, or not as many as he usually had while awake, were on him. His breathing was slower and he looked, peaceful. And this wasn't even the best part of sleeping with him.

No that would happen much later once he woke up, his face contorting for a second and then opening his eyes slowly, naturally bringing his arm to rub at his face before he'd lay back down and look at him and lazily smile and-...god he hated him. This stupid STUPID priest with his pretty eyes and delicious build and that smile, that SMILE. So charming and sweet and-AGH he hated these feelings!

Ever since he had layed eyes on him liang's entire routine had changed. At first, he just wanted to mess with him. Messing with religiously serious people like priests was a fun pass time. And then he saw his figure and, oh how quickly that idea turned. Lust filled him as he got the idea that instead of just messing with him, perhaps he could also lure him to “sin.”

and then things started changing. For one thing he found out about liang and stopped him from trying anything, which he figured would happen at first. Defiance to him and pretending he didn't see him at readings making fun of the head priest. Yet later he started to act differently around him. Of course he'd chase him out or try to make him go away but it seemed that he didn't mind the demon all that much.

Hell later on he started tolerating his sudden arrivals, instead of freaking out and telling him to get out. They'd even started to talk to each other sometimes, and they weren't fights or arguments mostly they were casual conversations about things. It was strange, and yet he liked it. What he REALLY didn't like though were these weird feelings he got from it. The blushing, his metaphorical heart beating fast anytime the priest did something like smile or some other gross human thing and god he hated it. Yet at the same time...he liked it. He never felt like this for as long as he existed until now.

He didn't know what to do with these new found feelings. Nothing in hell said it was illegal to be with one, though the big man was watching and could probably do something about it, a reason why he doesn't show or say anything about it. Except to his friend rock back in hell, which he went down often to berate about this stupid cute priest. The other reason was an obvious one, qi.

There was always the idea that he didn't feel the same way, whether by personally or because of the stupid church. Even if he did feel the same way though the church made up a stupid rule that certain priests couldn't marry. Fine then, he didn't mind waiting till qi either died or retired from it. ...but then that first option came up. Death. He didn't know how merciful the big guy was, but with how much qi prayed and all that religious crap there was always the possibility that god was gonna forgive him and open his pearly gates to him.

It ticked him off, the idea that that would happen. It fueled a fire in him to lure qi further into his web of sin. Get him to do it with him and so much more so much that the big guy wouldn't forgive him and he'd go to hell with liang. And yet, he almost didn't want that. It was sickening to think but, qi was a good guy that deserved to be accepted to heaven. And he felt that small vile of puke almost come up his throat. He swallowed it back down and snapped out of his thoughts. He can worry about this some other time. Now though, he similarly wanted to rest his eyes for a bit. He shifted his arms around qi to hold him close, being careful to not make them wander off anywhere, and slowly closed his eyes to rest.

[unwoundvisions]

Cayla (1974)

How well does your muse deal with stress? Do they do anything in particular to help them deal with it, and if so what do they do?

If it’s a stress I personally have to deal with like work, I focus on it way too much. I use the stress as this horrible motivator to do whatever needs to be done. I’m a perfectionist so stress is not really my friend. I’ll easily break down and angry cry over it. However, I’ve yet to find a healthy way to manage stress.

What are their immediate views on romantic love?

I don’t really have a lot of experience in that depart but I’m not opposed to it. It’s something everyone should get to have in their lifes if they want to.

Do they react well when they develop feelings for someone and if not why?

Again, this doesn’t happen often so I wouldn’t know. I mean, if I did, I think I would handle it...okay? I’m just very hesitant to open myself up to someone.

How do they show affection nonverbally? Are they likely to show affection with their words as well?

I’m more verbal than physical because I’m hesitant to invade anyone’s space with my touch. However, if I know they don’t mind, I’m very physically affection. Holding hands, hugs, all that sugary sweet things people do I like as long as I know they don’t mind.

Are they the friendly sort or do they prefer to let others start off interactions with them?

I let others come to me. I’m not very confident in my people skills so I never seek interactions out right away.

Does your muse have any sort of verbal tics or impediments?

I have a bad habit of saying legit, like, uh and apparently. I sometimes do stutter when I’m nervous but usually only at the start of the sentence.

Is your muse apt to stab someone in the back in any way? If so, would they admit to doing so or would they lie to cover it up?

Not really. I’m pretty loyal but I could see myself maybe doing it accidentally. If that was the case, I’d probably admit it.

How devoted are they to their loved ones? Would this devotion delve into the obsessive side?

I am very devoted but not at all obsessive.

What sorts of things would they be willing to do for friends? For family? For their significant other(s)?

Just about anything. Those are the people I love the most so of course I’d do anything for them.

Are their nights plagued with past memories or nightmares in general? What do they usually entail if so?

Dreams in general are very rare for me to remember. However, on the off chance I am having a nightmare, it’s always going to be something about a very gory or dangerous situation. I don’t have nightmares about monsters but about horrible real life things happening to me.

How do they usually sleep, in what position? Do they like plenty of pillows, blankets and/or plush toys?

I usually sleep on my stomach but will wake up on my side or back. I only really need one blanket and of course, I have Pooh.

Are they adept at using technology of any kind or do they typically need help with it?

I’m pretty good with most technology. Just don’t try to get me to figure out the lights for boy’s show. So many buttons. So many lights. I just can’t. I’m also not very good with cars. I can drive one but lord forbid I ever break down or get a flat tire.

Is your muse good with their hands, or do they tend to be fairly clumsy?

I am good with my hands in the sense that their steady and I can draw very basic things. I can be a bit mildly clumsy though. I drop shit all the time.

Do they prefer to think ahead or to leap right in and wing things?

Think head. I’d plan out everything if I could.

What kinds of things inspire your muse and does your muse tend to inspire others?

I’m inspired a lot because of the people in my life. I’m inspired a lot by the boys music. I’m really inspired by movies and plays. I suppose I technically inspire people? I’m not sure why but I’ve had songs written about me and I’m honored. If I had any talent I’d make something for them.

Does your muse think they’re mentally or physically strong?

I’m mentally somewhat strong. I think I’m capable in that aspect but physically strong, no way. Freddie’s helped me learn about about physical strength but just the basics.

Do they believe in luck? If so, would they consider themselves lucky or unlucky?

100%. It happens alll the time. People can work their entires lives at their dreams and simply never get anywhere unless they are magically seen by the right people. That takes luck.

If they had the opportunity, would they prefer to know what’s going to happen in the future or not? Why?

No. It’d give me way to much anxiety and that is saying a lot because not knowing freaks me out too.

How strongly do they listen to their intuition? Is their intuition usually correct or incorrect?

I think I listen to it 100%. Thankfully, it’s never led me wrong. I got a tarot reading once and they said one of my strongest capabilities was my intuition..

What kind of things get them frazzled or anxious? Do they tend to handle them well or get swept up in the moment?

Having too much work and too little time to do it, crowds in tight spaces, loud music and bustling people. Sometimes, I can handle all of these pretty well. Other times, I’ll get very anxious and start crying just because I’m overwhelmed.

Are there are any items they own that have sentimental value to them?

Pooh has sentimental value to me. I didn’t get him at a young age, but I did have a sentimental attachment to the character from the books. I’ve also got Cinderella snowglobe that I got as a kid. I don’t even like the character too much but it’s such a nice snowglobe and plays such a nice song that I never gave it away. I also keep movie tickets. I keep them in jar. I really don’t know why but it’s become important to me.

What kind of clothing and accessories do they prefer to wear? Are there are any particular reasons outside of general comfort that they like wearing these?

I prefer to be comfortable for the most part unless the occasion calls for something else. I stick to jeans, t shirts, leather jackets, nothing really extravagant. I’ll happily dress up for a party and I don’t really mind dressing up for business meetings either but I’ll always prefer comfortable clothes.

Can they withstand manual labor? Do they avoid manual labor as much as possible, and if so, why?

I can do it but I fucking it. I’ll avoid it but eventually I’ll force myself to do it.

How good is their memory? Has it always been like this or did something happen to make it this way?

I think it used to be good but as it’s gotten older, it’s not that great. I think that’s common though.

Are they sickly or get sick often?

I think I get sick easy. I’m not sure why either. Usually after being around a ton of people, I always end up having some type of cold. It’s annoying.

What sort of medication, if any do they have to take, if any? Do they refuse to take it, forget to take it, or do they prefer to keep on it?

I don’t really have any and I’m thankful for it.

What kind of textures (e.g. silky, rough, slick, etc) do they prefer?

I’m not really picky when it comes to clothing texture. I would prefer it to feel comfortable and soft but it doesn’t have to. The only thing I hate is when cotton t-shirts feel really thick and dry if that makes sense.

How ambitious is your muse and what are their current goals? To what ends will they go to to make those wishes a reality?

I’m pretty ambitious but I try to make sure whatever goals I have are reachable ones. But at this point in my life, I’m really happy where I am and don’t really have any goals other than do more creative things when I can.

How well do they manage their money?

Pretty good for the most part but if I’m ever around Freddie or Elton, I’m in trouble and will spend far too much.

What sorts of things bring your muse comfort in trying times? Are there any habits they have when things get difficult to help cope?

Candles, ice cream, bubble baths, tv and Pooh.

Are they pessimistic, optimistic or somewhere in the middle? Was there anything that happened to them in their life that caused them to think in this way?

I’m pessimistic when it comes to myself but optimistic for other people. But if it’s about me, I automatically assume the worst will happen. It’s just always been that way.

Is your muse the creative type in any way? How do they usually express their creativity?

I’m pretty creative. I love writing, acting and stuff to do with film making. I usually expres my creative with writing though.

Do they have any sort of outlet they use as a means to cope (e.g. writing, drawing, playing music, etc.)? How’d they get into it if they do?

Writing for sure. When I’ve been really upset, I’ll write my feelings out to try to understand them in the moment and later.

Do they have anything that they have natural talent in? If so do they enjoy doing it or is it something they tend to forget about?

Acting, I suppose? That was something no one ever really taught me to do.

Are they a passionate person or do they tend to be more down-to-earth?

I’m passionate depending on the topic. But for the most part, I’m down-to-earth.

Are they the sort to wear their heart on the sleeve? If not, why?

In a way. I can’t control my emotions for the most part and usually if I’m upset or angry it pokes through. But when it comes to eagerly accepting love, no. One bad experience sort of made me hesitant to wear my heart on my sleeve.

Are they able to multi-task or do they prefer to keep at one thing at a time?

One thing at a time. I can multi-task but I understand everything a lot better if I can fully focus on one thing.

How big is their imagination? Do they tend to share these ideas or keep them to themselves?

I have a pretty big imagination but I keep it to myself unless I know someone really wants to hear what ideas I have.

Do they tend to get lost in their own thoughts/daydreams?

I can if things are dreadfully boring. But I can usually force myself to remain focused.

[roseamongroses]

W.A.L: “The Last Supper” (27) (i)

s u m m a r y

Eden was the lowest of the low, a monster, hardly human, and was set to be executed. Roman was on trial, perpetually stuck in time until it was time to atone for his families sins.Neither cared much for staying trapped.So when a Stranger offered freedom, offered peace, offered power, it was hard to say no.Even if it put them on the wrong side of history.

v i b e s

time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

w a r n i n g s

Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries,  Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing, some  dissociation

c h a r a c t e r s

Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani, Elliot, Kai, Lauren, Dot

Ship: Roceit

1) (2)   (3)  (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

(12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17)

---

Janus spent his break relearning.

He relearned what it felt like to rest.

He ignored the sun’s rise, feeling his body’s relief. He relearned how it felt for his muscles to be simply sore without the adrenaline of training clouding his senses. He relished in the sluggishness of the early morning, Roman curled at his side, only really waking up when hearing their rough, sleep heavy voice.

He spent his break patient. He listened to the brats argue until Mrs. Sanders kicked them outside so she could do her accounting in peace. He listened to the babble of Roman’s sisters as they bossed and questioned him with seemingly no qualms about what might or might not be seen as rude.

They apparently didn’t like calling him Deceit and had taken a liking to refer to him as Mr. Snake, which also spurred a number of inside jokes that he didn’t understand--including calling him slimy. Janus had to stop himself more than once from just telling them his actual name just to stop that nonsense.

He spent his break...well catching up with Roman.

Janus hadn’t realized how often they would have to stop or avoid talking about certain things because something would always come up. Janus generally had to train the brats while Roman had to watch his sisters and help out around the house. Even when they had free time, The Stranger's traning had gotten more exhausting, leaving Janus mentally and physically checked out most of the time. Roman, despite his medication helping with his physical ability to withstand his magic, still had nausea, fatigue, and anxiety attacks-- sometimes getting to the point where they couldn't take care of his sisters much less spend time with Janus.

But for once… all of that wasn’t stopping them, as if for a brief moment the universe let them breathe.

So Janus was patient when Roman was describing his boundaries, as Roman described the myriad of peculiar or dangerous things that had happened when he decided to get intimate before. And in turn, Janus did the same.

And on his last day of his break, he spent his time relearning Roman’s body.

---

Janus knew he would have to leave soon, yet he found himself lingering.

Roman curled into him, their transparent wings twitching every so often--still overly sensitive from being touched. The blankets cradling their smooth expanse of skin, just barely hiding the trail of pink flowers dotting around their legs and disappearing between their thighs.

Janus knew he had to leave, but before he did he wanted to do literally anything else. So he sat up slowly scooping up and slipping on his discarded clothes, feeling the moon’s glare on his neck and Roman’s faint touches on his skin. He had to leave.

He stood, forcing himself not to look back, but the bed creaked causing Roman to stir.

Hearing their intelligible voice, Janus caved.

Roman had kicked off the blankets, face scrunched up as he pawed at the empty space beside them. Janus sighed, pulling the covers back onto him, and before he could think he found himself pressing a kiss to their forehead.

Pulling away, his breath caught, “You’re awake,”

Roman opened his eyes, a small frown on their face, “You were leaving,”

“I have to get back to training,” Janus explained, soft. And even though he knew that it was the truth, it felt as heavy as a lie, “I’ll be back in about a week,”

Somehow Roman’s frown got deeper, “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he said sitting up, the blanket pooling around his waist.

“If I did I wouldn’t have been able to leave,” Janus admitted.

“Then don’t.”

“I,” Janus’s mind blanked. That sounded too easy when Roman said it, “I can’t do that,” he said, “I have to Roman. I made a deal. Without The Stranger I’d probably be in jail somewhere rotting away or dead,”

Roman tilted his head at the new information, “And how did you end up there?”

“Alle-” Janus froze. Instead of the village people’s stare as he stumbled through town half dazed and still covered in blood. Instead of Eden’s mangled and beastly body dissapearing into the woods--Instead of Virgil being swept way in the river, all he could think of was--

Blue eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Janus gritted, suddenly angry, “I have to leave,”

Roman hugged his arms, “You….You don’t have to do anything,” he said, “I get that you have a deal but...this is too much. Every time you leave with him you come back worse. I…”

“That’s easy for you to say, “Janus inhaled, “Roman even after your life went to shit, you still managed to get everyone you cared for back. You still had people who cared. I don’t have that, and I won’t as long as I’m like this. If I have to suffer a bit to get it then…”

Roman’s face looked shattered, “...I care about you,” he sniffed, wiping his face.

“...I know,” Janus swallowed, “It’s just, “I’m not en--”

“Don’t,” Roman’s teary eyes narrowed, fist balling at his sides, “If you weren’t enough I sure as fuck would not have gotten into a relationship with you. And even if you were that doesn’t mean you’re less deserving of love,”

“I’m not looking for…” Janus blinked hard, “ I’m not looking for love. I’m becoming more,” he said, voice not quite his own.

“Please…. don’t leave.”

Somehow he found his body moving towards the door, the doorknob burning underneath his hand, “I’ll be back in a week,” he murmured bile rising in his throat as he left, Roman’s pleas distant in his ear.

Everything was distant.

It was only when he was standing outside of the door did a foggy thought drift into his head that he didn’t want to leave.

Janus didn’t want to do this. He wanted to turn back around and ignore every promise, every deal he’s ever made. He didn’t want to keep becoming he just wanted to be. Be alive, be loved, even if that life felt like shit sometimes, he was so desperate to make it better because for once that life was his.

It was only when his world went black did he realize that he didn’t have a choice anymore.

---

It had been about a week and you could say that Roman was still upset.

He didn’t mention Janus’s absence and continued on with his new life. He played and cared for his younger sisters and let the brats do whatever they want. He laughed when he was supposed to laugh and avoided Lauren’s careful prodding with the ease expected from a practiced liar. You wouldn’t even have noticed the faint trail of ashes that tended to follow him or how he spent a bit too long in the shower.

So you could say he was still upset, but ultimately he was fine. He was functional and sometimes functional was enough. This was…

Roman shut the door, leaning against it with his eyes shut tight as he inhaled sharply. He swallowed thick, feeling that all familiar panic seize him with every breath. It wasn’t that he couldn’t focus on calming down, but there was so much to focus on. The way raindroplets sliding down the bedroom window, how tree branches rattled outside, the constant fucking whirring of technology everywhere, and heartbeats--so many heartbeats but none of them Janu--

Roman opened his eyes startled, “Dot?” he rasped, staring into the darkness head of him, “When did you get ou-- how?”

Dot sat on the bed, legs crossed--only the faint reflecting of her unblinking eyes visible. Otherwise, her glimmering skin seemed to lay hushed in the shadows. “Dear, have you been taking your medication?”

Roman bit his lip, “Yes, but that doesn’t--”

“All of it?”

“U-Yes?”

Dot made an odd sound comparable to an exhale, but it felt like reluctance, “It would seem that Sanders should be stable enough,” she echoed to herself. Her wings drooped uncharacteristically low as she stood up, “I guess I’m not killing that man after all,”

Roman became distinctly aware of another presence in the room, one without heartbeat or shape, “What’s going on?” he demanded fumbling with the door behind him, flinching when instead of the door handle he felt the hands of The Guard wrap around his arm, feeling both tight yet nonexistent as they restrained him.

Roman struggled, air turning into ice as The Guard lifted him up, “Let me go,” he snarled, feeling the house shake as he forced the distant storm to wrap around the house.

The Guard’s laugh was booming, not terribly phased, “Oh he is an Heir,” he said, somehow holding Roman up higher, “He’s so cute, are you sure we can’t keep him?”

Dot shook her head, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders tighter as she flipped out a phone, “Larry, he’s not a toy,” Larry made a whimpering sound and Dot made a chirping one in return, “I did try, but He was rather adamant about keeping the pair together,” she frowned as the windows burst open. A blackened branch crashing inside with a deathly ease, “I wouldn’t advise that dear,” Dot said, sidestepping it's initial strike, “He did give us a beta version of the curse to use if you became difficult,”

“Like I give a damn,” Roman choked, only increasing his struggling, “I’ve gotten out of it before,”

Dot hummed, phone still at her ear, “But your father didn’t,” she commented, “Nor did your brother,” at that Roman spat at her, “And they were very powerful men, though not terribly creative like you are. Power can only get you so far after all,”

“Is there a point to this?” Roman scoffed.

“Still so impatient,” Dot tutted, approaching Roman with the casualty you usually do not expect from someone inches away from being crushed to death, “But the point is if some very powerful Sanders can’t physically handle the curse, what do you think would happen to humans? Especially with something as volatile as a beta version of the curse?”

And like that, the tree was gone,.

Roman’s panic had only surged, “You wouldn’t,”

“I don’t want to, but I’d have to,” Dot corrected, softly patting Roman’s face, “Please don’t make this any more difficult, darling. I’d love to see you in one piece after this,”

Roman jerked his face away, blinking back his tears, “Fuck off,”

Aleseners didn’t emote like humans did, but for a brief moment Dot looked pained.

And in the next moment the world went white.

---

A nameless shifter wakes up, hot metal pressed tight around their wrists and mouth bound with an unwashed rag. Their skin was slick, an uncomfortable heat lingering around their form. Their eyes throbbed with a clear, burning ooze still dripping from them.

A breeze blew through the air even though there wasn’t a window in sight.

They looked up, seeing the same Stranger from before.

It was time to try again.

[tigerrobot]

This one will leave you howling

Ritual magic is alive. Battle magic, like what I normally use, is more like a thing, a tool. A fireball or a lightning bolt or a burst of air, that's just taking things and shaping them, borrowing energy from the elemental planes and manifesting it in our world. Ritual magic can do anything from track someone down to raising the dead if you are so inclined.

Casting battle magic requires only words. In my case, they are in the form of runes tattooed onto my skin. This serves many purposes. If you write the words down on paper, infuse them with power when you do, you create a scroll. But paper is weak and will be destroyed by the release of the power. Others memorize the magic from books but, like paper, memory is thin. Once used, the memory is changed forever, your mind cannot recall it in exactly the same way, effectively destroying the spell. It was actually a wizard that put forward that very idea to psychology papers. Skin is more malleable, more durable. My tattoos can be re-used as often as I need to, provided my body can withstand the forces trying to escape.

When I cast a fire-bolt, it is the same every time. I could cast it at the same surface a thousand times and it would explode in the exactly same way each time. Ritual magic is never the same twice. Use the exact same focus, the same subject, the same kind of ritual, and during the ride it will be different. I say 'during the ride' because that is the easiest way to describe how it works. You ride a ritual. The better your handle on the spell, the easier it is to hold on. Some spells are just too big for 1 person and you need help staying on.

And then, some rituals are so delicate that any more than 1 person could cause minor fluctuations that would send the whole thing spinning out of control.

"So, Pen... Umm. I've got something to tell you and, at the same time, I need to ask for your help." Benny was looking at the ground, which was definitely out of the ordinary for a guy who was pretty popular. Benny was 6'1" at 16, funny, and probably the nicest guy you'd ever meet. He genuinely cared about other people and always went out of his way to make me feel welcome and included.

"Yeah, of course Benny, what's up?" I was worried for him immediately. This timidity was strange.

He looked up at me, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. "I like Amelia. Would you be able to help me ask her out?" I scoffed. Every guy in the school like Amelia. I swear, if I charged every guy who asked me to hook them up with her, I'd be able to retire by the time I left High School. I could only imagine how much worse it would get when we got to college.

I laughed and his smile faded. "Seriously, Benny, really? You are basically the most popular, out-going, and self-confident guy in school. You can ask her out yourself!" I shook my head. I didn't say it harshly or anything. I understood why everyone wanted Ames, aside from her being beautiful, she was smart, nice, and didn't take people's shit. That drew a lot of attention, like a flame. And, like a flame, most people couldn't stand close to it for long.

"But... She listens to you! And, if she tells you she's not interested then, like, it'll be easier for you to tell me, right?" This got me upset. This jackass was asking me to do all of the emotional labour of him asking out my best friend.

"Benny, get fucked." I laughed at him again and shook my head once more. "Man, you are a king to most of the school already. Nobody is going to think less of you if she shoots you down. Some advice? Just ask her out for a piece of pizza and ice cream. Then you can talk to her a little less publicly. Cool?"

He nodded, a little dejected, and shuffled away. I rolled my eyes. I had no idea why guys get all unsure and pathetic when they wanna ask a girl out. Being vulnerable isn't less 'manly' or anything like that. Surprise, most chicks like a guy who can be confident and vulnerable at the same time. I didn't realize this fact until the first time I asked a girl out when I was 16, about 8 months after this tale, but even when I was 15 I didn't understand the fear. There was a lot of other things to be afraid of.

I was leaning against my locker, waiting for Ames to get out of class and listening to my 90s play list, before Benny walked up to me. I slipped my headphones back on and closed my eyes. Another song and a half went by when Amelia shoulder checked me, lightly driving me into the locker. I grabbed her and spun, pinning her against the locker and stepped back.

"You might be the academic champion of the world, but you ain't got nothing on me." I smirked at her as I let my headphones drop back to hanging around my neck. I shouldn't have. She grabbed my arm and spun me back into the locker, I tried to resist but she had gotten stronger since starting jujitsu classes.

"Come on, you've got your magic thing, I've got everything else. That's what makes us a great team!" Then she booped my nose and pushed me out of the way so she could get into her locker. Sometimes she was just too damned cute.

"So, what's up tonight? And why weren't you in class?" She put her books away and then crossed her arms, looking at me with a critical gaze, one that would have made the headmasters of old proud.

"History? Yeah, no. If I have to sit through another class talking about how great Christopher Columbus was I might be physically ill. Why do we still use textbooks from the 80s?" We both laughed and then sighed in resignation of how bad it got sometimes. I didn't consider myself anywhere near the academic that Amelia was but even I had read a new history book or two. Part of learning magic was to learn where this power comes from. And that involved a lot of reading about the true history of the world. So history class was one place I couldn't really stand.

"As for tonight, Lance asked for my help with something. Wanna come along?" Lance was a friend who had started being nice to me to get closer to Amelia before realizing we actually had more stuff in common and became friends ourselves. I didn't begrudge Lance for it, everyone wanted to be friends with Amelia, though how I came off as more approachable I'll never know. People are weird.

"Yeah, sure, it's been awhile since we hung out. I'd like to see what they're up to." Lance was non-binary, preferring they and their. Some people gave them a hard time about it but, thanks to the internet, it was becoming easier for Lance to be themselves. Having friends who would call those people out when they were shitty to them helped too.

Ames grabbed the books she'd need for her evenings unnecessary homework and we walked out together. The bus ride home usually sucked but if we got to it early enough we could snag the back seats and then at least nobody threw shit at the back of my head. Today we got lucky and just chatted about various school stuff until we got to my place.

I'd agreed to meet with Lance after dinner. Dad made a giant salad for all of us and we headed over to Lance's parents' place after eating. The lights were out on the main floor but the back porch light was on so we went around and Lance let us in. Their parents were out of town for the week and it seemed like Lance didn't want to run up the electricity bill because none of the lights were on. They led us down to the basement and Amelia and I froze.

In the center of the floor was a giant ring, made with what looked like glitter. "Uh, Lance, buddy... What the hell?" I looked up at them and they immediately looked away from me.

"Yeah, so, um... I..." Lance seemed to be struggling to find the words. Lance was never uncomfortable around me but people being awkward around me seemed to be the norm today.

"Come on, spit it out. You know whatever it is, we got this." I tried to sound encouraging, Amelia nodded along with me and added her own "Yeah, we're friends, you can tell us."

"I need your help with controlling myself. It's a full moon tonight and it's hardest during a full moon." Now they looked up at us and I noticed the small change. Their nostrils were flared and their eyes had a slight yellow tinge to them. "That ring is made with silver shavings. I shouldn't be able to pass it if my research is right. I hope that'll give you time to do... well, what you do."

"Whoa..." I took a step toward them. "Lance, are you saying you're a werewolf?!" It came out a little more aggressive than I was hoping and Lance flinched.

"Yeah, Pen. Happened a couple months ago. My parents know and they helped me last month with it but we knew we needed a more permanent solution and then... I'm sorry, I told them about you." Lance looked away again.

I walked over to them and pulled their chin up, so that I could look them in the eyes. "Hey, we can talk about sharing my secrets another time. We've got something WAY more important to deal with right now. Get in the circle, it's getting dark."

I hadn't met a werewolf before, though part of my education had been learning about them. The silver circle probably wouldn't do much so I planned on using a sleep spell and then working from there. I knew I couldn't cure them, but I did know that 'weres' could learn to control the change, and even control themselves when in that form. I just had to reach Lance's personality and pull it up while their body was a wolf.

Mental rituals were probably my least favourite. It was almost impossible to plan for, since everyone thinks differently and you never knew what you were going to get when you dove in. Normally, I tried to control as many variables as I could, hence the tattoos so I was ready for any battle.

I sat down outside of the circle and started casting the sleep spell, pulling in the energy for it, wrapping Lance up in a soft, warm blanket of power. Amelia came and sat beside me. She put her head on my shoulder, lending me whatever of her strength I needed. Some people were served as conduits, some as vessels, and some as batteries. Amelia was one hell of a battery. She nearly doubled my own reserves of power and, while I didn't like borrowing it from her, it was always good to know it was there if I did need it.

At this point I was only half using my physical senses, I felt Lance change by the way it shifted the energy I had wrapped around them. That's when I released the power and the spell completed, gently pull them down into a slumber so deep, the massive wolf was practically snoring.

Now the fun would begin. Being in the same room as the wolf made it easy to connect to it's mind. No special focus or tie to it was needed to find the right pathways and I slipped right in.

As of now, Lance's mind was a mess. If I had waited a little longer it would be simpler, the mind of a wolf, but that would have made it much more difficult to dive in and find our Lance. Now, it was like trying to surf when you've never even stood up on a skateboard. Keeping my balance was nearly impossible and I was faintly aware of Amelia holding me upright. I let the remaining ties to my own mind slip away and got lost in the chaos of a half-wolf, half-human brain.

The first thing I needed to do would be to find a memory. With Lance's mind fractured like it was now, there would be two sets. If I could find a human memory, it could follow that thread to the rest of Lance's consciousness, or so I hoped. Images flashed by like photographs as I tumbled around. A stray thought slammed into me and sent me spinning. Images of running in the woods outside of town invaded my own thoughts as Lance's mind tried to assimilate me. When it realized I wasn't a memory to be filed away, it would start trying to reject me. The mind, human or animal, was an amazingly powerful thing and if it was already starting to hone in on me, it was time to get moving.

With Lance's wolf side only being a few months old, it limited the amount of memories I needed to trudge through before deeper memories surfaced. This was the biggest reason I hated being in someone else's head. Every memory Lance had formed swirled around me. Had I wanted to, I could have looked into how Lance perceived every interaction they and I had ever had. Fortunately, all I needed to do was pull these memories forward now, make Lance remember they were a person, not a wolf.

The best way to describe it is a mental lasso. I focused my mind on as many of Lance's memories as I could, trying not to commit them to my own memory but to simply let them exist in front of me. Then I pulled with all my strength back toward my own body. This was where things got dangerous. This is how you steal someone's thoughts. Essentially that was exactly what I was trying to do. When the mind splits like it does in a 'were', the 2 parts often become separate. That's why werewolves never remember what they did the next day, it wasn't actually them doing it. I needed to steal the memories from Lance's mind, give them to the wolf mind, and create a bridge between the two. You know, kid's stuff.

The wolf was gaining power and I could feel the mental connection I had beginning to weaken. The flip side of this, was, if the magic tether snapped or was broken, I could get lost in Lance's mind. While this wouldn't kill me, my body wouldn't have a mind left to control it. And I was certain Lance didn't want another permanent house guest in their head.

Lance's wolf mind became like a torrent, thoughts ripping at me like ice and hail in a storm. At first it merely stung. Then the thoughts hardened, becoming more aware of my intrusion. Instead of a passive defense against invaders, the wolf was now trying to expel me. I knew I was getting closer to the exit, the bomb of Lance's memories were still trailing behind me but not yet deep enough into the wolf mind to start the reaction. Plus, I still had to build the bridge between the 2.

I began folding power into the tether. It was the most important thing. Even if I couldn't merge the 2 minds, I needed to be able to get out. Lance would understand if I failed. I knew they'd be pissed if I got myself lost doing this. And mostly they'd be mad at themselves. An angry wolf could do some serious damage.

The thoughts, like steel, tore at my mental projection and I vaguely felt the damage it was doing to my physical body. The projection instinctively tapped the back of my right hand, where the rune for my shield spell normally was. But, in the mind of Wolf-Lance, that spell wouldn't work. It took a long time before I learn proper mental combat. Fear crept up my spine as I began thinking I was in over my head.

I dropped my hold on the bundle of memories I had been dragging along and chaos erupted. Instead of a slow, steady merging there was a tornado. At this point, there was nothing else I could do and, as I was battered and thrown about, I knew I had to get out. As though sensing this, a sharp memory sliced across the tether, the magic threatening to break down. I redoubled my effects but it wasn't enough as another attack against the tether caused it to sever. I watched as it slipped away from me, the other end retreating back through the portal that would lead me home.

Panic overtook me, and I pulled in every ounce of power I had. All I could think to do was close the distance, I couldn't let that portal close, I couldn't lost sight of it. I was always closest to fire, and that's what I envisioned. My projection burst into flame, every memory that touched it instantly disintegrated, and I flew into motion, racing toward the closing gateway. The thoughts and memories pulled away, which I would later realize was a good thing for more reasons than just my own safety. I hit my own body like a sack of bricks, snapping to consciousness roughly and falling over. Amelia was over me, crying my name, tears running down her cheeks.

When I was able to focus again, I noticed her fretting over me. When I looked down, the pain hit as my eyes saw the thousands of tiny cuts and the bloody mess of my shirt and jeans. I could already feel the wounds stitching themselves back together as my magic set about correcting the mistake my mind had made but this outfit was ruined. Amelia hugged me, muttering something about me being an idiot while hugging me tighter. It was then that I noticed the wolf in the circle had begun to change back into the form of Lance.

In an awkward moment, can confirm that the clothing does not go with the change, as Lance was left trying to cover themselves. I broke the circle and they grabbed some clothes from the nearby dryer, the ones they were wearing now shredded and all over the floor.

We discovered that a few memories were lost in my panicked flight. The first time Lance ever swam in the public pool, which was when they had first realized they loved water, was the most notable memory lost. Lance shrugged it off but it obviously hurt them.

During the next full moon, I stayed with them. They had to focus intensely at first to stop the change from coming on but it appeared the ritual was successful. After that came bringing on the change by decision. Then controlling the actions of the wolf. All in all, it took about 3 months before they were comfortable not being locked in the basement during a full moon but it was about 5 months before I had those 3 nights a month back to myself again. I was more than happy to help, especially knowing that I now had a bad-ass werewolf buddy to call on if I needed it.