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tc-doherty · 3 months

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Book One | Chapter Five

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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Patrice's impassive attitude vanished as soon as they arrived at the edge of the estate.

Overnight the grounds had changed. Colorful tents had sprouted across the ground like wildflowers, stretching from where they stood all the way back into the meadows, only stopped by the tree line. The space between the tents was full of knights, squires, and horses; of busking bards, of peddlers attempting to sell their wares, of nobles hurrying to speak to knights before the tournament began. The air was full of noise from every direction, the music, conversation, and sounds of armor and horses merging into a wall almost as solid as the castle itself. Faced with all this, Patrice could only gape.

Maria smirked. "I told you it's an important festival, and even commoners get to come! A lot of craftspeople come too, hoping to catch the eye of a noble patron."

"What sort of things do they sell, these craftspeople?" Patrice asked, glancing around her. She could scarcely keep her eye on one thing, there was so much to look at.

"Oh, a bit of everything," said Maria. "We ought to come down here later and buy fabric to make you some dresses of your own. Come this way." Maria chattered on as they made their way down the makeshift streets.

Patrice stared at the tents, which sold every kind of good imaginable and many which she could not have imagined. There were blacksmiths, which made sense for the horses, but also goldsmiths and silversmiths selling jewelry. There were cloth makers and dressmakers, potters and painters, glass workers and leather workers, and things Patrice couldn't even name in her borrowed human tongue.

Children and animals ran around the feet of the adults, weaving through the crowd like fish swimming through seaweed. Everywhere people yelled, trying to be heard over their neighbors.

"How does anyone ever find their way around this mess?" Patrice asked as they skirted a gaggle of shoppers and walked past a corral of destriers being readied for the matches. She could barely distinguish herself through the muddle of half understood conversations all around her.

"Knights are at the back, arranged by where they're from," Maria explained. "Naturally the vendors will be in the front because they want as many people to see them as possible, but after that you'll come to the local knights, the wanderers, and finally the foreign knights at the end."

"So we must walk through all of this?"

Maria nodded. "I heard from one of the duchess' ladies in waiting that the Serzek knights are farther away than any of the others and the duchess isn't happy about it. She started a row but it didn't accomplish anything."

“Serzek?”

“Oh, Lady Patrice...” Maria shook her head.

"Dragons are simply dragons," Patrice said. "We do not make things so complicated."

Maria pulled her aside to let a squire with an arm full of painted lances run past. "We're in Runeria. Dame Felicity is from Serze, which borders us to the Northeast. Both countries share a border with Juska."

It was Patrice's turn to shake her head as they marched back into the flow of traffic. "What does Juska have to do with Felisjyta? And this duchess?"

"Everything!" Maria punctuated the importance of the statement by throwing her hands in the air. "They've been acting up on our border, just minor skirmishes but that could easily change. Lord Vincent, second in line for the throne, is engaged to Duchess Rosalie – her Runerian name of course – who is sixth in line for the Serzek throne."

"So Felisjyta came here with the duchess?"

"Yes, along with about fourteen other knights. They've been here about a year. There will be a wedding and alliance, just in case."

Patrice sighed. "Dragons don't have rulers, or borders."

"There's more humans in this city than there are dragons altogether," Maria said with a laugh. "Of course it's easier for you." She patted Patrice on the shoulder. "Oh, I think this is it."

Patrice had no trouble picking out the difference as soon as they crossed over into the camp. The knights here talked and joked in their own language, unless they had to speak to a Runerian. If draconian words tasted of smoke and fire, and Runerian words felt like cotton in her mouth, then Serzek words surely burst across her tongue like ripe cranberries – each one distinct, sharp, and just a little bitter. Patrice had gotten a hint of it with the few words Felisjyta had spoken before, but now it washed over her completely, and the experience was just as overwhelming as it had been the first time hearing Runerian. She wasn’t sure this language was any better than the former.

Maria did not give her time to find her footing with the new language. She took Patrice's hand, and pulled her through the camp until they reached a small tent decorated with green and blue stripes.

Felisjyta stood outside the tent crooning to the dapple mare. As they approached the mare snorted and tossed her head. Felisjyta glanced up with a scowl on her face, though it changed to a grin when she saw who her visitors were. "Hello Patya. I didn't think you'd come."

Patrice stopped where she was. "Patya? I have only begun to accept Patrice."

"My apologies." Felisjyta gave a small bow.

Patrice couldn't tell whether it was meant to be mocking or not, so she ignored it. "May I approach? I have no wish to frighten your horse."

"Don't worry," said Felisjyta, slapping the mare on the shoulder. "Our mountain horses aren't as finicky as these high-strung Runerian beasts. Just give her this." The knight reached into an apron wrapped around her waist and tossed a chunk of carrot to Patrice.

Patrice caught it easily, but did not move forward. "Prey animals rarely like me," she warned.

"Just hold your hand out like this with the carrot." Felisjyta held her hand out palm up, completely flat, for demonstration.

Patrice did so and took a step forward. The mare rolled her eyes and flicked her ears, but did not move. Patrice stopped again.

"It's all right," Felisjyta repeated.

Patrice wasn't sure if the knight was speaking to her or the horse, but she took another few steps, stopping just close enough for the mare to reach the treat in her hand.

The mare considered for a moment, and the two of them stood there studying one another. Then greed got the better part of her caution and she stretched her neck as far as it would go to snatch up the offering. Her whispery lips tickled Patrice's hand as she took a snack. She only waited a moment before bumping her nose into Patrice's hand, looking for more.

"She's too greedy to resist a snack, no matter who offers it."

"She's so soft!" Patrice said, patting the horse's nose gently. Felisjyta bobbed her head in agreement, a small smile on her face. "But if the other knights are riding destriers, will she be able to keep up?"

Felisjyta laughed and Maria, who had been standing by awkwardly as the two women conversed in Serzek, jumped. "No one breeds better horses than us," Felisjyta said, and gave the mare an affectionate pat on the rump. "You don't have to worry about my little Vasya here. But you didn't brave the crowds to talk to me about horseflesh."

"I came to give you this," Patrice said. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, white with red lace sewn around the edges. A few small crumbles of stone came with it – the tiny dragon was vanishing already.

Felisjyta raised her eyebrows but took the cloth. "What's this supposed to be?"

Patrice gave a sigh. "Maria said that the knights joust under a lady's favor and if I did not find someone to bestow it on, someone undesirable might try to claim it." She shrugged and continued to pet Vasya's nose. "I would give it to you before any other."

"I would be honored to take it," Felisjyta said with another small bow, "even though I am aware I'm the only knight you actually know." She slipped the folded handkerchief into a pocket on her apron. "But you should go if you want a decent seat, and I only have an hour to finish getting ready." She winked and turned back to her horse.

Patrice looked at Maria and switched back to Runerian – perhaps it was less pleasant after all, but still easier for her to speak due to practice. "I think I will need your help to get to the arena now."

"It's this way," Maria said, pointing back through the crowd. Then, after they rejoined the masses, she spoke again. "I didn't know that you spoke Serzek."

"Dragons understand all spoken word," Patrice said with a dignity that belied how chaotic that understanding really was. Nothing her mother had told her had prepared her for the reality of it – suddenly finding hundreds of words in her mind, only loosely connected to any real meaning or anything she already knew. But perhaps it was easier for true dragons, perhaps that was just one more aspect that her heritage made more difficult for her.

Maria did not need to know about that confusion. She seemed suitably impressed just by the bare facts. "You dragons really are incredible, huh?" She asked cheerfully, before

turning her attention to finding an easy path to the arena.

"Indeed," Patrice said, with the same dignity as before. But Maria, focused on practical matters, was no longer listening.

Maria waited just long enough to make sure that Patrice was seated comfortably before vanishing as if she had never been.

The stands were small sets of padded wooden seats which gave a raised view of the arena. Each set was covered with a cloth awning, so the seats were nearly as brightly, chaotically colorful as the tents. They ringed the arena completely, several feet back from the sand. In between the seats and the sand, common people were standing, ready to watch. A wooden fence stood at the edge of the arena to keep the spectators from spilling out onto the sand.

Already they were beginning to settle in, both in the stands and on the grounds below. Now Patrice could more readily tell the difference between the nobles and the common folk. The common women wore kirtles even as she did, and kept their hair in simple styles – braids or queues under their veils. The noble women wore the more complicated dresses that Patrice had refused, dresses with tight, heavily embroidered bodices and wide sleeves nearly as long as their skirts. Their hair was pinned and sewn into complicated styles and heavily decorated. Common men wore short tunics and knee-length trews over their hosen, though they did not tuck in their tunics as Felisjyta did. The noblemen wore longer tunics, but no trews, except for the knights. Noblemen and women alike covered their faces with paints and powders to make sure they stood out.

A heavyset woman dressed in white and gold sat down directly to Patrice’s right as she was contemplating these differences.

The stranger spoke. "What an unusual sight."

Patrice looked at her, then to the crowd, and finally the arena. She saw nothing that a human would consider unusual.

"I meant your dress," the other woman said, not deterred by Patrice's lack of response. "Hardly fashionable, but I suppose young things like you can prance around in anything they please."

A man and his friend sat down to Patrice's left, cutting off her escape route. She was beginning to regret telling Maria that she could leave. She sighed. "The other clothing is too complicated for my taste." Her words were polite, but cold.

The woman did not seem to mind this either. She pulled a fan out of her pocket and snapped it open. "Fashionable women follow the queen's example," she said. "To truly be a lady of the court, you must never be late in appreciating what the others appreciate. Though I suppose not everyone would be interested in such things. Fashionable or otherwise, you could stand to fill out your dress a bit better. As they say, a well bred woman is a well fed woman."

Patrice narrowed her eyes at this insult to her appearance. "Who are you?" She asked, without bothering to try and hide her annoyance.

The woman let out a little titter of laughter as she fanned herself. "The day is already quite warm enough without you growing so heated. You will never survive here at this rate."

Patrice gave up and turned back to the arena. However the woman only let things lie for a few moments before interrupting her thoughts again.

"I'm Countess Elizabet, my dear. And you, I know, are Lady Patrice Drake. Forgive me, I could not resist an urge to tweak your tail, as it were."

"Wise humans know better than to do so," Patrice said. "Foolish ones rarely get a chance to learn." She did not look up while she spoke. She was watching the two knights below, who were just now taking their places at either end of the sand.

Their horses were both destriers, one blue roan and the other a shining gold bay. The mounts wore barding, perfectly shined, and caparisons in their knight's colors: the blue roan in navy and silver, the bay in green and white. The knights wore gambesons in the same colors and the armor they wore over it was highly ornamented with paint and metal foils – much fancier and less practical than the armor knights had worn to fight her mother.

She did wonder why they appeared to be bare headed, as in all her experience knights had always worn helmets. She could see that one of them had more common red gold hair tied into a small tail, but the other one had much darker brown coloration. Not as dark as her, but he still stood out.

Elizabet did not rise to Patrice’s implied threat. “I suppose a dragon wouldn’t have attended any jousts before? Dreadful sport, but it’s one of the only times that handsome young knights pay attention to old women like me.”

Patrice did not respond.

"I look forward to it each year," said the countess. "I can't turn down going to the feast with a young man on my arm. I suppose you are fetching enough even given your race, I imagine that you had several knights after you, hm?"

"I gave my favor to Dame Felisjyta."

Elizabet tittered again and fanned herself. "Well, I suppose no one would expect a dragon to understand the rules under which civilized folk live. I'd be more than willing to teach you, my dear. After this season is over you simply must come stay with me in the country."

"The season?" Patrice asked. She had heard that several times, but no one had explained to her what it meant. Elizabet did not explain it either.

Trumpets blared and all the gathered nobles stood. Patrice followed their example, and their gaze. The royal family had arrived, and were taking their seats in a much fancier stand at the closer end of the arena.

Patrice hadn't seen the royal family before – her arrival at court had been handled by a steward, and she hadn't yet attended any of the court dinners. The queen and king-consort were both on the portly side. The heirs, five in all, took strongly after their parents – tall, broad, pale, and blonde.

The duchess stood out from them all in stature and in fashion. Patrice didn't know which of the two royal sons was to be the duchess' mate, but even the younger of the two stood taller than she did, causing her to look less like a person and more like an elaborately decked doll. While the duchess did wear a court gown, she bypassed the more typical necklaces for strand upon strand of white and blue beads – so many that her neck was hardly visible. Her copper hair hung down in a loose braid, and she wore a ribbon around her head hung with strands of glimmering gems which sparkled whenever she moved. As no one else wore anything similar, Patrice assumed this was some sort of Serzek fashion. It seemed hardly more practical to her than anything else humans did.

Trumpets blared again as the royal family sat, and the nobles followed suit, eyes now riveted on the field. The creak of leather and clink of metal signaled that the knights had mounted. Now, as the knights put on first cowl, then maile, then helm, did Patrice realize why they had not worn them before. It was merely another method to try to avoid the heat.

The roan and bay destriers trotted out into the sand. They were impressive specimens – large, well fed, and groomed until they shone. They could kill a human easily, but stood as docile as lambs under their rider's control. From that, Patrice could tell that these two were among the best of the best, even if their being selected out of hundreds had not.

A small man clothed in white and scarlet livery stood up at the opposite end of the field from the royal box. His voice did not match his size, and Patrice could hear it as clear as if he stood right next to her.

"Sir Rothert of Sonern, fighting with the favor of her royal highness, Princess Emilia." He gestured to the knight closest to Patrice, the dark one riding the blue roan. The knight gave a half bow in his saddle and the crowd erupted into cheers.

"Sir Johan of Berker, fighting with the favor of Marquess Helle Rook." Here he gestured to the blonde knight on the gold bay, who also bowed. The cheer for this knight was just as intense.

The little man dropped his hand, and the knights moved to take their places on either end of the barrier in the middle of the arena.

The crowd held its breath.

"Start!" He said.

Both knights spurred their horses. The destriers threw themselves into a gallop. Sand flew and seats vibrated slightly from the force of hooves pounding against the ground. Both knights lowered lances painted in their own colors.

As they reached the middle of the arena the lances made contact.

Johan's lance hit right on the center of Rothert's shield, and shattered in a spray of wood chips and paint. Rothert's lance hit toward the top of Johan's shield, then slid up to land a ringing hit on the other knight’s helm. Both men teetered slightly, but kept their seats and reigned their horses back around. The big beasts pranced and shook their heads, and the knights took a short respite while squires fetched them new lances and cleaned the field.

"What are they attempting to do?" Patrice asked.

The countess sighed. "Ideally they want to unhorse their opponent. Barring that, the one with the most broken lances will win," she said. "A joust can also end in a duel by sword, which these two will probably do. They love the theatrics more than the jousting."

"I see," said Patrice just as the knights took to the field again. Now she understood the metal breastplates. Gambeson, maile and leather would protect from most slashes and stabs, but probably wouldn't hold up against this kind of foolishness.

This time both lances broke, and Johan came dangerously close to losing his seat.

On the third pass, only Rothert's lance broke. Both knights dismounted, and enthusiastic cheers rose from the crowd.

Countess Elizabet sighed again. "These jousts used to be serious wargames, but the rules have changed in recent years. Every season they become more dramatic and less realistic. Duels didn't used to be part of it all." She fanned herself with more force, punctuating each phrase with a swish of silk. "If both dismount, that's a duel. A tie will lead either to a duel or a fourth pass, it's up to the knights."

“Mhm,” Patrice responded, watching the duel. The jousting had not been overly exciting, but there was something in watching two humans fight one another afoot. She had seen fighting before, but only when knights were fighting her mother and that hardly compared to this at all. Her mother, she thought, certainly would've enjoyed this. She leaned forward to get a better view.

"They're far too dramatic," Elizabet said as the duel dragged on past the five minute mark. "I seem to recall that they’ve been in trouble before for rigging up their fights a certain way. Only together, mind. Against other knights they aren't nearly so...excitable."

"So they do it on purpose?" Patrice asked. She was still watching the strange sport – so like the way dragons danced and play fought in the air and so completely different at the same time. The movements were different, but no less graceful. The ring of steel on steel was different than claw on scale, but just as musical. There was a rhythm to the fight that tugged at her heart and made her blood dance.

Elizabet’s reply pulled her out of her hypnotic fascination. "To the shame of their families, I'm sure," she said. "That's why they’reat the beginning now, so only one gets a chance to compete. Last time it was Rothert, so he will let Johan win." She fanned herself idly for a while before speaking again. "As I recall Johan is engaged now, but even if he does get married to that backwoods country lord, I'm sure that he'll always show up in time for this. I don't know why the royal family let's them get away with it."

Patrice tuned the countess out as she continued to witter on about the personal lives of people that she neither knew nor cared about. She only wanted to watch the fighting, but even as Elizabet was speaking the duel drew to a close. It went as the countess had predicted it would.

Johan disarmed Rothert with a flourish that Patrice was certain had been much more dramatic than necessary. The spectators cheered the two knights as they bowed to each other and the royal family. The two men collected their materials and left the field to the next combatants.

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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#writeblr #writing #tc's writing #dragon's daughter #femslash #queer fantasy #fantasy novels #authors on tumblr

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tangent101 · 8 months

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The Abusive Nature of Fresh Cut Grass

So recently I made a rather interesting observation on FCG in Critical Role and had a couple people comment on it and figured I'd expand on that in my own post. You see, while people might not readily see it, FCG is in fact an abusive character, but they're not what you'd really think of as abusive. Because FCG doesn't remember their abuses and is horrified when they learn of it.

Let's look at this from another perspective. Let's say FCG is a sweet and wonderful human. They care for people all the time, they are sweet and nice, they try to get people to open up. But they have a quiet dark little secret: when they drink they don't stop until they are blackout drunk... at which point they are not just a mean drunk, but a murderous drunk.

Some time in the past FCG had a circle of friends and someone they were very close to. And they all went out partying out in the woods and FCG woke up and everyone was dead, while they themselves were battered as well with a badly-hurt eye. They're horrified and think they barely survived being attacked by some beast in the woods and all their friends are gone.

They moved on. They made new friends. And then they found one of their old friends had survived but not only wanted nothing to do with them but said "you know what you did." They don't. They freak out and start drinking while out with those friends and they got blackout drunk again and attacked them.

When they sobered up, they were horrified to learn that this happened and they still have no memory of what happened. Their friends try to convince them that they did this act, one is truly impressed by how fiercely he fought and complimented them, but it's unreal to them. How could they have done that? It doesn't seem real.

(There's a third incident with their new boyfriend and the boyfriend is barely able to keep them from going berserk by getting plenty of water into them and calming them down and at that point they realize the truth, that they cannot be trusted with alcohol. But it's still rather surreal to them.)

Essentially, FCG is one of those people who are nice and cheerful until they show up on the news having murdered their family and you're "but they were such a nice person, how could they do that?" But that doesn't make them less abusive... and more, given that there are "stress points" that make them more and more likely to snap? Well, what is that but akin to how abusers are, that you have to walk on tiptoes to try avoid instigating them? Knowing that if you do something too wrong they're going to snap and hurt you?

This also shows how their relationship with Dancer has added meaning, and why she wants nothing to do with them: she is the former abuse victim who barely escaped them the last time. Listen to how Matt roleplays her... we see someone who is doing her best to avoid instigating them.

There is one last aspect to this: This abusive element to FCG is "hardwired" into them. This is an interesting analogy to how things like alcoholism can be genetic in nature. And more, Sam plays FCG as continuing to perform activities that push those stress points. Like the alcoholic who can't stop drinking, FCG can't stop those actions which ultimately threaten to drive him into another murderous rage.

#fresh cut grass #fcg #faithful caregiver #critical role meta #critical role commentary #critical role

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michaelmilligan · 2 years

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Endverstober Day 25: Devil

(explanation post) (compilation post)

The throne they had built for him on Earth was uncomfortable. Maybe it was because it was made from stone, or maybe Lucifer just wasn't used to sitting with a vessel, but he kept adjusting his position on the damn thing, only to get even more uncomfortable.

Setting up shop in a dilapidated monastery might have been a mistake. Of course, they'd properly desecrated the place before using it as a base of operations. Otherwise, his demons wouldn't even have been able to enter it without experiencing severe pain. But unfortunately, the spilled blood and the screams of their victims didn't make this damn throne any nicer to sit on.

There were still some humans there, Lucifer contemplated, tugging on a chain and getting a whimper out of one. He could use one of them as a cushion, or at least part of them. A pillow made from human skin and innards – there was a Divine Design.

(Had Lucifer killed a few hours watching HGTV? Maybe. If anyone asked, he'd been doing important work, catching up with humanity in the twenty-first century. Besides, Ramsey had liked the moving pictures.)

“My Lord?”

Lucking up from the humans, Lucifer saw Meg, her head held high but with concern all over her face. That didn't bode well. She was one of his most loyal and competent minions, one of the few he could count on to only come to him with important matters that she couldn't fix on her own.

“What is it, child?”

She swallowed, then straightened her posture impossibly more. “There are more... complaints, my Lord.”

“Ah.” Lucifer suppressed a sigh. “Bring them in.”

She nodded gravely, then led some other demons into the room, side-eyeing them before they even started talking.

“What do you want?” Lucifer asked them, pretending to be bored, even though the sight of half a dozen demons all scowling made him tense.

Before all this, he would have barely given them another thought. But his powers were failing, and he was tethered more and more to his vessel, having to rely on its natural strength. Sam Winchester was a strong and sturdy vessel, of course, but he was still only human.

Except for the whole psychic thing, but Lucifer hadn't tapped into that yet at all.

“My King.” One of the demons stepped forward and gave a slight bow.

Considering what they were about to do, that was almost insulting.

“Go on. Speak,” Lucifer told them, eyes boring into those of the demons. They squirmed, much to his satisfaction.

“Earth sucks,” another demon spoke up, getting a glare from the first one. But he just continued on. “There's barely any humans left and there's freaking zombies everywhere.”

The others nodded.

“This isn't the kingdom you promised us,” someone said.

“Oh? It's not?” Lucifer uncrossed Sam's long legs and got up, still towering over everyone else even as he stepped down from his throne. “What did I promise you?”

The demons threw each other nervous looks as he came closer, but one of them raised his chin, standing firm. “Eternal torment. A world where we can be as cruel and horrible as we want.”

“Hm. And that's not this world?” Lucifer asked thoughtfully as he stopped directly in front of the brave demon who dared speak up to him.

“N-no,” the demon said, flinching when Lucifer touched his cheek. But he only trailed a finger over it, almost like a caress.

“You poor things. I haven't been caring for you good enough, have I? Not enough prey in your enclosure?”

The demon frowned, and glanced towards his compatriots, but before any of them could open their mouth, Lucifer had already curled his hands around the demon's throat and started squeezing.

“Not enough death, and maiming? Too bad,” he said conversationally, as the demon choked. “Guess we better give you something to remember today.”

The demon's mouth dropped open as he gurgled, and then black smoke started pouring out.

“Oh no no,” Lucifer said, eyes flashing as he forced the demon back into his vessel. He may be growing weaker, but he could still do this. “You wouldn't want to miss all the fun, would you?”

The other demons gasped, and Lucifer saw blades gleaming in the candlelight that filled the room.

Before one of the complainers could strike, though, there was a choked sound, and then a head hit the floor, followed by a body. Meg stood over the decapitated demon with a detached expression and a streak of blood on her face.

She was beautiful like this, Lucifer thought.

The other demons started yelling, in shock and in anger, but it soon turned into agonized screaming as Lucifer and Meg killed them, too. Even Ramsey got up from the half-eaten legs of a human prisoner to join the action.

In the end, the only sounds were the dripping of blood on stone tiles, and the crunching of bones as Ramsey snacked on the demons' dead vessels.

The serenity of the moment was broken, though, when the clicking of heels echoed from the walls. Lilith stopped upon seeing the carnage, blood and guts still spilling onto the floor.

“Seriously?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“They had some complaints,” Lucifer told her, and she rolled her eyes.

“Keep going like this and you'll have killed every last demon on Earth in a week.”

Lucifer glanced at Meg. “Not every demon.”

“Whatever.” Lilith gestured towards Meg. “Clean that up, will you?”

Meg's eyes flitted to Lucifer before she nodded, and walked towards the door. Either to get some cleaning supplies, or to get someone to do it for her, Lucifer supposed.

“Wait,” he said, and she stopped near the doorway, turning back to him. “Keep the blood.”

Both Lilith and Meg raised their eyebrows at him.

Lucifer put a hand on his vessel's chest. “Little Sammy here got his rocks off with demon blood. Haven't you ever wondered what it would do for me?”

“Can't say that I have,” Lilith said, pursing her lips again.

“I'll make sure to preserve whatever is salvageable,” Meg said, always he good little worker bee. “But my Lord... you shouldn't have to drink scraps from the floor. We can just get you a fresh batch.”

Lucifer felt his mouth pulling into a grin as his eyes came to rest on her. “And that is why you're my favourite.”

#Endversetober #Lucifer SPN #Meg Masters #Demons SPN #Quick writing

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kylermalloy · 2 years

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B, K, O, T, W, Z

Christina my love! Thanks for the asks 🥰

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

A lot of the pairings I’m into happened like this—I was neutral or lukewarm toward them, but then I read a fic, or found a mutual who was really into them, and I became a believer.

Hmm…it’s still not an otp of mine, but I’ll say Royai—Roy/Riza from FMA. I’m barely interested in the military characters on a good day, Riza being the exception because she’s cute and nice and the Elrics like her. I’ll credit @tomochingus and @aeruthien for getting me to appreciate her with Roy (because who am I to deny Riza what she wants?)

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

So many that I can think of! But for this one I’ll go with our genius banshee, Lydia. She begins Teen Wolf as the stereotypical mean girl at school—clearly there’s more going on, but this is all she lets people see. But as the show progresses, she lets more of her true self show. She becomes open about her intelligence, her growing affection for her friends, and her determination to do the right thing with her newfound powers. Even so, she doesn’t lose her hyperfemininity, her snark or any of her personality. She is still the same person as in the beginning, but she’s grown!

I mean, we can blame some of her development on Colton Haynes leaving the show and her losing Jackson earlier than they were planning—but I’m honestly grateful for that. Jackson’s abandoned storyline wasn’t worth all the stupid stuff that would’ve weighed Lydia down for another season or so.

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

This song was next on the playlist I have right now! The Labyrinth Song. Obviously takes inspiration from the myth of Theseus and the minotaur—the lyrics invoke Ariadne a lot, and how the singer has failed her. How he has slain the beast, but it’s implied the beast was actually part of him.

Naturally this train of thought leads me to the Mikaelsons and their complicated relationship with their humanity/monstrosity. Specifically I am thinking of Haylijah and Elijah’s struggle to feel worthy of Hayley’s love. Should he love her? Is he deserving of her? Does the “beast” inside him need to be killed before he can have her? Can that beast be killed? So many questions!

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

Normally headcanons are a slippery realm for me. I am not a fan of popular headcanons being elevated to “fanon” status that people will die on their hills for.

I do however have some small parts of canon that I will die rejecting—does that count? For instance, I posit that Stiles and Lydia were definitely dating before 6a; it just wasn’t shown to us. It doesn’t affect the plot of 6a at all—and it gives me more room for imagination!

Also, speaking of FMA stuff—I firmly reject Brotherhood’s take on post-canon Alphonse. He’s much too square and bulky. No one who spent years being malnourished can bounce back and look like a linebacker in that amount of time. The boy stays slender. He can get taller, sure, but not broader! I’ll die defending that.

Also, I haven’t brought up SPN yet—I must bring on the cringe! I’ll die on the hill of SamJack, that Sam had much more of a relationship with Jack than we saw.

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

I hate to say found family, but…found family.

I will emphasize the fandom part of this question—I have no problem with stories where people without roots find home in each other. That’s great! One of my favorite shows, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (rip), has a proper found family narrative that I adore! These characters are literally rejects from other DC shows and they find a place with other time traveling losers. Truly a proper found family.

I can’t stand it though when fandoms co-opt this trope and take it to mean “these people who are maybe(?) friends in canon definitely consider themselves a family unit and this is what the show is about.” (I’m looking at you, spn fandom. And you’re not even honest about what you really like about the show!)

The main reason this annoys me is that fandom “found family” tends to leave out the characters who actually do have the strongest canon bond—the biological siblings! Like, sure, this character makes friends in canon, but can you not see how much they care for the person who has been by their side since they were both little?

It’s oddly specific, I know, and doesn’t happen every single time in fandom—but it’s something I see over and over in my experiences, and it really grinds my gears. I get it if that particular sibling relationship isn’t your favorite or whatever, but would it kill you to acknowledge it? If not, I just won’t enjoy your fics or your fanart or whatever.

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go!

This is way too tempting, Christina. I want to complain about things! Positivity is not my strong suit, at least not right now.

I just…don’t see why people (fans and creators) can’t just let something die when it’s ready. Why are we getting a prequel to SPN less than two years after the show ended? And honestly, if I had to choose a spinoff for SPN, I would choose…literally anything besides this. There is no substance or importance to the story that they’re telling, not to mention we’ve already seen the most important parts of it in…you know, SPN itself.

Why is there a Teen Wolf movie? The show ended, what, five years ago? It won’t even be a “next generation” story because the first generation cast is still here—well, the ones who can’t get other jobs. Let’s not lie to ourselves, the charisma of Dylan O’Brien is largely what kept Teen Wolf enjoyable for so long. The last season without him was a humorless, miserable slog and I’m sure this movie will be the same.

Just…let the story be. You’re not going to make it any better by messing with it.

I’d complain about Legacies existing and messing up The Originals’ ending, but honestly—I got a suicide pact and my faves dying in each others’ arms. I will take that and fanfic the rest. (Also Legacies was just cancelled, so there’s that.)

I’m sorry for not rambling about something more positive 😔 but this is where I’m at today, apparently!

Send me fandom asks!

#asks #whitedahlia13 #thanks for sending this in dear!#supernatural #fullmetal alchemist #teen wolf

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ghostflowerdreams · 1 year

Text

Books Similar to The Lost Boys & Near Dark

If you like the 1987 films The Lost Boys and Near Dark you might be like me, who's looking for books that give off similar vibes. You know with the non-sparkly vampires and set in the 80s with its hair cuts, bold colors and charm. If you know any books, please suggest it so I can add it to my TBR list.

There's one or two books on here that are set in a different decade, but the rest is closer to the 80s. This is not in any particular order and not all of the books are appropriate for everyone.

The Lost Boys by Craig Shaw Gardner — A mother and her two sons move to a small coast town in California. The town is plagued by bikers and some mysterious deaths. The younger boy, Sam, makes friends with two other boys, the Frog brothers, who claim to be vampire hunters. Meanwhile the older boy, Michael, is drawn into the gang of bikers by a beautiful girl named Star. Michael starts sleeping days and staying out all night while Sam starts getting into trouble because of his friends' obsession.

Near Dark by Stacey Abbott — is set in the contemporary American Midwest that tells the story of Caleb, a half-vampire trying to decide whether to embrace his vampire nature or return to his human family.

Until Summer Comes Around by Glenn Rolfe — When fifteen year old Rocky Zukas meets a mysterious dark-haired girl named November, his world is forever changed. The young couple falls under the spell of summer love, but not everyone approves.

November's brother, Gabriel, is the keeper of the family's secret, and big brother is always watching, growing more sinister as his bloodlust gets the best of him. Directing his attention to Rocky's family, Gabriel aims to make sure little sister knows who is in charge.

Mayhem by Estelle Laure — It's 1987 and unfortunately it's not all Madonna and cherry lip balm. Mayhem Brayburn has always known there was something off about her and her mother, Roxy. Maybe it has to do with Roxy's constant physical pain, or maybe with Mayhem's own irresistible pull to water. Either way, she knows they aren't like everyone else. But when May's stepfather finally goes too far, Roxy and Mayhem flee to Santa Maria, California, the coastal beach town that holds the answers to all of Mayhem's questions about who her mother is, her estranged family, and the mysteries of her own self.

There she meets the kids who live with her aunt, and it opens the door to the magic that runs through the female lineage in her family, the very magic Mayhem is next in line to inherit and which will change her life for good. But when she gets wrapped up in the search for the man who has been kidnapping girls from the beach, her life takes another dangerous turn and she is forced to face the price of vigilante justice and to ask herself whether revenge is worth the cost.

Mouth Full of Ashes by Briana Morgan — Mourning the sudden loss of her sister, Callie Danoff wants nothing more than to embrace a fresh start in a new town, leaving the haunting memories of her sister’s death behind. But when her brother Ramsay drags her to a spooky boardwalk, the two become entangled with a local vampire gang and its enigmatic leader, Elijah. Callie refuses to accept their existence... until she and her brother unknowingly ingest vampire blood. Now, they only have three days before they turn into vampires themselves.

With her carefree summer thwarted, Callie must trust a group she barely knows in order to save her family.

Nightfall by Suzanne Young — In the quaint town of Nightfall, Oregon, it isn't the dark you should be afraid of—it's the girls.

Theo and her brother, Marco, threw the biggest party of the year. And got caught. Their punishment? Leave Arizona to spend the summer with their grandmother in the rainy beachside town of Nightfall, Oregon—population 846 souls.

The small town is cute, when it’s not raining, but their grandmother is superstitious and strangely antisocial. Upon their arrival she lays out the one house rule: always be home before dark. But Theo and Marco are determined to make the most of their summer, and on their first day they meet the enigmatic Minnow and her friends. Beautiful and charismatic, the girls have a magnetic pull that Theo and her brother can't resist.

But Minnow and her friends are far from what they appear. And that one rule? Theo quickly realizes she should have listened to her grandmother. Because after dark, something emerges in Nightfall. And it doesn’t plan to let her leave.

Less Than Human by Gary Raisor — The town of Carruthers, Texas, has seen its share of drifters and lowlifes. But never anyone like Steven and Earl.

They move from town to town. Hustling the pool halls. Raising a little hell. Drinking a little blood. They sleep by day and hunt by night -- the ultimate predators. The perfect life. Until now.

A barroom brawl ends in disaster. The soil from Steven's grave has been stolen. And a young boy's death sparks an all out war between vampires and mortals that will turn the local Frontier Day celebration into a blood bath....

Live Girls (Davey Owen #1) by Ray Garton — Seeking consolation after losing his job and his girlfriend, Davey Owen enters a small, dark club in the seedy precincts of the city and finds a world of uncontrollable ecstasy and unbelievable horror inhabited by savagely seductive vampires.

The Light at the End by John Skipp — The newspapers scream out headlines that spark terror across the city. Ten murders on the New York City subway. Ten grisly crimes that defy all reason -- no pattern, no m.o., no leads for police to pursue. The press dubs the fiend the "Subway Psycho"; the NYPD desperately seeks their quarry before the city erupts in mass hysteria. But they won't find what they're looking for.

Because they all think that the killer is human.

Only a few know the true story -- a story the papers will never print. It is a tale of abject terror and death written in grit and steel... and blood. The tale of a man who vanished into the bowels of the urban earth one night, taken by a creature of unholy evil, then left as a babe abandoned on the doorstep of Hell. Now he is back, driven by twin demons of rage and retribution.

He is unstoppable. And we are all his prey... unless a ragtag band of misfit souls will dare to descend into a world of manmade darkness, where the real and unreal alike dwell in endless shadow. A place where humanity has been left behind, and the horrifying truth will dawn as a madman's chilling vendetta comes to light...

Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite — At a club in Missing Mile, N.C., the children of the night gather, dressed in black, looking for acceptance. Among them are Ghost, who sees what others do not. Ann, longing for love, and Jason, whose real name is Nothing, newly awakened to an ancient, deathless truth about his father, and himself.

Others are coming to Missing Mile tonight. Three beautiful, hip vagabonds - Molochai, Twig, and the seductive Zillah (whose eyes are as green as limes) are on their own lost journey; slaking their ancient thirst for blood, looking for supple young flesh.

They find it in Nothing and Ann, leading them on a mad, illicit road trip south to New Orleans. Over miles of dark highway, Ghost pursues, his powers guiding him on a journey to reach his destiny, to save Ann from her new companions, to save Nothing from himself...

Blood & Dust (Vampires in the Sunburnt Country #1) by Jason Nahrung — Kevin Matheson works at his family’s service station in the Queensland outback. Life is all about cricket, fishing, the pub, his girlfriend. Then it all gets blown to hell – he’s caught up in a hideous, unbelievable world of cops and monsters in which two rival gangs of vampires vie for control, all while maintaining a charade of humanity.

Kevin has to cope with his new existence as a vampire, adapt to the destruction of his family and play the politics of the supernatural world. The biker Taipan and his lover Kala make for unlikely allies as they lead the nomadic Night Riders in their fight to be free of the control of the Brisbane-based Von Schiller group, led by the ruthless Mira and her pack of blood-addicted human servants.

Caught between vicious nomadic bikers and their brutal foes from the coast, Kevin fights to save not only those he holds dearest, but his own soul. In a world without rules, only one tenet holds true: blood really is thicker than water. But how far will he go to save the people he loves?

The Lost Girls by Sonia Hartl — When Elton Irving turned Holly Liddell into a vampire in 1987, he promised her eternal love. But thirty-four years later, Elton has left her, her hair will be crimped for the rest of immortality, and the only job she can get as a forever-sixteen-year-old is the midnight shift at Taco Bell.

Holly’s afterlife takes an interesting turn when she meets Rose McKay and Ida Ripley. Having also been turned and discarded by Elton—Rose in 1954, and Ida, his ex-fiancée, in 1921—they want to help her, and ask for her help in return.

Rose and Ida are going to kill Elton before he turns another girl. Though Holly is hurt and angry with Elton for tossing her aside, she’s reluctant to kill her ex, until Holly meets Parker Kerr—the new girl Elton has set his sights on—and feels a quick, and nerve-wracking attraction to her.

Song of the Vampire by Carmen Adams — Believing that peace has returned to sleepy Blue Mesa after dispatching the vampire members of the The Band, Megan and Iris find their lives disrupted again when a group of the undead invades the beach town of Turo.

In the Valley of the Sun by Andy Davidson — One night in 1980, a man becomes a monster.

Haunted by his past, Travis Stillwell spends his nights searching out women in West Texas honky-tonks. What he does with them doesn’t make him proud, just quiets the demons for a little while. But after Travis crosses paths one night with a mysterious pale-skinned girl, he wakes weak and bloodied in his cabover camper the next morning—with no sign of a girl, no memory of the night before.

Annabelle Gaskin spies the camper parked behind her motel and offers the cowboy a few odd jobs to pay his board. Travis takes her up on the offer, if only to buy time, to lay low and heal. By day, he mends the old motel, insinuating himself into the lives of Annabelle and her ten-year-old son. By night, in the cave of his camper, he fights an unspeakable hunger. Before long, Annabelle and her boy come to realize that this strange cowboy is not what he seems.

Half a state away, a grizzled Texas Ranger is hunting Travis for his past misdeeds, but what he finds will lead him to a revelation far more monstrous. A man of the law, he’ll have to decide how far into the darkness he’ll go for the sake of justice.

When these lives converge on a dusty autumn night, an old evil will find new life—and new blood.

The Lesser Dead by Christopher Buehlman — New York City in 1978 is a dirty, dangerous place to live. And die. Joey Peacock knows this as well as anybody—he has spent the last forty years as an adolescent vampire, perfecting the routine he now enjoys: womanizing in punk clubs and discotheques, feeding by night, and sleeping by day with others of his kind in the macabre labyrinth under the city’s sidewalks.

The subways are his playground and his highway, shuttling him throughout Manhattan to bleed the unsuspecting in the Sheep Meadow of Central Park or in the backseats of Checker cabs, or even those in their own apartments who are too hypnotized by sitcoms to notice him opening their windows. It’s almost too easy.

Until one night he sees them hunting on his beloved subway. The children with the merry eyes. Vampires, like him…or not like him. Whatever they are, whatever their appearance means, the undead in the tunnels of Manhattan are not as safe as they once were.

And neither are the rest of us.

#books #vampires #reading list #The Lost Boys #books similar to #books similar to the lost boys #list of books #books to read #to-be-read #tbr #to be read #The Lost Boys (1987)#the lost boys 1987 #Near Dark (1987)#near dark 1987

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buckysbabygorl · 3 years

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Hello! Idk if you’re currently accepting requests right now and if you aren’t, feel free to ignore or delete this! If you are, I would like to request a fluff oneshot with the reader (who possesses the ability to fly with wings) is practicing with their ability outside of the avengers compound one afternoon and standing in the field is Bucky, just watching them with pure adoration. 🥺

I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE FOR THE LENGTH OF THIS REQUEST 😭

Flight Risk

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Masterlist

“MOTHER FUCKER!”

Y/N fell once again as she took lift off.

At least she had manage a few feet this time.

Holy hell was this hard.

She looked to the clouds from her position in the grass, admiring the fluffy clusters above her. When she was younger, her mother told her they were made of the fallen feathers of angel wings, accumulating in soft mounds throughout the sky.

She reached to touch the end of her own wings, though they weren’t white, she liked to think that’s what the clouds above her felt like.

She knew they didn’t, in fact they didn’t feel like anything. Just cold, moist. Or so she had been told. She hadn’t felt them herself yet.

Her wings hadn’t been operational that long ago: DNA splicing experimentation and strenuous surgery had only produced these miraculous appendages on a whim, she had been the only successful subject. There could have been more, but thankfully the Avengers stepped in once hearing that Zola’s previous experimentation had influenced a small group of mad scientists to use similar technologies. Kidnapping thousands of travellers throughout the decades and only recently been finding themselves successful in their results. They attempted to give people gills, fins, horns, hooves... and in Y/N’s case, wings.

They couldn’t send Y/N back into society; they knew she wouldn’t be accepted or be able to live a normal life. She was free to return to civillian life if she chose, but the team made her aware that she was more than welcome to join them.

So she did.

She surprisingly had proved herself to be a usefull asset, wings aside. She was strong, fast, cunning, high above the rest (both literally and metaphorically). She was a superhero now.

But unfortunately, she had no capabality of flying.

“I can teach you,” Sam said, “It’s not that difficult.”

“Your wings don’t count,” Y/N said, “Yours are mechnical. Mine are natural.”

“Well, as natural as science experiments can be.” Bruce said.

“Shut it,” she teased.

Technology aside, Sam had seemed like the only one with somewhat similar experiences to teach her some minor details.

He gave her the basics, but she was alone now.

Huffing, she lifted herself from the ground and dusted her clothes off. She shook out her wings, adjusting her shirt so that they didn’t bunch at the shoulders.

“Come on, you got this. Just bend, brace, expand, flap--”

She tried again, shooting up with wings narrowed. She then unfurled them as she rose higher into the air, but as another gust of wind came she found herself faltering and tumbling back down.

Bucky took out his earbuds as he jogged by. He hadn’t noticed her before, adjusting to the early morning hadn’t left him very observant of his surroundings. He watched as her wings spread, her eyes on the sky above. He couldn’t help but chuckle as she struggled to stay up, frustration scrunching her face.

“You okay? He called out.

She rested her hands on her knees, looking up at the voice. A small smile breaking her thoughts as she realized who it was.

“Yeah.” She called back.

He jogged to her place in the open field, slowing as he neared her and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Flight practice?” He asked.

“Not really,” she said as she crossed her legs, “It’s more ‘breaking for impact’ practice at this point.”

He laughed softly, bending to sit beside her as she checked her knees for scrapes.

“I take it Sam didn’t really give you the best advice.” He said, reaching out to run his thumb over a small bruise on her shin.

She sighed, “Well his heart’s in the right place but--we’ve got different mechanics. I don’t think he can relate to this. Not that many people can...”

She ran the back of her hand along the length of her wings, flicking upwards as she reached their soft end point.

Bucky admired the light brown color of her wings, reminding him of the sparrows that sometimes stopped on the windowsill of his bedroom.

He was never really subtle with his staring, Sam had actually labelled it as his biggest problem. She wasn’t an exception to that; he often found his eyes chasing after her as she exited rooms, her expansive wings encompassing her figure.

“One day she’s gonna catch you staring,” Sam warned, “you better hope she doesn’t kick your ass. She could get the wrong idea...”

Bucky didn’t like that her phrased it that way; as if he was gawking at her. He wasn’t looking at her like she was some freak, or a circus sideshow. It was more like... admiration.

She was beautiful.

He thought she was beautiful.

If anyone had taken a glimpse into his mind, it would be easy to understand that he wasn’t looking only because the wings were breathtaking, he felt she was too.

“Can I?” He asked.

His hand was held out in a loose open palm, just above the bed of feathers.

She nodded, and he ran his knuckles slowly along the length in the same way she had before.

They tickled slightly, the nerve endings in his fingers seemed to buzz. His hand shook slightly as he flicked upwards at the point, and she giggled quietly.

“It tickles when you do it.” She said.

He smiled, “Same here.”

He gently picked at blades of grass that had stuck to her wings, “How long have you been out here?”

She looked up at the sun, noting its change in height.

“A few hours I think. I didn’t want anyone to see.”

“Well, sorry for the intrusion then.”

She shrugged, “It’s alright. I like having you around.”

A blush creeped up his cheeks, and he ducked his head more, pretending to really focus on pulling out grass.

“So--uh, where do you think you’re going wrong?”

She chuckled at his bluntness, only further embarrassing Bucky.

“I don’t know. In my lift off I can’t make it stick. It just doesn’t feel natural.”

“Alright”, Bucky wasn’t sure how to help her, it wasn’t like he had any personal experience himself. “Well, what does feel natural?”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned back to lie on the grass, hands cradling his head as he looked up.

“I guess--I mean, when you look at birds, they just start flapping. That’s natural for them. Humans don’t fly; Sam’s wings are mechanical…”

Y/N realized early on in their relationship that Bucky had a tendency to ramble; though he liked when others were “to the point”, he lacked that quality himself. But she knew if she was patient, he’d get there eventually. And truthfully, she quite enjoyed listening to his tangents.

“...so Sam’s advice is based off what the wings are designed to do. Maybe you need to try testing it out the natural way. Move your wings in a way that feels right. Does that make sense?”

No, it didn’t.

But she smiled anyway, “Kind of. Like, don’t think about it and see where my body takes me?”

He chuckled, “That’s a weird way to phrase it, but yeah, something like that.”

Suddenly she stood up, making Bucky jump slightly.

She was no longer looking at him, only closing her eyes and expanding her wings.

He liked that she was a “0 to 100” type of person, out of nowhere she’d get an idea and then it was all action.

She let the wind ripple through her feathers, and she tried to gauge the current off her wings.

Don’t think about it… what feels right?

She couldn’t put it into words; but as she focused on her surroundings, feeling the breeze… some kind of instinct came over her.

Wait…

Bucky intently watched as she inhaled; steading herself as her wings unfurled.

Wait…

As the sun gleamed behind her, leaving him completely consumed in her shadow.

It was breathtaking.

Her eyes snapped open.

Now.

The sudden flap of her wings threw Bucky back, the hard beat shooting her upwards and leaving him in the grass.

Each stride she took was with purpose, and before they knew it she was flying higher than she ever had before.

Bucky stood, laughing and smiling in awe as she soared along the current.

The wind roared in her ears, so loud she could barely hear her own laughter.

She was amazed, she was flying.

She let the wind pull her, ducking her wings and shooting off in another direction.

Bucky spun around in circles as she flew around him, trying to catch her figure against the blinding sunlight.

He was dizzy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Jesus Christ,” he said to himself. He cupped his hands over his mouth to amplify his voice, “You’re flying!” He screamed.

“I’m fucking flying!” She screamed back.

Just wait ‘til Sam saw this.

But then she got cocky, dipping further than she should’ve.

She caught a draft that clipped her wing.

It was too late to catch herself before she was fluttering to the ground.

“Shit!” She screamed.

“Shit.” Bucky muttered.

He started running in her direction, arms reaching out like he was catching a football.

“I’ve got you,” he cried, “I’ve got you!”

He caught her just in time, bracing for impact as they both crashed into the ground.

Hair windswept and cheeks red, Y/N screamed out in happiness.

“Oh my god, did you see that? Did you see me?”

He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head as she dramatically recounted the experience, his arms firmly holding her against him.

“And then I was like whoosh and the wind came and it was like AHH and then--”

She was cut off by his lips on hers.

His lips were soft, his touch surprisingly gentle for such a gruff man…

Her eyes closed and she pressed further into him, deepening the kiss.

He pulled away, leaving her more shocked than the flight had.

“I’m sorry,” He started, “It’s just--”

He looked into her eyes, unable to explain it all. How could he? She was just...

“--I think you’re amazing.”

She smiled back at him, “Oh I’ll show you amazing.”

Her hands wrapped around his collar as she pulled him back in for another kiss.

Bucky would have to remind himself to interrupt flight practice more often...

I hope you enjoyed @halietigges this request was so fun to make!

Taglist: @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @dumb-ass-writer @cuddlycalcifer @babyblue-07 @babybluereads @lonewolf471 @emmabarnes @niiight-dreamerrrr @julipmoon @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses @yougottalovefandoms @rebekahdawkins

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #tiktok #bucky barnes imagine #fatws #bucky #tfatws #buckysbabygorl requests #buckysbabygorl masterlist

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sukirichi · 3 years

Note

Hi BUB CONGRATS ON 500! 💗 it’s okay if you don’t accept but ingredient 55 reincarnation au + sugar 7 forbidden relationship (or unrequited love?) for Sukuna 🥺 I basically just want a part 2 of Home from War 😫 A snack (drabble) is fine I’ll pick up any crumbs you leave me 🤧 Maybe Sukuna’s thought process after he finds out reader was telling the truth but it was too late, or his thought process when he sees her for the first time and she’s getting closer with Megumi. Oooorrr what happens after the ending of Home from War. If you don’t do continuations that’s alright thank you!

CHOU BUB THANKS SO MUCH 🥺💗💗 and here it is, the ending of home from war, the part two people have been asking for! it’s pretty angsty tho and i may or may not have been hurt while writing this, but i hope you like it anyway!

home from war: the ending | part one

how do you comfort your lover when he cannot find his way home back from the war?

meal order: 55 (reincarnation au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) no longer included + unrequited love + home from war inspired read here: home from war: the ending

song i listened to while writing: lay me down by sam smith (yes i was looking for PAIN)

warnings: murder, character death, angst, regrets, overall a big sad, unedited as always

The sky mourned your death; dark clouds forming overhead as Sukuna watched his servants pile dirt over your body. Your lifeless eyes stared back into nothingness, the gaping hole in your chest prominent. As his last bit of respect for his fallen comrade, he’d ordered his servants to dress you in the finest white robes to replace your bloodstained clothes.

His lover stood beside him; small hands clutched around his bicep while she weeped.

He couldn’t understand why she cried, why she grieved your death. Did his lover not care that this female curse had tried to kill her and their baby just moments ago, cruel and heartless as she was?

Of course she didn’t. His lover was kind, and he didn’t stop her as the feeble human fell down to her knees, fists bundled up around her robes until your body was completely buried underneath the underneath.

They stayed there for what seemed like an eternity until his lover had grown completely tired, body dehydrated from all the crying. She couldn’t cry anymore and her clothes were stained with dirt. Sukuna sighed, his gaze pointed away from the single lily flower that laid above your corpse, reaching over to his lover to pull her arm.

“My love,” he called out, “Come on. Let’s go home. It’s getting dark.”

“No, you don’t get it,” his lover pushed him away, eyes blurred with tears and lips terribly chapped. “She was your friend, Sukuna, you couldn’t kill her just like that!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t get it. She tried to kill you and our baby!”

“Because the child is a monster!” his lover screamed back, pounding her small fists on his chest. It barely grazed him from his looming size, but something about the desperation in his lover’s voice had the words hitting straight through his heart, her gaze piercing. “Because it’s your child and you’re a monster – she was kind to you, she loved you and fought with you, you shouldn’t have killed—”

Sukuna’s arms withdrew his sword before he could realize what he was doing. The sounds of gurgling brought him back to reality, the curse stepping backward as his lover fell down on both knees, hands wrapped around her neck.

Blood dripped from the clean slice he’d made. She choked on her own blood, the liquid black and cursed – you were right. His lover did carry the curse of Death.

Sukuna stood frozen in his spot as his lover fell limp on the ground, the tips of her fingers pointed in your burial’s direction. The dark liquid oozed and poured out of her fragile body, the blood seeping into the ground until the lily turned black.

They all died. The Curse of Death had been exorcised before it fully formed, and he watched as the flower withered, crumpling down itself before the petals fell.

“Hey, Sukuna.”

“Hmm?” he looked up from cleaning his blade, scarlet eyes narrowed at the way you bounced from the corner. It was unusual for you to be this bubbly; not that he minded, though he’d never admit it out loud. Seeing you smile only happened once in a blue moon, thus catching the King of Curses off guard when your entire face lit up, eyes crinkled into half-moons at your enthusiasm.

Your laughter painted the walls of his dark, lonely temple a thousand colours. He barely got to move, much less respond, before you placed a flower crown on his head.

“Don’t you look charming.”

“Tch,” he held back a growl, the tips of his ears flushing red because how dare you defile him like this. The only reason he hadn’t killed you right there and then was because you were the so-called Queen of Curses, adorning your own handmade flower crown, only yours were a lot more colourful and his full of plain blue ones. It was his way of accepting you as his equal, though this didn’t dissipate the irritation that bloomed in his chest. “Get this vile thing off me.”

“It’s a crown I made for us, though,” you pouted, and you looked so terrifyingly adorable for a malicious and bloodthirsty Curse that even Sukuna was stunned. “See, we even match. It’s going to wither soon so let’s just enjoy it for now – while it’s still fresh and living.”

“Death means nothing to us,” he reminded you, “We don’t really die. We were never really living in the first place. Even if our bodies did decompose or wither, we’d still manifest into something else sooner or later.”

You smiled at his words, your cheek turned to him while you looked up at the bright sky. Just like your smiles and laughter, being able to see a clear sky with the blueness calming you both down was rare up far here from your temple. Due to both of your cursed presences looming over the mountain, the skies were always dark, terrifying, and cold.

But not today – not when you were basking in this thing you called “life” and Sukuna’s heart began to beat for the first time in a thousand years.

“I know it’s stupid of me to even think this is a life when I was never really alive in the first place,” you faced him again, the smile never leaving your lips. In that moment, the sun shone down on you, the colour of the flowers like a wonderful spectrum of nature’s wonder reflected back in your eyes. “But it changed when I met you. You’re right that we’re not really living, but you gave me a second chance at life, so I’ll be loyal to you. I’ll be by your side no matter what. Until I theoretically die, I choose to ‘live this life’ with you, Sukuna. I’ll always be here.”

Sukuna blinked back wordlessly, the grip on his sword faltering. He was at a loss of words, unable to process the meaning behind your words.

Understanding him better than anyone, sometimes even better than himself, you chuckled as you stood up, patting his shoulder in the process. “No need to say anything else, King. Those are just my thoughts. But I hope that if I don’t get to be with you in this life anymore, then let’s meet in the next.”

You sounded so sure back then that Sukuna had unknowingly kept your words in his heart as a vow, blindly searching for your soul – anything to have you back by his side again – because there were still some things he needed to say, some things he had to do, and all he ever wanted was to tell you that he understood your words now.

He too, found the meaning of life with you, although he realized it too late, and the realization drowned him when you were no longer there for him.

But he’ll find you – he’ll always find you.

After all, was it not your promise? Was it not your wish to meet him in the next life? When the war is over and the skies have cleared, when he could hear the steady stream of the river and the sounds of birds chirping along with your golden laughter that brightened up the darkness of his soul and his temple – would you still be able to comfort him once he’d come home from war?

#sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #ryoumen sukuna romance #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna x reader romance #sukuna x reader fluff #ryoumen sukuna x reader angst #ryoumen sukuna x reader fluff #ryoumen sukuna x reader romance #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen romance #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk #jjk imagines #okay uhm its a little sad lol

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Beltane

Written for Ectober 2021 Day 1: Trick vs Treat. This is part of the Exhumed series.

Danny Fenton walked into the precinct. As often happened when he did this, all attention slowly turned to him. “Hi, Detective Patterson. Have you ever heard of Beltane?”

Patterson took a long swig of coffee through the plastic stir straw, because she felt the need to be at least a little drugged before dealing with whatever this was, and then said, “Is this the kind of thing the whole precinct needs to know about, or is it more specific to me?”

“Mm, not specific to you, but I’m not sure if everyone needs to know about it, yet.”

Despite only select members of the Amity Park police force knowing Danny Fenton had another identity, he’d become a sort of ‘ghost liaison’ for the precinct. Better him than the adult Fentons, who tended to break things even (especially) when they were being careful.

“Actually,” continued Danny, “you might have already noticed some things about it. I mean, it’s seasonal, and Mom and Dad were detecting ectoenergy and ghost activity spikes for events like this before they got the portal up and running. Although, the portal was supposed to stabilize and reduce those spikes… I guess reducing one isn’t bad?”

“Okay,” said Patterson. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to go find Collins?”

“Oh, that might be a good idea.”

“Great,” said Patterson. She turned her head to shout across the room. “McGee. Go find Collins.”

“Still the new guy?” asked Danny, sympathetically.

“It isn’t like we’re a popular posting,” said Patterson, “and, thanks to the ghosts, we don’t really need new people.”

Danny nodded placidly. “I know. But it must be hard for him, don’t you think?”

McGee had done his job. He’d discovered the corruption in the Amity Park Police Department and plumbed its depths. The problem was that he could never, ever, report it. Even if they didn’t have a perfectly good cause for it all, what they were ‘hiding’ (and they were only barely doing that) was so ridiculous that McGee had thought he’d gone crazy at first.

Ghosts.

The whole of Amity Park was haunted. Just like it said in those touristy brochures at the front of the local diners.

He stuck his head into the break room. “Collins, Patterson and Fenton want you,” he said.

“In the normal room?” Collins asked, shoving a sugary monstrosity of a donut into his mouth.

“I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

“Normal room then. Great job, McGee.”

McGee rolled his eyes. Great job, he said. As if he’d done anything.

God. What would Halloween be like?

“So, it’s like, reverse Halloween?” asked Patterson.

“Well, not exactly,” said Danny. He patted Daisy, the department mascot slash corpse sniffing dog who had followed them into the small interview room, gently on the head. “Actually, there are more similarities than differences. Basically, like Halloween, we’re going to get a spike in ectoenergy. Maybe even some ectoplasmic storms. More portals. That kind of thing.” He shrugged. “Most holidays and seasonal divisions have them, you know.”

“So… we’re getting Halloween round two?” asked Collins.

“What do you bet that this is what gets McGee to snap?”

“He’s been here since December,” said Collins. “I think he’s too stubborn to leave.”

“Is he still spying?” asked Danny.

“No,” said Patterson, waving a hand. “He gave up on that, after a while. But there’s a new office bet about whether or not he’ll stay stay, or if he’ll decide to quit. We’re not allowed to join in because we know him too well.”

“Mm,” said Danny.

“I don’t actually know if I feel like I know him that well,” said Collins.

“Well,” said Danny, “it shouldn’t be as extreme as Halloween. Since, I mean, there aren’t as many religious holidays directly associated with death and stuff happening on or around May first. So. Yeah. But the thing is, there are some traditional, er, activities. Spirited activities.”

Collins suppressed a groan, and was glad that Captain Jones wasn’t available today. He and Danny could sling puns at each other for obscenely long periods of time.

“I’ve never noticed ghosts doing anything on May Day,” said Patterson.

“This is only the third year anyone’s even acknowledged that ghosts exist,” said Danny, “so I’m not really all that surprised. But the reason that I came to talk to you guys is that some of the ghosts want to do Beltane stuff. Like the fire blessings. Also, I’ve been told that some of the trees in town are secretly ghost trees, and if we don’t want to deal with another tree army, we need to do some stuff to appease them.”

“Secret ghost trees.”

“My source is very reliable,” said Danny. “Also, while I say ‘we don’t want to deal with it,’ I think we all know who’d be dealing with most of it.”

“You would,” said Patterson.

“Got it in one. Like, I can convince most of the ghosts to either do their Beltane stuff in the Ghost Zone, or somewhere out of the way. They’ll be disappointed, but I can do it. The ghost tree thing, though…”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know,” said Collins, “get rid of the ghost trees?”

“Well, they aren’t really evil ghost trees. Or even really ghost trees. They’re more… ghosts that live in trees?”

“What, like dryads?” asked Collins, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s what I said, but they’re different species, apparently.”

“Okay,” said Patterson, “so. Appeasing the trees. How many trees are we talking about here, and how are we going to appease them?”

“Okay, so, this is definitely a whole precinct kind of thing,” said Patterson.

“And possibly an ‘all civil servants’ type of thing,” added Collins. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where are we going to get the funding for this?”

“Oh, don’t worry about money,” said Danny. “I’ll just blackmail Vlad, and if that doesn’t work, I can get Mom and Dad to pay for it.”

“What,” said Collins.

“I think this might be a bit beyond your parents’ budget,” said Patterson, “but knock yourself out as far as Masters goes.”

“Well, I guess if it is,” he allowed, dubiously, “I could get the cults to pitch in?”

“This is nice,” said Danny. The sky was a bit overcast, which was a shame, but the hundreds of bright flowers and cheerful music more than made up for that.

The May Day celebration was, in Danny’s opinion, a success. At least, this half of it was turning out to be. He’d have to wait and see how the Spirit Bonfires went tonight before he could really make a judgement.

He’d only had to blackmail Vlad a little, too. It turned out that the ‘ruthless businessman’ in Vlad was ludicrously easy to manipulate, and once Danny brought up how a celebration like this one could revitalize local businesses and bring in tourism, he’d caved.

Although, that might have been the threat of an angry tree army. Vlad had definitely come off worse for wear in the last one, on all fronts.

Then, publically putting the Phantom Stamp of Approval (and Necessity Given The Potential Angry Tree Army) on the event had gotten buy-in from his fans and (sigh) the cults. The cults were, in fact, very enthusiastic about their new Holy Day. Danny had made a map of all the places they’d set up booths, and was studiously avoiding them.

Sam and Tucker were doing a walkthrough of that area, now, to check for problems and unadorned thorn trees. They’d arranged to meet up soon.

So, Amity Park was decked out in ribbons and flowers. All of the schools had gotten Maypoles and the day off of classes. Several bands, both human and ghostly, were playing in different parts of town.

It was chaotic, but great.

Danny briefly cut into the street to dodge a pair of college-age men play-fighting with tree branches (a genuinely important tradition symbolizing the battle between winter and summer), then walked through a wall to avoid two ghosts doing the same thing.

Finally, he reached Madame Babazita’s table.

“Hi,” he said, “three readings, please.”

“Three?” she asked. “Just for you?”

“My friends should get here before mine’s done,” said Danny. Was he channeling some predictive powers? Maybe. Holidays did make his powers weird.

“I have no idea what your reading is saying,” said Madame Babazita, after fifteen full minutes. “The cards simply aren’t speaking to me today. Also,” she held up an Uno card, “I’m not sure how this even got here.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny, “I just wanted to make sure it was the same as last time.”

“Hey! Phantom!” called Ember across the crowd of ghosts that had gathered in the cemetery. Most of them were fire or nature themed. “You’re in for a treat!”

Danny, who had been examining the flowers left on his grave, looked up. “I am?”

Ember draped her arm around Danny’s shoulder. She’d been a lot more friendly with him since the corpse incident. “Sure are.” She stepped up onto the surface of his memorial, pulling him up behind her. Danny shook off a brief chill and looked around.

Ghosts were streaming into the cemetery from various directions, bringing armfuls of flowers with them. Danny could see two, huge bonfire piles of flowers growing near the cemetery gates.

“Are there going to be cows?” asked Danny, who was still fuzzy on the details of the ghostly side of the celebrations.

“I don’t know,” said Ember. “When I’ve seen this done in the GZ there are. Here? Who knows. Maybe we’ll just walk through.”

Danny nodded, unworried. Beltane sure was an interesting holiday.

The last armful of flowers was placed, and every flower in the cemetery caught on fire at once. Including the ones on Danny’s grave. Danny yelped, jumping into flight. As an ice core ghost, he vastly preferred cold to heat.

This went without saying, but fire was very hot.

Ember grabbed his foot, and he almost kicked her. “You knew that was going to happen,” he accused.

“Sure did, babypop,” said Ember, grinning. “Come on, don’t you want to pass through the bonfires?”

Danny eyed the very large bonfires on either side of the cemetery gates. They were lit up with sparks like fireworks, shifting like flowers blooming and withering and blooming again. They were beautiful and impressive, and Danny felt like melting just by looking at them.

“I don’t know…” He wanted to, but… melting…

“Well, if you want to go out the other way and be horribly unlucky for the next year…”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Is that another trick?” he asked.

Ember’s grin grew wider, and she took off towards the gates. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Danny sighed and followed her.

“Unbelievable,” said McGee. “Absolutely unbelievable.” He gave the elderly cultist a boost into the wagon.

“I know, right?” said Patterson. “All this property damage and a low-key kidnapping,” she gestured to the hapless late night partier who had called the police when the cult got too insistent about their message, “and they didn’t even have the good drugs?” She shook her head. “Not that we ever arrest anyone just for drugs in this town.”

“I did not just hear you say that,” muttered McGee.

“We’ll make an Amity Parker out of you yet,” said Collins, heartily, slamming the back door of the wagon. He thumbed the button on his radio. “Any other disturbances?” he asked.

“No, you’re good to come back,” said the dispatcher.

“What I don’t get,” said McGee, leaning against a nearby wall in a moment of weakness, “is why we aren’t breaking up whatever cult thing is happening in the cemetery.” They’d seen it quite clearly on their way here.

“Because those are ghosts,” said Patterson.

McGee took a deep breath. “The ghosts are having some kind of ritual in the cemetery, and you aren’t worried.”

“Not really, no.”

“I hate it here,” said McGee.

“Do you, though?” asked Collins, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

McGee opened his mouth to snap back that, yes, he did. But…

Hm. Huh.

Collins patted him on the back.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober 2021 #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectoberhaunt trick #ectoberhaunt treat #ectoberhaunt day 1: trick vs treat #fic #fanfic #exhumed

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from-the-clouds · 3 years

Text

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking -- and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes.

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face.

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay.

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been.

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears.

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work.

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise.

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday.

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed.

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great.

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep.

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day.

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut.

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night.

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason.

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called.

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck.

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided.

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling.

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked.

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line.

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear.

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.” Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself.

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?”

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat.

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again.

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone.

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company.

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now.

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad.

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold.

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV.

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat.

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps.

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum.

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up.

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.”

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo.

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming.

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted.

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him.

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room.

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder.

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera.

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her.

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table.

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room.

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her.

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled.

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling.

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her.

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame.

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly.

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again.

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

because I could not stop for death

because I could not stop for death / he kindly stopped for me / the carriage held but just ourselves / and immortality ~ Emily Dickinson

Danny Fenton was dying, properly this time.

Somehow, in the back of his head and in his worst nightmares, he knew it would end this way: bleeding on the floor of his parents’ lab where it had all began. He was so hot he felt like his skin was on fire, blood and ectoplasm were dripping all over him and his lungs and heart were working overtime to try in vain to keep him alive a moment longer. He’d imagined at the time that there would be more screaming but death, in the end, was turning out to be a quiet little affair. A lonely table set for one.

“Danny, Danny come on, you-you gotta slow down your breathing, just relax, for me, please,” Sam moaned, more than making up for his lack of noise. She was shaking and touching him all over, his chest, his face, his hair. Normally she jumped right into action but she had to know, deep down, that there was nothing she could do. All that was left was to watch her panic and cry, it wasn’t his favorite image.

“Vlad!” He heard Tucker scream cry into the phone, “please it’s Tucker, Danny’s dying I think. The Fentons had some new invention, something about his core, please we don’t know what to do!”

Ugh Vlad, he was probably going to be so happy Danny was on his way out. He wasn’t looking much forward to his last images being his archenemy gloating. Tucker hung up and reached down to grasp Danny’s hand so hard it hurt. “Don’t worry dude, Vlad’s coming. He knows so much about you half ghosts that you’ll be fixed up on no time.” Right, Danny was already dead. If calling Vlad, feeling like he did something, helped Tucker move on then he’d deal with it.

Danny tilted his head to the side where Sam’s fingernails were carding through his hair. It was getting harder to see with the blood pouring out of his eyes but he looked at her, and tried to memorize her face. He’d never been able to tell her how much he loved her, that any day spent with her was a blessing. Tucker too, his best bro and a part of his soul. His best friends in the whole wide world, through thick and thin. God, he was going to miss them.

“Glurk,” he said, trying to convey those feeling but the fluids in his mouth and airway made it impossible. “Blerh.”

“Shh shh shh,” Sam soothed, “it’s okay, don’t try to talk.”

“Daniel!” He heard Vlad’s voice shriek as he materialized in front of the portal. Sam and Tucker were violently pushed out the way. Danny wanted to be angry at his loved ones being taken away in his final moments but anger was for the living, he barely had the energy to breathe. This death was too long and too short all at once. He made eye contact with Vlad who all at once lost the frantic edge to his tone and and instead knelt on the floor. “Oh my dear boy. What did they do to you?”

“What is going on?” Sam demanded, shoving her way back in. Danny was glad, he could see again like this. “Why aren’t you doing something!”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Vlad said in a flat, monotone, he picked up one of Danny’s hands and patted it gently. “His core is dying, it’s like a ghost’s heart. It contains their very essence, it is from which everything they are comes from. If Jack and Maddie somehow disrupted it then there’s nothing anyone can do to save him.”

“But he’s human too,” Tucker defended, grabbing Danny’s other hand. His human warm skin burned but the contact felt so good, he twitched his fingers closer to his friend’s. “He-he doesn’t need a core, he’s already got a heart. So, so he doesn’t have powers, we can do normal again.”

“You-” Vlad hissed before taking a calming breath. “The accident that made Daniel like this irreparably altered him. His core was as much a part of keeping him alive as his other organs, without it, his body is shutting down.” Vlad turned down to look Danny in the eye and saw true, genuine grief in those hateful red eyes.

“I cannot imagine the agony you are going through, I’m so sorry. I’d say it will be over soon but,” a hitch that sounded almost like a sob if it was coming from anyone other than Vlad. “But you’ve hovered on the edge of death for years, son, and you’ve always been such a fighter. You have minutes at most but those minutes are an eternity when you’re suffering.”

Sam and Tucker’s sobbing blended together in the background, Vlad was saying something with a miserable, stunned expression. The swirling of the portal in the background seemed louder than anything, louder than his heart beat pounding and pounding as it ran it’s last race.

“Daniel, Danny,” he focused his eyes back on Vlad who had a stubborn, unhappy set to his brow. “Do you want me to make the pain stop? An ectoblast to your chest will end your life instantly.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Sam shrieked, coming back into view and looking like she was trying to fight Vlad off. “You do anything to him and I’ll kill you!” Tucker just sat and stared at him, like he too was trying memorize Danny’s face.

“It’s a mercy, Samantha or do you want his last moments on earth to be drowning on the blood in his lungs.”

“Sam, he has a point. I don’t- I don’t think we can fix this.”

“No! No we always fix things, I’ll do it myself if I have to!”

Danny’s vision was starting to go, more black than anything else. He closed his eyes and readied himself for the inevitable.

“Time Out,” Danny opened his eyes and found he was no longer in pain. He was standing up and apart from where he’d previously been lying. Sam had her hands in Vlad’s face and the older hybrid was snarling something at her. Tucker was midmotion trying to stand up, presumably to get Sam but the three of them were frozen in the moment. Danny turned and found Clockwork floating, looking very out of place in his parents lab. “Good evening, Danny.”

“You that short on cash that you work part time as a grim reaper?” Danny quipped out of habit. He looked down at his body and grimaced a bit, that wasn’t a pretty sight. No doubt traumatizing for Tucker and Sam. God how were they going to explain this to his parents? “Gonna ferry me across the River Styx? I don’t have two pennies but I think I have a bloodied $10 on me.”

“You’re core is dying and you have 17 seconds left in this world before all your organs give out and finish the process you began when you turned on your parent’s ghost portal,” Clockwork explained as he changed into child form.

“O-okay,” Danny said shakily, trying to be brave even when he was so, so scared. He was going out whether he wanted it or not but he refused to leave crying. “Nice of you to come say goodbye then but, uh but unless you have something to say then you should let me go back. No one knows better than me that you can’t outrun death. Thanks but I’m uh I’m ready.”

Clockwork stared at him for a bit, not sure how long, time was weird like this but he changed forms a few times. “You’re quite the remarkable young man, Danny Fenton.”

“Uh thanks,” Danny added, once more looking at his body which had, according to Clockwork, a 17 second expiration date. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to become a ghost? Does heaven or hell exist for someone like me?”

“I don’t get to decide what happens, I merely see options,” Clockwork stated easily, taking his time. “If you die naturally you’ll become ghost, a mere shadow of who you are now and one who would fade fairly quickly. You don’t have strong enough anger or regrets to tie you in the real world for long.” Not great but okay he supposed, hell for his friends and family though. “You could let Plasmius deliver his mercy kill, destroying what’s left of your ghost core and ensuring you do not come back.” Better, probably won’t help the Fruitloop’s instability but he can’t save everyone.

“That one comes with it’s own caveat but I’ll get to that in a moment,” Clockwork explained. “There is a third option where you get up off the floor and walk away.” Danny blinked then looked back at his body which certainly wasn’t walking anywhere but into a plush casket. Clockwork opened his hands and the Ghost King’s Crown materialized in his hands. “If you accept your claim to the King’s Cown, it will revitalize your core and your life would be saved.”

Danny blinked.

“By sealing Pariah Dark, you won by proxy and established a legitimate claim to the throne. The Zone has been without a king for millennia, most have forgotten the old rules. Those who remembered were not too keen on a half-ghost child assuming leadership and kept you in the dark. If Plasmius ends your life then your claim transfers over to him, which he is aware of. It had been his plan all along to trick you into defeating Pariah so he could steal the Crown from you at a later date, a much easier opponent.”

Danny’s mind was overloaded with information, he didn’t know what to focus on first. He stared at his 17 seconds from death face and tried to process it all. Crown? Claim? Vlad?

“Of course,” Clockwork tutted, “he didn’t plan on your dying and in such a gruesome fashion. If he kills you and takes your claim, he would spend his remaining years ruling the Ghost Zone in a just, controlled fashion for your memory. He destroys all the stable portals and keeps the ghost and human worlds separate.” Clockwork became and old man and titled his head, “it’s not a bad timeline, all things considered.”

“And if I take it?” Danny asked quietly.

“You’re compassionate, brave and motivated, you have all the makings of a revolutionary king,” Clockwork smiled. “The Zone would experience and unprecedented era of peace, there would be positive interactions between human and ghosts for the first time since life and death split into two. Your name would spoken with reverence for the rest of time.”

“But I don’t want to be king,” Danny frowned.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Clockwork stated. “Which is why I am giving you the choice. If you pass peacefully there will be no one to claim the Crown and life will continue on, ghost attacks and all. If Plasmius kills you, he becomes an effective but unmemorable king. If you take the Crown, you can get the chance to tell Sam and Tucker how much you love them.”

Danny rubbed at his face, he didn’t want to die but he’d be sealing away his entire future with a move like this. He didn’t even know if the Crown would let him go with death, maybe he’d die and be stuck as the Ghost King until his core finally gave out lord in who knows how long. Eternity was an awful long time to carry such a responsibility. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, too afraid of the answer.

“Is there ever a timeline I became an astronaut?” He asked instead. Clockwork hummed, seemingly unsurprised by Danny’s non-sequitur.

“Yes, in one of the few universes where you never walked into the portal. You never go into space what with human politics putting a halt on the programs but you work for NASA. You leave Amity Park at 17 and don’t come back save for your parents’ dual funeral.” He paused and Danny felt read down to his very bones, “from the moment you became half ghost you were always heading for this moment. The circumstances varied but it always came down to you and the Crown. Time is straining to continue, to see how this drama plays out. Will you accept it and all the joy and grief that comes with it?”

Danny looked over at Vlad, still mid-sneer but there was a scared desperation in his face. He and Vlad sniped at each other all the time but Danny didn’t really hate him and he didn’t think Vlad did either. Leaving him alone, plus making him be king was a heavy burden to put on his enemy.

Sam and Tuck probably wouldn’t recover from this, he’d put them through so much already but he just knew that they’d never be the same. Could he do that to them? Take the easy way out and leave them to suffer? Mom and Dad didn’t deserve to come home to a dead son, the truth would come out and they’d never forgive themselves. Jazz certainly wouldn’t, she was 2 states over at University but he could already hear her angry, grief-stricken screams.

Death, death was quiet. It was quiet and merciful and sad, but it was also easy. And Danny Fenton had never once taken the easy route. He reached out and took and the crown before shakily placing it on his head. He gasped, throwing his head back as his core swelled, taking up residence once more right next to his heart. Clockwork smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

“The Crown of Fire, pardon me the Crown changes with each core, the Crown of Ice is now yours as is the Zone. Your reign begins now but so too does the rest of your life. People are waiting for you. Time in.” Danny slammed back into awareness on the floor of his parents’ lab, the floor he’d almost died on twice.

He sat up as cold radiated off his body, causing frost to crawl down his arms and along the floor. Sam, Tucker and Vlad, who’d been frozen up until now, jumped back to life. There was a new, familiar weight on his head that he didn’t dare acknowledge.

He squeezed his eyes shut and said a silent goodbye to a quiet, normal life. It wouldn’t be all bad, he could be happy like this but the Crown still felt like a iron manacle around his neck. But he got used to the ghost powers, he could get used to this too. Maybe one day he won’t look at the stars and say ‘what if?’

“Danny!” Sam shouted, throwing herself into his arms soon followed by Tucker. Their warm weight, their relieved sobs, their shaky breaths in his air, now this was something worth living for. He squeezed them tightly.

“But how dude, you were at death’s door!” Tucker asked, still not letting go.

“You accepted the Crown,” Vlad said evenly, “I wasn’t aware you even knew about your claim. Who told you?”

“You don’t know everything, Vlad,” Danny sighed, sitting himself upright. Ugh his shirt was covered in blood and ectoplasm. He needed to trash these clothes before his parents freaked. And find a way to hide the floating ice crown on his head.

“Even an old man can be surprised every now and again,” Vlad said wearily. He stood up to his full height before startling Danny by dipping down to one knee. “Then allow me to be the first to welcome my new king and wish him well.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Danny questioned.

“I do, I did,” Vlad said, unusually off balance. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure how to feel about it but, right now, I’m just immeasurably happy you’re alive, little badger. Now I best be off, enjoy your kingdom, my liege, I’ll be sure to come bother you some time soon.” Vlad disappeared in a swirl of pink leaving just him, Sam and Tucker still clinging to him.

Danny may have a kingdom, a job he didn’t want and his whole life decided in a spur of the moment choice, but he also had something very important. He squeezed his friends tightly.

“I love you guys, thank you for being my friends even though I have the worst ideas for activities. Dying? On a Sunday night? How lame is that?” Sam laughed, a bit hysterical but it was real and it made Danny feel weightless.

“Don’t do that again, buddy,” Tucker breathed into his shoulder. “So you gonna explain what just happened and why you’re apparently the Ghost King or something?”

“Yeah, yeah I will but let’s get changed first. Mom and Dad will be home soon and I think I’m going to need to have a conversation with them about my new job.”

#danny phantom #i was watching forever phantom and said 'i should kill danny' and then i fucking didn't #im obsessed with ghost king danny as end game #Im not sure this is the route I would want to go but I want him to end up woth tje crown #its bitter sweet bc its a *lifelong (possibly afterlife) commitment that he didnt get a choice in #he will be happy and he will be a good king but it wasnt his choice and he'll always regret it a little #i love clockwork but he's a bit shady and will always work in favor of the timeline #anyway happy fucking sunday bitches #have some homemade angst #also i typed this directly in tumblr and almost hit the power screen on my computer instead of backspace #god was trying to stop me from publishing but i overcame #Only did one quick edit Im too tired to care anymore #lmk if you want it on ao3

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killmebythebeach · 3 years

Text

A bunch of head cannons (Maybe too much). Also in talking about the characters.

I think Dream is that one design where his skin is just the static tv screen. He just constantly emits that fuzzy noise, Sam crafted him the smile mask that he can see through so he doesn't scare people.

George is just kind of the server itself. He's the same species as Hannah, but a mushroom and more powerful. If he stays awake too long, the server just kind of freezes. This is also a reason XD keeps him sleeping, it's his way of talking to George and he thinks the server is like his soap opera of mortals.

Callahan is sort of like the person who makes sure George doesn't get killed or dies while asleep, making sure he's surrounded by mushrooms and such. Deer hybrid <3

Alyssa joined the server because she knew all her friends were idiots and didn't want them to die immediately. But once the elections rolled around, she felt the pressure of choosing sides and ran away to the desert, only keeping contact with Ponk. She actually lives just a couple miles from Foolish's summer home. Her communicator actually died after a couple months and she had no way of charging it, so she lost contact with everyone.

Sapnap is a magma cube hybrid and can jump higher than most, his natural temperature runs hotter, and is fire proof. Bad found him in the nether when he was maybe 10-15 years old.

Sam was actually a normal creeper, but gained player like sentience from being struck by lightning. Instead of becoming charged, he gained intelligence and met the others on the server. Callahan taught him some Redstone, but from there he figured out a lot on his own. He's also a creeper centaur.

Ponk is actually a descendant of a fairy, a lemon tree. Their mask was also a gift from Sam because after the second or third time their tree was burnt, their immune system was weakened a considerable amount. Alyssa also wore her mask for them.

Bad is a size shifting demon from the nether, more specifically soul sand desert. He uses soul fire to gain strength, so because the egg died when near it, he was just a little weaker than normal. Because he's a demon he needs a tie to the overworld to stay there, he tied his soul and lives to Skeppy.

Tommy was grown in a lab to be a hero, project: THESEUS. The lab gave him small enhancements, like slightly stronger and just a bit more resilient, to make the Above Average Boy (TM). He then ran away to meet Wilbur. When Dream asked Wilbur if he wanted to come to the server, he asked if Tommy could go first to see what it was like. He also actually really likes gardening and making up funny songs to Wilbur playing guitar. He also made funny lyrics for his discs, but he's still a bit scared to take them out of his ender chest. Other than bringing attachment, Dream also exiled Tommy to see what his lab enhancements could do.

Tubbo is an adaptive hybrid! His hair was blond, shifting to brown when Wilbur found him, getting blue eyes from Tommy, growing small horns under Schlatt, parts of his skin being static when Dream was "helping" him with his presidency, and parts of his scars tinging black and green from Ranboo and Micheal. Tubbo also helped Wilbur write part of the anthem. He likes living in the snow because the Manberg flag had magma blocks on it, casting a heatwave over the country, and after L'Manburg blew up it got really hot from the exposed stone in direct sun.

Fundy can actually hold his breath for a very long time and swim very well because of Sally teaching him and his salmon genes. The yellow things on his hat are actually shells, and the stripes on his jacket are trans colors. Also with his dreams, he saw Eret was going to betray them but didn't think it was real, or didn't want to. He also saw Wilbur blow up L'Manburg but chose not to believe it, thinking his father could still be saved. He actually saw pretty much everything, but didn't quite understand what they were until after doomsday.

The necklace Punz wears is one of those picture lockets, but he lost the picture and can't remember what it was. The first time Dream paid him was when Dream asked for help and Punz made an off hand joke about getting money, and then Dream thought he was being serious. Him, Dream, and Sapnap were like brothers, and Punz got sadder every time he saw Dream pushing people away and diving deeper into darkness.

Purpled is an aliensent to see if the planet was colonizable, but then crashed and was stranded, all his communications down and his ship barely able to hover fifty feet off the ground. When Quackity blew it up, he essentially got rid of his chance of ever going home. Purpled's species can shapeshift, so he turned himself into the first person he saw, Punz. Eventually before trying to communicate with the native life forms, he edited his form a little so they weren't identical, keeping purple eyes and antennae, changing the colors slightly, and changing the voice up. When he moves away from the main SMP, Ponk makes sure to check up on him and that he has a way to check his communicator.

Wilbur came a month after sending Tommy. His father being a patron of life and his mother the goddess of death, he met in the middle being born as a human. The only reason Ghostbur was as active and present as he was was because he was so connected to both life and death. Since his corpse was decaying for as long as it was, Wilbur is now super weak, his flesh is thin and his eyes are rotted and gone. Much like Ghostbur, Wilbur in limbo saw what people said about him, and Ghostbur could hear that from the back of his head. Now Wilbur can hear what people say about Ghostbur and he hates it, not wanting to be connected to what he thinks like a shell of himself.

Schlatt is a ram (duh) and actually does the fainting goat thing. So when he died of a heart attack, no one knew at first if he was actually dead or not. His alcoholism stems from the revive book, as the possibility of tampering with death made him existential and scared, so to cope he drank. There are also a ton of other stuff other than revival in the book, but it's in galactic.

Skeppy was just a normal human, but after making the pact with Bad, Bad put a spell on him. Parts of him turned into diamond, protecting both his and Bad's lives. He however, is unaware of this. With the egg, he would just sit on it, the diamonds chipping away to make room for the vines.

Eret was cursed by the Wither Cult, giving them white eyes and a slowly deteriorating memory. Not sure what to do, Foolish dropped them off at the SMP. Sometimes they would dream about old memories from before the curse, but it was just glimpses so he could never tell what they meant. Once they were king, they made the Herobrine shrine subconsciously, not really sure what it was after. They also had a strange affinity of beacons and resurrection, some of their memories resurfacing when they tried to help Phil and Ghostbur revive Wilbur after doomsday. The reason people are more scared of their eyes than any other wierd eyes was because he generally looks like a normal human, but the wither along with their Herobrine origins creates an uncanny valley that people are shocked by.

Jack had red and blue irises before crawling out of hell, but after coming back the whites of his eyes also turned red and blue. He always wears 3d glasses so no one noticed, but he just thought no one cared enough to mention it. He also has a bunch of scars and burn marks that no one but him can see, therefore no one asks about them or thinks something is wrong, cementing the idea that no one cares about him.

Niki is a blaze hybrid (stole this from @/420technoblazeit) whose fire hair color changes based on strong emotion, something she bond with Tubbo for as a fellow shifter. A soft yellow in L'Manburg, brighter orange in Manburg, hot pink on Doomsday, a soul fire blue with the syndicate (which Techno hates), and a dead grey when she found out Wilbur was alive. She was also old child hood friends with Ranboo and Eret, leaving Ranboo for the SMP. Ranboo, unfortunatly, doesn't remember much more than her name. She also knows galactic from Ranboo, so she talks about her troubles to Shy the Enderman. She doesn't really know how to talk to Puffy anymore after Doomsday or finding out how she wants to protect Tommy.

Quackity can perfectly replicate someone's voice and, with a lot of effort, can completely change his form to another player. He also has very small yellow wings, too small to fly, so he almost always hides them. He used to constantly change his voice for jokes with Karl, Sapnap, and George, but he doesn't like doing it now in Las Nevadas, as he sees it as unprofessional. However, sometimes he uses when he visits Dream, changing his voice to people like George and Sapnap to make torture more effective.

In the In Between and Other Side, Karl actually looks like his old skin, or his natural state (the big purple one that inspired his sweater). But most of the time in the normal world, he looks human. With effort he can bring out the interdemential being thing, something only Quackity and Sapnap know about. The more he time travels, the easier it becomes to change, and he's even started defaulting to the other form.

HBomb is actually just a normal news reporter, sent to interview and record what's going on in the server, his first big story being the election. Upon Doomsday, the stress of seeing everyone alone, fighting, and disconnected, he ran away from the world, essentially becoming a cat lady. His undercover reporter persona is actually the cat maid. He eventually came back to the server to see how he could help after Doomsday, befriending Niki again and living with her in the underground city.

Techno is a piglin, so he's scared of soul fire. He forgot to tell Phil before he decorated the syndicate room, so he just suffers in silence. He also does better when around a lot of gold, like in the nether, and he feels drained and slightly weaker without it. Instead of just putting gold around the area (it would ruin his property value), he just hibernates. He has an emerald earing, like all of the syndicate, but his is a locket that unfolds into pictures of the syndicate.

Ant always wears a red hoodie, now ruined by the egg, that used to be Red's. On Red's death anniversary, him, Bad, Skeppy, and Sam would make cake and put flowers on his grave. He missed the last one because it was during the egg, but for a brief moment after Puffy killed him he saw Red. Red then promptly and bluntly told him to stop being a pussy (haha, cat) and that he shouldn't do all this just to get him back, one of Ant's motivators to make amends with the people he hurt while with the egg. Ant is also a shapeshifter, but can only turn into a cat.

Phil actually used to work under Foolish as a patron of life but then he had a son with the goddess of death, so his title was removed so he could be with her and he became an Angel of Death. Kristin noticed how sad he was after being released, so she gifted him wings. They were however, destroyed on November 16th. His chat also serves as messenger pigeons, which were used to send letters to Wilbur.

Connor is actually just a hedgehog who somehow befriended Schlatt. Even before the haunted mansion, Karl vented to him about his time travel troubles, not knowing he was a sentient player. As a hedgehog, no one really cares where he goes, so he goes outside the server limits to meet his friends from the haunted mansion.

Puffy is a distant relative of Schlatt, but instead of politics she went into piracy. With her mom, she went travelling the seas. One say, a storm came and wiped out her ship, her crew, her mom, everything but her. The reason she survived was because Foolish saw her and saved her. Unfortunately, Puffy hit hee head in the crash and doesn't remember anything.

Vikkstar is the equivalent of a big time celebrity, so of course his endorsement of POG2020 was a big deal.

Lazarbeam is literally just a ginger bread cookie.

Ranboo has actually met a lot of the smp before actually joining. He's met Niki, Fundy, Eret, Punz, and Dream at least. He also sees the inverted colors Enderman see. His suit was actually a gift from Eret before they forgot how to tailor. He got the crown from Techno after joining the syndicate, claiming he didn't want any syndicate members to look like trash.

Foolish came to the server most recently to check up on Eret, but he couldn't bring himself to leave again. When Puffy adopts him, he can't say no because he remembers saving her. His initial goal was to kill an ender dragon to claim the XD title and become a full god like DreamXD, but after realising someone already killed it he went into his totem if death phase. Upon meeting Eret, he got over it and they went on some silly adventures, Foolish now taking a more peaceful route.

Hannah is essentially a weaker George, as her power is tied to the plants themselves and not the entire server. She however has a lot more physical power because rose dryads like to fight because they have thorns. Since roses can be taken out a lot easier, she is essentially a glass canon. Also when around any plant, she can make it grow faster than normal.

Any guest on the server? Corpse, Pokimane, Lil Nas? They were all Slimecicle. That's how he knows where everyone is from, even outside of Las Nevadas. No one else knows this. He's also ancient, if he met Phil they would probably recognise eachother. There was an actual Charlie Slimecicle who was not a slime, but after being launched into orbit this Slimecicle decided to impersonate him.

Michael Mcchill is a sort of bounty hunter. He came to the server after hearing of all the crime, assuming there'd be a lot of bounties to collect. However, he soon learned that no one really cares if you commit a crime. He then took to reading news articles made by HBomb to see if there were any past open bounties. But after reading for a while about the server's wronguns, mostly Dream, he began to sympathise with them. And he's also a speedrunner, so maybe he could help with some bounties across other servers!

This was a very long post and i apologize, but it was so fun to finally write all these thoughts down! I hope you liked them! I can't even fit all the tags I want.

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l4verq · 3 years

Text

fight back | b.b

bucky barnes x enhanced!reader

in which bucky won’t lay a hand on you no matter what :(

tags : a little brawl, fluff cause icanthelpmyself, mentions of blood, john walker (idk if we're supposed to like him now ??) bucky is a cat lady okk

fic : one shot

a/n : inspired by that scene in the final ep of tfatws when karli is screaming at sam to fight back lol😳

|| gif by @unearthlydust ||

one world, one people.

you repeat it in your head one more time, when he comes into view, vibranium gleaming onyx with loops of gold.

you know that he knows you’re here, back to the wall a few feet away, peeking at him.

he doesn’t know that you let him know.

doesn’t know that you laid out a trap and just like the foolish mouse, he walked right into the lion’s den.

although you’re not sure who the fool actually is, when you meet his eyes, knees almost buckling at the sight just cause of how long it’s been without them.

��y/n.” he breathes out, almost in disbelief.

it’s been fourteen months since he woke up to an empty bed and a handwritten goodbye letter folded in a clean white envelope, tucked under a pillow still marked by the soft indentation of your head.

fourteen months since you took off in the dead of night, pulling your- his hood over your head, the cold wind nipping at your skin, almost like it was punishing you.

maybe, it saw what you did.

oh, but fred definitely saw what you did, that damn cat always followed you two around even though it’s owner was the blonde next door. her name wasn’t even fred, bucky came up with it after the third time it snuck into the apartment.

he swore he hated it but always seemed to have a treat lying around in case it did come.

and it did, a lot. neglected by it’s owner, it chose to seek comfort in the couple next door, and sometimes a meal or two.

“sorry, no treat today bub.”

fred scowled - honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if an actual human was living in it - mewling as it came up to you for the usual chin rubs and cooes.

you sighed, caving into it’s antics, squatting to pet it.

cradling it’s head into your palm, she was purring, a very uncommon sight. fred doesn’t purr, she scratches and hisses at anything and everything that moves.

“you’re particularly nice today.” you commented, getting up. it mewled even louder this time but you turned on your heels and headed for the stairs.

you were already late.

your legs picked up pace quickly, easily crossing multiple blocks over in a few long strides owing to the blue serum coursing through your veins.

though your mind remained stationary, fixated on a single face, how it’d crumble at the sight of the letter, how he’d probably end up hating you.

“took you long enough.”

her auburn locks were tied into a loose braid that curved around her neck, the tip sat just below her collarbone, a piss poor job held together by a thin maroon colored band.

it was quintessentially her, the lack of utter patience to spend two minutes looping three knots of hair one over the other.

you jogged over to the other side of the black suv, noticing a stark white rectangle where a liscence plate should be.

“he’s knocked out cold,” you asked as soon as you grabbed the door handle open, “how?”

lazropthalein.

it came in the mail in a brown package, no return address. bucky wasn’t home, he had a scheduled therapy session down the block.

just a pinch is enough.

the text from the unknown number read.

it had no odour, a clean, white colour to it that blended in seamlessly with the flour.

“you baked without me?” bucky gasped, dramatically, hand covering his gaping mouth. his other hand carried two plastic bags, filled to the brim, a purple razor was poking out the top.

he even had to drop the poor bags on the floor, just to emphasize the utter shock he felt.

“i got bored.” you giggled, wiping the countertop with a wet cloth, remnants of flour on the sleek marble turning goopy under it.

“traitor.”

“it’s just cupcakes.”

“still a cake.”

you sighed, “you’re a five year old.”

he huffed, trudging towards the living room, shoulders hunched to really hone in on just how devastating this was for him.

“don’t i get a hug?” you held your arms out, making grabby hands, following him.

apparently, the devastation was to the point where he had to bring out the big guns, the sad baby blues.

the act lasted for another minute? at best. hours later, he was happily munching away.

“i know why it tastes so good.” he moaned, smacking his lips.

your smile faltered a little, did he kn- no, there’s no way he could have known. you burned that little plastic bag as soon as you dumped a pinch in.

“yea?”

he grinned, popping the last bit left in “it was made with your love.”

“how did it work?” your voice rose several octaves higher, amplified further by the cool, silent night.

drugs and sedatives don’t work on supersoldiers yet a certain blue eyed one was back home, unmoving even if you screamed right into his ears.

“dr wilfred, he invented it. the power broker wanted something to balance out our,” she flared her hands at both of you, “super-soldierness, so that we don’t have an upper hand when all’s said and done.”

would the either of you even be alive when all was said and done?

“look, i know you didn’t want to do this but james, he won’t understand. he’s not one o-..”

“yea, can we jus- let’s just get out of here.” you get in beside her, whipping the seatbelt over your torso.

the car was stuffy, felt like a choke around your neck that only seemed to tighten more and more.

“if we go now, there’s no coming back.” she glances at you, hand curled over the gearstick ready to position it in place.

she was giving you an out, one last chance. karli was a lot of things and having a heart inside that cold, bitchy exterior was one.

“i know.”

you sunk deeper into your seat, the hoodie had a faint smell of burnt toast and that cologne which was on sale, almost half off if you cut out the taxes.

it smelled like him, too much like him.

until it didn’t after a few days. but you still slept with it, just outright refusing to wash it despite karli’s snarky remarks about hygiene.

hygiene could go fuck herself, for all you know.

compared to the motels and basements you guys shifted around in, that hoodie was a doctor’s scrubs.

when the moon hung low on the black sky, you tried not to think about him too much. the silence didn’t help, you needed something to drown out your thoughts. that’s when the ‘socialising’ with the other flag smashers started. they were nice.

nice cause you were the leader’s little sister. but also a huge fucking liability because of a certain supersoldier hot on their heels in search of you, ruining every goddamn plan so their niceness was.. limited.

karli was a natural when it came to it, all of it. the talking, rallying of supporters - fuck, she just had a way with words. she could make you believe she hung up the stars in the sky.

probably how she convinced you that holding a room chock full of council members hostage right smack in the middle of nyc was a good idea.

the only idea, more precisely.

you guys had the upper hand, more than a handful supersoldiers at your disposal, capable of taking down the entire military force if you so pleased.

the only playing card they had was one supersoldier, who was better off distracted, kept off the field.

so who better to send to do the deed than the love of his life.

“fred had a baby. multiple babies, spawn of the devil if you ask me. always running around, thrashing the place up.” he takes small steps towards you, slow and calculated, as if a lion stalking around a prey.

“you shouldn’t be here.” you lie through your teeth, a tiny white compared to the ones that’ve rolled off your tongue before.

“i think the neighbours call me a cat lady now,” his eyes shift around and he leans in to whisper, “they haven’t even seen my knitting skills yet.”

“stop.” you think you said it or much rather whispered it, your voice was failing you. he’s getting close, too close for your liking so why aren’t you backing away from him?

“fred misses you, you know. she wonders where you went.” he smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

the hairs on your neck shoot up, a slight twitch of your brow. the way bucky’s ear perk up, you realise it’s not just you and him here anymore.

someone else has arrived.

“i’ve got it handled, john.” bucky turns around, plants him directly infront of you, blocking john’s view of you.

sure enough, it’s john limping in, a nasty gash across his chest.

your blood runs cold because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

john isn’t supposed to be here, he’s supposed to be fighting.. oh god. you notice the various splatters of blood on his cowl, on his boot, on his shield.

it’s too much blood from a guy who’s barely bleeding.

“really? i was thinking you should do more than just talk.” he spits on the ground and wipes his mouth.

you notice, the spit’s all blood too.

“i’m giving you a chance to walk away, right now.”

john snorts, leaning sideways to get a view of you, neck craned out.

“and leave this prize all to yourself?” he grins, “i’d be an idiot.”

“you have a death wish then.” you lift your chin a little higher, praying your quickening heartbeat doesn’t give away your calm exterior.

john whistles, grimacing as he straightens, “so, she does talk.”

you scowl, crossing your arms.

he’s in bad shape. he has no chance, not that he ever did even in his best shape. he knows that too yet he’s still here. that sends a chill up your spine.

“go, i got this.” bucky tips his head, glancing at you.

“i don’t need you to save me.” you hiss at him, which comes out a little harsher than you intended. an apology dies in your throat as he flinches just the slightest.

“trouble in paradise?” john’s barely finished saying it before he’s reached behind his back and swinging the vibranium

you hear it before you see it stopped mid air by a gloved hand. then you charge.

it’s all a hazy mix of blue and red until your fist connects with his jaw, sound of something breaking ringing in your ear.

something pulls your waist back, a grip far too strong to be just flesh.

“go, i’ll ta-..” bucky’s barely said anything before an upward cut from john connects to his neck, violent coughs ensuing.

you grip john’s arm before he’s even retracted it back, jump up his back, settling around his neck and twist until you hear a crack and a bloodcurling scream following suit.

he whips his head back right into your stomach, seizes that moment when the wind knocks out of you to pull you by your hair off him.

“i told you to go.” bucky growls, kicking john right in the shin that makes him kneel and you almost fall off but you keep your fingers tightly looped around john’s hair, pulling as hard you can.

but he’s relentless.

your head hits something hard and you realise you’re on the ground now, legs loosely around john’s shoulders, him also on the ground.

it’s like the both of you realise at the same time but you’re quicker. your legs tighten around his neck, against the spot where a thick neck muscle throbs. he claws desperately around, straining for oxygen

soon, his hands lull down, the dull thud on the ground confirming his unconsciousness.

“are you hurt?” bucky’s hovering over you, seemingly unfazed by john’s neck in a chokehold by your legs right now.

you reject his hand he extends and push yourself off the gravelly concrete on to your feet.

“this was a mistake.” you trail off, saying it more to your own self.

you weren’t the lion, you were the stupid fox who thought it was.

stupid enough to believe you were over bucky and that everything wouldn’t come rushing back as soon as you laid eyes on him.

he whips you around by your hand and before you know it, he’s already caught your other fist heading for his sternum. you barely feel the grip, it’s soft, just so incredibly soft and fits so right.

you hate it.

rage bubbles inside you, mostly at yourself. partly at him because he’s not screaming at you or slamming you against the wall or jus- anything.

you wrench your hand away, land a swing which he does nothing to block. his grip on your other hand loosens and he still does nothing when another hit to the jaw leaves him staggering,

instead, he looks at you softly as if resigning himself to your anger, to let it simmer off.

“fight back!” you scream, outstretched palms pushing him back.

he stumbles a few steps back, hands reaching out to yours resting on his chest, fingers intertwining yours tightly.

“stop.” it’s a soft plead, tears spiking the corners of his eyes.

“hit me!” you’re practically begging at this point, thrashing your arms around.

his hands grapple at your shoulders, bringing you to his chest, “it’s okay.”

he smells so sweet, just so sweet that you almost believe him.

“i drugged you and i left you and i-,” you inhale sharply, “i killed so many people, bucky.”

the last fourteen months had escalated quickly from doing what’s right to doing what’s needed, lines blurred between moral ethics and survival.

“it’s okay.” he repeats, hand patting your hair, gentle and soothing. your body betrays you, sinking into his touch, his warmth.

“you should hate me.” you whimper.

you wouldn’t blame him if he did. you doubt he could hate you more than you already did yourself.

he pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “i couldn’t if i tried.”

god, why does he have to be so.. bucky?

frustated, you spit out, “this? this was a distraction to separate you and sam.”

you don’t say it but it’s understood, understood that you wouldn’t have met him if not for it.

the inner corners of his brows angle up slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “i know.”

your breath hitches, if he knows then wh-

“then, why..?”

you finally look up at him, vision blurry because of the stupid tears pooling at your eyes.

his thumb wipes away a tear dribbling down your cheek, the coldness of the metal a clear contrast to the warm moisture, “you know why.”

a/n : this one’s been sitting pretty, collecting cobwebs in my drafts so thought i’d take it out lol, also haven’t been posting fics in a whileeee cause im dumb and i’ve been working on multiple things all at once lol yea this is me rambling and also i just wanna say that i. love. folklore. sm. that whole album has me crying and sad and just :((

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #fatws bucky #fatws #flag smashers #marvel #mcu

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