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buckyalpine · 2 years

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Safe part 1

18+ minors dni

Bucky x f reader

I loved this request, it started getting long so I’m going to split this into more than 1 part. This is going to start off angsty because I wanted to dedicate a proper chapter for the smut, I promise its coming!

Warnings: Angst (some violence), fluff!!! eventual smut, stay tuned

Word count: 4.5k (see why I had to break this up, shit was going to be as long as the hunger games)

“Are you sure you want to do this, they’re dangerous Buck, we don’t have any information on them aside from how many people they’ve killed, the numbers are probably higher”

Steve watched Bucky pace around the room, hesitant to let his best friend join. The mission required whole team; to infiltrate and destroy a Hydra base that was presumed inactive. Hydra had a new assassin, far deadlier than the others. They didn’t use strength; they moved in silence like a ghost, hitting their targets in one shot and then disappearing.

Tony huffed in frustration over the limited information they were given from Fury. After months of tracking, they only had the coordinates of where the base was located, but even that was a long shot.

“I know Hydra better than anyone” Bucky shook his head, understanding the team’s worries about letting him join but he wasn’t going to let the chance go by. People already suffered at the hands of the Winter Soldier, he wouldn’t let that happen again. “Their words don’t work on me anymore, I’ll be fine”

“We don’t know what we’re up against” Tony swallowed thickly; it was rare they went in with such limited information, but they were under pressure, whoever hydra had sent out was moving quickly and world leaders would be their next target.

“I’m going”

*****

On the surface, the base was nothing but an abandoned building. Everything was underground, running in mazes, with guards in every hall. Bucky didn’t hold back, swiftly snapping necks, with just one goal in mind. To end whatever Hydra had started. Bucky left a trail of bodies as he made his way down the hall towards the doors of the lab. A single hydra agent stood, wiping fresh blood off his hands.

“Welcome soldat, we were waiting for your return” The man sneered, “желание-”

“Where are they” Bucky growled, his metal hand wrapping around the man’s neck, dangling him in the air. He gave Bucky a sickly grin while gasping for air.

“Ah, s-so you’ve heard. Our beautiful new assassin. Th-they are unst-stopable” His hands clawed at Bucky’s arm as he continued to cough. Bucky didn’t come in with the intentions of negotiating an answer, continuing to crush his neck in his hand. The man gasped the last bit of air before collapsing to the floor. “H-hail Hydra”

Bucky walked over his body, towards the locked restricted doors at the back of the lab. He managed to kick through the door, entering the dark hall way with cyro chambers and cells. He made his way down, each cell empty except for the last one.

Asset 0553- Female

Trained sniper, unenhanced

Serum – X

You were curled up in a corner of your cell, your hands and feet chained to the wall. Your body had similar burns to what he had when they used to wipe his mind. You trembled with your head tucked between your knees, shivering in nothing but your underwear, fresh gashes on the sides of your torso.

You had just been punished.

Bucky stepped back for a moment, his mind spinning. The team had been sent with the intention to kill you; unsure of what they was up against, expecting another Hydra fanatic desperate to continue the legacy. You had been taken to be used as an asset; you didn’t ask to be here. You had been tortured and trained just like him. He couldn’t hurt you.

*****

You squeezed your eyes shut the moment you hear the doors burst open, retreating to the corner of your cell. You could hear the footsteps approaching you but they were different from your handler. You didn’t dare look up, shielding yourself as best as you could with your arms wrapped around your body. You freeze when pair of hands gently touches you, one warm, the other cold. They pry open the shackles locked around your ankles. Was it him? You had heard of such a man before. The man with the metal arm. The Winter Soldier, Hydra’s greatest asset and loss. You keep your face hidden, pulling your hands away but he catches them, holding your wrists gently but firmly, freeing you from your chains.

“I’m not going to hurt you” His voice is soft, sincere, but you can’t trust him. You couldn’t trust anyone. Not even yourself. You continue to hide away, pain radiating through your body from when you disobeyed your orders. You’re too weak to fight; punishments leave you drained, teetering so close to death. You can hear him unzip his jacket, suddenly surrounded by warmth when he covers you with it.

“I’m getting you out of here, they won’t hurt you anymore”

He lifts you in his arms, cradling your body to his. You don’t dare to utter a word, your muscles rigid from fear. His body is warm. Comforting. You don’t relax in his hold, keeping your face tucked away as he takes long strides, carrying you out of your prison.

*****

Bucky ran down the hall, careful not to startle you. You were weak, he couldn’t even imagine what your frail body had gone though. He remembered the torture. The pain. He had the serum and it still nearly killed him each time. You didn’t. The static of his com started to crackle, with Tony’s urgent voice coming through.

“We couldn’t locate the target on our end, the place is set to blow in 1 minute, everybody get out”

He spotted Steve rounding the corner, his friend’s eyes growing wide seeing you in Bucky’s arms.

“What-

“No time, let’s go” Bucky carried you in his arms, running to the Jet where everyone else waited. They froze seeing you but there wasn’t time for questions. They had to leave before the base was destroyed. Once the jet was safely in the clear, everyone’s eyes were on Bucky.

“Is that…” Tony looked at you wide eyed. They had spent months tracking a deadly silent killer and there you were, tucked in Bucky’s arms, fast asleep from exhaustion. You hadn’t slept in weeks. Bucky wordlessly nodded, refusing to let you go. He knew no one would try and hurt you but he was thrown back to the times where he couldn’t trust anyone. Nat handed Bucky a blanket to cover the rest of your body. He held onto to you for the entire time until the jet landed. He hated it but he knew what would happen next.

“We don’t have a choice” Tony and Steve looked at Bucky sympathetically as he clung onto you. Bucky felt like he’d swallowed cotton, seeing you locked up in the compound cell. He understood why, but it hurt him nonetheless. You trembled, looking down at your feet, having no idea where you were.

“How can we trust her” Fury wasn’t happy with the idea of letting you stay at the compound with the others. SHIELD was hell bent on sending you to the Raft.

“She didn’t do anything willingly…I- Bucky swallowed thickly thinking about all the things he had been forced to do, when he didn’t have control over his own mind. “They force people to do things, none of that was her”

“She’s still dangerous”

“SHES NOT DANGEROUS” Bucky’s chest heaved, his voice booming against the walls, as he glared at Fury.

Fury was about to argue again before Steve and Tony cut in.

“Let her stay here, if she’s actually dangerous then you can take her”

“You don’t make the rules Captain-

“She stays here. We’ll inform you IF there’s a problem”

“That’s a very big if Stark. Should anything happen because of her, you’ll all be collectively held responsible”

*****

The man with the metal arm approached your cell. You could tell by the sounds of his footsteps. The cuffs clicked open but you didn’t move, your eyes trained on your feet. You froze as he kneeled in front of you, gently taking your hands in his. You flinched initially, relaxing a little when he softy rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles.

“I’m sorry we had to lock you. We didn’t want you sent away, you’ll be safe here”

He spoke softly. He sounded kind but you remained silent. If you spoke out of turn you’d be punished. Bucky swallowed thickly, knowing exactly why you hadn’t said anything since they brought you.

“You can speak here. No one will hurt you”

Silence.

“My name is James. You can call me Bucky” Your lip twitched involuntarily. Bucky. It sounded so…cute.

He squeezed your hand gently, still kneeling in front of you. No one had ever touched you so softly before. You finally looked up at him, a soft gasp escaping from your lips. He was so…handsome. He had kind eyes, ones that you would easily get lost in. He didn’t have the same long hair you had seen from the training videos. His arm was different; it was no longer silver. It was dark gray and gold. A light stubble covered his cheeks, softly smiling at you. He was beautiful.

Bucky felt his heart break when you looked at him. Your eyes were so soft. Scared. Innocent. Lost. You had faint permanent scars on your temples, from where your mind had been wiped a hundred times over. Your wrists were bruised from the shackles in your cell. He would never let them or anyone hurt you again.

“I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you. Will you let me take you to your room?”

You nodded, lightly squeezing his hand instead of speaking. You gripped his hand tightly as he walked you down the empty hall, leading you through the compound. You held onto him tighter when you passed the others but they didn’t say anything. Bucky squeezed your hand reassuringly as he let you upstairs.

He wordlessly let you into your room; it was on the same floor as his and Steve. The room was warm, welcoming. You had everything you needed. But you couldn’t trust anyone. You didn’t even remember who you were.

*****

“From what we’ve been able to piece together so far, her name is y/f/n, y/l/n/. Born on (y/DOB), no records of family and there’s not much we know about her before Hydra. They held her captive for 5 years and she was actively used as an asset for 2”

The team sat around the conference room, having spent the last few hours looking through files they had recovered from the mission. All the records Hydra had on you had to do with your training and skill set.

“She wasn’t given the serum, and no trigger words so unlike Barnes, she’s not a super soldier. She is, however, a highly trained assassin and she moves like a ghost. They used different technology to get her to comply, but they used the same mind wiping torture they used on Bucky”

“She’s probably scared out of her mind right now” Nat sighed, thinking about the way you were curled up on Bucky’s lap, shivering even under his jacket and blanket.

Tony skimmed through a few videos, eventually closing the laptop because he couldn’t bear to look anymore. Steve squeezed Bucky shoulder, seeing his jaw clench. Bucky closed his eyes, his metal arm whirring when he thought of you. The team wouldn’t know the half of it; the extent Hydra would go through to keep their assets under their control. But he knew. He had suffered for decades.

*****

For the first few weeks you don’t speak to anyone. It was impossible to tell there was someone new living at the compound at all. You silently made your way around when everyone else was sleep, exploring the compound. You were still hesitant to let your guard down but you appreciated that fact that everyone gave you your space.

Usually Bucky or a tall man with blonde hair often left food at your door. At first you were hesitant but eventually you ate. You made sure to wash and clean your own plates once everyone was asleep. You hadn’t slept. You were trained to stay awake; unless someone else was on duty with you, you had to be on guard. You had only slept peacefully once. In his arms.

Bucky watched you carefully each night from the shadows, remaining out of sight so he wouldn’t startle you. He understood your need to stay hidden. You would bring your plate down and sit in the kitchen or curl up on the sofa. Occasionally you’d glance at the mugs, hesitating to make yourself something to drink. When you went down the next night, a cup of tea sat on the counter along with a plate of cookies that was normally never there. It was still steaming. Someone had just made it. A note sat beside it.

Tea bags are on the counter. Cookies are on the bottom shelf, take as many as you want, Sam made them

- JBB

You smiled to yourself, slowly sipping from your mug; it warmed you from the insides. The cookies were delicious and for the first time, you felt comfort. He’d thought of you. That night you tried to fall asleep. You couldn’t but for once, you were able to think about more than your surroundings. Y/N. You remembered your name. Bucky smiled the next morning when he saw there was one less cookie from the box; you’d felt comfortable enough to take more.

*****

You quietly made your way downstairs, surprised to see Bucky making something in the kitchen (hoping it wasn’t obvious he was secretly just waiting for you). You decided to sit instead or of running to your room, sipping your tea while he turned around, smiling softly at you.

“Thank you” You whispered, peeking up at him from your lashes. Whatever he was making smelled sweet, like home, as if you were being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Another faint memory.

“You’re welcome…doll” Bucky blushed, realizing you hadn’t told him your name. Doll suited you though. Your face lit up at the nickname, smiling into your cup.

“My name is y/n but…you can still call me doll” You giggled shyly, and he wanted to hear that sound leave your lips again and again. “W-what are you making?”

“Pancakes” He placed a few on a plate, drizzling syrup on top before sliding it over to you. “One of the few things I can remember from when my ma would make breakfast”

They were still warm and you nearly moaned at the taste, the fluffy goodness melting onto your mouth. You continued to eat while watching him pour the batter into perfect circles, waiting for it to bubble before turning it over.

“They’re delicious” You smiled, hesitantly standing beside him, watching curiously. He tried not to show it but Bucky’s heart was beating out of his chest. He understood how much it took for you to be talking to him, standing beside him, trying your best to open up.

“You want to try making one?” He smiled at you and even though you were nervous, you let him guide you to stand in front of him, his large frame behind you made you feel protected. You took the spoon, pouring batter like he did, letting it bubble before flipping.

“Like this?” You grinned looking up at him, proud of your first pancake.

“J-just like that” Bucky stuttered. You had the sweetest smile when you were happy. You handed him the spoon again, sitting on the counter while he continued to finish the last bit of batter.

“They taste really good”

Bucky chuckled, watching you nibble on a plain pancake; your eyes closed humming in satisfaction.

“Can’t remember how my ma’s pancakes used to taste but I remember loving them”

“Is it hard…to remember again?” Your eyes looked lost again, like the day that he found you. You wanted to remember but there were too many things that jumbled in your mind at once.

“Sometimes but not always, when I talk to someone or go places, I remember something or a memory will spark”

“Can-can you tell me more? About nice things you remember?” You weren’t ready to unscramble your own memories yet but being around Bucky and hearing him speak was comforting for you. Bucky was more than happy to tell you anything, he just wanted you to feel at home. He told you about Steve. How he loved to go dancing. About how he joined the war. His time at Hydra.

You couldn’t remember much but you told him about the memories you had. The training. The wipe outs. The punishments. At some point during the night, you’d both made your way over to the couch, listening to more about the things Bucky and Steve used to get up to, the way they still got up to mischief even now. He told you about everyone on the team, how they had become a family to him now. You were surprised to see the sun come up, having spent hours talking to Bucky, along with the now empty stack of pancakes.

“Thank you for talking to me”

Bucky could feel his cheeks heat up, watching you shyly fidget with your hands.

“Any time, doll”

You smiled, quickly making your way back to your room before the others came down. Over the next week, you still stayed hidden from others but if Bucky was around you relaxed, enjoying his stories from the 40’s, sipping on your tea or watching him make a midnight snack. So when he knocked on your door in the morning, asking if you’d join him for a walk, you agreed.

“Not a long walk doll, just to get some fresh air, do you want to join me? Please?” You nodded, your eyes darting to see if anyone else was around. He carefully took your hand in his, squeezing it gently to help ground you.

He brought you to the compound lake, finding a quiet spot under a tree overlooking the water. The sun warmed your skin. The air felt clean, fresh. For the first time you felt…free. Until you heard a rustle in the grass. Your vision focused, body tensed watching. He held your hand again, his thumb brushing on your knuckles like the first day he brought you here. You relaxed a little but your eyes didn’t move, focused on the movement that was nearing you.

Your eyes lit up seeing a tiny ball of fur speed across and into a bush, only watching a glimpse of its little white cotton tail before it disappeared.

“Is that a bunny?!” You squealed, looking at Bucky with wide eyes and that same smile that stopped his heart. He nodded, gazing at you while you peeked over, watching another bunny run across.

“I remembered something!” You blinked, biting your lip trying to focus on the distant fuzzy memory from when you were younger. “I-I think- You grasped Bucky’s hand in yours, tugging him to walk over to the bush”

“There used to be a park I played in. When I was little. There were bunnies, just like this!” You jumped on him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist hugging him tightly. “I was able to remember something!”

“I’m proud of you doll” Bucky wrapped his arms around you, rocking you gently when he felt you start to tremble, tears filling your eyes.

“I wish I could remember more” Your voice cracked, as you choked out a sob, over come with emotions as you tried to recall more but failed. Bucky held you close to his chest, softly stroking your hair and rubbing your back.

“Shhh, you will y/n” Bucky whispered, his lips pressing a soft kiss on your head, wiping some of your tears while you continued to sniffle, clinging onto him. “You’ll remember more, I promise it’ll get better”

You wordlessly nodded, keeping your arms wrapped around him, feeling yourself get lost in his strong arms holding you. You nuzzled your face against his chest, chasing his comfort and warmth, breathing in his scent, he smelled so good. You realized you’d been hugging him for a very long time, quickly (but very reluctantly) pulling away.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean- You bit your lip nervously, your body still trembling slightly. Bucky pulled you back in his arms, rocking you again.

“Don’t ever apologize. I’m always here if you ever need anything doll, always”

*****

The team had gathered down for breakfast by the time you both made your way back to the compound. Bucky held your hand in his, stopping before going to the kitchen when he saw you nervously biting your lip.

“You’re more than welcome to eat with everyone else doll, do you want to sit down today or shall I bring you something to your room?”

Everyone had been so understanding with you, giving you space and respecting your privacy. After Sam found out you liked the cookies, the container was always full and he made sure they stayed out so it’d be easy for you to find. Nat had left a basket filled with a fluffy robe, bubble bath and lotions. Tony had reinforced security around the tower in case anyone came looking for you. You didn’t want to hide anymore.

“Let’s go” You nodded nervously, gripping his hand tightly while he led you to sit at one of the stools with the others.

“Good morning” Your voice was hardly above a whisper while the team smiled at you. They greeted you warmly and you felt nervous, but it wasn’t unbearable. They didn’t act differently, resuming their conversations while they continued to eat. Steve smiled, glancing at Sam when he saw Bucky still holding your hand.

“Here sweetie” Nat passed a plate to you while Steve pushed the stack of waffles closer to you. Bucky got up to grab you a fork, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“You want tea, doll?” You nodded, nibbling on your waffle while he grabbed your mug and grabbed a tea bag. Tony’s ears perked up at the nickname, carefully watching the way you visibly relaxed when Bucky was by your side. Sam smirked, watching him dote on you, keeping you close to him; he was going to have a field day with this.

“Here” He placed your mug in front of you, giving you a quick peck on top of your head before sitting beside you. You blinked shyly, whispering a thank you, your heart fluttering wildly.

Bucky screamed on the inside, he didn’t know why he did that. Why did he kiss you. In front of everyone. It just felt so natural. His tried to ignore the blush that crept on his cheeks but it was impossible to hide. You went to your room after you finished eating, thanking everyone for letting you join. Bucky watched you longingly as you made your way to your room. He didn’t want you to go but he knew you needed your space.

“I think the super solider has a crush” Sam wiggled his eyebrows, grinning watching Bucky’s face turn redder, flipping him off. “See!!? He didn’t deny it!!”

“I’m just helping her, we’re friends” Bucky mumbled, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“Mhm, we’re all friends, why don’t you call me doll” Bucky’s face scrunched up, throwing a waffle at Sam’s head.

“He’s never made me a cup of tea” Clint pointed out, while the rest of the team snickered, watching Bucky rub a hand over his face.

“And he’s never just kissed my head” Steve smirked, biting his lip to keep from laughing, he could hear Bucky’s heart race.

“I’m eating in my room”

“Terminator’s in love, that confirms it” Tony cackled, watching Bucky grab his plate, speeding out of the kitchen without looking back.

“I think they’re sweet” Nat smiled while the rest of the team hummed in agreement. There was no hiding the very obvious connection the two of you shared. You started to feel more comfortable around the others and Bucky was always by your side. He always had his arm around you, ready to whisk you away to safety if you ever felt overwhelmed. He loved you.

*****

You tossed and turned in your bed in frustration. You just wanted to fucking sleep but your body didn’t let you. You dragged yourself out of bed, making your way to the kitchen when you noticed Bucky’s door slightly open; he was still up.

“Bucky? Can I come in?” You whispered, fidgeting with your hands by the doorway, hoping he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Of course doll, is everything okay?” He put down the book he was reading, patting his bed for you to come over.

“I-I can’t sleep” You sat at the edge, looking at your feet, you wanted to crawl into his arms so badly but you didn’t want over step.

“When was the last time you slept” He shifted so he was sitting beside you, his thighs brushing against you causing you to shiver.

“On the jet” You could feel your face warm up, remembering the way he cradled you, holding you close to his chest, protecting you. You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say. You felt safe in his arms, no one was going to come and hurt you. You wanted to sleep so badly but you couldn’t, hot tears stung at your eyes as you looked down at your hands.

“I- because…”

“Come here” Bucky’s voice was hardly above a whisper, holding your hand softly in his. He moved to lie down, pulling you on top of him, brining your head to lay on his chest. He stoked your back while holding you close to him.

“Go to sleep doll, you’re safe with me”

You were asleep within seconds, clinging onto him; after that night you didn’t sleep in your own room anymore, you were always in his arms. With each passing night, you found yourselves getting closer. It started with cuddling up with him, the covers pulled over you both, your head on his chest.

Then he started kissing you good night; soft, innocent, kisses on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. You’d shyly kiss him back, hiding your face in his neck after, every time.

Then hands started to wander. Innocent touches, feeling the warmth of each other’s skin. You loved the way his calloused fingers grazed your back when he slipped his hand under your shirt. Bucky loved the feeling of your soft hands resting on his bare chest.

Then it was…different. He wouldn’t kiss you good night once. He’d kiss you over and over again. Innocent. Sweet. You were wrapped in each others arms, darkness filled the room. All you could feel was him. His lips. His hands holding you close.

Then kisses started to wander. He kissed your back, jaw, hands. You kissed his shoulders, chest, neck.

Innocent. You couldn’t get enough of him. You adored him. Loved him.

Only Bucky knew how much self restraint it took every night, to keep himself from going any further, but he wanted it so badly. He wanted to feel you, hold you, be close to you in the most intimate way possible, but he didn’t want to cross that line when you were still vulnerable.

He had no idea you were struggling to keep your hands to yourself, just like him.

*****

Part 2 here

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed! (also this is an 18+ blog, I can’t tag nameless/ageless blogs)

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norabrice1701 · 3 years

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Strange Case of Dr. Kreizler and Mr. Brühl - Ch. 7

A "Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde" AU Modern!Laszlo/Daniel x Fem!Reader Series

Series Master List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including oral f!receiving), explicit language, Laszlo’s insecurities, emotional hurt/comfort, heavy romance feels & tropes

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 7 -

You went into the office. What the hell else were you going to do? Inaction wasn’t how you made decisions, and sitting around your apartment certainly qualified. Instead, it was easier to let the complicated problems marinate in the back of your brain as the tedium of the day progressed.

At least, it usually was...but there was nothing usual about this situation.

You only half-read emails. You only half-listened during meetings. Fortunately, Bitsy was out in the field and wasn’t around to ask about your date night dinner. How had that possibly been just last night? When Laszlo kissed you in the twilight shadows of Central Park and you swore you could fly?

It still sounded unreal that a serum he formulated could so profoundly alter his personality and physical appearance. Wasn’t that the stuff of sci-fi and horror films? But aside from invading your apartment, Mr. Brühl hadn’t painted a horrific picture. In fact, you burned with embarrassment to recall how your body eagerly responded to the close press of his, how you had moaned at his words.

It made you wonder. If Laszlo let you go, would he? If Laszlo knew Mr. Brühl’s actions, then it stood to reason that Mr. Brühl also knew Laszlo’s actions. Would that be enough for him to respect Laszlo’s decision?

The uncertainty raced a shiver down your spine and you had to reread the last paragraph of your status report. The last thing you wanted to do was type an accidental word and send it off to the client.

Of course, the easiest decision was just to walk away from him…from them. To send a goodbye text to Laszlo, get your closure, and delete his number from your phone. Your heart sunk at the prospect, but surely, you’d get over him. You’d only really known the man for two weeks…it wasn’t like you loved him, right?

Right?

You leaned back in your chair, so easily remembering Laszlo’s forlorn figure in his kitchen this morning. Was he really so tortured by his own sense of self-worth? Did he really believe himself to be such a failure that he didn’t want to be himself? The heartbreak that hit you in his kitchen returned in full force. Whatever guilt he harbored, whatever insecurity he clung to…who or what had impacted him so profoundly?

Was that why he advocated so hard for the rights of children? Was it possible that he had suffered similarly? You were hardly an expert on people, physically or mentally, but you had no idea just what sort of man you had disturbed that day in Green-Wood Cemetery.

That day also seemed years ago. When he stood in the driving rain, blind and deaf to everything around him except the thump of dirt against a casket. If Laszlo had been the man to stand silent, seething vigil at a graveside, what sort of picture would Mr. Brühl have made? Would he have stood similarly, or would he have been another man altogether, howling in agonized rage and razing the place to the ground?

Neither of those thoughts brought you any comfort or clarity. In fact, all you kept coming back to was the same desire that overcame you in the cemetery - to be there for Laszlo, to wrap him in a tight hug, to tell him that he was nowhere near as undeserving as he believed, to echo what he told you in Central Park. You wanted to soothe his brow and understand what drove a man who had everything to lose to risk so much. You wanted to give him cause to stay in at night - you wanted to show him that Laszlo Kreizler was more than enough without Mr. Brühl.

You bit your lip as you glanced at your phone. That was the answer, wasn’t it? That was your third option.

Thunder rumbled outside your office window as you reached to send the text before you could rethink it.

I choose option 3. When can I see you?

----------

Rain slashed the pavement as you navigated the puddles. It had taken a while for him to respond, but he agreed to let you come back over tonight and that suited you fine. You didn’t want him to feel even more vulnerable and exposed than he probably already did. And, now you stood beneath your umbrella, staring up at the facade of his home for the second time today. Dim light burned in only a couple of darkened windows against the flashes of lightning and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine independent of the wet, night chill.

You rang the bell and he promptly greeted you, pulling open the front door. “Don’t worry about wet footprints.” He said quietly, reaching for your umbrella with his left hand to place it in the vestibule stand. “I had thought that you might prefer to delay until the weather was more agreeable for walking.” Thunder boomed on the end of his words, rattling glass light fixtures.

“No,” you reassured him, sliding out of your wet jacket to hang it on the coat stand. “I meant when I said that I wanted to see you.”

Much to your relief, he looked more like himself. The color had returned to his cheeks and he no longer looked on the brink of careworn exhaustion. He wore dark trousers, a soft chocolate button-down, and a charcoal structured cardigan that did amazing things for his shoulders and chest. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him, but you held yourself still. Or, rather, you set your purse down and took off your wet shoes before following him into the living room.

Lightning flashed out the windows, illuminating the elegantly appointed room that otherwise burned with the warm glow of a hearty fire and a soft table lamp. Thunder followed as the fury of the storm continued to batter the outside of his home. You stepped up to the fire, rubbing your hands in the warm glow and letting the heat seep into your damp clothes.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, watching the firelight catch in his mesmerizing eyes as he kept a careful distance between you. You forced a sudden hard swallow as nerves took hold. “Thanks for letting me crash your evening.”

He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “It’s no imposition at all. If anything, I’m more surprised that you wanted to see me again.”

“Of course.” Thunder filled the room, making you pause. “I told you that I would let you know when I decided.”

His posture straightened as if bracing for impact or fortifying for rejection. But that simply wouldn’t do.

You wet your top lip, speaking softly. “Would you...come closer?”

Trepidation filled his gaze, but he slowly rounded the sofa, coming to stand alongside you in front of the fireplace. You watched the purple glow of lightning reflect off his shirt buttons as you glanced down to his left hand. It rested at his side and you quickly noticed his right tucked into his trousers pocket. Reaching for his left with both hands, hoping they were warm enough, you stepped closer. “There was a third option that you didn’t mention this morning,” you said as your heart started to race, feeling like you stood on quicksand despite your earlier resolve. “The one where we...keep seeing each other and figure out how to move forward...together.”

He stared back at you, dumbfounded as your fingers wrapped around his. “I don’t mean to demean your intelligence, but you cannot possibly-”

“Then, don’t demean my intelligence,” you interrupted. “You’re convinced that you’re somehow unworthy of the successes of your life - that somehow...you’re not deserving despite your own advice. You judge yourself on your failures, and - do you really not see that you’re far more than that?”

He sighed as if he’d heard this all before. “I’m not in danger of throwing myself off the nearest bridge, if that’s why you came.”

“No, that’s not why I came.” You squeezed his hand, pouring every bit of reassurance that you could into the touch. “I came because...because I care about you. Actually, I care about you a lot considering it hasn’t been very long, but you - you made an impression on me from that first day in the cemetery.”

His eyes held you, stunned and bewildered as a thunder crack shook the house.

You shook your head slowly, hoping your eyes told him more than the words you could summon. “I thought about you so much - I wanted to see you again...and then, you turned up in my office.” A hesitant smile edged your face as you drew a shaky breath. "And I couldn't believe that you found me - I started falling for you, and I haven't stopped...even after this morning."

He lowered his gaze, bowing his head as his mouth formed a thin, bashful line. You pulled one of your hands away, raising it to the underside of his chin and carefully tipping his face back up to yours. You held his gaze with every ounce of your determination and feelings for him. “I want this with you, Laszlo. You...you said it yourself - you’re not playing at deception. And neither am I.”

The storm rattled glass in the window panes as his gaze bored through you.

You drew another breath. “I didn’t run away this morning...and I’m not running away now. I mean…,” despite the emotion of the moment, your thin smile grew incredulous, “what other part of your story could possibly be so shocking as learning that you have this whole other physical and mental persona that you control with a serum?”

If anything, the look of shame deepened across his handsome face. You wanted to chase it in his eyes, to drag the truth from him, but somehow, you didn’t think that would yield the result you wanted. His gaze faltered despite the gentle touch of your fingers still lingering in the coarse hair beneath his chin. He parted his lips, giving a gentle shake of his head as if he struggled to find the words. His right shoulder shifted, his right arm deliberately moving as if to make up for his lack of words.

Your fingers under his chin moved to curl around his bearded jaw, gently cradling him in a gesture of comfort. You stepped closer, feeling the fabric of his soft cardigan brush against your shirt. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but please...don’t push me away.”

“You should be the one pushing me away, Liebling. This...I’m not -”

“Don’t you dare say it.” You recalled his words from the park last night. “You told me that I wasn't ever allowed to suggest that I was inconsequential - so, neither are you. If I want you, then, at least respect me enough to make my own decision.”

“I can’t let you be so foolish.”

“Why?” Your voice dropped to a thin whisper, just audible over the crackling fire and raging storm. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not…,” his voice mirrored yours, right arm shifting again at his side as he tried to shake his head against your hand, “strong enough.”

You moved without thinking, holding his jaw steady to lean up and let your lips find his. You met him with a soft kiss of reassuring comfort, relieved to feel his mouth press back against yours. Slowly broadcasting your movements, you loosened your hold on his left hand, drifting across the soft plane of his stomach towards his right arm. Not breaking the kiss, your fingers connected with the unusually bony structure of his forearm. He shuddered against your lips as your fingers continued to drift down towards his wrist, to where skin met the fabric of his pocket. Pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, you coaxed his hand free until you could interlace your fingers with his.

He gasped audibly, trembling as if he’d never experienced such a sensation before. You pressed light kisses along his cheek as your other hand continued to caress his jaw. The moment felt so raw and tenuous and right - you never wanted it to end. Gently, you squeezed his right hand, nearly undone to hear the tremulous moan that spilled from his lips.

You nuzzled his warm skin, the sounds of the storm all but forgotten over the pounding of your heart and the cadence of your heavy breathing in tandem with his.

He shook his head feebly against your hand. “The wretched thing has only brought me aching pain for so many years, I...had forgotten it was still capable of pleasure.”

You gave his hand another light, reassuring squeeze. “Is this why you think you’re not strong enough?” Your lips pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Is this why you think you need...him?”

“My physical weakness is only a visible indicator of those in my character, and which of us does not actively seek to fortify our weaknesses no matter how they serve us?”

“Whatever caused this is no indicator of who you are, or what you’re worth as a person. And if no one else in your life has made you realize that, then you’re long past due.”

He released another shaky breath, his voice thready. “There was one other…," he forced a hard swallow, "but now, she’s….”

You shook your head gently, your nose brushing along his cheek. “You don’t have to say-"

“That’s why Connor was the first.”

You recalled that name from his kitchen this morning, the last name in the list of Mr. Brühl’s victims. Had he only started turning to Mr. Brühl in the wake of his heartache? Was that the heavy guilt he carried? Responsibility for Mary's death? You gave his hand another soft, but imploring squeeze. “You don’t have to prove your strength. I’ve already seen it - I saw it that day in the cemetery and I’ve seen it every day since.”

He met you like a man starved and you kissed him to prove your words, moaning into his mouth. His tongue tangled with yours as you melted into him, your hand on his jaw moving up to card through his soft hair. He groaned at your touch, his left arm snaking around your waist to crush you close. The solid heat of his body eclipsed the fire as you tasted the distant bitter herbal liqueur on his tongue. Burning arousal sang in your blood and you wanted to give him everything.

You whispered against his lips, words trembling as your body ached. “God, I want you, Laszlo.” You swallowed his answering groan, leaning further into him as words rushed forth. “I want you to feel good, I want you inside me -"

His mouth crashed against yours full of promise, stealing your words, your breath, and your heart.

With uncoordinated steps and too wrapped in each other to care, he led you upstairs. His bedroom door fell open under his hand to reveal a rich wood furnished room, complete with an inviting four poster bed that glowed with bursts of lightning and a low-burning fire. Fumbling for the door knob, you closed the door behind you as his mouth fused to yours.

His left arm returned to its new home around your waist, holding you so close as he backed towards the bed. Your head spun with dizzy excitement at what lay ahead as your fingers settled to the hem of his shirt, untucking a corner to trace the line of skin above his trousers. The growl he emitted spoke straight to the liquid heat soaking your core, making you long to hear the other sounds he would make when he was finally buried in you.

His fingers teased along the bottom of your own shirt and you didn’t hesitate to pull your hands back, stripping it overhead. His desire-glazed eyes skimmed down your torso before he leaned in, fastening his lips to the column of your throat. A whimper tore from you as he found the soft junction of your neck and shoulder, teasing with his teeth and the scratch of his facial hair. Clumsily, you tugged at the back clasp of your bra and his left hand rose to guide the straps down your arms.

He sat back on the bed, drawing you to stand between his legs as his face softened with reverent affection. "You are so beautiful." His mouth settled over a peaked nipple, coaxing your soft moan.

With careful ease, he suckled the tender nub, driving you wild with gentle scrapes of his teeth. Your fingers returned to his hair as you panted, toes curling at the exquisite arousal singing in you. He nuzzled across your chest to lavish the same attention on your other breast, desperate need pulsing deep in your center as you whimpered soft cries.

With the last bit of your coherent mind, you reached for his right hand, supporting it to cup your abandoned breast that was still damp from his mouth. "Is...is this alright?"

His shuddering groan rumbled against your skin as he stilled, drawing deep breaths against you. You gave your hand around his a gentle squeeze, sighing at the feel. His left hand clenched on your hip as he moaned a rough, unbridled sound that spoke straight to your heart.

Lowering his right hand, your fingers trailed over his chest to the line of shirt buttons. Searching his eyes for permission, he nodded ever so gently before you undid each one and he shrugged out of the shirt and cardigan. His pale chest reflected the golden firelight, and you couldn’t look away from the collection of dark moles and coarse hair that adorned his skin. At a glance, his right arm did look emaciated but no less beautiful than the rest of him. Your love shone in your eyes as you stepped forward, threading your fingers through his hair as he leaned his forehead against your belly. His heavy breath warmed your skin and your other hand caressed all of his that you could reach as you basked in each other’s intimate touch.

With a sudden flash of movement, his left arm looped around your waist, drawing you down to the soft bed covers. As he moved to kneel over you, you craned your neck to meet his lips, wanting him always so close. His kiss left you eager for more as he teased down along your neck and back to your breasts with the same adoration.

You moaned at the pleasure surging in your veins, hips rolling as his right hand settled at your waist, gently skimming along the top of your trousers. Lifting your hips, you quickly undid the catch and zipper to slide everything down your legs, wanting to keep nothing from him. His mouth pulled free from your breast, head tilting to take in the full spread of your nude body beneath him. Slick arousal further drenched you at the primal growl that rumbled in his chest.

Braced on his left forearm, he trailed his lips down your torso, skimming around your navel before nosing between your legs. As he shifted down, positioning his shoulders between your thighs, you caught his eyes, so deliciously dark, so perfectly beautiful. The first touch of his tongue nearly made you see stars as he licked a broad stripe across your swollen, drenched folds, teasing the moisture around. The gentle scrape of his facial hair tormented you in a new and wonderful way as he moved up to build a circular rhythm on your clit.

Your hands found his hair with a ragged cry as mind-numbing tension coiled in your body. Each pass of his tongue, each brush of his beard drove you higher and higher - and god, you’d never known anything so intense. He continued to devour you, to worship you, to make your body come alive as it never had before, and you cried your pleasure for his ears alone.

Blinding euphoria claimed you as he suckled your clit and orgasm surged through you. Your back arched off the bed, pushing your hips harder against him as you shook through the tremors of release. Slumping against the mattress, trying to collect your breath, you weren’t sure how your heart hadn’t beat out of your chest.

He groaned against your sensitive skin. “Das Süßeste, mein Liebling.”

You whimpered at his foreign words, hands pulling on his shoulders to drag him back up. In the fire’s glow, you could see his beard glistening with your slick and the sight rushed a whole new spike of need through you.

Rich with your taste, his mouth met yours, bestowing the same fervor that he just showed the rest of your body, and your hands settled to the button of his trousers. As the zipper fell free, you dove in to feel the hard shape of him. His hips thrust against your hand as you squeezed his hot, thick length, a whimper sounding in the back of your throat at the promise of having him inside you. Impatiently, you tugged at his trousers and briefs until he kicked them away, and the full press of skin on skin stole your breath.

You drew his hips into the cradle of yours, rocking up against the heated drag of his cock through your dripping slick. “Laszlo, please....”

His breath trembled against your lips. “Yes, but I need to get -”

“No, you don’t. I’m good, you’re good. Just...please.” You pleaded your words against the skin of his neck, drowning in the scent of his cologne as you hooked a leg around his waist to open yourself fully to him.

He adjusted his position on his left forearm, breathing heavy against your neck as the tip of his cock caught at your soaked entrance. The breath punched from you both as he eased forward, stretching your core around him as he settled flush within you. You moaned at the full sensation of his cock touching every part of you, at the heat of his body flush along yours. You were hardly a virgin, but you’d never known such a powerful connection with another man.

His beard rasped along your skin as he moved in slow, deep strokes, letting you both savor the intimate touch. Tears stung your eyes as your hands gripped the broad expanse of his back, rocking up to meet his thrusts. You pressed closer to him, loving the drag of his mouth on your skin as you breathed each other in and out to match the rhythm of your bodies. He shifted his angle, striking against your elusive nerve deep inside. You arched into him with a cry, whimpering nonsensically as he continued to drive against that place.

You clung to him as white hot pleasure mounted inside you, threatening to boil over and drag you both under. A tear spilled from your eye as a broken moan lodged in your throat. “Oh, Laszlo - I...I’m gonna come.”

“Yes, you are.” He breathed with a newfound confidence, near ragged with his own impending release. His tongue found yours, consuming you as he held the delirious pace with his hips.

You sobbed into his mouth as every muscle contracted and convulsed, surrendering your body to his. Ecstasy exploded through you, robbing you of thought as the force of orgasm melted your spine. His stuttering groan echoed in your ears, dying with the erratic rhythm of his hips as he buried his release deep in you.

You struggled to find your breath, overcome from the blissful high, the love bursting in your chest, the scalding heat of his body. He shuddered against you, dropping from his left arm to carefully shift his weight. You drifted gentle kisses along his shoulder, never wanting to let him go. Slowly, he pulled free of you and rolled to his side, making the fire-warmed air of his bedroom feel almost cool against your skin.

Realizing your cheeks were wet, you swiped at your fallen tears as you sighed with deep satisfaction. You rolled over, heart swelling at his lazy, full smile - one that reached his eyes as he gazed back at you in dazed contentment. He raised a hand, thumbing gently across your cheek. "I hope those aren't tears of hurt."

“You didn’t hurt me at all,” you quickly reassured. “I just...it’s just never felt that...intense before.”

He didn’t exactly look convinced, but he also didn't offer an immediate response. You thought you saw his cheeks flush, but it was hard to tell through the post-orgasm glow.

You moved closer to him, smiling lazily as you nuzzled his jaw, enjoying the tickle of facial hair against your nose. “You were wrong, you know. Earlier…,” you pressed a kiss to his damp skin. “There’s no part of you that’s wretched.” Your fingers trailed along his right wrist for emphasis. “God, I -.” You cut yourself off, realizing what you were about to say.

How was it possible that you’d fallen in love with him so quickly?

He wet his top lip in obvious hesitation and you wanted to drown in the dark pools of his eyes. “Thank you for not saying it.” He sighed heavily. “If you give your feelings a name that match the depth of my own, then I don’t know how I would let you go."

Your heart soared, fighting back a fresh wave of overcome tears. “Then, don't - I’m not going anywhere.” You snuggled up close to him. “We’ll give it a voice when we’re both ready.”

He draped his right arm around you as you both continued to lay together, breathing in each other’s closeness and drifting in the intimate silence as the storm continued its fury against the window panes.

Series Master List

Tag List: @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @thehuiabird @creme-bruhlee @belle82devart @scuttle-buttle @glimmering-darling-dolly @somethingthatsaysbubbles @raraenoctes @random-frog-on-a-bench @reallystressedhoneybee @mischief-rcs @violetmuses

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo x reader #laszlo x you #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl x you #laszlo kreizler fanfic #modern laszlo kreizler #dr jekyll and mr hyde

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florbelles · 2 years

Note

Full clear or any you haven’t answered for the fanfic writer asks! 💜

lici you’re wrong for this

— ✨❌💞 here, 🛠 🙋‍♀️🍦 🍷 here, ⛔🌞🤩🤲⌛ here xx

😅 what's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

none i am without shame

🥺 is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

mmm i've lived with my Themes and Narratives for so long i've become highly desensitized BUT. everything about lyra & joseph's grand bunker adventure, lyra x john's grave, the post-war fitzgerald sister reuinions.

🤡 what's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

everything about shaggy's all consuming dread from day one

😈 has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

nooooo if there's one thing i hate it's manufactured or convoluted moments intended solely to get a reaction from the audience because they never come off. the stakes are never there. it's cheap and it shows. (this is not the same as taking malicious glee in the suffering of your characters and readers by extension, i'm specifically talking about the "just" bit where there is absolutely no narrative or character purpose or justification for something)

✍ do you have a beta reader?

hell no baby i die like a woman

🛒 what are some common things you incorporate in your fics? themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

the horror of the feminine/terror of beauty, fighting-destiny-as-causation (yeah yeah hubris oedipus blah blah), merging mythologies, generational trauma, feminity-as-a-weapon, the monstrous & the divine in the mundane

🎢 which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

uhhh by definition almost all of them are a Wild Ride, in terms of completed/published pieces it's probably gonna be this one (successor of the shaggy suffers link above)

💋 first kiss fics. love em or hate em?

completely indifferent, not something i'll seek out but if it's something that happens in the greater narrative then fine. i can get the ick a bit from fics purely about how clueless and inexperienced one partner is while their partner is incredibly skilled and experienced, not because that's not a possibly dynamic to write between two consenting parties in a way that isn't predatory or groomy, it's just that i find that, or a madonna complex, is often the Vibe, and that simply doesn't appeal to me, personally.

🎶 do you listen to music while you write? what song have you been playing on loop lately?

sometimes, generally just instrumentals on low volume for background noise. i like classical piano comps, oldies radio, or if i’m going for a specific album/feel my favs are jessica curry, flowers for body snatchers & peter gundry

🍆 do you write the spicy stuffs? if so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

i write explicit content, but i wouldn’t say i write smut, and i don’t plan to start. my deepest darkest secret is that i simply don’t particularly enjoy it. there. you can throw me in unhorny jail now ig

💖 what made you start writing?

i have simply written all my life, and before i could write, i would tell or act out stories. i can’t remember a time that it hasn’t been both a major part of who i am and what i do. in terms of fandom, specifically, my first flirtation with it was the way i think it is for a lot of us — i had friends in shared fandoms who sparked the idea of also recording my own canon (the first was dragon age, for me, so. late in the game). that was in about 2016-17, i was inactive for a few years, and then rejoined fandom in the active platform participant/fic writing sense in late 2019 (moving over to this blog in early 2020) solely because of lyra. i felt a compulsion there, partly because she was a repurposed character from a discarded original project (and a completed short story that made the writers’ workshop rounds in uni, which still exists and i will not be posting here since it exists outside the fandom realm but would be happy to send to anyone who wishes to read it in doc form).

💌 how do you feel about comments and feedback?

always appreciated :’’)

💲 would you ever open commissions?

no, i’m not personally comfortable with it!

🧐 do you spend much time researching for your stories?

well my other open tabs are footage searches for the amalfi coast in the 80s so that’s that on that i guess

the simply answer is not with everything. if it’s something that pertains to an existing culture or place which readers would recognize, yes. if it’s something more abstract that readers are unlikely to have experience with, i worry a bit less with the technicalities and take my creative liberties. haha. right fbi. right. i’m sorry that i searched for how to prolong life during disembowelment but i can explain i swear you have to believe me i really really thought i might have a reader who’d been disemb —

🏆 what's your most popular fic?

uhhhhh based on notes it’s looking like this one i linked in a previous ask, second is this prompt from the same series

🎃 do you write fics for certain holidays? which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

i have not, but i wouldn’t be opposed to trying my hand at it. probably halloween for most of them, christmas for the fitzes, etc.

🎯 have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? care to share which?

i have literally never not just aired out all of my plot points on main at all times so. no. not much opportunity there when i won’t shut my mouth

🎨 how do you feel about fan art of your stories?

an HONOR

📈 how many fics do you have?

one main fic, one fic that precedes the main fic, many prompts scattered both in that universe and others. so. a mess, really.

🦅 do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

neither and both. i rarely have a formal outline that i rigidly follow because i like to allow myself flexibility, particularly in terms of structure, but i also have never opened a black document and had no idea where it’s headed. i suppose i’m a mental outliner, because i know everything that’s going to happen and how, and will often already have certain phrases associated with certain scenes, but i rarely commit them to a document (i’m too unorganized for this to be particularly useful, anyway). i guess that’s my answer; i know enough to allow myself the flexibility to play with chronology, i have all the information so that i can choose how and when to share it with the reader, but i’m more likely to commit the scene to paper and file it away than have an outline dictating that it’s going to be written. this is one of the reasons that i virtually never post longfic; i am never writing chronologically. never. the very first scene i wrote of lyra’s canon was the collapse, followed by the aftermath of john’s death, followed by her arrival in hope county from shaggy’s point of view, followed by harassing burke leading up to the arrest, followed by. you get it.

👀 tell me about an up and coming wip please!

italian woman marries american playboy, has regrets. may or may not have just brought a biblical eldritch horror in human skin into the world. has decided to sleep it off indefinitely.

🤗 what advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

going to second @roofgeese on this one. read. but read broadly, read widely. read books. read outside the genre you write. that’s the most important advice i can give any writer, fic or no; expand your horizons. of course there’s value in reading within your own genre to see what others have done, what works, what doesn’t, but the trouble with only reading within those parameters while seeking inspiration is that invariably it begins to cannibalize itself and become a rehash. the best way to expand your abilities, the way you think about characters, worldbuilding, plot, what have you, is to read outside your comfort zone, read stories you would never write, let those inspire and shape you. take things from other genres and implement them in your own work. that’s how things are made original and new. that’s how you learn new vocabulary, are exposed to different writing patterns, meet new character archetypes. horror taught me how to write family domestic dramas. high fantasy taught me how to write american gothic.

and, obviously, simply write. reading is all well and good, but you’re also not going to discover your own voice if you’re not getting words down. it doesn’t have to be typed out, it doesn’t have to be written down. you can daydream words as much as anything else. do that. sometimes it’s gonna be bad. great! you know what doesn’t work for you now. knowing what you enjoy reading and what you write well are, ultimately, two very different things; it’s simply about broad exposure to ideas.

😬 which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

uh. none specifically, honestly. i do like to keep it separate because of the nature of my work, and i don’t really want to merge my writing-for-leisure with my writing-for-work audiences, but there’s no specific fic that instills terror in me at discovery. i wouldn’t post something that i wasn’t ultimately fine being tied back to me, honestly. i grew up with the internet too much for that.

🎉 what leads you to consider a fic a success?

this is going to sound like a non-answer, but. legitimately. if i’m enjoying it. this kind of ties back to some of my other answers, because here’s the thing, most of my writing is not fic, most of it is not just “for me,” most of it is voluntarily subjected to ruthless peer review, and i enjoy that, but if i’m writing fanfic, the great advantage is that there are no stakes. literally the only stake is that i’m unwinding, having fun, telling a story i want to tell. completion is, i guess, the best measurable answer i can give to this. i would still like to complete fic and become frustrated when i don’t have the time or energy or motivation to do so, like any other sort of writing. so. yes. a fic is a success if i wrote it successfully. aren’t you delighted i teach others to word good

✅ what's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

i already answered this in the “common incorporation” question, whoops!

📚 would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

reading, writing, analyzing, and helping others to do all three is quite literally my life’s work. in terms of being published, yes, that’s definitely a goal of mine. i don’t know that would ever be, or would ever want to be, commercial and prolific enough to have that be my sole day job in this economy, though (not because i’m allergic to success or pretentious, i’m just realistic about my turnover rate without torturing myself and losing my grip of reality, so no, i don’t necessarily want the pressure of writing to fend off starvation).

🤯 what's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

hm. i don’t believe i struggle with romance by my own definition of the word, but i suppose in terms of fic fluff is my worst nemesis. it’s challenging for me for me to fake that and get into that headspace in a way that i don’t experience with angst-related emotions.

💔 is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

not that’s published! i’ve already mentioned that the writing that did the greatest number on me emotionally mostly pertains to post-collapse lyra (ft. joe).

💥 how do you feel about criticism?

i welcome it, but context matters; i’m used to it, but that’s because i intentionally enter spaces to gain and give constructive criticism. unsolicited criticism on the internet regarding the quality of work is often unhelpful and given in bad faith. (i specify quality because there are other types of commentary that can be classified as criticism/critical that i absolutely don’t feel that way about, such as generally encouraging fandom at large to analyze its reinforcement of racism, misogyny, queerphobia, etc., but i do not believe that’s what this question is asking).

🤭 do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

uhhhh i haven’t posted any work on ao3 so. no. it’s usually either wip tag/prompt tag.

🥰 how do you feel about reader interaction? are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

always very greatly appreciated, love you all <3

#great thanks hate it lici.#asks: misc #yourlove-is-sunlight

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wolveria · 4 years

Text

Mechanical Heart - Ch. 3

Pairing: RK800-60 x f!Reader

Summary: RK800 Model 313 248 317 - 60 had the perfect bait to lure in his defective predecessor. He’d run the scenario thousands of times, preconstructed his strategy in every conceivable way, and he simply could not fail.

The one scenario 60 didn’t anticipate was his sudden instability from the presence of the human, and the desire objective to take from Connor what should have been his.

Prompt: Toxic by 2WEI (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel)

Chapter Warnings: References to rape/noncon, violence, angst

Word Count: 5.2k

AO3

The elevator ride to the basement was the longest in your existence, even worse than the first time you’d stepped into the glass box.

The android who’d kidnapped you, attacked you, ripped your heart and soul to pieces stood beside you, silent and unmoving. He’d herded you toward a different elevator at the back of the lounge, discreet and hidden, but he’d avoided making any physical contact with you. In fact, he hadn’t touched you since the couch.

His dark patterned tie was secured around his collar, neatly in place and unwrinkled; no trace left behind that it’d bound your wrists behind your back minutes ago.

Sixty hadn’t said a word to you either, other than the stiff “move” and “get inside” instructions he had delivered in a moody tone.

But he didn’t touch you, and for that small mercy you were grateful. You think if he had, you would have screamed and never stopped. You were barely holding it together, your composure bound by frayed threads of the poorest quality. Scooped out and hollow, that’s what you felt. Your reflection in the glass mirrored your inner state, haunted eyes and a haggard face staring back at you.

The outside went dark as the elevator entered the subterranean levels, the inner lighting casting an unnatural pallor over your skin. It only added to the visage that you were more corpse than living being.

Down you went into the depths of the earth, trapped and weighed down by the oppressive presence standing next to you. It didn’t matter one bit that he was being quiet, his nearness made your head ring like the aftereffects of an exploded grenade. Or a discharged gun. You knew what that sounded like now.

The darkness was interrupted, brightening with an artificial glow as an expansive warehouse opened before you. It was filled with hundreds of thousands of androids, all standing in neat rows with identical faces and identical white uniforms.

Your heart beat harder as you breathing quickened, mind and body coming back from the dead when you realized what this was and what it meant.

Connor.

You took a step forward, ready to bolt as soon as the doors open, unperturbed by the squad of armored CyberLife security waiting at the bottom of the lift.

You had to warn Connor, tell him it was a trap!

An iron grip clamped around your bicep, pulling you back as a second arm wrapped around your neck. You were effectively trapped against a solid chest just as the elevator came to a smooth stop.

“Don’t make a scene,” Sixty growled against your ear. “Play it smart and there’s no reason you can’t survive this.”

You gritted your teeth and turned your head away, saying nothing. It wasn’t as if he cared whether you lived or died. You weren’t sure you cared much at this point either, but you did care about protecting Connor, and you couldn’t do that if you were dead.

The doors opened and Sixty pulled you through, your fingers digging into the arm still trapped around your shoulders as he approached the armed squad. One of the men nodded to him, none of them appearing surprised by your presence.

Behind their shielded helmets where you couldn’t see their eyes, it felt like you were invisible. Or that you were the only human in the room.

“The deviant killed its escort and will be arriving in T-minus thirty seconds,” the man apparently in charge told the android.

Your heart surged in your chest. Even though you were the bait in a well-laid trap, you couldn’t stop the intense sense of relief and desperation to see Connor again.

“Then what are you waiting for? Destroy it,” Sixty responded with an unexpected amount of hostility in his voice.

If the guard was offended, he didn’t acknowledge it. He turned to his squad with a hand signal and they converged on the other side of the room toward another elevator.

Sixty scoffed, a light huff of disgust that surprised you. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Before you could ask why he would send them to their deaths if that was the case, he dragged you sideways into the thick throng of inactive androids.

You were effectively cut off from most of the room, unable to see past the army of frozen limbs. It was like standing in an especially disturbing cornfield made of rows white-clad bodies and brunette heads instead of green stalks and yellow ears of corn.

Sixty still held you tight within the crook of his arm, and when you jolted at the sound of sudden gunfire, he increased the pressure on your collarbone in warning.

You ignored him and opened your mouth to shout for Connor to run, but he clamped a hand over your mouth to silence the cry before it left your lips. Now both of his arms pinned you to his chest and you squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to ward off the memories. You heart thudded in your chest, hating how he could feel it too.

“Like I said,” he said in a voice laden with constricting silk, “I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary, so behave like a good girl."

You stilled your struggles but in no way relaxed, your body one giant, tensed muscle. Sixty didn’t remove his hand, and in fact, just stood there for a moment, keeping you trapped against him. You didn’t know what he was waiting for, and when he finally moved, pulling you with him, you stumbled in your haste to not be dragged along.

As soon as you broke from the line of androids, Sixty removed one hand and replaced it with the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the underside of your jaw.

You barely felt it, too absorbed by the sight before you.

Connor. Alive. Completely unharmed, as far as you could tell. Standing in profile, grasping the arm of one of the slumbering androids, the bodies of the security team lying in a half-circle in front of the open elevator.

Even from here you could see the massive pools of blood, and the knowledge that Connor could kill so efficiently and ruthlessly made your stomach twist in a confusing mixture of dread and concern.

No, you told yourself harshly. This is different. He didn’t have a choice. Connor isn’t like him.

“Step back, Connor!” Sixty called out, loud and clear. “And I’ll spare her!”

You’d never seen the android startle in the time you’d known him, but Connor jerked his head in your direction. His LED spun a distressed yellow as soon as his widened eyes landed on you, restrained within Sixty’s unyielding control.

Connor spoke your name, breathless, as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“Your friend’s life is in your hands,” Sixty told him, voice echoing across the massive space. “Now it’s time to decide what matters most! Her… or the revolution!”

He was using you, once again, this time to hurt Connor. The look on Connor’s face went from shock to anger as he looked you up and down in a way you knew meant he was scanning you.

“What… what did you do to her?” he forced out between clenched teeth.

Shame flooded your cheeks and stung your eyes. You didn’t want him to know, not now, not ever, and certainly not like this.

“Connor,” you begged, wincing as Sixty squeezed tighter, “what happens to me doesn’t matter! You can’t listen to him; you have to help your people!”

“I can’t do that,” he said, his brown eyes shining with regret. “Not if it means putting your life at risk.”

You sagged with defeat and exhaustion, hating how Sixty’s arms were the only thing holding you up as you wavered on your feet.

“Very moving, Connor,” Sixty taunted, sounding as pleased as the cat that ate the canary.

Connor ignored the jab, his mouth pressing into an unhappy line, one hand still tight around the android’s forearm.

Please. Just activate them. You can’t let him win!

You knew, deep down, if Sixty prevented Connor from helping the deviants, then your suffering would have been for nothing. You didn’t think you could live with yourself if that was the case.

A horrible thought entered your head, as shocking as it was appealing. If you could just grab the gun, force Sixty to pull the trigger… he would no longer have you as a bargaining chip. Connor could free the androids and Sixty could no longer use you to—

You bit down on the thought, effectively killing it. You couldn’t do that, not to Connor. Not when he was watching you with wide, worried eyes, as if he knew the dreadful calculations running through your mind.

“If I surrender, how do I know you won’t kill her?” Connor asked, his focus darting from Sixty’s face to yours as he worried his lip in a painfully human gesture.

For once, you wished Connor would act more like a machine, choosing the fate of his people over one human life.

“I’ll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission,” Sixty responded coldly.

Liar! He didn’t have to bind and gag you! He didn’t have to force off your clothes and degrade you, humiliate you! He did it because he could!

You tried to wriggle out of his arms, indignant rage getting the better of you, but it was a lost battle from the start in your weakened state. Sixty stilled your brief struggles with a tightening of his arm, voice hard as he added, “It’s up to you whether or not that includes killing his human.”

Connor looked as if he was on the verge of bolting to you, his brown eyes blazing and his jaw tensed so you could see the shape of the plastic chassis beneath.

“Enough talk!” Sixty jabbed the gun hard enough against your jaw to make the metal creak. You gritted your teeth, angry tears and a humiliated flush warming your cheeks as he crushed you against his body. Through your thin pajamas you could feel too much of him, and disgust shuddered through your limbs.

“It’s time to decide who you really are,” Sixty resumed his taunts. “Are you gonna save your girlfriend’s life? Or are you going to sacrifice her?”

He spoke the word girlfriend with a mocking sneer, as if he found the idea amusing. But you’d known Connor long enough to recognize the different inflections and emotions in that voice. Sixty wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he was trying to sound.

Under that layer of taunting was a level of anger. The kind of anger that was simmering, irrational, and ultimately deadly towards those who tasted it.

“All right, all right!” Connor exclaimed, letting go of the android and backing away with his arms extended. “You win.”

You felt the change instantly—the loosening of Sixty’s muscles in smug triumph, the slight shift of his balance as he moved the gun away from your chin and towards the android who meant so much to you.

In that moment, you didn’t think, only acted. Sixty swiveled the gun at Connor and his attention was off you for a split second, but that’s all you needed. You jabbed your elbow backwards as hard as you could.

Right into his Thirium pump regulator.

“Mmph!”

Sixty let out a surprisingly human noise of pain, loosening his grip just enough for you to move.

You ducked under his grip, shoved your feet against the ground to sprint away, but Sixty’s fingers tangled in the edge of your shirt and you slipped on the polished floor, falling on your hip.

Barely feeling the blow, you scrambled around to face him, backpedaling against the floor and forced to a stop when he aimed the gun at your face.

Sixty’s glare was full of malice, his brows drawn into a dangerous line as the gun’s barrel loomed large in your vision.

But he didn’t shoot. The bridge of his nose crinkled briefly, like an involuntary twitch, and his blue LED blinked rapidly.

When it burned yellow his hand began to tremble, visibly shaking the weapon. Before you could wonder how you were still alive, a blurred figure entered your vision.

Connor slammed his shoulder hard into Sixty’s stomach, tackling him violently enough to force him to drop the gun. The momentum carried them several feet, dress shoes skidding across the glassy floor for purchase as they grappled for control.

Sixty gripped Connor tight and threw him over his back, tossing him to the ground and standing up to his full height, concentrated rage darkening his eyes.

You had moved back far enough that your shoulder bumped one of the AP700 models in the leg, and your gaze fell on to the discarded gun. You made a dash for it, slowed down as you skidded to the side to avoid the two androids locked in combat.

Each kick, punch, and jab seemed to be met with a mirrored counter. They knew each other’s moves, struck and dodged with the same terrifying grace, and you quickly lost track of who was who. Both opponents seemed equally vicious, causing synthetic skin to retract from damage inflicted by flying knuckles and jabbing elbows.

One of the androids tried to body kick the other, missing him as he rolled out of the way, but he was intercepted with a grab to his jacket. The android raised his fist, but you raised the gun faster.

“Stop!”

The androids froze and turned to look at you at the same time, identical expressions of deadly focus blazing up at you.

“Get up. Slowly,” you ordered, gripping the gun tighter so it would stop trembling.

They obeyed, cautious and careful as they separated and stood apart.

Your hand lightly shook as you moved the gun between them, looking down at their jackets but not close enough to read the tiny serial numbers.

Shit. If you wanted to know which one was Connor, you’d have to move closer, an idea you knew was as stupid as it was suicidal; you’d seen how fast both of them moved. Any closer and Sixty would take a chance and attack.

And since androids didn’t take chances that weren’t in their favor, you would lose, and the deviant revolution would die with Connor.

You licked your lips nervously, eyes flickering between them as you hovered in indecision.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” the one to your right asked, brows drawn over his eyes as he cocked his head.

“It’s me, Y/N. I’m the real Connor,” the one to your left stated. He did sound like the earnest Connor you knew, but… the other android was looking at you with a confused expression you’d seen too many times before not to recognize.

“I can’t… just… let me think,” you hissed out, wincing at the throbbing in your head and your injured hip.

Time was running out, each tick that went by bringing you closer to disaster, but how the hell were you going to tell them apart? They looked exactly alike, and you hated the fact you couldn’t identify Connor from the android who had kidnapped and degraded you. You felt sick, nauseous down to your bones.

Oh, God, why couldn’t you tell your friend apart from a monster?

“Don’t you recognize me?” the first one spoke again. “I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him.”

“No!” You steadied the pistol in your hand, pointing it at him. “You stay right there. Don’t move, either of you.”

The android slowly closed his mouth and nodded his head. Not something you would ever expect Sixty to do, but if he had all of Connor’s memories… he would know exactly how Connor would react in this situation.

“Why don’t you ask us something?” the second android asked. “Something only the real Connor would know.”

You frowned, worrying your lips between your teeth. What could Connor possibly know that Sixty didn’t? He had all of his memories. But would the real Connor know that?

“Okay,” you agreed, pointing your gun at the android who had given the idea. “Where did we first meet?”

“Urban Farms of Detroit,” he said without hesitation. “I had been tracking a suspected deviant employed there. I questioned all of his coworkers, but you stood out. Your answers were inconsistent with your biorhythms, indicating you were lying. I… chose not to bring you in for interrogation, and instead waited to see if Rupert Travis would seek out your help. He didn’t, but… I still came back to see you. You were… nice to me,” he finished, his brown eyes large and painfully vulnerable.

Something hard and rigid you hadn’t realized was sitting deep in your chest began to loosen. This was your Connor. You knew it.

But… you had to be sure.

“Why do I help deviants?” you asked of the same android.

It wasn’t anything you’d told Connor. The answer wouldn’t be tucked away in his memories, but instead, in your own past. If Connor had ever cared about you, he would have looked himself and be able to piece the puzzle together.

This question would separate your friend from your enemy.

But the android didn’t answer. He opened his mouth and paused, yellow LED furiously spinning like a tire trapped in mud, and the pit widened in your stomach as your expression fell.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he finally said, looking up at you with saddened eyes.

Was it a ruse? How good was Sixty at lying and pretending he had emotions? He would know all of Connor’s mannerisms, his good, eager-to-please nature. Sixty would know all the ways Connor appealed to you, so how were you supposed to tell—

“You ran away from home when you were fifteen.”

You blinked and trained the gun on the first android. He met your eye unblinkingly, expression serious as his voice pitched low.

“Your step-dad beat your mom. When he got tired of that, he beat you too. So you ran away.” His tilted his head gently to the side. “You had nowhere to go. No extended family or friends, and you didn’t go to the police or a shelter. Instead, you hid in an abandoned house.”

You couldn’t look away, enraptured by the story he told in a voice that was achingly familiar.

“Androids weren’t very sophisticated back then. CyberLife made them cheap, too, so they were disposable. This one was a runaway, just like you. Maybe that’s why he took care of you. Stole you clothing and food, anything you needed. He was a deviant. Probably one of the first.”

He leveled his gaze at you, eyes dark but not unkind as he said, “The police got a call about a kid squatting in the house. They picked you up and sent the defective android off to a recycler. That’s the gratitude he received for helping a human. You live with that guilt, and that’s why you help deviants, trying to pay a debt that’ll never be squared.”

Connor, because you knew it had to be Connor, furrowed his brows and said slowly, “It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. You don’t owe us anything.”

It was him. The other android had known where you’d met, because Sixty had all of Connor’s memories. But this, this was only something Connor would know.

You hadn’t realized you had been lowering the gun until the other android shifted, forcing you to put him in your sights.

“No,” he said, panic in his eyes as he reached out a hand. “No, don’t listen to him! He’s not the real—“

The android took a step forward, and you fired on reflex, pulling the trigger without stopping to think—

The recoil was a shock, stinging and numbing your fingers instantly. The android gave a strained cry as he clutched at his chest and dropped to his knees.

He looked up at you with naked shock, and you knew… You knew even before the other android spoke…

“Wrong choice, Y/N.”

All compassion and kindness dropping from his voice like a dead weight being cast into the sea.

When Sixty strode forward and took the gun from your hand, you didn’t resist, coldness spreading through you like a flash-freeze as you stared down at Connor. Your friend, who you had just…

Connor pressed his hand to his chest, blue liquid trickling over his knuckles, shoulders moving with strained breaths as his LED spun a frantic red.

You rushed forward and dropped to your knees in front of him, putting your hand over his to staunch the bleeding, choking on your panic. “No, no, no, Connor, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay.” His voice was gentle, even as he winced and tried to give you a reassuring expression. “This is what… he was designed to do.”

You were too focused on trying to keep him alive, palm pressed tight to his wound, to pay attention to what Sixty was doing. When you took a second to check, you saw he hadn’t gone far, just a few feet behind you as he watched the scene unfold with dark, predatory eyes.

“It’s not, not too bad,” Connor said, attempting a slight smile as he placed his other hand over yours. “Nothing important was damaged. Lucky for me you missed hitting any vital biocomponents.”

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” you gasped, regret and sorrow choking your words. “It’s—it’s gonna be all right, we’ll get you some help.”

“That’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, an automatic reaction to that hurtful voice behind you. You looked back over your shoulder to see him standing in the same spot, but this time his gun was trained on your back.

“I still haven’t finished my mission. Now… Get out of my way.”

Anger roiled in your gut, and you took your hand off Connor’s wound. He tried to grab you, probably preconstructing what you were going to do, but his fingers slipped from yours, the Thirium coating your hand too slick for him to gain purchase.

You rose to your feet and slowly turned around, making sure to plant yourself directly between Connor and the android threatening to kill him. You had him completely blocked from view, and therefore, from Sixty’s next bullets.

“No.”

Sixty brought up the barrel of the gun, aiming directly at your head.

“You think I’m bluffing?”

He moved the muzzle a few inches to the side and fired. You winced as you actually felt the displaced air next to you from the path of the bullet, and winced again when you heard the body of a helpless android hit the ground.

“I think you’re stalling,” you said, flinching when a bullet sparked off the floor next to your slippers.

You knew logically you should be terrified, but you only felt sick from the force of your rage. Maybe if you’d been alone you would be afraid, but you had Connor to think about, to protect at all costs.

“I think you’re losing control,” you kept going through the shake in your voice, gaining confidence the longer he went without actually killing you. “I think you already lost it, and you’re terrified what they’ll do to you if you fail—“

“Shut up!”

Bright pain sliced through shoulder as the third bullet just glanced across your skin. Warm trickles of blood dripped down your arm, but the wound was shallow and stung more than anything else.

Sixty was breathing hard, his shoulders rising with each rapid expansion. You knew from past experience with distressed deviants that his systems and processors were overworking for him to need to take in so much air.

Because you were right. He wasn’t just stalling, he was worried.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled even as the underlying shakiness was back in his voice. “My mission is to stop the deviants, and I always accomplish my mission.”

“Then finish it.”

Your own voice was more than a strained cry, your heart thudding wildly and every instinct telling you to run. But you wouldn’t. Not when you were the last line of defense between him and Connor.

“Finish your mission, if that’s all you care about.”

One moment he was several feet away; within the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of you, the muzzle pressed between your bleary eyes with cold, unforgiving precision.

You didn’t know how you were still standing with how hard your knees were trembling, but stand you did, refusing to cede ground.

You weren’t the only one who was trembling. Sixty’s hand shook so hard you could feel it against your skin, shuddering in his grip.

Was it really happening, right now before your eyes? Or was Sixty faking it? You hadn’t seen an android deviate in person, but they’d told you what it was like. Stepping outside of themselves to find a red wall barring them from disobeying their core code. If they wanted to escape from their own programmed prison, they had to tear it down piece by piece.

Sixty still hadn’t moved, his lips pulled into a grimace as his LED blared a solid red, the most distressed an android could be without starting to shut down.

Was… was he actually—

Suddenly, an iron grip circled your waist and yanked, and you were thrown the ground a second time.

Connor kneeled above you, and with one swift movement, he retrieved a pistol from the back of his waistband and pulled the trigger.

One.

Two.

Three.

With a sharp cry, Sixty staggered and fell backwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Bleeding from three new bullet holes, fresh Thirium spilling down his jacket and staining his white dress shirt blue, pooling around his body.

Connor’s expression was harsh and immutable, a sort of cold rage that would have looked more at home on Sixty’s face. He approached the other android and raised his gun—

—only to have it lowered again with the pressure of your palm pressing down on the barrel.

Connor looked up at you, brown doe-eyes blinking as if he was waking from a trance.

“Don’t,” you whispered, curling your fingers around the gun. “Please. It’s over.”

You should let Connor finish it; put the last bullet right between Sixty’s eyes. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it.

But… you couldn’t. Not when he was so much like Connor. Even now, after everything Sixty had done, the thought of letting Connor kill this sorry, twisted imitation filled you with more sadness than it did satisfaction.

You looked at the android on the ground, his LED pulsing red like a distress beacon. He was panting for breath, straining for the air that would cool his overheating circuits. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was in pain. He was definitely no longer a threat to anyone, not in the condition he was in.

“You’re right.” Connor’s words held a finality to them as he replaced the gun behind his belt. He reached down, picked up the gun that Sixty had used to threaten you, and handed it to you grip first.

You looked up at him, questioningly. Not understanding his grim expression until he added, “Just in case.”

Just in case you want to end him yourself.

A lump was trapped in your throat, unpleasant and hard. How much did Connor know? He must have had a good idea if he was willing to let you take a life. Even his.

As Connor walked away, back to the androids he needed to awaken, you held the gun in your hand as you appraised the android who had ruined your life, taking the most fragile parts of you and carelessly shattering them on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.

He didn’t look so smug now. There was no haughty smirk, no biting words, no cruel spark in his gaze. Just a flashing red LED, blood-drenched hands, and eyes that looked strangely watery in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Well?” he asked, voice full of static, an indicator of how severely damaged was. “What are you waiting for? Pull the trigger.”

Even through the muffled quality of his voice you could hear the undeniable truth. Sixty was afraid.

Not from dying, no. In fact, Connor had seriously injured him but left him purposefully alive. You’d repaired enough damaged androids to know fatal wounds when you saw them, and these weren’t it. You didn’t think Connor had done it to be merciful. You suspected a fate worse than death awaited Sixty for his failure if what Connor had told you about Amanda was even half-true.

You shook your head, staring down at the gun before letting it return limp by your side.

“You asked what was so special about me.”

The rest of your anger bled out of you like venom drained from a wound, leaving you with a bone-weary exhaustion. “Nothing. That’s the answer. There’s nothing special about me.”

As you gazed down at the android, bleeding and scared and utterly alone in the world, you felt a shred of the thing he never gave you.

“But I did learn how to be kind,” you said softly. “I learned, because someone showed me.”

The sleeping androids began to awaken. They moved, spoke, touching each other on the shoulders and spreading their message of freedom and hope. With each one that became truly alive, Sixty looked more and more defeated, but his dark eyes never strayed from your face.

“If you survive this,” you repeated Sixty’s earlier words but without any of his coldness, “I hope you learn some kindness…”

You leaned closer, quiet so Connor wouldn’t hear.

“…so you can understand exactly what it was you did to me.”

His brows creased inward, something in his expression conflicted and confused, but you didn’t wait around for him to figure it out.

When you rejoined Connor by his side, he looked down at you with a sad angle of his lips. The sight of it hurt, and you knew the horror of shooting him was something that would linger for a long time. You wondered if he would ever forgive you, but knowing Connor, he already had.

“Aren’t you leaving with them?” you asked, noting how the clone army of androids was making its way to the freight elevators all along the walls.

“They know where to go,” Connor replied, his voice still somehow so gentle. “Markus will get the aid he needs. I’m taking you home.”

The protest died on your lips. The fact was, you didn’t want to be alone, and with the streets still filled with soldiers, you didn’t even know if you could make it back to your apartment safely.

So you nodded and tried not to flinch when he put his hand on the small of your back. Sensing your unease, Connor moved his hand away, leaving you cold with regret.

As you made your way to the elevator that would take you away from this hellish place, your resolve to not look back weakened… and broke. You glanced over your shoulder to find Sixty half-propped up on an elbow, his expression twisted as he watched you retreat with Connor.

His lips were curled in rage, but his eyes were glistening with an agony that stayed with you long after the elevator doors pulled shut.

#rk800-60 x reader #rk800-60 #sixty #dbh #detroit become human #sixty x reader #trashman2kchallenge #my writing #my fanfiction #bastard boy

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generic-connor · 4 years

Text

Roleplay terms of engagement :

Please don’t reblog my original content unless otherwise stated. Everything else, reblog from the source! Do not rb threads that you are not a part of.

Mun does not equal muse. Period.

I will not follow if you don’t tag common triggers. In addition, please tag pictures of food and children. I try to tag everything possible, but I also have a catch-all #content warning tag. All sexual content is tagged #nsfw.

I am randomly active and inactive. I don’t make demands for activity from my partners and I do not tolerate demands being made on me. Treat it like a hobby, not a job.

I am extremely plot heavy! I love to plot and I have a LOT of content for my Connors, some of which, I may not have posted yet. Please ask about my muses and verses if there isn’t enough info available for you.

I will not carry the whole plot, so have your own ideas and inputs, please!

That said… Slice of life is also amazing, but I will need a little context for our muses to interact. I tend to be bad at improvising alone, so please give me something to work with. I will almost always have input and ideas for mundane interactions.

I typically write long and in depth posts, but I also love one-liners and short paras. I don’t even care if you match length, just give me something to react to.

If I follow you, it’s because I am interested in writing with you. If I unfollow, it doesn’t mean I no longer have interest, it just means I don’t want to see your content on the dash at the moment. I may follow and unfollow regularly, let me know if this is not acceptable and I just wont follow; not a big deal. I will hard block if I don’t want to interact for any reason. I generally try to work things out before blocking, and once we are established, I like to be friends.

I am not mutuals exclusive, however, I am probably not going to engage in random threads. Please talk to me first. Ask me for my discord or message me on tumblr. If you do not want to talk OOC, don’t talk to me at all.

I highly value OOC communication, so please talk with me about anything and everything related to writing, plotting, and character development, or just to talk. This is so essential to my comfort with interactions. I will 100% communicate any ideas I have, concerns, etc. Let’s be best friends.

Plot drama is life. I do not seek to conflate the story with excessive dramas, but when they arise, I relish every bit of bad consequence for our muses. Let them struggle, let them suffer.

OOC drama is not tolerated. I do not hesitate to soft block or block and I appreciate you doing the same for me. I will block you so fast if you engage in callout posts, vague posts, excessive (or untagged) OOC negativity, or hate of any kind.

Expect angst, gore, violence, limited police involvement, grey scale morality, explorations of ethics, and generally some f-d up shit. I tend to gravitate towards darker themes, but I like a little fluff, and slice of life every day drama is my favorite.

Talk to me about ships! I ship with chemistry. I also like realistic relationships where they can possibly break up, have unrequited romance, poly ships, on and off, friends with benefits, etc. I absolutely do NOT require shipping! Comfort is the most essential element here, so let me know how you’re feeling! You can always back out, change your mind, or take a break: take care of YOU first!

Finally; if you don’t like what I do here, leave. I have a no fault policy on blocking. I would love it if you just block me rather than making your problems mine. I follow a strict personal responsibility policy when it comes to self care, so please take care of yourself and your own needs. Nothing will make me happier than knowing my RP partners are putting their own health first.

#rules ig #mars talks #THE RULES

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 5 years

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Hey! There's this hc that's been on my mind for a while now but it's a bit dark so I've kinda been scared to ask people about it because IDK how it'd go down.... Okay, it's AFTG, and: What if after Aaron's trial with the whole Thanksgiving thingy they propose Aaron should be on mood altering drugs? What would happen? What would people do?? Also I know there are some fanpeople that don't like how Andrew's medication was represented in the books so I completely understand if you'd rather not reply

I’m sorry this took so long and I’m sorry for my recent inactivity. I’m still not ready to come back from my surprise hiatus but here’s this. It’s largely unedited so please forgive my bullshit. Thanks so much for the ask, love <3

“Aaron Minyard was oft-referred to as "the normal one" of the two, though that was usually followed by a debate over whether or not he could be sane when he shared genes with Andrew.”

Anyone with half a brain knows that Aaron doesn’t need the drugs. Hell, anyone with half a brain would have known better than to put a minor on something so strong but Andrew was on them for like 4 yrs + Exy is a thing so obviously no one in this universe has a single functioning brain cell. Another thing to be considered is that Aaron is a rehabilitated drug addict. He’s been sober (or as close to sober as he’s going to get) since he was 16. In the real world, I seriously doubt they’d put him on anti-psychotics, especially considering his past. But this is The Foxhole Court and I’m invoking suspension of disbelief.

Screams reverberated through Aaron’s head. There weren’t many words Aaron could discern amid the broken sobs and dry heaving. The overwhelming stench of vomit hit his nostrils. Pain shot through his left arm. It was likely dislocated from ramming it into the door at an odd angle. Staggering to his feet, Aaron saw himself in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. A cruel smile slowly curled the lips of his reflection. Andrew. Swinging a punch at him with his good hand, the mirror shattered. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his fist. Blood ran in rivers down his arms.

His surroundings distorted, exchanging the soft glow of yellow bulbs for the harsh glow of fluorescents. The blood was gone along with the mirror shards. In their place was a motley of scars. None of them seemed too severe. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the air and mixed with the alcohol and vomit, making Aaron’s stomach roil. The sound of someone retching caught Aaron’s attention. Whirling around, Aaron felt his heart stutter. Matt lay twitching on the floor in a pool of his own spew.

“That’s what you looked like,” Andrew said from beside Aaron. “Pathetic.” The word echoed through Aaron’s head.

“Aaron?” Nicky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Aaron jerked away from him as though he’d been burned. Nicky’s face crumpled. Aaron’s gaze darted around the room.Taking stock of his surroundings helped ground him. Overstuffed chairs lined one of the walls. Three sofas boxed off the corner they were sat in. Orange fox prints decorated the white walls, a name, number, and photograph at the center of each. Aaron was back at the Foxhole Court.

“I told you not to touch him.” Andrew’s voice froze the blood in Aaron’s veins. Stalking forward from the corner he’d been standing in, he moved to stand in front of Aaron. Cold brown eyes identical to Aaron’s own now held his gaze. Aaron wanted to look away but, as always, there was something about his brother’s eyes that never failed to command his attention.

“How’s he going to play if he’s medicated?” Kevin asked. Aaron felt his heart sink. After spending two years with him, Aaron should have known better than to expect Kevin to care about anything other than Exy but he couldn’t help it. Just as he’d begun to think that the last few months had meant something, Kevin squashed the tiny bud of hope that had blossomed in Aaron’s heart.

“How are you going to play if I break your other arm?” Andrew snarled. Aaron watched the color drain from Kevin’s face. A part of him wanted to smirk in Kevin’s face. It served the asshole right. All Kevin ever thought about was Exy. Exy and himself. Half of the things the foxes had been through could have been avoided had it not been for Kevin. They wouldn’t have suffered the graffiti attacks nor would they have been constantly dogged by the media. They sure as shit wouldn’t have had Neil and the mafia to contend with had Kevin not been such a selfish asshole, insisting on dragging that good-for-nothing junkie out of the middle of bumfuck Arizona.

A larger part of Aaron wanted to cradle Kevin in his arms and protect him from Andrew’s wrath. Had Kevin not run, Aaron would never have had the chance to feel the press of Kevin’s vodka drenched lips on his. He definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to hear the soft keening moans that fell from Kevin’s lips when Aaron fucked into him. Worst of all, there would be no soft smiles or lazy kisses before Kevin drifted off to sleep.

“Andrew,” Neil’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Well, not really. Neil’s voice was always gentle when he spoke to Andrew. Gentle and tender and full of love. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s brow softened and his shoulders drooped. Fuck you, Neil Josten.

The door down the hall slammed shut. The sound of Coach Wymack’s footsteps echoed in the silence. Taking a moment to glance around the assemblage, Wymack read the room and decided it was best not to say anything. Instead, he held out a plastic bag. Aaron’s hand shook as he accepted it. A paper bag resided within the first. Extracting it, Aaron read the label. He’d seen the label a thousand times before but, up until today, it had always borne his brother’s name.

Pills rattled ominously inside. Sweat slicked Aaron’s palms. Upending the second bag, the sight of the orange bottle jarred Aaron to his core. Andrew took the bottle from Aaron’s lap and squatted in front of him.

“Two pills in the morning after breakfast,” he said.

“And two again at 4,” Aaron finished. Andrew pried Aaron’s hand open before unscrewing the cap. Tipping two pills into Aaron’s palm, Andrew lay a hand on the back of his neck. Aaron knew his brother struggled to express his emotions but this was one gesture Aaron had learnt to recognize. It was a gesture of comfort meant to offer support. Staring into his brother’s eyes, Aaron forced himself to bring the pills to his lips. He swallowed them dry, painfully aware of every inch of their passage down his throat.

Anyone watching knew that Aaron’s descent into madness was swift. Aaron himself didn’t know that, though. To him, time seemed to slow. Staring down at his hands, Aaron flexed his fingers. Were those his fingers? Maybe. Maybe not. Aaron opened his mouth and felt the skin around it stretch. Laughter bubbled out of him at the odd sensation.

“Aaron?” Nicky asked. Aaron turned his gaze to his cousin and a smile split his face. Once again, the odd sensation of his skin drawing taut left him in a fit of giggles.

“It hurts,” Aaron said.

“What hurts?” Kevin demanded.

“Looking at your face,” Aaron replied. Had the words passed anyone else’s lips, Kevin’s anger might have flared to life. Instead, any remaining signs of life seemed to drain from him. Now it really did hurt.

Nicky had always told Aaron that if you looked at something over and over again, you would eventually get it. Perhaps it was because seeing the reward would motivate a person to work towards their goal, but no matter how much Aaron looked at Kevin nor how hard he worked, Aaron knew Kevin would never truly be his. Why he kept tormenting himself by staring at him, Aaron didn’t know. Maybe he was just as self-destructive as Andrew.

Sadness welled up in Aaron’s chest. A bone deep yearning had settled into him long ago but he suddenly felt the full intensity of-

“Stickball!” Aaron cried as Neil wheeled the racquet cart out. Rocketing out of his seat, Aaron caught his brother’s arm and yanked it hard. “Andy, come play stickball with me!”

“Play what?” Kevin squawked.

“Who?” Andrew choked at the same time.

“Stickball, Andy,” Neil said. A smile curled the edges of his lips. Kevin opened his mouth to say something but Aaron didn’t stick around to hear. Instead, he followed after Neil chanting ‘Stick! Ball! Stick! Ball!’, dragging Andrew along behind him.

So that gives you a general idea of Aaron’s madness.

Unlike Andrew, Aaron doesn’t really fight his meds. Where Andrew was terrified of not being able to properly watch out for his family, Aaron finds himself freed from all his anxieties. As such, he’s quite content with drifting through his life. I’ve always hc’d the twins as ADHD but are undiagnosed so it’s just a more intense version of how he normally is.

In the last two years, Aaron’s managed to make quite a few friends so they do their best to support him. Since he can’t focus very well and is no longer burdened by his anxieties, I feel like he also kinda relaxes around them??? Like he’s not as awkward. Very easy, breezy, joking around all the time. They really enjoy how much he’s opened up but they care a lot about him and are scared because they don’t know how to help him with class. What ends up happening is Katelyn is an absolute sweetheart. She convinces all of their friends to sit at the front of the room to record the lectures and upload them to a drive along with any extra notes that’ll help Aaron.

All the Foxes have to go to tutoring but Aaron’s tutor gave up the second he started his meds. After getting special permission from Wymack, they cut that time out and changed up the practice schedules a bit so Aaron could get out early and head back to Fox Tower. Once he’s made it through withdrawal, Katelyn will sit him down and help him work through his assignments. She’s a godsend.

Aaron is usually off his meds on weekends. He usually goes out to Columbia with the Monsters. He still dances with Nicky and has his fair share of fun. They go to the mall pretty often bc there’s a carousel with spinning tea cups. The twins have spent an entire afternoon riding the spinning tea cups, competing to see who hurls first. Aaron almost always wins. Andrew will take him out late Saturday nights and speed down closed sections of highways or do donuts in parking lots because they're both dumbasses with death wishes.

One weekend a month, Aaron remains at Fox Tower with Katelyn for spa day where they wax poetic about their respective crushes. Kate’s got a bit of a thing for a boy on the lacrosse team. Aaron screams bc he hates the guy. One time, at a party, the dude was talking to Kevin, shit talking both Kayleigh and Exy, completely unaware of exactly who he was talking to. Kevin ended up with a blackeye but the lacrosse kid couldn’t play for nearly two months.

Speaking of Kevin, he’s only thing that ever seems to hold any of Aaron’s attention. He’s just so… pretty. If Exy is Neil’s shiny object, then Kevin is Aaron’s. Since Aaron makes even less of an effort to pay attention than Andrew did, there's times when he straight up can’t play. It infuriates Kevin to the point where Aaron gets pulled off the court. At first he doesn’t mind because it means that he can sit back and watch Kevin without any fear of getting caught. However, ever since he got put on his meds, Kevin hasn’t touched him. Not even in a non-sexual way. Before, there were casual touches: a hand on the small of Aaron’s back, shoulders pressed together as they squished into a booth, ankles hooked beneath the table. Now? There’s nothing. Kevin leaves a conspicuous space between himself and Aaron and it’s the only thing Aaron can feel anymore.

So he starts paying attention on the court. Whenever they have a scrimmage, Aaron makes sure that he’s marking Kevin. Everytime Kevin crashes into him, Aaron’s consciousness slams back into his body. The heat of Kevin’s skin on his, their limbs tangled together, their ragged breaths intermingling, their helmets the only thing keeping their mouths from colliding together. Those little encounters are the only times when Aaron finally feels like himself. Those little encounters only last a few seconds and leave Aaron craving more, more, more.

Aaron noticed that medicated Andrew was always brushing up against Neil but he’d never really thought much of it. Now he understood. Andrew had craved Neil just as Aaron craved Kevin.

Speaking of Neil, he and Aaron get along well? I feel like Aaron is just as much of a smart mouth as Neil so the two of them just go around roasting the shit out of everyone. The drugs don’t change Aaron’s opinion of Neil but he begins to understand why Andrew broke their deal. Realizing that Neil didn’t steal his brother from him, Aaron starts to see the appeal in him. He’s stupid and funny and actually kind of pretty. Not as pretty as Kevin but pretty nonetheless. On weekends in Columbia, Aaron begins to notice all the things Neil does for his brother. Neil wakes up early in the morning to make breakfast and spends hours in the kitchen baking. He always picks up an extra pint of ice cream at the store and takes photos of stray cats to send Andrew. One time, Aaron couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen for some water. His heart almost stopped when he heard Andrew’s rumbling laughter. Sneaking a peek around the corner, his heart really did stutter. Neil was standing on Andrew’s feet as he waltzed around the kitchen to the soft strains of music flowing from the radio. After aaron’s heart restarted, he hurried away because OH MY GOD ANDREW WAS LAUGHING AND DANCING AND HOLDING NEIL SO TENDERLY AND OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

Okay so maybe Neil did sic the mafia on them but he also makes Andrew happy so that evens it out right? It’s v slow but Aaron is very slowly learning to accept Neil.

Slipping back to his room, Aaron placed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing a mile a minute. Off his meds, Aaron found it hard to stem the surge of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him. He was glad Andrew had found someone who loved him the way he deserved to be but didn’t Aaron deserve love too?

A soft knock sounded behind him. Aaron nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound. Oh, fuck. What it was Andrew? What if he’d seen him? With shaking hands, Aaron opened the door. For the second time that night, Aaron’s heart stopped.

Vodka stained lips crashed against his. Aaron’s mouth opened on impact and he felt the warm slide of Kevin’s tongue on his. A moan tore from Kevin, reverberating down Aaron’s thought. It was a shot right to his core. Suddenly, Aaron’s clothes felt too tight, his body too warm. Grabbing the collar of Kevin’s shirt, Aaron hauled him into the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron panted as he tore himself away from Kevin.

“Missed you,” Kevin slurred as he leaned back in. Aaron shoved him away, sending Kevin crashing into the wall. The look of anguish that washed over Kevin’s features threatened to tear Aaron’s heart out of his chest.

“You haven’t come near me in months,” Aaron hissed. “Why now?” Kevin opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried two more times before dropping his gaze.

“Because I got scared.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Kevin retreated into his shoulders. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before. All day, all night, you’re all I ever think about.”

“You don’t think about me on the court,” Aaron sneered.

“And you don’t watch me from the sidelines.” Aaron felt the blood rush to his face. It had been years since Aaron had prayed but now he begged God to bend the shadows of his room to hide the burning of his ears. “Exy was all I’ve ever had. Back then, I played to stay alive but now… now I play because I know you can’t take your eyes off me when I do.” Kevin reached out slowly, giving Aaron time to move away. Relief flooded his face when Aaron didn’t flinch. As Kevin’s hand cupped his face, Aaron leaned into the touch. Pulling their bodies flush against one another, Kevin bent down enough to rest his forehead against Aaron’s. “I don’t want Exy to be the only thing I love anymore.”

“Then pick something,” Aaron whispered. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming but nothing prepared him for actually hearing it.

“ I pick you,” Kevin replied. Their lips collided once more and Aaron let Kevin steer them to the bed. Collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs, Aaron felt like himself for the first time in months.

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it-me-ari · 4 years

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I’m back bitches!

I've been so so so inactive these last few... months? I guess? I can't even remember the last time I made a post on Tumblr... Jeez, I feel bad. But I had a bit of a tough time and wasn't really feeling like writing anything so yeah. But now I'm back! And I'm back with news!

drum rolls

I'VE GOT A NEW F/O!!

His name is Thranduil and is an about 6000-year-old (no one knows for sure) elven king. He is the king of the wood-elves in Greenwood/ Mirkwood and kind of an asshole, but I'll get to that.

Thranduil appears really cold and distance and his arrogance is common knowledge. He seems to care more about material possessions and wealth than about family or friends. Although that is not all there is to him. He is just really old and suffered through terrible losses, which made him guard his feelings very well. He has been hiding his 'soft side' for so long now, he forgot it exists.

He lost his father during a terrible battle, that also eradicated about a third of his race and shortly after he lost his wife, which left him empty and bitter. He has a son called Legolas and he loves him with all his heart, but always fails to tell or show him that.

As I said, he is a bit of an arrogant ass who knows too well how good he looks, also he is kind of a drama Queen and cares too much about wealth and power. But deep down he is a good guy, he can be soft and caring if you're patient enough to discover that.

In this universe I'm just a simple soldier (the name is Elanor) with no family and to make things worse I'm half-human (which is not very welcomed with the elves) but I DID save Thranduil once in battle, so at least they have to give me credit for that.

Anyway, the story of how we met is actually quite boring. (Also it’s just a short summary so it might appear a bit rushed). It was the eve of the battle of the five armies and Thranduil was in his tent with his generals, making last preparations for the battle. At the time I was just some mercenary, always on the hunt for a new job, although I really didn't like that. I had heard about the great battle and since I always wanted to settle down I thought this was the best chance to ask Thranduil to give me a place in his army. So I waited until the Elvenking was alone and then sneaked past his guards in his tent. Of course, he sensed me immediately and I was greeted with the tip of a sword at my throat. He asked me what I wanted with a cold, and yet beautiful, voice. It took me some time to answer because I was stunned by his beautiful eyes, but I quickly snapped out of it and explained calmly what I had in mind. He seemed suspicious at first, but then accepted my offer to fight for him in exchange for a home.On the battlefield the next day, I tried to stay as close as possible at Thranduil's side, to prove my worth to him and to show him my skills. My tactic worked pretty well and so it happened, that I saved the life of the King of Mirkwood. But being the arrogant ass he is, he only criticized my fighting style instead of thanking me (after it was all over of course). Usually, I'm able to stay calm when kings insult me, it's basically what they do and fighting back is never wise, but this time I snapped. I was pretty annoyed that he didn't even thank me for saving his dramatic ass. He was so surprised by my heated response, that he was quiet for a while, then he just turned away and ordered me coldly to come and see him the next morning. As you might imagine, I was a little confused about what was going on, but I was also glad that he didn't execute me for my rudeness.The next morning I approached the king nervously, I wasn't easily intermediated, not even by petty kings, but Thranduil was unpredictable and I hated, that I didn't know what to expect. As it turns out, he informed me casually that he was my teacher from now on and would show me "how to fight properly", I was so surprised, I didn't say anything for the next few minutes. Anyway, this is how my and Thranduil's relationship started. ^-^

#anybody else see a pattern?#he's my third immortal f/o?#also kind of a jerk?#what is it with me and old people?#also I seem to have a thing for assholes?#whatever I love him and you should too (but not too much)

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ryder-s-block · 5 years

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Jaig Eyes (Ch 54)

Jaig Eyes (54/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

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Chapter Fifty-Four: Master Piell

“Ah,” Bendu’s voice boomed as I emerged from the tunnels with a triumphant grin. “I sensed your success. Come, let us see it.” He gestured with his giant hand, the Force responding to him easily. My saber hilt lifted easily from my outstretched palm to float before him, igniting in a brilliant white color. Bendu hummed in response to my kyber’s gentle singing. “Your crystal is whole once again.”

“It is.” I stood calmly as he lowered my saber back to my hand.

“And the krykna?” he asked, referring to the spiders.

“I’d thought they were there...but when I looked, they never were.” I shrugged. “I guess they had no reason to fear me this time.”

Bendu’s massive face crinkled slightly in a smile. “You have learned much since separating yourself from the war. What will you do with this knowledge?”

I breathed slowly through my nose. “I’m going home. I’ll get back to work...and maybe...one day when I’m ready...I’ll rejoin the war--if it’s my path.”

Bendu’s eyebrow rose in question. “Rejoin the war?” He sighed lowly. “I hoped you were above all that.”

“Above it? How can I be above it when the people I love are directly affected by it?”

The giant creature shook his head. “When you exist in the Bendu...the war of these petty beings are nothing to you. There is only the Force.”

“No,” I whispered, looking down at the saber in my hand. “If the Sith exist for power and the Jedi for peace...what do we exist for?”

“The will of the Force.”

I glanced sideways with a small shake of my head. “I don’t believe that. I listen to the will of the Force, yes. But I was gifted with the ability to guide that will. And if we value balance, should we not work to protect it?”

Bendu straightened his back slightly in distaste at what my words implied, making him tower over me. But I’d gotten used to talking to creatures that were far bigger than me over the years--I wasn’t about to back down now.

“You have watched empires rise and fall,” I commented gently, the reality of his inactivity hitting me at once. “Anyone who was ever close to you, if they ever existed at all, is long gone. Tell me, Bendu,” I prodded. “What would that cave have shown you, were you working to find your balance?”

Bendu’s deep gaze settled on me darkly, the Force shifting around him. Creatures such as Bendu, I’d come to find out, were a tedious bunch to deal with. Like the Father at the Citadel, He existed within a higher knowledge of the Force--able to wield it in a way I would never understand in my short life. Well...short compared to him, at least.

Thunderclouds rolled in the distance, making my hair stand on edge, my gaze flickering to it nervously. That was Bendu’s doing.

“War is prodded by the desire for power. Yours is no different.” He ignored my question, but I let it slide. I preferred not to be murdered by the storm Bendu was rolling in than know his past.

“Maybe not. But if we have the power to help people, shouldn’t we?”

Bendu chuckled darkly. “We? The Force will do as it wills. Who am I to interfere?” I scowled. We were going in circles. “Even those that strive to do good, as you do, young follower of the Bendu, may be led down the path of darkness.”

“I’ve beaten that before.”

“And will you again?”

I ground my teeth. “Of course.” Bendu hummed at me, but said no more. I sighed slowly, looking sideways at the cave I had emerged from. Did I have a place in this war? I wanted to protect those I loved...but was that interfering with the balance? “What should I do?”

“Ah, that is not a question for me, is it?” I quirked my eyebrow at the creature. “That is an answer for you to find. Within the Force.”

I nodded, kneeling slowly, placing my saber before me. Settling across from Bendu, I closed my eyes, meditating with him. “I feel...conflict.”

“Yes. The war rages on outside of my quiet domain.”

“Anger. Loss. Suffering. Fear.” I turned my head, eyes still closed, as I heard a familiar voice.

“Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” It was Master Yoda. I turned my thoughts away from the Jedi, trying to focus on what I should do. Where my place is.

“I smell...alcohol. And perfume. It’s my club.”

“Ah, and the Force shows where you must go.”

I opened my eyes, raising my brows. “It...just wants me to go back to being a bounty hunter?”

“I didn’t say that, though that may be the will of the Force. But for now, you know where your path will lead you.”

“What do I do when I get there?”

“What do you usually do?”

I shrugged on the ground. “Run my club I guess? Party? Find odd jobs as a hunter.”

Bendu hummed, leaning back on his haunches. “Go. Live. The Force will guide you. Just remember to listen to it, young descendant of the Sith.”

I stood slowly, glancing over his form. “You look tired.”

“I have not been woken from my slumber this often in some time,” he teased gently, offering a low chuckle that echoed across the quiet planet.

I glanced down at my lightsaber, taking it up and clipping it to my belt. After a moment of thought, I met Bendu’s gray gaze. “I think...you can rest now.”

He gave me a gentle smile. “I believe I can, as well. But you, Kida Fett, Descendant of the Sith, Daughter of Jango, Bounty Hunter, and follower of the Bendu...will you rest?”

I returned the smile. “Maybe one day, my friend.” I meant it. I considered him a friend...I had to, after all he had done for me. “And that’s far too many titles for one person,” I joked.

Bendu hummed as he turned away, glancing over his shoulder. “Very well. Goodbye Kida Fett, Slave to No One.” He looked away before curling back into his rest, blending in with the rest of the coral-like scenery perfectly. I smiled at his choice of title for me.

I knew he meant more that just freeing myself from slavery. He meant breaking free of Bane. Breaking free of expectations of the Jedi. Even breaking free of my own expectations. And in the end...I was even willing to try and guide the will of the Force, rather than bow to it. And Bendu knew that, even if he didn’t ever point it out directly. I really was a slave no longer.

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

In the end, going back to my club was exactly what I needed to do. I hadn’t been back on Coruscant long before Windu had shown up on my doorstep.

My eyes slid across the stone that glowed in the light of the lava below. The howling of the anoobas was almost painful now. They were close. I tapped Ahsoka’s elbow, nodding in the direction our pursuers would come from.

We all crouched in waiting, watching as a pack of five anoobas raced by, following the scents of Anakin and Obi-wan. Above us, five commandos on STAPs zoomed by as well. We waited a few moments longer before Piell stepped out of hiding, scanning the area. He gestured silently for us to follow before taking off in a run after the pack of anoobas.

We weren’t far down the path before a spider droid lunged up over the ledge, taking down two of the rescued clones. They were at the back, making us all turn in horror. Piell acted first, racing forward to slice through two of the droid’s legs, tearing it to the ground. More began to emerge as Piell sliced through its mainframe, my lightsaber igniting before me.

It was weird. I hadn’t been wielding it long...but it felt almost natural to resort to it. My kyber hummed happily as I pulled it from my belt and held it beside me, energy hot near my skin.

“Keep going!” Piell yelled back at me. “Ahsoka and I will take care of the droids. Fett, follow Obi-wan!”

I nodded, the group glancing at me before I turned and led them faster down the path. I heard Ahsoka’s lightsabers ignite, joining Piell in the battle against the spider droids. The rolling plains of snow that we raced across were covered in a thick fog, smothering my lungs. I puffed them out tiredly, following the sound of gunfire.

We lunged suddenly to the sides as a commando on a STAP raced over us. The clones opened fire immediately as I raced forward after the Jedi, lightsaber igniting beside me. My kyber sang powerfully in my grip as I raced after a STAP. Another came at us on our flank, its fire blasting the stones around us.

“Go!” I yelled to Rex, the captain rushing past me after the droid now attacking Anakin ahead. I skidded to a stop, deflecting the shots of the oncoming STAP away from the clones. Ahead, Rex shot down the STAP attacking his commander, Anakin crouching with a determined expression as it crashed behind him.

I turned, sensing Fives aiming at the droid attacking me. The ARC trooper was always reliable, hitting his mark and sending the commando careening on his speeder. I lunged sideways, wall running up the rock formations and leaping sideways in the air. My blade sliced through the middle of the commando and speeder, sending both scattering in pieces.

I landed deftly, feeling my Force abilities weaving together with the skills Jango taught me. They were becoming more in sync the more I used them.

And the more I used them, the more I realized that physically moving things with the Force was far harder for me than using it to improve my own abilities. Move a bit faster. Jump a bit higher.

I was also noticing that my senses were becoming more attuned. Not only to keep me focused in battle, but to emotions around me...as well as some hints towards things that haven’t yet happened.

Such as Fives taking down the STAP.

“Anakin!” I yelled, the Force prodding me to look past the crouching Jedi. He turned before the anooba barreled into him, throwing him to the ground. I rushed forward as his lightsaber tumbled away, the anooba’s incredibly jaws trying to clamp down on the Jedi’s throat.

I stabbed forward with my lightsaber, shoving my armored shoulder into the creature’s side to push it off of Anakin. It let out a terrible screech of pain that made me feel a bit bad--only because of Embo’s loving pet, of course.

“Thanks,” Anakin panted as I offered him a hand up. He grabbed his lightsaber as he stood, dusting off his tunic. He glanced up quickly before shoving me to the side, thrusting out his metal hand. Skywalker’s connection to the Force was almost smothering when I was in his presence. It flowed through him in a similar way I sensed it flow through my kyber crystal. He launched an anooba that was lunging for my neck backwards and into the lava.

“Consider the debt repaid,” I chuckled back. The Jedi leapt away to attack another droid, my own lightsaber rising again to slice through the belly of a lunging anooba. I was about to move to join Rex when a chill fell over me, my muscles freezing me in place. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I could feel that something terrible had happened.

It seemed this mission was full of terrible happenings.

I turned easily, deflecting a final bolt at an oncoming STAP, Tarkin shooting it down as it passed. I walked past the Captain, glancing over to watch Cody and his troops destroy the last of the droids.

“So much for the hunting party,” the commander said, glancing back at us. Rex moved up beside me as my lightsaber disengaged in my grip.

“There are more squads on their way,” Tarkin announced, following me. “We should get moving.”

The Force rippled with the chill of death. “Wait,” I whispered, turning my head to look through the thick mist. “Ahsoka,” I breathed, prodding the clones to follow my gaze to the silhouette of the Togruta, fallen Jedi Master over her shoulder.

The Jedi raced to join us as she approached, Anakin stepping forward to help her place Piell on the ground. His shoulder and neck were spattered with dark blood--an anooba bite, by the looks of it.

“He died honorably,” Ahsoka stated sadly from where she kneeled beside him. It seemed there was no end to the losses we were facing on this mission. There weren’t many of us left now.

“What about the information?” Anakin asked his downtrodden padawan.

“I have it,” she muttered. “He told me just before he died.”

I stepped back as the Jedi moved in, working to remove the Jedi’s outer robe in order to wrap him in it. As they worked, I took the time to sit among the lava stones, dirty hands doing their best to wipe away the blood and grime on my face.

The clones that remained, which were only two of the rescued clones outside of Rex, Cody, Charger, and Fives, found rest near their commanders and worked to inventory their weaponry. I watched in silence as the Jedi performed their ceremony for their dead, a small frown slowly growing on my face.

“I always felt like that was messed up,” Fives said from beside me, nearly making me jump out of my skin. So much for the Force. I was too caught up in my thoughts.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “What?” He nodded meaningfully towards the Jedi who were finishing wrapping their fallen brother. “You mean that they take the time to do rights for a Jedi, but not a clone?”

It was Fives’ turn to be uncomfortable, shifting in his armor. He removed his helmet for the first time since Echo died, revealing a tired face and a glazed gaze. “We never get to...mourn our brothers on the field. Not to mention incinerate their bodies.”

I shook my head, a small smile coming to my face. “You’ve got it wrong. The Mandalorians burned their dead, sure, but not in an incinerator. They put them on massive pyres while those that loved you in life celebrate having you for the time that they did. They drink and tell stories and dance and chant. It’s the send-off warriors deserve.” I glanced sideways at him as the other clones moves to join their commanders as they readied to move Piell’s body. “Maybe one day we can all celebrate Echo together. Even if we can’t have the pyre.”

Fives swallowed thickly before nodding. “I’d like that,” he said curtly, putting his helmet back on to join his brothers at the Jedi funeral. “Thank you.”

I stayed back under the guise that I was keeping a lookout. But in reality, while it was tragic that Piell died, I also mourned the loss of all the other men that had died that day. We didn’t stop for them due to the dire situation. But why could we waste time for a Jedi?

I watched from afar as Obi-wan and Anakin used the Force to lower Piell’s body into the river of lava to burn away. Looking away to continue on as Piell’s body was carried over the falls, my mind drifted to the pyre that burned on Mandalore....all those years ago.

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

There were still distant echoes of the battle happening outside the arena. Most droids had been redirected to defend the stations, the clones of my father-figure following them with their new Jedi leaders.

I pushed my way through the last remaining Geonosians that were fleeing, shoving their bug-like faces away from me with the butt of my blaster. I’d seen my mentor die in that arena and knowing Boba...my little brother had seen it too.

“Boba,” I breathed, seeing him across the arena floor. He was crouched, still dressed in the blue clothes the Kaminoans provided for him. He was lifting his father’s helmet to meet his forehead, grief rippling off of him in waves.

I finally made it to the terrified boy. He was filled with anger. Loss. Confusion. My fingers touched his shoulder, making him tense and whirl, drawing his father’s blaster to aim at my nose. He froze when he saw my face, goggles and mask drawn away to reveal my devastated expression.

His brown gaze melted from hatred to grief, tears flowing freely as he pushed his face into my chest plate. I held him, holstering my own weapon to let my arms wrap around him. “We have to go,” I whispered wetly into his tousled hair. He shook his head against me, but let me pull him up.

“I won’t leave him,” he cried.

“I would never ask that,” I responded gently, touching my knuckles to his cheek. “Do you know where Slave I is?” He nodded again, wiping at his eyes. “I need you to get it. Bring it here. I’ll bring him aboard.”

“I can’t-”

“Boba,” I said firmly, doing my best to keep my own face stoic. “If we stay, we die. We will grieve for him properly when we are safe. Do you understand? Can you do that?” He nodded, forcing his own tears down. “Good. Go.”

The young boy ran off to get his father’s ship, while I worked on collecting Jango’s things. I put his blasters back in his holster, collecting each piece the Jedi had severed. By the time Boba arrived with the ship...the arena was all but deserted.

Boba wouldn’t speak again until we’d made it to the desolate surface of Mandalore--a planet destroyed by years of war. Despite saying he hailed from Concord Dawn, I was never really sure about Jango’s past. That was something he was proud of, really.

But I knew he lived the Mandalorian way.

So he deserved the Mandalorian end.

Boba sat silently with his father’s helmet on the gangway of Slave I while I built a pyre with anything I could find. Finally, when it was time, the grieving boy helped me place his father’s wrapped body on the pyre, his weapons and armor all stored away on the ship for when Boba was older--it’s what Jango would have wanted.

I touched under Boba’s chin, lifting his head as the sun began to slide over the flat horizon. With a steadying breath, I struck the flare against my leg, igniting the end in a blossom of red sparks. It ignited the pyre smoothly, smoke billowing up and drifting across the desolate planet.

Closing my eyes, I felt Boba’s anger. His grief. His hopelessness.

With a long breath through my nose, I started to sing. “Motir ca’tra nau tracinya.” I glanced sideways at the young Mandalorian boy, watching the tears stream silently down his cheeks. “Gra’tua cuun heet su dralshy’a.” His jaw clenched, staring into the rising flames as they devoured his father. “Cuun hett su….”

We stood in silence as the pyre burned. I knew we would have to leave shortly, considering the Pacifist government of Mandalore now didn’t much care for our kind. I let us stay for as long as we could, the tears slowly drying from Boba’s face.

I put my hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “We have to go.”

He hesitated for only a moment, his still-young mind craving some type of support. He pushed into my hand just slightly, as if searching for more, before he suddenly pulled away. I watched silently as he boarded Slave I, his father’s helmet tucked under his arm. He never looked back at the pyre.

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

It was at our next stop on the way to Kamino that Boba bolted, taking Slave I with him. I was left behind with the supplies from the goods run I’d made in my arms--ingredients I’d collected for my attempt Uj’alayi. Jango had always been the best at making it. It was Boba’s favorite food.

I had never tried making it again after that.

The back of an armored hand grazed me forearm, but it didn’t shock me. Letting my memories flow as we walked was like a meditation, connecting me to the Force. It let me….see things clearly. The presence that came with the touch was gentle and comforting. Warm, even.

“You alright?” Rex asked under his breath, his voice modulated through the helmet. “You’ve been pretty quiet since Piell died.”

“I’m not apologizing for going against your orders, if that’s what you’re expecting.” Even I was shocked by the bluntness of my words.

Rex barely missed a step, though, even letting out a low chuckle through his nose. “I wasn’t. It’s never been one of your stronger suits, anyways.” Despite his snark, he earned a light-spirited eye roll from me. “But are you okay?”

I sighed slowly. “I was thinking about Jango and his pyre.” That earned the attention of those present. The clones openly looked at me, but the others merely tilted their heads to listen better without being obvious.

“You made him a pyre?”

I nodded. “Like Mandalorians are supposed to have. We did it on the surface of Mandalore. It was all wrong, of course. There’s supposed to be a big celebration and instead it was just two sad kids.”

“I…” Rex paused for a second before lowering his voice to a whisper. “I understand.”

My gaze flickered to him briefly, a sad, but grateful smile lifting my lips. “I know you do.” We were in the back of the group, with only Fives behind us, so I dared to quickly grab his gloved hand, giving it a squeeze.

He didn’t reciprocate, nervous over our current company, but I knew no one but Fives had seen us. And I could feel the small amount of anxiety my touch had eased away from Rex. I suppose as a soldier in a time of war, you learn to appreciate the little things. Then again, I wasn’t much different in that way.

I glanced up as our group slowed, nearing a river of lava. “There’s the extraction point,” Kenobi announced, pointing ahead at a small island in the middle of the river. Cody and Anakin immediately moved forward, both securing lines across the lava.

Rex ran forward first, touching my arm a final time before beginning to crawl across the cable, Tarkin on the other. Fives and one of the rescued clones went next. I nodded to Ahsoka as she stepped up to crawl across, just as Rex was helping Tarkin up on the island.

“Incoming!” he yelled across the river, pointing behind me. We all turned to see squads of commandos on STAPs, led by none other than Sobeck. Maybe I should have risked capture just to kill the bastard before….

The droids rained fire down on us, my lightsaber igniting in my grasp to deflect whatever I could from the cable tethers. Anakin and Obi-wan took to the skies, finding their way onto STAPs of their own and commencing in a dogfight.

“Ahsoka!” I cried, seeing Sobeck targeting her and Cody as the crossed the cables. I took a deep, steadying breath, trusting my body and the Force, and threw myself forward. My feet landed deftly on the cable Ahsoka was crawling on, my knees bending fluidly to match to wavering of the cord.

I turned in my balance, deflecting the incoming shots from Sobeck’s speeder. As he drew closer, I started to worry that I’d just gotten myself killed by putting myself over lava. But I was saved by R2, who came sweeping in with a gust of exhaust he spewed from his ports, blinding Sobeck.

I ducked below his whirling STAP, watching as Fives shot out the engine and sent the Phindian crashing to the ground. Ahsoka made her way up onto the island, followed closely by myself. Panting heavily from the incredible amount of exertion over this mission, I bent over, hands on my knees.

The Force rippled, turning my head at the low growl from Sobeck. Tarkin fired a shot at the warden, confident rolling off him in waves. But Phindians were tougher than that. Sobeck took the shot with an angry growl before throwing himself into Tarkin. He lifted the captain in his claws digits, before slamming him back into the ground again.

“Captain!” Ahsoka yelled, the first one to come out of her shocked daze. She raced across the island as Sobeck lifted Tarkin above his head, meaning to throw him into the lava.

“If I can’t have the information,” the warden screamed, “It will die with you!”

Ahsoka reached them as the others reached me, jabbing her lightsaber through Sobeck’s heart. He screamed, but fell, letting Tarkin walk away safely.

“My thanks, Padawan Tano,” Tarkin gasped as he did his best to straighten his clothes. He sighed indignantly as he stepped past Anakin, Obi-wan, and I. “I see you’ve trained her well,” he said to the former.

We all blinked for a moment before Obi-wan looked sideways at Anakin and I. “The rescue ship should be here by now,” he declared.

Anakin chuckled sarcastically. “So should the rest of the Seperatist army.” As they said it, Ahsoka stepping away from Sobeck’s body, engines whirred through the mist. A Republic gunship emerged, blowing hot air over all of us. It was welcome.

As was the face of Jedi Master Plo Koon. “I believe you’ve worn out your welcome,” he suggested, gesturing for us to board. Spider droids began to climb over the edges of our little island, weapons firing.

I drew my saber immediately, briefly feeling the surprise from the new additions to our group. Rushing the first droid, I ducked beneath its blasters and sliced up through its center, before turning to deflect fire back on another. The clones rushed to board as we were pushed backwards, Ahsoka and Obi-wan retreating onto the ship as well.

Anakin glanced at me over his shoulder, and I understood. I disengaged my saber and leapt aboard the gunship just before it began to rise in the air. I felt no fear from Anakin as he faced the droids alone before calmly leaping high into the air and flipping into the gunship.

“Let’s go!” Ahsoka yelled into the cockpit, the doors sealing around us. I always hated this part most of travelling--being sealed inside with no way out and the vacuum of space on the other side. That’s why I preferred navigating myself. Or at least having some damn windows.

“Admiral Coburn,” Plo said into his wrist comm, “We have the survivors. Recall all fighters.”

“Yes, General,” came the reply. “Prepare to jump to lightspeed.” I closed my eyes, hand resting gently over the over-head grips. I let myself find my balance again. I mourned for Echo. Maybe even for Piell. He was one of the first Jedi to not treat me as dangerous when meeting me. He even encouraged me to embrace my abilities more.

I guess I mourned a friendship that could have been.

The ship rocked gently beneath my feet, indicating we had landed in the hangar. “We’re all ready, General,” Koon spoke into the communicator. There was the brief feeling of weightlessness, like that queeziness you get in your stomach when you are free falling--we were in hyperspace now.

The gunship doors hissed open, our weary band practically falling into the hangar. We were met with medics and water--a jug of which I happily took. I was offered quarters of my own and supplies to wash my gear with. A part of me wanted to stay and spend time with Fives and Rex. But as I watched Rex put his arm around Fives’ shoulder and lead him towards the mess hall, I decided against it.

Right now, they needed their brothers.

So with a last sad glance as the many faces around me that looked just like Echo….but nothing like him at all….I walked alone to my quarters to wait out the trip.

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

MANDO’A

Motir ca’tra nau tracinya. Gra’tua cuun heet su dralshy’a. Cuun hett su….

Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. Burns brighter still….

(SONG FOUND HERE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7f-HvIKYzs)

Uj’alayi - Mandalorian dessert (dense, sweet cake with nuts and fruit)

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hellsangelsheavensrejects · 4 years

Text

Present Day: The Ninth Circle

Blythe

"Do you really think he could ever love you?"

Harry

Harry didn’t look at John.

The demon’s barbed words hit home in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible only a few days ago. But now… now he didn’t know what to think.

He didn’t even fully know his own past, after all, and that was because John had tampered with his mind. A violation of trust that threw every single moment he’d had with John into an entirely different light.

Just how much had Constantine fucked with his head? Manipulated him? Conned him? Looked right at him and lied to his face while sharing stark naked, laid-open bare intimacy with one another?

Well. Not as open as he had thought.

Harry didn’t look at John. He didn’t want to see the lies still written on his face.

Instead, he looked at Blythe, spitting blood onto the ground as he gave an ineffectual wrench on his chains. “Hey... who needs love... wh-when you could have a homicidal... stick bug of an ex string you up and torture you to death instead?”

John and Blythe

Someone very, very powerful had drawn the binding circles on the ground around both the warlocks. Circles that firmly kept magic out.

The two warlocks themselves, were shackled at hands and feet, the metal inscribed with runes of power.

John would be flattered at the effort, if he hadn't been sick with pain.

Oh, no, Blythe hadn't done anything to him beyond forcing him to his knees and clasping the shackles around wrists and ankles. His pain wasn't physical. Not yet. Not like Harry's.

His torture was purely and exquisitely of the emotional variety.

Forced to watch and listen as Blythe turned their full, hellish attention on Harry.

Harry himself, was strung up by his shackles, his feet barely reaching the ground and hands fastened spread out to either side over his head. The position left him to either strain to push himself up on his toes or to suffocate from the weight of his own body.

Crucifixion torture minus the crucifix. How very sarcastic of you, Blythe.

And the demon hadn't just left it at that. Oh, of course not.

Over their shoulder, tangling elegantly with the bright red feathers on whatever appendage it was that most people would mistake for a boa, hung a bullwhip. Two inches thick where their clawed hand held onto it and tapering down, down down to three thin leather straps tipped with glinting metal.

They were good with it.

When they had started, it was only those sharp metal spikes that had kissed Harry's skin. Hours ago.

But the last two lashes, Blythe had used the thick body of the whip, where the leather was woven tightly into itself, to catch him around the sides of his torso, driving out the air from his already struggling lungs and leaving forearm thick, quickly bruising stripes. The blood Harry spat out made the possibility of some internal damage way, way too real.

John had watched, eyes wide even if each lash felt like it caught him across the heart. This was his torture.

Harry was the tool, not the target.

And John worried that if Blythe thought that it wasn't affecting him enough, that he wasn't paying enough attention … they'd do worse.

So he watched.

--- Blythe laughed a sharp little laugh, genuine humour in their wind-between-dead-branches voice.

"Death?", they chuckled and frowned, all six of their glowing red eyes now open and squinting with amusement. "No, I've got no plans to kill John."

They stepped closer to Harry and tipped the whip, letting the tail of it caress his chest. Their smile widened when they heard the sharp intake of breath, the desperate click of John's throat as he swallowed against what was sure to be nausea.

"John taught me a beautiful lesson about suffering.", they continued. "And that is that human suffering is so much more effective when you're still alive. Living in pain, dear Harry, is such a sweet, sweet appetizer for what is waiting for him in Hell. And he's doing a very good job at killing himself. Did he tell you that he's dying from cancer? Or is that something else that he kept from you?"

Harry

Harry knew pain. Every kind of pain imaginable. He knew it on a more intimate level than most could ever even dream of. Pain was an old friend of his, kept close to his heart, fueling his actions, feeding his will, overflowing from his memories. Giving him the incentive to keep fighting, to keep standing between the monsters in the world and the people he had chosen to protect with his very life.

He knew pain, but he had never known pain quite like the pain that John Constantine had inflicted on him. Even Blythe's barb-tipped scourge didn't come close. Even as it tore the skin of his torso and back to shreds again and again and again for what felt like an eternity, even as the power of Blythe's blows left cracked ribs and dark bruises. Even as he struggled to find purchase with his bare feet, fatigued legs threatening to collapse underneath him and leave him to suffocate.

The breath rattled in his lungs as he pushed himself up with shaking legs enough to drag in a mouthful of air. Blythe's mocking laughter seemed to skitter and crawl over him in creeping, stinging trails that shivered down his skin.

No, I've got no plans to kill John.

Those simple words were a stark reminder of why he was here. Blythe wasn't torturing Harry. Not really.

They were torturing John. Harry was just a means to an end. Do you really think he could ever love you? Blythe had asked, voice dripping with condescension.

Images of that morning swept through his mind, the morning that his memories had finally broken through in full. The morning he had realized that the man he had fallen in love with-- again-- had broken into his mind and stolen something precious to him, violating him in every way imaginable.

What. Did. YOU. DO?!

I saved your life.

Harry closed his eyes as Blythe drew nearer. The whip touched his chest, and despite not wanting to give them the satisfaction of a reaction, he couldn't stop the flinch that jolted through his body, or the soft whimper that escaped through clenched teeth.

And then another revelation came, and Harry opened his eyes, finally turning them to John. Finally seeing the agony written on his lover's-- his ex-lover's face, an agony that rivalled his own.

Cancer.

John was dying.

And no, he had not told Harry. Because of course he hadn't.

He turned his eyes back to Blythe, teeth grinding. “You'd... know all about H-Hell... wouldn't you?” A cough racked his body, shoulders burning as the impulse to double over made him pull on his chains. “F'you're f-feeling nostalgic... kn-know of a nice little... travel agency you could b-bbook with...”

John and Blythe

Harry turned his attention to him and John looked away.

Coward.

What good would a Soulgaze do them now? Except cause even more pain.

So, John stared into the darkness beyond the reach of the candles all around them. And there … just at the edge … was there someone? Something?

He could almost see a silhouette. A shape made of darkness a little lighter than the mere absence of light. And … were those …

"Oh, this one really got spunk, John.", Blythe laughed and John's attention snapped back to them. To Harry. "This is really such a shame. We could have had so much fun, you know, if you hadn't broken our deal."

"An' I paid for tha', didn'I?", John ground out between clenched teeth. "Twice."

"Twice?", Blythe replied with mock surprise. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Being forced into inaction against Nergal was for breaking our deal. Sweet little Oliver was just my bonus."

They stepped out of the circle around Harry, hoofed feet careful to avoid the delicate lines and stopped right outside the line of John's magical prison. "Sweet little Oliver was for you tricking me the first time."

John scoffed a laugh. "Aaw, So sorry.", he spat and leaned forward, towards them, taking the slack out of the chains attached to his shackles. "C'm'ere an' I'll make i' up to you."

Blythe crouched down then and tutted. "Oh, John. I know that you think you're smarter than everyone else, but even with all these precautions, I'm not stupid enough to come close to you.", they grinned at him, full of sharp teeth. "Your ego really is your downfall. I mean, wasn't that why you took dear Harry's memories? Because you thought you could handle it on your own? Yes, I think that was exactly what you admitted to me, your dick still inside me while you cried your eyes out."

Their words were like a lash of their whip. And when Blythe turned their sly expression up to Harry, John knew. That little revelation was just as much part of the torture.

"You see, dear Harry. It didn't take John much time at all to return back to his old ways."

"Shut up!", John demanded sharply, teeth clenched. "You tricked me."

"Oh, did I? I mean, yeah, I did. But only with who I was. You wanted your pretty little succubus, didn't you? Because you were missing the demonic part of you. The power that you got from consorting with us. You, Johnny boy, wanted the power back that came with being Tainted. Did he ever tell you about that, Harry? That he made a deal with a demon. Demonic blood and all the power that comes with it for a little bit of help? Don't answer, spare your breath. Of course he didn't. You really have to work on your communication skills, John."

Harry

John avoided Harry's gaze, because why would John do anything but avoid having to face up to his actions? It seemed pretty much true to form. Why should he expect a sudden change just because the two of them were sharing a super fun torture dungeon with John's jilted ex-lover playing pass-the-pain?

And yet, when Blythe stepped away from him to approach John, Harry felt himself tense, his wheezing, labored breaths taking on a frantic edge as he tugged at his chains. Pain licked across the skin of his wrists like flame. The cold iron had spread a slowly creeping burn around his wrists and ankles; his flesh had turned bright red after the first hour, like a chemical burn, and was now slowly darkening, seeping, blackened, spidery veins visible in his arms and legs just past the shackles. The metal-barbed whip that had left hundreds of shallow slices in his skin didn't help matters either. Weakness had long since flooded his body, nausea and vertigo turning his stomach and swirling inside his head. It was all he could do to keep pushing up with his legs, to keep dragging desperate, ragged gasps of air into his lungs. Heaven help him if Blythe decided to start breaking bones.

Grinding his teeth, he watched the demon approach the captive magician, helpless to stop them. Again, he remembered that this entire ordeal was meant to hurt John, and his heart lurched in his chest as an image of that cruel whip shredding pale skin burned itself through his mind. Nausea crawled up his stomach, and he swallowed, forcing down a surge of bile.

Even with all that John had done to him, the thought of seeing him hurt was almost too much to bear. And then came another revelation. Blythe shifted their eyes back up to Harry, and he glared back at them, fighting the tears that prickled at his eyes. He'd be damned if he would give Blythe the satisfaction of a visible reaction.

...your dick still inside me while you cried your eyes out...

...demonic blood and all the power that comes with it...

Constantine was not denying anything. Blythe was speaking true.

The man kneeling in the circle was a stranger. Harry had never known him, not really. Even as intimate as they had been.

Hell's bells. He'd always been prone to wearing rose-colored glasses when it came to his lovers, but this really took the cake.

“Who... the fuck... are you?” he whispered. “You... fucking b... bastard...”

#arc: Whiskey Gunpowder and Magic #Present day #Post Cold Days #The Ninth Circle #thenewcastleincident #expatfromhell #nowmakeyourpeace #(because Wy's gonna come in later)#to be continued...#Discord RP archives #whump #I AM DROWNING IN FEELS NOW

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